Intellectual Poison

I guess Europeans really do do things differently. Check out the Prime Minister of Spain greeting the Columbian ambassador to Spain during his visit to Bogota.

Do you have a hard spot in your heart for corporate greedheaded ass's? Get on over to Spread The Facts On Wal-Mart and sign up for their intermittent emails to be kept in the loop about WalMart's latest and ever more lamentable exploits.
Here's some juice to get your WalMart Hate Organ thumping into high gear.

- Wal-Mart sales clerks made an average of $8.23 an hour—or $13,861 a year—in 2001. That's nearly $800 below the federal poverty line for a family of three. (Source: Business Week)
- In Georgia, Wal-Mart employees are six times more likely to rely on state-provided health care for their children than are employees of any other large company. (Source: Atlanta Journal-Constitution)
- Reliance on public assistance programs in California by Wal-Mart workers costs the state's taxpayers an estimated $86 million annually. (Source: UC Berkeley Study)
- In the first decade after Wal-Mart arrived in Iowa, the state lost 555 grocery stores, 298 hardware stores, 293 building supply stores, 161 variety stores, 158 women's apparel stores, 153 shoe stores, 116 drugstores, and 111 men's and boys' apparel stores. (Source: Iowa State University Study)
- Every year Wal-Mart purchases $15 billion worth of products from China. (Source: Washington Post)
- Today Wal-Mart uses over 3,000 Chinese factories to produce its goods—almost as many factories as it has stores in the U.S. (3,600). (Source: L.A. Times)
- All else being equal, U.S. counties where new Wal-Mart stores were built between 1987 and 1998 experienced higher poverty rates than other U.S. counties. (Source: Pennsylvania State University Study)

This is one of my newer pics, taken the other morning in the slough, and I didn't think much of it at the time.

But it has quickly become one of my favorite images I've created for one cool reason. Its my first ever photographic optical illusion.

Click on the pic, take a look at it big and tell me what you see. I see an incongruous image that doesn't make sense as you move from top to bottom or bottom to top.

Its a reasonable metaphor for today since Terri Schiavo has finally passed on and all those protestors can go back to whatever it is they do normally when they're not trying to grandstand on the national stage. I feel bad for her family and nothing but shame and anger for all of the posturing that asshats like George Bush, Tom DeLay, Jesse Jackson and Jeb Bush took part in.

And, on a more personal level, I'm in my own sort of optical illusion. As has happened many times over the last couple of years, I feel like my job is under the guillotine blade again. Nothing like expecting to get fired at any moment to pretty well kill any interest in getting shit done, eh?

And I kind of have a problem with looking back at gas being $2 a gallon with nostalgia. Cost me $12 to fill up my motorcycle this morning.
[Update: The news about how Michael Schiavo dealt with the end of Terri's life is pretty pisspoor behaviour. He kicked her family out of the room and denied them the chance to be with her as she passed. That's pretty cold, man. You may have had your reasons but I cannot imagine they trumped a family's right to be there at the very end.]

This was just the other night, Graydon's decided that he's going to become an ace stairclimber so he's been practicing.

And he's good now. He cleaned the stairs faster than his first time and with better technique too! He even had a cloth tape measure in his hand on this run and still annihilated his first time.

That and he's just so amazingly wonderful to interact with. He loves the camera, loves to play and he's got a light up the room smile and laugh. His joy is the best kind of infection I can imagine and I love nothing more than holding him in my arms and rocking him to sleep.

Fatherhood has been the best gift anyone has ever bestowed upon me. Its also the hardest job I've ever had but the rewards so far outweigh the sleep deprivation and drool (yes, my boy has drooled directly into my face, my mouth, my nose and even eyes, I still love the little guy).

Just look at him in that pic! He's only just begun and that's part of the fun.

Terri Schiavo's Blog.

With a caveat that its not for those with a deep emotional investment in this issue. That said, it made me laugh out loud.

Capitalizing on his new found infamy and embracing the inner asshole, VH1 has added two new professional asshats to their bizarre and sometimes pretty funny reality show about pseudo-celebrities, Jose Canseco, Omarosa Join 'Surreal' Cast. Omarosa, if you don't recall her, was the bitch from the first season of Apprentice and I guess that one role has placed her on the same level as a king sized asshat like Canseco.

I will admit that I'm interested to see what kind of a self absorbed douchebag Canseco is on a daily basis. It doesn't mean I'll watch the show because I firmly believe in not rubbernecking at trainwrecks. But I am intriqued. I hope he commits an assault on camera and gets some nice prison time.

Oh, I could get the two birds with one stone deal since Bronson Pinchot is on the show (you know, Balky?). If Canseco would just pummel him into a red puddle that would be like multi-tasking the assholes out of the universe.

You know how pretty much everyone on the radio or tv news has a tagline, their personal sign off? Walter Cronkite's "And that's the news," [Update: As Libertine was kind enough to point out, I munged Cronkite's line, it should be "And that's the way it is...". I was reasonably close though!] the fake news on Saturday Night Live, "Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow,", Ron Burgundy's "You stay classy, San Diego". There are some good ones out there. But there are some bad, bad, bad ones as well.

The worst one I know of is off of 680 KNBR, the Bay Area sports radio, and comes from Ralph Barbieri who has The Razor and Mr. T show with Tom Tolbert.

His signoff line? "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly."

My response is, what in fuck does that have to do with sports radio or signing off or anything? LAME, Ralph, extremely lame. I hope Tommy gives you shit about that every night after you're off the air. Not that Tolbert's much better with his constant shilling for McDonald's (way to peddle fast food poison, Tommy!) and SleepTrain and whoever else he sells for when he's not off covering boring ass basketball games.

Also, KNBR would be alot more listenable during the day if they finally and for good got rid of Gary Radnich. The guy is either shouting at his guests or such a fawning douchebag he might as well be blowing them during commercial breaks. He brings nothing and just makes me change the station whenever I hear his gravel voiced shouts. And his promo ads do absolutely nothing to encourage me to listen to him, him singing a song so badly it actually makes me ears hurt or him shouting over a guest until the guest gives up. Nice, that'll make me interested in what you've got to say, you jerk. Give it up, retire and write sports columns or something just get off the radio and let people with something to say have a try.

I do have one further request for KNBR. Can your advertising sales guys please, please, please get some different ads running? I'm about ready to kill when I hear the same stupid ads for refinancing options to cash out my equity in my house. The ads are irritating and repetitive, enough so that I can mock them right in time. I usually just change the station though. Seriously, are there that many people that don't know they can refinance their homes? Do those people not know that all these refinance deals are really scams for the most part? Refinance your house and just make interest payments on it because, that way, your lender will always make money off your dumbass and you will never, ever OWN your house. Interest-only means you never pay down the principle. It's about the dumbest thing possible for a homeowner to do. Get some damned new ads or cut down on the repeat rotation of the shitty ads you're already running.

And someone please get a new tag line for Ralph. Also, tell him to shut the hell up every so often and let people speak. He cuts people off as a matter of course and I'd love to hear a guest in the station smack him upside the head and say "Excuse me, I wasn't finished yet. Wait your damned turn you little Italian Michelin Man looking punk bitch."

Then again, maybe I listen to too much sports radio during my commute. Some days its just easier to plug in the iPod and groove along on home.

Nande is a beautiful dog. She's a creature of grace in motion and pleasure in that movement. Watching her run, goading her into the surf, throwing rocks into the brush, she is at her happiest when her heart is racing, her breath is fast and she has morning dew dripping from her chest.

This morning was quite alot like other mornings although the lighting was excellent. We start each weekday with a trip down to the slough where she gets some off leash time to chase rocks.

If other people come walking by, it is simplicity to have her sit and wait. She doesn't really pay any attention to them. She still believes that every dog on the face of the earth is her best friend and doesn't understand those dogs that growl at her or cower and shy away. But she wants to play with them all the same.

Watching her run, hearing her barks and seeing her come back with her unmistakable grin, makes getting up early well worth it.

And then I usually have to pick up a dookie bomb.

In what can only be considered an anamoly in the program, the Pope May Undergo Surgery to Implant Feeding Tube which ought to raise some very interesting questions. No?

Speculation and probably the truth underneath it all is that he (the Pope) isn't running the show anymore. He's got his cadre of Cardinals that are now going to pump life in and out of his body for as long as they can, because they can and because the Pope himself said it was murder to not keep life in a body for as long as possible (or something more or less to that effect, I don't pay attention to those religious types).

This way, they can run things and try to bring the church up to something resembling speed with the rest of the world. Or maybe they want to go the other way, I don't know but in this case, the feeding tube is a perfect means of attaining great power and keeping that power alive by machinery. One comment mentioned some Tibetan monks that carried out their dead leader's "instructions" for fifteen years after he'd died. That's not bad. I bet with some new Disney animatronics, they could embalm this Pope, put together a voice box and keep him alive forever.

It should raise some interesting debates on the news shows and I'm sure that Master Jon Stewart will have something witty and biting to say as well.

Irony is a bitter and metallic medicine, no?

Hey Parents, looking forward to embarrassing and screwing up your offspring's life? Too impatient or stupid to wait until they can walk or talk to parrot your pathetically ugly hate speech? Start them off as wrong as possible with a horrible, racist name!

The best way to really start your child off on the wrong foot is to give them a name that basically means "Fuck You" to someone. And so, with that in mind, I would like to introduce you all to little Aryan Justice.

Good luck with that one, little girl. And I hope that one day you are able to overcome your horrible name and disown your asshole parents for using you to scream their racism and hatred from the hospital's rooftops.

Have you ever noticed that the people who shout "White Power" the loudest are usually the dumbest numbnuts in the crowd?

[Update: But wait, there's more. Want to get a sense for the seething rage that rides shotgun on the hate train in this nation? Check out the birth announcement on Stormfront's Message Boards. The depth of hatred and ugliness in this country is pretty frightening when you get to see its fat underbelly.

And maybe its wrong of me but I do enjoy the irony of White Supremacists who can't spell.]

I'm better. Not well but I am better. I've basically spent the last 48 hours or so fighting a nasty pukey and poo-ey flu bug.

Sunday was a nightmare of burning stomach pain and useless but unstoppable dry heaves. Monday was the slow process of starting to unknot my stomach muscles that had been so abused the day before and sleep and eating and lots and lots of water intake as my hydration levels had gotten dangerously low.

I remember seeing something on the Discovery Channel not so long ago about the effects of dehydration and how to rough gauge it. The easy way to do it is to observe the color of your urine. The closer to brown (oh yeah, it gets there) the closer you are to serious issues arising from lack of proper hydration. I never even got close to a tan but I did pass all the way through the yellows and that was plenty enough for me. I forced myself to drink bottles of water in order to start to rebalance my body. I am still forcing myself to drink lots of water. From Saturday afternoon to Monday afternoon, I lost around 10 pounds, mostly water weight but some mass as I ate effectively nothing for a day and a half.

And my boss is peeved that I called in sick yesterday, I think. Even though it would have been an extraordinarily ugly day if I had come in, nothing like puking on clients to make that big impression.

I'm not well but I am better.

My dear wife is not well right now either but her issues are not health, they are employment based. I will devote a full post to her situation once the stoppers have been removed. For now, I can just say that a company attempting to break into the Top 500 Best Companies in America to Work For should really be paying one hell of a lot more attention to the grumbling in the trenches. Disgruntled employees do not a Top 500 company make.

This was originally written back in 1994 and is part of a short series of stories regarding the cabin in the woods.

I always loved pulling off the main road and onto the rocky trail that led into the woods. It was a physical seperation from the rest of the world and it made me feel as if the day's cares slipped off my shoulders effortlessly. Across the little bridge and up the wash I drove the little Honda, up into the huge and ancient pine trees. I would back the car into its spot which didn't really qualify as a parking place it was really just a convienient place to turn around so I could leave in the morning.

Gathering up my pack and the bag of food after strapping on my pistol I would flip on the flashlight and walk further into the black night. All the sounds of the forest would deaden in a moving radius around me as I followed the track. Sometimes a coyote would howl far off in the night, its keening carrying across the expanse of the lake as if it was standing right next to me.

Occasionally there would be a loud snap very close at hand, just off the trail in the undergrowth. Deer sometimes got curious and approached my swinging light but more often than not it was just a beaver or some other little critter. Most times I'd have packed the groceries into the pack and would be able to respond to anything that was too close for my comfort, usually just drawing the little gun and racking the slide. I'd never had to use it but at least I wouldn't go down without a fight if it came to that.

The lower pond was almost always quiet but that night there was a beaver slapping around on the far shore. I called to him in a baritone clicking, my attempt at interspecies communication. He or she stopped and waited until I had passed on to the upper lake area, the big one.

A row of pines obscured the vision of the whole expanse until I would turn that final corner and it would be revealed in its single, startling flatness. On a clear night the moon would reflect off of it, illuminating the world in the blue glow. Occasionally, if it was warm and I was particularly enthused I would swim under and among the stars, relishing the privacy afforded by my mountain retreat.

The first few times I would venture out cautiously, my nakedness somehow offensive. In time it became comfortable and fun to swim out into the center of the lake to float on my back and stare up at the stars or the glow from the moon. The beavers weren't pleased about sharing the lake with me and showed it by smacking the surface with thier tails in a warning to stay away. I suppose the fear came from a childhood of those horror films that seem so stupid now when I'm old enough to know better. The deranged pyscho that lives at the bottom of the lake waiting to drag the unsuspecting swimmer to his or her watery grave.

And there was the short lived fear of fish finding my shrunken phallus a tasty little worm. A worry based on the silly notion that fish can see in utter darkness and wouldn't be concerned by the rest of my submerged body.

Quickly adjusting to the cool waters I'd stroke out aways, listening to the world around me. The great blue herons in their sanctuary above the submerged island, crackling at each other like an angry tea party in some faraway foreign language. The dog way across the water, shouting its defiance of some night scavenger poking through the remains of the day's leavings. And in between there would be lulls when the subtle sounds of the woods would make themselves heard. The light breeze shifting the leathery leaves in the stand of birches that would soon turn into the frozen fire of autumn's exacting deadline. Water lapping at the dock, echoing in ever quieting waves in the float barrels underneath.

Pulling my shivery frame from the water I might lie on the weathered wood of the dock. Absorbing the moon's purifying rays, thinking about things I had no business analyzing or just wondering when I might have to pack and leave my mountain aerie. Even the cold felt good in a sort of roughing it kind of Grizzly Adams sort of way. I felt superior for having chopped my ties with the modern world and its trinkets of convienence.

But the cabin wasn't so rustic as to require me to eat cold food or wander about with only my flashlight to giude my way and keep me from bumping into the ornaments. My gas lantern was too noisy but the three or four oil lamps were silent and the flickering glow was a distinct and welcome change from the unblinking hiss of the propane's mantle or those filaments lights in other folk's homes. Yeah, I'd gotten somewhat superior and it showed in funny ways.

I had a cooler out on the deck that would keep a five pound bag of ice for almost three days. Stocked with beer that was always useful, milk that never lasted more than a day and other various incidentals. If I felt like it I would start a fire in the woodstove, rapidly turning the cabin into a sauna, steaming myself to some obscure purity. It was fun to cook over a woodstove, fun and messy sometimes. Mostly I would heat water on it and use the propane stove for any fine work that needed doing. Just like hot dogs tasting better at the ballpark, food cooked in the out of doors always commands a more flavorful bouqet. Even mundane meals like chili or beans would taste better if eaten on the deck with the citronella buckets flaming on three sides.

Those buckets were a source of darkness dispelling light and an irresistable attractant for the myriad night flying annoyances, the moths, mosquitos, and any mother little wing-ed bugs. Three inch flames licking into the night, crackling with each kill as the carcass would sink into the amber wax to be fossilized and preserved forever. I had arranged for my hammock to reach out the door so I could rest myself in a position able to write and to drink from my keg-cum-table where I kept my evening drink.

The cabin had magically been stocked with alcohol, gifts of bottles appeared, friends arrived and left half full liters. I had accumuluated a store of five or six different kinds of whiskey, the writers lubricant, along with a couple vodkas, rums, gins (which I personally hated but kept out of frugality), Kahlua and some lovely Malibu coconut rum. On a given evening I would be able to whip up any of a dozen drinks complete with happy glasses and swizzle sticks that I had appropiated from my work place where I tended bar.

I was hopeful that I'd wake up feeling like a million bucks and the nightmare that was Easter 2005 would be behind me. And, in many ways, it has passed but I guess I'm still being tossed around in the wake of that nasty flu bug.

Ths short story is that I'm home today, sick and recovering. Trying to take in some fluids and get back to hydrated. I was finally able to eat some toast a little while ago, my first solid food since Saturday.

It feels like someone slipped a cannonball into my stomach when I wasn't looking because my belly is an unhappy and heavy ball of anger.

And, to make matters worse, a spider decided to stop by the bed last night and sink its fangs into me. It bit me seven times on my elbow which has pretty much made my elbow its own special little ball of fury.

So, needless to say, I'll be trying to recover today. And, when I'm feeling slightly more peppy than now, I'm going on a damned spider hunt.

[Update: Now that the swelling has gone, the bite count has risen substantially from 7 to 15 bites. That spider will be good fun to squash when I do find him.]

I don't know if its flu or something but so far, this Sunday has been marked by frenzied and repeated trips to the porcelain goddess.

Like a wave of sick that washes over me, I'll be fine one moment and sprinting for a can or toilet the next.

I'm weak, pissed off and tired. Just the rest I needed from the weekend. And I had better be well enough to go to work in the morning because there are some big to-do's in the works and I don't get credit if I'm not there to make them happen.

When I look at this old picture of me taken back in around 1971 or so, I was 2 years old or thereabouts. I see Graydon. I see his bright eyes, I see his grin, I see the excitement he has for life.

I rather like looking back 34 years and seeing my son today.

I don't think we'll have anywhere near as much trouble keeping the sunglasses on in the mornings now. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon and we brought Graydon out into the backyard. After squinting for a little bit, I went and grabbed his little sunnies and slipped them on.

He started grinning immediately and, if you ask me, he looks totally cool.

Just read a short article about something called the Fox Blocker that is basically a filter you attach to your cable before pluggin it into your TV. A longer news article about it is available here or just Google It.

What does it do? It blocks the reception of Fox News. The inventor contends that Fox News presents what is, essentially, opinion as news and never retracts or corrects reported inaccuracies.

I think I want one but I'm still pretty fully capable of just not watching that channel.

I am amazed at how incredibly poor some people's interpersonal skills are and how terrible many people's manners are when in a public place.

A good place to start is how you behave in lines. You see, lines (or queues to our Brit pals from across the pond) are a part of life. They suck and it sucks wasting time standing in a line. But that does not, by any stretch, give you the right to jaw away with the teller once you do get served. Get your shit done and move aside so that those other people waiting in the line do not start to wish painful things to happen to you while you talk about what you planted in your garden or the last episode of The Apprentice or, worse, American Idol.

And if you're standing behind me, quit fucking sighing every few minutes as if the world should lay down at your feet. Also, if you're standing behind me and feel the need to slag other people around you, why not just shut the fuck up instead? Or look in the mirror and get a gander at yourself, you aren't any fucking prize, ya fugly bugger.

Here's another good one, if you bump into someone by accident or intentionally, its considered polite to say "Pardon me" or "Excuse me." Or, if you have to walk in front of someone, you should excuse yourself. And if someone says "Excuse me" to you, react. Don't stand there like a statue, allow them space to pass. People at Target last night seemed to have cotton in their ears or just didn't know what the fuck I was saying because they stood their ground like assholes when we tried to move past them. The term is HUA, it means Head Up Ass, wake up and join the rest of the world.

Flower vendors, here's an easy one. BACK. THE. FUCK. OFF. If I want to buy flowers from you, I will. Blocking a parking spot and then hanging around while I get my son out of his car seat in the expectation that I'll buy your flowers is a fuckin' guarantee that you'll never see a penny of mine. And then proceeding to give me an evil stare and glare at my wife means you're treading close to getting your ass kicked. Its not your parking lot, the parking space isn't yours to give away in the hopes that I'll buy your flowers. I know you've gotta sell your flowers and all but being an asshole about really just won't work, at least not on me. And I'll have no problems telling you so.

The last one is the lowest of the low hanging fruit. When you're approaching a traffic light and its already turned yellow and you're still a hundred feet or more from the intersection, stop. By the time you enter the intersection, the light will be red and you will be both breaking the law and pissing off people who have already been waiting to get through the intersection. Its easy, obey the traffic laws and quit acting like the world belongs to you, unless the world really does belong to you and then I'd say upgrade your piece of shit Honda Civic if you've got that kind of jack.

Follow these simple rules and let's all work to improve the quality of our interactions throughout the day. Please, excuse me, thank you, sorry and you are welcome aren't hard to say and they will smooth your way each time.

I just came across this pic from the FlickrBlog and am amazed and encouraged to try and give it a go.

The idea is to make your computer screen look like its transparent. This is an excellent example of the final effect when its done right.

Highly cool!

Coming together at a certain time and in a certain space, people form friendships that hold together for a short or longer time before the pull of alternate orbits tears apart those relationships.

A couple of years ago, when this picture was taken, both Curt and Courteney were very good friends of mine. We saw each other almost everyday, partied together, played volleyball, skinny dipped (well, with Court, not Curt) and passed out with in a big jumble.

Fast forward a couple of years to now and Curt has moved back down south to be closer to his kids and Court has moved across town and into a more healthy living arrangement. I've moved out of town and down the highway a few exits.

I haven't spoken to Curt since just a couple of weeks before my wedding. And I run into Court every so often but its never quite what it was.

Not lamenting the passage of time and the loss of friendships, there are always new and interesting people to meet and get to know. And its not like the entire crew has dispersed. Many of them are still there and we get together for volleyball or poker or parties or whatever. Its not a bad thing, just something that looking at this picture makes me think of.

That and we used to spend entirely too much time in the two neighborhood bars.

A long lost Cheddar X, found and presented for your approval.

1. When did you last get yourself good and lost?
I didn't get really good and lost but my last trip to San Francisco, I made a left when I should have gone straight and had to go on a multiple mile loop to get back to where I was supposed to go. Its one thing that infuriates me about the city, one mistake and it'll cost you a half hour.

2. Did you stop and ask for directions or just drive until you found someplace you knew?
I kept going. I knew where I needed to be but traffic signs and traffic prevented me from realizing my goal.

3. How far out of your way have you gone because you didn't want to stop for directions?
On my first trip to the East Bay to visit my girlfriend years ago, I made the mistake of heading in the wrong direction on 680. I went about 30 to 40 miles before I finally gave in and pulled over to figure out where the hell I was.

4. What's the best place, person or thing you've found while lost?
A little Mexican restuarant in Guadalupe, Arizona just outside of Tempe. We were cruising, got lost, found this spot and ended up going back at least once a week for the next year and a half. Great, great tacos, excellent spiced carrots and cheap as cheap can be for poor college students.

5. Do you ever get yourself lost on purpose, just so you can find your way home?
When I first moved to Arizona, I would "outlast" my new pals and would be up at around 3 in the morning regularly. This was before ubiquitous Playstations and broadband internet so I had to find other ways to entertain myself. I would get on my mountain bike with the road slicks and pedal off in a direction for a half hour or so. I'd lose myself on back roads and neighborhoods and then would have to figure out how to find my way home. It was a great way to learn the city and I kept myself in superb shape.

6. When was the last time you were lost in the woods?
I don't generally get lost when I'm in the woods. I can get lost in a city pretty easily but getting lost in the woods isn't quite the same. There are almost always faraway landmarks that make it pretty straightforward to figure out where you are. The last time that comes to mind was back in 1988 when I was on a three month wilderness course, we were just learning how to navigate by topo map and compass. And we hadn't quite learned the ins and outs of the process so we walked about three times further than we should have.

And that's my cheese! Yahoo!

I just read this article in the LA Weekly about a new Censor Alert in which the Republican's in control of our government are attempting to make pretty sweeping changes to what you can see and hear and read on cable TV and the internet.

The man spearheading this assault is Ted Stevens, an old Republican Senator. They are working to pass an "indecency" bill that will regulate radio and TV broadcasters that includes a harsh government imposed ratings system.

Sadly, a TIME poll this week showed that more Americans favor more censorship. Fifty three percent want stricter censorship of sex and violence. Forty nine percent want the FCC regs to extend to basic cable, including MTV and E! (not that I give a shit about either of those channels since they both blow red hot donkey chunks).

But the part that bothers me is that he wants to extend these new "decency" laws to the internet. Regardless of the fact that its not within our right or power to control, the internet is a global entity, it cannot be subjected to the asshattish whims of one old man who thinks two piece swimsuits are the devil's work.

When you cannot address your critic's claims directly, silence them by subterfuge. These fucks are brazenly assaulting the fundamental tenets of what this country was founded on because they are attempting to appeal to an ever more fucking old-time-religion fundamentalist movement that thinks creationism is just as likely as evolution.

I'm all for disclosure, I'm all for rounding up the false journaliststs, I'm all for truth in reporting but I am completely opposed to allowing the stupid old one-foot-in-the-grave Washington dinkbags to tell me that I'm no longer allowed to speak my mind because it bothers them. FUCK YOU, TED STEVENS, FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING MORAL SUPERIORITY (no skeletons in your closets? I'm sure. Just like what's his name, Strom "Black People are Inferior but Don't Look in my Past and Find my Illegitimate half-black daughter" Thurmond).

The hypocrisy would be laughable if it weren't so fucking deadly serious what they are trying to do.

Like everyone else, I've been inundated with the imagery and rhetoric surrounding the case of Terri Schiavo (I will presume that you know the details of the case, if not then try to get out from under your rock more often).

First off, asshole corrupt politicians should shut the fuck up and get back to fucking work (and no, that doesn't mean interrogating 'roided up baseball players). Tom DeLay moralizing about Terri Schiavo is beyond grotesque, its a mockery of morals and he should truly be ashamed of himself for trying to use her as a tool to win some sympathy and take the spotlight off his own corrupt dealings.

Secondly, the drama unfolding outside her hospital is ridiculous. Kids being arrested for trying to smuggle in a glass of water? Here's the thing, you could give her all the water in the world, you could cook a thousand course dinner for her and it still wouldn't amount to a pile of regurgitated beans. She's in a vegetative state, she's incapable of feeding herself, she has to be fed through a tube or she dies. The histrionics and extreme measures that people are going to in order to register their beliefs about her living or dying is ugly and myopic.

Where were all of these people five years ago? Ten years ago? Fifteen years ago when she first took ill?

Why all the hype now? Because its politically expedient, because now is a good time to use her case as a bludgeon. You're either for life and want her to live or you're a disgusting ass-fucking liberal terrorist sympathizer scumbag who thinks she should die as slowly and painfully as possible. At least that's the sentiment I've read from supporters of her right to life.

She has a right to life but "she" doesn't exist any longer. "She", Terri Schiavo, the wife, daughter, etc. ceased to exist 15 years ago. Her body is not Terri Schiavo. Her mind is where Terri Schiavo lived and her mind is gone. Terri is gone with it.

I'm not advocating letting her slowly starve to death even though the doctors say she can't suffer at all during the process. The emotional toll of watching a loved one wither away and die is awful and inhumane.

There is no good solution, there is only closure. It would be really nice if all of the people laying their own issues on this matter would really just shut the hell up (that means you too, you Christian Coalition dinkbags who think you can speak for people who aren't even a part of your faith). And Jeb Bush is trying to assume guardianship so he can force the feeding tube back in? Um yeah, work the media, Jeb, I'm sure this is really and truly a close personal issue for you that you feel you can blow as much of your political capital as possible to win the right to "save" her.

Let her body die. Its really the only closure that makes any sense.

So I dropped the Fiz Box guestbook link from the main page last week. And, since then, I've gotten three notices of new posts, all from dumbass fuckknob spammers who load up a post with hundreds of misformatted html links to sites that they apparently get paid for pushing traffic towards.

Only thing is, they're wasting their time. The guestbook isn't linked to the front page anymore and I'm the only one who will ever see it and I look at it solely to delete it.

Main reason I dropped the guestbook is that it was pretty much only getting used by idiots and assholes. And they've got plenty of other outlets for their lazy marketing efforts. So, hey, have it at, tards. I'll still go through and delete them but any efforts you waste are efforts you can't bug more people with your crappy links.

It used to be that oversleeping could likely only result in one thing, being late for work. But now, oversleeping can result in your tumbling down your stairs in an effort to hit the snooze button as your Alarm Clock Moves Away from you intentionally and deliberately.

Its kind of a clever idea but the reality is that no one wants to chase their stupid alarm clock in the morning. Now, give me an alarm clock I can repeatedly turn off with a hammer and we're talking.

I don't have an alarm clock, I have a dog, a baby and a wife. I've slept about fifteen minutes in the last 8 months.

One of my favorite aspects of living near the ocean is the ability to walk the beach after those huge winter storms. The debris and detritus is fascinating and there are always excellent photo ops that present themselves.

On this day, the beach had been literally covered all the way up and down its length. Among the many neat shots I got, there was this one of a nearly full bottle of Wolfschmidt vodka. Wolfschmidt is, for those that aren't knowing, a big step down from crap vodkas like Popov.

I did not open the bottle and sample the vodka within. I may be reckless but I would not call myself delusionally stupid.


This week's new Digital Photo Challenge is: In The Beginning.... Not sure what that means and they aren't telling so its an open to interpretation challenge. Time to get out for some lunch and see if I can find the winnah!

There's been lots and lots of attention on steroids in baseball thanks to Jose Canseco and his "tell-all" book.

First off, Jose Canseco doesn't give a damn about anybody but Jose Canseco. He didn't write his book, well, he actually probably didn't write the book at all, but he didn't write the book to help keep kids of steroids. He didn't write the book to shine a light on the drug problem in major league baseball. He wrote the book to make money while taking easy shots at the sport that he feels owes him still even though he's a punk bitch who wouldn't have made it without the drugs.

Canseco is a self-absorbed dickfaced traitor to his sports, his ex-teammates and any remaining fans he might have once had. He's about making a buck, not helping other people. The sole positive thing I can say about him is that at least he got a fucking new haircut before the Congressional hearings. The bowl cut thing just looked utterly ridiculous, not that he's improved much but the new 'do is a step up.

That said, I would like to suggest to Major League Baseball how to permanently fix the steroid issue in baseball. Its simple but incredibly painful to implement.

The IP Steroid Testing Solution for Major League Baseball:

1. All steroid testing is to be done by an independent third agency and verified by another agency. All positive tests will require an immediate verification by retest.
2. All contracts will include a steroid clause that states: Steroids will not be tolerated in MLB, the first positive steroid result will incur the loss of an entire year's pay, including pay already recieved.
3. Second positive result for steroids results in a one year ban and loss of pay.
4. Third positive result for steroids equals a lifetime ban from the sport.

Write that into every contract moving forward and the stakes become far too high for a player to risk. Steroids would become a memory within a couple of years and with a couple of high profile "outings" and a banning or two.

But it won't happen unless the Bud "No Conflict of Interest" Selig steps aside and lets someone with some power take over running the sport. If the players want a level playing field then this is how to go about making one. It isn't complicated but don't confuse simplicity with easy. This will suck to put into practice but the game will be far stronger in the end because of it.

I am curious though, what did you all think of the hearings? Did Big Mac kill any chance at the Hall of Fame? Is Jose Canseco as enormous a douchebag as he appeared to be? Does anyone out there think Sammy's clean? What about Barry? How would you, or would you, change the record books?

Let's describe a scenario and see if you end up wanting to use a stun gun, pepper spray and baton on an unarmed kid.

You are a cop and recieve a call that there's a suspicious person in a neighborhood. You arrive, see the alleged perp, call out to him, he doesn't respond but its apparent that there's something not quite right with him. He doesn't look like a bum, doesn't stink like urine, doesn't have holey clothes and looks like he's combed his hair this year.

Do you tell him to stop a couple of times and then bring the beat down? If you're a cop in Mountain Gate, California, you do. Deputies beat autistic teen on mistaken ID.

Nice work, officers. You beat the shit out of an unarmed and harmless autistic kid. I hope all the cops involved lose their jobs, are sued for damages and end up going to prison for the incredibly bad judgment they displayed in assaulting this kid. Seriously, WTF? is wrong with law enforcement these days? They are so ready to bring out the beat sticks, its scary. I half expect a beating when I get pulled over for a traffic violation.

[Update: Upon reflection and Easy's comment, I've rethought my initial reaction to this article and actually believe that, given the circumstances, the kid is pretty lucky to be alive. In this day and age of shoot first and ask questions at the trial, this kid did everything wrong (unknowingly but hindsight's a bitch, ain't it?) and ended up being injured but did not get dead as could have easily happened. The blame for his escape lies with his family for A) not making sure he was safely secured and B) not informing all of their neighbors about his condition and what to do if he did happen to get "out" (makes him sound like a dog).

Apologies for the knee-jerk reaction, I'm human and am prone to making an error here or there (you can't see it but I mistyped there a second ago).]

I graduated from college a couple of years ago and have some student loans that I've been paying off once the six month grace period ended. After a few months of writing three or four different checks to my loan companies, I consolidated the loans into one nice easy to see account.

The thing with student loan consolidation is that you can only do it once. And my loans have been consolidated. You'd think there might be some notification that the companies just aching to take over my loans would get, you'd think they'd keep track of what loans have and have not been consolidated. You'd think these moron companies would stop sending me Pre-Approved notices for offers that I'm not eligible for.

But no, they just keep on sending me more and more offers that I couldn't take advantage of, even if I wanted to. At least the telemarketers have finally given up.

I also really like the credit card companies that send their offers in very plain envelopes in the hopes that I'll open them and being totally blown away by their 22.94% interest rates (the mob only charges 20% so um yeah!). Pre-opened trash is just about as useful as post-open trash.

But then, I suppose its probably cheaper to flood the system rather than actually removing people that are ineligible. And maybe that's part of the problem?

Some guy is giving away a Free Trebuchet Catapult. Not a full scale model, no this could be a pickup truck mounted mobile launch pad.

The possibilities are endless.

Do you think my boss would notice if I took a 130 hour lunch break to drive to Massachusetts to pick it up?

Thanks to e. for the headsup!