Monthly Archives: February 2008

Better Than A Link, I Think.

Hobbs, The Victim:


Courtesy of Sarcastro.  Brilliant.


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John “Sidney” McCain, Or Watch Me Use The Word Shrill To Describe A Man!

How embarrassing.  Someone on McCain’s team should be canned today.  Its no secret I will vote for any Democrat over McCain, but I admire the man for his service, his longevity as a Senator, and his stamina throughout the arduous process of becoming the Republican nominee.  He is a serious dude.  Which moron of a staffer scheduled that idiot talk-radio host from Cincinnati to “warm up the crowd” for their candidate?  Are Conservatives just tone deaf, perhaps?  McCain is not generally thought of as a stark raving partisan, and I’m convinced that perception has played a HUGE role in his success during the campaign.  For the loon from Ohio to come out and try that lame “Hussein” card in the intro was bad enough, but then he refers to the various broadcast networks by tired nicknames that lost whatever luster they may have had back in the Nineties.  Networks that will be following every word McCain utters until next November. It was beyond shrill.

Then I read this from David Oatney.  He is a self-proclaimed Conservative, who is now claiming that McCain threw this hack from Cincy”under the bus.”  Really?  Don’t you think it was the other way around?  Let me explain something to Mr. Oatney, so that he can go forth and visit all the indignant conservative blogs and relay it to them.  Using Obama’s middle name is an obvious ploy to agitate those xenophobes and racists among us.  The reason I know this, is that I have yet to hear John McCain referred to as John “Sydney” McCain.  So, obviously, if you are not trying to make a not so sly point about Obama, why use it, and forgo using it when talking about McCain?  6th graders can see through this.

The larger point, fellas, is that people have grown weary of stupid political tricks.  The sun is setting on the Day of the Relevant Talk Show Host.  You guys had way more time than you should have had.  Rush Limbaugh spawned dozens, if not hundreds of wanna-be imitators, and every bitter, unhappy American had some disembodied voice emanating from their radios they could latch onto and worship.  Everyone that wanted to be Hannitized has been.  The bullshit you have been spreading in this country will not find an audience as the next generation comes up.  They don’t do talk-radio.


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Raped? Bring your Debit Card.

Normally, I’d hesitate to chime in on women’s issues, afraid to use the wrong word or be even remotely unclear in my meaning.  However, this doesn’t strike me as just a women’s issue, not in the least.  Both Rachel and Aunt B have posted something that I cannot ignore.  It seems that if a woman suffers the trauma and indignity of rape, and, winds up in an emergency room, she is likely to be charged for the rape kit.   I mentioned this to the Primary Wife, and, as a veteran of many ERs, she said that the kits are supplies, and, as such, are charged to the patient like bandages or medicine.  I guess I have to ask why?  Isn’t the sole purpose of the kit to gather evidence?  As such, it seems like an expense that should be covered by the police, or the State.

I ‘m wondering if I show up at an ER claiming to have been shot, if I would be charged for collecting and storing the bullet fragments as evidence?  Or, what if the police want to make sure I didn’t shoot myself, and gave me a GSPR test?  (Gun shot powder residue)  Should I have to pay for that?  What if I decide not to press charges?  Is it OK to charge me for the costs incurred investigating the crime?

I’m just sitting wondering what kind of message this sends to women.  Are we saying that they, as victims of rape, are somewhat, kinda sorta, in a way complicit?   I think it does.


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Four Years Shy of AARP.

I think you have to be over 40 to know why this joke is so bad, yet, so funny.  My brother used to be fond of it:

You:  I just saw “Bridge over River Kwee”

Straight man:  “you mean, Kwai.”

You:  Like a baby.

So, this morning I’m flipping around cable (satellite, actually) and I find this movie about a 50yr old Scottish shipyard worker who gets laid off and decides to start a training regimen that would ultimately allow him to swim the English Channel.  I tried to watch it, but I gotta say, making swimming exciting to watch ain’t easy.  Anyway, it got me to thinking about why I’m trying to get back in shape.  Turning 50 obviously contributed to motivating me, but perhaps the mere act of surviving a half-century wasn’t enough.  I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the things that have brought me the most joy in my life, (apart from the obvious relationships with family and friends) and realized that it has almost always been competitive sports.  I don’t remember making a conscious decision to quit, but quit I did.  Most of my life I could wander onto any court and work my way into a pick-up game of hoops.  I’m not particularly tall, (despite what you read in the “About Me” section) but I worked hard at the game.  I learned to position myself well, and, as a result, grabbed my share off the boards.  I loved assists even more than scoring.  I learned to pass from every position, and if you neglected to guard me at the twelve foot mark, I usually made you pay.  I especially loved to “bang”, that is, the jostling that takes place underneath was close to full contact.  There is something as well to meeting complete strangers, and quickly developing a pace and rhythm together that requires no communication.  Suffice to say, I want to play competitive basketball again.   This is why I allowed myself to be prodded by the family to join their collective exercise venture.  I now have a goal.

I’m averaging 40 minutes a day on the treadmill, I guess I’ll have to get around to working the thighs next.  If I can avoid shin splints, I will nearly double my daily average in no time.  Then come the  wind sprints, which I actually kind of liked when I was younger, but I’m sure I’ll be regretting the money I gave to the R.J. Reynolds company.

Eventually, I’ll do 100 free throws a day.  I’ll miss a few.  God I hope there is a 50 and over league somewhere, though I’d settle for 40 and over.  If not, I’ll run with the young pups, for as long as I can.


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One Day, I’ll Get Around To Linking…

Pretty good debate last night. I have grown weary, though, of the endless analysis of every utterance that occurred afterward. For me, bottom line: Obama has run a better campaign. He has used his resources wisely. I’m a little shocked, because I really admire and respect Terry McAuliffe. I’m not sure Mark Penn has served her well.

For about the last 6-7 years, my family has been buying the bulk of our clothing at Goodwill Ind. At first, the store seemed like my personal little secret. I could rummage around the racks and pull out a handful of well made, comfortable and damn near new garments and pay a pittance for them. Tax fucking free. It appealed to me. Over the years, though, it appears that the word is out. I wandered in to my local Goodwill yesterday, and it was mobbed. I literally had to push an old woman aside to get to the orange-tagged items, which were 50% off. I selected a Woolrich shirt (Woolrich!) that cost me $2.50 at the register. $2.50. Oh, my point, sorry. It just seems to me that a good indicator, or barometer for the economy might be the headcount at Goodwill on any given day. There were well-dressed, well groomed people in there picking through the racks in search of bargains. I kinda like it, because we always donate a bunch of old clothing every year, so it has this whole “circle of life” appeal for me. Hakuna Metata, baby. I’m all about Goodwill.

Day three of coerced exercise regime at Chez Coyote. I’m doing 40 minutes a day at 4.3 miles and hours, with an incline of well, number four on our True “Soft System” treadmill. The kids average 15-20 minutes a day, and the Primary Wife is an animal. She always attacks her exercise with a vengeance, and is a born athlete. My glutes hurt.

Anybody want to get some time in with your chainsaw? I have two massive trees down, both of which have pulled their root system out of the ground, and fallen across the creek. I can’t leave them there, as they will catch everything that flows down, and create a dam. I need to saw them from their roots, and attach chains to drag them up to dry ground. I can offer tamales, beer, and firewood. Not to mention fellowship, and the opportunity to feel like a MAN. It humbles me to think that, not long ago, the people that lived on this land cut that shit with hand held, two man saws. Those guys were men.

Quick shout out to Roger Abramson: Why no comments Dude? It seems to me if you are going to take shots at people, (and let me be clear, I don’t think you are unfairly doing so) that a comments section gives them an opportunity to rebut.

S’all I got. Thanks for stopping by.


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Look Ma! No Links!

What a weird couple of weeks.  Our beautiful 10 yr old mare, Lena, turned up unable to walk out of her pasture down to the catch pen to eat.  Grain is to horses what ice cream is to kids, or Aunt B.  It took me and The Primary Wife several hours to coax her down the hill and into the pen, where she has been ever since.  For those of you who do not know, horses live on their feet, and I mean 99% of their lives.  In short, hoof trouble is life-threatening.  It required multiple visits by an equine vet, and everyday we must pick the dirt out of her hoof, scrape out the dead tissue,and apply a dressing held in place by duct tape.  She always manages to tear it off within a few hours.  We aren’t totally out of the woods yet, but she is walking normally, but I’m afraid we will have to continue this regimen for  weeks to come.

I’m actually car-shopping, and let me tell you, I’m appalled by the state of the car business, still.  A few weeks ago, I launched a car related web-blog devoted  to educating buyers, but I haven’t literally haven’t had time to devote to it.  This experience should motivate me.

Gas prices.  This is a subject about which I can pretty shrill pretty fast.  Dump that gas-guzzler if you can, or be prepared to budget another 25% for fuel, and, hell,  for practically everything.

I took a friend’s wife to breakfast yesterday, and we talked about the economy, and politics.  She is currently out of work, and  truly baffled by the lack of job postings online or in the paper.  We talked about a couple we both know, who has earned well over a hundred grand for a couple of years now, and, yet, has hidden a truck at her house to keep it from being re-possessed.  Seriously, they are broke, and I can’t figure it.  Scares the hell out of me.

The N.Y. Times had better have this one right, thats all I have to say about this for now.

George Clooney is mad sexy.


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Chrissy Hynde Fully Digs Me

For many of you, thats not particularly shocking.  I mean, shit, she wrote “Tattooed Love Boys” and “Kid” for me.  What you may not know is that the reason we are not together is that she is afraid of Johnette Napolitano, who digs me even more.  Ever since I was her inspiration for “Mexican Moon” and ‘Heal It Up”, she has pretty much let it be known that if anything ever happens to The Primary Wife, she has first dibs.  Heres my problem, though.  I have, in the past, been quite content to know that these two women were out there, pining away, but respectful of my wish to just work here on the farm.  Well, ladies, theres a new crush here at Coyote Creek, and her name is Corrine Bailey Rae.  I defy anyone to point to a better song than “Like A Star.”  (I mean one written with me in mind)  Ms. Rae doesn’t look like a fighter, though, and I am concerned for her safety.  Sheeeeeeee-it, Chrissy is going to have a hissy.  Johnette will just sneak up behind her, belt out a little of “Jenny I Read”, and poor Corrine will be stuck to the ceiling like a cattle prodded cat.  Normally, I’d find humor in these women’s collective plight, but, seriously, someone could get hurt.


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