I’ve been suspicious of the group called the Patriot Guard Riders who show up in the news about funeral services for fallen American soldiers from Iraq and Afghanistan. They ride mostly Harley Davidsons, wear the usual do-rags and sleeveless denim vests, and fly gigantic American flags from the backs of their bikes.
They say they attend to honor the fallen but also to protect families from vocal anti-war demonstrators. They shield the families with their giant flags, and if demonstrators get too loud, they fire up their bikes to drown out the noise.
What anti-war demonstrators?
All of this smells faintly of the persistent rumors over the years of Vietnam veterans who were spit on when they returned home. No one can say with certainty that this never happened, but I’ve looked into it a little and it seems to be an urban myth. I can say that I frequently flew in uniform on commercial airlines when I was in the Army from 1967 to 1970, and I never saw an anti-war demonstration at an airport. Personally, I was met with complete indifference, even when I flew into San Francisco airport after my tour in Vietnam.
But last night after reading about yet another funeral of an Oregon soldier, I tried to find out what I could about the Patriot Guard Riders. It turns out they’re an informal network of biker types and a lot of Vietnam vets with links to the American Legion. They offer to attend military funerals but only show up with an invitation.
What was amazing to me is that they did form up in response to outrageous demonstrations at funerals, but not by your typical anti-war activists. Here’s an excerpt from a Time magazine story:
“They formed as a response to the Rev. Fred Phelps, an attention-crazed fanatic based in Topeka, Kans., who has logged 15 years as a kind of paleo-fundamentalist, gay-baiting performance artist. Last spring Phelps grabbed the already troubling line, taken by preachers such as Pat Robertson, that disasters like 9/11 were God's punishment for American sins, and spun it past the boundary of the outrageous by having his followers crash military funerals with signs like GOD LOVES IEDS (improvised explosive devices) and scream to grieving parents that their children were in hell as divine punishment for what Phelps calls the nation's "enabling" and "harboring" of homosexuals.”
Phelps hates “fags,” and his congregation of under a hundred makes news by gay-bashing their way around the country blaming 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, and even the war itself on American tolerance, such as it is, for gays. They even carry signs saying “God hates America.”
I guess in crazy times you’re going to hear a lot more from crazy people.
Here’s a link to the whole article:
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1189333,00.html
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Wild Hogs
Last night, Mary had dinner with a group of women friends, so, left to my own devices, I decided to go out to a movie, something I rarely do. I decided to see Wild Hogs, which I knew would be at best good for a few mindless chuckles. Actually, I enjoy mindless chuckles. Austin Powers movies, for example, crack me up. And Wild Hogs has motorcycles in it, even if they are Harley Davidsons.
I certainly had some good laughs, but overall, it’s a very poor comedy. I had hopes because John Travolta is, in my mind, best as a comic actor, and William Macy is always worth seeing. Still, the writing was mostly terrible and even the best of actors couldn’t do much with the material.
The funniest part of the movie for me was the ending, and I was surprised to find myself the only one laughing. Our four heroes, off on a middle-aged motorcycle odyssey to rediscover their lost youth and freedom, find themselves in a small New Mexico town being trashed by a gang of outlaw bikers. Just when it seems that all hope is lost, in rides the Shane character on his Harley.
We see only his boots and leathers as he steps off. And then, Peter Fonda walks into the fray and tells the bikers to leave the town alone; they have lost the meaning of freedom and what it means to be a biker.
I certainly had some good laughs, but overall, it’s a very poor comedy. I had hopes because John Travolta is, in my mind, best as a comic actor, and William Macy is always worth seeing. Still, the writing was mostly terrible and even the best of actors couldn’t do much with the material.
The funniest part of the movie for me was the ending, and I was surprised to find myself the only one laughing. Our four heroes, off on a middle-aged motorcycle odyssey to rediscover their lost youth and freedom, find themselves in a small New Mexico town being trashed by a gang of outlaw bikers. Just when it seems that all hope is lost, in rides the Shane character on his Harley.
We see only his boots and leathers as he steps off. And then, Peter Fonda walks into the fray and tells the bikers to leave the town alone; they have lost the meaning of freedom and what it means to be a biker.
The outlaws look like a playground full of chastised bullies, and I’m laughing my ass off because I know immediately that Peter Fonda is Easy Rider. It was a great visual allusion, and the film gets credit for not explaining it to the uninitiated.
When the lights go up, I look around and see that I’m the only person in the theater old enough to have seen Easy Rider and know what an icon it became for our generation. I felt like I sometimes do when I’m lecturing and my mind wanders off to some reference that’s not going to make sense to anybody under fifty. Most of the time, I don’t bother to try to explain.
My friend Broschat recently sent me a special edition DVD of Easy Rider, one of his unannounced and unexplained gifts that show up now and then. (Thanks, Michael!) I haven’t got around to watching it yet, and now that sounds like a great way to spend this rainy and cold Saturday afternoon.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Spring ride
Spring has arrived in the Klamath Basin with its usual mix of cold weather, rain, wind, and an occasional snow. When the weather is like this and you love a good motorcycle ride, you have to jump on it when the sun comes out.
One day last week, my friend Jim Stewart called early in the morning and asked if I wanted to go for a ride somewhere. Absolutely!
Jim has a new BMW K1200 RS and we rode from Klamath Falls over to Medford together. The roads were clear of snow but dirty. I was taking it pretty easy, which was a good thing because a turkey flew across the road in front of me. It wasn’t even a close call, but we always have to be on the lookout for wildlife when we ride around here. Deer are the usual close call. I would not want my obit to read "killed by a turkey," though I suppose that could always happen. There are a lot of turkeys out there, though this is my first incident with one that had feathers.
One day last week, my friend Jim Stewart called early in the morning and asked if I wanted to go for a ride somewhere. Absolutely!
Jim has a new BMW K1200 RS and we rode from Klamath Falls over to Medford together. The roads were clear of snow but dirty. I was taking it pretty easy, which was a good thing because a turkey flew across the road in front of me. It wasn’t even a close call, but we always have to be on the lookout for wildlife when we ride around here. Deer are the usual close call. I would not want my obit to read "killed by a turkey," though I suppose that could always happen. There are a lot of turkeys out there, though this is my first incident with one that had feathers.
We stopped at Hanson’s Motorcycles in Medford, where I got to drool over several new bikes. I’m not seriously thinking about anything new. My VFR is a great motorcycle and still has low miles. Still, there are close to a dozen new bikes on the market that I can get excited about.
We had lunch in Ashland, then went down I-5 over the Siskiyous to the Klamath River Road. We rode in about fifty miles, then took a short break and rode back home. Probably about 250-mile day.
We had lunch in Ashland, then went down I-5 over the Siskiyous to the Klamath River Road. We rode in about fifty miles, then took a short break and rode back home. Probably about 250-mile day.
Jim with his new new K1200RSThe pace got brisk in places, breaking 100 on the straights and pretty fast through the turns. Then we got stuck behind a guy in a car, and I was just starting to get wizzy because he wouldn't pull over to let us pass when a CHP went by coming towards us. I figure God put that car there to spare me an expensive ticket. Thank you, Jesus!
Today, it's cold and rainy again, but that's spring in Oregon. I hang around motorcycle web forums and plan trips. I really should do some dusting.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Surge Update
Watched two disturbing programs on PBS last night: one on The Gangs of Iraq.
About all I can say is what a fucking mess. The more you know, the worse it gets. I felt personal humiliation watching an American contract trainer and self-described “inspirational speaker” in a session with Iraqi police recruits.
“Let me hear you say Freedom!” They say freedom.
He exhorts them to say it louder: “FREEDOM!” They do.
This goes on like a high school pep rally through about five iterations. At the end he makes them repeat an improvised pledge of allegiance to the Iraqi flag, which looks like it’s been crudely painted as a wall poster.
The rest of the program documented the infiltration of Iraqi police and army units by militias and the steady deterioration of security in Iraq since our invasion. It was gritty stuff. You won’t see footage like this on NBC or ABC. CBS I couldn’t say since even the sight of Katie Couric makes me gag.
But the scene that stands out in my mind most is not the mutilated bodies or the deserted Iraqi police stations. It’s the idiot cheer leader trying to get a roomful of Iraqi police to shout “freedom!” just a little bit louder.
The second program was an amazing film made by PBS but entirely produced by and about Richard Perle, one of the neocon architects of the war. (So much for the PBS “liberal bias.”) Perle was adamant that neocons still passionately believe we were right to invade Iraq. He rehashes the WMD evidence. He never quite acknowledges that we got that wrong, saying only that even the Germans and French agreed on the intelligence. Even Hillary agreed on the links to terrorists.
Who cares? The Germans and the French opposed the invasion. Hillary is not my role model and she doesn’t speak for me or all Democrats.
For what it's worth, I’m proud that all of Oregon’s congressional Democrats voted against the war: Senator Ron Wyden and four Representatives. Most Americans opposed the invasion until they were tricked into believing we were a multinational coalition. Now that the war grinds on into its fifth year, the situation still “grave and deteriorating,” most Americans have turned against Bush and his few remaining Congressional allies.
Who cares even about that? I feel terrible for the troops, now getting news their tours have been extended to 15 months. In Vietnam, we knew our DEROS: “Date Returned from Overseas.” Mine was May 2, 1969. Every day I blacked out one more date on my calendar. When you had a month or less, you were short. Shortimers didn’t take shit.
I feel even worse for the Iraqis, the vast majority of which want us to leave now. Fifty-thousand Iraqis a month leave Iraq, most of them from the more educated professional classes who have decided it’s time to DEROS themselves out of there while they still can. Soon, only the cannibals will be left.
I admit I stopped watching the Perle propaganda film half way through and went to bed to read a fluffy novel. I needed some time to get my mind back.
For someone who devours news,opinion, and analysis, I’m lately spending less and less time on anything related to current affairs. The war will go on just as it has until Bush leaves office. Someone else will have to seek for a way to disengage. Not redeploy. Get the fuck out. And then the fighting will go on for another century or so, and back here, everybody will be blaming somebody else for losing Iraq.
Any chance I could be wrong about all this? I can only say to myself that I’ve been right so far. I know I won’t live long enough to see it all play out.
About all I can say is what a fucking mess. The more you know, the worse it gets. I felt personal humiliation watching an American contract trainer and self-described “inspirational speaker” in a session with Iraqi police recruits.
“Let me hear you say Freedom!” They say freedom.
He exhorts them to say it louder: “FREEDOM!” They do.
This goes on like a high school pep rally through about five iterations. At the end he makes them repeat an improvised pledge of allegiance to the Iraqi flag, which looks like it’s been crudely painted as a wall poster.
The rest of the program documented the infiltration of Iraqi police and army units by militias and the steady deterioration of security in Iraq since our invasion. It was gritty stuff. You won’t see footage like this on NBC or ABC. CBS I couldn’t say since even the sight of Katie Couric makes me gag.
But the scene that stands out in my mind most is not the mutilated bodies or the deserted Iraqi police stations. It’s the idiot cheer leader trying to get a roomful of Iraqi police to shout “freedom!” just a little bit louder.
The second program was an amazing film made by PBS but entirely produced by and about Richard Perle, one of the neocon architects of the war. (So much for the PBS “liberal bias.”) Perle was adamant that neocons still passionately believe we were right to invade Iraq. He rehashes the WMD evidence. He never quite acknowledges that we got that wrong, saying only that even the Germans and French agreed on the intelligence. Even Hillary agreed on the links to terrorists.
Who cares? The Germans and the French opposed the invasion. Hillary is not my role model and she doesn’t speak for me or all Democrats.
For what it's worth, I’m proud that all of Oregon’s congressional Democrats voted against the war: Senator Ron Wyden and four Representatives. Most Americans opposed the invasion until they were tricked into believing we were a multinational coalition. Now that the war grinds on into its fifth year, the situation still “grave and deteriorating,” most Americans have turned against Bush and his few remaining Congressional allies.
Who cares even about that? I feel terrible for the troops, now getting news their tours have been extended to 15 months. In Vietnam, we knew our DEROS: “Date Returned from Overseas.” Mine was May 2, 1969. Every day I blacked out one more date on my calendar. When you had a month or less, you were short. Shortimers didn’t take shit.
I feel even worse for the Iraqis, the vast majority of which want us to leave now. Fifty-thousand Iraqis a month leave Iraq, most of them from the more educated professional classes who have decided it’s time to DEROS themselves out of there while they still can. Soon, only the cannibals will be left.
I admit I stopped watching the Perle propaganda film half way through and went to bed to read a fluffy novel. I needed some time to get my mind back.
For someone who devours news,opinion, and analysis, I’m lately spending less and less time on anything related to current affairs. The war will go on just as it has until Bush leaves office. Someone else will have to seek for a way to disengage. Not redeploy. Get the fuck out. And then the fighting will go on for another century or so, and back here, everybody will be blaming somebody else for losing Iraq.
Any chance I could be wrong about all this? I can only say to myself that I’ve been right so far. I know I won’t live long enough to see it all play out.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
How your mouse works
Click on the link below to learn how your mouse works.
http://www.1-click.jp/
Once there, move you mouse around and click.
http://www.1-click.jp/
Once there, move you mouse around and click.
Monday, March 19, 2007
March to the Sea
I’m finishing up the memoirs of Civil War General William T. Sherman. The book was recommended by Broschat (see link to Montlake Blog at the right), who discovered that Sherman began his career in California before and shortly after the start of the gold rush. Since we grew up in the Bay Area, much of Sherman’s early adventures took place on ground familiar to us.
I thought I’d only read until he went back East, but I found the book to be very compelling. There are lots of Sherman’s thoughts about the war itself and many fascinating incidents, some of them involving clashes of gigantic egos. Sherman, for example, was dispatched to Southern California to get Fremont to knock it off with the undeclared war on Mexico. The declared war came a little later, and Sherman lamented that he couldn’t be there for the action.
In addition to the events themselves, Sherman was a good writer, able to capture a lot of detail, and in a readable style at a time when rhetorical flourish was a virtue and more was generally considered better.
But it’s Sherman himself who is so fascinating. A few years into the war when the South was on the run, some newspapers and politicians were arguing for a peace settlement. Sherman would settle for nothing short of complete defeat of the South and complete surrender:
“I would banish all minor questions, assert the broad doctrine that as a nation the United States has the right, and also the physical power, to penetrate to every part of our national domain, and that we will do it—that we will do it in our own time and in our own way; that it makes no difference whether it be in one year, or two, or ten, or twenty; that we will remove and destroy every obstacle, if need be, take every life, every acre of land, every particle of property, every thing that to us seems proper; that we will not cease till the end is attained; that all who do not aid us are enemies, and that we will not account to them for our acts. If the people of the South oppose, they do so at their peril; and if they stand by, mere lookers-on in this domestic tragedy, they have no right to immunity, protection, or share in the final results.”
This was his advice to Grant and Lincoln, and this was the outcome. For his own part, after every battle Sherman dispassonately records his own army's deaths, wounded and missing, sometimes numbering in the thousands.
I thought I’d only read until he went back East, but I found the book to be very compelling. There are lots of Sherman’s thoughts about the war itself and many fascinating incidents, some of them involving clashes of gigantic egos. Sherman, for example, was dispatched to Southern California to get Fremont to knock it off with the undeclared war on Mexico. The declared war came a little later, and Sherman lamented that he couldn’t be there for the action.
In addition to the events themselves, Sherman was a good writer, able to capture a lot of detail, and in a readable style at a time when rhetorical flourish was a virtue and more was generally considered better.
But it’s Sherman himself who is so fascinating. A few years into the war when the South was on the run, some newspapers and politicians were arguing for a peace settlement. Sherman would settle for nothing short of complete defeat of the South and complete surrender:
“I would banish all minor questions, assert the broad doctrine that as a nation the United States has the right, and also the physical power, to penetrate to every part of our national domain, and that we will do it—that we will do it in our own time and in our own way; that it makes no difference whether it be in one year, or two, or ten, or twenty; that we will remove and destroy every obstacle, if need be, take every life, every acre of land, every particle of property, every thing that to us seems proper; that we will not cease till the end is attained; that all who do not aid us are enemies, and that we will not account to them for our acts. If the people of the South oppose, they do so at their peril; and if they stand by, mere lookers-on in this domestic tragedy, they have no right to immunity, protection, or share in the final results.”
This was his advice to Grant and Lincoln, and this was the outcome. For his own part, after every battle Sherman dispassonately records his own army's deaths, wounded and missing, sometimes numbering in the thousands.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Paul deLay's Last Concert
Last Saturday night, Mary and I heard Portland blues giant Paul deLay in concert at the Ross Ragland Theater here in town. We had dinner with our new friends Ronda and Jim, then walked over to the show together. A great evening!
deLay played with a quartet featuring guitar, bass, and drums, plus himself singing and playing harmonica. He’s known as one of the best blues harmonica players with obvious jazz influences. He put on a great show doing exclusively Chicago style blues with a somewhat smaller group than it takes to do it right. Still, I was impressed with his musicianship and the group’s swing.
Overall, it was a great night of music, if not the best blues concert I’ve ever seen. Afterwards, Mary and I both said we enjoyed it, though it didn’t seem to take off in the way that can bring an audience to its feet. Mary said deLay seemed tired, a simple explanation that I hadn’t hit on. We both commented that his voice seemed damaged, maybe the inevitable result of a life of shouting the blues, maybe just a cold. He said the group had just returned from Mexico, so we thought maybe he was a little done-in from traveling.
So I was shocked to read this morning on the Oregonian front page that he died yesterday of leukemia. His guitar player said that he was tired after the show and suffering from bronchitis, but back in Portland, doctors said he was in an advanced stage of leukemia. His organs were shutting down, and he went into a coma, dying yesterday morning. No one knew he was sick.
I feel somehow honored and certainly fortunate to have been at his last concert sitting just three rows back. Despite the obvious fatigue, he joked with the audience, played two long sets, and came out for an encore. I bought a CD, Nice and Strong, which adds a Hammond B3 and tenor saxophone to the mix and which I highly recommend.
This leads, of course, to some thoughts on mortality. deLay was 55, four years younger than me. In 1990, he was heavily into alcohol and cocaine and was busted for dealing. He did four years in prison, but got straight before he did the sentence and seemed to stay clean the rest of his life. If he had to die young, this was a good life, full of music and working to the end.
May we all live so well and go out doing what we love.
RIP Paul deLay.
deLay played with a quartet featuring guitar, bass, and drums, plus himself singing and playing harmonica. He’s known as one of the best blues harmonica players with obvious jazz influences. He put on a great show doing exclusively Chicago style blues with a somewhat smaller group than it takes to do it right. Still, I was impressed with his musicianship and the group’s swing.
Overall, it was a great night of music, if not the best blues concert I’ve ever seen. Afterwards, Mary and I both said we enjoyed it, though it didn’t seem to take off in the way that can bring an audience to its feet. Mary said deLay seemed tired, a simple explanation that I hadn’t hit on. We both commented that his voice seemed damaged, maybe the inevitable result of a life of shouting the blues, maybe just a cold. He said the group had just returned from Mexico, so we thought maybe he was a little done-in from traveling.
So I was shocked to read this morning on the Oregonian front page that he died yesterday of leukemia. His guitar player said that he was tired after the show and suffering from bronchitis, but back in Portland, doctors said he was in an advanced stage of leukemia. His organs were shutting down, and he went into a coma, dying yesterday morning. No one knew he was sick.
I feel somehow honored and certainly fortunate to have been at his last concert sitting just three rows back. Despite the obvious fatigue, he joked with the audience, played two long sets, and came out for an encore. I bought a CD, Nice and Strong, which adds a Hammond B3 and tenor saxophone to the mix and which I highly recommend.
This leads, of course, to some thoughts on mortality. deLay was 55, four years younger than me. In 1990, he was heavily into alcohol and cocaine and was busted for dealing. He did four years in prison, but got straight before he did the sentence and seemed to stay clean the rest of his life. If he had to die young, this was a good life, full of music and working to the end.
May we all live so well and go out doing what we love.
RIP Paul deLay.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Three New Sites
I’m excited about three new Websites that were covered in the Oregonian yesterday and today. One is www.blip.tv. particularly www.thebicyclist.blip.tv. The O gave this a front-page story yesterday, and I have to say the real thing doesn’t measure up so well. It’s a site for filmmakers to post their work, and I’m not sure how it differs so much from YouTube. The bicyclist, though, aims to develop into a series. The first episode is only a few minutes long, but a promising start.
Then, there’s www.BikePortland.org. Portland, by all accounts, is the bikiest town around, despite the rain. I’ve tried to hook up with other electric bike enthusiasts through the Web and found surprisingly little going on out there. BikePortland is described as an “all-things-bicycle” blog, so it should be interesting. One of my intermediate goals is to write a guest column for the O on electric biking, and of course it will be written with my usual seriousness of demeanor and purpose. Also some fart jokes.
Maybe most promising is www.librarything.com . You can catalogue your entire personal library or start with just one book at a time. Enter the book and do a search and you can click on a link that will insert the cover, all the publishing information, and even the ISBN number. You can add a description and a review. Maybe best is that you can link up to others who are reading the same books as you and have a chat.
Remember: Do not offer to meet any underage girls in motel rooms!! You’ll probably be met by police detectives and a Fox news team and find yourself doing twenty years hard time, all because you thought you might want to learn a little more about Little Women.
Librarything is getting lots of good buzz. I’m getting a haircut, but not a buzz.
Then, there’s www.BikePortland.org. Portland, by all accounts, is the bikiest town around, despite the rain. I’ve tried to hook up with other electric bike enthusiasts through the Web and found surprisingly little going on out there. BikePortland is described as an “all-things-bicycle” blog, so it should be interesting. One of my intermediate goals is to write a guest column for the O on electric biking, and of course it will be written with my usual seriousness of demeanor and purpose. Also some fart jokes.
Maybe most promising is www.librarything.com . You can catalogue your entire personal library or start with just one book at a time. Enter the book and do a search and you can click on a link that will insert the cover, all the publishing information, and even the ISBN number. You can add a description and a review. Maybe best is that you can link up to others who are reading the same books as you and have a chat.
Remember: Do not offer to meet any underage girls in motel rooms!! You’ll probably be met by police detectives and a Fox news team and find yourself doing twenty years hard time, all because you thought you might want to learn a little more about Little Women.
Librarything is getting lots of good buzz. I’m getting a haircut, but not a buzz.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
allaboutjazz
Some long time ago, I downloaded somewhere a free song titled “Circle Dance,” by a group called Conference Call. The album is Live at the Outpost Performance Space. This is great stuff, a little on the edgy, free jazz side that I tend to like.
But not too edgy, as I say in my profile.
I wanted to hear and maybe buy more, but I could never locate it. If I searched “Conference Call” at places like Amazon, I got a lot of telephone accessories. I couldn’t get any hits by artist, album or song on Napster or any of the other download sites I hang around at.
I finally connected by going to http://www.allaboutjazz.com/, where I found that the album title should be Live at the Outpost, and now I’ve ordered it from Amazon. The tenor player I like so well is one Gebhard Ullmann, a German musician who’s been around a long time. You can read his bio at www.gebhard-ullmann.com/frame.htm.
All of this interest in jazz is rekindled in part by the current Portland Jazz Festival, which I’m missing because I decided I couldn’t afford it, not even just a weekend of the ten-day affair. Also, I’m working two days a week, and I can’t just take off. Also, my repaired hernias still hurt, and I’m not thinking a lot about getting out of town yet. Also, I don’t know anybody to go with.
So I was wondering, do I really want to cram in say three days of intensive jazz concerts and then sit around trying to digest all that and not have anybody to talk it through with?
Well, yes.
What a lineup! It’s an ambitious and risk-taking series of concerts set in a mix of venues ranging from smallish clubs to the 2700-seat Schnitzer auditorium. Most performers have to be considered big names in jazz circles, but we’re talking small circles here. Gary Burton has been around forever and is always accessible if not easy-listening. I’d book him in the Schnitz. And jazz aficionados know that Branford is the right Marsalis to invite.
But one of my favorite pianists, Geri Allen, isn’t that big a name, and Don Byron and Dave Douglas may have a very high critical regard, but how big a draw could they count on? These guys fill clubs, not auditoriums. Their music can be difficult, though both Allen and Byron are about as exciting and creative as anybody who’s come along in the last few decades. Douglas for me, not so much.
For truly new voices, I’ll track down tenor saxophonist Sophie Faught, 19, who reportedly held her own with the likes of some of the above.
My friend Broschat will be interested to know that singer Gretta Matassa led a late-night jam. As I recall, he was trying to get people to pay attention to her some years ago when she was playing the Seattle club scene but hadn’t made a name yet. He gifted me a CD by her which I’ll have to sift out from my ramble of a collection.
Next year I’m going. Cross my heart.
But not too edgy, as I say in my profile.
I wanted to hear and maybe buy more, but I could never locate it. If I searched “Conference Call” at places like Amazon, I got a lot of telephone accessories. I couldn’t get any hits by artist, album or song on Napster or any of the other download sites I hang around at.
I finally connected by going to http://www.allaboutjazz.com/, where I found that the album title should be Live at the Outpost, and now I’ve ordered it from Amazon. The tenor player I like so well is one Gebhard Ullmann, a German musician who’s been around a long time. You can read his bio at www.gebhard-ullmann.com/frame.htm.
All of this interest in jazz is rekindled in part by the current Portland Jazz Festival, which I’m missing because I decided I couldn’t afford it, not even just a weekend of the ten-day affair. Also, I’m working two days a week, and I can’t just take off. Also, my repaired hernias still hurt, and I’m not thinking a lot about getting out of town yet. Also, I don’t know anybody to go with.
So I was wondering, do I really want to cram in say three days of intensive jazz concerts and then sit around trying to digest all that and not have anybody to talk it through with?
Well, yes.
What a lineup! It’s an ambitious and risk-taking series of concerts set in a mix of venues ranging from smallish clubs to the 2700-seat Schnitzer auditorium. Most performers have to be considered big names in jazz circles, but we’re talking small circles here. Gary Burton has been around forever and is always accessible if not easy-listening. I’d book him in the Schnitz. And jazz aficionados know that Branford is the right Marsalis to invite.
But one of my favorite pianists, Geri Allen, isn’t that big a name, and Don Byron and Dave Douglas may have a very high critical regard, but how big a draw could they count on? These guys fill clubs, not auditoriums. Their music can be difficult, though both Allen and Byron are about as exciting and creative as anybody who’s come along in the last few decades. Douglas for me, not so much.
For truly new voices, I’ll track down tenor saxophonist Sophie Faught, 19, who reportedly held her own with the likes of some of the above.
My friend Broschat will be interested to know that singer Gretta Matassa led a late-night jam. As I recall, he was trying to get people to pay attention to her some years ago when she was playing the Seattle club scene but hadn’t made a name yet. He gifted me a CD by her which I’ll have to sift out from my ramble of a collection.
Next year I’m going. Cross my heart.
Friday, February 09, 2007
I'm Back!
Hey, I need to log back in. It’s been a month. I’m better now, though I have to say my surgery and recovery have not been a breeze.
Just let me say this and get it off my chest: “The horror!!”
I’m not a John Wayne kind of guy. You’ll never hear me say, “It’s only a scratch.” I got sick from the pain meds and ended up in the emergency room. After that, it just hurt a lot. I was on drugs, and unlike, say, Hunter S. Thompson, I don’t do my best work when I’m loaded. I didn’t work at all, as a matter of fact. I just laid around and complained.
Still, it was a time to reconnect with my inner wimp and watch a lot of videos. I got the PBS complete history of England in about 20 DVDs. Here’s a summary: War! Unimaginable savagery! I’m only up to about 1300, disc three or four. I take this in small doses.
Also, Carl Sagan’s Cosmos. Wonderful, but I’m not tracking all that well. Also in small doses.
Friends have been dear. Thank you all for the visits, the phone calls, and the chocolate. (Psss: I’m getting low on chocolate.)
Now, it’s time to get on with it, to merge with the traffic, give my students lots of homework so they’ll start complaining again, and take note of the important developments in the world around me: Astronauts are running amok. Berserking even. Anna Nicole is dead.
I’m back, though barely. My groin hurts.
Ice cream!
Just let me say this and get it off my chest: “The horror!!”
I’m not a John Wayne kind of guy. You’ll never hear me say, “It’s only a scratch.” I got sick from the pain meds and ended up in the emergency room. After that, it just hurt a lot. I was on drugs, and unlike, say, Hunter S. Thompson, I don’t do my best work when I’m loaded. I didn’t work at all, as a matter of fact. I just laid around and complained.
Still, it was a time to reconnect with my inner wimp and watch a lot of videos. I got the PBS complete history of England in about 20 DVDs. Here’s a summary: War! Unimaginable savagery! I’m only up to about 1300, disc three or four. I take this in small doses.
Also, Carl Sagan’s Cosmos. Wonderful, but I’m not tracking all that well. Also in small doses.
Friends have been dear. Thank you all for the visits, the phone calls, and the chocolate. (Psss: I’m getting low on chocolate.)
Now, it’s time to get on with it, to merge with the traffic, give my students lots of homework so they’ll start complaining again, and take note of the important developments in the world around me: Astronauts are running amok. Berserking even. Anna Nicole is dead.
I’m back, though barely. My groin hurts.
Ice cream!
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
I support our president
Tonight, the President is going to surprise us all with his new plan for victory in Iraq. This major war policy address will probably run to twenty minutes or so, though with all the pre-released details, he could probably get by with announcing “What he said.” We’d all know pretty much what he meant.
I’m not sure I’ll watch the speech. I have to say watching George Bush speak has the same effect on me as listening to someone clip their fingernails. Granted, he’s made a lot of progress on the sneer. I’m sure he’s retained the best facial-expression coaches available. But still, his tone about drives me nuts, a mix of strained patience and condescending sermonizing that may have contributed to the twins’ decision to spend more time in Argentina.
Sending more troops to Iraq shouldn’t sound like cutting back my cell phone plan, but when the President speaks, my eyes do the involuntary roll thing that usually only a teenager can pull off.
More surprising to me than any details of the new plan is that I sort-of support the idea. I mean, isn’t this the plan we should have had in place before we invaded four years ago? Our goal, of course, is complete victory against the terrorists in Iraq, or at least a government that can sustain itself, defend itself, and, uh, amuse itself.
I’m not sure on that last point, but we all get the idea.
There are an easy dozen reasons why a troop surge won’t work and might make things worse, but I keep going back to Colin Powell’s pottery store doctrine: “You break it, you own it.” We broke it in Iraq. Pulling out will unquestionably make things worse. Staying the course won’t change anything. The only thing left to try is an escalation of troops, a new general with a Ph.D., and a few months of heavy pressure on the Iraqis themselves to knock it off with the bombs and bullets and electric drills long enough to at least get the electricity back up and running.
And this time we really mean it.
I give the whole thing a snowball’s chance in Baghdad, but I think we owe it to the Iraqis to make one last, great push to leave them with a little security. A mom should be able to send Ahmed to the grocery for some figs without all the time worrying about a call to get a box and come pick up her kid. This is fundamental.
How long? Six months. Benchmarks for success? A big drop in civilian casualties and a big drop in the number of insurgent-initiated attacks.
Everything else is bullshit, and bullshit walks.
I’m not sure I’ll watch the speech. I have to say watching George Bush speak has the same effect on me as listening to someone clip their fingernails. Granted, he’s made a lot of progress on the sneer. I’m sure he’s retained the best facial-expression coaches available. But still, his tone about drives me nuts, a mix of strained patience and condescending sermonizing that may have contributed to the twins’ decision to spend more time in Argentina.
Sending more troops to Iraq shouldn’t sound like cutting back my cell phone plan, but when the President speaks, my eyes do the involuntary roll thing that usually only a teenager can pull off.
More surprising to me than any details of the new plan is that I sort-of support the idea. I mean, isn’t this the plan we should have had in place before we invaded four years ago? Our goal, of course, is complete victory against the terrorists in Iraq, or at least a government that can sustain itself, defend itself, and, uh, amuse itself.
I’m not sure on that last point, but we all get the idea.
There are an easy dozen reasons why a troop surge won’t work and might make things worse, but I keep going back to Colin Powell’s pottery store doctrine: “You break it, you own it.” We broke it in Iraq. Pulling out will unquestionably make things worse. Staying the course won’t change anything. The only thing left to try is an escalation of troops, a new general with a Ph.D., and a few months of heavy pressure on the Iraqis themselves to knock it off with the bombs and bullets and electric drills long enough to at least get the electricity back up and running.
And this time we really mean it.
I give the whole thing a snowball’s chance in Baghdad, but I think we owe it to the Iraqis to make one last, great push to leave them with a little security. A mom should be able to send Ahmed to the grocery for some figs without all the time worrying about a call to get a box and come pick up her kid. This is fundamental.
How long? Six months. Benchmarks for success? A big drop in civilian casualties and a big drop in the number of insurgent-initiated attacks.
Everything else is bullshit, and bullshit walks.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Bipartisanship
Nancy Pelosi was sworn in today as the Democratic Speaker of the House, the first woman to hold that position. It’s a great day to be a Democrat. Let the hearings begin!
After the ceremony, Republican John Boehner (that’s pronounced “bayner,” not “boner”) called on the Democrats to embrace bipartisanship.
Now, I’m as bipartisan as the next guy, but it was Boehner who, a few weeks before the November election, said in a speech to the House, “I’m beginning to think Democrats care more about terrorists than they care about Americans.” I thought these comments made a good case for bringing caning back to House proceedings.
So my bipartisan reply to Mr. Boehner is, “Go to hell. Go directly to hell. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.”
This is far more polite than, say, Vice-President Cheney’s remark on the floor of the Senate to Patrick Leahy of Vermont when Cheney said “Go fuck yourself.”
But then we Democrats are more polite by disposition.
After the ceremony, Republican John Boehner (that’s pronounced “bayner,” not “boner”) called on the Democrats to embrace bipartisanship.
Now, I’m as bipartisan as the next guy, but it was Boehner who, a few weeks before the November election, said in a speech to the House, “I’m beginning to think Democrats care more about terrorists than they care about Americans.” I thought these comments made a good case for bringing caning back to House proceedings.
So my bipartisan reply to Mr. Boehner is, “Go to hell. Go directly to hell. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.”
This is far more polite than, say, Vice-President Cheney’s remark on the floor of the Senate to Patrick Leahy of Vermont when Cheney said “Go fuck yourself.”
But then we Democrats are more polite by disposition.
State of Denial
One advantage to a couple of good hernias is that they make you spend lots of time lounging around the house. For me, this means lots or reading and, lately, watching videos and even some TV.
One thing I finally did was read a book on the Bush administration. I hadn’t read any up to now because it seems like every week, some new catastrophe makes obsolete even the latest books in print. I routinely read the Oregonian, a reasonably good daily newspaper. I also read a lot of the Washington Post online. Most months, I enjoy a motorcycle trip over to Ashland and hit the bookstores for the magazines: favorites include The Atlantic, The New Yorker, and Harpers.
I consider myself rather well-informed.
But with all the extra lounge time on my hands, I picked up Bob Woodward’s State of Denial, and I have to say I found it scandalous. I’m not easily shocked by much that happens around Washington, and especially not by the Bush administration, but there’s a lot of depth that just doesn’t get covered in newspapers or magazines.
The biggest insight gained from Woodward was the total lack of planning for Iraq after we won the war. Despite warnings from individuals and agencies before the invasion, the administration really did seem to believe we’d be welcomed as liberators. They had zero plans for what to do if we were not. Is it possible to imagine a more colossal mistake?
Donald Rumsfeld comes across as the biggest villain in Woodward’s book, though the two biggest mistakes—short of the invasion itself—go to Paul Bremer. Bremer was Rumsfield’s man, and he replaced Lieutenant General Jay Garner as the head of postwar operations in Iraq. While Garner was still in Iraq, and over his strong objections, Bremer disbanded the Iraqi army and purged all Baathists from government positions.
The result of the first error was that tens of thousands of officers and enlisted men who would have stayed in place and eventually taken over security operations were sent home mad as hell at the Americans, not to mention still heavily armed. They quickly became the heart of the Sunni insurgency.
The result of the second error was that government services such as water, sewer systems, and electricity collapsed. The Interior Ministry, which controlled all these vital services, lost all of its upper and mid-level functionaries, and there was no one to take their place.
Also interesting in the Woodward book is that Colin Powell actually had two doctrines: the first is the well-known doctrine of overwhelming force, which was not followed in our invasion. The second is what Powell called the “pottery store rule: 'You break it, you own it.'”
There’s no question that we own Iraq now. We sure would love to give it back, but we’ll still be making payments long after my little blog has fallen silent.
Even if you know a lot about how we got into Iraq and how we lost it, Woodward’s book is a compelling read.
One thing I finally did was read a book on the Bush administration. I hadn’t read any up to now because it seems like every week, some new catastrophe makes obsolete even the latest books in print. I routinely read the Oregonian, a reasonably good daily newspaper. I also read a lot of the Washington Post online. Most months, I enjoy a motorcycle trip over to Ashland and hit the bookstores for the magazines: favorites include The Atlantic, The New Yorker, and Harpers.
I consider myself rather well-informed.
But with all the extra lounge time on my hands, I picked up Bob Woodward’s State of Denial, and I have to say I found it scandalous. I’m not easily shocked by much that happens around Washington, and especially not by the Bush administration, but there’s a lot of depth that just doesn’t get covered in newspapers or magazines.
The biggest insight gained from Woodward was the total lack of planning for Iraq after we won the war. Despite warnings from individuals and agencies before the invasion, the administration really did seem to believe we’d be welcomed as liberators. They had zero plans for what to do if we were not. Is it possible to imagine a more colossal mistake?
Donald Rumsfeld comes across as the biggest villain in Woodward’s book, though the two biggest mistakes—short of the invasion itself—go to Paul Bremer. Bremer was Rumsfield’s man, and he replaced Lieutenant General Jay Garner as the head of postwar operations in Iraq. While Garner was still in Iraq, and over his strong objections, Bremer disbanded the Iraqi army and purged all Baathists from government positions.
The result of the first error was that tens of thousands of officers and enlisted men who would have stayed in place and eventually taken over security operations were sent home mad as hell at the Americans, not to mention still heavily armed. They quickly became the heart of the Sunni insurgency.
The result of the second error was that government services such as water, sewer systems, and electricity collapsed. The Interior Ministry, which controlled all these vital services, lost all of its upper and mid-level functionaries, and there was no one to take their place.
Also interesting in the Woodward book is that Colin Powell actually had two doctrines: the first is the well-known doctrine of overwhelming force, which was not followed in our invasion. The second is what Powell called the “pottery store rule: 'You break it, you own it.'”
There’s no question that we own Iraq now. We sure would love to give it back, but we’ll still be making payments long after my little blog has fallen silent.
Even if you know a lot about how we got into Iraq and how we lost it, Woodward’s book is a compelling read.
"The Dark Side"
Along with reading, I’ve also been watching videos and television. Last night, Mary and I watched a rerun of a PBS Frontline program originally aired last June. Entitled “The Dark Side,” it’s a documentary made up of over forty interviews with high-level officials from the CIA, the State Department, and members of the Bush Administration. I can’t imagine a sixty-minute program which could be more riveting or more damning.
“The Dark Side” once and for all answers the question of whether the Bush administration cooked the intelligence on Saddam’s alleged WMD and ties to al-Qaeda or if it made an honest mistake. Rather surprisingly to me, the program paints Bush himself as being initially skeptical of any links. At one point, he asked “Is that all there is?” It was a good question, and the same one that Colin Powell asked before he went before the UN.
The villain is Dick Cheney. It’s clear in the film that Cheney leaned hard on the CIA to come up with support for the conclusions he’d already reached about Iraq. Worse, working with Rumsfeld, he effectively sidelined the CIA, which had got it right and “kicked ass” in Afghanistan, and brought intelligence gathering into the Defense Department and ultimately the White House itself. Even when the CIA warned him off of bad intelligence, he continued to make the rounds saying the case for WMD was a “slam dunk” and that Saddam had ties to terrorists. If we hesitated, even for a few months, he would hit the United States.
I reacted to these kinds of high-pressure tactics the same way I react to a car salesman who tells me I have to act today. I don’t believe a word of it.
It’s amazing to me that the release of these interviews hasn’t dominated the news, both print and television, for the last year. Again, I think ongoing news trumps even recent history, and image trumps text every time. When there’s lots of good footage of today’s suicide bomber, it’s hard to get air time for interviews that were given months ago.
The death and multiple funerals of Gerald Ford have taken the spotlight off Bush and the war for a few weeks, but for me they also bring back vivid memories of listening to the Watergate Hearings on the radio. Watergate was, as has often been said, a bungled third-rate burglary, but it brought down a president and sent a dozen of his top advisors to prison. I say let the hearings begin on Iraq.
You can order the DVD of “The Dark Side” or even stream the program live here:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/darkside/
I think if you watch the first minute, you’ll watch it to the end. There are also further interviews and ongoing online discussions.
“The Dark Side” once and for all answers the question of whether the Bush administration cooked the intelligence on Saddam’s alleged WMD and ties to al-Qaeda or if it made an honest mistake. Rather surprisingly to me, the program paints Bush himself as being initially skeptical of any links. At one point, he asked “Is that all there is?” It was a good question, and the same one that Colin Powell asked before he went before the UN.
The villain is Dick Cheney. It’s clear in the film that Cheney leaned hard on the CIA to come up with support for the conclusions he’d already reached about Iraq. Worse, working with Rumsfeld, he effectively sidelined the CIA, which had got it right and “kicked ass” in Afghanistan, and brought intelligence gathering into the Defense Department and ultimately the White House itself. Even when the CIA warned him off of bad intelligence, he continued to make the rounds saying the case for WMD was a “slam dunk” and that Saddam had ties to terrorists. If we hesitated, even for a few months, he would hit the United States.
I reacted to these kinds of high-pressure tactics the same way I react to a car salesman who tells me I have to act today. I don’t believe a word of it.
It’s amazing to me that the release of these interviews hasn’t dominated the news, both print and television, for the last year. Again, I think ongoing news trumps even recent history, and image trumps text every time. When there’s lots of good footage of today’s suicide bomber, it’s hard to get air time for interviews that were given months ago.
The death and multiple funerals of Gerald Ford have taken the spotlight off Bush and the war for a few weeks, but for me they also bring back vivid memories of listening to the Watergate Hearings on the radio. Watergate was, as has often been said, a bungled third-rate burglary, but it brought down a president and sent a dozen of his top advisors to prison. I say let the hearings begin on Iraq.
You can order the DVD of “The Dark Side” or even stream the program live here:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/darkside/
I think if you watch the first minute, you’ll watch it to the end. There are also further interviews and ongoing online discussions.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Five Things No One Knows About Me
My friend Broschat has tagged me to play along with a bloggers’ game of revealing five things nobody knows about me. This confirms my growing realization that Broschat has become a nerd. In high school, he was the coolest guy I knew, but years of working with computers have taken their toll.
I should get out of this blog business while I still can, but for now I’ll play along.
Since this exercise could lead to humiliation, I’m tempted to write witty but obviously untrue items: “Abandonded by my parents in childhood, I was raised by wild rabbits.”
The truth about my parents is that they were notoriously cheap and overprotective, and even into my early teens, they made me go with them to square dances. I lived in fear that someone would find out my parents were square dancers.
Notice the curly blond hair in my blog photo? My Aunt Katie nicknamed me Rossie Tossie Cottontail. I still kind of like the name.
I comment on Broscat’s blog that I was once nearly arrested in France for public urination. That’s true. I actually got roughed up by a gendarme. In France at the time, public urination was as common as spitting on the sidewalk, so I won’t say any more about why I was singled out for attention. I do know I was very drunk.
I like to think I am fast on a motorcycle.
I was a poor trumpet player in the high school dance band. However, I once sang a scat solo to “Jumpin’ with Symphony Sid” at a parents’ night concert. I was good enough that the band director had me take two extra choruses. At home, though, my parents said they didn’t understand what I was singing.
I’m the only guy I know who lost his virginity while—oh, wait!—that was five.
I should get out of this blog business while I still can, but for now I’ll play along.
Since this exercise could lead to humiliation, I’m tempted to write witty but obviously untrue items: “Abandonded by my parents in childhood, I was raised by wild rabbits.”
The truth about my parents is that they were notoriously cheap and overprotective, and even into my early teens, they made me go with them to square dances. I lived in fear that someone would find out my parents were square dancers.
Notice the curly blond hair in my blog photo? My Aunt Katie nicknamed me Rossie Tossie Cottontail. I still kind of like the name.
I comment on Broscat’s blog that I was once nearly arrested in France for public urination. That’s true. I actually got roughed up by a gendarme. In France at the time, public urination was as common as spitting on the sidewalk, so I won’t say any more about why I was singled out for attention. I do know I was very drunk.
I like to think I am fast on a motorcycle.
I was a poor trumpet player in the high school dance band. However, I once sang a scat solo to “Jumpin’ with Symphony Sid” at a parents’ night concert. I was good enough that the band director had me take two extra choruses. At home, though, my parents said they didn’t understand what I was singing.
I’m the only guy I know who lost his virginity while—oh, wait!—that was five.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Free to Roam
I’ve been trying to keep a good attitude about my temporary disability, but the truth is I was getting cranky. I know it’s supposed to be comforting that I have it way better than some Sudanese farmer watching the Janjahweed ride into town, but this is my Winter Vacation and I’ve been pretty much confined to quarters. It hurts to walk and it hurts just to stand up for more than a few minutes.
As usual, the practical and emotional solution to the problem lies in getting some new wheels. Candy-apple red!
As usual, the practical and emotional solution to the problem lies in getting some new wheels. Candy-apple red!
At last, I’m free again to go shopping and hang around in video arcades. Now all I need is some competition.
Also, I haven’t found the motor on this thing yet, but I know there has to be one.
Who Killed the Electric Car?
The poor little electric car never had a chance. GM made only one mistake. When the California Air Resources Board (CARB) told automakers in the mid-1990s that they had to make ten percent of their fleet “zero pollution at the tailpipe” by 2002, GM turned the project over to its Saturn Division, which actually thought its job was to build a great electric car. Before GM realized its mistake, Saturn had done just that and leased several hundred of them to drivers in Southern California.Within a few years, hundreds of fully electric EV-ls were in use on the roads and freeways of SoCal. What’s amazing is not so much that GM recalled the cars from loyal owners and buried the project, but that they did such a good job of burying the story.
It took a few years in the late 1990s for the automakers and oil companies to stack CARB with their sycophants and get the new standards eliminated. Once they did, they began to call in the leases on the EV-ls. By 2004, GM had recalled all their electric cars and actually crushed them in wrecking yards. Today, there is only one known EV-1 in an auto museum, and it’s just a shell. The motor, batteries, and drive train have been removed.
The documentary Who Killed the Electric Car? tells the story through interviews with owners, engineers, Saturn executives, and former CARB board members, as well as lots of footage of the cars on the road. The film can be rather depressing, as these David and Goliath stories usually are (only in the Bible did David win), but it’s a fascinating study and it ends with two hopeful notes: one, hybrid electrics aren’t as good as a totally electric car, but the automakers are willing to produce them; and, two, with a Democratic majority in Congress, we might still see more on the electric car.
And if you thought you already hated the Bush administration, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
I highly recommend Who Killed the Electric Car, available through Netflix and your local video store.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
The Care and Feeding of Your Hernia
I initially took the news of my hernia rather hard, (“Why me, God!? The horror!”) but I’m actually adjusting to the enforced confinement rather well.
True, I’m impatient to get the operation done and get back to my good old self, however good my old self might be. I was even going to call some local surgeons and see if I could get put on standby. Maybe they lose a patient on the table early in a procedure and they're all scrubbed already, it's a shame to waste all those gowns and latex gloves. What do they do for the next four hours, play canasta?
But probably I'll just lounge around like Cleopatra for another five or six weeks. Frankly, I don’t want to do anything that might rush or confuse folks up at the local hospital. They only recently stopped advertising “Now, with anesthetic!” And “cutting edge” is not a comforting hospital slogan.
Despite the enforced confinement, it cheers me up to make a list of things I can’t do and can do. Basically, I can’t do anything that involves lifting or being on my feet for more than about two minutes. This would include all the labors of Hercules, plus such lowly chores as
Help Mary unload and stack two tons of hay for Woody
Shovel snow
Wash the dishes
Vacuum and dust
Clean up dog poop
Things I can do include
Feed myself
Move from one chair to another
Watch DVDs
Play video games
Read
Write letters to the editor about what an idiot the president is
Start an ant farm
Go to bed
I can also watch television, which I’m finding has an occasional fun program. I get four or five stations with my rabbit ears. (I have free television; think about it!) I’m becoming a fan of Ellen Degeneris, who has an afternoon show. I think she’s funny, and I like the idea of a self-deprecating lesbian comic who doesn’t do attack comedy or gross potty-mouth humor.
All in all, this is a life some might call perfect. People a little over-stressed from work who can’t afford a month off in the Caribbean might opt for an elective hernia. I’m comfortable as long as I stay seated or reclining. Mary is always cheerful if I ask her to fluff my pillow or bring me a mint.
True, I’m impatient to get the operation done and get back to my good old self, however good my old self might be. I was even going to call some local surgeons and see if I could get put on standby. Maybe they lose a patient on the table early in a procedure and they're all scrubbed already, it's a shame to waste all those gowns and latex gloves. What do they do for the next four hours, play canasta?
But probably I'll just lounge around like Cleopatra for another five or six weeks. Frankly, I don’t want to do anything that might rush or confuse folks up at the local hospital. They only recently stopped advertising “Now, with anesthetic!” And “cutting edge” is not a comforting hospital slogan.
Despite the enforced confinement, it cheers me up to make a list of things I can’t do and can do. Basically, I can’t do anything that involves lifting or being on my feet for more than about two minutes. This would include all the labors of Hercules, plus such lowly chores as
Help Mary unload and stack two tons of hay for Woody
Shovel snow
Wash the dishes
Vacuum and dust
Clean up dog poop
Things I can do include
Feed myself
Move from one chair to another
Watch DVDs
Play video games
Read
Write letters to the editor about what an idiot the president is
Start an ant farm
Go to bed
I can also watch television, which I’m finding has an occasional fun program. I get four or five stations with my rabbit ears. (I have free television; think about it!) I’m becoming a fan of Ellen Degeneris, who has an afternoon show. I think she’s funny, and I like the idea of a self-deprecating lesbian comic who doesn’t do attack comedy or gross potty-mouth humor.
All in all, this is a life some might call perfect. People a little over-stressed from work who can’t afford a month off in the Caribbean might opt for an elective hernia. I’m comfortable as long as I stay seated or reclining. Mary is always cheerful if I ask her to fluff my pillow or bring me a mint.
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