So, who's next?

I spent the better part of a year last weekend in various airports, buses, restaurants and venues on America's "Left Coast." Interesting places to see, not much real history, certainly forgettable in most cases once you get indoors. Seen one mountain in the distance, they all look alike. What I didn't admire was that nearly everybody there speaks something of a language that entitles them to not understand what I said. I have some ideas on how this happens in a place that's inundated with the fear that not being inclusive somehow will exclude you permanently from participation. So all the stores and eateries that are owned by people who don't speak English are hiring the college-age (read that: cheap) labor that speaks "some" English, which is interpreted by the non-English speaker as being "enough" English. Hey, I speak enough Spanish to ask somebody how to find somebody who speaks English. I can also, in Russian, ask a Russian where a U.S...

Somebody in Italy is pissed off because seismologists didn't predict an earthquake that killed several people. I suppose had they predicted it and the folks had died anyway, well ... science is wonderful. I am thankful that the Italian legal system is more absurd than ours, though I suspect the profits aren't as great. Who needs god when we have a courthouse? QUAKIN' AND BELLYACHIN'

Penning my thoughts before the Rapture, wondering if there were people I have offended, cheated or dismissed as being irrelevant. Probably. For that, I am deeply sorry. I know in my Heart of Hearts that I should have been Saved, but after the hospital did such a nice job on me last year, I thought I was in the clear. Guess not. I need to scurry down to the bank before noon to open my account that the church can draw off its 10 percent. They will need that as the zombies come to the door, all seeking handouts. The Rapture has been forecast for some time, but like driving down the highway being alerted that the left lane ends in a mile because of road work, we ignore it, hoping somebody will let us in. Well, now it's too late. Nobody will let us in. The Time has Come to shake hands with Mister Demise. The pretty ones will get to be with Jesus. The rest of us will just sit around and sort socks. Socks. What a nice thought. Wait ... wait ... what? No Rapture. It didn't happen. Here...

Having watched the same-old, same-old NCAA basketball flutter over the past few days, going on year after year, a few notions strike me as peculiar. 1. Does anybody realize that you can't really drive the lane when four opposing players are standing in it? 2. Are all the players black and all the coaches white ... on purpose? 3. Do the announcers take an oath that they will scream loudly into the microphone on every single play? 4. Is it apparent that the have-nots are in this thing because the haves need an easy game or two to create the illusion that competitive basketball is being played? 5. What the hell is the CBI doing?

I decided about a year ago that if my workplace didn't get better, I'd just retire. A week ago, I decided to retire. Frankly, I hope the newspaper industry gets what it deserves. It's been sold out to assholes who have no concept of reality, no notion of what the business was, or why. These are fruitcake nationalist wannabes who seem to think that if you give people no choice, they will learn to love their mundane existence. I think the protests are about to start. Lucky for corporate America, it will have demolished the one set of checks and balances that could have led to conversation, sensible debate and compromise. Frankly, I hope the revolt succeeds. I have all I need. Just don't leave your paper cups in my front lawn. Interesting, how this will play out. The three or four Benedict Arnolds who run our company will find work at the end of it. Eventually, they'll be cast adrift and freed to latch on as some sort of emissary with some social organization. Fuck the...

I spent the entire summer not doing this blog for reasons that really aren't clear. Well, yes ... the reasons are clear. I didn't want to mess with it. But now I'm back, just to let YOU know ... and no, we will not go into a stupid Contours song from a stupid movie that wasn't at all about the title. So just getting warmed up here for the Big Spring. How 'bout them Lions?

I realize that half of America has to merge into the left lane for about 80 percent of summer because a road crew is patching something, repaving something or replacing something. Call me dense, but when the sign says "merge left" is it really necessary to stay in the right lane up until the last possible instant, hoping somebody will let you in? I don't let them in unless I think it's a traffic hazard. Which it is because the damned closure is at an exit ramp which the morons forgot to close. Highway construction is really not what it used to be. And the repairs take even longer, like ... THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. Merge left.