Might as well blog

It's Halloween. Happy happy.

It's 1:30 A.M. and once again, for the fifth night in a row, I find myself up and unable to sleep. Ahh, the upside of insomnia. Might as well blog.

Just finished an article on Philadelphia public schools' engagement with Edison Schools, Inc., a for profit corporation in the business of delivering education, higher test scores and more to failing public schools. With a big gigantic slump of the stock market, Edison stock has lost much of its value (from a high of $22 to its current value of 50 cents) and that has caused the company to think "creatively" to get its financial house in order. Sounds like a major headache to be in the for-profit business of delivering education. Thank you ffej.org for your ability to scour the web for good reading.

On tap at work today is our Halloween Pot Luck which I have decided to offer up a submarine sandwich. I've no history in the creation of submarine sandwiches but I'm willing to give it a try. French bread, mayo, salami, ham, lettuce, tomato, cheese, green pepper, and Italian dressing are easy enough to assemble. Others at work will be offering up much more "complicated" fare. Not me.

Lastnight, Mike and I went out to Catamaran Resort Hotel's Cannibal Bar to meet Patty, a cousin of a friend who appears interested in me. First off, she asked me to meet her there at 6:30 to see a band she likes. The band was a cover band and the bar wanted us to pony up $5 a piece to experience this forgettable ensemble. That wasn't gonna happen so Mike and decided to head to the Piano Bar which had no cover; however, they sure had pricey drinks. $30 for two rounds. When Patty finally arrived (she was late), with a male friend in tow, Mike really got himself an earload. He was so unimpressed with her tales of woe he had to walk away and find a pay phone to call my mobile about his distress of hearing this lady's baggage. Before Mike found the phone, I had to drop the truth bomb on Patty that I didn't like the band, wasn't going to pay to see 'em, and that we were hungry and not planning to eat there, but to find somewhere more to our liking. She was disappointed. I was happy to high tail it out of there. We found a place much more to our liking -- The Liar's Club.

Located on Mission Blvd at Mission Beach, The Liar's Club is a cool, rock-and-roll infected pub with excellent choices in brew and solid 1/2 pound burgers which are tasty and delicious.

Make up your own Bush speech is good stuff! That's right, you can get the Elvis of All Tools to say what YOU want him to say.

I think I'm ready for more sleep now.

(Kim the Star Princess) Lastnight I prepared homemade fried chicken with black beans and rice. Mike Nissley says my fried chicken is some of the best he's ever tasted. The keys for great tasting fried chicken are oil and the heat of the oil. My recipe calls for lard at a very high temperature in a cast iron skillet.

First Impressions of TJ
Tijuana, Mexico is not worth the 25 mile drive south and the 1-1/2 hour, long-line wait to cross the border back to the United States. Unless you enjoy sports books, $50 hookers and beers costing the same as in the States, I suggest you don't visit.

Mr. Nissley was asked to refrain from consuming his alcoholic beverage from outside of this establishment this afternoon.



I took a one hour plus nap at Mission Beach this afternoon. Very relaxing.

The Death Of The Internet
How Industry Intends To Kill The 'Net As We Know It
by Jeff Chester, executive director of the Center for Digital Democracy.

The Internet’s promise as a new medium -- where text, audio, video and data can be freely exchanged -- is under attack by the corporations that control the public’s access to the 'Net, as they see opportunities to monitor and charge for the content people seek and send. The industry’s vision is the online equivalent of seizing the taxpayer-owned airways, as radio and television conglomerates did over the course of the 20th century. the whole article

The sculpture, "Seeking Her Forgiveness," is by an Alaska Native, artist Susie Silook

There are just a few key principles about living of which one must try earnestly not to forget. One of the principles, which recently I seem to have forgotten, is that some people who claim to be your friends are only friends if the relationship materially benefits them. The days of helping someone and feeling good that the world is better for your efforts are over. Too many have adopted the quid pro quo philosophy of living and it's a struggle for many people in our culture to realize that's in fact how they're living. Though when asked, these same people will consider this way of life a necessary survival tactic in today's culture. "What have you done for me lately" is the predominant question of our cultural times. That's too bad.

I spent the past ten years helping and giving to people: giving them jobs at corporations where I was employed, buying food for those who were hungry, listening to their misery at the expense of my pain, using bonuses I earned from work to reward them, etc., etc. Giving to people is something I enjoy. And no, I don't ask for anything in return because to see people I care for smile is more than enough in repayment. However, there will be some who will forget my past giving and attempt to use their recent generosity they've shown as leverage for my guilt. That's unfortunate, indeed. Gone are the days of the no-strings-attached friendships.

The key to living in a selfish society, if you're a giver, is to let your actions speak. We cannot change--nor should we--how others perceive our position in an existential or spiritual plane. People are entitled to have their own perceptions regardless if it's misguided, selective or self-centered. To fully live a spiritual life, forgiveness is the most important trait for one not to forget.

Here's an article spoofing the Bush Administration's war on drugs campaign; however, this spoof campain is targeted towards the war against SUVs which has been waged on this blog on many occasions.

Article is here


Mr. Nissley has traveled north to Huntington Beach.

photo by ffej

Ffej, of ffej.org, posted photos from the Lamprey Pig Roast in Pilsen (Chicago) held last Sunday. Go here --> http://www.ffej.org/fallpig02/

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Fantasy Football for this weekend. My opponent is Kim Thousand and both teams have three wins and four losses. I'm on a two game winning streak; Kim is on a three game losing streak. Our starting lineups are:

Coronet Club Rockers (3-4-0)
QB Culpepper, Daunte (QB-Min) Chi
WR McCaffrey, Ed (WR-Den) @NE
WR Streets, Tai (WR-SF) Ari
WR Stallworth, Donte' (WR-NO) Atl
RB Garner, Charlie (RB-Oak) @KC
TE Sharpe, ShannonDTD (TE-Den) @NE
K Elam, Jason (K-Den) @NE
DEF Jacksonville (DEF-Jac) Hou


KimThousand (3-4-0)
QB Brady, Tom (QB-NE) Den
WR Moss, Randy (WR-Min) Chi
WR Pathon, Jerome (WR-NO) Atl
WR Hakim, AzZahir (WR-Det) @Buf
RB Stewart, James (RB-Det) @Buf
TE Shockey, Jeremy (TE-NYG) @Phi
K Hollis, Mike (K-Buf) Det
DEF Tennessee (DEF-Ten) @Cin

Day Eight of Mr. Nissley's visit to San Diego ::

Mr. Nissley rented a (ghey) Ford Focus from Enterprise Rent-A-Car, drove it around San Diego, and surprisingly, stopped and hung-out at the beach. That's Ocean Beach (pictured below).



For dinner, we dined at Red Fox Steak House and Piano Bar. The New York Strips were heaven--cooked perfectly as we ordered ours medium rare.

Day Seven ::



Mr. Nissley and I watched Sunday football at the Pacific Beach Bar and Grill. The Sunday brunch at the PB Bar and Grill kicks ass. It cost $9.95 and the buffet has a Mexican flavor. But best part, all the football games are televised and the wait staff are very customer focused. Oh, the Chicago Bears lost.



After brunch, we walked the two block distance to the beach where we enjoyed the sunny day. The image below is exactly where we basked.



After hanging out at the pier for five-and-a-half hours, Mr. Nissley and I walked to Blind Melons, the epicenter for fans of the Chicago Bears and Buffalo Bills and it's located right on the beach. The place is NUTS! If you like to drink tons of beer and go crazy--I mean CRAZY--cheering for your team, this is the place for you. I'm simply an observer of individual and group behaviors; Blind Melons is an interesting anthropological specimen.

After a couple of brews, it was back to South Park for a home-cooked dinner and the World Series at Sparky's. The daytime bartender at Sparky's was in customer mode and offered Mike and me Japanese Saki. Nice. Oh, there's a 10% alcohol beer called "The Reverend." It's badass.

Day Six ::

Mr. Nissley and I spent all of Saturday at Pacific Beach. We had a few drinks, threw the frisbee and played catch on the sandy beach.



Pacific Beach is a diverse beach area wih a large visitor segment representing the beer-guzzling fraternity/sorority types. A surfing competition next to the PB Pier was underway. A nice day.

Jason and Buzz have moved onward in their long journey; both are in Los Angeles.

Day Five ::



Jerry passed.

Jerry was accompanied into the after-life by tortilla, avocado, zucchini and cheese assembled omelette style. Jerry's passing occurred around brunch time.

Lobster Jerry was not at all cooperative; he resisted his capture and detainment from minute one.

To Jerry's friends and supporters: if you don't want Jerry's fate, don't take the bait.

Day Five ::



Sunny skies with just a few clouds as of 8:00 A.M. We're beach-bound; to Black's Beach or Mission Bay.

First we must eat Jerry.

I checked on Jerry, our one-and-only keeper lobster, this morning and he seems to be doing as well as can be--considering he's been snatched from his Pacific home and interned in a white styrofoam cooler with an American Flag emblazoned on the outside. Jerry probably feels like a Taliban prisoner in Cuba, detained without charges and with no chance to consult his attorney.

Day Four ::



Mike's the big winner. We arrived at Ocean Beach Pier around Noon and when we left, nine and a half hours later, Mike was the proud owner of the only keeper for the day. His name is Jerry, a fine pacific lobster. We each caught something. Jason a fish (not a keeper) and I picked-up two non-keeper lobsters.

Lobsters can be kinda vicious when they're on-shore. Pacific lobsters are unlike Maine lobsters because they have no front claws. The long antenna, however, are sharp as pins and can pierce skin. Gotta be careful with lobsters.

We used Mackerel, squid and anchovies for bait.

Day Three ::

Mike went all over San Diego via public transportation. He even managed to take a rented bike south from Coronado to the Mexican border using the coastal, and very scenic, CA-75 along Silver Strand State Park.



Jason surprise-visited friends in Orange County and Los Angeles.

I worked and when I returned home the preparations began for fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy for dinner. The boys enjoyed the warm, home-cooked meal.



We packed it up and went to the Casbah for some atmospheric, jazz-inspired, Tortise-like stylings of Do Make Say Think and Fly Pan Am.

Today I called in sick and we're headed to Ocean Beach Pier later this morning to employ my two lobster traps. A lobster fest on the beach is a very good possibility if the the lobsters cooperate.

Tonight I make home-made fried chicken.

Day Two :: starring MN, JP, DB and B

Yesterday morning started with work (7:30 A.M.). I left Mike, Jason and Buzz to their own devices. While at work, Mike and Jason visited Ocean Beach and the Mission Bay Golf Course. At Mission Bay, the two took to the driving range.



Since I work less than one mile away, I come home for lunch, and yesterday at 2 PM I stopped off at Miller's Supermarket before home and purchased some carne asada which later became lunch. Marinated carne asada (lime, onions, spice) and rice.



Mike wasn't feeling well when we reconvened at 2PM; I think it was the coffee and yogurt combination he consumed earlier. There's something about California dairy products which can cause concern to a midwesterner. Prior to California, I had not experienced lactose intolerance. Since moving here, I can't drink milk products without some sort of gastro uneasiness. Must be the California dairy. That's what I think is going on with Mike.



Lastnight we had dinner at Turf Supper Club, a cook-it-yourself steak place. Jason ordered the surf and turf and two martinis; Mike and I ordered the Ribeye and one Stoli martini (dirty) each and a beer with dinner. TSC has a wonderful, low-cost concept; however, the steaks were supermarket quality, nor was the grilling station operated at optimum temperature. A fine, tasty steak require a very high cooking temperature for best results. It's a fine place regardless.

After our steak dinners, we took off to downtown San Diego for the Waterfront, a nice little tavern in Little Italy. There we drank pitchers of beers and Jim Beamed ourselves.



We retired for the evening posing as full fucks.

Today the weather, as for the past several days, is overcast and cloudy. Looking out of my office window, I see a continuation of the cloudy gray.

Today, Jason is off to visit a friend in Orange County while Mike has laundry to start. Mike has been sporting the same shorts for the past week and there is evidence he desires to continue wearing 'em while in Southern California.

Day One :: Mike Nissley, Jason Pontius and Buzz (cute little puppy)

Driving from Las Vegas in a white Jeep SUV, the three pulled into casa de Pesotum around 6 P.M. with ice-cold beer in-hand. After a few short minutes of pleasantries, the initial stage of Miller Lite product consumption commenced. Buzz didn't waste any time, either; ol' boy began humping me post haste. (confidential to Buzz: it's allright buddy; you don't need to feel bad about your sexuality. no harm, no foul.)

We listened to some rock music (The Hives, American Nitro, Bill Monroe, Wilco) via the iBook for an hour before we decided to head out into the San Diego night. Our first stop was Scolari's Office, a full-service night club located one mile away in North Park.

Scolari's Office is a local hangout known to be frequented by rocker and goth types. We walked into the darkly lit club with the fully-stocked bar to the right and black round tables to the left. Seated at the bar was a collection of older people either in small discussion groups or drinking solo. The bartender, a man around the age of 39, sported a cheetah-spotted shirt and thick rimmed glasses. We found three open stools at the bar and began the proceedings.

We started with shots of Jim Beam and a round of beers (Jason bought). A younger man, 25 to be exact and toting a skateboard, invited Jason to a game of pool in which Jason won due to youngun's failure to announce a "double-kiss" prior to taking his shot at the 8-ball. On several occasions, the young guy mistook either Jason or Mike's beer for his own. The young man, his name I cannot recall, was very despondent after his pool failure and sat on the stool next to me where we began to talk about skateboarding and pool. I suggested he not shoot all his balls with the high velocity with which I had observed in his contest with Jason. He thought that in order to be a good player he HAD to shoot the balls hard. I said: you drive for show and you putt for dough. He got the message.

After 3 rounds, we headed south to my neighborhood bar--Sparky's Cafe, a local beer-only establishment.

Sparky's is where I usually spend Monday evenings because of the free pool, the nice people and football. The owner, Paul, used to work with Sony where he helped manufacture CRT monitors. Due to downsizing at Sony, he was laid-off a few years ago and his subsequent severance pay was used to buy Sparky's.

Wahoo Wheat, a locally brewed beer, is on tap at Sparky's and that's what I drink. Jason an Ale and Mike a Miller Lite product. At Sparky's, we conversed with a few people, as well with Paul, and the lady bartender who on this evening was on the customer side of the bar. Topics included what was the better beach--Black's or Ocean Beach; local politics and different cities where we've lived. We spent about two hours at Sparky's and then to the liqour store where Mike stocked up on ice and beer. Since we had not ate (10:30 P.M.), we placed orders for burritos at a small corner Mexican restaurant across the street from the liqour store. (Jason, fish. Mike and I, carne asada.) We returned to my studio apartment where we consumed the fine Mexican fare and went into our evening slumber.

This morning, Mike is still asleep while Jason and Buzz or having coffee at Santos Coffee House.

Happy school lunch week, folks.



School lunches, from my memory, were always bland and the servings seem to always be small.

Out here in the West, water is in short supply, and has been since this the United States embarked on the settlement of the West over a hundred years ago. Water is considered "gold" out here. Anyone new to the area (i.e. me) wouldn't think water was scarce based upon the many lush and well manicured lawns.

Something will have to give because by year's end the Feds will cut-off 50% of California's take from the Colorado River. We'll see what the lawn-lovers will do then. Will municipalities begin rationing water? Folks around here ain't gonna like that. Rationing was tried, according to a co-worker and life-long San Diego resident, 15-20 years ago and folks weren't very happy about it. Some home owners were busted by the city's water patrol for illegally watering their lawns. It appears the last thing on the mind of the many image conscience San Diegans is water. If the tap is turned and water come out--what shortage? That seems to be the common thought. I'm oh so curious to observe reactions to water after the year's end.

We've all heard of the electric power shortage in California, right? Well, I'll give you an example of the lost-at-sea mindset as Californians deal with shortages. To observe the September 11th anniversary of the terrorist bombings, San Diego's mayor requested all residents mark the occassion by leaving on outdoor lights. All night, mind you dear reader. I have to think whoever came up with the 9/11 light idea, during this period of electricity conservation, is the genius who will most likely develop the water conservation plan.

I would like to suggest there is no shortage of Enronesqe "leaders" in Southern California.

Regardless of the educational levels certain people achieve in our culture, there are still those with high levels of ignorance related to mental illness. One reason the misfortunate many in our society refuse to seek professional care for their illness is because of the stigma attached to these diseases. Referring to a person with bipolar disorder as a "psycho," is on par with calling a diabetic a pariah. It's a callous reference.

The mornings, for the past week, have started without a wake up alarm. (That ist rad.) I've been waking up very early, around 5:00 A.M., which gives me the time to read before those damn, loud-ass planes begin flying overhead. Did I report my apartment is directly under the landing path of planes flying to Lindbergh Field, the downtown airport in San Diego? As the aircraft approach the airfield, approximately one mile east of where I live, they are about 1/4 of a mile above and those screeching jet engines make the loudest noises the likes of which hell has not heard. That's the price one pays for low rent.

Historian Stephen Ambrose died today. This past summer I read D Day - June 6, 1944, a book Mr. Ambrose authored in 1994 in which he included extensive and wonderful interviews--oral histories--from the participants of the Normandy (France) invasion. Mr. Ambrose's passion for history and continuous learning are unequaled. I'm very lucky to have had the opportunity to have read his work and follow subsequent interviews and articles about him while he was alive.

In his book D Day - June 6, 1944, Ambrose wrote eloquently about young American men, passionate in the defense of freedom and the values of America, as they traveled to Europe, trained for the invasion to remove the Nazis from France and knowing full well many of their comrades, and perhaps themselves, would never return to their wives, families and homes. For me, the book shined a bright light on the value of life and the great debt I owe to so many for the freedoms I enjoy today.

Ambrose died of lung cancer, diagnosed six months ago, in a hospital in Mississippi. Upon learning he only had six months of life, Stephen Ambrose dedicated that remaining time on righting his past opinions on historical concepts which he felt were not wholly accurate. Mr. Ambrose's life is a fine example of how to live as a perpetual student.

Thank you, Mr. Ambrose, for your contributions to the American experience. May you rest in peace.

Friday Five

1. Buying gas, loading groceries or walking to school can be deadly.

2. Ukuleles rule! A few years ago I owned a Ukulele and now I want another. Don Ho Hootenanny

3. Hungarian Imre Kertész wins Nobel for literature. Since 2000, I traveled to Hungary four times, spent a total of three months in that beautiful country and was introduced to their great writers. Kertész and poet Jozsef Attila became my favorites after spending hours in pubs, listening to my Hungarian friends reading/translating their work and consuming copious amounts of tasty-sweet Hungarian red wine. Kertész, and many other Hungarian Jews, spent time at Auchwitz during the War and a gift it is to humanity he survived. Post war Soviet occupied Hungary wasn't as good for poet Attila; he committed suicide at the young age of 32 by throwing himself in the path of a train. I'm hopeful Kertész's prize will lead to more Hungarian authors' work to get English translation.

4. Digital radio broadcast approved by FCC. The developers of the technology say CD-quality broadcast will be possible. If that's the case, what then will come of the debate on digital piracy? I guess that if the Clear Channels of the world continue with their efforts to dominate the airwaves we'll only have 20 songs to steal.

5. The Soundtracks of Our Lives are coming! The Soundtracks of Our Lives are coming! To the very intimate Casbah rock club which holds 200-300 at most.

The national economy, from the perspective of many laborers, has not moved from the crapper. Any talk of an improving economy is wishful thinking. For the working class, any real change of income and attitudes will take place months after the equity markets begin getting "theirs." I sometimes, more often than in the past, feel fortunate I have a job. Although in the freewheeling and image conscience town, I sometimes feel my job is a treadmill, running but not getting anywhere. My relocation plans, as reported here, will be timed to an improvement in the national economy.

This town can keep a Midwesterner in the can; with its high cost and Disney culture, living here can make it difficult to maintain values cultivated from the flatlands of Central Illinois. The artist mindset is rarely on display. Without others whom share a pension for creativity, the can is a very difficult place to grow--spiritually and artistically.

As many of you already know, I enjoy cooking. Cooking outdoors is my favorite of all venues in which to prepare delightful dishes. Here I am: alone, cooking and unafraid.

On another note, my good friend Rich Turiel (pictured below on the right), the webmaster of gbv.com, is celebrating his 37th birthday today. Happy birthday, Rich!

Graduate school is being contemplated because I need a plan of action as I continue to entertain thoughts of relocating back to Chicago. I have many friends there whom I miss dearly, plus the close proximity to family is a definite plus.

San Diego's weather attracts a diverse lot of people and there appears to be economic segregation of peoples here. Like Chicago. I happen to live around people with lower income and education levels. That's where I feel most comfortable, as was the case in Chicago.

The part of San Diego in which I live is one which can suck much of my positive energies, unlike Chicago, but I erect my defenses to fight-off the onslaught. One example of the energy zappers mentioned above occurs at the apartment complex where I reside. I spend a lot of time at home doing whatever, but my typical weekday evenings, after returning from work, are spent in a dinky, second floor studio apartment, reading every page of the Sunday New York Times and wondering "how did I get here?" (Yes, the Sunday NY Times is a large sucker.) Down in the first floor courtyard of the apartment complex, there is a constant buzz of young children crying or playing mostly unsupervised, and like clockwork a single parent will emerge from one of the apartments to deliver some of the most God-awful expletives at one of their kids. It's a very negative environment for these children and I feel sorry for all of them. I hope something positive can happen to these children because they seem doomed to repeat the same patterns of abuse as adults which their parents most certainly were exposed to as kids. A DCFS representative makes visits to some of these kids' homes but I doubt, with the heavy caseload a caseworker is reported to carry, there is any positive change. Police visits are common here as they are called to handle domestic issues. There are a few neighbors with whom I have a communications with; however, most are moving-out because of the regular drama created by the certain dysfunctional few. A sad commentary on children/parent relationships, indeed. I must remember to detach myself from this, if possible, and to reinforce in myself that these behaviors I witness from my neighbors are not right, natural or moral. Such is life in the ugly city. God save us all.

Wow. Today has been spent looking at graduate degree programs in Chicago. I'm starting to think of my future and the fact I'm working a full-time job with no real impact on society isn't what will make me happy, now and in the foreseeable future.

What shall I do? Where shall I do it?

Teaching is a cool alternative with the summers and most holidays off. I can travel during the summers--the opportunities are endless! Alternative Certification is the new program from Chicago Public Schools which replaced the Masters degree program formerly called Teachers for Chicago. No Masters degree comes from Alternative Certification.

Journalism will better my writing and I can work independently.

Arts and media management will definitely help my understanding of the music business and BOMBCO may benefit as well.

Returning to Chicago is a definite possibility.

I'll have a week or two to consider my options; I'll pass it by Nissley and Pontius when they arrive.

Lastnight at Mission Bay, several music acts performed at the "first-ever" West Coast Music Conference. I, perhaps, should have opted to see the Smiths tribute band at Casbah. The conference, featuring up-and-coming groups from the San Diego area, had an over abundance of bands influenced by Pearl Jam, Dave Matthews and the long-gone genre of grunge. One punk band was okay; however, the set only lasted 15 minutes, which wasn't the amount of time required for the soundman to get their mix settled.

I spoke with a manager type earlier in the evening and his business perspective--"making the big time"--just wasn't hitting on my philosophy of music.

I left with a headache.