October 2005 Archives

Never before in my time at the bar or on the bench have I ever had to deal with somebody who voluntarily allowed himself to be buggered by a dog on the public highway. Frankly it is beyond most of our comprehension. It is an absolutely disgusting thing for members of the public to have to witness.
- Judge Alistair McCallum

That's the news from Yorkshire.

You can tell that judge is British, and not just because he uses the term "bugger". Alas, outside of Judge Mathis, American judges don't tend to give people a well-deserved the dressing down before giving their sentence. And when they do, it doesn't sound nearly as pretty.

Halloween is one of those Tier II holidays for me. I'm way too old to trick or treat, but I'm old enough that kids expect me to give them candy. What kind of a rip-off is that? I'm so old, in fact, that the Cub has given up trick or treating. Actually, I think he's going to this year, but this is about it. And he's not excited about it like he was in years past.

And since I moved out the old neighborhood and underneath the mortgage mentioned below, I've been so bereft of a social life that I managed not to go to one halloween party this year. (My usual Halloween party moved to Los Angeles, alas.)

Fortunately, there's one part of Halloween that I can look forward to: Gordon Keith's Halloween Cards! Very, very dark!

Here's my favorite:

Hello Spooky Apparition,
What do you think is scarier, a witch or my sweating PCP fueled body working on top of you? Don’t talk, I’m almost there.
Gordon

This guy's works on The Ticket, the sports station in Dallas. Although he himself doesn't actually care much about sports.

I heard him reading some of these on the air this morning. (They have one of those streaming webcast thingies). They started to read the first one. It went like this:

"Dear Goblin Ghoul, Halloween comes but once a year... Uh, I can't finish this."

Anyway, read on. High quality.

Update: Here's some audio from the show this morning, if you're curious.

Most of you may not know this, but as you all know, this mortgage is eating my lunch. Every afternoon, my mortgage leans over my shoulder and says, "You gonna finish that?" and before I can say, "Yes, I am", it's already speared what I was about to eat with its fork and shoved it in its gaping maw, and it chews on it with cheeks puffing out, looking at me the whole time with this self-satisfied grin on its face, while my eyes fill up with tears of frustration and helplessness and hunger.

In terms of numbers rather than strained metaphors, my mortgage is about 150% of what I was paying in rent at my last apartment. Which is why I've cut back to the utter lack of social life that I have now.

Now I could have allowed myself more money any time I wanted to. All I had to do was ask the feddle gubbmunt to withhold less money out of my paycheck. Since I'll get to take advantage of that rad mortgage deduction, and closing cost deductions, and a whole bunch of other things, I'll end up owing quite a bit less in taxes than I did last year.

But I didn't do that. I instead tightened the belt. Because I wanted to save money. Now, before anyone says otherwise, yes, I know that saving money in the form of overpaying in taxes is probably the most stupid way I could go about saving money. But unlike other forms of savings, like a savings account, a sock under the bed, a money market fund, this form of saving money will actually work. That money is gone for good and I can't get it back until next spring, no matter how much I think I need it. Whereas every other kind of savings I've ever tried, I always decide that I need the money right now, and it gets spent.

So, I have a pile of money coming to me next spring. And with this money, me and the Cub are going on a trip. And as of this weekend, we now know where we're going. The plan was, I would suggest three locations, and the Cub would suggest three locations, and we'd draw a name out of a hat.

So, out of the choices of Turkey, India, and Spain/Morocco (J's choices) and Australia, Japan, and Chile (the Cub's choices), we drew... [drumroll] Spain and Morocco!

This is where you, my loyal reader(s) come in.

I don't know crap about crap about Spain or Morocco. I mean, other than generic stuff, like history, chief export, etc. What I don't know is important stuff, like what's something to do with a twelve year old in tow in Spain and Morocco? (Obviously the 12 year old eliminates the primary recreation activity in Morocco, but I'm sure there are other things to do.) Maybe stuff other than what I might read in Lonely Planet. And does anyone know of a couch or floor we could sleep on?

This is what the comments are there for, so get to it people. Even if it's to say, "I don't know crap either, but I hear it's nice over there." We'll be there a week or so. Any help is always appreciated.

Awwww! This is the cutest thing I've ever seen! This is so cute, I considered changing the name of this silly blog to the Salivating Momonga.

Avoid the rush! Buy one for your kids today. So they can be the first kid on the block with their own Japanese Dwarf Flying Squirrel!

More pictures here

Here's a story I just heard from my brother about a conversation he had with a friend of his. They're both musicians, of sorts.

The name has been changed. We'll call him "Teddy".

TEDDY: [In T's telling, he has a kind of surfer-ish voice] Dude, have you seen me on the internet?

T: You have a web site?

TEDDY: Well, not exactly.

T: So... you've uploaded music somewhere?

TEDDY: Well, no. I've got these cameras in my room. And it's being broadcast on the web.

T: Really? Where are these cameras?

TEDDY: I don't know. I haven't found them yet.

T: What?

TEDDY: Yeah, you know how you'll see these web sites where they'll have like these girls getting naked and they don't know they're being filmed? Yeah, I think someone set one of those up in my room.

I think everyone needs a crazy person in their life. Or at least someone way crazier than themselves. I don't think you'll be seeing T on the cover of Sanity magazine. But he's not paranoid delusional, so he's got that going for him.

If you're like me here's your game plan for how to deal with avian flu:

Famous J's Plan to Deal with Avian Flu

1. Panic

However, you might suspect you should be doing something more, I dunno, constructive. More concrete action, less running around aimlessly and screaming. That being the case, here's a plan of action for preparing yourself for the avian flu. I would point out that this is the plan for dealing with any flu, so it's worth reading even if you think this avian flu thing is hogwash.

If you're Catholic, opposed to embryonic stem cell research, and are worried that all the drinking you're doing is going to destroy your liver, rejoice! This might be the best news you'll hear all week.

The money quote:

Scientists from London's Imperial College report in The New Scientist that they have repaired patients' own damaged livers by using bone marrow adult stem cells collected from their own blood.

And just to keep the record straight:

There are two kinds of stem cells: adult stem cells, of which you have several billion coursing through your body as you read this, and embryonic stem cells, for which you need several million dollars and a frozen embryo to extract.

And there's nobody opposed to adult stem research. But then, how often do you hear the term "stem cell research opponents", without bothering to distinguish which kinds of stem cells the research of which is being opposed? All the freakin' time, that's how often. It'd be like if someone were referred to as "opposing firearm ownership" because he's against people owning fully automatic weapons, despite the fact that he's totally supportive of people owning handguns, shotguns, rifles, and semiautomatic weapons.

But then, if they bothered to make the distinction, this "stem cell" issue wouldn't be nearly as useful a stick with which to bludgeon those benighted Christian folk for their silly myths and folklore. Well, it's probably not a consipricy. Most people have probably never heard that there's two kinds of stem cells, and just assume this is some kind of Scopes Monkey Trial redux.

And they have a point in that, if there were no such thing as adult stem cells, the Catholics would still be opposed to using them for research.

However, there is such a thing as adult stem cells. The big knock on them, though, was that supposedly, they can only make one, or a few, kinds of other cells. Like blood stem cells can make blood, fat stem cells can make fat, and that's all they can do. Embryonic stem cells, however, can make any other kind of cell. At some point, everyone was just a collection of a few cells, and those few cells manage to become brains, bones, blood, liver, and a rounded tummy that someone needs to start going to the gym and working off.

As it turns out, though, that isn't the case. Well, that's the case with the embryonic stem cells. But the adult stem cells are proving more crafty than people had thought. As the above story points out, they used bone marrow stem cells to make liver tissue.

The whole issue comes down to whether or not an 8-cell mass constitutes a human being. If you think the answer is "yes", then doing medical research on him/her is creepy and wrong, and you're going to oppose embryonic stem cell research. If you think the answer is "no", well, you're probably wondering what all the fuss is about.

But even if you're in the "no" camp, you ought to at least be pragmatic. Embryonic stem cells are much trickier to work with than anticipated. As of right now, about the only thing they've been able to use them to grow is cancer. Adult stem cells are where all the results are happening. Maybe there's not one magic adult stem cell that can become any other kind of cell. But if some combination of five adult stem cells can make any other kind of cell, what does it matter?

Man, this has been a rough couple of days. I had the Cub staying at the house full-time since Sunday. Now if he were going to free public school, this wouldn't be much of a problem. But instead, he's going to overpriced Catholic school, and they assign something like three hours of homework a night. And, no, that isn't my usual hyperbole.

So here's a conversation we've had about 30 times.

FADE IN

INT. J's LIVING ROOM NIGHT

J walks in the room and sees CUB on the couch staring off into space.

J: What are you doing?

CUB: Nothing.

J: Well, did you finish your math homework?

CUB: No.

J: Why not?

Cub shrugs

J: Well, what have you been doing?

Cub shrugs

J: Well, get to work!

Now here's where it gets syrupy and Hallmark card-y. If you had a big breakfast and a weak stomach you might want to skip the rest.

Zoom in on J's face as he suddenly has a thought.

FOCUS OUT:

FOCUS IN:

INT. GENERIC 80'S STYLE LIVING ROOM NIGHT

12 YEAR OLD J is sitting on a brown tweed couch. He has big poofy hair and he's wearing an Izod shirt. He is staring off in the distance. R.E.M.'s classic Document is playing softly in the background.

J'S MOM walks in

J'S MOM: What are you doing?

12 YEAR OLD J: Nothing.

J'S MOM: Well, did you finish your math homework?

12 YEAR OLD J: No.

J'S MOM: Why not?

12 YEAR OLD J shrugs

J'S MOM: Well, what have you been doing?

12 YEAR OLD J shrugs

J'S MOM: Well, get to work!

Elton John's "Circle of Life" starts playing, as we

FADE OUT:

FIN

And that's my Hallmark card moment. The realization that, as terrible a student as I was, the only reason I managed to do the bare minimum I did was because of the folks whipping my ass like a rented mule. And it's hard work. It's especially hard when you add it to all the other things I had going on. Things like scrubbing out the refrigerator, which, due to a mishap involving spoiled milk, needed scrubbing something awful.

But just in case you were, don't open this link. Because seriously, once you do, there goes the rest of the day.

As it stands Famous J's Undeniable Fact of Life #1 is Music always sounds better when you're driving around at night.

Well, I'm amending that. It should now read Music always sounds better when you're driving around at night, and better still if you're drivng around at night in the rain.

For example, I picked up Back Room by this band called Editors. Not to be confused with The Editors, a band that, to the best of my knowledge, doesn't exist.

My only point is that they sounded explosively good last night. I thought, "This is what Coldplay would sound like if they weren't such assholes! This is what Bloc Party would sound like if they tried anything new and innovative!" However, it was night time and it was raining.

This morning, I was listening to them on my (nice 20 minute long) commute. They didn't sound nearly as good. Which one is it, objectively? I don't know. I might get around to writing a full review with pictures of my dog's head and vacant stare. Or I might not.

But if there's any music you want to maybe figure out what the big deal is, throw it in the CD player or iPod one rainy night, and drive around listening.

This is an preview for the feel-good movie of 1980.

Okay, not really. Just have a look.

This article is Paul Begala talking about the Baby Boomers. It's from 2000, so it's slightly dated with the "Three Cheers for the Tech Economy" stuff. But everything else is accurate.

Money quote:

I hate the Baby Boomers. They're the most self-centered, self-seeking, self-interested, self-absorbed, self-indulgent, self-aggrandizing generation in American history.

Well, shee-it.

So, baseball is over for me. I suppose I might tune in to see if the White Sox win it all. I've always had a soft spot for them, for some reason. Might have something to do with Easy-E. I don't know.

But as far as actually giving a crap, it's done. Am I depressed? Yeah. But I won't despair. Even if I didn't believe that despair is a mortal sin, I still wouldn't do it. I'll pull through. You see, I went to OU in the 90's. I can handle depressing sports results. This sucks, but was it as bad as losing by 21 to Kansas? Nope. Or seeing a bunch of stump-toothed Cowboys tear down our goalposts? Not even close.

Okay, this might be worse than the Kansas game. Everyone saw that one coming. But still. The sun will rise tomorrow. The car probably won't be stolen tonight. My dog will still love me.

But, just out of curiosity, when does basketball season start?

This article, uh. Man.

It's about guys who have super-realistic dolls. Like they look realistic and they have, um, girl parts. And it's a seriously compelling read.

Now, I know The Man would have us believe that we shouldn't be judgemental. That whatever someone's into, well, that's their thing, and we shouldn't criticize. Well, screw that. I'll say it. These people are wrong, wrong, wrong!

That being said, they seem to be considerably less wrong than a lot of other people out there. And it lends further credence to my belief that we'll never, ever get sexuality figured out.

Note: since this article is on Salon, actually reading it is a pain in the ass. Open the link and scroll to the bottom. Click on the the "FREE Read Salon now" button. Then go get a cup of coffee while this 10 second ad plays on the screen. Then click the "Next" button and the "take me to Salon". Worth the trouble.

This article is the most interesting thing I've read in a while.

Lady

Maybe the DDC can open for them some day.

Well, I was going to write about the game last night one way or the other. After that Lance Berkman guy hit the three-run homer in the bottom of the seventh, I cursed fact that I had let myself get into this ridiculous sport, that I could be in bed asleep, or racing cars on the Xbox. But no, I was watching this stupid game, and having my heart ripped out and handed to me.

I almost turned off the TV right then, and posted a public service announcement to you, my reader(s) saying, "Whatever happens, don't get into baseball, you fools! It's not worth the heartache!" But, no. I kept watching. Because however bad it might be, I was tough enough to take it. I went to OU during the John Blake era. I have emotional resilience. "We have two innings", I thought. "We can do this!"

I wasn't optimistic. Runs have been as rare as hen's teeth this series, and they had their mighty closer Brad Lidge on the mound.

Well thank God I stayed with it. Holy cow, what a finish! Albert Pujols comes through in the end. After going 0-fer the whole game, he finally connects. They're still waiting for that ball to come down.

So, I'm posting a different message:

You people who used to be like me, saying "Baseball is boring", you're really missing out! Pick a team and stick with them. Might I suggest a team of scrappy overachievers from a certain washed-up, Rust Belt backwater*?

* No, not Pittsburg. Another washed-up Rust Belt backwater.

I was tooling down the highway on the way back from lunch and I saw a car with these three things adorning the bumper and trunk. One of those ribbons saying "God Bless the USA". One was a bumper sticker saying "Support Our Troops". And the last was a plain white sticker with red writing: "I ♥ Big Brother".

There are many ways to explain this last sticker. The one I'm most hopeful for is that he's just got a very wry sense of humor and is trying to get the goat of the "Chimpy Bushitler" crowd, who just know that anyone who might want to support the troops is a fascist, and that "Support the Troops" is just code for "Fire up the Gas Chambers". Or maybe he actually is the fascist that the "Chimpy Bushitler" crowd are afraid of. Or maybe he just likes the show. I think I'm most worried about that last one.

Strange, in any case.

So, this Valerie Wilson mess might just explode. Or it might not. I'm completely certain one of those two things will happen.

If you're like most people, you've been ignoring this, which is probably the best thing you can do for your mental health. However, since this might involve the evil Karl Rove being indicted, it'll be all you'll be hearing about for the next few weeks.

At one point, I tried writing a quick primer for what the hell the deal is, but I gave up when I got to page 20 and hadn't even gotten to where the aforementioned Evil One fits in. It's a long, confusing story.

However, I came across this story. It's got absolutely everything you might want to know about this story, and it does a much better job than I would have. And unlike my version, it has actual quotes by people and manages to get through the whole thing without using the word "poop". It's very long, but there's no short way to do it. And even if you've been following the story (like me), you'll probably still find new stuff.

Or, you could just skip the whole thing. You'll be okay. I promise.

I finally got the invisible dog fence installed. Here's the deal with that:

I had been tethering the poor dog to the patio. I know. You aren't supposed to tether dogs any more. Well, that's true. But in my opinion, that was the least bad alternative for me and the dog. It was either that, or leave her at home in a box for hours on end. I didn't like that idea either. And it was temporary, and now it's over.

So, this fence works like this: You string a wire along the perimeter you want to keep the mutt contained in. Most people then bury the wire, although in my case, since there's already an actual fence there, I just threaded it through the bottom of the chain-link fence and stapled it to the picket fence. Which, by the way, was harder than it sounds.

For the dog, there's collar you put around her neck. If the puppy gets too close to the signal, it emits a blast of electricity. Not enough to injure the dog, but plenty enough for it to know that it's done something wrong. And now it's done.

So, there's a new sheriff in town and Charlie can't be squeezing under the fence and frolicking in/digging up the next door neighbor's yard any more.

And best of all, it's all passive. Which means that A) I don't end up the bad guy, with the yelling and the electrocution and 2) it'll work when I'm not there. I mentioned once how Charlie isn't very virtuous. Well, she isn't. She's saintly when I'm there and satanic when I'm not. So, right now, as we speak, I'm at work (And working very hard, I can see. Yeah, stuff it.) and she's at home, and assumably she's still in my yard.

Everyone's a winner in this deal. The dog is a winner because she gets the whole Delaware-sized back yard to sniff around in. I'm a winner because, since she can run around the yard all day, she won't have all this pent-up energy when I get home. And she'll have something to amuse herself with other than digging holes in her general vicinity. Why, she'll have the whole back yard to dig holes in.

And on Saturday morning, if I want to get that extra hour or five of sleep, I can just toss her outside and let her go crazy. With the tether, she'd get bored and start barking at things. And I being the conscientious neighbor that I am, didn't want the dog barking at 7 in the morning on a Saturday.

So, this should work out well.

This is very lengthy, so it's in its own page. In it, I confess something deeply personal.

Right now, it's Yom Kippur. The day of atonement. This is the one Jewish holiday I celebrate. Probably because, being steeped in guilt as it is, it's the most Catholic holiday.

Although I don't really celebrate it in the conventional Jewish sense of temples and shofars and what not. But I do try to single out someone I've done wrong in the past year or so, and reach out and try to make amends.

So, I suggest you do the same. Nobody, on their death bed, thinks, "Man, I wish I'd kept up that grudge longer." If there's someone who's mad at you, just reach out, say, "I was an asshole. Please forgive me." Even if, in your heart of hearts, you know that he's the asshole and this is all his fault. Even if it's been years.

And you have until sundown. So get to it, people!

And if anyone is reading this, and you feel like I've screwed you over somehow, I'm really sorry about that.

This is the most pointless website I've seen all week!

Okay, all day, maybe.

Update: On one of the pages is the (apocryphal) origin of the name "Adam Ant".

Here's a new story from a guy from New Orleans who went home after the hurricane, and what really happened. It's highly entertaining, and makes me take back some of the stuff I said/muttered under my breath about the folks in New Orleans. Not all of it, but some of it.

So, I finished up a new CD. It's probably the whitest thing I've put together in a while. But then, I've been listening to lots of new music lately, and R&B hasn't been good for about 25 years. So that's just how it worked out.

So, click on the link below if you want to see the set list and my wildly entertaining commentary about said.

A phone call:

THE CUB: Hey, J.

J: Yeah?

THE CUB: You know that rapper De La Soul?

J: Yeah?

THE CUB: We read about him in school. Apparently he's named after a French explorer.

J: [letting slip a burst of laughter he instantly feels bad about] Um, I think you're thinking of De La Salle. The band is De La Soul.

THE CUB: Whatever.

Whatever. indeed. Well, he's applying what he learned, and that's the good news.

And frankly, I'd never really thought about it. Was the band name De La Soul based on the explorer?

Or perhaps vice versa?

Well, it's not like I didn't see it all coming. The hope sprung alive for a quarter -- i.e. the quarter before the refs made that idiotic pass interference call that robbed us of our momentum and therefore our victory* -- but then reality came crashing down, and we lost about as badly as expected to a team much better than us.

It was fortunate that during that first quarter, we got some good "Leeeerooooy NRDRNJeeeenkiiiiins" in there. Although by the end of the game, when the stray decent play happened, it was said more matter of factly: "Leeroy Jenkins". Sometime near the end of the third quarter, I led the faithful in Bill Murray's cheer from Meatballs. "It just doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter!"

And it's true. It really doesn't matter if OU wins or loses. But that doesn't make sitting through a loss any less painful.

Well, with the loss, that really put a damper on whatever celebrations might have taken place. They were low-key affairs. Thank God for the Redbirds, whose thrill-packed victory over the Padres made Saturday a bit less of a waste.

Well, despite all that, it was a really good weekend. Doubly so if the point of a vacation is to recharge the batteries. There's very little touristy to do in Dallas, and what little there is I've already seen. So there was nothing for me but sitting around, eating, and watching Catfish play video games. And sleeping 11 hours a night.

Anyway, back to work for me!

* Like all Sooner fans, I subscribe to the belief that when we win, it's because we're just that good, and when we lose, it's because the officials cheated us.

Well, it's the night before the big game. You'll all be pleased to know that I'm still alive, still not incarcerated, and haven't gotten the crap beaten out of me. And if you had any idea what this weekend entails usually, you'd be relieved. Or disappointed, since you think I have one of those things coming to me.

In my brain, I know we're probably going to get destroyed. We're probably going to lose something like 78-4. But as kickoff gets closer, the brain is pushed aside by the heart, and I won't hear any defeatist talk.

I'm feeling better about our chances now that we have our nonsensical cheer. Last year it was "Riblets!" So, something good happens, and you just shout out "Riblets!"

This year our cheer is "Leerooooooy Ndrjeeenkiiins". If you don't know what that refers to, check out this video. It's a captured scene from some people playing World of Warcraft, a game that I thank the blessed Jesus that I haven't started playing.

Well, I need to hit the sack, rest up my lungs, and begin the process of converting all the steak and Mexican I've been eating into fat.

The stars at night are big and bright...

Greetings from the offices of Pioneer Scale Company in overcast Grand Prairie, Texas, home of, um, I think our quarterback Rhett Bomar is from here. But don't quote me on that.

It's going to be a very long weekend, I can tell already. Not just the weather, although that doesn't promise to be very good. It’s that in the hour that I’ve been in town, Ben has smoked about 10 cigarettes. And he’s not the only one I know who smokes.

Must... stay strong...

The flight was uneventful, although I did miss flying over Dallas. All these clouds meant that I couldn’t take in the sheer size of this town. It just goes on and on forever, mile after generic mile. Although I did see enough to note how flat the place is.

Anyway, everyone pray for me.

And, I don’t know if I mentioned this, but I really hate Texas.

Did you know... that vibrators are illegal in Texas?

Granted, those Sharper Image back massager things aren't illegal, and really, who uses those for massaging their back? But still!

Just another reason to hate Texas on this lovely Hate Texas Week.

I don't know if I mentioned this, but the official theme for Hate Texas Week is "Bullet" by The Misfits. Take it away, Glen!

Texas is an outrage when your husband is dead
Texas is an outrage when they pick up his head
Texas is the reason that the president's dead
You gotta suck, suck, Jackie suck

That's about all I've been listening to all week.

If you're anything like me, you get the sense that you don't spend nearly as much time as you ought to living in soiled-trousers-style terror.

Every time I get that feeling, I pop on over to the Avian Flu Blog. That does the trick every time.

That's the one stop shop to convince myself that we're all going to die, and why did I go through that few weeks of misery quitting smoking when I could have just kept right on smoking and living it up in these, the few remaining months of my life.

Grammar Rodeo

(NOTE: This is not to be confused with the band of the week. Please do not actually listen to these people's music. I just thought it was a good band name.)

Man, I still hate those guys.

Freakin' Texas.

New poll up. Just look to the right.

You're welcome to use this space to comment on why you voted the way you did.

Just a reminder:

This week is Hate Texas Week. Some publications you might read are too polite to refer to it by its actual name. They'll call it something a bit more tame, like OU/Texas Week. But we all know what the real name is, and what this week is for.

Man, I hate those guys. I can actually feel the hatred for Texas building up in me. It's a wonderful feeling.

Speaking of which, I'll be on the road this weekend, in the Big D, to be precise. If I'm conscious enough, I'll write about the weekend as it happens. If not, well, I'll just give you a recap.

The Independent of the U.K. has a preview of a book about words they have in other languages that they don't have in English.

Interesting stuff. Some of them are really obscure, like

LOMILOMI Hawaiian

The chief's masseur, whose duty it was to take care of his spittle and excrement.

But then, some of them, you wonder, "How is it we don't have a word for that?" Like this one:

LATAH Indonesian

Uncontrollable habit of saying embarrassing things.

Man, I got that one in spades.