Stu News and Photos

With his 552nd career win, Martin Brodeur inches closer to becoming, unquestionably, the greatest goaltender in the history of the 92 year-old National Hockey League.

There are others who can be argued as Best - certainly one can suggest names such as Terry Sawchuk, Grant Fuhr, Patrick Roy, but allow me to make a quick case for Marty Brodeur as Best Goalie Ever. Think about these facts: Most Shutouts (Combined), Most 40-Win Seasons, Most Single Season Wins, Most Minutes Played, and 30 Franchise Records.

Can any other goalie match Mr. Brodeur with regard to what is important, nay, essential to supporting an NHL team? Do we not see the NJ Devils as a dominant force in hockey because, in no small part, of Brodeur's skills?

And let's not forget that Martin Brodeur has at least five more seasons ahead of him, easy. So we'll probably see, upon Brodeur's eventual retirement, some impossible-to-beat numbers.

This isn't just about 552 wins. My feeling is that Brodeur is unassuming and polite and flies under the radar of a lot of sportswriters - he's no Wayne Gretzky, and if you're not Wayne Gretzky, most sportswriters don't really care, 'cause, y'know, it's just hockey. Hockey doesn't draw the Americans the way football and baseball and basketball do. But that doesn't make hockey any less of a game, it doesn't make it an easier game. It's relatively easy to argue that it's harder to stop a goal on major league ice than it is to score a basket in NBA basketball. No knock on basketball, but it's a slower game, easier to follow, and playable by more kids and adults. So it gets the better press. And even if the audience sizes were the same for both, hockey is just too fast for most Americans. We like slower games, with a slower object to follow. The basketball moves slower, the football moves slower, and other than the pitch, the baseball moves slower than an average hockey puck.

So this is about we hockey fans, doing our best to wake up the sports fans who don't really watch hockey. This is our chance to raise the flag of the NHL and say "Hey, we're just as great as the rest of you."

Leslie is on her flight back to Los Angeles, to our home, to my arms.

Can. Not. Wait.

The kids are in Vegas for a cousin's wedding, so tonight it's just me and my better half. Maybe we'll order in some camarones con crema de chipotle from La Cocina and listen to some Bread on the stereo in the library.

I really miss her. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. Absence makes the heart colder and in need of an extra blanket. Absence makes the heart cry teardrops that soak through to the eyes. Absence is a right bastard.

Thank The Lord, absence is, sometimes, not forever.

As the NJ Devils are having a fabulous season, I've started a good luck tradition for myself: I now don my Devils sweater every day, game day or not. Sometimes it's just for a few minutes, sometimes it's my shirt for the day. Not sure if this is going to work or not, but I'm going to give it a try - I want to do my part to see that the Devils drink from Lord Stanley's Mug.

It's Tuesday morning, a little after 6:30 in the morning, and I've just made sure the kids are awake and functioning. Now it's time to wait for their demands (lunch money, a new car, depends on the weather)

Leslie is out of town for the week - in Dallas, for work - The days are pretty easy, but the nights are a tough piece of somethin' - as the song goes, bed's too big without her.

I was getting into my regular cycle, and I guess I still am, to some degree, but with Leslie gone, I sleep less, so it's harder to truly find that slot in the universe in which I belong. Carlos Castaneda wrote about finding your place - my place is here, with my family, no doubt - but when Leslie is on a business trip, I find myself as Castaneda claims he found himself, in The Teachings Of Don Juan, having a hard time finding his spot.

Other than that, things are just fine. The days are pleasant, the kids are in some kind of academic zone, not to mention polite, so I'm in some sort of bizarro teenager world.

I've got some other stuff going on - nothing oppressive, but nothing that would make you smile, and this has already been a mostly-down post, so I'll leave off, but before I do, how about a dance number:

This is in bloom in our backyard. What is it? Leslie and I have no concrete answer, just swags. We'd appreciate it if someone would lend there expertise to this little puzzle.

As my birthday has passed, it is time for me to spend a tiny bit of my day paying attention to the NHL standings. If I have more than a bit of time, I'll try to catch a game, or at least check the headlines. I'm not a huge sports guy, but I'll admit to a weakness for baseball and hockey. So I give in to this weakness when my birthday roles around, as it signals the last month and a half of the season. So I stop just glancing at the standings and I start to read more news and watch more full games.

So it's nice to hit my birthday and see two wonderful things - one, the New Jersey Devils had a recent run of home game wins that put them in serious contention for the playoffs. And two, Marty Brodeur is within a week or so of breaking the NHL record for career wins, and possibly the career shutout wins. So, y'know, he's got that goin' for him.

Anyway, go Devils and go Devil Fans and anyone who was ever a member of the Uli Heimer Fan Club!

I. Am. Home.

Delicious feeling, like a warm bath after a tough day in the coal mine.

Getting home was interesting, though not a bad experience, just interesting.

It started with getting to the airport, which went very smoothly. Then I registered at the front counter, where the ticket and I agreed that the initial delay we saw would put my connection out of reach. So she booked me on the next flight from Chicago, my connection, and I was set.

I then participated in the security theatre, complete with my first experience with the air-blowing machine. Not only was it surreal to step into the gates into an open-ended machine that belonged on Dr. Who or The Prisoner, but the mechanical voice that notified of the upcoming air blast clearly said, "Firing Guns!" - Awesome, I can't mention any of seventy-odd phrases, like bomb or blow up or explode or whatever, but our great and magnificent Homeland Security authorizes the use of a scientifically questionable device that says "Firing Guns." - ok, whatever, I'll address security theatre in another post.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so I get through security and I walk to my gate. That's when I realize that I still haven't gotten a souvenir for my son (I picked up a NJ mug at the drugstore for my daughter). So I pop by my gate, confirm that there's a two-hour delay before my plane *might* be prepared for departure, and I start walking around the gate area, souvenir hunting. Except it's a tiny area with one food/restaurant choice and one bookstore/souvenir place. And the souvenirs they sold were just ok and the selection was sparse. So I ask the kiosk (I wouldn't call it a store) manager where else I might find souvenirs. She says, "Just keep circling this area and you'll see more." - Off I walk, circling the large kiosk, only to realize that she either doesn't care about the answer she gave or she is remarkably dim, as the only other products sold in the rest of her kiosk (which had a relative circumference of about 100 square feet or so) were toothbrushes and candy (lovely irony there). So I round the final corner, see her, inform her that there were no other souvenirs in her shop, whereupon she replied, "Oh."

Ok.

So then I take a long walk around the entire gate area, only to discover that if I am to head back to the good shops at Newark means a new trip through the security area. Well, obviously, forget that. So I settle for sweatshirt for my son and settle back down in a seat and wait for the first leg of my journey to commence. I people watch for a while, embracing the lack of responsibility with which I am suddenly laden. A lovely feeling, really luxurious after the past few weeks.

I also read some of the Thoreau that I received for my birthday. Enchanting and entrancing words - life-affirming.

Finally my flight departs and I sleep (it's about 8 o'clock and I am chockablock full of Dramamine. When I awake, we are landing in Chicago.

If you've never been to O'Hare International, I recommend a visit. It's a beautiful building with a variety of modern art displays, including a wonderful neon piece overhead as you use the moving walkway to get from concourse to concourse. Also, my other favorite part, near Concourse B is a 72-foot long model of the skeleton of a Brachiosaurus. It is visually daunting and yet sublime and peaceful.

Eventually I reach my gate, where I discover that the person who booked me on my backup connection, which I have missed due to the enormously late takeoff of my first flight, shouldn't have done that (don't know why) and they want to put me on standby. Um, yeah, thanks for the very kind offer, but I shall politely decline. So they call over another gate attendant who, magically, finds me a seat on the next flight to Los Angeles International. Ecstasy!

Four hours later, at about 2:30am PST, I am at baggage claim. 'Cept no bag. So I find my baggage receipt and use the available "Where's My Bag" computer terminal to discover that my bag hasn't made it to California yet. Ok, no bigs, I just give the machine my address and the machine politely informs me that I'll get my bag delivered the next day or so. Cool.

I cab it home, am embraced by my better half, who has lit candles and put on one of my favorite albums on the stereo. We hug, talk, etc. I get to relieve the dog of his worry that I was never coming home, ever. Then bed calls to me like a muse and I drift off.

Now it's morning and I'm writing this, wondering what I'll have for brunch.

As my friend Ferris Bueller says, "Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Hi there. How's it goin'? How've you been?

To the folks who read this, allow me to say thanks for reading, and for putting up with my radio silence the past few weeks. So what happened, Stu?

Well...

'Round about the end of January, I found out that my mom was going to need open-heart surgery. Heavy-duty news for her, but the prognosis was good, and my ma is a strong soul. So I was nervous, but not *too* nervous. (and she's fine, as of this writing, February 27th, 2009, so everything's cool, didn't want you to be tense while you read the rest of this)

Ok, so there I am, in Los Angeles, my folks in New Jersey, and I have to start getting my head in the game. Also, I'm a believer in jinxes, so I didn't blog about it, or really tell anybody, until she was back home, so I stopped blogging and started focusing, and some deep prayin'.

My siblings and I discussed it and decided that I would take the first shift. We'd all meet in NJ a few days before the surgery, then they'd go back to their kids and I'd stay with Mom at the hospital until she was well enough to go home.

So I flew out, saw Mom, she looked ok. Not awesome, but not like a woman who needed a bypass or two. For 70-something, she's in pretty good shape. But still, they were all certain that she needed a bypass - the docs were pretty sure they'd need to do four, but wouldn't be certain until they got in there.

So now it's operation day and we get there, and we wait for a super-long time (hours) before they tell us that there's been some more emergent heart cases and that they'll have to get to her the next morning. That was pretty stressful, and as I was to find out, the waiting is indeed the most stressful part (Tom Petty is right, the waiting is the hardest part)...

So now it's Day Two and this time they are ready and she goes in to surgery. My pop, my bro, my sis, and me sit around and wait. Every few hours they come in and give us an update. Finally it's over, they tell us it went smoothly, she only needed three bypasses (grafts) and we can see her. So we walk to her post-op room and she's sleeping, but sure as G-d made little green apples, she looks better. I mean, to me, it's significant. She had more color or whatever, but she looked better than she had when she was wheeled in hours earlier.

After a few hours they wheel her to her ICU room and we wait for her to come out of the anaesthetic. She does, we say hi and I love you and whatnot, and all heave a sigh of relief.

Eventually, a day or so later, my sister and brother head home and it's just me and Pop watchin' over Ma. And I'll tell you, it was the most amazing thing I'd ever witnessed: my mother got steadily, noticeably better every four hours, almost like clock-work. The staff at the hospital was fantastic - upbeat, professional, competent, empathetic, and never showed a trace of the weariness that must come with the job.

A few days later Ma was well enough to go to a step-down unit, and almost exactly a week after they cracked her sternum to start the surgery, they wheeled her out the front door to head back to her own bed.

So here I sit, at my parent's dining room table, writing this all down, for you and for me.

It's been a pretty heavy few weeks - fair amount of stress, lots to do, a mild amount of hurry-up-and-wait, and way less boredom than I expected. I learned a whole lot of medical stuff in a short period of time, and I learned about the pliability of the human soul. No knock on anyone who has to have open-heart surgery, but for the folks who care and have to bear witness to the healing process, it's a lot of spirit-stretching.

So I'm pretty tired. Fortunately my sister is coming Friday (along with her beloved), and as Mom is clearly on the mend, I'll be heading home on my flight booked for Sunday.

Feel free to ask questions, I'll answer what I can without divulging too much about Mom's medical stuff (she's cool with me telling folks about the general stuff, but there's also a fair amount of stuff that anyone would want kept private) - anyway, ask away, and to the folks who are my friends in one form or another, thank you so very much for your presence - whether you knew it or not, you kept me sane throughout this period and I am ever grateful.

Now it's time to pick up a recliner for my Ma, and to deal with whatever else this day will bring. G-d willing, I'll pick up my regular blog posting some time next week. Prepare for both the boring and the mundane, as it will be my therapy as I sink back into normalcy.

Peace be unto y'all,

Stu

Scary to watch, yet I'm glad he's happy with what he's doing.

I may be calling the pot a little early, but I was bowled over by the pilot for Tim Roth's new show, Lie To Me. Produced by Brian Grazer, it is delectable. The subject matter is close to my heart, so I may be allowing bias to hamper my gambler's mind. Still, I'm going to the $2 window and placing a bet down on this show.

Me, Senior Prom, and my friend Mike's date

My buddy Mike has an entry in the Food Network/Welch's Grape Jelly contest - do me a flavor and vote for him, as he's a gentleman and a scholar, and his daughter is really cute! Here's the link to load the voting page (you click on the rate this link and give it 5 Jelly Jars)

And here's the vid by itself, so feel free to watch it here and then click on the above link to vote - Thanks!!!



And

*EDIT*

At 7:35pm EST, President-Elect Barack Hussein Obama took the oath of The Office of The President of The United States a second time - flawlessly reciting the oath, and cementing his status as the 44th President Of The United States. Gotta respect a person who respects the rule of law - this is a really good sign.

*EDIT*

--------


Allow me to say at the outset that I'm pleased as punch that the people voted to have as their leader Mr. Barack Obama.

But he's not the President, at least not as of this writing, at a little past 2pm PST on Wednesday, January 21st.

If I understand the Constitution Of The United States as clearly as I think I do, here's the deal:

Article II, Section 1, Clause 8 says, "Before he enter on the Execution of his Office, he shall take the following Oath or Affirmation:

"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Do to the unparalleled bout of stage-fright that consumed Chief Justice Roberts, the exact words that Mr. Obama uttered were,

"I, Barack Hussein Obama, do solemnly swear that I will execute...[pause while the Chief Justice fumbles] ...the Office of President of the United States faithfully and will, to the the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Certain folks will immediately point you to the 20th Amendment, Section 1, which reads:

"Section 1. The terms of the President and Vice President shall end at noon on the 20th day of January, and the terms of Senators and Representatives at noon on the 3d day of January, of the years in which such terms would have ended if this article had not been ratified; and the terms of their successors shall then begin."

Here's my argument (which is the argument of some others, so I'm not alone here,) - while the 20th Amendment indicates a term, it refers to the person who is President. And you can't be the President until you've been sworn into that office, and that involves saying the correct oath. Article II clearly uses the word "shall," in case there are any dissenters at this point.

Obviously there's no precedent for the oath of President being muffed. Presidents Coolidge and Arthur took the oath twice, but neither was required, they were both, essentially, given a formal swearing in for show.

So what's the next step? My opinion is that Mr. Obama needs to have the oath administered again properly and with due haste. If I were an arch-conservative, I would be waiting in the tall grass, ready to file suit against the first most-hot button topic that Mr. Obama has taken action on (like shutting down Gitmo).

And to anyone who is thinking that I'm making too big a deal out of this, allow me to respond: We are a nation of laws. The law *makes* us a nation, a united group. We all, *all* of us, accept the Constitution as inviolate. And while I am a fan of the defiance of certain laws, there's nothing unjust about the oath. At the highest levels of authority, it is imperative that the law be followed to the letter. For those who have forgotten the last eight years, allow me to repeat, it is *imperative* that they follow the letter of the law.

Thank you for your time.

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!

This one's for Amy - She's into solo piano music, so I thought I'd introduce her to Keith Jarrett:

Not that any of you would have really noticed (maybe a few of you did)... but... I had a problem with my feed - the account was setup using an old, and now defunct, email address. Well... Finally... I got Google to reset my password and now everything is cool.

So, for one thing, if you want to email me back when you get a post, the reply-to field should have a good address for me.

And another thing, now I can keep tabs on my subscribers. Anyone not subscribed? Now's your chance!

And lastly, I'm in the mood for requests. Anyone want to see a video on specific topic, or genre of music? Anyone want me to write about anything special? Anyone awake?

My bud Sully pointed out that I mention a lot of dead folks on my blog, so here's someone who is alive and great: actor Maggie Gyllenhaal, who celebrates a birthday today, January 16th.

I'm in my forties - yes, it's true. And some things change, whether you want them to or not. One of them is the intestinal system, especially if you eat terribly, like I do. So when the need for fiber first hit me, I thought figs and such would be the way, except eating stuff like that was more a chore than anything else. And they didn't have enough fiber per serving - I mean, most fiber-rich fruits/veggies average about 5 grams of fiber per serving.

I may not be into fruits and vegetables so much, but I sure dig me some breakfast cereal. So I started looking at the fiber count of certain cereals and discovered that some had about the same amount of fiber. Unfortunately, the taste was kinda eh.

And then I discovered Fiber One. Not the yummiest cereal ever invented, 'cause, y'know, not a lot of sugar in it, but it's got some brown sugar in it, so it's pretty decent. And the fiber count? 13 grams per serving. No guff, Chet, 13 grams. That's enough to clean out your system, let me tell ya.

So if you're tired of eating figs and prunes and black-eyed peas all the time in order to keep your plumbing up to code, give yourself a break, buy a box of Fiber One (with honey clusters - yum!) and settle back on the couch.

Hey. What's up? It's been a while, I know.

Leslie is about to head to another meeting in Dallas. I plan on eating nothing but butter until she returns.

The kids are great. Noelle is really becoming an artist with her makeup, especially her eyes. She watches youtube tutorials and really gets into it. Nich is plodding along, dealing with the demands of sophomore year education and sports. It drains him, but when I ask him if he wants to stop, he says no, so what can I do.

I've got my GNMParents essay up, which you can read if you click here.

The rest of my week will be spent organizing bills, grocery shopping, and annoying my children.

How's by you?

Not sure how many people are reading this (feel free to let me know via comments) - I haven't blogged in a bit - been pretty preoccupied by the war in Israel.

I've grown up as a Jew, raised in what would reasonably be labeled as a conservatively Jewish household - I was taken to temple every Saturday morning and most Friday nights and Sunday mornings, I went to Hebrew school through to high school, and I ate a lot of Chinese food.

Another thing about growing up Jewish was learning that there were a whole bunch of folks who didn't like me because of it. Throughout our temple/Hebrew school were reminders of the Holocaust (this picture, which was used as a poster in one of the classrooms, still sticks strong in my memory).

In addition to this history of Antisemitism that I was taught, there were moments in my life where I was a direct victim: Getting pennies thrown at me while on the bus to school during seventh grade - our house getting spray-painted with swastikas and hate speech - and others.

I see how the media is playing the coverage of the current war - trying to balance things, and that's me being kind - really, it's unbalanced. When Israel accidentally hits a civilian, or when they specifically target a building where Hamas terrorists hide behind schoolchildren or medical staff, the media spend a lot of time, showing a lot of footage. When Hamas terrorists fire rockets from Gaza into Israeli towns like Be'er Sheva and Ashkelon and Gedera, not a peep from the major media.

So, to the average American, it appears that Israel is the aggressor. And yet that's just not the case. As early as the eleventh century BCE, Jews have organized towns on the land that is now labeled as Israel. Since that time, they have been persecuted and chased from their rightful land (a strip of desert the size of Connecticut) by the Assyrians, the Greeks, the Romans, the Syrians, etc. This continues to this very day, and yet despite this horror, Jews have maintained some form of presence on that land.

And they have worked that land, and they have built it into a home, and they have sought nothing more than to live in peace, to be openly Jewish on the street, to pray in their temples, to gather together and feel proud of their heritage.

But that's just not ok with some people. And so the story gets turned around and the anti-Jew conspiracy tales are told, and now it's 2009 and Jews still don't have a safe place that they can call home. Other religions have homes that are peaceful - Jews, not so much.

What will happen next? Will other religions, other nations clear their heads, read some legitimate history texts, and organize to keep Israel safe? Or will the world continue to believe ideas such as what was expressed by the philosopher Voltaire: "The Jewish nation dares to display an irreconcilable hatred toward all nations, and revolts against all masters; always superstitious, always greedy for the well-being enjoyed by others, always barbarous - cringing in misfortune and insolent in prosperity."

So that's what has been on my mind.

My mother makes the best potato pancakes in the world (this has been verified by NASA and Condé Nast). I made my own version of them last night, using my mother's recipe as a basis, and they were magnificent. It was a thoroughly invigorating experience.

A few folks asked for the recipe, so here's my version. A bow of respect to my mom, as this recipe is 90% hers - I just added an egg and peeled the potatoes and such. So if you make these and you find them as delightful as I do, full credit goes to my mother, who is one o' the greats.

-------------------



Latkes

Ingredients and Tools

A whole mess of paper towels
1 decent-sized blender
1 large mixing bowl
1 spatula
8 good-sized Russet potatoes
1 large onion (your choice on variety)
Matzo meal - you'll need about a cup for each batch
Canola oil (enough to fry this batch, maybe half a cup or so)
Salt
Pepper
4 Eggs

First I'll do a brief on the recipe and then the details:

To make the latkes, scrub, peel, and cut up potatoes. Cut up onion into chunks. Add a little oil, the eggs, the 'taters, and the onion to the blender and blend on low setting. Once it is blended, pour the mush into a big bowl, add the matzo meal. Then get your biggest frying pan, add enough canola oil so that there is about a quarter-inch of oil. Get it good and hot, then spoon in the mixture. Wait until the sides get brown, flip 'em over, wait 30-40 seconds, pull 'em out onto paper towels, let 'em cool for as long as you can stand it, then shove 'em in your eating hole.

Ok, now the full thing:

Prep

Get out a large mixing bowl that you will use for the final container of the potato mush. Set it aside.

Get out a large lasagna-style baking dish (for keeping the latkes warm in the oven). Put in a few layers of paper towels and put it near the stove, if not on one of the empty burners.

Get out your biggest frying pan. Higher sides are better, because their will be spatter from the hot oil. Deal with the pain of the burns, the taste will make up for them. Set the pan on the stove.

Get out the ingredients and a large spoon (larger than a standard tablespoon, but not huge)

Get out your biggest blender. Plug it in.

Scrub the potatoes.

Peel the potatoes, though no need to be overly-clean. Getting most of the skin off is the idea.

Cut potatoes in half, lengthwise, then half again, lengthwise. Line up the four long strips and cut them into one-inch chunks or so. Don't sweat it, it's just to make it easier to put into the top of the blender.

Peel and cut the onion into quarters.

Grab the oil and put about a teaspoon into the blender. Follow it with the eggs (yolks and whites), and start blending on a low setting.

Add potatoes and onion chunks.

Add salt and pepper (your choice on how much)

Wait until the largest chunk you see is the size of a pea. No need to liquefy this stuff, just get it goopy.

Take the goopy potato mixture and pour it into the large mixing bowl.

Slowly add one cup of matzo meal. Stir as you add.

When that's done, put about a quarter-cup of canola oil into your frying pan and get it good and hot. Make sure that there's about a quarter-inch of oil in the pan - don't have any exposed bottom surface.

Take your bowl of potato goop and bring it to the stove. When the oil is hot, take your bigger-than-a-tablespoon spoon and get a healthy amount of potato goop. Slowly add it into the hot oil, moving your spoon as you go, so you get an oval-shaped layer of goop cooking.

Do that again, maybe do three the first run.

Watch the edges. When they get brown, take your spatula and flip them. The tops should look decently cooked. Then count to 30 or so, flip them again, make sure they look cooked, then take 'em out and put 'em on the paper towels.

After they've drained a bit, put 'em on a plate and eat 'em, or put 'em onto a baking sheet. If you're making this whole batch, when you get 'em all on the baking sheet, you can pop 'em in the oven and set it to warm, so that they stay fresh for when you are ready to serve.

Lastly, think of taste - they're great by themselves, but some folks love them with applesauce or sour cream or whatever.

Enjoy!

Here's my latest post for GNMParents - it talks a bit about Nich making the varsity soccer squad - I'm really glad for him - he works really hard at soccer - It's nice to see that glow in his eyes, knowing that he's satisfied with himself.

Meanwhile, I hope the cold isn't effecting anyone too grossly - Thank G-d, our furnace is working fine, as it is now getting down to the low 50s here in Los Angeles - brutal, I tell ya, brutal.

Gotta go - there's ice cream in the fridge that's feeling ignored.

Been busy these past weeks - lots of little things - no major happenings in the house, just laundry-sized stuff.

The kids are done with school for the year. Nice having them around the house during the day.

Noelle is spending time learning to play the keyboard - I've been teaching her what I know, and the rest she's teaching herself from an Alfred book. We may get her formal lessons if her attachment to learning continues for another few months. So far, she's really enjoying it and she's clearly learning and growing with it. And it keeps her away from the tv, so yay for that.

Nich is working on homework that's due when he starts his next semester in January. They give entirely too much homework in high school. I wish there was something real I could do. I know I can call and complain, but they don't give a tinker's cuss. So there he is, sweatin' out his homework, six or seven hours a night. - Plus he has soccer, and now he's playing games with the varsity (He's not officially on varsity yet, just subbing), so he's practicing like crazy. I really feel for him. But I know that this is his life and he has to make his decisions.

Leslie is painting/drawing/playing guitar. Work is less hours now, but the instability of the global economy combined with the management shuffle is stressin' her a bit. Still, she's got that smile that lights up the room, and she's still sweet as cherry pie, so I'm guessin' that she's ok. If you like, you can email her and ask her yourself, or, if you don't have her address, feel free to email me and I'll forward your note to her.

Me? I'm fine. Workin' on the second AutoStar album. There's a turntablist that we may feature on the record - I'll know more in a month or so, after we've had time to work out. - I'm still writing my weekly GNMP column and I'm still takin' care of the house and raisin' the children and whatnot. I've developed a nice friendship with FiberOne cereal. I got new heads for my drums. I'm discovering new music.

I hope you are all in fine spirits.

Obviously you've read about what happened to Continental Flight #1404. But have you read the essay written by Jeb Tilly that's running in Newsweek? It's a stunning account - bone-chilling - and it was written by someone with hardly a speck of journalistic experience.

First, please read the essay: A Sudden, Terrible Stillness

Second, consider any time you've ever heard a criticism of the concept of citizen journalism. I think that the freedom of speech that we have in this country isn't just a right, but an obligation.

This is a demo of a song I created for my band, AutoStar. I decided to create a YouTube video for it, to give others a chance to hear it and provide feedback on the tune. The music is hand-crafted, using Logic Pro. The photos are Creative Commons licensed from Flickr.

This is for the folks who don't mind reading subtitles: There's a great Japanese actor/comedian named Beat Takashi. His greatest role is in this very sweet, poignent film entitled Kikujiro. Check out the trailer below - it doesn't have English subtitles, but you definitely get the vibe of the film.



If you dig the trailer, look in your video shop for the English sub-titled version (don't get it dubbed, you'll miss a lot of the sweetness of the kid and the funniness of Takashi)

I've been a fan of Adrian Belew since college - I was introduced to his work with King Crimson, Tom Tom Club, Frank Zappa, Laurie Anderson, Talking Heads, and David Bowie all within a few months. He really blew my mind.

One of his less-sung contributions are his solo records. One one of them is the song "1967". It is, by far, my favorite of his solo recordings. Here is a stripped down version of the song, just Adrian and his dobro. The chord structure is so very reminiscent of Paul McCartney (the influence of the Beatles is clear), but at least one of the chord/key changes seems very much encouraged from his work with Frank Zappa, who taught him so very much.

Anyway, here it is, hope you enjoy:

For those who missed it the first time it went by, here's a reprint of a short story I wrote a few days ago:



Are You Covered?

by Stu Mark

===================================

Can I pull on your coat a bit?



I realize you and I don't know each other, but I've seen you swallow up more than a few rock-and-ryes, so maybe you'll be in the mood for a story.



Well, it's not really a story, more like a confession.

Y’see, I’ve been doin’ somethin’… well… it’s bad, for starters. I mean, there’s a moral code we live by, right? A way of being, a set of natural laws, right? No hitting, don’t take nothin’ that don’t belong to somebody else, keep your mitts off your buddy’s wife’s knockers, stuff like that, right?

Well, me, I try real hard at that stuff. I really do, no shit. I am a true-blue kind-of-a-guy. Hell, I don’t even jaywalk, not even when other people are doin’ it.

You still interested? Yeah? Ok, lemme buy you another… rock-and-rye, right? …ok, good…

So anyway, here I am, this guy, and I’m just a guy, nothin’ more. I’m not sent from heaven, I’m not touched by the good Lord, I’m just a regular, eggs and bacon, coffee black, shirt and tie, in the office by 8:30 kind-of-guy. There’s a million of us on the street, right?

And yet I’m tryin’ to be more. I’m tryin’ to be noble.

And not just now, not just this week, like a hobby, like bein’ noble is some new thing I picked up, like collectin’ coins or doin’ crossword puzzles or joinin’ a bowlin’ league or nothin’. I been tryin’ to be noble since forever, since I was a little kid, since, well, since I can remember, I guess.

I can remember bein’ eleven years old and hangin’ with Mike Kanicky. We went to the Foodtown shopping center after school and after getting’ a slice and a coke from Ray’s Famous, we went into the candy store next to the arcade.

It wasn’t just a candy store, it was like an everything store. I mean, I was eleven, so what the heck did I know, they obviously didn’t have everything, but when you’re eleven… right? It just seemed like everything. They had all sorts of stuff, weird stuff… hair stuff and beauty creams and razors and magazines and boxes for jewelry and scissors and screwdrivers and who knows what else. It was endless, just isles of stuff.

But for me, it was the candy. Most stores, like the Foodtown, they had candy, but just the regular kind. But this store, it was run by some old couple who sold like every kind of candy imaginable. Buttons and wax bottles and cigarettes made outta gum and root beer barrels and abba zabba bars and everything.

Anyway, my buddy dares me to take somethin’ and he’s my best friend at the time… plus I don’t wanna be a punk or anything… So I do it, I actually steal some candy – it was a baby ruth bar – I can picture it clear as day, how I looked around to make sure the ol’ lady wasn’t lookin’, how it slipped so easily into my jacket pocket, like I’d been doin’ it my whole life.

But afterwards, I just felt bad. Mike was jazzed, he’d taken a couple packs of gum, plus he got me to join him… But I couldn’t get happy about it. I mean, I was happy for him, but not for me.

So I waited until he had to go home, and I snuck back to the candy store and I put the baby ruth back in the rack and I left… and that was the last time I stole anything, ever.

Anyway, that’s me bein’ noble. I mean, I’m just sayin’, I been noble ever since then, or at least tried, you know? Obviously I slipped up every once in a while. Sometimes I got scared and lied about somethin’, or maybe I yelled at somebody instead o’ countin’ to ten, stuff like that. But my mind was always on doin’ good, on bein’ good no matter what.

But then this damned depression came and I couldn’t get no work no how. Nothin’, not a nickel. And I’m good at stuff, good with my hands, good with my head… I mean, smart, y’know.

Want another drink? Yeah? It’s on me, don’t worry, I know the bartender, he’s my cousin, he lets me drink for free.

Good stuff, right? My cousin Jackie gets the best stuff in town. It’s tough, this depression, but people always gotta have their booze, so he never worries about money. And he don’t cut it neither. What’s in your glass is what’s in the bottle what comes from the factory.

Smooth, right?

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, right, me and work.

I been lookin’ for work for about six months now. Readin’ the paper every day, walkin’ the streets, bangin’ on doors, pretty much beggin’ for a decent job.

But there’s nothin’ out there. And what jobs is out there is taken up by younger guys, guys like you. Me, I’m old already, and nobody wants to hire an old guy when they can get a young guy cheaper.

And that ain’t it either, really. It’s not about bein’ cheaper, it’s that they can boss around a young guy, tell ‘im when to jump and when to take a piss. Me, I’ll yell right back if I get yelled at. Nobody’s gonna stomp on my head and call it rain, that’s for damn sure.

Anyway, so here’s the thing. I’m stuck. No work, no money, and my wife and kids need to eat and whatnot. I mean, I love ‘em and they’re sweet as apple pie, even when they ain’t got nothin’. And they never get after me ‘cause I ain’t got work. They treat me like a king, I tell ya what. Some days I think I don’t deserve ‘em.

Ok, one more drink and then I’ll finish my story, ‘k?

Good.

And I’m right, right? My cousin serves the best booze on Broadway, right? Right?? Ya damn right I’m right. He’s a class act my cousin. He could water it down, but he don’t. And it’s easy to water down booze and get away with it. Ya just open four bottles of scotch, pour it equally into five and add colored water to fill ‘em back up, neat and tidy. Nobody’d know. Plus, when you pour the suckers their first drink, you pour ‘em a good, pure one. But after that, they can’t tell the difference.

But not my cousin, he’s straight, up and down, left and right. He’s a good egg.

Y’ok there fella? You look a little wobbly. Well, geez, ya musta had six or seven since I been jawin’ at ya, so, no wonder, right? Right? Yeah, but you’ll be ok. Just hold steady to the bar and let me finish this story. We’re almost done.

Anyway, back to my cousin. He’s a good egg, like I said. Loyal. Blood thicker ‘n anything, that’s what he says. He’d give me the shirt off his back if I needed it, and the hanger it came on.

Well, the other day, I came to him, and even thought it pained me somethin’ fierce, I asked him for his shirt. Well, not his shirt. Somethin’ harder.

And he said yes.

See, I got me an idea. It was two weeks ago, two weeks ago last Thursday. I was readin’ in the paper about a guy who poisoned his wife for the insurance money. Except he got caught, ‘cause it was his wife, so they suspected him right away. They tailed him for a while, checked his comin’s and goin’s… guess what? He had a filly on the side, and she shows up with a new fur coat. So they snoop into his apartment and find the poison – arsenic I think, and bam, the guy’s gonna hang for it.

And at first I felt bad for the guy. But then I realized he was a dummy, getting’ caught like that. He shouldn’t a poisoned her, he shoulda had somebody else do it, away from his place, so it looked like he couldn’t had anything to do with it.

And then I got to thinkin’… How hard would it be to poison a stranger for insurance money? Sure, there’s the nobility thing I been talkin’ about, and that’s been my code all these years. But I keep thinkin’ about my wife not havin’ new clothes and havin’ to hang on to every penny so that my kid has a green vegetable with every dinner and, well, it tears me up inside. And I’m not so sure where morality stands when it comes to that kind of pain. Right?

And so I ask myself, just how hard would it be to rig up an insurance policy on a stranger, get him to sign a form so’s he thinks he’s signin’ somethin’ else, but it’s insurance papers that make me the benefiter… then just poison ‘em and get the money… Right? I mean, how hard could it really be? I mean, there’s paper’s to sign, but maybe you can rig it so the guy you’re killin’ thinks he’s signin’ somethin’ else. Right? Like, what if somebody else at the bar came to you a month ago and bought you some drinks, got you good and liquored up, and went on about some injustice in the world, and convinced you to sign some petition about some-such thing goin’ on at City Hall? You’d do it, right? It’s just a petition, right? You fill out your name and your address and it’s done.

Y’ok there fella? Lean on the bar a little, you’ll feel better. Y’just had too much to drink is all. It’ll pass.

So you fill out the petition, ‘ceptin’ it’s not a petition, it’s just made to look like a petition and really it’s insurance papers.

Life insurance.

You wouldn’t know it, ‘cause you were drunk. In fact, you got so hammered, you don’t remember much about that night. ‘Cept maybe now you remember my cousin was the one pourin’ yer drinks. And maybe you kinda remember me sittin’ at the other end o’ the bar.

Yeah.

See how it works? See how easy it is?

And the best part is the killin’… You fill out the insurance papers, the one’s that name me as the benefitter or whatever ya call it. Then you stop in for your regular Thursday night drink. ‘Cept after the first couple of real drinks, my cousin starts addin’ antifreeze to your glass, a little at a time. And you get drunker and drunker and he’s givin’ ya more and more antifreeze, and you can’t taste it, ‘cause you’re already pretty well soused. And in the end, it’s good night sweet prince. You’re just another drunk who got too friendly with the spirit and died from alcohol poisoning. No special clause in the insurance papers about that. Dead is dead, and I get my money.

I know, I know, it’s terrible. I’m supposed to be noble and all, but Christmas is comin’ and I just can’t face my wife and kids without a tree and a big fat turkey for the table. So yeah, I’m not so noble now. And I gotta live with it. Right?

That’s kinda funny, me sayin’ “live with it,” right? Right?

Right.

Now just lay your head on the bar and close your eyes. The rest is easy.

Are You Covered?

by Stu Mark

===================================

Can I pull on your coat a bit?



I realize you and I don't know each other, but I've seen you swallow up more than a few rock-and-ryes, so maybe you'll be in the mood for a story.



Well, it's not really a story, more like a confession.

Y’see, I’ve been doin’ somethin’… well… it’s bad, for starters. I mean, there’s a moral code we live by, right? A way of being, a set of natural laws, right? No hitting, don’t take nothin’ that don’t belong to somebody else, keep your mitts off your buddy’s wife’s knockers, stuff like that, right?

Well, me, I try real hard at that stuff. I really do, no shit. I am a true-blue kind-of-a-guy. Hell, I don’t even jaywalk, not even when other people are doin’ it.

You still interested? Yeah? Ok, lemme buy you another… rock-and-rye, right? …ok, good…

So anyway, here I am, this guy, and I’m just a guy, nothin’ more. I’m not sent from heaven, I’m not touched by the good Lord, I’m just a regular, eggs and bacon, coffee black, shirt and tie, in the office by 8:30 kind-of-guy. There’s a million of us on the street, right?

And yet I’m tryin’ to be more. I’m tryin’ to be noble.

And not just now, not just this week, like a hobby, like bein’ noble is some new thing I picked up, like collectin’ coins or doin’ crossword puzzles or joinin’ a bowlin’ league or nothin’. I been tryin’ to be noble since forever, since I was a little kid, since, well, since I can remember, I guess.

I can remember bein’ eleven years old and hangin’ with Mike Kanicky. We went to the Foodtown shopping center after school and after getting’ a slice and a coke from Ray’s Famous, we went into the candy store next to the arcade.

It wasn’t just a candy store, it was like an everything store. I mean, I was eleven, so what the heck did I know, they obviously didn’t have everything, but when you’re eleven… right? It just seemed like everything. They had all sorts of stuff, weird stuff… hair stuff and beauty creams and razors and magazines and boxes for jewelry and scissors and screwdrivers and who knows what else. It was endless, just isles of stuff.

But for me, it was the candy. Most stores, like the Foodtown, they had candy, but just the regular kind. But this store, it was run by some old couple who sold like every kind of candy imaginable. Buttons and wax bottles and cigarettes made outta gum and root beer barrels and abba zabba bars and everything.

Anyway, my buddy dares me to take somethin’ and he’s my best friend at the time… plus I don’t wanna be a punk or anything… So I do it, I actually steal some candy – it was a baby ruth bar – I can picture it clear as day, how I looked around to make sure the ol’ lady wasn’t lookin’, how it slipped so easily into my jacket pocket, like I’d been doin’ it my whole life.

But afterwards, I just felt bad. Mike was jazzed, he’d taken a couple packs of gum, plus he got me to join him… But I couldn’t get happy about it. I mean, I was happy for him, but not for me.

So I waited until he had to go home, and I snuck back to the candy store and I put the baby ruth back in the rack and I left… and that was the last time I stole anything, ever.

Anyway, that’s me bein’ noble. I mean, I’m just sayin’, I been noble ever since then, or at least tried, you know? Obviously I slipped up every once in a while. Sometimes I got scared and lied about somethin’, or maybe I yelled at somebody instead o’ countin’ to ten, stuff like that. But my mind was always on doin’ good, on bein’ good no matter what.

But then this damned depression came and I couldn’t get no work no how. Nothin’, not a nickel. And I’m good at stuff, good with my hands, good with my head… I mean, smart, y’know.

Want another drink? Yeah? It’s on me, don’t worry, I know the bartender, he’s my cousin, he lets me drink for free.

Good stuff, right? My cousin Jackie gets the best stuff in town. It’s tough, this depression, but people always gotta have their booze, so he never worries about money. And he don’t cut it neither. What’s in your glass is what’s in the bottle what comes from the factory.

Smooth, right?

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, right, me and work.

I been lookin’ for work for about six months now. Readin’ the paper every day, walkin’ the streets, bangin’ on doors, pretty much beggin’ for a decent job.

But there’s nothin’ out there. And what jobs is out there is taken up by younger guys, guys like you. Me, I’m old already, and nobody wants to hire an old guy when they can get a young guy cheaper.

And that ain’t it either, really. It’s not about bein’ cheaper, it’s that they can boss around a young guy, tell ‘im when to jump and when to take a piss. Me, I’ll yell right back if I get yelled at. Nobody’s gonna stomp on my head and call it rain, that’s for damn sure.

Anyway, so here’s the thing. I’m stuck. No work, no money, and my wife and kids need to eat and whatnot. I mean, I love ‘em and they’re sweet as apple pie, even when they ain’t got nothin’. And they never get after me ‘cause I ain’t got work. They treat me like a king, I tell ya what. Some days I think I don’t deserve ‘em.

Ok, one more drink and then I’ll finish my story, ‘k?

Good.

And I’m right, right? My cousin serves the best booze on Broadway, right? Right?? Ya damn right I’m right. He’s a class act my cousin. He could water it down, but he don’t. And it’s easy to water down booze and get away with it. Ya just open four bottles of scotch, pour it equally into five and add colored water to fill ‘em back up, neat and tidy. Nobody’d know. Plus, when you pour the suckers their first drink, you pour ‘em a good, pure one. But after that, they can’t tell the difference.

But not my cousin, he’s straight, up and down, left and right. He’s a good egg.

Y’ok there fella? You look a little wobbly. Well, geez, ya musta had six or seven since I been jawin’ at ya, so, no wonder, right? Right? Yeah, but you’ll be ok. Just hold steady to the bar and let me finish this story. We’re almost done.

Anyway, back to my cousin. He’s a good egg, like I said. Loyal. Blood thicker ‘n anything, that’s what he says. He’d give me the shirt off his back if I needed it, and the hanger it came on.

Well, the other day, I came to him, and even thought it pained me somethin’ fierce, I asked him for his shirt. Well, not his shirt. Somethin’ harder.

And he said yes.

See, I got me an idea. It was two weeks ago, two weeks ago last Thursday. I was readin’ in the paper about a guy who poisoned his wife for the insurance money. Except he got caught, ‘cause it was his wife, so they suspected him right away. They tailed him for a while, checked his comin’s and goin’s… guess what? He had a filly on the side, and she shows up with a new fur coat. So they snoop into his apartment and find the poison – arsenic I think, and bam, the guy’s gonna hang for it.

And at first I felt bad for the guy. But then I realized he was a dummy, getting’ caught like that. He shouldn’t a poisoned her, he shoulda had somebody else do it, away from his place, so it looked like he couldn’t had anything to do with it.

And then I got to thinkin’… How hard would it be to poison a stranger for insurance money? Sure, there’s the nobility thing I been talkin’ about, and that’s been my code all these years. But I keep thinkin’ about my wife not havin’ new clothes and havin’ to hang on to every penny so that my kid has a green vegetable with every dinner and, well, it tears me up inside. And I’m not so sure where morality stands when it comes to that kind of pain. Right?

And so I ask myself, just how hard would it be to rig up an insurance policy on a stranger, get him to sign a form so’s he thinks he’s signin’ somethin’ else, but it’s insurance papers that make me the benefiter… then just poison ‘em and get the money… Right? I mean, how hard could it really be? I mean, there’s paper’s to sign, but maybe you can rig it so the guy you’re killin’ thinks he’s signin’ somethin’ else. Right? Like, what if somebody else at the bar came to you a month ago and bought you some drinks, got you good and liquored up, and went on about some injustice in the world, and convinced you to sign some petition about some-such thing goin’ on at City Hall? You’d do it, right? It’s just a petition, right? You fill out your name and your address and it’s done.

Y’ok there fella? Lean on the bar a little, you’ll feel better. Y’just had too much to drink is all. It’ll pass.

So you fill out the petition, ‘ceptin’ it’s not a petition, it’s just made to look like a petition and really it’s insurance papers.

Life insurance.

You wouldn’t know it, ‘cause you were drunk. In fact, you got so hammered, you don’t remember much about that night. ‘Cept maybe now you remember my cousin was the one pourin’ yer drinks. And maybe you kinda remember me sittin’ at the other end o’ the bar.

Yeah.

See how it works? See how easy it is?

And the best part is the killin’… You fill out the insurance papers, the one’s that name me as the benefitter or whatever ya call it. Then you stop in for your regular Thursday night drink. ‘Cept after the first couple of real drinks, my cousin starts addin’ antifreeze to your glass, a little at a time. And you get drunker and drunker and he’s givin’ ya more and more antifreeze, and you can’t taste it, ‘cause you’re already pretty well soused. And in the end, it’s good night sweet prince. You’re just another drunk who got too friendly with the spirit and died from alcohol poisoning. No special clause in the insurance papers about that. Dead is dead, and I get my money.

I know, I know, it’s terrible. I’m supposed to be noble and all, but Christmas is comin’ and I just can’t face my wife and kids without a tree and a big fat turkey for the table. So yeah, I’m not so noble now. And I gotta live with it. Right?

That’s kinda funny, me sayin’ “live with it,” right? Right?

Right.

Now just lay your head on the bar and close your eyes. The rest is easy.

For more info on this iconic personality, click here

via Current - "In 1969, a 14-year-old Beatle fanatic named Jerry Levitan, armed with a reel-to-reel tape deck, snuck into John Lennon's hotel room in Toronto and convinced John to do an interview. This was in the midst of Lennon's "bed-in" phase, during which John and Yoko were staying in hotel beds in an effort to promote peace. 38 years later, Jerry has produced a film about it. Using the original interview recording as the soundtrack, director Josh Raskin has woven a visual narrative which tenderly romances Lennon's every word in a cascading flood of multipronged animation. Raskin marries traditional pen sketches by James Braithwaite with digital illustration by Alex Kurina, resulting in a spell-binding vessel for Lennon's boundless wit, and timeless message."

As President Bush will be moving out of The White House, he'll need new digs. Looks like he and his wife have settled on a rather well-to-do section of Dallas, Texas - a community called Preston Hollow. Originally incorporated as a municipality in 1939 and provisioned by the Preston Road Fresh Water Supply District, the town of Preston Hollow was named for the deep wooded area with creeks and hollows extending westward from Preston Road. Sounds pretty, doesn't it?

And to keep it pretty, Preston Hollow has a neighborhood association. This association creates rules on items like building materials, construction distances from property lines, and, oh yeah, that only white people can live there.

I'm not kidding. From 1956, when the neighborhood covenant was created, until the year 2000, the following text was in the document: "Said property shall be used and occupied by white persons only except these covenants shall not prevent occupancy by domestic servants of a different race or nationality in the employ of a tenant." (for the full photocopy of the covenant, click here.

So, um, yeah, that's the President Of The United States. Interesting.

The other day I posted an animated gif that showed a quick series of people wearing gas masks. I just liked the art - I related to the frenzy of it, and of the irony of the concept of a gas mask (if there's ever an event where the government tells you to don a gas mask, there's a pretty good shot that you'll die anyway)... So, for those who are concerned, I feel fine - I'm in a wonderful emotional place - very satisfied with my experience on this planet - Here's a piece of art that reflects my mood:



hat tip to Joan Miró, who painted it

I've been a fan of John Zorn since my first months in college. I've even seen him perform a few times, once in Manhattan and once in Philadelphia. He's an accomplished artisan who pushes the boundaries of tradition, which is something I treasure. - This video is of a performance of his jazz quartet, Masada. (John's the one on saxophone)

via This Isn't Happiness

I'm in between cooking cycles, thought I'd write in my journal while I had a moment.

There are world events that are at the front of my mind this morning - Mumbai, Zimbabwe, The Congo, and others. It's hard to put that stuff to the side, and yet I want to, at least for a while, so that I can focus on my family.

It's the four of us this year: Leslie, Noelle, Nich, and me. I'm cooking most of the meal - turkey, green bean casserole, corn, broccoli, while Noelle will make the mashed potatoes. It's emotionally soothing for me when I cook - the nurturing helps calm me, helps ease my tension.

I'm thinking of my family back east - they're sitting down to a meal at my folks' house. They're tremendously special people - each of them, in their own way, makes the world a better place. That is how I would define our family focus - contributing to the greater good. And that is something that really moves me, really satisfies my soul.

I'm full of hope these days, excited for the future, and thankful that we are moving forward, that we, as a nation, are growing.

Love to all of you, and may the days ahead bring you peace.

The science behind this is incredibly excellent - rocket fuel tank concepts transferred to caffeine transfer systems in space - brilliant!

For folks who enjoy modern music, here is a fan-made video for DJ Krush's interpretation of Bob Marley's "Sun Is Shining" - I'm a big fan of DJ Krush - I enjoy a variety of turntablists, and DJ Krush is, imho, among the elite - he applies a certain restraint that I find gossamer - This cover of Sun Is Shining is actually a duo, featuring DJ Krush and the innovative trumpet player Toshinori Kondo:

For those of you who remember the Bert Kaempfert tune - here's the original:



hat tip to my brother Dave

I'm not kidding - Dick Cavett has a blog - I don't know about you, but this has me instantly happy - it's as if one more piece of the puzzle fell into place.

image via this isn't happiness

I strongly urge you to take some time and read James Huggins' Guidelines For Cats, especially if you're a cat person. Here's a section to whet your appetite:

"The humans would have you believe that those lumps under the covers are their feet and hands. They are lying. They are actually Bed Mice, rumored to be the most delicious of all the mice in the world, though no cat has ever been able to catch one. Rumor also has it that only the most ferocious attack can stun them long enough for you to dive under the covers to get them. Maybe YOU can be the first to taste the Bed Mouse!"

Read the full set of guidelines here.

As I see the evidence for deflation start to emerge, I am led to ask: Did the public conversation between The Fed and Congress lend a hand in lowering prices? If that is true, I wonder if there was a way for the administration to handle this in a stealthy manner, the way the CIA handled Allende? Would that have been the better road for our nation?

Obviously you've been following this story of the leak of Hilary Clinton as the nominee for President-Elect Obama's Secretary Of State. I've been thinking about it and I came to a conclusion, a guess: As leaks didn't happen during the election, why did the Obama camp allow this to leak? What if President-Elect Obama looked at Senator Clinton and decided that he wanted to eliminate her as an opponent in four years? He can't offer her Secretary Of State, because she'd say no, as she wants to be President. So he leaks the offer, which puts her in an impossible situation - she *can't* say no, because it'll make her look bad. It's right out of the final season of The West Wing. - Hey, I could be wrong, and my nephew might set me straight on this. Still, it's fun to play these parlor games.

Have you seen the latest? The Bush Administration is on the threshold of altering the Endangered Species act, eliminating essential protection for a host of plants and animals. For many years now, there was a requirement for independent scientific review if the government was involved in any construction that would have impact on any endangered species. Under the administration's proposed rule, these independent scientific reviews would no longer be required if the agency in question determines that its activities would not hurt the imperiled species.

I really want to tear my hair out. The President might as well establish blanket pardons for all energy corporations. Does he have any shame? Does he not spend even a minute of time thinking of his future grandchildren and the world that they will inherit?

Change can not come soon enough for me.

This is part 1 of an episode of the CBS variety show "Our Place," which aired in 1967. I hope it makes you smile.

A lot of folks commented and emailed me, asking about technique behind the Toshiba commercial - here's the "making of" video:

For those who parent, feel free to check out my latest essay written for GNMParents. Here's the opening:

I was reading the words of the great 17th century philosopher John Locke the other evening, and I came across a section where he speaks of parenting. One thought in particular stood out and I wanted to share it with you all, in hopes of initiating a discussion. If you’ve got time, give the following a read:

“I say not this as if children were not to be indulged in anything, or that I expected they should, in hanging-sleeves, have the reason and conduct of counsellors. I consider them as children, who must be tenderly used, who must play, and have play things… I have seen children at a table, who, whatever was there, never asked for any thing, but contentedly took what was given them: and at another place I have seen others cry for everything they saw, must be served out of every dish, and that first too. What made this vast difference but this, that one was accustomed to have what they called or cried for, the other to go without it? The younger they are, the less, I think, are their unruly and disorderly appetites to be complied with.”

Here's the rest of the essay.

Bad craziness here in Los Angeles. The noon sky looking like dusk. Ash coming down like a light snowfall. The smell of burnt timber. Over 10 square miles of civilization now a memory. The hits just keep on comin'.

It's hard to wrap one's head around what's happening. Yeah, the family is safe, but our neighbors in Sylmar and Yorba Linda are having a very bad day. And the wind isn't letting up, so Anaheim Hills is soon to be caught in the path of the ferociousness. It really is horrifying. I'm numb from it.

Mother Nature does not fuck around, I'll tell you what.

Sometimes there are ordinary items juxtaposed in such a way that they beg you to take notice. Art is what you declare it to be, and it is all around you.

This photo is of a rose in our backyard. Leslie loves our roses, so I try to photograph them when I can. The photo was taken with my Nikon D40.

I've been a dedicated viewer of Keith Olbermann's MSNBC show for quite a while now, and I find him to be a voice of reason in the same vein as Edward R. Murrow. What follows is a closing comment he made the other night, where he spoke about California's Prop 8. Please give this a view and see what you think: