Haiku the New Year

A confession right off: I don't dislike haiku in its traditional forms. I find the constraint of it to be much like gesture work in the visual arts. It has a requirement beyond the syllables, that one should meditate on nature, ask a question and answer it, or describe it, or speak of its surprise and delight.

I am sometimes able to effect a decent verse or two, but like most, the pure fun of just playing within the syllables is enough for an online bit of fun and friendly competition, such as is found at Sparrow's tonight.

I'm feeling a bit cynical so here are my entries:

My resolutions
end in sad resignations
leopard spots, dog tricks

*****

I’m not in the mood
to meditate upon sins
I’ll commit again

*****

So, why not click over to Sparrow's and give it your best shot?

Oh yeah, like you Slackers have a party to attend.

Actually, the Jolly Roger and I do have a Roaring 20's party to attend, so I'll leave you with a very sincere hope that you and yours will enjoy good things to come in the coming year. It's not like I'm gonna miss 2008. How about you?

From the Is That a Light or Oncoming Train? Department

The Elephant Mouse that wants to roar in the New Year.

The Washington Times reports that the RNC is about to censure George Bush for Socialism.

They said the RNC must take the dramatic step of wading into policy debates, which traditionally have been left to lawmakers.

"We can't be a party of small government, free markets and low taxes while supporting bailouts and nationalizing industries, which lead to big government, socialism and high taxes at the expense of individual liberty and freedoms," said Solomon Yue, an Oregon member and co-sponsor of a resolution that criticizes the U.S. government bailouts of the financial and auto industries.

Hoo-boy. Kneejerk reaction from the Pirate Palapa is, too little, too late and a bit too self-righteous. The Republican Platform will have no popular appeal until after the great anarchy to come. The Republicans refused to educate and propagate in practical ways, allowing the disillusionment to happen suddenly and ruinously.

It's a lousy legacy for all politics, but especially for those who had the power in their hands to do good, and did not do it. Instead they went running after the money and easy votes. Who knows why GWB signed every friggin' bill that came his way? I'll always be grateful for his energetic defense of Freedom and his commitment to humanitarian aid to the forgotten peoples of the earth. He deserves better than having to fall on his sword for the RNC. But whaddayagonnado?

h/t to SondraK

Old and New

Out with the tired old stupid:

In with the new, truly stupid:

It does my heart good to see Bill Mahr AND his stupid audience reduced to jibberish. I have no idea what the late night so-called "comedy" writers will find to do after the One ascends to the throne, but then I stopped watching them years ago.

Update: I found a better example to go with the theme. Good thing I'm not a paid professional.

h/t: Mark Steyn

Welcome, Dogette fans. Just look at what she pointed to and please leave by the nearest exit. It won't get any better, no matter how far you scroll. -The Management.

Slackers, the Velocigod is Behind by 6 Votes

So if you've forgotten about what's really, really important in this Holiday Season, please rouse yourself, kick off your shoes, roll up your pants legs and wade into the sewer that is Andi Sullivan's place and vote.
(Link fixed. )

Vote like a Chicago zombie! Vote like an Al Franken Election Board Reviewer. You got today and tomorrow to secure this thing for Mr. Crawford's Shelf of Shame.

Remember, Vman be a nice sort that never advertises, never has a tip jar (although he may ask for drinking money or other cultic offerings of monkeys or weapons), and only abuses his readers if it's funny or necessary. You know who you are.

Testing Your Pathos Quotient

Won't take but a second. Just go here and tell me you didn't go, ooohhhh! Oh!

Note to my D.I.L.: make sure you are not alone when you see this.

I've Found All the Missing Shoppers!

They are crammed into the thrift stores today.

Whenever I need to put together a costume, which is pretty often in this crazy town, I go to the thrift stores seeking material to scavenge. It's usually a quiet enterprise with maybe one or two other sojourners combing through the detritus of others' lives and assorted mumbling whispers from the staff.

I couldn't find a parking place near any of the three I visited today. Jammed up with Lexuses, Jaguars, Tundras, and SUVs. People buying nice clothes and furniture like there was no tomorrow. Long lines at the checkout. And the same people going from store to store. We struck up friendships and laughed like it was a neighborhood yard sale.

Maybe the non-profits will the only profitable retailers in the New Year.

I wonder who I'll see at the discount bakery?

Before you get too excited...

...about Obama not raising taxes, consider the following:

He is going to print a TRILLION dollars' worth of "new jobs".

It's the worst sort of taxation without representation. It could be said to be the only "flat" tax we'll ever have. Now I don't know exactly how much currency the engravers will gin up, but flooding the market with counterfeit (might as well be) money is one sure way to make sure everybody has less than before and the government has more. And its employees have more, too.

I saw this lovely little tidbid last night, lost track of it, and found it anew at TJIC's place.

From Globaleconomicanalysis Blog:

State and local public employees comprise approximately 12 percent of the U.S. workforce and have an estimated $800 billion or more of unfunded pension liabilities (not counting other post-employment benefits). By comparison, employees in the private or corporate sector make up about 78 percent of the U.S. workforce with an estimated $450 billion of unfunded liabilities.

If the Left could just get half as indignant about this unequal distribution of wealth as they do about America as compared to the rest of the world, we might be able to work together to fix things. As it is, I don't see anyone giving up their sweet, sweet government jobs (in 15 years, just look at the over 60% growth in top grade positions for whites, and almost 300% growth in top grade positions for blacks, and that survey is almost 10 years old) and pensions, nor do I see the heads of government agencies being villified for their inept handling of the public trust.

If our government were a business, it would have failed by now. Oh,wait...

The Weather's So Warm I Had To Shave My Legs

See what I mean about bloggers who give way too much information? It's the deuce, I tell you, living in Florida. We never get a break from the need for neatly grooming our beautiful tanned legs and painted tootsie toes.

Other good deeds today included finding a nice Sprint phone on the beach and being able to return it to its owner later, after calling "home" "mom" "dad" and finally, "Uncle Rob". Folks, I'm hoping you know your husband or wife's name and are smart enough to make your entries for phone numbers easily identifiable as did this young man. Husband. Wife. Brother, whatever. How about an entry for, "Did you find me?"

Speaking of electronic necessities, this has got to be the best eulogy ever offered for a Blackberry. It certainly spoke to quite a few commenters. Dear Suzette! Write about Extremely Important Fashion News and ...hardly a peep. But a small farewell to a departed communicator and the whole world has something to say. The comments really are wonderful.

I also found yet another length of line and tackle, with weight, hook and bait still attached to the leader, embedded in the shallows where I was walking on the beach. I had the good fortune to see it before Pepper or I stepped on it. Not like the last time. I returned it to its owner who was quite grateful. I wonder what fish snapped that line? (Note to insurance providers: it really is an accident that happens on the beach-- it's the fourth leader-line I've found-- and not on some fishing boat or while working. I had to answer your Grand Inquistor repeatedly about the leader-pin stuck in my foot. Luckily I had pics of my sandy foot to show him. That finally shut him up.)

A heavy fog rolled in to within about 2 miles of the beach, and a rescue helicopter was busy guiding pleasure boats back to the inlet. They had likely wandered out earlier in the day only to find themselves lost within a few miles of land, without GPS or means to find their way back. The jetties are notorious for tearing up boats that wander out of the channel, so simple as it seems, even with a GPS it would be a bit tricky to navigate the narrows safely in a fog.

Yeah, don't hate me cuz I went to the beach with Pepper Dog today. Me and about a hundred other folks had the same idea. I didn't spend a dime on this Black Friday, and I know that's so selfish of me, what with the economy languishing like it is. But when I have the top down on the Miata, the sunshine and salt air and a wonderful wonder-dog, it's hard to imagine anything else I might need.

Gourmet With Gun

It makes a momma proud:

Would you let this man cook you dinner? Only if you were dining in the finest restaurant in Charleston, SC.

Looks like they had a great Christmas. Hope you did, too!

Democracy! Whiskey! Viagra!

And here you thought gold would be the safest investment, and cash the most powerful weapon.

Hah!

Via Don Surber, comes a link to the (literally?) feel-good story of the Holidays in the Washington Post.

It seems that elder tribal leaders in Afghanistan care for nothing so much as a bit of the ol' bingo-bongo with their three or four wives.

Cash? Fuggeddaboudit. Gold? Not so much. If you want to win friends and influence people in the war of ideas, the oldest idea is still the most politically potent one.

No surprise there.

To quote the ever-wry Mr. Surber: "Men are about as complicated as tic-tac-toe."

Update: Ed Morrissey calls the resultant information "hard intelligence."

It's 70 Degrees and Not a Snowman In Sight

And I have this thing about Sand Castles:

So yeah, have a smile for Christmas!

(Found on my nephew's Facebook page. heh.)

Argghh! It be Yuletide.

I thought I'd beat the blog-rush and let everyone know that, all my "separation" protests notwithstanding, I am glad to live where we can celebrate our faith according to the dictates of our conscience, without fear of government recrimination or proscription.

A very Merry Christmas to all, and especially to the brave men and women of our armed forces who work to ensure our safety. In spite of other distressing circumstances, we still sleep safe because rough men (and women!) stand ready to defend our home and secure our allies against the forces of tyranny.

If you're traveling, I pray special mercies upon your pointy head and leaden foot. May your visits be warm and reviving and blessedly brief enough to make them shiny in your memory.

My favorite blogging bilge rats all know I love them and wish them every good thing. If you get a chance, try to visit your blog buddies when you can, especially the charming ones.

So there you have it, Slackers and Pirates. Merry and Happy, etc., etc.

Good work. Good night. I'll likely kill you all in the New Year.

Voter Fraud Can Be Fun

Especially when you can give Andi Sullivan a raging case of heartburn with just a simple click, or two, or three while you vote early and often to confer upon Velociman's pate the dubious honorific: Hewitt Award Winner. No I don't know what it means, but it apparently has to do with Vman's superb grasp of politics and prose:

Go vote. It'll make the Vman happy, and maybe his Grinchy heart or some other unused organ will grow three sizes.

Hot Tamales!

My first effort at making them. You have to make them at home apparently, because restaurants just don't go to the trouble of making them fresh. I've missed having a good, fresh tamal ever since we left Mexico. These taste pretty damn good:

My son and his bride are here for a Mexican Christmas. He brought home-made chorizo and Sweet Tea Vodka. I guess we'll let them stay for tamales, pulled pork, tacos, corn casserole with queso panela, collard greens, key lime pie, and lots of tequila shots. No pinata, however. The tamales will have to serve as the "grab bag".

When we lived in Mexico City it was quite a treat to awaken of a Saturday morning to the sound of the Tamalero. Each tamalero had their own distinctive call. "Hay tamales!" (pronounced "eye tamales"), was the short, almost duck-like call of an older man. Another, a young boy, had lungs like Pavarotti and would hold out the longest wail of the word "tamales" for what seemed like a minute. It woud start low and work up to the third vowel for the air-siren finish as he let the word hang in the cool, clear air while he slid the last syllable down to the bottom of his range and breath. Amazing!

We always called them Mystery Meat Bags, but it was usually turkey mole (moh-lay) or pork, even if it was just one small strand of meat within, the tasty steamed corn mush with the green salsa or poblano sauce was a great way to start the chilly mornings of July. (They had pink ones, too, which were sweet and strange. Try as we might, we could never get the hang of sweet corn mush, be it cooked in a tamal or served as a mug of Atole; basically, corn mush with chocolate. )

People are surprised when I explain that we slept under an electric blanket for 11 months out of 12 there. A mile and a half up makes for interesting weather in the summer as the clouds of July gather daily for rain, and the air cools rapidly. It makes July the coolest averaged month of the year. So, a warm corn husk filled with freshly steamed little cakes of corn and mystery always made you look forward to good possibilities for the rest of the day.

Friday Free-for-all

You think traffic is bad this week? Christmas week will make these vids look tame.

This one's only 2 seconds, but I bet you play it over and over again:

A[n] walrus elephant seal has demanded equal time, in light of Tuesday's elephant post:

100-proof proof that Vodka is the national pastime in Russia:

Have a safe weekend, peeps. It's pretty scary out there.

Gypsy

"On the spur of the moment" is one of those phrases we just say, but it really means something: spur, being an occasion for physical pain or mental movement. At least, that's how I define it. And yesterday, I felt the sting of obligation mixed with the need for a change of scenery, so I rounded up the Pepper Dog and set off for parts West.

My father is now 89 years old and mostly still very handsome, if less toothsome. I am the youngest of his rather large flock of kids and this spur-of-the-moment trip was a re-affirming of his place, for good or ill, in my life.

Do I have a hundred reasons to reject him? Are some of them criminal? I am so well and past those questions. But here, in the twilight of his reason and cognizance, I latched onto the opportunity to wrest from him just one more longed-for moment of "rightness" in the grand scheme of life. A moment to be his daughter, to see his eyes-- those incomparable twinklers-- to see them light up and see me. And he sees me! And smiles broadly, twinkly smiles. And he dozes off for a few seconds. And he awakens to ask where Gypsy is.

Oh heart! Gypsy was my first real dog, when I was about nine years old. Of course she was a family member, but she was mine by virtue of the time and energy I put into training her, and later her pup, to do all manner of tricks. It was the pride of my father's insatiable need to entertain people with music or jokes, to have me dress up the poor dogs in little tutu's I'd designed and set them to their paces for review by whatever hapless visitor happened upon our decidedly humble abode.

You have to understand, I found space for myself amongst the large brood, only by being decidedly different in ways my wolfpack of siblings couldn't mock, steal, or reproduce for themselves. And to have that crown re-conferred upon my sorry stupid little head, even at this age, was something to make my impoverished heart leap up in youthful joy and love. I am nine years old again!

I introduced Pepper Dog to him and he exclaimed, "what a beautiful creature!" and I beamed with joy as he pet her. Of course, everyone at Hospice had to pet her, too. Her best trick is to be lovable and she does it rather well.

And Dad dozes again. The nurses kept goading him to stay awake. "He sleeps too much," they said.

"Well, he worked two jobs and provided for his family, and took his kids on awesome camping trips, or fishing, taught us how to fix our bikes and cars and made sure we were charitable to the less fortunate. I think he's earned all the sleep he wants," I counter.

Such a mind, to fall so far back into time. With an eighth-grade education and an I.Q. of 150, I don't think the Navy knew what to do with him to keep him busy and motivated. They made him take the I.Q. test twice. They made him a teacher, and as such he took to it.

He would advise us soberly that credit was a great servant but a lousy master, having lived through the first Depression. He would tell me of his vision of a cashless society based on a debit banking system, long before any of us could have imagined it. He never wanted things, either. He wanted experiences, travel, and newness. Lord forgive me, but I come by it honestly, the "gypsy soul" that he nurtured in each of his creatures, be they kith or critter.

He is now mostly comfortably slipping back into younger days and daydreams, and will likely be unreachable in the near future. My issues with him were settled years ago, my expectations of him released to the Greater Judge, my future resting ahead of me, not languishing in my past.

But, like Jacob of old, I wrested one more blessing out of my father. It is enough.

Sweet dreams, Dad.

Thursday Traffic: Think Again...

It's a quandry. You know you need to go across town and find Mr. Patel, the Painless Dentist and Cattle Castrator. The question is, was Einstein right? Does the man with a toothache really give a damn about traffic?

Wednesday WienerTraffic

You know how it is. You're the only sane driver in in a sea of weenies:

December Crickets and Beach Auras

The Pepper Dog and I were enjoying a sunny stroll on the beach when, around 2:00 p.m. the fog just rolled into the shoreline. The sun was shining brightly behind me in that photo, creating the aura effect into the fog. The point's east-west stretch was long enough to walk west out of the fog and take this cell-phone picture for y'all. Yeah, I'm a giver.

Now, back in the quiet of the Pirate Palapa, the sliding door is open to let in the foggy afternoon air and I can hear the muffled cadence of ...crickets! In December! I don't know why I've never noted them before this late in the year, but the fog has deadened the road noise and blanketed the rush-hour with an eerie quiet. 5:00 p.m. and it's a dead calm except for the crickets. It's not exactly "dashing through the snow," but I am tired of Christmas music already, anyway.

Pepper is on the balcony, her coat heavy with salt water, listening for something that's traipsing through the marsh, likely one of the large he-coons around here. Her ear is tilted down towards the muddy possibilities of adventure, but she's already had enough fun for one dog's day.

Some days, my little pirate town is alright.

Tuesday Morning Road Rage

It seems the secret to peace and harmony on the roads is to be the biggest sumbitch on the road. Certainly, the elephant seems happy with the results.

h/t to OwnedAgain and thanks to Erica for the Pirate v Ninja link there!

I know, now you'll get absolutey nothing done at work today. Pace yourself.

Monday Morning Bus Commute

Why imagine a thing when you can do it? The Bendy-Bus would have been my pick for winning this race:

It's Worse Than It Looks...

(Photo by Daron Dean)

...inside the garage bay was a pristine 1962 Corvette.

I drove past this and, as I am not a rubber-neckin' gawker, only glanced out of the side of my vision as a fireman was climbing up a ladder to the roof. I could see that the building was damaged by a car, but had no idea of the amazing air the dude caught!

They had to shore up the building before they even tried to get the guys out.

Local guy (and passenger!) asleep at the wheel at 5:00 in the afternoon. No drugs or alcohol, no license, no insurance proof. And damn lucky.

Let's Play a Game...

...I'll post a definition and you guess the concept:

... an ... investment vehicle that pays off old investors with money from new ones, and is dependent on a constant stream of new investment. Because the invested capital is not earning a sufficient return on its own, such schemes eventually collapse under their own weight.

Okay. Let's play:

This best describes:
	My latest investment.
	Social Security as Managed by Congress
	A Congressional Compensation Package
	UAW Retirement Account
	Ponzi Scheme
	All of the above.
pollcode.com free polls

Turnabout is Fair Play

The 30-second definition of moxie:

h/t haha

Kum bah yah Humbug!

For the record: I do not want my city, state, or national government wishing me a "Merry Christmas." I do not want any level of government spending any of my money on festive decorations. Even "Happy Holidays" is a religious statement of "holy days" and has no place in government, if we go to the ridiculous extremes of the perpetually offended.

Saying that, I also do not want my city, state, or national government (or especially my HOA) denying me the joy of worshiping according to the dictates of my own conscience. Nor do I want my government or any of its lawyering minions to deny me my right based on the specious concept of it being "intimidating" to non-believers. I assure you, grown ups are not intimidated by Menorahs, Crescents or Crosses. I am not even intimidated by a Muslim praying to Allah in a public place. As long as they don't have bombs strapped to themselves, and I can still hear the muzak in the elevator over them, see if I care.

I do not want public schools to teach any sort of religion or religious tolerance. By that same token, I do not want them to teach any sort of INtolerance, either. If a kid wants to bow his head and pray silently, here's a thought: butt out.

As a Christian, I have long felt that contributions to my church should NOT have been a tax write off, even though my church did many good public works. It's good to keep political favors out of a church. Those honkin' huge donations from some rich guy usually cost the church some sort of moral integrity. Someone alert Mssrs. Jesse Jackson Senior and Junior.

I have also seen this "Christmas backlash" effect coming from a long way off. Now we have a comical zoo of mockery at our county courthouses and official public properties. Good! Let the Ridiculous point out what an ass the Law is.

Others can do a much better apologetic for the Christian influence and moral oversight of a Free Society, and the underpinning such a foundation has provided. However, if the idea of a Republic, and a Free Society cannot now stand on its own two feet and agree on certain principles of Right and Wrong, then it really cannot and should not be meddling with religious groups who seem to have a stronger sense of boundary and ethic for their creed and followers.

No "official" Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Ramadan or Festivus greetings, please. Save the money for something more practical and state-like. You know, maybe a raise for our soldiers or a new wing for a VA hospital.

Personally, would you accept a holiday greeting from say, the guy who stole your 401k retirement money and didn't even leave you a thank you note? Would it cheer your soul or spike your eggnog to know your city tax collector wanted you to have a Happy Hanukkah?

I plan on having a very Merry Christmas, no thanks to the hypocritical wishes of my government which is currently doing everything it can to ruin everyone's holidays.

For those of you who plan to celebrate something in December: May your respective god, goddess, planetary body, forest sprite, river nymph or existential non-entity give you joy.

Something to Gladden Your Heart

Some states are beginning to crack down on Left Lane Nannies.

To the tune of $124.

Oh, frabjous day! If I ever see a cop pull someone over for this, I swear I will stop and wait patiently for him to finish his rightful deed, and then shake his hand and thank him profusely for protecting the asshole from me. I have actually known people who were proud of their wanna-be-cop status of keeping the speed limit in the left lane.

Driving north on Highway 17 in the Low Country of South Carolina affords a particularly curious example of ass-holerly. It is a slow, tightly monitored no-passing two lane road, with 2-mile stretches of passing lanes. Signs EVERYWHERE say "stay right except to pass" and folks just mosey along, like they didn't wait 10 minutes for the opportunity to pass the car in front of them. They get into the left lane and block a mile-long tail of traffic behind them. Flash your lights, beep, nothing moves them. They should be dragged off and shot.

All traffic models agree that left-lane slow pokes cause accidents and backups. And going only the speed limit actually backs down the speed limit for cars behind you. The net effect is dangerous lane-changing and apoplexy and a path of emotional and physical destruction behind you. If you can live with that all in the name of the Almighty Speed Limit, then you are a small, small human being.

And a dumbass.

My Life as a Book Title

Ripped from the pages of The Irrelephant, a stolen idea is as good for blog fodder as anything else. Plagiarism. It's what's for dinner:

Ten Titles to My Autobiography:

A Life Without Caveats

One Long Fan Dance

Pushing a Rope

Getting There First: Self-Deprecation As An Art Form

"Did You Say Joan Varga? The Joan Varga?"

Yes, That Did Leave a Mark

Pirate Heart, Gypsy Soul, Restless Mind.

Unofficial Diagnosis

I May Need That Later...

A Life. With Caveats.

Obama's Old Senate Seat For Sale On Ebay!

Hasn't been pulled yet. Bids are climbing fast. You gotta see the picture of his seat! (And no, it's not the one that is still up, that is just a picture for sale. The one that got pulled was an electric chair; can't find a screen cap anywhere.)

Update: too late! It just cracks me up that Ebay can't go along with it.

Best comment of the day at Gateway Pundit: Why are they wasting time arresting these people in Chicago one at a time? -Pager

Seriously? That Obama was from Chicago was, and still is, my main objection to him.

FUNNY UPDATE: the latest IP address on my blog hits comes from THE SCOTUS itself. Someone was googling up "senate seat on ebay". Heh.

Know What Makes You Sick? Work. And Church. And School.

Ever since the unfortunate business back in July, when my then-boss came to work with a hacking cough and fever and I had to spend the day cooped up with her in a small van, and then I got a roaring case of the flu and she denied it was her fault, and coupled with the overwork conditions and my near-extreme anemia and just hitting the wall, emotionally and physically-- ever since that day I walked away from full-time work, or work with tourists, I have not had the first sniffle or hint of a cold or flu.

My short stint with the real estate office was also very secluded, had my own little office with a door I could close. No germs allowed! No human interaction!

Way too many bloggers have been flu-blogging this past week. But since I am no longer employed anywhere, I am enjoying good health, so far. More workplaces should insist on making their employees work from home, sez I.

I don't go to church anywhere. I should, I know. However, that whole communion cup and "sign of peace" business is surely a test of one's faith in divine healing.

I don't have grandkids, or any neighbor kids to infect me, dragging home microbes by the billions from day care or school, although it would be a fair trade off.

Know what doesn't make you sick? Blogging. I think the whole key to staying healthy is to become a hermit. Which is easier these days, what with the Intartubes and all. Just gotta be vigilant about keeping the cookie crumbs from getting into the keyboard.

Sara Palin Calendar

I tried to pawn this scoop at Ace's place, but the morons must be feeling the effects of all that estrogen in their water.

Go here.

Awesome.

It's So Perfect, I Need Someone to Tell Me What's Wrong With It

A personal, middle class bail-out plan is needed.

How long before the Stock Market kicks in to recoup to the tune of 60%?
How much longer, then, before home value is restored to the tune of 40%?

I need a bail out NOW. I found one and I'm a giver so I'll share. It's so sweet, it's a crime, albeit a victimless crime. But it has some drawbacks. Like inconvenience. But what is a little inconvenience now in the face of a brighter future, right?

Here was my inspiration:

Rameau is an activist executing a bailout plan of his own around Miami's empty streets: Helping homeless people illegally move into foreclosed homes.

"We're matching homeless people with people-less homes," he said with a grin.

Rameau and other advocates formed Take Back the Land, which also helps new "tenants" with used furniture, cleaning supplies and yard upkeep. He's moved six families into foreclosed homes and has nine on a waiting list.
...

Rameau said he was doing the owner a favour. Before Pierre moved in, someone had stolen the air conditioner. "Within a couple of months, this place would be stripped and drug dealers would be living here," he said.

Rameau's not scared of getting arrested. "There's a real need here, and there's a disconnect between the need and the law."

The city's Kelly Penton said officials didn't know Rameau was moving homeless into empty buildings -- but they're not stopping him. "If people trespass into private property, it is up to the property owner to take action."

Pay attention peeps, I'm serial, man. This man is providing a service to already beleaguered banks that have found themselves to be property managers.

See, no bank wants to become a property manager. There are too many exposure risks when you get people and contracts involved. But the property's gonna get rolled if it sits empty and idle for months. Insurance gets canceled. Plus, the neighborhood begins to deteriorate, and nobody wants that, either.

So you have to go below the radar with winks and nods and private P.O. Boxes for leads and keys to assign properties. I know if I were a financial institution saddled with chronic vacancies and foreclosures, I'd much prefer a nice, middle-class couple with no kids, nice cars, good furniture and a lawnmower occupying the premises for free. Little wear and tear on the property. Just get a good background check and Bob's your Uncle: you're in.

Depending on your market, this can be a$ 18 - 36,000 boost to your personal economy in the next year. Do a Donald Trump, let your equity-challenged and overpriced home return to lender and find a sweet layover for 3-6 months at a time. You bring added value to the home by keeping the neighborhood at capacity and looking great. Lights are on, neighbors are happy, property value is maintained, banks are not prosecuting and everybody wins.

A tacit and non-official detente that the government doesn't want to get involved in, and a courtesy heads-up from the bank if a buyer is found. You should keep any personal heirlooms and irreplaceable items in a storage unit, in case the worst happens and you get bounced. You may have to move two or thee times in the year, but if you're living in a house like it's being staged for a Open House, you won't have too much to lug around with you.

You place an ad in Craigslist: "Professional couple, wife works at home, nice cars, no kids, and good furniture, is ready to occupy and safeguard your foreclosed properties. Leave reply at ...."

You got a better plan? If the Banks, the Media and UAW aren't too proud to beg why should you be too proud to provide a necessary and valuable service to your community?

What Life Does

(Click here to see my gallery.)

Starfish

This is what life does. It lets you walk up to the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a stiff knee. It lets you choose the way you have your eggs, your coffee. Then it sits a fisherman down beside you at the counter who says, Last night,the channel was full of starfish. And you wonder,is this a message, finally, or just another day?

Life lets you take the dog for a walk down to the pond, where whole generations of biological processes are boiling beneath the mud. Reeds speak to you of the natural world: they whisper, they sing. And herons pass by. Are you oldenough to appreciate the moment? Too old?
There is movement beneath the water, but it may be nothing. There may be nothing going on.

And then life suggests that you remember the
years you ran around, the years you developed
a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,
owned a chilly heart. Upon reflection, you are
genuinely surprised to find how quiet you have
become. And then life lets you go home to think
about all this. Which you do, for quite a long time.

Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one
who never had any conditions, the one who waited
you out. This is life's way of letting you know that
you are lucky. (It won't give you smart or brave,
so you'll have to settle for lucky.) Because you
were born at a good time. Because you were able
to listen when people spoke to you. Because you
stopped when you should have and started again.

So life lets you have a sandwich, and pie for your
late night dessert. (Pie for the dog, as well.) And
then life sends you back to bed, to dreamland,
while outside, the starfish drift through the channel,
with smiles on their starry faces as they head
out to deep water, to the far and boundless sea.
- Eleanor Lerman


Stolen from Whiskey River

"This Is Texas, By God."

The Trooper's Gal is making a stand.

Time to start speaking up in the small things, and Laura is taking up the mantle dropped by the Silent Majority.

Lest you think she finds her strength solely in her husband's line of work, you might want to read through her excellent archives.

Could I Love Sarah Palin More?

No, I don't think so:

h/t Young Americans.

It Goes Without Saying

...that a December sunburn hurts just as much as a July one. However, it was totally worth it. I'm afraid I'm getting used to the Slack as a way of life. Unless someone hurries up and hires me, I'll be forced to take pics like this all winter:

Rubber Boat Bailout - For Penguin!

Good for a Saturday smile and some sort of object lesson about perseverence, I'm sure. Either way, he's one lucky little guy:

Stolen from Last of the Few.

Posts I May or May Not Write

Separation of Church and State:

I KNOW it's not technically in the Constitution, but does anyone with a brain think that even matters anymore? It's another point the Left has won, and the smart move would be for Christians to use it as a weapon to fight back on Gay Marriage. Get the State out of the Sacraments of the Church, unless you want the tax collector giving Last Rites at your deathbed. ("Pay Up. Amen.") Public schools are already providing Confirmation and Baptism into the tenets of the Left, and Greenpeace and Algore are presiding over Holy Orders into the priesthood of Gaia. But seriously, the only reason we're not seeing a sensible solution to this is because of the political footing to be gained on both sides by being unreasonable.

How hard is this? Civil partnerships from the State and Marriage from the Church. Do the civil one for tax, insurance, and benefit purposes. Do the other from the dictates of your conscience in the eyes of your chosen Faith. Do one, both or neither and I could care less. If your chosen faith doesn't extend the sacrament of Marriage to you, sounds like it's your own problem, but it's the end of the argument. Marriage is none of the State's business. The Church instituted the rite and the word, and the State can get bent. People, even Mexico got this one right. C'mon.

P.S. note of caution to Jack Black: Maybe fat people voted for Prop 8, too. Can't be too careful with satire these days.

Obama's Long View: Anyone making small gurgling noises of measured approval for some of Obama's temporary Cabinet appointments is in for a rude surprise in about 5 years. The man is planning for a long haul and will fight his ideological battles in small increments. No need to spook the Right into action so soon; better to lull them back into complacency and give them reasons to doubt Sarah Palin's intelligence. No need to jerk the wheel to the Left while the bus is cruising on autopilot as you learn the finer points of gear-shifting. Bill Ayers learned quite young that direct opposition would not win his objectives, and after 35+ years he is seeing the fruits of his patience. Obama hasn't got Ayers' patience, but he is a man who understands the need for a long range planning.

Speaking of the Long View: please don't be offended, (and you will be anyway, but it's a serious question, not meant to belittle but make one think), but those of you planning on not having children for some sort of intellectual or financial reason, I have a question. Who is going to be taking care of you in your dotage? These girls? There is not enough money in the world to make someone love you and care about you when you're at your most socially helpless state. Just wait until your friendly government employees are charged with your well-being. There will be a health crisis in elder-care and we'll have a government push for euthanasia for all the unwanted elderly in nursing homes. Then, who next? [Caveat: I have no problem with anyone's personal choice in this area. None. They are not "second class citizens in my mind or thoughts. It's just the newer cultural agenda to make childlessness an elitist and "intellectual" choice that makes me question its short-sightedness. It's the ultimate non-sequitur.]

Emotional Flashers: This mostly applies to women who write for the NYT, women bloggers, and the Emo-kid male bloggers. The occasional glimpse into personal life or tragedy is fine. The mundane glories of day-to-day life. Fine. But if you're going to open that trenchcoat and challenge the world to accept you in all your dysfunctional glory, um... no, please. Personal drama, too many details, outrageous family conflict and bodily functions gone awry mean it's time to set your blogspot account to: by invitation only. I know, I know, our blog buddies become our friends and we tell our friends everything. Yes, I have total sympathy for my blog buddies and their issues, as I hope they do for mine. But there are some out there who are just doing it because they desperately want someone to tell them that furries are people, too.

I actually get complaints that folks can't piece together my life and relationships based on my blog posts. That I've shared as much as I have skeeves me out. I try to fiercely protect the privacy of my life, and find other interesting things to share. That's the writing challenge I face because Prince of Tides has nothing on my childhood experience and you've all read it or seen the movie by now. Why try to top Pat Conroy in my blog?

I am so going to catch all kinds of shit for saying this out loud. Bring it. "But I was helped to know that I wasn't alone!" Yeah, I'll grant you that, but this is 2008 and there should be some sort of Internet filter process where you can set your blog to, "yes, I want others to discover that they are not the only ones who were laughed at in school because of excessive sweating, and everyone else can just bugger off." Or at least set one's feed reader to filter out any blog posts containing words like, menstrual, bloating, prostate, piles, pus, acne, or Michelle Obama.

THE ONLY EXCEPTION TO THIS IS THAT YOU MUST MAKE IT HILARIOUSLY FUNNY. Like Christopher Titus funny. And even that is almost more than one can bear.

My first web blog experience was waaayyy back in 2000, having read about them as "new" and clicked on a supplied link to a gay priest's ponderings about whatever drama he was experiencing. It was truly exotic to the point of emotional voyeurism and I was drawn in and then repelled by the vicious responses to his posts. I learned very early that if you must share, make sure only your friends see it. Facebook was invented for this sort of thing, honest.

Saying that, if you see someone has slipped the surly bonds of sanity and has reached out to the vast Unknown Masses by way of blogging about their incestuous uncle or impotent husband or that time spent in jail, please, be a dear, and turn away quickly, or offer the phone number of a good counselor. Trust me, I have stories and revelations and secrets that would set your hair on fire to read about, but I'm fine with how I've moved through them onto healthier planes of existence.

But then, I don't watch Oprah. Who got her start, btw, in Chicago. As did Phil Donahue. As did Bill Ayers. As did Obama. Gah. No wonder we feel the need to share TMI. We've been raised on it.

The Forgotten Allure of Mystery: Young ladies searching for commitment, this is for you, as an extension of the above thought, and for every woman who has been in a long term relationship. Don't give everything away in the first five minutes, or even the first five years of your time together. Don't reveal everything, ever. It's a forgotten art among women, to keep a few PLEASANT surprises just around the next corner of your relationship. Not just physically, but in wise and joyful things, too. Sure, the Internet is full of fantastical competition for his lazier thoughts, but the constant and engaging doubt that he hasn't seen it all still drives him back to the keyboard. Never let him think he's seen it all.

My challenge is to make my blog like that.

Tour d' Blogues

I know. You only come here for pictures of my tootsies. Too bad. There are other things to consider out there in the vast wilds of the Internet:

Heart Attack in a Skillet. Even the Hog On Ice would have to bow to this recipe. After eating it, you'll need this.

Out of ideas? Just go here and scroll and scroll and scroll... All sorts of design concepts all in one place. What a concept!

Best story to come out of awful tragedy: Og has the details. Click and read if you do nothing else today. It'll warm the cockles of your heart just a bit.

Via Resurrection Song, I am now officially going to be busy the rest of the afternoon.

Later, kiddos. I'll be back with my long-awaited *cough!* post about Gay Marriage.

A Measure of Success