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.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Thursday, September 07, 2006
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:
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.
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:
On September 6, this Wisconsin State Journal headline lets us know that they found the motive: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.
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.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
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:
Sadly, this piece of video reached the compound too late for this year's Independence Day celebration:
Friday, September 01, 2006
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?
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?
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.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
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...
-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?
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
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.
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.
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