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...and further more...

2007-01-28

Good morning Boys and Girls.

Some time in the middle of the night, I realized I'd jerked a bit in my sleep and caused the cat to go flying off my lap. I'd fallen asleep in the recliner, an extremely common thing for me to do, and Roadie, the three year old Calico, new to the house anyway, had been unceremoniously tossed by my little spasm.

I felt awful; almost bad enough to get up to see if she was okay.

I fell back asleep.

Later, Bladdy the Bladder woke me again and I went to make him happy and then made my way into my office, where Roadie had decided my office chair would be a fine place to snooze away the rest of the night. This was a problem and mini-moral dilemma for me as I'd just decided that I too needed use of the chair, and I'm much bigger.

I stood there for at least half a second of consternation before deciding. I gently lifted Roadie up onto the pillow that sits to the left of my computer desk on top of my synthesizer case that's there for her use. She woke to the same extent I had when I'd dumped her earlier in the night, and happily, she went back to sleep in a matter of seconds. Surely she'd be more comfortable there, I told myself, to mask my guilt for disturbing her sleep a second time.

I checked email, tmail and the blog for correspondences, of which there were only a couple, then read a couple of blogs, got annoyed after reading one in particular, commented on it and found myself sitting here letting an idea crystalize that had come from reading what I'd just read; an instant post fairly mushrooming into being.

It was brilliant. It came to me in waves of prose; writing themselves onto and into the memory section of my synapses. The whole of the piece took complete form within a maximum of thirty seconds.

"This will be great!" I thought gleefully, letting little nuances form, while opening my word processing program to begin, what I knew would be, a relatively brief transcription process. Brief, because, as I said, by then, everything was done except for the getting the thing from one form of memory to another, my fingers and the keyboard acting in tandem as router and cable.

Then a yawn...

Another.

"Hell," I decided. "I'll just wait and do it in the morning. Why not."

I grabbed Roadie, and took her back to my recliner. She barely woke as I did so, but I did see a look on her face that seemed to say, "What NOW jerk?"

We raced to see which of us could fall asleep sooner. -Probably a tie.

This morning I've come in here THREE TIMES to see if I could pry the idea from my mind. Stared at the screen. Gulped three cups of coffee.

Nada.

It was going to be the greatest blog post ever written.

Honest.

It was some kind of analogy I was going to make, and so slyly crafted that it would take hours for anyone to see what I'd done, though, and this was the good part, once realized, the truthfulness of my message would be so very obvious that everyone would feel silly that they hadn't seen it right off the bat. There'd be a mass thumping of heads among all who'd read what I'd written.

No. Really!

Honest.

Oy.

We's does get a tad full of ourselves sometimes, doesn't we?

Yes we does.


Be good to everyone.

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snippet

2007-01-24

This is from the story I'm working on right now:

.....................................

One neat thing about the few months I traveled to Mr. Ziedler's church on Thursday afternoons for organ lessons was that every week we drove by the, now long defunct, Detroit Playboy Club. Being around eleven at the time, and already having stumbled upon more than a few Playboy Magazines in Kelly’s Woods near one of the many forts maintained by the older kids, I knew a thing or two about the sort of thing I was absolutely sure went on in such a place, and even briefly being in the general proximity of the building on such a regular basis, with it’s neon bunny logo and bright red lettering announcing it’s whereabouts to the world, gave me a giddy thrill I looked forward to each week.

Imagine my delight upon learning that my Dad’s Dad, for a few years, was actually a card carrying member (or more properly said, a "key" carrying member) of this den of sin! This went hand in hand with one of the other discoveries I'd made about him just a few months earlier, when my Father showed me, for reasons I’ve yet to figure out, a draftsman’s triangle that my Grandfather had owned before the War when he he did design work for Bulldog Electric. It was made of some sort of early clear plastic, and even then, close to forty years ago, it was yellowing with age.

He'd evidently used the point of a compass, though this was an assumption on my part. No matter what implement he'd chosen for his work, he'd used it along with the talent God gave him to thrill his as yet unborn grandson. He'd etched three beautiful nude women into its surface. Naked women! My Grandpa!

This was huge.

Posed to look as though they were part of the triangle’s original design; they were simply gorgeous! They appeared so casual and comfortable with their nudity; they were "naturalists," I decided. The idea was shocking to me on a bunch of levels.

The carvings were so incredibly detailed, even the aureoles around the nipples had texture and depth. Their skin looked smooth and flawless (and, as it happens, perfectly clear if a tad jaundiced) and their faces each had wonderful variations of that "come hither" look that proved they were "real women" to me. I knew from the photographs in the Playboy Magazines that this was the sort of look women got on their faces when they were naked.

Somehow though, to my dismay, all three of the women were shown in angles that precluded seeing the area between their legs. This was a disappointment. However, rather than looking as though they were deliberately covering up, they looked as though they’d ever so slightly, and certainly accidentally, turned away before Grandpa snapped the mental picture that became the original his hands traced so expertly.

If only they were as alive as they looked to me then, they could have turned back! I was sure they'd have wanted to.

According to my Grandfather, when I finally got up the nerve to ask him about the Playboy Club years later; probably no more than a couple of years before he died; it was just a nice restaurant.

The menu was interesting, he said. Everything on it was a dollar. Want a steak? A dollar. A potato? Another dollar. He told me he’d given up his membership after the night his dinner had included rolls, a salad, coffee and desert and had ended costing him eight dollars. He also told me that there was absolutely no nudity in the Playboy Club; that the waitresses simply wore the traditional bunny outfits with the puffy tails.

He said it was just a classy place to eat.

I was devastated.

................................

Be good to everyone.

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I'm dreaming of a ... Wait. No I'm not.

2007-01-16

Good evening Boys and Girls.

Until further notice all snow in the Western part of Michigan shall be required to obtain a permit to fall.

Any snow having fallen without this required permit must immediately cease and desist from laying in any publicly used area and must immediately remove itself to a portion of the landscape unused by humans during the Winter. Only then, with proof of having removed itself, will snow be allowed to apply for and pay in advance for permit #206.3, which may, or may not be issued in a timely fashion. In the event the permit application is denied, the permit fee shall be forfeited.


There are many sections of land that have been set aside and designated by this same act as "permit free zones" where any existing snow, as well as any additional snow with future plans to drop from the sky, may fall freely without filing for, and securing said permit.

These areas include all lake surfaces, parklands (except for paved motorways within park properties,) all farmland, forests, private drives leading to any home valued at more than $500,000.00, and any dormant land adjacent to any residense as long as the sidewalks and drives of the residenses in question are left snow free. Ski areas of all types are permit-free areas as are golf courses, athletic fields and Walmart parking lots.

School District offices may be snowed upon with abandon persuant to Ammendment A. of the Act by virtue of the ratification of the language contained therein by a virtually unanimous voice vote by the area's elementary school student population.

Dog runs on public lands are to remain snow free, but private runs may be deemed either snow-free zones, or permit-free areas. These determinations may be made by either the dog(s) itself/themselves who frequent(s) such runs or, in the case of Cocker Spaniels, Poodles, and other especially stupid dogs, by their owners.

Any snow falling on the parking lots of Churches, Funeral Homes, Hospitals and other facilites used by people in distress is subject to immediate erradication at the whim of any human being whatsoever, and may be plowed, shoveled or melted without so much as a by-your-leave or a lah-de-dah from anyone else on the planet. Further, no sympathy for the removed snow will be tolerated.

If you are snow and feel you need further information to more properly respond to this notification,

-tough shit.

 

Be good to everyone.

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Grrrrrr.

2007-01-13

Good morning Boys and Girls.

During the night a fairly bright light was cast along the horizon over the south-eastern ridge at the back of the property. It lasted all night and has just faded with the coming dawn.

At first I thought it was the side of a distant bank of clouds reflecting moonlight blocked by heavier clouds directly overhead, but that's probably a bad guess as it would have meant the clouds staying in the same position all night long. Unlikely. No idea what it was, but it was certainly pretty.

Slept fitfully, probably because yesterday wasn't a great day work-wise. Some materials needed for a job I'd planned on doing this morning weren't ready for me to pick up when promised and now won't be till sometime Monday. Annoying, since I'd rearranged my schedule just to pick the stuff up and didn't find out till I got there that it wasn't ready, meaning it was a double whammy; time wasted going there PLUS time lost in which I could have been doing other work. A call from the company ahead of time would have been appreciated. Felt like leaving them an invoice for my time.

I hate dealing with any company that doesn't have direct competition in the market they serve.

Like "Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely," in business, it's "Little competition creates surly companies, absolutely no competition means ridiculously high prices, lousy service and a "You don't like it? Piss off," attitude amongst company employees, especially those in "Customer Service.""

Not that I have an opinion.


Be good to everyone.


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Does God believe in Karma? Hope not.

2007-01-11

Good evening Boys and Girls.

Not that many will care about this, but has anyone noticed that some of our most hawkish Republican Senators have FINALLY hopped off the President's Magic Acid Bus?

I've caught some of the hearing today, and I'm heartened by the somber tone these people have been taking, at last realizing that they could no longer tie themselves to this hateful and hurtful policy.

Cynics will say that it is primarily senators up for reelection in '08 that are coming forward. I say? -whatever it takes. There is something to be said for people having the courage of their convictions, but as has been proved time and time again in this very conflict, believing something, doesn't make it so.

"Augmentation." That's the term Ms. Rice uses to describe sending another 21,500 troops back into Iraq. I just did the math. Once the plan is fully implemented 16,000 of the 21,500 will be in Baghdad. That means that a maximum of 4000 more soldiers in the field at any one time. (From what I understand, most patrols are about six hours in duration.) So, that means, that in a city of seven million people...

(let me get the calculator back out) Okay... Got it. We will be adding one person for every 1750 Iraqi citizens.

Yeah. I'm sure the insurgents and all the new terrorists we're creating and attracting to Iraq from all over the middle East are just shaking in their boots.

They're probably thinking, "Cool. Fresh meat."

Great plan. Noble even.

I'll bet God is shaking her/his head. "Silly Fools." -the words spoken to everyone involved on both sides. "How dare they say they love me. I created them and yet they think they have the right to kill each other? Both sides so very sure they're right?"

God forbid we should get what we deserve. So far, thankfully, God has - but for how much longer, I wonder? I hope against hope the decision is made this way:

"I will show mercy only to whichever side themselves show mercy, humility, remorse, and most importantly, feels shame for their actions. If neither side gives way? I will destroy them all, and by their own hands."

All we have to fear? -is a just God.

Be good to everyone.

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How many of THESE meetings really take place?

2007-01-06

Good morning Boys and Girls!

(Our setting is a forgotten supply closet in the bowels of the White House, pretty close to the entrance of that secret tunnel JFK used to sneak out to see women all the time. The closet isn't tiny, and over the years, these three men had met here many times and have therefore taken it upon themselves to make the place as comfortable as possible amid the boxes of junk memorabilia, cleaning supplies from as far back as the early twentieth century plus lots of other once important things. Boxes lining one wall contain thousands of spools of unused, and now, perhaps never to be used, recording tape for some of the old reel-to-reel recorders used by more than one of the upstairs occupants over the years to capture conversations in which they were involved.

For over six years now they've used this room for their no-less-frequently-than-m onthly meetings. Early on, they managed to find and drag in here three fairly comfortable chairs. They looked to be from the era of the Eisenhower administration, but one of the three men, who'd worked for Eisenhower's re-election campaign in '56 - his introductory foray into presidential politics - had said he didn't remember them as having been used in the White House then. No matter, they were just chairs.

An old steam trunk Teddy Roosevelt had used to move some of his personal belongings in, but had for some reason left behind, became their coffee table.

One of the men, we'll call him "Man #1," is pouring coffee from a old fashioned thermos into three little styrofoam cups as we join them...)

Man #2: "For Chris'sake, can't you get us some better cups? I hate drinkin' outta them little things. It's like drinkin' punch at a five-year-old's birthday party.

Man #1: "Yeah, yeah... (he's finished pouring now and hands each of them a cup, then picks up his own and sits back down on his chair and relaxes, placing his feet on the top of the steam trunk.) How about you bring the coffee from now on."

Man #3 - the oldest by far: "The coffee's fine. Gentleman, what do you propose we do about this speech? Somehow we need this to fly."

Man #1: "Right," he says sarcastically. "This isn't going to fly no matter what we have him say. I think we're just going to have to ride out the shit-storm, and let him take whatever they throw at him."

Man #2: "I'm not sure he'll be able to." (Brow furrowed, he shook his head slowly. "That fucking Woodward. Why did he have to release the tape of Jerry Ford trashing this war? That was cold."

Man #3: "Oh simmer down. That didn't matter one little bit and you know it. No one with any brains has supported the war except us, and our reasons are, you have to admit, a little self-serving."

Man #1: "This is old news. What do we do now?" He picks up a white waxed bag. "Doughnut?" After taking one himself, he passes the treats around. They each take a cruller. It's silent for a minute or so as they sit thinking except for the sound of chewing...

Man #2: - talking through a final mouthful of crispy glazed fried dough, sits up suddenly "I just had an idea!" he grabs a napkin out of the bag and dabs at his chin and cleans his fingers. He swallows, clears his throat. "How much is in the pool account right this minute?"

Man #3 opens a briefcase and takes out a plain folder. He extracts a few sheets of paper and looks at the bottom most figure on the last page: "Six hundred million. Forty percent in Hallibuton with the rest divided up between the fourteen other contractors."

Man #2: "Okay." He sits for a minute longer. "Here's what we do... First we sell Halliburton short about two months out. Then we start feeding George with some of the stuff we've been keeping from him... and we do it NOW. We tell him that if he wants to make the speech play, he's got to give the left a bone. During the speech he announces that he's become privy to some really bad stuff; that he's gonna' start a serious probe into Halliburton. Then WE make sure it really happens. We make him suspend all payments to them... Put 'em in the shit-house."

Man #1: "Hey wait a min..."

Man #2: Interrupts, waving him off and continuing "Meanwhile, WE decide who he should move the contracts to and we start buying up their stock pronto. Maybe even leverage the cash! Buy on margin."

Man #1: "Suspend their payments? Holy shit! Could he do it?"

Man #2: "If we give him some of the stuff we have? Yes-in-deedee. He'd do it in a heartbeat. Hell, he'd have to!"

Man #1: "Cheney will go ape-shit!" They all laugh heartily... "The asshole."

Man #2: "So we make GW look like he's doing the right thing - hell, he WOULD be doing the right thing - we make a boatload on the devaluation of their stock, and we manipulate who he turns to for... for "assistance.""

Man #3: "Let's see..." He's mentally calculating. "If Halliburton dropped, say... 25% in two months and we'd sold short, reinvested in whoever we steer GW to, and buy on margin as you suggested, and their stock RISES the same 25% Halliburton drops... We could make..." He too sits up straight as the figure takes shape in his head. "The timing will be critical, but assuming things go right at all? -three billion. Easy. EASY! Maybe four or five... and in just sixty days."

Man #1: "And in the process George is throwing a bone to the whiners? That's too perfect. I love it."

Man #2: "That's not bad. What did we start with in this fund? Twenty grand each?" He leans forward to shake the hands of the the other two men. "We said we could make this eight years work for us. Here's to war!"

Men #'s 1 and 3: "To War!"

Meanwhile, in another abandoned closet down and around a couple of halls from where these men talk, a man sits checking the sound levels on an ancient RCA mono reel-to-reel tape recorder he'd found sitting atop a long line of boxes full of blank tapes that seemed to work just fine in the old machine.

Just a janitor, he'd been looking for some floor cleaner he knew he'd seen in one closet or another down here at some point, and he'd stumbled into a cozy little room with three chairs and a steam-trunk set up for use as a coffee table. Interestingly, the room smelled like coffee! People had used the room recently. This was definately odd, he decided.

Curious, he'd gone to radio shack and purchsed some wire and a little voice activated microphone. He'd had to buy an old fashioned jack too as the new sort wouldn't work in the old recorder. He simply spliced the wire between the mike cord and the jack.

Over the course of the next week or so, during breaks, he'd taken the time to run fifty feet of wire through some old and now unused heating ducts, just like like he'd seen done in a couple of movies. The room he was in with his old recorder was only about thirty feet away from the one the three men were in, but to walk between the two, you had to go over two hundred and fifty feet around old hallways.

With that accomplished, he'd simply placed the little mike on top of the boxes of blank tapes. He opened only one of the boxes and taken a few tapes. On the slowest speed each tape could record almost three hours of conversation. If the machine shut off after ten seconds of silence as it was supposed to, he didn't think he'd have to change the tapes very often.


Today he'd come down to see if the machine had been activated recently. To his surprise; why look! -it was running now!. It sure wasn't the latest in high-teck wizardry, but the thing was working. Oh Lordy, was it ever working.

He smiled thinking of his exceptionally secure, if modest, government pension. Now, he correctly suspected, no matter what he decided to do with the information he was listening to, it was bound to be augmented most handsomely.



Be good to everyone.

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