Legal or not, this storm is a brewin'.

Fear. It's what drives society. It's the reason we bubble wrap our kids as they hop on a bike, or strap on a pair of rolllerblades. It's why homosexuals have stayed in the closet for so long, and why homophobes are crying foul now that the nation is coming around to acceptance and equality. It's also why bomb toting lunatics are hell bent on destroying the world around them. And for sure, it's why the war on drugs, a failed war if there ever was one, was ever launched in the first place. But there is another battle looming in that war, and nobody has done a damn thing about it.

True story, happened last week. A local delivery driver had a terrible accident and struck and killed an 81 year old pedestrian as she crossed the street. As horrible as it is for both family's involved, it's about to get a whole lot worse for one. The victims family is dealing with the sudden loss of their elderly matriarch, and while the driver will undoubtedly feel the pain for the rest of his life for accidentally taking the life of another, he will probably spend a good chunk of that life behind bars. As is normal in an accidental death related to driving a vehicle, his blood was checked. And knowing what they would find, he admitted to the police that yes he had smoked marijuana the night before. And of course, his life is over.

Lets change a couple of words there and imagine the outcome. "...he admitted to the police that yes he had smoked marijuana a couple of beers the night before." As we all know, you can drink and drink and drink, and drink some more, sleep it off, wake up the next morning, and legally drive anywhere you want. Hangover aside, one's judgement is unimpaired in the eyes of the law. But those same eyes, due to the nations war on all drugs, look at the guy that smoked pot the night before, and will charge him with felony aggravated DUI. For all of you who do not know, THC, the part of marijuana that gives you a high, stays in the body for a long time. The high will wear off in a few hours, just as alcohol will do, but the damning residue remains. There is no way of actually testing a person to see if they are high at any one given moment.

Now I know what most of you are thinking: But pot is illegal! Well you are kinda right. Here in Illinois, we are set to legalize it for medical reasons. Just like 19 other states, we are slowing winding the drug war down. But therein lies the rub. If we are legally saying that it is ok to ingest it, what are we gonna do when that person gets behind the wheel of a car? The poor schlep mentioned above actually drives for a living. Would you be any more/less sympathetic if this was next year, and he was prescribed marijuana by a doctor? More importantly, would the law? Approximately 2.5 million people legally smoke marijuana right now in this country. My guess is that they all drive. What are we going to do about that?

This isn't the first time this has happened, and for sure it won't be the last. Maybe we can find a way to test for it. Maybe put a tray of brownies in front of a person and see how many they eat. Maybe tell them a bad joke and see how long they laugh. "Yes your honor, the defendant endlessly giggled like a school girl when told the joke about the chicken crossing the road, all the while stuffing his face full of brownies. He only stopped when we took the plate away." But seriously, someday, somewhere out there, an elderly grandma with Glaucoma will take her doctors advise and smoke some pot to alleviate her symptoms, get in the car to go to church the next morning, have an accident, and get thrown in jail with the dregs of society. Won't that make a snappy headline. POTHEAD GRANNY MOWS DOWN INNOCENT BYSTANDER WHILE HIGH ON DRUGS. I'm sure some politician will use that to get elected.

A wink is as good as a nod to a blind man.

"Period." It means end of discussion. No point in carrying on. When someone tells you that "it's gonna be this way, period," you get the impression that he means it. But I am one of the five per cent-ers that got screwed by the presidents declaration that if "you like your current health plan, you can keep it." And don't forget the "Period." So I am mad. Hopping mad that my premiums will almost double. But my anger, where is it really aimed?

I have listened to plenty of friends, PLENTY, call Obama the "worst president ever." I think you are forgetting a few faces to boldly make that claim, but it is a predictable Republican reaction to having listened to eight years of Bush bashing by the liberals and how badly he failed us. I used to share an office space with a guy that would run to the trading floor at the CBOT to do a live interview with CNBC every week. Financial genius. He HATED Obama. Every day I would sit rapt as he countlessly listed one reason after another that he would be the ruin of us. But for me, my anger does not stem from financial or even social reasons.

The man that ran for the presidency in 2008 was a salesman. Still is. And he sold us his bullshit and we bought it. Twice. He took the Clinton handbook on how to win an election and did it better than the Clintons. We elected this guy because he figured out how to win the presidency based on his charm and oration skills. He didn't have a damn clue on what to do once he got in there. It is the system that gave us this failure, and it is broken so that no person can win without the money and support of one of the major parties. I fully believe that corruption in campaign finance is the biggest threat to democracy this country has ever faced.

Here's an idea. Take the top 20 people in America with a vision for the presidency, that are NOT chained to either major party, and stick them on a television show, and let them debate each other, voted off one by one until you had a candidate that America could get behind. He would have such name recognition, he wouldn't need the untold millions wasted on elections to compete.



But back to me being angry. I'm angry that Obama lied to my face. But then again, they all do it. "I did not have relations with that woman, Ms. Lewinsky," and "I am not a crook," jump to mind. Reagan lied about arms for hostages, Bush said "Read my lips: no new taxes, " then taxed us. But generally in the history of presidential liars, most did not have the intention of directly lying to the American public for political gain to win an election. Bwaa haa haa! Riiight. Ok maybe they all stretch the truth to a certain degree while itching to get into office, but this one directly and personally affects me. So I am mad. They all say they are gonna do this or that once in office, and no one can ever live up to all that. But this time, it was the salesman at his finest. We are the emperor, and we have no clothes. Got this one from a Monty Python skit, "A wink is as good as a nod to a blind man." We thought we saw the nod, but we were too blind to see he was just winking at us.

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign.

"Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?"

-Five Man Electrical Band

Never really got into that song so much as some of my older brethren, as I was a mere 7 when the song was released. I was neither a protester nor a rebel-rouser, so the lyrics did not resonate within my soul enough to get me to march naked on the steps of the nations capital in response to the overbearing rules the government was forcing upon us. It does have a killer intro though. But every time I see some ridiculous sign on the road, I do mockingly sing along to the chorus. As was the case in the pristine city of Lake Forest, IL.

LF is unique in the world. At least it likes to think itself is. In my recollection, every since that infamous day back in 1987 when respected Lake Forest resident Laurence Tureaud decided that his property was actually his and he could landscape it the way he wanted, the city decided that it knew what was better for it's citizens than the actual citizens did. Hmmm, not ringing a bell? Perhaps if I mentioned that Mr. Tureaud is more famously known as Mr. T would that shake loose the cobwebs? So LF passed an ordinance that forbid city residents from chopping down trees on their own property without approval from the city. Now I actually thought at the time that was a good thing, saving trees and all. But unfortunately it opened it a Pandoras box that would pave the way for the city to declare war on it's own citizens.

Wow, that's harsh. OK, maybe I have gone a little too far off of the deep end. But growing up next to LF and in turn driving through it's city limits, I have made a few recent observations. And yes, it's all about the signs. And yes, they are everywhere, telling you what you can and can't do if you want the pleasure of passing through this pleasant little burough. So, here are a few of my favorites:

No Parking: Oh sure, seems innocent enough. Most towns have them here and there to prevent a build up of parked cars that might hinder traffic flow. But when you consider that once you go east of McKinley, the main N/S hub that cuts through downtown, you can't park anywhere. Now is it because they want to keep the streets clear of overcrowding? No. They are there for one reason: LF has no parking at the lakefront, and if you are not a resident, they do NOT want you using their pristine shoreline. Go ahead and park anywhere you want west of McKinley, and hike .92 the miles to the beach with all your crap. Sounds so inviting.

No Parking Anywhere between 3am and 5am: It's bad enough we can't go to the beach. But God forbid you go to a party, park on the street, have one to many shots of Petron, lose your clothes, and have to crash naked on your friends couch. (This may or may not have happened at one point in the GM's past) I guess the city would rather have you drive home drunk. Or just maybe they don't want you here at all. Nahhh.

Hand Held Cell Phone Use Prohibited Here I go again. Forget all of the people who eat, put on makeup, read the newspaper, fluff their hair, shave, reach into the back to give Jr. a bag of Goldfish, or whatever crazy antic takes a hand off of the wheel and diverts their attention to something other than diving which includes texting and surfing all of those apps. But alas, it appears that as much as I want to take a flame thrower to all of those signs, it is soon to become Illinois law. I guess they were ahead of the curve on this one. But jeez, I get the hint. At every single point of entry to the town you are greeted with one of these. Every time you turn onto a new road, whoop there it is. Overkill? Nahhh.

Ride Bicycles on the Sidewalk: Or some variation of that on Green Bay Road. But isn't a side-walk just that? For walking? Wouldn't they be called side-rides if they were meant for bikes? What about the "Share the Road" program? Only in your town but not ours? But I'll bet the first time some lunatic on 2 wheels knocks over some nanny pushing her Stokke Crusi Stroller, retailing at $1249.99, heads will roll.

No engine idling. Children are breathing: I had to save this one for last. I actually laughed out loud when I saw this one. This is an actual sign seen on the premises of Lake Forest Country Day School. As if letting your car run in idle while picking up the pups is going to cause them to develop emphysema. As if the lungs of the precious elite that have enough $ to go to the ritzy school are more precious than those who are forced into the public school system. If there is a more ridiculous sign, I want to see it.

With all due apologies to the city council of Lake Forest, sometimes you gotta just blow off a little steam. And if I missed one, please tell me about it. As a matter of fact, I want to hear about the most ridiculous sign you have ever seen. And if it was in Lake Forest, I really want to hear about it.

To ban or not to ban.

There is a looming crisis building in this country. No and I am not talking about the fact that the dollar is on it's last legs as the worlds currency, meaning if you thought the 2008 recession was bad, hold on for the ride of your life when that happens. And I am not talking about the fire and brimstone that will fall from the sky when gay marriage becomes a federal law. Nor am I referring to the fact that 1 in 7 Americans are on food stamps, or that the national employment rate of around 8% is probably closer to 14% when you throw in the people the government doesn't count when it spits out it's numbers every month, (ie only the ones no longer receiving unemployment because their 18 months of checks have run out). Although those are all crises in their own right, I am talking about another bit of government intrusion into our lives: the hand held cell phone ban while driving.

Of course, 69% of you just either closed the browser window or scoffed perturbedly at my blasphemy. That is the percentage of a recent poll that favored the ban. Well I guess you can put me solidly in the other 31%. I cringe when I see one of these signs. I believe the attack on my right to not be a distracted idiot while I drive is fueled by political motives rather than concern for driver safety. Let me throw a stat at you from a study of all "distracted driver" accidents. A mere 1.5% was from using a cell phone. And to clear the air, talking on a phone with one hand on the wheel while staring at the road in front of you has nothing in common with texting while driving, which takes one's eyes off the road for periods of up to 5 seconds.

But what of those "distracted driver" accidents? If only 1.5% was using on a cell phone, what about the other 98.5%? Well guess what I did this week. I looked at other drivers and what they were doing on the expressway. Taking my eyes off of the road, shame on me, but it was the only way to gather first hand evidence. Throwing in some personal past experiences, this is what I observed.

A guy picking his teeth. Eyes on the road, but, gasp, only one hand on the wheel. I give him 1%.

Some dude flipping through his apps. Ok, this falls into the "cell phone" category, but he wasn't talking nor texting. His was surfing with his eyes on his device. He gets 4%.

A dude scratching his head and rubbing his face. Tired? Probably trying to wake up/stay awake, BUT, that dreaded one hand on the wheel, and at least one eye on the road. 3% for driving tired.

A woman putting on makeup. Or women. This is the all time leader for observations in driving to Chicago every day for 20 years. Eyes, lips, cheeks, hair, eyebrows, the list is endless. All while staring into the mirror on the visor, which is further blocking their vision. They get a generous 11%.

The executive reading the paper. No, not in the back seat while the chauffeur drives him. I saw a guy off and on with the paper draped over the wheel, and reading glasses pinched on his nose. A solid 5% go to the readers.

Everybody eating. And I mean everybody eating everything. Generally, not too horrible of an offense, eyes are only for a second staring into the sauerkraut on the dog as you take a bite, one hand firmly on the wheel, at least before you grab the wheel with your knees so your free hand can pick up the sport pepper that just fell onto the floor mat. But eaters are guilty non the less, they get 4%.

Watching television. As scary as it is to imagine someone watching a movie while they drive, which alone would give them a good 15%, this is a true story. One day downtown, I asked a dude, whom we will call Carlo, if he could give me a ride home. We both live in the same town, 40 miles north. He agreed, and picked me up in front of the building. He darted out into traffic and headed to the expressway all while doing the following simultaneously: driving, hooking up a DVD player to his car stereo, and eating his late lunch. Not a sandwich or a dog, but a plate of lemon chicken from a Chinese place. I did offer to drive, but he politely told me he does this every day. All by his little lonesome, he gets 25%.

Well I am not going to add all that up, but I can tell you it's not 100%. Which brings me to my point. We can't possibly know or control all of the stupid things people will do while driving. Unless one of them has potential voter influence, then its full speed ahead, ramming yet another regulation up the rear ends of the rest of us who feel we are intelligent enough to make our own decisions. Politicians blow with the wind, and will back whatever gives them the best chance for re-election.

"Just get a Bluetooth!" you must be screaming from the boonies. Well I don't want to stick that thing in my ear. I can drive just fine with one hand. And therein lies the rub. If the argument is that you are distracted by talking on the phone, then the law should include a ban on lipstick, newspapers and Chinese food as well. But by saying "hands free" then the argument becomes that you need two hands on the wheel. And if that is the case, then I want a new driving test where I get a special designation proving I can drive with one hand better than some can drive with two. It's not the hands, it's not the distraction, it's the person.

A lost cause.

Laaazzzyyy. That pretty much sums up my lack of ambition to pen, er, type anything meaningful. Oh sure, the world hasn't stopped turning, the ozone layer hasn't been completely destroyed, and President Obama is still the worst president in history. (OK I stole that line) Somethings just won't, or can't change. Like in Chicago. Kids are still dying, the mayor is still spending the city's money like he's on vacation in Disney World, and the weather is as unpredictable as what Sarah Palin will say next. What can we do about it? The weather, nothing. The mayor, don't vote for him next time, which basically means, nothing. And the kids getting killed? Apparently nothing either.

"That's a defeatist attitude!" I hear you shrieking. Maybe so, but what can be done about that? Take all of the guns away and melt them down into a statue of former Mayor Daley signing away Chicago’s parking meters for a bag of beans? Close all of the schools, lock all the kids in the homes and demand every Chicago parent home school their kids? Send in the National Guard to shoot first and ask questions at the next funeral? Well let me ask you this: what chance do these kids have when the parents at best are failing their kids through un-involvement, and at worst actually leading them to a life of crime? Take these two recent examples. Two stories on the same day, printed side by side in the newspaper.

In the first, a Chicago woman has a traffic altercation with a Chicago cop, which results in the woman attacking the female officer and dragging her with her own car. Worse yet, the woman’s two children were in the back. Worse even still, the older child, all of 8 years, joined in and beat the officer over the head. An eight year old beating up a cop. Can you make this shit up? And where did she get that idea? On TV? Or just maybe, kids emulate their parents. If mommy says cops are bad than it must be true.

The second, two neighbors in the city get into an argument. Woman #1 decides she’s had enough, and walks away. Inside her apartment, she hears woman #2 continue the verbal tirade when a brick comes through her window. She phones her 28 year old son who comes to her rescue. But woman #1 has her own son, 26, at the scene. So an argument over a traffic altercation turns into a deadly encounter when the son of woman #2 runs his car into the son of woman #1. She lost her offspring because another person could not live with the fact that she lost an argument. At what point did the killer think, “It is acceptable to kill another human being because my mom was disrespected?” Gee, where did he ever get that idea.

Look, I get it. I get it that I don’t get it. I am a suburban boy who has not walked a mile in their shoes. I do not know what life is like dodging bullets on a playground. I do not know what life is like when parents don’t care about the child there are raising. I do not know what it is like to be homeless. What I do know, is that kids are like parrots. They emulate what is around them. They look to their moms and dads for guidance through life. And when that guidance is leading them down a path of self-destruction, what chance do they have in life? None. But the worst part? What today's kids learn from their parents will be passed down to the next generation. How do you stop that?

The rite of spring.

Ahhh, it's finally springtime. Is that one word or two? And is it really spring? Let's look out the window shall we? Rain? Check. Winds knocking over trees? Double check. Teperature hovering in the 40's? Triple check. Cubs already mathematically eliminated from the playoffs? Eternal check. Welcome to April in the Chicago metropolitan area. No sunshine, no warmth, no winning north side baseball. It's a tradition as old as I can remember. The other day when it was mildly pleasent, meaning I wasn't getting soaked and actually was in the back yard without my parka, I put out the bird seed. I hung my hummingbird feeder with extra sweet nectar for the spring. I even put out a cob of feed corn for the encroaching squirrel army. Ahh the sqirrels. As with any rite of spring, so goes my ongoing backyard fued with the twitching tailed vermin.

I thought I had him this time. Even though a scant few hours had passed since the corn was put up as a deterrent to keep the bird niblets safe, it was depleted none-the-less. And atop my pole feeder he sat, munching away, oblivious to my evil stares. So I stalked out there, waving and shouting, and watched him scurry away to the safety of his tree branch. "I've got to do something," I thought to myself. I knew that there were semi-expensive anti-squirrel devices available at the hardware store, but that wasn't going to happen. So I did the next best thing: I made one.

My first efforts at protecting the hanging feeder last year were actually successful. Even though weather had forced the one time flat piece of veneer that was my vermin deterrent into a bendy shape, it still did the job. He couldn't leap from a close branch, he couldn't jump that high off of the ground, and I would watch in glee as he slid off of the thing time and time again. But, the garage was now empty of all pieces of veneer, and a substitute was in order for the pole feeder. So I settled on a piece of cardboard. Yes I knew that the Chicago "spring" would turn my ingenious invention into a mushy pile of corregated fibers withing hours, but I wanted to see the bastard just try and get to the top.

I retreated to the safety of the dining room, poured a cup of coffe, and waited for him to come back. And waited. And waited. 2 crossword puzzles later, there was still no squirrel. I peeked out at the corners of my yard, only to see that he was perched atop the fence, in the far corners of the yard, staring back at me. It was go time.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" I pleaded. His reply? "Mother nature."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" I pondered. I myself knew what he meant, but he was a dumb fucking squirrel.

"You see," he explained, "this is spring. It will rain. I am content to sit here and let the last remainder of my stored winter fat fuel my body while I wait for the weather to turn that piece of flimsy cardboard into pulp. When that finally happens, I will resume my dining at the buffet table that you refer to as the bird feeder."

I was taken aback. His english had become very good. His manners had improved, and he was actually showing remarkable restraint, poise, and awareness. Now I am not one to take to violence to solve my problems, and probably should have just taken the damn thing down. But my inner caveman took over as I picked up a rock and threw it at him. I missed of course, not before wildly shrieking "COMMUNIST BLOOD SUCKING BUCK-TOOTHED HELLHOUND!!" or something vaguely along those lines. As he scrurried away, I could hear his maniacal laughter mocking me. "What are you gonna do now, big brain?" he taunted.

"What now? Let me tell you what now. I'ma call a coupla hard, pipe-hittin' n_____s friends, who'll go to work on the homes here with a pair of pliers and a blow torch. You hear me talkin', hillbilly boy? I ain't through with you by a damn sight. I'ma get medieval on your ass." I let out a deep sigh, because deep down I knew that in reality, I was not going to do a bloody thing. Squirrel 1, GM 0. But the year has just begun.

Have a coke and a smile.

Being unemployed again, is not without it's moments. A little deja vu for me as I write this, (wasn't I just here like yesterday?) but with something old, there is always something new. Last time around, I sat at a tiny little desk with an IDES worker (Illinois Decides Everyone's Stupid Illinois Department of Employment Security) and tried to explain how I got fired from my last job. You see, I wasn't very good at the whole money making thing in the frenetic world of futures trading, and when I rashly pissed away the chunk of money my new employers had bestowed upon me, they decided what I already knew: that I sucked as a trader. But this time around is a whole new ball of wax: how to convince them that I deserve money after I quit.

Well I am not going to re-bore you with all of that. It is winding its way through the process, but I wanted to point out a more serious observation I noticed yesterday while in the land of the unemployed. Apparently, "unemployment office" and "smiling" are not in the same sentence. Not in the same dictionary. Hell, not even in the same galaxy. I was there for little over an hour, (yes Fridays are the best days to go, if there is a best day to actually be unemployed) and the entire time I was looking at everyones faces. From the downtrodden citizens in line with me, to the frenetic security guard that jetted around the place like his pants were on fire, to the robotic man behind the counter sending us all in this direction or that to wait out our fate, nobody ever so much as cracked a hint of a smile.

Now this phenomenon is what I like to call Flatlining Corner of the Mouth Syndrome, or FCMS for short. One would expect that standing in line to prove you aren't working, so you can have the privilege of taking home less than 1/3 of what you used to make isn't on the top ten list of things that make you smile, and I wholly anticipated that my fellow disenfranchised would not be in the smiling mood. But the workers there were like monotonal robots, unable or unwilling to make the slightest of gestures to lighten the surely despondant mood of those throwing their humility to the wind and waiting for a handout from the state. I mean, they have a job. And we don't. You would thing that fact alone might entice them do voluntarily ditch FCMS, but maybe the unrelenting stream of the same thing day in and day out has sucked the joy out of their faces.

Or maybe working for a government agency just does that to a person. Ever see anyone at the DMV smiling? Or any other government agency for that matter? I mean, aren't government jobs supposed to be coveted? And if they are so coveted, why does everyone walk around with a surly expression on their face that says, "I hate my job, I hate my life, and most of all I ain't smiling for you!" Maybe when one goes to work for the government, they catch FCMS like a cold that never goes away. Maybe it's a pre-requisite for being a government employee. Check this box if you don't smile. EVER.

Well, it's apparently working. Despite my attempts to seem not entirely unhappy but actaully pleasant by smiling at whoever came my way, no one smiled back. I can just hear Dean Wormer screaming at the top of his lungs, "No more fun of any kind!" But would it kill someone looking into the eyes of a despondant unemployed citizen and offering up the slimmest of hope by cracking a little smile? Apparently so. I know now there are three undeniable truths in this world: there is no crying in baseball, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, and there is no smiling at the IDES. Maybe they just need a coke.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD6j_7bgrtA

(DISCLAIMER: Bandzoogle in it's infinite wisdom has stripped me of the spell check, and I had to do it the old fashioned way, by re-reading this 7 times. Let's hope it didn't need an 8th.)

Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.

At last post, dear faithful readers, I had walked on my job. If any of you still have any memory comprehension, and can pull out some fleeting flash from over 2 years ago, you might recall that I once stated that I loved my job. And I did. I once stated that I respected my boss as well, and you see how well that went. So with no job, and no prospects, why aren't you posting every day you might ask? Surely there must be endless amounts of unfiltered boredom around my house, no doubt filled with tales of crossword puzzles, job search engines, pastry recipes, rabid squirrels, and cans of paint. Yea I did paint brooding young teen #2's bedroom, but that's it so far. But the only excuse I can come up with is ennui. Lack of ambition. And the move.

Yes the move. It seems brooding young teen #1, soon to become adventurous and wise twenty-something #1, has had enough of life in his 12 x 14 cell that we called his bedroom. He wanted to move out. So we obliged. The young fledgling was ready to spread his wings, and take that first deep plunge out of the nest. Er, sort of. Yes he moved out as I have stated. Of his bedroom. And into the basement. Our all in one workout room, computer room, spare TV room, band room, and whatever else we can cram down there room is gone. I type this vast expose from my new perch on the second floor, next to the wife's spin bike and yoga mat, TV balanced next to my head. It is a little cramped, but we will make it work.

But the move? It all started with the bed. If that went, then all would be right in the world. The mattress made it down the 2 flights of stairs easy enough. And when we got to "the bend" at the bottom of the basement staircase, we were able to cajole it into it's new resting place. But an eerie uneasiness was start to creep into my brain, one that went something like, "but what about the box spring dumb-ass?" Yes the comfy, bendy part of the bed was one thing, but if I know any thing about box springs, I know the "box" part is made of wood, and if I know anything about wood, I know it does not willingly bend.

So there we were, on our holy grail of a Friday night, sitting in frustration at "the bend", me on one side, the wife on the other, and a very unrelenting box spring effectively wedged in the middle apparently for all eternity. It would not make it 'round "the bend". And worse yet, it did not want to go back upstairs. We sweated. We cursed. We laughed and we cried. But the damn thing wasn't going anywhere. So just as frustration was setting in at the possibility of this box spring becoming a permanent part of the staircase, the handy man in me took over. If the bed wouldn't go around the wall, then there was only one logical choice: the wall had to go.

And go it did. Thanks to a bit of chicanery and a little help from the Rockmaster borrowed from my neighbor, the wall came down. Not the whole thing, but just enough to squeeze the bed around it. Only it wasn't enough. So more wall came down. We tried again. It appeared for a millenia minute that removing the wall was a monumental waste of time, and the thing wouldn't go. Once again we sweated and we cursed. We laughed and we cried. We pushed and we twisted. And we almost gave up. But then I took a step back, looked at the impending Jenga puzzle in my basement staircase, and had a moment of inspired vision. It was like suddenly finding the solution to one of those metal bar puzzle thingy's. One little shift to the left and it was down. The wife and I high fived each other and laughed. And breathed a heavy sigh of relief. We may have even chest bumped.

So now the young lad has his crib, sort of. He has a couch and a TV, his bed, a little nook in the corner to set up the drum kit. But more importantly, a little space to call his own. Until that fateful day when he actually does move out of the house. And we do it all over again with the other young-un. I just know I am going to have to buy a sawzall one of these days.

You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em.

As a mature responsible adult, you try to make decisions that keep the delicate balance of sanity and pragmatism in check. The yin and the yang, the push-me pull-you of life. Not entirely convinced that I have finally achieved mature responsible adult status as I approach the big five-oh, I constantly struggle with day to day decisions that effect my ability to finally become an actual grown-up. Is it okay to wear to un-matching socks as long as your pants cover them up? Is it okay to roll through that stop sign as long as a cop isn't watching? Or is it okay to to pour beer into your cereal when you are out of milk? I know a friend who struggles with that last one on a daily basis. But I had to make a decision lately, one that would not just affect my "grown up kid" status, but one that could have actual ramifications for the future of my family. Do I quit my job, with it's steady, if not unreliable paycheck? Or do I stay, and compromise my morals, and future?

"Well, how bad could it be?" I hear you asking. Umm, in a word, bad. I found myself coming home daily, and when I say daily, I mean every single frickin' day, with tales of woe, that I would drape around my poor wife's neck like a anchor from the USS Ronald Reagan. My boss said this, my boss did that, he talked to me like I was a second grader, he asked me to lie about this, to turn a blind eye to that. It went on and on and on. And we're not talking about forgetting to sharpen a pencil or politely say hello to the harpy from hell that he just hired to run our company into the ground. Stuff that made me look like an asshole to our customers. To our vendors. And to our sub-contractors. Stuff that could have potentially life damaging consequences. But I am not going to get into the grimy little details of every little thing that turned my original vision of my boss as a savvy, cool-headed businessman, into one of a clueless, unethical liar.

I will share one intimate detail with you. Or maybe two. Yea, let's go with two. One of the first times I thought about finally quitting, was a moment that I am sure he doesn't even have the slightest memory of. One that stabbed me to my core, and one that he laughed off as another day in the office. It was like the first couple of weeks after the harpy from hell had walked into our little slice of heaven. I had questioned the ethical ramifications of a certain way we were doing business, and after he explained that this was the way people did business, the harpy said, "That's right I forgot. He (The Guitarman) has morals." And with that, they both shared a brief chuckle together. Not a laugh. Not a guffaw. Not even a chortle. Just the briefest of subtle insults to who I was and what I believed in. As I walked out of the office I thought to myself, "Are you fucking kidding me? I have been here two and a half years, and he and this snot nosed little brat find this funny?" It's one thing to have to put up with crap that you find morally objectionable. It's something else when a man you once respected, that signs your paychecks, mocks you for your beliefs.

Aside from my daily tales from the dark side that I struggled constantly with, the other thing that really turned me off was what I liked to call "the talk." Like your dad sitting you down and telling you how you messed up. Like being in the principals office and getting a slap on the wrist. Whenever I said something that he didn't agree with, I got "the talk." Whenever I made a suggestion that was in the best interest of the company, I got "the talk." If he didn't agree with me, out came "the talk." And no matter what my suggestion was, or how much it would improve efficiency, or how much money it saved the company, it would always end with some variation of, "Well, when you own your own company you can run it the way you want. But this is my company, and I will run it the way I want."

Well, he is free to do just that now. Without my interference. Without my suggestions. And without my help in any way shape or form. I will end the speculation for y'all. I finally had enough, and I quit. With no sure job to provide for my family, I finally said enough was enough, and I walked. I made the decision I had been dreading for months, and it was one I didn't think myself capable of making. A right decision based on principle, not paycheck. I really didn't think I had it in me, and I surprised even myself. But the final straw came just a week or so ago, when I had one too many of "the talks." I had pointed out an error the sales team had made, and in doing my diligence, maybe saved the company thousands of dollars from ordering and installing a key component in two upcoming jobs. Was I thanked for my discovery? Was I lauded for saving the company money? Umm, neither. Instead, I got, "the talk." You see, the harpy from hell, as she is so good at, went crying to the boss that I was questioning her vast cache of knowledge, an accumulation of 25 years on this planet. I was talked to like I was a little kid, and told not to lash out at everyone. In that one moment of clarity, that instance of "you've-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me," my decision was made. It may prove to be the wisest thing I have ever done, or the stupidest. But I couldn't live with who I was becoming there, and to quote the timeless Jimmy Cliff, "I'd rather be a free man in my grave, than living as a puppet or a slave." At least I'll sleep better at night.

Penny for your thoughts?

So if you know me, and most of you don't, then you know I read the Chicago Sun Times more or less cover to cover every day. More or less meaning I don't pay any attention to the ads. And the classifieds. And the obituaries, money section, business section, any special sections, articles that don't interest me, and anything by the Reverend Jesse Jackson. But I do read the rest. It's here that I get my daily dander up, or chuckle a few chuckles, or scratch my head and say, WTF?!? Today is no exception. I usually try and conjure up some deep thought, and pretend for 15 minutes that my option matters. But in the end, it is all just a release from the daily realities of life, mostly my stress from a job I love all while working for a boss that I can't respect and a company that is in shambles. But that is all going bye-bye now, as I decided that my semi-secure paycheck wasn't worth compromising my morals. So today, no serious expose. Just a bunch of not-so-light randomness. Penny for your thoughts?

JJJ is going down in flames. I called it. Waaay back when Blago was being busted, I called it. When he flew his mistress here from DC on campaign funds, I called it. When he and his wife remodeled their DC condo with those same funds, I called it. And when he knew he was going down, and his bi-polar depression BS was being shopped to the media, and he won a campaign re-election despite being in a nut house at the time, I called it. Now he is going to jail, soon to be followed by his wife, and the kids will be raised the morally upstanding, aforementioned Reverend Jesse Jackson. You know, the one that was having an affair at the same time he was counseling President Clinton on the Lewinsky scandal? Well, it looks like he did a bang up job of raising his own son, and I am sure the grandkids will just be more apples falling from the same tree.

Vicente Garcia led the most brutal gang in Chicago, the Latin Kings, overseeing 10,000 fatherless thugs, and ordering killings with the shrug of the shoulders like most of us would order coffee at Starbucks. How brutal was he? The "Supreme Regional Inca" once punished one of his own, the leader of the Cicero faction of the Latin Kings, for not killing a rival fast enough. But he going away for a long time now, and in court he was crying like a baby, all of a sudden finding his moral compass, saying he had a “broken heart and a broken spirit” and apologized “to the communities that have been affected by gang violence” and “to those people who lost family members and loved ones through my actions.” Dude. Too little too late. Maybe if you had listened to your parents when growing up you wouldn't be heading to jail for 40 years.

But then, listening to your parents might not always be in your own best interests. Especially when you are Xenia Jaimes and your parents help you to kidnap your ex-boyfriend fuck-buddy, bind him with duct tape, beat him with a pipe and crutch, photograph his half-naked body, and threaten to kill him, probably in that order. His crime? He was allowed to take nude photos of her, with her permission, and was the benefit of a strip tease on a web cam. Poor Xenia didn't want those images all over the internet, so she figured she had to be pro-active by beating the crap out of him. Hey dumb-ass, maybe go to your parents FIRST next time and maybe they would tell you that it's probably not a good idea to strip in front of a web cam. Unless you are a porn star. Then again, maybe talking to the parents might not have been a good idea either.

I will close with one that screams "you've got to be kidding me" from the top of Mt. Rainier. The Amish community has been under siege recently in Cleveland from a series of bizarre hair and beard cutting attacks. Who would want to harm the poor Amish? Their only possible crime would be that they drive too slow in their horse drawn buggies. But cutting off their beards and hair? That's just bizarre. But they got the ringleader, and guess what. He is one of them.

And his name is Sam Mullet Sr., with one of the ZZ Top beards of his own. Have I got this straight? A guy with the name "Mullet" is cutting off other peoples hair? You just can't make shit up like this.

Lessons from the Super Bowl

Now that was a Super Bowl! One team way out in front, other one comes storming back, game still on the line with under 2 minutes to play, scantily clad women for the

halftime show, (albeit there were no wardrobe malfunctions), had a team to actually root for as I hate all things Harbaugh (actually not all things, hate Jim, like John), was just a little better than a scratch on the pool (paid $50 to win $60, Vegas here I come baby!), and had so much food I think I won't have to eat until Super Bowl XLVIII. But just as in life, there were many lessons to be learned from watching. And, so it goes, I bring you a Superbowl themed 5 in 5.

Beyonce: Have to start with the blow out extravaganza that was the halftime show. Now I know there are certain things one looks for when assessing a good halftime show. 1. The music. She is at the top of her profession with a fabulous voice, and though I am not into her genre, I have to admit she did not let down there. Even thought I didn't recognize 2 seconds of anything she sang last night, and was pining for Tom Petty to sneak out and drop it down a notch, all the while wondering who this Destiny was and what her child had to do with anything, I couldn't stop watching. 2. The Performance. The routines were not only superb, but the timing was unbelievable. They must've rehearsed that more times than days in a year. 3. The bombast. I'd give it a solid 9. Only comparing what we witnessed to say, oh the opening ceremonies at the Olympics, was it lacking at all. No I think she nailed it, and even though I kept trying to bring up the lip-syncing angle, I was shot down to a man. Give me some good old classic rock, and I'm happy. But at least it wasn't a disaster like the Black Eyed Peas 2 years ago. Lesson: Big is better, less is more. As in spectacle and clothing, respectively.

Harbaughs: Never knew much about John Harbaugh before this game. NFC Bears don't play the Ravens often enough, so I can only read what I read. Came away with the impression he is a calm, smart, disciplined leader. Don't know who molded him, but it seemed to work. Jim, on the other hand, is the yang to John's yin. Granted, during his playing days, he had to deal with a fiery Mike Ditka at one point, but if Ditka was a yeller, then John is a wailing banshee. Saw a few 49's games this year, and I don't think I can remember a game when the spit wasn't spraying, the headphones weren't spinning off towards the 45 yard line, and he wasn't jumping up and down like a spoiled baby. There is fire, and then there is fire. A friend asked me if I preferred Lovie Smith's deadpan demeanor. Well, isn't there something in between a dead rock and an M-80? Um, yea there is. In Baltimore. Lesson: Act like you've been there before.

Commercials: There could be a whole 5 in 5 within the 5 in 5 here, but I will condense so you don't close the page. Always looked forward to the commercials, but this year...hmmmm. Wasn't it a bit of a dud? I mean, a few okay ones, but nothing magnifico. I always love the eTrade baby. He gets me every time. The Dorito crazed goat. Kinda cute. The gross Go Daddy spot was funny. Once. There seems to be no end of hot chics who love M & M's. Baby's really do come from outer space? I thought so, that would explain a few things. Like I said, a few chuckles, but mostly just "...eh." I was waiting for that iconic spot, where you would either laugh your brains out, or, well, laugh your brains out. They did succeed in one area though. You never knew what any of them were for until the last few seconds. Lesson: 4 million dollars is chump change to waaaay too many people.

The Game: There have been some clunkers over the years, but Super Bowl XLVII was a great game that had it all. And it also proved a lot of things. Like the hype can't actually overshadow what happens on the field. That you don't need a superstar quarterback to win the big one (yea, Flacco and Kapernik may make headlines for years, but when the year started, it was all Manning this and Rodgers that, blah, blah, blah). That 2 brothers can grow up to do do the exact same thing and reach the pinnacle of their profession and still be 2 completely different people. That a man who is widely considered to be the best at his position in the history of the game is still overshadowed by a personal transgression in the defining moment of his career. That the same man with means and a name can buy the silence of another in exchange for his freedom. Lesson: On any given Sunday, any team, and anyone, can win.

Amusement: So I had a few friends over for the game. Yea, wanted to really show off the 50" plasma and surround sound (the sound of that nerd kissing the model will echo in my head forever). Had out a big spread, a few cold ones, some wine, the works. Biggest TV day of the year, biggest sporting event of the year, most expensive commercials of the year, and what was everyone watching in my house? The cats. They were hovering around the console all night, sniffing all around, darting in and out, tails wagging...then it hit me. There was a mouse under the TV. At half time the little bugger peaked his head out, saw the fur and claws, and scurried back under. But there was no denying the cats. Soon enough, Bella came out with the little guy in her mouth, someone yelled "We got some action!", and as one dude, yes guy, jumped up on his chair, we all took in the spectacle of nature sorting itself out. Only it was in my living room. I tossed the poor bugger into the snowy February tundra beyond my back yard. It was, by far, the highlight of the evening. I didn't have to drop a bunch of money on food, and clean up and cook for a day. Next time I'll toss a couple of chipmunks into the living room and charge admission. Lesson: People are easily amused. Despite the $4,000,000 commercials.

Murder, 101: How to stop the killings.

Another dead body, just another day in Chicago. And the world. Eh, all I have to do is turn the page and it's gone. Oops, there's another story of a promising young kid gunned down in broad daylight for no reason. Take a sip of coffee, skip ahead a couple of pages. There, all better. Oops again! Islamic Militants killing UN workers for...insulting their God? Nope. Practicing another religion? Infidels!! Nope again. For trying to help the sick? To quote Col. Hans Landa from Quentin Terantino's brilliant Inglorious Bastards, "That's a bingo!" Where did it all begin? And where will it all end? I don't know about the crap on the other side of the world, but here at home, I have an idea.

I have given up on trying to figure out what exactly won't piss off Islamic Militants these days. You draw a bad cartoon, somebody dies. You make a bad movie, somebody dies. You tell one that their mother wore combat boots, someone dies, despite the fact that she probably really did wear combat boots. Most likely during inception, but I digress. So it was with a shrug of the shoulder and a weak, "eh," that I took in today's news that a police officer protecting a group of U.N. workers in Pakistan was killed by motorcycle riding attackers straight out of a James Bond movie. Their crime? Attempting to vaccinate the local kids from polio. The reasoning? The attackers believed the workers were spies attempting to sterilize their Muslim children. Well, as sick as it is, at least they have a cause. Lunatics who choose to kill in the name of their God are just that. Lunatics.

But, at least raving, rifle waving, Islamic militants have a cause. Completely unlike the rampant youth lobbying volleys of lead at innocent crowds of kids that had somehow not been sucked into the very life that would ultimately be their demise. Today was just another day, but within a few miles of the house I was working in yesterday, at the very time I was bending pipe and pulling wire, a couple of punks without a soul stole the lives of two innocent people, causing immeasurable grief to two family's, whose lives now will never be the same. The first story is all too common. Fifteen year old, promising student at a college prep school, described as a "walking angel", mom was on the verge of moving to the burbs, killed in a park blocks from her home. I've heard it too many times before.

The second story is even more heartbreaking. Mother loses second son to gunfire, twenty seven year old father of five, killed a block from home in the area of the exact same store his younger brother was killed in less than 2 years ago, trying to get a certification for an honest job. And, I swear I am not making this up, this pales in comparison to the murder last week of what was the fourth, the fourth of four children to die in the same family. How can one human being be expected to deal with that kind of tragedy and heartbreak? Could you actually go on, losing all four of your kids? But all of this is not new. This kind of shit goes on 24/7, in all corners of the globe. So why the long lament? Because I think I have a solution.

Saw a bumper sticker the other day, and old marine saying. Kill 'em all, let God sort it out it read. Nice, right? But there is some method in that madness. Remember the old series of tough guy movies from the seventies? Clint Eastwood, Charles Bronson, Chuck Norris, and so on. Always, in the end, they would sort of go all vigilante on society. The bad guys would be dead, and sure, they would get yelled at by their Captain. But in the end, the world was a little safer. Okay, bad analogy I know, but here's the rub. In Pakistan, or Algeria, or Iraq, or wherever there is this pervasive lawlessness and militants kill at will at the drop of a hat, it's a faceless enemy. But here, back home, in Chicago, these kids, these fatherless monsters, these gangbanging losers with no life, no future, and no soul, they have a face. Somebody out there knows them. Somebody knows who killed Hadiya Pendelton and Devin Common yesterday. And they choose to do nothing.

What if they made a phone call? What if they told a priest? What if they joined forces with other like minded members of their community and drove the bad guys out? But what if they got a gun and put a hole in the forehead of the piece of shit that just ruined a family forever? Would anyone care? Or would they applaud?

Cain vs. Abel

What a week I had. No, I wasn't frolicking in the surf of southern Florida. Nor was I schushing down the slopes of Jackson Hole, WY. Likewise in hiking the Rocky Mountains, partying in New Orleans, or buzzing the music scene in Austin, TX. I have done 3 of the 5 in my lifetime, but not this week. This week was a test of moral character. A battle between the part of my brain that wants to cling to ethical values, let's call that part "Abel", and the one that pays the bills in our house that we will call "Cain". I would be proud to say that in the battle of wits, Abel stood triumphantly over the smoldering body of Cain, but for any of you that have heard the story, that's not exactly how it played out. And as it was many millennium ago, Cain wins.

A few months ago, Abel was minding his own business. Trudging along, trying to let his voice be heard in a world full of Cains, he felt lost. Confused. Even belittled at times for being himself. Wondering what his place was in the world. Cain, however, was doing fine. Not thriving, but not dying either. You know, toeing the line. Both were co-existing for the sake of the their long lost cousin, whom we will call Irwin. (No idea where that came from.) Irwin you see, is the part of my brain that controls my sanity. The one that intervenes when diverging paths threaten to upturn the apple cart and let my brains go spilling into a vast crevasse of ethereal nothingness. He usually wins, but he usually has the help of a couple of friends named Mr. Moscado and Mr. Cuervo. Irwin needs to win. He will pull out all of the stops to ensure triumphant victory. Trouble is, Cain has really been fighting back these days.

Abel found out recently that he is under attack. He really has no means to defend himself, so, in times of insurmountable pressure, he turns to Irwin. Irwin, with the help of his friends, convinces Abel to chill, and chill he does. For a couple of days anyway. But Cain plods merrily along, knowing that a battle is brewing. But brewing it was, and came to a head this past week. Irwin was no where to be found, as it was 1:00 in the afternoon and the services of Mr. Moscado and Mr. Cuervo were unavailable. As formidable as a Knight in shining armor may be, without his sword and shield, he is only a paper tiger. There was Abel, alone on the battle field, staring face to face with the un-intending casualty of this war on her own soil. He could have told her to join forces with him in order to vanquish an evil foe. But instead, he chose not to risk her fate with his, and mercifully threw himself in the oncoming path of the thundering train that was bearing down upon them, with Cain at the helm.

Some of you out there have been in this situation. Some of you have had the option of bitch slapping Cain in the face and saying enough is enough. It may be as easy as changing trains at the station for some of you. But for me, if I get off this train, there is not another one. There is no station. Nor is their a cab or a bus or even a flippin' rickshaw to help get to the next one. If I get off this train, I am at the foot of Mount Everest, needing to climb to the top on my own to board the next train. Only there are no Sherpa's around for miles to help me carry my load. So a decision was made. Proud? Not on your life. Pragmatic? It's what I am clinging to. Are you confused? Join the frickin' club.

None of this light is wasted.

There used to be a time, way back when, that we used to pull a large flat piece of grooved vinyl from a protective sleeve, or not, place it on a spinning wheel, and place a small needle into it's grooves. At that moment, the stereo speakers would crackle to life, and out poured the most beautiful sounds the ear can behold. And when you listened to all that side had to offer, you flipped it over, and repeated the process. Thus you heard the album in its entirety, exactly as the artist wanted you to hear it. Did we listen to the whole thing out of respect for their artistic integrity? Were we too lazy to physically pick up the needle and move it to a new space? Or were albums back in those days just so damned good that every song was a musical masterpiece? Probably a combination of all three, but in today's digital world, songs are plucked out of the stratosphere and downloaded into a device that was smaller than a cassette tape, bypassing the artist's attempt to weave you through a story of their making. I still choose to purchase the "album", well not the vinyl, but the smaller digital disc we call a "CD". I just can't help but to still refer to them as albums.

But way back then, you couldn't sample a song or two before you purchased it, you only had the radio. If 1 song from the album made the radio, it was enough for you to run out and buy it. If 2 or 3 of the songs out of the 10 or 12 were great, you knew you had a keeper. And if you couldn't help but listen to both sides, or all 4, over and over, it was iconic. My all time favorite album, The Wall, by my all time favorite group, Pink Floyd, is in that category. I can still to this day put it on and not stop until 1:46 of Outside The Wall faded to an end. But today is a crap shoot. I am too lazy to look up all of the songs, sample them one by one, and make a decision whether or not to plunk down the $12.99 for the neatly cellophaned package. I just buy the damn thing. Some bands you just take a chance on, and thus was the case when I heard that the Foo Fighters had just released a new album, Wasting Light.

Now you may or not be a big fan of the Foo, but I am. Every music lover has that sound, that melody, that guitar lick, that makes the brain go, "aahhh." And boy does Dave Grohl have my number. From the first unholy sounding notes of the opener Bridge Burning to the ringing power chords of the closing Walk, there is not a bad song on the album. Hell, there is not a bad 10 seconds to be found anywhere. Even with the simple act of pushing the >> button on the cars CD player, you know, to jump over a less than listenable song, I find myself lapping up every second of this piece of musical wonder. I can't help but singing aloud or in my head, days after it has been put back into its little plastic enclosure, from any one of the songs. Rope, Dear Rosemary, Alandria, every song has one of those melody's that grabs me by the ears and shakes my head. Back and Forth, Matter of Time, it goes on and on. I still remember the day I bought the "album", ripping off the wrapper like a little kid on Christmas. The first song ended and I was all like, "wow." Then the next song began, and I was all like, "wow". On and on it went, each time saying to myself, "Is it the next song?" You know, the one where you wouldn't be tapping your hands on the steering wheel, or singing along to the harmonies. The one where you knew the artist was actually human, capable of writing and releasing a bad song. But it never happened.

There are plenty of CD's I have bought recently that have that one song that made me buy the "album", only to be disappointed by the bulk of the work. Like the artist tricked you by putting out the one song that didn't sound much like the rest of the "album". Ray LaMontagne did it to me with "Trouble." John Mayer did it to me with "Born and Raised". Perhaps I should go all new age and listen to the songs before I buy them. Then again, I really miss the days when you could run out and by the latest Led Zeppelin album without so much as hearing a note, and know that you were in for something wonderful. Maybe with all the focus these days on recording the next hit, and not he next great "album", artists have lost their way. But thank God there are still guys out there like Dave Grohl that "get it." That it's not ok to throw together a bunch of crap for the sake of wrapping it around one great song. Maybe you can't stand the Foo, and think all of that is crap. But beauty is in the eye, or ear, of the beholder. To each is own. One mans trash is another man's treasure. And so on. But if If I could say just one thing to Mr. Grohl, it would be, 'I know you are a man and so am I and it goes against all of nature, but I want to have your baby,' 'I really love your new album.'

UPDATED!! 2013, the year of the....

So it's 2013. Whoop de doo. This year will see some nice big numbers for The Guitarman, and not all the good kind. 20, good. As in years married, no one thought we'd make it this far. Love you hon! All in all, we raised a couple of good kids, and we still have our health. 50, bad. Yes this will mark the half century for me, the eyes are going, the gut is expanding, the pants are getting wider and shorter, I mean really, what possible good can come from this? 450,000, good and bad. Good that I won't be among those Americans that now have to dole out a whopping 39.6% of their salary to pay the federal government for the pleasure of being a citizen. Bad that I don't make a half a million dollars a year. But what else will this year bring? Gun control? Gay marriage? Legal marijuana? Maybe yes to all three, but I want to look at what the year could look like if a few choice citizens of this world just faded from the public eye never to be seen again. A very special 5 in 5 for the new year.

Hugo Chavez: Battling cancer, the frail Venezuelan President is clinging to life. Now I am not going to outwardly hail his demise from this earth, but any man like Chavez that boldly calls for the destruction of another nation, in this case America, has no place in my heart. Hey, Venezuelans love him, in theory. At least that's what I read. But are they brainwashed to the point that they don't know right from wrong? Venezuela and Chicago have a number in common, 500. In 2013, Chicago passed 500 murders for the year. It's bad here. But in December of 2008, the city of Caracas eclipsed that number. That's in a month. At the time, it was the per capita murder capital of the world. And don't forget the political corruption that returns Chavez to power every six years. What's not to love about that? No, no, the world would be better off if Chavez wasn't in power, and it appears the only way that is going to happen is if cancer wins.

James Komaniecki: Well unless you are an avid reader of this, um, blog thingy, then you are saying, who? Let me fill you in. JMK is the president of RestoreAmericanLiberty.com, a lunatic fringe if there ever was one. They believe, and very strongly I might add, that the sanctity of marriage should be confined to those that are between a woman and a man, thereby taking away basic liberties, that he enjoys every day of his life, from a group of people not bound to his extreme idealisms. They believe that gays have made an immoral lifestyle choice, and have so sinned in the eyes of their version of God, that they would deny them the chance to live as an equal. That they can be cured from this malady of being gay, just like they can be cured of something like cancer. There is no place in civilized society for lunatics hell bent on ruining the lives of people they will never even meet. But there is hope on the horizon, as the times they are a changin', and JMK and his band of Komanieckiites will hopefully fade into the sunset of 2013.

Michele Leonhart: The current head of the DEA has a job to do. Part of that job is to enforce the drug laws in this country. But to do so blindly, while common sense as well as public opinion tell us otherwise, is showing that her true colors lie with her personal convictions, and not those those of the office she is to uphold. Despite campaign promises to leave decisions on the argument of legal marijuana to the states, Obama appointed this pot-aphobe to do otherwise. She is cracking down on dispensaries where it is legal, like Wyatt Earp in the old west. Under testimony before a Judiciary Subcommittee, she was asked if pot was worse for you than heroin, crack, and meth, and each time answered with a non answer. In her eyes, and those of the federal government, a hit off of a joint is like sticking a heroin needle in your arm. Clearly she has tried them all and is basing her assumptions on personal history. So despite the fact that the country is finally coming around to not only see the medical benefits of natures wonder drug, but to end the prohibition against it's recreational use as well, she has still got the holsters on and is blasting away at anything that moves.

Hillary Clinton: The beauty of blogs, of course, is to allow ones self to state personal opinion without boundaries. Hence when I say that HRC is a loathsome wench with personal goals driving her unabated ambition to be all thing Red, White, and Blue, I am merely stating that I hate her guts and hope to God that she will not run again for president in 4 years. Why? Because the name Clinton has been hanging around our necks for too long. Because she is/was/always will be about personal goals. Because the Clinton's make the word "election" more about telling us what we want to hear than what they actually believe. Because Barack Obama beat her at her own game, and if she is the best that party has to offer in 4 years, we are in serious trouble as a country. Now recently, she has been having some health issues and as of this writing has a blood clot lodged in her brain. If just maybe that clot would work it's way to the part of her brain that controls her ego, and nudge it along it's way, then we can have a conversation. But until then, Hillary, please, just please go away.

The Guitarman: I mean seriously, would you miss me even a little bit?

UPDATE!!

Since the writing of this, er, um, blog thingy, a familiar name jumped into the spotlight, and I feel compelled to add his name to the dubious list of "People who should go away for the common good of man." He would have made the original list on his past actions alone, but now more than ever I need to shine the spotlight on him.

Cardinal Francis George: For those of you that don't call the Chicago Metropolitan Area your home and don't pray to the rosary, ie: Catholic, let me introduce you. CFG is the head of the Archdiocese of Chicago, the most powerful Catholic in all of Illinois. I think. But in any case, he joins my list because he has failed as a leader of men. Let's jump in the way back machine a bit. For years, he not only turned a blind eye to the lusting pedophile priests in his ranks at best, but at worst actually hampered investigations into the scandal. Only when the media turned the Catholic world upside down by exposing the world wide gentleman's club did he come clean and and denounce the would-be rapists among his clergy. But now, he is demanding of our local leaders that they abandon the campaign to legalize same sex marriage in Illinois. One would expect Cardinal Francis George to uphold archaic Catholic dogma by slamming the rights of the LGBT community. But the true insult is how he makes it so inviting to be a member of his flock by mentioning a “special mass” for them, and also maintains that the church gives them a path to “covert to God’s ways.” Gee, what self-respecting gay person would say no to that? In reality, he is basically saying, ‘we don’t want you co-mingling with the rest of us, and we believe your lifestyle choice can be cured.’ Oh, and forget your basic human rights that marriage provides to everyone else in his church. His reasoning? Aside from his version of what God wants for all of us, he says there is no way to “consummate a marriage.” Being a Catholic priest, I am sure he knows from personal experience what that means exactly. Maybe we should ask Daniel McCormick. Or any one of the 85 priests in the Chicago Archdiocese that have been accused of molestation, that he has shielded from prosecution. Why anyone would listen to George and his outdated views is beyond me. There is a little thing in the constitution about the separation of church and state, and clearly the Cardinal has crossed that line. Listen, you want to keep gays from “infecting” your flock, or denying them communion, or whatever makes you sleep better at night, go for it. But please stop telling the rest of the world how to run their lives, and for God’s sake, let the politicians do their jobs without your religious interference.