Does my saying it make it true?

  Well, of course not, silly bear! Now, if the question is, does my saying it mean that it is true, then the answer is yes. I make a point of not making statements of fact that I am not sure about. But we aren't really talking about me, we're talking about folks that say whatever comes off the top of their head and if it happens to be incredibly far off base surreal not factual, well, so be it. No retraction, no correction, no sense arguing, what is to be gained? Arguing with an idiot means there are two idiots having an argument. --r-

And yes, if it weren't for imbeciles debating minutiae the Internet would probably not exist.

See me later ... (unless I see you first)

     Tip of the day: Don't waste your time or your long distance dimes calling to borrow money from me if you have ever tried to get me arrested. Simple enough, donchathink?

  Not too long a story, a few years ago I went out of state with two cousins, a brother and sister. We'll call them Flem and Wheezie. Wheezie (the she) was driving her car, and we went from North Cackalackkee to Geeyorga for some light 12hr/7days work at a paper plant. Wheezie proceeded to spend every night at the motel room across the street with the married man of the moment and made me late all but one of the 20 days we worked. Being late is one thing, a few minutes pay; but being late every day cost me a per deim that amounted to $48 a day. $48 A Day!! Yes, it's almost $1000, $960 to be exact!! Once the job was finished, she informed me and Flem that we would be leaving two days later, she had more carnal indulgences scheduled for the next day. Well, long story short, Flem is a drug addict and was not prone to be hanging around Geeyorga any more than I was, especially with neither a hook-up nor another drop of methadone, and I had a key to Wheezie's car. Wheezie and her weasel had gone shopping or beaching or whatever, so we drove around and tried to get Flem his check cashed for his no id having arse, I lent him money I haven't seen, and he got more and more agitated until he finally sort of flipped out screaming about not being anyone's botch and headed on down the highway. Ending the story now, she and her weasel reported the car stolen and tried to get us arrested, but we were probably in South Carolina by that time. There were angry cell calls, and threats, and she is currently stationed at whatever little shack his ex-wife allowed him in the divorce ... raising piglets while he continues to work out of town as a tube welder nailing fire-watch girls just like he always has, my best guess anyway.

   Wheezie called my house today while I was at work, spoke too slowly for the answering machine then left a second message saying she would call back at 3pm. I haven't intentionally been within a city block of her since the incident, other than through hospital stays by relatives in common, and the funeral of her ex-husband. I decided this could be humorous, and took the call. Small talk, small talk, small talk, "I am having car trouble and Weasel is out of town, and I have this job I can work, but I don't have the money to get my car from the shop."

   ROFLMAO! I throw out names of people we both know already know her too well to give her money, then I finally let her down easy.
"I suppose your calling to see if you can get money I don't have to pay for your car?"

"Well, yeah, giggle, blah blah blah."

I repeat that it sho is a shame, I wish I had it, but no go. She says she will be calling me and keeping in touch, as if we are now all better because I took her call to have a little fun with her sad little arse. No such luck, botch, I will continue to be online every evening with the dial-up until BellSouth decides to do me a solid, and then I'll be screening for you, believe that. --r-

What Kind of subject line is 'test'?

    Oh, that? I was working through the different functions that are available at blogger, not really expecting to find anything useful, when I came across the post-via-email thing and it seemed a little too simple so I tried it out. It works. It works very well. I may never have to actually visit my blogs ever again, once I get them all their own email addresses set-up. The good part, what is it, why am I so happy about it? Well, you can indent by using the friggin' space bar for one, something I never figured out at Blogger. I was using old-assed &code which I know there had to be a better way but now I need not learn it!! If you want to try it, it is under settings>email in your dashboard.

  On the subject of Blogger, other than the joy of learning a bit about posting there; I'm starting to regret choosing Blogger for my projects. I don't know if they have a certain time of day that everything goes tits-up, and that just happens to be when I am trying to view and/or update my blogs; but it is becoming a daily occurrence. I get '403 permission denied', I get 'document contains no data', I'm starting to feel a little unwanted. The oddest part is that I can go to some, but not my own, or I can view but not post, etc. Oh well, I'm probably to blame, we'll see. --r-

test

  I saw this show on PBS a couple of Saturdays ago, and I just thought to look it up today. There is this strange little show in the morning, it comes on after the economics shows from the late 80s, some sort of "being a good employee in broken English" kind of thing. What I was intrigued by was that one of the bad English employees being helped by helping lady looked and sounded just like Horatio Sanz. Horation Sanz is the tremendously unfunny stoner on Saturday Night Live. I say 'the' because Fallon is no longer with the show, although he may take to hanging around like Lovitz if he can't do any better than "Taxi". Back to Sanz, he doesn't appear on IMDb as having appeared in anything like this show I don't know the name of, so I am perplexed, because I don't know where else to look. I am no longer intrigued, however, because I have now lost interest.

   Looking into Fallon I came across the listing for "Fever Pitch" which I still haven't seen, even though Drew is in it. I see that it has done much better with regular folks like you and me than with the critics, and the "not enough baseball" critique counts as a plus for me. If that is the case, then I will see it soon and let you know what I think. --r-  (I never saw "Charlie's Angels: Full Bottle" either, but then I was certain it sucked. I'll see that one eventually too, no doubt, with the added value of McG's audio commentary!)

How evil?

I am 53% evil.




I'm getting there. I haven't done all the damage I could do but I've done quite a bit. I'm just over the border into the Evil Zone.


Are you evil? find out at Hilowitz.com

Carson Daly Amuses One

   If you stay up late enough, you're bound to see things you never thought possible. Friday, Sept. 16 Steve Carell was on "Last Call w/ Carson Daly" touting the return of "The Office", and I'm sure the continued success of his movie. Not paying too much attention, I did happen to catch Carell explaining how a scene filmed at a Chili's™™ restaurant had to be changed because of Chili's™™ MGMT objections. It seems one of the female staffers of the Office was to have been over-served, (which doesn't happen at Chili's™), and was to then vomit, (which also doesn't happen at Chili's™™). The changes were that she would become drunk by drinking from other's glasses, and that she would then fall over. At this point in Carell's telling of the tale, Daly quipped, "Oh, apparently the Tara Reid role."

   Now, you might know that Carson Daly is a rather dim person. Dumb and cheery, yet snotty and sarcastic at times, a very good set of characteristics for a chat show host, I think. You may also know that he was engaged to Miss Reid a few years back. Those two details add a lot of flavor to the line. Going to the 'Tara Reid is a drunkard' well may be old hat for certain bloggers and stand-ups, but his being her ex and not usually very quick-witted made it a much better joke. If it had been JLH that had become a walking punchline I'm sure he would have a page of professionally written slams to serve up; but this one he did himself, and it was quite beautiful. --r-

(Jennifer Love Hewitt is the one that broke up with him without his knowing. He isn't that dumb; she didn't bother to tell him directly, he said he heard it on the radio. The story is half-told all over the place, I've always assumed he cheated and she didn't feel he deserved private notification.)

Napoleon Dyn-o-mite = not that great

   I get it, he is a dufus. He is surrounded by dufi. I get it. One or two lines had me snickering, and then it was over. Scratch that, after 45 minutes of wondering when the great time was going to begin for me, I snickered once. Then light laughs two more times. Like that other guy said at the other place; it was all character and no plot. I get it, there was a plot. Just not a very interesting or compelling one, I get the sense there may have been a rather funny film put together there, it just didn't happen. Why not more establishing of the cousins (gangbangers in the lowrider) or Summer (the enemy in the Presidential race)? Grandma? A character-driven flick with a lot of roughly sketched characters, that never reveals much about them??? The sad part for me, I would probably watch it again if I could corner someone that has raved about it into sitting through it with me. I would like to see a sober person that I know getting a lot of joy out if it, that might clear things up for me. It wasn't horrible, I like goofy, character pieces, I was just expecting so much from all the hype that wasn't there. Kids, don't do drugs, don't believe the hype, aiight? --r-

People have argued the merit of Nap. Dyn-o-mite in the IMDb boards, I am not that bored.

This is not a political blog ...

   However I must quote Barbara Bush the Elder, referring to the evacuees in the Astrodome:

"And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them..."

Hear a recording at WTF is it now? --r-

Curious George Goes to the Hospital

    September started pretty much the same as August, hot and humid, nothing extraordinary. Katrina and New Orleans were on most of our minds more than anything else, otherwise nothing extraordinary. I went to work and came home, nothing extraordinary. I usually sit here and read groups, blogs, and scout for nude pics of Walter Brennan, and Thursday night was no different. I got to sleep around 11-12, as usual, with two alarm clocks set for 4:15 a.m. At exactly 3:08 a.m. deputy Whatsits called and told my machine if it was Richard and he was there to pick up. I got up, turned on some lights and ambled towards the machine because I had not understood nor recognized the voice. Before I could play the message back, the phone rang again. It was Grandmama, wife of George, explaining that he had experienced some sort of attack, a seizure perhaps; and he was about to be airlifted to New Hanover Regional Medical Center. I got dressed and went right over, the place was lit up quite well by the combined lights of two patrol cars, an ambulance, and the requisite first responder's dash globe. There may have been a fire truck as well, they seem to show up everywhere. I haven't asked Grandmama about it, as this woman is rather difficult to get through to under the best of circumstances. I've decided to assume they didn't understand her either and didn't know what sort of emergency they were responding to so they sent everyone.

They decided to take the road rather than the sky for whatever reason, and asked that she go if she were going, so I got her shoes on her and sent her in the ambulance. I stayed behind to advise his son, and to await the arrival of her son, my Uncle, and to lock up. At this point, I was preparing to call work and my ride and cancel both, and go to the hospital with Uncle. That is when her phone rang, it was Grandmama. They had stabilized him, but were still baffled concerning what exactly had happened to him and why. Discerning that I was not educated nor equipped to do anything for him, I decided to go to work. I handed Uncle Grandmama's checkbook, gave him my number at work, and sent him to the hospital. They stopped by the job on their way back to the house to get her medication to report no change. I got home about 6ish to listen to answering machines reporting no change.

With Saturday afternoon came consciousness, and the departure of his son. He asked to be kept informed, but he does have a wife 8.3 months pregnant at home, alone with their 14 month old! I went for my first visit Saturday evening, and we waited an hour because they said he had just gone for MRI. George was quite confused, which is to be expected, I'm told. I asked him about going in the tube, which he responded he wasn't looking forward to, I let it go. Grandmama chose to misunderstand what he was saying, to assume he was speaking about the tube that had been down his throat the previous day and a half. Once she knew he was unaware that he had already been for an MRI, all bets were off. This is the ugly part of our story, where it is revealed that this woman is so consumed with herself that everything somehow relates directly to her and her own experiences. She found it necessary to argue with a delirious, half-dead man, to make sure he knew that she knew something that he did not. He was not aware enough to notice. Today he was moved to a semi-private, started squawking about an imaginary fire, and was moved to a private. Lucky guy that bed 2 guy.

Grandmama. I have never in all my years, even when surrounded by people that were under the influence of many different combinations of drugs; ever met anyone so enraptured by the sensation of noise coming out of their own face. If you've heard the psychology term "internal monologue", or the literary use of it; imagine a person without one. Imagine every thought that ever crossed your mind streaming directly out of your mouth. That is the wonder that is my Grandmama. I don't feel guilty, with someone in hospital as I complain about his wife, because this is my space and I am the picture of love and support in person. I just had to share this face, being the two-faced ratbag that I am. I have spent most of the last three days listening to someone that is only content when she is allowing her skull to rattle out utter nonsense non-stop. We'll return to normal programming in the next day or two. --r-

An open letter to Big Dub

    I got this through leisure guy, whom was linking it from Steve Gilliard, specifically right here, and the original original: http://www.livejournal.com/users/mijan/27168.html. I did mention leisure guy, right? The links on the right side will be updated one of these days, when you read the next personal post you may understand why I haven't done it yet. Follow the livejournal link for the pre-letter rant, but here is the letter in total. (Posted with permission implied by her use of the phrase "pass it on".) --r-







Your citizens are dying, and I personally hold you responsible for their lives. As the president, you are a public servant, NOT a king. Your job is to serve the people of the United States of America and to uphold the Constitution, not to preach your Biblical beliefs and to play golf. I'm sorry the hurricane disrupted your vacation. It must be awful for you, but I assure you, it's far worse for the victims.

Today, you addressed the nation, and admitted that you made some mistakes - that everyone involved in the relief effort made some mistakes. That's not good enough. Apologies won't bring back the people who died needlessly. As the highest authority in the land, you can't afford those sorts of mistakes. "Oops!" is not an answer. You were supposed to do something, but you didn't until it was too late for many of them, and more are going to die. Their blood is on your hands. There are still people living in filth, sleeping in the streets, crowded into crumbling buildings, stranded on rooftops, dehydrated, sick, dying, and desperate for just a bottle of water and a bit of food. These are American citizens - your highest priority... but you are incapable of understanding their suffering because you've been so sheltered all your life, you can't even comprehend the sensations of true hunger, thirst, or desperation. You've never had to worry about your next meal, or of having a roof over your head. And when you left New Orleans, after hugging a few people while surrounded by cameras, and you flew back to Washington, DC in the comfort of your helicopter, WHAT DID YOU HAVE FOR DINNER? I'll bet it was delicious, wasn't it?

Oh, and by the way, how much money are you going to donate to the victims of the hurricane, Mr. Bush? How much money is going to come out of your personal bank account? You're independantly wealthy, and could live comfortably on JUST the pension from your presidency for the rest of your life. Children are giving their lunch money. What are you going to give? How much do you really love America?

The American people don't want your lies, excuses, and apologies anymore. How many mistakes can you make before you stop making them? How many more people have to die for your stupidity? Should we just wait for the next major disaster to strike, just in case you do better next time? We don't want a "next time", Mr. Bush. We don't want your promises of a better tomorrow. We want your resignation.

~Michelle J. d'Entremont
2LT, US Army Reserves
Engineer Corps

(I have no fear of publicly using my name for this. Pass it on. These are my words, and I stand behind them with my name, rank, and convictions. And if it ends up on CNN, with my name, and Bush reads it, even better.)