Mantra

Kurt Vonnegut 1922-2007

Fred R. Conrad/The New York Times

Kurt Vonnegut 1922-2007

I once saw Vonnegut at a reading in Denver. It was right after Princess Di died and he said something like, why does anyone care about this twit?

Rest easy, Kurt.

If Only I Were a Vegtarian

Wish Tree - Washington D.C.

Yoko Ono, Imagine Peace

Clever Reverend #4

We Speak in Metaphors About Love

The Poinsettia

She brought this into work a few years ago around the holidays—just a simple, small poinsettia with foil wrapping and full, blossoming leaves. It sat on top the microwave for the longest time and random people would water it from time to time (or it could have been just her and I watering it, I never really knew), keeping it alive well past xmas. I started watering it regularly, and when she was laid off, I took complete control of its care, which consisted of nothing more that giving it water. Sure, I initially did some extra care: I re-potted it, and I trimmed it once so it would stay full, but all I do now is give it water every few days and a little extra water on Fridays. It just grows and grows without any nurturing or attention at all. I recently cut off part of a branch to see if I could get a new plant started, but that hasn’t amounted to much. I’m pretty sure it has outgrown its pot again, and I have a feeling that it may tip over some day, but I’ve gotten rather ambivalent lately about putting forth any extra effort, so whatever happens, happens. It’s common sense that if I don’t re-pot it then it will fail someday, but I’ve made no plans to do much more than water it, and there’s no biting desire within me to start making any more care plans now. It’s there. It gets taller. I water it. Some day it will need more, and that some day is now. And I haven’t decided if I’m willing to do much more.

That goes for the both of us.

Hey Mistah, Spare Any Debit Cards?

Walking across Fleet Street, heading toward the parking garage, thinking about what I am going to do for dinner and how I can't just stop at some fast place because I have no cash on me, I am accosted by a lady asking me if I have any money, she's just trying to get something to eat. Sorry, I have no money whatsoever on me, which is the truth. (Full dislcosure: I did find a crumpled dollar bill in my wallet later on in the evening.) Half the time I'm asked, even if I wanted to give, I can't because I often have no cash on me, even less often is change because it quickly ends up in my change jar. I wonder, in this age of plastic plastic plastic, in the hurtling forth into a newer age of a cashless economy, how many people that once depended on the spare bucks and dimes from street strangers are now either starving, dead, or gainfully employed now that the handouts are fewer.

Bong Hits 4 Jesus

Photo credit: Clay Good

Heading to Supreme Court this week is the case Morse and the Juneau School Board et al. v. Frederick (06-278). Guess who's the guy arguing for the school? Billy Boy Clinton's old nemesis, Kenneth Starr. I'll leave the jokes to someone else on that one. All I can say on this matter is this:

The current neona, uh, conservatives have it in their thick heads that we can export democracy. Look how free we are! read the banners strapped to the heavily armored humvees with machine gun turrets. Throw an election and you too, someday, will be able to tell kids not to paint satirical signs and display them on Olympic parade routes.

John McCain this week said our troops were being wasted in Iraq, then later clarified to say he meant "sacrificed."

If they are over there moving into Baghdad outposts while we sit here and suspend students for this shit, then I say, Mr. McCain, you had it right the first time. And you just lost my vote. Again.

Why do we need to mince words? Fuck it, I'll say it: we are wasting lives over there. Waste. As in throwing away. Anyone with half a cashew in their noggin who thinks I am deriding our troops needs to armor up and ship out. Of course the soldiers believe and want to believe they are fighting for the greater cause. I don't fault them for that. To many of them, to those who do feel they are helping each and every day, it is not a waste to them at all. I am sure that Iraqis can see that we are not the devil after all, at least not all of us, and are smart enough to separate the men from the policy. But the policy is wasting lives. Wasting money. Wasting international goodwill. Wasting the future. Wasting opportunities for balance in the Middle East. Waste.

I wouldn't trust Dick Cheney to run a carwash. I wouldn't trust Donald Rumsfeld to hold my place in line at the checkout. But yet we trusted them to wage war, and they wasted the international support we had after September 11, 2001 (can we please stop saying "9/11"? It's not a fucking decal; it's an historical event. JFK wasn't assassinated on 11/22), they wasted our surplus, they wasted time and resources in Iraq when they could have spent effort in Afghanistan, the battle that no one dares question, and they wasted over 3,000 lives so far, and tens of thousands who will carry, as Bush calls them, "grave wounds."

The whole thing is a waste. Just like it's a waste of the court's time and America's time to be arguing about the sign above. But I guess they figure after installing the pasty white diverse duo on the SC, they've got a shot at going after their little pet projects: namely, eroding all Amendments except one, the Second.

Bong Hits 4 Kenneth!

Assault Rifles 4 the Messiah!

Cigar Blast from the Past

In 1996 I was the Democratic Student Coordinator on the campus of my college in Rindge, NH, Franklin Pierce College. I got an opportunity to meet President Clinton during his run for a second term. I volunteered to drive a van in his motorcade which held part of the press corps (I believe I had CBS news reporters). The moment was fairly unremarkable, but it was something my father was very proud of and he related the story of a young Clinton meeting President Kennedy when he was just a few years younger than I was and how such encounters inspire youth to grow up to be the men they admire most. I was pretty cynical at the time, still am, and the moment was not one that inspired me to great political aspirations, but from then on I did declare my future candidacy to anyone and everyone (after I turned 35) and I even voted for myself as a write-in candidate for president that year. I was 18 and it was my first national election and I voted for myself.

Chuck Palahniuk Responds

Inventory of items sent by cool-ass writer Chuck Palahniuk (generous guy, knows how important his fans are; all due respect to Chuck, stand up fucking guy):

letter (personal)
carrot
chocolate-scented stickers
birthday candles
harmonica
swiss army knife
temporary tattoo
name badge, signed
photo, rooster and Chuck with cigarette butts, signed
folding pocket comb
pirate coloring book
magic cards
3D cheetah
million dollar bill
severed finger
valentine's day pencil
herb garden seeds
forget-me-not seeds
fake poop (I always wanted fake poop.)
sugar-free peppermint mints
valentine grow kit
candy cigarettes
it's a boy candy cigar
pop rocks
star-shaped hole-puncher
mini xmas crayons

The Dilemma Satisfied

I received some good ideas, but decided to go with a donation.

Hooray for the FCC Guard Dogs

My Drink

This is DP24. Dr. Pepper claims 23 whatever. DP24 is Dr. Pepper plus one, lemonade. Mix these two. About 2/3 parts DP, and 1/3 part Lemonade. And you have DP24. You can also add rum. Ummmmm, rum.

Baltimore. Fleet and Caroline Streets.

The General Has Arrived!

twentythreebooks is proud to announce the arrival of Omar Shapli's The General Is asked His Opinion and other sad songs 2002-2005. Check out the website for ordering information:

http://www.twentythreebooks.com/

The Dilemma

Hello folks. I have a dilemma. Perhaps you can help me out.

I found this cup at a Royal Farms gas station on Boston Street in Baltimore. I was pumping gas, looked down, and there was this cup one-fourth full of change. I stared at it for a while; looked around to see if anyone was looking at me, looking at the cup. I wondered for a minute or so if I should take it with me. I grabbed the cup, held it, sat down in my truck, door open, sat there with the cup in my hand, wondering if I should leave it, perhaps for someone less fortunate than me, or if I should just take it and toss it in with the rest of my change in the water cooler change deposit bank I have in my closet. Needless to say, I took it (and considering the 'less fortunate' angle, I recalled the countless times I have given those "less fortunate" folks money when they've accosted me on American streets) and I brought it home and counted it:

7 dimes
1 nickel
1 button
87 pennies

The button isn't worth much, but the coins add up to be $1.62, a fine amount if you want to start resurrecting those dreams of world travel and owning your own business, but I digress:

Now what?

I cannot bring myself to pour the change into my water cooler bank, so now the cup just sits on my desk, mocking me, echoing the ghosts of all the homeless persons that could have used the money on these cold and frigid Baltimore winter nights.

So what do I do with the dollar sixty-two?

What ever do I do?

Other Boston Pics

The Prudential Building, Boston, MA

View from Prudential Building, Boston, MA (cont. 2)