© 2008 Stan Spire
December 25th: Dies Natalis Solis Invicti – Birthday of the Unconquered Sun.
Before Christianity became the state sponsored religion of ancient Rome, Romans believed in Sol Invictus, not “God.” Sol’s feast had been preceded by Saturnalia, a holiday in honor of Saturnus, the god of seed and sowing.
During Saturnalia slaves were free. They could gamble and let off some steam. Once the holiday was over, it was back to the usual social order. The same thing happens now when wage slaves are given the day off and are allowed to get drunk and rowdy at office parties.
Another pagan tradition – Yule or Yule-Tide – was observed by Germanic peoples. Apparently evergreens – wreaths and trees – symbolized the promise of undying life because they stayed green throughout the long winters. Of course, modern man doesn’t bother to mindlessly follow such rituals, spending money on the perfect wreath or tree.
But what ties it all together is the Winter Solstice. Once again we’re back to Sol, the sun-god. Saturnalia, the Feast of Sol Invictus, Yuletide, Christmas – holidays that keep the masses distracted so that they don’t realize that their elitist rulers are greedy idiots wrecking everything.
Keep in mind neither Saturnus or Sol Invictus saved the Roman Empire.
Can Santa or Christ save the American Empire?
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Just Another Day
© 2008 Stan Spire
Taking a look at the headlines:
-- Attacks kill five in Iraq
-- Two NATO soldiers slain in Afghanistan
-- One British marine killed in Afghanistan on Christmas Eve
-- Gunman in Santa suit kills three at LA party
So where’s all this peace and good will that’s supposed to save the world?
Ask for a refund.
Taking a look at the headlines:
-- Attacks kill five in Iraq
-- Two NATO soldiers slain in Afghanistan
-- One British marine killed in Afghanistan on Christmas Eve
-- Gunman in Santa suit kills three at LA party
So where’s all this peace and good will that’s supposed to save the world?
Ask for a refund.
Not Obliged
© 2008 Stan Spire
If you’re expecting me to wish you “Merry Xmas,” go elsewhere.
If you’re having a great day, good for you. Don’t let me pee on your parade. Just understand that not everyone is marching in step with you. I’m entitled not to get caught up in the holiday cheer, pretending that today is the most special day of the year. I have the right to ignore, dislike – or even hate – the so-called “Happy Holidays.”
Conformity. Fit in or else. If you’re not into the winter holidays group think, there is something wrong with you. Scrooge! Grinch!
Maybe what is “wrong” with me is that I’m an individual. Neither my life experiences and present situation match yours.
Anyway, I’m not depressed – because I’m not pretending, I’m not in denial.
What’s your story?
If you’re expecting me to wish you “Merry Xmas,” go elsewhere.
If you’re having a great day, good for you. Don’t let me pee on your parade. Just understand that not everyone is marching in step with you. I’m entitled not to get caught up in the holiday cheer, pretending that today is the most special day of the year. I have the right to ignore, dislike – or even hate – the so-called “Happy Holidays.”
Conformity. Fit in or else. If you’re not into the winter holidays group think, there is something wrong with you. Scrooge! Grinch!
Maybe what is “wrong” with me is that I’m an individual. Neither my life experiences and present situation match yours.
Anyway, I’m not depressed – because I’m not pretending, I’m not in denial.
What’s your story?
Friday, November 28, 2008
You Greedy Piglets
© 2008 Stan Spire
Bloated. Sitting on your couch, half-hypnotized by the TeeVee. You’re tired, unmotivated. That’s the way The Elitists want you most of the time: indifferent, unaware, but still pliable.
But you can’t loaf around all the time, mired in your abode. This is the time of the year that the Elitists (the Boss Hogs) want you and the other piglets to support their elegant lifestyle, Olympic swimming pools and private jets. It’s time to get you motivated, focused on their goals.
The TeeVee shouts: Big Sales! Grab the Bargains! Don’t Miss Out!
The Elitists appeal to your greedy piglet brain. You stir, ad after ad rousing you into a state of tremendous anticipation. You could enjoy an extra day off from work after the Thanksgiving holiday – but no! You have to get that One Perfect Xmas gift for a loved one. And at a low price. The race is on!
It’s called Black Friday because it helps the stores push their yearly sales up high, great profits. Only black, not red, ink is tolerated. Lots of black ink.
Black Friday also refers to the darkness of people’s souls. Whipped into a frenzy, the materialistic piglets allow their baser emotions to rule. The Elitists sit back and laugh, safe in their comfortable mansions, amused that their manipulations have once again succeeded.
One Xmas parents could only prove their love by buying their offspring a Tickle-Me Elmo doll. Adults acted like bratty kids in the store, pushing each other, to grab that One Perfect Xmas Gift.
Six months later I walked through a Wal-Mart and noticed a display of Tickle-Me Elmo dolls stacked up to the ceiling. People walked by. No one was excited. Yesterday’s news.
But you can’t wait for summer. You have to buy that One Perfect Gift NOW! Set the alarm clock and get up early. Show up at the store in the cold darkness, squeeze in, claiming your spot as part of the growing human tsunami.
You and your fellow beastlings herd outside the locked doors. The handmade sign proclaims: BLITZ LINE STARTS HERE. Pressing, pressing, ready to bolt and grab the bargains inside. At the split second the store swings open its gates, you storm into the retail fortress. Nothing can stand before the stampede. The quick or the dead.
And that’s how you trampled to death a Wal-Mart employee at a Long Island store on Black Friday, 2008.
Bloated. Sitting on your couch, half-hypnotized by the TeeVee. You’re tired, unmotivated. That’s the way The Elitists want you most of the time: indifferent, unaware, but still pliable.
But you can’t loaf around all the time, mired in your abode. This is the time of the year that the Elitists (the Boss Hogs) want you and the other piglets to support their elegant lifestyle, Olympic swimming pools and private jets. It’s time to get you motivated, focused on their goals.
The TeeVee shouts: Big Sales! Grab the Bargains! Don’t Miss Out!
The Elitists appeal to your greedy piglet brain. You stir, ad after ad rousing you into a state of tremendous anticipation. You could enjoy an extra day off from work after the Thanksgiving holiday – but no! You have to get that One Perfect Xmas gift for a loved one. And at a low price. The race is on!
It’s called Black Friday because it helps the stores push their yearly sales up high, great profits. Only black, not red, ink is tolerated. Lots of black ink.
Black Friday also refers to the darkness of people’s souls. Whipped into a frenzy, the materialistic piglets allow their baser emotions to rule. The Elitists sit back and laugh, safe in their comfortable mansions, amused that their manipulations have once again succeeded.
One Xmas parents could only prove their love by buying their offspring a Tickle-Me Elmo doll. Adults acted like bratty kids in the store, pushing each other, to grab that One Perfect Xmas Gift.
Six months later I walked through a Wal-Mart and noticed a display of Tickle-Me Elmo dolls stacked up to the ceiling. People walked by. No one was excited. Yesterday’s news.
But you can’t wait for summer. You have to buy that One Perfect Gift NOW! Set the alarm clock and get up early. Show up at the store in the cold darkness, squeeze in, claiming your spot as part of the growing human tsunami.
You and your fellow beastlings herd outside the locked doors. The handmade sign proclaims: BLITZ LINE STARTS HERE. Pressing, pressing, ready to bolt and grab the bargains inside. At the split second the store swings open its gates, you storm into the retail fortress. Nothing can stand before the stampede. The quick or the dead.
And that’s how you trampled to death a Wal-Mart employee at a Long Island store on Black Friday, 2008.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Damn Dem Dere Hindooz
© 2008 Stan Spire
According to an Associated Press article, some provincials in Massena, NY – one of the remote outposts of NENYland – don’t want their children exposed to yoga in high school because it indoctrinates students into Hindu rites.
A couple of teachers were using yoga exercises to relieve stress in their classrooms. The American Yoga Association says yoga predates Hinduism by many centuries. Hinduism and other world religions just adopted it.
But don’t tell that to Rev. Colin Lucid of Massena’s Calvary Baptist Church. He claims yoga, even in its basic form of relaxation techniques, is tied into Hinduism.
Sure. This reverend is “lucid,” all right.
What’s ironical is that parents against yoga in the classroom are bitching about the separation of church and state – that it should be enforced in this case. Apparently they think yoga is Hinduism in disguise, sneaking in, trying to brainwash their kids. But would they object if Baptist breathing exercises were being offered?
Another religious group, creationists, rants against the church-state boundary line, especially when they try to sneak their beliefs into the classroom under the guise of “Intelligent Design.” Religionists want it their way, no one else’s. So if they can’t have their God in the classroom, they use the church-state argument to keep out other beliefs they dislike by saying those beliefs are “religious.”
For Reverend Lucid and his followers, only their “truth” matters. In the marketplace of ideas, they don’t want a free market. Strange, alien ideas have to be kept away at all costs like deadly viruses. What is going on in Massena is a mindturf war. Essentially xenophobes are saying: “We like the way we think and our kids will think the same way, so don’t confuse us with other non-Christian concepts or anything we consider to be non-Christian.”
A harsh view? Consider this statement by Rev. Lucid in the AP article, explaining that the controversy has been blown out of proportion:
“People have made it a religious war, and it’s not a religious war. We are basically concerned parents, saying we don’t want our children participating in something that could cause them more stress and confusion.”
So what’s causing the stress and confusion – the yoga or the controversy? So far the yoga has been successful in relieving stress before exams. Also, participation is voluntary.
NENYland – the northeastern corner of New York State – has seen great changes over the centuries. Newspapers, radio and TV have made it less isolated. Free education has also exposed its rural citizens to the outside world.
So the backward dirt-poor hick with the outhouse in back has vanished, the kind of person who thought the earth is flat and God was in heaven, favoring the USA over all other countries.
Ask such a person about Hinduism and he would’ve replied:
“What’s dat, Hindooz? Sounds like one of dem dere commies.”
And while that stereotype has disappeared from view, his mindset still lives on.
Source: Yoga at NY high school causes stress among critics – Associated Press
http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5jP6rnvYvkgYYuJCU68p5VrzvT2cQD93ILR6O3
According to an Associated Press article, some provincials in Massena, NY – one of the remote outposts of NENYland – don’t want their children exposed to yoga in high school because it indoctrinates students into Hindu rites.
A couple of teachers were using yoga exercises to relieve stress in their classrooms. The American Yoga Association says yoga predates Hinduism by many centuries. Hinduism and other world religions just adopted it.
But don’t tell that to Rev. Colin Lucid of Massena’s Calvary Baptist Church. He claims yoga, even in its basic form of relaxation techniques, is tied into Hinduism.
Sure. This reverend is “lucid,” all right.
What’s ironical is that parents against yoga in the classroom are bitching about the separation of church and state – that it should be enforced in this case. Apparently they think yoga is Hinduism in disguise, sneaking in, trying to brainwash their kids. But would they object if Baptist breathing exercises were being offered?
Another religious group, creationists, rants against the church-state boundary line, especially when they try to sneak their beliefs into the classroom under the guise of “Intelligent Design.” Religionists want it their way, no one else’s. So if they can’t have their God in the classroom, they use the church-state argument to keep out other beliefs they dislike by saying those beliefs are “religious.”
For Reverend Lucid and his followers, only their “truth” matters. In the marketplace of ideas, they don’t want a free market. Strange, alien ideas have to be kept away at all costs like deadly viruses. What is going on in Massena is a mindturf war. Essentially xenophobes are saying: “We like the way we think and our kids will think the same way, so don’t confuse us with other non-Christian concepts or anything we consider to be non-Christian.”
A harsh view? Consider this statement by Rev. Lucid in the AP article, explaining that the controversy has been blown out of proportion:
“People have made it a religious war, and it’s not a religious war. We are basically concerned parents, saying we don’t want our children participating in something that could cause them more stress and confusion.”
So what’s causing the stress and confusion – the yoga or the controversy? So far the yoga has been successful in relieving stress before exams. Also, participation is voluntary.
NENYland – the northeastern corner of New York State – has seen great changes over the centuries. Newspapers, radio and TV have made it less isolated. Free education has also exposed its rural citizens to the outside world.
So the backward dirt-poor hick with the outhouse in back has vanished, the kind of person who thought the earth is flat and God was in heaven, favoring the USA over all other countries.
Ask such a person about Hinduism and he would’ve replied:
“What’s dat, Hindooz? Sounds like one of dem dere commies.”
And while that stereotype has disappeared from view, his mindset still lives on.
Source: Yoga at NY high school causes stress among critics – Associated Press
http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5jP6rnvYvkgYYuJCU68p5VrzvT2cQD93ILR6O3
Monday, September 15, 2008
Fun Facts: The War of 1812
© 2008 Stan Spire
-- Francis Scott Key plagiarized the tune from an English beer drinking song to write the “Star Spangled Banner.” The original song, “To Anacreon In Heaven,” has pagan lyrics referring to Olympus, “The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’ vine." The perfect source for the national anthem of a “Christian” nation. So the next time the SSB is played, stand up, hand over your heart, and think about Venus’s “myrtle.”
-- The British invaded Washington DC and set fire to the place, burning the White House. Those bastards! (Ignore anyone who tells you that previous to this event, America invaded Canada and set fire to York, Upper Canada. No enemy has the right to imitate our unjustifiable actions during a war. Especially torture.)
-- The War of 1812 is hardly remembered in Britain. It’s overshadowed by the fun the English had with Napoleon Bonaparte at the same time.
-- The War of 1812 is hardly remembered in America. More people on the street know more about the latest Hollywood scandal with some strung-out actress in rehab than they do the history of their country. (That’s why so many morons vote Republican.)
-- Francis Scott Key plagiarized the tune from an English beer drinking song to write the “Star Spangled Banner.” The original song, “To Anacreon In Heaven,” has pagan lyrics referring to Olympus, “The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’ vine." The perfect source for the national anthem of a “Christian” nation. So the next time the SSB is played, stand up, hand over your heart, and think about Venus’s “myrtle.”
-- The British invaded Washington DC and set fire to the place, burning the White House. Those bastards! (Ignore anyone who tells you that previous to this event, America invaded Canada and set fire to York, Upper Canada. No enemy has the right to imitate our unjustifiable actions during a war. Especially torture.)
-- The War of 1812 is hardly remembered in Britain. It’s overshadowed by the fun the English had with Napoleon Bonaparte at the same time.
-- The War of 1812 is hardly remembered in America. More people on the street know more about the latest Hollywood scandal with some strung-out actress in rehab than they do the history of their country. (That’s why so many morons vote Republican.)
BOP: What Were You Celebrating?
© 2008 Stan Spire
So another Battle of Plattsburgh (BOP) celebration has come and gone. But what was the point?
Remembering and honoring those who fought in a decisive battle on Lake Champlain during the War of 1812? Making people aware of the historical events, the forces that brought the United States into conflict with England?
Or was it just an opportunity to get money out of wallets in downtown Plattsburgh to boost the economy? With each celebration, what is more important: promoting history or hawking greasy Italian sausage sandwiches?
It’s a tired but true cliché: Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.
In the run up to the War of 1812 war hawks in congress wanted to do more than just make the British back off and leave American sea vessels alone. Some saw this as an opportunity for expansion to the north: Canada. Why, American soldiers would march in and be greeted as liberators from the big bad British.
It didn’t work out that way, even though former President Thomas Jefferson had stated "the acquisition of Canada this year, as far as the neighbourhood of Quebec, will be a mere matter of marching.” A cakewalk. Mission accomplished. The French people of Quebec obviously didn’t love the British but they were suspicious of American “liberators.”
Of course, history never repeats itself.
So another Battle of Plattsburgh (BOP) celebration has come and gone. But what was the point?
Remembering and honoring those who fought in a decisive battle on Lake Champlain during the War of 1812? Making people aware of the historical events, the forces that brought the United States into conflict with England?
Or was it just an opportunity to get money out of wallets in downtown Plattsburgh to boost the economy? With each celebration, what is more important: promoting history or hawking greasy Italian sausage sandwiches?
It’s a tired but true cliché: Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.
In the run up to the War of 1812 war hawks in congress wanted to do more than just make the British back off and leave American sea vessels alone. Some saw this as an opportunity for expansion to the north: Canada. Why, American soldiers would march in and be greeted as liberators from the big bad British.
It didn’t work out that way, even though former President Thomas Jefferson had stated "the acquisition of Canada this year, as far as the neighbourhood of Quebec, will be a mere matter of marching.” A cakewalk. Mission accomplished. The French people of Quebec obviously didn’t love the British but they were suspicious of American “liberators.”
Of course, history never repeats itself.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Turkeynecks And Dyeing Men
© 2008 Stan Spire
Women are big suckers for cosmetic crap.
TeeVee is littered with ads and infomercials for various skin products that are supposed to erase any signs of aging for women getting long in the tooth. A spokeswoman – usually some over-the-hill actress – will go on about how her facial product will make any hag look like a teenager.
Of course, the spokeswoman does look young for her age. But with the same make-up and special lighting and camera filters and plastic surgery to boot, a trilobite would look sexier and younger.
If you pay attention, check out the spokeswoman’s saggy, wrinkly neck. No flaws with her face; they all moved down into her throat area. (Better stay out of the woods during turkey hunting season.)
Well, at least one spokeswoman is smart enough to cover up her gobbler skin with an array of sparkling jewelry hanging around her neck.
Men are big suckers for cosmetic crap.
Got some gray on top of your head? Cover it up with this product. No one will notice.
“Joe, you look different but I can’t figure it out. Did you lose some weight?”
Naw, Joe just flooded his scalp with black dye. Overnight his salt and pepper hair has disappeared. Now he looks like a middle-aged chump with shoe polish saturating his follicles.
When this gray-covering crap first appeared on the market, the manufacturer had to deal with the stigma of men using dye like age-worried women. There was something – well, unmanly about it. So the TeeVee ads would stress that product would be found at most drugstores in THE MENS SECTION. The announcer’s deep voice would reassure the male viewer that real men do use hair dye. After all, it was being sold in THE MENS SECTION. Why, you would go to that particular aisle and see beefy lumberjacks and pro football players buying the stuff.
In fact one recent commercial uses the he-man sports angle to hawk hair dye to men. Two guys carry on like sportscasters, following the “game” of a graybeard trying to score in a singles bar with a younger woman, a luscious blonde. But she’s turned off by the graybeard’s lack of completely dark hair.
So the scene is played again but this time, note the sportscasters, the graybeard is now a blackbeard (while remaining a bluebeard through it all.) The woman responds to his advance and blackbeard goes home with her. The two sportscasters follow the couple to an apartment house, standing outside with their mikes, proclaiming the man has “scored.” The commercial ends with the two sportscasters lurking outside the apartment window, two losers hanging around for the “color commentary.”
And married men are also targeted. There’s this “cute” TeeVee ad featuring two young girls bugging their father to hide any natural signs of aging. The girls want him to use a special product from THE MENS SECTION. They’re so happy when their father gives in. Even Mom is happy. Her female offspring pussywhipped her husband into doing some silly, proving what she has always suspected: Dad ain’t a real man.
Mom applies her age-defying facial lotion and touches up her hair dye. It’s time to trawl for a stud.
Women are big suckers for cosmetic crap.
TeeVee is littered with ads and infomercials for various skin products that are supposed to erase any signs of aging for women getting long in the tooth. A spokeswoman – usually some over-the-hill actress – will go on about how her facial product will make any hag look like a teenager.
Of course, the spokeswoman does look young for her age. But with the same make-up and special lighting and camera filters and plastic surgery to boot, a trilobite would look sexier and younger.
If you pay attention, check out the spokeswoman’s saggy, wrinkly neck. No flaws with her face; they all moved down into her throat area. (Better stay out of the woods during turkey hunting season.)
Well, at least one spokeswoman is smart enough to cover up her gobbler skin with an array of sparkling jewelry hanging around her neck.
Men are big suckers for cosmetic crap.
Got some gray on top of your head? Cover it up with this product. No one will notice.
“Joe, you look different but I can’t figure it out. Did you lose some weight?”
Naw, Joe just flooded his scalp with black dye. Overnight his salt and pepper hair has disappeared. Now he looks like a middle-aged chump with shoe polish saturating his follicles.
When this gray-covering crap first appeared on the market, the manufacturer had to deal with the stigma of men using dye like age-worried women. There was something – well, unmanly about it. So the TeeVee ads would stress that product would be found at most drugstores in THE MENS SECTION. The announcer’s deep voice would reassure the male viewer that real men do use hair dye. After all, it was being sold in THE MENS SECTION. Why, you would go to that particular aisle and see beefy lumberjacks and pro football players buying the stuff.
In fact one recent commercial uses the he-man sports angle to hawk hair dye to men. Two guys carry on like sportscasters, following the “game” of a graybeard trying to score in a singles bar with a younger woman, a luscious blonde. But she’s turned off by the graybeard’s lack of completely dark hair.
So the scene is played again but this time, note the sportscasters, the graybeard is now a blackbeard (while remaining a bluebeard through it all.) The woman responds to his advance and blackbeard goes home with her. The two sportscasters follow the couple to an apartment house, standing outside with their mikes, proclaiming the man has “scored.” The commercial ends with the two sportscasters lurking outside the apartment window, two losers hanging around for the “color commentary.”
And married men are also targeted. There’s this “cute” TeeVee ad featuring two young girls bugging their father to hide any natural signs of aging. The girls want him to use a special product from THE MENS SECTION. They’re so happy when their father gives in. Even Mom is happy. Her female offspring pussywhipped her husband into doing some silly, proving what she has always suspected: Dad ain’t a real man.
Mom applies her age-defying facial lotion and touches up her hair dye. It’s time to trawl for a stud.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Batman, Shatman
© 2008 Stan Spire
The new Batman movie is greater than the return of Jesus! Everyone says so, ergo it must be true. Especially the TeeVee nooz and all those late night talk shows.
Heath Ledger. Why he deserves an Oscar award for his portrayal of the Joker. And don’t say anything bad about him. He died from an accidental overdose. Tragic. Ergo, his performance is critic-proof. Greater than Jesus dying on the cross.
So since everyone in the lamestream media says the new Batman movie – The Dork Knight Returns or whatever it’s called - is so fucking great, I won’t have to see it. It would be so great that I couldn’t handle it.
Too bad Jack Nicholson didn’t die when he portrayed the Joker in the previous series of Batman movies. He sucked as the Joker. Overrated ham. But I can say that because he didn’t die: he’s alive and not critic-proof.
Then there’s Marlon Brando who sucked even more in another superhero series, Superman, with Christopher Reeves in the title role. The magnificent Marlon portrayed Superman’s Kryptonian father, Jor-El, as a pretentious albino. Oops, Brando is dead. I’ll have to retract that criticism.
After I die no one can say anything bad about me. It’s not nice to speak ill of corpses.
The new Batman movie is greater than the return of Jesus! Everyone says so, ergo it must be true. Especially the TeeVee nooz and all those late night talk shows.
Heath Ledger. Why he deserves an Oscar award for his portrayal of the Joker. And don’t say anything bad about him. He died from an accidental overdose. Tragic. Ergo, his performance is critic-proof. Greater than Jesus dying on the cross.
So since everyone in the lamestream media says the new Batman movie – The Dork Knight Returns or whatever it’s called - is so fucking great, I won’t have to see it. It would be so great that I couldn’t handle it.
Too bad Jack Nicholson didn’t die when he portrayed the Joker in the previous series of Batman movies. He sucked as the Joker. Overrated ham. But I can say that because he didn’t die: he’s alive and not critic-proof.
Then there’s Marlon Brando who sucked even more in another superhero series, Superman, with Christopher Reeves in the title role. The magnificent Marlon portrayed Superman’s Kryptonian father, Jor-El, as a pretentious albino. Oops, Brando is dead. I’ll have to retract that criticism.
After I die no one can say anything bad about me. It’s not nice to speak ill of corpses.
The Next-To-Nothing Advantage
©2008 Stan Spire
Being down and almost out does have a couple of advantages.
Despite the economy going down the toilet thanks to our boob president, I don’t have to worry about losing my car or home.
But the main advantage is that I have time to read, research, and know a bit more about all the bullshit going on with the Elite who control this country.
The Elite wants the average Joe or Jane working long hours, fretting about paying bills, so that they’re too distracted to be aware of what is really going on. That’s how the Elite sold America on the War in Iraq. Most people were too busy to look behind the claims: weapons of mass destruction, Saddam was behind 9/11, all the lies. Joe and Jane were trying to get through another day. Sound bites are easy to digest. In-depth analysis takes time to chew on.
And when Joe and Jane America did have some free time, it was spent relaxing, catching a break from the daily grind. They didn’t have the energy to question the Big Lies from the White House. After all, George W must know what he’s doing: he was elected president.
The Elite don’t want anyone to have too much free time. After all, citizens might notice the smell of the stuff being shoveled down on them.
But the Elite are really screwing things up. With the economy sliding into a depression, people will be laid off, stuck at home, nowhere to go. And like me, they will have plenty of opportunity to think and challenge the BS.
Being down and almost out does have a couple of advantages.
Despite the economy going down the toilet thanks to our boob president, I don’t have to worry about losing my car or home.
But the main advantage is that I have time to read, research, and know a bit more about all the bullshit going on with the Elite who control this country.
The Elite wants the average Joe or Jane working long hours, fretting about paying bills, so that they’re too distracted to be aware of what is really going on. That’s how the Elite sold America on the War in Iraq. Most people were too busy to look behind the claims: weapons of mass destruction, Saddam was behind 9/11, all the lies. Joe and Jane were trying to get through another day. Sound bites are easy to digest. In-depth analysis takes time to chew on.
And when Joe and Jane America did have some free time, it was spent relaxing, catching a break from the daily grind. They didn’t have the energy to question the Big Lies from the White House. After all, George W must know what he’s doing: he was elected president.
The Elite don’t want anyone to have too much free time. After all, citizens might notice the smell of the stuff being shoveled down on them.
But the Elite are really screwing things up. With the economy sliding into a depression, people will be laid off, stuck at home, nowhere to go. And like me, they will have plenty of opportunity to think and challenge the BS.
The “Spendiferous” Adirondacks
© 2008 Stan Spire
Sometimes I get the rabbit ears angled just right so I receive decent signals from the few broadcast TeeVee stations in this neck of the woods. Unlike cable TeeVee with over 100 channels, my choices are limited to around five stations. And like cable Teevee, usually there’s crap on.
A while ago the local Public BS station was running a special documentary about the Adirondacks. Yup, top notch cinematography, splendiferous scenery. The vast expanses, the majestic mountains, the sparkling lakes and streams – they call this God’s Country. So much nature, unspoiled, to be enjoyed.
But you ain’t driving into the heart of the Adirondacks for a hike when you don’t have a car to get there. And thanks to the Commander in Chimp in the White House, even if you have a car, it takes a hefty bank loan to fill it up.
The lakes and streams are nice if you can have a sailboat or a canoe. I live near Lake Champlain and all I can do is walk along the lake, watching the rich bastards sail by in their expensive toys while I suck wind.
It’s irritating to hear someone tell me, “Don’t you enjoy the all that free natural beauty?” Sure, if I have the bucks to afford it.
Sometimes I get the rabbit ears angled just right so I receive decent signals from the few broadcast TeeVee stations in this neck of the woods. Unlike cable TeeVee with over 100 channels, my choices are limited to around five stations. And like cable Teevee, usually there’s crap on.
A while ago the local Public BS station was running a special documentary about the Adirondacks. Yup, top notch cinematography, splendiferous scenery. The vast expanses, the majestic mountains, the sparkling lakes and streams – they call this God’s Country. So much nature, unspoiled, to be enjoyed.
But you ain’t driving into the heart of the Adirondacks for a hike when you don’t have a car to get there. And thanks to the Commander in Chimp in the White House, even if you have a car, it takes a hefty bank loan to fill it up.
The lakes and streams are nice if you can have a sailboat or a canoe. I live near Lake Champlain and all I can do is walk along the lake, watching the rich bastards sail by in their expensive toys while I suck wind.
It’s irritating to hear someone tell me, “Don’t you enjoy the all that free natural beauty?” Sure, if I have the bucks to afford it.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Success Stories
© 2008 Stan Spire
Check my new email and there it is, waiting. Worse than any spam. A “friend” from my past is trying to contact me.
It’s happened a couple of times. A backstabber I knew in college. Then another asshat I tolerated in high school. Each acts like he’s my Best Buddy.
Each Best Buddy – high school and college - wants to know how I’m doing. True concern or is the competition continuing?
There’s always some competition between friends; it’s human nature. But I had realized with each Best Buddy that competition was a key part of the so-called friendship.
High School Best Buddy would practice, practice, practice his tennis game. Then he would invite me over for a “friendly” set. I wasn’t into winning a contest. I just wanted to enjoy a sport for its own sake, fun and exercise. I didn’t make jokes about his ability: I wasn’t into ball-busting. Without trying I ended up winning. High School Best Buddy got mad, throwing his racket off into the distance.
College Best Buddy was into a different kind of game playing. Mind games. He would make up stories about me to ruin my dates. He would poison the well by pissing in it. One time a date was nervous during the entire evening. She acted like I was a psychopath, waiting for the right opportunity to attack and kill her.
But that wasn’t College Best Buddy’s only dirty play. He told me that a girl I knew thought I was an asshole, even though she never made any such statement. He was a pathological lying prick, a manipulator jealous of everyone around him.
The email inquiries from the Best Buddies arrived at different times but both used the same approach. Each one wrote that he wasn’t sure that I was the same person he knew many years ago. A normal person would dash a quick email and just ask if I’m the same guy he “palled around” with in school without going into great details.
But each of these Best Buddy pissants had to tell me about his successful life. College BB noted that he was getting married while pursuing a great artistic career. High School BB mentioned that he was a family man, has three kids, a good job. All the details I avoid learning by not attending any school reunions.
So I didn’t reply. I’m not ashamed that, materially or socially speaking, I don’t have that much compared to either one. Psychologically, I’m way ahead.
I don’t talk with ghosts.
The past is dead.
Check my new email and there it is, waiting. Worse than any spam. A “friend” from my past is trying to contact me.
It’s happened a couple of times. A backstabber I knew in college. Then another asshat I tolerated in high school. Each acts like he’s my Best Buddy.
Each Best Buddy – high school and college - wants to know how I’m doing. True concern or is the competition continuing?
There’s always some competition between friends; it’s human nature. But I had realized with each Best Buddy that competition was a key part of the so-called friendship.
High School Best Buddy would practice, practice, practice his tennis game. Then he would invite me over for a “friendly” set. I wasn’t into winning a contest. I just wanted to enjoy a sport for its own sake, fun and exercise. I didn’t make jokes about his ability: I wasn’t into ball-busting. Without trying I ended up winning. High School Best Buddy got mad, throwing his racket off into the distance.
College Best Buddy was into a different kind of game playing. Mind games. He would make up stories about me to ruin my dates. He would poison the well by pissing in it. One time a date was nervous during the entire evening. She acted like I was a psychopath, waiting for the right opportunity to attack and kill her.
But that wasn’t College Best Buddy’s only dirty play. He told me that a girl I knew thought I was an asshole, even though she never made any such statement. He was a pathological lying prick, a manipulator jealous of everyone around him.
The email inquiries from the Best Buddies arrived at different times but both used the same approach. Each one wrote that he wasn’t sure that I was the same person he knew many years ago. A normal person would dash a quick email and just ask if I’m the same guy he “palled around” with in school without going into great details.
But each of these Best Buddy pissants had to tell me about his successful life. College BB noted that he was getting married while pursuing a great artistic career. High School BB mentioned that he was a family man, has three kids, a good job. All the details I avoid learning by not attending any school reunions.
So I didn’t reply. I’m not ashamed that, materially or socially speaking, I don’t have that much compared to either one. Psychologically, I’m way ahead.
I don’t talk with ghosts.
The past is dead.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Millionaire Newsreader Fakes Sympathy
© Copyright 2008 Stan Spire
Recently on the CBS Evening News anchordoll Katie Couric uttered something along this line:
You put a few food items on the conveyor belt at the supermarket and your eyes bug out when the total is run up on the checkout register.
As if Katie Couric shops at a common supermarket with the hoi polloi, trying to stretch her budget. It’s said she pulls in 15 million dollars a year for reading the news on TeeVee. It’s more likely that her eyes would bug out from too much Botox.
There’s an anecdote about a politician running for office who said he understood how hard it was for the average family to put food on the table. So a reporter asked him: What does a quart of milk cost? How much for a loaf of bread?
The politician had glib answers to all sorts of questions – except those two.
Hey, Katie -- What are you paying for milk and bread?
15 million dollars a year. Using my calculator from the dollar store, I estimate that what I’m living on is less than .06% of Katie’s modest income. Not 6%. Not .6%. Just .06%.
I love it when one of these wealthy TeeVee journalists go on about the poor, especially when they mention that a small percentage of Americans control over 90 percent of the wealth. These journalists pretend to care, going through the motions without complaining too loudly or forcefully. After all, their corporate masters wouldn’t be happy.
Another phony concern by overpaid TeeVee newsreaders is the high cost of medical insurance for the average American.
Gee, I hope Katie is covered. After all, those treatments to keep her looking young can’t be cheap (even though the results look that way).
Recently on the CBS Evening News anchordoll Katie Couric uttered something along this line:
You put a few food items on the conveyor belt at the supermarket and your eyes bug out when the total is run up on the checkout register.
As if Katie Couric shops at a common supermarket with the hoi polloi, trying to stretch her budget. It’s said she pulls in 15 million dollars a year for reading the news on TeeVee. It’s more likely that her eyes would bug out from too much Botox.
There’s an anecdote about a politician running for office who said he understood how hard it was for the average family to put food on the table. So a reporter asked him: What does a quart of milk cost? How much for a loaf of bread?
The politician had glib answers to all sorts of questions – except those two.
Hey, Katie -- What are you paying for milk and bread?
15 million dollars a year. Using my calculator from the dollar store, I estimate that what I’m living on is less than .06% of Katie’s modest income. Not 6%. Not .6%. Just .06%.
I love it when one of these wealthy TeeVee journalists go on about the poor, especially when they mention that a small percentage of Americans control over 90 percent of the wealth. These journalists pretend to care, going through the motions without complaining too loudly or forcefully. After all, their corporate masters wouldn’t be happy.
Another phony concern by overpaid TeeVee newsreaders is the high cost of medical insurance for the average American.
Gee, I hope Katie is covered. After all, those treatments to keep her looking young can’t be cheap (even though the results look that way).
May Day Is My Day
© Copyright 2008 Stan Spire
It’s appropriate that my birthday falls on the first day of May. Mayday is the international radio codeword used by planes and ships in distress to request help.
But lately I’m not crashing or sinking – thanks to self-help. I’m treading water while more people also fall in around me. High gas and food prices. The screwed up housing market. Jobs being lost. Welcome to the sea of piss.
Since I’m near bottom – no job, car, or home – I have nothing much to lose.
A birthday can be a time for reflection. Me, I’ve got jackshit to reflect on.
Of course, over the last 12 months, some things have irked me. One in particular was a newspaper profile of a woman discussing her professional and family life. Divorced, she was looking for a special man to date. Ironically, I asked her out on a date some time ago, but after accepting she suddenly decided to cancel. Apparently I’m not special enough.
But for someone like her, no man is. So I cross that annoyance off the list.
For some getting older means being less driven, not as critical, accepting things as they are. It’s called senility.
I accept nothing as it is. But I’ve learned what is worth pursuing and what isn’t worth a leak in the woods. The social scene around here is bleak. Tried a dating club one time. What a joke. A few of the women I met should’ve skipped the dating club and went straight to group therapy. Talk about unreality and unattraction. The best way for a guy to approach dating in this neck of the woods is to combine LSD with Viagra.
It’s appropriate that my birthday falls on the first day of May. Mayday is the international radio codeword used by planes and ships in distress to request help.
But lately I’m not crashing or sinking – thanks to self-help. I’m treading water while more people also fall in around me. High gas and food prices. The screwed up housing market. Jobs being lost. Welcome to the sea of piss.
Since I’m near bottom – no job, car, or home – I have nothing much to lose.
A birthday can be a time for reflection. Me, I’ve got jackshit to reflect on.
Of course, over the last 12 months, some things have irked me. One in particular was a newspaper profile of a woman discussing her professional and family life. Divorced, she was looking for a special man to date. Ironically, I asked her out on a date some time ago, but after accepting she suddenly decided to cancel. Apparently I’m not special enough.
But for someone like her, no man is. So I cross that annoyance off the list.
For some getting older means being less driven, not as critical, accepting things as they are. It’s called senility.
I accept nothing as it is. But I’ve learned what is worth pursuing and what isn’t worth a leak in the woods. The social scene around here is bleak. Tried a dating club one time. What a joke. A few of the women I met should’ve skipped the dating club and went straight to group therapy. Talk about unreality and unattraction. The best way for a guy to approach dating in this neck of the woods is to combine LSD with Viagra.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
The Golden Age of Cradle Robbing
© 2008 Stan Spire
Teachers shouldn’t be dating students. At least, that’s become a big taboo over the years since I was in high school.
My school was rural, centralized. Back in the day it wasn’t uncommon for a male teacher, fresh out of college, to date one of the babes in the senior class.
One girl in my graduating class was all smiles on the last day of school, wearing a sparkling engagement ring. She had been stepping out with a science teacher. I guess she got special tutoring in biology.
There were at least three cases of male teachers bagging babes from various senior classes at Cowflop Central around the time of my imprisonment.
One day I was sitting in study hall. The desks were shoved together, side by side, to squeeze in the maximum amount of cabbages in neat rows. I was in the front row, near the teacher’s desk.
A senior babe was to my right, lost in her thought. (I do mean thought, not thoughts; she was a stereotypical blonde.)
I noticed the absentee list on the teacher’s desk. I reached over, only cutting across a small corner of the desk on my right. I glanced at the list, ascertained one of my friends wasn’t around that day, and then placed the sheet back on the teacher’s desk.
The study hall teacher noticed my action, thinking it was inappropriate.
“You know,” he said, “you supposed to excuse yourself when you reach in front of someone.”
“Really,” I replied. I glanced at the babe next to me. “Sorry, she blends into the woodwork so well, I didn’t see her.”
The teacher’s face became red –- not with embarrassment, but with rage. He sat there and boiled.
I found out later the pretty blonde senior next to me was his girlfriend.
Tough luck, ya pedophile.
Teachers shouldn’t be dating students. At least, that’s become a big taboo over the years since I was in high school.
My school was rural, centralized. Back in the day it wasn’t uncommon for a male teacher, fresh out of college, to date one of the babes in the senior class.
One girl in my graduating class was all smiles on the last day of school, wearing a sparkling engagement ring. She had been stepping out with a science teacher. I guess she got special tutoring in biology.
There were at least three cases of male teachers bagging babes from various senior classes at Cowflop Central around the time of my imprisonment.
One day I was sitting in study hall. The desks were shoved together, side by side, to squeeze in the maximum amount of cabbages in neat rows. I was in the front row, near the teacher’s desk.
A senior babe was to my right, lost in her thought. (I do mean thought, not thoughts; she was a stereotypical blonde.)
I noticed the absentee list on the teacher’s desk. I reached over, only cutting across a small corner of the desk on my right. I glanced at the list, ascertained one of my friends wasn’t around that day, and then placed the sheet back on the teacher’s desk.
The study hall teacher noticed my action, thinking it was inappropriate.
“You know,” he said, “you supposed to excuse yourself when you reach in front of someone.”
“Really,” I replied. I glanced at the babe next to me. “Sorry, she blends into the woodwork so well, I didn’t see her.”
The teacher’s face became red –- not with embarrassment, but with rage. He sat there and boiled.
I found out later the pretty blonde senior next to me was his girlfriend.
Tough luck, ya pedophile.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Stories. I Hear Stories.
© Copyright 2008 Stan Spire
“They’re a bunch of crooks. They erased part of the videotape of the last town meeting.”
Indeed. Well, instead of telling everyone about it one afternoon at the barbershop, why don’t you contact the proper authorities?
I would be more than happy to see crooked politicians get theirs. But stories – rumors – mean nothing unless backed up with some solid info or leads.
A while ago someone emailed me about a local politician who used taxpayer funds to deck out a city vehicle with a custom leather interior and paint job. The vehicle was for his personal use while he supposedly served the voters. The pol in question has been the subject of other stories about misusing funds, so this one might be true. Is it? The emailer claimed to have inside knowledge. But that person never followed up with more details.
Maybe the emailer was on the level. But, sorry, I ain’t falling for rovean (Karl Rove) tactics.
If you want to nail a crook, provide evidence. And don’t mention it to me – pass it along to the right enforcement agency. Contact the media if there’s a cover-up and the authorities are in on it. Then, if all official and mainstream channels prove to be dead ends, it’s time to try a loose cannon blogger. But you still have to come across with some proof.
Telling stories at the barbershop or in an email won't bring about justice.
“They’re a bunch of crooks. They erased part of the videotape of the last town meeting.”
Indeed. Well, instead of telling everyone about it one afternoon at the barbershop, why don’t you contact the proper authorities?
I would be more than happy to see crooked politicians get theirs. But stories – rumors – mean nothing unless backed up with some solid info or leads.
A while ago someone emailed me about a local politician who used taxpayer funds to deck out a city vehicle with a custom leather interior and paint job. The vehicle was for his personal use while he supposedly served the voters. The pol in question has been the subject of other stories about misusing funds, so this one might be true. Is it? The emailer claimed to have inside knowledge. But that person never followed up with more details.
Maybe the emailer was on the level. But, sorry, I ain’t falling for rovean (Karl Rove) tactics.
If you want to nail a crook, provide evidence. And don’t mention it to me – pass it along to the right enforcement agency. Contact the media if there’s a cover-up and the authorities are in on it. Then, if all official and mainstream channels prove to be dead ends, it’s time to try a loose cannon blogger. But you still have to come across with some proof.
Telling stories at the barbershop or in an email won't bring about justice.
Officially Spring
© 2008 Stan Spire
Spring is “officially” here, so declared the local TeeVee weatherman. Arrived on March 20th, 2008 – the spring equinox.
Maybe it’s spring in your neck of the woods but here in NENYland winter ain’t over until late April. And even then it might snow in May. One year it snowed on the last weekend in May – Memorial Day weekend, the “official” start of summer vacation season.
It doesn’t matter which local TeeVee news you watch; they all whine about the weather. Where have these idiots been? Winters usually drag on around here; this ain’t down south where the flowers are blooming.
Since when does the vernal equinox mean that spring is supposed to suddenly break out all over? There’s this thing called CLIMATE. And the climate around here means it’s more like the arctic tundra than Florida.
Of course, all the winter yahoos are happy with snow on the ground. They’re stupidly happy with their toys, snowmobiles and skis – until they bash their brains into trees.
So there is an advantage to six months of winter: such a long season weeds out the weak minded from the herd.
Spring is “officially” here, so declared the local TeeVee weatherman. Arrived on March 20th, 2008 – the spring equinox.
Maybe it’s spring in your neck of the woods but here in NENYland winter ain’t over until late April. And even then it might snow in May. One year it snowed on the last weekend in May – Memorial Day weekend, the “official” start of summer vacation season.
It doesn’t matter which local TeeVee news you watch; they all whine about the weather. Where have these idiots been? Winters usually drag on around here; this ain’t down south where the flowers are blooming.
Since when does the vernal equinox mean that spring is supposed to suddenly break out all over? There’s this thing called CLIMATE. And the climate around here means it’s more like the arctic tundra than Florida.
Of course, all the winter yahoos are happy with snow on the ground. They’re stupidly happy with their toys, snowmobiles and skis – until they bash their brains into trees.
So there is an advantage to six months of winter: such a long season weeds out the weak minded from the herd.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Shmmoms & Shmucks
© 2008 Stan Spire
With the dismal economy - particularly rising gasoline prices - one car dealer is so desperate to move gas guzzlers off his lot that he’s using a bit of sleaze to gain attention.
Sex sells in a 30 second TeeVee spot featuring a high school student named Andy and his mother who has an unusual nickname.
The ad opens with Andy standing by his hallway locker, talking with a friend. He’s a very popular guy at his high school. Other guys keep walking by, asking him for rides after school.
After Andy leaves, a girl asks: “What’s that all about?”
A dopily grinning guy answers: “Andy’s mother is a shmmom.”
“A shmmom?”
Dopey Grin explains: “A smoking hot minivan mom.”
Then we see a red minivan pull into a driveway. Two guys get out and thank Mrs. Thompson for a ride. Andy, obviously embarrassed, walks quietly into his house while his mother – a hot-looking older blonde – turns around and says good-bye to the guys.
As they walk away, one guy says to the other: “What a shmmom!”
(Video Link)
Apparently both guys suffer from arthritis aggravated by their tight jeans. That’s why they walk away so stiffly.
Yup, this ad is a mistake – a boner, if you will.
This ad evinces such porn potential but at least the sponsor plays it a bit coy. At the same time there’s a fine line between a shmmom and a MILF. (If you’re not familiar with the term MILF, Google it on your own. This a family blog, ya sweaty pervert.)
If you go to the car dealer’s site, you’ll see how he takes the edge off the teenage boy sex fantasy angle by displaying a pseudo-dictionary entry for shmmom:
SHMMOM (SHMMOM) n. 1. A female parent who indulges her inner beauty by purchasing (specifically at Goss Dodge) a Dodge Grand Caravan for the purpose of letting that inner beauty out. 2. Also known as Smokin Hot Minivan Mom. ed. 1. The selfless act of having purchased a Grand Caravan from Goss Dodge to have let her inner beauty out. ing. 1. The selfless act of indulging (purchasing) in a Grand Caravan from Goss Dodge to let her inner beauty out. (Link)
The dealer uses the term “inner beauty” instead of sex. Like hiding behind the euphemism erotica when it’s still porn.
Apparently the TeeVee ad was created for a Vermont car dealer. If you’ve ever been to Vermont, you would know that any high school boys usually encounter shwmoms: sleazy hefty welfare moms.
With the dismal economy - particularly rising gasoline prices - one car dealer is so desperate to move gas guzzlers off his lot that he’s using a bit of sleaze to gain attention.
Sex sells in a 30 second TeeVee spot featuring a high school student named Andy and his mother who has an unusual nickname.
The ad opens with Andy standing by his hallway locker, talking with a friend. He’s a very popular guy at his high school. Other guys keep walking by, asking him for rides after school.
After Andy leaves, a girl asks: “What’s that all about?”
A dopily grinning guy answers: “Andy’s mother is a shmmom.”
“A shmmom?”
Dopey Grin explains: “A smoking hot minivan mom.”
Then we see a red minivan pull into a driveway. Two guys get out and thank Mrs. Thompson for a ride. Andy, obviously embarrassed, walks quietly into his house while his mother – a hot-looking older blonde – turns around and says good-bye to the guys.
As they walk away, one guy says to the other: “What a shmmom!”
(Video Link)
Apparently both guys suffer from arthritis aggravated by their tight jeans. That’s why they walk away so stiffly.
Yup, this ad is a mistake – a boner, if you will.
This ad evinces such porn potential but at least the sponsor plays it a bit coy. At the same time there’s a fine line between a shmmom and a MILF. (If you’re not familiar with the term MILF, Google it on your own. This a family blog, ya sweaty pervert.)
If you go to the car dealer’s site, you’ll see how he takes the edge off the teenage boy sex fantasy angle by displaying a pseudo-dictionary entry for shmmom:
SHMMOM (SHMMOM) n. 1. A female parent who indulges her inner beauty by purchasing (specifically at Goss Dodge) a Dodge Grand Caravan for the purpose of letting that inner beauty out. 2. Also known as Smokin Hot Minivan Mom. ed. 1. The selfless act of having purchased a Grand Caravan from Goss Dodge to have let her inner beauty out. ing. 1. The selfless act of indulging (purchasing) in a Grand Caravan from Goss Dodge to let her inner beauty out. (Link)
The dealer uses the term “inner beauty” instead of sex. Like hiding behind the euphemism erotica when it’s still porn.
Apparently the TeeVee ad was created for a Vermont car dealer. If you’ve ever been to Vermont, you would know that any high school boys usually encounter shwmoms: sleazy hefty welfare moms.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Bank’s Mistake: Your Problem
© 2008 Stan Spire
Computer error
No such thing.
Computers don’t make mistakes. Humans do. Computers are human designed, human built, human programmed, and human operated. All that humanity means a computer doesn’t err on its own.
So how did the bank explain the discrepancy in my checking account? So-called computer error.
It’s a good thing that I kept a paper trail, i.e., my ATM receipts. I was reviewing them when I noticed that my balance had roller-coastered from high to low. I was worried a check for my rent hadn’t cleared yet; it was going to bounce. I had taken out a fair amount of cash, assuming that there was enough in my account.
So I visited the bank the next day, requesting a print out for the last two weeks. I compared the print out with my ATM slips. It didn’t match; no record of the roller coaster ride.
A clerk explained there had been a “computer error” that had done some doubling to everyone’s account. My ATM slips showed that the mistake hadn’t been fixed for a few days.
Luckily my rent check had already been processed and there was enough money in my account.
And if my check had bounced? Well, the bank apparently isn’t responsible for “computer errors.” I’m supposed to watch over my account down to the last penny, 24/7.
The bank clerk advised me that I didn’t need my ATM receipts; I should throw them out.
Fat chance. I made sure to safely file them in case any more human error committed with a bank computer happens again.
Never destroy a paper trail.
Especially if you have limited means like yours truly. Then they’ll really screw ya.
Banking is the root of all evil.
Computer error
No such thing.
Computers don’t make mistakes. Humans do. Computers are human designed, human built, human programmed, and human operated. All that humanity means a computer doesn’t err on its own.
So how did the bank explain the discrepancy in my checking account? So-called computer error.
It’s a good thing that I kept a paper trail, i.e., my ATM receipts. I was reviewing them when I noticed that my balance had roller-coastered from high to low. I was worried a check for my rent hadn’t cleared yet; it was going to bounce. I had taken out a fair amount of cash, assuming that there was enough in my account.
So I visited the bank the next day, requesting a print out for the last two weeks. I compared the print out with my ATM slips. It didn’t match; no record of the roller coaster ride.
A clerk explained there had been a “computer error” that had done some doubling to everyone’s account. My ATM slips showed that the mistake hadn’t been fixed for a few days.
Luckily my rent check had already been processed and there was enough money in my account.
And if my check had bounced? Well, the bank apparently isn’t responsible for “computer errors.” I’m supposed to watch over my account down to the last penny, 24/7.
The bank clerk advised me that I didn’t need my ATM receipts; I should throw them out.
Fat chance. I made sure to safely file them in case any more human error committed with a bank computer happens again.
Never destroy a paper trail.
Especially if you have limited means like yours truly. Then they’ll really screw ya.
Banking is the root of all evil.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Complicating The Simple
© 2008 Stan Spire
Leave it to the hospital to transform the simple act of peeing in a cup into a complex operation.
All I wanted to do was leave a specimen. I checked the directions posted on the wall. Circumcised or uncircumcised? OK, I pick column B. Now begins the process, step by step.
Carefully wash your hands with soap. Completely dry your hands. Uncap the plastic specimen container. Then take an antiseptic towelette and carefully clean the end of your penis. DO NOT TOUCH THE END OF YOUR PENIS UNTIL THE SPECIMEN IS PROPERLY COLLECTED. Now stand over the toilet, start a stream, then stop. Only resume the stream to leave a sample in the container. Then cap the container. IMPORTANT: MAKE SURE THE CONTAINER IS SEALED TIGHT.
Wait a couple of days to hear from your doctor.
And what are the results of your urine test?
ANALYSIS: YOUR HANDS ARE SOAPY AND THERE’S ANTISEPTIC ON THE TIP OF YOUR PENIS.
Leave it to the hospital to transform the simple act of peeing in a cup into a complex operation.
All I wanted to do was leave a specimen. I checked the directions posted on the wall. Circumcised or uncircumcised? OK, I pick column B. Now begins the process, step by step.
Carefully wash your hands with soap. Completely dry your hands. Uncap the plastic specimen container. Then take an antiseptic towelette and carefully clean the end of your penis. DO NOT TOUCH THE END OF YOUR PENIS UNTIL THE SPECIMEN IS PROPERLY COLLECTED. Now stand over the toilet, start a stream, then stop. Only resume the stream to leave a sample in the container. Then cap the container. IMPORTANT: MAKE SURE THE CONTAINER IS SEALED TIGHT.
Wait a couple of days to hear from your doctor.
And what are the results of your urine test?
ANALYSIS: YOUR HANDS ARE SOAPY AND THERE’S ANTISEPTIC ON THE TIP OF YOUR PENIS.
Haunted School
© 2008 Stan Spire
It sits there, empty. Abandoned.
For years it was a thriving educational factory, carving down rough round pegs to fit into the same precise square hole. But birth rates drop, population shifts, and so the elementary school is now closed.
On the occasions when I pass by in a car, I briefly envision the old days with kids running around, playing games, friendly with each other. Except for the bullies picking on me.
I’m pinned to the ground, some redneck asshole showing how he’s the alpha male of the pack.
Where were the teachers? Who knows? This was years before school shootings made the public aware of how bullying could drive a victim to retaliate violently. Being bullied was just part of growing up. A rite of passage.
I have no good memories when I see that silent school. It wouldn’t bother me a bit if it was bulldozed, razed to dust and carted away.
Out of sight, out of mind. Buried history.
I’m still a rough, round peg.
And I don’t tolerate bullies.
It sits there, empty. Abandoned.
For years it was a thriving educational factory, carving down rough round pegs to fit into the same precise square hole. But birth rates drop, population shifts, and so the elementary school is now closed.
On the occasions when I pass by in a car, I briefly envision the old days with kids running around, playing games, friendly with each other. Except for the bullies picking on me.
I’m pinned to the ground, some redneck asshole showing how he’s the alpha male of the pack.
Where were the teachers? Who knows? This was years before school shootings made the public aware of how bullying could drive a victim to retaliate violently. Being bullied was just part of growing up. A rite of passage.
I have no good memories when I see that silent school. It wouldn’t bother me a bit if it was bulldozed, razed to dust and carted away.
Out of sight, out of mind. Buried history.
I’m still a rough, round peg.
And I don’t tolerate bullies.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
McCain’s Timely Phone Call
© 2008 Stan Spire
The latest stink: the New York Times published an article linking Republican candidate John McCain in a possibly “romantic” way with a female lobbyist back in 1999 and 2000.
Aides advised McCain to maintain his distance. After all, he was making what would be his first run for the White House, trying to win the nomination of the Republican Party.
But the issue of adultery isn’t the primary problem. The real controversy it’s whether or not the lobbyist used her feminine wiles to influence Senator McCain to favor the people she was representing.
Some think that the whole thing is a smear campaign, an outright lie, committed by a vast left-wing conspiracy. Or maybe a disgruntled party member or aide was telling the truth – or maybe not. Once again, we enter the gray area of politics.
McCain was stumping in Vermont on Valentine’s Day. Of course, Vermont is known to be a freethinking state – look at Bernie Sanders and Pat Leahy. Also, according to one list, Vermont – even though it’s a relatively small state in size and population – has suffered greatly in the number of soldier deaths per capita in Iraq. It’s ranks #4, right behind the US territories of American Samoa, Northern Mariana Islands, and US Virgin Islands.
But there are still conservatives to be won in the Green Mountain State, despite its reputation of being a hippie domain.
After a rally a reporter from a Vermont TeeVee station interviewed McCain. The candidate paused to receive a phone call from his wife. She was calling to inform him that their son had arrived home safely after military duty in Iraq. That moment ended up being broadcast on the local news.
Did you known that McCain had a son in Iraq? I didn’t. But thanks to that phone call I was made aware that McCain’s son wasn’t a chickenhawk, serving safely at home like a certain politically connected boob did back during the Vietnam War thanks to his daddy. (Hint: Said boob’s initials are GWB.)
That said, the timing of that phone call does make one wonder, especially after that incident with Rudy Giuliani back in September 2007. Rudy was speaking at a NRA gathering when he received a phone call via a cell phone from his wife, Judith. It was a humanizing moment that made him look less than the prick that some claim he really is.
There was controversy whether the phone call was staged, perfectly time to get the attention of the media.
Do I think the McCain good news call was staged? After all, many Vermonters are upset about the dead end war in Iraq (AKA Vietnam II), especially with so many lives wasted. Such a call might change a few minds.
Was it a set up? I don’t know.
But it wouldn’t surprise me.
Hey, it’s politics, gray area and all.
Link: www.wcax.com “McCain Visits Vermont: Can He Woo Voters?”
The latest stink: the New York Times published an article linking Republican candidate John McCain in a possibly “romantic” way with a female lobbyist back in 1999 and 2000.
Aides advised McCain to maintain his distance. After all, he was making what would be his first run for the White House, trying to win the nomination of the Republican Party.
But the issue of adultery isn’t the primary problem. The real controversy it’s whether or not the lobbyist used her feminine wiles to influence Senator McCain to favor the people she was representing.
Some think that the whole thing is a smear campaign, an outright lie, committed by a vast left-wing conspiracy. Or maybe a disgruntled party member or aide was telling the truth – or maybe not. Once again, we enter the gray area of politics.
McCain was stumping in Vermont on Valentine’s Day. Of course, Vermont is known to be a freethinking state – look at Bernie Sanders and Pat Leahy. Also, according to one list, Vermont – even though it’s a relatively small state in size and population – has suffered greatly in the number of soldier deaths per capita in Iraq. It’s ranks #4, right behind the US territories of American Samoa, Northern Mariana Islands, and US Virgin Islands.
But there are still conservatives to be won in the Green Mountain State, despite its reputation of being a hippie domain.
After a rally a reporter from a Vermont TeeVee station interviewed McCain. The candidate paused to receive a phone call from his wife. She was calling to inform him that their son had arrived home safely after military duty in Iraq. That moment ended up being broadcast on the local news.
Did you known that McCain had a son in Iraq? I didn’t. But thanks to that phone call I was made aware that McCain’s son wasn’t a chickenhawk, serving safely at home like a certain politically connected boob did back during the Vietnam War thanks to his daddy. (Hint: Said boob’s initials are GWB.)
That said, the timing of that phone call does make one wonder, especially after that incident with Rudy Giuliani back in September 2007. Rudy was speaking at a NRA gathering when he received a phone call via a cell phone from his wife, Judith. It was a humanizing moment that made him look less than the prick that some claim he really is.
There was controversy whether the phone call was staged, perfectly time to get the attention of the media.
Do I think the McCain good news call was staged? After all, many Vermonters are upset about the dead end war in Iraq (AKA Vietnam II), especially with so many lives wasted. Such a call might change a few minds.
Was it a set up? I don’t know.
But it wouldn’t surprise me.
Hey, it’s politics, gray area and all.
Link: www.wcax.com “McCain Visits Vermont: Can He Woo Voters?”
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Glossy Garbage
© 2008 Stan Spire
Junk mail. And the junkiest is another propaganda publication from the college where I played the game and graduated with a useless degree.
Useless degree? Why, a college education guarantees a good job, higher wages! A four-year degree is gold.
Actually it’s crap if all the colleges are pumping out too many graduates for too few jobs. During one economic slump when I needed a job, any job, I was told by an employment counselor to omit listing my BA from any applications.
“You’re not being hired,” she told me, “because you look overqualified with your college degree.”
But you’re never see any stories like that in a college alumni magazine. After all, the alumni magazine wants to maintain the illusion how great college is, how successful ALL graduates are.
I hated that college. It was built right next to an immense lake, meaning that winters were insufferable. If the wind didn’t knock you down and break a leg, the frosty gales would bite any exposed skin. A snowstorm would roll in off the lake, completely burying your car in a dune of white powder.
But skim through the slick pages of the alumni magazine. Not one winter shot. Nothing but sunny day scenes taken during the non-winter months: September and May. Anything between those two months was artic hell.
Obviously, if most people knew what winter was like at that college, they would’ve chosen another institution of higher learning in New York State.
Not that would make any difference outside of the weather. The NY university system always talks about excellence, but I didn’t notice any excellence at the colleges I attended. At best I encountered mediocrity, especially with writing courses. I learned more on my own than listening to a college hack. After all, if such an instructor was so talented, how come he hadn’t been published beyond some obscure literary magazine with twenty subscribers? (The nineteen other subscribers were teaching hacks whose work was also accepted by said magazine.) That’s why I consider a college alumni magazine as nothing more than a slick lie printed on slick paper.
Flip through the pages and marvel at all the successful people who landed good jobs and are getting married, big weddings. Look who’s on the cover: that guy on network TeeVee, a celebrity who made it big because of his college education.
But what about the graduate those who didn’t make it, who never became a mass media celeb, who didn’t publish a major book or become CEO of a major company? Think about those stories when you peruse any glossy propaganda promulgated from a college desperate for fresh meat to grind through its machine.
Junk mail. And the junkiest is another propaganda publication from the college where I played the game and graduated with a useless degree.
Useless degree? Why, a college education guarantees a good job, higher wages! A four-year degree is gold.
Actually it’s crap if all the colleges are pumping out too many graduates for too few jobs. During one economic slump when I needed a job, any job, I was told by an employment counselor to omit listing my BA from any applications.
“You’re not being hired,” she told me, “because you look overqualified with your college degree.”
But you’re never see any stories like that in a college alumni magazine. After all, the alumni magazine wants to maintain the illusion how great college is, how successful ALL graduates are.
I hated that college. It was built right next to an immense lake, meaning that winters were insufferable. If the wind didn’t knock you down and break a leg, the frosty gales would bite any exposed skin. A snowstorm would roll in off the lake, completely burying your car in a dune of white powder.
But skim through the slick pages of the alumni magazine. Not one winter shot. Nothing but sunny day scenes taken during the non-winter months: September and May. Anything between those two months was artic hell.
Obviously, if most people knew what winter was like at that college, they would’ve chosen another institution of higher learning in New York State.
Not that would make any difference outside of the weather. The NY university system always talks about excellence, but I didn’t notice any excellence at the colleges I attended. At best I encountered mediocrity, especially with writing courses. I learned more on my own than listening to a college hack. After all, if such an instructor was so talented, how come he hadn’t been published beyond some obscure literary magazine with twenty subscribers? (The nineteen other subscribers were teaching hacks whose work was also accepted by said magazine.) That’s why I consider a college alumni magazine as nothing more than a slick lie printed on slick paper.
Flip through the pages and marvel at all the successful people who landed good jobs and are getting married, big weddings. Look who’s on the cover: that guy on network TeeVee, a celebrity who made it big because of his college education.
But what about the graduate those who didn’t make it, who never became a mass media celeb, who didn’t publish a major book or become CEO of a major company? Think about those stories when you peruse any glossy propaganda promulgated from a college desperate for fresh meat to grind through its machine.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Take it Back? You Don’t Have It
© 2008 Stan Spire
What a load of bullshit.
TeeVee snooze news, boring coverage of the Iowa presidential primaries. One candidate spews crap about how the people have to take back their democracy.
Some Americans feel that along the way they lost control of their government. After all, they’ve been told that the people, not their government, run things.
That’s been a lie from Day One. The Elite – the fortunate ones with wealth and influence – have always called the shots. The American Revolution was basically about a bunch of well-to-do landowners trying to keep control of their turf. They needed the common people to help them fight off British. And the stupified fell for it, the “all men are created equal” spiel.
And the stupes are still falling for it. A politician proclaims, “We have to take back our government.” Cheers, applause, grateful drooling.
Ever look at a sample of the US citizenship test? Immigrants who pass that exam know more about this country’s power structure than people who have spent all their lives here. I’d like to see native-born Americans take the test. How many of them would correctly answer this question: “What kind of government does the United States have?”
If you answer “A democracy,” you’re clueless and should be deported. When you perfunctorily join in the Pledge of Allegiance, do you utter, “for the Democracy for which it stands?”
The US is a republic. And a wide range of governmental systems can be described as republics, including dictatorships.
But most Americans think they live in a democracy because the pols keep saying it like it’s really true. If we really lived in a democracy, Al Gore would have been president back in 2000 because he won the popular vote. A democracy shouldn’t have a rigged system like the Electoral College.
So don’t listen to someone bloviating about taking back your democratic government. You don’t have one.
If you want to push for change, demand more control over the political process. A good place to start is to get rid of the Electoral College. A democracy means one person, one vote, no bullshit.
What a load of bullshit.
TeeVee snooze news, boring coverage of the Iowa presidential primaries. One candidate spews crap about how the people have to take back their democracy.
Some Americans feel that along the way they lost control of their government. After all, they’ve been told that the people, not their government, run things.
That’s been a lie from Day One. The Elite – the fortunate ones with wealth and influence – have always called the shots. The American Revolution was basically about a bunch of well-to-do landowners trying to keep control of their turf. They needed the common people to help them fight off British. And the stupified fell for it, the “all men are created equal” spiel.
And the stupes are still falling for it. A politician proclaims, “We have to take back our government.” Cheers, applause, grateful drooling.
Ever look at a sample of the US citizenship test? Immigrants who pass that exam know more about this country’s power structure than people who have spent all their lives here. I’d like to see native-born Americans take the test. How many of them would correctly answer this question: “What kind of government does the United States have?”
If you answer “A democracy,” you’re clueless and should be deported. When you perfunctorily join in the Pledge of Allegiance, do you utter, “for the Democracy for which it stands?”
The US is a republic. And a wide range of governmental systems can be described as republics, including dictatorships.
But most Americans think they live in a democracy because the pols keep saying it like it’s really true. If we really lived in a democracy, Al Gore would have been president back in 2000 because he won the popular vote. A democracy shouldn’t have a rigged system like the Electoral College.
So don’t listen to someone bloviating about taking back your democratic government. You don’t have one.
If you want to push for change, demand more control over the political process. A good place to start is to get rid of the Electoral College. A democracy means one person, one vote, no bullshit.
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