big cliché

FOXNews.com - Foxlife - Fonda Says Vietnamese Visit Was a Betrayal

Better late than never; or Too little, too late?

The fun has started over at Invasive Cranial Restructuring! I fired it up last night (then, of course, blogger promptly died) and had most of the code worked out, minus one little hiccup with the FAQ's, sometime around 5a.m. Hopefully, this grand experiment will be a success and maybe even help us learn a bit about ourselves. Those of you who received invites know who you are, but if you know someone who should've received one, get them to check out the blog and have them hit the link. We're gonna play it pretty fast and loose with "the rules" to avoid having some overly stuffy "star chamber" vibe (as Jefe put it). And he's right, it should be a learning experience, not some snobby, elitist club, which I think we all had enough of in high school.

About last weekend: I was wanting to post a bit about it, but was either too lazy/tired or working on ICR so here's the restrospective reader's digest version: Kelly stopped by Saturday and we went to Aim's folk's house for Easter dinner Sunday. Woo-ha! Just call me Rockstar Indahouse (no relation to Ali G Indahouse).

Actually, Kelly, Double-D and I were supposed to go shooting, but they were too hungover (you drunkards!) and I was too exasperated to deal. I was already up in the ci-tay taking care of an errand or two, so the half-hour drive wasn't an issue. I honestly just could not bring myself to face those people. I wanted to shoot, I really did--but I did not have the strength to once again listen to some gunstore goon trying to convince some poor newbie couple that if they were serious about their home/personal defense, they would spend $900 on a Kimber that neither of them knew how to fire. And yes, I did hear the woman say she had never fired a gov't model. (OK, maybe the guy knew how to fire one, but I know I heard him say it would be their first handgun).

You see, last time I was up there, this young guy (the gunstore goon) was trying his best to convince this couple that they needed a $900 handgun because they were made better and more accurate than the other brands costing hundreds less. To an extent, he is right. Kimber fireamrs are pretty much universally regarded as the finest production .45s made today. HOWEVER...the .45acp is a cartridge you work your way up to, or so says Wayne. I'm set in my belief that if you jam a gov't model .45 in some poor newb's hand and face them towards the paper there is the distinct possibility, or more likely the probability, they are going to fire a mag or two then thank you for your time and go buy a can of pepper spray. Sure, there are always those 'extreme sports' nutters who want to fire the latest and greatest .600 UltraMag handcannon, but those guys aren't the norm. With respect to accuracy, yes, a pistol with very tight tolerances will be more accurate to a certain degree. However, these differences will not usually be readily apparent at the mystical 7-yard mark. And think about this for just a second, how may places in your home do you have a straight run of 7 yards? I have exactly one, but it isn't exactly 7 yards. So I'm willing to sacrifice a bit on the slide to frame fit to save a few hundred smacks and increase the reliability factor at the same time. Remember: tight tolerances means just that. There is less room for error and if one thing isn't tweaked or tuned the way it ought to be then you could be setting yourself up for a malfunction at the worst possible time. Granted, any gov't model which is not tuned properly will malfunction, but everyting else being equal, very tightly fitted pistols are a bit more finicky. Heck, even Kimber customer service instructs all owners to fire 500 rounds to 'break in' the pistol. Which is why I shoot a Beretta 92. (Dang, did I just type that?)

Like I said, I just didn't have the stomach for it Saturday. So Kelly popped by, I checked out his almost-new (sweet, but very white) truck, the new shotgun, on which he got a sweet deal, and took a long second look at his CZ75 (which is ultra sweet thanks to those new grips, I must say) and we caught up on things in general. All in all, a pretty good weekend--especially considering I was on-call. One could even say it was...oh, I don't know...sweet?

Yahoo! News - Top Stories Photos - AP

If this Jesse Jackson was any more of a media whore, he would have to be charged with pandering and solicitation.

I just finished this Geek Test (courtesy o' Dusty) and according to the author, I answered 75% of the questions as only a geek would. However, I had enough "ungeek" answers that the Ubergeek was unable to pinpoint my exact alignment.

It's kind of fun and very lame, but that's all you get at 5 in the a.m. kiddies!

Jefe and I are still hammering out the group blog concept, so that is eating up a lot of regular time. That and grocery shopping. And movies. You get the picture.

Yahoo! News - Aniston Files for Divorce From Pitt

Oh. My. Gosh!

I can't believe this. I would've bet money that these two would be the hollywood couple that was gonna go the distance. What will they do? How will they cope?

I just can't think about it now--I'm getting all veclempt.

Be forewarned: this post will be short and very lame. I've got some fish to fry, so to speak, which will cut into the bloggin' time.

With that said, something that has been wearing me thin lately are those ridiculous on-star ad's with the kids. Most of you already know how I feel about using kids to hock anything, so this latest round of crap is especially annoying. (As a side note, Aimee and I almost always record our shows then watch them so we can FF the commercials right out of there. However, when I'm watching the evening news during my lunch break at work, I don't have that luxury.)

The premise is this: If you don't have on-star, your children will die a horrible, excrutiating, painful death and they will be all alone when it happens. But you could've been a better parent if you would've subscribed to on-star. Good parents have on-star for their childrens' safety.

In the ad's, the camera is in pretty tight on these kids who are reading lines like "who will call 911 if I'm in a wreck?" and "Who will help us when we're lost?" and...who gives a giant rats rump? Guess what, GM: we've gotten along without your freaking on-star since Henry gave us the Model A, and I don't see this guy needing it anytime soon. If I can make it from Randolph, MA to Norman, OK with naught but an atlas and few pages printed from Mapquest, what do I need you geeks for? Nottadangthing, that's what. Now I'm not knocking anyone that wants/has the on-star because in all honesty, the geek-factor is pretty high and it is just a wee-bit Bond. But those dang kids...and those dang drug ads. Yeah! Those too. You know the ones I'm talking about and you what's next, right? Kids selling prescription drugs. Think about those on-star ad's, but instead of the kid being all serious about who's gonna call 911, he's asking "Dad, who's gonna help you when you have erectile dysfunction? You should ask your doctor if the little blue pill is right for you--and call this 800 number to get a certificate good for $10 off your initial consultation!"

Ad's. Blah.

Oh, and just to avoid the whole flava of the blog going all negative, here are two things I do like that do not wear me thin: puppies and guns.

I tried to watch some of that there Bowling For Columbine and initially I was a slightly amused with his cavorting around Montreal (I think) checking to see if the residents really do leave their doors unlocked. Turns out, they actually do--but I bet the residents behind the doors he opened are locking them now!

We started watching just before he went up to Montreal and I had my fill by the time he had made it to the K-Mart headquarters. During that time, he accosted Dick Clark because--get this--he owned a restaurant where a welfare mom was working when her first grade child shot and killed another first grader. He's out there trying to make Dick look like an idiot instead of grilling the uncle of the child to find out WHY he had left an unsecured weapon where the child could reach it? Could someone please, please, please tell me how giving Mr. Rocking Freaking New Year's Eve a ration of fresh, hot, steaming Mikey Moore rhetoric could possibily do anything to solve what Mikey perceived to be "the problem"? Is Dick Clark a legislator in the state of Michigan? Did he funnel money into the "Welfare to Work" program that caused the single mom working at his restaurant? Did Dick Clark buy the gun? No, no, and one more for the kiddies in the cheap seats, no. If you haven't seen that part of the movie, here's the scoop: Michigan has what they call a "welfare to work" program which, according to Mikey, requires people to work to stay on the welfare dole. Now I honestly don't know much more about it than that, but on the surface it seems like a pretty good idea to me. Apparently, there aren't many jobs in the Flint area where this single mom lived, so she, and many others, are bussed to a mall where there are many jobs to be had. She just happened to be working at a Dick Clark's restaurant. Granted, not great jobs, but one guy being interviewed stated that he was getting about three bucks more an hour than he could have earned in Flint. Because this single mother had to get up and ride the bus, she left her child with her brother. The child found her uncle's gun, took it to school and shot to death another child in the class, becoming the youngest school shooter in U.S. history. Or so Mikey said. Now that you know as much about the story as I do, I ask again: how is harassing Dick Clark going to do one bit of good? It isn't. What it does, is stroke Mikey's ego. See? Look at me! I'm trying to get to the bottom of these issues by harassing famous people! Woo-hoo!

And that was only one of the incredibly stupid, devoid-of-any-logic stunts he pulled during the half hour I was watching. Right after that, he collected two of the kids who survived the Columbine shooting and--again, I'm absolutely floored at the sheer stupidity of this--took them to K-Mart hq to ask if they "wanted the $.17 K-Mart bullets back". As most of you know, unless a bullet is going to cause immediate damage to any internal organs doc's will usually leave them in situ to avoid causing more trauma to the surrounding tissue. So here's Mikey Moore and these two teens who have already been through hell and have the scars to prove it, standing there (and sitting--one of them is in a wheelchair) asking this poor K-Mart lady would you like these bullets that are still lodged in our flesh back? Honestly, I don't have the means to understand this kind of anti-logic. It is beyond my comprehension. As if those kids haven't been through enough, he blatantly uses them as props for his movie! And the whole time he is doing it with a smile, so to speak. I can almost taste the bile on the back of my tongue. When the poor woman has finally had enough and this very, very bad joke runs its course, he takes the kids to the local K-Mart so they can buy all the handgun ammunition on the shelves "to make sure it can't happen to anyone else". If there was a little button up there with the on the blogger toolbar for "insert vomit here", I would be using it. I promise. What that lady should've done was bitchsmacked him for using those two kids like puppets then politely directed him to go sodomize himself--and not on K-Mart property.

I thought that movie would be bad--bad in the sense it would paint all gun owners as inbred hillbillies--but I had no idea that Mikey is incapable of understanding the concept of responsibility. K-Mart is no more responsible for what those monsters did with those bullets than the people who made the tires on the car they drove that day or the people who made those now infamous black trenchcoats. As angering as it was to watch, what I find even more repugnant is the thought of all those stoopids who fell for the whole pitch.

Initially, I thought Mike Moore was just another loud-mouth with a camera. Now I know he is quite possibly the most derranged film maker working in hollywood today--and he must be stopped before he convinces one more person he knows what he is doing.

I tried to watch a tiny bit of Bowlig for Columbine last night, and I almost died.

I really want to do the entire post now, but it is 5:03a.m. and I gots to hit the sack. I'll explain the whole thing tomorrow, but for now all you need to know is that he is so full of himself that logic and reason are no longer worthy of his concern.

He must be stopped.

Yahoo! News - 5-Year-Old Cuffed, Arrested in Florida

I don't know which I find more amusing: the fact they arrested this kid, or her mother's closing quote.

Now that's the way commenting should go. I would like to thank each of you who shared an idea, thought, rebuttle or even a wisecrack. I really do enjoy when this silly diversion can promote serious, insightful thought about meaningful topics. Seriously good stuff. That kind of exchange is so much better than the "Hi, I'm Wayne and today I did this, and today I did that..." that there have been times when I thought about sending out those blogger invitations so YOU can post on the cliché as a guest editor. Well, the reg'lars anyway. I think we've beat this one to death (pun intended) for now, so maybe the next time we visit a juicy topic, I'll send out those invites so no one will be limited to 1000 characters and we can really get the discussion going.

Which brings me to something I have always thought would be great fun. Back in the day when I was Birching it up, Aimee and I got our community producers' licenses so we could help Dave R. with his cable access show. I think Kelly and Dave D. even had their licenses for a while if I recall correctly. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the concept, it goes like this: Cox cable has a TV studio on the OU campus where any resident of Norman can become qualified to use their cameras, control room and editing suite. Then you, yes you, can literally make your own cable access TV shows, for free! (Think Wayne's World). Kelly and those guys were doing sketch comedy, some of which was actually quite good, but I always thought a discussion group with a point-counterpoint kind of vibe, sporting an incredibly eclectic, mixed-up panel would just be the shizzle. Imagine, if you will, a few hardcore leftist lib'rals, a communists or perhaps a feminazi for variety's sake, a couple of artsy, hippie types, a gun-totin' right wing conservative Christian or two and BLAM! Now that's good TV. The topic could be "The Rising Price of Toilet Paper--Necessary Market Adjustment, or More Fleecing of America?" with that kind of group and I personally guar-on-tee it would still be better than the vapid reality TV blitz we are currently suffering. The only thing holding back that kind of project is the logistical nightmare of getting all participants trained and then all in the same place at the same time to tape a show.

I've still got the program manager's number, but I really can't see it happening in the really real world. I suppose in the meantime, the blog will have to suffice.

Yahoo! News - Child Rapist, Murderer Hanged in Iran

Pro or Con?

I absolutely can not believe there haven't been more lib'rals screaming, ranting and raving about the latest rash of shootings. First, there was the guy in Texas, then the church shooting in Wisconsin, and of course the courtroom shooting in Atlanta. And let us not forget that wee second grader, who was never taught to leave a found gun where it is and get an adult, who shot himself in the hand. I figured as soon as there was mention of a child being shot our old friend Chuck, who never replied to my last email by the way, would be all up in da Senate talking smack about how Pres. Bushy as good as pulled the trigger by letting the AWB sunset. Maybe he has, but I haven't caught much of the news this week. If that is the case, he can suck an egg. I will never, ever believe that any law about magazine capacity, mental capability or even nationality will ever stop a determined criminal. Those who do are only fooling themselves.

We had a micro-food day today at work. It was put together at the last minute but still managed to be quite delightful. The theme was "Redneck Gourmet". Mmmmm-hmmm, you got any o'dem french-fried taters? We dined on billy-goat meatballs (which were actual meat balls--not the other meat balls one can get from a male goat. We didn't' go that redneck, Kelly). There was Rotel/Velveeta cheese dip, devilled eggs and what respectable redneck feast would be complete without pigs-in-a-blanket? Of course, they were made with that most upscale and versatile of all redneck fare: the Lit'l Smokie. Paul also made a second dish, but it wasn't really what I'd call true redneck fare, as it was made with all white-meat chicken. You know what? I'll even go as far as to say it was more than delightful. It was stupendous. And the leftovers are going to be even better. I'm taking a couple french breads, some mozzarella and a jar of good marinara (is there really such a thing?) to work tomorrow and we are going to make the leftover goat meatballs into...you guessed it...meatball subs! Not really in line with my current dietary goals, but I'll make up for it on the treadmill. I promise.

Dontcha just hate when you finally figure out exactly how you want to do something, but in all actuality you'll probably win the lottery before you'll have the means to pull it off? Yeah, that was kind of vague, so allow me to expound a bit: Last week we were talking about photo'ing death. So, as it always goes, the day after I put up the bullet pic, I figured out exactly what image I would like to shoot that I feel gets the point right across in a clear, concise manner. Sadly, it ain't gonna happen. Unless, of course, one of you know where I can get access to an operating room and all associated props for 2 hours, five sets of scrubs, six volunteers and about three gallons of prop blood. Anybody?

The CD changer showed up today, and I almost had myself talked into installing it tonight. Then I remembered I'm putting it behind the seat and there is not enough light back there to do that kind of work at night. Even with a shoplight, there are still way too many shadows to be able to find a screw if it were to be dropped. So I'll just be patient (even though the current unit still wont play a factory CD from start to finish) and do it this weekend. Oh, and while we're talking about music, steer waaaaaay clear of a band called Dimmu Borgir. They absolutely and undeniably suck. They keep playing it on Chronix Aggression and it sounds exactly like what you would get if you mixed Accept (remember Udo Dirkschneider?) the London Philharmonic and Popeye doing his best death metal growling, a-la Napalm Death. Their suck-factor is so high, it is entirely possible that they are a not really a band, but a black hole located here on earth sucking the will to live from anyone unfortunate enough to hear one of their contemptible compositions. You know, they just might be as bad as Rammstein, but the verdict is still out on that one.

And speaking of verdicts (smooth segue, huh?) how about that Robert Blake thing? I thought for sure he was doomed. OJ he ain't, but he must have bought some of that ultra-smooth "if it does not fit, you must acquit" magic juju on ebay or something.

Got most (like 98%) of the weekend things done. I think there is only one pile of willow limbs left to be taken to the curb for assimilation in the City of Norman compost heap.

Did 2.13 miles on the treadmill tonight, maintaining an average speed of about four miles per hour. It's a bit disconcerting when the run is finished and you step back on to terra firma--kinda like when one steps off a large ship for the first time in weeks. Walls become very important for keeping one's balance. Vertigo aside, it is much better than running in the out-of-doors where it is very, very cold at 11p.m. these days.

The CD changer in the big black truck is on its last legs, I think, so it is good that the new one should be here Wednesday. Nothing fancy at all, but if it plays a CD all the way through, it's doin' better than its predecessor. Installing that should be one of the high-points of the upcoming weekend. Well, that and I'm starting to feel the need to brush up on my mad pistolero skills. H&H anyone?

One last, parting thought: yes, Portishead is still in the cd playa!

FOXNews.com - U.S. & World - Vancouver Tries Free Heroin Program

How is this free if the tax payers are picking up the tab? I don't even know where to start with this one, so I'll simply suggest all you heroin addicts move to Vancouver to get your free fix. And stay there.

Remember that DEA guy last year who shot himself while conducting a gun safety lecture? I just watched the video and I gots to hand it to old boy for keeping it together. The circumstances are almost humorous because of the timing of the gunshot. He is doing his whole supercop bit and actually says "I'm the only one in this room professional enough, that I know of, to carry this Glock forty" and BLAM! Not even a full second lapsed between the word "forty" and the shot. But then old boy soldiers on with his lecture, trying to recover by using the shooting to illustrate the point! The best part is when he tries to get his assistant to hand him a rifle so he can keep on keepin' on and the attendees start yelling and screaming for him to put it down. Unbelievable. What happened, as far as I can tell, was this: old boy racked the slide back and manually locked it open to have his assistant verify that the weapon is empty. BUT, and this was his first mistake, he did not remove the LOADED magazine. He then hits the slide release and when the slide comes forward, it strips the top round off the magazine and jams it in the chamber--just like it is supposed to. His final mistake, and the one that resulted in the unintentional discharge, was to place his right index finger ON THE TRIGGER as he started to rack the slide again. Just before his left hand started pulling on the slide, he tightened his right hand grip and squeezed the trigger. Bang. Thank God he had the weapon pointed down instead of into the seating area. All of his bumbling aside, the one question I would love to hear him answer is this: why was there live ammunition in that weapon? I'm sure every one of the people in that room who were on the fence about firearms are now firmly in the gun-hater column because some DEA agent shot himself with an "empty" weapon.

This is shaping up to be a busy, busy weekend. I need to put down some kind of weed-n-feed on the front yard, put the stump killa on the willow stump, then bury it and level the yard. I have to figure out some way to stabilize the fence where our pot-smokin' neighbor kid broke the post off at the ground. Or at least I think he did it. I can't prove a thing at this point so I'll just try to fix it as best as I can. I honestly don't know why they even bother putting up these cheapo toothpick fences. The wind around these here parts is usually enough to take 'em out. Then there's the OKC Int'l Auto Show, which practically begs to be photographed. I've also got to come up with the best way to engineer a table sturdy enough to support the weight of Aim's keyboard without being all ugly and stuff--which means hiding all the hardware. Finally (I think) there has to be a haircut in there somewhere. Even if I do it myself. Seriously, my stuff is getting out of line here. One more week and I'll be sporting the mini-fro again and we can't be having that.

What are they teaching the kids in Home-Ec these days? I took Home-Ec I and II, if I remember right, and I don't recall a single thing about using semen for frosting. That just ain't right, people.

I'm pretty sure I just blew up our stick blender making nut butter. I was trying a recipe from AB for cashew butter (since Aim can't eat the peanuts) and the mix got a bit too thick for the little Braun, I think. I had added the second infusion of walnut oil and was trying to get the emulsion going when the blender started bogging down. I figure more "liquid" would be a good thing, so I heated up another few teaspoons of honey in the micro, to reduce its relative viscosity, and added it to the mix. That didn't work nearly as well as I had hoped, and I noticed the blender was getting a bit warm. I put it down and turned my attention to stirring the mixture. The next time I grabbed the blender and hit the button, POW! That tell-tale blue spark from the switch and the oh-so-lovely smell of burned electronics were followed by the sound of the blender hitting the countertop as I tried to make sure I wasn't holding the thing if it decided to continue all that arcing and sparking. It even blew the breaker, but somehow the GFCI plug didn't trip. Not quite sure what to make of that. I may have to add one more thing to the weekend list: changing out that plug.

Looks like a busy weekend indeed, but I always enjoy looking back on the weekend Sunday night and feeling that sense of accomplishment that comes from time well-spent getting things done. Of course, I can get that exact same feeling from a weekend spent sleeping in waaaay to late, which can be an issue all on its own.

One last thought: why is it that all our local radio stations have some sound byte proclaiming that they play "The newest rock first" during the commercial break, then immediately come back with a song that is at least ten, if not more, years old. I am not joking. Three times last week, while driving around town, I tuned to 94.7 (The Butt) to try to catch a traffic report and they were all "OKC's newest rock first! You won't find newer rock in OKC because we play all the new rock first before the other guys can play the new rock" and then straight away, they played Under the Bridge by the RHCP. Egad, that song was new when I was in bootcamp for Pete's sake! The next time, it was Hunger Strike by Temple of SoundGarden's Dog (or something with Chris Cornell) which was new while I was in Cali. The last straw was when they played Higher Ground, also by RHCP. By the way, did I really buy Blood Sugar Sex Magic, or did it just end up in my collection after a party? Dang.

I have been thinking about this topic for some time now, but it seems there has been something plotting against me every time I try to get it down. Last night, it was the kitchen light, but don’t even get me stahted...

I’ve been reading from the New Testament lately and I was thinking about the number of times the Bible refers to persecution of Christians, both past and present--or present and future, depending on how you look at it. Anyway, I had been thinking about this one time in particular I had tagged along with Keith, who was going to a “salon” to get a haircut. Or maybe it was a hairstyle. I don't really know because I am just not that hip. Whatever the case, I was minding my own bidness, looking through all of the style books trying to figure out which one would be my style if I had been born with straight hair. The receptionist guy walks up to me (he hadn’t seen me come in with Keith) and asks “Are you Christian?” “Yes” I answered, a bit befuddled at the question--not knowing exactly why he would need to know that for a haircut. So then he just keeps looking at me, like he’s waiting for me to do something. After a few too many awkward seconds, he says “Do you have the 2:45 appointment?” “No, I sure don’t”. Again, confusion. Then he asks “Is your name Christian?” “No, I’m Wayne”. Then he starts laughing and says “Oh, I thought your name was Christian. He has the next appointment!” I tell him I’m not his guy, and I’m just waiting on Keith. Most of the stylists could hear the conversation, so they all started laughing too, and interjecting stuff, like “Ewww, get out of here!” and “We don’t like your kind” and “We don’t need any of that” and other third-grader type stuff.

Most of them were probably joking, but I know some of them were most likely genuine in their dislike of Christians or any people with faith. The thing I’ve always wondered about that particular situation is this: what if I had said I was a Buddhist, or a Muslim, or even a Tibetan monk? What would their collective answer have been then? Somehow, with that particular crowd, I think the response would’ve been quite different. So then, the real question in my mind becomes this: what has happened in peoples’ lives to make them hate based on a person's religion? Did someone try to force religion on them? Did they have a misconception of what to expect? Did they feel their religion let them down? Don’t get me wrong, I am fully aware that some of the most heinous acts ever committed were perpetrated in the name of religion. I’ll openly admit (and I know I’m not the first) that Christians can be our own worst embassadors. Whatever the case or cause, people who hate religion seem to really hate religion, and by extension, people who are religious. I still have a hard time calling myself "religious", as opposed to "Christian", even after all this time, almost assuredly because of the stigma that label often carries. For example, check out this clip of an email from the American Family Association founder, Don Wildmon:

Bill Maher, host of HBO's Real Time With Bill Maher, says that all Christians are crazy and are unenlightened because of their faith. Maher made the comments on MSNBC's Scarborough Country.

Maher said: "We are a nation that is unenlightened because of religion…I think that religion stops people from thinking. I think it justifies crazies. I think that flying planes into a building was a faith-based initiative. I think religion is a neurological disorder. If you look at it logically, it's something that was drilled into your head when you were a small child."

"When you look at belief in such things--as do you go to heaven, is there a devil--we have more in common with (Muslin countries) Turkey and Iran and Syria than we do with European nations and Canada and nations that, yes, I would consider more enlightened that us."

Maher said he wasn't speaking only of evangelicals, but included all religious people. He said he agreed with Jesse Ventura "who had that quote about religion is a crutch for weak-minded people who need strength in numbers."

Because of their neurological disorder, he said Christians "do not believe in science and rationality." He went on to say the future does not belong to religion. One recalls the famous quote from the Beatles in the 60's that they "were more popular than Jesus."

According to Maher, the Bible is a book of fairy tales, calling the account of Jonah a fairy tale the same as Jack in the Beanstalk. (Complete Transcript)

In case you were wondering, I assure you my feelings aren’t hurt by anything this guy has to say, but it illustrates my point perfectly. The last bit of the email (to paraphrase) goes on to ask what the reader thinks the reaction would be if Bill had been speaking about gays and lesbians instead of religious folks? Can you imagine the hullabaloo that would’ve caused? People would be demanding his resignation along with an engraved apology.

I am not writing this to try to garner sympathy or make anyone feel bad. What I’m driving at is that I find it rather curious that amongst all the PC nonsense and calls for tolerance for everything from urine-as-art to NAMBLA, it is still “no holds barred” open season on anyone of faith. But then again, I knew that was part of the gig when I signed on.

Just now, one of our field reps came in to ask me to look up a trouble call for him. I had just previously been calling a different rep to see if he would start working on a trouble call. (You should all know I am terribly bad with names. Seriously bad). Anyway, Field Rep #1 walks up and I look him square in the eye and call him by Field Rep #2's name. Usually, this would not be an issue, but they are both black men. I quickly bite my tongue and explain that I was just talking with Field Rep #2 on the phone. Without missing a beat, he says "Don't worry, Wayne. All you white people look alike to us too!"

What a way to start the day.

FOXNews.com - Views - Good Samaritan Gun Use

Yeah, you should probably read this. That would be great.

For those of you who were waiting anxiously, as well as those who weren't, the POT? is now up, and features our topic of the week, courtesy o' Dustin, death. (Cue spooky organ music) Just click on the neglected link to the right, and take it all in.

In other weekend news, we had to kill another tree today. Which is sad because this one was like thirty feed tall and provided much shade to the deck. A bit too much at times, but in August, any shade is good shade. When the tree, a corkscrew willow, was planted it seemed far enough away from the house to avoid any foundation or pipe damage, but it just got too big for its britches--so to speak. One of the major roots was headed straight for the foundation of our house, not to mention the sewer drain pipe. I hated to do it, but I'd rather take out the tree than have willow roots all up in dat sewage pipe, or cracking the foundation of our beloved homestead.

On the movie front, we saw two that were not bad at all. We finally watched Frida which has (no kidding) been waiting patiently in the DVR since last December. I thought it was quite good, and for Salma Hayek worlds apart from any of the other lame roles she's had in recent years. Dogma comes to mind, as does that stinker, Fools Rush In. Stinky, I tell you. The movie is the story of Mexican artist Frida Kahlo, who is seriously jacked up in a bus wreck as a teen. She teaches herself to paint while bedridden and it takes off from there. Alfred Molina does a sweet job as her adulterous, communist/socialist husband, which is quite the jump considering the last movie I saw him in was Spiderman 2. All in all, very deserving of the 7.5 rating on IMDB. As an aside, how the unibrow missed the Oscar nomination for best supporting actor is beyond me. Its performance was flawless--always there, always on its mark, and ever so subtly growing in direct proportion to her age. Perfect acting without delivering a single line. Steller performance.

Second, was Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. That movie had every, and I mean every, single bit of rude, crude, socially unacceptable humor you have ever seen in a movie, and then some. And it asbolutely killed me. Man, that was some funny stuff. Raunchy, but funny. If you don't mind that kind of humor and have a few bucks, rent it. I don't know if it was as funny as Napoleon, but they really are two differnt types of humor. It was indeed a killer, but I have always been a sucker for a good fart joke. Sad? Yes, but very true.

So I guess the only thing left to do is to go get some White Castles of my very own. 7-11 still carries them, right?

Mmmmm. Saturday.

So far, it has been a good one and I have no reason to believe the rest of it won't be just as good, if not even better. Spending the biggest part of the day making photos is almost (like 99.9998%) as good as making little holes in paper with guns. Earlier, as you may recall, I had been in a bit of a "photo funk" and was craving some inspiration. I guess my muse was on vacation. Earlier this week, I got an email from Jefe with an idea for a photo project, so the timing couldn't have been better. In fact, when all was said and done, I was so happy with some of the shots, I was going to use one of them for POT?, but I decided that would be roughly akin to plagiarism, since the original idea came from someone else far, far away. I'm really just the hired help in this equation.

The concept is the brainchild of one of the Disorient camp members (if I remember correctly--If not, please correct me Jefe) and involves bumper stickers and city landmarks. The general idea is this: old boy mails out bumper stickers to bonafide "BURNERS", which they place on their auto, then photograph it with a recognizable city landmark. Preferably in such a fashion that the word BURNER (which is all the sticker has on it) is legible.

We discussed the arrows at Will Rogers', mostly because they are just about the first thing anyone visiting our fair city sees if they fly in, but decided better of it because there is really no way to get an auto up there without causing security to wet themselves. Second consideration was the Cowboy Hall of Fame, which is now called the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum, or some PC crap like that. CHoF was disqualified because the one truly recognizable feature, the statue "End of the Trail", is so far in the back that it would not show up in the photo. Which really left us with one option: the Oklahoma City National Memorial. So off we went.

Hopefully, you'll be seeing something of them soon, maybe at the Disorient site or even over at one of Jefe's blogs. I will get a "photo by" credit, but I can't take credit for the original concept so I don't really feel right about using one of them for the POT?. BUT...all that jumping in and out of Jefe's explorer (all Spencer Tunick-style, although no one was naked) did get my photo-groove going again so I'll be getting something up soon. I almost felt like a real artist--with a little "a"--being involved in a national (or even international?) photo project like this and it was, as usual, thoroughly enjoyable hanging with Jefe. Oh, and when I said "hired help" I really wasn't joking. I was paid in bratwurst and andouille sausages!

I've been giving some serious thought to Dusty's suggestion of photographing death. The question I keep coming back to is "what is death". Not physical death, that's obvious enough, but what graphic images can represent the many meanings of death. Death can represent or imply lots things apart from actually dying. Likewise, many images could represent death.

What I'm trying to find is one image (or even a series) that makes the viewer think death without being overt, trite, or contrived. This is turning out to be quite the challenge.

Well played, Dustin. Well played.

Just when you think you've got the whole internet shopping thing figured, something comes along to mess up your whole vibe.

Aimee ordered a couple big-ticket items last month and they arrived this week. First to get here was her new keyboard. This is the one she's been saving for since she sold the upright piano last year--literally months of saving, waiting and biding her time. Well it arrived yesterday and everything looked good. It plays, the display works, and all is well with the world. Just before dinner, she's looking at it from across the room and notices the very first black key is sitting at a rather strange angle. Closer inspection reveals that it does not seem to be connected to its linkage correctly, but it's still attached enough that it plays and, at first glance, looks almost right. Sadly, it will almost assuredly be heading back to the company who sold it for a replacement.

Second to arrive, and I'm almost afraid to admit this because of all the crap I've talked about them in the past, was our shiny new treadmill. I know, I know, somewhere out there is someone who I made promise to shoot me if I ever bought one of these. However, since I can't remember exactly who it was I asked to dispense that particular justice, I think I'm pretty safe. I'll openly admit I used to poke fun at treadmills and those who use them in an unmerciful fashion. My eyes were opened last year when we were on vacation. The night we stayed at Hotel Derek in Houston I used theirs and was immediately convinced that treadmills do not have to be a giant rubber bands on rolling pins. They've come a long way since backinnaday and I'm now convinced they are worth the exorbitant prices they command, especially when one compares the cost of owning one to the cost of joining a health club just to use one. And that's if you can find a health club open during the hours I would be using said health club. I'll save you the googlin' and let you know that there is exactly one within a 20 mile radius of the 'stead. I haven't been able to jog around da hood since December and I really don't foresee being able to jog outside (after I get off work) for another 6-8 weeks. This simply will not do. But I digress. The treadmill shows up today and I help the truck driver unload it. We get it into the garage with the plan that I will assemble it after work. Great. The keyboard is hosed, but the treadmill is here. I come in the house to let Aimee know it's here. She takes one look at it and immediately notices it is the wrong model number! E-Gad, people. The model number is printed on every side of the box in at least 3" high letters and I missed it. I'm blaming it on the fact that I had been awake for about 48 seconds when we started unloading the box. I hate feeling that dang stoopid, but sometimes it just happens.

Hopefully, this whole thing will be worked out by next week and all will be well once again at the 'stead. Now I know what you're probably thinking: silly Wayne, you have to do your homework when purchasing items sight-unseen. Believe me, we are old pro's at this. Aimee checked and double-checked, then checked one more time to make sure these people were legit and knew what they were doing, but sometimes even the best of companies have an off day--and of course you know "when it rains, it pours".

Paris Hilton must die.

She has reached critical mass as far as media exposure goes and as a result, I feel my IQ slowly draining away. This simply will not do. As most of you know, I need what I gots.

Yes indeed, it is finally too much when she even shows up on the OvC.

To honor her pending untimely demise (I have dispatched seventeen ultra-hip techno ninjas--they wear Versace shinobi shozoku and listen to 50 Cent while training--just for this purpose) I present the following haiku:

Oh, Paris Hilton
Your springtime is fading fast
Fall now, rotting leaf

To be honest, I figured America would be bored of her crap by now and I wouldn't even have to be writing this. Boomtown gets cancelled, but The Simple Life gets picked up yet again, because we just can't seem to get enough of this dimwitted, apallingly skinny freakshow on heels. Un-be-lievable.

I just wasted 20 minutes over at gravatar.com hitting the refresh button on my browser just so I could see all the random gravatars. Didn't see Jefe's, Kelly's or my own, but by golly, I saw that dang galloping kitten being chased by the sausage monster at least 3 times.

Dang kids, it is hard freaking work being this lame.

I'll tell you what: since I have been at a loss for words lately, and haven't made any photos in at least a month, I shall continue in the lamefest by stealing an idea Pinky brought us some time ago on her site. How about if you (yes, you) pick a subject. Pretty much anything, and I'll try to photograph it. If you're interested, on a serious level, try to be specific and not just fire something off (e.g. "Yer ass!") and I'll do my level best to give you my take on your subject, then post it here--or even in the POT? if it comes out supa-d-dupa. Oh yeah--no naked people. Unless you personally approach me and sign a model release and the whole bit, I ain't going down that street.

So give it a thought or two and if your interested, the comment link is right down there.