I wasn't going to weigh in on the whole eminent domain in the supreme court thing, but events have transpired that made me just have to get this one out of my system.

Briefly, one sentence for those of you who live under a rock yet still manage to read me. The supreme court ruled that if the town wants to take away your house and put in a strip mall they can.

Drew Curtis over at Fark.com, had an idea about this that was so pointed that I had to share it. He states, "World Fark Party 2006 or 2007 at Justice Souter's place. Help make the Lost Liberty Hotel an improvement over his existing crappy house". If Justice Souter thinks its ok for the government to take your house so someone else can make money off of it, lets turn the judges house into a luxury hotel. The statement is poth a public service message as well as an obvious action. What makes this better is he links to an online pledge site where he asks for support. He gets his support to the tune of 218 over target in a matter of a few hours, and the deadline isn't until july 15th. Head on over and add your name to the list to strike a blow against the new manifest destiny.

Yeah, I said it. Now I am going to say it again in bold. New Manifest Destiny. If you don't like that, how about we call it "Tyranny of the Rich". The whole point being that the government has decited that the needs of the rich outweigh the needs of the poor. Some developer decides that my land would be worth more if it was a $250,000 kit home instead of MY home and *poof* I'm out of a place to live just like that, don't let the construction worker hit me on the butt on the way out. Its not like I can buy it back. I would have to move on.

You know who probably thinks this is funny as hell? I'm thinking the Native Americans do. They are probably sitting back on their reservations belly laughing. "How does it feel NOW pale face!"

I can't help but imagine Gov. William J. LePetomaine as played by Mel Brooks in Blazing Saddles.
"We've gone around discrimating against all the races and the women, lets pick on the poor people! Just give 'em a Wal-Mart, they'll be fine."

And still we take it, like we've taken it for years. One piece of the American Dream at the time...

Posted by at 8:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

When everything on the menue looks good, Sara and I have always applied the rule of tapas. Thus we ate for the very first time at 1618 Seafood Grille. The entree selection was so good that we didn't know what dish to choose that would best define the restaurant. So we each had a soup, a salad and two appetizers each. The idea being to taste as many different things as possible.

We each chose the dinner caesar salad to start. Sara enjoyed its lightness, but I was bothered by the fact that the dressing was so light it was completely overwelmed by the greens. The croutons I believe must have been baked in a wood oven, they had a wonderful smokiness.

For soup we each went a different way, Sara chose the Italian soup which was a very nice vegistable soup with a hint of sausage. Just the thing for a cold day (I will keep that in mind this winter). I had the New England clam chowder, which was just the way I liked it, creamy, hearty, and full of clams. We both felt we had terrific soups, and were very satisified with our choices.

The first round of appetizers arived. It is here that I should probably note that each dish arrived exactly at the right time. I should also note that it was the first time that I had ever eaten in a "high dining" establishment that took the word "high" literally. Sara's sea scallop arrived stacked on top of a wonderful corn salsa with chips. It was not only tasty but a feat of engineering to keep the dish from settling on the unstable base of tortia chips.

I had the calamari, which was presented as an undersea volcano, with a mountain of lightly fried squid drizzled in sauce lava flow with a bean sprout plume at the crater. (I didn't actually notice what it resembled until I realized that all of the dishes were presented in an undersea theme.)

Next round saw Sara taking on seasme crusted tiger shirmp served over a flavorful corn cake. We both enjoyed this, even though I typically find the larger shrimps like the tiger shrimp to lack the flavor of the local smaller varieties. For myself, I chose a lobster dish which came with some very cleverly crafted fried noodles that resembled fan coral set beside an empty lobster head, each corner of the plate had a 1/4 inch slice of lobster, the whole effect being a coral seabed. When it arrived the people at the table next to me giggled just as I did at the cleverness of the display. I was slightly embarased that they reacted but not as much as they were when their entrees arived and I got the last laugh.

If the appetizers were snapshots of the sea floor, the entrees were Disney sets for The Little Mermaid on ice. Don't get me wrong, I am not knocking it. The most important thing in a restaurant should be the dishes served in it, and these dishes all stole the show.

The restaurant itself was tastefully decorated with local art by various artist all within the same color palet, which I thought was amazing attention to detail. The tables were warm rich cherry, and the accents all served to play the part of the stage and tapistries that the meal unfolded in front of.

In some restaurants you get a meal with your show, at 1618 West Seafood Grille your meal IS the show, and each dish is set at center stage. As for price, bring your credit card, nothing this good ever comes cheap. As for me, I am looking forward to my aniversary so I can justify going back again.

Posted by at 8:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Posted by at 2:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The good lord will get you.
Its a phrase I hear my boss use occasionally. I think I got to witness it first hand this weekend starting with the aforementioned bachelor party. Between Rob's double barreled peer presure, his own excitement, and Sara's gentle but firm shuving I was resigned to my fate of sitting in the bus for how ever long it took the gang to have all of their money taken away in the club. At least there would be booze and go carts. With the money given to me by Rob so I couldn't use lack of money as an excuse, I went by the alphabet store and picked up a bottle of just below the top shelf tequila. I had no idea there was such a vast difference in prices and qualities. I did the fencing thing, did the after fencing dinner and meeting thing, Sara was taken care of, and I went to the meeting place, only slightly behind schedule.
They against all reasonable explanation had managed to be not only on schedule but already left in the party bus. So not knowing what to do, I left the bottle, hopped in the car and called Rob for directions of where to find them. I got his voice mail. Ok...unexpected. I called Sara for advice, and she suggested I go pick her up. We go home.

The next morning, I'm feeling guilty instead of the much prefered hung over, but I hoped I could make it up at the wedding. After coffee, we went round and round over what to wear. Sara has nothing but work cloths, and I have one suit, the one I only wear to funerals. Finally we agreed to disagree and I put on a bright yellow T-shirt and a sports coat. She put on one of her purple suits and we headed for the door.

The car had a flat front driver side tire. So I pump it up, getting my jacket dirty in the process and headed into town to get a plug. I only had to pump it back up once on the way there. I got it plugged and went back to pick Sara up. My cellphone was sitting in the drink holder where I left it last night. I had two missed calls, both from Rob, there were no messages. I also notice that it is still on vibrate from where I had put it three days earlier when our PM training started. Crap. I made it home. Sara, having brushed the dirt off of my jacket sleave, managed to get herself covered in cat hair in the process. I brush her down and we think maybe we can slip out the door without something else happening. We were right unless of course you count the pocket of my jacket got caught on the doorknob and torn. Screw it. I'm going pocket or no pocket. We get into the car, the clock says 12:40. We are in Browns Summit, the wedding is at Duke Chapel in Durham. Ok, we will be late. We will slip in quite like and sit in the back.

Highway 61 is pretty, but not when you are in a hurry. Especially not when you are in a hurry riding behind a tractor. We finally got around him and I put my foot in it. At 61 and I40, I have to stop for gas, yes, I know, I should've done that last night. I end up having to buy a quart of oil to go with my tank of gas. The people in line ahead of me were a large group trying to figure out who was going to buy what. The problem was they and the cashier didn't share a common language. Finally it is my turn. My card is declined. But wait, I've still got Rob's cash that was supposed to buy me a go cart ride. I'm out the door, oil is in, I have grease and dirt on my hands but we are back in traffic.

We are back in traffic sitting behind a semi who is, like us, trying to make a left to get onto I40. He's having to wait for the funeral percession to go by first. The deceased was well liked apparently. He turns onto I40 and I make a critical and unpopular decision, it is 1:06pm, the wedding is at 1:30pm. I pull a U-turn and find myself waiting behind the same funeral procession who is trying to make a left into the grave yard. When I can, I turn back into the gas station go into the Popeyes and get a 16 piece box which was on sale. I get home just before 2pm, I eat a lot of chicken strait from the box standing at the stove in absolute silence, Sara turns to the playstation for solace. After overeating chicken I just go back to bed, nothing can go wrong there right?

I was there for only a half hour at most when I had to get up and sit on the toilet for pretty much the rest of the day.

The good lord will get you, and she apparently has a very wicked since of humor.

I hope I still have friends on Monday. The groom I am not worried about he was too busy getting married to notice. Rob I am worried about. I disappoint him, like most people, a good deal of the time but this one takes the cake and there isn't anything I can do about it. But at least I now know that my stomach problems are purely stress related.

Posted by at 8:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I am supposed to go to a bachlor party tonight. I am dreading it. I am dreading it with every fibre of my being. Friends are good, drunk is pretty good, the party bus is going to be fun on a bun, but some dumbass decited that we "have" to go to a nudie bar. There is some sort of right of passage that has been ingrained into the idiot mind whereby he has to be a lamb lead to a slaughter. Not the teeth and claw slaughter, that would be preferable over the nudie bar lamb to the slaughter. So with silicon, makeup, and thong we stupid drunk guys are going to willingly put ourselves into a position to be robbed of both our money and our pride. How is this fun? No friend is worth that. A real friend wouldn't put a friend into that position. Isn't it enough to force us to drive two hours to the wedding ceremony? Isn't "uncomfortable", and "ceremony", enough to ask of anyone?

Maybe if I am really lucky I will have to be hospitalized before 9pm tonight.

Posted by at 9:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

After three years of having the beta in a bowl with a plant on top you just begin to assume that they will always be there. This morning Beta SP wasn't. Ok, the body was there, but the spirit was swimming in that great fish bowl in the sky. My mom gave a bunch of these beta-in-a-bowls three years ago around Easter as gifts. Beta SP out lived the others by nearly two years.

In other news, driving home the other day we noticed a sign on the Burger King on Summit avenue that said "Closed For Remodeling". The parking lot was closed off and work crews were working on it. Then one day we saw the sign again, "Closed For Remodeling", but something was different. Something suddle. Hey, where did the building go? That's a definition of "remodeling" I wasn't previously aware of.

I have been in project management training all week. We've got high speed trainer here with several good books to his credit. That must be why my brain feels so fried.

Finally, I told you last week about my buddy who is getting major life altering surgery and how he is blogging about his experience. Now his wife is throwing her own experiences in the ring. Please visit Brandi, and wish her and her husband well as they are on the verge of having their lives altered forever.

crap. I am late for class.

Posted by at 8:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Team "Underexposed" had their first interest meeting last night. It was like a meeting of rival mob gangs. We had a writer's group, a group of guerilla street film makers, and the leader of a college trained group of future film professionals. We were all joined together to make the score of a lifetime. That would be winning the 48 Hour Film Project. To win locally would mean to reshoot the project on professional equipment. To win that means being able to keep the professional equipment.

So the Supprano's, the Yakkuza, and the Crips walk into a bar...
Yeah, it was just like that. Instead of packing heat we were all packing tech gear each armed with their professional reel, portfilio, or resume. We all came in, rubbed elbows, and sized one another up.

I think we can work together. If for nothing else, the reward is worth the risk.

Posted by at 8:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Chapter 3

In the movie The Lion King the wise Rafiki taught Simba to leave his past behind him. You can't let what cannot be changed change what can be.
Rafiki: *WACK!* (Right across Simba's backside with his staff)
Simba: "Hey, what did you do that for?"
Rafiki: "It doesn't matter, it is in the past."

If you ignore the wisdom of cartoon characters, what's next, ignoring fortune cookies? The lesson we learn here is that if the score is 0-0 or 0-4 it has absolutely no bearing on what the next touch will be. You aren't fencing for five touches, you are fencing for one touch, five times. The score when you are fencing is always, 0-0. When the referee calls "halt", no one scored a touch, you scored one touch, your opponent scored one touch, or you both scored one touch. That is all. When you fence you must forget about every touch scored except the one you are just about to score. Nothing else matters. Your score, your opponent's score, the way your opponent sneared at you when they saluted you. These things are all irrevelent distractions. A fencer who knows that it is a distraction will snear at you on purpose, to try and gain touches from your distraction. It usually works, even at high levels. The fencer who has their head together, won't notice the snear, and will be able to put it in their past if they did. This is the whole reason why people scream. Sure it might make you flench when they do it gaining them a quick advantage, but what they really want is for you to be completely distracted by it on the next touch. Same for snears, snide remarks, any action that isn't fencing (and a couple that are).

Exercise: Every time the referee calls halt, take a deep breath. When the referee says, "Ready" you say in your mind, "Now". And be "now", not worrying about what the other fencer did or is doing. Be in the now.

Speaking of Movies, I made a point of making a jedi reference in every chapter for a reason. Yoda is a lot more than a muppet. Yoda plays a teacher in the movies and has things to teach in real life.
"Try? There is no 'try'. Do or do not."

When you say to yourself you will "try" something what you are really doing is saying you are prepaired to fail at something. The word try indicates that you are going to give it a shot, and if you fail it is ok. Since when is failing a success? When you go into a bout and you think to yourself that you are going to "try" to do well, you have already told yourself that you aren't. and you are hoping that by some miracle your opponent is going to do horribly against you. Better would be at the beginning of the bout to say, "I am going to score this touch".

Referee: Salute, mask, enguard!
You: *With a deep breath* I am going to score this touch.
Referee: Ready!
You: Now.
Referee: Fence!

There is fencing.

Referee: Halt!
You: I am going to score this touch.
Referee: Enguard!
You: *Take a deep breath*
Referee: Ready!
You: "Now"
Referee: Fence!

Repeat til end of bout. Congratz, you just found Exercise two.

Notice that I didn't tell you about the score, or the attitude of the other fencer, or his stupid ideas about fencing. None of those things matter. The only time score matters is at the end of the bout, the end of the pool, and the end of your last Direct Elimination match.

If you ever say to yourself:
"I hate fencing this guy."
"He has such an attitude."
"I wish they would shut up."
"What's with that stupid low lunge?"
"Why is he always mumbling to himself?"
"I always lose against this person."

Posted by at 7:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Forward
One of the things I have always loved about blogs is the ability to say something equally to everyone who chooses to read it, yet still be able to talk directly to one person. Its not that the others aren't allowed or welcome to read my musings, it really has more to do with a message being for everyone but inspired by that one special person, thus today's blog. Of my entire readership the fencing portion equals the other coaches, plus one parent who happened to see my blog on TV. That was a shock. After that first few minutes of blind panic a'la-
"OMG what if I wrote something inappropriate? Oh wait. No, that's why I made the decision to write under my own name in the first place. Wheew! I nearly soiled my mouse pad there for a second!"

Now I am just happy to have one more reader.

So as it works out I can write a message for the world to see that speaks great and cosmic truths that transcend all sports, activities, and hobbies and yet speak directly to one special fencer. (You kNow who you are because I told you friday in Club to expect this. Only i wouLd never say your name for fear of Embarassing you.) :)

Chapter One
The Circle of Life

Fencing, (a term I use to describe "all thing great and small") is a circle. You fence with a strait line, on a strait line, in a strait line, but you the fencer moves in circles developementally. One half of the circle is "Skill", the other half of the circle is "Confidence" and they overlap such that balance between skill and confidence are only reached at two points around the circle. (see figure A. assuming I remember to make a figure A) This makes so much since to me that I am sure I must have read it in a sports psychology book somewhere, I just don't know where that book is right at this moment. Just realize that I am pretty sure I am not breaking any new ground in sport today.

Everyone who does anything, or as I like to say, "in fencing" everyone is constantly moving around the circle. You come in you have only enough confidence, to at least make the leap into choosing to fence in the first place. You have only what general skills you brought with you. This is an equilibrium point. You learn skills, the more you know the more you realize you don't know and your confidence drops. You are on the skill side. Then one day you notice that you are doing well, winning bouts and bringing home medals. You have the skills, and you are gaining confidence. This is the other equilibrium point. Now you are very confident, and you start to become a little reckless, cocky even. You are trying new things and they are working or they aren't. Its a fun high point where you walk in and think to your self, "I've beaten them, and them, and them..." you've made a little pecking order in your own mind and you know you are at the top of it. Then one day some noob wipes the floor with you and then struts around after like king of the world. You are crushed and you doubt your own abilities. Welcome home young jedi, the circle is complete. In college we referred to this as "Time to drink". Prior to college, you get mopy listen to angry or sad music and wear dark colors. After college we refer to this as getting a new look, and buying a motorcycle. (I want a motorcycle.) Later in life it is called a midlife crisis, you buy a sports car, and hang out with younger people.

But I digress.

1. You come in knowing nothing, and you know you know nothing. You get perspective.
2. You learn skills and build confidence. You get good.
3. You are successful and no one can touch you. You get cocky.
4. You are crushed in humiliating defeat by some scrub who should have never scored on you to start with. You get destroyed.
(lather, rinse, repeat)

However, you don't exist in a vacuum. You're on the "merry-go-runaround" and so is everyone around you. And seldom is everyone in the same place. Its really probably better that way. If you don't ever hit #4, the guy on the other end of the strip never gets to hit #3. Thus, you never get to make it back to #1 and #2.

To make things even more interesting the circle doesn't necessarily have to be a perfect circle. Based on personality most people's circles are some sort of egg shape. Where the smallest point on the circle could be any number above or somewhere in between. I have this incredibly talented and skilled fencer. She walks into a tournament, quiet, shy and unassuming, she steps onto the strip and dismembers her competition like a hungry lioness, but you never see teeth or claws. She's sort of like a cute little bunny rabbit. A carnivorous one named Coney, with an insatiable appitite and no mercy. She moves very slowly around an egg shape where she spents a great deal of her time in 1, and 2. Less time in 3. 4 came and went in a single week and suddenly she is back at 1 again.

On the other hand I have a guy who spends so much time paying his dues getting beaten by one beginner after another that when he finally does have his day in the sun he doesn't know how to act and for a short uncomfortable period of time I am at once thrilled that all of his hard work is finally paying off, yet can't wait to see him get knocked back a peg or two. If my fencer above is a carnivorous bunny, than my fencer here is a ferret named Kiki.

What happened Friday was My rabbit hit 4 just as the ferret was basking in 3. Were I as a coach in college still, I would've stopped by the alphabet store on the way home that night. Any good coach fears seeing his athletes in stage three and absolutely hates seeing the fencer hit the inevitable stage four.

Chapter 2
Precipitating The Crisis

We already know that athletes don't operate in a vacuum. In my previous example rabbit hit four while ferret was in three. This wasn't coincidence. Like the planets and the stars, each has an affect on the other. My ferret's cocky poinging shook the confidence of my rabbit which fed the ego of the ferret. What do you know? Another circle!

So knowing that one can affect the other you can use it to your advantage just like NASA uses the Sun's and planets' gravity to get their various probes to their destinations.

So we know that our rabbit can be defeated by our ferret's poinging. We saw it Friday night in glorious technovision. What the rabbit doesn't really realize yet, which I am here telling her right now is that she can distract the ferret with a shiny thing in the same way. Our ferret is easily distracted both on and off the strip and small shiny things can create huge distractions in his mind. If you were to suddenly switch to dynamic footwork, he will suddenly switch to dynamic footwork, which he can't do. He will be so distracted by trying to hop like a bunny that he will forget he is fencing, now attack! Touch rabbit. You will probably be able to immediately score on him again just because he will still be so shocked and distracted by the previous touch.

Everyone has a weakness. My rabbit can have her confidence shattered by her opponent's overconfidence really easy. (Do I have to really name names?)
My ferret can be completely derailed by any distraction. Paintball ninja can't be pushed. (Paintball ninja is enjoying a very long and glorious period in stage 3 because no one here will push him.)

Everyone can be defeated in two ways, physically and mentally. Some coaches concentrate on the mental game, its quick, easy and it works up to a point. They don't make many friends either. At the Downtown Fencing Club we concentrate on the physical one. It might take longer, but in the end you go much farther, and no one ever thinks you're a butt head. That does not mean that you should ignore the mental game, just be aware that that way lays the dark side.

And I stick the dismount with a Jedi reference.

To sum up:
1. You can defeat anyone as long as you have both the skill and the confidence. If you lack either one, you will fail.
2. Competition happens not only on the strip, but also in the minds of the competitors. Why do you think I spend so much time teaching the new kids to put their masks on with one hand?

Now go be amazing.

Oh yeah, figure A.

Posted by at 8:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that there are differences between women and men. Heck, if you only had one of the seven senses you could quickly tell one gender from the other. (Your experience may vary depending on sense. Void where prohibited by law.)

Most of the time we walk around aware of it like we are aware of the fact that the air is warm, our underwear chafes, and that person probably shouldn't dress like that in public. i.e., we know its going on, but we don't always pay attention to it. A whole bunch of things has happened to me in the past couple of days that made me realize that it was my time to write.

Last night I got to watch some of the differences as an impartial observer, and it just reminded me one more time how great it is to be so different. (And I mean in more than just in the seeing, smelling, and touching way.) No, I just said I wasn't in a strip club. I don't like strip clubs*.

I remember the last time I was traumatized by my wife. We were doing spring cleaning. In my house it is that magical time of year when Sara goes through my things throwing as much of it away as she can before I end up clutching a tattered Dr. Who T-shirt to my chest while rocking gently under a table covered in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle toys. At this point she sighs, announces that she's finished (for now) and tries to coax me out with food and Cheerwine. There are some wounds not even Bojangles and Cheerwine can heal.

The past few days I have been witness to Sara offering her traumatic skills to another guy. Essentially, I sit back in a corner being my usual lazy self and read comic books while she forces this guy to throw his precious memories in the trash. I realize now that it is a truly necessary thing. That doesn't mean that I'm suddenly not going to end up back under the table rocking. You can count on the fact that I will be under the table clutching some treasure from my past. We all have to be good at something.

The difference here is obvious but not necessarily noticed. Our whole society is based on this simple fact. Men can become emotionally attached to physical things, women can't. Women's clothing is made cheaply, and sold at top dollar. The typical woman buys cloths seasonally, some even go shopping every week. A whole industry is based on this simple natural law. Same thing with hair styles. Guys, how many pairs of underwear you have with holes in the crotch? Some of them? Most of them? All of them? You finally buy a three pack of briefs do you throw away the three worst pairs? Nope, we refer to these ancient holey drawers as "Backups", "Emergency Backups", or "Emergency Underpants". No, wait, I'm wrong, no one refers to them as "Emergency Underpants". No one.

When a relationship fails, women purge. You know, "I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair". 90% of the girls I dated ended the relationship with fire. The others just threw stuff away. Guys, have a different philosophy. i.e. "If you do not remember the past you will be doomed to repeat it." I kept** boxes organized by girlfriend's last name and year of every card, note, and stuffed animal that happened during that relationship. Sometimes girls got multiple boxes if they wrote a bunch of love notes or gave a bunch of gifts.

So last night, there I was reading a Batman Begins graphic novel while Sara worked over our friend like a mugger in a dark alley.
"Do you use this?"
"ummm..."
"Have you used this in the past year?"
"um...well"
"Then do you REALLY need this?"
"um...no..I guess.."
"Get rid of it."

At one point our friend was actually huddled under his desk. Sara had him under there with a dust buster vacuuming, but I knew deep down what was really going on.

To his credit, he took it well. He is striving for some crazy thing he calls a "minimalist" lifestyle This "minimalist" thing as best as I can tell means "to live in as small a place as allowed by the Geneva Convention, and local building codes." Whatever trips your trigger I say.

I think evolutionarily speaking males were designed to save for hard times while females were designed to be ready to bolt with the kids on a seconds notice quickly and cleanly.

So while traumatic by proxy, I got to see the whole majestic thing unfold in front of me and I now understand how it works. Sadly however, like destiny, I am unable to escape it.

I am man, I hoard, ergo ebay.

* I am very comfortable with my place in the preditor prey relationship of the food chain. Strip clubs move me down the food chain such that I am not only prey, I am surrounded, completely helpless, by naked and nearly naked preditors. Why would I willingly put the apple in my own mouth and sit in a chafing dish? I wouldn't. And thus you won't find me in a strip club willingly. I don't care how good the food on the salad bar looks. In the words of the almighty Admiral Akbar, "Its a trap!".

** Sara ditched that stuff as soon as she realized it existed. At the time we were engaged and I was getting ready to move from Summerfield to my new secluded digs in Browns Summit.

Posted by at 9:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Teh Funny #2

Posted by at 1:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I am reading here that the other day on The View Barbara Walters mentioned that a woman sitting on an airplane next to her whipped out a breast and fed junior with it. While a normal, natural good thing, Barbara Walters was uncomfortable being so up close and personal to the process. I can't say as I blame her really. At any rate, in minutes militant breastfeeders were planning a terrorist style "nurse in" against ABC because they were offended that Barbara Walters was uncomfortable.

The whole thing just smacks of odd to me. Being mammals it is a well known and widely understood fact that most females of the species produce milk with which to feed new babies. Its a drive through conceived long before the wheel and it works. On the other hand our fore-fathers and fore-mothers have been expounding the taboo of the breast ever since the "big entity" introduced Adam and Eve to fig leaves back in Genesis.

As such, being taboo, the breast have become something desirable and naughty. Since the internet, besides desirable and naughty, they are also profitable and available. Since plastic surgery, they have become symetrical high perky and often too big.

While I agree that a woman ought to be able to feed a baby anywhere she so chooses, if for no other reason mammals were born to do it, it is an awful lot to ask to suddenly switch off several thousand years of taboo in an instant. I know I have been in situations where I have found myself front and center at mommy's special mealtime, and I too have felt very uncomfortable. That's a lot of taboo to suddenly confront at one time. On the one hand (thankfully the winning hand) I want to be anywhere else to give mom her privacy. On the other hand (thankfully the losing hand) I want to sit back and watch in complete fascination.

I get what they are trying to do though. They want to quickly rip the bandade of taboo away to reveal the tender nipple underneath. They see the quick sting a better alternative than a thousand years of slow suffering.

Still they shouldn't attack Barbara Walters and I for being up front and honest with our feelings. Feelings have been a taboo subject for a while too you know. I am however, prepaired to meet you half way. One of the ways to get over a negative feeling is to face it, so in the light of making myself a better person, if you want to breast feed in front of me, I promise to watch you do it. If I watch enough times, sooner or later I will simply stop noticing or caring. It is the least I can do as a fellow mammal.

Posted by at 8:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I heard on the local news last night (best article I could find about the attack) (best article I could find about the murder)...Isn't it strange that there si so little news about this? Anyway, last night I heard that at a rest home in Alamance County someone who was insane, murdered someone who was elderly. A good deal of time was spent on soundbites of how these two ignored groups managed to get lumped in together. Apparently, it is perfectly legal to do this in this day and age.

I can just see someone with two stacks of files on their desk. They are in the office of "Dealing with people the rest of society is trying to ignore department" (A division of the Department of Social Services). They were cursed with all the cases of "What to do with the elderly", and "What to do with the mentally ill." Dazed and over worked a plan was hatched deal with the problem one day when the two piles were knocked over on each other and all the files got mixed up. "Hey," the overworked beurocrat thought, "one pile is surely easier to deal with than two." And so money is regularly mailed out to neighborhood houses that have been converted to small homes for the crazy and old. They have the same needs, entertainment, food, sanitation, and supervised medication. What could go wrong?

Then one day something did go wrong. Someone insane kills someone elerly and the whole world errupts in shock and awe.
"How could this happen in our own back yard?"
"Things were going so well."
"They were so easy to ignore, and now this."
"We have insane and elderly people, when did that happen?"

So I am sure as the drama unfolds, the two political parties will square off like they always do.

The Democrats will say, "We should divert funds to create new segregated care facilities, this will create jobs for caregivers, and we would only need to raise the taxes a little bit. We put the crazies over there, and the elderly people over there, and put a bunch of people to work."

The Republicans will say, "We should close those facilities right away and cut the taxes that paid for them. The elderly and the insane should be at home with their love ones who with the help of the tax break will have plenty of money available to buy medications, adult diapers, Ensure, and live in nurses. If they don't, they don't diserve loved ones to begin with!"

The rest of the political parties will blame one, the other, or both the Democrats and the Republicans. Some will blame the overworked beurocrat, while others will push for recycling of this new untapped natural resource, and offer samples of Soylent Green, at fairs, and other public gatherings. Still others will blame the media for bringing it up in the first place. Others will applaud the media for bring this whole mess to our attention.

Meanwhile the homes will be closed and the insane and the elderly who could not be otherwise placed will be released in the wild to fend for themselves as beggars, petty thieves, and in hippy communes. A few will make it, many won't. Some will thrive as leaders of religious cults.

Otherwise, nothing at all will ever be done about the original problem and soon the whole mess will be forgotten. Again.

Posted by at 8:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Its funny really, I've never heard that phrase, "your tax dollars at work" used to mean something positive. But that is what I am here today to do. I want to talk about something positive that our tax dollars are doing. I saw it on the commute in downtown Greensboro today.

I'm sitting at a stoplight, and two busses roll by. Each one is painted tan. Each one is pulling a trailer, one with landscapeing equipment on it, the other held a porta-john. Each bus had the following two statments painted across it.
"Your Tax Dollars at Work"
"Department of Corrections Prisoner Work Crew"

Once I got over the shock of seeing the phrase "Your Tax Dollars at Work" painted on a bus, I was very happy to see that our tax dollars were going to something worth while.

I found myself thinking that if I ever found myself in prison I am glad that I would have something constructive to do while I spend time in an air conditioned cell with a roof over my head, three square meals a day, and TV privilages paid for by the honest citizens. I always found it ironic that the honest people paid taxes to house and feed the dishonest ones.

There is a whole lot of state, county, and city owned grass to mow and I am glad we found a workforce to mow it. Prisoner or not, if you are going to get a climate controled roof over your head and three square meals a day you'd better be earning your keep.

Posted by at 1:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I value all of my friends greatly, but none more so than my oldest friend Jim. Jim's in the process of undergoing a Duodenal Switch proceidure and his friends (not just me) suggested he blog his experiences up to the proceidure, the proceidure itself, and the recovery. To this end he has created his own blog here. This is a life changing operation, so he will have years and years of material to blog about.

His health is important to me not only because he has known me longer than anyone short of my parents, but because we have a lifetime's worth of dirt on one another, and I would hate for anything to ruin our status quo!

Keep him in your thoughts,

Thanks.

Posted by at 8:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

For the past couple of weeks my wife, my friend, and myself (for a total of three) have been talking up the idea of doing something outdoors...in sunlight. I'm not kidding. We needed an activity that was in the scary not-inside, yet still appealed to our pasty white mentalities.

Then someone remembered that some years ago we went Geocaching a couple of times, and none of us remembered it sucking. So we chose Saturday as a good day to get together grill out and play video games all day. Sunday we decited that if we were going to go outside, we'd better do it before Monday. We planned to meet at 2pm. So about 2:30pm we arrived and watched part of a Marx Brother's movie while we talked about going outside. Eventually we decited that we should discuss it over Pizza at Elizabeth's on Battleground. We opted to eat outside on the patio as sort of a warm up. Acting under the assumption that is, we got up the resolve to actually go through with our plan. We had the cache chosen and the pizza eaten by 4pm and we headed for Bur-Mil park. Every Presbyterian in Guilford county was there. But having forgotten just how big that park was we were pleased to discover that there were plenty of places to park and not too much by way of crowds on the trails.

Our first command decision was to go the straitest route because the trail head was a long walk from where we were and we didn't want to spend hours on our hunt. It took us about an hour to reach the trail having to traverse both a golf course (the sixth hole) and 50 feet of woods. We reached the paved trail tired and in my case paranoid about the hundreds of parasites that were surely trying to find a way into my brain. Snake Sense(tm) detected no legless reptiles so we were a go for adventure!

We walked around a very small catfish pond (10 minutes) and spent the next hour and a half walking in a 50ft area looking for the elusive cache. The cache is supposed to be a Micro cache, I never figured it would require a microscope to locate.

We gave up, hot, tired, and with a long walk up the paved trail to the paved trail head, up the paved street to the paved parking lot. We found ourselves very wet, which was odd because it wasn't raining and we weren't taking a shower. It was just like that wet sensation you get just before you turn the AC on.

Afterwards we went our separate ways and played video games. It turned out that I was completely parasite free (on the outside anyway). Outside is hard, maybe even harder than making a web comic. I think I will give this outdoor thing another shot next weekend. Who knows, I might find treasure.

UPDATE: I just noticed reading down in the comments that we had located the exact location, only not the one where the cache was. In elementary school I always got an "Unsatisfactory" on "Reading and following directions." I also got D's in spelling.

Posted by at 4:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Now I know why there are so few good web comics.






Art is hard.

Posted by at 3:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Jeff Williams sent me a link in email to a slash dot article linking to this Wall Street Journal article about blogging for a corporation.

So if we sell out and blog for the man we can make $40K or better? Tempting.

I mean why not take the man's money. If we have to lie on the clock we can always go to an internet confessional after hours under an alias. Of course, it may be that you find yourself working for a great company doing really exciting work and you never have to lie to the stockholders and the public. That would be a great job.

Some places seem to be more freewheeling in what you write about, a couple must be approved before publication. This could be a problem. If you spend a week going back and forth with a manager over the content of a blog piece that has fallen into "editing hell", not only will the article fail, but the blog will fail, and the blogger will quickly lose interest and move on. Readers can spot slick copy a mile away, and what works for blogs is their conversational spontaneity. Readers of blogs want to be spoken to, not pitched to.

So I just typed "blog" into Monster.com and I came up with 23 hits. Huh.

Woah! Check THIS out!

Go blog young man, go blog.

Posted by at 9:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)