Bumper Stickers for Today

Like many of you, I get humor sent to me from friends and relatives. Most I've told that its cool, go ahead and send. Even when I know they are conservative as hell and I couldn't find common ground if it was still raining on the 39th day, Noah was in his ark and the two of us were standing on the last patch of dry land. Sometimes they do manage to send me something somewhat fresh and even funny. I don't know why some of these struck me as so funny, but they did. Hope you enjoy a few too.

1. Bush: End of an Error

2. That's OK, I Wasn't Using My Civil Liberties Anyway

3. Let's Fix Democracy in this Country First

4. If You Want a Nation Ruled By Religion, Move to Iran

5. Bush. Like a Rock - Only Dumber.

6. If You Can Read This, You're Not Our President

7. Of Course It Hurts: You're Getting Screwed by an Elephant

8. Hey, Bush Supporters: Embarrassed Yet?

9. George Bush: Creating the Terrorists Our Kids Will Have to Fight

10. Impeachment: It's Not Just for B**w Jobs Anymore

11. America: One Nation, Under Surveillance

12. They Call Him "W" So He Can Spell It

13. Jail to the Chief

14. No, Seriously, Why Did We Invade Iraq ?

15. Bush: God's Way of Proving Intelligent Design is Full of Crap

16. Bad President! No Banana.

17. We Need a President Who's Fluent In At Least One Language

18. We're making Enemies Faster than We Can Kill Them

19. Is It Vietnam Yet?

20. Bush Doesn't Care About White People, Either

21. Where Are We Going? And Why Are We in This Hand basket?

22. You elected him. You Deserve Him.

23. Dubya, Your Dad Shoulda Pulled Out, Too

24. When Bush Took Office, Gas Was $1.46

25. The Republican Party: Our Bridge to the 11th Century

26. One Nation under Clod

27. At Least Nixon Resigned

A Great Quote

A great quote, that comes by way of the New York Times, as said by David Halberstam, who died recently at 73 in an auto accident in California while on his way to interview Y. A. Tittle. Tittle was the New York Giant quarterback in 1948 for what is considered one of the greatest football games ever.

In a recent interview Mr. Halberstam offered his approach to work by quoting one of my favorite players from my youth. Mr. Halberstam said, "There's a great quote by Julius "Dr. J." Erving, that went, 'Being a professional is doing the things you love to do, on the days you don't feel like doing them.'"

Halberstam wrote great books about a lot of things, the corruption that existed in South Vietnam predicting an inelegant end to that conflict to books on sports about great games and individuals. Make no mistake, he wasn't anti-war, the title of one of his books on Vietnam was called "The Best and the Brightest." He simply reported things as he saw them and had respect from every area he covered.

One famous exchange regarding Vietnam had him accuse a war department administrator of "lying". He didn't say "you aren't giving me the truth." This was a man who went directly to the heart of the matter. "You're lying." And he was right. The lie had to do with how successful Vietnam was going and the recognition that the completely corrupt South Vietnamese government was no match for their North Vietnamese Communist counterparts. History shows, he was right, "the best and the brightest" were lying to us and themselves.

To work hard, earn broad respect for it, to cover topics from your favorite pastimes to hard world journalism, to knowing and defining the truth historically is how he spent his life. We all should be so lucky. At least we were lucky enough to have David Halberstam.

Concertina

Saw Modest Mouse at the Orpheum in Minneapolis tonight. There were two warm up bands. I've forgotten their names. The first band was a little more mellow, but really had good tone and great harmony with their vocals. I thought their stuff all sounded very much the same. I think they need more collaboration from band members when creating songs. Still, for the first band they did sound okay.

Second band had "Love..." in their name, but that was about it. A step up in loudness. They seemed to have some better variation in their music so it wasn't as boring. First song or two the bass was way too high and just drown out everything. They finally got the message and turned it down and brought the vocals up. Funniest part at the second song they brought on this guy and he was the spitting image of Kid Rock. He told my buddy that times were tough in Hockeytown and the Kid needed money. I didn't know he could play some electronic pad version of a set of bongos like Maynard G. Krebs, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, right Kid? Besides, what decade did that boy last make a recording anyway? Was it before or after Axel Rose? Doesn't matter, since you couldn't actually hear the bongo playing except for a lame brief solo or electrical outage or something. Kid Rock gets a D, and he only gets that since he did lay the pipe with Pam Anderson.

Modest mouse had an elaborate set up. I hadn't realized they used two drummers. And man were those guys tight. I listened for them to get out of sync, but it just didn't seem to happen. I was impressed. My pal and I were on the opposite side of where Johnny Mars was and it seemed like his guitar was way down in volume. I was hoping to hear more out of him. Again the bass really overwhelmed at times, and also had tone problems where it would buzz or yield feedback.

There was a dude in the middle with what looked like a tank commanders helmet liner. Complete with dangling chin strap. I like his look. He played a bunch of stuff. Keyboards, slide guitar, trumpet, stand up bass with and without a bow, and standard electric bass, seems like there might have been something else.

I must be getting old. I couldn't understand a single bit of the leaders banter between songs. It reminded me of the parents and teachers on the old "Peanuts" cartoons. Like a muted trumpet or coronet. A real drag. The lead vocalist was quite the spastic colon kind of guy. The only guy I've ever seen live that worked harder was Peter Garrett of Midnight Oil. That guy looked like he was doing aerobics the whole show. And guzzled gallons of water. And you could see he was just ripped, six pack abs and all.

As usual the antics of my fellow concertgoers was ah, well, sadly unforgettable. The best part was I ran into a guy from work. A good character and he ended up with seats two row in front of me, and closer to the center. Saw him in the hall before hand and said hello.

There were two sisters and a brother plus his girlfriend in front of my seat. The farthest seat to the right had the poorest sight line. The woman that ended up with the seat cursed like a longshoreman. Things like "next times you're going to fuck me in the ass at least use lubricant" and worse. And she was loud. It was between sets so she could be heard and there people all around that could hear and were either snickering, or cringing. So much for Minnesota nice. I have no idea what she had to drink, but man, never let her get that many again. And she just went on and on. It got to the point where I started talking to her sister, and the girlfriend of the brother. The brother was very quiet. The sister and girlfriend were very nice. Admitting, yes, she is loud like this all the time. Yes she is married and her daughter is just like her. Demanding, pissy, and willing to throw tantrums when she didn't get what she wanted. And she was not the most attractive gal. Her companions were much thinner and more attractive.

Then there was the seriously drunk guy behind me. I think between the second band and MM, he grabbed my hat off my head. He put this clean "Browning" hat on me. I told him no thanks, I'd rather not wear that, being a gun control kinda guy. I didn't tell him that last part and he was rather puzzled. He asked me who my favorite baseball team was and I said the Twins. Which is the truth and he gave the hat back saying he felt terribly sorry for me.

He then started talking about how hot his wife was, and that sometimes he drinks too much and isn't able to perform and maybe I could help him out? I told him no, that I'd prefer to stay alive. He didn't understand this or maybe I didn't say it loudly enough. He thought I was threatening him and inquired about it. I said no, you're the one with the guns, your the one that would kill me if I mess with your wife. He liked that. A lot. It was almost like an old beer commercial, "I love this guy." and "I love you man." I really worried I was in for a long night.

Apparently midway through MM he and someone else got into fisticuffs and were hauled off by security. They made it back for the last few songs and the encore. Between songs I heard them shouting obscenities back and forth. Then at the end of the show and the lights came up, they were apologizing with more "I love you man". Man I miss hanging with rednecks on a more regular basis. Especially the drunk ones.

Not.

The show was good. It was loud. I love a good loud show. My ears have stopped ringing now. Ticketmaster had hosed up and never mailed my tickets so I had to call them up and go through voice mail hell twice until I got to a person before the system hung up on me. They printed tickets and they were ready at will call. Worked out fine in the end. I just still hate TicketMasterWhore.

You Never Know What You'll See

I roll by many a bus stop on my commute to work via bike. Occasionally they are occupied with people waiting for the bus. Mostly not. This morning one stop had at least three young women standing at it.

One of them had a dress and I think was looking up the road hoping to spot the bus and saw me turtle like. Quickly with her left hand she hiked her skirt up another 2-3 inches to show a little more leg and with her right hand stuck out her thumb with a big grin on her face. Considering my pathetic amount of speed at the moment it amused me a great deal and I laughed out loud. I'm always impressed when someone is so quick thinking in a harmless humorous way. Made my morning commute even better.

Red Letter Day!

Some days just go so swell, you wish you could have moved a few things over to another day that went far less well.

I got up on time (which isn't always true) with the plan to cycle. I rode the Hiawatha ride Saturday. Rode to work on the QuickBeam yesterday. I dawdled around packing and drinking coffee. I forgot to go shopping and get anything for breakfast. D'Oh. I did find a bagel that wasn't moldy and it tasted edible when toasted.

While drinking my three gigantic mugs of coffee (emptying a 10 cup pot - cause I'm too cheap to throw any away), I decided to go see any updates from an old friend, Foamy. Made for a hilarious morning. Check out the rant of the day on Imus. Geerrreaaat! As Tony the Tiger might say.

The sun had come up by the time I got out the door and I took the Atlantis. I didn't feel like a messenger bag and the QuickBeam has no racks. Plus I'm feeling a little tired as I am (you heard it here first) in terrible shape. I've been such a turd for the winter. Yuck. Gears can be your friend even when it makes me feel so dang wussy.

Yeah, my butt is a little sore but it was a really nice ride in, dressed right on target. Thin woolie shirt on top with a cheap bright green (florescent - ugly - but visible) jersey on top of that. Shorts and wool leg warmers and wool socks on bottom. Cycle gloves and wool gloves for hand warmth. It felt great.

Got to work and immediately figured out, I'd forgot my locks. I subscribe to the Sheldon Brown theory of locks. Every lock can be defeated if they want it bad enough. You just want to make your bike harder to steal than the next bike. Much like, you don't really have to out run the bear to live, you just need to outrun your friend. Morbid huh? So I use two locks and forgot both. They are in the bag on the QuickBeam. Dang.

I thought, well, I sit very near the entrance and sometimes the guard at that entrance is a real softie. Ouch! The uberfuhrer of all guards was there! So I went in with my badge (I work in a secure building, okay not really that secure, but I digress) and my bag with my lunch and wallet in it. I state, "I stupidly forgot my lock at home. My desk is at XX right near this entrance, I have an open space where I can store my bicycle. May I please bring it in this once? I won't make it a habit." He gets this squinty eyed look, "Why you little dumb ass gun control lovin', liberal minded, green thinkin', global warmin' believin', mo-ron engineer." "Knock yourself out.", he says.

I am stunned. I'd have never guessed. I'd have predicted complete and utter failure. Lucky me. So I roll it in, let them check the bags (small black Carradice front panniers) and get to the shower.

The shower has been cleaned! There has been new shower heads installed! There are lights again, so I don't have to shave my noggin in the dark. I'm ecstatic. What the bleep set this off? I wonder if some new exec in the building took up running? The craziness. I've been trying to get it this clean and maintained for years. Ever since the last decent custodian (Woody, a name said with reverence by those that use the locker room) worked the area. Will wonders never cease.

The question remains. Does this mean I will get hit on the way home???

Heard On The Hiawatha Cyclery Ride

"No matter what direction your marriage is going, a tandem bicycle gets you there faster."

Sorry, I was in oxygen debt (I know) and I've already forgotten who I should attribute the quote to. Add that to the fact that I can testify in my own case, this was sadly true. As in, I'm not married to that person any more.

And so it goes

Kurt Vonnegut was one of my favorite writers. I don't remember where I stumbled upon him, or if it was a recommendation, or did I watch a nutty movie based on his book or come across the fact that he was best friends with fellow cynical writer Joseph Heller (whom I also love), but I'm glad I did. I've read all fourteen of his books. I think I loved something about them all. From Kilgore Trout to Ice 9. I enjoyed them, even when I wasn't sure I understood them.

I saw one of his last national public appearances on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart promoting his last semi autobiographical book. He was as angry, witty, and charming as a guy could be. I wish I'd met him in real life. He inspired me from afar. I'm not sure I could stand it if I'd actually met him.

The defining moment for him was during World War II. He'd gotten captured near the end, and had been made to produce vitamin supplements in a former basement slaughterhouse in Dresden an architecturally beautiful and famous city. The task saved his life. Dresden was carpet bombed by the RAF and US Army Air Corp. Environmental conditions led to a phenomenon called a fire storm. Heat and conditions wiped the area free of life like an atomic bomb. In his book Slaughterhouse Five he likened it to walking on the moon afterward. The book's name came from the five US army survivors that lived because they were in a slaughterhouse underground.

The men were made to scour the town for bodies afterward. There were very few survivors.

He wrote how they used a horse and loaded the charred bodies into a cart. Then they piled them high so they could complete the cremation process and prevent the spread of disease with precious kerosene. When the building was too rickety to enter to retrieve the dead, the poured in kerosene or used flame throwers to complete the process.

In a few miles of travel the horse stopped. Nothing could urge it to move. Not food, water, whips or cajoling. The horse had discovered something they had not. Much of the construction materials had broken away to be melted into sharp hard glass like bits of horror that didn't quite get through their tough army boot soles. They were big enough to reach the hoof of the horse where his shoe didn't provide protection.

This horror of Dresden and of war was beyond belief. It was something that haunted Vonnegut for life. At one point he considered suicide due to depression. The fact that his mother took her own life may have played in to it as the children of suicide tend to follow suit. He managed to survive somehow. And he wrote. Plays, essays, readings, novels, autobiographical sketches, and college graduation addresses. His anguish, his worries, his anger, and his passion came out in his writing. He believed that everyone had a teacher, that lead you to be passionate about something. Thank them while they are still alive. Write them a note, call them, but find a way to thank them for being your inspiration.

Vonnegut was accused of repeating himself. His alter ego Kilgore Trout appeared in many books. Phrases and absurd techniques of presenting his writing appeared in many of his books. He had an affinity with decorating his pages with crude drawings of his own makings. Some critics called him little more than a comic book author. Yet millions of us loved him for what he wrote. There is one phrase he used frequently and two paragraph I've remembered since I read it.

"Robert Kennedy, whose summer home is eight miles from the home I live in all year round,” Mr. Vonnegut wrote at the end of book, “was shot two nights ago. He died last night. So it goes." He went on to say.

“Martin Luther King was shot a month ago. He died, too. So it goes. And every day my Government gives me a count of corpses created by military science in Vietnam. So it goes.”

Kurt Vonnegut fell and suffered a significant head trauma six weeks ago according to his wife of 28 years. The progression of his brain injury lead to his death Tuesday night in hospital in Manhattan at the age of 84. So it goes. And every day the twenty four hour news networks tell me how many Iraqis and American men and women died today in Iraq and Afghanistan. So it goes.

Watch Out

Holy smokes I've been reading web based things late in the evening again and my head is aching with anarchy.
Where to start? How about the Shrub?
Today, one of the Shrub's press swine stated that on January 10, the Shrub gave the public what we clamored for in the 2006 elections, change in the Iraq war. January 10, January 10, you mean the surge? The increase in troop levels? The more of the same old shit? This is what we voted (yes I voted, thank you) last November? Good grief that man is more demented than previously thought. If there is a guy that truly can pervert anything into supporting his wacky ideals, this is the man. Gosh, listening to NPR report on presidential candidates for the next 18 months is sounding so much better than it did an hour ago.

Don Imus. Don't like him. Didn't like his show. Thought Howard Stern was more original and funny. Depressed when he left the Minnesota market and got quoted in the St. Paul PP as calling Minnesotans idiots or dolts or something for continuing to listen to that white bread bully Tom Bernard at KQ. Jeebus, how many partners has he had in the last 25 years?

Imus' quote about Gwen Ifill was bad enough and the statement about the Rutgers basketball squad was racist. In his position suspension isn't good enough. It was obscene, so why does the FCC fine Stern and let Imus fly? I don't know, but I believe that Stern has a bigger audience. Nobody made a movie about Imus' career have they? Would it be as popular as Private Parts? I bet not.

I bought the premise of that movie. That Stern was a jerk on the radio, but loved his wife and kids. Sort of like De Niro in the King of Comedy which was go to an extreme he believed in, instead of just being a schmuck for life. Much to everyone's surprise, he's successful just being himself. He actually made fun of himself ("I'm hung like a second grader"), he was loyal to his friends (Robin, Fred, Bababooey), that he was an entertainer like any other, but his "real" life wasn't necessarily like that.

Then he showed his real colors and divorced his wife. Maybe she got tired of him. I don't know who started it, I know it didn't seem public and I want to believe he treated her fairly. That he takes care of his kids. I just no longer believe its all an act. Heroes fall from their pedestals at some point.

But I digress. Not really. My point is that if Stern was more of a jerk in real life, then Imus was a racist in reality. Stern tended to make fun of adults, and I don't consider the freshman dominated basketball team Imus called "hos" to yet be adults. They were living the American dream, they reached the pinnacle of their sport; against the reigning perennial no less, that juggernaut the Tennessee Vols. They lost yes, which had to be a crushing defeat, but did they express any of the traits we hate in our Cinderellas, or athletes we root for?

Okay, some of them sported tattoos. So does the grandmother three houses over. BFD. Has any of them been arrested for public intoxication, speeding, urination, chemically impaired driving, or firearms or drugs in their possession? No. Fact is as a whole, womens college athletics are exemplary for their off the field performance and behavior. To me that is the worst crime here. He picked on someone that wasn't expected to be in that game, in a sport that behaves better than any of the male professional sport members. One example: in the past week two NFL players were suspended for behavior and Warren Moon former ViQueen QB and hall of fame (shame?) member was arrested for speeding and impaired driving of such a nature that his vehicle was impounded. Those are just two reports that I can remember this week in one sport! May Imus go rot in anonymity at his ranch the wrinkled slug.

I've been playing all week with something called the Google home page. You can have six tabs and add one of a gazillion "gadgets" to any of those six pages. You can even make a new tab, choose a name of say "bicycling", and it will populate it with up to a dozen individual news sources ready for you to customize. You can have little "to do" lists you can read from work or home. And just all kids of greasy nerd stuff. I don't know how long its existed, but it is so cool I just about peed my pants. No wonder Google will rule the world. FU Microsoft.

I've managed to get my TV working well enough to watch the "Simpsons" on Sunday. Thank you lord for giving me some brains. So it was a repeat with Lisa inventing a Indian tribe the "Hitachi" she created from the name brand on their toaster. I couldn't make shit like that up in a million years. And the beauty, is she ends up confession her sins in front of an enormous meeting of the descendants of the real American Indians. Some good old plot lines still work so well. Kid tells lie, ends up telling bigger lies to cover original lie with, gets traumatized by guilt, ends up telling truth in embarrassing position, gets mildly rewarded for finally having the courage to admit their error and the truth. Don't you wish the Shrub had watched that episode? Dang, I am. Think he's understand it? Or laugh? Understand the "Hi-tachi" bit? No, I don't either.

You know, as a displaced Yooper, I love snow. Hell, I was born in November and it always snowed for my birthday. By that time each year I'd had my first cold as a kid, which meant my first shot of penicillin from Dr. Hauge. The good old days. Like a Rockwell painting. "Climb up on that stool and have a look at my diploma, good, drop yer trousers", alcohol swab and stab with the needle. None of that "this won't hurt a bit" or "you'll feel a little pressure" or "try to relax". You knew it was coming, he didn't sugar coat it, and he got it over quick and gave you a cheap sucker for it.

I've always loved to rib the wussies natives about snow and cold. I take perverse pleasure when they whine and moan about cruddy weather. I lived in Texsucks and I knew what it was like to not have seasons. To have boring weather with a capital bloody B followed by H for hot. I knew what 400 inches of snow in a season felt like.

This year, I'm tired of the snow. I did grin like a lunatic (sorry Ray) on my way to and from the bus stop this morning in the snow. Yet the truth is, I'd prefer it quit and warm up a little for some better cycling weather. Bloody hell, is resistance futile? Am I becoming a feared and dreaded Minnesotan? Grody Grief Charlie "St. Paul" Brown! I gotta go visit the UP soon and get this shit out of my system. Maybe I will go see P.J. Olsson in Houghton after all this weekend for that gig in his hometown?

In case you haven't heard, Walter Reed hospital was reported internally to be a hell hole by injured soldiers in 2004. It wasn't a secret what a dump it was for the less than privileged. So I personally accuse the Shrub of lack of support for his beloved troops. Take that you dink. I think the GOP congress was more worried about that Terry Schivo junk right about then. You know, paying attention to the crucial national problems and challenges.

A journalist by the name of Gary Kamiya accuses the national media to have been asleep on the job in the post 9/11 era. Specifically there wasn't a single major outlet questioning the Shrub and his minions like Faux news and their march to remove Iraq's leader. Funny how the national media don't see him as a "real" journalist because he writes a blog, and they completely disagree with his premise. That they were not asleep but being prudent and checking their facts and such highly journalistic ideals he just doesn't observe nor understand. One this is almost always true, when those at the top of the heap are accused by those perceived as of a "lower" caste or status they go on the defense, get angry, and get personal. They don't do their own job on themselves and check the facts. The national media helped lead us into the war into Iraq. There were no WMDs there. No anthrax, no moving labs, no moving missile trailers, and no stockpiles. There was lone voices in the wind saying how there was no "yellow cake" from Africa tale. They patriotically supported the smoke, mirrors, and lies and exacerbated the effect with their reporting.

The Next Big Thing

Thanks to the Onion. They have their eye on the next big thing. Check it out to the right. Or buy your own here.

Poor Planning Part Deux

Came home early from work to work from home where I don't get people visiting and I can ignore email if I like.

First I tried the TV. Tried plugging the antenna into the VCR and then the VCR into the TV. Slight improvement. I could hear audio on several stations. I could actually see someone named "Rachel Ray" on channel 11 or NBC.

Say it with me now, N-n-n-n-n-n-n-Beeeee-Sea. Always reminds me of Pig Vomit in Private Parts. Gosh I love that actor, Paul Giamatti, son of the late Bart Giamatti, who banned that moron Pete Rose from baseball and thereby the hall of fame. If they won't let in Shoeless Joe, then Rose can rot until he's worm food.

I screamed and turned the show off.

You could ask, maybe I should have planned this? Tried the antenna before I got satellite cut off? No, then I'd never have gotten it cut off. Hell, I procrastinated as it is. This way, I've got to try to make it work instead of vice versa.

I'm telling you, its hell. I might actually go sleep early. Sheesh. I might have to gulp read! (Oh, come on, I read every night before I turn the light off and try to sleep. Last few nights its been the latest Bicycle Quarterly, the issue with my pal Bob Brown's article about building an all stainless steel bike frame.

Not What I Planned

Since I moved into my house three years ago I've had Direct TV. Yes, satellite television instead of cable. My justification then (read carefully) was it was an enticement for my then 12 year old son to be comfortable to visit. He'd have something to do so he'd not get bored. At the time I only had a 13 inch TV. The other excuse was the previous owners left behind the entire set up. Dish, boxes, wiring, the whole smear, for nothing. Later found out they were running away from bills like crazy.

After a year I bought a 30 inch something flat screen (but real cathode ray tube design) 16:8 or whatever design TV, so letter box movies look great. Still kept the satellite. If I'd kept track of my viewing hours I think I know the change in trend. If I'd have logged in my TV hours versus my music listening, I'm sure I did more TV viewing then before. Bigger screens rock, lets face it.

I've kept the satellite service so that I could watch the Tour de France each year. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I really get into it. I started to think that was pretty silly, so I made the decision in March to get rid of it after the NCAA basketball championship.

I called Direct TV Tuesday since the finals were Monday night and talked to them. They offered a "vacation" for three months. They don't bill me until July, they switch the service off, and we see how it goes. Cool. In July, if I don't call them, the service is gone.

First couple of nights service continued. Then I realized I'd disconnected the satellite control boxes from the telephone jack. Last night before I went to sleep I realized this and plugged the boxes (I had two) in to the phone. This morning service was gone.

I will really miss not only tour coverage, but The Daily Show and Pardon The Interruption. Maybe I'll get more riding in and such. I hope so. Listen to my collection of music more too. Again, hope so.

It does look like I'll watch little TV. I plugged in the $30 antenna I bought from Target this morning before work. Nothing. No channels 2, 4, 5, 9, 11, 17, 23, 29, or 45. Colored fuzz. I heard the word "Clifford" which I believe was the cartoon about the big red dog on Channel 2, but that was all the audio I got. I extended the antenna as far as I could, rotated the thing and anything else I could think of. It is even amplified with a cord you plug in. Supposedly 10 dB of attenuation.

This is not what I planned and I'm thinking going without The Simpsons might be a little tough. Maybe I'll trade in for an even better antenna. Stick something into my attic? I really don't want to spend the money on that either. Stay tuned for the insanity that settles in.

Sanjaya

Ever watch American Idle? I've never seen it. Its one of many "reality" shows I've never taken in.

There is a few folks where I work that really get into it and a few other shows. Pick their favorites and keep track of who is doing the best and junk. I see it amusing them with no harm. One fellow really dislikes some guy named Sanjaya. All I know is that he appears to be reasonably handsome and has a lot of hair. At any rate they were harassing him by putting up huge blown up print-outs of his publicity photos. Again, good fun and I'm all in favor of that at the work place.

I also read somewhere how Howard Stern has been trying to get his listeners to vote for this guy. Not that he cares, but he's trying to influence the results just to screw things up. Now, that I'm in favor of in a big way.

Now, I'm so clueless about the show, I'm not even sure how to vote for the spudnick, but dang, I sure would like it, if you do know how, would you please vote for Sanjaya? Maybe if the show gets all hosed up this guy Simon's head will explode with disgust like a squeezed pimple. Now if I knew that was coming, I might watch the show.

Not. (See last post)

Borat

Have you seen the movie Borat? I rented and watched it with a friend. They hated it. Hated it. Didn't even want to discuss it later.

I didn't hate it. I spent the majority of the time cringing. Laughing out loud? Not so much.

I think a movie is supposed to get an emotion out of you. I figure it did that. I do wonder why so many people loved this movie. If you look at it analytically, there was only one joke and it really got old by the end.

Tell me what you thought? What do you think movies are supposed to do: always make you laugh or happy? Don't see Shindlers List or The Battleship Potemkin. Or maybe you consider those the feared and dreaded chick flicks?

Have You Ever?

Have you ever, while sitting on the throne (toilet, alright), had an explosive fart so expressive in intensity that it pulled a muscle in your back?

Its been done.

Tickets

Okay, usually when I'm talking tickets, I mean speeding tickets. Between the time I was 16 and 40, I got at least one speeding ticket every three years. Heck at one point I did 8 hours of "Defensive Driving" hell in an non-air conditioned basement with the most ornery set of senior citizens this side of Abe's home on the Simpsons just so I could keep my bloody license in TexSucks. So my insurance rates never went down. I think I've gone about five years without. Look, I deserved every blasted one of them. I never try to talk my way out of them. I was speeding, you caught me, if I didn't want to risk a ticket, I'd slow down. I've only walked away without the ticket when stopped once or twice. Only remember one, where all three kids were sleeping in the backseat and we (the family) were late for a nieces confirmation.

I ordered tickets this morning. Yup, going to see Modest Mouse with a friend I tend to see a lot of shows with. I'm not like crazy for MM, but its been a long time since something came through I wanted to see. In theory, I got a "special" message from someone I've volunteered with, and got to order tickets a day early. Sure. I later saw two other messages from other services that gave "specials" too. All with their own code word.

Here's the pisser. Ticket Whore. Or TicketWhoreMaster. Each ticket was $30. Actually two were $61. Once they got done with license fees, dealer preparation charges, delivery fees, tire shine, carpet vacuum, upholstery protector coating, and headlight fluid refills, it was over $90. And I picked the cheapest and slowest delivery possible. So it cost the price of another ticket in fees. And you know the artist gets nothing out of those fees. Just pisses me off.

Its well known that artists don't really make a bundle out of their recordings. Record companies give them a advance, from which they then charge them the cost of making the recording. Unless it sells a bajillion, they might get to keep some of the advance and not owe the "company" too much. Whoops. Now it used to be they went out on tour, and if they didn't snort coke like some put baby powder on infant butts, and party too hardy they could make some decent money. The life on the road is grueling so it had better be good. Now with the monopoly that is TicketTheifMaster who knows. And ticket prices keep going up. Wasn't the last Stones show locally over a hundred a pop before TicketRatMaster got their thieving fingers on you? Too much man. You can get a good six recordings for that. And you don't have to sit in nosebleed and require a small Hubble telescope to see the band up close and personal. Just stinks.

Twenty Bloody Years

I've worked for the same corporate conglomerate for twenty years. Yeah, I find it hard to believe too. Feels like yesterday I was moving from Texsucks to Minnesota without a job. Within six weeks of that move, I was working at the company I work for now. I've had many different positions within the company, but still. Twenty years. My eldest child reaches his twenty first year in a week. Wow, does it feel odd. Part of the deal with the anniversary is you get a gift. You get a choice, and I picked this Dremel tool thing in the photos. I've used one a lot to work on bikes and such. About a week after I selected it, it arrived. Amazing. I had one before, but I'd lent it to the eldest child so he could port some aluminum heads. Good luck with that pal. Now I got my own and I won't need it back.
Part of why this is so amazing, is the number of layoffs that have transpired in those 20 years. I've lost count (4+) of the number of bosses I've had retire on me (usually because they were offered a "package" to leave early. Who knows if I'll survive any more?

A Cyclist Weekend

It all started yesterday. The usual suspects were planning the monthly meet at Al's Breakfast in Dinkytown. Yes, 6 AM sharp for coffee and usually a short stack whole wheat wally blues. For those unfamiliar with Al's that stands for two whole wheat walnut and blueberry pancakes. Good for what ails you. Those that show can vary from Tim and Tom the racer boys. Then there is Jon, a man who's forgotten more about bicycles than I know. This follows with a man who needs no introductions, its BBBB. Or maybe you'd prefer just plain Bob. Then there is another guy who often shows up we'll call Curt. This week, I had a surprise guest, none other than our own, Misanthrope Cyclist. Now he's not a morning guy, so I had to lie like a dog to get him to show up at 6:00. He made it, sort of, a few minutes after we did, but he had time to eat before we felt guilty and began to make motions to leave. This time Curt didn't make it, most likely due to a heavy work schedule. Missed yah dude! Coffee, tea, juice, eggs, and cakes were as good as always.

Today, I added to the punishment. I joined the Hiawatha gang for their weekly ride. I'd forgotten the time and thought it was at 7:30 sharp. Huh, no one was there, so I amused myself by shooting photos of the shop through the window. To the right is a photo of the store front from across the street. It looks better without the snow so you can see the stands to lock up your ride while shopping. The top of one stand can be seen in the photo, its the bit of red sticking up from the snow.

After a few photos, someone started showing up. First arrived "Big" Jim, who politely informed me that my memory was faulty and that usually people start showing at 7:45 and they might get riding by 8, but don't count on it. Cool, just my kind of ride and I was early for once. Just ask my ex-wife for information on how often that happens. Or not. Here are a few photos from the gang of eight (or nine) that showed.
I didn't get names on all of them.

Since I don't wear a watch and never look at my cyclometer, I've no clue when we started. Then add to the fact that I don't live or really know the area, I was quickly lost. We meandered all over the place. Only two casualties. A young college gal, Laura hit a large patch of ice and her bike slid out from under her. She seemed to be just fine and the bike wasn't damaged visibly. Next was the owner of Hiawatha, Jim, and he and his ride a three speed went down. Other than his chain guard insisting on making tons of noise for the next 30 miles he seemed to survive the crash okay too. At one point they bunch could hear my growling stomach, and in an effort to drop me and still have some pity on me, they laid down some food for me to snack on. Then to add to the humiliation, they took some photos to document their prowess.

Their fatal error? They discovered that watching me eat made them hungry too and so they looked for a coffee shop and low and behold there across the street was Espresso Expose. So they parked their bicycles everywhere. By the time they were done, so was I, so I rode back with them. Sorry for the poor quality of the photos from inside Espresso Expose, I'm just not that interested in learning how to use my camera better. Yet.

What Exactly Is The Dilly-eo?

You should have heard that Walter Reed hospital is a dump. Okay, you can be in the ward where the generals, congress members, President and other "haves" will go and never see any problems. Only where our real heroes land when injured and go to recover. Lets see, I've read of roaches, patients lying in their own filth, and abysmal conditions. I wonder if Bob Dole would have recovered enough to become a long term congressman under those conditions?

So, where is the outrage? Doesn't exist. You know if it was Clinton or Obama's administration the talking point from Sean Hannity, Rush, O'Reilly and the rest of the GOP right would be that leadership at the top led to this. Of course they can't savage the Shrubbery, because that defeats their purpose. And they can't point out it is due to a budget horror, because they've held congress for twelve years. So we're once again treating soldiers as bad as we did at Vietnam. The public may not be spitting on them, but ignoring them isn't so hot either. Oh, but we've got millions of magnets on the assholes of SUVs and our fuel cost is still below $14 a gallon. And the Democrats haven't made any hay out of it, because who's against it? Its not like abortion where you know someone is against whatever side you pick. Everyone is for treatment of the veterans with honor, courtesy, and the best care available. Trouble is it cost money and we've already spent that sending them overseas to get hurt in the first place. And I'll remind you, Rumsfield sent them with inadequate equipment again because they foolishly didn't believe it would last long enough to require it. Morons, pathetic morons, in charge of our country. You go with the equipment you have not the equipment you wish you had. I hope he hears that lie every day for the rest of eternity in hell.

I mentioned March Madness already. That is I look forward to college basketball and the Final Four. High school? Pahlease. In Minnesota, few teams can score enough to entertain me. They're all football and hockey rejects. Except for those Chisholm teams of old. That Coach Bob McDonald could run one hell of a team. I miss his squads.

So, did you see the Duke Blue Devils exposed? Yeah, it wasn't an intentional foul, right. He intended to foul the scourer, and he intended a hard foul so he couldn't score. With an elbow. He could have grabbed him around the waist. No, he went for the nose with his elbow and he succeeded, he broke it and got himself ejected. Now that supreme whiner Coach K (and I don't care how he spells it, I refuse to type it, he lost my respect a long time ago, squeaky clean he isn't), shrilly yells, how it wasn't intentional, and his player didn't deserve ejection. Oh, I'm sorry, did the NC player get a little blood on the floor and offend thee? There is no coach in Division IA that whines more and convinces not only refs that his team is squeaky clean, but Billy Packer has been his shill for decades. I so wish CBS would get the guts to banish him to where that schmuck Michael Irvin lands. Maybe Michael could teach Billy how not to dress like a dick with ears? I so love any team that hands Coach K and his team of All-Americans their heads and they cry and whine and get angry better than anyone on the planet. We now have proof how little sportsmanship they really have. You can bet Coach K would NEVER have suspended that player for that foul. And his players still suck in the NBA.

So, did you see that our own dink Kevin McHale is the best GM in the land. Yeah, the proverbial "basketball guy" from Hibbing who is running our local losers the WoodMutts is the best GM in pro sports. Good grief, talk about a slow news day at Forbes. Who wrote the article, and the editor that approved it should both be fired for being complete and total idiots. Please God, let Kevin Garnett be traded to a team that deserves him. And heaven forbid there is Fred Hoyburg in the wings when Kevin gets fired ten years too late no later than the NBA finals this year. Do you know why they don't put an NBA team in Green Bay? Because then Minnesota would want one too.

Back to politics. Is there any location within the current Shrubbery administration going well except the gaseous space between the Shrub's ears and the Penguin's? They can't run hospitals for the troops they so love (and don't support), and they can't permit an attorney that won't file and run any case they dictate regardless of litigious merit? We are going to suffer with his horrid supreme court choices for decades. They couldn't handle the hurricane, the people still suffer. Newt Gingrich recently opined that those folks (you don't think he meant trailer trash do you? No, he meant black people.) were too stupid to get out of the way of the hurricane. Nice. Contract with American, my armpit. Come on press, run with that story and end that fat toad's career. And this Newt boy wants to be President!

Speaking of fat toads, have you seen the photos locally on the signs for a local conservative FM radio station? Seriously photo shopped photos of Sean Hannity and Rush "drug abusing" Limbaugh." Those two haven't weighed that little since grade school. Hannity's head alone is the size of a basketball. These louts are on TV every day and they still pretend like their handsome. Yeah, remove Rush's cancer sores from drug abuse, and the bacon oozing pimples from Sean, but this is an amazing level of lies.

Its March

March, for me it always brings up memories of March madness. In my home area it was like the movie Hoosiers. No, I didn't grow up in Indiana, but in a town where girls and boys basketball was the sport. The women's tournament at that time was in the fall, so it never competed with the men. It didn't become a big deal until I was not seeing eye to eye with my father. And for the record, the women's team of my peers were awesome, and went far into the tournament every year I was high school. They far surpassed the men's teams records.

When March came my father would drive me to the tournament games. Rarely trips of less then 100 miles. Often at night and on weekends, and without a complaint. I didn't whine and bitch to get this opportunity. I was never sure it would happen again. He gave it willingly. It was passing along his enjoyment of the game. Of sport. Of excitement. Too bad it only takes me thirty years to think of that blessing he gave.

Those trips were always in snow. I don't remember a single time when the trip didn't happen if there was a snow storm. Fearless. It was just snow. Never once crashed. Never once hit the bank or got stuck. Never once failed to make the first tip. Never once left early. At that time rarely saw my home town team in the tournament. Sadly we had a very shitty coach who I tried to play under. He managed to win a state championship once and so no one would fire him, but he had nothing to do with the win. He as much admitted it, he'd ask us after a loss, what was wrong with us. Pretty hard when you have no leader. I have little doubt he was as worthless then as he was when I was in high school and we had records of 2-17.

There was a great coach coming. He went on to win two championships in 25 years. The typical finals were against teams with every single player 3-6 inches taller. From all private schools that recruited from the finest of metropolitan players. And he beat them like they'd never seen it coming. How? Out hustle. We never stopped running in his practices. How would I know? I had the drunken flake in high school? Because he was the junior high/middle school coach when I was that age. And we ran until our lunch was in our throats. And then we ran some more. And then we shot baskets when we were good and tired. Fundamentals. And the worst error you could make is to miss an open shot or layup. Especially when the game was on the line. Or a free throw. Shaq wouldn't have played two games in a row for him. He didn't care how good you were in general if you weren't fundamentally sound, you rode the pine. No whining allowed. No loud daddies permissible. He was coach and you were just one of many players. Don't like it? Leave.

I got tossed from the high school team for refusal to cut my hair. Stupid yes. My point was, I could lose with long hair as well as I could with short. It wasn't fun. He sucked. I couldn't be a man and quit. So I created the situation where I couldn't stay. Trust me, if the coaches had switched when I played instead of after, I'd have cut my hair. He "resigned" my senior year because he was such an abysmal failure. To play for a winner, I'd have worn a crew cut like it was the sixties. I'd have shaved my head 30 years early. Between playing for a loser drunk, I'd rather have a pony tail.

Speaking of cutting the beard is gone. November to March was long enough. Just to prove it existed, here it is.

Yes, its gone. A neatly trimmed goat remains in its place. Ready to extend next fall. Maybe. Maybe I'll have forgotten my dislike for it by then?

I'm the ONE

Hey, it's time I announced that in fact I am the father of the late Anna Nicole's baby, what'shername. But I don't want to raise the baby unless I get the money. I mean seriously folks its all about the security of the money, er baby, ah child.

Yeah, this area had ah, about 20 inches of snow in less than seven days. The area population is freaking apoplectic. Traffic is snarled, heart attacks occur over snow shovels, its just this horrible pandemonium. Its nothing. That it. NOTHING. Its not a tornado, a hurricane, its a rainstorm in the cold for crying out loud. Yeah, so it might break a local record, but so what. Its so weak it is hilarious to anyone that's seen far worse. Here take a gander what mere students do with snow in other places in the world.

Yeah its a statue from something called Winter Carnival. Its at my Alma mater Michigan Tech University. During winter carnival there are lots of activities that go on during classes. Some of those statues have 30 days to be created from scratch. Others have only 24 hours, called "allnighter" statues appropriately enough. There is lots more, skiing, snow shoeing, ice bowling (it simply must be seen to be believed), broom ball and more. Damn it looks like so much more fun that going to work amongst all these whining, crying, moaning, and leaving early from work because of the snow Minnesotans. Gigantic wussies is what they are. I wish it would snow like that here for four-six-sixteen weeks and see what they think. Take that global warming.

Speaking of wussies, how about John Daly getting a shoulder injury because some dope snapped the camera shutter during his swing. Boxers, to baseball, to the real football (soccer) all deal with crowd noise. But not those big sissies the golfers. In baseball they throw the ball at you from 70-100 MPH and you have to try to hit it and in golf the ball is as motionless as can be, and heck when poor fat Johnny hurt a rib, he'd placed the ball on a tee his very self. Yet one more proof that athletes can play golf, but being a golfer of any level has nothing to do with being an athlete. Shit they may as well be in the professional puzzle assembly league.

Yet, it is finally winter here because as one local scribe asserted; 'It ain't winter until you fall on your kester." I fell on my butt getting out of my vehicle Friday and slipped on the ice under the snow. Did I cry? No. Did I laugh at myself? Most certainly, and proudly wore two thirds of my morning cup of coffee on my clothing because of that slip. It still makes me smile. Even if a few of my muscles are sore. I wish I'd asked for a copy of the film from the security cameras at work. Maybe someday I'll get around to cleaning the coffee from the inside of the door of the elephant.

Speaking of odd, the other day an odd coincidence occurred. Someone left his comment in this here blog somewheres. Now, I wasn't sure if his comment was a real rant against me (like where the hell have I been?), so I sent a more or less polite note about yeah, I was gone, wasn't I? And guilty of purchase of an SUV. So he replies back saying he was rattling my cage and was more or less glad I'd arrived back from under my rock.

So I sent one more note, seeing his name, quizzing his name and wondering if he happened to be the guy who rode this two tone baby shit colored custom fixed gear from a local custom builder that was constantly parked next to this dump of an employer. Then I gave him the internal building address to my office in same said dump.

Of course out of complete curiosity, blog commenter had to come and see what kind of kook had the audacity. And was shocked to find out we work in the same building in rather different circumstances. We had a fun chat and resolved to go out to lunch soon.