Code 3 My Ass

The gift that keeps on

2008-06-26T21:19:00.000-07:00

It's funny how things go--isn't it? I lust after all things that plug in, take batteries, light up, beep, tweet, chirp, or hum. You can probably tie my adult techno-geekery to my youthly nerdiness, when Warren Hudgens and I tried to communicate with distant shores from a 25-in-one kids radio experiment kit that probably cost $12. Of course it didn't work, but I loved it. We both loved it, making up our kid stories about being tracked down by vigilant policemen or angry, pipe-wrench bearing construction workers whose radio conversations about women and booze we might have interrupted with our peeping voices and rampant giggling. It was Warren who told me about a new device, all in discrete transistors, called a flip-flop that would allow one of the huge mainframe computers to start getting rid of tubes and magnetic cores. It was the beginning of the digital computer revolution. Cool. I haven't seen Warren in years, not even heard a word from or about him. I hope he is still geeking.

Forgiveness

2008-05-16T21:13:00.000-07:00

It's a laudable characteristic, forgiving those/that which transgress against you, perhaps Seattle has good Karma because today the entire population forgave the weatherman for a tough winter and hideous spring, just because summer paid (what I'm certain will be a brief, but) a lovely visit. Of course, this solar visitor was due yesterday, due the day before that, long long long over due ...but no one is thinking about that now....we are collectively staring at the warm yellow light illuminating the world so recently bathed in tones of gray and Prussian blue...it's amazing.

So the suicide rate will drop, antidepressant sales will lag, shorts and t-shirts smelling suspiciously of Rubbermaid storage bins will appear, and neighbor will greet neighbor for the first time in months. Forgiveness wrapped in the warm arms of the sun.

Situational Eating

2008-05-03T19:32:00.000-07:00

When I was in elementary school I got sick with the sort of hideous thing kids bring home from school, probably mumps or chicken pox, and as it happens my sister was home sick from school at the same time (probably with something I brought home from school...sorry sissy). So there we are, sitting in the living room watching TV in the middle of the school day, maybe "Queen for a Day" (I hated that weasel with the skinny mustache), but more likely the Art Linkletter Show. At some point, the show broke for an advertisement, and there, right on live on TV Arthur dropped a can of Starkist Chunk Tuna , all oily and nasty, onto a plate, and picked it apart with a fork. It fell apart like half-dried albino dog turds dropping onto that plate, with Art's smarmy condescending lear adding it's own oil, I'm sure . As it was my stomach was queasy, but watching Art and the oily tuna was the end of it for me. I'm pretty sure I hurled, but even if I didn't, the thought of tuna became unendurably loathsome to me, and I didn't eat another ounce of tuna fish until I was in high school. On that occasion, I had been involved in a project all night, with not even a bite of food, and by morning I was ravenous...but all there was to eat were....tuna fish sandwiches. So I ate three. From that point, I was cured of the Linkletter Tuna Fish curse. What we will and won't eat is almost entirely... situational.

I

Gravity Attacks!

2008-04-18T10:18:00.000-07:00

For the young and unecumbered, gravity is a like a distant relative: you know it exists, but it just doesn't have much to do with you on a day to day basis. Of course, skydiving and skiing would be pretty damned boring in the abscence of gravity, but we pretty much mentally attach the fun of those sports to the encumbrances involved: "woh, man, what a bitchin' hill". or "woh, dude, cool airplane", "nice waves", "nice trampoline", "nice high bridge" (for bungie jumpers or the suicidally inclined). For the elderly and infirm, gravity is the primary challenge in life, and many, many folks lose the battle to gravity every day, finding themselves on the ground unhurt but unable to get up.

Not Enough

2008-04-11T09:52:00.000-07:00

I grew up in the Yakima Valley, an agricultural place....the sort of place where Dems were viewed with the deepest suspicion and Barry Goldwater was considered to be the perfect man, fuzzy as a warm bag of plutonium fresh from Hanford. You'll remember his phrase "Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice." Most folks who remember him know that phrase. After a while people got the idea he was a Bircher (a class of paranoid right wing nut cases not related to the tree of the same name which is not useful for hanging commies) and his support dwindled. And thus we ended up with my second most loathed Airforce One riders of all times: Lyndon Baines Johnson, also a useless bag of poop from Texas. But more seething on LBJ later.

However, Goldwater wasn't quite as nuts as people thought. The full quote of 'extremism' is:"Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice. And let me remind you also that moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue." Despite the fact the most current conservatives call back to Goldwater via Reagan, the NutCaseInTheWhitehouse and his veep SlitheryDick seem to have forgotten something the old commie hater held dear: the pursuit of justice requires justice and liberty as a goal, not just victory and domination. Lately we have had too much of one, and of the other, Not Enough.

Another Bush joke thats more shameful than funny.

2008-04-06T18:25:00.000-07:00

George Bush goes to a middle school to talk to the kids to get a Little PR. After his talk he offers question time. One boy puts up his hand and George asks him his name. 'Stanley,' responds the boy. 'And what is your question, Stanley?' 'I have 4 questions: First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes? Third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden? Fourth, why are we so worried about gay marriage when 50 million Americans don't have health insurance?' Just then, the bell rings for recess. George Bush informs the kids they will continue after recess break. When they resume George says,' OK, where were we? Oh, that's right, Question time. Who has a question?' Another boy puts up his hand. George Bush points him out and asks him his name. 'Johnnie,' he responds.'And what is your question, Johnnie?''Actually Sir, I have 6 questions: First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes? Third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden? Fourth, why are we so worried about gay marriage when 50 million Americans don't have health insurance? Fifth, why did the recess bell go off 20 minutes early? And sixth, what the fuck happened to Stanley?

stolen from WallStreetJackass

April Food

2008-04-03T22:27:00.000-07:00

I can't stand it, the dishonesty of it all is killing me. Lately, an old flame has entered my life. I am guilty beyond all reason, but helpless in the face of the soft sweetness of the relationship. It's true, I'm sorry...I lust after Twinkies and milk.

I'll drive past a store, and consider the odds that I can find the lovely "Golden Sponge Cake with Creamy Filling" within. I start to imagine the smell as I tear open the wrapping....

The guilt is too much. I must take my shame and leave. I wonder if we have any really cold milk?

Time flies

2008-03-30T21:21:00.000-07:00

Not so long ago my sister came into my bedroom at our parents home, excited to share with me her meeting a "sweet" guy . This meeting happened at a college party , and I was fascinated by people so liberated they could actually have a party inside a house, as opposed to driving around the backroads of eastern Washington, hammered out of their minds on 3.2 beer. I barely paid any attention to the story about the sweet guy.

This weekend my sister and that sweet guy celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary, and their 3 children, whom I love just a bunch, paid for the whole shebang: drinks, dinner, drinks, reception, drinks, and tylenol and drinks. We carried on late into the evening, but were all asleep before midnight.

Lately we've had a few houseflies come wandering into the kitchen, fat and stupid, where we do our best to splatter them. Flies, with their weeks-long lifespan, seem always to be there, and yet the individual fly is dead of old age before the moon has turned. I can imagine them viewing us as living immortal, our eighty years covering more that a thousand of their lifespans, with us living across a time so far in the future no fly thought can travel. Forty years of human marriage in fly years would reach back far beyond the dawn of recorded human history. Hell, that's worth a party!

whaz that mean?

2008-03-28T22:43:00.000-07:00

So, "Code 3" is an old radio phrase meaning respond "lights and siren". While there are other codes, 'running code' generically means maximum uproar. As does "4 Bells , Code Red, Priority, Running Hot", and so on. Sooner or later (read 'really soon') you get sent on a call you just know is bogus, and you say...."code 3 my ass" just before you turn the siren on.

Cops, firefighters, and ems workers tend towards twisted humor, and in the privacy of their own work spaces find humor in the most hideous events in the lives of people. I don't know who the 'Darwin Awards' guy is, but I've got an opinion, if you know what I mean. Of course we get to see a lot of really sweet people who have been crapped on by the bluebird of happiness, but we also see some real idiots trying desperately to get into the darwin webpage. It is to these feckless pinheads that I dedicate this projectile typing. Thanks for helping me to feel better about my own manifold shortcomings. OBD