Archive for November, 2008

Here’s what I want

I want to take The Swirly with me to Denny’s. There’s no way she’d be cool with it. Still, I wish I could.

All she’s gonna want is a small bowl of water with some tuna juice in it. She has never shown the remotest interest in anything besides IAMS and Fancy Feast.

Human food is barely on her radar. She no longer goes out of her way to even smell it.

If only she could accompany me so we could exchange glances and knowing looks while we people watch.

You can take dogs anywhere. They’re dogs. Dumb and overly optimistic. Most won’t bite. Far more likely they’ll try to nuzzle your genitals. I really hate that. Not so much for being violated but more for the dog snot on my hands after pushing it off my junk. No cat has ever done anything nearly as invasive. Except for peeing on me.

You just can’t take a cat to Denny’s.

If you bring your goddamn dog to whatever restaurant I’m in I might stab you with a pen. Maybe your dog. With a fork. Both of you. With a fork. Cat’s have enough sense to realize the craziness of any given human. Cat’s don’t give humans the benefit of the doubt. Cats are smart.

They don’t come running. Even if the only two faces to walk in your front door in like six months are the only two faces to walk in your door in that time, they still give you the up and down. I’ve had to let my oldest smell my drivers license. They let you know they’re happy you’re home at their own pace. Might not be until the next day.

I do wish I could just buckle a harness on Beddy and have her strut urgently to the 7-11 with me. Strutting urgently while looking back is her default. I hope she’ll talk to strangers as much as she talks to me. It would be fantastic if she would yell at others the way she yells at me when she’s cornered me in the kitchen. I’m there for a drink. She’s there for treats.

Did I tell you she’s got a real chip on her shoulder for the Latin homosexual and transgendered community? It’s pretty funny. I think it’s from me leaving the Hooker Paper on the bathroom floor.

Otherwise she’s a very classy broad. A lady.

Here’s what else:

1) I’d like to not ever have to scrub my shower. I’ve been kinda broke and decided to forego the magic defunkifying spray and it’s more than a little uh, calcified in there.

2) I need more info on these new LED lightbulbs.

3) I’m really tired of having things to do. I no longer want to have any scheduled activities. I’m exceptional at filling my waking hours with things that please me.

4) I’ve often thought that justice should be more poetic. Ironic. Limericky. There’s always a pay off in a limerick. What if a friend of Dick Cheney’s shot him in the face, and then Dick apologized publicly to his friend for the inconvenience his being shot in the face must have caused? You can see where I’m going with this.

5) I no longer wish to be burdened with the fear of cell phone radiation. I keep my shit far from my sack.

6) Here’s who I do not wish to hear on the radio ever again. Top of the list is the fucking Chili Peppers. I’ve come to hate them. The mechanicals alone pay them mad cash. “Highway Star” by Deep Purple. I hate that song. Any song by Cream. Clapton is way over rated. Oingo Boingo, I hate them. The Doors, fuck The Doors. I can’t really talk about contemporary music. I don’t dislike it, I just don’t know their names. We may have to come back to this.

7) I’d like for people who’ve never seen me before and never will again to stop acknowledging me. When I do that, it’s because I’m feeling confrontationally obnoxious. Why are they doing it?

8) Hot women should walk slower.

9) I’d like too see candy become a lot more nutritious and far less caloric. Science has proven that you can’t make food taste good without too much salt, sugar and fat so we really need to get going on this one.

10) Ok, this one’s big. No coincidence it ended up being number ten. Let me ask you something. Do you like this shit? You dear reader, do you like it? Are you entertained? Informed? Amused? Honestly.

If you are any of the above, and I sincerely hope you are, I’m asking for your support. Pimp me. Tell your friends. Post my banner on your page. I’m specifically encouraging pretty girls and hot bitches to post my banner.

Shut up. It makes sense.

Only you, can prevent forest fires.

The deal is this. The more readers I have, the better I look to advertisers and that’s easily the best way for you to get to continue to read me for free. See? It’s perfect. Symmetry. Help me out here.

11) Health and Human Services for us all. Happy Holidays.

Drinks for my friends.

The inevitable madness of being

There was a shooting in a Toys R Us somewhere down here today. Palm Desert. Not gang related. It was “an argument between two groups of shoppers” -WSJ.

Well now, that’s encouraging. Fighting over what? Toys? Two people dead, so probably at least two dipshits ambling slowly down the aisles of a goddamn toy store carrying guns.

This makes complete sense. If I had kids, I wouldn’t even start planning a shopping trip for them unless I was wearing a firearm and extra clips in my pockets. I’d arm any over twelve going with me.

Sheezus.

Now I understand how so many people voted for McCain.

Americans are in serious need of a bitchslap and it’s on it’s way. That’s the good news. The other news is what’s on the way is more serious than an open backhand. What we have here is a vicious hook.

Just count to two and you’ll be bouncing off something. As per normal, the legitimately stupid and those who spend all day in the short attention span theater will be bouncing on floors.

Man. Why are we so fucking stupid?

I’m confident the most salient reason is a lack of empathy and an abundance of apathy. Everyone is guilty. I, will not be bouncing off the floor, however.

The best thing to do is get involved and stay involved. Even if it’s just paying attention. Reading and listening as opposed to just watching. Take a poll. Write a letter. I hate the idea of sermonizing, but at the very least, pay fucking attention.

Look, if you really stay on top of it, American politics and world events are as compelling and isidious as any daytime drama. Dumbya’s last gasp is to about escape his puzzled countenance and it will stink of pardons and all kinda smelly fuckery. In like a lamb and out like a a rotting bovine tongue.

“I would like to be a person remembered as a person who, first and foremost, did not sell his soul in order to accommodate the political process,” Bush told his sister in an interview released Friday by the White House. “I came to Washington with a set of values, and I’m leaving with the same set of values.” -an interview of George W. Bush conducted by his sister Doro Bush Koch, lifted from chron.com

Poke this idiot out of a dead sleep and he’ll wake up singing Happy Birthday.

He’s just as fascinating as Ozzy Osbourne and only a little less articulate.

Let’s review: Two assholes killed each other in a toy store today, the day after Thanksgiving. The media tells us there was an “argument”. Lesson learned. Always bring your gun while shopping in America. Don’t forget that Dumbya has not compromised his values or sold his soul. He said so.

By far the stupidest man to ever sit in that chair.

We suck.

Drinks for my friends.

To be thankful

What exactly is that? I’m thankful I’m not some random dumbass. Happy I’m cognizant and able to react and able to self determine to a degree.

Love in my life. Good family and good friends. Fuzzy loving critters. Animals are to your hands and heart what delicious pie is to your mouth and stomach. Try to have at least two wandering around at all times. Trust me.

A few days back my ex called me and asked if I wouldn’t mind not attending what has become the annual Thanksgiving dinner for the misfit toys. Those of us not from here and without geographically convenient family. A burgeoning tradition. She was bringing her boyfriend and was concerned about his comfort level.

In the interest of diplomacy and respect, I agreed not to show.

In the days since I gave her my word, I’ve begun to regret it.

These are my friends. Before they were her friends. The house at which the dinner takes place belongs to one of my very best friends of some two decades.

I smell chickenshit.

I’ve made other plans, I’ll be fine.

The more I think about it, the more it irks me.

She’s met my girlfriend. As a matter of fact, she met her for the first time at last year’s Thanksgiving dinner for the misfit toys. I realize I’m walking on ice here but I’m pissed off enough to flirt with indignant.

They’re about to move in together and he’s not comfortable enough to meet me with my friends and my girlfriend?

Then the very worst occurs to me. She’s embarrassed. Of me. Maybe it’s her and she doesn’t want him to know me because she’s ashamed. Maybe my friends agree. What an awful thought. Any part of that idea would crush me.

Sheezus, that’s ugly. I’d rather go with the idea of him being a gigantic vagina.

She could knock on the door of any member of my family on any day and be invited in, loved, engaged and fed under any circumstances. She could bring her man and not a single eyebrow would be raised.

My family adores her. Her family thinks very little of me.

This sucks. I’m pissed.

Thanksgiving day:

I had an extraordinarily pleasant evening in house full of people I’d never seen before. Nice, normal friendly folks. Excellent food and I brought excellent wine because that’s what I do. Wonderfully moist turkey, home made mac n’ cheese. String beans and red potatos with bacon, dressing with apple, pecans and onions. Serious cornbread prepared by an actual matriarch.

Lemon cake, peach cobbler, pumpkin pie cheesecake.

I’m not sure where we were but we drove around downtown. Way around. It stayed on my right. Downtown. We collected my girlfriend’s son in a place called Cerritos. One of the craziest houses I’ve ever been inside. Giant murky fishtanks everywhere. Wierd. Dark and bubbling.

He’s an awesome kid. At first he was detached and uncommunicative, but we were brawling openly by the time we got to where we were going.

I bought him a jar of ham glaze for his sixteenth birthday.

We stopped at a place called the Liquor Bank on Crenshaw for cigarettes. He and I sat in the car. He advised me to stay in the car despite my superpowers. This place was amazing. I need to go there again before I can tell you about it. She thinks as long as I’m cool, nobody would think twice.

Before it was over, he steadfastly refused to believe I could defeat a dragon with a fork. My point was show me a dragon and hand me a fork.

Warm people, good food. My girlfriend’s friend is awesome. A strong woman with one son in college and another bound for it.

We talked politics and we talked Barack. A well informed group of people. Skeptical and honest.

At the risk of sounding gratuitous, I was the only white man there.

Drinks for my friends.

What If We Let The Banks Fail? -by Josh

Nov 17, 2008 12:49 AM
What If We Let The Banks Fail?
Since the beginning of the financial crisis, one of the things that has been most striking is the unanimity of opinion that large financial institutions cannot be allowed to fail. The conventional wisdom is so one-sided in this regard that nobody (that I’m aware of) has actually gone through the exercise of asking what exactly would be the result if we simply did nothing and allowed the banks to fail. Given the enormous costs we are incurring to prevent this outcome, we have to at least consider the alternative. Would it not be more economical to simply let any bank fail that can’t stand on its own and let the government print money to pay off all the claims of the FDIC?

In broad terms, the banking industry uses three primary inputs in order to fulfill its functions. These inputs are capital, information, and human resources. Obviously much of the first category has been destroyed, but capital can always be rebuilt in time. The other two categories of inputs are largely unaffected by the current crisis. The informational infrastructure of the banking industry is completely intact (and will almost certainly be improved upon as a result of the hard lessons we are currently learning), and the available human capital is undiminished. So, even if the greater part of the banking industry were to cease to exist, new institutions would spring up (and would employ many of the same people – hopefully a little older and wiser now – who staffed the old ones). What would be so terrible about that?

As with a dilapidated house, sometimes the most economical choice is to demolish the existing structure and rebuild a new one from the ground up. At least in this case you know where you stand and your costs are fixed. If you instead refuse to accept reality and go on pouring money into a terminally-flawed structure, there is no end to the amount of money that can be wasted in a futile cause. What if we spend trillions of dollars in an effort to save the banking system but the problems persist? What then?

Our financial authorities seem to be turning a blind eye to the most recent and instructive historical parallel to our current situation. Everyone makes comparisons between the current crisis and the Great Depression, but a more relevant and contemporary example would be the case of Japan in the 1990s. Japan experienced a massive real estate bubble in the 1980s during which the Nikkei stock average reached a high of around 40,000. In 1990 the bubble burst, leaving the Japanese banking industry in shambles. Now, almost 20 years later, the Nikkei stands below 9,000. One of the main reasons for such a protracted period of underperformance is that, rather than allow economic forces to run their inevitable course, the Japanese financial authorities spent years and years trying to prop up an essentially bankrupt banking industry. As a result, the economy remained mired in a recession for the better part of 15 years. Had the authorities simply acknowledged and accepted the bankruptcy of the banking industry and started from scratch, the length of the ensuing recession would almost certainly have been much shorter.

I recently had a discussion with a former colleague in the investment banking industry, and he argued that, in spite of hopes that we have already seen the worst and that things will now start to improve, many existing financial institutions are basically insolvent and will almost certainly get significantly worse. He gave two reasons for believing that the worst is yet to come. First, corporations which have been forced to raise capital quickly have sold their best assets first. This only makes sense, since these are the assets for which there are both demand and observable prices. What is left on the books of these companies is the most toxic, unmarketable assets. Many of these assets haven’t traded in months or years and are therefore marked at prices far above their current value. If these companies are forced to start selling off these lesser-quality assets, the write-downs incurred will be far larger than the ones we have already seen.

The second argument for believing that many institutions (especially hedge funds) are likely to fail has to do with the incentive structure facing the executives of these companies. An ironic consequence of the public outcry against excessive executive compensation is that the best and brightest in the business have greatly reduced incentives to stay and try to turn things around at their present companies. Their compensation is tied to the performance of their equity, and since things have already fallen so far, they know that even if they succeed in avoiding complete collapse, they will never cash in to the extent they had hoped. This creates a strong incentive to walk away and start fresh somewhere else. This trend is already underway in the hedge fund community, and there is no reason to think that it won’t accelerate. So, if we continue to bail out existing institutions, it is likely that we will end up with companies which have sold their best assets and lost their best people. This is yet another argument for taking our lumps now in order to prevent even greater damage down the road.

A final argument for allowing the banks to fail is the message that our current actions send to corporations of the future. If we go down the road of bailing out banks and insurance companies, what is the message that is sent to executives of the future? Businesses will believe that they can always rely on the government to bail them out as a last resort. In an industry that is already based on “playing with other people’s money”, this will almost certainly lead to reduced prudence and less responsibility. In addition, what does it say to non-financial corporations which, in spite of having strong core businesses, are being forced into bankruptcy? Why is it fair that those who caused the problems get rescued while those who were innocent bystanders are left to their own devices?

Conversely, if we simply allow companies to fail, the message will be unambiguous and salutary. Executives in the future will understand that they will suffer the full consequences of their mistakes and their very survival depends on responsible and competent risk management.

All of this is not to say that nothing should be done to support the existing financial industry, but given the enormous cost that is being absorbed by the American public, we owe it to ourselves to at least consider the alternative.

Drinkability

I got nothin. I’m rolling the bones, hoping I can come up with something. Sometimes it works.

Where is everyone on wind chimes? Love hate for me.

I never wear bright red. It’s a dumb color on a man no matter what.

It’s raining. Excellent.

She was a class A cruiser aspirated by an engine that took her to warp in under an hour. I just wanted to write that sentence.

Here we go.

I think the rules for fluids in your carry-on are preposterous. If there just happens to be a regular sized tube of toothpaste in your luggage, it will be seized. Confiscated. It’s because of the barbarian terrorist hordes who storm our train stations and airports every day with ordinary toothpaste tubes filled with high explosives and containers of over four ounces filled with socialist DNA and yellowcake uranium.

Hint: Pay special attention to any retard trying to light his shoes on fire.

Ignore that shit at your own peril.

There are specific rules about the size of your Ziploc. Before you know it, you’re taking off your shoes and trying to remember when you last cut your toenails.

This, while we barely bother to pay attention to over ninety percent of the 20 x 8 foot shipping containers that show up by the tens of thousands on our shores everyday.

Here’s the deal. If they want blow up an airliner or use it as missle, they will. They can poison your water or your food. Nothing we are doing now in terms of security, policy or protocol is even remotely efficacious. Doesn’t even address the problem.

By the way, the bad guys haven’t tried any of that for awhile if ever.

It’s kind of analogous to the saturation of cars with alarms in LA. They pollute the atmosphere everywhere. No one even looks. Mine could be going off within yards of me and I wouldn’t know. It’s an archaic and obsolete solution to a problem that is far too unimportant to warrant the industry that’s prospered around it.

See what I’m saying? These are things they’ve implemented to show you they’re doing something and make you feel better but still afraid. What you should feel is insulted and pissed off.

I’m here to tell you that forcing Americans to study the cubic or liquid volume of their various toiletries is not paying out any dividends in terms of enhanced security. I’m saying it’s really fucking stupid.

See, Ziploc freezer bags make ultimate sense for one’s personal creams, potions and lotions. More than big and durable enough to contain all of ones necessary liquids while protecting the actual luggage from leaks and oozings propagated by the pressure differential that occurs in the cabin of any commercial jet.

Just how dumb are we?

Let me think of another one.

I thought of another one. It’s a really good one. The ultimate in absurd. It’s really big. One of the biggest devices embraced by the Great Unwashed. Gen Pop. Perhaps the most insidiously self defeating institution ever endorsed by humankind. The world’s largest bureaucracy of shame, guilt and hypocrisy.

Starts with an ‘R’.

We’ll save that for another time.

Drinks for my friends.

Do The Right Thing

Fuck me.

So there was this piece on CNN tonight about how Michelle Obama has a chance to alter the stereotype of black women as overwieght, loud and ignorant. Guess what footage they used? Eddie Murphy as his fat obnoxious wife, Rasputia, in “Norbit”.

What?

Blackface.

How lame is that?

I share with you that I’ve dated black women and I’m in a relationship with a black woman and how that stereotype isn’t one I even understand, but what I want to know is, how many of you clueless cracker mouth breathers buy this shit?

Did I mention our new First Lady is the epitome of poise and dignity? Crazy smart and in possession of wisdom and composure beyond her years? Our fortune is not merely about the man.

And, she’s hot.

Fuck you CNN.

Goddamnit.

Anyway.

Spike Lee’s “Do The Right Thing”.

A review. An assessment.

An analysis. Bitch. Oooh.

Excellent film.

Prescient.

Mookey, played by Spike Lee, is far from stupid. He chooses the path of least resistance consistently. Willfully ignorant. A pussy. Not a bad guy, but plagued by his own weakness. Lead antagonist in a movie full of them. Angry?

Yep. No legitimate malice. His circumstances are his own.

Sal, Danny Aiello’s character, ultimately plays bitch to his pride instead of his obvious capacity for compassion.

Sal’s internal conflicts shaped as metaphorical characters and played by his two sons. Each is a side of the war inside him. An ugly day in the life. He’s not necessarily a bigot but circumstances keep piling on. Eventually he is presented with a choice and blows it. Instead of doing the right thing, he chooses the wrong thing and chaos blasts through like a tsunami.

Mookey makes a choice at least as pregnant with bad circumstances and events descend into a maelstrom.

What Lee took pains to show us is the difference between doing the right thing and ignoring it. At the onset of the defining conflict, Sal could have merely invited the dipshit antogonist to bring some pictures of black heros for the wall. At the behest of one black customer, but a gesture everyone from the block would have welcomed, regardless of color or ethnicity.

Simple.

It’s a moment that hangs briefly and then rolls from one unfortunate escalation to another. Hard to watch as Lee does his level best to show us how it can happen and how ridiculous it often is. In the end, the Korean grocer plays by example. He tells the angry mob sincerely that he is black, just like them, and they understand. His life and business are not demolished in front of his eyes.

The scene defines the the movie and the message as much as any other. Sal on his corner for decades and the Koreans across the street for less than two years. Reactions dictate fate. Life goes on. Sal loses.

Powerful stuff.

My hero is Ozzie Davis. “The Mayor”. The Mayor embraces humility just after saving a boy’s life by risking his own. He sees what’s coming and does the best he can. The protagonist is Sal. As innocent as a man can be in a morality play such as this. Same as Mookey, until the end of the film where they both fail spectacularly. The antogonist is the neighborhood, the police and racism from every side.

The antogonist is a malaise.

The catalyst is the heat.

It’s a fascinating film that looks like a play. It is a play. I became a Spike Lee fan today.

My girlfriend who just happens to have her ethnicity enhanced by blackness, you know, African, says this, “Spike played the character Mookey and that’s one letter different than Monkey -Spike Lee is annoyed by the willfully ignorant black man.”

Then she tells me something far more interesting. She tells me Our Man’s chances of achieving what he has would have been substantially reduced were he a descendant of slaves and the product of black mother and white father. She tells me this would have been a result of the way he saw himself and of little consequence in the way we saw him.

How interesting is that? That’s racism. The hidden, ugly, pervasive head thereof. Damn. A special brand of vulgar.

Makes it obvious we’re not even close.

Still, beauty to be had. America has chosen a liberal black man to lead us. We didn’t choose him because he’s black. We chose him because he looks to be our best chance.

Begs the question, what’s next?

So many Americans aren’t ready for this. It’s my guess the midwest has shat itself, if only from confusion. I’m hoping the rednecks have crapped themselves moistureless and moved on to iced coffee and some goddamn sense. You don’t have to order a bagle or a muffin. You can have toast.

Forgive me, but I worry. We need to sail over the torpor and wash it it out of our mouths. Spit out any violence. Everybody. Not just us. All of us. Look at me. All of us.

Conventional wisdom seems to have out shouted cognitive dissonance. Nice.

From your heart try to be respectful at least once or twice. Sometimes it gets heavy. Trust me I have.

Do your best. Walk right out into a brand new day.

Stop being such pussies.

Drinks for my friends.

Pie in my pork

I’ve got to tell you how strange my life has become.

I don’t work anymore. Car and apartment dirty. Filthy. Full of unnecessary things, copious refuse and random detritus. Grime. Disgusting. Can’t bring myself to care. Keeping an eye out for bugs.

They knock at the door all day. They knock and check the knob. All goddamn day. They rattle it. In the afternoon, they pound. They hammer and that upsets me. It suprises me. I’m startled and so I have to clean up. Clean myself up. I shave and shower. Bag some trash.

Sometimes I dust and vacuum.

I leave my toilet a mess.

When I look through the hole it’s always at the instant they are turning away.

I hate them.

Short blonde women, tall dark men.

Short blond men. Tall dark women.

I get angry.

At night they wear hoodies up.

Many wear a blue apron but I can’t read the logo or the slogan. I think there’s a pig on it.

It’s a fisheye parallax view kinda thing. Can’t make it out.

I either make people like me or I don’t. It’s simple so I just do it. Whoever you are, I can make you like me.

What do you think of that? It’s totally true.

Really mad. I get super pissed.

I have a unique view from my balcony. I leased the place sight unseen. I saw that it had twenty five to thirty feet of uniterrupted tiled deck outside and signed the lease. I can see three stories up. It’s like a canyon. Everything reverberates. The click of my lighter. My foot steps even in slippers. At night sounds multiply.

From the balcony I see common areas, like where the elevator spills my neighbors. One of three jacuzzis. I got a letter on my door today about the jacuzzis telling me they were to be replastered this month. Great. Can’t wait.

Sometimes I see them from my balcony on the floors above me not really talking to each other. Their lips move. They touch a lot. It’s subtle. They never look at each other.

They always see me. Always. They look right fucking at me. They don’t exactly point with their fingers.

It begins. A clatter, some rustling and then some random knocks. After that, pounding, rapping and bell ringing. So loud! I get angry and charge the eyehole. Sometimes I yell at them as they turn away. Sometimes just one. Often groups. I feel better screaming at the groups.

I pound at my door as they scatter.

I never open it. That would be crazy.

Sometimes, I peer out the hole in the middle of the night and they go by in boats, the hallway a rushing river. Torches burning. Backs paddling away from me. Hoods up. The water is violent and green. My feet are wet and river water splashes the skin of my feet and ankles.

I dream of portals and portholes.

Morning, there is no evidence of a river, yet I wake with rashes on my feet.

They leave things at my door. Minature boxes of cereal, deflated balloons and wrinkled party favors. Glitter. Plastic champagne flutes. Soggy candy cigarettes. The hallway smells like leather and the sea.

Weeds and insects.

Everyone I encounter that day looks like they’ve been swimming. Dry skin, red eyes, wild hair.

Fucking grasshoppers careening, leaping abberantly in front of me wherever I walk.

People don’t know what I know. They can’t see what I see.

Every time I go to the 7-11 after sunset, one of the bastards opens the door for me. I recognize them all.

Crazy is everywhere you look. Color outside the lines. Be creative. Kill people.

This last one was old and chapped. His face was ruddy and he moved rheumatic. I usually try to give them something. Who knows what power they have. I hate when I’ve got no cash and say as much on the way in but they still ask again on the way out.

I’ve been avoiding it lately. Always bugs in the condiments at The Hot Dog Buffet. Only buy stuff that is prepackaged. Always bring home mayo packets.

They mingle by the elevators. They whisper. They always drop a few Crackerjack prizes when they gather. On the floor in the common areas. Little red striped envelopes with a semblance of a sailor in blue. Like where the mailboxes are. Sometimes I pick them up off my balcony. That spooks me. What bugs me most is when they’re beside my car. Sometimes all around my car.

Dozens. That spooks me.

There’s always a guy who’s balding wearing corduroy with bad teeth. Sometimes tall, sometimes not. An elegant redhead in black who maintains her youth by eating nothing but grains and raw vegetables. Children in costumes. An over perfumed elderly fat woman dressed immaculately. A guy I can only describe as Karl, The Mortition, and a handful of others. From the girl at the drycleaner to the hairy guy in a stupid shirt at the mall who kept walking in front of me.

I see the goats and hear the monkeys. I never see the monkeys and hear the goats. Never.

There’s a window outside of my apartment, in the hallway, that opens onto my balcony. That’s how they’re getting in. I close my shit up before I sleep no matter how hot it is.

A woman in the elevator the other night had what looked like a hamster cage. It looked heavy but she still held it high. Yellow plexiglass, the smell of woodchips and sour rodent turds. There were tiny frogs inside. They kept leaping against the sides, making me flinch. They slid down, leaving smears. It sounded awful. Smacks and whisper moist scrapes. She had a moustache. Sideburns. Her dress was a smock of burlap somewhere between lime green and pastel robins egg. It was morbid against her skin and the simian coating of black hair on her arms.

Burping amphibians with huge eyes. A woman named Halgromson, moles erupting with thick and ropy whiskers.

Sheezus!

Once in a while I smell crazy. Smells like dust. Smells like rocks and rotting flowers. Penetrates everything. Sweet but cloying and dense.

Smells like cabbage boiling with a fair amount of porkfat. Get used to it. Come to Daddy.

Drinks for my friends.

News of the world

We’re fucked.

In the past few months the market has lost forty seven percent of it’s value. Unemployment is a vertical dragrace. A precipitous ascent. These two items represent America’s testicles. The market and jobs is our nutsack. Balls meet vise.

There’s probably not a single business in this country that could weather a near fifty percent reduction in revenue and stay afloat. America, and the globe, are in huge trouble. We are in a free fall. I’m glad I have a place to go. There’s room for my stereo. Barely. Limited growing season, but that might change.

Bill Maher said that he always knew Dumbya had one giant fuck up left in him. Here it is on a platter. The mother of them all. Saved the worst for last. Where are the neocons on this anyway? Where the hell is Dumbya and Darth? Fucking clowns aren’t gonna do shit. They’ll wait it out and then take a walk.

A long time coming. Decades. Any fool with common sense understood our lifestyle wasn’t sustainable. The raw material we consume. The resources we exhaust and the pollution we spew.

I’m a little pissed my generation has to bear the burden. It matters not where the bodies are buried. If your at all curious, check your own backyard. Pervasive.

No one single action will solve this debacle. There is no magic bullet. We are in for a very long night.

Get ready, things are about to change.

Having said that, we need to tip the fuck out of Iraq and seriously slash defense spending. Pay the troops, take care of the vets, maintain infrastructure and walk away from everything else. Sounds drastic and it is, but once the DOW dropped below eight thousand and stayed there, the theoretical bottom disappeared.

This will take a decade at least.

Our Man is bequeathed a shitstorm of extraordinary magnitude. A cat five economic hurricane. I worry that he’ll spend his first term putting his fingers in holes as opposed to being able to move us forward. No matter what, the blood will make it to the stairs. Americans are impatient and stupid and I worry they’ll see it as an ineffective Presidency.

Bleak, bleak, bleak.

I’ve got ER on the plasma with the sound off and see that it’s pretty much the same. I learn US Attorney General Mukasey took a dive at the podium in front of the federalists. I see that gas prices are looking for bottom. This is not good news. Bear witness as the harbingers of doom testify.

It’s not just that we’ll be poorer. My ass is broke. I’ll find my own way out. I can deal with that. It’s the inevitable atrophy of society that gives me pause. Crime and corruption will enjoy a renaissance. We will be less safe from ourselves, never mind the mythical terrorists.

Get ready for an army of homeless. Abandoned vehicles. Fire. Food shortages. Fuel shortages.

See, I’m not looking to lower expectations, it’s just that the complexity and severity of what we all face is a long fast moving train with brakes that will take awhile. We might just aspire to counting ourselves lucky if we’re treading in the same water we are today four years from now. It may just look like a victory come 2012.

It’s bad.

Official brainspank prediction is that markets rebound enough tomorrow to prevent mass suicide this weekend. At least a few hundred points, probably four or five. Get ‘er up over eight.

See what I’m saying?

Drinks for my friends.

By far the best spam I’ve ever received

In my country, this will be the national anthem:

This from earlIsebella.

“I am 22 years old and my sex imply has gone down to all but nothing.
Sex with my boyfriend of 5 years has eternally been excellent and I possess eternally had an orgasm.
I habituated to to masturbate and dont drawn do that anymore. I dont dig what’s come to grief with me.
I old to every seem to be like sex and now I look for ways to get out of it,
but the transmute in my sex predilection is counterfeiting my relationship.
Am I lacking vitamins or nutrients that sham my sex oblige? What can I do to fix this problem?”

If I could write like this, I would.

It is quite simply, the finest prose I’ve ever read.

Peace.

Drinks for my friends.

*President Cucumber

Cheney and Gonzales indicted by grand jury. Stevens loses in Alaska and Lieberman gets to carry on while we try to move on. Tres Grandes beg for big cash and I can’t believe Our Man is smiling. Sheezus.

I hate that Benedict Fliptop gets off easy. He sucks. If he doesn’t owe, there won’t be an ounce of flesh from anybody else. No truth, no consequences. Harry Reid says nolo contendere. It’s done. Pussies. Flopsweat cowboys in big stupid hats.

“(CNN) — A grand jury in south Texas indicted Vice President Dick Cheney and former Attorney General Alberto Gonzales on separate charges related to alleged prisoner abuse in federal detention centers, Willacy County District Attorney Juan Angel Guerra told CNN Tuesday”

I hear this guy’s a bit of a loose cannon, already voted out of office and described by an underling’s lawyer as a “one man circus.” Whatever. Godlovehim. He got a grand jury to indict Gonzales and the VP. Get his headstone ready and make sure this deed is etched upon it. Let’s start an aluminium can drive to pay for it. Ha! Give that man a can of warm beer and an American flag. Lifetime supply of Slim Jims and special packages from Frito Lay, Hostess and Kraft. Free cable. Nascar tickets.

What we have here is an American.

Meanwhile, having just been dropped by an air & sea rescue helicopter onto the deck of the USS Fuck Me Runnin’, Obama had this to say via ship radio, “Wow, this shit is fucking whack. Where’s the goddamn bridge? We need an assload of helicopters ’cause we aint staying here. Si se puede get us the fuck out of here.”

HillRod for Secretary of State by God!

This man is walking towards the four horses of the apocalypse. He has a water pistol. I trust. He’s as good or better swordsman than anyone else who had a shot. Handy with a sixgun. He’s about to be ambushed by the full weight of the world. A world, in as close to as bad a shape as anytime in written history.

He knows this.

And he’s smiling.

Hands folded in his lap.

Looked Steve Kroft in the eye Sunday night and had a lot to say. Just as cool as could be. A full hour on 60 Minutes. *President Cucumber. Awe inspiring composure. The most intelligent and well executed campaign I’ve ever seen. Best that anyone alive has ever seen. He suffered the slings and arrows and just kept coming.

He just kept coming. Extraordinary and we’re about to find out how.

Will Atlas shrug?

I say, he’s not too sexy for his shirt.

Walk right out into a brand new day.

Drinks for my friends.

*nickname alert

The Big Three

Damned if we do, damned even further if we don’t.

I agree with Our Man and Ben Stein even.

If we weren’t in an unprecedented economic clusterfuck, gaining speed and momentum while heading down the rapids towards a mile high waterfall, it might be different. I’d be inclined to say say fuck ’em. Talk about obtuse mismanagement. These CEO’s should all be thrown over a clothesline with their dicks tied together.

Particularly GM Stud Duck, Rick Wagoner. An eater of lead paint chips in charge of the retarded.

These guys suck. In a more perfect world, they should be placed on a park bench, allowed to fondle themselves and get thrown in jail for lewd and lascivious behavior. Blueblood induced retardation.

Maybe that’s what’s up here. Too much inbreeding of what was once the Intelligentsia. Now candidates for Down’s syndrome and systemic organ failure. No longer the smartest guys in the room.

Fortunately for them and unfortunately for us, we allow their implosion at our peril. That blows, but it is what it is.

With the loss of jobs at a precipitously precarious point, we simply cannot afford to let this proliferate. Sorry about that.

So, let’s figure out what’s needed to put these monolithic companies back on track. Make sure the emphasis is on green technology, reasearch and development. Start the eco-friendly foundation for America’s new infrastructure right there. The auto industry. Nice cornerstone. Symbolic even.

That sounds like a really good idea to me. Seriously.

Next, we take the top brass from all three, place them in low income housing in Bakersfield, limit their grocery alternatives to convenience stores, no cable, no air conditioning and the only booze options being Pabst Blue Ribbon and white zinfandel. What the hell, they get toothless whores and access to bad biker speed that reeks of petrochemicals and has a pinkish hue.

Board games and cards. They’ll be shanking each other within weeks.

I’m not without compassion you know.

Seriously, this should be an official government program. All executives from every financial institution that fails should be forced to live in the same complex under the same circumstances.

All there would be left to do is fence it off, put up some razor wire and hire guards with a history of violence and opposition to authority. Make sure they’re well equipped and have the latest weaponry and armor at their disposal and we’re done here.

All Bakersfield all the time.

See, the neoconservative maxim is, accuse your opponent of exactly what you’re shoulders deep into. This isn’t just fisting. That’s how they arrived at the ‘socialist’ and/or ‘terrorist’ smears this time around. They have terrorized the American people for decades and their policies will force us into a kind of socialism, at least temporarily, to save ourselves.

Bet your ass, while we go about pursuing change and righting the wrongs, the better we do, the louder they will scream those very things. Fucktards. Idiot mouth breathing soldiers of willfull ingnorance.

Fuck me. Fuck them. Fuck anything that moves.

Drinks for my friends.

Rod Tyler and The Toxic Woman

We would ride our bikes to school. Fifth and sixth grade. All the way across town.

The schoolbus was far more convenient, yet riding a bike to anywhere wasn’t far when I was thirteen. Time was a factor. It was fascinating. From east of town. From sand, weeds and sagebrush to old oaks, cottonwoods and pines of the west side. Six or seven miles apart. Always a headwind blowing from the west. Always. Everyday. Every goddamn day.

Like it blew to keep us away.

Gliding through office and government building parking lots I would later work in or have cause to enter. Jumping curbs and sending shopping carts careening down loading bays.

Eventually, we stopped going to school on the days we rode our bikes. We just explored. I learned the beginning of everything back then. Time no longer a factor. I began to spectate. I understood it was important to observe. Watch and learn.

Nothing too serious. A few days a month. Sometimes we took a cab. We earned money by visiting his mother at the grocery store. She gave us cold currency for the coupons we clipped. Completely illegal but she took it right out of the register. She was every bit as confused as we were. Not at all a good mother.

We’d walk away with twenty or thirty bucks a piece. Mad cash for a twelve year old in the 70’s.

I remember smoking pot for the first time with him and his mom. We watched Carrie and the first Rocky movie on cable. All of twelve years old and we were doing bong hits with his mom while mother and son passed a Benson & Hedges menthol back and forth. She was the first woman to cause me to notice misdemeanor eyebrow tweezing abuse.

Not a bad woman, just not equipped to deal with two teenagers on her own.

There was an older sister with huge boobs named Tammy. The third girl to live on our block by that name, my sister being the first. In the middle was a girl belonging to Tim and Mary but overseen by Fred and Mary. I actually kissed her once while she was in hypoglycemic fugue. The third, not the middle. We stole a bottle of Ten High whiskey out of a truck at the end of the block and she drank most of it. We all made out with her.

Then there was the stepfather, Bill. A large unpredictable man with a baby face and a history of being institutionalized. It was a four bedroom trailer and he had his own room. It was always locked. Cool Budweiser poster on the door.

I was smart enough to be wary of the man. I avoided him. I understand now he was bipolar. Effusive and friendly one moment, red faced and raging the next. He wasn’t always around. Sometimes he was in the “hospital”.

It being a trailer with weak internal doors, my friend and I soon figured out how to access Bill’s room. What we found was fascinating.

Guns and ammo. Lots of guns and lots of different kinds of bullets. Everything shining. Neat as a pin. Beer posters and porno mags. It was his paradise. He smoked a pipe and there was evidence everywhere. Cleaners and scrapers and multi-tool instruments that looked like nail clippers. All the attendant paraphernalia……

There was a twin bed and somehow his pillowcase was the same as mine. It was the exact same Star Wars pillowcase as on my bed.

I lifted bullets and powder from that room for my own experiments. I think he even had blasting caps. Drove a lime green faux wood panelled station wagon. It was the the impetus of my pyromaniacal season. It ended up being a long season. I wanted my own fort in the desert filled with porno mags and guns.

I ended up blowing a lot of shit up.

To this day he is one of the most dangerous and unbalanced men I’ve ever met. But a giant vagina nevertheless. I always knew that if things went south to black, I could call my old man at the other end of the same street. Realistically, there was six to eight inches between the two and probably sixty to eighty pounds.

Dad would have shown up in his workboots and his concrete caked hard hat, he never took it off until he showered before dinner. He would have kicked the big whiteboy’s ass or scared the living shit out of him. The next morning, well before the sun, he would have read the paper while smoking a cigarette on the toilet in our only bathroom. lit the furnace, and gone to work pouring concrete on some highrise in the dead of winter in the high desert.

I think it’s pretty obvious why I hung out there. The most interesting lives on my block.

We’d steal chewing tobacco and donuts from the blind man stands in the government buildings. A few times we found kitchens in office buildings and helped ourselves. I can only guess there were no security cameras in those days. I remember being fascinated and somewhat in awe of the amenities provided to office workers. Cool.

Somehow we avoided real trouble. I think because we became excellent thieves. We were shitty liars so we did our best to not end up having to lie. It was only when we had to lie that we got caught. We stole all the mail on our block once. I think we both ended up talking to Carson City’s finest on that one.

Somewhere in this time I had a bully. His name was Ron Dalton and I’m still confused as to how or why I let him push me around for as long as I did. Skinny little prick with a sour face straight out of a Beavis and Butthead episode.

I stood up to him one day and that was it. He was a giant vagina. It was that easy. I burned way more angst over it than I should have. I was a giant vagina too. I should have just beat his ass. Years later, his older brother pulled a knife on me and a friend we called Thos B. Right there in CC in the House of Ormsby.

Somehow it was a walk in the park to shut him down. He was at least as dumb as his brother. I actually got him out in the parking lot and got it away from him. We didn’t struggle, he gave it to me. Ask Thos B.

Anyway.

My friends place was filled with cheap paneling, avacado colored appliances, gold shag carpeting, bad linoleum, macrame, orange plastic ashtrays and knitted stuff.

Plenty of juice in the fridge and granola bars in the pantry. Far less supervision than my house.

If you lived in a Double Wide in that era, there were two huge windows at the front of your trailer facing the street. The windows were bisected by an architectural artifice intended to conceal where the two halves were joined. These windows were always so big as to bathe the forward most chambers with as much ambient light as could be.

When I was twelve, I put my hand through one of those windows and lost a chunk of flesh from my right wrist and muscle from my thumb. It all took place at my good friend’s trailer. He called the ambulance but sent them to my house. Told me he was looking to get in as little trouble as possible. This, despite the front of his trailer sporting the random graffiti of my sprayed blood.

We wrapped a roll of paper towels around my wrist and hand and pointed our bikes towards my place.

The ambulance ride was something.

There’s a lot more I want to tell you. Ketchup packets are an enviromental disaster but it’s the best ketchup there is. I’m now forty three. These events were thirty years ago. I imagine there’s plaque in my arteries and my teeth are gonna start falling out eventually.

I have no children and that’s ok because I never really grew up.

I entertained the notion but it’s just not for me.

I twisted and cheated but mostly in my younger years. I spent some formative years way off the map. I am flawed. I have regrets but I don’t lose sleep. I never really fucked anybody. Not nearly as hard as I’ve been, for what it’s worth.

I bought a house once. It was beautiful. Me and my fiancee lived in it for over two years. It makes me sad to think about it. The Bean died there. We painted and landscaped to make it our own. I still smart when I think of that cat and that life. I think her death was pregnant with things I could no longer avoid.

The whole thing certainly seems to have marked the end and the beginning of many things.

It’s always ending and beginning.

What to do with melancholy on any given day.

Sometimes I wish I could start over. I’ll bet that’s not uncommon.

Did I tell you about the five cars waiting for us at the county line and being issued foam slippers and an orange jump suit? Making the front page of my hometown paper?

Um, there’s plenty more. Lots more. Yep.

Life’s been good to me so far.

Drinks for my friends.

Hot bigot love or in defense of language

I go back and forth with this guy once in awhile. Sometimes I have to go looking for something to make me mad. Trust me it’s rare.

This is what set me off:

“Never once have I felt it necessary to impugn the character or the intelligence of the writer of a blog I visited. But then I’m not a liberal moron. . .
I also don’t understand the compulsion felt by so many of the liberal persuasion to post such obscenities as to embarass a drunken sailor on shore leave. But, as I said, I’m not a liberal moron.” -Dewitt

He’s referring to me.

Here’s my response:

Here’s where your problem starts: “liberal moron”. Many of us think you’re a “conservative moron”. For what it’s worth, it’s more insulting than something like ‘dipshit fucktards’.

You think that you’re somehow not subject to, or deserving of criticism because you shy away from expletives and therefore enjoy some immunity from being called rude or ignorant or hateful.

The truth is, I’ve read some of the most shallow, hateful vitriol and blatant generalizations on your blogs as I’ve read anywhere.

See, I think you’re a narrow minded old man that is both afraid and confused. Having said that, I don’t imagine you to be a bad guy, just tragically misguided.

Hot bigot love.

In his next blog he says:

“No matter how noble Obama’s intentions, the world will not respond nobly, and we shall learn once again that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Bad things will happen in the next four years.

Obama’s “Peace At Any Cost” foreign policy will be a monumental disaster. Folks in the middle east are already dancing in the streets. Al Qaeda has not struck US territory for seven years. That will change. Soon.” -Dewitt

Translation: We’re on a highway to hell and an attack is imminent because we elected Obama.

By the way, this will be different from the first year of the last two administrations how? Sooner or later we’re gonna get hit again, with any luck, this time our own government won’t be complicit.

Then, douchebaggery ensued:

“My fellow Americans, on November 4, 2008 a sizable majority of you went into voting booths across America and elected Barack Hussein Obama; a black man who had made a career of race hustling, who sat in a racist church for twenty years, who actively worked with domestic terrorists committed to the destruction of the USA, and whose election campaign was to a large degree based on White Guilt and accusations of racial intolerance.” -Dewitt

Translation: You elected a slick talking racist nigger, who seeks to destroy America and he got past you by playing to your enormous guilt for being white, priveledged and superior.

I gotta tell ya Dewitt. That’s fucking disgusting. One hundred eighty goddamn degrees out of phase. You suck.

But wait, there’s more:

“The final bastion, that last vestige of institutionalized racism in the USA, is the black community itself. (The very existence of a “black community” proves it’s racist nature.) Isn’t it time to outlaw the Congressional Black Caucus, the United Negro College Fund, and the NAACP? How long shall we tolerate these obviously racist constructs with their blatant prejudice against white people?” -Dewitt

Is it just me, or does He just not get it? Is it just me, or is Dewitt an asshole?

He responds:

“You just can’t speak without profanity and insults can you? You really do need therapy!” -Dewitt

No shit, that’s what he said.

There’s all kinds of them out there.

Talk to me.

Drinks for my friends.

Take the gig HillRod*

Seriously. Secretary of State. I’m on board. She’s a junior Senator under Chuck Schumer, looking at a long road to affect the kind of change to which she clearly aspires.

In a heavy drawer, rattling and gleaming with talent, HillRod might just might be the sharpest dagger.

This, a window open, a glance makes it obvious what potential stirs inside. An instance where Hillary and yes, Bill, could impact and influence the shape of the world to come. Who better to do such from that office? A necessity if we are to survive, much less prosper. The depth and breadth of influence and expertise team Billary would bring is huge. They blow into the casino with an intimidating pile of chips and all the dealers happy to see them.

The world knows it and you do too.

I beseech you, oh Billary, to take this gig. Your country needs you. Several months ago I wrote a blog detailing my cabinet picks for an Obama administration. Among my choices were Big Bad Bill for the most venerated of posts.

I stand by that. The Clinton brand being appointed to Secretary of State is second perhaps only to that of Our Man being elected Commander in Chief in terms of gravity around the world and whatnot. I don’t believe I’ve ever even typed the word “whatnot” before. Weird.

The official brainspank endorsement for Secretary of State goes to Hillary Clinton. C’mon Hills, you wanna change the world or not?

Dan Savage is becoming a celebrity. Good for him.

Now is not the time to fuck around. No ego, no hubris. On the other hand, think of the Clinton legacy if you must. Just take the gig. You would rock it.

Guess what? Barack Obama has been elected and he’s so fucking cool!

“Take that Canada……….your head of state is a boring white dude named Stephen Harper, and mine is a kick ass black ninja named Barack Hussein Obama!” -Bill Maher

It’s getting better all the time.

Drinks for my friends.

*new nickname alert

A silver lining

We shall overcome.

The difference in hard numbers between those who voted against fair and equal rights for gays last time around and this time, prop. 8, is staggering. Encouraging.

20 plus points in two thousand as compared to four points this time. Talk about a shrinking violet. You thinking what I’m thinking? Do the math.

Progressives need to start pushing for a ballot initiative post haste. We need to get one on the ballot every election cycle. It’s a matter of time. The seismic upheaval we witnessed in this election has not begun to run dry of portent. Nope. As of this writing, it grows and gains strength. The downtrodden realize that their voice is legitimate and vital.

Fight fire with fire. Watch the jaws of the bigots drop as we push to put this issue on the ballot over and over until enough die off and allow us the majority we need for one of the last and most important civil rights issues to prevail.

Walk right out into a brand new day.

The tyranny of a majority is near to being obsolete.

The irony of Mormon culpability in all this rocks my planet. That these sick, sacred underwear wearing fucks, take it upon themselves to inject their archaic moral standards into modern American life is beyond audacious. What possible reason could such pious idiots have for the steaming hardon they brandish exclusively for homosexuals?

Just who the fuck do you think you are?

The extreme ends of their cult, the sick and disgusting fringe of their dogma, would make your average Southern Baptist blush and run to refill his flask. Revoke their tax exempt status for the role they played. They waded into politics and it should cost them. I’m sick and fucking tired of religion intruding into public policy and politics.

There is no religious bureaucracy in this country that isn’t guilty. They should all have their tax exempt status jerked away. I will tell you that the very idea religious institutions in this country deserve to enjoy any autonomy at all is ridiculous.

Money may be the root of all evil but money and religion are synonymous.

Tony Perkins from the Family Research Council is an asshole. He and his ilk are a dying breed. The racism and discrimination he and his organization espouse are near obsolete. I’m not reluctant to share with you that I despise this prick and all his misguided minions.

Organized religion is mankind’s single biggest mistake.

The single most positive thing human beings can accomplish in my lifetime is to walk away from this absurd idea of Santa in the sky.

“Two men say theyre jesus one of them must be wrong” -Mark Knopfler

Drinks for my friends.

Why The Bailout Isn’t Working -by Josh

Nov 12, 2008 7:25 PM
Why The Bailout Isn’t Working
Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson announced today that the government will not be purchasing troubled assets from banks, as they had previously planned to do. This is a startling reversal, given that this was the centerpiece of the original bailout package. Such an abrupt about-face is hardly encouraging as it begs the question of what exactly the government has been doing all this time and calls into question whether those in charge really have any idea how to solve our problems.

It is common knowledge by now that the root cause of our financial difficulties is excessive debt. Across the whole economic landscape – from individual homeowners to corporations to the government – everyone dug themselves into financial holes that they are now unable to climb out of. This being the case, doesn’t it seem odd that the government’s solution to the crisis is to borrow even more money to shower upon the financial sector in hopes that they will start lending again? This is like treating a patient suffering from alcohol poisoning by force-feeding him another drink.

Yes, functioning credit markets are an essential part of a modern industrial economy, but we seem to have lost sight of the fact that the ultimate health of an economy is based on individuals and corporations creating, buying, and selling valuable goods and services. Yet virtually all of the money the government is spending on its rescue efforts are aimed at Wall Street rather than Main Street. The credit markets ought to be the servant of the real economy, rather than the other way around.

Does nobody find it strange that, while hardly anyone bats an eyelash at the latest hundred-billion-dollar bailout of a bank or insurance company, we hear nothing of plans for increased public spending on infrastructure, technology, or education? Is it really better use of taxpayer money to pour countless billions into a financial black hole like AIG rather than investing in technology and education which will improve the long-term ability of American workers and corporations to compete in the global economy? What if, instead of spending a trillion dollars to help banks avoid the consequences of their own foolishness, we spent that money on building bridges and roads, developing alternative energy, and retraining American workers with outdated skills?

Forgetting for a moment the question of fairness, let’s consider from a purely practical point of view which approach to rescuing the economy is most likely to work.

All of the measures aimed at repairing the credit markets are based on the presupposition that once banks stop the financial bleeding they will resume “normal lending”, thereby rescuing the economy. The rationale underlying this argument is based on a very questionable assumption. Even if banks are willing to lend, borrowers need to perceive attractive uses for capital or they will have no incentive to utilize the available credit. After all, if someone offered you a zero interest loan to purchase real estate right now, would you do it? Two years ago virtually everyone would have answered this question in the affirmative, but things have changed since then.

In the absence of solid investment opportunities, the government can print all of the money it wants, but it may still be incapable of stimulating the real economy. I would argue that the trauma of the last several months has fundamentally changed public attitudes to debt and that a return to “normal lending” is neither possible nor desirable. Do we really want to go back to a state in which people borrow as much as they possibly can in order to buy bigger TVs and homes they can’t really afford?

If, on the other hand, the government announced that it was going to spend a trillion dollars to repair roads and bridges, build wind farms, and retrain American workers, the stimulative effects would be far more certain. Millions of jobs would be created and those millions of employees would have an increased ability to spend and invest. This seems like a far more effective way of battling the current crisis than pouring money into banks and insurance companies in the hopes that they will return to business as usual.

My own personal cultural war

My girlfriend is mixed. German and African American. In most people’s eyes, she’s black. Whatever. She’s extraordinarily well educated, smart as a whip besides, and comes from a good and noble family. She’s also hot.

Oh, and crazy.

I’m a self made man. Grew up in a trailer and suffered rednecks in my youth.

Here’s the deal. She asserts that Ruffles Cheddar Cheese & Sour Onion and Cream potato chips are better than any cheap brand of BBQ chips, Lays for the sake of argument, on the average sandwich made with cheap white bread.

My point is that although her chips are delicious, and they are, they are too thick and crunchy for the average trailer park white bread sandwich. I believe I have some exclusive expertise in this area. I submit that the delicate crunch and copious grease, as well as the sweet salty seasoning of the inexpensive barbecue chip makes it far more suitable and indeed complimentary to any sandwich prepared with two slices of grocery store brand cheap white bread.

Do you know how easy it is to to transform a slice of such bread into a marble the size of a pinball using only thumb and forefinger? We like our dough.

I suggested to her that her brand may be better suited to a french roll or some kind of bun. This rocked her on her heels. It was like a powerful wind blew between us. I shot at her and she fled the dark alley where we were discussing it. Then she shot back from a corner.

What she doesn’t understand is the texture quotient. It’s low and therefore important. For example, given the thickness and rigidity of her brand, the mere thickness of the enclosure is not the only factor. The texture of her chips require benefit from a further ballast, like thinly sliced pickle and fresh spinach leaves. Moisture. Not too mention lubrication beyond mayo and mustard; condiments like pesto and tapenade necessarily come into play. Moisture. Big bread and dense chips equal dryness.

The secrets of any given sandwich lie in the contrasts of texture, flavor, moisture, sweet and salt.

By now you see the dangerous territory we entered into somewhat haplessly?

The sandwich we are now describing is far beyond the solar system of the humble one we were endeavoring to build with the most common of materials and ingredients.

Let us revisit the trailer. We use those wafer thin slices of ham and turkey from packaging without even a ziploc at the top. A buck twenty nine per, at most. Coat both slices of whitebread with Miracle Whip or real mayonnaise if you can. The cheese should be individually wrapped slices of Velveeta or a suitable off brand that is at least individually wrapped. One slice on each slab. Genrous ketchup on one and generous mustard on the other. A little salt and pepper never hurts. Pile the meat on the mustard side and apply the chips. A dense layer but not more than a third of an inch or so. Use you palm to compress if necessary.

Get yerself a grape fuckin soda.

Bonus question: What kind of chip works best in a milkshake?

Drinks for my friends.

You may ask yourself……

How do we do this?

Sure, it was a landslide. By popular vote Our Man won by nearly ten million. Seven points separating him from Doubtfire. Look at the map, more blue than I’ve ever seen. America bleeds red, but her map has rarely been more blue. Indiana, North Carolina and Virginia? 364 electoral votes to 163. A thumpin’.

A shit sandwich on a week old hot dog bun with colonies of green and blue spores. No mayo no mustard, no lube whatsoever. The cheese is hard and sweaty. Flies.

In place is the single most imperative mandate I’ve witnessed in my adult life. For change. For hope. America is loud and clear. We’ve been offered this sandwich says She. We say, fuck this shit.

Torture, rendition, spying on our own without a warrant, indefinite incarceration, election fraud, preemptive war and aggression with nothing but bullshit justification, raids on the public coffers, Habeas Corpus rendered null and void, same deal for Posse Comitatus. A Constitution in tatters. It really does go on and on.

Here’s the sobering part. The reckoning.

Almost fifty nine million Americans voted for McCain. That many citizens of this country giving at least a tacit nod of approval by proxy for all this fuckery. Among them are bigots, racists, people with shitloads of money but without soul or conscience. The ignorant and the evil.

The scared.

We are still badly broken. Prop 8 passed in California. Racism and bigotry alive and well in this land of opportunity. How soon we forget. As recently as 1967, marriage between black and white was against the law in sixteen states. For those who would posit that the the law is the law and now constitutional, that we should let it be, succumb and surrender, I say piss up a fucking rope. I say this, because it is wrong.

Bitch slap: In california it was mormons and the minorities turning out for Obama who pushed prop 8 over the goddamn seawall. Narrow and deep irony. It’s a civil rights issue. Shame on you. Mormons are polluted by stupidity and ingnorance. Blacks and Latinos should be ashamed. Bad form. Hypocritical.

America is still profoundly fucked up.

History shows us that almost every worthwhile struggle starts at the bottom of a very steep hill. This one, no different. It will be ugly. Hearts and lives rent asunder along the way.

We’re no longer at the bottom. I can’t say how far we’ve come, but we are about to find out. Fascinating times. The paradigm shifts. Lava begins to rush.

So, how do we do this? Martin Luther King bequeathed upon us the most valuable and sagacious of maxims; consistent, unswerving, intelligent and righteous resistance. Absent violence of any kind.

There’s a remote chance that by asking them the same question over and over, they will realize how stupid the answer is. Don’t forget to tell them that you are a fiscal conservative. Lots of liberals are. They like that shit, they think they believe in it.

Let’s talk about the ‘scared’ shall we? I’ll be brave and guess that’s the common denominator between a third and half of the the almost 59 million. We need to find these frightened folks and get them a better haircut. Shave them if necessary. Treat them nice. Feed them well. Be kind.

Who doesn’t like pancakes with peanut butter?

A complimentary delousing. Free tupperware and sporks. New socks.

There plenty of fights to be had. Most will be easy to pick. For a lot of us however, our job is to engage. Get involved. No need to be confrontational, talk about what you care about. Keep it on the front page.

Forgive me. I’m serious. Waste no time on the dogmatic idealogues. They’re too far gone. Falwell can tell them to eat the children. He could and they would. Ever look into an evangelical’s eyes?

Find those eyes frozen by the headlights. Buy them a taco. Lead them from winter to spring. They’ll be melancholy for the previous season and nostalgic for the Abominable Snowman. Try to present the new season as fresh and hopeful. Point out the flowers and that animals both wild and domestic are fucking like mad.

Who doesn’t like pancakes with peanut butter?

You can see I’m struggling with this. I’m convinced on an intellectual level I’ve nailed it. Up here on the top floor, I own it. Not only makes sense but it’s wise.

Down below, closer to me gulliver, I’m all about making them pay. Evil or just plain stupid, they deserve some amount of consequence. Pricks. Dipshits.

But that’s no good, see?

The hopeless will resent it, the fearful won’t understand and they’ll hold it against us. Be nice to conservatives, at least until you figure them out.

Who doesn’t like pancakes with peanut butter?

Your mission is to figure them out and determine who is worth your time. Coming soon, a national Adopt a Pants Shitting Conservative Day.

Drinks for my friends.

Boiling it down

I hate it when I’m a cop on TV and my informant gets whacked for talking to me.

I hate when I’m newspaper editor in a movie and I have to bury a story because of political pressure.

Just as bad when I’m a defense attorney and I know my client is guilty or when I’m a prosecutor and the defendant is innocent.

How can people eat sardines or pickled pigs feet? Sheezus.

I don’t like elevators. Every single time I get in one, I imagine worst case scenario. I lived in an old building in Korea Town. I lived on the top floor. The fourth floor. In three years, I never stepped foot inside it.

Why don’t they just sell those peanuts from Crackerjacks seperately?

I’m kinda anxious for time travel and instant transportation, as long as my identity and soul aren’t atrophied by the requisite scrambling of my molecules.

Smoking a cigarette in hard wind really mitigates the pleasure.

If it’s a Mercedes, there’s a good chance the driver is an asshole.

Man I hate getting stuck behind a truck or a bus.

I cannot figure out whether or not Andy Dick is an idiot.

I don’t beileve I’ve met or known a woman named Claire.

I like to jump to conclusions and then retrace my steps.

I’m instantly uncomfortable when pointed at.

Smiles are golden but frowns are interesting and entertaining. You should see the frown my oldest cat wears by default.

Looks like we have massive vote fraud in Alaska. Por ejemplo, turnout was down fourteen percent despite Alaska’s favorite daughter running for Vice President. There’s more. Google it.

Let me tell ya something.

Although I think the idea of combining coffee bars with bookstores is brilliant, I rarely take advantage. I make it a point to bring a book whenever I dine alone.

I miss toast. It’s been a while.

What’s the smartest thing to come out of a woman’s mouth? Einstein’s cock.

I had a nightmare last night where I had a forest of black hair covering my torso. It would make Ed Asner and Robin Williams blush on my behalf. Now where the fuck did that come from?

Endeavoring to be honest is often a burden. The level of commitment always mirrors the proportion of angst.

Do people who go crazy ever realize they were crazy and regret it?

I hate it when the goddamn vampires show up.

I really hope that those of you who would sacrifice liberty for security take it upon yourselves to shut the fuck up now.

Drinks for my friends.

That new car smell

Don’t go thinking we’re done.

I understand that it will take a while. I’m affording myself incremental morsels, occasional mouth fulls of hope and optimism. I can smell it and it’s like nothing else ever.

What the wind brings to my nose is rich and ripe. Beyond possibility and potential, there are notes of struggle and hard work in the gusts. The concept of thinking globally and acting locally is about to enjoy a brand new day. Personal responsibility and accountability will be celebrated. Our Man understands in no uncertain terms that we watch with a degree of scrutiny heretofore unseen and never even heard of by any Republican leader.

He’s under the microscope. He will have to talk to us frequently and honestly. Eyes wide open, he walks into the biggest mess an American President has ever seen.

The scent is clean as the wind is fresh.

From whence it blows matters little as there is honesty and community in all it’s notes.

America is now pregnant with possibility for the first time in a decade. Be ready for the role of midwife. Or shitwiper. Each and every, will be asked to participate. Without even saying it, the more who answer, the better our chances.

“I was born by the river in a little tent
And just like the river, I’ve been running ever since
It’s been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

It’s been too hard living, but I’m afraid to die
I don’t know what’s up there beyond the sky
It’s been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

I go to the movie, and I go downtown
Somebody keep telling me “Don’t hang around”
It’s been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

Then I go to my brother and I say, “Brother, help me please”
But he winds up knocking me back down on my knees

There’ve been times that I’ve thought I couldn’t last for long
But now I think I’m able to carry on
It’s been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come” -Sam Cooke

Get ready to be called upon. Your part might be magnanimous or merely peripheral. Prolific or a one time deal. Look for what you can do. Watch what happens and figure out for yourself how best you can be of help.

Without the involvement of her citizenry, America, after reaching the point she has, will fold.

Like a paper tent.

A pale rose without water.

A horse in the desert.

We’re in a ridiculous hole. Government WILL NOT solve our problems. Leadership of the rock solid variety just might. Pay attention. Read and then write if necessary. What has happened is astounding. It is a start. Proof that we’ve begun to understand. A cognizance I hope, pervasive enough, so that we understand we’ll all be required of.

An important window opened upon a still unlikely solution. Maybe luck played a role. I don’t know but I don’t really believe in luck. I can still say this, with any luck, we’re just getting started.

“C’mon people now,
Smile on your brother
Ev’rybody get together
Try and love one another right now” -Youngbloods

It’s a runaway train. The passengers will need to do more than rush the goddamn cockpit.

“I go reachin for a cigarette
She says no no baby I aint done yet” -The Gotohells

Drinks for my friends.

Fuckin Survey

1. What color is your underwear right now?
I’m free. Commando. Otherwise it would be disco ball. Maybe leopard.

2. What are you listening to right now?
The sigh of brainrot.

3. What are the last 2 digits in your phone number?
If she survives the birthing, I’ll name her Peg.

4. What was the last thing you ate?
Parsnips and rutabagas. The latter has an edible tuber. Tuber is my new favorite word.

5. If you were a crayon what color would you be?
Yellow, red and orange. A fast food candle.

6. How is the weather right now?
Not as disease friendly as it has been. I imagine I should wash the linens again anyway. Politics was show business for ugly people until Tuesday night.

7. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
A caped crusader. I doubt it was The Caped Crusader. He did promise donuts. I think he said he worked for the government. That really threw me.

8. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Face, eyes, soul, happiness. Voluptuosness. Pretty much in that order.

9. Favorite type of Food?
Dense, thick with sauce and contrasting flavors. Lots of gravy and bread in case you don’t like it. I usually like a little greasiness but not always. I love sushi and the last few months have seen me become a whore for wasabi. Fucking pasta and cheesy tomatoey sauce. Deep fry a shoe and if there’s a good dip, I’m up to bat. Gimme some fucking cheese.

10. Do you drink?
Oh boy. Why do you ask? You’ve heard of the pro life movement? I’m pro booze and just as rabid and tenacious.

Water
Tons of it. I adore cold water. I keep icy water on hand at all times.

Milk
Not since I was seven.

Lemonade
Occasionally. The low sugar stuff. I prefer an Arnold Palmer, with the low sugar stuff.

11. Do you smoke?
Why yes. Do you fart?

12. Ever get so drunk you don’t remember?
Why yes. Rarely, but it’s happened. It makes me nervous.

13. What color are your eyes?
Blue. Bloodshot after I vomit or sneeze. Fire dances in them when I sit in front of a dancing fire.

15. Do you wear contacts?
Nope. Don’t like most of the people I know. Hate to be too attached.

16. Single?
As opposed to plural? Not really. I got’s me a female companion and she’s a little crazy. Oh well. She’s real good to me. I can’t imagine why she likes me as much as she does. I’m flattered.

17. Favorite Month?
Let’s hope it’s this one.

18. Ever cried for no reason?
Plenty of silly ones. Ever drive down the road and for an instant, glimpse a beautiful woman’s face?

19. Last Movie you watched?
Bark of the Lounger. Fuck and suck circus. Ebola ain’t shit.

20. Favorite day of the week?
Kinda self employed but I still like Friday night and Saturday morning. Otherwise I’d say Christmas afternoon at home.

21. Are you too shy to ask someone out?
Not if I’m smitten.

22. Hugs or Kisses?
Puppies and kittens. Deep, snot whistling kisses and then warm hugs and groping.

23. Chocolate or Vanilla?
He he, dog will hunt. Bing Crosby and Negro Romance comics.

24. Do you want your friends to respond?
I wish them luck. I only hope they remain responsive.

25. Who is most likely to respond?
Biodiesel.

26. Who is least likely to respond?
Saddam. Bin Laden. Ann Coulter, where you been?

27. What books are you reading?
Bugliosi and McClellan (Pasty McSquinty). Books that should have been articles. Shit really. I’ve got the latest Vonnegut around here somewhere.

28. Piercings?
Piss up a rope. Damn, my balls are seriously huge.

29. Fav. Movie of all time:
Horton Hears a Who. Blue Velvet. The Big Lebowski. Top Gun. Trinity And Beyond. Nobody’s Fool. Just about any western with Lee Van Cleef. No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood. Animal House. The Prestige and The Illusionist. Born Free and Old Yeller. Capote…………..

30. Fav. baseball team?
Right now that’d be Tampa because of my good buddy Hunter. A small man who brings lots to the table.

31. Any pets?
Yup. Beddy and Swirly. Proof. A handful of contemptible and insidious demons.

32. AIM?
– FIRE! (went with Dave on this one).

33. Butter, Plain or salted popcorn?
Goop it the fuck up and give me some Skittles and a diet coke. Got any caramel corn?

34. Dogs or cats?
Bitches. Cats.

35. Fav. flower?
Splodey ones. Fireworks. Desert ones. Hearty and pungent. Lavender and Rosemary. I like sunflowers and daisies but it’s not like they have a pleasant aroma. Orchids confuse and amaze me.

36. Have you ever fired a gun?
You bet. A whole mess o’ catfish.

37. Do you like to travel by plane as opposed to car?
I prefer a nuclear powered sub but there’s only so many waterways.

38. Right handed or left handed?
One hand feels like somebody else. I wipe with the left and eat with the right.

39. How many pillows do you sleep with?
I need three. One for me and one on each side for the other two of me.

40. Are you missing someone?
Missing, no. Lacking? Perhaps.

“Hello, world, here’s a song that we’re singin’,
c’mon get happy
A whole lotta lovin’ is what we’ll be bringin’,
we’ll make you happy

We had a dream we’d go trav’lin’ together
We’d spread a little lovin’ then we’d keep movin’ on
Somethin’ always happens whenever we’re together
We get a happy feelin’ when we’re singin’ a song

Trav’lin’ along there’s a song that we’re singin’,
c’mon get happy
A whole lotta lovin’ is what we’ll be bringin’,
we’ll make you happy
We’ll make you happy,
we’ll make you happy” -The Partridge Family

Drinks for my friends.

A hand sliced roll of rock or Taco Head

Nothing smells like a tire shop. I loved it. Always a chrome gumball machine. Newspapers, car magazines. Displays of motor oil, fascinating three dimensional cutaway presentations of tread and steel belts. All kinds of shit to look at and the coolest smell.

Kinda like the Barbershop behind Cactus Jack’s. It had it’s own vibe and there were comic books from Andy’s Smoke Shop around the corner on Main Street. A guy named Bob took care of me and the Old Man. Light blue smocks and the scent of Barbicide.

The tall jar of aquamarine disinfectant filled with combs is something that fascintes me to this day. I have an overwhelming compulsion to put red striped straws in with the combs.

Someday I’ll do that.

Dad always went first so I could get started reading a comic. I didn’t like getting my hair cut and I don’t know why. I’m not sure we’ve ever understood each other but he always understood what I needed.

The apparatus, gauges, hoses and tools at the tire shop set my imagination of fire. Pneumatic engines and hydraulic lifts leave a huge impression on a six year old. They lift the whole goddamn car! The sound and power of pneumatic wrenches. Every man’s hands were dirty but they were all friendly and smelled of hair tonic and aftershave. VO5, Tres Flores, Hi Karate, Brut, English Leather or Avon.

They all chewed gum. Some smoked cigarettes while chewing gum. They rarely removed the cigarette from their lips. They talked, smoked, chewed gum and worked on cars.

The Old Man was polite and talked to them with respect. They liked him. He liked them. They saw he was a man who made a living with his hands. Mutual all the way around. His Detroit muscle needed new rubber. Mercury Cyclone. Dirty snow steaming on the edges of the parking lot. Coffee in flimsy styrofoam.

I really like the sound of guns being cocked and loaded in the movies. Know what else? When the bartender in a movie slams the shot glass on the bar and fills it with whiskey. Great sound. There’s a reason musical instruments are made from wood.

I collect marbles. They fascinate me. I know the best glass blowers in America and I own their work. I keep them in large, shallow crystal bowls. The sound as I pick them up and put them back is sublime. I can barely stand it when somebody picks up a bowl and they roll in chaos against the side.

I have somewhere between two and three thousand comic books. I collected them from the age of eleven to sixteen or so. I read every single one. I haven’t looked at them since then. They’re in boxes in my closet.

Did you know that Ralph’s supermarket brand of SpaghettiOs is far superior to that of Franco-American? Not so sweet and much cheaper. Half the price. I bought five cans for five bucks not long ago. Off-brand Spaghettios should be a staple in any pantry. Cheap and nutritious. They’re best cold, straight out of the can. Trust me, I know. Use a soup spoon.

I’m really afraid of bees. Can’t help it. Took a barefoot walk through some clover when I was two. Don’t remember it but it’s a preternatural fear.

The last day before summer vacation in seventh grade was overcast. I don’t recall ever feeling lonelier.

I miss the eighties and the nineties. I’d go back.

I’ve done heroin. Twice. I smoked it and snorted it. I’d been around it enough, I was young. I was curious. I’d already done just about everything else.

The lead singer from a band named Dumpster indulged me. His girlfriend was a falling pornstar with the ugliest pussy I’d ever seen. She brought him his rig every night around seven. His name was Robert. She showed up with a black lacquered box that was somehow ceremonial. She was thin and white. Tall and sweet. Brunette.

One morning he was there before me, missing an eyebrow. He and told us an elaborate story about waking up and finding it intact on his pillow. Laid out perfectly, he told us with a sweep of his hand. An interesting and angry man. Compelling. He liked life.

We were happy to be there.

He told me about getting hit in the head with a full beer can from a speeding car while walking down a highway in the South. He said he thought he had it coming because he was just some punk.

His left front tooth was broken, he shaved his head and had brilliant blue eyes. He reminded me somehow of Anton LaVey. Very, very smart. Confrontational by nature, aggressive if you happened to be stupid.

He hid behind being a hick sometimes.

The drummer showed me some porn Robert’s girlfriend starred in. That’s how I know she had beef curtains like aging cold cuts.

I wondered how ugly a pussy could be and I found out.

One night she brings his rig and we’re finishing early. He’s ready to use the lounge to tie off, boil it in a spoon and slam it in his veins. He’s done his best to abstain during the daytime for the sake of performance. I respect this. He already understands I’m curious and we get along very well.

He starts by telling me he refuses to take responsibility for what will probably happen next. I tell him a big boy and not to worry. I can take care of myself and I own my actions. He prepares brown powder on aluminium foil for me. He hands me a glass tube and lights the foil from underneath with a Zippo.

I chase the dragon.

He goes to the lounge.

It is bliss. I walk the halls of the studio and eat an orange. I drop the peels on the floor. Everything I see is gorgeous. Each step starts like thunder at my toes and ends as pillows in my head. I drive my piece of shit Bug home and sleep like an infant.

I get home by feel. Instinct.

The next night he chops it for me. Razor blades not hard to come by in recording studios. It’s brown, like cinnamon and sugar. I snort it and so does he. He takes me for a walk. Sunset and La Brea. He takes time to point things out, people and situations. I’m higher this time. Everything is so much bigger. Lights and sounds and smells are grandiose.

Hoy’s Wok mixed with Burger King, Wendy’s, a 50’s Diner and a Mexican joint named Acapulco. A gas station, a couple dry cleaners and an El Pollo Loco.

So content. So happy. Inspired by the largesse of a warm and swarming evening.

I would be fine walking with this volatile bastard all night.

I consider pissing myself because it sounds like a pleasant idea in my head.

I understood then. I could never, ever do it again. It is the best drug I’ve ever tried. That was fifteen years ago.

Never did it again.

Another in a long series of brilliant bands that the record company either didn’t get or didn’t have the stones to sign.

See, when you work with a band in a recording studio, you can’t help but become a member of that band to one degree or another. Almost without exception, you become an advocate of their vision. When you make an actual record, if a bond somehow doesn’t form, something is wrong. It is by no means a normal enviroment. At least twelve hours a day, sometimes twenty four. An intensely creative and challenging atmosphere. Often a pressure cooker of conflict over vision, the big picture or the very small.

I was a producer/engineer. I came to know and understand people better in weeks than people who’d known them for years. In different ways for different reasons. The archetype of the dumb musician rarely applied. As a group, they are very bright and intellectually curious. Almost always more politically aware and better informed that the average shopper.

Robert was no exception. Axl Rose was, he was a complete moron. Tina Turner was pure class, elegance and talent. Mel Torme was as cool as a man that age can be. Bono and the band turned out to be very nice people. Annie Lennox endured a ride to her hotel in my shitbox VW Bug. We talked politics while she had a spring up her ass.

Art Alexakis is very difficult to describe. He’s very bright and knows exactly what he’s doing. At the same time he’s volatile, cranky and unpredictable. We definitely had fun but he’s a handful. Excellent songwriter and brilliant lyricist. He may just be a miserable man with a big heart.

I would have been happy to beat C.C. DeVille into a coma.

Chrissie Hynde threw a sausage at my head and I made sure Tom Petersson from Cheap Trick didn’t get the shit beat out of him in a titty bar.

Kenny Aranoff used to get pissed at me for playing his kit at night but Jeff Porcaro (R.I.P.) never said a word. I played just about every kit that came through. Dean Castronova and Terry Bozzio. Jim Keltner, Steve Gadd and Stewart Copeland. Vinnie, Omar and Manu Katché.

Over the years I met, worked with and came to understand some of the most interesting people there are, famous or not. I paid my dues but understood I was lucky. Hindsight tells me just how lucky. For a few years I was A&M’s Demo King. Sometimes a different band everyday. One day it was cellos and woodwinds, the next it was banjos stand up bass and concertinas. Wind up the week with a hardcore punk band.

I want to squeeze my nose with a pair of pliers so that it bursts like a cherry tomato and the pain enters my head in the sweetest and most delicious way.

Seems like it rained more back then.

Always direct the pyroclastic flow towards the ocean.

Drinks for my friends.

Elections Have Consequences -by J

Elections Have Consequences
“Elections have consequences.”

George W. Bush

In 2006 Americans in large numbers threw out Republicans from the House of Representatives. Hoping for real change, but stymied by a 51-49 Senate, and an immovable president, the demands of the electorate were not met. With a 6% victory in the general election and a landslide victory in the Electoral College Barack Obama will enter the White House with a mandate from the American people, and the power to do what the electorate has asked him to do.

When it comes to energy, we demanded a change to the status quo. We have spoken and we want a clear path to energy independence. It may not be the way the Republicans wanted, but “Elections have consequences.”

With at least 2 appointments coming up in the Supreme Court, we demanded a change from the types of appointments of the last 8 years, Roberts and Alito. “Elections have consequences.”

The tax laws of the last 8 years have been criticized greatly over the course of the presidential campaign. We demanded a change to the tax code, one that would give breaks to the middle class while dismantling the Bush tax cutes. “Elections have consequences.”

The efforts to deregulate everything over the last three decades have left us with a run away financial market, industries allowed to regulate themselves, with miserable results. Obama enters office with the demand from the American people to fix this first! “Elections have consequences.”

Milton Friedman’s economics are out! “Elections have consequences.”

Pre-emptive war, aka the Bush (Cheney) doctrine, the one percent doctrine, has led to reckless actions around the globe. The American people have spoken. We voted in huge numbers for more direct negotiations with all nations. “Elections have consequences.”

The Neo-Cons will not be welcome in this administration. “Elections have consequences.”

While we will continue to support Israel in all ways, we will no longer turn our backs on the plight of the Palestinian people, or other less fortunate citizens of the world. “Elections have consequences.”

The bottom line is that we live in a society where the masses have a role in our government. We vote, and this time we voted in huge numbers. So, to my friends on the other side of the isle, “Elections have consequences.”

Get over it!

J

Oh wow

I’m just still in awe.

What has happened here is awesome. Forgive me, there is no better word.

I’m so pleased to see America do the right thing. In big ass overwhelming numbers. Historic margins. Dumbya had the retarded sense to declare a mandate after he stole a very close election. Yo Dumbya, check this mandate.

Bitch.

What exactly is up with Biden’s hair? Musta been humid.

Look what we did. Just look at it. They threw a trailer park of kitchen sinks at him and he prevailed with volume and velocity.

Never ever lost his cool. Not once. Flawless run. Every crisis dealt with aplomb. Not a step wrong. Amazing composure and dignity.

He’s just so fucking cool.

I’m pretty sure we don’t have to worry about him getting caught recieving a hummer in The Oval. We will never know. Michelle is pretty smokin.

The arc of history.

We all have limitations and we do well to own them. There is less than one in a million who don’t. Our man is one of those. He’s already shown us that.

He is the literal exception to almost every rule. By name and by face alone, one would imagine he had not a hope in hell. I am so impressed.

He’s our next President, bitch.

I can’t wait.

I’ll tell you why. It’s not his experience or lack thereof. Not his many accomplishments. Not his consistent countenance in the face of adversity.

It is his obvious intelligence and his ordinary life before his rapid acceleration. Despite his ears and the color of his skin, it is his humility.

In my mind, it is the difference between him and every other politician I’ve seen in my life. He’s a good solid man with a beautiful family. He is fierce. This man is not here to fuck around. There will be no Katrina size clusterfucks on Our Man’s watch.

It is astounding to put this man in the same sentence as George W. Bush. The idiot and the savant. Sounds like a pretty good one act play.

The reason I’m so in awe has everything to do with difference between the absolute moron who’s been the titular head of our country and therefore the free world for eight fucking years and the man we elected by absolute storm yesterday.

I kept asking why this was a contest. Turns out it wasn’t

Amazing.

Drinks for my friends.

I’m proud of my country for the first time in my life… -by Janice

Nov 6, 2008 12:55 AM
I’m proud of my country for the first time in my life…
I feel like an American for the first time in my life. For the very first time in my life I feel like a part of the fabric that is America.

This bears some explanation. Up to this point in history, America has not kept its promise of liberty and justice for all so when asked to stand and say the pledge, I would sometimes stand but my hands remained at my side and never over my heart during the recitation. Or I would recite it but change the words to: “…with liberty and justice for ‘some.'” If I was feeling especially rebellious I would respectfully decline to even stand up.

Why? Well, being born black I have witnessed and experienced directly and indirectly — racism and sexism so I never felt a part of The United States of America. Not really. I felt no particular loyalty nor even patriotic in regards to this country. The flag was just a piece of colored material to me. Nothing more. I even told my Canadian friends that I may become a refugee and asked if I could sleep on their couch. I enrolled in French classes because at least the French hate everything and everyone equally.

As Kermie said, “It’s not easy being green.” Try black Kermie. Sometimes it’s downright fucked up.

After 9/11, I was equally as horrified, saddened, enraged and heartbroken as my fellow citizens — but when my workplace gave us free lapel pins of the American flag, mine quietly went into my desk drawer. I did not put a flag on my car. I didn’t care if the flag touched the ground and would have wiped my ass with it with no hesitation whatsoever if no toilet paper was available. I remember riding in the car with some co-workers who saw a car with a faded and wind-tattered flag. They both exclaimed, “Hey Buddy! Show some respect! Get a new flag.” What I felt was indifference, apathy and sometimes outright disgust towards my citizenship in the US because it did not include me. I was in it but not of it.

You see, America has been a bitter pill stuck in my throat my whole life. No, I was never a slave but my grandmother’s half-brother was missing several fingers. Fingers that his master chopped off for disobedience. Yes, disobedience. I can’t even imagine getting my dog’s tail docked much less doing this to another human being.

The wealth of this country was built on this free labor system and enforced with terror and brutality and those people never received back pay once slavery was abolished. But they did get more grief and terror in the years to follow. Many black people ended up as tree ornaments in the years to come. They also tried to deny us citizenship! The U.S. Government actually sanctioned this hateful chapter in American history.

Many captured German soldiers were treated FAR better than the black men in uniform fighting for this country during World War II. After living through the 1960’s and seeing everyone who spoke of peace, love and equality murdered — I just could not put my hand over my heart or fly a flag. After knowing of and witnessing the struggle for the simplest of freedoms — all people of color for decades had to go through – my hand would not, could not cover my heart for the pledge because this American didn’t include me. For the Forth of July — when the groomers at Petsmart put red, white and blue bows in my dog’s hair – I had them remove them. Yes, my dispassion, vitriol and lassitude ran deep.

I loved Larry Flynt for using the flag as a diaper during his First Amendment fights. Good ‘ole Larry! When I would hear people say, “This is the greatest country in the world!” I always had to suppress a sarcastic sneer. “For you maybe — but not for me.” There were days that I just didn’t want to be black anymore. I wanted a day off. I just wanted to be a person.

So when I cast my vote in the primary, it was for Hillary. I wanted someone who would positively defeat the Republican candidate. Then when Obama began to pull ahead, I still don’t think I really believed he’d win. I never dreamed that I’d see a black president in The White House in my lifetime. I cast my vote about 2 weeks ago but I refused to watch the returns last night. I wanted to just turn on the TV at 4am and know who the next president was. But at about 8:45pm, I had to take a peak.

No one was more stunned to the point of speechlessness than I when they referred to “President-elect Obama.” I just sat there agog with my mouth wide open – slack-jawed — but my heart was racing. Then my eyes filled with tears. I felt like The Grinch when his heart grows three times its size. Then a feeling COMPLETELY alien to me began to fill my heart…pride in my country!!!!!

Say what? Say what? Say what? Yes…pride. This is now my America…and your America. It’s OUR America. A majority of our voices spoke — and elected a man who happened to be black — for President of the United States of America. America didn’t care that he was black but thought he was most fit to lead this country. We are a family now.

I even pimped out my myspace page with…an American flag theme.

America, FUCK YEAH!!!!!!

I was moved by his candor, his refusal use negative campaign ads, and his message of inclusive rather than exclusive and unity rather than division. I had grown so tired of negative campaign ads, personal attacks, and hitting-below-the-belt politics that I would just hit the mute button on the TV for all commercial time.

I’ve become more and more enlightened and positive over the years and I had high hopes. Our new president-elect now proves that I am a part of The United States of America. Though I have no children, my niece and nephews now know that if they study and work hard, they too can become whatever they want. Before yesterday, there was the mute clause of, “But you can’t be president!” That is gone now. Women, Native-Americans, Asian-Americans, Latino Americans, African-Americans, gay, lesbian and Jewish-Americans can now hold the highest office in the country. This is not a victory for African-Americans but for all Americans period.

We chose a candidate who believes in peace and unity. We voted for renewable energy, stem cell research, lower fuel prices, and to stop global warming. We voted to end the theocracy, idiocy and utter lunacy of the last eight years. We voted for separation of church and state. We voted that science should be taught in science class and not Intelligent Design. What the fuck is that anyway? Sounds like an oxymoron. It belongs in church, not science class. We voted for gay rights and women’s rights.

I just couldn’t be more proud of my country for the first time in my entire life!

Well, this morning I couldn’t find ENOUGH red, white and blue to wear. When I spoke to my father last night he said he was going to purchase his first American flag. I rummaged through my desk drawer but all I could find was my red, white and blue liberty bell pin so I put that on too.

One of my Republican friends said, “George W. Bush fucked it up so bad for the Republicans that American would have elected a grapefruit rather than another Republican!” Yeah…maybe so. Or maybe the pickin’ were better… stronger…faster than the last two times.

My only disappointment was the fact that Proposition 8 passed. But I was damned proud of Samuel L. Jackson for his commercial against it. But maybe our new President can do something on the federal level. I sure hope so!

Hope. Such a lovely word.

I feel so much hope for our country.

America, FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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