Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Saturday, May 04, 2013
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
2011 - Liberty Bell Rusty, Philadelphia PA. DokBok gets a fan.
2010 - Boston Massacre Rusty. Blood all over Boston. Squad meets Steven Tyler, OneEar turns down offer to join Aerosmith.
2009 - Dylan McKay Rusty LA CA. DokBok's neighbors
2008 - Mount Vernon, Wisconsin. OneEar turns 40, DocBok closes the Yellow Bar forever. Amps don't work, fire won't light, Bundespanties leaves early.
2007- Baton Rouge/New Orleans
2006 - Dogtrack Rusty - Lake Zurich, IL
2005- Fais Do Do Rusty - Baton Rouge/New Orleans LA.
2004 - Rhode Island/Cape Cod
2003 - Baton Rouge/New Orleans
2002 - Boston ($1500.00 Rusty)
2001 - Wisconsin?
2000 - Somewhere north of Chicago
1999- Nags Head, North Carolina
1998 - Ankle Break Rusty - Verona, Wisconsin.
Williamsburg VA-not a Rusty
1996-Different Cabin in Ohio
1995-Rusty Never Sleeps - Cabin in Ohio - featuring Jammin Johnny B, Bo-Bonna, Aislinn, and the Grosse Jacket.
1994-Mount Vernon, Wisconsin
1993- Arlington, VA
1992- Chicago, Illinois. The First Official Authorized and Universally Recognized Rusty Session.
1991 - Chicago, Illinois. Pre-Planning meeting -20 year plan for Rusty Sessions developed, Articles of ConfettiRusty adopted.
#1 - The world is coming to an end. I think that is self-explanatory.
#2 - The Presidential election is 6 days away. Most importantly,
#3 - The 20th Annual Rusty Sessions to be held in Boulder, CO is only 9 days away.
As for the special guest, would you consider it special if I pretended to be someone else for the entire visit?
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
Ah, the life of the critic. It is a mystifying vocation where each review is a new romance; a journey which both leads and follows the whims of man. Like a coy escort dancing with her evening’s companion, the critic guides by following the lead. She caresses the client gently, pulls him softly into her grasp, and, by both anticipating and sustaining his wants and needs, she brings him to the desired conclusion. And blowjobs are extra.
Elbert Hubbard once said, “To avoid criticism, do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.” In the face of such wisdom, one is forced to ponder, “Who in the fuck is Elbert Hubbart?” “WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING,” by Heidi Murkoff, Arlene Eisenberg and Sandee Hathaway is one such book. Suffice it to say that these three blowhards could learn a thing or two from Elbert Hubbard. Frankly, contrary to their title, they have no idea about what I should expect when I’m expecting.
First of all, the three ignorami apparently have no grasp of what it is that I’m expecting. Let’s be clear about this: I’m expecting a massive intercontinental war to erupt over the scarcity of clean, drinkable water. I’m expecting to send my son, and possibly daughter, off to some foreign land to kill or be killed so that I can take a nice long bath twice a day while sipping scotch on the rocks. From what I skimmed, this book doesn’t even touch on my expectations.
No, these three saps go on and on about how tricky it is to be pregnant. For the love of butter, somebody needs to get their heads out of their vaginas! Come on folks, this is not some innovative technology – people have been having babies for quite some time. I’ve got four simpletons in my own immediate family who managed to pull it off. Couple the couple, wait nine months, boil some hot water, and voila, you’ve got poached eggs. Wait, I think I missed a step there.
Anyway, this book has a complete lack of character development. The story plods along giving a month-by-month play-by-play about pregnancy. Every lousy month of the ordeal has its own chapter. This is more tedious than that TV show 24 where Donald Sutherland’s son is always crawling around in heating vents.
Each chapter starts with some gibber-jabber about how mom is getting bigger and baby is getting bigger. This chapter the baby has a heart – now the baby has a brain – now the baby has a penis. We get it – when it pops out it is going to be a baby.
Give us some suspense. Where is the personality? Will the baby be some sort of evil genius? Is he possessed by the ghost of a parasite that used to live in Da Vinci’s anus? Give us something to chew on here, please.
Most of this miserable diatribe is written exclusively from the woman’s perspective. There is only one stinking chapter dedicated to dads, and it doesn’t touch on fishing, football or hookers. Hello? I haven’t read anything this female-biased since “Menopause and Me.”
Many chapters include information labeled “What you may be feeling?” or “What you may be concerned about?” Wrong. They failed to include even one of the things I am feeling or any of the millions of things I am concerned about. If my feelings and concerns were a bullseye and the idiot trio was an archer, these three morons would be pulling arrows out of their own three-headed ass. The blowhard triumvirate went so far as to include a meal plan in their stupid book. If I wanted to read a menu, I would have gone to Hooters. And don’t give me a diet which omits spicy buffalo wings, either.
According to the jacket, this book has sold more than 10 million copies. Think about that. If the book costs $1.00, that is more than $10 million dollars. Think about how many babies you could buy with that kind of money. These braggarts further boast that the book remains on the best-seller list of a New York newspaper. As if anyone reads newspapers anymore.
No, What to Expect When You’re Expecting can only be described as a miserable failure. If I wanted to expect all of the stuff that these three chumps ramble on about, I’d just knock my wife up again. United, we’d spark the flame of another precious soul to blaze and enlighten this wonderous universe, if only for a brief flash of time. And sex trumps words.
Originally published 4/2/2006 at oneear.blogspot.com
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Friday, January 06, 2012
I am very concerned about the rampant peanut allergies I keep hearing about. Last night, one of the moms from One Jr.'s basketball team told me that her son has a very dangerous peanut allergy. She showed me where to find his epi-pen. I was struck dumb.
First, why is everyone suddenly allergic to peanuts? When I was a kid, peanut butter was a universally accepted staple. Now it is a hazardous substance. This seems like an extraordinarily fast evolution in the defense mechanism of the peanut.
Second, what is the danger? Peanuts always give me gas. Is this what they are talking about? I learned about the hazards of eating legumes from Mel Brooks' "Blazing Saddles, " but I never let farting stop me from playing basketball. Why do you think they invented those long shorts that vent the gas down farther away from nose level?
Third, since when is some stranger who agrees to coach basketball qualified to give your son an injection? I considered telling her, "Oh thanks, here is my son's jock itch cream, but make sure none gets on his hands or it will make the ball slippery."
I tell ya, I do. Yep. Its something.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
N' all through ma crib
All ma peeps wuz down sleepin'
I was bonin' Adam's rib
Yah, ma peeps wuz down dreamin'
Bout the sh!t they be eatin'
But the Missuz and I wuz
A havin' a board meetin'
When down in da hole
They arose such a noize
I said, "Damn racket packet,
Dat must be ma boyzzzz."
So I pulled up ma trousers
Ta go check on ma homies
N' I cocked up ma uzi
Just in case of the gnomies
When what to my bloodshotted
Eyes should I see
But a big colored fish
N' he was looking at me.
He was giant N' ugly
N' smelled somethin' terrible
N' he laffed when he saw me
N' his breaf was unbearable
Had to choke back da vomit
Creepin' up in ma troat
When he suddenly gave birth
To a large candied goat
The goat was encased
In a gelatin sack
And it squirmed and it jiggled
Like ma neighbor on crack.
Then the fish layed some sacks
Of munitions and bombs,
N' bags of napalm.
Well, I'd had me enough
Soon my uzi was purrin'
But da carp, he just laffed
N' pissed gasoline urine.
Then out of the cellar
Like giant earth worms
Came a slimy skateboard
Pulled by mini-pachyderms
The carp he called out
To that elephant show
"Get your assess in gear,
Cuz' dis place gonna blow."
Dem' elephants started burrowin',
he called them by name:
"On Stumpy, On Gimpy,
On Limpy and Lame;
Now Burny and Other Limpy
Now Crippled and Smelly;
On Crawler, On Mauler,
On Napalmy Gelly."
The carp stopped and dropped
One more bomb, and he laffed
Then he flushed his whole team
Down the dark, dirty shaft."
And I heard him exclaim,
As they sloshed down the pit,
"Get the Hell out of here
Before it all blows to sh!t."
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
It reminds one of reading Shakespeare as a high school student. I remember my AP English teacher flipping out one day when nobody had the slightest fucking idea what a particular passage meant. My normal practice in high school was to read the Cliff's Notes as I drove in to school. This made more interesting both exploring the bard and dodging pedestrians. On this particular morning, my old nemesis the broken fuel gauge had delayed my arrival to school. My friend who rode in to school with me and I had to push the car a few blocks to a gas station and then to wait until we saw someone who would lend us a few bucks. I arrived slightly later and less literate than usual.
There was the teacher yelling at the class for failing to understand some segment of As You Like It. I'm not sure what everyone else's excuse was. Most of them had cars with working fuel gauges, so it is hard to guess why they hadn't read their Cliff's notes. Anyway, while the teacher was berating us, I had time to take out the actual book and read the passage he was screaming about. I still had no clue. (One didn't dare bring out the Cliff's notes in class). Supposedly the best author in the English language and I can't even guess at what he is trying to tell me. Why? Because it was obscure, and I didn't give a shit.
If something is obvious, then one doesn't need to give a shit. Kim Kardashian is a skanky whore. I understand that even though I don't care. If one gives a shit, then obscurity only causes mild delay in understanding. If you are interested in a measure of the global economy, check out the Baltic Dry Index. However, in situations with a high degree of non-shit-givedness, even the slightest amount of obscurity causes a complete failure of understanding. This is known as OneEar's Seventh Law of Shetyerass.
In the case of Coco and his longing for a hipster bar - I'd have to figure out what a hipster bar is, then I'd have to figure out why Coco was interested, then I'd have to predict whether I'd give a shit. Given the twice removed obscurity, I quickly concluded that it would be extremely unlikely that I would give enough of a counterbalancing shit. I think this may mean that I am a hipster.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Munitions may be a wise investment. There is a decent chance that we'll need to shoot our way out of this mess.
However, because we have a "democracy," and because our enterprises are publicly owned, those that hold our debt also hold a decent amount of our equity and also own a decent number of our representatives.
So, what is the proper bet?
I've decided to look for the solution in the only logical place: I'm having my toes read.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Financial Crisis Was Avoidable, Inquiry Finds
The report, which was heavily shaped by the commission’s chairman, Phil Angelides, is dotted with literary flourishes. It calls credit-rating agencies “cogs in the wheel of financial destruction.” Paraphrasing Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar,” it states, “The fault lies not in the stars, but in us.”Yahoo News Story Panel cites roots of meltdown, but does it matter?
Of the banks that bought, created, packaged and sold trillions of dollars in mortgage-related securities, it says: “Like Icarus, they never feared flying ever closer to the sun.”
We all know that the crisis was avoidable, and we generally agree on why it happened. You may wonder why I have I remained so pissed off about this particular topic. Sometimes I wonder myself. Who really gives a rat's ass? Well, perhaps a rat's ass is all that I care to give.
One of the primary but generally undiscussed causes of the "crisis" is the very response which occurred. The expectation of and reliance on the bailout caused the true crisis. Every time there has been a bailout of "too big to fails," it has gotten progressively worse. Read Lowenstein's When Genius Failed about the LTCM bailout.
In a 2000 review of When Genius Failed, Ron Feldman, Asst VP to Minneapolis Fed, predicted;
Unlike the banking crises of the 1980s and 1990s, where regulators allowed insured institutions to double up their losses after they became insolvent, the markets were proving themselves unrelenting in trying to shut down LTCM. Lowenstein correctly notes that by halting that process and encouraging protection, the Fed's behavior could have long-term costs.
By sparing creditors, equity holders and managers some of the pain of loss, we are more likely to see a repeat of the behavior that produced the LTCM crisis in the first place. Indeed, the expectation of future bailouts could have played a subtle role in the growth of LTCM in the first place. Did the favorable financing of LTCM go beyond reliance on the LTCM brand name and reflect the brand name and potential support of the U.S. government? Will LTCM's resolution make the too-big-to-fail problem even worse? Perhaps with time we will have a clearer sense if the benefits of the Fed's role in the LTCM resolution outweigh potential costs. For now, enjoy Lowenstein's fable but come up with your own more satisfying moral.
Investment banks and hedge funds learned the lesson. They bet, correctly, that they would not be permitted to lose.
If the financial system had seized, counterparties had defaulted, and gamblers suffered their losses, they would have had to start the machine anew. I fail to see how that could have taken more than hours let alone months. We would all use the same contracts and many of the same players would be at the table, just with very different relative positions. Some players would have fallen out of the game. Some very large players. And the players who bet right would have won.
Communism, that old hated system which we were raised to despise, sought to socialize the profits and losses of business activity. That will never work, that will destroy incentives, and that is not fair, we were all taught.
So, what have we done? We have socialized the losses but left the profits in the hands of those "businesses" which are intricately plugged into the government. How stupid are we? This is even worse than communism. We have not even bothered with the facade of logical redistribution of the profits. We have not even bothered with the facade of free markets. In the name of saving the free-market capitalist banking system, we have completely abandoned it. Why isn't that mentioned by this little commission?
Now, has anyone seen my baby?
Friday, January 21, 2011
Granted, I've done a lot of stupid things in my life. You are talking to someone who, on more than one occasion, has poured gasoline onto a burning fire. The memory of a summer spent with painful red ankles and no leg hair did not even cause me to pause before attempting it again. The next time that I was "inspired" to make the fire more interesting, out came the gasoline.
Interesting is the point. Pouring gasoline onto a fire may be a tremendously bad idea. However, when it works right, you have a wonderful and awe-inspiring explosion. When it doesn't work right, it is even better. Worst case scenario, your friends have a great story to tell the paramedics.
It is like jumping from boulder to boulder on the edge of a cliff. Sure it recklessly exposes you to unnecessary harm, but, no matter what happens, you will not have wasted your time. Either you make it or you don't. Either outcome is significant and glorious.
Not like those damn underwear. Who gives a flying jock-strap whether the underwear get folded? Folded, unfolded, blah blah blah.
I don't have time to fold underwear right now, honey. I know you think I am an idiot, but I can hardly believe that you think I am dumb enough to fold underwear. Plus, I've almost completed my latest potato cannon. How about if I just shove the underwear into a drawer and then we all agree to pretend that they are folded in there. Oh, and do you have any hair spray or lighter fluid?
#1 - Legalize it.
#2 - End the Fed. This cancer has turned malignant.
#3 - Downsize defense. Every foreign crisis which causes US investor loss does not implicate the "common defense."
#3 - Outlaw public unions. They are oxymoronic.
#4 -Flat tax (or possibly Fair tax).
#5 -Make Dept of Ed simply a funding mechanism that enforces simple workable criteria - eg. Year around school, 8 hour school day including rec/sports and extracurriculars, 80% graduation rate = $5k/student.
#6 - Phase out all Ag subsidies. If you want to support corn growers, buy corn.
#7 - Reform Medicare. Vouchers used in conjunction with co-pay can encourage competition and remove central planning and wasteful fraud-ridden bureaucracy. Ditto with Medicaid.
#8 - Permit private gambling enterprises. Why has this revenue been diverted offshores and to tribes?
#9 - Remove federal business subsidies and/or simply abolish the Department of Commerce. This political pork breeds corruption and stymies legitimate business.
#10 - Modify the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. More of each.
Saturday, January 08, 2011
In today's "Bible school without all of the mess" lesson, I would like to explore a different topic. We just completed another bout of Christmas where an entire society celebrates, with straight faces, the "virgin birth."
You see this young lass named Mary was pregnant, but she and her main man Joseph were said to be "not fuckingeth." The only logical explanation was that Mary's baby was the son of God. An invisible angel confirmed this.
Yes, history's first recorded "Holy Fuck" would explain the situation. There being no other contenders, we had a winner. But wait. Aren't there other explanations for the unexpected pregnancy of an unwed woman 2000 years ago?
Perhaps she was visited by an alien species using some type of cloaking device. He could have entered her tent while she was sleeping for a little "Uncle Ear's special hug." I'm kidding. Jesus Christ don't get so concerned.
He could have impersonated an angel when she awoke. "If you get pregnant, don't bother trying to find me. Your baby-daddy is an omnipotent, omniscient, but cranky God who created the entire vast universe but needed your uterus for this little project."
Or, maybe Mary was a fully-functional hermaphrodite. The text is conspicuously silent on this subject. I'm sure this relevation would cause concern to those who worship Mother Mary but would likewise turn on its head the import of the phrase, "Go fuck yourself!"
Or, perhaps Mary was actually twins, one of whom engaged in sexual intercourse just like the rest of us mammals. The mammalian Terry might have gotten stuck living the life of Mary when she pretended to be Mary while Mary went to see a concert. Hilarity ensued when Mary, pretending to be Terry, was called up on stage and had to pretend that she was the one who was not a virgin. You know, Madonna.
Good times. So, I hope you've learned something while I've gotten this off of my mind. You know, you really have helped your old Uncle jack off.
Friday, January 07, 2011
And with age comes wisdom. And with wisdom comes wisdom teeth. And with teeth come chickens.
Which brings us to the response to a reader inquiry: "Please apply your incompatible wisdom, unparallel knowledge, and unique incisors to elucidate how one might expand the concept of a turducken ." (Or words to that effect).
If I am not mistaken, and how not mistaken could I be, it is now 2011. Yet here we are eating the same old turducken as we were eating 20 years ago. As everyone knows, the turducken is a de-boned chicken stuffed inside of a de-boned duck stuffed inside of a de-boned turkey. We have all considered stuffing that thing inside of a de-boned hog stuffed inside of a de-boned cow. So 20th century.
Let's get postmillenial. Why don't we resurrect some of the larger extinct species to continue this out to a bigger and therefore better conclusion. Recreating a mastodon should be no problem. I seem to recall, although I don't feel like spending 45 seconds on Google to confirm, that a frozen mastodon complete with viable DNA was found in the ice somewhere (probably somewhere cold).
OK, so grow one of those in a buffalo mama or whatever, and we will stuff the beef, pork, turkey, duck chicken thing into a de-boned mastodon. Now let's get creative. If them damn scientists can stop dicking around with chicken's teeth and watching us masturbate long enough to get some work done, they should be able to reverse engineer some other species like the T-Rex and the Apatosauraus.
What I am proposing, my culinary colleagues, is nothing short of the Apatyranomastobeebacoturducken (drizzled with reduction of dodo).
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Can scientists turn a chicken into a dinosaur?
In other words, it is as if birds still have the molecular capability to grow teeth, but just aren't doing so anymore. Even though it hadn't been switched on in 150 million years, Chuong wanted to identify and reconnect that molecular pathway in order to re-active teeth-building processes.
By studying the genes, molecules and chemicals responsible for the growth of mouth and teeth structures in other organisms, Chuong was able to stir together a mix of molecules that might trigger the "dormant" circuitry into action. He then placed tiny beads of this concoction in the mouths of the chicken embryos. It worked. Through the microscope, he and his colleagues watched the embryos growing, as if the chickens had, all along, the genetic instructions to grow the beak. They may have had the ancient circuits to do so, but they needed just the right ingredients to be properly switched on.
Can your damn science do something worthwhile or not?
I don't want chickens with teeth, I want broiled T-Rex drizzled with reduction of Dodo. Or maybe extend the turducken concept out a few levels. Remember the big rack of ribs foretold by the Flintstones. You know, something useful.
If I didn't want to eat previously extinct animals, then I would have lived in the not-too-distant past.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Work like you don't need the money, love like you've never been hurt, dance like no one is watching, sing like no one is listening, and live like it's heaven on Earth.
It was attributed to "anon." A quick search reveals that this quote has been attributed to Randall G. Leighton, Mark Twain and Satchel Paige (three of America's greatest Presidents).Regardless of the identity of the wisdomer who imparted this wisdom, there are a few obvious omissions:
Dress like you don't have a mirror
Watch like the TV is interesting
Write like anyone gives a shit
Drive like you won't see tomorrow
Stalk like the restraining order has been lifted
Screw like your friends are all watching
Speak like no one understands you, and
Spend like no one is hungry
Saturday, January 01, 2011
1) Why are there no simquaolas? Nobody has the initiative to invent them?
2) Have you ever noticed how perfectly the Christmas carol can be performed:
Fu uh uh uh uh
Uh Uh Uh
3) Have you ever noticed that the guy who prefaces his question with "have you ever noticed that" doesn't really and truthfully want your answer?
4) Have you ever noticed that this is turning into a Seinfeld rant? Not that I'm in needed of gassing.
5) Have you ever noticed that we can never really escape the sins of our forefathers?
6) I suggest that we smelt the clouds (in order to extract and condense their silver).
7) My nieces are visiting, and I have now listened to the Justin Beaver album 4,648 times. Here is how his song(s) goes:
I'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one timeI'm gonna tell ya one time
(Parenthetically, I think we should expend more resources on teaching mathematics including basic counting).
I'm gonna tell ya one time, You're the only one (although my counting skills are suspect) and I only want to be with the one ("one" in the scientific notation sense meaning that you are one of 10 or fewer, or lets just round to the nearest one hundred), and I say this to you baby, one more time, I'm gonna tell ya one time..."
Friday, December 31, 2010
These signs thrice witnessed shall announce his coming:
First, the chosen One shall announce his coming.
Check. (See above).
Second, the internal combustion engine shall be further improved, from an air quality perspective anyway, by the addition of a catalytic converter mechanism in the exhaust system.
Check. (See 1974 or thereabouts).
Third, a commercially lucrative rock opera shall announce the final triumph of money over art. (See Rusty Sessions information below. Call now for tickets).
Monday, December 20, 2010
Why do I get the sneaking suspicion that the solution to this problem will be to extract the money to pay for fiscal recklessness from the citizens of the more responsible States? (Granted, there are very few States that are truly fiscally sound). Sort of like taking money from responsible citizens to cover the downside risk of "too big to fail" financial firms.
I have been warning you for some time that we should expect my son's generation to proclaim a hearty "Fuck you" when asked to pay for the money we've borrowed. I'm considering delivering the same message myself. Is California too big to fail? How about this time we find out.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
There are two obvious and important ramifications of this technological development. First, those scientists now can sneak up on you to watch you masturbate. You're at a computer - let's say you're sitting in your office when you decide to "get to work." Or, you're at the coffee shop and you decide to "froth your grande latte with cream."Or, you're at the public library and you want to "Dewey your decimal." Or you are at school and want to "tutor the pupil," or at church to "club the bishop." You get the idea.
Anyway, you look around, and it appears that the coast is clear. You are free to "choke the chicken," or so you think. With this invisibility cloak, those scientists could be standing right behind you watching you "burp the worm."
Second, and even worse, extraterrestrial aliens hidden by invisibility cloaks might also be watching you "topping the banana with yogurt." It is bad enough to have some egg-head watching you "liberate the tadpoles," but now you have some green species watching you "jerkin the gherkin." It is just plain embarrassing.
Why can't they figure out a way to use these devices for good and just leave us alone?
Friday, November 19, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I truly and wholeheartedly believe that citizens periodically should be subjected to a full-body pat down. Cavity searches would be even better. And, if the citizen wants a so-called "Happy Ending," that should not cost extra. I wouldn't even mind showing up an hour before my flight if that service were included.
But, let's be civilized about this. The passenger should get to choose his feeler-upper from a line-up of employees just like at any decent whore-house.
Some airports have a Hooters in them. Couldn't these functions be combined?
Also, I think passengers telephone numbers should be included in the image. I realize that the images are supposed to be destroyed immediately, but, in the event that they do make it onto the internet, why shouldn't we be able to call the person?
Friday, October 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
can you spot your hero and mine?
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The plan "includes special notice ... about the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and how they were not a force to be taken lightly in a military action."
Pardon my arrogance, but I think the US military can handle a few guys on horses. Dragoons were formidable in, say, the eighteenth century. But since the advent of what are called in military parlance "big guns," soldiers are much less afraid of dandies prancing around on horses.
That is not to say that the Canadians do not pose a threat. They too have a plan.
"The department in Canada responsible for war planning had an annual budget of just $1,200. During the clandestine information-gathering for Defense Scheme Number One, staff members of the department actually entered the United States to take photographs and to procure free maps at gas stations."
Oh - my - God! They've been procuring our free maps! Will they stop at nothing?
Monday, February 15, 2010
One of their curlers is actually two of their curlers.
This is just the latest in Canada's $8-million Own the Podium project which was "hush-hush" until a month ago.
Apparently, those wily Canadians have been using laser guidance, an extra-special composite material, and other space age technologies in their effort to capture medals at the Olympics. Now, they're even using procreation.
"A speed skating sling-shot, curling sweeping technology, and a para-alpine sit-ski with extra stability are among the other developments that emerged from the Top Secret plan."
This doesn't sound very Canadian to me. This is the kind of cheating one might expect from the Al-Qaida olympic team, but I never thought we'd have to worry about this from the hosers.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
But anyway, the other night I found myself alone seated at the bar of a fairly nice restaurant in the heart of suburbia ordering a plate of fish to act as a late dinner top-off to an afternoon of drinking with friends. I like this alone time. I bring the newspaper. I do the crossword. If the bartender happens to be a bartendress all the much better. On this particular evening, the bartendress (let’s call her Mindy mostly because I haven’t a clue what her real name is) and I were getting along quite well (and by quite well I mean Mindy talked to me about things other than the menu, she called me sweetheart, and while she was serving me my basket of bread, she brushed up against me lightly); the camaraderie between Mindy and me was fueled by the fact that Mindy was pregnant -- but only slightly pregnant. This immediately took the pressure off, and I felt like I could ask her anything. I discussed with her an article in the food section of the newspaper that claimed that in times of stress people turned to cheese for comfort. Mindy disagreed and said chocolate was her choice. Mindy and I laughed at this.
But Mindy and I were not alone. Seated five empty barstools down from me were two attractive cougars (let’s call them Laura and Meg) enjoying a glass of wine and chatting amicably between themselves – as is the custom with attractive cougars. “Oh, what to do?” I thought. I had finished my fish, I had drunk my last martini, I had solved the remaining clues of the crossword puzzle. “Mindy,” I said, “I need to go, but I want to buy those two ladies at the end of the bar a drink, and then I am going to get up and leave. Do you think that would be ‘dorky’ or ‘mysterious’?” Mindy replied with a tone that made me think she wasn’t being truthful. “Mysterious,” she said. Naturally I agreed, and so as Mindy refilled the wine glasses of Laura and Meg, I retreated into the dark night, a genuine man of mystery muttering to my myself, “Phew, I escaped from there just in time. Imagine the pressure.”
Monday, February 01, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
I recently returned from the Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas, where I did some work with NASA. The picture is my view from the pilot's seat in the Space Shuttle. Those are my feet, though I am wearing shoes and pants different from what the astronauts typically wear on missions. It was a very cool experience.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
We definitely need to expand government in this country. For our own good, and the good of our kids. Don't worry; Uncle Sammy Stalin will take care of you. If you're good, he'll take care of your health care needs just as well.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
SEPTEMBER 3, 2009, 10:55 P.M. ET
A Doctor's Plan for Legal Industry Reform
My modest proposal to rearrange how lawyers do business.
By RICHARD B. RAFAL
Since we are moving toward socialism with ObamaCare, the time has come to do the same with other professions—especially lawyers. Physician committees can decide whether lawyers are necessary in any given situation.
At a town-hall meeting in Portsmouth, N.H., last month, our uninformed lawyer in chief suggested that we physicians would rather chop off a foot than manage diabetes since we would make more money doing surgery. Then President Obama compounded his attack by claiming a doctor's reimbursement is between "$30,000" and "$50,000" for such amputations! (Actually, such surgery costs only about $1,500.)
Physicians have never been so insulted. Because of these affronts, I will gladly volunteer for the important duty of controlling and regulating lawyers. Since most of what lawyers do is repetitive boilerplate or pushing paper, physicians would have no problem dictating what is appropriate for attorneys. We physicians know much more about legal practice than lawyers do about medicine.
Following are highlights of a proposed bill authorizing the dismantling of the current framework of law practice and instituting socialized legal care:
• Contingency fees will be discouraged, and eventually outlawed, over a five-year period. This will put legal rewards back into the pockets of the deserving—the public and the aggrieved parties. Slick lawyers taking their "cut" smacks of a bookie operation. Attorneys will be permitted to keep up to 3% in contingency cases, the remainder going into a pool for poor people.
• Legal "DRGs." Each potential legal situation will be assigned a relative value, and charges limited to this amount. Program participation and acceptance of this amount is mandatory, regardless of the number of hours spent on the matter. Government schedules of flat fees for each service, analogous to medicine's Diagnosis Related Groups (DRGs), will be issued. For example, any divorce will have a set fee of, say, $1,000, regardless of its simplicity or complexity. This will eliminate shady hourly billing. Niggling fees such as $2 per page photocopied or faxed would disappear. Who else nickels-and-dimes you while at the same time charging hundreds of dollars per hour? I'm surprised lawyers don't tack shipping and handling onto their bills.
• Legal "death panels." Over 75? You will not be entitled to legal care for any matter. Why waste money on those who are only going to die soon? We can decrease utilization, save money and unclog the courts simultaneously. Grandma, you're on your own.
• Ration legal care. One may need to wait months to consult an attorney. Despite a perceived legal need, physician review panels or government bureaucrats may deem advice unnecessary. Possibly one may not get representation before court dates or deadlines. But that' s tough: What do you want for "free"?
• Physician controlled legal review. This is potentially the most exciting reform, with doctors leading committees for determining the necessity of all legal procedures and the fairness of attorney fees. What a wonderful way for doctors to get even with the sharks attempting to eviscerate the practice of medicine.
• Discourage/eliminate specialization. Legal specialists with extra training and experience charge more money, contributing to increased costs of legal care, making it unaffordable for many. This reform will guarantee a selection of mediocre, unmotivated attorneys but should help slow rising legal costs. Big shot under indictment? Classified National Archives documents down your pants? Sitting president defending against impeachment? Have FBI agents found $90,000 in your freezer? Too bad. Under reform you too may have to go to the government legal shop for advice.
• Electronic legal records. We should enter the digital age and computerize and centralize legal records nationwide. All files must be in a standard, preferably inconvenient, format and must be available to government agencies. A single database of judgments, court records, client files, etc. will decrease legal expenses. Anyone with Internet access will be able to search the database, eliminating unjustifiable fees charged by law firms for supposedly proprietary information, while fostering transparency. It will enable consumers to dump their clunker attorneys and transfer records easily.
• Ban legal advertisements. Catchy phone numbers such as 1-800-LAWYERS would be seized by the government and repurposed for reporting unscrupulous attorneys.
• New government oversight. Government overhead to manage the legal system will include a cabinet secretary, commissioners, ombudsmen, auditors, assistants, czars and departments.
• Collect data about the supply of and demand for attorneys.Create a commission to study the diversity and geographic distribution of attorneys, with power to stipulate and enforce corrective actions to right imbalances. The more bureaucracy the better. One can never have too many eyes watching these sleazy sneaks.
• Lawyer Reduction Act (H.R. -3200). A self-explanatory bill that not only decreases the number of law students, but also arbitrarily removes 3,200 attorneys from practice each year. Textbook addition by subtraction.
Enthusiastically embracing the above legal changes can serve as a "teachable moment" and will go a long way toward giving the lawyers who run Congress a taste of their own medicine.
Dr. Rafal is a radiologist in New York City.
Friday, August 21, 2009
To Whom it May Concern:
Earlier this evening, I canceled my credit card account with Chase secondary to outrageous disregard for customer satisfaction. When I contacted your customer service department, both the representative I spoke with, Richard Blazer, and his manager, paid no attention at all to my concerns of basic unprovoked abuse on the part of Chase (no wonder our country is in such miserable shape when the entire banking industry, with Chase out in front, is a conglomeration of professional thieves and liars who suck the life-blood out of the very hands that feed them--customers). Each of them was happy to cancel an account that I have had for years, though initially through Washington Mutual, rather than answer why my credit line was arbitrarily reduced--which hurts my overall credit score--despite the fact that I have never missed a payment or paid late, AND I actually have a credit balance of $464 THAT CHASE OWES ME. This sort of conduct will soon be illegal, as you know, because it is outrageously unethical. I guess you have so much of my fucking tax-dollar bailout money that you don't need my business anymore.
You disgust me. I have written to my Congressman about this incident, and I have reported Chase to the Better Business Bureau. You probably don't care, again, because you have so much of my tax money that you probably couldn't care less about your customers. I thought financial times were tight--but I guess not for Chase; you have money to burn. Thanks to people like me. You are welcome.
I am really not sure how the people working at your company are able to sleep at night, knowing what the company policies are. Just think: On your deathbed, after a career at a company like Chase, what will you have left behind? Teachers, doctors, judges change other lives for the better--whereas you will have nothing to show for your life's work but an accumulated bunch of fellow human beings who are absolutely irate and disgusted by you and your company.
Bravo. Way to steal, and get away with it legally. You must all be so proud of your work. I'm sure your parents are proud of you, and all the good you have brought in to the world, too.
Half Goat-man, Half PMSing Little Bitch, Half Jack-ass, Half big, fat, time-waster. Half total dumb-ass for thinking anyone actually cares.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Friday, July 03, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Alceste, I hope you are enjoying this lovely holiday as much as I am, and do, every year. I have a full-blown double-whammy to celebrate. Hallmark, words cannot adequately express my gratitude. Don't you have some sort of greeting card to help me express my feelings?
Friday, May 08, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
So, I've been checking out Craigslist for some of the items we would need including:
How many times have you said to yourself, "I wish this bar stool would do 90 mph."
Thursday, April 16, 2009
It's only a two and a half hour van ride south...
Reservoir Dogs, anyone?
Sunday, April 05, 2009
OnO was talking with the hotel manager, trying to avoid some sort of punishment, or at least inquiring as to what sort of punishment could be expected if there were, say, a bunch of clowns running around drunk, having permanently stained the spa and its towel-clad patrons. He was also putting himself in the position to question the amount of the bill, with no intention to actually barter, only to agree completely with whatever the manager said.
Cocoa was ridiculing us, unimpressed with anything. He evidently did not approve of the circumstance and was letting all of us, and hords of otherwise innocent bystanders (no one is really innocent, he thinks, but that is another point altogether) know. He was sober and seemed sulky. More so than usual.
Then, the dream came to conclusion with me encountering my high-school girlfriend at the hospital-business part of the convention. She was working for industry, and like the majority of the convention paid participants, was wearing maroon hospital scrubs. As the convention was coming to an end and people (not the clowns, of course) were disbanding and checking out of the hotel (it was a very big hotel, and nice, and the clowns weren't going anywhere until forced), I accompanied her down some big, marble stairs that led down to the parking lot outside in the snowbanks. She was chatting with some passing colleagues as we descended; right before we started down the stairs, at the top where there was a nice overlook to the snow-covered scenery around us, I encountered an old teammate from my wrestling team in college. He seemed successful with nice clothes and a fancy haircut, being a bit stand-offish to people trying to catch up with him and engage him in small-talk. We saw each other and gave an uncomfortable man-hug--you know, more than a handshake because much time had passed since we had seen each other, and we were comrades once. Back to the near-bottom of the staircase: suddenly, my former girlfriend clacked her teeth together as she was laughing with her colleague, and her front teeth broke in half in the middle. As her broken tooth shards fell from her mouth, I instinctively tried to follow the broken chicklet onto its resting place on the stairs, as I felt a repair would then be possible.
It was all pure instinct; I've had no formal training in dental triage or disaster management. Just sort of a 'oop--there it goes, oh and it's tumbling, bouncing over that way and under the edge of the carpet' that goes through the mind of a housecat as it watches a red dot from a laser pointer wiggle over the floor, confusing the mental apparatus that had evolved over millions of years to successfully inhale its prey.
My more recent girlfriend had figured prominently earlier in the dream, as I was trying as hard as possible to protect her from the wiley and predictable ways of the monkey platoon. When Alceste began forming his muddy nest, she was delighted that there seemed to be permission to act as a homeless person, and she, too, found a spot on the floor to bed down, fully clothed with a backpack.
Getting back to the tumbling tooth, as I watched it in motion, trying to make a mental note of its final resting place, I was watching the face and form of my former companion--her face turned white, and then blue as her knees buckled and she fainted, falling flat on her back on the stairs, presumedly from the pain of a fractured tooth and the psychological distress of a front tooth wrecking her appearance. It's cute when you're six, but even hockey players can't fashionably support a toothless grin.
As you can imagine, my attention was split between the final locus of the tooth, and the dropping body in front of me. Years of formal medical training finally allowed my squirrel-in-the-street-with-an-oncoming-car brain to look after the patient and place the patient's wild tooth on a lower level of priority. I propped her knees up, and the color began to return to her face, and some people came to either help or accuse me of some form of wrong-doing. They asked me what to do, but then I returned instantly back to the search for the tooth in the immediate area, lest it sprout legs and run away, never to be seeen again. I muttered something like, 'call an ambulance; I think she's ok' or something to that effect, and then found, to my surprise, the remnants of several of her teeth lying on the dirty stairwell. I collected them all, looked back to ensure she continued to live, and got out my cellphone to do what the others had not.
And I awoke.
What does this tell us about the whereabouts of the next recording session?