In Memorial

Besides all the clamor over memorials on the mall, military reshaping,
and jingoism, today serves a very important part in the identity of our
nation. Besdies the the commercializaton of history by the film
industry, today serves as a day to reflect within our own personal
context for things. It is a good time to ask your grandfather and
grandmother what happened from their perspective.

Of all the celebrations, I still think that Rolling Thunder is, far and
away, the most American, and most honest of celebrations.

In other news, Representative Joe Moakley has died. He served
Massachusetts and the nation for years and will be missed.

To change the subject completely, Joe and I were at lunch today on 17th
street. And there amidst very “out” people were two men having lunch.
Their were wearing military dress whites. (I think Navy to be exact.)
The first question was, are they dressing up or are the real thing.
I’ll let you come up with you own second, third, and fourth question.
Just remember, don’t ask, don’t tell.

Anyone want a new TV?

(I am pissed off and way grumpy. In fact, I am so grumpy, I may win the grumpypants away from Chris W.)

I am in Cincinnati. There are no visible race riots, but it is raining and that has kept the crowds down. I am in a hotel that smells of old soggy business travelers. As Tom Waits wrote, “and you take on the dreams of those who stayed there before you.” The curtains in my room are a color that, well, the closest thing I can come up with is cotton candy, not the blue kind, but the shocking pink kind. I can feel myself getting a tan from their eerie glow.

The fucking “i” key on my keyboard is working intermittently. This may not seem like a big deal until you try logging into a machine with the username “iglazer.” God, do I hate laptops. I also have begun to hate cell phones. Not because you can never get signal when you need it, but because we all have become to attached to them. I hate the sound of their ring. I hate listening to other people’s conversations and then them getting pissy at you for looking at them as they blab away. I hate that people (and I am guilty of this too) forsake those who are with them for some squawky voice on a tiny plastic phone. I just hate the social implications of cell phones. Write a fuckin’ letter!

PS I think that I have sufficiently proven my grumpypantsedness… hand ’em over Warner.

I am in Cincinnati to do a floorshow. Those of you not in a business where there are floorshows, lemmie splain them to you. You, the vendor, sit a little table and have some collateral and some give-aways. People come by pretend to be interested in what you have to say and what your collateral says, and then strips you bare of your give-aways… consider it collateral damage. Worse yet, the person I am supposed to be sharing this hell isn’t here… so it is me and only me. I am paying for my sins… worse yet, I am paying for the sins I have yet to commit. What a Jewish condition.

Kudos to Ken for introducing me to a band called Lemon Jelly. They bare not relation to Green Jello. They do, however, bravely ask the musical question, “What do you do in the bath?” Check them out.

I’m not the only one

The Post ran an article this Sunday on how the First Chimp has
contradicted his assistants like Powell in front of them in meetings.
That Chimpo seemingly pulls an answer from the air and sticks to it no
matter how remarkably wrong it is. For example, “We will defend
Taiwan.” The next day his aides were saying, “What the President meant
to say was, we won’t be chaning the murky policy we have right now.”
Another example, “I like oil.” Aides responded with, “What the
president meant to say was, eat me.” (Okay, I might have made that one

Check out,
Not only is the content of the article concerning, but the picture of
Evil Cheney about to give someone the Vulcan Nerve Pinch is even more
terrifing. Increased production over conservation… does anyone else
feel the 70s coming back. All we need is a rise in cocaine popularity
and music that has a 2 4 beat so strong that white people can feel it.