I am leaving the office in a few minutes, heading for Menifee, and then onto Hemet, where I will be taken to dinner by Filipinos (who speak excellent English). I will spend the night there and then in the morning the male Filipino and I will head for the Sycuan Resort, where we, along with six others --two foursomes-- will spend three days golfing our large butts off during the day and relaxing at the casino in the evening. It will come as no surprise to my regular readers that I will not spend even one nickel gambling.
We will have a 72 hole individual tournament, and then a final two-team scrabble. Moderate amounts of money will change hands. Of the eight contestants, six will needlessly tire themselves out gambling into the wee hours. The other adventurer and I will go back to the motel very early and ignore any homo-erotic fantasies that might occur to us. Well, I will...
So content yourselves until my return... talk among yourselves. And know that if nothing exciting happens, I will certainly make something up when I report on the outing.
Hey, people, let's be careful out there...
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Foo Foo
Foo Foo is the two word phrase I use to describe hoity-toity-ness. As is, she was way to foo foo for the likes of me, or, Mexico is not a very foo foo nation.
I was in a Nordstrom's yesterday. It's way to involved to explain why I was there. But I didn't feel as badly as I might have, given that I found a 'premo' parking spot and beat another car to it. That car was driven by an adult female Hispanic with a car load of Hispanic teenage girls. It was a Taurus and she had five girls in the front passenger seats, and at least nine in the back seat. As I pulled in to the spot, she began honking. I finished parking, got out and approached the still-honking Mexi-harridan, motioning in time-honored tradition, "Hey, what's up?" She rolled down her window and began complaining that she was entitled to the spot. I told her she wasn't, which was 100% true, I had seen it first and gotten to it first, it wasn't a case of her waiting there. Her retort was that if I were a gentleman I would do the right thing. I said that I might, but only for a lady. There were "oooooo's" from the back seat. I walked away and she flpped me off as she drove by me. So I waited til she was out of sight and then moved my vehicle. No way was I going to let it stay there! You have no idea what Hispanics are capable of!!
Once I was done with my business in Nordstom's, I stopped to take this photo:
There were FIVE different counters devoted to women's make up and the application of women's make up! That's how foo foo this store is. Except for some Rodeo Dr. establishments, Nordstom's is about as foo foo as SoCal gets. Certainly no other major SoCal chain even comes close, in terms of foo foo-ness.
When I met my wife, she had a Nordstrom's account. She once ran into an ex-girl friend of mine in Nordstom's. They were in the same elevator, each with a stroller. Liz told me that I did the right thing marrying her, because the ex-girl friend's baby was ugly. It's nice when you have such graphic confirmation of a prior decision. My wife is in total agreement that she is no longer foo foo, if she ever was. I take full credit!
I was in a Nordstrom's yesterday. It's way to involved to explain why I was there. But I didn't feel as badly as I might have, given that I found a 'premo' parking spot and beat another car to it. That car was driven by an adult female Hispanic with a car load of Hispanic teenage girls. It was a Taurus and she had five girls in the front passenger seats, and at least nine in the back seat. As I pulled in to the spot, she began honking. I finished parking, got out and approached the still-honking Mexi-harridan, motioning in time-honored tradition, "Hey, what's up?" She rolled down her window and began complaining that she was entitled to the spot. I told her she wasn't, which was 100% true, I had seen it first and gotten to it first, it wasn't a case of her waiting there. Her retort was that if I were a gentleman I would do the right thing. I said that I might, but only for a lady. There were "oooooo's" from the back seat. I walked away and she flpped me off as she drove by me. So I waited til she was out of sight and then moved my vehicle. No way was I going to let it stay there! You have no idea what Hispanics are capable of!!
Once I was done with my business in Nordstom's, I stopped to take this photo:
There were FIVE different counters devoted to women's make up and the application of women's make up! That's how foo foo this store is. Except for some Rodeo Dr. establishments, Nordstom's is about as foo foo as SoCal gets. Certainly no other major SoCal chain even comes close, in terms of foo foo-ness.
When I met my wife, she had a Nordstrom's account. She once ran into an ex-girl friend of mine in Nordstom's. They were in the same elevator, each with a stroller. Liz told me that I did the right thing marrying her, because the ex-girl friend's baby was ugly. It's nice when you have such graphic confirmation of a prior decision. My wife is in total agreement that she is no longer foo foo, if she ever was. I take full credit!
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
My Position on illegal Irrigation.
I'm for irrigation, legal or not.
No one knows, or could ever hope to know, how much of what we eat is the result of illegal irrigation. And no one in America is about to stop the fevered bending of the elbow, shoveling food from plate to maw, at least not that I can see.
So the inevitable conclusion is that it really doesn't matter what we say, because what we do is what counts, and we eat all the food we can get our hands on, without a thought as to whether or not it was produced via illegal irrigation.
So I say, if we're going to eat the food, what does it really matter? Legal or illegal, without irrigation, we're going to be a hungry, grumpy lot.
No one knows, or could ever hope to know, how much of what we eat is the result of illegal irrigation. And no one in America is about to stop the fevered bending of the elbow, shoveling food from plate to maw, at least not that I can see.
So the inevitable conclusion is that it really doesn't matter what we say, because what we do is what counts, and we eat all the food we can get our hands on, without a thought as to whether or not it was produced via illegal irrigation.
So I say, if we're going to eat the food, what does it really matter? Legal or illegal, without irrigation, we're going to be a hungry, grumpy lot.
Bill Moy, Gentleman Golfer . . .
See, there's this guy, Bill Moy, with whom I play golf. The thing about him is that he never gives up. Another of the guys in our group commented on this trait recently, saying something to the effect that no matter how far behind Bill was, you'd have to cut off his head before he'd quit. So when I saw this Sherman's Lagoon comic (SLagoon.com/toons) I appropriated it for this tribute.
Monday, May 28, 2007
If She'd had kids, she could be a Grandmother by now!
The title is not meant to be taken negatively. Isn't Nancy Wilson just the All American Girl? I want to star her in "Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Rocked Guitarist." It would flirt with an R rating, but the old Mormon "No Nippleage" rule would save the PG rating.
You know who took this photo?
Me!
At a concert!
In my pajamas!
With my very own camera!
And my very on HDTV!
Except for the absence of the crush of bodies, the splitting headache from the sound, the reek of weed, the bowing and scraping to get a ticket, the drudgery of getting to the venue and finding parking and then the fight to get out and get on the road home, it was just like being there.
Notice how she's flipping off JFS?
Solemnity
Solemnity . . .
I'd always known I had a problem in this area, but the cap stone on the edifice of my inability to be solemn came at what has to be considered a tender age, 19. A hallowed edifice dedicated to me being a jerk.
I was once a Mormon Missionary. It was Old School. I don't know what they do now, exactly, but it's way different. Old School, we spent a week at the Mission Home in Salt Lake City, about a block from Temple Square. We were there for seven days, and we got preached to by everybody who was anybody, except for David O. McKay, who was at the point the Prophet, Seer & Revelator, aka President of the Church. He must have been out of town...
The most notable Church dignitary in those days, other than Pres. McKay, was Joseph Fielding Smith. Joseph Fielding Smith was made an Apostle in 1910! JFS succeeded David O. McKay as President of the Church. One thing you could have taken to the bank during his tenure was that God was not going to give Blacks the Priesthood on his watch! Old School, he was the last of the really Heavy Hitters. I don't know now to what extent JFS's writings are venerated, but Old School, he was the Boss. JFS was succeeded by Harold B. Lee. He was New School...
My Missionary Companion was Elder Bowler. Melvin Bowler. He'd be a force in Utah politics right now if he hadn't been killed in a solo car accident during his first year back at BYU after the Mission. According to Mormon Theory, these things just don't happen for no reason, so it was commonly accepted that Elder Bowler was Called Home... Don't get me started...
So there are Elder Bowler and Elder Bananas sitting side by side, at the left edge of the room, about three-quarters of the way back, looking solemn as all get out, part of a group of about 200 solemn as all get out Missionaries. We'd been in this stuffy room for most of the morning, being preached to. The current speaker finished and one the Mission Home staff moved to the podium and with great (but hushed) excitement told us that Joseph Fielding Smith has decided to address us! And in he walked!
At this late stage in my life I can no longer remember what he was talking about, but I do remember that he was after audience participation. He asked a question to which the answer was three. When he posed the question, he asked that we show him the answer by holding up the correct number of fingers. I knew the answer was three, so my hand shot up, and while my cognitive center was sending out a message to motor control center to hold up three fingers, motor control center got a message from, probably, the primitive lizard brain part of human mind and I flipped Joseph Fielding Smith the bird.
If one accepts that 'these things just don't happen for no reason' then one must conclude that I am definitely following a plan... Which, of course, would raise more questions than it answers. Were I a solemn chap, I'd think about it.
I'd always known I had a problem in this area, but the cap stone on the edifice of my inability to be solemn came at what has to be considered a tender age, 19. A hallowed edifice dedicated to me being a jerk.
I was once a Mormon Missionary. It was Old School. I don't know what they do now, exactly, but it's way different. Old School, we spent a week at the Mission Home in Salt Lake City, about a block from Temple Square. We were there for seven days, and we got preached to by everybody who was anybody, except for David O. McKay, who was at the point the Prophet, Seer & Revelator, aka President of the Church. He must have been out of town...
The most notable Church dignitary in those days, other than Pres. McKay, was Joseph Fielding Smith. Joseph Fielding Smith was made an Apostle in 1910! JFS succeeded David O. McKay as President of the Church. One thing you could have taken to the bank during his tenure was that God was not going to give Blacks the Priesthood on his watch! Old School, he was the last of the really Heavy Hitters. I don't know now to what extent JFS's writings are venerated, but Old School, he was the Boss. JFS was succeeded by Harold B. Lee. He was New School...
My Missionary Companion was Elder Bowler. Melvin Bowler. He'd be a force in Utah politics right now if he hadn't been killed in a solo car accident during his first year back at BYU after the Mission. According to Mormon Theory, these things just don't happen for no reason, so it was commonly accepted that Elder Bowler was Called Home... Don't get me started...
So there are Elder Bowler and Elder Bananas sitting side by side, at the left edge of the room, about three-quarters of the way back, looking solemn as all get out, part of a group of about 200 solemn as all get out Missionaries. We'd been in this stuffy room for most of the morning, being preached to. The current speaker finished and one the Mission Home staff moved to the podium and with great (but hushed) excitement told us that Joseph Fielding Smith has decided to address us! And in he walked!
At this late stage in my life I can no longer remember what he was talking about, but I do remember that he was after audience participation. He asked a question to which the answer was three. When he posed the question, he asked that we show him the answer by holding up the correct number of fingers. I knew the answer was three, so my hand shot up, and while my cognitive center was sending out a message to motor control center to hold up three fingers, motor control center got a message from, probably, the primitive lizard brain part of human mind and I flipped Joseph Fielding Smith the bird.
If one accepts that 'these things just don't happen for no reason' then one must conclude that I am definitely following a plan... Which, of course, would raise more questions than it answers. Were I a solemn chap, I'd think about it.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Intervention Time!
I am in favor of letting people do whatever they want, even if it ends of costing me money. Take for instance, motorcycle helmets. Those in 'authority' would tell me that when I say it doesn't matter to me whether someone wears a helmet or not that it really DOES matter to me, because if that M/C rider falls and cracks his skull and ends up a quintuplepalegic, I'm going to have to help pay for his care, in one way or another. And there is some merit to that argument. But I believe that I'll be paying taxes, and more taxes and even more taxes no matter how many men are saved from quintuplepalegia by being forced to wear helmets. So in the end, it's not going to cost me less money if they don't, or even 'more' money.
But now I have to take a stand. Big T called this morning, wanting to play golf. I called another friend, Ralph, and we have decided an intervention is required. We are going to meet Big T at Hesperia at 11:30 a.m. to try to get him to see that he just might be playing too much golf. We'll listen to his always well reasoned arguments, and if he can convince us that there is no such thing as too much golf (which he has successfully argued in the past) we will not force him to stop.
So if you have any thoughts on this subject, it would be good to hear from you, as the more input we get, the more likely we are to find Truth.
But now I have to take a stand. Big T called this morning, wanting to play golf. I called another friend, Ralph, and we have decided an intervention is required. We are going to meet Big T at Hesperia at 11:30 a.m. to try to get him to see that he just might be playing too much golf. We'll listen to his always well reasoned arguments, and if he can convince us that there is no such thing as too much golf (which he has successfully argued in the past) we will not force him to stop.
So if you have any thoughts on this subject, it would be good to hear from you, as the more input we get, the more likely we are to find Truth.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
"Top Medical Journal Blasts 'Designer Vagina' Craze
The above is straight from Drudge. I didn't click on the link because no way was the reality of the story going to come close to what my imagination was dealing with...or with which my imagination was now dealing.
I've never met a Designer Vagina. I don't think anyone has even offered to introduce me to one... you know, as in, 'hey, my sister is back in town and she brought a friend, with a designer vagina. Wanna meet them?'
I did once meet a vagina with training wheels. But that was okay, because my penis also had a training wheel.
First on the imagination block was a tasteful racing stripe. Then custom pipes. then fat slicks on the rear end...
Then I switched allusions and thought about electronic enhancements, something like upgrading the software so the the hardware had a better time... and HighDef audio.
Speaking of which, Heart was on Video1 rock honors. Followed by Genesis. I danced and held up my right arm and waved it back and forth, thus cementing my place in the world of Rock 'n Roll.
I've never met a Designer Vagina. I don't think anyone has even offered to introduce me to one... you know, as in, 'hey, my sister is back in town and she brought a friend, with a designer vagina. Wanna meet them?'
I did once meet a vagina with training wheels. But that was okay, because my penis also had a training wheel.
First on the imagination block was a tasteful racing stripe. Then custom pipes. then fat slicks on the rear end...
Then I switched allusions and thought about electronic enhancements, something like upgrading the software so the the hardware had a better time... and HighDef audio.
Speaking of which, Heart was on Video1 rock honors. Followed by Genesis. I danced and held up my right arm and waved it back and forth, thus cementing my place in the world of Rock 'n Roll.
Kicking Fate's Fat Ass
I don't believe in "Fate" with a capital fate, as in it was Fate that the two of them should meet that sundown at her father's bris...
But I do believe in fate, all lower case. As in, if you drink that entire 12-pack of Natural Lite and then to defuse my exploding chastity belt, I think we're fated to die virgins. In other words, I see fate as mostly self-inflicted.
What most people consider to be "Fate" is merely coincidence. It is not God calling someone home via a twelve volt truck battery coming through the windshield at a combined speed of 140 mph.
God and Coincidence appear to have a lot in common, in terms of not always understanding the why of this or that, much less whether it was God or Coincidence that led to the creation of the Internet. Mark my words, within 30 years there will be a tribe in New Guinea, thanks to the $100 laptops, which will worship the Internet. Internet Cults, with paypal accounts.
So what's all this have to do with the photo? Well, Grasshopper, we went to lunch at a Chinese buffet. When they brought the bill, there were fortune cookies on the little tray, one for each diner. That's mine in the photo. I never opened it. I never open fortune cookies. It drives people crazy. Especially astrology buffs. Yeah, astrology buffs and people with that permanent disability, Nopesarelcraccophobia. You've seen these latter sufferers, intently watching the sidewalk as the move along, making sure they don't step on a crack.
I once opened an umbrella indoors as I walked under a ladder, wearing a jersey with the number 13 on it, with 666 lipsticked on my forehead and then broke a mirror with a salt shaker, spilling salt everywhere and wound up lighting three cigarettes with one match. It was a great bachelor party, and what followed for the next two years of that short marriage was totally a coincidence.
Laztheists are huge on coincidence and use it to explain almost everything good and bad that happens. Suicide, however, is seldom a coincidence.
But I do believe in fate, all lower case. As in, if you drink that entire 12-pack of Natural Lite and then to defuse my exploding chastity belt, I think we're fated to die virgins. In other words, I see fate as mostly self-inflicted.
What most people consider to be "Fate" is merely coincidence. It is not God calling someone home via a twelve volt truck battery coming through the windshield at a combined speed of 140 mph.
God and Coincidence appear to have a lot in common, in terms of not always understanding the why of this or that, much less whether it was God or Coincidence that led to the creation of the Internet. Mark my words, within 30 years there will be a tribe in New Guinea, thanks to the $100 laptops, which will worship the Internet. Internet Cults, with paypal accounts.
So what's all this have to do with the photo? Well, Grasshopper, we went to lunch at a Chinese buffet. When they brought the bill, there were fortune cookies on the little tray, one for each diner. That's mine in the photo. I never opened it. I never open fortune cookies. It drives people crazy. Especially astrology buffs. Yeah, astrology buffs and people with that permanent disability, Nopesarelcraccophobia. You've seen these latter sufferers, intently watching the sidewalk as the move along, making sure they don't step on a crack.
I once opened an umbrella indoors as I walked under a ladder, wearing a jersey with the number 13 on it, with 666 lipsticked on my forehead and then broke a mirror with a salt shaker, spilling salt everywhere and wound up lighting three cigarettes with one match. It was a great bachelor party, and what followed for the next two years of that short marriage was totally a coincidence.
Laztheists are huge on coincidence and use it to explain almost everything good and bad that happens. Suicide, however, is seldom a coincidence.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Searching for Immortality, sort of...
I'm out and about a lot.
I read a book, by a humorous writer, first name Carl, I think, with a funny last name with two identical vowels side by side, in which a minor character collected those home made crosses that are left on highways and byways all over America, as memorials for people who died in traffic accidents. Locally we have Hwy 138 which has a nice collection of them.
This particular one is out in Phelan, on Phelan Road. It's quite elaborate, as these things go:
Tomorrow I, along with Big-T and the gang, are playing a golf course on a former military base, The General Old Course at March AFB. Many of the holes have plaques on the tees naming different officers who did notables things for the game of golf.
This one isn't one of them, but it's typical of the genre:
Team captain... That's a lot of responsibility and I can't help but wonder if it didn't contribute to his demise.
I have myself convinced that when I'm bored with being old and decrepit, I'm going to hike out into the desert with some very fine strawberry wine and high powered sedatives and give myself to the coyotes. 100 years after that tragic event, no one will remember my name and my the pixels of my blogs will have evaporated into the ionosphere, to lock in adulterous embrace with cosmic rays.
I am a romantic nihilist.
I read a book, by a humorous writer, first name Carl, I think, with a funny last name with two identical vowels side by side, in which a minor character collected those home made crosses that are left on highways and byways all over America, as memorials for people who died in traffic accidents. Locally we have Hwy 138 which has a nice collection of them.
This particular one is out in Phelan, on Phelan Road. It's quite elaborate, as these things go:
Tomorrow I, along with Big-T and the gang, are playing a golf course on a former military base, The General Old Course at March AFB. Many of the holes have plaques on the tees naming different officers who did notables things for the game of golf.
This one isn't one of them, but it's typical of the genre:
Team captain... That's a lot of responsibility and I can't help but wonder if it didn't contribute to his demise.
I have myself convinced that when I'm bored with being old and decrepit, I'm going to hike out into the desert with some very fine strawberry wine and high powered sedatives and give myself to the coyotes. 100 years after that tragic event, no one will remember my name and my the pixels of my blogs will have evaporated into the ionosphere, to lock in adulterous embrace with cosmic rays.
I am a romantic nihilist.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Would you ...
hug your father if he were naked?
buy me lunch if I weighed 545 pounds?
subscribe to a magazine called Rectum Peppers?
ever tell the Pope he was as nutty as squirrel turds?
sell one of your kidneys for less than you paid for it?
give a sitting (well, standing or laying down, probably) President a BJ?
marry a corpse (your choice of sex) and love, honor and cherish him/her for as long as ye both shall live?
wonder as you wander?
be surprised if I quit now?
buy me lunch if I weighed 545 pounds?
subscribe to a magazine called Rectum Peppers?
ever tell the Pope he was as nutty as squirrel turds?
sell one of your kidneys for less than you paid for it?
give a sitting (well, standing or laying down, probably) President a BJ?
marry a corpse (your choice of sex) and love, honor and cherish him/her for as long as ye both shall live?
wonder as you wander?
be surprised if I quit now?
I found this fascinating!
If you have an interest in disputing with the Al Gore's and Leo D'Cup-rio's, you might enjoy taking this test. One thing that's cool about it is that when you guess incorrectly, it give you info about why you might have guessed the way you did and why it's incorrect. What you should do at that point is scroll down to the bottom and click on the link back to that question so you can take another guess. You'll learn something from each wrong answer, as well as from the correct answer.
After you finish the test, your reaction will tell you whether you're an independent thinker or just another hanger-on.
For those of you still looking for more laughs, check DeCaprio's comments at the Cannes Film Festival about humanity's bleak future...
Thanks to Ms. Incognito for featuring this global warming test in her delightful blog, Confessions of a Closet Republican.
After you finish the test, your reaction will tell you whether you're an independent thinker or just another hanger-on.
For those of you still looking for more laughs, check DeCaprio's comments at the Cannes Film Festival about humanity's bleak future...
Thanks to Ms. Incognito for featuring this global warming test in her delightful blog, Confessions of a Closet Republican.
A Story with no moral
The setting is a suburban mall. In the summer time there's no way to know what part of America you're in, such has become the interchangeability of the commercial suburban landscape.
Nestled in one bank of stores is a Subway, the ubiquitous sandwich chain. Inside there are three people behind the counter and five customer, three waiting for their sandwich construction to be completed and two, a young couple, sitting at a table.
Suddenly two ski-masked men burst through the front door. The first man in, later described as the taller and heavier-looking of the pair, carries a very brutal looking shotgun. The second man is empty-handed. The first steps to the left side of the door and yells out, "This is a hold-up! Nobody move."
The eight people in the store freeze. The second man runs into the interior of the store and through a door, the unisex bathroom. In less than ten seconds the man emerges from the bathroom, carrying a toilet plunger, which all the witnesses agree had a yellow handle tipped with black rubber plunger apparatus.
As the shorter man runs out of the shop, the taller man yells, "Nobody move! Count to 60. If I see a head stick out of this door before a minute is up, I'll blow it off your freakin' shoulders!" Then he retreats.
There's an immediate babel of conversation in the shop, but no one moved for the required 60 seconds, and then some.
Later the police would dismiss the entire episode as some kind of college prank.
What do you think?
Nestled in one bank of stores is a Subway, the ubiquitous sandwich chain. Inside there are three people behind the counter and five customer, three waiting for their sandwich construction to be completed and two, a young couple, sitting at a table.
Suddenly two ski-masked men burst through the front door. The first man in, later described as the taller and heavier-looking of the pair, carries a very brutal looking shotgun. The second man is empty-handed. The first steps to the left side of the door and yells out, "This is a hold-up! Nobody move."
The eight people in the store freeze. The second man runs into the interior of the store and through a door, the unisex bathroom. In less than ten seconds the man emerges from the bathroom, carrying a toilet plunger, which all the witnesses agree had a yellow handle tipped with black rubber plunger apparatus.
As the shorter man runs out of the shop, the taller man yells, "Nobody move! Count to 60. If I see a head stick out of this door before a minute is up, I'll blow it off your freakin' shoulders!" Then he retreats.
There's an immediate babel of conversation in the shop, but no one moved for the required 60 seconds, and then some.
Later the police would dismiss the entire episode as some kind of college prank.
What do you think?
Thursday, May 17, 2007
WARNING!! If you scroll down, you could be changed forever!!
Can you remember what you were like before you knew about how our species reproduced?
I can. Weird, huh. I never gave it a thought. I've always been practical, pragmatic. And I vividly remember wanting to be alone with a female. I don't remember her name, but she was cute. And I just wanted to be with her. Not knowing about sex, there was no agenda; I simply wanted her company. I knew it would be better than being alone. Amazing how it all sounds so good on paper...
So then I learned about human sexual reproduction. I'd been gathering clues, and then I got a hold of a brochure that explained it all. Cute drawings. It didn't make a lot of sense, but I had faith that things would work out.
Anyway, while sex is a natural function, we don't treat it as if it were. We being those people who aren't porn stars. Porn stars treat sex like the rest of us treat combing our hair. Can you imagine being that free?
I can't imagine it either. It's going to take a while. Even for me...
Anyway, while at the golf course we saw these creatures "combing their hair..." It's supposed to be beautiful. It's all part of gawd's plan, so ...
I can. Weird, huh. I never gave it a thought. I've always been practical, pragmatic. And I vividly remember wanting to be alone with a female. I don't remember her name, but she was cute. And I just wanted to be with her. Not knowing about sex, there was no agenda; I simply wanted her company. I knew it would be better than being alone. Amazing how it all sounds so good on paper...
So then I learned about human sexual reproduction. I'd been gathering clues, and then I got a hold of a brochure that explained it all. Cute drawings. It didn't make a lot of sense, but I had faith that things would work out.
Anyway, while sex is a natural function, we don't treat it as if it were. We being those people who aren't porn stars. Porn stars treat sex like the rest of us treat combing our hair. Can you imagine being that free?
I can't imagine it either. It's going to take a while. Even for me...
Anyway, while at the golf course we saw these creatures "combing their hair..." It's supposed to be beautiful. It's all part of gawd's plan, so ...
Travesty
I've yet to meet a woman named Travesty. Which in itself is a travesty. I was so sure they had to be out there that I check Google and found:
Travesty Jones, 31 year old Black hooker from Chicago, just hitting her prime.
Travesty LeBeouf, 16 year French-Canadian varsity cheerleader.
Travesty Luna, 25 year old cocktail waitress at Mandalay Bay, not even close to her prime.
Travesty Geldstein, 34 year old militant lesbian and co-owner of a coffee house in Tribeca.
Travesty Broadview, 45 year old biker chick, wending her way down the coast and down and out.
Travesti, 19 year country-western singer taking the country scene by storm.
Travesty Jones, 31 year old Black hooker from Chicago, just hitting her prime.
Travesty LeBeouf, 16 year French-Canadian varsity cheerleader.
Travesty Luna, 25 year old cocktail waitress at Mandalay Bay, not even close to her prime.
Travesty Geldstein, 34 year old militant lesbian and co-owner of a coffee house in Tribeca.
Travesty Broadview, 45 year old biker chick, wending her way down the coast and down and out.
Travesti, 19 year country-western singer taking the country scene by storm.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Dummy
When I was in high school, and a Mormon, I didn't have sex. Well, not with another person, any way... Later, when I got back from my Mission, I learned that my high school main squeeze, Paul B, but not the Paula B who sometimes reads this blog, was GIVING IT AWAY while I was gone. I could have had me some of that!! Dummy...
I played Bridge in college. It was fun. And the first time you were the dummy you could start eating your pie. See, the four of us, me, my girlfriend and two of her roommates, would each buy a pie. And you could eat on your pie when you were the dummy. So there was a period, before that first marriage, that I was one fat dummy.
In 1981 I was "dating" a young lady from the office. She found someone "better" and dumped me. It was the second most grevious dump in my life. So I quit that job and didn't leave my apartment until February of 1982. I didn't even go home for Xmas. I had an answering service and I'd call it every day, just to hear another voice, even though the message was always the same, "You have no messages." I already knew that because I'd never been away from the phone. I didn't even take out the garbage for four months. When the manager would come to collect the rent, I'd just shove the check under the door. I'd spend the day reading the bible, backwards, and playing Pac-Man; I could go around and around, piling up higher and higher scores. When I finally went out to check my mail, there was a note from the mailman instructing me to come to the post office, and to bring a truck. I was dumber than being a dummy.
But I'm mostly okay now. And I still like me some pie.
I played Bridge in college. It was fun. And the first time you were the dummy you could start eating your pie. See, the four of us, me, my girlfriend and two of her roommates, would each buy a pie. And you could eat on your pie when you were the dummy. So there was a period, before that first marriage, that I was one fat dummy.
In 1981 I was "dating" a young lady from the office. She found someone "better" and dumped me. It was the second most grevious dump in my life. So I quit that job and didn't leave my apartment until February of 1982. I didn't even go home for Xmas. I had an answering service and I'd call it every day, just to hear another voice, even though the message was always the same, "You have no messages." I already knew that because I'd never been away from the phone. I didn't even take out the garbage for four months. When the manager would come to collect the rent, I'd just shove the check under the door. I'd spend the day reading the bible, backwards, and playing Pac-Man; I could go around and around, piling up higher and higher scores. When I finally went out to check my mail, there was a note from the mailman instructing me to come to the post office, and to bring a truck. I was dumber than being a dummy.
But I'm mostly okay now. And I still like me some pie.
Blame El Pistolero . . .
In response to one of his comments to some post of mine, I asked him (and now I'm asking you) which is better, Truth or Happiness?
Yes, yes, you can have both if you're rich, 19, handsome/beautiful and have bodyguards.
But the rest of us have problems because there is usually a dichotomy, you can't have both Truth and Happiness. And so we each make our choices. This divide may help explain where Religion came from...
What's yours? (Choice, not Religion...)
Yes, yes, you can have both if you're rich, 19, handsome/beautiful and have bodyguards.
But the rest of us have problems because there is usually a dichotomy, you can't have both Truth and Happiness. And so we each make our choices. This divide may help explain where Religion came from...
What's yours? (Choice, not Religion...)
A Theory suitable for Gnashing of Teeth
Imagine George W. Bush, our current American President, winning the 1932 presidential election. He watches the built up of Nazism and being who he is, he wants to attack it. He starts building up the military. He is re-elected in 1936 and he keeps building the military and he lambastes Hitler at every outrage Hitler attempts. And when Hitler invades Poland, GWB finds a way to get a declaration of war out of Congress. The Japanese, who were STILL not ready to take us on in late 1941, would have folded their tents and sat on the sidelines for the next few years and Russia could have built up a massive force in Siberia and kept the Japanese at bay. In the meantime the vaunted Blitzkrieg would not have resulted in Dunkirk and the fall of France. I haven't figured out what Russia would have done, but it wouldn't have been good for the Germans.
The war would be over by 1942, probably a negotiated settlement, with Hitler going into exile in Uruguay, there would have been no Pearl Harbor, no humongous death camps issue, no D-Day, no atom bombs, etc. There'd still be an Israel, though. (See? I'm so totally a Romantic at heart.)
So is it possible that GWB today is saving us from horrors we can only theorize because based on WWII and what was allowed to unfold as it ran its course? This is twisted logic and only the more "free-form" among you will allow yourselves to follow it.
But I do acknowledge that it's just a pipe-dreamer's game; those of you who need to hate opposition politics and politicians, please know that you won't hurt my feelings by doing so.
Forgive them (fill in the blank), for they know not what they do...
The war would be over by 1942, probably a negotiated settlement, with Hitler going into exile in Uruguay, there would have been no Pearl Harbor, no humongous death camps issue, no D-Day, no atom bombs, etc. There'd still be an Israel, though. (See? I'm so totally a Romantic at heart.)
So is it possible that GWB today is saving us from horrors we can only theorize because based on WWII and what was allowed to unfold as it ran its course? This is twisted logic and only the more "free-form" among you will allow yourselves to follow it.
But I do acknowledge that it's just a pipe-dreamer's game; those of you who need to hate opposition politics and politicians, please know that you won't hurt my feelings by doing so.
Forgive them (fill in the blank), for they know not what they do...
Monday, May 14, 2007
Protecting the FAMILY
Italy's defenders of Family and Family Values are hitting the streets to let Italian authorities know that they are committed to 'protecting the family.'
What does protecting the family mean?
For centuries, part of family life was dad out whoring around on pay day, or looting day, or pogrom day, whatever it was that they called it. Family life used to be a well-spring of violence. There probably is still a lot of family violence. But we've been June Cleavered mercilessly and we like to pretend that 'family' is the ultimate good, as in sacred. As if!
"Family" has definitions from one end of the 'good-bad' continuum to the other. Just as there are people from one end to the other. Didn't you once think that if a girl (remember, I can only speak from a male point of view) was pretty she had to really nice to be around? If you're like me, you know better now, but you've buried the memories on how you found that out.
I want same sex marriages. I want polygamy and polyandry and line marriages and part time marriages and secret marriages and enemy marriages and partial marriages and concubines and semi-concubine and cucumber concubines...
Humans are family-oriented, but there are no rules, NO RULES, about what a family is! When it comes to families, they should be all they can be!
What does protecting the family mean?
For centuries, part of family life was dad out whoring around on pay day, or looting day, or pogrom day, whatever it was that they called it. Family life used to be a well-spring of violence. There probably is still a lot of family violence. But we've been June Cleavered mercilessly and we like to pretend that 'family' is the ultimate good, as in sacred. As if!
"Family" has definitions from one end of the 'good-bad' continuum to the other. Just as there are people from one end to the other. Didn't you once think that if a girl (remember, I can only speak from a male point of view) was pretty she had to really nice to be around? If you're like me, you know better now, but you've buried the memories on how you found that out.
I want same sex marriages. I want polygamy and polyandry and line marriages and part time marriages and secret marriages and enemy marriages and partial marriages and concubines and semi-concubine and cucumber concubines...
Humans are family-oriented, but there are no rules, NO RULES, about what a family is! When it comes to families, they should be all they can be!
Wherein I confess to being intrepid.
Today I was intrepid. I've been intrepid before, so this wasn't that big a deal for me. Probably my first intrepidness was bluffing Jean Chambers into asking me, "...just what the heck are you doing?" The fact was, I wasn't doing anything, but I wanted her to notice me, so I pretended to be bicycling boxes full of important stuff by her house and she did in fact notice me and I acted mysterious and we had at least an eight minute conversation. This was fourth grade.
My life is strewn with many such acts of daring and intrepidness. I shan't pummel your fragile 21st Century emotions with the details of the gusto with which I intrepidly ravished the late 70's and early 80's.
Today's intrepidness was more in tune with this century. It was an act of brainy intrepidness. I figured out how to find the 'as the crow fly distances' between any two points on the earth. It involves Google Earth and this site, http://www.movable-type.co.uk/scripts/latlong-vincenty.html.
First you go to Google Earth. As your cursor moves about the map, the exact lat/long figures of the point where the cursor rests are seen at the bottom right. You find your first point and write down the lat/long figures in degrees, minutes and seconds of arc. Then you find the point you want to get to and do the same for that point. Then you go to the site featured above and plug in your figures. Click on "calculate distance" and viola, it gives you the distance in kilometers, which you can then convert into the measurement of your choice, be it miles, feet, deciliters or ounces.
You can do this with the distance from your back door to your outhouse, if you want to and happen to live in France or the deep South... Remember, this is the shortest distance between the two points.
Not bad for a mathematically illiterate curb painter... Yes, yes, I agree, it was very intrepid!
My life is strewn with many such acts of daring and intrepidness. I shan't pummel your fragile 21st Century emotions with the details of the gusto with which I intrepidly ravished the late 70's and early 80's.
Today's intrepidness was more in tune with this century. It was an act of brainy intrepidness. I figured out how to find the 'as the crow fly distances' between any two points on the earth. It involves Google Earth and this site, http://www.movable-type.co.uk/scripts/latlong-vincenty.html.
First you go to Google Earth. As your cursor moves about the map, the exact lat/long figures of the point where the cursor rests are seen at the bottom right. You find your first point and write down the lat/long figures in degrees, minutes and seconds of arc. Then you find the point you want to get to and do the same for that point. Then you go to the site featured above and plug in your figures. Click on "calculate distance" and viola, it gives you the distance in kilometers, which you can then convert into the measurement of your choice, be it miles, feet, deciliters or ounces.
You can do this with the distance from your back door to your outhouse, if you want to and happen to live in France or the deep South... Remember, this is the shortest distance between the two points.
Not bad for a mathematically illiterate curb painter... Yes, yes, I agree, it was very intrepid!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
This is why I'm determined to remain a human!
Well, it's just an example of a basic attraction...
Bono, the U-2 singer and love child of Sunny Bono, was with his group, in concert, in Scotland. As is his wont lately, he took a stab at raising the consciousness of his audience. Things were going raucously rock 'n rollish, the crowd was wild and exuberant. And suddenly Bono called for quiet. In fact, he called for silence. He hushed and he hushed and he quieted the crowd down.
When it was silent he stepped to the edge of the stage and stood there, unmoving, for a couple of seconds. Every eye was riveted on him. Then he lifted both arms in front of him and clapped. He let three seconds pass and then he gave another somber clap. He did this twice more over the next nine seconds. And then to accompany this somber clapping he announced, "Did you know that every time I clap my hands, a baby dies in Africa?"
To which an alcohol befuddled Scotsman responded with remarkable sharpness of mind and purpose, "Well, stop yer fooken clappin' then!"
I have it on good authority that this really happened. What I don't have is any report of what Bono did at that point or what all of this did for the consciousness of the audience.
Bono, the U-2 singer and love child of Sunny Bono, was with his group, in concert, in Scotland. As is his wont lately, he took a stab at raising the consciousness of his audience. Things were going raucously rock 'n rollish, the crowd was wild and exuberant. And suddenly Bono called for quiet. In fact, he called for silence. He hushed and he hushed and he quieted the crowd down.
When it was silent he stepped to the edge of the stage and stood there, unmoving, for a couple of seconds. Every eye was riveted on him. Then he lifted both arms in front of him and clapped. He let three seconds pass and then he gave another somber clap. He did this twice more over the next nine seconds. And then to accompany this somber clapping he announced, "Did you know that every time I clap my hands, a baby dies in Africa?"
To which an alcohol befuddled Scotsman responded with remarkable sharpness of mind and purpose, "Well, stop yer fooken clappin' then!"
I have it on good authority that this really happened. What I don't have is any report of what Bono did at that point or what all of this did for the consciousness of the audience.
"I can't imagine anything more awful than Polygamy."
I think the title of this post quotes Presidential candidate Mitt Romney. Maybe I have the exact wording wrong. But I know I have his sentiment accurately recorded.
There are certainly millions of American voters who would echo his sentiments. But no real, true, committed Latter Day Saint does so. That's correct: Honest to gawd Mormons remain in favor, and look forward to, Plural Marriage.
Here are the first four verses of Section 132 of the Doctrine & Covenants, which is the LDS Scripture that codifies Plural Marriage:
" 1 Verily, thus saith the Lord unto you my servant Joseph, that inasmuch as you have inquired of my hand to know and understand wherein I, the Lord, justified my servants Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, as also Moses, David and Solomon, my servants, as touching the principle and doctrine of their having many wives and concubines—
2 Behold, and lo, I am the Lord thy God, and will answer thee as touching this matter.
3 Therefore, prepare thy heart to receive and obey the instructions which I am about to give unto you; for all those who have this law revealed unto them must obey the same.
4 For behold, I reveal unto you a new and an everlasting covenant; and if ye abide not that covenant, then are ye damned; for no one can reject this covenant and be permitted to enter into my glory."
If you like to read the entire Section, it's here.
Okay, here's my point: Chameleon Politics has struck again. It is in the nature of politicians to try to maximize their voter appeal. So while it may be that Mitt Romney personally may abhor "polygamy" I can tell you that "True Believers" do look forward to it. And to my knowledge, it is still being practiced within the LDS Church in an abstract form.
If a man marries a woman in the Temple, that marriage being for "all time and eternity" and she passes beyond the veil (dies), that man can marry a second time in the Temple, for all time and eternity, and thus he has two 'eternal' wives, one for now, two for later. Theoretically he could do this any number of times, so there's a book/movie in this where a lunatic Mormon male keeps doing this...
Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints do believe in Plural Marriage. While I understand Mitt Romney's decision to decry Polygamy, I don't like it because if he's a good Mormon, then it's an act. And if he really doesn't 'like' Plural Marriage, then he's not a good Mormon and that opens a real can of worms, because it means we don't know who he really is.
But if he gets the nomination, I'll vote for him. I'll be a bit perplexed, but I'm sure I'll get over it.
There are certainly millions of American voters who would echo his sentiments. But no real, true, committed Latter Day Saint does so. That's correct: Honest to gawd Mormons remain in favor, and look forward to, Plural Marriage.
Here are the first four verses of Section 132 of the Doctrine & Covenants, which is the LDS Scripture that codifies Plural Marriage:
" 1 Verily, thus saith the Lord unto you my servant Joseph, that inasmuch as you have inquired of my hand to know and understand wherein I, the Lord, justified my servants Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, as also Moses, David and Solomon, my servants, as touching the principle and doctrine of their having many wives and concubines—
2 Behold, and lo, I am the Lord thy God, and will answer thee as touching this matter.
3 Therefore, prepare thy heart to receive and obey the instructions which I am about to give unto you; for all those who have this law revealed unto them must obey the same.
4 For behold, I reveal unto you a new and an everlasting covenant; and if ye abide not that covenant, then are ye damned; for no one can reject this covenant and be permitted to enter into my glory."
If you like to read the entire Section, it's here.
Okay, here's my point: Chameleon Politics has struck again. It is in the nature of politicians to try to maximize their voter appeal. So while it may be that Mitt Romney personally may abhor "polygamy" I can tell you that "True Believers" do look forward to it. And to my knowledge, it is still being practiced within the LDS Church in an abstract form.
If a man marries a woman in the Temple, that marriage being for "all time and eternity" and she passes beyond the veil (dies), that man can marry a second time in the Temple, for all time and eternity, and thus he has two 'eternal' wives, one for now, two for later. Theoretically he could do this any number of times, so there's a book/movie in this where a lunatic Mormon male keeps doing this...
Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints do believe in Plural Marriage. While I understand Mitt Romney's decision to decry Polygamy, I don't like it because if he's a good Mormon, then it's an act. And if he really doesn't 'like' Plural Marriage, then he's not a good Mormon and that opens a real can of worms, because it means we don't know who he really is.
But if he gets the nomination, I'll vote for him. I'll be a bit perplexed, but I'm sure I'll get over it.
The Untold Suffering of Mother's Day
Even-Handed Hope remarked today that her mother was aware that today's "holiday" is nothing more than a commercial construct, more designed to fill coffers, than it is to honor "mothers."
Which reminds me, my dad once sent me a Mother's Day card...
But on to today's theme:
First, I had to make my own breakfast. I offered to make some for my wife, but she doesn't like my specialty, tuna on heavily buttered sourdough toast, so she passed.
I had asked her to buy me a one pound See's Candy assortment at the store when she went to get her mother a box of candy, but she says she forgot. So now I don't have anything to give her, expect my eternal love and undying devotion, but I can tell it's not enough... I even reminded her that I would gladly lay down my life for her, but even that offer was received with a disdainful sniff from her patrician nostrils.
And I was hoping to take her to dinner, put some alcohol into her system, thus liberating her libido from ordinary civilized constraint, so that I could spectacularly remind her how she got to be a mother...
But it isn't to be. Her brother, a darling chap, has made a surprise visit. He'll be staying here. So she's going to fix dinner, and probably not have any alcohol. Which means her libido will remain civilized.
Oh Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?!
Which reminds me, my dad once sent me a Mother's Day card...
But on to today's theme:
First, I had to make my own breakfast. I offered to make some for my wife, but she doesn't like my specialty, tuna on heavily buttered sourdough toast, so she passed.
I had asked her to buy me a one pound See's Candy assortment at the store when she went to get her mother a box of candy, but she says she forgot. So now I don't have anything to give her, expect my eternal love and undying devotion, but I can tell it's not enough... I even reminded her that I would gladly lay down my life for her, but even that offer was received with a disdainful sniff from her patrician nostrils.
And I was hoping to take her to dinner, put some alcohol into her system, thus liberating her libido from ordinary civilized constraint, so that I could spectacularly remind her how she got to be a mother...
But it isn't to be. Her brother, a darling chap, has made a surprise visit. He'll be staying here. So she's going to fix dinner, and probably not have any alcohol. Which means her libido will remain civilized.
Oh Lord, why hast thou forsaken me?!
Saturday, May 12, 2007
A Common Mistake . . .
If there is a purpose to life, you don't really know it.
But that's not what this is about. The Common Mistake my title refers to is believing that you can say today what the final outcome will be of America's Iraq Adventure.
Looking at it simply as a body count situation is way, way false. Death is cheap; death is what humans do best. America loses more innocent, we-didn't-sign-up-to-die people per minute than Iraq is costing us per day in people who DID sign up to die.
Critics fume that the Iraq deaths and dismemberments are 'wasted,' which is a horrid thing to say to the survivors. Because the critics, most of whom are politically, not morally, motivated can't know, now, what the future has in store for this American Adventure, which is where a final judgment might finally be made.
I'm pro-war. I think I'm simply recognizing that war is what humans do really well, both as art and as science. I believe that the quality of the minds engaged in promoting and preserving the arts & sciences of war are of a higher quality and capacity than the minds of those who want humans to forswear violence and apply for Kumbayan passports.
Answer me this: if mothers didn't want to lose their children to warfare, why do they, the world's mothers, allow war to exist?
My answer is that women like violent men.
But that's not what this is about. The Common Mistake my title refers to is believing that you can say today what the final outcome will be of America's Iraq Adventure.
Looking at it simply as a body count situation is way, way false. Death is cheap; death is what humans do best. America loses more innocent, we-didn't-sign-up-to-die people per minute than Iraq is costing us per day in people who DID sign up to die.
Critics fume that the Iraq deaths and dismemberments are 'wasted,' which is a horrid thing to say to the survivors. Because the critics, most of whom are politically, not morally, motivated can't know, now, what the future has in store for this American Adventure, which is where a final judgment might finally be made.
I'm pro-war. I think I'm simply recognizing that war is what humans do really well, both as art and as science. I believe that the quality of the minds engaged in promoting and preserving the arts & sciences of war are of a higher quality and capacity than the minds of those who want humans to forswear violence and apply for Kumbayan passports.
Answer me this: if mothers didn't want to lose their children to warfare, why do they, the world's mothers, allow war to exist?
My answer is that women like violent men.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Wherein I find a reason to get "Turned On"!!
Not having been raised Catholic, I have no sense of reverence when it comes to Nuns. Looking at Nun-hood, or Nunnishment, in a logical manner, the primary focus would seem to be their "untapped" potentials. At least from a logical male point of view. And being both logical and point of viewish (you thought I was going to say "male" didn't you?) this must be my view.
So the mere thought of a Nun brings to mind, among others, Shirley McLaine in that movie with Clint Eastwood where she was in drag, posing as a Nun, in the old west. And I think I saw movie, or a clip, of Raquel Welch dressed as a nun. And perky little Sally Fields. Etc., etc.
So when I saw this sign, I got mildly excited. I was in a hurry at the time, so I'll have to get back to visit the "center" part of the establishment, in hopes that the convent girls are the ones 'manning' the center. (Manning the Center has a degree of sexual weight, n'cest pas?)
So the mere thought of a Nun brings to mind, among others, Shirley McLaine in that movie with Clint Eastwood where she was in drag, posing as a Nun, in the old west. And I think I saw movie, or a clip, of Raquel Welch dressed as a nun. And perky little Sally Fields. Etc., etc.
So when I saw this sign, I got mildly excited. I was in a hurry at the time, so I'll have to get back to visit the "center" part of the establishment, in hopes that the convent girls are the ones 'manning' the center. (Manning the Center has a degree of sexual weight, n'cest pas?)
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Christmas Trees
I was standing between two Christmas Trees. Twice during our residency in our current home I bought live Christmas Trees. And then following X-mas I planted them. I was standing between them last Sunday, after doing chores all morning, so that if Big T called in the afternoon, my wife would let me play.
I saw the dog under her tree, to my right. To my left, under the other tree, was our cat. So I took photos. I would like to read some symbolism into the juxtaposition and history of it all, but Laztheists don't do that shit.
Here they are. You're welcome.
Yes, he called. It cost me $4.00.
I saw the dog under her tree, to my right. To my left, under the other tree, was our cat. So I took photos. I would like to read some symbolism into the juxtaposition and history of it all, but Laztheists don't do that shit.
Here they are. You're welcome.
Yes, he called. It cost me $4.00.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Things I still don't know:
One measure of a human's successful integration with his environment is the ability to know what he doesn't know. In other words, generating a complete list of one's ignorance is a fundamental step towards controlling the risks attendant to life its ownself.
If you do this right, the list just gets longer and longer. It can become very daunting, especially when you compare it to the list of things you do know. Which is why many people get disheartened and concentrate on feeling empowered by the list of the things they do know. This is like putting on blinders and then trying to cross a field across which mighty pendulums are swinging; with the blinders you have no chance to see what's coming from the sides.
Here are a few things I don't know:
What scotch tastes like
How often Paris Hilton bathes
What the half life of fresh Twinky is
The names of every gay teenager in Palestine
If there is a meteorite approaching the Earth with my name on it
My weight at death
If everyone has a price
etc., etc.
Some of these things can never be known. Some can. I have to decide which ones are important and act accordingly.
What don't you know?
If you do this right, the list just gets longer and longer. It can become very daunting, especially when you compare it to the list of things you do know. Which is why many people get disheartened and concentrate on feeling empowered by the list of the things they do know. This is like putting on blinders and then trying to cross a field across which mighty pendulums are swinging; with the blinders you have no chance to see what's coming from the sides.
Here are a few things I don't know:
What scotch tastes like
How often Paris Hilton bathes
What the half life of fresh Twinky is
The names of every gay teenager in Palestine
If there is a meteorite approaching the Earth with my name on it
My weight at death
If everyone has a price
etc., etc.
Some of these things can never be known. Some can. I have to decide which ones are important and act accordingly.
What don't you know?
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Just Because you can spell it doesn't mean you'll get it.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
How many human beings can you name who respect you? Tough question because "Respect" has such a flexible definition. And circumstances impact on how it's defined and people's understanding of each situation vary.
This is a formula situation in movies: A husband and wife are at a party. There is a bombshell of a woman there who has the eyes of most of the men present riveted on her ample bosom as displayed by a plunging décolletage. They're all thinking of something they'd like to get plunging. So then one brave (read 'idiot') husband finds himself talking to the stunning beauty. His wife walks up and tries to talk to him, something about her water just broke, but he's not listening. When she finally gets her point across to her, he suggests she get a cab because Tiffanie's garbage disposal hasn't been working properly and he's going to stop by her place to see what he can do with it...
Years later they make look back and laugh about the event, but at the moment it was happening, the pregnant wife was feeling an absence of the respect she felt entitled to. His take may have been simply, "hey, we've got two other kids, so it's not like this is anything new here, and my gawd, look at that rack!" I'm not saying it's a valid point of view, because it isn't. I'm just saying that at times we all get a little wacky.
A little far-fetched? Okay, maybe a little, but you get my point. There are people in this world for whom you have done things but who will never respect you. But it's okay, because you're shorting some very deserving people yourself. It's a bumpy merry-go-round we're all on.
Barbarians take matters into their own hands, by which I mean they take what they want, when they want it. This is not conducive to frictionless inter-personal relations. Our way, the way of 'please' and 'thank you,' is far superior when we examine what it is to be born, to live and then to die.
So it boils down to this: I'll respect you in the morning.
How many human beings can you name who respect you? Tough question because "Respect" has such a flexible definition. And circumstances impact on how it's defined and people's understanding of each situation vary.
This is a formula situation in movies: A husband and wife are at a party. There is a bombshell of a woman there who has the eyes of most of the men present riveted on her ample bosom as displayed by a plunging décolletage. They're all thinking of something they'd like to get plunging. So then one brave (read 'idiot') husband finds himself talking to the stunning beauty. His wife walks up and tries to talk to him, something about her water just broke, but he's not listening. When she finally gets her point across to her, he suggests she get a cab because Tiffanie's garbage disposal hasn't been working properly and he's going to stop by her place to see what he can do with it...
Years later they make look back and laugh about the event, but at the moment it was happening, the pregnant wife was feeling an absence of the respect she felt entitled to. His take may have been simply, "hey, we've got two other kids, so it's not like this is anything new here, and my gawd, look at that rack!" I'm not saying it's a valid point of view, because it isn't. I'm just saying that at times we all get a little wacky.
A little far-fetched? Okay, maybe a little, but you get my point. There are people in this world for whom you have done things but who will never respect you. But it's okay, because you're shorting some very deserving people yourself. It's a bumpy merry-go-round we're all on.
Barbarians take matters into their own hands, by which I mean they take what they want, when they want it. This is not conducive to frictionless inter-personal relations. Our way, the way of 'please' and 'thank you,' is far superior when we examine what it is to be born, to live and then to die.
So it boils down to this: I'll respect you in the morning.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Paris Hilton Going to Jail Naked !!
Good luck to the troubled young lady... She is much misunderstood, as are most people ahead of their times.
But that's not why I blatantly sucked you in with that provocative title. Nope, I just wanted to direct your attention to a much misunderstood situation. I intend to shed, hopefully, enough light on this matter so as to correct, at least in those who read this, the misapprehensions that undoubtedly exist in your mind.
The problem is how to enjoy your life even though you seldom get your way. Many people despair when confronted with the realization that they are living lives so constricted, so remote from who they really are, that it actually comes down to the fact that many of you are not who you think you're fooling us into believing you are!
Startling, isn't it?
It all boils down to out of town conventions. Remember the fool Sinclair Lewis's Babbitt made of himself when he went out of town to a convention? That's when the real YOU is revealed. Maybe you don't even know who that is, because you've always taken your spouse or significant other with you when you went out of town.
Take a deep breath... Now don't answer this question immediately. Let it simmer...
What and who would or wouldn't you do if you had a week in Vegas with a brief case containing $100,000 in C notes?
That's the real you!
But that's not why I blatantly sucked you in with that provocative title. Nope, I just wanted to direct your attention to a much misunderstood situation. I intend to shed, hopefully, enough light on this matter so as to correct, at least in those who read this, the misapprehensions that undoubtedly exist in your mind.
The problem is how to enjoy your life even though you seldom get your way. Many people despair when confronted with the realization that they are living lives so constricted, so remote from who they really are, that it actually comes down to the fact that many of you are not who you think you're fooling us into believing you are!
Startling, isn't it?
It all boils down to out of town conventions. Remember the fool Sinclair Lewis's Babbitt made of himself when he went out of town to a convention? That's when the real YOU is revealed. Maybe you don't even know who that is, because you've always taken your spouse or significant other with you when you went out of town.
Take a deep breath... Now don't answer this question immediately. Let it simmer...
What and who would or wouldn't you do if you had a week in Vegas with a brief case containing $100,000 in C notes?
That's the real you!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Wherein I play with my Food, because there was no one to pinch my ear lobe...
Pinching my ear lobe was my mom's favorite punishment. What E.R. doctor checks the ear lobes for signs of abuse? So I was quickly trained to not play with my food. Of course, like all of you, it was one of my heart's desires. While I had to sit and dolefully eat my crab cakes, I could only imagine the fun the rest of you were having with them... It turned my meals into gall and wormwood, figuratively speaking. It was only the Wednesday T-bone steak cookouts that gave me any relief: I was allowed to gnaw the bone (as in gnawledge, as in telling a woman I wanted to get to gnow her, so I could say I gnew her when...). Gnawing the Bone should have become part of the psycho-sexual vocabulary long ago, but alas, the phrase just never caught on.
So there I was last night, alone at dinner time, in Huntington Park, south and east of downtown Los Angeles. The town is 137% Latino, when you factor in the number of illegals aliens, or as they are referred to in the popular press, undocumented Americans of illegal heritage, which in verbal shorthand is Illegal-Americans.
I'd already hit the snooze button on my body's alarm clock a couple of times, because I was taking my time, looking for just the right place to stop and eat. I thought it would have been too outré to avail myself of Mexican food in the heart of a Mexican Barrio, so that limited me. Subway seemed to be an over-reaction in the other direction. Yoshinoya would have been okay as would have KFC. But I finally settled on King's Buffet, at Florence and Pacific. A Chinese run, all you can eat buffet featuring Asian food, with a bit of an emphasis on sushi. Plus it had the delightful added benefit of a Spanish-language tele-novela playing on multiple big screens, with nothing but Latinos in the place, of which the female portion's eyes were all glued to the closest flat screen. It was a weird bit of Americana.
Apparently Latinos don't tip all that well because my waitress wanted to come home with me when I tipped her 20%.
All I had was sushi, some fruit and three big glasses of Diet Coke™. And since I had time on my hands, along with all the food I could possibly eat, I took my time and played with my food. I kept looking over my shoulder... It's sad what a life time of conditioning does to a person's spontaneity.
So there I was last night, alone at dinner time, in Huntington Park, south and east of downtown Los Angeles. The town is 137% Latino, when you factor in the number of illegals aliens, or as they are referred to in the popular press, undocumented Americans of illegal heritage, which in verbal shorthand is Illegal-Americans.
I'd already hit the snooze button on my body's alarm clock a couple of times, because I was taking my time, looking for just the right place to stop and eat. I thought it would have been too outré to avail myself of Mexican food in the heart of a Mexican Barrio, so that limited me. Subway seemed to be an over-reaction in the other direction. Yoshinoya would have been okay as would have KFC. But I finally settled on King's Buffet, at Florence and Pacific. A Chinese run, all you can eat buffet featuring Asian food, with a bit of an emphasis on sushi. Plus it had the delightful added benefit of a Spanish-language tele-novela playing on multiple big screens, with nothing but Latinos in the place, of which the female portion's eyes were all glued to the closest flat screen. It was a weird bit of Americana.
Apparently Latinos don't tip all that well because my waitress wanted to come home with me when I tipped her 20%.
All I had was sushi, some fruit and three big glasses of Diet Coke™. And since I had time on my hands, along with all the food I could possibly eat, I took my time and played with my food. I kept looking over my shoulder... It's sad what a life time of conditioning does to a person's spontaneity.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
I took a photograph...
...But my digital camera hasn't developed it yet. It'll be ready tomorrow.
But in the interim, are you ready to die?
Of course not. No one is every ready to die, who doesn't know their about to die. Or expressed in the opposite way, only people who know they are dying can be ready to die. And this, obviously, includes suicides. If a guy is about to pull the trigger on the gun whose barrel he is almost gagging on, it's because he's ready to die.
So I'm thinking about the possibility of a business based on a Mission Statement that goes something like this: "Death is inevitable, and no one is ever ready, but with the help of Dieron Corporation, we can guarantee that if there is an Afterlife, you can count on looking back and seeing us make the people who discomforted you, and whom you put on a list for us, are being tormented, based on the plan you purchased from us."
It'll be like life insurance, but if it was called a type of insurance, it would be 'We'll get even for you insurance' but we'd have to come up with a name for those who would be the 'anti-beneficiaries' if you get my drift...
So while you still wouldn't be ready, at least if you do check out ahead of time, you'll die knowing that there will be some people who won't be relieved. Which I believe fulfills a genuine psychic need.
This is still in its formative stages, but as soon as I hit 'publish' I will send my lead counsel an email to get him started on fleshing out the details.
But in the interim, are you ready to die?
Of course not. No one is every ready to die, who doesn't know their about to die. Or expressed in the opposite way, only people who know they are dying can be ready to die. And this, obviously, includes suicides. If a guy is about to pull the trigger on the gun whose barrel he is almost gagging on, it's because he's ready to die.
So I'm thinking about the possibility of a business based on a Mission Statement that goes something like this: "Death is inevitable, and no one is ever ready, but with the help of Dieron Corporation, we can guarantee that if there is an Afterlife, you can count on looking back and seeing us make the people who discomforted you, and whom you put on a list for us, are being tormented, based on the plan you purchased from us."
It'll be like life insurance, but if it was called a type of insurance, it would be 'We'll get even for you insurance' but we'd have to come up with a name for those who would be the 'anti-beneficiaries' if you get my drift...
So while you still wouldn't be ready, at least if you do check out ahead of time, you'll die knowing that there will be some people who won't be relieved. Which I believe fulfills a genuine psychic need.
This is still in its formative stages, but as soon as I hit 'publish' I will send my lead counsel an email to get him started on fleshing out the details.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
My new favorite marriage proposal...
Seriously, I lost count of the number or women I've asked to marry me. It's a big number. Not up there with King Solomon, the Shah of Priapus, or the Emir of Emoticon, but still, above the national average. I simply figured that if I started my pitch to get a female into bed with an indication that I was hot to marry her, it could tilt the scales in my favor. I am very "if A, then B" kind of guy.
I had all kinds of proposals, always choosing what I felt was the best pitch for the time, place and situation. I can't recall exactly what I said to Sue Smith in 8th grade, but she said no. Now that I think about it, my first couple of dozen times, the answer was always no. But then my luck changed and I started getting a nice little string of yeses! It was intoxicating, which could explain my lack of any need for booze or drugs.
Anyway, I was flipping channels and came across a movie with Gary Shandling and Annette Benning. He was an alien. She was a human female, so she was also an alien. It was just before the movie ends. Apparently they'd gotten married some time earlier and they were renewing their vows. The priest said, "Gary and Annette have written their own vows. Gary, please go ahead."
Gary says, with evident sincerity, "Annette, when I first met you, I just wanted to get into your pants. But now I know I want to spend the rest of my life getting into your pants."
See? This is what they talk about when they say fiction often being more revealing than the truth.
What woman wouldn't want to hear this from the lips of an adoring male? It's the very essence of what holds marriages together. And it's why I think that Jesus and Mary Madeline were an item; He is just the kind of Guy to be that direct and to the point.
I'm going to work this in somehow on Mother's Day while I'm explaining to my wife why I didn't even get her a card. (Hey, she's not MY mother!)
I had all kinds of proposals, always choosing what I felt was the best pitch for the time, place and situation. I can't recall exactly what I said to Sue Smith in 8th grade, but she said no. Now that I think about it, my first couple of dozen times, the answer was always no. But then my luck changed and I started getting a nice little string of yeses! It was intoxicating, which could explain my lack of any need for booze or drugs.
Anyway, I was flipping channels and came across a movie with Gary Shandling and Annette Benning. He was an alien. She was a human female, so she was also an alien. It was just before the movie ends. Apparently they'd gotten married some time earlier and they were renewing their vows. The priest said, "Gary and Annette have written their own vows. Gary, please go ahead."
Gary says, with evident sincerity, "Annette, when I first met you, I just wanted to get into your pants. But now I know I want to spend the rest of my life getting into your pants."
See? This is what they talk about when they say fiction often being more revealing than the truth.
What woman wouldn't want to hear this from the lips of an adoring male? It's the very essence of what holds marriages together. And it's why I think that Jesus and Mary Madeline were an item; He is just the kind of Guy to be that direct and to the point.
I'm going to work this in somehow on Mother's Day while I'm explaining to my wife why I didn't even get her a card. (Hey, she's not MY mother!)
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