Marlin, Jim and Steve

As a child my religion was Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom on Sunday evenings.Wild Kingdom Clip The show consisted of Marlin Perkins narrating what his trusty sidekick Jim would do next. Marlin reminded me of a skinny Colonel Sanders without the goatee, and I often wondered if they were twins. I imagined Marlin being the good twin who rescued and nursed sick animals back to health. And the Colonel being the evil twin, who fried then served them up in a tasty concoction of eleven herbs and spices. I lay mesmerized in front of our color television and watched as Jim would wrestle huge jungle snakes, tranquilize water buffalos, and run from snapping alligators. My young mind would wonder off into some steamy jungle, as Jim and I tracked down an elusive five legged snake or dive off the coast of Bimini looking for the cow who thinks she's a dolphin. I would snap back to reality only when my mother would yell, “You are too close to the television, slide back!” To this day I cannot see an ad for Mutual of Omaha and not think of the courageous Jim Fowler and the scardy cat Marlin Perkins.
Recently Steve Irwin was killed while swimming with a stingray. Doing what he loved to do. And I couldn’t help but feel a personal loss. Steve Irwin and Jim Fowler shared almost the same sense of curiosity and danger. Honestly however, I think Steve was braver (Sorry Jim). I would watch Steve tempt a twelve foot crocodile with a raw chicken and when the croc jumped towards the bait I would flinch. (How’s that for a big bad Paramedic Man) Often thinking he is going to lose his entire arm one day. Occasionally my youngest daughter and I would sit and watch Animal Planet,The Crochunter
where Steve would jump, swim and run (in the same khaki shorts and shirt mind you) chasing whatever animal he wanted to show the camera. My daughter would hide her face behind a pillow if she thought he was going to be bitten. I would laugh and tell her when it was all over. “Dad,” she would say breathlessly, “he’s crazy!” like she had been running along side him the entire time.
Then she would look at me and ask, “Would you do that?” and without hesitation, and with vibrant enthusiasm I would answer, “Why yes of course!” The cynical twist of her mouth said it all. She knew better. She knew her daddy would be mangled by the 15 foot crocodile in the first 2 minutes of the show. Or be drowned, and then swallowed by the 39 foot python. Her 10 year old mind knew Steve was fast and slender, and her daddy was built like a tasty biscuit---with feet. But alas, in my mind I could really do it. Just give me that Wild Kingdom music and I would make Steve proud. Crikey! We are all going to miss you Steve.


~Vale~

The City of Eastchase, Montgomery Mall and a Whole Bunch of Zombies

Driving down the Southern boulevard I can’t help but notice how traffic ebbs and flows like a motorized ocean. Shortly before 7:00am the boulevard is as empty as a scene from your favorite Post-Apocalyptic movie. However at 7:01am and 22 seconds a traffic nightmare erupts from thin air. The hustle and bustle is obscene with each car rushing to their destination of choice. But the kicker is each one of those vehicles represents a potential customer for the giant empty mall they pass. So the question is: How do you get just 1-2 percent of those potential customers to stop at the Montgomery Mall? And secondly how do you get just 25 percent of that 1-2 percent to purchase something when they get there? I am sure these questions are being asked daily by the marketing staff of Gilmcher Realty Trust. Gilmcher Realty Trust Site After all they own the mall.

As a business owner and having 15 years of management experience I am sure of one thing. It won’t be long before those glass doors shut for good. I don’t mean to be the harbinger of doom. But when you lose a majority of your profitable tenants to the City of EastchaseTheir Website, you either have to reinvent yourself or sell your property at a tremendous loss. Personally, I don’t patronize the mall. Solely because it reminds me of the scene in Dawn of the Dead where the stores are closed and the zombies run free. But I digress. Actually there is nothing, and I do mean absolutely nothing in that mall that I couldn’t get from Walmart. And that’s the problem. The mall is supposed to be a specialty-spend-your-money kind of place. Somehow it has lost its ambiance, right along with its anchor tenants.

With the loss of anchor tenants comes the loss of another customer base, namely those who shop around the mall at the strip malls. If you happen to live in Montgomery, Alabama you can see this for yourself. Since a retail exodus is killing the mall I think that escaping stores should be given tax breaks and utility subsidies, a commercial bribe of sorts, to stay. Of course, this is easier said than done. Currently there is a small carnival posted outside the malls walls, and it honestly looks pitiful, real pitiful. If Gilmcher Realty does not do something to reignite an interest in its property, the wonder that used to be the Montgomery Mall will close its doors…for good. And we all know what that means. Crime will sky rocket, because economic decline and crime are intrinsically meshed together and eventually it will become too dangerous to even stop for IHOP or even the traffic lights. Let alone live in that area.

~Vale~

Death of the Boogey Man

This man is not my enemy. I do not know him. I have never met him. But I can relate to him deep, deep within the very essence my parental existence. His name is Jonathon Edington aged 29. He is the father of a 2 year old. You see. This man is a murderer by definition. He became one by slipping quietly through his sleeping neighbor’s window. In his hand was a sharp knife. In his heart was anger. Like a Ninja he crept slowly and methodically until he stood over his quarry. And with a flick of his wrist, he stabbed. He stabbed. He stabbed. And his neighbor was no more. This quiet previously law abiding lawyer delivered a blow for his daughter no court system could ever deliver. Then climbed out of the window and went home.

The real question is what would you the reader do? Would you let the law handle it? Or would you confront the person who did it? Or would you the reader have the testicular fortitude to do what Jonathon did? The thought of something happening like that to my children makes me shudder. I know there would be a cell waiting on me at Kilby Correctional or Atmore. And honestly I don’t care. Because a message needs to be sent loud and clear that when you molest people’s children you suffer a fate reserved solely for rabid dogs. Thus saving the tax payer a lot of money and lowering pedophilia crimes by the straight fear of being Jonathonized.

When I saw the news on CNN I stood up and cheered. Because too often the guiltiest of offenders hire the best attorneys, and then manipulate the legal system until they are either freed or their sentences are reduced. Jonathon Edington skirted this issue. There will be no appeals. No DNA evidence. No child psychiatrist probing a 2 year olds mind. There’ll be no “Breaking News” alerts on the Edington trial. The only thing that will happen is that the knife he will use will be collected into evidence. There will be articles written extensively on why Jonathon did what he did. But the truth of the matter is…the boogey man is dead and will never awake. That is what daddies do. Kill the boogey man. And Jonathon did it like a pro.



~VALE~

Raise Your Lighters High

~Vale~

Running Towards a 10K

At 37 years of age I am contemplating running Atlanta's 10k, on July 4 2007. Not that I couldn’t finish that darn race. But I would probably be somewhere in the back, next to the leper runners, but well before the runners who just got out of their hospital beds. This 10 k will be run in the Southern July heat. Imagine 6 miles of humidity, Atlanta concrete, asphalt hills, convection oven sky scraper windows and copious amounts of sweat to your nether regions. The thought alone furrows my brow.

See, I used to be an overweight two-pack-a-day smoker, and when I quit (thanks Zyban) I gained close to 50 MORE pounds. My battle to remove the flab has been loud and bodacious at times and soft and whimpering at others. I have gone through a myriad of weight loss options. Some have worked, some have not. In all honestly you cannot sit on your buttocks and lose weight. There is no pill, cream, lotion or powder that will do it. You have to get moving. So my choice was running, because walking does absolutely nothing. Part of my motivation belongs to the Barnhills Buffet next to my gym and all the portly people in their tight clothes headed to feast, which made me run even FASTER and the majority of my motivation has been my children.

In the beginning the only change I could see was swollen ankles and that my Motrin consumption had increased. Then the results started. My pants became looser, my stamina increased and my girl friend…well let’s just say enjoyed the change. I began to consume every tip and technique for running beginners. After trial and many, many errors, I finally settled on a fairly simple regime of hydration, nutrition and stretching. I also found out that if you run you do not have to diet, believe it or not.

A simple formula helped me and it goes like this: take your weight, divide it by 2.2 then multiply the result by 33 formula here.This will tell you how many calories you need to maintain your current weight. Just reduce your calorie requirement by 20 percent (regular soda to water, chicken strips but fat free ranch dressing) and POW weight loss. Add this with running…more weight loss.

But my true problem is my run time. I run at least three times a week varying the distance of my run. But the time remains the same (one hour). I have resigned myself to the fact that I will never run as fast as a 98 pound Kenyan, because I am neither Kenyan or secondly will never be 98 pounds. So that means I have no chance in a fat mans hell of crossing the finish line first…unless it is on an ambulance. But I would like to finish. That to be would be the ultimate in my fitness success, from ex-smoker to 10k runner. Sounds like a book deal. Wish me luck!


~Vale~

Artisan Water and The Mystery of Jalapeno Trout

Sprite’s savvy marketing campaign ruined a good night’s sleep for me. I used to have outrageously funny dreams but recently that all came to a screeching halt. The dream began in a large meadow of wild flowers. The morning sun bounced playfully off vibrant Zinnias and Morning Glories. Sad Coneflowers and tiny baby’s breath covered the ground, as proud purple Lupines stretched towards the summer sky. Nature’s perfume wafted around me. I strolled carefully looking for ole’ no shoulders (that’s a snake to all you northerners). And that’s when the nightmare began. I could see movement in the thick broom straw in front of me so I stopped. When I moved the rustling grew louder. When I stopped it stopped. I was being stalked. I stopped and stared. And there beneath the Bahiagrass were little white flowers.
Then suddenly one raised its petals and appeared to look directly at me! I took off running. The white flowers were everywhere. I sprinted carelessly across the endless meadow weaving like a running back. Thousands of the evil flowers chased me as I stomped the ones in my way. They tripped me. I tumbled like a fat gymnast and got back up. They were on my head licking the sweat from my face. Little scratchy root feet clawed at my bare legs and finally wore me down. I screamed, jumped out of bed, and promptly put my house plant on the patio it was 3:15am. Once I calmed down. I realized that the Sublymonal Sprite campaign had its first victim.
Being a business owner I understand the mechanics of marketing impact on sales implicitly. But I wonder if there is such a thing as too much marketing. Take the bottled water industry for example. There are so many artisan flavors that a decision has to be made as to WHICH WATER TO BUY. That is just insane. I keep waiting for the “tap” flavor to come out. Niche marketing to country residents who miss the flavor of the city. Somehow I don’t think that is far from the truth.
Hardees used to sell regular ole hamburgers. Now it is the Angus thick burger. And if you don’t like the burger you can always eat the cheese paper. Catfish are now marketed as “farm raised”, or “grain fed” because harvesting those scavengers from a river sometimes gives you a “poo flavored” fish. Or my personal favorite, the Saab commercial slash car wreck. I will not forget the Saab, even though I wouldn’t buy one. See where I am going with this. Just seeing hyper-creative marketing gives me a headache. Deep down inside we all want something new. Like chicken flavored hamburgers or Jalapeno flavored trout. But the true question is at what mental expense and how long should this mental payment last. And if I catch any of those white flowers in my house there will be hell to pay.



~Vale~

First Video "While My Guitar Gently Weeps"

This possibly has to be one of the most amazing things I have seen on the internet.
This talented man sits in Central Park and haves at it. He never misses a beat on the hardest song I have EVER tried to play, and if you look closely it is not a guitar he is playing either.



Watch out for my newest blog entry entitled "Artisan Water and The Mystery of Jalapeno Trout"!

~Vale~

Why In The Name of God…

Isn’t the belief in God enough? I recently had a relationship ending argument, while driving, about my Spiritual beliefs. In that car I suddenly became Palestine and she morphed into Israel. There was no middle ground, no compromise or even a solution to our argument. In a flash an imaginary line was drawn through the middle of the vehicle and where once a loving couple sat, warring factions took our places. I could feel her beautiful eyes searing a hole in the side of my neck. I swallowed hard and immediately understood how religious differences could cause civil unrest and the destruction of cities. I tried to make amends by telling her that due to my travels and interaction with other cultures, I found it hard to submit to one spiritual belief and that I was tolerant of all(the intelligent stance). Well, that flew like a lead penguin. She bared her white teeth and scoffed at my ignorance. She laughed because I didn’t resign to her belief system of tithes and Sunday finest, holiday food banks and Pastoral Cadillacs. There was nothing I could say that would reduce the tension in the air. I was then ridiculed loudly because of my own beliefs. I could feel my neck tighten and taste the bitter bile rising in my throat...as it became time for a Hamas style attack. So I took a deep breath and unchained my writers mind.

I ask her how many times had the Bible been edited for "clarity" by scholars who wanted some control for themselves or for the ones they served. I asked had she ever heard of the council of Niece. I asked her to tell me who the Byzantine were,(after all they named that hill in the holy land Mt. Zion). I asked her if Christianity was the only way into heaven why didn’t the Jews, Muslims, Buddhist, Taoist, Practitioners of Voodoo, Santeria, or any of the thousands of tribal religions for that matter get the memo. And if the “living” memo was Jesus, why must those before mentioned live their religion every day, instead of on Sunday, between the hours of 10:00am and 2:00pm (3:00pm if you are in a Pentecostal church, 4:00pm if you are in an evangelical church) like good God fearing people should. I exhaled. I pretty much sealed the deal on that conversation. She didn’t look in my direction and by the fog on the passenger window I could tell she was well beyond angry. Her silence or my blood pressure rang like a jackhammer skipping on steel in my head. I tried to touch her hand. But she snatched it away. So I took her home and drove away…crushed. I knew thinking outside of the box could be perceived as evil. And I feel like kicking myself in the butt for even discussing religion… but after all she started it.

~Vale~

religioustolerance
easternmasters

Network Television Fines For My Eye Molestation

I hereby list my fees to the major networks for subjecting me to the most STUPID commercials and television shows known to man (at least this man).
I hereby charge the following amounts:

1. 100.00 dollars anytime some commercial mentions the words “But wait there’s more.”
2. 100.00 dollars anytime some commercial starts with “Have you ever wondered…”

3. 200.00 dollars for every time I am subjected to an info-mercial during waking hours. That fine shall be 25.00 dollars after 10:00pm, 2.00 dollars during my 2:00am pre-breakfast snack and .50 cents before my morning bowl visit but before Good Morning America.

4. 500.00 dollars for subjecting me to any movie preview that totally rocks but the movie is only released in select theaters. That fine will be reduced to 2.00 dollars if by the time I see the feature it is outstanding. But 10,000 dollars if the movie sucks like a three dollar---well you know.

5. 2000.00 dollars for any AXE Commercial. Period. Questionable hook-ups are best left alone. Memories of dressing up like a ninja turtle and being spanked should remain behind that dark door, that dark, dark door. Damn you AXE Body wash.

6. 5000.00 dollars for any commercial that makes me hum the tune all day. Zoom…Zoom…Zoom (stop singing).

7. 5000.00 dollars for any television show that contains the words “Reality” or “House” in the title. Somehow watching people live there lives really makes me yell out loud uncontrollably. It is called a NEIGHBORHOOD look it up.

8. 10000.00 dollars for any television show that couples the words, “Funny” with “Videos”. Laughter is the best medicine, but some of us are NOT SICK. Come on, how about this show title “Calamity, Chaos and Canker sores” where stupid people get their just rewards.

9. 10000.00 dollars for any diet commercial. One because they show an absolute fat ass frowning in the first photo and the skinner shapeless version smiling in the second photo. And second because three commercials ago the same channel showed the new KFC bowl o’ slop. And I hate contradictions.


10. 1 million dollars for any news channel interrupts regular scheduled programming but has absolutely NO news to report, i.e., a prisoner break, but they don’t know the name, the city, the color of the car, his originating charge. I really hate that. Those breaking news alerts scare the living daylights out of me. I keep waiting to hear of a zombie outbreak or something right in my back yard but nooooooo it is only a lost {insert mundane item here}. Stupid breaking news reports.


~Vale~

Sanctity of Marriage

As a realist and a truth seeker I feel as though there should be a smidgen of clarity on the sanctity of marriage.
The truth should be told that there is nothing holy about marriage. (If you are clapping you are probably divorced.) Marriage is an antiquated legal agreement originally intended for a man and a woman based on the theory that love alone will keep them together for their proverbial life time. This love based bond is the basis for propagating the human species as well as the basis for community. So that means family is the basis of a community and community the basis of government. Now somewhere between the Civil Rights struggle and the Clinton administration, someone came up with the idea of wanting a legally binding agreement between people of the same sex. A close personal friend of mine and a staunch fence riding atheist once said, “Who says two men cannot love each other and have a committed relationship?” I honestly agree with that. No one can stop emotions or relationships; however I adamantly disagree with that lifestyle. But my opinions are my own. A lot of people including government officials set their marriage beliefs in scripture. However if we remove scripture (because any person with an ounce of intelligence knows vile acts have been done because of scripture) from the picture you are left with nature. And nature is the enemy of irrational thought. So someone please tell me what is natural about two men or women copulating with each other and what about this fact alone is the basis for marriage.

~Vale~

Alabama SB283 "Castle Doctrine"

On June 1^st Governor Riley signed into law Senate Bill 283 or the Alabama version of a “Castle Doctrine”. I actually heard about this bill on National Public Radio on my morning drive to work. This bill is a victory for the National Rifle Association and the Alabama Association of Funeral Homes. But for the average hard working Alabamian it means it is time to go get a pistol. Not because of the sudden ability to shot an aggressor who is trying to kill you. But because that aggressor who normally would hesitate from killing an unarmed person knows his life is now cheaper than the bullet in your gun. I honestly don’t care about this law. Some how the proponents of this measure think having the ability to protect their “castle” with the newest armament makes them less fat, more observant, stronger and have cat like reflexes lets say, from those nefarious characters who rob people for a living by climbing into windows, kicking open doors and outrunning the police on foot. As an Emergency Worker (there is that dreaded name again) dead bodies are not really a concern of mine. Maimed ones are. And I think a lot of maimed bodies will come from this. But let’s just wait and see. What really is a concern of mine is Hurricane season. A season that happened to have stared on the same day this silly law took effect.

~Vale~

Sure Fire Home Remedies

Imagine this, your son or daughter is playing outside and gets a couple of bruises and scrapes. They come inside in the house and what is the first thing you do? Do you call 911? (Don’t laugh people call for minor stuff like that all the time) Do you call his doctor and see if you can get an emergency visit or better yet take them to the ER? Or do you reach for the antibacterial soap, band aids and ice pack and offer them a painkiller? If you agreed to any of those answers above, I suggest you stop here and not read the rest of this blog.

I remember falling from my yellow skateboard and scraping both of my boney knees. When I got home my dad gave me a casual almost nonchalant look and reached for a half-full bottle of Swans green alcohol. Studying my bloodied knees carefully he dashed copious amounts of the evil liquid into my open sores. “BLOW! BLOW! BLOW!” He yelled. I almost had an asthma attack from keeping the alcohol from burning a hole into what felt like my very bone. That single experience taught me how to fall without scraping my knees and fear the green alcohol.

For the few readers who decided to stay, I wanted to say somehow we have become too soft when it comes to our kids. As a child growing up in the middle of Dixieland, I was brought up with the idea that boys had to be strong and girls even stronger. With that being said, if I fell outside and hurt myself while playing I didn’t stop what I was doing. I just bled until it stopped. Back then there was no sympathy for boys. A boy had to practically carry one of his severed parts into the house to get any attention out of his father. And if you think I am joking, even the doctors would call you a sissy if you showed up with minor injury. A black eye then was a badge of honor; today it is a lawsuit to the person or item that made it. A helmet back then was for the special children not for daredevil kids on banged up ten speeds. Today I am surprised that someone hasn’t invented the personal airbag for the perambulating professional. Note if someone does invent that item I claim first rights to it.

Green alcohol has survived ,recalls, bans, frivolous lawsuits and a menagerie of bad parenting books. Oh yes. That emerald green liquid has put the fear of Jesus in the hearts of Southern boys everywhere. It smelled like my grandmothers favorite chewing gum but burned like a huckleberry switch on bare legs. And IF my parents didn’t have anything in their medicine cabinet they had wintergreen alcohol because of the diagnostic properties. Simply put if you were hurt enough to endure the burning pain and still complain you went to the doctor. But if you didn’t complain after the burning pain you weren’t hurt in the first place.

Back then being injured was a physical form of adversity. You either survived the injury or died. It was as simple as that. And it was that adversity made us stronger. Today however parents look for the best antibiotic ointment money can buy for their children whose only real injury comes from falling off of the couch onto soda cans. As a parent I feel we should really ban all the ointments, Band-Aids and topical lotions and resort back to the good ole green alcohol.

~Vale~

Yay Me.

Sunday morning for me consist of watching paid advertisements for the latest ab-destroyer-thingy and church programs that are nothing more than paid advertisements themselves. I sit and stare at the spiritual commercials in awe. Wondering how pastors, equipped with lapel microphones, studio equipment and sound guys, have the ability to keep a straight face. Believe! They cry. Repent! They admonish. They point their dramatic fingers in judgment towards their well dressed congregation and right into the TV audience. As the camera pans I can see sparkling jewelry and makeup laden faces. I see Brooks Brother’s suits, and silk ties. There are no hungry masses, the sick are not lying between the isles and the homeless are not listening intently in their tattered garb. I change the channel disgusted. Don’t get me wrong: I have a sense of faith. I believe in a greater Being than myself. However, the Christian battle cry, “What would Jesus Do?” has left me with a confirmed answer, because so much wrong has been done in his name, he would throw his name…away. So I have decided that the best spiritual path for me to take will be one of my own creations. So I hereby bring to you The United Repugnant Front of Ultra Conservative Libertarians Incorporated. Repugnology for short and as a Repugnologist there are tenets listed below that are essential to my faith:

1. Anyone found guilty of any heinous crime against spouses, family or children, will be smited with bags of cold quarters, until those bags stop jingling. Anyone who defended those found guilty will be smited with those non-jingling bags. And those who oppose the smiting process will be sent those bloody bags of quarters as a warning. Yay Me.

2. As a Repugnologist, you will not have preachers, reverends, bishops, deacons, pastors, priests, nuns, monks, friars, holy men or witch doctors. There will be one monthly surprise visit where we will ask you to recite one tenet. If you fail to repeat it word for word there will be ceremonial smiting of the closest adult person of non-relation with stray items of our choosing. Yay me.

3. Wood chuck, could, chuckwood, a if chuck, chuckwood, a could wood much how. Yay me.

4. As a Repugnologist you are hereby required to do one of the following: cut your neighbors grass, have a neighbor over for dinner, or just have a decent conversation about anything you and your neighbor decide to talk about on the 5^th day of all prime numbered months. On the 11^th day of all non-prime months you will find a homeless person and give them two meals. If you don’t know what a prime number is, find out. Yay me.

5. Be nice, play fair, respect others, remain tolerant, talk second, shoot first, don’t lie (unless it is about the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Bigfoot and Santa Claus, it is the “joy in children’s life” kinda thing), know cultural boundaries and cross them only if armed. Yay me.

6. Love your family with emotion; hate your enemy with a passion, never offer the other cheek unless it is a butt cheek and then it shall be unwashed. Yay me.

7. Keep Tuesdays close to your heart by feeding one obviously starving person. Not the overweight homeless person. If you cannot find a hungry person, find a cold person and give them a coat or blanket, or a hot person and give them a cool beverage to drink. Yay Me.

8. The Omnipotent One shall be know as The ONE. Refer to it (even though we are chauvinistically predisposed to think he, it could be a she) as The ONE and know that The ONE invented the sense of humor. Know that The ONE has multiple aliases even though you might not know the ONE by The ONE’S entire list of aliases act like you do. After all, The ONE created the Universe and the single cell organisms that evolved into you. Yay Me.

9. Anyone found in disagreement of our spiritual organization will be “flipped off” with the middle finger of the left hand and summarily asked, “Where should I put this?” Yay me.

10. Don’t argue with evangelists, missionaries, or those who are saved, for they can induce a smiting upon themselves of repugnant proportion. Just take the pamphlet and say, “My horse is on fire,” leaving them wondering how a horse would catch fire. Yay me.

11. Reflection time is from 6:45pm to 7:00pm daily. During this time, reaffirm to your spouse, children or family members how much you love them. If they are not available, call them. If they are not there, write a note or send an email. IF you fail to do so, it will be considered a heinous crime, then refer to tenet 1. Yay me.

12. You must end all affirmations with Yay me. Yay me.

These tenets can be modified as the need arises or if The ONE decides to update these rules by email, handwritten letter or emblazoned into a mountain side.

As you can tell, Repugnology is straightforward and uncluttered by any of the traditional rules. There is no sanctuary; there are no tithes, or sweaty pseudo-prophets bouncing around on a carpet covered stage. No guilt by association, like the other guys. There is space for fellowship and the sanctum is located right under your feet. As you are finding out, Repugnology is just one of many ways to the great amusement park above. Not like the other guys who adamantly say their way is the only way, lest ye be burned by the shiny demon.

~VALE~

A Bad Scare Is Better Than Good Advice

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Signs Of The Times

The title of my opening blog won’t be about the song of the same name. No. This blog will be about H5N1 (or bird flu), hurricane season and the ongoing war in Iraq. Let’s start with the bird flu. If you happened to grow up during the 70’s and early eighties you should remember the “Killer bee” reports that used to pepper the nightly news. I vaguely remember John Chancellor reporting on the location of those death dealing honey makers as they crept towards the United States. I sat staring at the floor model television imagining hordes of unstoppable mutant bees killing everyone I loved in sight. To my relief the bees didn’t reach the US until 1990 and with that they headed west. My Yellowhammer state dodged the brunt of their rampage. I went on that rant to say that the Bird Flu has not transmuted into an unstoppable man killing virus. As such if you are a bird, your poultry ass is good as dead. As of the 8 of May there have only been 115 human deaths from Bird Flu since 2003. 115 deaths however tragic do not a pandemic make. Anyone remember the West Nile Virus?

What is of some concern of mine is the impending hurricane season. If you have been watching the standard news channels lately you can tell that most of the commentators are bristling with excitement with the up coming season. Do you know why? (If you said ratings slap yourself for being a moron). The correct answer is he of she who plays next in the seething rain gets the most face time. You would think after the last hurricane season, there would be a consensus to store fuel and ready the masses for another year. But the truth is we haven’t recovered from the last season. My chief concern however is the five dollar gas prices that those storms will bring. If fuel prices are undulating like a fat girl on a beach ball now, what will hurricanes Alberto, Chris or Rafael or a combination of thereof do to the prices later? Sweet mother Mayhem! We will all be walking or suddenly turned into scooter trash.

Last but not least is the war in Iraq. Our nation has turned its attention from blaming each other for whatever reason to the act of removing the pretentious black and white “W’s” from the back of their SUV’s. Let’s face it; support is dwindling for our war. No matter how much spin our political leadership places on the situation. One dead soldier is one too many. Now don’t begin to prejudge me, I believe in opening up a nice frosty can of whoop ass every now and then. Sometimes you have to create an atmosphere of fear in order to have peace. If you have ever been at gun point you know that. The problem I have is no one admits to faulty intelligence. And for that we or at least I have become extremely suspicious of any thing that comes from on high. Every day we have remote controlled explosives killing our soldiers, suicide bombers, and ambushes. There are fanatical terrorist that behead their captured on film and an Iraqi government that is far from being sovereign. The Shiites and Sunnis are killing each other during a live fire civil war and during their breaks killing our soldiers. And somehow we think we have a handle on the situation. Not to mention the misinformed that rally against our troops and the hyper-patriotic who rally for the troops but are too scared to enlist.

~Vale~

Here are some important links:
Copy and paste into your browser.

http://www.npr.org/templates/topics/topic.php?topicId=1010

http://www.gaspricewatch.com/new/

http://www.cdc.gov/flu/avian/professional/han081304.htm

http://www.hurricane-watchers.com/