7:00 nbc news states obama's current approval rating is north of 60%, of course it is. he hasn't had enough time in position.
7:02 two supreme court justices blew off the event, most notably scalia, the illegal-duck-hunting strict constructionist. stevens apparently had some bad cheesecake
7:04 here comes michelle in (satin?) purple dress - possible vikes fan? wouldn't that be a bears betrayal - should have gone with orange and black
7:05 here comes the cabinet, no not furniture though they may as well be, stick o' wood here, upholstery there.
7:05 hilary emerges, wish she'd quit doing that, emerging I mean
7:09 biden and pelosi look like hungry retards waitin' for the short bus. here, have a shit eatin' grin, nancy, i have many says paul
7:10 here comes obama, i bet he has reserved parking
7:12 i think i just saw obama just grease a palm with some stimulus money
7:13 obama kisses hilary
7:14 side camera angle indicates the size of pelosi's ass - huge, with built in shelving
7:16 does obama's tie got pink in it?
7:18 blah, blah, blah, crisis
7:19 blah, blah, blah, rebuild
7:20 blah, blah, blah, responsibility
7:22 blah, blah, blah, day of reckoning
7:23 blah, blah, blah, dilemma
7:25 blah, blah, blah, tax cut, tax credit
7:25 beer/pee break BRB
7:28 back, what'd i miss? not much, i suspect
7:29 blah, blah, blah, refinance
7;30 blah, blah, blah, nationalize the banks, eff the stockholders
7:31 can a guy get a hot dog in congress?
7:32 blah, blah, blah, significant resources required (so i refuse not to borrow from china and saudi arabia)
7:33 blah, blah, blah, i promise you, i get it
7:34 blah, blah, blah, open ended recession
7:35 God this is boring
7:36 i'm thinking about snacking on that cold porkchop
7:37 or maybe i should just wait, this sounds like a chicken every pot speech
7:39 blah, blah, blah, protectionist trade practices
7:40 ok, dude, let's wrap it up, america is having a hard time paying attention (or paying for anything else)
7:42 nothing happened in the last two minutes worth mentioning - nancy pelosi jumped up and started clapping like she was on crack but i suspect that happens a lot - health care reform is the current topic
7:45 blah, blah, blah, i suffer no illusions (good to know)
7:46 blah, blah, blah, a prescription for economic decline (re education)
7:50 jeez dude, WRAP IT UP!
7:52 might as well pee again, this noise is becoming distracting
7:55 my head is gonna 'splode!
7:57 willie pete left the room, believe he's fed up
7:58 blah, blah, blah, the obligatory statement of support
8:00 blah, blah, blah, i closed gitmo
8:01 blah, blah, blah, gonna hang with iran
8:02 this is so boring, i contemplated going for chicken - Church's has the best
8:03 much better than Popeyes
8:04 blah, blah, blah, now i plan to get really sappy
8:05 just realized i hid my weed jar but i can't remember where?
8:06 found it
8:07 should have thought of it before this started, maybe it would have been more interesting
8:08 thank God, he's done
8:09 and now, the real morons will discuss the speech, yawn ...
it's over, the speech i mean. let me know what you thought especially if you payed closer attention than me
2.22.2009
note from mackenzie
First things first: Don't freak out. I know things look bleak. You're stocking up on shotgun shells and Dinty Moore Beef Stew, dreading the day you inevitably have to pitchfork-fight a hobo over the last piece of firewood in the Hooverville. Hell, you might even be thinking that Kanye West was wrong for once: maybe "The Good Life" isn't all that. Maybe the mass pursuit of diamond-spackled grills, champagne Jacuzzis and McMansions the size of Vatican City was not actually the happiness we totally had the right to pursue.
This past year, we learned that karma is a bitch. That Wall Street is run by Hamburglars. The government is basically too many pigs at too small a trough. That we're broke, at war(s) and, instead of dealing with it, we've chosen to watch celebrities dance, dance, dance for the bloodthirsty hordes. We torture to make ourselves feel safer, cheat each other to make ourselves richer and have generally behaved like raging assholes.
I get all that, and still I say with total and utter conviction: America is awesome. And we're awesome because we are batshit, out of our minds crazy. The French are intellectuals, the Russians are brooders and the Chinese are hard workers. Americans are crazy. Our optimism, ambition, and self-interest verges on the manic.
Think about it - we're a country of over 300 million people, and each of us is told, and honestly, earnestly believes that we're special. That we have a right to pursue happiness. There's no guarantee that happiness will ever happen. We're just cleared to chase, lunge and claw after that happiness, like an eternal dangling carrot. Our dreams matter. This is pounded into us. It is part of our collective DNA. Everyone is special. We believe it, even if it isn't true.
When we succeed, we succeed big (see: the Empire State Building, Moon landing, cheese-stuffed pizza crust). When we fail, we fail big (see: the Great Depression, Slavery, Spider-man 3). We lurch and strive and aspire to greatness. Other countries fear us (not just because we have over 7,000 tactical nukes, though how utterly crazy is that?). They fear us, mainly, because we are an experiment, and experiments can explode. Or they can go on a rampage, like Frankenstein's monster.
Frankenstein might actually be the closest cultural predecessor. America isn't a democracy where majority rules. We're an anti-tyranny-ocracy. We're terrified of tyranny, no matter what form it takes: the government, the free market, your neighbors. The mob can never fully be trusted. Don't tread on me. Get off my lawn. The forefathers had total faith in two things: "freedom" and "people are jerks." They knew that power corrupts, and so they created a system where power is like a bacon-grease slathered football: slippery.
Checks and balances, filibusters and the rule of law. Eventually, the person who's got the power will drop it. And then there's a madcap, sometimes vicious scramble. Then someone has the football again. Repeat.
I like to think of myself as a Patriot. I know that's kind of cheesy, but I've OD'd on snark recently. Sorry internet, but pure, uncut ironic disaffection has become an inadequate coping mechanism. I am not a bible-thumping, jingoistic redneck with the stars and stripes tattooed over generous man boobs. Nor am I an effete, pseudo-intellectual hipster with smooth, manicured hands who blames America for inventing cancer, earthquakes and human vices. But I am a Patriot, because this country gives me the right to be off my rocker.
Let me define my Patriotism: I think America is awesome the way the Whos in Whoville think Christmas is awesome. A Grinch can steal all the accouterments of patrio-eroticism --the flag, the eagle, the Statue of Liberty. And like the Whos, who didn't require gifts or a tree to celebrate Christmas, I will happily salute the idea that defines "America."
And that idea is basically that I get to say this: I am John DeVore and you are not. I am a right wing pinko, a militant centrist, a control freak anarchist. I believe in gun rights and gay rights. I want gays to experience the joys of divorce, and I want them to be well armed. I am a Texan, which means I'm the American equivalent of a Klingon. But I live in Queens, New York, one of the most ethnically diverse places on Earth. My local dive bar is the United Nations. I'm a half-Mexican/half-redneck, who was raised both a Catholic and a Baptist. How many countries does that happen in? It happens here like ... all the time. I'm not even the weirdest multicultural mutt out there - we elected one for president
I have dreams, and I work my ass off stumbling in the general direction of those dreams. And all I ask is this: If I tell you to get off my lawn, get off my lawn. If I don't tell you to get off my lawn, come on in! Let's drink beer and play Xbox. I am one of approximately 301,139,947 other people who all think they are special. Are we all really special? Who knows. Probably not. It's a savage world and life is cheap. But we think we are. That's what counts.
I'm not excusing our excesses and mistakes. Actions have consequences, and even America is not immune to that fundamental fact of nature. We all go down together. But we're still awesome, not down for the count. It is a dark time for the rebel alliance. But our adaptability and individuality will succeed. Each of us will succeed, alone and together. We can't count on politicians because, let's face it, they are glorified sanitation workers. Count, instead, on the Awesomeness of America: our pursuit will not be deterred or delayed. Don't call it a comeback.
Winston Churchill once wrote "Always count on America to do the right thing, after they've exhausted every other option." Well we've done everything except the right thing for a nice long stretch of time and we're, if nothing else, exhausted. Looks like we're well on our way ladies and gents!
This past year, we learned that karma is a bitch. That Wall Street is run by Hamburglars. The government is basically too many pigs at too small a trough. That we're broke, at war(s) and, instead of dealing with it, we've chosen to watch celebrities dance, dance, dance for the bloodthirsty hordes. We torture to make ourselves feel safer, cheat each other to make ourselves richer and have generally behaved like raging assholes.
I get all that, and still I say with total and utter conviction: America is awesome. And we're awesome because we are batshit, out of our minds crazy. The French are intellectuals, the Russians are brooders and the Chinese are hard workers. Americans are crazy. Our optimism, ambition, and self-interest verges on the manic.
Think about it - we're a country of over 300 million people, and each of us is told, and honestly, earnestly believes that we're special. That we have a right to pursue happiness. There's no guarantee that happiness will ever happen. We're just cleared to chase, lunge and claw after that happiness, like an eternal dangling carrot. Our dreams matter. This is pounded into us. It is part of our collective DNA. Everyone is special. We believe it, even if it isn't true.
When we succeed, we succeed big (see: the Empire State Building, Moon landing, cheese-stuffed pizza crust). When we fail, we fail big (see: the Great Depression, Slavery, Spider-man 3). We lurch and strive and aspire to greatness. Other countries fear us (not just because we have over 7,000 tactical nukes, though how utterly crazy is that?). They fear us, mainly, because we are an experiment, and experiments can explode. Or they can go on a rampage, like Frankenstein's monster.
Frankenstein might actually be the closest cultural predecessor. America isn't a democracy where majority rules. We're an anti-tyranny-ocracy. We're terrified of tyranny, no matter what form it takes: the government, the free market, your neighbors. The mob can never fully be trusted. Don't tread on me. Get off my lawn. The forefathers had total faith in two things: "freedom" and "people are jerks." They knew that power corrupts, and so they created a system where power is like a bacon-grease slathered football: slippery.
Checks and balances, filibusters and the rule of law. Eventually, the person who's got the power will drop it. And then there's a madcap, sometimes vicious scramble. Then someone has the football again. Repeat.
I like to think of myself as a Patriot. I know that's kind of cheesy, but I've OD'd on snark recently. Sorry internet, but pure, uncut ironic disaffection has become an inadequate coping mechanism. I am not a bible-thumping, jingoistic redneck with the stars and stripes tattooed over generous man boobs. Nor am I an effete, pseudo-intellectual hipster with smooth, manicured hands who blames America for inventing cancer, earthquakes and human vices. But I am a Patriot, because this country gives me the right to be off my rocker.
Let me define my Patriotism: I think America is awesome the way the Whos in Whoville think Christmas is awesome. A Grinch can steal all the accouterments of patrio-eroticism --the flag, the eagle, the Statue of Liberty. And like the Whos, who didn't require gifts or a tree to celebrate Christmas, I will happily salute the idea that defines "America."
And that idea is basically that I get to say this: I am John DeVore and you are not. I am a right wing pinko, a militant centrist, a control freak anarchist. I believe in gun rights and gay rights. I want gays to experience the joys of divorce, and I want them to be well armed. I am a Texan, which means I'm the American equivalent of a Klingon. But I live in Queens, New York, one of the most ethnically diverse places on Earth. My local dive bar is the United Nations. I'm a half-Mexican/half-redneck, who was raised both a Catholic and a Baptist. How many countries does that happen in? It happens here like ... all the time. I'm not even the weirdest multicultural mutt out there - we elected one for president
I have dreams, and I work my ass off stumbling in the general direction of those dreams. And all I ask is this: If I tell you to get off my lawn, get off my lawn. If I don't tell you to get off my lawn, come on in! Let's drink beer and play Xbox. I am one of approximately 301,139,947 other people who all think they are special. Are we all really special? Who knows. Probably not. It's a savage world and life is cheap. But we think we are. That's what counts.
I'm not excusing our excesses and mistakes. Actions have consequences, and even America is not immune to that fundamental fact of nature. We all go down together. But we're still awesome, not down for the count. It is a dark time for the rebel alliance. But our adaptability and individuality will succeed. Each of us will succeed, alone and together. We can't count on politicians because, let's face it, they are glorified sanitation workers. Count, instead, on the Awesomeness of America: our pursuit will not be deterred or delayed. Don't call it a comeback.
Winston Churchill once wrote "Always count on America to do the right thing, after they've exhausted every other option." Well we've done everything except the right thing for a nice long stretch of time and we're, if nothing else, exhausted. Looks like we're well on our way ladies and gents!
2.20.2009
this is so cool
Jaguar conservation has just experienced an exciting development with the first capture and collaring of a wild jaguar in the United States.
The male cat was incidentally captured by the Arizona Game and Fish Department on Wednesday, Feb. 18, in an area southwest of Tucson during a research study aimed at monitoring habitat connectivity for mountain lions and black bears. While individual jaguars have been photographed sporadically in the borderland area of the state over the past years, the area where this animal was captured was outside of the area where the last known jaguar photograph was taken in January.
The jaguar was fitted with a satellite tracking collar and then released. The collar will provide biologists with location points every three hours. Early tracking indicates that the cat is doing well and has already travelled more than three miles from the capture site.
The data produced by the collar will shed light on a little-studied population segment of this species that uses southern Arizona and New Mexico as the northern extent of its range.
“While we didn’t set out to collar a jaguar as part of the mountain lion and bear research project, we took advantage of an important opportunity,” says Terry Johnson, endangered species coordinator for the Arizona Game and Fish Department. “More than 10 years ago, Game and Fish attempted to collar a jaguar with no success. Since then, we’ve established handling protocols in case we inadvertently captured a jaguar in the course of one of our other wildlife management activities.”
The jaguar plan, which was created in consultation with other leading jaguar experts, includes a protocol for capture, sedation and handling in the event a cat was captured.
Biologists are currently working on an identification analysis to determine if the collared jaguar is Macho B, a male cat that has been photographed by trail cameras periodically over the past 13 years.
The collared jaguar weighed in at 118 pounds with a thick and solid build. Field biologists’ assessment shows the cat appeared to be healthy and hardy.
The species has been protected outside of the United States under the Endangered Species Act since 1973. That protection was extended to jaguars within the U.S. in 1997, the year after their presence in the Arizona and New Mexico borderlands was confirmed.
"We issued a permit under the Endangered Species Act to radio collar a jaguar if the opportunity presented itself," said Steve Spangle, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service's Arizona field supervisor. "Gathering habitat use information and learning whether and how the cat is moving in and out of the United States may be essential to jaguar conservation at the northern edge of their range."
In 1997, a team was established in Arizona and New Mexico to protect and conserve the species. The Jaguar Conservation Team (JCT) began working with Mexico two years later, recognizing that the presence of jaguars in the United States depends on the conservation of the species in Mexico.
Trail cameras and field monitoring are carried out by the Borderlands Jaguar Detection Project, a group that works in cooperation with the JCT.
Jaguars once ranged from southern South America through Central America and Mexico and into the southern United States. By the late 1900s, jaguars were thought to be gone from the U.S. landscape, but two independent sightings in 1996 confirmed that jaguars still used Arizona and New Mexico as part of the northern most extent of its range.
Jaguars are the only cat in North America that roars. They prey on a variety of mammals, fish, birds and reptiles. Individuals in the northern population weigh between 80-120 pounds. Females breed year-round and have litters of one to four cubs that stay with their mother for nearly two years.
2.18.2009
sometimes
Sometimes I wonder which of my friends know I smoke weed. Six? Fourteen? Maybe all of them? Do their parents also know I smoke weed and if so, will they cut me off? Ostracize me.
It's possible, I guess but 420 is an approach, not a lifestyle. You can have your cocktail and I my bud. The only difference is I can still drive. Legally. For the most part.
So, I was going to write some more, but I forgot what.
It's possible, I guess but 420 is an approach, not a lifestyle. You can have your cocktail and I my bud. The only difference is I can still drive. Legally. For the most part.
So, I was going to write some more, but I forgot what.
2.15.2009
bentley
Bentley is a Gila River Apache. He drinks beer at the Spurr Lounge in Laveen, AZ. He's about 6-6 and plus three hundred. He doesn't talk much or often. He sits and drinks at the bar. Maybe plays a little pool. He drinks Bud so I always buy him one. He thanks me and smiles then drifts back to wherever his head is at at. I can't figure it. He's got to work it out on his own anyway. In the meantime, I'll always buy Bentley a beer when I see him. He seems like a good guy.
2.09.2009
taylor swift
buckskin joe's running mate. she kicks sarah palin's ass. and she's actually smart. and qualified. not like sarah p. jeez, she can't see russia from wasilla. it's impossible. she lives in a town closer to canada than russia and nearer to anchorage. in a fjord. it's impossible to see russia from there. she is a fucking moron. but that's a problem rural republicans often share. that and pancake breakfasts once a year. and raccoon infestations out back in the hide room.
so i'm for taylor
2.08.2009
buckskin joe for interim economic advisor and mr. congeniality
i was just in morongo valley california eating a plate full of grits and i can confirm that people still live there. more than one hundred in fact, perhaps two (hundred). most live in houses, others in caves, others under viaducts or in shipping containers and old army jeeps. the morongo-ites are a proud folk and steeped in tradition. burnt red-cabbage stewed onion paste sandwiches and kick-dancing are always available. and both interesting and significant, strangers are no longer ridiculed or driven from town by the traditional hand launched barrages of hard green tomatoes and flat, frisbee sized rocks. there is obviously a new easiness in the lifestyle.
politically, the townspeople pay verbal tribute to a dog named buckskin joe. he's the talk of the cafe coffeeshop. he's mentioned at safeway. very popular.
buckskin joe lives on paradise dr. he is a good natured dog, going about his business in a statesmanlike way while carefully crafting his presentation and follow up. he speaks (well, barks) clearly and only as often as necessary. also, he is very discreet.
i think we could all learn a lesson from mr. joe. we could calm down and be thankful for what's still available, like food in a bowl and fresh water. a place to bed down. good teeth and claws. being outside in the morning and again in the afternoon. needless to say there's a lot and as president, buckskin joe has vowed to deliver all and more.
i've got to point out one problem though. mr. joe cannot speak or write english, french, spanish, german or italian. he communicates by wagging his tale, snorting and occasionally, by farting. thus, it's clear he is the qualified to be politician. he possesses the tools needed to run this country.
elect buckskin joe for interim economic adviser for now and for president in 2012.
2.05.2009
still got a job
Got fired last Tuesday from my kick-ass job at Outback for being a "Peeping Tom". It's almost like when they (the ladies) wear tight shirts, they don't expect you to do a downward visual assessment. Caution. That link is mostly for men and may offend the fairer sex.Anyway, I headed over to the neighborhood McDonald's near my house in Guadalupe and filled out an application. I was hired on the spot. Some of my work is janitorial in nature (I clean the unisex bathroom), and the rest is pure gold. I make the fries. Hot, crispy thin-cut french fries. A definite signature McDonald's menu item. It's an honor really. I'm clearly higher up in the pecking order than that spazz that runs the drive through. He picks his nose and when he laughs it's sounds like a sheep bleating. He can't even speak Spanish. He relies on the drinks girl to take the Spanish orders. Jeez, we live in an area comprising the most dense aggregation of urban Spanish speaking people in Arizona.
Anyhow, I think I'm locked in on this job and I'll tell you why. Yesterday, the manager pulled me aside and said, "Eef, you doan clean bedder. You clean more time, no more pay." Wow, that's like an obvious vote of confidence regarding job security, right?
And while I prefer making the fries, that sense of security is more important right now, considering the looming economic depression. I'm still not destitute. I can still afford to bring beer back to the hobo camp by the Durango Curve. I can afford to eat at restaurants that offer a dollar menu. Every day, almost. Two weeks ago, I bought a Gatorade to go with my Keystone Light. Like I said. Livin' large!
TBC
Also on amazon.com, my newest release, "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again". RIP DFW
1.31.2009
thinkin' about buyin' another condo
I've been thinking about buyig a new condo and I found this spot out in AJ (short for Apache Junction) at the foot of the Superstitions east of Phoenix. Sweet!
1.30.2009
moonies eat dogs, don't they?
And weirdo roommates try to convince you to meditate and offer lessons in meditation if you don't know how. I meditate for several hours each night on my Hemingway Sleigh Bed (leather and wood)). Sometimes my buddy, the great Willie Pete Nelson (cat) joins me. Usually off to the left, close to the window. He goes out several times each night to run and kill.
Last night, he brought home a huge canal rat. Spiky haired and reeking. It smelled like a seven-day gutwagon. It wasn't quite dead yet though and when Willie Pete brought it to me for my inspection, the bugger spazzed, flipped on the rat after-burners and scurried under the couch. It is there now while WPN (Willie Pete Nelson) keeps a close watch.
The drama means meditation is out of the question for now.
Last night, he brought home a huge canal rat. Spiky haired and reeking. It smelled like a seven-day gutwagon. It wasn't quite dead yet though and when Willie Pete brought it to me for my inspection, the bugger spazzed, flipped on the rat after-burners and scurried under the couch. It is there now while WPN (Willie Pete Nelson) keeps a close watch.
The drama means meditation is out of the question for now.
1.27.2009
1.26.2009
big cat
Called my cousin Jim's house the other day. Got his wife, the mucho beautiful little woman. Jim was out hunting with Kenny. Hunting what I asked, since there ain't any seasons open this time of year up thereabouts that I know of except rabbits and blackbirds.
They were hunting a cat. A big, mean one. It was ranging out of the Hills to the west. Killing livestock and Jim's horse. That's a death sentence for that cat. You can't kill a man's horse and not get hanged or shot. When they find it, they'll kill him. I hope to see the hide next time I'm up that way. Maybe even sleep on it. For good luck.
They were hunting a cat. A big, mean one. It was ranging out of the Hills to the west. Killing livestock and Jim's horse. That's a death sentence for that cat. You can't kill a man's horse and not get hanged or shot. When they find it, they'll kill him. I hope to see the hide next time I'm up that way. Maybe even sleep on it. For good luck.
1.25.2009
monkeys for sale
Who can live without an educated monkey? Not me! But I have more than I need at the moment and so I have several for sale. All of these monkeys are educated at accredited monkey colleges, shaved and dressed and ready for educational monkey action. They understand up to 100 commands, and are guaranteed to be proficient in Microsoft Word, Excel,Powerpoint and Outlook. They will hunt and fish and dig up nutritious root vegetables. And they often wash themselves so you will not need a high pressure hose assembly. Pricing is negotiable on a quantity basis. There is a special bonus for early inquiries. Cash only.
Photo by Zip.
1.24.2009
there's always room for jello in 2012
jello makes a case for the presidency while running for mayor in san francisco
1.17.2009
the monkey bars
Arlys Klundt sealed his fate when he challenged Billy Batest to fight him at the monkey bars after school. The reasons for the animosity were never clear. But the contest was on. And many gathered because the news had traveled throughout the school. Hootenanny was present as an independent observer.
At three PM the combatants were present and sneering at each other. Billy looked apprehensive even though the money pushed the odds in his favor. Arlys was grim. He had a fight to consider.
Assembled in anticipation, the bystanders watched as an impromptu 'fight circle' was formed. Scuffed shoes drew the perimeter while Arlys and Billy readied themselves for the fray.
It began and ended quickly. Billy delivered a single jab that sent Arlys to his knees. He followed up with a right hook that put Arlys on the ground, flat on his back. He didn't get up. The fight was over. Billy Batest had won.
But we still thought he was a fag.
At three PM the combatants were present and sneering at each other. Billy looked apprehensive even though the money pushed the odds in his favor. Arlys was grim. He had a fight to consider.
Assembled in anticipation, the bystanders watched as an impromptu 'fight circle' was formed. Scuffed shoes drew the perimeter while Arlys and Billy readied themselves for the fray.
It began and ended quickly. Billy delivered a single jab that sent Arlys to his knees. He followed up with a right hook that put Arlys on the ground, flat on his back. He didn't get up. The fight was over. Billy Batest had won.
But we still thought he was a fag.
1.15.2009
willis the lemur
I was talking to a friend at work and she said, "Why don't you get a lemur and name him Willis. Then you can say. 'What you talking about, Willis"? I had to pause to process the information. Then I weighed my options. A lemur? A really smart monkey-cat with a tail and freaky big eyes. I could maybe deal with a lemur.
But where the hell do you get one? They're endangered and mostly, at least the best one's, are found in Madagascar. To get there, you will probably have to run the Somali pirate gauntlet. You might have to overnite in Columbo, Sri Lanka.
Next, I asked a friend, "What do you feed a lemur?" He said spinach, garlic and sausage rigatoni. No tomatoes. Extra virgin olive oil.
(Got a call from my lemur sales guy - gotta go - story TBD).
1.11.2009
the bigger foot
Now I know that a lot of you don't believe in God, Jesus, Santa Claus or those other guys/girls (a rabbit that delivers hard boiled eggs and chocolate effigies - not probable), but many of you may believe in Bigfoot. I'd like to tell you a little bit about Bigfoot. The Bigfoot I have come to know and honor.
Bigfoot prefers the apellation of The Supreme Master Earth-Lord Bigfoot (SMELB). He does not ring your doorbell or drop off pamphlets or otherwise disturb your American suburban utopia (though he has been known to steal chicken from your grill).
Mostly SMELB hides. A lot. So folks are unaware of his work, planting and selling psychedelic mushrooms to tree-huggers and meth-heads and, occasionally, people like us.
Nonetheless, the Supreme Master Earth-Lord Bigfoot has successfully evaded detection and capture since time immemorial. Many question his very existence. He hides so well that he's never been found.
Now we all know a few friends that are unresponsive; phone calls and emails go unanswered. But The Supreme Master Earth-Lord Bigfoot has taken this to a new revolutionary level by having never been seen. The photographic evidence is inconclusive.
Bigfoot prefers the apellation of The Supreme Master Earth-Lord Bigfoot (SMELB). He does not ring your doorbell or drop off pamphlets or otherwise disturb your American suburban utopia (though he has been known to steal chicken from your grill).
Mostly SMELB hides. A lot. So folks are unaware of his work, planting and selling psychedelic mushrooms to tree-huggers and meth-heads and, occasionally, people like us.
Nonetheless, the Supreme Master Earth-Lord Bigfoot has successfully evaded detection and capture since time immemorial. Many question his very existence. He hides so well that he's never been found.
Now we all know a few friends that are unresponsive; phone calls and emails go unanswered. But The Supreme Master Earth-Lord Bigfoot has taken this to a new revolutionary level by having never been seen. The photographic evidence is inconclusive.
jane says
Jane says
I'm done with Sergio
He treats me like a ragdoll
She hides
The television
Says I don't owe him nothing,
But if he comes back again
Tell him to wait right here for me
Or just
Try again tomorrow
I'm gonna kick tomorrow
Gonna kick tomorrow
Jane says
Have you seen my wig around?
I feel naked without it
She knows
They all want her to go
But that's O.K. man
She dont like them anyway
Jane says
She's goin away to spain
When she gets my money saved
I'm gonna start tomorrow
I'm gonna kick tomorrow
Gonna kick tomorrow
She gets mad
Starts to cry
She takes a swing but
She cant hit
She don't mean no harm
She just don't know
What else to do about it
Jane goes
To the store at 8:00
She walk up on St. Andrews
She waits
And gets her dinner there
She pulls her dinner
From her pocket
Jane says
I've never been in love
I don't know what it is
Only knows if someone wants her
I want them if they want me
I only know they want me
She gets mad
And she starts to cry
She takes a swing man
She cant hit!
She don't mean no harm
She just dont know
What else to do about it
Jane says
I'm done with Sergio
He treats me like a ragdoll
She hides
The television
Says I don't owe him nothing,
But if he comes back again
Tell him to wait right here for me
Or just
Try again tomorrow
I'm gonna kick tomorrow
Gonna kick tomorrow
Jane says
Have you seen my wig around?
I feel naked without it
She knows
They all want her to go
But that's O.K. man
She dont like them anyway
Jane says
She's goin away to spain
When she gets my money saved
I'm gonna start tomorrow
I'm gonna kick tomorrow
Gonna kick tomorrow
She gets mad
Starts to cry
She takes a swing but
She cant hit
She don't mean no harm
She just don't know
What else to do about it
Jane goes
To the store at 8:00
She walk up on St. Andrews
She waits
And gets her dinner there
She pulls her dinner
From her pocket
Jane says
I've never been in love
I don't know what it is
Only knows if someone wants her
I want them if they want me
I only know they want me
She gets mad
And she starts to cry
She takes a swing man
She cant hit!
She don't mean no harm
She just dont know
What else to do about it
Jane says
1.10.2009
the chihuahua wand
The mail in the housing development in which I live is deposited and gathered from a central location. Usually, I hit the box on my way home from work. Just as often I cross paths with the North Laveen Hooker. She haunts the mailbox depository, mostly on Sundays. She's prettier than your average truck stop hooker. Stringy blonde hair, ruddy complexion, heels or boots. She stutters and walks at an angle like a crazy dog with rabies. But friendly and, apparently, accommodating.
Last Friday, I pulled up to grab my mail and she comes staggering from behind the block wall of the home adjacent to the depository. She has a crack pipe stuck behind her ear like a pen or pencil, smeared make-up and a chihuahua in tow on leash. The chihuahua makes a run on my ankle. You how those little buggers can be mean and vicious and wreck your entire day but I was prepared.
On the Thursday prior I stopped at the local mercado/carniceria to check on the fresh chorizo and saw, while I was waiting, a Chihuahua Wand. On the shelf, bright, shiny and in need of only four Triple A batteries. Two dollars and ninety nine cents.
Well, the chorizo was two days old so I passed on that but grabbed a six of Tecate and a Chihuahua Wand. What the heck, I thought, everyone down here has a Chihuahua and I may need this.
Well, the North Laveen Hooker approaches with Chihuahua on leash, what do I do? The dog is clearly rabid or just messed up by a century of Mexican inbreeding. I've got the handgun I carry in my truck in case I get in a shoot out with the cops and I've got the Chihuahua Wand. In a moment of lucidity, I grab the Wand. Chihuahua neutralized. If I had batteries.
Last Friday, I pulled up to grab my mail and she comes staggering from behind the block wall of the home adjacent to the depository. She has a crack pipe stuck behind her ear like a pen or pencil, smeared make-up and a chihuahua in tow on leash. The chihuahua makes a run on my ankle. You how those little buggers can be mean and vicious and wreck your entire day but I was prepared.
On the Thursday prior I stopped at the local mercado/carniceria to check on the fresh chorizo and saw, while I was waiting, a Chihuahua Wand. On the shelf, bright, shiny and in need of only four Triple A batteries. Two dollars and ninety nine cents.
Well, the chorizo was two days old so I passed on that but grabbed a six of Tecate and a Chihuahua Wand. What the heck, I thought, everyone down here has a Chihuahua and I may need this.
Well, the North Laveen Hooker approaches with Chihuahua on leash, what do I do? The dog is clearly rabid or just messed up by a century of Mexican inbreeding. I've got the handgun I carry in my truck in case I get in a shoot out with the cops and I've got the Chihuahua Wand. In a moment of lucidity, I grab the Wand. Chihuahua neutralized. If I had batteries.
1.08.2009
what has happened to customer service?
So I'm at Me Gusto on University Avenue in Tempe and I ask the waiter, 'could you take these chips and throw them back in the fryer for a minute, I like them crispy'. He takes the basket and all seems well. He comes back with a basket full of chip dust like he'd put them in a blender or something and then physically threatens me with his pen. He makes a stabbing motion apparently intending to poke me in the eye and before he can get to me, I flip the table and duck behind it. Luckily, I always carry a small .25 caliber auto in my sock and I clear it in time to fire a shot into the ceiling as he's coming around the table, apparently enraged by the turn of events.
I say, 'check please' and he responds 'certainly sir, one minute', but I still think the first part was uncalled for and so I wrote a letter to corporate. Rather than an apology or gift certificate, both due in this instance in my opinion, I get a plaque naming me Asshole Of The Year.
Now that's poor customer service. Even though the plaque was very nice.
I say, 'check please' and he responds 'certainly sir, one minute', but I still think the first part was uncalled for and so I wrote a letter to corporate. Rather than an apology or gift certificate, both due in this instance in my opinion, I get a plaque naming me Asshole Of The Year.
Now that's poor customer service. Even though the plaque was very nice.
1.07.2009
1.05.2009
1.04.2009
the year of the dingleberry
a list:
1. republicans
2. democrats
3. fools
4. shamans
5. birds (that poop on your car)
6. dogs (that bark without reason)
7. cats that don't hunt mice
8. books that start on page 9
9. page 9
1. republicans
2. democrats
3. fools
4. shamans
5. birds (that poop on your car)
6. dogs (that bark without reason)
7. cats that don't hunt mice
8. books that start on page 9
9. page 9
1.02.2009
don't worry holly
i'm working on the header ... you have to admit, aesthetically i'm headed (har,har) in the right direction
ps: this chick can write
What Were You Expecting?
click the link, idiot
ps: this chick can write
What Were You Expecting?
click the link, idiot
1.01.2009
reboot (hard)
Time to Reboot America
By Tom Friedman
December 2008
I had a bad day last Friday, but it was an all-too-typical day for America.
It actually started well, on Kau Sai Chau, an island off Hong Kong, where I stood on a rocky hilltop overlooking the South China Sea and talked to my wife back in Maryland, static-free, using a friend’s Chinese cellphone. A few hours later, I took off from Hong Kong’s ultramodern airport after riding out there from downtown on a sleek high-speed train — with wireless connectivity that was so good I was able to surf the Web the whole way on my laptop.
Landing at Kennedy Airport from Hong Kong was, as I’ve argued before, like going from the Jetsons to the Flintstones. The ugly, low-ceilinged arrival hall was cramped, and using a luggage cart cost $3. (Couldn’t we at least supply foreign visitors with a free luggage cart, like other major airports in the world?) As I looked around at this dingy room, it reminded of somewhere I had been before. Then I remembered: It was the luggage hall in the old Hong Kong Kai Tak Airport. It closed in 1998.
The next day I went to Penn Station, where the escalators down to the tracks are so narrow that they seem to have been designed before suitcases were invented. The disgusting track-side platforms apparently have not been cleaned since World War II. I took the Acela, America’s sorry excuse for a bullet train, from New York to Washington. Along the way, I tried to use my cellphone to conduct an interview and my conversation was interrupted by three dropped calls within one 15-minute span.
All I could think to myself was: If we’re so smart, why are other people living so much better than us? What has become of our infrastructure, which is so crucial to productivity? Back home, I was greeted by the news that General Motors was being bailed out — that’s the G.M. that Fortune magazine just noted “lost more than $72 billion in the past four years, and yet you can count on one hand the number of executives who have been reassigned or lost their job.”
My fellow Americans, we can’t continue in this mode of “Dumb as we wanna be.” We’ve indulged ourselves for too long with tax cuts that we can’t afford, bailouts of auto companies that have become giant wealth-destruction machines, energy prices that do not encourage investment in 21st-century renewable power systems or efficient cars, public schools with no national standards to prevent illiterates from graduating and immigration policies that have our colleges educating the world’s best scientists and engineers and then, when these foreigners graduate, instead of stapling green cards to their diplomas, we order them to go home and start companies to compete against ours.
To top it off, we’ve fallen into a trend of diverting and rewarding the best of our collective I.Q. to people doing financial engineering rather than real engineering. These rocket scientists and engineers were designing complex financial instruments to make money out of money — rather than designing cars, phones, computers, teaching tools, Internet programs and medical equipment that could improve the lives and productivity of millions.
For all these reasons, our present crisis is not just a financial meltdown crying out for a cash injection. We are in much deeper trouble. In fact, we as a country have become General Motors — as a result of our national drift. Look in the mirror: G.M. is us.
That’s why we don’t just need a bailout. We need a reboot. We need a build out. We need a buildup. We need a national makeover. That is why the next few months are among the most important in U.S. history. Because of the financial crisis, Barack Obama has the bipartisan support to spend $1 trillion in stimulus. But we must make certain that every bailout dollar, which we’re borrowing from our kids’ future, is spent wisely.
It has to go into training teachers, educating scientists and engineers, paying for research and building the most productivity-enhancing infrastructure — without building white elephants. Generally, I’d like to see fewer government dollars shoveled out and more creative tax incentives to stimulate the private sector to catalyze new industries and new markets. If we allow this money to be spent on pork, it will be the end of us.
America still has the right stuff to thrive. We still have the most creative, diverse, innovative culture and open society — in a world where the ability to imagine and generate new ideas with speed and to implement them through global collaboration is the most important competitive advantage. China may have great airports, but last week it went back to censoring The New York Times and other Western news sites. Censorship restricts your people’s imaginations. That’s really, really dumb. And that’s why for all our missteps, the 21st century is still up for grabs.
John Kennedy led us on a journey to discover the moon. Obama needs to lead us on a journey to rediscover, rebuild and reinvent our own backyard.
By Tom Friedman
December 2008
I had a bad day last Friday, but it was an all-too-typical day for America.
It actually started well, on Kau Sai Chau, an island off Hong Kong, where I stood on a rocky hilltop overlooking the South China Sea and talked to my wife back in Maryland, static-free, using a friend’s Chinese cellphone. A few hours later, I took off from Hong Kong’s ultramodern airport after riding out there from downtown on a sleek high-speed train — with wireless connectivity that was so good I was able to surf the Web the whole way on my laptop.
Landing at Kennedy Airport from Hong Kong was, as I’ve argued before, like going from the Jetsons to the Flintstones. The ugly, low-ceilinged arrival hall was cramped, and using a luggage cart cost $3. (Couldn’t we at least supply foreign visitors with a free luggage cart, like other major airports in the world?) As I looked around at this dingy room, it reminded of somewhere I had been before. Then I remembered: It was the luggage hall in the old Hong Kong Kai Tak Airport. It closed in 1998.
The next day I went to Penn Station, where the escalators down to the tracks are so narrow that they seem to have been designed before suitcases were invented. The disgusting track-side platforms apparently have not been cleaned since World War II. I took the Acela, America’s sorry excuse for a bullet train, from New York to Washington. Along the way, I tried to use my cellphone to conduct an interview and my conversation was interrupted by three dropped calls within one 15-minute span.
All I could think to myself was: If we’re so smart, why are other people living so much better than us? What has become of our infrastructure, which is so crucial to productivity? Back home, I was greeted by the news that General Motors was being bailed out — that’s the G.M. that Fortune magazine just noted “lost more than $72 billion in the past four years, and yet you can count on one hand the number of executives who have been reassigned or lost their job.”
My fellow Americans, we can’t continue in this mode of “Dumb as we wanna be.” We’ve indulged ourselves for too long with tax cuts that we can’t afford, bailouts of auto companies that have become giant wealth-destruction machines, energy prices that do not encourage investment in 21st-century renewable power systems or efficient cars, public schools with no national standards to prevent illiterates from graduating and immigration policies that have our colleges educating the world’s best scientists and engineers and then, when these foreigners graduate, instead of stapling green cards to their diplomas, we order them to go home and start companies to compete against ours.
To top it off, we’ve fallen into a trend of diverting and rewarding the best of our collective I.Q. to people doing financial engineering rather than real engineering. These rocket scientists and engineers were designing complex financial instruments to make money out of money — rather than designing cars, phones, computers, teaching tools, Internet programs and medical equipment that could improve the lives and productivity of millions.
For all these reasons, our present crisis is not just a financial meltdown crying out for a cash injection. We are in much deeper trouble. In fact, we as a country have become General Motors — as a result of our national drift. Look in the mirror: G.M. is us.
That’s why we don’t just need a bailout. We need a reboot. We need a build out. We need a buildup. We need a national makeover. That is why the next few months are among the most important in U.S. history. Because of the financial crisis, Barack Obama has the bipartisan support to spend $1 trillion in stimulus. But we must make certain that every bailout dollar, which we’re borrowing from our kids’ future, is spent wisely.
It has to go into training teachers, educating scientists and engineers, paying for research and building the most productivity-enhancing infrastructure — without building white elephants. Generally, I’d like to see fewer government dollars shoveled out and more creative tax incentives to stimulate the private sector to catalyze new industries and new markets. If we allow this money to be spent on pork, it will be the end of us.
America still has the right stuff to thrive. We still have the most creative, diverse, innovative culture and open society — in a world where the ability to imagine and generate new ideas with speed and to implement them through global collaboration is the most important competitive advantage. China may have great airports, but last week it went back to censoring The New York Times and other Western news sites. Censorship restricts your people’s imaginations. That’s really, really dumb. And that’s why for all our missteps, the 21st century is still up for grabs.
John Kennedy led us on a journey to discover the moon. Obama needs to lead us on a journey to rediscover, rebuild and reinvent our own backyard.
12.27.2008
poke him, lyle, he smells poorly
Another one crosses the border.I have had about enough.
I supposedly cannot say certain things about other people because they happen to be black, Mexican or Asian. Because I am white, my "hands are tied". A Spanish speaker calls a Customer Service line and gets pissed if he doesn't have a Spanish language option. I bet if I was in Mexico, I wouldn't be given an English option. Who decided I should spend my money so Paco Cifuentes can order a pizza? My liberal friends in California? The Obama crew?
I recently had some bad luck and had to go into the hospital. Don't worry. I didn't lose my job and I'm on the road to recovery but my heretofore liberal sensibilities have been severely challenged.
In short:
1. Mexicans are louder than black people and at least as annoying. Their TV is the worst shit I have ever seen. I don't think speaking Spanish (or Mexican, as is spoken here), would change my opinion. There were some hot chicks on the toob, but Jesus, I can't live with that long term! Plus, what's with the roosters and the dog fighting? Fuckin' juvenile, macho shit. Go home vato, the economy can't support you right now and your weed is lame. God, even your food sucks. I've tried it. Traditional means what? Chipotle? Sheesh, that's a McDonald's operation that makes a burrito that tastes good and doesn't result in that old Aztec's revenge. Not Filberto's where the refrieds taste like poo and the crickets own the rice barrel.
2. Black people can and should get good jobs in healthcare. They (the one's I met South Mountain) have a way with making you feel better. They don't haggle over the pain meds. They should focus on these jobs before the Mexicans get them all. They should also open more soul food restaurants and pool halls. More ribs and Jambalaya. Sports book. etc. And, more Rastafarians. I and I and the Lion of Judah, and cabbage and fish. I embrace the culture.
3. Asians. Stiff backed little Ninja motherfuckers. Every time I go to Panda I end up on the toilet. Hell, what do we know now about China. They were selling lead based toys to our children. They live in squalor. My friend Barry Severson went there and when he game back, he smelled of coal and rotten fish. He still does. In fact, it's only gotten worse. Plus, one of his ears festered and fell off!
So read the foregoing and decide for yourself. Is this our 2009 Depression Era Reality because if it is, I'm voting for Pat Bowman as first Lady President of the USA. Mainly because she will probably kick some lame-o ass and secretly was my second girl friend after this really hot babe named Bobbie. Neither of them knew at the time so I can't really get into it because of pending motions, restraining orders, etc. Just let me say, that yeller-haired dog is mine!
12.25.2008
or maybe
I should tell you about this Arizona mudbug invasion that started last week. There's been a great deal of concern. Typhoid is a distinct possibility. Mumps, measles, shit like that. It's gruesome so don't come here right now.
12.24.2008
where the buffalo roam
Here it is. Dang near zero hour. The new year. What's in store?
You tell me.
Or maybe I should tell you about my search for a 'Primary Care Physician'(PCP). At 2:30 PM on Tuesday, Dec 22, I headed over to 303 Baseline Road for an appointment with Dr. Enrique Cifuentas. It was almost 3:00 PM before I met the doctor. My concern was at a low but consistent level. While the building (a medical complex) was impressive in outward appearance it was considerably less impressive inside. It was dirty. Disrepair.
The office staff was clearly challenged by a guy with good insurance.
The doctor, when he finally decided to see me, cocked his head and looked at me sideways like a bird. He seemed perplexed that I had chosen his office as a PCP. I wasn't Mexican or black. I was out of HIS element.
TBC.
You tell me.
Or maybe I should tell you about my search for a 'Primary Care Physician'(PCP). At 2:30 PM on Tuesday, Dec 22, I headed over to 303 Baseline Road for an appointment with Dr. Enrique Cifuentas. It was almost 3:00 PM before I met the doctor. My concern was at a low but consistent level. While the building (a medical complex) was impressive in outward appearance it was considerably less impressive inside. It was dirty. Disrepair.
The office staff was clearly challenged by a guy with good insurance.
The doctor, when he finally decided to see me, cocked his head and looked at me sideways like a bird. He seemed perplexed that I had chosen his office as a PCP. I wasn't Mexican or black. I was out of HIS element.
TBC.
12.13.2008
turn out the lights
On Tuesday, December 9th, just before noon Mountain Standard Time an old South Dakota friend and rancher's son liberated my sorry old kiester from the Life Care Center at South Mountain in Phoenix. I was there for damn near a month having arrived November 13th after three weeks at St. Joseph's. As you readers now know, I had a bum leg that became infected and quickly developed gangrene. It was a bacterial bastard called necrotizing fasciitis. You've heard it called the "flesh eating" bacteria but that's really just a general term for any infection that spreads very rapidly and does a shitload of damage. This one did a shitload of damage. I had three surgeries and was lucky to keep the leg.
I'm home now and getting around with a cane. The walker was too embarrassing. I leave it at home. I'm visited at home by a nurse three times a week but she just sits there while I change the bandages that still cover the wound site from my ankle to my knee. She brings extra stuff and charges it to insurance which is way cool because that shit is really expensive at the store. I've never even seen the the stuff I use to cover the grafted areas in a store. It's high end wound care stuff, man.
I hope to go back to work on Dec. 22 but I have three appointments between now and Jan. 14. The Doctor's may hesitate on my release.The only silver lining about all this is that I lost a lot of weight. The institutional diet left much to be desired! And, I would take all the weight back to have avoided this. Who wouldn't?
I'm home now and getting around with a cane. The walker was too embarrassing. I leave it at home. I'm visited at home by a nurse three times a week but she just sits there while I change the bandages that still cover the wound site from my ankle to my knee. She brings extra stuff and charges it to insurance which is way cool because that shit is really expensive at the store. I've never even seen the the stuff I use to cover the grafted areas in a store. It's high end wound care stuff, man.
I hope to go back to work on Dec. 22 but I have three appointments between now and Jan. 14. The Doctor's may hesitate on my release.The only silver lining about all this is that I lost a lot of weight. The institutional diet left much to be desired! And, I would take all the weight back to have avoided this. Who wouldn't?
12.02.2008
american gizzard shad explosion threatens threadfin shad population (among others)
While I've been lamenting my fate, a much more serious development threatens the local Mormon shad population in Arizona following the Arizona Game and Fish Department's discovery that a relatively new invader, the American gizzard shad, has experienced a population explosion at Arizona’s largest inland lakes.
“This species looks like a Catholic or Mormon shad on steroids,” said Fisheries Chief Kirk "Baitbucket" Terwilliger. “These filthy beasts are shaped like footballs and can readily grow past the size where they are available to most sportsmen as camp forage.” Terwilliger added that it is a wait-and-see proposition to determine if these invasive shad will have positive or negative impacts on popular activities like rock polishing, scrapbooking and scuba diving along the Salt River.
Gizzard shad, which are native to the eastern utah and North Dakota, will likely compete for space, jobs and food with the laconic Lutheran shad, another North Dakotan that has become the primary hazing candidate for sport-fish in the state’s larger impoundments. Immature gizzard shad will also compete for food sources with the larval stages of popular fish like Lance and Bruce of the largely Presbyterian brown trout.
However, at about 1-inch in length gizzard shad become more specialized, lose their teeth, exhibit deeper appreciation for the arts and become filter feeders that consume small invertebrates and phytoplankton (free-floating algae) sushi rolls.
The careful, adult gizzard shad is seldom caught by hook and line and their pungent odor and soft flesh generally render them unsuitable as table fare, but in some parts of the country anglers use them as cut bait for catfish.
Biologists at Lake Powell first noted gizzard shad at a bonfire and keg party in 2000 near the San Juan inflow. This species is most often found in public schools in Mormon dominated communities like Gilbert and Queen Creek. Its common name “skipjack” is derived from the fact that school-age gizzard shad can sometimes be seen leaping out of the water in community wading pools or skipping along the surface of man-made golf course impoundments on their sides.
How to tell gizzard shad from a Mormon shad: Gizzard shad have an upper jaw that projects well beyond the lower jaw. If you run your finger underneath the mouth forward and if the fingernail catches on the upper jaw and opens the mouth, you have just become acquainted with a gizzard shad.
“This species looks like a Catholic or Mormon shad on steroids,” said Fisheries Chief Kirk "Baitbucket" Terwilliger. “These filthy beasts are shaped like footballs and can readily grow past the size where they are available to most sportsmen as camp forage.” Terwilliger added that it is a wait-and-see proposition to determine if these invasive shad will have positive or negative impacts on popular activities like rock polishing, scrapbooking and scuba diving along the Salt River.
Gizzard shad, which are native to the eastern utah and North Dakota, will likely compete for space, jobs and food with the laconic Lutheran shad, another North Dakotan that has become the primary hazing candidate for sport-fish in the state’s larger impoundments. Immature gizzard shad will also compete for food sources with the larval stages of popular fish like Lance and Bruce of the largely Presbyterian brown trout.
However, at about 1-inch in length gizzard shad become more specialized, lose their teeth, exhibit deeper appreciation for the arts and become filter feeders that consume small invertebrates and phytoplankton (free-floating algae) sushi rolls.
The careful, adult gizzard shad is seldom caught by hook and line and their pungent odor and soft flesh generally render them unsuitable as table fare, but in some parts of the country anglers use them as cut bait for catfish.
Biologists at Lake Powell first noted gizzard shad at a bonfire and keg party in 2000 near the San Juan inflow. This species is most often found in public schools in Mormon dominated communities like Gilbert and Queen Creek. Its common name “skipjack” is derived from the fact that school-age gizzard shad can sometimes be seen leaping out of the water in community wading pools or skipping along the surface of man-made golf course impoundments on their sides.
How to tell gizzard shad from a Mormon shad: Gizzard shad have an upper jaw that projects well beyond the lower jaw. If you run your finger underneath the mouth forward and if the fingernail catches on the upper jaw and opens the mouth, you have just become acquainted with a gizzard shad.
11.29.2008
random
I kept some notes. Here's a couple:
You can see from the foregoing that being in the hospital is a real hoot. The CHW Life Care Center at South Mountain houses mostly old timers doing their last burn and fade. Sort of a "you can check out but you can never leave" scenario. They keep most of them in another "ward" that I call the Land of the Lost or the Sleestack Ward. They are turned loose during the day and crowd the hallways like chickens in the yard.
My roommate Rigoberto is paralyzed and spends his day watching Spanish language TV at extremely high volume. His visitors talk over the TV and the volume is increased accordingly. If I could understand more than a word here and there, I might find their conversation interesting but I doubt it. Anyway, I've gotten used to it. Rigoberto doesn't talk much, he just lays there and watches extremely strange Mexican TV. When I get my fill, I hop in my wheelchair and join the yard birds.
The nurses only come to start and complete the antibiotics if they come at all. They take their time and apparently operate without supervision. They move around the different wings so I rarely see one for more than a day or two at a time except for my favorite, the wound specialist named Sam. She has the touch of an angel and even came in on her days off when I first got here and special attention was needed due to the condition of the lower left leg. Sam's worth a letter to the editor regarding a real health professional.
Physical therapy is handled by the bullies. They all must have failed as PE teachers and now take it out on the weak and infirm. They try to rush things through early in the day because they get to leave when they've seen their patient quota (around noon).
The crap work (sometimes literally) is handled by the CNA's (Certified Nursing Assistants). Some are good (Carlos) and some seem to hate their jobs (Adelina). I hit the call button more often for the latter just to aggravate her. All nations are represented by this crew with Mexico and South America holding a wide margin over Africa and the Philippines.
The doctor is sighted least of all. I see mine about two times a week and she's always in a hurry. I think she has a second job.
Well, I think that's about it for the hospital stories. It hasn't been fun for me to be locked up for what will be five weeks when all's said and done and I'm sure this is a downer for you readers so let's get this Hootenanny back on track. While I get things in gear, check out the new Killers tunes uploaded for your listening pleasure. Hasta!
11/15/08 6:15 PM
Dinner was horrible. Overcooked, cold fish patty w/ tartar sauce. Cold, undercooked "french fries" (barf). Vinegary cole slaw (barf). Brownie (OK). Cranberry juice, milk, hot tea. Could only eat fish patty.
11/18/08
Roomy's name is Rigoberto. I know because they put his mail on my bed while I was in PT (Physical Therapy) with Nancy and Al. He actually turned off the Spanish Blaster (TV) at 11:15 PM tonight. I got to watch Seinfeld without competition.
11/19/08
One good thing about this place is that, with the exception of IV's (usually), they won't wake you up when you are sleeping.
You can see from the foregoing that being in the hospital is a real hoot. The CHW Life Care Center at South Mountain houses mostly old timers doing their last burn and fade. Sort of a "you can check out but you can never leave" scenario. They keep most of them in another "ward" that I call the Land of the Lost or the Sleestack Ward. They are turned loose during the day and crowd the hallways like chickens in the yard.
My roommate Rigoberto is paralyzed and spends his day watching Spanish language TV at extremely high volume. His visitors talk over the TV and the volume is increased accordingly. If I could understand more than a word here and there, I might find their conversation interesting but I doubt it. Anyway, I've gotten used to it. Rigoberto doesn't talk much, he just lays there and watches extremely strange Mexican TV. When I get my fill, I hop in my wheelchair and join the yard birds.
The nurses only come to start and complete the antibiotics if they come at all. They take their time and apparently operate without supervision. They move around the different wings so I rarely see one for more than a day or two at a time except for my favorite, the wound specialist named Sam. She has the touch of an angel and even came in on her days off when I first got here and special attention was needed due to the condition of the lower left leg. Sam's worth a letter to the editor regarding a real health professional.
Physical therapy is handled by the bullies. They all must have failed as PE teachers and now take it out on the weak and infirm. They try to rush things through early in the day because they get to leave when they've seen their patient quota (around noon).
The crap work (sometimes literally) is handled by the CNA's (Certified Nursing Assistants). Some are good (Carlos) and some seem to hate their jobs (Adelina). I hit the call button more often for the latter just to aggravate her. All nations are represented by this crew with Mexico and South America holding a wide margin over Africa and the Philippines.
The doctor is sighted least of all. I see mine about two times a week and she's always in a hurry. I think she has a second job.
Well, I think that's about it for the hospital stories. It hasn't been fun for me to be locked up for what will be five weeks when all's said and done and I'm sure this is a downer for you readers so let's get this Hootenanny back on track. While I get things in gear, check out the new Killers tunes uploaded for your listening pleasure. Hasta!
11.26.2008
the wound vac
After surgery, they slapped one of these puppies on me. No problem. At first. The wound vac dressing has to be changed every two days. I'd down two Percoset and two syringes of morphine sulfate through the IV but that did nothing to kill the pain. Old sponge out, new sponge in. A real treat I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy (save one who shall remain nameless). Here's the skinny on this device.
When a patient has a large wound or pressure sore that is proving very difficult to heal, this device may be used to promote and speed up the healing process. The name for the device comes from the acronym Vacuum Assisted Closure. The device is a portable vacuum pump attached to a special dressing which helps provide a reduced pressure environment within a wound.
A range of wound sizes may be treated and the user would initially select the appropriate dressing required. The disposable foam dressing is first cut to the correct size and shape and then packed into the wound. An occlusive clear drape is then applied over the foam. A small hole is made within the drape and the tubing-dressing pad is applied over the hole. The tubing is then connected to the pump and when it is switched on, the wound negative pressure therapy commences.
An easy to use touch screen display allows the user to select the appropriate therapy setting and should there be a large amount of exudate (excess fluid) collected within the canister, an alarm will indicate that it requires emptying. A filter system within the canister helps reduce wound odor.
The Pump can operate on battery for up to four hours and display a message on screen when recharging is necessary. There is also a user’s guide for recommended guidelines for treatment and therapy protocols. If the pump does alarm, it will also advise staff how to proceed.
The VAC Pump is used mainly in the surgical, trauma and orthopedic practice areas where more patients present with open wounds. Reducing the time it takes to heal a wound would hopefully mean a patient spending less time in hospital and more at home.
By creating a negative pressure under the special foam dressing, the VAC Pump helps to draw the wound closed. Also, if there is a great deal of fluid coming out of a wound or accumulating under a skin graft, the pump gently draws it away into a storage canister. This has the effect of improving the blood supply to the wound and promoting healing by removing the pressure that excess fluid (exudate) creates.
The pressure within the wound can be pre-set on the VAC Pump and maintained due to the construction of the tubing used to connect the dressing with the Pump. It has a central core to channel the exudate away but also has a separate sensing path to constantly monitor the pressure within the wound and feed back the information to the Pump. This allows the patient to move about without the fear of disturbing the wound environment. The pressure would be set relative to the patient’s needs, taking into account the size of the wound and how much exudate was being removed.
debridement
The great thing about surgery is the anesthesia. When I regained consciousness about an hour and a half later, I hadn't felt a thing and still didn't register any pain. Of course, I had a full tank of post-op morphine sulfate and a pile of warm blankets. On my right, a nurse (I assume) was typing furiously into a laptop on a small platform, apparently recording the essential data of consciousness regained. She asked a few questions to determine whether I was aware of my circumstances and assured that I was, left to seek the surgeon, an orthopedic specialist, to discuss his findings. He soon arrived bedside, still in full surgical garb and gave me the news.
It was good news. The infection was "superficial". It did not compromise any critical tissue. Both muscle and bone were not infected. My leg would remain intact and recovery would likely be complete. With a couple of divots, as another surgeon later quipped.
Without further delay, I was wheeled by the transport squad to my new digs on the 6th floor. It was at this time that I noticed I was attached to a small machine that made an audible whirring noise. I was informed that it was a "wound vac" and that it would clean and drain the debrided area. I did not yet know the extent to which this torture device would come to dominate my stay at St. Joe's.
11.25.2008
part one: i am admitted
I called 911 Wednesday morning October 29. This was shortly after calling the hospital to check on the possibility of coming over in a shuttle. Informed they don't provide that service, I was advised to call 911 and arrange transportation accordingly. City of Phoenix emergency personnel arrived in about 20 minutes and after suggesting I take a cab, finally and reluctantly agreed to transport me via ambulance to Catholic Health West affiliate St. Joseph's Hospital and Medical Center in downtown Phoenix. i was laid out, strapped in and rolled into the ambulance on a stretcher and stared at the ceiling as we headed downtown to St. Joe's. I wasn't in pain though I think I was in shock. You probably would be too if you were in my condition.
Gangrene is a complication of necrosis (i.e., cell death) characterized by the decay of body tissues, which become black and malodorous. It is caused by infection or ischemia, such as from thrombosis (blocked blood vessel). It is usually the result of critically insufficient blood supply (e.g., peripheral vascular disease) and is often associated with diabetes and long-term smoking. This condition is most common in the lower extremities. The best treatment for gangrene is revascularization (i.e., restoration of blood flow) of the affected organ, which can reverse some of the effects of necrosis and allow healing. Other treatments include debridement and surgical amputation. The method of treatment is generally determined depending on location of affected tissue and extent of tissue loss.
In just around 72 hours, I had developed gangrene from what started as mildly painful swelling in the week preceding. Much of the tissue surrounding the calf muscle was now loose, hanging, black tissue and smelled to high heaven. It was "malodorous". Or, to put it bluntly, It stank. It stank bad. Like "empty a roomful of people" stank. Folks noticed but were too polite to mention it. Until I got to the hospital.
We made it in to St. Joe's Emergency Waiting Room and I was hurried right on through to see a doctor. He didn't even have to see the affected area before deciding to admit me. I was admitted due to the odor. I was moved to ER Examination Room Four and visited by a parade of surgeons who, after removing the wrapping and viewing the necrosis, agreed on one point; I would lose the leg from the knee down. In fact, they surmised, had I not come in when I did, I could have lost the entire leg including the knee and even my life as we chased the infection through the bone. I was "lucky" they said. Actually, I think I was in shock as the concept of losing a limb just didn't register. Lose my leg? No way, not me. And if I did, I would never have trouble with infection in the prosthesis.
As the surgical professionals continued to file in, the initial prognosis was slowly placed on the back burner and I was scheduled for surgery to determine the full extent of the damage. The last two surgeons to survey the visible damage declined to predict the outcome until getting a better look. I liked these guys. They would try to save the leg. To them it was not a foregone conclusion.
I was moved to a room on the 8th floor to wait for surgery. I made a few cell calls, signed a bunch of releases and contemplated my first time under the knife in more than 30 years. The surgery, "debridement", actually entails removal of the necrotic tissue in the hope that surrounding tissue will heal. It is a major component of surgery for burn patients, for example and in my case, just what the doctor ordered. Surgery was scheduled for 8:00 PM. I was present and accounted for.
11.24.2008
he has risen
I'm back! The long sabbatical has ended and I have more than a few stories to tell. I've spent a good chunk of the past few weeks fighting an infection in my lower left leg and am, in fact, still hospitalized at the CHW Life Care Center in Phoenix for rehabilitation . In total, I've undergone three surgeries, skin grafts and four weeks of intravenous antibiotic treatment - every four hours, every day, I suck up about a thousand bucks worth of Zosin alone. I take so many pills I can't keep track of what or what for. Pain med time is my favorite time of day even though morphine no longer affects me.
I can't wait to total the bill.
And I can't wait to tell you folks some of my stories based on direct observation and keen insight. My forced incarceration has been both tragic and comedic. I could write a book about the food but it would be a comic book. A tragic comic book. You'll get the idea as you peruse the stories to follow. They aren't necessarily in order or even completely true but they do great justice to the farce that is US health care at Catholic Health West in Phoenix AZ. So sit down, have a piece of stale white bread with margarine and prepare to get your vitals checked. You'll need your strength.
I can't wait to total the bill.
And I can't wait to tell you folks some of my stories based on direct observation and keen insight. My forced incarceration has been both tragic and comedic. I could write a book about the food but it would be a comic book. A tragic comic book. You'll get the idea as you peruse the stories to follow. They aren't necessarily in order or even completely true but they do great justice to the farce that is US health care at Catholic Health West in Phoenix AZ. So sit down, have a piece of stale white bread with margarine and prepare to get your vitals checked. You'll need your strength.
10.11.2008
10.03.2008
the skins game
Virtue the cat hit the road today. Equipped with his hobo bindle and knife he hopped a fast freighter out of Phoenix down near the old stockyards. One bloodied paw and closed eye suggested a bit of trouble went down last Thursday in Scottsdale's east side Julio's Bar. Julio's is frequented by all sorts of cats, mostly bad. Bikers, thugs, meth addicts.
I speak of Virtue because he was Willie's best friend. Willie stays at my place. He considered joining that freight train to Mission Viejo, but stuck in Phoenix because Virtue is clearly on a downward spiral Willie can't slow or arrest. And, these cats don't do interventions.
They play a game called the skins game. Points awarded for biting and scratching. Virtue should have gone pro, but the pig was in the tunnel, as the late, great Hunter S. Thompson once said. The alcohol pipeline was open and flowing and like Charles Bukowski, Virtue wrote, drank and fought. He got ratty, smelled downright fowl and neglected the litter box taking pleasure in staining carpets at friend's houses. His hair was greasy and fell out in patches. His wounds became infected.
I tried to plan an intervention but the cats couldn't groove on that theme. And then, just like that, Virtue became a rolling stone. We don't know where he is now. He can't afford a postcard or a stamp.
I pay more attention to roadkill these days. I look for Virtue's traveling bindle. I wonder where he is right now, how he's making out, whether he's using again. Willie is beside himself and spends his time releasing his tension on my high-backed leather office chair. He's stretched out on the floor next to me right, watching me, wondering why I'm not out looking.
But, I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for ...
I speak of Virtue because he was Willie's best friend. Willie stays at my place. He considered joining that freight train to Mission Viejo, but stuck in Phoenix because Virtue is clearly on a downward spiral Willie can't slow or arrest. And, these cats don't do interventions.
They play a game called the skins game. Points awarded for biting and scratching. Virtue should have gone pro, but the pig was in the tunnel, as the late, great Hunter S. Thompson once said. The alcohol pipeline was open and flowing and like Charles Bukowski, Virtue wrote, drank and fought. He got ratty, smelled downright fowl and neglected the litter box taking pleasure in staining carpets at friend's houses. His hair was greasy and fell out in patches. His wounds became infected.
I tried to plan an intervention but the cats couldn't groove on that theme. And then, just like that, Virtue became a rolling stone. We don't know where he is now. He can't afford a postcard or a stamp.
I pay more attention to roadkill these days. I look for Virtue's traveling bindle. I wonder where he is right now, how he's making out, whether he's using again. Willie is beside himself and spends his time releasing his tension on my high-backed leather office chair. He's stretched out on the floor next to me right, watching me, wondering why I'm not out looking.
But, I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for ...
9.30.2008
9.21.2008
9.19.2008
last flowers
Friends. I received some horribly tragic news today. My very good and close friends Amy and Brian Duncan lost their 5 month old son yesterday, Jonathan Michael Duncan. I can't even begin to imagine the pain they must feel. I can only post this tribute to Amy, Brian and littleman Jonathan Duncan and keep them in my prayers. Please do the same as you listen to this song, one of Brian's favorite bands Radiohead.
God bless Amy and Brian and Jonathan.
my time
I wish it was still as easy as this. Young, camping in the Black Hills. Drinking beer, smoking pot, dropping acid. Careless and reckless by equal measure. No more. Too old now. Gotta make a living. Would have rather been a rock star. Stupid fantasy.
Quit drugs, limit alcohol, work at least 10 hours a day.
Fun? What the hell is that? So listen:
The Monsters of Rock, Led Zeppelin perform "In My Time of Dyin".
Blues and Metal combined, this is a cover.
Quit drugs, limit alcohol, work at least 10 hours a day.
Fun? What the hell is that? So listen:
The Monsters of Rock, Led Zeppelin perform "In My Time of Dyin".
Blues and Metal combined, this is a cover.
9.16.2008
can't catch a bug
Willie Nelson, my cat, can't catch a bug. He springs, he leaps and he pounces but he usually misses the bug. Mostly crickets and the unknowable winged freaks that populate this desert; he misses them all. But apparently, only when I'm watching because I see bug parts littering the granite entry every day. Unless these bugs are killing each other, Willie's success exceeds my observation. I think it's the latter.
9.14.2008
i hate north carolina
I'm bothered by dysfunctional processes. Usually it's a mechanical issue but sometime it's people. Sometime it's an entire geographically recognizable area . Like a state or interconnected mountainous region. Like North Carolina.
Tobacco. Whiskey. BBQ. I've enjoyed all three, but then I quit tobacco, switched to single malt scotch instead of bourbon (carburetor cleaner no matter how or how long you age it) and moved away from pulled pork in favor of a well done chicken breast and fresh garden veggies. Last time I was in NC a meal was a Chik-O-Stik and an RC Cola. The rest of the night was spent in 4WD Polaris UTV hunting feral hogs and drinking peach flavored homemade white lightening.
It was fun, but we didn't get a pig and when the dude rolled the UTV, I dislocated my shoulder and lost a tooth. Par for the course in North Carolina.
Tobacco. Whiskey. BBQ. I've enjoyed all three, but then I quit tobacco, switched to single malt scotch instead of bourbon (carburetor cleaner no matter how or how long you age it) and moved away from pulled pork in favor of a well done chicken breast and fresh garden veggies. Last time I was in NC a meal was a Chik-O-Stik and an RC Cola. The rest of the night was spent in 4WD Polaris UTV hunting feral hogs and drinking peach flavored homemade white lightening.
It was fun, but we didn't get a pig and when the dude rolled the UTV, I dislocated my shoulder and lost a tooth. Par for the course in North Carolina.
9.13.2008
9.10.2008
hillcrest redux
Saw these guys on 60 Minutes. Dudes that dress like cowboys and pretend to be automatons. Sort of an old-times, new-cyberspace band that plays behind glass and chicken wire. Herky jerky like. Scary at first take.
But once, when they were taking requests, they played Johnny Horton's Honkey Tonk Man for me (I think)and segued into Horton's North To Alaska. I toasted them with a 3.2 Schmidt Beer in a waxed cup (you can't carry the frosted mud outside the"restaurant") while I gnawed on an overcooked Charburger with Cheese. Badlands nirvana descended on me and after it was over, I drove out to Little Badlands, contemplated eternity and returned the bad cheesburger to the Mother Earth, only partially digested.
It was a Ying-Yang evening and I couldn't summon my Chi.
I woke up next morning in my room at the Hillcrest Motel on the Dump Grounds Road, packed my gear and bolted.
I haven't been back since.
9.09.2008
hai carrumba!
Click photo to enlarge. No pun intended. Sarah (Babe) Palin looking hot. Jeez. It's not fair. I was thinking she wasn't so attractive, huge, square-jawed face and all, until I got the real, only slightly Photoshopped picture at left. Come to Butthead, I thought. But, not much chance of that. So I dug deeper and came up with this Palin in a bikini sportin' a gun. I began to toss large objects around the room as I reverted to primordial gorilla lust. I ran outside and tore down trees to create a leaf bed for me and my new lady. But here in Arizona, everything has thorns and just wouldn't do.
In any event, I've got a whole new impression of the Republican Party and it's called Playboy! Hell, if they're going to continue overextending our military and putting our boys at unnecessary risk while they ruin the economy we might as well have a hot chick with low morals as second in command. Everyone in Washington is going to want to join this Party!
9.07.2008
9.06.2008
9.04.2008
9.03.2008
mpls rage
Rage Against the Machine didn't just play Minneapolis for the RNC but also breezed through Denver for the DNC. Tear gas and riot police provided government support on each occasion. Rage's view; simply that politics aren't much more than alternative marketing strategies. Our military won't come home, energy policies won't change and healthcare will continue to be limited to the employed and the rich. It's often perplexes me that anyone thinks otherwise. The major political parties are not acting in your interest. They are essentially large corporations that act in their own interests. They are nothing more than Rage suggests, "Bulls On Parade".
drill baby drill
Did anyone miss the irony? The Palin family seems to epitomize the concept. Drill for what I might ask. Why do we continue to expand our oil capacity when it's refinery capacity and use patterns that are at fault. Not to mention commodities speculation, a bubble that has burst based on consumer patterns (conservation - or, if you like, price reluctance) and the strength of the US dollar. It was not and never has been an issue of supply.
China. India. Usurpers of oil and gasoline? They have been thoroughly castigated as economies based on subsidies. How about US? What don't we subsidize? What really surprises me is the hypocrisy. To that end, I think it's only fair that skilled commodities brokers make out like bandits as they bilk the mass of idiots that populate any given societal collective (read: nation state) on a worldwide level.
So once again the concept of renewable energy resources comes to the forefront. I love the concepts of solar, wind and geothermal energy, They minimize environmental impact. They work and other than the cost of infrastructure, are free. Ethanol? Dead on arrival. If you don't understand that, join the Republican party and sell your soul to another government subsidy. Ethanol production is not profitable in any other guise.
The question boils down to "what would McCain/Palin do? I think I got the message.
Drill Baby Drill.
China. India. Usurpers of oil and gasoline? They have been thoroughly castigated as economies based on subsidies. How about US? What don't we subsidize? What really surprises me is the hypocrisy. To that end, I think it's only fair that skilled commodities brokers make out like bandits as they bilk the mass of idiots that populate any given societal collective (read: nation state) on a worldwide level.
So once again the concept of renewable energy resources comes to the forefront. I love the concepts of solar, wind and geothermal energy, They minimize environmental impact. They work and other than the cost of infrastructure, are free. Ethanol? Dead on arrival. If you don't understand that, join the Republican party and sell your soul to another government subsidy. Ethanol production is not profitable in any other guise.
The question boils down to "what would McCain/Palin do? I think I got the message.
Drill Baby Drill.
9.02.2008
ain't talkin bout love
Your love is rotten to the core ...
Click to enlarge graphic.
And apropos of the Republican National Convention, the Dead Kennedys. Turn up the volume! Jello, Jello...we need you.
Reminds me of a time when I would slog my books down to the university library with my fellow frat members. Not so much to study but to scope hot chicks that were there to scope us back, but like baseball, we struck out more often than we got a hit. A young gal walked past one night, wearing a torn and safety-pinned plain white t-shirt with the song's title scrawled on the front. We snickered audibly before laughing out loud. It was a mean thing to do and I now regret it, but though I sat among the rich boys from Sioux City and Sioux Falls and pretended to be like them, I never changed my party affiliation and never will.
Elect Obama. Our only hope.
Click to enlarge graphic.
And apropos of the Republican National Convention, the Dead Kennedys. Turn up the volume! Jello, Jello...we need you.
Reminds me of a time when I would slog my books down to the university library with my fellow frat members. Not so much to study but to scope hot chicks that were there to scope us back, but like baseball, we struck out more often than we got a hit. A young gal walked past one night, wearing a torn and safety-pinned plain white t-shirt with the song's title scrawled on the front. We snickered audibly before laughing out loud. It was a mean thing to do and I now regret it, but though I sat among the rich boys from Sioux City and Sioux Falls and pretended to be like them, I never changed my party affiliation and never will.
Elect Obama. Our only hope.
8.28.2008
meat puppets and lounge lizards
Tempe Arizona's Meat Puppets "Lake Of Fire". The guy on the far left went crackhead for awhile. The drummer lives in Mesa and is a friend. I love this old hardcore. It got me through several summers working at Wall Drug Store in South Dakota. I was a hater then. Now I'm just a plotter. Plotting stuff. Meeting in dark rooms with questionable characters regarding security issues, technology and cell phones. Anyway, listen up.
Austin Texas' Austin Lounge Lizards' Dana Lyons' "Cows With Guns". Humerous cartoon animation, but check out their other stuff. It's much more serious. Ha!
Austin Texas' Austin Lounge Lizards' Dana Lyons' "Cows With Guns". Humerous cartoon animation, but check out their other stuff. It's much more serious. Ha!
8.23.2008
denver demo convention orientation video
For those of you attending the Coronation of King Obama, the Great Black Hope, here is a useful Denver orientation video.
8.20.2008
georgia sasquatch update
Alas. The Georgia Bigfoot has proven to be a fake. The refrigerator corpse was simply a rubber Halloween costume containing no organic matter whatsoever and rubber feet for the hard Halloween pavement. It's no longer 15 minutes of fame, it's a split second for all the wrong reasons. I'm very close to losing my respect for all inhabitants of the US southeast. It's a wonder they can open a package of beef jerkey. Or find their way to a Sonic.
Nonetheless, Hootenanny decides to believe in sasquatch (not this one, dimwit). Belief in something that's not real, but wished for. We recognize our friend in our mission statement and Hootenanny supports the ongoing search for this particular crypto-zoological hairy beast as well all efforts to ensure the viability of their habitats. Can you imagine the difficulty these brothers of man must face? They live in the woods, mountains, plains and swamps. Yet, they never complain. They seemingly prosper as more are sighted by us every year. Over 890 last year alone including almost every state.
It has been posited that they are merely Barack Obama supporters coming out of some sort of hippie exile camp. But how does that explain the estimated height averaging over 7 feet 2 inches or the total body carpet (fur)? Really big hippie's? Unlikely. Bears? Maybe. Bigfoots with voting rights.
Ideal.
billy batest redux
Can you pick the real Billy? I can, he's to the left of the gay dude on the right. But think about it, if you were at bus stop or subway, which one would you ask for directions? I'd ask the mean looking guy, the other is more likely to pull a successful con 'cause he looks so honest.
8.19.2008
gravity biscuits
"Yes, sir" the boy was heard to say, "I'll take a gravity defying biscuit! Just let me remove my plexiglass space helmet."
Now that we've determined the Georgia Sasquatch was only a rubber Halloween costume, can we really trust anything/anybody? Biscuits from space. Cars that run on water. People from High Point, North Carolina where they put too much sugar in their iced tea and too much vinegar in their BBQ. Speaking of which, who ever heard of putting cole slaw on a vinegary pulled pork sandwich? It doesn't make sense.
Falling commodities prices, a rising dollar; both recent improbabilities. I think I'll move to Mexico and sell pot on a secluded beach. Pot sells low, but it always sells for a small profit. I'll grill fresh fish and big, fat shrimp on an open wood fire and maybe become a painter. Or some other type of dirt-poor artisan. Burn my credit cards for fuel. Just Marlon Brando, Pocohantas and me.
So please send money to help this boy realize his dream. And buy a plexiglass space helmet and some gravity defying biscuits. Arriba!
8.16.2008
blue
The best band out of Minneapolis since the Replacements. Sadly, the Jayhawks are no more. But what is these days?
8.15.2008
8.14.2008
virtue the cat explains her departure
again, the weakerthans from winnipeg manitoba canada.
the song is called 'virtue the cat explains her departure' (sung from a cat perspective).
it's interestingly eclectic
the song is called 'virtue the cat explains her departure' (sung from a cat perspective).
it's interestingly eclectic
8.08.2008
young jethro sandwich
When I was job-hunting in Minneapolis in the early 80's, I would sack at various locations. I eventually gravitated to my friend's house. He just happened to have a band in motion, Young Jethro Sandwich (YJS) they actually had a Hootenanny endorsed single, Freudian Farmer.
Sadly, YJS split up.
But anyway, I digress.
Let's switch gears. Here's LA beauty Susanna Hoffs playing Alex Chilton (Big Star). The tune, written in the 70's holds up well.
September Girls
and the Dude himself ...
Sadly, YJS split up.
But anyway, I digress.
Let's switch gears. Here's LA beauty Susanna Hoffs playing Alex Chilton (Big Star). The tune, written in the 70's holds up well.
September Girls
and the Dude himself ...
mrs robinson
John Edward's girlfriend. Wow. His wife is at least as good looking as this Lounge Lizard with a truly freaky shovel-chin. Guess what, the number of white-guy politicians cheating on their wives actually exceeds the number black athlete's attempts to get through an airport with a Pissinator or an unregistered handgun.
In any event, Hootenanny has crossed this idiot (John Edwards) off our list forever. He has acted poorly and he is from North Carolina. It's quite possible he suffers from some organic brain function fuck-up. Another possibilty is that he is a full-on moron - I believe that on the Psych scale a moron is dumber than an idiot. Both are endemic in NC. Some have spread into Arizona. I fight them off with a rake and a shovel. I haven't shot one yet, but I'm considering it.
So anyway, listen to and watch Simon and Garfunkel's Mrs. Robinson.
8.07.2008
people who died
at least 9 suspected immigrants dead in crash
Aug. 7, 2008
Arizona Republic staff and wire reports.
Nine people died and another 10 were take to hospitals around the Valley and in Tucson after a single-car rollover wreck Thursday morning outside of Florence.
The GMC Suburban was traveling northbound on State Route 79 when it careened off the two-lane highway and flew over a nearby wash before coming to rest in the desert about 7:45 a.m. Thursday.
Images from a television helicopter show a crumpled white SUV alongside the road and what appears to be a row of bodies covered with tarps.
Two women were among the dead, and no children were in the vehicle, said Lt. Mike Corbin, a Department of Public Safety spokesman. One of the occupants was carrying a Guatemalan ID, he said.
The number of passengers squeezed into the SUV, and the route it was travelling, left authorities with the suspicion that the truck was smuggling illegal immigrants into the country.
“With that many people crammed into a vehicle, it's probably a human-smuggling organization,” Corbin said.
The highway that runs through Pinal County has become a popular trail for smugglers following stepped-up enforcement efforts on Interstate 10, Corbin said.
The wreck left both lanes of the rural highway closed for more than three hours as DPS officers and Border Patrol agents investigated the scene.
Border Patrol agents were called to the area, just north of the Tom Mix Memorial, at the request of DPS officials.
No police or border patrol vehicles were chasing the truck at the time of the wreck, but Corbin estimated the SUV was going at least 85 mph and said speed could be a factor in the fatal accident.
The truck was tagged with Sonora license plates and the Mexican Consulate in Arizona came to the scene to assist victims.
Helicopters flew the injured to trauma centers in Tucson and the Valley, though hospital representatives could not update the condition of the victims early Thursday afternoon.
Craig Fischer, a spokesman for Banner Good Samaritan Medical Center in Phoenix, said the hospital received four survivors and will possibly receive additional patients later.
Judy Keane, a spokeswoman for Maricopa Medical Center in Phoenix, confirmed two survivors were treated there.
The highway re-opened shortly after noon Thursday.
Aug. 7, 2008
Arizona Republic staff and wire reports.
Nine people died and another 10 were take to hospitals around the Valley and in Tucson after a single-car rollover wreck Thursday morning outside of Florence.
The GMC Suburban was traveling northbound on State Route 79 when it careened off the two-lane highway and flew over a nearby wash before coming to rest in the desert about 7:45 a.m. Thursday.
Images from a television helicopter show a crumpled white SUV alongside the road and what appears to be a row of bodies covered with tarps.
Two women were among the dead, and no children were in the vehicle, said Lt. Mike Corbin, a Department of Public Safety spokesman. One of the occupants was carrying a Guatemalan ID, he said.
The number of passengers squeezed into the SUV, and the route it was travelling, left authorities with the suspicion that the truck was smuggling illegal immigrants into the country.
“With that many people crammed into a vehicle, it's probably a human-smuggling organization,” Corbin said.
The highway that runs through Pinal County has become a popular trail for smugglers following stepped-up enforcement efforts on Interstate 10, Corbin said.
The wreck left both lanes of the rural highway closed for more than three hours as DPS officers and Border Patrol agents investigated the scene.
Border Patrol agents were called to the area, just north of the Tom Mix Memorial, at the request of DPS officials.
No police or border patrol vehicles were chasing the truck at the time of the wreck, but Corbin estimated the SUV was going at least 85 mph and said speed could be a factor in the fatal accident.
The truck was tagged with Sonora license plates and the Mexican Consulate in Arizona came to the scene to assist victims.
Helicopters flew the injured to trauma centers in Tucson and the Valley, though hospital representatives could not update the condition of the victims early Thursday afternoon.
Craig Fischer, a spokesman for Banner Good Samaritan Medical Center in Phoenix, said the hospital received four survivors and will possibly receive additional patients later.
Judy Keane, a spokeswoman for Maricopa Medical Center in Phoenix, confirmed two survivors were treated there.
The highway re-opened shortly after noon Thursday.
8.06.2008
what's he building in there?
Willie, my cat, is building something in there. Having burrowed into the box spring on the king sized Hemingway Sleigh Bed and following much clamor and banging I began to notice receipts carefully stacked next to the headboard. Lowes, Home Depot, Bed Bath and Beyond. Then it was thick carpenters pencils and cans of paint.
I began to wonder: what's he building in there?
Last night I saw flashes of light and a smell of sulfur that suggested welding. I looked for but did not find welding gear. Willie had a tell-tale fur burn on his right rear paw. And there was another on the carpet - not a cigarette burn, I quit last November.
Today, when I arrived home from work, an attractive young tabby slipped through the garage door before it shut. I opened the door to the laundry room and the tabby shot past me and straight up to the loft. I heard a crinkle and a pop and upon investigation found evidence of crackers and white sparkling wine. That's when I noticed Willie had apparently hung a tiny, neon "No Vacancy" sign. Around 7:00 PM the tabby began mewing at the front door and I let her out. I heard the upstairs shower fire up and Willie came down shortly after in what appeared to be a silk kimono. He smelled strongly of my missing bottle of Calvin Klein.
I went upstairs with a flashlight but the evidence was gone. The No Vacancy sign had been switched to Vacancy. A small group of immigrant landscapers were carefully tending to the carpet and the false potted plant out front. I sat on the edge of the bed and wondered aloud, "What's he building in there?"
I began to wonder: what's he building in there?
Last night I saw flashes of light and a smell of sulfur that suggested welding. I looked for but did not find welding gear. Willie had a tell-tale fur burn on his right rear paw. And there was another on the carpet - not a cigarette burn, I quit last November.
Today, when I arrived home from work, an attractive young tabby slipped through the garage door before it shut. I opened the door to the laundry room and the tabby shot past me and straight up to the loft. I heard a crinkle and a pop and upon investigation found evidence of crackers and white sparkling wine. That's when I noticed Willie had apparently hung a tiny, neon "No Vacancy" sign. Around 7:00 PM the tabby began mewing at the front door and I let her out. I heard the upstairs shower fire up and Willie came down shortly after in what appeared to be a silk kimono. He smelled strongly of my missing bottle of Calvin Klein.
I went upstairs with a flashlight but the evidence was gone. The No Vacancy sign had been switched to Vacancy. A small group of immigrant landscapers were carefully tending to the carpet and the false potted plant out front. I sat on the edge of the bed and wondered aloud, "What's he building in there?"
8.03.2008
the weakerthans
The Weakerthans are an award-winning four-piece (and sometimes six-piece) Canadian indie rock band that blends punk-inflected folk rock with literate, introspective lyrics.
History
The band was formed in 1997 in Winnipeg, Manitoba by John K. Samson, after he left the punk band Propagandhi to start a publishing company. Samson joined forces with bassist John P. Sutton and drummer Jason Tait, and created The Weakerthans as a vehicle for a more melodic and introspective brand of songwriting than that of Propagandhi. One origin story for the band's name, as quoted in the liner notes of Fallow, is a line from the 1992 film The Lover: "Go ahead, I'm weaker than you can possibly imagine." The band's name may also refer to a Ralph Chaplin quote from "Solidarity Forever": "What force on Earth can be weaker than the feeble strength of one?" The band alludes to this line in the song "Pamphleteer" from the album Left and Leaving.
The band's debut album, Fallow, was released in 1997 on G7 Welcoming Committee Records, and garnered positive reviews from Canadian music critics. Guitarist Stephen Carroll, formerly of Painted Thin, subsequently joined the band, and Left and Leaving was released in 2000.
In 2003, the band moved to Epitaph Records and released Reconstruction Site. The album was met with rave reviews[6] from Canadian and international critics for its ambitious combination of punk, rock, folk, country and sonnets. It also became the band's best-selling record to date, as well as its airplay breakthrough on Canadian radio. It was the second Weakerthans album to be produced by Ian Blurton.
Sutton, who played on all three of the band's first albums, left in August 2004 and was replaced by Greg Smith.
In 2005, Left and Leaving was named one of the ten best Canadian albums of all time in Chart magazine's reader poll. In the same poll, Samson wrote the capsule review for another top ten finisher, The Lowest of the Low's Shakespeare My Butt, which he cited as a major influence on his own music.
Reunion Tour was released on September 25, 2007 in North America by Epitaph and ANTI-. The band released a video for "Civil Twilight", which consisted of a single, unbroken camera shot of the band on a Winnipeg Transit city bus.
random sturgis ...
Hey, where are the donuts? I can't wait to see the Rushmore Plaza Civic Center. Is that Rapid Creek? I heard they just got a Sonic, gonna hit that up for sure. Anyone notice it's drier here? I don't sweat near as much. How much for that t-shirt. Do you have XXXXL? I'm a big guy. Where's the best breakfast? Was that Keanu Reeves? Where's dinosaur park? Storybook Island? Man. the buffet at Shakey's Pizza rules. Man, that Rushmore Meats bologna sandwich tasted even better under the concrete teepee at the rest area. I ain't never going home!
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