The Trouble Started…
…when Trish and I finally installed a wood stove we’d bought about a month ago. A friend and contractor helped us get the stove all plumbed in and ready to go just before the recent spat of rain storms hit us. The timing couldn’t have been better and we’d scrounged up enough wood to keep the house nice and cozy while the weather howled and spun around us outside. The wood stove is a thing of beauty. No longer constrained by the fear of a monumental PG&E bill, we were now free to crank the heat up as high as the metal behemoth would allow us, and crank it up we did! For three nights we lived in total comfort, sitting around our newest appliance and reading or conversing and generally feeling that life had become just a little more livable.
Well that has come crashing to a halt. Clearly the other appliances grew jealous of the attention and favor that our woodstove was garnering and so they staged a revolt of sorts. Yesterday morning I woke up and scratched the sleep out of my eyes before doctoring myself up a cup of instant coffee. I added a splash of milk, and then when I went to put the milk back in the refrigerator, the refrigerator let loose a horrifying thumping groan. I was already late for work but I figured I had to do something, so I pulled the fridge from its niche and opened up the back. This is when I figured out what the problem was, and also that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. The compressor was vibrating something fierce. The thump resided after I re-affixed the back plate to it and I left for work, but it started up again and Trish ended up turning it down to a point where it was essentially off.
That evening we went to do some laundry and the washing machine ejaculated water all over the laundry room floor. This turned out to be an isolated incident and the washing machine, for the time being, seems to be working fine; but clearly a balance had been upset.
R.I.P. Refrigerator
The fridge is another story. After a 55$ diagnosis the verdict is not good: Dead compressor due to a build-up of dog hair on the intake grate. Who knew you had to vacuum those things?
As of this writing we are living out of our freezer and using blocks and bags of ice to keep a minimal amount of perishable items cool. Take that PG&E! Between the wood stove for heat and good old-fashioned store bought ice for refrigeration our billable energy usage (though not our “carbon footprint” so much) should be going way down.
The Story of Pseudo-Hairy
Aside from our two Labradors, a stone Cocker Spaniel, and a stuffed Panda Bear, we also have a pet spider named hairy. He is a dime-sized multi-colored wolf-spider, predominantly black but speckled with white and even some bright shining green patches. Hairy would generally hang out on the ceiling, in the corner by the television. But he was a natural rover and on occasion he would go cruising all over the ceiling in search of food I suppose.
At some point we lost track of Hairy. We assumed he may have moved on, literally or figuratively. Then when I was tiling the enclosure around our fireplace I discovered a spider I thought was Hairy. I didn’t want to hurt him, but he wouldn’t come out of one of the cracks in the tile I had yet to grout, so I thought I might try and suck him out with the vacuum cleaner. I did so – but I believe this proved too much for the vulnerable little guy because when I pulled him out of the vacuum he appeared to be dead. Still, I doused him in a little water and set him on my work-bench, thinking he might resuscitate himself. Unfortunately I forgot I’d put him there and then I squished him unceremoniously under a bucket of grout. At this point he was surely dead and I put him out in the yard where nature could take its course.
Well it turns out that may not have been the real Hairy! Since that spider is gone, Hairy has returned to his old stomping grounds and now is hanging out having a grand old time in the gauzy curtains that hang in our front window.
R.I.P. Pseudo-Hairy.
Madbob@madbob.com
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Wet and Nasty
First a Bang, then a Whimper…
The Great American Race, the Daytona 500, ended prematurely a couple of Sunday’s ago on account of a series of thunderstorms that rolled across the ironically nick-named sunshine state of Florida. Matt Kenseth won Nascar’s greatest prize but the stage was set for him by Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Brian Vickers, whose tangling resulted in a vicious 10-car wreck that sent a series of top contenders to the garage. Until that point it looked like ultra-talented Kyle Busch was poised for victory – he’d lead the most laps of any driver and, picking up from right where he left off last season, his car was fast. The funny thing about that was that both Earnhardt Jr. and Vickers were no where near the lead. In fact they’d both been lapped by the pack and were battling one another to try and stay on the lead lap.
Nascar experts agree that winning Daytona is the biggest thrill of a racer’s career – but I can’t help thinking that winning because the race was called for rain can’t quite match the thrill of winning under green-flag racing conditions and screaming across the finish line at 190 miles per hour with the pack snarling behind you and the fans on their feet.
A lot of people don’t understand how I can sit around watching the cars go around in a circle for three or four hours on a Sunday afternoon – I’ll tell you though, if you catch the right race, and you’re following the right driver, and it turns out to be one of those incredible finishes where everyone is gunning for that checkered flag and your guy gets their first, you’ll be hooked.
There is nothing like a close race to get the blood pumping. It is one of the truest forms of competition.
Politics, What Politics?
What’s to talk about? The economy is in the crapper and it looks like it is going to stay there for awhile. Now we just have to grit our teeth and live with the fear until this thing gets back on track, assuming it ever does.
In the mean-time we might want to start preparing for whatever new paradigms and systems may start to emerge from the smoking rubble of corporate capitalism. It has kind of been making me laugh because all these politicians and pundits keep saying that these assorted bail-outs and stimulus packages are comprised of “our money.” First off, it isn’t our money – its borrowed money. No, scratch that, it isn’t even borrowed – it is printed money. But second, the money that the banks pissed away on bad investments – that was “our money.” That was my 401k and your savings account. Banks only operate on other people’s money, that’s how they are designed to work. So all this talk of “our money” being spent misses the point and should have been discussed years ago when the bankers all decided it would make more sense to act like gamblers. You would’ve thought all those brains on Wall Street could’ve seen this coming. Let’s see – no one has any money, everyone has debt, all the “wealth” most people have is based on home equity, and the housing market has been going up at an artificially high rate for the last decade. What could possibly go wrong? Oh yeah, that.
Music for the Soul
Well whatever. Maybe you have a job, maybe you don’t. Soon enough I think we’ll all be selling pencils on the street corner and making bath-tub gin just for kicks. Until then though there are still a few legitimate establishments that are serving spirits and also hosting live music. Happily enough for me the Maltese (on the corner of 16th Street and Park Ave., uptown Chico) is now having regular live music. They seem to have teamed up with promoter extraordinaire and all-around wonderful person Katie Perry to bring entertainment-starved Chicoans the good stuff. In addition to the periodic shows, the Maltese is also hosting Honky Tonk night on Monday’s. Not exactly an open mic, this is for true appreciators of music that is maybe a little rough around the edges – think barbed-wire, bloody knuckles and whiskey stains. I may just have to mosey on down there and see if my own country jingles are honky-tonk enough for this crowd of hardcore troubadours. For more information check out: www.myspace.com/honkytonknite.
Trade is the New Buy
I have been thinking a lot about trading lately. I am thinking there must be something like a flea market where people can get together and trade with one another for the things they make or need. Anyone out there able to enlighten me on local trading networks?
e-mail: madbob@madbob.com
The Great American Race, the Daytona 500, ended prematurely a couple of Sunday’s ago on account of a series of thunderstorms that rolled across the ironically nick-named sunshine state of Florida. Matt Kenseth won Nascar’s greatest prize but the stage was set for him by Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Brian Vickers, whose tangling resulted in a vicious 10-car wreck that sent a series of top contenders to the garage. Until that point it looked like ultra-talented Kyle Busch was poised for victory – he’d lead the most laps of any driver and, picking up from right where he left off last season, his car was fast. The funny thing about that was that both Earnhardt Jr. and Vickers were no where near the lead. In fact they’d both been lapped by the pack and were battling one another to try and stay on the lead lap.
Nascar experts agree that winning Daytona is the biggest thrill of a racer’s career – but I can’t help thinking that winning because the race was called for rain can’t quite match the thrill of winning under green-flag racing conditions and screaming across the finish line at 190 miles per hour with the pack snarling behind you and the fans on their feet.
A lot of people don’t understand how I can sit around watching the cars go around in a circle for three or four hours on a Sunday afternoon – I’ll tell you though, if you catch the right race, and you’re following the right driver, and it turns out to be one of those incredible finishes where everyone is gunning for that checkered flag and your guy gets their first, you’ll be hooked.
There is nothing like a close race to get the blood pumping. It is one of the truest forms of competition.
Politics, What Politics?
What’s to talk about? The economy is in the crapper and it looks like it is going to stay there for awhile. Now we just have to grit our teeth and live with the fear until this thing gets back on track, assuming it ever does.
In the mean-time we might want to start preparing for whatever new paradigms and systems may start to emerge from the smoking rubble of corporate capitalism. It has kind of been making me laugh because all these politicians and pundits keep saying that these assorted bail-outs and stimulus packages are comprised of “our money.” First off, it isn’t our money – its borrowed money. No, scratch that, it isn’t even borrowed – it is printed money. But second, the money that the banks pissed away on bad investments – that was “our money.” That was my 401k and your savings account. Banks only operate on other people’s money, that’s how they are designed to work. So all this talk of “our money” being spent misses the point and should have been discussed years ago when the bankers all decided it would make more sense to act like gamblers. You would’ve thought all those brains on Wall Street could’ve seen this coming. Let’s see – no one has any money, everyone has debt, all the “wealth” most people have is based on home equity, and the housing market has been going up at an artificially high rate for the last decade. What could possibly go wrong? Oh yeah, that.
Music for the Soul
Well whatever. Maybe you have a job, maybe you don’t. Soon enough I think we’ll all be selling pencils on the street corner and making bath-tub gin just for kicks. Until then though there are still a few legitimate establishments that are serving spirits and also hosting live music. Happily enough for me the Maltese (on the corner of 16th Street and Park Ave., uptown Chico) is now having regular live music. They seem to have teamed up with promoter extraordinaire and all-around wonderful person Katie Perry to bring entertainment-starved Chicoans the good stuff. In addition to the periodic shows, the Maltese is also hosting Honky Tonk night on Monday’s. Not exactly an open mic, this is for true appreciators of music that is maybe a little rough around the edges – think barbed-wire, bloody knuckles and whiskey stains. I may just have to mosey on down there and see if my own country jingles are honky-tonk enough for this crowd of hardcore troubadours. For more information check out: www.myspace.com/honkytonknite.
Trade is the New Buy
I have been thinking a lot about trading lately. I am thinking there must be something like a flea market where people can get together and trade with one another for the things they make or need. Anyone out there able to enlighten me on local trading networks?
e-mail: madbob@madbob.com
Thursday, February 5, 2009
How we Got Here...
Following is about the clearest synposis of the economic policies that have lead to our current financial quagmire. This comes from Robert Reich and was published recently in Salon:
"The bursting of the housing bubble caused the current crisis, but the underlying problem began much earlier -- in the late 1970s, when median U.S. incomes began to stall. Because wages got hit then by the double-whammy of global competition and new technologies, the typical American family was able to maintain its living standard only if women went into the workforce in larger numbers, and later, only if everyone worked longer hours.
When even these coping mechanisms were exhausted, families went into debt -- a strategy that was viable as long as home values continued to rise. But when the housing bubble burst, families were no longer able to easily refinance and take out home-equity loans. The result: Americans no longer have the money to keep consuming. When you consider that consumers make up 70 percent of the economy, the magnitude of the problem becomes apparent.
What happened to the money? According to researchers Thomas Piketty and Emmanuel Saez, since the late 1970s, a greater and greater share of national income has gone to people at the top of the earnings ladder. As late as 1976, the richest 1 percent of the country took home about 9 percent of the total national income. By 2006, they were pocketing more than 20 percent. But the rich don't spend as much of their income as the middle class and the poor do -- after all, being rich means that you already have most of what you need. That's why the concentration of income at the top can lead to a big shortfall in overall demand and send the economy into a tailspin. (It's not coincidental that 1928 was the last time that the top 1 percent took home more than 20 percent of the nation's income.)"
- Robert Reich
"The bursting of the housing bubble caused the current crisis, but the underlying problem began much earlier -- in the late 1970s, when median U.S. incomes began to stall. Because wages got hit then by the double-whammy of global competition and new technologies, the typical American family was able to maintain its living standard only if women went into the workforce in larger numbers, and later, only if everyone worked longer hours.
When even these coping mechanisms were exhausted, families went into debt -- a strategy that was viable as long as home values continued to rise. But when the housing bubble burst, families were no longer able to easily refinance and take out home-equity loans. The result: Americans no longer have the money to keep consuming. When you consider that consumers make up 70 percent of the economy, the magnitude of the problem becomes apparent.
What happened to the money? According to researchers Thomas Piketty and Emmanuel Saez, since the late 1970s, a greater and greater share of national income has gone to people at the top of the earnings ladder. As late as 1976, the richest 1 percent of the country took home about 9 percent of the total national income. By 2006, they were pocketing more than 20 percent. But the rich don't spend as much of their income as the middle class and the poor do -- after all, being rich means that you already have most of what you need. That's why the concentration of income at the top can lead to a big shortfall in overall demand and send the economy into a tailspin. (It's not coincidental that 1928 was the last time that the top 1 percent took home more than 20 percent of the nation's income.)"
- Robert Reich
I've just about had it with these guys...
You know I am just about at the end of my rope with these "capitalists" who are decrying Obama capping executive salaries at a mere $500,000 annually. First off - no one made these failing institutions take tax-payer money. If they really want to play the capitalism game then there would be no government money involved and then they could all set their salaries and bonuses as high as they want to.
Finally the company I work for is subject to the rules of capitalism - that means if we fail I don't get a bonus - I get a pink slip.
So to all you poor broken down executives on Wall Street that are going to have to scrape by on a half-million a year do you hear that sound? That little high-pitched squeaking sound? That is my tiny tiny violin playing a pitiful melody for you.
Finally the company I work for is subject to the rules of capitalism - that means if we fail I don't get a bonus - I get a pink slip.
So to all you poor broken down executives on Wall Street that are going to have to scrape by on a half-million a year do you hear that sound? That little high-pitched squeaking sound? That is my tiny tiny violin playing a pitiful melody for you.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Dixie Chicks - Not Ready to Make Nice Lyrics
I just heard this song on the radio - I don't generally go in for main-stream country but once in awhile a real zinger rears its head and this is an absolutely beautiful song. It bought tears to my eyes.
[begin lyrics]
Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything,
But I'm still waiting
I'm through, with doubt,
There's nothing left for me to figure out,
I've paid a price,
and i'll keep paying
I'm not ready to make nice,
I'm not ready to back down,
I'm still mad as hell And I don't have time
To go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
Cause I'm mad as hell Can't bring myself to do what it is
You think I should
I know you said
Why can't you just get over it,
It turned my whole world around and i kind of like it
I made by bed, and I sleep like a baby,
With no regrets and I don't mind saying,
It's a sad sad story
That a mother will teach her daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger.
And how in the world Can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they'd write me a letter
Saying that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over...
I'm not ready to make nice,
I'm not ready to back down,
I'm still mad as hell And I don't have time
To go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is
You think I should
I'm not ready to make nice,
I'm not ready to back down,
I'm still mad as hell
And I don't have time
To go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is
You think I should
Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything,
But I'm still waiting.
[end lyrics]
I particularly like the direct confrontation of the hypocrits who will preach and teach hatred. This is a wonderful angry song that sums up a lot of emotion in just a few words. Beautiful beautiful beautiful!
[begin lyrics]
Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything,
But I'm still waiting
I'm through, with doubt,
There's nothing left for me to figure out,
I've paid a price,
and i'll keep paying
I'm not ready to make nice,
I'm not ready to back down,
I'm still mad as hell And I don't have time
To go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
Cause I'm mad as hell Can't bring myself to do what it is
You think I should
I know you said
Why can't you just get over it,
It turned my whole world around and i kind of like it
I made by bed, and I sleep like a baby,
With no regrets and I don't mind saying,
It's a sad sad story
That a mother will teach her daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger.
And how in the world Can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they'd write me a letter
Saying that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over...
I'm not ready to make nice,
I'm not ready to back down,
I'm still mad as hell And I don't have time
To go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is
You think I should
I'm not ready to make nice,
I'm not ready to back down,
I'm still mad as hell
And I don't have time
To go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is
You think I should
Forgive, sounds good.
Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything,
But I'm still waiting.
[end lyrics]
I particularly like the direct confrontation of the hypocrits who will preach and teach hatred. This is a wonderful angry song that sums up a lot of emotion in just a few words. Beautiful beautiful beautiful!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Turning the Corner
Insurgent Acne
I woke up on Sunday morning like I usually do. I stumbled out of bed and took a hot shower. I brushed my teeth and shaved my face. As I examined my face in the mirror I noticed that there was a small zit starting to form on my cheek a few inches beneath my right eye. There wasn’t much happening with it yet but it looked suspicious. I decided that it was imperative that I took action before the zit grew and caused more problems in the region.
I decided on the tried and true method of squeezing the zit between my thumbs in order to pop it and drain its accumulating juice. I clenched my teeth and maneuvered my thumbs into position and then pinched the skin surrounding the offending zit in the hopes of driving it to the surface and then annihilating it.
I ran into immediate problems though. It turned out that I had failed to adequately understand just what I was dealing with. The zit was subcutaneous – buried underneath the surface of my face – and as a result my initial efforts were totally ineffective. In fact the pressure I applied to the skin surrounding the zit seemed to cause new damage. Now an area about a half inch in diameter around the zit was irritated – angry and reddened.
I probably should have just left it alone but at this point I felt committed. No stupid zit was going to get the best of me! I thought about my next move and figured that perhaps if I put one thumb in my mouth and the other on the outside of my cheek – on the area of the zit – I could squeeze it from inside and out and therefore smoosh it and cause it to recede.
I attempted this tactic but its futility quickly became apparent. It also resulted in a great deal of pain and now tears were streaming down my face in addition to the redness and irritation. I needed a better strategy.
I decided on a surgical strike. I retrieved a needle from the sewing box and began poking at the zit. I drew a lot of blood and caused a lot more pain to myself, but the zit was still there; it seemed to be mocking me. Now I was really mad and I stabbed at it several times with the needle – opening up a series of small wounds in the area surrounding the zit. Blood streamed down my face in a series of rivulets.
Time to re-access; I stepped back rubbing my cheek and then took my hand away to look at the results. I was horrified at what I saw. The entire side of my face was now bruised and bleeding. From where the zit was centered there emanated a swatch of purple and red flesh; pin pricks surrounded it; and the worst part of it was that the zit still existed – bigger and brighter than ever.
I turned away and thought about it. Obviously the physical approach wasn’t working. I turned on the hot water and applied hot compresses to it. I soaked my face and washed it with soap, and then I applied some acne cream to it.
My wife gasped when she saw my face on Sunday morning. I mean it was really bad.
But as I write this it is Wednesday and things are looking up! My face is still bruised but the redness has subsided. The zit has emerged as a big round white-head surrounded in a little ocean of damaged flesh but I’m not willing to do any more squeezing – I’m content to let it run its course and just keep applying ointments and balms.
You know what – my face is really starting to get better! I think I’m starting to turn the corner!
RIP George Carlin
I’m getting really tired of noting the passing of important, vibrant personalities. We are in such trying times right now and we need the guidance and wisdom of the voices of people like George Carlin and Tim Russert.
George Carlin was most well-known for his famous “Seven Words you Can’t Say on the Radio” routine that landed him in the Supreme Courthouse but for my money his scathing political and social commentary was really where his brilliance shone brightest. He used comedy for precisely its most important function – to shine a light into the areas of society that otherwise would be too dark and terrifying for us to be able to focus our attention on without losing it and going completely insane.
Send your thoughts to madbob@madbob.com
I woke up on Sunday morning like I usually do. I stumbled out of bed and took a hot shower. I brushed my teeth and shaved my face. As I examined my face in the mirror I noticed that there was a small zit starting to form on my cheek a few inches beneath my right eye. There wasn’t much happening with it yet but it looked suspicious. I decided that it was imperative that I took action before the zit grew and caused more problems in the region.
I decided on the tried and true method of squeezing the zit between my thumbs in order to pop it and drain its accumulating juice. I clenched my teeth and maneuvered my thumbs into position and then pinched the skin surrounding the offending zit in the hopes of driving it to the surface and then annihilating it.
I ran into immediate problems though. It turned out that I had failed to adequately understand just what I was dealing with. The zit was subcutaneous – buried underneath the surface of my face – and as a result my initial efforts were totally ineffective. In fact the pressure I applied to the skin surrounding the zit seemed to cause new damage. Now an area about a half inch in diameter around the zit was irritated – angry and reddened.
I probably should have just left it alone but at this point I felt committed. No stupid zit was going to get the best of me! I thought about my next move and figured that perhaps if I put one thumb in my mouth and the other on the outside of my cheek – on the area of the zit – I could squeeze it from inside and out and therefore smoosh it and cause it to recede.
I attempted this tactic but its futility quickly became apparent. It also resulted in a great deal of pain and now tears were streaming down my face in addition to the redness and irritation. I needed a better strategy.
I decided on a surgical strike. I retrieved a needle from the sewing box and began poking at the zit. I drew a lot of blood and caused a lot more pain to myself, but the zit was still there; it seemed to be mocking me. Now I was really mad and I stabbed at it several times with the needle – opening up a series of small wounds in the area surrounding the zit. Blood streamed down my face in a series of rivulets.
Time to re-access; I stepped back rubbing my cheek and then took my hand away to look at the results. I was horrified at what I saw. The entire side of my face was now bruised and bleeding. From where the zit was centered there emanated a swatch of purple and red flesh; pin pricks surrounded it; and the worst part of it was that the zit still existed – bigger and brighter than ever.
I turned away and thought about it. Obviously the physical approach wasn’t working. I turned on the hot water and applied hot compresses to it. I soaked my face and washed it with soap, and then I applied some acne cream to it.
My wife gasped when she saw my face on Sunday morning. I mean it was really bad.
But as I write this it is Wednesday and things are looking up! My face is still bruised but the redness has subsided. The zit has emerged as a big round white-head surrounded in a little ocean of damaged flesh but I’m not willing to do any more squeezing – I’m content to let it run its course and just keep applying ointments and balms.
You know what – my face is really starting to get better! I think I’m starting to turn the corner!
RIP George Carlin
I’m getting really tired of noting the passing of important, vibrant personalities. We are in such trying times right now and we need the guidance and wisdom of the voices of people like George Carlin and Tim Russert.
George Carlin was most well-known for his famous “Seven Words you Can’t Say on the Radio” routine that landed him in the Supreme Courthouse but for my money his scathing political and social commentary was really where his brilliance shone brightest. He used comedy for precisely its most important function – to shine a light into the areas of society that otherwise would be too dark and terrifying for us to be able to focus our attention on without losing it and going completely insane.
Send your thoughts to madbob@madbob.com
Monday, June 9, 2008
No Tolerance
Girl-O-Rama! Hurray!
Well apparently I can’t drink alcohol any more – at least not in the vast quantities I used to imbibe. For the last couple months or so I have been cutting way back on my consumption. That being said on Saturday night the girlie show was in town and I decided it would be a good night to go ahead and tie one on. That turned out to be erroneous. As of this writing it is Tuesday morning and I am still not a hundred percent.
The evening was pure entertainment. 2 Drink and I rolled into Nick’s around 10:30 and caught the last song and a half of the Baghdad Batteries set. Is it just me or are shows starting a helluva lot earlier than they ever used to? The Shankers did what they do so well and in between the bands and afterwards wonderfully glamorous women performed classic burlesque numbers. There was nothing wrong with the evening that a couple of purposefully placed brightly sequined tassles spinning in opposite directions couldn’t take care of.
Anyway – after getting my fill of ear and eye candy I just didn’t want the evening to end and so I followed a small entourage across the street to a lively after-party. In retrospect I would have been better off just going home. I recall talking to some very nice people but I don’t remember a word of what was said. I recall meeting several very nice dogs as well. I recall drinking at least a couple of beers but I don’t recall how I got home. It isn’t more than four blocks to my house so I am assuming I walked but you never know.
“I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt.”
-Kris Kristofferson
Never have truer words been spoken. I woke up in a serious pain haze with food smeared on my shirt and, inexplicably, a towel on the floor soaking up some sort of mystery liquid. I was an absolute wreck. The day was misery. I dragged ass over to 2 Drink’s (who had the foresight and wisdom to go straight home after the show was over) where I “helped” him set up his swimming pool. I also helped him drink a 12-pack of beer and that was about the only thing that saved me.
Of course “hair of the dog” is often just a way of prolonging the inevitable but at least it took a bit of the edge off of my pain. I semi-staggered the block back to my house and ran into City Council-member Maureen Kirk who was just leaving a wine and dine fundraiser being held at and for the ARC of Butte County. She told me they had an assortment of good food and wine tasting but when I told her I liked wine she told me sure, but not at 2 in the afternoon. I didn’t explain to her that I’d just guzzled five beers in order to stave off a vicious hangover. I’m not sure she would have appreciated that. She did tell me the food was excellent.
How Do You Know if a Politician is Lying?
I’m sorry – last week I said I’d get off politics but I lied. Barrack Obama has secured the delegates needed in order to be the Democratic Party’s Presidential nominee. It’s a pretty huge deal and I will tell you something; I just heard a re-broadcast of Obama’s speech following this news and that son of a gun can speak! I had tears in my eyes by the time he was done.
I’m immensely excited by this Presidential race as I’ve never been in the past. It isn’t just the compelling stories of some of the candidates – I think it has more to do with the feeling that, as a country, we are perched on a precipice. Depending on who we elect and then how they perform their duties and obligations there is the feeling that things could get much better or much worse than they are right now. Status-quo is not a possibility; and so it feels like this election is intensely meaningful.
There’s No Government Like No Government!
Ultimately though the responsibility doesn’t lie with our leaders; it rests with us. The more we rely on government to make things better and to solve our problems for us the more we justify the perpetuation of government. If we really want smaller government interference in our lives then we need to act like we can take care of ourselves.
Vote for yourself in 2008!
e-mail madbob@madbob.com
Well apparently I can’t drink alcohol any more – at least not in the vast quantities I used to imbibe. For the last couple months or so I have been cutting way back on my consumption. That being said on Saturday night the girlie show was in town and I decided it would be a good night to go ahead and tie one on. That turned out to be erroneous. As of this writing it is Tuesday morning and I am still not a hundred percent.
The evening was pure entertainment. 2 Drink and I rolled into Nick’s around 10:30 and caught the last song and a half of the Baghdad Batteries set. Is it just me or are shows starting a helluva lot earlier than they ever used to? The Shankers did what they do so well and in between the bands and afterwards wonderfully glamorous women performed classic burlesque numbers. There was nothing wrong with the evening that a couple of purposefully placed brightly sequined tassles spinning in opposite directions couldn’t take care of.
Anyway – after getting my fill of ear and eye candy I just didn’t want the evening to end and so I followed a small entourage across the street to a lively after-party. In retrospect I would have been better off just going home. I recall talking to some very nice people but I don’t remember a word of what was said. I recall meeting several very nice dogs as well. I recall drinking at least a couple of beers but I don’t recall how I got home. It isn’t more than four blocks to my house so I am assuming I walked but you never know.
“I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt.”
-Kris Kristofferson
Never have truer words been spoken. I woke up in a serious pain haze with food smeared on my shirt and, inexplicably, a towel on the floor soaking up some sort of mystery liquid. I was an absolute wreck. The day was misery. I dragged ass over to 2 Drink’s (who had the foresight and wisdom to go straight home after the show was over) where I “helped” him set up his swimming pool. I also helped him drink a 12-pack of beer and that was about the only thing that saved me.
Of course “hair of the dog” is often just a way of prolonging the inevitable but at least it took a bit of the edge off of my pain. I semi-staggered the block back to my house and ran into City Council-member Maureen Kirk who was just leaving a wine and dine fundraiser being held at and for the ARC of Butte County. She told me they had an assortment of good food and wine tasting but when I told her I liked wine she told me sure, but not at 2 in the afternoon. I didn’t explain to her that I’d just guzzled five beers in order to stave off a vicious hangover. I’m not sure she would have appreciated that. She did tell me the food was excellent.
How Do You Know if a Politician is Lying?
I’m sorry – last week I said I’d get off politics but I lied. Barrack Obama has secured the delegates needed in order to be the Democratic Party’s Presidential nominee. It’s a pretty huge deal and I will tell you something; I just heard a re-broadcast of Obama’s speech following this news and that son of a gun can speak! I had tears in my eyes by the time he was done.
I’m immensely excited by this Presidential race as I’ve never been in the past. It isn’t just the compelling stories of some of the candidates – I think it has more to do with the feeling that, as a country, we are perched on a precipice. Depending on who we elect and then how they perform their duties and obligations there is the feeling that things could get much better or much worse than they are right now. Status-quo is not a possibility; and so it feels like this election is intensely meaningful.
There’s No Government Like No Government!
Ultimately though the responsibility doesn’t lie with our leaders; it rests with us. The more we rely on government to make things better and to solve our problems for us the more we justify the perpetuation of government. If we really want smaller government interference in our lives then we need to act like we can take care of ourselves.
Vote for yourself in 2008!
e-mail madbob@madbob.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)