Surfing the Cosmic Shores

No, I haven't been smoking anything although it would have been a help.


Many times while growing up I listened to tales of how my uncles would get up before sunrise, load up their surfboards, and then drive up to Pawleys Island to catch some waves as the sun rose over the water. Several times I accompany them on such early morning outings whenever my parents let me and my uncles felt I would be useful chick bait. Even though I remember those trips they have for me moved into the realm of the mythical since they occurred before my parent’s marriage self-destructed, and my uncles moved beyond the carefree life of teenagers and into the responsibilities that the adult world demanded.

As my enlistment in the active army drew to a close in the summer of 1990 I began dreaming again of those early morning trips wanting to recapture the thrill of being the first person of the day to walk those soft sands and to feel that early morning ocean breeze. Even as a child I realized being next to the ocean while watching the sunrise that there were far larger, important, and powerful things than me in this universe. The mountains that I could see right out my barrack’s window could almost inspire the same awe and wonder when I hiked the trails along them but humans had long since put their mark all over the those mountain. From television antennas at the very top of Cheyenne mountain to huge mansions that seemed to have been carved in the side of others took away some of their power and made them seem tame.

My grandfather had passed away several months before my enlistment ended and there were many things that needed to be looked at and fixed after I returned home. My main mission though was to supply some company to my grandmother so she didn‘t feel so alone. Although in retrospect I feel I failed at it since I didn’t do a very good job giving her the company and support she needed. I hadn’t forgotten about my desire to relive those early morning surfing trips but most of my free time was actually spent getting ready for college in the fall. However, at that moment two issues prevented me from making my early morning pilgrimage even if I didn’t have chores I needed to do. I didn’t have a surfboard and all my friends who I had surfed with before my army time had for the most part succumbed to the adult world and didn’t have time to break away from young families and jobs, which fed those families. Uncle George solved the first problem one day as I was helping him clean out his attic. Amongst all the boxes and debris collecting dust in that dark place was his nine foot Hobie surfboard from his teenage years. As I inspected the old girl I could tell that the years had been somewhat hard on her. There were many dings and deep scratches on her surface along with her single fin being broken in half. Unlike surfboards now, the fin on Uncle George’s surfboard, which was made in the 60’s, was permanently set and could not easily be removed and replaced, if at all. Still with all the damage on the board I know how my uncle valued it for the memories it held. Never the less I somewhat nervously asked if I could use it for awhile. I could tell Uncle George actually had to think about it but in the end he allowed me to take it and even went and found the racks that would let me mount it to the top of my car. Both Uncle George’s boys had become very good at surfing but used the more popular short boards and looked sort of askew at their father’s ancient longboard. Therefore, if the old girl was going to get wet again it looked like I was the only person who would do it.

A couple of days later I secured my uncle’s old surfboard to the top of my car with the racks he also loaned me and took off for the south end of Pawleys Island. After the short drive I stood on the crosswalk above the protective semi-circle of sand dunes around the parking lot and looked out on the water. The very tip of the sun had just appeared above the horizon spreading a golden hue across the water. The waves that morning were running about four feet and breaking parallel to the shore. Looking back to the west I saw twilight shrinking fast with a few stars seemly covering the retreat of night. Even though for months my desire had been to be among the first people surfing as a new day begun as I proceeded off the crosswalk and into the sand I felt a small ripple of nervousness realizing I had gotten far more than I dreamed. Not only was I going to be the first person in that water that morning there wasn’t even an early morning jogger or fisherman on the entire tongue of land that made up the south end of the island. Looking northward up toward the houses I didn’t see anyone even sitting on their screened-in porches watching the sunrise.

After applying a new coat of wax on my uncle’s surfboard I finally had her in the water and was paddling out to where the waves began to form. The feel of the slightly chilly water and the taste of the salt from it on my lips quieted any nervousness I had moments earlier. The morning sun on my back warmed me and I could feel the stirrings of the old thrill that I had felt years before. I caught a great ride on the first wave that appeared once I got into position. Which given that I was riding a nine foot surfboard was nothing to crow about since it was so big I should have been able to catch anything down to a small ripple. My cousins, who rode short boards, had both the talent and the practice to perform some fairly wild maneuvers cutting across and up just about any wave they caught. I in turn did not have the practice they had and sure as hell didn’t have their talent so I was just happy to feel the rush of the wind and water as I used the wave’s energy to head toward shore. Several more attempts after paddling back out had me either missing the wave or falling off the board unable to get my balance right. I hadn’t been in the water more than thirty minutes when the waves stopped and the ocean around me went glassy and flat. After waiting for several minutes hoping that a new set would emerge so I could at least try and catch another good ride I decided that just lying on the board in the water with the sun on my back was good enough for the time being. My thoughts began drifting about at random and after scanning the shore line and realizing I was still the only person on the beach my mind used that as a prompt to go off in a very unwanted direction.

It’s hard to describe the feeling when you realize you are utterly alone in the world, even though you may be surrounded by family and friends on a regular basis. Such a condition makes the feeling even more acute since you can’t really go off whining about it to those who now have jobs, babies, bills, and the entire spectrum of normal life on their shoulders. College classes were soon to begin for me and after being away from school for such a long time I worried that I might not be able to handle it and flunk out. I didn’t even have the option of returning to the military if college went bad. Before I got out many of my superiors tried to talk me out of leaving the service telling me that I had a real future as a senior NCO down the road or even an officer if I pursued college while still wearing the uniform. Now that I was out and this being the early nineties the military was beginning its great post-Cold War draw down so I didn’t stand a snowball’s chance of re-enlisting. On a more personal level I might as well have been a complete stranger to my hometown in that I didn’t have a soul I could call to date or just to hang out with like I did before I entered the army. Every last girl I had anything to do with had either moved or married while I was away. After my return I soon found that I occupied a strange position of being too old to hang out with high school kids and that I was not yet a part of the college crowd. In addition, since my old buddies had settled down while I was away I found myself out of place at the bar and club scene. Going alone just didn’t feel right and I found myself heading home after only an hour or two in such places. This line of worries wasn’t new, soon after returning home as I lay in bed listening to the night sounds of nature outside my open window these thoughts would creep into my room like some intruder and play with me until my mind shut down.

As I was laying on that surfboard in the water with my doubts and fears running through my mind it was like some shark latching on to me and pulling me down into the dark depths. Even though my saintly grandmother had taken charge of the spiritual upbringing of my siblings and me to the point that to miss Sunday school you had to cough up your liver and both lungs before she would leave you alone those mornings at that time I didn’t find myself praying very much. I carried a faith in God but I found the increasingly strident, unforgiving, and political nature of the churches around me difficult to bear. Far too much had changed from the compassionate, joyous, and forgiving nature of the churches I attended with my grandparents up until the mid-80’s. However, the darkness that had hold of me right then had me saying a small and tepid prayer of divine guidance.

Many times I have heard from the odd self-appointed philosopher that I have run across say that there is no such thing as reality. That each person colors their own reality with their own biases, beliefs, and lessons they have learned from others. Since I agree with the idea that we each color our own reality take from this story what you will. But as I laid on that surfboard just after my little prayer beginning to think about paddling in and returning home I heard a small splash behind me and out of the corner of my eye saw some sort of fin submerge below the surface. Figuring that the metaphorical shark that had hold of me was about to become real I tucked my arms and legs up on the board to, hopefully, wait out any undue curiosity. Some small amount of time slipped by without any further sight or noise from my unknown aquatic companion and I figured it was time for me make my way to shore before it came back. The ocean around me was still a sheet of off-colored green glass but clear down to about two feet. I was about to begin paddling in when my companion came sliding up parallel to me less than a foot away. Far from being a toothy wannabe Jaws out to consume a lonely and distraught guy on a borrowed surfboard my companion was some sort of species of dolphin. Potential fear fell away to kinetic surprise as both of us examined the other, each curious of the strange mammal that was in the water that early morning. My new friend circled around never losing sight of me. This time “he” came even closer in and while looking into the eye of that creature I felt something that cleared away my worries and fears. To say that I felt some weight lift off my shoulders doesn’t do justice to the fact that I also felt some sort of feelings of compassion, caring, and that I was not alone that seemed to say everything was going to be fine. Like some child I reached out toward the dolphin with the more logical part of my mind saying that I was about to spoil this chance meeting and scare it off. Instead it came right up next to the surfboard allowing me to stroke its side. We stayed that way for only a short time never looking away from each other. How long could it have gone on? I have no honest answer but it was the sound of a car horn over on the other side of the sand dunes signaling that my solitude had ended that broke whatever spell had been cast. After looking up for the briefest of moments I looked back down and he was gone. He came around again one last time splashing me with his flukes then set off for some other location with me wishing I could join him.

Was this only a chance encounter that tide, time, the desire for me to relive earlier days, and the early morning feeding habits of a marine mammal allowed to happen? Or was this the answer to a small but desperate prayer that I had cast out to a far greater more diverse ocean. As the years have flown by I have alternately held both positions along with a hybrid mix of the two. None the less, the dark clouds that had at times confined me to outright despair never appeared with such power again. I still had enough concern to keep my nose to the educational grind stone and far from being a perfect person after my encounter I still found a way to screw up completely on many different levels many different times through the years. Whatever explanation I happened to be leaning toward on that early morning encounter for me the whole basic question boils down to whether there is something greater in the universe than we hairless primates. My own idea on the matter has the curious benefit of irritating just about everyone who has discussed the issue with me. But at least it can be said I came about it on my own.

Years ago I sat in awe in front of my grandparent’s television watching the late Carl Sagan explain on his show Cosmos various aspects of science and the nature of the universe. One of the many things he touched on that blew my mind was how the very elements that make up our bodies were created at the cores of long dead stars. Those same elements would over the course of billions of years coalesce and form our planet. As more time passed those elements somehow combined, crossed a threshold from just a chemical soup to simple life that began the struggle of evolution. After billions of years of evolution we hairless primates emerged having gained a modest amount of intelligence to try and contemplate the very nature of the universe we live in. In short Sagan was saying nothing less that we, and whatever other intelligent species that might exist, are the universe itself becoming self aware and trying to understand its nature.

Where I usually veer off into left field, and piss everyone off, is that to me the universe itself from its earliest times we can discern after the Big Bang has continued to organize itself into higher structures. From the lowest quark to the largest super cluster of galaxies we can observe there is a continuing effort for greater complexity. Even here on Earth as life emerged from a smelly carbon-based protein soup to basic celled organisms it has moved up in the level of complexity until our arrival in which despite our faults and shortcomings have begun trying to make sense of our very reason for existence. I can’t help but wonder that given the age of the universe and the continuing evolution of all things great and small might not there be intelligences for whom we have no way to contemplate or understand their existence much like microscopic life forms have absolutely no way to understand that they are observed and studied by us using a microscope. Let me be the very first to say that all this is the addled speculation of a more than slightly deranged mind who desperately need to find a more productive hobby. But I have always been uncomfortable with the notion that humans are the pinnacle of development for the universe and that there is nothing greater in scope for us to discover. What comes to mind for me was the accepted notions that the Earth was the center of the creation with everything else revolving around us, or that we were the special, highest creations of God which made us and everything else in 6000 years.

While I can dance around the subject I do have to admit that I do believe in a higher power. The nature of that higher power for me is, like my dolphin encounter, subject to my own internal debate which ebbs and flows as time goes on. If I haven’t really freaked everyone out I would more than welcome their input on this subject. My own attempts before to discuss something as strange as this subject have usually failed miserably with the usual two warring camps quickly forming up and dialogue devolving to name calling. In truth the one creature I would love to get its opinion on this subject would be my dolphin friend but I have the strangest feeling if I did get the chance he would just keep his enigmatic smile, say thanks for all the fish, and swim off again saying I think to much and need to surf more. I can’t say that he would be wrong.


(Author's note: I didn't like how this turn out but after messing around with this post far longer than I liked I wasn't about just to leave it on my hard drive.)

Going to a wedding....seriously.

Time has finally come to load up the family in the starship and make our way to my brother-in-law's wedding. Dragonwife is still having doubts whether her brother's fiancée will actually go through with it and not run off screaming into the night. But be that as it may since it will be on the beach we are still going no matter what, a bad rainy day at the beach (even amongst in-laws) sure as Hell beats a sunny day hanging around the house. We will be at some place in Virginia called Sandbridge. If by chance anyone is close by come on down and look for the tall goofy guy wearing the Buffett ”Air Margaritaville" hat and crash the parties. For an explanation of what is about to happen see this post about Miss Wiggles.

On a different note I’ve been having some technical difficulties with my internet connection which has literally kicked me off as I was trying to read posts or make comments. It has gotten to the point that the last couple nights I spent more time waiting for it to reconnect than actually participating on other blogs. Called technical support and they wanted me to burn some incense, dance the hokey-pokey naked, and sacrifice a chicken to the server and mainframe spirits, but didn’t have time to do all that even though I do happen to blog naked. What can I say? Its keeps Darth Spoilboy from bringing friends up to the family room and playing that damn "Guitar Hero". But as far as appeasing techincal support, the incense we had smelled like poop and I didn’t have time to get an actual live chicken. So, when we return late Sunday I’ll have to try it again. Have a good weekend and once again if anyone is in Sandbridge find the goofy tall guy and say hi.

Special Place in Hell

Someone once said that capitalism without humanity is evil. That is an adage that takes special meaning, at least for me, whenever children are involved. I'm all for some person who comes up with a new idea, or through hard work builds a business, making a buck or two off of it. However, to purposely endanger the lives of children so the bottom line can be fatten up just a little more defies all manner of common sense. While I write this last statement realizing I'm far from perfect I hope God reserves a special place in Hell for those "business people" that follow such practices and curiously enough a few business journalists I've heard who make light of these events claiming China is too good a friend to get very upset over a few poisoned children.

A government probe announced on Tuesday showed a fifth of 109 dairy producers checked made batches of products adulterated with melamine, which is banned from use in foods.

Earlier this week, officials said 1,253 children were ill and two had died after the country's biggest baby milk powder maker, the Sanlu Group, last week revealed its products contained melamine, which can be used to bamboozle milk quality checks.

Melamine is rich in nitrogen, used to measure protein, and so can be used to disguise diluted milk. It can cause kidney stones and other organ problems. Four suppliers have so far been arrested for selling melamine-laced milk to Sanlu.

Just for poop and giggles, a little good news.

Personally I'm more than sick with the state of the world and the fear we are not only fed on a regular basis but surprisingly wallow in as long as it confirms our worst expectations. Answers abound to the problems we face as long as there is a desire to work towards the goals to solve them but it would help at times to know people all over the world are actually working on them instead of trying to blow something or someone up. But that's the kicker in all this, if you watch the main stream media on a regular basis you get plenty of debate on whether a pig can wear lipstick or if the wearing of an American flag lapel pin signifies whether someone is a true patriot. If that isn't enough journalists on the news channels spend a great deal of time chasing some washed-up pop diva, actor or other celebrity with no describable talent other than a huge family trust fund and a good public relations agent.

Now one thing that would definitely curl my toes would be the opportunity to tell the American oil companies, several members of OPEC, and a few other oil rich countries to take a flying leap into oblivion. So whenever I see anything that pushes us in that direction I feel a little better. Funny, had to find this article from a source outside the United States.

New fuel battery may ditch gasoline for good

LONDON: Researchers at the University of Massachusetts Boston have come up with a new idea of combining electric power with a combustion engine, which they say may enable electric vehicles to store more energy than gasoline in the same volume, and extend their range.

They say that electric power storage that is part battery part chemical fuel cell may ditch gasoline for good.

Stuart Licht, who conceived the new design along with his colleagues at the university, says that it can store energy more densely than petrol.

Much of what we do these days is just trend water and try like hell to keep our credit card financed lifestyles from consuming us like a rabid hungry bear. We usually don't have time to even think about how other people live in parts of the world where the leftover food we regularly send down the garbage disposal would be thought of as a blessing from God. Several times I have half-jokingly written how I don't believe humans are an intelligent species that we can't or won't move to overcome our pre-wired million of years old programming that sees anyone outside our respective nations, tribes, social setting, or religion as evil or corrupted. Happily there are those that give me some hope that humans might indeed be worthy of higher regard.

Meet the New Heroes
What is a hero? The American Heritage Dictionary defines the word as "a person noted for feats of courage or nobility of purpose, especially one who has risked or sacrificed his or her life."

The heroes you'll meet on these pages and in these films are different from those in the pages of most history books. They are not famous politicians or legendary soldiers — yet they have improved the lives of MILLIONS of people and made the world more secure. Their 'arsenals' are not of weaponry, but of creative ideas, dogged determination and a deep belief in their power to change the world. Also known as "social entrepreneurs," they develop innovations that bring life-changing tools and resources to people desperate for viable solutions.

Please do not get the idea that I think things will all be peaches and cream in the end. Huge forces that inspire to the lower, baser levels of the human mind like greed, the lust for power and control, and envy want things to stay the way they are since any change will not directly benefit them. My main reason for doing this post is just to spread some word that there are some out there working for the betterment of the entire mass of curious hairless primates that can’t seem to pull its collective head out its collective ass. Good night and good luck.

Now for something completely different

As the good Palin from "Monty Python's Flying Circus" might say: Now for something completely different. Utah Savage has tagged me with a simple meme that I am far more than just happy to participate in since it takes my feeble mind off the ever encroaching minions of fascism that have burrowed their way into the land of the free. If I get too wordy and long winded please forgive.

Where was I ten years ago?

Well give or take a week I was actually serving my country, unlike many politicians who revel in “public service” but never do without clean sheets or ironed shirts and silk ties, in the National Guard. If I remember correctly the maintenance battalion I was serving in at the time was on a weekend field training exercise. I was inside a GP (General Purpose) medium tent that more than likely was old during the Kennedy Administration with the rest of my commo section discussing things soldiers talked about I’m sure for decades while we trouble shot and repaired radios and other communication equipment from about the same era. Thinking back now that was a curious and odd time when many ran about worrying over the possible fall of the Republic over the moral turpitude of an egotistical president. While some may claim that he engaged the armed forces in military conflict to provide cover for oral activities while the Secret Service provided concealment he at least had the good graces to not bankrupt the country or get thousands killed. Maybe if the “Current Occupant “ had engaged in such activities he would have been more laid back and not took up torture and violation of civil liberties as hobbies.

The weekend field exercise had us leaving the armory before sunrise to setup the battalion headquarters in a pasture next to the Air National Guard base across town. After several hours of running around in a more chaotic fashion than an army might want to admit the unit got down to the business of practicing it’s various missions. The day progressed to the point that after evening chow everyone was winding down and settling in for the evening knowing the reverse of what we did that day would have to be done more quickly the next morning. The pasture the battalion had setup in was close enough to the main part of the Air National Guard base to have electrical hookups so we had no cantankerous and loud army generators disturbing the peaceful night. The night was cool with a steady breeze that didn’t allow the nasty mosquitoes and gnats from getting a blood sucking foothold on anyone. No moon was out and we sat under a huge veil of stars that didn’t have to compete with city and suburban lights. The stars seemed to be enforcing a silence on the entire battalion that no sergeant or officer could ever implement. Everyone spoke in whispers seemly fearful of breaking the stillness. That still didn’t stop small groups, in this case the commo section I was in, from gathering around outside and passing time by just sharing idle conversation.

My section was a curious collection of different types of people. The acting section sergeant, Pete, was a state accountant whose wife knew my wife and hated the Guard about the same as my wife. Pete’s dilemma was that he had married far later in life and had far more invested in the Guard in the form of retirement points than I did. Retirement points are earned for each drill weekend a soldier completes which are added to other points a soldier might earn for active service, rank, and several other factors leading to the amount of money they get once they hang up the uniform. His overall plan had him staying in the Guard for at least seven more years to reach the number of points that would allow him to retire comfortably. Given how he talked about his marriage struggles it was a serious question of whether he would be married at that time. Another fellow owned a business selling and servicing pagers in a time when cell phones were finally evolving into something less than clumsy bricks. The one woman in our section was a proto-Coulter type that seemed very bothered over Disney’s overt sexuality expressed in the animated version of "The Hunchback of Notre Dame." Another guy was an ambitious criminology major hoping to make his way to the FBI or DEA but at that moment was working as a rent-a-cop. The final guy was a Persian Gulf veteran who served with the 101^st Airborne and until a few months before that drill was sure that I was an undercover agent for the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division since he thought I was far too quiet and “clean cut”. Out of all the people in my section with their own collection of troubles and issues he was the exception. “Sam” had left the service and promptly flunked out of college and had held a series of low paying jobs. That is until he met a young lady at some college party he crashed. As crazy luck would have it that girl fell head over heels in love with Sam along with her father who owned both a construction and real estate company down around Hilton Head, needless to say the guy was filthy rich. Sam was at that time learning the ropes of his future father-in-law’s business during the week down on the coast then on the weekends Sam and his fiancée were staying in her father’s yacht. That is when Uncle Sammy wasn’t making him drive back up to Columbia to do his weekend drills. (As a side note Sam had me over to the yacht for beers one weekend when Dragonwife and I were down at Hilton Head seeing her folks.)

We talked for hours over many subjects without discussing anything of lasting value. One by one my section mates peeled off and found their cot and fartsack leaving me outside alone. Me? I was so entranced by the stars, planets and other aspects of the cosmos seemly on display for me that night I grabbed my fartsack and slept on the back of some humvee. Give or take a week that was what I was doing ten years ago.

What was on my to do list today?

Miss Wiggles and I spent the morning making pancakes and watching Spongebob Squarepants. Later we went to the zoo as is usual for us and walked around checking out all the animals. Miss Wiggles who had brought a bag of peanut M&M’s almost gave some to one of the zoo’s meerkats that honestly seemed very eager to try them out. Once I stopped her by taking the candy away the three meerkats standing upright just on the other side of the barrier that separated us seemed rather upset. We then went back to the state museum and browsed various aspects of South Carolina history. No, I will not put anyone through any more pictures from those places right now.

What would I do if I was a billionaire?

After winning the lottery, which is the only way I could ever be a billionaire, I would more than likely give my wife half of it, whether I wanted to or not, just to keep her quiet. Yes, I would quit my job and then travel down to Pawleys Island and purchase a ramshackle beach house that sits on the mainland side right on the marsh. That particular house was constructed in the late 60’s and has a huge screened-in porch facing the marsh. It has survived all the hurricanes since then even though it has required extensive repairs at various times. My brother has rented the place several times and it holds for me a sense of honest style and originality that many of the newer houses built very nearby do not. Many of the newer houses have huge plate glass windows facing the marsh, or for those on the island facing the ocean, which I find outright bizarre. Once I was settled in I can imagine myself doing a 21^st century imitation of the late and very great Mickey Spillane. There are several levels to what I just wrote that you will have to ask me what that means.

Five places I’ve lived.

Fort Smith, Arkansas: For some reason I can’t figure out my mother moved us there after one of my parent’s multiple breakups. We have no family there and she had no friends there when we arrived that could help her. One of the many mysteries of my late mother carried to the grave that will never be answered.

Fort Carson, Colorado: Great place in the summer but if I never see the place again in the winter it will be too soon.

Lawton, Oklahoma: Intense craziness and confusion being the norm in my parent's relationship they tried to reunite again for the fourth or fifth time after my dad took a job with a construction company in Wichita Falls, Texas. My mom loaded us up again in her tired Chevrolet Caprice and drove us out to Texas to meet dad. At some point just several months later, but I don't have a clue when, she had her boyfriend ride out west and met him in Lawton, Oklahoma which was about a hour drive from Wichita Falls. By the time the circuit breaker in mom's head tripped again and she loaded my siblings and me to go stay with him her boyfriend had already found a job and had an apartment. While my mom and her boyfriend were nuts I found the people in Lawton friendly and caring. So much that the sheriff literally rode him out of town on a rail after they had a drunken fit in the apartment one night. We, my mother, siblings and I, in turn made our way back to Georgetown, South Carolina and my grandparents.

Murrells Inlet, South Carolina: Back when we lived there it was a honest piece of heaven on earth. While if I don’t look too closely at the development that has come to the place I can almost still feel the spirit of that little hamlet that sheltered my young soul for a time.

Munster, Germany: While on a REFORGER in 1987 my air defense battery bivouacked in a field that some German farmer had just expelled the contents of a honey pot nearby making our lives a smelly hell. After about a week though we got use to it and didn’t think anymore of it even though he sprayed the nearby field several more times. As our month in that field drew to a close and the actually war games was about to begin the First Sergeant noticed a line of soldiers next a white BMW that was parked across the road. Noticing one of his young troops coming back after spending some time at the back door of the vehicle with a huge grin on his face alerted the senior NCO that something wasn’t right. The First Sergeant being a veteran of several tours of duty in good old Deutschland went running across the field to that car chasing away the troops lined up and the drop dead gorgeous blond that had setup her business in the backseat. If you can’t figure what I’m writing about email me and I’ll tell you. This is a semi-family friendly site.

Bad habits? Far too many to list.

Now who will I tag? Well, here goes:

Lime

Zombieslayer

Mike

Colonel and

Hillblogger

Alaskan Independence Party and Sara....John, did you really check her out?

Not to pee on all those proud Republican's parade with the glory they are basking in over the pitbull that spoke last night at their convention and talked so much trash about Obama but I found something interesting. It seems that while the right wing have tried to roast Michelle Obama over some of her words and paint Obama as something less than patriotic that proud American beauty Sara Palin has actually been a member of a political party seeking to pull Alaska out of the Union. Now that would seem to me to be something old John and his handlers would have found out before asking her to run with him of the Republican ticket. I can only imagine what screams of disloyalty and treason would come from the likes of Limbaugh, Coulter, and Hannity if such a video of Barrack or Michelle similar to this one would turn up. Now I don't have many people reading my blog who are Republican and just tonight some right wing weasel on MSNBC was telling Rachael Maddow the Palin's connection to the Alaskan Independence Party wasn't true but I dare any that might to watch this and tell me that is not her on this video. I'm sorry but while there wasn't a chance in hell I would ever vote for McCain/Palin you can't tell me she is proud to be an American yet clearly has friendly and supportive dealings with a political party that would have Alaska become an independent country.

A more numerous and highly detailed list of corruptions and lies from this woman can be found at MadMike's America.

Miss Wiggles is six

Reports from the outer edge of sanity.



We entered the kid's play house for Wiggles' birthday party and I hadn't walked ten feet in the place when I could already feel the noise of at least two hundred other sugared up rugrats echoing off the walls then reaching down into the core of my tiny brain and ripping my synapses to shreds. The place where we were at is a steel building in which small versions of a Ferris wheel, merry-go-round, and twirl-a-whirl in which only small children can ride were mounted, securely I hoped, all through the building. Along with that were several of those huge inflatable jumping pits and slides that have once again confirmed my belief in God since I saw several rugrats, not attending Wiggles party, bounce up and out onto the concrete floor without being hurt. One kid climbed to the top of the inflatable slide, gave the best Tarzan yell since Johnny Weissmuller then jumped straight to the bouncy landing area of the slide, bounced up again and landed on top of the inflatable ball pit next to the slide. This kid then slid back down to the concrete floor laughing his butt off screaming he would do it again. Just a few minutes later I got peed on by one of the pet monkeys the owners kept in a large cage when I told Wiggles it was time for her head to the room where her cake and presents were located. The monkey appeared to take offense at me taking Wiggles who was feeding it popcorn. Then again the monkey cage was right across from the inflatable ball pit and slide and if I had to put up with such noise on a daily basis I would pee on whomever made the mistake to come close enough to me.

Now throw in FREE cotton candy, which the kids snatched up and ran off with as soon as one was spun up and the entire scene could have devolved into a tiny version of "Lord of the Flies" if by chance the cake and ice cream had not been there. It was clear to me that no matter how cute and innocent these five, six, and seven year olds acted, down below were savage beasts looking only for a sugar fix.

My daughter, once she was hogtied to her seat, clearly enjoyed being in the spotlight and relished the attention to the point she could have rivaled Brittany Spears with her antics. Prayers for my sanity and soul will be greatly appreciated as she gets older by the way. But Wiggles surrounded herself with her inner clique and her and the three others of the Ya-ya sisterhood openly talked about which of the several boys attending her party they wanted to kiss. The boys in turn looked confused and worried that the girls might try and actually chase them down, they think cooties is a real disease. I briefly considered warning them that it wasn't until you were married a few years that you had to worry about cooties and how it took the form of your wife denying most aspects of fun with you holding their purse as she shops. But I held back, I saw no need to crush their young minds with nasty details they won't have to worry about for years.

The party finally did end at some point. But not until the swarm of rugrats went running off again to the various kid sized attraction dripping melted ice cream and smears of cake icing. As Darth Spoilboy, Dragonwife's parents Mr. and Mrs. Sunshine, and myself loaded up the loot I noticed a new set of parents bringing their children into the place holding boxes for another party. They noticed my dazed look and asked if everything went okay since the kid's play house had been open for only a couple of weeks. All I could say was that they should abandon all hope once they enter this place. Later that night as I recovered drinking my first of many beers to flush away my shredded synapses I concluded that if such kid's play houses were the norm for birthday parties for the children of affluence in America that in itself may be the reason there are so many families with only one child. I simply could not see myself doing that again on purpose. Although, Dragonwife and I had done the same thing for our son, Darth Spoilboy, at Chucky Cheese for his fourth birthday and promised ourselves never to darken that doorway again, a promise we have actually kept. Next year Wiggles better only expect a quiet game of pin the tail on the donkey.