Monday, October 31, 2005

what I say vs. what I'm thinking

Well, I had to give another presentation today to a group of about 25 disgruntled, shot down, angry, wet (it’s raining, and 99% of these people traveled by bus today) job seekers who aren’t working, and receiving state assistance in one form or another, and that state assistance isn’t a realistic amount to keep these desolate despondent individuals at bay while they look for honest paying work. Cue my entry, at the end of a very helpful class to job seekers about how to fill out an application, and how to talk to potential employers, and I speak for about 10 minutes about who my company is, what we do, what jobs are available and how to apply. Sometimes I met by yawns, people who aren’t interested because they are so adept at working the system to receive all they need to scrape by, or some have criminal convictions that would prohibit them from gainful employment with most companies (at that point I encourage them that some agencies look at their various assault and theft convictions on an individual basis). At the end of my schpeil, it never fails that there is at least one jerk in the room that has some snappy smart-assed question that will guarantee that if we had the last job on earth he would not be hired.

Today the individual who asked the fifty-thousand dollar question was in his 20’s, an angry freaky wanna-be hippie hipster slacker who stood up and defiantly asked, “Yeah, do you hire anyone to work at a place that isn’t an evil corporation?”

This guy had many gross piercings, and not just regular piercings but the kind that people get to stretch ear lobes and other man-made orifices into larger-than-nature intended sizes. He was wearing nice corduroys that were probably made in a sweat shop in a third-world country by some 10 year old who got 32 cents pay for the week. He was the kind of smarmy smirky bastard you wanted to trip while he was on the sprout salad bar line with a full tray of hot tofu.

I looked at him and smiled, and in my best game-show host impression, I answered, “Why yes we do, and if you are seriously interested in pursuing an opportunity with our company, you can give me a call later and we can discuss it further. Any other questions?”

That smart ass sat down and I had a couple of normal questions regarding benefits, locations of work sties, etc. The rest of the presentation finished with no problems.

What I really wanted to say to that jerk:

“Look, asshole, why don’t you and your hypocritical self just sit the fuck down and let the other people in this room who are seriously looking for work obtain the information they need? Where did you get the hardware for those gaping orifices you call earlobes? I’m sure at some point, it was manufactured by a big time steel corporation, who is irreparably damaging the environment and shipping their plundered goods across the world so you can pay someone a hundred bucks to put a bullet hole through your lobes and stick that chunk of tacky metal in its place. I’m sure your mom and dad paid good money for you to flunk out of the college you just had to come to our city to attend, and now you’re all down and out because you’re on your own. Do you use a phone or have phone service? Evil corporations at work there. How about ride the bus? Evil corporations there too. Your eyeglasses, I’m sure some parts were manufactured by an evil corporation, in a third world country where women are publicly executed for not walking around with a male relative. Receive state assistance? Food boxes? Evil corporations. Lets talk about more evil, where did you get your clothes from? A thrift store? Even if it is an “evil corporation” brand name, you are still supporting that company by keeping their clothes in circulation buy re-buying it from someone who bought it originally from the offending evil corporation. Use condoms? I sure hope so. Oh, by the way, they were manufactured by an evil corporation. So sit down and shut the fuck up.”

daylight savings time

It's raining buckets and windy today. About three quarters of the leaves have left the trees and reside at neighborhood intersections and lining the streets and a thick wet casserole of the seasonal change. Yesterday we changed to daylight savings time; I am never sure which way to set the clock...spring ahead fall back? Fall ahead spring back? The only two states who don't observe daylight savings time I think are Arizona and Indiana. I'm not entirely sure why, and I'm still looking into this. I woke up a little after 5 this morning and lay in bed, listening to my partner's steady breathing, the wind combing through the branches of the great trees that tower over our little residences, and threaten to touch the sky, and the rain showering on the roof, adding a nice sublte percussion to the rhythm to autumn.

I enjoy these private, timeless, silent moments.

Friday, October 28, 2005

Cooper's Spur

Ric went to Mt. Hood last weekend with a few of his friends, to go ice climbing on a small part of the massive glacier near the peak. This area is called Cooper's Spur. I know it looks small, but it's really far away and incomprehensibly big; I've never been this high on the mountain, and personally I am a little bit chicken to go ice climbing around crevasses after the amount of movies I saw and books I read that involved highly trained professionals getting seriously injured or dying.

In this picture, Ric and his friend are ascending the ice river. They are climbing around 9,000 feet high, and are on Palmer Glacier. Mount Hood is a dormant volcano, and reaches a height of 11,249 feet. It is the highest mountain/volcano in the state. Mount Hood is second only to Japan's Mt. Fuji in the number of climbers reaching the summit. Below is a picture of Ric's friend climbing up an ice wall, using hand picks and wearing crampons on his boots.

observations about money games

Something I find really annoying and odd is all the people who start to play the lottery just because the jackpot is up to a ridiculous amount. This past time around it was up to 150 million or something else incomprehensible. People I work with at the office and in my personal life talk about how they never play the lottery but had to this time, and proudly brandish a full hand of lotto tickets. I don’t understand why people do that. The more people who don’t normally play there are, the harder it makes for get the winnings, or if you do there’s more likely a chance that you’ll have to share. How much cumulatively do people spend to play the lottery? I think it’s weird that lotto games are a necessary and in some places, integral part of our economy.

There’s a bunch of casinos here (everywhere). They’re all out toward the coast; I’ve been to two but only spent a couple of bucks at each. I am more into walking around and observing all the people there, and the blatant excessiveness. I once had a 6 hour layover in Las Vegas, Nevada, and at the time I had a friend who lived there. She picked me up from the airport, and gave me a quick tour. One of the casions we went to was the Hard Rock Casino. Something that amazed me, is simply because I put a dollar into a machine, a waitress came up and gave me a complimentary drink (I got a beer). As I was finishing my drink, another server came by and gave me another. I couldn’t believe it, and sensed a pattern. Amazingly I won $14 dollars at the game I was at (video poker), and continued to play and get served beers until I was down to $9. Thoroughly buzzed (I’m a lightweight), I decided to cut my losses, and look at rock and roll memorbeilia. When I got back on the plane, I passed out for the duration of the second leg of my flight.

SE Belmont and 6th, storm approaching, looking north

paper bag buffer

I often eat burritos from a Mexican-ish restaurant nearby called “Laughing Planet.” They have good food there, the quality of ingredients is excellent. They offer everything but beef or seafood burritos, mostly a choice of chicken, turkey, tofu or tempeh. They do a mix of cheeses and other stuff, both traditional Mexican additions, as well as non-traditional ones such as mashed potatoes, peanut sauce, and plantains. It’s quick, easy and affordable, so I probably either eat there or get something for take out at least once a week.

One annoying thing I find consistent in all of my experiences there, if I get something for take out, they are real reluctant to give you a paper bag, and really chintzy about giving out their containers of salsa. But if you eat there, you can slop on as much salsa as you can stand. If you’re getting take out, you have to ask for one, and they have two varieties, so if you want both, they charge you 50 rip-off cents. The paper bag thing is the most annoying, though. When your food is ready, they just hand you this hot aluminum foil wrapped burrito, which resembles a small, hot football. You have to ask them, “Can I have a bag, please?” and the underpaid disgruntled hipster working the counter sighs and rolls his eyes before casually finding a bag and putting the burrito in there. The paper bag is the buffer; if you are transporting that in a backpack or shoulder bag, you don’t want to risk any kind of leakage or smushing without that buffer.

Whenever possible, I ask for a napkin, too, just in case there is a breach the napkin can serve as extra absorption. Now that I think about it, there are no napkins around, you have to ask the servers for a napkin, and they only give out one. I totally make a mess, and definately need more than one napkin so I’m like “can I have another? can I have a few?” and after about 5 minutes of negotiating I have a handful and the servers are conferring and talking about my gluttonous napkin consumption.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Hurricane Wilma

My father lives and works in Miami most of the time, and sent me a picture from his camera phone and this message:

This is a picture of two of at least 10power line poles that were split in half by WILMA.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

colors and other digressions...

I have many favorite colors, for a while it was purple, but I think most of the time it’s green. Since I started working with glass, my favorite colors change, and I like certain colors paired with each other. I never used to be fond of red, orange or yellow, but now I not only like, but totally appreciate those colors. And it’s not just because it’s fall, either. I like some blues, I like the deep dark blues, and the blue that make you think of the ocean on a tropical beach, and the blue of the sky at the beginning of dusk. I like gold, and silver, and even have come to appreciate pinks, from salmon to cotton candy. I like living out here because it’s so green, and the variety of green year round is amazing. Part of what makes it so green is the wet climate, most of the year it rains at least once a day. As a result, moss and mold are commonplace. I don’t mind the moss, but it seems to be a multi-million dollar industry to remove, kill or deter growth of moss. Zinc seems to work well, and many roofs have zinc strips lining the top. On the other hand, the mold situation is a toxic environmental poison. It is important that you work and live in a place that’s mold free. It causes symptoms that mimic a cold, like sinus problems, a cough and congestion. There is one big advantage the Pacific NW has over anywhere else I’ve been, that blows my mind: there’s no cockroaches here. I’ve never seen any, and I’ve had apartments next door to biohazards. I’ve had ants, and those mystery flying things that were at the last place I lived, but I seriously skeeve cockroaches.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

circle of life

It's hard to tell from the photo, but the bird is eating the fish's guts through it's open mouth.

I saw a naked dead body once…

Or at least I thought it was dead, and naked. It ended up getting up and jogging away, and the whole thing occurred under weird circumstances. I was probably about 17 or 18, and lived in the Clearwater/Tampa/St. Petersburg area of Florida. The night in question, I was with a friend of mine and we were hanging out on Clearwater Beach. It was pretty late at night, maybe about 11 PM or midnight, and we were walking along the shoreline. Now, the Clearwater beach strip is pretty bright, but once you get to the shore, it starts to get pretty dark and details become indistinguishable. We saw a woman, lying at the shoreline, ocean water washing around her and gently carving a tomb for her in the soft grains of wet sand. She had seaweed tangled in her hair, and appeared naked. My friend and I freaked out; we didn’t get too close because we were paranoid that someone would think we engineered this woman’s untimely demise. We ran to the nearest occupied beach house, and called 9-1-1. My friend spoke to the operator, and relayed the information. We ran back to the shoreline after placing the call, and examined the woman more closely. It seemed that she was wearing a flesh-toned bathing suit, and the seams of fabric that met her peach thighs were obscured by sand and seaweed. We discussed the situation, and as my buddy nudged the woman with her foot, the woman sat stark upright (scaring the shit out of us). We yelled, and she jumped up, looked around, and began to jog diagonally and not urgently down the shoreline, in knee-deep ocean. She didn’t even acknowledge us, and the only remnant of her existence was the quickly filling in outline where she laid.

My friend and I walked a hundred or so feet to the south, and sat on some large rocks under a short pier. As we were sitting there, the beach instantly crawled with blinking red and blue police vehicles designed to tear around in sand, and a couple of helicopters with spotlights began to comb the area. The response was great, and the police continued to search long after we were gone. I didn’t have the heart to explain to the search and recovery crews what had actually happened, and wasn’t sure if they’d believe me. Besides, at 17 or 18 I probably had some kind of illegal substance on me, and I’m not one to draw attention to myself while I’m breaking the law. And I probably borrowed my father’s car to get out to the beach in the first place, and if I didn’t return before he had to leave for work at 6 the next morning, I’d be in deep shit.

A schizophrenic guy called

about wanting to get a job at my company, and he introduced himself by telling me hasn't had much experience and believes he isn’t getting hired by anyone because he has a disability.

“Hello, do you hire people that are disabled?” a nervous sounding young man inquired.

“Well, we are a temporary staffing service that specializes in employing people with disabilities. If you have a disability, we will employ you and give you the opportunity to work.” I robotically replied.

“ Well, I have a disability, and I’ve had a real hard time getting a job. In fact,” he protested, “I know that’s why nobody’s hired me.”

“In that case,” I reassured him, “you should definitely set an appointment to attend our orientation, and you can learn more about our company and the kinds of opportunities available. I must take 20 calls a day that sound a lot like the conversation I was having with this guy.

“Uhhh….Okay” the young man hesitantly answered. We went through a few questions and answers, and exchanged information and I ended up making an appointment for him that Wednesday. I confirmed our appointment time and date, and asked him if he had any questions.

“Yeah, um, I haven’t been able to get a job at all and I know it’s because of my disability. you see, I’m bi-polar,” he paused, I thought to myself no big deal, and he interjected, “and schizophrenic. But I’m fine, I really am I take my medication and everything’s been fine for a while,” he hurriedly added, as if he was trying to sell me a car that was in an auto accident.

“Look, I’m telling you, come down here, and you’ll see what we’re about. We just hired 5 schizophrenic guys last week, and two of them just got out of prison. They’re all working right now. ”

“Really?” he asked with disbelief apparent in his voice, “Okay, I’ll be down tomorrow, thanks!”

Ol’ no deal is banging around next door.

We can’t figure out for the life of us what he is moving around or doing in there. Ric suspects that he is putting on LInda's heels when she’s not home and practicing his runway walk. I saw him earlier wearing overalls, and pictured him in the overalls with heels on.

I thought that was pretty funny.

Why do people

continue to support and entertain Ashton Kutcher’s creative endeavors?

And what the hell kind of name is Ashton, or Kutcher, anyway?

My friend Herb is in a coma in the hospital.

He wasn’t a close friend, but an older seeming ex-hippy guy I used to work with. I had to turn inventory sheets into him, and doing this daily I would strike up conversation with him. He thought I was pretty weird (most people do), and sometimes I would reinforce that by bursting into his office, declaring out of nowhere, “Herb, stars of track and field are beautiful people,” or “If you eat anti-pasta and pasta, is that the same as not eating anything?”

I liked Herb because he was really nice to me, in a place where most people were assholes towards me. After I got canned from that job, I would do my grocery shopping at 7 AM at my local Fred Meyer’s, and like clockwork, I would see Herb there every Saturday morning and make small talk with him. He was pretty shy, too, so I did most of the talking. He would just ask me how I was doing, and smile at me.

Christ, now he’s in a coma. How weird. I hope he’s having some beautiful dreams.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

UNICEF Bombs The Smurfs

UNICEF has created a commercial, where about :42 into it they show a scene depicting the smurfs getting bombed. It's caused quite a stir on the internet, if you would like to view it click here.

War can happen anywhere
The 20-second video commercial clip now being shown on Belgian TV aims to show that war can happen in the most innocent of places, Henon said.

“We get reactions from all over the place, people are shocked and want to know the reasons behind this cartoon image.”

The appeal is meant to raise money for UNICEF projects in Burundi, Congo and Sudan, Henon said. However, due to its graphic and disturbing scenes, this cartoon is not for everyone. The advertisement is aimed at an adult audience and is only shown after 9 p.m. to avoid upsetting young Smurfs fans.The video is peacefully introduced by birds, butterflies and happy Smurfs playing and singing their theme song when suddenly out of the sky, bombs rain down onto their forest village, scattering Papa Smurf and the rest as their houses are set ablaze.

The bombs kill Smurfette leaving Baby Smurf orphaned and crying at the edge of a crater in the last scene of the video and finishing of with the text “don’t let war destroy the children’s world.”

After a little web surfing about the subject, I come across a message board at and found this feedback:

Topic: UNICEF bombs the Smurfs
Posted by Undead Minion
on 2005-10-09; 21:19:49

(message 2110581 reads)

It's about fucking time.

Forward to 40 seconds in to see what would have happened if Gargamel had got his hands on a B-52.

Monday, October 10, 2005

storm on the Atlantic Ocan

no deal neal

I don’t really like the guy next door. We call him No Deal Neal. He has sure been moving a lot of stuff around in and from his apartment and storage space, every night about 7 PM he starts moving large things from the back of his El Camino. He'll make noise until about 11 PM, and we can't figure out what he is doing to cause such a rucus. Not that we want to be nosey about what our neighbors are doing or what their personal life is about. I definately understand and respect anonymity in a community as close as ours; we have a certain amount of private space, but shared common areas like the back yard and walkways.

When we first moved in here, Neal’s wife Linda lived next-door, in a sparsely but tastefully decorated duplex. She was an attractive 40 something woman, who was active and friendly, and knew the boundaries of keeping pleasantries brief. We speculated she was a recently divorced liberated woman who was enjoying a new lease on life. For two weeks, we said our hi’s and by’s as we left for work and returned to our respective apartments in the evenings, and made small talk on the sidewalk in front of our residences. My kitchen has a windowed breakfast area that looks out onto the neighborhood intersection, and Linda would greet my cats whenever she was coming or going. Everything seemed suspiciously normal and nice, but at the block barbeque, my suspicions were confirmed.

Linda was an hour late to the Barbeque because she had to work that Saturday, but we walked over when it was scheduled to start and got to know Neal at that time. We didn’t make the connection that he was Linda’s husband; we hadn’t even seen or met him before. Even Alice, my old lady friend and neighbor, didn’t really know who he was, and she knew everything. I had no idea she was even married. I thought Neal was kind of a jerk; it was like pulling teeth engaging him in conversation that didn’t turn negative or critical. Linda joined our group, and she made a comment to him “Well, these are your new neighbors.” We all didn’t know what she meant, and after some private speculating we decided that they must be in some sort of divorce, and he is having a hard time letting go. He was in the house, but she was in the apartment, but she was going to get the house and he was going to move into the apartment. The annoying thing is, is that he’s been moving stuff every night for about three weeks now, banging in and out of his apartment, against our walls, we hear this loud piercing banging and cannot figure out for the life of us what he’s doing over there. We imagine he’s bringing in speakers, or containers, or a few hammers, something big and heavy and just drops it wherever he wants it. We have only seen Linda twice since the barbeque, and in both instances she didn’t seem as if she was staying there anymore.

The classy and sparse d├ęcor yielded to a wood paneled particleboard entertainment center that housed a big television, and corkboards with a variety of small notes and business cards randomly stuck throughout the living room. Ol’ No Deal wasn’t too friendly, and puts out a creepy and weird vibe. I mean, I’m not complaining if that’s all he does. If he isn’t manufacturing meth or beating his family I guess I don’t mind having him for a neighbor. He’s kind of funny because you can tell from his body language he has little patience and gets annoyed easily. I just hope he finishes moving stuff in and out. It’s not clear what he is moving, and from where to where.

shaky street picture

Commercial Street, Provincetown, Massachusetts.

key to the universe

Receptionists have the key to the universe,
They are the gatekeepers to the cubified and enclosed
Drones, the sorters and dispersers of
Mail and special deliveries,
Judge jury and executioner of the waiting room.
They silently and sacredly monitor
The comings and goings
Of all employees, witness to
The back door firings, the secret upstairs office hirings,
Water cooler romance on the most discreet of levels
Message taker, covert info relayer and
Friend and confidant, speak their mind
Oracle of truth, knowledge and guidance

offering blessings of encouragement and reinforcement,
To both the high powered and unemployed,
Travel weary, nervous and anxious,

Frazzled, lost
and the confused.

did someone hit the self-destruct button?

What’s going on in the world with the weather? Floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis, volcanoes, landslides, levees breaking, large quantities of snow and blizzards...It’s been unreal lately, there has been too much to follow in the news and in the world, let alone my small corner and my day-to-day stuff. It's getting hard to keep up with, and by it seems really critical. Now that I think of it, it seems whatever won't kill us enviromentally, will kill us via a super virus or some kind of outbreak disease (dis-ease). and if that fails, well, we are certainally doing a good job of killing each other. There's some kind of natural selection or something happening on a level we can't even begin to comprehend, and we are all incidentials.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Fall's unofficially here

The official report is 57°F, Light Rain, Wind: N at 0 mph, Humidity: 82%. It started out dark and grey, then a brighter grey and drizzly, and around 3 PM it became dark, and has been raining buckets ever since. I'm going to try to set up my webcam to look out a window.
Above is a picture saved from one of many KATU-2 web cams in the area. This was the easiest to see; the other cameras at this time were showing street, car and building lights in a shroud of grey mist on a darker grey background.

Portuguese Bakery

These pictures were taken on Commercial Street in Provincetown, MA. The stuff in here was so delectible and good. I have such a weakness for good bread and bakeries. I gorged myself when I visited.

the pictures of trees in the previous post were taken

I think on The Beech Forest Trail in Provincetown, MA. There are several little trails there, and they are all beautiful and full of vibrant colors, shapes and smells. I don't remember see what the name of it was, but there was a little orientation spot at the beginning of the trail. We didn't stop there, of course, there was a group of about 10 people who got out of a mini van as we pulled up, and we didn't want to walk with them so we took off while they were looking at the signage.

When we went, it was late summer, and there were an excessive amount of insects invisible to the eye that would buzz in your ear and bite you and leave large red welts under your armpit, on your ear, or on your forehead. I think there's some insect vengeance going on there, almost as if it's a planned attack. Grapenut and I were pretty psychotic by the time we finished hiking the trail, the bugs made us so mental. Jae, however, has mastered the mind powers needed to control and repel the insect aggrivators. It was beautiful, and even with the invisible irritation, we had a great time and we saw some unique and interesting nature. I have been living in a climate where the bugs aren't too intrusive in a wooded setting and forget other areas have enough bugs to make up the difference.

The below excerpt was taken from The Cape Cod National Seashore website, under the "Places" subsection.

The Beech Forest Trail is a 1-1/2 mile loop that skirts the Beech Forest Pond and travels through a forest dominated by beech trees, which once were much more numerous on Outer Cape Cod. The area is gradually being inundated by migrating sand. It is a rewarding area for bird watching, especially for sighting warblers in the spring and fall.

The picture above is taken of the Atlantic Ocean from a different part of Cape Cod National Seashore Park. There is a great looking network of biking trails all throughout the dunes and shore vegetation. I was advised when I visited not to stray off of trails because there is a large quantity of poison ivy that grows in large quantities all over. Most of the trails were paved, as shown below. Grapenut took the photograph below in a prior visit:

We didn't have bikes, you could rent them at many places in Provincetown if you couldn't bring your own. We spent so much time doing all sorts of other things that we were pretty booked, and decided we have to return to try out different things and revisit awesome things.

Friday, October 07, 2005

neat trees on a Provincetown beach trail

what a hunk!

I'm kidding. But the picture above was taken probably like 1986.
Below is a current picture
I really haven't thought about him much from the late 80's to at the beginning of this year. I had to take a drug test at my job as part of a pre-employment requirement, and instead of doing it at the workplace, they sent me to an occupational clinic that routinely did things like drug tests, physicals, and worker's comp stuff. I made sure I drank like three large coffees so I'd have to pee by the time I got there. I shouldn't have planned that far ahead, the bus ride was so long, then I had to walk like a mile and I had to urinate so bad I was doubled over with pain.
The clinic was this large, grey, seemingly windowless fortress located at the edge of the city industrial area, under an interstate bridge. I opened the door and walked in, and immediately had to navigate a sea of large husky bodies in flannels and carhart pants. I got to the front desk, and told the receptionist who I was and why I was there, and added that I had to go to the bathroom pretty bad. She interrupted me and instructed me to fil out three forms and bring them back.
10 minutes later, I brought the paperwork back to the desk, and I reiterated that I was going to have an emergency on one of the waiting room chairs if I didn't go now. She informed me that no matter how bad I had to go, I would be helped in the order of arrival, and all of the flannel donning carhart laborer guys got there before me, and I had to wait. I told her I couldn't wait, and needed the key to the public bathroom. She gave me a key attached that was attached to a clipboard, and sent me on a journey down a series of similar looking star trek hallways until I found the bathroom behind a non-descript door that camouflaging into the walls.
After I relieved myself, I made my way back into the lobby and began to drink a ton of water so I could go for my test. I had to wait like an hour before I had the urge to go again, and it was late morning on the first day of my job. I watched what was on the waiting room television, which happened to be "The Tony Danza Show."
Tony Danza's a weirdo, but I think I respect him more than "The Hoff."

...further developments...

I have my home page set to, and it lists several news topics, and lists 3-4 articles on the subject written by any number of international news and magazine sources. Wouldn't you know it, all kinds of follow up articles are coming up, and they are about 50/50 as to if Bush really said God spoke to him. Here's some of what I saw: "Bush didn’t say God asked him to invade Iraq, says official" I read it and it doesn't really confirm that Bush didn't say it, and isn't a clear article in general. Right below that article is he other side of the coin, "The truth about God and George" written by an English newspaper. I especially like a line in this article that reads, "Last month, senior figures in the Church of England questioned America’s sense of "moral righteousness" in its foreign policy." I found a third article, but after reading it decided not to link it because it pretty much echoed the article in the last sentance.

It's kind of interesting seeing the large and varied response and reporting on allthe different subjects. A lot of republican in-trouble reltaed things being written lately, here's all the fun current subjects and links to tons of pages about it:

In The News
Mohamed ElBaradei Harriet Miers

Karl Rove Ho Chi Minh City
Katrina and Rita Adam Gilchrist
Rolling Stones Japan Open
General Electric Atlanta Braves

I wonder how much of this is paid advertising driven, paid for by these corporate driven freaks. I also suppose some of this is drived from relevant searches, and there's so much listed on the main page I suppose you could get really caught up with the amont of topics. Over-stimilus.

On a side note, I debated weather or not I would capitalize the word "God" or not. I don't really think he was an actual being, but something more of a ficticuous nature. After some consideration, I decided to capitalize it because it's a name, and in general I capitalize names.

Shaath, the Palestinians' senior, seasoned negotiator, recalls

"President Bush said to all of us, 'I am driven with a mission from God'. God would tell me, 'George, go and fight these terrorists in Afghanistan'. And I did. And then God would tell me, 'George go and end the tyranny in Iraq'. And I did."

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

I think it’s starting to get out of hand.

What’s going on with the old person situation in this country? It seems like old people being killed due to negligence has spiked lately. The article published today in The Scotsman, “Hospitals investigated over Katrina deaths” begins “SIX hospitals and 13 nursing homes in Louisiana are under investigation into the deaths of dozens of elderly patients following Hurricane Katrina.” Yesterday, a tour boat in Lake George, NY, capsized, killing 21 old people. One of the follow-up articles today read “Outdated Weight Charts Eyed in Boat Fatal,” discusses how the average person isn’t 140 or 150 pounds anymore, obesity and over weight Americans are the new norm. We’re creating more and more drugs to shove down their throats, and compounding side effects with the general deterioration that time has worn away from them, including unaware exposure to radioactivity, lead poisoning, chemical or synthetic ingestion through food, water, or in the air (i.e. I live near a factory).

I have a couple of theories. One is that a larger percentage of the U.S. either doesn’t get along with their parents, or just doesn’t care about needy old people that gave them shit most of their lives. The other theory is that some of these old people require so much care, can be so helpless and needy that other family members become desensitized or emotionally detached from the whole situation. Another theory I have is that the general number of people in the world has increased dramatically with each passing year, so the number of old people dying due to negligence or murder (including euthanasia if the party isn’t mentally competent to make an informed decision about ending their life) is staying the same throughout the ages, the number of us is just increasing.

Monday, October 03, 2005

pictures of signs in Provincetown

Have you seen this cat?

Taken from Canal Street, looking down Mott Street

(Vegan) Blueberry Coffee Cake

(Vegan) Blueberry Coffee Cake

Blueberries are awesome. This coffee cake is good anytime, but especially good on a rainy Sunday morning. For best results, grease your pan ahead of time and put in refrigerator until you are ready to fill. I regret to say I don’t have any pictures of the coffee cake. We completely polished it off. It was really good with a cup of strong coffee. No kidding! Where the recipe calls for margarine, I use soy margarine, either Earth Balance or some other kind of generic brand, but it could be whatever you are used to using. Use sticks, not spreads. And try not to use something with artificial ingredients, it will only take away from the taste and accelerate the impending demise of your toxin-soaked body

For the cake you will need:

8x8 or 9x9 pan, greased w/ soy margarine

1-½ cups of flour
2 tbsp of baking powder (non-aluminum, read the label and make sure aluminum isn’t an ingredient)
½ tsp of salt
¾ cup of sugar
¼ cup softened margarine (1/2 stick)
¾ cup of soymilk
½ tsp of cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla

For the topping:

4 tbsp of flour
4 tbsp of brown sugar
¼ cup cold margarine
½ tsp of cinnamon
1 cup of fresh or frozen fresh blueberries
1 cup chopped walnuts

In a large bowl, mix flour, baking powder, salt and sugar with a wire whisk or spoon. Add margarine, soymilk, cinnamon and vanilla, and mix very well, with an electric mixer if you can. You can get a cheap one from your local strip mall everything stores. It really makes a difference. Using a rubber spatula or spoon, scrape batter into greased 8x8 pan.

Spread blueberries over entire top of cake batter, and lightly press in.

Prepare the topping in a separate bowl; mix flour, cinnamon and brown sugar. Cut in the ¼ cup of margarine with a pastry cutter or fork. Lightly mix in chopped walnuts. Sprinkle over blueberries, covering the blueberries completely (if a few peek out that’s all right).

Bake at 350 degrees for 35-35 minutes. When an inserted knife comes out of the center clean (except for blueberry goo) the cake is done. Let cake sit at room temperature for 30 minutes before eating, the blueberries get so hot they are nuclear and will cause sustaining injury if eaten before proper cooling has been ensured.

Lost! Jim the Cat

Well, Jim’s gone. He left last Sunday evening, and hasn’t been seen since. We’ve developed several theories on his whereabouts: he got lost, someone else found him and kept him, he’s sick of Marcus’ shit and took off, or he’s on an extended vacation. He had a tag on with contact information, so I am theorizing that if the collar was found sans cat, or if he were injured (or worse) we would be contacted. I’ve checked all of the local animal shelters, have talked to many of my neighbors, checked the place we last lived at several times, even posted on Craigslist (to see the listing, click here). All to no avail.

Marcus has mixed feelings, he goes from seeming a little down and extra needy for attention, to staring out of the window for long periods, although he’s always done that. He’ll rest his chin on his little paws and look really upset. Then he’ll swing to the other end of the spectrum, and race around yowling and he’s the fun happy quivering-tail cat.

On the lighter side, I guess my cat contingency plan is working. When my last cat died, I was so upset, that I felt if I got another cat I would get two, that way if something happened to one I wouldn't be so sad. I guess, as Kramer would say, "It's up to the cat, now."

Where the heck is Jim? Dammit, Jim!