Archive for September, 2010

Is Justice With A Qualifier Still Justice?

September 16, 2010

Today I saw an ad asking me if I was interested in a career in “Criminal Justice” . . . not Justice, mind you, but Criminal Justice.

And . . . somehow, I couldn’t help but find the term equal parts amusing, disturbing, and depressing.

I’m tired today, I reminded myself.  And that always inclines me to be more cynical.  I could be just reading more into this than I ought.

Then I took a look at the ad again, and aside from the text, it included graphics usually reserved for the boxes of first person shooter games, and my mood shifted suddenly.

I was no longer amused.

Advertisements

Excuse Me While I Shiver For A Bit

September 15, 2010

Once upon a time I lived upon a road called “Faultline Drive,” and the horror I felt as I realized it was so named because an actual fault line ran underneath it was comparable to the time I reached into a crowded drawer and grabbed an X-Acto knife that should have been properly sheathed, and realized that I had grabbed it by the bare blade – by the flat of the blade, so no harm was done, but I still shivered.

Today I learned why an apartment I used to live at would shake to the foundations now and then (I used to blame low-flying planes) . . . dynamite blasts at a nearby quarry that I didn’t even know existed.

A Paraphrased Conversation From Earlier Today

September 14, 2010

“So let me get this straight . . . the piece of furniture you just finished assembling looks good, and is structurally sound, but it’s still ‘a piece of garbage’ to you because you know about all the flaws that no one else is ever going to see.  Is that pretty much it?”

. . .

“Yes,” I sighed.  “That’s exactly it.”

(I’m not sure if I should be proud or concerned about this . . . but there it is.)

Even Though I’m Pretty Damn Sure I Already Know The Answer

September 13, 2010

I don’t see the appeal myself, but I know that whole generations of people (frequently female) have gotten all breathless and starry-eyed over the world portrayed in Gone With The Wind.

When these people picture themselves in that world though, I wonder how many of them picture themselves as being slaves?

Changing The Subject

September 10, 2010

There are many ways to tell if someone is lying to you, but few are as reliable as hearing the phrase “There’s NO WAY this could go wrong . . .”

Still Reminiscing

September 9, 2010

Honestly, I don’t care even if he was telling the truth about being a Green Beret at one point; a couple of decades of too much smoking, alcohol, and picking on those unable to fight back tends to blunt the old “fighting edge,” you know?  Had it come down to it, I remain confident I could have held my own against him until he disabled himself with a coughing fit, and I’m damn sure I could have outrun him until the heart attack dropped him.  The only thing I really wonder about was if I was right about his hands shaking enough to spoil his aim . . . I never got a close enough look to confirm my suspicion.

Ah well . . . even if I was wrong, despite his posturing, somehow I don’t see him ever being willing to screw up his cushy life just so he could take a shot at little old me.  Hardly matters at this point, of course.

Actually, come to think of it, so long as he’s buried deep enough and stays that way . . . it doesn’t matter at all.

Thinking About Someone I Haven’t Thought Of In Years

September 8, 2010

Many people say we should all be sorry when someone is dead, no matter what kind of person they were in life; “don’t speak ill of the dead,” and all that.

I’m not one of those people.

(Submitted as proof that not every time I go down memory lane do I end up thinking about the torch I’m still carrying for some girl.)

“Now I’m Just A Country Boy, BUT . . .”

September 7, 2010

Moving around as much as I did growing up, I can’t honestly call myself a “country boy,” though I have been known to describe myself as a “country boy at heart.”  While my upbringing might have been gypsy, I come from country stock enough to know that any time someone starts a sentence with the phrase “Now I’m just a country boy, but . . .” they are, with almost no exceptions, about to demonstrate a grasp of the situation that not only exceeds expectation, but may very well exceed your own.  (My Dad is particularly infamous for doing this.)

So Give A Hoot

September 6, 2010

“The man who doesn’t relax and hoot a few hoots voluntarily, now and then, is in great danger of hooting hoots and standing on his head for the edification of the pathologist and trained nurse, a little later on.”

– Elbert Hubbard

Now To Be TRULY Fair

September 3, 2010

Even as I posted yesterday, it was always my intent to do a quick serious follow-up to clarify that truly I begrudged neither the existence nor the requirement of the other day’s birthing class.  The instructor was personable and knowledgeable, and the class certainly justified its intended purpose of a general introduction/overview of what to expect from a birthing center.  It’s just that  for the most part though there was nothing covered that I didn’t already know, so I was fidgety; couple that with a distinct anti-social mood on my part during my attendance, and you end up with some intense (but not over-serious) touchiness on my part.

But to those who have expressed outrage/incredulity (mostly privately) at the idea the class was “state mandated,” I will say only this:

In a country where recently several judges upheld the state’s “right” to sneak onto your property, attach a GPS to your car, and track your movements ALL WITHOUT A WARRANT (Look it up. (1)), I’m not going to sweat a mandatory informative class, no matter how fidgety/touchy I’m feeling.

(1) I.e., I encourage  you to do so and talk it over with anyone you wish to . . . except me.  I am merely commenting on a fact, not opening up a debate.