Friday, June 30, 2006

I fear no werewolf nor wanton women....

..because I ate the garlic fries at Pac Bell SBC Park ATT Stadium here in San Fran yesterday, and like tithing to the United Way, they ARE the gift that keeps on giving...

I'm glad that my wife and I have already had all the children we wanted because I'm thinking that these fries could replace norplant..whooooweeeee.

This is ballyard #30 in my quest to see every Major League baseball stadium*. My friends and I keep several categorial rankings re the ballparks we've visited (stupidest view even though they could have had the best view - Shea Stadium, meanest ushers in the free world and possibly any of the Serbian countries - Philadelphia, tightest security - Texas Arlington) and I'm definitely going to have to rank this one (Giant's stadium) as the park with the best view.

I realize I am badly marring the view by appearing in the picture, but I wanted to show innocent children and naive future ballpark denizens that an innocent looking basket of fries can secretly pack the punch of an invasive army of tapeworms all loaded with garlic pepper spray. The fries are tasty, but I almost vaporized a pack of Brownies by breathing in their general direction.

ATT Park is easily in my top 5 places to watch a major league baseball game.

*I refuse to visit the horror-show masquerading as a baseball park in Minneapolis.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Livin' large on the left coast..

I'm on my annual baseball trip with several other protracted adolescents who are chronologically around my age. Today we will be seeing the Giants play at the field pictured above.

I'm not sure who the team was honoring when this picture was taken, but she appears to be quite special.....

Friday, we'll be mingling with thousands of empty seats at an Oakland A's game.

Over the years, we've been to nearly 30 different ballparks, some of which don't even exist today. This trip, I'll be adding Pac Bell, Oakland Stadium and the ballpark in Seattle on my list.. These stadiums all have some corporate official name (including a new name for Pac Bell) that I try not to learn..

Last year when the 'boys' went on the trip, they visited the new Philadelphia stadium. Sadly, for at least me, I was recovering from some rather major surgery and had to miss the trip for the first time. I was told that the new Philly stadium was most excellent. I'm sorry I didn't get to go so that I could erase my memory of Veteran's Stadium, a circular artificially turfed bland-o-sseum where an unfriendly usher actually told me that it was against major league rules to take pictures at a baseball park..

I'm thinking this year's experience is going to be a lot better..


Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Passion is no ordinary word

The news that Peter Gammons, ESPN baseball analyst, is in the hospital "resting in intensive care after undergoing an operation to treat a brain aneurysm" hit me hard this morning. I don't know Gammons personally, but I'm a baseball fan, and if you're much of a baseball fan, you 'know' Gammons.

The reason that Gammons is special is the same reason that the music teacher in Mark Rose's post about Stravinsky is special. Gammons, like the teacher in Rose's fine piece, cares enough about 'his' subject to be able to communicate that passion to others.

People who are lucky enough that their passion and their vocation coincide really are the luckiest people in the world. Keith Richard's continued survival is testimony to this fact. Those people will be successful regardless of monetary or material renumeration, and they will pass on many blessings to those around them (unless they are highly successful bank robbers in which case they might be a little higher on the accrual end than the debit end).

My dad died twenty years ago. He was an art teacher like the teacher mentioned in Rose's piece. In his Art Appreciation course, he knew that the majority of the people in that classroom were there because they HAD to be there. I took the course because I always wanted to see my dad at work. It was one of the best decisions I ever made.

To this day, people, who find out that I am John Hutcheson, the son of the art teacher at David Lipscomb many years ago, come up to me and tell me that they were enriched more by that class than almost any other course they took, because he gave them a gift: his passion for art, and an appreciation of something that previously had been little more than decoration.

So, happy recovery Mr. Gammons...and dad, I still miss you.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Rush Limbaugh takes over Kleinheider's old blog

Hard Right?

Limbaugh is reportedly also interested in Kleinheider's cell phone package.

I guess he didn't want the ditto-heads to know....

Update: June 27th - The more I thought about this story, the more I have to wonder why the police aren't spending their time pursuing more hardened criminals....

Wait, don't tell me..this post is all about....

I've already forgotten .....

Sunday, June 25, 2006

But I don't wanna skate to Stryper, or Why don't you just throw in some klezmer music and maybe this will all go away..

I was cruising around blog-land attempting to see all the things wrong with me (I consider myself somewhat progressive and, GoDfrey Daniels, I attend the Episcopalian church). Apparently I'm aligned with terrorism, besieged with unnatural desires, and just an ass for not believing that WMD still exist in Iraq*.

Anyway, I was fascinated by a post on Terry Frank's blog which claimed that a skating rink in upstate New York was being investigated by the NY Department of Human Rights for designating part of Sunday afternoons as 'Christian Skate Time'. I was thinking that SURELY this was one of those snopesian urban legends based on some kind of misunderstanding.

I started googling the story and kept finding 'family value' blogs expressing outrage at the investigation, and I kept wondering if this story was like the Gertrude Stein quote about Oakland, 'there's no there, there'.

Surely a story this ridiculous would get more play in blogs and media other than the family values circuit. Lo, and behold, Terry appears to be right. Terry has done some more digging on the story as well.

Newsday, the major newspaper for Long Island, picked up the story last Frday. It seems that an over-zealous bureaucrat really has filed some sort of complaint regarding the privately-owned skating rink. Advertising that Sunday afternoons from 2:00-4:00 will be Christian skate time (Christian music will be played - can you really skate to Jars of Clay???) apparently discriminates against those people who don't consider themselves Christians. The skating rink is not funded in any way by taxpayer dollars of any sort and they are not limiting admittance based on spiritual belief.

Your typical Rob Zombie fan probably will stay away from said roller rink during the designated hours. The owners of the rink have already changed the name to 'Spiritual Skate Time', but I'm guessing they won't be calling the alt-believers to pray four times a day with what passes for pop music in mullah-ville.

I still wonder if I'm missing some vital part of this story. Regardless, here is my prediction: This investigation won't go anywhere. Pillar and Amy Grant will blast forth from the mighty speakers and taxpayer dollars will be wasted in other ways yet to be imagined by the progressive likes of people like me.

*Standard progressive disclaimer: Saddam is a bad man. A very very bad man.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Beyond 'cutie' - Mothership BBQ brings out the funk

When I was a kid on trips with my parents, my mother non-stop would be giving us a running commentary on all the things that we were seeing. Every mile or so, something on the side of the road would grab her fancy, and she would say, 'Isn't that the CUTEST thing.....isn't THAT the cutest thing..(ad more infinitum than a room of math majors with pocket protectors can imagine). At some point on every trip, I wanted to scream..'WOULD YOU PICK ONE DAMN THING AS THE CUTEST, and CALL IT A FREAKIN' DAY!!?'. The fact that my father would turn me into something that would make roadkill look cute kept my mouth shut. To this day, when I hear the word 'cute', I shudder like a kid taking a leak in a cold swimming pool (I've read about such activity).

The point of all this is that despite a local bbq chain's name to the contrary, there's nothing cutie about barbecue. Barbecue in the south is as serious and sectarian as a room full of Church of Christers staring at a room full of Southern Baptists both wondering what the other was doing there. Depending on where you are in the state of Tennesse, barbecue sauce is vinegar based, molasses based or hot-as-hell based. I've known people who have driven to Elizabethton from middle Tennessee just to eat at Ridgewood. Anytime I'm near Memphis, I take the trek to Interstate Barbecue.

In my humble opinion, until now, the best barbecue in Tennessee has been on the outer edges (Tri-Cities and Memphis). Nashville has had some good bbq joints: Hog Heaven, the original Cantrells on Cleveland and McFerrin, Pop's on 28th across from Swetts and Mary's right down the road on Jefferson. Nashville now has an entree into GREAT BBQ. Mothership BBQ rocks the party and pulls the pork succulantly (you can't legally talk about bbq without using the word 'succulant'.

The Knucklehead (proprieter Jim Reams) understands that you don't have to bring the heat cayenne style to the table. His pulled pork is not dried out and it won't burn your mouth. Any 'cue that retains the smoky flavor with a sauce that emphasizes the meat rather than overpowering the meat works for me. The pulled pork at the Mothership does all this and more.

I had the pleasure of consuming some of Mothership's finest alongside the trinity (Aunt B, Coble and Sarcastro). Does it get any better than that in our city? Great barbecue with three of the most frightening minds in blog-urbs..

Good times. Go to Berry Hill and board the Mothership. It's more than worth the trip (and even if you don't have to use the 'facilities', check em' out anyway).

As long as we have our signals straight

In today's Tennessean's Titan Report (Jim Wyatt's column), the budding friendship between 'Pacman' Jones and Vince Young is described as unique. Besides the obvious hope that the Vince circle of friends doesn't encompass some of Pacman's more 'illustrious' gang, one has to wonder about the new hand signal the two Titan's have created to communicate. Not so much about the hand signal itself (shaking a closed fist palm down with pinkie and thumb loosely open), but about the meaning, as described by Pac, of the signal...

Any time I do that it means either I made a good play, OR, I didn't make a good play


Take that name and MAP it....

Courtesy of Clicked, I found this great new mash-up called Wikimapia using Google Earth where you can identify buildings, parks, monuments, etc. and YOU get to name them (if somebody hasn't already early-birded their way to that spot).

The major rule is to name something that would be of interest to others. Naming your house (which like a major dork I was about to do), is specifically verboten (they have spelled out the verboten in the pop-up box where you get to name and describe your map-point). You also have a chance to write a short description of the item you are naming.

I managed to give Morgan Park, Werthan Bag and Cordell Hull Building (where I work, but it really is interesting for reasons other than THAT!) 'their names', along with adding one of my favorite chestnuts in the description of Cordell Hull Building: 'How many people work in this building? About half'.

One downside of letting the hoi polloi do their own a la cartology is that people can get things wrong. Unless I am really skewed, St. Mary's Cathedral in downtown Nashville isn't on Church Street. Somebody really needs to repent for that one...

Friday, June 23, 2006

Ozzie goes hairy at writer, or Just wait til' the sox have holes

I'll start with a stereotype: The Chicago White Sox 'fiery Latin' manager Ozzie Guillen recently dove into hot water with an angry diatribe about sportswriter Jay Mariotti. Mariotti chided Guillen for publicly humiliating a rookie pitcher for NOT THROWING at an opposition batter in retaliation for one of the White Sox batters being hit in retaliation for an earlier opposition batter, etc. One of the reasons I love baseball is that it is quite the adult game.

Anyway, in honor of big-shot blogger-Dallas-Maverick-owner Mark Cuban I'm going to employ subtle evasive anagrams for the bad words used in Guillen's spirited blast:

Mariotti is a <Sweet Honey Ice Tea>...He's a <French Army Ghost>.

Ozzie's ballpark cred is unchallenged. He led the usually hapless Chicago White Sox to baseball's world championship last year. The Sox are clearly one of this year's elite teams as well. He BETTER keep winning. His uncensored comments are largely adored by fawning fans and sympathetic media...just watch what happens when the Sox revert to their normal ways, emulating the more popular team immediately to their north. Ozzie will be thrown under the bus, into the lake and will be considered as fresh as his partner-in-name Ozzie Osbourne, residing in a land where every day is a black sabbath.

Of course, the lame powers that be in baseball sprang forth and fined Ozzie for his thoughtless use of words "that don't reflect baseball's values". He is also required to enter the lint trap response to just about anything considered offensive:sensitivity training. I'm sure the bland bromides doled out in the sensitivity sessions will permeate that fiery Latin, er, spirited temperment.

Maybe he'll learn that the best defense against accusations of demeaning gay folks is not,
'Hey, I attend WNBA games..I went to a Madonna concert'
...Some things you just can't make up.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Things that will make me cry today

Seeing anyone with red hair

Hearing anyone with a goofy laugh

Hearing people who clomp when they walk

Seeing certain pictures

Thinking of that last hug today at the airport when I realized I wasn't going to see her until freakin' 2007

Thinking of how nervous she is right now on her flight to DC where she will meet 36 other people going to Peru in three days

Seeing some of the odd stuff from her apartment that doesn't make sense to take to Peru (a very large stuffed banana - don't EVEN ask)

Nothing is happening to me that hasn't happened to hundreds, thousands, millions of parents, but she is my daughter and I can cry if I want to.

If you look up the definition of emotional basket case in wikipedia or the dictionary, don't be frightened if you see my picture. For those of you who don't know already, my daughter left today for a 2 year 3 month stint in the Peace Corps. I am a proud and fragile father today.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Pinata surprise of the day, or, why is that pinata squirming?

On the front age of today's Tennessean is a story about the various and sundry means that illegal immigrants are secreting themselves into the US. One of the more creative (and possibly whacked out) ways to sneak in is via pinata shipments. There are so many jokes here and I really don't have time to get started, but I can just imagine the scene at a kid's birthday party in southern cal:

¿mama, mama, está un hombre en mi él posiblemente un inmigrante ilegal? ¡Éste es el mejor presente que he recibido SIEMPRE!

Monday, June 19, 2006

I've seen the future, and its name isn't Bryson

I've noticed that some of the conservative bloggers I read and respect are blogging their non-bleeding hearts out for Jim Bryson, Republican candidate for governor. I can't help but believe that Bryson's candidacy has as much traction as a Kia with bald tires attempting to be driven out of Radnor Lake. I say this as an employee of the current governor (I am WAY down the food chain in the Health Dept.) and not as an advocate for either candidate.

I believe that Bryson's chances to take the state house are roughly akin to the Cubs chances of winning the 2006 World Series (currently 200-1 against if you pay attention to that sort of thing). I state this confidentally for two reasons: the first personal and anecdotal, the second is pretty dang interesting.

Reason 1: I have a good friend name Jim. He is well-read and interested in politics. He is a Reagan Republican and a philosophical conservative. When I asked him what he thought about the Republican candidate for governor he said - "There's a Republican candidate for governor??"

Reason 2: The market place. Unlike a straw poll where you can load up a bunch of supporters on a bus and haul them down to vote for your favorite feline-killing son, the marketplace forces you to put your monetary cabbage where your O-pinionated mouth is. Tradesports.Com is a futures index that allows you to buy futures contracts for events and possible occurrences (e.g. You can buy a contract to 'win' $10.00 for $1.95 that Argentina will win the World Cup). You could also stupidly pay .69 to win $10.00 that the avian flu will be diagnosed in the United States before the end of June, 2006.

To get to my salient point, one thin dollar will buy you a futures contract that will net you $10.00 if Bryson is elected governor (Tradesports has contracts for all major political races). So, if you Bryson supporters are REALLY confident, here's a chance to make some moola and endorse your guy. In case you haven't figured it out yet this ain't exactly odds that would make the average gambler swoon. Chances appear to be better for an air strike by the US or Israel against Iran before March 2007 than a Bryson victory (twice as good according to the marketplace).

For what it's worth, $3.00 will get you a possible $10.00 contract that the Democrat candidate will win the 2008 Tennesse Senate seat.

In contrast, you'd have to pay $9.50 to buy a $10.00 contract that Roger Federer will win Wimbledon (which is pretty much a no-brainer).

Tradesports works just like a real futures market (such as oil, wheat, pig bellys) with two key differences: 1) you are buying futures in a sporting, cultural, weather, political or entertainment occurrence, and, very importantly, 2) insider trader is totally allowed, which is why Tradesports 'called' the Supreme Court for Alito before most of America knew who he was or how to spell his name.

Like I said, I've seen the FUTURES, and Bryson's name isn't writ bright, but instead in one dollar shares. I'm not a gambler (and don't contribute financially to Tradesports coffers), but if I was, I wouldn't be wagering on Mr. Bryson.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Three good reasons I am enjoying Father's Day

There is apparently some unwritten rule that no more than 60% of my immediate family can or will look at the camera when a picture is being taken. This is the best we can do.

The event we were celebrating was the graduation of my daughter from Berry College in Rome Georgia. My elder son standing next to me graduated a week later from Nashville Tech. The other kid - my slacker son Evan - is taking the five year plan via MTSU. I couldn't be any prouder of all three of them.

The road to this picture, like most families journeys, has often been twisted and strange, wonderful and amusing. The father in the picture has been disqualifed early each year of their lives for 'Father of the Year' award, but somehow, we managed to arrive mostly intact.

My daughter is leaving us in a few days for the Peace Corps. She will be stationed in Peru. Needless to say, a Peruvian trip is in our future. I am excited, scared, nervous, edgy, happy and proud about her decision to join the Peace Corps. I remember just a few years ago when I dropped her off a month early for her Freshman year - she played soccer and had to practise and train a month before school - and remember how we both teared up and how I could barely see the road driving home. I remember those first few weeks of phone calls when she was so nervous and worried and how I got through those days and weeks knowing the richness of what was to come for her in the following months and years.

Each year my kids ponder what to get me for this day...good grief...just looking at that picture at the top of this post gives me everything I need for a lifetime.

I think we still need you...

but I don't think we have to feed you. Happy 64th, Sir Paul.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Shills Gone Wild

I realize this issue has been refried more than a vat of beans at La Hacienda, but as a both large and small 'D' democrat, I would just like to iterate my discomfort at the level of discourse generated by political commentators who believe that posting pictures of political candidate's partying offspring on the internet is a subject worth exploiting. If the boney-cocktail-dress-wearing-flamethrowing-rightwing-polemicist makes ya ill, then this kind of claptrap should as well.

Corker may well not be 'the man' for Tennessee. But, the fact that his 18-year-old daughter likes to party really doesn't matter to me. If our ability to do our jobs can be gauged by the behavior of our offspring at parties, just think about what that says about YOUR parents.

I would advise the candidate to keep his daughter off the podium if he plans to make any derogatory remarks about the low standards of best-selling-videos hawked on cable TV. Of course, the ONLY reason I know anything about these videos is from 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' when Larry calls Jeff while watching an ad and proclaims, 'Jeff, turn on your TV, there's college girls and they're going WILD'...

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

NOLA, N-O-L-A NOLA, or Brownie's gone but there are still a few kinks..

According to THIS story on the MSNBC website, FEMA paid for a sex change with hurricane Katrina relief money.

In a possibly related story, a divorce lawyer's services were also procured with Katrina cash.

This along with another 16.8 MILLION in already identified Katrina fraud and abuse leads once again to the conclusion that if you don't believe government is the answer, you'll install administrators who live up to your beliefs.

Monday, June 12, 2006

What the hell?

We decided to go indie for movie night last Friday night. We chose the movie 'Water', an Indian movie about the fate of lower caste widows in 1930's India. The movie begins with newly widowed young woman being informed of her husband's death. The widow is pictured above and may have been all of six years of age. She had been promised to an older gentleman at an even earlier age and was married around the age of four.

In accordance with sacred text, the widow was cast away to live in the company of other widows, because:

A widow should be long suffering until death, self-restrained and chaste.
A virtuous wife who remains chaste when her husband has died goes to heaven.
A woman who is unfaithful to her husband is reborn in the womb of a jackal.

The Laws of Manu
Chapter 5 verse 156-161
(Sacred Hind texts)

If the widow were to remarry at any point in her life, she would be condemned to everlasting hell. Needless to say, this scare tactic worked wonders with the young protagonist of the film. The movie did contain some hope, chiefly in the person of Ghandi, but the overall tone was less than sunny, to say the least.

I was thinking afterward about this backward caste-based culture and how ruthlessly religion and the threat of hell was used against the poor, afflicted and underclass. I was thinking that we were lucky to live in more modern enlightened times, but then I remember how often Jesus is thrown at you like rocks (to use a phrase from the late great Richard Marius). I remembered how we young teenagers boys were told at school that if we dwelt on sex or thought too much about sex that we were risking eternal damnation, and I realized that even though the trappings were different, religion is still being used as a weapon way too often. Telling a 13 year old boy to not think about sex is like telling a nun to lay off the 'Jesus-stuff' for a while.

Thank God for the Ghandi's and the truly spiritual people of the world whose simple words cut through the bullshit and reach into hearts transcending the religious claptrap that alienates and divides. We are to be healers and breechmenders, not rock thowers and fearmongers. We are to treat others like we want to be treated, and I for one, don't want to be treated like hell.

My social life

For the 27th straight year since we moved back to Nashville, I was not invited to the Swan Ball. I think I actually may know one couple who may have been invited. I really don't have the proper clothing for such an event, and to be honest, I totally enjoyed the party I did attend celebrating the med school graduation of one of my neighbors. I say this despite my wife (or perhaps because my wife) deserted me mid-party leaving me alone with 4 gay guys, 42 gay women and one other straight guy. My life style and wardrobe are far beyond 'cool' redemption, but despite the fact that I am immune to upgrade, I had some serious fun. The fact that I was clearly the 48th best dancer at the celebratory shindig did not deter my enthusiasm.. Next year, if I finally get the invitation to the Swan Ball, I'll think I'll pass...I'll take Salemtown.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

The man whisperer..

Dog training, or more accurately, people training has been a big topic around here because it is clear that in a household with two humans and two dogs, humans 1 and 2 are coming in 3rd and 4th respectively in the race for domination of Chez' Hutchmo. The relative status of the two humans competing for human household domination is of course a matter of no small dispute and in question here only because my wife hasn't quite realized that I'm blogging again and I have a small window before she figures it out.

Anyway, I kept hearing about this show on the National Geographic Channel (a channel I've watched heretofore only when I know they are going to show those movies where sharks and other predators pounce - what is the aquatic equivalent of pounce? - upon their prey, thus confirming the superiority of the human species until I remember who is taking ME for a walk every afternoon).

The show is called 'The Dog Whisperer' and the star of the show - dude named Cesar - comes into people's homes and nicely and gently explains that that they are morons re their dog and dog training because in the evolutionary sense of the deal, humans are SUPPOSED to be superior to the dog, but somehow these superiority-challenged pet-owners haven't received the Darwinian memo. He really is an amazing guy. His point, of course, is that it is not the dog who needs training as much as the dog owners who need to get a clue.

He leaves the owners with a new appreciation for who is actually in charge along with a few techniques to keep the dog at hand (or more accurately, at foot). I get the feeling that if you visited these folk's houses a few months later, the dog would be up on the couch chewing a shoe and laughing at re-runs of Lassie, just like if you revisited the pig sties that those Queer Guys remodeled a year after the big just gotta know that most of us 'straight' types revert...

Anyway, I have taken on a new resolve to at least slip into 3rd place, and sneak up into 2nd or even 1st place using the Dog Whisper's secrets of doggy domination (important note: the doggy domination part is STRICTLY in reference to the canines). While I was contemplating my first moves (hey, my wife is at work and the dogs are outside), I started wondering if anybody has ever attempted to be 'The Cat Whisperer'.

I can imagine a cat pretending to be dominated just to make the 'owners' believe that they run the joint. I can hear the cat soon after, talking in a French accent (for some reason I think if cats could talk they would speak english with a French accent) quoting from Monty Python, 'you silly american pig-dog, I sneer at your bottom, I fart in your general di-rect-tion'...

I understand why there is no 'Man Whisperer'. The job would be ridiculously easy and could be accomplished by every girlfriend/wife/significant other in existence.. All they'd have to do is come up to a man and whisper something sexually, set, match..if you know what I mean.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Title suggestion for Senator Frist's new book

According to a front page story in the Tennessean, Senator Frist is planning on writing an autobiography that will come out, amazingly enough, in 2008. I don't know if he already has a title for the tome, but I can help him out:

Here Kitty, Kitty, here, Kitty

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Is it getting warm in here, or is it just me?

When it comes to the fundamentals and laws of science, I generally don't look to Maureen Dowd, Cal Thomas, Dwight 'I've got one column' Lewis, William Safire or other political commentators. If I wanna know about how oxycontin works I might approach the Lord of Limbaugh-Land. If I want to know why Ryan Howard is a better baseball player than Jeff Francouer, I seriously would consult Mark Rose.

The point I'm slowly approaching is: Why does the belief in the existence of global warming depend on where you lie on the political spectrum? Global warming either is or it ain't, and all the gas-guzzling horsepowers in SUV land aren't going to pull it down if it exists, and all the whale-hugging in the ocean isn't going to create it from whole 100% organic recycled hemp-based cloth.

Where SHOULD a person look for information about global ABOUT CLIMATOLOGISTS - the people who actually freakin' study our climate.

Science Magazine decided to survey climatologists studies on the matter of global warming, and guess what? Out of 928 abstracts on climate change written between 1993 and 2003, every stinkin' one of them said there was some type of global warming. 75% of the abstracts said that human behavior was responsible for the change, and the other 25% stated that there was global warming, but dealt only with the effects of global warming. NOT ONE abstract disagreed with the fact that some type of global warming exists. Even the ones that dealt with only the effects of global warming didn't dispute the fact that the progress of global warming was human driven.

The political question shouldn't be and can't be the scientific question. The political question is what are we going to do about it?. At THAT point, brilliant minds disagree. Many people think that the Kyoto treaty was an overreach. I tend to agree with that position, but the alternative 'do nothing and censor any document that comes out of the administration that states the effects of global warming' is a sad position as well.

Here's the link to the article in Science Magazine.

Just remember, they used to argue about whether the earth revolved around the sun or vice versa. Despite the pontifications of the pontiffs and other popular popinjays, science did win out.

Monday, June 05, 2006

President Bush, If you're going to pander...

Why stop with federal encroachment into gay marriage? You wanna energize your base, President Bush? Why should gay business persons be allowed to sign ANY contract involving federal money? Isn't that money going into the pockets of sodomites and jezebelians and perhaps used to recruit the young sapphist of tomorrow?

While you're at it, let's stone two birds with one bill: Ban gay immigrants from marrying anybody , breeder-class or non-breeder class. Require prospective immigrants to recite the words to three Judy Garland songs and/or redecorate the office in which they are being interviewed. If they show a high proficiency in either task - DON'T LET EM' IN!

How in the name of Oscar 'born to be' Wilde does anybody get to the point where the constitution should be amended to RESTRICT the rights of a certain class of citizens. What is the federal government doing in this tent anyway?

But, pander away, President Bush and Lackey Frist - if we don't like it, we can eat brie....

I'll show you mine, if you show me yours

Now that the Tennessean has decided to publish a database with the salaries of all 40,000 state employees (you can find the link on your own, thank you) including mine, I'm wondering when the Tennessean is going to publish the salaries of their employees so that THEY can all spend the day looking up their peer's salaries.

Yeah, our work life is public record, I understand, but WHY? What purpose did this serve? Do you have to do something just because you can? I suppose there are a few civilians who have enough curiosity to check out the salary of their state employee neighbors, but all this publication has done is cause resentment and a large drop-off in work among employees all vying for server time to check out the 'next cubicle's' salary.

So, thanks Tennessean...i'll be looking forward to reading about Brad Schmitt's salary in an upcoming edition of your august paper.

Sunday, June 04, 2006

My candidacy for the Metro School Board

Dear Voters:
I'm for sale. I'm open to secret shenanigans, secret meetings, clandestine coffee klatches, and smoked-filled backrooms as long as I can get a cigar. I'm against gay marriage in our elementary schools and I promise not to attend any open forums where hecklers might belittle the fact that I think the jury is still out on whether the earth really revolves around the sun, as opposed to theo-centric center-of-the-universe placement that God proposed some 4,000 odd years ago.

I propose cutting the school budget by 25% and giving vouchers worth up to $1,000 to the lowest performing students so that they can attend some of our finest private schools which will welcome them with open arms, I am sure, along with funding property tax breaks for people who utilize any part of their homes for 'home-schooling'.

I'm against new math and earnestly believe that global warming can cut down on the heating costs besetting our schools. I believe that no language other than english should be uttered in the classroom and in the halls of our schools. To paraphrase the words of a former governor of Texas, 'if English was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for the schoolchildren of Tennessee!'.

I believe that Old Testament justice should resound in our schools including the stoning of any students caught smoking marijuana or huffing.

Please consider ME for your Metro School Board. I'm available for secret meetings throughout the summer.

About me

  • I'm John H
  • From Salemtown, Tennessee, United States
  • Cruising past 50, my wife and I have reared three kids and several dogs. I work for state government and daily conspire to deflate bureacracy.
My profile