The Oregon Commentator's election guide

Everyone's got one. The state, my church...there's an election guide for all sorts of people.

Why not one for the smart-asses?

Speaking of which, here's the Random Picture of the Day

Courtesy dreamwill.net

Picture site

If you read my blog (and I know most of you don't, so I'm not talking to you), you know that I like random pictures. I like to post the ones that catch my eye.

I find most of them at dreamwill.net (read this whole paragraph before clicking!), which, as I understand it, pulls off the most recent images plugged into Livejournal blogs by users. There are all sorts of pictures being plugged in there, some which wouldn't be good popping up on your computer at work (that's right, a NSFW warning on my blogue). But, as I've shown you, alot of really cool pictures show up there, too, and that's the only reason I keep going back. Thanks to UtterlyBoring for the link.

But today while milling about through the Oregon Blog site, I came across Redmonkey Studio. This person's blog consists primarily of pictures, and they are interesting enough that I'd encourage you to go look.

That's all. Catch ya later.

Dogs and cat's living together...

That's about where we're at with the Boston Red Sox winning the World Series. The Apocalypse is here. Stick a fork in us, we're done.

So, I watched almost the whole ALCS. Didn't watch a single moment of the alleged World Series. As most people accurately noted, the Boston-New York show was the real World series. The intense rivalry, the come-from-behind fashion of Boston's triumph, it was all compelling, all the time.

And I saw one of the greatest catches I've ever seen. I forget who, but some Boston player hit a looping fly ball between shortstop and center field. I remember watching Bernie Williams charging on the ball, thinking "he can't get that," when all of a sudden I realized my mind had failed to register Derek Freakin' Jeter in the picture.

Why should they have? That ball was an outfield ball. I think I just mentally thought Jeter was coming out as a cut-off. But, all of a sudden, I realized he was charging out after the fly ball. So, I thought, he'll shag the grounder and fire it in.

But, no. This is Derek Freakin' Jeter. Derek Freakin' Jeter. He doesn't settle for second-best, and he didn't settle for a grounder here. At a full run, he ran into that outfield. He slowed down just in time as he got under the ball and caught it over his head. Are you kidding me? People just don't catch that way.

Stand up. Whereever you are, stand up right now. Bend backwards and try to look at the wall behind you. That's about the same way Jeter was standing when he made that catch.

In the words of Tommy Boy, "That...Was...AWESOME."

Too bad they lost. Now the curse is over, and I'm sure the whole of our existential framework will collapse any minute now.

Word from the Blazer's camp is that trade talks are heating up again, even as the Blazer's are pushing to re-sign Zach Randolph.

Now, just 24 hours ago, the Blazers were going to let the re-signing deadline pass without throwing any money at Zach. They'd offered him a 6 year, $69 million dollar deal, and he'd told them to pound sand, instead demanding a max deal. And the Blazers, rightly, said no.

Why do I approve of that? Have you watched the news? Let's look at what Z-Bo's done to show what kind of guy he is.

• Got popped for DUII last season, with an odor of the whacky tobaccy wafting from his ride.
• Nearly got popped for lying to police last summer.
• Served 30 days in juvenile detention for shoplifting.
• Served 30 days of house arrest for battery.
• Served 30 days in juvenile detention for possession of stolen firearms.

Add to that his sucker-punch on teammate Ruben Patterson and recent allegations that he and Qyntel Woods worked together to intimidate a witness in the on-going "Pitbull-Gate" investigation against Woods, and Zach's not really shaping up as the character guy I want to build my franchise around.

However, Zach's fortunes are changing. Is he cleaning up his act? No. What is changing is the environment surrounding his negotiations. Seems that a couple of arguably inferior ballers (Utah's Andre Kirilenko and Memphis' Pau Gasol) are getting max deals, and that's causing the Blazers to re-consider Zach's position, especially since he's strongly indicated he'll walk if he doesn't get his $.

What to do if you're the Blazers? Well, it looks like they'll probably end up capitulating by Sunday's deadline. And it looks like Portland will house at least one jail-blazer for at least a few more years.

I hope this guy shapes up. The whole boycotting thing is bringing me down. And, be assured, if he's still around and continues his a**-holery, the boycott will go on.

Oh...the trades! Looks like Portland is, once again, courting the idea of trading big for small (which you aren't supposed to do), healthy for rehabbing (which seems just dumb), and cap-space for cash-strapped in reviving talks with New Jersey for a Jason Kidd trade.

Why does this make sense? Kidd may never be a player again, at least not like he was. He's aging. We have Sebastian Telfair as our future and Damon as our present. Six years of Kidd's outlandish contract is not what the doctor ordered.

Ugh.

So, I'm looking for a good pimp costume. Any ideas would be appreciated.

Catch ya later.

(p.s. The pug picture from 10/27/04 is not a picture of JLowe's pug. If it was, I'd be kicking in my computer screen out of sheer angst even now...)

Random picture of the day

I hate pugs. Don't be fooled; they are evil.

Courtesy dreamwill.net

Those damned Blazers

Man, I almost made it.

As you may have learned through my Blogue, I have sort of a love-hate relationship with the Blazers. On the one hand, I look at the Blazer Blog (over on the right) every day to see what's going on with the team. On the other, I spend a fair amount of time ridiculing the members of the team when they do something asenine (and, really, when aren't the Blazers in the news for some new buffoonery?)

I had actually begun to steel myself and was making a determined effort not to care at all how the Blazers did this year. Another year of avoiding games on TV, boycotting games at the Rose Garden, and making sure my glances at the Blazers section of the SnOregonian were covert so noone would be any wiser to my deeply-hidden feelings of allegiance.

Of course, that bastard Paul Allen interfered with my season of discontent.

As we all know, the NBA pre-season is useless. It is short, it means nothing toward the season, all accumulated stats are shelved once the pre-season is over -- it's a dress rehearsal for the real thing.

But that didn't matter to me tonight.

Last week, the Blazer Blog noted that the Blazers were giving away free pre-season tickets through their website (no link for you, because you need to avoid the evil addiction). Being the sucker that I am for all things free (much the same as I am for all things liquid), I clicked, tabbed, typed, etcetera all the live-long day and found that I was to be rewarded with two free tickets to the October 27th game against Vince Carter and the Toronto Raptors.

Which, by the way, I still haven't received. Again, Paul Allen has stymied me.

But, at the end, I was able to invite a friend to share in my good fortune. And so it was that JLowe signed up for some tickets for tonight's game against Dale Davis and the Golden State Warriors. And, as luck would have it, he actually received his.

So, despite our mutual disdain for the Blazers of the 21st Century, we both went, convinced that tonight's effort would determine our future fandom.

What did we learn tonight?

The Blazers are not the team we loved as high schoolers. They aren't even a shadow of what they were. Their play was sloppy, their heart was lacking, and their concessions too-high priced.

Will I go see another game this season? Not likely (unless, of course, it's free). In watching tonight's game, I was able to see that my problems with the Blazers were also evident in the Warriors. The team played a version of basketball I don't enjoy. No teamwork. No cohesion. No view of the bigger picture. Just five individuals, trying to get their's, not recognizing the concept of team.

Even the future of our team is corrupted. I have great hopes for Sebastian Telfair. He is obviously a whiz at passing -- even tonight, he showed glimmers of his future promise. But he's being corrupted by Zach, by Darius, by the influences of ego. And so, tonight, he jacked up four ill-advised 3-pointers which (though I wished the best for him) didn't go in. And that didn't get him passing more, it just made him more determined to score, to the detriment of the group.

The NBA, I see, is no longer about teams. Sometimes you see teams play, but the rules seem to encourage individuals to excel. The same Michael Jordan that revitalized the league by how he could dominate a game single-handedly has destroyed it by making everyone want to be like him. In being like Mike, players are being selfish. Michael Jordan, as I remember, had an ability to elevate himself above whatever opponent he faced, but the secret was that he fed his team. You could put most anyone on that team, because Michael would make them better as he played. He would bring opponents to him, then dish the ball away. When opponents shifted back away, he would sting them. They could never get on balance, because he wouldn't let them.

Really, though, what do I know? I wrestled in high school. Basketball is as foreign to me as French.

But I remember watching the Blazers of the 80's and early 90's, with Clyde and Buck and Terry and Jerome and Duckworth. And you don't think of individuals there (except Clyde, who was the closest thing P-town's ever had to a MJ). No, generally, you think of how great a team those guys were. And I miss it.

So, while I will continue to watch the Blazers and the NBA afar, I think I'm slipping the bond they had over me. The whole game is ruined. I'm waiting for the next basketball Messiah to make the game compelling again.

Where are you, Jesus Shuttlesworth?

Oh, yeah, in Seattle. Never mind.

Catch ya later.

Random topics

Well, it is now 12:30 in the morning, and if I were sane, I'd be in bed. But I have an itch to write. Not sure what about, so I'll just blather on. If we're lucky, I'll say something at least mildly amusing and/or thought provoking. Though I'd settle for just amusing.

All growns up
I remember being a kid. Not all of it. Of course, there are certain elements of being a kid that are lost forever once you're out of the experience. A certain part of being a kid is inextricably bound with being a kid. To look back and think about them requires us to try to strip ourselves of our adult mind, and that really isn't possible, without a good amount of alcohol at least.

One of the things I remember about being a kid is how I thought about growing up. There are several things I mean by this.

First, there is how I thought about grown-ups.

Do you remember in childhood, looking at those older than you and thinking about how old they were? And, really, looking back at who you were looking at that way, don't you marvel at how naive you were? I remember looking at my 14 year-old baby-sitter, Ron, when I was 7 or so, and thinking about how adult he was. This was the same guy who's idea of fun was to torment me by utilizing my fear of the dark to sucker me into crying aloud, or who slipped me some garlic-flavored salt-water taffy just to induce me to rinse my mouth out with cranberry juice in a dribble glass. He was, obviously, a juvenile delinquent, but at the time he was old as Methuselah to me, and represented what it meant to be a mature adult. I remember being in 6th grade and thinking that the high school seniors had their act together. I remember being in 9th grade and looking forward to the maturity of the college-aged. I remember being in college and thinking 30 was ancient.

Now I'm 30 and I think of myself as not quite young, but certainly not old. At the same time, I look at the aged differently now, I think, than I did as a child.

And this goes into the second way I thought of aging. I thought of certain experiences as defining adulthood.

When I was a kid, I looked at being able to smoke, to drink, to drive, to vote as signs that one had arrived. By high school, I was well aware that all of those didn't really signify adulthood. Having been raised in a sheltered home (and I'm thankful for that), I decided sex was the end-all, be-all of existence.

On a side-note, I was convinced (as I'm sure most young Christian males are) that I would never, ever get to have sex. Most Christians who go to church regularly are taught that Jesus is coming again, and that it could be at any moment. I still believe that to be the case (though, thanks to JLowe, I always ponder what probably must take place before He does, and, satisfied none of it has happened yet, feel free to live on in relative security that, if I commit to lunch next week, I'll make it there...). When I was able to get married and actually have sex, I was quite shocked. Not only that I actually had to have it, but that it really wasn't the end-all, be-all of existence.

So now I look at those around me who are older, and I try to figure out what makes an adult. Is it home-ownership? Well, I have a house now, and don't feel any older than I did last month (just more trapped in this financial rubric of debt that I'm trapped in). Is it parenthood? Well, we'll probably jump into that next year, and I suspect I'll still struggle with the same juvenile impulses I feel right now.

I look at those who have gone farther down life's road than me, and I see that while we're always maturing, we're never mature. My mom is still trying to figure out who she is. My father died trying to stop indulging his need to drink, but never overcoming it. My grandmother struggles with the immature need to be the center of attention. I will, I'm convinced, always find the word "poop" to be hilarious, and will always snicker to myself (and JLowe, if he's nearby) when a speaker accidentally strings two "do"'s together in a sentence.

So I no longer see the old as being old. I'm starting to see clearly that, though they are more experienced, often more fragile, sometimes more selfish, and often more wise, they are just like me, wondering where the time has gone and why they haven't achieved the level of fundamental change that they expected sheer time would bring when they were young.

Halloween Eve
So, we're throwing a big shin-dig on Halloween Eve. It's a house-warming/Halloween party designed to appease our friends and cement our status as socially relevant people within our many circles.

The theme? Pimps and Hos.

We aren't the first to have a Pimp and Ho party. Don't expect we'll be the last. In fact, our friends Zakk and the Sun Goddess held a Pimp and Ho party a couple of years ago, and it provided the inspiration for our little shin-dig. Actually, we were pushing to get a home by Halloween in the hopes that we could host just such an event.

At the last Pimp and Ho party, my wife was the Pimp (which consisted of dressing like Austin Powers) and I was the Ho (which consisted of dressing in really inappropriate and very unflattering clothing). My wife and her friend Brown Baby (more on her in a bit) assisted me in assembling the most disgusting array of clothing ever to grace the male form. Fish-nets, a mini-skirt (way to mini for anyone's good, in fact) a brassiere (which, embarrassingly, my fat-man boobs filled a little to well for my liking) and a wig provided the basis for my costume.

I remember preparing for the party, and getting ready to leave. I had, to that point, successfully evaded the specter of make-up. As I was getting the door, my wife beckoned me.

"You need make-up. Come here."

"No, I don't. I'm not wearing it."

"Yes you are. Come here."

"Look, I'm already wearing this God-awful outfit. I will not wear make-up. Now let's go."

"It's no fun if you don't wear make-up."

"Yes it is. Let's go. We're gonna be late."

"If you don't wear make-up, I'm not going to have any fun. I don't want to go any more."

And so on. All you married guys know how this ends. Ten minutes of fighting later, and an additional ten minutes of application time, and out the door we went, with me trying to hurry down the apartment hallway and into the dark night before any of our neighbors saw me.

Needless to say, I was a hit.

This time around, I get to be the Pimp. Unfortunately that entails purchasing a new costume. I'm actually considering just pulling out the old Ho outfit again, for no other reason than that I'm a cheap-skate. And, secretly, I kinda crave the opportunity to shock my friends from work.

We'll see what happens.

Brown Baby
Last, but not least, the sad tale of Brown Baby.

The Missus went to nursing school here in Portland. While there, she met a delightful array of people. The Little Dutch Boy, Schnack-Fu, Lady Lowe, the Sun Goddess, and more. Most of the more is Brown Baby, who is more personality than most of us can handle on most days, but the personality is good, so none of us complain too much.

Brown Baby is from Hong Kong. She is of Sri Lankan descent, which makes her very brown indeed. And before you accuse me of being racist in my nickname-picking, you are hereby advised that Brown Baby named herself. So there.

Brown Baby is hilarious. She drinks to excess, farts to excess, swears to excess, but always manages to get a laugh. You can get mad at her, but not for long. She means well, and she laughs a lot, and even when she's bad, she's good.

After graduating, she managed to stay on a visa by getting a job in her field. She worked in a home for the developmentally challenged, whom she affectionately called her "Tards." We always told her that was horrible, but she clearly loved her job, and loved the people she worked with, so it was obviously a term of endearment, even if it was a horrible, disgusting one.

Brown Baby found out recently that she was in our country illegally, as she had (inexplicably) not taken care of whatever details one must in order to stay. And so, now, she's back in Hong Kong, plotting her return and missing my party.

If you're reading this, Brown Baby, we miss you. Hope to see you soon. Next time, read the fine print.

The Crash
Last, but not least, the crash.

I was in an accident last week. Tuesday, after work, I was driving from the Gresham Police Department (where my office is) to finish up the afore-mentioned, and as-yet untold, top secret work-related mission that I was on that day. And, near an intersection, I was rear-ended.

Now, don't worry too much about me. It was a very low-speed crash. I'd guess the guy who rear-ended me wasn't going any faster than 5 mph.

However, as time has passed, I've been feeling things. An occasional twinge in my back. A stiffness in my neck. Morning head-aches.

And it pisses me off.

I consider myself a tough guy. I work out. I wrestled in high school, played intramural flag football in college (where, against other fraternities, it often resembled tackle football). I fell down the stairs three weeks ago and didn't sustain any injuries.

Then, this light little bump, it causes me pain? This is unconscionable.

As I was explaining to my wife (who yawned and rolled her eyes as I blathered on) and JLowe (who was, I believe, listening just to be polite), it makes one silly to have to complain to anyone about injuries sustained from what amounts to a booty-bump from another person. Really, getting pushed by a friend into a wall during a game of hoops doesn't hurt, but this does? That's just plain stupid.

So, I will grin and bear it, embarrassed in my pain and committed to just toughing it out until I feel better. Because, really, shouldn't a guy feel a little bit guilty for being this wimpy?

Well, enough then. I need to sleep. Early morning ahead, and all. So I guess I'll

Catch ya later.

It's a tie -- Random Picture of the Day #1

Courtesy dreamwill.net

It's a tie -- Random Picture of the Day #2

Courtesy dreamwill.net

He's done it again.

Jack Bogdanski consistently finds good reads in the blogosphere (flatteringly, and inexplicably, he maintains me on his "Hap'nin' Guys list"). Here's another, which will be taking a space on my not-so-constantly-growing, but constantly good to read, links to other blogs.

Finally!

Move over, McDonald's. The barometer for civilization has finally hit Shanghai!

Fun links (!)

Well, after a long week including a couple of late meetings, I get to engage in what we in the professional world call "flex time".

According to the long-honored principle of "flex-time," a person who should otherwise be at work doesn't have to be if that same person has been at work when they should otherwise be at home.

So, how am I enjoying my freedom? Well, I'm looking for fun things for you to read.

(I'm also spending time on my work laptop, doing work even though I'm professing my freedom. Go figgur).

So, here we go!

Surest way to die? Piss off the already-sore Yankee faithful!

Surest way to get audited? Piss off the IRS by mocking them on the radio!

Surest way to make the free world laugh? Be Fidel Castro.

Worst way to raise money for charity? Ask Fergie.

Beware Loch Ness. The monster is fertile!

Looking for a Halloween Costume?

And, finally, a couple of flash cartoons:

Homestarrrunner.net's Halloween Episode, and

A funny Flash slamming good ol' President Dubya.

Milestone

Hit # 1000

• 10/19/04
• 3:36:21 pm
• Some bloke in the UK

Thanks for checking in.

This is just sad

Just got back from my afore-mentioned top-secret work-related mission, which has taken all morning and the beginning of the afternoon. My lunch hour will prove to be very, very short (certainly revealing the relativity of the word "hour"), but I had to share this. Again, if I can ever share details of my top-secret mission, I will. I'll just say at this time it was revealing and disturbing.

On to the point of this. Hope you haven't eaten yet.

Meet Jocelyn Wildenstein.


According to This Is London, Wildenstein has emerged with this freakish new face as an improvement on her freakish old face, all of which are supposed improvements over her original appearance, which she first began augmenting after finding her billionaire husband in bed with a 22-year-old strumpet.

Sad, sad, sad.

Not much to say

So why am I writing?

Because I can, that's why.

It has been simply wretched spending the last week or so unable to make any major contributions to the blogosphere. Of course, I realize my idea of a major contribution equates to another person's idea of literary diarrhea, but as I heard someone say tonight (and, of course, many times before), one man's trash is another man's treasure.

So, my contribution.

First:
Last week I had the pleasant surprise of stumbling upon an old friend thanks to every Oregonians favorite source for fresh reading material, ORBlogs. This site not only offers you access to most of the more happening blogs based in (or about) Oregon, but also (if the bloggers are crafty enough) advises you when a new post is up.

I am crafty enough, so it'll note this drivel soon enough.

Anyway, I was looking at ORBlogs, begrudgingly noting my only contributions were short and glib, when I noted that a familiar name was on the screen.

Scott Hanselman. His blog is here. A quick perusal will show Scott to be the consummate nerd. Which isn't an insult. He is the consummate nerd, and I've always admired him for it.

Scott and I met back in the fifth grade at good ol' Glenhaven Middle School, which (as I've previously noted) is now a pile of ash. He was a nerd then, and so was I.

As a note, I'll now admit, begrudgingly, to still being a nerd. Hence the blogging. This by no means gives the reader license to call me a nerd to my face.

Scott and I had classes together, and spent time admiring eachother's Timex DataBank watches and devising chess clubs for our school. We were the audiovisual club. We could run a Dukane projector like noone's business. We were Mathletes, and we were proud.

But, alas, as time often does, we were parted by high school and our future callings. As far as I can reckon, Scott now makes his millions doing computer junk, which is what I always figured he'd do. He is, at the young age of 30, already "20% retired" (as he told me in an e-mail) and spends his time globe-trotting and goofing off on his PC (which surprises me, because I always figured he'd end up a Mac guy).

We're going to lunch soon. It'll be interesting to see how time has changed him. I suppose it's interesting to see how time has changed me. Too bad I'm blind to that.

Second:
Hmm...don't remember what second was. So, free association. Hozay, the technophiliac who needs to have cooler toys than the rest of us, is holding off on the new Honda Element for at least a week. Which is not to say he's not getting one. Believe me, he will. If JLowe can do it, so can Hozay. My friend BT (not the Yakima one) just got back from Europe. He was gone for two weeks, which tops my being gone for one-and-a-half. Bastard. He saw France and Italy, which tops my just-Italy trip. Bastard. JLowe's Blog is in full effect (I see that my most recent visit, to again grab his address, brings the grand total to 14 -- wonder how many of those are me...). Topics so far? Books, contact lenses, and JLowe's frustrated political aspirations. Though many might find it dull, it's fun to see him branching out. Drop him a compliment, lest he suffer the behavioral principle of extinction.

I've gone from Earthlink to Qwest for my ISP. Earthlink was great, except that they didn't reach my new residence (I suppose they probably do, but I learned I'd have to go through some God-awful long wait, and that just would suck way too much) and, besides, I'm getting Qwest for a little less than half the price. The trade-off is that I chose the slow Qwest DSL, and I've noticed that on sites where there are pictures, the lag is annoyingly apparent. However, once I get used to the low-tech, I suppose I won't even notice anymore. At least it beats the modem connection I was using to do my BlueOregon debate that I referenced the other day (where I didn't get the last word, but I'm convinced I took the high road). That was unbearably slow, which just added to the lump in my gut as I battled for a more hospitable world.

Well, it's late and I have exciting, top-secret work stuff tomorrow morning (maybe I'll share some after-the-fact--depends on how it turns out), so I'm Audi Quatro, G-Money. But, before I go, in recognition of all my phat homeez, here's where to go to find out your pimp name.

Here's mine:


Congratulations! Your pimp name is.... Gold Teefus!!

You like to think of yourself as "The People's Pimp". You don't have a big head, just a lot of money and a lot of neighborhood hoes to keep track of. Brought to you by Quizilla

That's all for now, my playaz.

Catch ya later.

Looking for a bite to eat?

Until I add more stuff to my universally-approved Food Guide links on the right, Willamette Week will do in a pinch.

Speaking of food, lunch hour's almost up. Better scarf some down...

Random picture of the day

AKA The Pieman's got his internet back...


Don't know what it is, but I like it nonetheless...
Courtesy dreamwill.net

JLowe enters the fray

Now, in his blogging debut, meet JLowe!

And, over at BlueOregon, a discussion of the merits of the marketplace of ideas and civil discourse, starring your's truly!

And, if my opinion on the O'Reilly topic means anything, here it is:

It is reprehensible for any person (whether in a position of authority or not) to make unwelcome sexual advances or explicit sexual statements toward another person. Well, I guess (context important) an initial unwelcome advance isn't reprehensible (it may be in incredibly poor taste), but again context is very important to consider. Back to the point, I've seen the accusations regarding O'Reilly. If true, he should be held to account. However, the key is to consider whether or not they are true. Our opinion that they are, or aren't, true doesn't make them one or the other. Only the people involved know for sure, and as there is a disagreement on the facts, I guess I'll have to refrain from judgment until the matter is settled.

So, my opinion: if true, deal with O'Reilly in the harshest appropriate manner. As he will no doubt use his program to further claim innocense, to cast aspersions upon the other party, etc, it would be appropriate to deprive him of his bully pulpit. But I wouldn't support doing that until matters are settled.

As I consider my opinion (and, as others may end up considering it) I guess I have to think about how it squares with my job. My job, as a prosecutor, is to take accusations against a person and to run with them.

I guess the difference is that my job relies upon investigation of those accusations by a neutral third party, known as law enforcement. While many doubt whether law enforcement is trustworthy, I can think of few, if any, instances where I had a problem with how police did their job or presented their facts to me. In fact, I've come across many instances where police presented a case to me and I didn't have enough information to do anything in terms of prosecution, and in talking to the police it was clear that they had done their best to prepare a good case, but they also knew there just wasn't enough there and understood my inability to go any further. Fact is, I end up rejecting alot of cases where there is enough to convince me of a person's guilt, but I know there's not enough to convince a judge or jury, and in our packed court system it is important to focus our resources.

In the O'Reilly case we have a he-said/she-said, and in those cases I always hold off on making a determination until a third party can investigate and make some determination on who's telling the truth using evidence other than the verbal claims being made.

If there were tapes in this case, that would be ideal. Or phone bill statements showing the alleged calls took place. Or a third-party witness. But none of that is present (or I haven't heard that it is) and so I'm holding off on coming to any conclusions that I'll post at this point.

That's all for now. Make sure to check out JLowe's blog.

Catch ya later.

Lightning sometimes does strike twice

And so do the coppers.

More goings-on at Chez Qyntel.

On beyond Priceline

Don't like to post at work, but just heard William Shatner's version of "Common People" on Indie 103.1's stream.

Friggin' awesome.

I can't believe this merited serious conversation in an article

Proving that many newspaper reporters are apparently paid by the word, a recent campaign speech by Theresa Heinz-Kerry resulted in the following bit of hard-hitting reporting (thanks to Drudge for the link):

Heinz Kerry ended with what she called “a highly effective” remedy for arthritis that drew laughter and some skepticism from the audience. “You get some gin and get some white raisins — and only white raisins — and soak them in the gin for two weeks,” she said. “Then eat nine of the raisins a day.”

Despite the laughter, Dr. Steven Phillips, director of Geriatric Medicine at the University of Nevada quickly supported the prescription. Phillips, on stage with Heinz Kerry as part of the panel, said sulfur and sulfides found in grapes are increased by the alcohol and could perhaps alleviate joint pain.

Dr. Michael Gerber, a noted homeopathic doctor in Reno, also said the formula has merit. “It makes sense,” said Gerber from his office. “People go to hot springs to soak in the water and that water is very high in sulfur. So Mrs. Kerry’s remedy is pretty plausible.”

Dolores Jackson of Reno, a Kerry supporter who attended the rally, took the raisin and gin remedy seriously. “There are really other remedies where we don’t have to use so many drugs,” Jackson said. “I really believe in alternative medicine.” The health plan Heinz Kerry prescribed for the nation, however, did not include any grapes.

First, you have to love the fact that this lady keeps saying weird stuff everytime she hits a crowd.

But, more important, why did this quote merit so much research from the reporter?

BTW, still haven't worked out my home computer communication issues yet, which should explain away my slacking on the blogue. Should be back up in a couple weeks, once I deal with the fact that there's only one working phone jack in my whole home...

Catch ya later.

Didn't notice this quote from last night...

Thanks to James Taranto at Opinion Journal.

"KERRY: Well, two leading national news networks have both said the president's characterization of my health-care plan is incorrect. One called it fiction. The other called it untrue." . . .

"BUSH: In all due respect, I'm not so sure it's credible to quote leading news organizations about -- oh, never mind."

Take that, Dan Rather...

Interesting

From Drudge: DNC's plan to "cry wolf" on alleged Republican voter intimidation practices.

Qyntel watch

Hope springs eternal.

Blazers part Deux

Late lunch today.

Just saw this...

Assuming the worst is true (I think that's a safe assumption in Qyntel "here's my playing card in lieu of a license" Woods' case), I hope he gets cut as soon as they can pin something on him.

Just checking in

So, the move is finally done. The Missus and I are now fully engaged in home ownership.

I hate moving. This move proved to be no more likeable than any other. We officially started moving on Monday the 4th, when our home was officially vacated by the former owner. The moving process consisted of me making passes by the new house on my way to work, dropping a load off on the way, then spending all night after my workday moving some more. I took Friday off as well.

The goal -- to have nothing but big stuff to move on Saturday, when I would have JLowe's added brawn and the power of Budget Rent-a-Truck with me to assist in the grand diversion of moving. I naively believed that I could get everything done by Sunday, which I could then devote to making sure the old place was cleaned up and to settling into the new place.

Of course, in setting this goal I was not taking into account just how uninclined to move The Missus would feel. As I recently mentioned, she has no stomach for grand projects because they overwhelm, and thereby paralyze, her. This move proved to be no different, and it wasn't until yesterday that The Missus did any of the real grunt work. But she came through in the crunch, and we were out of our old place by 6pm.

Anyway, I'm hopelessly out of touch with current events, so I have nothing to say in terms of commentary at the moment. I'm just happy to be done moving. Now, as I understand it, home ownership is all about spending money on things you never planned on buying. Yesterday it was a rake.

So, off to make more money to spend.

Catch ya later.

The Blazers: Love 'em or hate 'em?

The Blazers have been interesting to watch this summer.

For those who've missed it, the Portland Trailblazers were once a beloved organization in the city of Portland. The team delighted fans in 1977 by winning the NBA Championship. Then, through the following 15 years, the team held the hearts of our city hostage through the heroics of the likes of Clyde Drexler, Terry Porter, Jerome Kersey, Buck Williams, and many lesser-known but very respectable players.

Then began the cold, evil reign of "Trader Bob" Whitsitt, a time where darkness loomed over our city and where gray clouds always gathered on the horizon. Under the tutelage of Whitsitt, the Blazers slowly eroded their fan base through the misdeeds, shenanigans, and buffoonery of players like JR Rider, Shawn Kemp, Ruben Patterson, Bonzi Wells, Rasheed Wallace, Qyntel Woods, Damon Stoudamire, and the list goes on and on.

Finally, a ray of light broke through the gloom as Whitsitt ejected himself from town before last season and the team started making obvious efforts to clean itself up. Bonzi and Rasheed left in favor of players like Sharif Abdur-Rahim and Theo Ratliff, and character seemed to start mattering. Damon Stoudamire kicked his drug habit and showed his commitment to cleaning up his life by peeing in a cup, as promised, without warning for an Oregonian writer, despite garnering the wrath of the Players' Assocation.

After a self-imposed ban on Blazer mania, I was starting to think I could, perhaps, consider going back to my long-lost love.

But, wait, can I? Buffoonery is still available in ample quantities over at the Rose Garden. Zach Randolph nearly getting prosecuted this summer for misleading police about his brother's shooting of patrons at a bar. Ruben Patterson (again) demanding to be traded, despite being untradeable due to a kicker in his contract that he refuses to waive. And, the best so far, Qyntel Woods' apparent involvement in a (dog)Fight Club.
It's enough to make a Blazer's fan cry.

So, I haven't yet committed to hating the team again, yet, but I certainly haven't committed to loving them, either. At the moment, alot depends on whether Randolph can stay out of trouble for the season (and, if he doesn't, whether he gets booted) and whether the team finally cuts the cord on Woods, should he be found to be involved in some malfeasance. Patterson, well, they just have to suffer through his contract for one more season (like Stoudamire), and I can accept that.

With regard to Damon: I like Damon. I think he would be good to keep around, as long as he's able to keep himself clean and he's willing to open his mind to the inevitability of being a back-up to Sebastian Telfair, whenever he develops.

Anyway, I've been getting alot of use out of my Blazer's Blog link, and I encourage you to stay tuned to what may be the best soap opera around.

ON THE HOME FRONT
I'm in mid-move this week. I expect the computer system to be back up and fully operating by next Wednesday, but (as you can see) my predictions about a slow-down in Le Blogue were correct. Apart from the occasional lunch hour rant, nothing good will be here for a few days.

MT. ST. HELENS
Still waiting, anticipating. I hope this isn't one big anti-climax...

LINKS

• Some things can never be lived down.
• Mike Tyson's bodyguard falls asleep on the job.
• If you're gonna kill someone, here's how to destroy the evidence.
• And, the (post-debate) survey sez...
• Finally, for the law geeks in the crowd, a good discussion of the impact of Blakely on state courts.

That's all for now.

Catch ya later.

Random picture of the day

Courtesy Drudge Report.

Random picture runner-up

Courtesy dreamwill.net

Random picture of the day

"Crayola rejects", courtesy of dreamwill.net

And the mountain farted, and it was good

So Mt. St. Helens erupted, finally, resulting in a giant let-down for many a Northwesterner.

Don't get me wrong. It's all well and good that no one died or anything. People dying is, generally, a bad thing.

But as I sat through a meeting all Friday morning, I kept thinking about the impending eruption of Mt. St. Helens with a mixture of curiosity, anticipation, and morbid fear of the unknown. "What if all the scientists are wrong in their low-ball estimate of the coming eruption?" I thought. Perhaps we'd be lucky and be able to view another debacle akin to the 1980 ash-spewing good time that got me out of school for a few days and allowed me to make dust-angels in my yard (except that mom wouldn't let me).

I swear to you that at 11:15-ish in the morning, I felt my chair move. And the table I was sitting at. And I thought "ah, there it is." I eagerly awaited the more pronounced tremor (I remember our china cabinet rattling in the dining room back on May 18th, 24 years ago). It didn't come. "Was that it? Was that the eruption?"

I couldn't wait for the meeting to end. C-Mac left early (no doubt to go golfing) and I text-messaged him to check for news of the eruption. He got bupkus, and there was still hope.

Except that I knew I'd be spending the majority of the rest of my day in the Multnomah County Courthouse.

I keep intentionally mum on most of the details of my job, because I don't think my job is very interesting unless you know me. If you want to learn about being a prosecutor, you're far more likely to be satisfied reading Mister DA's page.

However, I'll throw you this little scrap. The Multnomah County District Attorney's Office, based in beautiful Portland, Oregon, is an organization which employees a little over 90 attorneys based in 13 different units, each of which addresses various types of felony or misdemeanor crimes, juvenile crimes, and child support enforcement. The office has had more deputies, and has had less deputies, and has suffered (along with other county functions) at the hands of a savage economy which has caused the local government to make cuts in all sorts of programs.

As an aside, many of the positions in our office are currently funded by Multnomah County's personal income tax, which is currently up for repeal. If, as a citizen of Multnomah County, you value having jails to hold criminals and DA's to prosecute them for their offenses, you should vote against the repeal.

Anyway, one of the units in our office is the Neighborhood Prosecution Unit. The Neighborhood Prosecution Unit is set-up so that Deputy DA's are posted in each of Portland Police Bureau's precincts, as well as having a DDA posted with the Gresham Police Department. The roles of the Neighborhood DA's are: to assist the agency their posted with by aiding in resolution of legal issues with an eye towards increasing the prosecutabilty of cases; to assist the community in dealing with low-level criminal crimes affecting livability by increasing opportunities for the community members (individually or in groups) to interact with law enforcement or through other means to address criminal conduct; and to create a conduit by which the community can communicate with the entity responsible for prosecuting the cases that occur in the community. This amounts, in real terms, to reviewing a lot of police cases, talking to a lot of concerned citizens, going to a lot of neighborhood meetings, and drinking a lot of coffee.

In that role, these deputies don't end up in the Multnomah County Courthouse all that much.

Which is, I think, a good thing. The Multnomah County Courthouse is an aging structure that is oft-cited as one of Portland's most dangerous buildings. This is the result of the the method of construction, the age of materials, and the lack of attention to seismic needs. It is not where you want to be in an earthquake. It is often not where you want to be when a bus goes by, as I often recall standing in courtrooms and feeling the floor shake as the buses passed busily down below. The DA's office occupies much of the sixth floor of the courthouse, and all of the 8th floor. The 7th floor of the courthouse is occupied by a few courtrooms and a jail facility. I often used to joke that I didn't know if I'd rather have a 6th- or 8th-floor office. It depended on whether I wanted to be smothered by the people I was prosecuting me as they fell atop me, or impaled by their jail bars as I fell upon them. Either way, some would see it as poetic justice. As I've said before, in the words of The Tick, "Gravity is a harsh mistress."

So, back more on point, it was with fear and loathing that I drove downtown for a noon-o'clock meeting to learn about the impending (possible) budget cuts to see if I should start looking for a job as a Cutco salesman.

There was a guy in my fraternity who was a Cutco salesman. Don't remember if I mentioned this in a prior post. This guy, who was entirely on scholarship, wasted what little money he had trying to start his career of the future, and figured the fraternity would be happy to let him skate by on his rent and food bills (he was wrong, by the way). The single worst memory I have from college is the speech class where, for a persuasive speech assignment, this guy gave his Cutco sales pitch to our class. The professor was not amused.

Back to the fear and loathing and loathing I felt heading to the courthouse for that meeting. It was a fantastic level of fear and loathing I felt. The fear and loathing of impending financial doom and gloom was heightened by the fear and loathing of being smothered by jurors, judges, prisoners, and other DA's. It was a dark, dark hour.

Anyway, apparently the eruption occurred while I was in the courthouse. How anti-climactic. Although I felt a dog being walked on the street outside, I didn't feel any sort of tremors in the earth.

Go figgur.

So, my fear of the eruption was not vindicated. I lost the office pool on when the eruption would happen, and I've still not decided whether I should apply to become a greeter at Walmart or a waste disposal technician. Both seem like viable career choices should the voters give me the axe.

It is with great pleasure that I hear another eruption might be in the works. Perhaps, finally, I can have some closure to my Friday which never reached fruition. Otherwise, I'll spend the rest of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And that just won't do.

So, I start moving on Monday. Earthlink, my current internet service provider, doesn't appear to have DSL service to my new home, and so I'm probably forced to switch to something else. I expect, therefore, that my freetime web access will be curtailed to some extent, so this'll be a slow blog for the next couple of weeks while things get sorted out. I figure there'll be a couple of funny links in here from time to time, but nothing that'll take too long to post.

Until the next eruption (of the mountain or ideas),

Catch ya later.