Monday, September 29, 2008


Oh, my poor put-upon soul.

The only answer I can muster at this point is, "Because I have no choice."

It answers numerous questions.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Back to the Front.

I have arrived home, a little worse for the wear, with my brain filled with information that it is currently sorting, putting into its own perspective, and getting ready to launch it, in order, back to me when I ask it to.

Scared. Can't talk.

The trip home was long, of course.....and of course, walking through the airport, everybody wants to know the scoop on the things to come; I am a harbinger, you know....

Can't you see by the look in my eyes that there are pieces of me missing?

And then they start giving ME information...

(sound effect: Star Trekian RED ALERT klaxon, voices yelling "abandon ship", and possibly a Godzilla roar)

At home: Pile of mail. Sort it.
Laundry. Do it.
Lawn. Mow it.
Cat. Pet it.
Bed. Find it.
Pill. Take it.
Sleep. Finally get it.

Now it's Sunday Morning, and I'm back to the grindstone.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Interlude from the second floor window.

Perhaps you'll know right away by what I mean by a "four am song."

But if you don't, it's okay; I fully intended to explain, but I needed a hook to get in, and there it is.....

We used to say that there are things called, "three am jokes"....those are the jokes that are realllllly funny at three am (and after), but once the sun comes up and the alcohol makes it's way through your system...well....not so much with the funny. The thing with a three am joke is that most of the time, you will remember that you almost laughed yourself into a coma, but you won't actually remember WHAT caused you to laugh so hard. So, the three am joke is perpetual in it's own way.....

A four am song is one that, for some reason, you only hear at four am, usually after a stressful evening; it's almost like these songs are on a shelf at the radio stations with a time lock on them, or something.

The radio began playing a haunting familiar song at four am today....a lovely scots tune that I first heard played by the Tannahill Weavers back in '96.

I must away, love
I can no longer tarry;
The morning tempest I have to cross...

And just like that, I'm a younger man.
The gates of heaven and hell are thrown open wide, and everything single scar earned that incredibly wonderful, painful, eye-opening, heart-closing summer comes back to me in a single, brutal, lovely moment....

And again, I'm standing in the cold rain, wishing, just wishing I could kiss her goodbye just one more time.

And life would never be the same.

To my everlasting joy.

I have a love hate relationship with four am songs.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Has anybody seen me? I seem to have misplaced me.


A blank page, or canvas.

His favorite.

So. Many. Possibilities.

I've known a great many people in my short life, and even though I have often been accused (with valid evidence, I'll admit) of being somewhat hermit-like, the collection of souls which I call friends is long, diverse, and satisfying.

I am of the belief that you need not be in constant communication to remain friends; the truth of the matter is, I go years between communications with some of these people, and after a preliminary catch up, the conversation continues.

An unfinished conversation, going forever onward; constant source of information, constant source of support, a wellspring of eternal affection. God in his purest form.

Off I go, to illuminate the masses.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

And wouldn't you like to see that dance....

My father, God love him, is a Republican.

My favorite game is to get him into a political conversation, let him go off on his rant about Clinton, and simply say, "Nixon."

He gets this look on his face that I expect a boiler to have just before detonation; assuming a boiler had a face.

My older brother once referred to it as, "How far can we push that cardiovascular event?"

Now, don't EVER get me wrong; I love my father, and if he wants to believe that the Republicans somehow saved this country in the past eight years, I'll defend his right to do that with my life; and then, after defending him, I'll check him into a hospital, because he's OBVIOUSLY delusional. But I'll STILL love him.

But he sends me these political nonsense emails.

Oh, by the way...STOP ENDORSING CANDIDATES TO ME. If you want to endorse a party or a platform, bring it on......but leave the whole charisma game to the suckers.

ANYWAY.....he sends me one the other day about how there's an unconfirmed rumor that Biden will drop out next week, citing heath issues, and the new candidate will be...Hillary.

I informed him that the Democrats have, in fact, learned their lesson after 1972, when McGovern nominated Tom Eagleton, but didn't properly vett him, and didn't discover that Eagleton was not only clinically depressed, but had actually undergone radical electroshock treatments.

Nobody truly remembers the McGovern/Eagleton/Shriver ticket. I don't think that McGovern even won his own state on election night, and he was running against a liar, a thief, and a traitor. But that's another story....

I told him that the rumor has a district aroma of Karl Rove. And it smelled like an outhouse in August.

I would like to consider myself a decent human being; I can put my moral level on the same plane as your average man; but seriously.....if any candidate can make me feel secure, bring back the goodwill of the rest of the planet, make the trains run on time, and keep my investments from hemorrhaging into nothing, then I don't care if he receives the services of several call girls on a double-decker bus driving down Fifth Avenue during rush hour with a banana in his ear.

Have a good day, all.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Like you didn't know it was coming.....

Catastrophe in Virginia!

A middle aged man was seen running from a hotel this afternoon in Fairfax, Virginia, after first attempting to throw himself into an artificial fire.

Witnesses claim that the man had previously endured almost a week of sleep deprivation, coupled with what they referred to as, "Mental torture that makes Gitmo and Abu Ghraib look like a vacation in Orlando."

When last seen, the middle aged man was running through the streets, shouting, "Glibberty Flibbit!" and "Save John Philip Sousa, save the world!"

Below, is a picture of the poor unfortunate. If you see him, do not approach unless armed with Pop Rocks and Marmalade.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Run! Zombies!

I saw this photo, and all I could think of was, "Eat Brains! EEEEEAT BRAAAAIIIINS!"

A walk through the fields of history.....

I had a day off from the yakkin' yesterday, and I had great plans; I was going to go over the river and see a few sights. I had planned them out in advance, and they had significance to me, personally. I was going to walk the Korean War Memorial, just to pay my respects to my name-giver. Then, I was going to mosey over to Ford's Theatre, to pay my respects to the ghosts of Miss Keene and Mr. Lincoln.

But I changed my mind. Instead I headed south to Manassas, to view the first battlefield of the War Between the States.

I have always had an affinity for this particular battle; it was the moment when all the noble posturing fell away, and the reality of war set in, to our lasting detriment. Boys became men; men became memories; and a few of those memories became legends.

Don't be confused; back in the day, the Union and Confederate troops had different ways of naming battlefields; the Union tended to use landmarks, like rivers, crossings, roads, etc....where the Confederates tended to use towns. The Rebs called this battle Manassas (actually, they eventually called it FIRST Manassas, because they fought there again about a year later) and the Union called in Bull Run, after a creek nearby.

My affinity, as I mentioned before, comes from three sources. The first one is that I'm attracted to stories of bravery and nobility, even in the face of overwhelming odds, or futility. The way the Confederates won that battle after so many setbacks suggests that they had that passion that can separate the winners from the shouldawonners. Of course, they had incredible leadership; the most famous of those was Thomas Jackson, an artillery expert who received his famous nickname when he came out of the treeline with his brace of cannon, setting them up under a hail of canister shot and minie balls from the Union Army less than 500 yards away.

"See how Jackson stands there like a Stone Wall! Rally, men, behind the Virginians!"

To see the scope of the battlefield; where the union came from, where the rebs set their cannon, the houses that stood on the field and the men and women who lived in them, even where the spectators sat and picnicked as all this went's truly amazing, and I'm grateful to the states and the country for setting these fields aside so that we can walk them again, and hear the calls to action, and the sound like distant thunder.....

There is another reason for my affinity for this battle. I'm a romantic at the heart of it; I enjoy tails of derring-do, sacrifice for the greater cause, and yes, I do believe in love as a catalyst for change. And that brings me to Sullivan Ballou.

On the eve of this battle, he wrote a letter to his wife. It's one of the most amazing letters I've ever written, and I end with it.

July 14,1861
Camp Clark, Washington DC

Dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days - perhaps tomorrow. And lest I should not be able to write you again I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I am no more.

I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing - perfectly willing - to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this government, and to pay that debt.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but omnipotence can break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly with all those chains to the battlefield. The memory of all the blissful moments I have enjoyed with you come crowding over me, and I feel most deeply grateful to God and you, that I have enjoyed them for so long. And how hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes and future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and see our boys grown up to honorable manhood around us.

If I do not return, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I loved you, nor that when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name...

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless, how foolish I have sometimes been!...

But, 0 Sarah, if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they love, I shall always be with you, in the brightest day and in the darkest night... always, always. And when the soft breeze fans your cheek, it shall be my breath, or the cool air your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for me, for we shall meet again...

Saturday, September 20, 2008

We, the Peeps.

I read all the newspapers.

I read the one that appears on my doorstep...(Bismarck Tribune)
I read the one that appears, lately, in front of my hotel room door every weekday morning....(USA Today)
I read anything that the passengers leave around the area....(New York Times, if I'm really lucky)
And, I read the newspapers online...(Lewis CO, Missouri Press-News Journal, San Luis Obispo, California Tribune)
And I read the "liberal rags" as well...(New Times SLO, Utne Reader, etc)

And I can't get over the letters to the editors, sometimes.....

There's this one fellow out in Los Osos, California, and his name is Otis. And I really think he's the guy who makes the President's approval rating 29%; and I think it's because they poll him more than once. Now, it could be that he's another Lazlo Toth, writing letters in the knowledge that he can rile people up, and that's his only motivation. And it's all right if he does. I'm a firm believer in the individual right to speak their mind, even though I'm in opposition.

But this guy is a piece of work.

His latest endeavor suggests that the editorial staff of the San Luis Obispo Tribune (which he believes is an extension of that conservative whipping post, the New York Times) "deserves to die" for their unfair appraisal of Mrs. Palin's ability to lead, based upon her current resume, in light of the somewhat similar resume of Mr. Obama.

I think it's a bit rude to suggest that someone deserves to die. I'd like to believe that nobody deserves to die, except maybe that guy who cut in front of me in the line at Starbucks yesterday morning, and he should die with festering boils all over his nether regions.

Okay, nobody deserves to die.

I would like to send out a general all five of you who read this, and I see you out there in Columbus, Ohio....don't think I don't! How are you, Morgan?

Anyway.....please, please, PLEASE! Make this a meaningful time, but not a life/death, two men enter, one man leaves, the end of the world as we know it kind of thing. The world will continue to revolve after the first week of November. The country will ebb and flow, fall apart and come together, as it has since George Washington said, "You want me to be what?"

As a wise American once said, "Speak your mind, vote your conscience, support the winner."

And another one said, "We must hang together, or we will surely hang separately."

And one more said, "Wow...I was going to try eight herbs and spices, but the seven tastes pretty damned good."

God Bless America, John Hancock, and Colonel Sanders.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

I got nothing but random.

Let's all be random:

How do you know light when you see it? I've lived in the dark (and I'm speaking of the metaphoric dark, people, not the ACTUAL dark) and there's a time when you just crave some kind of light, ANY kind of light. But how do you know what true light is? I discovered in my youth that darkness can pretend to be light. So, how does one recognize true light?

Let's twist again, like we did last summer.

I would like to thank Harry and David for the Dark Chocolate covered pretzels.

If beauty is only skin deep, how far down does hideous go?

After the fire, the fire still burns;
The heart grows older, but never ever learns;
The memories smolder, and the soul always yearns
After the fire.
The fire still burns.

So, here's the thing. I often wish that the universe would up and surprise me, and then when it does......

Everybody is talking about the latest in fiction on the various noble vampires. I think we need some other noble monsters. The noble Blob, perhaps? Buffy, the Blob Slayer?

I'm reminded of the man who stands on the cliff's edge. In one direction lies a plethora of hungry tigers. In the other direction lies, of course, the cliff, and the inevitable long decent. What is our hero thinking?

"There is no way that this ends well."

I need a definition of "dissonant harmony."

Why have they re-done Clue and Monopoly?

If a tree falls in the forest, and nobody is around to hear it, why did it have to fall on me, and why isn't anybody coming to help me?

Sun on the Moon Makes a Mighty Nice Light....

Sometimes, I can understand why people decide to eschew the company of their fellow human beings to live in solitude.

But there's a downside, of course.....sometimes, the solitude produces life changing philosophy, if we may use Thoreau as an example. And sometimes, we get Ted Kazinski.

I would like to believe that my exile from the human race would produce something positive. But there are people in my life (I call them my friends) who suspect that you would hear my mindsnap from a thousand miles away, like that foreboding clap of thunder that beckons the coming storm.

I should keep you up to date. I'm currently spending my time, between eight and nine hours a day, sitting in small rooms with lots of people, learning a new operating procedure that is thinly disguised as philosophy. It's a mixture of your basic Interpersonal Communication, Improvisational Theatre, and Confusing Nonsense. I'm expected to synthesize this information, produce a teaching plan, and go and enlighten the masses.

I took on this responsibility gladly; for I have long believed that my organization was really starving for some soul. And I was assured that this was going to be revolutionary....a step forward unparalleled.....

To understand my disappointment, you have to understand me. And, that might not be so easy, because I've been told that I'm a complex individual. I've also been called just plain simple, but that was my father's nickname for me, so I'm applying the grain of salt.

Yesterday, some stranger I've been in proximity to for just a few hours in the past 46 years referred to me as a genius. The woman next to him, nodded her head, and suggested in a very nice way that there is a fine line between genius and madness.

I took both as a compliment. It's not the first time somebody has tried to label me. There was that time in the Campbell Soup factory....but that's a story that's currently under investigation, and I shouldn't be talking about it.

Am I a genius? And what is genius, anyway?

Apparently, anybody who sees something other than the way that you see it, and can adequately describe the system in which they see it, would be viewed as different; and if you view different as somehow superior, than you would probably use the term "genius." I've also been called, on more than one occasion this week, as a "deep thinker." And it's been said with a thinly veiled contempt, as if it's not kosher to be thinking that deep. Most of the time, people just look at me like I'm mad.

Once again, I rely upon the two notebooks that I refer to as "the paper thingy I write stuff down on." I figured that's what a genius would call it.

Here's what I write down:

There is a subtle difference between "fighting evil" and "defending good."

When the heart speaks, the mind finds it indecent to object.

I realize we can find wonder in the ordinary; Warren Zevon suggested that we "enjoy every sandwich." But I think we need to save our really good praise for the extraordinary.

It helps you to do your job when it doesn't matter to you what other people think of you.

Sometimes, it's good to know the road. Other times, it's good to see the map.

I'm pretty sure that this will drive me mad before I actually acquiesce.

Meaning lies in the ears that hear.

The use of cliche diminishes originality.

There is no benefit to scaring people to death.

If you suggest that I'm crazy, then my question has got to be, "Why are you paying so much attention to me?"

If we evolved from Monkeys....why are there still Monkeys?

An approach that doesn't look like an approach is the proper approach.

These words don't exist: Uncomfortability. Architected.

You can get more with a kind word and a gun than you can with just a kind word.

They pay me a lot of money to think of shit like that.

The world has left the Marriott and is probably gallivanting through the taverns of the Nation's capital. I'm glad of it; it's quiet, and I prefer my cave.

Good night, Cleveland!

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Too tired to title.

I can't sleep, friends and neighbors.

It's been a sporadic burden all my life; the insomnia comes without warning, and lasts anywhere from a night to a week. Actually, in the fall of 1996, I had insomnia for three weeks, and we're talking zombie life......

I've tried everything that a person like me can try; over-the-counter medications, under the table medications, old wives tales, music, acupuncture, acupressure, and at one point I almost went into a biker bar and yelled, "Harley Sucks!" just so somebody would put out the lights.

Oh, and a sidebar: The police WILL stop and talk to you when they see that you're walking the streets at four am with no particular purpose. Some nice policemen in Colorado Springs once even gave me a nice ride home, with the implied suggestion that I go inside and not come out again until daylight.

In the final analysis, I'm at war with myself; my intellectual self is in conflict with my emotional self, and intellect thinks emotion is a pussy, and emotion thinks intellect has a stick up his ass.

It ain't easy being me.

It's not a new story, really, and it's almost embarrassing to admit that yes, I'm like most of the population, not sure why I'm doing what I'm doing, selling my soul for a miserable pittance, acting the role of Cratchit, yes-sir-no-sir-I'll-be-in-bright-and-early-whatever-you-need-sir. It's the way the world revolves. And even though I may think in ever expanding concentric circles, my world is small.

I can't remember the last time I looked at moon with wonder.
I can't remember the last time I woke up with the anticipation of astonishment.
I can't remember the last time I woke up, which is the current problem.

I'm currently surrounded by people who are looking at the status quo as the second coming. That's like looking at the same old thing as maverick.

And through all of this, I keep thinking of South Park's version of Johnny Cochrane, saying, "Look at the monkey...look at the silly monkey!" as juror's heads explode.

At least the Titanic had a band.

Fear not. I'll be back to my reverie and reminiscence as soon as I can. Think of this venting as a kind of test pattern. The stars are aligning; they are just taking their freakin' sweet time.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Self-evaluation, followed by recrimination.

Strangest thing. There's a mirror right in front of my computer here in the hotel room overlooking the parking lot in a small suburb of DC, and I've just taken a cursory examination of my face.


You see, I also have a mirror in my head. More to the point, I have a portrait of myself in the attic of my mind, and I got to tell you; Dorian Gray has got NOTHING on me.

It always reminds me of a moment of clarity, backstage at the theatre in California. It was one of those melodrama theatres, where they finish the night with a kind of vaudeville review. I was doing a sketch with my dear friend Paris B., and we were playing those Carol Burnett type old people, and I was wearing a dressing gown and a grey wig. In my head, I knew what the guy looked like.

And then, one night I spotted myself in the mirror, and I was SHOCKED to learn that the guy had a beard!

I'm not method; I'm NOT. But I do believe in the philosophy of Coquelin, who stated that he pictured the character in his head, opened his eyes, and tried to be that image. And I had a beard, but the old guy didn't.

Ah, the memories. Sometimes they just kill me.

Back to the present.

I spent yesterday listening to people dress up babbling as new philosophy. I think that the system is valid, but they apply an almost biblical importance to it sometimes, and....


Monday, September 15, 2008

It's begun.

It's early in the morning in Fairfax, Virginia, and I'm done with the sleeping. The bed is too soft, I have the beginnings of one of those life-changing headaches, and everybody around me seems quite mad.

That's right, folks. I'm at the Hatter's Tea Party. And it seems to be sponsored by the Department of Homeland Security.

But fear not, my constant readers; you know me. I will not be seduced by just any madness. It takes a SPECIAL kind of madness to seduce me.

More later.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Oh, GOD.....

I'm reallllly sorry....but this makes me laugh each and every time I see it, hear it, or even think of it.

I now inflict it upon you.
And I'll take full blame.

I was attacked by a machine that makes bumper stickers.....

Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits.

You can't have a light without a dark to stick it in.

The best you can ever say of yourself is that you are still learning.

There is some difference between knowing worth, and worth knowing.

Everything can be improved with sugar.

You can learn a lot by just standing around and watching.

Life should be like watching a Cubs game: if they win, it's like the seventh game of the World Series. If they lose, hey....there's another game tomorrow.

No matter what they do to him, Batman is cool.

It's perfectly possible to get through life without reading a single line of Mark Twain, but I wouldn't recommend it.

Do you think Mick Jagger thought he would live this long?

I think we should bring the words "criminy!", "jeepers!", and "Holy Moly!" back into fashion.

I have one of these Zen Gardens on my desk. At this time of year, I can't help but draw yard lines and put the pebbles into the I formation.

Good day, Sunshine....

Friday, September 12, 2008

I'm capable of dumbshow AND noise.....

There's a kind of exhaustion that comes from working hard over a long period of time, that noble kind of tired that comes from a job completed.

And then, there's the exhaustion that goes beyond that. When the long period of hard work becomes longer without your knowledge, that noble kind of exhaustion that comes with feelings of homicidal rage.

I'm one step beyond that.

I've been here before; in graduate school, doing a sizable role in a Shakespeare, doing understudy duty on a travelling children's show, not having enough money to eat right, and having the usual course load of a theatre graduate student. I can honestly remember sitting in front of the science building on campus just after a long rehearsal, and crying until I ran out of moisture.

Yeah. Real men crack.

So, here I am; suffering from the fourth straight evening of insomnia, trying to make sure some onjob training is going smoothly, trying to prepare for the imminent departure to our nation's capitol, and preparing for the inevitable return, where I'll hit the ground running.

Combined with my recent career setbacks, I'm wondering what the hell I'm thinking.

And then, I remember that recovering addicts tend to have an overblown sense of responsibility.

One little drink could cure that, I'm told.

In other news, I am having mixed feelings about facebook. While I like the ability it provides to re-connect with old do you handle former lovers? I lean towards not allowing them access, for it seems to me that when they left, they had no interest in me, and I see no reason to allow that access now, after all this time. Add to that the infinite capacity of my lumber room, where those feelings go into cedar chests, to be looked at in my old age. But then, there's the nearly infinite capacity for curiosity. How have they been doing, how did the fellow they left me for turn out...things like that. A kind of benevolent schadenfreude.

And while we're on the subject, I must again bring forth my curiosity in the lurkers that read my semi-regular dreck. Come on, people....leave a comment. Just say hi. Agree. Disagree. Give me your recipe for snickerdoodles.

I hope everybody has a great day. For those of you in the south, be careful. For those of you in the East, I'll be in DC starting on Sunday.

More later on most of these stations....

Thursday, September 11, 2008

I remember.

On the Anniversary of the Tragedy, let me say this to all that care to listen:

As important as it is to remember WHAT happened, it's equally important to understand the WHY. Understanding is the thing that we have shied away from this last eight years or so; we traded compassion for posturing, peace for power, respect for rancor.

We had such an opportunity in those days; to unite in tragedy, to bond all the nations of the world together. It was an opportunity that only comes from tragedy.
And we pissed it away in a show of righteous indignation that is STILL making the world weep.

It is true that human nature does not allow for a "push". We don't get even; we get ahead, and the constant escalation brings about more sorrow, more hate, and more destruction and death.

And in this country, to this day, some people reading this will ask, "why do you hate America?"

I don't hate America. I love this country more than some fair weather flag waver with his faded "These Colors Don't Run" bumper sticker can possibly imagine.

That's why I really want my country to try and understand the WHY.

And, if there's somebody out there that can answer all the WHY, without the patriotic platitude, or without flexing the biceps while some country music anthem to American Power plays in the background, I would appreciate it.

As I said to the Republican Representative who appeared at my door on Monday, soliciting a vote, when he politely asked, "What do you want for your country?"

I said: "I want to wake up feeling like I did on September 10, 2001. Think you could do that for me?"

Monday, September 8, 2008

Bound and Gagging.

There's a madness that falls upon me at this time of the year.

Some call it the Autumn Blues, but it's not that, really. It's a melancholy, surely, but since I rival the Legendary Dane in the melancholy category, it goes a bit beyond, or not quite as far as that. A functional melancholy, if you please.

I'm not sure why; it could be that Autumn usually signals a change; when I was an actor of repute, Autumn signaled the end of one contract and the beginning of another; when I was an instructor of renown, it was the beginning of the new semester and the end of whatever playtime I was involved with. When I was single, it usually meant the end of whatever relationship I'd fallen into, and the prospect of many early darkening days with no one to talk to.

There is, of course, the belief that the natural light tends to disappear earlier that could be the cause.

Ah, who am I kidding? I am fond of the Autumn, melancholy and all. I like the colors of the changing leaves, the smell of the backyard burnings, the sound of the breeze through the harvested cornstalks, the taste of pumpkin seeds lightly salted...the feel of the cool air at the end of the day. It's like the last of the summer wine.....

The dreams come upon me a bit more savagely at this time of year, though. My psyche reminding me of the things unaccomplished; the goals not achieved; the parts of the soul traded out for some security; a general sense of un-done-ness.

And no star to steer by.

There is a special kind of remorse when you realize that you've given far more of yourself to your job than you wanted to, or should have. I've realized that I've become a trained monkey; that I do more than I have to, more than what's expected, in the hopes that the master will drop me a treat....and occasionally, they do, but I have no time to enjoy the treat, because I have this tin cup I have to bang, and an organ to grind.....

There comes a time when you realize that enough is, in fact, enough.
The time was yesterday.
And I made no move.
So, apparently, there is more to do.
More to suffer.

Wow. This post took a weird turn, didn't it?

Friday, September 5, 2008

The Shining City on the Hill has Homeless Citizens Living in the Streets.

I always hope that something will surprise me, and am most disappointed when I'm not.

But there was a moment where he could have been my candidate.

There's an old adage about what an American truly is, and please understand that I'm paraphrasing it, but it goes something like this:

We are founded upon a principle that states that you will fight to your last breath for a persons right to say what he thinks, even though you would shout from the rooftops your disagreement with him.

At that one particular moment, when the few dedicated to calling out their dissension where being manhandled by security, the candidate had an opportunity to live that belief. He could have brought them down to the stage, given them their moment, thanked them for their continued service to the process, and he would have had my vote.

Instead, he referred to it as "static."

In the end, his message was one of party unity; not unity of country.


Thursday, September 4, 2008

Tired, Cranky, Bitter and Low: Attorneys at Law.

Random thoughts:

Is it just me, or does the RNC seem mean spirited? I realize that the general feeling of the Republican party has always been fear and paranoia, but it just seems like they're already on the ropes, and there is NOTHING more scary than an opponent with nothing to lose......

It's tremendously sad to me that Rudy can point to one of the greatest tragedies this country has ever endured as his one shining moment. And I resent with every fiber of my being the idea that only they can protect the country. This is a Karl Rove idea, and as full of hatred as anything uttered in the last ten years.

I'm reminded of a clip from THE DAILY SHOW:

a clip of a Republican debate shows Rudy, saying:

RUDY: If this election is about one issue, it's terrorism.

cut to Jon Stewart:

JON: And if it's about two issues, I'm going to lose....

I think that somebody could make a mint if they put together a clock with Rudy's picture on it, that only sounded guessed it.....9:11.

And in case you're wondering, I still haven't made up my mind. But I will say, for the record, that when I was watching Palin speak, all I could think was, "My God...she's Tina Fey from that Evil Star Trek Universe!"

I have discovered that my advancement was thwarted by a computer, and that no human being even saw my credentials. I kinda knew that was going to happen, but the really maddening part was that even when it was brought to their attention, the powers-that-be informed me that no human being was GOING to look at my credentials, because the computer had already rejected me, and there was no court of appeal after the computer had adjudicated.

Hopping mad, me.

It's raining today. We went from Summer to Fall virtually overnight. Not that I mind. But we never go from Winter to Spring that way.

I'm going to be in the nation's capital starting on the 14th. If anybody is in the neighborhood, let me know. I think I have one day off in two weeks, and I'm pretty sure I'll be tired of my life by then, and in need of some variation.

I'm very glad that the Gustav was less than expected, but just because it was less than expected, let's not call the response a success. And let's not forget that there is still a line of hurricanes waiting at the door.

I'm not sure I mentioned it, but I quit smoking back in June. Another vice I'll crave until the day I die, and people wonder why I have such a rotten outlook on life; it's because everything I ever enjoyed doing (okay, not EVERYTHING, but...) is now on the "bad" list.

And to those who drink Screwdrivers: If you're using good vodka, you're wasting good vodka...and if you're using bad vodka, it's a waste of good orange juice.

And what's with mixing beer with anything? BEER IS NOT A MIXER, PEOPLE!

Okay. I'm struggling a bit.