I've never been in debt. Okay, that's not entirely true. Yes, I've been in the kind of debt where I had to make car payments, and I'm currently in the kind of debt that says I have to make house payments.
I've never been in credit card debt, however. Truth be told, I've never even owned a credit card. I don't trust them. I've been conditioned not to trust them thanks to many years of living with college roommates.
Most of my college roommates had this weird outlook on credit cards. Basically, they thought credit cards were magical pieces of plastic that just magically paid for things and that they were somehow immune from the the ensuing debt that came about due to excessive credit card spending.
I'll admit it: I was sort of jealous of my roommates and their magical credit cards. After all, they always seemed to have money and, if they didn't, they just whipped out their credit cards. Books? Put them on the credit card. Food? Put it on the credit card. Night out at a strip club? credit card.
And yet there I was writing checks and budgeting like a fool. I remember thinking that I was doing everything all wrong. I mean, there I would sit, meticulously lording over my finances, while my roommates went waltzing all over town swiping their credit cards with the careless glee of a six-year-old with a loaded pistol.
Then, one year, I was a roommate with a guy named Chad. Chad was actually a former high school classmate of mine. He was, and is, a tech-head. He's one of those guys who was born to know technology. Way back in elementary school, he taught me how to write simple programs for the Apple IIc, and he always just seemed to know everything about computers.
But he didn't know shit about personal finances. He whipped out any one of his many credit cards with the swiftness and ease of a Old West gunslinger. By the time we became roommates, he had already accrued over $10,000 in credit card debt.
I remember thinking what an incredibly large amount of money that seemed to be, especially when I factored in the understanding that he also received financial aid, and that he also worked. Granted, he worked at the local Brach's candy factory on the Gummi Bear line, which paid about as well as you might imagine, but it was still money, so I came to the conclusion that old Chad was a pretty carefree spender.
Well, one day, I popped into Chad's outrageously messy room where I noticed, tucked between two huge bags of pilfered defective Gummi Bears, a credit card notice that was slugged "Urgent!" and another that was slugged "Immediate Payment Required" and still another that read "We Break Fingers And Toes."
Then the calls started coming in, usually two or three a day. "Is Mr. Haugen available? We really need to speak with him." No, he's not here. "Are you sure you're not really Mr. Haugen?" Yes, I'm sure. "Well, when he comes in, have him call Mike at Discover immediately." *sound of shotgun cocking* Will do.
Chad was masterful when it came to avoiding creditors. He always seemed to leave the apartment just two or three minutes before a creditor called. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense. Which was all fine and dandy, except that I ended up being the intermediary between Chad and the creditors, so I got to absorb all the impatient anger and suspicion of basically every credit card company on the planet.
It was the day a creditor appeared, in person, at our doorstep that I realized Chad's debt situation was probably more dire than Chad cared to admit. There was a knock at the door, I answered, and a gentleman in a suit that looked both impressive and threatening stood before me. He asked to see a Mr. Chad Haugen, at which point I heard a little scuffling emanating from Chad's room as Chad scurried out the back entrance which, conveniently, was located at the far end of his bedroom.
We chatted together, the ominous creditor and me, for about an hour, waiting for Chad to get home, even though, of course, there was no way in holy hell Chad was going to make an appearance while that guy was in our apartment. I even had to produce my ID, so the creditor was satisfied that I wasn't, in fact, Chad Haugen.
After that, I believe, Chad ended up getting a loan from his parents, or somebody, so he could pay off his credit card debt at least enough to keep the creditors at bay. He eventually got a job working at IBM, which was a long-assed commute from Winona to Rochester, but paid a whole lot more than the Gummi Bear line.
As for me, Chad's experience with credit cards pretty much scared me away from plastic for good.
A Nice, Soft, Fuzzy Bathroom
Before I moved into my current house/basement apartment with Amy, I lived in a Rochester complex called Candlewood Apartments. It was a pretty nice place, I mean overall. For my roommate, Mark, and me, it was right up our alley. It wasn't a cheap dump hole, but neither was it very expensive. In short, it was a decent place for a couple of friends, fresh out of college, to establish a base of operations for our assault on the real world.
We lived there for about two years, and over that time we witnessed an encroachment of bad elements. For example, when I first moved in, security was at least noticeable: a guard driving through occasionally. Eventually, however, security visits became less frequent, and shitbags began a fairly routine ransacking of automobiles. Thankfully, I drove an absolute crapmobile, an '89 Cavalier sporting more rust than the surface of Mars. I didn't lock the doors, because I didn't want to pay for a new window in case a car mouse decided to rummage through my automobile, and someone would rummage through my car on practically a nightly online.com/images/nataliacruze/indoorpool/-267-01-lg.jpg">basis.
In addition to the increased nocturnal activity of car mice, the relatively low rent of the complex enticed a lot of lower income lessees, which would have been fine, but the newcomers insisted on throwing parties every day of the week. In my college days, I was all for such revelry, but in the real world I wanted to just fucking sleep. So, my roommate and I were starting to get plenty tired of Candlewood Apartments.
And then our bathroom started growing mold. Only, it wasn't our fault. Mark and I were pretty damned clean, and we tried to fight the strange encroaching mold that seemed to be seeping through the ceiling. We tried Scrubbing Bubbles, we tried soap and water, and we tried everything. We even had maintenance come in to look at the problem, but their solution was to paint over the mold. The mold, of course, simply crept down over the new paint.
It went on like this for over a month, a losing battle against mold. In addition, our once reliable hot water now became not-so-reliable. I was getting pissed, and so was Mark. What the hell was going on with this place? A moldy ceiling. Infrequent hot water. Our place had become a shithole, and it wasn't our fault. We both wanted to know what the hell was going on, but neither of us were prepared for the explanation.
Finally, one day, as Mark was going out to his car on his way to work, he met the maintenance worker who had applied the coat of paint over our mold. The worker had located the source of all our misery.
It turns out that there was an immigrant woman living upstairs in the apartment directly above ours. I think she had a husband, but he wasn't around very much, so she spent day after day just squirreled away in her little apartment, afraid of the American world outside her door. Well, one day, just over a month prior, she had gone into the bathroom to take a shower, only to have the hot water control break off in her hand, prompting the shower to shoot forth a jet of scalding water. Her solution? Close the bathroom door and pretend it didn't happen.
That's right. For over a month, the little immigrant woman lived in an apartment where the shower was running, on high hot, in perpetuity. She was scared that, if she were to seek help, she would be evicted. In the meantime, her bathroom became a 24/7 steam room, an absolute haven for all things moldy. According to the maintenance worker, he had never seen anything like it. The bathroom was coated, absolutely coated, in a thick mat of black mold. toilet seat? Coated. Sink? Coated. Floor? Coated. Walls? Crumbling and coated. The only spot that didn't have mold was where the shower had been spraying into the tub.
No fucking wonder we had mold creeping into our bathroom and our hot water wasn't behaving: there was a huge penicillin operation being conducted just a few feet over our heads. The bathroom above us, obviously, was a complete loss, and as far as I know the immigant woman was evicted.
I'm so much happier where I'm at now, with Nigella Lawson nude at my side.
"Grab The Last Beer For Toad Licking News" c. Ryan Rhodes, Jan. 20, 2003
Well, it's been some time since I've scoured the great news heap that has gone unexplored amidst all this talk about impending war. However, although this week's installment of nearly overlooked news may be a tad old by news standards, that does not in any way lessen its importance. Now, before this news gets any older, let's begin.
Have you ever gone to a buddy's refrigerator, only to discover that a single beer remains? Sure, we all have. Of course, we remain civil about it. I mean, no one would ever kill someone over the last beer, right? Wrong.
According to a Dec. 6, 2002 Reuters news item out of Bandera, Texas, "a jury on Thursday handed a life prison sentence to a Texas man who shot and killed a longtime friend he accused of drinking the last beer in his refrigerator."
I don't know what it is about Texas. There must be something in the beer. I remember writing about another item that came out of Godley, Texas, about a man who killed another man during an argument over who was going to heaven and who was going to hell. amazingly, that incident also involved the ingestion of beer. A warning to all Texans: Stop drinking beer!
Getting back to the article: "‘There was only two beers left, so I took one, and I told Willie (now deceased Willie Lawson, 39) not to take my last beer,' Steven Brasher, 42, said in a taped statement that was played during the trial."
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "well, if it was the last beer, I guess I can kind of see his point." Actually, if you're thinking that, you're probably from Texas.
Come on, people. There's plenty of beer for all of us. And, if not, we can always hunt around in the backyard for a toad or two to lick. Huh?
From another Dec. 6, Reuters news item out of Amsterdam, we learn that "Dutch police are investigating whether drug addicts raided a pet shop and stole three exotic toads whose warty skin can induce hallucinations when licked."
You know your drug addiction may have hit an all time low when you start pondering the hallucinogenic qualities of a toad. When you find yourself enduring massive DTs due to toad withdrawal, it's a good indication your path in life has gone horribly astray.
The article continues: "Licking the toads can cause side effects like swelling of the tongue and temporary muscle paralysis, according to the pet shop owner."
JUNKIE ONE: Dude, are you all right? You don't look so good.
JUNKIE TWO: I can't move. I think I overdosed on toad!
This is your brain. This is your brain on toad. Any questions? Yeah, who came up with the idea of licking toads in the first place? There's nothing about the concept of picking up and licking a toad that sounds like a good idea to me. Maybe it's not something I'm meant to understand. Maybe it's something only German artists can understand. Huh?
From a Dec. 5, Reuters news report out of Berlin: "Visitors to an off-beat Berlin arts center thought a dead woman on the ground was a performance art act rather than a suicide, police said on Thursday."
Imagine, if you will: you're walking along the street, and you encounter a body. What do you do? Myself, I would check for vital signs, starting with a pulse. I would not immediately assume that the crumpled mass laying before me was an act of artistic expression. But, then again, I'm not German. I'm not a Texan either, thank goodness (hands off that last beer!).
To quote the article: "‘A group of visitors to the center at first thought the body lying on the ground at the art center was part of an art performance,' said police spokeswoman Christine Rother. ‘It took a while before anyone realized it was not an act but a suicide.'"
ART STUDENT #1: To me, the disjointed limbs represent our broken society, while the pained expression on her face is a cry against poverty, war, and social injustice.
ART STUDENT #2: True, true. It's representative of the works of Abbie Hoffman. Truly, this is a brilliant piece of work.
PASSER BY: Hey, this woman is dead!
ART STUDENTS #1 and #2: Pay him no mind. He has no eye for beer. That's mine!
I mean, unless a Texan claims it first.
Naked girl in a bar. Nude girl in the ocean.
What Did Bush Say?
Mr. Speaker, Vice President Cheney, Members of Congress, distinguished citizens, and fellow citizens:
Okay, bad start. In the wake of his recent move to remove taxes on stock dividends, did he really have to make a distinction between distinguished citizens and us run of the mill fellow citizens?
You and I serve our country in a time of great consequence. During this session of Congress, we have the duty to reform domestic programs vital to our country … we have the opportunity to save millions of lives abroad from a terrible disease. We will work for a prosperity that is broadly shared … and we will answer every danger and every enemy that threatens the American people.
Oh, brother. This sounds like it's going to be a long one.
To insist on integrity in American business, we passed tough reforms, and we are holding corporate criminals to account.
We are? I must have missed that one. I seem to recall a few bastions of corporate America collapsing under the weight of their own accounting fraud, followed by rampant paper shredding, followed by some scolding at the hands of a Senate subcommitte or two, and then a couple of token convictions. Yet, the guilty millionaires are still millionaires, even if they may have to serve some easy time and maybe do some community work at the local soup kitchen.
Some might call this a good record. I call it a good start. Tonight I ask the House and Senate to join me in the next bold steps to serve our fellow citizens.
I don't call it a good record. Nor do I call it a good start. But, don't take my word for it. Let's hear it from the President:
After recession, terrorist attacks, corporate scandals, and stock market declines, our economy is recovering - yet it's not growing fast enough, or strongly enough.
That doesn't strike me as a good record, and if it's just the start, I had better start digging a bunker somewhere in Nevada.
With unemployment rising, our Nation needs more small businesses to open, more companies to invest and expand, more employers to put up the sign that says, "Help Wanted."
So, what the President wants, if I understand him correctly, is a nation full of understaffed businesses.
Jobs are created when the economy grows; the economy grows when Americans have more money to spend and invest; and the best, fairest way to make sure Americans have that money is not to tax it away in the first place.
Ladies and gentlemen, Bush Economics 101.
I am proposing that all the income tax reductions set for 2004 and 2006 be made permanent and effective this year. And under my plan, as soon as I have signed the bill, this extra money will start showing up in workers' paychecks. Instead of gradually reducing the marriage penalty, we should do it now. Instead of slowly raising the child credit to a thousand dollars, we should send the checks to American families now.
I can't bitch about that. Makes sense to me.
We should also strengthen the economy by treating investors equally in our tax laws. It is fair to tax a company's profits. It is not fair to again tax the shareholder on the same profits. To boost investor confidence, and to help the nearly 10 million seniors who receive dividend income, I ask you to end the unfair double taxation of dividends.
Well, I still don't buy that. Let's see, the American population is just over 278 million. Therefore, the 10 million seniors he proposes to help account for roughly 4 percent (rounded up from 3.5) of the population. Also, chances are, if they're making money of any substance off dividends, they can probably afford to pay the damned tax. I'm fairly certain Mr. Bush could take the time to find an alternate tax to abolish, something that can help those of us without two summer homes.
Lower taxes and greater investment will help this economy expand. More jobs mean more taxpayers - and higher revenues to our government. The best way to address the deficit and move toward a balanced budget is to encourage economic growth - and to show some spending discipline in Washington, D.C. We must work together to fund only our most important priorities. I will send you a budget that increases discretionary spending by four percent next year - about as much as the average family's income is expected to grow. And that is a good benchmark for us: Federal spending should not rise any faster than the paychecks of American families.
Since when does this administration give a rip about a balanced budget, or spending discipline for that matter? A four percent increase in discretionary spending sounds noble, until you realize that four percent of infinity is still infinity.
A growing economy, and a focus on essential priorities, will also be crucial to the future of Social Security. As we continue to work together to keep Social Security sound and reliable, we must offer younger workers a chance to invest in retirement accounts that they will control and they will own.
Social Security? What's that? I certainly don't expect it to be around when I hit 65.
Our third goal is to promote energy independence for our country, while dramatically improving the environment.
What? Our President is talking about the environment? No way!
I have sent you a comprehensive energy plan to promote energy efficiency and conservation, to develop cleaner technology, and to produce more energy at home. I have sent you Clear Skies legislation that mandates a 70 percent cut in air pollution from power plants over the next 15 years. I have sent you a Healthy Forests Initiative, to help prevent the catastrophic fires that devastate communities, kill wildlife, and burn away millions of acres of treasured forest.
I can just see Mr. Bush laboring over that last line, frantically scribbling out the word "valuable" and penciling in "treasured." I can't comment on the proposed legislation, because I really haven't heard of it. However, you have to love the tags Clear Skies and Healthy Forests. After all, how can you vote against either of those? Hell, they could call for the deforestation of all of Oregon (after all, what better way to prevent forest fires then to get rid of all those pesky trees), and those voting against it will be chastised for voting against Clear Skies and Healthy Forests.
I urge you to pass these measures, for the good of both our environment and our economy. Even more, I ask you to take a crucial step, and protect our environment in ways that generations before us could not have imagined. In this century, the greatest environmental progress will come about, not through endless lawsuits or command and control regulations, but through technology and innovation. Tonight I am proposing 1.2 billion dollars in research funding so that America can lead the world in developing clean, hydrogen-powered automobiles.
That's impressive. Mr. Oil is promoting alternative energy. I never thought I would see the day. Granted, 1.2 billion dollars will be gobbled up in no time, but it's a start.
A simple chemical reaction between hydrogen and oxygen generates energy, which can be used to power a car - producing only water, not exhaust fumes. With a new national commitment, our scientists and engineers will overcome obstacles to taking these cars from laboratory to showroom - so that the first car driven by a child born today could be powered by hydrogen, and pollution-free. Join me in this important innovation - to make our air significantly cleaner, and our country much less dependent on foreign sources of energy.
I don't like President Bush particularly much, but that was a damned good initiative. Granted, it sounds like he just studied up on the topic about 10 minutes prior, but I don't doubt that he plans to follow through. I never thought I'd hear him utter the word "hydrogen" without the word "bomb" accompanying it so, once again, I'm impressed.
*Considerable Deletions Because This Is Getting Loooooonggggg*
There are days when the American people do not hear news about the war on terror. There is never a day when I do not learn of another threat, or receive reports of operations in progress, or give an order in this global war against a scattered network of killers. The war goes on, and we are winning.
Now, here, I agree with the administration. The war on terrorism, really, is a 24 hour battle. We don't hear the half of what goes on, and frankly, I don't want to. After watching the footage of Sept. 11 over, and over, and over again, I learned what it was like to feel helpless and suspicious. I don't need daily reminders. All I ask is to hear of the big terrorist news. I'm okay with that.
To date we have arrested, or otherwise dealt with, many key commanders of al-Qaida. They include a man who directed logistics and funding for the September 11th attacks … the chief of al-Qaida operations in the Persian Gulf who planned the bombings of our embassies in East Africa and the USS Cole … an al-Qaida operations chief from Southeast Asia … a former director of al-Qaida's training camps in Afghanistan … a key al-Qaida operative in Europe … and a major al-Qaida leader in Yemen. All told, more than 3,000 suspected terrorists have been arrested in many countries. And many others have met a different fate. Put it this way... they are no longer a problem for the United States and our friends and allies.
Human rights activists will no doubt be up in arms about that one. And I say, "get real." These terrorists are people who made a conscious decision to attack civilians. They are soldiers in a clandestine war of pipe bombs in malls, and biological agents in test tubes. You want to extend them the right to a trial? Then you're woefully unaware how these people think. They wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in your skull the moment they learn you're a Western infidel. I see no problem with extending to them the same courtesy.
We are working closely with other nations to prevent further attacks. America and coalition countries have uncovered and stopped terrorist conspiracies targeting the embassy in Yemen … the American embassy in Singapore … Saudi military base … ships in the straits of Hormuz, and the straits of Gibraltar. We have broken al-Qaida cells in Hamburg, Milan, Madrid, London, Paris - as well as Buffalo, New York.
To the critics of the war on terrorism, I should point out that each and every one of those accomplishments make apprehending Osama bin Laden pale by comparison. Let the puke breathe. For each thwarted attack, the loyalty of his network falters, and eventually he'll surface because the appropriate amount of coin will just happen to grease the appropriate hand.
Our Nation and the world must learn the lessons of the Korean peninsula, and not allow an even greater threat to rise up in Iraq. A brutal dictator, with a history of reckless aggression … with ties to terrorism … with great potential wealth … will not be permitted to dominate a vital region and threaten the United States.
Saddam anyone?
Twelve years ago, Saddam Hussein faced the prospect of being the last casualty in a war he had started and lost. To spare himself, he agreed to disarm of all weapons of mass destruction. For the next 12 years, he systematically violated that agreement. He pursued chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons even while inspectors were in his country. Nothing to date has restrained him from his pursuit of these weapons - not economic sanctions, not isolation from the civilized world, not even cruise missile strikes on his military facilities. Almost three months ago, the United Nations Security Council gave Saddam Hussein his final chance to disarm. He has shown instead utter contempt for the United Nations, and for the opinion of the world.
You want evidence? It's right there in front of you. Twelve years worth of evidence. Let's finish the job.
The United Nations concluded in 1999 that Saddam Hussein had biological weapons materials sufficient to produce over 25,000 liters of anthrax - enough doses to kill several million people. He hasn't accounted for that material. He has given no evidence that he has destroyed it.
Maybe you're content to foolishly say, "Well, we haven't found it, so it doesn't exist," but 25,000 liters of anthrax just doesn't disappear. Sometimes, evidence is that which is not right before your eyes, but concealed from view.
The United Nations concluded that Saddam Hussein had materials sufficient to produce more than 38,000 liters of botulinum toxin - enough to subject millions of people to death by respiratory failure. He has not accounted for that material. He has given no evidence that he has destroyed it.
See above.
Our intelligence officials estimate that Saddam Hussein had the materials to produce as much as 500 tons of sarin, mustard, and VX nerve agent. In such quantities, these chemical agents also could kill untold thousands. He has not accounted for these materials. He has given no evidence that he has destroyed them.
See above.
U.S. intelligence indicates that Saddam Hussein had upwards of 30,000 munitions capable of delivering chemical agents. Inspectors recently turned up 16 of them, despite Iraq's recent declaration denying their existence. Saddam Hussein has not accounted for the remaining 29,984 of these prohibited munitions. He has given no evidence that he has destroyed them.
See above.
>From three Iraqi defectors we know that Iraq, in the late 1990s, had several mobile biological weapons labs. These are designed to produce germ warfare agents, and can be moved from place to place to evade inspectors. Saddam Hussein has not disclosed these facilities. He's given no evidence that he has destroyed them.
See above.
The dictator of Iraq is not disarming. To the contrary, he is deceiving. From intelligence sources, we know, for instance, that thousands of Iraqi security personnel are at work hiding documents and materials from the UN inspectors - sanitizing inspection sites, and monitoring the inspectors themselves. Iraqi officials accompany the inspectors in order to intimidate witnesses. Iraq is blocking U-2 surveillance flights requested by the United Nations. Iraqi intelligence officers are posing as the scientists inspectors are supposed to interview. Real scientists have been coached by Iraqi officials on what to say. And intelligence sources indicate that Saddam Hussein has ordered that scientists who cooperate with UN inspectors in disarming Iraq will be killed, along with their families.
And this is what the peace activists are marching against. They're marching against the liberation of these people. Yes, a war will kill civilians. But, Saddam kills civilians even without war.
Year after year, Saddam Hussein has gone to elaborate lengths, spent enormous sums, taken great risks, to build and keep weapons of mass destruction - but why? The only possible explanation, the only possible use he could have for those weapons, is to dominate, intimidate, or attack. With nuclear arms or a full arsenal of chemical and biological weapons, Saddam Hussein could resume his ambitions of conquest in the Middle East, and create deadly havoc in that region. And this Congress and the American people must recognize another threat. Evidence from intelligence sources, secret communications, and statements by people now in custody, reveal that Saddam Hussein aids and protects terrorists, including members of al Qaida. Secretly, and without fingerprints, he could provide one of his hidden weapons to terrorists, or help them develop their own.
And he would, too.
Some have said we must not act until the threat is imminent. Since when have terrorists and tyrants announced their intentions, politely putting us on notice before they strike? If this threat is permitted to fully and suddenly emerge, all actions, all words, and all recriminations would come too late. Trusting in the sanity and restraint of Saddam Hussein is not a strategy, and it is not an option.
Indeed. Trusting Hussein's sanity and restraint is like leaving a toddler in a room with 25 loaded weapons and hoping he or she doesn't fire any of them.
The dictator, who is assembling the world's most dangerous weapons, has already used them on whole villages - leaving thousands of his own citizens dead, blind, or disfigured. Iraqi refugees tell us how forced confessions are obtained - by torturing children while their parents are made to watch. International human rights groups have catalogued other methods used in the torture chambers of Iraq: electric shock, burning with hot irons, dripping acid on the skin, mutilation with electric drills, cutting out tongues, and rape.
And yet the pacifists brush away such truths, as if an errant cruise missile is somehow more horrible than being locked in a room where random drops of acid fall from the ceiling, keeping the victim in perpetual motion until he collapses from exhaustion. They think they're somehow protecting these doomed people, when in fact they're promoting their misery.
If this is not evil, then evil has no meaning. And tonight I have a message for the brave and oppressed people of Iraq: Your enemy is not surrounding your country - your enemy is ruling your country. And the day he and his regime are removed from power will be the day of your liberation.
Not particularly eloquent, but powerful all the same.
The world has waited 12 years for Iraq to disarm. America will not accept a serious and mounting threat to our country, and our friends, and our allies. The United States will ask the UN Security Council to convene on February 5th to consider the facts of Iraq's ongoing defiance of the world. Secretary of State Powell will present information and intelligence about Iraq's illegal weapons programs; its attempts to hide those weapons from inspectors; and its links to terrorist groups. We will consult, but let there be no misunderstanding: If Saddam Hussein does not fully disarm, for the safety of our people, and for the peace of the world, we will lead a coalition to disarm him.
Bush has been painted as a cowboy on a mad dash towards war, but these are not the actions of a warmonger. He's been deliberate, and patient, and I support him, as difficult as it is for me to admit that.
Sending Americans into battle is the most profound decision a president can make. The technologies of war have changed. The risks and suffering of war have not. For the brave Americans who bear the risk, no victory is free from sorrow. This Nation fights reluctantly, because we know the cost, and we dread the days of mourning that always come.
We seek peace. We strive for peace. And sometimes peace must be defended. A future lived at the mercy of terrible threats is no peace at all. If war is forced upon us, we will fight in a just cause and by just means - sparing, in every way we can, the innocent. And if war is forced upon us, we will fight with the full force and might of the United States military - and we will prevail. And as we and our coalition partners are doing in Afghanistan, we will bring to the Iraqi people food, and medicines, and supplies … and freedom.
We Americans have faith in ourselves - but not in ourselves alone. We do not claim to know all the ways of Providence, yet we can trust in them, placing our confidence in the loving God behind all of life, and all of history.
May He guide us now, and may God continue to bless the United States of America.
I may not like him, but he was hard to argue with at the end.
Dems Decry State of the Union Pre-emptively
Party Leaders Adopt New Strategy For Disagreeing With Everything Bush Says
Washington D.C.- Jan. 28, 2002: Top Democratic leaders today poked holes in President Bush's State of the Union Address, a surprising move considering the address has yet to be given.
Standing on the steps of the White House, Senate Democratic Leader Tom Daschle spoke with reporters. His tone was serious as he blasted Bush repeatedly about items he imagined were contained in the President's address.
"If the President thinks the Democratic Party will blindly fall into line while he makes plans to construct a space platform from which he will launch a nuclear attack against Spain and Portugal, well he has another thing coming," said Daschle. "Of course, he never said anything even remotely to that effect, and it's doubtful he'll say that in his address, but if he did, I can assure you we will fight him toe to toe."
Among other items Daschle said he would disagree with should Bush mention them include a full scale invasion into Canada, restructuring the Supreme Court to include 10 Lords a Leaping, Nine Ladies Dancing and A Partridge in a Pear Tree, and requiring all Americans to work, during the non-growing seasons, on large pyramids.
"I mean, what is that man thinking, if he's actually thinking these things?" asked Daschle. "I don't know about you, but I refuse to push a single stone just because Bush may or may not tell me to during his address."
The pre-emptive Democratic strike represents a new aspect to their strategy of strenuously objecting to everything proposed by the President. Widely criticized as a party without direction, the Democrats have struggled to gain parity with the GOP.
"I don't think we're struggling at all," objected Daschle. "Now, the Republicans, a party headed by a President who wants to declare Texas the only state where Americans will be allowed to live, that's a party that's struggling. I tell you, I'm incensed by the State of the Union address I'm imagining, and I won't stand for it."
A Thunderous, Disgusting Woman
My recent post about being the first to sit in the Naughty Chair in kindergarten got me thinking about other elementary school anecdotes, and no elementary school anecdote rings quite as loud as the year I spent huddled in fear of my 5th grade teacher, Emma B.
Emma B. was a hateful, thunderous, disgusting woman who had no business roaming the halls of elementary children. I'm convinced she hated all people, but she held a special place in her black heart for children. She tormented kids both physically and mentally, and there wasn't one student in the entire school who didn't jump in their seats when Emma would shout "Can it!" and her voice would carry to five classrooms down the hall.
An unhygienic mass of blobby flesh, Emma B. apparently did everything she could to be both horrifying to behold and to endure. An immense woman, she consistently wore sheer white shirts that clearly outlined her collection of filthy bras. Her hair was always drawn tightly behind her head in a bun held in place with a greasy piece of leather and wooden pin. The lack of any bangs clearly showed off a massive mole, as round as a thumb tack, protruding from the direct center of her forehead. It was if she were determined to look as ugly and ghastly as possible. I hated going up to her desk because she perpetually stank of unchecked body odor and breath polluted with hastily ingested cigarettes and cups upon cups of coffee.
More than her terrifying appearance was her reputation for humiliating and hurting students. I first experienced the wrath of Emma in third grade when I was poking the kid in front of me in the lunch line. Suddenly, my tiny wrist was burning with pain as Emma dug her fingernails deep into my flesh and flung me out of the line and against the wall. I can't remember what she yelled at me, but I remember inhaling her horrid breath and trying to wiggle my wrist free from her clawlike grasp, prompting her to dig her nails in further while gnashing her fingers back and forth. She drew blood before finally flinging me back in line, and I shook with fear for what seemed like forever.
I dreaded my 5th grade year, knowing that I had drawn Emma B. as my homeroom teacher. I wanted to tell my parents about how horrible she was, and how afraid I was of her, but there was a part of me, and of all students really, that believed Emma had to be there for a reason. Who were we, mere students, to question the ways of the adults? We kept quiet and just did our best not to piss Emma off. Of course, that was impossible, because Emma was always pissed off. She hated her life, and she took it out on the students.
My 5th grade year was hell, really. There's no other way to explain living each and every school day in total fear of getting into trouble, even if you weren't causing trouble. Emma would find excuses to torment. Brian, wno sat right next to me, wasn't sure where the construction paper was when he was instructed to go get some for each student. Emma responded by yanking him out of his desk and pushing him towards the cupboards. Brian was small, and with Emma's punishing strength, he looked like a rag doll. He handed out the construction paper trembling, tears dribbling from his cheeks. He was terrified, and his shoulder had been strained.
For my part, I once got caught talking during class (I know, it's shocking), and Emma promptly drew a circle on the blackboard, pitched me out of my desk in Emma B. style, and then biffed me in the back of my head so my nose squashed hard against the chalkboard in the direct center of the circle. She warned that, if my nose moved from the circle, unless she said it was okay, I wouldn't like what would happen. I would have stood there for an entire week if it meant not enduring additional Emma torment. I didn't feel ridiculous, or shamed. I was simply interested in self-preservation at that point.
The only time Emma was ever even remotely sweet was when the principal would sit in on a class. Then she was sickeningly nice, praising students and exercising patience unheard of otherwise. We all wanted to shout, "This isn't the real Emma! The real Emma is trying to kill us!"
What the students didn't know was that the administration was meticulously building a case against Emma, which had to be thorough because the evil beast had tenure. How does someone like that get tenure? Like "how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop," the world may never know.
I was in 7th or 8th grade, well out of the clutches of Emma, by the time the administration was ready to act. They had their case built, and all they needed was an incident to get the ball rolling. Emma B. obliged by tossing around one of the most vocal young female students Emma ever made the mistake of mauling. The student yowled and howled to parents and teachers alike, and the administration swooped in on Emma like a pack of angry dogs. They had her, and they knew they had her, but she still had to have a formal hearing and all that jazz.
And my father was selected by the teacher's union to defend her. It was a cruel twist of fate that the woman I believed to be synonymous with "complete bitch" was allowed inside my house, while my father, who hated his assigned task, was forced to work with her on a defense. Justice was swift, because Emma really had no defense, and she was sent packing. The last I heard, she was working in a clothing store.
Emma, wherever you are, I hope you're facing a chalk circle, preferably one that was drawn around you at a crime scene.
News Flash: Raider Fans Channel Their Inner Ralph Wiggum
There I was, slacking at work, wondering how Raider fans were coping with their crushing defeat, when I came across this article. Apparently, Ralph Wiggum is a Raiders fan. "The Raiders dressed themselves!" Ralph was reported to have said after the Raiders decided to spot the Bucs an insurmountable lead. If you'll remember, the fans set their town ablaze last week after defeating the Titans. So, how do they react to a crushing Super Bowl defeat?
Unruly fans set several cars on fire, tossed bus stop benches into the street, burned Christmas trees, broke car windows and blocked parts of International Boulevard in East Oakland following the Raiders' Super Bowl loss Sunday night.
Excuse me, but Christmas trees? What the hell are they still doing with Christmas trees? Did they save them just for this purpose?
``They're just trying to get everybody off the street, but we're just trying to have fun,'' said Jaunel Williams, 14, an eighth-grader at Oakland's Calvin Simmons Middle School, as he covered his face with a T-shirt. (he had just been hit with tear gas) ``This stuff burns my eyes and throat.''
Really? Tear gas burns your eyes and throat? Who knew? With insightful commentary like that, he could be the next John Madden.
``They're playing like they don't want to win,'' said John Carroll, 67, who was so despondent that he turned away from the game during the third quarter to smoke cigarettes outside the Club New Yorker on East 18th Street in Oakland.
Can you imagine being so depressed that you tuck a carton of Winstons under your arm and you go outside with the sole purpose of puffing down heaters until the tears flow no more?
``They are making asses of themselves between fumbles, sacks and interceptions,'' said Carroll, a lifelong East Oakland resident. ``They are playing worse than a normal high school football team.''
Oh, I was confused. I thought they were making asses of themselves DURING fumbles, sacks and interceptions. And if the Raiders' play reflected the skills shown by "normal" high school football teams, I sure wouldn't want to watch a "bad" high school football team.
Added Debbie Nobrega-Tabarez, 40, of Oakland, who was wearing a gray and black mask that looked as though she had painted her face: ``I was crying until half time, and then I stopped crying.''
Seriously, people, I'm not making this stuff up. Oakland fans actually said these things. Is everyone from Oakland sipping from the same bucket of "duh?"
``I didn't see enough heart in the game,'' said Michael Carter, a die-hard fan who spent the night at Smitty's, an Oakland bar on Grand Avenue near Lake Merritt. ``It seemed like Tampa wanted to win more.''
You mean because they won? Yeah, that would be a good indication. Sheesh *rolling eyes*
New computer Versus The Super Bowl
So, I have this fantastic new computer that I paid $1,200 for. I mean it's great. It has, like, a 90.8 Ghz processor (kept cool with 7,000 fans that all sound like jet engines), a 589 GB hard drive capable of storing more porn than I'll ever be able to view in my lifetime, more memory than the collective interconnected minds of the Matrix (minus Neo, because he's "The One"), a video card so advanced it actually hasn't been invented yet, and Windows XP, which is a lot like all the other Windows operating systems, particularly when it comes to restarting it after installing any new software. I mean, this computer is the shit!
Except it doesn't work.
Okay, it works, it just doesn't work correctly. For some flipping reason, it won't connect directly to the Internet. Now, before all you tech gurus can utter, "Have you tried. . .," let me just assure you that, yes, I have tried EVERYTHING. And when I say I've tried EVERYTHING, I mean I've had all my friends try EVERYTHING, and then I had a Charter Communications guy walk along with me (er, via telephone) and try EVERYTHING.
In the end, the ONLY way I can get online was to connect through a router. That's right, in order to access the Internet, my computer demands that it first be connected through a router. I have no idea why, and my friends have no idea why. That's just the way it is. If my computer were a cat, it would turn up its nose at every cat food I put under its nose, preferring to eat out of the garbage and catch mice. Stupid cat computer.
Well, once I got online, I couldn't wait to start playing games online. I mean, Aliens Versus Predator 2 and Jedi Outcast were just screaming my name. Unfortunately, the Super Bowl was also screaming my name (which of course means my name must be Tampa Bay).
Actually, the only thing screaming about last night's Super Bowl was John Madden. Does that guy have any volume besides loud? The dumber he sounds, the louder he gets, I swear. When he pointed out that Oakland had to get some points on the board, I had to put him on mute. Are you sure, John? Are you sure it wouldn't be more prudent for Oakland to subtract some points? Sheesh. The sickening part is, that man gets paid gobs and gobs of money to say shit like that. I say stupid things every day. Every single day! And do I ever see a penny for my non-brilliance? Hell no. John Madden is such a fucker.
I don't want to talk about the game. A blowout is a blowout is a blowout. Congrats to the Bucs, and condolences to Rich Gannon, er, the Raiders. All due respect to Rich Gannon, but he was aware that he was supposed to throw the ball to guys wearing black and silver, right? Well, anyway, I'd rather talk about the half time show.
Where was Darth Twain's lightsaber? I mean, I tried to focus entirely on her chest, but that cape thing she wore kept drawing my attention. What WAS that, anyway? Come to think of it, a lightsaber would have been a lot more useful than the microphone she wasn't singing into. Come on, this was the Super Bowl, and really, all she did was walk around. Surely she could have found it within herself to actually sing rather than lip sync.
No Doubt's Gwen Stefani managed to use her own voice, after all, and she was doing pushups, and jumping around, and wearing more make-up than a circus clown. Sure, she sounded a tad winded at times, but at least she was actually singing. That's what makes live performances fun to watch. The sound is unique. Stefani at least brought some energy to a Super Bowl that was deflated for almost the entire game. Sorry, Shania, but the Force wasn't with you. Now go change into something that shows off your ass.
Oh yeah, I guess Sting also sang for real. He always sounds the same, and he always looks like he's auditioning for the role of the main bad guy in some movie.
Then, the third quarter started, and I got totally embroiled in an awesome game of Aliens Versus Predators 2. I mean, I totally kicked butt for a change. Those little Runner aliens can really rock once you get over the nausea inherent in climbing along walls and ceilings. Still, as Gollum might say, "We hatessss the marinesss with the chain gunsss." My old system used to have trouble running AvP, but my new computer breezes through it. I figure I have about four years before I have to build anew. Okay, that's being generous, I'll admit.
Still, I really do like this new cranky, picky computer of mine. It's Da Shit!
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