Ready, Fire, Aim!

From a recent email from Meredith, fiance of my best friend Van:

An Orientation:

Hillsboro: A rural Missouri town.

Marlborough: A municipality of the greater St. Louis Area.

Schnucks: A grocery store.

DeSoto: A town hell and gone from both St. Louis and Hillsboro

Trusty Rusty: Van's old conversion van. Known to host many a mobile party and once died for three days after returning from Oklahoma. Sold to illegal Mexican immigrants for $400.00

Timber: Meredith's son from a previous marriage.

Johnny O's: An adult boutique specializing in porno videos, sex toys and lingerie.

Daisy: Van & Meredith's golden lab.

Duchess: Van & Meredith's german shepherd.

LaChoy Knife: A small two inch pocket knife Van got when he purchased a LaChoy meal. It's been confiscated at an airport, Six Flags and now in the Jefferson County jail. It's worthless, yet Van feels it necessary to get it out of hock every time it's taken.

So, it's a Tuesday afternoon, I'm at work like the rest of the law abiding productive citizens of this country and I get the call. "Meredith, can you comepick me up from Hillsboro." so I don't know what's going on and he says "well I'm up here at the sheriff's department office, you know, by the Schnucks and you know that ticket? Well I have to go pay it down in hillsboro."

You see Van has this ticket for improper registration from 2002 when he overnight parked trusty rusty in the parking lot of George's in the city of Marlborough. I never asked and don't even want to know where he spent the night. So of course he has a warrant. And he has the notice to pay complete with envelope and instructions to remit $75 to the city of marlborough but this has been sitting in our bill basket since last year despite me having told him NUMEROUS times to pay it so he doesn't get pulled over somewhere and get arrested with Timber and/or the dog in the car. But of course adding to his stein collection, getting a big screen, getting a new car, all that came first. He actually asked me (after this whole ordeal) "Meredith, when did I have $75.00 to pay that?" I just looked at him blankly. We ALWAYS had $75.00 to pay that. I can't think of one time where coming up with $75.00 was hard for us. I don't know what he was talking
about.

So anyway I ask him "are you arrested?" to which he responds "I don't think so but they are driving me to hillsboro". So I'm like "they are physically taking you somewhere yet you are not arrested?" and he says "Meredith, I don't know, just meet me down there." so he gives me directions. Now, I have never been to Hillsboro and as he's giving me directions I know they aren't good. I just had that feeling. I kept trying to get clarification on the directions which had information like "take that road 10 miles and make a right at the first right..." but he was so distracted he couldn't explain any better. So I leave work and set off for hillsboro. About an hour and a half later I am "now entering de soto" and I know I've gone to far. So I go
into a gas station and get normal (non-Van) directions and I make it to the courthouse another 15 minutes later. After perusing the courthouse I find out I am (of course) in the wrong place and that I need to go down to the jail "that there building with the razor wire". I then wait in the smallest waiting room ever with about 6 other people, 2 bail bondsmen, 2
sets of parents and someone's boyfriend and am told by a very impatient department of correction's clerk that I'll have to wait and there are a bunch of people ahead of me.

So I waited for 4 hours. During that time I made frantic arrangements for someone to pick up Timber before his day care closed, I listened intently to what the bail bondsmen and various lawyers were telling my fellow "waitees", I walked around outside, I looked for the dog to which the giant "beware of dog" sign belonged, I stared at rocks, I tried to think of who I could call and chat with on my cell phone, etc. Eventually I got into discussions with my fellow waitees about what their "people" were in for, their lives, etc. The other waitees were in the various phases of the slow progression to get their people out so I was with most of them the full 4 hours. Meanwhile Van is on the "inside" watching his cellmate sleep and holding his pee so he doesn't have to use the in-cell stainless steel toilet. Finally Van is ready to be released and as soon as I see him he gives me a big smile and wave, he's wearing a nice yellow Hawaiian shirt that's too small to button so he's wearing it like a vest over his white t-shirt. I stare back at him with no expression and his smile quickly fades. So we leave and I'm not really in the mood to talk. And I outrightly refused to turn around to go back and get the La Choy knife which was still at the jail. I was however in the mood for Cracker Barrel and at this point he couldn't very well argue with me about how we shouldn't be eating out.

Life on the inside:
Van told me that when he initially went up to the sheriff's department he was going up there to pay the ticket. Now we all know that he was going up there to get a gun license. Van's theory on this ticket was that since he's been pulled over twice since he got it and neither time was arrested that this ticket and it's ensuing warrant somehow "didn't matter". So I think he knew that while they would see he had a warrant they all would just laugh it off and scoff at how "stupid it was". So while Van was there waiting to be taken down to hillsboro some young "cutie" comes in to get her background check for her new job at Johnny O's. Well she has several warrants and has to wait with vince to go down to hillsboro. Van and she discuss their tattoos and her ex boyfriend (who the police there knew when she mentioned his name) and her brother (who just got out of jail the other day) and her 3 year-old child, etc. So Van gets searched and the cop finds all his blood pressure and other medication in his pocket and chastises him for not having the prescription bottles with him as required by law. The cop then gives Van the option of taking the pills or throwing them away. So Van throws them away. I guess by then he was all flustered and thought throwing expensive pills your body NEEDS was the right choice. Then of course they make him hand over the La Choy knife. Then he gets 2 sets of hand-cuffs to make him more comfortable and gets cuffed to the wall to wait for a while. While he was waiting another guy gets chained to the wall and remarks to Van how there are "too many fucking snitches out there." to which Van nods in agreement (what else can you do when someone says that). Then they bring another guy in who was about 16 and Van heard the police remarking on how that 16 year-old was the next
charles manson and how "he's going away for a while" and something about a "baby in the hospital" and how it would have "been cheaper if he kept it in his pants". Now we all know that men are not the great getter's of details so they could have been talking about 8 different things here. So then Van gets placed in his cell with the afore mentioned sleeping cell mate
and is told that he can make collect calls but when he tries my cell phone won't accept them. Then, eventually, he got out.

Epilogue:
Today Van called me and proudly announced that he got his gun license and that he was on his way out to hillsboro to get the la choy knife back. He decided to take Gracie (Duchess) with him because Daisy took off right before he left. And remember that STUPID Looney Toons leather checkbook he got to go with his equally STUPID looney toons checks? Well, the dog chewed it up last night into tiny pieces.

So Are We...

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Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

but let's have a drink while we wait!

We're Waiting...

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...for granite!

We Have a Fireplace!

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Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

What this picture doesn't show is the little train that the "crew" fashioned from wood scraps.

Charming fellas, but let's concentrate on FINISHING THE HOUSE!

Craft Your Own Tale

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Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

There are so many things that can be said here, but I invite you to give me your best effort.

I'm Disturbed

As my wife Trixie and I are making our way down our street today, we spy a 10 - 12 year old kid riding his bike. It's a fairly nice day outside and we harken back to the good old days when riding a bike wasn't exercise and was instead a source of pleasure.

We continue to watch the little tyke on the bike, pedal and coast, pedal and coast...

We then look at each other in face contorting confusion.

Let's call the child Helmut, or Claus, or even Frederich.

On top of his pre-teen head sits a black motorcycle helmet, and drawn into the area above his lips is a small, short and square mustache.

Was is los mit das Kinder?

Getting Close

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Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

Just Finish the Fucking Thing...

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Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

I should be in a friendly mood this morning, as I am listening to Air Supply on the iPod, but I'm really frustrated with the progress, or lack thereof, of my house.

We've had the closing date pushed back at least four times. First it was the middle of April, then the end of April, then the beginning of May, and now it stands at the end of May. "I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you..." - Oh, sorry. Anyway, I'm pissed! I have no confidence in the current closing date, and the lack of a firm date prohibits us from listing the house, hiring movers, enlisting the crew to pour a new patio, contracting the fence company, do you get it now???

So, we went out there on Saturday, after Trixie finished crushing the dreams of one particular graduate school applicant, and we noticed that things were progressing, just not to my satisfaction. The (nice) stairs have been installed and have replaced the construction grade 2 x 4's that scared the shit out of Trixie. The spindles and rails still sit in our garage, and should be installed this week.

The hardwoods are in place throughout the home, as are the master bathroom, hall bathroom and powder room floors. Again, making progress, just not enough to give us a firm date.

The cabinetry hangs in the kitchen - with the exception of one splintered and shredded cabinet door, the powder room, the master bath and the hall bath upstairs. All vanities are in place, but we have no toilets. "laughing myself to sleep, waking up lonely..." Sorry again. I can't help it.

What I'm trying to say is that the house is damn close to completion, and I cannot understand why they can't give me a firm closing date.

"Girl, you're every woman in the world to me..."

Babg! Bang! Bang! You're Burning!

So, I just get back from my jog this morning, and I'm getting ready to step into the shower when I hear someone banging on my door. It's 5:45 a.m., so I guess it must be serious.

I open the door and see a sleep wrinkled Steve, my neighbor. He's in a panic and says "Sue just woke me up, she was sitting on the deck out back and saw smoke coming from your basement! I think you're house is on fire!"

For some reason, maybe it was that I was still in a slight slumber myself, I don't panic, or even become concerned. I then recall the events of earlier in the morning, and when I explain it to Steve, I watch his ashen face fill with the bursting color of embarrassment.

"I put a load of laundry in the dryer before I went for my run. It's cool this morning and you must be seeing the steam from the exhaust. Dude, I am so sorry ! Go back to bed!"

Would you like that in the can? - No, I'll just have it here.

Went to a cool tavern on Friday night - The Tin Can Tavern @ Morganford and Arsenal. Good time, ran into some colleagues, and enjoyed an evening with Trixie, Jackson and Bridget.

The place is set up like a split level home, with dining upstairs and a comfy area down, with sega, couches, pinball and other arcade games. They serve beers in a can, and boast over 50 varieties. I drank Paulaner and Newcastle - IN CANS!

Aside from being a comfortable place to kick back, it was CHEAP! I bought seven beers while we were there and my bill was only $17.00! God, I love South City!

Crash Course in Human Perceptions

The following is a true story. It is not an urban legend. I know this because I have first hand knowledge of the account.

Just for the record, I would have reacted the same way.

My good friend Jackson was out one evening with his girlfriend Bridget, and my pal Van.

Leaving a tavern in the downtown area, they arrive at Jackson's car, which is parallel parked in front of the establishment.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a man makes his way to the car, just as my friends are getting settled in their seats.

He taps on the window, and as any intelligent American in a big city does, my friend Jackson ignores him.

Starting the car, the man begins to shout and wave his hands. He's got a piece of paper in his hands, and in a very animated fashion, is trying to get Jackson's attention.

Everyone in the car is in agreement: GET US THE HELL OUT OF HERE!

So, screaming away from the curb and down the street, my friends travel through the night air, looking back to see the man getting smaller and smaller, yet still jumping and waving in street.

PHEW! That was close!

Upon their return home, Jackson is walking around the back of his car, when he notices it. Someone has hit the car and crushed the bumper.

The desperate man had written down the liscense plate of the offending auto and was trying to give it to Jackson as he left the bar.

Fine Lasses and Lots of Asses - A Few Observations From the Lunchtime Hour

Let me preface my comments by declaring my contempt for anything remotely misogynistic.

Seen in a window in a building downtown today, a sign reading:

Swinger Safety Guard

Funny, I thought everyone else just called them condoms.

Also seen:

So, I'm sitting in my car at a stop light downtown this afternoon, and an attractive woman is crossing the street. She's got a well sculpted posterior. That in itself isn't funny.

What IS funny however was the guy walking next to her, (a mid 40's, overweight champion of a man) sneaking little glances at her butt. DUDE, just look at it. Don't try to be sly about it. Hell, if I noticed you, there's a good chance she, and lots of others did too.

Sticking with the topic of women's behinds, I found myself pondering something while ordering lunch. Seated on a stool at the front of the restaurant, is a mid 30's asian woman. The question is this:

Is it really advisable to sport the black thong with thin white pants? I realize it's Spring, and the weather's become more temperate every day, but did you not look in the mirror before you left the house this morning?

The Box and the Bottle

Quite recently, my wife and I were walking the grounds of our new home - our soon to be next door neighbor was joining us. He's been in his house since December and is the only other house on the street. He's a very knowledgeable guy, and spent a considerable amount of time touring our home with us, pointing out little things here and there to ask the builder to do over or completely replace, etc. For a guy like me, who merely assists in home improvement projects, I was quite thankful for the good advice.

We make our way to the rear of the home, and as we're traversing through the yard, our neighbor notices a box and says "Oh no they didn't." I, ever the eager (nosy) one, start to make my way for the box, when the neighbor says, "Oh, no, you don't want to look in there." My wife takes a peek and confirms this. She's a medical professional, she sees gross stuff all day long.

So, I take their word for it and continue to tour the grounds. It's then that my neighbor whips out his cell phone, and with the touch of one button is connected to the builder.

"Yeah, this is Dolph. Do you want to come down here and get rid of this box of shit, or do you want my kids to find it first?"

"Box of shit? I told the crew to move the box of nails, etc. the other day. They didn't move it?"

"No, you're not quite following me. There is a box with human shit in it, here in my neighbor's yard."

"Oh my God."

After speaking with the builder personally, I learn that since there are no toilets in the house yet, sometimes the guys on the "crew" can be crude. Never mind the fact that there's a Johnny On the Spot at the end of the lane, I guess sometimes NOTHING can stand in the way of progress.

So, after all that, what did my wife and I find in the yard just last week?

A gatorade bottle full of piss. Ever the optimist, I tell my wife, maybe it was orange and it's sun-faded...After examining the bottle closely, no, it was grape.

I guess sometimes, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Neandrethals.

Childhood Memories

In packing for the move to the new home, I came across boxes of childhood crap my mom somehow snuck past me and into our basement...

Actually, I came across some pretty funny shit. Here's a short list:

A crayon drawing I made of a tall building, a helicopter and limousine. Waiting outside the building, is a doorman and above his head is a marquee that says "Rich People Only Tonight. Welcome Arnold and Willis". Judging from the quality of the penmanship and the drawing itself, I couldn't have been more that 6 years old. God, that blue blood started flowing early in life.

In a little "write n' draw" book I made for my parents in either kindergarten or first grade, I espoused upon which subjects I enjoyed and which ones I didn't. I didn't like math, and school was bigging me alot, but I liked reading and speling.

Lost in the King's Labyrinth

Making my way yesterday afternoon, through the maze of massive buildings that make up the Anheuser-Busch brewery complex, I spot what I think is a practical joke.

Stalled...in the suicide lane between two brewery buildings...hazard lights flashing...is a Miller delivery truck.

Make them Whitewalls...

Yes sir Mr. Nuessbaum!

So with the help of the wife, I touched up all the "bright spots" in the hallway and on the stairs last night. A noticeable difference when you use a different color white...

Now it's on to packing up the basement and meeting with the listing agent this weekend. Fun stuff.

Brilliant Comedy Piece of the Day:

"St. Louis?"

"No, Navin Johnson."

"No, I mean do you want a ride to St. Louis?"

"Oh. Okay."

A Chill in the Uncharacteristicly Warm Spring Air

You ever run into someone you wished you'd never see again? Yeah, happened to my wife and I last night.

The backstory: About two years ago, the wife of a great friend of mine, who is many years younger than he, and terminally immature, said some pretty hurtful and inconsiderate things about me, my friends and my home. All the friends pretty much decided that although we love her husband, she couldn't be tolerated, and therefore we would spare him the emabarassment of telling him how we felt, and just not call them anymore. It's been 2 years since we saw her.

From an email I sent the friends this morning:

So, we’re at the Home Depot and as we’re leaving the store, I turn to help the wife with our purchases and I hear someone call out my name. I instinctively turn around and see someone waving at me. I don’t recognize them, so I give a quick smirk and walk away wondering “Who in THE HELL was THAT?”

We’re walking to our car, and from behind me I hear someone shout “Hey!” Again, for some reason, I instinctively turn around and am perplexed because my brain is scanning 30 years of vivid physical images and struggling to make a connection. Finally, it dawns on me that it’s Miss Manners, only she doesn’t look like the Miss Manners that insulted all of us so long ago.

I nervously say “Miss Manners?”

“Yeah! Weren’t you gonna say hello?”

“Oh yeah! Honestly, I couldn’t place you! I didn’t recognize you!”

So the conversation turns to why we’re at Home Depot, etc.

She and hubby are moving next week to a house they bought.

I ask her where the house is, and she responds “Oh, well I can tell you it’s NOT on SHEFFIELD ROW! WOW you guys!” This is where I should have said something snide like, “Oh, don’t feel bad that we can afford it and you can’t”, but I remained a gentleman.

Apparently, she wanted a 2 story in a really nice neighborhood and the hubby said no. So, they’re moving to some existing house off of Bob's Road.

She then starts asking all of these questions like “So, is Van still with Meredith?” and “What are Jefferson and Bridget doing with themselves?”, hoping I can recount all of your failures and express them to her for her sick pleasure.

“Oh, yeah, Van and Meredith are getting married and they live in a beautiful house. They’re living on over an acre and Van manages to take care of the lawn on his riding lawn mower.”

“Jefferson and Bridget are doing great. They live in this HUGE three story building on Greystone. Way too much space for them, but you know how it’s important to have LOTS of space...”

So then I tell her “Why don’t you tell that jerk husband to call us some time. We miss him.”

“Oh, yeah we really don’t do anything. We usually go over to Ben and Camilla's or something.”

Then she pulls out a picture of their latest, we make our way to the car and she hops into a powder blue minivan and leaves.

It was very difficult to remain civil.

As we’re pulling away, the wife put it all in perspective when she said “Yup, still a bitch.”

Progress

Just talked to the builder. Apparently the cabinets are hanging in the kitchen and the stairs are being trimmed out to look nice n' purty.

Now if I can just find a spot for those pink flamingoes.

Turnabout is fair play

There IS a God! Enjoy...

Joyce Meyer ministry is selling posh homes
By Carolyn Tuft
Of the Post-Dispatch
04/17/2005


The homes where two of televangelist Joyce Meyer's grown children have been living free of charge are up for sale: The price for both together - $2.55 million.

The homes are two of the five homes that Joyce Meyer Ministries bought for Meyer and her four married children and their families. The two for sale are situated on either side of the house where Joyce Meyer and her husband, Dave, live.

The Meyer family members have been living in the homes, but the ministry pays the bills - property taxes, utilities and landscaping and renovations made to family members' personal preferences.

The ministry also pays the salaries of Meyer, her husband, the four children and their four spouses, who all work for the ministry. Joyce Meyer, her husband, and their four children all serve on the board of directors that makes financial decisions for the ministry.

Mark Sutherland, spokesman for the ministry, said that an increase in property values in the area of south St. Louis County where the homes are led Meyer and the ministry to put them on the market.

The other three may also be sold, he said.

"The increase in property values makes it hard not to sell," Sutherland said. "One of the reasons the ministry bought them were for investments for the ministry. We thought it was time to sell them to raise money to help bolster the work the ministry is doing around the world."

In November 2003, Meyer told the Post-Dispatch that the ministry bought the homes, clustered near Gravois Road and Interstate 270, for her protection. The homes where the children live surround Meyer's home and served as buffers against stalkers, Meyer said at the time.

The arrangement was one of the reasons a watchdog group called on the Internal Revenue Service to investigate Meyer and her family. Federal law prohibits ministry founders and their families from unreasonably benefiting from proceeds raised by a tax-exempt ministry. All compensation - salaries and perks - must be considered "reasonable."

Wall Watchers, the North Carolina-based watchdog group that called on the IRS to investigate, is watching the sales.

"The sale of those houses is an indication that either the IRS is breathing down Joyce Meyer's neck or her lawyers are telling her to do something before the IRS does," said Rusty Leonard, founder of Wall Watchers. "The fact that they have huge homes owned by the ministry is very questionable."

Kris Moore, spokeswoman for the IRS regional office, said she could not comment on any specific case.

After the ministry bought Joyce Meyer a home on Gravois for $795,000 in 1999, Meyer gutted it and made at least $1.1 million in improvements. While Meyer and her husband, Dave, ordered the work to their personal specifications, the bills went to the ministry.

In June 2001, the ministry paid $725,000 for the home next door on the west side. Meyer's son, David, and his wife, Joy, moved in and began ordering improvements to the 4,087-square-foot home.

They also billed the work to the ministry. The couple lived there free, and the property taxes, power, sewer, water and landscaping were paid by the ministry.

In February 2002, the ministry paid $400,000 for a house on the other side of the home where Joyce Meyer lives. Meyer's daughter, Sandra McCollom, and her husband, Steve, had the home torn down and built a Victorian-style, 3,557-square-foot house in its place. The ministry was billed for the house, which the coupled moved into in 2003.

The ministry bought two other homes located behind Joyce Meyer's house for her other two children and their spouses. The ministry paid all of those bills, too. Meyer has said her family was too busy working for the ministry to keep up with home maintenance.

About three weeks ago, the ministry put the home where Dave and Joy Meyer live up for sale at $1.25 million. The listing boasts an "awesome" kitchen, breakfast and hearth room addition. The walls in one of the four bedrooms features a mural of Busch Stadium and the Arch.

The ministry is also selling the home where Sandra and Steve McCollom live for $1.3 million. The listing describes an 11-room home with three sets of glass French doors, cherry wood floors, 10-foot ceilings and countertops made from DuPont's Corian.

Sutherland said the ministry would not provide the two couples with houses, but would not say if the ministry will give them a housing allowance in addition to their salaries and benefits.

Federal law requires that the proceeds from the sale of the homes be returned to the ministry.

Rod Pitzer, Wall Watchers' tax expert, says that the move to sell the homes is "a step in the right direction." However, he said since the ministry's board is mostly family members and it won't open its books, it will be hard to make sure the money returns to the ministry.

"They need to separate the family from the ministry board so it doesn't continue to look like a family-run business," Pitzer said.

White isn't white after all...

So, as you know, we're in the process of moving, and in doing so are completing the mundane, but necessary tasks.

As my dutiful wife cleaned the master bathroom (thank God for her! I do a terrible job!), I caulked around the toilet and along the baseboards. Thanks to our (ok, mostly my wife's) efforts, it looks a million times better.

I next removed pictures from the basement walls and spackled the holes left by their vacancy. Painting was another chore of the day, and it's in the basement where I started the "touching up" here and there. After painting over the freshly spackled walls, I got to the areas where Baron's ball and other toys had come crashing down the stairs and into the wall at their base...MY GOD DOG! I repainted at least TWENTY spots at the bottom of the stairs alone. Pant...Pant...Pant, oh, and yeah, the dogs (We're dog sitting for the mother in law, and YES, Max did puke today, while my wife and I attempted to enjoy a beer on the deck, yup, barfed right between the two of us...had to move to the patio...smell) want to come inside, but not while I'm painting. A schnauzer who's beard and muzzle are painted white really isn't a very clean or a very charming schnauzer.

So, I clean my brush so I can touch up the stairwell with another color. The basement's tan and it's stairwell is white...so I thought. Grabbing a pail of "white" paint and my freshly cleaned brush, I head back downstairs to paint the stairway. It's here that I touch up easily over ONE HUNDRED spots of pink, yellow, blue and red, where again, Baron's ball or other toys has scraped the wall and left a mark.

I finish the stairwell, glance at the dogs who are still peering in the doorway near the deck, and head to the main hall of the house, where, you guessed it, I'll be touching up Baron blemishes. By a large margin, the hallway has suffered the worst. It takes me over an hour to "touch up" the hall way and five door jambs. By this time, I'm drawing a crowd, as my wife is closely observing my work, as are the two dogs she's just let in the house.

Then she says it.

"Honey, are you sure this paint is the same color as the original paint?" "It looks brighter and shinier."

"Babe, it's white paint. Of course I'm sure, and even if there's a slight variation, it'll blend with the surrounding paint. Let's let it dry and see how it looks."

****

"The paint's dry, and sorry to tell you, but it's definitely different...look at it glimmer!"

"That's enough." "Let me see it." "Motherfucker!"

"You gotta repaint this hallway and the stairway, too." "I can see the difference now, just wait until we put the 100 watt bulbs in the light fixtures."

As I glaze down both the hall and the stairway, oh yeah, it's different alright. Bespeckled and brilliant...the white paint is "extra white" AND shiny AND glittery.

So, I guess white isn't white after all...

St. Louis to be renamed Oceania

If the proposed smoking ban in St. Louis County passes, we might as well rename the town Oceania. In what can only be described as Orwellian, the St. Louis County Council is considering a county - wide ban on smoking in all public places. This includes bars & restaurants as well as casinos. I know I'm sometimes lagging in my perception of that which surrounds me, but I can't recall the exact moment when the jack-booted thugs marched into town and took over.

Isn't America supposed to hate facists? Didn't our founders flee Britian because they wanted to establish a society of democracy and personal choice?

Doesn't this all come down to personal choice? I'm a non-smoker, but when I frequent a pub, I do so knowing there will be smokers exercising their right to smoke inside. I deal with it. I don't inconvenience 50 people because I think my needs exceed the needs of others. And that's just the problem, our legislative bodies have reacted in knee-jerk fashion to the enormously audible whining of a small group of people. The do gooders and the legislators have not studied the economic and personal enjoyment impact the proposed legislation will have when, (and if) it's enacted. (See archives "Don't Smoke While Riding the Metrolink to Rob My House")

Personal choice is the common denominator here. If you don't like to be around smoke CHOOSE to go somewhere that prohibits it. If you enjoy a puff now and again, CHOOSE to support establishments that allow you to smoke. If you're a non-smoker and you're in an establishment that permits smoking, don't take it upon yourself to decide what's best for everyone, excercise your right to CHOOSE to go somewhere else. If you're a tavern owner, and a majority of your patrons smoke, then you should have the CHOICE to offer a smoking atmosphere. Likewise, if a significant share of your customers voice an opinion against smoking, then you, as the business owner should have the CHOICE to establish a No Smoking policy.

The bottom line is this: The will of the few should never determine the destiny of the many.

Gotta go now, I think the telescreen can see me typing this......

Love is in the air...

From an email I received from a good friend, Mary, who is engaged to my best friend Vince:

vince was so drunk. he puked in the bathroom at home and then proceeded to preheat the oven and make himself a plate of food. I told him "vince, that's enough of the drinking". he's such a dumbass.

he just ignored me when I said that's enough of the drinking. so then I told him he's fat because he drinks and he needs to lose weight because he looks bad. I don't know if that sunk in or what because right after that he asked if I wanted to go to steak n shake.

sunday I'm working on the yard and he mows it all half assed and then tells me to go get cleaned up so we can go over to tammy and eric's. now originally he was supposed to go over there to fish with timmy. but then somehow I got involved. and vince wanted us all to eat over at their house or go out. I almost moved out right then and there. first I was pissed over the half ass lawn mowing he did so he could get that out of the way and do something "more fun". then I was pissed because he was planning things spur of the moment and including me in those plans. so then he got mad and just left. without timmy. so I called him and he says "well I'm on my way to eric's house" again, without timmy who had been all excited to go fishing. I lost it. I was in the front yard, on the phone, calling him everything but a white man. so vince came back and got timmy and left again. then he told me I had a mental problem all weekend.

The Load-Out

My friend Becky and I were discussing the merits of Jackson Browne this weekend, and when we weren't out with friends, (Friday & Saturday night), my wife and I embarked on the monumental task of moving. So, blending the philisophical and physical components of our weekend, I feel the title of this post is quite fitting.

Moving sucks.

Not only from a packing, storing and transporting standpoint, but I know that sooner or later, no matter how loudly we proclaim our joy of occupying our newly constructed home, I will find myself struck with a slight sadness.

This was our first home together. This was where we celebrated Christmas mornings together. This was where my wife completed graduate school. This was the home we brought our new puppy to years ago. This was the deck where my wife and I drank cold beer on lazy summer days and played chess over a bottle of wine on quiet winter nights.

This was the place I came to know a deeper side of my father. This was the place that made me proud to be who I am and to take stock in my accomplishments. This was the place that for the first time in my life, I felt successful.

For the first time, here, we had trick-or-treaters.

We painted, stained, cleaned and caulked... and we took pride in being here. Sure, I may have scratched a floor or nicked a wall here or there, but I can tell you exactly what I was doing when it happened. This was the place where for the first time in my life it meant something when my parents said they were proud of me.

We made long term financial and life plans...we invested in our future, here.

Even the difficult moments that took place here somehow will be remembered and missed. I struggled through being pushed out of a job I loved here. We argued, but grew stronger and closer here. My wife dealt with, and learned to accept her parent's divorce here. And it's all over now. We're moving on.

We've built a beautiful new home and filled it with everything we need. It awaits us, as do untold chapters of new experiences and new memories.

A Thought

Why does the press report on, or for that matter, why is the President's Approval Rating tracked? I understand his approval rating helps him win key votes on close legislation, but what does the opinion of the American Public have to do with anything at this point? It's not like he can run for a 3rd term in office...

Just a thought.

Oh, and I just thought I'd share that kids wearing suits are creepy.

And, last night while lying in bed reading A WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY - A BLUEPRINT FOR THE FUTURE, written by the Honorable Newt Gingrich in 1984, my wife couldn't stop laughing at the name Newt. She kept rhyming words with Newt like, That Newt...he's a hoot! Or, Hey Newt...nice suit! To which I responded, sweetheart, your point is moot.

Heard Today

I wish I could take credit for the creativity of the following statement regarding the soon to be ex-Idol contestant Scott Savol:

"Look at the guy. I commend him for overcoming the drawled speech of Down's Syndrome by adopting a ghetto accent."

In all seriousness, this guy frightens me. Does anybody remember the "YES MASTER, I'LL KILL THEM WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT" look Eddie Vedder had when he first fronted Pearl Jam? Hell, they're so irrelavent now, he may still do it and I'm none the wiser.

I knew there was something about Scott, that fat fuck. He's got that Ed Gein charm about him...