Wednesday, October 18, 2006

We're Done Here


It's been great, and I will always miss the opportunity to voice my objections to whatever the hell it is I'm objecting to. But I have emerging adults living in my home who have caught on to this blog, and, unfortunately, that changes everything.

Everything.

Damned if I didn't have a fun run, though, didn't I?
I wouldn't have changed a thing.

But who ever "spd rdr" was, he is now officially gone. That secret identity was insuffficiently guarded by its owner, and thus now must disappear. So be it. You'll know me when you see me again. You always have.

Thanks for your attention, your affection, and your patience.
I 'll be around.

And everyone who ever had a heart,
They wouldn't turn around and break it.
And anyone who ever played a part,
They wouldn't turn around and hate it.

Lou Reed - Sweet Jane.

Kisses.

-spd rdr.

Monday, October 16, 2006

The One and Only HH Post - Ever - About Mark Foley

Satellite's gone up to the skies
Things like that drive me out of my mind
I watched it for a little while
I like to watch things on TV

*BUM BUM BUM* Satellite of love
*BUM BUM BUM* Satellite of love
*BUM BUM BUM* Satellite of love

Sa-tel-lite of...

Satellite's gone way up to Mars
Soon it'll be filled with parkin' cars.
I watched it for a little while
I love to watch things on TV.

*BUM BUM BUM* Satellite of love
*BUM BUM BUM* Satellite of love
*BUM BUM BUM* Satellite of love

Sa-tel-lite of...

I've been told that you've been bold
With Harry, Mark, and John.
Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday through Thursday
With Harry, Mark, and John.

Satellite's gone up to the skies
Things like that drive me out of my mind.
I watched it for a little while
I love to watch things on TV.

*BUM BUM BUM* Satellite of love
*BUM BUM BUM* Satellite of love
*BUM BUM BUM* Satellite of love

Sa-tel-lite of...

Love.

-Lou Reed

*cough*

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Dueling Covers



Check out this very clever, very fun clip of animated album covers brought to life.
Well done.

Yeah, I know. The yummy (and once risque) Whipped Cream and Other Delights
album cover has nothing to do with the link but I thought y'all needed something
other than a DEAD STUFFED MOUSE (Wally??) staring at you between our random
posts...or at least until spd delivers on next week's art of goat massage. Tease.

(posted by Portia)

Friday, October 13, 2006

Feckless Friday

Thanks to Al Gore, the internet is a wonderful resource for helpful information that assists us in living life to the fullest.

For example, if you are like me, you have probably long been wondering "Well, how exactly do I stuff a dead mouse? My daughter sooooo wants one atop her wedding cake one day."

Wonder no more, my friends. The internet has all the answers.


(Stop looking at me like that, Wally.)





Next week: The art of goat massage.

Monday, October 09, 2006

The End of the Reagan Revolution









Goddamn it, Foley!

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Motor City Mojo


It is not polite for a gentleman to take pleasure from other's misfortune, even if they be Yankee Fans, and some of my best friends are Yankee fans. So I will not smirk over the Bronx Bombers' failure to wring the least bit of dignity from their brief stay in the playoffs. I will let others take delight in A-Rod's AWOL post-season performance (1 for 14, an .071 avg with no runs batted in, and an error!). I will refrain from giggling about the coming explosion from Mount George in Tampa that will consume the entire $200 million lineup (except for Jeter, of course). And, because these are the same bunch of Pinstripes that took five straight from the Red Sox in August (in Fenway!) and killed our entire season, I will not gloat.

Instead I will congratulate the pitching staff of the Detroit Tigers on their spectacular outings, particularly local boy Jason Verlander (ROOKIE OF THE YEAR) for throwing 100+mph lightning and leaving highest paid hitters in baseball with nothing to hit but the dugout wall.

I also thought that I might mention that the the Mets swept their series, and look like they'll be hanging the bunting in ugly old Shea for a fourth time.

Not that anybody cares.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Motown Rising


At the moment, the city of Detroit is thrilled — orange-flag-waving, horn-honking, income-anticipating thrilled. It was fun to see the Tigers’ players touching hands with their fans at the edge of the field (and spraying them with Champagne) after their 8-3 drubbing of the Yankees yesterday, but the Bronx Bombers do not exist for the humanitarian purpose of providing a lift to a downtrodden city. George Vecsey

To quote spd: "What the hell is going on?"

A scrappy, underdog team that three years ago LOST 119 games
beats the sh*t out of the Yankees in four, and sends them packing
with their sorry bats between their legs. Remarkable. The best
line-up since Murderer's Row and we're run out of town like
Dead Men Walking (if only...)

Bravo, Bonderman. Congrats, Jim Leland. See ya, A-Rod.
(Posted by Portia)

News From Mars

You might have noticed that I have been in scarce supply the last couple of weeks. I was on the Moon. Or maybe at the bottom of the ocean. Or in at Turkish prison. It really doesn't matter much, because where I was there was no news. But as any spaceman or diver or ex-con will tell you, re-entry into the World is the most dangerous part of the trip.

They ain't kidding.

Friday's WSJ usually contains a thought-provoking opinion piece by Dan Henninger, and yesterday's was no exception. It was the timing that blew me away.

There's an old saw about stepping back for a bit and asking "What would a man from Mars think if he saw all this?" I haven't had time to read newspapers or watch TV or surf blogs. There was news all around me, but it was strangled by the clock, the calendar, and the white noise from the beginning of time. So I awoke on Friday morning, still a bit out of it, picked up the newspaper, and was struck dumb.

"What the hell is the matter here?" asked the Man from Mars. "What the hell is going on?" Lurid text messages. Nut job nuke test. Head-stomping football player. Pedophile free in California. Amish girls dead in Pennsylvania. Amish girls!

The stories shot from the pages like lightning bolts, each one more shocking than the last. The Man from Mars thought hard about just putting down the paper and going home. And then I read Henninger's piece and I took heart that it wasn't just me. There are other Martians out there wondering how everything suddenly seems to have gone off the track. It's cold comfort, I know, but it's also the only brand available.

Soon the numbness of living with the news will return, and I'll be part of the World again.

Or maybe I won't.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Barn Door Open

Grant stood by me when I was crazy, and I stood by him when he was drunk, and now we stand by each other.
-William Techumseh Sherman, 1870

It's too late for me to get into this. I am far too worn and haggard from weeks-on-end of putting someone else's well-being before my own. I'm not bitching. I know what I signed up for, and the pay ain't half bad.

I'm bushed, however, and barely alive as I hit the pillow. But there's this thing that keeps me from my dreams of Sweet Colleen in her chocolate bikini.
It's this ... uncertainty ... (but we will never call it that) that appears behind shuttered eyes. A reluctant, but compulsive, fingering of the internal GPS for the coordinates as to where I am, relative to the rest of the world. As if it mattered. One guy. In the whole universe.

But tonight we'll start in Singapore and move northeast, over a thousand Phillipine isles and out across the wide, blue Pacific. The globe spins past ten thousand cultures and ten thousand tongues, yet here I am above it all, moving. Moving. A billion lives past beneath my wings and yet I am focused on one Place, the Place that I am. And soon enough, I have found me. I'm right the fuck here, of course. But the World has come to find me.

And then I have to decide whether it matters at all where I stand together, or whether I stand alone.

And in the meantime I pray for sleep.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Keepin' the Faith

I've taken a detour to Buzz-Saw City.

Keep on dancing, folks.

I'll join you later.

Friday, September 22, 2006

Aces


At left is Eddie Rickenbacker, America's "Ace of Aces" in The Great War. Eddie knocked down 26 enemy aircraft in combat over France. He wasn't quite as prolific a warrior as Manfred Von Richthofen who had 80 confirmed kills, notching 20 of them in April 1917 alone. But unlike the Red Baron, Eddie never became a number himself, which given the risks involved was quite an achievement.

I got to thinking about "aces" the other day as I watched the trailer for the new WWI flying epic "Flyboys." I certainly want to go see it, but I am not sure whether mrs. rdr will let me take the youngest rdr to a PG-13 movie. Which would really be too bad, since, like their father and his father before him, both of my boys have a passion for combat aircraft. I have Microsoft's Combat Flight Simulator versions 2 & 3 on the computer, and my son and I fight over the joystick. I don't know of too many other nine year-olds that can explain why the Folke-Wulf FW-190 was a far superior fighter to the Messerschmitt Bf-109 or the difficulty involved with landing a Vought F4U Corsair on a carrier deck. We trek down to NAS Oceana every year for the air show (the Blue Angels are only part of an all-day speed fest) where he reels off the names of the various aircraft that whizz by as if he'd been flying them his whole life. I have to pull him away from the History Channel when "Wings" is on. He's got the bug.

But he doesn't quite grasp World War I aircraft. The idea that a man would climb into a cloth-covered kite on bicycle wheels and engage in close combat at top speeds of 60 miles an hour, without a parachute, is beyond his reach. It's often beyond mine.

My father instilled in me his own appreciation of WWI aircraft. His earliest drawings (he was an artist) were of biplanes locked in mortal combat, soaring and diving for advantage - or escape. He would tell me stories of the great aces and their planes, and of the chivalry that shone in these "Knights of the Air." By the time I was 10 my notebooks were covered with drawings of Spads and Fokker Dr-1's spiraling in the air. I had the bug.

In 1966, the movie "The Blue Max" appeared and my father immediately set out for the theater with me and my brother in tow. Movies weren't rated in those days, so my mother never knew that Ursula Andress was going to get all cozy with George Peppard (my brother and I called her "Ursula UNdress" for years afterwards), and we were too young to follow the plot much. But the planes. Oh the planes! To see them fly at last!

It wouldn't be until the advent of the VCR that I would be able to watch Howard Hughes magnificently filmed "Hell's Angels" or the Oscar-winning silent film "Wings" and to finally understand how my father came to so adore those early heroes. Even the campy "Dawn Patrol"found a willing audience in me. Anything to watch those planes fly.



There aren't any "aces" anymore, it seems. The "dogfight" has given way to stand-off weapons that will destroy your enemy far over the horizon. And this is a good thing. But I cherish that magnificent spirit and courage that was glimpsed, ever so briefly, above the wreck and barbarism of trench warfare.

So now, 40 years after my first glimpse of a Fokker Tri-plane in full float, "Flyboys" is calling me.
And I will go. And I will take my boy. And he will understand.


UPDATE: mrs. rdr was aghast that I even thought that she would disapprove of me taking Danny to see"Flyboys." How dumb am I?

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

I'm Losing My Patience With These Idiots...Fast

Well, if they were up your ass you'd know.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Courage, of all national qualities, is the most precarious; because it is exerted only at intervals, and by a few in every nation. - David Hume

The enemy is like a woman, weak in face of opposition, but correspondingly strong when not opposed. In a quarrel with a man, it is natural for a woman to lose heart and run away when he faces up to her; on the other hand, if the man begins to be afraid and to give ground, her rage, vindictiveness and fury overflow and know no limit.

-St. Ignatius Of Loyola, Spiritual Exercises, no. 325 (1548).

And so it goes.

I was informed last night by my eldest daughter that I had lost my perspective; that I was becoming paranoid about the monsters under the bed; that I was extreme in my vision of history; that I was wrong and over-exercised about the threats facing western civilization; that the answers to the current mess can be had by meaningful dialog and a pull-back from hard-line rhetoric. In a word: I had become "unhinged."

I think I responded. No, I know that I responded, vorciferously. But the sound of my voice fell victim to the deadening aspects of the vast media forest within which we wander. I am crying "fire," and yet modern totems drown me out, even while they themselves burn.

And so this where we are in history.

Maybe.

She is, after all, a redhead.

And I am a Leo.

A Portrait Of Lasting Audacity


Poor Father, he did the wrong thing. He gave me a powerful slap - he stared me in the eyes and said,
A girl does not, must not, cry.


Oriana Fallaci
June 27, 1929 - September 15, 2006


Friday, September 15, 2006

Thursday, September 14, 2006

"Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in."






What is it with you people?

Ok. I fixed the problem. Ok?

OK?????

Not So Fast....



WALTER: Will you be here, too?
PHYLLIS: I guess so, I usually am.
WALTER: (Putting on his hat) Same chair, same perfume, same anklet?
PHYLLIS: I wonder if I know what you mean.
WALTER: I wonder if you wonder.


Post no. 460 and counting. Nancy Pelosi be damned.

(posted by Portia)

Monday, September 11, 2006

Requiem

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Te decet hymnus Deus, in Sion, et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem.

Exaudi orationem meam; ad te omnis caro veniet.

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Amen.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Sleepless In Toronto


It's hard to be an American these days, at least if you are Michael Moore. The Large One was in Toronto recently to attend Toronto International Film Festival, a vertitable love-in for the Hate America First crowd, and told the assembled glitterati of his "contingency plans to flee to Toronto if things got much worse in the States."

"Much worse?" I thought. Am I missing something?

No roadside bomb has delayed my commute to work recently, and work seems plentiful enough for those who seek it (including several thousand new immigrants each day). I turn on the tap, and out comes potable water, hot and cold. The lights burn brightly at the flick of a switch and the radio plays that forgotten song. Neither jackbooted police nor political death-squads threaten me when I go to the 24-hour grocery store to pluck from the shelves fresh foods from the world over, and in such quantities that I could never possibly eat it all. That new hospital is five minutes away, but if I dial those three numbers, the paramedics will be be here in two.

Back in my home, the one that I own, I choose from the 300-odd cable channels available to watch uncensored news from across the globe. Then I read the opinions of a host of voices in the newspapers delivered daily to my door. After I've decided which candiate to support for office, I can, if I so choose, cast my secret ballot. Later, I can petition my governments to do, or refrain from doing, certain things that I like or don't like, and then write on my blog pretty much anything I want to say about that, or anything else.

How much worse can things get?

"Plenty and peace breed cowards" Shakespeare wrote.* While cowardness has never been a national trait, it would seem that, despite all of our wealth and education, fear has become a national malady.

The shock of 9/11 is gone, and the anger over those attacks appears to have ebbed as well. In its place has grown a kind of self-inflicted terror that saps our strength and clouds our vision. A perfect example of this unfounded fear is how in Toronto Mr. Moore "worried aloud that the administration had 'a whole list of places we still have to invade.'" On the face of it, Mr. Moore's statements appear to be nothing more than another bit of Bush-hating rhetoric delivered to the Liberal faithful. But such senitments reflect the creeping paranoia that is now being foisted daily upon the American people.

Think about it. Cindy Sheehan states that she fantasizes about going back in time and murdering an infant named George Bush, and it's news. Spike Lee claims that the Bush administration blew up the levess to flood the Ninth Ward, and it's news. More a third of the country believes that the Bush administration had a hand in the 9/11 attacks, or knew about them in advance and did nothing to stop them. Never mind that the Supreme Court did more to curb civil liberties with its decisions in Kelo and Raiche than Bush could have possibly accomplished, Bush is out to "trample" your civil rights by listening to international cell phone calls made to suspected terrrorists. And as to free speech, why just look at what Bush did to that poor Joe Wilson and his unnamable wife! Absolutely chilling, I'll tell you!**

Nevertheless, it should be remembered that it is none other than George Bush that is inciting fear among the American people.

Uh huh.

I'm not just picking on the Left here, nor on the Main Stream Media. I recognize that there is a good argument to be made that elements of the right-wing are equally engaged in fear-mongering. Seriously, if gay marriage signals the End of Days then set 'em up all around, Jim, 'cause I'm going out tanked to the gills and reading the Sports Page.

What is really going on here is not simply the exercise of political partisanship. It is the public expression of America's frustration with the fact that it can no longer control its own destiny. Our borders are porous. Our way of life depends on foreign commodities, goods, services, and investment. Our elected offficials no longer hold our respect, and our faith in our system of justice is flagging. Our enemies grow bolder while we vacillate and backbite, seemingly resigned to our own perpetual insecurity.

The new national self-loathing is typified by the reaction of so many citizens to the recent news that CIA, the very people Bush relied upon for pre-war intelligence, discovered last fall that Saddam and al Qaeda weren't all that chummy after all. Hallelujah! We were wrong! YAY! WE SUCK! Patriots all. And the devils laugh.

A friend of mine, a very bright guy, asked me yesterday why it is that America could win World War II on both fronts in less than four years, but after five years Bush still hasn't captured the one man most responsible for 9/11.

I responded (with all sobriety) that it was because following the events of December 1941 the United States was prepared to incinerate entire cities and kill millions of soldiers and civilians, the guiltyalong with the innocent, at a cost of hundreds of thousands of our own troops and all the treasure in the world. "Is one man worth that kind of moral capital," I asked?

He didn't say much after that, but the way he looked at me indicated that he thought that perhaps I am a very dangerous person.

I'm not a dangerous person. I don't propose, as Don Imus once did, that we burn everything east of Beruit. Historical facts are sometimes hard to swallow, as are the options available to us when we animate our enemies with our own values and traditions. I doubt that our parents' will to survive as a nation, by whatever means necessary, could ever be rekindled in America today. And maybe that's a good thing. And maybe not. Time will tell.

Perhaps it is because we Americans are too fat and too successful that we are failing to convince the rest of the world that ours is the better plan, and/or that this experiment in personal liberty will not soon fade away, at least not without a fight.

But ask yourself: Why it is that we should fear those that would enslave the world, and not the other way around?

Indeed, why should we fear anything at all?



* Cymbeline, III, iv.
**(Of course, free speech apparently does have its limits,
depending upon your point of view.)