There’s a controversy out there that’s really been bugging me. I’ve no idea if it is well-known or obscure because I don’t watch TV news. The short version:
Some white trash couple in New Jersey named their kids Adolf Hitler Campbell, JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell, and Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell (presumably “Hinler” was meant to be “Himmler”). The news got out when they demanded an “Adolph Hitler” birthday cake. The state came and took the kids away. The parents turn out to be a real pair of douche bags. This part is not a surprise.
This really bugs me because from all the public evidence, there is absolutely no reason for the state to intervene. They've torn that family apart. Done untold damage to the children. Sure, the parents are dopes. But that’s hardly uncommon. Is the state now going to dictate what you can and cannot name your children? Is “Osama” still okay? Would a dictator who literally killed people with his own hands (which Hitler did not) also have a disallowed name – in other words, would it be similarly wrong to give a kid the middle name of “Hussein”?
If you still think there’s justification, my next question is: What if the kid was given the name “Swastika”? I’ve often wondered if there are people out there who would react badly to a person named Swastika. To too many people, the swastika represents fascism, racism, war, and death. It is used by ignorant people to represent some of those things frequently. Go to some eurocentric culture festival out in small towns (e.g. a Highland Games or an Oktoberfest) and you might see a few peckerheads skulking off on the sidelines showing off their swastika tattoos. I’ve been tempted to go up and take their picture (some of the artwork is quite good) and see how they react. But theirs is not the true meaning of the swastika. The true meaning needs to be encouraged so that ignorance and fear can diminish. Anyone who reacted badly to someone named Swastika would be guilty of continuing the ignorance. They’d also be very rude.
I’m drinking a mocha made by a very nice girl whose name tag says “Swastika”. I mean, that’s her name. It’s kind of cool. Her parents bestowed it upon her in India as we would name a child Hope or Faith or Grace. It’s cool because to a Westerner it’s challenging. I like to imagine she has encountered countless people who have gone away wondering about it and as a result became more enlightened. It’s one of my little wishes that the swastika be rescued from its long nightmare of being a symbol for nationalist socialism. Indeed, I’ve considered getting a tattoo of one myself – inverted, with dots, so there’s no misunderstanding. Then maybe I really can go take pictures of peckerheads, show them mine, and who knows, plant a little seed of enlightenment where the light is least.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Settle Down
Saw Gran Torino today. Great movie. I learned a lot from the main character. I learned that maybe it’s okay if I just settle down and become the mean old man I was meant to be. But I won’t go around telling gook gangsters to get off my lawn. And not only because I don’t have a classic old M-1 Garand to threaten them with (I wish I did, those are lovely rifles). I’m really not like that. And anyway, no one ever comes into our cul-de-sac. No one who likes to threaten folks. If they do, well, sayonara, y’all.
The Eastwood character confesses one of his sins as being that he never got very close to his sons. Didn’t really know how. Today I told my son I feel the same way. He seemed surprised. Maybe we’re closer than I think. But I will always know (as every father knows) I could have done better. I have a particular memory. Back when he was twelve or so we went fishing. I never fished and didn’t know what to do, really, and pretty soon was upset with myself for not having the basic knowledge. I was also upset with myself for not really knowing how to just be there and relate to him. As my mood deteriorated I related it to the emptiness I found when reaching in for genetic knowledge. By genetic I mean learned at a parent’s knee. I have no solid memories of father-son time of my own, and thus had little to pass on. I had to make it up as I went and it didn’t always turn out so well, especially this time. My son just wanted to go fishing with his dad. I reached deep into my gut for fishing-with-dad memories and my hands came out empty. I wound up very sad, and this put me in an angry mood, I was probably short with him, all the usual bad moments all parents have. We didn’t catch anything either.
I was talking to my dad on the phone recently. I love and respect him but within me the relationship is complicated. We talked about my son, the one whose college career hasn’t quite taken off yet. He’s trying, but he’s too much like me to really find his direction. Hopefully that will change. Anyway, I don’t recall exactly but I did make the distinction between him and me by saying that he has parents. By this I meant he has people trying to understand him and give him direction. I realized my indiscretion quickly and kept talking to move the conversation away from there. A trick of fear and denial that is probably genetic. I hope he wasn’t upset. Dad, I mean. Maybe he’ll read this. But there’s no message. I know it’s been years since any of the pain could be managed in any way other than by acknowledging that, well, time has passed. Too bad. Or as my mom once said: Sorry.
Time is a river and it carries a lot of sand and dirt. I think all of us must have a pretty good layer of sediment in our riverbeds by now. You know, as the river keeps flowing it smoothes the sediment out, wears down the boulders, sometimes digs a deeper channel so the surface can flow more smoothly. That’s an awfully cheesy analogy, isn’t it? I don’t even know what I mean. Something about settling down, as sediment settles. My brain is getting old and sometimes it just wants to settle. You know, shout out to the stars above, Look, you bastards, I’ve done enough! I will never be content so just leave me the fuck alone! But I’m not sure they would understand. Being gods, they are really just a reflection of myself so, no, they will not understand.
Pursuit of Happyness
Thought I saw that movie already. Remembered bits and pieces and the overall story. Watched it tonight. Most of it was new. Did I see a preview? No, I remembered too much for a preview. Finally figured I must have seen it on an airplane, rummy from lack of sleep, hurtling through the night a few miles above the Pacific. Looked up from my book or laptop or catnap now and then, put on the headphones awhile, went back.
It’s an exhausting story. And the period of homelessness makes me want to fund shelters (except of course my systemic instincts kick in, damn them). I appreciated seeing Rev. Williams in his uncredited role as himself. I felt like a slacker and a slob watching the Will Smith character stay so focused in spite of adversity.
Focus is not my friend. Sometimes I feel I can barely accomplish anything anymore. Now would not be a good time to age out of my career but it wouldn’t surprise me if it happened within the next few years anyway. The younger guys care more, and are interested more in technology, and aren’t distracted by second-half yearnings to go find themselves. They have small children and thus strong protective instincts that override any individualist angst. Mine just need college funding and a place to park.
There was an instant when the director ran a convertible full of laughing yuppies past a long line of homeless men lining up outside the shelter at Glide Memorial. I feel like the paper-thin people in the convertible – except I’m not laughing. Not even smiling. I have my huge house and my convertible and occasionally the unbelievable privilege of experiencing the magic that hurtles one through the night a few miles above the Pacific just to go talk to men wearing suits. But other than the laughing part, I’m just as paper-thin as the people in that half-second scene. Just as thin and just as likely in a callow moment to ignore if not dismiss the people lining up for a warm place to sleep.
Systemic instincts. Compassion vies with practicality. Surely the discipline Nature imposed on Man in his days in the forest shouldn’t be discarded entirely. Why not? Not sure. Everyone deserves a hand without regard to why, at least sometimes. But I’ve an inarticulate instinct that insists there is no compassion in giving a man a fish every single day the rest of his life. Teach him to fish and if he won’t learn, leave him free to choose his own lessons.
I don’t know. I only know that charity without end leads to the Roman mob clamoring for their bread and circuses and pulling down and trampling the praetor who denies them this newly inalienable right. That is not the direction of a society with a future.
The main character muses that Thomas Jefferson was an artist, for proclaiming not happiness as a right, but the pursuit of happiness. A vital distinction. But apart from discussing the nature of rights, it’s also a reminder that happiness itself is fleeting, and sometimes we are only really happy when pursuing it.
It’s an exhausting story. And the period of homelessness makes me want to fund shelters (except of course my systemic instincts kick in, damn them). I appreciated seeing Rev. Williams in his uncredited role as himself. I felt like a slacker and a slob watching the Will Smith character stay so focused in spite of adversity.
Focus is not my friend. Sometimes I feel I can barely accomplish anything anymore. Now would not be a good time to age out of my career but it wouldn’t surprise me if it happened within the next few years anyway. The younger guys care more, and are interested more in technology, and aren’t distracted by second-half yearnings to go find themselves. They have small children and thus strong protective instincts that override any individualist angst. Mine just need college funding and a place to park.
There was an instant when the director ran a convertible full of laughing yuppies past a long line of homeless men lining up outside the shelter at Glide Memorial. I feel like the paper-thin people in the convertible – except I’m not laughing. Not even smiling. I have my huge house and my convertible and occasionally the unbelievable privilege of experiencing the magic that hurtles one through the night a few miles above the Pacific just to go talk to men wearing suits. But other than the laughing part, I’m just as paper-thin as the people in that half-second scene. Just as thin and just as likely in a callow moment to ignore if not dismiss the people lining up for a warm place to sleep.
Systemic instincts. Compassion vies with practicality. Surely the discipline Nature imposed on Man in his days in the forest shouldn’t be discarded entirely. Why not? Not sure. Everyone deserves a hand without regard to why, at least sometimes. But I’ve an inarticulate instinct that insists there is no compassion in giving a man a fish every single day the rest of his life. Teach him to fish and if he won’t learn, leave him free to choose his own lessons.
I don’t know. I only know that charity without end leads to the Roman mob clamoring for their bread and circuses and pulling down and trampling the praetor who denies them this newly inalienable right. That is not the direction of a society with a future.
The main character muses that Thomas Jefferson was an artist, for proclaiming not happiness as a right, but the pursuit of happiness. A vital distinction. But apart from discussing the nature of rights, it’s also a reminder that happiness itself is fleeting, and sometimes we are only really happy when pursuing it.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Morning Ritch
Like clockwork, unless I've a meeting, I'm downstairs at 8:20 (plus or minus five) to get my tea and stir hot water into my bag of oatmeal and eat the bagel brought from home and grab a complimentary banana (aka Employee Benefit) and sit at a table with a couple of male contemporaries and bitch about the world and bird-watch. That the birds are professional women and fellow employees and often as not treasured acquaintances does not diminish the importance of the ritual.
If there's someone new about they'll usually comment on my breakfast, as it's apparently unusual to eat oatmeal straight out of the bag, using a napkin to insulate my hand from the heat. I always say it's wonderful what you can learn from a fourteen year old at nine thousand feet. Boy Scouts, to the quizzical look. No clean-up.
Back upstairs, further procrastination in the form of Facebook and a gander at the news. The former lately has not grabbed my attention. The latter usually does if I go to SfGate. Somehow they make it interesting as few other online rags do.
And what, you ask, were my first three article picks?
1. Pa. man considered bank error 'a gift from God'
A guy old enough to know better decided to keep a bank error and run off out of state. Well, who wouldn't, you might ask. If the bank slips the decimal point over, their problem, not mine. But no, still it's theft. Maybe moving to Florida and calling it a gift from God might have been a mistake, even if you do give it away to a church. Contrast this with the Madoff scam, and it's a reminder how much under the boot heel the little guy is compared to the real evil geniuses out there. Scary.
2. Twittersexuality
Curiosity compelled me to see what Violet Blue has to say about sex mixed with Twitter but frankly I couldn't read the whole thing (work is hammering me, I got to compress my time at this). Maybe you have to be a twitterer. Read it yourself. One thing, I generally like her writing but she used the non-word "moreso" and that word always annoys me. It is two words, folks. Nota bene.
3. Home sales soar as foreclosures drive down prices
I was arrested by the photo and caption: A typical example of Bay Area urban architecture ca. 1900 that sold for $557,600 a year and a half ago and again now for $106k. That's a $450,000 loss in twenty months. 80% of the value! And that's just one house. Think of all the fortunes lost and banks left hanging over the cliff and the current economic crisis comes as no surprise at all. But never mind that. If I still wanted to be a landlord I would be all over this market. I don't: Been there, it sucks. But others are, and I wonder what further social evolution will follow this trend of educated immigrants buying in to the American Dream and renting out to the working class families who weren't able to jump the trend. To me it's another affirmation that immigrant status and cultural background are as nothing compared to hard work and a focus on dreams, a fact both the left and the right seem incapable of keeping in mind.
If there's someone new about they'll usually comment on my breakfast, as it's apparently unusual to eat oatmeal straight out of the bag, using a napkin to insulate my hand from the heat. I always say it's wonderful what you can learn from a fourteen year old at nine thousand feet. Boy Scouts, to the quizzical look. No clean-up.
Back upstairs, further procrastination in the form of Facebook and a gander at the news. The former lately has not grabbed my attention. The latter usually does if I go to SfGate. Somehow they make it interesting as few other online rags do.
And what, you ask, were my first three article picks?
1. Pa. man considered bank error 'a gift from God'
A guy old enough to know better decided to keep a bank error and run off out of state. Well, who wouldn't, you might ask. If the bank slips the decimal point over, their problem, not mine. But no, still it's theft. Maybe moving to Florida and calling it a gift from God might have been a mistake, even if you do give it away to a church. Contrast this with the Madoff scam, and it's a reminder how much under the boot heel the little guy is compared to the real evil geniuses out there. Scary.
2. Twittersexuality
Curiosity compelled me to see what Violet Blue has to say about sex mixed with Twitter but frankly I couldn't read the whole thing (work is hammering me, I got to compress my time at this). Maybe you have to be a twitterer. Read it yourself. One thing, I generally like her writing but she used the non-word "moreso" and that word always annoys me. It is two words, folks. Nota bene.
3. Home sales soar as foreclosures drive down prices
I was arrested by the photo and caption: A typical example of Bay Area urban architecture ca. 1900 that sold for $557,600 a year and a half ago and again now for $106k. That's a $450,000 loss in twenty months. 80% of the value! And that's just one house. Think of all the fortunes lost and banks left hanging over the cliff and the current economic crisis comes as no surprise at all. But never mind that. If I still wanted to be a landlord I would be all over this market. I don't: Been there, it sucks. But others are, and I wonder what further social evolution will follow this trend of educated immigrants buying in to the American Dream and renting out to the working class families who weren't able to jump the trend. To me it's another affirmation that immigrant status and cultural background are as nothing compared to hard work and a focus on dreams, a fact both the left and the right seem incapable of keeping in mind.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Guardian of the Sacred Rooftop Spaces
The watcher waits.
If you would pass, it is not up to me -- it is ... up to you.
If you would pass, it is not up to me -- it is ... up to you.
Obamanauguration
It was a fine day to watch the big screens in the company cafeteria and listen to the normally very restrained employee base erupt into occasional applause.
It was inspiring to see that if you strip away the network hype and the camera positioning and the bands and parades, the inauguration of a new president is really a very brief and simple affair. A few words earnestly spoken, and done.
People I was with thought that
* * *
What are we about? The countless examples of Bush Derangement Syndrome don't tell us, and I look forward to them fading away. In some quarters they will be replaced with a naive disappointment over Obama's inevitable grappling with reality. Those of us who were not deranged will offer respect, if early indications are to be believed. Further afield will be some people who simply can't be pleased.
Out of all this our diversity is forged; and from diversity, strength and, eventually, prosperity. Forget about peace. Peace follows when enough people do enough of the right things right. But until every one of humanity's countless diverse communities embrace the values of tolerance, understanding, and negotiation, peace will remain an elusive dream. What we have to do is remain (in this order) strong, free, and prosperous.
* * *
Who said this? Guess, don't Google.
"So it is the policy of the United States to seek and support the growth of democratic movements and institutions in every nation and culture, with the ultimate goal of ending tyranny in our world. This is not primarily the task of arms, though we will defend ourselves and our friends by force of arms when necessary. Freedom, by its nature, must be chosen, and defended by citizens, and sustained by the rule of law and the protection of minorities. And when the soul of a nation finally speaks, the institutions that arise may reflect customs and traditions very different from our own. America will not impose our own style of government on the unwilling. Our goal instead is to help others find their own voice, attain their own freedom, and make their own way."
It was inspiring to see that if you strip away the network hype and the camera positioning and the bands and parades, the inauguration of a new president is really a very brief and simple affair. A few words earnestly spoken, and done.
People I was with thought that
To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.was a great line. So did I. I'm sure further analysis will show most of the speech came from a combination of prior speeches -- they always do. But that doesn't matter. A presidential inauguration is a time when we remind ourselves and the world what we are about.
* * *
What are we about? The countless examples of Bush Derangement Syndrome don't tell us, and I look forward to them fading away. In some quarters they will be replaced with a naive disappointment over Obama's inevitable grappling with reality. Those of us who were not deranged will offer respect, if early indications are to be believed. Further afield will be some people who simply can't be pleased.
Out of all this our diversity is forged; and from diversity, strength and, eventually, prosperity. Forget about peace. Peace follows when enough people do enough of the right things right. But until every one of humanity's countless diverse communities embrace the values of tolerance, understanding, and negotiation, peace will remain an elusive dream. What we have to do is remain (in this order) strong, free, and prosperous.
* * *
Who said this? Guess, don't Google.
"So it is the policy of the United States to seek and support the growth of democratic movements and institutions in every nation and culture, with the ultimate goal of ending tyranny in our world. This is not primarily the task of arms, though we will defend ourselves and our friends by force of arms when necessary. Freedom, by its nature, must be chosen, and defended by citizens, and sustained by the rule of law and the protection of minorities. And when the soul of a nation finally speaks, the institutions that arise may reflect customs and traditions very different from our own. America will not impose our own style of government on the unwilling. Our goal instead is to help others find their own voice, attain their own freedom, and make their own way."
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Bottom of the Ninth
Life is wasted back there. There, they just live on the world. Here, you can live in the world. The Buddhists, they have eight hot and eight cold hells. But there's a whole new level in America. The worst one. The one where everyone's tricked into ignoring their souls by being told they're already in heaven.Tyler Kincaid in The Skull Mantra by Eliot Pattison
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Wonderful Wonders
As a wish-I-had-been architect, I am astounded and delighted by these buildings: 150 Strange Buildings of the World.
My mother took an architecture class at Cal in the late 40s, and somehow the inspiration of her amateur interest blossomed via off the cuff remarks during drives in my childhood into a never-ending delight in how and why buildings are designed the way they are. I grew into the kind of person who doesn't really pursue his dreams, so I'm not an architect (or a jazz musician or retired baseball star for all that) and it's just as well with my last name.
I have one more to add to the above, if I ever stop for pictures next drive down 99; or perhaps several: unusual and interesting structures can be found everywhere. One day (maybe) I'll take a short road trip and photo me an essay.
Hat tip for the link: Sal.
My mother took an architecture class at Cal in the late 40s, and somehow the inspiration of her amateur interest blossomed via off the cuff remarks during drives in my childhood into a never-ending delight in how and why buildings are designed the way they are. I grew into the kind of person who doesn't really pursue his dreams, so I'm not an architect (or a jazz musician or retired baseball star for all that) and it's just as well with my last name.
I have one more to add to the above, if I ever stop for pictures next drive down 99; or perhaps several: unusual and interesting structures can be found everywhere. One day (maybe) I'll take a short road trip and photo me an essay.
Hat tip for the link: Sal.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Tokyo Banana
People gather to TOKYO from here and there with memories of their homes. And then, TOKYO gets everyone's home town. TOKYO BANANA.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Vale, Ricardo Montalban
25 Nov 20 - 14 Jan 09
A class act all the way. And when he reprised Khan at 62, still ripped.
Can't Believe I Haven't Read It Yet
Here's a synopsis:
For the uninitiated, the moral of the story is simply this: Politicians invariably respond to crises -- that in most cases they themselves created -- by spawning new government programs, laws and regulations. These, in turn, generate more havoc and poverty, which inspires the politicians to create more programs . . . and the downward spiral repeats itself until the productive sectors of the economy collapse under the collective weight of taxes and other burdens imposed in the name of fairness, equality and do-goodism.Name that book! (Hint: A survey by the Library of Congress and the Book of the Month Club found that readers rated it as the second-most influential book in their lives, behind only the Bible.)
Never Repent
I supported Iraq (you know what I mean) and never backed down. Now Bush is retreating into history, where the verdicts remain open. Meanwhile, we have a quagmire of another sort looming. Should Obama try to apply the lessons of the Great Depression? He seems to want to. But he must be cautious. Bush (as I saw it) tried to apply the lessons of World War II. But look how well that went. He pretty well proved that big decisions are difficult and risky, even while deferring those decisions is riskier. Neo-neocon sums up the situation nicely (as usual) in "Making predictions about the economy —- or much of anything else".
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Educational Interlude
Photographer Matt Freeman provides some nice ideas for how to use the time of day as you take photographs at Burning Man ...
Monday, January 12, 2009
Friday, January 09, 2009
Everywhere, Everything the Same
I got an email from LiveJournal. I have an account there. I don't write in it. I don't even know the password offhand. I opened it once so I could more easily comment at other people's LiveJournal pages. I don't remember the last time I cared about that.
The email said they were very sad to cut staff but it was all part of a "restructuring". Global design and product development is now in Moscow. The new server farm is in Montana. The HQ remains in San Fran.
Yeah.
People who do my job in Asia are getting better at it. American jobs that moved to Japan and Taiwan have long since moved to China, where people worry about India and Vietnam. It takes time, but eventually the quality of the work is comparable, and the costs remain better than competitive.
They have great programmers in Russia. Hell, so do we (my employer, I mean). How long before they lose jobs to Poland? Poland is already taking jobs from Ireland, as Dell seeks to cut costs.
As Tom Lehrer said, who's next? The cycle will continue for a very long time, until every continent and country has pulled itself more or less on a par with the others. And the bitch of that is, since the U.S.A. is the richest, the furthest "ahead" in that sense, over the long term we will be on the shallowest growth slope for the longest time. Well, barring wars and socialist insurrections that set others back, of course.
The email said they were very sad to cut staff but it was all part of a "restructuring". Global design and product development is now in Moscow. The new server farm is in Montana. The HQ remains in San Fran.
Yeah.
People who do my job in Asia are getting better at it. American jobs that moved to Japan and Taiwan have long since moved to China, where people worry about India and Vietnam. It takes time, but eventually the quality of the work is comparable, and the costs remain better than competitive.
They have great programmers in Russia. Hell, so do we (my employer, I mean). How long before they lose jobs to Poland? Poland is already taking jobs from Ireland, as Dell seeks to cut costs.
As Tom Lehrer said, who's next? The cycle will continue for a very long time, until every continent and country has pulled itself more or less on a par with the others. And the bitch of that is, since the U.S.A. is the richest, the furthest "ahead" in that sense, over the long term we will be on the shallowest growth slope for the longest time. Well, barring wars and socialist insurrections that set others back, of course.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Vale, Bob Wilkins
11 Apr 32 - 07 Jan 09
Back in junior high and high school, several years before I saw my first VCR, the only way to catch a horror flick (especially the rare British ones that might show a flash of flesh if you don't blink) was to check the listings and stay up late and turn on Channel 2. Bob was cool in ways us the uncool could relate to, horn-rimmed glasses, cigar smoke, oversized rocking chair, 70s-ugly sport coats, candle dripping over fake skull, laconic delivery of occasional bad jokes about the movies, and above all that wonderful music, Neal Hefti's "Gotham City Municipal Swing Band".
Monday, January 05, 2009
Don and his Mom's Excellent Adventure Through Time and Space
I had a fun time with my mom a couple days after Xmas. Fun times together were always rare for us, just because of how time and chance put us together. But I love her and as someone three to the fourth she keeps pretty active and I’m proud of her for that. She’s a docent now and then at the Asian Art Museum in the City and I went with her to check it out. We took BART. The station happened to have sign showing where we were going.
First, the interesting part. The Kabul Museum held treasures of inestimable value recalling four thousand years of urban culture, including rule by Alexander and his generals, the empire of the Kushans, trade routes between Rome and China, and many other epochs in that country’s rich and turbulent history. In the mid 1990s it was used as a military base and largely destroyed. What was left was ransacked by the Taliban. In 2003, when a semblance of stability returned to the country, it was found that many of the most valuable objects had been stored away in metal boxes in the basements of the Presidential Palace. Museum staff had done this at great personal risk to save the collection. Now the collection is touring the world, where it is probably safer than in Afghanistan.
The critter in the main hall was cute.
Now, it’s a little known fact that Don of What Is Hip is a reincarnated soul. You scoff! But look at the past lives I found in the ancient art of this land traversed by the footloose peoples of old. It’s like a photo album of snapshots from my former days.
For example, those wonderful palace parties! The lyre music, the smiles, the fetchingly unabashed adornment with naught but body jewelry. Oh, and the pyramidal cakes, who could forget?
Oh my gods, I can’t believe they carved this picture! It was so funny! Basically, when she got down -- and she was so hot! –- the couple behind her were all, I mean, and that’s me on the left, there was a mix-up of, you know, I mean we were all pretty gone by this time, it like flew apart and we’re all holding the pieces. I about died. I guess you pretty much had to be there.
Here’s me playing baseball in the uniform of the Begram Ball Bashers and yes, it was cold that day.
This shows how no matter how quietly I come to bed, she always gets woken up. Here she is bitching me out while I’m getting set to brush my teeth. I’m not sure why there’s an elephant floating above her ass, probably represents the dream she had when I first tip-toed into the room. Note the large Bactrian toothbrush.
Some things never change, such as dancing like a fool a la Burning Man. And yep, you guessed it. Another cold day.
I think these chicks were on 'ludes. The chick to the left was all, Hi. Hi. That was it, she kept saying Hi. She was hella fine, too, if you don’t mind a little gummatous necrosis. You can sorta see the attitude, though, can’t you? They were all like, we’re too hot for you. So I was all like, later, bitchiz.
Sometimes it’s surprising how much later later can be.
When I took this picture, Mom came up and said, “Yes, they are.”
My photographic skills didn’t quite catch the essence of the depiction here, but trust me: They are. And all wrapped up in each other while they’re at it. Geez, you two. Get a realm.
My mom gave the talking tour, by the way, to tourists and jewel thieves and whoever else was wandering through, and did a fine job of it. Later we walked past the old opera house to a cafe for lunch, and took the F for much of its route (see my bitchin’ picture atop a recent depressing post), and pushed our way through crowds of Fisherman’s Wharf tourists, whose basic nature hasn’t changed since Mark Twain’s day, and generally enjoyed our favorite city as one cannot help but do, however arbitrary the timing, locations, and weather.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
High Flyin' George
Where's George? Found this when sorting through tree pick-up money. Neat idea: Track the progress of money across the land. It would be fun to know if any of the other hundred or so singles in this stack are in the database. I said fun to KNOW, not fun to enter them all and find out. Prob'ly very few bills without the marking are tracked anyway.
Yeah, I blanked out the serial number. It's to protect the integrity of the data.
So where had this one been? Nowhere but San Jose, where the guy stamped it and released it a couple months ago. But other bills have been around. Check it out. Notable stop for top-traveler $1 Bill # K24------I: Dallas' Penthouse Key Club, which looks like some sort of cheesy overpriced "bikini bar". Comments on the most-entered twenty include "Bill somewhat worn, folded in the middle. Must have been in someones pocket or up their butt @ one time." Yup. You can't make this stuff up. Oh, you can? Okay.
* * *
I went ahead and entered five more. No pops: They were all first-timers.
Yeah, I blanked out the serial number. It's to protect the integrity of the data.
So where had this one been? Nowhere but San Jose, where the guy stamped it and released it a couple months ago. But other bills have been around. Check it out. Notable stop for top-traveler $1 Bill # K24------I: Dallas' Penthouse Key Club, which looks like some sort of cheesy overpriced "bikini bar". Comments on the most-entered twenty include "Bill somewhat worn, folded in the middle. Must have been in someones pocket or up their butt @ one time." Yup. You can't make this stuff up. Oh, you can? Okay.
* * *
I went ahead and entered five more. No pops: They were all first-timers.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
A pox on 'em
I like how even the VOA's brief mention of the Gaza fighting quotes a Gazan journalist --
"I moved out of my house out of fear. They were bombarding near my house."-- without bothering to mention Hamas was bombarding Israeli houses for weeks beforehand, daring Israel to do something about it. The obvious intention is to provoke another little war that Israel will call off once Hamas has thrown enough Arabs under the tank treads, thus enabling Hamas' declaring victory as the surviving underdog and further advance the global creep of anti-Semitism. And it will probably work.
