Happy Whatever floats your boat!

Tonight the wife has concocted a nice pagan ceremony to welcome in the new year, as was celebrated long before the Christians came along and co-opted it. Some call tonight Halloween, or All Hallows Eve, or as the wife calls it, Samhain. It is said that this is the night when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest. Tonight we pay homage to our ancestors. Tonight we ask for blessings in the coming year, that the harvest be good, the winter bearable, the spring verdant, the summer comfortable.
Tonight in the shade garden, beneath the moon and the stars, we connect with ghia, with the life force within us and surrounding us, and the spirits of our loved ones already passed on. Our daughter Holly has joined us, and has even brought along something nice and gothic to wear. The wife has assemble a sweet little black ensemble, while yours truly will blend in with black jeans, shoes and a celtic dragon T-shirt. Sorry, no naked dances beneath the moon, at least not this year (we aren't fenced in, you see....grin). Anyway, I'm getting the whole thing on video and camera, so hopefully I can give you guys a great post tomorrow. Maybe a ghost or two will show up in a photo, who knows.
The wife is whipping up some nachos for dinner. Chili was the other choice, but probably not a good one. Can't offend the spirits with our own versions of swamp gas, doncha know...laugh.
Like I've said before, I'm an agnostic with an open mind who gave up on organized religion of any kind. Anyone's idea of a God that loves me on one hand and threatens me with eternal damnation on the other has described someone more closely resembling Satan in my way of thinking, and I don't believe in that asshole either. Now, Bob, on the other hand, has never threatened me with anything, as that would be somewhat akin to stabbing yourself in the eye. Bob's all carrot, the hell with the stick. (Those of you not familiar with Bob, head back to the archives, his appearance might still be there).
So this is my post for tonight. If the Lord God Almighty does not fry my ass with a stray bolt of lightning from a perfectly clear night sky, I shall be back, hopefully tomorrow, with another exciting edition of MM&M, the greatest blog ever produced from this location. Trick or Treat!

Dylan

I'm watching this Dylan documentary. It's educational to say the least. But there's one thing I detect that I have always known. Dylan would get into a snit. The kind of snit arising from this belief that people are really getting too damn serious about Dylan, and exactly what Dylan means in the greater scheme of things. So, in order to throw off his "disciples", Dylan would deliberately perform his live shows about as raw and and irritating as he could get. This would spawn confusion amongst those who would attend his concerts with the same dedication as a religious pilgrimage, as they thought that the prophet himself could only deliver the "word" in it's purest form. It was probably a sick thrill, but I can understand his motivation. Chill, people, I'm not Jesus, I'm a folk singer, for Christ's sake. Don't be looking for answers from someone who's only trying to find the answers himself.
Dylan is reaching the end of the road now, like most of us who grew up with him. He has finally reached that safe place where he can discuss what was going thru his mind during any one period in his life with no serious repercussions, at least to his career as a Musician. I'm sure Clapton is feeling the same freedom to shoot down this odd idea that he was ever the God of anything. The problem that artists have always faced, at least in the 60's and 70's, is that what they came up with was some direct connection with the mysteries of the universe. We were all so needy in that area that any artist with any sense of eloquence became instant prophets that we needed to hoist upon some pedestal and worship like crazy, sometimes in a drug induced state of emptiness that had to be filled with something, anything but what our parents were feeding us. Such was the state of culture we in white America found so lacking that we sucked up the essence of negro culture, ours was so bankrupt.
In essence, what Dylan and those of that period fed us we needed badly, and overall, despite the fact we totally wasted it in the end, it was a good thing. Their motivations for the music and poetry they produced might not have been what we thought they were, but it fed our need nonetheless. Today, we have a generation of kids with no true oppression to overcome, thus they rebel against the ease of their lives without even knowing why. What a waste. There is plenty of wrong in this world to protest against, but since it doesn't always directly impact them, our youth find more value and solace in despair and anger, rather than the injustice that happens to people all around them. We decided to give our kids everything, and having been given it, they found it empty.
The very fact that the Bush Administration ever occurred at all says alot about what we learned from the 60's. As a species, we do not collectively learn anything.
We still have war, we still have inequality, we still have rich, we still have poor, and happiness still exists totally independent of wealth or power. Misery exists in mansions with 15 bedrooms and 8 baths. Dylan has come forth to admit that songs do not cure us of our ills. Only ideas can do that.

Things you won't catch me doing.........

Heading to Walmart without a clearly defined mission and an exit strategy.

Sitting so low in the seat of the car I can't see anything lower than the dash.

Listening to music at the same decibel level as that of an F-18 jet engine.

Sporting a window sticker of some punk kid pissing on something.

Harassing a harried salesperson because their employer won't hire adequate help.

Allowing people without a sense of humor effect my own.

Allow myself to fear the unknown until I know what I should be afraid of.

Wearing something that clearly makes me look stupid just to be different.

Driving a vehicle that needs tons of horsepower just to move itself, much less me.

Driving down the interstate at 110 mph because hey, I'm invincible, and you're getting in my way.

Eating a restaurant entree serving big enough to feed a village just because I paid for it and it's there.

Writing lists for blogs for lack of anything else to do........wait a second.....oh hell......BUSTED!

Getting Real in Hurricane Alley

Hurricane Wilma blew thru southern Florida and did what hurricanes do, messed things up and tore down all those power poles just begging to be blown over by hurricanes. And so here it is several days later and the fine transplants from the North are all screaming "We STILL don't have any power!"
Excuse me? Work crews are working there asses off trying to splice together this tangled mess of high voltage wires and you have the gall to suggest they should have turned on the power YESTERDAY? Take a look around you, perhaps you morons might have noticed there was a HURRICANE! Christ, there are sections of Pakistan that have YET to see any real relief from a devastating earthquake, there are entire areas of Louisiana and Mississippi that are still in a state of shock from the destruction, and you people think you have it THAT bad?
I was totally shocked to see our dear Republican governor say something that I actually admire. He noted that the people of South Florida had more than adequate warning to stock up on essentials and either batten down the hatches or get the hell away. And he even said that he took full responsibility for the less than perfect manner in which relief supplies and services were getting to the victims and that he was endeavoring to make things happen as best as humanly possible. He didn't point his finger at FEMA and cry about it. Gotta hand him that. Now, people, maybe this is news to you, but ESSENTIALS include such things as a supply of medications, canned goods that do not require refrigeration, and other common sense items that people with any kind of common sense would know they would need to hold them over for at least a few days while the relief effort was being brought to bear. Yes, we expect government to help us in our hour of need, but we also have to take SOME responsibility for our own safety and well being. Now, of course, I am not referring to you who have been unfortunate enough to live in mobile homes and structures not built to code, for even tho this storm was no where near as powerful as Katrina was, it still could have taken down your home. In that case, yes, your life right now must indeed be a misery.
I truly believe that our pampered populace needs to understand something and make their future plans accordingly. The Southeast is no longer a safe place to live, a warm, tropical paradise for retirees from the snow belt to retreat to when the snow gets to deep for their walkers. You think your air conditioning bills are getting high, just wait. You may not be able to afford a unit big enough to keep your entire house at 68 degrees in the summer; you'll be lucky if the vinyl siding on your double wide retirement homes doesn't start melting. There will be two seasons; hurricane season and a short respite before the next storm hits. No one will be spared, and the federal government will run out of funds just trying to keep up with infrastructure repairs, much less trying to provide affordable insurance to keep rebuilding your homes over and over again. I have one suggestion for you. North Carolina. But I recommend the mountains rather than the east. That pig shit smells to high heaven.

The Wise One

As I entered that dangerous period in my life that society has labeled "the middle aged crazies", I found myself seeking the enlightenment that had failed to reveal itself upon the pages of my life so far. No, I did not feel this overwhelming need to seek out some blonde bimbo, stash her next to me in a flashy convertible, and drive off into the sunset, taking one last stab at massaging my libido. What I felt I was missing I couldn't even define. I had walked my own path, found myself in the here and now, without any sense that the journey had so far led me anywhere. Was I supposed to be rich, accomplished, celebrated, wise, with the knowledge that only a survivor of half a century could attain? Well, if all these goals were the standards against which I was supposed to measure my life so far, then the weight of that measure would be found terribly wanting.
Then, I found myself wondering an entirely new universe, rich with the thoughts, stories, and histories of peoples from all walks of life, against which I could contrast my own, and perhaps discover where along the spectrum of experience I truly could find my own special niche. This universe was the internet and my window into it was the blog, and it was here that I met THE WISE ONE. The Wise One was not much older than me, and could not, nor did he ever claim, to have some secret insight into the miasma we call life, a life that we had both lived in different ways. His was a fast, furious, physical assault, granting no quarter and getting none, except in those moments when he took risks with his heart and withstood the consequences, for better or for worse. My own journey had been in it's own ways perilous, yet not so much so that I could not dodge the worst of fate's nasty possibilities. Where as The Wise One would bull his way thru his tormentors, I would dodge and weave and side-step mine. The Wise One would rarely think twice about tossing himself to the winds just to see what happened, whereas I would remain in the calm of what I knew rather than take chances with what I didn't, even if that familiarity kept me in a prison of my own making.
The Wise One survived all manners of horror, not so much by his own active avoidance as by lack of attention by an over-worked reaper. I became adept at picking and choosing which horrors I dared dance with, and time and time again some guardian would seem to step in and remove me from dangers or tragedies lying in wait for my peers, such as the fate that befell the submarine I was stationed aboard right after I was transferred off. Nonetheless, The Wise One and I both carried our scars, his probably more visible than mine, but equally deep in our souls.
And so, you ask (well, fine, then I'll ask for you) why I refer to him as The Wise One, while suggesting I have taken the position of erstwhile disciple? Well, my friends, as this man I speak of battles his demons, I watch and learn how I might swing my own axe as I battle my own. As he remembers, he fills in those gaps within my own history that should never have been missing to begin with. As he throws back that shot of rum, which I am loathe to do, I feel thru him the burn and need not suffer the blur it induces.
Thus, I smile, and tag him THE WISE ONE, and on this path we both walk, I am more than happy to let him lead, suffering no shame to follow, and all either one of us ask is that any fears that rise up to meet us kindly get the hell out of our way.

Why? Because........

I just finished reading one of our peer's posts concerning why he blogs, as opposed to what some in the media have pontificated. It made me question my own reasons for having fallen victim to this obsession. It IS an obsession, how else can you explain the dedication many of us have displayed in putting up posts damn near every day of the year? Even if all we can think to write is that life sucks and we are all gonna die, we type it and hit "publish", as though the very thought isn't finished until it's been blogged. We have many individuals in this circle of thought that have that amazing talent to say basically nothing so well it sounds like an epiphany, and I have personally found more pleasure in reading these posts than many I knew were well thought out. Why? Who knows. "Daddy, why is the sky blue, and please, don't start with the "spectrum of light versus refraction" crap, just make it sound good!"
So, why does The Michael blog? Because there is no human being on Earth that's going to sit here next to me and patiently listen while I spew out the compost that's percolating in my brain, not even my wife, bless her. The beauty about not receiving instant feedback as you have no fear of shutting down halfway thru it due to that glazed over look that informs you that what you are saying has no value whatsoever, at least to the person suffering through it. Blogging has that take-it-or-leave it quality about it that is the most liberating method of communication I have ever participated in. When I am browsing through other blogs, if what they are saying reminds me to much of my wife venting from a bad day at work, I can always click on the bookmarks and head to the next one, no disrespect intended. And I am well aware that if something I have written is discomforting or silly to any particular person, they will do the same with mine. It's a free market of ideas, opinions, and stories, and it seems to work just fine.
I sometimes like to think that I am somewhat of a good writer, that is until I read some other blogs and realize I can't hold a candle to them, for various reasons, but the wonder of it all is that I don't HAVE to be a Hemingway, a Grissom, or even a Buffalo, because if what and how I write doesn't meet certain standards, it's not like I have to give them their money back. Sometimes I print out something I published and read it over, and think to myself, "Damn, not bad! Not bad at All!" And you know? Chances are someone else will read that post and think the exact same thing. Ya never know.
So there you have it. Madness, Musings, and that other M is that cork in my skull I need to keep my mentality on an even keel. If it serves no purpose other than that, then so be it. If those who read this thing glean any kind of enjoyment from it, then so much the better. If not, no harm done.

The Feline Report

Back in our " crammed into a box they have the gall to call an apartment" days, a beautiful cat decided to adopt us. This sweet little underfed, dirty, and wounded feline met me at the door one morning and walked in as tho it owned the place, and I turned to the wife and said, "Honey, looks like we have to put more catfood on the grocery list."
The tip of the poor things' tail was bent, and it had an open wound beneath the matted hair on it's side. We took the cat to the vet and and he cleaned it up and stitched her wound, and with that, it became ours. We have no idea if the poor thing had escaped an abusive owner or had just had bad luck while homeless, but it had such a sweet, trusting demeanor with us we couldn't turn it away.
Now, the real story about this cat is that we assumed from the way it came sashaying into the house, the lilt of it's meow, the whole attitude, that this was a female cat. The vet told us otherwise, yet we just couldn't think of this prissy little thing as masculine by any stretch of the imagination. So, what else could we do?
We named him/her Lola.



We already had another male cat whom we'd named Tuvac, after the Vulcan, and this cat grew up to match the name perfectly. Tuvac is one serious cat, there's always a proper way to pet him, unless you want to lose a hand, and he likes his lap time when HE wants lap time, which is usually when we have something in our laps already. If you tell him to get down, he always throws a nasty feline comment back over his shoulder, like it was HIS idea to get out of your way, not yours.
Well, Lola eventually decided for some strange reason to eschew the litter box in favor of the carpet in the corner of the living room. It may be this litter box territorial thing that can occur between two cats; who knows, the rules were broken, and Lola became an outside cat. Since then she has lost the spare tire that cats can acquire from an inside life of luxury, but she has fared well considering. She's not much of a hunter, especially since she was de-clawed, but every once in a while we'll observe her batting some tiny insect or lizard to death with her paws like a speed boxer or something. It's hilarious to watch. Whatever, she is content to hang around the house, and hasn't run off elsewhere for perhaps a better deal.
I figured you guys had heard enough about the goats, so I decided to give some of the other animals their blog time.

I'm dying here!

Either my mail program is failing me or I'm not getting very many comments on the blog lately. Could it be that I have gotten so lax in my rants and raves that my readers have lost all interest in what The Michael has to say? Or have I become so yesterday that you all have moved on to more provocative pastures, leaving me in the blogger dust? Perhaps moving my attempts at erotic literation to it's own corner of the galaxy has left MM&M with nothing worthy of commentary. Even in the Buffalo's darkest moments when he says nothing about nothing (in his Sienfieldian way), he evokes replies as though he has struck his readers to their very cores. Such a talent that man has! I used to lament to myself that my Mom's artistic talent did not pass on to her only child, except perhaps in his ability to turn a word, but perhaps even then I have been sadly mistaken, as one who grasps at anything to take pride in can tend to do. However, as this post so eloquently illustrates, I am as my Brother in the written word has suggested, an excellent whiner. Thus, I shall embrace my talent to it's fullest and whine like a banshee! I NEED COMMENTS!
So what you have done by omission? You have ruined my self esteem, destroyed my inner child, pummeled my pomposity to such an extreme I have made your cruel indifference a post all it's own. Does this not shame you, my traitorous readers? Does this not cause you to examine the harm you have visited upon the frail psyche of a fellow human being? One day as you breath your last breaths and you examine all your regrets, you will remember me, The Michael, the one that asked only for a few miserable comments and received nothing but an empty mailbox, and you will have to devote that much more of your remaining time acknowledging your bad Karma and pass away hoping you had enough of the good to balance it all out. Do you truly wish to march into your future with such baggage?
Now that the eyebrow over one eye has crawled up your forehead threatening to meet your hairline, I must confess to the shame I have perpetrated upon you, my dear readers, in order to create a post that might grab your attention and maybe illicit a response. Everything you have just read was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to garner comments, be they good, bad, or downright ugly. However, in my own defense, I would like to say that if I dragged out one laugh, one guffaw, one almost silent giggle, then I have done my job. What job might that be, a majority of the few that have actually read this might ask? Why, the blog, my fellow bloggers. It's all about the blog! Smile.

P.S. Wilma zipped right on thru, the Miers nomination is an ongoing circus, Lott and Rove haven't been hung by the balls yet, and Bush is still an idiot, so the rants are too generic right now to justify a fresh burst of ire just yet, but stay tuned, somebody somewhere will amaze even me with their utter stupidity and I will have something fresh to rake over the coals in my usual fashion. Expectation springs eternal.

P.S.S. Yes, I know the photo has nothing to do with the post, but someone thinks the goats are cute. Enjoy! Grin.....

Gray Gray Sunday

It's a cool, grey Sunday here at Pendragon Hold, our little acre of sand out at the edge of the suburbs. The goats are gorging themselves on my neighbors unmanaged back yard, three inflated stomachs walking around on twelve legs. The "back forty" needs a break from their predation, as it now resembles the surface of the moon. Anything the slightest bit vegetative is fair game for animals without an "off" button for their appetites. They have done their jobs well, these three intrepid ungulates, for I have not had the crack up the lawnmower for some time now. Long may they eat!
After making our grocery shopping and miscellaneous rounds, we've returned to take on various domestic duties while listening to Prairie Home Companion on the radio. I am so schizophrenic when it comes to my listening habits, which range from AC/DC and eclectic internet radio to NPR talk shows. The last album I downloaded from the iTunes music store was Warren Zevon's last album before he succumbed to cancer. Other albums I bought were Uriah Heep, Coldplay, John Prine, and The Redwalls. I may not know what good music is, I just know what I like.
Last night we finally got around to watching "Kingdom of Heaven", a story of medieval Jerusalem and the politics of the crusades. I'm not quite sure if this story was based on any factual history, but the writer certainly did go to great lengths to make the flavor of the movie politically correct. To think a knight would have held honor and doing the right thing over righteousness and bigotry during that period is indeed a stretch.
Soon it will be halloween, or All Hallows' Eve as my Wiccan wannabe wife would prefer to think of it, and I am contemplating mining the front yard to hold the trick or treaters at bay. Well, actually, I have to confess that just turning off the porch light has had the same unwelcoming effect, so I should not be contemplating such drastic measures. There's been a chilling effect upon this holiday over the past several years, so most of the youngsters are taken to malls and the like for safe practice of what was once a fun night of the year. Tis a shame, indeed. If only this pathetic excuse for a holiday that Christmas has become could suffer the same fate. I am holding out hope that my wife's new embrace of spirituality will finally cause her to abandon her insistent celebration of Xmas, a holiday I have come to loath, for many reasons, the least of which is the overblown commercialism and parking lot traffic that ensues as people rush out to buy each other worthless gifts that will end up in the landfills and bring the merchants profit and loss sheets back into balance.....perhaps.
The kids down south are convinced that Wilma will not impact them to such a degree that suggests evacuation, and we pray they are right, for they have a safe harbor up here in the sweet spot to come to should it be required. This hurricane season has decided it isn't finished with us yet, and we now have a storm brewing that for the first time exceeded the alphabet and is designated as "Alpha". The apocalyptics are in high gear now, preferring to believe that the end times are near, due to the frequency of famine, pestilence, war, and weird weather that is inflicting us. To suggest that perhaps man has had a big hand in making all these things come about is beyond their reasoning, and they will all be so disappointed in another 50 years when global warming, pollution, overpopulation, pandemics, and other associated things we bring upon ourselves have decimated the planet and yet Jesus still refuses to show up and clean up their mess for them. If we cleanse the planet of our miserable selves and thus make room for a saner species to evolve in some future time after the Earth has had time to recover, then perhaps it's for the best. Maybe next time around they won't invent some supreme being to take responsibility for their lack of creative thinking skills.
So there you have the report from the castle with my usual pessimistic commentary. Please tune in next time when the Michael once again commandeers valuable bandwidth to spread his message of Madness, Musings, and Melancholy, with a dash of dry humor and a sprinkling of constructive criticism, or as the Buffalo would call it....."Whining".......hehe.

The year of the Blowjob

Well, folks, here we go again. Not only are the storms still brewing, but Wilma (note how far along the alphabet THIS one is), at least for a day, became the most powerful, low pressure wise at least, hurricane to be recorded. It remains to be seen if this one maintains the kind of punch that Camille and Katrina delivered, but it won't be pretty for those in it's path. I'm sitting here in my "sweet spot" in N.E. Florida, an area that so far has managed to escape any major effects of all these storms that have been pummeling the South East and Gulf Coast, but I am still crossing my fingers. Any one of these fuckers could have my name on it.
I know the Federal and State governments are poised to lend assistance once the hurricane has passed, if only because we got's lots of white people here, lots of God fearing Republicans, and George's brother, Jebb. Of course, the insurance companies, who of late have become extremely allergic to the idea that they are actually required to pay for damages in return for our premiums, could care less WHO populates hurricane alley; they flat want to close up shop and leave the state altogether unless the state allows them to raise rates far above those any average person could hope to pay. When the building contractors, who happen to have immense influence in this state, start going out of business left and right because no one can afford an insurance payment as large as their mortgage, then perhaps the state or federal government will come up with some magic fix to save the day. Gotta keep those obscene campaign contributions rolling in, doncha know!
Perhaps by now you have noticed something about the weather, that's it's getting rather wild lately. I really think we need to weed out all these sinners, chiefly amongst them the gays and baby killers, who are bringing God's wrath down upon us. Now, I know that alot of God fearing heterosexual, right thinking republican 'mercans are getting caught in the cross fire, but you have to apply the standard excuse, "God works in mysterious ways", and not worry about it. I mean, just look at New Orleans, where all those poor black neighborhoods have more or less been left to rot, while the affluent and dry (and much whiter) sections have been spared. God, FEMA, and the developers certainly do work in mysterious ways. Most of the surviving gays and baby killers have been scattered to the winds where God will probably visit some other natural catastrophe upon them, depending upon geographical location, of course. Lord knows San Francisco is overdue for IT'S big cleansing, otherwise known as an earthquake.
So remember, there's no such thing as global warming, and evolution is an atheist crock, so sayeth them that sayeth things for the Lord, or so they sayeth. Bob, of course, has assured me they are all blithering idiots.

The Beast

Once again the monster awakes. From deep down in the depths he arises, slowly, thoughtfully, sniffing the air within my brain and liking what it smells. It is relentless, it does not know sleep and does not care that I need it. He commands my thoughts, my dreams, and wraps his claws about my soul......"Your soul belongs to ME, motherfucker, did you forget that?". I do not even attempt to dispute it, for I look in the mirror and indeed see him there in my eyes, awakened, drinking in my world and laying siege to it. Only this time I have a surprise for him. I accept him, surrendering to his nature, which is now my own, and I MAKE it mine. He squirms within, restless, upset, not used to my acceptance, and finds himself at MY beck and call. I shape his nature, I call the shots, I am the Master, only this time I know it, accept it, endure it, savor it, experience it. And so what was once a battle within to be won by one or the other, is now an alliance that brings light to the darkness and conquers it once and for all. I AM the monster, the monster is me.

Tis' best ye know him, and feed him well, for he shalt lead thee down perdition's past or exalt you in your victory, the choice by thine own........

Invasion of the Pod Casts

Being a Mac fanatic and proud owner of an Imac G-5, the most beautiful computer ever to grace the face of the planet, I have begun to browse the myriad podcasts that one can access via the Itunes Music Store. One of my favorites so far is Chicken Fried Radio. This crew is hilarious! What's really cool about podcasts are that you can download them and then listen to them at YOUR convenience, rather than having to stay glued to the radio in order to catch an episode. This new medium could have a serious impact on broadcast radio, but I doubt there's any danger of it replacing it altogether.
Since a podcast is something you have to GO get and download to listen, it's not censored, and nothing these guys say is out there polluting the airwaves, which I think is the common sense approach to adult listening. Not every podcast is R-rated, mind you, and a good percentage are merely podcasted versions of regular media fare, such as news programs and such. And, this new media finally allows you and me, the regular guys, with the proper equipment, to produce and publish our own programs much the way we have been publishing our blogs. So, now not only can your read a blog about Bubba's flatulence, but you can also hear his farts on his audio podcast if that's what floats your boat.
Already the next advance is gaining steam, the Video podcast. You can already download a few of these, and with the introduction of Apple's new Video Ipod, you can play them anywhere. Needless to say, Video will not be as numerous as Audio and Audio is not as numerous as written blogs, but it's available if you can afford the equipment and have a knack for the tech involved. It is indeed a strange new world.
My wife makes me laugh. Our daily conversations are anything but normal, if not downright hilarious, so, with a little practice, we could probably cob together our own little show which could rival the humor of "I love Lucy", only R-rated. Of course, I would probably prefer hiring a "voice model" as in my opinion, my voice has the soothing quality of nails across a chalk board. But, then again, who woulda thought at one time that a guy named Rod Steward would ever have been considered a singer? Anything can be an acquired taste, I suppose.
So, stay tuned, my fellow bloggers and other innocents, one day The Michael and Company may be coming to a podcast near you. Don't ever say I didn't warn you......hehe.........

And Dance to the light of the Moon.....

We celebrated the cooler nights by burning a small fire in the shade garden tonight and drinking wine in the pure white light of the moon and the golden glow of embers. The wife had a close encounter with a brown recluse in our waterbed this morning and I suppose we both were feeling rather gratefull that she mashed the thing before it was able to bite her, only she hadn't realized the thing was there till she changed the sheets and discovered it's freshly flattened carcass. So, a reason to celebrate is a reason to celebrate, no matter the stretch. I took the digital camera out to see if it would register the landscape in the moon light and got some interesting results when I enhanced the otherwise black frames I ended up with. The one included here is the wife toasting the Moon Goddess, who bathes us in pure white joy. I look forward to the day we can get this little corner of the property fenced in so we can enjoy the night air against bare flesh and get a "moon-tan".
Thus ened our Sunday night, and how we ended it after both working. Hope enjoy the pic.

The Unbearable Lightness of STUFF

Have you ever suddenly looked around and actually noticed all the STUFF surrounding you in your home? I mean, this stuff has been part of the background noise of your life for so long it's like the blue in the sky or the green in the trees; you don't even notice, it all blends in so well.
I'm sitting here at my desk and I'm focusing on individual items that have been part of my life for decades. Why do I still have them? There's this REI candle lantern that I used on my hiking trips in Alaska, which was back in the mid-eighties, and I haven't used it since. A cracked and retired coffee cup that was a Christmas present from my employer at the photo lab I worked at in Anchorage. In the book case next to me are paperback books I bought and read once years ago and probably will never read again. Across the room is another bookcase full of photography books which in this digital age are obsolete at best. Once a year I go on a stuff reduction frenzy in a vain attempt to reduce the clutter and yet this stuff survives. Are these things actually some sort of life form that mentally influence my values system in order to ensure their survival? Something to think about, indeed.
I wonder if this can somehow be blamed on genetics. Before my Mom died, she had become the ultimate pack rat; she simply could not throw ANY thing away. These things I still have I never use and have a hard time picturing ever using again, what causes me to value them so much I allow them to take up space, unused, ignored for the most part till I have to move them around. It does not matter even that some of these things are truly functional, I still find some reason to keep them. This is sad. This is very, very sad.
I think we all suffer from this strange syndrome at one level or another. The rich certainly can't garner enough STUFF, but even us po' folks manage to build our collections of stuff that perhaps makes us feel better for having it all. I'm sure our consumer driven society has made this all but inevitable, for what other purpose does there seem to be in life than to consume and collect STUFF? Perhaps if we could all wean ourselves off this obsession, be it mild or out of control, the entire race, the planet indeed, would be much better off.
Take a look around tonight and see how much STUFF pops out from the background when you actually look and see it all. Scary, isn't it?

Back to the grind......

Well, the week long "vacation" ended just as I expected, in the blink of an eye. I can't complain, really, as at my age, rest is rest, even if it is lacking in my recreation. When you consider that thousands of our fellow Americans spent this same period in a hellish sort of limbo, having lost everything, I think they would have traded their situations for my boring week ANY day. Besides, I do happen to live in hurricane alley, so I continue to live with all fingers crossed.
In the meantime it seems I have created a monster. I have found an outlet for something within me that does not exactly come across well in the public forum, and it has lent me a sense of peace I haven't had in quite awhile, not to mention it's a damn sight safer than other alternatives. It seems that blogs can serve purposes I never imagined.
Well, I'm coming off two 12 hour shifts and am none the worse for wear, but I'm sure the vacation helped in that regards. Buffalo's blog has kept me entertained, and the bobsy twins, when they get around to posting, have provided me with some good laughs. The wife is really getting into explorations of Wiccan, and I'll be happy with that once she's influenced the powers of the universe to get us out of debt. The universe does that, right? hehe
Meanwhile, Gheia continues to put us in our place with natural disaster upon natural disaster. It is humbling to realize that Mother Earth, if she was so inclined, has the ability to snuff us out before totally screw up the planet, and if that should come to pass, I for one will hold no ill will. I have long ago lost any pride in belonging to the most advanced species, intellect wise at least, to have arisen on this planet, considering what we are capable of. Bob assures me there's a reason for everything, so I can only hope the beauty he hints at holds a candle to the horror we all know.

Day Six

Well, dagnabit, seems I missed days four and five. So what happened? Lessee........the weather has been drying out slightly as the storm moves up the coast out of our area. Yesterday wifey and I went to Pantera's Bread for a nice sandwich lunch, and then browsed thru the craft shops looking for stuff to make her gel candles with. If you imagined I probably wouldn't have minded being just about anywhere else, you were right. These are not "guy" places.
But guess what? For the first time in years, we decided to go "out". There's a wings place along Blanding that is becoming infamous for it's bike night, that has a karaoke show on Friday nights, so we thought, what the hell, let's check it out. Well, I wasn't all that impressed. The song list was lacking, to say the least. I got up for about three songs and am grateful I wasn't assassinated by my second song. It's been years since I sang in public and I doubt it sounded all that good. My wife's demeanor wasn't encouraging. So, we burned right thru a pitcher of beer and an order of nacho's (having not gotten the slightest buzz....there IS alcohol in Coors Light on tap, right?) and were out of there by 10. On the way home, wifey expressed a craving for ice cream, so I treated us both to a couple of Sonic Blasts. Paris Hilton has nothing on us when it comes to nightlife....groan.
I finished off the second part to a story on my other blog and started another episode, which took forever since the wife has commandeered the putor for surging thru the wican sites. I'm beginning to feel like Daren on "Bewitched". I don't mind her journeys and explorations of her spirituality, as long as she doesn't accidently turn me into a frog (no, I am NOT already a frog, thank you). I ordered crickets for the leopard gecko and tied out the goats in the neighbors yard. Right now she's in the kitchen working on her gels and we are listening to "Wait, wait, don't tell me" on NPR. Is this the epitome of excitement or what?
Well, tomorrow is the last day of our action-packed vacation. On Monday, I get to go back to work and do things not many people are willing to do for the money. The wife gets to reintroduce her failing knee to more stress trying to fit fat women into small shoes. Another Republican will be indicted for something or another, another bomb or two or three will go off in Iraq, terrorists will try to sneak onto subways with explosive baby strollers, and several different species of aliens will attempt to take over the Earth on several different network shows. Life goes on.

Pssssst

As promised, the conclusion to "The Cabin" is now posted over at "Adventures>>>>>" Enjoy.

Day Three

The weather, not satisfied to have already ruined any thought of outside activity during our vacation, has decided to graduate into a tropical storm and just SIT right on top of us. If it gets wind (pun intended) of the fact I have no need for flood insurance in this area, the rain will probably increase in volume just enough to challenge that assumption. There is one saving grace to a double wide, my friends, and that is elevation. These things don't sit flat on the ground like more "respected" forms of housing, thus have a nice cushion above the ground for water levels to rise without getting into the house. I don't think I have to worry though, as the bodies of water forming in the dirt road haven't yet approached anything the size of Lake Superior as of yet.
The poor goats are having to spend the day in their "barn" digesting yesterday's bonanza of fresh grass. I'll feed them some hay tomorrow if there's no break in the weather.
The wife's appointment for her now biyearly titty mashing test was today, which meant the 9 AM appointment kept us there till around 11:30, since her fibrous breast tissue always gets the radiologists in a tizzy, which results in them calling her doctor to see if she wants an ultrasound as well, while poor wife sits semi-naked in the cold-assed room waiting for it to be all over with, and I'm out in the lobby wondering what they did with my wife. Oh well, better safe than sorry.
Being members of Netflix there always seems to be a movie laying around the house, so we watched one during the afternoon. Now that that's over with, the wife is puttering around cleaning things while I read my blogs, listen to pod-casts, reply to posts, or call up some nice eclectic internet radio.
One of my commenters was new to me, so I backtracked to her blog and discovered another wonderful blog to bookmark. Her last post had several Monet paintings, but as I delved further back I discovered posts headed in entirely, shall we say, "different" directions which I found equally entertaining. Pleased to meet ya, Cherish!
Well, that's it for today's report on THE VACATION. If this begins to really get to you, feel free to end the misery by sending us two round trip tickets to someplace nice, but do it soon, THE VACATION ends this Sunday, then it's back to the grind.

Captain DUH strikes again........

The Bushies have dragged Oregon's "Death with Dignity" act before the Supreme Court in order to circumvent the will of the people and attempt to deny terminally ill people the right to end their suffering. They are using the lame approach of arguing that Doctors have no right to prescribe Federally controlled substances for a purpose other than that for which they were developed. Oh REALLY?
I am no legal scholar, but am I the only one who has noticed the totally obvious GREAT BIG HOLE in this argument? Has anyone heard of death by lethal injection? Does that not utilize "federally controlled substances" to pretty much do the same thing, which is KILL someone? Let me get this straight......the conservatives find no moral problem whatsoever in strapping down someone against their will and pumping drugs into their system for the express purpose of ending their lives, but if an otherwise law abiding citizen wishes to end their own personal pain and suffering, they suddenly have a problem?
It's this kind of morally twisted reasoning which makes it all the more clear that the conservative mindset has no more business being involved in government then a Catholic Priest has being alone with young children.

Day Two

Having forgotten to exile Shiloh to the bedroom at the other end of the estate, of course he woke me up early, and once I'm up, that's it, another attempt at sleeping in totally fucked by Man's best friend. Tonight the dog gets his preemptive exile.
In my not-all-that-earnest effort to find something to do today, I calculated how often and how severely the goats would be rained on and decided that turning them loose on my neighbors yard would outweigh any discomfort they might get from a few passing rain-showers, which are passing thru heavily this week, only because it's our vacation. The neighbor was quite happy, promising not to let out THE dog, the 200 lb. version of Cujo he has in addition to his German Shepard, which has wisely not challenged the goats and their horns. By three in the after said goats had inflated their bodies to three times their normal size with grass, which they will convert to valuable fertilizer.
The dump is closed on Sundays and Mondays (go figure), so today I hauled the smelly, maggot infested and quite aromatic trash to the dump in the infamous Goatmobile (those with any familiarity with the history of this blog may remember our 95 Ford Escort Wagon, which I, being the guy, drives to work and hauls the associated crap with). By making the return trip with the windows down, I usually can clear out the smell and the flies by the time I get back. Plastic sheeting protects the back area to some extent, but the interior for all practical purposes is screwed.
The wife, meanwhile, still awaiting the arrival of her mail ordered supplies for her new gel candle project, has discovered new and interesting things to clean, which are actually long neglected items like blinds, nic nacs, and other such dust collecting items.
Today I delved into iTunes and started listening to some of the podcasts. These are the audio versions of blogs, to some extent, as they are created by anybody and everybody, from rank amateurs to corporate america and mainstream media. The amateur stuff is actually a whole lot funnier. Lots of husband and wife teams doing these things, which counts me out, as my wife has no desire whatsoever to participate in such endeavors. Damn woman won't let me throw any orgies either.
Now, I have to admit that I not producing a podcast is a GOOD thing. If you ever heard my voice, my speaking voice at least, you would wholeheartedly agree with me.
In closing today's exciting episode of OUR VACATION, I would like to leave you with the immortal words of Weird Al Kankovic...........


Got an AK-47, well you know it makes me feel alright
Got an Uzi by my pillow, helps me sleep a little better at night
There's no feeling any greater
Than to shoot first and ask questions later
Now I'm trigger happy, trigger happy every day

Well, you can't take my guns away, I got a constitutional right
Yeah, I gotta be ready if the Terrorists attack us tonight
I'll blow their brains out with my Smith and Wesson
That ought to teach them all a darn good lesson
Now I'm trigger happy, trigger happy every day

(Oh yeah, I'm)trigger, trigger happy
Yes I'm trigger, trigger happy
(Oh baby, I'm)trigger, trigger happy
Yes I'm trigger, trigger happy
(Oh I'm so)trigger, trigger happy
Yes I'm trigger, trigger happy
Better watch out, punk, or I'm gonna have to blow you away

Oh, I accidently shot daddy last night in the den
I mistook him in the dark for a drug-crazed Nazi again
Now why'd you have to get so mad?
It was just a lousy flesh wound, Dad
You know, I'm trigger happy, trigger happy every day

Oh, I still haven't figured out the safety on my rifle yet
Little Fluffy took a round, better take him to the vet
I filled that kitty cat so full of lead
We'll have to use him for a pencil instead
Well, I'm so trigger happy, trigger happy every day

(Oh yeah, I'm)trigger, trigger happy
Yes I'm trigger, trigger happy
(Oh baby, I'm)trigger, trigger happy
Yes I'm trigger, trigger happy
(Oh I'm so)trigger, trigger happy
Yes I'm trigger, trigger happy
Better watch out, punk, or I'm gonna have to blow you away

Come on and grab your ammo
What have you got to lose?
We'll all get liquored up
And shoot at anything that moves

Got a brand new semi-automatic weapon with a laser sight
Oh, I'm prayin' somebody tries to break in here tonight
I always keep a Magnum in my trunk
You better ask yourself, do you feel lucky, punk?
Because I'm trigger happy, trigger happy every day

A Whiter shade of Pale........

We are constantly examining the manner in which mankind governs itself, pitting individual liberties on one end of the spectrum against what is good overall for the body human on the other, never quite able, it seems, to find that blend that respects the demands of both considerations. I would indeed subscribe to the argument that the cream (the noble spirit we humans are capable of displaying) always rises to the top regardless of the general situation it exists in, yet I understand the pragmatism that comes with harsh reality; that if that cream is skimmed off immediately by the evil that surrounds it, then it hardly matters that the cream exists at all. Thus, I forward this question to you all, a question that requires you to count to ten and let the knee jerk reaction to the question pass before you even try and comment on it.

Would you hope to see the rise of a person committed to peace and equality amongst all mankind with the same single-minded and ruthless energy that Adolph Hitler possessed to pursue HIS agenda?

Yes, I know well that one person's Ghandi is another person's Stalin, but you have to admit, deep down inside, that if King Author and the Knights of the Round Table were to appear out of nowhere and take on the world you would be very tempted to join the fray and fight the good fight. I think we all know on an instinctive level that what's right is right, what is evil is self evident. We all wish "the man" would just get the hell off our backs and let us enjoy our lives, yet we equally wish to see something done when flat out sleaze stares us in our face in the public forum. Those that prey on the elderly, tele-marketers, businesses that rely on fine print in contracts to ply their trades, politicians who line their pockets or pursue their religious agendas at our expense, the list goes on and on, you recognize the evil surrounding us and wonder why putting a dent in it should rival rocket science.

We are soooooo trying to give them the benefit of the doubt, the Sunni's of Iraq who contribute most to the insurgency in that country, who boycott the political process, who all but BEG to start a civil war. And this is the mafioso family that prospered so well under Sadam and stands to lose badly should a civil war against the Kurds and Shiites come to pass. Well, folks, maybe it's time to give these people what they want. What would be so illogical about just arming both the Kurds and Shiites to the teeth, giving the Sunni's three weeks to find a safe haven (let me guess, who would offer them safe haven, could it be Syria? DUH) and then just get the hell out of the way? We accomplished what George wanted all along, to get Sadam, who embarrassed his Daddy, but we can't afford the oil fields his boss Cheny wants to share with his friends in the oil industry, so we need to cut our losses now.......these people flat don't want us there. Yes, I know all the implications of doing so, but sometimes the solution staring you in the face is actually the best one, nice and raw and to the point.

My point is we can think things to death, we can strive to be politically and morally correct, and end up getting walked on by pure evil, plain and simple. When evil stares you in the face and taunts you, I dare to suggest that pulling out that 44 magnum and removing it from your sight does not reduce you to it's level......it just gets the job done. Do we contemplate the ecological niche the cockroach occupies before we pull out the can of Raid and kill it? No. We don't. A roach is a roach is a roach. End of discussion. You can argue all you want, but the fact remains that the bone jarring noise that issues from what some kids these days call cars but we know as motorized boom boxes only exist because we tolerate it when it would be so easy NOT to. What I cant SEE or HEAR you do in the privacy, and hopefully, soundproofed, space of your own private domain will not hurt me, but the shit you insist on rubbing in my face in public does, so be thankful, if it truly means that much to you, that I do not rule the world, because like I said, the common good needs not be compared to rocket science, instead of good old fashioned common sense.

Day One

Well, it's the first day of our ersatz vacation. I exiled the dog to the back bedroom last night in hopes of being able to sleep in and actually made it to 8:30 am before his whines got loud enough to wake me. Of course the wife can sleep thru volcanic eruptions, so she hung in till around 10. I wish my biological clock allowed me that luxury.
The weather has detected our week off and has adjusted itself accordingly; rain for the entire week. So the goats got hay today in leu of the front yard. The county graded the dirt road which immediately became a muddy morass with the rain-showers and automotive traffic.
We did make a run to the Super Walmart on the way to visit the wife's mother in the nursing home. While there I repaired her headphones for her, which made her quite happy. Wife picked up some stuff for her new crafts project, gel candles. She really is quite talented in that area.
Since we don't have the excuse of being dog tired and in pain from work, the wife is expecting a bit more action in the somewhat neglected passion department. I am more than happy to acquiesce to her demands, provided of course I can get my libido to cooperate. Perhaps some work on the further adventures of that guy on my other blog might get the creative juices flowing in that area. Sure can't hurt, with the added bonus that those who follow his exploits will get another fix. Stay tuned if you do tune.
We have a good night of network TV and homegrown debauchery in store. Stay at home vacations might not make for exciting posts, but hey, if we'd gone to Vegas, what we'd done there may have stayed there anyway.

I'm OFF!

Seven straight days of not-getting-up-at-6-friggin'-AM-for-12-hours-of-hell! Of course, being dirt poor and all, me and the wife get to enjoy our shared vacation here at the homestead, enjoying all those exciting things a couple can do that doesn't cost anything. The new television season has started, so our nightlife should be covered, and I think we can afford the extra couple of 3 liter bottles of cheap wine, so it should prove to be a restful reprieve from my wife's bad knee and legs and back and my sore feet. And since we can't afford to go out anywhere we'll save on gas as well. The goats will be overjoyed to be tied out in the fresh grass and weeds EVERY day instead of every other day as is usually the case. Of course, the dog and cat is going to wonder what's going on, but they will just have to adjust. I hope the local canines and felines I'm sure they've been inviting over for wild parties will be somewhat peeved.
My readership, at least as I can measure comment wise, seems to have fallen off lately, but with all this time on my hands I should be able to increase my circulation with insight, wit, and other inflictions I am infamous for, either that or I shall lose the few loyal readers I DO have. Time will tell.
I do have a confession to make. I am still trying to come to terms with the reaction I had to a certain post that one of our well respected peers wrote staring yours truly. My reaction to said post, considering that he had the good grace to warn me ahead of time that it was strictly satire, was, shall I say, not as it should have been, and I need to make it clear that I do not fault him in the least for the manner in which I was parodied. I think perhaps my innermost fear was that the readers of said post might not have seen it as parody, in which case I would have been portrayed in a less-than desirable fashion. I guess I just need to reach down deep, grab my inner child by the throat, and choke his little ass, so I can get my groove back. And, by the way, if I AM a whiner, well dammit, then I'm a damn good one, so THERE! (wicked grin)
I'll end this lame post with something that made my day. I'm taking a sweet little old lady's temperature and she observes that she's been watching me run all day back and forth like "a chicken with his head cut off", and asks "Don't those other people (those other people being the nurses and the secretary) ever do ANYTHING except sit and yap back and forth all day?"
People like that make me feel somewhat good about myself. Bob knows the pay doesn't.