Everyone isn’t for war and the taking of life from aother May 27, 2007

WEST POINT, N.Y. — Vice President Dick Cheney today urged the 978 new graduates of the U.S. Military Academy to provide leadership to troops fighting terrorists in Iraq and Afghanistan…. blah blah yakitty yak yak yak.  If you’d like the read the full article - http://chron.com/disp/story.mpl/front/4838643.html?plckCurrentPage=1

Basically, below is the meat of a conversation I had with a person in the “comment” section of Saturday’s online Houston Chronicle. Let me know your thoughts and if I am wrong, please dictate with your conciance.

Walt wrote:

Or was Cheney there buttering them up for what’s yet to most assuredly destroy their lives. And or get them killed.

texrb wrote:

Last I heard, Walt, there is no draft that forces people into the military academy and since the war has been going on for 4+ years, I assume all of these graduates knew what they were committing to. You liberal pukes do nothing but spew hatred anymore. You offer nothing in the way of useful dialogue.

Walt wrote:

WOW texrb, who’s gaking up the hate here?
War is hell. This war will continue unnecessarily, for years to come if we allow it. The good ol’ boy republican party always stimulates the
US economy in the profiteering of war. We can’t change that which doesn’t want to be changed. It tears my heart out to know many families of dead
US servicemen. Why not turn
Iraq into glass… as in glass from a lot of sand and extreme heat. As originally proclaimed we’d finance this abortion, by war monger #43, how much oil have we, the US, seen in exchange for the billions & billions of ‘charges incurred’ financing this un-winnable war? How much are you paying for fuel? You and your fat cat Bush party are the world’s biggest idiots. I’m embarrassed for you. No wonder the whole world hates the
US.And btw, DICK Cheney is my ex boss. He is as crooked as they come. Since you are obviously immune to death, try putting a face on this debacle of a war. It’s all just so unbelievably ridiculous.oh yes, uhhhh, has anyone seen Binladen? I thought not.Now piss off, you bore me

_____________________________________

texrb wrote:Walt, once again you are spewing socialist hatred without an ounce of factual dialogue. It’s the same tactic the Bolsheviks used in 1917. Whoever disagrees with the socialist agenda, trash them with hate speach. I’m not a republican, yet you say “Your fat cat party”. I am an independent patriot who is sick of the factless diatribes of the likes of you.

Walt wrote:

Get a grip man. “Socialist?” Are we still playing from the same sheet of music here
TEX? Allow reality to be a friend of yours. I get the feeling you are a crotchety stodgy old man. Stuck in old man political oblivion of auld lang syne. Head buried comfortably deep in the sand. Probably polishing your six-shooter rocking on the rear porch where ya stay o’re yonder way.I have no desire or feel the need to quote my sources here big TEX. If you have any sense you might have researched your incessant encumbrance of what is the truth. It’s very simple…we have no business in that entire part of the world.Why can’t our superpower conservative good Christian country finish what war they’ve started? Why hasn’t it all ended by now? With all due respect (literally) let’s finish that which was started by #41. Can you believe I used the words “Christian, conservative & war” all in the same sentence. I can.Daily, as I enter our 42 story Ivory Tower for work, I pass the yellow ribbon adorned placard placed at the building’s entrance - for the past FIVE years (remember, the then classified war was well under way before one cartridge was discharged), announcing “our hearts and prayers go out to all of Halliburton and KBR’s employees and servicemen whom are missing, or have died fighting for our country in their respective line of duty.” I’m reminded at the beginning of every robotic day of my life that war equals unnecessary death. Not only death to our soldiers, but all other soldiers fighting for their own beliefs. You might, as so many others do, prance right by the five year old memorial there at the entrance, no longer noticing what the sign even means. I never miss what that sign says.

Hey, look if you’d like to continue this “diatribe” that YOU started, let’s not bore all of
Houston with your crass, cutting quips. I’ll be happy to entertain myself with anything you might eventually enlighten me with @ wtarpley@juno.com

As you were… patriot?… and that’s no bullshivik. And have a great F’ing Memorial Day.

Could you survive the deepest depths of Hell? May 21, 2007

I’ll begin a bit light, mostly for those coping with loved ones or others dealing themselves with the age old disease of depression. I’ve been severely depressed for, what has been diagnosed, many years. I’ve only been treated for my illness since April 2006. Of course it takes many months, sometimes years to determine what modern medicine works best in countering this genetic illness that chemically alters the brain’s serotonin-norepinephrine levels. 

All the symptoms are very profound. If you’ve read this far you well know what they are. The television commercial that portrays a man or woman with troubles in completing or even starting what was once daily ritual is a fair estimation of a stepping off point. The recognition, then acceptance that there may be a problem. As an alcoholic might hide a fifth of Gin in his desk drawer in a failing effort to better tolerate what was supposed to be a good life. Depression is still thought by some to not be a real illness. I’ve also learned that mental illness and suicide runs through my mother’s side of my family, as far back as my family’s recorded history. Depression is real. Depression is devastating. Depression is much more than having a bad day or week or month or year. Depression destroys lives and relationships of any kind. It has been estimated that true clinical depression will be the cause of 40% of disability claims and workforce reduction by the year 2010. I think the recognition and acceptance of the disease coupled with modern treatment has brought forth the evil ugliness of how deep and wide spread it is rooted throughout our society. 

By default with all drugs, a regimen that might be found most effective for you, and that has taken months or years to harness, will decrease or end its effectiveness altogether – often within a few months of  beginning a workable drug cocktail. When I’m able to feel anything whatsoever, I escape by listening to music. I have my whole life. Perhaps testing my emotional ruin. Escaping in music in an attempt to find a benchmark of sorts, during the ingestion of mass poisons that are making me better? My own effort to sneak a peek at the possibility that I can still feel anything at all. 

Most notably I listen to molasses thick syrupy ballads – those such as Celine Dion’s Fly, a song dedicated to a personal friend of hers that passed of AIDS. Really any of her powerful songs. Other songs like Maria carry’s version of without you. Jennifer Holiday’s And I am telling you – Whitney Houston (pre crack) singing our National Anthem at the Super bowl game in 1991, during the first Bush’s Gulf War. In all seriousness, if Whitney’s rendition of our National Anthem showcased in one and a half (dozen) octaves – doesn’t move you to tears, you are way over medicated. Francis Scott Key had no idea his song could be sung so perfectly. Whitney, as most of us who are irreparably fractured… hopelessly human – wrestles with her share of demons… but the bitch can sing baby! Alright, I’m obviously having a good day… today. 

Let’s breach the subject of my life in the depths of my depression. I’ll proceed being brutally honest. For me my bottom was when I was driving to my office. On April 3, ’06, the first time I left my work place on “short term leave” – I was asked in a formal reprimand to go through our employee assistance program (EAP) and get help for the following reasons:  Excessive absenteeism, unacceptable work performance, insubordination, outbursts in meetings, anger management. That very day I received the biggest raise I’d ever seen. A twenty percent increase in salary. You have no idea of what a complete abortion my management was. The keystone Cops were mental giants in comparison. So disgusted of having to face my robotic mind numbing job for another oppressive second, I occasionally sat in the parking garage for two hours upon arriving to work. When 10am rolled around I went to Specs, our local liquor store and bought a fifth of courage. I drank some mixing it with a large coke I’d gotten from the Chevron. I liked rolling in at eleven or so ‘cause I knew everyone would be out to lunch and thus wouldn’t bother me. I have even taken my cocktail to my desk and felt better by the minute. This destructive routine was continued for a while to dull my innermost pain. It got to where I was doing this routinely, not every day but on real down days. So, on August 11, ’06 I dismissed myself once and for all from my employer, then beginning long term disability. 

My management was aware that I was going through some serious hardships. Note that I have 24 years in my line of work, 14 with this once respectable, turned a hideous cluster fuck company of three merged companies, then known only as Halliburton. So I did the little three month short term disability dance as was requested, through our employee assistance program. The first meeting within five minutes at my new psychiatrist he said that I needed to distance myself from my work environment until further notice. I estimated that while leaving the parking garage every day, I was planning my suicide; it was time for me to go. I contemplated killing myself in my office parking garage. I even mapped out a plan of the crashing of my car into a concrete girder. I contemplated going on a shooting spree at my office to take down a few people that I attribute to having aided in my spiral off into oblivion. I even stood on the 8^th floor of the parking garage looking over the edge thinking how easy it would be just to jump off and immediately check out. With no more than hopelessness on my side, I actually became scared of myself. 

I’ve lost most all of my life long friends. “Friends” that would not even attempt to understand what I was – and still am going through. Weak friends that I begged to educate themselves in understanding me better. I was further kicked in the groin while I was down, watching one by one the people I’d known and loved and respected all my life, disappear from my life during my very depths. “Just when I needed them most”, I was abandoned. All of these people I’m describing would once have given me their first born should I have ever needed it. 

I suppose I missed the small print clause on the back of the friendship form that read “we’ll always be there for you, unless it’s something that we can’t wrap our simpleton heads around”. Unless you are ever diagnosed with being deeply depressed you shall never know the irreparable damage depression will forever scar your psyche with – and likely forever will during your remaining time in this world. To speak of the ’D’ word in mixed company makes people feel uncomfortable. My past friends couldn’t comprehend my description of not wanting to go on living. And what it might be like to not leave my bedroom for ten days at a time, curled up in the fetal position in bed all the while. Not bathing. Not even brushing my teeth. Only getting out of my darkened room to find something for my body’s minimal nourishment. Then taking more sleeping pills to escape the misery of living yet another day, again returning to my bed for another fifteen or twenty hours. Having found a fairly decent new drug regimen – that has taken the better part of a year to discover, I am doing better. I’ve now become somewhat of an introvert though. I occasionally visit a couple friends left that have too been through their own variables of mental illness. And I’m comfortable with that. These few have, without doubt, kept me alive. 

I’m actually getting down just typing out this blog. So I’ll close by simply saying that even with modern cutting edge drugs by the bus load, one must take it upon themselves to find and embrace the power of the human spirit to carry on. As hard as it was at my very bottom, I found myself still longing to be happy again. To live my life anyway – slowly building my confidence that I will eventually be well again. Scraping together the remains of my own mind’s self destruction as a base to start over - I will emerge stronger than I’ve ever been. I will win this battle raging inside me and find complete recovery of my once stable mind. 

A mind is a terrible thing… 

to waste.

Georgia on my mind May 19, 2007

It’s been one year since I’ve been to Georgia to see my parents near
Athens GA. While visiting last year, my pal, two mutts and I also had the opportunity to go camping in
East GA. 

 

We met a friend at a camp site East of Athens, one exit from
South Carolina. In an odd little town called “Dewy Rose”
Georgia, we found ourselves around midnight. Not being familiar with the lay of the land, we ploughed through a horribly treacherous rain storm. After passing three times the entrance and running over one innocent lost rabbit, we found this ‘po-dunk’ (a WAY country saying), well quite a large campground/RV ground. Not that I’m a puss or anything, but all night I couldn’t stop thinking of the rabbit and the probability of her young awaiting their Mother’s return. 

 

So, we settled in at this beautiful place there in the woods with a decadently outfitted club house, a huge pool, a full time staff and Concierge. Hot water showers and cold potable water spigots at every turn. A genuine bonfire that lit up the sky for miles every night at 9pm. Air conditioned cabins fully stocked with your liquor of choice and a library of award winning porn for your DVD player. Come to think of it – I wasn’t sure I was even at a campground. In retrospect, it may have been a less than “po-dunk’ spot to hang one’s hat for a minute or several. ‘twasn’t the Ritz, but a damn close rendition. Actually the Ritz doesn’t offer free parking nor the tolerance of our two furry companions OR the burning of any herb. The Ritz is overrated – and snotty assed filthy dughty to boot. 

 

Anyway, what I want to share here is that while I was taking in the 6am sunrise at the pool, on a flawless Saturday morning all to myself, I met a strikingly handsome young man that forever indented my thinly sheet-metaled life. Side swiped at a necessary four-way intersection that I’d normally have blazed through without a glance. I’ve always considered my life to be one of privilege in all the stereotypical sense of the meaning. I learned that Saturday morning that I have not a clue what privilege or perfection is. 

 

The young man that sauntered by me was a mere child at 28 years old - with soul of a whithered old man. He had a smile that melted my heart. With a sincere and genuine smile that could take him far and wide should he so desire. A smile that wouldn’t allow me to not to speak. A smile that invited me to at least say hello. His name is Kris. 

 

In between Kris backwashing of the pool filters and generally cleaning up around me, arranging deck chairs and the like; he unwittingly allowed me about two hours of his time. After our small talk about the weather and the usual bull shit one feels obliged to offer through the raw meeting of someone; he sat on the cement next to my chair. Within the time he allowed me, I found that I’d really never experienced true gratefulness to be drawing my next breath. 

 

Looking back, I am truly honored to have ever met Kris. As I’ve mentioned prior, I’m not a terribly religious man. But this boy showed up at a seemingly odd moment, an expeditious acceptation on both of our parts that was surely aligned with the stars the wind and the moon. Karma? Angels? 

I haven’t the time to elaborate on all that young Kris taught me that day in-between two simple hours, but I’d like to mention a few points that amazed me. 

He’d traveled the
United States on commerce trains passing by wherever he stood, climbing aboard at his own whim. Absent of schedule, he moved from town to town, working simple jobs just to eat. The only place in the US he’d never been was Jackson Hole
Wyoming to go fly fishing. A place he said he’d always wanted to see. 

He shared very personal spaces with me, usually reserved for the years of psychotherapy that could never ever unlock the essence of. Rape – many. Starved of food – often. Loved – seldom. Allowing the lust of another, be it man or woman when it equaled a decent night’s rest. A self proclaimed “misplaced being” from the standard issue normal society – always. Parents… heritage unknown. Once beat to a bloody pulp by four men intruding upon his fancy of the wrong woman – girl,. while overstaying his welcome in a city he couldn’t even recall. From what beating he left the govt sponsored trauma hospital with two titanium plates in his forehead and one in his right leg. I felt them. They were real. Once discharged he simply climbed aboard the next boxcar to… elsewhere. 

I asked Kris if I was to camp here again in about six months or a year, would I see him again. He most assuredly said “no”. 

 

Whenever I suffer from a bad day, or from what I might consider a bad day; I think of Kris’ undying spirit to boldly carry on regardless of anyone or anything. To proudly profess his perfectly clear understanding of his (our) world and what it means to really live life. A life he’s already lived. One I’ll never be privelaged enough to see in all of my days. 

 

All the
United States over, never a single photo taken. His mind is an 100 gig hard drive of true experience that only he can access. 

 

Notice in this missive I never referenced a negative adjective. In our two hours of friendship, Kris never did either. 

 

I wish him a great experience fly fishing in
Wyoming. 

 

 

I wonder how many oblivious people have dismissed Kris, glancing… judging only from a galloping horse. How unfortunate for them. 

 

Forever touched,WoMbaT1

Forever Friendship May 9, 2007

One of the biggest mysteries in my life is that much of my time, neck deep in my individual assignments or interests of  routine life, I’ve often failed to note the fact that some of my most lifelong memories were occurring right in my lap. I never imagined I’d be looking back upon those times in which I was seeming’too busy’ to notice - for the rest of my life.

I’ve recently received a message from a fine woman that I was privileged to have work with me in Atlanta, GA. She worked for me from early 1998 until around 2000, or so. Or, did I work for her! As we past through times where we bucked up at each other for decisions we’d both made in learning each other, I happened upon an extrodinary friendship. A very unassuming friendship. A friendship finding me completely off guard.

We argued passionately. We respected one another beyond the average and equal supervisor and coworker roles. I’d never managed nine people simultaneously. GOD knows I’d never managed anyone like my Jax. She was definitely NOT mentioned in the managerial handbook on how to corral and handle a passionate and opinionated south Carolinian gal!”

Jackie taught me things about the AutoCad software that kept my head above water, and often my ass out of the fire. I too taught her the ins and outs of yet another, lesser utilized software in the SE Uninted States.

While reminicing back upon your career, have you ever recalled the days where you were so happy in the morning that you couldn’t wait to go to work? Whether or not you were dead tired, hung over, having to face an angry boss or your problematic subordinates and all of their god damned personal drama, or having to ride the train ’cause your raggedy ass car wouldn’t start.

Perhaps unassumingly on her behalf, that’s what Jackie did for me. She kept me wanting to carry on during a very difficult time in my life. To get up and race to work. These are the times I recollect having Jackie as my right hand woman. I always knew she’d speak her mind. And I always knew she’d pull no punches when a schedule was improperly presented. All fucked up if you will. I always knew Jax would handle whatever she was assigned - always on time and always under budget.

I miss my gall pal. My friend that I’d never have known would be a life long friend and fond memory… A life long true friend. A friend that would write nasty messages back and fourth with me, during a rediculous closed door meeting about some idiot manager making a rediculous presentation about the price of tea in China, or some other insignificant time wasting shit. Someone who would hold down the mute button on the phone during a conference call with a client - and say “what a fucking idiot this guy is… what planet is he on… his name must be Jack Me Off.”

Jackie and I had about 50 years of experience between the two of us. And we didn’t mind letting people know ‘what time it was!’ while we were simultaneously showing our utmost respect for our coworkers and subordinates.

We were a good team.  We always will be individually. But just between you and I and the fence post, I think we will be the dynamic duo again in our respective careers. i hope we will be.

I miss you Jax. I know we’ll always be friends. All the best to you and Brady. You are a great couple. I know he was hard to wrangle, but that’s only ’cause he knew you were the ONE! He’s a great man.

Your best pal, Walt… or WALLY if you must. (I’ve never allowed myself to be addressed as WALLY besides anyone but Jackie… Not that I had a choice or anything!!)

wombat1.wordpress.com

A little bird begged me May 6, 2007

I’m not sure what the norm is, but somewhere life, let’s say my mid forties; I’ve begun to care less and less about the human species and more about the wild life we disturb daily on a global front. Maybe in my reality the animal kingdom has become whom I can coax to truly listen to me. Those that will allow me a word in a simple conversation. Those beasts of paradise that I can actually influence in all that I’ve mistaken in my own life. Those K-9s that sleep on my Sealy Posturpedic while I’m roused out to the couch.

An odd beginning to a column I know. So I’ll get to my point… eventually. Today I was doing my twice a week routine of picking up my four dog’s waste off of the rear lawn. ‘Dudy’ duty if you must. Four rather large dogs – thus eliminating, in my educated estimation, about 10lbs of exhaust per week. FYI: the bigger the dog the bigger the dog piles.

Curiously odd to me, the four of them combined eat about 20lbs of food per week. Where does the other 10lbs. go? To their thighs I suppose.

Anyway, as I sauntered about collecting my home manifested fertilizer, I happened upon a small bird it appeared. I had to look closely; it was indeed a newly born warbler. I assumed belonging to the brood of screeching Blue Jays that have taken roost in a roll of roofing felt left in the rafters of my open side carport long ago.

As I stared in horror at the happenings before me, I noticed that the unsuspecting babe was being eaten alive by red ants. Half of the poor thing was already skeletal remains, but the little fella was still barely waving one already taloned leg in what seemed a plea of ‘I give up’… I’m tapping out… and please ants, hurry up in this evolutional gap.

I took it upon myself to end his evident misery. To end his only hours long existence here on earth. For that horrific moment I played God, if you will. That of which I’d never imagined or experienced before. I struggle with what God really means to me. But to intercept a situation and perform what I feel was a humane ending to the obvious suffering of a real living being; the hierarchy of life became more painfully obvious than ever.

At first I just finished my task at hand and carried on forward. Later in the day, on my third happy home owner project list, I sat on my just assembled park bench reflecting upon the life that I had ended this morning. I actually fell apart over this little bird that was doomed from his uncharted onset. Doomed from his proud elation in finding that of which we’ve all once longed for - the uphoria of exiting our own nests. Finally escaping the incubation period and safety of his Mother’s well kempt house… just like ours was.

In a peculiar sort of way, my well unfurled sail fell limp. I was stagnant in un-chartered waters. Wind not a-blowin’… sure pergatory.

I’ve since examined web info on the southern Blue Jay and learned that one of the possible 2-5 newborns “leaves the nest”. I suppose I happened across that unnamed little  one today. I also learned hat the Southern females move around to 82% more suitors compared to their Northern neighbors at 42% in infidelity. As in the human spiecies, the Southern gals are filthier and sluttier! Kidding, relax.

So, I’ve just returned from our ill positioned inner city feed store - four bird houses in hand.  After I hung them in the Blue Jay’s territorial area, I respectfully dubbed the namesake of each bird house the names of my four dogs. As my grief then sorrow subsided, I knew in my heart that I’ve done the right thing. I once again was reminded that I can again still feel.

As a very real side note, I’m painfully reminded of the fact that it always takes an Army of hundreds… even untold thousands (of we ants), to topple the well trespassed, fraudulant big guy. For his own sake, I hope he never falls from his secure perch. Or do I!

All the best,

Queen ant

Wombat1.wordpress.com

http://www.birds.cornell.edu/birdhouse/results/box_reoccupation

Proud to have Pride April 30, 2007

Why is it that during our most innocuousness, some of the most memorable times of our lives; those that our minds allow us to recall – just show up uninvited?

I believe it is an unintended… unattended check point of our lives. A turnaround on a turnpike, marked “for emergency vehicles only”. I hope they didn’t have cameras there when I last declined their suggestion in signage.

At anyfuckin’rate and for reasons completely random in a less than stable mind. I thought tonight, of a life altering experience I was part of, June of 2000. I will always hold this hesitantly obliged invitation dear to my heart. Once recollecting that day’s events, my mind hemorrhages with the joy that seemingly ordinary day offered me.

As a new resident to Atlanta, GA, knowing no one, I embraced the invitation of  my favorite Lesbian ‘tender at the legendary 24-7 bar of it’s time - Backstreet Atlanta (for 30 years grandfathered to the playboy club), (now condos) about me participating in the “Harley Hysteria” that traditionally initiates the Pride Parade of Atlanta’s official “Gay Pride Parade”.

Imagine, my puny 140lb ass atop 1200cc’s of raw American engineered power. Basically a rocket strapped to a bicycle frame - following the direction of a woman I’d always considered to be a very womanly… MAN!

The President of Exxon – a supposed world leader I’d once met, had no longer a place in my personal repertoire of (what I thought was) fame & guaranteed fortune. He hasn’t a clue. He hasn’t a third the leadership skills I was subordiate to that June day.

Amongst the 38 of us “parade starters” were I, one other strikingly handsome (terrified) male… and 36… uh, other… women to some degree. Piloting an estimated three quarter a million dollars worth of obnoxiously loud raucous American pride. Not just gay pride – American pride.

I’ve never witnessed the unbelievable, the unspoken exchange and appreciation – the filming of us bikers, the paparazzi fashioned photography of us from the Mounted Patrol, in an odd sort of analogous way with the APD, the love and equality - the mutual respect and admiration from that of The Atlanta Police Mounted Patrol & Atlanta Fire Department - and we (Gay? or not) Iron horse riders. I’d immagned me being photographed by a Cop - but only at APD headquarters.

It was quite an extraordinary sight to behold. One I’d never witnessed anywhere. That of which I’ll likely never again see or appriciate in my time again. For however a fleating moment, we were on stage for all the city to un-christianlike pass judgement upon.

I’ll not bore you with what became that day’s & night’s activities. But if any readers know Atlanta’s Pride festivals – it’s a solid week long event, rain or shine. Many of these festivals have brought fourth the likes of The B-52’s, REM, Montell Williams,  HBO productions, Turner Broadcasting, CNN, etc., Even a version of the current Bush regime showed up. Who was that snake in wolves clothing. God love the poor bastard who signed up for that costume. He’s still recovering.

Truly, it was more fun than I could possibly have ever prepared myself for. In my own simplistic take, I figure the Atlanta Pride Parade is so large, because of the fact that Atlanta is the unassuming buckle of the bible belt. Luckily for me, The Baptist convention was being held there that year.

If God truly loves me, he’ll forgive the spectacle I’m guilty of staging on any given day.

And in that same year, in an unprecedented gesture to all, the then current Mayor allowed the Pride banners to be strung along city light poles all throughout downtown and Midtown. Perhaps his futile effort to burry the fact that he was a political CROOK! He was my neighbor. I loved him during his tenure in his respective office. Let’s just say… uh… he left me alone; as did I turn a blind eye toward him (and his filthy hateful dirty disrespectful spoiled rotten bratty ass children).

The remains of what I’ve carried away from my short time in a very odd conglomeration of a place…….  and a wonderful 4 years in Atlanta, amounts simply to this: 

Suppression shall always come as aggression for those who disallow evolution.

Quote me on that. PLEASE! GOD knows I need the negative press.

Any at all is good right?All the best my little Angels,

WMT III

Avis on crack April 23, 2007

Good day Avis Officers:

If you need a Marketing Manager call me. I have a team that will increase your bottom line ten fold. Obviously, the firm you have managing your current advertising campaign is high… as in otherwise chemically altered.

Your television commercial has me changing the channel as quickly as possible upon the onset of these imbeciles with this absurd wide open mouth concept, that quite frankly scares the hell out of me. My Grandmother was so confused that she changed the batteries in her remote, thinking the damn thing had given up completely, while surely trying to tune in elsewhere.

My brief point of view penned in your limited web site space, is that I… and many millions of Avis customers have Ipods, or the like.  However, in my humble opinion, we execs don’t give a damn if even the radio is operable in our rag-a-muffin rentals. As big business narrates - executive phone calls and world altering decisions are being closed over satellite cellulars and Blackberrys that our respective employers are covering gratis, carte blanche for the betterment of their bottom line.

How do “free Napster songs” fit into this picture?I love avis. In all honesty, I never consider renting elsewhere. My query here is – who is your target audience? 

All the best…  and hey! “we try harder” – that’s the meat of what turns on carnivorous businesspeople. 

Faithfully anyway,

Walter M. Tarpley III

713-545-….

Show me love April 23, 2007

Tonight, of all the seven nights to go out and carry on like the common filthy hetaeristic demonic child that I am… I had an extraordinary revelation. True love is pointed directly in all of our faces. We’ve never learned to recognize true love – more than that just considered common. There simply wasn’t a class on it… in-between Home Economics, Sex Ed and Drivers Ed.

Having spent the first 35 years of my life posing in my own self perceived fabulousness, as most of us might have; I came to a conclusion in that horrifically long chapter in my life… say, around 37. I found that I’d never had proper enlightenment, or encouragement to set loftier goals for my future. I was simply put, disregarded… damaged goods… marked down to half price… buy one get one free… unintentionally poised for the probability of being a complete failure…… I was unloved.

At some point during that ignoble young super-sale, say… at 40 years of age, I’ve taken the time to recollect the usual “liberty” visits that my father was awarded during his time defending our country. Since I’m far from being a math wizard, I added and subtracted dates, carried the two, divided by seven, had a drink… and arrived at the reality of me being unplanned. My sister and I were simply a shot in the dark on my parent’s behalf – exactly marked nine months post liberty, times two.

That’s likely is the norm from that era. Regardless, during all the missed opportunities in my life- I was never taught what love is. The expected love and nurturing one might assume from their mother and father. I wasn’t told the many variances of the meaning of said word. Kindergarten love. Real love forever and ever, or even for the moment. Add love at first sight (I’ve always thought that was a ‘crock-o-shit’ – but I’ve experienced it personally). Playful love, perhaps that felt for a family pet. Passionate, desperate, sleep deprived, heart-wrenching unbridled love of a high school sweetheart.

Incestuous love. Love from a trusted neighbor or Pastor. Love from a passerby at the safe haven of a school bus stop. Love improper.

Tonight, at 42.75 years old, during the borderline insanity that is currently my existence – I embraced the meaning of what real love is: the love of my life. As in past tense, I was no where near expectant of where or when this love might have accosted my well worn heart. It came in the form of two Labs and a Hag. For all the finery and riches collected the world over – I couldn’t replace her.You are my sunshine… you are my cloudiest day… you are real.

I love you FILTHY

W

implicit Imperialist April 16, 2007

I’ve always considered myself to be somewhat intelligent. If nothing more, certainly less simple than your average sheep. I wish I could respect the following subject or the institution from which it came. Any sort of test like this leaves so much to the author’s imagination of the way the world is from his/her broad… or grossly limited perspective. Liken it to the Stanford IQ test. Useless to all - period!

On that test I scored “superior to average” in 10 minutes time on a 30 minute test. I’m impatient and do not “go back” to questions that I didn’t know the answers to.  So, with that - and $9.75 I could get a Starbuck’s Latte.

I took this absurd racial test three times. They all three placed me in the “slight preference to white people to black people”.

Duh!! I’m Kilz primer white inside and out. At one point while taking the test - I was making a dry martini stirred not bruised with one Queen olive and one Holland onion served straight up poured from a fabulous 1930’s art deco shaker … simultaneously scratching my balls and just simply picked what I was forced to pick to keep the nonsensical test moving forward.

Still, I rated the same as if I were paying close attention. This ignorant sort of bull shit always surfaces when there is any sort of scandalous firestorm of Ho’s and nappyness - like with Imus, created by some… well, several… Malcolm X wannabies coke headed hate mongering racist perpetuatin’ cheatin’, outa wedlock breedin’ & sinnin’ with filthy assed nappy headed Ho’s posing as good ol’ boy God fearing reverends of the church of what the fuck B happenin’ now!

Anyway, take the fatuous test if you have five minutes to burn. Drunk & disorderly, at church Sunday morn, on your Blackberry, eating blackberry pie, whatever… the results shall be the same. And therefore is as useless as any other test based on chance. A spin at the roulette table is sure to hold a better return. https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/demo/takeatest.html 

later Nappys

PS:  If you wanna see a passionate writer’s carrying on… click here: http://lauriekendrick.wordpress.com/ 

She’s not nearly as filthy as she looks. 

Chronic Chronicle April 12, 2007

I recently read an article on the “top 30” daily news papers in the country. I was disappointed to see that our Houston Chronicle was on the list at all. Since the Houston Post bellied up years ago after being bought by a New York company and lost many of its readers, it was sold to the Chronicle. So since there is no competition, why the hell bother with publishing a decent quality, interesting daily rag… in the true sense of the word. The National Inquirer offers better edited content.

And for the home delivery of this or any paper, what’s the point. I mean, the young men cold sale soliciting the paper have resorted to literally begging me to buy a six month subscription or any of their packages. I’ve been told “I’m a struggling college student”, I need one more six month sale today to win a trip to Tahiti”, even “please man, I have a baby and we’ve been really hungry”. I get less harassment at the corner of ‘walk and don’t walk’ by the panhandlers.  He seemed like I was from Mars when I simply said that I read the Chronicle when I feel like it – when I’m bored - for free on my computer screen.

I did mention that the only disadvantage to not receiving the physical paper version is that I have nothing else to pick up the dog shit in my yard with; my car’s windows have been ridden with lint since having to use paper towels for cleaning them and my local fish monger has nothing to wrap his fish in. My second to last suggestion I offered the young man was to find a new profession. I simply said to him that life has changed in the home delivery business unless he had a pizza or Sesame Chicken; and that perhaps he’d bode a better paycheck in that arena. As he left my stoop, I lastly recommended that he not major in business marketing - then I promptly dug out and posted that NO SCOLICITING sign by my door bell. Not that that will help.

Here’s the top 30 list, for what it’s worth:

Brand or Channel, Unique Audience (000), Web Page Views (000), Time per Person (hh:mm:ss) NYTimes.com: 12,960 — 455,527 — 0:37:09
USATODAY.com: 9,050 — 169,517 — 0:22:08
Washingtonpost.com: 8,030 — 154,836 — 0:20:28
LA Times: 4,546 — 50,986 — 0:12:08
Wall Street Journal Online: 3,436 — 42,067 — 0:15:50
The Houston Chronicle: 3,292 — 93,737 — 0:20:44
SFGate.com: 3,236 — 51,617 — 0:14:56
Boston.com: 3,197 — 57,154 — 0:20:56
Chicago Tribune: 2,973 — 45,283 — 0:13:44
New York Post: 2,684 — 31,335 — 0:09:01
Daily News Online Edition: 2,555 — 9,754 — 0:05:04
Chicago Sun-Times: 2,142 — 14,804 — 0:08:13
Orlando Sentinel: 2,049 — 16,914 — 0:06:21
Newsday: 2,047 — 20,336 — 0:05:13
MercuryNews.com: 1,950 — 9,577 — 0:04:42
Azcentral.com: 1,858 — 19,587 — 0:08:48
The Seattle Times: 1,810 — 18,649 — 0:09:19
The San Diego Union-Tribune: 1,699 — 8,869 — 0:04:58
Seattle Post-Intelligencer: 1,698 — 13,006 — 0:06:48
International Herald Tribune: 1,685 — 3,201 — 0:02:23
MiamiHerald.com: 1,644 — 16,476 — 0:11:54
Sun-Sentinel: 1,630 — 23,437 — 0:10:52
The Washington Times: 1,607 — 6,224 — 0:04:15
Ottaway Newspapers: 1,557 — 12,862 — 0:06:00
Atlanta Journal-Constitution: 1,429 — 54,994 — 0:31:29
Star Tribune: 1,385 — 24,944 — 0:23:32
Village Voice Media: 1,377 — 5,205 — 0:04:07
DallasNews.com: 1,358 — 17,174 — 0:08:10
The Detroit News: 1,273 — 16,839 — 0:12:34
Philly.com: 1,243 — 21,785 — 0:17:32E&P Staff (letters@editorandpublisher.com)

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