Grouper 1, Spear Fisher 0

Fish kills spear-fishing diver off Florida

Erratic corrupt politician of the week

Meet D'Angelo Lee, former City Plan Commissioner from Dallas, TX. Mr. Lee resigned from the commission because he's the target of a corruption investigation by the FBI. But that's not what this story is about.

According to this story, and this story, and this story, Mr. Lee claimed he was robbed by a naked man, and a naked man wearing a towel, outside a male strip club. He made these claims either shortly before, or just after, being arrested for public intoxication after he was thrown out of Club Knubian Fantaciez for "causing a disturbance."

Lee later referred to the incident as "just stupid, just really frivolous" and said he was at the club to pick up women.

Bush Tells Group He Sees a 'Third Awakening'

Bush Tells Group He Sees a 'Third Awakening'

Fetch me my tinfoil, I need to make a hat.

This story from the Washington Post makes a good follow-up to the stuff I posted yesterday about Mars Hill Church. I don't know what's worse--the POTUS' manichaean worldview, or the fact that he compares himself to Abraham Lincoln.

Mars Hill Church and the Acts29 Network

I just got done reading this article on Salon.com.

This was the first I'd ever heard of Mars Hill Church in Seattle, or the Acts29 Network.

At key times during my life I've been blessed to come into contact with Christians and other people of faith who have challenged and inspired me. Interestingly, none of them have been conservative evangelicals or fundamentalists.

I used to have arguments with a Marxist roomate of mine years ago about religion. He was, obviously, a devout atheist and saw no good role for religion, particularly Christianity as it's practiced here in the US. My position was that for a person struggling with despair or addiction, strong religious belief was a good life preserver. Putting it in his terms, if a worker is saved from alcoholism, drug abuse or suicide by faith in Jesus, and is still there when the revolution comes, that's a good thing, right? I thought so anyway.

But...

Seeing people who look like me, have the same kind of tattooes I have, listen to the same music and watch the same movies as I do, embrace the most hardcore fundamentalist Christian theology, complete with subservient women--well that saddens me. I find it sad that people find so little meaning and purpose in their lives that they feel compelled to turn to the most absolutist forms of fundamentalist theology.

Take a look at those links and see what you think.

No woman would ever do that

I participated in a practical joke today, a little thing really, that didn’t result in property damage, legal action or a visit to the doctor. The reason I’m writing about it is that I got the same reaction, nearly word-for-word, from both my mom and from MizBubs:

“No woman would ever do that.”

Here’s what happened. My mom is doing some financial stuff, and my brother John found a guy he knows from work to help her. I went over to her place to be there while the guy (Jim) made his presentation. When we finished, Jim mentioned that my brother is always kidding around with other people in his office. Jim said he was going to have a little fun by calling John and pretending to be lost, almost an hour after the scheduled appointment time. I thought this was a swell idea, and said that I’d go one better—I’d wait until Jim walked out the door, and then call John and tell him Jim hadn’t showed up yet.

My brother John is one of the most generous and conscientious people I’ve ever known. He also worries. He called me, and then my mom, and then me again about 3 or 4 times setting up this appointment. And then last night he called back and double-checked. Twice. Now what’s really cool is, when he gets worked up he swears even better than I do. I mean, epic and colorful swearing. Mom had a concerned look on her face as Jim and I discussed our plan. We shook hands, Jim walked out the door, and I made the first call at 11:55am:

John: Hi mom, how’d it go?

Me: No, John, it’s me, I’m on mom’s phone. Hey, what time was that appointment, 11 or 12?

John: What?

Me: Was that guy supposed to be here at 11 or 12? Mom was wondering.

John: What? Jim’s not there?

Me: No, I thought you said 11 but I wasn’t sure. I’ve been here since 10:30.

John: Hold on. (papers shuffling, then hold music) I made that appointment for 11. Sonofabitch. He hasn’t called? Shit.

Me: So you’re sure it was for 11?

John: YES I’M SURE. I’ll call you right back. (CLICK. Hangs up)

Mom: Why are you doing this?

Me: Because it’s funny as hell. John’s going nuts right now.

Mom: No woman would ever do something like this. Why do men find this funny?

The phone rang.

John: Joe, you there?

Me: Yeah, what’s up?

John: Listen, Jim says he’s just pulling up by the house, look for him.

Me: So you got hold of him? What’s the deal?

John: I DON’T KNOW. He’s a good guy, ok? Just give him the benefit of a doubt. He knows what he’s doing.

Me: Is there a problem or something?

John: NO. He’s really a good guy, he should be there. Just, uh, give him the benefit of a doubt, ok?

Me: I’m looking out the window, he’s still not here.

John: Fuck. I’ll call you back. (CLICK)

About 5 seconds later:

Jim: (laughing) Hi, Joe, please, call your brother back and tell him I’m there. Please. He’s calling me.

Me: Sure thing. Bye.

Jim: Bye.

Me: Hello, John?

John: Yeah Joe, listen, I don’t know what the f*cking problem is,

Me: (cutting John off) It’s ok, everything’s fine.

John: Yeah?

Me: Yeah, Jim just left.

John: (Silence) What?

Me: Jim just left. He dropped off a packet of information and a business card and he left, just a minute ago.

John: WHAT?

Me: Yeah, he introduced himself to mom, dropped off some stuff and then he left. He brought mom a flower, that was nice. Seemed like a nice

John: (cutting me off) WHAT? He’s gone already?

Me: Yeah. Was there supposed to be more than that?

John: HOLD ON (hold music) Yeah listen, Joe, I don’t know what’s going on.

Me: John, everything is fine, Jim got here early, before 11.

John: What?

Me: Everything’s fine, Jim did a real nice presentation. He got here before 11, and left a few minutes ago. Everything’s fine. I’m just joking with you.

John: FUCK YOU. (CLICK)

I almost fell out laughing. See, what I can’t convey on paper is the rising sense of confusion, followed by panic, followed by anger, which I found totally hilarious. My mom said, in that gentle way that moms have, “I don’t know why you and your brother do that to each other.”

“Because it’s funny.”

“You think so.”

I got home and told this story to MizBubs. I started laughing, and she started laughing, and then she pulled herself up and said “you know, no woman would do something like that.”

So what’s the deal? It’s not like there’s some big gap between my sensibility and MizBubs’. One of the first things I came to appreciate about her was that she’d watch Russ Meyer and women’s prison movies with me. And the Three Stooges. And I love Project Runway and craft shows.

I’ve just always enjoyed recreational lying. I get a great thrill out of seeing that stunned look of disbelief on people’s faces when I’ve pulled a whopper. Is that a male thing? Or is it just me and my family? I notice that I seemed to have passed the trait on to my youngest daughter (though MizBubs says she’d only do that kind of stuff to me, not to innocent people.)

I need to get some grant money and study this.

Porch bat

Looks like my theory about the shoe bat was probably correct. That was, one of our dogs probably carried it into the house and lost it some time before MizBubs noticed it.

I got home from work tonight, ending a long week. Within minutes of arriving home I was greeted by the sound of my youngest daughter shrieking at the dogs. A badly injured little brown bat was out on the back porch, apparently just having been chewed on by Duffy. My daughter was upset. I found out that the town we live in does not have an animal control officer. I also realized that the course of action I would have taken if alone--quickly severing the bat's head with a shovel and putting it in the garbage--was definitely not the thing to do under my daughter's bat-mourning gaze.

So that's how I came to be standing on my driveway at 9:30 at night, duct-taping a garbage bag to the exhaust pipe of my car, euthanizing a bat. I hope the neighbors saw this. And to really top off the whole effect, I wore a headlamp.

I have to go to sleep now. In the morning I have to take bat remains, on ice, to an animal hospital to be tested.

I am a hillbilly

And I turned my wife into one too. She turned willingly, enthusiastically even, seduced by my reckless ways and mint juleps, and weeping sentimentality...

Right now we got a big pot a beans soaking for tomorrow. And MizBubs has gone one better than bacon for seasoning--she's got us some real SALT PORK in there!

Cornbread will not be far behind. And greens. The grocery store by us now sells lots of products from Glory Foods, including pre-washed mixed greens. Time for a bourbon.

Oh, one more thing. SLEEP. I got a lot of it last night, finally. And I'll get more tomorrow night. I spent the past few days frantically organizing two honor guard functions for my department--posting the colors at 7:40am, followed by a moment of silence. Then a rifle salute for the official village observation at 10am. That means I get home at 3pm, and get to hang out with my beautiful family and feel lucky.

Everybody be nice tomorrow.

Shoe Bat

"Oh God, I'm so goth, I've got bats in my boots."
--My eldest daughter, the mad seamstress

As MizBubs watched TV the other night, one of the compound mutts (Duffy) went goofy and started sniffing, barking and running around a pair of our daughter's shoes on the living room floor. This went on for a few moments, and then Duffy assumed the alert watchdog position and stared at the shoes.

A few minutes later, MizBubs noticed some movement near the shoes. A mouse? A dog toy that Duffy dragged from under the sofa? Nope.

A bat. A live bat, subsequently identified as Myotis lucifugus, a Little Brown Bat. Injured, which is a good thing because it kept him from flying around the house, bumping into things, tangling in everyone's hair while biting them and giving everyone rabies. Instead, he crawled along on the floor while Duffy went apeshit.

MizBubs, girl dynamo, called in our youngest daughter to witness the unbelievable cuteness of the little bat. They agreed he was adorable, but not to be touched since he was, after all, injured wildlife. No Steve Irwins here. Miz Bubs then put on some cement-mixing gloves, got a shovel, scooped up the little rabies carrier, and flung him into the neighbor's yard, out of the reach of our dogs. She then returned to her regularly scheduled broadcast.

How did a bat get into my house? We couldn't see any obvious way in, so right now I'm going with the theory that one of the dogs brought him in, and unsure of what to do with him and inexperienced in bat-killing, lost control of the bat. It's a weak theory, though, and I'm open to other suggestions.

Tiny Kiss

I just got an email from the fabulous Imperial Palace Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas. I don't remember much about the email now, except it featured, prominently, the entertainment at a hotel lounge called Beacher's.

And Beacher's features a band. A tribute band, a KISS tribute band. Called Tiny Kiss, composed of 3 male dwarves and a "plus size" (347 pound) woman.

I want to rock and roll all night. And party every day.

Ah, baby, I'm so tired

It's something when you're supposed to be working nights, and you're still getting up at 5:45 or 6 in the morning. In a few minutes I'll be leaving to drive downtown, looking snappy in my dark suit, to put in 4 hours of private security work as the shopping center trade show closes. Then it's back to work from 1-9:30pm. It's a blessing that I can adjust my hours so I can start and come home early.

My two fellow supervisors are both away working on a murder task force, so I have a good amount of administrative busywork to do this afternoon. I had a job dumped in my lap, organizing an honor guard presentation for 9/11; nice job since we don't yet have our own flags/poles or blank-firing M-1 rifles. I have the next 2 days to scrounge up some rifles from the local VFW or American Legion. The number of rifles I can get (if any) will determine the number of people I need and the manner of the presentation, and I scheduled two short training sessions Saturday and Sunday afternoon. So, I'm supposed to be working nights, my body is telling me I'm working nights, my head is throbbing and my stomache hurts. But I'm working days.

I can't wait till Tuesday. Sleep.

On, Wisconsin!

On, Wisconsin! On, Wisconsin!

Grand old Badger state!

We, thy loyal sons and daughters

Hail thee good and great.

On, Wisconsin! On, Wisconsin!

Champion of the right.

"Forward," our motto - God

Will give thee might!

On, Wisconsin, indeed.

If it's not the necrophiles, it's the bloodthirsty packs of wolves killing your hunting dogs.

Speaking of necrophilia, Wisconsin State Senator Dale Schultz (R. Richland Center) believes that it happens "more frequently than people realize." He's sponsoring new anti-necrophilia legislation, because freaks who feel compelled to dig up graves and bang corpses would probably be deterred from that behavior by stronger laws.

Meanwhile, their prisoners are busy squirting toothpaste tubes full of urine at hapless prison guards. The prisoners are possibly angry because, according to multiple sources, it's illegal to serve them margarine.

I don't care if any of this is true, really, as long as I find it at least mildly entertaining.

Wisconsin Death Trip

Many of us F.I.B.'s only know Wisconsin as that magical vacation dairyland to the north: the Dells, muskie fishing, cheese curds, the Brat Stop. Ho-Chunk. Oh, yer darn tootin.

But anyone who really knows the region, or has read the classic 1973 book Wisconsin Death Trip, knows better. Sure there's northwoods and pine forests and clear running water. There's also desperation, madness and necrophilia. Ed Gein.

And now this.

A headline in the September 4th Wisconsin State Journal titled Three men accused of attempted grave robbing. Three men are arrested attempting to dig up the Cassville grave of a 20 year old woman:

Grant County Sheriff Keith Govier said he believes Alex and Nicholas Grunke, twin brothers from Ridgeway, and their friend Dustin Radke of Dodgeville drove from Ridgeway Saturday to take Laura Tennessen's corpse from the grave.

Calling it, "the most bizarre case that I've been personally involved in, in 21 years of law enforcement," Govier said deputies are still looking for the motive.

On September 6, this Wisconsin State Journal headline lets us know that they found the motive:

Complaint: sex with body motive for grave digging

?!?!?!?!

20 year old Nicholas Grunke, freak, saw an obituary photo of a 20 year old motorcycle crash victim, and decided it would be a good idea to dig up her body and have sex with her. Making the story even better, he talked his twin brother and a friend into helping out!

And of course, in any good freak story, there should be a Wal-Mart. The trio stopped at Wal-Mart to buy condoms before going to the cemetery. These kids may have missed a lot of lessons in high school, but at least they remembered safe sex!

You can find copies of the criminal complaint and mug photos here.

Just when I start complaining to Miz Bubs that the midwest is stolid and unexciting when compared to the lurid, overwrought and violence-prone south, along comes a story like this.

Thank you, Wisconsin.

Hey, this should be good!

Rantings of a Mad Seamstress

Well, whaddya know, this is the newly launched blog of my eldest daughter.

She's way cooler than I ever was at 17. Or 20, or now, for that matter.

Oops.

Vigilante mob allegedly beats, kills wrong man - Sep 2, 2006

5:20 am

5:20 a.m.

That's when I woke up. Not 6:45 a.m., which is the time I had set on my alarm.

Why did I wake up an hour and a half early?

Because my 14 year old daughter couldn't find the new bottle of body wash. And she had to stand next to a closet full of mini-bottles of soaps and shampoos, brought home from various hotels over the years, to be able to knock on our bedroom door.

A tale of two compounds: mid-century swankyville

It occurs to me that maybe I should've titled this series "A tale of three compounds." What I'm talking about is the grappling we've done with what level of cool sophistication we want in our rural retreat, vs what amount of back-to-the-land rusticality.

This last picture reflects some over the top vision of the compound, a la early 60's Playboy magazine. The original caption reads:

"Well, I've always looked at it as sort of
stockpiling the American Dream!"

I got this courtesy of the ASIFA Hollywood Animation Archive Project blog. What an excellent website if you're a fan of old cartoons and classic pinup art.

Me and Miz Bubs are big fans of mid-century design. Our living room is decorated with atomic-style print curtains sewn by Miz Bubs. She got the fabric from Repro Depot. Our lamps sport retro shades from Deadly Nightshades. We have a vintage 1950's tiki bar in the corner, yellow pleather with bamboo trim and a black formica top. (If you're wondering about those people in the last link, they're attempting to do the sign language for "bullshit." Long story.)

When we started looking at rural land we first thought of just moving into and fixing whatever old house was there. We've also thought about really going earth-friendly and building a cob home. What my daughter refers to as a hobbit house. Another thing that's really intrigued us is the idea of building a new, prefab modern house, like the ones offered by Wee House or Rocio Romero. Rocio Romero's model home is a few hours away in Missouri, and it's on our list of places to visit in the next year or so.

We can imagine inviting our swell urban sophisticate friends out to the compound to relax over a long weekend with martinis and Cole Porter music. Ring a ding ding.

Snakes in a car

Residents live real-life drama of snake in a car

Only down South (this story is from Shreveport, LA) would you find a story featuring all of these elements:

- Walmart,

- a pregnant woman scared out of a 1988 Monte Carlo by a snake,

- a witness interviewed for the story who has his own snake-in-a-car tale (a rattlesnake), and

- the phrase "I'll just put my faith in the Lord" as the closer.

Just wait until next year...

No, I'm not talking about the Chicago Cubs. I'm talking 4th of July, baby! The best holiday around (Halloween comes close--but if Halloween had barbecue and fireworks and our nation's independence it couldn't be beat.)

Sadly, this piece of video reached the compound too late for this year's Independence Day celebration:

Inthewrongplaceness

Who is Kira O'Reilly?

Kira O'Reilly--Inthewrongplaceness

My friend Bill once said, in response to the old Karen Finley/Robert Maplethorpe NEA controversy, something to the effect that, without public funding for the arts, we'd have a lot less bad performance art.

Ms. O'Reilly's latest piece , "Inthewrongplaceness" features her sitting, naked, cradling a dead pig for several hours. It looks like there's a swan in there too. This may surprise you, hep and worldly readers, but some people are offended by this, including People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.

I shouldn't be surprised by PETA; I suppose if you disapprove of pigs dying for bacon and barbecue, you probably wouldn't want them dying for art, either.

I wonder if there's going to be a DVD of the performance, and if there is, will it come with a scratch & sniff card to recreate the experience?

McDonald's moves to stop hedgehog slaughter

CNN.com - Food giant bows to hedgehog - Aug 31, 2006

Who doesn't like hedgehogs?

A tale of two compounds: the swamp variations

You've seen the idyllic rural compound in the previous post. The rolling fields and old barns; that's where Gentleman Farmer Bubs might live. I might rise early and stroll the back 40, surrounded by my hounds, sipping coffee and marvelling at God's creation. Wellington boots and maybe even a tweed shooting jacket. Enough of that.

Here now, in all its feverish bourbon-soaked glory, is the swamp version of the rural compound. This is where Ol' Cranky Bubs would live. Sitting on the porch in a shabby seersucker suit, delirious from swamp fever and mint juleps. Clearing away the snake skins hanging from the railing to make room to stand up empty longneck beer bottles. Shooting those bottles off the porch, bullets flying out into the muskeg. Catfish. Cigars. Tabasco. Occasional forays into town for supplies, or to lay down a wager at the local cockfight. Maybe a couple side bets on some chicken bingo.

This is a real picture, taken by yours truly on the Pearl River in Louisiana, in an area known as the Honey Island Swamp. Our guide told us that the resident was prone to emerging from his fish camp and firing a shotgun at random to discourage tourists.

A tale of two compounds...continued

This is the farm owned by some of MizBubs' extended family (her sister's in-laws) about an hour west of Dubuque, Iowa. I keep these images on my desktop at work as a reminder of what I'm working for.

Blue skies, old barn, gently rolling landscape. Ahhh...there's a nice creek rolling through also. They have about 200 acres, with a nice variety of pasture, alfalfa fields, bottomland and woods. We'll be camping there in a few weeks, drinking, playing music, dogs running around, cooking over a big-ass fire. We usually camp alongside the creek, down in the bottom.

This is the first vision of the compound I wanted to show you. It could look something like this, and it could be anywhere in the upper south or midwest.

A tale of two compounds...

MizBubs and I recently returned from fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada, where we:

-belatedly celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary,
-said goodbye to summer and sunshine, and
-spent some good time alone, together, to steel ourselves for the hubbub of school and MizBubs' return to full-time employment.

Our trip involved lots of downtime, a Las Vegas first for us. We hit the pool every day, visited the hotel spa , drank a lot of bloody mary's and visited Elvisarama for the first time.

Anyway, I returned from Las Vegas feeling swanky as hell. And it made me think.

I have always had a vision of my ideal rural compound in my head; my bucolic and heavily armed retreat from the modern world. I love the smell of wood smoke, and good clean dirt, and trees. I like being outdoors, and I like hard work, and I like doing nothing as well. I've had several different images of the compound in mind at any given time, each one moving in and out of prominence depending on my mood at the time. Sometimes the compound is in the mountains, sometimes in the rolling bluegrass of my native Kentucky, sometimes it's in downstate Illinois, sometimes it's in a swamp.

But the thing is, I like my cocktails. And my hi-fi music. And throwing swanky parties for my friends. And I wouldn't mind a pool, either.

What I'm saying is, I'm equally at home in a cowboy hat or a fez. Tin cup full of bourbon or a Singapore Sling. My bride and I talk about this all the time. Like she says in her profile, she shares a vision of a family compound in the country, but with more chickens and fewer guns. We both think there must be some way to blend and transform both the swell and the rustic.

So the question is, what kind of compound is in my future?

Pictures to follow...

Weird coincidence

I'm breathing easier now that I've solved a strange little mystery that's bothered me for the past two days.

I was sitting in my office Tuesday afternoon when I got a phone call from some doctor's office I'd never heard of. The marginal English speaker on the other end of the line was calling to confirm my September 1st appointment with doctor (unintelligible name.) I said I'd never seen that doctor and hadn't made any appointment. The caller responded with my name, and address, and work phone number, and repeated that she was calling to confirm. I replied that there had been a mistake, and to cancel any appointment. I didn't think much more of it after that, just an odd mix-up.

Yesterday I got home from work around 5:45 and found a message on my answering machine. The message was confirming my September 5th appointment with doctor (unintelligible name.) The caller left an office number, which came back to a large medical group associated with a nearby hospital. I've been a patient at the hospital (car crash where I got knocked unconscious, broken leg, needle stick, tuberculosis exposure and what I thought was a heart attack but turned out to be really bad indigestion) but I had not made any appointments with any doctors there.

Just as I finished playing the message back my youngest said, casually, from the next room, "oh, some guy came by and did something with the roof today." WHAT!? Who was it, someone from the village, or a contractor or what? She didn't know, she said our eldest talked to the guy and she didn't know anything else about it.

I began to feel my heart beat faster and could feel the muscles in my neck, arms and legs start to tighten. We're done with contractors, and there was no reason for anyone to be at our home doing anything with our roof. I called my eldest, and she described the person as a "blonde kid in his teens, with a work truck parked in our driveway." She said he asked for me by name, she thought, but wasn't sure, because he "mumbled in that teenage way." And of course, she didn't bother to ask any questions or find out anything else about him, in that teenage way. She did get a business card from him and gave me the information. The place appeared to be a legitimate roofing contractor, so at least I wasn't worried about some gypsies trying to scam my family while I was gone.

I like to think of myself as...prepared, not paranoid. While my children have compared me to Mad-Eye Moody from the Harry Potter books (CONSTANT VIGILANCE!) I don't think I'm unreasonable. I've never really worried about retaliation, and only rarely have I ever run into any former customers on the street. This got me though. Two calls from a doctor I've never seen, confirming appointments I never made, and a visit from a mystery contractor, all in two days. I called the numbers I had and left messages, and made plans to run my own credit the next day. Over the years I've collected quite an assortment of identity theft and harassment horror stories, and I was trying really hard not to get carried away thinking about what could be going wrong.

This morning I hit the phones. 20 minutes on the phone with XXXXXXXX medical led to the discovery that one of their patients must have a name close to mine. Given the English skills demonstrated by some of the folks I talked to, one of their staff ended up pulling up my records and contacting me by mistake. They apologized and said they'd contact the other patient and re-schedule the appointments that I'd cancelled. Boy, that really inspires confidence in the accuracy and security of your medical records, doesn't it?

The roofing contractor called back just after I got off the phone with the medical people. His estimator had gone to the wrong address. He thanked me for letting him know, and told me an amusing story about one of his crews beginning a roof tear-off on the wrong house a few weeks earlier. They stopped when the lady of the house ran outside screaming at them.

I'm proud of myself. I talked to everyone involved without freaking out, I managed to get a full night's sleep, and I didn't pass out guns to the girls and barricade the house. The angry, tuned-up Bubs from a few years ago would've let fly with a string of obscenities while imagining the worst case scenario, changed the phone number and all the locks, and spent all night sitting in a blacked-out house, cradling a gun in my lap while drinking bourbon and black coffee to stay awake and loose at the same time.

Isn't it nice when there's a simple explanation?

Land-o-Lulu: The End of Summer

Land-o-Lulu: The End of Summer

I read this a couple days ago; I've since passed it on to my daughters who are back in school, and I've returned once or twice to re-read the W.B. Yeats poem "The Wild Swans at Coole."

Lulu has much to recommend her: she's a fellow midwesterner, has a fabulous avatar, and has the proper respect for, and love of, the martini.

John Mark Karr casts his movie

I heard this driving home yesterday and almost crashed my car I laughed so hard. Fortunately for all of us, the good people at www.thesmokinggun.com have a link to the audio.

Here's why the world's most famous jet-setting freak thinks Johnny Depp would be the right choice to portray him in a movie:

"It's because he reminds me so much of me. And he looks like me, and he would play the part perfectly."

You'll have to listen to find out the ways in which Karr thinks he's similar, and dissimilar, to the character of Willy Wonka. I'll be taking a scalding bleach shower and knocking back a bourbon to try and feel whole again.

I am a terrible failure

I've gone and left out too many wonderful New Orleans musicians to even begin to list. Here's a few:

Fats Domino
The Nevilles
The Meters
Dr John
Clifton Chenier
Buckwheat Zydeco
Ernie K-Doe
The entire Marsalis family

That's for starters.

Mea culpa.

I think I'm going to delete that sub-par Jolie Blon and get it off the page completely. I was just so desperate to hear its sweet melancholy strains last night, and maybe even see someone performing it, that I put it up there without the proper forethought.

Yeah, I've come a little bit... unglued the past couple of days.

I subjected my coworkers to a 10-minute long rant yesterday that ended with one of them asking (a little more than half seriously) if they could just take me to a bar and get me a drink to calm the f*ck down. Well, there's no mistaking now exactly how I feel about the current administration and what I refer to as their avalanche of f*ckups. My coworkers brought up what's now being referred to as "the rant" in roll call this morning, and we had another brief but spirited discussion. Here's what I've discovered: a year or two ago I would've been shouted down by Fox News-watching, talk radio-listening Bush cheerleaders. Now, they all went pretty much quiet when confronted with a few facts. Making fun of Clinton, Gore and Kerry isn't much of an answer any more, and in the face of the news from horrid third-world hellholes like Iraq and New Orleans, Clinton/Gore/Kerry bashing doesn't seem to bring the same self-satisfaction to Bush voters that it used to.

Tipitina

Ain't misbehavin'

Chicago, city of the big shoulders...and the monkey attacks

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your wild monkeys under the gas lamps attacking the teenage girls.

--Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916.


Remember, people: nature hates you. As Chicago PD Sergeant Ramos says, "Monkeys are very smart animals. If you mess with them, they will mess with you."

Back to real news...

Dog's driving lesson ends in crash

...A woman in Hohhot, the capital of north China's Inner Mongolia region, crashed her car while giving her dog a driving lesson, the official Xinhua News Agency reported Monday.

Do you know what it means?

Bullshit artist of the week

Oops: Imposter scams Louisiana officials

Members of an activist group called "The Yes Men" scammed their way into a conference in New Orleans by pretending to be HUD officials. They refer to what they do as "identity correction":

Small-time criminals impersonate honest people in order to steal their money. Targets are ordinary folks whose ID numbers fell into the wrong hands.

Honest people impersonate big-time criminals in order to publicly humiliate them. Targets are leaders and big corporations who put profits ahead of everything else.

Here's another story about them in the New Orleans Times Picayune.

We were Americans

That's something you could say during our response to Katrina. When I say "our" I don't mean our government's non-response, but rather the response of all the decent big-hearted Americans who sent money, and volunteered, and opened their homes to other people in need. And all those good people trapped in horrible circumstances who did their best and helped their brothers and sisters. Like September 11th, it was a grand moment of ordinary people rising to the occasion and performing heroic deeds in the face of tragedy. I never want to forget that.

This is how a good part of New Orleans looked back at the beginning of April 2006. This is a house a couple of blocks from where the Industrial Canal levee broke in the lower 9th Ward.

My anger meter just pegged at 11 so I shut off the television. The spectacle of watching two pompous blowhard f*cks like Pat Buchanan and Al Sharpton on MSNBC arguing over whether the levees were dynamited to kill black people was too much. CSPAN was running interviews with people in St Bernard Parish, filmed on 8/16/06. Da Parish looked about the same as it did when we were there in March, depressingly enough. It looked like they'd gotten control of the trash levees, (trash levees was how everyone down there referred to the huge piles of debris next to all the gutted houses) and there were more vacant lots where houses had been demolished and hauled away, at least.

I admit my liberal partisan bloodlust runs pretty high lately. Even so, I sometimes find the postings on Daily Kos to be a bit much. But today, I found this post by a blogger named DarkSyde and I really appreciated it. I'll leave y'all with this excerpt:

I predict the anniversary of the worst natural disaster in decades will be quickly pre-empted by stirring speeches sung over the graves of 9-11 by meat puppets of the right clothed in designer suits and wearing somber, rehearsed expressions for the multitude of cameras. They will be read in carefully scripted, grave tones, in front of bronze statues of soldiers sacrificed and granite monuments to the dead of wars past, and they will be read mostly by those who never choked down a stale MRE in the desert heat or freezing cold.

I imagine in the not too distant future, Ph.D. dissertations and classes in political science will be devoted to analyzing how this crop of neocon miscreants lurched clumsily from one monstrous failure after another, and still held solidly onto a third of the electorate. Maybe the academics will figure it out. Part of me hopes someone will. For now, as one who has lived it, I find the phenomenon incomprehensible. When a co-worker defends Bush or Iraq or the handling of Katrina, I have to consciously try not to stare in open contempt, jaws agape, as a half dozen possible explanations for why they could be so sadly misled and yet so confident, wrestle with one another in the small part of my brain that insists on finding order in chaos.

Can these bones live?

Remembering Katrina

Ok, I'm a cop, so I'm supposed to have a shrine to 9/11 and be prone to exclaiming "never forget!" any time there's a discussion that's even remotely related to September 11th. The thing is, that's not what I'm remembering, or what I want other people to remember right now. Far as I can tell, we've got a presidential administration that's done a fine job, thank you, of making sure that no one "forgets" September 11th. I'm sure our current administration would much rather we remember 9/11 than think about the reality that our government f*cked up on a colossal scale as a major city drowned. Not me. I'm remembering Hurricane Katrina. I still have a hard time controlling my rage whenever I think about it.

New Orleans is the closest thing to my adopted home town--I love the place, I feel more comfortable there than I do almost anywhere else, and I've been in enough eateries and gin mills there that I nearly feel like a local. Only without the regional dialect that sounds like a Brooklyn accent on quaaludes. I like the premium that New Orleans (and most of southern Louisiana, really) puts on hospitality, food, music and showing people a good time. I like their goofy stories, and the way they tolerate eccentricity. And being from Cook County, Illinois, I appreciate the breadth and depth of their public corruption.

When Katrina hit, and the levees broke and the city descended into chaos, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I started calling places like the Red Cross to see if I could volunteer in some way--yeah, I have no real skills but I'm good at dealing with hysterical people and I'm cool in a crisis, and I've got a gun and 17 years of law enforcement experience, which it certainly looked like was needed at that moment. The Red Cross suggested I sign up for a volunteer orientation-- the next month. Yes, in October 2005.

I was eventually lucky enough to be part of a group of police officers who volunteered to go down there, and I spent nearly a week working in the 2nd District of New Orleans (the Uptown/River Bend area) in the aftermath of the storm. I was blessed again with the opportunity to go to St Bernard Parish in March, gutting houses with Habitat for Humanity as part of the St Bernard Recovery Project. When we got down there I was shocked to see how much was still undone 7 months later.

I've been reading the various Katrina-one-year-later stories, and catching a couple shows on TV. It's just too easy to be enraged, or maudlin, and no one wants to read stuff that just relentlessly brings you down.

So, let's talk instead about food and booze, and wish the people of New Orleans strength and courage in their recovery.

Sunday afternoon we had my mom over, and actually managed to get both daughters home at the same time for a nice sit-down family dinner. It was, if I may say so, delicious. One of our better efforts. Here's the menu (recipes available on request):

-Sazerac cocktails (a delightful blend of rye whiskey, absinthe and bitters, invented in New Orleans)

-Chicken & smoked sausage gumbo

-Southern style greens (mixed turnip, mustard & collard greens cooked in beer, with a little vinegar and molasses)

-Corn maque choux with crispy bacon

-Abita Turbo Dog beer

-And for dessert, a peach blackberry crisp, made with fresh fruit from our farmers market.

I'll try and post some pictures from last year, and from our trip to do rehab work this spring.

Put Fun Back In Flying

After experiencing the constant 1984-esque threat level announcements and endless lines of grim passengers when we flew to Las Vegas last week, it was nice to see anyone involved in commercial air travel with a sense of humor.

Thank you, Ryanair:

New Airport Security Procedures

That is a link to the official Ryanair website. Enjoy.

Saturday morning coffee

Lately, over the past 3 weeks especially, it feels like our lives have really accelerated. To the point that all of us feel like we've been shot out of a cannon. This weekend is providing a welcome breather, and I find myself in one of my favorite situations: awake in the house on a weekend morning, while everyone else sleeps.

18 years as a cop has created in me a near-total absence of the notion of "weekend." It's not that I don't like weekends, it's just that my days off fall during the week so often that I don't really have the typical view of THE WEEKEND as being that magical time that you spend all week grinding toward. It has no special significance for me, and I don't find myself looking forward to it. I'm just as likely to sit in my office on a Tuesday afternoon looking forward to all the fun I'm going to have, and all the stuff I'm going to acomplish, when I'm off Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Combine that with homeschooling and a bride who works part time (and was a stay-home mom before that) and you have a pattern of family life that's flexible, bordering on chaotic. It's a wonder how the Miz Bubs and the girls have adapted to it all these years. I've been spoiled by never having to fight weekend crowds at movies, restaurants, grocery stores and Homeowner Hell.

All that's changed now. Miz Bubs is now on the classic M-F 9-5 schedule at the library (oh lord, I do love saucy librarians. And saucy library assistants, for that matter.) Youngest daughter is in high school M-F from 7:30 to 2:45, and eldest girl has classes M-W-F and works several evenings each week. Don't get me wrong, I'm not whining about having to live like everyone else in the suburban world. I just feel blessed that I didn't have to for so long.

Here's some of the things we were able to do over the past 3 years because of the combination of homeschooling and a cop schedule:

-Multiple visits to the Art Institute of Chicago, the Field Museum and Brookfield Zoo during the week.

-Camping trips to uncrowded places during the week: Kickapoo River in Wisconsin, the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, Wyandotte Woods in Indiana, Shawnee National Forest, and Sleeping Bear Dunes. Other places too numerous to list. Of course, while I have fond memories of some of these trips, my girls--especially my youngest--will describe an experience that sounds more like the Bataan Death March.

-Road trips: San Antonio, New Orleans, Louisville.

-Two big trips: Ireland, where we spent 3 weeks, and the Florida Keys, where we relaxed in a tropical paradise.

-And perhaps the greatest thrill of all, being able to go to the movies during the middle of the week, to the cheap shows that start before 6pm.

Both of my kids are prone to be night owls now, but they seem to adapt well to daylight, so I haven't screwed them up too badly. MizBubs has gotten on a regular workout schedule and seems to be coping well. Everyone is pitching in with little things like laundry and dishes. My big test will come after Labor Day, when two things happen: I go back to working nights, getting home between midnight and 1am, and my next set of days off fall on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I'll be poking around the Compound with my coffee, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. By myself. I hope I'm going to become one of those regular dads, the kind of guy who takes his day off when no one's around and does stuff. Like, keep an immaculate yard, and fix things, change the oil in the cars, and organize the basement and hardwire a generator into the circuit breaker box and put a new roof on the house. Not the kind of dad who sits in his robe at the computer, blogging and playing online poker. Oh shit. Too late.

A proposal that I submitted back in early August got rejected, so that's a good chunk of cash that won't be coming my way now. I made up for it, somewhat, by picking up a couple of side jobs. I took a day off to work the first one on Wednesday: a 7am-10pm surveillance on a woman who'd been fired the day before. The company was afraid she might return (and what? shoot the place up? create a scene? women are low-risk candidates for workplace violence, but my feeling is this--if corporate America wants to feel safe, I'll be there to collect the check) so we sat outside her house with directions to follow her if she left. Someone had followed her home after she got fired the night before, and watched until 10pm, when she apparently went to sleep. On the day I watched her she didn't move from the house until 7:15pm. Then she drove to a fried chicken place, bought a bucket at the drive-thru, and returned home to console herself with her new deep-fried friend.

The next side job comes up in September. I get to dress in a dark suit and provide security for a convention that's in town. 16 hours of standing around looking sharp for a nice little bundle of kale. I even get to wear an earpiece and talk into my lapel, all well-dressed and courteous and vaguely menacing and all. One thing that's really nice is that, now that time with family is at a premium, MizBubs' new job allows me to be way more discriminating in what kind of side jobs I work, and how often.

Speaking of MizBubs. She is one of the most remarkably upbeat and optimistic people I know. She's great at encouraging others. She's been telling me about her efforts to lift the mood at her workplace (she's in the same department as she was as a part-timer) and it seems to be working so far. They've adopted some kind of department mascot, and she's working on getting some greenery and artwork in there. I hope her coworkers understand how lucky they are to have her. Right now the dear thing continues to sleep the sleep of the just. I'll bring her coffee in a bit.

Our youngest is getting ready to spend the day and night with her best friend (who is still homeschooled, so they see each other WAY less now.) Our eldest is excited--she's going to meet Jhonen Vasquez, creator of Johnny the Homicidal Maniac and Invader Zim. We're both wondering if he's going to be a jerk--he's an angry little fella, and kind of known for being contemptuous of fans. He better be nice to my girl, or she'll kick his ass.

The 1st anniversary of Hurrican Katrina arrives this week, August 29. Tomorrow night we'll be having a commemorative dinner in honor of the people of New Orleans: seafood gumbo for sure, some type of greens or corn maque choux depending on what's at the farmers market, and of course a couple of Sazerac cocktails and some Abita beer.

There are so many things I wanted to catch up on and write about. Other than the occasional bourbon-fueled late night youtube posts, I try and put some thought and care into what I write and post. The longer I wait to have the time to put, say, the experience of seeing Tom Waits, or of visiting Las Vegas with Miz Bubs, into proper form, the less likely it seems I'll ever have time to do that. I guess that's just the nature of things, and it's really not a bad thing at all.

Hope y'all have a good weekend.

Hindu nazis?

Thanks again, Kate. I heard this on the BBC yesterday, and wasn't sure I was hearing it correctly. Some asshole in Mumbai opened a restaurant called "Hitler's Cross" complete with swastikas all over it. He got really snippy with the BBC reporter during the interview I heard. Picture a belligerent Apu splitting hairs with a classic BBC reporter.

Here's a link to the story as it appeared in the Boston Globe.

According to this follow-up story on the BBC website, the owners have already changed the name. Now it'll be known as McManson's, that way they can keep the swastika--it will be carved into the forehead of the new corporate mascot.

I'm not done with snakes just yet, either. I'll get back to reptile news later. I might have some midget stuff too.

Snakes in a theater. And eating an alligator.

Thanks Kate.

It's now officially snake week at the Compound. Multiple sources, including Reuters, the Guardian and the BBC, all reported that someone released live rattlesnakes at a screening of Snakes on a Plane in Arizona. It's a good story, something right out of the William Castle

Predictably enough, the so-called "authorities" are denying such a thing ever happened. A spokesman for the Phoenix Police Department says no one released snakes in the theater. He goes on to state that one rattlesnake that was found in the lobby "had likely slithered into the theater on his own." WTF? That's supposed to be reassuring? That's right, no one released venomous snakes into the theater, but Phoenix, and the entire state of Arizona for that matter, is so infested with rattlesnakes that they just slither into the theater "on their own" from time to time!?! Get me some Coke and a corn dog, I feel way safer now! No, what they need is some motherf*cking alligators to deal with that motherf*cking snake problem, is what they need.

I take that back. It turns out that, in a fight, a big-ass snake and an alligator are a good match. Remember that picture of the python that died trying to eat an alligator? This story from Salon.com says that the Everglades may be infested by anywhere from 1,000-10,000 Burmese pythons. Turns out that python-owning freaks, once they tire of the thrill of caring for a 12 foot long beast that can kill you, like to dump them into the Everglades.

And, finally, Venezuelan Dr. Jesus Rivas, a noted expert on Anacondas, is willing to take you on tours of the jungle to help hunt snakes. He likes to wade in, barefoot, and poke along with his bare toes to find the elusive green Anaconda. You can visit his website here.

All Your Snakes Are Belong To Us

Freaks

Freaks is the title of a movie produced in 1932 and directed by Tod Browning (better known for Dracula starring Bela Lugosi.) It's one of our favorite movies. It was largely reviled when it was first released, and wasn't widely shown again until the late 60's or 70's when it became popular on the midnight movie circuit. I first saw it on a double bill with Eraserhead in 1979.

While everyone here at the compound has more than a passing interest in freaks, and Freaks, our youngest daughter has an especially developed interest in the subject. She's currently reading Freaks: We Who Are Not As Others by Daniel Mannix, a history of freaks and sideshow attractions. She tells me that, while well-written and entertaining, it contains more than a few factual errors. And she should know, she's like my personal freak expert. She's especially familiar with the lives of Joseph Merrick, the "Elephant Man" and Johnny Eck. She recently sent me this link to the Johnny Eck Museum. Johnny Eck also appeared in the movie Freaks, and was quite an amazing fellow. Visit his museum page and do some interesting reading.

Don't mistake the movie Freaks with the movie Eight Legged Freaks. Mistaking it for Bloodsucking Freaks would be even worse. (Bloodsucking Freaks is the only horror/splatter/exploitation movie Miz Bubs ever walked out of. Matter of fact, the sound was so disturbing that she called out to us from the next room and requested we turn the movie off until she fell asleep.) And it goes without saying not to mistake it for the movie She Freak. Now She Freak, there was a disappointing movie. Except for one part where some hillbilly chick says "Ah knowed it. Ah knowed it all along." We had a lot of laughs with that.

Stuff to do...

Gots plenty of it. Stuff to do, that is. This is a busy week, coming on the heels of the busy week before it:

-Miz Bubs starts her full-time job.
-Eldest girl, who is technically a high school senior, is now a full-time college student at the community college thanks to the joys of homeschooling. She also is this close to getting her drivers license, finally. But that means I've got to make sure she gets more driving time and studies her manual.
-Youngest girl starts high school tomorrow, after 3 years of homeschooling.

Then there's stuff I wanted to write about:

-Finishing the epic de-whitetrashification of our house and yard, and putting up the "after" photos. Which reminds me, there's a leak in our pond that we can't seem to locate and fix, so we have to either call a pond repair specialist (and how the f*ck much does someone with an obscure skill like that charge?) or tear out the concrete/stone border ourselves, drain the pond and totally replace the existing liner. Tear out the 1,000 pounds of concrete and stone my ass.
-I still haven't really talked about the Tom Waits show.
-Las Vegas. Tom Jones. (Think about it--two Tom shows in a week.)
-A trip to 6 Flags Great America, where I grappled with my insane fear of heights and falling by going on 8 roller coasters in one day.

On top of all that, I have a backlog of freak stories I wanted to post. And snakes, I got snake stories too. AND we saw Snakes on a Plane, in Las Vegas. And we liked it.

Man, I hate it when the drive to be a blabbering storyteller conflicts directly with the fact that I have to work and actually earn a living.

People ask, so: how was Las Vegas?

Las Vegas was great. Once Friday afternoon rolled around, and all the southern Californians started showing up, it was just like this. Except, far less charming or sincere, and far more irritating. Many of the swankiest clubs and ultra-lounges now offer something they call bottle service, where you get to pay $20 or so to get into the club, so that you can have your own table with a bottle of your choice for about $300-500 more, and sit around and look fabulous. I imagine it's something like this, but with more obnoxious Californians on cell phones:

Reporting from the fabulous Orleans Hotel & Casino

It's 8:17am here in sunny Las Vegas. Miz Bubs is sleeping soundly and I am rehydrating. This has been a wonderful and unique trip for us so far, notable especially for:

--Lack of Vegas nerves. I've slept like a rock, at least 8 hours, both nights so far.
--Sleep. Lots of sleep.
--Early bedtimes!?! Yes, early bedtimes. Just after midnight and just before midnight. I have no idea how this happened.
--Tom Jones. A god-like figure among men. Get me to 60 years old, bring on the hair dye and permatan baby! I have a plan!
--Time by the pool. At least an hour or two every day.

Time to go. I have to try and find a flower shop, there isn't one in the casino.

See y'all soon.

Vegas nerves

Vegas nerves. That's what I call the inability to sleep more than about 4 hours when I'm in Las Vegas. The last couple times I've been there it's been pronounced. Sometimes I profit from it, like when I woke and showered at 5:45am and went down to the poker room at the Luxor and cleaned up against the drunk tourists who'd been up all night. At one point one guy's girlfriend actually leaned over and sniffed me, and announced to the table "hey, no fair, he just got up, he hasn't been up all night like you guys."

Other times it's just a nuisance, and it results in fatigue and a tendency to drink way too heavily to balance the jitters.

But this is the first time it's started before I even get on the plane. Here it is, 12:27am CST. The bags are packed and the girls are tucked in. Maybe it's the fact that my mom, who was going to be watching over the girls, has been sick with stomach flu and can't really take them in. Maybe it's the fact that one of my surgical incisions from May opened up and began bleeding a bit today, resulting in a trip to the doctor. Which in itself resulted in me getting 3 shots to my belly to numb me, so the doc could poke around the wound and scrape out any bad stuff. I'm referring to this as the first time I've visited Las Vegas with a lucky bleeding belly hole. What it was, was a piece of dissolvable suture that didn't quite dissolve, and worked its way out. Doc says the hole will close in a few days, no problem. Now I'll fit right in with that guy with the seeping tracheotomy bandage I saw on my trip to the Gold Spike. Just another freak in the freak kingdom.

The taxi comes at 4:30am to take us to O'Hare. I'll try and give y'all some good stories when we get back. Enjoy the rest of the week.

Watch that first step

The de-white trashification of our home is nearly complete. The process started way back in May, with me calling some contractors. We hired the brick porch guys in June, and they started on Friday.

I'll put up all the "after" shots some time in September I think.

Work is behind me now

It's time to focus on Las Vegas. Enough of work, I have to get it out of my head. Here's the email I left my boss:

Subject: Gone fishing

Fishing for luck,that is.

I’ll be out of the office until Sunday, August 20 at 0830 hours. I will be out of state and out of contact from Tuesday night until late Saturday night.

In my absence, no one will assume my responsibilities and all my detectives can run wild. I wish them well.

Happy trails.

I was able to finish downloading the Las Vegas Playlist. Theme music is important. Here are the tracks, in no particular order. I still have to burn them onto a disk.

VIVA LAS VEGAS Dead Kennedys
THAT’S WHY THE LADY IS A TRAMP Sinatra w/Red Norvo
MY WAY Sid Vicious
LUCK BE A LADY Sinatra

COME FLY WITH ME Sinatra w/Red Norvo
THAT'S WHY THE LADY IS A TRAMP Sinatra w/Red Norvo
I GET A KICK OUT OF YOU Sinatra
SOMETHING Beatles
MACK THE KNIFE Bobby Darin
FEVER Peggy Lee
FUNTIME Iggy Pop
NIGHTCLUBBING Iggy Pop
GOING OUT WEST Tom Waits
MISTER SIEGAL Tom Waits
HEARTATTACK AND VINE Tom Waits
PASTIES AND A G STRING Tom Waits
KIZMIAZ The Cramps
CAN YOUR PUSSY DO THE DOG? The Cramps
GREEN DOOR The Cramps
VIVA LAS VEGAS Elvis
A LITTLE LESS CONVERSATION Elvis
ROCK A HULA BABY Elvis
RUBBERNECKIN’ Elvis
I’VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN Louis Prima & Keely Smith
JUMP JIVE AND WAIL Louis Prima
JAMES BOND THEME Monty Norman, Dr. No soundtrack
CASINO ROYALE THEME Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass
PETER GUNN Henry Mancini
BABY ELEPHANT WALK Henry Mancini
SHE’S A LADY Tom Jones
KISS Tom Jones
HELP YOURSELF Tom Jones
BOTTLE OF BEER AND A SLOT MACHINE The Dempseys
WALKING ON THE SUN Smashmouth
BREATHLESS Jerry Lee Lewis
DRAGULA Rob Zombie
LIVING DEAD GIRL Rob Zombie
MORE HUMAN THAN HUMAN (Meet Bambi...mix) Rob Zombie
MONEY Pink Floyd

Now all that remains is to take our youngest to freshman orientation, pick up drycleaning, and pack. Las Vegas is waiting for us.

One reason cops get angry

A few weeks ago I talked, briefly, about "de-policing" after I worked an overtime detail and spent the better part of my night being accused of being a racist. I talked about the phenomenon, seen in Cincinatti and other places, of cops who, when accused of brutality, racial profiling and bigotry, go into a fire department style of policing--stopping all proactive patrol activity and simply responding to 911 calls.

I thought of that after I saw this video today. In it, San Francisco Police Officers Association president Gary Delagnes gives the assembled media a piece of his mind. On July 26, San Francisco PD officer Nick Tomasito-Birco was killed in the line of duty when his squad car was struck by a van full of robbery suspects fleeing the police.

Evidently, a significant amount of media coverage focused less on questioning why a 19 year old with prior arrests and pending cases was out on bail, and instead focused on the conduct of the police involved in the pursuit. The head of the police union gave a brief press conference and gave voice to the frustration that tens of thousands of decent, conscientious, hardworking cops feel all over the country.

Once again, here's a link to the video. You have to sit through an ad first.

Here's a link to the memorial page for Officer Tomasito-Birco.

Bear crisis grows worse, calls for National Guard increase...

This was the heading for an email I got first thing this morning from a friend in Florida. He's referring to this story in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette about the increase in Pennsylvania's black bear population. He also claims, convincingly, that:

Over 18,000 people have been killed by alligators in Florida this year alone although the number is largely suppressed by the media. And technically, I don't think the state of Florida counts minorities so it's probably much higher.

As long time readers of sprawling ramshackle compound know, there's not many things I like more than stories about bears. Except for stories about alligators, or freaks. Or any animal attack stories.

So reading this bear story got my week off to a good start, especially coming on the heels of Paris Hilton's mauling at the adorable little paws of a kinkajou. I have to check my friend's alligator attack stats, but in the meantime, here's some more animal attack stories:

-An Anchorage man is mauled by a brown bear.

-A Chinaman gets a face transplant after his encounter with a black bear. Lesson learned? Don't try and chase a bear away with a stick.

-Bear vs Pitbull: Pitbull wins when owner stabs bear in the back.

-Killer mountain lions stalk the streets of Evergreen, Colorado. People live in a "vale of fear."

-Hunt them and kill them all you want: it still won't reduce killer mountain lion attacks.

-High-speed low-drag eye gouge technique saves boy from alligator attack. Thank you, Discovery Channel.

-Anti-immigrant Minutemen are now deploying venomous snakes along the border.

-A possible Darwin award here: if you get drunk, don't play with coral snakes. They will kill you.

Naturam expellas furca, tamen usque recurret.

"You may drive out nature with a pitchfork, yet she still will hurry back." Horace, c 23-13 BC

Snakes on a Plane

Kicking Asp: Jackson is fed up with snakes

This is a neat little story in the Chicago Sun-Times about the upcoming release of Snakes on a Plane.

I cannot wait. Miz Bubs and I will be in fabulous Las Vegas when it opens on Thursday night. We will see it there, in the Orleans Hotel Casino movie theater. Miz Bubs, voice of reason, expressed some doubt. My response:

"Come on: Snakes on a Plane, in Las Vegas, at a casino-based movie theater, after a few drinks." She got it then.

It's like I've been saying: what else do you need to know? It's snakes on a plane!

Hey! Someone likes us!

Hey, dig this: the compound got mentioned on another blog. And not one belonging to another family member, either!

Melinda June, who certainly seems like a bright and discerning blogger, saw fit to mention us:

My site meter lead me to a new site that had become a regular favourite. Tom Waits fans, eye for goofy news stories, silly Jesus pics, and a youtube shout out to Andy Kaufman. Them's my kind of folks.

The attention whore in me is doing a jig.

Dig my cool ashtrays

My eldest daughter has a cool boyfriend. For one thing, he tells me about cool websites like the Solar Death Ray: The # 1 Death Ray on the Internet. And really, who doesn't like a solar death ray?

Well, the latest thing he's done is to present me and MizBubs, girl dynamo, with some vintage Las Vegas ashtrays from his grandma. We got five of them, in varying degrees of old school cool:

The Sands
The Riviera
The Flamingo Hilton
Caesars Palace
Ballys

It is official. I am now entering day one of the inevitable pre-Las Vegas trip frenzy. I laid out the prize ashtrays to photograph them, and decided that tonight would be a fabulous night for a beer tasting with Miz Bubs. Nothing says Las Vegas like boozin and smokin, right? I don't smoke, but I can booze. We started with a RedBach Flemish Sour Ale and have now moved on to Lion Stout. The Lion has a frisky 8% alcohol content and is brewed in Sri Lanka. For now the ashtrays will just have to sit there, artfully arrayed on the tiki bar, while we indulge.

Hope y'all are having a good weekend.

PARIS HILTON NUDE

Really I have no idea whether Paris was nude or not. All I know is, the happiest news I've heard all week is that Paris got bitten by a kinkajou. Her own pet kinkajou. Her own pet illegal-to-own-in-L.A kinkajou, according to this story. For us here at the compound, this story is a perfecta: sleazy celebrity freak news combined with a genuine animal attack story!

There are many horrors in the world, but I'd have to imagine that being Paris Hilton's pet would be one of the worst. Good luck little kinkajou.

Tom Waits' Chicago set list

The Eyeball Kid: Chicago setlist

Here's a set list from Tom Waits' Chicago show at the Auditorium last night, courtesy of the Eyeball Kid:

Make It Rain
Hoist That Rag
Shore Leave
God's Away On Business
All The World Is Green
Falling Down

*Note: these two were done with just a piano and upright bass:
Tango Till They're Sore
Tom Traubert's Blues

Eyeball Kid
Down In The Hole
Don't Go Into That Barn
Shake It
Trampled Rose
What's He Building In There
Who's Been Talking / Till The Money Runs Out
Murder in the Red Barn
Lie To Me Baby
Get Behind The Mule

1st Encore
Day After Tomorrow
Singapore

2nd Encore
Whistlin' Past The Graveyard
Time

I think I've had it with Las Vegas

Want to know why? Because I can find that same swingin' action right here in the midwest, baby! And I'm not talking riverboat casinos or a road trip to Tunica. I'm talking FantaSuite Hotels.

Yah, you betcha. Set in such fabulous midwestern locales as Burnsville, Minnesota and Dodgeville, Wisconsin, FantaSuites has it all. From their website (and dig the mom jeans on the female in the first pic and the porn mustache on the dude):

Suites With A Unique Fantasy Theme
From the ancient land of Caesar's Court to the futuristic Space Odyssey, let our FantaSuite Suites transport you to the world of your dreams. Each is a unique experience, an adventure, a romantic retreat designed to completely immerse you in the getaway of your choice.
		Every FantaSuite Suite includes a spacious whirlpool spa, one or more color televisions, customized furnishings and other amenities.
		No matter which you choose, you're sure to be delighted with these extraordinary accommodations.
They're the ultimate in escapes, perfect for a Honeymoon, Anniversary, Valentine's Day, or Birthday getaway - or turn any night into an unforgettable evening of fantasy and romance!
				All FantaSuite Hotels feature a variety of FantaSuite Suites which may differ from those shown here.
Robes, chocolates, flowers, and baskets are also available at some locations.
				Check the FantaSuite Hotel nearest your location for information and reservations for your next special occasion or getaway!!

Tom Waits at the Auditorium Theater

What an amazing show. Tom played about 2 hours, two encores, just a fantastic and amazing set. I'll talk more about it later today.

Penguin Spill

KTBS - Local - Truck Hauling Penguins, Exotic Fish Overturns on East Texas Highway

A tragedy. Fortunately, though, the second truck in the convoy did not crash--it was carrying snakes and alligators.

Dazed and Confused. Fatuous. Pompous.

Main Entry: fat·u·ous
Pronunciation: 'fa-chü-&s, -tyü-
Function: adjective
Etymology: Latin fatuus foolish
: complacently or inanely foolish : SILLY fatuous remark>
synonym see SIMPLE

Main Entry: pomp·ous
Pronunciation: 'päm-p&s
Function: adjective
1 : excessively elevated or ornate <pompous rhetoric>
2 : having or exhibiting self-importance : ARROGANT pompous politician>
3 : relating to or suggestive of pomp : MAGNIFICENT

And yet, I can't stop myself from listening to this shite.

Dixie Fried