la, la, la, la, i can't hear you

i always recall eddie murphy in "beverly hills cop" whenever i hear or think of the classic childhood/ish response to unwanted or unsolicited input. i guess it must be comforting for us to think (delusionally) that the whole approach was somebody else's idea, when it's really such a basic human trait that we all know in our heart of hearts that we've come up with it on our own each and every time we use it.

be that all as it may, i've gotta take the input version of the 5th from now on with everyone except the most important people (i.e. my children and their mother) in my life. "i refuse to pay attention to what anybody else is saying/writing on the grounds that it can't possibly do me or anyone else i care about any good". sometimes, when they're thrusting it in my face, i'll have to add the necessary (and silent, internal as to avoid offense) "la la la la's" to ensure my peace of mind. mostly, i've just stopped going there at all in the first place, and life is a lot calmer that way, even if it's never easy.

good news is that those annoying in-laws and parents and siblings over the holidays will be free to say what they will without my contributing to the conflagration by an inappropriate (or any at all) response. (whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger, right?) better news is that i'm already almost completely faded in my curiosity for what's being said ex parte because life is really all about other things. after all, selfish or not, i've got plenty on my own plate to worry about and keep me busy.

so who's listening?

you know i'm just writing this to myself to announce the date that we've discovered that the turkey had at some previous point reached zero. for the few compulsive ambulance chasers still sticking around to watch the final throes of dissolution and decompensation, i guess you're all gonna need to find something else to do from now on.

the gauntlet

thrown down, picked up or run, it's word of the week in my world.

not intending to digress too far right off the bat, (though you know me--i'm compulsive), but how did we let the french (the saxon au creeping across the otherwise-functional anglo-by-way-of-norse-and-low-german a) take over the torture track, anyway? with the surfeit of english homonyms, you'd think we'd have been satisfied to let gantlet well enough alone... (but then, how would i combine them so easily in my rant-of-the-day?)

anyway...

suffice it to say almost every day this week someone has thrown down, (they always do), i've done my level best not to pick up, (not consistently with success, go figure), and it's been a regular daily commute running the course. for example:

we knew the holiday season for adulterers would be no picnic. between the lawyers and the in-laws, and without much ongoing support or respite owing to profound familial and friends' disapproval, it wasn't expected to be easy. but expecting and experiencing are always two very different things. (too bad there won't ever be anyone with whom to share this who will be able to see any of the pitch black humor) offspring #2 presents himself in the office to inquire as to the definition of the word "whore". i'm betting all of you will have been able to hear the "go ask your father" as clearly as if you had been in the room when the whole thing started, just by reading this, but i have to admit that it was particularly pronounced in my own head during the ambush. who knew scrabble should have been rated M for mature...

life's cruelty here is that no one is immune from this one. the torment on all sides is genuine, yet all we each have to choose is how we will run our own personal trial. the temptation is to look across the lanes and criticize how the others are doing, and how they are doing it, and whom we perceive that they are doing it to. nope, life just simply isn't fair, most often to the point of literal tragedy. but it occurs to me that rarely do track racers benefit from looking around to see what the joneses are up to. it would seem that, if we are to do our level best, and if we are to give ourselves our best chance to even make it to the finish line, we are all best advised to simply run our own race. it's the lie of "team" track and field competition. there is no team. it's just us and our own personal finish line.

on this one, i at least had benefit of my own personal style upon which to fall back. "a whore is someone who is paid for sex". it's the same as when i've told them that a bitch is "a female dog, though often an insult connoting malice and unpleasantry". unfortunately, at that particular time, to pick up the original by throwing this next one down would have formed one of life's most deadly, so i deftly declined and stewed in silence, as i imagine most all other contestants on all sides are well used to doing. nobody wins, everybody loses, and it's all my fault.

*sigh*

so here's the choice i see this morning: i've been, by the nature of remorse and a sincere wish (not in all cases possible) to apologize and atone, doing more looking into other people's lanes than likely anyone else involved. so what's it get me, and, more importantly, what's it get those other people?

(cue temptations "war", immediately following "what is it good for?")

absolutely nothing...

¿quien es mas loco?

i've always wondered if the world owes bill murray or one of the behind-the-scenes snl writers for the classic game show, "¿quien es mas macho?" in humble homage to the original, i'd like to suggest a spin-off show, to be entitled "¿quien es mas tonto?"

aren't we a pathetic species?

the long haul

somewhere in my impatience for the hockey season to begin, i subscribed to a "public" fantasy league without taking care to prioritize my draft interests. my system-assigned goalies (i.e. those no one else wanted) sucked (and they still do, tyvm martin gerber) and my charity "big names" either started slow (yes, you mr. spezza) or not at all (rick nash, your mom and the entire columbus blue jacket organization is looking for you). needless to say, though i've since re-jiggered my lineup extensively out of embarrassment for the association, with high hopes that yashin, tkachuk, vanek, michalek, clark and johan holmqvist have blockbuster last-three-quarters of their seasons, there's not much to do about it now but sit back and watch the jury-rigged train either run successfully around the track, or wreck in spectacular fashion as its progenitor surely would have even worse. and, even under the "successful" scenario, it's still entirely likely that the season is already lost anyway. so what's to do?

yes, i'm a twitch when it comes to fantasy sports. in every league i'm in, there isn't another manager who's juggled their lineup as often as i, sometimes by a factor of 2. (though the twitch gap is closing in my other two leagues, where my being at the top of the standings compels the competition to try to do something to catch up). this belies the fact that, when all is said and done, and when there's nothing left to be done, the long haul requires patience, forebearance, and a grim sense of humor. i like to think, where life is concerned, that i'm a bit better at things, if for no better reason than it's sun tzu's "path of least resistance" meeting the crown prince of procrastination, but the likelihood is that i'm just blundering from one folly to another, just like the rest of us. (yeah, i gave up on maxim afinogenov after four games... ugly).

so, batten down the hatches, here comes that infamous "long haul". in the running, so far, i'd have to say that i'm a spectacular failure, whose spectacle includes the ruin of most others with the misfortune to have gotten too close to me. kinda like my fantasy hockey pantywaists, only not just pretend, and not constrained to affecting/reflecting on just me. the fact that i'm now officially responsible for utter ruin on all sides just makes the failure all the more complete.

ugh.

on a brighter note, marques colston sure is having a fine season...

competence=arrogance (?)

ok, i get the humble-is-good thing... i get the service-is-love thing... i even get the it-doesn't-matter-what-i-think-it-matters-what-the-other-thinks thing.

but when did it cross the line that eschewing narcotics and getting around on your own two feet could be taken as arrogance?

bad things happen to everyone. i get that. not everyone can get right back up again afterwards, and i get that too. but i seriously don't understand how it's become that demonstrating an ability to get back up again can be inferred to be bad form.

i didn't bring it up. yeah, i limped a little to invite the question, but, seriously, at least for me, navigating a steep and narrow staircase 85 hours after having ones knee cartilage flayed open like a shucking oyster takes a little bit of care. so to a remark that it's awfully early to be up and around, if i point out that i took my leisure on saturday, i really don't expect an impression to be taken that i'm somehow condescending to everyone who chooses or has to take things a different way. nobody said the surgery was supposed to have universally-crippling consequences.

yeah, i'm up. what of it? sure, it's belligerent for me to put it that way, but, seriously again, i find that a little competition drives me in a way that nothing else can. and if it works for me, i'm not going to be ashamed to admit it. if you take that as an arrogant challenge to your personhood, well, then, i guess you take it that way. sorry.

but i'm not going to start popping vicodins and letting my life slide into decline just because you feel intimidated. that's YOUR thing. yeah, i know i said up top that i got the "it-doesn't-matter-what-i-think-it-matters-what-the-other-thinks" thing, but just because i get it doesn't mean i agree with it, respect it, or plan to turn my life inside out to kowtow to it.

you wanna lie down on the couch and despair the tide of the world as it rises up to swallow you whole, you can go ahead. it's a free country. sometimes, and there were thousands in banda-aceh who could have attested, but they're not answering their calls just now, the tide of the world rises up faster than we can keep ahead, and that's, unfortunately, to my philosophy, just the way that is, and i understand and accept that not everyone is destined to get a fair shake out of life.

but me, just for grins, i'm gonna stand up and keep walking, just in case the highwater mark proves to rise just short of my jutted-out chin.

friday the 13th comes on monday this month

first the pats, then the revs: c'mon people!!! concentrate!!!

and, of course, it's raining...

today, it seems everybody's talkin' 'bout how badly their lives suck. (we know what earl would want to ask them about that). it's presumed such complaints imply the thought that everyone else's are comparitive cake-walks, but i keep hearing the calvinist admonition that "it's not supposed to be fair" echoing in my head. after all, if job was one of god's chosen, what's it likely to be like for the rest of us? lucky that luther rejected the principal of total depravity, and there are always choices. (sola gratia, sola fide et solus christus). ("i choose to double my intensity and not let brian ching run behind me on an overhead ball...")

we don't need no stinkin' vicodin

for parting gifts they gave me crutches, a painkiller scrip, and an armload of souvenier mri films. the souveniers i'll keep, but the crutches are more trouble than they're worth, and the narcotics are a sad testament to how soft as a species we are become. sure, there's an oddly unsettling squerching noise when i bend the joint (they load the knee with saltwater to ease the postoperative inflammation and it sounds like wet sneakers) but other than that i've got nothing to complain about. why is it that people have so much trouble with this sort of thing? the worst of it was the after-effects of the general anesthesia that wasn't allowed to be an option, despite my protests to the contrary. (he got me in the end with flattery, that knees are tight enough spaces to begin with, but with athletes it's even tougher without the total relaxation of a general). in the end, i figured it'd be like insulting the chef before the meal was served, so i took my little bout of post-operative nausea in trade for a happy surgeon. now we'll see how good this guy is.

the oversized dressing isn't supposed to be unwrapped 'til tomorrow, so i really can't ice things until then, nor really begin to work on flexibility yet either. i'm expecting to be following my mattes (you all have your "active isolated stretching" books and use them daily, right?) like clockwork at the office gym starting on monday, so another few hours in the grand scheme of things shouldn't hurt. don't tell the doc, but i'm gonna go coach the boys tonight (they're underaged and undersized in their indoor league and they need a few tips) and try to do most of my encouraging from a seated position. (yeah, we all believe that).

can't wait to listen to a couple of hockey games tonight and milk the tea and sympathy for all its worth. :-)

where the thread goes

it's been running for several days now, this thread bob stuart started by putting madeleine peyroux on my radio...

eagerly sharing my auditory good fortune with an out-of-town friend (who likewise knows and enjoys a little edith piaf) i was offered a reciprocal taste of marlene dietrich. (equal time in the timeless european culture wars?) i guess i always knew marlene was a singer, but i've always been too much of a movie buff to have been so easily distracted from her celluloid self. (hey--more to love). so, in addition to a little lili marlene (which is very tasty, btw), my internet wanderings have also turned up a collection of quotes (i'm a sucker for good quotes) that have turned my head once again over hollywood's original woman in pants. (sorry, kate).

one of my favorites, and in case anyone was/is confused: "i am, at heart, a gentleman."

but there are so many others:

"darling, the legs aren't so beautiful, i just know what to do with them."

"in america, sex is an obsession. in other parts of the world it's a fact."

"latins are tenderly enthusiastic. in brazil they throw flowers at you. in argentina they throw themselves."

one for dr. robert this coming tuesday:

"if there is a supreme being, he's crazy."

but--also likely some meaty tuesday morning fodder--here's the killer:

"a king, realizing his incompetence, can either delegate or abdicate his duties. a father can do neither. if only sons could see the paradox, they would understand the dilemma."

was i drunk, was he handsome, and did momma give me hell?

i was musing the other day on my affinities for singers and songwriters (quick, what do warren zevon, elvis costello and graham parker have in common?) and it occurred to me that i've always cottoned to a clear voice mixing both acerbic cynicism (i say wit) and unfettered joie de vivre. chick endor and charlie farrell (who? ;-) penned a classic more than seventy years ago, and madeleine once again strikes almost-forgotten gold covering dorothy dell's (the last ziegfield girl, and just 16 no less!) saucy and fearless delivery:

"well i said stop, please behave / but what's the use of ravin' / he said "give", so i gave / after all, what was i savin'? / am i glad? holy gee / did i have fun you're askin' me? / was i drunk? / was he handsome? / and did momma give me hell?"

i'm sure dorothy also delivered it all with a big "miss new orleans" smile.

i can't help but digress to recall lowell george, in his apolitical blues, singing that he didn't care if it was "the unholy four, john wayne and dorothy lamour". (yep, dorothy dandridge was a capital-b-babe too). it's a neat coincidence that, to the end, whenever raven-haired ms lamour was feted for her success, she never failed to remind all that it was blondie dorothy dell who had first won the miss new orleans pageant, and insisted that her dark-haired friend accompany her to platinum-obsessed hollywood. (fast-living lowell sure knew how to pick 'em). so, while edith was fighting her war via so many leicas, dorothy l's face (and etc.) was doing it's part in front of the camera along with her girl hedy (tell me catherine zeta jones isn't the spittin' image) and though they were always more to my liking than the blonde archetype, either way, you gotta appreciate a girl who can deliver a good line, no matter what her tonsorial hue. if the original dorothy (dell) had flo ziegfeld's confidence, i gotta figure it (and she) must have been quite the show. and what would mr. zevon (i'll sleep when i'm dead) have to say about a headstrong and fearless 19 year old whose final hours were an all-night hollywood party to celebrate her being on (if not the) top of the world...

adieu, bangles carson...

la môme piaf

maybe because i wasn't descended among the haute gautiers of mississippi's gulf coast, but rather from a simpler ne'er-do-all-that-well of that name from the hardscrabble northeast kingdom (by way of the frost-barren alberta plain) i retain little l'amour for le français. after all, it was license from the pope to their catholic king (and his all-too-eager minions) to run my teutonic ancestors off their low-rhineland farms and to the boats that has as much to do with who i am today as any chanteur. yet i can't help but be fascinated by edith piaf.

imagine being four-foot-eight, (and hardly the weight of a small boy), abandoned by your mother to be raised (for a time blind, and for an even longer time deaf) among the whores in your grandmother's brothel, while your hair falls out (androgenetic alopecia is a bitch) and your first love leaves you pregnant at age 16 to survive on the streets of depression-era pigalle. ("pig alley" to the ww2 soldiers who debauched among the whores of its meaner streets). yet despite these mean beginnings, and every reason to despair of life and a world's future, this waif of the streets of paris fought proudly among le resistance against nazi occupation, (photos with her, encouraged by countless and witless colonel klinks, were de rigeur in french forged escape papers), and was buried a queen at père lachaise alongside abélard et heloïse. (not to mention gertrude stein and alice b. toklas). i think it's that the archbishop of paris denied her a mass that makes the hundreds of thousands of mourners on the streets of paris all the more fitting tribute to an amazing human voice. (only she and the allied victory in '45 have ever been able to stop parisian traffic).

when madeleine peyroux evokes her memory via "la vie en rose", she honors a remarkable life.

a tout te l'heure, little sparrow

beautiful

today, musing on lincoln's two johns, ana ng, and the mysterious telephone-voiced interjector... (could it have been the flying lizards' patti palladin?) i discovered yet again joy and the other half of the world so clearly everything to be wanted...

"half the perfect world"

new clear days

the vapors are at once a "fashionable hypochondria, melancholy and peevishness" (a reminder to never read your pope without annotation) and a seminal rock band (pun intended) responsible for a prodigious first single that could never be matched by their later attempts to get serious about political assassinations and fanatically homicidal religious cult leaders. (was that a redundancy?) i've always thought their first album cover was their crowning achievement (remember that boston irish comedian whose name i can't quite remember right now who wondered, when it was princess di to her man chas, would it best be called "giving crown"?) but "turning japanese" runs a close second, and their second album cover, by "where's waldo" miscreant martin handford a reasonable third. the 80's weren't quite the 70's (which weren't quite the 60's) but they had their moments.

so today dawns a bit clearer (and the skies are a bit bluer) and hope starts to wander in the direction of fiscal and true moral responsibility. (not the faux kind that thinks nothing of pulling the switch on a criminal execution with one hand while holding up a "pro-life" placard with the other, but the real kind that recognizes human rights as human, and not just conveniently biased by the trivia and vagaries of national citizenship). if there's a place for my country's armed forces to be, if it's not at home here serving the victims of a natural disaster, (has anyone seen what still hasn't been cleaned up in new orleans lately?) it's standing up for the dispossessed and terrorized of darfur.

david fenton's cold war paranoias weren't misplaced--there are still oppressed (read: starving) people under the thumb of a nuclear-capable dictatorship in this world--but it seems a bit lighter this morning nevertheless. i've never considered myself a hypochondriac, but i've been known to experience bouts of melancholy and peevishness about my "elected" leaders (think the supreme court will feel nostalgic about directing another election decision in virginia over the next few days?) and their penchants for evil action on the one hand, and evil inaction on the other.

karma yoga, anyone?

those who ignore history...

in march, 2003, in a press conference to announce the attack, george w. bush stated three objectives for the armed invasion of iraq: "to disarm iraq of weapons of mass destruction, to end saddam hussein's support for terrorism, and to free the iraqi people". so, three and a half years in, where do we stand?

1) regarding wmd's, many people continue to be curious about what we knew before the war began, but how about since? who remembers dubya's speech from may 29th, 2003, in poland, where he said: "we found the weapons of mass destruction"? really? and am i the only one that remembers the march, 2004 black tie press dinner when the commander in chief of the US armed forces and the man personally responsible for over 2,800 service fatalities in iraq since the invasion (we'll set aside discussions about the 21,000+ wounded for now) joked to a series of photographs of him poking about the oval office that "those weapons of mass destruction have got to be here somewhere... no, no weapons over there... maybe under here?" he JOKED. (i guess john kerry just doesn't have the delivery...) with apologies to craig kilborn for stealing, "remember the good ole days when the only thing the president was trying to cover up was a stain?" (and lest anyone be confused, here's george w. bush himself, in his september 9, 2004 speech in pennsylvania: "i recognize that we didn't find the stockpiles we all thought were there").

2) somewhat telling to me, among all the charges leading to the recent and us-orchestrated prosecution and conviction of saddam hussein, that there was not one allegation of state-sponsorship of terrorists, let alone evidence or even an excuse for why it had been alleged in the first place. (from that same 2004 speech where dubya admitted no WMD: "we've had no evidence that saddam hussein was involved with september 11th").

3) in 1919, as part of the spoils of war stemming from their victory in the first world war, and according to the secret sykes-picot agreement they formed with the french back in 1916, the british partitioned mesopotamia, taking sovereign control of the villayets of basra, baghdad and mosul, and formed the state of iraq. (conveniently ratified by the league of nations in 1920). apparently, nobody asked the local shia's, sunni's or kurds what they thought of being thrown together as a "people", but it seems that dubya must figure that four score years-worth of colonial border is sufficient to trump four centuries of tribal and religious association... (i wonder how that's working for the israeli's and palestinians?) i checked this morning, and it appears that there have been no fewer than four full-scale kurdish revolts from the concept of being considered an "iraqi people" since the country was first formed, which doesn't count the various kurdish contretemps over the last 15 years. so, remind me again, now that saddam is in the dock, and the kurds have their measure of self-determination, how it is that the "iraqi" people seem to be compelled to spend as much time blowing up each other's mosques as they do improvising IED's with which to register disaffection with the us army?

this all recalls to me the colonial invasion of canada in 1775, when benedict arnold and 600 volunteers took an excursion to montreal and quebec city (by foot, through the maine woods, beginning in the middle of september, suggesting that they didn't learn much about new england weather and terrain in norwich, connecticut) with visions of "liberating" french canada from their british oppressors. now i can't think of two peoples more practised at hating each other and used to competing in a perpetual state of war as the 18th century english and french, (they didn't call it the hundred years war for nothing) but it appears that not one unit of quebecquois helped carry arms against the british, even after daniel morgan (taking over from the wounded arnold in the streets of quebec city) overran all of carleton's barricades in the Lower Town, and was within a few blocks of complete victory. no, there's no love lost for "the english" among quebeckers, but there's even less for a maurading brigade of do-good-ers from the "land of the free" roaming loose under arms and wishing to export their own peculiar brand of "freedom". (i wonder how they translate "due process" for our "guests" in guantanamo?)

yet, vietnam notwithstanding, "here we go again"...

how many more

neil young's simultaneously anguished and accusing "how many more" still rings true thirty-five years later. written directly to confront a presidential administration over methods of suppressing dissent ("tin soldiers and nixon's coming, we're finally on our own") it speaks just as eloquently to me about the underlying senselessness of a misguided war that MUST stir the righteous to anger.

just to show how cynical i've become:

* i'm still dumbfounded to recall dick's horribly warped and morally-corrupted response ("when dissent turns to violence, it invites tragedy") and the question forming first in my mind this morning is how long before we hear the same sort of bankrupt logic applied again to a rising tide of discontent against this horrible folly of ours in iraq? how far will we see an administration go, against those who do not believe in this "war on terror"?

* i'm appalled to wonder at the convenient coincidence of hussein's conviction and that of dhiren barot on the eve of the us elections. one is redolent of nothing so much as one sovereign's petulant overthrow of another, (revenge for an attempt on the life of one's father?) complete with ritualistic trial and (expected) execution, and the other smells suspiciously of hype and journalistic overreaction, as the accused appeared to possess neither the means nor the mens to pull it off.

spare me the polemics about "us" vs "them". we underscored and entrenched the fabrication of a cultural war by reacting to a "threat" that NEVER carried the potential to do harm to us as a culture or a society. the damage to our culture and to our society that is endured now is, the way i see it, almost fully inflicted upon us by our "leaders" in their bizarre and paranoid prosecution of criminal behavior through internal surveillance of civilians and external armed conflict against people who never asked to get caught in the middle of something like this.

to the thousands of families grieving for their loved ones, it simply MUST be asked:

how many more?

force

tom brady had us all scratching our collective heads last night. why was he heaving those long balls up for grabs in the first half? maroney and dillon proved all night they could collect their 4 yards per carry, and the shorter passes chewed up the yardage even faster than that. did he feel like he had to force it? were we trying to keep up with peyton instead of just the colts?

force is an interesting word. yeah, there's the force that we wield against others and other things (e.g. happily splitting cordwood, as i was over the weekend, with a hydraulic wedge, is always a lot of fun) but the "force" that was mr. brady's abysmal touchdown-to-interception ratio last night is generally the most powerful thing going.

"you can't make me" is a great playground perspective, but how do you say that to yourself so that you mean it when it means NOT doing something? oh, i know you're all masters of your self-control domains and this doesn't have anything to do with you, but just look at the troubles everyone else is having. pair them up, and just count their casualties: booze and sex, coffee and cigarettes, gambling and drugs, evangelical christianity and prostitutes... (OOPS!)

fascinating to see all those people out there forcing things each and every day of their life, while the irony is, sun tzu's "path of least resistance" takes such little.

"do good things, and good things will happen to you". you tell 'em, earl.

eggs

amonishments about numbers of baskets aside, there's a lot of human nature in big bets. just the other day i traded for my 8th san jose shark (is there anything more fun than fantasy hockey?), which would have been a huge no-no in the areas of portfolio theory and poultry farming, but i'm just too enamored with jumbo joe to leave half (or even 3/4) measures alone. (now who's got marleau?)

you bet, i know i'm sewing the seeds of ruin, but, hey, it's who we are. i think one point where we all lose our way is our exaggerated awareness of the present. we often forget much of our experience of the past (or discount it) and we clearly fail to appreciate the seriousness of the future. (if our present frustrations with our present situations are any referendum on our past selves and their choices). in my defense, i think there's a big difference between retirement savings (just call me mr. index) and fantasy hockey pools (black and teal, now who picked THOSE colors?), and it's clear to me that we don't buy lottery tickets because we're wise to the chances.

all of which breaks down when it comes to picking our life partners and friends. unless one is a flawlessly diligent devotee to earl's philosophies on karma, (or would those be carson daly's?), i think we can all agree that we've known some faithless and feckless friends in our time. having been one of those very recently to almost everyone in my life, (and ashamed for it), it's all the more poignant to realize that life requires those very big bets, and remorselessly metes out its rewards and punishments according to our choices.

who knows if san jose is going to continue to light up the nhl scoreboards. who knows if i'm ever going to be worthy of faith. but you can bet that, every second, somebody, somewhere, is paying the price yet again for backing the wrong horse.

i think what the saying lacks is a codicil to the effect that, when you do, you damn sure better be keeping a close watch on that basket.

political science

five years in ("short people", '77) randy newman was still trying to work the point, but i guess almost 35 years later ("political science, '72) it's proved that many of us just don't seem to be tall enough to get it:

no one likes us--i don't know why
we may not be perfect, but heaven knows we try
but all around, even our old friends put us down
let's drop the big one, and see what happens

we give them money--but are they grateful?
no, they're spiteful, and they're hateful
they don't respect us--so let's suprise them
we'll drop the big one and pulverize them

asia's crowded and europe's too old
africa is far too hot and canada's too cold
and south american stole our name
let's drop the big one, there'll be no one left to blame us

we'll save australia--don't want to hurt no kangaroo
we'll build an all-american amusement part there
they've got surfin' too

boom goes london, and boom paree
more room for you and more room for me
and every city the whole world round
will just be another american town
oh how peaceful it will be, we'll set everybody free
you'll wear a japanese kimono, and there'll be italian shoes for me

they all hate us anyhow
so let's drop the big one now
let's drop the big one now

obama '08 (that's my part)

moriarty

for many, "moriarty" may recall sherlock's rival (funny how a guy that shows up in just two short stories can get so much "mind share") but for me, "moriarty" will always be oil-soaked gavin macleod's sputtering foil to donald sutherland's foppish, moppish space cadet in "kelly's heroes": "always wit da nega-T-iv waves, moriarty, always wit da nega-T-iv waves"

of course, we're all best admonished to follow oddball's advice ("why don't you dig how beautiful it is out here. why don't you say something righteous and hopeful for a change") but you know me, i can't easily resist the cynic's reply: "crap!"

amidst this sea of shit it's become clear that folks just don't like moriarty. but, see, i think the movies got it all wrong--he's not a foil, he's a star. the world NEEDS more people who can see crap for what it is. but such folks are definitely underappreciated and shunned by most other "respectable" people, and i'm learning that, to be likeable, they're best advised to turn down the volume so it's only audible to those who really want to hear what is being said. otherwise, they just attract friction.

yet sometime next week, say, about next tuesday, we'll all want to spend more time with our inner moriarty's, and study the observations of his best friend, crapgame. (you know crapgame--when opining on the potential spirit of graft and grand larceny in a stranger, he's the guy who wonders, "maybe he's a republican"...)

yep, it's all in kelly's heroes. and, btw, dubya, that thing about being a republican--it's not a compliment. obama '08.