GOOD NEWS: Of Doggies & Dodgers!!!

1. My faithful companion, Redoct, has reached (today) his 12th birthday!

Yes, he's a red Doberman Pinscher.Yes, he was born on the 1st of October. And yes, that is a hamburger birthday cake.

I have lived with Redoct all his life. He continues to give me his all, while I return only a portion of my attention and my day to him. That's his lot as a dawg, maybe; but neither of us are satisfied with this bargain in our lives.

He is a DAWG among dogs. In his long life, Redoct has thoroughly mastered two California communities, four off-the-leash dog parks, three public beaches, the finer points of ultimate frisbee, tennis (wherever/whenever it has been attempted in his presence), stick-retrieval, body-surfing and can out run/swim/think any labrador he has encountered. In canine public with his peers, he has given as good as he got.

In the all important field of homeland security, he has attained the rank of serial killer with a rodent body count deep into double digits. With a beast like Redoct on your bed, there is no need to sleep with a loaded shotgun; several times in the course of a night he will rise, go out and make his rounds, turning on the motion-sensoring external light to mark his progress. At the same time, he has always been gentle protector of all our grand children.

Redoct, as a life-time learner, disproves the addage that you can't teach old dogs new tricks. He currently is learning to bark everytime George Bush's voice is heard on the radio or TV.

Did anyone notice the newspaper in the backdrop to the birthday burger? Yes!! It's foreshadowing...

This Is Red October's Day!

RedOct is 13 today.

That's 91 dog years. Enough to win him some respect. And sympathy, too. Not that he's ever asked for it.

He's led a rich and varied life.

• Local Champion at Ultimate Frisbee
• Self-Anointed Bouncer at the Off-the Leash Bark Park
• Swims better than Labradors (they never take his sticks or kick sand in his face anymore)
• Serial rodent-killer (body count in double digits)
• Mobile alarm clock, doorbell, dishwasher and winter blanket
• Body guard for grand children
• Personal trainer
• Loyal and non-judgmental companion
• Outdoors blogger
  
• Teacher of life
• Indispensable presence

Whichever one of the two us ultimately gets left behind will be a mess.

I worry about that because, although RedOct is slightly older
than I am, he's in much better shape. (No Coronas, M&M's or Hagendaz.)

For one thing, he can still run.

Here's to Ya, Big Guy!

Good News & Bad News!

Bad News First!

I won't have as much time to blog in the near future. (Actually, that might be good news to some readers!)

But the really, really, good news is that I'm ahead of both
Barack Obama and John McCain. Way ahead.

I've selected my running mate! And she's a woman! Well, actually she's a girl! A dark-eyed beauty!

Catherine Ballou

As in Cat Ballou! But do not try nicknaming her as "Cat". It's Ballou or 'Blue' for short!






We rescued Ballou yesterday from a shelter in 100+ degrees!


Doberman Pinschers come in black & tans, reds, fawns, and blues. Ballou is a blue.

Ballou will finish my beer whenever it gets warm, so I'll always have an excuse to open a fresh one! She's also taken over on the George W. Bush chew-toy where RedOct left off.

Her age is estimated at approximately six months, so we're fixing her birthday on the day that RedOct left us. He would approve.

I asked him.

Does Anyone Out There Share My George Bush Nightmare?

Starting on 21 January 2009, George W. Bush will finally start telling the truth.

I've mentioned this dream several times in these pages. More than once, anyways. It comes to me frequently almost once a week now, always around 2:00 a.m. It's George Bush at his absolute boorish best, sneering and gesturing the way we're so used to. The only difference is now, in this dream, he's laughing. Laughing at us all, us Americans. He's laughing because this dream always takes place on January 21st, 2009, one day after he has successfully completed his eight-year tumultuous years in the White House.

Every version of the dream varies to some degree, but last night, it went like this:

All I needed was a 2nd Pearl Harbor, and on nine-eleven, I got mine. It enabled me to initiate my life-long dream of finishing something my daddy didn't. I finally fucked Saddam just like I said I would and just like Daddy couldn't. I launched an unprovoked invasion against a country who didn't threaten America. I called it a war of good against evil and set about seeing to it that it would not end on my watch. I fixed the intelligence to fit my project. Congress, by and large, swallowed it. But the U.N. didn't, but it doesn't matter because what they call its Charter is as quaint as is certain parts of our constitution - just a scrap of paper. Hell, didn't I re-write half Congress' legislation when I signed it?

I lied about everything. I spied on Americans and said that I was using warrants. I turned my good-old fella, Turd Blossum, loose and he saw to it that all branches of the federal government became arms of the Republican Party so that we could have a lasting GOP majority. Don't ask me the details as to how Karl went about it. I just know that once we got Fredo in at Justice, there was no problem Boy-Genius couldn't solve. That good ol' boy has a future, that's for sure. (I mean Rove, not Gonzales, of course.)

I got those brave men and women in our armed services to give and give and give. Same with the National Guard, right? What's that word? I-ronic? Yeah, I really stuck it to the National Guard, didn't I? My own experience with the Guard taught me one thing: What the hell, they signed up for the duty, didn't they? Service people should have nothing to complain about. Besides, I've seen to it they get paid more than they have ever been paid before, as long as they can put their feet in their boots. And the generals? Talk about playing with people like they were dominoes - I switched them in and out like door men in revolving doors. If they couldn't talk the talk, I wouldn't let them walk the walk.

I don't give a shit what historians will say. I know I've had a good run when I had it. I was born to be prez. I have done what no others have dared. And, I've enjoyed it. It's actually fun to be the center of the world's attention. I've managed to be a greater international pariah than even Osama bin Laden! It's been fun!

Bush was grabbing at my sleeve. I was waking from my dream. But Bush persisted.

Wait, wait! I have so much more to tell you! Let me tell you about cutting taxes for the rich, which Cheney told me was our due. And let me tell you about Shooter, himself!

It was Trophy Wife, telling me to stop swearing in my sleep, get outta bed and to see what RedOct was snarling at before he woke up the neighborhood.

All dreams have real world antecedents, my Trophy Wife reminds me. In this instance, it's probably the time-line agenda I drafted immediately after Kerry's predictable failure to save America in 2004. It's displayed in the upper right hand corner of my front page. We are falling behind my repudiate-the-outlaw-presidency schedule! Like the Sopranos, the Bushopranos will walk at the end of their run. Our future restoration of America as a great nation and the legitimate leader of the world is at stake.

I have always hoped that I was not the only one afflicted by this recurring nightmare, and this afternoon I was relieved to discover the good folks at Open Left share it:

It's good to have company, but if we do not impeach, the joke will be on us. All of us.

R.I.P., Red October

1 Oct 1994 - 31 Jan 2008
A.K.A. Brandeis, Diceman, Bando, Redoct, B-Dawg, Bandokins, Mr. Dawg, Special Dog, Alpha Dog, Marine.






This guy was a Dawg among dogs. In his day, he:

• Dominated different off-the-leash parks like a congenial and gentle bouncer in his immaculate, three-piece suit which no quadruped or biped would dare sniff or touch without permission.
• Made the Brown Trout Doberman Pinscher calendar three times in four years.
• demonstrated Frisbee and tennis virtuosity with breath-taking hang-times and over-the-shoulder catches.
• Learned how to swim and surf at the age of seven so that predatory Labradors could no longer steal his Frisbees or sticks.
• Serially killed intruders (no cats!) in home and yard, recording a two-digit body-count.
• Risked his life foolishly pursuing coyotes and Snowy Plovers for hours.
• Always welcomed grandchildren (6!) as a host, playmate and protector.
• Never lost a family wrestling match or game of 'lap-nip'.
• Maintained a perfect record as a watch-dog for one and a third decades, barking only at barkable offenses.
• Learned how to walk the neighborhood without no stinkin' leash. (the most reliable early morning, crack-of-dawn blogger in the neighborhood).
• Served as extra, living, and breathing bed-warmer and blanket in winters.
• Exhibited perfect table manners - always walking through the house after a meal to find and thank the cook.
• Enthusiastically washed dishes 24-7 (never drying!).
• Loved, parks, hills, forests, beaches and car rides - even if they were just for errands - to the very end.

We aged and grew wise together. From where will my wisdom come now? In the end, the best we could give you is a comfortable, painless release from a long life, fully lived. No tears from here. Only cheers....

New Year's Resolutions?

I only have one for 2007: I'm going to get in shape with a complete body overhaul.

Seriously, folks, I have to lose some serious weight. At 2006's end, I weigh 220 lbs. Since my goal is to live to see the day when it's George Bush's legacy to be universally acknowledged as the worst president in American history, this resolution has to receive the highest priority.

To that end, I pledge to myself (and George Bush) that I will lose thirty pounds in 2007 (net). I recognize this will involve:

1. Spending fewer hours on the internet and more with my love
2. Drinking fewer Coronas and more water
3. Spending more hours on the rowing machine, stationary bike and walking Redoct

I anticipate a consequence of this effort will be a reduced frequency in posts. I therefore ask my readers for support in my attaining this goal and understanding that I'm not slacking in my passion for the restoration of American greatness.

A Special Day,

but Just an Average Sunrise in Paradise...

The best of Season's Greetings to all who do me the honor of entrusting their thoughts to these pages.

Beach, Biker, Cooper, Cyber, Dr. Maxtor, E, Emily, FoodBlogger, GetaLife, Gnade, Guthrum, Hills (Jr & Sr), IP, LTE, Lil'Bill, M.D., Mad Mike, Malfrat, Messenger, Muhammed Saeed al-Sahaf, Newt, Not Yo'Mama, Patriot, Pekka, Pinks, Recidivist, RJH Jr, Schmog, Skip, Star, Stella, Wizard and Soros' Proxy (last but definitely not the least!).












After this interlude was over, my 88-Year old Redoct (Dobie years) was totally pissed off that I had not moved from my perch on the sand berm. When I tried to stand in the loose sand he knocked my ass down the slope and then, adding injury to insult, bit me (breaking skin) as I tried to rise. Now , he hasn't done that puppy trick in years.

So here's a raised tip of my Corona to all of my friends in these pages - hoping that this season also brings back to you a similar rejuvenation. Dawg knows, every man needs a good bite every so often.

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts

When I think about kinship that I have encountered in the blogosphere, one of the first that comes to mind is that which I feel with the Ramblings of a Lexington Parrothead. This site's blogmeister, Beach Bum, and I share a common fate: our mates are not bloggers but TeeVee heads; while we surf the Net, they are channel surfing.

Thinking of Kinship, I also think of Pekka, who has taken my back in these pages as well as on other sites; but because of the topic I've chosen today, I may alienate him somewhat - he is sudden death on spectator sports.

Thinking further of kinship, I think of Lil'Bill who has persevered against overwhelming odds to get me to watch one political program or another on TV: Bill does not accept my protestations, that if I ever watch TV, it would be to escape politics, not to roil further in its dirty swamps than I already do on the Internet.

The closest I came to TV in previous years was when I would sometimes sleepily indulge a hour of West Wing. The only current exceptions have been brief midnight segments of C-SPAN while I'm maintaining a vigil with my prowling Dobbie, RedOct.

But the unexpected has happened: I have discovered a TV home during which I can actually share the couch in 'the dark room' with Trophy Wife and not fall asleep. Together we have discovered a veritable trifecta of escapist TV!

Friday Night Lights is it: an electrifying and riveting hour show centering around the fictional small Texas town of Dillon and its Panther High School football team. This show has a perfectly cast cast which keeps the ball rolling in small town romances, feuds, scandals, crimes, betrayals, fights and - yes - politics. 'Lights' raises innumerable troubling questions about life in small towns, big high schools and their obsessions with scholastic sports. At the same time it refrains from supplying easy answers.

The politics is subliminal. Not exactly surprising because football is the moral equivalent of war. The Washington Post's Tom Shales describes 'Lights' as

the "Platoon" of high school football -- the story of the embattled infantry as well as of the officers in the field, reverberant with metaphorical and microcosmic echoes.

One of the most poignant of many poignant subplots has to do with the season's starting quarterback sustaining a career ending spinal cord injury - forcing the Dillon community to deal with problems not far from the issues with which our contemporary America will have to deal. Head Coach Taylor wrestles with the community's political forces as he tries to steer his team through the treacherous and morally ambiguous turf to victory each Friday. He is not always successful, and his hands are not always spiffy-clean. If we are not, his team is certainly oblivious to his inner conflicts, self-doubts and private demons. When civic life stops still midday Friday, Dillon's denizens only hear Coach's motivating cry "Clear eyes, full hearts". I feel it's an exonerating escape from our real world.

So, My wife and I TiVO the Dillon Panthers on Tuesday nights so we can watch it Friday nights! My next door neighbor claims Friday Night Lights is a hyperbolically inaccurate portrayal of high school sports.

Because he's an authority, I just say I watch it because it's really about politics.

Halloween? I Don't Think So!!

Halloween always brings out the worst in people.

At least it has in me. Years ago, instigated by my kids, I went all-out on Halloween. Each year was an escalation on the previous. Until one year, when I perhaps had more Coors than I shoulda, I scared some trickin' and treatin' father off the end of my porch who then proceeded to sprain his ankle on a sprinkler head. As he rose from his grass-stained knees he said, "So, you're Vigil Lante, huh?" (Only he used my real name, of course.) I never forgot the words I saw tattooed on his forehead which said, "I'm suing." At that point I dropped Halloween from my holiday calendar. From then on, the routine became to turn the sprinklers on, turn the lights off, leave the Dobie in the front hall and either go to bed or go out of town to the Long Beach Boat Show.

Never dressed up for office parties. (I guess I also developed a fear of being stopped by a traffic cop or traffic accident and not being taken seriously when I tried to give my side of the story.) I just don't like Halloween, Mardis Gras, New Orleans and people walking around in disguises and burkas and stuff like that. Not that I couldn't think up great get-ups for myself, of course, but I never broke that promise I made to myself that night I referred to above.

Not until last year: I dressed up as the scariest person in the world. When I came home, Redoct confronted me as soon as I got out of my car, blocking my path with the most angry, unearthly sound I had ever heard from him. Not until I unmasked myself could I 'come home'.

So, I say, 'never again', again. Last year, I put that mask in a very safe place to preserve it for a reprise this year. I'm sure that location is also safe from my memory. It's all to the good. This persona is just not funny any more, in any way.

Midnight Epiphany

Never Ignore a Barking Dog at Night.

I begin with a couple of definitions:

Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.0.1) - Cite This Source
war Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[wawr]
noun, verb, warred, war-ring, adjective
–noun

1. a conflict carried on by force of arms, as between nations or between parties within a nation; warfare, as by land, sea, or air.
2. a state or period of armed hostility or active military operations: The two nations were at war with each other.
3. a contest carried on by force of arms, as in a series of battles or campaigns: the War of 1812.
4. armed fighting, as a science, profession, activity, or art; methods or principles of waging armed conflict: War is the soldier's business.
5. Archaic. a battle.

–verb (used without object)

1. to make or carry on war; fight: to war with a neighboring nation.

American Heritage Dictionary - Cite This Source
oc·cu·pa·tion (ky-pshn) Pronunciation Key Audio pronunciation of "Occupation" [P]
noun:

1. The act or process of holding or possessing a place.
2. The state of being held or possessed.
3. Invasion, conquest, and control of a nation or territory by foreign armed forces.
4. The military government exercising control over an occupied nation or territory.

In Bush's un-provoked, unnecessary, largely unilateral invasion and unplanned occupation of Iraq (UULUIUOI), there was very little "war". As a matter of fact, when Bush claimed victory, he characterized it as a mere "battle":

Major combat operations in Iraq have ended. In the battle of Iraq, the United States and our allies have prevailed.

Whether the invasion was a battle or war, it only lasted 42 days, out of the 1,314 total days (to date) we've been there. In other words, we've been engaged in occupation 97% of the duration of Iraquagmire.

Now some people object to the characterization of occupation. Most of the warmongering clique want to elevate Iraquagmire to the "central front in the global war against terror." In fact, it is an occupation.

Even a close blogging friend of mine, whom I hold in high esteem, and with whom I agree 95% of the time, said this:

It is still a war Vigilante. While I agree in a sense, calling it an occupation dishonors the soldiers fighting there . . . . I am nit-picking, but for some reason it is a sore point. An occupation means the occupiers are the government and although we wield a great deal of influence we are not the government.

To which I responded,

Calling it for what it is . . . is not what dishonors our soldiers. Asking our soldiers to maintain an occupation is what is dishonoring and demeaning - of us as a nation.

I hope my friend will not think I am exploiting his words as a foil in a trivial distinction. In fact. this war vs. occupation is not a trivial distinction: it is the central front in the psycholinguistic battle of our time, fought out daily and nightly in our American the media, using language, memes, archetypes, psy-ops, etc.

Take but one example. Two nights ago, Redoct warred with a racoon in my back yard, and I felt compelled to maintain a vigil with (for) him during which I distracted myself by watching CSPAN on my kitchen T.V.

During my first vigil, Karl Rove was speaking at a campaign fund raising party for embattled Tom Reynolds (R-NY). I was immediately struck by what a robust and articulate speaker Rove is - not at all resembling a shadowy, pasty-doughboy image that is often inferred from his treatment in the liberal press. But that impression paled in comparison with the substance of his speech (at least the segment which I watched): it was all WAR. "global war"; "central front in the global war"; "new kind of war", "post 9-11 war"; and most prominently, 'war in Iraq is the most critical issue of this election'. Everything I heard from him was an attempt to elevate the UULUIUOI to the status to WW II's Battle of the Bulge and anoint Bush's global war against "Islamofascism" with some trappings of Churchillian or Rooseveltian gravitas which rightly belongs to The Greatest Generation.

During my second vigil, CSPAN offered up a dialogue with author Mark Steyn, spotlighting his "America Alone: The End Of The World As We Know It” on why European and Islamic anti-Americanism threatens to leave America alone. He also writes a column called “Happy Warrior” for the National Review. Steyn also turned out to be big on "Islamofascism" but not at all happy with the new moderate 'strategizing on Iraq' emanating from the White House. It turned out that he was his biggest on the infamous 'flypaper role' for the UULUIUOI. This role is most authoritatively stated by General Ricardo Sanchez,

This is what I would call a terrorist magnet, where America, being present here in Iraq, creates a target of opportunity... But this is exactly where we want to fight them. ...This will prevent the American people from having to go through their attacks back in the United States.

Steyn did not use the term (at least while I was tuned in), but he did boast that during the duration of Iraquagmire,'there had not been a single terrorist attack on American military installations anywhere in the world'.

The main reason why my friend and I find Bush's mission of occupation of Iraq assigned to our military to be ignoble, demeaning, and 'dishonorable' is that our men and women in uniform are not flypaper, but flesh and blood. Secondly, it's counterproductive, producing jihadists at a faster rate than we can kill them. Thirdly, it promises to be endless. Finally, it is criminal and immoral: as the Ramblings of a Lexington Parrothead pointed out months ago, Iraqis never volunteered to serve as hosts to our flypaper picnic.

My point is that in the central psycholinguistic battle of our time, Bush has established and intends to maintain an uninvited, unwanted and interminable occupation in Iraq, not a war. Occupations are not 'won' or 'lost'; they are ended.

Originally published 24-Oct-06