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Archive for August, 2004

You Have Bad Taste in Music

You Have Bad Taste in Music is a great website, with videos of this guy with a megaphone, telling concertgoers they have bad taste in music, and offers them money to not go in.

He has run ins with fans, security, and some success! Some very good ideas for breaking the bad music habit, and his thoughts on the words
ANGST and RIDDEN being less than 6 words apart.

Watch the videos, you won’t be disappointed.

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Campus Crusade for Cthulhu

Campus Crusade for Cthulhu, a link I got from a site that did their own take on Chick Tracts. Cthulhu tracts!

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Declare Yourself – Register to Vote.

Their goal is one million new registered voters. If you are a US Citizen, over the age of 18, and not registered to vote, please do. Check the website for state regulations, limitations, and deadlines.

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Stella Awards

Stella is the woman who burnt herself on coffee at McDonalds. You know, the woman we all make fun of, when we talk about frivilous lawsuits.

But if you click on that link, you’ll find the true story, about how she wasn’t driving, how they were stopped, how she needed grafts, how the coffee was not fit for consumption, and so on.

And you’ll see how all she wanted was $20,000 for medical bills, but they wouldn’t settle.

And you’ll see how her reward was reduced.

Now why am I bringing all this up? Frustration with D’s workman’s comp case, which has a cap, which still hasn’t sent money, which is still stalling. I always wondered why people were so quick to sue, and I see now it’s a frustration with the system as it stands. People aren’t fair (or insurance companies) and are tired of being lied to and jerked around.

What if we didn’t have friends, family to help? What if we didn’t plan well? We’d be so screwed — already are hurting because of this nonsense. And if that money doesn’t come soon, maybe the insurance company WILL be on the receiving end of a lawsuit. They owe money and are coming up with all sorts of excuses, like oh we have the wrong SSN and we didnt hear from the doctor and other crap. Bah.

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Nuff Said

I feel that if you are going to say that religion itself is the cause of problems, and not the people who are members of a religion, then you have to give religion credit for the good things done in the name of faith on this planet.

You can’t turn around and say that the people who do good works do them because they are good people, if they are inspired by religion, at least not if you won’t use the same reasoning when people’s hatred is inspired by religion, too.

You can’t blame religion for clinic bombers, and then say that people who feed the hungry are doing it on their own. You need to say the clinic bombers are doing it on their own as are those feeding the hungry, or if you say that the religion is bombing clinics, then admit that the religion is feeding the hungry as well.

It’s that simple.

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Terrible Twos

My youngest son, T, really has his horns twisted lately. Everything has to go his way, he has to touch only things he is not allowed to touch, and things he can touch he wants to destroy, if possible.

Today’s tantrum is courtesy of the clothes drier, which he’s rather upset with. Actually, it is me he is upset with — I simply will not let him play inside it. Worse, I put clothing in it, and actually am using it to dry things. I must be the world’s meanest mommy.

This is only because this morning he crawled into bed with us very early and we spent some time cooing over how sweet he was, how he would cuddle in his sleep. The spousal unit said that would happen — that I should bite my tongue because he’ll be even crazier today.

Well, I managed to get clothes on him, so we’re making progress. Time to go read an I, Spy book (see review on side) and look for TRAWS (trucks) and CARS and CHOOCHOOs. Where he got choochoos from, I don’t know. I don’t use cute words like that.

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Staring death in the face

Empty souless dead but still walking.

That’s how he seemed, tonight.

My brother in law was released from jail, again, just last week. He’s slipped further and further into madness. Not just the madness at the bottom of a can of beer, or even at the end of a case of beer, but true delusions of the heartbreaking kind.

He found a yarmulka, and was convinced God was talking to him through it. God also put the scars on his body, 13 of them, and they were messages and punishments. He couldn’t read them, but they said something.

A large part of his adult life in jail, and they don’t see this? His social worker, the people at the homeless shelter he was dumped in, they don’t see this? These aren’t gaps he’s fallen through, they are huge gaping holes.

It’s nothing to do with being a bleeding heart liberal, either. We’re spending money as taxpayers jailing his happy ass. Wouldn’t it be more frugal to find a solution to this problem?

He’s an adult, as family members there isn’t much we can do. He’s too far gone to feel safe having him in our house. Tonight, as the remains of a hurricane blow northward, he’ll be on the streets, too drunk, too confused, too angry to go back to the shelter, where he already had fights.

We cannot, of course, forget the racist attitude he picked up this last time in jail. If what he said was true, then it’s not really all that suprising. Not condoning it, but if people were tearing me up like that, I’d be full of anger, too. And what he said, I’ve heard people say shit like that before, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.

I hear yelling in the street, I wonder if it is him.

I worry about him showing up when Dan isn’t here.

I worry about him winding up in jail, again, a place worse than the shelter and the streets.

I worry about his brother, my husband, who once said to me that he fully expected his brother to be dead, and soon. I couldn’t imagine losing my brother. How can he be so matter of fact about it?

His brother spoke to me tonight, about his own father (my husband’s stepfather), how his father won’t talk to him. How his kids hate him and he understands why. How his oldest is 17 and going to college.

He had his oldest at 13, almost 14. And his other two sons are 13 and 14 I think? I tried to tell him that he has to try to get help, that he can have a future with his sons, put the past behind him. I might as well have told him to flap his wings and fly to see them, for what it was worth.

He wants the lightning to hit him tonight, anyways. Wants to die.

I don’t want him to die. It would kill his mother, it would hurt his kids. It would hurt my husband no matter how emotionless he acts about it.

And you can tell me all you want in comments about how there is nothing I can do, and we’ve done all we can, but maybe this is why we are in this position as a society, we just turn away too much.

On the turning away
From the pale and downtrodden
And the words they say
Which we won’t understand
Don’t accept that what’s happening
Is just a case of others’ suffering
Or you’ll find that you’re joining in
The turning away

It’s a sin that somehow
Light is changing to shadow
And casting it’s shroud
Over all we have known
Unaware how the ranks have grown
Driven on by a heart of stone
We could find that we’re all alone
In the dream of the proud

On the wings of the night
As the daytime is stirring
Where the speechless unite
In a silent accord
Using words you will find are strange
And mesmerized as they light the flame
Feel the new wind of change
On the wings of the night

No more turning away
From the weak and the weary
No more turning away
From the coldness inside
Just a world that we all must share
It’s not enough just to stand and stare
Is it only a dream that there’ll be
No more turning away?
-Pink Floyd

Yeah, lyrics, often the refuge of the unimaginative and cheesy. What to expect otherwise at nearly 2am?

I just hope that he at least remembers to get the name and number of his social worker. Maybe we can get something done that way.

Of course, with a conversation like this, what hope do we have?

“What’s the name of your social worker, can you get it for me?”

“Brown, no, Bowing, Baring? Dunno.”

“Well, see if you can. . ”

“Bowie. David Bowie! Remember that song? *laughs to self, mutters* Dance. Bowie, yeah.”

Does any mother expect this to happen to their child?

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