squidbag

No Diminished Returns

I had this day off, and the weather was shit (torrential downpours which only stop to allow that nasty, misty spit rain that sticks instantly to your glasses and makes you walk like Quasimodo) and so after Max and I had done everything we wanted to do this morning - a sort of complex game involving cages and animals with Max as the zookeeper and superhero action figures helping him round up the animals for the farmer - we went to Chuck E. Cheese and hid from the rain inside with games.

I keep waiting for CEC technology to catch up.  I remember when these places used to be Showbiz, and they had the same animatronic shows they have now.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that when Fats the Ape got the shaft, they just took off his skin and put that purple furry exoform over it to make Munch, the big purple monster who plays keyboards.  I admit to some resentment, because I grew up with Showbiz, and only found out that Chuck E. Cheese existed later.  Then, when one company apparently bought the other, I was, well, disappointed.  Too much behind the scenes dealing, in my opinion.  I would have liked to have seen the mascots from the restaurants out in the parking lots fighting it out.  I think if I had seen the Showbiz bear lose fair and square, I'd have felt better.  In spite of all of this, I still think that thirty or more year old animatronic tech being served to little kids who don't know the difference is mean - kind of like serving reality TV to their parents.  (I found this timeline after writing this paragraph.  It seems to be in aid of a necktie, was fascinating to me, and I laughed out loud at the Winter of 1997 entry.)

Max had a blast as always at Chuck's, though.  We ate our circular Italian food object, drank our orange soda, and Max had a massive Bomb Pop ice cream.  He had the Jolly Rancher kind, and that thing is as tall, from top to bottom, as his head.  And he finished it.  I don't think the law of diminishing returns has any meaning until you're older than three and a half, 'cause he just kept right on going on that thing.  Then, we played games.  He got pretty good with winning ticket games, but still likes things that make music or art, or let him run fast and fall down and stuff the best.  When it was time to go we counted our tickets without fuss, and came home and napped, listening to the rain rage outside.

So far, a very pleasant day.

Terri Schiavo 1964-2005

Terri Schiavo has died at her hospice care center in Pinellas, Florida.  She died about an hour and ten minutes ago, the announcement came less than five minutes ago.  She was 41 years old, and is survived, first and foremost, by her husband Michael Schiavo, and her parents, Bob and Mary Schindler.  Terri has died at the end of the most heavily litigated right-to-die case in American history, after having been deprived of her dignity and privacy for more than eleven years.  Now, at least, this is all over for Terri.

Couple of Days Off

I'm off today and tomorrow because my boss gave everyone a lot of extra hours to prepare for a visit from our corporate bigwigs (which we did well on, by the way) and now payroll needs to scale back a little.  I spent all day yesterday just cleaning our office (and now we are fucking organized) and right now I'm having some toast while Max watches cartoons and trying to figure out what to do on this crappy Pensacola day.  Makes me wish I had a hammock.

Speaking of breakfast toast, though, I'd just like to take a minute to recognize Mabel Jackson of Pensacola, FL and her cherry fig preserves, which I am having on the toast.  Mabel is apparently some kind of genius in the kitchen.  Or canning room, or wherever the fuck you make preserves.  I don't know stuff like that.  Anyway, the cherry fig stuff we got at the County Fair rules, and I will go to the fair again this year just to get more.  Mabel rocks!

Alias was good last night.  Without getting into the back-and-forth of whether Season 4 is as good as Season 3, and avoiding for a moment any problems anyone might currently have with the show - I wanted to put my vote out there for last night's episode being the best one of the season so far.  "Tuesday" was this season's "Facade."  "Facade" was the episode last season with the mad bomber, played by Ricky Gervais from the show The Office.  It is so far, my favorite episode of the show to date, because of the way it played into the overarcing plot about Syd's disappearance, and because it was unique in the way it used the characters. Vaughan pretending to be Sark, then having to work with him, and Jack killing the bomber, then bringing him back - hardcore.  I could say some of the same things about last night's show - with Marshall to the rescue - and thanks, I think I will.  "Tuesday" was the best of the season so far, I think, and I'd like to hear from anyone else who watched it what they liked about it.  And no nitpickery about how long it takes to task a satellite will be allowed.  Oh, and take this quiz.

As I mentioned, I'm keeping Max out of school today - but tomorrow he has to go in with his mommy, because the Sin City movie opens, and should be fantastic.  A topic on this blog for a little while, you all know I've been excited about this since it came to my attention.  I would encourage everyone to read the graphic novels (no storyboards were done for this film b/c they used the comics for that purpose - that's how dead on this will be) listed on the side, there, and definitely go see the movie - I think it'll be nice fork in the road for the rest of cinema.  I know Rich will be in the theater with me in spirit.

I think I'm going to go get a shower and then maybe play some games with my kid before we get out of here today.  Shout outs to everyone on Spring Break and vacationing, and convalescent wishes to Mike and Jones, both healing from stuff you wouldn't want.  And everyone in the Madtown - I see from Mike B's blog that Spring has sprung - I thought about that when I mentioned the weather here.  I also see stuff about spinach on his blog - so go learn something.

Those Tawdry Lesbians

Mary Cheney, (as reported here by the Arizona Republic - a bastion of qualified news reporting) has accepted a book deal - you would, too - from a conservative publishing house (?) to write up a little memoir.  It's no 20 million from Halliburton, but it's nice work if you can get it, I guess.  Apparently, she will do anything to get elected.  She is running for something, right?

Personally, I think it's a cheap and tawdry ploy to discredit the Cheneys, and that these people who keep bringing up the fact that she's gay - like the book publishers, in this case - are not, as Lynne Cheney said back during the debates, good people.  Indeed, just being gay is kind of cheap and tawdry of Mary at this point, isn't it?  I mean, can she just not be gay?  It's so cheap and, er, tawdry.  And inappropriate, yeah.  Obviously, she's going to have to keep bringing up being gay to write her cheap and tawdry little memoir, and if her parents' reaction from last Fall is any barometer, we'll be fitting DIck for a replacement pacemaker any minute now.  The whole situation is just really undesirable - and it was pretty cheap, tawdry and inappropriate of me to have put this picture up, like that bad nasty Associated Press that I got it from.  They are so below the belt.

So - just to make this crystal - if you're a Republican, it's okay to have a daughter who's gay, it's okay for her to be gay, It's even okay for her to be openly and publicly gay, but it's completely uncool for anyone else - especially a Democrat - to bring it up.  Is that it, guys?

Guys?

Reverend Jesse Jumps In

Jesse "I am somebody" Jackson has decided to get involved in the Terri Schiavo case, taking a stance with the maniac zealots, conservative Christians and right-wingnut right-to-lifers, against those people who'd like to see Terri die with at least a modicum of choice and dignity, like me.  I think that.  I'm not too awfully worried about Terri being able to slip peacefully away though, since this is the same "Reverend" Jesse Jackson who never finished divinity school, who blackmailed Anheuser-Busch into selling a brewery to his sons when his boycott failed and failed, who was there when MLK was shot, who lost the Democratic nomination for President to Walter Mondale, (to say nothing of the other time he ran for President) who's pals with Al frikkin' Sharpton, who screwed around on his wife AND knocked someone up, and who most recently backed John Kerry for the US Presidency.  So what I'm saying is - Jesse is no rabbit's foot.  Anyone who refers to New York as "Hymietown" you can have on your side.  Damn, I wish we could get Jesse to testify for Michael Jackson - with his track record, we'd have a conviction in a day or two.

I mean, I'm sure his heart was in the right place and everything.  It's just that I'm not worried.

Brain Dead Whites Matter, Indians Don't

In the midst of his lowest approval rating ever, (which, in all fairness, extends to both parties and all of the Legislative branch - we just hate the government right now) President Monkeyface is facing criticism that he just doesn't give a fuck about dead people on Indian reservations.  A week ago today the bloodiest school shooting since those Columbine assholes went nuts took place in Minnesota, in a place called Red Lake, when a kid woke up one day and killed his grandfather, the grandfather's girlfriend, stole some weapons and gear, and decided to take out his angst upon the school.  This was a tragic event that resulted in the deaths of 10 people.  On the rez, where there's really not a whole lot of people in the first place.  In Florida, a single woman has been dying for eleven years now, and the fight over whether or not to keep her alive artificially has become a religious issue for a lot of people.  When the President heard about this, he put down his chainsaw and pretzel bowl and came off vacation - something the people in Red Lake didn't get to see him do - and flew his ass to Washington to stand on ceremony and do something he could have done from Crawford. 

Brain dead woman at the heart of a religious controversy - important.  Dead native Americans - apparently, of so little import that Monkeyface waited a goddamn week to phone anybody up about it.  But then, this is Crawford.  Maybe he wasn't near a phone.  The President is a schmuck, the zealots are a minority, and if you'll carry a lit torch in my revolution, I'll assign you a code name right now.  Enjoy your Monday.

(Thanks to my lovely wife for drawing my attention to this picture)

Easter

Bill Hicks once described Easter Sunday as the day we spend "commemorating the death and resurrection of Jesus by telling our children a giant bunny rabbit  - left chocolate eggs in the night.  Are we fucked up as a race?"  To expand on Bill a little, I'm pretty sure the word "Easter" is only in there once, and that's mentioned incidentally, when Herod (I forget which one - the Bible has Herods like America has Bushes) throws down on the apostles.  There's certainly no edict from Christ, or even Peter saying "Keep the Easter holiday holy and whatnot."   In spite of that, there's proliferate evidence that the Church celebrated Easter as far back as the 2nd century, calling it something else, and eventually co-opting the pagan holiday Eostre, a day celebrating a Germanic fertility goddess in the 8th or 9th century.  Arjuna mentions it in "Talkin' Anniversary Blues," by the way.

In years past, Easter Sunday tends to be one of those days I try not to even leave my house, lest I must deal with Christians out in their Easter finery, celebrating the ressurrection.  Even radio and news tend to be dangerous, as you will see Easter crap dressed up as "news" parading about.  So, normally, I try my best to avoid Easter.  Today, however, has been an exception.  I decided to go and get eggs and dye and sit at the kitchen table with my family and dye eggs.  (This is the first time I have dyed eggs since the actual first time, when I learned how in Jake and Davina's apartment in Madtown.  I think that must have been five or six years ago.)  I liked it so much, we may do it again next weekend.  Max went to the store with me, helped me check the eggs so we didn't get broken ones, and got so excited initially about the prospect of dying eggs that he gave himself hiccups and afterwards, had to take a nap.

So yeah - I'm still going to avoid everyone else's Easter as often as I can, but I found a way to enjoy easter weekend in spite of myself.  Oh, and there's more pix over on the side.

Jackson Square Stories

When my wife was a little kid, her parents took her to Jackson Square in New Orleans to feed the pigeons.  Named after one of our most popular genocidal Presidents, Jackson Square has a huge Magic Kingdom-looking church in it, and is sort of a focal point for the French Quarter.  Anyway, long long ago, when my in-laws took my wife-to-be to feed the pigeons, they watched her from a bench for awhile, arm outstretched, apparently offering food to a hungry avian friend.  After a short while, it dawned on them that she had fallen asleep.  Standing up.  In the middle of Jackson Square.

My wife told that story - at my behest - to Julia and Deanna whilst were walking through Jackson Sqaure last weekend.  I have no idea if this is what got Max into a storytelling mood or not, but as we were passing through the park, he asked us all to sit down in a circle on the damp grass, and he would tell us a story.  We sat, and he announced, looking around and with some small degree of hesitation, that his story would be about...uh...trees.  The several minutes that followed contained the tale of the little girl who lived in the trees in the park, and how she brought them water.  And how she met Superman, and they put the bad guys and the tigers in jail.  We sat for a few more seconds digesting this, and then we went to get beignets.

Nice Weather For It, Then.

Right now, it is storming like the sky itself is angry with the ground - just for laying there, all flat and relaxed - and has become so frustrated with the situation that it has decided at last, to take vengeance on the dirty, dirty ground by flinging stinging water droplets at it, accompanied by rushing winds, raucous, chimney-shaking thunder, and flashes of lightning.  Rain has begun to splatter against the windows of the house, and with dusk approaching, the sky is dark gray turning to midnight blue (a color I'm almost positive should be capitalized) and by the pricking of my thumbs, well, something's coming, anyway.  It is in this weather, at this time, right now, that my wife has decided to go over and "talk" to my mother-in-law about her most recent behaviors, and I say, "Nice weather for it, then.  Good hunting."

Max is asleep on the sofa, having worn himself out at the Battleship Alabama Park in Mobile.  If you get a chance to go to this - don't.  There's nothing even remotely interesting about a war memorial in this day and age, and even wandering around on a submarine pales after a few minutes. Anyway, I have a moment of quiet while things get hashed away out, so I thought I would create a rainy day entry.

The parents of Terri Schiavo have gotten really sad, now, making up things that they say their daughter said.  Unfortunately, I'm beginning to get a kind of Weekend At Bernie's quality off of them, where they're willing to pass off anything as 'alive.'   In other Schiavo news, Christians have gone to two of their favorites over this thing now: getting arrested and threatening to kill people.  Now, I remember in the Bible when Christ got arrested, but I also remember the "render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's, and unto God that which is God's" comment.  I guess there must be some grey area for civil disobedience in there somewhere.  Now, Jesus trying to kill attorneys and Federal Judges?  I don't have that version of the Bible.  (Fuck, who knew Weekend at Bernie's had a sequel?!?  What the hell can that be about?  Apparently, it has voodoo in it.)

Speaking of the work of Andrew McCarthy, I thought I would pass this along for all of you who have made comparisions of my current job to the movie Mannequin.  One of my jobs on Friday last was to deal with one of our mannequins that had aggressively perky nipples.  Apparently in the past, we have had angry mothers in the Junior's section complaining that the fauxrectile tissue on our mannequins was out of control, and would we please do something about it?  First, we tried Band-Aids, but that just drew MORE attention to the nips in question, so I tried hammering.  You really want funny looks - grab a hammer and go pound on some mannequin breast.  Apparently, 'if I had a hammer' we now know what I would do with it.  I only wish I worked with Kim Cattrall.  Not that I want to hit Kim's boobs with a hammer...

Speaking of voodoo, I couldn't find, while in the Big Easy last weekend, the Louis Armstrong voodoo votive I knew I should have bought the first time I saw it, so if anyone can get me a line on that, I'd appreciate it.  Also, more readers.  I think I'd like more readers, so if anyone wants to roll the bones, kill a cockerel and help me out with that, that'd be cool, too.  I'm hoping that Julia Mac will get her film from her enormous man-camera developed soonish, and will send prints of our little jaunt to N.O., so's I can post and show you all.

Okay, the rain outside is making me chill, so I'm going to go enjoy it.

Global Tension Helps the Economy!

I know that this will come as small surprise to many of you, but I thought we should cover it again for the people in the cheap seats.  Today, the President Monkeyface agreed to sell planes to Pakistan.  You remember Pakistan?  That country that supported the Taliban right up to 9/11 and then changed their minds and said that they were sorry, so now we like them?  They made what I like to think of as a "tactical retreat" on their Talibanesqueness, once they realized that the supreme miltary power on the face of the Earth was pissed off, run by a cowboy, and looking to break something.  A heartfelt conversion, to be sure.  I'm so glad we decided to "spread freedom" to the Pakistanis, and not India, just across the border from them, with a functioning democracy (of sorts) and not quite so many forays into questionable military actions as have the Pakis.  But to make things all better, we've invited the Indian government to buy our warplanes, too.

The Lockheed Martin F-16 "Fighting Falcon" is an instrument of war, and based on this little fact sheet, I bet it's really expensive.  I mean, the Porsche 911 Cabriolet Turbo has an MSRE of over one hundred thousand dollars, and it looks to me like it does a lot less than the Fighting Falcon.  Of course, it does come in yellow, so maybe that's the rub.  Oh, and the Falcon is nuclear capable, which is probably one of the reasons why India is so upset.  But hey - we've opened up a new market over there!  Yes sir, if we sell 'em to the Pakis, we got to sell 'em to the Indies, and the way I got it figured, tension in that region is good for an American economy.  Why else would we lift our ban on selling these planes to Pakistan, who was only forbidden from buying them as punishment for their nuclear programs?  We don't like nuclear proliferation - if you're Iraq or Iran.  If you're North Korea, we'll let it slide without invading you because - once again - a nuclear North Korea builds tension in the region, and ultimately, we figure that's going to be good for our business.  Looked at this way, even the invasion of Iraq makes sense.  Sure, in the short term it pads the pockets of KBR and Halliburton, Dickie's old buddies, but in the long term - well, the hits just keep on coming!  In the long term, Iraq's coming civil war destabilizes the region, which creates tension, which is - say it with me -

GOOD FOR THE ECONOMY!!!

I'm glad I could help you all with this important tool for analyzing our foreign policy decisions.