I'm going to buy me all kinds of candy.

I passed the halfway point in Lucifer's Hammer today and I now find myself carrying the book around from room to room so that I can read a sentence or two while I'm in transition to the next thing. Yep, Larry Niven's got his hooks in my amygdala. So when I went to Half-Price Books today to buy a 2017 calendar, I couldn't resist poking around to see what other Larry Nivens they had on hand. And I spotted one called Playgrounds of the Mind which at first looked lame . . . kind of like a Portable Reader with short works and excerpts from longer works . . . but upon closer examination it turned out to be much cooler than that. More along the lines of Isaac Asimov's Opus books, with personal reflections preceding the stories or excerpts, that kind of thing. I read a little piece that pre-ceded an excerpt from Lucifer's Hammer and was immediately charmed. And even though I really have quite enough books to last me for the rest of my life . . . and even though I'm in the process of divesting myself of many of the books I already have . . . I went for it. I'm going to resist starting it at least until I've finished Lucifer's Hammer, and maybe even a little bit longer than that, as I still need to get back to The Magic Mountain . . . and to Jerusalem . . . . But sometimes you just can't resist biting the apple, you know? At least I learned my lesson about not going ahead and buying something that I see and want at Half-Price, 'cause that almost never works out in the end.

BTW, while searching for the lyrics to the Clint Holmes song "Playground in My Mind," I found the song listed on one website with the title, "World's Worst Songs." Oh, yeah.

The Expanse Episode 2

"Keep it up, partner, you'll get there."

Detective Joe Miller to a mouse running on a wheel.

It's great bits like that that really make a show work, you know?

I'm just thinking about Vin Diesel.

Celebrity Net Worth says that Vin Diesel is worth $160 million. That was a surprise to me. I thought he'd be worth at least $1 billion. Do you know that this guy is appearing in six active movie franchises? That has got to be a world record. And all of them are successful . . . which goes without saying, of course, as Hollywood is loathe to make movie franchises which consistently lose money.

So for the record, here are the franchises in which Vin Diesel plays a part--including upcoming movies which have been announced.

The Chronicles of Riddick:

Pitch Black (2000)

Dark Fury (2004)

The Chronicles of Riddick (2004)

Riddick (2013)

Furia (?)

The Fast and the Furious:

The Fast and the Furious (2001)

The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift (2006)

Fast & Furious (2009)

Fast Five (2011)

Fast & Furious 6 (2013)

Furious 7 (2015)

The Fate of the Furious (2017)

Fast & Furious 9 (2019)

Fast & Furious 10 (2021)

XXX:

xXx (2002)

xXx: Return of Xander Cage (2017)

Guardians of the Galaxy:

Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (2017)

The Last Witch Hunter:

The Last Witch Hunter (2015)

At least it was supposed to be a series. The first film didn't do so well, though, so it's possible that it won't happen now.

Avengers:

Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

and I'm guessing that means that he would have to be in

the second Infinity War movie as well, right? 

So hats off to Mark Sinclair, for sure.

(Did you know that his first movie role was in the Robin Williams film Awakenings? I didn't either . . . and I've seen (and loved) that movie. Ahmo have to go back and have another look at that one to catch a glimpse of young (23 years old) Vin.)

Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle's Lucifer's Hammer

I was 170 pages into the Larry Niven / Jerry Pournelle novel and really beginning to enjoy it, so I decided to pull out my copies of the Innovation comic books. I had fond memories of the two issues (of a proposed 6) that Innovation produced in November and December of 1993. And for once the reality matched the memory. Re-reading those two issues made me wish that I had the money to hire Terry Collins and Roger Vilela to finish the job. After all, what's 23 years amongst friends?

Speaking of Innovation, what a great company that was. It only lasted six years, but they put out some really good, high quality comic books. Case in point, the adaptation of Lucifer's Hammer. Both published issues featured 32 story pages of painted art. And innovative art as well. Instead of the plain white setting for the panels on each page, Roger Vilela did backgrounds which were unique and interesting and which gave context to the panels on that page. On one page of issue one the panels were surrounded by Bible verses, for instance. Kind of like what you saw in Fables, but much more intricate and varied. And about 10 years before Fables came along.

And Terry Collins did a superb job on the adaptation of the novel. I mean, Lucifer's Hammer is pretty freaking massive--640 pages in the edition I'm reading. And to break that down into 192 pages (assuming each of the six projected issues were to be 32 pages long) is no mean feat. But in issues one and two, Terry Collins does a superb job of it. He leaves out the non-essential, but includes the most important stuff--even when it's pretty difficult to adapt. Like the Hot Fudge Sundae discussion, which actually made me laugh out loud when I read it in the novel, and which still worked when it was reduced to just a few panels in the comic book.

Sign of the times.

Alas, the photo didn't quite capture it, but a bad photo is better than no photo, right? I was sitting at a stop light when I happened to look over to my right and saw a truck sporting a rebel flag. Just as I was thinking, "Well, that's pretty fucking ignorant," I saw that there was a TRUMP sticker on the back window of the truck.

If you squint, you can almost see RUMP on the sticker. Which would probably be funny if I weren't so busy throwing up in my mouth. 

drowninG horseS

Some time ago (years blur, time erodes memory) I bought a book called Making Horses Drink. I'm not sure why, as it's a work of advice for business managers. My guess would be that I glimpsed the title (and cover picture) while strolling through Barnes & Noble. I seem to have a memory of this, actually, but I've lived long enough to realize that sometimes we create memories. (Normal people do this. Psychotic people--and many ex-wives--tailor memories to absolve themselves of responsibility. That's not what I'm talking about here.) After looking at the book I decided that it could be useful in terms of working with my students. In fact, I staged a reading of the opening story with me as narrator and volunteer students reading different parts. The basic message was a rif on the old adage, of course of course. Since no one can talk to a horse (of course), you have to find a way to make the horse want to drink the water. In the proposed business model, this meant setting up a project and allowing your workers to decide how to best fulfill the requirements of said project. The theory was that without being overly managed, the workers would be freed up to use their own talents and creativity to accomplish the project, and that because of this approach the quality of the work would be high. Perfect, right? Maybe. But there are a few caveat emptors here. First is the presumption that the workers give a damn about the project itself. That may be true in the business world (either via the exegiency of remuneration or career advancement . . . or possibly even true love for the work), but it is certainly less true (to the point of being an anomaly) in the classroom. An example. In my Advance Placement English class we were reading Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot. The students were enjoying it, we were having deep discussions about the work both in terms of analysis and philosophical implications . . . and I just couldn't bring myself to give them a test on the play. It seemed inappropriate . . . like nailing a live turtle to a basketball backboard before playing a game. So I decided to let the horses choose their paths. I told them to engage in a creative response to the work. It could be written (poetry, fiction, drama, epistle, song, or anything else I couldn't think of), artistic (a painting, sculpture, mosaic, etc.), Second is the presumption of intelligence and creativity. I can see how this would apply to the business world. There is some mechanism for selection which precedes the bestowing of a position of employment upon an applicant, and one who has no skills, intelligence, or creativity would not proceed to a position of employment which required some or all of these skills. This is not true of the student population. Now, I realize that this is not an acceptable premise in our current educational paradigm, which assures parents that every child can learn at a high level. This fashionable mantra is responsible for such things as "grade recovery" programs (e.g. no one fails), standardized testing routines which devour at least 10% of total instruction time (e.g. no one learns), and the imputation of failure status on some (not all) hard-working teachers because their students--who have low to no motivation and no culpability whatsoever) because their students do not meet the requirements. This is, by the way, the kind of thinking that has led to special education students--regardless of their functional level or diagnosis--being tested on the Pythagorean Thereom. That's not a joke or even hyperbole, by the way. One of my math teacher friends often talked to me about a special education student who had been placed in her class (along with nine others, but that's another story). This student had some kind of disorder which basically meant that her brain was devouring itself. She would try to work the problems for the class, and would make a dent in it through sheer determination (and non-stop one-on-one assistance), but would inevitably reach a point where she just didn't get it, and would then break down in tears. The truth is that students have vastly different capacities for learning and vastly different levels of intelligence and creativity. Some children cannot learn at high levels. Some can barely learn at all. And some just don't give a shit.

Trump

CNN is rumbling in the background, and I just heard the man who will be president in slightly less than 22 days say this:

"The whole age of computer has made it where nobody knows exactly what is going on."

If he were three years old I could understand him thinking (and saying) that. 

But good news: he has agreed to attend an intelligence briefing on the subject of Russia hacking the 2016 Presidential Election next week.

Next week.

Even though he thinks that it's time for "us" to move on with our lives.

Holy shit.

This guy makes George W. Bush look like a fucking genius.

God have mercy on us.

I am ready for the year 2016 to be kissing my ass.

And now Debbie Reynolds.

I mean, really. 

David Bowie, Alan Rickman, Glenn Frey, Abe Vigoda, Paul Kantner, Maurice White, Harper Lee, Umberto Eco, Sonny James, George Kennedy, Pat Conroy, George Martin, Keith Emerson, Joe Garagiola, Gary Shandling, Jim Harrison, Patty Duke, Merle Haggard, Prince, Billy Paul, Jane Little, Guy Clark, Morley Safer, Alan Young, Muhammad Ali, Gordie Howe, Anton Yelchin, Ralph Stanley, Bernie Worrell, Alvin Toffler, Scotty Moore, Elie Wiesel, Michael Cimino, Kenny Baker, John McLaughlin, Gene Wilder, Edward Albee, W.P. Kinsella, Arnold Palmer, Steve Dillon, Leonard Cohen, Robert Vaughn, Leon Russell, Florence Henderson, Fidel Castro, Ron Glass, Grant Tinker, John Glenn, Alan Thicke, Zsa Zsa Gabor, George Michael, Richard Adams, Carrie Fisher. And now Debbie Reynolds. 

What a bad fucking year. 

The Expanse, Round 2

So reading this Ringworld book got me in the mood for some science fiction, and I almost immediately thought of The Expanse. It'd been awhile. I'd checked the SyFy On Demand offerings just a few weeks ago and they didn't have any episodes at all (WTFiUWT?), and Netflix had never even heard of it, so I decided that maybe it was time to just go ahead and buy Season One from Amazon. Yes, as a matter of fact I was Jonesing. So I got out my trusty Kindle to see how much Season 1 would set me back, and lo and behold, there was a tag that said $0.00 Watch with a Prime membership. Oh, yeah.  Now we're talking. I didn't waste a minute, either. Punched up Episode 1 ("Dulcinea") and got down to it. 

It was so good to see Joe Miller (Thomas Jane) again. And the other folks, too, of course, but Joe Miller was always the biggest draw for me. 

Q: What's with the hat?
A: Keeps the rain off my head.

Heh heh. 

I'd also somehow forgotten that Jonathan Banks had a part in the show, and it is always good to see him. (Although I guess that nothing will ever top his performance as Mike Ehrmantraut in Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul.)

I don't know how the SyFy Channel managed to put up this show, given that everything else I've ever seen of their own shows was pretty much total shit, but they most assuredly did nail it on this one. 

Now I need to watch another episode. Or two.

Greg Bear

I'm sorry to say that I have not read any of Greg Bear's works. Sorrier now than I was ten minutes ago, as I just read his introduction to The Collected Stories of Greg Bear, and it was awesome and brilliant and wise. He says, for instance, 

"The real world will kill us.  . . . We need vacations from death and certainty, from hard facts and distorted lives." 

And that is most certainly true, isn't it? Isn't that why we pay writers and athletes and artists and musicians (etc.) millions of dollars to distract us from our daily existence? Isn't that why we spend huge sums of money on drugs and alcohol and sexual fantasies of one sort or another? Isn't that why religion exists? The world is not enough, even though it is, ironically, too much with us.

So I am ready to read me some Greg Bear stories.

More news as it happens.

Men Are From Mars . . . .

You So Funny, Larry Niven

I saw a copy of Larry Niven's The Ringworld Engineers in a spinner rack at Half-Price Books for $1. And I picked it up and read a little bit and thought it was interesting, but it's Book 2 of Niven's Ringworld Series, which is comprised of five books in toto, and I suffer from the OCD common to comic book readers and English teachers, so I knew where this $1 book was going to lead me . . . and I put it back on the rack. 

But, of course, Larry Niven began to haunt me. And I remembered that I had purchased Lucifer's Hammer some time ago and never gotten more than a few pages into it, so I found that and began to read. And found it to my liking. Which made me go to the library website to see what Larry Nivens they were holding, and it turned out to be quite a bit--52 items listed, most of which actually were books by Larry Niven. And Ringworld was one of them. As were The Ringworld Engineers, The Ringworld Throne, Ringworld's Children, and Fate of Worlds: Return from the Ringworld (which, interestingly, is also the fifth book in Niven's Fleet of Worlds series). They also had Ringworld: The Graphic Novel (Part One)
by Robert Mandell, which I immediately put in a request for. Alas, they do not seem to have Part Two, which could present a problem for me. (Actually two problems. Because if Part One is so good that I want to read Part Two, I will have to buy Part Two in order to read it. But how can I buy Part Two and not buy Part One? So I'll just have to hope that Part One sucks, I suppose.)

But I didn't put in a request for any of the Ringworld novels, since I thought I'd use the graphic novel as a canary in the coal mine to see if further drilling would be necessary. However . . . I also found myself really wanting The Ringworld Engineers for $1. So I went back to Half-Price Books. And of course found that it was gone. What idiot wouldn't buy The Ringworld Engineers for a dollar, after all?

So I've been reading Lucifer's Hammer while I wait for Ringworld: The Graphic Novel (Part One) to arrive. Around page 100 it hit the tipping point and went from "this is kind of interesting" to "I am probably going to have to finish this." Which further spurred my interest in Larry Niven (that old OCD magic), so I went to his Wikipedia page and gave that a read. One of the Niven works mentioned therein an essay entitled "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex" which contained various speculations on Superman's sex life and the ramifications thereof. And there was a link to that essay on one of the Wikipedia pages, so I read it (and laughed out loud several times--it's worth tracking down) before discovering that there was some controversy on the net about the essay's copyright being violated, which just goes to show that you can't even trust Wikipedia, I suppose. Somebody needs to read Roni Loren's "Blogger's Beware" post. 

Suburban Self-Defense Manual, Chapter I: The Water Company, Plumbers, and Dangerous Things

X marks the spot.

I have learned some very important lessons over the past couple of weeks.

Here's the short version:  

(1) The Louisville 1 Water Company is not here to help you.
(2) One of the highest profile and "best" plumbers in Louisville 2 is a scam artist.
(3) You can and should read your own damn water meter.
(4) And pay close attention to your water bill.


1 I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest that you can replace "Louisville" with the name of any city in the United States of America.

2 Ibid.

________________________________________

________________________________________

Here's the long version:

It started, as I'm guessing these things usually do, with a very high water bill. I contacted the Louisville Water Company (LWC) via email and asked about this and received this reply:

Dear Mr.,

Thank you for contacting Louisville Water Company’s Customer Service Center.

Your usage has increased tremendously, have you notice in leaks?  You need to do dye test on commodes to make sure you have no silent leak.  You can put 12 to 13 drops of food coloring in the back of the tank and let it sit for 6 hours or overnight without flushing.  If color appears in the bowl, that is an indication of a leak.
If you find no leaks inside or outside of property, call us and we will have our field rep come out and inspect

the meter.

Which I did, and lo and behold one of my toilets did fail the leak test. I replaced the flush seal and tested again and there was no leak. But then I started thinking, "What if there was another problem? How would I even know?" So I emailed LWC again.

Thank you for your response. I did the food coloring test and it only took 20 minutes for the dye to show up in the bowl of one of my toilets. If I may, I have two addition questions for you.
(1) Is it possible for one toilet leak to cause such a huge water loss or is there something else that I should look for?

(2) Is there a way for me to monitor the water use in my house so that I can catch problems before they show up on my water bill? I have read about a water usage meter with a leak indicator, but have no idea where this would be or if it is even accessible to me.

And I received this response:

Dear Mr.,

Thank you for contacting Louisville Water Company’s Customer Service Center. 

It is possible for a toilet leak to cause a large amount of usage since water is basically continuously running. I would also check your yard for any wet spots that could indicate leak. Check for replace and worn gaskets and washers on in any indoor and outdoor faucets. Check behind or below your washing machine or dishwater for stains indicating a leak. Make sure the water level on your toilet tank is an inch below the top of the tank.  Unfortunately, I do not know of way to currently monitor daily water usage.

Louisville Water Company offers a courtesy leak adjustment to assist customers with a high bill resulting from a leak on their property.  The adjusted bill will be higher than your normal bill, since the courtesy adjustment is 50% of the excess amount based on your average usage.  In other words, you are responsible for your normal bill plus 50% of the excess amount.  Courtesy adjustments are limited to no more than two (2) adjusted bills in a twelve (12) month period.

You must have the leak repaired and submit your proof of repair along with the completed form located at louisvillewater.com.  In the search bar type Adjustment form.

Please allow 4- 6 weeks for your request to be reviewed after we receive the requested documents and for a final determination to be made.  You should continue making payment on the account to avoid any service interruptions.

Which gave me some important information (reference partial reimbursement), for sure, as I had no idea about that. But there were two very big problems: (1) the assumption that there was no other cause (since there were no leaks or wet spots on my lawn) and (2) the assertion that "I do not know of way to currently monitor daily water usage." And the later is a BIG deal, as we'll see.

I emailed back:

Thank you for your help. I have replaced the seal on the flush valve on the toilet which had the slow leak and re-tested it with the dye and it is no longer leaking. Is there a way that you can check my water usage to show if there has been a change in my usage? I'd like to find out if there are any other problems before the next water bill shows up since that is two months away.

And received this reply:

Unfortunately, there is no way to determine the amount of usage since you repaired the toilet.  However, most likely the toilet was the culprit if dye appeared when 1st test was performed.

That was false on both counts. And I was pretty sure that the comment reference the amount of water usage was not true. I mean, what the hell was the water meter for, after all? And I couldn't understand why someone couldn't come out to check it for me. So I called LWC. And talked to a woman who told me that my water meter would be read in a couple of months. I told her that that was ridiculous, as if I did still have a leak that would mean I'd have another enormously high bill. She didn't like that at all, and became very snippy. But she said that she would attach a note to my account that the meter reader should pay attention to my meter reading. 

Now, I didn't know it at the time, but turns out there is a leak indicator on the water meter. So not only can you literally see how much water is being used by the house any time, you can even see if water is running. So to determine whether or not you have a leak, all you have to do is make sure that no water is running in the house, walk outside and open up the meter, and look at a little indicator. If it is moving, you have a leak. Not exactly rocket science, eh? (However . . . the water company does not want you to do this. At least not in Louisville. In fact, the good plumber (we'll get to him in a moment) told me that they don't even like plumbers opening up the little underground boxes. So while it's pretty easy to do--a pair of vice clamps is all you need to turn the pentagonal nut--I don't know if the homeowner is "allowed" to do that.)

I didn't like that LWC representative's attitude, so I decided to go old school and wrote a letter to LWC. I don't know why, but that actually got me some action. A few days later there was a bang at my front door at about 8:00 a.m. I opened it and a man shouted at me, "Is there any water running in your house right now?" A little startled, I still managed to reply, "No." He riposted, "You've got a leak, then." Over his shoulder as he walked away. What the fuck? "What should I do?" I called out to him. "Call a plumber," he said. And that was that.

I called a plumber. A very high profile plumber in Louisville. A top three winner in L.E.O.'s Reader's Choice Awards plumber. And was told that first I needed to contact a company that specialized in finding out  where the leak was. They gave me a contact number. I called and had to leave a message when there was no answer. And then I started to worry. It was December 23, and I wasn't sure how much work would get done as the Christmas holiday walked in on little cat's feet. So I went online, found the company's website, and filled out a form there. A few minutes later my phone rang, and a very nice fellow said he had just happened to be looking at the computer and that he could send somebody out in a couple of hours. He also asked me which plumber I had gone with, and when I told him, he responded, "You might want to get another estimate. Dauenhauer does a lot of that kind of work." And you know, I didn't really think about it at the time, but those words ended up being very important.

Some guys came out and did some stuff and marked my lawn in blue and yellow paint. I called the plumber back and he came by and looked at the marks, then told me that we also had to have BUD (Before You Dig) come out to check for underground stuff, and that he would contact them and ask if they could expedite it, and that he would then be able to come out the next day. Which was not only a Saturday, but Christmas Eve as well. He also told me that they could either do a spot repair of the pipe for $1400 or pull the whole pipe out and put a new one in for $2900. He suggested that it would be better to do the latter, since if there was another leak the whole process would have to be repeated, and that since the pipe was old (70 years or so) that it probably would have other problems sooner or later. So I said I would go for that option.

Meanwhile I called Dauenhauer to see about a second estimate, and the person who answered told me that they would have to come out to give me an estimate, and that they wouldn't be able to get to it until Tuesday morning. I went ahead and scheduled it "just in case," but figured that I'd be cancelling that one in the very near future.

As soon as the BUD people came by I called the plumber back, talked to a secretary, and was told that they did indeed work on Saturday, even Christmas Eve, for a half-day. 

But that didn't happen. The plumber told me that he would come out Monday morning at 8 a.m. to get it done, and that I shouldn't worry about it. But then Monday morning came and when no one showed up I called the office and was told that they were getting everything together and would be on their way in a few minutes. And then a little later I got a call from the plumber who said he was sorry but he couldn't get a team together for the job and that he would try for Tuesday but for sure by Friday. I didn't like that much.

So I called Dauenhauer again. This time I spoke to a fellow who said no problem, they would be out Tuesday morning. I asked if he could give me a ballpark figure of how much it would cost to do a spot repair. He said "$850." Gulp. (Good thing I went for that second estimate, eh?) I then asked, "How about if I wanted to get the whole line replaced?" He told me . . . and I have to admit that I can't remember what the number was, but it was considerably less than $2,900. But the reason I don't remember is because he said, "But you don't want to do that. Get the spot repair and then enroll in the insurance for your pipes, which is only about $10 a month, and then if you have another problem it'll be covered." Which was funny, because I had asked the first plumber about doing that, and he had told me that once the spot repair was made that I would have to pay on the insurance for two years before it would cover anything. So let's just say that at the very best, that first plumber--who seemed very friendly and nice--did not have my best interests at heart.

And as it turned out, much to my delight and surprise, I actually already had the insurance for the water line--I did not have coverage for the sewer line, and had not understood that there was a distinction between the two. So I actually did not have to pay anything for the repair. So if you've ever wondered if that insurance was worth it or not . . . well, let's put it this way. The Line Coverage insurance costs $12.98 every two months. (It may have been lower previously, but it certainly wasn't ever higher.) I've lived in this house since December 24th of 1994, which is just a tad over 22 years. Which is 264 months. Which means I've received 132 water bills. Which means that I've paid (to date) $1,713.36 (at most) for the insurance. So even with that perspective, I would have pretty much "won" with that first plumber with just the one repair. And I could be wrong--and hope that I am--but it seems to me that if you have one breakdown that wasn't caused my an accident of some kind that you can pretty much count on having another one at some point in time. I found a website that said the life expectancy of copper water lines is 50+ years. My house was built in 1955. Those are not good odds. So, again, I'm thinking that this kind of insurance is pretty much a must have thing unless you have water lines made from PVC, wherein the life expectancy is (literally) forever. 


I must say, however, that my first look at my leaking pipe was quite startling to me on two counts.

Count 1: it's just a tiny little pipe! I was expecting something quite a bit larger. It's no bigger than the copper pipes that cross my basement ceiling.

Count 2: the word "leak" does not do this problem justice. The water was spurting out of that hole. It makes me weak to think about how much water was wasted because of this problem--which was compounded by the LWC's unwillingness to alert me to the problem (you'd think that somebody would be monitoring the meter readings for excess usage, since the customer is not privy to that information) and their unwillingness to help me to find a quick solution.

As it stands, the only way you have to detect a "silent leak" (such as this one, wherein there was no sound of water running, no indication of a leak inside or outside of the house, nothing) is by monitoring your water bill carefully--and by paying close attention to the usage as well as the amount due. As I pointed out, though, you actually can open up the cover to the meter and take a look at the leak indicator, but that is at the very least frowned upon by the water company. (I didn't find anything to indicate that it was actually against the law, though. So do what you have to do, be who you are.)

I am also seriously confused as to why this is so secretive. I mean, the electric company has a meter right there on the side of the house, and that's less vital than access to a water meter (since electricity doesn't typically leak out of your house unnoticed). I am really uncomfortable with the fate of my water bill being in the hands of people who don't seem to give a shit about my economic well being. Matter of fact, while looking some things up a few minutes ago, I found a story about a Louisville couple who had received a water bill for $20,000.  (True truth, no shit.)

P.S. I forgot something. Reference LWC's "courtesy adjustment." That means that they will only charge you for 50% of the excess amount (based on your average usage) of your water bill. So you're only responsible for half of the water that you didn't know (and had no way of knowing) you were "using." Isn't that sweet of them?

More Drug Humor (?)

Ode to Xanax

When I feel like a burned out village

Charred posts and cracked foundations

When my denizens are all raped and pillaged

And their slim necks cut by the axman . . .

Then do I turn to thee, oh Xanax

Goddess of immortal ennui

And though I still miss my ex

My aim’s getting better, you see.

Though I do not rise to the skies

Neither do I sink down to hell

If you’ll forgive the dull look in my eyes

I assure you that all will be well.

The grass may not be cut

Fallen branches may molder and rot

And the sink piled high with dishes but

I will not care a jot.

I will not weep at random

Nor fear to drive down streets

I will not shake in tandem

With my thunderous heartbeats.

I’ll drift away in a cloud of grey

And I’ll look down on the earth

And instead of sobbing I’ll ballet

Around the house of mirth.

Oh, Xanax, savior, guardian true

Let’s move to a new locale

Where perhaps I will your daughter woo

--Lexapro, you femme fatale.

Christmas With the Looney Tunes

Okay, I know this is harsh, and it may just serve to confirm my identity as a Bleeding Heart Commie Pinko Save the Gay (& Trans) Whales From Nukes Coalition Member, but I've got to say it. Yesterday as I was preparing for the arrival of my offspring for the Christmas Day celebration, I was looking for the music apropos for the occasion . . . but nothing too cloying, y'know? And I found a CD entitled Christmas With the Looney Tunes, and thought that that would be a winner. What could be more fun and slightly irreverent than Bugs and Daffy and the gang?

The first five songs were really mediocre, though. Part of it was that the voices were not being performed by Mel Blanc, but a larger part of it was due to the fact that the songs were just kind of stupid. And then Song 6 came on: "The Halle-Looney Chorus." In which, as you've already guessed, the word "Hallelujah"-- as in Handel's Messiah--was replaced by the "word" "Halle-Looney." There might be a justification for this if Ms. Berry were involved or if there was some reference to the city in the German state of Saxony-Anhalt, but neither of those conditions were met, so it was just nonsensical and blasphemous. And I'm no pulpit pounder, but one of my core beliefs is that you show respect for The Other. Unless The Other is pissing in your face and your mustache is not on fire. So it really put me off.

So far off that I started thinking harder about Looney Tunes than I've ever thought before. And this is what I ended up with.

What I've Learned From the Looney Tunes Characters:

(1) Racism is Funny. (See, for example, "All This and Rabbit Stew," which is actually in the Public Domain, so I can save you the trouble of searching it out:

Of course that was long ago (1941), and, one could argue, far away from where we are today, but I remember seeing similar cartoons when I was a little Brother K, and I believe that more subtle elements of racism exist in cartoons today.

(2) Speech Disorders Are Funny. Think about how many of those characters have some kind of problem with their speech. Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Elmer Fudd, Sylvester the Cat . . . and all of the others that I can't think of at the moment.

(3) Stalking Women is Funny. Pepé Le Pew, anyone?

(4) Classical Music is Pompous and Silly. Yes, I know that you could argue that Looney Tunes introduced children to classical music. But that's kind of like saying that a flasher introduced you to sex education. For instance . . . like it or not (and it's Or Not for me), when I hear Rossini's The Barber of Seville Overture, I immediately see Bugs Bunny massaging Elmer Fudd's scalp. It's a desecration of a beautiful piece of art. To me it's like having Michelangelo's God handing Adam a Pepsi Max, which is just disrespectful of both art and religion.

(5) Violence is Funny. Not even necessary to discuss that one, is it? But you could add to it that there are no negative consequences for a "good" person who uses violence, so any level of violence is justified--from pushing an anvil off of a mountain onto somebody's head to shoving a stick of dynamite down his throat. It's all fair game. And besides, no one really gets hurt, right?

I will go to my grave loving many of the Looney Tunes characters. (Daffy and Foghorn Leghorn being my favorites.) And it's not that I want to sanitize everything that kids see. Not at all. But I think kids should know when they're being lied to. In fact, I think that should be the chief aim of education: to allow individuals to think for themselves to the extent that they can tell bullshit from a rose.

We have a long way to go on that one.

I opened the third door, and there she was . . . .

Well, this is rather strange. I've been working my way through old blog entries and making some changes here and there, then reposting them. But instead of reposting in their original positions, some of them are reposting as if they were just written. I don't know why, since some do post in the correct spots. Maybe only the ones I don't alter in any way? Dunno. But in any event, if you're keeping track, sorry for the temporal anomalies.

Brother K

Blue jeans, sweater, dress shirt, tie, and saddle shoes: 

setting the pace for the fashion world. 

V Day, 2010

Valentine’s Day 2010

There are small holes in the wall
Some still holding onto nails
But her pictures are gone
And I’ve taken down all
Pictures of her
And me
And me and her
And laid them to rest in the closet
We used to share.

And tried to put my memories there,
But they keep slipping under the door.

They burn me in the night
(Fireflies' hot bite)
When I try to sleep,
Light
On, a pile of clean laundry besi
de me.

When the kids are away
And the empty house pulls at my bones
My skin cracks and I
Can hear the slow leak of my soul.
And I try to read myself into



oblivion.



It hasn’t worked yet, but
Maybe tomorrow night.

I pray to sweet Jesus H.
that the Mayans were right.

Q's Puppies

Q. and I went to Borders the other day and, as usual, she tried to get me to buy several hundred dollars' worth of merchandise. She was particularly focused on Diva Puppies.

I was equally focused on denying her this (in the wake of Christmas presents galore). At some point in the "bargaining process" I asked her if she wanted to save up her own money, at which point she told me that she had her own money. Since Q. is one of the world's most accomplished liars, I assumed that she was just making this up . . . until she showed me the $15 her Aunt had given her as a Christmas present. I told her she could buy what she wanted with her own money, but when we looked at the box there was no price visible. I was looking at some books, so I told her to hold on for a moment and then I would help her find out how much it cost. As I went back to looking over the books, Q. sauntered up to the cash register--cutting in line, of course--and the next thing I heard was her pipsqueak voice asking the cashier how much the Diva Puppies cost. I watched as she held a conversation with the cashier, then came back to me and told me the price. She had enough money, so I told her to hold on for a moment while I picked out a book (I had a gift card burning a hole in my pocket), but she asked if she could buy it herself, so I told her to go for it. She got in line, waited her turn, paid for her puppies and was, of course, ready to leave immediately.

When we got home Q. went to her room. I assumed that she was just playing with her puppies, but when I looked in she was holding a paintbrush in her hand and was painting one of the bobble-head puppies pink. We had a short conversation about putting newspaper down before painting, and then I left her to go at it. A little later she emerged with her three painted puppies, telling me that she was going to give one to her boyfriend E., one to Little Bo Peep, and keep one for herself.

Now there's a song of innocence.

That's What Sister Proust Said When (S)He Was Plucking on That Dipthong

Today Clare and I are on page 114 of volume two of Remembrance of Things Past * (In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower, the novel formerly known as Within a Budding Grove). We are doing a mighty, mighty good job of keeping to the four pages a day pace. We do miss on occasion, but we have also assiduously made up for missed days, so that we are actually fourteen pages ahead of our schedule at the moment, and on track to finish volume two on May 10th of this year. At any rate, here's a line which we read today which I thought was worthy of preserving for all eternity in one of the internet's many tube stations:

" . . . the great works of art are . . . less of a disappointment than life, in that their best parts do not come first."

Marcel--you scamp. You are the Velvet Underground of literature, foe show.

* See previous blog entry for several ridiculous comments on this topic.

Movies and Malt Liquor

Last night I went to see the World Premier of If You Could Say It In Words, a terrific film by Nicholas Gray, starring Alvin Keith as a painter with Asperger's Syndrome who is looking for love in the wrong face. I hope that there is a way for you to see this, as it's an amazing piece of work. Alvin in heart-breakingly good . . . a very subtle, nuanced performance. (Marin Ireland is also terrific, but her character is such a be-otch that it's hard for me to detach from that.) If I find a way to hook up to the whole film I will throw a line, but for now you can check out a few clips at the official website.

I arrived early--which will be quite a surprise to anyone who knows me, of course--and after dawdling as long as possible I and my still forty-five minutes early and nothing more to do in the lobby cohorts went for a walk in search of a caffeinated beverage. Two blocks later we entered a Rite-Aid, proceeded to the refrigerated drinks section, and as I searched for my poison I happened upon some massive cans holding various forms of malt liquor. I had just started to make a disparaging comment about one of those mighty quaffs when a man came up beside me and said, "Oh, no, that's good stuff," and grabbed a couple of the forty ounce cans. He then pointed to the Steel Reserve Malt Liquor below and said, "Now that stuff is bad. That will take you to a place you don't want to go."

Is that beautiful or what?

Need I Say More? (or This Christianity Thing Part 2)

From a student, in answer to the question, What does it mean to be an American?

"It means freedom to speak my mind like I am now. It means the freedom to worship my Lord & Savior. Without the freedom of religion I would be damned to hell for not worshipping the one & only God."

O Death, Where is Thy Sting?

Q & O have this little ritual going on every time we pass by a graveyard. One (or both) of them will make a comment about how "the peoples" died under the ground. My/Clare's part is then to say, "No, they died and then they were put under the ground." Q &/or O will then inform us (gravely, of course) that "the peoples" died years ago. Every graveyard, every time. It's odd, but, you know, so is Catholic mass. Today we had a little variation on this liturgy. As we cleared the edge of the graveyard, O looked out the window and said, "Good-bye, peoples. I'll miss you."

Of course, O's normal reaction to seeing injury or death (on television--the only drive by shootings in our neighborhood involve grey haired ladies and pooches with irritable bowel syndrome) is to suggest, "He just needs a little rest," so you could definitely argue that the concept of death eludes him . . . but it sure is sweet, ennit?

For some reason all of this reminds me that one of M's earliest prayers involved God blessing McDonald's french fries. (Which reminds me of his great theological question, "Does God have a butt?") Yes, this is why we need children in our lives.

This Christianity Thing

I had to do a class at Christian Academy of Louisville last Friday. It was just a one day stint . . . and it wasn't even my first time in the place, as I did a full week's worth of classes there a couple of years ago . . . but it is the last time I will ever set foot in that building. Your first hint of what's wrong with the place comes when you look at the books on the shelf. The one that really caught my eye was The Battle for Truth by David A. Noebel. I really wanted to "borrow" a copy to bring home and read (and share with all of my friends), but my secular humanist heart wouldn't let me steal it, alas. I guess everything isn't permitted without God, after all, Fyodor. I tried to do the Google Book thing so that I could at least share a little bit of the thing with you, but those Christians play it close to the vest. Fortunately, the Louisville Free Public Library does possess a copy, and I will attempt to pick that up and give you a taste sometime in the near future. In the meantime, here's a little sample from one of the inaptly named Noebel's other tomes, Mind Siege: The Battle for Truth (co-written by Tim LaHaye, and yes, inaptly should be a word). Roll the tape: "Long before the 55 million children in our American school system are old enough to understand or examine humanism for themselves, already they are convinced it is scientific. After all, their teachers told them Darwinian evolution is scientific; that the philosophy of naturalism is scientific; that moral relativism is based on Einstein's theory of relativity; that "scientific socialism" is based on the social sciences; that society and law are evolving along with the human animal and hence are scientific; that all left wing, environmental, collectivistic, statist policies are firmly based on the physical and social sciences and not on the myth of religion; and finally, that everything related to the Bible is prescientific gibberish. If you were served such an educational smorgasbord, we bet you would believe that humanism is scientific, too. Honest educators must answer one question: Is it education or brainwashing to teach young people that something unscientific is really scientific? Until educators in the public school system awaken to the fraud they are perpetrating, humanists will continue to dominate them and force them to disseminate unsupported and unscientific dogma." Wow. If only I had known. But I have heard the ringing of the Lord's Alarm Clock--which sounded curiously like the trampling out of the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored, so I'm guessing that John Steinbeck is God, not Eric Clapton as previously supposed. My great grandfather was not a monkey, by golly. Down with Darwinism! Down with secular humanism!

At one point in my class on Friday I asked if any of the students had heard of the Zen Buddhist koan, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" One boy responded, "No, I'm a Christian." I didn't ask him if Christian was a synonym for stupid, but I did suggest that he needed to get out more often. That's the thing that kills me. I am sure that you don't have to be stupid to be Christian. I mean, C.S. Lewis was okay. But why are so many of the Christians I meet stupid? Not to mention mean spirited and closed minded? I am sure that there are just as many stupid, mean-spirited, and closed minded Muslims, Buddhists, Jews . . . you name it . . . which can only lead me to the conclusion that for the most part, religion has a stupefying effect on the human mind. It's like that foam insulating material sprayed into the attic in that people use it to fill up all the empty spaces and obscure any doubts that they have about the universe. It keeps them warm and cozy during the long, dark tea-time of the soul, and it enables them to hand off any doubts to the "it's beyond our ken." (Which seems to me to be the equivalent to Scotty telling Kirk, "Cap'n, the engines . . . they kin na take the strain!")

What really kills me is the way that so many of the Christians I have known are so quick to criticize and condemn others. They are so sure that they are right and everyone else is wrong . . . so sure that they are saved and everyone else is damned. You know, I've read the Bible. In fact, I am on my second time through (with Q, and let me tell you we are seriously bogged down in I Corinthians. I think we should be finishing that book up sometime around the turn of the year at the rate we're going now). And there is some terrific stuff in there. My personal favorite is the line attributed to Jesus: "Judge not that ye not be judged." I would seriously like to have that painted on every single wall of Christian Academy of Louisville. I wonder what old Jesus would think about the folks at 700 S. English Station Road? I'm guessing that he'd feel a bit queasy . . . and go back to hanging out with whores, thieves, and drunkards . . . you know, the way he did way back when? Oddly enough, I don't recall any stories in the Bible wherein Jesus made those people feel like shit. The secular humanists probably edited all of that out. (You know how those unscientific bastards are.)

Q, aka The Best Girl in the World

I was just here a moment ago. I read one of the blog entries on the "Forty Years on Two Wheels" site I just mentioned--and yes, I did post a comment--and was shutting down the computer when Q, having just awakened and blearily eaten breakfast, came into the living room and, apropos of the falling snow, so to speak, said, "Can you forgive me?" and handed me a post-it note on which she had written, "2nd Chance." She then happily went back to her bedroom and began playing with her Veggie Tales Pirate Ship Playset. And yes, she is fifteen years old, and you know what? I would kind of like to go play with that pirate ship myself, and I'm just about forty days shy of fifty years old, so what do you think about that? (Care to join me? Keep in mind that the cannon can fire a tennis raquet as well as the red cannon ball.) Speaking of which--fifty years, that is--one of my favorite moments encountered in those fifty years has to do with Q. She doesn't do this anymore, alas, but a few years back when I would put her to bed at night I would always tell her, "You're the best girl in the world." She would then respond, "You're the best girl in the world, too, daddy." Ah, yes. Sometimes life can be so sweet that you wonder how we find time for despair.

Greetings, Earthlings

So it looks like July has been a pretty heavy month for me here--in that I've posted more this month than in January through June, and also more in July than in all of the previous year. Heartache makes the blog grow: ponder. The lack of an all-consuming job helps a bit, too, of course. But the real reason I'm here is to let you know that I've changed the requirements for posting comments. You may now post anonymously and without fear of reprisal from President Cheney. So if anybody's out there, do me a favor and float me a few words now and then. Keep in mind that after you write a message you'll want to click on the circle which precedes "anonymous," otherwise the damned thing will continue to ask you for your address. It will leave you alone if you click on anonymous, though--I just did a test run. (There goes my anonymity on that one, I suppose.)

By the way . . . I asked Q to do a picture for this blog since she was standing close by. She caviled a bit and then kvetched a bit more, told me, "But I don't know how to draw a picture of me and my cats," and then cheerfully sat down and drew the image you see above. When I asked her what it was she said, "A Mexican flower for Clare." And then she giggled in her giddy, "tee hee" fashion.

It's a good life if you don't weaken.

They Were Sad That Day

Today I took the two little ones to our favorite library, the Crescent Hill Branch. This has long been one of our most frequented haunts. with a visit at least once a week. Q likes to pick out three or four kid books and 3 or 4 DVDs or videos, and O likes to get on the computer and play games or search for comic book heroes, and he usually rounds out the visit by paging through a half-dozen comic books . . . or Graphic Novels, as we say. The librarians know the kids and call them by name, and it's usually a very pleasant and positive experience. Not today. It was pretty crowded, which never helps, but when we went downstairs we passed by a group of black teenagers, and as we went by O did his usual hand stims at the floor. As soon as we were past I heard loud laughter and turned around to see that one of the boys was immitating O, much to the delight of his friends. I took Q and O back to the comic book section and got them settled, then walked up to the kid and said something along the lines of, "You know, the reason he acts that way is he was born with a different kind of brain. That doesn't mean you have to make fun of him, though." The kid denied making fun of O, of course, and then got brave and told me I didn't have to get smart with him. Immediately I could see that he had fallen into the role of the young black kid being harassed by the bigoted old white guy, and I wasn't about to play that game, but it kind of drained the anger right out of me. I just felt sad for all parties involved, including the black kid. I thought about asking him how it felt to be a living stereotype, but I didn't. I satisfied myself with the fact that I had called him out for his obnoxious behavior. He probably won't learn anything from it, but it had to be done. How much it had to be done became obvious when this group of kids began to make all kinds of noise (not at me--I was quickly forgotten) and run around the room, and one even began to play some rap music at a pretty high volume. One librarian cautiously asked the kid to "turn the music down," but that was it. It was obvious that the librarians were afraid of these kids . . . either physically afraid of them (which is pretty racist, actually), or afraid that they would fall into the "I'm a racist" game. I told the head librarian what was going on, but I didn't get the impression that anything would be done about it.

Fortunately, neither Q nor O was congnizant of the affair. But it just left me wondering why people think they have to be assholes on such a regular basis. Part of me wants to slam them up against the wall and make them truly sorry for their mean spiritedness. Part of me wants to clear out and not face it at all. I'm going to try to push for the third path--tell them they're acting like jerks, but refuse to play into the game.

(Lightness, Unbearable)

I don't remember why I went to see The Unbearable Lightness of Being at the theater way back in 1988 when it came out. I didn't know Daniel Day-Lewis then; though I had seen him in A Room With a View, I didn't remember him at all. And Lena Olin didn't become the love of my life until after I'd seen her in this movie. And I didn't read the book until after I'd seen the movie . . . which is why the ending of the movie really hit me hard. 

Hmmm.

Ah . . . poking around on IMDb suggests an answer: I saw The Right Stuff when it came out in 1983, and it instantly became one of my favorite movies. And I'm the kind of person who really likes reading the fine print, so I knew that it was directed by Philip Kaufman. And I'm pretty sure I started looking for his mark after that. Further corroboration of this theory is supported by the fact that I also saw Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978) on video --the film Kaufman directed prior to The Right Stuff--and that I saw Henry and June (1990), Rising Sun (1993), and Quills (2000)--the three films that Kaufman directed after The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Yep. 

(I also conflated the title of his film The Wanderers with Walter Hill's The Warriors and watched the latter. I remember being very confused. How could Kaufman have directed this silly gang fight film? I was relieved when I found out that he hadn't.) 

I remember seeing it in the theater with Jo Ann the first time, and then going back to see it again by myself. And I can't begin to tell you how many times I've seen it on dvd since then. But when I thought about it today and went looking for it on Amazon Instant Video, I found out that I could rent it for $2.99 . . . or buy it for $5.99. So I bought it. Started watching it right away and was instantly captivated. I don't like womanizers, but Daniel Day-Lewis does such a great job as Tomas that I don't hate the character. And his interactions with Teresa (played by Juliette Binoche, who is not only beautiful, but also one of the cutest human beings ever to walk this earth) are so sweet, seem so real. That scene where she accuses him of being jealous, for instance. And Lena Olin as Sabine . . . THE most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.

And in addition to the story of three lovers, you also have the story of political upheaval surrounding The Prague Spring, with some remarkable documentary footage mixed in with black and white footage of Tomas and Tereza.

It's just a remarkable movie. It also led me to read most of Milan Kundera's books, and that is an experience not to be missed. 

I looked at Wikipedia to make sure I had my facts and spellings straight, and was astonished to see that this film's budget was $17 million, but it's box office was only a little over $10 million. How can that be? Further proof that I do not understand this world at all.

Poem

Today I will do no manly or concrete deed
as I did none yesterday
as I will do none tomorrow.
Only read
E. L Doctorow, Nicola Barker, George Eliot, 
Edgar Rice Burroughs, J. K. Rowling, the Old Testament,
a torrent of words
to wash  away the scum of your betrayal 
which still clings to the walls of my guts;
a torrent of words
to wash away the clinging drops of the poison of your cruelty
until the last of that betrayal, that cruelty,
drips from my anus
and I dry off my anal hairs
     with a picture of you in your wedding dress
     with a letter that you wrote me, declaring your inexhaustible love
     with the flap of flesh I've carved from my right deltoid, which bears the picture you drew for our       
     wedding invitations


The love I bear thee can afford
No better term than this--thou art a villain.
I read, I read, i read.
So as not to remember.
So as not to think.
So as not to ache.
So as not to die.