Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Tweety's Revenge

Tweety sits on the perch inside his cage and looks sweet enough to be the poster child for Mary Poppins. I ask you, who wouldn't love this little yellow canary who's chipper as a chickadee?

As you may recall, Tweety spent most of his time avoiding Sylvester, the cat. Now, Sylvester had a real passion. He wanted chicken fricassee. But, while his mouth watered for that tasty dish, he was willing to settle for canary stew.

It appears that cat finally caught his bird. But it cost him. Dearly.

Tweety and Sylvester moved from their previous location to the northern island of Ruegen, Germany. There are 25 nations in the European Union, but this cat ate his bird in Germany. He stalked it, crouching low to the ground as cats do when practising stealthy maneuvers, then pounced with precision. Nailing his bird. Feathers flew. A couple of invisible germs flew, too. The ones known as H5N1.

Yep. You've guessed it. The cat caught his bird. He also caught the Avian flu.

Seems our German cat is not the only one to die from this flu. Some tigers and leopards in a Thailand zoo ate a hearty meal of chicken. Soon, they went belly-up, their bodies stiff with rigor mortis. Three housecats in Bangkok suffered the same fate. It's evident that the H5N1 virus is hopping right along the food chain.

THE OFFICIALS IN CHARGE OF THESE AFFAIRS TELL US THERE IS NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT.

There's a simple solution to this bird flu situation and we should start using it immediately before this epidemic gets all out of proportion.

Catch the birds on the wing. Package them nicely. And ship them out to the terrorists. You know those terrorists have gotta be starving. I mean, they're always on the run. With all that exercise they must work up quite an appetite. If this military strategy is executed flawlessly, those terrorists will never suspect a thing. Certainly not foul play.

And Walla! The Bush administration can take kudos for netting two squabs with the same pigeon drop. It would probably cut down on the need for increasing port security, too.

Now wouldn't that just be the cat's meow?
Tweety's Revenge © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Monday, February 27, 2006

Lexical Flipslippery

She opened her mouth and woosh! spilled forth woop woop and wop-wops.

In short, she uttered a combination of meaningful sounds. Or quite briefly: words gushed from her open mouth.

Gosh! Aren't words grand?

Who would have ever thought woop woop was a word? Very sophisticated people use it to describe a place that isn't. Sophisticated, that is.

Wop-wops describes the same kind of place that woop woop does except wop-wops is a highly offensive expression. Like swearing.

Speaking of swearing. I found the neatest word this morning. The next time I'm enjoying a tête-à-tête with a highbrow intellectual I'll use it.

"He swore like a trooper." or "He cussed like a dockworker." is much too easy for intellectuals. Why not challenge them a bit with: "He is a scatological philistine."?

Be careful to enunciate clearly though, especially if you are dining with an Arab. If you mumble, he might mistake philistine for Palestine, might jump to the conclusion that you're a Danish cartoonist, and might start a riotous demonstration.

Shucks. Scatological philistine is such a neat combination of words but, in this day and age, it might be safer to stick with woop woop.
Lexical Flipslippery © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Sunday Morning XX

Be Kind to the Kind
Be Kind to the Unkind
Thus Kindness is achieved.

A popular American song spoke about this back in the 80's. The Coward of the County. I remember it well for, at first, I thought the fellow was going to succeed.

When townsfolk ridiculed him, he calmly walked away from the insults. Never retaliated.

I thought: WOW! Takes a powerfully strong-minded individual to accomplish that.

Too many times when I've felt insulted or ridiculed, I've lost my cool. Reacted. Hurled insults right back. In essence, I blew the kindness bit. It's a LOT easier to be kind to the kind, and kiss-off folks who are unkind.

Now who knows where we are going in life? Sometimes, we're happily tooling along, blithely doing our own thing, and some idiotic inner part of ourselves stops us cold and says: "Hey look feller, you have all the accoutrements of worldly success BUT you're mighty darn short in the "qualities" department. Them spiritual attributes that are supposed to get you through the pearly gates. You know the type. Kindness, compassion, sympathy, overcoming greed, envy, jealousy, pride and arrogance."

Listening to that inner voice can get you into a whole mess of difficulties just like it did that feller in Kenny Roger's song cause unless you wear a sign on your back or one of them there slogan t-shirts that are popular enough to get you kicked out of the White House State of the Union address, proclaiming: Kindness is my gig so don't mess with me . . . well . . . folks will think you're a coward and like many ordinary, ignorant human beings, they'll really pile the jam thick on the bread slice and give you an extra helping of verbal abuse. Sometimes, twice in the same meal. They think you're weak, see.

That's why I admired that feller in the song so much. He had a good handle on humanity's base nature and was strong enough to shrug his shoulders, allow others to wallow in their petty foibles, and walk away from it all.

Yep. This feller owned kindness.

Well, he did for a while, anyways. Songwriter Roger Bowling copped out on us and let the feller let himself down at the end of the song by giving in to that other part of ourselves that demands retaliation as a method of fixing bad situations.

Retaliation is a short term method of releasing anger but it never does fix the problem nor undo any previous wrongs. Just gives the illusion of having done something about a hurtful situation.

Who knows, maybe it's better to traipse blithely through life, self-satisfied with worldly success. But, perchance, if you do listen to that inner voice and decide to earn a quality you can brag about to St. Peter, try to pick an easy one like giving up greed or jealousy.

Cause being kind to the unkind tends to prick the pride and, most often, foils altruism.

Unless, of course, you've got a really strong grip on the handle of that song's verse: It doesn't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek, have learned the art of diplomacy, and have a mighty-fine, after-the-war peace strategy firmly in place in case you blow it.
Chae

Friday, February 24, 2006

Slim Pickins

President Bush is really down on education, isn't he? He cuts funding for education to the barest minimum. Then denies visas to three top scientists from India who were scheduled to lecture on topics of their expertise in the US.

Seems to be a Bush policy. Keep the masses ignorant and there will be no threat to his totalitarian governing practises.

Too bad his recently expressed, newly formed, desire to strengthen diplomatic relations abroad didn't catch Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice's attention. In a "surprise" visit to Beirut yesterday, Rice snubbed the President of Lebanon, Emile Lahoud. Way to go, Condoleezza. Guess Lahoud didn't have 6.8 billion to invest in US ports, eh?

So enough already of such serious stuff. It's Friday. Time to consider lighter bits of fluff.

Like Boone Pickens. Any news of a fellow with the name Boone Pickens has to be comedy material, right?

Well it seems Boone Pickens made a substantial donation to the golf industry. Leave it to the Texans to figure out new tax evasion ploys.

This one takes the buzzer right out of the doorbell, however. OK, here's the low down and dirty.

Boone Pickens, of BP Capital fame ( Say! Isn't that there one of those big oil companies?) sits on the board of Cowboy Golf. It's unclear, at this point in time, how Cowboy Golf got started but supposedly it's a charity program at Oklahoma State University.

Nothing wrong with that. It's nice to know that the big oil barons donate some of their time to charities. Kinda makes 'em seem more human.

But there's more.

Seems Pickens had $165 million sitting around cluttering up his desktop and he was about to be taxed on these slim pickins. Not satisfied with President Bush's tax cuts for the wealthy, he decided to upstage the bureaucrats. Pickens donated all $165 million to Cowboy Golf.

Which is a really generous thing to do! Kinda makes your heart go right out to the man. But wait. There's more.

The money was in and out of the Cowboy Golf account so fast milk didn't have time to curdle. An hour after it was deposited to the charity account it was re-invested in a hedge-fund controlled by Boone Pickens' BP Capital.

Can Pickens use the assets ( Assets are money, folks. Cold hard cash in his pockets.) to buy any little ole trinket his heart desires?

Yep.

What a great tax evasion. Pity I didn't think of it myself. Used to be when you claimed a charitable exemption, you actually had to give the money away. But this Pickens feller, why he figured out a way to have his cream puffs and eat them, too!

Mmm . . . I hear you say, just how did he go about doing that? Well remember now, the Senate and Congress are controlled by those crafty Republicans. So you can pretty well figure whatever seemingly altruistic laws they pass have a hidden dollar benefit to their bank accounts tucked in amongst the fine print. The Katrina disaster is no exception.

Those wily lawmakers passed Katrina relief legislation (right under our noses, folks) which allows exemptions for a charitable gift equal to 100 percent of a person's adjusted gross income. That's exactly double the normal limit of 50 percent.

Sly old fox, Pickens. How much you wanta bet he's a Republican?
Slim Pickins © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Trumped Up Charge

A strumpet with a trumpet and a tycoon on a bassoon couldn't have produced more publicity than the Trump-Stewart spat.

It's a great publicity stunt.

What better puff for two mediocre TV features ( Trump's Apprentice and Stewart's syndicated Martha ) than to pit a cloistered hoosegow moll against a dynamic real-estate tycoon, spotlight their lover's spat and plug both shows?

Trump's Apprentice, going into its 5th season, needs all the promotion it can get, and Stewart's Living Omnimedia, Inc. needed a stock boost.

So . . . the tub-thumping duo put their heads together and came up with a great advertising gimmick.

Martha Stewart isn't your ordinary mop-squeezer and Trump is more than the monosyllabic schnook he plays on TV. Ya gotta hand it to these two megastars for their seed and spike tactics to bolster the ratings of two floundering shows.
Trumped Up Charge © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Russian Roulette Dubai Style

As we sat down to eat, Dad slapped the folded newspaper hard against the table causing the carefully placed knives, forks and spoons to jump. His chortle cut through the chatter produced when a passel of kids and adults get together for a hearty meal. "This is rich."

Silence followed as we all eyed that well-thumbed journal which was refolded in the semblance of its original shape. Then, young Jeb piped, "What's rich, Dad?"

Simultaneously, Uncle Payton, a fastidious person, who prides himself on his impeccably spotless appearance, his knowledge of sports and not much else, muttered, "Good grief, not more politics."

Dad unfolded the paper and jabbed a knarled index finger at a front page headline. "Can you believe this guy!"

"What guy, Dad?" Jeremy, a teenager, would prefer to discuss the latest Olympic scores with Payton, but curiosity overcame his reluctance to get involved in a heated family discussion.

As Dad spread the paper out on the table, it covered salad dishes, plates and serving bowls. One corner dipped into the soup turreen. Became soggy with chickenless broth.

"Bush," Dad's voice pulsed with raw emotion. "For six years the fellow has subtly and not so subtly turned us against the Arabs. For six years, he's implied that the Iranians, Saudi Arabians, Palestinians and Iraqis, who are all Arabs, are terrorists. Suddenly, he's changed his mind? Look at this."

The sighs around the table were audible as we slumped in our seats and prepared to listen. Dad, an intelligent thinker, stutters inelegantly when he tries to read passages of text.

"Listen to this." Dad, in a near state of apoplexy, read the article aloud, quoting Bush's remarks. " I am trying to conduct foreign policy now by saying to the people of the world, 'We'll treat you fairly.' "

Cousin Julie laughed. "As if they're going to believe him after he bombs an innocent nation, turning it into a country of blood, gore and chaos. Typical Bush spin."

Uncle John splashed a dollop of wine into his water glass and thoughtfully sipped it. " That's chutzpah. Now, he wants to conduct foreign policy?"

Young Jeb toyed with his napkin. "What's Bush talking about, Dad?"

"He's trying to justify the takeover of six of our nations ports by Dubai Port World which is a company controlled by the government of the United Arab Emirates."

Uncle Joey, ready to stuff a biscuit in his mouth, waved it in the air instead. Crumbs flew off its edge landing in Uncle Payton's lap. "We ship our military equipment overseas from these ports. If the new managers, namely the Arab Dubai company, closed the ports in a fit of pique, it'd totally shut us down. And if we were under attack at the time, we'd be crippled and vulnerable as hell."

Dad clamored for attention. "Listen here. Bush says: "After careful review, I believe the transaction ought to go forward. I want those who are questioning it to step up and explain why all of a sudden a Middle Eastern company is held to a different standard than a Great British company."

My older sister, Jesse, always quick to catch the linguistic mistakes of others, said sarcastically, "The British may be great, but isn't he referring to Great Britain?"

"That's not the point," Jeremy interrupted. "Bush is mothballing his true intent."

Aunt Judith, whose dentures rested in a glass of water near her plate, gummed mashed potatoes and when she spoke her thick tongue slurred the sound as if she'd tipped a pint. Some potato flecks spattered Uncle Payton's sleeve as she spoke. "The man's daft, Jesse. Fifty-two percent of Americans believe Bush's hype about Arab terrorists and now, he tries to spin the Arabs off — as responsible Middle Eastern companies? There's a frog in the pickle jar."

Uncle Joey smacked biscuit crumbs from his hands. "More like a toad amongst the pickles, Judith. Quite ironic, too, since the 9/11 hijackers came from the United Arab Emirate, used its major banks to ship money to terrorist organizations world wide, not to mention that the UAE was a transfer point for shipments of smuggled nuclear components sent to Iran, North Korea and Libya."

Little Jeb piped up. "So, these United Arab Emirates aren't so respectable?"

Dad rattled the newspaper, totally oblivious that the soggy corner was spraying Uncle Payton's shirt with soup droplets. "Listen here. Bush's own party leaders are breaking with him on this one. Senate Republican Leader, Bill Frist, is calling for a halt to the Dubai contract."

"Hear. Hear." Aunt Judith tapped her fork against the water glass containing her dentures. Every eye watched as those teeth floated upwards, paused for a moment, then lazily descended once more to the bottom. Aunt Judith had our rapt attention. Yet clearly, she had forgotten what she planned to say, so Mom smoothly noodled her way into the discussion. "Right on. It's not just Democrats like New Jersey's Senator Menandez and New York's Senator Clinton who object to this short-sighted fiasco, but prominent Republicans as well."

Dad's next comment was textured with disgust. "If the senators try to block the Dubai contract by passing a law to stop it, it says here, that Bush swears he will veto it. Bush says, " They ought to listen to what I have to say about this."

Cousin Julie laughed. "Like we listened to him when Bush told us Iraq was brimfull of WMD's?"

We'd be rehashing the day's news still, except for no reason at all, the banana I was peeling suddenly slipped out of its skin, and like a football heading for the endzone, torpedoed through the air.

As Uncle Payton dodged the speeding missile, it musta reminded him that he was missing the Olympic's coverage on NBC. It was when he folded his napkin and stood, that we all noticed Uncle Payton's faultless appearance was slightly smirched. There were crumbs clinging to his slacks, mash potato spackles pasted on his sleeves, and soup stains speckling his shirt front. He tried futilely to brush them off.

Then, with a vapidness only the disdainful can achieve, he said, "I'll leave you folks to your Bush bashing. Even if you're right about the Arab takeover, there'll still be sports. And what could be more important than the Olympics?"
Russian Roulette Dubai Style © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Fox Guards The Chicken Coop

Hey! Have you heard the latest buffoonery perpetrated by bureaucrats in Washington D.C.? Slapstick humor is a notch above Danish cartoons on this one.

Our government APPROVES the terrorist takeover of American ports. Now, doesn't that just bake the biscuit.

Here's the low down and dirty.

Dubai Ports World bought the contract to handle national security at six major American ports. Innocent enough, eh? But there's more.

Dubai Ports World is controlled by the government of the United Arab Emirates. Now, I have nothing against the Arabs except we're killing them right and left and they just might bear a little resentment against us, eh? Which is OK, I guess, but there's more.

The United Arab Emirates is a known home to terrorists. In case, that fine print was hard to see, let me capitalize that. THE UNITED ARAB EMIRATES IS A KNOWN HOME TO TERRORISTS.

Terrorists guarding our ports from terrorists is as feeblewitted as putting quail behind a bush and telling Cheney not to shoot.

Kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it, if the folks running this country are striking a bargain with the devil, are straining gnats through a sieve, or just trying to swallow a camel without getting sand in their teeth.
Fox Guards The Chicken Coop © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Monday, February 20, 2006

Toy Boy's War Fever

During those February and early March days of 2003, powerhouse discussions buzzed around Constitution Ave and north to E St. NW in Washington D.C., pausing at the Bistro Bix where Capitol Hill politicians gossip, swap secret documents and decide government policy over breakfast.

An unidentified source overheard the following conversations.

Republican Senators said: "War with Iraq will benefit America because short term wars boost the ecomony."

Congressmen agreed.

A few dissenting voices whispered: " Long term wars devastate the economy. There will be cuts in education, health care and social programs desperately needed by the American populace."

These whispers were quickly hushed.

Meanwhile, China quietly bought vast oil fields in Kazakhstan and Venezuela.

Republican Congressmen said: "It'll be a technological war, using modern military equipment. We'll strike quickly, win practically overnight, and be in-and-out of Iraq with less than a handfull of lives lost. It'll boost our economy."

Senators agreed.

A few dissenting voices questioned: "What if it's a prolonged war like Vietnam? Do we have the resources? Or will we have to cut education, NASA research, health care and social security benefits?"

These questions were quickly hushed.

Meanwhile, China quietly bought vast oil fields in the Sudan, in Indonesia and in Austraila.

Potomac War Fever prevailed. America attacked Iraq in March 2003. Was it a short war which boosted the economy? Well, let's see.

Funds for education, health care, social security and NASA research have been severely cut. Manufacturers, airlines and the auto industry have either gone belly-up, or are so close to bankrupty that there's a stampede to close plants and lay off employees. The real estate market has stalled and entrepreneurs are offering huge incentives to sell half-finished construction projects before they, too, are forced to run down the street chasing their shirts.

We are embroiled in an energy crises.

Seems to me the toy-boys in Bush's administration screwed up. They played guns and Texas-style war games while the Chinese, who now own most all the world's major oil fields, became the power magnates of the world economy.

Currently, China is buying a 100-billion dollar oil field in Iran. Bush's administration? It's still practising sad and tired tactics, trying to sell fear of terrorism to a gullible public while it covertly buys more Halliburton stock.

And recent whispers at Bistro Bix?

The new world leader, China, is contemplating a cash-and-carry transaction with the now bankrupt American administration.

One Republican Senator was heard to say: "Such a deal China is giving us. They agreed to let us buy oil at the rock bottom price of two hundred-and-fifty dollars per barrel if we agree to give up our Commonwealth, Puerto Rico. They want to install a military base there. And you know — that will really boost the American economy."
Toy Boy's War Fever © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Sunday Morning XIX

If there were no holes in Swiss cheese, I would not like it.

It is the hole that adds the flavor.

Some ask, how I can taste what isn't there? They find it strange that I prefer holy cheese.

My reply? It's not so much the cheese I enjoy; it's the fun involved when eating it.

Poking my tongue through the hole and allowing the flavor around its edges to titillate my taste buds with wondrous expectations of what the bite will bring.

Then, nibbling the cheesy substance around the hole, just nibbling around, until only the hole remains.

Our spiritual selves are a lot like Swiss Cheese. For our Spirit is the hole after the material has been nibbled away.
Chae

Friday, February 17, 2006

Cooper's Broth

The Avian Flu is in the news again. How would you feel if you were the research scientist who said: "Don't worry about researching a new vaccine. Who the heck cares about a few Thailand chickens?"

Wonder why they named it Avian Flu? Seems to me it should be called Chicken Flu, but then folks would confuse it with chicken soup and Campbell's stock would take a nose dive.

I notice it's being carried by swans now. Adds a new dimension to the fabled Swan Song.

"Is this Madonna's last performance? Her swan song?"

"No. It's Chicken Flu."

"There's a vaccine for that."

"Not this year. The pharmaceutical companies are holding off until it reaches epidemic proportions. And you can see their point of view. Where's the profit margin in marketing a cure for a disease as rare as hen's teeth?"

"Oh well, there's always the old-fashioned remedy: chicken soup. Used to cure darn near everything."

"Yep. Heard Campbell was having problems with that very thing. Trying to make chicken soup without the poultry. Gave their advertising department quite a headache."

"So what did they come up with?"

"A petition to rename it. Something fancy like Avian Influenza."

"Guess that's better than Flu The Croup, eh?"

"Yep."
Cooper's Broth © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Crow Or Bloody Fowl?

It sure was swell of Vice President Cheney to fess up. Made my day, him sitting there on Fox News all pious and soft-spoken as he calmly told us: those few moments when he watched his friend fall were the "worst day of his life".

Reminds me of the time, Mom and Aunt Nan took Gram and me out to a highfalutin restaurant. Spit-and-polished, all git-upped in our fancy clothes, we were, with Gram wearing her mink stole.

Now, manners was a big item in our family and children were typically seen and not heard, so I'm sure the audio transmission of my chicken order was muted.

Aunt Nan may have raised an eyebrow when it was delivered but we all got on with Blessing and prepared to eat.

Ceptin' you can't pick up the whole thing and cram it in your mouth. A saw-toothed knife and a fork come in handy, at times like these, to separate the gristle from the meat.

Darn, that joint was tough. Stabbed, chopped and sawed that bloody fowl; still, I couldn't separate the shank from its underpinnings.

Now, at eight-years-old, I was a mere child when this bird incident took place. But, how well I remember the next few minutes as the "worst day of my life".

Musta looked over my shoulder as I applied extra pressure to the joint, cause suddenly, I heard a loud snap as the bone broke and when I looked back thems chicken pieces and all that lovely orange sauce piled on top had spattered Gram, front and center, besmirching the mink stole and the silk dress, with a wee bit stuck to her chin.

Sailed clear across the table, that chicken did, to clobber my Gram and it happened so fast a whistle didn't have time to flush up a covey of quail.

Eating crow is a heck of a poor substitute when you're expectin' poultry of a tastier nature.

Yep. Those few moments, when I was eight-years-old, were the "worst day of my life", but sure now, and didn't I learn . . . If your venue includes menus which boast of their birds, forego the fowl and have a shot at the sole. Or lobster, if you prefer it.
Crow Or Bloody Fowl © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Political Elbow Jiggering Drollery

The silly bone knocks and the elbow twitches and who does ever consider an elbow at all? Or spend time pondering the finer subtleties of that mostly ignored appendage? Birdshot hearts are " in " today, not the ungainly knob linking the upper and lower armatures.

If then, one were to debate the debacle of elbowing one's way into a Bush bash out of elbow, it's a highly liable argument that this shabby attire (perhaps a t-shirt?) would cause the attiree to be elbowed out.

However, since the White House is currently up to its elbows in the Cheney flap, it's conceivable a fella could find elbowroom for a heartbeat or two to rub elbows with an elbow-bender who stands, not in your line of fire, but at your elbow while you both elbow-lift a companionable swig or two.

If you do manage this, then a toast is in order and I'll be the first to commend your abilities: "More power to your elbow!"

It's far more likely that the eagle eyes of a security guard will spot you for the elbow-shaker you are and call the long arm of the law pundifferously known as the elbow and have you booted out. (Oops! Boots, combat boots, are a different discussion entirely and merely slipped into today's elbow chat by stealth.)

Even so, before that occurs, some kindly fellow may nudge your elbow warning of the imminent approach of the elbow whose clear intent is to elbow your body out.

In any case, if your favorite song is not Jailhouse Rock, and if you're not a knight-of-the-elbow, obtaining a legitimate invite by virtue of elbow grease might be the safest route taken to a Bush bash.

On the other hand, if you are an elbow-scraper, you could arrange a gig; I'm just not sure, though, they hire fiddlers at the mighty Bush Bash Band.
Political Elbow Jiggering Drollery © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Duck! It's An Arrow!

It's Valentine's Day, folks.

In a normal year, we could give love and romance the attention they justly deserve. Certainly, Cupid's arrows add sparkle to the eye, lightness to the step, and ebullience to the heart. A wondrous feeling.

Yet, President Bush shouts at us. Demanding we pay attention. We are at war.

There's no time for the frippery of innocence. Focus on gloom, doom and terrorists. Surely, Vice President Cheney's actions brought that home to us this past weekend?

Yep. Bush has surely led us past the garden path, through the gates of Hades, and into the realm of hell. No frippery valentines here, decorated with lacy ribbons and silly verses of love which tickle the heart with laughter and warmth.

I remember a time, six years or so ago, when my heart was so young, it trilled with joyous expectation.

Why?

Ah shucks, folks, it was Valentine's Day!

But hush! Don't tell President Bush and his cronies about that. They wouldn't approve.

Like the naughty neighborhood brat, this administration's toys are guns. They fancy themselves as heroes in a violent world. Far as I can see, the problem with being a hero is: your career, a terminal affair, is short-lived; a temporary spectacle easily forgotten by passing generations.

Shakespeare's valentine verses? Ah! They live, forever, in our hearts.
Duck! It's An Arrow! © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan

Monday, February 13, 2006

The Nimrod Foible

As Harry Whittington, a wealthy Austin attorney, discovered this past weekend, going quail hunting with Vice President Dick Cheney isn't the same as joining the Audubon Society.

Seems Cheney, the mighty hunter, missed the covey but bagged Whittington. Peppered him with shotgun pellets. Put Whittington in the Corpus Christi Hospital, Cheney did.

Apparently, Whittington, a staunch Republican, isn't calling foul.

I doubt Cheney will get the bird for his bird-witted covey-flushing, though there may be speculation why such a conscientious fellow, such as our Vice President, failed to report the incident before the Corpus Christi Caller-Times carried the story.

Update

This story, carried by the Washington Post, Sunday, February 12, 2006 was originally off the Associated Press Wire. It was titled: Cheney Accidentally Shoots Fellow Hunter By NEDRA PICKLER, The Associated Press, Sunday, February 12, 2006; 6:19 PM.
The original link was: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/02/12/AR2006021200524.html

However, follow the same link today, Monday, February 13, 2006, and you will arrive at a story titled: Cheney Shoots Fellow Hunter in Texas Accident / Companion in Intensive Care With Upper-Body Wounds, By Shailagh Murray and Peter Baker Washington Post Staff Writers.


The difference in the two accounts?


I believe the AP story by Nedra Pickler told it like it was.

Quote:
"The shooting was first reported by the Corpus Christi Caller-Times. The vice president's office did not disclose the accident until the day after it happened."


And again: "McBride did not comment about why the vice president's office did not tell reporters about the accident until the next day. She referred the question to Armstrong, who could not be reached again Sunday evening."

Unfortunately, at this point in time, how to locate the AP archives is a mystery to me. Which is a bummer, for linking to the original story is essential. The reason? The "updated" versions whitewash Cheney's actions, making it appear as if he is quite a gentleman. When asked: "Who will report the incident?", he sweeps his hat in a chivalrous bow, and says: "Ladies first".

Give me a break.

Another "updated" version can be found at: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/02/13/politics/13cnd-cheney.html?hp&ex=1139893200&en=181b942291c6b3ef&ei=5094&partner=homepage.

Best hurry, though, before it changes, too.
The Nimrod Foible © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan




Sunday, February 12, 2006

Sunday Morning XVIII

I always thought that life should come with a book of instructions.

"It does. It does." Folks say as they hand you a Bible. A Koran. A Bhagavad Gita. A Talmud.

And you earnestly study it. You really do. Seeking answers. The right way. The only way. To find salvation. Become a finer, more noble spirit.

So tell me please, what is noble about killing your brother in the name of God? Killing anything is blasphemy. If you have swatted a fly because it annoys you, you have killed too much.

As a Muslim, a Christian, a Jew or a Buddhist . . . as mankind . . . you are my brother.

If I have your blood on my hands, how can I enter the Kingdom of God?

There is only one key that will gain me admittance to that Kingdom Beyond. Only the key of love unlocks the gates to that final, Holy, resting place. And if our hands are bloody, the key slips right through our fingers.
Chae


Friday, February 10, 2006

Red Herring Analysis

Today I'd like to share this space with Luis from: The Blog From Another Dimension.

The following excerpt is only a small portion of the article, SOTU: SameOld, Tired, Untrue Speech (Part Two), which you will find at: http://www.blogd.com/archives/001678.html.

Luis very aptly states what I've been telling folks all along: Bragging on the improvements of a failure is not the same as creating an overwhelming success.

Let's follow Luis' example and do some careful analysis of the whole enchilada before we allow ourselves to be gulled by deception.
Chae

(The italics are a direct quote from President Bush's State Of The Union address; followed by Luis' analysis.)

Our economy is healthy and vigorous, and growing faster than other major industrialized nations. In the last two-and-a-half years, America has created 4.6 million new jobs -- more than Japan and the European Union combined.

This statement is misleading in many ways. First of all, it's selective editing. Bush only mentions job growth since jobs started growing, and 'forgot' to mention the first three years when jobs were consistently lost. Over Bush's whole presidency, job growth was only 2.1 million jobs, or an average 35,000 per month--anemic at best. Also, compared to recovery in jobs after the start of a recession, this is the
slowest "recovery" in the past half century, by a very large margin. Bill Clinton added 22 million jobs in eight years--even taking Bush's claim of 4.6 million new jobs, he's got just two more years to create 17.4 million more jobs and he'll be even. Think he'll do it?

Second, the type of jobs Bush has been creating has been dramatically different. Under Bush, we've seen job growth in lower-paying, benefit-poor employment--hardly "vigorous." Under Clinton, there were a lot more well-paying jobs created; under Bush, most Americans have been sliding down to poorer and poorer levels.

And third, the comparison he made about other countries was bogus, relying on chance and statistics more than actual economic performance. It does not factor in population growth in America versus decline in Europe in Japan; it takes advantage of a temporary slump in Europe, as well as the effects of a long-term recession in Japan. Saying that you're doing better than two other poor performers at a bad time is not an impressive claim.

In short, Bush is using smoke and mirrors to paint a rosier picture than exists, but you can hardly expect him to admit to failure, can you?

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Snow And Hornswoggle

Oh my goodness, guess who's back!

If it isn't ole Tom DeLay.

He's flicking the dust off his fleece suit, heartedly slapping his old pals on the back, and resolidifying his power on the hill.

Can you beat that !!!

Thought ole Tom was a goner when he was indicted in Texas on illegal campaign fund-raising charges, but no! the Republican party, known as the party of graft and greed, has honored dear ole Tom with power positions. A seat on the Appropriations Committee and a seat on the subcommittee overseeing the Justice Department.

Now, how fishy is that?

The Appropriation seat DeLay is inheriting hasn't had time to cool since Calf. Rep. "Duke" Cunningham occupied it. What a lucrative seat! Cunningham was able to steal $2.4 million while sitting in it. Bet the Republican party thinks ole DeLay aught to be able to refill their coffers with more than that !!!

Republican party motto: It takes a crook to replace a crook, eh?

But hold onto your hosses, padre, the intrigue doesn't stop there. That second seat? On the subcommittee overseeing the Justice Department? It's the very one investigating the influence-peddling scandal perpetrated by Jack Abramoff and his cronies.

It doesn't take two steps into the goose down to figure out what will happen next. There's gonna be a whole bunch of whitewashing going on, isn't there? Are those gangsters going to be exonerated, or what?

Talking about exoneration . . . are there going to be new laws in Texas? A bit more flagrant than DeLay's redistricting schemes? Say! Texas is George W's home state, isn't it?

Those Republicans! They sure hate to see all that ill-gotten money slip out of their checking accounts, don't they? Musta darn near killed 'em to have to donate the Abramoff rake-offs to charity. What better way to restore it than to appoint DeLay to these two positions?

Guess that it just goes to show that those wily Bush Republicans can steal a fella blind . . . and get away with it.
Snow And Hornswoggle © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan



Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Go Gently Into Sleep

No wonder America's progress lags so far behind the advances of other nations. The Americans are sleeping!

Betcha don't remember Thomas Edison, eh? But if you did, you'd remember that his sleeping habits were a bit strange. Of course, back in his era, a day contained 24 hours!

And Edison slept 4 or less of those hours; worked the rest.

Had a mission, Edison did. Wanted to invent all those gadgets which positively, without a doubt, enriched folk's lives. Like the light bulb, the microphone, phonograph, generators, electric trains, typewriters, the stock ticker, the transmitter for the telephone receiver, the video camera and the first commercial electric light and power system.

Yep! Edison's real challenge was not: how to get to sleep, but: how to stay awake!

Now if you believe the newspapers, in 2005, at least 42 million folks, here in the U.S., were walking around like zombies.

Taking sleeping pills, they were, and popping those babies like never before so they could catch a few Z's.

Oh yeah, sure, it was harmless stuff like Ambien, Lunesta and Sonata. Not heavy drugs or anything like that !!! Just over-the-counter stuff. Or by prescription. From the two-hundred-and-thirteen thousand doctors who wrote 3.3 million dollar's worth of sleeping pill prescriptions for last year.

Which is OK, right?

Now, I wantcha to know those 42 million Americans aren't stingy. They shared those sleeping pills with their kids! Because those children's lives are so stress-filled that they can't sleep!

Life is hard. I mean, the finger exercises, alone, are killing us.

It takes excruciating effort to wrestle with a water faucet, knuckle toaster levers into position, twist electric stove knobs from off to high, poke blender buttons, turn car and truck ignition switches, tap computor keys, jerk the heat and air-conditioning thermostats up a notch, flip ipods open, nudge their selectors, punch the microwave selection pads, push buttons on the TV remote, heft a cell phone, dial the numbers, and punch the kill-those-bloody-villains indicators on video games.

Darn if our fingers aren't just plum tuckered out at night. But they can't sleep till the rest of the body does, so pop a pill, quiet the unexercised mind, dull the nerves in that really stress-torn body and let THOSE fingers sleep!

Now, as IN-DE-PEN-DENT Americans, we have a duty to support the pharmaceutical companies, don't we? If we let our minds use those sleepless hours to compose a sonata, paint a masterpiece, write a novel, invent a few gadgets, sketch a Muslim cartoon . . . .

Heck. If we did that those old drug companies would lose billions of dollars. Guess we can't let that happen, huh?

Well folks, since the pharmaceutical companies have spent all that money ($590 million) advertising their Z drugs, guess it would behoove me to watch an ad or two. Shouldn't be hard to find one. Turn the TV on and there will be 3 per hour.

My favorite is the Lunesta luna moth gliding euphorically on the summer's breeze which wafts around the sleeper's bed.

Puts me to sleep every time I watch it.
Go Gently Into Sleep © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan



Tuesday, February 07, 2006

First-Rate Fix

It should have been obvious when I landed the job that problems were slated to arise. It was inevitable. The first clue presented itself at the interview.

Now, math has never been my forté. Sure, I aced trig and calculus in high school. Aced world economics at university. But these were eraser-chewing experiences which demanded ponderous effort. Throw me a math question which demands a quick answer and I'm lost.

The district manager, Mr. Broadhurst, who handled the interview, was a bulky caricature of King Kong. The tweedy suit he wore would have looked better on the ape, and the cigar he smoked filled the room with a pungent aroma which set me to sneezing. My eyes watered.

It was a sneak attack to ask me a simple math question while I was busy, surreptitiously, trying to find Kleenix for the nose problem which generally follows a series of sneezes.

My answer, though, gave him pause. A child could have deduced that when Broadhurst's pebble-sized eyes suddenly enlarged to the diameter of tripple-egged omelets.

His bullhorned voice would have chased freighters out of a harbor. "Is that your answer?"

Between the sniffles, which I hoped would delay the nose dribbles, and several more sneezes, it was hard to focus on an answer. Finally, I managed to squeek, "Without pencil and paper, Sir, it was the best I could do. If you'll give me a minute, I'm sure I can extrapolate those numbers further."

"Not necessary," he barked. "You've already X-TRAP-O-LATED a simple answer into a complex solution. I've never had an applicant answer the question before, then proceed to outline all the possible variances. You're hired."

Darn. I wish I'd known I was doing that. Could have saved myself from a sneeze or two.

The following events, clearly illustrate how a series of miscommunications can alter a mortal's job performance.

As Broadhurst escorted me to my new office, his arm waved expansively towards a hulking machine which occupied three-quarters of the room. "Besides, you're the only applicant who knew how to operate a teletype machine."

A teletype machine? What the heck is that?

Darn, if those application forms won't get a body into trouble! I mean, if you accidently checked the boxes in front of tele and type, you'd expect a talking typewriter, wouldn't you?

"Er . . . it looks new, Sir."

Broadhurst positively beamed. "It is new. They delivered it this morning."

"Uh . . . did it come with a book of instructions, Sir?"

There was clearcut suspicion in Broadhurst's eyes as they swept over me from hairdo to sandlestraps. "Why would you need an instruction book?"

"Er . . . the . . . um . . . ah . . . one I'm used to was a dinosaur, Sir. Antiquated. A brand-spanking new puppy like this one has updated functions, doesn't it? It would be easier to make the transition from old to new if I study the manual overnight. They didn't shortchange you and forget to include a manual, did they Sir . . . ?"

Broadhurst strode over to the machine, slipped the booklet out of its shiny plastic envelope, and slapped it into my outstretched hand.

"See you first thing in the morning." Every word sounded sharp and scissored.

Now, a five thousand, seven-hundred-and-twenty-three page manual isn't that difficult to memorize overnight, but you sure have to prop the old eyelids open with forklifts the next day.

As it turned out, the eyelid-forklift-prop would be a necessary fixture in the routine for months to come. That overzealous graphite pencil — the one which marked all those empty squares on the application form — caused me a lot of overtime. Wish it hadn't overstated my abilities.

After six months, I was exhausted. Decided to turn in my resignation. Perhaps, if I worded it properly, Broadhurst would fire me.

A typed letter, slipped onto Broadhurst's desk while he was out to lunch, should have done the trick, right?

But no, it was inevitable that problems were slated to arise.

First, I smelled the cigar smoke. Then, I noticed my carefully-worded resignation dancing madly in midair. Next, I heard the boomerang voice say: "Come into my office and we'll discuss this."

What's to discuss? I wondered as my sudden sneezes squirreled meekly behind Broadhurst's retreating silhouette . . . down the hallway . . . past his secretary, Greta . . . and into his office.

Though every word of that marathon fifteen-minute chat remains crisp in memory, suffice it to say, my tongue copied the scurrilous activities which that graphite pencil had employed when it overstated my abilities.

I walked out of Broadhurst's office dazed and shaken.

Greta was still at her desk, busily shuffling papers from the out-basket to the one marked in, and rearranging precariously stacked files. Her nervous industry served to disguise avid curiosity. "Good news?"

My chin rotated in a circle. It tried to nod yes, then no, simultaneously. "Guess so."

"What happened?"

"Got a five-hundred dollar bonus and a three-dollar-an-hour raise."

"But that is good news!" Greta's wide smile revealed a smidgeon of Canary-Red lipstick smudged across the metal bridge on her false tooth.

"Not if you're trying to get fired so you can collect unemployment," I replied tonelessly.

Darn it. Doing a job well if you're going to do it at all has its disadvantages.
First-Rate Fix © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan



Monday, February 06, 2006

A Sniffle Or Two

It's nothing more than the sneezes, folks.
Nethertheless, they seem not only to have taken a mighty hold upon my nose, but to have discombobulated all coherent thought as well.
With any luck a'tall, they'll tiptoe silently away into the night . . . .
Until tomorrow then -- adieu.
Chae

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Sunday Morning XVII

Years ago, I practised meditation. At that time, I was mildly successful in reaching samadhi. Today, I remember the total unity, universal harmony and joy I felt then.

It felt then as if I was a drop of water falling into the ocean, my very being becoming the ocean, surging as a wave to heights unknown to me before, then, cresting with an absolute euphoria in the joyous release from all restrictions, all limitations.

In those years, I saw not the diversity of the human experience, yet rather, the brotherhood of all mankind. We were all universally seeking that spiritual plateau platformed on the pillars of all embracing love.

From that memory, I awake today in the world of 2006. And what do I see?

The "hot" topic of news currency, today, is the Muslims who are trying to punish Denmark for cartooning Muhammad, their prophet, though it bothered them not a whit when their cartoonists lampooned the God of Isreal. They, themselves, are not honoring their God as they would have us believe. They are demonstrating willful intolerance of others.

Another, "hot" topic of controversy, is the Americans who bring death and destruction to an innocent country known as Iraq, all in the name of protecting the world from terrorists. They, themselves, are not honoring God at all as they would have us believe. They are demonstrating willful greed and witless fear.

Other countries follow, willynilly, in the footsteps of one extreme faction, or another. Currently, they are coerced, bullied and bribed into crucifying Iran.

Does anyone remember, that one day many years ago, when those who participated in a peace movement joined hands?

They formed a human chain, hand-to-hand, which stretched, unbroken, across the width of America. There was an overwhelming feeling of unity, harmony and ebullient joy that day.

Awesome!

Today, more than at any other time in history, we need to let go of greed, intolerance, witless fear, and the concept of punishment, coercion, bribery and bullying. These are the virtues of evil, whether practised by Muslims, practised by Americans, or by Europeans and Jews.

Today, we need to join hands again, each with another, and form a chain of love, peace, harmony and unity which spans the world.

We need to recover the ability to bless whatever is in front of us, this enlightenment that is intimate with all things. Only when we have accomplished this, can we truthfully say, we are honoring God.
Chae

Friday, February 03, 2006

Full Of Crock

In honor of Fashion Week, I investigated Katie Dickens' advice on boosting your style IQ in the article titled: Fashion 101, in February's issue of In Style.

It was all about belts. Skinny belts. Ribbon belts. Even ostrich, crocodile, lizard and python belts.

She says that narrow leather belts generally work better on petite frames. While this may be true, it definately leads us to question: What work do they do? And, if they are working better, how did they work before?

In pursuit of answers to these questions, we checked out the work-experience section of several resumés supplied by crocodiles.

Mr. Longsnout's account tidily sums up the average croc's work.

He states: "Cleared swamp area of debris, including all humans and their remains. Due to the fact, that humans possess longer legs and more agility, this project required highly developed locomotion skills. I attribute my success in gaining these skills to the multi-station, exercise treadmills at Premier Life Fitness and Jazzercise Health Spa whose daily exercise program required a lot of backbone.

"This environmental Swamp Reclamation project also required clever planning, superior strategy and a stupendous amount of patience. Without divulging too many trade secrets, it is permissible to mention here, that one of my superior strategies is the art of camouflage.

"Disguising myself as a swamp-log required extensive knowledge in makeup artistry which enabled me to tone down an extraordinarily glowing complexion and add a sun-kissed effect to my thick-skinned vertebrae ridges. By applying these cosmetic techniques with perfection, I was able to lure more humans to step into my speedily-opened mouth."

Now, that is the work a crocodile does. Yet, when retired to belt status, it would seem that the end of his career is upon him and subsequently, he does no work whatsoever.

It is regrettable that we have run past our time allowance allocated to explore the work experiences of the ostrich, lizard and python in today's column, yet, let it suffice to say that I fear they have all met similar fates as our friend, Mr. Longsnout.

Thereby, we should make the distinction that while they may once have worked, they are no longer doing so.

Therefore, it matters not whether the frame is petite, whether they, themselves, are narrow, medium or wide; nor should a comparison of better, best or poorly be placed upon a work that, in any event, is no work at all.
Full of Crock © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan




Thursday, February 02, 2006

T-shirt Flap

President Bush has a real problem with T-shirts.

Now I spoze we all have little quirks, phobias and idiosyncrasies. President Bush's is T-shirts. He seems to believe that wearing T-shirts breaks some unwritten law and is punishable by arrest.

We all know, by now, of Cindy Sheehan's arrest, don't we? She was wearing a T-shirt that Bush's Bullies objected to.

Then, there was that fella, a year or two ago, who wanted to hear the President speak at a rally. This fellow said nary a word, yet was led away in handcuffs and arrested. His crime? He was wearing a T-shirt.

Yep. Bush has a real problem with T-shirts.

His bloody teeth may have chomped one too many though, when they bit into Beverly Young's collarless cotton at the Capitol building the night of his State of the Union address.

Beverly's husband is C.W. Bill Young, Florida's Republican congressman.

Unlike Sheehan, an ordinary citizen like you and me, C.W. Bill Young has a position of notability. He's a congressman. A Republican. And Young took his wife's case straight to the house floor.

The offending T-shirt juddered, flapped and went into convulsions as Rep. Bill Young beat the air with its cotton fibers.

Did he give an impassioned speech? Heck, Young vibrated with anger, raged with fury and gave 'em hell. Even upbraided Karl Rove, the president's deputy chief of staff.

It was interesting to note that Sheehan's arrest did not make banner headlines on the N.Y. Times' web site. If you wanted the story, you had to find the Associated Press' site, then dig around for the facts. But then, Sheehan is an ordinary citizen like you and me.

Young's ruckus made the N.Y. Times' front page.

It is also interesting to note, the content of one of Young's statements: when it happened to Sheehan, it didn't upset me; when it happened to me, I was furious.

Yep. That's just what I've been saying all along, folks.

Today, it's Sheehan's T-shirts; tomorrow, it will be the Levi's you and I wear.

Those unwritten laws will get you every time.
T-shirt Flap © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan



Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Manacled Freedom And Innuendoes

Just a couple of footnotes today on the State of the Union affairs last night. Questions, actually.

My first question: How can I trust a man who extolls lofty ideals such as the freedom of democracy, yet who steals this very freedom from American citizens even as he speaks?

Case in point: Bush's Bullies arrested Cindy Sheehan last night.

Was she at the Capitol to attend Bush's speech illegally?

No. She had a personal invitation from California's Congresswoman, Rep. Lynn Woolsey, who gave Sheehan a ticket to the grand affair.

Sheehan's crime? Bush's Bullies didn't approve her choice of clothing.

Now, how can I trust a President who mouths the words freedom of democracy, yet who shackles a woman's wrists in handcuffs, cages her in a gaol of hell, then slams and locks the prison door just because he doesn't like her outfit?

My second question will take a bit more ink to unearth the facts behind Bush's innuendoes.

After his opening accolades to Coretta Scott King, he began the meat of his address in paragraph four with three myths which have been proven false.

In other words, he began a 55-minute speech with 3 lies. Can I trust a President who does that?

Paragraph 4, Innuendo Number 1: "On Sept. 11, 2001, we found that problems originating in a failed and oppressive state 7000 miles away could bring murder and destruction to our country."

Clarification: Were we led to assume he was referring to Iraq? Yet, it is a fact that the culprit was bin Laden, the terrorist, who ordered the attacks. Bin Laden, at that time, was in Afghanistan. Why then did we attack an innocent country?

Innuendo Number 2: "Dictatorships shelter terrorists . . . "

Clarification: Not necessarily so. Certainly, there were few, if any, terrorists in Iraq until America opened Iraq's borders and invited them in.

Innuendo Number 3: "Dictatorships shelter terrorists . . . and seek weapons of mass destruction."

Clarification: Obviously, Bush failed Logic 101. Or he thinks we have. If he wasn't palming myths off on an unsuspecting public, he might have spoken more candidly: America, a democracy, has weapons of mass destruction and India, a nation which elects its leaders, has weapons of mass destruction. One of the few countries which did not have weapons of mass destruction was the dictatorship: Iraq.

I find it very, very difficult to believe that the rest of his address contained any elements of truth when he opened it by trying to dupe me.

We could rehash all 65 paragraphs of his speech. See if there are any nuggets of truth mixed in with all that fiction and false innuendo, but why bother?

Uncovering the color of Sheehan's t-shirt is more interesting than listening to Bush's lies.
Manacled Freedom And Innuendoes © 2006 Chaeli Lee Sullivan