Your Patriotic Publicity Stunt is an Insult

Dear Mr. LoBaido,

It has recently come to my attention that you are travelling around the United States painting one roof in each state with a giant American flag. Your reason? This is "a thank-you greeting card the size of the United States" for servicemen and women who really "step up to the plate".

I am writing to inquire, if I may, about the purpose of fifty giant American flags. Do these flags raise money for political candidates who might decide to take a look at military spending and redirect the money flowing into buying new expensive, elaborate, ships and aircraft toward providing all troops in Iraq with armor. Or is it that these flags will relieve some of the symptoms of PTSD, like nightsweats, extreme startle responses or fits of rage, for our troops when they come home.

Now that I think about it, maybe the flags are working hard to ensure that we fulfil our promises to our troops, by sending them to school and setting them up with the opportunity to live the American dream that they supposedly lost their legs and saw their comrades die for.

You're reply is most likely that they are meant to show the vets that we support them and are thinking of them. Too bad they'll never see all the publicity you're getting because they're trying to wipe the sand out of their eyes in 110+ degree heat many thousands of miles away.

But thank you. Thank you, sir, for your 'patriotism'. Thank you for making sure to explain that this display is "not political". Because war is never political.

Ever so sincerely,

Bry

Academia

So I just wrote a whole long blog entry on my brain turning to cabbage because all I do all day is make small talk and stock shelves. And about how I want to get back to school and after that be a teacher because it makes me feel like my brain is alive. But upon reading it I realized that it is going to sound like snobby academic bullshit. And I don't mean it that way.

The problem, or one of them, is that I love academics. I love school. I love doing research in libraries that have stood for three hundred years. I love finding the facts and then shooting down ivy league professors, pointing out the holes in their statements. I love seeing how math and history and psychology are all the same thing from different angles. I love connecting the dots. And I don't think that there is any way to make my love of most things academic not sound stupid. Because academics are snobs. I have found very few who are not.

I'm not quite sure how to explain myself on this one. I hate the academic social world, you know, outside of class, because professors think that they know everything. They don't realize that everything is relative. What these people spend their life studying matters, but only in relation to itself. Academics make an imprint on history, but no more than any other group. I can step back and realize that my twenty page paper on ultra-rapid cycling in pediatric bipolar disorder, while interesting (in my opinion) and possibly useful to doctors diagnosing one very rare disorder, is not as useful to society as what a carpenter does with his day, or a woman who runs a great business that gives many people job security and income. If I become a public school teacher, the important part of my job is not teaching what year the magna carta was signed, it's getting to know my kids and helping them to see their own potential as carpenters and business people.

So when I go on and on about how working in the bakery is turning my brain to cabbage, I suppose I need to qualify the statement. I should say that I, unlike the Baker I work with and many of our coworkers, am not good at retail or food service. I am not creative about how to decorate a cake or double the profit on muffins. I cannot come up with new ways of doing the daily chores that are better, faster. I do not find satisfaction in customers being delighted with the brownie tray they ordered. I can stock, I can bag, I can slice, but I cannot do what the Baker does. It doesn't make me satisfied. What will (I'm betting) make me satisfied is helping kids get through high school. I only made it through two years before I got the hell out. Others don't have that option, and I want high school to be better for them than it was for me. And I want to encourage them to all go out and do what they are good at, whether it's writing fifty page papers on ancient greeks or tuning a car to perfection.

The academic world thinks that it is mighty important. Most people think that it is not important at all. I think it is somewhere in between. Reading books makes my brain happy, but it is what I do with my brain for the rest of the world that matters in the end.

I Am An Air Quality Meter

I hadn't used my inhaler in at least eight months, probably ten, save once or twice while exercising on a particularly cold day. In the last month or two I have been using it two or three times a day. I can't fucking breathe.

So is it pollution, me, or the shit they're spraying? Besides the insect crap they're spraying, there are also those planes flying low and leaving a "cloud streak" (my own term, not sure what it's called) that you usually see behind planes at thirty thousand feet. Way up high the engine gives off moisture which freezes and becomes a fake cloud. But these planes are at ten thousand feet or lower, and the trail behind them cannot be pure moisture. It's not cold enough. They're spraying something.

But what? I don't care. All I know is it leaves a white dust that is not pollen on my car (look early in the morning, you'll find it a few days a month in the spring and summer) and makes me use my inhaler every three seconds. And unlike every professional athlete ever, I do not want a small penis and beard from the steroids. Thank you very much.

I Fucking Love This City

Today my landlords put out a whole heap of old clothes for the trash. Since I got home from work I have run into three men, one homeless, one ?, and one who drove up and parked next to the house, rummaging through the bags looking for good shit. Every single one of them was polite as all hell, one said he wouldn't make a mess, all said hello and all chatted for a moment.

Even the folks going through our trash are fucking awesome here. Anchovies, maybe, but still awesome.



A real blog entry to come...

The Perfect Setup

So the dudes who wanted to blow up planes from England to America were from Pakistan?

Fucking perfect. Haven't heard about Pakistan in a while. We're dealing nuCUlar shite to India. Hate to say it, Muslims, but so far in history modernist Westerners have beat every foe they've taken on. India and Japan finally bought in. You're next, but you'll end up more like the poor-ass void between Russia and Western Europe than Japan. Just think of us as a giant drug dealer. We sell to those we like/trust/want to use, we kill/mame/destroy those who threaten/compete/fuck with us.

You know, Americans (myself included) don't know geography well enough. Click on and really look at this map. If we're in Iraq and Afghanistan, we're buddies with India (well, they're taking our jobs and our scientific knowledge), and Saudia Arabia, China AND Russia own our stocks&realestate/companies/WesternEuropeanAllies'oil, this next world war is going to be UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE.

And now, for something completely different.

Well, not really.

Quotes of the Day:

Alien: "What if we took species from all different planets in the universe, and put them together, on the same planet? Great TV, right? Asians, bears, ducks, Jews, deer and Hispanics, all trying to live side by side on one planet! It's great!"

And later:

Stan: [Don't cancel the hit tv show "Earth".] "I'm sure that if you give our world time, it will become even more outrageous and violent."

Cartman: "There's even World War Three to look forward to!"



We look forward no more. We just look around. And shake our heads.

Thank you, and good night.

My Face On Fire

Yeah. So here it is. My brother's friend's face on fire. His name is Ben.

Loathe

Loathe. Now that is a good word for describing my feelings toward the woman who has hurt me, my Fiancee and my immediate family more than any other. I guess you could say she is my only enemy. This is a woman who through some subtle and some not-so-subtle ways manipulated a large body of followers. This is a woman who went on a crusade against me and mine, who put my immediate family members in grave danger of losing each other, and for whom I have no sympathy whatsoever.

Now, I will not say that I'm completely blinded by rage. She has done a few good things, too. Her family loves her and there are a select few of her followers who have honestly benefited from her actions. She preaches the right message, half the battle, she just does not practice.

Within my immediate family there is no end to the jokes at her expense. She is a topic that, it seemed a short while ago, could always bring a laugh from the crowd of the ones I love. Until recently, that is.

Sitting at dinner with our mothers, I threw out some insignificant joke about this woman. I was hushed. It turns out that she, in her mid fifties, has been diagnosed with ALS, Lou Gehrig's Disease. This means that over the next three to five years, her muscles will waste away until her diaphragm collapses and she suffocates to death without a ventilator. This is a disease I would never wish on my worst enemy. I know this because she is, and if I could wish her pain away I would. I do not want harm to come to her, except maybe some psychological payback from the karma train. This, never. I am honestly sorry this is happening.

BUT, that does not mean that I'm going to go on and on about how wonderful she is like some of her fucked-over-followers turned she-wasn't-really-that-bad babbleheads. I am no longer allowed to joke at her expense near my family. This bothers me. My moral dilemma is that I still hate her, though I hope to see her live a long life. Far away from me. She needs a lot more time on the planet to figure her shit out. But am I allowed to continue making fun of her for the horror that she has inflicted on her fellow man and that this disease has not changed? Our mothers say no. When someone is sick you have to be nice to them. I say yes. It bothers me when folks talk nice about dead people they loathe, and why should sick people be different?

I continue my jabs at her because they make me feel better. My life is just now recovering from what she did six years ago. I do not wish her physical harm. I loathe her. I do not think that I am being hypocritical.

Hell

Tonight when I got home from work (had to walk part way in bright sun), I passed out. On the floor. Naked. The Fiancee passed out face down across the bed sideways. The cat assumed pancake position on the floor by my head. Half an hour later the three of us groggily moved around a little before collapsing again.

When will this end?

And don't say tomorrow because I don't care. Lower temperatures tomorrow do not make me more than semi-conscious today.