Saturday, September 01, 2007

So Long Larry Craig, We Knew You Too Well!!

The AP claims that Senator Larry I’m Not A Homosexual But I Have Kinky Bathroom Sex Craig will announce his resignation. Good. One down, 99 to go. I know there are probably a dozen or so good senators currently serving but it’s time to sweep the cupboard clean and start over. Then move over to the House and do the same thing.

Think about it. This is how bad it’s gotten. Craig had a news conference where he explained his technique for sitting on the crapper! Yes, we heard the details of how he places his feet. Dear God in heaven! Come on? Is this who we want leading us? What were you people in Idaho thinking when you went into the voting booth?

I know, my apologies to the voters of Idaho. My wife and I just voted in the mayoral runoff elections in Nashville and we went in to vote against one candidate not for a candidate. Talk about not having choices.

Someone get me a broom. A big one!

Sunday, August 26, 2007

When Will It Be Time To Say "No More?"

It is Sunday morning and I begin the last day of my three-day weekend routine. I have the good fortune of working for a company with a schedule of 4 10-hour days. At times, they can be long days but the reward is the extended weekend. I run my errands, when I have them, on Friday while the rest of the country can only dream of tomorrow. This leaves me Saturday and Sunday for doing whatever I please.

So, here I am at the end of the of the morning ritual. As I am accustomed to turning in and rising early during the week, I continue the practice on my weekend. Some may consider it foolish but I find it peaceful. I grab a cup of coffee and a light breakfast and slip into the computer room where I surf my favorite blogs and web sites catching up on the weeks news and gossip. Often, as is the case right now, an idea for a blog composes in my fertile brain and I will bang it out and post it.

On Fridays and Saturdays, I move from the net to writing. I am an aspiring writer and currently involved in composing screenplays with the hope of one day selling one or more. I moved from writing novels, with four completed but yet to be published, to screenplays when I realized the odds of becoming a published author were far less than those of seeing a script made into a film. Formitable odds nontheless, I grant you. But look, Americans just do not read with the ferocity they once did and the market for novels is as flat as Europeans once considered the world. But that is a blog for another time. Anyway, returning to the weekend schedule, on Sundays I move from surfing the net to what seems more and more like a redundant task, the Sunday morning newspaper.

In Middle Tennessee, we have The Tennessean, a totally liberal bias composition of left-wing dogma and worldview. We receive only the Sunday edition willingly but in recent weeks the paper announced that we would receive the Wednesday issue as well, free of charge. Goody, goody, goody. In effect, the Wednesday usually goes right from the driveway to the recycle bin without stopping or passing GO. Here’s the deal, by the time we could read the thing, 6 or 7 p.m., it is already old news. As any Internet surfer can tell you, all the news that is fit to print and plenty that isn’t can be found on the net with a few clicks of a mouse. Paper news is quickly going the way of the buggy whip.

You might ask; why do you still subscribe to the Sunday paper? Good question. My wife and I recently had just such a discussion. I have always been a fan of the daily comic strips and especially love the Sunday color comics. I once dreamed of drawing my own strip and, if you stumbled onto this blog, you can see that I have tried to develop one. My wife is a coupon cutter. We save money with their use and she has always figured the savings more than pay for the paper. But the Sunday comics continue to shrink in size and number after what must be every cost-cutting review by newspaper managers and coupons can be found, oddly enough, on the net. There seems more and more to be less and less reasons for continuing to accept a hunk of chopped and churned, rolled out, smashed and ink stained tree pulp on our drive every first day of the week.

In the quiet of the morning, I hear the car pass and the plunk of the plastic wrapped dinosaur hitting concrete. Sigh. Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?