Rapture or Rupture?

The idea of people leaving the earth like baloons released from a children's party no doubt comes from human folly eventually having dire consequences. I can't help thinking that we will go too deeply into an oil field and suck something monstrous out of middle earth.

A bumper sticker asked for the cars of those who were taken in the Rapture. Do any of you drive hybrids?

Suicide Bombing -- The America Way

When Americans walk into the work place and start shooting, it is the equivalent of suicide bombing. We don't always have a well defined mission though. It is often just psychotic slaughter. Sometimes we take our own lives after we've had enough second-amendment fun. Or we wait for the police to kill us so that good triumphs over evil -- one gun correcting the excess of another gun.

Metrosexual House Painter

Now that I have your attention, I want to mention that I have three cans of Barbasol shave cream. Don't ask how I ended up with three cans, but I'm almost done with number one. If I wasn't a house painter, I might shave daily and write in my blog about metrosexual life in a city with ten dollar candy bars.

Seven Kitchen Tables

If you remodel for a living, all those McCain kitchens will need to be remodeled. At that level of income a kitchen is good for about two years, maybe sooner with the Bush tax breaks. So there's lots of work for a few. The rest of the work force is screwed though.

Police Shooting and the Woman in the Red Sweater

There was a lot of police activity at the end of the block today. I thought it was a car accident, so I didn't bother to look until I went for coffee. Later, TV camera crews and a number of police officers were still on the scene interviewing witnesses.

On the way back from the cafe, I followed a number of police officials in suits, pasty white guys like myself. They were very animated about the reporter in a red sweater. A sixty year old woman was either in surgery or dead and they -- what else -- were leering at the reporter in a red sweater.

The sweater was for TV and a police shooting. Her Capri pants gave her the look of someone who'd been out walking her dog when the call came.

Chicken Liver Omelet

While out walking yesterday, I passed a cafe where I once had a chicken liver omelet. The taste for chicken liver is not so much acquired as it is experienced a few times then abandoned.

As I was eating the omelet, I had no idea that it was in effect payment for the production of a play I had written. I was writing plays at the time and had high hopes that this production would do many positive things, not the least of which would be an understanding of how plays worked and didn't work.

None of this happened during the production. With the taste of chicken liver in my mouth, I moved on to house painting. When I was left alone in a room with an open can of oil based paint, I never looked back.