Confounded

I will be sure to keep this brief; not really out of concern for your time, but more because the holidays always involve a demanding regiment for the old brain cells. It may sound like fun and games to you, but it is serious work and not something to be taken lightly. While being an energetic drunk has been glamourized by the Hollywood elite, their shows leave out the stress created by knowing that you have to perform every night for a week. But it isn't just any week - it's the week when we all get together with friends and family, some of whom we have not seen in months, and demand joy. It's one thing to get together for a few cocktails after work. It is an entirely different matter when someone is flying in from 1,200 miles away to have a few cocktails, or driving six hours - there is instant pressure.

We did our jobs, though, and it has been a successful week. People got crocked and had fun, remembering what needed to be remembered or at least remembering it the way it should have happened. There are gaps, but that is to be expected. And it is the price we pay for being professionals. Only two nights to go. May they bring you stories you dare not share. Mohalo.

Who is the real parent?

I get a real kick out of letters to the editor, especially the titles which the editors will choose for the letters. Today's Des Moines Regiser has a letter titled "Government isn't our parent." That's cute. The title is inspired by the letter's lines, "It's time we all take responsibility for the decisions we make. The government is not our mommy and daddy, always there to pick us up and make it all better when we fall or to give us what we want when we act like spoiled brats."

Where do we begin? I find it funny when people write about personal responsibility. These tend to be the same people who blame Hollywood and school teachers for the problems they have with their children. They want YOU to take responsibilty, but don't you dare try to hold them accountable.

I enjoy the last part, too, of the writer's letter. "The gov't is not our mommy and daddy, always there to . . . give us what we want when we act like spoiled brats." My parents never would have given me what I wanted had I behaved like a spoiled brat. In fact that kind of behavior was an invitation for loads of extra work around the house, in the yard, or at the nearest coal mine. My parents sent very clear messages. And I try to thank them for that as often as I can.

But the fact is that we as a nation are spoiled brats. Spoiled by the ecxesses we have been led to believe are our rights. And the letter writer is correct, our government is not our mommy and daddy. Our government is our child. And we as a nation have failed to take care of that child, who has run off with a bad crowd caught in a maelstrom of greed and favoritism. The time has come to discipline the child.

LIttle Karl

I woke up this morning with full intentions of posting some dazzling and witty comments on current political events. Let's face it, there is plenty to choose from. The fear mongers at Fox News are fearful that Christmas is under attack. I feel bad for them and I hope it all turns out okay. I would hate to see good Americans forced to secretly celebrate Christmas in basements and undisclosed, dark meeting halls. Perhaps if we can one day get a Christian elected President there will be no more need to worry. But I'm sure those liberals in Hollywood would stop at nothing to prevent such a thing from happening.

I enjoy Fox News. But I also get a big kick out of watching a dog chase its own tail. I absolutely love it when someone spends an hour looking for their glasses as they sit atop the same persons head. And there is a real satisfaction in hearing an arrogant SOB say "supposably." You following me here?

But what I started saying was that I had great hopes for today. Now there is no hope. There will be no great postings. Because Karl Rove came to my block last night and smashed out the driver's side window in my car. I have no proof that it was Karl, and odds are against it. But as I stood looking at the damage, his name was the first one that came to mind. He would probably be flattered. He's an odd little man. He's not like the rest of us. You don't get to his station in life if you are like the rest of us, especially looking like that. It takes a special mutated breed to think and act like Karl Rove. Which is probably why his name was the first one to come to mind this morning as I stared at shattered bits of glass which had flown across my dashboard and front seat. This was the work of a pervert-in-training.

Mohalo.

A New Beginning

Well now that every idiot has a blog, I guess it is time for me to join the ranks. First of all let me apologize. I'm fairly certain there will be no point to any of this. I sure don't need any more distractions from the tediousness of my practice. But this line of work does require that one find time to blow off a bit of steam.

So this will be the place where we can lay waste to those that dare not ask questions, but instead choose to tow the line and follow the "be nice" rule of modern society. A rule that serves only to keep in power those who have never played nice.

It will also be a place where we can work together to build a better New York Mets organization, a stronger Iowa State Cyclone atheletics department, and to encourage NBA fans to just give up.

I look forward to wasting my time and yours in a more official and measurable way. Until then. Mohalo.