Announcement

At approximately 8 pm tonight, my newest grandson, Dennis (named after both of his grandads) arrived in the usual way, after a long haul. He weighed in at 8lbs.

A few minutes ago, I spoke to my daughter on the phone and heard the lusty cries of his nibs. Everyone is doing fine.

We are happy. Thanks to all for your support and good wishes.

Thurs AM

As of 8am

My daughter called from the hospital this morning around 7:30. They have been there since mid-day yesterday. She was reported as starting labor around 6:30pm. She is still in labor, but things are going slowly.

She is on epidural and not in great pain - they (the ever-attentive hubby is with her) got some sleep during the wee hours and She sounded in good spirits. (remember, she knows what to expect having been in attendance for the birth of her nephew, Vinny after a long labor).

If the drugs do not get the baby moving this morning they will do a C-section. So The birthday will definitely be 9/30

That is all I know at this time. Maternal Grandparents are jumpy as cats

I will post more details as they are learned.

Baby Update - Wednesday AM

Well, maybe today...
My daughter went in yesterday and they gave her some drugs to induce the birth process. After 8 hours of nothing going on, they sent her home.

This baby is already showing the traits of unhurried stubbornness that many of the members on my side of the family demonstrate on a daily basis.

Who can blame the child for not wanting to enter a world where one has to choose between economic achievement and Art?

The writer, Roland Merullo has observed that "...Family is the source of most of our joys and most of our pain..." Wisdom indeed.

Finally

Finally, the builder came by yesterday. I was beginning to think we had fallen off his radar screen. He had drawings and a contract to sign. He will be ready to start the porch sometime between now and April 2005. "Most likely before winter sets in."

I do not feel like I have a lot of bargaining clout on the timing or cost, since he has plenty of work lined-up. I am a squeeze-in project for him. If we demur, he will be busy on other jobs. The porch job will cost over $30k. Too expensive, I think, but it will easily add $50k to the selling price of the house. Besides I've already had a unsatisfactory experience with bargain priced contractors.

We still need to look at some door samples and lighting options, but it looks like the project has finally begun.

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My daughter informs me that she will be going to the hospital at 3pm today, for a scheduled sonnagram. She says she is planning a "Lie-in" and will refuse to leave the building until after the baby is born.

Stay tuned.

Over due

I get a lot of mail asking for news about the baby. My daughter is 8 days overdue, according to OB-GYN scientific calculations. She was here yesterday for a pleasant luncheon of grilled meat and seasonal greens. She is big, she is ready, and the doc figures she will deliver by Tuesday (tomorrow) one way or another. A sonogram on Friday confirmed all signs are good.

My sisters remind me that it is not uncommon for women with our DNA to have late pregnancies and large babies. Several of my nephews were weeks overdue and yours truly was 3 weeks tardy when I finally saw the light of day.

(Some former managers have noted the chronic lack of urgency that characterized my personal and professional behavior may be congenital.)

So, we wait with the certain knowledge that something will happen sooner or later.

====

And those of you who were heartened by the performance of the Red Sox this weekend (beating the crap out of the hated Yankees - twice), I say, Don't get your hopes up. But, you will ignore me and let your hearts pump gleefully with the mirage of winning a championship at last. I'm telling ya: It's over.

Falling Short

Calendar makers should change the name of the ninth month from "September" to "The Month Than The Boston Red Sox Break Your Heart, You Sucker!"

That giant choking sound you hear in the distance is coming from Fenway Park. It's annual the Red Sox end-of-season slog up Heartbreak Hill. After a hope-kindling series of on-the -road wins in August the team returns triumphantly to Fenway for the final homestand, full of grins and spin. The media loves a winning team. They revive the legend of The Curse of The Bambino; they pour gasoline on the flammable rivalry between New York and Boston. Even the weather forcasters get into the act, telling us the temperature at game time, and whether to bring rain gear to the game. It's a shameless and unforgivable exploitation of the need in some fans to be rooting for a winning team. Worst of all, they offer the false hope that in the end, the Red Sox might win the World Series.

Youngsters and newcomers to New England may be forgiven for their naive hopes that this is finally The Year. But, for those of us who have grown-up and lived in the Boston area all of our lives, this is the way it always ends: Not with a bang, but a whimper.

Maybe these guys just don't like playing in cold weather, and they would rather spend those chilly playoff days in October laying on a sunny beach somewhere where the weather is warm. They are all millionaires, thanks to the poor shmucks who lay-out the hard-earned bucks to pay for an afternoon or an evening at the game with the kids. So they can afford nice accommodations. Maybe that's what they are thinking about when they are at bat with men on base and they hit a high fastball one hop to the shortstop into a guaranteed double play. Or, when they get thrown-out at second base for not hustling up the first base line when they smack one off the wall in left field.

I used to go to church when I was a younger man full of hope and faith. Then, it occurred to me that what happens is what God wants to happen. This epiphany sent me reeling out of the pew and out of the Fenway bleachers forever. Clearly, if God exists, then He loves Yankee fans more than Red Sox fans.

So, you can keep dreaming, hoping or praying - or whatever you die-hard fans do during the inevitable torture of the season finale. Me? I'm thinking about football. Seventeen in a row. Superbowl Champs. A team that cannot lose tomorrow (mainly because they are not playing).

Yankees Suck

One of my first jobs was at Fenway Park. My buddy Dave Randall and I got jobs working for the company that cleaned the stands after the game. We were 14 at the time. The perk of this job was that you could get into the park free after the 8th inning, watch the end of the game, and then make $1.00 per hour sweeping up.

The first (and as it turned out - only) day on the job turned out to be a night game. I cannot recall much about the evening other than the fact that we did not get out of there until the wee hours. Trolley cars did not run with great frequency during those wee hours, and thus we did not get home until the morning sun was rising. This unfortunate commuting problem prompted our mothers to forbid us from returning to the job.

I did learn one skill of lasting value that night: how to sweep. You take it for granted, but there is a science to sweeping with a broom. (Let the tips of the bristles do the work, don't bend them, and you can sweep up even sticky ice cream wrappers.) Many times in my life, I have been called upon to sweep things up. Much of my military service and training was devoted to the art of waxing and buffing hallways and KP duty. But I digress.

I was reminded of my occupational roots under the green monster recently. In the paper and on TV there has been some earnest discussion about the rise in vulgarity associated with the passionate rivalry between the Red Sox and the despised Yankees. Apparently, loyal fans have taken to chanting "Yankees Suck," during games - even when the Sox are playing other teams. Other (less complimentary) slogans have been seen printed on tee shirts in and around the park. Perhaps the heightened passions are fed by the frustrations many citizens have with their shitty jobs, the current tenor of political discourse, or just as likely, the outrageous costs for a seat, a beer, and a slice of bad pizza at any professional sporting event.

Vulgarity is really nothing new among sports fans. It isn't just an characteristic of the rabble at Fenway either. Another job I had as a teenager was selling programs at Harvard Stadium during Ivy League games. I remember being shocked by the Harvard (probably freshmen) chanting "Dartmouth Sucks," to the dismay of the stodgy Crimson alums.

Also, just a few years ago I recall being at a Sox game when a gal several rows behind us started lifting her shirt to proudly expose her new boob job. She was determined to get on camera. In the end, to a chorus of boos, a uniformed usher came to escort her out of the park, but not before there were several rounds of adjacent sections yelling, "Show us your tits!" - to which she gladly complied.

Most of the other guys in the stands seemed to enjoy the spectacle, except one young father who had brought his two pre-adolescent sons to actually watch the baseball game. Like, me, those kids probably do not recall who the Sox were playing or how the game turned out, but we all came away from the park with an unforgettable memory.

Hmmn. I wonder how much they are paying these days for an experienced broomsman.

Baby Update

Thanks for your inquiries. As of this posting we are still waiting, patiently. Judy notes that if the new grandchild does not come by midnight, he will go through life under a different astrological sign. I have no opinions as to whether Libras are more faboured than Virgoes (and I am not interested in your opinion on the subject.)

I was born 3 weeks late myself, according to all accounts. As a result, I weighed nearly eleven pounds at birth. Had I arrived on schedule, I probably would have turned out very different: thin, driven to succeed, more interested in the opinion of others and boring.

=============

Where is that builder?

My War

Sunday morning at 6:30am. Judy went out to get the paper and found herself face to face with a pair of live deer. It was a doe and her nursing fawn. They were standing brazenly on the neighbor's lawn. She looked the deer in the eye and saw no fear. With our daughter who is imminently ready to give birth to our third grandson, Judy saw this as a favorable sign.

I think it is a sign that there is too much wildlife in the neighborhood.

All summer long I have been at war with the local varmints. We have daily visits from rabbits, raccoons, skunks. A vast variety of birds visit the area. Crows, cardinals, blue jays and doves make a constant racket, and occasionally I can hear the distinctive calls from redheaded woodpeckers and a pair of red tailed hawks (making lazy circles in the air) hunting for prey.

The ubiquitous and constant residents of my private property are the squirrels and chipmunks - whose population seems to have exploded this year. The birds and skunks do not cause any real harm. I chased some raccoons out of the garage one night. They had gained entry through an open door and were noisily foraging in the garbage cans. They have not been a problem since then.

My garden has been assaulted by varmint intruders unmercifully. Early in the season I found that the tops of half of my tomato plants had been nibbled at by a tall animal that left cloven hoofprints in the humus. (Whether you believe it was a visit from the Prince of Darkness or just a hungry whitetail deer, who would have expected that any of the suspects like to eat tomato plants??) The rabbits like to eat the freshly emerged marigold flowers. (Too bad they don't do me a favor by deadheading the blossoms that have gone by.)

The worst insurgent attacks are perpetrated by the squirrels and chipmunks. I have cultivated tomato plants for many years. In recent years I have experienced some minor interest in these plants by rodents. Up until this year, the chief problem was squirrels going after the ripe tomatoes on the vine. I was able to protect my harvest by picking the tomatoes just as the blush was coming upon them, and letting them ripen indoors.

This year, the squirrels have proliferated in geometric fashion (they breed like rabbits, if you ask me.) Apparently there is a lot of competion for food. A few squirrels have found my garden full of cukes and tomatoes to be easy picking. They take the low hanging fruits, but they do not stop there. I have actually witnessed squirrels climbing up my tomato stakes to get at higher fruit. And they do not wait. They pick them at Ping pong ball size and run across the yard with their prize. ) In the beginning I assumed that they take them back to the nest and wait for them to ripen. But lately I have seen half-eaten greenies on the ground.

In my rage, I have fought back. I bought rat traps and baited them with tomato pieces. So far the tally is four chipmunks and one squirrel. This has not even put a dent in the population that inhabits this area. I have stopped putting-out the traps because I worry about hurting the few (welcome) outside cats that also live in the neighborhood. The squirrels are too quick and escape the traps, anyway. (One night a young skunk blundered into a trap and stank-up the neighborhood).

I am losing this war. I am outnumbered and outgunned. The only way to keep the gardens safe is to be outside. They stay away when they see me. But, when I go in for my afternoon nap, the rodents swarm back to feast on my produce. They don't seem to like cucumbers, they just take a few small bites out of each one.

Fortunately, the ban on assault rifles has expired. Maybe a fully loaded AK-47 with a banana clip will prove to be the answer to my prayers....

Wrap Up

I am watching the end of summer with a mixed feeling of anticipation and befuddlement. I wonder: Where have the days gone? How come I do not have more items crossed off my TO DO list? Why am I still fat?

The anticipation is about a new grandson who is expected within the next few weeks, and the onset of my favorite season - when Monday nights are again occupied by Football Games on TV, when you can feel the crisp clean air of Autumn, when I can go back to the beach.

I love the ocean, but I hardly ever go to the beach in the summer. Neither of us enjoy basking in the sun. As a chronic sunburn victim, I am too sensitive to expose myself to the ravages of sunbathing, and my wife is too vain to allow her alabaster complexion to turn to dessicated leather. We call ourselves EPA's (Exceptionally Pale Americans). Our idea of a good day at the beach is an overcast windy fall day, where we can have the beach to ourselves, stroll the shore and gain the soothing benefits of whitecapped rollers pounding on the sand, washing away all the stress and angst of life....

The Bush administration has not produced a job boom in my neighborhood yet. So, I have officially joined the ranks of the early-retired. Although the SS money is a pittance, at least I can again afford to buy good scotch on my own, (instead of charging it to my wife's credit card).

Still, I keep looking for that perfect job. (ie, Good salary, short commute, non-asshole workplace, interesting work.) I hope something happens soon because i must confess that I am becoming less interested in the problems of business with each passing day.

Normally, I would use the recent Labor Day observance as another excuse to howl against greedy, clueless, ego-centric Management. This year, I am barely able to raise my sleepy head and growl about the slow economy.

At this rate, I will soon end-up a pensioner poet: unpublished, in need of a haircut, and wandering the streets and alleys looking for a good metaphor. Or, a decent pub.

Porch Envy

As mentioned in previous blog entries, there is a major renovation that has been going on at the next door neighbor's house since Spring. Over the course of the project, I have had occasion to go over to inspect the work and to marvel at the miracle of construction.

As one who is measure-mentally challenged ( I measure twice and cut thrice ), I have huge respect for anyone who can competently mitre a joint or operate heavy machinery without maiming themselves or others.

During my career as a systems guy, I often used the construction metaphor to explain the complexity of information systems projects.

I always justified the time spent on requirements gathering as similar to the importance of laying a stable foundation for a building. Many business applications are like a structure that has been modified incrementally over the years, to become a hodge podge of modules that are both unsightly and dysfunctional. Sometimes you just have to gut the damn thing and start all over with a new design.

A project to develop a business systems solution is much like a construction project. Certain tasks must be done in exquisitely planned sequence at predefined points in time. A team of workers, each with his own specialty needs to be deployed, communicated with, evaluated and rewarded (or more likely, corrected).

But a business systems development project is a piece-of-cake compared to construction. The bulk of risk for an application development project is managing team member's activities. The main resources are human. There is not a fundamental dependence on the arrival of certain materials at key junctures. This dependence upon external deliveries and the immutable pressures of climate, gravity and entropy make the construction project a risky and complex endeavor. And the worksite is a true Hellhole of noise, dust and micro-managed tasks.

More amazing is the realization that these projects are accomplished by individuals who are largely uneducated, uninformed and practically deaf. I assure you I am not being a snob in making these observations. As I say, I am right next door and have had an ample amount of time to spend puttering around my own garden or attempting to read in a quiet back yard. The banging starts around 8am and goes on most of the day (except for break times) through 4pm when the workers drive off like a swarm of locusts - probably to the nearest bar. Because of the constant pounding and sawing and other noise, most of the workers have apparently become deafened. When they talk to each other they always shout. Even when they are on break.

Thus it is not hard to overhear the substance and tone of their discussions, which I assure you seldom rises to the level of art history, philosophy or even politics. Generally the topics cover some or all of the following:

- Pit bulls make nice pets
- Did you hear about the lady who won $4 million on a scratch ticket?
- Nomar was a jerk
- My Jimmy is better than your F150.
- Whose turn is it to go get donuts?

You get the idea.

Miraculously, this crew is able to make something functional and beautiful through their combination of skills and the ability to follow orders precisely.

As the summer has progressed, I have been gradually possessed by a feeling of envy for my neighbor's porch. A feeling of emptiness has welled-up in my soul as I sit in my 9X9' metal-framed, vinyl roofed screen house. My neighbor was probably languishing on fine furniture in his huge screened-in porch, sipping fine scotch, puffing on expensive cigars and listening to cool jazz on his installed sound system, while I was cramped into my little screen house, sitting in my resin lawn chairs, drinking cheap domestic beer, listening to talk radio on my portable walkman. I felt something was missing.

One day last week, I asked the Builder if he was looking for any new projects. He said he already had plenty of work, but was always looking for new projects. I told him of my dream to have a screened porch instead of my little screen house.
He liked the idea of a project that did not require the use of a back-hoe and thirty tons of concrete. We got to talking. He made some measurements, sketched out a drawing, and before you knew it, we had agreed to a project.

So, my home is about to become a construction site. A Hellhole. I need to get a job, for obvious reasons.

The Sounds of August

Lately the early mornings have been crisp and cool, with the dew glistening on the lawns. The dawn sky is quiet, sunny and deep blue. Before the workaday stirrings of those cursed creatures called "the employed," the air is still. Saturated with the perfume of pine and pungent herbs. And the whispered promise of an abundant harvest.

You can almost hear Autumn coming down the tracks in the near distance like a rumbling westbound freight train.

Wait!
That really is the sound of a train! A tandem team of six big diesel engines pulling a long train of container cars, from the sound of it, probably loaded with Chinese imports headed inexorably for the heartland, or up to Montreal.

My house is just two streets over from the main rail line that handles all the Conrail and Amtrak traffic from Boston's South Station to Worcester and points beyond. When you live near the tracks, you get used to the noise. In fact, most of the time you are not conscious of the passing rail traffic. Like the other sounds in the distance, like birds chirping, dogs barking, lawn mowers, trucks in the street, the trains add to an ambient sound level that you do not notice until they use that high decibel horn. Last year, the Woodlawn Ave bridge was being repaired and every train that went by in either direction sounded the horn to warn workers who might be near the tracks. It made me notice how many trains went past. We are probably talking fifty trips a day, not counting the ones that go by at night.

The trains are the least of my noise problems. Since Spring there has been a crew working on the house next door. Each day brings another big noisy diesel vehicle to dig or deliver or pour concrete or pick up a dumpster or whatever. No one ever turns off a diesel engine, so most of the day there is an idling engine running. The nail guns are driven by a compressor that rattles like a chain saw. So all day you hear this pfft, pfft, phfft, groink, buzz, ghmmmm, phfft,phfft, Outch! Hey I'm bleedin here! (The last sound was the fat carpenter shooting a nail through his boot. Ha ha)
Then across the street, they have been replacing the back deck. It takes a lot of banging to properly replace a deck, apparently. And, not to be outdone, they also need a big idling diesel truck to haul away and bring fresh dumpsters.

In the white house on the other side, the widow lady likes to have here carpets and ducts cleaned. She prefers the work to be done by a crew who come in a huge noisy truck which not only idles noisily, but also runs a high-pressure compressor that is so loud you can no doubt hear it from the engine compartment of a westbound train.

Some times the UPS and Fedex drivers have trouble driving down the street because there are so many vehicles parked on both sides allowing only a narrow passage. Delivery trucks, Landscape vehicles, pickup trucks driven by construction workers and sloppily parked. This is not an urban setting, readers, this is a "quiet" suburban road.

Some days, I think to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice to go to a nice quiet office where you can sit at a nice quiet desk and spend the day getting paid for surfing the web like most employed people?"

Nah. Someday, the construction work will be finished, the workers and their trucks will go somewhere else, all ducts and rugs will be clean, the lawns will be mowed, and I will again be able to sit in the peaceful solitude of my back yard, with a frosty Sierra Nevada, listening for the sound of Autumn.

They Said, He Said

The recent flap over the swiftboat vets casting a shadow over John Kerry's heroism leads us to the state of confusion about whose facts are the real facts. Truth is elusive even when we are eyewitnesses to events. But we are forced to realize that we cannot rely on anyone's testimony, especially about events that happened opver 30 years ago.

The discrepancy over what happened on the swiftboats can only be explained by the willingness of one group or another to lie about what happened - to advance their political agenda. We know that some vets were so outraged by what Kerry said after returning from Nam that they would do and say anything to keep him from becoming President. Even to the point of disparaging his wounds and actions. On the other side, there are apparently a lot of medals at stake that depended upon the report that the swiftboats were under enemy fire. The crew members (and recently another eyewitness) have maintained that Kerry's actions were honorable.

We probably will never know the truth. But we know this: If Kerry's military service and subsequent political career do not make him fit for command, how in the world can honest men consider George W's preparation for the office to have qualified him for the job?
I don't question the results of the 2000 election; I lament the system that fails to promote our best and brightest leaders into the ranks of viable presidential candidates.

Job Search Update
No change in status. I lament an economy that fails to seek and hire the best and brightest systems analysts into the ranks of the high paid employed.

Stepford Guys

Type Four Hurricane Charley had dwindled down to "A-tropical-depression-formerly-known- as-Hurrican Charlie" by the time it tiptoed through Massachusetts. We got some fairly heavy rain, but my harbor bouy wind chimes hardly acknowledged the gentle breezes that posed no threat to beast or bloom. It was a girlie-storm for the Northeast. It should have been named Charleen.

Speaking of girlie things, I am worried about the next generation of men in this country. There is a baby shower planned for my daughter in a few weeks. Traditionally, this would not have been a matter of manly concern. The wimmens would be invited, go to the shower, sit around watching the soon-to-be-mother open presents, have some chicken salad finger sandwitches and tea and that would be the end of it. Menfolk would tend to their affairs, whatever they might be.

But these days, men think of pregnancy as a shared thing. "We're pregnant," they say. Really, I ask? both of you? Hmmn. One of the young husbands of a female invitee wants to actually attend the shower as a protest to the exclusion of men from the outmoded traditions of the past. He feels that fathers should be just as involved as mothers with childraising, and watching wimmens opening gifts. It worries me. Number one, the lad was not invited. This traditional detail of civility apparently is also outmoded - you feel like going somewhere you just go. Number two, it is unthinkable that a man would CHOOSE to go to a girlie event rather than to simply stay home watch the game, or to sit quietly in the yard with a book and a frosty beer marveling at the gift of manly solitude.

I'm sure these guys seem like sensitive, caring fellows to their wives. I think they might be pod people.

This Page Cannot be Displayed

Just to prove that I haven't totally given up looking for work, I decided to check out some of the local job boards this am before my morning walk down to the nearby Donuts R Us. I don't believe in depleting my energy reserves by aimless exercise. I believe it is good to have a goal in mind. Boston Kremes. Yumm.

So anyhow, I am checking out the jobs listed on this one well known job board, and I find a listing for Usability Analyst, an internal position working for the job board. Now I have always wanted to work as a Usability Analyst. In my many jobs as a systems analyst, my chief interest has been making the interface "friendly" to the users. I wish I had a nickel for every screen or web page I've seen that makes the user say "Huh?" because the data being presented wasn't what they expected or the user has come to a dead link. If I have gained any expertise in my working life, it is in the presentation of data in a usable format. Not too much, not too little.

So, I said to myself, "Self, you should apply to this job. It is the first Usability job description that doesn't require a PHD in heuristics (the science of obfuscation). Your past experience in business and web based applications are quite relevant. If these guys are smart they will at least want to talk to you. Do it."

But an inner voice replied,"But, they probably aren't interested in an experienced BSA with umpteen years of experience. They'll look at the resume, think too old, and toss it in the trashcan. How could they understand that the web is merely another way to present information? You think HTML and Java are great tools, but without a well designed process and superior content management, web pages are empty eye candy. No one wants to hear that sort of stone age thinking. Forget it. Go get your donut!"

"What the hell," I said, "it can't hurt to send them an e-resume. " So I hit the apply button. That took me to a screen that insisted that I login. Which I did. Then I got to a screen that allowed me to select the resume. Funny, no place for a cover letter to explain how uniquely qualified I am for the job. Then I clicked on continue. And got this message:

The page cannot be displayed
There is a problem with the page you are trying to reach and it cannot be displayed.
HTTP 500 - Internal server error Internet Explorer

Huh? (These guys really need someone like me. I wonder what happened to my resume).
Donuts, here I come.

Hardly Working

In the news today:
"The U.S. economy added many fewer jobs than expected in July, raising big concerns about the recovery in the labor market."

Well, welcome to the club. I've been concerned about job growth for more than a year.
I guess this headline helps explain why my phone has not been ringing lately. It's the stupid economy.

That's a relief. I was afraid that somehow the word about me had gotten out.

===============
The other day I finally closed my Fleet bank accounts. Without a steady income, my balance had long since fallen under the no-fee limit, so I was getting slammed with a $12 monthly fee.
Since I have a free account at another bank, I decided to consolidate my remaining funds.
I guess I expected to get at least a mild pitch to get me to stay with the bank. I have had the account since it was South Shore Bank, bought out by Bank of Boston and then Fleet. Now, as Bank of America, I guess they don't want to be bothered by people like me with low balances.
Even if the situation is temporary.

The kid who handled my paperwork never asked me why I was closing the account, or whether I had considered their free checking with automatic deposit. Apparently, he did not care why. He never even said a word, like Hi how are you today? or Gee, hope you will do business here again. Not the type of person I would put in a customer service job. But I suppose I would be a miserable little pissant too, if I had to spend my day closing accounts for geezers who came into my office complaining about usurious bank fees.

Forward This to Everyone You Know

I received one of those partisan political propaganda e-mails today from my reborn conservative sister in Uxbridge. In case you didn't get it, it was the one that cites all the bad things Democrats have done to destroy Social Security. (I know you are probably thinking, "Huh?" It just shows how you can distort any piece of information to get what you want out of it. It was in the form of questions and cooked-up answers. At the end it pleads with the recipient to "Send this to everyone you know!" as if that would awaken some manchurian brain cell and make otherwise sensible people suddenly want to vote for Bush.

I could not resist answering her:

" Thanks. I was wondering who was responsible for all the horrors. This type of screed is a lot like Michael Moore's methodology: leave out the facts that are inconvenient to the message.

Anyway, I thought of a few Q's and A's that came to mind.

Q: Was it the evil Democrats who ran up the deficit while giving Tax Cuts to the wealthiest 1%??
A: Well, not exactly.

Q: Was it the lying and cheating Democrats who pay lip service to the war on terror and then fail to fund our border security forces while handing billions to cronies at Halliburton??
A: No, that would be co-president Cheny's idea.

Q: Who hates America most?
A: A) Michael Moore B). Drudge C). People who support the war, but want someone else's kid to do the fighting, D) Ralph Nader

Q: If you knew then what you know now, would you have supported the invasion of Iraq, the alienation of our allies and the expense of men and material?
A: No. And everyone involved with that decision should be fired.

Q: Why doesn't God make the world a nice place.
A: Because he likes to watch us fight.

Q: Who has killed more people Laura Bush or Ted Kennedy?
A: It's a tie

Q: Does sending partisan e-mail around the internet actually change anyone's position?
A: No. Most recipients are members of the choir already, so they nod their heads in agreement. The others, the ones who think for themselves, just delete the propaganda and go back to downloading porn.

I voted against Al Gore in the last election. After listening to the speakers at the DNC, I hate to admit it, but I would vote for Bill Clinton if he was running again. He is clearly the smartest leader we have in America today.

I remain pretty much Opposed to the Republican/conservative agenda
- In favor of same sex marriage (they can have family values too)
- in favor of a woman's right to choose (it's none of your business)
- in favor of spreading the wealth around (middle class tax cuts, against Corporate Welfare)
- In favor of gun control
- in favor of bombing the hell out of the poppy fields in Afghanistan (we know where they are!)
- in favor of using our resources to clean up our own cities so that elderly people and children do not have to live in constant fear of gangs and thieves.
- in favor of an equal opportunity military draft to serve in defense of this country on the Border Patrol and Neighborhood patrols.

I am certainly not in favor of giving taxpayer money to immigrants who come here to go on welfare.
Nor do I agree with mortgaging our grandchildren's future in a vain attempt to transplant Democracy upon a group of people who do not believe in equality or individual liberty.

It is dangerous to give the power of the vote to people who cannot think for themselves (people who need preachers and mullahs to tell them how to think). The founding fathers recognized this when they provided for the Electoral College."

Hope is on the way. I hope.

Playing Games

I couldn't believe it when I read the headline on the sportspage of today's Globe. Garciaparra traded, the words blared. Nomar is gone. To the Cubs. Cripes.

I am not a real Red Sox fan. In fact, I have not been a baseball fan since the strike of 1981. Loyal readers of this humble Blog know how I feel about Unions and strikes. My disdain for the job action antics of overpaid athletic workers is even more than my antipathy for civil servants who refuse to do their jobs and don't want others to work either.

If I was a fan, I would not buy the bullshit being spouted by the Sox Management and their shills in the media. They claim that Nomar was not going to sign anyway. Columnist Dan Shaughnessy says Nomar hates Boston and the Red Sox and was a toxic non team player. If this is true, I believe the situation was caused by stupid management tricks in the first place.

That punk Theo Epstein reminds me of a typical corporate manager. He claims that we need to make hard choices to get a championship team. We need a golden glove defense. Yada-yada.
Hey, when was the last time defense scored a home run? Besides, no one who has grown up in the Boston area, actually expects the Red Sox to Win.

A lot of business guys like to use sports analogies to motivate their workers. Maybe the baseball guys think they should run the team more like a business. This "trade" sounds a lot like a layoff to me. Managers always think that they are the real key to success. (Why else do they give themselves all the good perqs?) Team members are just interchangable parts, they think. The truth is, it is the manager of any organization who is ultimately and seamlessly replaceable. Good all star shortstops are hard to find. The history of the Red Sox is pissing off the star players, then trading them, then having them come back to kick their Fenway asses. Roger Clemens is a prime example of which I speak

If I was a baseball manager, I think I would get Pitchers who can throw lots of strikes instead of praying that my multi-million dollar infielders will quell a Yankee rally with deft fielding. Baseball has always been about hits and runs. Get enough and the errors are not important.
Just like in business. But what am I talking about? I don't know anything. That kid Epstein is getting paid to run the team - this year. Hey how much can we get for Pedro?

Heck, I don't even watch baseball on TV anymore. TV sports coverage is boring and distracting. Besides, these players like to think of themselves as employees, so if I want to spend my valuable time watching people work, I can go next door and watch the craftsmen building the neighbor's stone wall. Not playing games.

The Big Question

Inevitably, during all the bloviation and rhetoric,  someone asks "Are you better off today than you were four years ago?"

Answer:  Hmmn

Four years ago I had a good job at good wages.   My mutual funds were at an all time high.      My daughter had just given birth to my first grandchild.    When I went to the airport, my biggest fear was losing my suitcase.  There was no such thing as "Threat Level."      Life was pretty good.


Today,  my family income is less than half what it was in 2000.  For the past year, I have been fruitlessly looking for a job in an economic environment that stubbornly favors cost-control over growth.     We are afraid to fly - heck we are even afraid drive to the airport.  The cost of a gallon of gas has skyrocketed.   The stock market goes apeshit everytime there is a suicide bombing in the news.  Most of the robber CEO's walk free as crows, but Martha Stewart has been convicted of crimes against humanity and is headed for jail.    My grandchildren moved to California.

Democrats are still talking about "stolen" elections and "coo-day-tat", as if they did not understand the Electoral College.   Republicans - with no evil empire to oppose - bark about moral principles, and the evils of those who would deny tax cuts to the richest Americans. 
Neither party can produce a leader that the majority of voters can rally around enthusiastically.  Most voters support their guy mainly because they are afraid of the other guy.

Read:  Afraid of the other guy's Supreme Court appointees.   

Republicans  - in the ultimate cynical strategy - contribute to Ralph Nader's impotent and vain attempts to become a real candidate, in hopes of spoiling Kerry's draw on independent voters.   Nader, once seen as a principled struggler against special interests is now seen as a sad buffoon.

Our confidence in the System is shaken.  We now know that the past two Presidents have been making military decisions based on flawed intelligence data about terrorists.   Political debate has devolved to mere shouting matches and mudslinging.  We seek for the truth in vain.  (Maybe Cheney is right - we can't handle the truth).

Are we better off than we were four years ago?  Perhaps the key question is, will we be better off  or worse following the election in November?   

Hmmmn.

 

 

Railing Against The Man

The DNC is at last underway.  At the very last minute, the Fire and Patrolmen's Union backed-off on their threats to picket the welcome parties in a petulant attempt to  spoil things for just about everyone - especially Menino.   It will take a 9/11 event to restore their vaunted status as Protectors of the public.  The glint of heroism has been etched dull by the acid of greed and extortion.  

I'm thinking of going in town today to protest against  wanton joblessness.  I think the discrimination against aging, well-fed people - who don't want to take orders from assholes - is a blight on our nation.    I'm bagging-up some cat poop to throw at any one I see wearing a fur coat.  Attention must be paid!

I see Bill Clinton is in town signing copies of "My Lies. "   Has he no shame?  Is every event just an excuse to engorge the Clintonian coffers?   And, did you see the clip of  Kerry "throwing" out the first pitch at the Sox Yankees game last night.  Maybe he thought it was bocci instead of baseball.  You call that a Pitch?  The ball dropped like a stone 10 feet in front of the plate and dribbled between the legs of the hapless catcher (was his name Buckner by any chance?).    My Grandmother could throw a better pitch than that, lefty.   And the next first lady, in Pennsylvania deploring the un-American tone of public discourse.  When a reporter pressed her for examples  of  the un-American speech, she denied having said what she had just said on tape.   Further efforts at clarification were rebuffed and the reporter was invited to "Shove it!"  Hmmn.  I think it should be an interesting 4 years with Theresa in the white house.