Pardoning the Turkey

George Bush pardoned a turkey named "Pumpkin" today, which makes his record 8-152. The latter number is the total amount of executions that were carried out during his years as Texas Governor. He seems to have a soft spot for turkeys, however, which I suppose is something. There was no mention of the crimes the turkeys had committed. I presume they may well have been innocent, in which case, by Bush admnistration policy, they should have been dropped in a deep hole in Gitmo.

correction...

Apparently, I misspelled Kim name--it is Cattrall--2 t's (heh heh)...I know because she sent me a naked picture in protest...

A few News Items

I read in the NY Times where the Bush Administration has transfered Osama Bin Laden's driver from Gitmo to his native Yemen. They're still trying to act tough about it though--they've revoked his driver's license.

And anyway, what was going to be accomplished by detaining him in the first place. I can see the Bushies gloating in Cheney's office: " HA! We've got his driver! Now he won't be able to go anywhere!"

Another item was that Kim Catrall has, Lady Godiva-like, stripped naked to save a Renaissance painting from being shipped out of England. I'm not really clear how that was supposed to save the painting...and anyway, something tells me stripping is Kim Catrall's response to everything. 

" What? They've taken trout almondine off the menu at Le Circe? We'll just see about that!" and off comes the blouse!

" What? There's a genocide in Darfur?" Down go the pants!

I guess we all bring to bear our greatest talents. Though, in fairness, it should be pointed out that Kim Catrall is 53 now. Maybe the mere threat of removing her clothes would be enough to effect change.

Prufrock recording

http://www.box.net/shared/h5vb40vocv

This is my recording of TS Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Rough Country

I am reading--ok, listening to a cd--of the Annie Proulx collection of short stories called Rough Country, and every story is achingly good. I know she's been dissed in the past for her "literary" style, but I don't find it that way at all. Her characters are unique, her images are startling, and her story construction is slow and idiosyncratic, but boy does she gets there, and in a most original way. I am surprised I missed her work somehow--I love the fact that she didn't publish her first novel until she was 58 (gives me hope). I highly recommend this collection to anyone who likes good short fiction.

Driving Miss Dani

Ok, she's going to kill me for saying this, but my wee wife, the cream in my coffee, the jam on my toast, the milk of my magnesia, is a terrible driver. She wrecked my truck last week, her sixth such adventure in the nearly 11 years of our marriage. Right around 1 wrecked car every 2 years. After each wreck, she is humble, contrite, self-flagellating, but gradually, as the 2 year clock starts ticking, something rises in her, an aggressiveness born, I suspect, from a lifetime of scanted regard --due to her size, no doubt--until, at the end of that 2 year cycle, she becomes 4'11", 95 pounds of pure "Fuck You" behind the wheel. Then--CRASH!-- and the contrition begins again.

This last one was a case of her pushing the envelope to get to work, riding the ass of the car ahead, until she rear-ended it. I arrived before the cop did, and I asked her what happened, and she said the woman in the car ahead was "playing games", tapping on her brake as if the furious little person in the big truck were following too closely. I looked at her for a moment. "You rear-ended her! YOU WERE FOLLOWING TOO CLOSELY!!"

This is a woman who calls me grandpa for my careful driving, who always pushes me to change lanes, pick up the pace, give the finger to the slowpoke up ahead of me. On more than one occasion, I have to say, " Can you name the DECADE in which I last had an accident?" 

Once, while driving the wrong way down a one-way brick street in German Village, she t-boned a meat truck--yes, I am aware of the pun--and got out of the car (again, mine!), stormed toward the bewildered trucker, who must have thought he was being attacked by a rogue member of the Lollipop Guild, and demanded just what the hell he thought he was doing. When he nervously reminded her she was driving the wrong way, she froze for a second, and burst into tears.

I love this woman to the bottom of my brackish soul, but I know she's going to kill me one day--either from a fiery crash with a school bus full of handicapped kids, or from a coronary the next time the roads are icy, and she's been gone a little longer than usual, and the phone rings. 

Hello, I must be going...

I keep threatening to start this thing, and now I making good on that threat. Dunno why I am adding all this noise to the ether, but, hey, it's gotta go somewhere. At least Dani won't have to suffer alone now. 

I suppose the shape of this blog will compose itself as I go along... mostly, I guess, it will be just my observations on what is laughingly called culture in this country, with side-trips to politics and history and whatever else gets caught in my baleen screen of a mind. OK, you've been warned...