Brain Damage - Part 1

OK, so I had a major medical malfunction on 4th of July weekend. Without getting into too many details, I was out of town and had a brain incident. When it happened, I felt something pop in my head, and I was no longer able to stand. I went down, and I don't know whether the trouble I had breathing was related to the fact that I was having a major medical incident, or that I was doing the Fred Sanford in my head (Here I come, Elizabeth). I've thought I was going to die before on Roller Coasters, or riding with a drunk friend on A1A in Daytona Beach, but there was always the probability of survival, death was only a possibility. This was the first time that for a prolonged period of time, like 3 or 4 minutes, I thought I was checking out.

But then I didn't die. But I did have the most incredible headache you can ever believe. It's indescribable. Think about the drunkest you ever got, and then how bad your head hurt in the morning, and then add the power of 3 to that. It was that bad. I couldn't believe I could be alive and in that much head pain.

So, I decided I'd drive home. It was Saturday, I was busy at work, I was only going to be out of town for the day, I was going to work on Sunday and the holiday to meet some bullshit deadlines. One of my friends, however, thought this a poor idea (most thought it a fine idea - get the old dude with a medical condition the fuck out of here). So I was talked into getting checked out at an urgent care place. I told them I had fainted, and had a massive headache, and I just wanted to make sure it was OK to drive 6 hours home before I got checked out by a medical professional. Well they laughed at me like I was Dumbo, and told me that the only Dr. that would see me was at the ER across the street. FUCK. So I went.

They tried to get me to sign releases at the ER, I wouldn't sign. "Take my blood pressure first", I said. "I gotta go home". My friend was incredibly patient through the whole ordeal, because I would have kicked my own ass looking back. Anyway, they took my blood pressure, and it was obscenely high, so something was hideously wrong. I reluctantly signed the papers. I would later find out that those papers said "The aforesigned willingly and without recourse allows this and all medical institutions to deprive the aforesigned of human dignity and all human rights for the next 7 days".

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I'm not dead. But surviving wasn't no peach, neither....

(To Be Continued)

Thomas Kalorama Speaks

Thomas Kalorama Said:

I am back ...and I no longer wish to be cold, afraid or Sick.

I was not learning to juggle -- I was ... learning to cope and to die with grace and dignity. I failed in all regards. So, I guess I am back to instead numb the pain and blunt the confusion by reacting violently to life and screaming. I hope to be able to scream loud enough to: (i) eventually become deaf and therefore free from the disturbing things I hear; and/or (ii) to raise the decible level of the mass primal scream until it eclipses the noise of idiots, industry and money.

I want to live in a treehouse ...

Note to Mr. Forest -- simply stringing together oddly related words/concepts/ideas or adjective does not necessarily make for interesting reading. David Letterman started this unfortunate trend ... it works well for him.

I may have something to say soon.

Reintroducing Thomas Kalorama

My partner in this enterprise, Mr. Thomas Kalorama, has been noticeably absent. That is because he has spent the past six months living in a Montgomery, Alabama self storage facility trying to teach himself how to juggle. Finally, the money ran out, the talent was simply not there, and Mr. Kalorama has returned to civilization to do what he does best, to rail against the man. A little more bitter, a little more brazen, a little more humble, a little less of a pussy. Welcome back, cornhole.

Viva La Papa

OK, so the big story is the death of Pope John Paul II. I'm not going to make a big deal out of it, because although I am Catholic, I have pretty much abandoned my faith a long time ago. But the dude deserves some props, and some criticism, so here goes.

Breaking the string of Italian Popes - that was huge. Maybe we thought it would open the door for there to someday be an American Pope, but it was more. Coming from Poland, his people oppressed by the Iron Fist of Soviet Communism, the Karol Wojtyla papacy was immediately about religion AND politics. And he used his position to help bring down the Soviet Union. Welesa could not have been successful without John Paul II. No matter how far you're up Ronald Reagan's ass, you have to recognize that.

And he did use his bully pulpit to highlight the hypocracy of the Western World on issues such as AIDS, famine, third-world poverty and the death penalty. Hey, he and I will never agree on abortion, but he's the dude in charge of religion, so he had to do what he had to do. He never backed down from a fight. Except one.

Why he didn't bring down the swift sword of justice on the culture of pedophilia in the American priesthood is completely beyond me. Yeah, there are priest shortfalls in America, but Christ, keep importing them from Ireland. Find me a Catholic parish in America with a pastor from Ireland, and I'll show you some parishoners that are tickled pink. Yeah, the lawsuits could have bankrupted the Church - but come on, you can't tell me the Holy Father went light on these fuckers for financial reasons. So that leaves only one thing - forgiveness. But that's bullshit - because while Christianity and Catholicism preach forgiveness, they also preach atonement and punishment. That's what the kneeling on beans and confession bullshit is all about.

So, I'll never truly understand why he didn't lay waste to the US Catholic leadership. If he had done that, he would have been the perfect Pope for his time. As it turned out, he was merely the best we could have hoped for.

The next Pope will have an enormous hat to fill. I won't care much, I no longer believe you have to worship a certain way and go through certain motions to earn eternal life. I no longer believe that death will be a joyous occasion that brings us home to Jesus. I genuine hate the hypocracy of American Christianity, which is heavy in condescension and condemnation, and light with compassion and forgiveness. But the Pope is important, he's the world's moral beacon, and he needs to not be an asshole. So I hope the Cardinals get it right. And I also hope they get some pitching and some outfield help.

The Trouble With Moe

Have you seen the story where two chimpanzees viciously attacked a visitor at an animal sanctuary? The chimps chewed off the dude's nose and severely mauled his genitals (ripped his balls off), and tore off his foot, before they (the chimps) were shot to death.

OK, we need to break this one down. First of all, some famous chimps.

Cheeta - starred in Tarzan movies and Dr. Doolittle. Never ate anyone's face.

J. Fred Mugs - NBC Today Show Mascot, 1953 - 1957. Never objected to being dressed in diapers.

Coco the Monkey - Animated chimp and cereal hawk from Kellogg's commercials, digs chocolate, but doesn't much care for goat cheese.

Mogley - Chimp on CNBC's "Dennis Miller Live". He doesn't do much, and since nobody watches the show, he can hardly be considered famous, but I'm thinking if someone should have their balls ripped out of their scrotum by a fellow primate, it shoud be the guy who built his comedic career on assaulting authority and then sold out to become a shill for the Bush administration. I'm hoping Mogley reads this and takes appropriate action.

Moe - Third party to the Chimpanzee mauling case.

More incident details:

Moe was being visited by his former "owners", who had brought him a birthday cake. Buddy and Ollie, two male chimps from an adjoining cage, escaped and savaged the male visitor. They were dragging the man's body down the road when they were fatally shot by a caretaker. The man's wife suffered a bite wound on the hand. One final piece of evidence as we try to understand this senseless tragedy - two female chimps - Bones and Susie - escaped from the same cage, but were not involved in the attack.

Possible Motives:

OK, so we know Cheetah and Coco, our loving TV chimp pals, could not do such a savage thing without a reason. And since they acted in concert, it can't be blamed on the temporary, single animal freak out (I love it when the lone elephant freaks out and rampages, that's so freaky and scary, it's brilliant), so there has to be an alternative explanation. Submitted for your consideration:

The Neverland Ranch Theory: Moe had been in the sanctuary for over a year. Perhaps Moe had been sent to the sanctuary because maybe someone kept plying Moe with wine-soaked pretzels. Maybe someone couldn't keep their hands out of Moe's diaper. Maybe someone shared giggle-filled showers with Moe. Maybe the memory of this made Moe a seriously fucked up chimp. Maybe Moe had spent the year recounting the abuse, and dealing with the pain. Buddy and Ollie, then, were simply taking the law into their own hands, and meting out some vigilante monkey justice.

The Cake Slight: Perhaps this was an example of a species conflict escalating badly. Buddy and Ollie took exception to the type of cake. "Bananna bread cake for a birthday? Why, because we're monkeys? Oh I get it. Would you like us to fling some shit for you too? Maybe we can make some cute faces, maybe do the hear no evil, see no evil bullshit for you. Because that's how we are, right. We certainly can't appreciate a nice black forest or german chocolate cake, because we're just primitive stupid fucking monkeys, right? White human devil, if this cage were opened, we'd....Great Ceasar's ghost, it is. Hey, come here, you specist bastard...."

The Female Factor: It is hard to understand why most press reports on the incident failed to mention the existence of Bones and Susie. This is hardly an insignificant detail. Bones, based on her name, is probably not a very attractive or self-confident monkey, so Buddy and Ollie have probably been working hard to win the attention of Susie. Susie is a fabulous and particulary troublesome chimp, and was probably putting the boys through some hellish courtship competition. There's only so many variations of a tire swing dismount a fella can perform without getting the monkey love, so when a new opportunity for Showtime presented itself, the chimps went nuts. In a lust-crazed frenzy to win her over and seal the goddamned deal alreay, the played "anything you can do I can do better" with the poor man. "I ate his nose, please fuck me". "No look, I ripped his foot off, that's better, please fuck me". "No wait, look, oh shit, look what I did. For christ's sake, I've ripped his fucking balls off. Look, I've got the man's balls in my hand. I get the buns, I get the monkey buns, for the love of Bonzo, I get the frigging buns!"

The Verdict: I'm going with a mix of one and three. No doubt, after a year of his whimpering about the alleged abuse, Moe was getting the sympathy of the ladies, and was no doubt an annoying rash to Buddy and Ollie. Buddy and Ollie likely were having their romantic advances thwarted with lines like "Oh, please, you think showing me that crooked pink joint's going to make me melt. Why can't you two be less neanderthal and more sensitive like Moe?" or "I wish Moe was in our cage, because I would love to hold him, he's been through so much, but he's so strong". Egged on by the troublesome Chimp Susie (Bones rarely engages in the banter, she's very uncomfortable with the sexual tension), the boys merely were trying to change the god damned story around this place. And they paid with their lives.

A tragedy indeed, but a tragedy for Buddy and Ollie. Sure, a man's lost his nose, foot and balls. I don't want to make light of that. No wait, I did want to make light of that.

Godspeed, brave Chimp warriors.

The Good Doctor

I am not the person to speak of his life, and death, for only Thomas Kalorama can pay the appropriate tribute on this site. However, I can't let the passing of HST go without a few words of my own.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was a book I was terrified to read, for I feared the lure and temptation of ridiculous drugs. As my collegiate classmates joyously giggled and tried to re-create hilarious experiences they read about, I saw Hunter S. Thompson as an evil miscreant hell bent on fucking up a generation. I knew drugs were evil, because I had spent a night listening to my parents arguing about who's fault it was that I was dead. I thought both were partially to blame, they both made good arguments, and I ruled a tie. After I had accepted that I was dead, I then realized I wasn't. A knock at the door, an inquiry into my health, holy shit, I'm not dead. Closed the door, holy fuck, I'm alive, and then I had to listen to the ridicule of an invisible audience laughing at me for falling for the gag. And that was only on PCP laced dope when I was 19.

So, I swore off drugs, except booze, and avoided the writings of the great Doctor. Until 7 years later, in 1992, when I read "Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail". I longed for someone to cover the 1992 campaign with such verve. I desired myself to be that person, if HST wasn't up for it. But surely he was. The book would be coming. I, of course, did nothing.

In anticipation of the book I knew had to be forthcoming, I started consuming HST literature like a starved rat. Hell's Angels, yeah sure. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, I think I can handle it now. I was so jazzed for the Clinton book, I was almost insane.

Finally came Better than Sex, which was good, I still have it, I will read it again in memorium. But it was no Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail. Whether he had become lazy or marginalized is up for debate, but I suspect he became lazy and had begun to lose his edge.

Afterwards, I read "The Proud Highway", which really let you into his soul. Shortly after that I read The Rum Diaries, where he gave novel writing the good college try. I went back into time and read "The Curse of Lono" which was a wonderful mix of published articles and unpublished nonsense that made you not only long for Hawaii, but also made you deathly afraid of Somoans. But nothing, for my money, compared to Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail.

The Johnny Depp film in '98 was horrible. Depp portrayed him as a stumbling, mumbling, barely audible bum. To his devotees, he was crystal fucking clear, loud as a church bell, screaming his opinions. Yeah, I dig the drug thing, but Dr. Thompson mumbling through 2 hours ain't what fear and loathing in las vegas was all about. Shoulda figured out a way to hear his brain.

In 2000, ESPN.com announced a page 2, and HST was a featured contributor. And he did a better than decent job meeting his deadlines. I read it religiously, but I also notice that it declined in prominence. From Page 2 major headline, to Page 2 side board, to Page 2, gotta search long and hard to find it. He had lost his luster, and perhaps he had lost a forum.

I won't speculate on why he killed himself, we all have lots of potential demons, some we can never face. There are horrifying circumstances that each of us can conjure up that could drive us to the same place. Some our own doing, some are the result of fate and negligence, but we can all see a situation where the future ain't worth strugglling toward. But most of us will. We'll be strong, and endure. But we'll be tempted....

Whatever it was, the Good Doctor couldn't figure out a better deal than consciously experiencing death. Just like a gram of mescaline, twenty downers, and a bottle tequila, he injested death, and waited for its aftertaste.

Mahalo

Goat Cheese

I am disturbed by Goat Cheese. Not because it's awful, it's not, but because it makes me wonder how we figured out goat cheese was a marketable, edible product, and other mammal's milk by-products were not.

There are all kinds of other mammals, all producing milk, and I assume, this milk is capable of being turned into a cheese. How did we figure out the goat was the great cow alternative? Who picked the cow, for that matter?

I shudder to think of the testing. Rat cheese? Tastes too much like the plague. Dog cheese? Will make you lick your balls. What about whale or dolphin cheese? Too much salt. Have we ever made or tested human cheese, or is that too creepy? Someone somewhere has made human cheese, and has tasted it. I want to know the results of that project or experiment. Have we ever compared Swiss Cheese to Swede Cheese? I need an answer to this question.

In the mean time, I'll stick to garlic and onions and cow cheese on my pizza. Unless pig cheese tastes like spicy sausage. Then I'm all over that.

Super Bowl XXXIX

Well by now you know of the New England Patriot's dynasty establishing 24-21 victory over the Philadelphia Eagles in Super Bowl 39. Hopefully what is not lost in the story is the heroism of Terrell Owens, and the stupidity of Super Bowl parties.

Owens, the Eagles receiver who broke his ankle 7 weeks ago, caught 9 passes for 122 yards, a huge game for someone who critics were calling an ego-maniacal distraction five days ago. And because I watched the game at a very large gathering, I missed the gags on most, if not all, of the commercials.

First to Owens. I like the dude. I have never been one to shy away from showtime. I thought the Randy Moss thing, mooning the Packer fans after the TD catch in response to the many moonings the Vikings had received on the bus after Lambeau Field losses - that was fucking brilliant. T.O. got what he deserved when he tried to celebrate on the Cowboy's 50-yard line, but the pom-pom routine and the sharpie gag - priceless. So, I was hoping he would be a factor tonight, and thankfully he was.

Unfortunately, his quarterback, Donovan McNabb, must face another season of bullshit from the redneck nation that believes (thanks to right-wing pigfucker Rush Limbaugh) a black man can't quarterback an NFL team. Believe you me, the red states were rooting for the blond haired blue-eyed Tom Brady, while the blue states were pulling for McNabb. He made some ill-advised throws tonight, for sure, but his brilliance was immortalized with that 10 yard thread the needle pass to Westbrook for a 3rd quarter TD. In the end, he came up short, but hopefully he came up short in the vein of "too bad someone had to lose" rather than the redneck agenda's "stupid nigger ain't goin' to win no Super Bowl". Not trying to be controversial, but I grew up in the south, and I know people that still think that way. Sorry.

Back to the party. There is so much food that we shouldn't eat, and booze that we shouldn't drink, but we do. And it forces us to pay less attention to the game than we normally would, and less attention to the ads than we probably should, so what's the point?

I have hosted Super Bowl parties in the past, without contemplation of these great questions. But I always tried to make sure that the serious TV viewing room was scarce with smalltalk and loud with TV volume. So perhaps I was simply a victim of a too big of a party thrown by an amateur football fan that didn't have his shit together. Or maybe I am getting old and crumudgeonly, and will never be satisfied with watching a Super Bowl anywhere but my own chair. Who knows, we'll find out in the years ahead, but for me, this year's Super Bowl experience, despite a B-plus game, only rates a C-minus.

And next year, watch out for my Buccaneers, bitch.

The Inauguration Of George W. Bush (Part II) Requiem

It's 8AM Jan 20th, and I got drunk the night before, and got on the metro with a shaky sense of unreal. Here we go, nobody's going to stop this, dammit, but maybe they still will. The days leading up to the inaugural created the same feeling you get when you watch a historical documentary of a World Series where your team lost. Maybe Torre will play the infield back this time, maybe Lonnie Smith will hold at third this time. Maybe someone in Ohio will find 140,000 uncounted Kerry votes in a Cleveland bus station, or in a Toledo whorehouse, and Renquist will say "Not So Fast, Buster". But I had my ticket, and was ready to rock either way.

Stopped for breakfast before heading to work, there was much work to be done. Great breakfast, excellent crowd, seemed to favor the left and the mimosas. But there was work to be done. So I went to work.

Upon completing the work, I returned to the place of breakfast, and resumed the consumption of mango mimosas. Yeah, that's right, I said mango. Mango because I am a 38 year old man with a hangover, and I will not be a prisoner of the heartburn wrought by the satanic oranges produced by the President's brother. If ever there was an over-rated fruit, it's the fucking orange. There's no way to eat it elegantly. Pulp and sticky are everywhere, it's as acidic as a car battery. Someone in Florida had a friend at the FDA when they rated oranges healthy. Cats have short digestive tracks, and they eat complex meat compounds, so cat shit is actually high in protein. I'm convinced that if the guys behind the "orange is health food" campaign had nothing but barren fields of kitty litter to mine, we'd be eating cat shit pancakes for protein every morning. But the evil of oranges isn't the point of this story.

I had 2 tickets, so I grabbed an interesting stranger who seemed to be alone and asked whether he'd like to watch the event. There was a giant crush of people without tickets, just trying to move along. The secret service was securing the area ahead of the area that had to be secured, so we got screwed. We had tickets, but we had to wait with the commonfolk to pass through security so we could pass through additional security to use our tickets. By the time we negotiated the first wave of security, Bush had laid down his gauntlet against the world, so we headed for protest central with extra vinegar in our piss.

There is no way I can do justice to the pains the DC Metropolitan Police Department, and the US Capitol Police took to ensure the protesters had a prime spot. If you read or believe that protesters got shafted, that's bullshit. There was a stage 40 feet from the parade route where speaker after speaker came up and railed against the evils of this administration. There was about an acre of standing room to observe the stage. There also was a gigantic bleacher seat structure which was filled with old people who were obviously expecting to die within the next four years, and their signs all implied that America's vote had fucked them out of eternal peace. That was a little creepy.

Even more creepy was sitting in a bar, watching soundless news coverage, and seeing myself on the TV. Holy shit, that's me. That seems like 10 minutes ago, but it was hours ago. Let's get away from the TV and go to a quieter venue. We'll talk of mores, and rules, and exceptions. And when it's time for the cab, we'll forget what we did with our keys. And we'll forget almost everything else.

Despite the forgetfulness, it was one of the finest days I have ever had.

Go figure.

You Can't Have it Both Ways

As much as you want it, you can't have it both ways. You have to give something up to get something else. You can trick yourself into thinking you can have the cake and eat it too, but you can't. You gotta choose. And once the choice is made, you have to stick with it.

We want democracy in Iraq and our troops home soon. Pick one or the other, brother. We want full benefits from social security, but we don't want to pay more taxes or our future benefits to change. Pick one or the other, mother. We want to cure disease, but we don't want to harvest embryos. Pick one or the other, Mr. President.

It's a bitch, that's for sure. For us to have the one, we have to compromise the other. It's the whole conservation of matter deal. To desire both is to flaunt reality and common sense. And you ought not try it. As they say on the traffic reports, "pick your lane and stay with it".

Balls.

An Open Letter to John Kerry

Senator,

I recently received, along with many other of your post-election mailings, a request to log onto your website and sign an electronic petition calling for Donald Rumsfeld's resignation. Here's the deal. Cut it out. I can't take 4 years of your weekly bullshit. I agree that Rumsfeld should go, but I don't believe you should be leading the charge. Mainly because I think your motivation is to keep the fire burning for a Kerry 2008 campaign.

You can't win in 2008. A run for the nomination will be as futile as Lieberman's was in 2004. Your fate is to go down in history as the guy who lost by the least to a 2nd term president winning re-election (3%, for trivia buffs). You gave us great hope, you mobilized us in ways we've never been mobilized before, you were able to take the excitement of the Dean movement and marshall it behind your candidacy. You did everything you could do.

Except win. I'm not going to blame Bob Shrum, but I am going to pose the following question: Team B normally wears red jerseys for football games. But sometimes, Team B will wear the green jerseys for special games. Team B's overall record against Team A is 11-14. However, when wearing the green jerseys, team B is 0-8 against Team A.

OK, it's the night of the pep rally, and Coach Kerry says "we're going with Shrum (I mean the green jerseys). If this was the most important election of our lifetime, which was a line Kerry/Edwards uttered more than once, what the fuck were we doing wearing the green jerseys? Did anyone talk to Coach Carville? How could we lose this winnable game at the most important time of the season?

I don't know. Zogby doesn't know. Unless you can prove you were robbed, nobody will ever know. AND, unless you can prove you were robbed, you'll never get another chance. When sports teams blow it, and lose games they are supposed to win, generally the head coach or the manager is fired. The fish rots from the head, they say. You were definately the head of this game plan. You blew the winning hand.

Here's a play on the "Dated Dean, Married Kerry" signs that sprouted up after Iowa and New Hampshire:

Dated Dean
Married Kerry
Rendered Impotent by Kerry
Sodomized by Bush
Approached romantically by Kerry to rekindle the flame
Told Kerry to Get Bent
Jerked off in the closet to pictures of Obama and McCain in anticipation of 2008

Give it up, Senator. It's over.

The Inauguration Of George W. Bush (Part II)

When it comes to Presidential Politics, I can never get it right. I have voted in every Presidential Election since 1984, and I have yet to vote for a winner. In fact, this year was the first year that I voted for the actual nominee in the Democratic primary. I had been winless every year prior.

In 1984, I wasn't old enough to vote in the primary, but Walter Mondale got my vote in November. In '88, Jesse Jackson took my Democratic Primary vote in Florida, but I came around and really, really wanted Dukakis to win in November. By 1992, I was convinced that the two party system was corrupt beyond repair, so when Jerry Brown, who captured my primary vote in the Virginia Primary, was no longer viable, I was seduced by the crazy Ross Perot. But the Clinton victory was still celebrated, although I would have been much happier with the destruction of the 2-party system.

In 1996, I had no real complaints with Clinton. I did think he abondoned the health care issue too swiftly, and I was suspicious about what he was up to with welfare reform, and the Newt Gingrich Republican Revolution was on his watch. So, I didn't vote in the primary, and voted for Perot again, knowing full well a Clinton re-election was imminent.

In 2000, the evils of the two-party system manifested themselves in the Bush-Gore nominations. Both Bill Bradley and John McCain were Presidential. Gore and Bush were caricature dim-wits. Yet Bush and Gore had the money and the party elite behind them, and both were able to slime their way to victory. I voted for Ralph Nadar in November, but Gore won my state, so I didn't feel guilty. I was less concerned about the person he lost to than I was the manner in which he lost. As long as I live, I will be convinced that Al Gore won Florida, and a diabolical effort by Jeb Bush and Katherine Harris stole the state for the Gov's bro. But it didn't matter, really, one douchebag beat another douchebag.

After September 11th, I was a Bush fan. He was graceful and strong, comforting and steadfast. He said and did all the right things. Until the war drums started beating, and Iraq started to come into play.

Critics claim that Paul O'Neil and Richard Clarke are crackpots, but both these men are more accomplished and honorable than most of us can ever hope to be. Their insights into the Bush White House demonstrate a clear objective to conjure up a rationale to attack Iraq, at any cost. And they exploited 9/11 to put the plan in motion. A doctrine of pre-emption is scary stuff, even if one is convinced an attack is imminent. To plunge the United States into such a doctrine using faulty and hyped intelligence (not to mention the exploitation of fear) is a complete betrayal of our national interest and our national security. We will run out of diplomatic ass cover some day soon, and an international tragedy will ensue because someone is going to pre-empt someone else, and cite our actions in March 2003.

Regardless, the point is that I was fired up, pissed off, and I felt guilty. So I volunteered to go to Boston and work the Convention. I couldn't decide on a nominee before it was all over. I liked Dean, was intrigued by Clark, thought Kucinich was principled (my vote is usually less about pragmatism and more about principle), but after Kerry romped in Iowa and New Hampshire, I had no choice. I recognized he was the establishment candidate, and somehow, despite being left for dead, he was able to rally and win, and of course I was cynical and irritated. Dean was getting done dirty. But it didn't matter. Nadar was being an insane jackass, and we had to get these assholes out of town.

So there I was. Boston was great, hope was alive. Obama! The sick Karl Rove driven bullshit with the medals and the Swift Boat ads were troubling, but hope was alive. As the tracking polls broke Kerry's way in the final days before the election, I was excited for our democracy. As I stood in the longest line I have ever stood in to vote, I was moved to tears. Moved because our country was about to move forward, we were going to reject fear and stupidity and false bravado, and pigfucker oil theives.

When Zogby predicted a Kerry win with more than 310 Electoral Votes, elation, joy. When Ohio fell 10 hours later, I was crushed, disgusted, convinced there was funny business, and somehow these cocksuckers had figured out how to steal the election again.

Then the pundits started talking about the morality vote. Where were the fucking pastors on the immorality of war? What part of the "Thou Shalt Not Kill" was being lost on these fucking morality voters? Is it a greater sin to stick your dick in another man's ass than to kill innocent Iraqi civilians under the false pretense of "self-defense"? Fuck, I said, fuck fucking this. I'm done. Take America, assholes, run it into the ground. Fuck it up beyond belief. I got mine, I make good money, my kids and family will never want. Fuck it. What can I do to exploit the situation and make it better for me? I am out, and I don't care anymore.

Two months have passed, and I'm still saddened and disgusted by what has transpired. But I'm getting over it. I am heartened by the fact that, if there is a God, on judgement day, George W. Bush will be held to account for what he did in Iraq. Even if he's right about abortion and stem cells, the same God that would say "Good on ya" for his positions on those issues will sentence him to eternal damnation for his recklessness with the death penalty in Texas and his role in the deaths of tens of thousands of innocent Iraqis. I would love to see the look on his face as his sentence is explained to him, it would be more precious than his most befuddled expression during the 1st Kerry debate. Unfortunately, I'd probably have to be dead to see it, so fuck it, I'll just fantasize.

Which brings me to January 20th, 2005. I will be in downtown DC, celebrating our democracy. Since I moved here in 1990, I've never missed one, and I don't intend to miss this one, despite my unhappiness with the result. I will be there because I still love my country, and despite his flaws, and his future reservation in a dark corner of hell, I still respect and honor the position of President of the United States. Surprisingly, there will be a religious theme to my celebration this year. I will pray to the Gods of the Universe that they grant GW Bush the wisdom to carry out a diplomatic strategy that reduces tensions and truly makes the world a safer place. I will pray that our country reconnects with our generations-old allies in Europe to re-partner in the work of spreading democracy peacefully throughout the world. I will also pray that our President does right by the future senior citizens of this country, and comes up with an equitable way to fix social security. He will need help, because his tendancies are rotten but his aim, on this issue, is pure. The Democrats are wrong on this issue - by using the social security surplus to offset the deficit during the past two decades, we have created a financial calamity of biblical proportions that will come home to roost in the mid 2000's. I think privatization is kind of bullshit without addressing the hundreds of billions of lost trust funds first, but it's a start toward a solution. Finally, I will pray that Howard Dean takes control of the DNC, because he's the best anti-establishment dude we have right now. Oh yeah, and I'll also pray that John McCain runs and wins the Republican nomination in 2008. I could vote for that dude. If the Dems put up a shithole against McCain, the man has the first republican vote of my life.

And the final religious theme for my inauguration day celebration is this: I pray that i'm drunk as be-Jesus by the swearing in ceremony.

New Year's Day

There is no more pointless celebration than New Year's Day. Sure, I dig it, an excuse to get stupid drunk and behave badly. Right on. But, as I move deeper into adulthood, kicking and screaming mind you, I have an 8 year old kid that asks questions. And she asks hard questions.

Luckily for me, the New Year's question wasn't "Why does beer make you talk funny and act weird", which would have been an obvious question after last night's shenanigans. But it was "Why do we celebrate New Year's Day? What's the point?" Ah yes, what is the point.

I guess this year, we celebrate the fact that 2004 was such a shitty year that 2005 can't be worse. The Bush victory and the tsunami disaster alone qualify 2004 as a rotten year. Not to mention the horrific nightmare that our professional and part-time troops experienced in Iraq all year.

I couldn't say that to an 8 year-old, I can't crap on her innocent view of the world with cynicism and bile. The lame dad explanation is that we mark time in days, months and years, and the year is the biggest, most significant unit. When the year ends, we celebrate all that was good in the past year, but more importantly, we look forward to the promise of the new year.

Total bullshit. I celebrate the fact that I survived the prior year, and the neighbors have lots of booze and Indian food, and I have a cache of fireworks that I'm going to expend as soon as the ball drops and the Happy New Year niceties end.

Unfortunately, the cops were on the ball this year, and within minutes of the first explosion, there were two patrol cars, with searchlights, blazing down my quiet suburban street, tearing ass toward me. I was in the process of igniting a multiple bottle rocket scream launch, which ended just as the cops pulled up. My first inclination was to run, but since my fireworks audience was mainly kids between the ages of 6 and 12, I figured that would be a bad example to set. So, I had to get lectured by a couple of 20 something cops about the dangers of fireworks, especially around kids, and also please pour your beer out, you asshole.

No charges were filed, they didn't even ask who I was, so I think I'm OK. Except the parents at the party probably think I'm an ass. Screw 'em, have some more beer, and what's this, champagne? Mmmmm. The crowd has dwindled, there are only a few of us now, and I try to follow the conversation, but it's too hard, and the chair I'm sitting in is way too comfortable for just sitting, so I fall asleep. My wife heads home, across the street, without waking me up, and our hosts go to bed, also without waking me up. I wake up confused and horrified in the middle of the night, and curse 2005, and cheap champagne.