My religion is better than yours.

Went to the annual Christmas Eve service at the good ole' Lake Bluff Methodist Church yesterday. Yes, I know being a good Christian means that I should go more than once a year, but me and God, we got us an understanding. I understand He wants me to go more often, and He understands that I have certain doubts. Like the whole "God created the world in 7 days" nonsense. Look, I was a Geology major. I know it took a little longer than that. And that He created man a few thousand years ago. Like I said, it was a little further back than that. No ribs were ripped from chests like a hunk of Play-Doh to magically create a woman. The whole evolution thing can't be brushed away. But the doubts I have lately are more in line with why in the name of Holy Christ does half of the world try and slaughter the other half in the name of religion?

In the paper recently:

1. An 18 year old Christian woman from Pakistan was killed by her attempted rapist because she refused to be raped by him. Had she accepted her attackers advances, she would have been imprisoned and forced to marry her attacker if she wanted out of prison. It is presumed she was killed so the man wouldn't have to marry a Muslim convert, which is what she would have also been forced to do. So to avoid shame, he killed her.

2. 68 killed, and hundreds of Shiite Muslims wounded in Iraq in a series of coordinated bombings. Most probably by angry Sunni Muslims because, well, they are of "different" religions. Oh, and not to mention they are pissed that they are no longer in power there.

3. Boko Haram, (no, NOT Procol Harum, the 60's band of Whiter Shade of Pale fame) a radical Muslim sect in Egypt, killed 39 Christians yesterday, most on the steps of their church as they left Christmas worship services. That they chose our holiest day of the year is no surprise either.

Why? Who the hell knows. God? I'm sure he has some reasonable explanation. Here's mine: they are brainwashed, and they are afraid. From a young age, they are indoctrinated into the lifestyle by their brainwashed scared parents, who in turn, were previously brainwashed by theirs. And so on, and so on... Why do others hate because we choose to call The Almighty by a different name? Better yet, how can they hate? All religions are peaceful. It is the followers who twist the words of their respective scriptures to fit their own self-deluded visions. And I can't look God in the eye and turn the other cheek. It just doesn't make any sense to me.

Craiglist? Should be called Scamlist.

Ever heard of Craigslist? I don't know who this Craig guy is, but wow did he develop a whopper of a site. You can buy or sell or barter or borrow anything, or anybody for that matter. Got some crap taking up space in the basement that you can't bare to throw away? Put it on the FREE page and it will be gone in an hour. I have joined bands and found musicians from searching the site. I have had numerous transactions that went swimmingly, and a few that didn't. Which brings me to today's lesson kiddies: if it seems too good to be true on the internet, it probably is. Without a shred of editing, here is an exact email stream from The Guitarman and "Candice", a "woman" in Canada that wanted to "buy" my son's IPOD. Absolute true story, and it was run in the Chicago Sun Times in the column "The Fixer" on December 16th:

Candace: Am interested and hope you`ll be able to send it to Canada?,will pay shipping.Let me know please...thanks

GM: The only way I would consider that is with a cashiers check that would have to clear first before I sent item in mail. Or maybe paypal?

Candace: Ok i`ll prefer a 3-5 days delivery option through USPS, what will the cost be ??...do you have a PayPal account to send me an invoice?. This is my address for you to calculate shipping:

7615 140th street, Surrey, BC V3W 5J9

GM: Candice, sorry for delay, been so busy at work, get home, cook dinner, yada, yada, yada…Sending an invoice from paypal now.

Candace: Sorry i took a lil bit long...was at work my shift time and just got home now...i have made the deposit to your paypal so send me an email when you have shipped.

At this point, I had received an official looking email from PayPal, checked my account with CList, didn't see the money, and fraud department confirmed this was a scam. So it was time to have a little fun with this person.

GM: Great! I got the email saying you have sent the payment and am ready to put the item in the mail. However when I log in to paypal I don’t see a balance that reflects your deposit. Can you check on your end to make sure you did it correctly? I am anxious to sell the item for some holiday cash.

Candace: Payment have gone through here and my account have been charged with the amount i sent to you...so paypal should send you a confirmation email with instruction i guess cuz last time i shipped to someone too was the same. Send me an email when you can.

GM: Hi there. Bad news, my next door neighbors Fred and Wilma Flintstone offered me $250 for the item for their daughter Pebbles (she is going to school to be a Geologist!). I am tempted to take offer but would be willing to still send item to you (since I bought postage already). However, if you would be willing to beat their offer, say $275 (plus $28.33 for shipping), I could stick it in the mail today.

Candace: ok so how much am i going to add more now??let me know..i still want it..thanks

GM: Candice, are you still interested? I am ready to ship item and have paid for postage. Please deposit 303.33 into paypal and I will sent right away.

Candace: I have made the deposit to your account so get back to me on shipping.

GM: Hi there. More bad news. I got into an accident on the way to the post office, a mail truck hit me on the way in. But not to worry, it’s only a few broken bones. The doctors here at General Hospital, Dr.Howard, Dr. Fine, Dr. Howard, are treating me well. I have a great lawyer, Perry Mason, who is going to help me out. Anyway, my sister, who is in a wheelchair, is coming over to get the ipod, and will rush it over to you first thing. Bless her little heart. Thanks for sticking with me on all this and enjoy the ipod.

Please let me know when you receive the item.

Candace: Am so sorry about your accident..so when is your sister shipping it?when am i gonna get the tracking for it..??let me know please i will wait to read from you.

GM: Wow, you do NOT want to be in the hospital with a ruptured spleen. Bad stuff. We have good news for you. My sister was able to ship item and should arrive in 3-5 days. But she had trouble getting up the steps to the post office, can you believe there was no ramp for handicapped people? Anyway, enjoy the ipod, your tracking number is 7.

Candace: you are playing with me....i know you wanna get away with my money on paypal.

GM: Who’s playing with who loser? There is no money in my paypal account, there never was. The confirmation email you sent me I forwarded to their fraud department and they confirmed it was not from them and a scam. So yes, I am playing with you. Do you think I am stupid or something? On the contrary, you are the one who is stupid. Wish I could see your face right now. So go fuck off.

Yes, there were a couple of obvious clues, like the person willing to spend the same amount a new one cost for my used one, and their broken English. But in the end, a little common sense and due diligence goes a long way.

I really wanted to be there but...

So as you can probably surmise without a whole lot of thought, don't want to strain your brain, The Guitarman is in fact, a guitar player. He really likes being in front of people and entertaining them. He has come to realize, however, that he actually enjoys singing probably even more. Nothing stirs the cockles of his heart more than the fleeting praise of a slightly imbibed bar patron putting his/her arm around his shoulders and saying something like, "Dude." He would be lying if he told you that he doesn't take that to heart. And he really enjoys talking in the third person. If pro athletes can get away with it, dag-nam-it, so can he! But, alas, he has come to realize that maybe his time has come and gone.

It used to be, back in the good old days before facebook, and twitter, and myspace, and blogs, and chatrooms, and every other electronic means of substituting actual human interaction with www communication, people actually did what they said. It was hard, to look someone in the eye, and say "X", and then go out and do "Y". Even if you got that RSVP in the mail, if you replied yes, that meant you were actually going. The inviter had taken the time to buy the card, personally address you with calligraphy, spend the money on a stamp, and make the physical effort of trudging through blizzards and hurricanes to get it in the US mail. But in this world of instant communication, it is just way too easy to make an e-response, informing the sender of your good intentions, and then blow them off by hiding behind the veil of your computer screen.

Now I understand the whole "middle age" thing. I am right there with you. We have kids. We have responsibilities. We fall asleep a lot sooner than we used to. I get it. We aren't 20 anymore, and our bodies are telling us. I get it. But what I don't get, is the feeling that just because your invitation wasn't printed on $5 stationary and hand delivered to you, it's ok to tell someone you are going to do something and then not do it. You don't have to look the person in the eye and say, "I ran out of gas. I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake! A terrible flood! Locusts! It wasn't my fault, I swear to god!"

So if responding to a request on line by saying "yes" when you actually mean "I am a solid maybe, but I reserve the right to put on my snuggie and watch movies on Lifetime instead", is it so horrendous to actually say, "To be honest, I have seen your band a few times and it was fun, but I just don't have the energy to stay out until 1am anymore. Break a leg." That would indeed be refreshing.

They can deny it, buy I won't buy it.

What do Hermain "I Did Not Have Relations With That...Woman" Cain, Jesse "Keep Throwing More Money At Him" Jackson Jr, Rod "Effin' Golden" Blagojevich, and Jerry "Eewww!" Sandusky have in common? Aside from all having really weird middle names, not much. 3 are politicians, or at least were. 3 were in the news for inappropriate sexual encounters. 2 are black, two are white. But all four? They are all in the same fraternity. No, no, not Phi Sigma Krappa or the like. I'm talking about the fraternity of Deny Everything Because Either I Truly Believe My Innocence Or I Truly Believe The Rest Of The World Will Believe My Bullshit. Not sure if there are any Greek letters that can capture the true meaning of that.

In real estate, it's location, location, location. In politics and the public eye, it's deny, deny, deny. Are these guys really buying what they say? In the case of Cain and Jesse, no, they did it. Cain slept around. And around. Sure you were only friends with that...woman, and paid her rent for 13 years. Sure you didn't know any of the other woman who came out of the woodwork to say what a creep you are. But do you blame him? He had a good role model. Clinton wrote the book on deniability. And Jesse? He's so going down for trying to buy that senate seat. Unless the voters are stupid enough to re-elect him for his name only. Won't matter, the feds have him in their sites.

Now the book is still out on Blago, is he really a crook, or just a dufus? I want to believe a little of both. He honestly believes he did nothing wrong, in a sense that the "right" way was to follow the playbook of all before him who succumbed to the corruption that infects Illinois. But really, come on, only a fool would believe his bullshit.

Which leaves us with Sandusky. He most probably is a very sick man. Sick to commit unspeakable horrors to children, sick to believe in his own innocence, sick to believe he can convince the rest of us that he is innocent himself. But in this age of instant communication, where every word or action by a public figure is instantly available for the world to witness, and out there for eternity as well, you better cover your ass by denying it.

But that's where it got me. Just how dumb do they think the rest of us are? It comes down to one motive: do anything possible to save your own ass. Every time I see one of these lying dogs on TV or in the paper, I want to vomit. And it brings to mind one of the final scenes in Fargo. You know, when the car salesman is caught in that motel room, and he is wailing like a baby because his once proud life is now in shambles, and he knows he will spend the rest of his life in a cell. That's why I smile a little and give a "HA-ha" laugh like Nelson in the Simpsons when I see the denials, because in the end, they will get what is coming to them. Kicking and screaming, be it before a judge, their wife, or their maker, they will pay.

A Thanksgiving Scam

So I made my purchase, and I have a couple of ounces left over if anyone is interested. It's the good shit, but I still have a bone to pick. What's that you say? You quit smoking weed in college? Not talking about THAT shit, where is your mind? No really, what do I do with the extra 2 ounces? Hold the phone, I might actually have to use it.

WTF is The Guitarman carping about now? Well it all started last weekend when I went to do the whole turkey day shopping at the Jewel. I like to beat the crowds and get 'er done before the masses descend on the baking aisle. Black Friday ain't nuthin' until you've been in a tug-o-war with an obsessed soccer mom over the last can of pumpkin puree the day before Thansgiving. So I'm going down my list, and I am at the "12 oz. can of sweet condensed milk." I see the can and toss it into the cart. Mission accoplished. But being the nit-picky, anal retentive that I am, I have to make sure that it is indeed a 12 oz. can. To my chagrin, it is 14 oz's, not 12. "Well at least I have enough, " I say to myself, and move on to the rest of my list. But somewhere between that aisle and my kitchen I come to a brutal realization: every recipe I have ever made calls for a 12 oz. can of sweet condensed milk.

So what gives? Is there a conspiracy theory going on here? Did all the makers of SCM get together and decide to stick one up the collective consumers ass? And just what in THE hell am I supposed to do with all this extra SCM? It certainly won't keep until next T-day. I could give it to the squirrels, but yea, fuck them. As I am preparing the sweet delectable concoction, all these questions were swirling in my head. That is, until I emptied the contents into my trusty pyrex measuring cup and see were aren't actually looking at 14 oz's. Nor are we even seeing 12. It measures 10. Either my trusty pyrex cup ain't so trusty, or I just got fucked. So now I must trudge back to that infernal store and buy another can? And now I will not have 2 oz's left over but, umm, carry the one, 8? Does that include the weight of the can? Aww screw it, anybody out there have 2 oz's for sale?

What else can I say?

Great news everyone! The recession is still over! Jerry Sandusky is innocent! The election is coming soon! Alien dopplegangers have finally returned the Bears to Earth! My house will be invaded by 20+ friends and relatives in 5 short days! Yes, it's back already, 5 topics in 5 minutes. Strap on everyone! (Or is that strap in?)

Recession
So have I got this straight? The unemployment rate in Illinois: it only "inched up" to 10.1% from 10% for October. So by only "inching up" vs. "skyrocketing up" it is actually good news in the sense that instead of everyone jumping over a cliff at the same time only a few of us choose to make the leap, with the rest of us 99%ers waiting in line to do so. The housing market in Illinois: October of 2011 compared to October 2010; closed home sales of 237 down 13.5%, home listings going under contract 267 down 2.9%. The median sale price of $103,000 down 6.36%. Goin' down. Down, down, down, down, down. Great, our economy is a Jeff Beck song. Can't wait until we get back to the good old days of inflation. Where the hell is Nixon anyway?

Jerry Sandusky
We can all relax a little now. Unlock the front door again, and return the mountain lion to the zoo that was keeping watch over your kids bedroom door at night. Jerry Sandusky says he is innocent. Saying that his naked showers with 10 year old boys in a school locker room were a lapse in judgement and innocent fun, not unlike the way a gang-banger goes out and shoots up a playground with the same excuse, we should take him at his word right? Either this guys is seriously ill, or he is smart as a whip. We are either dumb enough to believe his clap-trap, or he is setting up his insanity defense. "But your honor, he is so sick, he actually believes the shit coming out of his mouth." Can't wait until he is sharing a cell with that guy that was masturbating in class while giving lectures.

Obama for President
Said it before. I'll say it again. Presidents should not be allowed to run for re-election. How can you believe anything a sitting president says or does when he knows that his political life is hanging by a thread? The Hispanic vote helped propel him to victory in 2008. And just in time for election 2012, we get fact vs. fiction. Fiction: his administration announces new rules governing the deportation of illegal aliens, aiming to speed the deportation of convicted criminals and halt those of many illegal immigrants without criminal records. Fact: despite campaigning to the exact opposite, last year the U.S. had the highest deportation numbers on record: nearly 400,000. Since President Obama took office, more than a million illegal immigrants have been deported. Umm, excuse me Mr. President, but just how think do you dumb I am?

Real Illegal Aliens
A few short months ago, the Chicago Bears tore out of the gate with a rousing destruction of last years NFC best record Atlanta Falcons, then fell off the truck with lackluster play, and oh yea, record setting futility as Jay Cutler got a real taste of the Soldier Field grass. Then a funny thing happened, they were good again. And it feels like big things lie ahead. So what happened? Alien dopplegangers working on behalf of the Green Bay (what is that taste in my mouth?) Packers kidnapped the team and replaced them. Doppelgangers: monstrous humanoids, identified primarily by their ability to change their shape and appearance to mimic almost any humanoid creature. At least that's what I remember from my wasted years of endless late night sessions of Dungeons and Dragons. I mean, there is no other logical explanation.

Thanksgiving
I have to say, at age 48, holidays are not so lustrous as they were when we were kids. I mean, I found out recently that there is no Santa Claus. Which prompted the whole "Well what about the Easter Bunny?" discussion with the wife. And don't even mention the tooth fairy to me, I can't even go there. But there is one holiday I still really look forward to, Thanksgiving. No, I do not show up at some relatives house and devour everything in site for 3 hours, they come to me. And I cook. And cook. And cook some more. And I love it. I love arranging dinner for 20 or more. I start when I get off work on Wednesday, and don't stop until I sit down (stand in a corner) to eat. Yes I know I get some help (like the sister-in-law walking in a few years ago saying something like "What can I do to help?" and my reply going something like "Well you can peel those potato's for me" and her response going something like "Ha!" ...true story), but in the end, I feel great satisfaction knowing that I leave everyone with the greatest meal of the year in their bellies. Now I'm sure the wife will have a few things to add along the lines of "Worst holiday of the year" as she cleans for a week before and days after with little help from her chef husband and lazy brooding teens #1 and #2, but I still love it none-the-less.

Savior of the Birdseed

Morning coffee. The Sunday paper. No kids. As serene as it can get for The Guitarman. Until now. First saw the little bugger climbing the "squirrel-proof" pole of the bird feeder to reach the golden bounty held above. I'd like to have a word with the guy who came up with the phrase "squirrel-proof". There is no such thing. Then to my surprise, and slight amusement, he was joined by another. I watched the playful banter ensue and couldn't determine if it was a territorial standoff, or two good buds exchanging bites all in good fun. I didn't realize at the time, but it didn't matter.

Two became three, which became four, and eventually settled on five. The corn cob in the corner was long depleted of its niblets, and they were on the prowl for more. This had to stop. I took off the old man glasses, sucked down the last drops of my coffee, and went out back to put down my thing. The events that unfolded were unexpected to say the least.

GM: Um, excuse me, but just what do you think you are doing?
S#1: Fuck off, eating.
S#2: Yea, piss off before I put a cap in your homo-sapien, opposable thumb ass.

Didn't notice the other three, circling behind me.

GM: Hey, I'm just trying to do the right thing here. I give you corn, you eat it, and you in turn leave the bird seed for, I don't know, maybe the birds?
S#1: Listen up dog. We do what we want, when we want it, where we want it.
S#2: Yea, where we want it.
GM: Hey, I can get all Quentin Tarantino on your rodent empire at any given moment. You want that kind of heat?
S#1: Last warning. Go back to your forced-air heated snuggle-hut, and leave us to our fat-padding over-consumption before this gets ugly.
S#2: Yea, snuggle-hut.

That's it. It's go time.

I whipped out my Glock and spun around, firing away at anything that moved. The first went down in a sort of explosion as my 9mm projectile split his carcass in two. As I was leveling the gun at the next one, I was attacked from all sides with a flurry of flying hair, razor claws, and gnashing teeth. It was at that precise moment that the image of the smiling hardware store clerk flashed through my mind: "You really want to invite these critters onto your lawn?" Ah the un-intending wisdom of the high school senior. If only I hadn't been so presumptuous to assume that my nearly 5 decades of acquired wisdom outweighed his fledgling 1 1/2, I might not be standing on my patio looking like a used cat scratching pole.

In the end, I guess I "won". Four squirrels lay in a bloody heap on my patio, the precious bird seed saved for the Black-Capped Chickadees was safe in its' lofty perch. The last squirrel had retreated to the corner of the yard, atop the fence. His unblinking beady little eyes fixed on mine, and I'm thinking: If only I hadn't opened the curtains.

Slowing down in my old age, two minutes at a time.

As The Guitarman makes his undeniable creep towards the Big-Five-Oh, the inevitable slowly sets in. Stiffer joints (and not the good kind), cantankerousness, and the ability to focus on any one topic longer than 30 seconds. However he does have the abilty to be realistic. Hence, 7 Topics in 7 Minutes might be a little too much for the average reader to swallow, not to mention my fingers getting stiff for typing longer than it takes to watch one episode of Phineas and Ferb. So today marks the Grand Opening of my latest invention, a name that took me hours of hand wringing to decide upon, 5 Topics in 5 minutes. Okay, you got me, I am short on time this morning.

Hermain Cain
I have already decided who I am going to vote for in the Republican primary. Scratch that, it's actually who I am not going to vote for, and that includes anyone so right of center that they have to make plunging a knife into Roe vs. Wade a central issue. When I read that this representative of the Republican wing of the Republican party is actually leading opinion polls right now, it makes me wonder what in the hell ever happened to Ross Perot? Remember him? Short little wisp of a man with a shrill voice and lots of big ideas? We need another Ross Perot right now. You know, someone without any massive party affiliation dragging him back two centuries, someone to thumb his nose at the 2-party America, intent on driving America as far right or left of center as they can before they get voted out of office.

The American Candidate
Catchy, no? And a nice little segue into what could possible be the best idea ever to come out of The G-Man's head. I'm talking reality TV people. The kind that grips a nation and won't let go. You take 20 independent candidates for president, 20 Ross Perot's, people with idea's that aren't beholding to one party or the other. You stick 'em on television, where they debate each other, talk to the public, get in peoples faces, and get voted off the show one by one. In the end, you have a candidate that the entire country would know better than there own mother. If half of this country can obsess about a snotty, self-centered, drama queen named Snooki, just think about the kind of power a candidate for president can wield with that much might behind him.

Dope
Let's do some math on marijuana. What if it were legal? If you let every person out of prison currently serving a sentence on pot related charges, 178,315 people would go free, instantly saving US taxpayers $23,002,635. EVERY SINGLE DAY. That's almost $8.4 billion a year. But we're not done. If you assume that 1% of the population are daily users, and 10% are casual users, that could be around 100 million ounces consumed a year. Averaging $200 per ounce, that's nearly $20 billion in annual sales. Tax it what you want, that's a new industry, creating taxes and creating jobs. Still not done. It was estimated that we spend around $9 billion a year fighting the war on pot. Those are police man hours that could be redirected to fight real crime. And we would be putting gangs from Chicago to Mexico out of business. US prohibition on Alcohol was a massive failure, eventually putting the likes of Al Capone on ice. History proves If you don't learn from failure, you are doomed to repeat it. You can govern a people, but you can't tell them how to run their own lives. I'm just sayin'.

Scumbags
If you are a loyal reader (bored blog reader), then you remember the topic of Death from last week. A young life snuffed out in an instant by a remorseless ghoul. Well they caught the guy. John L. Wilson, who spent 17 of his last 20 years in prison, managed to spend some of his recent un-incarcerated days rehabbing (upgrading) his rap sheet by stabbing to death a 14 year girl in her own home. But stupid is as stupid does, as the crime genius (fucking idiot) stole the young girls phone, and kept texting the dead girls mom with taunts. (I know I sound like a broken record, but how the hell do we keep breeding these soul-less monsters?) All while his own phone was in his pocket. Yes, modern technology can track your cell phone anywhere, which means it can track two phones anywhere, which means that when the FBI saw the two phones curiously navigating the same path, they were able to nab the guy. One of those cases where you wish public be-heading was an option.

China
They sell us anything and everything from clothes to electronics. They refuse to import our products. They steal our manufacturing. They employ slave like labor to make their wares. And now, and most probably for years, have spies stealing our ideas too. Two cases in Chicago involving economic espionage are coming to fruition. In both cases, a Chinese national, working for an American company, are charged with stealing technical information with the intent on selling them to companies in China. One was actually at the airport with the documents in hand. And don't tell me the Chinese government isn't culpable here. They make it their business to know everyone elses business. So can someone please tell me what this country is going to do about it? And I ain't talking about throwing these 2 in the hoosegow. I am talking about our leaders being so damn cozy with the Chinese. About hitting them where it hurts. About ending the trade imbalance, and ending the pilgrimage of our jobs to a foreign land, one intent on seeing us go under. Big government America and it's current leaders don't have the will or the guts to stand up to China. But I bet the winner of The American Candidate might have something to say about that.

Got a minute? Or seven?

Ti-i-i-ime, is on my side...well not really. Who has time to sit down and spend the day clicking away at a keypad for about 20 seconds worth of readable tripe? Umm, me apparently. But it's getting harder to not only find the time, but to find some subject that hasn't been regurgitated to death over and over to the point that the yawn escaping your mouth at this very moment won't be replicated about seven or eight times before you are done reading it. So, to save time, of which The Guitarman has none, he will give you a fresh new look. A (hopefully) recurring new theme that will be dubbed, "7 Topics in 7 Minutes." So you can see a topic and skip it if you can't take any more. But, unfortunately you just took a minute to read this, so the inaugural voyage will be more like "7 Topics in 8 Minutes". Yea, doesn't really roll off the tongue now does it?

Chickenfoot
I know what you're saying. "Huh?" That's what I said until I heard the first album by this new "supergroup". Not really along the lines of Asia, but with the mind blowing guitar of Joe Satriani, I had to take a chance. Yes he blows my mind regularly, and with a slightly pudgy Sammy Hagar having not lost the pipes, it's one of my favorite new listens in a while. Throw in the former Van Halen stalwart Michael Anthony on bass, along with Will Ferrell's evil twin on drums, (he even makes really convincing Will Ferrell faces and all), the CD is worth the money, assuming you are a dinosaur like me and actually still BUY the CD.

Illinois PoliticsLesse, a full 90% of the state senators who voted in favor of ComEd's rate hike got personal donations to their campaigns from the megalith. Throw in the fact that 18 senators were called off the floor just before the vote, and then somehow had their votes cast by someone else, in some cases the opposite way of their position, and you have what is becoming a three ring circus. Wait, did I say becoming? That's an insult to three ring circuses everywhere.

Death
Can't even pick up the paper anymore without reading about senseless killing every friggin' day. Today, a 14 year old girl stabbed to death in her own home when she surprised a burglar. We seem to be breeding these soul-less monsters like rodents. Where do they come from? I guess no matter how hard you try to parent, you're gonna get a Dahmer or a Gacy now and then, but these days armed thugs seem to be taking over the world. Can we try a little harder to raise our children to at least, I don't know, grow old without killing someone along the way?

Baseball
ABOUT FREAKIN TIME!!!! The Cubs have finally broken the spell and won The World Series!! Wait, I think that was my dream last night. Rats. Maybe we can trade Quade and Zambrano to St Louis for LaRussa and Pujols. Damn, still dreaming.

Death Pt II
I have a heart. I feel for the family's loss. But just as we try to understand the minds of the murdering ghouls that roam the streets of Chicago, we scratch our heads at the stupidity that leads to tragedy as well. A carload of 10 family members heading across the country to NJ for a funeral. A deer in the road. A semi-truck driving right behind the family. And not a single seat belt being worn by the occupants of the van. Including a 6-week old baby strapped into a car seat, but the car seat not strapped into the vehicle. Seven deaths that were preventable. Not a single thought among anyone to strap in? I'm sorry, but that's just plain stupid.

Homophobes
Got into a great tit-for-tat this week with Jim Finnegan, president of Illinois Choose Life and James M. Komaniecki, Project Manager, Illinois Defense of Marriage Initiative. I have nothing against their crusade to make sure the rest of us follow their agenda of a perfect life for us all, but took issue with their stance that being gay is a "life choice" that can be unlearned. Their solution is to march young people to the church for counseling to sway them of their lifestyle choice. One thing I have come to realize, is that no matter how ignorant these people can be in their misguided views of today's world, you can't win an argument with someone who's only defense is "God says so."

Well that's it readers. That's 7 topics in 7 minutes. What you say? You actually counted? I confess, that was only six. The caffeine is wearing off and I haven't had any breakfast yet. If I have learned one thing writing this blog, it's that inspiration requires food.

This isn't you fathers rock band. Or is it?

Nepotism. Sucks unless you happen to be on the receiving end of some cushy job. We see it all the time around these parts. Who can forget the tragedy of John Stroger? A tragedy yes that the old man suffered a stroke, but a TRAVESTY when his son was bequeathed his job as Cook County commissioner. How that election go Todd? Todd? Beuller? And don't even get me started on Larry Dominick and the town of Cicero. If your name isn't Dominick, or close relation, you ain't working for that city. Blah, blah, blah, forget politics, let's talk where it really matters. In music.

I first became aware of the trend a number of years ago when I heard that founding AllmanBrothers member Dicky Betts was kicked out of the band and replaced by the 18 year old son of drummer Butch Trucks, Derek. Yea right, like this punk is gonna replace the legend Betts. But a funny thing happened on the way to the record store. The kid is good. No, take that back. He's phenomenal. Gotta be one of the best slide players making the circuit today. But is the Allman boy wonder the exception or the rule?

Went to see Yes this year, one of my all time favorite bands. A little disappointed that Jon Anderson wasn't singing, but here was the rest of the guys, Howe, Squire, Wakeman... "Hold the horseradish," I told myself. "Why does Wakeman look like 30 years younger than the pudgy Squire and the alien-looking Howe?" Because he is. It was not RICK Wakeman, but his son Oliver. He played all his dads riffs, right down to the mesmerizing part in Roundabout. He even had the hair. But he never did play with his toes, too bad. Well I guess they had no choice when his dad died. Umm, nice try. He's not dead. So why go with the copy when you can have the original? I have no clue.

Which brings us to the radio spot I heard for the upcoming Roger Daltry show. At least he isn't touring by himself and still calling it The Who. When Keith Moon went to the big jam in the sky, they were still The Who. Saw that tour. When John Entwistle cashed in his chips, they replaced him too, and Roger and Pete played on, as The Who. But at the end of the ad, they proclaim, "Featuring guitarist Simon Townsend." Simon. Simon? Beuller? Pete was a legend in his time. Probably for doing cocaine for as much as his windmills on stage. But his son Simon? Has he accomplished anything? And should I gush with excitement, like a freshman that has been asked to the prom by the football teams quarterback, that the guitar player running through all the licks on Tommy has the same DNA as the guy who actually wrote it? Umm, pass.

A number of years ago Bob Dylan's kid had a hit on the radio with his band The Wallflowers. Not a bad album. Hey, at least the brat did it on his own steam. But where does that leave us? Will we someday go the that long awaited Beatles reunion featuring James McCartney, Julian Lennon, Zak Starkey, and Dhani Harrison playing their famous dads hits? Something tells me people would eat that up. Not me. I'd probably just regurgitate it later.

Forrest Gump had it right: stupid is as stupid does.

Land of Lincoln. A tough billing to live up to these days. Who was Lincoln anyway? A man of honesty, obviously. So honest that his mother named him after that famous saying, "Honest Abe." Or maybe it's the other way around. And smart too, I would think. Didn't get to be president for being stupid. Then again, it's not exactly a pre-requisite lately now is it? So how is Illinois carrying on his legacy? Not like Atlas, with the weight on his shoulders, trudging defiantly through time. More like a kid dragging it behind him like a sack of books through mud puddles on his way home from school.

It's not hard to tell you about letting Lincoln down on the honesty front. Lesse here, one former governor in jail, another on his way, not to mention the one that served his time and is living in California. And by last count, and that means I have actually lost count, 6 bajillion former Blago aides face trial and/or jail time for their actions while being employed by our state. No, "honest politician" has become the very definition of oxymoron, at least in Illinois. But this is not news, this is common knowledge.

I want to wade into the swirling waters of the "smart" badge I bestowed upon out most famous citizen. We have become just plain stupid. As voters, we are stupid for electing these self serving, dishonest, idiot rule makers and shakers. Where to start? It's like being Augustus Gloop as he gazes upon the candy room in Willy Wonka. How about our former Mayor Daley? Has anyone made a more stupid deal in the history of deal making? Selling the skyway to a private bidder for a hundred years. Lost revenue for one hundred years. Let me answer my own question: yes. The sale of the parking meters by the very same Mayor Daley. All that is left from a $1.2 billion, 75 year lease 3 years ago is $76 million. And the city council? Too stupid and self serving to vote against this joke of a deal.

But that is only one man, and one issue. Stupid is like an epidemic, you can't stop it. We elected Blago, twice. We are the only state in the nation, THE ONLY FRIGGIN" ONE, where you can't have a gun to protect yourself when you leave your home. We keep adding red light cameras as the rest of the nation keeps dismantling them because they, not we, realize they are just a way to feed money grubbing municipalities, not actually making the roads safer. In Park Ridge, you can't park your truck outside overnight. In Moline, you can't drive in circles, and you can't ice skate in July and August (maybe they got that one right). In Normal, you can't make faces at a dog, and in Zion, you can't give your dog a cigar, (a smart state would just ban dogs altogether). In Galesburg you can't ride your bike no handed, barbecue roadkill, or be a close talker.

OK so I am getting a little lost in my own world. But the bottom line is that I am tired of opening the paper every day and reading yet another example of how we have got it all ass backwards in regards to common sense. Is the rest of the country laughing at us? They would if they read that in Evanston, midget bowling is illegal.

The circle of life.

Most people, and by that I mean most people in the civilized part of the world where we live, don't deal in death. We leave that to the truly evil people in the world, like terrorists who kill in the name of The Almighty, and soul-less rebels in South African nations who slaughter whole villages without batting an eyelash. That doesn't even mention brutal dictators the world over, who kill in the name of power. And closer to home, gang-bangers who think nothing of taking a life, be it each other, or innocent kids who happened to be in the line of fire. And in most cases, death is celebrated. Be it bragging, or partying, or claiming responsibility so the world KNEW it was you and why you did it. But can a virtuous person celebrate death? I have to admit, I have celebrated death a few times. Is it truly wrong?

A few years back, it was Sadaam Hussein, and his evil offspring Uday and Qusay. After hearing of the atrocities they inflicted on their own people, it was easy to be relieved when heard of their demise. And who didn't go "Yes!!" with a fist pump when you heard Bin Laden was dead. Well, maybe his family. Even there I'm not so sure. But closer to home, I recently found out that my ex-next door neighbor developed stage four lung cancer, had a stroke, and died. My first gut reaction was the same as it was for Osama. I am not a hateful person, but this woman was.

I can go on and on about how she indeed was the neighbor from hell. Yard full of barking dogs (I'm talking anywhere from 4 to 10) that she NEVER picked up after and left out all night. Can you imagine that smell in the middle of the summer? A cattery in her basement. (Cattery: A cat breeding business) Over 30 cats were seen by the city inspector when he went over to read the meter. All of this on a quiet little cul-de-sac with modest houses on small lots. The city told her she had to choose between her pets and her house. She chose the cats. Very happy day indeed when she moved out. But, it wasn't over.

After a dispute with me in which I pleaded with her to find a more suitable place to take her business of rescuing dogs and breeding cats, I called the city and alerted them to the illegal activities going on. So to get back at me, she called in a bogus "tip" to a tip hot-line, and without going in the nature of all of that, it was days of harassment to my wife and I, followed by months of turmoil in a courtroom. When it was over, I was exonerated. I was relieved, but bitter. I buried all that deep down and went on with my life, without her as neighbor.

A truly wonderful couple has moved in since, they couldn't possible be any better neighbors if you asked. Giving us fruit and veggies from the garden, letting me borrow all his tools that I don't possess, cutting my grass on his side of the house, and ah yes, he is a computer whiz, rescuing my computers more times than I can count. So it was with a slight bit of irony that he was the one who informed me of her passing. And the one who saw the fist pump and heard the "Yes!!"

Technical Stuff: Further Proof That Psycho Nut Job Neighbor Was Just That (Paragraph 4 in particular)

http://www.newsletter.traditionalcats.com/Alert/2007/BellerSept%202.pdf

Short and not so sweet.

Repugnant. It's the only word I can come up with as I watch the poor, pitiful, saga of the Rod Blagojevich trial Pt. II play out. It seems almost impossible that something new could come out of the mans mouth. With all the talk shows, radio interviews, reality shows, books, and press conferences that Blago has thrown in our face, how could he possibly do or say anything that would shock us? That's what I said a few days ago. Then he took the stand.

Day 1. Classic Bla-boo-boo-itch. Nothing exciting, nothing new, just more of the "look at me and see what I have done" mantra. Then Day 2. Still under defense questioning, the heart of their defense is revealed. He blamed a dead man for it. No, let me re-phrase. He spat and danced on the grave of his long time friend and political ally, Chris Kelly. A man who was more like a brother to him, a man who took his own life rather than go to jail for taking part in the illicit schemes of his best friend, was just thrown under the bus from the grave. If sympathy from the jurors is what Boy-have-I-got-an-itch craves, does he really think this will do the trick? To me it looks more like the last desperate swing from a man on the ropes.

When a man's home aint his castle.

Aug 17, 2012. Here sits the Guitarman, alone with his thoughts, in an unadorned, bleak, and desolate jail cell, wondering where it all went so horribly wrong. He didn't really ever consider himself a criminal, per se. But he knew it was wrong. He knew that the erosion of the 4th Amendment began nearly a year and a half ago, yet he persisted in his law defying antics, daring authorities to not only find him, but persecute him as well. He could still hear the words of the patrolman, echoing in his head like a lost tourist in the Grand Canyon, from that day in court.

Judge: So, patrolman McGruder, describe your train of thoughts as you entered the defendants home September 20, 2011.
Cop: Well, your honor, I was chasing a known felon, wanted for grand larceny, murder, weapons trafficking, and possession of a narcotic with the intent to deliver, when I passed by an open window of the home of the defendant. I stopped in my tracks as I heard an unmistakable "ripping" sound coming from the second floor bedroom.
Judge: And by "unmistakable" you mean...unmistakable?
Cop: Yes your honor.
Judge: Proceed.
Cop: So,likes I was sayin', I immediately gave up on my foot pursuit of the suspect, and proceeded to the front door of the defendants home. I drew my weapon and was prepared to kick in the door, and paused for a brief second to consider the legality of my impending action. It was at that precise moment I remembered the US Supreme Courts near unanimous decision in May of 2011 that allowed police to enter a home without a search warrant if the officer perceived an illegal activity was taking place in the home.
Judge: Now when you say "near unanimous", you mean...near unanimous?
Cop: Yes your honor, if not for Ruth "Lone Wolf" Bader-Ginsburg.
Judge: Proceed.
Cop: So with my new sense of purpose, I kicked in the door, proceeded with weapon drawn to the upstairs bedroom, when I saw the defendant on his knees, next to a brand new mattress, with the tag in his left hand.

The moral of my story? If you are preparing to give a skunk a bath in your kitchen, best close that window lest a wandering patrol officer mistakes it for the "unmistakable" odor of potent marijuana growing in the home. And if you happen to be rehearsing lines for a play with your spouse that includes a rape scene, or like to watch violent movies with the volume turned up really high, or if you are a migraine sufferer, and prefer to chop up your aspirin into a fluffy white pile and leave it on a mirror on your coffee table, draw those curtains buddy.

"...with the tag in his left hand." Those words will haunt me forever. Why couldn't I have just used scissors?

Waste not want not.

If there's one bit of morality that I can cling to in my increasing years of cynicism, it's that I consider myself somewhat frugal in the area of waste. I fervently recycle, making sure to rinse the putrid bits of cat food from the empty tin, fill and shake the milk jugs, rinse cans, etc. You get my drift. We save all leftovers, and I mean all. Last Thanksgiving I nearly fainted when I saw my bro scraping the last bit of broccoli casserole into the garbage. "It was only like two bites," he protested. "But it would have been the most insanely flavorful and tantalizing two bites that have ever existed in a Tupperware container!" I bellowed. I can't throw anything away that holds any bit of value, much to the constant chagrin of the wife. That's why I was aghast when I opened my insurance statement.

The second page was blank. At the top of the page was printed in a neat little box, This page intentionally left blank. What, exactly, is the point of putting in a blank page, and then telling us that they did it on purpose? Lest we assume that someone was sneaking around the billing office, maliciously inserting blank pages into all of the envelopes in some vain attempt to expose the offending insurance agency as a global glutton, wasting resources in today's ever green world. No. We did it this way, and we want you to know that we are so rich and powerful, that we think nothing of the extra cost of putting a blank piece of paper into your bill. Or something like that.

From www.conservatree.com; based on a mixture of softwoods and hardwoods 40 feet tall and 6-8 inches in diameter, it would take a rough average of 24 trees to produce a ton of printing and writing paper, using the kraft chemical (freesheet) pulping process. If a company like farmers has 1,000,000 clients, and they send out these things bi-annually, that could be like, lesse, carry the one...a lot of wasted paper. The conservative in me wants to send it back in an envelope and say why, WHY? But pragmatist in me just uses it for scratch paper anyway.

2012 Campaign Slogan, "Trust Me."

That was then, this is now. It was in 2008 that a young, fresh, and hungry Barack Obama delivered one of the most impressive campaigns in recent memory, promising, among other things, to 1. fix an unjust immigration system, and 2. build bridges with the other party. Why bring this up now? Why rehash the past? Because we are supposed to learn from it. And because the present has an ominous way of mimicking the past, and if there was any doubt, we are now in full campaign mode for 2012.

Promise number one, fix immigration. The real way to do this, of course, is to actually engage the policy makers and shakers, those lofty, honest politicians we like to call Senators and Congressmen. The Obama method, on the other hand, is to traverse the country holding hands and singing Kumbaya with US Rep. Luis Gutierrez, promising the moon. But reality has a funny way of sneaking up on you. In Gutierrez's own words, "He came to our neighborhoods, he came to our communities, he gave speeches." In other words, he bullshitted them. 67% of them trusted and believed in him. Now he looks them in the eye, 3 years later and says, "Hey I really mean it this time. Trust me." And he goes on television to once again woo the important Hispanic vote. He must really think the Hispanic population is just plain stupid. If he couldn't do it with a filibuster proof Democratic majority during his first term, how or why the hell is he gonna do it now?

Promise number two, build bridges. Without boring you with endless references to the Dark Side of the Force, ie. the Republicans, let's look at a recent, full campaign-mode quote. Once again, on TV, in Clinton-speak, he calls them, "alligators in the moat" along the US border for their stance to secure the borders first, talk immigration reform later. So much for steering the nation away from the partisan ways of the past. It was only a few months ago, (post-2008 campaign and pre-2012 campaign, you know, those 2 years of actual presidency) that Obama stated that addressing entitlement reform shouldn't result in one side blasting the other for at least coming up with real ideas. Then a funny thing happened on the way to the altar; he went into campaign mode. Recently, House Budget Chairman Paul Ryan (R-Wis) proposed Medicare reform, and Obama could have said something like, "I appreciate different views and ideas, and I applaud my colleague's willingness to open dialogue on the subject." But alas, his words were more like, "I reject Lord Vader's attempt to woo the poor, neglected seniors of this country as mere campaign propaganda."

This, in turn, is exactly what he is doing now. Same old story as always, do as I say, not as I do. Wooing the voters of this country, black, white, Hispanic, Middle-Eastern, Asian, old, young, rich, poor, with the kind of BS that used to be reserved for snake-oil salesmen traversing the country in a horse drawn Walgreens on wheels. People used to believe the words that came out of the salesman's mouth, because he sounded so sincere. So trustworthy. He had the gift of gab, and he used it to sell. Hard part was, though, you could never go back a second time. Because the folks who bought his snake-oil the first time around, knew better. They told their friends, and they learned from the past. Question is, will we?

My nemesis.

So I'm in the Ace Hardware the other day buying bird seed, and I see the bag of corn. "Squirrel Food" it says. It's just corn. You could put it in any store anywhere in the world and it would say "Llama Food" or "Yak Food" and it would still be just a bag of corn. But I ponder my own dilemma, and that is how to keep the bloody squirrel out of my bird feeder.

In the past I have tried to spin a good yarn on my perils with the resident rodent in my back yard, but not today. In reality, this pesky pest won't stay out of my bird feeder. I put out corn for him on a little squirrel feeder, which he and the blue jays devour, but he still manages to get on the bird feeder and spill it all over the grass. I've hung it high, low, on every branch on the tree, and he still climbs, leaps, and flies to the thing at will. I have a giant "anti-squirrel" device on top, which actually makes for good theater. Every once in a while he still tries to climb over it and plummets to the ground as I give out a hearty "HA-HA!" ala Nelson the Bully from the Simpsons. But still, he finds a way.

My grandfather had a solution. He had a little bb-gun and would "shoot 'em in the ass" to scare him. He was successful in not harming them, but it never worked. They always came back for more. The acorn tree dumped buckets of acorns in his yard every year and it was like a buffet table to them. I never understood exactly what it was they were doing that made him upset though. They're just squirrels. It's just nature. Probably had something to do with digging in the yard. You don't mess with an old man and his lawn, squirrel or human.

You know I have that thing in my attic. Still shoots. I've though about it from time to time, but I'll never use it on him. I really don't mind him in my tree. He's like my little outdoor pet. He has his own feeder, why doesn't he get the concept of corn = squirrel food, seed in feeder = bird food? I think I might have finally found a spot he can't get to. Hmmm, we'll see. I might have to go all "Carl Spackler" on him. Hide in the bushes with my grandfathers bb-gun, and when he makes his move, I take him out. You think a little C-4 is over the top?

Ahh for the good old days.

I used to live for Saturday mornings. Some of you know what I am talking about. The TV would be on well before 9:00, in eager anticipation of Bugs Bunny, The Road Runner, The Banana Splits, or whatever cartoon was on. Massive bowl of Quisp cereal in front of my face, I would crunch away as The Coyote would be foiled yet again in his vain attempt to have Roadrunner Stew for dinner. It was the time when cartoons were on. There was no Disney Channel. No Cartoon Network. No Nickelodeon. There was just Saturday morning.

Today, my DVR is filled with episodes of Wizards of Waverly Place and ICarly. Every night before I hit the sheets I have to turn off brooding young teen #2's television in her room. (TV in our room. Who could have imagined that growing up.) She HAS to fall asleep to some endless loop of reruns on one of the afore mentioned channels. Next to her head, is her Ipod touch, loaded with games, songs, pictures and the like. And her charging cell phone blinks away as she sleeps. The thing is never off. Do you see where I am going here? Do I have to actually say it? Today's kids are spoiled rotten.

I defy anyone to find a young-un who knows what kick the can is. Or ghost in the graveyard. Or sardines. My neighborhood growing up was a plethora of young minds, where age didn't matter, and you came home to the dinner bell at 5:30 every night. Some dads would whistle from their back porch, other kids would just instinctively head home every night at the same time. We had the bell. You could hear that thing 8 blocks away, mom knowing that we were out there somewhere, and within minutes would be sitting down to meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Today is a different story indeed.

If we are brave enough to let our cherished offspring out of our site for one minute, we know that peace of mind is only a cell phone call away. That is, if the kids aren't chained to the TV in the basement playing Call of Duty with some kid on Xbox half a world away til 2 in the bloody morning. Hell I used to go to bed early on Friday night just so I wouldn't oversleep and miss a minute of the weeks worth of cartoons. But dinner at the table? With the whole family? Oh we manage a few times a week. But 35 years ago there wasn't the constant shuttling to basketball, soccer, baseball, tennis, whatever you-name-it sport-of-the-month you can come up with that dominated our lives 24/7.

When I was a kid, we played. All the time, all over town. At my house, at your house, outside, inside, we played. On our bikes, with cards in the spokes, we cruised the neighborhood like we owned it. Because we did. And you know what? I miss it.

Am I missing something here?

Lets start off this week by saying that I am probably going to piss a few people off. It is not the intention of the Guitarman to fan the flames of anger with his misplaced rhetoric. But to stir debate in a healthy way, is that not the responsibility of the author? Be it the lofty perch of a true journalist, or the demented ramblings of a self appointed blogger, getting under ones skin is our job. Or hobby. Hence, I wade into the sensitive topic of religion.

By all rights, most of my family have come from or are deeply embedded in religion. My grandparents on my dads side were loyal Christian Scientists. So much to the point that their "anti medical" stance in adherence with the strict confines of their church, probably cost my grandmother her life. Both children of that marriage (my dad and his brother) went on to become fierce born again Christians in their middle age. Forced to attend confirmation, I was raised Methodist, but to me it was a joke. For years my dad tried to "convert" me, but it was too late. A geology major has a big time problem with the idea that the world was only created a few thousand years ago. My uncle, in turn, raised his kids with God as the focal point of their lives. They can't understand where I went wrong.

My maternal grandparents were devout Catholics, going to mass 3 times a week like clockwork for 50 years. And in my wife's family, priests and nuns decorate the family tree like a string of Christmas lights. Yes it's safe to say I am like the Black Sheep of the family when it comes to God. But enough already with my boring history. What got me going, of course, was this mornings story about killing on the other side of the world in the name of, yep, religion. And leads me to my point: religion can be poison.

I toyed with that last sentence for a while. To replace the words "can be" with "is" was a raging debate in my head for all of 5 minutes. Of course the majority of the entire world believes in God one way or another, whatever name you want to give Him. And I guess I believe too, hence my fist shaking and cursing towards the heavens above when something in my life goes awry.

But to clarify, seven people were killed in Afghanistan when overzealous nut jobs stormed a U.N. building because some other overzealous nut jobs in Florida, half a world away, burned a copy of their holy book, the Quran. (Holy crap, get over it already!) This is nothing new. Theo Van Gogh was killed for his outspoken anti religious views. Well over 100 people died because of a cartoon depicting the Prophet Muhammad in a negative light. Lunatics from Massachusetts show up at the funerals of US soldiers to tell anyone who wants to hear it that God hates fags. The list goes on and on. It's like religion is an excuse for the world to forgive crazy people for being crazy.

Well not me. In the immortal words of Forrest Gump, stupid is as stupid does. I am not going to give a pass to someone who hides behind some unseen higher power for being one brick short of a load. For wanting to push their beliefs on the rest of us. For resorting to brutal and monstrous attacks on innocent people that don't agree with their views. Yes, religion can be poison. Innocently at times, and vindictively at others, it can poison the mind to the point of delusion. And we put up with it. Why? I guess that is the question of the day.

Michael Keaton has got nothing on me.

Ahh spring. Birds chirping, sun shining, the squirrel in my back yard plotting his next takeover, and all my friends on Facebook posting pictures of their spring break from one tropical paradise to another. Bastards. Like I would take up that much room. (It should be noted that my last post was just after the Superbowl, hence Webster is now putting the Guitarman's picture next to the definition of "sloth".) I could be on some sunny beach with a Pina Colada in one hand and a fishing rod in another. But I have to be here. You see, spring brings another joy of the season, basketball.

Or should I say driving to basketball. And compounding the myriad of tournaments and practices, a new contender has thrown its' hat into the ring. Tennis. So lets do the math. 2 kids. 3 teams. An average of 6 days a week will be devoted to sports of some kind. Gas hitting $5 by summer. I think I need a second job. BUT! I think I have it all figured out, and I can say it all in one word. Cloning.

If I could clone myself, I could finally be everywhere at once. At a first rough guess, I think 3 of me would do the trick. One to stay at work, bringing home the bacon. (Not the thick juicy slabs of the good stuff, the wispy little fillets from Oscar Meyer is more like it) Then helping out around the house, while GM #2 whisks young brooding teen #1 to his basketball matches on the weekends, helping out at practices twice a week, AND following the team bus to all of his tennis matches. I am not sure how HE is going to be able to pull it all off, so maybe I need to clone him too while I am at it. Then GM #3 should be free to take young brooding teen #2 to all of HER weekend basketball matches and HER 2 a week practices. I guess 3 wouldn't quite do it.

Another me to devote some time to the band(s), you know, actually having time to practice, call bars for potential gigs, not to mention the schlepping of the gear all weekend long. And then of course all of this spring break nonsense. If I can just slip away un-noticed for a week to 10 days, I could come back refreshed and ready to charge headlong into the tsunami of sports that await my return. So that's 5, I think. Maybe I should add one more for good measure. GM #6 could be there just in case one of the other 5 collapses from exhaustion.

Reflections from Super Bowl Sunday. Was is it all that bad?

Just got finished watching the Super Bowl. Ugh. I hate the friggin' Packers. It was like watching your best friend get beat up by Dick Cheney. In some years I actually look forward to the commercials more than I do the game. (Love that ETrade baby!) And some years, it's the music. It's always a hit or miss, the halftime show. You can have the supposed greatest Rock n Roll band in the world (The Rolling Stones), and the drunken fools Richards and Wood turn it into one of the worst halftime shows in history, unable to be saved even by Jagger (like I can watch an 80 year old dude prance around like a sex crazed chicken). Then an unassuming guy (Tom Petty) comes along and blows the roof off of the place with no frills, just an awesome band. Then there was this year.

I have to say, at first I was pretty ho-hum about the Black Eyed Peas, but after watching them live, I have to say that was one of the worst shows I have ever witnessed (save a 45 second stretch when Slash made a cameo). Hey, I like some of their stuff on the radio, Cuz tonite's gonna be a good good ni-i-ight. But live, something was bad. Really bad. The mix was off or something, and Fergie's wailing brought back memories of Linda McCartney...WHOOO!! But the whole group? Yea, they can dance, they just didn't sound like a bunch of professionals. I have to admit the light show was pretty cool, when they did give you that rare glimpse from overhead. But that's like putting a crown on the head of a pig. It's all nice and shiny, but inside you know it smells like crap. Maybe I'm too old. Too old to appreciate modern music. But to me, the Black Eyed Peas performance wasn't the musical low-light of the night. That dubious honor goes to Christina Aguillera.

I'm old fashioned when it comes to traditional songs. The Star Spangled Banner never sounds so good as when the guy from the Blackhawk's games does it. Heck I don't even know his name, but that's the point. A relatively little know man can stir your soul with his voice, but a Grammy Award winning diva butchers it so bad, she makes Roseanne Barr sound almost human. Her pace was so slow, it evoked the famous Bleeding Gums Murphey version from the Simpson's. She had more vocal inflections in one word than Stevie Nicks gets in a night. And all that was before she completely omitted one line, and messed up another! Listen. I'm a singer. I get it. I've bumbled many a line in the course of singing 40 songs in a night. But you are Grammy winner. You are in front of millions upon millions upon millions of people. You have to sing one song. One. Learn the fuckin' lines.