The Real Pat Blair

I used to live on a street that went two directions. Then the city closed one for construction. That was OK, though, I could still go out the other direction, make a left or right, and go around the block to get where I needed to go. This is no longer the case. They closed another street - only about 10 feet of actual road, mind you, but just enough so that I can only go right. This means that I need to travel about a half-mile just to get to a main street.
I live in the middle of town, but it is no longer possible to go South, West, or Southwest. First, you must go East, then South, then East, then North again. THEN you may go West. I need a helicopter just to buy groceries.
To make matters worse, someone felt the need to tear up 1/3 of the intersection of the ONLY ROAD OUT of my neighborhood, and then put a sign in the middle of it that says “Road Closed Ahead.” Sure, anyone that can see the barricades 15 feet away can make that determination on their own, but it’s much more amusing to see cars try to get through a lane wide enough for a stroller. Unless you’re hauling twins, in which case you must use the more spacious sidewalk.
I am all for progress, and the roads around my house are pretty crappy. But is it too much to ask for the city to finish one before it starts the next? It’s like they gave a bulldozer to a 3-year-old, only these guys work more slowly. If you see me develop a nervous sort of twitching, now you know why.

My mom has been cleaning out a bunch of my old stuff at home because, well, I don’t live there anymore and she’s bored, I guess, and likes to torture me. Anyway, she sent me an email with the text of a report I had written, probably at about age 11.

The president resigned from office on August 8, 1974 because of the Watergate scandel. After reading many books, however, I find the whole mess to be nothing more than a petty bicker by the demicrats because they lost and didn’t want Nixon to get the upper hand, inflated by nutsie media and a troubled nation. Even so, some good came out of the whole thing. The came up with a name for my favorite kind of desert.

Thanks to Microsoft, I make slightly less speling erors now, but it’s nice to know that some things never change.

My thought from the weekend in Chicago, a.k.a. further evidence of God/Christ in nature: in order for something to live, something else has to die. For animals to live, they must eat, and whether herbivore, carnivore, or omnivore, their food source dies so that they might live. While my biology isn’t quite up to speed, I’m fairly sure this applies to plant life as well (perhaps necessary nutrients are the remains of a formerly living thing?) Deep Ecologists like to place the blame for death, destruction, and resource consumption on humans, but the truth is that animals do the same thing. It’s not as though cats and mice peacefully coexist, communing together with nature.
In the same way, Christ had to die so that we could live eternally. I think that, in this fallen world, nature is probably a reflection of that. It’s kinda cool, and, man… God sure is good with all that symbolism nonsense.

Quote of the Day:
“In politics, if you don’t toot your own horn, it usually stays untooted.”
Bill Clinton, in his “book,” My Life, as quoted in USA Today
(insert snide remark here)

Lie of the Day (excluding quotes from the book):
Lining up for ‘Life’
This headline in USA Today, along with the rest of the medial coverage, would lead you to believe that there are throngs of people just dying to get their hands on this book, as though it was the new Harry Potter novel - in fact, one book seller is quoted as saying Clinton’s book is, “like adult Harry Potter mania.” I heard several times this morning that roughly 100 people lined up outside of Barnes & Noble in New York to get a copy of the book at midnight. I don’t understand why this is reported as GOOD news - it turns out that Harry got over 200 to wait in line last time, and that was at “Books of Wonder,” not “Barnes & Noble.”
If you can only get 100 friends, allies, and paid supporters to show up in NEW YORK CITY, of all places, you are not doing very well. In fact, I think more than 100 people turned up to wait in line to buy the newest Slipknot CD when it came out. If masked lunatics from Iowa get better numbers that a controversial ex-President, it’s a sure sign that no one care about the book. And lo and behold, USA Today blogger Whitney Matheson agrees. In spite of the nonsense you’ll hear all week long, I recommend that we all take Chuck D’s advice and don’t believe the hype.

Thought of the Day:
Bill Clinton: I did not inhale. I did not have sexual relations with that woman, that Ms. Lewinsky. That depends on what your definition of ‘is’ is. I think this book gets a rare dual-classification: auto-biography AND historical-fiction.

They (whoever “they” may be) say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. “They” have obviously hung out with me and my dad. We have similar senses of humor (warped), mannerisms, and temperaments. I’m told that we even look alike, although I tend to believe that I am much handsomer (and have a better vocabulary, too). We both yell at the TV when someone says something incredibly stupid (often). I’ve even started to enjoy network broadcasts of golf, having learned that they are excellent nap fodder. Neither one of us has a particularly high tolerance for stupidity.
When I was younger, my dad taught me how to play guitar. Now I teach him. We both tend to like a little more rock and roll at church on Sunday mornings than is generally considered acceptable. We both like shooting things on the computer. We both belch. A lot. We are both particularly good at annoying/amusing my mother with our endearing qualities. Like belching. After I started working for an insurance company, my mom, a medical technologist, was asking if we did health insurance. “Nope, we’re a property and casualty company.” She rolled her eyes. It had never occurred to me that my dad had worked for a property and casualty company for the previous 25 or so years.
Through both nature and nurture, I have inherited many traits from my dad. If you ever want to find me or dad at a grocery store, shopping mall, or major concert event, just look for the longest line; we’ll be standing at the end of it. If you don’t ever want to see a green light, don’t ride in the car with us. If you do want to see somebody have an aneurysm, do ride in the car with us, because, sooner rather than later, someone will slow down and/or come to a complete stop on an on-ramp to the Interstate, causing us to completely blow a gasket and begin lecturing anyone within shouting distance. When I was younger, I, at times, found my dad to be infinitely frustrating. Now I am kind of looking forward to doing that to my kids someday, not that I’d ever admit to it. We both like fart jokes, but only tasteful ones.
When I was little, my dad used to travel quite a bit, mostly to New York. I don’t know if, during my lifetime, there has been a year when he didn’t see the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. Dad would always bring back a small gift of some sort, until the one time when he walked in the door and my first words were not, “Welcome home,” but, “Whadidya bring me?” His traveling probably put a bit of strain on mom at times, and, though I didn’t realize it, me, too. After all, there was a whole weeks worth off spankings waiting for me when he got home. Especially the time when I told him that he could get rid of a lot of his gray hair if he just shaved his moustache.
Something that I remember distinctly is sitting in my parents’ room and listening to my dad play guitar and sing. In hindsight, I think he knew about 3 songs, one of which was the old classic “My Dog Has Fleas,” but I never tired of it - he even taught me to play that one. The song that I always remember him playing is “Cat’s in the Cradle,” by Harry Chapin. When you think about it, it is sort of ironic (along with kind of sweet, and fairly messed up) that he chose that song (maybe by default - his son can sure never remember lyrics), but it’s pretty appropriate, too. I always kind of tear up at the memories and snicker at the irony whenever I hear it. Not only is the song accurate, but it’s written by a liberal democrat, and, in the words of Cartman, “Democrats piss us off.” Did I mention we both like South Park? How wrong is that?
So happy Father’s Day, dad. I’ve got no kids with the flu, yet, so I’ll be home soon. And it’s a safe bet that I don’t want to borrow your car, either. And you’re not retired, either. Yet. Go Mets.

My child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking ‘fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He’d say, “I’m gonna be like you, dad.
You know I’m gonna be like you.”

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
“When you coming home, son?” “I don’t know when,
But we’ll get together then, dad.
You know we’ll have a good time then.”

In honor of the short post today (and the holiday weekend) I will have a full missive tomorrow. To tide you over until then…

Driving home from work today, I saw a school bus with tinted windows. This was rather interesting to me, especially when I saw what was written on the side of the bus: “Iowa Braille and Sight Saving School.” My sister, ever inquisitive, asked why they would need tinted windows on their bus. I, of course, said the first thing that came to mind: “So they won’t need to wear their sunglasses.”

The Des Moines Register has a weekly feature called “Stick It In Your Ear” in which their entertainment writer, Kyle Munson, reviews a new CD for the week. I’ve often felt that the column could use less ridiculous art and more substance, but it’s not like I’m getting paid to write anything, so who am I to criticize? Besides, why would I want to know anything about what a CD actually might sound like? That’s just too much to expect from a review.
This week’s column, however, got my attention: a 3.5 star review of the new CD “Rock Against Bush, Vol. 1.” Presumably the makers realize that they’ve got 4 more years (maybe 12 if you count Jeb), so, in the true capitalist tradition, they decided to make it a series of records instead of just one. Rock v. Bush, as I like to call it, is a compilation that was put together by NOFX member and punk quasi-legend Fat Mike and released on his Fat Wreck Chords label (which just screams “credibility,” if you ask me). This CD was interesting to me not so much because of it’s half-informed backwards attempts at making a political statement, but because I own records by quite a few of the 18 bands that appear on the album: The Offspring, Descendents, Strung Out, Pennywise, NOFX, Social Distortion, and Less Than Jake. New Found Glory and The Alkaline Trio also make appearances, and, while I don’t own any of their stuff, I’ve seen them live before.
Granted, it’s been awhile - I haven’t really listened to much punk music since high school, and I think a lot of that is just a “growing up” thing: after awhile, it all really sounds the same, and it’s time to move on to something a little more intelligent (a blanket statement, I know, and there are exceptions). It’s interesting, though, that the “big name” bands are still the same ones; does this mean that they haven’t grown up any in the last 10 years?
On some levels, the record is just absurd. A prime example is the inclusion of a Sum 41 (are they even old enough to vote?) song called “Moron.” These guys sing songs about drinking beer and picking their noses. The pot and the kettle are both rolling their eyes. I think one of the responsibilities that comes along with free speech is an expectation for intelligent discourse, and I’m hoping to live up to that with my new song, “Sum 41 are a Bunch of Whiny, No-Talent, Unoriginal Hacks.” It’ll be on my new comp, “Rock Against Snots, Vol. 1.” The other interesting thing is that there are nearly 30 bands on this record, all of whom champion diversity, all of whom think our president is closed-minded, and all of whom believe the exact same thing.
All of this, though, is not that important to me. I’m used to out-of-touch leftist entertainers. What was really amazing to me was that, in the review, there were listings of politico-punk websites: 2 on the left, and 4 on the right. Yes, FOUR. If there are four major punk-rock websites devoted to advancing the cause of conservatism, its a sure, SURE sign that this country is swinging to the right and that Sid Vicious is spinning in his grave.
The other point to note is that the name of the CD is not “Rock For Kerry.” The left is becoming reactionary: they are no longer FOR anything, simply against anything Bush-related. The party of “tolerance” is being fueled by hate, and I don’t think that this bodes well for Kerry in November, or for liberalism, as a whole, in the near future.

Today brings a spate of good news for Americans, so it seems only appropriate to revel. For starters, the Los Angeles Lakers (read: rapists) pulled a “Steinbrenner” and lost the NBA Championship, which is a victory for those who love basketball. And some team from Detroit, as well, apparently. Not that I think the NBA is actually basketball - it’s more like football, except less pads and more whining - but it’s nice to see a team so universally loathed not win, especially since it’s been expected of them since before the season even started.
Speaking of “started,” anyone with any awareness of pop music knows that the playoff theme song, “Let’s Get it Started,” is a remixed Black Eyed Peas song, originally titled “Let’s Get Retarded.” This seems an oddly appropriate theme for a bunch of “athletes” who barely finished high school.
On a completely unrelated note, the price of crude oil is down and the supply is up, and the Energy Department thinks that gas prices are making a turn for the better. Not a difficult conclusion to draw, seeing as how the retail price is back below $2 per gallon.
This is good news for all the people who are driving around buying things (consumer confidence was way up in June) since they are earning a bunch of money at their new jobs (3rd quarter hiring is expected to be way up, too). AND, to top it all off, with all the money saved on cheap gas and earned at the new job, we can now buy wine in a can. So pop one open, because man-hater Alanis Morissette is getting married to Van Wilder chauvinist Ryan Reynolds, and I think its safe to say that all of this is due cause for a celebration.

Gifts. Computers. Prom. College applications. Parties. Essays. Commencement. Boob jobs. What do all of these have in common? Why, they’re all related to graduation from high school, of course! No, I’m not making this up, although I wish that I was. According to the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery, the number of 18-year-olds getting breast implants nearly tripled between 2002 and 2003. Sadly, on a related note, the number of brain-enhancement surgeries stayed pretty much the same.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to come across as a femi-nazi battle-axe type - I am absolutely 100% in favor of women looking good. And, though I’m a guy, I realize that some maintenance is required. Heck, guys do the same thing: I put on deodorant almost every morning. Not only that, I put gel in my hair and even run my hands through it a few times. I try to shave at least twice a month. Of course, it’s easy for me since I am naturally superfly, but I can understand how people feel the need to invest in their appearance.
I just want to know when the bottom dropped out of the common sense barrel. I remember, when I was in school, hearing girls complain about their parents not letting them pierce their ears, crimp their hair, or (gasp!) wear make-up. How, in just a few short centuries, did we get from make-up to breast implants? And who decided that turning 18 magically made you a responsible adult? I’m still not capable of making intelligent decisions for myself, for crying out loud, but at least I know that my body has fully matured. And I’m smart enough to know that buying a girl a new set of boobs for graduation is probably not the best way to prepare her for college. My dad wouldn’t even let me have a car. I think I got a used set of playing cards.
The article blames what it calls “well-endowed” teen idols like Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan, as well as trash TV like “The Swan” and “Extreme Makeover.” Equally at fault, I’d say, are Sports Illustrated, MTV, and every mother who has ever bought her 12-year-old daughter a mini-skirt, halter-top, or kiddie-thong from Abercrombie & Fitch. And what about dads who are footing the bill - several thousand dollars - for the operation? Do they ask to inspect the finish product? How does that discussion go? “Gee, dad, whaddya think?” “Wow, honey, nice rack! That Dr. Cosmetic sure does good work!” “OK, everyone gather round - time for a family photo!” For that matter, who buys all the new clothes? If the girl ends up on the pages of Playboy, does she have a moral obligation to pay her parents back? If boys make fun of her and giggle (not too likely from 18-year-olds, I realize), do her parents have to pay for counseling, too? This (or these) raise a lot of ethical questions that I don’t think anyone has really thought through.
Speaking of thinking things through, I’m still trying to figure out the thought process. Peer pressure wouldn’t have caused the trend to start, although it might provide momentum when a girl is the only one at school without a ridiculously disproportionate chest. Do girls do it because they’re insecure? Maybe, but wouldn’t suddenly going from a B to a DD cause some insecurity? Do they want to be more attractive to guys? Perhaps, but have they thought about the kind of guys that will be attracted to them? Do they really want to be hit on by guys who would have ignored them if it weren’t for their breasts? Is it just an investment to look good, a surgical makeover? I don’t know, but it seems to me that for $7,000 you could buy some pretty kickin’ new clothes and makeup. And probably have enough cash left for a liposuction, too.
All I know is that it’s a good thing that guys don’t have the same issues and insecurities, or this world would really be a mess…