Istanbul, Not Constantinople

Relax.
Hear.
Sing.
Follow.
Believe.

Wait for it.

Push pause.

Question your sources.

Question authority.




What time is it in Darfur?

Past midnight, I'd say.

Take No Prisoners

"We have assumed, as we must, that the allegations made in the Government's charge against Hamdan are true. We have assumed, moreover, the truth of the message implicit in that charge—viz., that Hamdan is a dangerous individual whose beliefs, if acted upon, would cause great harm and even death to innocent civilians, and who would act upon those beliefs if given the opportunity. It bears emphasizing that Hamdan does not challenge, and we do not today address, the Government's power to detain him for the duration of active hostilities in order to prevent such harm. But in undertaking to try Hamdan and subject him to criminal punishment, the Executive is bound to comply with the Rule of Law that prevails in this jurisdiction. The judgment of the Court of Appeals is reversed, and the case is remanded for further proceedings.It is so ordered."

*****
Thank you for the lesson in constitutional suicide, Justice Stevens.
I feel much safer now.

The Blessings of Clarity

I'm back at home after five days of living in the dark without anything but sunglasses...and after spending an extra 5.5 hours waiting for planes in Atlanta that can actually fly paying passengers.

But at least I ain't bald.

Word.

The Trouble With Commitments

Is that they can last so damn long. Well, that's no longer an issue for Hugh O'Brian, pictured at left as "TV'S Wyatt Earp." After 81 years of roaming the high plains of batchelorhood, ol' Hugh has finally found himself a young philly to settled down with and wile away their remaining days.

But why in heavens did they tie the knot in a graveyard?


Maybe to make amends for this?

Mulligan Day

As places to go for work related duties, this one ain't the worst I've ever seen. Getting here, on the other hand, has turned out to be...problematic.

Alll was well until I left for the airport. I had to drop by the dry cleaners to pick up some clothes to wear, so I was packing my bag...literally...in the airport parking garage. even though Richmond was overcast, 96 degrees and 3500% humidity, I was wearing my sun glasses as I stood in an intermittable line to receive my boarding pass and check my bag. Next, on to the security screening, where my Hart Schaffner Marx blue blazer and laptop must have set off alarm bells in Washington because I was quickly whisked to the side for the full monty.

Eventually I got onto the plane, stowed my carry on and settled into my seat. I pulled out my Wasll Street Journal Weekend Edition and opened ny brief case to retrieve my "regular" spectacles. Nowhere to be found. Checked the laptop case. No dice. The doors were closing as I whipped out my cell phone and called mrs. rdr. "Honey?" I asked pitifully, "I must have left my regular glasses in the car. Would you mind getting them and FED EX-ing them to me. I guess I'll be lind until Monday morning." "Where are your reading glasses," she asked. "In the car," I answered." "Good place for them" she said. "Uh huh" I answered. " After explaining to her where the car was and what places to look for the glasses, I rung off and began to peer darkly at the small print, cursing softly.

"This is your Captain speaking" the bodiless voice intoned. "We're ready for take off, so please turn off all portable electronic devices put your seat backs in the upright blah blah blah..." I reached down to my belt to retrieve my Blackberry and dutifully render the device unable to cause a major air disaster. No Blackberry, just and empty Blackberry holster. Where had it gone? I know I had it when I left the house. I know I had when I had to stopp off at the office to grab some papers I had forgotten last night. I know I had it...until sometime. Now it was G.O.N.E. gone. Uh oh.

Get to Atlanta, and try to find some one from tech Support...on a Saturday, natch. Finally catch some poor slob to whom I report the missing Blackberry and order him to turn the service off immediately. As in RIGHT EFFING NOW! JI'm just about to jump oto n my connecting flight when I get a call from mrs. rdr. "Honey?" shes asks? "Where are all the keys to the car?" That sinking feeling returns yet again. "Why, darling, they are in my brief case...all three sets." I had picked up my car from the shop last night and the guy had locked the car and tossed the house spare keys into the trunck for me. This morning while loading the car I picked them up and tossed them into the brief case. Who would have thought that the house might need a set today? After all all I'm doing is going on a little business trip...for five days.

So on Tuesday, I'll be giving a Power Point presentation to about 150 clients and potential clients wearing a nice blue suit... and sunglasses.

I want a do over.

And don't even think about me fixing my typos.

Lost...And Found!

Thank you, God.
Thank you, Mr. Good Samaritan!
(posted by "I can breathe again" Portia)

Does God Play Soccer?

There's still a lot to know

about the social psyche that can convert a game between mere mortals into "a beautiful game" worthy of Nature's attention.

And yet, my mouth drops at the patterns we human beings construct to explain our collective experience, and to illustrate our collective genius.

Tell me: How flat-out amazing is it to be a human being in a universe without end?

Cannonball Season...Officially Closed

So too, the season for the Can Opener (cannonball with one leg extended), the JackKnife (touch your toes in midair, straighten to a dive before you hit the water), the Ballbreaker (cross-legged, seated posture in the air), and the "double-dare ya" Flying Squirrel (head first, arms behind your back, holding onto your ankles). Don't even think of a handstand off the low dive, nor a graceful swan dive with properly pointed toes. No more half-gainers, either.

Plain and simple...this sucks:

"The three-meter board had been a fixture of our pool at Chesterbrook Swim Club in Fairfax County, Va., for as long as anyone can remember. But the county has declared that it can no longer afford to pay the liability insurance for it -- and so we've been grounded.

So why can't we just have a sign that reads: "Jump off this board at your own risk"? Some of our club members, many of whom are lawyers, say the elimination of the high board is for the safety of "the children.

And not just the children in Fairfax County, mind you. Diving boards are disappearing across America. The insurance industry says that most pool-construction companies won't even install the boards anymore out of fear of lawsuits. "


How is a boy suppose to flirt with the opposite sex if he can't splash her with his cannonball or make her laugh out loud with his bellyflop? How is a girl suppose to dazzle her friends if she can't show off her back flip?

How is a kid suppose to test her mettle if she doesn't have the opportunity to climb the 8 or 10 steps of the high-dive ladder, walk with trepidation to the end of the board, peer down at the deep water 12' below and,-- with her knees trembling and heart pounding--take the then biggest leap of her life?

But the diving-board dilemma is not just a legal matter; it's a cultural one. We Americans have become so risk averse when it comes to our children that we now see unacceptable dangers from even the most routine activities. We have created peanut-butter-free school zones, "soft" baseballs, army figures without guns, parks without see-saws and full body armor for bike riding.

Some days, I am very glad that I was a kid when it was fun to be a kid.

(Posted by Portia)

Disabled List

The owner of this ballpark has left town for a couple of days on a boondoogle, um, I mean business trip (although whether he's in Richmond or not doesn't seem to count for a hill of beans these days...except maybe for Portia's willingness to make cheeky(ier) comments like this when he isn't.)

With those ground rules in place, I was hoping to post something tres cheeky today, or at least stop by to help the "farm team" but it turns out that HH's designated hitter is just as flaky as the rest of the line up. Fortunately, however, a MLB fan (albeit, from the wrong coast and from the dreaded A's) sent me this clip today on the truth about what men are really thinking that I thought I would pass on to you. As if we needed further proof.


I sure hope spd ain't speaking at that convention he's attending.
If he is, let us all pray he's thinking about baseball....

(posted by Portia)

My Favorite Picture

I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through.

In that small cafe
The park across the way
The children's carousel
The chestnut trees
The wishin' well.

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day
In every thing that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way

And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you

Happy Father's Day.
(posted by Portia)

The Best Bar Band in the World.

Twenty-eight years ago, and almost to the day, I saw Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes perform in a Lower East Side venue [read: small, dark, smokey dive]. It was one of those memorable, kinetic nights that I recall joyously not only because I found myself in a dark, smokey dive on the arm of the man with whom I was then feverishly in love (that helped) but because I was witness to one of the most smokin' hot performances I'd ever seen....or have since. Johnny's down and dirty vocals, his harmonica jamming with Miami Steve's guitar, and the big horns screaming front and center blew the roof off the joint and by the end of the night [read: morning] the rocking crowd was sweating as much as the rocking guys we had paid money to see do that.

Since then, I've worn down the grooves on his LPs, watched him be eclipsed (wrongly so) by The Boss, and waited wistfully for his next long overdue comeback album. Well, waitin' time is over, folks. The album's out, the road tour is underway, and I've got me two tickets to tonight's performance. The venue has moved uptown; there'll be less drinking (maybe), no smoking (at least inside), but I understand sweating is still allowed.

I need a love to keep me happy
I need a love to keep me happy, baby.
Baby, won't you keep me happy.
Baby won't you keep me....

Because I don't want to go home....

(posted by Portia)

S&-'le-br&-tE

Dear Forbes Magazine:

Once again you've published your annual "Celebrity 100" list, and reminded me why it so important that I continue my struggle to remain completely ignorant of American pop culture. Never have I witnessed on a single page a more depressing assortment of social irritants ranked "in order" of their "celebrity power."

You want proof? Tom Cruise is ranked #1. Quod erat demonstrandum.

Ok, I know that not every one of these over-exposed luminaries is without redeeming value. For example: Michael Schumacher, ranked 30th on your list, is the greatest Formula 1 driver in history, and is still going strong at 37 in a sport that breaks the mental and physical endurance of those half his age. Schumi is truly an international icon (except perhaps in NASCAR-land, where, as you know, there are only left turns).

But who comes in just above Shumi at number 29? None other than than that world superstar Simon Cowell. Who the hell is Simon Cowell? A judge on a TV talent show is ranked higher than a man who won FIVE world championships? Uh, ok. We all have our priorities... I guess.

But how about this for a line up: 56. Paris Hilton 57. Adam Sandler 58. Derek Jeter 59. Jennifer Lopez . Sorry, Jeter. Sure, you've won a couple of World Series rings. Sure, you're on your way to the Hall of Fame. Sure, when they retire your number 2, you'll be the last Yankee to wear on single digit on his pinstripes. But, Derek, you are no Adam Sandler!

To be honest, I don't even know who half these people are. Ty Pennington? Rachael Ray? Larry the Cable Guy? WTF??? Where is Professor Stephan Hawking? Where is Alan Greenspan? Where is Henry Kissinger? Where is John Updike? Tom Wolfe? Where the hell is Barry Bonds????

Perhaps I just have a different idea of what makes one a "celebrity."
But at least my idea is not insane.

Yours truly,
spd rdr

Is It Me?

Have I been working too hard?

Or has the world turned upside down?

Even worse: Do I care?

YARD SALE

I've been stupidly busy lately, and I want to warmly thank Portia for her excellent efforts at keeping the lights burning here at Heigh-ho.

Seriously. Thank you, Red.

But as it doesn't seem that the weight on my chest is going to be lifted anytime soon, I thought that I should take some of the "pressure" of of Portia by establishing the First Annual Heigh-ho Bad Ass Yard Sale of Life's Interruptions and Second Thoughts. Namely, all that junk that I attempted to write about, but never finished. Think of it as cleaning out the mental closet

There's no ownership to these figments of my imagination anymore, folks. I 've given them up.
So I leave each and every one of them to you to supply the final analysis, abuse, snark, or what-have-you. Or you can just ignore them. I have. But they are a wonderful example of a mind intterupted

In no particular order, therefore, comes the following:

****

“The whole history of the world is summed up in the fact that, when nations are strong, they are not always just, and when they wish to be just, they are no longer strong.”
-Winston Churchill

"More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly."
- Woody Allen

As a student of history, Sir Winston's quote has long haunted me and Woody's delighted me. This opinion piece

****

The other day I read this opinion piece in the Boston Globe regarding the President’s recent signing of the reauthorization of the Patriot Act. The headline was your standard overstatement of the case: “Bush Shuns Patriot Act Requirement,” but the political subtleties of the matter set my Constitutional spidey-sense a-tingling. The crux of the matter is this: When the Executive declines to exercise its veto power following Congress’ presentment of a law, does the Executive’s addendum of a “signing statement” that calls into question the applicability of the law to the Executive Branch constitute an usurpation of Congressional authority?

Author Jennifer Van Bergen recently wrote that the addendum of signing statements is a form of “presidential rebellion against Congress and the courts.” Judging by the title of her recent book, The Twilight of Democracy: The Bush Plan For America, Ms. Van Bergen is hardly a dispassionate observer, and to her the Patriot Act is some form of monster under the bed. Nevertheless, there is a certain sensibility to her "presidential rebellion" allusion that cannot be denied. The willingness to excercise Executive authority as a check to Congressional power has been slowly growing since presidential power was severely cabined following Watergate. The question here is not whether or not he has the authority to append signing statements - I believe that he does - but whether the effect of those statements countermands the "will of the people" as expressed by the Legislative branch.

Writing in the Federalist #48, Madison cautioned the citizens of New York that

“ a mere demarcation on parchment of the constitutional limits of the several departments, is not a sufficient guard against those encroachments which lead to a tyrannical concentration of all the powers of government in the same hands.”

However, Madison warned readers that it was not the tyranny of the Executive that should concern them, but that of the legislature.

The legislative department derives a superiority in our governments from other circumstances. Its constitutional powers being at once more extensive, and less susceptible of precise limits, it can, with the greater facility, mask, under complicated and indirect measures, the encroachments which it makes on the co-ordinate departments. It is not unfrequently a question of real nicety in legislative bodies, whether the operation of a particular measure will, or will not, extend beyond the legislative sphere. On the other side, the executive power being restrained within a narrower compass, and being more simple in its nature, and the judiciary being described by landmarks still less uncertain, projects of usurpation by either of these departments would immediately betray and defeat themselves. Nor is this all: as the legislative department alone has access to the pockets of the people, and has in some constitutions full discretion, and in all a prevailing influence, over the pecuniary rewards of those who fill the other departments, a dependence is thus created in the latter, which gives still greater facility to encroachments of the former.

Clinton's Executive Orders as an example of expansion of Presidential powers

John W. Dean Signing Statements

Unitary Executive in the Modern Era


****
Another attack against a biased liberal media misquoting their sources?
******

Not My Blog Says Clooney

Oscar-winner George Clooney took a prominent US political commentator to task today for posting on her website a blog made to look like it was written by the superstar.

Clooney denied writing the blog on Arianna Huffington's http://www.huffingtonpost.com/, which includes commentaries from celebrities, politicians and experts.

The blog turned out to be a compilation of remarks Clooney made in media interviews. The actor, a liberal, said he had given Huffington permission to use the quotes, but complained that they were made to look like his own blog.

"Miss Huffington's blog is purposefully misleading and I have asked her to clarify the facts," Clooney said in a statement. "I stand by my statements but I did not write this blog."

"What she most certainly did not get my permission to do is to combine only my answers in a blog that misleads the reader into thinking that I wrote this piece," Clooney said. "These are not my writings - they are answers to questions, and there is a huge difference."

Huffington described the incident as a misunderstanding. She said she had asked Clooney to write a blog, but when he said he did not know how one worked, she put together a sample blog based on media interviews.

Huffington, a critic of President George W. Bush, said the sample blog was sent to Clooney's publicist, who gave her the go ahead.

"Any misunderstanding that occurred, occurred between Clooney and the publicist," she wrote on her website.

"We based our decision to post on the unambiguous approval we received in writing. There was no room for misunderstanding in that."

The Clooney blog was no longer on the website today.

Clooney, who has described himself in interviews as an unabashed liberal, won a best supporting Oscar this month for the politically-charged film Syriana.

He was also nominated for best director and screenplay in Good Night, and Good Luck, which tells the story of journalist Edward Murrow's battle against the 1950s Communist witch hunt in the United States.

*************************************

Clooney doesn't know how a blog works, but he knows what's best

***
Does everybody understand the "Mercy Rule?" That's the rule that generous folks apply when it's still the second inning and the other team is down 29-0. It's a gesture of compassion- "Look, we, ...er... won. But we're not going to make you suffer." True Hercules types take exception to such "rules," because true champions must suffer to gain the Crown of Zeus. Whatever. By the time it rolls around to 54-0, I'll already be home swiggin' a cold beer and making plans for next year's draft.

Do you ever wonder whether the
http://www.bruichladdich.com/


***
Terrroists get a bad rap when it comes to the subtle, sensitive subjects of that liberal scope of arts we like to call "The Humanities." For example: how often does the New York Times Review of Books really delve into the magical prose of Iman Istar Mohhamed Actu's "Death to All Infidels and Murdered Goats on Their Doorsteps?" When has the Village Voice stopped to bathe itself in the dramatic iambic pentameter of El Farat Mustafa's "Bury the Jews in Piles of Dung?" Never is when.

Well that's all going to end now.

http://www.sciencedaily.com/upi/?feed=TopNews&article=UPI-1-20060121-23151300-bc-mideast-zawahiri.xml

****
http://www.foreignpolicy.com/issue_janfeb_2006/endoftheline1.html


***
Here's a story to warm your pinot noir loving heart. It appears that some California vintners owners in Napa County's Pope Valley are fed up with univited, and appearantly uncultured, black bears wandering their vineyards and snacking on their very valuable grapes. This shocking development has led to unfortunate fatalities lamentable culling bloodsheding among the population of hirstute vegans. No, not them. The other ones. The bears. And not since Arnold murdered beloved children's author Tookie Williams has there been such an outcry from the stem twirlers.

****

The Tale of the Poor Conductor
( accompanyment: Honer Blues Harp in D-flat, foot tapping)

There was once a poor conductor
And he worked the Yazoo train
He had his'self an old lady
That was drivin' him insane

When he brought his paycheck home
She'd sometimes throw a fit
You gotta get mo' money
'Cause I needs to get some sh*t

And Joe the poor conductor
he did not know what to do
'cause he was just an honest man
still he loved his lady too

But tho' a poor conductor
Joe's key fit all the locks
so he started thinkin' evil thoughts
'bout that fat ol' money box
(break)

I needs me a new red dress
I needs a new black hat
and if you knows your business
you'll be comin' home with that

And Joe the poor conductor
he did not know what to do
cause he'd always been an honest man
still he loved his lady too

But tho' a poor conductor
Joe's key fit all the locks
so he started stealin' nickels
from the fat ol' money box
(break)

Then Joe got her a red dress
and a fine new pair of shoes
and then his lady kissed him
and then she blew a fuse

I just can't wear these fine clothes
around this shabby house
I needs me a new table
I needs me a new couch

And Joe the poor conductor
he did not know what to do
cause once he'd been an honest man
still he loved his lady too

But tho' a poor conductor
Joe's key fit all the locks
so he started stealin' quarters
from the fat ol' money box
(break)

And Joe bought her a sofa
and a mirror laced with gold
but his lady only smiled once
and then her glance grew cold

I needs to sees some people
I needs to get around
I needs a brand new Lincoln
to go on into town

And Joe the poor conductor
he did not know what to do
a criminal he had become
still he loved his lady too

But tho' a poor conductor
Joe's key fit all the locks
so he started stealin' dollars
from the fat ol' money box
(break)

Joe got a brand new Lincoln
colored cream and candy red
Then tried to kiss his lady
and she told him to drop dead

I lie no mo' to you she said
I hate the air your breathe
now that I've got my Lincoln
step aside, so I might leave

And Joe the poor conductor
he did not know what to do
his soul was now as black as coal
still he loved his lady too

But tho' a poor conductor
Joe's pocket held a gun
and he started shootin' blindly
until the evil work was done
(break)

The jury found Joe guilty
The judge looked satisfied
But tell me your whole story
maybe you won't have to die

And Joe the poor conductor
he did not know what to do
the mark of Cain was on his head
but he wanted to live, too

And tho' a poor conductor
Joe's voice was firm and free
I ain't go defenses
but you'll never will kill me
(break)

The date for Joe's departure
was set for Chirstmas Eve
The priest he offered last rites
but Joe refused to leave

And then the guards they took Joe
and led him in the chair
and the Warden then kissed his head
and said "What's fair is fair"

And Joe the poor conductor
he just looked back at him and grinned
You just can't kill me Warden,
even tho' I know'd I've sinned


(stacotto)
They strapped him in

they pulled the switch

ain't nothing happened

ain't that a bitch?

They juiced the volts

an' tried again

the only fire

was big Joe's grin

(resume)

At last the Warden had enough
And ord'd the switch be broken
A miracle has come tonight
God's mercy hath now spoken

Released Joe was from jail that day
and Christmas passed to past
and Joe appeared on Ophrah
but he knew it couldn't last

And Joe the poor conductor
he did not know what to do.
Although he was a "miracle"
he knew deep down the truth

It wasn't God
that saved his skin
or Jesus come to call
It wasn't Zeus or fate or love
that caught him in his fall

And for his soul he spoke aloud
though many did not harken
The light they'd found in his abyss
they simply would not part with

As years went by the story waned
Joe married and divorced
whatever pain the curse had brought
the miracle was worse

As Joe lay dying Christmas Eve
His body now to rest
he spoke of his redemption
and how he'd passed the test.

He asked for God's forgiveness
and then confessed his soul
And not a word was spoken
and not a breath unheld

I said it ov'r an ov'r again
a thousand times or more:
They could never 'lectrocute me
'cause I 'm a poor conductor.

Suckaz.

****

protest

****

Just after four in the afternoon the door to the trailer swung open and in walked Phill in a Hawaiian shirt, cut-offs, flip flops and a beer and screamed “What the hell is wrong with this country?” Phill marched over to the small refrigerator and glanced over its even smaller offerings, before yelling “Sonnofabitch! You ain’t got no beer either!”

I sensed that Phill was here for some bigger purpose than just to collect the ten bucks I borrowed from him to purchase funnel cakes for his plug-ugly cousin at the county fair (an investment that brought no joy home to me). I removed my feet from the coffee table and, in the process knocked a bowl of Cheezits to the floor. My mutt Diamond Dog was expert in her clean-up, relieving me from the necessity of any further movement. Discouraged by the lack of cold beer, Phill flopped next to me on the Castro convertible couch that served as both bed and entertainment center in the rapidly rusting trailer.

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Phill spoke as he grabbed the remote control and began his trademark ADD flip through the channels, “this country has gone to the dogs.” Diamond Dog did not seem to recognize the slight, but I knew it for what it was. I had to take the offensive,

****
Escape From RayNagin's Isle:
Starring:
Bob Denver as President George W.Bush
Alan Hale as "Skipper" Karl Rove



Hi everybody! I'm your president, taking a few days off from carrying the weight of the free world and kickin' back a bit just so's I can tell you this story of how I found redemption through the judicious use of coconuts. It goes back a few weeks, but here's the whole story.......

****

I've been holding off writing about my reaction to the storm's aftermath for a couple of reasons. First, the sheer horror of the spectacle that unfolded before our eyes on the TV screen was numbing. Second, I wanted to give everyone involved the benefit of the doubt. Afterall, I wasn't personally at the helm of any of these efforts. I couldn't possibly know whether, in fact, everything humanly possible was being done to rescue these people. I was nothing more than a spectator, wringing my hands and crying to the heavens for a show of mercy and deliverence, and believing that everything was going to work out once the push was on.

That's all over, now. Now I'm furious. So here's how we scored:

Looters : F

Searching for the necessities of life.
You punks don't deserve to be rescued. Enjoy the sewage and rats while you wait for the electricity to come back on to power your brand new big screen TV. How many of you young people I watched emptying clothing and jewelry stores stopped to rescue those trapped and help them to safety? How many of you bottom feeders stayed in the city after it was ordered evacuated simply because they knew that the pickings were going to be easy? But because you nothing but criminals you aren't smart enough to figure out that all of your booty is lost to you. None of that crap you stole is getting on the bus, assholes. I hope you enjoy your stay behind the wire, because that's where you're headed.

****

And so there you go. That's the crap you never saw.

And I'll bet you're glad, too.

I Should Like To Sleep Like A Cat

Cat's Dream
How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture,
sleeps with its wicked claws,
and with its unfeeling blood,
sleeps with all the rings--
a series of burnt circles--
which have formed the odd geology
of its sand-colored tail.
I should like to sleep like a cat,
with all the fur of time,
with a tongue rough as flint,
with the dry sex of fire;
and after speaking to no one,
stretch myself over the world,
over roofs and landscapes,
with a passionate desire
to hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep
would undulate, how the night
flowed through it like dark water;
and at times, it was going to fall
or possibly plunge into
the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
like a tiger's great-grandfather,
and would leap in the darkness over
rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.
Sleep, sleep cat of the night,
with episcopal ceremony
and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams;
control the obscurity
of our slumbering prowess
with your relentless heart
and the great ruff of your tail.
Pablo Neruda

(posted by Portia)

For Don

In case you can't make it to Grand Central Station
today to watch the crowds mill about...:)
(posted by Portia)

iPodding Seriously Damages Your Chances of Getting Laid

In a City that never closes, a store that never sleeps (very cool link).

Him: Honey? Honey?? [nudge, nudge] Are you sleeping?
Her: Arrggghhh. I was until you woke me. [Yawn] What time is it?
Him: I don't know. It's 5 o'clock somewhere.... I can't sleep.
Her: [looking at clock] You woke me up at 3 AM to tell me that you can't sleep? You're going to be the death of one of us.... Why don't you try reading another page of that beach book spd was oohing and ahhing about a couple weeks back, Team of [Sleepless] Rivals. That'll have you snoring in no time flat.
Him: I can't. spd is right. The book's too heavy to hold up in bed. I'm afraid it'll give me carpal tunnel syndrome. I'm thinking that....
Her: *Sigh* Not again.
Him: "Not again" what?
Her: "Not again" you know what. Geez, honey, you're killing me here. This is the third time this week!
Him: But I can't sleep. Please? Please baby? I'll be quick. You won't even notice.
Her: Whatever....But next time [yawn], don't wake me up...just do what you have to do, and tell me all about it in the morning.
Him: Promise.
Her: Good.
Him: You're the best.
Her: Yeah, yeah [yawn] I know. That's what you told me last night and the night before that and .... zzzzzzzzz.
Him: How 'bout I pick up a couple of bagels on my way home from Fifth Avenue. Butter or a schmear?
Her: Both [yawn].
Him: Will do. Sweet Apple (TM) dreams....
Her: Groan. Ya know what [yawn] my precious Nano (TM) ?
Him: What?
Her: I finally figured out what the "i" in iPod stands for: Impossible. Just like you. Say hello to your buddy Steve for...zzzzzzzz

I have no idea how many iPods Steve Jobs had to sell to open this 24x7x365 temple of consumerism nor how many more iTunes songs I have to download in order for the 300 full-time staff to keep their Jobs (TM). Frankly, I don't care.

All I know is that right now the sexy, little black item I picked out the other day at the Apple Store is giving all those other sexy, little black items I own a run for their money.

Don't ask me to choose. Not yet, and not while I'm in shuffle mode.

(posted by "iPod, therefore I am" Portia.)

Moving Right Along...

This is absolutely brilliant.

Why Americans Should Better Appreciate Soccer, Part Deux

Yep. I'm sold, too.




















And, the best reason of all.
Beats chess....

UPDATE: This soccer appreciation pictorial is from Portia's scrapbook, and not spd's. I apologize if, by failing to "sign' this at the time of posting, I misled any of you into thinking spd had changed "teams."

Why Americans Should Better Appreciate Soccer

I'm sold.

Want To Play...Chess?

Nineteen year-old Australina chess phenom Arianne Caoili recently made the tabloids smile when her mere dancing with one Chess Master caused another Chess Master to haul off and slug Chess Master #1. This, we are told, "is good for chess."

Yes it is.

RIP, Billy

Damn! Who the hell needs coffee after that....

Wont'cha marry me Bill

Or in the words of Kinky Friedman, "I support gay marriage.
I believe they have a right to be as miserable as the rest of us."

Am I the only one who believes that there are more pressing issues
for members of Congress to debate these days than this?

(posted by "no doubt now you'll label me purple" Portia)

You go, girl!

152 to 1, 18 slots, tied for 13th, 1 bogey,
2 birdies, 1 under, 15 holes to go,
and 16 years young.

If she pulls it off, she'll be the first
woman to qualify...ever.

You can watch hole-to-hole coverage here.



(Posted by Portia)

Get The Net

By now it is common knowledge that George Bush was acting under the mind control of an evil Cheney cyborg when he ordered his clone troops to fly jetliners into the World Trade Center so that Haliburton could pick up the real estate for its new world domination headquarters for pennies on the dollar. It's all been thoroughly documented.

What's less known is how the Shadow Government's 9/11 attack relates back to Teddy Roosevelt's sinking of the U.S.S. Maine in Havana in 1898, but that mystery too is quietly being revealed at gatherings such as the one I attended this weekend in Chicago.

You probably did not hear much about the International Education and Strategy Conference for 9/11 Truth beforehand. That's because the Shadow Government (or "SG" as those in the "know" refer ot it) did not want you to come and learn the Truth about 9/11, Kennedy's Ghost, and Condi's secret spawn, Damien. Nevertheless, 500 of us gathered at the Embassy Suites out by O'Hare Airport (where the black drones are controlled from) to meet and share information. Of course, all the rooms were bugged by the SG, so we had to talk in code, but the free breakfast was awesome.

One of the highlights of the weekend was Dr. C.K. Crowley's (not his real name) report on the SG's plan to allow Israel to colonize the Moon and reap the enormous profits from strip mining the diamond core of that orb. Although this plan has long been known, Dr. Crowley's photographic proof of the plot was quite impressive.


Of course, as Dr. Crowley explained, none of this can happen until Nixon can be done away with, but the SG hasn't been able to defeat the the former's personal force field generator (given to him by Sun Yung Moon after Nixon attempted to expose the SG, which is why Bobby Kennedy had to die.)




Expect to learn more about this in the coming weeks as we prepare to expose the November "elections." (You are going to be shocked about how Deibold is using Z-Rays to control voters using electronic balloting.)

Right now, I've got to sign off. I see the SG has been monitoring Sitemeter and has nearly got a fix on me.

Keep searching, folks. The Truth is still out there.

Canada Awakes

Be sickened. Be frightened. Be angry. But don't you dare be shocked.

Unless you've been had.

Either way, the time has long passed for domestic bliss born of ignorance, virtue and wilful denial.

For everyone who thought Canada could cower in a corner of the planet, unnoticed and unthreatened by evil men — even when the most menacing of a very bad lot has twice referenced this country as a target for attack — take a good, hard look at what's been presented and what's being alleged.

So begins Rose Dimanno's hard slap across Canada's heretofore complacent face. Seventeen muslim men, many of them Canadian citizens, arrested trying to take delivery of three tons of ammonium nitrate - enough for three Oklahoma City bombs. In Toronto. National daydream over.

So what has Canada done to suddenly become a target for Islamic terror? Canada has sent no troops to Iraq, and its leadership was and still is harshly critical of President Bush. And who could forget the diplomatic subtlety of M.P. Carolyn Parrish's charming remarks? "Damned Americans. I hate those bastards." Isn't that the same thing that Osama says each night after his prayers? Why, who could hate Canada? Nice, boring, tolerant Canada?

Welcome, Canada, to the world of Islamic jihad, where indiscriminate murder is a sacrament worthy of admission to Heaven. Did you really think that if you just pulled the covers over your head the monster in the bedroom would leave you alone? You're a free society, for God's sake! Evil thrives where it can move freely about. And this particular evil is about destroying that freedom. It is the West that is target of radical Islam, and much of the West has chosen to cower before it. We "damned" Americans have not. Nor will we.

Well, Neighbor, here is your wake up call. The real "bastards" have arrived. Will you stand up now for your freedom, Canada? Or will you hit the snooze button and hope the bogey man just goes away?

Think fast, though. Time's against us.

Wish You Were Here, Part II

I would not want to be Secretary Chertoff's mailman next week.


Dear Secretary Chertoff:
Just a quick note from a NY City firefighter reminding you that the WTC site is ½ a block from my office on Broadway, two blocks away is the Brooklyn Bridge. By the way, there is also a small building on the east side of Manhattan called the “United Nations”, just in case you ever wondered where it is. Hope you can visit us soon, I’ll even show you that the Statue of Liberty really is in NY Harbor. We at the FDNY & NYPD put our lives on the line, we just ask for additional help from you as we help in the battle against terrorism.

Capt. Peter Gorman (FDNY)
President, Uniformed Fire Officers Union






Dear Secretary Chertoff,
The huddled masses of New York City certainly are tired and poor, thanks to the Department of Homeland Security! Secretary Chertoff, we need your support. Don’t help terrorists extinguish Lady Liberty’s torch by diminishing New York City’s federal funding.

Michael J. Palladino
President, Detectives’ Endowment Association
Police Department, City of New York

And my favorite:

Dear Secretary Chertoff:
You have successfully united all New Yorkers – against you and your decision to forsake us. We are at war with al Qaeda. They want to kill us & blow up our landmarks. How could you forget the Empire State Building & the Brooklyn Bridge? Please reconsider. All the best. Wish you were here.

Ed Koch
105th Mayor
New York City

Save New York and send a postcard here, or via snail mail. Do it for Portia....Well alright, then do it for Hillary:)