Axilla

Homage to the Bard of Booze and Broads

2009-07-09T13:15:00.001-07:00

The words on the wall
Said BIG THINGS
But when the sign fell
It left no shadow

If Donkeys Were Wishes....

2009-03-19T06:42:00.000-07:00

If Spam emails were true, I’d never shit again, be filthy rich, have a closet of Ipods, Wii;s, Laptops, be thin as a rail, live for ever and have a 50 inch cock!

Ah, if only I clicked on those links, Sigh!

;0)

Nameless Poem

2009-03-16T11:30:00.001-07:00

All I have
is all I was,
and what just
might happen
to be.
I am the nexus;
the turning point.
The now lives
only within me.

Open Letter fo My Friends

2009-02-23T12:08:00.000-08:00

Recently, I joined Facebook, a social networking site. I had never much interest in these sorts of things, until an old friend from High School contacted me via this medium. I had a little experience with MySpace and found it to be too cumbersome and slow, so I never really got into it. Through Facebook, whose features seem more streamlined and actually useful than MySpace, I was able to connect with family and friends as well as find old friends. It’s a marvelous tool for helping people stay in touch and stay in touch at a level heretofore unknown. In addition to sharing photos, movies, likes and dislikes, you can share all the subtle nuances that go on in our day to day lives, such as what are you thinking or doing at this moment and other small tidbits of personal information, through surveys such as “44 odd/random things about me”.

Part of the appeal of Facebook and other such programs is the ability to find and communicate with old friends from the past, like people with whom you went to High School. It was this part of my Facebook journey that struck me as personally poignant.

One of the features of Facebook it helps you contact people you may know, making suggestions for you, based on who you email, and it displays your ‘Friends” in a little box on your home page. Just like in reality, no one on Facebook wants to be seen as not having friends and indeed some people have hundreds. It seems that part of the goal on Facebook is to “collect friends” regardless of how much a person really is your ‘friend”. I was even contacted by people with whom I work and asked to be their Facebook friend, even though I do not socialize with them at all.

Thus, I too began my journey to collect friends. A journey not unfilled with some difficulty. Whereas I struggled to get up towards 20 friends, people I know who joined Facebook after me soon had many more friends than I…. and this bothered me. Thus, it caused me to reflect on my status with respect to my ‘social network”.

Part of my difficulty in accumulating Facebook Friends stems from the fact that I come from a small family, so “check”, less people there in my life to count on as a Friend. Another issue is that some of my closest friends from “back in the day” are now dead or have dropped of the grid entirely. Thus, “check”, yet another reason why my Friends count is challenged.

But it was when I reached out to old friends from the past that I had a bit of a revelation and that was, I may not have been a very good friend! I was not super popular in High School, but I had a small core group of close friends; we even called ourselves the “Famn Damily”. However, over the years many of these people drifted away from me, or perhaps more correctly said, I drifted away from them. Through ego and self preoccupation, I let people I cared about disappear from my life. Even worse, while I imagined that I was the receiver of many a slight from some so-called friends, the perspective of the past 20 years reveals to me, that I was not that kind either and in some cases, I may have been down right mean.

I’m not sure why I was this way. Perhaps, it’s the nature of kids to be this way, or perhaps I was making up for some shortcoming elsewhere, or perhaps I have softened as the years go by. I don’t know, I am still on this journey; trying to figure out the reasons for what I have come to learn about myself.

Regardless of what I discover, I have made a personal commitment to try and be a better friend, in person and not just on Facebook; to be less self-absorbed and more attuned to others needs. Thus, I say to you, if you are reading this and you are a friend of mine, please accept my apology if I have not been the best of friends to you and please know that, while I may have appeared to be self centered, I care about you deeply. Thank you for being there for me, thank you for being my friend.

Irony Part 2

2009-02-15T05:34:00.000-08:00

Recently, I posted an article here entitled, Irony, about my trials and tribulations with snowblowers. If you read the story, you know that my neighbor has been storing his snow blower in my garage. Well, shortly after he began storing it here, IT BROKE DOWN. So, once again, I have 2 BROKEN snowblowers in my garage. The moral of the story must be, dont store snowblowers in my garage!

Brrr. I'm Cold. Where is my Fur?

2009-02-13T13:38:00.000-08:00

There are a number of people out there who believe the evolution is a mistaken notion and that it is just “a theory”. Additionally, there are many people who believe that global warming is just a another erroneous concept, yet another theory.

Perhaps no one has said this to you, if you are one of these people, but failure to believe in evolution is not an expression of your faith, it’s merely a demonstration of your ignorance! Evolution is a fact! Proven, scientifically. Period. Saying it’s a theory is like saying the sun is a theory. If you had more than a 6th grade education then you would know this.

People who disbelieve the global warming scientists point to the fact that, “gee, its winter and its cold, where is your global warming?” There are still people who believe the world is flat. Are you one of them too? It looks flat doesn’t it? Can you see it being round? Hmm. But we know that it is round and we know that there is proof of climate change. Yes, there may be one or two scientists who disagree, but the overwhelming evidence from scientists of every stripe is that climate change is a fact! A little publication called Scientific American believes climate change is occurring, so your scientist at the local community college disagrees, so to you, it aint real. Oh, you great thinker you. YOU know the truth, when 95% of the REAL scientists believe in climate change and all of them believe in evolution.

Well, I am here to tell you, in case no one has, to get your head out of your ass! Its time to move on from your ignorant points of view. Now you will at least have more important things to do with your time, like fighting abortion and the war on drugs! Rock on!

My 200th Geocache!

2009-02-12T10:23:00.001-08:00

#200

This cache marks my 200th. I have been caching for nearly 6 years. I hit my 100th cache 3 years ago, so I am averaging about 33 caches a year, a casual cacher by some accounts. However, some people I know of who were going great guns and had over 1,000 caches or more have not cached in awhile. Like many things I think geocaching can become an addiction. Some people “binge” and go crazy ticking of caches, others, such as myself, we plod along, but perhaps we have integrated caching more into a lifestyle and less as a fad; some other hobby we pick up and then move on from, to the next craze.

For some, caching is all about the find: how many caches you have and finding the next one. For others like me, it’s about the journey, the adventure along the way. Sure, I’d like to find more caches and have more adventure, but I also know that life is about a balance. You have to take care of the family, work, educate yourself, rest and have other hobbies too. Life is what happens to you on the way to the cache.

This cache, my 200th, provides a great example. I had been hovering at 199 caches waiting for my friend Rex to get caught up to 249 so that we could hit our respective milestones together in one epic cache. I had identified a couple of caches that would fit the bill, but the timing never worked out. Then my mom got sick and I had to travel to New Hampster. I don’t get to travel much, so this opportunity afforded me the chance to do a number of caches and in places I get to but rarely. Rex was at 248 and had attempted to find #249, but failed to. I was unaware of this when we agreed to find this unassuming cache as I let out for the north. It was not the “epic cache” I had hoped for in a milestone cache, but it would have to do.

It was when we found the cache that I learned that this was not to be Rex’s milestone. I was a little disappointed, but hey, these things are somewhat arbitrary points on our timelines, aren’t they? I posed for a quick pic, but had to run to get some miles behind me. Rex was off to finally grab his 250 and on any other day, we would probably have made a day of caching ( its been awhile for he and I ). He had shared with me where he was going as we departed.

I got a few miles up the road when I thought, what the heck! And I turned down the road I knew that Rex would travel, hoping to catch up with him and share in his milestone as he shared in mine. I waited, but Rex was detained so I left and as I did, I passed him. We spoke on the phone as he parked and then a few minutes later again when he grabbed the cache. So we had to share it in that way.

What caused me to change my mind, was the realization that this “sport” is not about finding the cache, but about the attempt, what you do and see along the way and more importantly, who is with you as you do. Hitting my milestone made me reflect on the times I have spent caching and while I have found 200 caches, I remember best the fun, the good times and the good friends I shared this all with and to quote Robert Frost… that has made all the difference. Here is to # 201! TFTCTNLNSLTTFN. Bonsai!!!

Phelps Pot Pic

2009-02-02T13:59:00.000-08:00

With revelations of a photo showing Michael Phelps’ use of a bong to smoke marijuana still reverberating around the internet, some have begun to wonder if his sponsors will stand by their man or abandon ship.

While we have yet to hear official statements from the likes of Nike or Speedo, companies for whom Michael is a spokesperson, ironically, bong manufacturers are lining up in droves to sign a deal with Michael to endorse their products….

Stay tuned.

Channeling My Inner Shakespeare

2009-02-02T11:51:00.000-08:00

Deep beneath winters downy throw
Sleeps abed, a dreaming spring,
of tomorrows bloom,
a hope to grow,
and rise in mornings
wakening.

Open Letter to Our Elected Officials

2009-01-31T06:34:00.001-08:00

Dear ;

There is a crisis in Connecticut looming with regard to the supports to people with mental illness and intellectual disabilities. Misplaced liability, over regulation, lack of resources and a system with conflicting and overlapping requirements has created an untenable situation; a situation which necessitates immediate change. If we fail to act, providers will close shop, their employees will leave for better opportunities and vulnerable people will die. In short, the system will cease to function.
I have worked in the human services business for nearly 25 years. During this time I have seen significant change and the lack of change as well. My opinions come from my personal experience and observation. While I still work in the field, my opinions are my own and I write this as a taxpayer and a voter.
Since the first days of deinstitutionalization the state has gotten it wrong. In the beginning, when medicine and psychological interventions made it a realistic option to support people in the community, rather than in institutions, vulnerable people were discharged to… nowhere. There were no community supports, no safety nets and little quality of life. The result? Throughout the 1970s and 1980s there was a rising tide of disabled people in homeless shelters, living on the street, in nursing homes and in prison. Finally, someone got the bright idea to put resources in place to help these individuals to be successful in the community and, surprise, they were.
However, systemic negligence of this sort still exists today. Our policies and procedures do not support success, but rather they court failure. Here is why:

1) Wrongly placed blame
What the system has done is to take some of the most difficult people on earth, people that could not be helped by armies of men and women in white coats with degrees, and given them to the care of people who are well meaning, but not as educated and certainly not as well paid. Then, when something goes wrong, the professional second guessers blame the staff, when most of the time, barring blatant abuse or neglect, it is a systemic issue.
This situation was exacerbated several years ago by a Hartford Courant investigative article regarding deaths which occurred in the DDS ( then DMR ) system. While probably well intentioned, what the paper failed to recognize is the difficulties that can exist in caring for some of these people. We are talking about people who are suicidal, highly medically fragile or who are dangerous to themselves. The Hartford Courant article created a wide ranging sense of paranoia in the service delivery system. Mortality review committees were created to investigate “untimely deaths” and, of course, they are almost always going to find something wrong. If you look for a problem, you find it. While these committees have a place, their function seems more about assigning blame rather than improving the system.
What no one says is, “thank you for taking care of these people. You gave them a good quality of life and they lived longer, and better, than they otherwise would have.” Our system focuses on what is wrong and ignores what is done well

2) Misuse of, and lack of, funds
One of the main keys to good care is well trained, well motivated and decently paid staff. Unfortunately, this too is an area that has seen systemic neglect. While it may appear that some of these caretakers earn a living wage, their actual buying power has decreased significantly over the years, as inflation has fast outpaced COLA’s. Thus, a person today is actually making quite a bit less than they were in the past! In its infinite wisdom, the state saw fit to not provide a COLA increase to this group this year, only further compounding the problem. Private agencies now compete with large retailers and the like in terms of attracting and retaining staff, whereas we require more skilled and semi-skilled workers.
The folks who are being paid the best are those that work for the state. There is a dramatic difference between what state employees get in pay and benefits over private sector employees (State employees make about $21/hr whereas the average private provider employee gets paid about $14/hour! ) Ironically, the state services are often of less quality than that of private sector providers ( just ask state inspectors ). State employees get paid decently for one reason: they belong to unions. If the private sector were to unionize then, perhaps, better wages and benefits would ensue, but at the same time this would erase most of the cost savings reaped by privatization.
There is also the issue of misallocated funds. 70% of the funding goes to support 30% of the people (in the DDS system at least), while only 30% of the funds go to support a sizeable majority of people needing resources. By the way, the 70% is the funding for the state system and not the private provider system.

3) Regulation does not fit reality
The private sector model of supports, both residential and therapeutic day services, is based on the Social Learning Model. The social learning model focuses on the abilities of people and not their disabilities. Rather than seeing them as sick needing treatment, they are people with unique abilities and challenges. In this model the emphasis is on normalization, education and support in environments which are as home-like, or as work-like, as possible
However, as we experience an aging population this group has more and more medical care needs, which have not been accounted for or budgeted for. As more medical care is required, the medical model has crept more and more into the lives of private caregivers. This requires nursing and nursing assessment.
That’s all well and fine in a hospital or a convalescent home, but in a group home the nearest nurse can be miles away, or as close as the nearest ER, which is the primary care that many of the people I have identified receive.
The Connecticut Nursing Practice Act states that only licensed people can do certain tasks and the top of the food chain, besides doctors, are RNs. There are supposedly 55,000 RNs in Connecticut, but most of them are not practicing. Thus, we strain a system already under strain. The system demands RN’s of which there are few. We demand LPNs, which are also in short supply and who cannot really do anything in absence of direction from an RN anyway. We make all these demands, but the system does not pay for them. What we have is barely trained non-licensed people increasingly doing the work of licensed medical personnel.
While these staff can do some of the functions they need to ( such as take vital signs ) more significant care calls for a nurse and since there is no nurse physically present, we end up taking these clients to emergency rooms, which are also under significant strain and the most expensive sort of care. Of course, this cost is borne by the taxpayer.
Furthermore, since our regulations are so complex, many doctors are not familiar with them and moreover do not want to be bothered to jump through all the hoops we need them to jump through, in terms of red tape and paperwork. The end result? Less providers willing to help and even more challenges to service delivery.
The Nursing Practice Act also creates another complexity. Because a nurse has trained a non-licensed care provider, if that employee makes a mistake, the nurse can also be ( and are ) held responsible. This is the case even if the nurse is not physically present.
How many nurses do you think want to participate in this form of arrangement? It is noteworthy that this is not the case in other states. It does not make sense to hold someone else responsible for the actions of another.
It is also important to note that there are also vast discrepancies between state agencies. For example, under the DDS system medication administration is strictly controlled, whereas under DMHAS there is little training and the rules are not enforced, even though the exact same tasks are provided and the same regulations should apply.

4) Complicated, overlapping and contradictory methods of payment
Currently, in the DDS system at least there are 3 separate methods by which private providers are paid 1) By contract ( the traditional system) 2) By the clients having portable funds, and 3) Fee for Service. These systems exist concurrently. It is so complicated that even DDS employees do not know all the intricacies of how they intermingle. This has caused some sharp criticism by the public of DDS operations (please reference the Country Club Woods Circle group home ).
The issue is even more challenging for private providers. If a client with portable dollars leaves a group home then the next person filling the vacancy must have a similar amount of money. If not, then the provider is not able to properly staff the home. You can easily have “contracted clients” and clients with portable dollars in the same home, making nearly impossible to properly budget for the peoples needs.
Another issue involves when a client has to go into the hospital ( which, given our population, can be often ). If the client is out of the group home for more than 15 days then the provider ceases getting Department of Social Service payments for that individual until they return. It’s not like a private provider can rent out the bed space or lay-off staff. How are providers supposed to deal with this financially?
The complexities and intricacies of this problem are more than I can delineate here, suffice it to say, that the system is broken and in desperate need of repair.

5) Poor Planning
The people in the system are getting older. As they do, their needs increase. The state has neither prepared for, nor budgeted for, what is a clear and simple reality. The costs to support people with special needs only ever increases. However, today, we are being asked to cut our budgets!
While I am not saying that inefficiencies cannot be found in the system, there is very little, as the system was never properly funded in the first place. I wonder what the correlation is between funding cuts and death in the population of people with special needs?
I believe there is a direct and positive correlation. If people do die, please keep in mind what I said above, it will NOT be the fault of the direct support employee.

In closing, the system of service delivery to our most disadvantaged and vulnerable people needs to be streamlined, re-organized and re-evaluated using a healthy dose of common sense. The private provider system, on which much of the service delivery system is based, is seriously threatened by red tape and misguided ideas. The state is supposed to provide the “Arch of Oversight”, however the arch is crumbling.
I am writing to you to urge you to take leadership on these issues. I write to you because I am tired of seeing a system that can do so much, but which falls so short of the mark. As a person with a Masters Degree in Organization and Management and as a part time college professor, I would use this system as an example of how to NOT run an organization. If businesses were run this way they would be out of business.
We privatize so that we can take advantage of the American ideals of entrepreneurship, ingenuity and creativity inherent in private organizations; and because it is a cheaper and more versatile approach to this type of health care than is government and bureaucracy. Let’s not kill it with the same system it was designed to enhance.

Thank you for your time and attention.

Respectfully,

Antony S. Whittaker

LOST

2009-01-30T13:06:00.000-08:00

The true definition of being lost is not that you don’t know where you are, but that you don’t know where you have been! Now that’s lost!

A Warming Thought

2009-01-23T08:34:00.000-08:00

Sign on the door of the local scuba diving shop:

Its 80 degrees somewhere!

A Little Folk Wisdom May Be Called For Here

2009-01-21T09:35:00.000-08:00

It dont matter much who's drivin' if the car won't start.

Irony

2009-01-12T14:49:00.001-08:00

Several years ago my Father-in-Law gave me a snow blower, as I had a new house, complete with driveway, but no way to move the snow except by hand, well, er shovel. My father-in-Law is a big believer in machines. “You can’t have a house without a snow blower”, he said.

Thus, taking pity on me, he bequeathed to me a big hulk of a thing which I later named “Big Bertha”. It was about 20 years old, but in good shape, having been well maintained by my machine loving father-in-law. Bertha was bright yellow and weighed nearly as much as an Oldsmobile. Every time I used the thing, it was like doing 13 hours of hard aerobic exercise, but it served me well for a number of years.

This thing would cut through any snow drift. One time, one of the chains came off the wheel ( I had chains put on because of my steep, slippery drive way ) unbeknownst to me. In my next pass, I ran over the chains and Bertha picked them up and tossed them like so much January snow, that’s how tough this machine was.

Two years ago it died. The auger worked but it would not self propel and without it being able to self propel it is as useless as a stone for moving snow.

My father-in-law had another snow blower, having recently bought yet another new one
( what is it with Father-in-Laws and snow blowers? ), so he again gave me his old one, being the nice guy that he is. This one served me one winter, before it too died. There was something wrong with the drive mechanism in this one as well.

I took it back to his house and after several hours we deduced that a bracket deep inside had broken, causing the drive chain to come off. We ( well, HE ) welded it and it was up and running again. We buttoned it up but because we were in a hurry, we did not really get to test it out. My friend and I picked it up and took it home only to find out when I got it there that it did indeed run, but that it now only ran backwards!

More wasted time, dirty hands and many expletives later, it was running properly. Bear in mind these things are not small and required a trailer and much effort to move back and forth between our homes.

I used it a few times before it died, again; the same problem. Now I had two broken snow blowers and winter looming.

I had two broken snow blowers in my garage for nearly two years, both of them propped up on 5 gallon buckets, with their innards hanging out. They sat there taunting me every time I went into my garage. I fancied I could hear them going “nya, nya, nu nya nya”.

Last year a friend of mine was short on work and he volunteered to fix them for me at a reasonable price. I took him up on it. He did some maintenance work on them too and in the matter of a week I had two running snow blowers! Yeah, I was back in business. It goes without saying that I did not NEED two snow blowers, I was happy that they both ran after having spent $300 dollars. I thought it was a bargain.

That is until it snowed. I hadn’t completed one pass with the newer snow blower, when it died, again! I went ballistic and started to kick it, scream at it and punch it. The upper portion of the machine, where the controls were, was plastic, WAS being the optimal word here. Plastic breaks easily in the cold. With little fragments tinkling like broken icicles.

I went and got Bertha and finished the driveway. I was putting Bertha away, happy to have at least one functioning snow blower, when it too died, AGAIN!. ARGHH! It was the drive mechanism once more. Cursed machines!

Thus, two snow blowers sat broken in my garage for yet another summer.

This past fall I started scouting out places that sell snow blowers. It was still warm out when I was shopping around and asking “when are you getting your snow blowers in?”. Finally, it started to get cold, and the snow blowers made their appearance. In fact , they were plentiful and on sale. But expensive! So I had to save. The clock was ticking, but I thought, “Hey, they cant sell them all, can they? Some one will still have to have some, somewhere, won’t they”?

Then, an early snow storm hit and presto, as quick as ice melts on a hot day, they were all gone. NO ONE had a single snow blower to spare. Again, I took to stalking the home it yourself stores. They kept saying “we are getting a shipment in next week”. “A shipment left New Jersey two days ago”. Now I am no geographic genius, but I am pretty sure it does not take two days to get from New Jersey to Connecticut.

The next week would come and I would toddle of to the store, only to find out that the shipment came in early and sold as quickly. This was like trying to get tickets to see Bruce Springsteen!

Finally, on a lark one afternoon, I called the store and a man there said, “we just got a shipment in, I am unloading them right now”. I nearly had three accidents on my way to the store. As I ran into the store, I saw the snow blower I wanted, all recently assembled and shining brightly right by the front door. I grabbed it and bought it instantly. I was afraid to let it out of my sight while I went to get the car. I was elated. I called all my friends, “guess what, I just bought a BRAND NEW snow blower”.

All I needed now was snow. A week went by, no snow. Then finally, it was looking promising. A N’oreaster, blowing up out of the southwest. This was MY storm. I even hung out my winter flag that said “Let it Snow”. I was ready.

And snow it did. Though we only got 4 inches, I was ready to blow. When the big moment came I went out side all bundled up in my snow blowing finest, only to find that my neighbor had just gotten a used snow blower and he had graciously done a good chunk of my driveway already, returning the favor as I had often done his drive way when I had a working machine. I caught him in mid-act.

“WHAT do you think you are doing?” I yelled at him, a little too loudly, saliva flying out of my mouth and freezing in mid-air. He sheepishly pointed and said, “I am doing your driveway, I thought you’d be happy”.

“Happy!? Happy!”, I shouted. I was apoplectic. “Do I look friggin happy to you?!” “I have a brand new snow blower”, I said, pointing to the bright orange machine peeking out of my garage. “I can do my own drive way thank you!”

My neighbor slunk off. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs as he shuffled up the driveway, unsure of what to make of my anger at his seeming good deed.

I ran to fire up the new machine. This was it. The time had come and I was like a kid at Christmas. No sooner did I have it up and running and purring like a kitten did another neighbor of mine come over with his SNOW PLOW! He waived and stopped in front of my house. “Hey”, he said, “I’ll do your drive way for you, there is no need to worry. Go back inside.” “Oh, hey, did you get a new snow blower”?

I cried a little tear, as I put my machine back in the garage….

This is the definition of irony.

The Tyranny of Things

2008-12-31T10:56:00.000-08:00

In this season of materialistic orgy, I thought this post to be quite apropos.

Everything you have, have ever had, or will ever have, at some point, will cease to be; nothing is constant except change. In the modern western world we are lucky. We have plenty, more than we can want. All it takes is the drive and the means and presto, you have the item of your desire. While people in Haiti literally eat dirt, a person of average means in the US lives better than most nobility in past ages. From gold plated shower curtain rings to sneakers that light up to plastic novelty Santa Clause’s, ours is a world of things.

However, owning things, while a blessing, is also a curse. Things need to be safe guarded; protected. Other people may covet your items and take them. Things can get lost or broken. Many things require maintenance and updating, such as cars and computers. In addition, you have to have a place to store your things, closets, garages, etc. We may have to account for or track our things, such as the registration for our automobiles.

We also get attached to our things. If something we are bonded to gets broken, we may experience real emotional pain. If we can’t find something we are looking for, we can become frustrated and angry. I know that this is a situation I often face; Where the heck is that special cable adapter thingy to the new black box I just purchased? AARGH!

The more things you have the bigger these problems are. In addition, not only do we have the aforementioned issues, we also have another problem. Many things today are designed to break or wear out. Planned obsolesce, its called. How many of you have records ( LPs, remember them? ), eight tracks, cassettes, VCRs etc, which you can no longer use because you can no longer play them. I am on my 4th or 5th version of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon for this very reason.

So now we have to go through the hassle of replacing these things too, beyond just caring for them in life, what happens to them in their “death”? We have to plan for this too. Many pieces of electronic equipment can’t be just thrown away because they are loaded with toxins.

Shopping and the acquisition of things has become a hobby. I often ask people what they do for fun and many people reply “shopping”. It has become a sport. It is what has replaced the hunting and gathering of the past. How many of you have collections? Stamps, coins, etc. I collect shot glasses. At least these are somewhat practical. These items take on a life of their own. Beyond what they are, they also stand for, or represent, something else. Like the collectible silver spoons you often find at touristy type places. These come to symbolize the good times we had and reflect the places we have been. By holding on to these things, it makes the past and it makes us more real… in some way.

But, to return to my opening statement, all of these things are impermanent. The intrinsic value will place upon these items are an illusion, something our mind created. While some things are needed ( like warm clothes ), other things are just “nice to have”. We must realize that while we are indeed fortunate. This can change. If we keep this in mind, that we too will one day be gone and you “cant take it with you”, it will help us see this impermanence and this oppression we experience, but don’t often acknowledge.

I think by acknowledging that there is a certain tyranny inherent in our possessions ( by owning things, they own us ), it will go a long way to helping us be healthier, happier and better adjusted people. Look around and ask yourself, do I need this item, whatever it is? Do I even still want it? And you may find that the answer is often, no. In this way we experience a feeling of lightness, of freedom. And this is the first step on the road towards getting out from under this tyrann... the tyranny of things.

May 2009 bless you with that which matters most… whatever that may be for you.

One of My Favorite Christmas Memories

2008-12-24T12:18:00.000-08:00

This is one of my favorite Christmas memories. It may not appear to be much to you, but it created in me a feeling of utter peace and calm and therefore reflects what I believe Christmas is about.

As a teenager, as many teenagers are, I was somewhat estranged from my family. In some ways my friends became my surrogate family and we were all very close. One close friend in particular, Gabe ( see the previous blog posting of this same name ) often spent important holidays with me and my family, and so it was this particular Christmas when I was about 15 or 16.

Gabe had come over on Christmas Eve and, to get away from the glaring eye of my parents, he and I went to one of our favorite haunts, Our Lady of Mercy School, or OLM. OLM was a small catholic elementary school just about a minute or two from my house. There was a small swing set and some other playground equipment which we would hang out upon and which became the epicenter of our childhood world.

It was easy to get to too, as we would cut through my backyard, the backyard of a neighbor or two, hop a couple of chain link fences and we were there. Hopping the fence was easy as we had identified several well placed trees in advance. We would jump up, grab a branch, put our feet on the fence, swing over, grab another branch and drop down. With practice we could bop over the fence in one well placed smooth motion. While generally, this was simple to do, I did have several pair of jeans with the telltale “L” shaped tear indicative of the sharp fence top which waited to hurt you if you were the slightest bit careless. We had several secret routes such as this and in the way we traveled about town, using routes closed to adults. I am sure my parents were happy to see us go out this night so that we were out from under foot and never questioned where we were going, what we were doing or how long we would be gone, even though it was so cold out.

This Christmas Eve came upon us cold and sharp, but clear and dark, with the stars bright pinpoints of light like you might see in the movies. A crusting of snow covered the ground, dampening all sounds as snow does; making the world seem small, the white snow reflecting and juxtaposing the seemingly endless sky.

The temperature hovered in the mid-twenties and the chains, bars and rubber seats of the swing sets might as well have been carved from the ice and snow itself. I guess it was about 10pm or so as we made our way over to the school, I guess talking about what all young men talk about, sports, girls, school, etc.

My personal favorite piece of play ground equipment was the swings and it had been for my entire childhood. I could easily swing away an entire day without care, pretending to be a spaceship, airplane, or race car.

While it was cold, the temperature ceased to be a concern and soon I was fairly comfortable as I acclimatized to the evening chill. In this way, Gabe and I swung and swung, gibber gabbing away about everything and nothing. To this day, while this memory remains, the topics of our conversation has since well left me.

I do recall that we spoke less and less, comfortable in the silence that only people who are close can share. We sat there swinging until well after midnight. From our vantage point we could take in people’s house lights and even see in a window or two at trees lit waiting for Santa and presents. No one else moved. No one else made a sound. No cars were on the street. It was as still and quiet as I have ever known. I was sure that everyone for miles around were all snug in their beds, save us.

I swung less and less, as did Gabe, until we just sat there, with our feet drawing meaningless hieroglyphs in the muddy snow. In that moment, in that cold dark night, I felt the sort of Christmas peace and deep serenity that tired old songs such as Silent Night sing about. The world ceased to matter. We were caught between youth and adulthood, with the cares of the latter waiting for another day. It was just me, my good friend and the night. The world about us shrank to a pinpoint and time seemed to stop. It felt like we were in a perfect snow globe, waiting for it to be shaken, but which never was.

Since that night, I have tried for, hoped for and looked for that same feeling to return. It never has, though I hold out hope that it may one day still. May you all know this feeling at least once in your lifetime………….Merry Christmas!

Twisted Idioms

2008-12-23T08:37:00.000-08:00

This is a fun little game, take an old saying and make to into something new and
( hopefully ) funny….. Try it!

A stitch in time saves….
You public embarrassment so you dont expose a boob
at half time during a foot ball game

God helps those….
Who did not need help in the first place.

To err is human to forgive is…
Up for negotiation

A bird in the hand is….
Lunch!

A thing of beauty is….
Something you have to remember to remove the
Inventory control tag from when you leave the store.

A friend in need is….
An opportunity for a little light extortion.

When the going gets tough…
Its time for new shocks!

Its always darkest…
Just before I a take my Prozac.

Winter Solstice

2008-12-22T07:42:00.000-08:00

?

2008-12-18T11:13:00.000-08:00

If a man blogs and no one reads it
does it matter?

A Dalai Lama Christmas!

2008-12-12T14:14:00.000-08:00

A Dalai Lama Christmas
Sung to the tune of Holly, Jolly Christmas

Have a Dalai Lama Christmas
Party like a Buddhist with me
I don’t know if we’ll be reborn
So have some butter tea!

Have a Dalai Lama Christmas
And when you walk down the street
Say namasate to friends you know
And everyone you meet

Oh, Ho the dorje
Held for all to see
Monks chant, Mani Padre Om
Meditate along with me.

Have a Dalai Lama Christmas,
Keep your karma clear
And Oh by golly, lets have a Dalai Lama
Christmas this year.

2008-12-11T09:28:00.001-08:00

The deeper the well,
the further the fall.

Let the Ducks Fly

2008-12-03T13:16:00.001-08:00

Let the Ducks Fly

It was a balmy midnight at the height of late summer. A bright full moon glared down, reflecting off the nearby reservoir and making it nearly as bright as day; perhaps day time during a solar eclipse. My friend and I had been partying all day and we had stopped off at one of my favorite spots to take in the chill bucolic scene. A mild breeze blew across the reservoir and tugged at our sleeves. It was still as could be, nary a sound broke the silence save for the crickets and peepers. There were only a few houses nearby in this rural area dotted by apple orchards and protected by windy twisty roads. There were no light, but the few stars which outshone the moon.

We had spent the day at a local fall festival, The Apple Harvest, where we had scored some really good mind altering chemicals from a local radio station’s booth at the fair, of all places, from one of the on air talent. We had waited until evening to sample the wares and things were starting to kick in, thus inspiring our desire to visit the nighted woods.

In the near distance a car drove by and, surprisingly, it stopped. Voices carried across the open fields, puncturing the silence and arriving at our ears. I could faintly discern the words, “thanks for the ride” waft across to us. As we stood watching, not saying a word, the car drove off leaving a shadow where it had been; a shadow in the shape of a man. We continued to watch, struggling to come to grips with what we were seeing, while the shadow made its way towards us. Who is this person? Why were they being dropped off here? Why are they coming here? What…?

We didn’t move. We didn’t speak. Until, the shadow was upon us. “Well, hi there”, said the shadow only slightly darker than the surrounding night. “Hi”, we managed to reply as the air around us turned into a Van Gogh painting, tingeing the night in a pallet of colors.

And that’s how we came to talk to this shadow man. It turns out that his name, or at least the name he went by, was “War Eagle”. He carried a small backpack and a large guitar case. He told us that he used to be married, but was recently divorced and homeless. Well, not exactly homeless, but that he had been living in the woods surrounding this body of water, for most of the summer, doing the occasional odd job, fending for himself and living off the land. I knew the area well and asked him where he was camped, but he avoided the question.

He told us that he was a musician and that he played regular gigs as a one man band, singer, songwriter. Explaining his showing up at this time, he told us that he had just come back from a show in Springfield and had managed to hitch a ride. Its amazing the people you meet in the middle of the night.

He was keen to talk and we were keen to listen, taking in the aura of this strange and wonderful man. Before we knew it, he had his guitar out and was serenading us; right there, just us and the man in the moon. He said that while he was a handy man by trade, music was his passion and that he was writing an album. He told us of a song that he had written for his young son. A son home, warm in his bed, probably wondering where his shadow father walked amongst the midnight fields.

He told us how his son, confusing the words to the recently released “Let the Doves Cry”, by Prince had helped him write this song, “Let the Ducks Fly”, and he commenced to sing this to us. He sang in hushed tones at first, his voice getting lost in the night, barely a whisper as he strummed his guitar with the barest of pressures.

As he reached the chorus, he lifted up his voice, singing more strongly, with more confidence. “Let the Ducks Fly”. By the time he reached the chorus a second time, my friend and I joined in and sang along. There we were, three hatters under the maddening moon. The song was silly, but yet poignant and we sang and we sang for what seemed like hours.

Before we knew it, the night had slipped by and the first wash of day was tinting the sky. War Eagle, made his farewells, to go off and find his slumber hidden amongst the hills and ravines of this precious land and us to return home and crash in our bed; to try and find sleep within the day, if we could. We were coming down.

War Eagle went his way and we ours. I don’t recall turning around to watch him go, but as we made our way to the car, I did make one last look behind me. The last stars of night still hung on and the shadows were going home too, to find their beds. But War Eagle was no where to be seen.

I suddenly stopped and grabbed my friend who looked at me quizzically and I looked at him and said……….. “what if we just imagined all of that”? My friend did not answer, but he let his jaw drop a little and I could see by the light in his eyes that he grasped the immensity of what I had said. We went home in silence.

Let the Ducks Fly.

How I Know That the People in My Town are Idiots

2008-12-01T10:07:00.000-08:00

I had been working in T-Town before I lived there. One day on the way to work my car started to act funny. When I got to work I called a garage and made plans to drop my car off there after work. After work, I began making my way to the garage, but the problem became even worse. The car began to cough and chug and eventually broke down. I had been really hoping to make it to the garage and hadn’t expected the problem to become so acute.

Unfortunately, I broke down on a main road in town and near a very busy intersection. The car had given up the ghost right in the lane of traffic. I tried pushing it, but it was a Ford Taurus station wagon and quite large and heavy. I turned on my emergency blinkers, opened the hood and looked to see if I could figure out what was wrong. I couldn’t, so I had to walk to a nearby pay phone to call for a tow. When I returned I had some time to kill, so I sat in the car. Shortly thereafter, another car pulled up behind me. It paused a moment and then flashed its lights. I wasn’t certain what they were doing so I just sat there. A few seconds later they beeped their horn. I rolled down the window and motioned for them to go around, which they did after yet another pregnant pause. As the car went by me the driver yelled, “Get out of the road”. “Well, duh, Brainiac, if I could I would” I said to myself.

Another car pulled up behind me and we went through pretty much the same charades. This activity was repeated several times. Each time I was yelled at, swore at and told to “get out of the way”. What was wrong with these people? Couldn’t they see I was broken down? I got out of the car and began flagging people to go around me. This did not help. Finally, the tow truck came and got me out of there, but not before dozens of people had stopped, honked and yelled at me.

I have had clunker cars for many years and have broken down in my share of intersections, but I had never had this happen. In my past experience, someone would eventually come and give you a push. Not only did this not happen in T-Town, but I was also the butt of many a derisive remark. I didn’t expect anyone to help me, but at a minimum you would think that they would have sized up the situation and figured out that I would have moved if I could have. Then it hit me; an epiphany like a light from heaven. A revelation came that has stuck with me ever since and has been reinforced in the years that I lived in T-Town. That is, the people here are a bunch of F*ing Idiots!

Marketing Gone Wrong

2008-11-25T06:37:00.000-08:00

Here Now, There Then

2008-11-24T11:59:00.000-08:00

These days,
these names,
carved in stone;
mute
and immutable.
As if frozen in,
permanent winter.
I was here
once. I did not know
then, I would be
again, but I am.
Perhaps
for no more.
Who knows what
winds will carry me
or where? It grows
colder, that alone is sure.
A day warmer
may dawn missing me
and somewhere will lie
my stone to mark
this waypoint
of my crossing,
connecting
the here, now and
the there, then.

The Next Public Health Threat

2008-11-19T12:28:00.000-08:00

In a significant reversal of position, the Surgeon general and the FDA have announced today that they now consider turkey to be nothing more than a “Tryptophan Delivery System”. This change in policy comes hot on the heals of other attempts at food regulation, including restrictions on the sale of Halloween candy and macaroni salad.

New legislation would mandate a total reformation and restructuring of how turkey products are manufactured, marketed and distributed in this country. “The nation can thereby see real and swift progress in preventing underage use of turkey, addressing the adverse health effects of turkey use and changing the corporate culture of the entire turkey industry”, said FDA Spokesperson Ima Idjit.

The Food and Drug Administration ("FDA") and other public health authorities view the use of turkey products by our nation's adult males as a "disease" of epic and worsening proportions that results in new generations of tryptophan dependent adults and children. “There is also a consensus within the scientific and medical communities that turkey products are inherently dangerous and are directly kinked to car crashes from over indulgence, obesity and other serious adverse health effects”, reports Idjit.

This legislation greatly strengthens both the federal and state governments' regulatory arsenal and furnishes them with additional resources needed to address a public health problem that affects millions of Americans, striking at a time when there are most vulnerable; around Thanksgiving, a time when people should be spending quality time with their families.

“You can’t have legions of adult Americans nodding off every night in front of the television all hopped up on “Phan”, it’s a threat to the very fabric of the American social fabric”, said Idjit.

Among other things, the new regime would:

Impose and provide funding out of the Industry Payments for an aggressive federal enforcement program, including a State-administered turkey licensing system, to stop minors from obtaining turkey products, while in no way preventing the States from enacting additional measures.

Ensure that the FDA and the States have the regulatory flexibility to address issues of particular concern to public health officials, such as underage turkey usage and turkey dependence.

The sale of turkey products, including soup and sandwiches to adults would remain legal but subject to restrictive measures to ensure that they are not sold to underage purchasers. These measures respond directly to concerns voiced by federal and state public health officials, the public health community and the public at large that the Thanksgiving industry should be subject to the strictest scrutiny and regulatory oversight.

The CREED

2008-11-18T13:18:00.001-08:00

We, the unwilling, led by the unknowing, are doing the impossible for the ungrateful. We have done so much, for so long, with so little, we are now qualified to do anything with nothing.

~ Mother Teresa

How to Tell if You are a Lech

2008-11-18T06:44:00.001-08:00

You might be a lech if:

1) You see a pretty girl at the grocery store and you go down the isle she is in, even though you don’t need anything in that isle.
2) You see a very attractive teenage girl and you think to yourself, “wow, in a few years she will be legal”.
3) You are driving when you see, from behind, what appears to be an attractive woman and you beep the horn to get her to turn around to see if she is as attractive from the front.
4) You do a favor for a pretty girl you don’t even know because while there is a 1 in 10 million chance she will have sex with you, there is still that chance.
5) You pick up “chick magazines” at the grocery store because there are nearly as many photos of beautiful woman in them as there are in Maxim.
6) You go to the same stores at lunch time not because the food is that good or because they are convenient but because there is a pretty girl that works there.
7) You see a good looking gay guy and you think, good, that’s more women for the rest of us.
8) Your tastes run to women that have a pulse and all their limbs and you are willing to compromise on the limbs.
9) You’re a person in a capacity to hire new employees. You have 2 equally situated female candidates for a position and the deciding factor is who is better looking.
10) You have laughed at any of the above scenarios.

Happy Anniversary

2008-11-14T13:39:00.000-08:00

My Blog is now 1 year old.

Now, like an infant, I have to start being concerned with changing it's damn diaper and it crawling and getting into everything!

A Quote I Recently Heard

2008-11-10T07:26:00.001-08:00

You reach a certain age where life stops giving you things and starts taking things away.

Pet Peeve Number 871

2008-10-24T10:37:00.000-07:00

Nothing says you'r a loser like having a bumpersticker on your car that reads "My dog is smarter than your honor student".

Uh, What's That You Say?

2008-10-20T11:50:00.000-07:00

Dr. Bronner is a guy who makes a variety of all organic "18 in 1" "magic" soaps. These soaps are often used by outdoor enthusiasts because they are all natural and biodegradable. If you check out the lables, you will find that every concievable portion of the label is used and filled with... ..well, like the stuff that follows below. Please note, there are no typos, this is actually what it says and this is just a small portion, there is a WHOLE lot more like this. Check it out>:

The 2nd coming of God’s Law Mohammed’s Arabs 1948 found Israel Essene Scrolls and Einstein’s “Hillel” prove that no 6 year old can grow up free without the ABC so certain can no 12 year old survive free without the moral ABC mason tent and sandalmaker Rabbi Hillel taught carpenter Jesus to unite all mankind free…

Uh, yeah!

Ahhh, Vacation

2008-10-17T13:26:00.000-07:00

Recently, I returned from nearly two weeks vacation, consisting of a cruise to Bermuda and then 5 days camping on an island in the middle of nowhere. During the latter trip a friend of mine with a camcorder, doing a "man on the street interview" with me, asked me for a deep thought. This is what I said:

"I came out here with the intention of having deep thoughts, however, I havent had any deep thoughts. Instead, I have stilled my mind as calm as the lake out there and that is the deepest thought of all".

I thought it was poignant.

The Sign Says it All

2008-09-27T09:52:00.001-07:00

Clay Aiken is... Gay?!

2008-09-24T09:06:00.000-07:00

Clay Aiken recently announced that he is gay.

Unfortunately, this admission comes as a surprise only to himself! :0)

Maybe Not So Stupid Afterall?

2008-09-23T12:48:00.001-07:00

The Administration has been slammed in the past few years for a variety of debacles, including being blamed for ruining the economy and starting a war based upon mistaken information. I have been thinking about all of this recently and wondering how so many well educated, well connected, people could make such big mistakes. It does not seem possible. Then I asked myself, what if the underlying premise, that these are mistakes, is wrong? What if this was all part of a larger, much more elaborate plan; one that is being held from the American public?

For example, let’s look at the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, with a side trip to Iran. Iran is one of the biggest trouble makers in the world today, a major exporter of religious zealots and terrorism ( and oil ). Where is Iran? Well, sandwiched right between Pakistan ( our erstwhile ally ), Iraq and Afghanistan! If you wanted to put pressure on someone and create a foundation for future military action, what better way then to surround them with troops already in place?

What about the economy? Why would the people in Washington possibly want to intentionally ruin it? Well, by creating ( or allowing ) a period of economic down to occur, the government can cause several outcomes. One such outcome is that illegal immigrants are now less inclined to come here. The ones who are here are now unemployed or under-employed and American dollars are not being sent out of the country and being converted to pesos.

Who knows what other outcomes may arise from such a scheme to ruin our economy; outcomes that fulfill some larger and more diabolical plan? Between assuming that my government is too stupid or too evil, I will choose the latter.

Weather or Not

2008-09-22T12:02:00.001-07:00

Its not whether or not
there will be weather or not,
but whether or not
we can weather the weather
we got.

Guess What This Man is Saying

2008-09-15T08:26:00.000-07:00

When Life Began

2008-09-09T10:31:00.000-07:00

In a recent rant, regarding abortion, I closed my essay with a statement that life began more than 2 billion years ago. I want to take a moment to expound on what I meant by that; a statement that may appear to be, on the surface, a non-sequitur. What did I mean?

Sometimes, the most complex questions have the simplest answers, once you reframe your way of thinking. The question here, pondered by those who debate the ethics of abortion, is when does (a) life begin? This is a crucial question to some who regard abortion as murder.

Let’s take a closer look at the process of birth. The ovum, a living cell, merges with a spermatozoon, another living cell, to produce the embryo, yet another living, group, of cells. Typically, thinkers focus on when does the embryo become alive? But as we have just seen, the two things that went into making the embryo themselves were alive to start with! Human bodies created these cells, which were in turn made the same way, cell to embryo, in a process that stretches back millennia. My parents begot me and their parents begot them, etc.

This question, when does life begin, is similar to the question, which came first the chicken or the egg? Well, the EGG of course, because the egg as an evolutionary “system” predates the existence of chickens; even dinosaurs laid eggs long before there were chickens.

When you step back from the question and remove the limitations that come from our time based sense of the world as human beings, you see that life, obviously, began some time in the past, scientists estimate that this was about 2 billion years ago. The cells and embryos are merely the carriers of this energy we call life, like a radio carries the radio waves which exist ambiently. If you shut off the radio, the radio waves still exist, independent of the machine and life exists independent of these vessels we call our bodies.

Therefore, the question of "when does life begin" itself is a non-sequtur because life has already begun and anyone one individual persons "life" is a continuation of the process which is life.

Seeing

2008-09-08T10:03:00.000-07:00

In silence
and at a distance
he caresses her
with his eyes; flicking,
catching furtive glances.
Does she or anyone else
notice the way he looks
at her? From the corner,
he meets her gaze
while talking; shift never drifting,
but sees instead
what he imagines. In his mind
he knows the softness of her
sweater, the touch and the hang
of her hair. Her scent.
He could inhale her, but afraid
for to move closer
he too would be
exposed; of being seen
seeing.

Human Resources Humor

2008-08-29T12:42:00.001-07:00

I bet you did not know that Human Resources is a very funny profession, with its own humor. Here is a great HR joke.

Two employees and their boss are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp sitting discarded by the trash. One of the employees picks up the lamp and for fun gives it a rub. A genie pops out and tells the trio that he will grant each of them one wish.

The first employee says, “I want to be on my own private yacht, sailing the Caribbean with a Playboy bunny on one hand and a cocktail in the other”. And, POOF that employee was gone.

The second employee says, “I want to be rich and to live in Hawaii with my own mansion and a harem of beautiful women” and POOF that employee was gone as the genie granted his wish.

The genie then turned to the boss and says, “So what is your wish”?

The boss thought for a minute and said ‘I want both of those employees back to work right after lunch”!

Fuck Abortion

2008-08-26T10:55:00.000-07:00

With election fever in full grip, there is one topic that I am really sick up and fed with, that’s abortion. Why is this such a major election issue? With so many other major concerns to discuss, this one ranks in the top three year after year. This needs to go away! Wasn’t this already decided like 20 years ago? I don’t really believe in abortion, but its not any of my goddamn business, is it? The way I see it, if pro-choicers have their way, it directly impacts one life ( perhaps two ), the childs ( and the mothers )! If the pro-lifers have their way, it impacts everyone, the mothers, the kids, and society, what with unwanted kids and parents on welfare and all that. If a women has an abortion, that’s up to her. No one else should be able to dictate what her life is going to be like. Why can’t the pro-lifers leave the woman alone? If a woman has an abortion if does not impact the lifers life at all. Even if the lifers are concerned about the issue, from a theoretical point of view, why does it need to be such a hot button issue? Let’s move on already. The national debate has been had. The reason the lifers care about this topic is because the bible thumpers want to tell people what to do; where to go, when to go there, what to wear and what even to eat. It’s a back door into controlling people. That’s what religion does, it displaces free thinking. I say fuck that and shut up already! Oh, and by the way, regarding the question as to when life begins, look around, if you have not noticed, it began like 2 billion years ago, you fucking numbnuts!

Top 10 Reasons to Go Camping

2008-08-25T09:52:00.001-07:00

1) You can pee and dump pretty much anywhere you want to
2) Beef jerky and cheese wiz for breakfast!
3) Wake and bake
4) The smell of nylon in the morning
5) GORP!
6) Personal hygiene is optional
7) It makes a warm bed, hot pizza and cold beer back in “civilization” that much better
8) The world could have been blown up in a cataclysmic inferno and you probably wouldn’t even know it ( or care )
9) No matter how heavy your pack is you would always welcome it being one ounce heavier
10) Half of your fantasy of making love to a hot red-headed nymphomaniac forest ranger in the woods comes true.

Yet Another Haiku

2008-08-20T13:15:00.000-07:00

What is a Haiku?
The sound of one hand clapping
beneath the full moon!

A Haiku

2008-08-14T08:05:00.000-07:00

A parade of clouds
float upon the morning air;
no two shapes the same.

Unknown Virtuoso

2008-08-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

Maybe its me
or Shanika Johnson
of Harlem,
or someone else,
who might be
a virtuoso
on the violin.

But I’ve never played
one and she has never
even seen one
so we will never
know the symphonies
we will miss.

From Flight of the Phonenix

2008-08-08T11:20:00.000-07:00

I think a man only needs one thing in life. He just needs someone to love.
If you can't give him that, then give him something to hope for.
And if you can't give him that,
just give him something to do.

Scott's Laws

2008-08-04T06:55:00.001-07:00

You can make some of the people happy all of the time and all of the people happy some of the time, but you can always piss all of the people off all of the time.

For all things there is a form

Sometimes you are only damned if you don’t.

A person can never be over trained

You are never in the wrong by paying a person ( to go away ).

No matter how good looking she is somewhere there is a guy who’s tired of taking her shit!

It does not matter who is behind the wheel if the car is broken down.

An organization can only be as effective as the limitations of the people at the very top will allow it to be.

Shine

2008-07-31T11:09:00.000-07:00

I cannot see for the sun
which seems to be
all the brighter
for the evening.
I have reached the place
Where sky and earth merge;
the summit of the day.
Though vallied and alie in dusk
in this moment
I shine
in alpenglow.
There is no one else
but me
and this old sol.

We are growing older, but are we growing up?

2008-07-22T11:52:00.001-07:00

A generation of baby boomers (those born between 1946 and 1964) has reached midlife. Most of us have made the life-defining choices — jobs, spouses, and even, on a deeper level, outlooks and philosophies — that have become the stuff of our lives. If we have worked hard, been wise in our decisions, and, perhaps more than we would like to admit, been blessed with a bit of plain old good luck, our lives hold many rewards and satisfactions.

We have also, however, become acutely aware of the paths we have not taken, of the costs that accompany even our most rewarding choices. What once felt like life-expanding opportunities now feel, more often than we would like, like life-narrowing obligations. Where previously we thought in terms of what could be, now we are faced with daily reminders of what will probably not be. And where before we imagined an unlimited future, now we ask the questions that come with the awareness that time is finite: What must we concede as being unattainable? What will we look back on as having really mattered? And what will be the most rewarding and meaningful way to spend the precious, and hopefully not insignificant, time that remains?

Captured

2008-07-11T12:06:00.001-07:00

Still life
photos smile
back from pages
flat.
A moment caught
butterfly like
mounted, pinned,
and forever
beautiful.

Sci-Fi must see's

2008-07-11T07:15:00.001-07:00

Science fiction movies are popular today, but "back in the day" they were somewhat less so. Movies with high ambitions but low budgets tended to predominate the genre. Hollywood turned out hundreds of such films destined for B movie status and late night television. Despite their flaws there were a number of good movies produced. Here is a list of old science fiction movies that are "must sees" if you consider yourself a connoisseur.

Journey to the far side of the sun
Fahrenheit 451
Colossus the Forbin Project
Martian Chronicles
Silent running
Doctor who and the Daleks
When worlds collide
Crack in the earth
The mytserians
Clockwork orange
The Omega man
Solaris
The Terminal man
The Man Who Fell to Earth
Laserblast
THX 1138

Worthless

2008-07-08T08:38:00.001-07:00

Words rattle around inside
like lose coin in my pocket.
“Give a brother a dollar,”
the beggar implored,
but poems and prose can buy
neither food nor favor.
No one wants
what either of us have
to give of ourselves
and at the end of the day
our cups empty
but for little change
and we both go
to bed hungry.

George Carlin on Science

2008-06-25T07:41:00.001-07:00

On Energy:
“Electricity is really just organized lightning.”
On Human Intelligence:
“Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that.”
On Intelligent life in the universe:
“If it’s true that our species is alone in the universe, then I’d have to say the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little. “
On Meteorology:
“Weather forecast for tonight: dark.”
On Invention:
“When Thomas Edison worked late into the night on the electric light, he had to do it by gas lamp or candle. I’m sure it made the work seem that much more urgent. “
On Aviation:
“If the “black box” flight recorder is never damaged during a plane crash, why isn’t the whole airplane made out of that stuff?”
On Nature:
“I like it when a flower or a little tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete. It’s so f***in’ heroic.”
“It isn’t fair: the caterpillar does all the work, and the butterfly gets all the glory. “
and
“If a turtle doesn’t have a shell, is he homeless or naked?”
On Electronics:
“Why do you press harder on a remote-control when you know the battery is dead?”
On Military Technology:
“The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, “You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I’m just not close enough to get the job done.”

10 Ways to Ensure You Do Not Become a Redneck

2008-06-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

10) Visit the dentist occasionally

9) Call the tow truck and have the old clunker taken away ( not your wife )

8) Shop for clothes someplace other than Walmart

7) DO NOT have sex with family members ( of any gender )

6) Its May, take down your Christmas decorations

5) Remove the empty beer cans from your car

4) Take out the trash thats piled up since last year

3) Mow your lawn. Its 2 feet tall. Is that grass?

2) Read something other than the comics

1) Get a job that involves more than food or filth!

Ditties My Mother Taught Me

2008-06-18T11:39:00.000-07:00

Yes, my mother taught me these:

1)
In days of old when knights were bold
And paper not invented
They wiped their ass on pieces of grass
And rode away contented.

2)
If you want to shit in ease
Place your hands upon your knees
Give a shout and then a squeeze
And out it comes like rotten cheese

3)
Scabs and matter custard
Hot snot pie
All mixed together with a dead mans eye
Have a piece of bread and butter
Spread it nice and thick
And then chase it down with a
Cold cup of sick.

4)
It was Christmas day in the workhouse
The happiest time of the year
The mens hearts were full of gladness
Their bellies full of beer

5)
Oh, dear what can the matter be
Three old ladies locked in the lavatory
They’ve been there from Monday to Saturday
No one knew they were there.

There are a few more I cant remember now, but will post if I do

By Popular Demand

2008-06-17T07:30:00.000-07:00

Bora Bygmy,

the Pygmy,

from Bora Bora

had Beriberi

very very bad

and he was very sad,

because that was all he had.

The Best Bumper Sticker

2008-06-16T08:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I saw the best bumper sticker I've seen in a long time. It read:

"Dont believe everything you think".

I love that!

Excuses for Being Late to Work

2008-06-10T08:33:00.000-07:00

1. While rowing across the river to work, I got lost in the fog.
2. Someone stole all my daffodils.
3. I had to go audition for American Idol.
4. My ex-husband stole my car so I couldn't drive to work.
5. My route to work was shut down by a presidential motorcade.
6. I have transient amnesia and couldn't remember my job.
7. I was indicted for securities fraud this morning.
8. The line was too long at Starbucks.
9. I was trying to get my gun back from the police.
10. I didn't have money for gas because all of the pawnshops were closed.

# 8 has happened to me, except it was Dunkin Donuts

Temporal

2008-05-29T12:08:00.000-07:00

When I was leaving

you were still

a seed, yet to be.

When May I was budding

you were just nascent,

in springs early morning sun.

Now I am in fall

late afternoon; the suns long rays

dapple me with shadow.

And here you are in full,

sunny, early June, bloom;

your petals pursed

expectantly like lips

waiting for the bees kiss.

While I have gone

to seed, left to fallow;

wild and unweeded.

Temporal,

we could never be any more.

We share the same earth,

but not the same equinox.

Tu Baku Dinky Dow

2008-05-28T13:06:00.000-07:00

The media reports that the Chinese are angry over remarks made by Sharon Stone. Supposedly, Ms. Stone has stated that the recent horrible earthquake in China might be the result of bad “karma” on their part. In retaliation, the Chinese have banned her movies from being played there.

What I want to know is how the hell did the “Chinese” hear about this? I hadn’t heard about it until it was reported in the news, the way I presented it. Did you? Are the Chinese spying on Sharon Stone? Do they have some operative somewhere whose job it is to monitor Ms. Stone’s every action and utterance? Or did Ms. Stone email the Chinese and leave all 1 billion of them a message?

And are all the “Chinese” pissed? Do they even know who she is in, say, Outer Mongolia? I don’t even know if they have television. And why should the Chinese give a shit what some washed up Hollywood has-been thinks about the earthquake? Don’t they have better things to do, like prepare for the Olympics?

It reminds me of the old adage which I find myself saying a lot these days, “opinions are like assholes, everyone has one and most of them stink”. Even Sharon Stones. Didnt we see it in some movie already? Get over it, China.

No Where Man

2008-05-27T11:02:00.000-07:00

The other day when I was going to the store I noticed an old woman crossing the street. She was probably 80+ and clearly having a difficult time of getting to wherever she was going. Just then, I saw a car pull up to the stop sign, indicating its intention to turn, however, the old woman was still in the road. I glanced at the driver, a young kid, slumped down in his seat, his baseball cap jauntily tipped to the side. He was driving one of those cars that hot-rodders today like, the Hondas with the oversized muffler, low profile tires and the large rear taillights. Loud music boomed from his car. I could feel his impatience from across the road. He kept looking at the woman, eyes darting back and forth with a quiet, but noticeable, rev of the engine. The old woman finally made it about half way across the street, far enough for this young “dude” to accelerate and get by. As he receded, I saw him throw his hands in the air out of frustration and a what the f*ck attitude. He chirped his tires and sped the 100 yards to the next stop at high speed. The old woman did not seem to notice, as she focused on her goal. I thought to myself regarding the driver, “what a d*ck!” Now, it is remotely possible that he was on his way to the hospital where a loved one waited in some life threatening state, but more likely he was just in a hurry to get wherever he was going. He is cool. He is important. Get out of his way. When in truth he is just another young punk, stupid and disposable, programmed by the media to buy what they are selling; but he probably thinks he is his own person, unique and non-conforming. But in reality, he is just another self centered egotist bent on taking from others for his own benefit, “F the world!” Where could he have possibly going that was so important that he could not wait the less than 30 seconds that it took to ensure that the old woman made it across the street? To shop? To hang with his homies? To work, because he was running late because he was playing with his Wii? I don’t want to live in a world in which a no one is in such a hurry to get nowhere that he thinks nothing of everybody. Ass!

The Stain

2008-05-21T12:07:00.001-07:00

In the dirt, Jesus
revealed himself
to me, on the side
of the refuse
can. You know,
no church for me,
nor sacred wood.
nor shrine. My redemption
is but a stain.

Up Yours, Warren!

2008-05-20T11:09:00.001-07:00

It is always a time of turmoil and confusion. The winds of change are constant and yes, sometimes violent and usually unpredictable. Cherished beliefs and hallowed institutions should often be called into question. Leaders who don’t know how to lead are weak and ineffective. This causes great anxiety and one reason Xanax is one of the most widely prescribed medications today. Many lack the intellect to analyze the complex issues with certainty and the wisest do hedge their bets against the future.

In those days people gathered into many different groups to confront the shock of change. Some gathered around those who perennially do not care, some around those who pursue stupidity, yet others gathered around the practical doers of deeds and still others sought refuge with the purveyors of bullshit.

When complex problems arose and solutions could not easily be found, which is often, the purveyors of bullshit would say childish things like “there are two paths to the future, one sought by the predictors of the inevitable and another by the pursuers of the possible”. To anyone who proposed to take action, they would say “we can distill the world into simple inane fallacies with which we can seem to make valid logical conclusions, but which are actually nothing more than empty rhetoric”. To anyone who tried to unite people in a direction other which they wanted to go, they would imply “you are a predictor of the inevitable and therefore, I am right and you are wrong. Do not question me”.

Now it came to pass that whenever the purveyors of bullshit were believed and followed, people became alienated and angry, organization became confusion, important considerations became meaningless, risks ignored, outcomes unquestioned and yes, the voices of innovation and hope became silent, because no one would listen for fear of being labeled in such a silly and reckless manner. And while the others were left to mop up a big soppy mess, the purveyors of bullshit were out sailing on their boats.

Now at that same time and that same place, there were the practical doers of deeds. When problems persisted and changes brought confusion, they were often dismayed because they knew that much of this was caused by the purveyors of bullshit and those that listened to their meaningless arguments and misleading words. Despite this, the struggled on in their sense of duty and responsibility, because they knew that the purveyors of bullshit were really weak and powerless and that one day they would sail off into the sunset.

Thus, they always had hope. To the purveyors of bullshit they would say, “shut the fuck up” and point out to the others how they were really full of shit. To those who questioned pre-assumed suppositions, they listened. To those who did not attempt to pigeon hole people as being in one camp or another, they said hey, lets work together, it will be fun.

And so it came to pass, that reason returned. People were encouraged to think. They were no longer bullied by the people who had to put them down to make themselves more important, because they saw them for what they were: purveyors of bullshit. And then people felt supported and uplifted by their leaders. New leaders emerged. They felt like they were making a difference and that their efforts mattered. Until, in wonder, they could say, “look the power is in our hands”.

Now in truth, it must be said, that this is a bunch of horse pucky too. There are times when everyone’s vision is clouded and their judgments wrong. No matter how hard you try, things may not work out as you plan them. It is beguiling to listen to the purveyors of bullshit because life is simple when we ignore truth. But in their most thoughtful moments most people came to appreciate many great truths in those turbulent times, because there is no simple “one truth”, regardless of what Warren H. Schmidt would have you believe ( notice what his last name rhymes with ).

For it is much less heroic to buy into the bullshit, and thereby become some mindless automaton, than it is to think for yourself and speak up, even if you are wrong.

The 4 Noble Truths

2008-05-15T10:14:00.001-07:00

Life means suffering.
To live means to suffer, because the human nature is not perfect and neither is the world we live in. During our lifetime, we inevitably have to endure physical suffering such as pain, sickness, injury, tiredness, old age, and eventually death; and we have to endure psychological suffering like sadness, fear, frustration, disappointment, and depression. Although there are different degrees of suffering and there are also positive experiences in life that we perceive as the opposite of suffering, such as ease, comfort and happiness, life in its totality is imperfect and incomplete, because our world is subject to impermanence. This means we are never able to keep permanently what we strive for, and just as happy moments pass by, we ourselves and our loved ones will pass away one day, too.
2. The origin of suffering is attachment.
The origin of suffering is attachment to transient things and the ignorance thereof. Transient things do not only include the physical objects that surround us, but also ideas, and -in a greater sense- all objects of our perception. Ignorance is the lack of understanding of how our mind is attached to impermanent things. The reasons for suffering are desire, passion, ardour, pursuit of wealth and prestige, striving for fame and popularity, or in short: craving and clinging. Because the objects of our attachment are transient, their loss is inevitable, thus suffering will necessarily follow. Objects of attachment also include the idea of a "self" which is a delusion, because there is no abiding self. What we call "self" is just an imagined entity, and we are merely a part of the ceaseless becoming of the universe.
3. The cessation of suffering is attainable.
The cessation of suffering can be attained through nirodha. Nirodha means the unmaking of sensual craving and conceptual attachment. The third noble truth expresses the idea that suffering can be ended by attaining dispassion. Nirodha extinguishes all forms of clinging and attachment. This means that suffering can be overcome through human activity, simply by removing the cause of suffering. Attaining and perfecting dispassion is a process of many levels that ultimately results in the state of Nirvana. Nirvana means freedom from all worries, troubles, complexes, fabrications and ideas. Nirvana is not comprehensible for those who have not attained it.
4. The path to the cessation of suffering.
There is a path to the end of suffering - a gradual path of self-improvement, which is described more detailed in the Eightfold Path. It is the middle way between the two extremes of excessive self-indulgence (hedonism) and excessive self-mortification (asceticism); and it leads to the end of the cycle of rebirth. The latter quality discerns it from other paths which are merely "wandering on the wheel of becoming", because these do not have a final object. The path to the end of suffering can extend over many lifetimes, throughout which every individual rebirth is subject to karmic conditioning. Craving, ignorance, delusions, and its effects will disappear gradually, as progress is made on the path.

This Side of Gone

2008-05-13T13:33:00.000-07:00

I live at my own latitude,
an arctic circle of the soul.
Where neither sun nor I
ever reach midheaven,
in the shadow of the pole.

Mine is the land of the noonday moon
and seeping horizon’s twilight tide.
Night a tunnel through to day
which I must see to the other side.

It’s a hypnogogic sea of dreams.
I grasp at passing bergs to float upon
But Titanics sinking feeling provides no purchase
With which to stay this side of gone.

Gabe

2008-05-07T09:17:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up one of my best friends was a guy named Gabe. Gabe was a year or two older than me. He was thin and somewhat wiry with glasses and a big nose. He had dropped out of school to work and while he wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree, he had a good heart.

Gabe was one of the best friends a guy could have, because in many ways he was like hanging around with a cartoon character. For instance, Gabe was the only person I have ever known who has been stuck by lightening. He even had the charred bicycle wheel and melted tire to prove it.

Gabe was always working on some kind of interesting mechanical project. When we were younger this usually meant some sort of crazy bicycle contraption; something with long raking forks. One day he was riding down the road in the pouring rain. He was riding past my house, hurrying to get home. Unfortunately, he did not see the parked cars at the side of the road. He hit these going a good clip and sent himself airborne. The extra forks on his bicycle simply carumping like they were made out of aluminum foil.

As we got older, Gabe’s interest turned to motorized things. He always had a mini-bike, go-cart or something that he was playing with. Often these things lacked any sort of safety feature, often not even having any brakes. Gabe’s sneakers, and mine, were often worn right down as a result. One mini-bike had no brakes and the throttle was either all or nothing.

When he became driving age, he approached his motor vehicles with the same zeal. He was always fixing up some van or car. Often these things would only work for limited periods and they spent more time up on blocks in his yard, than on the road. One of Gabe’s best vehicles wan an old station wagon. We loved this car because it had a rear facing third seat and it could handle 9 people easily. We would do crazy things like switch seats, going from front to back and vise versa, by crawling out the window and down the roof of the car. We would even sit up there on the roof as we drove down the highway.

I remember one time Gabe was trying to replace the glass in the rear window. He had gone to the junk yard and had gotten a new piece of glass. He put it in and just as he was making the last adjustments, the things shattered in a million pieces. Gabe never said anything or even got mad. He just went to the junk yard and got another piece. As he was putting in this second piece and again as he was making the final adjustments, he broke this second window as well. After that, Gabe always had a piece of plywood for a rear window. Again, he never got mad or even said a word about it.

While Gabe was a dear friend to me, he could be a terror to others. One time he was riding this kid’s bike around the playground of this abandoned school near where we lived. There was a wooden shed attached to the rear of the building. For no reason and without notice, Gabe got up a head of steam and crashed the bike into this wooden shed; jumping off at the last minute and casting the bike headlong into the sheds wooden door. The door splintered and broke under the assault and the bike crashed into the dark recesses of the shed. Gabe stood there laughing his ass of and the bikes owner just stood there not knowing what to do or say. Just then, the front wheel of the bike popped back out of the door and slowly rolled on its own accord down the playground. With that I was in hysterics too. It really was like something out of a cartoon.

Another time, Gabe and I were coming off the highway. At the end of the ramp there was a kid hitchhiking, one foot on a skateboard. Without a word Gabe aimed right for the kid. The kid, wisely, jumped and ran, but unfortunately left his skateboard on the road. Gabe drove right over it without pausing. I turned to look in time to see two pieces of skateboard fly through the air.

One time we had stopped in the middle of this small town to check into renting inner tubes for tubing on the river. It was a warm day and the small downtown area was doing a brisk business with cars and people everywhere. When we left the store and were returning to his car, Gabe suddenly jumped up on the hood of a Mercedes that was parked there and ran up the roof and down the trunk, jumping off the car in a flourish. Unbeknownst to us, the cars owner was right behind us. She yelled, “what did I ever do to you?” Nothing of course, but she just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. We had to take off like a sot because I am sure she called the cops, but we did not stick around to find out.

Most of the time though, Gabe’s was the victim of his own antics. There was this particular playground we used to hang around and it large truck tires embedded in the ground. For some reason, we got the idea to dig the biggest one up. It took awhile, but we did it. Once free from the ground we stood it on end to check it out. Gabe climbed into the middle of the tire and asked us to push it with him in it, which we of course obliged. The tire did not make even one full revolution. There was still a large chunk of mud in the tire and when that was over Gabe’s head the whole thing fell on him. The tire then fell over and all you could see was Gabe’s ass sticking out of the hole. After we stopped laughing and pulled him free he was filthy from the mud!

Gabe’s family was French Canadian. His parents were very “old school” and none of them spoke English, only French. Gabe ( whose real name was Gabriel ) spoke both, only after I had been friends with Gabe for quite sometime was I allowed in his house. It was one of the tiniest houses I have ever seen. The interesting part was that Gabe had several brothers and sisters and they all occupied this one tiny home. From the outside you could barely seen the place because there were large shrubs that covered the entire side of the home that was visible from the road. Inside the home had the impression that he was more of a cabin than a house. It was unfinished in a number of places and in some rooms, Gabe’s for example, there was exposed plywood on the floor. I don’t think Gabe’s parents liked visitors to their home, or even cared for Gabe much. They always seemed to be yelling at him when I was around.

Gabe was a lot of fun at parties. He usually didn’t drink much, but when he decided to, he got stinking. It was usually about this time that he would pour ketchup on himself and pretend that he had been stabbed. He’d run around with the “bloody” knife shrieking and really going at it. Another time, we were at a party and we were walking out together, just walking and talking, I wasn’t looking, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gabe disappear. I spun my head and didn’t see him. It was pitch black. I yelled his name and he said “I’m here”. The voice came from below me. He had just fallen flat out drunk on the ground.

One of my favorite Gabe drunk stories was this time we went to the movies. We used to take the bus to Westfarms Mall to see the movies. This one time Gabe was trashed. We were sitting right up front as we usually were and the place was packed. Gabe was sitting in front of us sorta by himself, when a popcorn fight ensued. At first it was just a few kernels, but Gabe was one to do things in a big way. Suddenly he just threw the whole bucket over his head. He had bought the jumbo size so he just trashed us in popcorn. He then threw the bucket at us too. Shortly thereafter, he threw up all over the floor. We handed him his popcorn bucket back which still had a few kernels in it and he began to eat it, rather then what we intended, which was for him to barf in. He then got up to go to the bathroom.

He was gone quite awhile and so I went to check on him. There were two stalls in the bathroom and only one of them was occupied. I looked under and it looked like Gabes sneakers, so I said “Gabe, you ok?”. There was silence. So I tried again. Nothing. I rapped at the door, “Gabe, man, you OK, in there?” This time I got a groan out of him. I said, “c’mon, Gabe, the movie is playing.” Just more groaning. I got tired of this and went back to the movie, but as I was walking by the outside door, I saw what looked like Gabe sitting outside. I went outside and it was Gabe. It was somebody else in the bathroom!

Gabe was always acting up in public. Another time we had gone to the movies, but had gone out to eat before. Gabe had lobster and he insisted on continuing to wear his bib all night, but he turned it around like a superhero’s cape. One of his favorite things to do was go to the drive through, order something and when they repeated it back, he’d say , “No, I did not order that. I ordered such and such.” He was always doing things like that.

Then there was this one time we had all gone out “partying”. We were really stoned and sitting in Gabe’s car at McDonalds. This car pulled up next to us and a person got out. The person had really long hair. I think Gabe could barely see, but he starts making faces, saying, “oh, yeah, I want that. She’s hot” etc. Then the person turned around, having heard what Gabe had said through his rolled down window. It was a man! Well, we NEVER let Gabe forget that! EVER

As we grew older, we grew apart. I went to college and moved out of town. We stayed in touch for awhile, but when we got back together his antics seemed less funny and simply more… juvenile.

A number of years went by and I hadn’t seen Gabe in all that time. Then one day I ran into him in town. We talked about old times and such and since I was having a party that night, I invited him. When he showed up he was with this really weird other kid. Gabe hadn’t changed much and he acted like a dufus most of the night. After he left, I went in the bathroom. Gabe was the last to use it. He had wiped his hands on my towels and they were all covered in black grease stains. My soon to be wife was not amused and I had to hear it for several months after that about how weird my friends were. I guess you can never go back.

However, I look back at those times as some of the best times of my life. It was a magical twilight period between childhood and adult hood and what person wouldn’t want to have a cartoon character as a best friend as they grew up? I did. Here is to you, Gabe!

Too Many Writers, Not Enough Readers

2008-05-06T11:24:00.000-07:00

It's well established that Americans are reading fewer books than they used to. A recent report by the National Endowment for the Arts found that 53 percent of Americans surveyed hadn't read a book in the previous year -- a state of affairs that has prompted much soul-searching by anyone with an affection for (or business interest in) turning pages. But even as more people choose the phantasmagoria of the screen over the contemplative pleasures of the page, there's a parallel phenomenon sweeping the country: collective graphomania. In 2007, a whopping 400,000 books were published or distributed in the United States, up from 300,000 in 2006, according to the industry tracker Bowker, which attributed the sharp rise to the number of print-on-demand books and reprints of out-of-print titles. University writing programs are thriving, while writers' conferences abound, offering aspiring authors a chance to network and "workshop" their work. The blog tracker Technorati estimates that 175,000 new blogs are created worldwide each day (with a lucky few bloggers getting book deals). And the same N.E.A. study found that 7 percent of adults polled, or 15 million people, did creative writing, mostly "for personal fulfillment." In short, everyone has a story -- and everyone wants to tell it. Fewer people may be reading, but everywhere you turn, Americans are sounding their barbaric yawps over the roofs of the world, as good old Walt Whitman, himself a self-published author, once put it. "As publishing has become less expensive, the urge to write my own self has become the opportunity to publish my own self," said Gabriel Zaid, a Mexican critic and the author of So Many Books: Reading and Publishing in an Age of Abundance, a meditation on literary life in an over-booked world. Today, he added, "Everyone now can afford to preach in the desert."

The Greatest

2008-05-05T07:49:00.000-07:00

The other morning I woke up after having pondered this question in my dreams, if the entire human race was wiped out and alien archaeologists came here in the future, what would be the top 10 things they would identify as the greatest accomplishments of the human kind? What things would represent the zenith of who we are as a species? So here is my attempt at an answer to this question. I have a variety of reasons for what I chose, but intentionally avoided things, like the “pyramids” for as they are a marvel, I am not sure they fit the definition of the greatest things. Here we go:

( In no particular order )

1) The manned exploration of the moon ( probably my number 1 )
2) The Hubble Space Telescope – the most complex manmade instrument ever
3) Voyager 1 – The most distant man made object
4) The internet – instant access to a whole mountain of information
5) Manipulation of the atom ( atomic energy, the Bomb )
6) Language ( includes in my mind, mathematics and music too )
7) Cloning and the deciphering of the genetic code ( the basic elements of life )
8) The internal combustion engine ( where would we be without it? )
9) Flight ( a dream of mans for centuries is now reality )
10 ) TV ( though I am not so sure about this last one )

New Universal sign for Gasoline - Gas Next Exit

2008-04-30T09:05:00.000-07:00

Bad Drivers - Type 12

2008-04-28T10:25:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of bad drivers out there; cranky truck drivers, blue-haired old ladies, drunks and cranky, drunk, old lady truck drivers. My favorite bad driver is the "drivers-seat couch potato". This type is invariably a middle aged white man. You know that type I am talking about. They are usually driving big old boats, like Chevy Impalas or Pontiac Catalinas with the seat reclined so far that if it was any further back they would be entirely supine. You normally see them zipping down the highway with their arms draped around the front seat, like it was a cheap date, doing speeds in excess of 80 miles per hour. The only thing missing from this scene is a remote control in one hand a can of beer in the other. They are so mellow and laid back that if they had to hit the break they would have traveled about 3.7 miles before they were able to come to a stop. Their attitude and posture is more appropriate for sitting in the couch in their boxers on a Sunday morning than controlling a 2 ton hurling piece of metal. Do you think you can humor me and at least PRETEND that you care and that you are paying attention? These are they guys for whom they invented the rumble strip. Opps, I nodded off there, what were you saying, again?

The Recitation

2008-04-25T12:47:00.000-07:00

The Recitation

Little people pray
with a heavy tome
across their lap;
children really. Seated
below stern eyes downcast;
closed. They rock and recite
empty words, just sound .
Just an echo,
in a shadow.

Oh, Lord where are you?
Do you dwell in the east?
Oh, Lord where are you?
Are you up there?
Or like fair Orion rising,
in the minds eye, otherwise
naught, but
a collection of stars?

Most surely there is a sign
in that idle worship and incense.
Most surely there is a sign.
I believe, I must,
for I have nothing else
to matter; nothing else.
Guidance is given
to the end to the lost,.
Pieces to a puzzle incomplete,
ours is to try
and put it all in sense.
Ours fate is to repeat
this time, to repeat this line,
in the name of god,
in the name of god.
Why?

JIHAD

2008-04-25T12:29:00.000-07:00

I declare a jihad upon jihadists. I declare war on war. I wish terror upon terrorists. Its time we got up off our couches and got angry. We are under attack by barbarians; lowlife pond sucking scum who don’t deserve to breathe the air of decent people. This means you Al-sadr, you piece of S**T hiding in Iran and all the other dickheads like you. I would like to meet you on the street and then I would show what occupation is! I want nothing more for you to read this blog, but you probably can’t read. I urge every American to fight these people in anyway they can. You people picketing the war, hey, I am glad that you have your rights to free speech. I admire you, but where are the crowds decrying the insanity that comes with radical Islam? Its time we see crowds of people in Washington demanding that something is done against these people. Its time! Rise up!

SKY WAVES WATER FISH

2008-04-17T14:09:00.000-07:00

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For You Tim

2008-04-14T17:22:00.000-07:00

Plug in.
Tune up.
Turn on and
Rock out!

I am

2008-04-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

An early April peeper sings
out its lonsesome solo song.
One voice against the gathering night
that goes on and on and on.
I am here, I am here, I am here
it says, announcing that it is
and all that matters is to be
alive on a night like this.

Writing is an interesting art form. Sometimes things come to you in a flash of inspiration and at other times they come in dribs and drabs. Some poems, after a little work, are “finished”, others I chew on, sometimes for years. The poem 9 11 was like that. I started that in 2001 and finished it this year, though there are still elements I am dissatisfied with. I may tinker with a word or two and never be quite satisfied with it even after many years reflection. The above poem came in a flash and after little tinkering, I am quite happy. Is it “finished” though? I am not sure. It seems like it could be, but it also seems like there is more to say. We will have to see. I like this poem a lot though and see it as an important work for me, because I love the “music” in the poem, the sounds of the vowels and consonants. Read it slowly out loud to see what I mean. I hope you enjoy it.

Pet Peeve of the Day

2008-04-01T11:01:00.000-07:00

I have many pet peeves; little things that make my skin crawl and my brain squirm. Things that make me want to go find a Louisville Slugger and take my frustration out on…someone…deserving.

Today’s pet peeve is those flyers or ads that they put in magazines. You know the ones; the little squares of paper which, as soon as you open the magazine, about a hundred of these things fall out. At least these are easy to deal with. I just grab the mag. and shake it good before I look through it.

The really annoying ones are the type that is actually glued in; where you have to tear the binding apart to get them out. It wouldn’t be too bad, but ever time you open the mag you open to these stupid things. They are so big now too that it is hard to flip through any magazine, because the ads keep stumbling you up, you can’t find what you are looking for. Is there really someone out there who thinks that these techniques work to ensure that people read these ads? Well they DO NOT!

It doesn’t help that each page isn’t numbered so you have to go page by page to finally find that the article on page 57 ends on page 202, but there is no page 200 and there are a dozen missing page numbers in between.

These things never used to bother me so, but since in this day and age my pleasure reading has decayed from novels and weighty subjects to magazine fare ( I read about a dozen mags per month, including National Geographic, Birds in Bloom – Lynns mag, Guitar Player, Astronomy, Scientific American, and Maxim – that last bastion of high-brow literature ), it has annoyed me so that it has become one, on a lengthy and growing list, of pet peeves. GRRR~!

The Universe is a Strange Place

2008-03-28T09:38:00.001-07:00

The Universe is a Strange Place

Shhh. Did you hear that? That’s the sound of a revolution going on, a revolution in thinking. What, you didn’t know about it? Well, I guess you don’t keep your ear to the ground when it comes to high energy particle physics, but you should. Some of the things that are known, and some of the things that are being discussed as possible, are truly mind blowing. These are things that up until now have only been the providence of science fiction, not actual science. The implications of this research can alter the way we look at the world, like nothing lese that has ever come before in the history of mankind! It’s that amazing! Here are just a few of the things that are of interest. Keep in mind this is real science stuff!

* There may be multiple universes, with different copies of you doing different things. If you make a choice in this universe your alter you makes another choice in another universe. There may be an infinite number of these universes.
* The universe we occupy may be made up of as many as 10 dimensions. We only experience four of those. The other dimensions are curled up in extremely small units called Calabi-Yau Manifolds.
* The universe is made up of an infinite number of very small strings ( small is 10 to the minus 33 power, 1 followed by 34 zeros ). These strings vibrate and create the universe we see and feel.
* Anyone who has taken chemistry is familiar with the standard model of the atom, with a nucleus and electrons which orbit the nucleus in different shells. When energy is added to the system, the electrons move into higher orbits. However, they just don’t move in physical space, they disappear and then reappear elsewhere.
* Most of matter is really made up of empty space, or put another way; most of matter is made up of nothing!
* Two particles that are created at the same time are bound together in some mysterious way. If a force acts on one particle it effects the other particle instantaneously, regardless of how far apart those particles are ( even across light years )!
* There is no evidence to suggest that the inflation of the universe will stop, it may continue forever expanding.
* The shape of the universe is flat!
* The universe was more organized in the past and is moving into a state of decreased organization or entropy. The universe will continue to cool and become less and less dense.
* Matter is really energy bundled up. Light and other energy types are both particles and waves!

We may look back and see that this is a golden age for physics and astronomy. I believe the implication of this research is earth shaking. If we could implement technology based on these findings, it could change the nature of who we are profoundly!

A Lament

2008-03-27T10:06:00.000-07:00

There is never enough time
to open my mind.
There is never enough time
to just be.
There is never enough time
to put an end to the war.
There is never enough time
for me.

Life hurls you on
at a tremendous rate,
sending you to
some unseen fate
and for all the things
they say you cant do
just being alive
is killing you.

Hey, I Have a Coupon for That!

2008-03-25T10:30:00.001-07:00

I hate grocery shopping. It’s not the shopping I disdain it’s the other shoppers. I always seem to go on the same day that they bring all the elderly people, all the crazy people, or both! Why do Edna and Agnes have stand write in front of the meat section, the busiest section of the grocery store, to swap recipes and rousing tales of falling and not being able to get up? What kills me are the elderly folks who will take ½ an hour to decide what sort of yogurt to buy because there is a 5 cent price difference. “Damn it, Gladys, just F’in pick one, I’m molding here!” Weren’t these same people buying their weeks worth of groceries at Cumberland Farms the other day when I was in a hurry to get gas and get to work? And you know, they always get all dolled up in their Saturday-Going-to-the-Grocery-Store finery, replete with a sensible, orthopedic shoes, and pillbox hat.

In my town, there is always a busload of women with miracle children at the store too. What’s a miracle child? A child from a woman SO ugly that it’s a miracle that a man would have sex with her. It just proves the point that men are pigs. However, I have a secret technique for dieting that works a charm when you are trying to buy healthy foods. I pick out the dirtiest and largest Ugh woman out of the herd and I look in her shopping cart. Then I avoid anything she is buying!

The worst part about shopping is that you always end up in some sort of ordained-by-fate cyclical pattern of meeting the same morons in each aisle you go down. It’s always the person with more toes than teeth, whose kids give the impression that they aspire to the Guiness Book of World Records as contestants in a bathing avoidance contest. You try to escape these people, but it doesn’t work. They are always there. You still meet them down every single F’in aisle you go down. By the time you have finished shopping, you are on a first name basis, “Hey, there Cleatis, I see Clamato is on sale.” And one of these days, when the kids go by me in their wheelie sneakers, I’m gonna stick out my foot and trip them into an end cap of Ragu! Little Bastards!

I think I am going to start shopping at 1am. Its too late for most folks and the drunks aren’t out of the bars yet.

A**hole!

2008-03-25T10:01:00.000-07:00

Hall of Shame

2008-03-21T07:47:00.000-07:00

I don’t know if you heard it, but a great sacrilege has occurred. An important pillar of our culture has been brought low and its virtue called into question. Am I speaking of yet another mark in the seemingly endless parade of political scandals that dot our social landscape? No. I refer to the fact that Madonna was recently inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!

Now, I am no big fan of Madonna, but that’s not what has me irked. It’s not that she isn’t deserving of some recognition. What ticks me off is that someone must have forgotten the name of the institution to which they suggest she belong; ROCK AND ROLL! If she was to be admitted into the Pop Diva’s Hall of Distinction, OK, or even the Modern Musical Heritage Temple of Celebrity, I’d hardly strangle an electron over it, but admitting Madonna into the Rock and Roll hall of Fame is like Harvard awarding Emmett Kelly tenure.

There are certain things that are just not meant to go together, like peanut butter and sauerkraut. When I think of this insult, I hear the Sesame Street song, “Which One of These Things is Not Like the Other?” No wonder Ozzie keeps pulling his name from consideration to be inducted.

In one fell swoop, I have lost all respect for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, not that I had much to begin with. In my mind Rock and Roll is about rebelling against the establishment; an establishment which can be exemplified by this so called Hall of Fame. Thus, I say, turn the music up and tear that shit down! It ain’t Rock and Roll anymore! Long Live Rock!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Easter Bunny Brings Spring!

2008-03-20T08:17:00.001-07:00

Today is the first day of Spring; the Vernal Equinox. The day when the sun crosses the first point of Aries; one of the two points on the Celestial Sphere where the Ecliptic and the Celestial Equator cross one another. The First Point of Aries, which is actually in Pisces, defines the zero-point for Right Ascension. When the Sun reaches the First Point of Aries, as it does once each year, an equinox occurs. In the northern hemisphere, this is the Vernal Equinox, before which the North Pole is tipped away from the Sun, giving shorter days. After the equinox, the North Pole is angled toward the Sun, starting to make days longer, and moving the northern hemisphere into spring and summer. Today the amount of light is exactly equal to the amount of darkness; 12 hours of each.

Spring sprung at 5:50am this morning. Its not just Spring on the calendar. I have bulbs poking their heads up out of the ground and there have been numerous sightings of warm weather birds returning. If you want to see the wonders of Orion, do so now or waive goodbye, because it’s on its way west. This Sunday is also Easter. This is one of the earliest Easters in memory. There won’t be another Easter this early for over 200 years. Easter is calculated to be the first Sunday after the first full moon of spring. The full moon is this Saturday. Happy spring, happy vernal equinox, happy St. Patrick’s day ( belated ), happy Good Friday, happy Easter!!!!!!!!!!

To Build a Fire

2008-03-18T10:08:00.000-07:00

To build a fire: I have never met a person who does not like a nice fire. Fires are comforting, warming and entertaining. When you are camping, there is nothing like having a campfire. However, it’s important that the fire REMAIN in the fireplace, of course, which can sometimes be a might tricky; as fire has a mind of its own, which I have learned the hard way.

A few years ago I went camping at Pillsbury State Park in New Hampshire; a park very much off the beaten path. Since I did not have much dry wood, I waited until it was nearly completely dark before I started my fire. By then I was surely looking forward to the fire. However, It only sputtered and smoked and basically just kept going out. A pall of smoke lay about the now completely darkened site, but that was the only sign of fire.

I was all alone except me and my dog. I used up quite a bit of my kindling and I still had no fire. I have found that while it’s easy to build a fire, getting it hot enough to be self sustaining is the challenge. I had one time attended a fire safety demonstration where the instructor had a hard time getting a fire started with a tub full of kerosene, and a road flare! How much more difficult is it with wet wood and a Bic?

Since I had just finished dinner, I still had my backpacking stove out. A backpacking stove is a small, one burner affair, big enough to boil just a quart of water. It uses a small gas bottle filled with liquid white gas. My stove had a small leak around the seal where the stove met the bottle. I found that by shaking the bottle a few drops at a time would come out. I began using this technique to keep the fire going in hopes that it would get the main logs to alight.

I had always been told that fire can hop up a stream of gas, but I had never really experienced it and therefore did not realize how FAST it can do this. In less than a blink of an eye, the flame jumped up from between the logs, followed up the stream of fuel, literally hopping from drop to drop. Before I knew it, the fire was on the stove and bottle configuration in my hand. I was on fire.

Of course, your natural response is to try and shake the thing hard enough to blow out the flames, which of course I did, which of course caused more fuel to come out, and which of course caused the fire in my hand to grow. I now had a large ball of flame in my exposed hand and it was moving up my arm as it grew. It wasn’t hot, yet, but I could feel the heat expanding too. Not knowing what to do, I threw the stove and bottle on the ground.

That was probably a bad move, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. As soon as the bottle hit the ground, more gas than ever began to fan out and with it the flames too. Now I had a fairly large circle of fire all around me and it was growing. Still not knowing what else to do, I kicked the bottle into the fire pit, which sent it careening into the rocks surrounding the pit. Again, probably a bad move, but at this point, I was afraid the bottle was going to explode. My dog just stood there staring at the fire, slowly backing up step by step.

He didn’t know what to do either. I think he may have given out a soft “woof” once, but I couldn’t be sure.

When I kicked the bottle this caused the plastic valve stem, which was now melting, to disengage from the gas bottle itself. The remaining fuel, from a bottle which had almost been full, added itself to the fire circle. In an instant the fire doubled in size, to an area approximately 20 feet in diameter, with me standing on the outer edge. I looked around frantically for something to put the fire out, but I had nothing but a small amount of water. I grabbed my canteen and upended it over the fire to no effect. I also tried stamping on the fire, but I just got the gas, and thus, the fire, on my boots and wherever I stamped down, larger flames erupted. I imagined that I looked like some sort of crazed Indian dancing around the fire with flames sprouting from my every step.

In my minds eye, I saw myself running to the ranger station several miles way ( this was a primitive campsite where you had to park your car and hike in a few hundred yards to your campsite ). I also saw the woods fully engulfed with flame and the headline of the newspaper the next day “Camper Starts Fire, Acres Burned.”

Fortunately, this type of gas burns quickly and almost as fast as it started, it was out. The bottle, which had been red and was now charred black, was still in the fire. Tongues of flame licked out from the open neck, but it seemed the explosive danger was passed. The plastic valve laid nearby, nothing more than a heap of slag.

In a period of time which lasted on a few seconds, the crisis went from inception, the original spark up the stream of gas, to a raging inferno, to the fire being almost spent.

I sat down at a nearby picnic table and said “Whoa”! Disaster had been averted. I looked at Rascal, my dog, the flames from the remaining fire reflecting off his eyes in the dark. He just stood there with his tongue hanging out. If he could have, I think he would have said “whoa” too.

Two positive things came out of this experience, 1) I have a new found respect for the Beast which is fire and 2) My wood finally lit and I had a pleasant campfire for the remainder of the night.

Ah, there’s nothing like a nice campfire!

Beauty

2008-03-18T10:05:00.000-07:00

Uncivil Air Patrol

2008-03-17T10:10:00.000-07:00

In my early to middle teens, I was a member of an organization called Civil Air Patrol
( CAP ). It is a civilian organization that is affiliated with the Air Force. As an organization, it has been around since before WW II, when CAP members did spotting work looking for enemy submarines off the US Coast. I was involved for about 1 year or so. It was a big step up from boy scouts, and it was a lot of fun. We had to wear uniforms, and while that wasn’t so much fun, we got to do some really cool things, like search and rescue missions, flying, and camping, except they called it bivouacking.

One weekend we went camping at the Plainville Fish and Game club. It wasn’t much of a club, I don’t recall there being a pond, so there was no fishing on site, and there was just one lowly building, a one room cement affair with no real furniture to speak of.

We didn’t care, and we pitched a large tent right outside the building. It was an old military style canvas tent and we slept on cots, I think there was about 10 of us in there. During the day we practiced a variety of military type activities such as orientation and rock climbing, and at night we played flash light tag and the like.

It was sort of cold, so we decided that we were going to have a fire in the club house. It was wet so it was hard to find dry wood. We managed to scrounge some up, but our supply was low. There was however an old, broken, wooden, pinball table in the club house, the only real.. anything… in the building, and so it was quickly cut up for kindling. Everything went into the fire, mechanism, wires, everything. It smelled really bad, but it did burn a variety of lovely shades. I think the death of the pinball table was a sign, because the weekend got really crazy.

Oh, things started out quite orderly, but soon dissolved into a Lord of the Flies kind of situation. It started the first night of the 2 night trip. Some older teenagers came by and struck up a conversation with some of our older CAP members. The conversation involved beer, and the next thing you know, the older kids are gone. We hung around waiting for them for awhile, hoping to have some camping-type fun, but after a few hours, some of us went looking for them. Primarily because we had to station a “watch” someone to stay up for a certain period of time, juts like in the military. Someone had to be up at all times, and we did not want to have to do the whole things ourselves.

I remember that it was lightly raining, and we followed the trail the others had taken. It wasn’t long and the trail started to wind itself down to a road. There were no immediate homes in sight. The trail followed some high tension wires and as we stood under them we could hear them faintly snapping and hissing in the rain. They were also lightly glowing as well, an eerie sight.

The older kids did come back and they were all slightly inebriated. I hit the hay somewhat early as I was tired, and I had pulled watch duty for the dead of the night. When my time came, I was woken up by the previous night watch guy. I went outside and sat in a lawn chair. It had stopped raining, but things were still damp. I curled up in the chair with a blanket and promptly fell asleep, I missed waking up my relief and everyone just slept through the night. I never got any grief for it because I think everyone was happy to just sleep.

The next day we did quite a bit of repelling practice. One of the older guys climbed a tree to the top and affixed a rope. The rope was pulled taught across our camping area at an angle and we each took turns sliding down it on various accoutrements, from a type of sling, to something that was nothing more than just a big meat hook on a pulley.

The previous evenings nefarious AWOL trip left many of the guys wanting to go to the land of Buzz, and many talked longingly of alcohol consumption. Some one had smuggled in a few beers, and this just got people even more primed. One fellow said that you could get inebriated by drinking a type of tea, Sarsaparilla, I think it was. He said he knew how to make it so we spent several hours locating the correct plants and then boiling them to make the tea. It tasted awful, but everyone seemed to really be enjoying themselves. It turned out that the tea we made was really Sassafras tea, which supposedly had no intoxicating properties at all.

Despite that fact, people started to get good and hopped up as nightfall came. Again, we all hung out in the cinderblock building to have a fire, and again, we had some difficulty in getting it going because the wood was wet. We discovered that powdered Kool-aid with sugar caused the fire to behave in quite a lively manner and soon none of us had any Kool-aid left. Not satisfied with the size of the fire, older boys cut down a few slender trees, climbed up on to the flat roof of the building and began putting the trees down the chimney. This had the desired effect and pretty soon not only did we have a nice fire going, but parts of the roof were burning too. Smoke was coming out of various locations in and around the roof line and large palls of smoke were also billowing out of the chimney and into the building, such that we had to go back outside, where it had once again begun to lightly rain.

The rest of the evening passed without further incident, though we all kept a wary eye on the roof for fear of it actually bursting into flame. The next day saw us do some more repelling work, this time with the rope tied around the building’s chimney on one end and the bumper of a car on the other. Since the almost-fire of the night before, the guys attitude regarding the building became somewhat more nonchalant. A small group of guys had found a piece of pipe with cement on the end, which they discovered made very satisfying holes in the cinder block walls when thrown like a spear. In short order the side of the wall looked like Swiss cheese. I myself had several goes with the pipe.

In the meantime, we were also preparing to leave. People were packing and taking down the tent. The guy whose car it was that the rope was attached simply got in, started it up and gunned it. Dirt flew everywhere in a large plume, like the wake left behind a jet boat. The rope was still tied to the top of the chimney. We all held our breath as the rope stretched. What would give first, the rope or the chimney? With no audible sound, the chimney came away from the building, not just the top, but nearly the whole thing peeled away from the wall. As it fell it tumbled apart in a cascading rain of brick.

Everyone stopped and stared in silence, and then as a group we all begin to laugh; letting out one big belly laugh. We danced around hooting and hollering with tears rolling down our cheeks. It took us quite awhile to stop laughing, making it much more difficult to pack.

We never did return to the Plainville Fish and Game club.

EATS

2008-03-14T09:38:00.001-07:00

Is it me, or are chefs today getting too carried away? It seems that every recipe I read, or every menu from a highbrow restaurant, has the most outrageous mélange of ingredients. It reminds me of those “bafflegab thesauruses”. You know what I mean, the sheets where there are three columns of words and you pick a word from each column and it makes a word that sounds like a serious word, but is really just meaningless nonsense, like “adjudicated organizational management”.

Anyway, maybe it’s because chefs are running out of ideas, or that we have finally reached the outer boundary of what can be done to normal food and we now have to create a new synthesis of ingredients to create anything new, like finding new elements on the periodic table. New elements aren’t found in nature, but are only man made; we have run out of the “normal” elements.

Here are a few examples of what I am talking about. Perhaps you will want to try one of these delicacies yourself!

Pickeled hens brains on a bed of baby beets with pepper encrusted asparagus and a sour kraut au’ ju. For dessert, a flaming ugly fruit sorbet with chocolate sauce and a sprinkling of Fijian coconut shells.

Yum! Or how about,

Manatee pancreas stuffed with rhubarb and tofu, glazed with iced chipotle and served with hominy grits and a side of California Sea Kelp.

Doesn’t that sound delish! Or, one more,

Toe of Sasquatch burnished with the scrapings from old copper pipes served with a side of squid tentacles ( in its own ink, of course ) with Fly Agaric mushrooms and some green stuff that was growing on the grout in the men’s room!

Hhhmm, I’m getting hungry just thinking about that! How about you?

Asian chefs are the worst for this sort of thing, so much so there is even a television show, Iron Chef, where a panel of expert chefs is given the craziest ingredients and one hour to come up with a mouth watering delight. In Asian cooking if it doesn’t look gross, taste worse and be nearly poisonous, it’s just not worth eating. They practically challenge each other to eat things like,

1000 year old sea turtle penises dipped in pond scum and left out to dry in the sun for month and then drenched in camel vomit.

Well, it’s nearly lunch time and after writing this I am famished. Think of these recipes when you are planning your next dinner party. Your guests will relish your cooking acumen. Bon appetite!

Fair and Share

2008-03-13T09:47:00.000-07:00

OK, I am sick and tired of hearing about how men don’t share the house work. Women are always reminding men that dishes and laundry don’t do themselves. Now, I know that I can’t speak for all men, but I certainly share the house work, as do most of the men I know. I do laundry on occasion, fill and empty the dishwasher when needed, clean the house in a general way and cook when I have to. Now, it may not be an equal share, but I do share. However, to get a sense as to what is a “fair share” one must look at the totality of things that need to be done around the house, not just the most obvious. For example, I also shovel the snow, rake the leaves and mow the lawn. If you want to get picky about this whole “sharing thing”, then we need to look at these factors as well. My wife and I have lived in our house for 10 years and how many times has my wife mowed the lawn? Precisely zero times. How about, shoveling snow, or even something as simple as taking out the trash? To be fair, I believe that she has done these things on maybe one or two occasions, ever. Distasteful projects go to me, like the time my wife tried to flush a comb down the toilet. “Oh”, I hear you say, “you can’t flush a comb down the toilet”, and you are right. It gets stuck, but my wife did not know this and I ended up having to take the toilet up off the floor and snake it. There was also the time when the basement flooded because the gutters were clogged causing them to spill over, thus flooding the basement. I had to spend several hours out in the wet, cold rain to fix that little problem.

Now in fairness, I know that there are plenty of distasteful things that my wife does also, like cleaning up after the dog barfs. My point is however, that next time you, a woman, gets upset that your man isn’t sharing the work load, ask yourself when the last time you shared the responsibility of changing the car’s oil? It doesn’t change itself you know.

Sickos

2008-03-11T10:03:00.001-07:00

Having been out of work sick with the flu for the past two days, I have had the misfortune of not only being sick, but also of being subjected to daytime television as well. As a result, I have been sickened twice.

Someone once referred to television as the great wasteland. Now I know why. What I have witnessed has made me very afraid for the future of mankind. If we assume that marketers address their products to the viewing audience, we can by inference, make some assumptions about that audience. Here is what I have concluded;

The person watching daytime television is a woman, most likely disabled and obviously in need of legal assistance. Why else would there be some many commercials like those for the Trantolo and Trantolo law firm, Get Carter legal services or businesses whose goal it is to get the viewer on that assuredly deserved Social Security Disability? Commercials such as these make up approximately 50% of all ads in between television shows.

Our assumed viewer has a raft of physical maladies including, being overweight, problems with menstruation, age spots, headaches and toenail fungus. While her man is not at home, he is not spared her concern as I have inferred from all the commercials for medications dealing with prostrate trouble and erectile dysfunction; or perhaps these are aimed at the few, decidedly elderly, male viewers of this dribble. We are a sorry lot.

If our viewer is unable to get that coveted disability certification, there are a number of schools promising a shortened easy path to fabulous careers and good money; careers in fields such as nursing, accounting and veterinary science. How come none of these schools help you get jobs in the legal or pharmaceutical fields, as clearly there is big money there as well?

The commercials are not the only insights we have into our viewing audience. The shows themselves give us a number of clues. Clearly, our average viewer has a good deal of anxiety. She is concerned about how to raise her children, how to keep romance kindled in her relationships ( see previous comment about medications that treat erectile dysfunction ) and about paying the bills. Go figure?! She also must have a good deal of time on her hands during the day, otherwise why would “In the Loop” suggest that you participate in the show live via e-mail and why would there be hours and hours of programming dedicated to Soap Operas ( which by the way has little to do with either soap or opera )?

I would comment on shows like Gerry Springer or Oprah, but I think they speak for themselves. For me, I am going to work tomorrow, sick or not. I just can’t stand one more day of watching daytime television. Now, excuse me, I must run, the Guiding Light is coming on.

A Haiku

2008-03-07T06:50:00.000-08:00

A perfect blue sky
clouds beyond the horizon;
we are unaware.

Day Light Savings Time? Bah Humbug!

2008-03-05T13:14:00.000-08:00

This Sunday, we spring ahead. Yeah! I look forward to more PM daylight, but others are less happy, here is an excerpt I came across that struck a chord with me:

I don't really care how time is reckoned so long as there is some agreement about it, but I object to being told that I am saving daylight when my reason tells me that I am doing nothing of the kind. I even object to the implication that I am wasting something valuable if I stay in bed after the sun has risen. As an admirer of moonlight I resent the bossy insistence of those who want to reduce my time for enjoying it. At the back of the Daylight Saving scheme I detect the bony, blue-fingered hand of Puritanism, eager to push people into bed earlier, and get them up earlier, to make them healthy, wealthy and wise in spite of themselves."

Its Time for Torte Reform

2008-03-04T12:44:00.000-08:00

A fundamental problem in this country, I would put it up there with energy independence, is that of torte reform. What is torte reform? Here is the abbreviated version: no one in this country is responsible for their own behavior. If a kid gets up on some building’s roof, falls through a skylight and is hurt ( he should be killed, its cheaper ) is he responsible because he wasn’t supposed to be there? No, the building owner and their insurance company is. A gang member kills someone with a gun, the gun manufacturer is sued. An IDIOT spills hot coffee in her lap and McDonalds is somehow responsible. The best of all is when Ford was sued because a drunk driver killed someone driving a Ford. How was Ford responsible?

Where is the harm in this? Doctors don’t want to treat sick people. Without the Doc you might die, but of you live, and he screwed up something ( don’t we all make mistakes ), he has to PAY! People don’t want strangers visiting their homes for fear that they will slip and fall and then sue. What does this teach the children? This country used to be built in the notion of personal responsibility, now it’s always someone else’s fault. There is always some excuse. Now we have to have insurance for everything and lots of it. I know torte reform is not a sexy concept. Most people’s eyes glaze over when you begin to discuss it. However, if you asked the man on the street about the examples above, I am sure that to a person they would agree that the individual in question is at fault. Its just common sense.

Let me tell you, people who do not take personal responsibility drive me crazy! It shows a real character flaw. Suck it up, own up to your mistakes and suffer the consequences of your own decisions. Do not blame others. That’s cowardly.

So, if you do not like my blog, it’s my fault, not Blogger. I am personally responsible for all editorial comment and if you don’t like it don’t read it. It’s a free country. I am free to have my say, you are free to not read it. ( Its probably not a big deal because no one is reading this anyway ). Just keep this in mind when you fill out your O on election day, who is for torte reform?

Rediscovering the Connecticut Wilderness

2008-03-03T09:06:00.000-08:00

Perhaps you have seen, from time to time, a sign at the side of the road—a blue oval with white letters bearing strange Indian names, announcing a brown path that fades into the woods. Or perhaps you have hiked part of the "blue trail" and wondered how far it goes into the gray woods and to where. My friends and I, avid hikers, wondered the same, when our eyes fell upon these signs after returning from lofty backpacking trips in Colorado and Arizona. Seeking local adventure, we shunned the obligatory hiking of the Appalachian Trail that represents the zenith of hiking in Connecticut, choosing instead to explore the wilderness backcountry of our state.
When one thinks about hiking, one does not tend to think about Connecticut. Visions of Rocky Mountain vistas and Grand Canyon depths leap to the mind instead. In addition to discovering the trail less traveled, our purpose in this suburban hiking adventure was to bring attention to the remaining wild areas of Connecticut, a state on the frontlines in the fight against urban sprawl. Under pressure from development, a large portion of Connecticut’s history is being trodden down along with the wilderness and the trails that run through it. However, some of that New England charm is still there for those who look hard enough and who can put it all together from the pieces of the Humpty Dumpty that it is becoming. The Mattatuck Trail is such an example.
The Mattatuck Trail winds like a snake for approximately 38 miles through central Connecticut, connecting the town of Wolcott to Litchfield. Part of the "Blue Blaze" network of hiking trails, the Mattatuck was first officially recognized in 1929 when a group of individuals founded the Connecticut Forest and Parks Association (CFPA). Today this complex of trails, covering more than 700 miles in total, is maintained by the all-volunteer CFPA. This organization also publishes a guide called the Connecticut Walk Book that describes the major trails in Connecticut, complete with maps. This is an invaluable tool for mapping out hikes and we referenced it a great deal.
How the trail may have originally come about is obscured in the mystery of history. Perhaps these were wooded Indian paths or the highways of the day, but today the Mattatuck Trail and the other Blue Blaze trails skirt through and across the suburban and urban landscape. Most of the trails regularly cross private property, as they weave a complex pattern that stitches Connecticut’s remaining wild areas together.

Mike rests near Indian Jack Cave in Plymouth.
The trails have been changed and re-routed many times over the decades, as development and suburban sprawl have squeezed out the natural areas with which Connecticut was once rich. While under attack, these trails are not gone forever, however, as dedicated legions of people such as the CFPA safeguard the last bastions of Connecticut wilderness. Even today, over 60% of Connecticut is still forested. From the many rocky slab ridges, this fact is driven home as the eye wanders over the sea of green that is our home.
We hiked from south to north on a sunny Friday morning, beginning along the Mad River in Wolcott. The trail begins humbly enough, alongside a local basketball court. The first stretch, however, is quite scenic, passing many small waterfalls that would make a nice repose for a family on a lazy summer afternoon.
It does not take long before the trail reveals a part of its true nature, as it gets lost in a swampy wasteland area. Most people would turn back here, I presume. We were daunted as we lost the trail for the first time (but not the last), but persevered until we picked it up again. Once through this, the trail skirts homes and cuts across roads, making its way to Plymouth. Soon we encountered one of the hike’s highlights, Indian Jack Cave. More a hollow in a rock face, legend has it that a Native American lived in this cave at around the turn of the 20th century. Today it bears the pictographs of teenagers leaving their own marks in spray paint. When I first visited here years ago, it seemed so remote, but today it is easy to make out the coloration of homes through the trees.
The trail led us out of the woods to a spot where it ran along the road, and moving quickly past people’s driveways, we wondered to each other what others might be thinking of us as they drove past. Then the trail cut back into the woods and down along Buttermilk Falls, one of Connecticut’s best, but little known, natural features. It was a joy to behold on a warm spring day as we skipped from rock to rock, our packs seemingly lightened by the dappled sun and the heady scent of spring wildflowers. We dropped our loads and enjoyed it while it lasted.
From there things got tough. More roads, then back into the woods. Uphill through a tunnel of laurel, I wished they were in bloom. The trail quickly became confused and so did we, as we stood at the intersection of several brown woods roads with no signs of any kind. When hiking in Connecticut it is a regular event to come upon these old unpaved fire roads in the woods. We picked one, using only intuition, and moved on. Again and again we faced this dilemma. One time we saw a state DEP car in the middle of the woods. No one was around. How did it get here? Why was it there? There was no one to ask.
Finally, we emerged from the forest into a sand pit area on the border of Army Corps of Engineers property. It looked like a place that would be left over after a nuclear war. Rusty old drums and bits of twisted metal lined the dirt road. Here great holes have been torn in the earth for some reason unknown to us. There was a strange juxtaposition between the sight before us and the smell of honeysuckle on the breeze.
We came out of the woods, and went back into the woods. Then we encountered the first real uphill section, and the going slowed down. Again we lost the trail as it meandered into a swamp, and we cared not to. We went up, and then down. Another road, and then another. We walked for about a mile on the street—hard on our feet. A man in his yard asked if we were looking for snow, obviously a remark aimed at us because of our trekking poles—walking sticks that look like ski poles. We didn’t need them on the road, but they have become a habit from past treks. We were sure we looked a sight and we laughed at ourselves.
Finally, back into the woods, but alas, up a steep hill. We passed the remains of an old foundation and stopped to look in silent reverie. Huffing and puffing, we crested the hill. The trail skirted the crown, but we went straight up, bushwhacking, eager to see the view. We reached a woody knoll under lofty hardwoods. New spring grass emerged at our feet and erupted in a riot of red columbine—thousands of them. This was more wild columbine than I had ever seen, and I have hiked a lot in Connecticut. This was Mt. Tobe on the Thomaston line. I renamed it Columbine Hill—they must be happy there.
Then, there it was: our view, and a grand one at that! We stood atop a rock ledge looking south over Thomaston, Watertown and Waterbury. A sea of green broken by a ribbon of black highway, Route 8, lay before us. We rested for a while, but realized we had wandered off the trail. Where was it? We turned around and there was a blaze on a tree. We were on the trail! We had hiked 12 miles in about 7 hours. We had walked to the end of Friday.
A hawk admired me as I lay on a rock; perhaps he thought he had found a banquet. We rested our soles and our souls.

Scott at the lookout above Black Rock State Park.
The next day we moved on, eager to see more. We traveled down now, past things that the trail description said were there, but we didn’t see. Past something called "Balancing Rock." There was supposed to be a trail register there, but we didn’t see the rock, or the register. Down, down—the trail, while still marked, disappeared. We followed the blazes and blazed our own trail. The smell of the wastewater treatment plant hit us at the same time as the sound of the traffic.
We popped out onto a main road in Thomaston. It was Saturday morning and the street was filled with traffic whizzing by at 50 mph. We picked up our pace to a humble 2 mph. We passed great scars in the earth and factories with names that meant nothing, bearing banners proclaiming "ISO 9001 Certified." The trail took a right, heading up a steep road and then back into the woods. We knew that it skips up over a knob and then cuts back down, emerging on this same road a few hundred yards ahead. We had no inclination to take this detour, so we stayed on the road.
We crossed the Naugatuck River and stopped to take a picture. Looking out, it could have been any river in any beautiful place—until we looked down and saw the refuse lining the riverbank and bottom. A child’s bicycle lay at the bottom of the river. A trout swam in its shadow.
Mike stands on the trail under Route 8 in Thomaston.
We stopped in Thomaston to re-supply on food and water. After this point the trail got crazy, taking a sharp left, curving on the road past more factories and industry, then heading back into the woods again. One blaze only, then none. A few yards down the road the blazes began again, but now the trail itself was gone, thick and choked with weeds. We consulted the trail guide for the 100th time. We had to cross the river, so here seemed like as good a place as any. We found a shallow spot and got only a little wet—no big deal since it was a warm spring day. Going left we walked about a quarter of a mile before my directional alarm went off. Something was wrong. We were going the wrong way. We turned around.
The trail went under the highway, and we entered the Mattatuck State Forest. It’s a giddy feeling to stand under the highway, knowing that tons of metal and steel are zooming over your head. The trail began to climb. It meandered, twisting and turning back upon itself. We should go that way, but it wants to go this way. It takes six miles to travel what is, in reality, only two.
Again the blazes disappeared; the trees are unmarked here. We were left with little else but choices in the woods. We were eager to see Leatherman’s Cave. The Leatherman is a local legend, part truth and part folklore. The story goes that the Leatherman was an immigrant from France, sometime in the 1800s. He left his native country because of a jilted love and came to the United States to live the life of a hermit. Dressed head to toe in leather, he walked a circuitous path through Connecticut and New York, stopping at the same places at the same time each year to earn his keep, cobbling leather. The Mattatuck trail is part of the Leatherman’s old route. Perhaps this is why the trail is so serpentine.
We missed the trail entirely, but did manage to find a family that was also walking in circles in the woods. They, too, were looking for the cave. They went one way, we went another. These were the first people we had encountered hiking the trail.
We picked the route that evidently goes up and over the cave, and it is a steep one at that. We stopped to huff and puff at the top, where we were provided with a more than 180-degree view of the rolling Connecticut countryside. From up there the only signs of civilization we saw were a cell phone tower and the highway heading off into the distance. It was easy to ignore those things and imagine the way Connecticut was, probably as little as 100 years ago.
We traveled down, across Route 6, and into Black Rock State Park. This was the part of the trip we had not been looking forward to, knowing that it is quite steep. At first it was a beautiful walk in the woods, under shady pines. But then the climb began. Connecticut may not be full of tall mountains, but it still makes for some challenging hiking. We rested at the side of the trail to get water from a small waterfall. (Kids, don’t try this at home—we used an especially designed filter for this purpose.) Finally we reached the rock, elevation about 800 feet. There was a wide vista, and we could clearly see the route we had taken. Down below, the park stretched out before our feet. We saw campers and people playing baseball; roads and grocery stores dotted the distance.
From this point it was three miles to our next landmark, Route 109, which makes its way north past the reservoirs that supply Waterbury. The trail winds down through prehistoric stands of trees. It appears very much the way you imagine it would have looked millions of years ago. Except for the sound. We can hear the sound of Route 109 getting closer and then farther away. I pretend that it is a dinosaur. I can imagine it as a T-Rex stalking through these very woods.

Mike stood near his tent before we began our third day of hiking.
The section of the Mattatuck Trail between Black Rock State Park and Route 109 was the most beautiful stretch of the hike, crossing many small streams and old stone walls. We wondered how long they have been there, and marveled at the work that went into them.
It did not seem like three miles. Despite its beauty, we were quite tired from two full days of hiking. It was getting late on Saturday afternoon and we still had many miles to go. It was cool under the pine canopy and the prehistoric mosquitoes were out in full force. Our bodies were like a traveling buffet for them, and soon we were itching all over. We emerged from the woods onto a road. The warm sun on the hot tar was inviting, so we used this opportunity to shed our shoes and soak it up. We had no fear of traffic, because this road is not a road; it is the back entrance to yet another wastewater recovery plant.
We couldn’t dally long, or we would get nowhere. Soon we were back to logging the miles. After an interminable period, we realized we were closing in on Route 109—and then, there it was! We bounded up a small slope and stood staring at the speeding traffic. We waited for a lull. When it came, we ran across the road, no easy feat with a 30-pound pack on your back.

This engraved rock pays tribute to Alain White and his sister May, whose vision and generosity led to the formation of the White Memorial Foundation.
Once across the road, we entered the city of Waterbury watershed property, as many signs reminded us. We walked up a dirt road for less than a mile to where the road takes a left and, after cutting across a small stream, angles to the west. Soon we were on a long dirt mound about 5 feet wide and about 30 feet high—our trail description calls this the "goat path." It seemed like an odd geological formation, and we wondered how it was created. It might have been the rail bed for a small railway that was known to exist in the area years ago. By this time it was late in the day, so any relief we got from the bugs was short-lived. We moved faster to try to make it harder for them to catch us.
We were approaching the boundary for the White Memorial Conservation Center—or "White’s Woods," as it is known locally. Several mountain bikers zoomed past, and we crossed two dirt roads. Finally we entered the Whites Woods property. Whites Woods meant to us that we were in Litchfield, our backyard. We had logged over 24 miles in two days. We stopped for the night.
Whites Woods is an interesting place. It was established in 1964 on property originally owned by Alain White and his sister, May. Their vision and generosity led to the formation of the White Memorial Foundation. As a nonprofit organization, the Center exists for the purpose of education, conservation, research and recreation. Today the endowment the Whites funded supports almost 4,000 acres of diverse environmental niches. We have spent many happy hours at all times of the year exploring Whites Woods. It is renown for its trails that are used for things such as off-road biking and cross-country skiing. Whites Woods and its attendant trails wind and twist throughout the community of Litchfield.
On Sunday we were on the trail again. The Mattatuck trail takes its time as it wanders through Whites Woods. In fact, because we are so familiar with the area, we decided to take a shortcut. The trails are broad, flat and marked quite well, but we got lost for a brief period anyway. It was a cool and rainy day, and so despite the ease of hiking, we become quite cold and tired early.
Whites Woods is really the end of the Mattatuck Trail. From Whites Woods there is a two-mile break before it resumes again for a two-mile stretch over Prospect Mountain on the Bantam/ Litchfield border. The trail is not marked at all in this area. After Prospect Mountain there is yet another larger break of about eight miles before the trail resumes and finally reaches its official terminus at Mohawk Mountain.
We had hiked 34 miles in three days. We were tired and wet. It was the end of the trail for us. We called it a day just a few miles from our homes. We had hiked the major section of the contiguous trail, and been mostly faithful to its vacillations. It was with a bittersweet feeling that we turned our back to the trail, unfinished, and headed for home.
But the trail is never really done. We will return to it one day. There are also other trails to be hiked, such as the Mattabassett and the Tunxis. The threats to our wilderness areas have not gone away. The trails must be maintained. We will hike the trails and enjoy them when we can. This was not the end, but a break between sections, like crossing a road. Adventure is a state of mind, and not a place to be visited. The trail starts right outside your front door. Who knows where it might end?
If you should follow that trail into the woods to see where it may lead, may you find what you seek; take notice of the beauty that we have right here in our own backyard. But please be kind and respect our natural resources. Believe it or not, the wilderness is fragile. One step can crush a flower into non-existence. Follow the principles of "leave no trace"—take out everything you bring into the woods, and leave it a better place than you found it! In this way we can ensure that there will always be trails to follow and wilderness in Connecticut to rediscover.

Management!

2008-02-28T11:25:00.000-08:00

2008-02-25T10:03:00.001-08:00

Youth is Beauty

The Old Road

2008-02-22T06:40:00.001-08:00

I am an old road,
rutted, worn and weather-wise;
hardscrabble and dirt brown.
My name is now
forgotten. Once I was
going somewhere.
Today, it’s neither here
nor there; a dead end.
I wait and wonder,
dozing and doting,
under winter snows
for the plow.

You Never Really Know Someone

2008-02-21T10:00:00.000-08:00

You never really know someone, as this true story will illustrate. My step-brother had been divorced and re-married. He married a woman by the name of Marge. Marge had been previously married as well and had grown children and even grandchildren. Prior to she and my step-brother getting married, Marge had job and a house of her own. She sold her house when she and my step brother were married. They had been married for ten years or more and I had met Marge on several occasions. She seemed like a perfectly normal grandmother of nearly 60. There was no sign she lived another life.

One day Marge announced that she had made plans to visit her son, a police officer, who lived in Minnesota. There seemed to be nothing unusual about that as she had done this before, but probably not as often as she would have liked. She made plans in the typical way and when she arrived in Minnesota she rented a car as travelers often do.

The first thing she did after getting her car was to go and rob a bank. She wore a big sun hat and glasses and pulled into the drive through. She handed the teller a threatening note, stating that if she were not given money, it would be “curtains” for everyone. She was given a bag full of money. The ironic thing is that my step-brother owned a curtain and drapes business.

I am not sure why, perhaps she did not get as much money as she hoped, but about 30 minutes later she robbed another bank. The cops get angry when you rob one bank, but they go totally mad if you rob more than one in the same day. Furthermore, they are more prepared. It wasn’t long afterwards that Marge was caught.

In the car, they found the hat and glasses and photocopies of the note she used. They also found the money of course. It seemed to be a clear cut case.

Since robbing a bank is a federal offense, the FBI became involved. When things like this happen, they assume that it didn’t happen out of the blue and that there had to be more cases, so they began looking at unsolved robberies by apparently older women in the greater area in which my step brother and Marge lived. It turned out that there had been a string of such hold-ups and that the police had nicknamed the culprit the “Grandmother Bandit”. All told, they discovered that she had likely robbed 7 banks in three different states, several convenience stores and a Cracker Barrel restaurant.

At first Marge pled not guilty, but later changed her plea to guilty. She never explained why she did what she did, not to the police and not to my step brother; not to anyone.

Marge has served 5 years in federal prison. My family stays in regular contact with letters and cards and such and she writes back often. She seems to have had good spirits throughout her time in prison and she even got a job and helped tutor the other prisoners. She said that prison wasn’t so bad.

To this day, the whole thing remains a mystery. While my family has remained in touch, they never mention what happened and neither does Marge. She is due to be released this year. It will be interesting to see what happens then.

In the end, you wonder why a woman of nearly 60, a mother and a grandmother, with a nice home, solid income and a faithful husband would suddenly take up robbery. If so, why? Why then? Did she need money to support a lifestyle she couldn’t afford?. Was it the thrill? Or had she been doing this for years, right under my step brothers nose, and was only just caught with several crimes still unsolved which are attributable to her? We’ll never know. Marge isn’t telling. The one thing we can know for sure is that you can never really know another person.

Molly's Plight

2008-02-20T10:19:00.001-08:00

Molly, our dog, a Boxer girl, has limped on and off over the years. The vet thought that it was Lyme disease and treated her accordingly. The treatment appeared to help and the limping would stop for awhile, sometimes for a year or more; until last year, when she began to limp again, this time persistently and not intermittently.

We took her to the vet who thought that her condition was either caused by a tumor or Degenerative Myelopathy. He said that if it was a tumor it would most likely be a type that would not show up on most types of imaging, MRI, X-Ray, etc. Degenerative

Myelopathy ( D.M. ) is common in German Shepherds, Irish Setters and Chesapeake Bay Retrievers, among others, but less so ( or at least less diagnosed ) in Boxers. DM is a disorder of the spinal column and nervous tissue, which normally starts when the dog is in advanced age. Molly is now about nine years of age. The disease is marked by ataxia, or the inability to coordinate the limbs, usually the hind limbs at first. The sheath or outer covering of the nerves begins to deteriorate and therefore, they cannot conduct nerve impulses as well. DM is diagnosed when other disorders with the same symptoms, such as slipped disks and the aforementioned spinal tumors, are ruled out.

Over the next few months, in addition to limping, Molly also began to trip over her foot, which was often no longer straight, but bent at a funny angle, with her “elbow” cocked outwards. She also began to “club” her foot. Her toes roll over and she walks on the top of her foot. The onset of symptoms with the tumor and DM are similar, but the progression is different. Given Molly’s symptoms, we now believe that she has DM.

Like any of us with a disability, some days are better for Molly than others. At first the disease did not impair Molly much, but within the past 6 months, she has lost a lot of muscle tone in her hindquarters. She can no longer go up the stairs, though she can manage, for now, the two steps on our porch which lead outside. She is also now very afraid to walk on slippery surfaces. When she does, she has no control over her affected leg, and it “skates” out from under her. She is good with rugs, so we have had to put area

rugs down all over our hardwood and tiled floors. She can also no longer get on the couch, but needs help to get up. Sometimes her legs become entangled and she trips over herself and falls down. We are on constant look out for Molly to ensure her safety.

My wife and I joined an informational support group on the internet about the disease. I had no idea it was so common. It is one of the busiest lists to which I have ever belonged. What’s the prognosis for Molly? We have been taking her for regular treatments, including acupuncture and chiropractic. Diet and exercise are important. There may also be medication available which can mitigate the disease. We have tried various slings and such with limited success. There is no cure, but we can add quality and quantity to her life. We bought her booties to wear so that she does not cut up the top of her foot, which is common for dogs with DM. They also help with traction. Molly will only get worse, and at some point, we may be looking at a doggie wheelchair, or a “cart”. Many dogs take well to these mobility aids because it provides them a new found sense of freedom which they had otherwise lost.

Molly will continue to lose control over her rear end. She has begun to club her other foot. She may lose control over her other leg as well. In later stages of the disease, she may lose control over her bodily functions, such as her bladder. For this reason, urinary tract infections are also common with dogs that have DM.

The average life expectancy for a Boxer is about 10 years. We feel confident that we can help her see that number and even beyond. Molly is still in good spirits, she still likes to play and occasionally still tries to run, in a hopping style of gait. We dote over her more and we let her sniff for longer periods outside. We don’t know how much time she may have left, but for now, she is still the queen of the house.

The Stupidity of Crowds

2008-02-19T08:50:00.000-08:00

A colleague of mine was telling me of a book he was reading entitled “The Wisdom of Crowds”. Now, I haven’t read the book, but knowing what I do of humanities foibles I am already dubious of this books premise. Last night I was watching a television show about North Korea which made me think of this book. The closed and paranoid government of Kim Jong Il had agreed to a rare opportunity for a western journalist to visit the country. What I saw was mind blowing! I had always wondered how the Germans could have been duped by Hitler, and in this example of North Korea, it is painfully clear. There is a recipe of sorts you can follow which is in part: 1) Create fear of outside influences 2) Control the media 3) Tightly control borders 4) Dish out rewards and punishment capriciously 5) Beat the people into subservitude, preferably through poverty and famine 6) Take credit for everything that goes right and deny that anything goes wrong.

In North Korea the people are very poor. If you do something against the government, your whole family is sent to prison camps. Everything is against the government. People are punished for hunting mice to eat because there is nothing else. Young boys fought over a corn kernel they found in a cows shit so that they could eat it, so desperate is their plight. In the media there is only good news of the Great Leader’s doings. You must watch these shows ( if you have TV ). The police come around to ensure that you are only reading and seeing appropriate, government approved, media. Everyone has pictures of the Great Leader in their home and larger than life portraits and statutes adorn every building and village square. You must always thank the Great General for what you have, as we here may say grace before a meal. The journalist was allowed in because she was with a small contingent of South Korean’s coming to the country to provide humanitarian aid; specifically optical surgery. Over the course of several days a doctor performed cataract surgery on 1,000 people, many of whom had been blind for years. When they could see, the first thing they did was to prostrate themselves at the feet of the Great Leaders photograph and thank him for their restored sight. Thank him! No one thanked the doctor! The doctor had all his patients waiting in a large auditorium and each would get up and do this “I can see” dance and then collapse under the Great Leaders photograph while the assembled throng cheered exuberantly. If there exists a better example of brain washing, I have yet to see it. I truly believe that people believed what they were saying.

So, where is the wisdom of crowds? After seeing what was happening in North Korea, my thoughts went to my own government. How do we know what they say and do is the truth? We don’t and we should always be suspicious. Question authority! It is my duty as a free person to criticize my government ( not just the feds either, state and local governments count too, this is where tyranny often starts, at home ). The alternative is all too scary and all too real. I wont accept a diminishment of liberty. Therefore, we all must be on constant guard.

Howdy!

2008-02-19T08:45:00.000-08:00

A big shout out goes to my good friend Jim, who I believe is the only person besides me who is actually reading this blog! Yo, Jim! Its nice to have an audience, even if its an audience of one!