Weekend Update - Apocalypse Edition

(There are legends and then there are legends. Eugene is a legendary town, what with your Grateful Dead types and your Ken Kesey types and your jeans-wearing Governors telling tourists to visit but don't stay, Oregon, and especially Eugene, is, well, mygod you gotta love this place. People can become legendary here, but they really really have to work at it. You can't just walk around downtown with a funny hat and expect to be treated like a legend. Not in this town. We demand more. With that in mind, and with the authority granted me by a young hippy girl with no top on at the Oregon Country Fair in 1981, I would like to declare someone legendary. His name is Brewster, and he and his bicycle-with-trailer apparently have been banned from riding any of the local buses, and Brewster, in his mid 40's, who has taken the art of holding a grudge to a completely new level, rides daily by the main LTD bus stations in our area. Suddenly he'll shoot a couple blasts from his boat-type air horn and then shout at the top of his lungs "L...T...D can lick my hairy, sweaty nut sack!" He's been doing this most every day, rain or shine, for over 2 years. During football season he'll preface his mantra with "Go Ducks!" Add this: a couple times a year our legendary town holds what is called a "naked bike ride" to protest something, can't remember what at this point. Participants in various stages of undress ride in a group around town during the evening hours. All harmless fun I suppose, until earlier this month when our boy Brewster decided to join in. I didn't see this myself, but the report is that when the group approached the LTD bus station downtown, Brewster was seen in the middle of pack, stark naked, honking his horn and yelling his legendary phrase. To everyone's dismay, it's also reported that our boy Brewster was quite erect at the time. Therefore, I officially declare that from this day forward, John Brewster is a Eugene Legend. But I digress ...)

• The oily disaster that is the BP Gulf Oil Spill Clusterf**k continues unabated. Mark Morford is beginning to believe this all is the sign of the coming apocalypse. He offers us two Worst Case Scenerios and then this grand finale: A new survey says that a disturbingly large percentage of Americans -- 40 percent, to be exact -- actually believe Jesus will return by 2050, likely riding on the back of a flaming asteroid (30 percent think one will hit us by then), waving a cowboy hat and yodeling as he careens toward our hapless blue dot of inequity, pain and lousy AT&T reception. This one calls for a trip to the liquor store.
• We generally love and agree with Frank Rich, a senior editorialist for the New York Times. Here he discusses President Obama's response to the disaster in the Gulf, and it's well worth the read. Click here.
• Arthur in Marin County writes: "Drill baby drill! I had forgotten what an absurd mantra of the 2008 campaign that cry had become, lead of course by Sarah Palin." Also, "In the whole discussion over the Gulf Oil spill there are some things I did not know. For example, all of the deep water drilling only started on Bush II's watch and it is now a major part of the oil production in the Gulf. No wonder people are fighting to keep the right to continue to do it. Money."
• Apparently our economy isn't in all that bad of a shape. Our beloved government is spending $517 Million to develop a blimp! to spy on Afghanistans. Cool! "This opportunity leverages our longstanding leadership positions in developing innovative unmanned air vehicles, C4ISR weapon systems, and leading edge systems integration, and moves Northrop Grumman into this rapidly emerging market space of airships for the military and homeland defense arenas," said Gary Ervin, corporate vice president and president of Northrop Grumman Aerospace Systems sector. It's shit like this that makes me so proud to pay my taxes on time. (Sorry, that trip to the liquor store is getting to me...)
• Someone explain this one to me. Murder suspect Joran van der Sloot has been bragging about receiving a deluge of attention from women since confessing to the murder of Stephany Flores. Apparently murderers in prison get all kinds of letters filled with offers of marriage and whatever from lonely women. What? Oh, it's a fetish? Oh brother. That calls for another drink. I'm outta here. Get out there and mow that lawn.

Weekend Update - Father's Day Edition

(Endless make-up baseball games. The Kid is playing baseball, complete with uniform and cup! to protect those precious family jewels, and because of this terrible Oregon spring, the weather hasn't cooperated one little bit. So whenever there's a break in the rain they play make-up games. He's pretty good, actually. He's not afraid to slide, he's got a pretty good arm for an 11 year-old, and he's always ready to crowd the base and take one for the team. That last part I wish he'd stop doing, but what the hey. It's Father's Day, and I'm certainly the proud father in this picture. It's the middle of June fer crissakes, and we have yet to have an 80 degree day. Can we blame this on BP? But I digress ...)

• Let's start with some wonderfully good news, my friends. For those of you who insist on believing in god, I'm here to tell you he seems to have a really good sense of humor. Why else would he decide to send a lightening bolt down and totally destroy a 6-story statue of Jesus? Apparently god is just a regular guy. You ever have that fine, epiphanic moment when you realize an eyesore's an eyesore and it's time for some, you know, housecleaning? And what better way to rid yourself of some of the more hideous crap laying about than maybe tossing it into a nice bonfire? By the highway? In Ohio? God has those moments, too. Something about this story I just love. Mark Morford reports.
• If you have to be crazy to run for office, consider if you will Rick Barber, a "tea party" candidate for congress, who seems to be avocating the voilent overthrow of the government. Click Here.
• And speaking of idiots, here's an evangelist who believes homosexuality, headaches, and dandruff are all caused by demons - gay demons, headache demons, and demons of dandruff. And it seems that Bishop Harry Jackson was mad because the Obama White House invited the Secular Student Alliance to a meeting of the White House's Office of Faith-Based and Neighborhood Partnerships. Shame, shame.
• In yachting news this week, BP chief executive Tony Hayward took a day off Saturday to see his 52-foot yacht "Bob" compete in a glitzy race off England's shore, a leisure trip that further infuriated residents of the oil-stained Gulf Coast. Well gosh, Tony hasn't had a day off ever since his oil rig exploded. What concerns me is the imagination it took for a multi-millionaire oil executive to name his yacht "Bob."
• It's called the "Active Denial System," and apparently it's some sort of high-tech microwave "pain ray" that makes whoever it's used against feel like they're on fire. And guess what? It's being "tested" right now in Afghanistan. Now if that isn't called "winning the hearts and minds," I don't know what is. God bless America.
• Check out this book review: The Overton Window is, quite simply, a failure as a piece of fiction. The book is billed as a "thriller," but it is mind-numbingly boring, with pages upon pages spent rehashing long-winded, anti-big government sermonizing thinly disguised as "dialogue." It is filled with plot holes, inexplicable character motivations, tired clichés, characters who are introduced out of left field only to conveniently advance the inane plot, other characters that exist for no apparent reason, and characters we are supposed to like who say things like "don't tease the panther." Hardly good enough for a door stop. The author? Our very own whipping boy-idiot Glenn Beck.

Weekend Update - Waiting for Spring

(I'm up very early this morning. Something woke me with a kind of foreboding feeling, like something was about to happen, or perhaps the feeling animals have minutes before an earthquake. It was quiet. That was the problem. There was no water dripping in the downspout outside the bedroom window. Must have stopped raining for a moment, I thought to myself, and turned over to catch a few more winks. And then it happened. From under the very bottom of the curtain a shaft of intensely golden light appeared on the floor. Suddenly the cat and the dog both appeared and threw themselves on the floor in the light, tummies up. "Mother!" I yelled to my wife, "wake up! It's THE SUN! THE SUN!" My heart pounding with anticipation, I yanked clumsily at the shades, pulling one side completely off its hanger. With both hands I ripped open the curtain, just as the light disappeared back into the heavy layer of grayness. But for a fleeting moment, just one wonderful moment, I saw the sun. Thank you Jesus. 50% chance of showers this afternoon. But I digress ...)

• The apocalyptic disaster that is the BP Oil Spill is one of the most depressing things I've ever seen on television news, right up there with the Katrina fiasco, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who has wondered if Louisiana and surrounding states are somehow cursed. I'm sure Pat Robertson thinks so, those oily, dying pelicans are probably gay. But our friend Mark Morford has found a sort of savage grace, a tragic and terrible beauty to it all. He writes "Behold, Our Dark, Magnificent Horror."


• Some things in America, no matter how hard we try, will ever change. Like racism, for example. The election of Barak Obama to the office of President of the United States has apparently brought some very ugly white people out of their dirty little closets. Ladies and gentlemen I give you this disturbing little story from the weird state called Arizona: Click Here


• Here's a fascinating-yet-very-disturbing Media Matters column by Ben Dimiero that once again finds Glenn Beck winning the Bad Hat Idiot of the Week Award. "The Glenn Beck Conundrum."


• You just know this one is going to be oodles of fun. The corruption trial of former Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich is finally getting under way, and right off the bat the judge appears to be just as batty as our beloved Blago. U.S. District Judge James Zagel did most of the questioning of potential jurors, a role he seemed to enjoy as he sometimes strayed from the relevant issues of jury service. He questioned 29 potential jurors on the first day of the selection process, joking with some and ripping into one whose flippancy had irked him. Watch this space.


• George W. Bush was quoted recently as he commented on the role of religion in his life, "I prayed a lot. I really did. I prayed before every major speech. I prayed before debates. It was a very important experience." Well he might want to give up a little prayer that he isn't indicted for torture. Seems he also freely admitted he had Khalid Sheik Mohammed waterboarded, and even proudly added, "and I'd do it again ..." The only thing he didn't say was "So what are you gonna do about it?"

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

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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.