Bush's Beans and Rice

Condaleeza Rice, the Secretary of State until January 20th, said that the American people will soon "thank Bush." You all remember Ms. Rice, almost certainly the most intelligent (if not scrupulous) member of the Bush Administration. She's the one who told us all that the very evidence we need to justify a preemptive invasion of Iraq could destroy us. "We don't want the smoking gun to be a mushroom cloud." she told the world.

This is precisely the same logic that could be used to justify a war on Belgium. That may or may not be a good idea, I don't know. But the pseudo-logic used here could be an avatar for a entire mode of thought, a very different view of the world and how we move in it than anyone you know. The major points of this way of thinking and acting are difficult to define. Rice and Bush are hard to define. I feel as if I could walk right through them. They are phantoms. But I do know that Bush people adhere to a collective approach. For example, to Bushies, everything is a hustle, a grift. There isn't an ounce of intellectual honesty or integrity here. Bush never spoke with a reporter, or to the American people and just talked to us. He was always trying to talk us into something. Also, to a Bushie the law is just an obstacle course to be negotiated in order to get what you want. Ethics, simply put, do not exist in any capacity. Ethics are for academics and children...that's the vibe I get from Bush. In addition, he's probably mentally ill, as he seems to worship the God of "us vs. them."

One last thing about Bush and how we'll "thank him." I'm confident that he will be remembered as the worst president in American history, up until this point, anyway. There's a good chance he'll be remembered frequently, too.

I feel rather odd, and may benefit by taking another pill. That impulse doesn't fail me often. Adieu, comrades!

Day of the Hangover

By all accounts, via email and blog commentary, "Night of the Sake" played like a horror movie. Most of the elements that contributed to that aesthetic were accidental, like the black void of my bedroom with no candles or lights. And naturally it didn't help that I was shirtless. There is some sort of correlation between dark thoughts, angst and shedding one's shirt. I'm seen enough episodes of cops to know about this phenomenon. For men, anyway. When women get angry with me, or depressed, they never just decide to go topless.

That's the kind of world we live in. Don't look at me, Choochie, you live in it, too.

I apologize for my lack of eloquence, but in fairness I polished off that whole bottle of sake myself. A young lady and friend asked me this morning, via email, if I was depressed. No, I'm not, but I'm fixated on physical and emotional pain. It's no wonder that people need the pleasant fiction of religion to get through the day.

Today I went to my doctor, the man responsible for keeping me healthy. I'm meant to address my B12 and vitamin "D" deficiencies, which is easy enough to do with a syringe and needle. He also felt this and that, we talked, we laughed, and he kissed me full on the lips during the "strip to your underwear" exam. Well, that last part is my attempt at humor. An amusing lie.

What I learned, though, is that there is nerve damage from my second orchiectomy, which is causing frequent low level pain in the place where my balls are supposed to be. This isn't a complaint, as I'm acutely aware of how lucky I am to have had those nuts removed before cancer ate me.

Lou Gehrig, who by coincidence died of Lou Gehrig's disease, once said (in a famous speech) that he was "the luckiest man on the face of the Earth." With all sincerity, I feel that way about myself. I'm the beneficiary of incredible kindness. In the spirit of the holiday bullshit season, I'm going to name five people who have changed my life with a modicum of compassion. Consider it well. In my opinion, compassion is the greatest thing we humans have brought into the world. Nothing compels it but empathy. Religion tries to scare it into us, but that won't work without a threat of action in this world, not the next or the one after.

Here's my list of people who have been compassionate towards me, and should be canonized as far as I'm concerned. In no particular order.

Linda N. - My girlfriend, lover and friend. She is on this list because she is the very picture of kindness, to me and every living thing that crosses her path. She has the tough tenderness of a mother, and grandmother. Before we met, she made the world a better place for three children and one grandson, numerous horses, countless cats and dogs a'plenty. It's in her nature to empathize. His Holiness the Dali Lama once said, "If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion." I've found her easy to love.

Kent L. - My brother. Older brothers have a reputation for being brutes. Through all my electroshock treatments, hospitalizations, suicide attempts and various and sundry tomfoolery over the years, he has always been there. I know I'm in his mind when I'm in pain, and he knows that I'm there for him, too. Helping each other get through life, whatever it is.


Quinn Brisben - I have to mention Quinn, the man is physically incapable of judging someone. Kind and tough. Worked for disability rights via ADAPT in Chicago, the SP, and traveled the world. He once smuggled condoms into the USSR. Kind and tough go together well.

Dr. Michael Gibbons - When I was at UMass Boston, Dr. Gibbons was my degree advisor and frequent lunch companion. He'd take me off campus to a nearby restaurant and we'd just talk and eat. If memory serves, he drank a bit. He was all advice, good humor and rugged affability.

I could go on, about all these people. When I speak of luck, and how lucky I've been, I think of these people, among others. I've certainly tasted enough hardship to know that life can always get much, much worse. But for now, I have my friends, and memories of friends past. At my core I'm grateful. The pernicious schemes of men, the power of money to rob decent people of their principles, and the random visitations of hardship and death. That's life, yes. Partly, anyway. But so is the rest of it.

There you go. As sappy as it may be, enjoy this quote from George Washington Carver, the man who had a thing for peanuts.

"How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in life you will have been all of these."

Night of the Sake

Go bed now

Right now I'm drunk off my ass on Gekkeikan sake, my personal favorite brand because it's crazy cheap and manufactured in Folsom, California. License plates, prison outfits and sake. Yeah. My name is Darren and I am fat but not as fat as I used to be. I'm pretty thin, relatively speaking. I'm not all that bright. I have a blog. My balls are gone, and sometimes I wear my girlfriend's panties. With the exception of my huge cock, the panties fit.

Go figure.

Right now I'm sweating a lot. I'm really drunk. Good thing I have a doctor's appointment on the morrow. I'm going to say funny and good things to that doctor. We'll laugh and celebrate some fucking social relationship and I'll fly home and enjoy being alone. Away from all you rubes.

In actuality, I'm just waiting...longing...for merciful death to rob me of horrific awareness. Jerry Lewis is an abomination. Michael Jackson has lung cancer from fucking llamas. Llama lung, they call it. But between you and me there are a lot of people who can go die for all I care. Bush, Rice, Cheney, the guy who sold me the wrong FUCKING bagel at Dunkin' Donuts.

Vampires. Teenage chicks want to fuck them. They'd rather fuck a damned, undead James Dean impersonator than the fat kid. Fuck the fat kid. He's there and alive, dammit.

I should go bed now.

Of Sports, Sex and Pink Floyd

I've lost my girlfriend for the afternoon, to the National Football League. For my European friends, that's not soccer. In the US, "football" refers to a game that rarely involves the use of feet. They could have called it "noseball" and only been slightly off.

Soccer, of course, is all feet, all the time. That's why they call it "football" over there. We call soccer "boring" over here, but we have feet of clay on that one. If you've ever sat through a 5 hour baseball game (or more), you know of what I speak. Part of me despises all sports, as they remind me of gym class, particularly in middle and high school. I enjoyed all my other classes, even math, but I just skipped gym a lot.

One time, my "physical education" teacher asked me, "Why don't you ever come to class?" I didn't say anything of consequence, but my weight should have been a clue. But if gym teachers could think properly they'd be teaching something else. Anything else. If I could answer him today, I'd say, "Because I'm grossly overweight, which makes it hard to engage in your nonsense, and also makes my body look like the Michelin man, thus making cruel jibes & group showers another compelling reason to skip. You got that, Jumping Jack?"

The patina of my angst lingers today. Linda, the woman whose heart I made a nest within, loves football, especially the Patriots, of course. No problem. I can reconcile her enjoyment of an absurdly stupid sport with no redeeming aspects whatsoever with my love, via respect. There is more to love than finding a clone of yourself. I definitely do not want that, friends and neighbors. She puts up with my occasional enjoyment of Red Sox baseball, Socialist rants, insanity, and small pecker sans balls. In turn, she can watch football, House, engage in rampant cell phone use (she answers the phone during sex) and watch Days of Our Lives on her day off.

Believe me, I got the better deal. And she doesn't like NASCAR, thankfully. Whew.

Sometimes I feel compelled to shop for a strange sport that may appeal. Like AC, who is a Sumo wrestling fan. It looks like an interesting spectacle. But it never works out. The interest just isn't there...I'm not a sports guy. The only "sport" that has me watching in genuine admiration is marathon running. My friend Adam is a very adept runner, and a thoughtful intellectual. Great abs, too.

Adam, you are one sexy bastard.

Tennis is fun. Kickball is also fun, but who plays that but kids. When I was 10 we played "Trog" in our neighborhood, which was based on the Creature Double Feature "classic" of the same name. It was basically a cross between tag and hide-and-seek, with bad acting mixed in.

At 14, I discovered sex and any chance I had at pursuing a hobby (other than boning) with zeal went out the window. My "sport" became trying to convince girls to touch my willy. Fucking is a good sport. It burns calories, you don't have to go near men, and you never have to worry about being motivated.

That's why I thought that women's beach volleyball was so magnificent when I first discovered it. But that didn't work out, either, unless Linda was around to help me sate my base sexual desire. Oh, yeah.

So that's my thing about sports.

PS-To everyone who took a moment to tell me how much they liked my video posts, thank you. It means a lot to me, seriously, when someone says I'm funny or clever. It may be pathetic that I need that, and I suppose I don't need it, but I do enjoy it. Thanks GSP, AC, Eve, Linda, all of you.

Bye the way, AC, I'm getting into Pink Floyd and if you have any thoughts as a fan, let me know.