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Monday, November 16, 2009

Things That Chap My Ass About Big Budget Disaster Movies

 

Ever see this poster?

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We went to see the big budget Roland Emmerich disaster movie, 2012.

It’s a lot like that poster.

It’s fairly shallow, but no less awesome for all of that.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to give anything away. No spoilers.

2012 is exactly as advertised, an end of the world flick on steroids with a double espresso. Emmerich said that this was going to be his last disaster flick, so he wanted to throw everything into it he could think of – and it’s pretty obvious that he did just that.  The movie is long at 158 minutes, and roughly 157.9 minutes of that is nonstop holy friggin shit! action. Emmerich had a number of super ultra mega special effects scenes in mind - the kind of thing he does in such loving detail, like the giant alien beam-O-death in ID4 spearing down through the Empire State building – and he strung them together with something that vaguely resembles a plot if you squint your eyes tightly enough.

Don’t get me wrong here, we got exactly what we expected – a screaming rollercoaster ride of a movie. There isn’t anything deep about 2012, you’ll find no penetrating insights into the human condition, no Oscar caliber performances, no Rosebud moments - and if you’re the kind of guy who can’t watch a movie without picking out all the scientific flaws, well, you’re probably going to have a cardiac infarction about ten minutes into this movie.

But, if you’re the kind of person who likes to see shit get blowed up, this, my friend, is your dream date movie. If you loved Independence Day, you’re gonna like 2012, you might even love it.

Some highlights without giving anything away:

- Cusack is Cusack, i.e. John Cusack plays the same character he’s played in everything from Better Off Dead (one of the best romantic disaster comedies EVAH!) to Serendipity (a cute so so romantic movie). I don’t expect much range from John Cusack, but he’s a likable enough actor that I really don’t care.  Woody Harrelson on the other hand, is a complete hoot, the guy damned near stole the movie even though he was only on the screen for a relatively short time. 

- A whole damned city slides into the ocean. It is totally awesome.

- There is a big damned volcanic explosion. It is totally awesome.

- There is a whole shitload of giant tsunamis, because seriously what kind of disaster movie doesn’t have giant tsunamis? They are totally awesome.

- A lot of stuff, OK, the whole damned world, gets blowed up. It’s totally awesome.  Seriously, these are some of the best GCI special effects I’ve ever seen, there are some very cool moments.

- There is a whole slew of hat tipping to other great disaster movies including Emmerich’s own movies, some blatantly obvious, some less so. It’s fun picking them out.

- It’s got Thandie Newton (sue me, I like Thandie Newton). It’s got Chiwetel Ejiofor (someday I’m actually going to learn how to pronounce his name).

Like I said, there’s nothing deep about 2012, it’s not even as deep as, and not nearly as emotionally satisfying as, ID4, but it’s a hell of a lot better than Emmerich’s other disaster flick, The Day After Tomorrow. It’s getting mixed reviews, one of my favorites is by Gina Carbone of Seacoastonline who called the movie “The Ron Jeremy of disaster porn” – and she meant that in a good way.

If you like disaster movies, go see it in the theater. It will be much diminished on the small screen. 

 

Now, some things I feel need mentioning. First the audience:

- Kids. Look, it’s a goddamned Roland Emmerich movie. What the fuck are you doing bringing your goddamned 4 year old to it ? Seriously, are you retarded? The kid doesn’t have the attention span to make it through a 30 minute episode of The Bear in the Big Blue House and you brought him to 158 minute long movie? A Roland Emmerich movie? Did you hear his terrified questions during the movie? “What’s that?!” “What are they doing?!” “What’s happening now?!” “Are they going to be OK?!”  The only thing that makes me smile about this is the fact that the kid is going to wake up screaming every single night for the next month. Have fun with that, asshole parents.

- Time. The movie start times are posted on the big fucking sign out front. They’re in the paper. They’re online. Read them. Buy a goddamned watch. It pisses me off no end to have you idiots drifting in ten minutes after they turn off the lights.  I want to watch the previews (Cammeron’s Avatar, holy six trunked rampant randy elephant god, I gotta see that!), I want to watch the movie, without you chowderheads all standing in the aisle pissing and moaning that all the good seats are taken.  Show up on time.  Find a seat. Sit the fuck down. SHUT UP.  Or I will spit half chewed Ju-Ju-Be’s in your ugly girlfriend’s hair.

- Popcorn. Dude, you have lips. Use them. Close you mouth when you chew. You sound like like Mr Ed with a mouthful of saltwater taffy. I mean, seriously here shitforbrains, when your bovine like lipsmackin’ can be heard three rows away over the sound of a Roland Emmerich disaster movie you have a goddamned problem. Don’t make me come back there and superglue your face shut, because I will.

 

And then there are the things that chap my ass about movies themselves:

- The Countdown Voice.  You know, the computer voice that keeps stating the really obvious impending disaster. “The earth will explode in five minutes…the earth will explode and everybody will die in four minutes…the earth will explode and everybody will die and the rocket engines will fail in three minutes…the earth will explode, everybody will die, the engines will explode, and the aliens will eat your brain in two minutes…” Hey, it was a great way to ramp up the tension in Alien, but when they parodied it in Galaxy Quest, directors should have gotten a clue.

- The computer screens with the impossible graphics that anticipate completely unexpected events.  The super reliable computers that never crash, hang, or fail to connect. Take the tactical displays in ID4 for example, how is it that the computer screens just happened to have a special vibrating line to represent the alien forcefield around the giant fifteen mile in diameter flying saucers (which they also just happened to have a symbol for)?  No seriously, I’ve worked on government computer systems for over half my life, I’ve operated combat systems and tactical display systems and I can tell you that just getting the defense contractors to make the damned thing show the correct time is a challenge - and these guys toss in an alien invasion symbol library for free? Suuuuure. The world is ending, shit is getting blowed up, the earth’s crust is cracking open, the aliens are zapping the crap out of our cities, towering columns of super cold air are freezing entire countries, lightening is crashing, sea are rising, the wroth of God is nigh – and the computer voice keeps counting down the minutes and the screens show impossible graphics without glitch or fail.  Probably a good thing they didn’t contract with Microsoft, eh?

- They should have the computer programmers do the engineering. How is it that in every one of these movies there’s always some incredibly stupid engineering issue to overcome that nobody ever anticipated? Deep Impact, the computer codes to unlock the nuclear weapons aren’t on the ship.  The crew has to call back to Earth to get them. What. The. Fuck? You’ve got one chance. One. The ship is going to have to fly into the comet’s coma, debris like swimming through a shotgun blast, high speed gas geysers, shit getting blowed up, sun hot enough to melt lead, a billion miles from home – and it never occurred to anybody that they might lose communications?  Dude, I can’t make my cell phone connect in Wal-Mart, it never occurred to the mission planners that the astronauts might not be able to phone home? There’s a real serious moment of this exact thing in 2012, it involves a big damned door and the engines.  We can’t start the engines unless the door is shut. What? You’re preparing for the end of the fucking world and it never occurred to you that shit might not go exactly as planned and that maybe an override might be a good idea? Doh! Who trusted these idiots with the survival of the human race?

 

I could go on.

And on.

But it’s late and I need to go to bed.

Tell me, what chaps your ass about big budget disaster flicks and the folks who go to see them?

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Off to Anchorage for the Day

We're going to see the new John Cusack movie 2012.

Hey, I like big budget disaster flicks.

Towering Inferno? I'm there. Poseidon Adventure? Sure. Deep Impact? Oh hell yes (But not Armageddon, you've got to have some standards). Deep Impact is quite possibly my favorite disaster movie, evah, well, next to ID4, that is.

And speaking of Armageddon, big budget disaster flicks lately tend to be showcases for special effects, say like the excretable The Day After Tomorrow, great special effects, idiot plot, ridiculous science, and bad acting but it was Oscar material personified compared to some, say like War of the Worlds (Christ, I really, really hoped the martians would vaporize Dakota Fanning, really just kill her and eat her already. Hey overall the movie was fun, especially that flaming train scene and the ferry crossing, but the actors were just friggin' obnoxious tools).

I don't have any high expectations when it comes to 2012, but I really want to see that scene where New York slides into the ocean on crumpling tectonic plates. Oh baby. I don't give much credence (OK, none) to the whole ZOMG! THE WORLD IS GONNA END IN 2012! CUZ THE MAYANS SAID SO! thing but I expect the movie will be fun.

Full report upon my return from Anchorage, unless an unforeseen disaster befalls us on the way back.

You? What's your favorite disaster flick?

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Ask Stonekettle Station

Today’s search phrase:

How do I crack corn with a dado blade?

How do I crack corn with a … ?

This is a dado blade:

image

It’s for making dados (a wide slot, usually to fit another board into for joinery) in wood.

It goes on a machine called a tablesaw:

image

 

How do I crack corn with a dado blade?

Wow, you got me.  I can’t even come up with a smart assed answer for that.

 

image

 

I’ve got no more idea how to crack corn with a tablesaw than I know how to make a cheese log with a router.

If you ever figure it out, Stumpy, be sure to have your caregiver drop me an email.

Hate to Bust Your Bubble, Glenn, But...

Remember these idiots?

Teabaggers and Birthers and Revolutionaries who seem to think that the military is going to rise up and remove President Obama from office so they can then seat a good homegrown patriotic authentically real American Old Uber-Christian White Guy(tm) on the throne?

These idiots (and I mean idiots in the most mockingly insulting way possible) seem to be calling for a military coup in America.

Fat chance, idiots (and I mean idiots in the most insultingly derisive manhood demeaning way possible), you didn't see the military cheering their Commander in Chief when he stopped here in the heart of Palinville USA. The applause and cheering were deafening. Obama spent 15 minutes telling us that he was proud of us, that he respected us, and that he would back us up - but, that he wouldn't hesitate to use us if necessary. He acknowledged the sacrifice of one of our own, by name. Then he waded into the crowd, shaking hands and talking to people for nearly an hour. The man radiates calm and power and dynamic energy, he makes you proud to work for him. The thousands of military folk crammed into the hanger loved him and showed him nothing but respect and admiration and support - and they talked about it all day yesterday.

In contrast, I watched George W. Bush speak in that same hanger, three years ago - he spoke for an hour about his policies and terrorists and the same old shit we'd heard every day for seven long years. Afterward he leaned down from the podium and shook a few hands like he was some kind of Caesar or something and then he hustled out the back for Air Force One and it was pretty obvious that he spoke to us only because he had to. The crowed clapped politely and showed him the respect he was due as our commander in chief and that was all.

The difference between the two was like the long arctic night and the brilliant summer day.

So, sorry to bust your bubble, idiots, but it sure looks like your coup is just you and the other neocon pinheads - against, well, us.

You should probably remember who we are and the power that we command.

You might want to rethink your foul rhetoric and your call to arms.

Just sayin'

Friday, November 13, 2009

Offline

Folks, I've been very busy this last few days.

Nothing serious, just work, deadlines, that sort of thing. I just haven't had enough hours in the day to get certain things done, so I've been deliberately offline in order to make the time. As such I haven't been able write new posts or respond to comments on old ones or answer email - of which I have an enormous amount.

Posting should return to normal this weekend. If you've written to me, I'll try to sort through the inbox and send you a response shortly.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Further Thoughts On The Fort Hood Shooting

Yesterday’s post regarding the Fort Hood shootings is pulling in a very large amount of traffic and a moderate amount of email.

Reading the email, I see I need to clarify a few things I said yesterday – or rather didn’t say.

 

There are two possibilities here:

Major Hasan is nuts, or he’s not.

 

If he’s nuts, in the legal sense, and his lawyer can prove it in court – then he should be locked away with the rest of the crazy dangerous people. My sympathy towards him extends to the degree that I have for any other broken human being, tempered by the fact that Hansan was a mental health professional and should have done more to ensure his own mental health – which is part and parcel of the mental health field. All therapists are supposed to have therapists of their own.

If he’s not nuts, there are two possibilities: his religious beliefs were the primary motivator, or they weren’t.  

If Hasan’s religious convictions were not his primary motivation, then he is a simple mass murderer and should face whatever punishment he’s got coming to him.  I have no compassion or sympathy towards him whatsoever.

If his religion was his primary motivation, if sympathy for the enemy was his primary motivation, then Hasan is guilty of treason against the United States of America, a country he swore to protect and defend and to whom he gave his solemn oath with his right hand upraised before his God. If Hasan is a traitor – and it appears very likely that he is – then he should face the fate of all traitors with his back against The Wall. Fuck him and the horse he rode in on, and I’ll pull the trigger myself if they’re looking for volunteers.

 

Something to note here, if Hasan is indeed a traitor, there are no mitigating circumstances.  His family has mentioned possible religious persecution. That’s crap. Hansan was a Major, an O-4.  He knew damned well the Army’s stance on such things, i.e. zero tolerance, and he damned well knew what his options were, anything from filing an EEO compliant regarding a hostile workplace to writing his Congressman.  Hasan’s professed reluctance to deploy into a warzone and fight against members of his own religion is also crap.  He is a commissioned officer, sworn to obey the orders of the President and the Officers appointed over him. Period. If he was unable to execute those orders, he should never have sworn the oath. He should never have accepted his recent promotion, which carries with it “the obligation to faithfully discharge the duties of the office.”  If he truly could not execute his orders due to a moral objection, he had plenty of options, none of which involved treason. 

Hasan’s actions are his, and his alone, using this situation to condemn all Muslims is wrong.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Loot!

I got loot today.

Tasty tasty apple buttery loot.

And a cookbook.

Thanks, Janiece, you rock.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Thoughts on the Fort Hood Shooting

It happens.

What’s surprising is that it doesn’t happen more often.

Don’t get me wrong, what happened at Fort Hood is a tragedy of terrifying proportions. The irony of surviving a combat deployment or preparing to enter the war zone for the first time, only to be killed by a fellow soldier – a doctor, no less, entrusted with the care and wellbeing of soldiers - in a place where you should have been safe is profound and horrifying. Incidents like this, soldier on soldier violence, eat away at the bond and the trust between warriors, and that trust, that bond, is the very core of military life, it’s the intangible thing that often means the difference between survival and death in situations most civilians can’t even begin to imagine.

But it happens.

We’ve been at war now for what? Eight years, if you mark September 11, 2001 as the opening shot. We’ve been fighting in Afghanistan since the first week of October, 2001 and in Iraq since the night of March 19th, 2003 – and in fact, I was directly involved in the opening operation on that night, in the oil fields of Southern Iraq, this is very personal to me. We’ve been fighting across two brutal fronts for twice as long as the United States was involved in World War II, for almost three times as long as we were in Korea, and we’ve been fighting hard for just about half as long as the entire Vietnam Conflict. Unlike those previous conflicts, however, this one is being fought by an all volunteer military, many members of which have returned for two, three, and even four tours of duty in the meat grinder. Many members of which never expected to see actual combat on foreign soil, members of the National Guard and the Reserves have been called on to do things that are the traditional responsibility of the regular military and they have performed magnificently.

The stresses are extraordinary. They are often cumulative. If you have never faced combat, if you’ve never faced imminent death over and over and over again, if you’ve never walked among the dead and the bleeding and sundered, heard the cries of the dying, if you’ve never lived with the smell of death and decay and rot in your nose for months and years at a time, you simply cannot understand what it can do to the human mind – even by simple association.

In America, we take comfort in the myth of Tom Brokaw’s Greatest Generation. Those men, our grandfathers, those great American patriots who went off to war and beat back the Japanese and the Nazi’s and liberated Europe and then came home unbowed, unbroken, undamaged and built the mighty superpower we Americans live in today. We like to tell ourselves that those men were unaffected by the horror of war, they came home and returned to their lives and sweethearts and the sunny and wonderful 1950’s. But peel back the thin veneer of that myth and you will find alcoholism and suicide and domestic violence and homelessness. Somehow Brokaw’s myth left out those men who returned home and found they no longer fit – and who then banded together to form groups like the Hell’s Angels and the Booze Fighters and fell into lives of violence and crime on the edge of the Greatest Generation’s shiny American Dream. Somehow Brokaw’s myth leaves out those others, the ethnic minorities, who didn’t share in that dream – who instead faced violent racism and rejection and marginalization by those same returned veterans – you have only to look to the persecution of Jews in 1950’s America perpetuated by veterans who as soldiers in Europe five or ten years before had fought for the liberation of those same people. Brokaw’s myth of the Greatest Generation somehow leaves out the lynchings and murders and segregation of blacks in the 1940’s 50, and 60’s South, many of whom had fought, and bled, and served themselves – and a number of whom were hung in their uniforms.

In the 1950’s we went off to Korea, often called The Forgotten War, my dad served there. Fought by the Greatest Generation and their sons. It was supposed to be a “police action,” but it didn’t work out that way. And many of those who came home from Incheon and Chosin faced the same disconnection and demons as their WWII predecessors – and they dealt with it the same way, booze and violence and divorce and domestic conflict and homelessness.

And then there was Vietnam.

For those members of the media who keep saying that that Major Hasan’s rampage at Fort Hood is the worst case of soldier on soldier violence ever, all I can say is that they must have slept through Vietnam.

I’ve received a pile of emails from folks across the country. Allow me to share a few excerpts with you:

“Surely even you will have to agree now that the military is broken…something must be done!”

No, I do not have to agree. This is a shallow and baseless statement. I’ve seen it repeated by pundits and commenters and other clueless idiots who obviously think that wisdom is contained in pithy sound bites and who’s ability to think for themselves is about as complex as those little one-line quotes printed on the side of Starbucks cups. As I noted above, the US Military and its allies have been fighting hard for eight long years. To date we are still an all volunteer force. And in fact, we continue to meet our recruiting goals across the board. We’ve accomplished every single mission set before us, and continue to do so. Desertions are so rare that they make the news when they happen. Soldiers refusing to deploy or to follow orders are so rare, that they make the news when they do so. Violence by Soldiers outside the pale is so rare, that it makes the news when it happens. Despite what FoxNews would have you believe – morale is high, and honor, courage, commitment, duty, valor, and heroism are in abundance. When a soldier speaks out against the war or the government of this administration or the previous one, it is an event so rare that it makes the news. I served in this conflict, and I continue to live and work among the men and women of the Armed Forces and I speak from authority and direct knowledge - unlike those in the media or those engaged in making political hay. The military is nowhere near “broken” and to say so, to use the tragedy at Fort Hood to perpetuate this idiotic claim dishonors, discredits, and dismisses out of hand all of us who have served and continue to serve.

“I don’t know what the world is coming to, I’m nearly sixty and I’ve never seen violence like this, in the schools, the military.”

I saw nearly this same comment under a news article on CNN.com. “I’m fifty and I’ve never seen violence like this.”

Really? You must have been in a coma pretty much right through the 60’s and 70’s and 80’ and 90’s then. Because by the time the United States was eight years into Vietnam, say 1967 or so, it was goddamned hard to miss the violence in the streets of America – which as I recall was also around the height of the civil rights movement. By 1967, the practice of “fragging” was in full swing in the jungles of Vietnam and Laos and Cambodia. There were many places an officer didn’t dare venture, places where death was more likely than on the battlefield, and those places were in the depths of US Navy ships and the back rooms of Army barracks, and in the bars and whorehouses and back alleys of San Diego and Norfolk and the Philippines and Thailand. Back home, perhaps you missed the Black Panthers and Symbionese Liberation Army and the Weathermen and the countless other groups dedicated to the violent overthrow of America. You must have slept clean through the Manson murders. You must have been out of town during the Watts riots. Hell you must have missed the Timothy McVieghs and Terry Nichols and Mark David Chapmans and other, lesser known, but too many to be named. I guess you missed it when a soldier of the 101st Airborne tossed a grenade into a tent at Camp Pennsylvania in 2003 because he had been reprimanded by his commander. You must be blind to walk past the homeless vets on damned near every street in America without noticing – or did you think that life on the street is all bliss and peaceful harmony? If you think this is the first incident of violence by a soldier against other soldiers or against his fellows or that violence is somehow worse now than it has ever been you’re just deluding yourself.

“Not all Muslims are terrorists, but all terrorists are Muslim”

I got no less than three emails containing this little platitude, I’ve seen it repeated a dozen times in comments under various news articles, and I’ve heard it several time in conversation in direct reference to the Fort Hood shootings. This kind of shallow, mindless fiction taken as fact is precisely what got us into this conflict in the first place. The statement “all terrorists are Muslim” I’m sure will come as a complete surprise to those who fight against the Catholic and Protestant terrorists of Northern Ireland, or the Hindu Tamils of Sri Lanka, or the Maoist terrorists of Malaysia, or Marxist terrorists – most of whom are Catholics – of Columbia, or professed atheist terrorists such as Timothy McVeigh and Ted Kaczynski, or Christian Separatists such as ETA in northern Spain, or the devote Christian terrorist who gunned down abortion doctor George Tiller in cold blood in the middle of a Christian church sanctuary. In fact, five minutes of research will show just how stupid and baseless that statement is. It’s a trick of perspective, the majority of terrorism we as Americans face today is indeed Muslim, because we are involved in a region where Islam is the dominant belief system. Were we to be involved elsewhere, the threat would come from a different axis. HOWEVER, it has yet to be proven that the primary driver in Hasan’s attack on his fellows was religious in nature.

Which takes us to:

“This just goes to prove something I’ve said all long, that Muslims cannot be trusted. The bastards should shipped back to whatever shit-hole they came from. They sure shouldn’t be allowed to serve along side our brave soldiers…”

First, please stop using the phrase “our brave soldiers.” I find it galling. The word “soldier” is sufficient. Second, if you’re so damned concerned about “our brave soldiers” how about calling your congressman and senator and demanding that those same soldiers have the tools and equipment necessary to do their jobs properly? How about demanding that they have the counseling and medical care they need upon returning home and before going back into the sandbox? How about telling your government that, hey, our brave soldiers need better care and better equipment and better support – so, uh, I guess spending the defense budget on F-22 raptor assembly lines and LCX cruisers and pie in the sky weapons systems and other such crap solely in order to keep voters employed at the expense of those self same soldiers probably isn’t such a good idea? How about supporting a president who prefers to give due and careful consideration to the idea of sending yet another 40,000 of those soldiers into the meat grinder, instead of calling him a traitor and unpatriotic? Otherwise, do me a big favor and shut the fuck up about “our brave soldiers” because your hypocrisy makes me sick.

And finally third, some of those “brave soldiers” you talk about? They’re Muslim. For four months in the combat zone, I trusted my life to a Muslim. A US Navy Sailor whose parents fled the revolution in Iran and came to America. Their son was a Muslim of Shiite extraction and one of the finest men I ever served beside – he had every reason to believe in America, far more so than the flabby armchair warriors who have never served a single goddamned day in their lives. Thousand more Muslims serve honorably, every bit as committed to the ideals of their oath as their Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Wiccan, and Atheist comrades – and they are out there right now, keeping your dumb ass free.

I don’t know that Hansan’s actions were driven by his religion. I don’t know that they weren’t. Only Hansan can answer that, if he recovers. Condemning all Muslims in uniform for Hansan’s actions is pure bigotry and dishonors all those who serve steadfastly alongside us, and all those who live peacefully among us. Condemning all Muslims who wear the American uniform and who have sworn to give up their lives for this country, for you, because of the presumed motivations of Major Hansan, is a slap in the face of every Soldier, Sailor, Airman, Marine, and Guardsman who fights for the ideals of the United States. I spent a great deal of my life in Muslim countries and, outside of the warzone, none tried to kill me, few spoke rudely to me, and most were warm and kind. I will tell you that I’ve met more than my share of crazy people, some of whom obsessed about their particular bugaboo – which sometimes was their religion. I’ve met plenty of batshit crazy Christians in my life and even written about a few here. Islam doesn’t have the market on crazy. I suspect in the end, you’ll find that Hansan simply snapped, that he suffered a psychotic break and that while his religious beliefs exacerbated the situation they weren’t the reason for it. There are those who bemoan that “political correctness” somehow allowed this to happen. That Hansan should have been drummed out of the military for allegedly expressing pro-Islam, anti-American sentiments. Again, people are making assumptions without proven facts – it has not been proven that Hansan made those statements, either out loud or on-line. HOWEVER, he was under investigation for it. He had been reprimanded. He had received negative performance reviews. And if those things were proven true, he would have been removed from service. This is how the system works. In this case obviously it didn’t work fast enough, but the solution is an improvement in the system, not in the condemnation of Muslims. To do so means that next time you’ll miss the crazy bastard who isn’t a religious extremist.

And there will be a next time.

Yes, there will.

It happens.

Those of us who serve in this time of war live among violence, violence unimaginable to those who have not been there. Our grandfathers knew it, so did our fathers. It is our profession. It changes us. Some handle it better than others, some can’t handle it at all – but it affects each and every one of us. Even those who are exposed only by proximity, as was Major Hansan.

This, my friends, is the cost of war.

This is only one of the many, many consequences of war.

The great writer Robert Anson Heinlein, himself a veteran, said many times, “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.” And he was right. We’ve been at this war for eight years now. Thousands are dead, many thousands more wounded, and maimed, and scarred by battle. I can walk through the parking lots on any base in this country and count dozens, hundreds, of Combat Wounded, Purple Heart license plates – did you think that comes without cost? And not all wounds, maybe not even a majority, are visible. You don’t have to take a bullet to come home wounded.

Some will recover. Some will come home with a renewed sense of life and living. Some will return resolute and steadfast and determined. But, some will be haunted for the rest of their lives. Some will drink themselves to death. Some will strike out at their spouses and children and friends. Some will end up homeless and destitute and unable to cope. Some will cry and rage and wander the earth broken and hopeless.

This is the cost. This is the toll in flesh and spirit.

For all of you armchair warhawks who have not served, who have not seen combat, know this: There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.

This is the cost.

No, as I said above, it’s surprising that this doesn’t happen more often.

The question is, what are you going to do about it?


Update: I was asked about my thoughts on the fact that soldiers are not allowed to carry live weapons routinely on base, and whether doing so would have prevented this tragedy.

I’ll answer by pointing out that in the immediate confused aftermath of the shooting, two soldiers were taken into custody on the rumor that they were somehow involved, and that this was a conspiracy by a group of “terrorists” or soldiers gone rogue. Try to imagine the wild confusion of that moment. Try to imagine the hysteria and group think.

Now try to imagine it with armed soldiers.

Try to picture in your head just how much worse this situation would have been if those two soldiers, who were later released as uninvolved and innocent, were mistakenly gunned down by their comrades in the heat of confusion. Try to imagine the number of dead and wounded when everybody involved was armed with automatic battle weapons.

Now, try to imagine the long term effects on the military, on the culture, on the trust and the bond between soldiers when each of them must carry a weapon at home just in case they have to gun each other down.

Now add to that mix, those suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, from alienation, and the stress of war and conflict.

Yes, try to imagine that.

You can’t, can you?

Because if you could, you wouldn’t have made such a stupid suggestion in the first damned place.

_________________________________________________

Additional thoughts here.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

A Note About The Birdhouses

All of the birdhouses have shipped.

They went out in batches, along with a number of bowls and other artwork.

Some of you have yours already, thank you for the notes.

Some of you will get them today.

Some of you will get them this coming week.

God only knows when you Canadians will get yours.

There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It just depends on which packages make it onto which truck and if the truck gets to Anchorage before the plane leaves. Some packages arrive in three days, some in ten. I don’t know why. When the post office guy says, “four to ten days for Priority Mail,” he’s speaking literally. Occasionally, packages arrive smashed and smelling of seafood – which would indicate that they rode down to the lower 48 under several hundred pounds of King Crab or other such bounty of the North Pacific. Should that happen, let me know and I’ll ship you a replacement immediately.

 

I will be making more. 

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Same Sex Marriage, I Don’t Get It.

Dilbert.com

You know, I just don’t get it.

I really don’t.

This week, Maine, a state known for its tolerant liberal attitude and a place where “live and let live” is an old old saying, joined thirty other states in banning marriage between certain members of its population.

Like the rest of the dubious majority to which Maine now belongs, the ban was approved by a majority of its voters, 53% of them – well, 53% of the voters who bothered to turn out anyway.

However, the majority of Mainers, unlike a rather large number of Californians and Midwesterners, don’t seem out and out homophobic per se – though as a practical matter, it is rather obvious that they are. The chief opposition, by and large, didn’t vocalize as bigoted screeds by religious leaders decrying the flaunting of God’s will – which apparently only they are personally privy to. The Mormons didn’t descend en mass on the state - declaring marriage a sacred sacrament between a man and four or five fifteen year old girls who may or may not be his first cousins. Evangelicals largely didn’t flood the airwaves with dire threats of fire and brimstone and Angry Tearful Jesus and admonishments to keep homosexuality where it belongs – as secret affairs for outwardly straight married conservatives in deep, deep denial. Opposition didn’t really manifest in the sanctimonious bloviating of conservative politicians bemoaning the “gay agenda” to deconstruct traditional American values – traditional values being, so far as I can tell, tractor pulls and the shooting of holes in every single road sign along the nation’s highways. Nor did the majority of the opposition consist, as it did in California, of the Pollyannaism of community leaders hysterically predicting that same-sex marriage is a gateway drug to free range bestiality, legalization of pedophilia, and dogs and cats living together in anarchy. All these opposing positions were there certainly, but they weren’t front and center the way the hatred and bigotry and out and out lies and deliberate spontaneously generating and perpetuating falsehoods were during the Prop 8 battle in California.

No, the principle argument against equality for all in Maine seemed to be the fear that “they” would start teaching “gay-marriage” in the schools.

You may use your imagination to insert my Pilot to Co-pilot, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Over? face here, if you like.

I don’t get it.

Teach gay marriage in school?

Teach it how?

Like in home economics or something?

Would there be role-playing like for traditional hetero relationships? Some high schools have a class where a boy and a girl are paired up in a “marriage” and given a “baby” – sometimes a doll, sometimes a five pound sack of flour – to care for. It’s supposed to impress on them the challenges of parenthood and marriage. Is this what the opposition means? Girls would be paired up and forced to experience simulated lesbian lifestyles full of hand woven natural fibers and Veganism? Would they spend a week hating men and referring to the cheerleading squad as gender traitors? Would the boys be required to select a simulated same-sex life partner and forgo football for a selection of fabulous shoes and a fieldtrip to the Pink Carousel for virgin daiquiris?

Is that what the opposition is talking about when they say “teach gay marriage in school?”

Or do they mean that it would it be more like how the Christian Conservatives keep trying to sneak their bible into the public schools through the Trojan horse of “Intelligent” Design? Is that what they’re afraid of, that secret pervasive gay agenda? The damned homosexuals want to add Interior Design to shop class maybe? Do they want to teach the controversy? Will they insist that fabric swatches and pastel color wheels be added to the Auto Body Repair class? Will they repaint the gym with rainbows?

I can understand if that’s what the Christian Conservatives mean, because, really, who would know better than them about hidden agendas in the public schools. Right?

Or is it that what they really mean is the schools might teach the realities of actually being gay in America? The hate. The fear. The discrimination. The brutality. The bigotry. The shame. The ridicule. The denial of rights. The isolation. The second class citizenship. The death threats and the actual deaths at the hands of their smugly, morally superior Christian neighbors? How, in the freest nation in the world, yet another group of people has been marginalized by the tyranny of the majority? Perhaps the role-playing class could include a scenario where a hetero couple is arbitrarily denied a marriage license because the rest of the class doesn’t approve of their pairing, or better yet maybe the class could select a “Mathew Sheppard” from one of their number, beat him to death, and leave his battered corpse hanging on a fence in front of the school.

Is that what the opposition really means when they say they are afraid that the schools will be forced to teach gay marriage? Again, I can understand that, if that’s what they mean. Because we certainly wouldn’t want our children to learn about that, would we? I spent my entire life in the military, you want your foot soldiers to fight, to kill, to hate, you don’t want them to see the opposition as human. You sure as hell don’t want your kids empathizing with gays, they might give up the good fight and find a way to live peacefully with their neighbors. Certainly, I can understand why Christian Conservatives wouldn’t want their kids to learn about the reality of being gay in America.

Or when they say “teach gay marriage in school” do they mean that including a line in a textbook like, “In the United States of American, the Constitution guarantees every citizen the inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, to equal protection under the law, to full and equal participation in society, freedom from persecution, and the right to live their own lives as they see fit without regard for other’s religious beliefs” will somehow make their kids turn gay?

That’s it, isn’t it?

That’s what they really fear.

If their children learn that it’s OK to be who you are, without fear, without shame, well, they just might be who they are. Happily.

And we sure as hell wouldn’t want that now, would we?

Yeah, I don’t get it.

I don’t get it at all.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The Continuing List of Things That Chap My Ass

Or, Don’t Be A Dick, Part II.

You know, it might not be such a good idea to antagonize the future Ultimate Emperor of the Universe.

Just sayin’.

Soon I'll have unlimited power over life and death. I’m a vindictive son of a bitch, and I’m taking notes.

I wrote a whole post the other day explaining how I’m going to impose my Don’t Be A Dick rule on the population once I take over as Ultimate Emperor of the Universe. Being as Stonekettle Station is wildly popular and read by adoring billions the world over, I don’t think it’s an unreasonable assumption that the word should get out and people would, you know, get ahead of the power curve, start sucking up, stop being dicks now, that sort of thing.

But noooo.

Perhaps I should have been more explicit regarding consequences for noncompliance – consequences involving a one way trip to the Imperial Penal Mines on Pluto, forced labor in hard vacuum, and a leaky space suit that might or might not be be filled with fire ants and the feculent corndog and caramel apple laced flatulence of sad circus clowns.

Pretty much everybody I’ve encountered for the last two days have been dicks.

Saturday before last I got the windshield in my truck replaced.  It was pitted and cracked and had at least seven large rock chips – i.e. the standard issue end of season Alaskan windshield.  After a while, it gets sort of hard to see through.  So I got it replaced.  Eight days – for those of you not good at math – eight damned days is the best I can do with a new, unbroken windshield.  Hey, you live in Alaska, you expect rock chips – but goddamn it, eight stinking days is the best I can do without getting hit square in the middle of the driver's side windshield by a rock the size of Rush Limbaugh’s ego? See, yesterday, I ended up on the highway behind Drive-On-The-Shoulder Girl. Half on, half off the road. Two tires on the rumble strip plowing through gravel at 70MPH, seriously what in the hell?  How damned hard is it to stay centered? It’s not like they don’t paint lines on either side of the lane to help you figure out where the edges are.  I mean bloody hell, if you’re so cockeyed that you can’t keep it between the lines, if you can’t master a skill as basic as actually driving on the fucking road, well maybe driving a car is not your thing. Seriously, here, twenty damned miles with two tires on the rumble strip? Lady, buy a vibrator or go sit on the dryer or something. I’ve got a special Pluto spacesuit set aside just for this woman, it’s the one with the cracked helmet visor…

Then there’s Do-Business-in-the-Hallway Guy.  This loud dick has got an office of his own, but instead of using it, he likes to wander up and down the hallway all day, whistling (which ought to be a hanging offense all by itself. I hate whistlers).  He’ll pass people, nod, and then when he’s fifty yards beyond them, then and only then does he suddenly remember he needs to talk to that guy – so he bellows down the hallway. If you’re really lucky, he and the object of his attention will spend the next ten minutes discussing the intricate details of last night’s hockey game in their outdoor voices separated by the length of the hall like two gunfighters in the Old West. It’s like trying to work while locked in a room with a troop of horny howler monkeys at the height of mating season (seriously, I would know, I spent time in the jungles of South America, those things have got to be the most obnoxious non-human primates on the planet – they are the dicks of the monkey world). And in fact, once I assume the Imperial Throne, I’m going to have Do-Business-in-the-Hallway Guy dunked in a tub of hot girl-monkey pheromones and sealed in a spacesuit with a couple of vocal and randy silverbacks that have been on a straight weeklong Viagra and raw oyster diet (oh yes, howler monkey males love raw oysters and Viagra, it’s a fact, look it up).

Next it’s Order-for-the-office guy.  I hate this dick, words cannot express how much I hate this guy. I hate this obsequious suck-up son of a bitch. “Making a lunch run, anybody want anything? Come on! Last chance, last chance!” I hate this guy to the depths of my inky black soul. I’d cheerfully put a bullet in the back of this jerkoff’s head, toss his body behind the salad bar, and laugh while I order my Happy Meal.  But what really sets my blood to fizzing and smoking like three week old Burger King fryer grease is when Order-for-the-Office Guy decides to order for the entire office at the fucking drive-through.  “zzzzt…is that all sir?” “uh…no…I also need…uh…a Fatburger with…uh…extra onions…and no bun. That’s a combo.”  “zzzzt is that all sir?” “oh…no…I also need…uh…a spicy chicken anus special, hold the anus, with a sweet tea…no, wait, that’s a diet coke.”  “zzzzt is that all sir?” “no…I also need…wait, I can’t make this out…”  AAAAAHHHH! Die, dick, die!  This guy doesn’t get a spacesuit at all, he’s facing hard vacuum in nothing but his skin and that three page long list of lunch orders. 

Speaking of food, I keep running into the Donut Guy, and I promise you this sorry bastard doesn’t have long to live.  I like to stop in the morning and get a cup of coffee and a donut. I stop at the same place every day. Now, I don’t give a crap whether donuts are good for me or not. I don’t need a lecture on why donuts are bad for my 47 year old body. I don’t care. I sure don’t need a lecture about the evilness of donuts from somebody who’s dumping four packs of sugar and a quart of heavy creamer into their coffee at the same time. I like donuts. I like the chocolate kind. I like one with my black sugar free coffee. I don’t think I’m asking for much. A cup of coffee and a donut – life is a whole lot easier for everybody that I am forced to interact with during the day if I just get my goddamned donut and a cup of coffee in the morning.  But about twice a week, I arrive at the Quick Stop ten seconds behind the Donut Dick. Donut Dick likes to get donuts for the entire office, but he doesn’t like to go to the donut store. Instead, he just fills up a box with every single donut in the glass case leaving none for anybody else – well, none except for that pink coconut one. Seriously, what kind of dick gets a dozen donuts from the gas station? This is the same asshole who buys flowers for his wife on Valentine’s day from the illegal alien on the corner. This is only about one step up from buying a box of Dolly Madison Zingers for the office. Listen, motherfucker, I hate coconut and the gas station is not a bakery. You want to get donuts for everybody? Want to be the office hero, bro? Then you need to find yourself a goddamned Bakery. There’s at least a hundred of them in Anchorage. Avail yourself of the variety, dickweed. Because if you clean out the donut case at the quick stop again, I’m not going to bother with shipping your worthless ass to Pluto, I’m just going to have you run through the donut shop’s Hobart mixer and deep fried. Got it?

And speaking of the Quick Stop, tomorrow I’m bringing a pair of pliers when I go in to get my coffee and donut – and Tongue Ring Cashier is going to learn how to speak unencumbered English once again.  Seriously, what in the hell is the deal with this bullshit? You’re a cashier, you’re supposed to be able to talk to people, you can’t do that with a chrome bowling ball blocking your windpipe. Do surgeons wear baseball mitts while doing their job in the operating room? Do priests listen to iPods during confession? Do airline pilots surf the internet on their laptops while flying the plane? OK, bad example, but I am so damned sick of cashiers and waiters and customer service folks who mumble like they’ve got a mouth full of marbles the size of donkey balls. As Emperor I shall decree that these chowderheads get issued prison spacesuits pierced with exactly as many holes as they’ve placed in their own hides. 

The antithesis of Tongue Ring Cashier is just as bad, and that’s Sportscaster, Weather Girl, and that asshole who reads the disclaimer at the end of drug commercials. These people must have lungs the size of Rush Limbaugh’s enormous ass. Sportscaster guy can recite the entire Big Ten summary without taking a breath or using a period. Weathergrrrl must have gills, because that nasal bitch can talk for ten damned minutes without ever once stopping to take a breath – oh sure, don’t get me wrong, that’s a handy skill to have, her boyfriend must be a happy man. But, goddamn, is it annoying when she launches into a tour of the North American continent. And is there some special college of Monotone Broadcasting these people attend? Seriously, who talks like this? Thankyoumonicaandtodayinalaskatheweatherislookingdecentinsouthcentralvalleyregionwithcloudsdevelopinginthelateafternoon….

Jesus Christ with howler monkeys flying out of his holy rectum, take a fucking breath, slow down, talk like a normal human being, will you? The reporters don’t talk like that, the Anchor doesn’t talk like that, what the hell is the deal with Sports and Weather? I think this is what happens to those really hyper and annoying cheerleaders, well, that and QVC Hostess. I’m sending these people to Pluto just to induce suicidal despair in the other dicks – that should help cut down on long term care and maintenance costs.

And finally Benjamin Franklin.

That’s right, Ben Fucking Franklin. American Founding Father. Inventor. Diplomat. Scientist. And the asshole who came up with daylight savings time.

You know what, Ben? Great Idea. Great idea when the world ran on candle light and burning whale blubber – and even then I’m sure there were people scratching their greasy lice infested scalps and thinking, “What in George Washington’s Big White Powdered Wig is the deal with this nonsense? Hey Franklin, how about pulling ye olde head out of ye old arse! What? Have you been hit by lightening?” To which Ben probably replied, “Don’t forget to change the batteries in ye olde smoke detector!”  Nowadays we’ve got something called ELECTRICITY! We can make it light any damned time we want, why are we still dicking around with daylight savings time? Hey, Ben thought smelling your own farts and group sex was a great idea too, are we still doing that? OK, bad example, but still we’ve been saving daylight for two hundred years, when do we start seeing some interest on our investment? Probably never. Sure as shit the government has pissed the saved daylight away.  Hell, by this time we’ve probably got a daylight deficit, we probably owe billions of hours of daylight to China or some dammed thing. Our children won’t even have daylight, it’ll just be dark all of the time. Goddamn Ben Franklin. I’m digging that Bastard up and shipping his colonial ass straight into the sun.  Have all the damned daylight you can stand, Ben.

Feel free to name a few dicks of your own.  I’ll take their names down and put them on The List.

It’s the least I can do.

I mean, seriously, if they don’t read Stonekettle Station, well, it’s their own damned fault now, isn’t it?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Everything I Need To Know About Parenting…

…I learned from Conservative Pundits.

 

What if we raised our kids the same way Neocons want to run America?

No, seriously, what if we did?

Now, don’t go getting all bunched up in the shorts, I’m not talking about conservatives in general, I’m talking about those ultra right-wing talking heads.

Rush called the President a “man-child” “inexperienced” and “in over his head” driven by his “world class ego” (one presumes Rush is the expert on such matters). Cheney said Obama is “dithering” on Afghanistan (but apparently moving too quick on healthcare). Glenn and Chuck Norris are advocating armed revolution (in order to preserve real America). Palin is in New York, endorsing some uber rightwing loon over her own party’s candidate.  Sean is obsessed with Facists like some later day Tail Gunner Joe McCarthy. You can’t read the paper or turn on the TV or the radio without hearing one of these people bemoaning how the country is going straight to liberal atheist hell in a socialist hand basket made in communist China, how real Americans and real America are lost, how their rights are being trampled, how embarrassed they are to live in a United States where the President was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize instead of being burned in effigy in the streets of friendly and hostile countries both. And there are hundreds of thousands of people hanging on every word, ready for the revolution, ready to take back America for real Americans when the liberals come to pry the guns from their cold dead fingers.

You really have to wonder about these people, don’t you?

You have wonder if these people are for real – they talk the talk, but do they really walk the walk with two right feet?  I mean, really? Think about it for a minute, these pundits, they’ve got some pretty specific ideas of why progressives and liberals and moderates and basically anybody who isn’t Ronald Reagan’s handpicked red-state war child shouldn’t be running the country.

You have to wonder what kind of children they’re raising.

My parents taught my brother and myself to look out for others, to be courteous, to share, to take responsibility, to be kind, to be helpful, winning isn’t everything, pick up after yourself, brains over brawn.  But, reading through the neocon blogs, news stories, columns, and talk show transcripts, after listening to these people for the last year, I see some common threads and I wonder what The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Parenting would look like if it was penned by these people.

- Never, ever apologize. Never show humility.  Other people make mistakes, you don’t.

- There is no such thing as shared interests, there is only your interests.

- People who believe different than you are the enemy. Period.

- A stitch in time saves nine - but tax refunds buy votes now.

- Never compromise. Don’t cooperate. Meeting somebody halfway shows only weakness.

- If you’re not the leader, go rogue

- Violence is always the answer. Compassion is for suckers.

- If you don’t have anything nice to say, you can always get a job with Fox News. 

- Don’t think, ACT! Deliberation and consideration are unpatriotic.

- Real friends tell you only what you want to hear. 

- Never pick up after yourself.

- You are the center of the universe. The wants and needs of others are of no consideration.

- Winning is everything. It doesn’t matter how, win at all costs

- There’s never a wrong time to play the Nazi card.

- The end justifies the means, always.

-  Give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day - and then he’ll be dependent on handouts from the State, that way leads to socialism. 

 

Seriously, would you want to know a kid raised like this? No?

Frankly I doubt the Neocons would either.

So why would they want their country to run on that same philosophy?

Monday, November 2, 2009

In the Shop

I bought another lathe this weekend.

Yeah, yeah, I know.

But remember: it’s not whether you need it, it’s whether you deserve it.

I deserve this lathe.

This one is a Delta Midi 46-460. 

It’s a mid sized lathe, expandable into full sized with bed extensions, and widely considered to be the best machine of its kind – and from what I can tell after two days with it, that’s a well deserved reputation.

I bought it primarily so that my son would have something to work on.

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That’s him roughing spindle stock to round.

Somebody asked on Twitter if he shouldn’t have his shirt tucked in while turning.  With this setup that’s not really an issue – that necklace he’s wearing outside his shirt is though.  I didn’t realize he was wearing it until after I took the picture (seriously, I can’t look directly at that shirt, it gives me a headache).  Once I realized he was wearing it, I had him tuck it in.

Anyway, between the new lathe and packing your birdhouses, we spent the entire day in the shop and now I’m too damned tired to write anything.

So sorry.

Consider this any open thread, what is it that you deserve?

Thursday, October 29, 2009

The Continuing Toll

A member of the Drug Enforcement Agency’s FAST (Foreign-deployed Advisory and Support Team),Special Agent Forrest Leamon died this week in Afghanistan.

He was killed in the line of duty, when the helicopter he was riding in went down following a firefight with Taliban drug traffickers.

He was 37.

He leaves behind a wife, Ana. They were were expecting their first child in February.

Forrest was a friend and shipmate, one of my students, a fellow teammate and Owl, and a hell of a guy.

Fair winds and following seas, Forrest. You will be missed.

 

 

Don’t expect much from me today.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Latest from the Shop, Turned Birdhouses. Part 2 (Updated)

10/31/09 12:30AM ATZ:

Listings updated again.

Only one still available at this time are: 7

The last one! You want it, you know you do!

I have the following reserved:

#1 Mensley (confirmed)

#2, 20 Janiece (confirmed)

#3 Nick from the OC (confirmed)

#4 Joe (Confirmed)

#5 JanN(Confirmed)

#6 Melissa (confirmed)

#8 Cass_M (confirmed)

#9 Nzforme (confirmed)

#10 Kelly (confirmed)

#11 Karl (confirmed)

#12 Mike (confirmed)

#13 USAF Wench (Confirmed)

#14 Chris Gerrib (confirmed)

#15 Lauren (confirmed)

#16, #18 Nocurling (confirmed)

# 17 AnonGF (confirmed)

#19, #22 Pam Adams (confirmed)

#21 AIM (confirmed)

Update: Everybody who has reserved a birdhouse has confirmed via email. Electronic invoices have gone out via email to everybody, you should have gotten yours by now. If you didn't, let me know, and I'll send you another one. About half of you have paid, thank you very much. That rest of you deadbeats...ur, I mean honored customers and beloved readers, cough it up.

Packages will go out Monday. Everything ships via USPS priority mail. That’s usually the best and least expensive route out of Alaska. And you get your unique handmade genuine Jim Wright work of art in about 3 days (if you’re in the lower 48. If you’re in Canada or some other strife torn socialist nightmare with universal healthcare, the metric system, and happy people, it could take longer just on principle). If the post doesn’t work for you, let me know before you submit payment – because if you want it UPS or FEDEX it’s going to cost more. Probably a lot more. Alaska is far, far away from you, in another country, on another planet. Really.

And I'll be in the shop, making more.

Thanks//Jim


As promised, birdhouses.

The previous batch of birdhouses I made were turned from exotic hardwoods, mostly South American. This time I moved north of the equator. Most of the wood in this batch is native to North America – though I did use some Brazilian Rosewood and Jacaranda for accents in several pieces.

As before, If you would like one – so state in the comments. Each one is numbered. First come, first served, note in the comments section which one you want by number. Put your selection on the first line of the comment, for example: “#59, please,” so that everybody can see which ones are taken. Periodically I’ll try to update the post, but I expect to be busy as hell tomorrow and may not get to it. Again first person to comment gets the piece. One each. If they don’t all go, you may have two or more. I’ll let you know when.

As always, I prefer PayPal. If that doesn’t work for you and you just have to have one of my birdhouses, email me and we’ll make alternate arrangements.

I’ll post a summary of who gets what. Once that’s up, send me your email address and I’ll send you a PayPal enabled invoice. Note: you don’t have to have a PayPal account to use the electronic payment method.

I know, one of these days I’m going to have to come up with a better method for doing this, today is not that day.

There will be more. I have plenty more stock, and plenty more on order. Figure about every two weeks I’ll have about twenty or so – depending on how much other work I have to do. Prices are determined by the cost of the wood, and how much effort went into the piece. I’m trying to create a range of prices, so that everybody can afford something, and I’m trying to keep prices as absolutely low as I can afford.

Shipping and handling for all pieces is $10. If you end up with more than one, I’ll combine them in the same package, S&H in that case is still $10.

As before, though I consider each piece a unique work of the woodturner’s art, each birdhouse is fully functional and can be hung out of doors for small nesting birds. They are finished in bird safe oils and waxes, but they will fade over time if hung outside in the elements. They are wood, they will weather – it’s OK, I’ll be happy to sell you a replacement each season. I’ll include a card with each birdhouse telling you how to care for them.


Birdhouse #1: Walnut and Birch. $50

Sold: Mensley

The body is American Walnut, dense, rich, and hard. The cap and perch are made from white birch colored with red aniline dye. I’ve been experimenting with dyed woods lately, mostly for bowl turning and I had a batch of red dye made up. I thought the color made a interesting contrast. I may do more of this style in the future.

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Birdhouse #2: Walnut and Jacaranda. $60

Sold: Janiece

The body is American Walnut, the cap, skirt, and perch are Jacaranda, a beautiful South American hardwood.

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Birdhouse #3: Cedar and Oak. $60

Sold: Nick from the OC

The body is red cedar, and the cap and perch are white oak. The hanging finial is made with a captive ring (a free ring of wood, held held captive on the spindle – something all woodturners love to make, some with greater success than others).

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Birdhouse #4: Walnut, Jacaranda, and Birch. $60

Sold: Joe

The body is American walnut, the cap and skirt are Jacaranda, and the upper and lower finials are Alaskan birch.

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Birdhouse #5: Walnut and Oak. $35

Sold: JanN

The body is American walnut, and the cap and perch are red oak. This is a small, simple design. The wood of the bottom and finial is highly polished – unusual for natural walnut.

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Birdhouse #6: Walnut and Jacaranda. $40

Sold: Melissa

The body is American walnut, the cap and perch are jacaranda. The cap on this one is a bit different, it’s a square bowl type turning – what turners call a knuckle buster, because the square corners will give you one hell of a clout if you’re not paying strict attention. This one is blood free, no worries.

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Birdhouse #7: Walnut and oak. $40

The body is American walnut, the cap and perch are red oak.

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Birdhouse #8: Walnut and oak. $40

Sold: Cass_m

The body is American walnut, the cap and perch are red oak. This piece of walnut, like the one in #5, comes from a knotted area of the original walnut slab I cut the blanks from. The grain is dense and strange and dark and highly polished.

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Birdhouse #9: Cedar and Oak. $45

Sold: nzforme

The body is aromatic red cedar, the kind of wood they make cedar chests from – the whole shop smells like cedar when I’m turning it. Cedar is a type of Juniper, and this wood came from the Great Lakes region. It’s some of the most beautiful cedar I’ve ever seen. The cap and perch are hard red oak. There is a small captive ring on the hanging finial.

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Birdhouse #10: Cedar and oak. $40

Sold: Kelly

Red Cedar, red oak. This one sort of reminds me of those old water towers that used to sit alongside the rail lines.

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Birdhouse #11: Cedar and oak, with a rosewood perch. $35

Sold: Karl

The hanging finial on this one is called an acorn turning, for what should be rather obvious reasons.

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Birdhouse #12: Cedar and oak. $40

Sold: Mike

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Birdhouse #13: Cedar and oak, with a walnut perch. $40

Sold: USAF Wench

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Birdhouse #14: Cedar and oak, with rosewood perch. $40

Sold: Chris Gerrib

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Birdhouse #15. Cedar and oak. $40

Sold: Lauren

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Birdhouse #16. Walnut and oak. $40

Sold: Nocurling

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Birdhouse #17. Sassafras and rosewood. $40

Sold: AnonGF

The body is sassafras, an aromatic tree that grows around the great lakes region and in parts of the North Eastern US and Canada. The wood is dense, yet light – and the roots smell wonderful. The roots and bark are used for tea, and to scent soap and candles. I used to love the smell of sassafras when I was growing up in western Michigan. I love the golden yellow of the sassafras wood. The cap and perch are Brazilian rosewood for contrast.

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Birdhouse #18. Sassafras and birch. $40

Sold: nocurling

The body is sassafras, the cap is dyed white birch. I thought the vibrant green was a excellent compliment to the gold of the sassafras. Again, I will do more of this style, if people are interested. This is another acorn turning.

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Birdhouse #19. Sassafras and Brazilian rosewood. $35

Sold: Pam Adams

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Birdhouse #20: Sassafras and Brazilian rosewood. $35

Sold: Janiece

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Birdhouse #21. Sassafras and Brazilian rosewood. $40

Sold: AIM

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Birdhouse #22: Sassafras and Brazilian rosewood. $25.

Sold: Pam Adams

I’ve marked this one down significantly. There’s nothing out and out wrong with it, but the sassafras was cut from near the heartwood and it has grayed a bit. Frankly I don’t think the color is all that great.

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Twenty two. And that’s going to do it for this batch. Hope you like them.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

What’s in a Motto?

We need a good motto.

And by “we” I mean us, people.  The human race.

 

Doctors have a motto: First, do no harm (to the patient’s ability to pay). 

Navy Seabees have a motto: Can do (your daughters)!

Strategic Air Command has a motto: Peace is our profession (carpet bombing your ass is more of a hobby).

The Boy Scouts have a motto: Be prepared (in case gay atheists try to invade America).

The US National Security Agency has a motto: Anything is possible, the impossible just takes longer (and a shitload more money, about a dozen illegal wiretaps, two repurposed satellites, and a couple cases of Top Ramen).

The Zapatista Army of National Liberation has a motto: Ya Basta! (Hey, it’s easy to remember and sounds good in a riot).

Hell, even Levi Johnson, erstwhile Palin stud horse,  has a motto: Look at me! I’m naked! Woot! (Go, Levi! God, I love this kid).

I think, in general, all people should have a motto.  Something to live up to, something to aspire to.

I have a suggestion, how about Don’t be a dick?

Seriously.

If ever there was an admirable life philosophy, that would have to be it. Just don’t be a dick. It would be like Google’s motto, Don’t Be Evil, except it would be for everybody.

Don’t be a dick.

I’m pretty sure that’s what Jesus meant when he said “do unto others...”  If he meant for his followers to be dicks he’d have said, “Good news, we’re saved. To hell with everybody else. Party at my house!”  Hell, most major religions have at their core the simple philosophy of don’t be a dick – and then their adherents go around being dicks trying to impose their prophet’s don’t be a dick message on everybody else.  Seriously, suicide bombers? Major dicks.  Jehovah’s Witnesses? I think I prefer the suicide bombers.  TV evangelists?  Do I need to spell it out, Dick Tracy? The framers of the US Constitution created a document that basically says the government can’t act like a dick – in retrospect, it’s obvious that they should have been a lot more specific, but then too should have been the guy who wrote the bible. In fact, ninety nine percent of the world’s problems are caused by people being dicks (the remaining 1% can be attributed to the machinations of cats).  War? Caused by a little prick from Texas. Recession? A couple of rich fuckers on Wall Street were responsible for that. The housing crash? Greedy wankers in the banking industry. Bigotry? Global warming? Spam? Westboro Baptist Church? Somali pirates? Vista? All caused by people being dicks. You know I’m right, read the news – that balloon kid? His parents are dicks.  That guy with the shitty beard in Iran? Dick. The guy in the pajamas in North Korea? Dick.  The former VP bashing the current president? Dick Cheney. Those two pilots who were arguing in the cockpit about how bad their 150K a year jobs suck and missed the turnoff for Minneapolis and about a hundred radio calls? Captain Dick and Dickie the Co-pilot.  Jon and Kate Gosselin? Should be Dick and Dick Gosselin. And the media who insist that the vile antics of this revolting pair of human hard-ons is actually newsworthy? Dicks. And the knuckle dragging mouth breathers who actually tune in to encourage this public car crash? The biggest dicks of all – but, then I guess dog pit fighting and tractor pulls are currently in reruns or something. 

Is it just me? Or do there seem to be a whole lot more dicks than there used to be?

It’s easy to spot them, isn’t it?  One of the simplest methods is to hunt them in the dark. They stand out in the dark.  Next time you’re in traffic at night, glance in your rearview mirror, look into the stream of oncoming traffic – see that car with the actinic blue headlines like twin welding arcs that leave permanent burns on your retinas? The guy driving that car is a complete cock.  Don’t drive? Step into a  movie theater, any face you can see illuminated by cell phone light? Those are the peckerheads.  They glow in the dark, the dicks do.

How much better would it be if everybody had the motto don’t be a dick as their guiding principle?

 

Bernie: You know, even though I’m richer than Scrooge McDuck, I want more money. I needs it, Precious. The gold, it pleases us, yes yes!

Assistant:  uh…

Bernie: Let’s see, let’s see. I know! Bawahahahahaha! I’ll turn the company into the biggest Ponzi scheme the world has ever known! I’ll screw widows out of their pensions. Yes, yes! I’ll steal from orphans! Oh, yes!  I’ll squeeze and squeeze the investors of every last penny, and then I’ll squeeze them some more! Oooooh! I am the Walrus, coocoo Chachoo!

Assistant: Uh…Mr. Madoff, sir?

Bernie: What is it, Minion? Did you bring me more loot? Add it to the booty pile!

Assistant: You’re being a dick, sir.

Bernie: What? Are you sure?

Assistant: Oh, yes, I’m sure. Right now you’re Dickity Dick McDickerstein.

Bernie: What was my motto again? Wasn’t it be a dick?

Assistant: Don’t be a dick, sir.

Bernie: Oh…damn.

 

See how that works? Think how much better things would be if we made that mandatory.

After I become Ultimate Emperor of the Universe, I’m going to impose that motto on the general population – which I admit, is sort of a dick thing to do, but like I said, people should have a motto. People, as in the general rabble, should have a motto. Oh sure, after I seize ultimate power, people will still get a choice. Sure, they can insist on being dicks if they absolutely must do so.  I’m just saying that if you insist on begin a dick, there’s going to be some consequences, you’re not going to get rewarded for it, that’s what I’m saying here.

Take the dick separator lane – or as I call it, the Fuck You Lane. That’s the lane that looks like a regular lane, but disappears right after the stoplight.  The purpose of this lane is to separate the dicks from the non-dicks.  The people who came up with this idea are dicks, and the people who form up in that lane and squeal away at the green light in order to cut everybody off are dicks too.  Now, you see this everywhere, the dick separator lane, it started in California and has spread plague-like to the four corners of the world – hell, they even have one here on the military base. The funny thing is that unlike outside the fence in the civilian world, almost nobody uses it here on base.  Military folks are trained to look out for each other, they roll onto base and stop at the light and everybody stays in the left lane. Nobody tries to get around the line and jump to the front.

Well, almost nobody.

There’s always one guy.  He’s usually driving some little Junior Officer mobile, you know the one they issue with your fighter jock wings – he always pulls out of the back of the line and zooms to the front, because, see, as a pilot he shouldn’t have to wait in line with ground pounders. He’s special.  Screw everybody else, screw his squad mates and fellow airmen and soldiers. Screw. Them. He has got to get to the ready room first so he can spend fifteen minutes admiring himself in the mirror in his spiffy green g-suit.  

After I’m Emperor of the Universe, I’m using that lane to determine who gets volunteered (or what we in the military call voluntold) for the dangerous missions. Want to be first, do you, Lt Dickhead? OK. You get to probe the enemy air corridor, before the air defense suppression package is in place – we’ll use you to figure out where the anti-air missile batteries are. Good luck, dickweed, you’ll need it and thanks for volunteering.   How’s first looking now, Maverick?

Out in the civilian world, I’m just going to put a pit with pointy stakes in the bottom at the end of every Fuck You lane. Fuck you. No, no no, fuck you and your blue headlights.

You know who else are dicks? Femnists.  Oh I don’t mean feminists, small eff.  I like strong women. I’m married to one.  No, I mean Feminists with a big damned angry capital case of I’m offended by stupid irrelevant things – like the fact that the president doesn’t play basketball with women on his lunch break.  Seriously? Instead of noticing that he appointed more women – including the Queen Bitch of the Universe, who was his most bitter rival during the campaign – than any other President in history to actual powerful governmental positions within his administration where they have direct influence on the actual operation of this country, these people are raising a stink that Obama doesn’t play recreational sports with woman during his afternoon pickup game?  Are you kidding me? Dicks.  What’s the logic here? The boys are doing the real business of government on the court? Please.

Random Lobbyist Guy: Mr. President, Mr. President! Can we talk about healthcare reform for a minute?

EVERYBODY ELSE: Don’t be a dick, Dick, shoot the goddamned ball!

Seriously, do these idiots even know what basketball is? Have they ever seen a pick-up game of basketball? Ever? Trust me, nobody is discussing anything more important than how much your jump shot totally sucks donkey balls.  Christ on a pogo stick, you wanna play? Put on your jock strap and get the fuck in there.

I swear, once I’ve assumed ultimate power, I’m going to appoint Andrew Dice Clay as High Lord Air Marshal of Equal Opportunity and Wet T-Shirt Contests, just so they have something legitimate to actually be offended by.

How about Ron Paul? Whoa, major case of dick-rash this morning.

I always thought the guy was an unhinged nut about one fifth of Jack Daniels shy of being an Exxon tanker captain (Proof? Hello, republican from Texas. Are we done here? Thought so), but if there was a Nobel Prize for Being The World’s Biggest Dildo For a Day, today would Ron Paul day.  Paul, along with Rep Cliff Stearns (R-FL) and Rep Ginny Brown-Waite (R-FL) delivered a letter to President Obama informing him that in their Bush Owned State opinions, the President cannot accept the Nobel Peace Prize unless he gets congressional permission.  Waite-Stearns said, “I urge President Obama to affirm his devotion to our Constitution and seek the consent of Congress before accepting the award in Oslo, Norway, on December 10.”

Face palm.

Because, apparently a president doesn’t need permission to be universally reviled the world over, but admired and respected? Yeah, we’re not going to put up with that Norwegian bullshit. I mean, holy hell, they want to give the President a Nobel Peace Prize? How fucking embarrassing is that? Who do those socialist pussies think they are anyway? Canadians? It’s like France is breaking out all over!

I hereby urge these three retards to affirm their devotion to our Constitution and go do the job they were actually elected to do, instead of being complete hypocritical tools.  Of course, these are the same pudknockers who think that George W. Bush is a real no foolin’ motivational speaker and are willing to shell out major greenbacks in order to hear his stimulating lectures on world peace, global prosperity, and Texas Barbeque Jeeeesus Style. I’ve heard GWB speak in person, trust me here, he should be paying them. His speech patterns are like having knitting needles jammed into your ears. Flaming knitting needles, dipped in the preserved stomach acid of Ronald Reagan.  Seriously, if they don’t knock it off, once I’m Ultimate Emperor of the Universe I’m going to lock the entire GOP in a room with an endless loop recording of George W. Bush’s greatest hits alternating with with Al Gore’s Nobel Acceptance speech and a pistol with a single bullet – just to see who cracks first.

Yes, yes, I’m always a bit ranty the day after a migraine.

But, at least I’m not a dick about it.

Not yet, anyway.

Seriously folks, we need a motto.

And a poster:

image

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Update: Okay, obviously we need to add the dicks at Adobe to the list.  What’s the deal with updates to Adobe Acrobat reader anyway? It’s just a reader for a 30 year old piece of shit document format, what in the name of the Big Eared Six Trunked Elephant God can be so goddamned important that I need an update right fucking now?  Do you want to update Adobe? No.  How about now? Do you want to do it now? No, fuck off. Now? Do you want to update now? No, die you bitch.  Guess what? We’re just going to update you anyway.  Seriously, Adobe, you’re being dicks. Stop it right now.