here's a shocker...

Amazing how many people can get maimed or killed because of the greed of rich people. It doesn't surprise me at this point, but it still makes me feel sick...

Eager to Tap Iraq's Vast Oil Reserves, Industry Execs Suggested Invasion

finally...

I've intensely despised Goldman Sachs for years now...going back to when I first learned how ubiquitous (and shady) they were in relation to the growing trend of privatizing roads and highways. And I've been waiting for someone to dig into all their bullshit and incestuous dealings for just as long. Finally, the great Matt Taibbi comes to the rescue. It's a bit long - okay, really long - but definitely worth the read. The first couple paragraphs alone give you a decent idea where he's headed...

The first thing you need to know about Goldman Sachs is that it's everywhere. The world's most powerful investment bank is a great vampire squid wrapped around the face of humanity, relentlessly jamming its blood funnel into anything that smells like money.

Any attempt to construct a narrative around all the former Goldmanites in influential positions quickly becomes an absurd and pointless exercise, like trying to make a list of everything. What you need to know is the big picture: If America is circling the drain, Goldman Sachs has found a way to be that drain — an extremely unfortunate loophole in the system of Western democratic capitalism, which never foresaw that in a society governed passively by free markets and free elections, organized greed always defeats disorganized democracy.

Oh, and make sure you watch the video interview with Taibbi if you follow the link. He's brilliant at translating intentionally-convoluted processes into a language most of the rest of us in the real world actually speak...

(continued...)

I'm pretty sure all we did was re-elect Bill Clinton...

...which isn't to say that we shouldn't have, given our choices. But, as I've always said, the problems continue because of the choices we're given...which, in turn, is dictated by a very broken and corrupt system. But I digress.

"Dozens Dead" in U.S. Drone Strike

when all else fails, provoke

Memo Reveals U.S. Plan to Provoke an Invasion of Iraq

Nothing we all probably didn't already know. Just seems like it's been a while since we've read about it in such stark terms...

adios, amoebas...

It's been good, Dallas. Mostly.













I'll catch up with you from the next time zone to the left...















PS - Thanks again, Tim. I'll do my best to pay you back.

Fishbone 101

A while back on Jeff Liles' History of Dallas Music MySpace page, I took it upon myself to leave a brief dissertation on the true greatness of - and sad lack of appreciation for - Fishbone in a comment on one of the ticket stub pictures I gave him.

For those who don't know much about them, there's not much more I can say here that I didn't say in the aforementioned comment...although, I would recommend a quick read through the band's Wikipedia page. So instead, I'll just share this clip. Crank it up if you can. And pay attention to just how tight those guys really are in the midst of the absolute onstage chaos they created. Then imagine experiencing that intensity for, like, two solid hours. It left you exhausted, exhilarated and in awe. At their peak, they were the best band in the world. Past their peak, they were still the best live band in the world. Unbelievable shit.

(Oh, and in case you are wondering who the Kendall Jones both I and Wikipedia reference, he's the guitar player on the left who sings the bridge to "Party at Ground Zero." I hope he's better now because his life was a tragedy for a while...)

Turn the shit up, pogo and enjoy...!


And lest anyone think Fishbone were strictly a ska band, you can check out some of their heavier shit here and here and in this additional live clip below. There wasn't anything those guys couldn't do better than anyone else. The first of those links makes me particularly sad in a way because Kendall wrote and sang the song. However, he'd already fried and left the band by the time it was released and they'd joined the Lollapalooza festival in '93. So in the video, it's keyboard/trombone player Chris Dowd shown singing. But it's a particularly poignant song in hindsight given its religious theme and the "religious" reasons for Kendall leaving / freaking out.

Swim (seriously heavy)...

yay, music

Unexpectedly big music week for me this week. (Might as well take as much in while I'm here in The Big City while I can. Though, I do have a Meat Puppets show in Flagstaff in July to look forward to.) The agenda...

Tonight - The Breeders at the godforsaken, completely fucking awful venue known as the House of Blues. As you might guess, I hate that place. As someone more creative than me described the place, it's like going through airport security to go see an arena show at a Chili's. Dead on. I hate that place. In case I didn't mention that earlier.

Friday - The Sword, Torche at Lola's in Fort Worth. Haven't been to Lola's, but have heard great things about the place.

Saturday - Blood on the Wall, Record Hop at Lola's.

Should be a good week. Yay, me.

PS - I also intensely hate Ticketmaster. Who else could take a $19.50 ticket and bill you $34-something by the time it's all said and done? Fuckers. But I think I've mentioned that particular hatred before...

off to Utah...

...wish me luck!

I'm a loser, baby, so why don't you kill me...

(...get crazy with the Cheez Whiz)

I'm sure I will look back upon these past few months as The Winter of my Discontent. Or The Winter That Saw Fit to Kick me in the Nuts Repeatedly for No Particular Reason. Let's take inventory, shall we...?

In early December, my very beloved feline companion, Tim, passed away. I'm still heartbroken over losing him and having not done more to prevent his passing. But then I've always been a champion at the art of self-flagellation.

Within days of Tim's passing, I also found myself having lost a very close human friend as well. I'll refrain from getting into the details behind that because I still can't do so without sounding bitter...though, I am working toward coming to terms with the latter "loss."

At any rate, it was a big punch in the gut to lose the presence of those two souls in my life so suddenly. Either one by itself would have been bad enough, but for both experiences to occur seemingly in tandem was particularly upsetting. For a few weeks - and Wendy and Cindy can attest to this - I barely knew the difference between up versus down, black versus white, etc. I felt like somebody'd shoved me into some room where this really ugly alternate universe existed. Bless them both for enduring my whiny second-guessing during that period...

Next up was that most unpleasant of milestone-birthdays (at least for the next decade): the Big Four Oh. There isn't anything I can say about this occasion that somebody else hasn't already said so I'm not gonna bother. I just handled the birthday itself the same way I usually observe it...by ignoring it. Helped tremendously that the Super Bowl was going down on the same day (and even more that it turned out to be a damn good game).

But then came the big shocker: after more than fifteen years at the same job (pretty impressive - or depressive - when you consider both my age and the times), I became introduced to the exciting world of unemployment. On the one hand, it was pretty great because I've been trying to get away from those motherfuckers for years, and the atmosphere at that place had become increasingly grim, oppressive and insulting. But on the other hand, it would have been a hell of a lot more enjoyable if I'd have beaten them to the "fuck off" punch. I had a damn good collection of words compiled for my resignation letter that I was really looking forward to using...but, shit happens. And so now I spend a great deal of my time poking around for new jobs online. (If anyone has any leads or ideas, please don't hesitate to pass them my way!)

As it happens, the aforementioned shocker happened the day before I was scheduled to trek down to New Orleans to spend some time with Animal Rescue New Orleans before returning to Dallas with my new feline friends (see image at left) - themselves rescued strays born since Katrina in one of the many neighborhoods, Lakeview, still in recovery from the storm. (One of the more affluent neighborhoods, as it turns out...the cats were found living underneath the slab of a house next door to one of the New Orleans Saints players. So they totally scoreboard me in terms of lifestyle history. Well, except for the whole "homeless and living under the slab of a destroyed house" thing.)

Anyway, I proceeded with the plan as scheduled and returned on Monday with my new roommates and with five other piggybackers going to some Dallas-area foster groups. I had visions of spending ten hours driving with my soundtrack being a constant cacophony of disgruntled or anxious meowing, but almost everyone slept the entire time. Other than exchanging text messages with Wendy, it was actually one of the more peaceful road trips I've ever experienced.

So far, it's been a much easier transition for them than I had any reason to expect it to be. Two of them (Frank, at top; Mary, below) could very easily be described as being "semi-feral" (and were described thusly by the ARNO folks and the cats' fosters in the French Quarter). And the third, now christened Mack (at bottom) is pretty much just a spazz who's almost instantly social in any situation and requires no socialization effort whatsoever. But Frank and Mary and I have made tons of progress (another benefit to unemployment - lots of extra time spent on socializing my new friends) and I think, other than being a bit shy when new folks come around, they'll be living like "normal" cats in a "normal" household in no time. It's been educational, entertaining, and just a blast in general.

And so I would like to take this opportunity to introduce you to my new pals. If you're not a fan of cats, just fight through it, please. But if you are, prepare for copious amounts of cuteness and "aww" moments to ensue...

See Frank sitting next to my printer on the nightstand in the bedroom watching the birds outside. He loves watching birds. Actually, he loves pretty much any activity that doesn't require...well, activity. (He's a bit on the pudgy side, so there will be some diet and exercise in his future. Not that I have room to make negative statements in that regard...)

See Mack joining Frank for more birdwatching...this time in the living room.





The fact that all three are siblings was obviously quite helpful in getting them acclimated to their new home. If anyone's experiencing any anxiety (usually Mary who, in addition to having far and away the most complex personality, will take the longest to overcome any skittishness and fearful behavior), they all have one another to turn to and/or lean on. Which, as you can see, they do pretty frequently.

There are also plenty of Kodak moments like this last one. Frank usually takes on a "protective" posture or appearance in scenes like these, but that's really only by default. Being the resident large, chunky dude - at least in comparison to the other two - he's really not so much protecting as he is just being lazy. Either way, it's nice to see around the house.

Anyway, that's what I've been up to lately...minding new feline friends when not trolling for jobs online. Oh, and by the way...if there's anyone out there who doesn't understand the pain of losing an animal companion or the joy of gaining new animal companions, I have two words for you: fuck you. (Yes, I have someone specific in mind, but, no, I'm not identifying that person.) People who don't like animals or who don't react with empathy toward either humans or non-humans in the aforementioned scenarios are not to be trusted. Period. You can know everything you need to know about a person based on his or her attitude toward animals. That's one of the simpler rules of life that I've never seen disproved. But I digress.

(Oh, and also...if anyone happens to find themselves sitting on an extra ticket for the Ace Frehley show at HOB tomorrow night, please feel free to hook an unemployed brotha up...!)

Have a nice day...from the new and improved acs household.

music good...poverty bad

Well, I do this every year...mostly for my own amusement. And I'm always late putting this together every year...mostly because I have to play catch-up and buy a bunch of CDs that I didn't get a chance to buy before the end of the calendar year.

However, personal dramas have given way to financial dramas...so much so that, at least for the near future, "disposable income" will be but a quaint idea (becoming unemployed will do that to you). So all those usual rushed purchases unfortunately just ain't gonna get purchased. I wish I could think of genitalia large enough for this situation to suck. But...whatever.

So here are my favorite records from 2007. 'Twas a damn good year, musically. However, I'm still inviting the past year to suck my ass for personal reasons...

Non-local artists:

1. Biffy Clyro, Puzzle - They're my favorite band on the planet so, unless they just really fuck up royally, they'll always take home top prize.

2. Steve Earle, Washington Square Serenade - Lordy, I have missed the Steve Earle that is capable of writing songs like these. His past couple records have been among my least favorite from him, just because he'd been bending over backward to beat his political agenda into our ears. And while I agree with his politics and revere him like few others because of who he is and what he stands for, I very much prefer when he doesn't try so hard. Because, frankly, he doesn't need to. He's a fucking genius...period. Easily his best record since The Mountain, which was his best record since El Corazon, which was his best record. Wonderful stuff.

3. M.I.A., Kala - I think she's got the coolest taste in sampling since the very early days of the Beastie Boys or De La Soul. And she's got a bigger set of balls than anyone else I can think of in modern music...along with the talent to make them useful.

4. Ha Ha Tonka, Buckle in the Bible Belt - Now this was a surprise. Not so much that it's as good as it is, but that it's a debut record as good as it is. Having seen them open for the Meat Puppets this past summer, I can also testify that they're even better as a live act. And that is scary.

5. Kristin Hersh, Learn to Sing Like a Star - Probably the artist at the top of my musical heroes list...she never fails to inspire and amaze me. The music is top-notch - somewhere between her usually-quiet solo work and her noisier Throwing Muses stuff - and the lyrics, as always, are absolute genius. She thinks and writes in a way I'll never fully grasp. I wish I could borrow her mind for a day.

6. Queens of the Stone Age, Era Vulgaris - The last record was really great, though there was something oddly disappointing in it at the same time. Fortunately, whatever weirdness that was behind that vibe is missing from Era Vulgaris...so it's just a rockin' piece from start to finish. It amazes me that QOTSA has now exceeded the output and lifespan of Kyuss. Something about that is just wrong on a certain level...but I won't bitch.

7. Meat Puppets, Rise to Your Knees - I think a professional critic somewhere described this record as being more of a "getting back on our feet" affair than what we might otherwise expect from the reunited Kirkwood brothers...and that's pretty accurate. There are undoubtedly some terrific songs on here, but there are also things worth nitpicking over...like the fact that more than a few song tempos are too slow, and the continuing, stupefying tendency that Curt Kirkwood has in choosing the most boring, unimaginative drummers he can possibly find. Derrick Bostrom was never John Bohnam, but Shandon Sahm first and now Ted Marcus sure make him seem that way. But the Meat Puppets have always been Curt's show, anyway, which is as it should be.

8. PJ Harvey, White Chalk - Polly continues her trend of creating music that makes you feel like you’re in a confession booth with her. She's always been one of my favorite guitar players so I'm sure I'll come to think of this as her "piano album." Part of her brilliance, though, is that no matter how she chooses to deliver a song, the end result will be awesome.

9. Low, Drums and Guns - An absolutely hypnotic and fascinating band and this album in particular careens back and forth between sometimes incongruous extremes; at times haunting, amusing, disturbing, creepy and beautiful. Similar to Polly's record in that such amazing atmospherics are created based as much on silence as instrumentation. Or something like that.

10. Saul Williams, The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of NiggyTardust! - Very unfortunately titled, but brilliant in spots. Great sampling along with terrific, surprisingly restrained production from Trent Reznor, and biting lyrics from one of this era's true poets. Shame I'm gonna have to miss his upcoming show in Dallas, though...

11. Bjork, Volta - It's good to see her getting a little bit closer back to what passes for "traditional" Bjork music, although it's still a bit weak. There's some Asian-style instrumentation here and there that doesn't do much for me. And on two songs she's singing with some dude who...I have no idea who he is or where he came from, but he may be the most unappealing vocalist I've ever heard. Try to imagine a prissier-sounding Morrisey channeling Mr. Rogers while giving enunciation lessons...it's just foul. Make him go away, whoever he is...

12. Johnette Napolitano, Scarred - I still love Johnette, though my love is starting to wane. She's kinda like Iggy Pop in that when she cranks out a good lyric, it can be really good. But when she swings and misses, she really misses. And subtlety has never been her strong suit.

13. Pig Destroyer, Phantom Limb - Now, you'd think with the name Pig Destroyer you can't possibly go wrong, right? Well, you would if you were me, anyway. And you'd be incorrect either way. This band is actually quite revered among thrash-metallurgists, from the press I've seen. But this was honestly too much for me to take. Or too little...I'm not sure. At least with even the thrashiest of thrashers, there's at least something to grab hold of somewhere...a riff or a beat or perhaps the slightest hint of melody. But I'll be damned if I could find anything on here like this. It just sounded like forty minutes of scrambled ideas that might have made decent pieces of songs, but not actual songs themselves. Or maybe I'm just getting old...

And those above, unfortunately, were the only releases from last year I was able to get to before the money up and left. Still more unfortunate is the list of records that I wasn't able to get to...many of whom are among my absolute favorite artists. Just on the off chance that anyone feels like taking pity on me or is a really good shoplifter, here's what I couldn't get my hands on:

From the "fuckity-fuck-fuck!" group...
Café Tacuba, Sino
Public Enemy, How You Sell Soul To A Souless People Who Sold Their Soul
Radiohead, In Rainbows
The Yeah Yeah Yeah’s, Is Is (EP)
Tomahawk, Anonymous
Son Volt, The Search
Prong, Power Of The Damager
Fishbone, Still Stuck in Your Throat

From the "not quite sure, but most likely fuckity-fuck!" group...
Dalek, Abandoned Language
Black Francis, Bluefinger
Imperial Teen, The Hair The TV The Baby And The Band
High On Fire, Death Is This Communion
Thurston Moore, Trees Outside the Academy
Crowded House, Time On Earth
Gogol Bordello, Super Taranta!
The White Stripes, Icky Thump

And from the "flip a coin 'cause the last record sucked" group...
The Donnas, Bitchin’
Fu Manchu, We Must Obey

And then there's the (probably unnecessary) category of local-ish music. Of the few I was able to get to, here what I thunk...

Non-non-local artists:

1. Doug Burr, On Promenade - He's been far and away my favorite local live act since the first time I saw him...which might seem like a weird declaration. But just listen. And watch, if you can. My jaw drops every time. He's just flat amazing.

2. Red Monroe, ¡Policia! ¡Policia! - Right up there with Pleasant Grove with regard to being my personal, local music heroes. They defy description. (Although, everyone tries to compare them to Radiohead...I swear to god I hear traces of early Talking Heads on this record.)

3. Hogpig, Hold Back the Curse - Even the awesomely kick-ass band name wasn't enough to hold it together. Dammit...we hardly knew ya. Stay hard, Hogpig!

4. Daniel Folmer, Gloria - DdFW's most unheralded talent. In my humble opinion. I defy you to listen to "Serotonin" and ever be able to forget that song. Seriously...ever.

5. Eaton Lake Tonics, Vicodina / Hate When Bad Things Happen to Good Looking People (EP) - Low-fi fabulosity, virtuosity, curiosity and any other "osity" you can think of. Okay, and when I said Red Monroe defy description...this shit really does. It is literally all over the place while somehow keeping one foot on the ground at all times. Domenic is my hero.

6. Kristy Kruger, Songs From a Dead Man’s Couch - Okay, so this actually came out late 2006 and I was just late to the party. Sue me. It deserves additional props. Plus, she's totally dreamy, you know...

7. Lovie, Harshmellow - The more they gig, the more they write, the more they record, the better they get. They will rule the scene sooner rather than later. And can we all please show them some luv for a kick-ass album title...? (PS - They're all dreamy too.)

8. The Allens (self-titled) - This may have come out in '06 also...not sure. And Midland is local-ish, right? Whatever. It's good shit.

9. Jay Gummer, Push (EP) - Cheap Trick meets Weezer meets the Violent Femmes meets a bunch of other good shit I can't put my finger on. And he's got other nifty new stuff on his MySpace page now. So check him out already, bitches...!

10. The Hope Trust, The Incurable Want - Not without its flaws, but darn good. A more proper review will be appearing soon on an Important Local Music Blog That People Actually Read Regularly. Or not. But hopefully. (My review, I mean...not the blogsite.)

11. Fair to Midland, Fables From A Mayfly: What I Tell You Three Times Is True - All I can do is refer you to a previous post...if you give a shit. I certainly don't...

And I wasn't able to get to these sumbitches either, dammit...

The Crash That Took Me, Orchestrated Kaleidoscope
100 Damned Guns, Songs of Murder, Pain & Woe

...and probably another dozen or so that I either never heard about or am forgetting.

So there you go. I suck. But it wasn't entirely my fault. I'll try to do better in 2008. However, things aren't off to a particularly smashing start in that department either...

Fuckity.

letters to The Sun (part two)

Those who know me well enough will understand why this has meaning for me...

The most severe panic attacks I've ever had all occurred in airports. The panic would be triggered by feeling trapped in the fluorescent-lit concourses crammed with rushing people. The worst was Chicago's O'Hare, where the crowded tunnel between concourses was outfitted with flashing neon lights and piped-in hustle-bustle music designed to get everyone through as fast as possible. For me the sensory overload was so great that more than once I clung to the tunnel wall, shut my eyes, and felt my way from one end to the other, crying and praying the entire way.

My panic disorder was at its zenith in the summer of 1976, when I'd survived a protracted and brutal divorce and was faced with raising two young children alone. There was one bright light in my life: I was in love with a man I'd met in my therapy group. But then, at summer's end, he got a job more than a thousand miles away, in Denver, Colorado.

I was determined to fly out and visit him, even though it meant changing planes at O'Hare. A friend rationalized that I had an invisible handicap and needed a visible one instead, so that the airline employees would help me. She lent me a pair of crutches and told me to wrap my leg in an Ace bandage and say that I had a broken ankle.

Another friend, who lived in Chicago, agreed to meet me when I arrived at O'Hare. I got off the plane to find my friend waiting for me, along with an airport employee who had orders to put me in a wheelchair and take me to the gate for my next departure. My friend insisted we have a drink first, so the employee wheeled me over to the nearest airport lounge and said he'd be back to get me in half an hour.

After a few drinks it suddenly dawned on us that he'd forgotten me, and my plane was due to depart in two minutes. My friend yanked me out of the wheelchair, and I put the crutches under my arm and ran down the concourse. When I got to the gate, the doors of the plane were closing, but the crew took pity on me and let me squeeze on.

The man I was flying to see has been my husband for nearly thirty years. Together we have traveled the world.

- Ciel Bottomly
Montrose, Colorado

For me, it's always been malls. Not that I ever go to malls...maybe once or twice a year at most. But something about them freaks me the fuck out. The panic disorder doesn't limit its manifestation to malls, unfortunately; that would completely kick ass because I hate malls to begin with. But for whatever reason, that locale cranks the internal weirdness behind the disorder up to eleven, much as the airport does (or did) for Ms. Bottomly.

In addition to relating to this letter on that level, though, I also really love it because it brings to light one of the most notable idiosyncrasies of panic disorder...or maybe just one that I share with the author, anyway. But even when panic symptoms are at their worst, they are always trumped by any unexpected urgency of reality. If anything legitimately important were to suddenly arise - car accident, news of a loved one needing assistance, etc. - panic symptoms...POOF!...cease to be. Which says a lot about the disorder, I think. Not that it makes it any less real or upsetting for the person experiencing it.

And it makes me wonder why therapists don't recognize this phenomenon and base some type of exercise around it. (Or maybe some do and I just haven't heard of them.) In my experience, there are two or three types of therapy for the person who suffers from a panic or anxiety disorder. First: drugs. Obviously. Because that's the first line of defense for any mental or physical ailment these days. There are drugs to take on an ongoing basis to prevent the unpleasantness, and drugs that can be taken in response to (or, as the neocons might prefer, as a preemptive strike) an "episode." Second: exercises - usually involving breathing patterns, physical activity, or thought processes that encourage the examination of the symptoms as they happen - designed to help one "get through" such an "episode." Third: variations on some form of ongoing cognitive therapy as a means of overcoming the disorder.

I'm not going to go into the various theories I have about why anxiety/panic disorders have become so common in America...mostly because I'm still trying to craft them into something more measurable or verifiable than just theories. But I wonder how universal this is amongst my panicky peers...that an immediate, unexpected, usually-physically bona fide emergency will squash panic symptoms like a fucking grape. If there's anyone out there who happens to be reading this and can comment from the perspective of a sufferererer...I'd love to hear from you.

Meanwhile, I think I'm gonna dink around in my laboratory with this idea and see if I can...I dunno. See what happens, I guess. Can't hurt, right...?

letters to The Sun (part one)

"You Could Make a Killing," Aimee Mann

There is nothing that competes with habit
And I know it's neither deep nor tragic
It's simply that you have to have it
So you can make a killing

I wish I was both young and stupid
Then I too could have the fun that you did
Till it was time to pony up what you bid
So you could make a killing

I could follow you and search the rubble
Or stay right here and save myself some trouble
Or try to keep myself from seeing double
Or I could make a killing

I've experienced what it's like from both perspectives now regarding the story that follows. It's not easy to be on either side of this scenario. But it's especially pathetic for the party who's old enough to know better...old enough to be capable of an adult's self-awareness, yet too self-centered to care who gets hurt or why the behavior is upsetting to those who might express love and concern...

At the age of thirteen I walked through JFK International Airport holding tightly to my mother's hand; my younger sister walked on her other side, clutching her favorite stuffed animal. Our mother wore a print dress that showed off her figure, beaded necklaces around her neck, and a knit cap that covered her red hair. Though her clothes hadn't changed since her flower-child days, the lines on her face betrayed the intervening years of hard living.

My sister and I were headed to California to live with our grandparents. Everyone had agreed it was for the best. I was even looking forward to life in my grandparents' tidy house, where dinner was always on the table at six and making the rent was never an issue. At the same time, I clung to the hope that our mother would come with us to California; that, in the end, she wouldn't be able to let us go.

But when the three of us came to the security check, my mother stopped in her tracks.

"I can't go through," she said.

I knew what the problem was. "Don't worry, they're only looking for metal."

She refused to budge. I wasn't going to let airport security ruin the chance that she might come with us. "I'll take it through," I told her.

We went into a stall in the women's restroom, and my mother passed me a small bag filled with white powder. I tucked it into the waistband of my jeans and smoothed out my shirt to conceal the bump. My mother looked anxious. "We can't," she said. She was afraid that a belt buckle or something would set off the metal detector, and they'd have to search us. "You don't know what they'd do to us if they found it." She took back the packet of powder.

"Why don't you just throw it away?" I pleaded. I had never made a request like this before, probably because I knew the choice she would make.

Our mother cried as she was separated from us at security, holding tight to the purse that contained her stash. When my sister and I passed through the metal detector, it didn't make a sound.

- Name Withheld

callous Dallas

Here's a story that's distressing/depressing on a number of different levels...

After complaints, Dallas shelter ensures humane handling of dogs

So while San Antonio is on a two-year mission to become a no-kill city, its more "cultured" and well-known neighbor to the north has taken this approach to animal services. Not exactly progressive or compassionate, to say the least. But then those aren't qualities widely respected in our fair burg. I'd say it's also a decent representation of the priorities of our city leaders. As a whole, they're completely consumed with all things shiny and new...anything they feel will bolster our appearance of cosmopolitan culture. Any initiative to address the well-being, health, happiness and financial interests of average constituents - let alone a bunch of fucking animals, for crying out loud - isn't even an afterthought. It's simply not a consideration to begin with.

Where do we even begin addressing this city's shallow indifference in general? Its policies toward taking care of the less fortunate...humans and non-human animals alike...?

My sister has worked for the Dallas Zoo for most of her adult life. I respect what she does and I respect much of the work that zoos in general perform. I do think they perform a valuable service as a whole. I've always thought of zoos as being much more than just entertainment facilities, at least to those who visit in search of more than entertainment. They provide education, important research in terms of study and behavior, and in some cases they can be essential in the fight to preserve species.

Having said all that, though, I must also admit to having a few misgivings about zoos and the function they sometimes find themselves serving to the general public. There was a picture on the last page of the November issue of The Sun that not only crystallized my misgivings, but just frankly broke my heart. The image was taken by an absolute genius of photography by the name of John Rosenthal. I hope he doesn't mind my sharing it here...


Speaking (yet again) about the greatness of The Sun, I thought I'd share a few of my favorite "sunbeams" from the tail end of that same November issue. For those of you who know me, you know the last thing I ever attempt to do is convert anyone to anything...and I'm not doing that here. I just enjoy the following comments not only because they speak to me and some of my sentiments, but also simply because I think they're worth consideration. For all of us.

It is an important and popular fact that things are not always what they seem. For instance, on the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much - the wheel, New York, wars, and so on - whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man - for precisely the same reasons. - Douglas Adams

There's a schizoid quality to our relationship with animals, in which sentiment and brutality exist side by side. Half the dogs in America will receive Christmas presents this year, yet few of us pause to consider the miserable life of the pig - an animal easily as intelligent as a dog - that becomes the Christmas ham. - Michael Pollan

The animals of the world exist for their own reasons. They were not made for humans any more than black people were made for white, or women created for men. - Alice Walker

Humans - who enslave, castrate, experiment on, and fillet other animals - have had an understandable penchant for pretending animals do not feel pain. A sharp distinction between humans and "animals" is essential if we are to bend them to our will, wear them, eat them - without any disquieting tinges of guilt or regret. - Carl Sagan (one of my all-time heroes)

And my favorite - a comment that concisely expresses my general outlook on daily living...for better and worse...

Think occasionally of the suffering of which you spare yourself the sight. - Albert Schweitzer

Yes, please...think. Consider. At least occasionally.

treason is the reason for my poison...

There are a few apologies I owe to some really talented artists from around these parts. I had taken to filming local performances with the hopes of giving the footage to the artists (and to my pal, Cindy) so they could use them for promotional purposes. Some of them had no idea I had filmed their performances in the first place, such as Sean Kirkpatrick, Pleasant Grove, and the Baptist Generals.

Others, though, like Daniel Folmer and Kristy Kruger, did know I'd filmed their sets and were looking forward to the video I'd promised them. And I was looking quite forward to coming through for them.

Worst of all is the couple hours worth of interview footage of a friend, Monique, who is not only a wonderful person, but also a really amazing artist.

But, unfortunately, it wasn't my camera being used, and the person who would have been doing all the time-consuming work of downloading and editing the footage ended up flaking out spectacularly. I have no idea whether the film I shot was decent - or even if it had sound, for that matter (as I'd pulled that one out of my technotarded ass at least once previously) - but it would have been nice to find out. At any rate, to Daniel, Kristy and Monique...please accept my apologies.

Maybe some day I’ll get my own video camera and learn how to do the shit myself. However, given my inability to grasp even the most basic technology, the chances prolly aren’t real good.

I used to wonder if a person's character and motives could be separated. I'm sure most people, depending on the circumstances, can have selfish motives at times. Likewise, I'm sure most people don't have selfish motives all the time. But I think I am starting to learn that situational motives can be a pretty good indicator of character across the board. That if someone who is ordinarily an attention/accolade/limelight whore suddenly becomes interested in an endeavor for which there is no personal, material reward...chances are that person has other, less sincere motivations for becoming involved in the project. I've encountered people like that in the past and they're usually pretty easy to spot.

I don't know if a selfish motivation in one instance necessarily equals a selfish character in all instances. I can't imagine most people are that one-dimensional. Life is made up of varying shades of gray; it's never as easy to label something or someone as "black" or "white" as it should be. But I do think a person's motives in certain cases can definitely be a warning sign of trouble ahead.

I guess that's one of the lessons I can take from this situation: proceed with caution and then pay special attention to how things proceed. If altruism and a generous spirit aren't normally traits you associate with your...um, associate, then chances are you probably won't be witnessing those characteristics any time in the near future.

In the wild, many of the flashiest, most brightly colored creatures are often times both a lure for the unsuspecting and a mask for the poison they're capable of producing. Then there are other critters - even plants like the Venus Flytrap - who appear benevolent and humbly subservient as a pretext to their instinctive intent: to ensnare and/or devour their victims with parasitic - if not predatory - behavior. The latter are much more difficult to identify for obvious reasons. I'm a firm believer that humans aren't nearly as removed from our less-domesticated animal neighbors as we'd like to think we are.

I don't think I'm oversimplifying, but I think there's a strong case to be made for the idea that if you can't trust a person in one situation or with regard to one subject, you probably shouldn't assume you can trust that same person in any situation...with regard to any subject. You are what you are; I am what I am. Or at least that's probably the safest approach to take with most people until proven otherwise. And while that sounds overly cynical, I'm not trying to suggest that people are guilty until proven innocent. But I am suggesting that, for the most part, you cannot turn honesty on and off...that sincerity is not a situational behavior when dealing with folks who are important to you...that trustworthiness is a defining characteristic of a person and can be established quite early, so long as you pay attention to what you observe.

I also think you can tell a lot about what's important to a person by seeing who he or she chooses to have as friends. I've always loved the fact that, if you were to put all my really good friends in one room together, it would look like a bunch of random people standing in line at the DMV; they have absolutely nothing in common with one another on the surface...not personality type or appearance or politics or hobbies...nothing. The one thing they do all have in common: they're good (by my definition) people. I can trust my life with any of them and vice versa. They're honest and sincere, they don't have questionable motives, they have their own moral compasses and follow them faithfully (whether I share those morals is immaterial)...they give me every reason to believe in them and I know they believe in me because we each are open books to one another.

And I guess that's all I want to say about that.

spitting on scorched earth

Is there anything cooler than making a big, dramatic exit...giving every piece of your mind within reach, then slamming the door and storming off into the sunset...only to realize you forgot to mention the very point you were trying to make in the first place?

Of course not. That's why I did it.

I feel like I just gathered all my righteous indignation and stomped out of the room (somewhat) triumphantly, only to leave my car keys behind...

Dammit. I can't even put someone in his or her place without fucking it up by doing something retarded. So all I can do - because I don't have the restraint or common sense to leave well-enough alone - is at least try to save face with myself here. And so, for the sake of posterity, my own sense of completion, and perhaps just to throw it out there for the universe to do with as it chooses...the following is a scene from a particular movie that hit me suddenly yesterday as the perfect analogy for this completely baffling and disheartening experience. Nutshell in hand, I had to cut my losses and choose to move on.

It's also sadly appropriate on so many different levels that I find the music of the Kirkwood brothers playing constantly in my head right now....

"Vultures"

Maybe I've been wasted,
And maybe I'm confused,
But mostly, it just seems like a whole lot to lose...
In such a small time

I tried to find just a small clip of the scene from the aforementioned movie that sums up the experience. The best I could do was this presumably homemade video (music not of my choosing). It'll have to do...



"Spit"

Once, it seemed to be the way things are...
Now it seems the way that it will be.
It's happening to me...

Once, we used to love and lose our minds...
Now it seems the tables have been turned.
My head is losing me...

Once, we used to spit into the wind
...it's coming back to me.
We used to spit into the wind
...it's coming back to me.

I hope I'm wrong about what I see happening. But I get a sick feeling I'm not. I just hope someone has already gotten some good pictures of how things are right now, because if I am right...it's all downhill from here.

Choices have consequences. I've made some really reckless, really stupid choices lately, myself. I was lucky. Or, more likely, just happened to have a chemical or two in my system that prevented me from destroying everything I hold dear. Other folks don't have that kind of luck or chemistry. For them, those same reckless and stupid choices can very easily ruin a life. I sincerely hope that's not how this experience plays out...

But ultimately, each of us is responsible for the choices we make. A clear mind can more easily make healthier decisions. A troubled mind has far greater challenges than most people realize. But a troubled mind has choices, nevertheless. And living with the wrong choice can be the most difficult challenge of all.

Take a picture of your life right now. It may be all you have left to show for your troubles down the road...

just say "know"

For those of you who love the pharmaceutical industry as much as I do, this will make for good readin', I promise...

Dear Santa...

I've been a really good boy this year. Well, I've been mostly good. But here's why I'm bloggin' to you...

See this...?












We had a really pretty sunset this evening. Not that you can tell from the perspective of my crappy camera phone. And I am thankful for my crappy camera phone...I know there are lots of people in the world who are much less fortunate than me. In ways far more profound than I dare address here.

I'm just sayin'...If you happen to find yourself with 400 somewhat decent digital cameras to deliver to only 399 mostly good boys on the Baby J's b-day...look me up, if it's not too much trouble. Please. (And I believe I filled out my change-of-address form with the North Pole database. But please let me know if your records do not reflect this...)

Thank you, Santa! Kiss the reindeer for me!

Love,

Danny R. in Dallas

...he said, before driving off in his SUV

Short but sweet...

Awareness is Overrated

And, of course, he's right. In my own defense, at least with regard to the title of this post, I do refer to it as The Hypocritical SUV. But, in a better defense, I also think I took Jack E. Jett's brilliantly twisted idea today in a comment on an Unfair Park post and made it brillianter and twisteder by sort of re-proposing it as a larger form of protest / performance art / something goofy to do rather than just throwing my hands up in disgust. Yet again. Because my arms are getting tired from doing that...

And, while I don't expect anyone to take my comment on the Observer post seriously, I was being serious. You know...it's unique, it's something nobody in the world would expect or even know how to react to, and it's just such a clusterfuck of sarcastic weirdness directed at a particular target there's no way anyone could ignore it.

But that's my very small contribution for the day...

monkeys fly out of my butt

I Should Pay More Tax

Pretty impressive that he should take it upon himself to make those observations and comment on them publicly, I think. And, obviously, it's a painfully clear indication of just whom our representatives are actually representing.

So why has no one in the U.S. media picked up on this story...?

and he would have known...

“Fascism should more appropriately be called Corporatism because it is a merger of state and corporate power.” - Benito Mussolini

So the clip below is very long, but you can leave the audio playing while you do other things (that's what I did). And it is worth hearing...