Three Years Blogging

Three years ago today I started this saucy, brassy blog. I decided to commemorate the occasion by grabbing an old photo of txrad's non-functioning trumpet and jazz up the three valves a bit.

2,396 Blog Posts

111,027 Visitors

In many ways it's hard to believe it's only been three years. Anyway, moving on to #4.

Friday Pussy Blog: The Indoor Kitties Edition

Kick a leg off the bed why don'cha!

The Tot, in all his bulky glory. Cat Loaf.

The Joy of Sex Teabagging Konagod

I happened to click on a link to Eschaton today, a blog I haven't visited in well over a year I'm guessing. Aside from a comment thread party, I guess I haven't missed much.

You know, I got somethin'. I haven't said this in awhile, but I truly enjoy all of you who do visit and comment, even if you visit and don't comment (yes, I'm a SiteMeter whore), you are still appreciated.

And I'm glad I've reached a point in my blog history where I don't give a shit if I've got nothing to say. I simply don't post until I do. And it may be shallow and superficial adolescent humor. But it's me and it's what makes me happy for a moment, just to share something with a few folks.

So.... thanks.

Oh my God.... I just went back and there's a new post...zero comments!

Tiding me over. Just what I need. I resisted the obvious temptation to comment "First!" or "Frist!"

What I need is a tequila shot.

Mike Masterson: Colossal Asshole Award

Mike Masterson, the opinion editor of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette’s Northwest edition, i.e. the most heavily Republican district of the state, got me all wound up this morning with this piece in today's paper.

Ahh, the joys of being a white, heterosexual IDIOT.

I really hope the link works -- it could be subscription only which I have by virtue of piggy-backing on my mother's print copy subscription. In any event, you'll get the gist of it...

By the way, just like Prejean, Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Hillary Clinton and nearly 70 percent of my fellow Americans, I, too, am a Christian, one who believes that institution of marriage is between one man and one woman. The people of other major religions believe likewise.

As with most of that vast majority, I also couldn’t care less what consenting adults do in their own bedrooms. But to destroy the holy and sacred institution of marriage based on the behavioral preferences of one group representing a fraction of our population would be a drastic mistake.

The colossal asshole got it all wrong. This is not about what consenting adults (and make note of his use of "consenting") do in their bedrooms; it's about what rights consenting heterosexual adults have in a relationship recognized by the state which non-heterosexual consenting adults do NOT have. And it matters fuck-all whether we are 7/10ths of 1%, or 6%, or 42%. We are tax-paying, hard-working Americans with ethics and moral values as well. And I'm fucking fed the hell up with "opinion editors" and anyone else trotting out these tired old arguments, and using the most insulting phrases like "behavioral preferences" only adds fuel to my fire.

Mr. Masterson, a "behavioral preference" would be, for instance, one in which a man prefers to pee sitting down to avoid splatter. My own "behavioral preferences" include things like having the toilet paper flap on the top vs. the underside, and always squeezing the toothpaste tube from the bottom. But when it comes to fucking in the privacy of my bedroom my sexual orientation, this is not a preference or a behavioral choice. My route is what is natural for me as a gay man.

But wait, Masterson's reasoning gets even more embarrassing for him.

It would be like cracking an egg that, once broken, would open the marriage door to all forms of sexual behaviors and predilections. Try to visualize pedophiles marrying children, a husband with multiple wives, humans marrying animals. Don’t laugh. Once we fallible human animals choose to erase a moral boundary established by a much higher force than convenient political popularity, where can any meaningful lines ever be drawn in our society?

Trust me, I'm not laughing. Yes, try to visualize pedophiles and sex with animals, you sick twisted fuck. Spread that fear to your readership and continue distorting reality to suit your own theocratic jerk-off fantasy.

Apparently at this point in the scribe, he lost sight of a word he used earlier: consenting.

You see, children are not consenting adults; we already have laws in place to prevent pedophiles from marrying children, and without those we'd already have heterosexual pedophiles marrying children. As it stands now, we have a lot of heterosexual pedophiles simply raping children outside the institution of marriage, as opposed to within it. And this has abso-fucking-lutely NOTHING to do with same-sex marriage. And Masterson has got to know this; if he doesn't he has no business being paid to write opinion pieces for a major statewide newspaper; he should be submitting them as a reader to an editor who actually has some common sense.

But it sure works great as as humor piece scare tactic when you have absolutely nothing else to hang your (ass)hat on.

As if this just simply isn't too over-the-top to fathom, he has to toss in the obligatory visual of humans marrying animals. Again, animals can't consent. And seriously, while we're on the subject of "fractions of our population," how many people would go that route, even if it were legal? (It's a rhetorical question, don't answer it. I have no doubt somebody somewhere, probably one or two of his newpaper's subscribers, would give it a whirl.)

And then Masterson continues with the granddaddy of them all: speak out while you still have the basic right, because Carrie Prejean is living proof that we're about to lose that right.

Even a beauty queen with no ax to grind with anyone is not exempt from personal attacks today for simply giving an honest opinion shared by most Americans. Carrie Prejean and her grandfather are right. It is time for everyone who believes in values and freedom to get off their duffs and be counted-while they still can be.

Mr. Masterson, am I included in your definition of "everyone who believes in values and freedom?" Only to a certain extent? We would like to "get off our duffs and be counted." That's the fucking point of our Gay Agenda. Only people such as yourself just keep shitting all over it with your asinine propaganda and fear-mongering.

If I wasn't such a proponent of free speech, I'd be tempted to tell you to shut the fuck up. But I will not take that low road. You go ahead and make a colossal asshole out of yourself in the statewide press as often as you want. Eventually, you will be on the losing end of this battle. Even in Arkansas.

Eggs are gonna get cracked. And there ain't no demons, pedophiles, or animal fuckers lurking within. Just basic civil rights, and that's some scary shit for many people, apparently.

More on Mike Masterson.

Small Wang Contentment

I despise spam. Really. But once in awhile I'll get one with a subject line that cracks me up. Today was such a day.

Seriously? Why would I want that? That's so... 1950s.

I'm content with a small Wang, but thanks for the huge offer.

Rev. Dr. C. Welton Gaddy on Olbermann

We saw Rev. Dr. C. Welton Gaddy a few months ago being interviewed on MSNBC and last night he was invited to appear on Countdown with Keith Olbermann. For me to have nothing but great things to say about a Baptist minister from the Deep South is surreal to say the least.

I don't know who plucked this guy from an obscure pulpit; maybe he did it himself to get a rational message out there.

Bravo.

Last night I was thinking he is the only minister I might actually enjoy hearing speak from a pulpit in a church. And I did not know until this morning that his church is the Northminster (Baptist) Church in Monroe, Louisiana, a town I pass through when I go visit my mother in Arkansas. In fact, Monroe is only 90 minutes from my mom's house.

I really like this quote from 2003 pertaining to the dangers of mixing religion with politics:

...what we've seen happen is our democracy, I think, is being crippled in its ability to practice healthy debate because of escalating every issue to a kind of transcendent religious moral substantive subject. When you do that you shut down the debate that makes democracy work, honest debate where there is an exchange of ideas and people refine their thinking and together our differences of opinion help us discover a better way.

This man is clearly adept at uncloaking bullshit for everyone to see and smell. I find him mesmerizing to watch, and such a refreshing voice of absolute reason in these frightening times when theocrats are clamoring for the national stage and power.

Left-Wing Douchebags

There's a new Facebook application called "Right-Wing Douchebags" where you select one or more to send to your friends. The list includes such notables as Ann Coulter, Karl Rove, Ben Stein, Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity, Boss Limbaugh, Dick Cheney, Sarah Palin, Michele Bachman (whose name is misspelled with two Ls on the app and various sites throughout the web), Michelle Malkin (who does use two Ls), and of course, the granddaddy douchebag of them all, George W. Bush.

There are others, all certifiable douchebags, but who are the left-wing douchebags? There's gotta be a few, right? I can't think of one off the top of my head, so help me out here. There are some centrist douchebags and the right-wing douchebags would like you to believe they are left-wing douchebags but that's not the case, IMHO. The right-wing douchebags are so far to the right that being centrist looks lefty Socialist to them, and that's more evidence of their own douchebaggery.

And furthermore, if I could name a left-wing douchebag, the criteria which would earn them douchebag status would probably disqualify them as being truly left-wing.

Douchebags seem to have one or two things in common: they like to wear their religion on the sleeves, their car bumpers and anyplace else they can get it in the public eye, and they like to use it to stir shit up. And they like to incite an already unstable segment of the electorate prone to lusting after Confederate flags and assault rifles and going on tirades about how Obama is going to strip the 2nd amendment from the Constitution. They continue to predict the complete and total collapse of western civilization if queers tie the knot, and they swear their kids are being prevented from praying in schools.

Please, Obama isn't even enforcing the existing rule of law in the country concerning torture, much less going after the 2nd amendment with a machete. Obama is being about as cautiously conservative as it gets, which is a far cry from many of the scenarios we heard about during the campaign. But I digress.

OK, name me some left-wing douchebags... 'cause I can't think of one.

Friday Pussy Blog: The Totosaurus

We have a table between our two desks where we keep the printer.

The Tot likes to sleep up there.

What's not to love about this cute face!

Thursday Night Tequila Haiku

Bread dough is rising
Japanese Poetry Slam
Burgers coming up

The National Chromosome Dance

This op-ed column in the NY Times is several days old and if Witchay Woman hadn't emailed it to me I probably would never have seen it. This is outrageous.

A 1999 ruling in San Antonio, in Littleton v. Prange, determined that marriage could be only between people with different chromosomes. The result, of course, was that lesbian couples in that jurisdiction were then allowed to wed as long as one member of the couple had a Y chromosome, which is the case with both transgendered male-to-females and people born with conditions like androgen insensitivity syndrome. This ruling made Texas, paradoxically, one of the first states in which gay marriage was legal.

A lawyer for the transgendered plaintiff in the Littleton case noted the absurdity of the country’s gender laws as they pertain to marriage: “Taking this situation to its logical conclusion, Mrs. Littleton, while in San Antonio, Tex., is a male and has a void marriage; as she travels to Houston, Tex., and enters federal property, she is female and a widow; upon traveling to Kentucky she is female and a widow; but, upon entering Ohio, she is once again male and prohibited from marriage; entering Connecticut, she is again female and may marry; if her travel takes her north to Vermont, she is male and may marry a female; if instead she travels south to New Jersey, she may marry a male.”

The USA has a mess to clean up. But I won't hold my breath waiting for it to happen.

The Alanis Morissette of the 70s

Flashback..

Pull Up a Stool and Sit Down

Through the years I have made countless trips back to Arkansas to visit my mother and none of them have been what I'd call easy trips. While living in Los Angeles, such trips required air travel with a change of planes, usually in Dallas, followed with a car rental and a 2-hour drive from the Little Rock airport. Even then it was probably faster than it is now by car from Austin.

I have flown there from Austin and it still requires a change of planes in either Dallas or Houston and ultimately I figure it saves only about 2 hours over driving. Most importantly, I don't have to deal with airport security bullshit, repacking all my hair care products into approved containers, and hoping I don't have a hangnail en route because I don't have my nail clippers.

Regardless of the travel method, the stress doesn't end upon arrival. As with this most recent trip, I usually drive to Little Rock first because it's faster and easier, and I can spend a night with a friend from high school before heading to my mother's house the next day feeling a bit more refreshed.

The older I get, the more uncomfortable I am being away from my own bed, my own bathroom, and my own routine. I did sleep fairly well at my friend's house, despite having her clock radio alarm go off at midnight, and me hitting the snooze button twice before getting up to turn on a light so I could figure out where the off button was located. Then I was up at 5:30 to quickly shower and dress for my trip.

Along with the usual travel anxiety, I was meeting up that morning with Ellen, another friend from long before high school whom I hadn't see in over 30 years. That was also making me feel somewhat apprehensive. Fortunately, that meeting went great and was one of the highlights on my trip! After chatting for half an hour or so I went on to my mother's house.

My mother hugged me, I put my suitcase in the bedroom and returned to the kitchen and sat down. She immediately went on a tirade about Obama and the bailouts, how unfit he is to be leading this nation, etc. etc. It was bad enough when Bush was president, and although she didn't like a lot of what he was doing, she wasn't real vocal in her opposition to it, and she still thought of him as a fine Christian man, and CUTE! (Yes, I always had to suppress my gag reflex on that one!)

I have a hard time coming to terms with the rationale for such vehement opposition to Obama when he's barely been in office for 100 days. I have issues with several things he had done and said, and I have issues with things he hasn't done. But I'm not stomping up and down, frothing at the mouth while murmuring about socialism.

It is one thing to see clips of right-wing Negrophobes on television ranting about Obama; it is quite another to walk into your mother's house and hear a similar tirade coming from her lips. And it's not like I wasn't aware of her racism and her upbringing! It's still a shock to hear.

After that initial outburst from her and my retort, we eased into more congenial conversation of a non-political nature, thankfully. We had lunch and then I made an unsuccessful attempt at taking a nap.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS DOESN'T ALWAYS STAY IN VEGAS

Around 1999, txrad and I made a quick trip to Vegas to visit a friend we'd worked with in the Los Angeles days. If I recall, it may have been the last time we'd see her before she died. txrad and I hadn't smoked cigarettes in at least seven years, and we'd only recently begun having wine and the occasional margarita after seven years being alcohol-free.

Knowing that our friend we were visiting was a smoker and enjoyed a cocktail or three, and with Vegas being what it is, I had already harbored an unspoken thought of sneaking a cigarette here and there while in Vegas. Then once we were there, I was surprised that txrad brought it up by saying he was going to have a cigarette.

And we did. And we drank. And we gambled. And we held cigs in one hand and cocktails in the other. We had a blast.

It was a couple of days after returning home, and I distinctly remember the moment one evening in the living room, when I said, "I want a cigarette." I suppose the reason why I remember that moment so clearly is because I've not stopped smoking again since that night. It was a habit I should have left on the Strip along with the gambling.

Stress has since become a trigger for a nicotine craving. As I was gearing up for my Arkansas trip, I told myself I was not taking cigarettes along. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, so I was going to make the Friday before my departure as smokeless as possible. My goal was to not have a cigarette that morning until after I had returned from my 9:45 appointment to drop the car off for maintenance. That didn't work.

I awoke at 3:30 that morning having travel anxiety and even being nervous about taking the car to the shop. I went to the kitchen for some water and saw my half-smoked cigarette from the night before. Where's the logic in trying to quit smoking when I leave myself half a cigarette sitting out? So I smoked it.

When I awoke again and got up at 6:00, I had already broken a promise to myself so I had another. Besides, I was stressed. I was also starting to realize I was probably going to break another promise and take some smokes with me to Arkansas. But I was NOT going to smoke at my mom's house; I was sticking with that promise.

After my failed attempt at a nap at mom's house on Sunday afternoon I got up to find her sleeping on the porch with a newspaper in her hand. Even opening the creaky screen door didn't wake her. So I slipped back in the house and out the back door for a quick smoke.

After she arose we decided to go for a drive around town which is customary when I visit. I need to hear about who died in that house, who had a stroke in this one, and which house is now vacant and for sale because the occupant is now in the nursing home. We pass by a dozen or more buildings, virtually all of them vacant and decaying, which bring back a torrent of vivid happy memories from my childhood when the town was actually thriving. My mother then pointed to a restaurant downtown which appeared to be busy, and said, "that's a nigger restaurant."

Since almost no one reading this blog has even been to my hometown, let me put this in perspective for you. The town has very few places to eat that are decent. Most of the options are on the highway, not downtown. There's a Subway sandwich joint out there, probably a crappy little pizza place, and there was a new Mexican restaurant before it burned. There used to be a Chinese restaurant on the highway but I didn't notice if it was still there or not.

Downtown has a drug store where they serve sandwiches on the weekdays, but not on Saturday and I think they are closed on Sundays. There's just nothing downtown! The building which houses the "nigger restaurant" was for many years a locally-owned diner which was named the "Ritz." That closed down a few years ago, another restaurant may have eventually opened there but closed. The fact that somebody went in and opened a restaurant which is not only busy and convenient, but open on Sunday would seem to be a matter of civic pride, not shame and disgust because of the skin pigmentation of the owners.

It was probably at this moment when I began to question just how long my visit here would last. Instead of staying until Wednesday or Thursday, I was now thinking Tuesday at the latest.

Once back at our house from the tour of the decrepit little town, my mother began talking about how she is unable now to get out and work in her flower beds and pull weeds. She mentioned that a friend of hers has a beautiful back yard but paid someone to do it, and then came another bomb: "She had a nigger man do it, and I just don't want a nigger in my house."

Funny. It didn't seem to be an issue in the 1960s when she had a black maid come several times a week to clean her house. But I've always though that was more of a "keeping up with the Joneses" attempt at maintaining our level in our social caste since many of her friends had slaves black housekeeping help employed at ridiculously low rates of pay. (This was before the influx of Mexicans and Central American nannies who have a slightly lighter skin tone.)

All kinds of things were now clicking together in my head and I could almost hear the various pieces of the puzzle snapping in place. She knew I didn't want to hear any Obama-bashing so she was getting her racist frustrations out in other ways. She didn't like the "nigger restaurant" being just 2 blocks from her house, she didn't want a "nigger man" cleaning up her yard, and she sure as hell didn't want a nigger president that socialist in the White House.

I heard this kind of language growing up from people in the town, from friends and their families, and from my own. Between the 70s and the 90s it began to temper somewhat. Obviously it didn't disappear, it just became less public and more private. And somehow, the election of Barack Obama has caused people like my mother to crack wide open, throwing themselves back in time; not to the 1970s, but right back to 1957! They are so adamantly racist they are willing to sacrifice just about anything to stake that white power flag in the ground make their feelings known, be it their homes, their yards, their dying towns, and perhaps even more.

As my mother was preparing dinner, I amused myself by walking around the house snapping photos of various nick-nacks she has acquired over the years and displays in her house.

And as we all know, them black folks sure loves them some watermelon!

Ironically, my mother loves it too and could eat a whole one while standing at the kitchen sink.

In all the years I have made a yearly trek back to Arkansas, I have never been as troubled and perplexed as I was on this trip. It is a lot to absorb and digest. And yet, I cannot allow myself to feel towards my mother the way I feel about the Rush Limbaughs of the world.

Ellen, during our brief visit, said we cannot change them right now. This is all they know, and it is normal to them. My mother is but one of perhaps millions of people who grew up white in hundreds of small towns just like this one across the deep South and elsewhere, raised in a Christian religion which never really liked to asked the simple question, "What would Jesus do," and never had the benefit of an education or a work experience in which they developed friendships with people different from themselves.

I refuse to believe that my mother, deep down in her heart, really is this angry, or this racist. She is a kind and loving woman who does not like change, and wasn't really comfortable when black people were invited by the preacher into her church, despite the fact that the church (which was founded by my father, by the way) is located in what was called "colored town" during more civil times than these. And I can't help but juxtapose this with the "nigger restaurant" located downtown which has drawn her ire.

She carries baggage imposed on her from childhood by a father, also a decent and honest man, but one who didn't even like shaking hands with black people. This has been going on for centuries and will take centuries more to run its course, assuming it ever will.

I made the decision late on Sunday to return to Austin on Monday morning. I was feeling confused and longing to be back in my comfortable environs. Besides, it had rained all month and was continuing to rain so I could not have done the yard work she wanted even if I had stayed another day.

Around 9:15 I went to bed, hoping to arise by 5:30, have a quick breakfast and coffee, and then hit the road.

Thoughts were still being processed in my head as I tried to sleep. I was feeling hurt and disgust. And having not only met Ellen earlier that morning, but also her partner, a beautiful and witty black woman, I kept wondering how my mother would react to that double-whammy.

I had slept for perhaps an hour when I woke up. I checked the clock and it was only 11:15 PM. I tossed and turned and finally fell asleep before being awakened again just after midnight by the loudest freight train I've ever heard. After several minutes of that, just as the train sounds were growing faint as it headed away from town, I was jolted by a clap of thunder followed by more pouring rain.

During the night there was another train incident, then another. And another storm. Around 3:30 AM, I got up and had to sneak out into the backyard for a stress-relieving smoke. I managed to quietly find the key to the deadbolt on the back door (there be Negroes in the neighborhood!), and as soon as I set one foot on the back deck the exterior motion-detection lights came on. Thank God it wasn't accompanied by sirens! I lit up a cigarette and paced across the rain-soaked gravel driveway which crunched loudly beneath my feet like several inches of snow during a hard freeze. I crept quietly back into the house, locking the door and carefully placing the deadbolt key exactly as I had found it, and went back to bed. I finally awoke at 5:45 and got up for breakfast.

Another side-effect of travel for me is constipation. I think it has to due with a variety of factors: a change in routine, change in diet, sitting in a vehicle for 8 or 9 hours, stress, whatever. But I had not had a decent bowel evacuation since I left Austin two days earlier.

I visited with my mother while eating blueberry muffins and sipping two cups of coffee, then I loaded the car with my stuff and hit the road.

About 50 minutes later, just as I had crossed the Louisiana state line, I realized I needed to pee. "Like a horse" as the saying goes. I had just passed a couple of 18-wheelers about 2 miles behind me which is no easy feat on a 2-lane road in a rain storm. I didn't want them to catch up to me and pass me so I pulled over and decided to make this a fast one. As I urinated I began forcing it out faster than is natural in order to speed things up; I could already see the headlights approaching behind me. It was at that moment that I decided to let loose with a fart or two. Big mistake.

I quickly returned to the car and sped away before the 18-wheelers had reached me, and I thought to myself, "I might need to check my shorts when I get to a gas station" even though I really didn't think I had done anything serious. You know, just the likely "skid marks" as the kids used to say in school.

It was about an hour later when I reached Monroe, Louisiana where I would hook up with I-20 to take me west to Texas. I stopped at a service station and went to the restroom to relieve myself of coffee again and remembered I needed to check myself. I popped into a stall and lowered my shorts. Oh my God. Let's look on the bright side: I was no longer constipated! I reached into the black toilet paper dispenser only to realize there was nothing there but an empty roll.

I scooted out of the stall for some paper towels near the sink. Again, nothing. No paper products for hygiene were to be found here! I took off my heavily soiled underwear and used them to clean myself up as best I could and then stuffed the offensive garment into a pocket on my cargo shorts and returned to my car as if everything was completely normal. I put the underwear into a plastic bag in my trunk and proceeded on down the road until I could find an establishment which I hoped would have the proper amount of paper products in the restroom.

I grabbed by duffel bag which contained the previous day's attire and quickly headed into a restroom, avoiding eye contact with anyone lest they read my mind. I got myself cleaned up as best I could and changed into the cargo shorts I had worn while driving up the previous day. I mean, come on; did I need to put on anything clean? Cleaner than what I was wearing would clearly be a huge improvement.

Having dealt with that embarrassing situation, I was ready to hit the road again for Texas, and ultimately, Austin.

I'm not sure when I'll visit my mother again, but I hope it's not another year. I really should do this more often, not less. I need to love this woman who bore me, and enjoy what few remaining years I can with her, despite her flaws, and mine. Maybe I can't change her attitudes, but I can certainly set a positive example.

In the meantime, I can honestly say I wish President Barack Hussein Obama nothing but great success. It probably won't alter racism in any way, but it will nonetheless prove a point. In fact, I could argue it already has.

Friday Pussy Blog: Stinky Birkenstock Edition

I guess I should be kind and leave one pair of Birkenstocks on the floor in the living room so the Tot can "be with me" while I'm on vacation in Arkansas for the next few days!

Off to Arkansas

I haven't been to see my mother since January, 2008. Having scheduled the entire week off from work from 5/11 - 5/15, I figured Mother's Day would be a good time to make the run to Arkansas.

Saturday morning I will hit the road as early as possible to Little Rock and should be there by mid-afternoon. I'll have dinner with a friend I've known since high school.

Then Sunday morning I'll make the 125 mile drive from my friend's house to my mother's house. I should be there by 10:00 or 11:00 depending on when I leave Little Rock. The drive from Austin to Little Rock is so much easier than making the trek directly to McGehee, the last two hours of which are on mostly two lane roads which are exhausting after already driving for 7+ hours.

Now comes the fun part. When I decide to leave, the good news is that I get to deal with the two hour two-lane road portion early in the morning and put that behind me. The online maps suggest this route back to Austin. It's about 580 miles and all freeway from Monroe, Louisiana to Austin. That should take about 9 1/2 hours.

I'm always tempted to try an alternative. This route is the shortest in distance, about 535 miles, but according to the mapping software requires about 10 hours of driving time. But that road from Longview to I-35 in Round Rock is one long stretch of lonesome. It's very good for personal contemplation though!

One time I took the nearby route off I-20 going through Tyler and what a mistake that was. I wasted about 45 minutes going through Tyler traffic. This route avoids Tyler but I'm not sure if it makes more sense than just staying on the freeways, as fraying on the nerves as they can be.

Another one of the cons with this route is really bad radio for about 5 hours. Guess I should take some CDs, or just shut off the stereo and ... contemplate.

If anyone reading this has taken that route, let me know what you think. Regardless of the route, I'll be hitting the Austin city limits just at the start of our horrendous rush hour, unless I get a REALLY early start on this portion of the trip. A 7 AM departure -- at LEAST -- is mandatory.

After a few days of hearing Fox News at my mother's house, I don't think a 6 AM departure would be hard to achieve.

RIP Dom DeLuise

This is absolutely one of my favorite scenes from any film by any comic. I can't watch this and not laugh. Thank you, Dom, for years and years of laughing myself to tears.

He was 75 and will be missed.

It's Official: We Elected a Moderate

Forget all the paranoid right-wing racist emails which still litter the internet regarding President Barack Obama. (I still love saying that after 8 years of the previous asshole. PRESIDENT Barack Obama!)

Forget most of the radical change those of us on the far left hoped for with his election. Barack Obama is simply a moderate. And that's still very refreshing after what we've been through.

Now Mr. Obama is preparing to select his first Supreme Court nominee to replace retiring Justice David H. Souter. In interviews, former colleagues and students say they have a fairly strong sense of the kind of justice he will favor: not a larger-than-life liberal to counter the conservative pyrotechnics of Justice Antonin Scalia, but a careful pragmatist with a limited view of the role of courts.

“His nominee will not create the proverbial shock and awe,” said Charles J. Ogletree, a Harvard professor who has known the president since his days as a student.

Mr. Obama believes the court must never get too far ahead of or behind public sentiment, they say. He may have a mandate for change, and Senate confirmation odds in his favor. But he has almost always disappointed those who expected someone in his position — he was Harvard’s first black law review president and one of the few minority members of the University of Chicago’s law faculty — to side consistently with liberals.

An Actual Conversation

konagod: When you see a cat shitting behind the TV it probably means the litter box needs to be cleaned.

txrad: You could clean it.

txrad: They sound like U2.

konagod: Is it the Verve?

txrad: No, it's U2.

konagod: So, U2 sounds like U2. How does that relate to cat shit?

I need pot. More later, I'm sure.

Forrest Gump on Toot

Via Ronnie Walker on Facebook, crazy mother fucker.

Have you ever been on a real shrimp boat?

Friday Pussy Blog: Apathy Edition

Sissy barely opened her eyes for the photo session.

The Tot did the same... briefly opened then shut again. He has spent the entire afternoon in that one spot.

Happy, happy Friday! The weekend is here!

Friday Flora

txrad found a patch of these in our yard and they look like an orchid. There are native Texas orchids and we're not sure if this is one of them. We've never noticed these before now. Beautiful.

At the Mercy of the New Hampshire Governor

I hate moments like this. Now that the New Hampshire Senate has narrowly passed a same-sex marriage bill on a 13-11 vote, the fate of our equality in the Live Free Or Die state rests with Governor Jim Lynch, an opponent of same-sex marriage.

It blows my mind that we have politicians in a 21st century America who are outspoken opponents of this very basic human right: to marry the one we love. At some point in time, we the people, and the politicians whom we have elected, will look back on this era and shudder at the collective ignorance, the biases, and in many cases, the hatred of people who don't fit the (thankfully, shrinking) majority definition of normal.

So while I am thrilled with the New Hampshire House and Senate votes, I am less than ecstatic with the narrow margin in the Senate, and I am appalled at the attitude of Governor Lynch.

Even if he decides to sign the bill into law, or allows it to become law without his signature, all is still not well in the Granite State. While I applaud the Senate for passage of a medical marijuana bill, I must hang my head in shame for their attitudes towards transgender people who are not deemed worthy of protection from discrimination.

Same-sex marriage was among several contentious bills that the Senate took up Wednesday, all passed by the House in recent weeks. One, a measure to allow people with certain illnesses to possess marijuana for medical purposes, passed in a vote of 14 to 10. But the Senate voted unanimously against a bill that would guarantee transgender people protection from discrimination in housing and employment. It also put off action on a bill to repeal the death penalty.

Iowa: Alive and Well

After a day in which same-sex marriage was legal in Iowa, the sky didn't fall. The foundations of society didn't collapse.

The large, angry protests some had imagined never materialized in this city, the state’s most populous. Neither did the crowds of couples from all over the nation that some feared might create a carnival-like atmosphere captured in earlier images from other places.

By noon, no protesters could be found outside the marriage license office. Extra sheriff’s deputies assigned to keep order milled around the Polk County recorder’s office, looking bored. And an early-morning line of dozens of same-sex couples waiting to apply for licenses had dwindled into a few people discussing recent rainfall patterns.

[...]

By the end of Monday, more than 200 couples had applied and paid $35 for marriage licenses in Iowa.

The Des Moines Register is reporting same-sex marriage applications on Monday to be in excess of 380.

ARTURO FERNANDEZ/THE REGISTER

Chris Patterson, 36, and Jennifer Harvery, 37, both of Des Moines, applied for a marriage license Monday morning. With them is daughter Harper Patterson, 6 months.

Iowa is bracing for a possible swine flu outbreak; however there are no indications this is a result of the same-sex marriage licenses issued on Monday.

Swine Flu

Y2K.

Stupid Bugs

We have these bugs here in central Texas. I call them stupid bugs. They sorta remind me of our Republican Party.

They fly around on the patio at night under the porch light, skimming the patio on their backs with their wings flapping, and they fly into doors and windows falling to the patio in a stupor.

Sometimes I even want to step on them. But I try not to because they are so stupid.

If they behave this way under a porch light, WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY DO WHEN THE SUN IS SHINING????

Living Without The New York Times

Last weekend I called the New York Times to cancel my subscription. This was the same weekend in which I unfriended about 30 people from my Facebook page. I must have been going through a purge phase of some sort.

The woman on the phone informed me that I had been a Times subscriber for over 10 years and was curious about why I wanted to cancel. I informed her it was a financial issue. She offered to drop the rate by 50% for the next year and after mulling this over for a few seconds, I decided to take the offer. I wasn't 100% satisfied with my response because I had psyched myself up for this cancellation and then I felt weak and easily controlled.

As it turned out, that was the last day I would hold a print-edition of the Times in my hands. A paper hasn't been delivered since that day so apparently something happened and my 52-week trial rate never got implemented.

I am still adjusting to the new morning routine. Sometimes my bleary eyes just aren't quite ready for the glare of a monitor right off the bat. I sip my coffee at my desk instead of the kitchen table. I prowl the internet for news instead of turning pages. And I probably don't catch everything of interest to me. Sometimes it was a challenge to find an article on the Times' website which I'd read in the print edition so I do wonder what I might have missed.

What I don't miss is walking out to get the paper, especially if it's raining. I also don't miss bagging up all those papers for recycling and carrying those out to the street. And I will certainly not miss seeing that $52 monthly charge on my credit card.

Welcome to the digital era. Newspapers are dying. Trees are relieved at that news.

Living With Cats

Allergies aside, I have a hard time understanding why some people would never consider owning a cat, or having them in the house.

That just crossed my mind this morning when I decided to change my bed sheets and this hairball fell to the floor.

Gee, it's pretty dried up. I wonder how long I've been sleeping with that thing?

Friday Pussy Blog: Birthday Edition

Witchay Woman sent me a photo of Gidget stalking an unseen green anole. Something I have to always be watching out for here at kona ranch.

Something from the archives of a few years back... Samantha exercising some control over Sissy.
God, that floor was hideous!

And Tater Tot being absolutely PERFECT for my birthday. He didn't vomit all day!
And he was exercising some control over txrad's foot.

How I Spent My 49th Birthday

A number of people have asked for more details on my desire to spend almost my entire birthday in a federal court room.

For the past four years or so, we have had a neighbor behind us, but one lot over, who has been an extreme nuisance. I knew there was a woman living there when we moved here 11 years ago but a guy showed up on the scene about 4-5 years ago and was living there. That was the start of a downward spiral which, we are hoping, ended yesterday for good.

After he moved in, their property appearance began to deteriorate. Because I can't really see their property except for a garage door from my back patio, I really didn't know what was going on until I walked around the block a few years ago. It was as if their house was a giant magnet for any metal objects drifting through the city: old cars, old bicycles, scrap metal, etc. It was really more than the eye could behold in a quick glance.

I was never brave enough to walk over there and take decent pictures from the street, but I did find a poor quality "street scene" using maps from a well-known technology behemoth, and I managed to improve the picture quality slightly to give you a very rough idea. Trust me when I say it's far worse if you could have seen it live, and these photos could be 3 years old.

Notice the car hauler. Very convenient for bringing in more non-functional vehicles to the front yard! Assuming that wasn't also a non-functioning piece of junk itself!

It was always a work in progress. The guy built a treehouse in the front yard and tried to create various sculptures around the mail box. It is no exaggeration whatsoever to describe it as a junkyard.

Then the music began to creep in. As most of you know, I have no issues with music. Hell, I live for it! Always have. But when it comes to another person's choices in music being played outside at a loud volume for hours at a time, that tends to take a toll on my patience.

It started with a radio and a few CDs while he was working in the yard -- i.e. rearranging junk or adding to the junk. On rare occasions I'd hear country music; most of the time it was rock or rap, and Eminem comes to mind.

Then JF (I'm using his initials instead of referring to him as the "guy") acquired a set of drums and it was obvious he'd never had a lesson a day in his life. Instead of practicing IN the house as most normal people would do, he set this up outside and/or in the garage depending on the weather. As if that wasn't irritating enough, the amplifier came along so that more of the neighborhood could hear his free concerts. Little did I know at the time, this was likely his very thought!

By this time I was rather certain he had to be doing drugs. First, he didn't appear to have any visible means of support as in employment. He was home most of the time, and when he was home he was playing. Soon, a friend or two started showing up and there were other instruments in the mix. The "band" was in development! And the noise was hideous. While junk was being sucked in, talent seemed to be on the run.

No hour of the day or night was off-limits. The drums could be heard in pre-dawn darkness and it might extend off and on throughout the day and into the evening. There was also a perceptible ebb and flow of energy and enthusiasm and I was finally able to pinpoint when the methamphetamine was kicking in. I didn't have visible proof of drug use, but after years of hearing a neighbor it's not hard to arrive at that conclusion.

We had lived here over 10 years without having any contact with any of our neighbors. And I'm fine with that. I live a private life and this being Texas, I never felt compelled to go around the neighborhood saying "Hi, we're you're Queer neighbors." That was particularly true in the first few years when it was technically illegal in this state for my partner and I to make love.

Then last August something very odd happened. I was sitting here at my desk, probably doing what I'm doing right now, when txrad came in to announce with some excitement, "Come here! There are goats on our patio!"

He was not hallucinating. We finally met our next-door neighbors when they came over to retrieve the goats and needless to say, the conversation turned to JF who lived directly behind these neighbors. All of my suspicions were confirmed and a whole lot more.

We learned that JF had married the woman who lived rather quietly in the house before he came on the scene, and that he was considerably younger than her. This is particularly funny because I really hadn't seen JF up close and when I would walk or drive by his house I avoided eye contact if he happened to be in the yard. Because of his behavior, I was under the assumption he was in his early 20s. It wasn't until yesterday that I learned he was 49 years old.

It was also confirmed by our neighbor that he was a psychopath, a criminal, and a drug user. He was also an informant for the sheriff's department in our fair and liberal oasis in central Texas, which is why they wouldn't lay a finger on him. In fact, they had done all they could to clear his criminal records.

Between August and the end of 2008, armed with much more information on JF and his history, I began paying closer attention to his activities which were getting increasingly distressing to me, not that the prior four years hadn't taken a toll on my psyche. To this day when I hear any kind of noise outside while sitting at my desk, I find it jarring. Even as I'm typing this, I hear an occasional thump-thump-thump from street construction going on nearby, and it gives me the heebie-jeebies. My mind always leaps to the conclusion that JF is baaack.

Deep in my heart I had -- dare I use this word as an atheist -- prayed (in some sense) that he and his wife would lose the house. It was inconceivable to me they would move out voluntarily, and I could not understand how they had the money to even pay the annual property taxes. In fact, for most of these years I wasn't even aware there was a wife over there. I just assumed it was JF having one long continuous drug-fueled party.

Around the time of the presidential election we found a letter in our mailbox which was addressed to our goat-owning neighbors. I walked it over there and had another very long chat with the neighbor concerning politics, Obama, and yes, JF. There were more developments. JF had been picked up on a weapons charge and if convicted, would serve time in a federal prison.

I asked about the goats, as I hadn't heard them in awhile, and I was told some heartbreaking news. Thanks to a hole in the fence separating JF's yard from the goats, JF's pit bulls came through and killed the goats. I was sickened.

Shortly thereafter, my prayers/dreams, whatever you want to call it, came true. The wife, having gotten several loans against her house to pay JF's legal fees and suddenly was facing a foreclosure. By January the house was vacant, the yard had been cleaned up, and I wrongly assumed I'd never have to be within earshot of JF again. Alas, this is the problem with assumptions.

On April 15, after more than four months of neighborly silence, I received a private Facebook message from our neighbor next door concerning JF. She started by saying "I have some disturbing news regarding JF."

My heart was already thumping. She explained that due to his lack of "official" criminal activity recently, thanks largely to our efficient sheriff's department, JF would probably not face more than 30-37 months on the federal weapons charge -- a considerably lighter sentence than he would otherwise receive.

She went on to say that JF's wife had moved back into our neighborhood and was renting a house one block over from us. Alarm bells were now going off in my head.

The sentencing hearing was schedule for April 22 at 9:00 AM. Great! My birthday. And she asked me if txrad and I would please go to the hearing with them. She had previously told me about the experience when she and her partner testified at the trial and it was not fun. But I mulled this over and decided I'd go. It was an agonizing and stressful week but by Tuesday evening I was actually rather excited, although at least 75% of my excitement was due to the fact that all this would soon be over!

At 8:06 AM, txrad and I were in the car heading to the downtown court house for the 9 AM sentencing hearing. We arrived shortly before 9 and met up with our neighbors. Many of our neighbors were unwilling to attend out of fear. One couple from our neighborhood was at the court house yesterday morning but were unable to stay throughout the afternoon until the actual sentencing took place. Thankfully, a number of them who did not attend were willing to write a letter to the judge explaining their experiences.

After sitting through two hours of a sentencing involving a young woman from Mexico with a heroin conviction, we learned there were about 6 or 7 more cases ahead of us before we'd get to the JF sentencing. The agony would be prolonged.

txrad and I came home, had lunch, and I did a bit of office work before we headed back downtown just before 2 PM. It was well after 3 PM when the JF sentencing hearing began. And oh my, it was worth the wait!

JF and his lawyer spoke first to the judge and although I had been given a preview of what they were going to say in his defense, to hear it coming from JF and his attorney just made my blood start to boil.

JF was made out to be an asset to the community, a guy who has aided law enforcement "for free" for years, and helped rid our streets of drugs and bad guys. When the issue of the junkyard came up, his claim was that he filled his yard with old bicycles, go-karts, and other trash to attract teenagers and thus be in a position to help them with their lives because, as he put it, he really cares about the kids. (This would be a recurring theme in his own personal statements to the judge.)

At this point I was mentally arranging letters of the alphabet in my head: B.U.L.L.S.H.I.T.

One of my neighbors had already asked me if I was going to make a statement to the judge and I told her I didn't think I would. Suddenly I was having a change of heart.

Then JF's wife went to make her statement. This is where things really bordered on the surreal. As tears welled up in her eyes, she explained to the judge how ridiculous these charges were, reiterating what an asset he was to the community and then turning to point at us nasty neighbors, adding that she could not understand why these neighbors are trying to tear him down. I am paraphrasing because I was not taking notes, but this is a very close approximation of what she said.

And then she went on with her tirade and said he was such an asset that he had managed to rid a nearby street of Satan worshippers, then she had to stop due to excessive crying. It was at precisely this point where I had a revelation. JF, who had already struck me as being very Charles Manson-esque, had such a grip on this woman that she had become as deranged and delusional as he was. I could not help but wonder if the judge was thinking the same.

Next up to speak before the judge were our two neighbors who brought up a variety of excellent points involving the amount of filth and trash in the yard, the number of dumpsters required to haul it off and the resulting rodent problems. And the issue of the pygmy goats.

My heart was pounding in my chest as I approached the judge. My thoughts had blurred into a nebulous train wreck and I was so nervous I wasn't sure if I could squeeze a word out of my mouth. I could feel the eyes of JF and his wife burning into my back as I told the judge my name. I explained that I had worked from my home for 4 of the past 5 years and therefore had spent a lot of time observing and hearing all the activity from JF's property. I mentioned the "music" and that no hours were safe from the onslaught, and that on occasion it was so loud it would rattle my windows and reverberate through my house. Between the music and other "disturbances" it was driving me crazy.

I very truthfully informed the judge that there were many times when I was so frustrated I simply wanted to put my house on the market and move, but that any open house put on by the realtor would have come with an unwanted band. I concluded by saying if JF ever returns to our neighborhood, I feel I would have no choice but to move away. I said "thank you" and returned to my uncomfortable wooden court room bench, catching the swollen red eyes of JF's wife in the process.

JF and lawyer again approached the judge for their rebuttal. Now that I had mentioned the music issue JF felt compelled to explain that it was his intention to create a Christian rock band -- again, to help set all the corrupted teenagers who might pass by on a path to righteousness. Good grief, I was so embarrassed. Of course that was their intention. It was at that point I remembered JF and his bandmates screaming the word "faggot" into a microphone. Pardon my error.

The judge was now ready to render a good and fair ass-whuppin' sentence to our fine upstanding asset to the community. He took his sweet time about it, bringing up a multitude of prior convictions....driving with license suspended, violation of a protective order, theft, evading arrest, escaping from custody, driving with license suspended, unauthorized use of a vehicle, criminal trespass, assault/family violence, driving with license suspended, theft, driving with license suspended, (see any kind of trends here?) trespass of a habitation, possession of meth with intent to distribute. But hey, he was doing it for the sake of "the kids."

JF, turns out, has been in jail about 50 times, but NEVER, as strange as it seems given his history, been sentenced and sent to a federal facility until yesterday.

The judge, in an amazing understatement, said to JF, "You obviously have a disrespect for the law." And if I recall correctly he added something along the lines of, "...and a sense you are above the law."

After giving JF a verbal reaming, in a polite judge sorta way, he then proceeded to sentence JF, not to the "advisory sentencing guideline" for criminal possession of a firearm in the 33-37 month range, but to 60 months! Five years in a house he will not be allowed to trash.

As the prosecutor told me, it's rare for a judge to deviate upward from the established sentencing guidelines, and without a doubt she feels our presence and desire to speak out as neighbors helped cement the deal which puts this man out of our midst for five years, and on probation for three more, during which time he cannot touch drugs or alcohol without being returned to prison.

But remember, he's "tender-hearted," per his wife's testimony. My favorite mug shot is the 3rd row down, 5th photo over. No doubt he had just wrapped up a Jesus Loves You seminar with some area youngsters before being apprehended.

If you think this is frightening, be thankful you didn't have to hear him speak in his defense. At least he's gone; I feel safer in that regard. I find it disturbing that his wife, who clearly drinks from the same well of contaminants, is a block over from us. We'll all have to watch our backs.

All that aside, this was the best and most uniquely memorable birthday I have ever experienced. My neighbors and I were a part of justice being served.

My Brain Hurts a Lot

This is not the first time I have done a "5 Years" post but it takes on special significance today. So, let's enjoy. David Bowie. Yeah! Best birthday EVER!

What a Birthday!

txrad and I were in the car at 8:06 heading downtown on my birthday for a federal sentencing hearing involving an ex-neighbor. After spending two hours in the court room hearing an unexpectedly lengthy heroin case involving a young woman from Mexico, we were told the case in which we have an interest will not come before the judge until probably mid-afternoon. We came home to regenerate and have some lunch before heading back downtown.

Having witnessed what I have seen this morning involving this woman and her heroin conviction, I can safely say our country is terribly fucked up when it comes to drugs, drug laws, the penalties, and ESPECIALLY the costs associated with these convictions.

This is one person, one case, in one medium-sized American city, in one day. I cannot imagine what the lawyers and investigators must have made in the 2-3 years of investigations, wire-tapping, etc., related to this case. Multiply this by tens of thousands and it becomes an incomprehensibly astounding waste.

I can think of better ways to spend a birthday, but very few which could be so eye-opening, educational, and informative.

We definitely need to overhaul some things in this country. That's for damn sure.

Some Recent North Dakota History

Janne Myrdal, State Director of Confused Concerned Women for America of North Dakota, mounted an intense and successful effort in the ND state legislature last month against a bill which would have prohibited discrimination based on sexual orientation.

Check out this piece of rubbish.

At the core of this agenda is an effort to remove from our society all traditional notions of sexual morality and replace them with a post-modern concept of sexual relativism. That is to say, when it comes to sex, there is no right or wrong, all sexual preferences are “equal.” This then establishes a society, by law, wherein natural distinctions between male and female are dissolved.

Yes, that is correct, there is no right or wrong. There is only normal for each of us. And they are NOT, repeat: NOT, sexual PREFERENCES anymore than YOURS are. It is an orientation, and driven pretty hard by forces of nature I might add.

Yesterday I wrote an email to North Dakota State Representative David Drovdal, Republican, who represents district 39 in North Dakota where my spouse is from. Representative Drovdal, writing in a piece for the McKenzie County Farmer, spewed rubbish in his April 8th column, "District 39 Legislative Report."

Opponents of [SB2278] are concerned mainly about men being able to use women's bathrooms because they consider themselves gay.

Here's what I wrote the Rep. Drovdal...and I would like to apologize ahead of time to my transgendered friends who might take issue with my scantily-clad gloss-over as to the origins of gender identity issues. I'll confess I was distraught and in a hurry.

Representative Drovdal,

My partner, Sheldon Linseth, a native of McKenzie County, and I, just read your column in the April 8 issue of the McKenzie County Farmer and would like to point out a few facts regarding sexual orientation which might have been useful to other members of the state legislature as opposed to the packet of misinformation presented by the Confused Concerned Women of America.

Gay people have no interest in using public restrooms designated for the opposite sex. I’m a 49-year-old gay male and I’m quite content to use only men’s facilities. I have, however, known and seen a number of heterosexual woman using a men’s restroom for the sake of expediency in a crowded bar or club for instance.

Transgendered people (referred to as “gender confused” if I recall, by the CWA “fact sheet,” would prefer to use restrooms designated for the gender with which they identify. And this is not confusion. I know a number of transgendered individuals and they have no confusion about their gender whatsoever. The presence of a vagina or penis does not solely dictate ones gender or gender identity. There are hormonal issues which have been present since birth or earlier which contribute to this identity. It is nothing to be mocked or ridiculed. However, a bit of understanding as opposed to a knee-jerk opposition would go a long way. It’s a shame more lawmakers won’t take the time to understand an issue.

Opponents such as CWA love to drag out the sexual preference vs. sexual orientation argument and falsely claim that all gay people can be “corrected” and that being gay is not normal. On the contrary, it is normal or there wouldn’t be so many of us. I did not choose to be gay anymore than you chose to be straight. The idea of having a “normal” sexual relationship with a woman provokes the same reaction from me that a straight man might feel at the thought of having sex with another man. What’s natural for me isn’t natural for someone else and vice-versa. The point is, the definition of “natural” cannot be claimed by one side or the other. And it’s a shame the ones who try to legislate morality always use THEIR definition.

There are undoubtedly many bisexuals and I suspect those who stand as examples of such “correction” might merely have narrowed their bisexual playing field.

I wanted to take this time to give you some brief insight into these complex issues and hope that you and others in the future might be armed with more relevant and truthful data than what might be presented to you by opposition groups such as CWA.

By the way, Sheldon and I have been in a relationship for almost 19 years, completely unrecognized by the state in which we reside or by the US Government. That must, and will eventually, be corrected.



I have yet to hear back from The Republican Dude. You can also contact him at this email address:

ddrovdal@nd.gov

Address: 2802 131st Avenue NW, Arnegard, ND 58835-9127
Telephone: 701-586-3761

Play nice, but set him straight (no pun intended) about what's right and what must happen, not only in North Dakota, but the nation.

4/20: That's Entertainment

Prepare to celebrate the high holiday.

April 20 has long been an unofficial day of celebration for marijuana fans, an occasion for campus smoke-outs, concerts and cannabis festivals. But some advocates of legal marijuana say this year’s “high holiday” carries extra significance as they sense increasing momentum toward acceptance of the drug, either as medicine or entertainment.

“It is the biggest moment yet,” said Ethan Nadelmann, the founder and executive director of the Drug Policy Alliance in Washington, who cited several national polls showing growing support for legalization. “There’s a sense that the notion of legalizing marijuana is starting to cross the fringes into mainstream debate.”

Say what you will about pot enthusiasts but at least we have a sense of humor:

Beneficiaries of the moment include Norml, the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, which advocates legalization, and other groups like it. Norml says that its Web traffic and donations (sometimes in $4.20 increments) have surged, and that it will begin a television advertising campaign on Monday, which concludes with a plea, and an homage, to President Obama.

“Legalization,” the advertisement says, “yes we can!”

That seems unlikely anytime soon. In a visit last week to Mexico, where drug violence has claimed thousands of lives and threatened to spill across the border, Mr. Obama said the United States must work to curb demand for drugs.

Oh, come on, Obama! This "war" has been going on far longer than the other mis-guided wars and it clearly cannot be won...ever! Did we learn nothing from prohibition? The time has come to let it go. And that's probably the only solution to the problems which plague Mexico.

It is the ultimate in hypocrisy to have legalized alcohol, and from a public health perspective, legalized cigarettes, to give fines for public intoxication while sending marijuana users to prison! The time is now for a sensible and logical marijuana policy.

The real party starts at 4:20 this afternoon, naturally.

In San Francisco, meanwhile, where a city supervisor, Ross Mirkarimi, suggested last week that the city should consider getting into the medical marijuana business as a provider, big crowds are expected to turn out at places like Hippie Hill, a drum-happy glade in Golden Gate Park.

A cloud of pungent smoke is also expected to be thick at concerts like one planned at the Fillmore rock club, where the outspoken pro-marijuana hip-hop group Cypress Hill is expected to take the stage at 4:20 p.m.

“You can see twice the amount of smoke as you do at a regular show,” said B-Real, a rapper in the group. “And it’s a great fragrance.”

One toke over the line, sweet Jesus.

Hmmm, I Wonder Why

Sunday Night Trivia

Mind-boggling!

via Texas Oasis.

The Demon Baker of Lauralan Drive

The Banana Bread

Jailbait

This is advertising desperation which I captured on photobucket tonight.

I'd squeal like a 13-year-old girl also but only if he'd ditch these sappy movies and do some decent upstanding porn.

This is so fucking stupid. Who comes up with this shit? And why does that asshole voice-over guy keep doing this asinine bullshit?

God, no fucking wonder I haven't set foot in a movie theater in like 10 years.

Not Really

I fucking HATE spam!

Vendredi Blog de Minou: Smelly Shoe Edition

It's a good thing I have two pairs of Birkenstocks because the Tot sure does like to "wear" mine. This pair must smell particularly nice -- they date back to the early 1990s.

Best In Show

Forget expensive tickets to concerts and sporting events. The best entertainment is free.

Several hundred people showed up in Lafayette Park opposite the White House, until the park and parts of Pennsylvania Avenue were cleared while a robot retrieved what the Secret Service confirmed was a box of tea bags.

[...]

In Austin, Tex., Gov. Rick Perry energized a crowd of about 1,000 by accusing the Obama administration of restricting states’ rights and vaguely suggesting that Texas might want to secede from the union.

Governor Goodhair might want to take a step back and reflect on this insanity before proceeding. Despite the appearance of Texas being extremely conservative, there are actually quite a lot of people here who would classify themselves otherwise. And once the exodus of the smart ones begins, this state might be left with nothing but a cesspool of ignorance and bigotry.

What a platform for staging his re-election bid! But carry on, sir. I would love nothing more than to see your campaign bite the big tea bag.

Win Farrell Is About to Mess With Fucking Texas

Speaking of Instant Karma

The ranks of the unemployed just increased by two after this absurdly stupid stunt in which a couple of employees at a Dominoe's shot this video and uploaded it to YouTube.

I just wonder how stupid people can be. Did they not have a clue that retribution would be swift? The woman shooting the video probably didn't realize just what an understatement she was uttering when she said this:

"I think our boss lady may be coming out here soon."

They have been fired today. And thanks for giving gay people another bad rap, assholes.

It Wasn't Me!

I don't even own a can of spray paint!

Faith Based Comedy

We have a subscription to the McKenzie County Farmer, txrad's hometown newspaper. Normally, I get my jollies looking at the photos of the high school boys' wrasslin' matches or the help wanted ads at the Kum & Go.

Today I had a genuine series of laughs at these grammatical errors and typos found in church bulletins which were featured in the April 8 edition of the paper. I'll pick just a few of my favorites to share:

This one actually stumped me until I read it twice:

The Fasting & Prayer Conference includes meals.

This one sounds like it was plucked directly from a George Carlin routine:

The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been canceled due to a conflict.

And one of my favorites:

Don't let worry kill you off -- let the church help.

And here's a potluck I wouldn't mind attending:

Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM - Prayer and medication to follow.

Wow, that sounds spiritual! And to be followed up with a possible orgy:

This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn-singing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin.

The fun and games don't stop there! No sir, it gets even more kinky:

The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.

And all you fatties need not feel left out:

Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use the large double doors at the side entrance.

Sorry, I'm a back door man!


Low Self-Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back entrance.

What is it with Christians and 7 PM?? Here's yet another:

The eight graders will be presenting Shakespeare's Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.


Bonus round:

Somewhere there's music....

At the evening serivce tonight, the sermon topic will be "What Is Hell?" Come early and listen to our choir practice.

Ouch.

And speaking of George Carlin and hostilities... listen to this!

Food Presentation Is Important

I walked into my home office this morning and saw txrad reading a food blog, in this case a Vegan Called Bacon, and the photo caught my eye. It's vegetarian sausage. txrad makes veggie sausage but I've never seen him arrange his for presentation in this manner.

Honestly, could I get excited about eating something which appears to be a Great Dane dump?

Friday Pussy Blog

Wow, having the day off makes it seem like a Saturday, not a Friday. I almost forgot to do cat blogging.

Earlier this week, txrad got a few shots of Tot up on the new table. Almost all of them were blurry.

I swear, what's not to love about the adorable Tot!

A Floral Surprise

There was a loud knock at the door earlier today. I couldn't imagine who might be delivering anything because everything I've ordered has already been delivered.

Although my birthday isn't until two weeks from today, these arrived from my employer. Nice. Love the vase as well. This looks great on the new table and makes me think "springtime!"

Never Mind Vermont; What About Iraq?

My enjoyment at seeing the front page news regarding gay marriage in Vermont was immediately shattered by this article concerning abuses against gay men and lesbians in Iraq.

In the past two months, the bodies of as many as 25 boys and men suspected of being gay have turned up in the huge Shiite enclave of Sadr City, the police and friends of the dead say. Most have been shot, some multiple times. Several have been found with the word “pervert” in Arabic on notes attached to their bodies, the police said.

In reality, there are many in this country who would do, and have done, the same. That level of hatred is simultaneously sickening and horrifying.

“Homosexuality is against the law,” said Lt. Muthana Shaad, at a police station in the Karada district, a neighborhood that has become popular with gay men. “And it’s disgusting.”

More disgusting than wholesale slaughter based on pure hate?

In 2005, the country’s most influential Shiite cleric, Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani, issued a religious decree that said gay men and lesbians should be “punished, in fact, killed.” He added, “The people should be killed in the worst, most severe way of killing.” The language has since been removed from his Web site.

[...]

...clerics associated with Moktada al-Sadr, an anti-American cleric with significant influence in Sadr City, have devoted a portion of Friday Prayer services to inveighing against homosexuality.

“The community should be purified from such delinquent behavior like stealing, lying and the effeminacy phenomenon among men,” Sheik Jassem al-Mutairi said during his sermon last Friday. Homosexuality, he said, was “far from manhood and honesty.”

Ah... so their issue with homosexuals boils down to a hatred of anything feminine.

Nice. Wow, do we have a long way to go or what?

How to Slaughter a Hog (No, this is not about Glenn Beck)

Go.

You jump in the pig pen.

Then you circle the victim.

Pull out the ah, 20cc rifle

You shoot it in the middle of the forehead.

Grab the tractor and drag me out of the muck.

Go to craig's list.

I tried this as a haiku but I swear to God it DID NOT WORK.

Vermont Governor Douglas Gets Slammed Down on Gay Marriage

The House voted 100 to 49 to override the veto of Republican Gov. Jim Douglas on same-sex marriage in Vermont.

Earlier today, the Senate did the same.

Isn't it refreshing to see a bigot get his ass handed to him on a platter in short order?

Same-sex marriage equality now exists in Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa and Vermont. Keep that train a rollin'.

Sunday Afternoon Adventures in Moving

Our friends Jackie & Stephen are getting ready to move to Santa Fe and we lucked out on their dining table and chairs. This required access to a large vehicle so I rented a U-Haul van which turned out to be not nearly as stressful as driving one of their larger moving trucks. Don't be too fooled by the $19.95 rate on the van; it ended up being $52 plus $9 for fuel. A rate of 59-cents per mile adds up pretty quick on top of the $19.95 rate.

I'm not sure what I'll do with this old table which we bought in Los Angeles, probably in 1996 when we bought our first house. When I invest in a sander, I might sand this down and refinish it, just for the practice.

While this new table takes up more space, it's still fine in the kitchen, and of course we could move it into the adjacent den if we were ever to have a real dinner party with six people.

It really looks great on the new travertine floors. While you wouldn't know if from the picture or how the table looks, that is one heavy table! Four of us loaded it into the van, and two of us managed to get it out and into the kitchen. I swear I think it weighs in excess of 200 lbs.

We got it in with no dings or scrapes. There is one minor scratch which is clearly visible in this photo but that can be easily doctored up.

We're happy! Jackie actually finished the top of the table and painted the base black. It looks stunning.

The Virtual Outhouse Is Open!

Pink: Way Better Than Red

Friday Pussy Blog: Filthy Pussy Edition

Sweet Pea likes to sleep in a pot full of dirt and occasionally likes to roll around in dirt. I don't know how he manages to get himself clean again but he does.

A few nights ago I got this clip of Tater Tot cleaning his belly. He was using his "hand" to pull his big man-titties up so his tongue could reach them. It was hilarious. I wish I'd had more light in the room as I shot this.

Another Bullshit Facebook Ad

HA! Yeah, right. Order in the next 10 minutes and we'll include a FREE DVD on how to train your cat to clean up his or her own vomit.