hillary's great adventure

Oh. My. God. I cannot believe I have just read this story and kept my entrails intact. I haven’t even reached for my gun to blow my brains out and end the carnage. Oh. My. God.

Glenn Thrush of Newsday bylines this today – Hillary says she risked life on White House trips. This story is beyond laughable. This woman needs a full-time nurse just to ensure she takes her meds as prescribed.

Let’s go to the tape …

VINTON, Iowa - Ever since Barack Obama suggested Hillary Clinton's eight years as first lady were a glorified tea party a few days back (with a few felonies tossed in there, but, yes, basically accurate), she's looked for an opening to strike back (like some superhero, eh? Humungo-Thigh Woman! Can suffocate her enemies in a jell-o sandwich the size of a 1964 Mustang front quarter panel! I’m gonna throw up …. brb. ).

On Saturday night in Dubuque she pounced (now, THERE’s a picture! Hillary “pouncing”? Cut me a break. The woman hasn’t pounced on anything but her lesbian lover in NYC for 20 years.), arguing she risked her life (ooohh! Aaahhhh! The drama of it all!) on White House missions in the 1990s, including a hair-raising flight into Bosnia that ended in a "corkscrew" landing (you mean, they land airplanes a special way in warzones? Oh. This woman is a moron.) and a sprint off the tarmac to dodge snipers (so, like, um, you couldn’t hang out on the tarmac in a WARZONE? Oh. You know, Puffy, I really think you could have saved a lot of people a lot grieve if you DID hang out on the tarmac.).

"I don't remember anyone offering me tea," she quipped (A FUNNY!!! Oh, my sides are hurting! Oh, my! The POUNCE! Wow! So unfuckingbelieveably CUTE. You miserable hag. And you want to be president?).

The dictum (legal term meaning – nobody really gives a shit but it was said anyway) around the Oval Office in the '90s, she added, was: "If a place was too dangerous, too poor or too small, send the first lady." (Hillary, get the fuck over yourself. No, I do not believe you. Yes, I actually knew some of your Secret Service people – they thought you were a “cunt.” Their word, Hil-babe. A “cunt.” They added things like, “the worst possibly assignment imaginable. The woman is nothing but a ‘cunt’.” And get this: if they sent you to places "too dangerous" for other people, it's because Bill wanted you DEAD! Get it?!?)

It turns out that Clinton wasn't quite flying solo into harm's way that day. (I am so on the edge of my seat. Pray tell – commandos? SEALS? Super-duper secret guys like John Kerry taking whatever into Cambodia?)

She was, in fact, leading a goodwill entourage that included baggy-pants funnyman Sinbad, singer Sheryl Crow and Clinton's daughter, Chelsea, then 15, according to an account of the March 1995 trip in her autobiography "Living History." (Oh. So outrageously dangerous that you took your KID? Are you a poor parent or just exaggerating the danger of the trip? How about this – the journalist writing this piece is a bigger moron than you, Puff-babe. He MISSED this obvious issue? Yeah, and I am sure that Sinbad and Sheryl are really into risking their lives, too. This is pathetic.)

As the plane approached the runway, the pilot ordered the Clintons into the armored front of the plane, Clinton writes. (Wowee!! So the people with Secret Service protection get into an area where ground fire cannot penetrate. And that is what, exactly? Um, dangerous? Is this writer fresh out of a high-school stint?)

What's not clear is whether Sinbad or Crow were invited to the cockpit or had to brave it out in the unprotected rear. (“Brave it out”? I cannot believe how pathetic this story is. AND IT ENDS HERE! THAT’s his CLOSING! Shoot me, please. What a lap-dog piece of writing.)

Bye.

yo, iowa!

Separated at birth ...

"A"
"B"
"C"
"D"
"A"+"B" does not equal "D". "A" + "C" = "D"

table for one? non-smoking? right this way, sir.

I’m not one for looking back too often – looking forward can be confusing enough. I did, however, just look at two posts: December 31, 2006, and February 6, 2004. The latter was my very first post. Coming up on four years. I am being honest when I write that I don’t remember where I lived then - I've tried, can't seem to grab it. I can list the places I have lived and their order, but the timeframes have blurred significantly. Oh well.

Last year this time. I was in the classroom. I was in the bedroom. Have since moved out of both, and have no intention of returning to either. I have watched both scenarios ebb and flow throughout the year, with both, thankfully, finally finding their steady-states. The difficult part following any change is not the immediate aftermath, it is the change following that change. Once the second generation is achieved, then the original state is forever past.

My goals for 2008 are to either achieve or ensure the next generation on both issues.

2007 ... anybody get the license-plate number off that truck?

cranky

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(just like) bailey's irish cream

3 eggs
2 T chocolate syrup
1 t vanilla
1/2 P heavy cream
1 can Eagle Brand sweetened condensed milk
1 can Canadian Mist Whiskey (using the condensed milk can)

Blender high speed one minute.

Drink in large quantities over extended periods of time, beginning with breakfast.

Any sweetened condensed milk will do - but I have tried other whiskies and Canadian Mist is the best in this recipe.

Merry Christmas ...

extreme scrapbooking

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give him a fair trial, then hang him

I sat in a doctor’s waiting room today, and had the distinct pleasure of being so incredibly bored that I read a local newspaper. It was like chewing aspirin. An article was on page 4, upper left, occupying two columns for a third of a page. I read it. Glanced at the inset picture as it was identified in the text. Reviewed the article one more time quickly in disbelief. Then just shook my head.

The story is this: It is winter here, somebody put a load of clothes in the dryer, turned it on, and left. Dryer exhaust existed through a vent on the back porch. The firemen came, gained entry through the basement, saw nothing was wrong, and left.

So why did this story rate so many column inches and an inset picture? What was the picture of, anyway?

And now, the rest of the story … it seems that the occupant was recently charged, as the article termed, “with raping children.” That was the only identification and discussion of the charges – “with raping children.” Seems a rather indelicate way of terming his criminal charges. Further, since the charges became public, some local put a sign in the suspect’s front yard identifying the house as being occupied by a “child molester.” The neighbor that called the fire company was concerned, perhaps rightfully, that the house was on fire through arson. She was wrong, but perhaps heartfelt.

I have deep feelings about our judicial system and how it handles criminals and, in particular, those that touch children. I am, as a result, very comfortable with the idea of vigilante justice. I also understand the Constitution and criminal procedure.

I blissfully know nothing of local happenings. I knew nothing of the allegations. Regardless, this guy or his wife put in a load of clothes to dry, and went out. As a result, his name, her name, their address, his picture, some flippant reference to his charges, the sign incident – all get recounted in the paper to, I guess, remind everyone of what is going on.

I have no sympathy for him if he is guilty. I rather enjoy daydreaming of his future as the cellblock wife. But why this article? I found the handling of the faux incident to be an exceptionally poor editorial decision.

Tie him to the stake. Stuff a rag in his mouth. Surround him with dry kindling. Toss liberally an accelerant. Hold the match until the trial concludes.

I read the entire paper. What a waste of tree.

I feel myself being drawn into following politics a bit. Makes me feel dirty. There’s a concerted effort to “humanize” Mrs. Bill Clinton? What does that mean, exactly? She is human – people just don’t like the type of human that she is. Cold, lying, bitchy, tight, sleazy – and those are her supporters. Her detractors go for the pant-suit references. I have to throw up – brb.

John Edwards has a love child in the oven? So funny. I bet his fervent support of abortion-on-demand just hit a crescendo. John: They don’t, um, do DNA testing on aborted kids – I mean, fetuses, ah, wait, ah, what’s that phrase? “A mass of cells” – they don’t, right? So much for supporting wife dying of cancer, Slim. Oh yeah, procedure and evidentiary findings and all that. Sorry. Oh, fuck it! Where’s the matches? John-boy? C’mere, son …

I read on some site the headline that an MSNBC host laughed at a Republican presidential candidate. The talking heads are fools – and just for clarity, I am referring to the television hosts.

Polls are coming out by the bucketful. Seems Obama leads Iowa among likely caucus voters and Edwards leads among likely voters. Hunh? On common thing – Clinton is not leading in any of them. Guess those pantsuits linger in memory. Oh, god, gotta go. brb.

I had pizza and chili. Yeah. Just yuk. I was hungry, cut me break.

I loved reading Pravda. They are so deeply asshat-ish. The headline reads, “USA spends hundreds of billions to control Russia, Iraq and Afghanistan.” Here is every number in context from the article:

“The U.S. Senate approved the allocation of 401.8 million dollars from the budget in the financial year 2008. The funds will be used to implement assistance programs to the republics of the former USSR. In addition, the USA plans to spend 294.5 million dollars for the countries of Eastern Europe and the Baltic states (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania).

“ … the allocation of not less than eight million dollars for the humanitarian and civil assistance to Caucasian republics of Russia’s south: Chechnya, Ingushetia, Dagestan and North Ossetia …

“$500,000 to the U.S. Forest Service to implement a program to protect forests and animals in Russia’s Far East.

“555 billion spending bill Tuesday combining funding for 14 Cabinet departments with $70 billion for U.S. military operations in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

“USA spends hundreds of billions to control Russia, Iraq and Afghanistan”? You people can’t read your own words. I don’t even see half a billion. You just ain’t that important, Russia. Or maybe you are jealous because your budget is so pathetic?

Alright, enough cranky …

dancing through midnight

Christmas approaches. Last year my snow-bubble-boy got a crack habit and a federal sentence. You can find it under the label, “short stories.” For Thanksgiving, I wrote a story for my twin, and gave it to her, unpublished. What shall we do for this holiday season? How about we start with some reflections? That seems pathetic enough …

I started the year in the classroom, having been newly de--- wait, I don’t talk about work, not directly at least. Music, that seems safe. Let’s talk about music.

I drifted back to my roots this year. Found Marc Bolan again. No surprise, perhaps. Subconsciously I must have known that the thirtieth anniversary of his fatal tree-eating scene was coming up in September. His music truly removes me from the present. It isn’t the overwhelming power of his lyrics, Did you ever see a woman coming out of New York City with a frog in her hand? Well, I did, don’t you know? And don’t it show?” (repeat five or six times, maybe seven, then fade out), or the (over)use of strings in the later albums. Rather it’s the time of life for me. I had to break out. I’d been accused and abused, and just needed to stop trying to conform. The contortions were no longer bending me, but breaking. Mascara and fingernail polish, long hair and drugs seemed to do the trick.

I could dance in private to Telegram Sam, Jeepster, and 20th Century Boy. I never ever did the stupid air guitar thing. How embarrassing. I was a lead singer sometimes, other times and mostly just in my own world: my space, my moves, my safety. My eyes were always closed. My door was always heavily blockaded (that’s much more secure that locked, at least psychologically). I was blissfully alone. No one could touch me no matter how much they tried. I was safe. Thirty-some years later, I can’t quite recapture that, but I can get an unfocused glimpse of it – and that is so very cool.

I found again Johnny Cash. I was ten or so when Folsom Prison Blues came out. I would walk into my father’s den with my head down, picturing myself hopelessly facing a 40-year sentence. I would move slowly and put the album on, and then sit on the floor cross-legged. I remember holding the album and staring into his eyes for long periods of time, trying to grasp his reality. I remember the sounds of the prisoners, seated or standing on either side and in front and back of me. I enjoyed their reaction as much as I did watching Johnny perform. I was quiet and alone in the room, but surrounded by the discarded. It was comforting in a deep way. I can’t trick myself like that anymore, but I remember the concept of being able to do it.

I discovered Blind Willie Johnson. What an amazing story. His father beat up his stepmom, so she threw lye into Willie’s 7-year old face and blinded him. He recorded just five sessions over four years, and only one photograph of him is known to exist. One of his songs, Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground, is just an incredibly mournful song without words – just moans – that is about the Crucifixion. It was included in the Voyager I recordings sent outside our solar system. All of his songs are gospels delivered in the most amazing delta blues fashion with a rough sandpaper voice. His wife sings in the background sometimes. He spent his last years playing on the streets for coin. When his house burned, he continued to live in the rubble. He died of pneumonia a short while later at age 47 or so. His music has been performed by Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Led Zeppelin, the Dead … all sorts of folks. I just got The Complete Blind Willie Johnson, a two-CD set, yesterday. I am hearing a few songs for the first time. His music to me is the concept of the church I always wanted but never had.

I filled in a lot of The Beatles bootlegs this year. Found a few rich veins – so much, in fact, that I am nursing hard disk space until I expand soon. I focused a lot on George Harrison because of the large gaps. I am at the “completist” stage for John and George, close to there for The Beatles. Paul’s a long way off mainly because I am spotty on his music. Ringo will go from zip to complete in a day or two, so there’s no rush. Reflections? Not really. You can deconstruct January 1969 only so many ways. I find the musical evolution and studio talk interesting, I love hearing songs in infancy that weren’t published until their solo careers, John cracks me up as he makes fun of Paul’s songs (like singing Maxwell’s Silver Hammer), but I’m beyond reflections, I think. You could, however, close me safely in a room with an upper floor window open to catch a summer breeze, play Rocky Raccoon, and perhaps I could find my grandfather’s fields on those days when I knew no one was within seeing or screaming distance. The hay was always as high as my torso. I could see something in the distance running away only by watching the hay respond. The woods were so rich, so old.

I guess in a lot of ways music defined this year for me. That’s not a bad thing.

random observations about my dogs

I have two border collies. One is bred as a working dog – sleek, fast, smart. The other seems to have been cross-bred with a pig – fat, clumsy, stupid. I call the latter, “Olaf, the pig dog.”

I stayed in the large backyard with my dogs the other day. You can tell when a dog is going to dump – they sniff around for something. A toilet? They both assumed the position, which I always thought was totally random. On this day, they not only took a dump at the same time, they both had their asses pointed at me.

It’s winter here. I had them on the deck with me. I broke up some ice. They eat it like it’s candy.

I have a small strawberry patch. Stupid cats occasionally use it as a litter box. The dogs treat it like a buffet. They eat cat shit.

When I take them outside through the basement, as soon as the door opens, Olaf goes bounding down. My smart dog stays on next to me until I say it is ok to go down the stairs.

When I open the basement door to the yard, my smart dog rips into the backyard to clear it of any intruders such as birds. Olaf stays close until he sees that I am going out, too.

When I put them out the front door, it is on a long chain. Olaf always gets wrapped around a bush or rocker or anything available, and then he barks to be helped. IF my smart dog gets wrapped, which is rare, I can point to the way free and she does it herself.

When they play in the backyard, Olaf runs like a madman. My smart dog cuts him off at every corner.

My smart dog is name Ceiligh. It’s Gaelic for “festive,” or “party,” or “that’s your sister? Um, ok, she dating anyone?”

When I give Cei a treat, she scurries away and chomps down. Olaf looks at me: “This it? Any more?” When he realizes nothing more is coming, then he scurries away with his treasure.

I have two food bowls with identical food. Both dogs will eat from the one on the right, and then push it around noisily when it is empty – ignoring the full one just nine inches away.

Olaf had his nuts drilled. He still humps Cei upon occasion. When I tell him to stop, he looks at me like a teenager caught yanking it. He gets the same look when he takes a dump and looks over his shoulder at me.

When Cei pisses, Olaf gets in there and sniffs so closely he must get splashed.

The dogs sit on the couch sometimes and lick each other’s tongues.

When Olaf lies next to me, the important thing is to rest his head on me. Cei wants her back resting against my leg.

Cei understands “no.” Olaf is like telling Sam Donaldson to not ask a question.

That’s about it for now …

hippocrates gets dissed

In my never-ending search for truth and wisdom, I decided that as an Internet Medical Doctor, I should take some Continuing Medical Education credits. Since I have absolutely no medical training whatsoever, I decided to start at the beginning, kinda like opening the Bible at Genesis. I decided to start with the Works by Hippocrates. He’s that Oath guy, so if people swear an oath towards or about him, I figured he must be somebody.

He was a pretty important guy, so it seems. They called him the Father of Medicine, and he lived from about 460 BC to 370 BC. Ninety years is impressive for a time before flushing toilets and Dyson vacuums.

Turns out he wrote a lot, and his works are collected into something called the Hippocratic Corpus. I figure strolling through his writings should be worth a handful of CMEs.

I picked one called, Aphorisms. It is presented in Roman-numeral section and then numbered paragraphs within each section. Let’s stroll …

I.21. Those things which require to be evacuated should be evacuated, wherever they most tend, by the proper outlets. (“Evacuated … by the proper outlets.” Man, starts right in with the anal bit. Just remarkable. How did I know that was coming?)

II.11. It is easier to fill up with drink than with food. (This sounds like a proverb. “There is no ‘I’ in teamwork.” “‘Gullible’ is not in the dictionary.” “Orville Redenbacher’s brother is a colonel in the Air Force.”)

II.21. Drinking strong wine cures hunger. (“I’m hungry!’ “Shut up! Get blasted – you won’t think about it as much!”)

II.24. [Concerning acute disease] The fourth day is indicative of the seventh; the eighth is the commencement of the second week; and hence, the eleventh being the fourth of the second week, is also indicative; and again, the seventeenth is indicative, as being the fourth from the fourteenth, and the seventh from the eleventh. (Where’s my slide rule? I know I left it around here somewhere …)

II.48. In every movement of the body, whenever one begins to endure pain, it will be relieved by rest. (“Doc, it hurts when I move.” “Then stop moving.” Brilliant!)

III.10. Autumn is a bad season for persons in consumption. (Back in his day, Consumption/Tuberculosis was characterized by coughing up blood, fever, and was almost always fatal. Seems to me, Hippo, the time of year isn’t dispositive.)

V.3. A convulsion, or hiccup, supervening on a copious discharge of blood is bad. (Good rule. Got it. Thank you.)

V.34. When a pregnant woman has a violent diarrhoea, there is danger of her miscarrying. (“Dear Diary, about two months ago I got pregnant with Spyro’s child. Last week, I began to feel a quivering in my toes that worked its way the entire distance of my legs. I thought it would result in a real howitzer of an orgasm. Alas, to my dismay, the result was explosive flatulence. Now, the flatulence has given way to violent diarrhoea. What could be next? Methinks I am not well. I must stop eating hummus as very often.”)

V.72. Persons disposed to jaundice are not very subject to flatulence. (Um, OK. “Johnny, I haven’t heard you fart lately, and you look a little yellow under the gills. I think your liver is failing. I could be wrong.”)

VI.9. Broad exanthemata are not very itchy. (“Not very”? Rather loose language for a doc, eh? If it’s a rash and it was itchy when it was little, you can be damn sure it will be itchy when it spreads. “Itch” isn’t proportioned to a condition, like you only get so much “itch” per condition. The broader the condition, Hippo, the more it frickin itches.)

VI.13. Sneezing coming on, in the case of a person afflicted with hiccup, removes the hiccup. (Yes, and if you read a few posts below, sticking your fingers in his ass will also “remove the hiccup.” Surprised you didn’t come up with that.)

VI.17. It is a good thing in ophthalmy for the patient to be seized with diarrhoea. (Let’s see … “ophthalmy” is an inflammation of the membranes or coats of the eye or of the eyeball. “I can’t see nothing, doc. My eyes are all inflamed. Big time.” “Yes, they are, Spartacus, I can see that. How’s your butt?” “Hunh?” “I said, ‘how’s your butt?’” “Um, OK, I guess. I could lose a pound or two. You know it is.” “I think we need to aid in the evacuation through the proper outlets.” “Doc, it’s my eyes. My eyes are weirding out on me.” “I know, Sparty. Trust me on this one. We’ll ream you out a good one, give you a tonic to induce violent diarrhoea, and in a few days you’ll be good as new! You aren’t pregnant, are you?”)

VI.28. Eunuchs do not take the gout, nor become bald. (Now here is news you can use! The heck with that Propecia or the Gessippi Whoever with the Beverly Hills salon that hugs all his customers while he charges them $500 for the same product you can now get for $19.99 but wait order now and we’ll give you a second bottle for free who has time for all that nonsense look I don’t own the company in fact I don’t know anything about them they just agreed to give my 20% of gross if I would do this commercial so I am and stop staring at that zit above my right eyebrow I am fully aware the pancake didn’t cover it completely just buy the product you bovine freak. You want to stop hair loss or jumpstart re-stimulation or re-growth? Easy – cut your nuts off! And as an added bonus, if you chop the mud flap off within the next 15 minutes, we’ll guaranty that you’ll never get gout! “Honey, where’s the hedge clippers?”)

VI.46. Such persons as become hump-backed from asthma or cough before puberty, die. (And if it happens after puberty, people will just spend a lifetime being pointing at you and hiding their children from your view. Man, how hard do you have to cough to create a hump on your back?)

VI.53. Delirium attended with laughter is less dangerous than delirium attended with a serious mood. (“How is he, doctor?” “He’ll be fine, Ma’am. Just keep him laughing. Whatever you do, keep him laughing.”)

VII.4. A chill supervening on a sweat is not good. (I know. This happens every time I drink myself into oblivion and evacuate through all the proper outlets. I always hear this voice, “This is not good.” Voice sounds familiar. I think it is me.)

VII.14. Stupor or delirium from a blow on the head is bad. (OK. How long did it take to figure this one out? Did you use live subjects?)

VII.34. When bubbles settle on the surface of the urine, they indicate disease of the kidneys, and that the complaint will be protracted. (I always make bubbles. It’s fun!)

VII.43. A woman does not become ambidexterous. (Whew! Is the next line, “burn the witch!”?)

VII.55. When the liver is filled with water and bursts into the epiploon, in this case the belly is filled with water and the patient dies. (I think you got a little off track here, Hippo. It seems to me that the patient died because of the burst liver. I really do think the water in the stomach is secondary. You may want to look over your data again.)

Interesting guy.

So I figure since “real” docs take the Hippocratic Oath, maybe I should read it. Good rule: Always start with the original text when doing research. Then, silly me and somewhat to be shock and awe, I wanted to find the modern version, and found instead a bunch of “modern” versions. I have three of them following the original.

Here is the original version (yes, translations differ, but that is your problem, not mine).

“I SWEAR by Apollo (wasn’t he a god or sumptin?) the physician, and Aesculapius, and Health, and All-heal, and all the gods and goddesses (smile. Pagan!), that, according to my ability and judgment, I will keep this Oath and this stipulation- to reckon him who taught me this Art equally dear to me as my parents (mentor = daddy. Interesting concept. Sounds like a blood oath, Kemo Sabe.), to share my substance with him (are you selling Amway?), and relieve his necessities if required (mentor = sex daddy?); to look upon his offspring in the same footing as my own brothers, and to teach them this art, if they shall wish to learn it, without fee or stipulation (getting whored out just to learn a trade. Wow.); and that by precept, lecture, and every other mode of instruction, I will impart a knowledge of the Art to my own sons, and those of my teachers, and to disciples bound by a stipulation and oath according to the law of medicine, but to none others (was there a secret handshake? I picture Fred Flintstone with his big blue hat while at the Loyal Order of Water Buffalos Lodge). I will follow that system of regimen which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous (OK). I will give no deadly medicine to any one if asked (OK), nor suggest any such counsel; and in like manner I will not give to a woman a pessary to produce abortion (WHAT?!? You will NOT induce an abortion? Um, wait a minute … roughly 45MM abortions since 1972 in the US and the original text of the Oath includes a prohibition? Oh, it is to laugh.). With purity and with holiness I will pass my life and practice my Art. I will not cut persons laboring under the stone, but will leave this to be done by men who are practitioners of this work (Ewww! What pray tell is behind this crack? Cutting the tendons so they cannot escape?). Into whatever houses I enter, I will go into them for the benefit of the sick, and will abstain from every voluntary act of mischief and corruption; and, further from the seduction of females or males (and since docs were all guys, here’s a little gay reference.), of freemen and slaves (don’t go banging the patient – good rule). Whatever, in connection with my professional practice or not, in connection with it, I see or hear, in the life of men, which ought not to be spoken of abroad, I will not divulge, as reckoning that all such should be kept secret. While I continue to keep this Oath unviolated, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and the practice of the art, respected by all men, in all times! But should I trespass and violate this Oath, may the reverse be my lot! (whew, it ends like a spell. Eerie!)”

Well, old Hippo didn’t support abortion, did he? He’d get on all fours and let his teacher bang him doggy-style, but wouldn’t do his patients. Gotta draw lines somewhere, I guess. Interesting world.

Let’s see how the Oath was updated. Here’s the first modern version:

“I SWEAR in the presence of the Almighty (down to one god) and before my family, my teachers and my peers that according to my ability and judgment I will keep this Oath and Stipulation.

“TO RECKON all who have taught me this art equally dear to me as my parents (but you’re not going to sleep with them, right?) and in the same spirit and dedication to impart a knowledge of the art of medicine to others. I will continue with diligence to keep abreast of advances in medicine. I will treat without exception all who seek my ministrations (all?), so long as (funny, didn’t take long for the “but” to come in)the treatment of others is not compromised thereby (well, cowpoke, there is only so much of “you,” so in order to not compromise this fee-paying patient over here …), and I will seek the counsel of particularly skilled physicians where indicated for the benefit of my patient (the origins of the referral system).

“I WILL FOLLOW that method of treatment which according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patient and abstain from whatever is harmful or mischievous (tip of the hat to Hippo). I will neither prescribe nor administer a lethal dose of medicine to any patient (… any patient …) even if asked nor counsel any such thing nor perform the utmost respect for every human life from fertilization (oh my, methinks a prohibition against abortion has reared its head) to natural death and reject abortion that deliberately takes a unique human life (Oh! I should have read ahead, eh? “Reject abortion” coupled with previous reference of “life = fertilization” seems very clear. How interesting. I wonder how fully this position lies with Aristotle’s delayed ensoulment.).

“WITH PURITY, HOLINESS AND BENEFICENCE I will pass my life and practice my art. Except for the prudent correction of an imminent danger, I will neither treat any patient nor carry out any research on any human being without the valid informed consent of the subject or the appropriate legal protector thereof, understanding that research must have as its purpose the furtherance of the health of that individual. Into whatever patient setting I enter, I will go for the benefit of the sick and will abstain from every voluntary act of mischief or corruption and further from the seduction of any patient. (There’s that “seduction” bit again! Must’ve been a real problem. Something just dawned on me – in all the usages, it is the doc seducing the patient. Always that form. So if she (or he!) starts it … weird demarcation. Why not just prohibit sexual relations with patients?)

“WHATEVER IN CONNECTION with my professional practice or not in connection with it I may see or hear in the lives of my patients which ought not be spoken abroad, I will not divulge, reckoning that all such should be kept secret.

“WHILE I CONTINUE to keep this Oath unviolated may it be granted to me to enjoy life and the practice of the art and science of medicine with the blessing of the Almighty and respected by my peers and society, but should I trespass and violate this Oath, may the reverse by my lot.”

Alright, substantially intact. Added a few bits about human research and informed consent. Good issues. Let’s see another “modern” version. Methinks the Indians are discussing leaving the reservation.

“I swear to (now down to zero gods) fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:

“I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow. (A little soft around the edges, but still very Fred-like.)

“I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures [that] are required, avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism. (But sometimes the exact appropriate amount of treatment is nihilistic. How do you handle that?)

“I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug. (Oh man. How many docs do you know that skipped this paragraph?)

“I will not be ashamed to say "I know not," (ditto) nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery (share the wealth).

“I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life (in theory); this awesome responsibility must be faced (application) with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play at God. (Capital G? But you axed Him in the opening. Odd.)

“I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick. (No comment.)

“I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

“I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

“If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.”

That was an interesting shift in the treatment of abortion – from clear to cryptic. Still present, in some carnival mirror sort of way. Notice what is missing entirely? Docs can now nail their patients – male and female – regardless of who initiates it!

Last and, yes, least I found the AMA approved version. The reservation is now devoid of human inhabitants.

“You do solemnly swear, each by whatever he or she holds most sacred (Hunh? “whatever”? Good lord, talk about politically correct): That you will be loyal to the Profession of Medicine and just and generous (read, “make referrals early and often”) to its members. That you will lead your lives and practice your art in uprightness and honor.

“That into whatsoever house you shall enter, it shall be for the good of the sick to the utmost of your power, your holding yourselves far aloof from wrong, from corruption, from the tempting of others to vice. (Is this code for boning patients?)

“That you will exercise your art solely for the cure of your patients, and will give no drug, perform no operation, for a criminal purpose, even if solicited, far less suggest it. (Cure = good; criminal = bad. Silent on preventing abortion. Silent on assisted suicide. But neither “cure” do they?)

“That whatsoever you shall see or hear of the lives of men or women which is not fitting to be spoken, you will keep inviolably secret.

“These things do you swear. Let each bow the head in sign of acquiescence. And now, if you will be true to this, your oath, may prosperity and good repute be ever yours; the opposite, if you shall prove yourselves forsworn.”

The AMA sucks. Remarkable how much they changed from Hippo’s first writing. Why do they even continue to use the name?

screaming at toilets

This is why I stay away from politics, despite my almost pathological following of it my entire life. One articles relates” "They like this war. They want this war to continue," Pelosi, D- Calif., told reporters. … Asked to clarify her remarks, Pelosi backed off a bit. … "I shouldn't say they like the war," she said. "They support the war, the course of action that the president is on."

So Pelosi opens her mouth and suggests – we all know she was – that the pubs rather enjoy the killing of soldiers. When questioned, she could not stick to her words. A little rust on the chastity belt, I guess.

Lucianne.com responds with: Could we now talk a little bit about how the democrats 'like' killing babies.

The message, of course, is that supporting a woman’s application of her right to privacy to the continued life of her fetus until the 24th week or so when ultra-womb viability kicks in is somehow liking the killing of babies.

My personal views on either topic don’t matter. I have a horse in both races, but I really don’t need to watch the ugliness that is American politics. No one will ever clean it up. It will only get messier.

No, nobody likes killing anything. Yes, some people leave their coat and soul in the Congressional Cloakroom. Just not interested. Tell me what my taxes are and leave me alone.

This is an interesting article on scramjet-engine technology. Same concept as a jet engine, only a whole lot more intense: operating temperatures in the thousands of degree; theoretical max Mach 15 – about 10,000 MPH. The concept is to use it for passenger travel. Termed “hypersonic,” it was originally funded by Reagan and originally de-funded by Clinton. Not a shocking pair of actions. Could you imagine a failure during top-speed flight? Instant toast. One problem – as fat-fetched as it may seem, but it will become real – the noise is akin to a rocket launch. They will not be able to use these engines as the sole means of propulsion at most airports. There will have to be a second power plant of sorts. Man … plane aloft, primary engines fold away, secondary engines deploy – “Please put your trays in the upright and stowed position, make sure all of your luggage is in the overhead compartment or underneath the seat in front of you … now, take a deep breath, pinch your buttocks together, and hold on! Sanitary wipes are in the pocket in front of you if you should fill your pants.”

Buried in this article is the statement, “The receding ice caps on Mars hint at a climatic warming trend.” When someone can explain why, and distinguish the source from the “global warming” here on Earth, then I will start listening to Algore.

Yes, this is where I am from. Chick get angry with her toilet, and proceeds to scream at it. Busted for public disturbance. Turns out to be protected speech. If I want to scream at my toilet, I have that right, no matter what language I use. That’s a good thing to know.

Found this article saying 3,800 people and kids under the age of 24 were homeless in NYC. Wasn’t sure how to judge such a number. Went to the NYS 2000 Census data. Seems 12.06% of the population are ages 15 to 23. Compare that to the first article’s claim of 8.2MM living in NYC, and it suggests that about 1 in 260 people in that age bracket in NYC is homeless. That doesn’t seem too out of whack. I’m not focused enough to track all the source data, but the EU, with a claimed 3MM homeless against a population of 456MM has an overall rate of 1 in 152. I guess NYC’s not too bad. A statistic is a terrible thing to waste.

All for now

quick note

In my favorites and linked here is Totally Unauthorized. She recently went to France, and is introducing post after post on the trip. Check out her flickr pics, too, that are linked in the center column.

The pic above is a morning shot near the caves at Lascaux. Beautiful ...

acidic spouses and fair use

It was a tough decision, but I finally found a winner: Here is the Spouse of the Week! We long suspected she would win, but we needed to wait until this headline was published: Wife Convicted in Husband's Acid Murder. YES!!!

Let’s peek inside …

Now-widowed Larissa and now-dead Tim owned a chemical lab. They had an assistant, James “The Gullible One in Apparent Need of Money” Fagone. The year was 2003. Larissa, or “Iss” as she was called by her friends, and Timmy were in the midst of a nasty divorce. A double shot – divorcing your spouse and business partner! Talk about your social, economic, and spiritual life going down the shitter in one fell swoop.

Having done my fair share of divorces – both as an attorney and a spouse – I understand thoroughly the financial implications of death when it occurs on either side of the court decree. Seems Iss understood, too.

Here’s how it went down …

Iss: Hey, Jimmy, I got a business proposition for you.
Jimmy: Yeah?
Iss: See that guy over there?
Jimmy: Tim? Your husband?
Iss: Yeah.
Jimmy: Yeah, I see him. He’s, like, the only other person here.
Iss: Exactly.
Jimmy: Hunh?
Iss: You’re not getting it. Focus with me.
Jimmy: I’m trying.
Iss: See that 55 gallon drum over there?
Jimmy: Uh, yeah.
Iss: See this stun gun?
Jimmy: The one in your hand?
Iss: Yes, Jimmy, the one in my hand.
Jimmy: Uh, yeah, I see it.
Iss: Guy, stun gun, barrel.
Jimmy: Guy, stun gun, barrel.
Iss: Exactly.
Jimmy: Exactly what?
Iss: You’re an idiot, Jimmy.
Jimmy: You say that a lot.
Iss: You prove that a lot.
Jimmy: I’m sorry. You gonna hit me again?
Iss: No. Jimmy. I want to give you $2,000.
Jimmy: OK. Do I have to have sex with your pets again while you tape it?
Iss: No, Jimmy.
Jimmy: OK.
Iss: You ready?
Jimmy: Ready for what?
Iss: Guy, stun g-- …
Jimmy: … -un, barrel.
Iss: Exactly.
Jimmy: Exactly what?
Iss: Oh, my f---king lord you are stupid.
Jimmy: You shouldn’t talk about God that way.
Iss: Jimmy, focus with me.
Jimmy: OK.
Iss: I want you to walk over to Tim, use this stun gun on him, then I’ll use chloroform on him, and then you put him in the barrel. Upsidedown.
Jimmy: Why would I do that?
Iss: $2,000.
Jimmy: OK.
Iss: Go ahead and do it now.
Jimmy: OK.
Iss: Hey, Jimmy. You need the stun gun.
Jimmy: OK.

Jimmy: Hi, Tim!
Tim: Hi, Jimmy, what can I d--- ZAP! ARGGgghhh …
Jimmy: Sorry, Tim.

Iss: OK, Jimmy, pick him up.
Jimmy: OK. Upsidedown, right?
Iss: Yes, Jimmy.
Jimmy: OK. Thump! Do I get my $2,000 now?
Iss: In a minute. We aren’t done yet.
Jimmy: That’s that acid stuff, Iss.
Iss: Yes, it is, Jimmy.
Jimmy: Whacha gonna do with it? We got another experiment to do?
Iss: Something like that. Get his feet out of the way.
Jimmy: OK.
Iss: I’m just going pour this hydrochloric acid in here with Tim, and we’re going to time it and see how long it takes for him to dissolve.
Jimmy: OK.

Poor Jimmy was convicted in December 2006 of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison without parole. Looks like Iss will get the same.

You just have to love a spouse that refuses to out quietly. I think the dissolving-in-acid was a nice touch.

We aren’t done yet. This notice appeared with the article: “Copyright 2007 The Associated Press. The information contained in the AP news report may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or otherwise distributed without the prior written authority of The Associated Press.”

That seemed broad enough to piss me off. “Fair Use” came to mind. “Screw you, AP” also flashed by.

Let’s go to a rather reliable source for such issues, the U.S. Copyright Office. US Code 17 Section 107 lists four considerations for fair use:

1. the purpose and character of the use, including whether such use is of commercial nature or is for nonprofit educational purposes;
2. the nature of the copyrighted work;
3. amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole; and
4. the effect of the use upon the potential market for or value of the copyrighted work.

Is my work commercial? No. I generate no income from this blog. The ads to the right are de minimus and if measureable, the amount attributable to this post is 1 divided by infinity, so zero.

The alleged copyrighted work was publicly distributed. I found it on the open internet. That does not defeat the alleged copyright, but it does put into perspective the nature of the work – it is intended to be read by the general public.

How much of their work did I use? A very small percentage. In fact, many other sources are available both subject to copyright and not (court docs). I, um, I read at least 25 different sources, filling my head with each, before I composed the vignette above. I merely chose to link to AP because I detest them and believe they need the business.

Do I affect their value? Oh no, they trashed that a long, long time ago. Have I touched their potential market? Yes. I increased it by linking to them.

A little more for the USCO: “The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have regarded as fair use: ‘quotation of excerpts in a review or criticism for purposes of illustration or comment; quotation of short passages in a scholarly or technical work, for illustration or clarification of the author's observations; use in a parody of some of the content of the work parodied; summary of an address or article, with brief quotations, in a news report …’” Yeah, that’s me, particularly the I’m-your-clown part.

AP pisses me off. Stick your pseudo-broad copyright claims.

drive time

So in the past 38 hours, I drove the round-trip to Rhode Island. I had planned on staying the extra night, but a nasty storm is coming so I darted out. Stayed in Providence. The town seems to have a lot of character, and a lot of expensive restaurants. Did something I rarely do – was asked for money and said, no. I usually fork over a few dollars. This situation just seemed un-medicated to me. Kept my distance.

My legs are screaming after driving a stick shift for 5 hours in mostly heavy traffic. I’ll sleep deeply tonight.

Listened to Jim Rome clarify the difference between hunting and dog fighting. That was good. I wasn’t really wondering, but it is always helpful to get someone else’s opinion. Seems his point was legality and cruelty. Made sense. Not sure why he felt he had to make the distinction, but he did. He voiced the same inquiry, but then did anyway. He also spent a few minutes explaining why he wouldn’t use the word “scrotum” on his show. He also explained some other word he wouldn’t use. I like Rome. I think he is funny, articulate, and non-conformist. I will listen to him next chance I get. But I found it odd that he devoted so much air time to three things that he prefaced with saying he didn’t want to devoted air time to them. A conundrum, I have, methinks. Perhaps I just don’t listen to him enough. Maybe he talks about things that he doesn’t want to talk about all the time. That would seem odd. But it is his show; he can not talk about anything he wants to talk about or, er, wait … I got that wrong … um, he can talk about anything he, um … oh forget it.

Also got Mike Savage for a bit. (Yes, it is novel for me to listen to the radio.) he was talking about some group of women in Oregon that were living with a Maharishi guy. And then he switched to his family being jealous and ugly towards him. Then some rant (and I love it when he ramps into a disgusted assault on something – cracks me up – he’s usually right, I just enjoy his demeanor) about gays and lesbians writing all the stuff in Hollywood and purposefully making married men to look like wimps. His observations are generally accurate. Yes, they could be presented with a whole lot more tact – but that’s ok. It’s his way of communicating.

I’m tired … more another time.

double goodbye

Just sitting around listening to Beatles bootleg. Got the Rhine River Tapes – three good CDs lifted from the A/B Road – 30 days – Twickenham/Abbey Studios – Get Back Sessions … whatever title you want to go by. All January 1969 studio work leading to the Let It Be album. Also got the 2 CD set called Revolving, which is studio work and the mono mix of the album. Am also plowing through the Artifacts CDs. Yeah, yesterday marked 27 years since John died. I listened to bootleg of his acoustic work on one CD and his piano work on another. I also listened to the Wedding Album and the two Unfinished Music CDs (Two Virgins, Life with the Lions). If you know these last three CDs, then you recognize how much of a personal tribute it was to endure Yoko in her full 1968/1969 glory. Like chewing aspirin, but a tribute is a tribute.

Finally came to closure on the personal front. All that is remaining are the loose ends. Debating whether to crash and burn or go out more calmly. Both have their advantages. One thing that is forming quickly is a desire to just get it over with now. Once my mind is set on something, the idea of dragging out implementation is grating. Add to that the third-party self-righteous presentation concomitant with sniffing old haunts that sniff back – better yet, those that sniff openly, deeply, and intensely personally, and then are invited back after the briefest of delays, and timing becomes optional. Done.

This seems appropriate:



And this:

i'm so proud!

Sometimes your child does something truly exceptional, and you just burst with pride and joy. My blog is my baby - and the very best kind: It cannot file child abuse charges. So imagine my deep seated pride when AOL's search engine pops my blog as the number one return on a search for "why are cops such assholes for giving speeding tickets."

Happy daze!

rectally speaking

You people think I am exaggerating when I tell you that docs have a butt-insertion fetish. Well, to wit:

“A 60-year-old man with acute pancreatitis developed persistent hiccups after insertion of a nasogastric tube. Removal of the latter did not terminate the hiccups which had also been treated with different drugs, and several manoeuvres were attempted, but with no success. Digital rectal massage was then performed resulting in abrupt cessation of the hiccups. Recurrence of the hiccups occurred several hours later, and again, they were terminated immediately with digital rectal massage. No other recurrences were observed. This is the second reported case associating cessation of intractable hiccups with digital rectal massage. We suggest that this manoeuvre should be considered in cases of intractable hiccups before proceeding with pharmacological agents.”

Now, the guy’s got hiccups. That’s a mouth thing, right? I mean, out the other end, he would be a serial farter. No, it’s his mouth. He won’t stop. What to do? Well, stick your fingers up his ass. Makes sense, eh? Can’t you picture it? Hiccup, hiccup, hiccup, insert, silence, extract, hiccup, hiccup, insert, silence, extract, hiccup …

“Dr. Bob, I think we have something here!”

“Yes, Dr. Jim, I agree. What a novel idea! Tell me, how did you conceptualize of this solution?”

“Well, Dr. Bob, I was reading one of my old Med School textbooks, How and When to Compromise the Anal Cavity. Just for old times’ sake, really. Loved that course. And I noticed that I jotted in the margin, ‘Always,’ and ‘At every opportunity.’ Then later in the book, I found a muse I wrote to myself, ‘The butthole is the gateway to health.’ I started thinking. Remember Extant Physiology Lab, where we tried to push the existing knowledge of biological functions?”

“Yes, Dr. Jim, I do.”

“Well, Dr. Bob, at NYU we tested the hypothesis that a person could not burp and fart at the same time. We were amazed that the historical data was so conclusive. So we began controlled tests among volunteers from the general population, and then later amongst ourselves.”

“Go on, Dr. Jim”

“Alright, Dr. Bob. From a scientific viewpoint, it has to be understood that a ‘fart’ is not something defined purely by auditory cognition.”

“Of course, Dr. Jim.”

“Yes. It is the mere passing of gaseous fecal matter that establishes whether or not a ‘fart’ has occurred.”

“The silent-but-deadly effect.”

“Precisely! So we rigged a sensor line into a Dixie cup and duct taped the device onto the posterior out-door.”

“Brilliant!”

“Thank you, Dr. Bob.”

“You are welcome, Dr. Jim. We then induced a burp effect through the consumption of various soft drinks.”

“Did you also enhance the physiological environment to increase the likelihood of farting?”

“You are following this research closely. I am impressed, Dr. Jim.”

“As am I with myself, Dr. Bob.”

“As well you should be, Dr. Jim. As you anticipated, the original experiment design was fatally flawed. The subjects burped on a recurring and frequent basis, but watch as we did – no farts.”

“What did you do in response, Dr. Bob?”

“We adjusted the testing protocol, after appropriate presentation and approval from the Chief of the Medical Staff, to isolate a subject-preparation phase.”

“Do tell.”

“Before a subject was fitted with the butt-gas capture system, we sat them in a room for thirty minutes and feed them beans and Coke.”

“Brilliant!”

“Thank you, Dr. Jim. We anxiously watched both mouths and butts of the subjects. It usually took no more than 15 minutes post-consumption for the body to respond.”

“And what were the observations, Dr. Bob?”

“The subjects did indeed burp and fart rather intensely, however, never at the same time!”

“Fascinating!”

“Yes. Now we had to figure out why.”

“And did you?”

“No. Funding ran out. But this one subject had such a magnificent ass that I chose to specialize in gynecology.”

“So the research was a success.”

“Yes, it was.”

“So tell me, Dr. Bob, how does that research relate to the patient in front of us now, the one with repeating hiccups?”

“Simple, Dr. Jim, and forgive me for suggesting that I am rather shocked that you do not see the correlation already.”

“I am merely deferring to your expertise, Dr. Bob, and I hope to hear more about the specialty-inducing subject as well.”

“Very well, Dr. Jim. The results of my previous research as applied to the present situation are thus: If one cannot fart and burp at the same time, then there must be a relationship between the two escape hatches. It cannot be avoided. So, if a patient presents with hyper-activity in one of the regions, compromise the other and see what happens!”

“Research in action!”

“Yes!”

“So, tell me, have you ever treated a serial farter by cramming something down their throat?”

“Yes, but the hospital’s legal staff informs me that I cannot speak of the matter until the litigation is resolved.”

“I understand.”

I get hiccups upon occasion. I wonder if my insurance company will pay for a butt plug? “Hello, Blue Cross Nurse Hotline? Can’t stop my hiccups. Any ideas? Hmmm. Didn’t think of that … ok … hhmmmm … alright. And that’s covered? Wow. Ok. Thank you. Have a nice day.”

Hiccup. Insert. Silence. Ut oh! My pants are getting tight!

make your own sign

You can make your own sign, too.

Stephen A. Smith is an idiot

I’m really struggling to understand something. I read some commentary on an interview with Stephen A. Smith – some sports guy I’ve heard talk loud on ESPN. I couldn’t believe the excerpts I read in this commentary. I mean – I was shaking my head that such stupidity and arrogance could be all wrapped into one person. So I tracked to the original publication of his remarks.

I should say something up front. I’ve seen ESPN pump this guy like he was the Bill Gates of sports. I watched his show twice (I think) and found him to be substantially more mouth than intellect. I’m sure he knows basketball or whatever he was blabbing about, but he talks a lot faster than he can process thoughts. Maybe it was just the television shtick.

The two paragraphs that caught my eye are in full below, and were presented in the quotations marks and with the ellipses as shown. He was asked about whether he would consider working for a newspaper again (didn’t know he had - didn't think he could shut up long enough to type), and whether the newspaper industry was dying. I don’t care where he works, so follow the link if you do. On the death and dying part, he said newsprint needed to migrate better to the internet. Then he went off on the internet. Check out these statements (yeah, my commentary abounds):

"And when you look at the internet business, what’s dangerous (that’s a strong word, Stevie) about it is that people who are clearly unqualified (who set the standard, son? Who wrote and approved the qualifications?) get to disseminate their piece to the masses (as in, the “little people”?). I respect the journalism industry, and the fact of the matter is ...someone with no training (those pesky yet undefined “qualifications” again) should not be allowed (allowed? ALLOWED? But, Massa Stephen, I gots to make water …) to have any kind (?) of format whatsoever (?) to disseminate to the masses (?) to the level which they can. (Um, so that whole 1st Amendment thing about free speech, should have read, “Congress shall make no law … abridging the freedom of speech – until such time as said speech can be HEARD or READ by people outside the physical locale of the speaker or writer (except as may be needed for the newsprint industry or the yet to be invented television and radio industries).” Sound about right, Steve-A?) They are not trained. (you said that about 25 words ago. See what I mean, A? If you talked more slowly, you would think more about word choice, and not be so redundant) Not experts. (Ah, the “qualification” come again. So someone needs to be an “expert” before they can publish on the net. Are you an expert, Steve-A? My issue, son, is that an “expert” denotes familiarity with facts, yet the published items on the net are most clearly opinions. Does someone need to be a factually intensive “expert” in order to render their opinion? Really? I think Kobe is a rapist. I think his attorneys took advantage of the victim-shield laws by exploiting the Preliminary Hearing system (which allowed testimony under oath prior to indictment). They made that girl’s name known. She caved. Oh, yeah, I got a law degree and practiced criminal defense for a long time, then lectured it. What’s your response? “I know Kobe. He’s a friend. He’s no rapist.” Who’s got the biased opinion now, little man?) More important are the level of ethics and integrity (you must be joking. Dan Rather? CNN?) that comes along with the quote-unqoute (sic) profession hasn’t been firmly established and entrenched in the minds (that’s a good thing) of those who’ve been given that license (license? You mean like a privilege? Op cit., 1st Amendment, S-A. Speech is a right).

"Therefore, there’s a total disregard (I love it when people talk in absolutes. They are always wrong. Ironic, eh?), a level of wrecklessness (that’s not a word, btw) that ends up being a domino effect. And the people who suffer are the common (common? COMMON? Who are you referring to as “common,” boy?) viewers out there and, more importantly, those in the industry who haven’t been fortunate to get a radio or television deal and only rely on the written word (the poor, innocent people that cannot distinguish between an AP dateline and www.fred.com). And now they’ve been sabotaged. Not because of me (“Because I be an expert!”). Or like me (A little persecution complex happening?). But because of the industry or the world has allowed the average joe (so it’s because I’m not special? I’ve always been told I was special. That’s why they gave me a special football helmet to wear on the short bus) to resemble a professional (trust me, the last thing I want to look like is YOU) without any credentials whatsoever (those damn “qualifications” again!)."

Unqualified Opinion Alert: Stephen A. Smith is an idiot.

mining days

Busy several days coming up: New Jersey tomorrow, Philadelphia Thursday, next town over Friday, up the line Saturday, and Rhode Island Tuesday through Thursday next week. Better than unemployed, eh?

I did a quick google to see if the train wreck that resulted in changing a town name to Avoca, Pennsylvania, would come up and I found this list. Sobering.

The first local entry reads, “WILKESBARRE, Pa., Aug. 10.---Ludwig Collski, aged 23, a Lithuanian laborer, employed at the Newton Coal company's Seneca breaker, Pittston, met with a terrible death shortly after the breaker started work in the morning. He was caught by the conveyers and horribly crushed his body being twisted out of shape and the intestines ruptured. The man was alive when received at the hospital, but died soon afterward. The News, Frederick, MD 10 Aug 1896.” A Lithuanian coal-cracker – that’s close to home.

Further down the list, another local entry, two months earlier reads, “WILKESBARRE, Pa., June 29.----Miles C. Miles, employed at No. 4 mine, operated by the Kingston Coal company, met with a horrible death on Saturday Miles, who was a mine carpenter, with other workmen was at work bratticing the air shaft. In the attempt to reach for a hammer he missed his footing and fell to the bottom of the shaft, a distance of 700 feet. He was mangled beyond recognition. He leaves a family. The News, Frederick, MD 29 Jun 1896.”

Still further down and just four days after the first entry above, this tragedy occurred: “WILKESBARRE, Pa., Aug. 12.---John Garbahi, a Polish laborer, and William Bamock, a doortender, aged 15 years, were fatally burned yesterday at the Washington colliery of the Lehigh and Wilkes-barre Coal company at Plymouth by the explosion of a keg of powder. A spark from Garbahi's lamp ignited the explosive. New Oxford Item, New Oxford, PA 14 Aug 1896.”

Perhaps the path of the year was set on New Year’s Day: “Wilkes-Barre, Pa., Jan.1.---A boiler explosion, by which three men were killed, occurred at the Law colliery at Avoca yesterday morning. The dead are: ALEX YOUNG, aged 48, pump driller; THOMAS M'DONALD, age 52, machinist; JOHN ROLLS, aged 50. The two first named were mangled beyond recognition. The explosion is supposed to have been caused by the low water in the boiler. The Fort Wayne Gazette, Fort Wayne, IN 2 Jan 1896.”

And underscored just three weeks later (from this list): “HAZLETON, Pa., Jan. 21. -- The Lehigh Valley passenger train, in charge of Engineer MICHAEL LONZER and Conductor GEORGE REESE, was precipitated into the depths of a coal mine near this place. LONZER was wedged between the baggage car and the ground and was crushed to death. The fireman, FREDERICK MEYERS, will probably die.

“Several passengers were injured, but all were able to walk to this city. Since the wreck the earth has dropped completely into the mines, which are operated by Linderman & Skeer, and steam from the underground cavity is issuing from the hole. Trains were run by way of Beaver Meadow.

“Traffic will be blocked for several days, both main tracks being affected. For several years past the road between here and Stockton has been the scene of many cave-ins, and to guard against accidents three watchmen were placed at different points to notify trains of any possible danger. The Essex County Republican New York 1896-01-23.”

How incredibly sad that year was for the valley.

Still in the midst of researching for a specific article, but I’ll post this …

touching coal

I continue to get plenty of masturbation hits. This guy googled, “how to masturbate your wife.” That’s kinda personal, pal. Would you mind rephrasing, “how to masturbate MY wife”? Let’s keep the second-person pronouns to a minimum when we are discussing intimate sexual touching, ok?

A bit of a twist, “my wife is upset that I masturbate.” Then tell her to take over! Simple enough. “Let me show you, honey. You grab it right here, no, not too tight. Now, don’t get upset if I call out your sister’s name …”

Got one very cool hit – “coal cracker recipes.” Lead me on quite the journey. I found this site devoted to coal crackers. Quit funny as well as informative. Quit, um, close to home in some of the observations. The section on Coal Speak was humbling. I am reading through this dictionary and thinking, “Ah, yeah, that IS how it is pronounced.” In sum, I felt more stupid as I went from letter to letter.

Are you a visual learner? Try this introduction:



I grew up not just saying but writing in letters to friends the amalgam, “aposta,” which means “supposed to.” I have an on-going feud with my twin over “crick” and “creek.” I still say “catlick,” and I remember many a “swift kick in the ass.” I had no idea these pronunciations were so local. Ugg.

Did you ever eat … Hot Bologna?

1 ring bologna
1 tbsp. crushed red pepper
1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp. salt
1 1/2 cups white vinegar
3/4 cup water
Cut ring of bologna in pieces, about 2 inches long. Place in a glass jar. Add crushed red pepper, cayenne pepper, and salt. Mix white vinegar and water. Pour over bologna. Shake well, place lid on jar and refrigerate. Should be ready in a day or two.

Can you even buy bologna in rings anymore? More recipe links on the bottom of the page of any of the links above.

I read through a few of the message board items. But I can’t relate – they call themselves “coal crackers.” I’m coal trash – big difference.

I learned something of personal interest to me. One of my favorite people passed away a few years ago. I always knew her as “Aunt Frances,” although we were not related and, no, my father was not banging her. It was a term of endearment for a close family friend (well, close to a couple of us). Her people came from down the line in a town I always knew as Avoca. But this is taken from the ”Patches” link – Avoca : off Rte 81, between Wilkes-Barre and Scranton. Site of the Wilkes-Barre / Scranton Airport. Long-time residents of the area around the airport refer it as "Houston City" or "Howston City". The town was once called "Pleasant Valley", but renamed to Avoca after a rail accident killed many people there. Avoca means "vale of tears" (in Irish or Gaelic?)

His links page is pretty good.

Enough looking to the past. Gonna go.