Miss J is working this weekend. That is a good thing! Paying gigs for her have not been as regular as we would like. She has a function to decorate for, and an art show to help set up for, and a meeting with a couple whose wedding she is doing, so Wylie and me are on our own this weekend.
The money is extra nice because we are headed to Alaska one week from Tuesday.
Oh, and did I mention that we are trying to sell our house right now. We love this place, but we have outgrown it. Our beautiful midtown haunt is only 954 square feet. We have that in collectable junk from thrift stores. The realtor is doing an open house Sunday afternoon. There is that to get ready for.
But today Wylie and me are going to have as much fun as we can. This morning it has been pancakes and Bugs Bunny. This afternoon we are going to have to find some time for a trip to the park and some baseball. Tomorrow, during the open house, we are going to have to get lost for a few hours. Perhaps we will make Wylie’s first ever trip to a movie theater. He is nearly three; I think he can handle it. If the movie is good enough to hold his attention, that is.
Saturday, June 28, 2003
Thursday, June 26, 2003
Jimmie Lee Herringbone woke up with the distinct knowledge that his alarm clock had been going off for a long time. He woke up, but he did not open his eyes. If he were to open his eyes then he would see the clock on the nightstand at eye level and he was not ready to know how late he was for work just yet. He was already disappointed in himself. He knew that the alarm had been going off for a while; indeed he suspected that he might have hit the snooze button a time or two. There was enough light making it through his eyelids that it had to be well into the morning. Perhaps it would be best to slip into this a little easier, one clue at a time. With that, Jimmie Lee decided to roll over and open his eyes facing the other direction, to let them get used to the light without having to start the inevitable morning rush.
Suddenly Jimmie Lee realized that the alarm clock was still offering the shrill, rhythmic tri-tone, and he had most definitely been asleep since he rolled over to face away from it. He blinked his eyes open into the sunlit and quickly warming room to see that the ice was not completely melted in the lead crystal tumbler he had brought back to bed with him last night. This was a very bad sign - he had stayed up way too late and had not gotten much sleep. Or was it a good sign? Perhaps he would still be able to make it to work.
I am supposed to be there by 7:30, but no one will notice if I get there by 7:40 or so. I have to have a shower, because I smell like booze-sweat. That will take five minutes. I will have to have something on my stomach to settle it – a hunk of that cornbread with some butter and a cup of milk will do. I can eat that in the truck. Ten minutes to drive to work . . . if it is no later than about 7:15, then I can make it.
With that he rose, turned, and open-hand-slapped the alarm clock silent. It was 7:50.
Jimmie Lee has a hard time going to sleep when Betsy and the boy are out of town. Scratch that, he has a hard time making himself go to bed. Every Tuesday Betsy takes the Boy to see her momma down in Subtle County, about an hour away. They stay that night and are back home by the time Jimmie Lee gets home from work on Wednesday. Tuesday nights might not seem like a good night for a working man to stay up late and have a little too much to drink, but Tuesday nights are the only night each week that Jimmie is without a family, without responsibility.
If he had his druthers, Jimmie Lee would prefer that Betsy and the Boy stay around home every night. He likes it best when they all stay home and he and Betsy collaborate on dinner while the Boy watches his shows on TV. On those nights they all sit around the table and join hands and pray. They smile and wink at each other while they eat their meals. Jimmie Lee knows how to put a good scald on some meat over a fire, and Betsy is coming along in the kitchen. The dinner is always quite fit to eat.
Afterwards one of them will bathe the Boy and put him down. The other one will clean the kitchen. They finish the night off with him in his chair, her on the couch, trading off the remote control. She picks reruns of a sitcom or some decorating show. He goes with cable news or baseball. As far a Jimmie Lee is concerned, that is the way the rich folks live.
But Betsy likes to take the boy to see his granny, and Jimmie understands that. He knows that she needs the help one day a week. He works himself silly down at the sawmill, but he would not trade for her job at home with the boy (and the dishes and the laundry) for anything. So he takes his Tuesday nights for what they are and tries to play that up. A night alone. A night with no family, no real responsibilities. A night to act like he is young and single, living the highlife.
Yesterday he left work and went straight to the grocery store where he bought a twelve pack of cheap beer and a hunk of salt pork. The Lakeview Grocery by his house rents videos too, so he swung through the Action aisle (Betsy hates guy movies and would leave the room if he put one on while she was around, so he saves them for Tuesdays) and picked up the latest shoot ‘em up.
Back home, he changed into some shorts and a t-shirt and went out to the garden. He picked a basket full of mustard greens and collards while he slammed back the first two beers. Then he went in to the kitchen and stirred up a pone of cornbread, threw it in the oven, and cooked up the greens with the salt pork. After dinner was ready, he put on the movie and ate in front of the TV.
At some point he got tired of the beer and dug a bottle of green label Evan Williams out from under the sink. The last thing he can remember is sitting in under the covers in his bed, totally nude and half asleep, with the lights off, a glass rattling in his hand and Fox News way too loud on the bedroom TV. He said out loud, “What possible reason could there possibly be for me to still need to be awake, possibly?” He put the glass on the nightstand, smacked the remote control, and closed his eyes.
Jimmie Lee figures this would be the highlife for a single workingman
Suddenly Jimmie Lee realized that the alarm clock was still offering the shrill, rhythmic tri-tone, and he had most definitely been asleep since he rolled over to face away from it. He blinked his eyes open into the sunlit and quickly warming room to see that the ice was not completely melted in the lead crystal tumbler he had brought back to bed with him last night. This was a very bad sign - he had stayed up way too late and had not gotten much sleep. Or was it a good sign? Perhaps he would still be able to make it to work.
I am supposed to be there by 7:30, but no one will notice if I get there by 7:40 or so. I have to have a shower, because I smell like booze-sweat. That will take five minutes. I will have to have something on my stomach to settle it – a hunk of that cornbread with some butter and a cup of milk will do. I can eat that in the truck. Ten minutes to drive to work . . . if it is no later than about 7:15, then I can make it.
With that he rose, turned, and open-hand-slapped the alarm clock silent. It was 7:50.
Jimmie Lee has a hard time going to sleep when Betsy and the boy are out of town. Scratch that, he has a hard time making himself go to bed. Every Tuesday Betsy takes the Boy to see her momma down in Subtle County, about an hour away. They stay that night and are back home by the time Jimmie Lee gets home from work on Wednesday. Tuesday nights might not seem like a good night for a working man to stay up late and have a little too much to drink, but Tuesday nights are the only night each week that Jimmie is without a family, without responsibility.
If he had his druthers, Jimmie Lee would prefer that Betsy and the Boy stay around home every night. He likes it best when they all stay home and he and Betsy collaborate on dinner while the Boy watches his shows on TV. On those nights they all sit around the table and join hands and pray. They smile and wink at each other while they eat their meals. Jimmie Lee knows how to put a good scald on some meat over a fire, and Betsy is coming along in the kitchen. The dinner is always quite fit to eat.
Afterwards one of them will bathe the Boy and put him down. The other one will clean the kitchen. They finish the night off with him in his chair, her on the couch, trading off the remote control. She picks reruns of a sitcom or some decorating show. He goes with cable news or baseball. As far a Jimmie Lee is concerned, that is the way the rich folks live.
But Betsy likes to take the boy to see his granny, and Jimmie understands that. He knows that she needs the help one day a week. He works himself silly down at the sawmill, but he would not trade for her job at home with the boy (and the dishes and the laundry) for anything. So he takes his Tuesday nights for what they are and tries to play that up. A night alone. A night with no family, no real responsibilities. A night to act like he is young and single, living the highlife.
Yesterday he left work and went straight to the grocery store where he bought a twelve pack of cheap beer and a hunk of salt pork. The Lakeview Grocery by his house rents videos too, so he swung through the Action aisle (Betsy hates guy movies and would leave the room if he put one on while she was around, so he saves them for Tuesdays) and picked up the latest shoot ‘em up.
Back home, he changed into some shorts and a t-shirt and went out to the garden. He picked a basket full of mustard greens and collards while he slammed back the first two beers. Then he went in to the kitchen and stirred up a pone of cornbread, threw it in the oven, and cooked up the greens with the salt pork. After dinner was ready, he put on the movie and ate in front of the TV.
At some point he got tired of the beer and dug a bottle of green label Evan Williams out from under the sink. The last thing he can remember is sitting in under the covers in his bed, totally nude and half asleep, with the lights off, a glass rattling in his hand and Fox News way too loud on the bedroom TV. He said out loud, “What possible reason could there possibly be for me to still need to be awake, possibly?” He put the glass on the nightstand, smacked the remote control, and closed his eyes.
Jimmie Lee figures this would be the highlife for a single workingman
Tuesday, June 24, 2003
Monday, June 23, 2003
This has Dan written all over it!
Good with locks? CIA wants you
WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Know your way around a lock? The CIA wants you.
"The Central Intelligence Agency is seeking locksmiths to work with the best minds in the country while performing a mission critical to our nation," the CIA said in a recent job posting on its Web site www.cia.gov.
Locksmiths, who in spy agency lingo are called technical operations officers, are needed for such tasks as to "familiarise non-technical people with technical capabilities; do hands-on work; and travel worldwide."
The skill to fabricate lock parts was an asset for prospective CIA locksmiths.
"Knowledge of electronic and manual safe lock servicing, electricity, and alarms is ideal. Knowing how to operate machinery to fabricate lock parts and tools will be beneficial," the CIA job posting said.
Applicants must be willing to travel domestically and overseas.
"There is a wide range of requirements that the agency would have for which individuals with locksmith capabilities could be utilised, but what they do and how they do it is not something we're going to be able to discuss publicly," CIA spokesman Tom Crispell said.
Sunday, June 22, 2003
The summer time in Arkansas is the time of the fly. They show up sometime in April or May and by the end of June, flies are everywhere. They follow you in your home through the front door or exploit holes in your window screens, or come pouring in when the kids leave the door open. They land on your food at dinnertime. They land on the screen while you are watching TV. At night, they buzz your head in the dark and keep you awake.
I just had one of the most satisfying experiences of my life. I was walking in to the bathroom to check a leak. As I passed through the door one of the little flying nuisances buzzed in front of my face. I quickly reached up and snatched the little guy out of the air. Then I walked over to the toilette, threw him (still alive) into the water, peed on his little head, and flushed him, flopping and kicking, into the sewer to die.
That’ll teach the little bastards! Let that be an example to flies around the world.
Friday, June 20, 2003
What a punk!
If you can't see the picture, try here. if you can not see it there, then I am a computer idiot.
You might have heard that Senator Orris Hatch of Utah made a statement last week that he thought that technology should be developed to remotely destroy the computers of people who illegally download music from the Net. Wired News is reporting today that Senator Hatch's personal web site makes extensive use of unlicensed software. Surely there is an enterprising young hacker out there who would do us all a favor and destroy that page.
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
Monday, June 16, 2003
I just got home from one of the best concerts that I have ever seen, and will be posting a reveiw to Blogcritics.org soon. Stay tuned.
Thursday, June 12, 2003
I have the on call cell phone at work this week. It is the first tie that I have had to carry it. This morning about 1:00 it rang for the first time. I fell out of bed, stood up, grabbed the phone, ran into the door jam trying to walk into the hall with it, and then called the person back because it had slipped to voice mail before I could get a light on and see the answer button.
“This is Nathan with computer support. Did you just try to call me?”
“Yeah, (long pause) I can not print. Well . . . I can print sometimes but not all of the time.”
“Have you rebooted your computer?”
“No.”
“Do that for me.”
So I held the line while she rebooted. When it came back up, it printed just fine, of course. Do you think that was a good reason to wake a workingman in the middle of the night? Use discretion, people.
By the time I got the lights back off and stumbled back to the bed, the boy had been alerted to my presence. So I had to get him a glass of water and put him back to bed. Of course, by then I was wide-awake too. Long night.
While proofreading I just realized that this reads like a post from Dan’s blog. Now I know what it is like to be an asthmatic locksmith.
If you have not noticed, Barber is taking us on a two-week journey through the best music in the world. It is certainly a must read. Also he now has Statler and Waldorf on his header.
S: What would you do if you were a rich man?
W: That's easy, I'd buy the network and cancel this show!
Saturday, June 07, 2003
Say it is 1:00am on a Saturday morning. You just finished watching your favorite late night TV show, Scarborough Country, and you need to go to bed. Before you can get to the TV to turn it off (dead remote), Chris Matthews come on the screen and says, “Tonight on Hardball Al Sharpton talks about his run for the Democratic presidential nomination and Lucianne Goldberg on Hillary Clinton’s new book.” Would you go to bed or stay up until 2:00.
If you answered stay up and watch the Lucianne and Al show, then you know my pain.
If you answered stay up and watch the Lucianne and Al show, then you know my pain.
Friday, June 06, 2003
Thursday, June 05, 2003
Tony Pierce got to interview Sammy Sosa.
Then Tony decided that he was for suspending Sammy for the rest of the season.
This just in, my Pop disagrees:
From: Pops Greer
Sent: Thursday, June 05, 2003 11:05 AM
To: Nathaniel Greer
Subject: On WMD and Sammy Sosa
First and foremost concerning Sammy:
Who gives shit? So what if his bat is corked. He still has to make the fat part of the bat meet a 95 mph fastball that is either sinking, rising, or tailing in and or out - all in about .05 seconds. Besides, the more and the bigger the Sammy Home Runs, the more the Cubbies and MLB make off the fans. I say if the majority of the fans don't care, let him cork the hell out his bats. There ain't much pitching nowadays anyway. But, in all fairness, if Sammy and other sluggers can cork bats, then the hill dwellers ought to be able to throw the spitter, and keep nail files as a regular part of their uniforms. With the current decline in attendance in MLB and the ever growing cost of taking one's family to see a game, let 'em do anything they can get away with. BTW- I am also a big proponent of pitching inside and using the old brush back pitch. If a guy is gonna hit 500 foot home runs, he needs to have some balls of his own. Let the pitchers move Barry Bonds to the outside part of the batter's box and let's see if he hits 73.
Now, less importantly, on WMD:
Who gives a shit? Saddam Whose Insane was a tryant, and a murderer. He robbed, pilfered and plundered his own people. He got what he deserved. Besides, England and the US needed cheaper oil. As Darwin said, "It is survival of the fittest." If you can't kick our asses, then we get your oil. Of course, being the good ol' boys that we are, we will gladly pay you for it. But we get to choose the price. The WMD's need to be found to keep the real crazy's like Bin Laden from getting them. Or, if we find any, we could pump them into those caves in Afghanistan and take care of two problems at the same time!
That's all for now. These were on my mind because they were the headlines on CNN as I drank my morning coffee this am. Feel free to use any of this fine fodder on your blog.
pops
From: Pops Greer
Sent: Thursday, June 05, 2003 11:05 AM
To: Nathaniel Greer
Subject: On WMD and Sammy Sosa
First and foremost concerning Sammy:
Who gives shit? So what if his bat is corked. He still has to make the fat part of the bat meet a 95 mph fastball that is either sinking, rising, or tailing in and or out - all in about .05 seconds. Besides, the more and the bigger the Sammy Home Runs, the more the Cubbies and MLB make off the fans. I say if the majority of the fans don't care, let him cork the hell out his bats. There ain't much pitching nowadays anyway. But, in all fairness, if Sammy and other sluggers can cork bats, then the hill dwellers ought to be able to throw the spitter, and keep nail files as a regular part of their uniforms. With the current decline in attendance in MLB and the ever growing cost of taking one's family to see a game, let 'em do anything they can get away with. BTW- I am also a big proponent of pitching inside and using the old brush back pitch. If a guy is gonna hit 500 foot home runs, he needs to have some balls of his own. Let the pitchers move Barry Bonds to the outside part of the batter's box and let's see if he hits 73.
Now, less importantly, on WMD:
Who gives a shit? Saddam Whose Insane was a tryant, and a murderer. He robbed, pilfered and plundered his own people. He got what he deserved. Besides, England and the US needed cheaper oil. As Darwin said, "It is survival of the fittest." If you can't kick our asses, then we get your oil. Of course, being the good ol' boys that we are, we will gladly pay you for it. But we get to choose the price. The WMD's need to be found to keep the real crazy's like Bin Laden from getting them. Or, if we find any, we could pump them into those caves in Afghanistan and take care of two problems at the same time!
That's all for now. These were on my mind because they were the headlines on CNN as I drank my morning coffee this am. Feel free to use any of this fine fodder on your blog.
pops
There is a difference between golf and other sports. The PGA is really the most noble and stately of all professional athletic organizations. I first noticed this while watching Professional Bull Riding and NASCAR on cable. All the commentators can talk about is how much money is going to be collected by the champion. As if the prize money is the only reason that people become involved in these endeavors.
The Masters is the most important and most prestigious tournament that a PGA touring pro can win. Ask anybody on the tour which tournament they could win if they were only going to win one in their career, they will all say Augusta National. Guess what, it is not the biggest payout on tour. Not by a long shot. The Players Championship has a larger purse and awards its champion with a longer exemption.
What Sammy Sosa claims happened to him this week is a situation that happens on the PGA about once a season. Every so often a player will be disqualified from a tournament for having too many clubs in his bag, having illegal equipment, etc. Usually it is an honest mistake. A player could have two sand wedges he was trying out on the practice green and his caddy forgets to take one of them out of the bag before starting the round. But there is a huge difference in the way it is handled.
In almost every occasion the golfer will call the penalty on himself. Yep, you read that right. Every year some guy will be on number 16 on Sunday with a chance to win and he will look down in his bag, see that extra sand wedge, call over a PGA official and disqualify himself. Voluntarily and instantly he will forfeit more prize money than I will make in a decade.
If Sammy is telling the truth and he was using his practice bat, then he probably recognized it at some point either in the on-deck circle, or in the batter’s box. When he realized it, he should have called for time and confessed to the umpire. But he did not. He tried to get away with it. For that reason, he deserves all of the embarrassment that comes his way.
The Masters is the most important and most prestigious tournament that a PGA touring pro can win. Ask anybody on the tour which tournament they could win if they were only going to win one in their career, they will all say Augusta National. Guess what, it is not the biggest payout on tour. Not by a long shot. The Players Championship has a larger purse and awards its champion with a longer exemption.
What Sammy Sosa claims happened to him this week is a situation that happens on the PGA about once a season. Every so often a player will be disqualified from a tournament for having too many clubs in his bag, having illegal equipment, etc. Usually it is an honest mistake. A player could have two sand wedges he was trying out on the practice green and his caddy forgets to take one of them out of the bag before starting the round. But there is a huge difference in the way it is handled.
In almost every occasion the golfer will call the penalty on himself. Yep, you read that right. Every year some guy will be on number 16 on Sunday with a chance to win and he will look down in his bag, see that extra sand wedge, call over a PGA official and disqualify himself. Voluntarily and instantly he will forfeit more prize money than I will make in a decade.
If Sammy is telling the truth and he was using his practice bat, then he probably recognized it at some point either in the on-deck circle, or in the batter’s box. When he realized it, he should have called for time and confessed to the umpire. But he did not. He tried to get away with it. For that reason, he deserves all of the embarrassment that comes his way.
My buddy Barber writes a beautiful album review. He is going to give us one a day for the next ten days. Read his reviews and heed his advice.
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
Notice how Matha looks exactly like Leona Helmsley doing the perp walk.
This year for Father’s Day, shop at blogcritics. No kidding! Read some great writing and get turned on to something you were not familiar with. Just click through the links at the bottom of the page and your blogcritics writer will receive a miniscule portion of the profits. Blogcritics is the place - whether the dad in your life be a reader, music lover, movie lover, or pants wearer.
Blogcritics is my favorite pop culture criticism site. You get quality writing from dozens of high quality bloggers every single day. But now that they have started letting this idiot post, it can only be downhill.
Just kidding. I am very proud to have been asked by Mr. Eric Olsen to join Blogcritics. I chose Willie Nelson's Red Headed Stranger for my first album review. I hope that all of you (um . . . both of you) click over and check the site out. Make them think that I have a devoted readership.
Just kidding. I am very proud to have been asked by Mr. Eric Olsen to join Blogcritics. I chose Willie Nelson's Red Headed Stranger for my first album review. I hope that all of you (um . . . both of you) click over and check the site out. Make them think that I have a devoted readership.
Monday, June 02, 2003
Middle-aged. You'll die from something unexpected,
just when your kids are going to college or
something great is happening. Cause Unknown.
At what age will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla
From: Tony Pierce
Sent: Sunday, June 01, 2003 10:17 PM
To: Nathaniel Greer
Subject: FW: Thank ya' kindly, sir
hey nathaniel
its always my pleasure to link to you. im glad youre
still at it.
i missed the willie thing which bums me out but i hope
to catch him when he tours with the Dead this summer.
i love ZZ Top.
i saw them in berkeley about 5 years ago.
rock on!
tony
Sent: Sunday, June 01, 2003 10:17 PM
To: Nathaniel Greer
Subject: FW: Thank ya' kindly, sir
hey nathaniel
its always my pleasure to link to you. im glad youre
still at it.
i missed the willie thing which bums me out but i hope
to catch him when he tours with the Dead this summer.
i love ZZ Top.
i saw them in berkeley about 5 years ago.
rock on!
tony
From: Nathaniel Greer
Sent: Sunday, June 01, 2003 10:17 PM
To: Tony Pierce
Subject: FW: Thank ya' kindly, sir
Dearest Tony,
I sent you the email below last Tuesday night after you had linked my site http://fatnathan.blogspot.com/. I guess that you have had a real busy Hollywood week and have not had time to respond. I hope you don’t mind, but I also posted the email on my blog.
I thought that you would be interested to know that it received the most comments I have ever had. For some reason all of my friends chose that moment to make fools of themselves. It makes for an interesting read.
If you did not see the Willie Nelson concert, perhaps you caught VH1’s 25 Greatest Rock Star Cameos.
Hmm. Rock Star Cameos . . . My all time favorite would have to be Stevie Wonder on the Cosby Show. This would be followed by B.B. King on the Cosby Show. In third place would be Dizzy Gillespie on the Cosby Show.
I do enjoy your writings and honestly appreciate the link.
God Bless,
Nathaniel
Sent: Sunday, June 01, 2003 10:17 PM
To: Tony Pierce
Subject: FW: Thank ya' kindly, sir
Dearest Tony,
I sent you the email below last Tuesday night after you had linked my site http://fatnathan.blogspot.com/. I guess that you have had a real busy Hollywood week and have not had time to respond. I hope you don’t mind, but I also posted the email on my blog.
I thought that you would be interested to know that it received the most comments I have ever had. For some reason all of my friends chose that moment to make fools of themselves. It makes for an interesting read.
If you did not see the Willie Nelson concert, perhaps you caught VH1’s 25 Greatest Rock Star Cameos.
Hmm. Rock Star Cameos . . . My all time favorite would have to be Stevie Wonder on the Cosby Show. This would be followed by B.B. King on the Cosby Show. In third place would be Dizzy Gillespie on the Cosby Show.
I do enjoy your writings and honestly appreciate the link.
God Bless,
Nathaniel
Saturday, May 31, 2003
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
-----Original Message-----
From: nathaniel greer
Sent: Tuesday, May 27, 2003 12:00 AM
To: Tony Pierce
Subject: Thank ya' kindly, sir
Mr. Tony,
Thank you so much for linking me. I highly admire your work and it always blesses me to see you in my referral logs. This is the third time you have linked me and I only had to beg one of the times.
No, really, I appreciate you keeping tabs on me. It flatters me to think that occasionally you would read the damn thing.
Also, I enjoyed the big ass photo essay. You are king of the bloggers. Well, the prince maybe. I guess instapundit would have to be the king.
Did you see the Willie Nelson thing on USA tonight? If so, three questions: 1) How about ZZ Top? Has there ever been a better rock and roll band? 2) Did you notice that when Ray Charles started singing, Willie could only step aside and watch in awe? 3) What if Shania Twain brought you a birthday cake?
I hope things are well out there on the west coast.
God Bless,
Nathaniel
Saturday, May 24, 2003
Perspective. All you need is a few hours of sleep and you can find yourself overrun with fresh perspective.
When I got home from work yesterday, Wylie was feeling pretty good. I went outside and planted a couple of tomato vines in my garden and he wandered outside with me. Just before dark I went to get us some BBQ and when I got back the boy was having a relapse. It was the saddest thing that I have ever seen. His fever went up to 104 and his head felt like it was going to explode. He was lying very still on the couch. I had the ceiling fan turned on high and his shirt pulled up. I put a cold towel on his head and another on his neck. He just lay there shivering. “I’m told, dadoe. I’m so told.”
We prayed together for God to take his fever away and help him to feel good again, but God didn’t move fast enough to suit me. We had given the boy some Motrin and it did nothing. I thought that we could give Tylenol after two hours, but I was not sure. I tried to call my mom, who is a nurse, and could not reach her at home, on her cell, or even my pop on his cell. They knew that Wylie was sick. Why were they unreachable? I called my sister who is a pharmacy tech. She thought that we could give the Tylenol. Miss J thought we could give the Tylenol. I thought so too, so we gave it. This did not bring the fever down, but it put him in a deep sleep.
I sat beside him on the couch and held a thermometer under his arm while he slept. I had my head down staring at the digital display as if I could make his temperature recede by sheer force of will. This was not helpful to anyone.
So Miss J and I ate our BBQ. We sat and ate and I confessed about school. I have failed. For a third time I have started college and fucked it up. I have to stop going for a while and reevaluate. I have no choice in the matter anyway. They don’t want me around and I don’t blame them. I have failed, I have wasted money, I have wasted time, and I have accomplished nothing.
Then the funniest thing happened. She took my side. She said that she still loved me just as much as when I was a straight-A student. More even. She said that the way she feels about me is not based on my accomplishments. She said that she supports me regardless of what I am doing and only wants me to be happy and successful.
Can you believe that? Perhaps you can, but that was not the environment that I was raised in. I feel like a complete failure. She does not think that at all.
Wylie was still red and hot. We tried to get him to roll over and expose his belly to the fan. He would not move, he would only moan. More prayers.
At this point it was getting late and close to out anniversary. Our tradition is to get out the wedding pictures and reminisce on our anniversary night. We figured there would not be a more appropriate time, and it was better than watching Wylie sleep and wringing our hands.
So we went back to the bedroom and got out the picture albums. Pictures from our trip to Nashville with my parents in the summer of 1996. Miss J and I had been dating for about a month when Mom and Pop invited us to go on vacation with them. My mother loves to shop on vacation. On our first day in Nashville we found ourselves at a strip mall. The girls went one way and Pop and I the other. We stumbled across a diamond outlet. The engagement rings were on sale. Dad let me put one on his credit card. Miss J caught wind of it and I had to give it to her. We got engaged on the sidewalk at an unnamed strip mall in suburban Nashville. My parents were walking behind us. That night we all went out to eat at the Olive Garden, then on to the Grand Ole Opry. How romantic.
Then we saw the pictures of our wedding day. Everyone that is important to us was there. Everyone that we thought was cool was there. My groomsmen were my crew. We all wore white socks with our tuxedoes and styled our hair into the biggest pompadours we could muster. When we marched in to the processional piano we broke out of line, wandered among the tables where the guests were sitting, and converged back at the podium. Miss J appeared at the back door in a white glow. Beautiful. Perfect. Her dad made some speech and Pastor Tim said some stuff and then I laid one on her, big time. The wedding kiss drew whoops from the crowd. Well, it drew whoops from the groom’s side - the side with the redder necks.
Pictures from the reception. My band played. That was my slick maneuver to get out of glad-handing all of the guests, I played guitar and sang at my own wedding reception. We had on our wedding tuxedoes and our white socks and our rock-and-roll- hair and we played some extra loud jams. Miss J danced with her grandfather. My dad danced with crazy old ladies from his church. My hippie brother-in-law danced with every girl in the room. Old people held their ears and murmured in the back. There was a picture of John and Janna Barber eating biscuits and gravy. They were just John Barber and Janna Young then. They would be married about nine months later.
When it was over, the Maid of Honor blasted me in the eyes at point blank range with birdseed. Somehow we found our way to Dan’s sister’s Honda and there sat my best buddy Dan with a lit Camel cigarette waiting for me. He drove us downtown to the fanciest hotel were Miss J and I, now mister and missus G, went upstairs and ordered some steaks from room service, by god. Send us some steaks! Big damn steaks, for we are hungry!
Outside our window Riverfest was going on.
Then we saw the pictures of our honeymoon in New Orleans. We ate seafood and went to bars and listened to music. We shopped and went to the Aquarium of the Americas. We spent a ridiculous amount of money. Every penny of the cash we got at the wedding. I flew on my first airplane. I stood naked in the windowsill of our honeymoon suite on one of the higher floors of the Hotel Monteleone and proclaimed my presence to all of Louisiana. There was not a picture of that.
Just by chance, there were pictures stuck in the back of the album of Miss J pregnant with Wylie, and then Wylie as an infant. Oh yeah, Wylie. I went back into the living room to check on him and his fever had gone away. God had delivered him just like we had asked him to. Shortly after that he woke up in a pleasant mood. He said he wanted to lie in his bed, but when he got in his bed he remembered the mac and cheese that he had asked his momma for four hours ago. The fever had come up and caused him to fall asleep before it was ready to eat.
So my happy little family sat around the living room in my house, at 1:00 in the morning on my sixth wedding anniversary and ate Kroger brand macaroni and cheese dinner. We all smiled and winked at each other. After our bellies were full we went to bed and slept until 10:00 this morning. Wylie woke up feeling great with no fever. I made us bacon and eggs. Whatever horrible bug had him feeling so bad yesterday has been vanquished from our property. Wylie’s visit to Mimi’s is back on. Mine and Miss J’s anniversary date and trip to Riverfest is back on. I am a horrible failure at school, but I have a wonderful family that loves me unconditionally. That is my perspective from the morning after.
When I got home from work yesterday, Wylie was feeling pretty good. I went outside and planted a couple of tomato vines in my garden and he wandered outside with me. Just before dark I went to get us some BBQ and when I got back the boy was having a relapse. It was the saddest thing that I have ever seen. His fever went up to 104 and his head felt like it was going to explode. He was lying very still on the couch. I had the ceiling fan turned on high and his shirt pulled up. I put a cold towel on his head and another on his neck. He just lay there shivering. “I’m told, dadoe. I’m so told.”
We prayed together for God to take his fever away and help him to feel good again, but God didn’t move fast enough to suit me. We had given the boy some Motrin and it did nothing. I thought that we could give Tylenol after two hours, but I was not sure. I tried to call my mom, who is a nurse, and could not reach her at home, on her cell, or even my pop on his cell. They knew that Wylie was sick. Why were they unreachable? I called my sister who is a pharmacy tech. She thought that we could give the Tylenol. Miss J thought we could give the Tylenol. I thought so too, so we gave it. This did not bring the fever down, but it put him in a deep sleep.
I sat beside him on the couch and held a thermometer under his arm while he slept. I had my head down staring at the digital display as if I could make his temperature recede by sheer force of will. This was not helpful to anyone.
So Miss J and I ate our BBQ. We sat and ate and I confessed about school. I have failed. For a third time I have started college and fucked it up. I have to stop going for a while and reevaluate. I have no choice in the matter anyway. They don’t want me around and I don’t blame them. I have failed, I have wasted money, I have wasted time, and I have accomplished nothing.
Then the funniest thing happened. She took my side. She said that she still loved me just as much as when I was a straight-A student. More even. She said that the way she feels about me is not based on my accomplishments. She said that she supports me regardless of what I am doing and only wants me to be happy and successful.
Can you believe that? Perhaps you can, but that was not the environment that I was raised in. I feel like a complete failure. She does not think that at all.
Wylie was still red and hot. We tried to get him to roll over and expose his belly to the fan. He would not move, he would only moan. More prayers.
At this point it was getting late and close to out anniversary. Our tradition is to get out the wedding pictures and reminisce on our anniversary night. We figured there would not be a more appropriate time, and it was better than watching Wylie sleep and wringing our hands.
So we went back to the bedroom and got out the picture albums. Pictures from our trip to Nashville with my parents in the summer of 1996. Miss J and I had been dating for about a month when Mom and Pop invited us to go on vacation with them. My mother loves to shop on vacation. On our first day in Nashville we found ourselves at a strip mall. The girls went one way and Pop and I the other. We stumbled across a diamond outlet. The engagement rings were on sale. Dad let me put one on his credit card. Miss J caught wind of it and I had to give it to her. We got engaged on the sidewalk at an unnamed strip mall in suburban Nashville. My parents were walking behind us. That night we all went out to eat at the Olive Garden, then on to the Grand Ole Opry. How romantic.
Then we saw the pictures of our wedding day. Everyone that is important to us was there. Everyone that we thought was cool was there. My groomsmen were my crew. We all wore white socks with our tuxedoes and styled our hair into the biggest pompadours we could muster. When we marched in to the processional piano we broke out of line, wandered among the tables where the guests were sitting, and converged back at the podium. Miss J appeared at the back door in a white glow. Beautiful. Perfect. Her dad made some speech and Pastor Tim said some stuff and then I laid one on her, big time. The wedding kiss drew whoops from the crowd. Well, it drew whoops from the groom’s side - the side with the redder necks.
Pictures from the reception. My band played. That was my slick maneuver to get out of glad-handing all of the guests, I played guitar and sang at my own wedding reception. We had on our wedding tuxedoes and our white socks and our rock-and-roll- hair and we played some extra loud jams. Miss J danced with her grandfather. My dad danced with crazy old ladies from his church. My hippie brother-in-law danced with every girl in the room. Old people held their ears and murmured in the back. There was a picture of John and Janna Barber eating biscuits and gravy. They were just John Barber and Janna Young then. They would be married about nine months later.
When it was over, the Maid of Honor blasted me in the eyes at point blank range with birdseed. Somehow we found our way to Dan’s sister’s Honda and there sat my best buddy Dan with a lit Camel cigarette waiting for me. He drove us downtown to the fanciest hotel were Miss J and I, now mister and missus G, went upstairs and ordered some steaks from room service, by god. Send us some steaks! Big damn steaks, for we are hungry!
Outside our window Riverfest was going on.
Then we saw the pictures of our honeymoon in New Orleans. We ate seafood and went to bars and listened to music. We shopped and went to the Aquarium of the Americas. We spent a ridiculous amount of money. Every penny of the cash we got at the wedding. I flew on my first airplane. I stood naked in the windowsill of our honeymoon suite on one of the higher floors of the Hotel Monteleone and proclaimed my presence to all of Louisiana. There was not a picture of that.
Just by chance, there were pictures stuck in the back of the album of Miss J pregnant with Wylie, and then Wylie as an infant. Oh yeah, Wylie. I went back into the living room to check on him and his fever had gone away. God had delivered him just like we had asked him to. Shortly after that he woke up in a pleasant mood. He said he wanted to lie in his bed, but when he got in his bed he remembered the mac and cheese that he had asked his momma for four hours ago. The fever had come up and caused him to fall asleep before it was ready to eat.
So my happy little family sat around the living room in my house, at 1:00 in the morning on my sixth wedding anniversary and ate Kroger brand macaroni and cheese dinner. We all smiled and winked at each other. After our bellies were full we went to bed and slept until 10:00 this morning. Wylie woke up feeling great with no fever. I made us bacon and eggs. Whatever horrible bug had him feeling so bad yesterday has been vanquished from our property. Wylie’s visit to Mimi’s is back on. Mine and Miss J’s anniversary date and trip to Riverfest is back on. I am a horrible failure at school, but I have a wonderful family that loves me unconditionally. That is my perspective from the morning after.
Friday, May 23, 2003
When I woke up this morning I thought that today was going to be the start of a great weekend. As late as 1:00 today I thought that things were great and only going to get better. Now they could only get better, because there is nowhere to go but up.
Saturday is mine and Miss J’s sixth wedding anniversary. This weekend is also Riverfest here in Little Rock. I was planning to take the boy, Wylie Allman, to concerts at Riverfest tonight and early tomorrow. Then he was going to go home with his Mimi tomorrow afternoon so that Miss J and I could have a nice Anniversary date. Sunday would be Church and more Riverfest. Monday I was planning to bottle my homemade peach wine that has been sitting in my pantry for a year. That night we were going to go see A Mighty Wind. Tuesday morning Wylie would come home and I would go back to work, feeling revitalized by the relaxing weekend.
I found out at 1:00 that Wylie was barfing a running a fever. I hate it when he is sick. It kills me to see him puny and down. I want to fix him. Make him feel better.
Also it ruins my plans. Obviously I am not going to go to the concerts and leave him at home. Even more obviously, I am not going to send him to Mimi’s when he is sick.
Then I got home to find a letter from school. I have flunked out. No more financial aid will be offered to me until I can pass nine hours in a row with at least a 2.0.
I have not talked about school this semester because it has been bad. Traditionally my grades will go one of two ways. Either I make all A’s or I make all F’s. I overwhelmed myself this semester with too many classes and a new job that required me to work a lot of overtime and do a lot of traveling. By mid-April I had made A’s on all of my tests and assignments, but I had missed so many classes – either because of work or because of exhaustion – that there was no way for me to pass. UALR instructors take roll and they will fail you for missing more than the allotted number of days.
Getting the grades up would not be a problem. I just have to take a small enough load for me to handle and forego some overtime at work. This will likely not happen though, because I am not going to have any money to pay for it. I certainly cannot afford to pay tuition out of my pocket.
But I sincerely hope you have a good holiday.
Saturday is mine and Miss J’s sixth wedding anniversary. This weekend is also Riverfest here in Little Rock. I was planning to take the boy, Wylie Allman, to concerts at Riverfest tonight and early tomorrow. Then he was going to go home with his Mimi tomorrow afternoon so that Miss J and I could have a nice Anniversary date. Sunday would be Church and more Riverfest. Monday I was planning to bottle my homemade peach wine that has been sitting in my pantry for a year. That night we were going to go see A Mighty Wind. Tuesday morning Wylie would come home and I would go back to work, feeling revitalized by the relaxing weekend.
I found out at 1:00 that Wylie was barfing a running a fever. I hate it when he is sick. It kills me to see him puny and down. I want to fix him. Make him feel better.
Also it ruins my plans. Obviously I am not going to go to the concerts and leave him at home. Even more obviously, I am not going to send him to Mimi’s when he is sick.
Then I got home to find a letter from school. I have flunked out. No more financial aid will be offered to me until I can pass nine hours in a row with at least a 2.0.
I have not talked about school this semester because it has been bad. Traditionally my grades will go one of two ways. Either I make all A’s or I make all F’s. I overwhelmed myself this semester with too many classes and a new job that required me to work a lot of overtime and do a lot of traveling. By mid-April I had made A’s on all of my tests and assignments, but I had missed so many classes – either because of work or because of exhaustion – that there was no way for me to pass. UALR instructors take roll and they will fail you for missing more than the allotted number of days.
Getting the grades up would not be a problem. I just have to take a small enough load for me to handle and forego some overtime at work. This will likely not happen though, because I am not going to have any money to pay for it. I certainly cannot afford to pay tuition out of my pocket.
But I sincerely hope you have a good holiday.
The Guitar Center in Little Rock is a wonderland of shiny beautiful playthings. They have all kinds of stuff I want to take home, but they also have the lousiest sales staff in the history of the world. They are a lazy, juvenile, uninformed bunch of dolts with rock-and-roll hair and lip piercings. I try to give them my money, but they won’t take it. Consider my last three visits to the store:
About six months ago I got a postcard from Guitar Center touting the latest sale. Looking down the list of sale items, I found a nice PC sound card at a very reasonable price. I could use one of those. So I went down to the GC and strolled past the instruments into the Pro Audio department. I brought along my sale flier just in case. I pointed to the sound card and said, “I would like to buy one of those.”
The salesman huffed and sighed and slithered over to his computer terminal. He punched a few buttons and made a few clicks. Finally without looking up he said, “It says here that we have one left, but it is in the back.”
“That will be great, I’ll take it.”
He said that he would go in the back and get it in just a few minutes. Then he started talking to another customer. After a few minutes I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “I am going to go play some guitars. I’ll check back in a few minutes.”
He replied, “I am going to the back right now,” then he turned on his heels and went through the back door.
After about twenty minutes of playing on several lovely guitars, I decided I needed to get going. I went back over to Pro Audio. As I got to the counter, my salesman came through the door from the back holding not a sound card, but a bag from Taco Bell. I asked him if he had any luck finding it. He said no, but he had another guy still looking back there. I told him I would go back to playing guitars and check back in a few minutes.
Twenty minutes later I went back in there to find him finishing up his burritos behind the counter. He looked at me like he was surprised I was still there. No sound Card. I left.
A few months later I went in there with a friend who needed some strings. While he was shopping I got to chatting up one of the salesmen. This was a Saturday about 5:00 in the afternoon. The salesgeek told me that they had not sold a guitar all day long. As a matter of fact, they had done about thirty dollars worth of business all day. “If you ever want to buy a guitar, today is the day to talk us into a deal.”
So I went and found a lovely Taylor Acoustic. The price tag said $1800. “What kind of deal would you like to cut me on this one?” I asked.
“We’ll give you that guitar for $1800”
“$1800 is what the sticker says.”
“Ok, you drive a hard bargain. $1800 cash and I will pay your sales tax for you.”
“I know why you haven’t sold any guitars, you don’t want to sell any.”
“Ok, fine. But this is as low as I can possibly go. How does $1750 sound?”
Fast forward to yesterday afternoon. Guitar Center is running a special. Fifteen months no interest on your Guitar Center Credit Card. Dan has one of those. He has wanted to buy some stuff for the studio, so we went over to see what we could find.
Dan went into serious money spending mode as soon as we walked in. He started grabbing snakes, microphones, cables, and anything else that looked interesting. You only get one shot at this “no interest” deal, so might as well make it count. The whole time we are placing all of this stuff in a pile on the front counter next to the cash register. There are two sales guys just staring at us. The only thing that they will say is, “Y’all ready to check out yet.”
Finally they just start ringing the stuff up. At this point we have about $1000 worth on the counter.
Dan says, “Do you have any Mackie M90s.”
“Nope, all sold out.” The salesdolt replies.
“Can you order me one?” Dan persists.
“Yeah.”
“Can you put it on this ticket so it will be on the no interest deal?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we are going to go play on some guitars. Page me when you get it figured out and we will come finish checking out.”
You know what happened. We played guitars until closing time. We checked back with the sales guy twice. He never gave us a straight answer about the M90. At closing time we left. As we were getting in the truck the sales manager comes running out of the building yelling, “Hey wait. Where are you guys going? Are you not going to get your stuff? What is the matter?”
We told him the story. He tried to act like we were the assholes.
About six months ago I got a postcard from Guitar Center touting the latest sale. Looking down the list of sale items, I found a nice PC sound card at a very reasonable price. I could use one of those. So I went down to the GC and strolled past the instruments into the Pro Audio department. I brought along my sale flier just in case. I pointed to the sound card and said, “I would like to buy one of those.”
The salesman huffed and sighed and slithered over to his computer terminal. He punched a few buttons and made a few clicks. Finally without looking up he said, “It says here that we have one left, but it is in the back.”
“That will be great, I’ll take it.”
He said that he would go in the back and get it in just a few minutes. Then he started talking to another customer. After a few minutes I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “I am going to go play some guitars. I’ll check back in a few minutes.”
He replied, “I am going to the back right now,” then he turned on his heels and went through the back door.
After about twenty minutes of playing on several lovely guitars, I decided I needed to get going. I went back over to Pro Audio. As I got to the counter, my salesman came through the door from the back holding not a sound card, but a bag from Taco Bell. I asked him if he had any luck finding it. He said no, but he had another guy still looking back there. I told him I would go back to playing guitars and check back in a few minutes.
Twenty minutes later I went back in there to find him finishing up his burritos behind the counter. He looked at me like he was surprised I was still there. No sound Card. I left.
A few months later I went in there with a friend who needed some strings. While he was shopping I got to chatting up one of the salesmen. This was a Saturday about 5:00 in the afternoon. The salesgeek told me that they had not sold a guitar all day long. As a matter of fact, they had done about thirty dollars worth of business all day. “If you ever want to buy a guitar, today is the day to talk us into a deal.”
So I went and found a lovely Taylor Acoustic. The price tag said $1800. “What kind of deal would you like to cut me on this one?” I asked.
“We’ll give you that guitar for $1800”
“$1800 is what the sticker says.”
“Ok, you drive a hard bargain. $1800 cash and I will pay your sales tax for you.”
“I know why you haven’t sold any guitars, you don’t want to sell any.”
“Ok, fine. But this is as low as I can possibly go. How does $1750 sound?”
Fast forward to yesterday afternoon. Guitar Center is running a special. Fifteen months no interest on your Guitar Center Credit Card. Dan has one of those. He has wanted to buy some stuff for the studio, so we went over to see what we could find.
Dan went into serious money spending mode as soon as we walked in. He started grabbing snakes, microphones, cables, and anything else that looked interesting. You only get one shot at this “no interest” deal, so might as well make it count. The whole time we are placing all of this stuff in a pile on the front counter next to the cash register. There are two sales guys just staring at us. The only thing that they will say is, “Y’all ready to check out yet.”
Finally they just start ringing the stuff up. At this point we have about $1000 worth on the counter.
Dan says, “Do you have any Mackie M90s.”
“Nope, all sold out.” The salesdolt replies.
“Can you order me one?” Dan persists.
“Yeah.”
“Can you put it on this ticket so it will be on the no interest deal?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we are going to go play on some guitars. Page me when you get it figured out and we will come finish checking out.”
You know what happened. We played guitars until closing time. We checked back with the sales guy twice. He never gave us a straight answer about the M90. At closing time we left. As we were getting in the truck the sales manager comes running out of the building yelling, “Hey wait. Where are you guys going? Are you not going to get your stuff? What is the matter?”
We told him the story. He tried to act like we were the assholes.
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
Imagine that you are a fat, sweaty, hairy, lazy, introverted, anti-social, sad man. Imagine further that you are married to a beautiful, with-it, confident, sweet-smelling, popular local television personality. This is Miss J. and I.
She keeps a calendar online for me. Being a self-employed atmospheric consultant and paint-picker-outer her schedule is erratic. I looked at it this morning as I do every morning. The entry for this afternoon said, “Go to Party Time 3:00-4:00.”
She called me about 3:00 and said that she was running a little late and might not be home by the time I got home at 4:30.
When I got to the house I called her to see when she would be home and she said she was shopping with a client and it would be a few hours.
About 6:30 I called to say that I had prepared dinner.
Miss J said, “Well, we have not gotten to her house yet.”
“So what then, about 10:00 tonight” I joked
“Nah. I should be home by about 9:30 at the latest.”
She got home about 11:00
Imagine that you are a fat, sweaty, hairy, lazy, introverted, anti-social, sad man. Imagine further that you are married to a beautiful, with-it, confident, sweet-smelling, popular local television personality.
What would you think that she had been out doing?
She keeps a calendar online for me. Being a self-employed atmospheric consultant and paint-picker-outer her schedule is erratic. I looked at it this morning as I do every morning. The entry for this afternoon said, “Go to Party Time 3:00-4:00.”
She called me about 3:00 and said that she was running a little late and might not be home by the time I got home at 4:30.
When I got to the house I called her to see when she would be home and she said she was shopping with a client and it would be a few hours.
About 6:30 I called to say that I had prepared dinner.
Miss J said, “Well, we have not gotten to her house yet.”
“So what then, about 10:00 tonight” I joked
“Nah. I should be home by about 9:30 at the latest.”
She got home about 11:00
Imagine that you are a fat, sweaty, hairy, lazy, introverted, anti-social, sad man. Imagine further that you are married to a beautiful, with-it, confident, sweet-smelling, popular local television personality.
What would you think that she had been out doing?
Monday, May 19, 2003
Dan, since you are going to die in a few weeks of SARS poisoning, stop eating that cheesecake and blog for me, dammit.
Friday, May 16, 2003
Dan recently told me, "When I first heard of SARS, I knew immediately that it would be what I died of."
Well buddy, it looks like the reaper has made it as far as Memphis.
Well buddy, it looks like the reaper has made it as far as Memphis.
Kay R. Daly in National Review Online
If the consequences for the Constitution weren't so dire, the recent antics of the nation's Democrats would be downright funny.
Whether it's obstruction by filibuster of the president's judicial nominees, or obstruction by flight of redistricting in Texas, these Democrats seem to have regressed to infancy. Temper tantrums, however, are annoying whether deployed as a toddler tactic or as a political scheme, and both mothers and voters have a tendency to take a dim view.
. . . What the Democrats in both Washington and Texas have shown is that when their minority status doesn't suit them, they'll do anything to obstruct the will of the majority — regardless of what damage is done to the constitutional process.
Senate Republicans inside the Beltway and the Republicans in the Texas legislature need to draw a line in the sand and clearly articulate the damage being done to our Constitution, to the voters, and to the legislative bodies as institutions. This must be done over and over again until the message is successfully delivered through all the media noise.
Of course, if that fails, a time-out might work.
Thursday, May 15, 2003
Wednesday, May 14, 2003
Miss J. and I were laid up in the bed last night, watching Countdown with Keith Olbermann just like we do every night. In a segment of the show dedicated to hometown, school age imbeciles, Mr. Olbermann told us about the group of high school girls who were suspended from school for a brutal hazing incident. (Some of the girl’s parents are suing to have their daughters reinstated, despite the damning video evidence against them.) Then he told us about a mom inciting a fight at a baseball game and kicking a child that was not her own. Finally he mentioned the New York baseball team who visited a strip club while on a road trip to play ball in Florida. A parent got them in and bought the drinks.
Now I am no saint, and I was involved in my fair share of tomfoolery as a youth, but these incidents were unthinkable to me. Particularly the video of dozens of high school girls beating up younger high school girls while boys cheered them on and ran the video. I can confidently say that if I had been faced with such a scenario while I was in school, I would have turned on my heels and got out of there before things got that ugly. I know that I would have done so because I did just that on several occasions. The stuff that was about to go down in my neighborhood was nothing compared to what I saw on the video last night. I bugged out not because I thought I would get in trouble, but because my parents had instilled in me a sense of right and wrong. A moral compass. A fear of God. A sense of honor. I knew that a bystander was an accomplice and I did not want to involve myself in such nonsense.
Miss J gave the opposite answer. The reason she stayed out of trouble as a child was that she was afraid that her mom would find out. She said that her mom was nosy and got into everything. “Where are you going? Who is going to be there? What will be going on? Will there be adults there? You had better not lie to me. I’ll find out! I’ll show up and check it out! You know me; you know that I will!”
So I asked Jerusalem if all of this prying was necessary. Not to say that it was not her mom’s business. She certainly had the rights to any details of her child’s life. But didn’t sweet Miss J. have a sense of honor that would keep her away from bad situations? She said nope. Girls don’t have that sense of honor. They are not wired like that. Girls want to be popular and have a boyfriend, not to feel good about themselves.
This brought up a fundamental difference between the sexes. Boys have to be taught honor. We (males) have to have some sort of moral guidelines to live by because ultimately, we can do whatever we please. We are not responsible for anyone but ourselves. Men can set themselves up as the center of their own universe where we only have to answer to ourselves. This is why we need honor, integrity, and pride. This is a big one of the infinite number of reasons why we need God.
What makes women different? It is physiological. They can get pregnant. They have this handy, built in, natural reality check. Do the wrong thing and you might get knocked up. Then what are you going to do? Now you have a whole other person that you are responsible for. You started their life and its continuation depends on you. If you are lucky, you might get some help from the dishonorable jerk whose approval and affection you were so desperately seeking when you got yourself into this mess.
As parents, what is our plan? I am going to let Wylie earn my trust by proving himself to be honorable. I’ll give him room to breathe and teach him to not put himself in situations that would cause him embarrassment. If he has a relationship with his creator then he will know the sort of circumstances he should avoid. Sure, Jesus hung out with the ragamuffins, but he did not participate in - or encourage through inaction - their incorrigible behavior.
Miss J. is going to search his closets and under his mattress. When he gets home from a teenage night out, she will break out the heat lamps and sodium pentathol.
By the way, if I were an administrator at that school where the hazing took place I would expel everyone who could be positively identified from the video, weather victim or perpetrator. I would expel them just for not having the common sense to avoid such an unholy situation. If I were a parent in that district I would demand as much.
Hey Jeanetta, what do you think of your chickenshit Texas Democrats now?
Running Away, eh? You yellow . . .
Note: This post was meant partially in jest and has the purpose of provoking a spirited response from a longtime dear friend. Dearest Jeanetta, please reply with venom, but please do not take it personally.
Running Away, eh? You yellow . . .
Note: This post was meant partially in jest and has the purpose of provoking a spirited response from a longtime dear friend. Dearest Jeanetta, please reply with venom, but please do not take it personally.
You have probably heard by now that Katie Couric hosted The Tonight Show this week and got much, much better ratings that Jay Leno has ever gotten. This should tell NBC something. Not that Katie Couric is more popular than Jay Leno or that she is a better talk show host – but that anyone is a better talk show host than Leno. He is the worst. His jokes are simple and often not funny. His interview style is excruciating. You get the feeling that these people would never talk to him in any other setting. My wife refuses to watch him, even if he is interviewing someone she likes. He is simply not able to talk to people in an intelligent and entertaining manner.
If NBC has any sense at all, (and they can not possibly have much, they are still shooting new episodes of ER) they will send that rubber-faced idiot packing and get someone, anyone else to take his place. I can name about seven people off of the top of my head that would be a thousand times better and would likely take the gig. Ok, here goes:
1) Dennis Miller
2) Dana Carvey
3) Jan Hooks
4) John Stewart
5) Anyone named Wayons
6) Charlie Rose
7) James Lipton
As a matter of fact I cannot think of anyone who would not be funnier than Leno.
Well, I said that they would likely take the gig, but who knows for sure. When Leno took over the tonight show from Johnny Carson, it was the most coveted job in TV. Now, I am not so sure. It is certainly not the prize it once was. Jay has sort of defiled it.
There was a skit on Saturday night live once, the first time that Mike Myers came back to host. He was singing a tune in the opening about how wonderful it was to come back and host. He ran into Tim Meadows and acted surprised to find out that he was still part of the cast. Meadows then sang a mournful verse about his long-term contract and how he has not been able to leave. “Why did I sign/ A twenty year contract.” I’ll bet the NBC executives are singing a similar tune right now about their contract with Jay Leno.
If NBC has any sense at all, (and they can not possibly have much, they are still shooting new episodes of ER) they will send that rubber-faced idiot packing and get someone, anyone else to take his place. I can name about seven people off of the top of my head that would be a thousand times better and would likely take the gig. Ok, here goes:
1) Dennis Miller
2) Dana Carvey
3) Jan Hooks
4) John Stewart
5) Anyone named Wayons
6) Charlie Rose
7) James Lipton
As a matter of fact I cannot think of anyone who would not be funnier than Leno.
Well, I said that they would likely take the gig, but who knows for sure. When Leno took over the tonight show from Johnny Carson, it was the most coveted job in TV. Now, I am not so sure. It is certainly not the prize it once was. Jay has sort of defiled it.
There was a skit on Saturday night live once, the first time that Mike Myers came back to host. He was singing a tune in the opening about how wonderful it was to come back and host. He ran into Tim Meadows and acted surprised to find out that he was still part of the cast. Meadows then sang a mournful verse about his long-term contract and how he has not been able to leave. “Why did I sign/ A twenty year contract.” I’ll bet the NBC executives are singing a similar tune right now about their contract with Jay Leno.
Monday, May 12, 2003
Some people have nightmares that they show up for work in the morning and have forgotten their pants. I am not worried about that. I am not going to forget my pants. I think I would notice the wind on my boys. The thing that terrifies me - that I am sure is going to some day happen - is that I am going to show up for work and realize that I have forgotten to fix my hair.
I have thick, course, coal black hair with flecks of gray. I keep it pretty short, but I still have award winning bed head when I get up in the mornings. My hair grows into a natural pompadour; indeed it is the hairstyle that the Lord has chosen for me. It does not take a lot of effort to achieve the perfect young Elvis look in the mornings. All that I have to do is get it wet and run my fingers through it. But until then, it is headed off in various directions at unnatural angles. I have been looking at it for twenty-seven years and it still makes me laugh.
I am convinced that some day I am going to casually stroll into the office to start my day and be snapped into a harsh reality by the sound of my coworker’s jeers and ridicule. “Hey, nice hair! Did you forget to look into the mirror this morning.” That is why I check myself in the rear view mirror every morning as my last act before going inside. If there is a tinge of doubt, I have even turned around at the office door to go back and look. So for I have been lucky. I have only forgotten to fix my hair one time, and I caught it in my morning mirror check. There was still time to run by the restroom (and I do mean run, with my head down) and give it a quick taming.
So far I have been lucky, but my days are numbered.
Thursday, May 08, 2003
Today I stumbled upon each of the following items over a period of about an hour:
1) Wristwatch - Missing three weeks.
2) Two CDs - Missing two weeks.
3) Sunglasses – Missing four days.
I have decided to take this as an encouraging sign from God. Things are looking up.
I am at my parent’s house for two days. I feel pretty certain that I have brought along everything that will be necessary to make that comfortable. It is 11:40 Tuesday night and I have just arrived. I am working in Nashville, Arkansas, tomorrow and then Murfreesboro Wednesday. I have decided to crash here rather than drive all of the way back to Little Rock. Some of y’all might not know this, but I am from the country. Even by Arkansas standards. I drive a truck. I don’t tuck in my shirt. To buy groceries, we had to go into town. My folks are still there.
So here I sit at Momma and Pop’s and it is night and I am sitting up in the bed typing away on my laptop. Also I have a cold. As a matter of fact, I feel generally shitty. Now that I think about it, perhaps I should be in bed.
I configured my laptop for SBC dialup today. That will make it a little more effective to travel with. The only problem here in the back woods is that there is no SBC number in the area. I am going to have to dial long distance to connect. For that reason, online activity will be spotty for a little while. (I ain’t using a credit card, so connectivity will be on momma and pop’s nickel.) Actually I should say that online leisure activity. I am converting two office networks from Token Ring to Ethernet this week. They had better come back online pretty soon after I get there or it is going to be a long couple of days.
Day 2 10:12 PM
Having a cold makes me feel very sleepy and generally lousy in the late afternoon, more so if I do not sleep well the night before. Today I resolved that by crawling up on the pillow top mattress at my parent’s house and having myself a three-hour tour. Yesterday I was at home and home has no time for naps. Starbucks was my only hope. So I ordered who shots of espresso in a large cup (I think the sizes at Starbucks are Benini, Da Vanci, and Mussolini) and had them fill the cup the rest of the way with the house blend. As you can likely tell from last evening’s entry, I had some trouble sleeping. Finally I turned out the light at about 1:00, after reading the newest National Review cover to cover. By 1:30 it was raining like pouring piss out of a boot. Hail, thunder, brimstone, cats, dogs – no sleep was to be had.
1) Wristwatch - Missing three weeks.
2) Two CDs - Missing two weeks.
3) Sunglasses – Missing four days.
I have decided to take this as an encouraging sign from God. Things are looking up.
I am at my parent’s house for two days. I feel pretty certain that I have brought along everything that will be necessary to make that comfortable. It is 11:40 Tuesday night and I have just arrived. I am working in Nashville, Arkansas, tomorrow and then Murfreesboro Wednesday. I have decided to crash here rather than drive all of the way back to Little Rock. Some of y’all might not know this, but I am from the country. Even by Arkansas standards. I drive a truck. I don’t tuck in my shirt. To buy groceries, we had to go into town. My folks are still there.
So here I sit at Momma and Pop’s and it is night and I am sitting up in the bed typing away on my laptop. Also I have a cold. As a matter of fact, I feel generally shitty. Now that I think about it, perhaps I should be in bed.
I configured my laptop for SBC dialup today. That will make it a little more effective to travel with. The only problem here in the back woods is that there is no SBC number in the area. I am going to have to dial long distance to connect. For that reason, online activity will be spotty for a little while. (I ain’t using a credit card, so connectivity will be on momma and pop’s nickel.) Actually I should say that online leisure activity. I am converting two office networks from Token Ring to Ethernet this week. They had better come back online pretty soon after I get there or it is going to be a long couple of days.
Day 2 10:12 PM
Having a cold makes me feel very sleepy and generally lousy in the late afternoon, more so if I do not sleep well the night before. Today I resolved that by crawling up on the pillow top mattress at my parent’s house and having myself a three-hour tour. Yesterday I was at home and home has no time for naps. Starbucks was my only hope. So I ordered who shots of espresso in a large cup (I think the sizes at Starbucks are Benini, Da Vanci, and Mussolini) and had them fill the cup the rest of the way with the house blend. As you can likely tell from last evening’s entry, I had some trouble sleeping. Finally I turned out the light at about 1:00, after reading the newest National Review cover to cover. By 1:30 it was raining like pouring piss out of a boot. Hail, thunder, brimstone, cats, dogs – no sleep was to be had.
Monday, May 05, 2003
If you have not seen Pootie Tang yet, you really have to. Pootie reminds me of a young Fatnathan. Roaming the streets of the big city back in the rough-and-tumble early ‘90s. Searching out the forces of corporate greed and whooping their asses with my big black belt my daddy gave to me.
I watched the season finale of Alias last night. I love that show because it is the logical extension of the greatest and most ridiculous television show of all time (and my personal favorite), Dallas. Remember the time that the Dallas writers painted themselves into a corner and had to “reveal” on the finale that the entire season had been poor sweet Pammy Ewing’s dream? Well the Alias writers got themselves out of a storyline jam last night in similarly cheap fashion. At the end of the season’s final episode they set up the next season by having the main character wake up in the middle of the street in Hong Kong, phone home, and discover that we have flashed forward two years, she has been missing, and has no recollection of anything that had happened. Amazingly, neither she nor her (now married) boyfriend had aged a day.
Now I hear that Aaron Sorkin is leaving The West Wing. Sure he is a lefty, but he is a badass writer, and the show is going to suffer because of it. I doubt NBC will cancel it anytime soon. I saw the other day that E.R. is still on. Who knew? I am sure that no one has watched ER on purpose in six or seven years.
I just found out that I am going to Alaska this summer. Juneau is Miss J’s hometown. She has not been back since she came to Arkansas for college ten years ago. She has been invited back to participate in her best friend from High School’s wedding. We had pretty much given up any hope that I would be able to go with her when God dropped the money for my plane tickets right in our laps. I have never visited a state that does not touch Arkansas. The only time I have ever flown was from Little Rock to New Orleans for our honeymoon. This is going to be quite an adventure for me. I hope to take my laptop and tell you all about it.
But for now it is just another week at the old grind.
Friday, May 02, 2003
In honor of Dan's new blog, I would like to rerun a post from September 17, 2002.
My best buddy is named Dan. Dan is a big fat sweaty lazy hairy musician, just like me. That is why we hit it off so well. For a day job, Dan learned how to break in to cars. He got himself a cell phone and an ad in the yellow pages . . . instant locksmith career. Now he spends most of the day sitting in front of his computer, surfing EBay for sweet bass guitars. Did I mention that Dan is much smarter than me? He talked his wife into letting them get DSL instead of cable, and then he just stole cable from the neighbors for free.
We came from the same town and I knew who he was, but we did not hang out. When I was in ninth grade my old man gave me a guitar for my birthday. It was just what I had always wanted. After I had exhausted all of Pop’s knowledge I wanted to learn more about pickin’ and grinnin’. I went to the high school band director and said, “Mr. C, where could I get some guitar lessons.” I was expecting him to send me to some college professor, but he replied, “You should talk to Dan the Man!”
I said, “But Dan is into heavy metal. Besides, I thought that he was a bass player.”
You see I was a little bit scared of Dan because (a) I did not really know him (b) He had long hair and wore slayer T-shirts and (c) He hung out with The Great Whoreior – Corey Shepherd.
Mr. C said to me, “Big Nate, He is the pest guitar player around. I know you two will hit it off.”
Turns out Mr. C was damn right, we did hit it off. I gave Dan ten bucks a lesson for three weeks. At that point we had exhausted all of his knowledge also. Then he went back to playing the bass and we started jamming as peers.
Dan lived in a tiny little trailer house with about 27 brothers. His room had two beds in it. We would sit on the beds facing each other and play for hours. All we knew were Cream and Zepplin and AC/DC and Guns N Roses, but we would rock them all night.
With Jody Evans and the Silver Crickets we put the rock in rockabilly.
We joined the music department of various universities and learned something about music.
With The Electric Church we put the funk in dysfunctional.
One time we crashed an open mic coffee house at a college. We played an avant garde improvisation for thirty minutes while two guys we had recruited from the visual art department smeared paint on a huge canvas and we all freaked out. Finally this little black kid in the front row got fed up with all of the weirdness. He jumped on this drum kit that was set up for the next act and started laying down a beat. Daniel and I accepted his challenge and rose to the funk. Another black kid jumped up, grabbed a mic and started freestylin’ some rhymes. We brought the crowd to their feet.
Next we started a jazz quartet with a drummer and a horn player. We could never come up with a name, although we had some good ideas. (Fugitive Squirrel, Clearly Disturbed Beavers, Jesus Chrysler, The Colostomy Bags, My gay uncle, Purple Monkey Discharge, The President's Penis, My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult, The Ed Fuqua Experience, The Underwear Men, Pissing Razors, Spiked Fondue, Jazz Ass) So I told the guy who owned the bar that we were the Daniel Schoultz Quartet. Dan has never forgiven me for this. One day we were playing this reception at one of the colleges and several members of the music faculty came and sat in with us. These guys were world class jazz musicians and we were clearly poseurs along side them, but it was a compliment that they even jammed with us.
With the Mark Currey Band we molded contemporary worship music and alt-country into a polysynthesis that only a Roach could despise.
We have been playing together at church for the last few years and that is where the real music is at; getting to worship the King along side my best friend while using this amazing gift that God has given to us. Jamming with Dan on Wednesdays at church is my most cherished memory.
Last Sunday night we got to rock the Decorative Arts Museum, opening up for a band that was much better than us. Dan booked the gig, so what did he name us . . . The Nathaniel Greer Trio. Vengeance is mine, this saith the Dan.
My best buddy is named Dan. Dan is a big fat sweaty lazy hairy musician, just like me. That is why we hit it off so well. For a day job, Dan learned how to break in to cars. He got himself a cell phone and an ad in the yellow pages . . . instant locksmith career. Now he spends most of the day sitting in front of his computer, surfing EBay for sweet bass guitars. Did I mention that Dan is much smarter than me? He talked his wife into letting them get DSL instead of cable, and then he just stole cable from the neighbors for free.
We came from the same town and I knew who he was, but we did not hang out. When I was in ninth grade my old man gave me a guitar for my birthday. It was just what I had always wanted. After I had exhausted all of Pop’s knowledge I wanted to learn more about pickin’ and grinnin’. I went to the high school band director and said, “Mr. C, where could I get some guitar lessons.” I was expecting him to send me to some college professor, but he replied, “You should talk to Dan the Man!”
I said, “But Dan is into heavy metal. Besides, I thought that he was a bass player.”
You see I was a little bit scared of Dan because (a) I did not really know him (b) He had long hair and wore slayer T-shirts and (c) He hung out with The Great Whoreior – Corey Shepherd.
Mr. C said to me, “Big Nate, He is the pest guitar player around. I know you two will hit it off.”
Turns out Mr. C was damn right, we did hit it off. I gave Dan ten bucks a lesson for three weeks. At that point we had exhausted all of his knowledge also. Then he went back to playing the bass and we started jamming as peers.
Dan lived in a tiny little trailer house with about 27 brothers. His room had two beds in it. We would sit on the beds facing each other and play for hours. All we knew were Cream and Zepplin and AC/DC and Guns N Roses, but we would rock them all night.
With Jody Evans and the Silver Crickets we put the rock in rockabilly.
We joined the music department of various universities and learned something about music.
With The Electric Church we put the funk in dysfunctional.
One time we crashed an open mic coffee house at a college. We played an avant garde improvisation for thirty minutes while two guys we had recruited from the visual art department smeared paint on a huge canvas and we all freaked out. Finally this little black kid in the front row got fed up with all of the weirdness. He jumped on this drum kit that was set up for the next act and started laying down a beat. Daniel and I accepted his challenge and rose to the funk. Another black kid jumped up, grabbed a mic and started freestylin’ some rhymes. We brought the crowd to their feet.
Next we started a jazz quartet with a drummer and a horn player. We could never come up with a name, although we had some good ideas. (Fugitive Squirrel, Clearly Disturbed Beavers, Jesus Chrysler, The Colostomy Bags, My gay uncle, Purple Monkey Discharge, The President's Penis, My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult, The Ed Fuqua Experience, The Underwear Men, Pissing Razors, Spiked Fondue, Jazz Ass) So I told the guy who owned the bar that we were the Daniel Schoultz Quartet. Dan has never forgiven me for this. One day we were playing this reception at one of the colleges and several members of the music faculty came and sat in with us. These guys were world class jazz musicians and we were clearly poseurs along side them, but it was a compliment that they even jammed with us.
With the Mark Currey Band we molded contemporary worship music and alt-country into a polysynthesis that only a Roach could despise.
We have been playing together at church for the last few years and that is where the real music is at; getting to worship the King along side my best friend while using this amazing gift that God has given to us. Jamming with Dan on Wednesdays at church is my most cherished memory.
Last Sunday night we got to rock the Decorative Arts Museum, opening up for a band that was much better than us. Dan booked the gig, so what did he name us . . . The Nathaniel Greer Trio. Vengeance is mine, this saith the Dan.
The unthinkable has happened. Hide the women and children. Daniel has a blog.
http://theasthmaticlocksmith.blogspot.com
Welcome. At last a unknown world of evil has come to the surface. Here you will know the horror of the home service security industry. My friends, you will be shocked by the TRUE accounts posted here in the future. Also there might be some stuff about hot chicks.
http://theasthmaticlocksmith.blogspot.com
Thursday, May 01, 2003
The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Take the Dante's Inferno Test
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
| Level | Score |
|---|---|
| Purgatory (Repenting Believers) | High |
| Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers) | High |
| Level 2 (Lustful) | Low |
| Level 3 (Gluttonous) | High |
| Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious) | Low |
| Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy) | Low |
| Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics) | Very Low |
| Level 7 (Violent) | Low |
| Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers) | Moderate |
| Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous) | Very Low |
Take the Dante's Inferno Test
Monday, April 28, 2003
Hey Barber, Did you know that Beck has a blog?
Also, as best as I could tell, you did not ruin your wife's day, but you sure did not help it.
Did the O's win?
Also, as best as I could tell, you did not ruin your wife's day, but you sure did not help it.
Did the O's win?
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
Several people, namely Dan and John, have asked what happened with my Dell Laptop that I had to send back. Well, I’ll tell you.
After receiving much runaround, I got on google and searched for “email Michael Dell.” The search produced two-email address. At about 5:00PM I sent both of them the lengthy email that I posted on my blog here.
The next morning at 9:00 I received a phone call from the manager of the Dell escalation team.
At 5:00 that afternoon Airborne Express picked up the computer from my house.
Two days later, at 9:00 in the morning, Fed Ex returned the computer to my doorstep.
It has ran like a Singer sewing machine every since.
The moral of the story is: Screw the chain of command; go straight to the top with your complaints.
After receiving much runaround, I got on google and searched for “email Michael Dell.” The search produced two-email address. At about 5:00PM I sent both of them the lengthy email that I posted on my blog here.
The next morning at 9:00 I received a phone call from the manager of the Dell escalation team.
At 5:00 that afternoon Airborne Express picked up the computer from my house.
Two days later, at 9:00 in the morning, Fed Ex returned the computer to my doorstep.
It has ran like a Singer sewing machine every since.
The moral of the story is: Screw the chain of command; go straight to the top with your complaints.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned
his tail and fled!
What Monty Python Character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Monday, April 21, 2003
This article is unbelievable and cannot possibly be true. Basically it says that scientists have created a machine that will turn anything you put into it into oil, water, and non-toxic solids. Read it. If it is true, the Middle East suddenly becomes insignificant.
In other news, Janna is finally back from maternity leave.
"Everybody says that," says Appel. He is a tall, affable entrepreneur who has assembled a team of scientists, former government leaders, and deep-pocketed investors to develop and sell what he calls the thermal depolymerization process, or TDP. The process is designed to handle almost any waste product imaginable, including turkey offal, tires, plastic bottles, harbor-dredged muck, old computers, municipal garbage, cornstalks, paper-pulp effluent, infectious medical waste, oil-refinery residues, even biological weapons such as anthrax spores. According to Appel, waste goes in one end and comes out the other as three products, all valuable and environmentally benign: high-quality oil, clean-burning gas, and purified minerals that can be used as fuels, fertilizers, or specialty chemicals for manufacturing.
Unlike other solid-to-liquid-fuel processes such as cornstarch into ethanol, this one will accept almost any carbon-based feedstock. If a 175-pound man fell into one end, he would come out the other end as 38 pounds of oil, 7 pounds of gas, and 7 pounds of minerals, as well as 123 pounds of sterilized water.
In other news, Janna is finally back from maternity leave.
Friday, April 04, 2003
Michael Kelly was a great writer and by all accounts a wonderful person. He was one of my favorite columnists and half of the reason that I subscribe to the Atlantic. (the other half is P.J. O'Rourke) His passing fills me with sadness.
I stole this from Jay Nordlinger.
"The eight Saddam body doubles are gathered in one of the bunkers in downtown Baghdad. Tariq Aziz, the deputy prime minister, comes in and says, 'I have some good news and some bad news.' They ask for the good news first.
"Aziz says, 'The good news is that Saddam is still alive, so you all still have jobs.'
"'And the bad news?' they ask.
"Aziz replies, 'He's lost an arm.'"
"The eight Saddam body doubles are gathered in one of the bunkers in downtown Baghdad. Tariq Aziz, the deputy prime minister, comes in and says, 'I have some good news and some bad news.' They ask for the good news first.
"Aziz says, 'The good news is that Saddam is still alive, so you all still have jobs.'
"'And the bad news?' they ask.
"Aziz replies, 'He's lost an arm.'"
Thursday, April 03, 2003
The Airborne Express guy just picked up my Laptop. I'm pretty sure they are going to loose it. He did not have a box for me to put it in, and he did not have a tracking sticker to put on the box. THe first thing that he said to me when I walked out was, "Man they only put one of those laptop boxes on our trucks a day, and I already used mine up. You got a box?"
I called the guy from the Dell Escalation team back and left him a voice mail message. He returned my call as soon as I hung up. He set up an appointment for my laptop to be picked up this afternoon and apologized for the confusion.
I said, "I do not want to get back my computer with a note saying they did not replace anything."
He said, "Don't worry. I am the technical support manager and I outrank all of those guys. I am going to make sure that does not happen."
I'll keep you posted.
I said, "I do not want to get back my computer with a note saying they did not replace anything."
He said, "Don't worry. I am the technical support manager and I outrank all of those guys. I am going to make sure that does not happen."
I'll keep you posted.
Miss J found this ad in her weekly scanning of the Sunday classifieds.
That is a description of my dream job. I will be applying.
EDITORIAL PAGE EDITOR
A daily Arkansas newspaper seeks a well-written,
thoughtful individual to serve as editorial writer and editorial page editor. Responsibilities will include producing daily local editorials based on discussions with the newspaper editorial board and original research, writing a weekly column, coordinating letters to the editor, managing staff and freelance column writers and interacting with people in the community. Some newsroom copy editing will also be required. The job will require someone who is a quick learner about local issues who can write well-crafted editorials that seek to engage readers and broaden their understanding of issues. An ability to explain and defend the newspaper's editorial perspective is vital. If you can show an ability to write persuasively and accurately, please submit a cover letter, resume, and writing samples (preferably opinion pieces)
That is a description of my dream job. I will be applying.
Mark Steyn once said, " . . . there's the ironclad rule that every news story, no matter how unprecedented, eventually becomes a story about how the media cover the story."
If we had not crossed that line yet in the war coverage, we flew past it last night.
About 11:00 local time Keith Olbermann was on MSNBC talking to a media expert about how Geraldo's sins in Iraq were much greater than Peter Arnett's.
I think that they are both idots.
If we had not crossed that line yet in the war coverage, we flew past it last night.
About 11:00 local time Keith Olbermann was on MSNBC talking to a media expert about how Geraldo's sins in Iraq were much greater than Peter Arnett's.
I think that they are both idots.
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
From Michael Kelley's Sunday coulmn.
As Col. William Grimsley, commander of the division's 1st Brigade, put it, the Iraqis have not so much attacked American positions as impaled themselves on them.
Tuesday, April 01, 2003
Date: Tue, 1 Apr 2003 14:31:13 -0800 (PST)
From: "Nathaniel W. Greer" nathaniel.greer@sbcglobal.net
Subject: Frustrated Customer and Technician
To: "Michael Dell" Michael@dell.com
Dear Sir:
I am a LAN support technician with ________. I work in Little Rock, Arkansas on a contract with _________. Our client uses Dell desktop and notebook computers exclusively. We have around four thousand of them on our network, including at least one hundred notebooks.
For the last three and one half years I have worked on Dell computers for forty hours a week. In addition my job, I am a college student at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. When I decided that I needed a notebook computer for my schoolwork, of course I went with a Dell. I knew that Dell computers are trustworthy. On the rare occasion that we have a hardware problem with a Dell computer at work, replacement parts are sent overnight without any questions asked. Dell has award-winning customer service.
Earlier this year I plunked down over one thousand dollars of my own hard-earned money, (about three weeks of pay) and ordered myself a Dell Inspiron 2650, service tag number 15g3521. From the time I received this computer, it has shown signs of hardware problems. I had to call Dell Technical Support about two weeks after I received it because it would suddenly power off while I was typing on it. I spoke with a customer service representative who walked me through some tests. He asked me to keep using it and see if I was still having a problem. He vowed to call back in a couple of hours and see how it was going. He never called back. These problems continued.
Next I formatted the hard drive and reloaded the operating system. This did not solve any of my problems; indeed they multiplied. The NIC stopped working. The PC was constantly locking up. Often it would lock up while booting and would not even boot all the way to the desktop for hours at a time. I took my notebook to Donald Richardson, a technician in my office that is certified by Dell, and he diagnosed the motherboard as defective. I called Dell Technical support and spent two hours on the phone with a representative. We flashed the bios, tried to reinstall drivers, ran tests, and did a lot of trouble shooting. Finally he conceded that I had a hardware problem and made arrangements for my notebook to be picked up and taken to a Dell repair center. The representative told me that they would replace the motherboard and have the computer back to me within seventy-two hours. He further told me that he would give me a call to make sure this process was going well. I never heard from him again.
My notebook was returned within the seventy-two hour time frame, but with a note saying that the technicians were unable to find anything wrong with it and did not replace any parts. I took it out of the box, turned it on, and immediately started having the same problems I was having before I sent it in. Obviously I was furious. I called Dell Technical Support and got a representative who called himself Gary. I asked to speak with Gary’s manager and was transferred to a man who gave the name Alex. Alex informed me that there was nothing he could do unless I did some more troubleshooting. He requested that I format the hard drive, reinstall the operating system, and then test it. Alex refused to give a number where I might call him back directly, but promised me – on his honor- that he would have Gary call me back the following Sunday between the hours of 2:00 and 4:00 PM to see if my laptop was working. Predictably, no one called me back.
I formatted the hard drive and tried dozens of times to get the operating system to reinstall. Each time the computer would lock up before I was able to complete the installation. Finally, after a week of trying I was able to get Windows XP completely reinstalled. Immediately, the notebook started having the same kind of problems that it was having before. The NIC works intermittently if at all. The computer locks up frequently. The computer will suddenly shut off while I am working on it. Etc . . .
Obviously I am quite frustrated. I do not have the time or the energy to keep dealing with this issue. A machine that I purchased to help me with my schoolwork has turned into a time consuming nuisance that keeps me from my studies. I have been lied to on three separate occasions by Dell technical support representatives and have no desire to call them again. Any assistance you could offer in getting my Inspiron 2650 repaired or replaced would be appreciated. I am a fair man and open to options, I just need a notebook and quickly. I have three large research papers to write in the next four weeks and I have to have a computer to write them on.
Thank you in advance for your assistance,
Nathaniel Greer
#79 ________
Little Rock, AR 72204
nathaniel.greer@sbcglobal.net
(501)___-9709
From: "Nathaniel W. Greer" nathaniel.greer@sbcglobal.net
Subject: Frustrated Customer and Technician
To: "Michael Dell" Michael@dell.com
Dear Sir:
I am a LAN support technician with ________. I work in Little Rock, Arkansas on a contract with _________. Our client uses Dell desktop and notebook computers exclusively. We have around four thousand of them on our network, including at least one hundred notebooks.
For the last three and one half years I have worked on Dell computers for forty hours a week. In addition my job, I am a college student at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. When I decided that I needed a notebook computer for my schoolwork, of course I went with a Dell. I knew that Dell computers are trustworthy. On the rare occasion that we have a hardware problem with a Dell computer at work, replacement parts are sent overnight without any questions asked. Dell has award-winning customer service.
Earlier this year I plunked down over one thousand dollars of my own hard-earned money, (about three weeks of pay) and ordered myself a Dell Inspiron 2650, service tag number 15g3521. From the time I received this computer, it has shown signs of hardware problems. I had to call Dell Technical Support about two weeks after I received it because it would suddenly power off while I was typing on it. I spoke with a customer service representative who walked me through some tests. He asked me to keep using it and see if I was still having a problem. He vowed to call back in a couple of hours and see how it was going. He never called back. These problems continued.
Next I formatted the hard drive and reloaded the operating system. This did not solve any of my problems; indeed they multiplied. The NIC stopped working. The PC was constantly locking up. Often it would lock up while booting and would not even boot all the way to the desktop for hours at a time. I took my notebook to Donald Richardson, a technician in my office that is certified by Dell, and he diagnosed the motherboard as defective. I called Dell Technical support and spent two hours on the phone with a representative. We flashed the bios, tried to reinstall drivers, ran tests, and did a lot of trouble shooting. Finally he conceded that I had a hardware problem and made arrangements for my notebook to be picked up and taken to a Dell repair center. The representative told me that they would replace the motherboard and have the computer back to me within seventy-two hours. He further told me that he would give me a call to make sure this process was going well. I never heard from him again.
My notebook was returned within the seventy-two hour time frame, but with a note saying that the technicians were unable to find anything wrong with it and did not replace any parts. I took it out of the box, turned it on, and immediately started having the same problems I was having before I sent it in. Obviously I was furious. I called Dell Technical Support and got a representative who called himself Gary. I asked to speak with Gary’s manager and was transferred to a man who gave the name Alex. Alex informed me that there was nothing he could do unless I did some more troubleshooting. He requested that I format the hard drive, reinstall the operating system, and then test it. Alex refused to give a number where I might call him back directly, but promised me – on his honor- that he would have Gary call me back the following Sunday between the hours of 2:00 and 4:00 PM to see if my laptop was working. Predictably, no one called me back.
I formatted the hard drive and tried dozens of times to get the operating system to reinstall. Each time the computer would lock up before I was able to complete the installation. Finally, after a week of trying I was able to get Windows XP completely reinstalled. Immediately, the notebook started having the same kind of problems that it was having before. The NIC works intermittently if at all. The computer locks up frequently. The computer will suddenly shut off while I am working on it. Etc . . .
Obviously I am quite frustrated. I do not have the time or the energy to keep dealing with this issue. A machine that I purchased to help me with my schoolwork has turned into a time consuming nuisance that keeps me from my studies. I have been lied to on three separate occasions by Dell technical support representatives and have no desire to call them again. Any assistance you could offer in getting my Inspiron 2650 repaired or replaced would be appreciated. I am a fair man and open to options, I just need a notebook and quickly. I have three large research papers to write in the next four weeks and I have to have a computer to write them on.
Thank you in advance for your assistance,
Nathaniel Greer
#79 ________
Little Rock, AR 72204
nathaniel.greer@sbcglobal.net
(501)___-9709
Monday, March 24, 2003
I just got through reading this article in the London Telegraph. The title of the piece is "I Was a Naive Fool to be a Human Shield for Saddam." Fascinating reading.
I was shocked when I first met a pro-war Iraqi in Baghdad - a taxi driver taking me back to my hotel late at night. I explained that I was American and said, as we shields always did, "Bush bad, war bad, Iraq good". He looked at me with an expression of incredulity.
As he realised I was serious, he slowed down and started to speak in broken English about the evils of Saddam's regime. Until then I had only heard the President spoken of with respect, but now this guy was telling me how all of Iraq's oil money went into Saddam's pocket and that if you opposed him politically he would kill your whole family.
It scared the hell out of me. First I was thinking that maybe it was the secret police trying to trick me but later I got the impression that he wanted me to help him escape. I felt so bad. I told him: "Listen, I am just a schmuck from the United States, I am not with the UN, I'm not with the CIA - I just can't help you."
Of course I had read reports that Iraqis hated Saddam Hussein, but this was the real thing. Someone had explained it to me face to face. I told a few journalists who I knew. They said that this sort of thing often happened - spontaneous, emotional, and secretive outbursts imploring visitors to free them from Saddam's tyrannical Iraq.
Saturday, March 22, 2003
Thursday, March 20, 2003
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
Some Stuff Y’all Should Know About
- Dustin Diamond, also known as Saved by the Bell’s Screech is doing a 4-night stint in Little Rock at the Funny Bone comedy club.
- If you ever felt guilty about eating Ben & Jerry’s, now there is conservative ice cream.
- It turns out that Little Rock is just one of the six cities that Screech has concerts lined up in over the next nine months. He is also going to bring down the house moderately sized comedy clubs in Dayton, OH; Toledo, OH; Dearborn, MI; Atlanta, GA; and the booming metropolis of Kirksville, Mo. Fifteen total gigs. WOW!
- Capitan Flip Out, the king of all Eeyores is 39 today. You can imagine how he feels about that. Give him some love!
- I saw Christina Aguilera on Saturday Night Live last week, and she rocked. I hate to admit it as much as anyone, but she sang well and her band kicked booty. I believe I would go see her, you know if nobody else was going to be there and it was free.
- I have never been so burned out on school. I really want to quit, but my wife would totally kick my ass.
- I am allergic to dairy. I completely eliminated it from my diet for three weeks. Last night I ate a pizza and an order of cheese sticks. Boy did it taste great. This morning I thought I was going to die.
- Seven Iraqi families have filed a lawsuit against former US president George Bush, Vice President Dick Cheney, Secretary of State Colin Powell and retired US Army General Norman Schwarzkopf, for alleged crimes during the first Gulf War in 1991.
- Soy products really are not that bad once you get used to them, but try to find a decent soy pizza or soy quesadillas in Little Rock, AR.
- I can spell Czechoslovakia without a dictionary.
Tuesday, March 11, 2003
I received the following email yesterday.
Well, it did not take me long to figure out that I wanted to be this gal. A great school program, a great thesis topic, and a really cool blog site. If, and only if, you have a blog of your very own (and I mean you, Mark and Barber) go and take this sweet lady's survey.
Hey Nathaniel!
I just bloghopped to your site thru blogsnob - if I were a pre-85 character I'd be Mario. So I'd be short, fat, and trippin' on LSD, but hey, I'd never run out of gold coins. I'm conducting a worldwide survey of bloggers for an academic project - please visit http://www.christineregina.com/thesis/intro and participate! I'm trying to get as many bloggers as possible by March 15th '03- at least, check it out! Please pass it on to any blogging friends!
I am an obsessed blogger and student of the Net: I'm preparing to graduate with my Masters in Communication, Culture, and Technology at Georgetown University, where all our classes are Net related (http://cct.georgetown.edu). I'm writing my thesis on blogs, and as such have released a survey of bloggers on the Net. I have not found in other research where anyone has asked bloggers on a large scale why they are blogging and what they are using their blogs for - thus, my survey. It takes several minutes. From one blogger to another, Thanks!!!
~Christy aka Pup
http://www.christineregina.com/closet
Well, it did not take me long to figure out that I wanted to be this gal. A great school program, a great thesis topic, and a really cool blog site. If, and only if, you have a blog of your very own (and I mean you, Mark and Barber) go and take this sweet lady's survey.
Monday, March 10, 2003
 I am a Space-invader.I will happily recruit the help of friends to aid me in getting what I want. I have no tolerance for people getting in my way, and I am completely relentless until any threats or opposition are removed. I try to be down-to-earth, but something always seems to get in the way. What Video Game Character Are You? |
Sunday, March 02, 2003
Monday, February 24, 2003
Grammy® Notes
As I think of them and in no particular order:
As I think of them and in no particular order:
- Why did Blogger decide to upgrade servers during the Grammys®?
- I think that Nelly has been the only performer to lip-synch so far, but I can not help but love that tune he does with the Destiny’s Child chick. When she sings, “even when I’m with my Boo.” I have no idea what it means, but it makes me want to be black.
- Avril Lavignite sings just as poorly as Art Garfunkel
- Speaking of Art Garfunkel, He looked so happy to be back onstage with Paul Simon, and Paul Simon looked so wholly bored.
- I already thought that Eminem was kind of cool, but right now he is performing and there is a guy standing behind him with a straight-out-the-Jimmy Page double neck Gibson SG. Anybody would look cool standing next to that.
- What was that Harvey Firestien crap?
- If Miss J asks, I was not watching the Grammy®’s, I was doing homework and washing clothes. That’s why the house did not get cleaned. (She and Wylie are at her Mom’s tonight.)
- Dude, I totally forgot how yummy screwdrivers are. Mmmmmm
- Aretha Franklin looks like a cartoon character, but she still got more soul than all of Destiny’s Child put together.
- I did not know that Etta James was still alive.
- Norah Jones. What a babe. What a voice. What a talent. She deserves every award she gets. I hope that she is around for a long time and does not get chewed up by the music business.
- I finally figured out what would make Avril Navaculite better . . . drug addiction and rehab.
- Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock totally kick ass, in an Grand Funk Railroad sort of way. There can be no doubt.
- Alicia Keys stomach appears to be bulletproof.
- The Joe Strummer tribute might be the hardest rockin Grammy® moment of all time. Elvis Costello, The Boss, Dave Grohl, Lil’ Steven . . . Rock-and-freaking-roll.
- If the Grammy®’s really wanted to do something memorable, they would give Belá Fleck a lifetime achievement award and give him twenty minutes to play whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted. Just my opinion.
- Where was J-Lo? I really wanted to see her naked.
- Mmmmm screwdriver.
Thursday, February 20, 2003
I am having a hard time with school this semester.
I’ve got this class - history seminar on War in Europe from the middle ages until the modern era. That probably sounds boring to you. You would be correct. There are seven textbooks assigned for this class, and none of them are readable. Now I am a reading guy. I read tens of thousands of words a day. These books are somebody’s dissertation and they meant to be read by other nerdy history jerks working on their dissertation. It is wordy, circular crap that is indecipherable. We have, no exaggeration, 250-300 pages of this nonsense to read every week for class discussion.
The instructor is the worst I have ever had. I went to Bismarck High School in Bismarck, Arkansas. We had considerably less than 250 students. The football coach was also the history teacher. The art/ health teacher once told our class that if you used a condom it was one hundred percent guaranteed that you would not get pregnant or catch any diseases. These people had the teaching ability of Socrates compared to the stumbling, rambling, ranting, unintelligible sack of professor that teaches the History Seminar on War in Europe.
She is the kind of teacher that will ramble with no point for twenty minutes while ignoring people with their hands up and then throw a fit because there has not been enough discussion. To try and incite discussion, she will ask questions like, “Mr. Greer, what did you think about the readings for this week.”
Now if that does not stimulate you to conversation, then nothing will.
She asked that exact question of a lady one night. She stuttered through a response for a minute when the instructor said, “That’s pretty vague. Can you be more specific?”
The question was vague.
Tonight she spent twenty minutes with her back turned to the class, franticly flipping through a book and muttering about knights and cavalrymen and feudal armies. The guy next to me leaned over and said, “If you want to make a comment, you are going to need a flair gun.”
Because it is a seminar class, the biggest part of our grade is going to be a research paper. Tonight we had a short prospectus due. She accepted not a single one. Apparently none of us understood what this paper was supposed to be about. Whose fault do you suppose that was? Ours of course. I didn’t even turn mine in. I heard her mention to this guy that wanted to write about airplanes and their effect on warfare that WWI was the most recent war we were allowed to cover. I wanted to write about WWII. I went back and looked through everything that she has given us this semester. There was nothing about a time frame.
I want to drop this class so bad. I am not sure that I can last. If I did last, I am not sure that I could pass. The problem is, if I drop it that will put me at only six hours this semester. If I only take six hours a semester, then I will graduate in the spring of 2007.
I am having a hard time with school right now.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
Smoove B knows love.
When we arrive at the expensive European restaurant, the owner will greet me warmly and comment positively on your attire. He will then personally lead us to a private table I have specially selected for our evening together. As we browse the menu, I will inform you that if multiple appetizers are your wish, I can make that wish come true.
When the appetizers arrive, I will feed them to you with my hands, which I will have hand-washed with special anti-bacterial soap to ensure their cleanliness. You will then eat an entree of your choice and a dessert. While we eat these various foods, we will discuss your fineness and also your hopes and dreams for the future. This will make you feel closer to me and, as a result, make you want to sex me wild.
I was just searching my referral logs and now I am mad. Somebody did this search on google, and I was number three. How could I be number three? Who is named Nathan and is fatter than me?
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
Sunday, February 09, 2003
If I am too busy to write blog specific content, then at least I can share my school assignments with you when they are interesting. One of the classes that I am taking this semester is Persuasive Writing. The instructor is typical college professor hard-core leftist. The first night of class she touched on sexist language, revisionist history, affirmative action, the illegitimacy of the Bush presidency . . . it has been downhill from there. Since I am a smelly, simple, boneheaded neo-conservative, and the class is persuasive writing, this gives me a chance to be belligerent. The following is an essay I am handing in tomorrow. The topic: Define the term, "Palestinian homeland."
The struggles between Arabs and Jews in the Middle Eastern state of Israel is a daily topic for both print and television news. A common term found in these discussions is “Palestinian homeland.” In order to determine ones stand on this controversial subject, it is important to understand exactly what is meant by this phrase. Who are the Palestinians? What do they seek in a homeland? Where would this homeland be?
A search for the phrase “Palestinian homeland” on google.com returns 4,560 hits. Links on the first few pages range from news sites and history sites to polls and even jokes. This certainly proves that the phrase has entered the common vernacular.
Next, lets see if we can get an official dictionary definition of our phrase. Merriam-Webster online gives two definitions for the word homeland. “1) Native land. 2) A state or area set aside to be a state for a people of a particular national, cultural, or racial origin.” It would seem that the second definition would be more suitable when referring to the Palestinian homeland.
For Palestine, Merriam-Webster gives the following definitions: “(1) Ancient region SW Asia bordering on E coast of the Mediterranean & extending E of Jordan River (2) Region bordering on the Mediterranean on W & Dead Sea on E; a part of the Ottoman Empire 1516-1917, a British mandate 1923-48; now approximately coextensive with Israel with Arab Palestinians in the West Bank having limited self-rule since 1993” As you can see, defining this word is a little more troublesome.
There never has been a country named Palestine. The area now known as Israel was first called Canaan. According to Middle East Political Historian Joe Katz, Canaan was overrun by the Philistines around 1194 BCE. The area was later conquered by Jews and renamed Israel. After the Romans had taken control of the region in the first century CE and then put down a rebellion in the second century CE, they decided to wipe out the identity of Israel as a Jewish state. Rome renamed the area Palastinia after the Philistines who had lived there before the Jews. Philistines were neither Arab, nor even Semites, but were more closely related to the Greeks. From this point until World War II, Palastinia was part of the Roman empire, then the Byzantine Empire, next the Ottoman Empire, and finally the British Empire. Palestine has never existed as an independent country. Until at least 1948, anyone of any ethnicity who lived in Palestine was known as a Palestinian.
Curretly the term Palestinian seems to refer to Arabs living in the West Bank and Gaza Strip areas of Israel. From the inception of Israel in 1948 until Israel won this land in the Six-Day War in 1967, The West Bank was part of Jordan and the people who lived there were known as Jordanians, not Palestinians. The Gaza Strip was part of Egypt and its inhabitants called themselves Egyptians and not Palestinians. The people in these areas never sought an independent state, and the governments of Egypt and Jordan never wanted to give them one. Now it seems that the destiny of these people is to have their own country rather than rejoin Jordan and Egypt or remain part of Israel.
Thus we reach a working definition of the term. A Palestinian homeland is an independent state or area set-aside for the Arabs living in the Gaza Strip and West Bank areas of Israel. This is a definition that a vast majority of the non-Arab world, and many Arabs can agree on.
There are both positive and negative things about this proposed homeland. Most everyone involved wants the Palestinians to have their own country. Egypt and Jordan have shown no signs of wanting to reannex the areas and openly support a Palestinian homeland. Israel would certainly be happy to offer these troublesome lands in exchange for peace. There are two things keeping this from happening. First of all, the experiments with Palestinian self-rule since 1993 have been a huge failure. Palestinian elections were questionable, and their leaders have not shown any signs of setting up the sort of civil and social services common in modern society. Most of their time and energy was focused on terrorizing Israeli citizens – which brings us to the second problem. Many Arabs, and most importantly the Palestinian leaders, want the nation of Israel done away with and all of its lands to become the Palestinian homeland. They will not settle for any less.
The issue of a Palestinian homeland will remain unsettled until all parties can reach an agreement on the definition of this phrase. This is the reason that Israeli soldiers occupy most of the Gaza Strip and West Bank right now.
Palestinian Homeland: A Modern Invention?
The struggles between Arabs and Jews in the Middle Eastern state of Israel is a daily topic for both print and television news. A common term found in these discussions is “Palestinian homeland.” In order to determine ones stand on this controversial subject, it is important to understand exactly what is meant by this phrase. Who are the Palestinians? What do they seek in a homeland? Where would this homeland be?
A search for the phrase “Palestinian homeland” on google.com returns 4,560 hits. Links on the first few pages range from news sites and history sites to polls and even jokes. This certainly proves that the phrase has entered the common vernacular.
Next, lets see if we can get an official dictionary definition of our phrase. Merriam-Webster online gives two definitions for the word homeland. “1) Native land. 2) A state or area set aside to be a state for a people of a particular national, cultural, or racial origin.” It would seem that the second definition would be more suitable when referring to the Palestinian homeland.
For Palestine, Merriam-Webster gives the following definitions: “(1) Ancient region SW Asia bordering on E coast of the Mediterranean & extending E of Jordan River (2) Region bordering on the Mediterranean on W & Dead Sea on E; a part of the Ottoman Empire 1516-1917, a British mandate 1923-48; now approximately coextensive with Israel with Arab Palestinians in the West Bank having limited self-rule since 1993” As you can see, defining this word is a little more troublesome.
There never has been a country named Palestine. The area now known as Israel was first called Canaan. According to Middle East Political Historian Joe Katz, Canaan was overrun by the Philistines around 1194 BCE. The area was later conquered by Jews and renamed Israel. After the Romans had taken control of the region in the first century CE and then put down a rebellion in the second century CE, they decided to wipe out the identity of Israel as a Jewish state. Rome renamed the area Palastinia after the Philistines who had lived there before the Jews. Philistines were neither Arab, nor even Semites, but were more closely related to the Greeks. From this point until World War II, Palastinia was part of the Roman empire, then the Byzantine Empire, next the Ottoman Empire, and finally the British Empire. Palestine has never existed as an independent country. Until at least 1948, anyone of any ethnicity who lived in Palestine was known as a Palestinian.
Curretly the term Palestinian seems to refer to Arabs living in the West Bank and Gaza Strip areas of Israel. From the inception of Israel in 1948 until Israel won this land in the Six-Day War in 1967, The West Bank was part of Jordan and the people who lived there were known as Jordanians, not Palestinians. The Gaza Strip was part of Egypt and its inhabitants called themselves Egyptians and not Palestinians. The people in these areas never sought an independent state, and the governments of Egypt and Jordan never wanted to give them one. Now it seems that the destiny of these people is to have their own country rather than rejoin Jordan and Egypt or remain part of Israel.
Thus we reach a working definition of the term. A Palestinian homeland is an independent state or area set-aside for the Arabs living in the Gaza Strip and West Bank areas of Israel. This is a definition that a vast majority of the non-Arab world, and many Arabs can agree on.
There are both positive and negative things about this proposed homeland. Most everyone involved wants the Palestinians to have their own country. Egypt and Jordan have shown no signs of wanting to reannex the areas and openly support a Palestinian homeland. Israel would certainly be happy to offer these troublesome lands in exchange for peace. There are two things keeping this from happening. First of all, the experiments with Palestinian self-rule since 1993 have been a huge failure. Palestinian elections were questionable, and their leaders have not shown any signs of setting up the sort of civil and social services common in modern society. Most of their time and energy was focused on terrorizing Israeli citizens – which brings us to the second problem. Many Arabs, and most importantly the Palestinian leaders, want the nation of Israel done away with and all of its lands to become the Palestinian homeland. They will not settle for any less.
The issue of a Palestinian homeland will remain unsettled until all parties can reach an agreement on the definition of this phrase. This is the reason that Israeli soldiers occupy most of the Gaza Strip and West Bank right now.
Tuesday, February 04, 2003
Well, I am sitting here in my living room composing my first blog post on my new Dell Inspiron 2650. How does it make me feel? Inpironed!
This is my first notebook. It is a refurb. I am looking forward to breaking it in. I started it up and configured it for dial up. Connected to the Internet and it immediately frooze up. I restarted, connected again, some thing. So I let it rest and tried again. It seems to be working like a champ this time.
Look for more posts from the captain's chair in the future.
This is my first notebook. It is a refurb. I am looking forward to breaking it in. I started it up and configured it for dial up. Connected to the Internet and it immediately frooze up. I restarted, connected again, some thing. So I let it rest and tried again. It seems to be working like a champ this time.
Look for more posts from the captain's chair in the future.
Sunday, February 02, 2003
I miss you people too! I am going to school full time, working full time, and trying to alienate my friends and family full time this semester. So far I am succeeding only at the last one. I just ordered a new laptop, so hopefully I will have time to write to you in the next week or so. Thanks for not forgetting me.
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