An Aging Howard

As a kid, it use to make me sad that all the animals in black and white movies were dead. Now, all the people in black and white movies are dead.

No point. Just an observation.

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City Council Election Coverage

I know I should but I have a hard time ginning up interest in the various small town city council elections around Northern Kentucky. It's really not right. Alot of decisions are made there that can really affect the lives of the people in those cities. There's also alot of fighting over these small projects.

Our state senator once approached the Divine Mrs. M. bout running for state rep. The Divine Mrs. M said she'd like to do something like school board or city council. The state rep said, "That's a career killer. A fter a 4-year term you are guaranteed to make everyone mad at least once." People get upset when it's in their backyard.

Just in case you do have alot of interest in the Highland Heights or Silver Grove Kentukcy City Council races, the stories I did on those races are here and here.

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Testing Howard

Sorry for the lack of posting this week but I've been a bit slammed with paying writing. This site losses out to a check of any kind or amount.

My first humourous piece (I hope) appeared in the Enquirer today. It's here. It even has my picture.

From the article:

I was speeding through the answers now. Then question 28 brought things to a full stop.

A certain pool needed a certain number of ounces of chlorine that was only sold in two-liter bottles. I had no idea how many ounces were in a gallon or how many liters were in a gallon. "What am I?" I thought. "Canadian?"

They did take out two things I kind of liked. The had the distinct feeling the test administrator had to come into work on a Saturday for me and my cute little article and the gag on my having to go to the bathroom.

More stuff coming tomorrow - I hope.

Enjoy.

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Howard - "a reader"

One of my favorite columns is Jay Nordlinger's Imprompotus on National Review Online. From today's (about 8 bullet points down)

You may recall an item from last Wednesday’s Impromptus. It included this amazing news bulletin: “Senate Democratic leader Harry Reid has been using campaign donations instead of his personal money to pay Christmas bonuses for the support staff at the Ritz-Carlton, where he lives in an upscale condominium.”

There’s a lot of deliciousness packed into that single sentence, isn’t there? First, there’s the fact of Reid’s using campaign donations instead of his own dough to tip his doormen. Second, there’s the fact that this Democratic lion lives in the Ritz-Carlton — “in an upscale condominium.”

I’m guessing there are few downscale condominiums at the Ritz-Carlton.

Anyway, this news story went on to tell us that Reid was “personally reimbursing his campaign for the $3,300 he had directed to the staff holiday fund at his residence.”

The story did not tell us over what period of time the $3,300 was disbursed. But a reader wrote in with a fascinating point: “Now that Reid has to reach into his own pocket, will he pay the doormen less, or the same? Power to the People.”

Yo!

Not a bad point, I thought. Hey wait! That's my point. I did send Mr. Nordlinger an e-mail with those thoughts. I rarely do this, but as the nutty evangelicals say "the spirit moved me".

It's been a dream of mine since I first read National Review at 15 or so to appear in it. Now I've done it...even the online version...even if I'm just called "a reader." (although I did give my blog address).

If you want some of my credited stuff, check out these...

A local teacher goes to Croatia here.
NKU supports entrepreneuship here and non-profit "capacity" here. That second story is about a group that choose a simply horribl name - The Institute for Non-profit Capacity Building. I had to define it in the article. Imagine asking a donation for that!

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Ken Blackwell/Nikki Giovanni/Howard Turns Poet

Local politics spilled over on sometime national figure Ken Blackwell. The other night, Cincinnati had a rededication of one of it's landmark fountain the Genus of Water. You know the one. Anyway, local poetess Nikki Giovanni was asked to speak and read a poem.

It's a little childish - like most modern poetry - but tucked away in it, Mrs. Giovanni let loose at the family event with this.

I am not a son of a bitch like Kenny Blackwell
I will not use the color of my skin to cover the hatred in my heart
I am not a political whore jumping from bed to bed to see who will stroke my need

Thanks Nikki. Glad I brought the kids. The full text of the poem is here. Enquirer follow up story here.

I could rant about the organizers bringing the stoopid lady to speak. I could rant about there no longer being any bounderies or the Soviet-like politicizing of Every. Last. Single. Thing. In. The. World.

But what most offends me is the poem.

It's sucks.

The problem with the modern is the lack of boundaries, borders, and frames. There's no canvas to tell the artists no. One thing artists - whether writers painters or poets - need is boundaries. People don't read modern poetry because it sucks. It doesn't - OMG - rhyme anymore. The frame that poetry needs is rhyming. Modern artistic novels lack...plot. Sculptures lack form.

Self imposed boundaries are harder to work within but make for better art. A lack of boundaries makes for lazy artists. Case in point.

Anyway, I thought I'd right a poem. It doesn't rhyme. How do you thing it measure ups? It's called "At Some Point". Commentary in paraentheses

At some point...
my hair started to grey
my belt buckle began to dig into my stomach
my feet hurt...all the tyme. (misspelling shows I'm a non-conformist)
my knees ache in the morning...not bad but just enough to know they are there.

At some point...
I became the father
I became the one to look to
I became a young man with responsibilities

I'm ekeing toward middle age. A creeping sleeping ekeing. (there's a word for what I just did there but I can't remember it) I have too much debt and too much worry.

I still have a young man's dreams to fulfill and hopes to satisfy...but it's off to the office.

10 hours in a cube isn't a life. It never was. Why didn't someone tell me that?

But here it sit. No choice now.

I've seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by addiction to health benefits, 401(k) plans and the regular paycheck. (Beat poem allusion)

Cheap salesman slogan: "If it's got to be; it's up to me." (contempt for business men gives me street cred)

I makes me mad that there's truth in cheap salesman slogans.

At what point
I will not worry about dreams but of survival
I will fear more than I hope
time will tap me on the shoulder and say, your prime is gone

Ho-hum.

The Blessed Virgin Mary sucks syphlitic pickles (Ensures my NEA funding)

That's my poem.

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News from Soviet Canuckistan

Alot of exrement has been going on lateley. I don't have any on me, but when it's around you, you can still get a bit down. Plus I've been putting in a lot of work....Christmas is coming. So it's hard to really get animated about anything - and I have campaign work to do in a couple weeks. But nothing gets my blood going like Mark Steyn. From an interview he did for a paper in his native Soviet Canuckistan. The whole thing deserves reading.

I'm in this for the three year-olds. My youngest child is six now, but my little girl and your little girl, when they're our age, they will find a large number of places in what we think of as the free world, the developed world, far less congenial than we would. I mean, you and I would think nothing of hopping on a plane, going to London, Paris or Berlin. Those are going to be very uncomfortable places for a young, middle-aged Western woman circa 2020, 2030, and it's precisely because we've taken for granted this very unusual period in history. We take it for granted that it's a permanent state of affairs. It isn't. It requires incredible vigilance and incredible effort to preserve it.

I have two daughters and I see them getting sandwiched between two cultures that are going to pump up against each other like a prison rape. It's much like America.

On the one hand we have these wonderful religion of peace types, whose demographics (compared to white people's) make them the ascendant power not only in the middle east but in Europe as well, who will want to stone my girls for driving a car or for starting up their own falafel stand. On the other is the world of the Bratz dolls - every girl a happy lollipop headed whore.

America is the same way. The head severers say we're decadent; the Europe dopes say we're way to evangelical Christianized. I go popeye on 'em. I am what I am. We are what we are.

The only problem is that in the world of 2006, far too many americans see more danger in a 55 year old woman in Kansas donating to the 700 club and voting for a Republican than they do in a people that say they want to destroy us.

Well, I have no fear. I know my girls will keep their Bratz dolls - and the Bill of Rights - clutched firmly under their burkas.

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The End Is Near/Another Reagan Lesson

The title is actually a reference to a book party I went to for the new - and final - Lemony Snickett's book, The End. THe family went last night because 1. we hadn't had any family time, 2. Oldest daughter is sooo excited about it, 3. THe Divine MRs. M. and I had to see just how tired and how bored we could make ourselves before one of us saw divorce in the other's eyes. At 9:37, I think I saw that fateful glimmer in hers, but then I bought us some gyros at a place across from the book store and our vows remained intact.

But while I was on a hunt around the bookstore with my oldest looking for a book with Terrible in the title, the overidingly dire Snickett's title remineded me of being a similar age.

I was about the same age during the 1980 election. In what will prove to be atheme in my lack of high school dating expreience and attaining my goal of having anyone...anyone touch my winky, I was a news junkie. In 1980's a news junkie watched 30 minutes of network newscast, PBS roundtable discussions on Friday night (or was it Saturday) and the Sunday morning talk shows.

I was for Reagan. I can't remember why but it was probably because my parents were. From the news the night of election day, I remember going to bed thinking he had lost. Flashforward 4 years to a new city, a new election, and a similar result. I carry the impression of being worried - actually worried - about Reagan winning from watching the news. For those who can't remembers, it was a 49 state sweep.

It was a pattern that we should all be use to . It's never that bad. The media always over plays dem prospects while always seems to motivate Republican turnout.

My political platform now consists of two plank: 1. dead terrorist and 2. low taxes. All else is chaf.

Get out an vote. Losing 50 seats is silly.

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Things that Annoy Howard

I'm in a grumpy mood so today I'm compiling a list of things that annoy me.

1. Having to register for blog comments. That sucks. I did it twice last night and didn't like it. Note: make it easy for people to comment, it encourages comments which encourages interaction which encourages readers.

2. The fact that the number pad of computer keyboards is inverted compared to the keyboard of phones. I have to remember two patterns.

3. People who are incapable of returning phone calls. I use to think it was because I was in sales. However, some people don't return my calls when I call as a newpaper reporter job...doing a profile...of their business!

4. That bloated feeling you get from drinking beer. I had a rare one last night. No wonder I still to the hard stuff.

5. Is there any business section more unresponsive to people than employment/placement agencies? I’ve used them in the past and for some freelance work and they are unable to return a phone call. All of them. Even a chimp can return a phone call. Well, maybe not a chimp, but at least the mouth breathers at these places can make an effort.

6. Cheerleading as sport. WTF? It’s not a sport. You’re suppose to look good and fill in time between plays.

7. Same goes for Nascar. I don’t know what it is but I have a hard time calling something a sport when grandfather and grandson can compete against each other competitively.

8. People who look down on my blog because I use blogspot. I’m a writer first and a tech guy 1032^nd. I don’t want to know about servers or FTPs or any of that crep. Besides I do have a site here.

9. I hate it when you write a brilliant 500 word post and blogger loses it.

10. Jerks at a party who mention that The Buggles Video Killed the Radio star was the first video on MTV. It’s the biggest piece of overplayed nontrivial masquerading as trivia floating around in the suburban universe.

11. I’m convinced that fluorescent lights kill the soul.

12. The fact that everyone gets there panties in a twist over Mel Gibson’s drunken anti-semitism, but noone cares about the extremely anti-English movies that he’s made over his career.

13. Bono wearing $500 sunglasses while meeting with poor Africans.

14. The tendency of experts to make things sound complicated. Most things in life are pretty simple and easy to understand.

15. People nearing retirement saying they want to downsize. What that means to your average baby boomer is selling the $150,000 suburban house they raised their family in and buying a $250,000 2,000 square foot condo in a gated community where the only Mexicans and Blacks you ever see are trimming the hedges.

16. People who tell me pets lower my blood pressure. They don’t. They cost money, whine in the middle of the night and crap on the floor. That’s not soothing.

17. People who chide me for how I write the number 7. I do it like this one labeled fancy. I don't know why. I always have. Leave me alone. And it's not fancy. It make sure it's not confused with a number 1.

18. Oh, and people who chide me for the way I pronounce the word "finance". It's Fin-ance. Not FI-nance. The first one here. Maybe it's an affectation. But my speech is full of self-conscious affectations.

19. Songs with lists in them. Like 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover or We Didn't Start the Fire. Who want's to listen to big list?

20. Sometimes, when I sit on my veranda and the moon sits full in the early evening sky and the wind carries the smell of the dogwood blossoms across the yard, the idea of swarthy foreigners running around my country bothers me.

21. Myself. I'm lazy, unfocused, undisciplined, and oftentimes unmotivated.

22. Deadlines and promises. I always have to meet them and keep them. I'm afraid if I don't that I'll die. Does that make me uptight?

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When the Cat's Away

The Divine Mrs. M is out of town. She took the kids with her. What do I do with my newfound freedom? Work. The most outrageous thing I did was use the bathroom iwth the door open. I ended up not being able to go until I shut the door. Damned Pavolvian conditioning!

I'm reading Malcolm Gladwell's 2nd book blink. Both are great reads and extremely insightful. Go get them now. The main point is the importance of quick decisions.

He refered to one cool test that tests racial preference. Click here and work your way tot he Race IAT. Think you're not a racists? Take the test. Gladwell, whose mother is Jamaican, came up with a preference for white people. We're all racial.

No matter how much we want to deny it, humans are inherently racial. They prefer their own kind - however that is defined. Instead of trying to root it out (an impossibility) we should just accept it and work with it. Is it immoral to judge someone by their race? Yes. But it's inherently human. But how do we work with something that is defined by many - including me - as evil. I'm not sure but the entire human race I see as inherently evil and we've learned to deal those inherencies. I haven't the answer for solving this, but the starting point isn't trying to stamp it out.

On cool thing I've notice. On my way home, I drive through the S. Fairmount neighborhood of Cincinnati. This si where old gangsters go to finally have a cap popped in there ass. On the corner...well, this corner, there's a coke machine. It's beent here since I started working there in 1999. I has one of those light up screens of Dale Earnhart, Sr. A white redneck lit up all night in a black neighborhood selling $1 cokes. I would think that this would have been vandalized long ago but only just notice a gang tag on it. And it wasn't even on Dale face, but off to the side.

Maybe there is hope for us.

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Sunday Bloody Sunday

At the end of this month, many Lutherans across the world will celebrate Reformation Day. October 31st was the day that Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to a Cathedral door that invited the reigning church hierarchy to a talk. This lead to his running for his life.

I think this would make a good theme to some enterprising columnists who would like to draw parrellels between an entrenched Roman church hierarchy and an entrenched Republican majority...but I've never seen it.

Usually voting Republican I have an uncomfortable time with the Religious Right stuff. Fact is I usually don't like evangelical types. Many times there's no sense of humor in them and there seriousness that I find oppressive. Plus I swear too much and don't mind a couple fingers of Wild Turkey - straight, no ice.

It's not really the RR I have a problem with. I have a problem with Christianity in general. Really, what is it but a death cult? Maybe a death and rebirth cult? Either way, death is in there. Then there's the whole sacrament thing - which I have fun in rightly calling ritualistic cannabalism. Drink of my blood, eat of my flesh - ewwww. That's just gross! Plus the whole sacrificing thing bugs me. The supposedly nobility of giving up yourself for your fellow man - I have a hard time buying it. It's permeated liberal politics too much. I'm suppose to sacrifice my economic well-being for those less fortunate or not smart enough or too lazy.

But it does work...at least in drama.

That's what makes Casablanca a great film. The movie is made in the last scene.

Ilsa: When I said I would never leave you.
Rick: And you never will. But I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going, you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be any part of. Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that. Now, now... Here's looking at you kid.

If Rick would have said "Screw your hero husband. We're going back to New York for some nucky", it just wouldn't have been the same film. The picture built to that and a happy ending would have ruined it...cheapened it.

Same thing goes for Titantic. What's memorable is not only the sacrifice of those men who actually let the woman and children go first, but the Leonardo character making sure Rose got away from the ship safely even though he had to do that creepy float to the bottom thing. If James Cameron would have let him live to set up a sequel, the audience would have again felt cheated.

Hell, even Mr. 3000 had a sacrifice bunt at the end that was an actually sacrifice for the Bernie Mac character. That almost made the movie worth while.

Ok, that's enough blasphemy for a Tuesday blog entry. See you.

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Monday Morning Mourning

It's monday and I have a cold. A bad one for me. I'm sitting at the office, trying to keep myself occupied.

Little Kim exploded something above the 38th parellel. Is anyone surprised? Nukes use to be like phones in cars. Only boring responsible people had them. Now what if they're like cells to us. Any crack pot can get one. If a backward black regime like North Korea can summon up the courage to tell the world to "frock off" for 15 tyears and actually has the brains to build a rather complicated device, what will the world look like?

But those worries are for another day. My head hurts. My nose is running.

If you want to learn about college kids loosing weight, check out this piece I wrote. If you want to know about a kid coming from Jamaica to Cincinnati then read this.

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Howard Built A Fence Bellevue High School Drop-Outs

I built a fence today. A large fence...for me. Six foot tall; thirty feet long. If good fences make good neighbors, then I'm going to have some great neighbors. Not the drunk rednecks I'm use to.

The Divine Mrs. M. and I recently moved the kids to the public school and then this news comes out. Bellevue has had ZERO Dropouts.

Only three other high schools in Northern Kentucky - Beechwood, Silver Grove and Walton-Verona - have achieved a zero dropout rate in recent years.

Of the four, Bellevue is the only one considered an urban school. It's also the only one with a recent history of dropout problems.

We feel pretty good.

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And another thing

The only thing that makes me nervous about the Foley bruhaha reminds me of the Gary Condit /Chandra Levy story. Silliness followed by 9/11.

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Hastert's Blue Dress Moment

In today's National Review Online, Myrna Blyth asks a few questions.

But just as big a problem is that the House leadership was so dumb or disinterested that they really believed (at least, so they say) Foley’s alleged excuse that he was just “being friendly.”

Didn’t they ever wonder why a 52-year-old congressman needed a 16-year-old friend? A congressman whom almost everyone on the Hill thought was gay?

Would they have believed him and then just gone about their business if the one receiving the e-mails was their own son?

I've have my problems with Hastert, the House and it's leadership, but I'm fairly flexible and I'm not up there trying to run a war on terror and give tax breaks, etc. I give them a break.

However, this Foley thing is my blue dress moment. It's when I realize that these guys - after 10 years in power - have lost touch. They don't think to ask those questions that Blyth does above.

I call it my blue dress moment because that's when I became fully confirmed in my disgust with Clinton. I was happy with the Gore led NAFTA. I was happy with some of the tax cuts; unhappy with the raises - but at least there were cuts and at least he signed on - after 3 times - to welfare reform which has trickled down to drastically improve my high welfare receiving city.

But he was a creep. He always gave me a creepy vibe. Yes, the perjury was criminal. Yes, the lying was wrong. Yes, sending his cabinet officers - including the sec. of state - to defend him was contemptable.

But that blue dress was what bothered me. Maybe I'm limited in my exposure of this....but... Monica was, uh, servicing him, right? They were at work, right? In work clothes? Yes. And he get's it on her dress. You know the it. The DNA evidence?

He couldn't give her a head tap? He couldn't give her a "here it comes, baby" or a "Thar she blows, matey"

I can see him just letting go and no worrying about it. He's just that type of guy who doesn't care. I think that just shows an attitude of total disregard for basic human interaction. (By some standards, that boat may have sailed when long before then). Then she walks back to the intern pool with the other interns...wiping off her dress.

Anyway, learning of the dress was the moment I thought "This guy's gotta go." Learning that Hastert didn't follow up on over friendly e-mails from a middle aged straight or gay man to a 16-year old boy or girl makes me think "This guy's gotta go."

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Tony Snow in Cincinnati

Friday night I'm heading out to see Cincinnati native Tony Snow at the Cincinnati Airport Marriott...which is in Northern Kentucky. Here's the story on that, BTW.

If any of my readers are going to be there, let me know. I'll say hi.

I honestly don't know why I'm going. There's not really much I want to hear but I always feel like I should go to these things when I'm invited...something about being a responsible citizen, maybe it's networking, I don't know. Usually I just end up standing in the back sucking down any free booze that's offered - if it's offered. If not, I just brood.

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Tipping Point

Last week I read Tipping Point (a non-political book) by Malcolm Gladwell. Wonderful book that proves the world doesn't not work as we expect. The point of the book is it's subtitle: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference.

One example that Gladwell gives regarding "permission givers" is suicides in Micronesia. Apparently one day in the 1950s, a teenager killed himself after a parental rebuke about a trivial matter. This was almost unheard of in that culture in that small population. Over the next 10-years there was an outbreak of suicides among teenage boys.

The first boy was the permission giver. His act gave implicit permission to other boys would would have thought about offing themselves but wouldn't have acted on it because of societal restrictions.

Gladwell used this to illustrate that many people carrying out weird acts don't so much follow an example or are influenced by people "bad boys" but are given permission by these permission givers to behave in a way that they want to.

In another example, he cites a study that says that the rate of suicides in a town go up for 2 years or so after a well publicized suicide. Not only that, but single fatality auto accidents go up proving there's alot of hidden or subconscious suicides by auto.

That struck me when I read this article off of drudge reporting that the Amish killer not only brought himself an arsenal to the school but also some lube - as in K-Y Jelly. This follows the Denver school killer who actually did molest the girls before he killed them.

So there's a few guys out there day dreaming about diddling little girls then killing them. One permission giver does it so the rest follow. Nice. I guess the same could be applied to the Mark Foley situation. He heard about diddling - or was diddled himself so he feels he has permission to do the same. The examples could be applied across a wide range of situation.

What's the conclusion? How is it stopped?

Well, in the Mark Foley case, we could go all Mooslim on him and stone him in the public square. He's giving permission to people to go out and diddling teen boys, so we as a society need to bring the hammer down with a stark statement of disapproval.

But the wrong people get in charge and we'll start stoning homosexuals or interacial couples or even supply side conservatives who pledge fealty to the Laffer curve.

What it comes down to is - as a society - we're not even sure what's wrong anymore, are we? So as we slouch toward gomorrah or define deviancy down are more and more permission givers invoking Nike's to all their sicko breatheren with a 'Just Do It' shout?

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Howard McEwen, Blogger

I'm fast approaching the 15,000 mark in hits. That's cool. Also, I noticed sometime in the last week or so I was upgraded from a Crunchy Crustacean to a Lowly Insect on the TTLB ecosystem.

That's neat.

What's not neat is conspiracy theories. My grandfather was a nut for them. He believed in every wild government paranoia story you can think of. I guess I recoiled from that and don't believe in any conspiracy theories. Mostly because I've seen how idiotic most corporations behave. They can't sell widgets much less corner the widget market.

But while checking my hits, I noticed that someone googled my name. Here's the record. My father has the same name but I noticed this search came from Frankfort, specifically the Commonwealth of Kentucky department of Information Systems. They even looked at my comments.

Weeeeird. Just days after I attend a conservative bloggers conference in Lexington. Big brother is tracking and watching me.

Or it's a jealous husband. The ladies dig me. I never touch, but that only makes them want me more. I'm sure some wife whose fancy I caught called out my name while making love to her husband. Happens alot. It's my cross to bear.

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The Wall Street Journal Backs Me Up

The Wall Street Journal makes my point, of course with much better writing.

But the question that will haunt Republicans now is, if the evidence was compelling enough to confront Mr. Foley, why wasn't it also compelling enough to dig deeper?

Also in the journal here is the first mention that Mark Foley is gay. I guess when he announced an apology to his family I assumed that meant wife and kids. Just wondering why I hadn't heard this before. I'm a news junkie. Was I just blind to it?

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Thanks, Hon!

My local Democratic Sheriff's wife was busted for coke on Saturday night. Article here.

Poor guy. Before any Republican revels in it...

Sheriff Dunn, 55, has been married to Jennifer Dunn [35] for two years. The couple lives in Mentor and has a 14-month-old daughter.

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Guiness Book of World Records

A kid I knew in Jr. High once tried to break the guiness book of world records for the most sit ups. All through gym the teachers let him crank away on his abs while we all did the normal not climbing a rope or dodgeball or something else silly. He sat over their with a buddy holding his feet just cranking away for the 50 minutes of gym.

I have no idea how far he took it. I'm sure if he actually got into the book, Ft. Wayne would have had a parade for the guy. That's the type of think they do.

The Guiness Book really held a mythical place in my imaginationl. The people in it were suburban heroes.

So that's why I want to help this kid...

A mortgage broker I work with is helping a 10-year old boy collect a Guiness Book of World Records amount of business cards. Can you help?

All you have to do is send those spare business cards sitting in your desk drawer to him through the mortgage broker. This seems like a fun project for the Kentucky Conservative Blog network.

Bundle them up and send them to:

Professional Mortgage Consultants, LLC

Mary Ann Mader
4200 Alexandria Pike, Suite B

Cold Spring, KY 41076

I'll let you know what happens.

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I Don't Have Sex with Teenage Boys

Just thought you'd like to know. I like chicks. Soft and curvy ones. Long blonde hair and big busts - that's me! Nice gams are great but not a requirement for me.

Now I shouldn't assume that Florida rep actually had sex with teenage boys, but I figure if you flirt with them at sometime in the past one of them obliged you either under inquistiveness, or by feeling pressured. You know. Because you're a US Congressman.

I guess it's something I don't understand. I can see how a 16 year old boy can be attractive to a girl of about the same age, but I don't even like most actresses now because they look like boys with boobs. Skinny, frail looking people aren't for me. I guess it's just not my cup of tea.

However, you can't tell me that the Republican leadership didn't know about this...even a little bit. Tongues wag. They should have looked into it. There is nothing wrong with the Dems letting this loose so close to an election. That's there job. They're the opposition. Same a when they released Bush's drunk driving conviction days before the 2000 election.

It was the Republican's job to make sure it didn't become a political liability. You know. By dong the right thing. The moral thing. By keeping this jerk off their backs. I knew a house page once. They're away from home. In a strange place. In exciting work 14 hours a day then party like a 16 year old all night. Then you got this middled aged queen working you over like a...middle aged queen.

If Hastert knew anything about this. Even a bit. He should be gone. Leave it to the Dems to stick it to the little guy (he he). I still don't know why this bespected fatso is the speaker. It's a television age and this guy can't buy contacts or get lasik? He can't have an aid in charge of blocking him from 3 pieces of chocolate cake? He can't afford a haircut that costs more than $7? Now, he can't keep a committe chairman from didling boys?

Denny's gone. Either the Republicans should toss him or let the voters make him the minority leader.

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The Road to Bloggerville

My back's a little sore. After takingt he road to bloggerville yesterday I torn down my back fence. If it's true that good fences make for good neighbors - that old chain link fence sucked. Let's see what a $400, 6' tall privacy fence can do.

Yesterday I went to a blogger conference with these guys in Lexington. The meeting started at 10, I left Bellevue a little before 8ish. I'm having trouble eating. Many things have been turning my stomach lately - I'm beginning to wonder if I'm pregnant. Anyway, I got to Lexington. Found the 31 story 5/3 bank building but I was 45 minutes early. Since I hate small talk I wondered around a bit and found a two block farmers market. None of this stuff turned my stomach.

I bought a bagette from a hippy chick she also offered some olive oil which really hit the spot. After a few minutes of chit chat with her, a few hunks of a semi-tastless bagette, I tired of her smell of pachouli so it was off to my first blogger conference. Here's a brief outline from a dude who liveblogged the thing.

These guys were mostly political in nature. Which I am too, but I tend to get bored with politics and economics easily. I've boiled down my beliefs to a few simple tenants. I disagree with those that try to violate them, but people always will. That's life. Let's have a drink.

But they were nice and will do lots of good things and I hope that I can help in some ways...on the perifery.

But then the drive home was a pain. Downtown lexington is small, but I sure couldn't find my way out of it. I drove back and fourth over 10 blocks 4x until something looked familiar - but nothing did. So I figure if I just get on a road and keep driving I either hit i-75 or end up in some back country hollor but at least I not be here.

Then a downpour began.

Then my dash board turned into a Christmas tree. "Low Coolant", "Need Oil Change", and finally, "Low Tire Pressure". The coolant I wasn't worried about. My car's cooling system is haunted by a particular poltergeist that I'm not about to exercise because I have two little girls and I know what happened to that one little girl who was in that Poltergeist movie. So I keep a gallon of coolant in the back and my eye on my temp gauge.

I stopped at a gas station in some little town north of Lexington where I found the offending tire and gave it a little air, I then when inside for the bathroom and a coke and found a Pakistani guy behind the counter yelling at some hispanic dudes in Spanish. His Spanish must not have been that good because the Mexicans were giggling at him. A patrician old white man stood behind the counter, behind the inflamed pakistan with a blank look on his face. Only in America I thought.

I got back in the car and needed something simple to listen to, so I switched the iPod over to Bad Company's 10 from 6 and let Paul Rodgers rock me on home. Bad Company - bad music for good times.

Then I torn down that fence. Today I start building another.

Stay You.
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