We Cage Ourselves In Ignorance

I've learned to hate both the concept and the actuality of zoos. They are offensive on too many fronts to count. A zoo is the embodiment of arrogance as a camouflage for ignorance - something that is wholly human. At one time, I at least bought into the idea that good zoos were defined by the success of their breeding programs. This was a common utterance when certain species of animals were near extinction. The San Diego Zoo was particularly adept, and thankfully could provide the height needed so that condors could be successfully bred. On reflection, however, it was a captive breeding program that had a great deal in common with the Nazi era's attempt to breed perfect Aryan children. Let's hear it for the recessive gene for blue eyes.

Zoos, of course, are only indicative of the separations we impose on anything that doesn't fit the standard definition of 'normal.' We provide barred cages for prisoners - the model ones, and the really bad ones, and the so-so ones. We can isolate them, or gather them in a locked area en mass or put a few in facilities akin to the costliest spa or rehabilitation center. But for all intents and purposes it's still caging. We do the same with people deemed crazy, freaky, lunatics. Those facilities we craftily call asylums. So many euphemisms, so little space. There are the state run facilities for those who can't pay, and the private ones for those who can. There are the 'clients' and inmates who might be a danger to themselves or others, and they are generally restrained. There are the 'clients' and inmates who can function to our minimum standards, and those we release to fend for themselves, often to their detriment.

We humans love our little boxes where we can sort things into their proper slots, the easier to ignore or discard them. What was the Pete Seeger song? Boxes, little boxes, and we're all just like ticky-tacky in the end? And such temerity - we even name our sorting system after a bird; we pigeon hole. Are we so ashamed deep down that we couldn't name it after it's inventor? David hole, or Bernice hole, or Helmut hole. No, it had to be pigeon hole to show our continuing contempt for species that do what we preach - live and let live.

We have an obsession to sort by color, by place, by action, by size, by mental capacity, by skill level. We sort and sort, and occasionally we gather everything back in, reshuffle, and sort once again perhaps with a tiny modification like all males over six foot with blue eyes, a non descended left nut and a wart below the right ear. We seem incapable of sensing or seeing a totality. We are afraid of anyone who could be viewed as a whole person...anyone adept at reality without blinders or bars.

Block by block, bar by bar, and stone by stone we build our own cages. We start early. We're subtly taught the most efficient means using the tools of bigotry, ignorance, fear, hatred, pettiness and all their unnamed brethern as we measure, saw, fit, adjust and cement those cages together. We learn to close our eyes and our ears and that automatically closes our minds so we can dismiss our actions as culture, or security, or necessity, or classification, or segregation. We perpetuate the worst of ourselves and congratulate each other on maintaining traditions that we're afraid to question.

We build our individual cages out of food, drink, ideas, 'sin,' altruism, cigarettes, cigars, consumerism, entertainment, news, politics, stocks and bonds, cash, ego. Once our cage is finished, we're even careful to build additional layers of security around it. Heaven forbid a fresh idea breach our battlements. Pity us if we're forced to rub elbows with something or someone different.

We build our cages because we're afraid of ourselves, afraid of our reactions to something new, afraid that we'll find outselves outside the acceptable 'norm' that we're conditioned to let others establish for us. And all the time we dwell in this dark, dank, lonliness, we congratulate ourselves on being free. We have liberty, we say. We have honor. We have freedom!

Really?

Breaking Habits, Boredom, and Patches

Bad habits are very hard to break. Addictions are even harder to eradicate. Habits are simply that - a conditioned response, sometimes without stimuli. The mind travels in a rut, the hand reaches automatically, the foot steps onto a familiar rutted path. There's no plan, no pain - only an empty mind. Like on the menu of a demented Chinese restaurant, however, with addiction you get immediate feedback, and it's rarely pleasant.

As the picture caption above reads, 'Hard work never killed anybody, but why take the chance?' (Click on it for a larger view.) That's pretty much been my view of the hard work required to break my addiction to cigarettes. I haven't strangled anyone yet, but there's still lots of time.

Like most heavy, long term smokers, I've tried quitting more times than I can count. I've tried every fad, every promise, every patch, every pill, and generally every thing that even hinted at offering assistance. Nothing ever worked for more than a day or two. The biggest deterrent to quitting, however, was that I simply liked to smoke. I considered it my one vice, and I've always believed everyone should have at least one vice to stay sane. Smoking was my accomplice during long thought processes. It kept me company when I felt lonely. It helped me relax when I was tense. It had less calories than lemon meringue pie after a good meal.

Naturally, there was a price to pay. There is always a price for every thing we do, although some seem less exorbitant than others. The smoking price was in one's personal smell, the loss of full taste bud sense, the slight loss of depth to breathing, but unless you're a masochistic long distance runner, that didn't seem too high a cost. Then the age factor which had been creeping up on little cat's and crow's feet became a fully matured rampaging monster. One got tired more quickly, noticed a rasp in breath right before falling asleep, found that stair risers seemed higher, strangers on the telephone began asking about asthma. Then it got worse.

Somehow, the joy of smoking diminished with the need to walk and breathe at the same time. And then one of my cousins-by-marriage died; same age as me, overweight like me, a long-time smoker like me, who, also like me, could no longer walk any reasonable distance without having to stop and rest to be able to continue on. She had a heart attack at a far too young age and I had to admit the truth. Smoking was not a friend. I was in an abusive relationship where if the cigarette had been a man, I'd have bodily kicked him out of my life a long time ago.

Almost without thinking, I smoked my last cigarette and went out to buy nicotine patches. Although I don't understand it, I was three weeks smoke free before I actually missed smoking. I also didn't tell a soul I was trying to quit and when I did begin to miss it, repeated my mantra that walking and breathing simultaneously was a good thing. Like an alcoholic, I took it all one day at a time, panicking only when I was down to one patch, there was snow on the ground and the car wouldn't start so I could go buy replacements.

Tomorrow I put on the smallest patch - the one with only 7 ml. of nicotine - and I wear those for two more weeks. Then I'm patch free and smoke free, as well. I've also come to recognize that I will always want to smoke, particularly when I'm bored, but I also refuse to go through with all this again. I've smoked for over 25 years and it's taken me 10 weeks to quit, discounting all the aborted, previous attempts. I feel more kinship and pity for all those people in rehab these days.

The strangest thing of all in this desire for a smoke is that I only get it when I'm bored. I've been madder than a wet cat, but didn't even consider reaching for a cigarette. I've been extremely annoyed and didn't think 'smoke.' But let me get bored, and I have to have a heart to heart talk with myself. It's good that I'm stubborn by nature.

Boredom has always been my Nemesis. Too many times in the past when my first inclination was to think I was tired, a second look told me I was only bored out of my tree. That's really bad, since far too often people who say they are bored, are merely boring people. I've also been one of those who at least tries to keep their hands busy - another reason I probably enjoyed smoking. I can't simply sit and watch TV, but have to also sew or knit or play with the cats. I don't do well in long movies unless they're truly well done with an interesting story line. It's absolute hell for me to wait in lines, or a doctor's office, or in a traffic jam, or for a train unless I have a book to read. I simply cannot remain idle. At least now that my breathing is better and my sleeping habits improving (my raspy, labored breathing made sleep a problem), I have more energy to do more things, but I still have to build up my stamina. Of course, it would also help if I were interested in housework and mundane chores, but I'm one of those who detests the constant need to re-do what you just finished doing a day before. Wonder if there's a patch to cure that?

Ironically, on the home chores front, my breathing had gotten so bad and my energy level so low, that I let many routine things simply slide until now I'm almost overwhelmed with things that absolutely have to be done. My dust bunnies are getting so large and aggressive, I've begun to think of names for them. Occasionally, I'll notice the cats stepping carefully over my oriental rugs, trying to avoid getting the tiny scraps of 'stuff' caught in the pads of their paws. My pride tells me I should be ashamed of myself for ignoring the obvious for so long, even if my energy was at an all time low, but even during the silent lecture I find myself just walking by some mess needing attention. Denial had turned into obsessive oblivion. Wonder if there's a patch for that?

At any rate, I'm convinced that things can only get better from here....and they'd even become perfect if I wasn't also getting older each day. Now, wouldn't it be great if there were a patch for that?

The Ridiculous Regurgitation of Ritual - B-o-o-o-r-i-n-g

For as long as I can remember, I've found ritual tedious. I don't really know why, but where others yearn for such by-the-numbers repetitious routine, some even selecting their churches for such pomp and circumstances, I find it mundane and boring.

Rather, I admire originality and creativity. I relish the thought process that goes into creating something appropriate to the blatant message of the day as well as the more subtle and perhaps more important nuances of that message. Ritual is a rote action, a dictated response, a scripted scenario. How lazy and dull.

For me, ritual sits right there in that next cobwebbed cubbyhole by tradition. I don't actually disdain tradition automatically, but there are too many traditions that were established hundreds of years ago and have not been visited since to test their relevancy, even as historical precedent. We drag those traditions (and rituals) along behind us like the old cartoon characters drag about a ball and chain...as dead weight with no redeeming grace or value. Put me in the middle of some traditional and ritualistic too lengthy time slot and I get antsy real quick. I don't always want to know exactly what or who comes next. I generally like surprises.

Thus, although today's inauguration was fascinating and filled with hope and optimism, particularly when compared to the history of blatant racism in our country, it was still primarily a series of rituals played out with non-traditional stars. One of the high points today was when the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court screwed up the ritual 35 word oath of office to our new President. Such a bobbling of responsibility was shocking, then embarrassing because I didn't want the new Prez to make such an error, and then suspicious since the Justice is an ultra conservative one when placed against the new but liberal Commander in Chief, who ultimately kept his cool and his sense of humor and got it all back on a steady track. Then it became funny, because sometimes the cosmos just comes down and thumps you on the nose and says 'pay attention.'

One interesting break in the traditional ritual was having the new actually escort the old to their transportation at the point of departure. The tone over the last few weeks has remained positive although there were few kind thoughts among the populace about the lame duck still swimming around in the public trough. I must admit that the generosity of spirit portrayed by our new President and Vice President and the wives of both wasn't sufficient to override my cynicism and glee at seeing the Bush and Cheney departures. I certainly have too much class and confidence to have told any of them my true thoughts, but I could hardly wait to see them gone and good riddance.

The ritualistic lunch with the Congress in the Capitol might well have been indigestion inducing, even though it was supposed to be a festive and friendly day. Traditional rituals were certainly upheld as everyone wandered around glad handing each other and smiling broadly, the civility just a touch questionable because of the practiced yet empty ease of such civility as a tradition of Senate. Heaven forbid anyone emulate Cheney's demeanor while residing there in his traditional position to break deadlocks and tell everyone to fuck off. Rather, smile at their face, give them a hug or a pat on the shoulder and try to slide the knife secretly between their ribs tomorrow. Sadly, Senator Kennedy's collapse during the luncheon event was a break in tradition as was the necessity to have EMT's check on 92 year old Senator Byrd's health.

Tonight, of course, there will be too many balls and parties to count. Let's hope dancing the night away will have no reason to be compared to Nero fiddling while Rome burns, even if our market did drop an additional 300 points during today's festivities. We always opine about how being President immediately ages the incumbent, and certainly stamina is required for a job that for most would truly be a 24/7 responsibility, but one also can't help wonder if the tone for over doing isn't set during the inauguration itself, particularly during the evening of that day, no matter how historic the event.

There is a definite difference in the country with this change. Hope is obvious, as is a level of curiosity and concern and an apparent willingness to allow some leeway to the incumbent providing he gets right to work solving our problems. That, of course, all refers to the people. If it refers to the folks inside the Beltway remains to be seen. If it refers to the opposition party certainly remains to be seen. Hints will be obvious in how many of the new appointees will receive quick confirmation.

Of course, the traditional rituals after today will also remain. Those political panhandling rituals everyone tries to deny should probably go into force after tomorrow mornings first Alka Seltzer for over indulgence. It will be obvious after too long, as will the media's view of their own ritualistic regurgitations and spew. At least it should be interesting.

My hopes are higher than they've been for 8 years. I'll even abide some traditions and rituals without complaint or fidgets if what is certain to be an intensely difficult job looks like it's getting done. If it gets done well and quickly, I'll even lead the traditional parade.

We've Got Too Many Home Grown Idiots

So there I was, feeling all kinds of good after watching the Inauguration, listening carefully to the new President's speech, scanning the tearful yet happy faces of the crowd, and almost convinced that with concentration, cooperation, tolerance and hard work, we as a people could pull our country, our culture, and our future out of its man-created cess pit, and be a positive force for good in our limited universe. Then, without looking, I reached over to pick up the ringing phone, and had my nice feelings drown in the vitriolic nastiness of a voice at the other end belonging to someone who couldn't be bothered to learn how to use a telephone and who didn't have the manners of the hairball my cat threw up yesterday.

Can you imagine? A rapid fire, near illegible voice asking for someone unknown whose retort when told he had a wrong number was "Just shut up, you Bitch!" The nicest thing I could hope for someone like that is that his genitals rot and fall off before he contaminates our gene pool beyond hope of recovery. But, alas, it's probably too late for that hope, because he didn't sound all that young for a misogynist. Should he be married and should his wife finally have her fill sufficient to tie him up in a bed sheet and beat him to death with a Louisville Slugger, I'd vote for her acquittal in a New York minute.

First off, I get a great many wrong numbers. Part of that problem is that my number is only one digit removed from the phone number of our local Second Presbyterian Church. But the other half of that problem is that most of those trying to call the church either have excessively fat fingers, are driving with a cell phone when they call, or simply can't be bothered to pay attention to what they're doing. But it isn't only the church number that brings me grief. Certainly, a few calls from very old sounding voices probably pertain to their eye sight, and those are forgivable, as are the ones that have simply transposed a number whether due to carelessness or dyslexia. Always forgivable are the people who are polite, who repeat the number they used in an effort to discover the problem and then give an apology. They are few and far between.

I almost feel sorry for the ones who simply don't make note of an area code, but either not using one or using the wrong one is just not an excuse. I mean, really, how long have area codes been in existence? I silently hope they are forced to pay for a long distance call, even if it is less than three minutes long. Also inexcusable are those who are told they have a wrong number, just hang up, and do the same thing a second time, then act as though it's my fault that I'm not the person they want. Hang a sign around those necks proclaiming them TSTL. That's too stupid to live for the uninitiated.

And, of course, TSTL brings it all back full circle. Motivational exhortations have their place. Messages of reason and hope have their place. Speeches to communicate plans and directions to solve recurring problems certainly have their place. All these efforts are laudable and, indeed, necessary. The problem with these kinds of public talks is not with the speaker or with the message or with the volume or reception. It's with the carbon life form receiver. It doesn't matter how great a speech happens to be or how much effort has gone into its creation if it only echoes through the empty space between the ears of the brainless.

The crux of our potential problems now and for the future is that our society is permeated with far too many individuals who are (1) ill prepared to control their own impulses, (2) ill prepared educationally to comprehend what they are told or envision consequences of their actions, (3) ill prepared physically and mentally to be an activist for the betterment of themselves or others, (4) totally unaware and uncaring about anything within their purview, (5) hung up on revenge and/or retribution from who ever is handy, and (6) or are simply reprehensibly nasty, vindictive, greedy, uncouth, ignoble, and basically down right stupid. These are the people we are simply stuck with. They come out of the woodwork when you least expect it, to spread negativity far and wide. They are able to suck all pleasure out of any good moment, be it a collective moment or an individual one.'

As a nation, we are already attuned to those who seek to cause us national harm. We can almost smell hatred as easily as we can smell our own fear in our sweat. We are also almost attuned to the corporate and/or financial wizards who have neither the time nor intent to consider the welfare of anyone outside their immediate self interest. We've had to learn that by being duped so often. What we aren't tuned into are those of malevolent intent on a more personal or randomly broadcast wave length. The people who are like little clouds determined to rain on your parade, or blue birds determined to shit on your head, or rabid dogs intent on biting you in the ass while spreading their virus. There is nothing to protect us from these forces, no simple way to identify them until they've struck, and no way to weed our collective garden of their spreading infection.

The truly bad thing is that these people were created here. We made them and nurtured them. We have both literally and figuratively fed them and given them shelter. Unfortunately, they are legion, and I met one on the telephone today.

Vampires and Werewolves and Ghouls, Oh My

A number of years back, vampire stories became all the rage. Sure, we'd had a resurgence of Dracula productions - Broadway, movies, television - but this was far different. It was as though publishing houses had been taken over by the occult and paranormal.

I've always been an avid reader, and as friends would tell you, I'll read anything that doesn't read me first. And when, I read...I really Read. It's not at all uncommon for me to go through more than 400 books a year and no matter how poorly written, it is unusual for me to leave a book unfinished. Genre doesn't matter. Topic doesn't matter. Critic raves or pans don't matter at all. It's what I think about the book that counts, and if it's really interesting and well written, I'll finish it in one sitting. I might even save it to read it again. And, again. That's one of the reasons so many of the mundane chores in my life build up to almost overwhelming proportions.

In browsing the book store shelves over the last decade or so, the popularity of the occult, the paranormal, the alien resurrection, the time travel, the ghouls, trolls, demons, fairies, witches, warlocks, and plain old fashioned monsters of every conceivable variety exploded to near mythic levels. Sure, such books have always 'been around,' but never in such staggering numbers. And while the Star Trek series might have started the phenomenon on television, that was soon augmented by vampires, witches, and other unworldly creatures...even angels for the timid and 'true' believers.

I've enjoyed it all, and still do, but I can't help wonder about the sudden but unflagging interest. Why these creatures and why at this time? Certainly, I'm familiar with the need to changes one's view of present reality by substituting something else. Imagination is a great place to hide or recreate or restores one's energy. When we aren't happy with the larger and/or more intimate world we live in, it helps to move into someone else's world, even if its only for a brief stay and has no similarity whatsoever to what we're used to. That is generally it's draw. But at this level of popularity? On this massive scale? I know there is a plethora of very unhappy people out there, but I'm really surprised there are so many who apparently read.

I don't know if I actually and specifically believe that vampires exists, but I also can't say with any certitude that they don't. I also don't know if I specifically believe in ghosts, but at the same time, I can't unconditionally say that I don't believe. The same holds for all the other 'things' that the imagination can conjure but that societal conditioning demands we deny. There is simply too much at the outer edges of our consciousness that we neither see in real time nor understand in dream time to deny every possibility. Too often there are moving shadows at the extreme ends of the light, so who is to say either yea or nay to any of it.

In a very obvious way, we do have vampires in our society, at least the vampires that we've been told suck blood from the jugular vein of the incautious. They're usually called bankers. We also have a form of werewolf that stands on two legs during the darkest hours of any day or night and chases down weaker creatures to satisfy its need for blood and lust. They're usually called abusive men, women and pedophiles. Then there are the demons, those devious, cruel and clandestine entities that goad others to depravity or evil. They're usually called marketers and politicians in the real world. You see where I'm going with this. For every entity we can imagine we can find the prototype in reality, because people are less than kind or caring about each other.

I admit also, to a hidden desire that all of these creatures, large and small, beautiful and ugly, sly or bold were real because that would also mean that their opposites also existed and that heroes were real as well. It would mean that the artists that draw the comic books had broader vision that the norm. It would mean that worlds exists in tandem to our own that hold elves and fairies and dragons and unicorns and gargoyles made of more than just stone. It would mean that there is more to life than our mundane living of it. It would mean that all the animals I've thought of as friends probably were, whether they had the ability to shift their shapes or not. It would be a cause for hope and curiosity and there is nothing better than those two things.

It would also mean that there was a possible unimaginative alternative when our own world grows too ugly and hopeless; that maybe we could by chance accidentally step into another that would be wholly different and perhaps carefree. We could think of aliens and potential alien abduction as a positive thing where there was different life elsewhere in the universe with greater knowledge. Or perhaps, if time travel had a firm basis we could go back and re-do something that put us on a bad footing with ourselves and our future...something like a cosmic Mulligan so our own bad judgment didn't count against us. Imagination and dreams would be such positive things.

There is so much in our universe we will never understand, and just as much we will never see or experience. All the more reason to want unusual beings or creatures to exist because that broadens our limits and expands our horizons. Besides, I would like to believe that much of what

the fiction writers publish is true.

Maybe I am just being fanciful. But just imagine - what if I'm not?

Where Have All The Pay Phones Gone??

I feel betrayed once again. I'm gonna have to get a cell phone. I DO NOT WANT A CELL PHONE! I hate the things, and the people who have them plastered to their ears as though they were malignant tumors. Wait! They ARE malignant tumors. They are also absurd, as are the people who constantly use them while driving, or shopping, or standing on street corners, and probably while scratching their asses or masturbating, too.

Granted, I'm growing more curmudgeony with each passing day, but I'm tired of being victimized by the sleazy, greedy, power grubbers who know the geek zone in what used to be the free air ways can so entertain, confuse, mesmerize, and deaden the brains and good sense of the average person, that they continually exploit our ignorance and gullibility to their own advantage. I've not really a sycophant when it comes to conspiracy theories, but honestly, I'm convinced the whole cell phone thing is a conspiracy, and the whole television/cable/digital/high definition/satellite changeover is a conspiracy, too...both designed to part us from our hard earned money and put is in enthralled and confused servitude to powers we can't recognize much less understand.

(Just as an aside, I also think spellcheck and our dependency on it is one of the reasons we've all grown steadily more dumb and stupid. Somehow, we haven't figured out that using the wrong word as in then/than, or using too many as in can can, or in using chard when we mean shard is even worse than misspelling a word. And all that is proof positive we're illiterate. We haven't figured out that machines will never replace the human brain. It's the whole mental laziness of click a button and something else makes the effort to clean up your mess than keeps leading us by the nose down that chute to the slaughterhouse. The bulk of our population may now dislike George Bush, but we've grown more and more like him, the marionettes who stand by with vacant looks on our faces while some unseen hand wipes our butts for us...and still manages to miss part of the mess in our drawers.)

Back to cell phones and the reason I'm so disgusted. I strolled downstairs yesterday, got my coffee and, as is my wont, went direct to the computer to read the newspaper. (Another thing I want to change - print is important.) I had no internet connection. Okay. So I figured another bad driver had plowed into a routing box out in the boondocks, or a different dim bumb in Internet maintenance had thrown the wrong switch. I walked away for an hour or so.

When I came back, the Internet was still out, so on the off chance is was that router box they pass us for broadband connection I went through that inconvenient little check list of insuring proper connections, then turned off and unplugged, waited a couple minutes, and plugged in again. Now, this might not seem like a lot, but when you have to climb over and under to get to all those connections because space is limited, it's an annoying, uncomfortable job. Still no change in Internet status.

About two hours later, I checked again, but found no change. Went through unfiled papers and found the number for broadband repair to track down the culprit of my problem. Went to the phone, and had an ah-ha moment. No dial tone. Now I had a dilemma. Certainly, I know all my neighbors, but being the independent, self-reliance person I am, I rarely ask them for anything. I needed to go out anyway, so figured I'd just call Ma Bell from a pay phone en route. What a frustrating exercise that turned out to be.

Along with the carrier pigeon, the dodo, ethical politicans, privacy and probably soon the polar bear, the pay phone is a vanished species. The pay phone has been killed off by gullible humans and cell phone towers. I finally ended up at my local service station, filing my tank from having wasted gasoline in my search, where the owner allowed me to use their office phone to call in my problem. Even that was an adventure, because as usual, you get a menu and not a human. Although I called for phone repair, one of those menu questions was about 'do you have working internet service' and the obvious answer was no. That brain dead machine automatically sent me to internet repair, phone repair never to be heard from again.

I did finally get a human, one who's English was questionable, and who had a hard time understanding my peculiar situation as I tried to explain amid the bustle of attendents preparing the station to close in five minutes, and that no, I'd didn't have an alternative number like a cell phone, where I could be contacted. Then she put me on hold. Arrrrgggggaaaah.

Obviously, I'm back in Internet/Telephone land since I'm currently ranting, but you see where this is going. It's for sure a conspiracy, because I know the phone will go out again, all communication will be lost, and I'll have need of a (gasp) cell phone. I did some prowling through cell phone sales sites and that was as maddening as being held incommunicado. There is no such thing as a simple cell phone with buttons. No, one must have a digital camera, the ability to download and play back music, touch screen for text messaging, wireless access to the Net and e-mails at near broadband speed, and other assorted bells, whistles, and humps from some camel in the desert. They want at least a two year contract, and although you might pay for so many minutes, you must also pay to activate the little thorn in my side, plus an additional monthly fee for e-mails is mandatory. I used to joke and say that something did everything short of giving you an organism, but I can't even say that about these cell phones, because if you visit the proper porn site, you can cream your pants or panies as well. First you pay for that little plastic square, then what they originally advertise as $40 per month for service, turns into $75 and you haven't even blinked. Maybe it simply beats the going rate for a versitile hooker.

How can so many people buy into all this nonsense? No one is so important they must have constant and immediate access to a phone, a camera, music, e-mail, etc., etc. No body can have that many close friends in the calling circle or so much need to call out for food delivery. Most people don't seem to question anything, including the prices on most of these questionable services, so most must simply love being ripped off and deluded.

Still haven't bought one, but no doubt it's coming. Once we allow all this technological progress to completely destroy us a thinking entities, I wonder if some bright geek will come out with two empty tin cans connected by a very long length of string?

One of the blogs I read on a regular basis is MonMouth, a London hedonist who is always interesting and who writes quite well. His post for 'January' contained these two paragraphs:

"There's something sexy about the dullness of this month. When you have recreational sex in January it's made all the sweeter by the thought of all the poor souls out there doing penance for their Xmas overindulgence, joining gyms and reconfiguring their diet to include at least one item of virtuous unpleasantness for breakfast, lunch or both - as if starting the day in the depths of winter is made any easier by scoffing nonfat yogurt and wholegrain crispbread before having your toes frozen off at the bus stop.

"For a hedonist, reading the London papers in January feels like a call to arms against the puritan hordes bearing down on this sinful city, ready to shove us all into vast, smelly gyms where we'll run on treadmills and be fed flavourless protein shakes until we submit or lose the will to live. Every morning the Metro seems to shout at me: Now's the time to eat well, enjoy a drink now and then, take enjoyable exercise (find a park, walk around in it) and get laid a lot."

He's absolutely right! And he's right whether he's talking about London, England, or Lincoln, Nebraska, or Chicago, Illinois. He's especially right about all the exhortations to do only virtuous things that have been stringently itemized on a written list under the dubious heading "New Year's Resolutions." How droll. How absurd. What a crock of crap.

Dear Deer

Today, I inadvertently startled a deer. It was almost high noon, so what exactly brought that deer (a doe, I think) to my backyard? Certainly, I've let my landscaping get wholly out of control, almost going back to the forest primeval, but her presence there is still a puzzle.

Part of the problem was that I didn't realize it was a deer until the damage was done. Standing in the kitchen, waiting for coffee to brew I glanced out the patio door there and couldn't figure out what I was seeing. It looked like a small tree had broken off about a foot from the ground and that a squirrel was sitting on the severed trunk. Only there had never been a tree growing in that particular spot and the large lump next to what appeared to be the trunk didn't look like the top of a tree. It looked more like a dirty burlap bag.

Lovin', one of my house cats who always takes on guard dog duties, was keeping a very close eye on whatever it was, so I moved toward the patio for a better look. The squirrel morphed into a deer's head which immediately swung in my direction, the burlap bag became its body, and the speed at which the whole thing rose and ran was amazing. I stood in confused awe wondering how and why it had found it's way into my (mostly) fenced and gated, albeit overgrown, back yard.

I've always known there were deer in the neighborhood and have occasionally seen them crossing through yards at twilight or sunrise. I've seen where they've pruned bushes and shrubs and a couple summers ago they and the rabbits munched thoroughly on every newly planted perennial my neighbor Lara put in her garden. I've also noticed protected areas in my yard that have been flatten in a circular way, and assumed that a stray dog or some other semi-domesticated animal had mucked in there for the night. But a fully grown deer? At noon? Alone? Such an idea never occurred to me.

My home is situated in a well developed older area about a mile from an Interstate and about a quarter mile from one of the local creeks. Although thoroughly populated, there are numerous green ways and unbuilt sections, so it is not unusual to see wildlife that, while not completely displaced by human encroachment, have been highly inconvenienced. We're overrun by squirrels, oppossum, chipmunks and raccoons, but we also have foxes, woodchucks, hawks, and a host of other creatures. All of them are wisely leary of humans, but the deer are particularly careful.

When the doe scampered away toward the side yard, I worried about where she would go. Ours is not a heavily traveled neighborhood, but there are often cars on the cross streets and various workmen busy around the well tended houses. I was frightened for her. Then from the kitchen, I looked with squinted eyes through the patio doors in the living room. She was standing in an overgrown side yard area looking back toward me. I found myself moving very slowly as I got my coffee and walked carefully in the opposite direction.

Now, here I sit, typing this experience into my blog and worrying about the welfare of that darned doe, almost afraid to go back and see if she's still safe in my yard and feeling a trifle guilty about being curious in my own home.

Okay, so I went to check, staying away from the windows. I didn't see her, but she is colored to blend with the winter terrain. I hope she's there, secure in a hidden spot, but I'm planning to keep an eye on the cats. They'll probably let me know if she moves or returns. Should she 'hang around' I'll end up giving her a name, and we all know what that means. We'll kind of belong to each other. Cool.

Censorship? No. A Muzzle for Coulter? Definitely!

I am not a promoter or censorship. I do not like limits of any kind, other than the ones we impose upon ourselves. Just as I don't like the idea of gagging a human, I don't like the idea of muzzling a dog. The frequency with which Ann Coulter crawls out from behind her rock, however, makes me rethink my stance, and I have to say in this single instance, I believe in muzzles for rabid people.

We often rail against celebrities and just as often, they deserve it. But we also too often forget that it is our attention that creates celebrity status, whether it's just 15 minutes of questionable fame or what feels like a lifetime of having to put up with voices or faces we'd prefer would vanish. The American public is fickle. It is also greedy, tasteless, stupid, hateful, and so bored with it's own ineptitude that it must create something to fill the vacuum of dull, empty lives.

Sadly, that great man created monolith called the media, both electronic and print, aids and abets every element of hate, greed, tastelessness and stupidity endemic to the American public. It is a definite symbiotic relationship; both are parasites and both feed upon each other. Enter the Coulters of the world, so needing the attention of the limelight and the cameras that she prostitutes what might once have been a mild analytical talent to shovel pap and lies into the gaping maw of the ravenous beast called consumerism. Ann Coulter is not a market genius, but she does sell hate and discontent and bigotry. She coddles it and holds it to her bosom in a parody of nurturing concern.

She has sold slime for the political persuasion of her choice; she has attempted to be the female face of radical conservatism, she has extolled some peculiar hybrid of values based on the most vacuous blend of deceit and skulduggery available; she has blamed single mothers, John Kerry, radical feminist, the welfare system, social security, the liberals, unions, Barak Obama, atheists, Muslims, Buddhists, Jews, the survivors of 9/11, Democrats, people who disagree with her, and public libraries for everything that could possibly be classified as wrong in her isolated and strange little world, from hang nails to crows feet to the Clintons. Her idea of apple pie has worms in it. She blames single mothers but probably doesn't believe in motherhood. What use is such a thing when you can simple crawl out of the primeval slime as a dumb blonde?

There are people out here who are not adverse to speaking against her and her brand of brainless notoriety. I am apparently one of them. She is a walking advertisement for much of what we have collectively and individually lost - our integrity, our honor, our nobility of spirit, our freedom to make our own choices, and our willingness to let others choose for themselves. Perhaps she sees her act as a parody, a satirical reversal of what is good about democracy, but the act is never presented as such. The books she continues writing continue to be published by once reputable publishing houses, and are sold through reputable booksellers. And there is never a disclaimer about her wild accusations. She is a regular guest on many television programs, particularly when she has something to sell, but Ann Coulter in prime time could scare children to death.

Now, granted, she has the same freedoms as all the rest of us - to speak, to assemble, to sell herself or her soul to the highest bidder. We cannot and should not try to halt those rights, even for people as disgusting and distasteful as she has turned out to be. As much as I'd like to see no more of her or at least have her muzzled in public, it shouldn't happen. But what can happen and what should happen is that those of us who disdain the filth she spouts, the inhumane positions she assumes, the bigotry she markets must speak out against her appearances and publications. We should let her backers, publishers, and the advertisers that fund programs on which she appears that we will shun their products and wares. Because we all deserve a long break from the Ann Coulters of this world. We deserve a long break from the hate and the greed that feeds it.

The Heart and Soul of Me

This is something I've wanted to do for a very long time - add this picture of the woman and borzoi to my blog. Since I'm not the handiest person with technology, I'll have to keep my fingers crossed that this works...and wonder if the picture will also be added to all my older posts.

The original snap shot also gave a clear view of a depot with the awaiting train, the somewhat foggy atmosphere suggesting London. That would actually be highly appropriate since it was primarily due to the efforts of an Englishwoman who had received several of the dogs from family members in Russia that the breed was saved from the ravages of the Russian Revolution.

I dearly love this breed. From the first moment I saw them at the Westminster Kennel Club Show so many years ago, the essence of their being spoke to me, as though somehow they were my alter ego in canine form. Originally bred to travel in pairs and accompany troikas traveling across the frozen Russians wastes as protection for the aristocrats against wolves, they are both fast and fierce in attack mode. One would go for a wolf's leg, and when tripped, the other would go for the throat.

Amazing that they can look so delicate while being so solid, resilient, and strong. Just a touch lazy, too. Borzois are 'leaners.' When they stand next to you, that long and long legged body wraps around you and they lean into your legs. Perhaps it is a protective stance, but perhaps it is just restful for them. Whatever it is, it's a wonderful feeling. (Greyhounds do the same thing, but there is a great similarity between breeds - both built for speed, but the Borzoi breed for speed in extra cold weather.)

I've always been glad they were always somewhat rare, and thus, never an overly popular dog like so many others the public has nearly ruined by over breeding. Unfortunately, sometimes that's what we humans do best. Weaken or destroy what we love.

Sometimes Even the Smart Ones are Dumber than Dirt

It used to be that I prided myself on being 'up' on current events. Unfortunately, the last few years have seen events that grated so thoroughly on my soul, that my mental survival demanded I look away. Ergo, the latest cultural tale of criminality involving Bernie Madoff and the uber elite and uber wealthy of the finance and celebrity communities has been slow to capture my attention. Also, I've been far more concerned and intimately involved with all the man-made crap falling down on the heads of my own socio-economic group to care much about what happens to those who gained either their notoriety or bank accounts through egocentric or fraudulent or other questionable means because of the attention span of idiots and morons.

Just a quick read of some of the investigative material out there now that the damage has been done leads to one irrefutable conclusion as far as I'm concerned. No matter how smart anyone thinks they are, inattention can be invitation to disaster. And inattention - whether we call it a lack of insight, a lack of foresight or a lack of oversight - has been at the bottom of every ill that has befallen us as humans since Pandora opened that deadly box. Humans seem to have an inbred tendency to fall asleep at the wheel.

For a gal in the vanguard of many things, I'm also unrepentantly old fashioned. I see nothing worth emulation in criminality. I see nothing to recommended generalized or specific greed. I find no defining boundaries in wealth. I never suspect anyone of being better than they absolutely have to be which translates into few people being half as good as they pretend they are. Money might be the definition of value and/or worth in our society, but it's real value lays only in the convenience it can provide. The contradiction is that money can also be wildly inconvenient, because once people obtain a large amount, the money controls them rather than them controlling the money. Some people get so pushed around, dictated to, and warped by their wealth that they are diminished in every area that is important. At the same time, they are not worthy of either my attention or concern. I am unable to cry for monied people.

So, into this scene of wealth, privilege, illusion, global importance and self aggrandizement comes an example of globalized slime named Bernard Manhoff, with his version of a 1920's pyramid scheme to help the greed filled wealthy fool themselves while he cheats them out of their undeserved money. The best thing that can be said of him is that he is an equal opportunity swindler at play in the fields of international and global finance. One hedge fund manager has committed suicide for losing over a billion dollars of his clients' money and couldn't handle the shame of being so badly duped. Other hedge funds have also been defrauded with less bloody results. Banks, those practitioners of full card Monty on a grandiose sale and bastions of depriving the needy for the betterment of their own wealthy were also targeted for fraud, and lost billions. It is the foundations and charitable trusts that at least deserve a modicum of pity for their losses. One in particular that was heartbreaking was the Elie Wiesel Foundation for Humanity. Nothing humane in that swindle.

I laughed at finding the Palm Beach Country Club on the list of losers, but I mourned the loss of shine on the icon that is the Royal Bank of Scotland. After all, the Scots are supposedly the poster children for frugality and vigilance in monetary matters. No more, it seems.

Except for our own government's fraud perpetrated on American taxpayers to the tune of $700 billion plus in bail out money for our incompetent sicon's of industry, the Madoff scandal is the largest rip off in history, yet the man is out on bail. Apologies to Mohammad Ali, but I wonder if Madoff is still floating through life like a butterfly even if he can no long sting like a bee.

And what about the S.E.C. in this sad state of affairs? Where exactly were they, especially after the warnings received about Madoff's scheme in 1999? What were they doing, and who were they doing it to? Will we be faced with another situation where the specific culprit in such a global scam is punished with little more than a slap on the wrist while underlings, like the guy who posed as the auditor of Madoff's business is hung out to dry? Is this an Enron Redux? Do we, as a supposedly progressive, knowledgeable, honorable governmental entity have the courage to truly clean up the mess our government and its regulating bodies helped create or like most things, will we put a 'Snoopy' band-aid of the ouchie and declare the situation resolved?

A comment on one of the blog entries about this fraud suggested that the best and most fitting punishment would be in standing the 70 year old Madoff in front of a brick wall after giving at least six of the defrauded loaded rifles. Considering how Europeanized the full extend of the fraud was, perhaps such a solution would be apt. Or, since Nomura in Japan was another that lost money, might hari kari be allowed? Maybe put him on the 18th green at Palm Beach and drive golf balls at him. Or force him to watch every movie ever made by Steven Spielberg, Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick without pause or a bath room break.

Somehow, whatever is ultimately done it will not be enough, if anything is done at all. And if nothing is done or if whatever cage the perpetrator is assigned is swanky and golden the delineation between what happens to the rich and what happens to the poor will again be far too clear. Actually, this situation when compared to the starvation deaths in Africa, the war deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan, the 'disgruntlement' deaths because the Arabs and Israelis can't get along, the children who die from lack of care, the old people who waste away in illness than receive no attention, and the minds that are wasted from poor schools, nutritian, and absue is really nothing more than very small potatoes for a bunch of very small if wealthy private investor-type people. It's hard to really give a damn.

Dark Knights and Loud Noises

For reasons I can no longer recall, I did not make it to the local cinema to see "The Dark Knight" when it was first released. Instead, I waited until the DVD hit the stores and made a purchase with full confidence that neither my enthralled reaction to "Batman Begins" nor all the media hype could be wrong and it would be satisfaction guaranteed. It wasn't. It was aggravation in an eared mask and black body suit accompanied by a cacaphony of noise.

I have no complaint with the continuing story line, even if The Joker character was pretty over-the-top. After all, it all came from the comic book. I have no major complaint with what in the first movie was a terrific repertory cast, although I can offer two minor grumbles. First replacing Katie Holmes with Maggie Gylenthaal offended my sensibilities. Holmes was perfectly cast as the idealistic albeit naive female love interest for the 'bat,' even if in real life she seems to prefer a disgusting toad, but Gylenthaal was too old and jaded to be credible. As she played the assigned part, you could see her still dripping from having been ridden hard and put away wet. Grumble number two centers on the late Heath Ledger's performance as The Joker. I found it uneven, making me wonder how much all the critical acclaim was deserved for his work while alive and how much was simply press agent bereavement after his death.

No, my discontent stems directly from the sound mixing between dialogue and special effects noise. This is not something just recently noticed, but something that has been getting worse over a period of time, and this movie has the dubious honor of being the first time I've put my disgruntlement at noise overwhelming dialogue in writing. Are we as a species or as a movie devouring public going collectively deaf? Or, is it simply that we don't care what words are spoken (or sung, for that matter) as long as they are excessively loud so as to gain our attention? There were sections of this movie where, no matter what I did to the tracking on my disc player or how many times I went back to try listening again, the dialogue was lost in what passed as background music, or crashes, or explosions, or some other special effect noise. Has dialogue lost its importance? Do the actors think that way too?

Hey, I like special effects. Even if they don't advance the story line, by themselves they can be very impressive and the brains behind their creation are amazingly inventive. I also happen to like most movie music, believing it necessary to aid in advancing whatever emotion or psychological setting is intrinsic to what is happening on screen. But...so much of either that the only thing being noticed is the effect or the sound kills my enjoyment. Isn't any movie or other story supposed to be a fusion of all parts?

Granted, there are times when the effects garner all the attention and because the story is weak or garbled for other reasons, and it does't matter a great deal. A good example of that to my mind is "The Matrix - part II". There are other times when the movie itself is basically silly or imbecilic so that little could detract from it's weakness. My example for this goes against every bit of hype I've heard and all those many people who've oozed love for the movie, but "Iron Man" fills that bill for me. I found it excessively boring.

When it comes to movies, I have wide-ranging tastes, although they are frequently out of the norm. Whether it's pure drama, something action packed, a chick flick, classical comedy, a costume classic, science fiction, or documentary, I'm open to and generally enjoy them all within the restrictions of how well they are presented by all involved. However, when it comes to the sound engineering and effects being too overpowering, such as in the case of "The Black Knight," my criticism is highly valid and this has to be the combined foolishness or ineptitude of the editors and mixers. Celebrity egos are generally absurdities made flesh, but since when did such an affliction begin to creep into the mentality of either those behind the scene professionals and technicians and those of us who pay our money to see the results of all those combined efforts? Shouldn't we both expect and demand better?

I do not like walking away from a movie experience I've gleefully anticipated feeling like I've been cheated. And, contrary to some excellent performances in the "The Dark Knight," I feel like I've been had.