Taking Several Readings...
I really don't know what is going on. Trish just explained to me that there is some temperature the oil must reach, and that she thinks we have a meat thermometer somewhere; but then she thought a candy thermometer might really do the trick. We do not have one of those. I feel like I've heard that you can't let the oil get too hot. We talked about how to measure the height of a particular oak tree in the yard by using paces, and a protractor, and a formula involving a triangle. It all sounds like it could work out fine. It sounds like, if someone knew what the hell they were doing, it would work out fine. That's not our current situation.
Confusion is all around us these days. I mean, you turn on the television or pick up the newspaper, and you cannot really figure out what the hell is going on. Fortunately I spent a lot of years of my life in a state of perpetual confusion; I've got this, I have been here before. There is a collective thing going on that makes this confusion slightly different - you've got a whole bunch of confused people all being confused together. That sort of wild and subdued energy can manifest itself in some bizarre and interesting ways. Still, I've got confidence when it comes to confusion. Over here, follow me.
So when you cook, your ingredients have to reach a certain temperature – so that the different chemicals can melt and congeal. Cooking is chemistry and art. A good cook is a chemist. Sugars, oils, fats, plant material (starch?); heat, temperature.
Things are cooking; you can smell smoke in the air.
Violent Babies
We start out brutal. No matter what we do, elegance develops over time, and with practice. We all start out heavy-handed, clunky, and generally violent. Think of your average baby. Sure, they have their moments, peace, and innocence; then in between there is the rage, the torment, the anguish and the destruction. I don't think we ever get completely under control, but we develop patience, and we learn to act more gently.
I mean we all do, as individuals, as nations, as cities, states, as a whole people, as the human race – we are continually improving upon a really shaky start. I keep wanting to write that we aren't perfect yet – but that's not precisely how I feel. I think we are perfect, we only have to figure that out. It's like there is some form embedded in this beautiful, coarse chunk of rock; and we are continually chipping off the exterior pieces of stone to reveal the underlying skeleton.
Details are Murky...
I was planning to get more precise with this, and to give greater, detailed explanations of strategies and philosophies, but now I'm seven or eight “banquet beers” in, and the details of strategies are evaporating like so much heated vinegar.
So for now, I'm just going to forget it – simply ride the thing out to... who knows where? Who cares? I may end up shell-shocked and out of it, stuck between the couch and the wall, drooling, coughing, puking. I'm just going to ride the thing out, for now, and see where it takes me.
madbob@madbob.com
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Upgrades, Relaxation, and a New Member of the Family
Tuesday's gone. The fan is moving hot air around and my fingertips feel like they are on fire - I can't figure out exactly why that is. It could be from tile grout, or maybe I cut my fingernails too short last night. Whatever the reason, it hurts when I strike down on the keys - I am suffering for you tonight. Now it's your turn to suffer for me. Queue the sinister laughter.
I Want Candy!
We've got a new member of the family – a 6 or 7 year old chocolate lab who goes by the name of Candy. She's been with us now for only a couple of hours, and right now Bill and Candy are in the process of figuring out how exactly they are going to get along. So far the results are mixed. There is a lot of herding, a little humping, some snarling, and the occasional baring of teeth followed by some biting. Par for the course in doggy world I guess. As I am writing this, Candy is exhausted and lying near me, while Bill is lying next to her and staring intently at her – as though daring her to make a move. This too shall pass. Now they're both finally starting to relax a little.
Relaxation
I'm not sure if I will ever be able to relax again. It's never really been my strong suit. I'm not exactly anxious, or nervous – but I always tend to be thinking about things: stories, politics, sex, music. Some people describe their mind as a continuous monologue – but I'm not like that. The thoughts are distinct, and clear; they just always keep coming. I enjoy it, I guess; I don't think I have much of a choice. The brain is a mystifying organ.
Hillbilly Watering Phase 2
We've made a serious upgrade to the “hillbilly watering system” I had described in an earlier column. The old system was comprised of a series of water vessels, including several five gallon water jugs, a couple of coolers, and a bathtub, that were all piled into the back of my old F-150. The truck is still the same, but yesterday I drove down to Orland and picked up a 255 gallon water tank. It's a sweet set-up that saves me both time and effort. Instead of having to dip buckets into the bath tub to get the water out, now I simply turn a lever. The next piece I need is a hose attachment, and on my watering wish-list is some sort of pump and generator combination. Oh that would be living. Until then though, I'll have to dream.
Well it looks like I've got one jealous dog to deal with here, and the other one's homesick and crying. On top of that, it seems that the night is starting to get away from me. I hope I can manage to get a decent night's sleep – it's been awhile now.
madbob@madbob.com
I Want Candy!
We've got a new member of the family – a 6 or 7 year old chocolate lab who goes by the name of Candy. She's been with us now for only a couple of hours, and right now Bill and Candy are in the process of figuring out how exactly they are going to get along. So far the results are mixed. There is a lot of herding, a little humping, some snarling, and the occasional baring of teeth followed by some biting. Par for the course in doggy world I guess. As I am writing this, Candy is exhausted and lying near me, while Bill is lying next to her and staring intently at her – as though daring her to make a move. This too shall pass. Now they're both finally starting to relax a little.
Relaxation
I'm not sure if I will ever be able to relax again. It's never really been my strong suit. I'm not exactly anxious, or nervous – but I always tend to be thinking about things: stories, politics, sex, music. Some people describe their mind as a continuous monologue – but I'm not like that. The thoughts are distinct, and clear; they just always keep coming. I enjoy it, I guess; I don't think I have much of a choice. The brain is a mystifying organ.
Hillbilly Watering Phase 2
We've made a serious upgrade to the “hillbilly watering system” I had described in an earlier column. The old system was comprised of a series of water vessels, including several five gallon water jugs, a couple of coolers, and a bathtub, that were all piled into the back of my old F-150. The truck is still the same, but yesterday I drove down to Orland and picked up a 255 gallon water tank. It's a sweet set-up that saves me both time and effort. Instead of having to dip buckets into the bath tub to get the water out, now I simply turn a lever. The next piece I need is a hose attachment, and on my watering wish-list is some sort of pump and generator combination. Oh that would be living. Until then though, I'll have to dream.
Well it looks like I've got one jealous dog to deal with here, and the other one's homesick and crying. On top of that, it seems that the night is starting to get away from me. I hope I can manage to get a decent night's sleep – it's been awhile now.
madbob@madbob.com
Rambling Thoughts from a Semi-Old Man
Be Here Now
Back to school. Jesus. I haven't been in school for decades, and I still experience anxiety-ridden dreams involving classrooms I can't find, or tests I haven't studied for. School and I do not really get along. I got through it, but I'm glad to be done with all that. I much prefer the role of a plain old working citizen. These days some of my time is occupied by the nine to five, but otherwise I do nearly exactly what I want. Still, good luck to you. Welcome back to those of you returning, and welcome to town to the incoming students. For some of you, college will be the best six years of your life, and you probably won't remember five and a half of them. Sad, really, but that's the way it goes.
Ann Landers, I am Not
I used to give advice in these columns, for the back to school issue: for what to do, and what not do; but you know what, figure it out. I don't know any better than you do. At this point, I would probably give you obsolete information that wouldn't do you a damn bit of good anyway.
I start writing out advice and it sounds like the fucking motivational posters some of you will see when you end up sequestered inside cubicles, your souls slowly being sucked up into the gently humming fluorescent lights and air conditioning. I've been there. It's not that bad at first – you don't realize how rotten it is until the element of time makes itself clear. Time is a bastard. You probably can't really understand that right now – unless you've been diagnosed with some sort of early onset cancer, or spent time in prison. At a certain point, time feels meaningless – infinite and abstract. You'll find yourself waiting for time to pass, waiting for something interesting to happen. I can remember being bored, endlessly craving action and excitement.
That will shift on you. It will flip. Eventually, you won't be wanting time to pass, you'll be wishing time would slow down, stop, or move in reverse. But it won't. It's a horrifying realization, and one that you can't make until you can. There's nothing I can say, nothing that hasn't been said a million times before. Youth is wasted on the young. Don't waste it. Use your mind while it is sharp, your eyes while they're strong; use your body while it is still supple, and hot.
Ah shit, there's the advice I said I would not give. Oh well, who gives a shit? Not me.
madbob@madbob.com
Back to school. Jesus. I haven't been in school for decades, and I still experience anxiety-ridden dreams involving classrooms I can't find, or tests I haven't studied for. School and I do not really get along. I got through it, but I'm glad to be done with all that. I much prefer the role of a plain old working citizen. These days some of my time is occupied by the nine to five, but otherwise I do nearly exactly what I want. Still, good luck to you. Welcome back to those of you returning, and welcome to town to the incoming students. For some of you, college will be the best six years of your life, and you probably won't remember five and a half of them. Sad, really, but that's the way it goes.
Ann Landers, I am Not
I used to give advice in these columns, for the back to school issue: for what to do, and what not do; but you know what, figure it out. I don't know any better than you do. At this point, I would probably give you obsolete information that wouldn't do you a damn bit of good anyway.
I start writing out advice and it sounds like the fucking motivational posters some of you will see when you end up sequestered inside cubicles, your souls slowly being sucked up into the gently humming fluorescent lights and air conditioning. I've been there. It's not that bad at first – you don't realize how rotten it is until the element of time makes itself clear. Time is a bastard. You probably can't really understand that right now – unless you've been diagnosed with some sort of early onset cancer, or spent time in prison. At a certain point, time feels meaningless – infinite and abstract. You'll find yourself waiting for time to pass, waiting for something interesting to happen. I can remember being bored, endlessly craving action and excitement.
That will shift on you. It will flip. Eventually, you won't be wanting time to pass, you'll be wishing time would slow down, stop, or move in reverse. But it won't. It's a horrifying realization, and one that you can't make until you can. There's nothing I can say, nothing that hasn't been said a million times before. Youth is wasted on the young. Don't waste it. Use your mind while it is sharp, your eyes while they're strong; use your body while it is still supple, and hot.
Ah shit, there's the advice I said I would not give. Oh well, who gives a shit? Not me.
madbob@madbob.com
Primitive Systems
I'm dirty right now. There's a lot of dried mud – dirt – on my pants and on my boots. There are streaks of dirt on my vee-neck undershirt, and there are streaks of dirt on the skin of my face and arms. My hands are relatively clean on account of the gloves, and the subsequent cooking. This is the way things are around here sometimes. There is a wine cooler at my feet where the dog should be – but Bill hasn't been feeling too well the last couple of days and so he is sprawled out on the carpet, about seven feet away from me. He's looking in the direction of the bathroom, where Trish is soaking off the day's leftovers – including a sharp thorn that has embedded itself in the bottom of her right heel. My left hand is blistered from neglecting the gloves while planting a crab-apple, or was it the maple? Well, the end result is a peeling pocket of translucent white skin, and clear puss, on the left side of my left palm, as I'm looking at it, just above the “head line” and beneath the “heart line,” (for those of you who know anything about palmistry.)
Hillbilly Watering
We have this system for watering some of the trees we've planted in the further reaches of the yard, beyond where the irrigation will reach. It's really an insult to hillbillies to name it as I have. I am sure that hillbillies have much more efficient means of watering their trees. But anyway, I have my old Ford pick-up loaded with containers: a couple of 5 gallon water jugs, an old 5-gallon paint bucket, two coolers, and a bath-tub that came with the yard. I fill all of these vessels up with water, pour a little more water in the truck's radiator, and then drive around the yard pouring the water onto the various trees and shrubs. All said and done, this way I give water to eight flowering plum trees (dark purple foliage), one maple, four magnolia trees, four patches of bamboo (two different varieties), two rhododendrons, two flowering cherry trees, one bald cypress, two “dragon trees” (weeping, gray colored evergreens), four azaleas, and a newly planted ficus that is supposed to grow like a vine. Don't ask me, I dig the holes, I run the water. Trish is the brains of the operation.
It's a kick though, driving the truck over the bumpy, rutted dirt road that cuts through the property – the water sloshing out of the bath-tub and running out of the truck's bed. I collect as much as I can at each stop with one of the empty coolers. I'll either dump it into the five gallon paint bucket with the handle, or pour it back into the bathtub. With this primitive system we've managed to keep the bulk of the trees alive through this temperate summer. We really couldn't have asked for a better weather pattern to get us started – lots of moisture in the spring to soak everything in, and now basically low temperatures for the summer; everything hasn't fried.
UPDATE: I dumped my fucking wine cooler all over this table, computer, and onto the linoleum floor.
madbob@madbob.com
Hillbilly Watering
We have this system for watering some of the trees we've planted in the further reaches of the yard, beyond where the irrigation will reach. It's really an insult to hillbillies to name it as I have. I am sure that hillbillies have much more efficient means of watering their trees. But anyway, I have my old Ford pick-up loaded with containers: a couple of 5 gallon water jugs, an old 5-gallon paint bucket, two coolers, and a bath-tub that came with the yard. I fill all of these vessels up with water, pour a little more water in the truck's radiator, and then drive around the yard pouring the water onto the various trees and shrubs. All said and done, this way I give water to eight flowering plum trees (dark purple foliage), one maple, four magnolia trees, four patches of bamboo (two different varieties), two rhododendrons, two flowering cherry trees, one bald cypress, two “dragon trees” (weeping, gray colored evergreens), four azaleas, and a newly planted ficus that is supposed to grow like a vine. Don't ask me, I dig the holes, I run the water. Trish is the brains of the operation.
It's a kick though, driving the truck over the bumpy, rutted dirt road that cuts through the property – the water sloshing out of the bath-tub and running out of the truck's bed. I collect as much as I can at each stop with one of the empty coolers. I'll either dump it into the five gallon paint bucket with the handle, or pour it back into the bathtub. With this primitive system we've managed to keep the bulk of the trees alive through this temperate summer. We really couldn't have asked for a better weather pattern to get us started – lots of moisture in the spring to soak everything in, and now basically low temperatures for the summer; everything hasn't fried.
UPDATE: I dumped my fucking wine cooler all over this table, computer, and onto the linoleum floor.
madbob@madbob.com
3,000 Jokes
Okay so it is time to write something... I have so many conflicting, and harrowing thoughts right now. There is a fan beating wind down on me. The dog is gnawing audibly on a cut-up cow's joint – maybe a knee joint, or an elbow. Do cow's have elbows? The dog is chewing, loudly, on a thick, leftover cow joint that is starting to putrefy and really smells bad.
I don't feel bad about giving the dog beef bones. These come straight from the butcher and they are the leftovers, so far as I can tell. I don't believe any cows are being killed specifically for their knee joint bones - I think it's more for the meat: the steaks, loins, and hamburgers. Meat is fucking weird. That's all I'm going to say about that tonight – the wine is kicking in and I've got to move onto more uplifting topics of conversation.
Trish and I started talking about concerts, she's seen the Clash a couple of times – tells me they could hold an audience in close and tight; even when they were playing a bigger auditorium, like The Olympic, in Los Angeles. Not an arena, but Trish tells me they used to stage boxing exhibitions there; I mean, it was a bigger place. She also saw Kraftwerk, at the Santa Monica Civic – tells me that band managed, with unreasonably loud synthesizers, to lock the crowd into a trance-like state, and to simultaneously redirect everyone's heart beats...
I have completely lost my train of thought [mind].
6,000 Jokes
Six thousand jokes. Six thousand jokes. You make jokes because otherwise life becomes too sad. But then if everything is either sadness, or maniacal laughter and ecstasy -well, that doesn't really add up. Somewhere, in between, there have to be periods of relative meaninglessness.
I read something today from Yoko Ono, about balance, and power. She decisively dismisses the concept of logic, and I think she is dead right. I listen to people, everyday, who argue that there is some kind of intrinsic, deeply entrenched logic behind this all - and I feel pity for them. Does that make sense? I don't know if it does or doesn't – but I don't consistently catch the logic, if it is there to be admired.
Ha ha now I am really just lost at sea. Thoughts have stretched out far beyond my words' capacities to capture them.
Memory Loss
Our computer is apparently 98% full right now, and It is expressing dissatisfaction. Fuck it – fuck the computer. We made it – it didn't make us. I can remember a time when we had no computers. It wasn't better, or worse – but it was really fucking different – before we all had a phone with us everywhere we went, or a weird machine that corrects our grammar and, almost immediately lets us fact-check anything we read. Great improvements, and I mean it – but we also lose a certain amount of naivety – and with that, a certain amount of fun.
madbob@madbob.com
I don't feel bad about giving the dog beef bones. These come straight from the butcher and they are the leftovers, so far as I can tell. I don't believe any cows are being killed specifically for their knee joint bones - I think it's more for the meat: the steaks, loins, and hamburgers. Meat is fucking weird. That's all I'm going to say about that tonight – the wine is kicking in and I've got to move onto more uplifting topics of conversation.
Trish and I started talking about concerts, she's seen the Clash a couple of times – tells me they could hold an audience in close and tight; even when they were playing a bigger auditorium, like The Olympic, in Los Angeles. Not an arena, but Trish tells me they used to stage boxing exhibitions there; I mean, it was a bigger place. She also saw Kraftwerk, at the Santa Monica Civic – tells me that band managed, with unreasonably loud synthesizers, to lock the crowd into a trance-like state, and to simultaneously redirect everyone's heart beats...
I have completely lost my train of thought [mind].
6,000 Jokes
Six thousand jokes. Six thousand jokes. You make jokes because otherwise life becomes too sad. But then if everything is either sadness, or maniacal laughter and ecstasy -well, that doesn't really add up. Somewhere, in between, there have to be periods of relative meaninglessness.
I read something today from Yoko Ono, about balance, and power. She decisively dismisses the concept of logic, and I think she is dead right. I listen to people, everyday, who argue that there is some kind of intrinsic, deeply entrenched logic behind this all - and I feel pity for them. Does that make sense? I don't know if it does or doesn't – but I don't consistently catch the logic, if it is there to be admired.
Ha ha now I am really just lost at sea. Thoughts have stretched out far beyond my words' capacities to capture them.
Memory Loss
Our computer is apparently 98% full right now, and It is expressing dissatisfaction. Fuck it – fuck the computer. We made it – it didn't make us. I can remember a time when we had no computers. It wasn't better, or worse – but it was really fucking different – before we all had a phone with us everywhere we went, or a weird machine that corrects our grammar and, almost immediately lets us fact-check anything we read. Great improvements, and I mean it – but we also lose a certain amount of naivety – and with that, a certain amount of fun.
madbob@madbob.com
The New Consciousness...
The world just keeps right on spinning around, doesn't it? I'm functioning on very little sleep - I don't know what it is, maybe the change in the seasons or something, but if I pull down four hours of shut-eye I'm doing well. I've been sleeping lightly, dreaming a lot, and waking up early every morning. The dreams seem important, but I can never remember them.
But who cares? I don't have many important decisions to make. I do my job, I write this column once a week, I try and take care of my business. Who can know the thoughts that lurk inside someone else's mind?
Win at Any and All Costs
I'll tell you what I'm glad I'm not Obama right now. The guy has got to feel like he's running through an obstacle course. He comes into office and his own party is telling him “health care, health care, health care!” So he gets right on it and gets the health care legislation pushed through. Meanwhile it gets scuttled by the Republicans and, frankly, by the cowardly members of his own party. Then it's jobs jobs jobs – so he tries to move forward on jobs, but then oh no, it's not jobs anymore – now it's a debt crisis! So Obama does an about face – ditches his Keynesian economics and agrees to start slashing – no scalpel, we're talking machete. The debt commission is established, but now it's back to jobs! Meanwhile the two wars we are fighting have morphed into three, or maybe four, depending on how you count them. And underlying all of this mess is the pledge by the Republicans that they will not allow one penny of tax hikes to pay for it all. Speaker of the House John Boehner says one day “We've got to get rid of this 'my way or the high way' mentality;” and almost the next breath is “no tax hikes period.” I'm paraphrasing – but seriously, Obama must feel like a pinball, or one of those morons in the “cowboy poker” competitions – the ones in which an angry bull is unleashed and a bunch of nutty cowboys sit around a poker table trying not to move as it kicks their heads off. The one who remains seated the longest is the “winner.” I don't know – I'm starting to think there is something to the theory that Obama's political opponents are willing to scuttle the economy for another year in order to win next November. It's an ugly thought, but it's there. But the fault is Obama's as well – he's letting himself be lead around by the nose – by his own party, by the Republicans, by the special interests, by the power-monger of the day. He hasn't articulated a clear vision, and he hasn't communicated a way forward. And now, with over a year to go, he's already back into campaign mode. Was he ever out of it?
This is the game in the national political arena in this year 2011. Eleven years into the new millennium – where the hell is the new consciousness that is meant to be emerging? Maybe not here – in America. Not in the shopping malls, or on the internet, not in the pages of some free weekly “newspaper.”
madbob@madbob.com
But who cares? I don't have many important decisions to make. I do my job, I write this column once a week, I try and take care of my business. Who can know the thoughts that lurk inside someone else's mind?
Win at Any and All Costs
I'll tell you what I'm glad I'm not Obama right now. The guy has got to feel like he's running through an obstacle course. He comes into office and his own party is telling him “health care, health care, health care!” So he gets right on it and gets the health care legislation pushed through. Meanwhile it gets scuttled by the Republicans and, frankly, by the cowardly members of his own party. Then it's jobs jobs jobs – so he tries to move forward on jobs, but then oh no, it's not jobs anymore – now it's a debt crisis! So Obama does an about face – ditches his Keynesian economics and agrees to start slashing – no scalpel, we're talking machete. The debt commission is established, but now it's back to jobs! Meanwhile the two wars we are fighting have morphed into three, or maybe four, depending on how you count them. And underlying all of this mess is the pledge by the Republicans that they will not allow one penny of tax hikes to pay for it all. Speaker of the House John Boehner says one day “We've got to get rid of this 'my way or the high way' mentality;” and almost the next breath is “no tax hikes period.” I'm paraphrasing – but seriously, Obama must feel like a pinball, or one of those morons in the “cowboy poker” competitions – the ones in which an angry bull is unleashed and a bunch of nutty cowboys sit around a poker table trying not to move as it kicks their heads off. The one who remains seated the longest is the “winner.” I don't know – I'm starting to think there is something to the theory that Obama's political opponents are willing to scuttle the economy for another year in order to win next November. It's an ugly thought, but it's there. But the fault is Obama's as well – he's letting himself be lead around by the nose – by his own party, by the Republicans, by the special interests, by the power-monger of the day. He hasn't articulated a clear vision, and he hasn't communicated a way forward. And now, with over a year to go, he's already back into campaign mode. Was he ever out of it?
This is the game in the national political arena in this year 2011. Eleven years into the new millennium – where the hell is the new consciousness that is meant to be emerging? Maybe not here – in America. Not in the shopping malls, or on the internet, not in the pages of some free weekly “newspaper.”
madbob@madbob.com
Dick Cheney is Right! (And So Are You.)
I've been tuning in to some of the recent interviews that former Vice President Dick Cheney has been giving. He's got some new book out about his time in the Bush White House. Anyway, the guy is 70 years old now; thin, feeble, pale as a ghost (of course he's been that way since he was born, probably). And he's espousing his ultra-right wing... no, it isn't even fair to call Cheney “right-wing.” He's a paranoid, slightly insane, firmly-rooted, well-meaning, megalomaniac. He is what he is. His world view is reptilian, he sees an enemy lurking under every rock, he is the classic archetype – the guy who strikes first before he is struck (whether or not he was ever going to be struck remains open for debate.) That's Cheney. He says himself: “I didn't change – the world changed.” I don't know the context of that remark, but it's dead-on. All the shit went down while he was in office (and he was in office since fucking Nixon!) - He didn't change an iota. This is the kind of person we ought to look out for (cull?); but this is also the kind of person that inevitably gravitates up the power chain.
Look, Bush Junior buckled under the power. He had second thoughts, reservations, deep, dark hours; because, in spite of popular belief in some circles, he's a fucking human. Cheney is something else – another species, a mutation, an abomination. And he's also fucking right.
He's not right because he has to be – he's right because of our stunning lack of vision and execution as a people – not just us in the U.S. - but everywhere. We collectively, consistently, let the wrong people into the hallways of power.
The problem is us, but it isn't. Most of us, 95% of us, maybe 98 or 99 – we don't ask for much: a roof over our heads, a toilet to shit and piss into, some food, a little entertainment and fuck it, we're good to go. We are not really the problem. The problem is that little wad of people, those “1 percenters,” who crave power, who crave impossible wealth, who relish the opportunity to engage in wars – hell, they'll never fight in them. It is a gluttonous, detached, schizophrenic and manic condition – and totally unnecessary. We don't have to let these assholes lead the world.
Obama was elected as a counter-point to this madness. Now he is battling against the very traits that put him in office: He is humble, he is thoughtful, he compromises. All he does is give a good speech (When is the last time you saw a politician pick up a shovel or pull a trigger?) He is who we wanted – now we don't want it, because the fear has crept in, and we need someone more determined, less reasonable.
Well, no problem; there are plenty of candidates out there to fill that criteria. Have at them.
madbob@madbob.com
Look, Bush Junior buckled under the power. He had second thoughts, reservations, deep, dark hours; because, in spite of popular belief in some circles, he's a fucking human. Cheney is something else – another species, a mutation, an abomination. And he's also fucking right.
He's not right because he has to be – he's right because of our stunning lack of vision and execution as a people – not just us in the U.S. - but everywhere. We collectively, consistently, let the wrong people into the hallways of power.
The problem is us, but it isn't. Most of us, 95% of us, maybe 98 or 99 – we don't ask for much: a roof over our heads, a toilet to shit and piss into, some food, a little entertainment and fuck it, we're good to go. We are not really the problem. The problem is that little wad of people, those “1 percenters,” who crave power, who crave impossible wealth, who relish the opportunity to engage in wars – hell, they'll never fight in them. It is a gluttonous, detached, schizophrenic and manic condition – and totally unnecessary. We don't have to let these assholes lead the world.
Obama was elected as a counter-point to this madness. Now he is battling against the very traits that put him in office: He is humble, he is thoughtful, he compromises. All he does is give a good speech (When is the last time you saw a politician pick up a shovel or pull a trigger?) He is who we wanted – now we don't want it, because the fear has crept in, and we need someone more determined, less reasonable.
Well, no problem; there are plenty of candidates out there to fill that criteria. Have at them.
madbob@madbob.com
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