Showing posts with label j. Show all posts
Showing posts with label j. Show all posts

Monday, February 25, 2008

when libs actually said something

Oh, for the good old days when entertainers made actual comments about what was actually happening in society. People are just useless today with their politically correct speech.

I was quoting the Masochism Tango to my daughter earlier and we went to You Tube to find it. Video below. Then I started going through Tom Lehrer’s bits. Just perfect – when you grow you will disgust me … smile at people inferior to you for just one week … Catholics are funny with their rituals … there’s nothing more fun than poisoning the pigeons in the park. All the videos are below, and all the lyrics here.

The Masochism Tango



When You are Old and Grey



National Brotherhood Week



Poisoning Pigeons in the Park



The Vatican Rug

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Yep. That’s what it means to be a dad.

Was in Philadelphia’s Electric Factory Thursday afternoon and night into Friday morning. Stood in line for three hours to see Avenged Sevenfold. Yep. Froze my ass off. The concert was done about midnight. Stayed until 2:30 AM for signatures and pics. Yep. Got home at 4:30 AM, and was up for work the next morning. Yep. Still trying to find my internal clock. Yep. That’s what it means to be a dad.

I was the oldest person in line by a mean count in decades. About three of us were not dressed in black. I saw more metal piercing faces than a shrapnel event in wartime. I learned several new variants of the word “fuck” that I had not thought of before – so that was good. Always nice to increase one’s knowledge of the Urban Dictionary. Yep. That’s what it means to be a dad.

We began the night next to steel railings about three people deep from front stage left. Lasted the first band. During the ensuing set-up, we had to be rescued by security to minimize the crush injuries, albeit not before I took several kidney shots and elbows to the head. My left shoulder is better; thanks for asking. Neck still cranky a bit – should be gone by Thanksgiving. But I had my daughter well-protected as I boxed her in by holding the rail and keeping a foot high up on the side of it. Yep. That’s what it means to be a dad.

The first band, Black Tide, has a bassist, Zakk (the far right guy in the group pic), that was overtly hitting on these two girls up front – to the point where he invited them to meet him afterward – invited them live on mic, gave them water and picks … it was rather humorous. I have my private thoughts about such audience members. The thoughts ain’t pretty.

The band was good, though. It is simply out of my generation. I don’t get the purpose of singing if the mixing board allows every instrument to drown out the lyrics, but that seems consistent in music these days. God forbid there be a story buried in the song somewhere. I can’t really comment critically one way or another on musicians, but I will say that the bassist had was a dominant stage presence in both personality and his playing. So I guess that’s a good thing.

The second band, The Confession, had this lead singer doing a J. Giles impersonation. I found it humorous, but it was probably lost on the audience who were, collectively, born when J. was doing golden oldies tours. They were good, but I thought the first band had more raw talent.

The third band, Operator, was, I guess, good, but they seemed to me to be working hard at being actors fulfilling a role. My daughter said later that the lead guitarist was a direct rip-off of __________. I didn’t catch the name; my hearing was pretty well shot in spite of 29dB plugs. Her statement supported my unspoken conclusions. Seems to me that they are probably good at what they do, but need to rewrite the script – be yourself. Not someone else, not something new, not something different – just yourself. And if you don’t know who you are, then put the instruments away for a month or two. Atlantic Records will understand. Play some Hank Williams, Jr. Stop eating red meat. Just shut up for a while. You might be amazed at who you actually are. You know, before your last song you said something about wanting the crowd to be “really warmed up.” Sons, if you need to tell them … duh, eh? Just do it. And no, your song didn’t. It was just more instruments and less vocals. You should talk with a real band and learn about crowd control. Hell, Black Tide was more dominant on stage than you guys. Stop acting, will you?

So then the headliner boys come out. By this time, the floor has worked itself into a seething mass of sweat and metal. The pushing continued as I watched from a safe distance. The floor looked like a sea with swells that frequently would spit out a body and toss it towards the front. Kids these days call that “body surfing.” Logic? If I want strangers grabbing my ass there will be a Tip Jar.

So A7X comes out. The crowd goes appropriately ballistic as it plays, “Name that tune?” and always bids and wins with one note. The singer begins, “ARRRR URGRGRG FFFFF SAGAWHATKA” or something like that all in a guttural dialect retrieved from the dumpster behind George Lucas’ house when he was trying to figure out primitive space dialects in the early draft scripts of Star Wars. The crowd sang every utterance in time.

They also did one thing that I thought showed a lot of stage maturity. Although they clearly had their individual preference – lead guitar, stage left, for example (right in front of my daughter, thank you) – all of the front guys took extensive time on all sides of the stage, giving more fans up close and personal time. Smart, and, for some odd reason, uncommon.

Again, although the music is simply beyond my ability to comprehend, I will give them credit – they are talented, particularly the lead guitarist, Synyster Gates. Even more importantly, they seem to surround themselves with family and friends – the concession was run by the twin brother of a roadie. That’s smart to limit variables. They also may have taken a long time to meet fans afterwards – two fricking hours for most of them – but when they did, they were polite and cooperative and patient. The lead singer is going to burn out, that is plain as day, but the rest of the band should have long careers provided they don’t play the drug world too hard. I have no idea if they are even dabbling in it … just history can be a great teacher. If they had the time to absorb the venue’s history that would be clear – Jimi Hendrix and Jerry Garcia for starters.

It was an interesting time. Stressful on my aging body. My daughter was at the stage for her favorite band. She got pics with them afterward. She got a bunch of great memories to associate with her fading dad. It was well worth it. Yep. That’s what it means to be a dad.

Monday, October 15, 2007

friedy turns 163

A well-done commercial can be worth its weight in gold. Look at how much a company image is shaped by things having nothing to do with its product – the Caveguys have nothing to do with insurance. Those characters could have been created for a multitude of industries.

Twenty-some years ago, E&J Gallo introduced the Bartles & Jaymes Wine Cooler. Two old guys that we were led to believe owned this little wine business did the commercials. They were so believable that when they said they needed sales to help with make a mortgage payment, people sent in money. Here’s their bit:



I am sure I can find something more for us common people, but if you are in the business here’s a site (fee-based) with every commercial since 1975. Seems excessive.

These are old, but free. I found another collection with a searchable database.

Why am I looking at commercials? Well, J got me started on commercials on YouTube. She sent me the first one below. I burned out pretty quickly, but did net two more.

I don’t suggest you watch this one at work if your volume travels …


Toyota comes through …


The benefit of sports club …


Onward.

If you’re playing along at home, in honor of the Cut Flowers/Viagra crack in the post immediately below, I updated Reason #3 in the Top Ten Reasons Your Wife Masturbates in the lower part of the post.

I looked up Today in History (front page – plug in your date), and after all the self-flagellation lately with the words of Friedrich Nietzsche, it turns out that today is his birthday. Almost funny. Would have been 163. Happy birthday, Friedy!

Let’s scan the day’s other events … Hermann Goering poisoned himself in 1946; pussy used cyanide two hours before he was going to hang … in 1520, King Henry VIII of England orders bowling lanes at Whitehall; this is the dude that decapitated people regularly – guess you can’t have enough bowling balls … it’s “Alaska Day” in Alaska; WTF? You needed another holiday and that was the best name you could come up with? … wanna feel old? Bob Weir is 60 tomorrow; if you don’t know, it doesn’t matter – just a long, strange trip.

Also today, in 1905, President Grover Cleveland (Democrat, if case you’re wondering) wrote an article for Ladies Home Journal, joining others in the U.S. who opposed women voters. The president said, “We all know how much further women go than men in their social rivalries and jealousies... sensible and responsible women do not want to vote.” At least the dems have been consistent – same folks that worked to defeat the Civil Rights Act in 1964. It’s what happens when your soul is defined by having someone lick your ass then you stick it up in the air to see what way the wind is blowing. I don’t do politics anymore, sorry. Just dislike hypocritical pathetic losers. OK. Done.

I’m excruciatingly bored. Can you tell?

Saturday, September 22, 2007

good eats

I was ten years old when this commercial came out. I thought at the time, and still do now, that it was a catchy tune.



I was contemplating a certain class (perhaps the wrong word) of recipes with my twin. We concluded that “Sciurus carolinensis on Toast Points with a White Sauce” would be such a recipe. Let me try to make up the recipe.

2 Sciurus carolinensis (aka Eastern Grey Squirrel), dead, skinned, and deboned
8 slices Wonderbread
1 cup Mayonnaise
4 ounces recent vintage fortified wine

Cook the deboned squirrel in a cast iron pan with a bit of lard, turning frequently until it begins to look stringy. Remove the meat and place on a newspaper to degrease.

Toast the wonderbread to a light brown, and cut the toasted bread diagonally twice, forming four triangles from each piece.

With a coffee spoon, mix the wine into the mayonnaise to thin it out.

Pull apart the squirrel meat with your fingers, and cut the stringy strips into lengths not exceeding 2 inches.

Arrange three toast points on a plate, place enough meat on them for about half a sandwich, and drip some of the white sauce to cover.

Salt and pepper to taste.

Serves 2 to 8 depending upon girth (of eater, not eatee).

Next week: Perogie Pudding with a Faux Brandy Flambé.

My little girl’s all grown up. I helped empty the clothes dryer, and found a small key. I said, “hey, I thought you outgrew having a diary with a keylock on it.” She said, “yeah, I did, daddy, that key is for a pair of handcuffs.” Oh.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

nonconforming cartoons

So I am working the girl to crank out some drawings. Forgive the lack of a question mark on the end of the interrogatory posed by the girl inside the mirror. Even an exclamation point would be better. It's tough getting kids to care about grammar and punctuation, dammit! But, alas, who am I to criticize art. Perhaps the selection of the period is meant to inspire in the viewer a combination of shock, horror, and resignation. Art can be so deep sometimes. Makes me feel inadequate. Small. Unimportant. Coal trash (well, that part is true).

Is there a painting class for adults I can take? I like paint-by-numbers. I never did one, but I remember my great Aunt Irene use to do them. I recall a real pretty doggy. It was in a quilt or next to flowers or something. I could do that. I think. Is that stuff erasable in case I go over the lines? I suck at coloring books.

Monday, July 9, 2007

nonconforming cartoons

My daughter seems to be taking some time off from expressing her angst. Having received an invitation from her new school "to not apply for re-admission" may have registered, but I doubt it - the letter also applied to her brother who never went there! How funny is that? It read something like, his "application for admission would not be accepted." Gee, guess who's the common denominator? The sole thing that bothers me is that
the writer did not have the personal integrity to call me. It is an integrity issue. Hiding behind a letter is always coupled with running in the opposite direction. Onward.

I watched my daughter work this drawing on PhotoShop. It is remarkable to me what she does with no training. I mean, I was just as fast and used the programs as robustly 20 years ago without training, but that was Lotus 1-2-3 and WordPerfect. I made number add up and look pretty. I spell-checked and paginated, dammit! And I was good at it! I knew what WYSIWYG meant before it was cool to know, before the spreadsheet-wannabes jumped on board. But I didn't do the layering and blurring and whatever thingeys that she does.

Makes me feel a little old. Kinda pisses me off.

Here is a page from her sketchbook.

I've always loved idle drawings. My best friend is an artist and I sneak a look at her sketches sometimes.


I am spacing right now. Must need more coffee.

We'll get Jourdaine cranking some more stuff as the summer unfolds. Must be some focus for her apparent evil. Or am I the puppet master, detroying all that lies in my path? I plow through young lives with seeming impugnity. Amazing, eh? I rather think of it as dwelling as equals, keeping my eyes open. I know what kids do more than their own parents. The ostrich parent has a star child who can do no wrong. He's a cutter. Did you know that?

Tis remarkable what you can learn when you find your kids, rather than requiring them to find you.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

opening, then how they find me

Would you eat me? Check out "How it Works" on left side.

I must be delirious. I am listening to an album that I find incredible personal and sad (Johnny Cash, American V), and then I go to this site and laugh my ass off. Keep clicking the can, then wait.

I decided to check out my google ranking. Interesting plcements.

I get a lot of hits based upon some clown that has scammed the Caller ID system and shows a number of 864-223-1911 (put the number in the search box up top at search the blog – the first story has links to everything). On this search, I have the coveted Number One spot on google.

Then the dark underside emerges. I own the second placement in Google for How can women masterbait? I know, typo, old joke. Search it above.

Another google Number Uno: how to properly masterbait

Think first or second is good? Got that beat! Across the entire Internet, this search yields ONLY my blog; we be the alpha and omega: girl masterbaits with broom.

Change genders and I drop to fifth: way for a guy to masterbait

Remove gender reference and lower the age, and I float back to the top: kids masterbaiting

Reintroduce gender and add some scenery – still at the top: how many women masterbait in the shower

Keep gender, add DNA and ESL, drop to second place: my sister me caught masterbaiting

OK, enough of the yankers. Remember my daughter got tossed out of her school? I wrote a piece about it. Just happened again. Such a sweet kid. The problem is me, it is just that the administrators completely lack the testicular fortitude to say they only want people they can control. How interesting Heaven is gong to be! Anyway, I get the Alpha and Omega Award again. This time: "malicious interference with education".

Top spot again for keep getting a busy signal when i call a celluar one. Oh yeah, pal, we can fix that. You buy the extended warranty? No? Bummer. It’s gonna cost you …

Sorry, can’t help myself. Number One: masterbaiting contest winner. Who googles this stuff?

Last for now, fourth place for gravestone engravings + fishing rod and reel. Um, dunno.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Nonconforming Cartoons


My daughter is back at the drawing table ... well, chair with drawing pad on bent knee. I am familiar with many of the issues that cross her RADAR screen because I am in constant contact with students through work.

There's an issue with kids cutting these days. It's probably always been an issue in one degree or another. The difference today is that parents and teachers are frightened to address issues head-on. Perhaps it is - understandably - because of today's litigious society supplemented with instant communications. I suggest that another segment of these folks are paralyzed in inaction because, well, they are just plain incompetent. Regardless, kids have a refreshing way of handling other kids. You want to cut? You are trying to draw attention to yourself? Go for it! Just cut! Kids know the difference between attention-grabbers and those in real need of help. If parents and teachers would stop chasing their own fears and simply relate one-on-one to the kids - find them at their level - then maybe the difference would become clear to them, too.

A "wigga" is a white ni--, well, you know. Google if it you don't. Kids spend a lot of time emulating other people. When I was younger, I saw teens dressing and acting like Elvis, then The Beatles, and then, well, they were mostly too high to remember who they idolized. But that was the point - they emulated people they idolized, and they idolized people that had achieved some sort of broad-based success or notoriety. These days, the emulation seems to be, at best, of the notorious and, at worst, of each other. A lack of higher goals seems pervasive.

I remember asking my students what they would do if they were handed $1 Million. A freshman piped off with her wish list - so we priced it, deducted it from her bank account, and watch it depreciate. She was broke within months. Her answer? Get another million! Thankfully, other students were more conservative with their newfound wealth.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

cartoons from a budding nonconformist, continued

So, with the heat from the Figures of Authority growing more intense, the realization that but for having a website traceable to her, but for saying during study hall (to another student!) that she wanted cheap vodka and strippers for her birthday, she wouldn’t be faced with public excoriation. What’s girl to do but feel like, well, a dunce.

I disagree with the assessment, but I have stated that over and over again. My best friend had a conversation with the very same point guy with The Opposition. She summarized it perfectly, “It is interesting that you think there is just one kind of Christian.”

I recall a vignette I heard years ago. Two guys are very good friends in life. One dies and goes to Heaven. The other follows years later. Upon meeting his newly deceased friend at the door marked, “Heaven, this way. Reservations required,” a few questions are asked.

“Tell me,” new-dead guy asks, “what’s the most surprising thing about Heaven?”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” dead-a-long-time guy responds, “what I find most surprising is the people here that I knew in life and never figured them for Christians.”

“Very cool! How about the most shocking part?”

“Really, you want to know? The people that I knew in life that I was certain would be here, but aren’t.”

Now she is left with cartooning talent but self-imposed restricted content. “Just can’t think of anything to draw,” she says. She thinks, and realizes the idea is precisely that. Instead of having the light bulb go off above her, she sits on a pile of them and declares herself void of ideas.

Quit insightful for a young lady.

Her Blue Period kicks in. Well, some shade of grey, I guess. A happy elf? Sure doesn't look happy.

It is sad to me to see the colors and humor go away, leaving behind simply a talent for drawing. The vibrant thoughts streaming from brain to fingertips were tapped out like a plug in a maple tree during spring. A learning experience? Of what nature, pray tell?

Ah, a glimmer of hope. Yes, still shades of grey, still somber, but ... wait for it ... "Smile like you're on crack" (grammar correct, thank you, baby) and a snapping squad waiting for a mouse treat. Yes! Slowly but surely coming out of the fog, humor intact. So very cool!

There is still some unfinished business, however.

Remember the leader of The Opposition? Seems he was just reacting, at least initially, to a part-time volunteer, full-time gossip monger at the school. Seems she claims to have "accidently found" my daughter's cartoons on the net.

"Accidentally?" Really? How does that happen, exactly? I accidently find porn, telly tubbies, and gay sites (sometimes all on the same url). As of February 2007, there were 108,810,358 distinct web sites. And you just so happened to wander upon hers? Darling, take me to the race track with you, please. If there is one thing in this world that I detest, it is liars.

Oh yeah, the cartoon. Um, Ms. Liar Mom, it's you. You're welcome. Have a nice day. Glad we had this conversation.

So what does she do now? Plays her iPod and thinks. That's my girl. I love her so much.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

cartoons rooted in nonconformity


A few months back I began blogging about my daughter’s travails in society: a budding nonconformist meets Figures of Authority.

Here is the first writing, and here is the second writing.

The nonconformity is expressed in her cartoons. Yeah, her word choice sucked at times, but I trust she understands that aspect of it now. Well, she bailed on her websites, so I asked for jpegs so I could post them here.

Here is the first drawing she put up. She captioned it “Little Girl.” I think it equally works as, “Sometimes Toys Must be Punished." My first reaction to the drawing was to remark at how amazing I thought her freehand and PhotoShop skills were. I saw that curtain in the background and viewed the drawing as performance art. Did I think it indicated a need for counseling or group therapy or a prayer circle? No. Still don’t. She is compelling an inanimate object – a teddy bear – to stop making her hear voices. Isn’t that normal?

Next came two drawings. The then-15 year old wanted to fly away on a balloon. So she did. I found the character being developed in these cartoons to be compelling. Now, I don’t know about you, but one fear I would have flying away on a balloon would be getting tangled up. Well, it’s cartoon world, not real life, so the hope-I-don’t-get-tangled test came next (mind you, she has already flown away). How best to test? Certainly cannot be an inanimate object. First, the teddy bear has a knife through its forehead – that would mess with aerodynamics by being a little top heavy. Also, it would not be realistic in that it wouldn’t move around during flight. Aha! A bunny! The Russians have been doing that for years. Unfortunately, the bunny didn’t make it. See the value of test flights?

Next on the Cartoon Hit Parade is a reflection of labeling. Just because a person picks out her own clothes based upon her personal tastes, as opposed to dressing like Mommy (even though you’re a boy) or finding a picture in “16” Magazine that has a dreamy boy looking adoringly at some airhead named Sammi, does not make that person “gothic.” Even if it did, why is it so bad to explore one’s own path? How’s this for a statement: When I was a kid, most of the people I knew were kids, so I’m like an expert. Every single one of them, including the pastor’s son, had a private side, an experimental side, a dark side. Those that were stripped of it paid a heavy price later on. Suppression is pathetic. So when wonder boy shows up and says, “You’re Gothic,” the natural response is to say, “Don’t use words you can’t spell.” Then draw out you fantasies.

Fantasies. Get it? I asked my boy one time about the violence in games. He was 9. “Do you think this affects the way you view things?” “Dad, it’s a game.” Different generation, people. They understand the difference. This cartoon, however, became Exhibit “A” in my daughter being expelled from school after other parents threatened to pull their kids out before she murdered somebody. Whoa. No exaggeration – the phrase, “Columbine waiting to happen” was used. How sad to be so afraid.

Continuing on the guns-in-print theme, a student at the former school says to her, “I hate taking care of the cats. I would just as soon kill them. Can you draw me something like that?” Mind you, this student is the pride of joy of Mother and Father’s hearts. He does little wrong. “He’s a good boy, ayep,” says Father, “must’ve done something right along the way.” People, people, manage the deviance you see – manage it, do not suppress it. Freud really did have something in his concept of Sublimation. Smart guy.

Let's continue on the gun theme. Now, the issue is not a direct response to some kid asking the same question ad naseum, but instead a general frustration that we all share. Girl Scout cookies come around all too infrequently. Imagine when they finally do get here, and they don’t have your favorite kind! It can be more than just an everyday level of angst. Desperate times call for desperate methods. I think the Girl Scout understands now that, “Sorry, no. But I do have Peanut Butter!” is simply unacceptable. They shouldn’t leave something as important as Girl Scout cookies to children.

Notice how the character is developed now. Also, she researched the uniform colors on the net. Should I shudder at the subject matter? She has never shot nor has any interest in shooting a gun. She is the type of girl that is not a conformist such as is typical with Girl Scouts and cheerleaders. That is not to denigrate girls that join such organizations or activities. Different type of person. The language? Cut me a break. I hear it everywhere, including out of Girl Scouts and cheerleaders.

In honor of George Washington, the next cartoon is a combination of dishonesty in the face of incontrovertible facts and an utter lack of patience. Patience? Well, she hung puppy, but couldn’t wait for the process to complete.

It’s like a combination George Washington-Mexican Burrito Preparation-Piñata party. Notice how she captured the look of innocence. I think she looks in the mirror and draws. I have seen that same plaintive look on her.



One of my favorite drawings is "Bathe the Kitty." I love the persona of my girl sitting with her headphones on completely oblivious to the plight of those around her. She's my hero.

Furthering the theme of being oblivious, here is forced oblivion. While surrounded by angry people spewing their venom, she sits passively in her heels and pearls. Not only does she filter the ugliness of those around her, she gives color to the words. She is preserved in her romantic view of the world in spite of the world itself.

Such depth of understanding. I am so proud of her for this simple drawing.

Last two for now. I have about seven more for another post.

Who doesn't like a hot babysitter? The view and reaction of the boy is perfect. I may not have been as young as the boy depicted, but I certainly remember waiting for the new babysitter and having certain expectations.


Do you think he's hearing the story?

Alright. That's all for now. Enjoy your evening.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

my daughter

UPDATE - My daughter has since killed off the websites that had her cartoons, so I blogged some of her cartoons here and here, with narrative.

my daughter used to have some public blogs, and was listed under my "blog family" in the right column over there (-->).

she is a wonderful combination of artist and intellectual (although she tries so hard to hide the latter, with a bit too much success at times). she plays the guitar and draws wonderfully. best of all, her drawings convey something beyond mere talent in producing a recognizable image or scene. i see stories within her. i see the depth of her still-undeveloped 16 year-old soul. such people are frequently isolated in society; they rarely go unnoticed.

so beyond her friendships, the current masters of society have stepped in. her last school found her drawings on her website. colorful drawings including giving a cat a bath (well, in a washing machine) and of holding a girl scout at gunpoint because she didn't have the right kind of cookies. i know her mind, her soul - i knew fully that there was nothing within her malicious. but weak-kneed society raised up against her.

i was asked about her drawings and writings. in direct response to the guy saying that if it was his kid he would quash it without delay, i said i would rather parent the deviance i see rather than that which is hidden from me. he and the rest of the posse disagreed and dismissed her from school effective immediately at 7:30 on a sunday evening.

i was reminded of some eminem lyrics: When a dude's gettin bullied and shoots up his school / And they blame it on Marilyn (on Marilyn).. and the heroin / Where were the parents at? And look where it's at / Middle America, now it's a tragedy / Now it's so sad to see, an upper class ci-ty / Havin this happenin (this happenin).. / Then attack Eminem cause I rap this way (rap this way)..

the ones taking issue with my daughter hadn't a clue (although i did) what their own kids were doing. manage the deviance you see ...

she asked me if she was in trouble. i told her never to compromise.

so she changed blogs and started writing again. she used some socially charged words and got in trouble again. this time i agree that she stepped over a line. but i also know in my heart that no deviance was intended. it was blowing off steam. still, sitting in the school administrator's office with the police present was interesting. i don't fault the school in the least. i think that in today's climate, they had to do precisely what they did. i also think the administrator handled the matter - as a person - in exactly the correct manner. my daughter got her wake-up call, regardless of her outward indifference.

so i fear the inhibiting effect on her. she is an incredible personality. the fine balance between guiding and staying out of her way, i guess, is the ultimate parenting question. some parents mold and shape their kids into their own image. i find that to be the height of arrogance and repulsive. the other extreme is likewise challenged.

individuality is under fire in society. we need to change wal-mart jobs for muslems because pig is sold? i don't think so. jewish people seem to accommodate just fine. dj's are fired for fulfilling the written contracts they entered. references to God are removed because of an insultingly narrow interpretation of our constitution. plain vanilla is a great ice-cream flavor, but not a great personality.

the work continues.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

muzzled


Yeah, o'er it froze. No comment. Next.

I'm thinking visuals are a good way to post given my present state of mind. You see, when I write I know that I cannot disrespect the words so much as to force them into nice, safe, tidy little containers. I let them breathe, I watch as they fly - then I describe what I see.

Thoughts come to me, like - who is googling me locally that uses Verizon as their ISP, then out-clicking to my daughter's site? Have I become a site of prurient interest for them? I notice that they bookmarked my blog. And it is several folks, not just one, like a party line of gossips. They read and im each other, methinks.

"Can you believe he wrote that? Did you read the bit about the grandfather teaching his granddaughter to masturbate"?

"Yes, I did! I was appalled! And the one about the crack dealer! Like it was a good thing!"

"And that Christmas Story with the inflatable Santa developing a crack habit, poor thing."

"But you know, I almost bought one of those Lil Reminders. You remember the commercial where the woman gets lost in the parking lot? Happens all the time to me! Well, his post on it was very informative."

"I know! And his three posts on that scam caller id 864-223-1911 have been referred to the FCC to put a stop to that menace! He's really been helpful!"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"gtt"

"k cya"

"hey!"

"?"

"^urs"

"lmao"

"lbug"

"oh yeah? FO"

"FU2"

"gud"

"gyhooya"

"wtf?"

"rufkm? rtfm!"

"smb"

"yeah, sh"

"rumcymhmd"

"qyb"

"otp"

"ooi"

"h&k"

"lol"

"b"

"b"

See the trouble I get in? (In case you need a cheat sheet!) Onward to visuals ...

Speaking of Darwinism in action, here is what happens when you don't eat"



Sometimes folks just don't think when they work - or is this what they mean by "pride in the union label"?



I've had this newspaper clipping for a while. Do you think the California Wine Grapes guy has a basis for demanding a refund?



I've been jonesing for a beer lately like you wouldn't believe. Don't remember the last one I had. I can relate to this guy:



Why do men need beer?


Did you know the annual budget of the National Weather Service is almost $900 million? Here is everything they need:



Yeah, reality creeping in. More words. Better git ...

Friday, March 23, 2007

Free Speech & K-12 Private Schools

UPDATE - My daughter has since killed off the websites that had her cartoons, so the links below are junk. I blogged some of her cartoons here, with narrative.

In 1977, David Berkowitz was murdering people in New York City (busted when he got to six). Upon his capture and subsequent disposition, the New York State legislature wrote what was known as the “Son of Sam” Act (N.Y.Exec.Law 632-a (McKinney 1982 and Supp. 1991); the law served as a model for 41 other states as they following suit on the concept. The pressing issue was that David Berkowitz, the “Son of Sam” killer was rumored to have been in negotiations to sell the rights to his heinous acts, thereby making a profit from deviance. The newly enacted NYS law required the receivers of monies under contract with a criminal, that is, generally, the publishing house, to turn over any payments due to a person such as Berkowitz to the Crime Victims Compensation Board. The monies would be paid to bona fide victims of the criminal, and any funds left after five years would be released to the criminal.

Berkowitz never went forward with his plans to sell his rights and profit from the sale. Even if he did, the statute would not have applied to him – it applied to convicted criminals, and Berkowitz was deemed too insane to stand trial, hence no conviction (he was eventually sentenced following a plea). Henry Hill, a quasi-Mafia thug, however, did sell his rights post-conviction. The result was, in part, the movie “Goodfellas.” NYS took his profits and placed them in escrow, all pursuant to the Son of Sam law. Hill fought the taking to the U.S. Supreme Court.

Former SCOTUS Justice Sandra Day O’Conner wrote the majority opinion in Simon and Schuster, Inc. v. New York Victims Crime Board, 502 U.S. 105 (1991), which tossed the Son of Sam law as an unconstitutional infringement on free speech. The determining factor was that the law quashed speech based upon its content. If, for example, Henry Hill wrote gardening books, that income was left untouched by the statute. Only the income derived from the words about his crimes was subject to seizure.

Thou shall not condemn speech based purely upon content. Place and manner are important.

The statute, of course, was a government action. The First Amendment curtails government action. Governments run the public school system, so many constitutional freedoms including free speech likewise are ripe for discussion in that arena.

Tinker v. Des Moines Independent Community School District (1969 – you can find your own cites now!). In December 1965, Des Moines, Iowa, public school principals adopted a policy that students who wore black armbands to protest U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War would be asked to remove the armbands and suspended if they refused. A suspension would not be lifted until the student returned to school without the armband. Students ignored the policy and were indefinitely suspended from school. Two high school students and one junior high school student brought suit against the school district, arguing that the principal’s actions violated their First Amendment right of free speech.

Specifically, the Court held, [i]t can hardly be argued that either students or teachers shed their constitutional rights to freedom of speech or expression at the schoolhouse gate.”

Further, “[i]n our system, state-operated schools may not be enclaves of totalitarianism. School officials do not possess absolute authority over their students. Students in school as well as out of school are “persons” under our Constitution. They possess fundamental rights which the State must respect, just as they themselves must respect their obligations to the State.

“[I]f he does so without materially and substantially interfer[ing] with the requirements of appropriate discipline in the operation of the school, and without colliding with the rights of others. . . . [C]onduct by the student, in class or out of it, which for any reason--whether it stems from time, place, or type of behavior-- materially disrupts classwork or involves substantial disorder or invasion of the rights of others is, of course, not immunized by the constitutional guarantee of freedom of speech.”

Ah, so again – Thou shall not condemn speech based purely upon content. Place and manner are important.

But how does this standard apply to private schools, that is, schools not “owned and operated” by the government?

As a general statement, there is a fundamental distinction between public and private school students under the First Amendment. The First Amendment and the other provisions of the Bill of Rights limit the government from infringing on an individual's rights. Public school officials act as part of the government and are called state actors. As such, they must act according to the principles in the Bill of Rights. Private schools, however, aren’t arms of the government. Therefore, the First Amendment does not provide protection for students at private schools.

Does that mean that private schools can stomp on the constitutional rights of its students with impunity? Apparently.

My daughter, until a few days ago, attended a Christian school. I got a call from the pastor running the school on Sunday evening around 7:30 PM – Jourdaine is not longer welcome at our school, effective immediately.

Gee, thanks for the reaction time. How professional of you.

The cause? Cartoons. (Where's an angry Muslem when you need him? Oh yeah, they didn't like cartoons either. I guess that is kinda sorta like the school's position. When did cartoons become the basis for hate in this world?). Her cartoons and my stated support for her pushing the limits of free speech. Parent the deviance you see. Push it down and Freud will tell you about sublimation, and how that deviance will just pop up somewhere else – only out of your parental sight.

But, but the Golden Rule of free speech: Thou shall not condemn speech based purely upon content. Place and manner are important.

Where were these cartoons? On the internet! Not on school premises. Not circulated or advertised on school premises. Well, then, how, pray tell did the link get established? What a great question!

Seems my daughter was asked by another student during study hall (horrors!) what she wanted for her 16th birthday. “Cheap vodka and strippers,” she said. Rather humorous. Well, enter Peyton Place Volunteer Mom!

Peyton Place Volunteer Mom investigates my daughter on the net and finds her cartoons horrors!). Peyton Place Volunteer Mom rushes into the school and tells everyone that will listen – or at least the pastor! "Run for the hills!" Peyton Place Volunteer Mom says, "run for the hills! There be a non-conformist amongst us! Run, run, I tell you! She is evil and dresses differently! Burn the witch! Bring out the dead! Hang the rich! That little vixen whore must die because I haven't had an orgasm in ... ever! I don't even think orgasms exist! And if they do they are evil! Devil's worship! Oh, I want one so badly. I've tried everything from organic produce to the dog ... oh, wait, did I say that outloud!?! Horrors! Shame be onto me! Where's the device? I must administer a cold vinegar enema immediately! Out of my way, whorelots! I'm coming through! Can't find the device. Hey boy, you using that soda bottle? Yeah, the one with the long neck. I need it. Thanks. Bless you." Two minutes later, in mumbled tones. "Oh, yes, deeper, now out, now back in. Ohhhh, deeper!"

Phone call to me from pastor, discussion of parenting known versus unknown deviance, strong letter that followed condemning the shallowness of Peyton Place Volunteer Mom (specifically leaving out the Diet Pepsi-Cold Vinegar-Buggary issue), Board meeting, and viola! Instant and permanent expulsion! High five! (In fairness, I just read "the letter" which contained a decided difference in word choice: withdrawn by mutual agreement.)

But wait! Hold the presses! Does the private religious school take any government money? That would certainly get government hands into the mix somehow. Let’s see … school buses … taxpayer financing … yes! Government money supporting the school! School buses too weak an argument. Everyone treated the same - public, private, secular, non-secular.

Think, think, think … how can this translate to Constitutional freedoms in out-of-school activities remaining a non-basis for expulsion? Hmmm …

In higher education, college students receiving assistance under the federal Basic Educational Opportunity Grants program (BEOG) subject the college to the provisions of Title IX, which bars sex discrimination by institutions receiving “federal financial assistance.” The U.S. Supreme Court so ruled in Grove City College v. Bell in 1984.

While Grove City is accepted by many as proof that government funding leads to government control, a different perspective was provided by the late William Bentley Ball, an expert on this subject who argued 10 cases before the U.S. Supreme Court.

“[I]n enacting the BEOG program,” explained Ball, “[Congress] had expressly declared that a specific purpose of the BEOGs was in fact to ‘provide assistance to institutions of higher education.’ Further, the Court said that Congress had specifically intended Title IX requirements to be closely tied to the BEOG statute.”

Thus, the Court did not hold that government-funded student aid justifies government regulations, but said this particular form of aid was meant for institutions.

Yet, in Grove City, SCOTUS ruled that any college or university is to be considered a recipient of government money – and therefore subject to government regulation of its financial aid program – if even one of its students receives a federal loan or grant. And on top of that, Congress subsequently passed the so-called "Civil Rights Restoration Act," to extend federal regulation over all of these schools' programs, if even one student uses federal money to attend them.

So institutions of higher education can feel the reach of some government oversight if their students accept financial aid. But what about K-12? Vouchers! Maybe vouchers?

SCOTUS has cleared the way for vouchers with its 2002 decision in Zelman v. Simmons-Harris, which held that voucher programs that allow students to attend religious schools do not violate the First Amendment. So government money can find its way to K-12, and even to religious schools. Getting warmer …

It seems always true that government money means government control. In the long run, private schools won’t be so private at all, or much different from the government schools to which they were intended to provide an alternative. Every available historical example makes it clear that when government provides money for something, government expects control over that thing; it’s happened with higher education in this country, and it’s happened with primary and secondary education around the world. (Around the world? Why do we care about evolving standards around the world? My children, remember when we vacated the juvenile death penalty laws because of France?)

But couldn’t some private schools turn down vouchers? They could, but there would be strong financial incentives against doing so, when all of their competitors will take them. In higher education, only two schools (Grove City College and Hillsdale College) have had the balls to turn down government funds and avoid government control. Why would we expect things to be any different for primary and secondary education?

So, government money will open the door to regulation. Will the regulation mean that out-of-school activities cannot become a basis for in-school action, provided the out-of-school activity does not disrupt the classroom? Eventually, yes. Patience, Pooh, patience.

Golden Rule – Thou shall not condemn speech based purely upon content. Place and manner are important.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

My daughter's 21st birthday

So a couple three months ago my daughter was 15. She had just told her first potential suitor that the closest he would get to her lips would be the plastic fork with which she just ate dessert and threw into the garbage. When the putz asked her what she ate and was last seen running out the back door of the coffee shop with a bag of garbage, I felt compelled to give her some pointed advice.

Then about two weeks ago, she aged eight years and deftly handled some loser in a bar.

Now she lost a couple years and it is the day after her 21st birthday. We are at a bar together for the first time.

Dad: So, baby, may I buy you your first drink?

Jourdaine: I don’t drink, daddy, you know that.

Dad: But the double potato vodkas, chilled and neat …

Jourd: Dad! That’s two years from now! I don’t start drinking those until I lose my virginity! Whoops! Did I say that out loud?

Dad: It’s ok, baby. Ain’t got nothing to do with me. Better than running away with the circus, I guess.

Jourd: Yeah, I know. Next, eh?

Dad: OK. I’m gonna go drain my lizard. Order me a Tanqueray & Tonic, please. Be right back.

Jourd: Gotcha, daddy.

A few minutes pass and Jourd sits alone at the table. A waiter finally shows up.

Waiter, slightly effeminate with a finely coiffed head, crisp white shirt, and a wristband that reads “Timothy” (his name tag reads, “Randall”): Has someone helped you? Would you like something to drink?

Jourd: Please, thank you. Tanqueray & Tonic, lime. Bring a second one about five minutes after the first – the first one will die quickly.

Waiter: Yes, Ma’am. Anything else?

Jourd, flashing her smile and never seeming offensive even though she is about to ask a very personal question: Who’s “Timothy”?

Waiter, pointing casually with his pencil to the corner of the bar: Him.

Jourd, seeing more clearly what she thought was a bull dyke at first glance: Ah. Been together long?

Waiter: Two years. He still hangs out at the bar to make sure none of the boys hit on me.

Jourd: I am sure he is quite busy. Randall? Randy? Rand? Ra the Sun God?

Waiter: Randall, please. Thank you for asking.

Jourd: You got it, Pacman. One drink then two, remember?

Waiter: On its way. (Randall leaves with a turn that is sure to catch the eye of any interested man.)

Loser Number One, approaching on runway 24E: Well, little lady, I couldn’t help …

Jourd, taking just a moment to respond because she was absorbed in studying Timothy’s face as he scanned the room for competitors as a result of Randall’s shish-sway-hey-hey exit from her table, she turns and icily meets this guy’s eyes: You could help it, pal. Now, put your left hand in your pants and yell out, “Susan, Susan.” Maybe you won’t feel quite so all alone and dirty. Remember that it’s attached so don’t pull too hard. Now, git!!.

Loser Number One, smile gone, eyes unfocused: I, um, I, er … OK.

Jourd, mumbling to herself: Why me? (As she scans the room) Loser, loser, yep loser, loser …

Loser Number Two, noticing the single drink Randall just placed in front of her, approaches on runway 47W: One drink? Mind if I sit?

Jourd: Mind if I fart?

Loser Number Two: A feisty one. I like that.

Jourd, feeling one of her buttons – being called “one” of anything, let alone a “feisty one” – firmly pressed: Sure, pal. Sit. Take your best shot.

Loser Number Two: I bet I can make you …

Jourd: Stop. Is this a sexual reference? Yes or no.

Loser Number Two, smiling broadly, turning his head slightly to the left, and shifting his eyes a little lower then back into full contact with her: Yes.

Jourd: And you were about to place a time limit on it, say, like you could make me do it within three minutes.

Loser Number Two: Ninety seconds tops. Or your money back.

Jourd, tossing the drink she ordered for her dad in his face: It’s Tanqueray. Enjoy it. Now get lost.

Randall, with towel in one hand and second drink in the other: My, girl, that was a quick death!

Jourd: A quick yet noble demise, Randall. Thank you. Say, you got potato vodka back there? Double shot, chilled and neat, please.

Randall: You got it, girlfriend.

Jourd, seeing her dad coming back: What, you got a prostrate problem or something? Where you been? The vermin are out in force tonight.

Dad: I was watching you, princess. Sat next to this bull dyke with an Adam’s apple. I can’t be--

Jourd: His name is Timothy.

Dad: I can’t believe you wasted that drink in some clown’s face. Didn’t I raise you right? Never, ever waste alco---

Jourd: Save it. Momentary lapse of reason. It was worth it, pops.

Dad: Timothy a friend of yours?

Jourd: He’s taken, daddy. Randall. Two years. Possessive. Not my type.

Dad: The possessive or gay part?

Jourd: Both.

Dad: Good girl. Now, promise me something.

Jourd: OK.

Dad, smiling at the joy of his life: Never waste a drink like that again.

Jourd: OK, daddy. Hey, thanks, Randall.

Dad, eyebrow raised at the vodka in front of her: I thought you tossed the losers? How long was I gone?

Jourd: Still intact, daddy. Just figured it was time.

Dad, lifting his drink to hers: Cheers. May you live to watch all your enemies die ugly and your friends die of old age.

Jourd: When you die and have no one left to say good-bye to, you know you’ve won the game.

Dad: That’s my girl.

(The conversation went on for several more hours. Jourd fended off losers up to Number Seventeen. Walks to the ladies room were particularly difficult. She learned much about her father and herself that evening. She learned that she really likes chilled potato vodka, and that her father is neither alone or lonely even when no one is around. Times and relationships change, but Jourd and her dad always seem to have a shared core.)

Monday, October 9, 2006

Advice to my daughter, follow-up

I gave some advice to my daughter a while back. My, how times flies …

Man with comb-over, white turtleneck under a faux camel hair jacket, white patent leather shoes, approaches my daughter at a bar: Hey you, care to celebrate a special occasion with me?

Jourdaine, now 23 years old (eight years has passed since I wrote the advice column to her a couple of months ago), sitting alone at the bar because her friends are late – she senses immediately that this guy can be easily hooked and dragged through the water: Hey yourself, cowpoke. I mean that as an action verb. What’s the special occasion?

Man: Um, ok. I get it! A verb! Um, ok, ha! Oh yeah, the special occasion is meeting you!

Jourd: Ah, meeting me! What a great line! Does this mean you’re buying me a drink?

Man: Sure, little lady, what’ll you have? A red wine? A Jolly Rancher?

Jourd: Yo, barkeep! Double potato vodka, chilled and neat. This guy’s tab.

Barkeep (whispering as he leans in close to Jourd): Be gentle, ma’am, you’re up against an unarmed man.

Jourd (winking and downing her vodka in one gulp): One more, bud. If any blood is drawn, he’ll be begging for it first, k? Put this second round on his tab. (turning to comb-over) Right?

Man: Um, yes, yes!

Jourd: Thanks! So, come here often?

Man: Yes. Yes, I do. Say, where’s your favorite romantic restaurant?

Jourd: That depends on what I am romancing … (she makes an obvious glance at comb-over’s left hand. At first he recoils, forgetting that he removed his wedding ring in the parking lot. As he remembers, the fingers stretch over his bony knee.)

Man, with beads of sweat forming above his upper lip, he raises his bottom lip in guppy-like fashion and audibly sucks the sweat into his mouth: Well, what if you were romancing, say, me! Where would that restaurant be?

Jourd, thinking that this guy is about as pathetic as they come: You? Well, that would have to be some place lonely and out of the ordinary, just like you.

Man, not grasping the verbal backhand: Yes, like me, lonely and out of the ordinary. (He leans forward to invade Jourd’s personal space, a move he read about in “How to Snare any Woman in Five Minutes.”)

Jourd, always in control of losers: Back up a little, pal. That’ll cost you. Barkeep! (Jourd shakes her empty jigger, looking for a refill. The barkeep smiles, and takes another $5 from in front of comb-over.)

Man, moving quickly back into his own space, and glancing over my f’g daughter’s body you piece of trash keep your eyes to yourself: You want to celebrate a special … oh, sorry, I already asked that.

Jourd: You did, yes. What else you got? I think you need to put another $20 on the bar. Barkeep, keep ‘em coming!

Man: Um, you live around here?

Jourd: No.

Man: Um, you work close by?

Jourd: No.

Man: What do you do for a living?

Jourd: I don’t.

Man: You don’t?

Jourd: I don’t.

Man: Um, what’s your favorite hobby?

Jourd: Hanging out in bars and having fucktards like you buy me drinks for hours.

Man: Ha, ha, ha! You sure have a great sense of humor! I’d like to buy you dinner sometime. Would that be ok?

Jourd: Sure.

Man: Really?

Jourd: No, just messing with you.

Man: There you go again! You are so funny! It’s a gift. Really it is!

Jourd: Barkeep!

Man, looking a tad dazed at this point, like Joe Frazier did in the later rounds of the Thriller in Manila after Ali hit him in the head for the 243rd time: Gee, um, …

Jourd: OK, pal, listen. You want to have dinner with me? First, the comb-over. Gotta go. Shave your head. Trust me. It’ll look great. The clothes have got to change. I want jeans, tight. A white t-shirt and a demin jacket. New, clean converse sneakers. Black high tops. White socks. Got it? I’ll wait here. You got one hour. Leave another $20 for the bar.

Man, breathlessly putting several $20 bills on the bar: One hour. Wait right here!

Jourd: You got it, cowpoke!

Man: A verb! (He yells as he rushes out of the bar.)

Jourd, dialing her late friends on her cell: Hey! You clowns! I’ve been sitting here fending off some greaseball waiting for you! … Yeah, whatever, no excuse is good enough … listen, can you pick up Timothy on the way? Tell him I have a boytoy for him. … Yeah, a newbie.

(One hour later, our formerly combed-over pick-up artist arrives all decked out looking like a groupie for that band that sang Y-M-C-A. Timothy is immediately interested.)

(Yeah, OK, we don’t need a line-by-line recitation of what happened. Formerly comb-over thinks that Jourd invited another couple to double date. After a couple of hours of drinking on formerly comb-over’s tab, Jourd and her girlfriend leave Timothy and his new boyfriend at the bar. Six months later, formerly comb-over has left his wife and moved to a gay commune on Fire Island. He writes Jourd occasionally.)

Friday, July 7, 2006

Advice for my daughter

So my daughter got asked on a date for the first time and promptly said “no.” I am so proud of her. I figure now it is time to have “the talk.” I am nowhere near man enough to do it face-to-face, so I will do it here.

There comes a time, dear, when boys are no longer satisfied with, um, touching themselves. They want to, um, well, touch you. As your first reaction to any reach of a physical nature, dear, that is the time when you use the gun that I bought for you. Usually, just a flash of the shiny nickel-plate is enough to get your message across. But don’t hesitate to pistol-whip him into submission, and as you stare into his blood-spurting face, put the barrel next to his mayonnaise cannon and say, “Next!” and look around with that wild-eyed face you used to get when you were three and went soft-shell snail hunting in California. Guaranteed to end the reach.

A little more complicated situation is when the reach is verbal. You see, dear, the physical reach is clear – it happened or it didn’t happen. Even if you misread his intentions on a physical movement, that’s fine, too. The boy will just be more circumspect in the future. You may be saving him a pistol whipping or some other violent reaction to his wandering hands. Verbal reaches, dear, are different and need more discussion.

I have consulted various websites and compiled a list of “one liners” that boys use. You should read and think about each one. Place yourself mentally in the situation and feel you reciting my response and absorbing my advice. I love you, baby.

The first site I found was called Get Girls. It gave situations and lines that boys could use as a prelude to the physical reach (see gun discussion above).

The first bit from Get Girls: Bars and nightclubs - "Do you want to dance?" If she says no, whatever you do, don't just walk away. Follow up with, "If you don't want to dance, do you mind if I join you for some conversation?"

This situation can be disposed of with relative ease. When you decline his invitation to dance, he will either walk away or the putz will use his back-up position as suggested above – the conversation ploy. Your best bet is not to be polite but to humiliate him. When he asks for conversation, laugh in his face and grab the first man or woman you see and begin dancing. Don’t worry about the brief dance. You can projectile vomit on him (or shake her hand and thank her) and be done in an instant.

Get Girls 2: Nightclubs with "live" music - "What do you think of the band?"

“I think,” you share, “that the lead’s G is about a half octave off, the bassist needs to set timing and not follow it, and the only reason they sound like they are on the same stage is because the drummer knows 4/4 and, apparently, only 4/4. You?” They usually shut-up when a chick knows more than they do.

Get Girl 3: Restaurants - "This is my first time here. What's good on the menu?" Another one you could use is, "Would you like to go have a drink after dinner?"

Let’s take these one at a time. “What’s good on the menu?” “I couldn’t tell you, pal. I had my stomach stapled precisely to avoid losers like you asking me questions like that.” A drink after dinner? “I am eating, a-hole. Leave me alone or I call the cops.”

Get Girl 4: Supermarkets - "Excuse me, which steak looks better to you?" or "How do you tell which one of these cantaloupes is ripe?"

“A steak? You eat that crap? Had a high colonic lately? You’d be shocked at what is breeding up there.” The cantaloupe line is easy – “are you a retard or something?” When he sees your hand raising the mace towards his face, he'll be out of produce in an instant.

Get Girl 5: Laundromats - "Would you like to go have a cup of coffee while we're waiting for our clothes?" or "Could you tell me if I should wash these clothes in hot or cold water?"

This is the easiest, dear. What are you doing in a laundromat?!? You know what I told you about Laundromats. Never go alone, never talk to anyone. If the dude can’t afford a washer and dryer, you don’t want anything to do with him. If you must speak, tell him “there ain’t no such thing as ‘our’ clothes here,” and “here’s a quarter, loser, go call mommy.”

Our next source is called Don Diebel: 15 Surefire Opening Lines When Meeting Single Women. The first problem is that the “opening lines” are numbered. One through 16. Ut-oh. Let’s see what Don has to share.

1. If you're with two women, ask them how did they get to know each other? First, Don, just because your statement begins with the word “if” doesn’t make it a question. Grammar, buddy, c’mon. We need it. Anyway … back to you, princess. How do you respond? “We met at a Dykes on Bykes convention. Julie just got out of prison for manslaughter. Caught her last girlfriend in bed with a man, if you can believe that. How gross, eh?”

2. "Where do you like to shop for clothes?" “Other people’s homes. I watch a neighborhood for a few months, check out the women and effeminate men. After I catch their routines, I break in and take what I like. You look kinda gay – men’s size 38 blazer?”

3. "Where do you like to go on vacation?" “Prison. Every winter. I save on my heating bill, catch up with friends and sex. You?”

4. "What's your favorite romantic restaurant...Where is it located?" (Later you can ask her to meet you there for a lunch or dinner for your first date). “There is nothing romantic about the systematic slaughter of animals only to plate them with a thin gravy and spring of parsley. I eat only to stave off death.”

5. "What kind of man are you attracted to?" (Her answer can give you a clue on how to act around her to get her interested in you). Pathetic question, eh, baby? Just look at him and describe the opposite, like, “someone who doesn’t have to ask what I am attracted to.”

6. "Where did you attend school?" “Leave me alone! Who sent you? Why are you asking about my past? It was him wasn’t it? What is he paying you? I oughta plug your sorry ass right here!” One timely flash of your gun, and you are assured of being left alone.

7. "Have you been to any good concerts lately?' (Also, find out who her favorite groups are so you can ask her out when they come to your area). “Define good,” and then toy with his fragile intellect until he either starts to cry or wets himself. When one occurs, stand up, point and laugh, call over other people, and then walk away.

8. "Have you been to any good movies lately?" See 7 above.

9. "I love your hair, where do you have it done?" “House fire. 5th and Maple. I think it’s out now. But if you get a scanner …”

10. "I love your lips, they look so soft and kissable." “Kiss this,” and shove the barrel of Mr. .45 into his mouth.

11. Skipped – stupid.

12. Skipped – stupid.

13. Skipped – stupid.

14. "Would you care to celebrate a special occasion?" She will ask, "What's the occasion?" You reply, "Meeting a special lady like you." How to respond? Simple, love. Lean forward, warm your eyes a little, flash that smile that makes daddy give you anything you want, and vomit in his lap.

15. "You have one of the nicest smiles I've ever seen." See 14 above.

16. "You make my heart melt like hot fudge on a sundae." Simple physics. “Pal, hot fudge is hot. It is like your heart. Thumpedty-thumpedty-thump. Got it? Pre-existing hot. You then bring the hot fudge to the ice cream – just like you bring your heart to me. The hot fudge then loses much of its heat as it comes into contact with the frozen cream – just like, you are saying, your heart cools down as it comes to me. I think, buddy, you got your similes a bit mixed up. Go home. Study. Try again with some other lucky girl. Go now. Before I call the cops. Bye.”

Third in our parade of one-liners is Best Opening Line For "Out of Your League" Women. Really. That’s what it is called. Talk about a guy accepting his loser status. How sad.

This is what they say – I am not kidding: Question 1: "What's the best opening line?" A. According to a University of Chicago study, the word "hi" is the best opening line there is, followed by "how do you like the band?" (but only if a band is, in fact, playing).

Wow. Strategic planning. Mention the band only if one is playing. That’s a good start. But, you know, I think a guy who asks you how you like the band that is playing inside his head can be infinitely more interesting.

This next bit of advice is long. Let me give it with as few edits as possible:

Question 2: "But the woman I want to say hi to isn't anywhere near me -- I'd have to go up to her. What should I do?"

A. Try the "goodbye introduction." Imagine you are at the gym, and you see a woman who is really attractive to you. But she's busy lifting weights, and it seems like your gym is not such a friendly place, anyway.

The opportunity is this: time your leaving the gym for when she is between sets, or stretching. Then on your way out, introduce yourself like this (smile while you do it!): "Hi, I'm just leaving, but before I do, I really wanted to introduce myself to the woman who has such wonderful form. My name is Ron."

She says something back, like "Oh hi, my name is Tracy," then you say something like "I hope to see you here again." Then you leave. This creates an opening for you to talk to her next time you see her -- "Hi Tracy, how are you?" It also gives you a way of interacting with her for the first time without there being much risk -- since you tell her up front you are leaving, she's less likely to be afraid of you wasting lots of her time.

It also builds your esteem, and teaches your nervous system that you can actually survive talking to beautiful women, which makes it more likely you'll do it again, and again, and again....


Do you see how insidious this is? Verbal, verbal, then physical! Wow. Men will stop at nothing, dear. They are all pigs. Never forget. And stay out of gyms. They are meat stores where everything is marked down for quick sale.

Now, keep up on your pistol range – once a week. Remember to wear the fake wedding ring in the supermarket. Go out with your clearly bull-dyke friends occasionally. And don’t ever let a man touch you.

I love you, baby.