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Archive for May, 2001

|| May 25, 2001 || 11:07 am || Comments (0) ||

I am leaving for the white sands in one brief hour. Thank you Lord for vacations, and sunshine, and a skin tone that looks marvelous with tan.

Gave Scout’s cast ‘cover’ a trial run in the bath tub last night….all was well, so I expect in a couple of hours she will be assing around in the ocean (she and Sam-I-Am left early this morning with their grandmother), all carefree.

It was actually pretty cute, and if I had no aversions to sporting my children’s visages about the web, then I would show you pictures. The glove was lavender and we managed to find some white duct tape, so it doesn’t look half as hideous as I had first envisioned in my mind’s eye.

Nod to Dirk’s post: Despite that lunatic story, I have no lack of trust that any number of my web ‘friends’ is real. And in all honesty, I know that I cannot expect everyone to be as forthright in their dealings as I in fact am. Many times out here, we are only seeing a small facet of people we ‘know’.

I know Dirk has pretty eyes, a wicked vocabulary and a sarcastic bent. I know Chum writes (exquisitely well) from the heart, sometimes feels as if this is all pointless, and has insane amounts of love for humanity. I know other things about other people, and at present, it is all I NEED to know. They will see fit to clue me in to the rest when and if they are ready. Ultimately, I am okay with what is dealt me, and that is all that matters.

|| May 24, 2001 || 9:12 am || Comments (0) ||

Ya know, this is gonna sound like heresy, especially in a place like this, but how the hell do people have time to get suckered into scams like this Kaycee thing?!? While perusing the illustrious Jett’s posts, I was wondering WTF she was talking about. It sounded like some sort of soap opera.

Turns out that exactly what it was.

After reading this MS-NBC story about the affair I’m troubled about how people get drawn into the lives of others.

Some time back, I started writing a rant about “compassion fascism” (which I should finish now), how we are pressured into giving a damn about things that really shouldn’t concern us. It’s set up as a litmus test of whether you are a good person who is kind to dumb animals and people. If you aren’t distraught 24/7 about some trivial detail that is usual beyond your control and effect, you are “selfish” or “mean” or a “Republican”. That’s total bull and when people get suckered because they felt instead of thought, I’m the last person to look to for an affirmation.

A few days ago, some severe storms swept through our area and tornados touched down. Out in the sticks, a farm was hit and the farm house was totaled. The man who lived there lost his legs in a farming accident and the money he had to spend on painkillers precluded his paying for insurance for the house. The next day, he appeared on the front page of the local fishwrap with his tale of woe. The day after, a local radio station did a radiothon and raised $10,000 for his relief. This is all fine and dandy, but it has one CRUCIAL distinction from this Kaycee phantom…

This guy was for real from the word “go”.

He was not a detailed fiction posted to an anonymous web site. He was someone who could be touched and queried and evaluated. To read that people sent gifts, money and whatnot to “someone” whom they never met, based on the wrenching details of their “suffering” baffles me. I bet that these same folks would be loathe to hand money to a street beggar because, “They’ll just spend it on drugs.” but had no problem boxing up C.A.R.E. packages to this “poor sick girl”. (Related note: I was once approached by a street person looking for change, but he pitched it like this: “I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m gonna buy beer with the money.” I gave him a dollar for pure chutzpah.) But, there’s something more intriguing/distressing about this sort of thing…

Who the hell really cares and why should they?

There is only one blog I skim over (Blah-blah-family shit-yadda-yadda-weird mystical rantings-woof-woof. Where the damn movie?!?) and post to and it’s the one you’re looking at, dear readers. BUT, who are you? (Who who who who?) Is there a you out there actually giving a damn about any of this post? And if not, why the hell am I writing? (A: I have lots of spare time at work and the exercise keeps my writing chops sharp, especially when I have to step up to our erudite host’s level.)

Maybe I have a discomfort with sharing deep personal details about my life with total strangers, but I find it more fascinating that anyone would devote any substantial amount of time to giving a damn about me. Don’t these people have anything better to do than be cyber-voyeurs?

A-HA!!!! Eureka!!!

It’s the voyeurism that drives this, isn’t it? It’s not really peeking in windows when someone is performing in front of them with the shade up, is it? But why are you peeking? Why do you spend such serious hunks of time reading about lives that aren’t yours? (Seriously, send me a note and enlighten me.)

My web surfing time is mostly spent (outside of gathered massive quantities of Asian porn) in reading computer-related news sites and posting to a select few BBS. One part feeds my thirst for knowledge and the other my need to argue and expound on issues. I can’t understand why people would expend time and concern peeping in on someone else’s life, if they even exist. It’s little different from “reality television” (an oxymoron) except that there is even less chance for it to matter.

The odd thing about the Kaycee situation was that one of the boards I haunt had a member reveal that he had been responsible for the life and “death” of a “woman” on the board. I vaguely remember her death (I was new in town), but apparently he, oh heck, just read about it yourselves. This guy was permanently banned from the boards and everyone hates him. The difference is that BBSes are like small towns with all the familiarity and conflicts attendant. (I’m surprised that the moderators didn’t spot the IPs being the same.)

So, what’s my point (and I do have one)?

Care about what’s demonstrably REAL first. Jett’s family is there. My Significant Other™ is here. They are real and we can relate and interact with them. It’s like the idiots who think tax cuts are bad because it takes money away the that nice government’s programs to help the unfortunate peoples. Instead of demanding that they be allowed to keep their own money and then have the option to donate it to a LOCAL shelter (where the effects can be seen), they gladly send the dead presidents off to Washington D.C. and some nameless, faceless bureaucrat who will then use that money to by the affections (and votes) of someone on the other side of the country. (Real fucking bright, eh?) Don’t burn to much energy on things that don’t really matter.

Now go outside and do something useful.

|| May 24, 2001 || 1:02 am || Comments (0) ||

After the post of 05.22.2001, I looked around some of the sites (over there on the left) that I noted had been especially quiet. They are some of those that corresponded with the Kaycee construct fairly regularly, from a few weeks up to several months. They aren’t quiet anymore. Their explanations/thoughts on the matter are either cursory, moralistic or those of awakening anger. Purge, baby, purge.

J.R. has kept a pretty decent compendium of information, updating frequently.

Not unexpectedly, this has hit mainstream media outlets. And they have the story all fucked up. Hell, the best article on the matter thus far was done by a small local paper in the Swenson’s hometown.

What is killing me about all this, though, is the way Debbie’s story shifts and mutates as the days pass. At last count, she is saying that her daughter had given the Kaycee character leukemia before Debbie ever took over the ruse. Why do I have trouble believing this??

“Debbie refuses to reveal who provided Kaycee’s voice for those who spoke with her on the phone.”
Why, hell…of course she does! It’s hard to know which personality is the P.R. Rep.

Anyway, enough for now. Ciao, baby.

|| May 24, 2001 || 12:22 am || Comments (0) ||

Sam and Scout typically go to church with their father on Wednesday nights. Tonight was no exception.

Upon them returning home, I was helping Scout get ready for bed. She’s my ‘Broken Kid’ (as Dirk so smashingly refers to her)….the wrists, remember??

She and I were talking, and she was excitedly sharing with me:

“I love to read the bible, mommy! Tonight I was going through Genius and Zookeriah and Isaac and Revolutions….”

Ohhhh, buddy. I should win Oscars for my ability to keep a straight face in times like these. Pass the FarmerJohn cheese….


Sort of on the same subject, but only in that it also involves said ‘Broken Kid’. If you weren’t around a few weeks back, I’ll fill you in. Scout had a go-round with the monkey bars at school. The monkey bars kicked her ass and broke both wrists in the process.

Due to the kind of casts the doc put on her, her lower arms have to be covered in plastic whenever she bathes. If not, the casts would turn to mush. Thank God she thinks it’s funny as hell to wear two blue Wal-Mart bags, the handles tied up around her elbows, into the bathtub.

When she went back to the doc a couple days back, she was happy to hear that the squirrelly little Italian (the only other dago on this mountain other than me) would hack one cast off of her.

Alas, the other one had to remain. Scout was reasonably disappointed.

We have a 5-day trip to the Gulf Coast scheduled to start Friday. ~drat.~

So Maxim and I are lounging after the children go to bed and I brought up the topic of not wanting to have to make her clamor around the beach in a Wal-Mart bag covered with an assload of duct tape……duct tape because at the beach splashing and sand are involved, unlike the tub at home. Gotta make that sucker sand- and water-tight.

I mentioned wishing I had some thick, clear plastic (visqueen, d00d). —here is where I laugh and laugh– Maxim says, “Hey, what about a condom?”

Funny, about the same time I was thinking of cutting the top off of one of those paddle balloons and using it with a little duct tape around the top. But to get back on track….

Condom. Yeah. NOT.

“Uh, NO, dillhole!” and we both cracked up.

“One of the extra-extra-large kind?” he asked. “NO! NO WAAAY, man!”

Then his Maxim-esque brilliance shone through.

Rubber Gloves! You know, the dishwashing kind with a little duct tape around the top.”

Such a simple solution, but inventive. Inventiveness is hella sexy, rowrrr.

I settled on the extra-thick, furniture-stripping variety. Rubber on them is a little thicker, therefore not as puncture-prone. Voila.

Now to sell Scout on the idea. She’s funky and weird like her mom, but I don’t know to what degree.

Fucking monkeybars.

|| May 23, 2001 || 11:46 pm || Comments (0) ||

Balloon porn?

Who fucking knew??

This ain’t smutty, this is w-e-i-r-d.

|| May 23, 2001 || 4:53 pm || Comments (0) ||

A police officer pulls a guy over for speeding and has the following exchange:

Officer: May I see your driver’s license?

Driver: I don’t have one. I had it suspended when I got my 5th DUI.

Officer: May I see the registration for this vehicle?

Driver: It’s not my car. I stole it.

Officer: The car is stolen?

Driver: That’s right. But come to think of it, I think I saw the registration in the glove box when I was putting my gun in there.

Officer: There’s a gun in the glove box?

Driver: Yes sir. That’s where I put it after I shot and killed the woman who owns this car and stuffed her in the trunk.

Officer: There’s a BODY in the TRUNK?!?!?

Driver: Yes, sir.

Hearing this, the officer immediately called his captain. The car was quickly surrounded by police, and the captain approached the driver to handle the tense situation:

Captain: Sir, can I see your license?

Driver: Sure. Here it is.

It was valid.

Captain: Who’s car is this?

Driver: It’s mine, officer. Here’s the owner’ card.

The driver owned the car.

Captain: Could you slowly open your glove box so I can see if there’s a gun in it?

Driver: Yes, sir, but there’s no gun in it.

Sure enough, there was nothing in the glove box.

Captain: Would you mind opening your trunk? I was told you said there’s a body in it.

Driver: No problem.

Trunk is opened; no body.

Captain: I don’t understand it. The officer who stopped you said you told him you didn’t have a license, stole the car, had a gun in
the glovebox, and that there was a dead body in the trunk.

Driver: Yeah, I’ll bet the lying bastard told you I was speeding, too!

Thanks for the giggle, Seher!

|| May 23, 2001 || 4:40 pm || Comments (0) ||

Good music transcends any sort of ‘dated’ feel. Proof of this….

The three-pack and I were posse-ing up to sweep through the house and set everything to clean-and-wonderful status. For inspiration, I popped in ‘The Cars’. LOUD. Scout peeked her head back through the doorway that she had just passed through, one eyebrow raised, hint of a smile on her lips.

She then shimmied through the doorway, head keeping time to the backbeat. The boys followed suit and soon we were all dancing around the room, soul funktified.

I love when stuff like this happens, because eventually they get around to asking me questions about whoever’s in the CD changer at the time. *thus expanding their musical knowledge a bit, see??*

Sam usually, without fail, inquires as to who the bass player is. Sam’s coooool, mang.

It’s a great thing to actually LIKE your family.