On this, a rainy and mundane Wednesday, I was contemplating writing a little bit about how I like rainy days in the Smokies but only if you get to stay inside under a blanket with a good book blah blah blah... I wasn't really excited about it, but I figured that it wasn't a really exciting day so it might work. Then I decided to look up the Scrutiny Hooligans, just to see what my leftist pink-o commie brothers were having to say. Take a look at this site if you are left of the dial and really pissed about the way things are going. It's leftist rhetoric, to be sure, but they do a good job with the writing and the documentation.
It was here that I found my topic. I hadn't read the page this week and came across something that made me think a few entries in. A site called World Audit has taken polls from around the globe and come up with a list of the top democracies in the world.
Now, I want to review for a moment: We are now, under the current administration, in the business of bringing democracies to those poor, under-privileged countries that are in dire need of freedom. This is the administrations stated policy (never mind about being under threat of annihilation from Weapons of Mass Destruction, turns out there weren't any, so this is why we invaded a sovereign nation with no provocation), and this is also what they are trying to sell to us as gospel for our starting to threaten other countries. The United States is the heroic herald of democracy and its purpose is to initiate an era of world unity with our style democracy.
Are you happy with your democracy? Take a deep breath and ask yourself, "Do I have all the liberties that feel entitled to?" Sure, you’re comfortable. We are very comfortable here in America, but are we free? More than are we free, are we free enough to validate our using military force to enforce democracy on others?
In the list of top democracies from World Audit, we didn't even make the top ten.
We're 13.
The countries ahead of us enjoy more civil liberties, more basic freedoms, and more inalienable rights than we do. Their populations are happier and more productive. They are doing more to help on a global scale than our form of government. And, yet, they do not feel the need to spread their ideas by force.
But, we are powerful. So, if the reason is not because we are trying to spread democracy to increase the world’s freedoms, but because we have the capability to, then it's not democracy anymore. It's imperialism.
Please take a stand. Write someone, anyone. Read and comment. Show that there are more than a noisy rabble of us. If you're scared, scream. Just because the right talks louder and curse more vehemently, it doesn't mean that they are in the majority. We can push them back into place and get back to the business that his country was founded on: increasing our station in life.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
My favorite animal is steak.Fran Lebowitz(1950 - )
My office has just been informed of perhaps the most progressive thing to happen to the male/female relations structure since Eve showed Adam how to have a good time. Apparently, in a move of extreme good taste and fair sportsmanship, March 14th (one month after St. Valentine's Day) has been declared "Steak and Blowjob Day!" Break out the confetti and warm up trumpets, or what ever you want to blow. Unfortunately, today being the 15th, "Steak and Blowjob Day" has passed by for another year, but now you fellows out there can be just as upset as your ladies would be if Valentines were to slip your mind. Stand up for your holiday, demand compensation!
Before I start getting the comments back about this being horribly against feminine culture, it was a woman in my office that informed us all of this soon to be beloved holiday (I work in a really cool office). I have no doubt that a man came up with this concept (or at least quickly seconded by one), but I know plenty of women who would not be opposed to a new excuse to shut the bedroom door and “spend some quality time” with their man. However, if you are a woman out there who finds this offensive and find bj's icky, than I most sincerely apologize. I also feel sorry for you because you are ignoring a very lucrative asset. The blowjob, when done well, is an incredibly powerful motivator to any man. Women who wield this talent are rarely forgotten on St. Valentine's Day, or St. Patrick's Day or All Saint's Day or just about any other day of the week. In honor of "Steak and Blowjob Day," I say embrace the blowjob, ladies; it is your friend and ally. (Remember, guys, we are not without our own bag of tricks that are just as powerful and a hell of a lot of fun.)
Remember March 14th for next year everyone, it's kinda like St.Val's Day, only skip the bullshit and get to the lovin'!
Oh, yeah, and steaks are really good, too.
(ps - if any of you women out there want any further explanation of the power of foreplay, I will be more than happy to give short lectures.)
Before I start getting the comments back about this being horribly against feminine culture, it was a woman in my office that informed us all of this soon to be beloved holiday (I work in a really cool office). I have no doubt that a man came up with this concept (or at least quickly seconded by one), but I know plenty of women who would not be opposed to a new excuse to shut the bedroom door and “spend some quality time” with their man. However, if you are a woman out there who finds this offensive and find bj's icky, than I most sincerely apologize. I also feel sorry for you because you are ignoring a very lucrative asset. The blowjob, when done well, is an incredibly powerful motivator to any man. Women who wield this talent are rarely forgotten on St. Valentine's Day, or St. Patrick's Day or All Saint's Day or just about any other day of the week. In honor of "Steak and Blowjob Day," I say embrace the blowjob, ladies; it is your friend and ally. (Remember, guys, we are not without our own bag of tricks that are just as powerful and a hell of a lot of fun.)
Remember March 14th for next year everyone, it's kinda like St.Val's Day, only skip the bullshit and get to the lovin'!
Oh, yeah, and steaks are really good, too.
(ps - if any of you women out there want any further explanation of the power of foreplay, I will be more than happy to give short lectures.)
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
angrykoala8qn
Whenever you see a koala on the Tonight Show or Animal Planet, you only think, "Oh, what a cute little guy..." Well, I'm here to tell you, don't call them cute to their face and try to snap a picture. They've got a bad Napoleon complex. I'm still pulling eucalyptus leaves out of my ass.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Chaos is the score upon which reality is written.Henry Miller (1891 - 1980)
There is something to be said for simple chaos. A slight turn of the head and we see things in a different light. Turn the noggin a degree more and catch a hummingbird in the eye. There is chaos in everything. Even the most mundane of daily activities (turning the shower on in the morning, searching your pockets for the front door keys, licking a stripper) are strewn with the minefields of simple chaos. Nothing is as it seems; in fact, those things that seem the most like what they seem are more than likely the most unseemly of things.
You may be now scratching your head and watching carefully for rouge hummingbirds out of the corner of your eye. Allow me to delve into madness further....
I was once a zealot of control. With iron clad mittens I grasped hard onto reality and try to wrest it into submission. Nothing was outside my scope of power. My view was like that of an old school god, terrible and all encompassing. If you did not fall under my reason than you were a mortal enemy of the state of being. It was my job to tear heathenistic thoughts from the minds of the unwashed masses and shame them into accepting penitence. Wrong thought was not to be tolerated. I was in control and it was the way it was going to be.
And then control was not there. The death grip I had on it was nothing but an illusion. I was only digging into my own flesh, bleeding out confusion and fear. I was alone, unable to understand or stop this terrible thing washing over me. I held up my hands up against the flood and commanded it to stop. It did not. I wrapped my arms around my trembling body and demanded it to be still. It would not. I buried my fingers into my slipping mind and implored it to stay put. It could not. As I lay, powerless, and lost my control, the waves of chaos washed over me.
And I opened my eyes. And I saw the world in chaos. And I rose.
Chaos told me secrets; such as there are no secrets, no rules, and no reality. There were only perceptions, infinite perceptions, joined by simple chaos. The perceptions are the ectoplasm that molds and swirls and feels and loves and explains and lies. Chaos was the motivator, the movement, and the reason of being. Together, they hold and cradle us. Together, the thrash and beat us. They are the goddesses that both nourish us from their breasts and rend us with their great teeth. And there is nothing we can do about it.
So I fell from control, and accepted that control was only a load of glamour I had created to try to find permanence. No body is right, wrong or neutral. They are simple chaotic. And you can never trust the perception of chaos because you look with only one set of eyes, blind to the rest of it all. But that's OK, because there is nothing to be done about it anyway.
When you turn on you shower in the morning and only cold water comes out, don't stomp around and curse the water heater. Climb in and experience the coldness. When your are searching for keys and instead pull out a forgotten fiver, don't wonder at how it ended up there. Just accept that that is where it wanted to be until that time it felt like being found. When you lick a stripper, whether on purpose and by mistake, remember that only a chaotic series of events have brought you and the stripper together in the first place, so feel too ashamed the next morning.
I hope that helps. Watch out for the hummingbird.
You may be now scratching your head and watching carefully for rouge hummingbirds out of the corner of your eye. Allow me to delve into madness further....
I was once a zealot of control. With iron clad mittens I grasped hard onto reality and try to wrest it into submission. Nothing was outside my scope of power. My view was like that of an old school god, terrible and all encompassing. If you did not fall under my reason than you were a mortal enemy of the state of being. It was my job to tear heathenistic thoughts from the minds of the unwashed masses and shame them into accepting penitence. Wrong thought was not to be tolerated. I was in control and it was the way it was going to be.
And then control was not there. The death grip I had on it was nothing but an illusion. I was only digging into my own flesh, bleeding out confusion and fear. I was alone, unable to understand or stop this terrible thing washing over me. I held up my hands up against the flood and commanded it to stop. It did not. I wrapped my arms around my trembling body and demanded it to be still. It would not. I buried my fingers into my slipping mind and implored it to stay put. It could not. As I lay, powerless, and lost my control, the waves of chaos washed over me.
And I opened my eyes. And I saw the world in chaos. And I rose.
Chaos told me secrets; such as there are no secrets, no rules, and no reality. There were only perceptions, infinite perceptions, joined by simple chaos. The perceptions are the ectoplasm that molds and swirls and feels and loves and explains and lies. Chaos was the motivator, the movement, and the reason of being. Together, they hold and cradle us. Together, the thrash and beat us. They are the goddesses that both nourish us from their breasts and rend us with their great teeth. And there is nothing we can do about it.
So I fell from control, and accepted that control was only a load of glamour I had created to try to find permanence. No body is right, wrong or neutral. They are simple chaotic. And you can never trust the perception of chaos because you look with only one set of eyes, blind to the rest of it all. But that's OK, because there is nothing to be done about it anyway.
When you turn on you shower in the morning and only cold water comes out, don't stomp around and curse the water heater. Climb in and experience the coldness. When your are searching for keys and instead pull out a forgotten fiver, don't wonder at how it ended up there. Just accept that that is where it wanted to be until that time it felt like being found. When you lick a stripper, whether on purpose and by mistake, remember that only a chaotic series of events have brought you and the stripper together in the first place, so feel too ashamed the next morning.
I hope that helps. Watch out for the hummingbird.
Friday, March 04, 2005
My heart, which is so full to overflowing, has often been solaced and refreshed by music when sick and weary. Martin Luther(1483 - 1546)
Jenny, Hellcat to the stars, sent me this little treasure...
Your Birthday Song(s)
Put in your birthday and find out what the No. 1 song was on that day. It'll show you in both the US and UK charts. Plug in and share the wealth. Go on, everyone’s doing it. Also put in your 18th birthday to see what your theme song is. Mine was "Hero" by Mariah Carey, so I am not so sure of the validation of this one. But the rest is really cool...
In England, I would have been rocking out to "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen as I slipped onto this mortal coil. Here in the good old US of A, the number one song on the day I was born, a cold and blustery Jan. 10th in the year of our Lord 1976, was "Convoy" by C. W. McCall. I'm so happy I could spit!
For those who do not remember "Convoy," it was a novelty song inspired by the CB craze of the mid 1970's sung by made-up character C.W. McCall (C= Country, W= Western). Most people think Johnny Cash did the tune, but despite the similarity in the voices, C.W. McCall was actually Bill Fries, an Omaha graphic designer who created the truckin' legend for a local bakery. God love Nebraskans, a trucker selling rolls (Get it, GET IT!). Fries put out a few albums but left music in 1977 to champion environmental rights and become mayor of the small Colorado town of Ouray. In 1978, Sam Peckinpah made a movie based on the song with Kris Kristofferson and Ally McGraw. It has been harold as an athem for the plight of truckers and there troubles with the oppresive Hyway Patrol. Brings up images of Smokey and The Bandit, huh? "Hold on to your ass, Fred!"
I love this song, and now people in my office think I am extremely weird. When I saw my result I squealed like some sort of man-child on crack. All morning I have been singing the chorus over and over again. I am usually very quiet and reserved here in the land of working people. This is the first time they've seen me get onto one of my silly tangents that keep me giggling like the Joker. They'll have to get to used to it, though, because now I am officially part of the great big convoy...
Convoy
CW McCall
[On the CB]
Ah, breaker one-nine, this here's the Rubber Duck. You gotta copy on me, Pig
Pen, c'mon? Ah, yeah, 10-4, Pig Pen, fer shure, fer shure. By golly, it's clean
clear to Flag Town, c'mon. Yeah, that's a big 10-4 there, Pig Pen, yeah, we
definitely got the front door, good buddy. Mercy sakes alive, looks like we got
us a convoy...
Was the dark of the moon on the sixth of June
In a Kenworth pullin' logs
Cab-over Pete with a reefer on
And a Jimmy haulin' hogs
We is headin' for bear on I-one-oh
'Bout a mile outta Shaky Town
I says, "Pig Pen, this here's the Rubber Duck.
"And I'm about to put the hammer down."
[Chorus]
'Cause we got a little convoy
Rockin' through the night.
Yeah, we got a little convoy,
Ain't she a beautiful sight?
Come on and join our convoy
Ain't nothin' gonna get in our way.
We gonna roll this truckin' convoy
'Cross the U-S-A.
Convoy!
[On the CB]
Ah, breaker, Pig Pen, this here's the Duck. And, you wanna back off them hogs?
Yeah, 10-4, 'bout five mile or so. Ten, roger. Them hogs is gettin' in-tense up
here.
By the time we got into Tulsa Town,
We had eighty-five trucks in all.
But they's a roadblock up on the cloverleaf,
And them bears was wall-to-wall.
Yeah, them smokies is thick as bugs on a bumper;
They even had a bear in the air!
I says, "Callin' all trucks, this here's the Duck.
"We about to go a-huntin' bear."
[Chorus]
'Cause we got a great big convoy
Rockin' through the night.
Yeah, we got a great big convoy,
Ain't she a beautiful sight?
Come on and join our convoy
Ain't nothin' gonna get in our way.
We gonna roll this truckin' convoy
'Cross the U-S-A.
Convoy!
[On the CB]
Ah, you wanna give me a 10-9 on that, Pig Pen? Negatory, Pig Pen; you're still
too close. Yeah, them hogs is startin' to close up my sinuses. Mercy sakes, you
better back off another ten.
Well, we rolled up Interstate 44
Like a rocket sled on rails.
We tore up all of our swindle sheets,
And left 'em settin' on the scales.
By the time we hit that Chi-town,
Them bears was a-gettin' smart:
They'd brought up some reinforcements
From the Illinoise National Guard.
There's armored cars, and tanks, and jeeps,
And rigs of ev'ry size.
Yeah, them chicken coops was full'a bears
And choppers filled the skies.
Well, we shot the line and we went for broke
With a thousand screamin' trucks
An' eleven long-haired Friends a' Jesus
In a chartreuse micra-bus.
[On the CB]
Ah, Rubber Duck to Sodbuster, come over. Yeah, 10-4, Sodbuster? Lissen, you
wanna put that micra-bus right behind that suicide jockey? Yeah, he's haulin'
dynamite, and he needs all the help he can get.
Well, we laid a strip for the Jersey shore
And prepared to cross the line
I could see the bridge was lined with bears
But I didn't have a dog-goned dime.
I says, "Pig Pen, this here's the Rubber Duck.
"We just ain't a-gonna pay no toll."
So we crashed the gate doing ninety-eight
I says "Let them truckers roll, 10-4."
[Chorus]
'Cause we got a mighty convoy
Rockin' through the night.
Yeah, we got a mighty convoy,
Ain't she a beautiful sight?
Come on and join our convoy
Ain't nothin' gonna get in our way.
We gonna roll this truckin' convoy
'Cross the U-S-A.
Convoy! Ah, 10-4, Pig Pen, what's your twenty?
Convoy! OMAHA? Well, they oughta know what to do with them hogs out there fer
shure. Well, mercy
Convoy! sakes, good buddy, we gonna back on outta here, so keep the bugs off
your glass and the bears off your...
Convoy! tail. We'll catch you on the flip-flop. This here's the Rubber Duck on
the side.
Convoy! We gone. 'Bye,'bye.
Your Birthday Song(s)
Put in your birthday and find out what the No. 1 song was on that day. It'll show you in both the US and UK charts. Plug in and share the wealth. Go on, everyone’s doing it. Also put in your 18th birthday to see what your theme song is. Mine was "Hero" by Mariah Carey, so I am not so sure of the validation of this one. But the rest is really cool...
In England, I would have been rocking out to "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen as I slipped onto this mortal coil. Here in the good old US of A, the number one song on the day I was born, a cold and blustery Jan. 10th in the year of our Lord 1976, was "Convoy" by C. W. McCall. I'm so happy I could spit!
For those who do not remember "Convoy," it was a novelty song inspired by the CB craze of the mid 1970's sung by made-up character C.W. McCall (C= Country, W= Western). Most people think Johnny Cash did the tune, but despite the similarity in the voices, C.W. McCall was actually Bill Fries, an Omaha graphic designer who created the truckin' legend for a local bakery. God love Nebraskans, a trucker selling rolls (Get it, GET IT!). Fries put out a few albums but left music in 1977 to champion environmental rights and become mayor of the small Colorado town of Ouray. In 1978, Sam Peckinpah made a movie based on the song with Kris Kristofferson and Ally McGraw. It has been harold as an athem for the plight of truckers and there troubles with the oppresive Hyway Patrol. Brings up images of Smokey and The Bandit, huh? "Hold on to your ass, Fred!"
I love this song, and now people in my office think I am extremely weird. When I saw my result I squealed like some sort of man-child on crack. All morning I have been singing the chorus over and over again. I am usually very quiet and reserved here in the land of working people. This is the first time they've seen me get onto one of my silly tangents that keep me giggling like the Joker. They'll have to get to used to it, though, because now I am officially part of the great big convoy...
Convoy
CW McCall
[On the CB]
Ah, breaker one-nine, this here's the Rubber Duck. You gotta copy on me, Pig
Pen, c'mon? Ah, yeah, 10-4, Pig Pen, fer shure, fer shure. By golly, it's clean
clear to Flag Town, c'mon. Yeah, that's a big 10-4 there, Pig Pen, yeah, we
definitely got the front door, good buddy. Mercy sakes alive, looks like we got
us a convoy...
Was the dark of the moon on the sixth of June
In a Kenworth pullin' logs
Cab-over Pete with a reefer on
And a Jimmy haulin' hogs
We is headin' for bear on I-one-oh
'Bout a mile outta Shaky Town
I says, "Pig Pen, this here's the Rubber Duck.
"And I'm about to put the hammer down."
[Chorus]
'Cause we got a little convoy
Rockin' through the night.
Yeah, we got a little convoy,
Ain't she a beautiful sight?
Come on and join our convoy
Ain't nothin' gonna get in our way.
We gonna roll this truckin' convoy
'Cross the U-S-A.
Convoy!
[On the CB]
Ah, breaker, Pig Pen, this here's the Duck. And, you wanna back off them hogs?
Yeah, 10-4, 'bout five mile or so. Ten, roger. Them hogs is gettin' in-tense up
here.
By the time we got into Tulsa Town,
We had eighty-five trucks in all.
But they's a roadblock up on the cloverleaf,
And them bears was wall-to-wall.
Yeah, them smokies is thick as bugs on a bumper;
They even had a bear in the air!
I says, "Callin' all trucks, this here's the Duck.
"We about to go a-huntin' bear."
[Chorus]
'Cause we got a great big convoy
Rockin' through the night.
Yeah, we got a great big convoy,
Ain't she a beautiful sight?
Come on and join our convoy
Ain't nothin' gonna get in our way.
We gonna roll this truckin' convoy
'Cross the U-S-A.
Convoy!
[On the CB]
Ah, you wanna give me a 10-9 on that, Pig Pen? Negatory, Pig Pen; you're still
too close. Yeah, them hogs is startin' to close up my sinuses. Mercy sakes, you
better back off another ten.
Well, we rolled up Interstate 44
Like a rocket sled on rails.
We tore up all of our swindle sheets,
And left 'em settin' on the scales.
By the time we hit that Chi-town,
Them bears was a-gettin' smart:
They'd brought up some reinforcements
From the Illinoise National Guard.
There's armored cars, and tanks, and jeeps,
And rigs of ev'ry size.
Yeah, them chicken coops was full'a bears
And choppers filled the skies.
Well, we shot the line and we went for broke
With a thousand screamin' trucks
An' eleven long-haired Friends a' Jesus
In a chartreuse micra-bus.
[On the CB]
Ah, Rubber Duck to Sodbuster, come over. Yeah, 10-4, Sodbuster? Lissen, you
wanna put that micra-bus right behind that suicide jockey? Yeah, he's haulin'
dynamite, and he needs all the help he can get.
Well, we laid a strip for the Jersey shore
And prepared to cross the line
I could see the bridge was lined with bears
But I didn't have a dog-goned dime.
I says, "Pig Pen, this here's the Rubber Duck.
"We just ain't a-gonna pay no toll."
So we crashed the gate doing ninety-eight
I says "Let them truckers roll, 10-4."
[Chorus]
'Cause we got a mighty convoy
Rockin' through the night.
Yeah, we got a mighty convoy,
Ain't she a beautiful sight?
Come on and join our convoy
Ain't nothin' gonna get in our way.
We gonna roll this truckin' convoy
'Cross the U-S-A.
Convoy! Ah, 10-4, Pig Pen, what's your twenty?
Convoy! OMAHA? Well, they oughta know what to do with them hogs out there fer
shure. Well, mercy
Convoy! sakes, good buddy, we gonna back on outta here, so keep the bugs off
your glass and the bears off your...
Convoy! tail. We'll catch you on the flip-flop. This here's the Rubber Duck on
the side.
Convoy! We gone. 'Bye,'bye.
A new and valid idea is worth more than a regiment and fewer men can furnish the former than command the latter.Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. (1841-1945)
After a night of drinking, I am left again to myself... Where should this lead me? What is the greater cause that I want to be a part of? When will I feel special?
There are forces at work in this life (and by this I mean only my life) that are set upon asking questions. Constant questions. Will your bowels move today? Will you find love in an equal? Do they respect you? Is that pain in your gullet an ulcer or an bit of uncooked beef? Could it be awakening? Does death wait at the end of the line, at the end of the street or at the end of the night? Can the center hold, and if it can, should it? Where is Eldorado? Who is Shadow? Lamont is long dead and yet he is still following me. Will I ever find happiness? Have I already forund it, sitting on the john, typing into the oblivion that is this nothing information exchange? Does the it all matter?
Yes.
Everything that happens to you matters. The thing is, not all of it is important. This is the balence we must find, or must not. Either path is valid, and basically goes to the same end. Just enjoy the ride.
There are forces at work in this life (and by this I mean only my life) that are set upon asking questions. Constant questions. Will your bowels move today? Will you find love in an equal? Do they respect you? Is that pain in your gullet an ulcer or an bit of uncooked beef? Could it be awakening? Does death wait at the end of the line, at the end of the street or at the end of the night? Can the center hold, and if it can, should it? Where is Eldorado? Who is Shadow? Lamont is long dead and yet he is still following me. Will I ever find happiness? Have I already forund it, sitting on the john, typing into the oblivion that is this nothing information exchange? Does the it all matter?
Yes.
Everything that happens to you matters. The thing is, not all of it is important. This is the balence we must find, or must not. Either path is valid, and basically goes to the same end. Just enjoy the ride.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.e e cummings(1894 - 1962)
I got into a discussion with a friend of mine about wasted years. J is in his mid-thirties, a medical tech of some kind, unmarried, and worried that he hasn't done enough with his life. This is a common ailment in men who haven't yet achieved all that you are supposed to by the time you can no longer deny the fact that you are a grown man. Most men are terrified of turning into the embittered bachelor, working in a dead end job with no family to come home to and sited rifle in the attic. Lord knows I am, but what's the use in worrying over it. I spent the better part of 2 hours last night trying to show J that he had a well paying job, a really nice and very pretty girlfriend, and no reason to be beating himself up just because he wasn't a 28 year old surgeon (what got the whole ball rolling). Of course, he wouldn't buy it, way to wrapped up in being upset with himself. I get to thinking and realize that was me a year ago.
I had gone through a super hard break-up, realized I was a bartender in dive bar, I had screwed my masters, and I had no motivation to do anything. I was in the same position my friend J is in; I was just focusing on the negative and reveling in it. Luckily I was able to pull my ass through. But I started to realize that there are a bunch of guys (and not to forget the ladies out there) that are in the same way I was. I am here to preach from the mountaintop: Stop worrying about it, fellows. All that crap about you are supposed to do it one way is the biggest load of crap ever dropped on mankind. There is no one-way, but as many ways as there are feet. The only thing that worrying about it does is to keep you in the same rut that you are in. If you are not happy with an aspect of your life, bleedin' well change it!
You may say, but Waide, that is easy for you, you're amazing and astounding. Yes, this is true, but even I, messiah of the twenty-somethings, get to feeling bad about certain parts of my life. No one's perfect, however you all want me to be. I, for example, am lonely. I can't buy a date in Sodom, for some reason. Now this could be to the fact that I am not a slut looking for a lay and dash, but really want to find someone to spend a bit of time with. That's not hard, you say? Bullshit, that seems so far out of the mainstream these days where everyone is supposed to be open and not care about your or anyone else’s felling. I am the rebel for looking for someone I can connect with who still rock n' rolls, thinks independently and yet is isn't scared to commit to someone and open their heart. Everyone out their is so "hurt' and "damaged" by something in the past that it seems it's going to be up the trailer park set to continue the species. I want a woman, a companion and a friend, and I am not afraid to say it.
Lord, this just turned into a personal ad. Sorry, not my intention.
My point is, we all have something we are not happy with in our lives. If this is upsetting you and you think that you are the only one out there with problems, stop it. That's really unoriginal and quite selfish, in the bad way. Everyone’s floundering out there in the viscous together, take a look at them for a while and see that you ain't special.
That said, any ladies looking for a good time, I'm a Capricorn who's into good music, groovy times and monkeys. Drop me a line and we'll see if we can't swing. (I just made myself retch, cool!)
I had gone through a super hard break-up, realized I was a bartender in dive bar, I had screwed my masters, and I had no motivation to do anything. I was in the same position my friend J is in; I was just focusing on the negative and reveling in it. Luckily I was able to pull my ass through. But I started to realize that there are a bunch of guys (and not to forget the ladies out there) that are in the same way I was. I am here to preach from the mountaintop: Stop worrying about it, fellows. All that crap about you are supposed to do it one way is the biggest load of crap ever dropped on mankind. There is no one-way, but as many ways as there are feet. The only thing that worrying about it does is to keep you in the same rut that you are in. If you are not happy with an aspect of your life, bleedin' well change it!
You may say, but Waide, that is easy for you, you're amazing and astounding. Yes, this is true, but even I, messiah of the twenty-somethings, get to feeling bad about certain parts of my life. No one's perfect, however you all want me to be. I, for example, am lonely. I can't buy a date in Sodom, for some reason. Now this could be to the fact that I am not a slut looking for a lay and dash, but really want to find someone to spend a bit of time with. That's not hard, you say? Bullshit, that seems so far out of the mainstream these days where everyone is supposed to be open and not care about your or anyone else’s felling. I am the rebel for looking for someone I can connect with who still rock n' rolls, thinks independently and yet is isn't scared to commit to someone and open their heart. Everyone out their is so "hurt' and "damaged" by something in the past that it seems it's going to be up the trailer park set to continue the species. I want a woman, a companion and a friend, and I am not afraid to say it.
Lord, this just turned into a personal ad. Sorry, not my intention.
My point is, we all have something we are not happy with in our lives. If this is upsetting you and you think that you are the only one out there with problems, stop it. That's really unoriginal and quite selfish, in the bad way. Everyone’s floundering out there in the viscous together, take a look at them for a while and see that you ain't special.
That said, any ladies looking for a good time, I'm a Capricorn who's into good music, groovy times and monkeys. Drop me a line and we'll see if we can't swing. (I just made myself retch, cool!)
Monday, February 28, 2005
Old minds are like old horses; you must exercise them if you wish to keep them in working order.John Adams (1735 - 1826)
My father moved to North Georgia after graduating from High School in Gassaway, WVa. because his aunt, my great aunt, Marie had relocated down here to be closer to the walking horse shows. Jim Tanner was an avid horseman and wanted to be close to that walking horse action. (To those who don't know, the Tennessee Walking Horse is a special breed of horse that naturally lifts it's front hooves high when it walks. A well-trained walking horse has a beautiful stride when it is being shown, and walking horse shows are huge part of the culture in Middle Tennessee, where most of the best stables are.) He was down here when he met my mother while at the University of Chattanooga, and the rest is family history. The up-shot is that because of horses, my brother and I came to be.
After my father and mother were married in the early 1960's, he had to drop out of college. He was ROTC, so when he left college he was called into the Army. This is how my mother and father spent their first year of marriage. When he was discharged they returned to North Georgia to be close to her family and his horses. They worked to purchase a small farm where they were able to raise a small herd of cattle and walking horses, along with a myriad of other "experimental" animals. Dad was a member of the Walking Horse Association. He would show horses all over Tennessee and Georgia. He never had the money to go for an all out stable, but there was always a horse or two on the farm. While my mother worked on her postgraduate work, he raised horses and, as they came along, boys. My brother and I enjoyed growing up surrounded by fields and animals.
In 1981, my father was killed in an industrial accident at the foundry where he worked. I was five years old and my brother was thirteen.
Most of my father's family was still in West Virginia, except for Aunt Marie. She was basically the only contact we had with my father's side of the family. She was a fiery and loving woman who taught my brother and I to be strong and smart. She and my mother grew very close, but the rest of my father's family were only distant relations. We would see them every now and again, marvel at their bizarre accents (if you have never heard a West Virginia accent, I'm sorry but there's no way to describe it) and I would wonder if I would be bald like my uncles. They were very loving to us, but because we were Georgians and because the loss of my father, the oldest son, they were always distant.
Now I am grown and I realize that I don't know much about one half of me. I haven't heard the old family stories and have never been close to all the extended family. I never learned to deer hunt (a Tanner tradition, apparently) or ever seen where my father went to High School. I have not been on a horse in over a decade, although I am still fairly confident I would do all right. I don't even have the ability to spot a picture of my Grandpa Russ, for whom I'm named, in a photo album. I am a Tanner of a new breed, with new habits and talents. I am taking a new direction in life, divergent from the roots that I have never known. Where my Tanner cousins have taken safe and lucrative jobs, I am struggling to find my place in the world and trying to explore my creative side. Where they have wives and children, extending the family further from me and into the future, I remain alone. They are a little bit country while I am a little bit Rock n' Roll.
There are times when I wish I could just be a comfortable old style Tanner.
And yet I have taken a different path, at times by force and at time by choice. I am happy with the path I am on. Sure, there are things I want, security and family, but I also want to use my creativity to share myself with the world. I am glad that I don't hunt and prefer art museums, a past time that is utterly alien to my cousins. I will take a Renoir over a tree stand any day. I cannot be disappointed with my path because it is mine, taken from my life and my choices. If it were not for that path, I would not be me, and I do kinda like myself, even if I can be annoying at times. Thank you, Tenneesee Walkers, for bringing my roots out of the hills of West Virgina, and thank you Dad, where ever you are, for giving me this life.
(This is written to honor James Ferris Tanner, of whom I got to learn a little more about this weekend.)
After my father and mother were married in the early 1960's, he had to drop out of college. He was ROTC, so when he left college he was called into the Army. This is how my mother and father spent their first year of marriage. When he was discharged they returned to North Georgia to be close to her family and his horses. They worked to purchase a small farm where they were able to raise a small herd of cattle and walking horses, along with a myriad of other "experimental" animals. Dad was a member of the Walking Horse Association. He would show horses all over Tennessee and Georgia. He never had the money to go for an all out stable, but there was always a horse or two on the farm. While my mother worked on her postgraduate work, he raised horses and, as they came along, boys. My brother and I enjoyed growing up surrounded by fields and animals.
In 1981, my father was killed in an industrial accident at the foundry where he worked. I was five years old and my brother was thirteen.
Most of my father's family was still in West Virginia, except for Aunt Marie. She was basically the only contact we had with my father's side of the family. She was a fiery and loving woman who taught my brother and I to be strong and smart. She and my mother grew very close, but the rest of my father's family were only distant relations. We would see them every now and again, marvel at their bizarre accents (if you have never heard a West Virginia accent, I'm sorry but there's no way to describe it) and I would wonder if I would be bald like my uncles. They were very loving to us, but because we were Georgians and because the loss of my father, the oldest son, they were always distant.
Now I am grown and I realize that I don't know much about one half of me. I haven't heard the old family stories and have never been close to all the extended family. I never learned to deer hunt (a Tanner tradition, apparently) or ever seen where my father went to High School. I have not been on a horse in over a decade, although I am still fairly confident I would do all right. I don't even have the ability to spot a picture of my Grandpa Russ, for whom I'm named, in a photo album. I am a Tanner of a new breed, with new habits and talents. I am taking a new direction in life, divergent from the roots that I have never known. Where my Tanner cousins have taken safe and lucrative jobs, I am struggling to find my place in the world and trying to explore my creative side. Where they have wives and children, extending the family further from me and into the future, I remain alone. They are a little bit country while I am a little bit Rock n' Roll.
There are times when I wish I could just be a comfortable old style Tanner.
And yet I have taken a different path, at times by force and at time by choice. I am happy with the path I am on. Sure, there are things I want, security and family, but I also want to use my creativity to share myself with the world. I am glad that I don't hunt and prefer art museums, a past time that is utterly alien to my cousins. I will take a Renoir over a tree stand any day. I cannot be disappointed with my path because it is mine, taken from my life and my choices. If it were not for that path, I would not be me, and I do kinda like myself, even if I can be annoying at times. Thank you, Tenneesee Walkers, for bringing my roots out of the hills of West Virgina, and thank you Dad, where ever you are, for giving me this life.
(This is written to honor James Ferris Tanner, of whom I got to learn a little more about this weekend.)
Friday, February 25, 2005
Happiness isn't something you experience; it's something you remember.Oscar Levant (1906 - 1972)
There are times that are good. Very, very good. Last night was one of these nights. I was settling in to my usual routine of nighttime television and couch surfing when a friend of mine called up to say that he was heading downtown to catch The Del McCoury Band. At first I was leery; it is the end of the month and I don't have much money, I already have my pants off, there was a Cops marathon, for God's sake. Excuse, excuses abound. However, this friend of mine is a very forceful character and not one to take no for an answer. In fact I am almost absolutely sure that he can't actually hear the word "no." I think he somehow shut off those synapses in his head. So the answer to my excuses was a light-hearted, "I'll be at your place in 10 minutes, I have a six pack of Bud, and I'll need to piss. Get your pants on." You can't argue with logic like that.
Thank Crom for pushy friends. As we are roaring down the streets of downtown Chattanooga in his beat up '83 Dodge pick-up, covertly drinking Budweiser (I don't recommend drinking & driving, kids; it is a dangerous and irresponsible thing to do. That said, all the rules change when you're heading to a bluegrass show. Or to a strip bar in Panama City, oddly enough.), and I ask how much I will owe him for my ticket. In my thinking, if you call someone up and insist that they are going to see a show with you, you have a ticket on you that are going to waste unless you find a warm body to take it. Not so much. "Just walk in like you know what you're doing," he says. I have no problem sneaking into shows; I've done it plenty of times. Granted these shows we usually in over-priced or under-staffed venues where the worst that could happen is a bouncer telling you to scram. Granted, you'll occasionally run into the overly zealous, 'roid-head bouncer that will take it as a personal offence that you are trying to get in to someplace without paying. These guys are usually the types who want nothing better than a fight to break out and I've actually seen pouting at the end of a night because nothing happened. I've bounced for a living before, and I've seen this first hand. However, this wasn't my problem with sneaking in to see Del. My problem was that he was playing at a very nice theater her in town called the Tivoli. I knew there would be no bouncers, but I guessed there would be ticket takers. My friend, who had admittedly been drinking bourbon & sodas all afternoon while attempting to convince a Chili's waitress she desperately needed to see The Del McCoury band with him (I was actually about 4th or 5th down the line to go), was not in the mood to be told that he couldn't see Del by some guy in a tux out front of a theater. I saw this going the way of the police, and I was trapped in the Storm's grasp.
It is interesting how a bit of danger can make an experience sweeter. As it turned out, we got there just as the band was finishing their second number and there was no one watching the door. In we slipped, greeted by the sound of "Nashville Cats" floating out of the auditorium. The balcony was nearly empty; the band was amazingly traditional with a sound tighter than any other bluegrass I have heard before. This isn't surprising as the fiddle, mandolin, and banjo players are all national champions, and that Del McCoury is one of those rare living legends that we sometimes get to catch. This was bluegrass that sounded like it just walked out of the 1930's. It was mainly improv, requests from the audience that Del would say, "Alright, we'll play that one first, that one second and then that one" as the band smoothly retuned their instruments to the new key. The songs came fast and rollicking as well as slow and sweet. My friend, systematically going through the last three Buds he had snuck in with him and singing happily, although badly, along with every song, kept on slapping me on the knee and yelling in my ear, "ain't this the best." It really was, it really was.
As we driving back to my house, somewhere in between stopping for more beer (not my idea, but I was happy for the 2 left with me at my house as bedtime beers) and when my friend roll down his window and started serenading the city streets, I was encompassed with a great felling. This feeling was something akin to accomplishment. I had seen something that I never thought I would see, and something few people would see although more people should. I felt connected, like my experiences were unique and special. I felt like I had just experienced something I will remember. I hope I can keep it up, without getting in too much trouble.
Thank Crom for pushy friends. As we are roaring down the streets of downtown Chattanooga in his beat up '83 Dodge pick-up, covertly drinking Budweiser (I don't recommend drinking & driving, kids; it is a dangerous and irresponsible thing to do. That said, all the rules change when you're heading to a bluegrass show. Or to a strip bar in Panama City, oddly enough.), and I ask how much I will owe him for my ticket. In my thinking, if you call someone up and insist that they are going to see a show with you, you have a ticket on you that are going to waste unless you find a warm body to take it. Not so much. "Just walk in like you know what you're doing," he says. I have no problem sneaking into shows; I've done it plenty of times. Granted these shows we usually in over-priced or under-staffed venues where the worst that could happen is a bouncer telling you to scram. Granted, you'll occasionally run into the overly zealous, 'roid-head bouncer that will take it as a personal offence that you are trying to get in to someplace without paying. These guys are usually the types who want nothing better than a fight to break out and I've actually seen pouting at the end of a night because nothing happened. I've bounced for a living before, and I've seen this first hand. However, this wasn't my problem with sneaking in to see Del. My problem was that he was playing at a very nice theater her in town called the Tivoli. I knew there would be no bouncers, but I guessed there would be ticket takers. My friend, who had admittedly been drinking bourbon & sodas all afternoon while attempting to convince a Chili's waitress she desperately needed to see The Del McCoury band with him (I was actually about 4th or 5th down the line to go), was not in the mood to be told that he couldn't see Del by some guy in a tux out front of a theater. I saw this going the way of the police, and I was trapped in the Storm's grasp.
It is interesting how a bit of danger can make an experience sweeter. As it turned out, we got there just as the band was finishing their second number and there was no one watching the door. In we slipped, greeted by the sound of "Nashville Cats" floating out of the auditorium. The balcony was nearly empty; the band was amazingly traditional with a sound tighter than any other bluegrass I have heard before. This isn't surprising as the fiddle, mandolin, and banjo players are all national champions, and that Del McCoury is one of those rare living legends that we sometimes get to catch. This was bluegrass that sounded like it just walked out of the 1930's. It was mainly improv, requests from the audience that Del would say, "Alright, we'll play that one first, that one second and then that one" as the band smoothly retuned their instruments to the new key. The songs came fast and rollicking as well as slow and sweet. My friend, systematically going through the last three Buds he had snuck in with him and singing happily, although badly, along with every song, kept on slapping me on the knee and yelling in my ear, "ain't this the best." It really was, it really was.
As we driving back to my house, somewhere in between stopping for more beer (not my idea, but I was happy for the 2 left with me at my house as bedtime beers) and when my friend roll down his window and started serenading the city streets, I was encompassed with a great felling. This feeling was something akin to accomplishment. I had seen something that I never thought I would see, and something few people would see although more people should. I felt connected, like my experiences were unique and special. I felt like I had just experienced something I will remember. I hope I can keep it up, without getting in too much trouble.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship. Louisa May Alcott (1832 - 1888)
This is the inaugural attempt at a blog. I guess in this first posting I should say something about myself, my interests, what I do, etc. This all seems like it will come out in the mix, however. If I write about what I honestly think and feel, rant about things I have an real beef with, and vow to let nothing stop me from expressing my opinion, then anyone who reads this will have a pretty good idea of who I am. Instead I am going to take this initial phase of spreading my glory over the world in a different direction. I am going to use my first blog entry to tell a story about the dangers of blogging...
In the time when the earth was still cooling and I was just starting out in college, better known as 1996, a friend of mine started what she called an "on-line journal." This seemed like a nifty idea at the time. She was a really good writer and quickly gathered a following of people who were web savvy by writing about the madcap misadventures of a bunch of college students in the South. Our field parties, our endeavors, and our love affairs were all documented and sent out to entertain. This is all well and good until those she was writing about started reading what she wrote. It's not that any of it was false, or posted in malice, but the mind does not like to be reminded of indiscretions and those things we do on impulse. This group of friends began to implode, arguments were started and friendships were lost. Worst of all, the girl who started it all with our praise and kudos was left with the blame, hurt, and guilt. I don't think she's ever really recovered from that episode. I would like to say that I stepped up and stood by her, rocking her through the night and telling her to never worry about shallow people. It has been my experience that we all are about at the same depth and it ain't very deep. I went off to do my own thing, as we all do, self-absorbed in my own life. I, however, was never very interested in the Internet other than a learning tool, more of a reader/experiencer than a builder/talker personality. I can say I was not one of the ones who blamed the messenger for their own indiscretions, so I stay fairly friendly with the girl. But, because of seeing what happened to her, I did vow never to write on the Internet.
That brings us to here... So what will I talk about? I have no problem saying that I am fallible. It has been shown to me time and time again. That’s what makes me interesting: my follies and vices. This is what might make me a perfect candidate for a blog. I am old enough now to realize that my friend was trying to live vicariously through other people in that early blog. She saw others as more interesting than herself, and she tried to use their stories to spread her glory over the world. The thing is that we all think other people are more interesting than we are because they are. Other people are unpredictable and scary, that makes them fascinating. The trick is to realize that I am a different person than you, the reader, so I don’t have to be anyone else to be interesting.
This blog will be about the Storm and I, the Ego inside of it, am nothing but one interruption. So, I plan to use this space to wax philosophic about the Storm, ranting at times but mainly try to entertain and figure some things out along the way. I do not promise to be always funny, or deep, or right. It will just be the thoughts of another Ego in the Storm.
That said, my name is Waide and I hope you keep reading. Please comment on anything you see here. I am always trying to evolve and input is what I need to keep evolving. Until next time.
In the time when the earth was still cooling and I was just starting out in college, better known as 1996, a friend of mine started what she called an "on-line journal." This seemed like a nifty idea at the time. She was a really good writer and quickly gathered a following of people who were web savvy by writing about the madcap misadventures of a bunch of college students in the South. Our field parties, our endeavors, and our love affairs were all documented and sent out to entertain. This is all well and good until those she was writing about started reading what she wrote. It's not that any of it was false, or posted in malice, but the mind does not like to be reminded of indiscretions and those things we do on impulse. This group of friends began to implode, arguments were started and friendships were lost. Worst of all, the girl who started it all with our praise and kudos was left with the blame, hurt, and guilt. I don't think she's ever really recovered from that episode. I would like to say that I stepped up and stood by her, rocking her through the night and telling her to never worry about shallow people. It has been my experience that we all are about at the same depth and it ain't very deep. I went off to do my own thing, as we all do, self-absorbed in my own life. I, however, was never very interested in the Internet other than a learning tool, more of a reader/experiencer than a builder/talker personality. I can say I was not one of the ones who blamed the messenger for their own indiscretions, so I stay fairly friendly with the girl. But, because of seeing what happened to her, I did vow never to write on the Internet.
That brings us to here... So what will I talk about? I have no problem saying that I am fallible. It has been shown to me time and time again. That’s what makes me interesting: my follies and vices. This is what might make me a perfect candidate for a blog. I am old enough now to realize that my friend was trying to live vicariously through other people in that early blog. She saw others as more interesting than herself, and she tried to use their stories to spread her glory over the world. The thing is that we all think other people are more interesting than we are because they are. Other people are unpredictable and scary, that makes them fascinating. The trick is to realize that I am a different person than you, the reader, so I don’t have to be anyone else to be interesting.
This blog will be about the Storm and I, the Ego inside of it, am nothing but one interruption. So, I plan to use this space to wax philosophic about the Storm, ranting at times but mainly try to entertain and figure some things out along the way. I do not promise to be always funny, or deep, or right. It will just be the thoughts of another Ego in the Storm.
That said, my name is Waide and I hope you keep reading. Please comment on anything you see here. I am always trying to evolve and input is what I need to keep evolving. Until next time.
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