The little clock on my desk has finally dropped below two hundred, and now with a rational number of days left in the Pinhead Regime, I look forward to an orderly transition of power. That's not to say that with six months left that "Dick" and Pinhead won't try to manipulate the Constitution to milk every last drop of grief and woe from their administration. I can almost picture the pointy-headed one clinging tenaciously to his chair while the movers carry boxes and load up furniture around him. "I won't go! You can't make me! I'm a sitting President during wartime!"
But until that day, we still have things to look forward to. In a break with tradition, Barack Obama will accept the Democratic presidential nomination at Invesco Field at Mile High, a seventy-six thousand seat stadium, rather than at the site of the party's national convention across town, the fifty-thousand seat-less Pepsi Center. First of all, since I'm more of a Coke guy than Pepsi, I couldn't be more pleased that Barack Obama will be accepting the nomination in the place the Denver Broncos call "home". While the Broncos have yet to win a Super Bowl since they moved across the street, I am willing to allow a little of the Rocky Mountain Thunder to be shared with the Democrats. I have grown tired of watching my home state glowing red on election night, and I am looking forward to a nice cool blue come this November.
Matt Burns, a spokesman for the Republican convention, dismissed the new speech locale as "stagecraft and theatrics" that "isn't the kind of change the American people deserve or expect." Sorry to disagree with you there, Matt. I guess the Xcel Energy Center, home of the NHL's Minnesota Wild and the NLL's Minnesota Swarm, just doesn't hold the same appeal for me. But time will tell: On June 3, 2008, Senator Barack Obama gave his first speech as the presumptive presidential nominee for the Democratic Party. Over seventeen thousand people attended the event with an additional fifteen thousand watching on big screens directly outside the arena. I wonder if the Republicans are hiring seat-fillers now.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Light And Run Away
Once again, the gutters and curbs are clogged with debris from our last flurry of pyrotechnics. When I say "our", I refer to the neighborhood in which I live. I took the year off, out of solidarity with those who have been forced from their homes due to the wildfires that continue to rage across Northern California.
But I did think about my history with fireworks, both responsible and otherwise. Mostly otherwise. As a young bachelor, I set off sparkling fountains on my enclosed patio. This was the same apartment that my roommate and I shot pop bottle rockets at one another - inside. I had to give up my much beloved Pep Boys shirt when one of the errant missiles sailed past the intended target and into my dresser drawer. Fortunately for the rest of my laundry, Manny, Moe and Jack were the only victims of that particular conflagration.
Given the range and recklessness of many of our other experiments over time, I am happy to say that all of my fingers and toes remain attached, and I continue to have the highest respect for things that go "boom". Maybe I learned early on, when a friend of mine and I had spent a couple of years collecting the gunpowder from any unexploded or "dud" fireworks in a mayonnaise jar. As another Fourth of July approached, he was invited up to our cabin in the mountains, where we were under very strict instructions not to light any fireworks. But we smuggled that mayonnaise jar up inside of his sleeping bag, and when my mother was busy getting dinner ready, we purloined a book of matches and crept off to the little shack across the creek from the cabin to figure out what we could do with our dangerous cargo.
At first, we made little trails of gunpowder in the dirt, like the ones we had seen on "The Wild, Wild West". We were eleven, and it only took us a few minutes of these controlled demolitions to start wishing for something more significant. I would like to say that I remember whose idea it was to drop a match into the jar that was still more than half full of gunpowder, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't even matter who actually dropped the match, since we were both poised with our heads just a foot or two above the mouth of the jar when it went off. It wasn't an explosion, just a white flash that shot straight up to the roof of the little shack.
When we both got back off our backsides, I noticed that my friend's eyebrows were considerably thinner, and mine must have been too, considering the way he was laughing and pointing. There was nothing left in the jar but smoky residue. Our immediate impulse was to do it again, but we had nothing left. We had literally shot our wad. The mayonnaise jar stayed in the shack, and when we went inside for dinner that night, my mother never mentioned the faint smell of burned hair or our newly manicured brows. My friend and I didn't speak of it again, and we didn't feel bad about missing out on any big firework displays later that night. We had our little show, and we were happy to let another year pass before we lit another fuse.
But I did think about my history with fireworks, both responsible and otherwise. Mostly otherwise. As a young bachelor, I set off sparkling fountains on my enclosed patio. This was the same apartment that my roommate and I shot pop bottle rockets at one another - inside. I had to give up my much beloved Pep Boys shirt when one of the errant missiles sailed past the intended target and into my dresser drawer. Fortunately for the rest of my laundry, Manny, Moe and Jack were the only victims of that particular conflagration.
Given the range and recklessness of many of our other experiments over time, I am happy to say that all of my fingers and toes remain attached, and I continue to have the highest respect for things that go "boom". Maybe I learned early on, when a friend of mine and I had spent a couple of years collecting the gunpowder from any unexploded or "dud" fireworks in a mayonnaise jar. As another Fourth of July approached, he was invited up to our cabin in the mountains, where we were under very strict instructions not to light any fireworks. But we smuggled that mayonnaise jar up inside of his sleeping bag, and when my mother was busy getting dinner ready, we purloined a book of matches and crept off to the little shack across the creek from the cabin to figure out what we could do with our dangerous cargo.
At first, we made little trails of gunpowder in the dirt, like the ones we had seen on "The Wild, Wild West". We were eleven, and it only took us a few minutes of these controlled demolitions to start wishing for something more significant. I would like to say that I remember whose idea it was to drop a match into the jar that was still more than half full of gunpowder, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't even matter who actually dropped the match, since we were both poised with our heads just a foot or two above the mouth of the jar when it went off. It wasn't an explosion, just a white flash that shot straight up to the roof of the little shack.
When we both got back off our backsides, I noticed that my friend's eyebrows were considerably thinner, and mine must have been too, considering the way he was laughing and pointing. There was nothing left in the jar but smoky residue. Our immediate impulse was to do it again, but we had nothing left. We had literally shot our wad. The mayonnaise jar stayed in the shack, and when we went inside for dinner that night, my mother never mentioned the faint smell of burned hair or our newly manicured brows. My friend and I didn't speak of it again, and we didn't feel bad about missing out on any big firework displays later that night. We had our little show, and we were happy to let another year pass before we lit another fuse.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Jesse "The Body" Helms
Pinhead had this to say on the passing of Jesse Helms: "Throughout his long public career, Senator Jesse Helms was a tireless advocate for the people of North Carolina, a stalwart defender of limited government and free enterprise, a fearless defender of a culture of life, and an unwavering champion of those struggling for liberty." Keeping in mind that it is always best not to speak ill of the dead, it still makes me wonder if our President hasn't given up on being the U.S. record holder for worst leader ever. I think he's got his eyes on the world record.
In his senate campaign for senate in 1990, a Helms commercial showed a white fist crumpling up a job application, with these words underneath: "You needed that job ... but they had to give it to a minority." This was a man who likened abortion to the Holocaust and the September 11 terror attacks. Unwavering champion of what?
I suppose that it is incumbent upon a sitting president to comment on the death of someone who had spent as much time in public service as Jesse Helms did, but one wonders if the full accounting of that service was examined by Pinhead. Helms opposed civil rights and a holiday honoring the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. He was one of a small number of senators who opposed extending the Voting Rights Act in 1982. Take that, those of you struggling for liberty. Maybe the pointy-headed one should have left it to someone else to eulogize the Senator from North Carolina. Bob Dole said, "You don't have to look under the table for Jesse. You always knew where Jesse is." And now we don't have to look for Jesse anymore.
In his senate campaign for senate in 1990, a Helms commercial showed a white fist crumpling up a job application, with these words underneath: "You needed that job ... but they had to give it to a minority." This was a man who likened abortion to the Holocaust and the September 11 terror attacks. Unwavering champion of what?
I suppose that it is incumbent upon a sitting president to comment on the death of someone who had spent as much time in public service as Jesse Helms did, but one wonders if the full accounting of that service was examined by Pinhead. Helms opposed civil rights and a holiday honoring the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. He was one of a small number of senators who opposed extending the Voting Rights Act in 1982. Take that, those of you struggling for liberty. Maybe the pointy-headed one should have left it to someone else to eulogize the Senator from North Carolina. Bob Dole said, "You don't have to look under the table for Jesse. You always knew where Jesse is." And now we don't have to look for Jesse anymore.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Shoiwing My Stripes - And Stars
I have a very clear memory of putting my flag out on September 11, 2001. It was one of the very few things that I could think to do in the face of events that had so completely overwhelmed my nervous system. I took some solace in the fact that many others seemed to follow suit, as there was a spontaneous surge of patriotism that was felt across our country. It was a reflex, not a habit.
Seven years later, as our great nation turns two hundred and thirty-two, I found myself in the middle of a discussion over which flag we would be flying today, if any. Should we put out our rainbow "Peace" flag, or stick with the traditional stars and bars? The very notion that we needed to talk about it gave me pause. Is that what the Pinhead Regime has done for me? Have they co-opted the flag?
I am greatly relieved that I do not have to regularly pass any sort of litmus test for patriotism. None of my suits have flag pins attached to the lapels. My bumper stickers advertise the Mystery Spot and the fact that my family supports Sequoia Elementary School. This evening's barbecue will not be served on red, white and blue paper plates.
But I do own an American flag. I am proud to display it, because it reminds me that I am part of a country that gives me the freedom to vote, to disagree, and when I feel like it, to wave another flag in its place. Today is the day to marvel at the history and accomplishments of these United States. There will be plenty of time to fuss and moan about the inadequacies and failures of our nation and its leaders, but today I choose to wave that grand old flag and salute all those who made it possible for me to make that choice. Long may it wave.
Seven years later, as our great nation turns two hundred and thirty-two, I found myself in the middle of a discussion over which flag we would be flying today, if any. Should we put out our rainbow "Peace" flag, or stick with the traditional stars and bars? The very notion that we needed to talk about it gave me pause. Is that what the Pinhead Regime has done for me? Have they co-opted the flag?
I am greatly relieved that I do not have to regularly pass any sort of litmus test for patriotism. None of my suits have flag pins attached to the lapels. My bumper stickers advertise the Mystery Spot and the fact that my family supports Sequoia Elementary School. This evening's barbecue will not be served on red, white and blue paper plates.
But I do own an American flag. I am proud to display it, because it reminds me that I am part of a country that gives me the freedom to vote, to disagree, and when I feel like it, to wave another flag in its place. Today is the day to marvel at the history and accomplishments of these United States. There will be plenty of time to fuss and moan about the inadequacies and failures of our nation and its leaders, but today I choose to wave that grand old flag and salute all those who made it possible for me to make that choice. Long may it wave.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
A Penny For My Thoughts
"Find a penny, pick it up, and all the day you'll have good luck." I am not a particularly superstitious person, with the possible exception of my fervent belief in "concern rays" generated by fans watching spectator sports events. After that, I remain generally skeptical of all things that might be out of the realm of my specific influence. Which makes it all the more interesting that I still hear those words in my head every time I bend over to pick up a penny.
Over the past year, I have had a sort of crisis of faith when it comes to my habit of picking up loose change. Many days on the way to school I have stopped and stooped to pick up one red cent. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I have made the wish that this act would, in fact, have some transformative power over the course of the rest of my day. There have been a number of days when, as the sun was going down, I wondered: "What happened? I picked up a penny, didn't I?"
Having the benefit of hindsight, I know that I have an easy recourse. I know that in the accounting of this year I can definitely apply the Pollyana corollary: It could have been worse. For all those days when I stopped and picked up a penny, things could have been much worse. I have my job, my home, my health. I have a circle of family and friends that encourage and support me, and put up with my obsessions and fears. I am grateful to have all those things and more, and when I roll up all those coins I feel lucky to have the sense to save for a rainy day.
That's why this morning I looped back around on my bike to bend down one more time and pick up a shiny piece of copper. It's a little bit of hope, after all.
Over the past year, I have had a sort of crisis of faith when it comes to my habit of picking up loose change. Many days on the way to school I have stopped and stooped to pick up one red cent. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I have made the wish that this act would, in fact, have some transformative power over the course of the rest of my day. There have been a number of days when, as the sun was going down, I wondered: "What happened? I picked up a penny, didn't I?"
Having the benefit of hindsight, I know that I have an easy recourse. I know that in the accounting of this year I can definitely apply the Pollyana corollary: It could have been worse. For all those days when I stopped and picked up a penny, things could have been much worse. I have my job, my home, my health. I have a circle of family and friends that encourage and support me, and put up with my obsessions and fears. I am grateful to have all those things and more, and when I roll up all those coins I feel lucky to have the sense to save for a rainy day.
That's why this morning I looped back around on my bike to bend down one more time and pick up a shiny piece of copper. It's a little bit of hope, after all.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
What A Long Strange Trip
Ladies and gentlemen, Voyager 2 has left the building. Or, more to the point, the solar system. Our little probe has now made its way more than seven billion miles from the sun, and still going strong. Launched way back in August of 1977, Voyager 2 managed to stop by Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. This is a pretty keen trick when you consider how much space exists between those planets, and the trajectory had to be timed so that they would all be in a rough line. That's a lot of math.
It was way back in 1979 when Voyager 2 passed Jupiter. I was in high school. In 1981, it passed Saturn while I began my career at Arby's. Five years later, there was a Uranus flyby. That was the year I graduated, at last, from college. 1989 brought Voyager 2 to Neptune. I was working in a video store. Keeping the planetary streak alive was more a matter of debate than engineering, when Pluto was reclassified a "dwarf planet" and was therefore off the list of hot-spots to visit on the way out of the solar system.
Now Voyager 2 is leaving home, with another fifteen to twenty years of faithful service. Most of what we're learning from it today is about the shape of the heliosphere, which turns out to be flat on the bottom. Then it's off into the stars. Voyager 2 is not headed toward any particular star. It will pass by the star Sirius at a distance of 1.32 parsecs (4.3 light years, 25 trillion miles) in about 296,000 years. Both Voyagers carry gold records, with greetings from Jimmy Carter, with tunes from Back and Chuck Berry. Carl Sagan, who helped compile the music and sounds for the record, had originally asked for permission to include "Here Comes the Sun" from the Beatles' album Abbey Road. While the Beatles favoured it, EMI opposed it and the song was not included. You can't get the Beatles on iTunes. Why should you be able to get them on Sirius?
It was way back in 1979 when Voyager 2 passed Jupiter. I was in high school. In 1981, it passed Saturn while I began my career at Arby's. Five years later, there was a Uranus flyby. That was the year I graduated, at last, from college. 1989 brought Voyager 2 to Neptune. I was working in a video store. Keeping the planetary streak alive was more a matter of debate than engineering, when Pluto was reclassified a "dwarf planet" and was therefore off the list of hot-spots to visit on the way out of the solar system.
Now Voyager 2 is leaving home, with another fifteen to twenty years of faithful service. Most of what we're learning from it today is about the shape of the heliosphere, which turns out to be flat on the bottom. Then it's off into the stars. Voyager 2 is not headed toward any particular star. It will pass by the star Sirius at a distance of 1.32 parsecs (4.3 light years, 25 trillion miles) in about 296,000 years. Both Voyagers carry gold records, with greetings from Jimmy Carter, with tunes from Back and Chuck Berry. Carl Sagan, who helped compile the music and sounds for the record, had originally asked for permission to include "Here Comes the Sun" from the Beatles' album Abbey Road. While the Beatles favoured it, EMI opposed it and the song was not included. You can't get the Beatles on iTunes. Why should you be able to get them on Sirius?
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Guess Where I'm Calling From?
If you guessed my car, you guessed wrong. Today's the day! Here in California we are no longer allowed to drive while we talk on our cellular telephones. There is a loophole, wherein you can continue this habit while using a "hands-free device." More to the point, it is illegal to use hand-held telephones while driving. If you get caught, you will get a ticket for seventy-six to one hundred twenty-five dollars.
My love for cell phones is well known and documented. I maintain that I prefer to have periods of every day when I am not available by phone. For many years, this meant that I simply did not own a cell phone, and anyone who needed to talk to me had to wait until I could get back to them on a land line. A few years back, I joined the wireless community and bought my own leash. I used it primarily as a classroom management tool, using it to call parents of unruly students directly from my classroom. The installation of telephones in our classrooms has made the need for me to run up a bill for calls to the homes of recalcitrant youth avoidable. Something about going to the corner of the room with your teacher to call your parents has a little harder edge.
I don't use my cell phone to make calls from my car, since I don't drive very much. When I do, I look forward to the chance to use another electronic appliance, the stereo. Playing music in my car will always be more important to me than talking on the phone.
What about emergencies? If it were an actual emergency, I imagine that pulling over would be the most prudent advice in the first place. Watching people come out of the door of their house, opening the door of their car, and dialing a number on their phone always amazes me. This is usually done with a handful of coffee and other detritus, making the task even more challenging. Then they start up the car and roll off down the street, continuing their juggling act until they reach their destination, at which point they feel free to hang up long enough to fill their hands with another armload of distractions before they begin their next call.
Last night on the news, I hear a seventeen-year-old, who was studying for his driver's test, complain bitterly about the part of this new law that makes it illegal for anyone under eighteen to use a cell phone, hands-free or not, while driving. "It's just unfair," he moaned. It's another way for the man to keep us down. To that kid I say, "Fight the power." Get in your cars and start dialing. Can the Highway Patrol keep up with all those people with phones to their heads? Or is it just a conspiracy by the Bluetooth folks to sell us more of those hands-free implants?
My love for cell phones is well known and documented. I maintain that I prefer to have periods of every day when I am not available by phone. For many years, this meant that I simply did not own a cell phone, and anyone who needed to talk to me had to wait until I could get back to them on a land line. A few years back, I joined the wireless community and bought my own leash. I used it primarily as a classroom management tool, using it to call parents of unruly students directly from my classroom. The installation of telephones in our classrooms has made the need for me to run up a bill for calls to the homes of recalcitrant youth avoidable. Something about going to the corner of the room with your teacher to call your parents has a little harder edge.
I don't use my cell phone to make calls from my car, since I don't drive very much. When I do, I look forward to the chance to use another electronic appliance, the stereo. Playing music in my car will always be more important to me than talking on the phone.
What about emergencies? If it were an actual emergency, I imagine that pulling over would be the most prudent advice in the first place. Watching people come out of the door of their house, opening the door of their car, and dialing a number on their phone always amazes me. This is usually done with a handful of coffee and other detritus, making the task even more challenging. Then they start up the car and roll off down the street, continuing their juggling act until they reach their destination, at which point they feel free to hang up long enough to fill their hands with another armload of distractions before they begin their next call.
Last night on the news, I hear a seventeen-year-old, who was studying for his driver's test, complain bitterly about the part of this new law that makes it illegal for anyone under eighteen to use a cell phone, hands-free or not, while driving. "It's just unfair," he moaned. It's another way for the man to keep us down. To that kid I say, "Fight the power." Get in your cars and start dialing. Can the Highway Patrol keep up with all those people with phones to their heads? Or is it just a conspiracy by the Bluetooth folks to sell us more of those hands-free implants?
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