Memorial Day - "Courtesy of Your Loved Ones"

We picked several rose buds off the rose bushes not too bothered by this incessant rain, then gathered the family in the car between showers and set out to visit the those-gone-on-before, the dearly departed, the places of eternal slumber, the dead relatives. This is a yearly ritual for us, I've insisted on it for reasons unclear even to me, although I think it has something to do with my own awareness of mortality. Ray Stewart used to call me every Memorial day. He'd be in his usual state of intoxication, and he'd state "Well, it's Memorial Day, have you remembered anything yet?" Now Ray's been gone for several years now, and yes Ray, I still remember you.


We had to go to different cemeteries to visit the loved ones we had listed this year, and at the first one, where my wife's grandparents are, a nice-but-kinda-creepy cemetery worker invited us back later for hot dogs and hamburgers, "courtesy of your loved ones." I'm trying not to dwell on that one too much. My son wants to go back for the food, and he may still drag me back before this day is done.


The next one was a cemetery just down the road from the first (interesting how they seem to group together, isn't it? Well, okay, maybe not ...) My dad, his wife, and his parents are all buried there. My grandfather's grave has my name on it, or rather I have my grandfather's name on me, well you get what I mean ... so it's always fun to pause and reflect at a grave stone with your name written on it. Dad looks fine, although his flat stone bearing his name could use a little edging, and the brass lettering could use some polishing, but I doubt if any of that bothers him too much now. We put a few rose buds on his marker, and a couple on his mother's, the lady I always called "Nana" when I was growing up. I never knew my paternal grandfather as he died before I was born, so his marker got no rose bud. Funny thing, though, all of their markers had a fresh vase of flowers placed in those individual little holders. I have no idea from whence they came.

The final grave we visited was Sgt. Major Robert E. Winslow's. My gawd how I miss my Uncle Bob. I was never more sane than when I was around him. Without him I sometimes revert back to my old self, staggering around the storage shed of life, banging into one foolish idea after another, just hoping to someday see the goddamned light before it gets dark forever. We stuck three American flags in the ground around his marker, and placed the special white rose Jonathan had picked for him on top. As my wife looked on, I stood stiffly at attention and gave the Marine a military salute. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Jonathan doing the same thing. He's a good boy, my Jonathan.

Uncle Bob would be proud.

(Happy Memorial Day to all of you. This is not only a day of BBQ's and potato salad, it's a day to, as Ray Stewart said, "Remember something." Remember especially those who have sacrificed their lives for the defense of the rest of us. And remember above all, that life is so preciously short, everything we do makes a difference in someone else's life. Be strong, be kind, be honest, and hold on to that which you love, with everything in your power.)

Weekend Update - May 22nd

• Okay, so we have one of the most, if not THE most devastating unnatural disasters in history still ongoing in the gulf with this horrible BP oil rig blowout, but information is just now surfacing as to the real cause of all this. Here is the good news: It has nothing whatsoever to do with annoying trifles like human error, mechanical failure, oil company oversight, greed, ignorance or plain ol' corporate malfeasance; it is nothing so mundane as, you know, normal life. Nope. It was those damned North Koreans and their submarine missles. The spill, oh naive one, was not caused by anything so pedestrian as a failed shutoff valve. It was, of course, caused by a small missile, shot from a secret North Korean mini sub on a political suicide mission out of Cuba, a weapon that specifically targeted the Deepwater Horizon and blew it up just prior to Earth Day, all of which was spotted and confirmed by Russia's Northern Fleet of invisible black submarines, which you have never heard of because they might or might not actually exist, so far as you know. I just knew it! Mark Morford reports.



• President Barak Obama has begun his sell-out campaign to the American Military-Industrial Complex by taking back most everything he invoked concerning the war in Iraq during his campaign during a speech at the West Point military academy last week. While focusing much of his speech on a theme of America’s 21st-century leadership, the president also gave a sneak preview of his own version of “mission accomplished” that he is likely to invoke when the last US combat troops leave Iraq this summer. Mr. Obama called the US engagement in Iraq a “success,” and he said he has no doubts that the graduates before him would someday be able to say the same of the US campaign in Afghanistan. I'm feeling a bit nauseous, but I'll continue with this report.



• I present to you The Rodeo Clown Who Is Glenn Beck. Mr. Beck, running out of ideas, defends himself by making fun of Congressman Weiner's name. Most of us stopped defensive tactics of this sort just short of the 5th grade. Sweet Jesus, I hate this idiot.



• Rand Paul, whats-his-name's son, has thrust himself into the media stage with some pretty outrageous comments lately, and is apparently a strange little guy. But Newsweek’s Howard Fineman, made excuses for Paul, saying he was just a political novice who hadn’t mastered the skill of packaging his answers in politically neutral ways. In other words, his only sin was believing too sincerely in his ideology and expressing it honestly. We think he's just another political oddity, but the Tea Partiers just love his little ass. Oh, by the way, after Rand's comments on Rachael Maddow's show the other day, Betsy Fischer, executive producer of NBC News' Meet The Press, tweeted Friday afternoon that Dr. Paul has apparently backed out of a scheduled appearance on the Sunday morning talk show. Seems the man has a bit of the old foot-in-mouth disease apparently. Booyah.



• 13-year-old Jordan Romero reached the top of Mount Everest today. The first thing he did was call his mom. I wish I could think of something to add to this story, but I think it speaks for itself.



• We do not like FaceBook. We do not trust FaceBook. We are not on FaceBook. We never have. And here's why.

Weekend Update - May 16th

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We Finally Found Aunt Gladys

I would like to say at the beginning that Aunt Gladys was never really lost, we just didn't know exactly where she was. And I would like to say that it was only after a long and arduous search that we finally found her. The first part of that would be true. The second part is nonsense.

Aunt Gladys lived in her Victorian style house on College Hill for decades, just her and her endless supply of small irritating dogs, the last one an intolerable mutt named Trudy, until she finally was moved to a "foster home" to keep her from accidentally burning down her Victorian style house on the hill. Trudy thankfully passed on shortly before that. Aunt Gladys had no relatives left other than my sister and I, so it fell upon us to have her looked after by a woman who seemed very trustworthy. Of course you've probably already sensed where I'm going with this.

Nancy and I rented out her house, and its adjoining apartment, and used that money to pay Aunt Gladys' bills and for upkeep on the place. A year or two passed and we were suddenly notified that not only had Aunt Gladys died, she had also unceremoniously been buried. Somewhere. We tracked down Aunt Gladys' belongings, locked in a storage unit on the west side of town. We rented a truck, broke into the storage unit, and made off with the "loot" under the full blazing sunlight of day. Two things were missing, however. Aunt Gladys' caregiver, and Aunt Gladys. It was 1989. It was an interesting summer. It would be 21 years before we found her. Aunt Gladys, that is. We never did find the caregiver.

Oh, to be honest, we didn't spend too much time searching cemeteries. None at all, actually. She was gone, after all, and we did have her "heirlooms," and the old Victorian style house on College Hill. We just went on with our lives, you know how we do, and never gave it much thought. Well, I thought about it once in a while. It was a nagging thing with me. I don't like the idea of misplacing things, like dead relatives, and letting it go. One day last week there was an article in the paper about how someone had put together a database of everyone buried in the Eugene Pioneer Cemetery. It needed to be done, there are grave sites from the 1800's, missing headstones, you know. On a lark, I typed in Aunt Gladys' name and lo and behold there she was! Born May 12, 1900, died May 5, 1989. I looked for her burial plot on the cemetery map and there it was, located right across the street from McArthur Court.

McArthur Court is the local basketball arena, lovingly called Mac Court, or "The Pit." By the way, it's not named after that stodgy old fart Douglas McArthur as you might think, it's named after Pat McArthur, the University of Oregon's first student body president. We Eugeneans don't name things after war heroes and such. There's a tunnel in San Francisco named after Douglas McArthur, and every time Uncle Bob and I would drive through it, Uncle Bob would mutter "That son of a bitch." But that's another story.

In Eugene we have Ken Kesey Square, the DeFazio Bike Bridge, and the new basketball arena being built with a LOT of help from Nike's Phil Knight is named after Phil's late son, Matthew Knight. They'd like us to call it "Matt Court," but some of us wags who were fans of the TV series like "Knight Court." And that's another thing about Eugeneans. We don't like other people trying to name our stuff. Our governor decreed the other day that he was changing the name of our beloved Beltline Road to "Randy Pape' Expressway," or some such nonsense. Randy Pape' is the late area business man who's family has dominated the road building business in this part of Oregon, and who contributed heavily to Governor K's campaign funds. Eugeneans were OUTRAGED! True Eugeneans had their own pet names for Beltline Road (also referred to as "The Most Dangerous Stretch of Highway Since Asphalt Was Invented") and while most of them had the word "Death" in them, none of them referred to Randy Pape'.

The argument and bickering goes on and on to this day. The gov has offered to compromise with "Pape'-Beltline," then with just changing the signs at both ends of the highway and none in the middle, but true Eugeneans will have NONE of it! Even though the robotic legislature has voted all the later changes in, I bet it's not over yet. We Oregonians have the Initiative Petition and we're not afraid to use it! I'll keep you posted. Or maybe I won't.

At any rate, we found Aunt Gladys. This afternoon I'm going over and putting a flower on her grave. I figure it's the least I can do.

Weekend Update - May Day! May Day!

(Deep in thought this morning as I contemplate this May Day. For example, it was on May Day in 1960 that the ever-so-hapless Francis Gary Powers was shot out of the sky over Sverdlovsk, USSR when his U2 spy plan wasn't flying quite high enough. The contemplative factor of all this is the following: Just before bailing out of his flaming black bird, did he scream "May Day! May Day!" into his microphone? and if so, did he fully realize the irony of that scream? But we digress ...)

• Of course everyone knows this, but let's state it again: You can tell a person's political affiliation just by looking at his face. For example, do you look severe and constipated, nervous and ruddy, fearful the gays are coming to convert your cat and steal your fetish porn? You're a Republican. Do you look warm and approachable, calm and likable, slightly insane and mushy as a tofu popsicle? You're a Democrat. This is just one of 10 Amazing Truths You Already Suspected compiled by Mark Morford.


• It's probably just my bleeding-heart-liberalism talking, but someone needs to reach out to Glenn Beck and get him the mental health treatments he so obviously needs. He's getting worse. Here's just the latest: A story has surfaced nationally with a surreal Glenn Beck segment and two ludicrous Fox News discussions highlighting the false claim that Brandeis University was hosting an international conference linking the Tea Party movement to Nazis in Europe. "I was the Target of a Fox News Hoax"


• Heard about that new law in Arizona? Seems the cops can stop you if just look like you might be an illegal alien (undocumented worker in polite speech). Somewhere in the back of the brain we can hear a voice with a German accent saying "your papers, please ..." So, do we point fingers and blame at the good people of Arizona? Frank Rich says it all goes much deeper than that.


• As if Louisiana hasn't had enough trouble, now an off-shore oil platform has exploded and sank in the Gulf, and the oil slick could be worse than the Exxon-Valdez disaster. But wait, there's more. Investigators delving into the possible cause of the massive oil spill are focusing on the role of Houston-based Halliburton Co., the giant energy services company, which was responsible for cementing the drill into place below the water. The company acknowledged Friday that it had completed the final cementing of the oil well and pipe just 20 hours before the blowout last week. Combine this information with the knowledge that Dick (we-call-him-Dick) Cheney is in league with Satan and, well, draw your own conclusions.


• Well it was only a matter of time before President Obama would get caught up in some sort of sex scandal. Get ready for it, because here it comes. Who else but The National Enquirer has gotten the scoop on Obama's secret hotel rendezvous with a beautiful woman. Jesusmaryandjoseph ...