I Was Wrong...

Hope I didn't make you choke on your coffee... spit takes are so passé. My wife gets downright giddy when she hears me use that phrase: I was wrong. Granted, it's very rare and, quite frankly, I think I've dwelt upon it long enough.

What I really wanted to write about today is the World Cup. You may have heard something about this going on in the news lately. I heard about it for a while before I realized they were talking about a soccer game. I'm from the South and I know that down here we have a tendency to over explain just for the sake of throwing extra syllables into everything, but didn't you think: "World Cup? World Cup what? World Cup of Hockey? World Cup of Dancing? World Cup of Hot Wings?" As uppity as the rest of the world claims Americans to be, I think it's downright conceited not to finish the name of your little tournament.

Turns out, though, that it's kind of popular. In fact, it's the most watched sporting event in the world, over NASCAR and Baywatch. According to Wikipedia 715.1 million people will watch it this year. I'm guessing that ".1" is the portion in the United States. Now, I don't consider myself an expert on the game of soccer (though my little brother did play one season of little league, so...), but I thought I might take a few minutes to explain the game to you, good reader, just a bit.

WHAT SOCCER IS

Soccer is a game played on a field the size of a Walmart parking lot, with 22 waif-like men sporting Don Johnson beards, two grumpy coaches who can't be understood... even in their own language, one ball - which apparently can be a little too round, and two jibberish-shrieking announcers who could fain excitement at a Stutterers Anonymous funeral. The object of the game is to kick the ball around the field until one of the teams runs out of penalties or the stands erupt in flames of violence. The players are not allowed to use their hands for anything other than slapping and adjusting crotches.

Except the two goalies. Their job is possibly the most important on the field. When the ball has spent too much time being knocked about at one end of the field, the goalie is supposed to pick up the ball, place it carefully on the ground, then kick it clear to the other end so the fans sitting down there can watch some of the "action" for a while. Sometimes the ball will accidentally roll into the net when the goalie is trying to pick it up. In those instances they just put the ball back in the middle to give the centerline folks a show for a bit.

I don't think there are any cheerleaders in soccer, but quite frankly, I don't think I want there to be. Let's face it: most of these countries aren't known for their beautiful people, with the exception of the Netherlands, whose women were ironically arrested and kicked out of the World Cup stadium. I'm not sure about any mascots either, outside of Posh Spice. And I can only guess that there are a multitude of sponsors associated with soccer, because we only catch the occasional commercial that Kevin Nealon shares with us on one of his stupid banned commercials shows.

WHY SOCCER SUCKS

Besides the absence of hot cheerleaders, I think there are several other specific reasons that soccer is not particularly popular in the U.S., though, like socialism, it seems to be catching on of late. To start, it's the name. Now, everywhere else in the world this game is called football. Of course, we already have a game called football, so we can't call it that. Plus, although that descriptive term probably fits the foreign game a little more accurately, the confusion would be an insult to Dick Butkus, and that wouldn't be good for anyone.

The Brits are especially bad about looking down their noses at we Yanks for our misnomenclature. That's a turn-off right there from the start. But let's take a look at where "soccer" came from. Back in Jolly Old England times the folks playing this brand of football wanted to differentiate it from Rugby Football, so they started calling it Association Football (due to official organizations and ministers and elves and wizards and all those other sort of titles they have in England). As any fan of The Young Ones (one of the greatest shows of all time - hint, hint for Christmas) knows, the Brits love to create shortened nicknames for everything:

television = tele
French fries = chips
John, Paul, Ringo, & George = John & Paul
Association Football = Soccer

So, the next time the Queen of England calls you a barbarian for referring to it as soccer, tell her, "Takes one to know one, Betty!"

Another reason we don't like soccer is the lack of action. Part of the problem is the size of the field: it's enormous! These guys are spread so far apart that the ball has to travel 14.6 miles (or 6,312 kilometers for you soccer fans) between kicks. That's where those ridiculous announcers come in. Here's a typical spastic reaction by an announcer old enough to be hanging around outside a Miley Cyrus concert looking for dates:

Good God, what a reaction from a man that old. Jeez, get a life. It's not like Dale, Jr. took the checkered flag or something.

If they'd make the field a little smaller, and the action a little faster, we Americans might get into it. But I just don't see this happening. One of the primary tactics of the soccer man is called flopping. The idea here is to get the other team penalized. You know how punters and place kickers will act like they've been plowed into when a rusher gets close? Multiply that by ten Liston-Ali factors and you've got any typical soccer player coming within ten yards of another. They flail about and writhe on the ground until the referee points at a random billionaire in shorts and orders him out of the game. It's so silly even the American team's coach in the World Cup doesn't like it. But it's such an integral part of the game many say the U.S. will never be taken seriously in the world of soccer until it learns to embrace this tomfoolery. Should we recruit Vince McMahon to coach the team?

This garbage gives the game a very un-manly reputation in a country where girls' softball results in broken bones and stitches. Soccer is so wimpy that a headbutt to the chest four years ago is still infamous. I was 20 yards up the stands when Quentin Coryatt delivered this shot on Kyle McPherson:

Had that occurred in a soccer game, Coryatt would be rotting away in jail today... with 36 Dutch models.

As much as the wimpiness and lack of action gives me the yawnies, it's the fact that ties are celebrated in soccer that turns Americans off the most. (I know hockey has 'em, but fights, man, fights!) I'm not saying a tie should never be allowed to happen: sometimes offenses suck so badly that there really is no point in going into quintuple overtime. But ties should never be celebrated. They may not exactly be a losses, but they sure as hell ain't wins!

Of course, I reckon soccer is great for countries like Italy who - not counting four World Cup titles - haven't had any kind of real victory since Emperor Claudius conquered Britannia. And France and England certainly have had their share of ties, coming from the same families and all. (Funny, they each have one World Cup title, as well.) Americans just don't like ties. We didn't tie the eight year American Revolution... we won it! When Europe was mired down in WWI and WWII, we went in and broke through. We're used to being the tie breaker. Hey, that's a great idea!

When any World Cup game looks like it's going to end in a tie, why not send the Super Bowl Champs from that year in and break up the tie? Now I'd watch that!

I WAS WRONG

You probably thought I'd forgotten about my opening... I didn't. When this World Cup 2010 started I said there was no way I could care less about it. Turns out I was wrong: the Americans lost and now I actually care a little less about what occurs from here on out. Spain vs. the Netherlands - hopefully it won't last 80 years this time. Yawn.

THE GREATEST COP EVER

My drive to work every morning is a 35 mile commute consisting of about 1/3 back roads, 1/3 interstate, and 1/3 back roads. That little stretch of interstate 65 starts just before it reduces from three lanes to two, and continues on for another nine miles. As I got on the highway this morning I saw in the far left lane what looked like the shortest, fastest funeral procession in the world: a white Dodge Charger not four feet off the rear bumper of a green Jeep Laredo, both doing 75 mph!

As I began the process of passing them in one of the two completely clear lanes to the right I realized the Charger was an Alabama State Trooper. I also noticed that the two of them were headed right for the lane closure. The trooper apparently realized this, too, because he moved over to the middle lane, sped up slightly to get alongside the Jeep, then tapped his brakes so that he would stay there. The Jeep sped toward the lane closure nipples and plowed right over them as the concrete dividing wall swerved in toward the driver's door. Seconds before contact the Jeep hit the brakes and fell in behind the trooper. The Dodge then sped up ahead.

Red is all I could see. I was furious! I can not stand the abuse of power, but especially from a police officer. I was raised the son of a cop and was taught that they, above all else, must have respect for the law and civil order. This trooper figures the stickers on his car give him license to behave any way he wants. What was his problem, anyway? I mean, the Jeep was going 5 mph over the speed limit. That wasn't enough? I couldn't catch up with the Charger because of some other traffic, but I was going to try to get that license and car number.

Racing at 85 in the left lane trying to catch the cop I was unable to scoot over and exit behind him, again because of traffic. (I did notice he only had markings on the passenger side of the car, I guess so he could park on the side of the highway with his hood up to zap speeders with his radar gun. Sneaky jerk.) So I had to settle with fantasy. Because I would have exited behind him and followed him. Maybe to that gas station down there off the interstate. I'd pull up right behind him with my headlights on, you know, like they do to us. Maybe I'd even throw my hazards on in order to add to the illusion. Yeah, that's it. Then I'd proceed to call the Alabama Department of Public Safety and report his behavior.

[The great thing about Alabama is that we can get away with that. In other states you would then be on the side of the road getting a bumper to bumper inspection, which you'd surely fail after the cop broke a turn signal lens with his nightstick. In Alabama, with no vehicle inspection requirements, I could have a live goat glued to my driver's window and still fall well within the legal parameters of vehicle safety.]

So, I'm standing there right in front of this jerk cop, looking right into his mirrored sunglasses, and reporting to his captain just what a jerk he is. The captain tells me that normally they don't take third party complaints but that this isn't the first time they've had a problem with this guy and asks if I'd be willing to come in and fill out a statement. Gladly. Then later, with statement in hand, the captain goes to the board to have the cop fired and blacklisted and suggests that I be in charge of making sure cops respect the law and don't act like jerks to the common citizenry. Soon I'm in charge of this program all over the south and then the nation. I have a whole team of people looking for jerk troopers tailgating people on the highway, or driving 85 mph without their lights on or – ooh, I hate this one – driving on the interstate at 45 mph knowing there are enough dummies out there who won't pass them to clog up traffic so that I'm just putting along at half my normal speed and-

I suddenly realized that the cop had exited a mile and a half ago and in that span I had changed lanes no less than eight times and altered my speed from 65 to 80 mph repeatedly. What on earth could be the problem in traf- Oh, the green Jeep Laredo. Well, I'll just slip over into the right lane and pa- nope, a semi is coming up. Well, perhaps she'll move over once she sees that I'm tryin- No, she seems to be pretty oblivious to her surroundings. Maybe if I just edge up a little closer to her bumper she'll take notice? All right, I'll flash my lights at her. Honking! What is this woman doing?! Every time there's a gap in traffic, she speeds up just enough to cut me off! Maybe Icanpassherontheshoulder!GOODGODWOMAN
WHATISYOURPROBLEM?I'MGOINGTORUNHEROFFTHEFREAKINGROADANDWATCH
THEJEEPBURSTINTOFLA-

*ehem*

[knuckle crack]

*deep sigh*

I want to apologize to the Alabama State Trooper who was driving perhaps a little too close to the very annoying lady driver in the Jeep Laredo this morning on I-65. I'm sorry I insisted on your imaginary removal from the force. You showed great restraint in dealing with a frustrating situation and I commend you. You are a fine example for the force and cops everywhere. If I'd have been wearing a badge... I'd have shot her.

The Greatest Father's Day

I don't know that I'm the greatest father in the world, but I'll bet there weren't many men who had a better Father's Day than I had... and if that's any indication, I guess I am up near the top of the list. Now, on the family side I didn't get to see my dad, but I did call him. And the place from where I ordered his present sent it to me instead of him. But I did get to speak with daddy over the phone and may get to see him this weekend. Overall Rating: Good.

My son is currently in Texas tearing up the skies and links with flight lessons and golf outings. He's doing very well with his flying and shot a 3 over par at Tangle Ridge. Although I didn't get to see him, he called me twice on Sunday. Overall Rating: Great.

My daughter didn't bother to call me, but I'm getting used to that. Her mother is quite a piece of work. Overall Rating: Sucky, but expected.

My step-son gave me a gift, a card, and called me 'dad.' He had spent the weekend helping his grandfather recover from surgery. Overall Rating: Excellent.

Of course, my wife has excellent taste in men... that's why she's my wife. She's beautiful, talented, witty, sensual, and a few things gentlemen don't mention in public. A loving caring woman. I got to spend Father's Day with her. Overall Rating: Perfect.

While I'm not overly materialistic (which fits right in with my budget), who doesn't like an occasional gift? The family got me several things that will be greatly enjoyed, including the new(ish) Jeff Bridges flick about the country singer, as well as Jekyll and Hyde... Together Again, a favorite from the days of my youth. Overall Rating: Reminiscent.

I also received 14 new cigars. This is a batch that Benita hand-picked for me. I've burned one of them so far... a Rocky Patel 1961. Tightly rolled, heavy and woody, an excellent smoke by any standard, but especially fitting of the tight standards of RP. I will enjoy the additional 1961 as much, as well as the other 12. My humidor is happy; therefore, I am happy. Overall Rating: Smokin'.

As I'm enjoying a nice smoke I like to have a little tottie. Nothing crazy, mind you. I stick with the old rule of thumb: Every thing in moderation. Because of this Benita went to purchase me a bottle of Jack Daniels, a rare treat. As many of you know Benita is not a drinker, so she was feeling rather self-conscious standing in line at the package store with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a 20 oz. bottle of Mountain Dew (she does imbibe the most extreme Dew). Suddenly, while minding her own business, a construction worker-looking guy finished paying for his 80 cases of beer, leered over at Benita with a fistful of dollars, and asked, "Mind if I pay fer that fer ya, little lady?" Benita thought for a split second and agreed. He paid for the Dew and Jack, and as she was walking out another guy asked the construction worker, "Hey, you wanna pay fer my beer?" "If you looked like she does I would." Benita got in her car and drove off, while the construction worker joined his friend in their truck and they pulled out the other way. Cheers to you, big guy! You helped make my Father's Day just that much better. Overall rating: Thrifty.

To top it all off I finally got the speedometer working in our 1946 Plymouth. I'll get an update about that on the Plymouth blog (link to the right) in the next few days. Overall Rating: Accomplished.

I defy you to find someone who had a better Father's Day than me.

Pie Write

Since nothing is going on in the news (outside of the systematic collapse of our nation), I thought today would be the perfect opportunity to share some personal facts about my life that you didn't know:

1. I am married with children [true]
   
2. I grew up in Texas [true]
   
3. We have two horses and a dog [true]
4. Growing up, Tron was my favorite movie [false - Tron isn't anyone's favorite movie]
5. I play guitar, bass, mandolin, violin, and flugelhorn [false - pawned my mandolin in college; wouldn't know a flugelhorn if it bit me]
6. I streaked across the stage at my high school graduation [false - saving it for the next high school reunion]
7. I'm an avid cigar smoker [true - donations welcome]
8. Today was my grandmother's birthday [true]
   
9. I have a third nipple on my right side [false - left side]
10. I was a member of the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M [true]
11. I've seen Titanic 32 times [false - I'm striaght]
12. I own a hat signed by Ray Price, Willie Nelson, and Robert Earl Keen, Jr. [true - among others]
13. I once double dated with Eva Longoria Parker [false - never even once dated with her]
14. I am a member of MENSA (UPDATE: Thanks to my friend Mitch Sandlin you have a chance to see another member: Rep. Hank Johnson. He's a Democrat - shocker, huh?) [true - although I can't speak for Johnson]
    
15. I've bowled a perfect 200 on four different occasions [true - 200's perfect, right?]
16. Five seconds ago I hadn't thought of this [false - I actually made a typo in the middle, so it took longer than five seconds]
    
17. My favorite appendage is the third toe on my left foot [false]
    
18. My middle name is 'Gandalf' [false - it's Gollum]
19. I was a member of the Order of the Arrow [true]
20. My house is decorated with my art and my wife's photography [true]
21. My favorite book is The Fountainhead [true]
22. I have green eyes and a rattle snake tail [true - the eyes are in my skull, the tail I keep on my hat]
23. I've held a crocodile [false - but I've caught alligator]
    
24. I voted for Barack Obama [true - but not for president]
25. I'm finished with this list [apparently I was not]

PUT A TIGER IN YOUR ----

Even as Tiger is planning his phoenix-like return to golf, new reports on his storied affairs are coming out. I think we're up to 147 mistresses. This guy must be going for some kind of record, though Wilt Chamberlain reportedly told him during one of his sex addiction classes that the key is to not keep going back to the same ones. I have to admit, though, I am impressed: I'm married to just one woman and do not engage in any extramarital activities, yet I can't even seem to find the time to slip in one round of golf every few months. This guy plays all the time! What time management. Franklin-Covey needs to be sponsoring this guy.

I want to share a little conversation I had with my wife this morning. She called to inform me that a porn star has come forward concerning her two-year affair with... well... everyone, but Tiger Woods specifically. (I told my wife she would have already known this if she got all of her celebrity news from South Park like me.) I think I know why Tiger had all these affairs. Hell, every man knows why - not that we'd do it, mind you. But we know why. Women are pouring themselves at your feet like a rock star, Tiger: you felt wanted and got addicted to that feeling. The Manly Power that comes with sleeping with lots of women. Could happen to anyone... except Ryan Seacrest.

But at some point shouldn't it become clear that they're not attracted to you, but to your position, Tiger? Sure, you worked hard to become the greatest golfer in the world and deserve a little reward (some might suggest a Scandinavian model-wife and a gazillion dollars to be a fairly bountiful reward, but to each his own). And, yes, a cocktail waitress, stewardess, exotic dancer, and perfume counter attendant can all theoretically be impressed by your raw sexual Axe Effect... and the fact that you can afford to tip over 15%. But a wallered out porn star? Dude, you ain't that great. Without the wallet and hat you look kinda goofy; you were up with Elin, waaay up. But with this porn star didn't at some point you stop and think, "Man... maybe she's faking it?" I mean, c'mon... you're no Jesse James.*

My wife said that if she were Elin she would divorce him and set him on fire. I joked, "Yeah, like 'Your honor, I was just setting the gas can on top of the canopy bed and it accidentally went off.'" Benita, my wife and a God-fearing, loving individual, replied:

No, my defense would be: But your Honor, he asked me to put the sleeping pills in his dinner then tie him up in the bed, pour hot wax in his throat and nostrils, set him on fire, chop him up into little pieces, and send those pieces to each of his lovers with a note that read: "Now you have a piece of Tiger, but I have all the money."

I got an invitation in the mail to hang out in Tiger's VIP lounge at the Masters. I think I'll stay home.



* I had to add this; got it in an email from my wife, referring to Jesse James:
"Hmmmm, he needs to be tied to the back of a motorcycle and dragged over spikes and nails, then through a pool of alcohol, then through a pit of scorpions (drive through this and the alcohol area slowly for the full effect). After that, his tats should be skinned off of his body with a dull knife and hot glued across the tat model's face and neck......then peeled back off with her skin until both are just bloody stumps of their former selves.....sounds good to me!"

WEAK END REVIEW

I haven't posted in a while and I'm doing this over my lunch break, so it's liable to be rather weak.  I apologize to all of my adoring fans.  Not much time to insert videos and what not, so please follow the links herein.  It's been quite busy here, lately.  Thank you all for your prayers for the quick recovery of my wife after her surgery.  We really thank you and she is doing fine.  Please now pray for my truck which is not doing quite as well, but then, it's got a lot more miles on it than... uh, I better stop right there.

ELECTION RESULTS!

A full 20% of the populace came out to tell the world just what they think about how things are going. City Councilman and future indictee William Bell has been elected the new Mayor of Birmingham after beating attorney Patrick "I Didn't Approve That Video" Cooper by more than 3,000 votes in a run-off from an election in which Bell lost to Cooper by 15% of the vote.  That's Birmingham Mathematics, folks.  Although I am not allowed to vote in the election, I would have gone for the lawyer due to financial reasons: it'd be cheaper in the long run to have a mayor that could defend himself.

A KENNEDY DOES SOMETHING POSITIVE

Who'd have thunk Ted Kennedy would turn out to be the shining star in the family?  A great big EDWARD THANK YOU goes out to the great big fat scum for dying when he did. His brother John's death brought about LBJ and the worst economic pipe bomb to hit this country since TARP (or is that the other way around?).  His brother Robert's death paved the way for Hillary Clinton to become a Senator (for the purposes of this article it did!).  And John John's death/suicide flight/double murder eclipsed the passing of John Edward Long, an Alabamian with more than 7 years flying time - a world record likely to never be broken.

But thanks to Ted "Can I Give You A Lift" Kennedy, healthcare reform, as Obama knows it, may be dead thanks to Scott Brown's win in Massachusetts.  (By the way, Mississippi is a much better state than Massachusetts... because it's easier to remember how to spell. "M-A-S-S, A-C-H... aww!)  Brown will presumably go right along party lines and vote against healthcare reform, denying the Democrats the 60 votes they need to railroad the American taxpayer.  Pundits are projectile vomiting theories as to why he won. Here're the only two reasons you need to know:

1. The American voter rarely allows one party to control the White House, House, and Senate for very long

2. Americans don't like it when politicians tell them, "We don't care what you think, we're doing it anyway."

Nancy Pelosi has already started making excuses stating that she doesn't think the House has the votes to pass legislation.  I guess this election was transparent enough for her.

THE MOST IMPORTANT RESULTS OF THE YEAR!

Jay Leno will be taking back over The Tonight Show. *yawn*  What that means is that Conan O'Brien is now out of a job. There have been a lot of suggestions on just what he could do for a living after he's spent all of the $45 million severance package on hair gel.  I have the best solution, one that will make everyone happy: he should campaign with Sarah Palin... as her vice-president (after all, his ratings are pretty low). It's perfect.  He's already got the sympathy of the American people.  He's a redhead and Irish, so he's got the whole minority thing going for him.  He's practically poor (compared to other late night talk show hosts).  He's unemployed.  And who knows better than he how cruel and inhumane Corporate America can be?  I think he's got a real chance.  Plus, how cool would a State of the Union Address written by Conan O'Brien be?

AIRless AMERICA

It's funny... I make a disparaging remark about Al Franken and his talk show last week, Air America - the radio network created specifically so liberals could get on the air - dies this week.  "MSNBC... CNN..... NPR... American Idol... Barbara Streisand." Again, many liberal excuses are being made for it's failure:

"the very difficult economic environment has had a significant impact on Air America's business. This past year has seen a `perfect storm' in the media industry generally" - NBC can afford to pay a guy $45 million not to be on the air

"painstaking search for new investors... ultimately fell short." - I guess you were too successful at motivating voters to Vote for Change in '08

SO OLD SHE'LL MAKE YER HEAD SPIN

For my buddy Jesse, Linda Blair is 137 years old today.  I don't think this is a current photo, but again, it's for my buddy Jesse.










AND ONE FOR THE LADIES

Strike another success for Equal Rights: The country's first legal gigolo starts work in  Nevada this weekend.  He's taking appointments, ladies.  "Markus," the self-proclaimed Rosa Parks of prostitution, is a college dropout, likes working out, enjoys casual heterosexual rendezvous, and long walks on the beach... as long as he's getting paid for them.  Looks like Obama has those employment figures on the rise! (Uh, no pun intended, Markus.)

JESSE'S DAD

A dear friend of mine lost his dad on the morning of January 3, 2010. He had been battling health problems for some time, but that doesn't really matter when someone close passes on. Jesse and I traded a couple of emails catching up over the holidays. I wrote him about my dead horse, my broken truck, and questions about guitars and he wrote back with condolences and answers while sitting next to his father in the hospital. I mentioned my wife's gall bladder attack and he wrote back, "Sorry to hear there is pain in yer household, hope everything gets better." His dad had passed away and yet Jesse was still thinking about others. I tell you this not to take attention away from his dad. It's more of a tribute to his dad, because Jesse is the man and great friend that he is because of his dad.

The following is the content of Jesse's emails. I got permission to post these wonderful words he shared about his dad.

The only other news is that Dad has been in the Hospital since before Thanksgiving. He was in ICU for 2 weeks, then got out and into a room for a week and was awake and able to carry on conversations. But after a little over a week he got the P-nuemony and went back into ICU for another 3 weeks. Outside of the week he was in a regular room he was on a ventilator. His wife decided to have them take him off a couple of days ago but he is still hangin' in there like a hair in a biscuit, although he hasn't opened his eyes or been able to speak in over a month. I am sitting next to him as I write. I have no idea if he knows I am here, or if he knows I've been here at all, since he went into ICU weeks ago but I know I'm here. Don't know how much that really counts in the big picture though.

Sorry, didn't mean to ramble. I guess it's just been on my mind to write something about him.

....

Dad moved on at about 7:30am 1/3/10

....

 

Dad had been pretty much zonked out on Morphine and such for a while. They took him off the machine, as was his wishes, and said it wouldn't be long BUT he hung in for almost 3 days. I thought maybe he would pull out but the truth is it is probably better this way. I know that sounds horrible but he had only been out of bed one time in over two months and that was after he had been in the Hospital for two weeks. He had insisted on "going to" (basic human dignity, I suppose) the bathroom instead of a bedpan. Well, he couldn't stand even then but I was able to get him on what he (and Grandma) called the "Thunder mug", you know the bedside pot. I left the room and gave him privacy but when he was done it took me and a male nurse to get him back in bed, he just had no strength. That was the last time he was out of bed and that was almost two months ago so you can image how much muscle loss there had been. He also had a stroke at some point near the very beginning of all this. I remember when he was awake he was telling me that one of his arms had felt funny ever since he woke up and he didn't seem to be able to control it. He could raise it to some degree but could not use it. However he had no slurred speech or droopy eyes er anything else. I thought maybe it was just weak and maybe it was "asleep" but I found out later it was a stroke.

So even had he come out of this he probably would have been stuck in bed from now on because without the ability to support himself with both arms he would never have walked.

The funeral was today and out of all the hard funerals I've had to get through (Grandmaw's, Mom's and my Aunt, who had taken us in when my natural Mother died when I was 2) this was the hardest by far! See, not only was this a funeral of a parent it was the funeral of my LAST parent! Dad had been the source of strength through those. He was my example of how to grieve with dignity....he was not there in that capacity this time. I hope I did not embarrass him. Even though I tried very hard to be the pillar of strength there were tears but my breakdowns have been in private, at least that is what I think. That was the example he had set for me. A man had to show strength, outwardly at least, if not for himself for those around him looking for strength. A man has to appear strong, if not for himself then for others. He was as strong as he could muster for all those funerals before but I know when he was alone he sobbed in private. I heard it but left him to believe I knew nothing of it for to have gone to him, or let him know that I knew in any way, would have been the worst thing I could have done I believe.

His Casket was draped with a Flag and a picture of him as a boy (yes, boy, he lied and said he was 17 when he was really not yet 15) in the Navy WWII (The Great One) was sitting on top. After it was over they folded the Flag and I have it now. I need to find one of them fancy boxes for it! I have lost a Father, teacher and mentor but America has lost a Patriot, a fighter and a true American! Yes, I have lost a Hero......but I share that loss with my Country because, it also lost a Hero! It hurts, and greatly saddens, me that he had to witness what is happening to the Country he so ardently wanted to believe in, serve and defend that as a child he was willing to put his very young life on the line to do so, be torn to shreds before his eyes! If nothing else I take solice in the fact he will not have to witness that any longer!

Sorry, didn't mean to write a novel

j

DANNY SHOWED ME...

He was working at Tractor Supply Co. when I went in for some M-T-G. Danny was vociferous and enthusiastic. He was animated, almost invading. His address of each customer was cordial, but loud. Almost shouting. And the smile on his face and in his voice was genuine.

Danny obviously had Down's Syndrome. He stood behind the counter rocking from foot to foot. The regular cashier was standing behind him because, even though he knew most of the movements, Danny didn't always remember which button to push or when. And although he was very difficult to understand, he insisted on carrying on a running dialog with each and every customer. (As I walked out the door he was making an announcement on the exterior speaker system, with his assistant following up to make sure the request was understood.)

I left with a smile on my face. The same smile that remained on Danny's face as he turned from the mic to help the next customer. I thought about how Danny made sure to speak to every customer, and about how many times I have been through a store for 45 minutes or more and gone through the checkout line without a single person speaking to me... or making an effort myself to speak to anyone else.  I thought about how much Danny enjoyed scanning the products and reading out the prices, about how mundane the job must be and how so many other people become disinterested in their own jobs, me included.

For just an instant I began to think about the issues Danny has to face in every facet of life due to his affliction. But that thought transformed into something else when I realized that Danny wasn't wasting time doing that. So I began thinking about my own set of issues. I work for a company in the construction industry. Times are tough. With the downturn of the economy I've watched our income dwindle down to just a fraction of our expenses. Every two weeks I sweat about how I'm going to be able to pay our guys. Then about whether I'm going to be able to pay myself. My job has been reduced to juggling creditors and trying to keep the lights on. I'm no fool... it can't last long like this.

My boss pointed out to me that he dreaded coming into the office of late. It seems he didn't want to see my face because I wore on it the only kind of news I've had for him: bad. I didn't bother to tell him that I've felt the same about avoiding him. Surely things will turn around soon, we fool ourselves. Actually, we're hurting because of the bursting of the so-called housing bubble. We both know that the commercial construction bubble is still yet to fail. So, while barely treading water, we're going to have to redirect the entire company.

The holidays are always a bit stressful: traveling to see family, organizing everything that needs to be organized, decorating everything that needs to be decorated, and gifting everyone who needs to be gifteed. I have to deal with my ex-wife on the kids' holiday visits, which is always a nightmare. And this year the extended family is getting together, which means we've got to scrounge the gift money for a slew of additional children. And if that weren't enough, the only reason I met Danny is that one of my horses has rain rot. That's why I needed the M-T-G.

But, hey!  I have horses. Sure, one is sickly and has problems, but he's a sweetheart. And the two mares... well, while they aren't exactly sweet, they are stout. I live on a beautiful piece of property that most could only dream about. I have a great extended family, one that I will get to visit this holiday season. And my wife's family will be coming to us. No illnesses or losses in either family for quite some time. My daughter will be joining the rest of us for the entire Christmas break.  I'm in excellent health and couldn't ask for a more loving home life.

Sure, there are problems at work. We're going through quite a tough time. But I have a job. I've watched competitors, clients, and vendors go out of business all around us. We may may just be treading water, but we're here. And I'm most thankful for that. There are many out there - about 17% of the population - that won't have a job this Christmas. When I look at it, my life is pretty darn rich right now.

I have no intention of turning this into a political diatribe, and those who are close to me know that I'm not completely sold on Sarah Palin as the savior of Conservatism. For that matter, I put no faith in any politicians.  I just don't trust their motives. And from the spiritual side, I am one that believes in coincidences. But it struck me that on the very day I met Danny I read an article about Sarah Palin's book tour bringing out the pro-lifers because she was touring with Trig, her son that was diagnosed with Down's Syndrome. I don't think he was diagnosed before birth, but I do know he wasn't planned.

I don't know that that has anything to do with me. But I can tell you this: If you see me acting a little differently at work. If I'm stepping a little higher, and smiling a little brighter. If my head and morale are higher. If my outlook has shifted over into the positive column. Don't be alarmed. I'm not on drugs. I haven't checked out of reality. And my lottery ticket is still worthless. All that's happened is that I've been shown just how life should be approached, how valuable it is, and how glad I should be to have mine.

Danny showed me.

THE DADDY DIARIES

Several of my friends and family have had babies of late, and they've all been scrambling for information... or at least confirmation that their child is normal and their parenting skills are adequate. Women have a slew of resources out there, from new mommy books to old mommies themselves. But guys? Not so many sources. You can seek parenting advice from your friends, but that's probably not a very good idea.

You can turn to a family member, like an uncle... but again, that's probably not a very good idea.

In recent years a new alternative has popped up: Daddy Boot Camps. In these "boot camps" coaches and/or experienced dads teach daddies-to-be the finer points of being a dad, like how to swaddle, how to change diapers, how to burp, and how to bathe infants. I'm against these. Not because they don't provide good advice - I wouldn't know; I did it the hard way - but because I'm cheap. Why pay good money for someone to teach what comes somewhat naturally to most folks?

Still, there are questions, but fear not... I have answers.

THE DADDY DIARIES

As a guy who's been there and done that... twice, I want to pass on to my fellow man-dads out there the knowledge I gained going through it all. Most of the information here is nothing more than you will observe on your own, but perhaps it will give you confidence in those moments you find yourself wondering just what the hell is going on and what in the hell you did to get yourself where you are.

Childbirth is usually not that difficult for the dad-in-waiting, so I really just have one piece of advice. If you are in the delivery room (which I recommend), when you hear the word 'episiotomy' (which you will), turn the other way (which I highly recommend).

In caring for infants there are really only two things a father needs to know: if it's a boy, wipe up; if it's a girl, wipe down. That's pretty much it. For all other needs just listen to the kid's mother. Mothers can tell the difference between a 'hungry cry' and a 'pain cry' - or so they claim. It's neither here nor there. As long as you do what the mother says you likely won't get blamed if the baby becomes gangrenous or emaciated. And in the end that's all we can hope for: not that our child will turn out normal (which it won't), but that we won't get blamed if it turns out weird (which it will).

Once you get your newborn home you will notice that it seemingly has no control over its head or limbs, doesn't react to the sound of your voice, and takes absolutely no interest in your existence. Don't be alarmed... this is perfectly normal. This stage of development will end when your child is about 1 month old... then start again at the age of 13 years.

Be gentle with your newborn, but not obsessively so. It is a well-known fact that babies are made of rubber. That being said, they don't make very good basketballs. Try not to drop them too often.

When food is consumed by an adult there are two ways it can come back out of the body, and 99.99% of the time you know which way that will be. Be warned that that rule is suspended for babies: there are no less than six different ways, including the tear ducts, that food - at any stage of digestion - can come back out of a baby. This can happen at any time and without warning. Usually, though, there will be a lag time after each occurrence, so the best time to hold your new child is immediately after it pukes on your sister.

Babies ooze. Even when they aren't spitting up or pooping their diapers, an endless supply of unidentifiable goo leaks out of every baby orifice. This is another good reason not to be in the presence of a baby without its mother. Let her clean it... she is equipped to handle the situation. Be forewarned, though: close your eyes! This woman - the one who turned out the lights and placed a box of Wet Wipes next to the bed when the two of you were making said baby - this woman will reach over with her bare hand and scoop viscous liquids off your baby's nostril without so much of a pause. If you want to look into her eyes and feel the desire to hold her close, close your eyes when the baby starts oozing.

Babies sleep, you don't. It kills me when I see brand new parents get googly eyed over how cute their sleeping baby is. Give it a few weeks. That's no sleeping baby... it's a stick of dynamite. When you coax the little buggar off to neverland, all you are doing is lighting the fuse. You lie down in bed and try to count sheep, but the whole time you're thinking:

How long will it be? Will I get to sleep an hour? Four hours? Dare I dream! No! Two hours. Yes, two hours will do. Please, Lord, put the baby in a coma... for two hours. That's it. I just need a little rest. I can't feel my feet and the backs of my ears are burning. What was that? Oh, God, is that the baby??!! No, just the wind. Please, Lord, don't let it wake up. Why did we have to have a baby? What were we thinking!! No, no, I love the baby. She's so sweet. Please, Lord, make it sleep...

You're going to be overwhelmed with the desire to take pictures of your baby from the second it leaves the hospital. That is okay. You may take all of the photos that were taken of you when you were a child. Being held. Sleeping. Rocking. Bathing. Spread-eagled on the changing table (thanks, daddy). Click until your heart's content. Then stop. After about three months you need to put the camera away. Everyone else will have lost interest in even seeing your baby, so you should've lost interest in taking photographs of it by then. If you don't believe me look back at your baby photos. Go on, look. There isn't a single one from after those first hairs popped out on your head until those first teeth started falling out of your mouth, is there? That's the way it is supposed to be, so put away the iPhone and stop updating junior's Facebook page.

You will notice, sooner rather than later, that you will begin to hate your baby. Do not be alarmed. This is again perfectly normal. Men in general do not mix well with babies. We envision teaching a child to track, shoot, and kill. We dream of being the mentor who shows the tyke how to change out a carburetor on a '69 Camaro. How to use a bow and arrow, make a pair of stilts, and go ice fishing (even if it's a girl). Babies can't do any of that, so don't feel bad about not liking it. All they can do is wobble around like a rag doll, which is exactly what your wife wanted when she decided to have a baby. She will care for it, feed it, and make sure it doesn't poke itself in the face with a lawnmower. In a few years that baby will be old enough for you to begin teaching it all those things you wanted to pass on... which is about the time your wife will have lost interest in it altogether. Ah, the circle of life is a beautiful thing.

For Whom The Belles Towed

The whole family loaded up this weekend and went to the Heritage Festival/Car Show that I had alluded to last week. The Roberts adventure is now complete and, in an attempt to wipe if from my memory, I'm going to give you a brief synopsis.

As you know I am from the South, so we were prepared for anything at the Heritage Festival. Down in these parts that phrase can mean a good excuse to wear your sheets outside the bedroom. Fortunately, that was not to be in this case, though several members of the Daughters of the Confederacy made a showing in their beautiful dresses. Now, you may be thinking this would be a good time to include a photograph, and you'd be right. The wife and I both took cameras with every intention of using them, but the weather did not cooperate. It dropped from the low 60s all the way down to the mid-50s while we were there.

I know this may not seem like much to those of you from the yonder side of the Mason-Dixon, but for we southern folk, anything north of I-40 or south of 60° is unacceptable. For that reason we didn't take any photos; I didn't get the camera out of the bag or my hands out of my pockets. Let's just say that if the world was dependent upon me to bring it photographic proof of the snow leopard, the world would have to rely on legend and campfire tales.

As it turned out heritage, as it was used in the flyers for this event, meant "rural artists selling crap made of driftwood and bird nests." I got only a cursory view of these booths, but I feel confident in saying there were no lost photo ops (unless you like looking at license plate figurines). We ducked into a diner to have a burger and drink, but instead spent an hour waiting for a burger and drink. The bad part was that it took so long, but the bad part was that their supplier was the same one my elementary school cafateria used... possibly food from the same era.

No Southern Heritage Festival would be complete without a car show, and this one was no disappointment! There were cars from the 30s to the 00s. Mustangs, T-birds, Chargers, Bel Airs, drag cars, cruisers, and rusto-rods. Everything a motorhead could want. You'd've loved it! Even if you aren't particularly into cars it would have taken you back to a better time in your life! Of course, it was a little chilly, so I don't have any photos to show you. Sorry.

I have to admit that this was the first car show I'd been to in quite some time (the church decided to go with 'Jesus and Guns' for last year's Christmas Pageant), so I was a little unprepared for these newer models. Do you remember the time when you'd look into an engine compartment and see... well... an actual engine? I'm going to give a little visual assistance here:

For me, I can do without all the plastic... I like my engine to look like an engine.

I missed my high school reunion to freeze my cojones at the heritage festival/car show and eat canned chili on top of boxed fries... and it was worth every moment. Still, there must have been a number of you at the reunion hoping to see me so that you could revel in how much better you've done since the last reunion (based upon the air-brushed photos on your Facebook pages), so I will placate you:

Since the last reunion I have put in years of overtime to finally work my way up to vice-president of a company with two employees, I've gotten a divorce, and my dvd player is on the fritz.

Oh, and my engine compartment back in high school...

was way cooler than the one I have now.


See you all at the next reunion/heritage festival!

THE PANSY CORNER

Congratulations to the Christina (Delaware) School Board, which has been backed into The Pansy Corner this week by a student who was on his way to a 45-day suspension to the alternative school but for a last minute reprieve.

Here's what happened: In the quiet, early morning hours of September 29th, Zachary Christie got off his school bus wielding a knife. A teacher asked him what he had in his hand and he brandished the weapon, claiming he was going to use it to eat his lunch. Acting swiftly before literally dozens of students could be stabbed to death, the teacher turned the knife over to the school principal, who decisively suspended Christie for 45-days, pending a school board hearing. A tragedy, much like the one at Columbine, was once again narrowly avoided by the quick thinking of an alert teacher and a school district's zero tolerance policy.

By October 12th it became clear to members of the school board that not only was Zachary Christie a 1st grader, he was also a new and proud Cub Scout, which is why he brought the spoon-fork-knife utensil to school. Additionally, he was active in school, participating in the talent show, excelling in math and reading, and winning first place in a statewide art contest. Further complicating the school's case was the fact that both of Christie's parents and his step-father are active in the school. His mother is co-President of the PTA and homeroom mother for Zachary's class. And, as it turns out, quite adept at creating websites, like this one.

On October 13th the school board decided to give Zachary another chance in his school. To get around the zero-tolerance regulations, the members unanimously voted to reduce the punishment for kindergartners and 1st graders who carry weapons to school or commit violent acts to a suspension of 3 to 5 days, wisely continuing to protect students and faculty from homicidal 2nd graders.

If you follow the link above you will see that there was a bittersweet ending to this situation. While Zachary is back in school, his parents are concerned that other students may be swept up in similar hysteria, and for good reason. This school board made The Pansy Corner for exactly how they handled this situation. I'm not going into the argument about zero-tolerance here (it is a long debate... at least on the side of common sense). What I want to point out is that these chicken-livered administrators were helpless to make a decision without changing a ridiculous rule. Why not stand up and say:

It is clear that this rule is not set in place for a student of this caliber or a situation like this. Zachary Christie will return to class, his record will be cleared of this incident, and the principal will report to my office for a paddling.

Why? The bottom line is that the school board is scared. All of them across the country are. And no matter what Michael Moore might say, it has nothing to do with safety. It's all about security - job security. The policies put in place since Columbine have done little to nothing to protect children in MOST school districts. (There are some school districts that ought to hand out straight jackets at the door, but that's for another post... on another blog.) These intrusive policies have gone a long way to teaching your children there is no such thing as a right to privacy or personal property, even to the extent of having the school dole out medication. (Gee, I wonder how future generations will vote on health care reform?) But they have increased job security for school administrators.

Zero tolerance means no discretioin at the local level. No discretion means no decisions. No decisions means no responsibility. No responsibility means no accountability. No accountability means no need to evolve into a rational, reasoning, vertebrate. And that's exactly what we have filling the offices and teachers' lounges of our schools: mindless, spineless bureaucrats.

In this case the fear was not that Zachary Christie would attack another student, but that some child might get hurt. A cut. A poke. An abrasion. Bruised feelings. And what happens then? No one wanted to say it, every single administrator associated with this case avoided it, and in story after story of this ilk across the country you won't find it mentioned: LAWSUIT. The easy way to face it is by burying one's head in the rules.

Lawsuits, all across the land, have scared these people into inaction. Zachary's mother got 29,000 signatures of support, which left the school board little choice but to let him off. But they did it in the most spineless way possible. It was truly the least they could do. Why not take the momentum of the signatures and use them to fight back against lawsuits and ridiculous policies? CHARGE!!!!!

Why indeed. Look, I'd love to blame all this on the lawyers. The civil legal system exists so that rational parties who disagree over an issue have access to an impartial resolution. Attorneys are a vital part of the process of making sure justice is served and injured parties are properly and reasonably compensated. The truth is that some lawyers step way outside this role and go looking for any excuse to sue or extort money from someone... anyone. But I'm afraid - and this pains me to say - that lawyers are not the whole problem here...

How many of you nodded your head when I damned the lawyers?

How many of you would be reaching for the yellow pages the second your child broke an arm jumping off the monkey bars at school? Payday, right?

Congratulations, Zachary. I wish you the best in your future educational experiences.

Cooler Than Fonzie...

...Less Practical Than Aunt Bea.

A company called WaterCar is introducing the Python, which is a... sort of... in a way... this:

WaterCar claims the Python is the fastest amphibious car on the planet, and who would argue, really? It is powered by the buyer's choice of Corvette engines, including the LS9 that comes in the Corvette ZR1. Decked out with that $50,000 option, WaterCar says the Python will reach 60 MPH in 4.5 seconds on the street, and will reach 60 MPH in the water. Performance almost as impressive as it's price: $220,000.00.

Check out the details and more photos at WIRED.com.

I guess it's pretty cool to be able to drive right off the boat ramp and go tooling around the lake (or English Channel, eh, Jeremy Clarkson?), but for $220,000? Surely there's a cheaper alternative? As it turns out, there is.

You can buy an actual Corvette ZR1 for about $106,000.00. It is a Corvette, so there's a pretty high cool level right there. It will get to 60 MPH in approximately 1.2 milliseonds, and will make the Kessell Run in under 12 parsecs. She's fast enough for you, old man.

Of course, Corvettes react poorly to large, deep bodies of standing water. Not a problem. I figure that for less than the $114,000 left over you can build yourself one of these:



And consider the leg room! You can only fit five friends with you in the Python, but you can fit the entire glee club on a pontoon boat. With any cash left over you can get a slip at the marina for $30 a month, or get one of these to tow the boat with. You'll be cooler than Fonzie.

HOLLYWOODLAND

Hollywood is all aTwitter over the Swiss arrest of French director Roman Polanski at the Zurich Film Festival. It seems that many of his peers feel it unjust that an "international cultural event, paying homage to one of the greatest contemporary filmmakers, is used by the police to apprehend" the 76-year old admitted child molester. That little gem came from the petition SACD (a French artist and film industry association) produced with the goal of winning his release on bail. Like nearly every other French-led attempt to affect the behavior of another country over the last 100 years, the effort has failed miserably.

Before I go any further into this issue, allow me to give you a little background. In 1977, Polanski accepted a plea bargain and pled guilty to engaging in unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor. After a 42-day psychiatric evaluation, Polanski feared that the judge in the case would renege on an agreed probation, so on the eve of his sentencing hearing he fled to France by way of London. He has been gone ever since, suffering through a life of freedom, financial success, professional accolades, and an Oscar.

Being the intrepid blogger that I am, I did a little research on the issue. It seems the minor that Polanski engaged in "unlawful sexual intercourse" with was one 13-year old Samantha Gailey. Polanski's grand jury, after hearing Miss Gailey's testimony, indicted him on five charges:

1. 
   
   Rape by use of drugs
   
   
   
2. 
   
   Perversion
   
   
   
3. 
   
   Sodomy
   
   
   
4. 
   
   Lewd and lascivious act upon a child under 14
   
   
   
5. 
   
   Furnishing a controlled substance (methaqualone) to a minor
   
   
   

I reviewed 36 pages of Miss Gailey's testimony (what did you do for lunch?). You can find them at The Smoking Gun - just click on the image to the right. Pay special attention to the end of page 17 and beyond. Keep in mind that at the time this rape occurred this girl was 13-years old and Polanski was 44-years old. That's a difference of 31 years for those keeping score.

"Rape?" you ask. "The charges didn't say anything about rape. And isn't a person innocent until proven guilty?" Read the transcript, and remember that it was so damning that Polanski pled guilty. Sure, they were lesser charges - that's why it's called a plea bargain. Polanski got the bargain; little Miss Gailey got raped. If there is any question in your mind about whether he did wrong by this girl, why don't you ask your 13-year old daughter what she thinks?

There's your background. Back to the petition. Just based upon what I already knew about the case from a lifetime of hearing about it I couldn't understand why anyone would sign a petition in this creep's defense... even cowardly Hollywood-types. Notice that I didn't say it surprised me, just that I couldn't understand it. Perhaps you are having a difficult time, too. Let's explore it together.

The SACD wants to point out that it is conspicuously not talking about the charges against Polanski, just that he was arrested at a film festival. Here is the first element of this moral failure: these people clearly think they and what they do are above the rest of society. Their film industry celebration carries with it protection from the retribution for crimes committed against your daughters. What if the Vatican were to protest that a priest was in church and therefore could not be arrested for raping altar boys? What would you think if a drunk driver tried to escape arrest on manslaughter charges by hiding at an A.A. meeting? Am I immune to legal prosecution as long as I am attending a... I don't know where bloggers gather... as long as I am at Starbucks? Of course not! But the Hollywood elite are not your normal rapists.

Having said that, superiority alone doesn't account for everything in this case. How can a group of people dedicated to ending human trafficking in the third world, rape in the Congo, and the selling of little brown children on the black market (except to fellow Hollywood elitists) defend a man who provided alcohol and drugs to, molested, raped and sodomized a 13-year old girl? Okay, in Woody Allen's case it may not be THAT big a stretch, but what about the 700+ other signatories? It's a matter of philosophy.

The other day my son and I were on a road trip so, having him trapped in the cab of the truck with me, I instructed him on the importance of establishing principles in one's life... and staying true to them. We talked about the apparent difference between embezzling money from someone's retirement plan versus seeing a jerk drop a $20 bill and not mentioning it to him and picking it up after he leaves. One is plainly wrong while the other... well, might be tempting. This is a common problem for many people, and it is the result of learning about right and wrong actions rather than right and wrong philosophies. If you only accept that some actions are wrong, you will likely hesitate, balk, or just fail in the face of a challenging situation. But if, early on, you establish philosophical stances, you will more clearly understand what is right and what is wrong in any situation.

I likened it to a scantron sheet. These are the sheets that have the little bubbles labeled A, B, C, D, and E. You fill in the corresponding bubble for each question asked. If each of these represented the situations you face in your life and you are only armed with the knowledge of right and wrong actions, it can be a daunting task to check each of your answers. Now picture your set of philosophical stances, let's call them principles, as a scantron answer key where each correct answer lines up with "A." By placing the key on top of the scantron sheet one can quickly and clearly identify the "right" actions.

The people who have signed this Polanski petition never went through this process in their life. They never sought the answers. They never accepted truth. And they have no principles. This is why their actions can so often be contradictory. It is why Rosie O'Donnell can work to make handguns illegal for you while her bodyguards carry them. It is why Congress can push Health Care Reform for you, but leave themselves out of it. Hollywood-Washington. They've got you surrounded, America.

I don't know how all of this mess with Polanski will end up. There is talk of misconduct of one of the D.A.'s in the case. The mother of Gailey seems to have been complacent with her accompanying Polanski - there certainly seems to be some hero-worship going on. Some point out that the victim of the crime now wants Polanski forgiven so that all of this would be over - of course, would we really care what Sharon Tate has to say? It's about punishment and stopping future crimes. And folks, if a 44-year old man is capable of drugging, raping, and sodomizing a 13-year old girl once, I'll bet you he's done it before, since, and a hundred different ways.

Although I don't know how the case will end up I can assure you of this: Had Samantha Gailey been my daughter there would not have been a Roman Polanski-directed film after 1977. Hell, there wouldn't have been a Roman Polanski after 1977. And I defy any man who reads that transcript to suggest otherwise.

Up For Auction!

White Bunny Rabbits with Fluffy Bunny Feet

Item condition: Near mint
Time Left: 5 days 19 hours (October 7, 2009 15:04:43 PDT)
Bid history: 2 bids
Current bid: US $14.95
Your max bid: US $___________ (Enter US $15.45 or more)
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Description: This is for a set of six (6) white bunny rabbits. Make perfect good-luck charms. Buy whole or I will remove the feet for you for reduced shipping.




Litter of Kittens - 3 Weeks Old


Item condition: Barely used
Time Left: 7 days 12 hours (October 9, 2009 08:04:43 PDT)
Bid history: 6 bids
Current bid: US $29.50
Your max bid: US $___________ (Enter US $30.00 or more)
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Description: Four kittens, 3 weeks old. Best deal on the net. Make excellent guitar strings or several sets of violin strings. Will sell whole or in parts.

1957 Corvette with Wheels and Original Engine

Item condition: Project car
Time Left: 3 days 6 hours (October 5, 2009 02:04:43 PDT)
Bid history: 18 bids
Current bid: US $32,000.00
Your max bid: US $___________ (Enter US $32,100.00 or more)
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Description: Rare 1957 Corvette! A true classic with steering wheel, wheels, and original engine. Wheels and steering wheel have already been cut off the car - great for yard decorations. Engine will be removed at end of sale and shipped by ground freight.

I'm pretty certain that if I posted any of these auctions there would be legions of cat, rabbit, and Corvette enthusiasts headed my way with pitchforks and torches. I can understand that reaction (for the Corvette, anyway). It's cool. But tell me WHY someone would be allowed to post something like this?

Vintage Royal Typewriter Keys Complete Set Glass Tops

Item condition: Used
Time Left: 11h 47m 25s (October 05, 2009 07:04:29 PDT)
Bid history: 5 bids
Current bid: US $20.50
Your max bid: US $___________ (Enter US $21.00 or more)
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Description: This is a complete set of vintage typewriter keys. One of them is damaged. I have never seen some of the keys on a typewriter before such as the 1000 or 100 key. Please look at all pictures. Thanks for looking.

Now, I love typewriters. I have quite a collection... more than I care to admit. I know it may seem like an odd thing to collect, but I'm a writer. I also marvel at man's ingenuity and, thus, am a lover of all things mechanically complex. And it sure doesn't get much more complex than a 15" square case jammed with hundreds of levers, springs, and cobwebs.

I look for typewriters at every antique store, flea market, and garage sale I can find, but I've never come across a Royal with those particular numerical keys. Even the seller admits he/she/it has "never seen some of the keys on a typewriter before," and then promptly cut them off, chopped the typewriter up... then flaunted the previously intact piece in my face! (Hey, at least I didn't do that with the kittens.) And this is not the only example. They are all over the internet, selling antique typewriter keys for jewelry! It's the elephant foot wastebasket of the 2000's.

Please, if you have an old typewriter in a closet somewhere, set it free. Find a writer friend, or a weird collector, or a combination of both. We will find it a good home. It will be loved. Thank you.

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Typewriter Liberation Front