#262 - AnoelleB Has Questions!

AnoelleB of Burrhouse has questions regarding yesterday's boycott and "the whole 'Immigrant Debate.'"

I've largely avoided getting too wordy about this issue, since I, like so many others, know innumerable Latino aliens who are good, honest people. Knowing them and interacting with them makes it easy to somehow overlook the fact that they are (to use my sister's words) flouting the laws of this country.

She asks these questions with pointed looks towards her two older brothers, both of whom just happen to be members of the 101st Fighting KeyBees. With that challenge, I herewith present my Male Answer Syndrome-induced rejoinders:

First of all, what is it about the current legal procedure for immigration that makes it so difficult? Money? Resistance from their home governments? Takes too long? Is the process somehow otherwise really really difficult? Money doesn't make sense, because it seems many stories of illegal immigration involve giving your life savings - thousands of dollars - over to some creepy person who will smuggle you into the country if they don't kill you first. Government resistance would suggest that those government should then shut up about the way we're treating any immigrants. Or ask for them back. Or something. Does anybody know the process well enough to explain it to me?

'Fraid not. I don't really understand it all that well myself. I do know that the "process" (whatever that may be) is lengthy, tiresome, expensive, and requires some level of cooperation between governments. For that reason alone many choose to cross the borders without all the legal hassles.

Part Two of your question requires a little stroking of semantics. Don't confuse "government" with the politicians that administer them. In the case of Mexico, the "official" government position is to be tough on immigration. On a personal, political level, however, Vicente Fox is just fine with the idea that 12 million of his people are here illegally. There's a very practical reason for this: Mexico is the direct beneficiary of billions of US dollars annually. Many of those dollars come not from NAFTA or other commerce opportunities; they come from a significant portion of 12 million latinos who work here and send large portions of their income "home." I'm not saying that these people are in any way dishonorable. I'm just saying we ("we," he says) are sending Mexico a LOT of dollars. And the US dollar has always had way more clout than the peso, especially in Mexico.

Next question: Please tell me that there aren't really truly 1.1 million people who think they're entitled to free Status Change after having flouted the law (even if only just one) for however long they've been here. Is that really what they're rallying for? A total free ride? Or am I missing something? I really hope (and trust) I'm missing something.

Um... I believe the number is closer to the 12 million I mentioned above. And, yes, if they're in this country now - legally or otherwise - they believe they are "entitled" to citizenship. Read on:

How does making them all felons solve anything? Do we even have the resources to track down every illegal immigrant, round 'em up, imprison them and deport them? And is that really what this legislation is proposing? It seems nonsensical. Wouldn't it be cheaper - even just a little - to provide a second chance at going through the proper channels for citizenship? Again, I feel I'm missing something. Something huge. Stronger borders? How will that even work?

Was I really supposed to feel crushed by not having access to Mexican food for one day?

Heh. I know I didn't miss anything yesterday. If anything, I was enjoying "holiday light" conditions on the 22 freeway. On the other hand:

The "criminalizing" of these aliens (a redundancy, no?) will not solve anything. Let's assume, for example, that by some miracle this legislation gets pushed through. Suddenly we've officially labelled 12 million people as felons, subject to immediate deportation (or worse). There's just one catch. How on earth do you suddenly deport 12 million people? You don't. In fact, trusting that it will be business as usual, all of the agencies (including our own dear Deputy Dan) who deal with such things will continue to be overworked, and will only deport people that they catch in the commission of an actual crime (I mean, besides the crime of not being an American in America). In other words, changing their status from "illegal" to "felon" will effectively change nothing.

The only proviso that I would make in clearing a path for citizenship for these folks is that, now that they're here and want "citizenship," they must abide by ALL conditions of citizenship. This means becoming and defending the right to be "Americans." If they don't want to become Americans, they really shouldn't be sponging off of us.

As for stronger borders, I count myself as a strong proponent of them. The only problem is, we've only ever had lip service from our Washington bleaters who want to sound tough without torquing off their Latino voter base. It's a sad dance, and one that probably means that once we grant citizenship to this current batch of 12 million, another 24 million will push for their own chances to come north and make this country el Estado de Mexico Norte.

And the Lefties will be right there, egging them on; because, you know, we deserve it and all.

And then I guess the last of my questions (that I can think of right now, anyway) is this: How is it that it's the LEFT who are such major supporters of all these demonstrations? Aren't these the same people who think America's not worth fighting for? That we're such a crappy nation that we deserve to be attacked? Now they're telling all the world "we're so great you should come here and grab your measure of The American Dream. Free for the taking!" Or is it that they're hoping to grant voting privileges to the very grateful millions? Yeah, that makes sense, come to think of it.

Correct on both counts. It's actually not so much that they feel America is a crappy nation (don't you dare question their patriotism!) as that they propound the complete oppression of everyone but the rich by the Republican-empowered government. It's a complete load of hogwash, of course, (how many poor Democrat politicians do you know?) but they need a meme or their very existence is suspect. Does oppression of people occur in this country? Certainly. Is it the Republicans' fault? Just try to prove it. In fact, the more liberal factions of our country are nearly completely to blame for our societal self-destructive tendencies by preaching an irresponsible narcissism to increasingly gullible generations of young Americans. So, their tactic is to tear down the more character-building aspects of our society, preach oppression to impressionable voters and potential voters, then seal the deal by eliminating our constitutional form of government in favor of a "one world order." If they can accomplish that, then democracy and, more significantly, our republican (not "Republican") form of government is dead.

My bottom line: we should never allow anyone but legitimate voting citizens of this country to tell us how to govern our affairs.

Cam?

#261 - Most Significant Contribution of Yesterday's Boycott

Traffic in Orange County was a breeze.

Your Cranky Reviewer's Been Busy! Today, An Excoriation of Il Divo!

[This is cross-posted at my own blog.]

Take a close look:






You only think you're seeing four dapper gentlemen. In reality, what you're looking at are Il Divo, the four latest flag holders of the Celebration of the Death of Western Music.

A few months ago I wrote a lengthy review - well, more of an assassination, really - of Il Divo's Christmas album. I called it, "easily the most obnoxious, arrogant, infuriating Christmas album that has yet been produced," and, at least until "Il Divo's Further Violations of The Christ Child: The Christmas Album 2!" appears, I remain convinced of the correctness of my opinion.

Why do I dislike them so? I've spent, unfortunately, a lot of time thinking about this since every time an album has appeared (they're up to three. THREE!), said album gets played all day, every day, for a full freakin' month at the place of my employment. This gives me ample time and reason to muse on the subjects of taste, music, and personal artistic preference.

Let me say at the outset that I realize that mine is a minority opinion. Many people who are far more generous in their opinions than I am simply adore the music, and I can't hold my friends' opinions against them since I also know I like things like this . . .



. . . and this . . .



. . . and this (albeit not for musical reasons). . .



. . . that make my friends think that I'm either a mean-spirited bastage (for not liking Il Divo), or a complete fruitcake (for liking what I actually do like). And I'm cool with that. Having spent so much time mocking the personal musical preferences of others, I'm more than game to be mocked myself. I can listen to "Dancing Queen" several times in a row, fer pete's sake (it's that bass line!), so I'm aware that my taste ain't The Bomb.

But I will argue to my dying day that Il Divo sucks.

The question has come up, in these silent, angry conversations I have with myself (Lord, I hope they're silent) when I'm trying to stock the shelves of Barnes & Noble with literary crap while the music department insists on playing musical crap, "Now, just why is it I think they suck?"

It's hard to explain, but only because mine is a disorganized mind. Still, I'll do my best. Bear with me.

Imagine taking three famous poems. Let's say The Wasteland by T. S. Eliot:

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
(etc).

Shakespeare's Fair Is My Love:

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her;
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
(etc.)

and Sylvia Plath's Edge:

. . . She has folded

Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.

and then thinking that you could make a few bucks by just kind of repackaging them.

"Nobody's into this stuff anymore," you say. "Some bells and whistles, and maybe some fiddling with the arrangements, and I'll make millions!"

So you take all three poems and you work them up to sell to modern tastes. First you take Eliot and you change things a bit so that The Wasteland now reads:

[quietly] Roses are red. :(
[loudly] Violets are blue! :0
[quietly] Bah bah bah BAH bah ;)
[extra loudly] BAH BAH BAH BOO! >:0

And then you take Shakespeare's Fair Is My Love and come up with:

[quietly] Roses are red. :(
[loudly] Violets are blue! :0
[quietly] Bah bah bah BAH bah ;)
[extra loudly] BAH BAH BAH BOO! >:0

And, finally, you rework Plath's Edge so it becomes an easier to swallow:

[quietly] Roses are red. :(
[loudly] Violets are blue! :0
[quietly] Bah bah bah BAH bah ;)
[extra loudly] BAH BAH BAH BOO! >:0

And then, after having taken several disparate styles of poetry and making them all sound completely alike you add a mother[censored] drum machine, have the [bad word deleted] things recited by four good lookin' guys, making sure each guy gets to recite one line before having them all repeat the last line together in a ridiculous orgy of spleen- and bladder-exploding SOUND(!), and, finally, just to make sure it gets bought by every dumbass yahoo on the planet, you have these four guys do their [censored] [censored!] schtick on [REALLY CENSORED!] Oprah, who frankly has no critical faculty to speak of and who apparently loves everything she sees and hears.

That's kind of what everyone associated with Il Divo (and, by collusion, network television's very own Cthulhu: Oprah) does to classical music. And this horrific and unnecessary plastic surgery; this crass, criminal mutilation of otherwise beautiful music (um, in most cases - some of the songs are frankly helpless to begin with), is being helped along by people who should by freakin' golly know better.

Worse, it gets sold in amazingly large quantities.

Aw, hell, I tell myself. Andy Warhol is still called an "artist" in spite of all evidence to the contrary, so what do I know?

Apparently, I either I know too much or not enough.

But I'll say this again: Il Divo sucks.

#260 - 101st Fighting Keyboardists

I'm always an advocate of never taking one's self so seriously that we drown in our own bile. Those who have followed the Woundup over the past several months know that I am anything but serious. Seriously.

So when Ed Morrisey and others announced their intent to take some of the more curious "epithets" hurled at them (and other conservative bloggers) and turn them into a statement of intent for right-minded bloggers, I was all for it.

Consequently, I have asked to join the rolls of the 101st. Although I do not personally have the demeanor of a fighter, I like to think of myself as being firmly committed to the war on terror.

Those of us who don't fight in the theater of operations become easy targets of the snarkier breed of left-wing orators. We must be cowards, they opine, or merely hypocrites to state that we "support the troops" without daring to bloody our own hands. Or, worse, to send our youngsters to their seemingly inevitable deaths whilst saving our own sorry fannies here at home.

Hogwash.

The war on terror is a war fought on many fronts. Here at home the price of freedom is vigilance and awareness. We need to constantly remind our representative government that we do not accept complacence at home any more than we would tolerate it in the field. Sometimes, we need to remind our neighbors that the fight is real, even as they scoff against our foreign policies. They don't need the war, mind you, in order to scoff. They'd scoff anyway; simply because a Republican sits in the Oval Office, and it galls them.

We, of course, reserve the right to scoff if one of theirs ever makes it back to that office any time soon.

Fight on, KeyBees!

#259 - Madam, I Hope That Pig Paid Full Passage! (Updated)

Even for Airbus, this would have been a stretch.

The report had come out yesterday (that is to say, I heard about it yesterday, which probably means it's been out for a few days now), and was probably fueled in part by rising oil prices driving the demand for more mass transportation. I bought into it at first. I was even ready to help Airbus with their new ad campaign:

Airbus: Your Chicken Bus in the Sky

I don't see the "standing room only" concept ever really taking off with airlines; pun intended. For one thing, most folks would be awfully tired after taxiing on the runway for three hours before their 45 minute flight. For another, I can imagine the slight G-loads on takeoff being a bit much for even the average traveller.

As a Guatemalan chicken bus veteran, I can tell you that airlines got nuthin' on your average Guatemalan bus driver. (Note to liberal readers of this blog: these comments do NOT equal racism. These are recollections of one who was there - albeit 28 years ago - risking his life to spread the Gospel.)

Bus drivers in Guatemala typically drove in two styles: overcrowded and slow enough to be passed by Congress [rim shot], or overcrowded and fast enough to qualify at Daytona. The Daytona variety of driver was able to pull G-loads you only get in your average F-18 with afterburners. In fact, the Daytona drivers were generally responsible for sending the Congressional drivers to the bottom of various barrancos in our area.

So, even if Airbus were to offer standing room passage on their planes, I remain unimpressed. Now, when they begin strapping passengers on top of the plane with a basket of chickens fresh from the market, then I'll be impressed.

UPDATE:

Just in case you ever make it to Guatemala and you wish to experience, first hand, the thrills of the local bus routes, here's the list:

Congressional Drivers:

Rutas Momostecas - "Tacos" we called 'em. These buses were the slooooowest things moving in the country. They were regularly passed by diseased cattle, or Mayan women carrying 50 pounds of groceries on top of their heads. Passengers frequently got out and pushed to help the bus get there faster. This is the bus I rode on top of whenever there were too many chickens inside the bus.

Daytona Drivers:

Ruta Morelliana - Morelliana drivers were evaluated based on relative sanity. The more insane the driver, the longer the route he was given to drive. The idea was to get the passengers to Guatemala City in the shortest amount of time possible, preferably an hour before they departed from the other side of the country. Dirt roads were seen as acceleration ramps. The only times I've ever seen Mormon missionaries cross themselves were when they boarded a Morelliana during Semana Santa (Holy Week, preceding Easter Sunday), when the insane drivers also drink local moonshine by the gallon. We used to take this bus to a place called Cuatro Caminos ("Four Roads") in order to catch a slower bus into Quetzaltenango. If the driver thought he was behind schedule, he'd slow to sub-warp speed and eject us. Through a window, if necessary.

I have very fond memories of Guatemalan mass transit.

#258 - Drawing Dilbert Does Not a Philosopher Make

I have learned many things from Scott Adams over the years. I have learned that the company I work for has had moles reporting to Scott regularly over the last fifteen years. I have learned that Human Resources is every bit as evil as the Illuminati. And now I have learned never to look for religion in the comments section of a blog.

As a philosopher, Scott makes a decent cartoonist. I've noticed, having now read his books, that once you get past your own cynicism the books are no longer relevant. I had started reading his blog once upon a time, but it, too, has fallen into the irrelevant column. His recent posts on religion and prophets are really just symptomatic; Scott is looking for his next great crusade, since I suspect he now realizes that lampooning stupidity in the workplace isn't likely to survive into his own presumed retirement.

I still want to say I enjoy Dilbert, but so much of his material these days is recycled from earlier gags.

*sigh*

I've been with my company long enough now (22 years this month!) to understand that people give off very distinct signs that they should retire. They just have that "I really need to be put out to pasture" essence about them. Dilbert has begun to show his own pasturability of late, and I think it's time I cut him loose from my daily reads. He just isn't that funny anymore.

I just hope FoxTrot stays cool for a while longer.

#257 - Death to Universal Preschool!

Joanne Jacobs has the account of strange bedfellows on this issue.

Here's my bottom line: If you...

1. want to abdicate control over your child's education sooner,


2. like the idea of growing an already bloated educational bureaucracy,


3. wish to see an already understocked pool of teachers become more depleted, or


4. think anything that Rob Reiner supports actually works as designed,

...then, by all means, vote "Yes" for Proposition 82.

Otherwise, do us all a favor and shoot this one down before it wastes any more oxygen.

#256 - The Code is Cracked

Little Miss Attila now understands how political parties draft their platforms.

If you say it enough times, it will come true.

#255 - The Road to Educational H---

I haven't read much from Kimberly at Number 2 Pencil lately, although I am at a complete loss to tell you why. Kimberly does a wonderful job of pointing out the absurdities of modern American education, and her latest post is another sterling example.

The story regards an attempt to teach kids about the Holocaust by handing out stars to about half of the students. Those with stars were "Jews" who were then ostracized throughout the day by the rest of the students. At least, that's what I got out of the experiment, reading between the lines. One kid even went home, crying, and telling his father, "Daddy, I was a Jew today!"

These kinds of immersion experiments are nearly always well intentioned. In my day, it was the classic "kids with blue eyes are less intelligent" scenario, which always gave kids who happened to have blue eyes inferiority complexes for the rest of their natural lives. Either that, or humongous chips on their shoulders. I happen to be married to a very blue-eyed beauty, who also just happens to have both a Bachelor's and a Master's degree in education. I guess she ruins the whole curve thing, hm?

Anyway, I understand where the educators are coming from. It's an attempt to make something that happened long ago (especially from these kids' perspectives) "come alive" through a current application of the principles involved. In this case, extreme prejudice and race superiority.

My take? The "old Indian proverb" about walking in another man's moccasins requires another element which is unspoken, but absolutely necessary before making the attempt: one must first want to have that experience, or the whole lesson is lost. In this case, several kids were nearly traumatized by being forced to carry around a ridiculous star and having to pretend to be a down-trodden race. Add to this mix those kids who already feel down-trodden at school (I used to be one of those), and you have just inadvertently taught those kids to never willingly participate in another role-playing activity again. Ever.

According to the reporter covering the story, school principal Douglas Guthrie "admitted that he would do some things differently in the exercise because of complaints but said some kids got the message."

Some kids. But not all. Nor, apparently, did the educators in this case "get the message." The principal claims that, while sparking controversy, it also sparked conversation. "We have now heard from about a dozen parents (who are) very upset," he said.

I suspect those conversations had little to do with what a wonderful learning experience their kids had just had.

Cameron, humbled, thanks Barnes & Noble

You will recall that a couple of days ago I wrote a letter to Barnes & Noble. What you didn't know is that I actually sent that letter to Barnes & Noble. I wondered if anything would come of it, and lo:

You are absolutely correct. Under the Banner of Heaven should never have been included with the Easter display we are glad you took the time to bring this to our attention. It was an oversight on the buyers end, and we hope you accept our apologies. It is never our intention to insult our customers or our Booksellers.

There is a message that went out on BN.Inside today instructing the stores to remove the title from the Easter table and place it in Trade Paperback Favorites.

Cameron, thank you again for your email. If I can be of any assistance in the future, please do not hesitate to contact me directly.

My reply was:

Thank you, both for the response to my letter and for your actions regarding my complaint.

I frankly regret the tone of my letter: had I counted to ten first before clicking "send" I'd have made sure to soften it up a bit.

To be perfectly honest, right now I'm feeling very, very humble.

And that's always a good thing, ain't it?

Thank you again.

Cameron Wood
Store 2751

And I really do feel quite humble, since I know perfectly well that there was never any reason for me to be so dang persnickety in that letter.

That's always been my problem, especially as a blogger and correspondent: I don't wait long enough before publishing.

Non So Cranky Review at Way Off Bass UPDATED!

I'd normally post it here, but I use the "P" word. Also, I'm testing out my new template over there.

Okay - "P" word removed, poem fixed, and it is now family-friendly fare, I suppose.

Also, My Good Friday through Easter Poem Bonanza is up. Enjoy! It's becoming a yearly tradition.

#254 - Don't Forget the Gravy!

Via Dave Barry's blog comes this jewel. The basic scenario is this: You drive up to your favorite fast food drive through window, and talk, as usual, to the disembodied voice in the speaker. By the time you drive around to the window, your order is billed, and delivered to you as always. The twist is, the person with whom you spoke was nowhere near the restaurant at the time. He or she was in a call center somewhere near Los Angeles, processing your order and transmitting it electronically back to the burger flippers.

I can see where this might promote some efficiencies in the ordering of my fast food, but I have two concerns:

1. What do they do when the network goes down, as it inevitably will when I order a meal for my incredibly hungry family and the next fast food joint is another 35 miles down the freeway?

"I'm sorry, sir. We didn't get your order. The network is down."

"Well, can I just order it here and wait a few more minutes?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. We're not allowed to accept walk-ins in drive-through."

Yeah. I want some of that action.

2. You just know it's a matter of time before this call center idea becomes a prime candidate for outsourcing.

"Hello, and welcoming to the Jack of the Box. We are not knowing what this means, but we are wanting to takes your order, sir."

"Um, okay. How about a burger and fries?"

"Yes, sir. You are wanting a burka and flies. Will you be liking any sauces with that?"

Beyond the anticipation of dealing with a call center, there's the issue of multi-tasking. According to the article, this is supposed to improve accuracy by limiting the amount of multi-tasking the burger flippers have to deal with today. Oh, really? In my experience, most drive-through order takers still have to process the order and deal with the cash transaction whether they take the order or not. Probably the only real positive spin you could put on this concept is that the manager can no longer punish workers by making them take orders for drive through. "Okay, kid. You really fouled up that last order. I'm sending you to the Call Center!" "Great! Does that include air fare?"

Either way, I'll bet my local Jack in the Box will still get my orders wrong, whether they use this call center concept or not.

America. Always moving forward.

Woody and CCW, neck and neck!

Too bad I don't know how to get screen captures since this may never happen again. As of this typing, Way Off Bass and Woody's Woundup occupy rankings 3128 and 3129 respectively on TTLB's ranking system.

Cool.

'Night!

At 2:17 a.m. I find myself agreeing with a llama . . .

. . . and I don't even drink.

This particular ruminant, however, offers some wise advice to a new classical music blogger. Heck - he even quotes Peter Schikele (er, quoting Duke Ellington, that is), so that alone is worth the link.

My own enjoyment of classical music began at an early age. My parents, being musicians, always had the stuff around the house, and so classical and jazz music weren't any less normal-sounding to my ears than the rock and roll I was also listening to.

I'm inclined to think that if classical music were NOT a part of the household when I was growing up, if I had had to discover it on my own at a later age, that said new classical music blogger's approach would have scared me off precisely the way the magical llama blogger suggests could happen, and . . .

. . . the heck with it. I just like typing llama.

Llama!

Yipee!

Kinda makes me want to put a Monty Python DVD in, but I bet they get jokes about the Holy Grail ALL the time.

And, Bro, on an entirely unrelated subject, I think my blogging habits are getting such that I should re-open Way Off Bass. Whaddya think?

It's probably best, then, if I don't have kids.

At least as long as this bit of research pans out.

Of course, I'm inclined to think that the whole "bad parent" thing crosses the lines of ugly/beautiful. I work in a Barnes & Noble in one of the richest areas in Southern California. Based solely on my informal observations over the last 18 months I can say the following:

[1] Money and physical beauty seem to go hand in hand,

[2] Good-looking, rich parents are, at least in terms of parenting, completely, utterly retarded, capable only of raising loud, loping hordes of evil, illiterate monster-children who enjoy smearing poo on bathroom walls, reading the "Sex Position Of The Day" books like they were SAT study guides, and using $80 books as coasters in the cafe.

Bring on the ugly, I say. At least we less-than-beautiful people still understand the concept of public shame.

Well, except for Rosie O'Donnell, that is.

Lord help us, bro: in our middle age we're becoming disgruntled letter writers. Was it Dave Barry who wrote that geezerhood begins in the forties? Or was it the fifties? All I know is that suddenly I feel like yelling at the check out person at Vons that in MY day we only had 27 varieties of Crest toothpaste to choose from and we liked it that way, and don't you give me that look young lady!

#253 - Open Letter Season

If my brother can do it, so can I. This is my blog, doggone it, and I'll do whatever I doggone well please. In this case, it has become necessary to castigate - publicly - the executive leadership of two railroading concerns that I have admired and respected over the years. At least until I became a customer.

Open Letter

12 April 2006

Mr. David M. Laney, Esq., Chairman of the Board, National Railroad Passenger Corporation
Mr. David Hughes, Acting President and Chief Executive Officer, NRPC
(sent via the Amtrak Customer Advisory Committee)

Mr. Richard K. Davidson, Chairman, Union Pacific Corporation
Mr. James R. Young, President and Chief Executive Officer, UPC

Sirs:

We have recently booked passage on two of the "classic" trains that Amtrak has revived over the years, and that used to run across this land from coast to coast and from border to border. Last year we travelled on the Coast Starlight from Los Angeles to Vancouver, Washington and had marvellous time. There were the inevitable delays, of course, but nothing that couldn't be resolved by the time we had arrived at our destinations.

Most recently we booked passage on the Sunset Limited, which runs along the southern portions of the country from Los Angeles to New Orleans. It used to run to Orlando, but Katrina took care of that for the foreseeable future.

It was with high anticipation that we looked forward to this trip. We were to visit family in Texas and eagerly planned our travel accordingly. My two little girls were excited, remembering the adventures they shared on the Starlight last year. My wife and I look forward to train travel as a method of travelling in relative comfort, without having to drive for several days to achieve our destination.

Imagine our chagrin, then, to discover shortly before our vacation that the Sunset Limited has one of the absolute worst on-time records of any of the major routes managed by Amtrak. "Expect delays of between 5 and 12 hours," whispered one passenger's web site. Still, we had already paid for and received our tickets, and changes that close to travel time are punishing to the traveller.

Admittedly, the trip to San Antonio was not that bad. We were delayed only about an hour to the station, and were able to get transportation to our hotel with little difficulty. It was the return trip from San Antonio to Los Angeles that will live forever as a nightmare in my mind.

One thing that we learned quickly on board was that Union Pacific controls the mainlines on which the Sunset Limited runs. We know this because the well-rehearsed, long-suffering crew repeated this message at least twenty times over the course of our return trip. "It would be nice," confided one Attendant to me, "if we owned our own track. But that's just not the case. We're completely at UP's mercy."

He wasn't kidding. I counted fifteen distinct delays, at least three of which were for a half hour or more, while waiting for up to six freight trains to clear the tracks ahead. In total, our delay returning to Los Angeles was more than three hours. I cannot imagine, gentlemen, that you would ever tolerate delays of that kind when travelling, especially on business. We of course missed our connection to our home station in Fullerton, California, but there were other trains that were able to accomodate us.

I'm not one given, generally speaking, to fits of temper. But one thing I cannot tolerate, especially from a national corporation, is lame excuses. It is quite obvious to me that these delays are simply a fact of life on the Sunset route. So why on earth do you not merely adjust your published schedule to account for those possibilities (or, actually, likelihoods)? Had you informed me, either on your website or your printed route schedule, of these delays to begin with, we would have made arrangements accordingly, and not relied on a slim two hour layover in Los Angeles to cover delays on our return.

I freely admit that I had reached the end of my patience by the time we reached Palm Desert, and realized that we would not arrive in Los Angeles until a full hour after our connecting train left Union Station. The poor Attendant who gave us the 20th recitation of the "Union Pacific" excuse was lambasted, and your names, gentlemen, were subsequently taken in vain.

I calmed down by the time we reached Los Angeles, and apologized to that Attendant for the drubbing to which I had subjected him. But the damage is done. It will be only with long consideration and examination of numerous other options before I consider taking the Sunset Limited again.

Here, gentlemen, are the lessons I learned from this experience:

1. The Sunset Limited is nowhere near as grand a train as the Coast Starlight. Now, admittedly, this may have much to do with the lack of scenery during the daylight hours of this route. However, the lack of an Observation Car and, especially, a play area for smaller children, was keenly felt.

2. The crew of the Limited, while every bit as efficient as the crew of the Starlight, appears to be haggard and careworn much of the time. The veterans of that route are frankly tired of being the butt of every complaint against Amtrak and Union Pacific, frequently at the top of passengers' lungs.

3. The snack bar of the Limited was (there is no other way to say this) sad. Because coach passengers must pay even more ludicrous prices if they wish to avail themselves of the diner, the snack bar frequently runs out of selections by the morning of the second day of travel. In our particular case, we received sour milk with our cereal not once, but twice on this route. This is inexcusable.

4. This lesson, perhaps hardest to understand for you who sit in the executive suites, is the most vital of all: You two great institutions of American transportation need to do a better job of sharing those rails. I realize that your responsibility to your shareholders is tremendous, especially for Union Pacific. But whatever goodwill you earn from moving goods across the country is squandered every time you make a passenger sit on a track without movement of any kind for as long as we did. I am keenly aware that our three and a half hour delay was, by most veteran passengers' standards, a light sentence. I am still not impressed.

I suspect, gentlemen, that with your salaries, the concerns of middle and lower-middle class passengers are of no tremendous concern. You talk a good game when it comes to improving rail usage in this country, but I have seen absolutely no outward signs of process improvement where passenger travel is concerned. Were I to participate in 360 degree surveys of your performance, the four of you would not fare well.

I love railroading as my father and generations before him did. I love the power and majesty and, yes, the romance of huge metal conveyances criss-crossing this nation day and night. I am a frustrated model railroader who plans to indulge that passion when I retire. Please, gentlemen, don't make me swear off of railroading forever.

I suspect I would merely represent the tip of a Titanic-proportioned iceberg.

Woody
Anaheim, California

#252 - Little Bro Makes a Stand...

...most likely in the unemployment line.

Good on ya, Mate!

Open Letter To Barnes & Noble, from An Employee

I've been working at Barnes & Noble for roughly a year and a half now and I frankly enjoy it. My coworkers are good people, and I'm around books all day, which is why folks like me usually take jobs like this in the first place.

Occasionally, though, I see something that makes me raise my eyebrows, and, far more rarely, something that just plain irks me.

At the moment, consider me irked.

Now, let me first say that I fully support the B&N mission to sell pretty much anything that is printed on some form of paper and bound between two covers. We'll pimp anything in print, and chocolate besides - it's how we make money, and that's fine; I'm a capitalist, after all.

Let me also say that, in regards to books that may be found offensive by the adherents of certain religions, I recognize that Barnes & Noble has the right to not carry certain magazines that have cartoons that may be found offensive by rampaging muslims while at the same time carrying any number of books that are most certainly found offensive by religions that don't issue fatwas. It's a free market, and you have the safety of your employees to consider.

Let me also say right up front that I do not think you are currently carrrying anything in your inventory that I believe should be pulled out of your inventory, no longer to be sold by B&N. I don't believe it's possible to sell any book at all that couldn't be found offensive in some way by someone. I haven't met a person yet who didn't have a sore spot or two when it came to Things In Print. Try to appease everyone, and you'll soon end up selling nothing. I understand this point.

That being said . . .

I am irked about a certain book. I am not going to ask you to stop selling it - it's a big seller, after all - nor am I going to suggest that you're going to hell, or wherever, for carrying it at all.

The book is Jon Krakauer's Under the Banner of Heaven, reviewed here. It is not a happy or religiously inspirational book to read, certainly. The back cover alone, which describes the Mormon church as "Taliban-like", would be amusing in some other context. The book itself is less amusing, arguing that Mormons - all Mormons, and not just a few polygamist nutjobs - are potentially violent, perhaps murderously so, precisely because of our religion. (Yes, I am Mormon.)

Well, Krakauer is certainly free to have such a view and to write it, just as B&N is free to sell his book in an open market place.

What I want to know is, how did this book end up on two - count them, 2 - different displays on Barnes & Noble's display tables? And, in regards to at least one table, I'm talking about Store List books, books that some yahoo in a cubicle in Marketing at B&N's headquarters has decided need to be displayed on specific tables or endcaps in the store.

Under the Banner of Heaven appears on both the "Religion & Inspiration" table and, amazingly, the Easter table.

It boggles the mind. Unless I missed one, Krakauer's book is the ONLY negatively-themed book on BOTH tables. As it is frankly a sloppily-researched attack on a major religion, what is it doing on these displays?

I mean, Good Lord, at the very least I'd like to know how this book ended up on an Easter display, seeing as it has nothing to with discussing the Mormon POV of Christ's Resurrection? More tellingly, why isn't it being accompanied on the Religion & Inspiration table by equally ridiculous and offensive choices, such as "The Catholic Menace!" or "Those Damn Jews Ate My Baby!"

Just curious.

Cameron Wood
Store 2751

I am now officially a Published Poet (tm)

Bow down before me, mortals!

(And, Greetings, California Bear Flag League members!)

(And welcome, readers of Annika's Journal! Kick up your feet and relax a bit. My brother and I are turning into letter-writing geezers as we approach our dotage, so have a laugh or two at our expense. We're also getting senile, so we won't know what the heck you're snorkling about.)

Moorpark College's Moorpark Review has seen fit to print my sonnet So we are all of us abandoned Lears in their 2005 issue.

It's a weird little poem, since these days I'm not entirely sure I agree with it. I used it to finish off a paper I wrote about King Lear in 2001. Of course, the fact that I might not agree with it anymore doesn't mean I like it any less - I'm a poet, after all, and that means EGO (ErGO, I like my stuff). The professor, God bless his old-school soul, didn't mark me down for it even though he could have (ah - the freedom of lower division essays!).

Basically, I am pretty dang happy to see that one of my poems got the nod in the Moorpark Review.

Now the question is, how can I use this to leapfrog to fame and fortune?

And please - wait a day or two before crushing my dreams.

In the meantime, here's the Almost Absolute Finished Version of a poem I assaulted you with a few days ago. Any poem that can't survive violent revision didn't have much hope to begin with, is what I'm learning:

On the Morning of A Day Off, A Little Wind and Rain

An old, missed friend wakes me up, politely
Tapping my window with soft fingers,
Whispering the new stories she has learned.
And I’m all ears, warm under my blanket,
Sitting up with my back against the cool wall,
Listening, trying to find a rhythm
In her words, perpetually relieved
To never discern any noticeable pattern.
It would ruin the instance if I did;
Like hearing a drumbeat put to an aria.

There’s no sorrow, no worsted gray buttoned up
Over the colorful promise of her mysteries.
Beneath my closed eyes, her words become
An intimate canvas primed and waiting for
Some improvised brush of . . .
Life, she taps on my window. Laughter. Love.
Each flurry of words brings me
Closer to new than I have been in years.

My window’s open; she enters on the breeze.
Such a scent she brings, clean and real,
The scent wild things know after the snows melt,
And with her comes the lush green certainty
Of something taking root in me,
Like a seed pushed into readied earth by
Some wise old farmer in the North Forty,
And I imagine that when my friend and I
Meet again in the spring, in a rambling conversation
About wild sprouts and raucous blooms,
I’ll be glad then that I don’t now close my window
Just to avoid her random, friendly kisses.

It doesn’t rain enough in Southern California.

Cameron Wood '06

One of the best short essays on Hamlet you'll ever see

It makes sense, so you know it didn't come from some doofus at Harvard.

Interestingly, many professors of English Lit. absolutely LOVE Hamlet (see cavaet, below), the character, precisely because he's exactly the kind of antisocial knucklehead said professors wish they had the nerve to be. Not all - just most.

I keep telling people that Hamlet is easily Shakespeare's most evil character, but I've been a lone voice in the desert on this issue. After reading Gerard's post, I'll simply say in the future that Hamlet surely does represent the progressive party. The best thing is, folks who admire the obnoxious weed will never know they're being insulted, since those who like him tend to be liberal professors and their fawning students in the first place.

(Um, that is, I tell people my views on Hamlet in those extremely rare moments when the subject comes up. It's not like I'm running round Barnes & Noble grabbing people by their shirt fronts and yelling "Hamlet is evil! HAMLET IS EVIL!" although that would be pretty fun to do one day.)

#251 - Do You Feel Secure?

Michelle Malkin has been tirelessly dogging the Department of Homeland Security, pretty much since its inception (or, more appropriately, misconception), and once again tosses a few more logs on the bonfire.

This is where the business of big government consistently fails. It matters little which party is in power. Government seems to exist only for the purpose of creating more government. In this case, government has learned how to reproduce asexually by splitting off clones of itself in order to keep family members gainfully employed.

Shame on President Bush for not having more conviction and ethical grounding in the management of this Department. My company has had its fair share of ethics violations over the past few years, and the penalties have been severe. I might suggest that the same ethics watchdogs who pounded us into submission now be turned toward the DHS to give them a thorough scrubbing.

DHS: Don't Have Security.

Yet.

P.S. As for those charts toward the bottom of her post:

"Completions Per Hour" equals "Quotas" no matter how you couch it.

#250 - All I Can Say About Katie Couric...

...is, it couldn't happen to a more deserving network.

Take that any way you please.

I'm In VERY Good Company, Pt. II

Readers of Woodys Woundup would have no reason to know this, but I also had a thing or two to say about the poetry of Rosie O'Donnell (link includes a special bonus Jane Fonda screed!).

Once again, I am not alone here.

Since this is National Poetry Month, Annika Of The Above Link (who is also a nifty poet and poetry enthusiast, and who sent me a nifty mug because she liked a rather disgusting KISS haiku I did last year - sigh - why is it always my dirty stuff that wins the awards?) points us to The Sheila Variations which has plenty of poetry goodness, just sittin' there waiting to be read.

I don't know if I'm much of a poet, but I've certainly got all of a poet's necessary vanity, so naturally I feel obliged to point you towards a couple that I've done.

The Olive Pressed (heavy religious poem)

Reflections On Terror (heavy political/war poem)

I also had a brief fling with trying to be a poetry critic, but . . . uh . . . I just wasn't, you know, very good at it. I may let Ah-nuld return, but I need to learn lots, LOTS more first.

Well. With all that out of the way, I must point you in two other directions.

First, there is Philip Larkin, whose poetry has affected me more profoundly than any other poetry I've read, even though I don't usually agree with him. I consider him one of the finest craftsman. Period. Take, for example, his astonishing Church Going. I harder kick in the gut when it comes to discussing the death of religion at the personal level I haven't yet found. Don't just read it for the message, which is, I admit, bleak, but check it over for its form and rhyme. Clever, clever poetry, Mr. Larkin.

An entirely different kind of voice is found in Ted Kooser, current Poet Laureate of the United States, and whom I have only recently started reading. There is absolutely no fat whatsoever in Kooser's poems. Check out the artistry of Tattoo:

What once was meant to be a statement—
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart—is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories.

(from Delights & Shadows, Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend, WA 2004)

Oh, man, do I have things to learn.

I Am In VERY Good Company

You may remember my remarks concerning Jackson's King Kong.

You no longer have to take only my word for it.

#249 - Let Me Get This Straight... (Updated)

As ccwbass aptly points out, it suddenly is uncool to be American. Especially in America.

So far I've been able to stay on the perimeter of the debate surrounding this whole immigration bill debaucle. I'm not a particular fan of the legislation as proposed, and I hope it goes down in flames (figuratively speaking, of course). At the same time, I have a small bone to pick with the entire community of people who feel that disrupting life in this country is somehow justified by their opposition to this bill.

Here's the bottom line, folks. If you choose to live in this country, for whatever reason, you choose to become Americans. It's that simple. I know there's this whole "cultural identity" thing that sociologists want everyone to cling to, but we're not asking you to abandon your culture. If you really want to live in this country, what we're asking you to do is become Americans. At least if you choose to stay here.

Now, you can be Latino; you can be African; you can be Hindi or even Moslem. But if you want to be a citizen, that makes you an American by definition. If you don't want to be an American, or if you don't want to be identified as an American, then get used to the idea that you are temporary.

We make people who want to become citizens pass a test. We ask them a few relatively simple questions (unless, of course, you're a high school student in this country, in which case it's not so simple), then ask them to take an oath. We even encourage them to (gasp!) learn English. If you're not willing to do that, you are temporary.

Many of you have ancestors who sacrificed everything they had to live in this country and give people like you a chance at a better life. Perhaps the work they found was menial, but many of them felt that it was at least better than what they faced "back home." If you don't appreciate that sentiment, you are temporary.

If you are temporary and have decided to remain so, you really have no say in how this country is run. Only voters have that say and that right. Voters can only be citizens of this country. Period.

So, forgive those of us who had ancestors who decided to come to this country and make it their own. If they came a little late to the party, they at least decided at some point to cherish the freedoms that come with citizenship. They had trials, to be sure, and many of them faced unspeakable hardships in accepting this citizenship, but they still cherished it. The moment they decided to be permanent citizens, they adopted the moniker of "American." And they did so with pride. We, too, feel that pride.

Protest, if you must. Voice your displeasure, or stamp your feet and throw a tantrum. But don't for a moment expect me to be sympathetic if you decide that my patriotism is in any way inconvenient to you. That just defines you as temporary.

Or illegal.

UPDATE: Apparently we misinterpret their intent. I am less than convinced.

"Nobody gets upset with the Irish on St. Patrick's Day," said Gabriela Lemus, director of policy and legislation at the Washington, D.C.- based League of United Latin American Citizens, the group that organized most of the recent protests and is heading the dozens of marches and rallies scheduled across the nation Monday.

Yes, but the Irish aren't shutting down major commerce centers with their temper tantrums. Nor are they insulting the American flag on St. Paddy's Day.

Expressing your displeasure is one thing. Angering your "fellow citizens" isn't helping your cause.

America! . .

. . . Land of the DON'T YOU DARE DISPLAY THAT AMERICAN FLAG ON CAMPUS, YOUNG MAN!

Hugh's got the links.

#248 - The Debate Continues

Another round fired from the cannon. A new study has been released in the Journal of Neuroscience indicating that premature babies can, indeed, feel pain. For many years the argument has been that preemies (and, by extension, unborn babies) cannot truly feel pain and therefore are merely reflexively responding to stimuli. This study would seem to contradict that presumption, and gives the right to life argument some figurative teeth.

One of the worst falsehoods perpetuated by the abortionists has been that since a fetus is "incapable" of processing pain, abortion can be regarded as just another procedure. Something that (in their dogma) corrects a mistake without violating the sanctity of life. Pro-lifers have, on the other hand, always believed that this simply could not be true. Since scientists still have a hard time pinning down the precise moment at which pain processors develop in the fetus' brain, who's to say that they cannot feel pain, or at what point in the pregnancy it becomes painful for the victim to be subjected to such a procedure?

This new study would seem to sharpen that argument. For myself, I have always harbored the belief that these unborn children are far more aware than abortionists are willing to concede. When I was still ambitious enough to try to improve my mind, I took a creative writing class at a local college. For my term assignment, I wrote a report on pre-natal psychology, a discipline still lambasted by many psychologists today. Probably the liberal ones, would be my guess, although I have no imperical evidence of that.

These papers were subject to peer review, and I remember one gentleman in particular remarking that my paper sounded less like a creative writing assignment, and more like a doctoral thesis. That was a compliment, given that the assignment was to write a paper based on research, and I had given this one hours of my life. I learned that there were numerous instances of people having memories that had formed while still in the womb. People whose mothers had sung a particular melody while pregnant, and who hadn't sung it after the baby was born. The person then hears that melody in another context and it sounds familiar. It's only when describing the melody to their mother that the mystery is resolved. I was (and still am) fascinated by this premise. Whether or not people choose to accept it as real science, I think this new study helps to support the notion.

Now, I don't for a moment believe that this new argument will sway the abortionists one whit. Their rationalizations are too firmly rooted in societal norms to be easily swayed by a mere study. In fact, I predict (this is a sucker's bet, I realize) that the nay-sayers will quickly talk down this study and argue against every point it makes. This is, after all, what government grants are all about. Still, I find it encouraging that even in this "enlightened" twenty-first century, scientists can still verify - even without intending to - that God really does know what he's doing.

If, in the meantime, this kind of study makes just one woman waver in her decision to get an abortion, it will have been worth it. We need to be far more conscientious about this decision than the pro-choice executioners would have us be. We need to understand that deciding to end a pregnancy does not correct a mistake. It ends a life. This is not a convicted felon who deserves to die for his or her misdeed. This is an innocent child who is as yet incapable of committing sin*.

God understands that. And he is not pleased.

* I realize that there are and will be times when an abortion may be necessary, especially in preserving the life of the mother. I'm just saying that such should be our moral compass that even to consider such a thing would be personally abhorrent and only undertaken under such an extreme condition.

Proof That I'm Bi-Polar!

Or maybe the rain just brings out wild mood swings. In any case, both this and the previous were written today. Go figure.

Pushed politely along by a breeze, rain
Touches against the window in
Light taps, like a friend
Discretely whispering for attention.

My bed is below the window.
I’m still and warm under the blanket,
Sitting up against the cool wall,
Eyes closed: listening;
Trying to find a rhythm, happy to
Never discern one.

It would ruin the instance
If I did;
Like hearing a drum beat
Put to an aria.

The gentle chaos is
Soothing, inviting,
Not gray or melancholy;
Rather, it’s a private canvas
Primed and waiting for
Improvised brushstrokes of
Color.

Each flurry of taps brings me
Out of myself, back
Down to earth,
And closer to new, to now, than I have
Been in years.

My window is open enough
To catch the breeze,
The smell of rain, the sense
Of something rooting within me,
Set and covered like a seed
Pushed into soft earth by
Some old farmer
In the North Forty
And that will shamelessly bloom in spring
With raucous laughter
And wild sprouts.

It doesn’t rain enough
In California.


Cameron Wood, April 04, 2006

That's all - I'm puttin' away the pen for a bit.

Thank God I Only Get Like This Every Now And Again

On The Temptation Towards Self Pity
(I'm always in a better mood after having vented like this)

One burns for every insult done to me.
One burns for every insult from my mouth.
One burns for every memory I see:
Regrets that stretch to middle-age from youth.

My candles bleed the very thing they eat;
So, life and passion drip throughout each day.
So grows the waxen ocean at my feet
Of candles spent to keep the Light at bay.

There are no shadows but the ones I’ve made
By every candle raised to tower height:
For every tower, a corresponding shade,
(Thus, for my warmth, I need each tiny light).

And I should snuff them, each and every one:
Just up and blow each wick to kill the flame,
And give the flickering shadows to the Sun,
To melt the silly “pity me’s” of blame.

But hardened wax has glued me to my place,
And I find comfort, fastened to this sea:
The comfort of my old familiar face
That burns in every candle that I see.

Which Idea Requires Greater Faith?

The Bible's Account of Jesus walking on water, or this one?

UPDATE: More at American DIgest. I know I link Gerard too much; he's right over there on the link bar, fer pete's sake, but I'm just so astonished to have beaten him to a story. Of course, he actually had something to SAY about it, whereas my post was . . . uh . . . you know . . .

[rereads actual 11-word post]

Never mind.

Woody appends:

Nifty take-down, Gerard! Rock on!

Gerard Van Der Leun: He's A Sneaky Devil

I've been away from the blogs for a few days, and that's too bad since it would have been nice to have read Gerard's parody of (or impersonation of) Borders Books' CEO Gregory Josefwicz the day it was posted.

As an employee of a similar company - Barnes & Noble - I read it with more than the usual amount of interest. Gerard makes excellent points, frankly, but the real fun is in the comments sections, both at American Digest and Little Green Footballs.

I have to admit - and you can say this stems from cowardice if you want to - that the notion that some blog-addicted yahoo (and there seem to be more then a few) would be willing to picket and/or boycott an American bookstore because its boss might refuse to put its tens of thousands of employees even theoretically in the path of rampaging, bloodthirsty islamist freakazoids seems, well, it just irks me somethin' fierce. The guys at the Jawa Report may be aching for a fatwa, but I'm not.

Anyway, if you simply MUST boycott the large chains, do it because they insist on keeping on Hunter S. Thompson in the "Current Events" section without even the tiniest bit of irony.

And also because when I have to help someone find a book by Noam Chomsky, I have to pretend I'm happy to be doing so.

#247 - Happy Is as Happy Does

My, oh my. What an interesting report. Pew Research Center has published a report titled "Are We Happy Yet?" that purports to gauge how Americans are feeling these days. If I may skip briefly to the bottom line, I find most interesting the idea that nearly 84% of all Americans, based on the sampling, report themselves to be "Pretty happy" or better. In fact, 50% said "Pretty happy," while 34% indicated that they were "Very happy."

That 84% figure becomes significant in an election year because, according to liberal doctrine, a majority of Americans are required to be pretty miserable so long as a Republican sits in office. (Any office, by the way... it's certainly not limited to the White House. All campaigns down to Municipal Dog Catcher are based on the premise that constituents must be miserable. Why else would anyone run?)

Oddly enough (and of great concern to Democrats, I'm sure) is the idea that of those in the "Very happy" category, 45% were Republican, while 30% were Democrats. (The fact that 29% were reported as being "Independent" points out a slight mathematical, um, irregularity of 104%, but I'm sure there must be a rounding error in there somewhere. We programmers love rounding errors.) The report even makes the case that this happiness advantage really has little to do with who is in power. The numbers, according to Pew, have remained more or less consistent since 1972. This means they've had two Democratic administrations in which to get happier than the Republicans, but have yet to overtake them.

I'm not entirely certain why Pew chose to concentrate primarily on the "Very happy" category. Some might think that "Pretty happy" wasn't bad. "Pretty happy" might seem to indicate that things are under control, at least. It acknowledges that life may be a constant struggle, but that we can derive happiness even when circumstances seem to conspire otherwise. If you were to catch me off guard and ask the question, I might be inclined to say "pretty happy" as opposed to "very happy," but I would also tell you that "pretty happy" also means "quite satisfied." And it would be true. I am, on the whole, satisfied with my life, even as I realize that things could be better. My wife and I, for example, could be healthier than we are today. On the other hand, I think it improbable that we could possibly be any happier together as a couple. That, for me, is the definition of satisfaction. I'm pretty happy, and life is good.

Now, it could be, I suppose, that I'm merely delusional. Perhaps I'm choosing to overlook all the tribulation and sickness in the world today. But I doubt it. I worry constantly about such things. I'm always worried about our ongoing war in Iraq, and the war on terror in general. I see no real end to it in the near future, and, yes, I wonder whether Iraq has become the quagmire our opponents claim it has already become. But I am comfortable with the idea that combating terror is our current Cold War. It probably won't end in the next decade. My girls may very well become adults with the understanding that Islamic extremism has become their communism. I worry, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy. Perhaps it's because I refuse to feel guilty for every wrong found in the world today. Democrats, on the whole, don't have that ability. Maybe that's why they're so unhappy. Maybe they're so busy trying to ascribe blame for every evil in the world that they don't have time to enjoy the lives that are their gift from God. Who needs that kind of life?

The Pew report, taken at face value, seems to offer some sort of formula for those who wish to achieve "Very happy" status in this life. In no particular order, these are the attributes of a very happy person:

• Be a Republican


• Attend church weekly or more


• Be married (Woody's enjoinder: It helps to be married to your best friend!)


• Have money. The happier ones earn $100K or more. I guess I'm still satisfied with "Pretty happy."


• Health and education count. Health may be obvious, but "education" is less so, in my mind. I don't have a graduate degree. However, I am constantly expanding my personal knowledge. I think that counts.

Taken as a package, I find the report to be a nice vindication of the life I lead. I am a happily married, church-going Republican with enough money to meet our needs. Does it matter to me that I am more or less happy than anyone else? No, not really. I gave up on comparing my life with anyone else's just about the time I hooked up with Mrs. Woody. We're so busy building our happiness together that I guess I just don't have time to worry about the comparisons.

Happy as charged.

#246 - Funny...

...because it's true.

#245 - Sound Bite Politics

Desperation runs deep in the ranks of the politically unhinged. Believe it or not, I can understand their frustrations. It's the same sense of dark foreboding I always felt whenever a Democrat was in control of the White House, whether that was Jimmy Carter (the first one I was old enough to be scared of) or Billy-Bob Clinton. There was always that underlying sense that the liberals were selling the country into slavery, and it seems they're still on that warpath.

Just a recent sampling from Drudge should be enough to illustrate the point.

Let's start with everyone's favorite sore loser, Al Gore. Gore is still chafing from having had the election taken away from him by the manufacturers of the ballots used in Palm Beach, Florida. And why, exactly, would the country be better off today, Mr. Gore?

"How many times have we listened to the current administration and in (state and national Republican offices), and after a few years, we wake up and say that what they have been telling us is completely wrong," Gore said. "I'm not calling it a lie," but a "false impression."

During the Clinton administration, Gore and the president got regular bulletins about potential terrorist attacks, resulting in a sort of "fire-drill," a soul-searching approach to learn "what else can we do? What are our sources? And make sure we're prepared," he said.

Does that mean, Al, that you and Billy-Bob had a plan to thwart the 9/11 attacks? Did you, perchance, share that plan with anyone? I mean, anyone who wasn't your official biographer?

I didn't think so. Must've been a false impression.

If Palm Beach was Gore's Waterloo, then Ohio certainly qualifies as the state that robbed John Seared Kerry of his chances to lead us into a glorious hedonism. His take on why he lost in 2004:

Kerry said that he had exceeded his goals in every precinct of America in the last election. “That means we have to set bigger goals,” Kerry said, stressing the need for the Democrats to gain control of one of the Houses of Congress.

Bueno. I understand now. "President of the United States" isn't as big a goal as "bloodless coup of one or more houses of Congress." Thanks for clearing that up for me.

Finally, we have a Hollywood A-lister who's been eating his Wheaties. George Clooney tells the stories no one else cares about. Except other Hollywood liberals, that is. Still, his successes of late have fueled his intense desire to run the country, much as it did for Rob Reiner a decade or so ago. Hit it, George!

"It's not merely our right to question our government, it's our duty. Whatever the consequences," he lectures.

"We can't demand freedom of speech, then turn around and say, 'But please don't say bad things about us.' You gotta be a grownup and take your hits."

The actor vents frustration that "liberal" has become a dirty word. "Too many people run away from the label. They whisper it like you'd whisper, 'I'm a Nazi.'"

But as for Clooney, "I am a liberal. Fire away," he taunts.

Yes, George, yes... you're absolutely right about questioning our government. And I do, really. I take nothing for granted, no matter who happens to sit in the Oval Office. But - and here's the beautiful thing about the First Amendment, George - I also have the right and the duty to question our Hollywood luminaries. So the question, George, becomes, "What have you, personally, done to foster and encourage a constructive dialog between the opposing sides of these thorny issues, George?" I've heard a lot of invective coming from your side of the argument, George, but not many practical solutions. "War is bad, even stupid," you say. Sure, I can get behind that. I happen to agree. But what practical solution do you offer for ending it? Bring the troops home? Simple as that? And what will we do when the next 9/11 attack occurs on our soil, George? What will Hollywood do then?

Complain, would be my guess.

Well, liberals Clooneys, you know the solution, don't you? If you really want to run the country (I mean, more than you already do), put together a coherent argument and sell it to the voters.

Simple as that.

#244 - Our Point

This is precisely why our church relies on continuing revelation.

Just sayin'.

#243 - Woody's Oscar Live-Blogging - UPDATED

Huh? The Oscars are tonight?

Nuts.

Wonder what's on PBS...?

UPDATE: 60 channels. 59 reruns. 1 exercise in gratuitous self-congratulation. Time for a DVD.

#242 - How Does One Eulogize Someone Who Ain't Dead Yet?

(H/T: Drudge)

Art Buchwald is, according to this report, refusing kidney dialysis. He chooses instead to face death on his own terms, having no idea what awaits him. He feels this is a natural way to go, and continues joking with friends and colleagues. He feels, truth be told, no different even after a month without the procedure that's supposed to save his life.

This is vintage Buchwald.

I suppose that, in at least one way, it's ironic that Buchwald has always been one of my favorite columnists. I first became acquainted with his prolific wit in the closing days of the Nixon administration, where Tricky Dicky was one of Buchwald's favorite dart boards. Since I didn't realize just how conservative I truly was until well into adulthood, I had no idea that I was supposed to disagree with his Kennedy-esque perspectives. I just enjoyed the well-sharpened barbs he threw into the politicians, public figures, and hypocrites that are rife in today's world.

Art Buchwald is, let's face it, one of the reasons why I first began to write for a hobby. He, along with Erma Bombeck and, later, Dave Barry, are also the primary reasons I choose to write humor. I have always appreciated their abilities to turn politics and societal anomalies into fodder for gut-busting laughter. I can only aspire to follow weakly in their footsteps.

So, if Art truly has one foot in the grave, God bless him. I can only pray that his slide into home plate is a smooth one.

#241 - This Whole UAE Ports Thingie...

I have to admit that, politically, I am completely neutral on this Portgate issue. So they're from the UAE. So what? I have no idea from which country the owners of our local convenience stores hail, but I can guarantee you that most of them are ESL types, if you get my drift. Even my local Subway has taken on a decidedly Middle Eastern atmosphere this past year. I have no problem patronizing their businesses because they seem like genuinely nice people, and I really don't think they're going to hide an IED in my cold cut special.

I think the President's largest problem here is that the entire affair smacks of just the sort of secrecy for which the Democrats continually accuse him. Did it never once occur to this administration, after four years of post-9/11 sensitivities, that folks might just get the wrong impression about this deal?

Even President Bush knows that, in politics, perception is reality where the voters are concerned. Now, granted, Bush will not be running for office in 2008, but I can't see him being terribly excited about handing the Oval Office over to the Dems simply because he forgot this simple truth.

For as much as the administration attempts to convince everyone that this is not a matter of [trumpet fanfare: ] National Security, they seem genuinely surprised that normal citizens seem to perceive it as precisely that. But, hey, it's been more than four years. We haven't gone above "Yellow" alert for, what, months now. How could we possibly be squeamish about turning six major ports over to a country that recognized the Taliban as a legitimate government?

Well, Mr. President, I'm sure this whole thing will (if you'll pardon the phrase) blow over soon. In the meantime, [fanfare again: ] National Security or not, you might just want to consider opening a dialog with your constituents. Might save you some trouble later on.

Sheesh.

#240 - Of Relative Morality and Michael Morales

So let's make sure we all have our priorities screwed on tightly, shall we?

Michael Morales was scheduled to die by lethal injection at San Quentin prison this past Tuesday. He was convicted of an extremely brutal torture killing and has been on Death Row for twenty five years, if I have the basic facts correct. At the last minute, Morales' lawyers were able to push a "cruel and unusual" defense in front of the courts by claiming that the California lethal injection process does not guarantee that the prisoner is completely unconscious when the "cocktail" is administered. Most unfortunately, a federal judge agreed and the whole thing has now been postponed "indefinitely."

Oh, we tried. We really did. We (being the state) agreed to bring in two anaesthesiologists to ensure that poor Mr. Morales was completely knocked out before we killed him. Sure, he may have been guilty of a heinous crime that will affect the family and neighbors of the victim for years to come, but that's no reason why we shouldn't respect his right to die with dignity. Irony is never pretty.

Then, before that attempt to turn Mr. Morales into worm chow could take place, the anaesthesiologists refused to participate, claiming that such work would violate their ethical adherence to the Hippocratic Oath. (As one family member of the victim put it this morning: the "hippocratical oath." I'm not altogether certain that was a malaprop.) The family and, indeed, the entire community of Lodi are furious and hurt by this nonsensical legal posturing. The local talking-head news radio station here in Los Angeles interviewed one of the lawyers for Tookie Williams. He went so far as to claim that Morales' attornies performed a "rather brilliant piece of lawyering, and should be commended." I think I stepped in a piece of lawyering like that a while back, and had to throw those shoes away.

As infuriating as this spectacle is, I read this morning (H/T: Fetching Jen) of an even more ironic coincidence that took place in New Orleans subsequent to Hurricane Katrina. There are allegations that doctors - no doubt out of concern that their patients would "suffer needlessly" - euthanized some patients in the immediate aftermath of the hurricane. None of this is by any means official, of course, and the information is still sketchy. National Public Radio is on the case and says the details of the investigation thus far are pretty harrowing. Some doctors, apparently, fled the hospital rather than go through with it. But it still may have happened.

So this got me to thinking. Since we seem to have suddenly become squeamish about making Saint Victim Morales the latest to suffer far less than his own victim, why not work out a barter arrangement with the staff of Memorial Medical Center in New Orleans? We send them our highly ethical anaethesiologists to prevent the euthanizing of patients whose most violent acts probably related to toe-nail clippers, and they send us their Kevorkian specialists to help us take care of Morales.

Then sit me down and explain to me why ours seems to be the screwiest society on the face of the earth.

#239 - That Pesky Government Changed the Calendar Again! (UPDATED)

It's Tax Season here in the Untied States. Admittedly, I am one of few who actually look forward to this time of year because it's my opportunity to ask Uncle Sam to give me back the money he's been so carefully safeguarding throughout this past year. I always wonder whether I should charge interest, but, darn it, I just can't bring myself to ask. He's so doggone likeable, and I'm sure that if I asked he'd even be willing to put me up for a few weeks' visit to his chateau at Guantanamo. I hear his staff's to die for.

Anyway, we e-filed again this year, and were notified by the bank that processes e-filed refunds that they expected our refund to arrive on the 24th of this month. The state, of course, being completely intimidated by a naturalized Austrian who keeps flexing his muscles in a threatening way, funded us a week ago.

So, since I wasn't expecting to hear anything before tomorrow, imagine my surprise to receive an email from the receiving bank this morning. At 12:30 in the morning. I, you may understand, was not awake when this email arrived.

Anyway, the second paragraph of this email reads:

We expected to receive your IRS refund on 02/24/2006. Since we only receive IRS deposits once a week, the next opportunity for us to receive your refund is one week past the expected funding date shown above. We will not have any additional information until that time.

I always appreciate an opportunity to communicate with members of the third oldest profession, especially when they give me a link in their email, and a Super Secret Code Reference Number known only to me, them, and every junior grade hacker in ninety seven countries including Easter Island. Herewith find my response (yes, I actually sent it):

Dear Sirs,

I appreciate your prompt notification of the delay in receiving our refund. I am gratified to note that the banking industry is definitely keeping pace with the latest technological advances. It is particularly noteworthy to see that you have somehow developed the ability to see at least twenty four hours into the future to determine that you already have missed receipt of a refund that wasn't scheduled to be received until tomorrow (assuming we're using the same calendar).

I applaud the industry for developing this ability that used to be limited to quack psychics and the federal government. I always find tax season to be particularly amusing, and you have helped to further propagate this tradition.

Sincerely,

Another Satisfied Customer

I'll let you know how the service is at my hotel in Guantanamo.

UPDATE: Well, this explains the technology...

Sir,

The IRS notifies us on Tuesday or Wednesday, which refunds they will actually be funding for the week. This is how we know that your money will either be available or not available. The IRS had advised us on Wednesday that they had funded all the refunds for the week. Your refund was not included. This is why you received an e-mail advising you that your refund was delayed by the IRS.
However, the IRS made a second deposit on Thursday morning, this after they had advised us your refund would not be available for this week. Your refund was in that second deposit and we are sending your refund to you, minus the fees via direct deposit. Expect your refund in your account within 1-2 business days.

So, they don't really have a time machine in the banking industry. Oh, well. Perhaps now they can focus on getting a sense of humor inste...

Nah. Some dreams are just too far-fetched.

We needed a new post.

Anyone else tired of seeing the same old post every time you log in?

Yeah.

Me, too.

So.

How 'bout that Superbowl?

Uhh . . . lessee . . . content. Need content.

Hm.

AH!

FEAR vs. DOOM 3!

FEAR, man. Absolutely. FEAR had me jumping in actual fear where Doom 3 merely had me cursing in annoyance and yawning in boredom.

[pause]

Eh. I got nuthin'.

Woody's Lament:

Dude! A little warning, next time? I think I broke my nose on the keyboard when I fell asleep.

DNA and the Book of Mormon

I, for one, can't wait to read the transcript of Hugh's interview with the author what sounds like the LA Times' latest inability to understand what "Mormon" doctrine actually encompasses. It is, sadly, a surprise to some Mormons who have only given it casual thought to realize that the Book of Mormon does not anywhere claim to be THE history of ALL the Americas. I myself am quite impressed with John L. Sorenson's studies and many defenses of said studies on the subject (he keeps Book of Mormon history limited to a small portion of Central America), and unless something better comes along, I'll subscribe to it quite happily - just not as official doctrine.

It may seem like a weird topic for Hugh to cover, but

[1] Hugh has a sizeable Mormon audience,

[2] Remember that Hugh was a friend of the late, great Elder Maxwell (get a copy of Hewitt's "Searching for God in America" if you can find one), and,

[3] I've always enjoyed Hugh's takedown of mainstream media's snide anti-Mormonism during the Utah Winter Olympics.

Wish I'd heard it, but ah wuz workin'.

Woody's Two Cents:

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Truly nothing new under the sun, it seems: Mr. Lobdell trots out the same old tired arguments, clothed in relatively new "controversies." Speaking personally, my faith hasn't been this shaken since I discovered that I had to develop my own testimony instead of relying on Mom's.

Also, the idea that interviewing a few disaffected former members constitutes a major shakeup of our faith is ludricous. As I recall, reports of the demise of the Episcopal church over the election of gay bishops have been premature, too. (Mine among them.)

Oh, and I always enjoy the need to get "expert" opinions from those who study religion in general, but have absolutely no idea what our church really represents. Or why.

Time to get a real job, Mr. Lobdell. You've run out of fresh material.

Final note from CCWBASS:

Eh. Gotta agree with Woody: that was dullsville.

But it was also annoying. Lobdell's whole story depends on this statement being true:

And the traditional interpretation was that they populated the entire North, Central and South American continents.

Oh, what strawmen can be fashioned from the phrase "traditional interpretation" . . .

And this sentence really bugs me:

And so they're slowly, they slowly appear to be shifting from the American...all the natives of the Americas were descendents of this Hebrew tribe to this fresher interpretation.

Slowly? The limited geography theory (John Sorenson's work, essentially) has been king o' the mountain since the early 80's. The shift - however one defines it - happened. It is not happening. It is old news. It was old news 20 years before Lobdell wrote the story.

I demand we get a new shill, as Lobdell has clearly forgotten how to please our masters: The Sacred Council of Four of the Great Alkali Plain! Onward, Merona!

No . . . wait. Sorry 'bout that, folks. I'm kind of reaching a point where I find it more and more difficult to differentiate between sloppy journalism and A. Conan Doyle's "A Study in Scarlet," hence, the confusion.

Won't happen again (this morning), I assure you. ;)

#238 - When Is It a Good Thing...

...to not get a lot of attention in the blogosphere?

When you might otherwise become the target of yet another Jihad.

Yeesh.

I'm still looking for a lucid discussion of why this so-called "cycle of violence" is all because we as a nation have responded to the 9/11 attacks. Have the "cycle" apologists completely forgotten that we were targeted long before 9/11 ever happened? Do they dismiss all evidences that the violence will continue whether we appease al-Qaeda or not?

We could withdraw completely from Iraq and Afghanistan tomorrow, close our borders and never leave home again, and the terrorists would still target our nation because we are capitalist infidels and therefore must die.

It's really as simple as that, but only to those who pay attention to history.

Your Cranky Review: Barry Manilow - Contrast & Compare

No, I didn't purchase Manilow's best-selling album, but I have been listening to it at work, and I've heard, if I may be so bold as to suggest such a thing, enough.

First, please allow me to offer a comparison in the form of one Jim Nabors.

COMPARISON

Didja ever listen closely to the way Nabors sings? Oh, not the way he hits his pitches and holds notes, but rather the way he forms words when he sings? I mean, listen real close when you get a chance. None of you? Well, great. Let's approach this from another angle.

Didja ever listen to some guy with a broad Bronx accent say the word "Way," or even "Why"?

If one were to record the speaking of said word and then play it back really, really slowly, the word word break down something like this:

"oooooooWWWWWWWaaaaiiiiiiii." It would sound the same for either word, and you know it. When you really start listening to the "oooooooWWWWWWW" closely enough, you discover that this way of speaking isn't limited to word that begin with "W," but, rather, the mouth forms that unfortunate consonant+vowel combination FOR EVERY WORD! It's as if the speaker's mouth is permanently puckered.

THAT's the accent I'm talking about, and Jim Nabors sings like that on almost track I've ever heard. It's just the weirdest darn thing, don't ya think?

Anyway, as I was listening to Barry Manilow, I thought, "You now, Manilow has more than a touch of Jim Nabors in his voice."

CONTRAST

That being said, however, I must say that in contrast to the horrific histrionics that makes such a mockery of music on every track of an Il Divo record, Manilow sounds by-gosh excellent.

Taken in its own, it ain't a bad record, save that I'm highly sensitive to the way Manilow sometimes forms his words when he sings, but that's a miniscule complaint, and I'm probably one of only a few cranky jerks who'd notice such a thing.

Overall, Manilow's record is harmless. Two stars, or whatever.

This is your Cranky Reviewer, signing off.

#237 - Headaches of Olympic Proportion (UPDATED)

So the Olympics are upon us once again. I tend to enjoy the winter games more than the summer variety for a number of reasons: the pace is quicker, I love snow and ice, and I can't wait to see who's gonna get wiped out in Short Track.

Unfortunately, with the return of the Olympics we also herald the return of Olympic advertising.

Olympic advertising is somewhat akin to Super Bowl advertising, but with more emphasis on international diversity and less on beer. Not that this is a bad thing. It used to be that the Olympics engendered a somewhat higher class of advertising than you might otherwise see during, say, the World Series. But no longer. Now they just seem to throw out their latest advertising campaigns to coincide with the Opening Ceremony, then bombard us with the same doggone commercials every 5 to 10 minutes. (NBC officials may wish to disagree with me. They may think that they're providing much more coverage than I am crediting them. My feeling is that when they quote "coverage" times, they should exclude all the face time that Costas, Lampley, and Jimmy Whatsisname who does the "Olympic Moments" nonsense receive. In fact, I invite NBC officials to come to my house. I will help them understand the frustration.)

I finally figured it out, though. There is, in fact, an unannounced competition between the advertisers that actually amounts to its own version of the Olympics. Not the Clio Awards, of course. No self-respecting Clio entry would be caught dead being shown during a sporting event. At least, not based on what I've seen so far. No, this is a quiet competition; a secret competition, you might say. But I think I've cracked the code.

Advertisers during the Olympics compete in events that somewhat correlate to the games themselves. For example, for sheer melodrama, you can't beat Figure Skating. Especially the way that NBC hypes it. For the advertisers, the corollary might be the "Heartstring Skating" event which would include every commercial by Kays Jewelers. I mean, come on... they're even recycling stuff from two Olympics ago!

Olympic branding is not, I realize, an "event," but it plays a prestigious role in the identity of each Olympiad. In the equally prestigious "Branding While on Acid" category we have Budweiser. Now, I don't drink beer. Never have, never will. But can someone explain to me how they came up with this stylized crown concept if it didn't involve powerful hallucinogenics? If Budweiser takes gold in this event, then the silver must belong to E-bay and the whole "it" concept. I have long since reached the point where I not only don't care what "it" might be, but I'm ready to tell E-bay precisely what they can do with "it."

The problem with Budweiser is that they also score well in a category that I call "Commercials that Make Me Laugh, Even Though I Shouldn't." I'm referring here to the Bud Lite "Magic Fridge" campaign. That one gets me every time. I also tend to chuckle every time "curling" is mentioned. It's just a gut-level reaction.

In the relatively new "Lower Class Than Super Bowl Advertising" event, CashCall is a strong finisher. "Ch-chiiiing." Need I say more? (At least we've been spared Gary Coleman in these ads. If we had to deal with that, I'm not altogether certain there's a category invented that would be appropo to the punishment CashCall would deserve.) This would be the Half-Pipe competition of advertising.

(Side note here: The overall design of the US Olympic Team's uniforms is fine, if decidedly unspectacular this go 'round. I really liked the Salt Lake look much better. But what's with those X-game outfits? Is it just me, or did anyone else look at Shaun White and think "penitentiary chic?" I suppose it could have been done on purpose, but why not just send them to the same outfitters our local gangs use? Probably be cheaper.)

In the "Eponymous Like Oprah" event, Bode Miller streaks to gold with "bode.com." This, I suppose, is an attempt to explain Bode Miller. Like any web site could possibly do that. What's next? "BM Magazine?" Yeesh. If this event were compared to Bode's downhill event, Bode would reach the bottom much faster than he did during his actual ski run.

Ah, well. The Games continue, and so will the advertising. Unfortunately. In fact, while the Games themselves will pass into memory, it appears that some of these commercials will be with us for another few presidential administrations at least. Hey, if I'd just spent $730,000 for 30 seconds of air time, I'd wanna get air time. In the meantime, feel free to comment with your favorite (or, really, most hated) Olympic commercials. Just be sure to tell me in which "events" your entries are running. If I get a few responses, I'll do a round-up after the Games are over.

Gotta go. Jelly Woodyette is waiting for me to take her to skating and skiing classes. I may have to get a few sponsors. I wonder who "bode.com" is sponsoring these days...?

UPDATE: It's early in these games yet, but examples of bad sportsmanship are bound to appear 'ere long. I look to Hockey to fill this gap. I mean, any sport that features angry people waving sticks at each other is either bad sportsmanship waiting to happen, or war. Or both. Anyway, whoever designed the "My Fast" campaign for Volkwagen deserves a special place in advertising hell. Apparently, owning a Volkswagen GTI is just another excuse for divorce court. Also, you can break the law with impunity if the cop has his own Fast in the squad car. That's Volkswagen's stand. Are you in good hands?

Speaking of which, could Allstate possibly have found someone more sincerely pompous sounding to tell us precisely what their stand is? Hey, do they really think this guy's attitude is gonna make me toss my nice, relatively cheap insurance in favor of Allstate? I'm beginning to look at Allstate as the Jim Lampley of the advertising biz.

#236 - I Love the Smell of CARP in the Morning!

Like most fish, carp have a horrific smell when they die and begin decomposing. Dad and I buried a small dogfish shark out in the backyard one day 35 years ago after a fishing expedition, and the smell lingers over the western edge of Simi Valley to this day.

So when we hear from BoifromTroy (via California Mafia) that the California Republican Party (or CARP, if you will) is refusing to issue press credentials for their upcoming convention except to only a couple of California-based bloggers, you can imagine the smell.

I am not personally interested in attending such a convention. I have long been of the opinion that the state-wide parties and their affiliates are only exceeded in their sloth and ineptitude by their national counterparts. And that's saying something. The state Party elite, however, have not learned the lessons of the last general election. Bloggers are a force to be reckoned with, and not lightly.

As KG over at the Mafia states, "Republicans don’t seem interested in running effective campaigns - let alone winning."

Too true.

Our races for U. S. Senator are case in point. If the state GOP were serious about taking the office away from the Liberal Sisters, they would have fronted serious candidates, and even helped them campaign, for Pete's sake. Instead, they throw their "backing" to some unknown white guy, and apparently spend their entire war chest on making sure that he stays unknown. Less collateral damage that way, I suppose. I mean, I voted for the guy, but heck if I remember what his name was. Bill Somethingorother, I think.

So, election season is upon us and, once again, the state "Party" has not a clue how to convince us to vote. Except, probably, to call my house and beg for money. This appears to be the Party's core competency. Once again, when called I will state, "I'll send you guys money when you do a better job with the money you already have." They have no response to that kind of circular logic, but it works for me.

Thus the tenor (so to speak) of my posts this election year will probably be along the lines of haranguing the Party for their inability to find and run a viable candidate who actually has a chance of winning the state. Schwarzenegger got in on an anti-Davis backlash, so he's not a shoe-in this time around. We have a golden opportunity to unseat Feinstein, but I doubt we'll find someone who can convince the liberal Coasties otherwise. In short, the only elected Republicans this state can count on are probably in those places where Republicans tend to win, like Orange County and parts of Ventura.

In the meantime, I need to go bury another fish. I miss the smell.