Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Men Bullying Women, Part II
The first duty of a lecturer—to hand you after an hour’s discourse a nugget of pure truth to wrap up between the pages of your notebooks and keep on the mantelpiece for ever.
Virginia Woolf (1882–1941), novelist
Daughter’s in the Master’s program, her professor started berating the class of eight students, five of whom did not read the assignment because of a miscommunication between what was on the syllabus and what was on the board.
The adjunct professor is 6’4” and in his mid-forties. He started yelling at the students calling them pathetic several times, looking at Daughter and another girl (both are A students and known for their work ethic). After class, Daughter went up to the instructor and apologized for missing the assignment and accepted responsibility, but told him she didn’t think it was right to publicly humiliate them.
Then he increased his level of yelling and said, I have a specific problem with you! If you want to drop the class, I won’t stop you, and lucky for you I grade blindly, so this won’t affect your grade.
Daughter replied, Regardless, I don’t think it’s your place to embarrass us.
I think it is, shouted the instructor.
I respectfully disagree, said Daughter as she calmly walked out of the class.
The next morning, The university’s program director received four e-mails and one voicemail reporting the instructor’s outburst.
Drop or not to drop? The program director has encouraged Daughter to stay in the class and he will review her appeal, if one is necessary.
Virginia Woolf (1882–1941), novelist
Daughter’s in the Master’s program, her professor started berating the class of eight students, five of whom did not read the assignment because of a miscommunication between what was on the syllabus and what was on the board.
The adjunct professor is 6’4” and in his mid-forties. He started yelling at the students calling them pathetic several times, looking at Daughter and another girl (both are A students and known for their work ethic). After class, Daughter went up to the instructor and apologized for missing the assignment and accepted responsibility, but told him she didn’t think it was right to publicly humiliate them.Then he increased his level of yelling and said, I have a specific problem with you! If you want to drop the class, I won’t stop you, and lucky for you I grade blindly, so this won’t affect your grade.
Daughter replied, Regardless, I don’t think it’s your place to embarrass us.
I think it is, shouted the instructor.
I respectfully disagree, said Daughter as she calmly walked out of the class.
The next morning, The university’s program director received four e-mails and one voicemail reporting the instructor’s outburst.
Drop or not to drop? The program director has encouraged Daughter to stay in the class and he will review her appeal, if one is necessary.
Olympic Logo or Pornography?
Art attracts us only by what it reveals of our most secret self.
Jean-Luc Godard, filmmaker
I found this on Diary of a Hope Fiend. I copied her entire post:
So, for those of you not in England, this is the new 2012 London Olympics logo, on which judgment has been passed by the British People.
That being, it looks like Lisa Simpson giving a BJ.
Jean-Luc Godard, filmmaker
I found this on Diary of a Hope Fiend. I copied her entire post:
So, for those of you not in England, this is the new 2012 London Olympics logo, on which judgment has been passed by the British People.
That being, it looks like Lisa Simpson giving a BJ.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Mission Accomplished
Has Bush ruined the phrase "mission accomplished"? I heard it used the other day in a radio commercial -- some guy referring to his do-it-yourself carpentry project or something like that -- and my first thought was, "are they intentionally referencing Bush? Was this written by liberals? Is 'mission accomplished' now used only sarcastically?"
Your thoughts? Have we lost the ability to use this phrase now?
Monday, June 18, 2007
Assholes take advantage of Women
Sexism is the foundation on which all tyranny is built. Every social form of hierarchy and abuse is modeled on male-over-female domination.
Andrea Dworkin, critic
I am furious about the way women are treated by asshole men in power. Two examples that have me steaming and I promise you letters will fly shortly.
Wife’s air conditioner in her Honda CRV went out. I knew it was going to be expensive, but I told her just to take it in and I would take her to work. She called and they couldn’t give her an estimate until they looked at it. They called wife Monday morning and told her the unit was shot and that it would cost $2,101. She was shocked and felt bad as if the air conditioner going out was her fault when she told me the cost. I stayed calm and I called another mechanic, who unfortunately didn’t handle air conditioners, but referred me to another place. I called back the Honda dealer at First Honda in Simi Valley to get the details about what he told wife. Trevor told me it was going to be $2,101 and I told Trevor not to touch the car and I would pick it up tonight.
Paraphrasing here: Well just second, Mr. Misanthrope, you have been a customer here for a long time, let me see what I can do. I will call you back in an hour or so.
He called back: Mr. Misanthrope, I called my parts’ representative and we can do the whole job for $1,071. He is going to give us the parts because you have been a long time customer. It might be two days before you get your car back.
Only wife has been a good customer. I have always hated the First group of car dealers because I felt they were less than ethical when dealing with me years ago, and I had issues with the Nissan service charging $10 more for an oil change than the Thousand Oaks Nissan service, but wife continued to go to Honda because it was close. Despite the fact that when we purchased the car, I was quoted one loan percentage figure, but when wife went to sign the papers, they had increased it by a couple of points and she made them lower it.
We went to the dealer to get wife’s keys and Trevor pointed to where the keys were. I stopped off at Trevor’s desk and in a stern voice and said we’ll get the car tomorrow night, correct (not in a questioning tone). He replied, “Yes, we have all the parts here.”
Caught in his own lie not even realizing that he told me he didn’t have the parts. I plan to write to the owner, who probably doesn’t care what is going on, thinking that there is a sucker born every minute. I plan to write a letter to the local Rotary chapter because I know the owner belongs to that group. I may even write to the city council members just to let them know, since a few are women.
Tomorrow, I’ll write my frustrations with Best Buy regarding Daughter and Daughter’s fight with her adjunct professor in the Master’s program, who yelled at her in class because she questioned his authority.
Andrea Dworkin, critic
I am furious about the way women are treated by asshole men in power. Two examples that have me steaming and I promise you letters will fly shortly.
Wife’s air conditioner in her Honda CRV went out. I knew it was going to be expensive, but I told her just to take it in and I would take her to work. She called and they couldn’t give her an estimate until they looked at it. They called wife Monday morning and told her the unit was shot and that it would cost $2,101. She was shocked and felt bad as if the air conditioner going out was her fault when she told me the cost. I stayed calm and I called another mechanic, who unfortunately didn’t handle air conditioners, but referred me to another place. I called back the Honda dealer at First Honda in Simi Valley to get the details about what he told wife. Trevor told me it was going to be $2,101 and I told Trevor not to touch the car and I would pick it up tonight.
Paraphrasing here: Well just second, Mr. Misanthrope, you have been a customer here for a long time, let me see what I can do. I will call you back in an hour or so.
He called back: Mr. Misanthrope, I called my parts’ representative and we can do the whole job for $1,071. He is going to give us the parts because you have been a long time customer. It might be two days before you get your car back.
Only wife has been a good customer. I have always hated the First group of car dealers because I felt they were less than ethical when dealing with me years ago, and I had issues with the Nissan service charging $10 more for an oil change than the Thousand Oaks Nissan service, but wife continued to go to Honda because it was close. Despite the fact that when we purchased the car, I was quoted one loan percentage figure, but when wife went to sign the papers, they had increased it by a couple of points and she made them lower it.
We went to the dealer to get wife’s keys and Trevor pointed to where the keys were. I stopped off at Trevor’s desk and in a stern voice and said we’ll get the car tomorrow night, correct (not in a questioning tone). He replied, “Yes, we have all the parts here.”
Caught in his own lie not even realizing that he told me he didn’t have the parts. I plan to write to the owner, who probably doesn’t care what is going on, thinking that there is a sucker born every minute. I plan to write a letter to the local Rotary chapter because I know the owner belongs to that group. I may even write to the city council members just to let them know, since a few are women.
Tomorrow, I’ll write my frustrations with Best Buy regarding Daughter and Daughter’s fight with her adjunct professor in the Master’s program, who yelled at her in class because she questioned his authority.
Where's Michael Moore?
We hand folks over to God’s mercy, and show none ourselves.
George Eliot (1819–80), novelist
Once again the work ethic and compassion of the employees of Martin Luther King Jr. –Harbor Hospital came through loud and clear as they let Edith Isabel Rodriguez, 43,
die in the emergency room. Others waiting in the ER watching in horror called 911, but to no avail as the operators at 911 couldn’t comprehend that no one was helping them in the ER.
The janitor mopped up the blood Rodriquez had vomited, but he too did nothing. Her death, according to the story in Saturday’s Los Angeles Times, said she might have been saved had she received treatment for her perforated bowel.
The blame was placed on the nightshift nurse Linda Ruttlen, the janitor and four others who ignored pleads for help. The punishment thus far has been a letter of reprimand and referred to the state nursing board for investigation. I wonder if Ruttlen or the others will even get the amount of jail time that Paris Hilton received?
George Eliot (1819–80), novelist
Once again the work ethic and compassion of the employees of Martin Luther King Jr. –Harbor Hospital came through loud and clear as they let Edith Isabel Rodriguez, 43,
die in the emergency room. Others waiting in the ER watching in horror called 911, but to no avail as the operators at 911 couldn’t comprehend that no one was helping them in the ER.The janitor mopped up the blood Rodriquez had vomited, but he too did nothing. Her death, according to the story in Saturday’s Los Angeles Times, said she might have been saved had she received treatment for her perforated bowel.
The blame was placed on the nightshift nurse Linda Ruttlen, the janitor and four others who ignored pleads for help. The punishment thus far has been a letter of reprimand and referred to the state nursing board for investigation. I wonder if Ruttlen or the others will even get the amount of jail time that Paris Hilton received?
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Happy Father’s Day
In peace the sons bury their fathers, but in war the fathers bury their sons.
Croesus (560 BC), Lydian king
Croesus (560 BC), Lydian king
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Leon Russell Live
To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward.
Margaret Fairless Barber (1869–1901), English author
I just returned from watching Leon Russell with On The Mark at the Canyon Club in Agoura. We were always big fans of Russell from his days with the Joe Cocker tour Mad Dogs and Englishmen. I didn’t see the concert, much too young, but I did see the
movie and buy the album. On The Mark and me further solidified our friendship when I traded him the above-mentioned LP for the Rolling Stones “More Hot Rocks: Big Hits & Fazed Cookies.” I had written in the Cocker LP under Russell’s name something like the greatest or some such high schooler stuff.
Anyway, back to the show, Russell made it to the stage with the help of a cane. He gained a few pounds, but who hasn’t, it started out a bit stiff because Russell’s voice was not warmed up, I figured out he was singing “Delta Lady.” His other songs last night included “Prince of Peace,” “Wild Horses,” “Out in the Woods,” “Hummingbird,” “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry,” “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall,” “Stranger in a Strange Land,” “Jumping Jack Flash,” and a few others. I came so close to not going. The concert I really wanted to see, but I didn’t have my driver’s license yet and no one who had their license was allowed to drive all the way down to Long Beach. Of course that show turned out to be his live LP “Leon Live.”
All in all, it was a nice show and if you’re a Leon Russell fan, I would recommend seeing him if he is in your town.
I almost forgot to mention how I discovered Russell in the first place. When I was in junior high school, a cousin's girlfriend who worked for Rolling Stone, sent me his LP "Leon Russell and the Shelter People," Cat Steven's "Tea for the Tillerman," and the current issue of Rolling Stone that had the first chapters of Hunter Thompson's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas." Quite an eye opener for someone who was a Monkees fan only a couple of years earlier.
Margaret Fairless Barber (1869–1901), English author
I just returned from watching Leon Russell with On The Mark at the Canyon Club in Agoura. We were always big fans of Russell from his days with the Joe Cocker tour Mad Dogs and Englishmen. I didn’t see the concert, much too young, but I did see the
movie and buy the album. On The Mark and me further solidified our friendship when I traded him the above-mentioned LP for the Rolling Stones “More Hot Rocks: Big Hits & Fazed Cookies.” I had written in the Cocker LP under Russell’s name something like the greatest or some such high schooler stuff.Anyway, back to the show, Russell made it to the stage with the help of a cane. He gained a few pounds, but who hasn’t, it started out a bit stiff because Russell’s voice was not warmed up, I figured out he was singing “Delta Lady.” His other songs last night included “Prince of Peace,” “Wild Horses,” “Out in the Woods,” “Hummingbird,” “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry,” “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall,” “Stranger in a Strange Land,” “Jumping Jack Flash,” and a few others. I came so close to not going. The concert I really wanted to see, but I didn’t have my driver’s license yet and no one who had their license was allowed to drive all the way down to Long Beach. Of course that show turned out to be his live LP “Leon Live.”
All in all, it was a nice show and if you’re a Leon Russell fan, I would recommend seeing him if he is in your town.
I almost forgot to mention how I discovered Russell in the first place. When I was in junior high school, a cousin's girlfriend who worked for Rolling Stone, sent me his LP "Leon Russell and the Shelter People," Cat Steven's "Tea for the Tillerman," and the current issue of Rolling Stone that had the first chapters of Hunter Thompson's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas." Quite an eye opener for someone who was a Monkees fan only a couple of years earlier.
Leon Russell Live
To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward.
Margaret Fairless Barber (1869–1901), English author
I just returned from watching Leon Russell with On The Mark at the Canyon Club in Agoura. We were always big fans of Russell from his days with the Joe Cocker tour Mad Dogs and Englishmen. I didn’t see the concert, much too young, but I did see the movie and buy the album. On The Mark and me further solidified our friendship when I traded him the above-mentioned LP for the Rolling Stones “More Hot Rocks: Big Hits & Fazed Cookies.” I had written in the Cocker LP under Russell’s name something like the greatest or some such high schooler stuff.
Anyway, back to the show, Russell made it to the stage with the help of a cane. He gained a few pounds, but who hasn’t, it started out a bit stiff because Russell’s voice was not warmed up, I figured out he was singing “Delta Lady.” His other songs last night included “Prince of Peace,” “Wild Horses,” “Out in the Woods,” “Hummingbird,” Prince of Peace,” “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry,” “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall,” “Stranger in a Strange Land,” “Jumping Jack Flash,” and a few others. I came so close to not going. The concert I really wanted to see, but I didn’t have my driver’s license yet and no one who had their license was allowed to drive all the way down to Long Beach. Of course that show turned out to be his live LP “Leon Live.”
All in all, it was a nice show and if you’re a Leon Russell fan, I would recommend seeing him if he is in your town.
Margaret Fairless Barber (1869–1901), English author
I just returned from watching Leon Russell with On The Mark at the Canyon Club in Agoura. We were always big fans of Russell from his days with the Joe Cocker tour Mad Dogs and Englishmen. I didn’t see the concert, much too young, but I did see the movie and buy the album. On The Mark and me further solidified our friendship when I traded him the above-mentioned LP for the Rolling Stones “More Hot Rocks: Big Hits & Fazed Cookies.” I had written in the Cocker LP under Russell’s name something like the greatest or some such high schooler stuff.
Anyway, back to the show, Russell made it to the stage with the help of a cane. He gained a few pounds, but who hasn’t, it started out a bit stiff because Russell’s voice was not warmed up, I figured out he was singing “Delta Lady.” His other songs last night included “Prince of Peace,” “Wild Horses,” “Out in the Woods,” “Hummingbird,” Prince of Peace,” “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry,” “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall,” “Stranger in a Strange Land,” “Jumping Jack Flash,” and a few others. I came so close to not going. The concert I really wanted to see, but I didn’t have my driver’s license yet and no one who had their license was allowed to drive all the way down to Long Beach. Of course that show turned out to be his live LP “Leon Live.”
All in all, it was a nice show and if you’re a Leon Russell fan, I would recommend seeing him if he is in your town.
On The Mark -- Pit Bulls
It was a beautiful Monday morning. The sun was shining, the air was clear, and I was taking a break from work with my daily three-mile walk with my lab dogs, Miles (after Miles Davis) and Cady (after Elizabeth Cady Stanton). Cady, blind as bat from diabetes, was probably enjoying the walk more than Miles because her senses were at full-strength to make up for her lack of sight. Even though we hadn’t completed mile 1 yet, I was already looking forward to the enthusiastic thank you kisses I would be receiving once we arrived back home. Then everything changed in a flash.
I saw them first, across the street from the elementary school we were walking in front of. Three pit bulls on the loose and hyped up like they were on crack. Miles then saw them and Cady “felt” something wasn’t right. For a few seconds we stood silent hoping they would continue on and not see us. But a few seconds later I was flat on my back having been knocked down by one of the pit bulls, its teeth grinding into my calf, meeting bone and (as I would later learn) severing a major nerve in my leg. Miles was being attacked by the other two pit bulls. Heroically, he stopped defending himself against those two dogs and attacked the pit bull attacking me, leaving himself completely open to devastating injuries.
Once I got back on my feet, Miles was once again fighting off all three of them. One was ripping at his back legs. Another had an ear in its teeth trying to rip it off. Another had Miles by the neck. I was kicking and slugging them as hard as I could, to the point of a near heart attack, but I might as well have been hitting a cement wall, the effect it had.
Then one of the pit bulls turned its teeth on me again, knocking me down and attacking my other calf. But the calf wasn’t enough this time and it lunged for my neck as I lay prone. I was able to fend it off for a second with my left hand, but that was long enough for Miles to lunge at this piranha out of water and stop him cold. The beast had no choice but to stop its attack on me and defend itself against Miles, who was once again being viciously attacked on his back legs by the other two pit bulls.
Blood was flying everywhere. People were helplessly crowding around, calling the police. A plumber got out of his truck and came halfway across the street with a pole, then stopped in his tracks and said, “no way I’m getting them mad at me.” I screamed, begging him to throw me the pole, but he climbed in his truck and drove away. Forever a coward.
I then went down for the third time, blood pouring down my legs and from my hands, Miles squealing now with pain, his chest ripped open and hanging to the ground, blood pouring from his neck, ears, eyes, stomach and legs. He was tired, but not beaten. As I tried to get back to my feet Miles attacked again with ferocity that I didn’t even know he possessed. He pinned to the ground the pit that had knocked me down, forcing it onto his back. It was an unbelievable sight. Super powers unleashed. Maybe it was the new energy in the air or exhaustion, I don’t know, but the other two pits gave up and walked off to the side as spectators.
Then I made a mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my life. At this point, I thought the other dog, beaten and exhausted, would take off, too, so I told Miles to let go, which he did. In a split second the other dog got back on its feet and viciously attacked my poor, sweet, exhausted and life-threateningly injured Miles. It was then I realized this dog was trained to kill or be killed. My continued kicks and slugs had absolutely no impact.
Finally, a brave woman found a long tree branch and chased the remaining pit away. The police finally arrived and witnesses stated that the attack lasted at least 10 minutes, maybe 15. It seemed like an hour to me. People then starting streaming out of houses and the elementary school. A neighbor helped me rush Miles to an emergency vet hospital where he underwent more than 4 hours of surgery.
Miles survived. He spent weeks sitting in a single position, even when sleeping. For 5 days I slept near him feeling helpless as I listened to him cry and groan through the night. Cady, miraculously, didn’t get involved and stayed behind me the entire time. She’s a fighter, and strong as hell, but I’m sure felt helpless not knowing where or what to attack. My neurologist tells me that my left leg may be numb for the rest of my life.
Each day I pet Miles on the head and tell him he’s my hero. And thank him for saving my life.
I walk Miles and Cady with an electric cattle prod in hand now. Maybe once a week. And even that is difficult as I fight the feeling that I’m walking into a war zone, pit bulls behind every bush, ready to attack and maim. A horrible feeling.
I saw them first, across the street from the elementary school we were walking in front of. Three pit bulls on the loose and hyped up like they were on crack. Miles then saw them and Cady “felt” something wasn’t right. For a few seconds we stood silent hoping they would continue on and not see us. But a few seconds later I was flat on my back having been knocked down by one of the pit bulls, its teeth grinding into my calf, meeting bone and (as I would later learn) severing a major nerve in my leg. Miles was being attacked by the other two pit bulls. Heroically, he stopped defending himself against those two dogs and attacked the pit bull attacking me, leaving himself completely open to devastating injuries.
Once I got back on my feet, Miles was once again fighting off all three of them. One was ripping at his back legs. Another had an ear in its teeth trying to rip it off. Another had Miles by the neck. I was kicking and slugging them as hard as I could, to the point of a near heart attack, but I might as well have been hitting a cement wall, the effect it had.
Then one of the pit bulls turned its teeth on me again, knocking me down and attacking my other calf. But the calf wasn’t enough this time and it lunged for my neck as I lay prone. I was able to fend it off for a second with my left hand, but that was long enough for Miles to lunge at this piranha out of water and stop him cold. The beast had no choice but to stop its attack on me and defend itself against Miles, who was once again being viciously attacked on his back legs by the other two pit bulls.
Blood was flying everywhere. People were helplessly crowding around, calling the police. A plumber got out of his truck and came halfway across the street with a pole, then stopped in his tracks and said, “no way I’m getting them mad at me.” I screamed, begging him to throw me the pole, but he climbed in his truck and drove away. Forever a coward.
I then went down for the third time, blood pouring down my legs and from my hands, Miles squealing now with pain, his chest ripped open and hanging to the ground, blood pouring from his neck, ears, eyes, stomach and legs. He was tired, but not beaten. As I tried to get back to my feet Miles attacked again with ferocity that I didn’t even know he possessed. He pinned to the ground the pit that had knocked me down, forcing it onto his back. It was an unbelievable sight. Super powers unleashed. Maybe it was the new energy in the air or exhaustion, I don’t know, but the other two pits gave up and walked off to the side as spectators.
Then I made a mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my life. At this point, I thought the other dog, beaten and exhausted, would take off, too, so I told Miles to let go, which he did. In a split second the other dog got back on its feet and viciously attacked my poor, sweet, exhausted and life-threateningly injured Miles. It was then I realized this dog was trained to kill or be killed. My continued kicks and slugs had absolutely no impact.
Finally, a brave woman found a long tree branch and chased the remaining pit away. The police finally arrived and witnesses stated that the attack lasted at least 10 minutes, maybe 15. It seemed like an hour to me. People then starting streaming out of houses and the elementary school. A neighbor helped me rush Miles to an emergency vet hospital where he underwent more than 4 hours of surgery.
Miles survived. He spent weeks sitting in a single position, even when sleeping. For 5 days I slept near him feeling helpless as I listened to him cry and groan through the night. Cady, miraculously, didn’t get involved and stayed behind me the entire time. She’s a fighter, and strong as hell, but I’m sure felt helpless not knowing where or what to attack. My neurologist tells me that my left leg may be numb for the rest of my life.
Each day I pet Miles on the head and tell him he’s my hero. And thank him for saving my life.
I walk Miles and Cady with an electric cattle prod in hand now. Maybe once a week. And even that is difficult as I fight the feeling that I’m walking into a war zone, pit bulls behind every bush, ready to attack and maim. A horrible feeling.
Posted by On The Mark
On The Mark -- Pit Bulls
It was a beautiful Monday morning. The sun was shining, the air was clear, and I was taking a break from work with my usual three-mile walk with my lab dogs, Miles (after Miles Davis) and Cady (after Elizabeth Cady Stanton). Cady, blind as bat from diabetes, was probably enjoying the walk more than Miles because her senses were at full-strength to make up for her lack of sight. Even though we hadn’t completed mile 1 yet, I was already looking forward to the enthusiastic thank you kisses I would be receiving once we arrived back home. Then everything changed in a flash.
I saw them first, across the street from the elementary school we were walking in front of. Three pit bulls on the loose and hyped up like they were on crack. Miles then saw them and Cady “felt” something wasn’t right. For a few seconds we stood silent hoping they would continue on and not see us. But a few seconds later I was flat on my back having been knocked down by one of the pit bulls, it’s teeth grinding into my calf, meeting bone and (as I would later learn) severing a major nerve in my leg. Miles was being attacked by the other two pit bulls. Heroically, he stopped defending himself against those two dogs and attacked the pit bull attacking me, leaving himself completely open to devastating injuries.
Once I got back on my feet, Miles was once again fighting off all three of them. One was ripping at his back legs. Another had an ear in its teeth trying to rip it off. Another had Miles by the neck. I was kicking and slugging them as hard as I could, to the point of a near heart attack, but I might as well have been hitting a cement wall, the effect it had.
Then one of the pit bulls turned its teeth on me again, knocking me down and attacking my other calf. But the calf wasn’t enough this time and it lunged for my neck as I lay prone. I was able to fend it off for a second with my left hand, but that was long enough for Miles to lunge at this piranha out of water and stop him cold. The beast had no choice but to stop its attack on me and defend itself against Miles, who was once again being viciously attacked on his back legs by the other two pit bulls.
Blood was flying everywhere. People were helplessly crowding around, calling the police. A plumber got out of his truck and came halfway across the street with a pole, then stopped in his tracks and said, “no way I’m getting them mad at me.” I screamed, begging him to throw me the pole, but he climbed in his truck and drove away. Forever a coward.
I then went down for the third time, blood pouring down my legs and from my hands, Miles squealing now with pain, his chest ripped open and hanging to the ground, blood pouring from his neck, ears, eyes, stomach and legs. He was tired, but not beaten. As I tried to get back to my feet Miles attacked again with ferocity that I didn’t even know he possessed. He pinned to the ground the pit that had knocked me down, forcing it onto his back. It was an unbelievable sight. Super powers unleashed. Maybe it was the new energy in the air or exhaustion, I don’t know, but the other two pits gave up and walked off to the side as spectators.
Then I made a mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my life. At this point, I thought the other dog, beaten and exhausted, would take off, too, so I told Miles to let go, which he did. In a split second the other dog got back on its feet and viciously attacked my poor, sweet, exhausted and life-threateningly injured Miles. It was then I realized this dog was trained to kill or be killed. My continued kicks and slugs had absolutely no impact.
Finally, a brave woman found a long tree branch and chased the remaining pit away. The police finally arrived and witnesses stated that the attack lasted at least 10 minutes, maybe 15. It seemed like an hour to me. People then starting streaming out of houses and the elementary school. A neighbor helped me rush Miles to an emergency vet hospital where he underwent more than 4 hours of surgery.
Miles survived. He spent weeks sitting in a single position, even when sleeping. For 5 days I slept near him feeling helpless as I listened to him cry and groan through the night. Cady, miraculously, didn’t get involved and stayed behind me the entire time. She’s a fighter, and strong as hell, but I’m sure felt helpless not knowing where or what to attack. My neurologist tells me that my left leg may be numb for the rest of my life.
Each day I pet Miles on the head and tell him he’s my hero. And thank him for saving my life.
I walk Miles and Cady with an electric cattle prod in hand now. Maybe once a week. And even that is difficult as I fight the feeling that I’m walking into a war zone, pit bulls behind every bush, ready to attack and maim. A horrible feeling.
I saw them first, across the street from the elementary school we were walking in front of. Three pit bulls on the loose and hyped up like they were on crack. Miles then saw them and Cady “felt” something wasn’t right. For a few seconds we stood silent hoping they would continue on and not see us. But a few seconds later I was flat on my back having been knocked down by one of the pit bulls, it’s teeth grinding into my calf, meeting bone and (as I would later learn) severing a major nerve in my leg. Miles was being attacked by the other two pit bulls. Heroically, he stopped defending himself against those two dogs and attacked the pit bull attacking me, leaving himself completely open to devastating injuries.
Once I got back on my feet, Miles was once again fighting off all three of them. One was ripping at his back legs. Another had an ear in its teeth trying to rip it off. Another had Miles by the neck. I was kicking and slugging them as hard as I could, to the point of a near heart attack, but I might as well have been hitting a cement wall, the effect it had.
Then one of the pit bulls turned its teeth on me again, knocking me down and attacking my other calf. But the calf wasn’t enough this time and it lunged for my neck as I lay prone. I was able to fend it off for a second with my left hand, but that was long enough for Miles to lunge at this piranha out of water and stop him cold. The beast had no choice but to stop its attack on me and defend itself against Miles, who was once again being viciously attacked on his back legs by the other two pit bulls.
Blood was flying everywhere. People were helplessly crowding around, calling the police. A plumber got out of his truck and came halfway across the street with a pole, then stopped in his tracks and said, “no way I’m getting them mad at me.” I screamed, begging him to throw me the pole, but he climbed in his truck and drove away. Forever a coward.
I then went down for the third time, blood pouring down my legs and from my hands, Miles squealing now with pain, his chest ripped open and hanging to the ground, blood pouring from his neck, ears, eyes, stomach and legs. He was tired, but not beaten. As I tried to get back to my feet Miles attacked again with ferocity that I didn’t even know he possessed. He pinned to the ground the pit that had knocked me down, forcing it onto his back. It was an unbelievable sight. Super powers unleashed. Maybe it was the new energy in the air or exhaustion, I don’t know, but the other two pits gave up and walked off to the side as spectators.
Then I made a mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my life. At this point, I thought the other dog, beaten and exhausted, would take off, too, so I told Miles to let go, which he did. In a split second the other dog got back on its feet and viciously attacked my poor, sweet, exhausted and life-threateningly injured Miles. It was then I realized this dog was trained to kill or be killed. My continued kicks and slugs had absolutely no impact.
Finally, a brave woman found a long tree branch and chased the remaining pit away. The police finally arrived and witnesses stated that the attack lasted at least 10 minutes, maybe 15. It seemed like an hour to me. People then starting streaming out of houses and the elementary school. A neighbor helped me rush Miles to an emergency vet hospital where he underwent more than 4 hours of surgery.
Miles survived. He spent weeks sitting in a single position, even when sleeping. For 5 days I slept near him feeling helpless as I listened to him cry and groan through the night. Cady, miraculously, didn’t get involved and stayed behind me the entire time. She’s a fighter, and strong as hell, but I’m sure felt helpless not knowing where or what to attack. My neurologist tells me that my left leg may be numb for the rest of my life.
Each day I pet Miles on the head and tell him he’s my hero. And thank him for saving my life.
I walk Miles and Cady with an electric cattle prod in hand now. Maybe once a week. And even that is difficult as I fight the feeling that I’m walking into a war zone, pit bulls behind every bush, ready to attack and maim. A horrible feeling.
Sopranos Ending
True creativity often starts where language ends.
Arthur Koestler (1905–83), novelist, essayist
There seems to be two camps regarding the abrupt ending of the Sopranos. Damn few of us out there were okay with the ending. Maureen Dowd in her column yesterday wrote
about David Chase that he “…gave us a gimmicky and unsatisfying film-school-style blackout for an end to his mob saga, a stunt one notch above “It was all a dream.” It was the TV equivalent of one of those design-your-own-mug places.”
We are a cynical bunch and rightly so, we can’t trust our government, CEOs, oil companies, stockbrokers, so why should we believe Chase when he says he does not intend to make a movie? I believe him. What else could he do except completely ruin the entire Sopranos franchise with a movie that bombs.
The cut to black had me reaching for the remote control thinking that the cable had go out. A friend who didn’t like the ending also thought there was a power interruption or the Chinese shot down another satellite, which had that been the case, probably would have truly been an act of war as opposed to the now you see them, now you don’t WMDs.
We shared Tony’s continual anxiety and distrust those last few minutes as he waited for his family to arrive for dinner, it was our last supper with them. As with most short stories, the ending just arrives to denote that life goes on. Tony won. If he had died, my guess is the ending would have been white. And, that little chat on the boat with his bud about how the end will arrive, was for us not Tony. He’ll rebuild the family, bed good looking women who are enthralled with his power, and collect his envelops of cash, makes one what to be a “made guy.”
Arthur Koestler (1905–83), novelist, essayist
There seems to be two camps regarding the abrupt ending of the Sopranos. Damn few of us out there were okay with the ending. Maureen Dowd in her column yesterday wrote
about David Chase that he “…gave us a gimmicky and unsatisfying film-school-style blackout for an end to his mob saga, a stunt one notch above “It was all a dream.” It was the TV equivalent of one of those design-your-own-mug places.”We are a cynical bunch and rightly so, we can’t trust our government, CEOs, oil companies, stockbrokers, so why should we believe Chase when he says he does not intend to make a movie? I believe him. What else could he do except completely ruin the entire Sopranos franchise with a movie that bombs.
The cut to black had me reaching for the remote control thinking that the cable had go out. A friend who didn’t like the ending also thought there was a power interruption or the Chinese shot down another satellite, which had that been the case, probably would have truly been an act of war as opposed to the now you see them, now you don’t WMDs.
We shared Tony’s continual anxiety and distrust those last few minutes as he waited for his family to arrive for dinner, it was our last supper with them. As with most short stories, the ending just arrives to denote that life goes on. Tony won. If he had died, my guess is the ending would have been white. And, that little chat on the boat with his bud about how the end will arrive, was for us not Tony. He’ll rebuild the family, bed good looking women who are enthralled with his power, and collect his envelops of cash, makes one what to be a “made guy.”
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Does the white hood come with matching shoes?
My wife was reading about Paris Hilton -- not me. But she passed along a link to the article on Yahoo! because of a quote from "media image consultant" Michael Sands, who opined that Paris Hilton would be forgiven for her transgressions:
"She will become a real Hollywood star from this experience," he said. "If she handles it like a famous person and goes to a military base, visits Walter Reed, then Hollywood will embrace her. It's very forgiving. It's not like she insulted the Jews."
Time for a reader poll: is Sands anti-Semitic? He may be uneducated and sleazy, if his website is any indication.
Read the whole story, if you want to.
"She will become a real Hollywood star from this experience," he said. "If she handles it like a famous person and goes to a military base, visits Walter Reed, then Hollywood will embrace her. It's very forgiving. It's not like she insulted the Jews."
Time for a reader poll: is Sands anti-Semitic? He may be uneducated and sleazy, if his website is any indication.
Read the whole story, if you want to.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
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