Terry Schiavo #2

Still dead.

Terry Schiavo

This is my first post about Terry Schiavo.

She is dead.

Honestly, it's hard to be concerned about global politics, the meaning of life or even simply reading when you have your firstborn on the way. Logically I have accepted the fact that I am going to have a child. But in reality, I just can't get my arms around the concept. I understand that my father had a son which turned out to be my brother. And then he had another son which turned out to be me. I understand the concept of sonship. Daughtership I comprehend, but have no real firsthand experience with the concept. I even look at Emily's belly and know that there is a real human being in the process of being formed even as I sleep next to her and dream about robbing houses in France and running through factories in my underwear.

I see all of this happening in front of me and around me. I even find my own belly growing before my eyes. However I really cannot fathom the actuality of having a son or daughter to care for and raise. What a mystery this all is. I even got really drunk the other night and felt horrible. I realize that those days are over for me. I no longer have just my body to flail around and do with as I please. My body is not my own.

I can't keep up with y'all. Lacan, Zizec, Baudilaire, whoever the flip. None of it is important to me. My heart isn't in it. I suppose I'll never get past Kierkegaard and I think that's o.k. Eventually I'll finish Works of Love, even if it takes me 'til I'm 50. In the meantime, I'll content myself with drinking a beer on my porch, flipping through the most recent issue of National Geographic or Harper's and wondering if I'll be living at this house long enough to see my child playing in the front yard and hiding in the bushes. That's not so bad really.

Zinn #2

It is clear to me that the only reason the non-elite, the marginalized, the poor people without land ever got anything in the early days of this country is because they armed themselves and banded together to fight for their rights; to fight against the tyranny of the land-owners and the elite.

I keep telling Emily that we are going to see some crazy shit in our lifetimes. Recession turns into depression and the people get restless. Not even new episodes of CSI and Survivor can turn back this tide. Eventually people will no longer be concerned about ideology, they will be concerned about having the capital to shelter and feed their children. Militias will fight federal armies. Townspeople will take up arms against their local governments. Washington D.C. will be surrounded by cement baricades and guarded by tanks and snipers. An exodus will begin--American emigrants to Canada and Mexico. A few at first. Many more later. Then they will shut their borders. The world will turn against us, because we have turned against them. Our transgressions are tenfold. We will reap what we have sewn.

Little Horror

Wisconsin state officials insist that a halfway house (type thing) for sex offenders has to be built somewhere in Milwaukee county, but every time they decide on an area the residents rally in protest. These protesters say heinous things. They say the offenders are monsters, and they need to go to jail for the rest of their lives. The men sound like snotty third grade tattle-tales, but with gruff Cheesehead voices. The women have all sworn to protect their children, so how can they allow this home to be built?

If I wanted to ruin my life, if I wanted to lose every shred of my sense of self, I would be a sex offender. In my experience working at Indian Oaks Academy, I began to see that these kids could never, ever be normal again. The institution ensures that they think of themselves as freaks whose every instinct has to be second-guessed. If their life was my life, I would be utterly hopeless.

But having that sympathy for a sex offender will do little to placate the neighbors where this home will eventually be built. I have no kids, so I can't imagine what their fears are like. It doesn't make sense for me to say that what these people should do once the criminals move in is bake them a damn pie and bring over the whole family for some card games. I would want them to feel normal.

(It's sort of a facticity thing, right? Like, if you kill someone how long are you a murderer for? What are you besides a murderer? Can you ever stop being a murderer?)

Pegi Taylor has a much more sane approach to the issue than I do, and a pithier response. She did some good research. She found a study that shows that something like 95 per cent of people who are offended knew the person who hurt them. She says that the house should go about two blocks from her house. I think that makes sense. I'd like to see them build it in my neighborhood; considering I don't know any of the residents, I'll sleep safe and sound.

A Clean and Pure Blog

You potty mouths!

You vulgardirtynaughty excuses for thinking people!

You oughta be ashamed of yourselves.

Have you noticed the amount of curse words that people just freely use around the blogosphere? There is no thought of what message they may be sending or whose eyes they may be offending. No thought.

Well we here at The Tarantular Chief Jason are taking a stand, you filthy mouthed vermin. No longer will we Fuck the world, we will Fart the world. No longer will we go out drinking and get Shitfaced, no, we will get Kakafaced. There are no Assholes here at The Tarantular Chief Jason there are only poopooheads.

So listen here you kaka loving motherfarting dirty lipped poopoofaces.

No more!

No more!

No more!

You are absolved of your need to cuss at The Tarantular Chief Jason

After all, we are a Clean and Pure Blog with little to no damn cussing.

Iraq

I'm not one for links usually, but I figure we should keep this in the forefront and realize it's still going on. This article talks about journalists in Falujah who describe U.S. soldiers killing civillians and children. Our military is apparently using napalm as well. They link to one of the journalist's blogs here.

At least the senate voted down the $14 billion proposed cuts on Medicaid funding.

Coming Soon:

Music - As soon as I figure out how to put audio on here, I got a new song for ye.

Zinn - Another post on Zinn's history of the U.S.

Lynch - A comment on David Lynch's web series, Rabbits.

I roil.

A feature on Allison's show from the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel.

Reg(i)stry

Wedding registry is a funny thing idn't it? I mean, honestly, who the hell registers?

Emily and I are registered at Target, Crate 'N Barrell and REI. Fuck yeah we put a canoe on there! If someone's gonna give me a canoe, just because I'm gettin hitched to the best goddamn girl in the world, then by god I'm gonna let em.

I can picture myself, Emily and our newborn babe lunching on the lake in the shade of a willow tree. The babe is suckling his mother's white breast in the cool air of a hot days heat. I, munching on chips and swigging a pale ale, looking at the marvelous bugs on the limb in front of my face. I ask Emily if she knows what kind of bugs they are and what their mating characteristics are (she knows alot about this shit). She, giving me her look as she smiles the smile that goes along with that look, contents herself with holding the child in front of her face and kissing his eyes. We lunch on lentils and kool-aid and love the love that love's the love that love's the love that love's the love.

Go right now to REI and make this scene a reality. Help promote family and nature and love, all at the same time. Can all of your clamoring about Bush and the Republican's and the defense budget really compare to this? Spend your tips wisely. Go into debt just a little more. Give to the American Dream.

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There are alot of Jason Lees' getting married. What the hell? I put in my name to get to our registry and there are a gazizillion number of Jason Lees' signed up. So I started looking at their registries. Some poor couple got married in November of 2004 and nobody got them shit! Then another couple from '04 got almost everything on their list.

Well I have half a mind to go buy something for that poor schmuck, Jason Lee, who didn't have any friends decent enough to even buy him an espresso square plate! what the hell? Somebody already got us a vacuum food sealer , a four slice toaster and the spicy salsa pillow. I'm already happy with that!

I wouldn't mind the type of furniture that Bethany and Fred got for their wedding. Although I don't know if people are man enough to do it again. Are ya? Huh? Huh? Are ya?

Word.

Let's All Clear Our Throats

It's awesome that Jason's blog is awesome.

Russ is here and Jeff is coming tonight. We're gonna have some fun. Also, I've joined a band. Isn't that exciting? We've got a show on April 1. Tomorrow I'm going to be featured at Linneman's open stage. There have been two rehearsals for my play and it's going, it's going.

Rejoice!

I have been taking pleasure in my hands recently. I guess more specifically, the work that I put my hands to.

I look forward to the turning of the lock to the front door and the good feeling that key has as it slides in perfectly and turns the deadbolt.

I take pleasure in the drawing of the small sharp knife with the white plastic handle (not one of the "better" knives*)from the silverware drawer--the wooden drawer that slides out smoothly, but not too smoothly--in order to cut the cellophane packaging of some spinach that was fresh bought tonight; I am having a strawberry jam, spinach and Wasa cracker sandwich.

I watch and listen to the pooring of the oolong tea into my tiny Chinese teacup and the dribbling sound of the tea from the small spout of the small brown pot.

My hands. Their work is more deliberate, with purpose. I have never felt this before.

I did three loads of laundry on Monday--two of them were Emily's. It felt good as I folded her shirts and pants and underwear, knowing that when she selects her clothes for the next week she will be undoing my fold-job and placing them on her body.

I cooked dinner for Emily and Bridget on Wednesday night - Spicy Pesto Chicken Pasta with Roasted Garlic Mashed Potatoes and Whole Kernel Corn Out Of A Can. It was the first time I have ever roasted Garlic and I got the cloves a little on the dark side of browned. For the pesto chicken I substituted Cholulas hot sauce for the "chili paste" that the recipe called for (do you like the sound of "chili paste?") The roasted garlic mashed potatoes tasted of blackened garlic and were palatable yet not that good. The pesto chicken pasta may have been one of the best dishes I have ever made. It is definitely going into my repiratoire.

I have discovered why my dad always stayed up later than everyone else. This time is my time to do with as I please. Some of it is used to tap into my latent OCD and pick up the living room, the dining room and the kitchen. It feels good to make a place new and clean and ordered.

At least 3 times today, I put my face up to Emily's belly and said in a high pitched voice, "Hello baby, how are you doing in there?" That always gets laughs from whomever's watching, and of course it makes me look cute. I expect my conversations to get longer and more complex as my child gets older. We'll start on Socrates at 12 weeks and maybe move on to the pre-Socratics at 15.

I picked up a book today by Marcel Mauss - A General Theory of Magic. I read the prologue and the first chapter. It looks intriguing. I remember my friend, Virgil Brower, always talking about Mauss and Levi-Strauss.

I drove 45 minutes to sit through a 4-hour seminar today about baby cribs and highchairs. The products they were selling looked great. Too bad I don't have enough money and don't like layaway plans. At least Emily and I have a coupon to send in so we can get deluxe accomodations for 3 days and 2 nights in one of a list of cities, none of which I have any real desire to visit.

At any rate, life feels good. This is a heroic and liberating time. It is mundane and practical and good. The work of my hands is my art.


*better knives - knives with wooden handles that don't necessarily cut better but just feel better in the palm of your hand.



Update: I have found another recipe for some pesto chicken pasta that looks even better! It uses sundried tomatoes--something Emily and I have been loving lately. I make a damn good sundried tomato and spinach pizza. And yes, I make the dough myself thank you very much.

Update: If you were wondering, you spell that plasticy packaging stuff celophane, and you spell that garbage heap of famous knowledge your repertoire. I also helped blogger learn "oolong" and "sundried" tonight. What can I say, I'm a good vocabulary teacher.

Prohibition anyone?

A prohibition is afoot in Turkey. Apparently the goverment has instituted a tax on liquor so high that bootleggers are having a heyday. The article cites the effects of bootleg "raki":

A total of 44 people have been hospitalised so far with complaints of vomiting, dizziness, headache and loss of eyesight.

Hello people, you're hungover!

The one thing Ataturk forgot to teach--how to drink like an Irishman.

Beer

Have I ever mentioned that I brew my own beer? My most recent brew was a variation of a "palace bitter." The recipe for a palace bitter calls for two different kinds of hops, whereas I used three different kinds. The use of hops has different effects on a beer depending on when you put said hops into the "wort" (this term refers to the liquid that you boil up before you seal it in a vessel to ferment). As soon as the wort starts to boil, you would add hops in order to give the beer a bittering effect. If you like pale ales, then you appreciate this bittering effect. You may have heard a pale ale referred to as an "India Pale Ale." The history of this apparently stems from the shipping routes from England to colonized India. This route went south around the tip of Africa. In order to preserve their beer, the English used hops as a preservative so that their beer would not spoil. Thus the India Pale Ale.

Adding hops into the wort in the last 5 to 10 minutes of the boil is known as "flavoring hops." This is just as it says--the beer takes on the flavor of the hops. There are many different types of hops with varying flavors, so depending on which types of hops you use is the flavor that your beer adopts.

The last addition of hops occurs in the last minute or two of the boil. This is called the "aromatic hops." Again, this is self descriptive as this addition of hops adds a nice aroma to the final product. Of course the end aroma of your beer depends on the type of hops that you use.

I have been drinking my "palace bitter" for a couple weeks now and have enjoyed it thoroughly. There really is nothing like drinking a beer that you brewed yourself. Similarly, there is nothing quite like pissing off of your own porch.

Word.

Zinn #1

It is the year 1776. You know, the year the colonies declared their independence from England. The Declaration of Independence. It was shouted from the rooftops. The Declaration of Independence. "We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal." So equal that four days after the reading of this document from the town hall balcony in Boston, the townsmen of this city were ordered to arrive on the Common for a military draft. A draft that could be avoided if one were rich enough to pay for a substitute. If you had enough money, you could buy your way out of "patriotic duty."

All men are created equal. What a joke. This country has never been about equal rights. It's always been about giving the dissenting voices enough table scraps to keep them quiet. And it has worked overwhelmingly well.

I'm reminded of Fahrenheit 911 when Michael Moore is trying to get congressmen to sign their children up for military service. They weren't really going for it. Not so much. They were, however, more than willing to send other people's children. Your and my neighbors, friends, brothers and cousins.

(from a reading of Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States)