Cafferty on Drugs

I selected this piece by Jack Cafferty, not because I consider him a sage on the subject, but because it's brief and cuts to the chase in terms of the war on drugs: http://www.cnn.com/2009/POLITICS/03/31/cafferty.legal.drugs/index.html. I've been asking myself for a long time if what we're currently doing as a nation really makes sense when it comes to dope. It goes against my nature to want to yell calf rope, but does the effort really make a difference for the better? I don't know. I would like to hear from more people on the front lines; both law enforcement and drug users and recovering addicts to weigh their views on the matter.

Is there a family out there not touched by drug abuse? Most certainly, but maybe they're the exception now. Drugs have ruined lives in my own and my wife's side of the family and I'm not sure the incarceration of those afflicted really accomplished anything. They were and are generally good natured people but addicted and seemingly unable to kick the vice. Does locking them up really matter for the better? Cafferty also says in his piece that legalization would bring revenues to the coffers in terms of a tax on dope and less expenditures for law enforcement. Further, he says it would pretty much nullify drug cartels. I don't completely buy that, especially the part about less expenditures. From what I've seen, that money would simply be used by congress to fund other pet projects, so we wouldn't save anything. And, I'm thinking the cartels are clever enough people to make sure they had a seat at the money pile--they ain't going to walk away so we're still going to have bad guys to contend with in any scenario. All that said, I'd like to know what others think about this. What say ye?

More Old Man Stuff

Here's a nice WSJ write up about "Rio Bravo," a crowd pleaser of a western that has held up over time: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123802062186941663.html. Apparently, even the French like it, but they like a lot of shit that doesn't make sense so we'll skip that endorsement for now. The best thing about Rio Bravo is that it's not in the least pretentious and Hawks didn't give a damn about that existentialist crap going around at the time. Wayne and Martin are in top form and Angie Dickinson's debut provoked boners in dads all across America for years to come. Damn nice way to spend a couple of hours--the Duke has his hat on right and goes about kicking some ass in a very pleasing manner.

Along with Rio Bravo, here are some westerns to think about:

1."The Searchers"--all time favorite movie for many different reasons. Complex, a masterful story told by Ford, great CINEMAphotography, and marvelous characters. Wayne's finest role.

2. Ford's "cavalry trilogy" of "Fort Apache"/"Rio Grande"/"She Wore a Yellow Ribbon." Sure, they're sentimental, but damn, when you watch the troops ride into the sunset with "The Girl I Left Behind Me" playing in the background, it's tough not to get choked up. At least, for me.

3. "Shane"--Too bad Alan Ladd wasn't Wayne's size because he could sure deliver the lines. The climactic confrontation between Ladd and Jack Palance and the ensuing gunfight is great.

4. "Man Who Shot Liberty Valence"--Wayne, Stewart, Marvin--pretty strong. Great scenes between those giants and most all of it shot on a sound stage. Wonderful character actors, too. Woody Strode is "Pompey," Wayne's right hand man and all around guy there to cover your six and to carry you home when you're hammered. Every man needs a Pompey.

5. "Conagher"--No, it is in no way on the same footing with any of the before mentioned films. But Elliott was perfect in the role of a roaming cowboy and it's got one of the most realistic feels of any period western.

6. "Outlaw Josey Wales"--corny but highly entertaining and engaging--a solid Eastwood effort.

7. "Lonesome Dove"--not a movie but the greatest mini-series ever filmed. No, it didn't win the Emmy. Know which one did? No, neither does anyone else. So much for the dickheads who vote for those things.

8. "Barbarosa"--Willie Nelson in a role that hippie son of a bitch was born to play. "You been shit out of luck ever since you been born, ain't you farm boy" was a flawlessly delivered line.

9. "Open Range"--cracking good film and Duvall and Costner put in a fine day's work. Greatest gunfight scene ever filmed.

10. "The Long Riders"--the movie with four sets of brothers. Greatest were the Quaids. Fantastic score by Ry Cooder.

Like Hawks and others, I never much liked "High Noon." No, not because of the political stuff; I never found it that compelling. Another one is "Red River." I thought Wayne was good but I just did not buy Montgomery Clift--how does a kid who grew up in pre-Civil War Texas have a Yankee accent?

There's more. Feel free to add/delete.

Sweet Baby James

I've never liked James Taylor or his friends. I feel good about that: http://www.yankeepotroast.org/archives/2008/01/afternoon_delig.html.

UPDATE

This just in: It is not true that Shellback is 80 years old and wears taupe colored SAS velcro strapped shoes. That is all. Oh, the picture shown here has nothing to do with this post, only that the subject is both young and good looking and obviously very female. Buck up, boys.

Dutch always enjoyed a good Chesterfield just like Glenn Miller.

Nectar of the gods

Sorry, Shellback, but unless it involves a tuxedo, some fantasy the missus has cooked up after 2 bottles of wine/repeated viewings of "The Thin Man", the promise of a night I'll never forget and a blond wig, I don't "do" big band. If I did, I'd probably look like "pops" over there to the right.

But I gotta hand it old pops over there - he's kicking back with a cold brew. Beer - now you're talking. Beer is to men what ice cream or chocolate is to women - comfort food. Hard day at work? Have a cold one. Long day of yard work under the hot sun? Make it all worth while with a frosty brew-doggie. Finally secure that kitchen pass for 18 holes with you buddies? Don't forget to ice down some brewskies because, hell, you don't really think your golf game's gonna be worth a shit, do ya?

Beer is also the perfect answer to "What do I do now?". Run into an old friend? "Hey, let's have a couple of beers, talk old times...". Run into an old enemy? "Hey, it's good to see you. How 'bout a beer or two, talk about what a prick you used to be...". Old girlfriend? " You up for a beer or two? Maybe I'll remember why I hit on you to begin with...".

Most of all, beer is like an old friend. Sure, it's changed a little over the years, but it's still there for you. Years ago it was a neighborhood kid, a skinny little dork, and had names like Bud, Bush and Coors. Later it - and you - matured. It filled out a little and you called your old pal Heineken and Molson Golden. Finally, you became a man of the world, with tastes to suit. Your trusted friend became worldly as well, and you called him Guinness and Urquell.

The best thing is that our friend has now become damn near a frat house full of bros. Hot outside? Modelo, Shiner or Red Stripe sounds mighty good. Looking for something a little heavier, something to really enjoy? Pour yourself a Boddington's or Murphy's. Trying to impress that well rounded chick at the table in the corner, the one enjoying Chimay Blue? Order up a Houblon Chouffe Dobbelen IPA Tripel, and pour it yourself. Enjoy, because you are now in like Flint.

There's even a place for that skinny little brat you first met. I never said no to a long-necked bud, and I never will. Gotta admit it - I still enjoy them, too.

More Frog News

I read this piece yesterday and thought all of you frog apologists might like it: http://www.moreintelligentlife.com/story/parisians-rude-pas-du-tout. Apparently, Sophie Pedder says everyone is all wrong about Parisians and other frog types being rude--we just don't understand their culture. Essentially, Parisians place great emphasis on order and the observance of social mores and we mistake their rudeness--we just didn't properly set the stage by greeting them in the correct manner. Being a native of a Southern state, I can appreciate that. Hell, some northern transplants and their inability to function with anything remotely in the neighborhood of civility never cease to amaze me. But, I think Madame Pedder goes a little over the top in her apologies for behavior over there. I've encountered French school children of whom she praises as models of excellent decorum in other places as well as groups of frog tourists and I'll just say that Mdm. Pedder and I can agree to disagree. One thing though, she has some great tips for where to stay, where to eat, and where to go when in Paris--useful stuff for your next visit. Bonne journee, y'all.

Facebook

I've been screwing around a little lately with Facebook. Still trying to figure out the real benefit of the thing--mostly I think it sort of lets other people know you are alive and not yet in prison. Otherwise, there's not much depth there; one or two sentence replies or semi-pithy announcements of one's imminent trip to the grocery store. I'll see where it goes. Meanwhile, it appears that Aeneas is on Facebook: http://gawker.com/5185909/the-facebook-aeneid. Who knew?

The Big Bands

Peter Robinson writes and posts on "The Corner "for National Review from time to time. He wrote this article for Forbes recently and posted a couple of YouTube links to go with it.

Little Brown Jug

03.27.09, 12:01 AM ET

Looking over the Internet this past week, I noticed that Christopher Buckley had expressed his disapproval of President Obama yet again, this time chiding the chief executive for his television appearance with Jay Leno. "I thought," Buckley wrote, "he was a serious person."

My heart sank. This was the second time in three weeks, by my count, that Buckley had recanted his support for Obama. I had a weekly column to write. Politics seemed stuck in a rut.

Just then my two oldest children thundered down the hall to burst into my room.
"We just found the coolest song," said my daughter, a senior in high school.

"You've got to hear it," her brother, a sophomore said, handing me his iPod.

I inserted the earbuds. A growling, boogie-woogie like piano. Drumsticks on a cymbal. A sudden, lush upwelling of saxophones, followed a moment later by a trumpet blast.

"'Little Brown Jug,'" I said, after listening for only a few seconds. "Glenn Miller and his orchestra."

My daughter and son exchanged a look of amazement. "How did you know?" my daughter asked.

"Your grandfather," I replied.

Rest of the article:

http://www.forbes.com/2009/03/26/glenn-miller-benny-goodman-ellington-opinions-columnists-youtube.html

Links posted with the article:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FENrd7QRRIg&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9J5Zt2Obko

TEST

Just wanted to make sure you're alert. Carry on.

Eastern Wisdom

It's Friday and time for some serious consideration of world cultures, namely eastern religions and their adherence and devotion to fairly rigid deities. Cracked is all over it with this analysis: http://www.cracked.com/article_16103_5-inspiring-religions-that-worship-penises.html. I'm told that if you read this, you will receive eternal consciousness before you die. Gunga la gunga and if you encounter the llama on the golf course this weekend, remember he's a big hitter, the llama.

URGENT

This was brought to my attention yesterday, and I feel it's my Christian duty to make you aware of its existence: http://www.playboyarchive.com/. Check out November, 1976--I remember it well. The young lady in the centerfold, Patti McGuire, was a sentimental favorite of mine (notably of my right hand) and she went on to marry tennis ass-hat, Jimmy Connors. I was in Vegas once--probably around 1980 and saw Connors at the airport ticket counter with Miss November exhausted, sitting on the floor next to him. She was tired and obviously had had better days but she still looked quite fetching and I wanted to extend a hearty handshake for the morale boost that she had provided to me and millions of other young men everywhere. I passed, though. Upon further review, I preferred keeping the image. As they say in "Liberty Valence," "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." The Wiki article says she's alive and well and working as a television producer in Santa Barbara. Also says she's 58 years old. Fifty-eight. Hard to believe. The November '76 issue was also famous for the interview of Connors' fellow ass-hat, Jimmy Carter, who indicated occasional "lusting" for other women. It's really disrespectful for me to refer to former President Carter in that fashion--it's a tough job and regardless of party, presidents deserve credit for their sacrifice. My objection to Carter stems from the fact that I was embarrassed during his entire presidency and he has gone on to show his ass at every opportunity since and to often times undermine policy goals of the United States when they interfere with his own world view. So, yes, I think he is an ass-hat as well as a bitter, self righteous jerk. So, there. Patti McGuire could kick his ass, too.

March Madness

Here's something to think about: http://www.theonion.com/content/news/dick_vitale_more_sexual_during?utm_source=a-section. Who knew that Vitale was such an animal? Shocking. March Madness has become a pretty big deal, in large part because of the millions of office bracket pools and the fact that there's really nothing else going on right now in the wide, wide world of sports. Sure, there's the NBA but they're still in their silly season before the real season (playoffs) begin. Baseball is in spring training where players are ironing out kinks in between playing golf and fornicating. Golfers are golfing but no one seems to care unless Tiger is rumored to be somewhere on the course grounds. There's hockey, but the strikes have stuck a pretty big stake in fan interest to the point that you have to look on some obscure cable channel to find a game.

I've discussed the NCAA tournament and it's increasing popularity with friends and we've speculated on what would happen if and when a college football playoff is adopted, given America's embrace of football as its national pastime (next to shopping). Essentially, the consensus is that the country (even most of the blue states) would pretty much shut down for a month while the thing played out. People wouldn't just follow intently--they'd quit their jobs, leave their families, live in stadium parking lots, not shower, subsist on sausage products, Fritos, and beer and become literally quite insane. We'd become highly vulnerable to attack--hell, the Chinese could probably drive tanks up and down Pennsylvania Avenue and no one would give a shit except for a few displaced crack dealers. Anyone still showing up at their jobs wouldn't actually do anything except hit the ESPN refresh button all day like monkeys tapping the food pellet bar. But, damn, it would be some fun. Hold on folks: first games will kick off in late August. Boolah-boolah.

Lean and Lawrence

T.E. Lawrence would have been 101 today if he had been able to ride a motorcycle worth a shit. This piece appeared in The New Yorker last year http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2008/03/31/080331crat_atlarge_lane and is a profile of David Lean, who told Lawrence's story in the epic film, and I do mean epic. Seeing "Lawrence of Arabia" on the big screen is an experience I recommend--amazing the first time you see it. Probably not on the same level of banging cocktail waitresses two at a time, but definitely worthwhile. Watching the scene of Lawrence (Peter O'Toole) at the well as Omar Sharif's character approaches, explains the power of cinematography about as well as anything thrown down on film. I also like the climactic gunfight scene in "Good/Bad/Ugly" for that aspect but that movie as a whole pales in comparison to what Lean did with the Lawrence story. "Lawrence" along with "Bridge on the River Kwai" put the "c" in compelling when it comes to stories for the big, big screen. The trouble is there's not enough Leans around but really there's not enough visionary types in Hollywood--people who can think big and have the guts and ability to pull the thing off. Ford was probably the best. I've seen "The Searchers" about seven hundred times and still get choked up watching what that cranky old bastard did with transforming the Western myth into something beyond myth. Next time you have a cocktail, lift it to Lean and to Ford and to all of those highly flawed but masterful types who made history by the power of their storytelling. They would have made the goat herders in the Old Testament proud.

I Used to Think, Therefore I Was

Check out this demo/explanation of the latest high-tech gadgetry that promises to "revolutionize our lives". That may well be, but I personally see such a device doing no more than further accelerating our journey down de-evolution lane.

A quick reminder - my commenting on high tech gizmos is as absurd and useless as Shellback recommending a good beer. I'm the proverbial stick-in-the-mud, "...when I was a kid we had to actually dial a phone, you lazy bastard..." type when it comes to electronic toys. No, I don't own a PDA. My cell phone came free with a cheap plan and was outdated 4 years ago. I've never put the bud of an Ipod into my ear. My lap is reserved for newspapers or binders, as no laptop has my name on it. Until recently I didn't even have a cd player in my car. All music I listen to at home is generated by a turntable (look it up if you don't know what I'm talking about).

I guess if "nimdok" rings a bell with you, you already knew all of that.

Anyway, my disgusted reaction to such a device has little to do with the device itself, or even the technology behind it. I mean, it is pretty damn cool. And the brainpower/technology behind its conception? Think Jethro being asked to comment on Mr. Drysdale's investment strategy re: Uncle Jed's money and you'll understand why I won't even go there. It boggles my mind.

No, the waves of nausea are caused by the sheer delight we take in capitulating our right to think for ourselves. I mean, do I really need to be hardwired into the information super highway to choose which brand of toilet paper I should buy? Do I want my senses dulled to the point that I need an electrical big brother whispering in my ear, telling me that the smarmy asshole I'm shaking hands with is a personal injury attorney? Is it just so physically debilitating to reach for my cell phone or look at my watch that I need checking the time to be made even easier?

Hell no. I'm perfectly able, and more than willing, to make bad decisions, jump to snap judgements, and actually find/look at/decipher a clock on the wall - all on my own. As I said, I'm a bit old fashioned.

Hitchens on Israel

Hitchens, no friend of religion, takes on what he describes as the rising religious zealotry in the Israeli army: http://www.slate.com/id/2214440/. Allegedly, extremist rabbis attached to the army are exhorting young soldiers in distinctly Old Testament fashion to the shock of more secular members of both the military and Israeli society. This has gone on for a while with settlements of extremist Israelis in distinctly Arab parts of the West Bank--sort of modern day Keraks in Saracen country and a source of additional fury by ever-grievanced Palestenians. Now that the military is taking on an increasingly uber Zionist mode, according to Hitchens, he worries of increased vitriol there--if such a thing is possible. When it comes to that part of the world, they're never short of spite, flat out hatred, and a reverential dedication to vengeance.

I spent some time in Israel and Jordan long ago while on an archaeological dig in college. I can recall thinking before I left that there was no reason the peoples there couldn't get along and resolved to do my part to make it so. After experiencing the place, my conclusion was that there was in fact no solution to the conflict and it will forever be a question of who is stronger, both militarily and as a society. Still, I'd like to go back for a visit before the first nuke goes off in Tel Aviv. When I was there, not a single footprint of American commercialism was to be seen--no golden arches or KFCs or Nikes. In fact, never really found a hamburger there although one little joint in Jerusalem attempted it, using lamb and infusing mint into the creation. Didn't really cut it. I didn't miss burgers as much as I missed the feeling of walking into a convenience store and buying a cold six pack and then climbing into my car and getting on the open road to join the wide open spaces. Over there, the world is smaller and when you swing your elbows out, you hit people. In that regard, when your country is about ten miles wide in its narrowest point, you tend to get a little proactive in protecting yourself when it comes to knowing your neighbor is dedicated to your demise.

Back to the dig--if you're a young guy with little archaeological experience, your duties on a dig consist in large part of hauling rocks and sifted dirt to disposal sites. Grunt work. Our site was a bronze age "city" of around 5,000 b.c.e. Regularly, we'd stand on top of a hill and hurl unearthed pottery shards down below, remarking "There goes another five thousand years of history down the drain!" or something equally clever. That said, during the last couple of weeks, they assigned me the task of digging a "probe trench" which is roughly a coffin sized hole that you dig rather quickly in relation to the work on the rest of the site with the idea that what you discover in the trench will in large part explain what may be found throughout the rest of the complex. Thrilling work. Mostly shards of pottery but I did also find a part of a human femur and also a fertility goddess. She was highly unattractive. No gold, no ark, and no Nazis. Spielberg would have passed.

Art Matters

Here's a fascinating review by Jan van Doop of a book on the "Gardner Heist," the so called "world's largest unsolved art theft: http://openlettersmonthly.com/issue/book-review-gardner-heist-ulrich-boser/. Doop's an art type and a pretty gifted writer taking on a great story told by another gifted storyteller, Ulrich Boser. Essentially, a rich socialite (are there any others?), Isabella Stewart Gardner goes on one hellacious buying spree across the pond back in 1889 and lands a shitload of Rembrandts, Manets, Vermeers, etc. and brings 'em home to scenic Boston to stock her own museum. Then, on Saint Paddy's Day in 1990 when everyone in Boston is even more drunk and bitter than usual, a team of art thieves (no doubt wearing little black eye masks) fairly easily busted in the place and made off with sort of a holy grail of art, namely Rembrandt's "The Storm" and Vermeer's "The Concert" (see above). Since then, tons of investigative work and a five million dollar reward have resulted in exactly jack crap. Along the way, lots of interesting characters and a story that kind of turns into that riddle wrapped in a enigma covered in a tortilla kind of thing. Some of the scenarios discussed would make one cracking movie as long as they could keep Julia Roberts out of it.

I've bought some art. Not a lot and I'm miles away from really knowing anything about art besides what I think I like and don't like. Not really fond of a lot of modern art--I don't understand Jackson Pollock, so there you have it. I've seen the French impressionist stuff from both what's in Paris, along with the Met in New York and the Chicago Art Institute and that was worthwhile. Wanting to fill the spot over our fireplace with something meaningful, we commissioned an artist about a year ago. Told her what we liked and had in mind and she turned out something that I considered highly disappointing--it's sitting in a closet today being punished. One obvious mistake is getting an artist outside of his or her wheelhouse--she didn't have the resolve to tell me she wasn't comfortable or couldn't really get a handle on what we were asking and I wasn't smart enough to figure that out--anyway it didn't turn out well. That said, I saw some work from an artist at a restaurant the other night and called her. Long story short, she's doing a picture for us and we'll have the verdict in about forty five days. Afterwards, I'll just make sure to lock the door on St. Patrick's Day.

Weekend in review

Nothing earth shattering, really. As noted below, went to SA on Friday to see los Spurs versus the Keltics. Dropped off daughter #2 and boy toy off at the zoo for a while so they could watch the monkeys. Hopefully, they didn't spend much time at the petting area. Missus and moi had a couple of drinks at Cappy's on Broadway--that's old familiar territory for us. In fact, we had our rehearsal dinner there many years ago. Afterwards, we met up with some family at Soluna, the latest creation of Jesse Cavillo who invented La Fogata way back int he 80s. I was there when it happened and watched the joint expand from an old Fina station to the mega-Mex empire that it became. Cavillo, of course, lost La Fogata due to some shaky bidness decisions, but he's done well with Soluna and the other joint he owns in far north SA, El Mirasol. Both are dee-lightful. Had remarkably quick service which was startling (La Fogata was famous for bizarre food delivery--you'd many times get your dessert empanadas before you'd finished with your caldo de pollo appetizer). And, a funny thing about any visit to Soluna is that Cavillo has always confused me with some other white guy that does commercials or something in San Antonio, so he wants to talk commercial stuff and I just sort of go along with it and b.s. my way through the conversation. Even the wife thinks it's funny. Anyway, a mad dash to the AT&T Center followed by a furtive deal with a scalper and we were inside in time for the anthem (awful). Mas cervezas and the NBA experience was okay and all that, but I'd really just as soon watch the stuff on TV. It's certainly a lot less expensive.

Saturday and Sunday were chamber of commerce days which means everyone, including yours truly, was at some nursery procuring plants that look great now but will require epic life saving efforts in July and August to keep them alive in order to struggle on until their cruel death in November. That's a cynical take--I have managed to learn over the years to go with the drought and heat tolerant stuff so most of what I plant does indeed survive as long as I can keep my ugly dog from destroying it. Along with seven (7) trips to Loew's for parts, etc. it was the quintessential suburban experience. Even had cocktails on the patio next to the chiminea to flesh out the thing. No wife swapping, however. I hear that happens one street over from us.

Los Spurs

Heading to SA this afternoon (taking Mrs. Taras, daughter #2, and boyfriend of daughter #2). First stop will be Soluna on Broadway for some nice Nuevo Leon pre-game botanas and then over to the AT&T for the Spurs v Celtics game. Well, actually daughter #2 has tickets for her and young Mr. Wonderful, while Mrs. Taras and I will make a pathetic attempt to secure something from a scalper. Will probably get arrested in the process.

I'm really not that big on basketball so I would characterize yours truly as a fair weather, front running Spurs fan and wouldn't follow them much at all if they were not the great team they've been for such a long time as well as having some fairly good citizens, especially by NBA standards. Pretty good bunch of guys, the Spurs and I admire their organization and the way players and coaches who used to be with the Spurs always say positive things about their time there. Some even go as far to say publicly that they always consider themselves "a Spur." That's high praise. That's the same thing you hear about other sports franchises--the Patriots in football among a few others and the Astros in MLB. The common theme that you find with these organizations is a commitment to quality over the long term, a focus on doing things "the right way," and building around a core of good players that set an example of excellence for the rest of the team. Probably some other things, but you get the idea. Pretty much the same thing in any business, not just professional sports. Oh, another thing I like about the Spurs is the idea of a small market, backwater like San Antonio beating up on darlings of the east and west coast media. Nothing better than bitter, drunk Boston sportswriters becoming more bitter and more drunk after a sound thrashing at the hands of some red state knuckle draggers. Go, Spurs, go.

Reds

Gary Morson has a review of Jonathan Brent's new book, "Inside the Stalin Archives" http://www.newcriterion.com/articles.cfm/The-lingering-stench--airing-Stalin-s-archives-4028. Delightful stuff, the Soviet butchery of its own and other people in the name of whatever it is that communism is supposed to mean. I'm not sure if the Soviets even really understood what they had or what their state religion was about, only that they had to protect "it" from all threats foreign and domestic. I think the North Koreans have continued on that same line; to perfect Stalin's quest for perfect madness. We'll make a prediction here that whenever that day comes when the hermit kingdom finally implodes or just plain kicks the bucket, we'll see revealed a level of outright savagery and loathsomeness that will make Stalin and Lenin and Pol Pot and every other awful human that this world has produced quite proud of Kim and Lil' Kim.

I'm a little selfish and sophomoric about this, but I kind of miss the Soviets. No, not for their economic system and impressive number of gulags but instead for the pure buffoonery that constantly seeped out of the place. Brent gets into it a little in his book-- the awful suits, the hideous attempts at working appliances, the dismal living conditions, et al. But what I really yearn for are the spectacular space foibles of cosmonauts landing in the wilds of Siberia to fend off wolves before an eventual rescue, and entire fleet arsenals going up due to Ivan tossing his horrid Soviet produced cigarette next to a crate of captured Wehrmacht ammo (the Reds never got rid of anything). That kind of thing. We see some of the same crudity when Putin bullies about the place offering public support for some fellow despot, or some Russian billionaire is exposed for attempting to corner the market on East Bloc whores, but those are not nearly as satisfying as a column of Soviet tanks dropping into the Volga after a ill-constructed bridge collapses. As much flak as the US has received from whatever misadventures have occurred during the Iraq occupation, one can only marvel at what would have taken place had the good ol' Russians been charged with the same task. I don't want to say it's fun to think about, but such a scenario would provide a level of entertainment never before witnessed. Tolstoy would be all over it.

Off day

I'm taking a mental health day and will be spending time doing things Mrs. Taras tells me to do. One of those was having to endure "Good Morning America" and a particularly odious segment featuring an interview between Diane Sawyer and Julia Roberts. I have a splitting headache, now. I read something last night from some critic type complaining that Roberts went after him at some La-La function thinking he wrote a bad review about her. Problem was, he wasn't the guy--she had him confused with another angelino dickhead. Dips everywhere out there. Anyway, Sawyer was fawning all over herself and Roberts was all aglow regarding her upcoming film and the fact that she grows kale. I don't give a shit about Julia Roberts or her kale or really anyone's kale for that matter. Fuck kale.

My dog looks like this. She's ugly.

Catfight, II

Here's a real Hallmark moment for you: http://www.berkshireeagle.com/ci_11893799. In summation, it is alleged that a Ms. S. Lighten attempted to inseminate her "wife," Ms. J. Lighten with a turkey baster containing semen from the brother of Ms. S. Lighten. Apparently, Ms. J. Lighten didn't much like that idea and now lawyers, guns, and money are involved since the shit has hit the fan. What a heartwarming story from sunny Pittsfield, Massachussets, a spring break destination for the smart set. An interesting side note is that Ms. S. Lighten had apparently used aluminum foil as a container for her brother's semen before transferring it to the baster, which is probably something the marketing types at Reynold's Wrap had not considered in the company's long history of advertising. Smart lass, that Ms. S. Lighten. Probably a helluva cook, too.

I like the story because it demonstrates that lesbians (and gays) can be as wretchedly awful as the rest of the population, capable of unfortunate behavior and also ingenuity when it comes to improvisation with kitchen devices. I once used my wife's vegetable strainer to hold some salt water encrusted fishing lures that I had sprayed with WD-40 but wouldn't necessarily recommend this as it resulted in some really bad looks in my direction from Mrs. Taras for a couple of hours. Things eventually cooled off but a couple of Cordell Broken-Backs were unfortunately too far gone for further use. Anyway, the point floating around somewhere is that I think too much time is spent discussing how different people are--and both sides of the political spectrum are guilty here--and we should instead concentrate on the big things in life and move on. Like, quality turkey basters and why any home project I have ever attempted has involved at least five (5) trips to Loew's or Home Depot or wherever to get the right damn parts. There should be shuttles from Loew's on Saturdays to my neighborhood to service all of the poor saps who are doing the same thing, heading back to the return counter for yet another attempt at purchasing the correct toilet assembly. I woke up once on a Sunday morning many years ago, full of optimism and hope and then commenced to replacing a leaky outdoor faucet. When the plumber arrived an hour or so later with water gushing everywhere, he looked at me and simply said, "You tried to do this yourself, didn't you?" The lesson here is that a leaky faucet is really not so bad and it's best just to go ahead and play golf. Or, something.

Final note: I'm guessing that Ms. and Ms. Lighten do not resemble the couple shown above.

Catfight

You might have read where Jon Stewart wiped the floor with Jim Cramer in a much anticipated showdown that was more like a bend over. Here's a take worth reading: http://dailygut.com/. If you're left of center, there's not much not to like about Stewart. He gives you what you want every night and provides those much needed crib notes of the news. I kind of agree with Gutfeld's reading, however. I think Stewart has been stale for a long time and he exercises that selective memory thing a little too much.

Catch the "Red Eye" show on Fox sometime. It's funnier than Rachel Maddow wearing jewelry. Note the above photo is not Ms. Maddow--it's the lovely Fox News babe, Julie Banderas. She reports, you be a decider.

Tarts

Happy Friday the 13th. Watch yourself out there--the closest that I ever came to death (that I know of) occurred on a Friday the 13th. I lost the reigns to a horse I was on and the evil bastard decided to take me for one helluva ride. I finally jumped off directly onto some nice, soft prickly pear cactus. Lots of fun, yessir. Goddamn horses. Anyway, here's something for you on great whores in history: http://www.cracked.com/article_17126_5-whores-who-changed-course-history.html. Being the sick minds all of you are, you'll no doubt jump at this stuff. Read it and see who you like. For me, I'm having a difficult time deciding between Theodora and Nell Gwynn. There's probably not a whore out there that could match Theodora on pure output, but Nell Gwynn had really good bullshit which is an important thing for a whore, especially when servicing the upper classes. They like to talk about books and decorating and such between sessions.

Anyone been to Papagayo's in a while?

Read your Bible, Part Two

Robert Wright has penned a rather lengthy piece on a book he has out regarding the possible happy outcome for Christians, Jews, and Muslims: http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200904/globalization-religion. Really though, the article is a pretty darn good primer on the historical reading of the three religions, especially, Christianity. What Wright does is to place the formation of the religion (and notably, Paul) in the context of their times. Some folks don't think that's of much importance and more power to them, but I think it's crucial to understanding more of what Jesus was and was not about. Again, a little long, but Wright has pulled together most of the scholarship regarding the Historical Jesus into a nice summary.

A final note: Wright thinks the three religions can find common ground and a means to living with one another. I'll forgive the fine doctor for his equanimity here, but it's not really Baptists or the Mai Jong group at Beth Israel that's waging jihad. I think the infidels are just fine with the Muslims of the world. They do have a problem, however, with getting blown up for not bowing toward Mecca.

If you can't say anything nice...

Looks like I'll be taking Mrs. Nimdok and jr. to the south of France this summer. Yeah, yeah, I know, I've heard it all before - why travel so far when the land you call home has so much to offer? Why spend time (and a shitpot full of money) in a country that is teeming with rude, self-important, twice-monthly bathing, white-flag waving, insipid movie-making socialist pricks who think even less of you than you do of them?

Well, let's call it an investment. Picture this: you're sitting at the kitchen table tonight, having the same conversation with the missus that you had last night and the night before - kids, routines, carpools, etc. Riveting stuff. Suddenly you throw out the idea of spending a little time in the south of France, lodging in a 200 year old estate surrounded by vineyards, and traveling a couple of miles or so to the Mediterranean (not too far from the French Riviera) whenever you feel like it.

You get the picture: happy-happy-joy-joy.

As far at the ROI goes, I'm not talking about the immediate goodwill and "lovin' feelin'" that invariably occurs after hitting the "enter" key on such a vacation. That stuff goes without saying. It's the long term payback I'm talking about. Think about it - weekly guys' nights out, the monthly poker games, various and sundry weekend golf/hunting/fishing trips, biennial beer drinking trips to Europe/Mexico - you're looking at getting those babies rubber-stamped for at least another five years or so. Not bad, eh?

Not to mention the fact that it's going to be one hell of a good time.

Which brings me to my point. Can anyone out there say anything nice about the French? I've been to a couple of websites, and the words "incompetent", "stupid" and "nasty" keep popping up - as well as a few others that you won't find in a family publication. To be honest, they bottle some decent vino, can even make snails taste good, and every now and then some of their better looking women actually shave their legs and pits and move into the "I'd hit that" category. But I'm looking for more than that.

Thoughts? Merci.

Post Up

Stephen Webb earns a polite and restrained golf clap for his little expose on how soccer is turning us into frogs: http://www.firstthings.com/onthesquare/?p=1329. It's mostly tongue in cheek but there's some element of truth to it. My kids once played soccer and it was to some degree tolerable to sit through the things. "Matches" they are called. I never entirely figured the "sport" out other than it was crudely similar to basketball in that the team was trying to move the ball up the "pitch" instead of the court in order to get the ball into the "goal." And, indeed, every two or three days, some team actually would get the ball into the net. I had to play tricks on myself to like the game whereas baseball and football and basketball were all sort of naturally likable; they at least seem objective and purposeful--maybe that's because I'm an American but they are easy to like and follow. Soccer always makes me think, "what's the point of it, anyway?" Really, couldn't the opposing fans just compete by singing their cherished team or national songs and letting judges gauge them on the merits of their fine tenor voices or witty verses and be done with it? Or, in America, the soccer moms could compete in both swimsuit and talent competitions to be judged by the soccer dads who aren't otherwise involved in following dutifully behind, pushing strollers and carrying the Popsicle cooler and orange wedges. Whatever the case, I don't have to go to soccer matches, anymore and I'm thankful for it. At the redneck, dumb ass high school I attended long ago, we didn't have soccer. You played football, basketball, baseball, and track. That was it. Oh, there was allegedly tennis but nobody ever actually saw the tennis players--they were terrified of being run down by an enraged football coach and press ganged onto the JV team for special teams duty. Now, schools have everything: lacrosse, wrestling, swimming, etc. I suppose that's good but I'm concerned that the further we get away from America's core sports, the closer we get to becoming Euro-weenies and not being able to build decent tanks. After all, it's a military fact that you can't kick ass with a Renault.

To Read or Not to Read...

...that is the question according to this little article about books we don't read and sometimes claim we do:http://www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/personal-view/4944520/Why-bluffing-about-books-is-a-civilised-art.html. I linked to this because I've often thought in these last several years of the great books that I have not read and probably will never read and, because the author mentions Flashman, a series that I'm particularly fond. I'm familiar with the gist of a lot of stuff I haven't read, so like the author, I can bluff around a little if the subject comes up in idle conversation. Mostly though, I'm pretty honest about it and came to the realization some time ago that life is too short to dick around with Ulysses. I went on a "classics" kick last year with the intent on reading six or seven. It was on the second, Dickens' "David Copperfield" that I admitted that I just wasn't enjoying it that much. Oh, Dickens is a gifted writer and I marveled at many of his passages but his stories didn't grip me like a tale spun by G.M. Fraser, author of Flashman, or even C.S. Forrester. I think that these later authors profited a great deal from classics writers and really more fully perfected the art. Maybe in another hundred years they'll be the ones getting the nice leather bound treatment of their works for your Time/Life library. Anyway, it's a working theory of mine.

Reading the great works should really be something that begins in the middle school years through college--by the time you become a working stiff, you're too worn out and life gets in the way of wading through them. A pet peeve of many people is the substitution of the classics--mostly the works of the hated "dead white men" with more revisionist authors, the Toni Morrisons of the world. From what I've seen, much of this criticism is on target. This is especially true in high school where frustrated English department types who couldn't get a college gig want to stamp something they consider profound on young scholars, so you get a steady regimen of Plath and O'Connor and Marquez and absolutely nothing uplifting or in the least affirming of the human condition. It would be much more revolutionary to teach the classics, but that would require a little more in the way of imagination and innovation--something missing from the lockstep world of academia. It would also be cool to say that you actually read "War and Peace" during an interview--it would give you gravitas over everyone else within a thousand miles and just might get your young ass hired. Something to think about these days.

Black Tie

That's what it was for the missus and yours truly on Saturday night. We were guests of some friends whose college freshman daughter was debuting at our city's biggest deb shindig of the year--they bought a table so we sat there with them to witness their young Kappa make her triumphant curtsy before the gathered local gentry. Good cause and all to benefit abused kids so it wasn't just complete capitalist dogs running amok. There were about fifty or so young women dressed in their beautiful white gowns and we got to watch each and every one do the cherished and practiced technique of gently swooning downward in a type of swan like bowing maneuver--some are better swans than others--a few actually resembled a canvasback I shot a few years back. A little tedious to sit through and it's in a way a lot like watching the Grand Champion competition in the steer division of the livestock show--the girls are generally prettier but you begin noticing the highlights and flaws of each and speculating on who has the best marbling. Anyway, I do that kind of thing at something like this to pass the time.

We go to several of these deals each year which makes owning a tuxedo a good idea. I keep mine in sort of a kit format where all of the accoutrement's like cuff links, ties, braces, etc. are all in one place and it's really pretty easy to throw it on and not worry about much other than not stepping on some one's dress. I did note for the record, however, that it was about an hour or so after checking in and fully immersed into the pre-game cocktail session/silent auction perusal that I made my first men's room visit and discovered that my fly had been down the entire time with the added bonus of my shirt tail sort of peeking out. Splendid news. That said, you often times get drink tickets at these things (we got two each) upon check in and I was positively ecstatic when two of the other couples at our table were passing on cocktails for the evening and gave me theirs. They went to very good use--nice selection of call liquor and cheerful bartenders, to boot.

Ran into several of the rich and powerful and sometimes obnoxious and shady of our fair city including one fairly infamous politician who folded once a couple decades back leaving tons of people high and dry only to resurrect his own fortunes later. The local rag ran a piece on him last year regarding a splashy donation he was making to Longhorn U. I wrote 'em a letter to ask what all those souls he left holding the bag think of his new found generosity. Didn't hear back. That night, I watched his smiling, confident daughter walk down the aisle and it appeared for all the world that she's never suffered for any of the indignities her old man has fostered on others or any shame for his odiousness. Used to, there was shame, but no more. Maybe that's a good thing--she can live life fully and think daddy is wonderful. For me though, while he was standing at the next urinal, I did think briefly about rotating the turret starboard for a nice parting shot.

All that said, the missus looked great, I pretty much behaved myself except for an excessive number of furtive glances at the prominent decoupage on display, and we made it home to find that the teenagers at our house had not stolen all of the hooch. Good times.

Springtime for Hitler

An interesting piece in the NYT regarding the interrogation of a German staff officer who had some exposure to der Fuhrer:http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/08/weekinreview/08vinciguerra.html?_r=1. This Hitler fellow was a little odd, possibly even stranger than a few people in Germany today. Among other things, he apparently had bad table manners, didn't like to talk much, and sat around late at night eating a lot of cake. Yes, cake. Our man, Shellback is a big cake fan (along with hideously overripe bananas) and is fond of that "panzer" song in "Battle of the Bulge"--you know, the one where the bright young panzer officers stamp their feet and belt out a rousing ditty that gets Robert Shaw all worked up and convinced that a division or two of Tigers can roll over Telly Savalas and the other smelly degenerates that make up the American army. Almost worked, too, according to this obviously highly historically accurate film treatment of what history types call the Ardennes Offensive. As presented, it was an idle gasoline drum that Henry Fonda rolls down a hill that personally takes out the steely Shaw and turns back fascism and makes France and Western Germany safe for democracy and nylons. Anyway, where was I going with this? Oh, that Shellback is fond of show tunes involving Wagner and enjoys prancing about his downtown loft clad only in jackboots, a Sam Brown belt, and some type of genital restraint device--not that there's anything wrong with that and if you disagree with me, then you, sir, are worse that Hitler.

Make All Preparations for Getting Underway

We're leaving early Saturday morning to fly to San Juan for a 7 day Celebrity cruise. Cruises out of Puerto Rico can visit more ports as you have less transit time than cruises out of Florida. I intend to eat and drink my way through the Caribbean.

You boys work hard and keep the economy afloat while I'm gone.

John Milius and Napalm

Here's a profile on John Milius, one of the few original thinkers in Hollywood: http://www.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/Movies/03/09/john.milius.movies/index.html. I've been interested in Milius a long time as he fills the bill as a larger than life character. You see him him from time to time in military documentaries, commenting on some general, a battle, or a sweet belt fed weapon. He's also in "Riding Giants" about the big wave surfers of Hawaii and California that we talked about a few weeks back. Milius is one of those guys you'd like to hang with over a few cocktails and a campfire with meat cooking over the flames and the sound of coyotes nearby. I hope we get to see more things out of him before he keels over. That's how I feel about Duvall--by the time he was really "discovered" by the general audience he was already into middle age. Now, he's too old to play roles that he would have dominated and commanded in his younger years. I'll be optimistic that we'll get another Milius and Duvall at some point but I can't think of any of the current "talent" out there that could hold a candle to those two. They smell like victory.

Coordinated Universal Time

Since you're going to have to be resetting all of your clocks and watches, they may as well be right. Here's the link to official U.S. time per the atomic clock at the U.S. Naval Observatory in Washington, D.C. This link is for the Central Time Zone. It may be a bit slow for a day or two with heavy traffic:

http://www.time.gov/timezone.cgi?Central/d/-6/java

March 6, 1836

To the People of Texas & all Americans in the world--

Fellow citizens & compatriots--I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna--I have sustained a continual Bombardment & cannonade for 24 hours & have not lost a man--The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise, the garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken--I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, & our flag still waves proudly from the walls--I shall never surrender or retreat. Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism & everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid, with all dispatch--The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily & will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his country--Victory or Death.

Say what you want, revise what you want, reinterpret what you want. There is no way getting around the singular fact that the 175 or so men who died that day in defense of that abandoned mission did so knowing full well that their fates were sealed going into the early morning hours of Santa Anna's final assault. That put 'em up there with the guys at Thermopylae for all time bragging rights in heaven's stud wing.

When you visit the Alamo today, what's left is essentially the chapel so it can be difficult to visualize what the compound really encompassed. Next time you're there, look north to the steps of the big post office and that is roughly where the north wall stood (Travis was one of the first casualties there). The line of storefronts across the street to the west is likewise where the west wall stood. The eastern wall was really at the rear of the chapel area. And, the south wall can actually be seen by the two "long barracks" whose outlines are still visible. Another curious thing is that the "palisades" where Crockett's men were stationed are marked by a couple of parallel tracks running across the street that runs in front of the chapel--look for them the next time you're there. Maybe that will help when imagining the men on both sides who struggled on that final fateful morning when deguello sounded.

A final note: roughly 25 years ago on an August evening, I asked a certain young lady to marry me on that patch of grass that is directly in front of the Alamo. I figured that a lot of places would come and go but there would always be the Alamo. The rest is history.

Client golf

I'll be playing client golf this afternoon. It will, unfortunately, not include LPGA tour pro Anna Rawson. Instead, it will feature unsightly middle aged men hitting awful shots, stopping only every now and then to practice horrific pick up lines on attractive cart girls. I think that these young women must come away a little scarred from the experience--spending hours witnessing wretched golf, old men peeing on trees, and putting up with leering and aforementioned worst in idle conversation. The tips are good, though. If you're female, cute, and look good in shorts and a sleeveless top, you will earn some nice cash and a tan along the way. Fore.

Read your Bible

David Plotz has a new book out that is sort of an entertaining look at bible stories along with his own discovery of whatever spiritual awakenings that emerged during his year long quest to read the entire book from cover to cover: http://www.slate.com/id/2212616/. Great reading. At this point, if you have some fairly firm feelings regarding your own faith and don't wish to look at it in another light, I would ask you not to link to the article or read the rest of this post. And I say that with respect, admiration, and appreciation of those with a strong faith and comfortable with their own spiritual state. I'll wait a minute for you to leave the room. Gone? Okay.

Plotz, like a lot of people, can't make sense of God. I won't bore you with my own spiritual journey only to say that I do indeed consider it a journey and right now I'm sitting on the side of the road with all the other agnostic Catholics--I can't make sense of God either and after doing some study of the historical Jesus and what historians and theologians know of the time, I have a difficult time accepting my own faith. It's funny though; I still sometimes get choked up in mass and there's that god gene in me that some scientists and anthropologist types say we come hardwired with that wants to believe. There, I've gone ahead and bored you anyway. I think Plotz is on the same sort of path, only his is from a Jewish perspective. He values his culture and he wants to find a foothold but the more he reads and the more he learns the more slippery the path gets. It's really the same thing as that axiom that the older you get, the less you know. I recall distinctly in my thirties thinking that I KNEW the answers on most everything and was firm and damn unyielding in my beliefs. Hell, I can even recall in my forties casting dispersions on the limp wristed Euros for their abandonment of God after the Marne and the Somme and as William Holden's character said in "Bridge Over the River Kwai" after their "officers went over the top with nothing but a swagger stick." Now, you can throw me in the same room with all the other gray haired, turtle neck and Birkenstock wearing, give peace a chance Unitarians who don't believe in shit and have all the hideous mamby pamby frail outlook on life maxims to go with it. Yes, life can do that to you--get smacked across the face with enough crap and it can make you ponder questions about the nature of that cruel son of a bitch upstairs and his sick sense of humor. Ask the Jews about that. Still, a helluva lot of people hold onto their faith even harder after seeing their brethren barbecued so really that's no excuse. Sometimes, I wish I'd never opened that door to closer inspection and study. But, could be that's God talking to me--saying that he's given me some tools that may be different than the guy next to me and to use 'em. You would just wish every now and then that God would give you some damn instructions to go along with them--the ones I have are apparently in some obscure Balkan dialect. Next lecture we'll examine first century Jewish apocolypticists and the women who loved them. Until then, remember your Lenten observances. I'm applying for a dispensation for Friday, since I have to meet a client at Southside Barbecue in Elgin and there ain't a pope that's been born that will keep me off the brisket and hot gut during that little visit.

How 'bout them Vols?

More of the finest in Tennessee Vol/Lane Kiffin torture by EDSBS--http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/. If looking at LSU Freak's treatment of Kiffin ala SNL doesn't make you giggle, then go back to bed. If we can't have college football, by God we can at least dream.

Camp Followers

A brief synopsis on prostititution during the founding days of the U.S. of A, http://www.slate.com/id/2212640/.

The oldest profession is pretty damn old. Most would say that the laws against it are entirely justified and I shudder thinking about the awful lives of prostitutes. Others say it addresses a fundamental demand--we all know the score here. I do know a guy who played college ball in Texas during the early 1950s who signed to play after his college season was completed in a summer semi-pro league and was assigned to the La Grange team. He and the other players showed up and essentially had nothing to do but play ball and collect $200 a month for doing it. Lots of time on their hands. That meant a prompt visit from the legendary Sheriff Jim who immediately rounded them up and took them on a field trip to that little shack outside La Grange--you know the one I'm talking about. Sheriff Jim politely and forcefully explained that while they were in his fair city they would leave the local girls alone and restrict any and all carnal activities to the fair maidens of the Chicken Ranch. As I recall his telling, the cost for a straight ahead romp was four (4) dollars. Essentially he concluded, "you couldn't afford NOT to go at least once a day." Man, oh, man.

Small Talk

A little piece on the evolution of language:http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/science/article5805522.ece. I find this kind of stuff interesting if for nothing else to peek a little into the world of how academics come up with some of the theories they do. Amazing that the eggheads have figured out that some words we use today have been around since knuckles dragged. Says that while some words have stuck around (who, we, etc.) others are destined to fade away, namely: dirty, squeeze, bad, because, guts, push(v), smell(v), stab, stick(n), turn(v), and wipe. I don't know about you but I would have a hard time getting by without most of these, especially squeeze and wipe. At least in the mornings after breakfast anyway.

TEXAS INDEPENDENCE DAY

For those of you that are Texans by birth or by choice: eat beef (and some beans), drink Shiner, shoot something, open the door for a lady (or man, NTTAWWT), say, "Howdy," and look up at that distinctive flag of yours and think of all that brave souls through the years that have done their best along the way to make the state what it is. Take a nice deep breath (exceptions to those in the Golden Triangle) and stand tall. There are a whole lot of nice places to live in the world but none of them are Texas.

"How 'bout some more beans, Mr. Taggert!?"