Death Knell of the Republic

I cannot shake the image of Pelosi's shit-eating grin from the gavel photo last night. She looked like the cat who swallowed the canary as she prepared to bring down the gavel on the House. I'll give her her due, a potent legislator.

Clueless as all hell, but potent. I hope and pray that HR 3962 hits the Senate floor with the same sickening thud as Waxman-Markey, and begins to languish and die. I will concede that the House is full of leftocrats and socialists, and any bill is possible there, as long as it contains a few hundred new bureacracies.

This is not about health care, this is about power. This is about the federal government wanting control over every facet of our lives, and liberty.

The spending estimates of this bill were a joke. No mainstream journalist mentioned that the fees begin immediately, while the services don't even begin for five years. That is the only way the ten year estimate came in sounding so reasonable. To them.

This president campaigned on a promise of bipartisanship. Will that be loudly proclaimed since one 'Republican' voted for the bill? Would not be surprised. More likely though, is the inevitable crowing by the other side. They are not good winners. They did not want bi-partisanship, they just wanted to win, and pat themselves on the back. And continue to marginalize anyone who believes in the Constitution, limited government, and liberty.

So today, I am a poor loser. I have that angry, cheated feeling from losing a fight that I know was a good fight, a moral fight. I don't care about any abortion amendments. If and when the bill becomes law, any anti-abortion language will be struck down by our activist judiciary.

The day when it becomes illegal to not have health insurance, as you sit in your own home as a private citizen, is fast approaching.....

Too Soon?

The Michael Jackson Memorial Circus hit the Staples Center today. I caught part of the telecast while I worked the stairmaster at the gym. Even Fox News got into the act. Today, there are United States soldiers fighting and dying in Afganistan. Iran is about to obtain a nuclear weapon. North Korea warns of our annihilation. Unemployment is nearing ten percent. And Fox News considers this spectacle "newsworthy." Guess they can't afford to get scooped on the freak show by CNN or MSNBC.

The broadcast showed aerial shots of Los Angeles, as the vehicle bearing the casket plied downtown streets. Then there were several images of people milling around outside the arena. One, in particular, a young woman wearing a wife-beater, sporting colorful tatoos all over her shoulders and arms.

I wonder why they feel the need to drag the gilt-encased carcass all over the place. The memorial service is for the living, not the deceased. Perhaps the people involved believe there are special powers intrinsic within the coffin. There has been some hyperbole surrounding this person's passing. While the image of him dangling his baby out of a hotel room window is burned into my mind, there are clearly some people who have elevated him to Christ-like levels.

Thus, they shouldn't bury him. They should tote him around like some modern day ark. He could smite the enemies of any who bore him. Who would dare oppose them? Perhaps he would start to get a little gamey, no matter. Natural decomposition would actually be an improvement for his gruesome appearance.

Johnny Depp is an Ass

Saw the movie, "Public Enemies," on the fourth. It had all the weapons, the cars, the clothes, and all the nineteen-thirties atmosphere. There was one scene where the bad guys were breaking out of a bank, and the lookout unloads his BAR into a police cruiser, just shredding it. What a terrifying weapon. And the shootout at Little Bohemia was a study in popping and flying lead and splinters.

I'll see a movie with Johnny Depp in it. He's a good actor. He hasn't earned a permanent spot on my shit list, yet, like so many Hollywood types. The types that feel that they need to let us all know what their political identity is all about. Invariably it's a little to the left of center. Like Kevin Spacey, who slobbers all over Hugo Chavez. Susan Sarandon. I won't watch them for free, and will never knowingly pay to see them.

Even Matt Damon, who so jealously guards his family's privacy, can get a little squirrely now and then. He is afraid of anyone who has any spiritual faith, apparently. He felt the need to mock Sarah Palin, saying, "I hope she doesn't believe dinosaurs were roaming the earth four thousand years ago."

Johnny Depp is just plain wrong. He was wrong in 2003 when he said, "America is dumb, it's like a dumb puppy that has big teeth that can bite and hurt you, aggressive." He continued, "My daughter is four, my boy is one. I'd like them to see America as a toy, a broken toy. Investigate it a little, check it out, get this feeling and then get out."

Why do I need to know anything about Johnny Depp other than what his next movie will be? Is he a master of political science and history? Does being a rich actor qualify him in some way to pass judgement on the nation that gave him his start?

I saw him being interviewed last week, on the eve of the release of his new movie. He was asked what he thought about playing the role of John Dillinger. He responed that he believed that, "John Dillinger was one of us. This was when things were a lot like they are today, when banks were the enemies."

Excuse me, but I don't think the title, "Public Enemies," refers to banks. Banks loan money to people to start businesses and buy homes. Those people agree to forfeit something if they are unable to repay. Nothing personal, it's just business. And personally, I am nothing like Dillinger, and none of my friends or family are, either. Nobody I know has ever gunned down anyone. Those policemen he murdered were human beings, guarding us against the barbarians. When a policeman goes off to work, he has a natural right to return safely to his loved ones. Same as anyone, including Johnny Depp.

He's Dead, Jim

Lost another parent on the fourth of March. At this rate, I am out of parents already. I am the old man of the family now. Dad passed away on the walkway between the house and the garage in the late afternoon.

I was at work, and my phone was in my locker. When I checked my phone around seven, there was a missed call from dad, and from Becky. Both had left voice messages. I checked dad's message first, and the voice was Ruby, his roomy. She said that he had fallen and hit his head, twice. I covered my heart with my hand.

I called Becky right away and she wouldn't tell my what happened. "Is dad okay?" I asked. "Not really," she said. I thought maybe he was in critical condition, at some hospital, but was aware that he may have died.

After work, I sat in my car in the parking lot of work and called her back. "He's gone," was all I heard. That's not how it's supposed to happen! He's supposed to slip away in his sleep in about a decade!

At least we reconciled. All the kids shared their thoughts about dad at the service for him, as we put out of Newport Harbor. The air was damp and cool, and I appreciated how happy he must have been to live here, and how he deserved it by working so hard.

I recounted how his greatest gift to me, personally speaking, was his amazing power of forgiveness. There was no transgression too great that he couldn't forgive. I would receive the full measure of punishment - there was no escaping that. But somehow he knew that being separated from him was the greatest punishment of all.

As Sherry and I drove away from the dock after the service, the radio mumbled something that made me say aloud, "Zaphod Beeblebrox." Just at that moment, on 32nd Street, we passed a business with the serendipitious name, "Don't Panic."

A Last Engagement

A voyage to Santa Barbara, to visit Sarah House, a hospice for low-income individuals.  That makes it sound kind of low-rent, shabby.   Eldest sister has visited, and deemed very nice.  At least the ersatz matriarch is comfortable, and surrounded by loved ones.

Ersatz because the erstwhile patriarch is esconced elsewhere, and kept in the loop.  There will be a few days concluding with Christmas, spending time with her beloved children.  What to do, then, apart from feeling horrified at nature taking its due course?  

There will be time, later, for feeling empty because there will never be another email, or phone conversation.  The time is now for comfort, and attention, at the brink of her lonely exit.

In the background is the guilt of not calling every time the occasion demanded, and not being present at the very end.  And fighting for attention, the nagging feeling that all this exercise is just a bit futile.

Auto Parry

The road was very wet yesterday morning.   A light rain was falling.   I left for work a few minutes early, in case there was traffic.  I drive much more cautiously in the rain, turning on headlights, allowing extra space,  and reducing speed.  

Lots of people like to drive aggressively, even in the rain.  Maybe the slick conditions add to their self-satisfaction, since they have brand new vehicles with brand new tires, and think they are smarter in general.  Most people believe they are better drivers than average, which is statistically impossible.

There is a connecter ramp from 125 N to 8 W.  There is always a backup on this ramp, with cars driving on the shoulder, and slowing in lanes, making general hazards of themselves.  This is because there is a signal at the bottom of the ramp, controlling flow onto westbound 8.  A completely unnecessary signal, because there is always excellent traffic flow on the 8, and because there the ramp doesn't merge into traffic, it has it's own lane on westbound 8. 

When I approach the ramp, I always reduce speed, because it's unpredictable.  People are always entering the freeway from Spring Street on the ramp, and this adds to the mess.  Lots of people evidently took this Monday off, because there wasn't a single car on the ramp.  A car pulls in right behind me, probably thinking to themselves about what a slowpoke I am.  I don't care, because I don't want to spin out on the wet 270-degree curve.

The ramp signal was still controlling traffic, and flashed red as I approached.   I almost never stop for a ramp signal if there is no one in front of me.  The freeway I am merging into is going to gain one more vehicle anyway, what does it matter if I stop and wait or not.  I knew I could jerk around my tailgater by pretending to stop.  I tapped my brakes as if I was going to stop at the signal, but then just kept going.   I crack myself up.

Then I gassed it and merged onto the westbound freeway, which was clear of traffic.  I saw my tailgater friend stop for the signal, then punch it.   He closed a two hundred yard gap in less than a quarter mile, rain, wet road and everything.  He signaled that he wanted to get around me, but I was already going for the number three lane, so he sat on his horn, took the number two lane, slowing as he passed so I could see how furious he was.  He cut into my lane,  then back into the number two.  His female passenger must have been terrifed.   

I shouldn't behave like that, but I was still pleased with myself.  I'm probably just jealous of his car, and what I perceived as his exaggerated sense of self-importance.  I was happy that he almost hit my car, because it would have been his fault.  "Gee officer, he just came out of nowhere and hit me from behind."

Amber Chrome

I am surrounded by amber light.  Still feeling the power of a long-ago nap at my father's house, whence I awoke to my nephew's voice and my gaze bathed in the sunlight of Back Bay filtered through heavy amber curtains into my sleeping chamber; the bedroom upstairs next to Dad's.  For two weeks now I have summoned the conscious memory of perfect light surrounding me and penetrating me, each and every cell, buttressing my fortitude.    All because my beloved betrothed  woke me up to some 'nut' on the "Coast-to-Coast" radio program.   And because I have never owned the figurative purple cloak he spoke of, and because the white light he mentioned only rated a weak recollection from a video game, "The Legend of Zelda."

Some paragraph to begin my first impression of Google Chrome, the latest web browser.  That replaces Mozilla, which seemed to lock up and crash on every summons.   That replaceth the ill-begotten Microsoft Internet Explorer versioneth ten point ten or thereabouts, which reeketh mightily of spyware or malware or whatever causes the browser to open three other useless windows each time out.  I just like that Google Chrome has a snapshot of each of the last web pages that I have visited.   I know what a one-tenth sized thumbnail of the Jerusalem Post or American Thinker looks like.   That positive re-inforcement collides with every last visit to EOnline, where I can't see "The Soup" like I used to.   So, there is the need to re-invent my web experience, resulting in finding, again, Hulu.com, and a viewing of the Simpson's Treehouse of Horror XIX in my pre-dawn hazy phantasmagoria.  Random headaches at five in the morning will do that to a person.

Dappled Normalcy

Here I am in the land of self-recrimination.   All because the side gate was left open and the dog got out again.  This is the second time she has escaped.  After the first time, I vowed to put a lock on each side gate.   I didn't, and the inevitable, second fooling of me occurred.  Shame on me.

I thought she was sleeping on her round bed in the other room.   I walked into the living room and looked through the picture window, to see her on the deck.   She was wagging her tail and being petted by the stranger currently sharing Elizabeth's bed.   "Yeah, she was roaming around all over the place," he said.

Trying to catch her added fury to my embarrassment.   She thought we were playing, so she tried to elude me.  I lunged to grasp for her, scraping my knuckles.   I got enough of her to elicit a yelp, and it dawned on her that I was angry.   

I wasn't angry at her, just at myself.   I felt humiliated by calling her to come, while she ignored me and wagged her tail next to the young couple kissing goodbyes poolside.   The sight of which turned my stomach a pale green.

"Thanks for corraling her," I said.  Great, I thought, now they are big heroes, and I am the total loser zero of a pet owner, who lets her prized animal wander the middle of the street.  

A shower yielded little comfort, so I drove over to Long's for a pair of cheap padlocks.  Very small satisfaction gained from putting them on the side gates, knowing that I was responsible for whether that side gate was open or not.   Whether the tenant left it open, or whether my beloved and I left it open capturing a spider web.   Whether the canine herself lifted the latch, exited the yard and replaced the latch herself, totally immaterial.   I wasn't taking care of my own business.  That is the humiliating part.   At least this time I have been saved the torture of actual harm coming to my beloved.   I know that I will still feel the hot sting of anger and it's aftermath, the frustration and sadness.   Achy.

Sleep Resumes

Haven't been keeping track of how long I've been on the Cymbalta. Probably for about a year, not continuously. My first dosage was 30 mg, for about a month. Then I was on sixty for a month, only to have my supply interrupted for weeks, during which time I went back to the thirty mg dose. The beginning of August 2007 seems about right.

I started sleeping better around then. It helped that I changed my room to the top floor, here at the Baltic Inn. When I was on the ground floor, I was convinced that my upstairs neighbor was insane, clomping around in his heavy shoes at all hours of the night. That was the most difficult time of all.

The Cymbalta helped a bit, I guess. For sure my dreams became more vivid, more detailed, which I like. Mostly the drug helps me stay balanced if an event becomes emotional. Then I have the time to recover and pull myself together before my brain starts the downward spiral to depression.

By far the best friend to my sleep has been the exercise, which I started about two months ago. I fall asleep when I want to, all the time. I don't get full of sleep and then can't sleep on Thursday nights, like before. I still wake up three or four times during the night, but have no problem returning. I admit to being the type person who needs ten hours a night. If I have a few nights of eight hours, then I start needing a nap. Just how I am. My dad is the same way, so it has never bothered me.

Time for some therapy.

Sleep Eludes

Looks like two hours is all I get tonight. So sleepy during the Simpsons, then tossed awhile, very surprised to turn to the clock, and see it was only ten. Mother fucker. Stared at TV for awhile. I know that sleep will again beckon, but that it will do so inconveniently, when I am supposed to go to work.

I can't take this anymore. I am so numb that I can't even cry. I haven't cried for months. I don't understand the point of weeping, either that, or I don't want to go that low.

Sleep is the only narcotic, other than food, that I have left. Goddam Areta Crowell has been keeping me waiting for five months for services. On Wednesday, I had an appointment to see the doctor, to go on medication. When I show up, I am told that the doctor was unavailable, and that I needed to reschedule. I folded my appointment card into a wad and let it drop onto the receptionst's desk. I wanted to utter a stream of profanities, but didn't.

This whole experience has been so dream-like. I feel like all the light of my soul has drained away, and nobody wants to come near me. This is hell. It's not hard to go and do my job, most days, but today will be rough. I don't want to make eye contact with anyone. Even when I watch the History Channel, and there is a portrait of someone who lived two hundred years ago, I cannot make eye contact with it, like I am being called out.

I guess the thing that hurts most is my pride. I used to have a good job, and prospects. I used to have a family that I called my own. I used to have a place to live that held all my belongings, my plants, my lamps. I used to have a woman, who lived with me. In the space of two weeks, it all went bye-bye.

If God could just cut out my pride, then maybe I wouldn't hurt so much.

Fidgety Rhythms

She posited the diag of ADHD, as in, "are you familiar with ADHD?"

I think that I am angry inside, and somehow, have managed to get this far, by suppressing my emotions. Today, I got frustrated, but only for a few moments. There was no going over to the other side.

That was the deepest emotion I have felt lately. Uncomfortable numbness, mixed with vague resentment. There is no joy, no satisfaction. There is very rare humor. It is difficult to feel any kind of happiness. I feel almost completely unloved, and totally irrelevant.

I don't know why I continue. Seems life is without meaning. I did make a deal with my maker, that I will try to survive as long as I am provided for. But what kind of existence is that? What is the point?

My sister is fifty tomorrow. I am not welcome, apparently. My father is eighty next month. Even less welcome there. When the pain is so great that it is unbearable, there is just denial. Welcome to me.