Friday, June 29, 2007

Of Scars and Addiction

I'm sorry about that Apocalypse Cow, it's just a surgical scar. A rather nasty one, but I just have to live with it. My weight dropped from 480lbs to 270lbs after the surgery, and is hovering just over 300lbs right now. Basically, it was really worth it. I may still be a fat fuck, but far less so. Last night I looked at my father's abdominal aneurysm surgery scar, and it has every scar beat. It's really an amazing thing. It goes from about 6 inches about his penis and runs around his side to the small of his back. It has to be over two feet long. My scar is a mere 8 inches or so, but it healed in such a way that it looks as if something went wrong. Thankfully, nothing did.

Recently I've started to come to terms with an addiction to narcotics. I've lied convincingly to my psychiatrist and therapist about this problem, but I'm starting to think that I need to just be honest with them. I've been putting this off for a long time. Since I don't often have narcotic pain pills, it never becomes gets to an Elvis/Anna Nicole Smith level of addiction. But it's bad nonetheless. I smoke marijuana, too, but that's not a problem. It's not addictive and actually works very well with anxiety and guilt. The narcotics do the same thing, but in a much different way. They provide a lot of energy and a feeling of well-being, but the addiction is a serious matter. The chronic pain I experience between my legs and in my lower back is treated well with tramadol and ibuprofen, and the migraines I sometimes get respond to Zomig. Medically, I have no need for narcotics, they just are so effective against depression.

Back in the day I would go to the ER and compain of back pain just to get Vicodin or Percocet. In my life I've done that perhaps a dozen times, although not for years. That gives you an idea, however, of how addictive they are. When I run out of weed, it's a bummer but no big deal. If I've been on narcotics for a time and run out, it's an ugly feeling. So no more of that. Do I share too much information here on my blog? I don't really care. Most people who read it are my friends or people I consider potential friends. Fellow Travellers, you might say.

After my little photo shoot at my computer last night, I went for a late night walk. First over to the old apartment to check on the rose bush. It's not doing well, and will have to be transplanted. I'd like to move it to Linda's place. There's a deep anxiety about Linda, as well. I love her, and that puts me in a position where I'm at the mercy of another. The first time I fell in love it was a horror show. I worked an overnight shift at a hotel in Boston and every night for months was spent thinking about unrequited love. My inability to move past it killed our friendship, and for that I have profound regret.

Being in love is wonderful, but it's a fearful precipice on which to stand. And if she doesn't love me, I want to know it when she does. So there it is, a recipe that can create a delicious meal for two, or a shit sandwich for one. We'll see what happens, but I know how limited my appeal is, given my lack of money...any money.

My psychiatric medication needs to be tweaked, and to do that I may have to go into hospital for a week or so. I haven't been in a psychiatric ward for several years, but I'm afraid when radical changes are made to my medication profile. I know how appealing suicide can look to a fellow like me. In a couple of weeks I talk to my psychiatrist and therapist. At that point I'll know what the next step will be. I briefly considered ECT, but I'm probably going to take a pass on that...I'm not sure.

Bong Hits 4 Jesus, everyone.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Once Again

















What a waste of time all of this is, with my fat body, mediocre mind, small cock and empty wallet. I'm talking about life here, people. Waaaaaaaaah. Tonight I feel alone and sad and pathetic and tired and boofed and desperately unhappy. Fuck me and whatever it is I stand for, my fucking me. Pity Party at my place! Up there on the right is a picture of the scar that emerged after my gastric bypass surgery. The rest of the pictures come from my having temporarily lost my fucking mind earlier today. I feel less than human, again.

Angel Of Bush

Senate Judiciary Chairperson Patrick Leahy (D-VT) and House Judiciary Chairperson John Conyers (D-MI) have subpoenaed documents as part of an investigation of Attorney General Alberto Gonzales, primarily for his political firings of prosecutors. That certainly sounds bad for the Bush administration, which has so much to be ashamed and worried about. But it's easy to lose track of all of this administrations' wrongdoings. A Congressional subpoenae, however, is something that should strike fear into the collective heart of the Bushies. These Republicans are experts at double-talk and good old-fashioned stonewalling, but the jig is up, isn't it?

Apparently not.

Incredibly, the White House has chosen to "invoke executive privilege." I'm not a lawyer so I have no plans of filling my blog with legal arguments about why this is absurd. But that's exactly what it is. These people are totally out of control, and in my view their lack of respect for due process, the separation of powers, and simply Congress itself (they don't like oversight) is indicative of Fascist tendencies among our dear president and his people. A mental construction exists within their hive mind that is not good for our young republic. They see the office of the president as being akin to a CEO. I'm tempted to say "king" but it's not accurate. In our global economy, where a tiny group of primarily white men take advantage of cheap labor and impotent international law around the world, the CEO is the new king. It's the office to which megalomaniacs aspire. Bush and Cheney see themselves as the CEO's of America, and their contempt for oversight is indicative of a disturbing world view. In government, a certain amount of transparency is needed, and oversight by another branch is vital to the health of the system. The USA is not a corporation. That's why Cheney and company look so damn annoyed when our elected officials ask for, or subpoenae, testimony and documents. In their eyes, the House and Senate Judiciary Committees are akin to fire inspectors or aldermen that have no importance to them as they go about the business of making a shitload of money.

They may be cowards in Congress (as the vote to give Bush war powers in 2003 clearly showed), but they don't like to be pushed around. The subpoena stalemate will end up with contempt citations and eventually a court battle about, what else, oversight and the separation of powers. An article I read earlier has a good quote from Judiciary Chairman John Conyers. According to him, the Bushies have shown, "an appalling disregard for the right of the people to know what is going on in their government."

In other news, Bush was also painfully well-zinged by a group of high school students. An organization called Presidential Scholars, which is made up of high school honors students, met with Bush at the White House East Room on Monday, June 25. One of the 50 scholars, a young woman, gave Bush a handwritten letter. The letter pleaded with Bush to put an end to the use of torture, which "violates the human rights" of terrorism suspects. The letter also said that the group of young scholars "believe we have a responsibility to voice our convictions." Here's what the letter said, in part:

We do not want America to represent torture. We urge you to do all in your power to stop violations of the human rights of detainees, to cease illegal renditions, and to apply the Geneva Convention to all detainees, including those designated enemy combatants.

Absolutely outstanding in my book. These kids are heroes to me. And the way the Bushies responded reveals them even further to be liars. The White House press release on the subject said in part, "The president enjoyed a visit with the students, accepted the letter and upon reading it let the student know that the United States does not torture and that we value human rights." The problem with that is that the US supports torture.

In The Bush Torture Memos by James Bovard, he writes:

President Bush is proposing to medievalize the American legal code by permitting the use of coerced confessions in judicial proceedings. This is one of the most stunning proposals in U.S. political life since Franklin Roosevelt banned private ownership of gold in 1933.

An August 1, 2002, memo, which redefined U.S. torture policy, became known as the Bybee memo, after Jay Bybee, the head of the Office of Legal Counsel. The memo was titled “Standards of Conduct for Interrogation under 18 U.S.C. §§ 2340–2340A” (the U.S. anti-torture act) and was “akin to a binding legal opinion on government policy on interrogations.”

Rather than a strict interpretation of the law, the Bybee memo was a Torturers’ Emancipation Proclamation... the Justice Department revealed that overzealous interrogators had little or nothing to fear from the law.

The most important aspect of the White House's policy on torture is that it allows for it in certain circumstances, and that determination is left up to the president. In other words, Bush claims the right to authorize the use of torture. Dean Harold Koh of Yale Law School said about this, "If the president has commander-in-chief power to commit torture, he [must also have] the power to commit genocide, to sanction slavery, to promote apartheid, to license summary execution."

Simply put, Bush sees himself as above the law, sort of floating there like a benevolent angel. Rule of law exists, but he can flutter down and waive it if he deems it necessary.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

In The Dark With A Guilty Conscience

It's about 11 o'clock in the evening right now, and mercilessly hot and humid outside. Mad dogs and Englishmen, as they say. The air conditioner is keeping up, though, and my fat ass can't complain. Not about that, anyway. Right now I have a proverbial bone to pick with my pathetic, addled brain. I need it to stop doing a few things that it seems emphatically intent on doing. Misplaced guilt and severe anxiety are taking their toll, and I really need some time to gather my strength. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I do know that I want to be free of my neuroses, for quality of life reasons. I'm not sure if it's possible to "gather my strength" in my more sane moments so that I may better survive insanity. Sort of like getting vital supplies past the enemy to sustain troops in the field. In reality, mental illness is just something some of us have to lump. I'm enervated and weary of this nonsense, however.

Earlier today, I felt myself growing anxious and afraid of being cast aside by my beloved Linda. That feeling traveled well with another nasty thought about my relationship with my brother, which is close. We went to a movie in Boston, and as always he paid for the whole affair, which included $25 for parking. Naturally, I thanked him for both the movie and lunch, but a creeping sense of profound self-loathing eroded my contented mirth. I felt like such a cheap bastard, even though I know it's not that...I just don't have any money. One needs to have money to be cheap. It's not like I'm holding out. Later in the afternoon, I realized that poverty was fueling the feelings of angst, anxiety and genuine fear that were manifest whenever I thought of my girlfriend. And not a thing can be done about it...not right now, anyway. And beneath that terrible feeling of panic was something deeper and harder to identify, but those money concerns sapped me of whatever strength I might possess and I squirmed within my Hawai'an shirt. The Great Nameless Solicitude is always there, working on the gray matter of my brain the same way oxygen rusts out an old '57 Chevy.

How's that for an analogy?

On paper, as they say, things are going really well with Linda, and I love her dearly. But always there is the sense that I'm fucking up, that I've done something wrong...really wrong. I often feel as if I'm suffocating, and that I'm a wicked man who deserves judgement and a harsh sentence. I'm squirming beneath the weight of a guilty conscience. My transgressions are unknown to me, however.

Monday, June 25, 2007

A Kiss And An Open Suitcase

I'm disinclined to write much tonight, although I have a great deal on my mind. This past weekend I was in Long Island, New York with Linda, visiting members of her extended family as her niece celebrated graduating from high school. Some of my time was spent talking to a geologist who has traveled to every continent on the planet, except for Africa. "I'm too old to deal with civil war," said the 74 year old, talking about strife in that part of the world. And yes, she has been to Antarctica. Naturally, that's the tricky part of visiting all seven continents. She was fascinating and funny and whenever I could I planted myself next to her and worked hard to overcome Avoidant Personality Disorder. I'm a fair conversationalist when I'm not crippled by this ridiculous, aggravating social anxiety. She spoke and I listened. I'm a better person for it.

After several glasses of wine, 3 mgs of lorazepam and 150 mgs of tramadol, I found myself getting a little dizzy in the backyard of some lovely Long Islanders. Every so often a bright, white arc revealed the presence of a firefly. I hadn't seen one since my family lived in Billerica almost twenty years ago. Each sharp flash touched me like music. At one point, I fought back tears, not knowing why. Having given it some thought, now I know. A vein of innocence, long buried under shock therapy, suicide attempts, a broken heart and simple failures was mined by a little bug doing what I imagine is some sort of mating behaviour. As I sat in a wobbly lawn chair in the growing dark, my thoughts turned to the old house I mentioned, in Billerica, Massachusetts. It's a small town, very different from the other towns I've lived in over the years; Lawrence, Medford, Belmost, Somerville, Arlington and even Natick. What made it different is that it was rural, not a suburb or the city. Summer nights out there and back then produced those fireflies (we called them lightning bugs), and the dark, country nights necessary to properly set the stage for them. And in my ears were the sounds of crickets and the wind in the trees. The scent in the air was sweet and clean, and a little bit like hay and horse shit.

The house we lived in was white, with a barn out back used for storage and a stone wall around the east side that enclosed a crab apple tree and a glen where grass, weeping cherry, boxwood and forsythia all grew. My memory has been shattered by ECT, but I'm pretty sure that it was beautiful. And out behind the barn were piles of old, junked cars that my brother and I took pleasure in destroying.

All this came back into my mind after seeing a firefly in Long Island. The New York mosquitoes took advantage of my sentimental disposition and semi-drunken and drugged state. I have numerous bites on my ankles and arms that, I have to admit, are pleasurable to scratch. One more thing about the memory of living in Billerica, the location of my last firefly sighting so long ago. I was an avid reader back then, and aspired to be a writer. To that end, I took a writing course by mail. How fondly I remember sitting on the front porch one rainy summer afternoon, typing up a short story on an ancient Royal typewriter. I didn't know it then, but that day was very special. My mother was alive and healthy and just inside, and my father was out working. I endeavored to make them proud of me, as a writer, and actually enjoyed using that antique Royal to reach that goal. I fell in love with the clack-clack-clack.

Besides writing, my other goal in life was to travel...to see all the places I read about. And that brings me back to the old geologist. She'll never know how much emotional currency her stories had with me. When she told me about staying at a flea-bag hotel near the Champs Elysses, I swooned. Her story about a recent trip to Switzerland put a smile on my puerile face. At various points during the weekend we spoke about Darwin, Tierra Del Fuego, Lake Vostok microbes, archaeology and stark class divisions in South America. She made me remember a time when my heart was full of romantic notions of how I was going to travel one day and see the world entire. Now, I get anxious if I'm away from home for more than a couple of days. I'm comfortable with that failure (out of familiarity) and managed to get past myself and enjoy the company of my new friend.

I'm weary, though, of the anxiety, depression and guilt. It's so bromidic and tiresome, this self-absorbed, banal mental illness. I'm close to a handful of people, including Linda and, of course, my brother, who is my best friend and greatest ally in this fucking nauseating life. And my father, of course, who is another best friend. And there is Clare, Jen, Donna and just a few more people. Outside that circle of friends, though, I find it impossible to function normally. In order to survive by reducing guilt, anxiety and depression I need to limit my intercourse with the world. Otherwise, I go down a path that I know will lead to misery and self-mutilation and eventually a mental hospital or suicide. That's the story of me. But that doesn't mean I can't imagine, in my little flat near Boston, of opening my suitcase in Paris and walking under the Arc de Triumphe with my father (he was there in the 1950's and we dream of going there together). Or kissing my darling Linda beneath the Astronomical Clock in Prague's Old Town Square.

An intensity of feeling and self-loathing and guilt requires I hold the world at a bit of a distance. I do so to survive.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Mike Gravel?

Apocalypse Cow has kindly asked my opinion about the crop of presidential contenders for 2008. I've also been contacted by the Socialist Party USA regarding my possible service on a committee that is to find a presidential candidate that will either run as a Socialist, or we can support. Knowing the SPUSA, they won't back someone who isn't actually in the party. I've decided not to serve, but I hope they find someone who will surprise everyone and really make a proverbial splash on the news and attract a lot of people into the radical left.

But that won't happen. My friend and comrade David McReynolds is easily a genius, and is an intellectual of the highest order. He ran for president for the SPUSA several times, and in 1980 got about 8,000 votes. That sounds absurdly bad, but most of them were write-in votes.

For who am I going to vote? It's a little early to say, but I'm certain that I won't vote Republican, naturally. So who among the Democrats speaks to me, at such an early point in the campaign? Well, I despise Hillary Clinton, who I think is a political opportunist and pragmatist who would support mass murder if it got her the presidency. This woman has no spine! I thought I liked John Edwards, at least from a distance, but he voted to give Bush the power to wage war in Iraq (as did Kerry and Clinton), which is unforgivable. About a quarter of the US Senate had the brains to vote against that bill, including Sen. Byrd for W. Virginia and one of my Senators, Ted Kennedy. Congress should NEVER abdicate it's responsibilities like that, and those who did revealed themselves to be cowards at best. At worst, it was a callous, cynical vote meant to avoid risking taking the blame if the war went bad, as it did, of course.

So that leaves me with former Senator from Alaska, Mike Gravel, Rep. Dennis Kucinich, Gov. Bill Richardson, Sen. Joe Biden, Sen. Christopher Dodd and Senator Barack Obama.

Let me start with Joe Biden. He consistently "talks a good talk" but has a poor voting record by my reckoning. I've decided not to fall for his compelling eloquence and earnest appeals to compassion and logic. In reality, he votes like a bit of a jackass. He just panders to the left and then votes down the center. I don't want anything to do with him...he can cram it.

Dennis Kucinich is wonderful on the issues. He opposed the Patriot Act, the war in Iraq and even won something called the Ghandi Peace Award. It's all good. He may actually get my vote, but something is holding me back. It could be his elf-like appearance or the bizarre and embarrassing song-and-dance he did at an NAACP function. He has that nerdy Ross Perot patina that just says, "I'm totally unelectable!"

I don't know enough about Governor Bill Richardson or Senator Chris Dodd. I'm inclined to think that Richardson has a much better chance of getting the nomination, but with Obama, Clinton and Edwards out there it's a long-shot.

Now we get to Barack Obama, the fellow that Hillary-Haters are glomming onto with the hope that it's not inevitable that Clinton will get the nomination. And there's a lot of good reason to think that Clinton has peaked too early. Unfortunately, she is painfully good at what she does and has tons of money. Obama's greatest strength is that he is young and comes across as smart and likeable, sort of like Robert Kennedy. He seems to be more than a man, he's a movement. When he spoke at the Democratic Convention in 2004 people were so taken that they talked about "drafting" him back then. So whatever it is, he has it. But as people find out more about the lad, he'll lose support. That's the problem with coming into focus. This far out, though, he looks great. Time will tell.

Finally, there is Mike Gravel, who will be 78 years old in 2008. That's a bit of a problem, as is his lack of money and unusual campaign style. A video YouTube has him staring at the camera for several minutes and then just walking away, stopping only to throw a large rock in a river. You think I'm kidding? See it here.

I think I love him!

Here is a man who supports a socialized health care system, wants to leave Iraq immediately, opposes any military action in Iran and wants to save Social Security by forcing the government to pay back the SS Trust Fund. The more I read, the more I think I've found my candidate, old fart or not. So for the time being, I'm a Mike Gravel man.

Well, that's all the time we have today. My next post will be about the Republican contenders for president. Fun!

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Stem Cells

President Bush, the worst president in American history, is on television right now explaining why he is signing a bill that would make research on embryonic stem cells with federal funding illegal. He "reasons" that embryonic stem cells represent a viable human being, and to use them is to "destroy human life." He has many reasons for feeling that way, chief among them are his being an asshole and a religious fanatic. If he really felt that the use of embryonic stem cells represents murder, then why stop at restricting federal funding? Why not charge scientists with murder? The Howard Hughes Medical Institute, which was founded by the late billionaire, is worth about $16 billion, and last year they gave out $490 million to various medical researchers around the country. A significant portion of that money goes to embryonic stem cell research. I found at least 14 HHMI grant recipients who use some form of stem cells in their research. One such recipient of HHMI funds works out of Columbia University, his name is Thomas Jessell. In July of 2002, he published a study in Cell magazine that reported progress with these cells to replace damaged motor neurons in the human brain. The study was also partially-funded by Project A.L.S, which is dedicated to eliminating Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig's Disease.

Again, my question to those who agree with eliminating federal funding for embryonic stem cell research is simple: Why not charge scientists like Thomas Jessell with murder? I'd love to hear, or read, the reasons.

So what is an embryonic stem cell? It's a cell from an embryo that is five days old. At that point, the embryo is called a blastocyst, and is made up of about 150 cells. A blastocyst has no heart, brain, liver, kidneys, spine...or anything. That's what makes it so valuable in medical research. The cells in a blastocyst go on to form many different kinds of cells, thus the term "stem cell." Anti-abortionists like to say that abortion stops a beating heart, but there is no beating heart here, just a very small mass of cells. All the talk of "killing one life to save another" is a lie, meant to compel an emotional reaction.

I decided to do a little research on how other countries deal with the stem cell debate. Is the US out there on her own, looking like a twit, much like we are on socialized medicine? Basically, yes. Nations like France, UK, Denmark, Japan, Australia, China, India, Canada and Israel all allow government funding for research. And we're in great company. Every African nation, with the exception of South Africa, has a ban on government funding of ES cell research. So once again, the US is on the cutting edge of the 18th century.

It also struck me as ironic that Bush is responsible for a war that is impossible to justify, and many injured veterans returning from that war are paralyzed. Those paralyzed veterans have one hope of being cured of their disability; stem cell research. By blocking federal funding for ES cell research, Bush is making it much less likely that a major leap forward will be made in their lifetimes. Isn't that just like him?

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Fox Presents "Boob Island"

What a lovely weekend I had with my beloved. We worked around her manor yesterday and in the evening we watched television whilst sipping on sangria. There wasn't much on so we settled for, Deal or No Deal with Howie Mandel in a genie costume. There was a show on afterwards that looked like something even the boob-hounds at Fox would reject. I forget the name of the show, but the premise is to pit women in their 20's against women in their 40's. The prize? Some guy. I guess he's supposed to be handsome. He spent most of the time looking befuddled. After about 5 minutes, Linda and I talked about how repulsive and demeaning the show is, found a modicum of self-respect and then put on Babel, which was quite good. But the experience got me to thinking about how most of what is on television is absolute shit, which is why I prize cable movie channels so much. I'd rather watch Age of Innocence or Dr. Strangelove for the 20th time than Wife Swap, Two and a Half Men or Temptation Island. The ratio of good-to-bad ratio for television shows has got to be 1 in 20. That is, only one show out of twenty is remotely watchable. It's enough to make a person not watch television...and we can't have that, oh no.

And then this morning I get an email from Planned Parenthood informing me that Fox and CBS (Victoria Secret Fashion Show!) have refused to run condom commercials. Fox issued a press release that reads in part, "Contraceptive advertising must stress health-related uses rather than the prevention of pregnancy.” And since the ads happen to mention the useful detail that condoms can, in fact, prevent pregnancy they were banned. Apparently, the moral standards over there are just too rigorous to advertise condoms. But as Planned Parenthood points out, Fox displays no scruples about using sex on countless shows....almost every one. In their world, which exists in Rupert Murdoch's rattled brain, it's acceptable to use sex to attract teen viewers (The O.C.), or as the punchline in awful sitcoms (The War at Home) but suggesting responsible, safe sex is just too much for their delicate sensibilities. Meanwhile, CBS simply stated that condom ads were "just not appropriate." What the fuck. I mean really...what the fuck?! If you're interested in signing a Planned Parenthood petition, which unfortunately will do nothing, you can do so here. I don't mean to be cynical, but is there anything more ineffective than an Internet petition?

Oi vey.

I'm going to the market to get some bananas.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

The Ear of the Leader

Narcissistic gerbils? I'm sorry, Bipolar Chica, but it was just a random thing. I'm not sure what a narcissistic gerbil would look like, perhaps sitting amonst his or her shavings while preening in a tin mirror. But whatever it looks like, I'm sure it makes more sense and is more fun to talk about than Sen. Joseph Lieberman of Connecticut. That's the snarling boob I want to talk about today.

Woodrow Wilson once said, "The ear of the leader must ring with the voices of the people." The people aren't always right, they may even be wrong most of the time. But our leaders, especially our elected senators and president, should know the wishes of the people they represent. The current crew of war nuts in DC, particularly Senator Lieberman and the president himself, definitely have ears, but they don't ring with the voices of anyone but a small group of zealots.

A dream of peace is within the soul of every decent human being who leads men and women into a war. I don't mind cynicism, and the bitter belief that war is inevitable. So long as the dream still exists, even if it's beaten up and world-weary, I want our leaders to aspire towards peace. When a leader of men and women gives up on that goal and embraces war as acceptable, even inevitable, then they need to be removed from office. They can no longer hear or feel or see as most people can and do. Right now, there are people in this country who still have a strong appetite for destruction. Because they have been in a false reality of their own creation for the past 5 years or so regarding Iraq, they are unable to think adequately or even know how to feel about potential strife in Iran. To these people, what is happening in the world right now is about as real as a comic book. They have lost touch with reality, and given their position of power that makes them immensely dangerous.

Evidence is mounting that Iran is supporting the insurgents in Iraq, by providing the pinball machine parts necessary to make an improvised explosive device. These IED's, I'm sure you already know, are responsbile for killing literally thousands of Iraqi civilians and US soldiers (ok, "coalition" soldiers, too...happy?). And the evidene that Iran is doing this makes sense, given how they aren't very fond of us.

So what to do?

Thinking people are of a mind to open up talks with Iran, without any preconditions, to just get a dialogue going that may bear fruit and prevent some bad things from happening. These thoughtful people of which I speak also know that the United States is already stretched painfully thin in Iraq; politically, militarily and economically. The latest "surge" in Iraq has been a complete failure, with civilian and military casualties actually rising steadily over the past few months. So, big surprise, the troop surge wasn't the answer for which we were looking.

Senator Joseph Lieberman of Connecticut is out of his fucking mind. On Sunday's Meet The Press, "Lieby" recommended that we should only sort of talk to Iran, knowing in advance that it probably won't lead anywhere. Then that will help to "justify" a bombing campaign of select Iranian sites.

Has is apparently unaware that we have a massive troop shortage and a security crisis in Iraq. And that bombing campaigns are never enough to capture any military prize of consequence (see World War 2, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq), and that troops will be necessary in Iran to exact regime change. The only way to have enough troops for Lieberman's plan is via a draft. And if you want to see young people getting interested in politics literally overnight, that's the best way.

A US Senator, a shill for the Israeli lobby known as Joe Lieberman, is very clearly out of his fucking mind. Bomb Iran? God help us. I've grown to hate Lieberman, starting when he ran as an independent after losing the Democratic Party Primary in that state. I'm sure you remember that. A lot of people thought it represented some sort of craftiness, that may or may not be a good thing.

So just by getting elected the way he did, Lieberman is something of a douchebag. What makes him a dangerous fanatic, however, is his willingness to kill countless more people, civilians and military alike, in defense of his master, Israel. That cause is to manipulate the United States into doing whatever Israel wants. That's what all those lobbyists are doing, and Lieberman is their man.

So it certainly wasn't a big surprise when I saw his punum on television, going on about the need for a "surgical strike" in Iran. Madness.

The United States is certainly keeping her options open around the world when it comes to the potential use of military force. From North Korea to Venezuela to Iran, America is acting like a bully. A brute with an unsubtle mind, lacking the ability and/or the inclination to do whatever is possible to avoid violence. In other words, the US is the biggest threat to peace in the world right now. With people like George Bush and Senator Lieberman at the helm, there is absolutely no chance of a thoughtful course of action prevailing.

George Bush is a warmonger and a fanatic, as is Lieberman. They go so well together. Naturally, Lieberman is Jewish and Bush is a born-again Christian, but they are joined at the gut in their war-loving nationalism (or with Lieberman, Zionism). They are dangerous people who lack common sense and compassion, and instead see the US and Israel as the vanguard against the non-Judeo-Christian world. Bush and Lieberman aren't interested in a careful course of diplomacy and talks aimed at keeping bloodshed to a minimum. Religious fanatics aren't interested in that sort of thing. Instead, George and Joe want to distinguish themselves in a cartoon struggle that exists primarily in their heads, and the heads of like-minded nutjobs. Civilian lives are of no importance. Consider that the British Medical Journal, The Lancet, estimates 655,000 civilian Iraqi deaths have occurred due to the meaningless US war in that country. If Bush, Lieberman, Cheney, Rumsfeld, et al had any scruples at all they would have ended their wretched lives, or at least resigned in dishonor. I'd have a lot more respect for Bush if he would wrap his lips around a revolver, or if Dick Cheney would shoot himself in the face for a change.

What these men have done in Iraq is criminal. No compassionate, thinking person would seriously consider forgiving these men for what they did, and are still doing. And now they are talking about Iran. They've made it clear that they are willing to make the same mistakes again, to get a lot of innocent people killed, because they lack the imagination, bravery and intellect to work towards a negotiated settlement on the Iranian nuclear issue. John McCain made a little joke about the "bomb Iran" Beach Boy's song. Isn't that cute?

Monday, June 11, 2007

Narcissistic Gerbils

My sister, Valerie, is in town with her husband, kids and dog. With the exception of the dog, they are all staying with my cousin. I've volunteered for and been given the enjoyable task of looking after the hound, named Jake. He's sleeping on my bed behind me as I write this little entry. There's his webcam picture on the right. I'm one of those people who doesn't like to define himself as a "dog person" or a "cat person." Some people get nuts when the conversation turns to the question of which is the "better" pet. I've always had cats because they fit into my flat with greater ease, but I'm an animal person in general. If I had the land, I'd have llamas and horses and goats and Hell knows what else. It's safe to say that I understand cats more than dogs, just out of experience. But Jake and I have bonded nicely. Dogs have a lousy poker face, and you can usually figure out what they're thinking just by looking at them. Well, not so much thinking as feeling. The tail gives it away, and those sad little doggy eyebrows.

For the time being, the House of Four Cats has four cats and one dog. And I'm proud of my kitties for their bravery, although they disappeared for several hours yesterday, except for Toulouse. He stood his ground...he's not much of a runner. Slowly the other cats have made their way back out from under the beds, or up from the basement. They stare at the dog, and the dog stares back. The cats move their tails because they're pissed off, and the dog wags his tail because he is curious and basically enjoying himself. Hilarity ensues. Although I'm afraid that one of the cats might take a swipe at Jake's noggin, and send his eyeball or moist nose sailing across the room. For the moment, however, there is peace.

I'm definitely of the mind that cats and dogs are better company than people. Not very surprising, I guess. People say the same about horses, and are quite adamant about it. Linda, my amant de dame, once owned and rode horses. She took me to a barn where I got to help take the horses in for the night, which is easy to do because the horses are looking forward to returning to the barn at the end of the day; there be food there. I don't envy anyone that has to try to get a horse to do something that he or she doesn't want to do. They are stunningly powerful and are more intelligent than city-folk might think. And every horse, I'm told, has a unique personality.

I suppose a lot of animals must be poor company, like polar bears, black mamba snakes and sea lions. Although it's likely that I'd still prefer the company of any animal over someone who wants to show me baby pictures, or talk about Jesus Christ.

I've always wanted to meet a manatee, but you have to go into the water to see them. They won't come out to see you. Fucking uptight manatee pricks.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Pay Phones

Apocalypse Cow beat the shit out of a pay telephone? Excellent! Both of us have a criminal past that involves doing something with or to a pay phone. I wonder if the Cow, like me, was ordered by the court to stay away from pay phones in the future. Like I said previously, I'm innocent of the phone crime, but guilty of the shoplifting. I can definitely see going ape on a pay phone, and seem to remember doing just that in Chicago some years ago. I was far from home and wanted to place a collect call from the bus station. A bus station usually provides an environment conducive to psychotic breakdowns, even under the best conditions.

Right now I'm at my girlfriend's flat while she is at work, and I'm more or less trying to be helpful around the house in her absence.

As has been the case for some time, there will be more later.

Friday, June 08, 2007

Blockbuster Boobery

I don't know what the world is coming to, but I just took a Vicodin for pain. How's that for a hand full of marbles? The place where my wisdom tooth was yesterday morning at this time is now just a hole in my jaw. Eventually, the socket will fill up with blood, and then new bone will form. In about 6 months it will be like a tooth was never there. There will just be my jaw.

Then, at some point after that, I'll die.

Life is like a summer blockbuster movie with magnificent special effects, violence and sex, and then a really lousy ending. Only, there is no sequel. If you're lucky enough to be batshit insane, your movie can have space monkeys, aliens, monsters, and fuck knows what else. If you're careful in what you remember and how you remember it, you can even be the hero of your own life-movie. Defeat the empire and tell the bad guy to cram it, that sort of thing.

Some people's lives are more like an autumn release movie; a lot of talking, awkward moments, and sad, upsetting scenes. And it's really long and there's not a bare ass or boob in the place. Helen Mirren will eventually show up, as will Dame Judi Dench.

In film, the little things usually get overlooked so that the audience doesn't get bored or lose track of the story. If my life were a movie, then this scene will have to be cut out. The air conditioner behind me is louder than a Pratt & Whitney R-2800 Double Wasp jet engine. It's so annoying that I just want to open the window and fling it goodbye. My father would probably like that, as he NEVER wants to put the air conditioner on. He's a senior citizen, and is also taking a medication that makes him cold. Perfect. I, on the other hand, am a fat fuck who is not taking that medication.

Sounds like a great idea for a sitcom. The Odd Couple with a 40 year age difference, prescription drugs and a lot of cats.

Actually, me flipping out and throwing the air conditioner out the window might make for a good scene. But other things would have to go, they just done play well for the screen, like...

-Playing World of Warcraft for 4 hours on Wednesday night.
-Any masturbation...nobody wants to see that.
-Me watching another movie.
-Clipping my toenails.
-Delicately applying antibiotic cream to a mosquito bite on my right foot.
-Staring at the ceiling in my bedroom at 3am thinking about the time I picked my nose in front of my girlfriend and made her cry.
-The time when I was 9 when I tried to push over the Ms. Pacman machine and got thrown out of Fun 'n' Games. Ms. Pacman, for Christ's sake. In reality, it was that fucking Q-Bert machine that was asking for it.
-Recently trying to wipe my ass with 1-3 squares of toilet paper, per Sheryl Crow's advice. It did not go to plan.

Naturally, I could go on.

One last thing before I put some pants on, or not! Boston's Gay Pride Parade takes place this Saturday, starting at noon in the South End on Tremont Street. The parade will go through Boston, and end at City Hall Plaza, where there will be a big flaming festival. Unfortunately, I can't go, but you should if you can. It's just fun as all get out. The directions I got recommend parking at the Pi Alley Garage if you insist on taking your car, but take my advice...DO NOT take your car. Use the "T" for heaven's sake.

Just go and show support for the cause, because on that day we're ALL a bunch of fags and dykes. Isn't that touching? Seriously, though, if you're a guy and you don't work out 6 hours a day, you're going home alone.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

The Paris Hilton

No, Chica, I can't believe that Paris Hilton has escaped prison at the last minute! I actually thought that she would just give in and complete her sentence, perhaps find a modicum of dignity in the whole affair. Ha! As of this writing, I don't know why exactly she has been let out to complete her service at home. I imagine is has to do with some sort of psychotic breakdown that required her being returned to her ostentatious life. But I'm with you Bipolar Chica...it may take a lot to surprise us, given some of the things we've seen in our lives, but this actually does the trick.

Apparently, my good looks and fantastic body isn't enough to keep me out of trouble. I refer to my encounters with the criminal justice system on occassion, but they really weren't interactions of any consequence. The first two times I was "arrested" had to do with my attempted suicides. Apparently, it's illegal. In neither case did I spend any time in jail, although I was restrained. And once I walked into Mass. General Hospital with my then girlfriend, who urged that I admit myself. I said something about suicide to the triage nurse and then the next thing I knew my pants were gone and I was secluded in a concrete room with a metal door.

In each psychiatric hospital, I was there under lock and key, but I wasn't inclined to try and leave. I wasn't really of a mind to do anything, let alone a daring midnight escape. They don't call it "escape" in the nut house, they call it "eloping." Needless to say, I never eloped. I actually wanted to get help, and was willing to do a lot to get it. There was no cynicism or bitterness about the predicament I found myself in. Just embarrassment. My new friends in the bin told me stories about how they got there, too. Most were pretty lame, like the girl who took 5 Tylenol to try to kill herself. But some were absolutely terrifying, particularly from my closest "in hospital" friend, a woman in her late 40's who suffered physical and mental abuse, along with sexual abuse from her father. Some people really feel like opening up to me, and that can be a good thing sometimes. Getting to know her was a healing experience for me as well as her. Some people are just so fucking tough. God is such a prick that most of us have to be.

Regardless, I've only been in jail twice, and in handcuffs three times. I don't mean to repeat myself, since I've discussed this before, but once was for shoplifting and the other time was for something I actually didn't do. I was arrested for falsely reporting a shooting, from a payphone in front of the CVS where I had just shoplifted. I really didn't do it, which is a terrible predicament to be in. I later told my court appointed attorney that I wasn't worried about the "false police report" charge. What I meant was that I wasn't worried because I didn't do it! He thought I was blowing it off as a minor charge. He said, "Actually, you have to worry about that a LOT more than the shoplifting."

So, under instructions from my public defender, I worried. Then I found out that they dusted for fingerprints on the payphone and didn't find a match with mine. Hooray! Also, the audiotape of the voice on the phone, supposedly mine, just magically disappeared. Again hooray!

The latest news as I write this is that Paris Hilton is due in court tomorrow morning, 9am Pacific time, which would be 12pm here. For some reason, I hope they stick her back in her cell.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Come Hither, Fat Man

I'm not as far away as I should be from flinging my air conditioner out the window. It's making a rattling sound that is entering the base of my spine and making me want to dance, but it's not good. In an Elaine from Seinfeld kind of way I feel the need to kick and jump around. I've jammed pens, wads of toiled paper, tape and a stuffed animal into various places around where the window touches the AC. But just like any other problem, all was finally solved when I went vaguely apeshit and banged on it, It's a lot quieter now...I hope I didn't break it.

A few nights ago I got high and drunk and I must confess that it was rather nice. Those who know me know that I have a strong inclincation to take off my clothes when I drink too much. This time, however, I just took my pants off, and it was brief. If you've seen my naked legs then you know that this habit needs to stop. Later in the evening, when the room began to spin, I was reminded as to why I so rarely drink alcohol.

So apparently Paris Hilton has to pee on a stainless steel toilet, alone in a 12 x 12 foot cell, for a little more than three weeks. I hope she keeps an intricate diary. She could be the next Sakharov or Nelson Mandela, or maybe not. Her mug shot looks like the look I get from a woman who wants to borrow money from me, and will even consider fucking me to get it. Either that, or she wants to "borrow" my last handful of Vicodin.

Fuck you, Paris Hilton, get your own drugs!

Word on the street, or in a magazine, is that a picture of her pooping on a toilet/sink combo or doing just about anything else in prison will net you $500,000. When I was in jail briefly for shoplifting years ago, a cellmate offered me $5 for a picture of my right knee. Needless to say, the deal went down.

Madam Hilton also gave a little press conference about her prison stay. She said that she hopes she is a role model for young women, that you have to take responsibility for your actions. That's an interesting take. Keep in mind that she was caught and taken to jail pretty much at gunpoint. If you don't take responsibility then, they'll come and find you and make you take responsibility. The lesson I think that she is trying to relate is simple; Don't get caught.

I should probably mention, lest I give an inaccurate impression, that my stay in jail was brief, less than a day. My nuthouse stays have been pretty long, up to two weeks, some of the time was spend in restraints, but that's different. I was trying to be a role model for crazy people that they need to be tied down against their will and medicated. It's the altruist in me.

But why am I talking about Paris Hilton? She's really not that attractive...skin and bones. She's certainly not all that bright. She was just lucky enough to have rich parents. When I used to hang around with a couple of friends I used to know, who had a lot of friends over at Harvard, I used to go to parties with a lot of people in similar circumstances. They whined a lot about their parents, and clearly got into Harvard because of someone's influence. They all looked at me as if to say, "Why are you here?" I didn't let it faze me, and went about my business as if my parents were rich, too. Little did they know that I was a revolutiony socialist who wanted them all working in the Gulag. Ha!

And I guess that that is one reason I've decided to write about Paris Hilton. At little bit of shaddenfreude on a Tuesday morning. And I confess a strange sexual attraction when I imagine her pale heiney poised above that prison toilet, her face twisted in a knot. That's the third time I've mentioned it. Since she has no television, and probably can't read, she'll probably bide her time counting her bones, all of which are clearly visible (and I'm sure palpable) beneath her alabaster skin.

Enough of that.

My father is in the bathroom right now trying to give himself a haircut. I did that once, when I was about age 10. Apparently, that notion becomes unattractive in adulthood, but regains appeal again after age 70. He's cultivating a look, methinks. The look of a man trying to save a few bucks on a haircut.

A shout out to Bipolar Chica! I hope you're doing well.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Part Two Of The 15 Long List

Apocalypse Cow took the time to write an extensive response to my random list, and I feel compelled to reply. Regarding Wyatt Earp, I was talking about the reviews, which were not so good; most of them, anyway. It gets a 43 rating on Metacritic, which is "mixed or average." The Boston Globe and Chicago Tribune came closest to getting it right, but a lot of critics found it too long and ponderous. Personally, I found it poetic, sad and painfully beautiful. Costner's journey from a naive kid to lawman/vigilante is incredibly well-written, directed and even acted. The score by James Newton Howard is perfect. Isabella Rossellini's Big Nose Kate, Dennis Quaid's Doc Holliday and even Mark Harmon's Johnny are all memorable and interesting. But that's just me...

Mr. Cow also can't understand the correlation between shampooing my crotch and getting fired out of a cannon. That's because there isn't any. I'd be just as happy with his example of, "Eat sand and take a long walk off a short pier."

Regarding Lindsay Lohan, I really can't express just how much I loathe her, even more than Paris Hilton. I'm not sure why. And I think she'll suffer, given that she was found with cocaine in her possession, which is very bad. But even beyond that, she's screwed. In the few films she has made she's developed a real "pain in the ass" reputation. She's going to find herself doing porn if she's not careful. But the preaching by Martha Stewart really annoyed me. That she would invite her onto the show so she could give her some advice that wasn't asked for, to set her straight, is just so fucking hypocritical. Martha Steward committed perjury and spent time in prison, for Heaven's sake.

What Mr. Cow said about Venezuela is true, that Fox News will spin every story about Chavez in as negative a way possible. And that's true of the press in general, which insists on calling Chavez a "dictator." I've received several articles and letters from people I know in a group called Hands Off Venezuela. They are a great source for information about what is actually happening there.

That said, ever since Chavez received full power to "rule by decree" for 18 months by the Venezuelan Assembly in January, I've been nervous for the people of that country. But it is true that the 18 month "rule by decree" has been given before, to other presidents. It still upset me a bit, though. Now we know about the RCTV closure, which is extremely hard to justify. The fake protest crowds staged by RCTV are irrelevent. The important issue is a free press. Time will tell, though, what Chavez is up to. In the meantime, he's still responsible for rescuing his country from unspeakable poverty by routing more oil money to the people of Venezuela instead of capitalists. Nationalizing the PDVSA was a brilliant move, as was reaching out to China and Europe for support while in the shadow of the US. The list of positive changes in Venezuela under Chavez is a long one, and as a socialist I support his "Bolivarian Revolution" totally. It's because I believe in it so much that I'm so worried about what is happening.

Number 8 on my list is hurting myself whilst trying to "flip the bird." I think that you're more homicidal than thorough. The kids call it "road rage," and I definitely understand it. Sometimes I scare myself at how angry I get. I've found that looking the person in the eye helps to reduce the anger, most of the time. Usually, it's just a normal person who is embarrased at fucking up...most people know when they fuck up. It's sort of a dangerous strategy, though, because every so often you look in the car and see that the person who fucked up and almost caused a massive accident is actually mad at you. Very hard to hold back after that, and 99 years is a long, long, long time.

Regarding number 9, that meat tastes good is either proof that there is no god, or that god is a fucking asshole. Number 11 is about my cats. I love cats, and I know my cats love me. Maybe they're trying to kill me because they know if would be for the best for everyone concerned. Little furry Dr. Kevorkians.

That would be a good band name...Little Furry Dr. Kevorkians.

My sense of humor has been of premier importance in most of my relationships. There was one girl who I met in the nuthouse that, if memory serves, didn't have a sense of humor. I'm not so sure that any of her senses were switched on, really. I lost my virginity at age 14 with a girl in my class, and that she thought I was fucking hilarious is what made her want to open her legs. Thus, a valuable lesson was learned. It's called the "Bill Murray Effect" by scientists. My thoughtfulness and neurotic nature have often been mistaken for intelligence, which is good, too. And there have been those lucky times that my girlfriend romanticized mental illness and found my irritating brooding and constant self-analysis to be indicative of a tortured man of depth and intensity. Ah, that's when it was good. Naturally, the truth would eventually come out...that mental illness is, at best, an unholy pain in the ass.

My current girlfriend is too wise and empathetic to fall for that, and she doesn't even allow self-pity. I guess that's part of the reason that I love her.

Well, that's all for now. Just for the record, I thought the repeated 80% thing was witty.

Fin.

List Of 15 In Post 250

We've hit the 250th post here on Zeitgeist Expatriate, which may or may not be a good thing. It's a thing, though, and represents an arbitrary milestone. And there's nothing more exciting than celebrating an arbitrary milestone! So I'm going to have fun by listing some things that have been on my mind lately. They are numbered, but in no particular order. Enjoy!

1. What the hell does "Get-R-Done" mean?
2. I get some sort of strange enjoyment out of scratching my newly acquired mosquito bites.
3. Wyatt Earp is an under-rated movie.
4. The 28% of people who still support Bush should shave my crotch and be fired out of a cannon.
5. My legs are too short for my body.
6. Older female celebrities need to stop trying to talk sense to Lindsay Lohan...let the train wreck happen.
7. Hugo Chavez needs to stop fucking with the press...it's badly hurting a very important revolution.
8. I tried to give someone "the finger" yesterday while driving, and almost broke my hand because the window was down.
9. We should all really be vegetarians.
10. Too many movies are made for teenagers, and not enough for the rest of us. The older I get, the more annoying it gets. Teens are generally pretty stupid, which has always been true. We shouldn't make $150 million movies that appeal to them. Their aesthetic pallete is unsophisticated. How else could you explain the success of Hostel and Turistas? Both movies have ample teen ass and lots of gore, but nothing else. If it's hot chicks and gore I want, I can watch Fox News.
11. I estimate that my cats have almost killed me at least 100 times, usually by trying to trip me as I walk down the stairs in the morning. I don't know why they want me dead.
12. I use humor to keep most people at a distance, because that's where I want most people.
13. I'm a drug addict.
14. It's the first of the month, but I'm already flat broke.
15. Cartoon Network's "Li'l Bush" is both 6 years too late and not funny enough.

This could go on and on into the afternoon. I'll try to write something of substance, perhaps about Venezuela, later today. In my online discussion groups, there's been a lot of talk about Objectivism and Ayn Rand. I'm interested in writing about that, but also feel strangely compelled not to. Every so often, I run into some guy (it's NEVER a woman) in his twenties who has fallen in love with Ayn Rand. They then feel the need to test drive their new I'm-a-dick-and-it's-ok philosophy out on me. Because they know I'm a secular humanist and socialist. The best approach, however, is just to wait it out. Eventually they'll figure out that they're never going to get laid talking like that.