Wednesday, March 31, 2004

pinions of buddy don:
march agin tragedy, war on terror, globalizayshun of everthang

a few years back, whenever princess diana gut killd in that car acksident, miz bd pickd up a flyer over in man hattan frum sumbidy trine to organ eyes a march agin tragedy. we wunderd could it be a joke of sum kind, but ifn twuz, it dint give nun of the clues ye eggspeck. fack is, the fella wuz serious. he figgerd we had let tragedy push us around fer too long n we had to let it know we wuznt a'gone take it no more.

he listed instuntses of how tragedy had dun attackd. corse, thar wuz princess diana gittin killd. then thar wuz a mudslide over in colombia. starvayshun in afrikie. genocide in ruwanda. n albania. n serbia. n palestine. i wishd i had saved it on a counta i dont member all the tragedy this fella wonted everbidy to march agin.

innywho, i dont speck that innybidy readin this thanks ye kin do much by marchin agin tragedy. march all ye wonta, but acksidents is gonna happen, mud is gonna slide, earthquakes is a'gone shake thangs up n kill folks, hurrcanes is gonna blow, n ifn ye dont know no better, all of em wood be proof of how tragedy is takin over n attackin at will.

this mornin i noticed whar terror is makin its presents felt: (1) eight arrested in british terror raids, (2) terror in uzbekistan, (3) terror arrests in phillippines, (4) colombia: media ignores death squad terror campane, (5) and the next stage in the war on terror: indonesia. ifn ye search around a lil, ye kin find plenty more.

as most innybidy figgers out by the time they kin walk, thays a heap of thangs ye caint control. fer instunts, ye mite wont a sunny day fer a picknick, but ye caint cuntrol the weather. ifn ye ever had kids, then ye know ye caint even cuntrol a child that ye razed yer ownself frum the day twuz born.

tragedy is one of them thangs ye caint cuntrol. but wait, thars more.

durin the fussin n fitin a'goin on bout offshorin n outsourcin of jobs, folks lacks to act lack tiz sumthin they could cuntrol. mayhap they kin have a lil influents, but since we bleev in the profit motiv above all, then thay aint no way to stop it. inny person goin into bizness wood be a fool to pay $10 fer sumthin they could git fer $1. one thang is fer sartin, capitullism dont repeck no borders, dont practiss no patriotism. tiz a simple math questchun:

profit = (price ye put on yer goods) minus (the cost of makin em)

razin yer profit is thonly motive that matters, witch that means innythang that kin hep ye lower the cost of makin thangs -- whuther tiz avoidin payin taxes or movin jobs to the injun subcontinent or skimpin on safety measures or eggscapin frum regulayshun by gummints that wonta keep ye frum ruinin the common thangs lack the air we all breathe or the water we drank -- innythang that reduces that cost of making thangs is fair game. ifn ye kin doot well, yer gonna git noticed n prazed.

point is, ye caint stop it, so ye gut to thank how kin ye live with it? is thar sum kinda way to graft a moral order on a eckonomick practiss lack capitullism? are ye gonna git folks to thankin that it mite be better to pay a wurker (also a perspecktiv customer) over here $10 in sted of payin a wurker (who wont be no perspecktiv customer) over thar $1? ye wont cunvints em by makin laws on a counta nex thang ye know, ye gut ye a trade war a'goin on, witch twood be a hop skip n a jump frum thar to a worlwide deepreshun.

point is, ye half to attack the problem whar tiz -- in that equayshun above n the absolute bleef that profit is the only criterion on witch everthang else kin be judged. ifn ye caint git folks to bleev nuthin else, then ye shouldnt cumplain bout yer jobs disappearin. thar jes follerin the money.

so tiz with terror, witch moren innythang else, tiz jes a idee. taint lack a perscripshun drug that one cumpny gits the patent on n kin charge whutever it wonts n caint nobidy else make it. tiz sumthin that ever skool child kin larn bout by the age of bout 10 or 12. thanks to our new ability to global eyes most innythang, the idee of terror is gittin roun to everwhar n mos everbidy.

thays sum that thanks ye kin attack a idee usin a army. ifn twere so, we woodnt be havin so much truble beatin it. we dun showed the worl that ifn thars inny cuntry out thar that wonts to take us on, they aint gut a chants. we gut the force to git inny cuntry to surrender or be wiped out.

but terrsts aint cuntries. they kin use cuntries, but they dont need em. they dun proovd how they kin operate in cuntries, lack ireland n spain n israel, whar the gummint hates em n duz everthang possibull to wipe em out. but no matter how much force ye brang to the problem, it dont go away long as the idee lives.

thats cawz ye caint kill a idee with a bullet. ye caint kill it with a smart bomb. ye caint kill it with a cruise missle. ye caint kill it with a nukular weppon. ye caint kill it with inny weppon, even ifn twuz one that kin pull off mass deestruckshun.

as the romans dun provd with the early christchuns, ye jes caint kill idees with force. lions eat folks, but idees live on. ye kin kill the messenger, but the message lives on n sumtimes gits a boost frum folks that makes the killt messenger into a martyr.

fack is, n aint nobidy lacks this on a counta how tiz hard to do, ye kin only attack a idee usin better idees. ifn ye cunvints mos folks that yer a force fer good, aint minny thats gonna wonta attack ye. if ye kin cunvints a nuff folks that terrsts aint nuthin but criminulls, then purty soon, lots of the folks that heps em n hides em now wont be be willin to doot no more.

twood be nice ifn ever terrst had a state sponser, witch thats the way mr bush wonts to fite terrism. ye caint hardly blame him. ifn ye gut the worls biggest army, ifn yer spendin more on yer miltary than the nex 21 cuntries cumbined is spendin, then ye wood kinly lack to use that weppon agin yer enemies. ifn ye gut a state thats sponserin terrsts n terrism, lack them talibans wuz doin in afghanistan, then ye gut a battle yer reddy to fite.

ifn ye could point to a state sponser of ever terrst, then ye could put up a list of cuntries sponern terrism on the innernet n tell em all they gut till high noon to change thar ways or face incumin marines.

but whenever yer fitin a idee, ye aint gut no state that kin surrender fer it. ye kin kill as minny terrsts as ye kin round up, but ifn ye dont kill the idee, yer jes plantin futchur terrsts whenever ye bury em.

tiz a miss take to thank thays jes one organizayshun lack al qaeda doin all the terrism on a counta they dont have the patent on it n it kin be used by innybidy that thanks twill wurk.

the idee kin infeck all kinds of folk: christchuns (cathlick vs. protestunt), muslims, drug cartels, basque separtists, palestinians, white aryan nayshun types, yew name it.

ifn i knew the best way to attack terrism, i wood rite it down n send it in a letter to mr bush, but i dont. i do have a few idees bout how we mite larn to fite the idee, so here they are:

  1. ye gut to larn to put yerself in thar place n wunder whut could git em to the point of wontin to attack.

  2. ye gut to wunder bout folk that wood be proud of thar children givin up thar lives to kill thar verr self in suicide attacks: ifn ye really wonta beat the idee name of terrism, then ye gut to figger thisn out.

  3. ye gut to be willin to look at gittin the beam outta yer own eye sos ye kin see clear to take out the speck frum otherns eyes, witch that means ...

  4. Ye caint settle fer simplistick splainayshuns bout whut motivates them terrsts lack claimin they hate us cawz we gut freedum or they wuz born pure evil, witch the bible sez all folks has fallen short of the glory of god n all folks is in a state of evil needin fergivness on a counta inherted sin, witch the point is, all of us is imperfeck.

  5. ye gut to larn bout the cultchur that wood create so minny folks thats willin to do evil to ye.

  6. ye gut to look at whar ye mite be open to attack, whar ye could be hurt mos, n perteck it, even ifn it means razin taxes on a counta whut good does it do a man to half the hole wide worl back in taxes ifn hes bombed to death by a terrst?

  7. ye gut to do yer bes not to give terrsts new reasons to hate ye, witch is why so minny folks wuz upset bout attackin iraq, witch whut osama bin laden sed he wonted wuz fer a western christchun power to attack a weak muslim cuntry on a counta how twood hep him spread his idee of terror n git new recruits to hep him use it.

  8. mos of all, ye gut to ackcept the fack that bombin cuntries n innocent folk (even by acksident) aint no way to stop terrst frum bombin. lease, taint wurkd yet.

fack is, havin a war on a idee, even a idee calld terrism, is a lot lack havin a march agin tragedy, speshly if thonly idee ye gut is to fite terrsts with yer army.

Tuesday, March 30, 2004

pinions of buddy don:
addicktiv blogs -- my faverts amung the biguns

tiz tuesdy, time to look over sum blogs. today lets take a look at six of the more sucksessfull amung em -- them that gits more comments on their most recent articulls than the hits i git in a week. i half to add mitt to becumin addicted to a few, witch i know thar all more or less on the left side of thangs, but theys well writ, purty to look at ceptn fer The Daily Howler, n almos always loaded with info i wonted but dint speck to read. so here's my list of faverts amung the biguns:

  1. The Daily Howler: twuz the furst blog i gut to readin on a reglar basis, witch i dint even know twuz a blog fer the longest. whut mr. somerby dun to lock me in wuz to show how awful the press wuz treatin al gore. once i wuz hooked, i larnt that the man has no limits on who he wood attack, witch tiz innybidy in the press who dont play far. he makes his readers mad ever now n agin whenever he points out folks on the lef usin shady tackticks. fer me, tiz the best blog fer press criticism i ever found. let me know if thars a bettern.
  2. liberaloasis: i found thisn frum plastic, witch thats whar i found media whores online, witch thats a nuther purty goodn but they take thangs too far fer my taste on a counta they git to be actin lack them thar critisizin. whut i lack best bout liberaloasis is the insights on how eleckshuns wurk, how issues gits played in the press, whut kinda stratgy mite wurk agin mr bush.
  3. Altercation: i gut to readin thisn frum a tip on media horse (as tiz calld by minny folk), but it dint take till i had red a cuple of books by eric alterman, witch the furstn wuz What Liberal Media n the one im jes bout dun readin is The Book on Bush, witch that book has gut ever thang ye could wont on the problem of how we aint gittin the truth frum our gummint at the moment. ye know whut point of view to speck frum eric alterman, but his readin is vorayshus, his taste in musick is eggcellent, n his readers write in bout half his column everday, witch sumtimes they put in the best bits.
  4. Talking Points Memo: thisns the blog of joshua micah marshall, witch ye dont hardly find a better mind in the land of bloggin. he aint satisfied with makin a quick joke n givin ye a lank to the story, witch that seems to occupy bout half the space on three quarters of the blogs out thar. in sted, he gives ye insight n analysis. fer eggzample, long befor condi rice finely add mitted mr bush had indeed pushed richard clarke to find a iraq conneckshun on 9/12, mr marshall had analyzed it thisaway: ifn thar wuznt no meeting, thar wood be no witnesses, witch that wood mean that ifn thar wuz a meetin that could be denied, couldnt nobidy but mr bush n mr clarke be thar n the claim that no such meetin happend wood be a he said vs he said situwayshun. but on 60 mints, twuz sed thar wuz two witnesses, witch that dint git mr steven hadley to add mitt nuthin. point mr marshall wuz makin is how it had to be mr bush tellin the lie that thay wuznt no meetin on a counta how other witnesses couldnt verr well say that, witch turnt out they wuz sayin the verr opposit. (corse now everbidy knows the meetin happend.) tiz hard to find a blog that has dun a better job of keepin up with the smear campain agin richard clarke than thisn. 
  5. Whiskey Bar: i aint been readin thisn verr long, but tiz a goodn. whut i notice bout all these biguns amung blogs is how they post sevrul times each day (not countin the furst two, witch they post jes the one time). that means ye kin go back agin n agin to git billmon's take on thangs thats brakin news. i find his analysis wurthy. taint a site ye go to fer lanks to stories. ye go thar fer insights into thangs.
  6. Political Animal: thisns the new blog of calpundit, witch thats probly a nuff sed fer minny folk. whenever i wuz furst readin mr drums old blog, whut amazed me wuz how quick he wuz to reack to news n how apt his obsurvayshuns wuz. so he has turnt into one of them i wonta read ever day.

whuts best bout how blogs has cum on is by the time i git home frum wurk, me n miz bd has dun read all the news, witch we also watch the bbc world news ever evenin on a counta how ye git a lot of news that dont make it into the poplar entertainment news that amurkin news cumpnies speshulize in. but we save them blogs i listed above n then read em together over a lil jack daniels, witch ifn we kin find that mythicull $20 sangle malt scotch, we mite switch, but fer now, we save the scotch fer the weekends. but we save the blogs listed above fer the evnins . . . n yes, i am a verr lucky man to have a woman that lacks to read the same stuff i lack n lacks to eggsplore sangle malt scotches. bof good blogs n that sangle malt scotch is real addicktiv.


Monday, March 29, 2004

sufferns of buddy don:
migrainus bloggus interruptus

couldnt do much bloggin this weekend thanks to a visit frum a migraine. wuz out of thangs on saturdy but dint know why, but woke in the dark of nite sundy mornin with all the classick symptums, witch the 'disaffeckshun' is the wurst. innywho, bout all i wuz good fer wuz watchin them ferries go by:

Friday, March 26, 2004

life of buddy don, chaptur 111:
alone in the dark

emily flew back to amurka durin the furst week of july 1980. i figgerd i wood git a lot of ritin dun n jes enjoy the chants to be alone fer a while. whenever we wuz gittin her thangs packed up n belly-achin bout how twuz a sad thang how we wood spend our furst weddin anniversairy apart, all i wuz really thankin bout wuz how twood be almos lack a lil vacayashun to have sum time alone. taint that i dint luv her, but i nursed this lil thought bout how twood be nice to git to do whutever i wonted without wurryin bout ifn emily wonted to go long with it.

that summer, the phillies wuz good. fack is, they ended up winning the worl series later on that year. i had been a phillies fan frum the age of 8 when i wuz home watchin a game twixt the phillies n the cubs. up till then, i had been a fan of the new york yankees on a counta twuz easy to root fer winners. i member how it seemd to me i wuz always rootin fer winners n eli fer losers. when we wood play civil war, i wuz in blue, he in gray. when it cum to sports, i lacked the yankees, he the white sox, jes lack daddy dun. but then cum the series in 1960 n that famus home run by bill mazeroski to give them pittsburg pirates the win over roger maris n mickey mantle n whitey ford n yogi berra n elston howard n the res: one of the gratest teams ye could magine.

i dont reckon ill ever fergit the mornin after that home run. bof daddy n eli ackted lack i had throwd the losin pitch. daddy even sed sumthin lack, tiz so easy to root fer the top dog that ye cant take the lease lil upset. corse, he had dun been hopin to see his white sox in the series fer so long that he knew whut twuz lack to watch the perpetchul winners beatin his team. i wood later larn that lesson overn over agin frum bear bryant.

innywho, whut thay sed stung me so i deecided not only how i wood git my own team but i wood pick it frum the nashnul league, witch fer sum reason, daddy made it seem lack the murkin league wuz fer publicans n the nashunul fer dimcrats. that mighta held me back, but then cum that saturdy afternoon when twuz rainin outside n the phillies wuz playin the cubs on tv. so happend that i had a colleckshun of baseball cards, n in that colleckshun i had cards frum more phillies n cubs than inny uther team. i member how i wood watch games n try to see could i lay out my cards in the posishuns of the players. turnt out i gut to countin my cards n had a equal number of each team.

so i made a fateful deecishun whar i wood be a fan of whoever won that game. ifn ye know much bout baseball, then ye know twuz a lucky brake fer me when the phillies won. i had always lacked the wurd philadelphia fer sum reason, sumthin bout how smooth it rolld offn yer tung, sumthin bout howt used the 'ph' combinayshun twice to make the 'f' sound. so i reckon by time that game wuz near over, i had dun started rootin fer em.

as ye mite member, pete rose had cum over to play fer the phillies in 1979. whenever he dun it, he sed he wuz gonna turn mike schmidt into the mvp n hep them phils win the worl series, witch tiz rare fer a person to make such a perdickshun n then git it to cum true. innywho, by july twuz purty clear they had em a good team.

so one of the furst thangs i dun as quick as emily wuz gone wuz to stay up till i could listn to the afn broadcast of a baseball game, witch since them phillies wuz winnin, they gut to be on sevrul times. since we wuz six hours ahed of the east coast in amurka, them games wood cum on roun 1:30 am ifn they wuz a 7:30 game on the east coast. i wood stay up readin till the game cum on n then listn to git as much infermayshun as i could on the phillies. ever sports fan knows whut i wuz a'goin thru ifn they have been in the situwayshun whar they caint hardly git no news bout thar team.

as ye mite know, a game of baseball lasts sumwhars tween a hour n a half n three hours, generly speakin, witch that ment them games wood be endin not long befor the sum cum up, durin the darkes part of the nite. i wood turn off our lil radio n roll over to go to sleep n bout as quick as i shut my eyes, i wood git a asthma attack.

furst time it happent, i dint hardly wont to add mitt twuz a'goin on. after all, ye mite could thank i wooda had asthma attacks rite reglar lack when emily wuz aroun on a counta all the tubacka smoke, but i dint hardly have nun whenever she wuz aroun. n quick as she wuz gone, i give the place as cumplete a cleanin as i could do, keepin the winder wide open long a nuff to make shore thay wuznt nuthin but frische luft in it. so i know twuznt on a counta sumthin i wuz a lergick to. lucky fer me them germans had em a medicin name of columba fer asthma that wuz sum of the bes i ever had, so i wood take a pill n listn to whutever i could git on the radio fer a lil while till i could breath easy agin.

but i wuz puzzled by whut wuz a'happenin. wuz i lonely? wuz i missin emily? could asthma be jes a trick the mind played on the bidy till the bidy fell fer it? wuz i afraid of bein alone in the dark?

i hated to thank that but truth wuz, i missd emily lack she had been my lef hand.

corse, frieda wonted to do her bes to keep me frum bein too lonely, so she invited me here n thar. i gut to go to the home of a rich frien of hers over in sachsenhausen durin this time. i member it well on a counta how ye almos never gut invited into sumbidys home. turnt out the parents wuz in mexico so thar oldes son wuz havin him a lil party, witch seemed to me i wuz invited mainly to brang my amurkin ears to hear bout how awful amurkins wuz. they even give me a hard time fer cumin to west germany whenever i traveled. i member that rich kid with his purrfeck english n purrfeck german sayin i had wasted a opportunty, that whenever he traveled, he lacked to go to the thurd worl.

by then my german wuz good a nuff to argue, but quick as i wonted to say sumthin, twood git turnt frum a argument to a fuss n fite till i finely told frieda i felt lack i needed a lil walk. she run out with me to make pallgies bout her friend, witch i tole her it dint bother me on a counta i had to agree we wuz usin way to much oil in amurka n acktin lack twuz our rite to use up as minny of the worls natcherul resources as we could. i sed i wuz even a'gonna vote fer john anderson on a counta him having the idee of puttin a 50¢ a gallon tax on gasoline, witch twood still have been a lot cheaper in amurka than twuz in west germany.

innywho, i gut to walkin n made my way over to die zeil, witch thats a long walkway thru town that tuck ye rite past good places to shop in all. as i wuz walkin along thar, a cuple fellers cum up to me n ast me did i have inny matches. i dint notice rite away how they wuz speakin english on a counta how by then, german dint sound all that forn, so i anserd em in german, witch they sed, spreksy english? then it hit me how they wuz amurkin soljers n i gut to speakin english agin n twuz rite nice. i tole em i dint have no matches, but i knew whar we could git sum, witch they dint know the lease thang bout whut they calld livin on the economy since they wuz livin on the army base in darmstadt.

i gut em sum matches frum a kiosk n they ast me did i wonta git hi. i almos laffed out loud. i hadnt been hi in near a year ceptn fer one time when marketta frum finland had a lil bit of a joint she had gut frum a boyfrien she had, witch twuz a nuther murkin soljer who give it to her, only twuznt inny good. but these two fellers had em sum hash but no pipe, witch they sed they couldnt use no pipe lessn they wonted to throw it away on a counta whar wood they put it whenever they went back on the base?

but they knew bout the cocola can trick whar ye make a lil indentayshun near the tail end of the can n poke ye a few lil holes in it n set ye a lil piece f hash on them holes n then suck thru the openin that ye drunk the coke frum while litin yer match toot. twurked ruther well, so they give me a lil piece to take home.

ye caint hardly magine how hi i felt. fer one thang, whenever ye git hi after goin without fer a long time, seems lack ye git higher than yer customd to. i gut blown away by it n the walk home wuz a purty add ventchur. seemd lack i wuz seein beeyootiful thangs bout frankfurt that i hadnt hardly noticed befor.

whenever if gut back to that lil apartment on ginnheimer strasse, i set myself down n gut to thankin bout the hole trip in west germany. it hadnt been nuthin lack i wuz specktin, but i had larnt a lot. i knew i dint wonta try to be no flossofer, even ifn i did lack studyin the subjeck purty good. in sted, i wonted to larn more bout literchur. but i also had larnt sum thangs that seemd to stick with me.

fer one, emily had tuck a class in 'amerikanisch,' witch twuz a study of how amurkins used the english langwage. i shoulda tuck it my ownself, but i wuz too busy makin a big deal bout how we shouldnt be readin n talkin n studyin thangs in english on a counta we wuz thar sos we could git good a german. as ye know, i wuz rong bout that.

innywho, that perfesser she had sed sevrul thangs that stuck with me. fer one, he showed how the folks that settled in the mountain hollers of appalachia, witch thems the ones i thank of whenever i thank of hillbillies, how they wuz purty much isolated fer the longest n turnt out he figgerd they wuz speakin sumthin close to shakespeares english. they wuz mainly frum scotland n ireland n the west coast of england n ifn ye studied how they talked, ye could trace em rite back to the counties thar ancestors cum frum.

i wish to this day i hadda tuck that class. i caint member much of nuthin bout all the good thangs emily larnt. she tride to tell me thangs she wuz a'larnin but i wonted to fuss n fite bout how we should be studyin german thangs. i wish i could member them four counties in england whar she sed most of them folks that settled in middle tennessee cum frum. turnt out she could splain thangs lack why they sed 'let me carry ye to town' whenever they meant they wonted to give ye a ride in thar car n other thangs lack that. but i wuz too pighedded to git it.

but a nuther thang that perfesser sed to her stuck even more n turnt out to be a grate hep to me in my futchur life, witch he tole the hole class that the way amurkin english wuz a'goin, in 200 years, english wuz manely gonna sound lack whut folks calls 'black english.' he splaind how over time, langwages gits simpler but more eggspressive. by n by ima gonna cum to sum eggzamples of that, but fer sum reason, i couldnt stop thankin bout all the thangs emily had larnt in her classes. mayhap twuz on a counta me bein hi fer the furst time in so long, but it  seemd lack she had gut more out of the year than i had n whenever i wuz trine to thank whut had i gut frum it, the mane thangs that cum to mind were thangs she had studied.

innywho, by then twuz bout time fer the game to cum on n i wuz in luck on a counta twuz the phillies n steve carlton wuz pitchin. bout halfway thru that game, i pored out the contents of one of emilys leftover coke cans n made me a lil pipe out of it sos i could lite up a lil of that hash. carlton wuz on his game n i wuz hi n feelin grate, almos lack i wuz back home.

thang wuz, i kep thankin emily wuz about to cum home or cum out frum the bathroom. seemed lack she had to be thar. twuz a trick of bein hi i reckon. twuz a shock to real eyes how much i missd her.

it tuck me a long time to fall asleep on a counta how i couldnt stop thankin bout emily n how much i wishd she wuz thar. i hadnt writ nuthin since she had gone home. i hadnt enjoyed bein on my own. fack is, the mane thang i larnt frum them three weeks of freedum wuz jes how much i missed her.

i wuz smart a nuff by then to take me a columba tablet befor turnin off the lite.

Thursday, March 25, 2004

pinions of buddy don:
faith-based gummint

tiz a awful shame how sum folks wonts to pick on the gummint of mr bush. i reckon them folks jes aint gut the faith it takes to be part of a faith-based gummint. that bein the case, thays nuthin fer em to do but quit, witch that mite be ok, but why do they half to start tellin thangs bout the gummint they dont bleeve in? jes cawz they jes caint brang tharselves to bleeve in revelashuns, witch i aint talkin bout the last book in the bible but bout all them thangs god has deecided he wood reveal to his chosen leader, mr bush, aint no reason to trash whut others is trine to bleev.

corse ye probly need to give them folks -- yer paul o'neils n eric shinsekis n wurse of all, yer richard clarkes, witch tiz funny how his name is almos the same as 'dick clark' of amurkin bandstand fame -- ye probly need to give these faith-challenged folks a lil benefit of the doubt in a more or less 'luv the sinner, hate the sin' kinda way n heres why.

twuz mark twain who pointed out how even yer avridge skoolboy knows the obveeus fack bout faith:

It was the schoolboy who said, "Faith is believing what you know ain't so."

sad to say, thays folks that jes caint git past whut they know to whar they kin have the kinda faith ye need to be a member in good standin in mr bushs addministrayshun. fer sum reason, they jes caint see how lucky we all are in amurka to have a presdint lack mr bush who wuz chose by god, witch as we probly all member, god had to intrupt the vote-countin to git the spreme cort to make it ole fishy offishull.

corse ye knew god wuz gonna cum thru fer us n pick the rite guy. aint nobidy claimin god is a dimcrat, whuther the 'd' is big or not.

lots of folks is upset over that thar seleckshun of 2000, but seems lack they aint cunsidderd the benefits of havin a presdint who starts with the cunclushun n then wurks back to the reasons why the cunclushun must be true. thays sum that jes keeps on a astin, how kin he know tiz true? n the anser couldnt be simpler: mr bush knows his cunclushuns is true on a counta how they wuz reveald to im. lease thats all i kin figger.

so lets list the benefits of havin a presdint chose by god n instruckted by revelashuns:

  1. ye dont half to pay no tenchun to so-called facks of science, witch that means ye kin jes ignore them silly reports on global warmin yer own beaurockracy cums out with. ifn god dint wont us all the have the benefit of global warmin, he woodnta revealed the secrets of burnin thangs with far or makin thangs go usin infernal cumbustchun.

  2. ye kin also ignore the report frum the pentagon on the same subjeck, witch tiz a lil too late to stop the apockalips, so why waste time a'trine?

  3. ye dont half to pay no tenchun to them folks that thanks stem cells aint folks lack yew or me, witch that means ye dont half to let all them docters n such cum up with new cures fer old diseases, witch thats good on a counta how mos of the money spent on health care is fer trine to keep ole people alive n ifn ye keep wipin out diseases n keepin ole people alive, purty soon medicare will be insolvunt. seems purty obveeus god has splained to mr bush how ye gut to quit makin all that medicull progress on a counta ifn ye dont stop it purty soon, ye lackly to be overrun with ole people n nex thant ye know yer a'gone have a nuther florda on yer hands. witch a nuther one of the problems with them ole people is how they lacks to vote n keep up on thangs, witch that means they could git tharselves confused by facks n lose thar faith.

  4. ye dont half to wurry bout makin yer budget add up, witch fer one thang, twuz sumthin that beelzebubba clinton dun, witch that meant creatin all them jobs n makin folks go to wurk n changin welfar n all. dint beelzebubba know how folks hates to wurk? thays a slew of em that dont half to wurry bout wurkin ever since mr bush wuz seleckted.

  5. corse, sum folks thanks that creatin all them jobs n makin the buget add up wuz good thangs, even if clinton wuz the one that dun em, witch that jes shows how low faith has dun fallen on a counta how everbidy knows how ifn clinton dun it, mr bush has to go tuther way on a counta how twuz reveald to the publican spin machine how beelzebubba wuz evil in-car-nate n desurved to have $70 million spent trine to git the reasons fer that cunclushun.

  6. ye dont half to pay no tenchun to folks lack richard clarke, witch twuz the verr same clarke that wuz trine to git mr bush offn the track of pertecktin us all usin stars wars, witch thatn takes a lil faith to bleev in also on a counta how it dont wurk n seemed lack mr clarke had more faith in beelzebubba than in god mr bush.

  7. whenever ye cum into offus, ye dont half to pay no tenchun to them deeciples of beelzebubba who thanks ye orte spend a hole lotta time -- not to menchun politicull capitull that ye need to git more importunt thangs dun lack givin the rich sum tax relief -- goin after sumbidy lack osama bin laden, witch whenever ye thank about it, ifn god hadda meant fer mr bush to stop osama, then ye gut to wonder how wood god have been able to give mr bush his definin moment?

  8. bes of all, ye kin deetermine how twuz iraq n saddam hussain that needed attackin on a counta all the wmd he had n how he used chemiculls we sold him on the folks of iran n them in kurdistan n all. bes thang is, all ye gut to do is keep on a'sayin saddam n osama often a nuff till folks caint hardly tell the differnts: tiz the resureckshun of the big lie.

thays plenty other benefits, but i reckon ye gut the idee. tiz time fer folks to look deep inside thayselves. ifn ye try hard a nuff, ye mite could bleev everthang ye wood need to bleev to have the faith ye need to bleev whut mr bush bleevs, witch ifn ye dont bleev it, why dont ye jes shut up?

thang is, with folks lack paul o'neil, eric shinseki, richard clarke, or even richard foster, witch they wuz able to cunvints mr foster to keep his job by keepin his trap shut, with folks lack that leevin yer addministrayshun n then turnin into virtchul trayters, it kindly makes ye wunder how gods chosen presdint could make so minny miss takes by hirin such instermints of evil. but then ye member how god lacks to test folks.

i reckon mr bush is passin the test on a count how he never loses his faith no matter how minny evil facks keep a'cummin out.

ok then. im shuttin up fer now.

pinions of buddy don:
mayhap thay aint nuthin thar?

i wuz lookin at the washington post this mornin n saw whar newt gingrich wuz eggsplainin the publicans strategy on jobs. heres whut cum up:

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

ole ritin of buddy don:
story writ not long after me n emily gut back frum west germany

aint gut much time this mornin, so heres sumthin frum over 20 years ago. tiz a story writ not long after the last events deescribed in chaptur 110: hurtin them ye luv of the novel, life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly. odd thang bout this story is how whenever i red it to 'the group,' witch yer a'gonna here plenty bout 'the group' by n by, everbidy wuz laffin lack twuz the funniest thang they ever herd. then later on when sum folk red it on thar own, they calld me up to say twuz one of the saddest thangs they had ever red.

Scattered Afternoon Showers

Jack Adams, Jr., had always loved the feel of sweat dripping from his face onto his chest.  He loved it because it meant he’d been working hard and staying in shape.  Jack was a robust thirty-eight year old father of two who preferred mowing his three-quarter acre yard to all other methods of getting the blood and sweat to flow.  He enjoyed the hard pounding of his heart and the sense of fatigue that came from pushing himself to his limit.  Other men might sit around watching kids play games on TV and drinking beer, but not Jack—no, Jack would not let himself go fat in the belly, frail in the leg, and flabby under the chin.  He would be a fine, well preserved, handsome man, whose dark good looks and broad-shouldered, sturdy physique would only be enhanced by the good, honest sweat of physical exertion.  He pictured himself as a distinguished, sixty-year old, with a dignified mane of white hair to set off the brown, healthy look of his seemingly young, athletic body.  He guessed he would be even more attractive to women then than he was now.  He would play tennis rather than golf, mow his own yard, and in every way live up to the sterling example left him by his father, who had suffered an aneurism when Jack was ten and who had impressed everyone with his good looking, brown-skinned, silver-headed corpse.  Jack would live out the vigorous years his father had been robbed of so unjustly.  And to insure his success, he would work hard, eat right, see his doctor annually, keep his wife totally satisfied in bed, coach his sons’ little league team, drink moderately, smoke not at all, and both “take a dump” and break a sweat every single day.

Thus it had come as no surprise to his wife, the former Rose McGhee of St. Louis, Missouri, a slightly faded beauty whose best features were her new penny colored eyes, prominent high cheekbones, and long, slender brown legs—no, it was no surprise to her that her husband Jack should choose to spend almost four hours of his thirty-eighth birthday mowing and raking the yard.  She couldn’t help smiling when the rain began falling before Jack had finished raking the grass, forcing him to bring his soaked body into the house for protection.  She knew that even the sudden afternoon shower would not have slowed him down had it not been for the distant booming of thunder.  Before she suggested he go ahead and get his shower out of the way, she let him lean over from the waist to kiss her on the cheek—his moustache, like his shirt and shorts, was soaked.

“I worry about you working so hard in the hot sun and muggy air,” she said as she handed him his towel and wash cloth.  “It must be ninety degrees out there—pretty hot even for June, Jack.”

It was, indeed, a very hot, very humid, very tropical, East Tennessee June day.  The sun had been bright in the morning and the clover lawn was alive with honeybees and June bugs.  The humid waves of heat hovered over the lawn, causing the trees and the back of the lot to waver and dance.  Rose felt like fainting just watching her husband making his steady, even rounds of the yard, spraying up bits of grass and raining sweat from his brow onto his chest.  She whispered a little prayer of thanksgiving when she noticed a broad, black bank of thunder clouds marching slowly from the West toward their well-tended tract of houses.  She watched anxiously as the black clouds began rumbling, causing her husband to speed up his raking.  He had nearly finished when the rain began falling.  When the gloom of the late afternoon was suddenly shocked by a bright flash of lightning and a quick explosion of thunder, Jack pushed the lawn mower onto the carport, put away his rake, and came inside.

Jack saw his wife’s concern for him in her eyes, and he smiled to himself, very satisfied.  He would not be one to die unexpectedly before his time by tempting a bolt of lightning.  His corpse was by no means ready yet.

“Why don’t you talk to me while I take my shower?” Jack asked as soon as he’d finished his second glass of Gatorade.  He took his towel and wash cloth into the bathroom.

“Where are the boys?” he asked.

“I took them by your mother’s this morning.”

“So you and I could be alone?  How thoughtful.  Of course, it is my birthday.  We gonna celebrate at Mom’s later?”

Jack unzipped his pants, flushed the toilet, and began pissing into the vortex of the rushing water.

“Why do you do that?”


“Flush before you pee.”

“I don’t know.  I never really thought about it.”

“Did your father do that?”

Jack didn’t answer.  He squeezed the last two or three spurts of urine from his bladder and was just before shaking his penis off when Rose cried out for him to wait.  He started to shake anyway, but she slapped his hand.

“Let me do it.”

“Oh Rose,” he said in mock protest as he let her take his penis in her hand and shake it.  In fact, he loved his wife’s childish and inexhaustible curiosity about his body.  He stood up, put his arms behind his head and stretched.  He felt hard and strong and powerful, the stoic counterpart to his wife’s soft body and moody emotional nature.

Rose finished shaking droplets of urine all over the bathroom floor and walls and then dropped Jack’s penis against his zipper.

“Ouch!” he said as he ran his fingers along its length mechanically to squeeze out any urine that might still be left.  “Somebody ought to teach to to be careful, Baby.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And I think I know just the man for the job.”

“His name wouldn’t be Jack, would it?”

“Might be,” Jack said as he let his shorts and underwear fall to his ankles and, feeling both proud and sure of himself, pulled his shirt up over his head very slowly, letting his wife feed her eyes the sight of his remarkably well preserved physique.  He was, therefore, quite disappointed when he finally freed his head from the fabric and saw that Rose had stepped into the hall to get something out of the linnen closet.  He kicked his shorts from his ankles, removed his shoes and socks, and stepped into the shower.

After pulling the shower curtain behind him, Jack began adjusting the water.  His was a combination shower and bath, so he always adjusted the temperature before he flipped the lever from tub to shower.  Unfortunately, the temperature was very difficult to get just right.  First Jack turned the hot handle.  When the water became hot, he turned on the cold.  Three revolutions of the handle did not cool the steaming hot water.

“Damn this stupid thing.”

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Oh, this water.  You can never get it just right.”

“If you didn’t have to take a shower, you’d have no trouble.”

“You told me to take a shower yourself,” Jack said as he began twisting the hot water knob to lessen its flow.  “Ouch!  This damned thing!  You turn it down and it gets hotter.”

“You wouldn’t have that problem if you’d take a bath.”

“I can’t stand baths.  I mean, how can anyone stand soaking in their own dirt?  I want to be washed clean by a clean, hot shower.  Nothing makes me feel better.”

“Aren’t you ever tempted to soak in a hot tub?  You might like it.  No better way to relax.”

“I don’t really want to relax.  I don’t like to feel rested.  I like to feel clean and vigorous.”

“Yes, yes, the healthy vigor of hard work.  You can have it.  Give me a little comfort.”

Jack didn’t answer, having finally found the right temperature.  He flipped the lever to shower and stood with his head only inches away from the nozzle.  He let the hot water soak his dark brown hair—hadn’t turned the least bit grey yet!—and spill onto his face and shoulders and chest.  He then drenched his wash cloth and rubbed it over his face three times, just as he had done since he began taking showers at the age of thirteen, when his mother had moved him and his two older sisters from Oklahoma City to Knoxville, where they had a shower for the first time.

“Rose?  Can you get me—”

“Some soap?  Here, I just opened a new one.”


Jack began his shower routine—lathered the cloth, lathered his crotch, washed his butt with his left hand, rinsed his left hand, washed his left hand, lathered his arm pits, rubbed the cloth against his back and chest as roughly as he could stand it, washed his ears, first outside, then inside, and finally, washed his face.  He then picked up his left foot, rubbed soap onto it and scraped it clean with the nails of his right hand.  He repeated this with his right foot.  Then he washed his hands, squeezed out a green glob of shampoo, closed his eyes, and began working the goo into his scalp.  When he’d finished lathering and massaging his head, he stuck it under the nozzle and rinsed it.  Finally he checked his ears, hair, and crotch for soap.  Finding none, he turned off the water and began shaking himself.  As he did so, he used his fingers to squeeze his hair dry.  He wore his hair just long enough to grab with his fists, which made it easy to squeeze out the last of the water.

“Need a towel?” his wife asked, pulling the shower curtain open.

Jack extended his hands towards her with his eyes still closed.

“Your hair sure is coming out!” she said.

Jack wiped the water from his eyes with the backs of his hands.  He then looked at his palms.  There he saw maybe fifty or sixty limp brown hairs.  He shook his hands over the toilet, but the hairs were wet and stuck to his hands.

“It isn’t raining rain you know,” his wife sang teasingly,  “it’s raining Jack’s brown hair.”

“Give me my towel,” Jack answered, jerking the thick green towel from his wife’s hands.  He very lightly began drying his hair.  He couldn’t believe he’d seen so much hair coming from his own head.  He felt the crown of his head with his right index finger.  It felt smooth, but then, his hair was wet and therefore very likely to leave a spot that felt a little like a bald spot.  Surely he, the son of the distinguished grey-haired Jack Adams, Sr —surely he could not possibly go bald.  He would go grey.  Bald was for fat men, grey for trim, athletic types.

“Honey?” he called.

“Yes, dear.”

“Have you ever looked at my head very carefully?”

“Now and then.  Why?”

“Well, if I ask you something, will you promise to tell the truth?”

“Of course.”

“Well, it feels to me like I’ve got a little bitty bald spot on the crown of my head.  I’d say it’s about the size of a dime.”

Jack paused, feeling the place carefully.

“Yes, dear?  What about it?”

“Well, do you think it means I’m sick or what?”  Jack feared a disabling illness more than anything else, but he could think of no other reasonable explanation for the sudden appearance of a hairless patch on his head.

“Only if age is a sickness,” Rose said.

“What do you mean?”

“Jack,” Rose said in her most matter-of-fact-let’s-not-mince-words voice, “surely you don’t mean to say you just now noticed that men grow bald with age.”

“I didn’t say that.  But my father was silver-headed.”

“So?  Some go grey, others—and you might as well face it, honey, you are in this second category—others go bald.”

“But, I don’t understand.  Why would my hair suddenly start to fall out all at once like this?”

“What do you mean, ‘suddenly all at once’?  You’ve had that bald spot for three years.  At least three years. And it’s certainly much larger than a dime.  I’d say it’s more like a silver dollar.  Maybe even bigger.”

Rose took the towel from her husband and began drying his hair with it.

“Not so hard!”

“Relax, honey.”  She pulled his head down and began picking up small clumps of his hair and dropping it, running her fingers through it.

“See how thin it is?  Surely you’ve noticed, Jack!  Everyone else has.”

“What!?” Jack jerked the towel from his wife’s hands and began drying his back.  “Who’s noticed?”

“Well, honey, I don’t know exactly.”  She was impatient.  “But you’ve been getting thin on top for years.  You probably will be bald, say by the time you’re, I don’t know, maybe forty.”

Jack felt his eyes ache as they had not ached in years.  They were hot.  They were wet.  He felt as if hot rain was falling inside his body—he felt the warmth against his skin, he felt the tingling flush in his muscles, and he feared that the thick cloud in his throat would burst into a thunderous sob.  How could Rose be so cruel, so unfeeling, so insensitive?  He remembered the terrifying, sinking feeling he’d felt as a teenager when one of his worst pimples burst and emptied itself, leaving a visible scar.  He’d stared at the scar in the mirror, tears rolling down his face, his knees buckling before the absolute terror he felt to think that his body would be scarred for life.  Now he felt the same sinking fear, the same trembling helplessness before the finality of his physical fate.  He would be a bald, pockmarked, fat man, he thought, blinking violently.

He looked at Rose, after using the towel to dry his eyes.  She sat on the closed lid of the toilet, watching her feet.  He, too, looked at them.  He’d always hated them.  The first and last toes were too long, almost twice the length of the little ones in the middle.

“I think bald men are terribly sexy,” she said.

“I suppose,” he answered, but he watched her toes carefully.

“They say that bald headedness is a sign of virility.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Read it in a magazine.  Cosmopolitan, I think.”

“Did it say anything about feet?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“Nothing.  I love your feet, by the way.”

He padded out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

“Thank you.  They are rather unique.”

“How can anything be rather unique?  That doesn’t make sense.  Either they’re unique or they’re not.”

Rose followed him into the bedroom.

“You don’t like them, do you?”

“I just told you I loved them.”

“You’re lying.”

Jack looked down at her feet.  They were truly ugly.  Then he looked into her eyes.  He felt himself blush.  She was crying.

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?”

“You hate my feet.”

“No, no, I don’t.  I love them.”

And suddenly he did love them because, ugly or not, they were Rose McGhee Adams as much as anything could be Rose McGhee Adams.  And Rose McGhee Adams loved him, Jack Adams, Jr., a bald, pockmarked, fat man.  He fell to his knees and began kissing Rose’s toes.

“Oh baby, I love you so.

She bent at the waist, stroked his head.  Three short hairs came loose in her hand, and a sharp pain caused a sudden sob to burst from her mouth, but when he looked up at her, she smiled.

Looking up into her eyes, he felt as if he were a child again.

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

pinions of buddy don:
interst on the nashunull debt: how gross!

tuther day whenever i wuz ritin bout the nashnull debt in a lil articull bout how to git publicans to fall fer runaway borryin, i had a lil chart on the net interst everbidy is a'payin on the debt. heres one of the quayshuns i put in:

net interst equayshun
net interst on publick debt = gross interst on publick debt - (interst earned on soshul securty trust fund + interst on miltary retirement fund + interst earnd on medicare + interest earnd on unemployment insurants + interst earnd hiway n airport n airways trust fund) - (interst on loans to publick + interst on loans to rtc and bank insurants fund)

but ye cant tell much of whuts a'goin on with this here quayshun ceptn whut the net interst is. twuz a lil bit of a struggle, but i finely found a listin of the gross interst bein paid on the nashnull debt. heres a cuple of quayshuns to show whut i mean:

accordin to the OMB, fer 2003, the gross interst to be paid on the nashnull debt is $318,141,000,000 ($318 billyuns). the net interst is $153,000,000,000 ($153 billyuns). that means the furst quayshun could be rewrit lack this:

net interst on
publick debt
($153 billyuns) =

   gross interst on publick debt
(ye gut to subtrack everthang below to figger the net interst paid)

 $318,000 millyuns  

- interst earnd frum Civil service retirement and disability fund

 ($37,261 millyuns)

- interst earnd frum Military Retirement fund

 ($10,740 millyuns)

- interst earnd frum Foreign service retirement and disability trust fund

($776 millyuns)

- interst earnd frum Medicare trust funds

($17,243 millyuns)

- interst earnd frum Unemployment trust fund

($3,766 millyuns)

- interst earnd frum Railroad retirement fund

($763 millyuns)

- interst earnd frum Airport and airway trust fund

($591 millyuns)

- interst earnd frum Other on-budget trust funds

($1,383 millyuns)

- earnins frum Interest received by social security trust funds

($83,545 millyuns)

- earnins frum Interest on loans to Federal Financing Bank

($2,449 millyuns)

- earnins frum Interest on refunds of tax collections

($3,316 millyuns)

- earnins frum Payment to the Resolution Funding Corporation

($1,717 millyuns)

- earnins frum Interest paid to loan guarantee financing accounts

($3,614 millyuns)

- earnins frum Interest received from direct loan financing accounts

($10,674 millyuns)

- earnins frum Interest, DoD retiree health care fund

($196 millyuns)

- earnins frum Interest, other special and revolving funds

($544 millyuns)

- earnins frum All other interest

($1,192 millyuns)

- earnins frum Private sector holdings,
   National Railroad Retirement Investment Trust

($2,450 millyuns)

i figger thays a lot i dont unnerstand bout budgets, but seems lack in sted of usin the money to lower the gross interst paid, we coulda been squirrlin away lots of that interst earnd frum other investments to take care of the obligayshuns of them funds, witch ye know folks is a'gonna wonta draw on em sooner or later.

but meanwhile, this table frum tuther day looks a lot differnt ifn ye put in the gross interst we all has to pay on the nashnull debt:

costs of thangs
(outlays, includin offsettin receets in billyuns of $)
year gross interst defence homeland securty soshul securty medicare











































when ye put thangs thataway, they git to lookin a lot wurser. did ye notice how the gross interst to be paid gits to equal the nashnull defence spendin in 2007? tiz a lil scary when ye cunsidder how much the usa spends on nashnull defense compard to other cuntries: "According to Chris Hellman of The Center for Defense Information in Washington, using President Bush's budget increase requests for fiscal 2004, the cost of the U.S. military will be ... equivalent to the size of the next twenty-one largest militaries in the world combined." (Alterman, Eric and Green, Mark: The Book on Bush, Viking Press, 2004, pp. 186-7).

lucky fer everbidy, mr. bush has a plan to cut the deficit in half in jes 5 years.

revus of buddy don:
sum blogsurvayshuns

i aint a'gonna try to do no revus of blogs today, but i did wonta menchun sum deevelopments in blogs i lack to check, witch seems to me lack thars a lot of good thangs a'goin on in the blogosphere:

  1. ifn ye aint a fan of oldcatman, ye mite wonta git started. the deevelopment here is how he went frum a site bout oldcatman's brain farts to a new format, oldcatman: a man of letters. tiz a good form fer his idees.

  2. whut used to be calpundit is now policital animal, which tiz a eggzample of a reglar blogger gittin hired to do his bloggin fer money. tiz a good deevelopment fer us that lacks the kinda thankin kevin drum has been sharin with us.

  3. finely, a nuther nice deevelopment happend over to the whiskey bar. as ye mite know by now, bartender billmon had so minny folks cummin to read his thoughts to whar he wuz a'gonna half to pay exter fer the bandwidth. so he deecided he wood put up a lil tip jar to see ifn folks wuz innerested in heppin him pay to keep in bizness. i musta blanked on a counta how i missd that thar tip jar: he colleckted over $4,000 in under a day.