Also this

coke-fueled sex parties and the Department of the Interior -- a partnership working for you (unless they didn't invite you to the parties.) I mean, sorry for mentioning it... I'm sure they meant to invite you, or maybe your invitation got lost in the mail or something...

out of hibernation

To bring you this important link.

Love,

Clip Dragon Palin

The coming bailout...

I don't envy the next President, who will have to clean up a big stinking mess -- and I'm not just talking about the war in Iraq or the environmental issues. The Fed is backing risky bonds and it's nothing compared to what we're going to see during the coming banking bailout. It's going to be massive. And vile.

Progress Report

Daniel was in the studio working on a song tonight. The boys were cuddled together at his feet, listening and trading stories.

You Got a Big, Fine Couch...

Props to DC for the best local cable teevee advertising I've ever seen. First Eastern Motors, then John C. Flood, and most recently, this gem:



Whaa-pish!

The Odd Couple

We're dogsitting again. Yes, it's true. Jasper, the 85 lb bulldog, is once again gracing our humble home with his snoring, flatulent presence. He's like part of the family, and he's visited us often since we've had our other young man, Linus, at the home. But this was his first extended visit.

Jasper is largely indifferent to cats. In fact, aside from a short sniff hello, he tends to ignore them altogether. Linus, on the other hand, is still enough of a kitten that we were worried about his reaction. Because Jasper has been here so often, he has to think of the house as an extension of his own territory. He knows the house, and when he comes over he knows right where we keep his toys. (Yes, Jasper has toys that live at our house). As you may imagine, this perturbs the cat. In fact, the first time Linus caught sight of Jasper, he inflated himself to about five times his ordinary appearance and sought higher ground. But within an hour, Linus had established himself as the Alpha, and things have gotten pretty interesting around here.

We clipped Linus' claws very carefully before Jasper's visit, but were nonetheless concerned that the cat might actually hurt the dog. We found, however, that Linus is keeping his claws in when he hits the dog. And unfortunately, Jasper takes it on the chin a few times a day from the cat, quite literally. To be clear, lest people think we're allowing the animals to abuse one another, we're pretty sure Linus is not trying to injure the dog. He's just making a point.

Of course, all the power struggles end when the kids get sleepy, anyway. The very first evening we had Jasper with us, D and I snuggled up on the couch for a movie and, before long, two sleepy animals settled in on top of us like a warm blanket. D lucked out and got Linus. Jasper, however, who sees me as the Mama he never had, parked his rear end on my lap and stayed there until I lost all sensation in both legs. We weren't exactly comfortable, but the boys fell asleep about a foot away from each other.

Our animal expert friends have suggested that we monitor the animals as they get to know one another, but otherwise not to fuss over them too much. So far, it's been working. Their friendship is solidifying. Sort of. Jasper really likes Linus and follows him around like, well, like a dog. Linus, for his part, is highly amused. He tries to hide his affection, but lately we have noticed some secret naptime cuddling. Linus starts with one paw out and gently touches the dog on the back. Once he's sure the dog is sleeping and won't sniff in his face, he will put the other arm there as well, and the two sleep like that, in a strange embrace.

The daytime invites greater caution on both sides. The two will carefully touch noses now, although Jasper holds his breath, as he knows that Linus has mental problems and that one loud snoof is all it takes to send jittery Linus skittering away at top speeds.

One peculiarity we've noticed is that Linus' position as the Alpha has gone so far that if he is in a doorway, the dog will not walk past him. The cat, for his part, just lays there as if he's not doing anything wrong while Jasper whines and barks until one of us comes and moves Linus from his path. This happens even when Linus is sleeping, so we don't think it's an issue of Linus bullying him but rather a deference issue. Whatever the cause, we hope they work this out quickly, because most of these stand-offs occur in the wee hours of the morning.

All in all, the kids seem to having fun together. They're both getting a lot of attention individually, but when we're not actively playing with them, they seem content to pal around together. And we're making constant progress. Jasper has also stopped trying to demolish Linus' toys, and it's been a few days since Linus fired off any paw slaps. Unfortunately, we still haven't been able to fully prevent them from sampling one another's food.

Here are some pictures of the fledgling friendship:

First night:

Naptime:
While Jasper is nuzzling his "dudes," Linus takes opportunity to sniff a paw:

On Another Note

On another note, as many of you know, D and I are getting married! I wanted to make note of this happy occasion earlier, but we've been so excited, and so busy planning, that I haven't had much opportunity to post. Also, I wanted to hold off posting the news on my blog until we were sure our friends and family knew. (It's a modern world, but there are better ways to tell your loved ones you've gotten engaged). D and I are getting married in my hometown of Pittsburgh in late summer, 2008, when Pittsburgh weather is at its finest. Not that the weather matters; I'd marry D barefoot in a blizzard. I'm the luckiest person on the planet. Fortunately for me, he seems to think that title belongs to him.

They say that Keynesianism is Dead, but...

I try to keep my politics out of my blog. Most of you know I'm a lobbyist, so my proximity to the meat-grinding process that is policymaking discredits me with half the population--including my father, who takes great joy in sending me jokes and insults aimed at politicians. This same proximity, however, affords me a bird's eye view of why political decisions are made and the unshakeable grip that campaign donations have on policy.

That said, policymakers and politicians are playing by the only set of rules available right now. It's a broken system, yes; but we're all complicit. Many lawmakers take office, earnestly vowing to resist special interest politics. I may be naive, but I believe a good many of them mean it. Yet, these promises are usually broken by the time the next election takes place.

Why? Because we don't support politicians who resist. It takes money to get elected, and until we truly start to limit corporate contributions and PAC giving, set aside a public election fund and mandate its use, and in the interim, give more on a personal level, there is no other path to reelection. And with respect to personal giving, I mean on a scale that counts.

Naturally, this is not universally applicable. Some people simply have no disposable income to spend on political contributions. I'm talking to the rest of you. If you think spending $100 dollars on dinner or drinks a few times a month is more important than donating a thousand dollars every year to a candidate who is trying to buck the system, then you are the problem. If you abhor special interest politics, put your money where your mouth is and donate to candidates bucking the system, even when they are not your own representative.

But I digress. I didn't make a rare appearance tonight on my own dying blog for a rant against campaigns and elections, but I did come to rant about money. Or, more precisely, monetary policy.

I've been sick, so this is the first opportunity I've had to comment on the $165 billion economic stimulus package the President signed into law last week. The package will be sending checks to taxpayers this summer, with most of us getting $300, $600 or $1,200.

Most of you know I'm mildly liberal. Left liberal on social issues, moderate on fiscal issues. Taking someone's fiscal temperature, however, is usually only possible when done in relative terms. Like even the most die-hard conservatives, I don't believe all spending is bad spending, as long as the spending matches my priorities. I don't consider money spent to shore up our education, welfare, health-care, public safety, transportation, or other socially important programs to be government "waste." So most people wouldn't call me fiscally conservative at all. Some people might dare to call me a "tax and spend liberal." Which is probably closer to the truth.

The difference between me and most traditional fiscal conservatives, however, is that my spending priorities include many American domestic spending programs while conservatives simply favor spending that eventually benefits their own bottom lines. Spend on defense, spend on corporate welfare, spend on tax breaks, spend on policies and programs that bolster the hefty business interests that are coincidentally bulking up their own investment portfolios. I have news for those of you "true fiscal conservatives" who think tax breaks are "conservative." Guess what, it's the same as spending when the deficit is 70 percent of the nation's GDP. (Nope, not the worst it's ever been, but don't say it's not bad.)

But here's some news for you fiscal thinkers, and it's not exactly new. Fiscal policy in general isn't the steadying hand that rights the ship. In the long term, economic health can only be accomplished through fiscal responsibility. In the short term, the kind of fiscal tinkering that includes economic stimulus package is usually worthless.

I keep hearing this 1 percent figure. Well, guess what? 1 percent of this nation's budget is over 150 billion dollars. For you conservatives: shouldn't that be too expensive for you? And for you liberals: remember when you (rightfully) campaigned against the proposed 1 percent budget cut? What do you think this is? This latest economic stimulus package is nothing more than a tax cut in disguise. And proponents hold that reducing marginal tax rates and creating economic incentives, tax cuts (or economic stimuli) will facilitate the flow of resources into production, push products into the market, and boost economic growth, overall. Maybe. But more likely, maybe not.

What galls me is that any liberal would vote for this package. Don't you fools know how to recognize supply side economics? And these supply-siders are still trying to fool us with that tired old argument, which holds that tax cuts, in whatever form, will eventually pay for themselves by boosting the economy and increasing total revenue. I understand the allure of this theory. In truth, it's no better than a pyramid scheme aimed at creating the intangible notion of instant wealth. On paper, the trick looks like it will work and there may be a few anecdotal cases for success. On a long term and broader scale, however, it's nothing but a costly illusion.

I'm no economist, that's for sure. (If I was, I guess I wouldn't consider 5 bucks a day on coffee a "sound financial investment.") But I've followed policy for a long time, and I believe there are three main ways to influence the economy. All three exist on macroeconomic levels, and two are long-term plans. The first is to maintain steady and faithful fiscal responsible. The second is to invest in government programs that provide options for education and growth in the long term. Only the third path can carry short-term effects, and this involves careful adjustments to monetary policy (management of interest rates, mainly), not fiscal policy (economic stimulus, tax cuts).

But the supply-siders are back. Not only are they worsening the deficit now, they'll do more long-term damage than good, both by lowering the amount of revenue available to support current infrastructure needs and the critical domestic spending necessary to run this country.
Keynesianism has been largely discredited. Not many people believe that interest rates and spending should be tweaked in an attempt to "fine-tune" the economy. And I agree. In order to stave off this coming recession, I believe interest rates would need to fall to near zero. And although that would help a lot of people, I can't help but think of the long-term. Private debt is extremely high and we can't continue to sustain this.

In fact, when I do think of monetary policy, I find myself reminded of sailing. My own, that is. My sailing buddies will point out that I'm oversimplifying, but to me, sailing requires both big, smooth moments (tacking and gibing) as well as constant small movements to make sure you're capturing enough wind to carry you forward. I'm a novice sailor, so when the wind is dying down, especially, I tend to overcompensate. As a result, I leave an "S" curve wake trailing behind that suggests the uneven hand of a novice at the tiller.

Needless to say, an experienced sailor knows how to finesse the tiller. So, then, can the Fed. But in terms of short-term tinkering, modest interest rate adjustments is as far as we should go. Economic stimuli are almost always a bad idea. Often, by the time the new law goes into effect, the damage is done (perhaps that's why these rebate checks will be coming this summer, even though the income they're attached to is 2008's). Not only do stimulus packages need to be rapidly enacted to have any considerable impact, they also have to be huge ($156 billion huge?). Spending like that usually invites much larger problems. Again, the difference between tax cuts and spending is irrelevant, at least in theory. Instead of deficit spending economic stimulus package, we are better off encouraging responsible budgeting practices and allowing the Fed to adjust interest rates. And as I mentioned, we should be careful, even with that.

Not to be Dave Barry, and tidily bring it all back to my opening paragraph -- think about who supported this package. Republicans. And Democrats. Supply-siders and hardcore Keynesianists. Why? Because they're afraid to lose an election. It almost invites me to extend this debate into an argument for longer terms for members of the House of Representatives, but I think that's enough wonky stuf for one evening, even if I do want to scare away any remaining readers with boring policy talk!

Is the Sunday Source now written by children? (and if so, where are their parents?)

I've long been a fan of the lighter side of the Washington Post, having even held a brief stint as a style invitational "Loser" when I first came to Washington. So when the Sunday Source was launched in 2003 to target the 18-34 year old crowd, I was pleased.

Clever and well-written, if a bit light, it was the first section I reached for when the Sunday inserts came; just as the Post intended. Four years later, however, I am deeply disappointed with the section. The writing has become pat and the articles are one-dimensional and singularly insipid. Sunday Source: what happened to you?

Yesterday's issue, for instance, just oozes with mediocrity.

Take Ian Landau's piece about a group of expired frat dudes who offer glib advice in the unlikely event that anyone else might be interested in their quixotic attempt to stave off maturity with a rock club whose members, instead of just going to shows when they feel like it, devote one boozy evening each week to a mandatory and organized outing to whatever band is providing current fodder for the rock blogosphere's feeding frenzy.

Does the Sunday source really need to insult my intelligence with two pages of drivel on a subject like this? Worse, do we really need the feature box, where the idiots featured in Laundau's story share advice on forming one's own rock club -- including tips for handling the wife or girlfriend? To paraphrase these guys: should one's girlfriend or wife object to music night (with its requisite weekly drinking, where hubby returns home after 1 AM to his sleeping wife and kids) then a reconsideration of the relationship might be in order. Never mind if she wants to go see some shows herself or go along, this is a "no girls allowed!" club.

If that weren't offensive enough, Landau goes on to quote the wives, who he describes as "patting their husbands on the head" as they depart for shows while relishing their own "me-time" pursuits, which apparently include "running to target," "quilting," "reading a book or magazine" and those elusive evenings where they even get control of the remote.

Are you KIDDING me, Sunday Source? Is this unmitigated cow dung supposed to pass for journalism? No! This isn't journalism. This reads like a parody, but sadly, it's not.

Lest my vocal discontent be misconstrued as the grumblings of an aging misanthrope, (okay, okay, that's exactly what they are) I would point out that, although I'm now on the older end of its spectrum, I am still the target audience for this section. As a thirty- something trying to balance the concomitant pull of work and family with the desire to keep at least one foot in the "scene," the Post thinks I should eat this up. And if that's true...if you're writing this for me, please stop! Seriously, it's terrible.

If not for me, or someone like me, then for whom are you writing? Sixteen people with no taste and low standards, if the grammar is any indication.

Aside from its inane content, the Sunday Source has become poorly-written. And sure, maybe this is a trend. I've heard before that newspaper journalists are told to write at the fourth-grade reading level in order to keep pace with the general decline in U.S. literacy where readers might otherwise stumble on complex sentences and words like obviate or culminate, which are routinely edited out of copy deemed "too advanced" for the average reader.

Yet, surely a difference must exist between this intentional pandering to the lesser intellectual and the product of writers who just can't do any better.

When the Sunday Source debuted, it seemed well-written, topical, and casual. Most importantly, it had a young voice. Now, it's written by "journalists" who come off as young, alright. In fact, they write like a batch of self-congratulatory interns who perceive their readers as people they need to impress, not enlighten.

Take Suzanne Damato's article this week on fashion do's and don'ts. I know, I know, it's a Q and A, so maybe she's entitled to this type of talk:

"The best rule I know is to figure out what works on you -- with your frame, lifestyle and budget -- rather than blindly following someone else's notions about style. (Yes, even mine.) "

It's possible that Damato meant her parenthetical insertion to be self-deprecating or ironic rather than arrogant, although I'm not sure, considering the fact that she referred to herself at least eight times in half as many paragraphs. Either way, her writing isn't concise enough to aptly convey irony or humor.

What's more, I found her erratic punctuation to be more interesting than her subject matter. After reading the copy, I'm not sure what she finds trendier: the double-collar featured on her model or the overuse of dashes, colons and parentheses. (Too many parentheses usually signifies badly structured text or stream-of-conscious writing, but who am "I" to judge?)

Speaking of me, turnabout is fair play. I use parentheses like mad and I tend to talk about myself pretty frequently on these here pages. But this is a blog. By nature, it is stream-of-conscious blather.

Unfortunately, Damato is writing for a newspaper, not a blog. And its hard to sniff out her credentials when her voice is so distracting. Her fashion chops might be laudable, but she gets in the way of her own ideas. Her articles don't seem to be about fashion so much as they seem to be about what she thinks about fashion. And I'm not sure who cares.

Unfortunately, most Sunday Source writers seem to be without discernible journalistic voice. Instead they come off as a bunch of kids with megaphones shouting "Hey, look at me, no hands!" There's a way to put oneself into copy without coming off as self-congratulatory, if the story demands a first person account. Likewise, one can adopt a casual voice without resorting to platitudes. Clearly, they need guidance. And that's the point of my gripe. This little rant isn't so much a blind criticism of these young writers, whose feelings would be surely hurt if they ever came across this criticism. (I'm sorry!). It's actually aimed at the problem of editorial direction, or, in this case, the lack thereof.

Are these writers choosing their own stories without guidance? Are these writers inherently bad journalists? I doubt it. My guess is that, in its quest for a young, fresh readership, the Post has made caricatures of its writers by offering them free reign without the requisite experience.

Perhaps the best question of all is who are the editors? Debra Leithauser took over for Sandy Fernandez back in 2005 in what FishbowlDC describes as a shake-up. It seems to me the decline in content and readability has been marked and fairly recent, but maybe I haven't been paying close enough attention.

Whatever its current ailments, I hope the Sunday Source gets itself together again soon, because I just can't read it in current form anymore. The paper can do better, and maybe the writers can, too.

Thanksgiving 2007

The Mammal and I have been having a hard time trying to figure out the Holidays -- should we go to my hometown of Pittsburgh, or his hometown of Baton Rouge? Ultimately, we've decided to spend Christmas with his family and we'll have a belated celebration with mine the following week, alternating years and Christmas locales until we decide on a different strategy. (Which had better not be next year, or my parents will kill me!)

As for Thanksgiving, we ended up deciding by not deciding, something we're both a bit notorious for doing. I had a series of unfortunately-timed Board meetings here in Washington the week and was delivering my snow-bird Gram to Florida the week after that so it made sense for me to stay put. We put off making a final decision, however, until it grew too late for me to go anywhere, and it grew increasingly expensive for Daniel to travel South. So instead of learning our lesson and commisserating over a Thanksgiving as orphans, we celebrated our procrastination with a little feast of our own. We had so much fun I wonder if I'll EVER go home for Thanksgiving again.

Mammal in Pajamas

I've Learned...One Must Drain the Turkey of Gravy

La Dulce Vida

Linus Had his Own Little Feast

Especially Thankful

Pusher

Postprandial Bliss

Black Friday, Pink Chaise

It's beginning to look a lot like CHRISTMAS!!!!

We Christmassed up the place the day after Thanksgiving but I'm just getting around to posting it now. That's because we were planning a little party. Pictures of same forthcoming!

Linus in the Afternoon

No pet ever replaces another. We knew there would never be another Tinkerbell, who was a shoulder rider, a perpetually available companion, a dog-like, loyal, and gentle soul. The Tinks was friendly to all from kittenhood to her dotage, a keen fetcher of paper-balls, sworn enemy of all cats known and unknown, a menace to the rodent world, and the best cat that ever lived.

But Linus is no slouch, either. For better or for worse, our boy is rapidly distinguishing himself as a gentleman of many pursuits...and of many personalities. (Of many teeth, too).

It's true. Our dear Linus has shown himself to have about 17 distinct personalities, most of them fairly agitated. But the remaining few personalities all share a sweet, sleepy disposition, so we love our little fellow just enough not to sell him to the gypsies.

Linus has two perfectly formed little fangs that expose themselves mainly when he is sleeping; the further back he lolls his furry little head in repose, the more visible they become. Like some kind of little fruitbat or gerbil, he seems in constant need to bite and chew in order to relieve himself of some fang-related malady or other; perhaps he is filing down his sharps. If this is true, then he is equally fond of sharpening them back up on our vulnerable exposed flesh, especially while we're sleeping. We could set our clocks to his nightly routine; each night around 3:30 in the morning he stalks us as we slumber. It's very enjoyable for everyone involved. What's not to like about the occasional puncture wound delivered like a swift death-blow through three layers of bedding?

We live in fear.

Of course, we can't really blame the boy. He's just a baby kitty! He is VERY curious. And it's clear that he is also deeply, deeply mental. In fact, he seems to think the Brookstone N.A.P. blanket that the Mammal got for Christmas last year is his mother. (And, occasionally, his wife, but I'll spare you the details on that except to say it caused us to second-guess the neuter job allegedly done at the shelter before we rescued him...)

As I type this, he is slumbering peacefully next to the Mammal, who is busying himself with yet another item on our unending list of home-improvement projects. He sleeps on chairs, on the floor, on the aforementioned "mommy blanket;" he sleeps upside-down, half way on a lap and off a lap, on a pillow, on our legs, halfway on the Mammal and halfway on me, and when he wakes up he's got a jawstretching little squeak in his yawn that fills me with the (seriously ill-advised) urge to take my chances on a little nose rubbing action.

Here is some Linus for your viewing pleasures, in all his many, kittenly glories.

Soft and Sweet

The Mommy Blanket

When the ears turn sideways, hit the deck.

Untitled from faye on Vimeo

A look at those sharp teefs in action

A still shot of those teefs.

Joshua Tree

In early November as the weather, at last, was turning cold in Washington, we spent a few days hiking Joshua Tree National park. I was there on a business trip to Palm Springs, so we only had two days to visit this lovely place before our return flight home. We split our trip in two, spending a day each in the Colorado and Mojave deserts, approaching the park from the Colorado desert end. It was hard to go home.

Trees near Lost Palms Oasis

Ocotillo

D. Mammal with long shadow in the Colorado

Tortoise on Lost Palms Oasis trail, about 1.5 miles in

Mastodon Peak

Atop Mastodon Peak

Thirsty

Hungry

Midday Desert Sun

Mammal, Boulders

Joshua Trees in front of Ryan Mountain with view of Saddle Rock - Mojave desert

Indian Shelter

Joshua Tree standing sentry on Ryan Mountain

Cactus

Mammal atop Ryan Mountain with view of Salton Sea

San Jacinto is just visible to the left in this picture

Mojave desert from atop Ryan Mountain with Salton Sea

San Jacinto Peak

Mojave Desert approaching Colorado Desert

We'll be back!

Two Birds

One week after we adopted Linus, I had a business trip to Palm Springs. We'd planned to board our cat, Linus but since he was still adjusting to his new home, we asked my brother, Jaybird, to catsit for a week.

Jaybird (pictured in the Costa Rica teeshirt) was accompanied by his friend The Chick (pictured in the Steelers jersey) a 20-something enigma -- an accountant by trade -- who, rather predictably, drives around in an immaculate, brand new silver Cadillac sedan and, rather unpredictably, boasts a number of facial piercings and an insatiable appetite for heavy metal.

The two of them together are hilarious -- sort of like watching an old, slapstick style sitcom.

I hope they come back soon!

And of course, so does Linus.

Welcome Linus

D. Ignatious Mammal and I got a new kitty.

We'd been lurking shelters for a while, spending some time with the animals. We weren't ready, but we wanted to check them out. Until the moment we brought him home, we still didn't think we were going to get another cat just yet. But we were walking out of the tunnel of kitties one day, a little grey paw reached out and softly touched me on the arm.

We tried to resist. I didn't want a kitten and I was pretty determined to get another female cat. So we stayed away from the shelter but thought about the little fellow and wondered if anyone adopted him. About week later, we went back to see him and he was sleeping like a little baby. I whispered to him and he woke up and ambled sleepily over to us, sticking his little paw out and touching my face.

We brought him home.

A kitten, really, between 6 and 7 months old, with a long cat body and a squishy little kitten face, Linus boasts two perfectly formed little fangs that extrude happily from his lip when he's sleeping upside down, so neat and perfectly vampirous that we very nearly called him The Count.

He is heartbreakingly cute when he wants to be nice. He curled up between us that first Halloween night as we watched the beautiful Charles Shultz halloween special. In honor of the holiday, we called him Linus.

Welcome, Linus!

"The Great Pumpkin always picks the most sincere pumpkin patch to rise out of. He's just gotta pick this pumpkin patch. He's just gotta! Look around. You can see that there' not a sign of hypocrisy anywhere. Nothing but sincerity reaching out as far as the eye can see!" - Linus Van Pelt, It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

thanks, John C!

John C. Flood (the original) has brought his clever commercial and catchy jingle back. I don't know which part I like better, the great music or the catchy flourish with which they sing "John Ceeeeeeeeeeeeee!" It's so celebratory. I really like this jingle. I also like the woman featured in the commercial. She is all bundled up inside her house, cold and sad with a broken furnace but becomes quite excited when John C. pulls up to save the day. She is jumping up and down with joy. The first time I saw the commercial, I didn't see the beginning and thought maybe the woman was so joyful because the jingle is so good, or even that she was ME, waiting patiently for the commercial to air and then celebrating its triumphant return. As it turns out, she's just happy to have her furnace in working order again.

Enough with the Invite Spam!

I've had it.

In light of what seems like a universally held loathing of the typical spam that clutters up most inboxes, I find it almost unfathomable that my own acquaintances would knowingly donate their entire inbox to spammers like LinkedIn, Plaxo, and now Doostang.

Yeah, that's right, I said spammers. If it's email, it's unsolicited, and one can't stop it, it qualifies as spam. I have absolutely no interest in a social networking service that will keep my contacts up to date for me and send me clever reminders about birthdays and anniversaries and let me know who is looking for a job or an employee or an exotic pet or that perfect time-share opportunity. It's spam, so stop!

If I want to get in touch with you, I will do it the "old fashioned" way, and send you an email. In fact, for you my dear associates, I will even personally update your coordinates, manually, by pressing the keys on my laptop, should you choose to notify me of any changes. Thanks to the marvels of technology, I can update your phone numbers, address, name, email and everything else all at once, and I don't even have to spam you to make that happen.

Oh, I've heard all the excuses: some bloggers appear to be explaining that doostang extracts (without permission, apparently) and then spams the entire contact list of its hapless users who allow the invites to go out under the impression they're simply forging cyber connections with existing doostang users. Maybe, in this instance, the spamming was accidental.

Still, as the invites continue to roll in, I recognize the same offenders who first littered my inbox with Plaxo, then Linked-in, and now Doostang. Unlike traditional spam, these invites stretch the time-wasting trick a click further by presenting me with a recognizable name in the sender's field. Perhaps even more irritating than the initial invitation emails are the constant reminders when I don't respond. "Reminder: your Linked In invitation from George Cellick is about to expire!"

Cram it, Geore, really!

Frankly, I'm not really interested in giving these contact collectors permission to harvest and distribute my coordinates with their associates in turn. In real life, I probably wouldn't even spare a sentence at a cocktail party on most of these pests, let alone my email address and phone number.

Since the networks themselves have nothing to lose (except you as a potential member) by failing to allow for an opt-out mechanism, I've decided to go straight to the source by emailing my "friends" who bother me with these invites, letting them know in no uncertain terms that pestering is still BAD MANNERS, even when it happens over the internet:

Hi _____,

I notice I've received a number of invitations on your behalf from services like Linked In, Plaxo, and most recently, Doostang.

I appreciate your effort to keep in touch by all electronic means available, especially since the amount of spam I now receive in my inbox is not limited to these relentless social networking invitations sent at your behest. I can easily see a day in my near future where the spam in my inbox grows to such mammoth proportions that I will be forced to close up shop and start anew with a fresh email address, one not currently making the rounds with 16,000 spammers. You may be certain, if and when it comes to this, that you will not be among the lucky recipients of my new (and hopefully more private) coordinates.

Why is this? Because you've lost your privileges. Here I am trying to reduce the amount of senseless clutter in my inbox while you are making a pest of yourself with invitations I'm not interested in receiving to social networking groups I'm not interested in joining.

I'd like to punch you in the face, but since cyberspace is only capable of so much, I'll settle for asking you politely to kindly exclude my name when sharing your contacts with email spammers, much like I'd ask you kindly not to share my home telephone number with telemarketing corporations.

If, however, you continue to badger me with these emails, you can expect to find yourself signed up for all sorts of interesting things -- from Christian dating services to Ozzy Ozbourne's Ozzfest mailing list to Fredericks of Hollywood mailing lists to Canadian Pharmacies...you name it, you'll be registered to get emails from it. I don't care how busy I am, I will MAKE TIME to ensure you are spammed like the day is long.

The bottom line: when you're importing your life details to these annoying websites, think twice before you haphazardly invite your entire contact list to join you. You may think you're increasing your chances of landing a great job. Perhaps you feel you're contributing to an online community that streamlines difficult tasks like updating email addresses (the horror, the horror, of wasted keystrokes!) But chances are, the thing you're actually contributing to is your own growing unpopularity and what you're "sharing" is held in about as high regard as a herpes sore.

Thanks so much for understanding.

Regards,

Red Storm

Halloween 2007

We had a good idea this year, and wanted an audience.

In fact, D. Ignatious Mammal and I had been trawling for some halloween costume party action for a month, with so little luck that we actually considered abandoning our hermit-like ways and throwing our own party. By Friday evening, we still had no plans, but my young and awesome sister, the KillerIrishRobot, was in town for the weekend so we had added incentive to find something fun.

With help from the Lady Bruner, we ferretted out an NPR party that sounded promising. By the time we secured the destination, however; we'd left precious little time to arrange our costumes. D. Ignatious Mammal and I had previously decided to go as Hall and Oates but hadn't by that time sorted any of the details. After careful consideration of our physical attributes, we determined that I would be John Oates and the Mammal would be Daryl Hall.

I won't lie. Part of the reason for this is that, while I can no longer fit into the black leather pants that seemed like such a sound investment in the mid-nineties, Mammal can. Yes, that's right -- he can wear my pants. It could be worse!

But I digress.

I was very excited about being Oates because, clearly, I had the better fodder for hilarity...or so I thought. Because it turns out a geometric patterned button down shirt, a generous helping of bare chest, a pushed up tweed sportscoat and a pair of too-tight for teevee leather pants all topped with a wrong, wrong, wrong mullet wig (cut and styled ourselves -- oh, the shame of it all!) is all it takes to turn the Mammal into a complete 80's rock idol. Like this:

Private Eyes are watching you...from behind your houseplants:

Concerned with the fact that I could find no images illustrating Oates' footwear preference, I took my chances on a pair of Chuck Taylor high-tops underneath tight, pegged jeans. I added the requisite sleeveless shirt and finished it off with a hair, mustache and eyebrow triad capable of absorbing all the light from a room. No offense to any hairdressers out there, but seriously, it's pretty easy to cut hair. I didn't even need a mirror:

The total package:

During the cab ride over, the Mammal and I discussed the multidimensional humor of our costumes. For instance, let's say someone catches Hall giving Oates a little kiss on his bare shoulder. Shocking? Well, not really. Let's face it, we're merely confirming what everyone has long suspected about this duo.

Because the Mammal is something of a Hall & Oates........enthusiast........I peppered him with questions throughout the cab ride. Imagine my dismay at learning that all the great lines were taken by Hall, with Oates contributing only a modest mix of rythm guitar, help on arrangements and a few choice back-ups here (no can do!) and there (watch out!).

What do I get to sing? Do I sing: "I can't go for that, can't go for that..." Do I say that part?

(no, that's Hall's part.)

How about "ooooh here she goes, watch out boys she'll chew you up!" Is that me?

(no, that's also Hall...)

At least I got to wear the mustache.

Also fortunate: we weren't going to spend too much time "in character." We left that to the multitalented KillerIrish. A true child of the youtube generation, she decided on Liam Sullivan's Kelly. Not only did she have the look down, she knows each of the videos word for word. After forcing us to endure several viral videos, plus a few reenactments of her own, the three of us set out to find costumes, cutting a wide swath across suburbia that included two Targets, two Alexandria wig shops owned by two small, vicious women, and, finally, the Halloween Superstore we'd been seeking.

Though temped to leave her beautiful, natural "hair" showing (see below), K-Irish stuck with the Kelly plan, and thanks to her ability to fit into children's clothing and her acting skills, she had the best-executed costume of the evening.

These shoes rule. These shoes SUCK!!!!!

Evidence of an extremely risky gene pool:

The party itself was good. We waited ages for a cab, so by the time we arrived, everyone was drunk. Nonetheless, the advantages and pitfalls of an "NPR party" were simultaneously demonstrated during our very first conversation:

"Scholar" to us and LadyBruner: "It's amazing how their focus promotes syntax over context..."
"Georgetown Basketball Player" (breaking in): "Did somebody say 'syntax?' I hear the word 'syntax' and my ears perk up'"
Lady Bruner: "Why, are you a grammarian or something?"
"G-town basketball player": "Linguist, actually."

I'm not kidding; that conversation actually happened.

All in all, we had a great time. Our host, Richard Simmons, was so devoted to his character that he jazzercized while carrying out his hostly duties (such as refilling the seriously wicked "sangria" that seemed to have two main ingredients -- frozen fruit and jack daniels).

Having had great success as Hall & Oates -- a number of people actually recognized us although others thought I was either saved by the bell's screech (in his porn days ) or as one of the lesser known Marx brothers -- we now want to restage the duo for another party. Perhaps we could dress up to hand out candy Wednesday night, and instead of giving out candy, give out a Hall & Oates greatest hits cd?? (Tempting as this sounds, I don't think we'd be very popular with the children and the parents would probably try to keep their kids away from D. Ignatious Mammal as long as he was lurking about in those leather pants). I know I would.

I guess we'll stick to candy and maybe Hall and Oates can have a reunion tour this time next year...

Some pictures:

Lady Bruner as a superhero who hasn't been invented yet (and about to get b-slapped on the stairs):

Lady and Lonnie B, Me, Irish, and Mammal:

We ran into K Fed and one of his kids. But is it Britney's or Shar's?:

Daft Punk were as happy we recognized them as we were that they recognized us. Note that they had a boombox playing a mix of daft punk songs. We were going to do that, but thought it might be a pain.

Millions of suspicious fans can't be wrong...

scrabble

Seriously.

october sailing

With D. Ignatious Mammal, the Pet Syllable and their Dad. Note me trying to pretend like I have any idea how to read the navigation system (or sail a boat of this size for that matter).