Who is camping here?  It's in the middle of nowhere and in a desolate area anyway, what could be more appealing than naming it after one of the more infamous horror movies?  On that stretch of road, I've often wondered what goes on just 50 feet from the highway.  The dilapidated trailer and scrub brush trees are hiding nothing, I know there's trouble brewing just yards from my car and if I'm unfortunate enough to break down, I'm sure I'll hear banjo music.  Jason can't be too far behind.
Even if it was named that before the '70s, wouldn't you change it?  What would it take; a couple of signs, some basic stationary?  If you owned a motel named after your great grandfather Bates, wouldn't you change it from the Bates Motel?  I don't care who came first, one is better known than the other.  How many people have you run into with the last name Hitler recently?  I rest my case.

Cellular Drivers
I've been trying to relax a little in my driving.  I've been much better about highway speed.  I still have a little to go before I can truly call my city driving rehabilitated.  But I have been much more relaxed about yelling at other cars.  There was a time that it was very possible that I might get out of my car to knock on your window to tell you that you drive like shit.  It has happened.  But I have been better.  Until now.
I have come to a very real and very basic discovery that everyone else saw before I did.  Everyone (and I do mean EVERYONE) that is in my way or is pissing me off in traffic, is on the phone.
It used to be a cute bumper sticker, "Hang up the phone and drive."  It used to be a minor nuisance.  But now, it has become an epidemic.  Do a little experimentation for yourselves.  Go for a drive, maybe on your way to the clinic to get rid of that rash, maybe on your way to work...  But just make a mental note on how many people you see that are talking on the phone INSTEAD of driving.
There are some that can do both but most are driving too slow or stopped at green lights because they can not multi-task.  Some of them are tricky to spot.  Many people now have ear-buds and just look like they are singing along with Britney Spears.  Some of these dickheads are so far gone that they have those little "Borg"-looking implants in their ears.  The remote earpiece wasn't enough; they had to make sure it had little blue flashing lights in them so we would notice how important and how cool they are.  Some one just kill these fuckers on sight.
You would think (I know I did) that evolution would have us getting BETTER at driving while talking.  Those that could, would make it to work unharmed.  Those that could not, would wind up mangled at the bottom of a fiery heap of 12 cars, a bulldozer, 4 chicken trucks (3 of which were fully loaded) and a busload of midget-wrestlers, thereby ensuring that they could not pass their inferior genes on while we (the ones who can) will pass our genes on freely, making a safer world full of children that are able to do more than one thing at a time.
New rule, if you're on the phone, if I'm passing you on the right and I'm still going under the posted limit; I fire the special darts mounted on my driver-side door that cut right through the car and inject you with a sterilizing poison.  You can not have any children.  In fact, the shock and impact from the darts might knock you out and you may run into the guardrail; injuring or possibly killing yourself.


Jury Duty
I just went in for jury duty last Monday.  They didn't want me again this time.  Last time it was because I worked in the telecommunications industry and I worked with BNC connectors.  This time it was for a domestic abuse trial and it may have been something I said.
I have no problem serving on jury duty; in fact I was looking forward to it a little.  I've seen "12 Angry Men", I wanted to make a difference but it soon became clear to me that I was in competition with 20 other people to go home.  After several hours, I knew I was screwed.  I didn't have any interesting stories or any reason that I wouldn't be the perfect juror.  I answered every question honestly, I knew how I could have answered them to get sent home but I was silly enough to actually WANT to do my "civic duty".
It was about then that I realized that the only people left would be the most brain-dead, unimaginative people available.  The ones that were interesting at all were the ones talking up a storm and really trying to get out of there.
One girl answered everything like she was drunk.  Telling how she was arrested for possession, how everyone in her family beats each other up all the time, I was really feeling like she shouldn't be here.  Talking to her in the hall, she spoke clearly and articulately.  She was putting on a show for the lawyers and judge.
Another woman answered the question "Have any of you been in a domestic violence dispute?" with, "Yes, I have been an abused wife for 20 years but I do apologize, I bring half of it on myself."  WTF!?  How can she say that?  Ahhhhhh!  Help me; I'm competing with strangers to become low enough to be undesirable.
One question was "Do you think senior citizens deserve to be protected more so than others?"  Most others answered yes.  I finally had to ask for clarification.

"Are we safe in assuming that all the questions we are answering are meant as situations to be applied under the law?  I mean, I agree that we should honor our seniors and protect them every bit possible but that under the law, they should get no special consideration.  A dispute between 2 family members can be settled between each other and sometimes may get violent but once someone yells for the law, we have to apply the laws we have even and fairly no matter who it involves."

The lawyer looked angry and about half of the jury said, "Yeah, what he said."

I kept quiet about most everything else.  They asked if we were ever in any fights, any domestic abuse situations, witnessed and domestic abuse.  I didn't give very many details when they asked me.  If I really wanted to get off the jury I would have given them more details about the time I beat up a complete stranger because he hit a woman.  It was back in the high school daze at a McDonalds parking lot.  Some guy smacked his girlfriend and it was hard enough to make her stagger.  I walked over and sucker punched this guy in his right eye.  He started hollering about her sleeping with his best friend and I jumped on him and kept hitting him while explaining that you don't hit women.  (Alcohol may have been involved)  My friend pulled me off him and we left.  I never knew either of their names and never saw either of them again.  Interestingly enough, the friend I was with that pulled me off of the guy ended up sleeping with my girlfriend.  I never hit either of them.
I've had some wymin friends that actually get upset with me for my "outdated, chivalrous nature".  They say the categorical "thou shalt not hit a woman" attitude is discrimination every bit as bad as making blacks ride in the back of the bus.  At least they're consistent.  I can agree with their logic and still refuse to give in to it.

Wednesday, 6-21-6

Happy Solstice everyone!

It is one of the most dreaded days of the year for me; The first day of summer.  It's just too damn hot!  I can only be happy in the fact that the days are getting shorter now and the Fall and Winter are that much closer.

I just read in USA Today that there is a court battle in Georgia because they passed a new law that restricts where convicted sex offenders can live.  They can't be within 1000' of a school, bus stop, church, daycare or any other place that children gather.  They are all upset because they say it rules out most cities and suburbs.  It will cause thousands of these people to abandon their homes, jobs and churches.  Awwww, poor child molester...

Well, here's an idea that might help you with that; stop fucking little children and you get to live wherever you want to.  We're supposed to feel bad for these people?  Why aren't they in jail anyway?  Children don't generally congregate in jails and prisons.  Keep the prisons 1000' from schools, churches and bus stops and these people will have plenty of places to live.  You'll get to live in a 5x8 cell shared with a big guy that looks at you the same way you looked at that kid.

I could put something in here about these people being restricted from being within 1000' of a church but clergy molestation humor is just too easy...

Monday, 6-19-6

It was a busy weekend in my head but I ran short on time to actually type it all out so stick with me as I blast it all out at once...  Every time I sat down to begin, someone or something needed my attention and I never got any time to myself at all!  It was especially frustrating this weekend because Teresa and Becca are in Pennsylvania and I was looking forward to finishing up a lot of loose ends.  I normally spend the weekend trying to get to the puter and never getting there because I want to spend all my time with T and B.  But now it is apparent that I am just not meant to get on that stupid computer and that it is ridiculous and wasteful for me to even HAVE a computer at the house because I never get any work done on it.  Ah futility, it is in my nature to bitch and moan about things that I can change but chose not to...

Actually, I had a nice Father's Day even if Becca was out of town.  Last weekend they made me breakfast because they knew I'd be alone yesterday.  When I got back in town she left presents for me, a shirt, a hat some candy but the coolest thing was a CD she made.  She sang a song for me and put it on CD.  I've listened to it a million times already.

I kept calling my dad but he was out most of the day.  They had a nice church event and then they all went out for dinner.  I finally got through to him around 9 at night.  I watched a movie later that night as I was going to bed.  There was a line in there that I thought about a lot.  The kid in the movie is a real screw-up and he wants to gain his father's respect so he keeps trying and it only gets worse.  At one point he's talking with his father about "trying to salvage what's left of our relationship" and the father replies with "Relationship?  What are we dating?  I'm not your best-friend, that's your mother's part.  I'm your father; I tell you when you screw up!"

I thought it sounded a little harsh but also a little true.  I started thinking about my father and how some of the screw-ups I've been through (none as bad as in the movie) and realized that both parts can be consolidated into one.  A father can be a friend as well as the necessary boot to the head when needed.  I know mine was.  I hope Becca sees me the same way I see my father after she grows up.  With resounding respect and love.

Everyone is stuck on this superstitious 666 thing from last week.  I was looking at T-shirts this weekend and saw one that I felt needed correcting. 

It said, "00110 - 00110 - 00110 - Evil Genius"

It should say, "1010011010 - Evil Genius" shouldn't it?

The fact that I pointed it out, does that make me an even MORE evil genius?  Or just an evil nerd?

Of course, there was the one that said, "999, Evil when I do hand-stands".  I prefer, but haven't seen, "665, the Neighbor of the Beast".  Or, "333, Son of a Beast"

So, on my way down to Miami this morning, I was listening to my iPod.  I usually listen to all my Podcasts and then switch over to my "Recently Added" mix.  It plays all the music I've added in the last 20 days.

Last week, before she went to PA, Teresa had me acquire a few songs for her, Becca and Lizzy.  So during my drive I ended up hearing "Honky Tonk Bedonkadonk" or whatever the hell it's called.

I want to see if I can find a karaoke version of this song.  If you can ignore the brain-dead lyrics, (and that's a BIG if) I don't think many people could tell this song apart from any 80's rock songs.  It's not country, it's redneck-metal!  That is, aside from the lyrics.

From the first seconds of the song, it's obvious that someone really wants to sound like a rough and tough redneck.  That "I've drank a lot of beer and I need to get in a fight" sound.  Alright, we'll allow him his sound but he does has to answer for his choice in lyrics.  Dancing girls, loud music, that's fine but what the hell is "She's got it going on like Donkey Kong" mean?  What the fuck?  I've written some stupid shit in my life (VERY stupid shit) but I've never just given up trying to find something intelligible and landed on something as moronic as "She's got it going on like Donkey Kong".  The other lyrics run something like, "shut my mouth, slap your grandma".  I fucking hate rednecks.....  I know there have been bad lyrics written by most genres and in most all generations but what the fuck is it with country music?  Do they have a patent on stupidity?

 I just ran into this over the weekend.  Sitting in a restaurant and a bunch of rednecks behind me talking in code.  All analogies, all the time.  "He's as honest as the day is long."  "She's as hard working as the trees are tall."  "It's hotter than a raccoon wearing a wool sweater in a sauna in the middle of July."  Increase the gene pool; KILL ALL WHITE TRASH!!!!!!!!

The days are shorter in the winter so if he's as honest as the days are long, then it stands to reason that he's not as honest during the winter as he is in the summer.  Who the hell puts wool sweaters on raccoons and why are they in the sauna?  Assuming the sauna is inside (otherwise it wouldn't work very well) why does it matter if it's July or if it's February?  Saunas are hot.  We get it.  Adding in the July thing is redundant and unnecessary.  It's about as stupid as a hog wearin' a pink dress trying to do arithmetic while driving a unicycle.  Morons.  Go drink your moonshine in the corn field and pass out after banging your sister and hopefully the combine harvester won't notice you until its too late!

OK, sorry I got carried away there, back to music, the best lyric story I have is because of my Mom.  I was still living at home and mom decided to help me out by taking my truck in for the emission inspection.  When I came home from work she sat me down and started asking how I was feeling and if I was depressed.  After going through this for a while, she told me that while going through my glove box looking for my registration and insurance, she found my suicide note.

It took a long time to get her to believe that they were in fact lyrics to Metallica's "Fade to Black".  The singer in the band I was in at the time couldn't remember lyrics to save his life so I took to writing them down so he could fumble through them.  (This is the same reason I still go into convulsions when I hear "For Whom the Bell Tolls") 

I think the suicide rate is possible proof that we'll never invent time machines.  Some people think it's the money trail but I think it's the suicide rate.  Money can be (and must be) hidden from the IRS so people would go through great lengths to keep it from public view if they were going back in time and playing the lottery or making bets but there are too many preventable deaths happening for time travel to exist.

Don't you think that if we ever invented that ability to travel through time, people would go back to keep loved ones and famous people from premature deaths?  As long as there are tragic deaths, it is proof that no one is coming back in time to prevent them.  And if not, then what the hell use is a time machine then?  Is the Star Trek code of non-interference SOOOO critical that no one ever breaks the law?  Imagine going back in time and keeping Jimi Hendrix from getting on the plane.  Or even better, Ritchie Valens, Buddy Holly and JP Richardson.  Maybe go back in time and warn Kennedy or Lincoln.  John Lennon.

Of course, every time someone does goes back in time to prevent Kurt Cobain and Dale Earnhardt from dying, someone like me goes back to make sure it does happen.  Too much money to be made off of the death of some people.  Money and fame, some people have an express interest in keeping Coban dead.  If he didn't paint the walls with his own brain matter then we probably wouldn't have ever heard of Courtney Love and Dave Grohl would still be wasting away playing drums for the whining flannel buffoon.

Oh man, I'm just full of love today aren't I?

Wednesday, 6-14-6 (Posted 6-19-6)

By now, you've all seen the pictures of the "Redneck Air Traffic Control Tower".  At least 15 of you have sent the pictures to me.  Yes, it is for real, and yes I've been in it.

It is at the Opa Locka airport outside of Miami.  The camper/tower cab is a regular thing they drag out for air shows and emergencies so the FAA has some of these on hand.  The old tower was condemned for safety reasons and they have put up this one as a temporary tower until the new one is built (2009 or so).  The pilots are upset about it because at only 30' up, the controllers can't see everything like they could in the old tower.  The controllers are upset about it because they have to climb a ladder to get in to it.  The city is upset because it does not meet any building code whatsoever.  The FAA doesn't have to meet local building codes.

The first time I was at the old tower, Shawn told me it was the closest thing to haunted you'll ever see.  It creaked and groaned, it looked like it was going to fall down around us.  It was one of the only elevators that I honestly thought would fall when we got on it.  I took the stairs back down and when I went outside, I found myself on the runway side of things, not the parking lot.  I had to go out 40-50 yards and wave up at the controllers to get back inside and back to the truck.  It was a good thing it wasn't dark out yet or they would have never seen me.

The warehouse attached to the old tower looked like something you'd see in a Mel Gibson film.  Not the new "Religious-Gibson" but the old "Mad Max/Riggs-Gibson".  It's an old abandoned warehouse that I'm sure was used for torture or smuggling or anything equally as dangerous...

Wednesday, 6-7-6 (Posted 6-19-6)

And you thought I couldn't resist posting something on 6-6-6...

So, something I've been pondering lately; How long before history becomes legend?  What are the stipulations for something to be counted as fact?

A few months ago, David Irving was sent to prison in Austria for denying the Holocaust.  He's just one of those people that say the holocaust was American propaganda and was a complete fabrication.  So who's right?  Did it or didn't it?

It's in all of the history books so it must be true right?  No.

There are museums of artifacts and boxes of records, it must be true right?  No.

I have no doubt that it happened, but the only undeniable truth to me is the interviews and stories of the people that lived through it.  Of course, some will say it's just part of the conspiracy and these people are paid by the American and Israeli governments...  The Neo-Aryan's actually have a term for that.  Z.O.G.  Zionist Occupied Government.

To me, there is a line you must draw when allowing for conspiracy theory.  If just one credible person that has the tattoo flipped sides and stepped forward to say that it was all BS, maybe then you could chisel away at it and the conspiracy would be plausible.  Not one yet and I wouldn't hold your breath.

So the whole point of this is; what happens when these people die out?  How much do we believe on faith as generations pass and first-hand accounts die off?  How much do we accept as fact even if we are incapable of proving it.  Isn't that the very definition of faith?  Believing something as fact without verifiable facts?  And now you see where I'm going with this.

I believe WWII happened.  Why?  Because there are pictures, videos and survivor stories.

I believe the world is round.  Why?  Because after reading other scientists accounts, I am able to verify some of their facts for myself.

Did the moon landing really happen or is it government propaganda to humiliate the Russians?  I'm not able to verify it.  I can't see it for myself, but it is recent enough that I believe it.  I can see the space shuttle launch from my house, it's got to be going somewhere...  So if I can believe that we are in space, from there I'll accept the moon landing.

But what happens when we go back in time?

Did the crusades really happen?  Did the ball really go through Buckner's legs?  Did Pompeii really bury those people?  Did dinosaurs roam the Earth?  Did Washington cross the Delaware?

Some of these are accepted with stories, others are accepted with physical evidence.  All are accepted on faith.  Faith in the authenticity of the documentation, faith in the abilities of the archeologist.  Faith in the ethics of the writer, the finder, the interpreter and the teacher.  If one of those links fail, we could get false information and accept false facts.  Each person must decide for themselves what they are willing to accept on faith alone.  The more plausible or inane the claim, the more likely it is accepted without question.  The more amazing or horrific, the less likely.  If I told you that 700 years ago, "Bob" purchased a cow from "Tom", there's no reason to question it.  If I told you that 700 years ago, "Bob" trained a cow to sing, dance and drive a car; you'd doubt it.

As each generation passes, the information becomes less reliable.  Fraud is easier and people are more cynical.  In 100 years, will people wonder about things that are happening today?  60 years ago, did anyone think it would be possible that someday, anyone could deny the holocaust?

Monday, 6-5-6 

Here we are again, sitting by the window.  On top of some hotel in someone else's city.  Seems we always end up here, alone.  I've pried open the safety that keeps the window shut so that I can hear the coming storm.  Part of me wants to jump; the other part doesn't want to miss the thunder.

The rains come down harder and I can see the people scurrying to their cars, afraid to get wet.  The sky has gone white and the beach has disappeared into the haze created by the wind and rain.  The eternal hum of the room's air conditioner is barely audible now beneath the drone of the rain and the rolling of the thunder.  The occasional crack of lightning accents the storm.

Silly me, I sit here during a beautiful storm, in a nice room with half a bottle of Crown left, pounding away on the keyboard about how bad things are.  Complaining has become as easy to me as breathing.  I've become numb to the constant travel at work and I'm barely recognizable when I return home.  Maybe someone other than me should be complaining.

I really should close that window though, the rain is coming in now.  I really should stop bitching about how bad things really aren't.  Well, maybe I'll stop after another pour from the bottle.  Yeah, things always look better after a few pours.

The storm has broken and moved on.  The rain is still coming down pretty hard but it's hard to see through the sunlight that has stolen through the clouds.  I found myself dozing in the warm rays as I contemplated the window screen.  When wet, its shadow is a matrix of tiny dark and light squares.  Some going dark as rain fills them and others going light as the water drips out of them.  The pattern is in constant flux and I can't help watching it even though I know there's no pattern to discern from it.

I'll get up in a few minutes and Joe and I will go grab a steak.  In the morning, I'll be anywhere from Miami to Orlando.  I've got the rest of this bottle to see me through the night and the Yankees are at home against the RedSox.  I guess it's not too bad.

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