My Favorites

I have lots of favorite blogs, but I'm only going to share a few with you today. I may have shared them before, but I'll do it again. These are special:

Indian Food Rocks--While the focus is generally on Indian food (I love Indian food), Manisha's posts about her daughter's experiences, dealing with snow, her fantastic photos, and dozens of posts on other personal issues make it appealing. I can envision myself as a student of her photographic and gastronimic talents.

Learning to Sequence and Perils of Caffeine in the Evening--These two blogs by a husband and wife from Seattle give me a snapshot into a very complex set of lives of two people who I think are extremely intelligent but very approachable...the way people should be. I can imagine sitting on the porch, drinking wine and chatting about books and kayaks with them. Isabelita and I could enjoy our Ethiopian food while Phil waxes poetic about sunset on the Sound...or vice versa.

Everybody Knows--Despite her love of baseball, etc., Kathy is a very interesting person, a very intelligent being whose experience with the law is appealing to me, albeit mostly hidden. Glimpses into her life with her 15-year-old son and TMotH make riveting reading. She's one of the relatively few people in the blogosphere who I think would be as interesting in the flesh as she is on the tube.

Konagod and Black Soap are two blogs written by a guy from Austin whose political rants and tales of life with his partner and their friends and cats are always informative, interesting, and provocative. The fact that our political perspectives are usually in lockstep probably contributes to the fact that I like to read what he writes...that, and he is an excellent writer.

Burning Silo is, by far, my favorite "nature" blog, but Bev's posts go beyond nature and tell stories of her life in Canada...and those stories can be breathtaking in their depth. Though I've never met her in person, I know with absolute conviction that Bev is a wonderful human being that I'd be honored to know in person. She and her husband live an interesting life on a rural Canadian farm...and I want to be there!

Your Pharmacist May Hate You--This blog is excrutiatingly funny and horribly frightening at the same time. I was introduced to it by another favorite (though, honestly, I don't know why...I just like Alex), Where the HELL are my Penguins?

I have more favorites, but these are the ones I tend to read every day when I can. They've become like old friends with whom I like to share my morning coffee or, in another mood and another time, a shot of the hard stuff.

Counterproductive

No more bitching for the immediate near-term. I've just decided it's counterproductive, and I don't have the energy for it.

Return

I'm back in the land of the living after being submerged in client work since Tuesday. This client's big annual event is over and, with relatively few and mostly hidden glitches, was successful. I'm getting too old to be hard at work by 6:00 am and go at it at 100% until 6:00 pm or later. Particularly when it involves moving heavy boxes, dealing with a few very stupid and obnoxious people, and ignoring other work for clients for which I have much greater respect and admiration.

I rented a monster cargo van and hauled about 2,200 pounds of boxes with me to Houston. Most of the cargo was left there, but I had to bring a couple of hundred pounds of stuff back in the van. I took the meeting detritus to the office this morning, had breakfast with my wife at a restaurant near my office, then returned the van to the rental company.

I did leave something else in Houston, though. I left my Blackberry Pearl cell phone. It disappeared on Friday afternoon, never to be seen again. I have no idea where it might have gone. I've cancelled my service and will now have to ante up for a new one, which holds no appeal to me...none in the least. In the meantime, I am realzing how I depended on the phone, though I didn't use it much. It was more an insurance policy and "blankie" that was my lifeline to the rest of the world. How utterly revolting!


My sister moved to a new apartment in her building yesterday, but because I was driving the monster van, I chose not to go visit her and help her. I did not want to spend any more time in city traffic than I had to, so I opted to pack up and leave the moment I could. I was hoping for 12 or 1 pm, but that was optimistic. I ended up leaving about 2:45 pm, but I still got to Dallas while it was light and then went out to eat dinner with my wife.

Van Babble

In just a few hours, I'll hop into the massive cargo van I rented today and head to Houston, carrying just 2,000 pounds (more or less) more than the van weighs empty. This van rental puts a snag into my plan to visit my sister in Houston while I'm there for a meeting because I dare not take this monster anywhere but directly to the hotel and directly back on Saturday afternoon. But maybe I can convince a nice niece to come pick me up one evening when I'm not tied up (which remains to be seen) and the whole famn damily can go to dinner.

Did I forget to mention that I'm ready to retire and will greatly appreciate contributions of money or land?

Desk Job

The plan for this week was to be this: a) I'd drive my car to Houston, to the same hotel where we had another client meeting last week; and b) other people who will staff the meeting (four of them) would drive a rented mini-van, which would also be used to transport the conference proceedings and program books, etc.

The staff member who arranged this apparently failed to concern herself with whether the volume of "stuff" would be suitable for a mini-van.

It's not. We have 1750 pounds of proceedings books (35 boxes), plus another couple of hundred pounds of other literature and assorted other bulky boxes...plus four people. The payload of the mini-van is 1500 pounds, max.

So, we're also renting a two-seater cargo van that I'll probably drive myself...though I'm tempted to have the staffer drive it.

And tomorrow I'm meeting with a prospective client and have another such meeting a week from today. And I learned today that we were not selected by yet another prospective client. And I have one other proposal outstanding.

That's what I know. That, and I know I'd rather be mowing my acre in Falba than working my "desk" job.

Food and Food Banks

Everywhere I turn, the news about the world's food supply is dark and frightening. Rice has risen in price by more than 100% in many places during the past year and 45%in only a couple of months. For people who depend on rice as a staple of their diets, that's not good news.

Will "more" ever be enough? Has it ever been enough for us in the U.S., who have more money and food and clothes and homes than we could ever possibly need? People are starving worldwide and we're worried about how fast we can convert corn to biofuel for our SUVs.

I think about how easy it is for me to enjoy the ethnic foods I love and how horribly hard it is for millions of people to find enough food to simply sustain their lives. It makes me feel sick. Yet what do I do aside from expressing my moral outrage at the disparities I see? How much do you do?

There is no decency, no morality, in talking about compassion for the poor if there is no SIGNIFICANT, concrete action to back up those claims. Talking it up, expressing outrage at the unfairness of it all is, being a backseat liberal...it's all hypocrytical bullshit if not accompanied by something meaningful in the way of personal sacrifice and/or personal contribution to solutions.

It's painful to see that food banks, shelters for the homeless, and thrift stores in the U.S. are experiencing a sharp decline in donations at the moment when more and more people are finding themselves in financial straits because of loss of jobs, rising food costs, and rising costs to put gas in their cars.

There are ways to make a difference simply by making donations to food banks and the like. If we can't find it within ourselves to live less like royalty, at least we can find it within ourselves to share the wealth. Here are some organizations that could use help, to help others. Surely, if people can give to churches for feeding the "spiritual" needs of people, they can give to organizations that help people by putting food in their bellies:

Second Harvest
Alameda County Food Bank
Atlanta Community Food Bank
Capital Area Food Bank of Texas
Capital Area Food Bank (Wash., DC)
Community Food Banks of South Dakota
Eastern Illinois Food Bank
Farm Share
Feed My People Food Bank (west central Wisconsin)
Foodshare, Ventura (CA) County's Food Bank
Food Bank of Central Louisiana
Food Bank of Northeast Georgia
Food Bank of the Rockies
Food Bank for New York City
Food Bank of Central and Eastern North Carolina
Gleaners Community Food Bank (Southeastern Michigan)
Good Shepherd Food Bank (Maine)
Greater Baton Rouge Food Bank
Greater Boston Food Bank
Greater Chicago Food Depository
Hawaii Food Bank
Houston Food Bank
Idaho Foodbank
Montana Food Bank Network
New Hampshire Food Bank
New Mexico Association of Food Banks
Northern Illinois Food Bank
North Texas Food Bank
Northwest Harvest
Omaha Food Bank
Oregon Food Bank
Rhode Island Community Food Bank
San Antonio Food Bank
Second Harvest Food Bank of East Tennessee
Second Harvest Food Bank of Santa Clara and San Mateo Counties
Second Harvest Food Bank of Santa Cruz and San Benito Counties
Second Harvest, Inland Northwest (Eastern Washington, Northern Idaho
St. Mary's Food Bank Alliance (Arizona)
Utah Food Bank Services

There are many, many more. If you can't find one near you, send me an email and I'll find one for you.

Look, A Lert

It's 4:41 a.m. on Sunday morning. I'm awake because my rotten sinuses caused me to have a coughing fit. Once that happened, I heard the birds outside. Loud. Very loud. One or more mockingbirds are out there, making a racket of orchestral proportions. Don't get me wrong, I love to listen to birds. But it's very dark outside just now. I should be sleeping.

Such is life. I'll make some coffee and pretend I'm fired up for the day. It's 64 degrees, according to my computer (which rarely lies to me). Maybe a walk in the dark is in the offing. Who knows? Not me. I'm not quite awake and alert enough to know.

Sixties

One event down, another one looming on the horizon.

I'm finding that more and more of my "free" time is spent on the Internet, doing things like pricing used tractors, looking at hyper-economical ways of building homes, and learning bits and pieces about the most efficient ways to grow climate-appropriate vegetables.

This is a sure sign that I am a latent child of the sixties. Commune, anyone?

But then there's this...WTF? I blame it all on KathyR.

You Should Drive a Lamborghini

A true daredevil, you're always in search of a new rush. Clearly, you're a total speed demon... just don't get caught!

What Sports Car Should You Drive?

The End of Gluttony

My wife's feeling better, so I feel better. But being on the road and unable to be there for her bothers me. The "planets" are aligning in ways that make me think the impending expiration of my office space lease should signal the end of being wrapped up in a business I have come to dislike. Time to get serious about this now. What could my next career look like and how could it keep food on the table without devouring time from my wife and me like a gluttonous monster?

I Want to be Home Tonight

I am sitting in my hotel room in Houston, wishing I were home with my wife. She got sick this morning, or maybe last night, and has felt miserable all day. I've only spoken to her briefly, but I know she's feeling horrible. She was to manage registration for a client meeting tonight, but was simply too sick to take care of getting everything ready. The only other two staff members left at the office weren't able to get everything ready, so the registrants will do without name badges tonight. But the other staff will be there and it will be OK.

But I'm very worried about my wife. She said she can't keep anything down and is feeling weak and dehydrated. I want her to go to see a doctor. I just hope she will. If she doesn't feel much better very soon, I'm heading home. This meeting can do without me. Clients can do without me. Two other staff are here with me. They can handle the meeting without me.

My wife is no doubt sleeping, or trying to sleep, so I don't want to bother her by calling her again, lest the sound of the phone wake her. But, damn, I'm worried about her.

Happy Anniversary

Today, my wife and I are celebrating our 28th anniversary. Now, that's a reason to celebrate! Happy anniversary, my favorite wife!

The Myth of Trees

Mature trees can look perfect. Big, sprawling shade-makers with bright green canopies look almost like they were manufactured and spit out of a mold, they're so perfectly sculpted and so deliciously set into the green earth below them. There's not a leaf out of place and not a flaw in their strong, sturdy bark. They appear rock-solid and permanent. Like mountains, they will be there forever. They will always provide a place of protection for the birds that call them home. The squirrels that live in and on them can always depend on them for refuge.

Even mountains erode and succumb to the forces of earthquakes and water and freezing and thawing.

These last few days, as I've wandered through old, established neighborhoods near my home, I've seen evidence that trees aren't rock solid. And they're not permanent. Enormous oak trees that must have lived for 90 or 100 years were felled by the recent windstorms. They were massive things. Some of them must have had circumferences of twenty feet or more.

Other trees have simply been ripped and torn so badly by the wind that there's no telling whether they can survive. Time will tell whether the remaining stray limbs and massive trunks can weather the damage.

If the damage done by the wind were not enough, ciy and electric company crews have gone out in force since the storms, mutilating trees to protect overhead wires in case there's another fierce storm. The crews with saws and cables are adding insult to injury.

When big trees are ruined or badly damaged, it changes the character of a neighborhood. It makes all too apparent the fact that permanence is a myth.

My Musical Experience

My favorite wife went to bed early tonight, so I’ve been attached to my computer with my headphones on, listening and being transported to places beyond myself. Here are some of the eclectic mood swings I’ve been through so far tonight:

Clap Hands, Tom Waits
Dimming of the Day, Mary Elizabeth Mastroantonio
Symphony Number 9 (Sherzo), Seattle Symphony
Missing You, Loudon Wainwright III
Looking at the Rain, Gordon Lightfoot
Tacoma Trailer, Leonard Cohen
Christmas Reindeer, The Knife
Hold On, Hold On, Neko Case
Tilt Billings and the Student Prince, Leo Kottke
Laughing River, Greg Brown
Dentro la tasca di un qualinque mattino, Gianmaria Testa
Sultans of Swing, Dire Straits
On Susan’s Floor, Gordon Lightfoot
Plastic Jesus, Billy Idol
Slippery Slope, Dead Buffalo
Falluja, David Rovics
Every Man is His Own Hero, Danko, Fjeld and Andersen
Angels in the Snow, Danko, Fjeld and Andersen
It’s Worth Believing, Gordon Lightfoot
The Psychic, Crash Test Dummies
Un aeroplano de vala, Gianmaria Testa
To Live’s to Fly, Guy Clark
A Thousand Kisses Deep, Leonard Cohen
Tanz Tanz, Dynamo Zetor
Northern Rail, Dixie Chicks
The Story in Your Eyes, The Moody Blues
Last Day of Pompei, Trout Fishing in America with Blitzen
Bottom of the World, Tom Waits
Telling Stories, Tracy Chapman
It’s About Time, Terri Hendrix
Wait for Me, Vallejo
Marie, Willie Nelson
Sympathy for the Devil, The Rolling Stones
You Can’t Always Get What You Want, The Rolling Stones
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, Gordon Lightfoot

And the night is not over yet!

Things are about to get über-crazy in my worklife, with two back-to-back conferences next week and the week after. I'm looking forward to getting those monsters out of the way.

Then, the second week in May, my favorite wife and I take 5 days off and go to Chicago to meet up with her sister and the sister's boyfriend...we'll act like tourists in my old home town. It's been 18 years since we moved away from Chicago after a 5-year stint there. I still miss it.

Maybe when we come back we'll be on the road to good news about some proposals I've submitted recently, one as recently as this afternoon.

OK, time to vegetate.

We're OK

The meteorologists were right. We had some pretty horrific storms last night, but somehow I managed to sleep through them. My wife did not.

They roared through Dallas between 3:15 and 4:00 am this morning, causing massive damage all around the area but, fortunately for us, not in our neighborhood. Oh, we had some tree limbs down and some ruined shrubs and trees, but nothing serious. Schools, airports, and various other places nearby had serious damage.

Last night, on one of the "Big Three" broadcast television stations, I watched a portion of a program about a college professor who gave his "last lecture." In his case, it may truly have been his last lecture, as he learned that he has pancreatic cancer. The program, and a subsequent article I read, was inspirational. This guy is able to look at the world in such a positive light. He probably is a spiritual person, I gather, but I hold no hard feelings against him (or anyone) for that.

I was astonished at how much I felt I was learning about life by listening to this guy. Some people, of course, will react to the program as thought it's another "religious" program. Frankly, as an atheist, I don't care. What matters to me is that he has some moving, inspirational messages to share. All of us could stand to be a little less cynical and a little more awestruck by the wonders of clouds in the sky.

Tornadoes & Aridity

Last night's storms were loud and blinding and interrupted our sleep, but they did nothing more than threaten. Today, much more severe storms did quite alot of damage in the town of Breckenridge, about 130 miles west of Dallas. Those storms birthed tornadoes, we're told, and are heading in our direction. So we can expect (or should be prepared for) severe weather later tonight and early tomorrow morning.

An acquaintance from one of our client groups called today to tell me he's going to Argentina, Chile, and Bolivia in July, another trip designed to allow him to participate in demanding marathons. This trip will include a marathon in the Atacama desert, said to be the driest place on earth. The Atacama desert is, in large part, very high in altitude, so the temperatures are not horrifically hot. I equate deserts with heat, but the Altacama desert is dry, not hot.

Storms

I hear the rumble of thunder outdoors tonight. I think we may be in for a night of storms. I love the sounds and smells and flashes of rough weather.

One of my recurring daylight dreams is to be all alone in a house, a place in a very remote location. My vision is of a stunningly modern house, with enormous walls of glass on all sides. It sits high on a cliff overlooking the ocean. It is very late in the day and I watch the sun slip from the sky and sink in the distance. As night falls, I watch as line after line of powerful squalls roll in from the ocean, lightening flashing brilliantly and the wind howling as the rain comes ripping across the sky in sheets, slamming into the glass walls of the house and shaking them mightily. I'm drinking a Scotch and water, something I rarely do. The only light in the house is a single candle, sitting on a table against a wall somewhere behind me.

I'm terrified to see and feel the monstrous energy of the storms, but transfixed by their beauty and the almost unimaginable power they possess. And I'm utterly and completely alone and enjoying that isolation and the desolation of the place. It's as if there is no one else in the world but me; and that sensation is refreshing.

Tonight, the storms won't be so powerful.

Odd Contortions: Not Acceptible

Something's strangely wrong and I don't know what it is. When I put my socks on in the morning (bending over, you know, to get them on my feet and then pull them up), it's like my gut gets all tied up in knot. I have to stand up, move my body around just so, and it seems to "pop out" to the right spot. Whatever is inside me causing these odd knots is not right. I won't stand for it.

I've concerned that my allowance of the buildup of fat on my body has allowed this to happen. A body my age should be able to contort into all sorts of positions without being tied in a knot. No. Not acceptable.

Urban Reserve

On Sunday, my wife and I stumbled upon an absolutely wonderful new housing development that is exactly what we've always wanted. The homes are very modern, they are architecturally adventurous and assertive, and the setting is very, very nice. The landscaping reminds me of a Zen garden, quiet and simple yet beautiful. It's very close to a light-rail stop, so transportation would be simple. There is a creek along one side of the development, which is surprisingly small, just 13 acres, yet which squeezes 50 homesites in.

I'm terribly, terribly disappointed in the prices, though. The least expensive home is more than $800K, rising to well over $1 million. I can't buy any of the homes. Even the lots are out of my reach: $160K and up. But I know what I want to build on my land in the country. I will make it a Zen retreat.

By the way, a Buddhist temple is just a few blocks away, hidden in the woods near this Urban Reserve.

On a rather unrelated subject, I'm posting the photo below because it is a very common sight this time of year in Central and North Texas.



My appreciation to Cynthia Harvey Neal, on whose website I found this photo.

Plastic Jesus

Let us pray...

This isn't exactly as I remember it, but then what is? My first recollection is from Cool Hand Luke. I don't think the whole song found its way into the film, but I do recall Paul Newman singing a good bit.


Well, I don't care if it rains or freezes,
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.

{Refrain}
Plastic Jesus, plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.

I don't care if it rains or freezes
As long as I've got my Plastic Jesus
Glued to the dashboard of my car,
You can buy Him phosphorescent
Glows in the dark, He's Pink and Pleasant,
Take Him with you when you're travelling far

{Refrain}

I don't care if it's dark or scary
Long as I have magnetic Mary
Ridin' on the dashboard of my car
I feel I'm protected amply
I've got the whole damn Holy Family
Riding on the dashboard of my car

{Refrain}

You can buy a Sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestones sitting on a
Pedestal of abalone shell
Goin' ninety, I'm not wary
'Cause I've got my Virgin Mary
Guaranteeing I won't go to Hell

{Refrain}

I don't care if it bumps or jostles
Long as I got the Twelve Apostles
Bolted to the dashboard of my car
Don't I have a pious mess
Such a crowd of holiness
Strung across the dashboard of my car

{Refrain}

No, I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
But I think he'll have to go
His magnet ruins my radio
And if we have a wreck he'll leave a scar

{Refrain}

Riding through the thoroughfare
With his nose up in the air
A wreck may be ahead, but he don't mind
Trouble coming, he don't see
He just keeps his eyes on me
And any other thing that lies behind

Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Though the sun shines on his back
Makes him peel, chip, and crack
A little patching keeps him up to par

When pedestrians try to cross
I let them know who's boss
I never blow my horn or give them warning
I ride all over town
Trying to run them down
And it's seldom that they live to see the morning

Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
His halo fits just right
And I use it as a sight
And they'll scatter or they'll splatter near and far

When I'm in a traffic jam
He don't care if I say Damn
I can let all sorts of curses roll
Plastic Jesus doesn't hear
For he has a plastic ear
The man who invented plastic saved my soul

Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Once his robe was snowy white
Now it isn't quite so bright
Stained by the smoke of my cigar

God made Christ a Holy Jew
God made Him a Christian too
Paradoxes populate my car
Joseph beams with a feigned elan
From the shaggy dash of my furlined van
Famous cuckold in the master plan

Naughty Mary, smug and smiling
Jesus dainty and beguiling
Knee-deep in the piling of my van
His message clear by night or day
My phosphorescent plastic Gay
Simpering from the dashboard of my van

When I'm goin' fornicatin
I got my ceramic Satan
Sinnin' on the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
The women know I'm on the level
Thanks to the wild-eyed stoneware devil
Ridin' on the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
Sneerin' from the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
Leering from the dashboard of my van

If I weave around at night
And the police think I'm tight
They'll never find my bottle, though they ask
Plastic Jesus shelters me
For His head comes off, you see
He's hollow, and I use Him for a flask

Plastic Jesus, plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Ride with me and have a dram
Of the blood of the Lamb
Plastic Jesus is a holy bar

Mind-Chatter

According to the Guadalajara Reporter, the Apple iPhone is coming to Mexico. Excuse me while I yawn. There's something different about your normal "early adopter" and the people who went ga-ga over iPhones. Early adopters tend to be geekish, I think, while the iPhone cult is fueled more by ego and vanity. That's my opinion. It could be wrong. There's a first time for everything.
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Yesterday's "Song of the Day" on NPR Music was Last Day of Magic by The Kills. I listened to it. In the beginning, I didn't much like it. But in just a minute or so I changed my mind. I think the phrase, "A little tornado, a little hurricane-o" is what did it.
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Speaking of NPR and music, the R.E.M. concert at SXSW 2008 is available in its entirety at here. I have not listened to the entire concert, but am listening to Until the Day is Done and I like it alot.
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I've been curious about AlJazeera for a long time, but have never had occasion to actually watch the domestic program on televiion because it's not available, to my knowledge, on my satellite service (DirecTV). In fact, I'm not sure it's available on any service. Maybe it's only available to "watch" online? Bah!
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If you found Molly Ivins as intelligent and intellectually stimulating as I did, you'll appreciate the journalism you'll find in The Texas Observer. I encourage anyone who reads this to subscrbe. It costs as little as $32 per year.
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Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" Speech
August 28, 1963, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Meetings and Musings

Two back-to-back weeks of client meetings are coming up, soon. Two back-to-back weeks in Houston, at the same hotel, are just around the corner. Aaarggh!

Well, at least I have a meeting in Pittsburgh in July, so I can look forward to getting out of this godforsaken state. And I heard on NPR yesterday that the Strip District in Pittsburgh, which is very close to the hotel I'll be in, is a great place to visit. Butchers, fish mongers, women selling bread from their kitchen windows, flowers being sold on the street, all manner of unusual diner-type restaurants, etc. I'm looking forward to Pittsburgh in July. Not looking forward to Houston in April.

I just renewed 3 domain names for 9 years each; only paid $95 per domain, so just over $10 per year. What a deal! Now, I have to stop thinking about those domains ad turn them into something that produces revenue and/or interaction!

Lapsing into Teen Bewilderment

I appreciate and enjoy my blog friends. That having been said, is it kind of crazy to develop some form of "friendship" with people you've never seen and probably never will? I'm just asking.

I'm the sort of person who has very, very few friends. And that's probably for good reason. As much as I'd like to have confidence that people are, at their core, good, I'm not convinced. I guess, as L.C. once said, I have faith but I need proof.

It's odd, I think, that Mr. Misanthrope is so involved with posting on other bloggers' pages and so interested in knowing what other people are doing and thinking. Again, theses are people I don't really know. You know. You, you're the one...in real life, you could be a Republican preacher. You could be deeply religious and deeply offended by my atheist's perspective.

Why do I visit you? Why do you visit me? What's the point? Why do I really, truly care when I read that a blogger friend's husband is very ill or that her mother is sick or that another blogger's wife has lost her job? What does it matter to you if I lose a client or that I'm feeling down?

I think social networking sites are revealing some things about human nature that I did not know were there. And I don't know just what things are being revealed. Just something different from what I'm used to.

Gas, Politic, and Rock & Roll

Either I have some pretty decent persuasive skills or I just wore the gas guy down. When he came to look at the gas lines, his first reaction was, "I can't hook this back up, the house line is busted." True, the leg of pipe leading from what had been the gas meter to the long pipe into my house looked and felt loose, but I was convinced it just looked that way and was not leaking.

So, he said he's run a pressure test on it. Sure enough, it held. So, he said he'd try to connect a new meter, but because of the looseness of the pipe, he wasn't sure it would hold. "You better pray with me now, he said." I felt bad about it, but I decided to lie to him and tell him I would, indeed, pray that the line would hold. He kept on working and got the meter attached, turned on the gas and, presto, the meter worked! He warned me I'd need to get that leg of pipe fixed before long, though. So, we have hot water and can dry clothes and, if we're surprised by a freak snowstorm, we can run the heat.

Everyone tells me that it will take a week to get the gas running again after I call a plumber o repair that one short piece of line, courtesy of the City of Dallas needing revenue. Lots of permits, inspections, etc., coupled with lots of plumber time and money.

Kathyr says she's a Lefty-tarian. On the same scale, I'm a serious left-wing libertarian, even more so than she is, so I'm probaby on the Bush Administration's arrest list.

On the same blog, Kathyr reported that she is most like Keith Moon, according to a miserable excuse for a highly scientific assessment instrument. Here's what the same instrument had to say about me:

You scored as Jim Morrison Jim Morrison 78% Jimi Hendrix 53% John Lennon 53% Keith Moon 50% Syd Vicious 48%

I Don't Have Gas...at Least Not That Kind of Gas

Last night's focus group wasn't for a magazine aiming for Consumer Reports' demographics. It was for Consumer Reports. They're redesigning the magazine and they wanted feedback on their plans as they stand now. So, six or seven males in their 50s were asked to give the editors and others feedback.

I was impressed with the new look. I think it will be very attractive and will be a significant improvement. And we got the opportunity to meet the Editor-in-Chief at the end of the focus group. But that wasn't last night's big excitement.

Just as I was pulling out of my driveway to go to the focus group, my next door neighbor came dashing up to my car and said, "did you know your gas meter is broken and it's spewing gas?!" No, I didn't know it. But I got out of my car and immediately heard the loud hiss of gas escaping. The meter had been turned upside down and a pipe underground had been broken, causing massive amounts of gas to escape.

The neighbor had Atmos Energy on the line and they said they would send someone right away. About half an hour later, a very grim, utterly unfriendly guy showed up and began checking it out. He utterly ignored our welcome, our comments our questions...he acted like we weren't there. He just looked pissed and he was a completely obnoxious jerk. I was happy to get out of there, lest I express my sentiments to his face and be repaid by having his massive hands snap my neck.

I returned home to find that they had shut off the gas, removed the meter and left a note saying I needed to get a plumber out because they did a pressure test on my gas pipes and they failed the test. Calls to plumbers today alerted me to the fact that, if that's true, I'm looking at several thousand dollars in expenses, plus being without gas for at least a week. Then, the City has to come inspect it thoroughly for another several hundred dollars.

After speaking, later, to Atmos, they said they'd send someone back out...it could be that the fact the water heater and house heating system lines had not been shut off could have caused a false reading. That was three hours ago. I'm now waiting, again, on Atmos. I hope they find that it's not a leaky line. I don't have an extra several thousand dollars I'm prepared to part with at the moment. I'd just rather not do it!

I hate older houses. I used to like them. Now, I hate them. And I hate unprotected gas meters. And I hate whoever did it to my meter. May they spontaneously combust and vaporize in a painful sizzle.

Focus Group

Tonight, I'm spending about two hours as part of a focus group for what I believe is intended to determine the prospects for a magazine that is likely to go after the same audience as Consumer Reports. The schedulers seemed almost dizzy with joy when they learned my demographics (White, 54, North Dallas address, never arrested for improper bodily contact with a farm animal, etc.).

I've been a part of one or two other focus groups and have found them fascinating. While my evening is otherwise essentially shot, at least they're going to pay me $75 for my time and trouble. I should have held out for $275. I would have, had I known when I agreed to do it that they were desperate for a 54-year-old White guy. Apparently, old Hispanic women, young Black men, and ageless Asian women had already signed up for the affair.

I guess they won't feed me, since it will be between 8 and 10 pm. Hhmm. Maybe I'll have a dinner of Limburger cheese, onions, and tequila so I can have one end of the room to myself.