News from Iowa

A minister shoots a retard. In the buttocks.

And you may ask youself, well, how did I get here?

And you may ask yourself, how do I work this?

Well worth watching all these years later.

Oh yeah? I double DOG dare ya!

I've always irritated Miz Bubs by telling her that the midwest is a stolid, reliable and somewhat boring region, especially compared to those hot blooded dueling freaks who populate the American south.

I may have to reconsider that position now. Clearly, a region capable of producing a woman who beats someone with a dead chihuahua puppy is a region to be reckoned with.

I have no memory of this

My mom was big fan of the Dinah Shore show, and I remember watching it as a kid. I have no memory whatsoever of this, and that's a damn shame. I mean, come on: Iggy Pop on an afternoon talk show, with David Bowie on keyboard?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOM JONES

I almost went with a TV performance of What's New Pussycat, but decided that was too predictable. Another close call was his f*cking uber-cool version of Prince's Kiss . But no. Instead, we'll all celebrate the birthday of godlike figure Tom Jones (remind me to tell you about how I'm going to start living the Tom Jones lifestyle, but without the talent, on my 60th birthday some time) by watching this:

A brief musical interlude

From the Tom Waits album Blood Money: God's Away on Business

I'm glad I don't live in this world, I only work in it:

Killer gator army marches north to Carolina!

See the shocking photgraphic proof here!

They must be stopped.

Snakes on a Plane

I'm looking forward to this movie:

Snakes on a Plane

How goofy cool a title is that? My daughter can't believe I haven't heard of it already, and says it's proof that Samuel L. Jackson will act in anything. Supposedly he took the job because of the title; when the producers changed the working title to Flight 121, he demanded it be changed back.

You can watch a trailer here

The Clinton years in 30 seconds, no bunnies

My friend Bawb the Revelator was recently driven to distraction by a fellow on an email list. Morris' passive-aggressive schtick manages to flip the switch in Bawb's head every once in a while; this tidbit came after Morris' predictable tut-tutting about always supporting the Democrats, no matter what. Bawb responds with a nice little summary of the Clinton years:

Our Tub of Ham Gravy (T.O.H.G.) leads off with Homos in the Military. This locks up the Log Cabin GOP demographic for '96.

Next, C. Lani Guinier finds out she's "scratched" for Deputy A.G . for Civil Right by T.O.H.G. from FoxNews after MINORITY GOP Sen. Orrin Harris says: "Deep six her!!" T.O.H.G. nods Presisidentially, distracted by Monica's steady 'come-hither' leer.

T.O.H.G. holds up wimp Multi-Payer National Health Card at first State of Union, says: "Y'all will have one of these!" Wild applause follows. Harry and Louise follows, funded by Insurance Industry Petty-Cash fund. "I saw the Bullworth rushes," says T.O.H.G. "He gets killed at the end! Damned if I'll campaign!" ClintonCare crashes, burns.

Newtie announces Contract With America, becomes Time Man of Year when GOP takes Congress. "Prez Still Relevant!" sniffs T.O.H.G. "Yowza!" says Monica.

"TRIANGULATE, you T.O.H.G!" says toe-sucking GOP, Dick Morris. "You got it!" replies T.O.H.G. who then "creams" the Late BobDole with LESS than 50% of the vote.

Morris, the above is confusing gibberish to Lemmings. Any lemming! You'll stick with ANY Democrat - especially the T.O.H.G. and Our Own Maggie Thatcher. I don't blame you, BTW. Reflex Motor Arcs are like........well, the Patella Reflex. Besides, it's all meaningless anyway - and I'm a youngster (relatively) who's once again disagreed with you to the point of Psychosis.

So I'm moving' off this dreariness. You smoke your Crack Pipe, I'll smoke mine. Oh yeah: the Yankees SUCK!

Best,

Bawb the Revelator

I never get tired of this

I'm teaching a basic defensive tactics course Tuesday morning, and one of the techniques is something called a "brachial stun." Here's a nice video of it being applied to a pimp:

Whew

So, yesterday (Sunday) I had the day off work, which was good--it was the day of the church picnic, but more important it was the farewell to our pastor and his wife (also a minister.) Two lovely, decent people.

We belong to a small church, an American Baptist congregation, and Rev. Jack has been the pastor for 16 years. Our eldest daughter went to Montessori kindergarten in a space rented by the church, and one day while I was working Miz Bubs took the kids there, back in 93 or 94. She came back and suggested I might like the place. I did, and we've been members of the church since then.

I've struggled with my faith for years, and my sense of worth as a moral human being. Rev Jack and Rev Lynn helped me more than I've ever told them. They move away later this month, and I'm working on a thank you letter. I decided a while ago that, when I have something good to say about someone, I'm going to damn well try and tell them. I'm still working on that.

It was important to be at church Sunday. But, life doesn't hold still for any one person's special moment: Hannah had a birthday party to attend Saturday night, ending at noon Sunday. I had my work hours changed on short notice and worked until 2am Saturday night. Nora had her boyfriend's high school graduation at noon. Miz Bubs had to work at the library at 1pm. SO...Miz Bubs, Nora, Nora's friend and I went to church at 10:30am. At noon, Nora left just as the service was ending to be picked up by her boyfriend's folks. I went and picked up Hannah. Hannah needed to freshen up (God forbid she go straight from a sleepover to a picnic without changing clothes, and she insisted that we never told her about the picnic, which is nonsense) so I got to drive her home and then back to church. I got to wolf down some food and briefly say hi to Miz Bubs before she left for work. Whew.

As it turns out, I wasn't the only one who got all teary during the service. Miz Bubs used to babysit the minister's daughter, for a few years, since she was just a year older than Hannah. They were like sisters, but then they had a falling out a few years ago and don't speak now. Well, when Miz talked to her after church, she started crying (the girl, not Miz...yet) and both my daughters were too choked up to say "goodbye" to Jack or Lynn. I ran into the girls former piano teacher, who moved back to Wisconsin to care for two parents with terminal cancer. I had at least 5 conversations with other parents who all remarked how much all our children had grown. Rev Lynn always did a children's time during the service, and this was the last one--seeing all those kids up there, and all the changes that they represented, and seeing Jack and Lynn leaving, was too much for all of us.

We had fallen away from regular church attendance a few years ago, and had just been making an effort to attend during the past year. We were in the process of reconnecting with our church, and I've been experiencing some kind of reawakening of my own faith that began with my trip to New Orleans during the aftermath of Katrina. I know something in me has changed, profoundly, but I'm not sure what it is yet or where it will push me. My daughters, who had both fallen away from church attendance, were also coming around. The ministry of Jack and Lynn was a big part of those positive changes, and we all feel...I don't know...so sad, that just as we were coming back, they're leaving. One thing I noticed though, was all the people at the picnic talking, and people reaching out to each other, our ties to one another becoming tangibly stronger even as we stood around clutching our paper plates and cups. I think Jack and Lynn should be very, very proud of their work in building our faith community.

Nora summed up her experience of the day when I picked her up later that afternoon. She said that, between the departure of Jack and Lynn, who've known her for 13 years, and the graduation of her boyfriend, her childhood is over.

Later that afternoon, after we all got home, we went to visit Miz Bubs' niece (they're more like cousins, they're only a few years apart) and husband. When we got their, my bride's oldest brother was there too, which was a wonderful surprise. I talk to my brothers a couple times a week, and to my mom nearly every day, so I take communication for granted. Miz Bubs comes from a family that is, to put it mildly, challenged in the ability to stay in contact with each other. Not that they don't like each other, they love each other deeply, and on a level that needs no words. Which is a good thing, because they don't talk to each other. They can go months without so much as a phone call. But I sense now that even that is changing. It seems like even Miz Bubs' family is reaching out and wanting to make that vital connection to each other.

We finally got home around 9:30, exhausted. We talked about church and life and growing up all the way home in the car.

There is so much coming down the road. I know most of it's good, and even the stuff that's hard will be good in the long run. But it feels really odd, almost to the point of light-headedness, to contemplate all the changes that are in store for us, and all those changes that have already passed.

Time

Time
--Tom Waits, from the album Rain Dogs

Well the smart money's on Harlow and the moon is in the street
And the shadow boys are breaking all the laws
And you're east of East Saint Louis and the wind is making speeches
And the rain sounds like a round of applause
And Napoleon is weeping in a carnival saloon
His invisible fiancee's in the mirror
And the band is going home, it's raining hammers, it's raining nails
And it's true there's nothing left for him down here

And it's time time time, and it's time time time
And it's time time time that you love
And it's time time time

And they all pretend they're orphans and their memory's like a train
You can see it getting smaller as it pulls away
And the things you can't remember tell the things you can't forget
That history puts a saint in every dream

Well she said she'd stick around until the bandages came off
But these mama's boys just don't know when to quit
And Mathilda asks the sailors "Are those dreams or are those prayers?"
So close your eyes, son, and this won't hurt a bit

Oh it's time time time, and it's time time time
And it's time time time that you love
And it's time time time

Well things are pretty lousy for a calendar girl
The boys just dive right off the cars and splash into the street
And when they're on a roll she pulls a razor from her boot
And a thousand pigeons fall around her feet
So put a candle in the window and a kiss upon his lips
As the dish outside the window fills with rain
Just like a stranger with the weeds in your heart
And pay the fiddler off 'til I come back again

Oh it's time time time, and it's time time time
And it's time time time that you love
And it's time time time
And it's time time time, and it's time time time
And it's time time time that you love
And it's time time time

---

I'll try and write something soon to explain why I put these lyrics up here.

Drinking and baking

OK...it's 2:30 in the morning, and I've just gotten home from work. And I've got a couple beers in me, and there's more in the fridge. Pabst Blue Ribbon, baby. And in a little less than 6 hours I need to be awake for church, and the annual church picnic, which is also the farewell to our pastor. So, of course, the thing to do is start baking.

I've always had good results drinking and baking. I love that loose feeling a few beers gives me when I'm whippin that batter. Woot. I've got a batch of brownies in, they'll be done in about 30 minutes. I used to use the recipe in the Silver Palate cookbook, but now I prefer the one-bowl recipe on the Baker's Unsweetened Chocolate box. No pecans or walnuts, like I usually make them. I want them nice and accessible for the church crowd, particularly the kids. I don't understand why people don't like nuts in their food, but I'm learning to deal with it.

When I get up I'll make some bacon. Not for breakfast, for the chopped salad we're making: lettuce, tomato, green onion, roasted pecans, bacon and blue cheese tossed with a balsamic viniagrette dressing. That's going to the picnic too. We were too careless and unfocused to actually bother signing up for the picnic, so I'm not sure what we need to bring. We'll hedge our bets with a side dish and a dessert. But I am putting nuts in the salad.

Did you know that Pabst also brews many other fine beers, such as Lone Star, Schlitz, Schafer, Blatz, Old Style and Carlings Black Label?

I spent the night as part of a "street crime suppression" task force. We roamed around and made a couple arrests, and ended our night in this big crappy apartment complex where I broke my leg 12 years ago chasing a crackhead. Some of our team checked out a car when a passenger jumped out and started walking, quickly, just as the PO-leese car pulled up. The three girls in the car, 15 and 16 years old, are from my town and go to my kid's high school. I'm sure their parents must be very proud of them. We got them before they bought the drugs they were undoubtedly there for, so they drove off disappointed.

I can't wait to see my girls in the morning and tell them I love them.

Sons of Lee Marvin

Again, one of the things I love most about the internet--other than wasting time at work, gambling, shopping, travel planning, Bettie Page and naked ladies--is the totally random and accidental way you can find the coolest stuff.

My Screaming Jay Hawkins moment a few days ago led me to stumble onto the existence of a secret society, which, like the Rosicrucians, Freemasons, or the Illuminati, operates in the the gray areas of rumor and conspiracy. Unlike the Rosicrucians or Illuminati, however, these Sons of Lee Marvin had escaped my notice. Until now:

The Sons of Lee Marvin

Jarmusch is the founder of The Sons of Lee Marvin, a humorous 'semi-secret society'. Members of the society reportedly include musician Tom Waits and actor John Lurie, both of whom have worked with Jarmusch on several occasions. Richard Bose, Nick Cave, Iggy Pop (who has also worked with Jarmusch), Thurston Moore, Mickey Rooney and Neil Young are also rumored to be members.

Entry criteria for the club is that the person must have some physical resemblance or plausibly look like a son of the actor Lee Marvin — as such, women are not allowed to join. Most current members also share what seems to be a beat mentality in that they represent and express the lives of the down and out.

The club supposedly meets occasionally to watch Lee Marvin movies together. Its members perpetuate the joke in the media.

The real son of Lee Marvin objected to the existence of the organization when he encountered Waits in a bar.^[1]

"I'm not at liberty to divulge information about the organization, other than to tell you that it does exist. I can identify three other members of the organization: Tom Waits, John Lurie, and Richard Bose. You have to have a facial structure such that you could be related to, or be a son of, Lee Marvin. There are no women, obviously, in the organization. We have communiques and secret meetings. Other than that, I can't talk about it."

—Jim Jarmusch: Interview: Vol. XIX - No. 11, 1989: pp 146-150.

Tom Waits has described the society as being "somewhere between the Elks Club and the Academy Awards."

All I can say is, f*ck that Rat Pack. I wish I was a Son of Lee Marvin.

I like this guy

I've always said that a life without obsessions could hardly be a life worth living. And this man's obsession is espresso. The man calling himself nyc espresso curmudgeon doesn't say a lot in his profile, but based on what I've seen he's welcome at the compound any time.

You might want to start with this account of his trip to Washington, DC.

Small Victories

A few weeks ago I finished reading Dereliction of Duty: Johnson, McNamara, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Lies That Led to Vietnam. The book demolishes the myth that generals knew how to win the war in Vietnam, but were thwarted by politicians. Instead, McMaster shows that the Joint Chiefs of Staff put career advancement, political considerations and narrow service branch concerns ahead of their responsibility to offer real military advice.

It's written by a fellow named H.R. McMaster, who at the time of writing (1998) was a major in the US Army. The book got mentioned a few times last month, during the hubbub over retired generals criticizing Rumsfeld. Somewhere I'd read that McMaster was now a command officer serving in Iraq, and I wondered what he'd make of that experpience.

Now, thanks to my friend Bawb the Revelator, I have a link to the New Yorker that details "what Americans have learned about battling the insurgency in Iraq, and whether those lessons have come too late." The narration is accompanied by a slideshow, and it prominently features Colonel McMaster, who appears to be doing a fine job.

I can't believe this has never happened to me

This woman was praying in her kitchen and she got struck by lightning. I'm relieved it doesn't happen to me every time I walk through the doors of a church.

I put a spell on you

I love the Internet. The idea that, late at night, I can just look around for random stuff that pops into my head. Like Screaming Jay Hawkins.

WATCH OUT!!

REAL news appears once more at the compound. Finally.

Duck X-Ray Reveals 'Alien Head'

Tax dollars at work

Robert Kosilek has been serving a life sentence in prison since 1990, after being convicted of strangling his wife. Now going by the name "Michelle" he's suing the Massachussets Department of Correction for the 2nd time, trying to get the state to pay for a sex change operation.