Oh, go away.

Support requested.

My body is telling me to not have that leftover pizza for lunch. I generally trust my body's instincts; however, it seems to be telling me to not have anything for lunch. Its instincts may be compromised.

No entries today, including the research on the original version of Baby What You Want Me to Do, becuase I am incredibly ill in the tummy. And that's as specific as I'll get.

A lot of left-leaning people (myself included) have wondered whether the Patriot Act and other erosions of civil liberties have a parallel in the rise of the Nazi Party in Germany in the 1930. In order to give us all a little perspective, I recommend an article in today's Washington Post by Anne Applebaum. There are gas chambers in North Korea.

Sharpton and Bush?

Holy shit...

More Singin' Squelch!

Go here, scroll to the bottom, and listen to Johnny Cash spin in his grave.

V of VJ makes the best argument against the "If Kerry is nominated, I'm not voting for him" school:

If Kerry gets the nod we will have plenty of time to have this argument, but I disagree with many of you. The time for purity of heart and support of the most ideal candidate is now, with our money and time and energy.

If our guy doesn't get the nomination, in November it will be time for recognition of practical realities, namely that all the hundreds of appointments a President gets to make that don't make the headlines but affect people's lives should NOT have Republicans in them again for the next 4 years.

Kerry might well appoint some of the same people Dean would have, or at the least he won't be appointing cracked theologians like John Ashcroft.

Exactly. What are the chances that the next Supreme Court justice will be someone like David Souter--appointed by a Republican, but a closet moderate? (No, NOT a closet liberal. This country has gone so far rightward that all moderates are called liberals.)

I can't speak for John Kerry--but I doubt anyone, on either side, would agree today with Nader's 2000 contention that George W. Bush and Al Gore were the same politician.

A weird, non-Elvis version of "Baby What You Want Me to Do"? You mean, like, the original? Sigh...

Oh, well, I have to admit--it took me forever before I realized the Beatles didn't write Twist and Shout.

Mmmm... like butter.

Good Morning Good Morning.

In the bizarre coincidences department: The Post has a story in today's Style section about the Weekly World News (apparently its longtime editor just died), but I swear I wrote yesterday's entry before I found out.

And in the bizarre combinations department: one of the songs the Gonnas cover is "Come Sail Away," that high school anthem, and since the party on Saturday I've had that and another, lesser-known song in my head, which has resulted in an unholy lyric which only one of my readers will understand:

I thought that they were angels,
But to my surprise,
They climbed into their tiny car
And headed for the skies!
Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me...

SHOCKING!

My wife brought home the Weekly World News, from which I discovered that not only is there an all-nude town in New Hampshire (who do you suppose they voted for, I wonder?) and that Titanic survivors were found frozen, but alive, but that there's a new "Homeland Security Alert: Tiny Terrorists Disguised as Garden Gnomes!"

"Man," I said to her, "I wish I lived a life as exciting as this! I'd create a Weekly World Blog!"

"As exciting as what?" K asked, patting our son Bat-Boy on the head.

"As exciting as in the Weekly World News!" I paused to glance out the window at the flying saucer landing in our back yard. "Think of all I could write about!"

K shrugged, and our pet land shark bit her left arm off. "You'd just write about being depressed as usual."

"Yeah," I admitted, "I would," and spontaneously combusted.

"Our life is plenty exciting enough," K said as she spread Miracle Gro where her missing limb was.

My spirit possessed the Brie cheese in the refrigerator. "You can say that again!" I shouted (the fridge door was closed). "Remember the dead rat under the dishwasher?"

K nodded sagely. "And how it spoke the complete works of William Shakespeare?"

"Those were good times!" I had possessed the oranges by this time and amused myself by drawing the Virgin Mary on my husk.

K, meanwhile, was growing three new arms. The doorbell rang, and she used one of them to open the door. We recognized our neighbor immediately. "President Kennedy!" K said. "What a nice surprise! Need another cup of sugar?"

The former President nodded, and said, "Ask not what coffee is like without it!" We all laughed heartily, and a thousand tiny cameras recorded this information and transimitted it to the Illuminati. (I know because I was possessing one of them.)

After Jack had left, we settled down for a nice evening of reality television and mind control. Our dog barked, and when we asked him what was wrong, he seemed confused, and said, "I think it was Bigfoot, but it might have just been Joe Lieberman." We smiled--our superintelligent, genetically altered puppy was so cute.

As we settled into bed (in my case, literally--although I had to be satisfied with possessing only the box spring), I thought I saw a movement out the window. I checked the front yard. For a second, I thought our garden gnome moved--but it was only my imagination, surely.

Are you feeling lucky... punk?

Nemo Dory Sharpton?

Howard Kurtz, reporting on an exit poll produced by the major networks and others:

... on one of the two questionnaires being used, there's this zinger: "Regardless of how you voted today, do you think Howard Dean has the temperament to serve effectively as president?"

That, of course, raises the possibility that he might not, and the results could be cited endlessly in the primary coverage.

No other question asks for voters' views on Kerry, Edwards, Clark or any other candidate.

I'm starting to wonder if maybe the press does have it in for Dean.

Close harmonies.

Saturday night my band, the Gonnas, played a party--our first performance since April or something. We had played at the same party last year, but with bongos instead of a drum kit. This year we did the whole lineup: drums, guitars, all that.

And again, it was like we were rock stars (well, except we didn't screw groupies or shoot heroin. Only one of us is single, and none of us use drugs). What a feeling.

My favorite was the third set, where we threw the script to the wind and just made music. I sang "Twist and Shout" and "I Saw Her Standing There" (usually I only sing "Peggy Sue" and Rex takes lead vocal on everything else), and I dueted with an audience member on "Respect." I may not sound like Aretha, but she did. We even improvised a song about the party's hostess.

I have got to get a solid-body electric that stays in tune, though. My current Les Paul knockoff cost me $50, plus about $100 or so in repairs. So maybe I'm not surprised that I had to switch to my acoustic-electric after the third song. Usually, since I'm a dues-paying member of the No Solo Society, that's not a problem, but we do have one song where I love to let rip with an approximation of a screaming solo. Unfortunately, we (or we should) close with that song, though, so there's no way in halibut I could keep the Les Paul in tune that long.

I love my acoustic, don't get me wrong. But sometimes, you just need that chunky Les Paul sound. (I've never played a Strat.) Even my first guitar, which resembled what George Harrison used circa '64, didn't really keep tune. (But then I never should have sold it. Sigh...)

That's all there is to say, except that if there had been parties that good back in college, I would have gone to a lot more of them.

And of course, after Iowa, even a second-place finish in New Hampshire would be a win for Dean. That's the great thing about being declared dead while your heart is still beating.

Who's more presidential?

Brian Flemming gets it.

Value Judgment gets it.

And thank goodness Idiom Studio got it.

Let's spread this meme all over the web and get the truth out.

[Edit: To clarify, Value Judgment is mirroring the Idiom Studio video, but Brian Flemming has created a new work based upon it. It could be considered inflammatory, but it does get its point across.]

I've just made my second donation for Dean. Have you?

Perhaps it's a kind of queue.

Molly Ivins gets it:

The pundits all thought [Senator John] Kerry was a lead-pipe cinch when this started. . . . But he's got no Elvis. You can't win without Elvis. . . . A guy whose life Kerry had saved in Vietnam -- for which he got the Bronze Star -- turned up two days before the Iowa caucuses and, of course, burst into tears after endorsing Kerry. Who could make up stuff that good? All that bio, and Kerry still comes across as a tall Dukakis.

And in the Post, we have this rather odd sentence in an article about Gen. Wesley Clark:

Next week -- at least as Clark has planned it -- the general will prove to the country that, as a southerner and a military man, he has a special appeal among voters below the gnat line, where so many elections are decided.

The gnat line? What the hell is a gnat line?

This was 'primal'?

I don't watch TV news generally, and I don't have cable specifically, so all the fuss and bother over the Dean Scream hasn't affected me directly, except, of course, in that I'm depressed that my candidate has no chance to win whatsoever, now that the entire country has selected its delegates.

Hm? What? One state?

Get real, people! This hasn't even started yet! (And Bill Clinton didn't win Iowa in '92. Or New Hampshire.)

In any case, I visited c-span.org to watch the clip in question--the whole speech, not the thirty second clip of The Scream. And guess what? It was a (gasp) political event! People were cheering! He was working the crowd! And perhaps most importantly, he was trying to get his supporters jazzed again! He wasn't angry, for crying out loud. Watch the whole speech--he was proud.

If you can't find it in yourself to watch the whole thing, just go to Idiom Studio, who taped the event from the crowd. It doesn't give as much context as C-Span, but it certainly gives a sense of the atmosphere in the actual moment.

These assholes--and I'm sorry to speak so strongly, but I'm a little ticked off--who are calling this moment a self-immolation, a meltdown, a tantrum are full of it. If this does burn Dean, make no mistake: he didn't burn himself. The coverage did.

(Man! Have these people ever been to a political rally? I've screamed louder. Give me a break!)

Today an emissary arrived, and a reply is on the way.

Squelch sings!

And if you want to hear him, click here and scroll down 'til you see "Squelch7." But don't stop there, the others are excellent.

Coat one: done. Interestingly, the new bathroom color resembles the Rooster Spice background color. I think that's just a coincidence.

For that matter, what if the meter reader broke down your door?

Tomorrow I paint the bathroom. Woo hoo.

The other day I had a dream that I read a pamphlet titled: "Your Local Police Department: Now Operated by Pepco [the electric company]!" Which sounds like a great idea for a skit (or maybe an AudioEdit):

Operator: 911 Emergency, how may I direct your call?
Victim: There's a man in my house!
Operator: Hold please.
(Muzak...)
Handsome Man: Welcome to the Metropolitan Police Department Emergency Response Unwanted Intruder System. To continue in English, press or say "One." Para continuar en español, prensa o habla "Dos." Pour--
Victim: One!
Handsome Man: This call may be monitored for quality assurance purposes. If your unwanted intruder is white, press or say "One." If your intruder is African-American, press or say "Two." For all other races, colors, or creeds, or if you are not sure, press or say "Three."
Victim: Three!
Handsome Man: Please press or say your five-digit Zip code.
Victim: He's coming up the stairs!
Handsome Man: I'm sorry, I didn't understand that. Could you try again? Please press or say your five-digit Zip code.
Victim: Two Oh Seven Seven One!
Handsome Man: Please hold.
(Muzak...)
Happy Female: Thank you for holding! Your call is very important to us.
Victim: HE'S IN MY HALLWAY! PLEASE, SOMEONE ANSWER!
Happy Female: Did you know that law enforcement begins at home? Ask your local policeman how proper insulation can reduce the crime meter in your neighborhood. Or visit our website at--
(Muzak stops.)
Handsome Man: The law enforcement in your area has been deregulated, and calls should be directed to
Nasal Man: Greenbelt Family Security.
Handsome Man: at
Nasal Man: 1-888-555-8574.
Handsome Man: Thank you for choosing the Metropolitan Police Department for your emergency needs! Goodbye.
(Click.)

And is it also worrisome that I've been OBSESSED WITH CAPITAL LETTERS lately?

Am I the LAST PERSON ON THE PLANET who didn't know that mp3.com is no more? I never even ordered my own damned CD!

Taken in by them.

I remember very well one night near Philadelphia--this was back in 2002, I think--when I went to hear my brother's band (now ex-band). He was the bass player, and had just started writing songs; they did two of his, but most of the songs were by their lead singer and guitarist, a truly gifted fellow.

By this time, they had a pretty loyal following in the colleges and bars around the area. You might even call it a fan base. Anyway, they played some songs that we knew, and then closed with a new (for then) song which I had never heard before.

It was magnificent.

We couldn't help but dance. Admittedly we were an appreciative audience, but still, the reaction to this song was incredible. I've never, before or since, had such a visceral reaction to a song I had never heard before. It was all I could talk about on the way home.

I was listening to one of their CDs (the last one on which my brother played) after a Gonnas rehearsal tonight, and I remembered that moment as the song came on. That's the kind of song I would love to write; one that makes the audience love it upon the first hearing and demand more. Where is that song?

Blog for the District!

Alright, folks. We won the D.C. primary. NOW WRITE ABOUT IT.

It just doesn't make sense to not say something. I realize the current focus is, as it should be, on Iowa and New Hampshire. But not even a mention?

Come on, damn it. Show D.C. you're better than the bastards who took their names off the primary ballot.

[Edit: they have mentioned it, although it's buried in the Morning News Roundup.]

And, by the way, if you're in D.C., be sure to vote today--oh. Shit.

Be sure to HAVE VOTED today.

Curse you, UPS!

Where is the justice when the package you've been awaiting arrives while you're at a piano lesson, leaving you no time when you get home to tear into the box and ogle the merchandise?

I mean, who the hell delivers things at 7:00 PM anyway? It's like I just wrote to someone else: shipping companies are in the pocket of the Illuminati.

Small victories.

Am I wrong to be proud of doing a task--say, calling the public works department for special trash pickup--before my wife asks if I've done it?

Am I pathetic to seek validation through mentioning that I already did it?

Worst of all, is doing so my most notable accomplishment?

Allow yourself 10 minutes for each question. Write your answers in black or blue-black ink. Answers will not be accepted after the close of class. Don't forget to write your code number in the top-left corner of your booklet. Begin.

Clarence!

I thought you might have been peeking in. Glad you liked the present--wait 'til you see what I've got for your birthday. Best of luck come April--that all sounds fabulous! (How did you score a rec. from Rick? I heard he was notoriously difficult about that sort of thing.) And no, your hair doesn't make you look like a turnip, though you do look oddly like George Harrison. I'm still happy to read your writings, by the way, and I will even not critique them if that's what you prefer. Oh, and now that you've come out of the Rooster Spice closet, I expect to see the occasional comment out of you. (I'm such a whore, but you knew that.) Anyway, best wishes, and do let me know if you find yourself in the area.

No, I haven't been writing, but you knew that, too. (Jealousy...)

Bored, sad.

No explanation.

A true story from 32 years ago.

The mother's in the delivery room, and as was the custom of the time, the father's in the waiting room.

The mother wears a false set of front teeth, because of a car accident in college; at the doctor's insistence, the teeth have been removed, to the mother's chagrin. It's her first child, so there's a good deal of nervousness in the room.

The baby arrives--a fine healthy baby boy with lots of dark hair. The doctor slaps his butt to remove the mucous and hands him to the mother.

"Well, Mrs. -----, how do you feel?" the doctor asks.

The mother stares at him, and intones, "I'll tell you how I feel if you give me my fucking teeth back."

Senseless?

Not so much beautiful as... ineffable. That thing you always reached for but never quite got.

Or, worse, that thing you never even saw, but just imagined. And the wondering--the "what if?"--never goes away, does it?

Eyes in a mirror, a smile... a turn of phrase.

Yet all gone. No, not gone--never was. A dream, possibly (or definitely) eclipsed by the joy of reality. And never knowing whether you were dreamed of, too.

And the worry: is wondering a form of betrayal--or worse, rape?







(In other news, tomorrow is my birthday.)

Hundred thirty pound weakling.

Having a contractor in your house--even, or perhaps especially, one who is a good friend--is a continual exercise in emasculation.

While he's cutting and measuring drywall, I'm dressing the kids. While he's installing a new plywood floor base (and removing the toilet to do so), I'm taking out the garbage. While he's laying tile, I'm trying to keep myself awake and get the kids to sleep.

During my blogging hiatus last year, I installed recessed lighting in the bathroom--well, finished doing so, anyway, as I had started sometime in 2000. As part of the process, I slathered drywall mud on the ceiling to hide the old stucco that some idiot homeowner had placed there before. It looks okay now that it's been sanded down, but it's, y'know, amateur work, and Rex offered to smooth it out a bit for me.

"Rex," I said, hurt, "please! You've put up new walls, removed water damage, and made my wife swoon with your tile prowess! Leave me the tiniest sliver of manhood!"

Not the Shire yet.

My friend Rex, lead singer of the Gonnas, is a building contractor when he's not lead singing, which is most of the time. He's remodeling our bathroom this week, and doing a bang-up job. That is to say, he's doing a lot of banging and kicking up dust.

Nah, he's great. But our house is giving him a run for his money. The water damage on the drywall behind the original tub surround was incredible--picture the slums of Mordor™ times two. We're talking holes in the wall, mold, poorly cut plaster, the whole shebang. All the old drywall has been replaced with concrete board.

The area under the toilet was destroyed, too--the water damage turned the original plywood to sponge, so that had to be replaced before the tile floor could go down. So, we spent last night in a Holiday Inn.

Have you ever gotten a one and a half year old to sleep in a hotel-issue crib? If you have, can we borrow your one and a half year old, 'cause ours is clearly defective. E only slept when in our bed, between us. D, who is four, had an entire double bed to himself and slept like a baby. (Well, given our "baby" experiences, perhaps the phrase needs revision.)

Speaking of babies, I found out today that a friend from high school had his first kid--a little girl. May he and his wife have even more fun with theirs than K and I have had with ours.

OUCH!

One of WETA's sponsors is a law firm with the most unfortunate name ever, which I am not making up: Harness, Dickey, and Pierce.

Can Barbra juggle?

Television listing in today's Washington Post:

Steve Harvey's Big Time. Guests include people who juggle people (Channel 50 at 8).

They're the luckiest people in the world.

Self-santafication.

Well, I did it; I bought the Mbox, and got a new pair of headphones to boot (for free). So now I have a new toy to play with for a week and ignore. We never grow up, do we?

Worth looking at: America for Sale. The first anti-Bush site I've seen that offers extensive citations (from reputable sources) rather than uncorroborated assertions.

(link courtesy Brian Flemming)

Right now, I'm in a weird twilight between years, unwilling to admit that there are just some things I wanted to do that I'm going to have to say I didn't get finished in '03. (I won't say what those things were publicly, of course -- public websites are not really the place to air negatives or deep life thoughts. If you want more in-depth conversations, you have to call or email!!)

Amateur.

Not a sexual metaphor.

The devil is dangling his carrot. Will I resist? Will I succumb? Will I just buy the upgrade to Final Cut Express 2 instead? Will I stop asking silly questions?

Hey, Devil: now that you're reading, I get to be envious of you again.

No, seriously, regular readers: what's your opinion of software copying, and why?* Personally, I would love for the entire world to go with the GPL; but in the real world, I know people need to make a living.

I tend to draw the line at companies that seem like mom 'n' pop stores, or at least offer a good product at a good price. If someone shares software from a faceless behemoth, I tend to not worry about it.

That said, never in my life (well, at least since I got a second iMac) have I worried about the part of the software license agreement that states, "You may only use the Software on one computer at a time." Even if the same person owns and uses both computers? Give me a frickin' break.

And I will say this: it's absolutely immoral, hateful, and just plain uncool to make it impossible (whether through copy-protection or legislation) to exercise one's fair use rights.

*YES, I'm trolling for comments. So sue me.

And many more!

In this day and age, the people who design DVD packaging should not be allowed to include "interactive menus" and "scene selections" in a list of special features.

Green (little men) for America.

I always suspected Mars was a Democratic stronghold.

Ah, sweet nectar of sound!

Godfrey has made me jealous, so I've been hinting that I want new music production hardware and software for my birthday. I love Pro Tools Free, but it doesn't work on Mac OS X; and the amount of software currently bundled with Digidesign's products is just insane.

Now I just have to figure out why I bought that multitrack recorder, instead of a laptop and the Mbox. (Well, besides the money, anyway.)

K has set me an ultimatum: "Do you want this and nothing else, or do you want to be surprised again?" Ahhhh, the guilt....

Incidentally, as long as we're talking about the Musician's Friend catalog, which a different Jeffrey turned me on to, do you know they sell a keychain which is a callus builder? How insane! I mean, who would use this thing? Someone who doesn't have time to build calluses through, y'know, practicing?

Hey, wait...

"Hey Bertram--want to go skiing?"

"I... have no legs."

Let the record reflect!

"Peggy Sue" is in the key of A.

Now selling Deanie beanies.

Well, I finally did it--I gave my hard-earned money to Howard Dean's campaign. (Well, technically, it's my wife's hard-earned money, since I don't have a paying job.) What pushed me over the edge? A statement Governor Dean made about Liberia back in July. A quote:

Saddam Hussein's was an extraordinarily brutal regime.� The Iraqi people and the world are better off without him.� But that was not the justification the Bush administration presented for the invasion of Iraq.� We based the war on the argument that we faced an imminent threat to our interests from weapons of mass destruction and Iraqi support for Al-Qaeda neither of which have been proven to date.� The world community did not buy our rationale for war or the evidence we presented and it looks like their skepticism was justified.

I stated clearly at the time that our approach to Iraq needed to be multilateral and based on humanitarian grounds.� If we had done so, the entire situation might have played out differently and today we might have the broad international backing we need for the nationbuilding efforts that are now failing.

I opposed the war in Iraq because it was the wrong war at the wrong time, not because I believe American force should never be used.

(Emphasis mine.) I guess I just needed to hear, from the man's own lips, that he was anti- this war, not anti- any war. I don't know about anyone else, but hearing a candidate continually labeled as "antiwar" makes me think he doesn't ever favor military action. Believe me, I wish we lived in a world where that was a realistic viewpoint--but we don't.

So, what happens now? I'm told that when you've found Howard, rather like when you've found Jesus, there are some side effects. Urges to place bumper stickers on cars are commonplace, as is the need to witness for Dean at every opportunity. A total loss of sense of humor is possible, especially if a Bush supporter is the one telling the jokes. Finally, there's the inability to comprehend the fallibility of Governor Dean. But that last one is written off easily, since he's infallible.

Wait! It's happening already! No, no... Governor, I will hew to the One True Path... Put your stethoscope away... AAAAAAaaaaaaarrrgh....

Time-waster of the day: The Urban Legends Reference pages, found because of this in my mailbox.

(Applause, laughter.)

Pyotr, Pwyll, and Murray once sang:

Where's my sense of humor gone?
Long wind passing...

When I started this blog nigh a year and a half ago, I really wanted to just make people laugh--not the side-splitting, gut-curdling humor of Dave Barry, but a gentle, Mao Tse-tung's Little Red Book kind of chuckling. And for a while, I succeeded, or so I'd say, but with each and every good bit, there was a crushingly depressive corrollary.

So how does my humor return? Well, I could try political jokes:

Governor Schwarzenegger! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

Or maybe, I could emulate the Farrelly Brothers' style:

Drew peed on my sleeve today! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

Or maybe just rely on Zippy-the-Pinhead-style dadaism:

There's a monkey in my pants, and it's breaking its wig over the crimping tool! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

(Things are always funnier with monkeys.)

Perhaps it's a yin and yang thing. Since starting to blog again after my hiatus, I've avoided the extreme suicidal posts; you can tell when I'm feeling bad because that's when I don't post. But could it be that the humor only appears in relation to the despair?

Or could it be, horror of horrors, that I was never that funny to begin with? Don't answer that.

If I had a stalker, I'd stalk her in the morning...

Happy New Year! And, oh: whoever my regular visitor is from verizon.net (the one whose referral is always "unknown"), please say hello, eh? Or did my former fan from snet.net just get a new ISP? Curious, but not yellow.

Holy thuddawwwappppp, Batman!

As mentioned earlier, I tend to think in the style of whatever book I'm reading, and as also mentioned earlier, I'm currently reading a lot of graphic novels...

...so lately, I've been picturing my life as a series of panels, featuring me and mine at interestingly askew angles, with thought and speech balloons which feature random words boldfaced and italicized...

Spin your primary, do si do...

I suppose I might be looking at what I linked to in the last entry in the wrong way; after all, Dean never said that he was the "atheist candidate," but I guess I was hoping he would be different than other candidates in bowing to the Obligatory Jesus Reference.

But, perhaps, his acknowledgement that he will be talkin' 'bout Jebus while in South Carolina proves that he is what all the conservatives have been gleefully asserting he isn't--a savvy politician.

After all, if emphasizing your religion in the South while downplaying it in the North isn't the tactic of someone who knows what they need to do to be elected--then what is?

It's really sad when a patently false move makes me more confident in a candidate, not less... because it makes him seem more "electable."

The atheist candidate?

$%*&#$* Howard Dean...

(link courtesy The Raving Atheist)

From her to me.

The best Christmas gift of all is the one you really, really wanted, but didn't know you did.

Somehow, this year my wife managed to score a hat trick. Oh sure, there were the things I had hinted and hinted in a subtle fashion (subtle like those advertising planes over Ocean City), like the Indiana Jones and Looney Tunes box sets (hey, is that the fourth DVD, Indiana Jones and the Looney Tunes?), but she also managed to get me the latest They Might Be Giants compilation, which she bought before I started listening to Flood and Lincoln obsessively two weeks ago. But I've liked TMBG since college so that's not too much of a stretch. The real surprise...

...well, it just left me speechless.

It started with the DVD for Unbreakable, which was a movie I really enjoyed but hadn't hinted about at all. For those not in the know, Unbreakable is in large part about comic books. Then, I opened my next present, a history--with illustrations--of D.C. Comics, home of Superman, Batman, and other favorites. And another--a treasury of the art of Alex Ross, a well-known comic artist whose background is painting, not cartooning.

How did she know?

I was never a collector of comics at all. But in my youth (I hate that phrase, "in my youth," mostly because at nearly 32 I don't feel like I've left it) I devoured anthologies of all the classic D.C. and Marvel superheroes, including gigantic ones of Superman and Batman which included comics from the thirties to the seventies; and of course, like everyone else in the eighties, I was stunned by Frank Miller and his work on Batman, and later on by Alan Moore's Watchmen. In other words, I wasn't enough of a fan to have brought my interest into adulthood, but I still have a keen interest in the history of both the characters and the books themselves. And K bought me not one, not two, but three comic book related gifts that I hadn't even thought of. I read the books immediately; we haven't watched the movie yet because of the severe backlog (I bought her what amount to the complete works of Joss Whedon on DVD).

This blog entry seems so inadequate for the rush of feelings I have--not for the gifts themselves, but for their appropriateness--so perfect, yet I didn't even know. I don't have words to express how happy she made me--so happy that I continued the comic book theme and bought graphic novels with the Barnes and Noble gift cards I got from other relatives (including the aforementioned Watchmen, which I always wanted but never got around to buying). Nine years of marriage, and she still surprises me. What else could I ask for?

Blank verse.

I don't believe in God or Fates,
I only believe in Bill Gates.

Silver and crunch.

This year, our Christmas tree is a real beaut--a Fraser fir, probably about six and a half feet tall, perfectly shaped and full. It is also drunk, based on the number of times it's fallen.

Christmas Eve, it fell directly onto our son D as he was fooling with the lower branches. I was right there but I wasn't in time to stop it. Instead, I used my superhuman strength to pull it off him and return it to its place while K used her superhuman vacuum to clean up the broken ornaments.

The second time it fell was last night, apparently because of the cat, as K and I were settling down for the proverbial long winter's nap. It was a thunderous crash, and we went downstairs; this time I employed the vacuum.

We have a particular favorite ornament which we got for our first Christmas together back in '95; it's a simple glass ball with silver stripes, but very classy. Remarkably, it stayed on the tree after the first fall; after the second it was on the floor and I picked it up.

"Is it okay?" K asked.

"Yep," I said, examining it. "Not a scratch. Incredible!"

I put it down on D's drawing table while I started to help cleaning up. I placed it a little too close to the edge.

Do I really need to describe what happened next?

Squelchmas.

Well, this annual thing that our family does, which we call "Christmas"--I don't know why, no one's named Chris--went well. We bring a tree into the house for a few days, usually an evergreen of some sort, and then we put presents under it, wrapped up. This year K and I had a brainstorm and told the kids that a magical person would come down our chimney and leave extra presents for them, but only if they were good.

"Why a chimney?" I asked. "We don't even have a chimney."

"Because I don't want to leave the door unlocked," answered K.

Anyway, it didn't work as behavior modification; the kids were just the same as always. But watching their faces as the presents were opened was worth it. I wonder if anyone else does this sort of thing; it could really catch on, I bet.

Don't worry, folks, I'm still alive! As always, the holidays make it tough to do much of anything. But I have many a blog on the hopper. So to speak.

(vast, canyon-like silence)

The weebles, falling from the oyster...

I've never done drugs and these days I don't drink, so this pleasant buzz from Tylenol Cold is about the most dangerous high I've had in many a month. Wonder if I shouldn't drive at the moment.

No, waiter, it's not a fly.

This is how my son renders Buddy Holly's most famous song:

Baby Soup,
Baby Soup,
Pretty pretty pretty pretty Baby Soup...

Dear me. Is that an appetizer, or a main course?

At the start of 2003... [George W. Bush] was prosecuting a mostly clandestine war on terrorism, which even included--on at least one known occasion--the CIA covertly assassinating suspected enemies with remote-controlled drones in Yemen. (David Corn, The Lies of George W. Bush, page 241)

Remote-controlled drones? Doesn't that seem like it deserves an "according to..." or at least a footnote? Suddenly, in the middle of an otherwise carefully cited book which seeks to base its criticism of President Bush on facts instead of rhetoric, we're deep in the mud of Conspiracy Land.

It turns out this sentence is true, admittedly. But gee whiz, David, couldn't you have at least said "as reported in Newsweek"?

Torrential.

If things have been slow, it's my fault; I've been busy sharing bandwidth with people.

Isn't this the coolest thing?

Dear Santa...

First comes Godfrey with a link to this video about iPod's battery life. Then comes Medley, confessing to the world her newfound iPod lust. Now Mike has linked to this NYT article about the iPod.

Is the blogosphere trying to tell me something?

Achoo!

Funniest travel advisory sign of the holiday:

CONGESTION CONTINUES
THRU EXIT 80
USE CAUTION

Okay, so it's not exactly Rowan and Martin, but it was somewhat incongruous when we were on I-95 Thursday evening, and the only car in sight.

That's a tip to remember, kids: go home right after dinner time, and you'll never get backed up, even at the tolls. 'Course, you may fall asleep while you're driving because of the food...

We went to my parents' house in P--------a for Thanskgiving, dragging along the dawg because the kennel was filled up. He was surprisingly well-behaved; this is a canine who jumps on two-year-olds for fun and can reduce a squeaky toy to its constituent atoms in 1.6 seconds. We were somewhat worried, but about the worst thing he did was vomit something unidentifiable onto the floor. Fortunately, we found it before the kids did.

My brother and I agreed that the only reason to have a large television is to watch movies on it. And we also agreed, after watching a few scenes from the Ring of Fire DVD, it's a pretty good reason.

Dinner was wonderful and nicely low-key; it was just the immediate family this time, rather than the huge extended Turkey Day we had last year. I'm glad that pretty much everyone in my mother's family is within three hours of each other, but it can get unwieldy at times, too.

My sister suggested we all say what we're thankful for at the dinner table. As usual, D was the most honest of us all, in the way only a four-year-old can be; he said, "Are you thankful for... mashed potatoes?"

I thought Lieberman had the hot line to God?

The Cleveland Plain Dealer mistakenly quoted Sen. Tom Daschle as saying, "The evil ones now find themselves in crisis, and this is God's will for them," according to the Washington Post. Should Daschle ever run for President, this may actually help him in the Deep South.

Gobble, gobble, chop.

A turkey will live, but John Allen Muhammad won't.

Mind you, I'm not going to argue that the sniper is a good poster boy for getting rid of capital punishment. He isn't. It's just that, of all presidents, I expected W. to cut off Stars the turkey's head with relish, possibly by his own hand!

...the payoff.

Forty years ago today, an event occurred which changed a nation and defined a generation. Saturday, November 23, 1963 is a day which forever signifies a turning point in science fiction, even for those, like me, who later abandoned the TARDIS for Star Trek. Let us never forget the first episode of Doctor Who.

The setup...

Forty years ago today, an event occurred which changed a nation and defined a generation. Friday, November 22, 1963 is a day which forever signifies a turning point in history, even for those, like me, who weren't born at the time. Let us never forget the murder of John F. Kennedy.

From the jaws of...

It's somewhat depressing when you think you've made a Great Literary Discovery, and you're about to recommend something as The Best Book You've Never Read, but then discover it's number 15 on the Today show book club list.

I usually try to avoid direct lifting from other blogs, but this entry by Godfrey is just too good to let slide:

"The consecration of the openly gay Gene Robinson as Bishop of the New Hampshire Diocese of the Episcopal Church is an affront to Christians everywhere. I am just thankful that the church's founder, Henry VIII, and his wife Catherine of Aragon, and his wife Anne Boleyn, and his wife Jane Seymour, and his wife Anne of Cleves, and his wife Katherine Howard, and his wife Catherine Parr are no longer here to suffer through this assault on traditional Christian marriage values."

� Paul Emmons, Westchester University

Sinister buttcheek.

Well, I finally decided to see what all the shouting was about, and read the first book of the "Left Behind" series--you know, the one which aims to tell the Book of Revelations in fictional form, the heroes being the folks left behind after the Rapture who become born-again Christians and oppose the Antichrist. Naturally, it shook me to the core and I now accept Jesus Christ as my personal Savior.

Gotcha! Bet I'll get a lot more Google hits now, though.

Seriously, the book is very well-written--a definite beach-novel style page-turner. And you can approach it as just that and enjoy it; if you're not an atheist like me, just replace every instance of "Christ" with "Gandalf," say, or "Odin" if you're into Norse mythology, and you'll get an idea of how I approached it.

But what struck me is how it must seem to believers... this is a world in which things are exactly as a certain kind of Christian wants them to be. As the End Times begin, orthodox Jews in Israel fall to the ground and weep as they accept Jesus as their Messiah. Islam does not appear to exist. A cabal of international financiers control the world and bring the Antichrist to power. A journalist I heard on Fresh Air called this "a world in which certain dissonances have been removed," but I tend to look at the immediate wish-fulfillment and call it Christian pornography, in essence.

And as for the question of why the Jews didn't accept Jesus as their Messiah, well, that'll be fixed, because all the Jews must either convert to Christianity, or they will die. Gee whiz. Ain't that a bummer.

Another thing I didn't get was why the Christians were so eager to oppose the Antichrist. Throughout the book, a main theme is "this is what will happen, because the Bible's prophecy is true." Well, Revelations said there will be seven years of tribulations, then Jesus will bop on down to earth and defeat the Antichrist, and then it'll be a thousand-year reign of peace and harmony. Okay. So if that's all destined to happen, why bother trying to stop the bad guy? All you have to do is wait seven years. One might even think you would hope the Antichrist would come to power; even if he kills you, it's no big deal, because you're going to heaven anyway. (Just ask Antonin Scalia, who gave this reasoning when asked about the execution of innocent people.)

Still, as a book, if you ignore the implicit anti-Semitism, appeals to ignorance (a character wishes his daughter would stop thinking so much and just come to Jesus), and long passages on conversion and preaching strategy, it's not bad. And yeah, I admit, I probably will read the rest of the series.

Know thy enemy, and all that.

Why don't you write anymore?

It's been a few days. Has it EVER been a few days.

D had his first big, bleeding-from-the-head fall on Sunday. He hit the corner of the piano. Our angelic neighbors came by to watch E while we drove him to the emergency room.

It was a relatively minor laceration that required two staples, but boy, did it bleed. He's fine now, as wacky and energetic as ever. Now he'll have a scar on the back of his head, just like his Dad, although mine was allegedly from falling down the stairs (I like to think it's from an alien abduction probe). Poor kid. I think K and I cried more than he did, though.

Then, yesterday, E took her first unaided steps while we were at a local playground. Wow... the height of amazement. She's fifteen months old, right on the money. D was quite a bit later. Naturally, once K got home from work, E refused to walk for her. Instead she preferred to fall face-first onto the carpet. She didn't seem to mind...

Meanwhile, in the wider world, John Allen Muhammad (and why do we insist on calling these maniacs by three names? Hell, nobody called Lee Harvey Oswald that 'til after the assassination--he was just plain "Lee Oswald") is finally no longer presumed innocent. I hope they put the S.O.B. away for the rest of his life, even if the "terrorism" charge against him was a little suspect. (I'm not a fan of capital punishment, in any circumstances.)

And in Sunday's Washington Post, there was a reference to a survey on attitudes toward democracy in the world--unfortunately it was just a graphic, so there's no direct link (it's credited to the University of Michigan's World Value Survey). But according to the graphic, democracy is considered the best form of government throughout the world, with Arab countries affirming it the most, at 60%. Good news, no doubt. But here's the kicker--under 40% of people in the U.S. consider democracy the best form of government!

Surveys should always be viewed with skepticism. Even so, what government does that other 60% prefer--and for whom are they going to vote?

Can we call them that now, or are they still "freedom" fries?

Like any good American kid, D's favorite food is hot dogs and french fries. He thinks of them like that--as a unit, never to be parted.

Today, I was engaging in an act of civil disobedience by ripping some Elvis songs in iTunes, one of which was "Hot Dog." I was trying to distract D, so when it played, I said, "Hey, it's the hot dog song!" He stopped what he was doing and listened intently; when it was over, he looked at me with the air of one wronged, and declared, "Want the french fries song!"

The height of paranoia.

George W. Bush stands 6 feet 0 inches tall.

In every modern presidential election (except 1976), the taller candidate has carried the popular vote. (Yes, that includes Al Gore.)

Howard Dean is five-ten.

This is why George W. Bush will be reelected.

There's still time to get behind Gephardt (6'-1") or Kerrey (6'-5").

Congratulations, it's a bill!

So, want a good example of how fouled up our healthcare system is? A co-worker of my wife's is expecting twins. In order to have twins, this couple has to see a specialist. There aren't any such specialists in our area that participate in their HMO, so they have to go out-of-network. So, the insurance company flatly refuses to pay. This is for something they have to do in order to have the twins safely!

And of course, it's twins, so... they have to pay for everything twice, including things like ultrasounds. Ultrasounds! It may be two kids, but it's one mother--how the hell do you justify that?

Combine that with importing drugs from Canadian pharmacies, because the same drugs cost twice as much in the U.S.; it's enough to make one think about Gephardt for President.

Squelch, are you on acid?

When you see a bloodhound playing double bass, a guitar-playing stone with a gray shirt stamped "Property of Louisville Penitentiary," and an old building (on drums) with a neon sign that says "HOT L" along with a shape resembling a heart cloven in two, what do you think of?

No more politics, I promise!

Usually by this time in an election year, I know exactly who I'm supporting in the primary. (This may have more to do with the relative smallness of the Democratic field in the elections before this one, although I do remember being a staunch Gary Hart supporter long before I could vote. I also liked Bob Kerrey in '92. Perhaps the candidates should actively not seek my endorsement.) Anyway, I haven't a clue who to like just yet. Right now, it's very tough to be a Democrat who still believes the war in Iraq was a neccessary thing. Let me point out, though, before my loyal readers gasp in shock, that I believed in the humanitarian case for war, separate from the WMD case, although I admit I found Colin Powell's speech at the U.N. pretty damning. In any case, there is plenty of evidence that the U.N. sanctions were hurting Saddam far less (if at all) than they were hurting the Iraqi people. Therefore, one either needed to get rid of the sanctions, or get rid of the regime (and thus eliminate the need for the sanctions).

In other words, to get back to the main point of my post, Howard Dean and I have a disagreement about starting the war. But fortunately, we agree on two points: the Bush administration had no plan for starting the peace; and now that we're in there, we have an obligation to clean up the mess we made. So, though I admit I'm speaking from a position of great ignorance about the candidates, I suppose I can say I'm a fan of Howard Dean.

But watch out. I just endorsed him, and you know my track record. Ah, you say, but he's poised to conquer New Hampshire.

What do the following people have in common: Estes Kefauver, Henry Cabot Lodge, Edmund Muskie, Gary Hart, Paul Tsongas, Pat Buchanan, and John McCain? That's right: they all won the New Hampshire primary. In fact, if you count sitting vice presidents as incumbents, since 1952 only 6 non-incumbents who won New Hampshire went on to win their party's nomination (out of a total of 14 non-incumbents running), although 5 of those did go on to win the presidency (Mike Dukakis was the lucky loser). If you don't count Veeps as incumbents, that's 17 non-incumbents who won New Hampshire, and only 8 who also won the nomination. (Two of those were Richard Nixon, who was essentially uncontested for the nomination at the time of the 1960 and 1968 primaries.)

Of course, this distribution of winners and losers is probably well within the laws of probability, but you'd expect, given how overblown the coverage is, and how important the candidates consider it, that the winner in New Hampshire is almost always the nominee. Yet nothing could be farther from the truth.

Remind me why we care who wins New Hampshire, again?

I hear... trumpets.

I may as well admit that National Novel Writing Month hasn't inspired me this year (unlike last year, where I was inspired, but also driven insane). Oh well; maybe, instead, I'll join National Short Story Writing Fortnight.

And, oh, have I mentioned that my novel is stalled? Sigh...

Umbrella Man! Get out of my head!

Arrrrgh. I searched for a link on "JFK" inaccuracies for the post below and I wound up spending the entire day reading material debunking the Kennedy assassination conspiracy theories. My head is now so crammed with facts and assertions related to Dealey Plaza, Jack Ruby, and Lee Harvey Oswald that my dreams will be like the Zapruder film, played at double speed in 3-D.

Well.

I suppose I really ought to say something about CBS's decision to not air the miniseries on Ronald and Nancy Reagan. I don't feel all that qualified to do so, since unlike those who advocated canceling it, I've not seen the finished film. Oh, wait--they haven't seen it either!

On NPR, a Republican stated that it wasn't just about Reagan, but about historical accuracy. Funny, how they didn't have a problem with the hagiography of the 9/11 movie that aired a few months ago (which, like the Reagan film, was allegedly created by someone with a partisan agenda). I wonder if they'd have a problem with, say, a film that depicted Bill Clinton dealing drugs and killing Vince Foster with his bare hands. Somehow I doubt it.

Of course, movie producers playing fast 'n' loose with the truth is nothing new. Seen JFK lately? Or, in a slightly less ridiculous fashion, did you know that two white FBI agents single-handedly saved the Deep South from racial warfare? But in those cases, the historical flaws were aired in the proverbial "marketplace of ideas." And yeah, especially with Mississippi Burning, one could have some serious misperceptions about what actually happened.

But, damn it! In those cases no one demanded that the movies never be released, or a disclaimer added that explained the films were fictional!

What the Republicans did was just plain wrong, and it would be just as wrong were had they been Democrats, Libertarians, Catholics, Jews, or anyone.

And as an aside, it was a bit disingenuous for CBS, at its 75th birthday party, to celebrate the Smothers Brothers, who were fired for political reasons, as wronged heroes, even as it nixed "The Reagans" for political reasons...

Keep up the pace, Hercules! And the heater.

The problem with trying to make a goal of 6,000 words in one day (idiot!) is that I have very poor circulation, and when typing for long stretches, MY FINGERS GET SO FLIPPIN' COLD.

It's always good to see reasoned theological argument:

ATHEISTS ARE DEPRESSING HAHA SUCKS TO BE YOU BURN!!!!

Bad things happened today.

Hermanos! The devil has built a robot!

What exactly does a swelling hijink look like?

When a stay-at-home Dad thinks about re-entering the workforce (doesn't that sound like a promo for a sitcom?), watch the laughter fly and the hijinks swell! Can you teach an old Dad new tricks? Find out next week on "Rooster Spices," America's favorite comedy!

Ahem. As I was saying. When a stay-at-home Dad thinks about re-entering the workforce, what does it entail? I haven't had a job since November of 1999. Yes, yes, I know--you'd love to have my problems. But if I were offered my dream job, would I take it?

This isn't really an idle question. Some comments from professionals I respect have started me wondering whether I really am qualified to do what I want and make money from it. Up 'til now it's only been a hobby. (And no, I'm not saying what the dream job is.) I wouldn't wonder too much were the professionals not in a hiring position at a company looking for new hires.

My wife is saying, "Pursue this, you idiot!" But even if it means moving away? And more importantly, even if it means putting D and E in day care? I'm glad she supports me, though.

As lame as it may sound, working for someone again scares the hell out of me. It's a dirty little secret that parenting, often called "the hardest job in the world," is in fact easier than, say, rescuing people from burning buildings or keeping people in drug-treatment programs. Nevertheless, it is tough sometimes, and in a very real sense, a stay-at-home parent never gets a vacation from his or her job. But I've gotten really used to answering to no one but myself (and my kids), and regulating (not always successfully, I admit) how many projects I take on as well.

Or, it could be that I'm just a lazy bastard. What do you think?

Awsm.

My favorite review from the 273 Amazon "Finding Nemo" customer reviews:

This movie is awsm my favorite, favorite part is when their in the submarine and the shark is chasing them and the shark hits the door and dory goes (Who is it?) who ever thinks this movie is dum is very, very SSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here, The Cheat, have a trophy.

A Yankee wrote Dixie, you know.

Did the South win the Civil War?

I ask because of Governor Dean's comments about the Confederate flag and emblazoning of pickups thereof, but I actually have wondered this for a while. You look at how "solid" the South is, and realize that, since 1964, the only way a Democrat could be elected President is if he were a Southerner.

Now, I don't have any opinion (yet) on the Democrats in the race, though my estimation of Sharpton went up a little when he said he uses a Mac. But given that the South is so solidly Republican, Governor Dean may have a point, though he certainly could have phrased it better; the Republicans' "southern strategy" of demagoguing race has been so effective that the people who are voting Republican aren't even realizing that Republican economic policy is screwing them over.

Then again: do I really want people who fall for racial demagoguery in my Democratic party?

Somebody from University of North Dakota came to Rooster Spice without a referral. Who the hell do I know in North Dakota?

Schwa.

Schwa.

Just some random thoughts inspired mostly by other bloggers:

• There's a section on Well, La Di Da! (who linked to us on Halloween--danke!) which addresses the whys of blogging (well, to be more accurate, the "why" of this particular blogger), which boiled down, in her case, to "Well, I put interesting stuff here rather than spam my friends," which is certainly a Noble Sentiment™. But it got me thinking, as someone who never sent interesting facts over email, exactly why I blog. It was therapy, and may still be to some extent, but I discovered that if you put worrisome things on a public web page, (shock and awe!) people worry. But somehow it wasn't as therapeutic if it was private; if I wanted to write without an audience I'd be a novelist (oh, wait...). So now I'm pseudonymous, but of course if I vent and rant and rave, the readers who knew me before will still get worried, although presumably if I say "don't worry about me" often enough, they'll just tell me to go to hell. So the question remains: why do I blog? The answer: "That's a stupid question."
  
  Well, the real answer is, like so much else, the audience. I hope for fame (I've given up on fortune), and I strive to entertain. But how do I entertain without revealing so much of myself that I destroy the anonymity that I hope for?


• Karen, another longtime reader (or at least I've been a longtime reader of hers), has a nice piece on trying to explain the weblogging phenomenon to non-webloggers. That's something I've not yet had to deal with; there's only two, possibly three, people who I know face-to-face who know about my blog. One of them inspired me to start one, one found it on his own and has been mentioned in these pages before, and the third, like Karen, met her luv via weblogging and so doesn't really need an explanation. (No link in this case to protect her privacy; besides, like I said, I'm not sure she even reads Rooster Spice and/or makes the connection. [Was "and/or" called for there, or would "or" have sufficed? Discuss and compose a three-part essay.]) There are also folks who I met over the 'net who I consider... well, if not friends, at least people I'd like to meet someday. But what worries me (and it's only a matter of time) is when a friend Googles me and comes to Rooster Spice to find out what I really think about them.


• More on the above: My wife and I actually met via e-mail, but this was OLD school, before most of the world even knew what it was: 1991. On a UNIX system like the school's mainframe, you can issue a slightly obscene-sounding command called "finger" to get information about a person; i.e. "finger squelch". Well, back in the day, you could also customize your profile, or "plan," and I had made a plan that covered an entire screenful of text. So, K, curious about the various people logged in, no doubt, typed in the finger command, saw my plan, and wrote the following email (an approximation; I didn't know its significance at the time):
  

  From: k------t@colby.edu
  
  To: s-----h@colby.edu
  
  Subject: wow...
  
  
  
  what a plan!

  
  And so, having blazed that trail, we fell in love immediately, if by immediately you mean "next year when we coincidentally were on the same floor of the same dorm."
  
  (Well, come on... I wouldn't have gone out with her after one email. That'd be, like, creepy.)

Thank yuh, thank yuh very much.

It couldn't be "Hound Dog" or "That's All Right, Mama," or even "Love Me Tender." No, the Elvis song in my head is "Let Me," which sounds like it must have come from an album titled "Elvis Sings Everyone's Favorite Polka Hits!"

(And no, Godfrey, I don't need your help removing it.)

Positive reinforcement?

D may or may not have an obscure form of autism called hyperlexia, but we've been proceeding as if he does, correcting and coaching his speech patterns:

D: You want some Halloween candy?
Squelch: Say, "I..."
D: ... want some Halloween candy.
Squelch: No, say "I want..."
D: ... some Halloween candy.
Squelch: The whole thing, honey.
D: I want some Halloween candy.
Squelch: Please.
D: Please.
Squelch: (raises eyebrows)
D: I want some Halloween candy, please.
Squelch: Great job, son! No.

Very long driveway. Very small house.

Today, the Blog*Spot ad is letting me know about Vermont bed & breakfasts that are "perfect for civil unions." I'm actually kind of pleased about that.

A smile, at last.

And yet, when E falls asleep next to me as I practice Brahms on the piano, it somehow seems all right.

As Ted Danson said: Should I have gone to England?

It must be NaNoWriMo month, because I'm getting life-stiflingly depressed. (Is "stiflingly" a word?) And it's only Day 3.

I wrote a little program on my Linux box that reminds me where I should be at the end of any given day; today we need to hit 5,000 words. Not that it really matters; the point is to write, not to compete, yeah?

Yep, keep telling yourself that.

Unfortunately, this book is autobiographical by definition. No, I mean it; the story won't work unless I take a long hard look at me, for reasons that would become clear were I to explain the plot to you. I mean, I could make myself up, but to a certain extent verisimilitude demands: write what you know. Then I throw "what-ifs" and "might-have-beens" at the skeleton, and I don't know about you, but nothing gets me more depressed than "might-have-beens."

Yes, it's absolutely essential to the story.

Any of you who were wondering when the old Rooster Spice would return (you know, the blog that launched a thousand suicide watches), well... let's hope not, anyway.

I am so frippin' sick of political blogs.

They're a little dated, but still...

I recently added Chairman Mao's Little Red Book to my library of books by dictators and/or tyrants (unlike so many on both ends of the political spectrum, I find the best defense against enemies is to listen to what they have to say). In the introduction (written in 1967 by A. Doak Barnett of Columbia University), I was forcefully reminded just what a difference a copy editor makes:

In the "Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution" convulsing Communist China, Peking has flooded the country with literally tens of millions of copies of Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung, in an effort to defy Mao and all his works.

Excuse me? "Defy"? Who knew that one little letter, in this case a missing "i," could so completely change the intent of a sentence--or, indeed, of a revolution?

And now it begins.