Hey fatboy, get off the fence

A couple of thoughts that I've been trying to organize and put down so they make sense, since my pop died...

For years I have loved Dylan Thomas's 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night'. I think it was my inner angry young man, and a belief that one should never give up, but continue to fight the good fight, yada yada, and all that other psuedo-romantic crap that fills the minds of the youthful, whether that be physically or mentally.
Anyway, here it is, in it's entirety.


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

So, while dad was in his decline phase for the last few months, I kept reading through this, at first cheering him on, raging against Doctors, and hospitals, misfortune, medical insurance, ad infinitum. And then in the last few weeks, and really into the last days, I would look at him in bed, and think about the last verse. And finally think. Go. Go into the good night. I love you dad, but it is time for you to go, you have raged against the dying of the light, but enough of your fevered delusional thoughts, of the battles for more breaths, the constant state of exhaustion. You have been a fine man, a great father, a loving husband, an incredible citizen of the country, and friend to anyone open to you. Go. You've earned it. I love you, I miss you, but go. And finally he went.

What follows is (give or take a little editorial license, and poor memory) the eulogy for Dad from his memorial service. Oh, and the title of this blog/post refers to a story I originally was going to tell in his eulogy, but somehow wasn't sure anyone would "get it", so edited it out. My dad was a very funny man, but sometimes you just had to be there.


On Wednesday December 21st, I lost my father. Truth is, the man I loved, and who taught me so many things over the years had really been gone months before. Through October, November, and even a day here or there in December, he still gave little peeks, but mostly he just slept, or rambled about imaginary events and happenings.

Some of his musings and observations during this period were funny, but not intentionally so, and there was a bit of guilt in chuckling about them. Mind you, I know my dad well enough to know he would have been chuckling along with us, as he possessed a rather wicked sense of humor, taking delight if someone was a little uncomfortable with a response he might have to something.

Pardon the English, but it was not beyond dad to simply "make shit up" if he thought he might get a rise out of someone. Invariably, about the time his target would start to get good and worked up, he'd shoot them a huge grin, big enough that the gold cap on his molar showed, at which point the unwitting rube would be ..."ohhh, I've just had my leg pulled to the point of coming off".

He loved a really good argument. A particular subject we would go around and around about was baseball. He would cite some unnamed experts, and insist that his view was not only the right opinion, but indeed, it was actual fact. Bear in mind the previous observation that dad would simply make...stuff up.

One of his nicknames with me, was "the world's most married man". His level of devotion to mom was astonishing. They met in 1957 at a St.Patrick's Day dance, in the small market town of Market Harborough, under the eaves of an ancient grammar school. Some 50 years later, the romantic old sod still had the ticket. He always liked to tell the story of their meeting, and give it a slightly more macho twist over the years, but the truth is, she had him hook line and sinker from the outset. A gangly, jug-eared American country boy, meeting a petite blonde hottie with her charming accent. Frankly, the boy never stood a chance, and in conversation over the years, he admitted it. 54 years later, he still never stood a chance, but he never regretted a moment of it. I would try and tease him about it, asking why a good looking woman like Jennifer Dunkley wanted to go out with a guy with ears so big, he looked like a car coming down the road with both doors open, but it was pointless. He'd just grin, and admit "yep, I never figured out what she saw in a doofus like me either, but I'm sure glad she did".

He came from a large family, and left school to join the Air Force, which became his first career. He stayed in for 21 years, and then because he enjoyed working for the government so much, he put in 20 with the state of Missouri.

Some of you might notice a theme here. One woman, 54 years, two jobs of note, 20 plus years each. Dad believed in sticking to things.

And that sticking to things extended to the kids. While he was never shy about telling us we were loved, and making sure we knew it, he wasn't shy about letting us know when we had steered off the proper path. Nothing was worse than the head shake of disappointment, when you had very clearly made the wrong choice, or pursued the wrong course of action. Dad worked in guilt the way Michelangelo worked in marble. A true artist. Oh, and one of his favorite guilt lines-and a beaut. "Your mother will be very disappointed". Or "Your mother was worried about you". Both of these lines translated as "I" am disappointed, and "I" was worried about you. A master at manipulation!

But mostly what I think of when I think of dad, was he was a great teacher. He taught me to have a moral center. Not that I appreciated it as a rebelling teenager, that just KNEW that the old man didn't have a clue.

But moving into adulthood, whereas I didn't follow him on his spiritual journey, I certainly learned right from wrong.

Just because something is easier, or explainable, or justifiable, doesn't mean it is right. "Do the right thing, son. You know what it is." If that means giving to someone who has less than you, when you don't have much yourself, you do it. It doesn't make you a saint, it doesn't make people go "oh wow, how great you are", but you do it because it is the right thing. And the right thing is the only thing.

He gave to charities, he handed out money to beggars on the street, and he would look them in the eye when he did it. Told me it made them feel human, rather than a piece of doggerel not worth looking at.

Anyway, I rambled though all that to get to this.

The most important thing I learned from Dad was a lesson that took a very long time to take root. Love. I can't tell you how many years he would end every visit or phone call with "I love you, son", and receive a "Yeah, ok-talk to you later" from me. But he kept doing it. And slowly it crept into this thick skull that 'wow, he really means it'. So I started responding in kind. At first it was awkward. Kind of a "Yeah, sure dad. uhh...love you too" type thing. And then I started realizing, damn. I do love this man. This oh so not average guy that has put every ounce of his being into this family. And then it would choke me up to say it as he got older, more frail... everytime, realizing that was one less time I would see him, and one less time I would get to tell him how I felt.

So, I want to close with two things. One, Dad-I love you, and I miss you horribly. Two, and this is absolutely the last word on the subject, Skip Schumaker is never going to be a gold glove second basemen.

We Don't Need No Education

Currently the United States medical community is in the process of completely fucking up the treatment of my father. How's that for an opening sentence?

Backstory: He is 73 years old. In 1999 he lost a lung to cancer, having kicked the smoking habit back in the late 70's. Since that time, he has had myriad health problems: He has mild emphysema in his remaining lung, COPD, prostate cancer, a melanoma on his forehead, high blood pressure, and just to make things that much more enjoyable, he's had a bad back his entire life. Fair enough, it paints a bleak picture.

In July he and my mother went to England to visit my sister. To be fair, this was against the personal advice of his own wife, and me. Every time he tries to travel, it beats his system up, and tends to knock him backwards. But he is a stubborn guy, and so off they went. From what I gather there were a few of his "normal" travel incidents, trips to the emergency room etc, but nothing astonishing or grossly upsetting.

The first warning shot that something was amiss came upon their arrival. Dad had a panic attack in Chicago, and was having trouble breathing. They took him to the local hospital, and the arrival to St.Louis was delayed a day. That wasn't too shocking in and of itself, because, as previously noted, travel always presents problems for him. No, the big problem was their arrival in St.Louis itself. First off, his physical appearance was shocking. He looked like he had escaped the set of "Night Of The Living Dead". His explanation was he hadn't slept for the better part of three days, and was shattered. This lack of sleep (I believe) would manifest itself again very shortly. On the way home, I stopped so he and mom could get something to eat. At this point, dad decided to take a left turn from reality, and it was a bit of a shock. At the restaurant, he became convinced that my nephew was at the restaurant, hiding behind the counter, waiting to surprise him. A relatively harmless delusion, but one he was absolutely convinced of. Once it was explained (repeatedly) that his nephew was in fact out of town, he finally decided that maybe he would benefit from a good night's sleep.
And that was it. He got a good night's sleep in, and over the next couple of days, as his strength returned, he was back to normal. Church on Sunday, meeting me for lunch of or dinner a couple of times a week...the usual.
And then sometime in mid September, everything started to go wrong. He began having a lot of trouble with his breathing, and sought treatment for his COPD. And boy did he get it. Drugs, drugs, and more drugs. And the more medications they put him on, the more medications he needed, and the more meds he needed, the more side effects seemed to manifest. Most disturbingly, he started to develop an inability to get any continual sleep. As that problem increased, unsurprisingly, so did his anxiety levels. Which led to panic attacks, and insistence that mom take him to the emergency room. Which to my astonishment, led to larger doses of "anti-anxiety" medications. (Brief interlude...something wrong with you? Throw some drugs at it. Still got a problem? Throw more drugs at it!! It's logical!!)
So we have the start of a spiral. By the time he was finally admitted to the hospital, the doctors had him on EIGHTEEN different medications, being taken multiple times, each day. I took the liberty of googling each and everyone of these meds, and found that listed side effects of a dozen of them were "interferes with sleep". Now, gentle lay-reader. Go out and google "sleep deprivation psychosis", and guess what? You're going to get a lot of hits, alot of articles, all sort so scientific psychobabble, that in a nutshell says..." Deprive someone of quality sleep, and they will go goo-goo, ba-ba, batshit, hallucination lsd crazy."
He finally got to the point that he thought he had been kidnapped by old people, and that they were throwing firecrackers at him overnight in the hospital.
The hospital doctors, in their wisdom, decided that maybe the medications he was on were contributing to the problem. So they just replaced them with a bunch of others. Got him down to 16, taken multpile times a day. Am I the only one that finds that hysterically funny? One of the doctors wanted to increase his anti-anxiety medications, to help him deal with his hallucinations. I told him, "you do realize he didn;t have the hallucinations until AFTER he was put on the anti-anxiety meds, don't you?" Like a taped recording, he then informed me, no, these are to help him. I figured punching him was probably inappropriate, so I asked him if he had done an overarching pharmaceutical review, to make sure that no negative interactions were taking place. He assured me that they were professionals and knew what they were doing. I felt assured that he was an arrogant ass, that didn't like some commoner asking him to justify his joy in pumping my dad full of chemical experiments.

So, at this point, my dad is in a nursing facility, as the system pumps him full of psychotrpoic drugs, looking for that perfect balance that will turn him into a compliant zombie. It should be noted, that while the geniuses are searching for an Alzheimer's unit to send him to, so he can be forgotten about, he in actual fact doesn't forget ANYTHING, short term or long term. No memory issues, sports fans. Nothing that screams Alzheimers.

Hallucinations. No sleep. Piles of drugs. I'm not a doctor. I know that his breathing issues and blood pressure problems require medication. I also know that pulling him off all the crap they have him on "cold turkey" would be horrifyingly dangerous. But I sure would like to find a doctor that would have a serious conversation about this before he becomes a Stepford Dad. And so far, I am having no luck. The only one who is even willing to listen is the administrator of the home in Chester (That's an HOUR away from Saint Louis) that they are presently trying to ship him off to. And he doesn't have any control over medical care.

Phhhttt.

Roger, Wilco

Ok, so the grand old Kiel Opera House has reopened, and here's a brief field report.
It is still the best concert venue in Saint Louis. Hand down. Best sound, great sight lines, cheapest beer...wait a minute, scratch that last one. NINE DOLLARS for a sixteen ounce bottle of beer? Wow. Made my brain and wallet hurt!!

Anyway, they did a very nice job of cleaning everything up, and giving it an intimate feel inside the performance hall, and then the mezzanine is gleaming marble, with port-a-bars scattered around so you can enjoy an over-priced drink. Oh, and the balcony is open, with some tables, so that you can sit outside.

As for the show I saw, Nick Lowe opened, performing alone, just a man and his guitar. And it has to be said he delivered the goods, playing a nice selection, spanning his career, including an outstanding slowed down cover of his old friend's "Alison".

As for the headliner, I guess what I want to do is borrow a line from an old friend of a friend of mine. "There's a place for all kinds of music". It is a line to be used as an acknowledgement that maybe what you;re listening to isn't really your thing, but, what the hell. Someone appreciates it.
And, with no small amount of irony, it described how I felt. The majority of the crowd were clearly enjoying themselves, but I kind of thought it was a bunch of self-indulgent twaddle. But, they did have a great light show. And the musicianship was good, even if it wasn't my cup of tea. C'est la vie. It was still a great night, in a great facility.

Summer In The City

OK, for those who live under an air conditioned rock, somewhere at the back of a very dark cave, can I just say it is hot out?
It's 8 am. I just got done mowing and weeding the yard. I still have bagging left to do. And that's the front of my shirt in that there picture, ya'll.
I need my own serf. I'd be a kind master. Not too many beatings.

OK-Back to it-Stay hydrated people, it's going to be very nasty...

What's goin' on?

I have to say, I honestly don't know. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Oh well, life might just get more interesting over the next few days/weeks-which is always a good thing, or at least not a boring thing. It seems I'm now being viewed as a "bad-boy" that is easy to cut loose with. Sounds like some sort of Spreingsteenesque street tough fantasy, which simply is so not me. Ergo, I'm pretty sure the idea is not true, as those who know me are aware that there's a pretty anal retentive soul lurking deep in the heart of "Big Deal Dodge" that squelches any actual "bad-boy" nonsense.
Has to be said, all in all, I'm kind of finding this whole thing pretty funny.

C'est la vie..so, in honor of what is a pretty silly ideal...

Spanish Johnny drove in from the underworld last night
With bruised arms and broken rhythm in a beat-up old Buick
But dressed just like dynamite
He tried sellin' his heart to the hard girls over on Easy Street
But they sighed "Johnny it falls apart so easy and you know hearts these days are cheap"
And the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a cheater."
Well the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a liar"
And from out of the shadows came a young girl's voice said: "Johnny don't cry"
Puerto Rican Jane, oh won't you tell me what's your name.
I want to drive you down to the other side of town where paradise ain't so crowded, there'll be action goin' down on Shanty Lane tonight
All them golden-heeled fairies in a real bitch fight
Pull .38s and kiss the girls good night

Oh good night, it's alright Jane
Now let them black boys in to light the soul flame
We may find it out on the street tonight baby
Or we may walk until the daylight maybe

So much for the laughter, it is time to put my clown shoes away. G'night tonight, boys and girls

Well I used to be disgusted

And now I try to be amused.

Ok, so that was pretty damned good. What a great song selection-first off though, I should point out that the first "wheel spin" of the song selector was performed by Eddie Vedder...right after he got done singing a duet with Mr.Costello on "Substitute".

Among the less expected songs for the evening-
Heart Of The City
Purple Rain
And Your Bird Can Sing
Out Of Time
This Wheel's On Fire
Tears Of A Clown, which was segued into from Alison. Brilliant.

Oh, and he played Man Out Of Time right near the end. Which made me hideously happy.

Oh, and don;t forget the go-go dancers. Every concert should have go-go dancers. :-)

Only complaint...It was loud...did I mention that? I mean...loud. as in LOUD. Like very.

2:30, and all is right with the world

Wrapped up my day after a good lunch meeting, got a call from the nephew that he was able to score me a pair of Elvis Costello tix on the cheap, found someone to go at the last minute, and now I am heading to the pool.

I do believe every Friday should work out so well.

Born To Run

Thank you for so much, and goodbye. Other than that, I've got nothing.

Quadrophenia

So, after yesterday this seemed appropriate. Between clearing toilets, digging in the dirt, scrubbing dogs, and mowing the yard in ridiculous heat, ladies and gentleman...courtesy of Pete Townsend, I give you the Dirty Jobs

I am a man who looks after the pigs
Usually I get along okay.
I am man who reveals all he digs,
Should be more careful what I say.

I'm getting put down,
I'm getting pushed round,
I'm being beaten every day.
My life's fading,
But things are changing,
I'm not gonna sit and weep again.

I am man who drives a local bus
I take miners to work, but the pits all closed today.
It's easy to see that you are one of us.
Ain't it funny how we all seem to look the same?

We're getting put down
I'm getting pushed round,
I'm being beaten every day.
My life's fading,
But things are changing,
I'm not gonna sit and weep again

My karma tells me
You've been screwed again.
If you let them do it to you
You've got yourself to blame.
It's you who feels the pain
It's you that feels ashamed.

I am a young man
I ain't done very much,
You men should remember how you used to fight.
Just like a child, I've been seeing only dreams,
I'm all mixed up but I know what's right.


And on that bright cheery note, it's Monday morning everybody! Go get'em!! :-)

Reward-Lost Groove Thing

While being shook vociferously, a groove thing sprang loose, and as yet has not been located. Said groove thing is unique, in that it responds forcefully to early Olivia Newton John, Andy Gibb, "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" era Rod Stewart, and REO Speedwagon.

The groove thing was last seen in the metro east area, circa 1982. Should you find it, please call 314-322-8887.

tick, tock

marks the passing of time, as the night crawls on...

Insomnia sucks. Though it does allow a certain melancholy to float in, which invariably has my mind wander to some cool song or another, while trying not to think about all the crap that's keeping me awake in the first place. At the moment, it isn't so much a song, as it is bits and pieces of Tom Waits' Rain Dogs

Inside a broken clock, splashing the wine with all the rain dogs...

How about this couplet, from 9th and Hennepin
"And no one brings anything small into a bar around here
They all started out with bad directions
And the girl behind the counter has a tattooed tear
One for every year he's away, she said
Such a crumbling beauty, ah
There's nothing wrong with her that a hundred dollars won't fix"

or a cry in your beer special...

"Tear the promise from my heart
Tear my heart today
You have found another
Oh baby, I must go away

So hang down your head for sorrow
Hang down your head for me
Hang down your head tomorrow
Hang down your head, Marie"

Silly Marie, should have stuck with the poet. At least he'd have a good quip when the money ran out.

Oh well, this weirdness has been brought to you by too little sleep, and too much in the skull. Back to bed, and try again.

Night night

Late for the sky

Waking up at 2:30 in the morning, and being hopelessly alert sucks...flip from this side to that, try to think of nothing, but instead every stupid realistic, and unrealistic concern you might have rushes in. Ratshit!

Oh well, time for a drive. At least gas prices fell 30 cents...

All in all, it was all just bricks in the wall...

OK, I physically feel like I've been beaten with a sack full of ball-bearings, but the wall is completed -well except for just a little teensy bit of decorative gravel around the base, and some clean up...but I hurt too much for that right now.

Mentally however, I feel like the king of the world. Move over DiCaprio, you skinny little punk, the big man wants his crown back.

Did you ever?

Have you ever had one of those days, where you just feel like a dork? Did you?
Not to give anything away, but it seems that today is one of those for me. It started when I sat in the drive thru at the Bread Co, waiting for them to take my order...and then realized the reason they were taking so long was that they were not open.

It was just as well I didn't order, because I then went to QuikTrip, which upon going to pay, it occurred to me that my wallet was in the shorts I wore last night, not the pants I was wearing for my morning breakfast run.

All that before 7 am...

I beg your pardon?

I never promised you a rose garden...

Getting all the plants in the ground, and preparing for azaleas, part two. Got perennials galore and pretty much done with them, and have now started with the annuals, which I have no idea about. This is experiment time. Basically, I'm just digging little holes, sticking them in the ground, and hoping for the best. Trying to pay attention to the whole "part/full sun" warnings, and trying to space them far enough apart they don't choke each other, but at the same time, give the impression of it being a full bed once they take root and grow.

The weather forecast/reality hasn't cooperated at all, so it was time to just give in and start planting in the rain this afternoon, as the morning, when I was planning on putting them in the ground looks like it will be no better, and neither do the next couple of days.

And then, there's the azaleas. At least this year I got them for next to nothing. I'll need to try and find a nice sunny spot, and manipulate the soil to favor the damned things. My back fence has day-lilies and holly bushes, so I don't know as they'll blend in well there, and the front of the house is kind of crowded.

So, I'm developing a crazy idea of using them as border bushes along one side of my steps. It would save me mowing the damned area (which as those who know me can attest, I hate mowing that damned hill in front of my house, and the more of it I can negate, the better!), and supposedly, they make nice low level border shrubs...which means, I'm either going to succeed, or fail spectacularly! We shall see if I go for it.

Any feedback from anyone that knows diddly about azaleas will be appreciated. :-)

Do the right thing

Sometimes the planets align, and you just do the right thing.

Yesterday was a rough little day in the dog world. Linda, who is the head of the rescue I work with lost her little guy Wiley rather unexpectedly, and that kind of put a damper on things. She's had a rough year, and that was just a kick in the gut she could have lived without.

So, thinking about that, and discussing how depressing it was, the members of Team Budge convened for a trip to Home Depot to try and stimulate this struggling economy of ours, and lo...fate intervened, with an opportunity to put things right.

As we were going down the road to hardware nirvana, there she was. A little dog wandering around a street corner. So after a brief debate, we figured we better see if she had tags...nope, nothing identifying, though she did have a rabies tag. So we took her door to door to see if anyone was either missing her, or recognized her as being from the area. Nope...so, off to the vet, to scan her and see if she was chipped. Hooray! A chip. But...the owner had failed to switch the address from the APA to their own address. And the APA was closed. So, the "Bu" part of Budge got a house guest for the evening, and we'll try and locate her owner today.

She's a cute little thing, with horrible cataracts, so it doesn't appear that vision is her "thing".

Anyway, I'm feeling good that I did the right thing, and I'm feeling better that my friend DeeBee even did more of the right thing, by keeping her for the night. Full props, Little Bee.

Instant Karma's gonna get you...and sometimes it's good karma. Yeah!

And an UPDATE!!

Buttons went home! DB called the APA, and though they didn't have the current contact number and address, she was able to locate them, and Buttons-Gidget (her actual name, as it turns out) is now safe and happy. Turns out she is 14 years old, and pretty much deaf, as well as blind. Oh, and arthritic. Maybe her name should be Lucky?

Switchboard Susan

Feeling playful this morning, listening to Nick Lowe's Labor Of Lust. One of the more fun songs...(and they're all fun on this record!) Hope it brings a smile, to your dial.


Switchboard Susan,

won't you give me a line

I need a doctor, give me 999

First time I picked upthe telephone

I fell in love with your ringing tone

I'm a long distance romancer

I keep on trying till I get an answer

Gimme gimme one more chance

She's a greater little operator

Switchboard Susan, Iet me off the hook

I've been this way

since you give me yourlook

Switchboard Susan, you're all the rage

Come on sugar, Iet's get engaged

I'm a long distance romancer

I keep on trying till I get an answer

Gimme gimme one more chance

She's a greater little operator

When I'm near you girl, I get an extension

And I don't mean

Alexander Graham Bell's invention

Switchboard Susan, can we be friends

After six, at weekends

I'm a long distance romancer

l keep on trying till I get an answer

Gimme gimme one more chance

She's a greater little operator

She's a greater iittle operator

Hey babe, you're number's great

38-27-38

Oh you brlng a smile to my dial

Oh you great, operator's great

Spice this up, Baby

OK, so excuse me while I talk about how great I am.

Decided it was time to scale back the dining out again, and get back to cooking. So, tonight, it was a homemade, properly spicy arrabiata, with a little parmesan...and a sirloin steak properly pounded and tenderized, lightly grilled, and seasoned with salt, pepper, and just the right amount of olive oil and oregano, then cut into small strips, and tossed together with some penne.

So, here I sit full, fat and happy. Tune in next meal time, for more exciting culinary news.

It's a ghost town, baby.

This is a picture of things I see in my day to day job. It isn't always pretty.

A big part of my work is financing single family investment homes, and I have to say, it doesn't escape my attention that the post WWII suburban homes thrown up around the inside of 270 aren't holding up so well.

For example, I went to drive by some houses on Monday, and it was depressing. I was in neighborhoods that I'm sure (actually, I'm positive), just 10, 15 years ago were quite nice...and now, they have begun their inevitable slide into complete crapdom. They're not slums..yet. They aren't even BAD neighborhoods...yet.

But, the houses all have that pastel siding, green, blue, and grey, all looking very dull, very washed out, with their inevitable carport with the peeling paint. You drive by, and they almost always have the floor length windows, and the curtains look like crap, and you're supposed to (or at least in my job, I'm supposed to) be able to appreciate their value. And I feel bad. For the people stuck in them, for the people that can't sell, because they are no longer worth a damned thing.

Guys not that far removed from me, that go to work, make their money, and know (or perhaps it is better if they don't realize it?) that every lousy mortgage payment is just more money down the drain, because their piece of the American dream, like the little sub-division they call home is aging, and withering on the vine. What's to look forward to? Retirement? If these people are lucky, they'll get $40,000 to $50,000 out of a house they've been paying on for thirty years-so, no. They're not going anywhere. They'll sit in their houses, watch the renters move in, and make sure the locks on their doors are good.

It used to be that you could hold out for developers to come knock your house down, and at least sell to them-but in the current environment that simply isn't going to happen, Things are so overbuilt, it will be decades before there's an appetite for knocking down little bits of decayed suburbia, with their themed street names, and ever so organized sameness.

I don't like being a misery merchant, but I just got to thinking about it, and it's really heartbreaking. There are thousands of people 40 to 60 years old, scattered through this city (and many more just like it), that are screwed. They work hard, they bought their home, they made their payments, and for what? A bunch of politicians and policy wonks to tell them "Hey, btw-when you retire, we're skipping out on Social Security. Hope you don't mind. Oh, and that sure is a nice above ground pool you've got rusting in your backyard, bet the kids loved that growing up-oh well, later!! Enjoy the house!"

Oh well, at least Merle and Kris will put on a good show.

Not much to add to this

Came across this article from a fellow named Phil Zuckerman, making some astute observations about how it appears Evangelicals hate Jesus. Or at least his teachings. I think he's on to something...sorry folks, this will take an attention span of longer than eight seconds, but it is a worthwhile read.


The results from a recent poll published by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life (http://www.pewforum.org/Politics-and-Elections/Tea-Party-and-Religion.aspx) reveal what social scientists have known for a long time: White Evangelical Christians are the group least likely to support politicians or policies that reflect the actual teachings of Jesus. It is perhaps one of the strangest, most dumb-founding ironies in contemporary American culture. Evangelical Christians, who most fiercely proclaim to have a personal relationship with Christ, who most confidently declare their belief that the Bible is the inerrant word of God, who go to church on a regular basis, pray daily, listen to Christian music, and place God and His Only Begotten Son at the center of their lives, are simultaneously the very people most likely to reject his teachings and despise his radical message.

Jesus unambiguously preached mercy and forgiveness. These are supposed to be cardinal virtues of the Christian faith. And yet Evangelicals are the most supportive of the death penalty, draconian sentencing, punitive punishment over rehabilitation, and the governmental use of torture. Jesus exhorted humans to be loving, peaceful, and non-violent. And yet Evangelicals are the group of Americans most supportive of easy-access weaponry, little-to-no regulation of handgun and semi-automatic gun ownership, not to mention the violent military invasion of various countries around the world. Jesus was very clear that the pursuit of wealth was inimical to the Kingdom of God, that the rich are to be condemned, and that to be a follower of Him means to give one's money to the poor. And yet Evangelicals are the most supportive of corporate greed and capitalistic excess, and they are the most opposed to institutional help for the nation's poor -- especially poor children. They hate anything that smacks of "socialism," even though that is essentially what their Savior preached. They despise food stamp programs, subsidies for schools, hospitals, job training -- anything that might dare to help out those in need. Even though helping out those in need was exactly what Jesus urged humans to do. In short, Evangelicals are that segment of America which is the most pro-militaristic, pro-gun, and pro-corporate, while simultaneously claiming to be most ardent lovers of the Prince of Peace.

What's the deal?

Before attempting an answer, allow a quick clarification. Evangelicals don't exactly hate Jesus -- as we've provocatively asserted in the title of this piece. They do love him dearly. But not because of what he tried to teach humanity. Rather, Evangelicals love Jesus for what he does for them. Through his magical grace, and by shedding his precious blood, Jesus saves Evangelicals from everlasting torture in hell, and guarantees them a premium, luxury villa in heaven. For this, and this only, they love him. They can't stop thanking him. And yet, as for Jesus himself -- his core values of peace, his core teachings of social justice, his core commandments of goodwill -- most Evangelicals seem to have nothing but disdain.

And this is nothing new. At the end of World War I, the more rabid, and often less educated Evangelicals decried the influence of the Social Gospel amongst liberal churches. According to these self-proclaimed torch-bearers of a religion born in the Middle East, progressive church-goers had been infected by foreign ideas such as German Rationalism, Soviet-style Communism, and, of course, atheistic Darwinism. In the 1950s, the anti-Social Gospel message piggybacked the rhetoric of anti-communism, which slashed and burned its way through the Old South and onward through the Sunbelt, turning liberal churches into vacant lots along the way. It was here that the spirit and the body collided, leaving us with a prototypical Christian nationalist, hell-bent on prosperity. Charity was thus rebranded as collectivism and self-denial gave way to the gospel of accumulation. Church-to-church, sermon-to-sermon, evangelical preachers grew less comfortable with the fish and loaves Jesus who lived on earth, and more committed to the angry Jesus of the future. By the 1990s, this divine Terminator gained "most-favored Jesus status" among America's mega churches; and with that, even the mention of the former "social justice" Messiah drove the socially conscious from their larger, meaner flock.

In addition to such historical developments, there may very well simply be an underlying, all-too-human social-psychological process at root, one that probably plays itself out among all religious individuals: they see in their religion what they want to see, and deny or despise the rest. That is, religion is one big Rorschach test. People look at the content of their religious tradition -- its teachings, its creeds, its prophet's proclamations -- and they basically pick and choose what suits their own secular outlook. They see in their faith what they want to see as they live their daily lives, and simultaneously ignore the rest. And as is the case for most White Evangelical Christians, what they are ignoring is actually the very heart and soul of Jesus's message -- a message that emphasizes sharing, not greed. Peace-making, not war-mongering. Love, not violence.

Of course, conservative Americans have every right to support corporate greed, militarism, gun possession, and the death penalty, and to oppose welfare, food stamps, health care for those in need, etc. -- it is just strange and contradictory when they claim these positions as somehow "Christian." They aren't.

Manic Man

I have got to do something about me, food, and mood swings!
It is getting worse with age. Used to be that I'd be mildly cranky if I had gone without eating for 5 or 6 hours, but now I seem to contract some form of tourettes. Rather than some kind of lethargy, I spin into some kind of hypercritical maniacal bitchfest. What's weird is, I know it is happening, but honestly can't control it.

Latest occurrence-today. I didn't get around to eating until nearly 1pm, after getting up at Stupid O'Clock in the morning. So I'm having a conversation with a friend of mine, and I just start taking digs. And I know I am, and I know she's getting pissed off, and I can't blame her...but at the same time, I can't stop myself. It's a good thing I choose my friends well, or I'd probably be pretty lonely.

Maybe I should start carrying an emergency Snickers bar with me, before someone shoots me.... It's a thought.

Saturday morning 530

It is scary, the thoughts that go through your head when sleep has been the period between 230 and 4.
And I'm gonna do the world a favor, amd other than whine about lack of sleep, I'm not going to share the bleakness,
So, how about a happy song,

instead?

And lets all hope for a successful nap :-)

NEWSFLASH...
Nap reasonably successful. 2.5 hours gained.
The world now looks marginally brighter. Creation may continue.

Don Quixote rides again

Don Quixote has made a brief return from his previous retirement, but upon assessing the situation, he has decided that there was in actual fact no reason for optimism, and things were indeed as bleak as they had been when he made his formal retirement announcement last March.

Third party reporters have hypothesized that Senor Quixote had misunderstood some pieces of information (as is his wont), and had thought that his previous efforts at chivalrous behaviour had gained some appreciation, and he could contribute to the world being a brighter, better place. But alas, it turns out it was only the world drawing its breath before beginning to laugh at him once more.

His ever faithful agent, Sancho would only comment "El burro sabe mas que tu"

Willy DeVille had soul, baby

A short dispatch today..I was listening to Willie DeVille at a friend's house on Saturday night, and in the process of emptying a few bottles of fermented grape juice, his version of You Better Move On came on the cd player.

What a gorgeous song.

Just sayin'...been singing it to myself all damned day.

Enjoy, sports fans

Whoa, whoa, whoaaa feeeeelings

One of my favorite topics is the truth, how it is perceived, put into practice, defined, and just abused, misused, and then put back in a closet where it belongs.

The last big post I put up on this, discussed the kind of lies people tell...you may or may not recall, THIS ONE

This time, let's talk about when it is time to give up the ghost. Some would argue that, like the mythical George Washington, we should never lie. I don't make that argument. In a perfect world, perhaps, but at last check we didn't have one, and people still have feelings, situations that they're unsure of, and so on.

But, after awhile, it gets to a tipping point. A place where continued dishonesty is going to be seen as being hurtfully so...for those practicing the "well you didn't ask precisely" method (a self confessed personal flaw), plausible deniability will be gone. To continue to practice a lie of omission has ceased to be omission, and now is just being deceptive. Or a lie to protect someone is now in a state where it clearly will no longer protect anyone, and will in actual fact be detrimental to you, if not physically, at least in relation to how you are perceived by others, whom you may want to have the respect of.

I guess the point of this follow up to my previous post on the subject is, living a lie just is a very bad idea. It's one thing to get out of mowing the lawn, or going shopping, but it is quite another to continue to mislead people you ostensibly care about. And isn't that exactly who gets lied to? I mean, you wouldn't bother lying to folks you didn't care about, because...drumroll....who gives a flying toss what they think anyway?

In a continuing theme

Just Gimme Some Truth....
I have decided that my blogging has been too cramped. I have some folks that read it, and as that's developed, I've allowed myself to get concerned with potentially offending people, thus censoring myself.
Sorry, Charlie, the soft ride is over.
Stay tuned, for a return to more personal tales of misery, woe, laughter, joy, and some (un)healthy doses of bile.
Mr.Bitter is back.

Let's discuss the all important Universal Commandment of Life. Some people have this notion that ten commandments are needed to live life correctly. Wrong. One will suffice. And it is..."Try not to be an asshole"

That shalt not kill...fair enough-but if you're not being an asshole, are you also not killing someone? What about cheating on your spouse? Same thing. Honoring mom and dad?

Sometimes its hard...sometimes you tell yourself that just can't figure out what to do, or how to handle a situation. Here's a tip. Pick the tough one. It is what you should do, that's why it is tough. It might require that you feel like a bit of a jerk, but it is far better to be a short-term jerk, than a full blown a-hole.

OK, philosophy class is over. Time for me to paint. I wonder if I could get some neat textures rolling Simon up and down the wall?

I feel good, but I ain't James Brown

From Dylan and the doldrums, to Billy Preston.
How can you listen to this and not feel good? Check out the keyboards on his scintillating version of Gershwin's "Summertime" I mean, doing a Bach inspried version? Are you kidding me?

Check out a few more slices of happy genius...
Nothin' From Nothin'

Get Back

and.... OUTTA SPACE!!

May your Saturday morning keep on keepin' on!

Burn

A few days ago, I started playing Dylan's Blood On The Tracks, which led to listening to a variety of old fashioned brokenheart songs, and I came back to this one again, and again. It's certainly worth a listen.
BURN

And it's true...whenever it has comes to the whole affairs of the heart thing, I am a goddamned sore loser-but shouldn't everyone be? Otherwise, why be bothered... regardless, this song has been criminally ignored.

We can now resume regularly scheduled programming

Pearls of wisdom...

Isn't life kind of funny?

An update on the grocery list

OK, as previously noted, I have a new foster, and she is best described as being...oh hefty. In the same sense that John Merrick was described as being "ugly".
Let's be honest, the poor dog's fat rolls have fat rolls.
Anyway, there was a period of trying to name my new (not-so) little friend...she arrived with "Isabelle" which wasn't going to do, was quickly called Pork Chop, which while descriptive, somehow didn't seem to be quite right. Then there was the emergence of "Polly Pork Chop" which at least gave her a more common moniker. That has finally segued into what I hope (and believe) to be the final step in her name metamorphosis. Her full name is Polly Pork Chop Chubbs. Better know as PC Chubbs, or far more frequently, as simply Chubbs.
Even when we do get her weight off, she's still going to have that moon shaped face, so it fits.
Welcome, Chubbs. Even Vinnie has decided he likes you.

I was driving home, early Sunday mornin' through

Bakersfield, listening to gospel music on the colored radio station,
and the preacher said, "Y'know, you always have the Lord by your side!"

And I was so pleased to be informed of this, that I ran twenty red lights in his honor...Thank you Jesus, Thank you Lord

I have found that there are some powerful messages conveyed to us through song, and that this is one of them. Drive with abandon my friend. The good spirit will look out for you.
Amen

PANIC!!!

Yes, it's true. We're all going to die. Unless we eat enough french toast. And throw a lot of salt. Panic everyone...Lord I love watching local news. They are currently telling people that they need salt...BUT OH NO-Wal-Mart Lowes, and Home Depot are all out of it. But (and I'm serious), they "NEWFLASHED" that Sam's in Kirkwood just got a truckload in. RUN!!
They just keep stirring the pot. You gotta figure they are getting paid big bucks by Wal-Mart to get everyone running to the store to buy survival kits, four cases of baked beans, candles, four sleeping bags, ice skates, a generator, enough batteries to last until June. Me I'm researching recipes for cooking up canines, just in case. Sorry Chubbs, you're biggest, you go first :-(

Just another day at the office

So, last night was a fine fund-raising effort....I think. Our table ended up "getting their Keith Richards on", as the beer and wine disappeared at an impressive rate, so who knows how much money was raised?
And I got scolded! By the trivia night question reader...and she did it through the microphone, telling me off to the entire audience...what a hoot!

Anyway, after doing some serious intake at the event, a visit to the best little neighborhood bar in Saint Louis was in order (I cannot say its name, or all the trendies might discover it and ruin it!) Some serious money was spent on the jukebox, pizza was delivered, and the beers were disposed of with gusto!

A fine evening....

One for the money, two for the show

OK, it is possibly the largest social event of the calendar year in the Saint Louis metropolitan area. That's right folks, three, count'em, three animal rescue groups are banding together to put on an evening of action packed, dynamic fun, at the MOUSE RACES!!
There'll be gambling, there'll be beer, there'll be wild, wacky games, and I have it on good authority, there'll be dancing girls. Well, if they feel like it, that is.
Anyway, it is for a great cause, and it is a good time. Plus, it is just fiendish how those little mice tune up their cars for the races...

I'll take some potatoes and gravy with that

So, I have a new foster. Ostensibly, Linda has pre-named her Isabelle. Fat chance, Linda. This dog is built like a furry bowling ball, and is as cute as can be. Oh queen of the the dog chow, I christen thee "Pork Chop".
Plus she likes the name and comes when called by it. Vinnie of course hates her, but he'll get over it.

She seems to be housebroken, and for a dog as chubby as she is, she's pretty laid back about dinner. I've had to hand feed her so far. I'm wondering if she has some sort of issue with sticking her face in the bowl...I'll try a bigger dish tonight.

Also, I Let her sleep on the bed, as she was pacing down on the floor-and mild-mannered Simon never minds more canine company (unlike Vinnie, who probably resents me being on the bed, let alone any other dogs!)


Anyway, I'll come up with something less insensitive for a name, but for the next week or so, it fits!

Welcome to the pack, Pork Chop!!

Simon and Liza/Rosie

 

Two of my favorite little friends romping in the snow, pre-Christmas. These two are trouble!

(re) Start Me Up

Ok, so that's a wrap on 2010...
At this time last year, I was preparing the launch of the great weight loss campaign, and the official year end results were...54lbs gone. In and of itself, that seems like a good number, and I suppose it is. Though it has to be said, I had actually got about 70lbs off at one point, so over the last four months I regressed. BUT (and you knew there would be a "but"), I had actually regressed to only 48lbs lost, so I am trending properly again.

So, the new year is off with a bang, this year's resolution (last year being the first time I ever made one, which was "I will finish the year in better shape than I started it"-and I did!) is very closely tied to last year's. It is...to increase my weekly exercise by 50%. Last year I swam 30 minutes a day, five days a week. This year it is to get the equivalent of 45 minutes a day in. Anything more than that will be considered a welcome bonus. I'm not expecting to repeat the 50lb weight loss, as I think that is too aggressive, but hopefully another 35-40 or so this year, and by the time I welcome the BIG 5-0 in March of 2012, maybe (just maybe) I can be at something approaching what I would ideally like to be.

Anyway, all in all it was a good year. I made and lost a great furry friend, improved the house by leaps and bounds, and continued to learn that the song was right. You can't always get what you want...but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.

Maybe.

Onward, 2011...