Thursday, March 23, 2006

WHAT THE FLOCK?

Jesus H. Christ on a fucking stick. Damn it, I'm pissed. All these fucking bloggers out there seem to have endless hours to research and write. Me, I've got a full-time job figuring out how to hurl humans into space. It just pisses me off. I want to spend my time studying the nuances and quirks of all the sociopaths and megalomaniacs who reside and/or work within the beltway, but the need to actually make a living is getting in my way!

I really want to dissect the people who purport to represent us. I don't believe more than a very small minority have any understanding of what our lives are like, let alone possess the kind of empathy and compassion it takes to represent us adequately. This goes for most Democrats, as well as virtually all Republicans.


Now I don't mean to be unfair, and God (or whoever's in charge of these things) only knows there's plenty enough greed, avarice, and sloth to go around, but the Republicans are in charge of everything at present (Executive, Legislative, and - arguably - Judicial branches) and things have never quite been as incredibly fucked up as they (crazy me) seem to be.

I really don't know for sure that it would be any different had the election not been stolen from Al Gore (yes. I know you think this is sour grapes. I recommend Vincent Bugliosi's book "The Betrayal of America: How the Supreme Court Undermined the Constitution and Chose our President") or from John Kerry for that matter. They all seem to bow to the same master - the almighty dollar.

Yet, is it so crazy of me to opine that this administration, and the zealous sycophants who enable it, have pretty much refined narrow-minded hypocrisy into a purified essential oil (forgive me) oozing self-deluded righteousness? I have a hard time convincing myself I'm not seeing what is really happening. How about you?

Anyway, I have neither the time nor the energy (at this point) to engage in the level of research and study I believe this effort really requires but, much like the current administration, this isn't going to keep me from speaking my mind. It may be an unwarranted, self-administered pat on my own back, but I kind of think I have a better grasp on what's actually happening in our country, and in the world, than this administration has. At the very least, I'm not making money off of my decisions. How many ways can you say "conflict of interest"?

BACK FEINGOLD

I've been awfully busy lately. The transition from the company who sold us to the company who bought us is almost complete. At least, the IT transition; we're breaking the electronic umbilical cord this weekend, and it's been a struggle to deal with all the issues it's created.

Since I haven't really had the time to post anything (only partly true; I've been having trouble deciding on how far to take this particular blog in the direction I'm contemplating - more about that later), I thought I would just make sure the two or three people who happen to come here have a chance to keep up with what I think is important in our national discourse.

Jane Hamsher wrote a little piece on Firedog Lake about Russ Feingold's appearance on "The Daily Show". You can read it here. You can see a video clip of the show at Crooks and Liars - here. I really like Jane's writing, I can almost smell the blood dripping off her canines. She's deliciously vicious. Here's a sample of just how nasty she can be.

I am becoming more and more enamored of this guy, precisely because he is speaking truth to power and because he's not pandering. It's high time we had some politicans with conviction, who will stand up and say what needs to be said without calculating how it will affect their next election cycle.

Monday, March 13, 2006

CALLING ALL CARS


I used to have this dream, even as a child too young to drive. In this dream I could talk to people in their cars through their radios . . . even if the radio wasn't on. This way I could tell them what I thought of them and there was nothing they could do about it.

I could use it today on all kinds of assholes and jerks. I want to know why the Department of Motor Vehicles (or whatever the fuck they call it in your State) doesn't test for sociopaths before giving out licenses. Would that be so hard?

Now that I think about it, it would probably shut down the economy and every aspect of our so-called civilized society. Think of all the soccer moms, in their Hummers, Armadas, Expeditions, and fucking Mars Rovers who would have to walk their kids to wherever it is they're taking them to in those giant, oversize, over-hyped, gas-guzzling boats masquerading as cars. And don't even talk to me about all the folks on the road who are obviously far more important than the rest of us. You know the ones - can't wait their turn; don't merge safely and courteously. The dickheads, frequently driving sports cars, or luxury cars - take your pick.

One of the things I'd like to ask them, in addition to "why on Earth, when there was nobody behind me, did you wait until I was two car lengths away before pulling into my lane?" (see my earlier post -
here - for more), is "Did you pay extra for those fucking turn signals you don't seem to be able to understand how to use?"

Why is it people will approach an intersection where you are patiently waiting for traffic to clear, fully conscious they are going to turn and you needn't worry about them (at least not if they fucking signalled their intentions with those turn signal thingies they paid for but don't use) and not even notice you are there?

And the inverse is true as well. Here you are approaching an intersection where lots of people do turn, but you're going straight. These clowns are so used to people not signalling that they pre-empt you and just pull out in front of you. Then they either look surprised, or actually put out, that you didn't do what they believed you should have done.

Like I said, this world is filled to the brim with assholes. I want my radio transmitter. Maybe I should talk to my friends at JPL.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

I LOVE YOU. YOU LOVE ME!

Damn! I'm trying to do at least one of three things today: Engage in some spirited email conversation with my High School graduation class group site; write something - anything - on my blog site, and/or; get some work done. I've got a monthly newsletter due that was set back by my trip to Houston and a few other things.

But how the hell can I even think about being curmudgeonly (for accomplishing number two, at least) when I'm sitting here listening to Barney, Thomas the damn tank engine, Angelina Ballerina, Kipper the Dog, Sagwa, and Dragon Tales; not to mention Bella Ballerina, the ballet DVD from Australia my daughter might be learning some ballet from.

Not only that, I just got gifted with a cake . . . a cake that suspiciously resembles a blue barrell filled with little, red plastic monkeys with long, curved arms used to hang on to each other; Bella is singing about "eating your fruits and vegetables every day". Is this the right atmosphere for a god damned cranky curmudgeon? I'm not convinced.

And I really wanted to complain about something. God damn it!

Friday, March 10, 2006

SHIT FAHR - AHM GITTIN' HIRE

I was reminded there's a whole lot of Cowboy poetry out there nowadays. A quick Google shows lots of links. Here's the first one returned http://www.cowboypoetry.com/. Anyway, I just wanted to be the first to publish a few Cowboy Haiku. I don't have titles for them; they're fresh off the ol' keyboard. Here ya go, pard. Hope ya lahk 'em.

This cowboy wears spurs
They will jingle all the night
If he gets lucky

My hat does not fit
Perhaps it is because
My head is swollen

Blood on the saddle
Could it mean I really have
Hemorrhoids to boot?

Monday, March 06, 2006

I DON'T THINK I'M CRANKY ENOUGH


I've re-read many of my posts and it seems to me I'm just not cranky enough. Listen. I'm not out in the world every day looking for insults and transgressions against me. I'm just not that offended by all the crap that goes on around my little corner of the world.

Nevertheless, there's plenty out there to be cranky about; it's just not of a personal nature. Oh no. It's far more important than that. Personal insults are . . . well . . . just not that important. I mean you can turn the other cheek, or slap the shit out of someone. Either way, it's between you and him/her and, after all is said and done . . . all is said and done. Next story. Move on.

What's out there to be really cranky about is the lies, distortions, thefts, and homicides being committed in our name on a daily, if not hourly, basis. Our government is out of control and seems to be getting worse every day. Our economy is highly dependent on the suffering of others throughout the world, as it has been at least my entire life. Such is the nature of Imperialism; the thing we're truly world-class at.

So, while I plan on remaining cranky about the "little" things, I'm going to start being a little more verbal about the transgressions I see in government, religion, and all manner of public life. I'm going to spend a little more time putting out my view of the cowards, criminals, and charlatans who are so prominently guiding this country down the road to ruin as fast as their bank accounts can take them.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

I GUESS I KNOW MY PLACE


On the way back home we flew out of George Bush Intercontinental Airport. I don’t know why they call it that. What the fuck’s wrong with International? Why intercontinental? Hell, more planes flying in and out of New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago actually fly between continents than they do from George Bush. Why don’t they, in the spirit of the bombastic asshat the airport is named after call it the “Intergalactic” airport or, even better, honor his dumbfuck son and call it the “Intergalactical” airport? That would fit.

So, when I fly on business, which isn’t all that often, I have to fly coach. My company wouldn’t even spring for business class, let alone first class. If I flew a lot, perhaps I would join a frequent flyer club and when I accumulated enough miles I could upgrade once in a while. Anyway, after sitting down in my seat, and just prior to the plane (a Boeing 737) being pushed back from the terminal, the purser comes on the intercom and notifies us that, due to “safety and security reasons”, those of us from rows four through 19 are confined to use of the two bathrooms at the tail of the plane. The front one, due to “safety and security reasons” is limited to the people in that other class of service, ahem, First Class.

I can understand them wanting to keep the unwashed masses away from our betters, but do they have to bullshit us about it? I mean . . . give me a break. Safety and security? If I’m going to hijack a plane, I think I’m going to get me a first class seat. It’s much closer to the cockpit and folks up there are generally viewed with less suspicion than the rabble in the back.
The way they’re doing it, that’s one bathroom (up front) for approximately 8 people in the royalty section, and another two (at the tail) for the remaining 90 in the human cargo section. That makes the first class folks about five times better than the rest of us, yeah?

HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM

While in Houston, I stayed at the NASA Clear Lake Hilton. I checked in around 6:00 local time and, in accordance with my company’s policy, I made an allowed phone call to home to assure my family I had arrived safely. I usually don’t bother wearing a watch, as I always have my cell phone with me and it provides me with the most accurate time available. In fact, it even picks up the local time so I don’t have to change it when I travel and, in this case, that is exactly what I did.

My phone told me it was around 6:30. However, I had just forgotten that I was in the Central time zone and it was only 4:30 at home. There was no way my wife was at home and, sure enough, I got our answering machine. I left a very brief message noting my safe arrival and hung up. I couldn’t have been on the phone longer than 45 – 50 seconds.

When I awoke on Friday morning, the day of my departure, as is customary in most hotels nowadays my closing statement for hotel charges had been slipped under my door sometime during the night. I glanced at it and almost fell over. That phone call of less than a minute had been billed to my room for almost $13.00.

I couldn’t believe it. The call I had made later, when someone was actually home and we talked for a while cost almost $30.00. I was dumbfounded at first. I went downstairs for breakfast and, after having some time to think about it, went back upstairs and called to notify the front desk I was checking out. They asked me if everything had been OK and said it had, with the exception of those phone calls. As a result of the complaint, they took the first charge off my bill. I’m still upset about the other charge being so much, but I’m at a bit of a loss for what to do.

The way I’m thinking about it now is that, if my company reimburses me for the call, I probably will just let it go, as it will not be worth the time, effort, and aggravation to do anything about it. However, if they won’t pay for it, or if they pay for only a small portion, I’m going to complain and suggest they push the hotel to put warning stickers on the phones, “WARNING! Use of this phone may be dangerous to your wallet” or something like that.

Friday, March 03, 2006

CAN COOKIES ALTER SPACE & TIME?

It’s been said that flying is hours and hours of crushing boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. I’ve experienced that before, but mostly it’s boredom for me. It’s very difficult to sit still for long periods of time, with nothing to do but watch a movie, read a book, sleep, or eat – all done within the confines of a narrow seat with little to no legroom.

Such was my trip to Houston last Wednesday. The first leg was uneventful, except for the fact that it was unnecessary. I started at Bob Hope Airport, which is what they call the Hollywood-Burbank airport (international airport designation BUR). When I was a kid it was called Lockheed Airport, which may give you an idea of just how old I am.

I like flying out of there. It’s fairly small, which means it just can’t get too crowded and you never have to walk too far. It’s also reasonably close to my home, which means I can get there without too much traffic hassle. But I really didn’t need to leave from there, especially to fly first to San Francisco.

This all happened because I was the unknowing victim of a desire by one of my colleagues to fly United Airlines. He has traveled a great deal and has frequent flyer miles, which he uses to get upgrades to better seating; either business or first class.

Unfortunately, the Office Admin who made my reservations merely copied his entire itinerary and changed the name. So, unbeknownst to me, I was placed on a flight to San Francisco, on my way to Houston, Texas, all because my colleague wanted a little more leg room for a three and half hour flight. I would have sat in coach to save myself the extra two and half hours (or more) it took to fly up north and wait for a connecting flight.

One thing I noticed on the plane. United Airlines apparently no longer serves meals on their flights; they offer snacks and “boxes” for you to purchase. I ponied up my $5.00 and bought a box of salami slices, cheese spread and crackers, potato chips, applesauce, and two Partridge Farm Milano cookies (my favorite cookies of all time).

As I prepared to dig in to these treats I had just procured, I realized the box was shrink-wrapped, like a god damned CD. Now, think of it. They won’t let you take a nail clipper on a flight, but they sell you a box of food wrapped so tight you practically need a knife just to get to the perforated strip to open the box. I finally got it open after much effort. What the hell do people with arthritis do?