Last Day Of A Short Month

February is four blocks of seven. It's a square month, or rectangular. It's a bad month for renters, a good month for people paid monthly.

The month of February is like an afterthought. It lost days somewhere. It's the "Shorty" of every popular song.

I am proud that I know how to spell February. This was one that kids had a tough time with when I was in school. They always wanted to leave out the first "r". Also in their pronunciation of it. There were lots of things like this that I always deserved a gold star for, if only the distribution of gold stars had been more widespread. I might have some of my gold stars in a box somewhere. For whatever I did, learning verses in church, for example.

The whole thing of leap year babies is crazy. We always seemed to have one kid in school -- somebody -- who'd be saying, "I'm only two years old" or "I'm only three years old." Just because their actual birthday was canceled in normal years.

Be Chastened

I don't want to give any useful advice to the Republicans/conservatives. I want them to slash their own political wrists, throats, whatever, that they might leave us forever. We'd be better off, unless there happened to be a more moderate wing that could take over, those who used good old fashioned American common sense in their political dealings. But just having the radicals in charge, the sooner they off themselves the better.

They're having some big convention. I was seeing some of it on TV. Michael Steele is "da man" in charge (Michelle Bachmann's words). In his overview of the criminality and bad sense of the Bush years, he dismissed it all with a flippant "My bad." Hmm. To me that's not very reflective. May they go down; they certainly won't be missed, except with a smile.

The useful advice I would give, were I to give any, and, remember, I don't want them to take this advice, is to be chastened. Come up with some soul-searching and sincerity. They act like nothing really matters, that government by idiocy can just be overlooked with a stupid "My bad." Personally I wouldn't put these morons in charge of taking out the trash -- because even a task like that is something I want done right. But add to their failure to govern their failure to realize the severity of their failure. If they cannot learn, what would they be promising us for next time? Probably worse.

It makes you wonder how they think. Why wouldn't they want a sense of well being for their own country?

American Idol - Results, Round 2

Well, I was very happy, since Allison Iraheta and Adam Lambert were my favorites from the round 2 performances. They both went through to the final 12.

Hearing Adam Lambert do "Satisfaction" again tonight, the guy is simply amazing. I can't believe the voice on this guy. And Allison did a great job again too.

It was great seeing Brook White again at the piano, doing her new single. Hmm, I didn't know she had a new single. So maybe I need to listen to the radio more. Nah, I might listen all year and not hear it. Hearing it on the show was very good. She looked good too.

The other guy who made it through was Kris Allen, doing "Man In The Mirror." I used to like this song. I used to have a Michael Jackson CD single of it. I don't know if I'm too whoopie on it anymore. I wasn't exactly enamored with Kris Allen either. But when he sang it tonight it sounded pretty solid. I'm noncommital on whether I like him especially. He's probably a nice guy. I was surprised that Megan didn't get picked, but I didn't care for her all that much either. I guess it's good that Kris made it, since there weren't really any of the others I was especially rooting for.

I also liked the "Wonderful World" montage. Nice to see Taylor Hicks again.

That Little Girl

It was great seeing that little girl with Michelle Obama. How great both looked. Then when Michelle started hugging her, then the girl's mother, then all three together ... it was very touching. Michelle is nothing but class.

And I liked the letter she wrote to the Congress or President, telling them about her class, that "We are not quitters." That was great.

President Obama had an interesting word on dropping out of school, too, that people aren't just quitting themselves but their country. Very appropriate thing to say.

A Big Green Comet

I read this morning that there's a big green comet supposed to come blasting through the sky tonight. It's the size of Jupiter, which if memory serves, is an enormous planet the size of several thousand earths.

Good grief, I think, like I always think when gigantic news like this comes along ... Why didn't they tell us before? Did they just wake up today and discover it? It sounds like something worth telling us a little more in advance. Not that there's anything we could do about it, say, if it veered off course; I don't think that's in the works. But it'd be worth hearing about before the day it happens!

Anything worth doing, anything worth seeing is worth having some advance notice. We have the countdown days to everything, Christmas, elections, vacation, shuttle launches. But when it comes to eclipses, comets, all this stuff that is measured in light years, we wake up, then they tell us, that later today, this is happening.

Doldrums Eating

I need to think about eating something. I feel down tonight, but not eating isn't a solution. There's no compelling reason I have to eat; it's not like I'm going to starve; but just giving in to a bad mood isn't the answer either.

The thing about eating, though, is it takes effort. More effort than pushing the keys on this keyboard. And my stomach is doing some things. But what is there? I have some things in the refrigerator that could make a meal. The problem is some of it is the same stuff I have for breakfast. And I don't want every meal to be breakfast.

I could go out but I hate spending money at this point. I've had some crazy expenses -- family crises -- and it'd be better to keep back plenty for the next rainy day, which could be literally any minute. There's no telling. There's no security, that's for sure.

I have a book somewhere, and I can't find it, even though I've looked several times. Maybe it's fitting that I can't find it. The book is something like this, "The Wisdom of Insecurity," and I think it's by Alan Watts. (I looked it up on Wikipedia and that's the correct title and author.) I see he wrote it in 1951. Anyway, I've looked at it in places over the years but never have read it through. I seem to recall the upshot is that being insecure is actually a pretty good way to be. What reason? This I don't know, but my guess would be it keeps you trying, keeps you alert, and lets you know life is meant to be lived this moment, moment to moment, and not like The Rich Fool of the Bible.

The big problem is I feel like I like security, even if it causes all kinds of pain. Just thinking of complete insecurity, I will leave that pleasure for when and if it just happens all by itself. I can hardly see me being homeless and all that. It's a terrible thought, but who knows, maybe it wouldn't be all that bad. I don't say that humorously.

I think there's a couple of cranky pork chops in the fridge. By cranky, I mean the ones the grocery store hides under the good looking ones. The first to be packed, the last to be eaten. They have a kind of security in their insecurity.

George Washington's Birthday

Imagine having to go through this every time it's your birthday:

George Washington was actually born on February 11, 1731 of the Julian calendar, in use before England's calendar reformation in September 1752. His birthday is equivalent to February 22, 1732 in the Gregorian calendar used since 1752. Later in life, Washington himself considered the 22d to be his birthday.

You'd be like, It's not really my birthday if you're going by the Julian calendar in use by the calendar reformation England had in September 1752. No, what I'm going by it the Gregorian calendar used since 1752, so my birthday is Feb. 22, 1732.

You do too much of that and I start losing interest. How terrible they had to do all that and mess up the guy's life. He's born in 1731 and it ends up 1732. Weird. But the good news is it didn't happen till he was already more or less in his 20s. By then he's grown up and not a confused little kid wondering why his birthday was screwed up.

For some reason they never mentioned any of this when I was in school. We memorized that his birthday was February 22, 1732. How fortunate we didn't have to get that other date in there too. That would have made it unnecessarily complicated.

So ... this leaves us today to maybe wish George Washington a happy birthday, or maybe not. Depending on how you swing with all these calendars.

The Pain Scale

I had the misfortune -- which is happening more and more these days -- of accompanying a loved one at the emergency room.

Usually when we're there we're in a private little room where there's very little activity. Today we were in the main room, where everything's separated by flimsy, moving curtains, and quarters are tighter.

All the time, in all these visits, they ask your pain on the scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst possible. Sometimes it's 10, sometimes 9, sometimes 8, etc., meaning this is supposed to mean something -- and of course it does in ballpark figures. For instance, a 1 is objectively different from a 10, but a 9 is not objectively different from a 10, at least in the knowledge between people; perhaps it is to the person feeling it.

A doctor came in and asked the pain level, and she says not too bad, a 6. The doctor says a 6 is pretty bad. Right there we have all the evidence we need that the number doesn't mean anything definite. I said something to him about it and he didn't just laugh it off as an obvious conclusion, and instead said, "It means something to me." Yeah, it means you don't know any more about it now than before you asked. Or you wouldn't have argued with what the patient said.

A Line Of Geese

Three lines, one in flight. This is a phone picture, which seems to do a very bad job.

Germs On The Treadmill

I have a rare cold. I'm not one to get sick, actually, so when it happens I'm very surprised.

It's not a comfortable feeling but it doesn't get me down. I'm really looking at it halfway pleasantly, because it just reminds me of how well I always am. But I'm wondering how I got it.

There's one thing that's been weighing on my mind. And that's the very unfortunate coincidence of reading last week that you're not supposed to blow your nose anymore. That it's bad for you. So I've been sniffling and snorting and sneezing. And, yes, I have broken down and blown it a few times. To be technical, I believe it said it was OK to blow one nostril at a time, which I've been doing occasionally. Once, though, I'm pretty sure I did both at the same time.

How did I get this? Someone at work suggested that maybe I got it from the exercise place. The thought already had crossed my mind. You have all these strangers -- 24 hours a day -- working out, sweating, wiping themselves, coughing (perhaps), holding on to the grips of the treadmill or the handles of the elliptical. It's a wonder I'm not always sick!

You're supposed to clean off the equipment with a disinfectant towel, which I always do, but I notice not everyone does. (It's like cleaning up poop after your dog goes in the yard. I'm very conscientious and regular about it. But there are neighbors who don't give it a thought.) So what happens to me, maybe I touch my face, whatever, now I have a cold.

I'm very wary about germs but not to the point of disabling me. Plus I know that disinfectant towels might miss some, and with the way that certain germs are not wiped out, whatever doesn't kill them only makes them stronger. The strong survive and repopulate the treadmill. Then their strong offspring are immune to the disinfectant towels. Pretty soon they're strong enough they're working out themselves on the equipment and we're standing in line till they're through.

Everything is germy. But most of us have developed some immunity. The catbox, the garbage, the dog's droppings, the sponge in the sink, the toilets, bacon packages, the list goes on and on.

American Idol

For the most part, I'd say obscurity is better than notoriety.

I really think I'd rather be an obscure hotel singer with a steady job that to be someone who went on American Idol and bombed out first thing.

The way they have the format this year, bombing out first thing is what's going to happen if you just happen not to be that great. The TV doesn't obscure the facts; it accentuates them.

Then you have blog after blog rating you on the disaster of it all. It has to about be too much for a young person, 21-26, who thinks he or she is really something.

The ones performing last night, with few exceptions, were pretty bad. I wondered if they would be, because the first one, Ms. Tohn, didn't seem bad to me. Then the guy following her, Mr. Braddy, wasn't terrible, just boring looking. Then the next singer, Alexis Grace, I thought blew it away in a great job. After that it was smooth sailing downhill, except for a couple of exceptions or half exceptions.

Tatiana wasn't herself, the herself we've come to know. Danny Gokey did good.

The Castrators of Russia

I just got a book at the thrift store that looks interesting, "Secret Societies -- A History," by Arkon Daraul. Wow, even the name of the guy sounds secret. The blurb says, "The classic, sensational study, with an analysis of their forms, rituals, and beliefs." It looks pretty classic, although I can't figure out why I haven't heard of it before.

I turned immediately to one interesting looking group, The Castrators of Russia. I haven't read it yet but my eye landed on a few lines, including this one: "Each member is allowed to have two children, after which he must be castrated and can fulfil himself in the way which, the sect insists, was his destiny." I got to say, you wouldn't be a part of the group if you didn't want to be, I assume, but if I ever saw my wife with a pregnancy test, I think I'd be having second thoughts.

It says in another place that they had a real whoop-de-doo of a ceremony, with lots of singing and lots of prophetic outbursts. They're in trances and it says, "These ejaculations were carefully written down..." By that they mean what they had to say. Sounds a little weird, with the subject matter and all.

And one last snippet (pardon the expression), castration is called the Baptism of Fire by the sect, because it was originally carried out with a red-hot iron. Later they changed it to a sharp knife, "because of human weakness." It seems, though, that they used numerous other tools to get the job done. And there's a citation of statistics that lists those: Knife, 164; Razor, 108; Hatchet, 30; Scythe, 23; Iron, Glass, Tin, etc., 17.

A scythe? 23 guys were castrated with a scythe? You have to be careful. They might cut off your leg, too.

The Music Time Forgot

The music time forgot is the Spanish songs they play in the Mexican restaurant. Not being someone who knows much about that whole scene, are these current hits? It's weird that they all sound so old fashioned, like they're from the '40s or '50s.

But really there's no reason I know of that music has to sound different as the years go on. Time goes on but that doesn't mean music has to change. A whole bunch of accordions ought to sound just as good in one decade as it did in another. That's a fact. A very sentimental sound, a rollicking tune, a boisterous group, just add it up.

Our experience, they way I've seen it, with music is that it does change, but that could just be our experience. You can tell the difference between popular music from the '40s, '50s, '60s, and so on. It's not just one big mash of the same thing.

Music from Mexico ... musicians from Mexico ... and I don't know a single one ... they've got the big hats, big guitars, big groups, and it's a very happy sound. I was looking at some CDs at a Mexican grocery store just today, and there they are! By the way, the sell CDs that are chockful of mp3s there. You can buy a CD with 230 songs on it! With the list on the back being in small time. Other ones with a hundred and some songs, etc. It all looks a bit shady.

Valentine Candy

I don't want to depress the Valentine candy market, but definitely the day to buy candy is tomorrow, when it's around 50-60% off.

I went to the store one year the day after Valentine's Day and got so much candy for 10 bucks, I still haven't come down from the sugar high. Big heart boxes full of sampler chocolates. It was so much chocolate I wasn't even nibbling the chocolate off the jelly ones before tossing them out.

Every holiday is a total letdown when it's over, that's well known. And Valentine's Day is no different. But it's much different than, say, Christmas, in that there's virtually no build up to it. And when it's over it's over. But with Christmas you go shop for bargains for the next year. With Valentine's Day there's no saving up for next year. You just pig out on the candy for a week and that's it.

And there's some other differences. With Christmas, usually your gifts last a while. But what about Valentine's Day. Candy, we've covered that; it's eaten. Flowers, they quickly rot. Stuffed animals, I don't know what happens to them, but they're useless. You spend way too much for flowers, flowery cards, going out to eat, and it's over.

Have a great one!

Happy Birthday, Peter Tork

Happy birthday, Peter Tork. Let's see, born in 1942, so that makes him 67. He was my favorite Monkee in '67 and now he's '67 himself.

By now I'm much too old to have favorite Monkees. Part of it probably comes from having kids, and you can't have favorites there. Or at various jobs, where everyone has to be your favorite, the apple of your eye, to keep the peace.

But back then Peter Tork looked exactly like the free spirited kind of guy that appealed to me, the great hair, cute looks, and the metaphysical, intuitive, spiritual, complex stuff of asking questions and discerning what there is of reality. He was definitely the go-to Monkee for that side of things, like George Harrison. And I really did like the hair, and the belt with the buckle off to the side.

I think it'd be weird to be famous, especially where the arc of widespread fame was as short lived as it was for the Monkees. The worst thing would be to always be associated with a particular year, like 1967, then have people asking you about things you did in that year. In their case, 1966-1968 were the big years. So here it is over 40 years later. You step out in public and someone wants to know why you did so and so back then. To me that would be terrible. Please go away and let me live in peace. But everyone's life is different, so you can't really say you're shortchanged when it comes to life because you were famous in 1967 and continually associated with it through time. It's probably a good thing, because you can still make a living based on the association.

Then one big positive is that complete strangers like me wish you happy birthday! Or maybe that's a negative. I don't think I'd like it. It'd be like complete strangers being your friends on Facebook. What do I care what they're doing? I don't.

Lincoln: Reading Is Fundamental

I think we all -- my immediate circle anyway -- have an image in our heads of Abraham Lincoln doing a lot of reading. Especially reading by the fireplace or with a candle, in a dark room with such a small flickering light that he can barely see by, but he keeps on reading.

For him, then, clearly reading was fundamental, as something to learn by as well as to kill time. And there's no evidence -- none -- that he was reading just to get free personal pan pizzas. But had he been reading to earn pizzas, he would have earned a great many, and subsequently been a very fat man.

But it'd be weird back then to be a big reader, because books weren't really that plentiful, or they were expensive to get. And being out in the sticks somewhere, they just didn't have them. So we have it so great and don't appreciate it.

According to a book I've been reading today, Herndon's Life of Lincoln, Lincoln concentrated on the Bible, Aesop's Fables, Robinson Crusoe, Pilgrim's Progress, a History of the United States, and Weems' Life of Washington. (p. 74). And as to this Life of Washington, he borrowed it from a guy, but then they had cracks in their log cabin and it got water damaged when it rained and Lincoln had to work hard to pay the guy back 75 cents. The guy was very unforgiving (p. 74-75).

Lincoln didn't get much formal schooling. All total it was only about a year. But he educated himself by carrying books around and reading all the time he could. And he had a great memory of the things he read.

One friend Lincoln had, a younger boy -- Joseph C. Richardson -- reported that Lincoln had the best penmanship in their neighborhood. At Richardson's request, Lincoln wrote him a penmanship sample that touched on his love for books. (p. 75-76)

It said:

"Good boys who to their books apply
Will all be great men by and by."

(The book quotes are from "Herndon's Life of Lincoln," 1965 paperback in the Fawcett World Library.)

The Colonel's Recipe

Colonel Sanders' recipe for Kentucky Fried Chicken is now entirely safe. I thought it was entirely safe before, but it doesn't sound like it was. They had it in a file cabinet with a couple of locks.

Now they have some kind of new vault -- I read about it this morning -- sort of like Fort Knox, only really secure. Alligators, a moat, doors with knobs hooked to triggers, laser beaming gargoyles, etc.

All this is being done to protect one single yellowing sheet of paper that Colonel Harland Sanders wrote his recipe out on in pencil. What I'm seriously afraid of is that the paper will simply rot in there. You can't protect against that entirely, since the enemy is within -- the way of all flesh -- and it's insidious.

So what I would do if I were them ... photocopy about 40 copies, laminate them, put them in some kind of big time capsule, bury them where it is extremely cold, whatever. Like that place up north where they're keeping seeds against a worldwide plague or famine.

Then if we ever lose the original recipe -- however carefully it's being guarded -- we will still be able to eat Kentucky Fried Chicken throughout eternity.

Kiss

I like hearing the random conversations of people. I have a little mp3 recorder, and I had it with me, but I never have it on at the right time. So I miss a few gems that are amusing as well as typical. Sometimes they're typical and sometimes they once were typical. The snippet I heard today is definitely from a dying genre of snippets, which is the old music critic who doesn't like all this new fangled stuff.

I went to a thrift store -- different town from where I live -- and I noticed they had a bin of LPs in a different place than they used to. But I couldn't immediately look at them because there was an old guy going through them. And anyway my main interest is looking at the CDs, since, to me LPs are secondary these days, and they don't usually have any especially good ones, and there's not usually any hurry because very few people are looking for them, at least for the exact same ones that I'm likely to buy. So let the old guy look.

I did my thing, went through the CDs, went through the books, then came back toward the cash register. The old guy was with the checkout lady, and he must be a regular, because something he said indicated that he'd found some others he liked. He was friendly. Then he started commenting on the other LPs he left behind that they were just "noise." He used that word and exacerbated his criticism, repeating it in a harsher way. But he had found some good ones!

Then I heard him say -- this snippet is very close to an actual quote -- that "a few years ago there was a group that painted their face and..." (Essentially recorded a lot of noise, with their image being everything and the content nothing worth having.) The checkout lady immediately said, "Kiss," which he then remembered as being correct. He started saying something about having his old turntable and sticking with the good music they used to have, etc.

But I was going through the albums by now and Kiss wasn't in there, nor was there much in the way of rock records at all. There was the usual array of religious albums, both the famous and the locally produced. There was some Ray Anthony, some albums from that era, which seems to me like that might be up the guy's alley. And other than that I don't remember any, just average, typical stuff like you always see in LP bins. I think there literally was a copy of Herb Alpert's "Whipped Cream" album. I say literally because it's really not an official thrift store LP bin without that album! That's a good album, but usually the copies they have at thrift stores are junked out.

As it turned out -- no big surprise -- there wasn't anything in the bin for me.

OK, what did the guy find that was so great? I didn't see what was in his stack. But he had maybe up to six or seven LPs, or five, and the top one was one of the "Sing Along With Mitch Miller" albums, the yellow one that I believe has a fold out cover. I've seen it over the years quite a few times. It's hard to believe this old guy with his old record player wouldn't already have that one! Or maybe he wore it out.

Windy Night Tonight

Where I live the wind suddenly popped up and took off a little over an hour ago.

It seemed weird, since I was out and it wasn't that windy. Then I was walking around the house and thought I heard singing, like a ghost singing. And it turned out to be that whistling sound around windows, the door, and those occasional loud whooshes of the wind.

I was just having a discussion about ghosts with some folks the other day. And after being my usual skeptical, dismissive self on the subject, I've been giving it a lot of thought. What if there were ghosts roaming around? If they were reasonable, friendly ghosts, maybe we could get along pretty well. But if they're like on that ghost hunters show on SciFi, biting me on the leg, maybe it wouldn't be so good. I'll be swatting the air trying to disengage their teeth from my leg. Hopefully that won't happen.

For the most part I like the sound of the wind. It stimulates your imagination. And I hope it doesn't blow any trees down.

Obama And The Republicans

I hope Obama gets the Republicans by the scruff of the neck pretty soon and shakes them up good. I personally think it's a mistake to bend over backwards for these guys, because they're always right there to slit your throat if you show vulnerability. So if he's doing rope-a-dope, that's one thing, but if he's seriously trusting these hacks, that's another.

As far as the economy goes, it looks to me like the media wants to portray Obama as down for the count. For whatever reason. They seemed overly in love with him, maybe this is just the shadow side of that. They have to dump on him now. But we all have a vested interest in things getting better. And it sickens me that the Republicans, for their short term partisan interest, would root for the country to go down the tubes. People are actually suffering.

Myself, I am fed up to here, now and forever, with the Republicans. There will never be anything they can do or will do that will put them anywhere near my good graces again. Because I think that they, the Congressional types certainly, are up to no good now and forever. They are so ideologically driven that they simply can't do anything right. I think they're selling out the country and it's a terrible shame.

Look at their partisan record. Whatever damage Bush wanted to inflict, they were there to cheer him on. Then he's out of office and we hear they're essentially glad because they supposedly didn't like him very much. Could have fooled me.

I want Obama to succeed -- for his sake (minor point) but for all our sakes (major). It's ridiculous to want things to go sour just so you can swoop in years from now and ... actually cause more damage. That's the Republican agenda.

My Blowing Garbage Can

The garbage went out a few days ago. The garbage guys, as would be expected, left behind the garbage can. Then a little wind came up and tipped it over. Then it was rolling back and forth.

I thought today, go over and fetch it. But the dog was there and there were puddles and mudspots in between. To have her hip deep in mudspots and drenched from puddles would make more of a mess to clean up, not less. So I postponed it.

Tonight then the garbage can had rolled to the exact middle spot of the driveway and at the edge of the street. Getting out of the car, a pedestrian just happened to be coming along. I stopped and got out and the guy went to help me get the garbage can. I'm saying, 'No, don't, I'll get it. It stinks,' but he fetched it anyway and we shared that single moment. 'Thanks.'

I offered him a ride, in so many words, without really saying it, but he was just going "around the corner."

I've seen the guy somewhere before, and not just from the neighborhood. But I can't think of where. Chance meetings are interesting to me.

Stimulus!

Pass the stimulus bill already! That has to be a drag, being in the Senate, with their idiotic rules. I swear, if we had 99 Democrats and just one bedraggled Republican, somehow that lone guy would be able to bring the place to a screeching halt.

How bad does it have to get in this country, though, before the Republicans think we ought to do something about it. If they walked by their own home and saw it on fire, would they call the fire department? Or would they debate it for a couple weeks while it burnt? A couple weeks would only be a conservative estimate.

And these are the same guys who bent over backwards for that scoundrel, George Bush. He was running the Constitution through a shredder and they stood up and saluted. But now, suddenly with a glimpse of possible partisan success by dragging the entire country down, they decide it's time to examine carefully every little nitpicking thing.

I not only hope things get better. Everyone should wish that. But I hope the voters reward the Republicans for their obstructionism in 2010, making the third time the charm.

What I Learned Today

I was reading some stuff on American Idol, since I watch it.

Kelly Clarkson says she's not a lesbian. I had no idea this was an issue, but apparently some people have greater access to her than I. I wouldn't know how to find out stuff like this, but somebody can. She says she's never been in love, but does prefer boys. So there.

I wonder how old this information is. Maybe it's old but I just saw it. I say that because this same site said that Elliot Yamin's mother died, no details. So I looked it up at other sites and it turns out she died, must have been sometime in March 2008. I've really been out of the loop, I guess, since that's almost a year ago and I didn't hear a word about it. His family said they wanted privacy ... and as far as I'm concerned, they got it.

One of the other American Idol stars reported that he was gay. Which one? I'm thinking it said Clay. I wasn't watching it back then and don't know much about him.

David Cook's album went platinum, meaning a million units sold. That's interesting. I have it but have not heard much about it around. Have there been big hits off it, except for the coronation song? The fact that I don't listen to the radio means this is something else I don't know.

Taylor Hicks has a new single. I would like to have it. But probably won't buy it. Since if I buy whatever album would later come out, I don't want to buy the single twice. I haven't heard much about him. He seems to be an idol that American Idol never mentions.

Bikini Girl Kartrina something (Darrel?) was kicked off the show. Good riddance. She was worthless and shouldn't have been there in the first place. Entertaining in a drama queen way. That Tatiana is another one. Weird bird.

The Joy of Seeking

An interesting line from Kabir (Tagore translation, #LV) is this:

There one is immersed in the joy of the seeking: plunged in the deeps of love as the fish in the water.

I want to just drop the phrase "plunged," etc., and say I especially like the first part today: "There one is immersed in the joy of the seeking."

The "there" in the sentence is "the path of love." So in the path of love one is immersed in the joy of the seeking.

For anyone goal oriented or task oriented, getting the task completed or the goal reached is the essential thing. Checklists and all that.

But the verse from Kabir speaks really of completing only in a sense -- which is how the "plunged" phrase would come in. Kabir finds but is joyous to seek. There's interaction everywhere in it, and I hate to sound like I'm separating things like in an analysis.

The lesson for me would be this, to quit feeling so disappointed in the seeking. That's where the joy is (too). And if that's what you've got anyway, why not let it be something of absolute joy, not disappointment. Disappointment, to the extent that it is consciously felt, is just looking for something other than what you have.

March March March

Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, I gotta march, march march...

I don't know why I'm sitting here like a slug, all consternated, all zapped out. That's not me. My biorhythms aren't meant to be out of whack. Though ten thousand fall at my right hand, it doth not come nigh me. What can you tell yourself?

What can you tell yourself? is a good question. Because there's always a kind of dialogue, or internal monologue that at the same time incorporates many voices, past expectations, present propaganda, and future hopes/fears, the whole thing.

When I get in a funk, it's time to get out. That's not you. That's every other idiot. Popping their pills, dozing off. For me it's raw, raw, raw. Live it till you hit the wall, then keep living it.

So here is my day's resolution, although delivered in the day getting on ... You will not be down. Being down is not an option. Be up, get going, crank it.

World's Ugliest Belly Button

I met a guy today who said he has the world's ugliest belly button. He got shot right there. I was expecting him to show it to me but he didn't. I was hoping to take a picture but I was feeling queasy, just in general, and didn't suggest it.

Career Builders Ad

I watched most of the ads on the Super Bowl, except whatever was playing when I was in the bathroom. And most of them were tolerable, but I have a few comments.

The one entirely intolerable ad this year was the one for Career Builders. It started and was disgusting from the get-go, then about 13-15 seconds into it I hit the mute button. That was the only one that got the mute tonight.

I thought hitting the mute at that point was a vain gesture, a worthless protest, but it turned out to be valuable. Because the commercial was a full minute -- it must have been, since it seemed to go on forever. Good riddance to that one, may it receive widespread shame.

The others? Some were a little too violent for my taste, people getting the crap beaten out of them. Some of them were too schmaltzy. For instance, I hate all of the Budweiser horse commercials, in which somewhere there's always a close-up of the horse's eye, meant to show his determination, a kind of pivot point in the ad where an important decision has to be made or an important move to influence the outcome has to be made. They're real likely ... and of course they always have a happy ending for the horse, but they're not satisfying (to me) on any level.

Horses don't run off and hunt for a denied love. Animals don't run away and live happily ever after. It's ridiculous.