So, who's next?

Back in the day (last century) when it became fashionable to promote some form of agenda in Washington, a group of experts would trot out some data and present it at a congressional hearing. The thrust was ... "by the year 2000 ...." The thinking was, in the 1980s, that "the year 2000" was far enough in the future that speculation on life would be connected to "an estimated 5 million Americans will suffer from ...." Once a week, "by the year 2000, we'll have (a.) no trees (b.) no fresh water or (c.) lots more people with an illness, poverty or too many kids." Sadly for these experts, they all died without having to prove anything and, worse, 2000 came and went. Now what's the "landmark" date for "by the year .... 2010?" Been there, done that. Usually these milestone dates that Congress gets to ponder are in mathematical integers or 10, 15 or 25. Now, we just skip over it and go straight to 2100. Wow, really...

I was going through a box of old pictures not long ago -- we are talking VERY old pictures (like the one on my profile) -- and one of the astonishing aspects of it was clear. I don't know for sure who took the pictures. There are lots of them of my brother and me from back when life was in black and white. There are few photos in the mix of my father or my mother or any of the people who were important to us when we were toddlers. I mean ... almost NONE ... I recall a recent event when somebody tried to take a picture of some children and their mother. "No," she said flat-out. "I don't want to be in the picture." Ya know, I bet my mother said the same thing. And guess what? After all this time, she got her wish. I wish I had a photo of my mother and father from that time. So, let this be the lesson, Mom and Dad. Sometimes the picture isn't about YOU. It's about somebody ELSE who might care about you. Let them take the picture. It does...

I'm still slightly ill at ease at the abundant number of Christians who are getting bent completely out of shape because somebody has the audacity to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry CHRIST-mas." Why is anybody upset because we don't feel the compelling need to say Merry Christmas? Like, get over it. It's not a sin to discuss the pagan holidays without reference to the Big X being missing. Man, talk about a pissed-off bunch of Christians ... like, lighten up. If somebody wishes you "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas," just tell them to get fucked ... in the true spirit of the Jesus season. Happy goddamned New Year. Now let's all get drunk and be somebody.

SANTA VS. THE SNOWMAN A story that you might believe, This happens every Christmas eve It’s when the winner gets to drive the sleigh. After all the daylight’s gone Just before there’s any dawn These two meet up without the need to play. No cause for fear or false alarm For down the road from Tucker’s Farm One of them is going to have his say. It seems this most amazing duel That happens every frosty Yule Is quite bizarre in nearly every way. The story that my father told Long ago, ‘cause now I’m old Was, “Santa doesn’t always drive the sleigh.” One night, I wandered to the farm Hoping that I’d face no harm And what I saw, I must explain today. To the left, old Santa stood As though he were a block of wood His face a somber shade of pewter gray. Not far away, up near the oak Adjacent to a gleaming cloak Frosty mulled this moment, said “OK.” Santa hunkered by the fence As now the battle would commence And I could tell that this was hardly play. The man in red...

I take time to check the local reports around the country for their version of the fall colors. I guess I have too much time on my hands. Usually, it's the same story, depending ... not enough rain will make the colors dull ... too much heat will delay things. If your perspective is to look up at the trees, you might wonder how long it's going to take you to rake them - if they ever decide to fall. Which they will. I have an oak tree out back that is losing its leaves and I've learned to be patient. Leave them in place. By November, a big wind will come along and ... whoosh! Leaves are down the block. Fall is a nice time of year if it doesn't rain.

Apparently there's a debate afoot about whether America, as a "Christian" nation, is not doing the Christian thing by ignoring its poor. The premise, according to a comment by TV personality Steve Colbert, is that this isn't what Jesus would do. The conversation, I suspect, comes back to the Tea Party, which considers itself either Republican or part of the Christian Right, neither of which connects very well to poverty, according to liberals. Liberals, according to the Christian right, are actually "niggers and wetbacks." They don't actually say that because even the Christian right occasionally demonstrates some restraint. Truth is, nearly everyone born in this country in the 20th century is aware of the principles of Christianity. Part of that is connecting the religion to the lives of the poor. Generally, however ... and correct me if I am wrong ... the main goal is salvation of the soul. Needing a sandwich at the time is optional. My knowledge of bi...

What I've learned about most creatures on this planet, maybe humans too, is that when they come up against a rival species, or one they can't easily understand, they seek a secure environment and go from there. Mostly, the secure environment was assured before the creature ventured forth. As in, a squirrel isn't usually too far from a tree or a groundhog too far from a hole in the ground. Snakes usually can slither to cover. Chipmunks have some interesting skills, though, and one of them is their quickness. They dart for cover and when they are in the open, they move very fast. They can even climb. Mostly they are wary little buggers. And they know a good thing when they see it. Yeah, he's afraid of me. But he ain't stupid.

Back in the day, we were zealous in hewing out the goop and seeds from a pumpkin, not really caring what became of that stuff. How, we wondered, can you make a pie out of punkin guts? Never really getting an answer, we went about the business of hacking some triangles into the gourd in hopes of creating the most frightening jack-o-lantern in town. Yep, with a candle inside it, it glowed. Just like all the other jack-o-lanterns in town. Today, you can get kits to make carvings in pumpkins, all of which is a bit disconcerting to those of us who believed creativity came at the end of a 6-inch blade. Then again, Michael Myers ... what would HE do if he had to dig all that goop out?

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.

This would be amusing on some other levels, but the report that New Jersey Sen. Frank Lautenberg, 86, plans to continue working despite being diagnosed with stomach lymphoma -- well, I am not really surprised. What I would like to know is ... WHY? What we need in the Senate, according to somebody, is an 86-year-old sick man who will be on pills, treatments and fairly extensive care, all the while apparently still trying to do the work of Congress. Whatever that was, Evan Bayh wondered. Frank, just retire, OK? The interesting part is that all the softballs that were thrown at the docs surrounding this announcement bordered on ... yeah, they were laughable. AP reported: "Independent doctors agree that Lautenberg's type of lymphoma is usually treatable." This blob of hysteria really tripped my trigger: "I wouldn't be too surprised to soon hear how he's once again outpacing younger aides as they walk through U.S. Capitol building," said state Assembly Speake...

If you're old enough to remember Crosley Field or have an Uncle Riley who does, some of these names will make you smile. The rest: W.G.A.F. That's not the objective. Google "slow, dull baseball players" and come up with your own list. The point is: How champions are made, one Aaron Miles at a time. The 1950s were the years when "big," "red" and "machine" were usually associated with Soviets, tanks and old communists waving to the crowd while standing atop Lenin's tomb. Cincy baseball was a second-division team, seldom in the hunt. Hunt for Red October was a movie. By 1960, the whole thing bottomed out. So begins the story. On Dec. 15, 1960 (or so legend has it) the most unpopular three-way trade in history occurred. The Redlegs sent the awesome shortstop Roy McMillan to the Milwaukee Braves for pitchers Juan Pizarro, a lefty, and Joey Jay, a righthander who was the first Little Leaguer ever in the big leagues. So we had that going for...

This out of Indianapolis AP RV Industry representatives and lawmakers are urging the U.S. to send thousands of trailers left over from Hurricane Katrina to Haiti even though some could be contaminated with formaldehyde. OK, as far as it goes, that's a nice gesture. Dying of some chemical seems the lesser of many evils for Haitians, who never would have had it so good as to get a real live RV made in Elkhart, Indiana. What's amusing is that this ain't about having a place to live. It's about the RV industry worrying that a government notion that auctioning off the 100,000 trailers would further depress their industry. This stuff was junk in the first place and now the industry is worried it will be put on the regular market. Haitians are pissed off because they say it's an example of the U.S. dumping inferior goods on them. As if a pile of rubble is superior housing. I worry that we won't have enough trailers left over when the next hurricane hits. Is anybody eve...

In or out of context, this couch, on a sidewalk in Philadelphia, just seems ... so ... um ... Philly. I love it.

It's always nice to know that somebody is trying to help us turn macro-government into something we can really call "useful" in our daily lives. The AP is noted for this when it tries to explain just exactly "what is" a zillion or a billion or a trillion. It usually comes in the number of football fields that it would cover. Not that you can envision ... say, 100 football fields all in a group. The latest is exactly "what is" 1.9 trillion dollars. AP uses these comparisons, as if miles and dollars somehow connect to the rampant insecurity that guides the average journalist these days. * A 1.9 trillion-mile trip is about the same as 8 million trips to the moon. Since you and I have often been to the moon, consider making 8 million of them and you come up with ... * 1.9 trillion feet would take you to the top of 29,000-foot Mount Everest 65 million times, or to the bottom of the 36,000-foot Mariana Trench, the deepest point in the Pacific, about 53 mill...