What's a mere 45,000 words between friends?

First of all The Guitarman would like you all to know that he has not been at a loss for words. You know that is not possible. He can go all political on your ass at any second. But not today. You see, he has been consumed lately with finishing something he started like five years ago. Something he though he would never do in his lifetime. No, not writing in the third person. I wrote a novel. Seriuously. And today, I'll give a little taste:


The little man in the classic bowler hat nervously scanned the street before he scurried on his way. Though a penetrating rain swept across the block, he firmly kept his umbrella tucked under one arm. He shouldn’t be running for his life like this. He knew there was a contract on his life, and that is why he was shuffling to Heathrow with as many of his belongings stuffed into his tattered suitcase as it could hold.
At the end of his street, he paused under the streetlamp and nervously craned his neck side to side, praying for a cab.
“Damn! Never when you need one,” he muttered to no one. Pellets of rain stung his cheeks like bits of gravel in a wind storm, the water dripping from his spectacles in a blurry cascade.
Turning right, he hustled down the sidewalk. Then he saw him.
Where did he come from? the man thought to himself.
He slowed his pace and tried to focus through the rain. Probably just out for his evening constitutional, he convinced himself. He crossed to the other side of the street. His face went pale when the shadowy figure crossed as well.
The man stopped in his tracks. The figure kept coming.
“I had no choice!” he yelled down the street.
The figure kept coming.
“I was going to lose my job! My house! My bloody life! Everything!”
The figure steadily stalked towards the man, pulling something from under his jacket.
“For God’s sake, I had no choice!” pleaded the man.
The figure stopped ten feet away, gun at his side.
The man wasn’t sure if his trousers were soaked through from the rain, or if he indeed wet himself. “Wait!” he exclaimed, “I’ll pay you. More than you’re making now. Nobody has to know. I’ll disappear.”
Stone silence. The only sound that of the drenching rain.
“Please!” begged the man, letting go of his belongings and dropping to his knees. Under the shadow of the night, the man could not see the wry smirk on the killer’s face.
“SAY SOMETHING!!” screamed the man, not knowing at the time that these would be the last words he would utter in his life. The figure raised his silenced gun, and put a bullet in between the man’s eyes. He said nothing.
Two blocks away he spied a cab coming around the corner. He flagged it down, and got in. He uttered but one word. “Heathrow.”


I know, I know. I am not Clancy, nor Creighton, nor King, not even Dr. Suess. It's not very long, 45,000 words is about the length of a Jack Higgins novel. But it took me a long time. A really long time. So if you want to read more, send me a note, and I'll forward it to you. Maybe. After I get the copyright filed.

How many kids do you want to invite?

So the younger teen wanted a party for her birthday. Sounds like a reasonable request from a young girl. Used to be renting a moonwalk perennially entered me in the father of the year contest, I just had to make sure that no one left with a concussion, or in traction. Then for a few years came the, "I don't really want a party because I'm too old for that and it would make me look uncool, but I still want to do something with my friends because deep down I AM still a little kid and, well I have to have a party," stage. Then there was this year.

At first, it went something like this:
"Dad, how many kids can I invite to my party this year?"
Party?
"My birthday party."
I repeat, party?
"I want to have a party for my birthday this year. How many kids can I invite?"
How many do you want to invite?
"How many can I invite?"
You can't answer my question with another question.
"I dunno, like 50?"

From that point on, negotiations ensued, and I brought the number to a final tally of 25. And I thought, am I really going to have 25 girls in my house at once? I told her she could invite the boys too. And there it is, the first girl-boy-mixer that my 14 year old was going to attend, and it would be at my house. Well at least I could keep an eye on them.

So for 5 hours, small gangs of well groomed, respectful kids roamed the outskirts of my house, only daring to venture in for the pizza and cake. (Side note: some brought Ready Whip, and the wife assumed they were going to be "huffing", but they actually put it on their pizza. Really.) They buzzed around like bees outside of a hive, darting in for only a fleeting second. I think the endless supply of caffeinated sodas was too tempting for some, one kid threw up from a few too many. Wait until he discovers beer. Then they closed the garage door, put on a strobe light, and started dancing. I kept peeking through the door, being the nosy dad, making sure that there was no 2nd and 3rd base action going on. 1st base I could tolerate, but all I saw was a few slow dancers standing as far apart from each other as slow dancers possibly could. So cute. Ahh, memories.

She had the time of her life, the teenager did. Her friends all had fun, and they'll all be talking about it at school on Monday. And therein lies the rub. Better than a material gift, she'll have the giddy feeling of being popular at school, at least for a day, as the kid that had the cool party. But me? I just became the dad who let his kid throw the cool party. Am I going to be doing this for the next 4 years as she enters high school? It only goes downhill from here. I really miss the moonwalk.

When PC trumps hard work, who are the losers?

Anyone else think the Arizona thingy is getting a little nutty? Protesters outside the Cubs game because the Arizona Diamondbacks were in town, other municipalities refusing to do business with the state, and now Highland Park HS in Illinois refuses to let it's girls basketball team travel to the playoffs in Arizona. All in the name of protecting the rights of a bunch of illegal aliens. Well, what about the rights of Robert Krentz?

Robert Krentz didn't live the life of most Americans. He was a rancher from Arizona who had the misfortune of owning property on the Mexican border. He tried to do his part by reporting illegal border crossers to the authorities. And he paid for his crime of being a cattle rancher and diligent citizen with his life. It is suspected that he was killed by a member of Mexico's drug cartel as drugs were being stashed on his property. This is the kind of threat that the citizens of southern Arizona face everyday. A threat the the USA fails to recognize and/or control. So when the state has to resort to extreme measures protect their citizens, something the government has failed to do, they are branded as being un-American and civil rights abusers. Poppycock.

But back to Highland Park HS, and their thin veil of an excuse that the "students safety or liberty might be placed at risk..." Again, poppycock. They don't even have the guts to stand by their decision. These girls are about to have a once in a lifetime dream squashed because some PC board member has a bug up his ass. These girls raised their own money to help pay their way to the finals, first time in 26 years for HPHS. Why don't we ask the team how they feel about it? Yet the high school is also sending a group of students to China. Yep, China, the poster child for human rights abuses is "OK" in the eyes of HPHS, where they jail, torture, and kill their own citizens. But when Arizona actually tries to "protect" it's citizens with a tough new law that holds law breakers accountable, the knee jerk reaction is to jump on the PC bandwagon and deny innocent kids their dream.

In some house in Highland Park, someone is sitting smug this morning that a decision they have made will reflect well on the schools image. A decision that gives hope to a bunch of criminals. In that same town, my guess is that a bunch of teenage girls are waking up in tears, knowing that all the hard work, dribbling in the driveway, shot after shot on the court, lessons, AAU tournaments, tryouts, camps and the like has all been a monumental waste of time.

When bad is good.

As you may know, The Guitarman likes to read his morning Sun Times cover to cover before he has to step into the fracas that is his life with a two teenager household. Whatever arguments or annoyances await, I at least have the solace of my 30-45 minutes of just me, my coffee, and my paper. And those infernal reading glasses. The wife prefers to get her news from one of two sources: the TV, and me. So it was the latter today, as I am relating story after story of negativity to her and she comments, "Can't you give me any good news?" Sure I said, and proceeded to turn back to the sport section to mention the Blackhawks impressive 7 goal performance, and the record setting 6 RBI major league debut of the Cubs Starlin Castro. That's where the only good news is these days.

So a quick check of my usually thin Saturday edition reveals 29 articles, not including the always rosy sports section. Of the 29, 7 I considered indifferent, 4 I put in the "good" news category, leaving me with 18 pieces that are for the most part, bad news. Metra chief commits suicide, pit bull kills woman's dog, Philadelphia landlord sentenced from a 20 year peeping tom career, another cop gets off, disgraced department heads resign, Illinois house still can't pass a budget, 8-year old chained to bed in 2 day old diapers, the gulf oil spill, the list goes on and on and on. Depressing. If I wanted to feel depressed I'd go watch "Leaving Las Vegas" again. I read to stay informed, and all I get these days is pissed off. I didn't even mention the commentary by a Chicago lawyer and judge, who both contend that my Scumbag of the Month winner Cook County Judge Thomas Gainer Jr. was following the law when he let off that drunk cop for vehicular homicide due to false arrest. It shouldn't matter because of some technicality. Two guys are dead because he was drunk, and he will get his job back.

And the good news? It would be nice to read, "Springfield passes campaign reform AND passes a budget in an election year," or "Chicago to offer free job training to inner city youth, or "Inventor of a flying car that runs on water will share his technology with the world." It's gonna happen, I know it. But our "good" news is actually headlined by Michelle Obama's tribute to her mommy, and previous bad news turning good. It's encouraging that the woman from Ireland that was beaten with a bat has come out of her coma, but she is where she is because of a bat wielding loser with no soul.

A friend had an idea that he would create a publication that would only print positive stories, leaving the daily grime to the big news outlets. That's noble, but I scoffed. There might not be enough to print a front page. But it's all good to the newspapers, after all, the bad stuff brings in the green stuff.

Three for one day!!

Couldn't decide which story had me roiling more this morning, so I'll try and keep it short while my fingers dance over the keypad like a ballerinas toes on a bed of coals:

They may hate us, but thank God they are stupid.

USA 2, Terrorists 0. No need to remind everyone of the failed Detroit bombing when the would be martyr only succeeded in burning himself. And I am sure the name Faisal Shahzad will be on the nations lips in the coming days. He was the terrorist that tried to set off a bomb in Manhattan this week. But I want to point out the obvious connection. These guys get pissed off at some point, decide to go to a training camp in the motherland, then come back to unleash holy terror on the infidels!! Er, except it didn't exactly work out that way did it? Both bombs failed to detonate, and in both cases, it looks like they were actually too stupid to pull it off. So while their hearts might have been in the right place, thank God that they left their heads in some pile of sand in the desert.

Why even bother with a trial at all?

The trial of Lori Hunt began this week. If you don't remember her, she is the nail-painting driver that killed a woman with her car as the woman was sitting on her motorcycle at a red light. He lawyer says his client is "not a criminal." I beg to differ. Vehicular homicide is a crime, and your client admitted her actions led to the womans death. Case friggin' closed right? Wrong. She may not have plead guilty to the actaul crime, but she did admit she was painting her nails and failed to hit the brakes. Whatever happened to common sense? Lawyers gotta make their money too I guess.

Who is judging the judges?

So does anyone remember Cook County Judge Thomas Gainer Jr.? He was one of my Scumbags of the Month recently for letting off another Chicago cop for an obvious crime, one that you or I would be in jail for right now. Now let's add in Lake County Associate Judge Helen Rozenberg. A woman was helping a friend with a ride to court the other day, and stayed to watch the proceedings. She was coming from the gym, and was wearing her gym clothes. Which included a T-shirt that said, "I have the pussy, so I make the rules." Guys, if you are married, then you know this is the plain truth. Seeing as she probably doesn't like to get hit on when she is working out, she may have worn this particular shirt to scare off any losers. But when the judge saw the guest in the courtroom seats, she got offended and through her in jail for contempt of court. Now in the former case, two guys were dead, and an obvious miscarriage of justice has occurred. But The Guitarman feels compelled to link the two cases and ask, who is judging the judges? It's obvious voters elect these egotistical buffoons, not knowing who they are even voting for. But when murderers walk free and ordinary citizens are thrown in jail for no reason all because a judge has lost sight of the reason he or she is there in the first place, maybe it's time that we held them accountable with a higher authority. Only question then will be, who will be judging the judges of the the judges?