Lets make this clear: everybody swears, yes some more than others – construction workers, the homies hangin on the corner, someone with tourettes syndrome, etc. and there are those who swear only occasionally. Anyone who maintains that not once has a bit of “bad” language passed their lips is full of shit; a lot of it. My mother doesn’t swear a lot for example, but she does. She hates the word “fuck” and I’ve been reprimanded for using it in conversation. However – when she really desperately needs to make a point…. you get the concept.
There is a scene in the movie “A Christmas Story” (Jean Shepard’s writing – some of the funniest stuff around) where the kids father is down in the basement wrestling with the coal furnace and you hear the equivalent of writing #?!!*$@+!##”~! ; just a bunch of double-talk nonsense for the PG rating. The narrator says something like: when it comes to swearing, my father worked with words the way a great artist uses oils or a sculptor works with clay; his medium was profanity.
Recently I have returned to working on a car – the mechanical side of me. It had lain dormant since high-school. While replacing a front brake wheel cylinder and having a bit of trouble, I was helping myself with encouraging strings of really, really bad words. It hit me right then that I was using a unique combination of expletives. I came to realize that I have “working on the MG” profanity. What a concept! and as I pondered it more, came to recognize that I have special situational language unique to a lot of activities. Think about it; it’s fun! Some examples: driving – choice phrases are used then and only then. Asshole is a prominent word; usually preceded by “you ought to be put to sleep”. Asshole is almost a pronoun. Usually it is used for men and often combined with “fucking” Women get bitch with fucking or goddamn, actually, more often with both words. Upon hearing something really annoying; something that is going to upset my plans, perhaps: Then I get spiritual. First comes a prolonged aawwww… followed by: jesus (I’m not too put out yet -or a simple shit, when I’m not religious) then it expands depending on the degree of annoyance – jesus christ; jesus fucking christ; goddamn fucking jesus christ – if it is worse than that then things get very creative, but somehow that jesus guy stays with me. I saw a painting of “The circumcision of the lord” and underneath the caption read “Really? He yelled out his own name?”
When I drop something or miss a note or some other small, isolated mistake, what comes out is very close to spitting. Just one word is enough; said very quickly and with heavy emphasis one the first letter: “shit” “fuck” etc. Akin to the sound of a race car passing by at very high speed. If the little mistake repeats itself then the ante is upped and from there on it gets progressively more creative.
Then there is the issue of volume. Those little one word bits are almost whispers at times, because the moment is fairly intimate and personal. To my great surprise and probably what led me to this epiphany, is that my “mechanics” profanity is extremely loud and violent and doesn’t go through the usual development section. Loud and unique. So loud that on occasion I have quickly looked to make sure that one of the cute neighborhood kids wasn’t lingering about. The string of words is completely baffling because I am dealing with both myself and a bunch of inanimate objects. It is really, really entertaining – almost as if someone has taken control of my voice.
So play the game: what language is used with each event and how do the circumstances alter the creative process? And to all of you who say that people who swear do so because they haven’t the capacity to express themselves any other way: “I’m extremely annoyed and quite beside myself, almost to the point of apoplexy because I can’t get this 3/4 inch spanner to even begin to budge this recalcitrant nut” – just doesn’t cut it. It is way too pleonastic. “goddamn fucking shit” is elegant and to the point of the matter. So eat shit and die mother fucker.

Is is just me, or is there note something funnier-than-shit about this deadpan treatment of rock-paper-scissors: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rock%2C_Paper%2C_Scissors

I can’t fix shit. I can’t install, assemble, repair, maintain, build or otherwise perform any manner of mechanical activity on any physical object whatsoever.
I am a klutz.
There, I said it, and I don’t regret it.
Now I can go back to trying to install a gate to keep our eleven-month-old from tumbling down the stairs.
PS: I exaggerate. In fact, I have:  assembled stuff — furniture, baby equipment, gas barbecue grill — that still has yet to fall apart; patched and replaced bicycle tubes; replaced all manner of computer parts; done very basic plumbing repairs without fucking up (and have also done them with fucking up); and so forth. But it’s slow, painful and perilous, because I am a klutz. Though I read instructions and how-to books, usually something comes up that is undocumented. That’s when a person needs creativity, courage, imagination, balls, talent, skill. I have a little of the first three, but very little of the last two.

I’m sitting at my computer struggling with GnuCash 1.8.1, trying bring my financial records up to date after months of neglect so I can get my data organized for my tax guy. (I have splendid excuses for procrastinating, but take my word for it so I can spare you.) I try to run a transaction report and keep getting a useless error message “There was an error while running the report.” No shit. I go out there and google for some help and come up empty. I think, dude, let’s see if there’s a newer version. There is. I think, dude, you should upgrade. Ah, but if the upgrade opens some hideous can of worms and makes matters worse, what then? I confess: I am somewhere beyond newbie but way short of expert in matters Linux. The venerable RedHat Package Manager is famed for its ease of use, but how do you roll back an upgrade with RPM? I could research that and figure it out but I am under pressure here and have little patience. So I think, dude, just download the rpm and upgrade. But I hesitate. This is my only Linux machine, and if something goes seriously wrong, with all my financial data in a massive XML data file that dumb-ass Windoze programs like Quicken and Money do not understand, I am fucked. Time to make a decision.
Enter our reliable old friend, alcohol. I think, dude, go upstairs and pour a nice hefty vodka with cranberry and OJ, and knock it back. I do this. Then I go back to the machine, close GnuCash, become root, run
rpm --upgrade gnucash-1.8.8-0.9.i386.rpm.
It sits there thinking for a few seconds so I go back upstairs (to the liquor cabinet) to await my fate.
Bingo. GnuCash is rocking and I am back in the ballgame, thanks to a sound decision arrived at with the aid of the demon alcohol.

I like to use this blog for bitching and ranting and thundering against assholes. So today we’re gonna change the tone a little bit and praise somebody.
I got a good buddy across the street — let’s call him Ned. Ned is one of the most generous people I know — almost pathologically generous. He seems happiest when his house is full of his friends from the ‘hood, eating and drinking and talking shit and enjoying themselves. And he regularly hosts informal, quasi-spontaneous gatherings of this kind. In cold weather Ned’s parties are indoors. In warm weather we like to stoop it on his stoop, and we barbecue. Where a lot of us just talk about how we’d really like to host a get-together some time soon, Ned just does it. And does it and does it.
He also is skilled at producing great amounts of good food on short notice. Dinner for ten people in two hours? No problem.
Ned is like the hub of the social network we call community. He’s the glue that helps make it all cohere. Here’s to Ned.

Think I’m kidding with that provocative title? Hardly.
The other day I got fed up with being sick for about 60% of the preceding eight weeks and went to a doctor’s office. I was seen by what’s known as a physician’s assistant. She prescribed two drugs: a decongestant, and an antibiotic. I bought the drugs, scanned the warnings about possible side effects, and dutifully started taking my drugs.
Imagine my consternation when I awoke in the middle of the night seized with something that must be similar to a panic attack. We’re talking serious jitters. I went and took another look at those side effects… “Mild dizziness, mild drowsiness, headache, loss of appetite, nausea, dry mouth…” Ah, here we go: “Extreme nervousness, trouble sleeping.” Thank you, Guaifenesin/Dextromethorphan/Decongestant Oral. Wait, what’s this? “If any of
these effects persist or worsen, notify your doctor.” Hmmm. Otherwise, tough it out? Not wanting to be a pussy, I tried it again for a couple nights before I finally said fuck this, I’m better off without it. That Guaifenesin/Dextromethorphan/Decongestant Oral is some bad shit.
When you buy street drugs you might well be buying a safer product and getting a better value than when you score from the pharmacist. Granted, that bag of cocaine from the corner spot contains a substance whose exact composition and origin are unknown. However, the dealer has a sincere market-based interest in your satisfaction. Can the same be said of Big Pharma? If they think the profits outweigh the risks of liability, they are capable of spinning their data and lobbying the FDA to approve their stuff even when they know it isn’t safe.
Does the drug dealer really care any more than AstraZeneca does about your health and well being? No. But the active ingredient in that bag, cocaine hydrochloride, has been the subject of countless scientific studies, many of them responsible. Moreover, cocaine has been and continues to be tested informally by an army of volunteers every day. Its effects, both good and bad, are pretty well understood. Anyone who can read and think can make an informed decision whether to buy and use that bag; you know less about the drugs your doc thinks you should take.
True, cocaine will not cure your ear infection, and indeed may make it worse. But that’s not what it’s intended for. It’s for mood elevation and temporary relief of fatigue. Side effects? Let’s see…. loss of appetite, nasal congestion, trouble sleeping, nervousness, prolonged use may produce dependency. Not much worse than Guaifenesin/Dextromethorphan/Decongestant Oral, is it? And for the congestion you can always try… Guaifenesin/Dextromethorphan/Decongestant Oral! (I got some right here. You interested?)
Then there’s price. We all know prescription drug prices are scandalous in this country. Street drug prices have been comparatively stable, obeying the economic laws of supply and demand — pure market dynamics undistorted by the sort of corruption we see from Big Pharma. That bag from the homies on the corner is a better deal than that bogus antibiotic prescription your doctor gave you for an ailment that was not bacterial.

Yeah you heard me.
When you’re invited to my house you will be my honored guest. I will do everything I reasonably can to ensure that you are well entertained, well fed, well boozed, in short — well loved. You wouldn’t be there if I intended otherwise.
But there’s just one thing you gotta promise me in return. When I put out a bowl of mixed nuts for your delectation, eat your share of the Brazil nuts. Don’t make me eat them all. I don’t really like them either. But we all have to pull together and do our share. So don’t rely on others to keep picking up the slack for you.
DO NOT EAT AROUND THE BRAZIL NUTS.
Thanks for your cooperation.

I work for an organization whose employees include people than some people would just love to assassinate, so we have security for serious reasons, not just for paranoia or for keeping the unwashed masses from wandering into the building. We employees have electronic swipe cards and photo IDs and all that good stuff. Whenever the Ministry of Fear in DC raises the Terror Level, we have what I call crackdowns, during which times the security people at the entrances have orders to do “100% ID checks.” That means you swipe your card and display your ID. But here’s the ridiculous part. The security dudes quickly get bored and stop really looking at your creds after you’ve successfully swiped in, especially when they’ve seen your face several hundred times. I carry a little leather cardholder thingy containing stuff like aMetroCard and a photo of my baby daughter, as well as my employee ID and swipe cards, which are obscured by the former items. So I wave my baby picture/MetroCard at the security dudes and they nod and say thank you. “It’s OK:  he’s got a MetroCard and a cute kid.”
However, if I forget my creds, then I have to go through the metal detector like an ordinary mortal — usually. In such cases I invariably think, yeah right, the day I come unglued and bring my firearm to work with homicidal intentions is the day I will also forget my creds and be thwarted by the metal detector. Knowing me, that’s probably exactly what I’d do:  forget my swipe card and ID. And with my last flicker of rationality I would think, ah fuck it, let’s come back tomorrow and kill everyone when we have both our gun and our ID .
I don’t mean any disrespect for the people whose job it is to watch our back. Most of them are decent people doing a necessary job honorably. But I can’t help but sneer every time I look out my office window at the garage entrance below me, and see the perfunctory pro forma trunk inspections the guys do on cars coming into the building. I don’t know about you, but whenever I install a car bomb, I mount it someplace discreet like under the car, instead of like, you know, leaving it hanging out in plain sight in the trunk? Cause it like so totally blows when the security dudes find your bomb?

The blog is bogged down. Maybe more writers could be invited to blog?
Nobody knows what happens to us when we die. Nobody has died and come back to tell us about it. The Jesus story is myth and/or completely unprovable. For me the only reason I can see for religion is the fear of death. My question is: If we knew for sure what death is like and what happens, would religion still exist?
Blog on and yes,I can think of other reasons for religion but that is not what I am asking. Anyone out there have a “near death” experience?

I wonder if the general lack of knowledge, culture and familiarity with the fine points of English could be partially attributable to the fact that, after all, we are still one of the nations with the largest middle class, speaking in socio-economic terms. In other countries that still retain clear divisions between the upper and lower classes marked by huge disparities in resources of all types, no one expects the lowly masses to know anything. Despite recent ecomomic hard times, the USA still offers the best shot at improving one’s financial circumstances. Education and culture don’t necessarily track that improvement, though. Of course, this doesn’t explain moronic college students, but as they say, “Garbage in, garbage out.”