Defeat John Kerry in '04!

So, John Kerry has decided to "lodge a complaint" with the government over the fact that there are some guys out there who have paid for ad time that state that John Kerry is full of shit when it comes to his Vietnam "exploits." Oh, yeah, John, that's good. Do that. Just proves to me, again, why you shouldn't be the ruler of the free world. Instead of standing up for yourself and trying to prove them wrong, you ask run to "teacher" and say the big kids are picking on you. Aww, poor John. Here, want a hankie? Suddenly, I'm hearing people saying Vietnam service shouldn't be an issue. Why not? Johny Kerry is the one who based his whole campaign on the fact that he was in Vietnam.....for four months, but don't tell anyone that last part. In four months John Kerry got three purple hearts. THREE! I guess he kept forgetting to duck.

John Kerry tells us we need to fight a "sensitive war on terror." I tell you what John Kerry, why don't you go to each and every family that lost someone on 9/11 and tell them that, I'd like to be there for that. Ah, I love the word "sensitive." That's such a good twenty-five cent liberal word. It gives me such a warm fuzzy. John Kerry, there's nothing sensitive or comapssionate about the times we are in. They drew first blood, to borrow a quote from a popular 80's flick. They drew first blood.

And I'm supposed to feel better about your toothy puppet of a vee-pee candidate? I hear John Edwards talk and keep my hand on my wallet. I feel like I need a bath everytime I hear him speak. He's a trial lawyer, a highly paid, legal con-man.

What do you stand for John Kerry? I can't keep up. You move this way and that, as soon as some light is put on a position, you run to the dark again and make me work. You remind me of a political cockroach.

Sorry, John Kerry, I'm going to run, not walk, to the polls on November 2nd and I'm going to vote AGAINST you. I can't wait. I really can't.

Opposing viewpoints welcome. I will respond as I see fit.

Bush/Cheney '04

Something new: a title

I am a book snob. I work for Barnes & Noble Booksellers. They have this nifty little perk (one of the few we get) that I take total advantage of: I can borrow hard cover books for up to two weeks. This is a very nice and good perk, however it does have its draw backs. The main one is this: I have to very careful with the book (I am usually careful with them any way, but this added pressure makes it difficult to read said book in, I don't know, a restaraunt for fear of spilling speghetti on the page... that'd be bad). Another one is I can only borrow the book for two weeks; that means I have to read it right away, quickly, and sometimes I just can't get the whole thing. I just start seeing words, but not getting them, if you get my meaning. Here's the big drawback: I have a hard time borrowing books from the library. Library books are dirty. Filthy. They smell like they've been held by hundreds of hands, smoked over, eaten over, thrown into corners, and lost in the backs of cars for days on end. And yet, those library books have a certain mystique. They are the soldiers of the literate set. Thank God for the library book. I'm a snob, though, when it comes to books. Either that, or I'm spoiled. Probably more the latter as opposed to the former.

Books to me are a gift from the gods. Really, I've said it before to many people: I think I could do without the internet and the television, but you take away my books and I'll be dead within a year. Here's the funny thing. I love to read and do so with great regularity. I have pretty good comprehension, but I can't follow written instructions. I have to literally take each line slowly and carefully, almost phonetically. I almost have to parse each word. I'm so thankful for instructions that have diagrams. I can do diagrams. I can usually figure out what needs to be done with diagrams, but if I have to put something together and all I have are written instructions it will take me twice as long, if not longer, to get the thing done. I'm a visual learner. Its even better if someone can SHOW me what to do, let me ask a question or two and then get out of the way and let me to it. I'll get it done, but it will be done the way I can get it done. I was always causing my teachers angst in that regard. Oh, I'd get the answer or to the end of the problem or the project, but it was done (as Ol' Blue Eyes hisself: Frank Sinatra once sang) my way.

I'm not sure I truly understand this. I'm stupid. Maybe I should just stay at the other site I use for blogging. Except there its an "an online diary." Is that a more pc term for it? I don't know. I just don't get this. I post something here and then I can't find it. I'm such a rube.

I had that discussion again the other day. You don't know what that discussion is, though, that's okay, but I should probably let you in on it. I am often accused of being "well read." I hate that term. I really do. I mean really bugs me. You see, I'm not well read. Not even a little bit. Not even close. Nope, not well read, but! I read alot. I can't even begin to tell you how many books I have read in the last year, forget that, the last six months, hell, lets be serious-- the last month! I simply don't know. I can't even begin to tell you what I have read. I'm not a hundred percent sure you'd really care, either. Let's just say I read alot. I can tell you this: right now I am reading the first volume of Shelby Foote's Civil War (I'm about 250 pages from the end). I just finished Fight Club (that took me longer then it should have, but I was reading it intermittently). I just picked up The Adventures of Kavalier & Clay (I read the first four or five chapters this afternoon after work). I have waiting (I borrowed it from the library) The Ghosts of 42nd Street. I also, as my "shit book" have Winesburg, Ohio (which is the direct result of reading the book A Circus in Winter and meeting the author). With all this going on, I still have this sneaking suspicion that I'm not doing enough. Not reading enough. Not learning anything. I'm scared I'm missing something. Not doing enough. Not... I don't know... just not. And that, my friends drives me absolutely batshit

I feel like writing. This is the first time in a long time that the feeling, nay, the need to write has descended upon my shoulders. I feel the need to write, maybe its the weather-- that has been wonderful the last couple days. Its the middle of August and I'm running around in a sweatshirt. Beautiful, beautiful. I feel like drinking, not fall down-drag-out-puke-my-brains-out-in-the-morning drinking, but silent sustained drinking, tipping back a cold one and letting the cool liquid slowly go down my throat and enjoy the sounds of the night around me. A cooler full of ice and packed tight with bottles of suds and conversation that's what I want right now, I need it; I crave it. I feel like drinking and talking about writing under the stars. Laying on a blanket and just talking about it all. Everything. Sadly, though, it would be a one sided monologue. I get tired of hearing myself talk. I don't have much to say. I say it, though. Badly.

I've been listening to Kerouac's On the Road as read by Matt Dillon. How unbeat is that? Driving home from work late at night, the windows up to keep the wind noise down and the cd player on playing an audio book. I wonder what Kerouac would think, probably not much. I feel like such a traitor, I do, I tried to read On the Road a couple times, but it never worked. I got a third, maybe halfway through, and then stopped. I didn't not like the book, I just didn't "feel it," know what I mean. I"ve become such a snob. Such a literary snob. Reading fiction, any kind of fiction is tough. So I listen to it and imagine it a teleplay or a radio dramatic monologue. Some how it seems to work. Maybe travelogues are best read aloud onto a cd.

I feel writing great works. Poetry, essays, stories, something... the need to write is almost painful. Great stones of ideas roll around in my head, but I am unable to find the opening, I can't find the hole to jump down and start the descent. That' s what writing is to me. A slide. A slippery slope. It has to be the weather. Its so nice. So, dare I say it... clean. Its light. This dark night is clean and light. Its condusive to writing. I need to write. This feeling will go away. It always does.

It will flitter away like a spring bird.

So, it has happened... again. I have forgotten, again, about this little wordisland in the middle of the great wordycyberspaceocean. This little oasis of a place. It took a friend of mine who has a blog here to bring me back. I'm starting to see a pattern, though. I shall promise to do my best to God, country, and the blog, but it won't happen. It'll fade. It always does. That wordfire that burns, intermittently it seems, will go out and the silent, sad embers of the confliguration will cool quietly to themselves and this blog will sit dormant. Silent. Unwritten in. Yet, I give it another try. I've read the three or four other posts that are here and they are worthwhile. I don't even remember writing them. Maybe I didn't. Maybe it just sounds like I did, but it was someone else. It must of been. That has to be it. It's not and I know that, but yet there is a slight, subtle, hope (is the right word) that there was in fact another me that did in fact write them.

If it makes you feel any better, this feels good. Writing here. I don't know if any one will ever read it, I don't care. (Frankly, its nice to write with capital letters-- i have another online diary elsewhere and there I use only lowercase. I'm not sure why, but I do). I think that other diary has turned me into a "character" I have a certain voice that I use there. There are almost certain expectations there, be they imagined or real, that I feel I have to keep up and measure up to. That's a drag (to say the least). I'm not complaining, I'm just stating fact.

So, I shall come back. I think I will. I can see myself back here. More importantly it feels right to be here, opening a new shop. Getting my words correct. Being me and being new all over again.

I haven't much to say. I'm not even sure why I keep this thing. Unfortunately, I'm afraid this blog has become the redheaded stepchild of my cyberlife. Its here waiting patiently, but never gets the attention it deserves. I think part of that is because I'm not a hundred percent sure how it all works. I guess maybe I'll go find and read the help menu stuff. Maybe that will help. If you came here to read insightful political commentary, sorry. Maybe some other time. I'll get back to this and figure it all out. I hope.