Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Election Reform

MTV is once again rolling out its “Rock the Vote” campaign.

I assume. I programmed our TV remote to skip over MTV ever since they stopped playing music and became whatever it is they are these days.

Since I’m a bit older these days and mellower I’m wondering when someone is going to roll out a “Smooth Jazz the Vote” for my demographic.

The challenger candidate for Salt Lake County Commissioner stopped by our house on Saturday. We had a pleasant conversation. Most of Utah has moved to electronic voting machines. Diebold, of course. So did I mention that Princeton researchers had shown that a Diebold voting machine can be hacked in less than a minute? Yes, I did, my friends, yes, I did. Bottom line, we are stuck with these things. And a ton of other places are stuck with them as well.

My only conciliation is that since everyone knows that we Democrats are all evil, have no morals and will stop at nothing to ruin this country. So odds are in our favor that we Dems have all the hackers on our side.

Other rejected “get out the vote” catchy slogans:

Vote! You get a Sticker!
Mambo the Vote!
Vote or be Horribly Maimed by a Badger! (a slight variation on P. Diddy’s “Vote or Die!” thing)
Vote! So you can start bitching, FULL TIME!
Vote! Or We Won’t Stop Runnning Political Ads!
Vote! We Can’t Screw Things Up Unless We Hear from You! Wait, Scratch That; Vote, Don’t Vote, Doesn’t Matter, We’ll Just Do Whatever We Want No Matter What You Say.

Jon scribbled this mess on 10/25/06 at 12:05 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Parent Letter

After YEARS of searching we have finally found a way to pawn one of our children off on a different hemisphere of the planet.

Though we technically have to pay the other hemisphere in order to take her off our hands, I think it’s totally worth it. We don’t need 401k’s, Roth IRAs or to think about our futures.

OK, not true at all, but we are most likely sending Carrie to Japan in April of next year. It’s a study abroad program. Three months in some part of Japan. I have feeling thhat it might be a bad idea to send her to Akihabara, you know?

Anyway, we as her nomial parents had to write a letter, talking about why we think she should be able to go loaf about in Japan for three months. This duty fell to Reha. (of course) She is supposed to talk about why Carrie would excel studying in Japan and why she’d be a good fit “over there.” This is the letter Reha wrote. It chokes me up more than a little, I have to admit.

Parent’s Letter
Carrie Deal

Dear Prospective Host Family:

Thank you in advance for opening your home to my daughter. I am thrilled that she will have the opportunity to live in Japan, experience a culture in which she is so interested, and improve her language skills. I am pleased to be able to introduce Carrie to you as I am one of her biggest fans.

Carrie has a very strong desire to study in Japan. She has been very selective about extracurricular activities, preferring to keep her life simple and preserve personal, quiet time. But she is passionate about Japan and its culture. My impression is that she is very talented at learning languages, and I believe she will be able to reap the full benefit of study abroad. She is working at a pizza restaurant five evenings a week to earn some of the cost of her study abroad program, which demonstrates her commitment. Carrie is maturing into an engaged and focused young adult. She has begun to dream bigger dreams about her future, deciding, for example, that she would like to attend a competitive liberal arts college in the Northwestern United States. I believe her study abroad experience will help her get into the college of her choice and succeed as a new college student.

Carrie is also excited to live with you and experience Japanese family life. I am certain you will find her to be a respectful and helpful long-term visitor in your household. I can say with complete honesty that we have not had any “typical teenager” problems with Carrie. Her behavior and activities have never given us cause for concern. She has consistently treated me and her father with respect, even giving us the impression that she likes us! Beyond that, she is a kind and inclusive big sister to three younger siblings. She loves all young children, especially her three-year-old sister, and is very good at teaching and explaining things to them. She sets an excellent example for her younger siblings and they are lucky that she is blazing the trail for them.

Carrie is a bright, interesting person. She is articulate and has an amazing memory. When she was 10, she was the only person on a full tour bus at the San Diego zoo who knew that the closest relative of the hyrax is the elephant. Throughout her life, Carrie has consistently amazed me with the number, variety, and obscurity of the facts she has absorbed and can recall. “Where did you learn that??” is a question I ask frequently. Starting at an unusually young age, she has been observing, processing, and making insightful comments on the world around her. Because of her awareness of the world outside her individual experience, I am not surprised that she has developed an interest in Japanese culture and a desire to study abroad in Japan.

Carrie is very down to earth, especially for a teenage girl. She is not overly concerned about her appearance. She does not spend a lot of time primping, does not feel compelled to adopt the latest fashion fad, and is not “boy crazy.” She is frugal and prefers to shop at thrift stores for many items rather than paying full price at a department store or boutique. She may be the only teenage girl in America who has actually chastised her mother for buying her clothing that she thought was too expensive. Carrie is not a person who needs to be entertained; she appreciates the simple pleasures in life, many of which she enjoys at home. She is not a demanding person; she is not critical of others or easily offended. She has a keen social conscience, is concerned for the environment, and despises inequalities that she perceives in American society.

Carrie is open-minded, accepting, even-tempered. But at the same time, she has a strong sense of self and is not easily persuaded to vary from her own idea of what is best for her. She is not easily intimidated; in fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it happen. When she was four, she and a small group of children were asked if they would like to touch a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach at the Salt Lake City zoo. Each of the other children, including much older boys, shrunk back in fear and disgust. But Carrie unhesitatingly reached out to pet the insect. The character she demonstrated that day has not changed. Carrie approaches new experiences without fear and is interested in almost everything. Just today, her pediatrician of eleven years said she is “very well put together.” I think that is an apt description. In many ways, she seems older than her 16 years, yet she is fun loving and exuberant as young people should be.

Carrie certainly adds joy to my life, and I’m sure you will find her to be delightful. Of course, I will miss her terribly while she is gone. But I’m sure you will send her home with experiences and memories that will remain with her for the rest of her life. Thank you again for helping to make this wonderful experience possible.

Sincerely,

Reha Deal
Mother of Carrie Deal

Jon scribbled this mess on 10/24/06 at 12:04 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Monday, October 23, 2006

Flying Leap

Below I present a work of fiction. I’m more than a little a-scared about putting it up. It’s been up on the site for a while, though in a “closed” state, so only I could see it every time I logged on. Too chicken to let it go out into the world. Isn’t it weird, I’m more than willing to talk on-line about getting a vasectomy or publishing really embarrassing photos of myself, but this little short story I wrote a while ago, letting this out into the wild, scares the be-hoobies out of me. The story is called Flying Leap.

I am sitting two rows down and to the left of McKay. We’re in one of those arena-like classrooms. I think Professor Cromby likes the place because he can look up knowledgeably over the rims of his glasses at his students. Turning around and looking up at McKay I can see his lip quivering. He glances over to me and then down at his book.

“Mr. Berkeley, can you answer the question?”

McKay can not answer the question. This is obvious to me. He’s one of those sick types that always seems to be prepared on the days he is called on. Sure, Professor Cromby, Juris Doctor, Order of the Coif, is a jerk and always tries to nail his students unprepared, but something is wrong with McKay. His eyes lack rationality. They’re open just a little too wide. His Adam’s apple begins to bob. His mouth is open like it’s on hinges and uncontrolled, letting in his quick, shallow breaths. He is a deer caught in headlights. A deer with a Mets hat on.

He’s gonna throw up. Or pee right there in Kimball Hall in the Dr. and Mrs. Timothy James room.

Everyone in the room can feel it. It’s thick in there. Nothing moves except for a few of McKay’s body parts. I’m not even breathing anymore, I’m just waiting for a shoe to drop.

I steal a look at Cromby. He’s unfathomable. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or dumbfounded. He’s staring at McKay. Oncoming headlights.

With every pupil in the room focused on him, McKay stands up. Too fast, his chair toppling over, bouncing once and then laying there motionless. McKay moves sideways behind the other student’s chairs to the end of the row. He walks quickly up the stairs of the arena and out the door. His open book and pack lay on the desk.

The door, one of those automatic jobs, closes behind him with a click. Cromby, the evil one incarnate, turns off the hi-beams and looks over the class and says, “Is anyone friends with Mr. Berkeley? If so, I think someone should go after him.”

Everyone looks at me. I mean, every head turns and looks at me. I’m his friend, of course. Hard to go to school with a guy for as long as we have and not be friends. I know, though, that I’m not equipped to handle whatever McKay is putting out here. Cromby looks over at me and asks if I know Mr. Berkeley well enough to go an make sure he is all right.

“Yes, he is my friend.”

Cromby is all compassion now. Like he’s doing his pro bono work for the month. “Please Mr. Johnson, be good enough to see that he is all right. I shall merely mark him absent for this class and disregard his lack of preparation.” The twit. He sounds like he’s been ready since the beginning of time for someone to stare blankly at him and walk out in the middle of class. Probably happens every semester. I get up and go out into the hall.

The corridor is long, but McKay has left me a trail. Pieces of his clothing are in regular heaps on the floor leading out into the courtyard.

I go outside and see him sitting there on the side of the fountain with nothing but his Mets cap on. He’s staring at the bouncing water.

“McKay? McKay, are you OK?” What an asinine question. The guy just walked out of Torts with his facial muscles twitching, took off his clothes in the hallway and is now sitting naked as a jay bird on a very public fountain.

He looks at me, his eyes no longer terribly open, “Yeah, I think I’m OK. It’s a little cold out here, but I think I’m OK.”

“McKay, what’s up?”

“Do you remember that time we hitched down to the city to see a game, only to realize that the only team playing was the Mets, but we went to the game anyway?”
Insanity. Public nudity, baseball games and insanity. That’s where this is leading, I can tell. “Yeah, I remember. You bought that hat you’re wearing. Which, by the way, is the only stitch of clothing you currently have on. It’s a nice hat, but it doesn’t go a long way in the modesty department.”

He smiled. For a second I thought he was giving me one of those crazy person smiles where the crazy guy grins just a little too wide and a little too long. “I’m going to get to that. Give me a second.”

“Sorry, look, do you want my sweater? It’s a little chilly out here.”

“In a minute. So anyway, that was a pretty good day, huh?”

“Yeah, we had a good time that day.”

“And those girls, do you remember those girls we met at that jazz club and they gave us a ride home because they were worried about us thumbing back?”

“Yes, of course I remember. They were nice. I’ve always said that pretty women giving rides to semi-strangers is partial proof of the existence of God. McKay, is there a point here? If there is, I think I’m missing it.”

“What I have done is a symbolic gesture, Cal.”

“A what?”

“A symbolic gesture. You know symbolism, don’t you?”

“We’ve met on occasion. So what is so symbolic about being naked on a fountain in the courtyard?”

“I’m leaving, Cal. This is a new beginning.”

“Leaving? Where are you going? What new beginning are we talking about? A career as a stripper?”

“Doubtful, I don’t think I could get the pasties to stay on.”

“So, what you are saying is that you are having some kind of return to the womb thing happening here?”

“Sort of. I’ve just decided that I’ve had enough and I’m not going to do what they expect of me anymore.”

“Well, this fountain trick will certainly catch Tom and Louise off guard. Don’t think they’ll see this one coming for miles.”

I remember that I am talking to a naked person in the courtyard. McKay is being very normal, almost like we are sitting here fully clothed remembering our weekend jaunts and hating his parents. I look up at the windows, expecting to dozens of eyes glued to the scene, but no one has noticed. I can see a few people staring out of our classroom, but Cromby must have resumed his grilling. I’m sure they will keep the rest of the class informed if anything truly weird happens out here.

“Hey, look, I’m over here having a epiphany and you are mocking me.”

“Oh, please, McKay, you are naked on a fountain in the courtyard of Kimball Hall in late October. This is hardly what I would call epiphany. Stupid. Insane. Loopy. These are words to describe this scene, not epiphany.”

“Don’t forget cold.”

“Do you want my sweater? Better yet, let me go get your pants and the rest of your clothes. They’ll go great with what you have on now. Plus I know they’ll fit you. No tailoring necessary.” I move to get up.

“No! Don’t you get it? I took off those clothes because of what they symbolize. I’m not putting them on again. Ever.”

“I’m afraid I don’t get it. Do you have something against the Levi Strauss Company and the cotton industry? Or are you being melodramatic for some point I am missing?”

“No, stupid. My parents bought me those clothes. And everything else I could ever call my own. Those clothes are a part of the person they want me to be, not the person I am, or want to be. I was sitting there in Cromby’s class thinking about how much I hated them and everything they represent. Then Cromby asked me that question and I realized how much I hated law school and being here and living a lie for my parents’ sake. I just about threw up. I had to get out of there.”

“I knew you were gonna puke. You can tell by the Adam’s apple.”

“To tell you the truth I don’t really remember leaving or taking off my clothes. Something sort of went ‘ping’ in my head and the next thing I knew I was out here in the buff.”

“Well, let’s not forget that you do have on your Mets cap.”

“See, that’s the point. It’s my Mets cap. I bought it. With my own money that I got tutoring that undergrad. It was my money. Not the money Dad sent me.”

He takes the cap off, waving it in the air, gesturing at it. “This is my little key to freedom. It represents my new beginning. Me, McKay J. Berkeley, independent person of the year. I’m going to start doing what I want to do. I’m an adult after all. I have a college degree. I can get a job on my own. I don’t need my Dad to get me one. And I can wear whatever I want. I don’t need my Mom to pick everything out for me. I may never take this here hat off.” He plops it back on his head.

“Look if you are not going to ever take it off, at least use it wisely and cover your more salient features.”

“Shut up. Can I have your sweater now? I’m about to freeze out here.”

We went back into Kimball Hall, gathered up his clothes and went into the bathroom. I gave him my clothes and I took his. His were way too small for me. He looked swallowed in mine.

We decided not to go back to Cromby’s class that day, but went to lunch instead. McKay practically bounced off the walls on the way to the cafeteria, talking about what he was going to do instead of law school and how he was going to tell his parents to go to hell and how he was going to wear the Mets cap while he was doing it, too, damned if he cared what they thought anymore. Why he might just show up on the door step nude and capped one day and tell them to shove it in front of the neighbors and wouldn’t I just die to see their faces?

I sat there the whole time eating and nodding at appropriate intervals, telling him to try and be a little reasonable in the lack of clothing department. I figured he was having some sort of post-stress, post-breakdown high and just needed to get it out of his system. I knew he’d eventually calm down.

Everything he said made perfect sense. Like a business plan on paper. He would drop out and get a job as far away as possible from Tom and Louise. He wouldn’t even tell them where he was going. Poof and he’d be gone. Out of the loop. Everything was going to be so great for him he thought. He would completely change his life. Become a new person. Rebirth. The bad karma of the past McKay was dead. To hear him talk, tulips were about to sprout in October.

I didn’t want to remind that the Mets lost more than a hundred games this year.

Jon scribbled this mess on 10/23/06 at 11:08 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Stuff that's not true (fiction). This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Guess Who Just Learned How to Program the Phone System Database?

Yes, that’d be me.

Jon scribbled this mess on 10/22/06 at 03:33 PM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Photos Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Busted

Ellis: “Daddy, will you hold my ice cream so it won’t drip?”
Pause. She looks up at me.
“And not eat it.”

Jon scribbled this mess on 10/21/06 at 02:32 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Election Reform

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Parent Letter

Monday, October 23, 2006

Flying Leap

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Guess Who Just Learned How to Program the Phone System Database?

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Busted

Novus

Proximus

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