Cynicallous

A light, airy, effervescent, blog of grave consequence. (NOT!) Dedicated to those of us who must respond to negative stimuli by Chernobyling (entombing in concrete) our innermost thoughts.

Name:
Location: Slaughter, Louisiana, United States

A semi-gruntled corporate reliability engineer trying to make ends meet while keeping my wife happy, and myself out of the asylum.

Thursday, June 30, 2005

Just wondering...

Why did the ad agents feel the need to put Mr. KoolAid in a pair of shorts in the latest commercials?

Monday, June 27, 2005

Where's Yogi?

Where have I seen this before? Missing college students, shark attacks and rising gas prices dominating an utterly meaningless news cycle.

Anybody else remember summer 2001? When there was nothing to worry about but being murdered by a congressman and dumped in a park or swimming in the ocean.

Life is so care-free.

At least the murderous islamist SOB's seem to be distracted by our middle eastern campaign or else I'd bet they'd be immolating themselves here again in our cities.

Never forget.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

NBA Lockout Averted?

I hope so. I'd hate to see the racial demagogues start to complain that the lockout was whitey trying to keep the black man down.....

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Now That's Good Eatin'

Pork Brains in Milk Gravy

Friday, June 17, 2005

DMV

Whew. I just registered an out-of-state purchased vehicle. The entire process took about twelve full hours of either waiting in line, or waiting to wait in line. It was less-than comical.

The Danbury DMV is sooooooo bad they have actually installed a permanent lunch counter IN THE WAITING AREA! I knew I was in trouble when I walked in and saw that. And I'm sure the employees behind the registration windows are capable and just doing their jobs, but there were three windows open at all times and they were averaging only 6 people per HOUR. It was horrible. I gave up and went to Winsted, instead. Much quicker. Five windows open and the flushed through the 21 people ahead of me in 40 minutes. (That was just to get a temp plate.)

Then I had to have the emissions checked. Another 90 minutes at a car dealer waiting for the teenager running the show to run my car on a treadmill and tell me the exhaust is so clean it's actually safe to breathe in case of fire.

Finally, back to Winsted to get the permanent plate. A bit slower than last time, but still good except for the 4 sub-four year old children that people had dragged along with them for the sole purpose, it seemed, of exercising their lungs. There should be a law that no children under the age of 15 are allowed in the DMV offices.

$151 later and the car is good for two years. Yippee. At least I don't have to go back to the DMV.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Sex? in the Cities?

Theodore Dalrymple has an excellent essay in the June 20 edition of National Review. My favorite paragraph reads as follows:

  • "(F)uture historians (assuming that an interest in the past survives) will be struck, I suspect, by the confusion in our society concerning sexual boundaries. On one hand, almost no sexual display is forbidden, and the most casual of liaisons is perfectly normal; on the other, university professors dare not be alone in a closed room with a female student for fear of accusations of sexual misdemeanor, and in some offices the most mildly flirtatious of remarks is taken as little short of rape. Extreme licentiousness thus coexists with a Puritanism that out-Calvins Calvin. One minute we are told that anything goes, and the next that we must carefully censor ourselves for fear of permanently traumatizing anyone who might overhear supposedly salacious remarks. At last, Herbert Marcuse‚Äôs concept of repressive tolerance seems to make some sense: We can do what we like so long as we live in fear. "

Dalrymple starts with the Jackson trial and wends his way through current societal acceptance of licentiousness. This article alone is worth the subscription to the digital version at least.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Not that anyone really noticed,

But the posting has been lighter than I'd like lately. Lots of stress at work, a few interesting things at home and finally a phenomenal week away to sort it all out and make me realize why I'm doing all this stuff in the first place.

If anyone's been following this since December, You may recall the murder of my best-man, Kent Schnable in a road-rage incident in Fort Worth, Texas. His and his widow's seventh anniversary would have been two Monday's ago. My wife, I and a group of Kent's widow's closest friends went to the resort they were married at and spread his ashes. The resort is in Playa del Carmen, Mexico. The Gran Porto Real. It is wonderful. Granted, the trip had an overall melancholy tinge, but catharsis is for the living. Kent finally got me to take a few steps back, look around, take stock, (And any other cliche you'd like to insert,) and realize that a life of just work is not worth living. There has to be a middle ground between paying the bills and enjoying yourself.

I was asked to sing at the memorial. I didn't do an original song, but I found an obscure bluegrass duo out of upstate New York called, "The Gibson Brothers." They recorded a song called, "Old Memory" quite a while back and the sentiment was perfect. (Unfortunately, the album is out of print. If anyone might have a copy I'd like to purchase it.) I rewrote a few lines and it was appreciated all around. I actually played it a few times during an impromptu jam session at the pool bar. From what I was told, (I didn't pay attention,) all of the guests were pretty silent and attentive during all of the songs, but especially that one. That feels pretty good.

Anyhow, After the best week of my marriage, after finally getting to know my wife in a non-stressful setting, I'm more in love with her than ever. Thanks again Kent. I needed that.

Here are the Lyrics to my version of, "Old Memory" by The Gibson Brothers:

If I didn't have laughter, I couldn't have lived.
My best friend he told me when I was a kid.
He'd tell funny stories and some of them true,
Made me feel important 'cause he'd listen too.

While washing the boats, and drinking some beers,
He taught me that girls weren't something to fear.
A good 'ol boy Texan with a smile in his eyes,
These are the memories that money can't buy.

Chorus:
So, Sound the fiddle. Raise up your glass.
"To old woodsmoke memories, shared in the past."
To go back there's little that I wouldn't give.
He helped me to laugh and he helped me to live.

He worked so much, it furrowed his brow.
Don't go into I.T. his Email did sound.
It never seemed worth it, he'd wonder what for.
But than Amanda would smile, and his spirits would soar.

Chorus.

He loved all his friends, and Oh how they cried.
The tears they did burn on the day that he died.
His heart was so strong that the dying went slow.
It hardly seems fair, the way he had to go.

You asked me to sing, but I knew if I tried,
The words wouldn't come, they'd be choked up inside.
It's hard to believe that he ain't still here.
And I hope, If he's listening, he likes what he hears.

Chorus twice.

No sense of humor anymore

I just saw a Simpson's episode that copied a Beverly Hillbillies episode in which The Boy said something like, "I'm gonna go shoot me some Viet-Cong!" To which Granny replied, " Well, I ain't cookin' 'em!"

Now I find that pretty hilarious. Even today. But I wonder how the same joke might go down in a current Sit-Com? Can you imagine the spasm of liberal guilt that would be spewed (Yeah, I know, spasms can't be spewed, but hey; It's my site. I'll mix and match metaphors as I please.) if Ray Romano's brother had made the same joke to his mother but had used Iraqis or Afghanis, or Muslims as the punchline? I'd still find it hilarious and if they had had the stones to do something like that I might have even watched the show.

I think the '60's were the root of most of our problems today. It's too bad some things had to change.