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February 28, 2005: Congratulations, Carly Reynolds! I love watching “Beverly Hills, 90210” in syndication. And now Hilary Swank’s winning not one, but two, Best Actress Oscars™ makes my Beverly Hills’ television experience all the sweeter.
February 26, 2005: My New Desktop Photograph
I also decided that this is the photograph that bests represents the banner graphic I want on the other pages of my site. So this morning and last night, I substituted it for the former banner with the kids. That banner, you may recall, had the trademark brick Donutbuzz™ background and graffitti, as well as part of my wife’s arm. My wife’s arm is not visible in the new banner, but I don’t think that’s going to disappoint anyone--except maybe for my few visitors from Great Britain and Brazil, especially those who have fetishes for pictures of parts of arms of other people’s wives. Years from now, when the kids have one of their obligatory sibling disputes, I’m going to show them this photo. Then I’m going to ask them what the hell happened.
February 25, 2005: Real Men Eat Quiche, Support Gay Marriage And Dig Accessorizing Their Yahoo! Avatars
As you can probably tell, my original Yahoo! avatar doesn’t reflect an accurate presentation of how I really appear. In real life, our bar-b-que set is always in our basement and usually has at least three or four furballs resting on and/or around it. On the couple occasions when I’ve used our bar-b-que, the smoke is much, much blacker than pictured here. I’m also not nearly as poised when I’m trying to contain the flames that are about to engulf both of our penguins. (Our penguins really hate my bar-b-que. And our cats.) So, I had to break out the old (Version 7) Jasc Paint Shop Pro and tweak my avatar so that it better reflects my reality.
As for the fabulous quiche I would be eating with my bar-b-que, it’s on the table with the umbrella.
February 24, 2005: A Conversation With My Wife About Don Cheadle This marks the first year I can remember that I haven’t seen any of the movies nominated for an Oscar™ for “Best Picture.” In the last few weeks, I’ve hoped to catch “Sideways,” but it looks like I’ll have to add this to our Netflix queue. One of my favorite character actors is Don Cheadle, and this year’s he’s nominated for his role in “Hotel Rwanda,” another movie I didn’t see. When I mentioned Don Cheadle to my wife, here’s our resulting conversation: My Wife: “Who is Don Cheadle?” Me: (Trying to think of movies my wife and I have seen together that included Don Cheadle) “Ummmm. . . he was in ‘Boogie Nights.’” My Wife: “I remember only two people from ‘Boogie Nights’. Well, one person and one penis.” February 24, 2005: The Vikings Have Had It With You, Mr. Moss They’ve traded you. You won’t have to worry about those cold Minnesota winters. You won’t have to fret dealing with those “cheeseheads.” Or worry about the consequences of mooning them. I hope you have better luck with the Raiders in Oakland. The weather’s nicer there. I’m sure that you’ll have many fans there, too. They’ll love watching your amazing agility and grace on the football field. In my mind, of course, there’s not much difference between a Viking and a Raider. And I’m sure that we won’t see much difference in Randy Moss’ antics, either. But he’s going to look a lot cooler wearing that silver and black uniform than he did in purple. February 22, 2005: Worst. Movies. Ever. Here’s the Netflix system for assigning ratings to movies:
Out of curiosity, and following the model of Ken Jennings, whose list is here, I decided to see how many movies I’ve seen. I haven’t completed the process, but I’ve confirmed that I have seen over one thousand movies. I’ve also discovered that there are very few films that received one gold star from me. Call me crazy (I know, I know, you have), but I enjoy the escapist fare of movies. I can’t recall having hated that many films I’ve seen. And when I totaled the “one stars,” that memory proved true. So far, there are only eleven “one star” films on my list. What may surprise you is that several of the films I hate are not failures in the eyes of critics. You probably love a couple of the films I hate. “Adaptation” Look. I love Charlie Kaufman. “Being John Malkovich.” Five Stars. “Confessions of a Dangerous Mind.” Five Stars. “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” I haven’t seen it. . . but I will soon. And I know it’s Five Stars. But as far as I’m concerned, “Adaptation” sucked. Hard. Maybe it was Nicholas Cage. Maybe it was the protracted telephone scene between Meryl Streep and Chris Cooper where Meryl Streep couldn’t stop humming and mumbling. Maybe it was my complete sleep deprivation following the birth of my son. Maybe. I’ve spoken with several people about this film. All of them loved it. (You know who you are.) I’m not saying any of you who loved this film are wrong on this one, either. But this was one of those rare occasions when I stopped the dvd and returned it to Blockbuster without caring about the last hour of the movie. Someday, when that special someone gives me a portable dvd player, I’m going to give this film another chance. But I have to finish watching the last four seasons of “The X-Files” first. “American Psycho” This film’s use of Huey Lewis and The News’ “Hip To Be Square” and Phil Collins’ “Sussudio” was both creative and unparalleled. That’s the good news. The bad news is that I like my sex and violence separate in my films, and if I’m going to watch anyone chase a woman down a spiral staircase with a running chain saw it’s going to be Leatherface, not some Wall Street Yuppie played by Christian Bale. I didn’t care how this one ended, and my wife and I walked out of the theater. Apparently, over twenty thousand users on IMDB disagree with us on this one. “Another You” This one’s sad. Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor had developed a wonderful, comedic chemistry in “Silver Streak” and “Stir Crazy.” But in their last pairing together, “Another You” gives you Wilder and Pryor in the twilight of their careers. I really wanted this movie to succeed. Instead, it was like watching a train wreck. Wilder and Pryor deserve better than this. “Bringing Down the House” I can understand “Adaptation” making Netflix’s “Top 100” films list--but not BDTH. Judging from the trailers I saw, it looked promising. Steve Martin plays the “fish out of water” attorney who meets his match in Queen Latifah, a former convict. Then there’s Eugene Levy, who has made a nice comeback in the “American Pie” trilogy. BDTH disappointed me because I kept waiting for all those funny scenes I saw in the previews. They never materialized in the first hour. When I perused the Blockbuster shelves, I hesitated renting BDTH. As John Lennon sang, I should have known better. Steve Martin hasn’t been his “wild and crazy guy” self in years. With the exception of his cameo in “And the Band Played On,” Martin’s solidly entrenched in his “Disney” career phase. It makes sense for him. “Cheaper By the Dozen” and BDTH earned over 100 million dollars at the box office. You think a sequel to “The Jerk” is going to earn that kind of money? Martin doesn’t think so, either. It’s a shame, really, that the business of film results in celluloid travesties such as “Bringing Down the House.” “Death To Smoochy” I had such high hopes for this one. When I heard Robin Williams and Ed Norton were filming a comedy about one children’s entertainer who plots revenge on another, I thought how could this go wrong? “Who is Danny Devito, Alex?” “Correct!” “I’ll take promising movies that Danny Devito Has Screwed Up With His Directing for $600, Alex.” “It starred Ben Stiller and Drew Barrymore.” “What is Duplex?” “Keep going.” “$800, please.” “This one had an insipid premise, a frying pan and Billy Crystal.” “What is ‘Throw Momma From the Train?” “Correct.” “Finish it out.” “Even Jack Nicholson couldn’t help this one.” “What is Hoffa?” In fairness to Devito, though, I think the material of “Death to Smoochy” wasn’t great. We did stay for the ending, which was an inspired satire of “The Manchurian Candidate.” And Jon Stewart did have a bit part that prevented my wife and me from leaving the theater this time. “Jaws 3” and “Jaws the Revenge” We hold these truths to be self-evident. “Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back” Hating this movie made me realize how much I’m becoming like my father. “Mad Dog and Glory” Robert DeNiro, Bill Murray and Uma Thurman in the same movie sounds like another winner from Quentin Tarantino. But this wasn’t a Tarantino film. I can only hope he can remake this disaster. “Nightmare on Elm Street 2” I’m a big fan of Freddy. You just have to like a disfigured criminal who enters the dreams of horny teenagers and finds amusing ways to kill them. Unfortunately, there’s nothing funny about Freddy in the first sequel to the “Nightmare on Elm Street” series, and that’s why this movie failed. NOES2 focuses on the troubled teenager--not Freddy--and there’s nothing funny about a troubled teenager. Unless he’s horny, of course. And this guy was only troubled. “Waking Ned Devine” Wake me when it’s over.
February 20, 2005: Granddad Fred Dear Seth and Lydia, Sixty-eight years ago today, your Grandfather Fred was born. Your Granddad Fred passed away several years ago before you arrived, and even before your Mom and I met. Although he’s not here to tell you about himself, I’d thought I’d let you know some things about him. 100 Things About Your Granddad Fred 1. He was born in Portsmouth, Virginia, to Esther and Moses. 2. He has a younger brother, Marc. 3. In high school, his classmates voted him “Most Original.” 4. His high school yearbook has a photo of him on a scooter. 5. I asked him for a scooter several times. He never got me one, but he did get me a 1973 Nova for my seventeenth birthday. 6. He graduated from Columbia College in New York City in 1958. 7. He was coxswain on the crew team. After his team won a race, the other rowers dumped him in the Hudson River. 8. One of his best friends, David, also attended Columbia. He is my godfather. 9. Granddad Fred worked for an advertising firm after college. 10. He also served in the Army, and sewed parachutes. 11. During his Army service, he became interested in library services. 12. He later pursued and obtained his master’s degree in Library Science at Columbia University. 13. He met my mom, your Grandmother Sylvia, in 1962. They were married on August 18, 1963. 14. He and Grandmom Sylvia were living in New York City when President Kennedy was shot. 15. He believed Oswald acted alone. 16. He was registered as an Independent but held liberal political views, especially as it involved civil rights of others. 17. He volunteered time to The United Way and our local Goodwill charities. 18. In 1967, he traveled to San Francisco during the “Summer of Love.” 19. He hated the smell of bacon. 20. He did not keep kosher, however, and loved seafood, especially shrimp. 21. He also loved ribs. 22. He ate everything my mom cooked for us. But he didn’t insist that we “clean” our plates. 23. He bought me my first Lego™ set, took me to see my first movie “Fantasia,” and let me help him complete Playboy Playmate jigsaw puzzles before I was four years old. 24. He wore a beard and mustache the entire time I knew him. 25. He loved operas and owned several albums of performances from the Met. 26. When I was a pre-teen and I asked him who his favorite popular singer was, he replied “Neil Diamond.” 27. When Abba was popular, he enjoyed whistling “Dancing Queen” and other Abba songs. 28. He bought a couple jukeboxes for five dollars apiece at an auction. He kept one and bought one hundred forty-fives for it. We listened to these tunes all the time when I was little. 29. He climbed a mountain and rafted a river. 30. He used a chainsaw and loved to split wood. 31. He loved to play tennis and built a tennis complex that, unfortunately, went bankrupt. The courts were housed under a “bubble” sustained by air pressure, and vandals kept puncturing the bubble with sharp objects. 32. He gave me my first tennis racquet. He had the handle sawed so I could hold it. 33. He paid for more tennis lessons than I remember. 34. He watched me lose my first round matches in the Public Courts tournament twice. And he watched me lose at least one doubles match when I played for George Washington High School’s tennis team. 35. He loved all films and took me to see “Terms of Endearment,” “The Freshman,” “Harlan County, USA,” “Pinocchio,” “The Fugitive,” “Ghandi,” “Schindler’s List,” “Bugs Bunny All-Star,” and “The Full Monty.” Just to name a few. 36. He traveled to Russia, Sweden, India, China, France, Germany and almost every one of the contiguous forty-eight states. 37. He sent me postcards from across the world. 38. He wrote me letters when I was in college. 39. He always told me, “You can’t live life like a scared rabbit.” 40. He also told me, “If you want to meet rabbits, then you have to go where the rabbits are.” 41. He never gave us any dog or cat, but he tolerated our collection of hamsters. 42. He didn’t hunt, but he did kill a really big rat once. 43. Through his work, he met Frank Gifford, George Plimpton, and Art Buchwald. 44. He established the West Virginia “Library Appreciation Dinner.” 45. He helped create the “book burst” logo used to promote state libraries. 46. He invented the “carousel” library for use in rural areas. 47. He had a kind word for everyone. EVERYONE. 48. He dreamed of building a house with a tennis court for years. 49. He finally realized this dream in 1987. 50. He loved watching satellite feeds of “Love Connection” on Saturday mornings. 51. He also dug watching “Beverly Hills, 90210” with me. 52. Before college, he helped me find summer jobs. And after law school, he helped me repay my student loans. 53. After I got my first computer, he took me to find a printer for it. And I hadn’t asked him or anyone for a printer. 54. During my first semester in college, he surprised me with a visit. Twice. 55. He warned me away from lurking danger when I was little by telling me “Oppy-Do.” 56. He never changed my diapers or my sister’s. It made him gag. (I didn’t inherit this reflex of his.) 57. Every May, he took me to the Vandalia festival at the Capitol grounds. 58. He helped teach me chess. 59. He gave me several chess sets, including my first computer model and a hand-crafted one from one of his visits to Russia. 60. He also gave me several Matreshka sets from Russia with political figures. 61. He arranged for me to appear on a movie review show for teens that aired on our public access channel. 62. He taught me how the stock market works and how to brew beer. 63. He played to win. Whether it was “Winnie The Pooh” or “Monopoly” or “Scrabble,” he never gave less than his best effort. And when I won it was because I earned it. 64. He loved reading, of course, and enjoyed Robert Ludlum books and biographies. 65. He bought an old banjo at a flea market and tried to learn to play it. 66. He also got himself a balalaika and took a few lessons. 67. He loved music and introduced me to Zydeco and Cajun styles. 68. He loved to debate me on everything. Even after I became a lawyer. 69. When I pressed a position, he would tell me, “Stop prating!” 70. When I gave him something to mail, if I asked him “Did you mail it?” his response was always “Did you ask me?” 71. He took me for rides in a basket on his bicycle when I was little. 72. He also used to run around our old house for exercise. 73. He liked “The Far Side.” He had a panel enlarged and displayed in one of the bathrooms in his house that read “Didn’t Wash Hands.” The picture displays a man exiting the rest room and a bell sounding wildly. 74. He wasn’t the big baseball fan that I am. But he surprised me with tickets to two MLB games during our trip to San Francisco in 1992. 75. He had fair skin and burned easily. 76. He had blond hair and blue eyes. 77. He liked bullfights and met James Michener and Orson Welles during a match when he was in Spain. 78. He also liked boxing. He knew that I didn’t. 79. We often debated about its status as a sport. 80. He enjoyed hosting guests at his house. 81. He arranged for the travel of several guests from Russia. 82. He recruited for Columbia College. 83. He was a featured speaker at several library dedications. 84. He took me to see the Davis Cup finals in Cincinnati, Ohio when I was in the eighth grade. I missed a day of school for it. 85. He gave me quarters for video games. 86. He helped me with my applications to college. 87. When I used “foul language,” he would say, “Would you say that to [insert name of authority figure].” Most of the time I would answer, “No.” 88. He loved watching football. He bought a big screen television for the games back in 1980, and he always had a plate of meat and cheese with Triscuits™ for his snacks. 89. He gave me a television for my own room when I was thirteen. With HBO. And Cinemax. 90. He hugged me when I cried. 91. He took my calls on his private number whenever I called him. Without exception. 92. He cracked up with laughter with me when one of my aunts offered us “some more cheeseball” again and again at her house in the summer of ‘88. 93. Later on, he would always laugh out loud when I asked him, “Do you want some more cheeseball?” in my impersonation of that aunt’s voice. 94. He had a wonderful speaking voice. (Like his gag reflex involving dirty diapers, however, I didn’t inherit this from him.) 95. He was stoic during his illness. He never complained about his pain. Never. 96. He watched “Happy Days” with me, asked me if I knew what “hot to trot” meant, and nicknamed me “The Fonz.” 97. He read every paper I wrote that I asked him to read. 98. He wrote a monogram on the media and its message before I was born. 99. He was proud of his daughter and son and family. 100. He would be so very proud of you, Seth and Lydia.
February 19, 2005: Here’s Your Answer To Your Question “What Would Happen If I Had Computer Animation Skills And More Time On My Hands” I’m going to break my one post per day rule because I simply must share this link. Don’t click on it, however, if you’re not fond of Mr. Chinchilla. You’ve been warned. February 19, 2005: Keep Our Neighborhood Beautiful The vacant lot next door is now clear. It’s the first time in five years. Let’s set a few ground rules, shall we? 1. Until you have proof of ownership of the vacant lot, you really have no property rights to use it. That is the legal rule. 2. As a practical rule, however, neither I nor anyone else in the neighborhood is going to have any objection if you or your kids want to play on the lot. 3. I don’t even mind if the neighbors let their dogs make their doggie doo-doo on the vacant lot. I prefer it to their making doggie doo-doo on our juniper bush near the mailbox. 4. But your broken, overturned, portable basketball system does not go in the vacant lot next door to our house. You may keep it in the front yard of your house because that’s your right as owner of that property. I would prefer that you not, but I can’t insist on this. That is the legal rule. 5. Please leave the large boulders out of the vacant lot. This is not Bedrock. And you are not Fred Flinstone. 6. We are in West Virginia. No old couches, rusty cars on cinder blocks, old toilets sprouting pansies or other items that perpetuate the stereotype. 7. Baseballs, basketballs and any other desirable items not retrieved from the vacant lot within 24 hours become the property of the highest bidder on Ebay. 8. Don’t dump your grass clippings, dead leaves and dead sunflowers in the lot. It was ok when the lot had its overgrown weeds, your large boulders, your broken, plastic, flower pots, and your rusty, broken, overturned, portable basketball system. It’s not now. Any questions? February 18, 2005: More Evidence That Charleston, West Virginia Is Really “Springfield” From Matt Groening’s “The Simpsons” This is from today’s Charleston Gazette: The West Virginia Power, Charleston’s Class A baseball team, will be cheered on by a five-mascot cadre dedicated largely to energy. A Canadian company won the bid to transform the team’s mascot ideas from paper drawings to three-dimensional creations. The team’s management chose Maydwell Mascots of Toronto to create the gang of coal, water, wind, natural gas and baseball characters. And this is a synopsis from “The Simpsons” episode #7F05 titled “Dancin’ Homer”: Homer narrates the story of his failure to the rest of the bar. We flash back to an Isotopes' minor league baseball game, where Homer embarrasses the family by dancing on the dugout. When the fans go crazy for him the owner of the team finds him and asks him to be their new mascot. He is "Dancin' Homer" and becomes famous. Capital City calls him up to the majors, so he moves the family to the bright lights of Capital City, but after only one night, he gets the boot and returns to Springfield. If “Dancin’ Homer” is any indication of events to follow in Charleston, West Virginia, then I, for one, look forward to the announcements of Charleston’s monorail project and casino complex.
February 17, 2005: Talkin’ Baseball VI (Mientkiewicz Traded To Mets Edition, Heh Heh Heh) I really dig baseball. My baseball season begins with my obligatory purchase of the Sporting News’ Baseball Guide. It’s an almanac containing the complete career fielding and batting statistics of every major leaguer. I enjoy leafing through the pages, and calculating how many more hits someone needs to reach a milestone. I seldom attend baseball games now, and I may catch a few games on television here and there. But for the last several years, I’ve derived most, if not all, of my enjoyment from baseball through my participation in Yahoo!’s Fantasy Baseball leagues. You can read about my exploits last year here. Or you may forego this long version--which I recommend for anyone who thinks Coco Crisp is only a cereal. This year, I’ll have an opportunity to play in a Yahoo! “Winner’s League” because my public team won its league last year. Now, I don’t want to sound arrogant when I say this, but I knew I had that league won when Texnuckingfuts’ team traded me Roger Clemens for Troy Percival before the season even began. That trade was so wrong on so many levels. How else can I say it? Texnuckingfuts traded a no-questions-asked-Hall-of-Fame player for a consistent, but not spectacular, relief pitcher. I couldn’t believe it when the other owners in that league approved that deal. For me, it was similar to the disbelief I experienced when Great Britain and Spain joined Dubya’s “Coalition of the Willing.” I played in a baseball “Winner’s League” once. All the other participants were knowledgeable about the players, knew the intrinsic value of a trade proposal, and were polite and well-mannered in their dealings with everyone. Needless to say, this league sucked big time. Nobody posted any messages, or talked “trash” with the other players, and I lost interest before my team lost the league. I’m not suggesting that the other players shouldn’t be polite; I am, however, saying that the proportion of friendly jibes exchanged in a fantasy sports league is directly proportional to the level of fun I experience. For example, if you were Texnuckingfuts last year, you would have endured months of my taunts as you watched Roger Clemens notch victory after victory after victory en route to his seventh Cy Young award. Or if you were the London Hitters, and you dropped Ichiro in mid-season, you would have been reminded of Ichiro’s progress toward breaking the record for hits in a season. Ichiro is an amazing player. His style of baseball is as old as the game itself. He bunts for base hits, and he steals. But it never fails: Every season some idiot in my league drafts Ichiro, decides he isn’t ingesting sufficient quantities of human growth hormone to allow him to hit 70 home runs, and places Ichiro on the waiver wire. But for my draft money, Ichiro has more value for me than the majority of single-trick home run hitters like Sammy Sosa--who before his hat size grew actually stole quite a few bases. I haven’t decided if I’ll join a winner’s league this year. But I have picked the name of this year’s team: “The Coalition of the Unwilling” February 16, 2005: “The First Thing We Do, Let’s Kill All The Fat People” Few people know that Shakespeare's first draft of King Henry Sixth, Part II contained that line. Shakespeare deleted it because he understood how to get the best laughs, and, let's face facts: Back in the late 1500s, King Henry VIII rocked the House of Tudor and fat people ruled. I also heard eating something once in awhile was pretty cool in Elizabethan England. I don't think anyone complained if they added some extra pounds after Thanksgiving dinner. I know they didn't have Thanksgiving then, but who had time to be thankful when you were trying to battle some pestilence that depleted your village's meager food supply? In early sixteenth century England, being thin wasn't nearly as hip as it is now. If you were thin, you were probably a serf scrounging around a turnip field, assuming, of course, you had any energy to scrounge for turnips. Most of your other friends, who were thin, like you, were dead by their twenty-fourth birthday. At age twenty-nine, you were an old man, and you could only dream about living the life of jolly old Falstaff, who ate regular meals, and quaffed beer with all of his ladies, most of whom weighed more than 150 pounds and whom nobody considered unhealthy. I bet nobody complained about fat children attending schools in Shakespeare's day. Nobody worried if their kids weren’t getting satisfactory exericise from their games of “Ring-Around-A-Rosy.” Yeah, I know, I know. Most children in sixteenth century England didn't have to worry about Frito-Lay™ snack machines and apple juice portions in their schools. They had other problems. Like fleas. And that bubonic plague. It's difficult to distribute report cards with B.M.I.'s on them when you don't have adequate printing facilities, too. It also helps when you don't have the death carts to distract you from implementing school lunch programs. It's even tougher to accuse your nation's children of being in danger of being fat when most of them are thin and diseased because they cannot get some apple juice, much less a Happy Meal™ from the McDonald's. “No,” Shakespeare thought, “a line about killing all the fat people just isn't going to work in sixteenth or early seventeenth century England.” All the fat people he knew were healthy, vibrant folks, and neither he, nor anyone else, had reason to hate them. “Falstaff’s my most popular character,” thought Shakespeare, “and I think I need to write a sequel for him. Maybe have some of those merry wives of windsor, too. I could use that joke about the dirty laundry. That will get a great laugh. But I can't crack a joke about fat people, that's not good p.r. for me. But who do people have a good reason for hating. . . .” Then Shakespeare imagined the chutzpah of somebody in his Elizabethan England who would sue a tavern for serving food that made its customers fat. . . . “Ah. . . yes. . . it's so obvious,” he thought,” and then Shakespeare wrote: "The first thing we'll do is we'll kill all the lawyers." February 14, 2005: When Lawyers Run Candy Companies
February 12, 2005: Chuang Tzu And The Tao Of Filling A Baby Bottle Lydia turns three months old tomorrow. Her colic has subsided, and we’re enjoying holding and playing with her. Seth loves Lydia. He calls her “Nee-nee,” a nickname that my wife and I now find ourselves using. Melanie and I have also noticed we’ve acquired the ability to fill Lydia’s baby bottles with exactly four ounces of water without having to look at the bottle. This ability is what Taoist scholar Chuang Tzu calls “the flow.” Chuang Tzu didn’t write much about babies, but he tells a great story about a butcher that captures the art of “doing without thinking.”
February 11, 2005: Rolling Stones Logo Department Not to be outdone by the Virginia legislature, who considered (but rejected) the “Baggy Pants Bill,” our local, morning newspaper reports the West Virginia House of Delegates has passed a “tongue- splitting” bill. Yes, West Virginia, the ubiquitous practice of splitting one’s tongue has reached epic proportions here in the Mountain State. The problem is so bad, in fact, that the “tongue-splitting bill” (HB2102) became the first of the session to be recommended by the House Judiciary Committee. Do you recall Governor Joe Manchin mentioning “tongue-splitting” in his State of The State address Wednesday evening? I didn’t either. And you know what else I missed on Wednesday evening? “Lost” didn’t have any flashback story on Hurley (a.k.a. Hugo Reyes). Charlie, a.k.a. “The Guy Who Played The Other Hobbit,” has had two flashback features. And even Sayid, the most boring character on the show, has had his flashback episode AND his rerun. But there was no Hurley. Repeat. NO HURLEY FLASHBACK. Other than Locke (Terry O’Quinn, You rock!), Hurley is the coolest character on “Lost.” My sister tells me that his upcoming episode is gonna be “faboo.” I don’t know what “faboo” means, but I could tell “faboo” probably portends a show of the most cool magnitude involving Hurley. It’s too bad that they’re filming “Lost” in Hawaii. If they were filming “Lost” here in West Virginia, I could complain to our legislators about Hurley’s lack of screen time on the show. I’m sure that this matter would receive priority attention by at least one legislator. Think about it. West Virginia is “open for business,” isn’t it? There’s no reason now that we can’t allow a few television crews from Hollywood to film episodes for television shows. Imagine the employment opportunities! I’m sure Danny Boyd and John Sayles wouldn’t mind the extra competition, either. Isn’t the lack of Hollywood television crews as pressing a problem in West Virginia as tongue-splitting? When was the last time you remember anyone filming a television show here. (And, no, Jennifer Garner attending a movie with Ben Affleck in downtown Charleston doesn’t count.) But does Governor Manchin or our legislators think to call the star of “Alias” or encourage her Hollywood buddies to let West Virginia serve as a location for its productions. Nooooooooooooo. That’s a silly idea. Over 2,000 people in the “western” world have a split tongue, according to the Gazette’s story. I bet several of them are in Hollywood. And can you imagine the dangers if any of these Holllywood characters with split tongues arrived in West Virginia to film an episode of “Lost”? It’s almost as scary as Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie taking a whitewater rafting trip on the New River--which given the decline of the American empire and programming quality on Fox is a rapidly approaching possibility these days. I guess our legislature’s thinking that you cannot consider allowing Hollywood film crews access to our wild, wonderful state until you first address the health crisis that afflicts many of those working in Hollywood. That means you have to encourage education and safety on the tongue-splitting process. I’m assuming, at least, that’s what House Majority Leader Rick Staton was thinking when he proposed this tongue splitting bill. That’s because he admits he knows “of no one with a split tongue in West Virginia, or of anyone performing such surgery.” That reminds me of an old joke that nobody but me thinks is funny. There’s an old man who goes to this lake in the mountains of West Virginia each day of the year. Each day, this old man takes a gun with him, and he patrols the lake. One day, someone asks the old man why he has a gun. The old man replies that he’s watching for sharks. The other person replies that there aren’t any sharks in this lake in West Virginia. That’s when the old man replies, “See, it’s workin’.” It’s good to see that our legislators are spending our tax dollars on creative methods to serve the public’s health and welfare. I’m encouraged by this year’s session, and I’m thinking of other ideas to suggest to our legislators for ways to encourage economic opportunity in West Virginia. But for now, I have only two suggestions, and they’re for the writers of “Lost”: Give Hurley more screen time. And don’t let Locke split his tongue.
February 10, 2005: Oh, Mandy, You Came And You Took Without Giving, Now They’ve Sent You Away. . . . Oh, Mandy. February 9, 2005: New Episode Of Lost We’re watching a new “Lost” episode now. I am so psyched.
February 8, 2005: Help Is On The Way (As Soon As We Say “You In tonight’s post, I had planned to express my outrage over this. But my wife, who writes better than I, has captured my exact sentiments here. This rant, therefore, will address foolishness not in Kentucky, but here in West Virginia. Our native son, Dave Peyton, noted yesterday on his site “Mountain Blog” that members of our newly-elected governor’s staff are “to stand when the governor or an administrative secretary enters” the room. I thought Dave was jesting because I didn’t think Governor Manchin could surpass this silliness involving implementation of a dress code and telephone etiquette for the grammatically-challenged. But then I read Lawbot’s piece today, and I learned it’s no joke. Or if it is a joke, it’s on most of us. My father, God rest his soul, taught me to treat everyone equally. My dad, whom some of you may recall headed the West Virginia State Library Commission, managed many employees. If my dad wanted to stand on formality, he had no need to speak to many of these employees. But that was not my dad. My father spoke to everyone, and it didn’t matter what position the other person held, or what “walk of life” he or she traveled. I know this because my dad often invited his employees to spend time at our house, and also from the genuine smiles these employees displayed when they saw me and my sister romp the grounds of the Cultural Center. With my dad, who you were didn’t determine how he treated you. And why should it? This is, after all, Black History Month, and it was none other than Martin Luther King, Jr. who told us to judge men by their deeds. But that doesn’t look like it’s happening so far with Governor Joe Manchin. Taking our cues from our leader tells us that we should judge people by their rank. If you’re not an upper echelon employee, you don’t rate upper echelon respect. Less rank equals less respect. We must remind you who you are, and you’re going to stand and acknowledge the greatness of those who rank above you. I don’t think so. Not only is the “Help Is On the Way Stand And Deliver” policy elitist, but I think an excellent argument could be made that it violates an employee’s constitutional right to free speech. If you disagree, of course, feel free to let me know in the comments. I think you still have that right in West Virginia. So far, anyway.
February 7, 2005: Seven Cool, Imaginary Brands Of Beer Inspired By Some Well-Known Cleaners And Detergents Dynamo Beer Fab Beer Cheer Beer Spot Shot Beer Fantastik Beer Shout Beer All Beer And Two Not-So-Cool Ones: Simple Green Beer 2,000 Flushes Beer
February 6, 2005: Let Thy Cuteness Commence
February 5, 2005: The Chinchilla Returns It happened again. I know you won’t believe me. But Mr. Chinchilla, Voice of Dissent, visited me this week. He appeared on our green “Smug fella, isn’t he?” His voice rose from my left, and now I saw him perched next to my Big Grab™ bag of Doritos. “Stay cool,” he reassured me. “I won’t be long. I wanted to ask you something.” “How did you get in?” “Your garage door’s open.” He was telling the truth. Sometimes Melanie and I would forget to close the door before retiring for the night, but we never believed anyone would use the opportunity to enter our home. I know I never believed that I would see a talking, sarcastic chinchilla wearing a black, baseball cap backwards now addressing me in my living room. He continued: “There’s quite a bit of kitty ralph in your front room. Please don’t be angry with me.” A talking, sarcastic chinchilla caused our cat to barf, I thought as the man continued to drone on the television set. Wonderful. “Which cat,” I asked, “because we have two.” “I didn’t get a good look, but this cat reeked like limburger cheese on a hot summer day.” “That’s Dorian.” “What’s his problem?” “He can’t express his anal glands.” “Ohh. So Dorian’s kinda like a skunk without the black and white coloring, long tail, and French accent, huh?” “He’s a scaredy cat, and I hope you didn’t hurt him.” “Relax. He’s fine. And anyway, your cat will have an easier time getting his health care than you or I ever will in this country. How long have you been watching this idiot?” “It just started.” “Mmm. . . I’m really hungry. . . ,” he drooled, “Gimme some of those Doritos!” I reached into the bag, pulled out a couple chips, and placed them in my left hand for him. “NO!” He screamed. “NOT LIKE THAT. I’M NOT YOUR MONKEY! GET ME A CLEAN PLATE FOR THOSE DORITOS!” As I ambled into our kitchen, I knew this was going to be a long evening when I heard him tell me: “I’d also like a clean bowl with some water. Tap’s ok.” In the kitchen, I could hear the television audience’s loud approval as Bush garbled the words “faith” and “freedom.” Can’t blame Dorian for feeling sick tonight, I thought. I placed the bowl and plate on the green cushion for him. “Here it is. Please eat and leave.” “Don’t take it out on me, dude, I didn’t vote for him. You didn’t listen to me, either.” “Huh?” “You weren’t at the Charleston Town Center last Friday wearing your giant Mr. Chinchilla, Voice of Dissent mascot costume. That won’t do.” “I told you that I wasn’t going to wear the suit. I told the internet about you. I even made you a page on blogger.” “I know. I saw it.” His voice turned sad. “Look at that man on the television. Do you think he talks to chinchillas?” “No,” I replied having absolutely no idea where he was heading with this. “Of course not. Nobody’s going to elect anyone who might talk to a chinchilla. And that should have been the lesson learned from the Dukakis and Gore and Dean campaigns. Some people will believe crazy things, of course. Like we should spend $150 billion on waging war in Iraq instead of creating a national health care system for those without health insurance. Or that if you don’t accept a certain faith that you’re doomed to purgatory, and that we should encourage legislation designed to indoctrinate others to embrace their majoritarian religion. I mean, all this money going to Iraq with greater problems in America and elsewhere is what’s crazy, isn’t it?” “Um-hmm.” I was worried because the chinchilla was starting to make a little sense, and I was not under the influence of anything other than my usual snackies. “Dubya isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, dude. But he knows who he is, and who his people are. Most important, he understands the machine, too.” “Machine?” “The political machine fueled by fear and greed. It’s why your neocon president won the election, and it’s why the Republicans will continue their dominance of American policy and politics if you don’t listen to me.” “This doesn’t have anything to do with my wearing a Mr. Chinchilla costume, does it?” “Not yet. But until you and everyone else accept me, you won’t possess the meditation skills to recognize ultimate Truth, which is necessary to defeat the neocons and their agenda. Just think of me as your little ‘Zen Chinchilla’. I exist, and only when you convince yourself that I do exist will I in fact cease to exist. That’s when you’ll be able to convince others that your progressive views are both logical and sane just as the Republicans and Dubya have convinced most of the electorate that this war in Iraq is just, and that homosexuals have rights inferior to heterosexual, married couples.” “Are you suggesting that Dubya and Rove mastered some Zen koan to win the election?” “Not really. I think last year it had more to do with who did and didn’t read ‘The Da Vinci Code’. But for now, I simply want you to post another fifty things about me list on the internet.” Fifty More Things About Mr. Chinchilla 51. I do not need another exercise wheel for my next birthday, thank you. 52. I’ve bitten the hand that feeds me. 53. I sleep on my side. 54. I have a tattoo on my hind leg that reads “Property of Heidegger’s Chinchilla Ranch, Helena, Montana.” 55. I think C-Span would have more entertainment if it used the “Mystery Science Theater 3000” format. 56. I got kicked out of the polling place for eating the hanging chads. Did I mention I’m well hung? For a chinchilla. 57. I’m in the vanguard of the movement to improve hamster-gerbil relations. 58. Bathing in volcanic ash is overrated. 59. I love the smell of spilled gasoline. 60. I’ve lobbied to get the witness protection program to include chinchillas to no avail. 61. Chiropractic didn’t work. 62. I’ve seen Prince Harry wear costumes more disturbing and strange than Nazi garb. 63. I wish I had an Elmo coloring book. 64. My sense of direction is lousy. 65. I can wiggle my ears. Ok. Technically, I can only twitch them. 66. I enjoy champagne, soft kisses, long walks on the beach at night, and having my incredibly fine and expensive chinchilla fur stroked by the chinchilla I love. 67. I’ve never bowled. No opposable thumbs, remember? 68. Parasites dig me. 69. Yeah, he got all the glory, but I pulled that kid from the pool. 70. Tinky Winky is my favorite Teletubby. 71. I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name. Well, actually halfway through the desert on a horse with no name, and then I named him “Thirsty.” 72. I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and I liked it. 73. I’ve made mountains out of molehills. 74. How ‘bout I wear you instead, baby? 75. I love the circus. 76. Don’t record my sounds. You’ve been warned. 77. I’m the model for the illustrations in the upcoming children’s book “When You Give A Chinchilla A Chimichanga.” 78. I was a test subject for Viagra®, I had a six-hour erection, and I didn’t mind. 79. I’ve also boned Paris Hilton’s Chihuahua. I filmed it, and I possess the only copy of the videotape. 80. I’m driving five miles an hour with my paws on the brake on the internet highway. 81. My squeaky exercise wheel has caused me to suffer a small, unilateral, sensorineural hearing loss. My advice: Splurge for the WD-40. 82. I’m kinda a hoarder. Especially of sunflower seeds. 83. I’ve wanted to work in an apiary ever since I watched Peter Fonda in “Ulee’s Gold.” 84. As long as they continue to refuse to send chinchillas into space, I think NASA’s a waste of money. 85. The remote control is the coolest invention ever if you have opposable thumbs. 86. I think there’s a time and a place for porn. How ‘bout right here, right now, baby? 87. I’m more of a hunter than a gatherer. Or maybe it’s the other way. I always get them confused. 88. I hate Alvin and The Chimpmunks because they’re the Milli Vanilli of animated animal singing groups. 89. That the Chinese calendar doesn’t include the “Year of the Chinchilla” disappoints me greatly. 90. I’m comfortable with my nakedness until someone makes me sweater. 91. I’ve field tested “Survivor” maze races, and let’s just say that I know Richard Hatch inside and out. 92. Valentine’s Day makes me sad. 93. I’ve never been called a nerd, a playa or a hata. 94. Peanut butter slides off my fur. I have no idea why. 95. Officially, I’m still missing, but I prefer to think of myself as “on the lam.” 96. “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” What a crock of shit. 97. Brazen people rock. Except when they call me a dickwad. 98. I dig rock ‘n roll music. But I despise that “The Mamas and The Papas” song that begins “I dig rock ‘n roll music.” 99. “Weight gain” poses not nearly as much danger to Americans as “ignorance gain” does. 100. I’ve met the King of Pop.
This is the delayed post where I tell you what you probably know. Using my meager programming skills, I have changed this site’s graphics and added some more links to those “sites I dig” list. Chances are that if you enjoy the material and views here that you’ll also derive immense enjoyment from the sites I frequent. But then I also thought Freaks and Geeks would last more than eighteen episodes on network television. These are in alphabetical order: Apjam-Flay: This is my sister’s weblog. And it’s not called “Apjam-Flay.” It’s really “Flapjam.” Why Flapjam? I have no idea, actually, although I know my sister explained it to me, but I was probably not listening to her because I was playing an intense game of literati on Yahoo!, and I’m sure there’s an e-mail somewhere in my Yahoo! e-mail account that has the answer. But I don’t feel like looking for it now because I’m tired, I need sleep, and I have several more weblogs to detail. You really should read my sister’s weblog because she’s my sister, and I love her, and I told her that I couldn’t change the alphabetical listing of the “sites I dig,” but that because I love her so much, that I would invoke my “She Ain’t Republican, She’s My Sister Pig Latin Exception Rule” to allow me to place her site at the top of my alphabetical blogroll. Now please go read her weblog. Backpetal: This is my wife’s site, and we didn’t need to use the Pig Latin translator this time, thankfully. My wife writes about the things I would never dare tell you here. Like this. Fifth Column. What can I say? My buddy Lawbot began this blog, and it now has several regular contributors, all of whom know more about politics, Maureen Dowd, and the meaning of “epistemological” than I ever will. I’ve learned so much about local politics from this site that I sometimes I feel a little guilty. Nah. Mountain Blog. Dave Peyton’s posting again, and if you can’t get enough of his opinion from the Charleston Daily Mail, here’s his weblog. Dave Peyton rocks, and I’m honored to have spent time listening to his stories in person. Raging Red. Raging Red tackles everything from local politics to those fools in the movie theater who won’t keep their yaps shut during the film. RR is also responsible for the new, official Donutbuzz tagline: “Donutbuzz: Because You Can Spell Donutbuzz Without Using “Ugh.” Thanks! The American Street. This site, or should I say Kevin Hayden, found me. I was honored to have contributed a post to his group weblog, and I read this one every day now. You want an excellent progressive weblog? Here you go.
Workers’ compensation practice involves handling many cases. In contrast to the usual contingency fee arrangement, where an attorney can receive one-third of a client’s recovery, West Virginia law prohibits an attorney from receiving more than a twenty percent fee on an award of workers’ compensation benefits, and if the client’s award of benefits extends beyond four years, the attorney cannot collect any fee after expiration of this period. If this fee limitation were not ample disincentive for someone taking “the lone compensation case,” then also consider the bureaucracy that awaits a workers’ compensation matter. The claim manager may deny the claim. Or maybe the filing of the claim produces a protracted legal battle before anyone makes a decision, and months pass before your client receives an award. You simply cannot depend on a single, or even several workers’ compensation cases to earn an income as a lawyer. Before I became a workers’ compensation lawyer, I imagined the practice would allow me to meet with each of my clients, and that I would establish meaningful rapport with them. The actual practice of workers’ compensation law proved much different. As a junior attorney at a large law firm, I was assigned several hundred comp cases. I did not have time to call each of my clients--returning and taking my incoming phone calls was a daunting challenge itself--and I did not have time to learn about the lives of the people whom I represented. If I did not know how to handle a practice built on volume, I soon absorbed the lessons. I learned to concentrate on only the details relevant to my case. I did not have time to ask about my client’s family, his hobbies, or his favorite baseball team. Thirty-minute telephone chats with my clients dwindled into three-minute status calls. In the workers’ compensation world, reviewing a client’s file is an impersonal exercise. For example, twice a month, I will handle several “occupational pneumoconiosis” (pronounced “New-mo-cone-ee-o-sis”) claims scheduled for a hearing. “Occupational pneumoconiosis” is the legal term for dust hazards resulting in a disease of the lungs. Occupational pneumoconiosis (OP) claims often allege a worker has contracted asbestosis from his work. These claims are tough to prove, and they require attention to the details of the claimant’s medical history. This is especially true in the “OP fatal,” or “widow’s/widower’s claim,” which alleges a worker died from complications involving his exposures to hazardous on-the-job dusts. When I prepare for an OP fatal hearing, I study the person’s admissions records, breathing tests, lung biopsy (or biopsies), other pathology records, expert reports, and the death certificate, which, of course, lists the cause of death. Other than the decedent’s name, age, social security number, and medical history, I learn little else about this person from the file. But today something else happened when I | |||||||||||
I took this one last week. It’s our favorite photograph of the kids, and I have the 5 x 7 on my desk at work.
Here’s the 
Here is the redesign of my first avatar. I kept the bar-b-que as-is. As a heterosexual man who has no problem letting his wife use the power tools because he lacks both ability and desire to use them, it’s always been my dream to have a properly functioning bar-b-que set that doesn’t billow black clouds of smoke when I burn the weenies. I also had to tweak the hairline of my first avatar. The avatar doesn’t include a “receding hairline” feature that resembles my own. I had to opt for either the Sinead O’Connor/Yul Brynner model or the Brad Pitt design. And, of course, you know which one I chose. After that, adding my goatee and 
= Loved it.
= Really liked it.
= Liked.
= Didn’t like it.
= Hated it.
