From the Dustpan of my Mind

Today at his press conference, President Bush was talking about the terrorists and he said, "They have no disregard for human life." I wonder if anyone else caught that. Bless his heart.

So everyone is all "up in arms" over the New Yorker cover. Hello? It's called satire. Has anyone heard of it? It's a liberal magazine. They are making a point. Satire, especially the political kind, used to be funny to smart people. Political cartoons have been making statements for at least 200 years in this country. Suddenly, everyone gets this politically-correct bug up their ass and can't see hyperbole and get the message. Now if a conservative rag published that cartoon, they wouldn't mean it as satire. They would just mean it.

Guilty pleasure confession: I love listening to Rush and Hannity. It makes me feel angry and smart and inadequate at the same time. Nice cocktail. I do have to agree with some of their points, and the parodies are usually pretty funny. What I can't stand are the idol-worshipping suck-ups who call in and bow down and tell them how they have changed their lives just like Jesus did.

This morning, I found a lovely torn up and pecked-over fox carcass off our back porch. I had Luke shovel it up and throw it over the fence onto a neighbor's property. When Luke looked at the remains, he said, "He's smiling. Or maybe he's gritting his teeth." I voted for the latter.

After the fox incident, I did something I have never done before. I actually flipped off another driver. It was an 18-wheeler. And I had Luke and his friend in the car with me. Real impressive move on my part, huh? Maybe they weren't paying attention. Luke never does. But his friend has probably already broken the news to his appalled parents. I have never let idiots on the road get to me, but this one intentionally and with great effort made sure I missed my exit. May he rot in hell.

On the recurring road trip to my mom's, somewhere in the middle of Nowhere, TX on highway 281, I always see this run-down, white and red cinderblock motel with a dimly-lit sign that says, "American Owned." As if its hourly visitors care.

On that drive, near the cutoff to go to Austin, there's a restaurant that has been there forever. Its sign boasts "Texas' Best Chicken Fried Steak…Nearly Three Dozen Sold!" I need to take a picture of that one.

Hico, Texas has been predicted to become "The Next Fredericksburg." This means that the antique prices will go up by 300% and the Billy the Kid Museum better get some authentic stuff to display. The town might also consider adding a hotel or two. American-owned, of course. Maybe they could tear down one of their hundred or so churches. My mom told me about this crotchety old gal who is always raising hell there. In fact, I had the distinct pleasure of meeting her. Apparently, someone witnessed her yelling at some construction workers who were building yet another church. She said, "This town don't need another f*ing church!!" As if they could understand anything more than her F word. Hico also boasts a new "Waterpark." It's a postage-stamp sized concrete slab with holes in it that spray water. I haven't seen it yet, but my niece and nephew had a good time there, in spite of all the rules. My mom took a picture of the sign. I'll have to share it here soon. She said it's about the size of a refrigerator, and pretty much bigger than the "park" itself. The sign looks something like this:

SPRAY PARK RULES:

No lifeguard
No unaccompanied children
No alcohol
No tobacco
No firearms
No littering
No loitering
No trespassing
No bottles or cans
No food or gum
No horseplay or rough-housing
No street clothes or cut-offs
No skates or skateboards
No graffiti or vandalism
No loud music
No rap or hip-hop
No running or fast walking
No jumping or skipping
No boisterous behavior
No smiling or laughter

HAVE FUN!!!!

Mom said reading the sign was the most fun part of the outing for her.

With the gas prices such a big deal—especially since I've been burning so much of it lately, I was reminded of a quote from the liner notes in one of Eva Cassidy's CDs. It says something like, "I don't know why everyone is complaining about the price of gas…I just always get five dollars' worth."

I drove through Starbucks on one of my trips recently, as my car goes there sort of on autopilot. After I ordered my grande mocha light frappuccino with a shot and drove toward the window, Katy said, "$4.76 for a drink??" That's when it really hit me. Katy is far too aware of my poor judgment.

So my nephew Ben, who is like 5, I think, is obsessed with his mother's bosoms as my sister likes to call them. I think it's because he was a bottle-fed baby. He said to Kelly, "Mom, your boobs are big." Then he pointed at my mother and said, "Yours are kind of medium." Then of course, Kelly had to push it and ask, "How big are Aunt Jill's?" The little sh!t responded with a sort of brush-off gesture and one word, "Tiny." Thanks, kid. Sure, he was right, but that's beside the point. I'm sure his interest makes his father proud. This is my family. A little boy evaluating the breast sizes of his adult female family members.

Mike's bachelor cousin in Houston is so rich, he has what he calls a "dog nanny."

Katy is not only a back seat driver, she has back seat road rage.

Anthems I need to add: Cheap Trick's I Want You to Want Me, Queen's We Will Rock You, and Aerosmith's Sweet Emotion.

Latest movies I loved: Superbad and Walk Hard—The Dewey Cox Story. Real high-quality low-brow humor, those.

Now more fodder for the word mill:

fisticuffs, fistula, tardive dyskinesia, delirium tremens, zenith, nadir, apex, vortex, antipathy, centaur, minotaur, amygdala, medulla oblongata (reminds me of Adam Sandler's Waterboy), vitreous, cerebrum, cerebellum, antebellum, umbrage, dirigible, ramshackle, slovenly, interloper, Visigoth, harbinger, augury, auger, odyssey, serendipity, maelstrom, glum, glib (Tom Cruise: "You're glib, Matt. You're glib!"), tantric (Sting's yoga of choice, and one I will never master), erudite, crudite, chagrin, swarthy, smarmy, skeevy (not really a word, but should be), skanky.

A word I don't like, for obvious reasons: chancre. One time my sister said she had a chancre sore on her mouth. I told her, "I think you mean canker sore."

I went into the little Bulverde post office the other day with Katy. Mind you, this is Mayberry without all the interesting characters. Well, maybe a few Barney Fifes, but that's it. No Gomers that I'm aware of. So I of course exchange pleasantries with the ladies who work there. They have come to know me quite well what with all the certified mail I have to send and then all the eBay packages I ship out. As Katy and I walked back to the car, she said, "I like the people here. They're like townsfolk." Townsfolk. Good old-person word there, Katy.

Other old people words that I am uneasy about: hankering (or hankerin'), and, as noted above on the park rules, horseplay and rough-housing. What is the difference between horseplay and rough-housing? I think horseplay is the milder form. I picture scampering in a meadow and perhaps flapping your arms at your target in a playful yet somewhat threatening manner. Rough-housing, on the other hand, is like when a bully ties your arms behind your back and shakes the crap out of you by boxing your head and giving you a mild concussion.

This should hold you for a while. It's after midnight, and I will become a big loser if I start blogging into the wee hours. Wee hours. Another phrase that gets on my nerves, just so you know.