Putting the k: in What the Fuck:

I have been inspi(red). I have been pushed. As the charges on my family crest represent, I will not fight unless provoked. I have been provoked to unleash a fury of stinging commentary upon a single target. The target in my sight is the provocateur. The provocateur of a the desi(red) wrath should prepare. From behind the screen the pith will flow while in your presence I will bow to chivalry. The eyes are very telling. Telling indeed. A devote conviction is a worthy opposition. You have been weakened by logic.

I see it in your eyes.

O Come, All Ye Faithful, to Methlehem

That's right folks. The community of Bethlehem, PA sticks to the fundamentals of education. Reading, Writing and Arrhythmia. Go ahead, sing it outloud, you know you want to. You'll never hear it the same again. Thank me later.

From CNN we get this update regarding the Decline of the Western Civilization.

BETHLEHEM, Pennsylvania (AP) -- A middle school principal was charged with dealing crystal methamphetamine after police found the drug in his school office.

John Acerra, 50, of Allentown, was arrested Tuesday in his office at Nitschmann Middle School in Bethlehem, where police said they found meth on his desk.

Police said they began investigating Acerra in early February after an informant told them that the principal was using and distributing the drug, The Morning Call newspaper reported Wednesday. Acerra was arrested in his office after allegedly selling drugs to the informant, authorities said.

There was no indication that Acerra sold the drug to students, but Acerra did allegedly sell the drug from his school office after hours and on weekends, said Dennis Mihalopoulos, an agent with the Drug Enforcement Agency.

Acerra has an unlisted phone number and it was not clear if he had an attorney. He was arraigned on felony drug charges and sent to county prison, with bail set at $200,000.

Bethlehem Area School District Superintendent Joseph Lewis did not immediately return a phone call from on Wednesday.

Perhaps a demotion to the chemistry department is in order.

It's a matter of consistency.

Speaking of consistency, my children's elementary school within the PCSD has recently provided the kids with an opportunity to participate in a fundraiser for the HSA. Following the tradition of kicking 60% back up to the Sally Foster organization they have decided that the new Cookie Dough Fundraiser from Emily's Home Bakery, presented by Sally Foster, is an appropriate option. But wait a second, the PCSD recently instituted a Wellness Policy to address healthy choices for children. The policy creates guidlines particularily toward treats and snacks brought from home for parties, celebrations, etc. My son said he may like to bring some of the cookies to school for his birthday. Being ever so interested in the PCSD Wellness Policy I had difficulty finding any Nutritional Data for the Sally Foster products. A quick search of the web and a phone call to HQ provided the information I was seeking.

None of the products the children are being asked to hustle meet the guidelines of the PCSD Wellness Policy. What does that say about sending mixed messages. "Don't eat this or that and certainly don't bring it to school for your 10th Birthday Party, but please, please, go out and SELL SELL SELL. We desparately need the the money." My curiousity has been peaked. Another call, this one to the volunteer coordinator of the fundraiser, left me feeling anything but comfortable with the decision making process. When asked if the PCSD Wellness Policy was considered when chosing this type of fundraiser the answer, without hestiation, was NO.

That's just lovely.

If you need the money, just ask. Giving kids the opportunity to hustle that which is verboten with the lure of wonderful prizes for the Top Hustler (see Methlehem story) is hypocrisy at its finest.

No surfing here. No need to make waves.

Bending and twisting your rules.

As a milestone anniversary approaches I am plagued with the notion of tradition. Traditional expectations, traditional gifts, traditional values and the traditional day to mark a lifelong commitment. When we reach this day do we have a party? I would have preferred a party last Wednesday afternoon around 3:37 or so. That's when I wanted a party. Family members give the impression that a NASA countdown has begun especially for us complete with space diapers and weightless anticipation. Do I get a cool Mission Accomplished badge to wear on my sleeve.

Why that day, the day we were bound by the State? Perhaps the day love coldcocked me like that motherfucking bouncer at............nevermind, that's another story. But I can't say when because it just happened. No banners or pyrotechnics, no black ties or vodka bars and certainly no invitaions with the wrong san serif font. Our marriage is anarchism in practice. Beautiful and chaotic with a smattering of lust.

Have you ever seen Picasso's original sketch for Guernica? Void of passion and merely a template. Tradition is a template, void of passion. Life is passion. So marking these anniversaries is, on the surface, a confirmation of adhering to a template void of passion. Beauty came with passion covering the sketch with layers, upon layers, upon changing layers.

I am, for some reason, reminded of a woman I was chatting with once. The topic of children lead to her referring to her child as her 43 month old. That is tradition run amuck with a smattering of crazy. Are you fucking insane? Issues, I say, issues.

With that I leave you with some suggestions........

--Teach your children to embrace the intricacies of sarcasm.
--When asked to see your receipt, say no and keep on walking.
--Bring your own snacks to the theater, don't hide them like a wuss, parade your good fortune for all to see.
--Always buy tickets for another movie and go to the one you want to see.
--If you see a "punk" coming out of a alternative niche retailer at the local mall, call him/her a poser for all to hear. Because they are.
--Never use a Happy Customer card. Big Brother knows its your special day. Do they really need to record your purchase of duct tape, clothes pins and nonpareils. Well, maybe the coupons next year would be helpful.

This year I plan to purchase a large traditional crystal object and take my wife to a large body of water so that we may enjoy the sound of the plunk as it breaks the chilly surface. A simple punctuation in our lives together.

Fly the flag, we do, literally.

After all, Ceci n’est pas une pipe.

Digitizing the Cultural Fabric of Society.

The current digitization of the historical/cultural fabric of today's society will, in no small terms, eliminate a portion of our collective history. The days of going through shoe boxes filled with correspondence and photographs from our families is over. Remaining true and committed to a tradition of collecting our own personal histories has become increasingly absent and given the advances of the digital world as we know it surprisingly convienient to ignore.

Correspondence and photographs found during quests for our past are slipping away, bit by megabit. Images and letters from loved ones depicting vacations, war and snippets of daily life are true treasures and hold an intrinsic value to us personally and collectively. The lack of the tangible document, as replaced by easily deleted emails and digital snapshots, threaten our future and an understanding of our past. A keystoke and its gone. The real shoebox, not the hard drive, can be stashed away for years and continue to hold its treasures without becoming dependant on technology to reveal such simple secrets. The effort to unmask the content of antiquated digital files in the future could prove laborious and, sadly, not worth the finder's attention.

Film and paper are tangible. You can hold them in your hands. You can protect them. They are precious objects. You need not assume they are there, as with a digital file, because you can see them. Becoming reliant upon another's logarithm to protect and cherish your past is indeed risky at best.

Take matters into your own hands, take them time, fill the void, save your past, provide a record, future generations will be thankful you did.

"It never got weird enough for me."

I have inhaled your ashes, for that I am grateful.

Pencil skirts, making change and takin' names

A recent outing found me in a line waiting and waiting and waiting. Like most lines of this nature, a chance to let the mind wander and ponder life's larger questions. Although, boredom had set in as the big questions became strangely familiar.

My only saving grace was the lovely silhouette of the well dressed woman in front of me. The classic lines of her pencil skirt accented her calm and cool demeanor when faced with the impending doom of the retail cashier interaction process. The transaction was filled with apathy and vapidity by the Register Master.

At the conclusion of the exchange of cash for goods, the aforementioned Register Master looked to the screen of enlightenment for the change to be disbursed to the lady in charcoal gray. An action that I have become most interested in observing within the past few years. I, as the next in line, had mentally made the proper calculations before the Register Master. I'm sure it's not an uncommon feat by many in my position. As she shifted her weight from one hip to the other, with an outstreched hand to receive her funds, she was meet with the practice of placing the bills in hand first and then the coins. Creating a slide, of sorts, for the coins to fall to the fashionable faux granite counter. Also makes for a messy return to your personal cash stashing location. I don't know when this practice started but I don't like it. Not one bit. Coins first, god damn it, coins first!

She, as I call her, makes a graceful turn to the exit as I am stepping forward to conduct my own experiment. My heart racing, a combination of anticipation, lack of daily BP meds, and the sounds She made, heels clicking toward the door. My purchase came to $9.01 to which I offered $10.01, in the proper manner mind you. I waited for it, it didn't take long but I saw it, the Register Master looked for enlightenment. "I caught you, I caught you, you stupid fuckstick", I said to myself and not out loud, I think. Mental note, take names for empirical data. As I glare over my German looking bifocals, I see the Register Master's engraved name tag.

But I wanted to hear it aloud. I asked, "What's your name?", in a snarky tone. To which he responded, "My name is William, Bill for short."

My head lowered in shame, I briskly made for the exit, only to find that She had been run over by a short bus pulling into the space reserved for the Employee of the Month. Her silhouette burned into my memory much like the chalkline around her pencil skirt that was etched into the pavement in a charcoal gray.

Beauty and THE BEAST

A bimbo attempts to trump a dead bimbo that is getting all her press (to be read Anna Nicole). This stunt made it above the fold on CNN. Another sad circus. Look away, this is not the light. Another train wreck, complete with rubber-neckers and gruesome lust for celebrity envy. She too is a tragedy hiding in plain sight.

When I shaved my head in a pre-pre-midlife crisis/fashion statement I received no press. Nor should I have. I am not a star of popular culture, just a guy in Brighton, NY with a wife and kids. At least the hair stylist involved will get some play from her good deeds.

Sinéad, my dear, nothing compares to you.

R.S.V.P. P.C.S.D.!?

This past Thursday, after the schools reopened, within the Town of Brighton sidewalks had yet to be cleared. Walkers to my neighborhood elementary school had no other choice but to walk in the streets. After school there was a back up of traffic for those picking up there children by car. As patience grew thin, a Penfield Central School District bus felt it necessary to commit the act shown in the photograph to the right. Let's see.......if I pull this stunt I could be ticketed. But a school bus, I assume, is to be held to a higher standard. I was pissed. So what do you do when you're pissed? Write a letter. Below is my letter to the Principal, Superintendent of PCSD, Director of PCSD Transportation and the HSA President.

Principal Connell,

I am writing to you today to share my experiences during the after school pickup earlier this afternoon. I had been quite optimistic about the revisions that were made to the original plan. All seemed to be going well until today.

I was at school earlier than usual to pick up my boys, so I thought some photographs of the lack of access to the sidewalks were in order. The sidewalks are a Town of Brighton responsibility however I think I would behoove the PCSD to take note of the lack of accessibility to the walkers of Indian Landing. Students left but no option than to walk in the street.

While chatting with some other parents we noticed that North Landing began to back up with traffic as in past poor weather days. The twist comes when not only cars too impatient to wait out the impromptu delay crossed the double yellow line, but a PCSD school bus felt that is was prudent to follow suit. How in the world can we take the PCSD administration's comments, regarding safety within the district, to heart when given this flagrant display of poor judgement.

The photographs below show the events as stated above and serve to affirm that the presence of a camera merely records an event and doesn't curtail it. Perhaps the bus was equipped with a PCSD approved video camera to record it's own careless actions. Just a thought.

To which I recieved the following response from the Principal:

Dear Mr. (name withheld to protect the antagonist),
Thank you for your email. As always, I appreciate your comments and input regarding our parent pick up system. The teachers that staff that pick up are keeping track of how many days we have back ups, as it has not been problematic since we made the adjustment back on December 11, 2006 of pulling the cars forward past the cafeteria to the second set of gates. As I said in my letter to all parents on December 11th, I appreciate your comments as we navigate the first year in this new system and we will continue to make adjustments, as needed to ensure the safety of our students.

A glorified form letter. At least she could have said she passed the buck up the ladder. That would have at the least made it appear as though they give a shit.

Maybe I have a history of not playing nice. Mixed with my acts of playing nice I'm sure this creates some confusion as to how to address my concerns.

Was is appropriate for me to bring this to there attention? Should we sit by while those carrying the most precious of packages create dangerous scenarios? Should they have the common decency to respond to the issue I raised? The only response came from the principal, I would think the Director of Transportation would at least have some followup questions. But that is if they only gave a shit. Push it under the carpet and all is well. Status Quo. And that's what they like. No surfing here, so lets not make waves. Oh yeah, ever heard of the The North Shore? Get ready PCSD. Cowabunga!!!!!!!!

What is wrong with this place?

Would it kill someone to learn how to make a proper caesar salad in this town? I mean, what the fuck? I can't understand why some establishments in the area offer what they call a Caesar Salad and and then have the nerve to serve me iceberg lettuce with tomatoes and bottled caesar dressing. That's it. Iceberg lettuce, tomatoes and bottled dressing.

Get a clue before you try to elevate your shit-hole restaurant into something "special" for the locals. These are the same people that think good lobster comes from anywhere that is all you can eat for $9.99. Tonight's idiots are in located in the lovely burb of East Rochester. You know who you are. At what point did they decide that we, the consumers, wouldn't notice their utter lack of culinary prowess. Forget the chance of a table side preparation with any flair.

And if you've never been to Philly what gives you the right, yes, you heard me, the right to try to sell me a cheesesteak. This is as straight up Western New York as you can get.

"Do you want a pop with your salad?" Sure, and side order of go fuck yourself.

Give me, your dirty love.

cards, candies, flowers,
diapers, arrows and mush.
oh my love, my dearest love
a massacre and a martyr
a sucker and a chump.
once my lover, now my love
i seek no guidance from above
it is you, my only you
a massacre and a martyr
a sucker and a chump.

Survey Says!!!!

A recent survey lists atheists as the least trusted minority in Amerika. Oh dear, noboby likes me, everyone hates, going to the garden to eat some worms. Listen, surveys are bullshit. I skew them whenever I get called at home to be a trusted participant. I'm the +/- 3% you've wondered about.

I've tested the level of trust by groups/agencies/organizations that don't "share" their lists of confidential information. That's right they don't "share" it, the fucking SELL it. I purposely list my name in a manner that is unique and uncommon. When I receive some special offer addressed to the aforementioned I know who lied. An experiment of sorts. Pointless, yes. Interesting, perhaps. Confirmation of scumbag status, positively. A local health club has made it to the list of offenders of trust. I do feel bad for the chumps that actually paid for bogus info. Awww, not really.

Just an example of some typical answers to start the Survey Skew:

1. Dropped out of High School
2. over $250,0000 income
3. Renter
4. No access to internet.

So if I'm not to be trusted, what's the deal with the Bananaman and his veiled attempts to seduce his co-host. I'm cocksure that it is from a trusted authority.

The State of a Media Nation

Anna Nicole has passed. Stop the presses. Send up a flashing Breaking News Alert in HiDef across the crawl on all major news networks. Why, oh, why? As if no one saw it coming. Only a matter of time. A train wreck, gruesome and perverse, that we continue to slow down to gawk at in hopes of seeing the unspeakable. A caricature of herself in plain sight. We can't look away. We need to watch. We can't help it. Or can we?

Quick get Mr. Neilsen on the phone.

Rest in Peace Mary Queen of Scots.

I love my chiro and the needle princess.

What a lovely way to begin this shitty cold February morning. Cracked and pricked. Balance has been restored once again without a drug that makes big pharma rich while the side effects are corrected by another ubermed brought to you by makers of the aforementioned.



Warning: reading this may cause side effects including but not limited to; acute awareness to advertising tactics, a proclivity to call'em like you see'um, predisposition toward cynicism and explosive rants with the inability to control them.

Shhhhhh.

Sleep is good. But I too have issues with getting enough. Quiet is good. Chaos is better. Quiet creates chaos. Chaos breeds creativity. Creativity is good. Creativity needs fuel. Sleep is fuel. Sleep is quiet.
Chaos is better.