The Blog I Never Use

My most recent foray into relative bloglessness (I'm assuming that bizarre movie posts don't count) has been the result of my efforts to keep the sister's vehicle in running order. The charging system is slowly going the way of all parts that have passed their warranties (or warrants, I suppose).

"That makes sense," I said to myself, lied actually, but only for a moment, then I changed what I meant by that. "The window rolls down and won't go back up unless you mess with other electrical switches (mirror adjustment selection or the window lock-out switch); " Now, turning the here's- your- sign- type- of- verbal- lapse into sarcasm, "THAT's how you know that your alternator has stopped working properly, I should have known¡" I scan the service bulletin . . . Power spike . . . "would a problem with the diode bridge . . . why do I care . . ." replace the alternator . . . "JOY¡"

Later, back at the ranch: "[inaudible explitival euphemism!] What kind of sadist," (let me pause right here to say that 'sadist' is probably the most complimentary nick-name which I have ever earned, especially since it was in Tae Kwon Do class, though I am forced to admit that it was not for any feat of prowess, but because I would laugh so hard when Jerome would get hurt -- which happened at least once in each class-- that I would be unable to fight against his feeble but numerous blows, delivered in response to my lack of self-control), as I was saying, "What kind of sadist decided to tighten the bolt holding this alternator by jumping up and down on the wrench!" After cutting out a brace, which held some trim in place, I was able to do the job. I'd like to make sarcastic jokes about torque wrenches, but I'm afraid they would be taken as innuendo, instead I'd like to denegrate the lousy monkey-wrenches who made my job harder. I suppose a blessing/curse is in order:

May you never make more money than is fair,
May the word of others be as valid as your own,
May your tool supplier's prices match your own,
and may the qualitiy be comparable as well.

When accidents occur, may your paramedics be former customers, and
May the surgeons be people who came for help while they were in school,
May all charges be on comparable scale and
covered by the same amount of insurence.

Amen.

1. Controll popular opinion (through the media, popular literature, academic texts/ classes) everything you do or want done should at least be framed as the will of the people

2. Villainize your enemy/enemies, whether actual (Osama in modern america) or imagined (the Jews in Midieval or Nazi Germany)

3.Exploit group pride and vanity of the greater part of the populance (nationalism, patriotism, religious superiority, moral superiority, intelligence, identity as "regular people")

4. Get financial backing (gain control of a virtually unlimited source of capital --the ability to seize land or property is a good start, but they have to believe that you will only use this right sparingly) and/or ideologically motivated followers (undermine any logical opposition with ideological buzz-words or rhetoric)

5. Attain a high millitary or governmental office (or a puppet in such a position)

6. If you don't have a good answer, avoid the question by returning to subjects on which you are sure of gaining the greater consensus

7. Curtail the rights of the people or (better) convince the people to give up their rights (a tried -and -true method consists of requireing the will of the people to be interpreted by a beurocracy, or reviewed by a board/judiciary before it is acted upon)

8. Acquire the power to interpret the law; begin with something small (judicial review over disputed items, interpretation of "cruel and unusual") and work your way up to position of sole arbiter of right and wrong

9. If you say something often enough, loudly enough, and with enough conviction, it will become true (at least in the eyes of the people)

Remember: The people must believe that you are simply following the will of the people, that they have no ability to change things, or that concessions to your power are a necessary evil. Whatever happens, they must believe that your control is by their choise (directly or through governmental proxies).

Dear Lisa,

I must apologize to you. I thought that CSI: Extra Crispy was just a joke, I was wrong. Even though your beloved Mr. C----- has the range of Pauly Shore and the skin of a molting albino ostrich (I'm not sure whether this is fact or metaphor, medical science is amazing); Extra Crispy has earned my very grudging respect by actually taking on an issue in real American politics. The subject of which I speak is the so-called "right" to immanent domain that the bloody unconstitutionally minded Supreme Court (of morons) unconscionably decided to grant the US government. Essentially, this means that the government can seize ANY property for ANY reason without paying ANYTHING! All-right!THAT'S.IT! I'm through. I give up trying to believe that our government can be redeemed. They violate one of our most basic rights, the right to own property, and without apology. I can't actually say that I wish them a long eternity with a less- than- adequate cooling system, but I do hope that someone steals their homes and everything in them and their insurance companies find loopholes that allow them not to replace them.

Where is the A-Team when you need them?

Warning: insensitive remarks to follow.

Imaginary Journalist: Ms. Fawcett, I wish you the best in your battle with cancer. When did you first realize that you needed medical attention?

Farrah Fawcett: Well, at first I thought that I had an e coli virus, you know the ones that spinach gives, then my publicist told me that e coli wasn't a virus, but I knew that it was. He said it was a bactria, but I worked with one of those on I Dream of Jeannie, or maybe that was a drom-a-dairy. It doesn't really matter, the camel's part got cut. Like I was saying, I went to the doctor so he could tell my publicist that e coli isn't a camel, it's a virus.

Imaginary journalist: So, you knew that you had to go to the doctor because you don't know the difference between a virus and a camel?

Farrah Fawcett: Well, actually, it was my publicist who was messed up, thinking that it was a camel and all. I was almost right, it was cancer, and that's a virus, right? I've had lots of viruses, I know what they are. I hope my nose doesn't get all runny.

Warning: the following content depicts a rather PG (for grossness) nightmare, followed by a shameless personal endorsement for a product. The author has not been compensated for his endorsement, but would like to be.
Conair WJ8 Deluxe Dental Water Jet
alternately titled: My Dental Insurence Plan

I am tooth conscious. It is not that I'm obsessive, it's just that I have nightmares about losing my teeth. Sometimes (like when I was seven) I dream about my teeth getting all soft like pieces of corn. I feel horrified by this but cannot stop myself from pulling them out, one- at- a- time.Other times I dream that one tooth shatters into pieces and I spit them out, but then I bite don again and more of it breaks off into my mouth, I spit those out, but I still have the gritty remains of my tooth in my mouth. I bite down again and the remnants of my decayed and fractured molar, though they were not strong enough to stay together, and unlike Smashing Pumpkins, evidently, (remind me to do my "Don't put 'THE' in front of your band name unless it makes sense," post later), anyway, they are strong enough to break my other teeth, sending cascadeing streams of tooth pieces from my mouth like an enamel rupture from the tooth pipeline. As I vomit the sharp shrapnel of my dental impotentcy, I can feel the juicy pulp of many of my now missing gum friends.

It isn't that I ever lose all of them, I always have more waiting to fall out, it's the shock of losing a piece of yourself. A freudian would tell you that this is a manifestation of my fear of castration, but I suspect that I would have nightmares about actual castration if that were the case. Why do I think that? Because I have not been to a dentist in almost seven years and I am terrified that my dental problems will reach such a state, by the time that I can again afford to visit a blessed master of flouride, that Saint DMD or Saint DDS will have no choice but to declare my permanent mouthware anathema and render the permanent temporary.

In view of this, I have purchased the above water-pick. I thought, "I am rather skeptical (despite what I've heard), but I might as well try. Afterall, I do use flouride rinse, which (according to Dr. Dean Edell) is poison, so I'm pretty desperate." My experience over the last few days has convinced me: Waterpick is a miracle. I brush my teeth soundly with a decent, electrical toothbrush for at least a full minute for each row, but I have this giant cavity, by which I mean hole that takes up 80% of the exposed space in my lower- left wisdom tooth (yeah, my dentist said, "You won't need those pulled," until three weeks before I lost my insurence . . . or should I say six weeks before the first available removal appointment). This hole prompted the actual inadvertant removal of a significant portion of the back ridge of tooth mountain a few years ago.

Anyway, I brush my teeth and then I stick that miniature pressure washer in there and let'er rip. BLAM: out come little pieces of my dinner, and lunch and breakfast, the pulpy remains of the best parts of my day, turned bad (actually they arn't actually bad yet, that takes a few more hours) from the heart of mount 2th Helens. Essentially, my beloved water pick might just keep me from the day of wrath, from being thrown, so- to- speak, into the absess (if I don't already have one, I've read that sometimes, if the nerve dies, you don't know until you detect a giant pocket of infection).

In our family (Gina and , we have favorite restaurants that cater to each of the four major food groups: Italian, Mexican, American, and Chinese. Since I came to Boise relatively late in the restaurant selection process, Gina and Steve have a favorite Chinese restaurant: The Confucius. The food is pretty good, and the atmosphere is generally what you expect: it looks like it used to be another type of restaurant before it was decorated with the tackiest chinese- like artwork they could find, with a few decent pieces mixed in-- we all understand: buying good art would blow the budget.

So, we're sitting there and I suddenly realize that the intercom is spewing elevator music. That isn't horrible, but it isn't something I expect in a Chinese Restaurant. Then I realize that that is the Stones . . . adapted for elevators . . . and then Aerosmith . . . and . . . COUNTRY?!

Dear Red Hot Chili Peppers,

Of the myriad of nauseating sounds which have afflicted by consciousness during my lifetime, none has seemed so senseless as the questionable rhymes and non-sensical lyrics with which you regularly choose to ruin your often superb and sometimes powerful and moving songs. Perhaps you wish to draw a contrast to the good music that often characterizes your works, perhaps you endeavor to show the depth of your musical skill; If either of these constitute your reasons, STOP IT! You have proven to us the quality of your rapping skills, negligible though it may be, and we prefer to contrast your music with alternatives of our own choice. If, on the other hand, your intention is not so admirable, if your goal is to create a device for the torture of humanity then, by all means, carry on.