As I write this draft it's Tuesday night, and early Wednesday morning a cab will pick me up and whisk me away to the airport where I will go on (hopefully) my last damn business trip of 2006.

But I am such a good friend that I am already preparing to fulfill a promise that we as a group made to one another, wherein I shall release the veritable millions, maybe billions of readers I have and send all six of them to someone else's blog.

It's a little thing we do every Thursday called the...


And this Thursday SK Waller is our host. So come back Thursday and act like you didn't read anything above this line and then click this link and see what brilliant, scintillating, and ultimately elevating, enriching, inspirational, and maybe even delusional topic the group is ripping to pieces this week.

We pick these things apart so thoroughly every Thursday that by the rest of the week we can't freakin' STAND one another and avoid each other's blogs like the damn plague.

And you should too!

Chao for nao!

One year ago today the first post went up on this blog. By about June of this year we were at our peak audience. Hundreds, if not thousands, maybe even millions of people came by daily to be educated on the finer points of the finer points. They couldn't get enough of it, and came from all walks of life. All ages. All political views. All economic conditions. A veritable overpopulation of the unwashed goddamn wonderful people.

But from the look of things, I seem to have made some major miscalculations somewhere along the way. And I think I have pinpointed them. Sad to say.

First I bored everyone with my pedantic aptitude relative to the markets. That shook loose a lot of the younger readers - and thus a lot of the nervous energy that made me so damned uncomfortable just bled away. And when the election rolled around I told the whole world where to go, and it wasn't to a high school dance. That managed to shake loose a lot of dead weight in the readership category, and another group of people walked. And if that didn't get people to walk there's always my charismatic way of interacting with my fellow bloggers.

All this, applied without ruth, has left me with a cadre of die-hards to whom I am ever-grateful and make sure I interact with regularly. And this is exactly how I wanted it.

I don't have all that many friends, but the two or three I have are choice.

There are a lot of blogs around that do reviews of people's efforts at blogginess. Some are funnier than others, some are very serious about it.

I can barely get my blog to function per its imagined mission, but I know a good - if not great - blog when I see one. Specifically in my viewfinder today is Kal's World.

Sometimes my inferior intellect finds me making random punctuation mistakes, but the ever-punctilious standards of Kal's World is one of those blogs that just reeks, with brilliance. Kal Jones is one of the most innovative and observant individuals on the scene. A laser-beam for an analytical eye. A portly intellect. A stout worldview. And two of the greatest horns that ever stuck out of a head.

Unruffled by being surrounded by the mediocrity of the vast majority of people one would find on a cursory walk through Massachusetts, Kal posits the results of his always intrepid luminosity at every opportunity. Kal exposes himself regularly.

Some people are experts on a mere handful of subjects. Kal's depth of knowledge spans virtual centimeters across the complete range of epistemological possibilities.

Not only this, but Kal was the only man with the courage and fortitude to stand behind the region's mascot football team, the Patriots, when everyone around him was sure they had never heard of them. This undiscovered gem of a football team, brought to the light for his unknowing neighbors by Kal's gifted intellectual skills of perception as well as his ability to spot a good thing when he saw it, is now the greatest football team that has ever existed. In fact, because of Kal and his Patriots, the NFL is just shutting down. There is no need to play another game, ever. It. has. all. been. done.

We are eternally grateful to you, Kal. You are the greatest human being that ever lived. And we are eternally thankful to you and all of New England for showing ourselves to ourselves so that we may improve ourselves, and find even a shimmer of the same semblance of the kind of genius that let Carlton Fisk go only to eventually embrace Bill Buckner.

What would I, or poor little Chicago, be without your guidance? So here's to you Kal...

Oops... did I post the right video??

The fact that I have nothing to say is the best thing to happen to you in a long time. Because when I finally let down my guard and behave on-blog as boring as I truly am in real-life, you get to default to the YouTube entry.

And I pity the hapless know-it-all who sees the YouTube object below and doesn't click it. Your life sucks just that much more now too. Nice going.

The truth is (as if I have to actually reinforce this with you) when all is said and done I am a very, very boring guy. Proof - if you needed more - is in my itinerary for the day. That is to say...

Today is an off day for me. No work for the Thanksgiving holiday, so I am at home. I do not work at home and so when I am off - I am truly off. Thank God. However my wife, Mrs RW, had to go in today. Hospitals have to keep functioning even if the rest of the world is thinking about shopping like idiots.

And "shopping like idiots" is decidedly not something I will be doing today. First of all I do most of it online now anyway, keeping just a minimum of things local. But these are the Western Suburbs of Chicago, after all. Therefore today the malls will be impossible and the roads - which are either inadequate or under construction - will be pure mayhem. There will be murders. Oh-ho-ho boy. "Merry Christmas to you too Mother$#@*&%!"

Many people will take this day to put up their Christmas decorations. I don't. Although the day after Thanksgiving is traditionally the day for that, it is still too far away from Christmas to do it as far as I am concerned. That's right - I am definitely one of those people who believe that the essence of Christmas has been so diluted over the years by becoming something we celebrate from Halloween on, that I willfully refuse to even entertain the season until after December 7. Think about it. Christmas lights on your house for three months (two before Christmas and one after) means you give yourself up to this holiday for ONE FOURTH OF THE YEAR. Ridiculous.

Then again when I think about what I will be doing today, all I can say is - who needs a sleeping pill when you have me around?

After shaving and showering and all those things you'd think I was some MetroBoy for doing, I repair to my office and snap on WFMT and type out this very message. Afterwards I will have a small spot of breakfast and go get a haircut (the barber shop is less than half a mile away and it will not be an overly dangerous journey). Then I will fill the MINI was gas and stop off at the bank to deposit this week's paycheck. Then home.

I will visit Morningstar and download some information I am needing. I will take that to the deck out back, light up a morning cigar, and try to make a decision on what to do with an IRA distribution from Mrs RW's account.

Are you asleep yet?

If I make a decision I will go back online and execute it. If I still haven't made a decision I'll leave it in the money market for another week until I decide what the hell to do with it.

After that it will be time to punch up my resume. Though I am happy in my current situation there are always ways to move on this dream I have of retiring early, and so - back out into the fray! I will then email it to the person who requested it... and probably have lunch. Sandwich and a beer, perhaps.

And then... um... I really don't know. I could pick up my ship model of the Spanish-American War USS Texas (you really should look - these are not plastic models, but resin and photoetch like you see in museum displays), which I'm afraid has languished untouched and half finished for quite some time. Or I could read. Or return to my notebooks where I have been with some regularity since the dam broke this summer. That is really taking shape, and I actually know what the story is about now too! That's true - you never know where it is going when you start, if you're doing it right. It has to develop its own life. And this has.

By the late afternoon I will be trying to come up with what to make for dinner. No reason for Mrs RW to do anything. After all, she had to go to work. Hopefully I'll find something in the house, and not have to brave the brutal roads. GAH! The things you do for love! Of course I could just default to a pizza brought in. No sense in being a perfect snob.

And in the evening sometime I will skim my favorite blog haunts, check in to see if this really did put someone to sleep, and maybe pick out a movie we'll watch. And then - sleep!

So in considering this all, before I even hit the first key to write you about it, it dawned on me that I am about as interesting as a piece of dried silly putty. I'm even putting MYSELF to slzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Thing 12 - Make Someone Else Thankful As Often As You Can...

...by occasionally inviting everyone to the table.

The National Food Bank

Habitat For Humanity

CARE

The Red Cross

Ending Family Violence

Children's Villages

Cultural Survival

The Mosaic Initiative

American Friends Service Committee

The modern world - sick as it is - forces me to remind you to please double check and practice due diligence regarding any of the charitable organizations listed here or that you yourself may come across. Be sure you are donating to the actual entity when doing so online.

Labels: 27 Things

A minor comedic icon goes racially ballistic. Muslims on a Plane: Imams want to boycott US Airways (bookings on US Airways increase exponentially). Does that Iranian porn video prove they could never build The Caliphate? The King Polygamist says he was merely expressing his religious belief when he told the 14 year old to sexually submit to the 19 year old husband he picked for her. People are being shot over toys.

Nancy Grace is being sued. Borat develops a bust. Politicians hand out viagra in Brazil. Missouri's Tightwad Bank is shutting down. Rosie shows signs of being a heterophobe. OJ tells you how he would have done it - while still tracking the murderer as he promised, no doubt.

We've developed into a gawker culture.

And we love this stuff because, you know...

Yet Another Legion of Well-Dressed Men...

From top left to bottom right; George Halas, Vince Lombardi, Tom Landry, and Hank Stram. All championship-winning coaches, and all in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

Halas, who was one of the founders of the NFL, is traced back to football in the 1920's. He coached his beloved Chicago Bears all the way into the very early 1970's.

The trophy given to the winner of the Super Bowl is named after Vince Lombardi not just because his Packers won the first two Super Bowls there ever were, but for achieving a higher standard. He told his team that "winning isn't everything... it's the ONLY thing."

Landry, stoic and quiet and ruthlessly disciplined, was the on-field architect of the famed Dallas Cowboys.

And Hank Stram - always a consummate gentleman off the field - won a Super Bowl with Kansas City and coined the phrase "let's just keep matriculating the ball down the field, boys."

And this past Sunday, after having to petition the League for permission due to the fact that NFL policy requires coaches to wear team-garb because of team-oriented attire licensing agreements, San Francisco 49'ers head coach Mike Nolan showed up looking like one of our own...

Can anybody say GQ?

Oh... and those San Francisco 49'ers? They aren't a very good team. But they won this Sunday.

I'm not sayin'... I'm just sayin'.

My thanks to all who participated in our over-weaning, pathetic, sometimes maudlin, always-overbearing RW-fest.

We will be moving on from the RW channel onto other things shortly.

I figure you've had enough of "All Rw - All the time" routine.

At least for this year.

Imagine there is one of those automatic counters here that is telling you how many days left until Christmas. Good! Now grab your left ear with your right hand. OK! Now jump up and down on one foot and say "Oh Wah Ta Goo Siam" fourteen times, and spit into the wind.

Keh-heh heh. What a dork...

From Basil Seal: Mrs. RW, was Mr. RW really the inspiration for Ferris Bueller as rumour would have it?

How did you find out? I thought everyone who knew was dead!! RW was the late sixty's version of Ferris Bueller. Wrote the underground newspaper, generously let others use his locker for their medicinals (think Cheech and Chong or Timothy Leary), starred in every high school theatrical (was even a singing and dancing cockroach in one), and talked his social studies teacher into letting him develop an independent study class in order to get enough credits to graduate with his class. All this and more that his parents never knew about (until much, much later).
Of course, then, a few years later I came along and ruined all his fun. His mother was so grateful to get him off her hands see him fall in love and get married - ah, but that's another story.

From Sadie: For our amusement, please tell us three little ways that RW can be annoying....such as leaving the toilet seat up, etc.

RW NEVER leaves the toilet seat up...not since daughter #1 (or #2) was around 2, got up in the middle of the night to go potty, and you guessed it, fell into the bowl of ice-cold water. Since I hadn't left the seat up I thought it was only fair that he get out of the warm bed and handle the wet, screaming toddler and put her back to bed. That was over 25 years ago. Never an "up" seat since.

But, as almost everyone but me *sly grin* has annoying traits, I suppose 3 of RW's annoying traits (things that drive me crazy) would be:

1) his inability to see things that need to be done without me telling him: like emptying the garbage can instead of exerting brute force to smash in another layer of garbage so the lid will close. Actually, I think this is a Y-chromosome thing, not necessarily unique to RW.

2) his inabilbity to notice that there is a full laundry basket ready to be carried upstairs. (this is sort of related to #1) Due to this lack I usually push the basket to the foot of the staircase so he can carry it upstairs on his next trip. What happens instead is this: he will move the basket out of his way. Of course I then carry it up myself and he'll then say, "why didn't you ask me?" Arghh!

3) not knowing the price of things. He's always shocked to see what we spend on Christmas presents, He shops for one person, me. I, on the other hand, have to shop for everyone in our extended family universe, decide on what to buy for each person within a target price range, go to three different stores to buy it only to discover that the perfect gift is no longer available ANYWHERE, start the deciding process again, give up, and finally buy something sort-of appropriate, screw the cost. And he wonders why I'm generally not in a good mood by the time Christmas arrives.

From Poppy Buxom: Are you really that much of a snobby smartypants, or are you, in fact, such a quivering mass of insecurities that Mrs. RW has to pack you into a Jell-O mold and store you in the refrigerator to keep you from oozing all over the place and ruining her favorite rug? Or do you prefer hardwood floors?

I wouldn't say that RW is a "quivering mass of insecurities", exactly. I will say, however, that when Princess Granddaughter doesn't want to play with him, he does sort of shrivel up and he's miserable the rest of the day. RW is one of the kindest, most loyal people in the world. While I was the wicked witch of the west when our girls were teenagers, he was, and still is, their knight in shining armour. They are truly "daddy's girls". RW's expression doesn't always match his words which sometimes leaves people with the wrong impression. He is often surprised to find that a joking remark was taken seriously by someone, to his great chagrin.

In conclusion, I guess I would say that RW's persona at Chasing Vincenzo is about as authentic as anyone else's blogging persona, best taken with a pinch of salt.

Thanks to all who sent in questions and for sharing RW with me once in awhile.

Lafayette Vs. Lehigh - circa 1920's

Of course the big news in college football today is the match-up between the rated #1 and #2 college football teams in the country. Ohio State Vs. Michigan. No doubt a large national audience will watch some very talented, albeit very pampered and over-glorified, athletes showcasing their talents. And - since I live in a "Big Ten State" you might expect that I would get all excited and fail to hold my water over the fact that the game is actually going to be played somewhere in between the hype and the over-charged commercials. Mmmbut you'd be WRONG, wouldn't you?

In the world of college football the really great games are always farther down the road, where the freaks of nature that top level college athletes have become aren't in such overwhelming numbers, and the levels of testosterone are a little bit more realistic - in the stands and in front of the stands.

It isn't that I dislike Division 1A football... it's that I ignore it for the dog and pony show it actually is.

But the weekend offers some classics, regardless. This is the weekend college football reserves for all its "classic" matchups. The names of teams go together, in the mind of the sports fan, like night and day. Legendary rivalries that have gone on forever, and have even been the cause of bitter hatreds. Like for example the Iron Bowl, played between Alabama and Auburn. There was such a dispute between these two schools they refused to play each other for forty years, and it took the state government to end the argument. No doubt the genes that were at the heart of this evolved later into parents who brawl with one another while their 6 year-olds watch.

There's Mississippi - LSU. Indiana - Purdue. Kansas State - Kansas. All held with blood dripping fangs exposed, no doubt.

Not my scene... as you by now probably well imagine. No.

Today is also the day of the game between North Dakota St. And South Dakota St (an old program cover for which is shown above, complete with cigarette ad). This is every bit as intense as any of the marquee games, with the added attraction being that the guys playing in this one look like actual human beings, are mostly in school to get an education, and if they get spotted by the Pros they live the kind of rags-to-riches story that makes you love America all over again.

On a different level there are the two Ivy League classics. Dartmouth - Princeton and "The Game" between Harvard and Yale. Admittedly these two don't have the "rags to riches" cachet spoken of above, but the Harvard-Yale game was first played in 1876 and outside of the Army-Navy Game (which takes place nearest to Pearl Harbor Day) is one of the most storied "Old School" match ups around.


But the game that beats them all hands-down, in my opinion, is the one being played today between Lafayette and Lehigh. This game has been played continuously since 1884, and no two college teams have met as many times (140 and counting) as these two ancient rivals. In my mind it is the creme de la creme of college football. Because most of these guys don't have a chance to get into the professional leagues, most of these guys grew up backing the school they now play for, and every one of these guys will give every ounce of their effort today. They will "leave it on the field" for the sake of the game itself, without million-dollar contracts dangling over their heads or anything more than the affinity of their fans and locals and team mates; for whom today's game is something they dreamed of seeing or playing in for as long as they can remember.

That's the right mind for the game. The jig-dancin', gold-chain wearin', super car drivin', chest poundin', camera prima donnas that will populate the TV screen today from what are supposed to be institutions of learning can kiss my ass.

And so can the administrators and TV executives, and mindless lemmings the commercials are being fed to today.

Boolah!

With your help and direction I have completed what is, intrinsically, a very self-centered activity called the "About Me" page, and at first I thought I would never want to go back and do that again!

But then it occurred to me that if I never go back to change anything that would mean my life pretty much stopped on Friday night, November 17 2006. So I'm not sure I'm wanting this?

Let me think about that. I'll get back to you there...

In the meantime look for Mrs RW's take on things some time over this weekend wherein she shall answer all your questions. Both of them! And more. So she says...

More About RW

Laurence is a sweetheart who lives in France, somewhat near the place where Eleanor of Aquitaine lived under lock and key, I'm pretty sure. I don't know if the castle she was chained up in is still standing, but who needs Eleanor when we have Laurence?

Anyway the first thing she wanted to know is if I did the theme illustrations I use here (my "socialites") by my own hand. All I can say is - I wish! No... they are "public domain" images drawn through the 20's, 30's and 40's by a host of different artists whose names seem to be lost to us now (though there may be little clues... scroll down to the post titled What "About Me"? and look at the smoke coming from the man's cigar. Does it say "Carter"? Hmmm!).

But, Laurence, the story behind the "socialites" was written up in July right here. All I am is lucky enough to have found them.

Laurence was joined by the mysterious "S" in the next question though. "S" - who I suspect is from somewhere near Mayfair - wanted to know more about the wardrobe, and Laurence was curious as to whether I "dressed well" every day.

Ah! My opening! No doubt this will all be answered by the angry voices in the comments from a Legion of Slipshod Fellows, but I shall give you my take on how a man should appear...

Let's begin by simply stating that the last three suits I've purchased are marked by one characteristic which, in my opinion, is sorely missing from the scene of well dressed men these horrible modern days.

Most guys don't even think about it anymore. They don't give it a thought. Probably because they feel that to consider such a thing is not a "manly" thing to think about. Oh well for them. We must all compensate for what we are lacking, I suppose. But as for me, I absolutely require a vested suit. And if they are Italian-made - even better.

A suit without a vest is incomplete. Slipshod. Careless. Unfinished. Unrefined. Sloppy. Like people who make fun of bow-ties (because they are too stupid to know how to tie them, mostly), people who say a vested or 3-piece suit is for bankers have forgotten 200 years of style that established the norm in men's tailoring or, operating with a skull full of mush, they are merely in favor of looking like an idiot as a matter of HABIT. The world is full of grown men who dress like idiots, or are too lazy to care for themselves. These kinds of people probably only clip their toenails when summer comes because they know they'll be pulling out the sandals. Then they wear socks with them anyhow. Ridiculous.

I will have sport jackets, and that's one thing. But a suit requires a vest and anything else is just. not. finished.

That said, the answer to the larger question is no, I don't dress well every day. I like a fun T-shirt. And the company I work for is a mill. There is a lot of sawdust out in the shop. Jeans are the only sensible thing. However when out visiting customers (which happens every other week) blue jeans are NEVER to be worn. And my daily shirts, even for days I am at the mill, are dry-cleaned.

I harbor a smoldering and unreasoning anger over men who don't shine their shoes.

When I wear jeans I tend to shy away from "blue" jeans and tend toward the tan, black, or even white variety. All my shoes - even my dress shoes - are Clarks, and the only pair of "gym shoes" I own are worn maybe twice a year anyway. Usually for trudging across the field to watch the 4th of July fireworks.

But I own ragged jeans, busted-up shoes, and old sweatshirts for work around the house. That's just being practical. But I've always wondered. When going out in public...

1. Why is it the minute it gets warm outside guys always seem to gravitate to shorts that make them look fat and/or ridiculous? Mind you I am not saying anything about shorts in and of themselves. I wear them too. I am talking about shorts that make them look ridiculous! Why is that??

2. Why do people think it is okay to make other people uncomfortable for the glory of their own comfort? I am speaking, of course, of the public pajama-bottoms. The ultimate of self-centered dilapidation.

3. And why - of all the people at the hardware store on a Saturday morning - am I apparently the only one who seems to have had a bath recently?

Don't get me wrong. I am quite capable of my own fashion faux pas. It's just some people make a life's work out of it... while mine happen maybe, oh, every other year.

And so this subject directly relates to the question netpilot asked:

Why are you so adverse to the wilderness, and why the thought of finding yourself 50 miles from civilization standing in a river with a fly rod puts shivers down your spine?

Is it because of the gap between my teeth or is it my banjo playing?

And the answer, dear friend, is that it is neither of those things. I refuse to take you up on your offer to go fly-fishing with you in Colorado or Utah or the backside of Ethiopia - or wherever it is you go - strictly because the thought of being so desperately far away from an electrical outlet which my blender requires in order to make the vodka lemonades is abhorrent to my nature.

Plus, you can't play the oboe.

I thought that would have been obvious!

...no tattoo will be the new tattoo.

Whatever it is, it is still probably better than the relic of a drunk night in Corpus Christi I stuck myself with back in 1972.

Oh... the shame.

Carlton Reeve jumps out of airplanes, writes a blog that brims with dry wit and wise humor, sends me birthday gifts from his home in the UK, and is an original member of the Legion of Well-Dressed Men. Kal Jones isn't, but he's okay just the same. And somehow these two disparate souls came upon the same theme when I sent out my call for help as I try to form up my very own "About Me" section (which, by the way, is turning into quite an exercise of narcissism if I do say so myself. Me! Me! MEEEE!!! woohoo)

Carlton pointed out that "Every kid dreams about doing something" and wanted to know what I wished. And... did you make it? Did you give up on it? How do those long-ago dreams compare with what you dream of now? And in a similar vein, though slightly more as a Yank would say it, Kal wondered What did you want to be when you grew up, and would little RW be happy where Big RW ended up?

When I was a kid my dreams changed yearly. Growing up in a Catholic, urban, ethnic neighborhood in Chicago (when Chicago was nothing but a city of ethnic neighborhoods) I even wanted to be a priest at one point, for cry eye! As I grew out of the adoration of what seemed to be holy authority (heh), I wanted to be a baseball player.

But even that was kind of weird, because I specifically wanted to be a relief pitcher. Now - you must remember - a late 50's and early 60's relief pitcher isn't what a relief pitcher is nowadays. Now they are million dollar stars. Then they were mostly hack-armed veterans who could pitch you out of a jam for a couple of innings before they broke down for the day. They were quirky, and they seemed to be a strange kind of athlete who only appeared for a few minutes and then disappeared back into the bullpen with a hump of chewing tobacco in their cheek.

Yeah I was a strange little kid.

But I do remember reading a lot. I listed a book I read in grade school as the one book that changed my life if only because it fired my will to read for the rest of my life. And then writing followed naturally. I even recall a stretch in high school where I thought it might be interesting to write a daily column. Hiya blogosphere!

So the writing gene was in there.

For years and years I submitted stories to magazines and got nothing. Story after story and mag after mag. Rejection slips - some even a little mean - gathered by the box-full. And then I started to do my writing in the spirit of the thoughts that came from people like André Breton, Antonin Artaud, and Joris Huysmans. I sought out the correct audience and for several years nothing was rejected, and I found myself in a small network of "great writers nobody every heard of." And the funny thing was that after all that struggle and striving - the dream was nothing at all once it came true. I was a published AUTHOR! But... big freakin' deal. After all was said and done, I still didn't float on air when I walked. Sonofabitch!

And so dreams changed. They go in and out. Sometimes you get a piece of them, other times you realize they were pointless dreams. Little bits of the dream you keep. I still want to do that book (maybe two) but now it is only important that I finish it. Whether it ever amounts to anything is of no concern.

My dream today is to not have to work at all. Every day a Saturday. Early retirement. Ship models, writing, good restaurants with good friends. I've said that before. That would be paradise.

Oh - and the quiet life. Obscurity kept intact. That's another part of the dream. So let the dreams come and go. The crazy thing is that - turns out - what I really should be doing is running a mutual fund or something. I have toyed with the idea of finishing up accreditation and then getting a CFP and starting one (even at this point in my life). I seem to have a knack for it. Heh. I guess the dreams never stop?

TOMORROW: THE "SOCIALITES", MY WARDROBE, AND WHERE THIS EFFECTS A MAN'S DESIRE TO GO FLY-FISHING!

In real life - she is Mrs RW. In the blogosphinx... um... she is also known as Mrs RW.

By popular demand (hers) I will endure invite her to make a "guest post" at the conclusion of the current Q&A and subsequent posting of the (by now) world famous About MEEEEEEEEEEE currently in the works.

So keep watching this space.

That's a metaphor, btw.

Drop your cards and letters in the posting box below or use the EMAIL link to the left. But I doubt she will need any prodding.

I'm doomed.

Is this a picture of my three favorite bloggers of all time? The folks I look in on every day? Um... no not really. Dave2, Agent Bedhead (aka Sadie), and Avitable do not look like this at all (well, except for Sadie). But I DO look in on these three every day. I write-in as much as possible when they are not over my head or talking about people I never heard of or just really nailed their post and need no extra comment from anyone. Of these three Dave2 is the only one I've met, though I've "known" the Agent the longest (she designed this blog), and if I have that business trip to his part of Florida next year Avitable will be the next to get robbed meet-up. By reading his stuff, Dave2 gave me a sense toward freeing up my subject matter. Sadie taught me the art of the slash (really folks - nobody does the strikethrough to better effect than Sadie). And Avitable just has the funniest goddamn header in the entire universe.

But in my recent request for questions to help me along with the "About Me" section I am (finally) working on, these three also gave me questions I think everybody should answer somewhere along the way in their entries. First and foremost: Why do you blog? And secondly How has Chasing Vincenzo differed from your other blogging experiences?

Why it happens is the easiest question to answer. I write. I read. I like people. I have been writing stories since I was a kid. I studied writing at Columbia Chicago in the early 70s and have been published in a slew of "alternative" periodicals from Slipstream to the Lost and Found Times, published by John M. Bennett's infamous Luna Bisonte Prods. I've also edited and published other people in a short-lived and well-hidden attempt at The Fiction Review, which I owned and operated for 2 years.

I blog because I'm going to write no matter what anyhow, so I may as well use the medium at hand. But the thing is when I blog - I want to entertain you somehow. Engage you. I want to do that because I think people who say "I write for myself and I don't care what you think" then put it on a medium where millions of people could find it if they wanted to, are poseurs. And just totally full of shit.

I want to entertain and engage you because, otherwise, this is just pure self-service, and I have a pet peeve about people who are like that.

As for how this compares to my other blogging in years past - there is no comparison. Granted, the group of writers we gathered at The Boileryard covered the whole political spectrum from Left to Right and we all managed to get along somehow; and the talk really crackled with energy sometimes... the plain fact is that a steady diet of politics is just too much after a while. After two years, who cares anymore?

The men in my family seem to have a habit of dying around 61. If that's what I'm wired for then that would give me... hmm... 8 more years to live? So I want to have some fun!

I wish the answer was more deep and complex, but that's all there is to it. So counting the people I've met through this in real life, and the network of folks I've seemed to settle into online, I'd say it has been a big success for me.

And still have "the book" in me. Maybe two.

MORE ANSWERS TOMORROW: Are You What You Wanted To Be When You Grew Up?

I am incorporating as much of your questions as I can into the "About Me" section I am writing, but some of the questions being asked are deserving of entire posts, and so what can't be incorporated into the "About Me" section will be dealt with in the open for all to see. Except Gino, whose impertinent question will get no link-kisses from ME.

But don't let the delay in preparing my "About Me" section impede your progress on your blogs. You guys go right ahead. Don't worry. I won't be offended if you write stuff until I'm ready. The blogodehydratiosphere must carry on.

In a small number of days now Chasing Vincenzo will be celebrating its 1st Anniversary. The "About Me" section will coincide with the festivities. So be patient.

I'm very grateful that everyone has suspended their blog-work in reverence to the occasion but, really, go ahead and post.

I won't be mad.

I really think these things hate me. I swore them off once before but they keep coming up with new ones. Here's the latest. I dunno...

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"Huh? But my name isn't Alfred..."

Labels: Blogthings, memes

I've always considered them a little self-indulgent, but one of the criticisms I've heard about this blog enough times to have it be a bother is that I don't have, and have never had, an "About Me" section for people to click to.

I admit I enjoy going to other blogs and clicking their (your) "About Me" link and finding out more about folks - maybe even get a chance to see how fugly they truly are (despite their oh-so-uber-cool manner in the posts) if they should happen to publish a picture. Well I intend to publish my butt-fugly picture on it even at the risk of having everybody go Oh. Yeah well uh.... Oh. Eh... when they see it.

The reason I think it is a good thing to do is that I've noticed that once I have a background of a person their posts come more alive to me. And since I've alienated just about everyone now with my oddball politics I figure if you only knew how pathetic I am in real life you'd have mercy on me and show a little compassion, and come back and read me again now that I've pissed you off. So - see? - it isn't self-serving at all. Ahhrrrrm.

So but anyhow I've got a basic outline to write and that's all good but what I'd like to see (if anybody is still reading) is for folks to throw some questions my way that I'll answer in the post.

You can post them here or click that email sign in the upper left sidebar and send it along. If you email - send me your URL and I'll throw you some link-love in return.

So please help me out here a bit. Or not. In which case up yours anyway. Heh heh.

What was at first thought to be "approximately 5,000 miles across (and) two-thirds of the diameter of the Earth spanning a dark area of winds blowing clockwise at 350mph" has been now more clearly defined as the first color pictures have been assembled after a painstaking process by NASA scientists.

As reported by the Guardian (UK), scientists had been observing what appeared to be a massive hurricane at Saturn's South Pole that contained towering clouds and a well-developed eye.

There was growing speculation through the day as NASA scientists pondered the meaning of a "hurricane-like event" in the midst of a "gas giant". Hurricanes are normally only considered to be possible as a weather event that is ocean-based. Questions arose as to whether or not what everyone was looking at was, indeed, a "hurricane."

Late this morning a clearer picture emerged from a farther distance and was colorized to enhance the high-level analysis procedures.



At that point it was determined to actually be the eye of a big green fish.







Which made a lot more sense. So nevermind...

First off, I don't see what the hell is "sports" about poker. How come it gets put up on ESPN until all hours of the night when I want to see real important highlights from a football game played in 1973? It's just beyond me.

I recall when playing poker was something you did with the boys on a Friday night in between the pizza and all through the beer. And since smoking was even allowed on airplanes back then everybody at the table lit it up here. And the jokes would make a porn star blush. And it was nickel-dime-quarter because - shit - we worked for a living and had kids and wives and bankers to feed. And "wild cards" was women's poker.

But somewhere along the way poker became a spectator sport. And that's the other thing I don't get because, to me, watching a poker game is about as entertaining as watching somebody read a book.

Unless somewhere along the way watching poker became a "thing" to do and I just missed that cultural turn in the road somewhere. That wouldn't be surprising because though I've heard the name "K-Fed" a million times this week I can't honestly tell you what he either looks like or has ever done. So... ok... cultural turns in the road are not my big thing ok?

But I really need somebody to explain analysts whispering and fourteen camera angles around a table full of people who - let's be honest - really need to go back to the trailer park right about here and should not be exposed to all this color and money and lights and stuff.

Poker belongs; men's game over here (women's game over some other building so they can nibble on peas and dog biscuits or whatever the hell it is they eat when they get together) at the table at somebody's house on a Friday night. It needs pizza at the start and salami sandwiches after midnight and beer and smoke and foul language and the freedom to belch.

It doesn't belong on TV. May as well watch an author talking about the verisimilitude of metaphor in American life on C-Span. For cry-eye.

...when you went to the store and accidentally shot the clerk while she was handing you the $800 cash from the till, and her three year old daughter watched the whole thing? Or that time in the city where you thought nobody was watching and so you relieved yourself on the side of a building only to realize that over your head an entire bridge-full of pedestrians were peering over the railing watching you, and it just so happened that your new boss from the job you'd been on for two days was among them?

Well whatever you got, Joe Wack did it worse. Meaning better. That's why he's been helping you get the most out of your misery since 2004.

Here in the Illinois 6th the crowd has remained staunchly Republican in the face of a nationwide Democratic shift.

"This Nude Erection starts right now!"

In a battle between two first-time candidates going after a seat the GOP has held since anyone can remember, State legislator Peter Roskam(R) has defeated Iraq War veteran Tammy Duckworth(D).

And after a cursory viewing of results and reactions around the country it has come to my attention that the only reason anybody who lost, lost (according to 90% of the losers), was because of the effective negative campaigning of the other side - whoever they were. The candidates say gracious things about each other that make the mudslinging look foolish in retrospect - while the campaign functionaries tell the late-night interviewer that there were questionable things that happened to them tonite. And the story looks the same no matter what party the loser comes from.

"We are going to get to work on a Nude Erection."

It never occurred to anyone, Republican or Democrat, that they may have lost because people just didn't agree with them. No. The process, even in the minds of the politicians themselves, was all about campaign ads, how much money the other guy had to spend, and the dirty tricks that were played on them. Not the issues.

The final insult to your intelligence.

And you'll accept this and participate willingly, again, in two more years; telling people who will again remind you how this went that they are the ones who are allowing themselves to be manipulated because they didn't speak out with their vote.

Um.... oh. Ok!

"This is a Nude Erection for America!"

Muriel Anderson performing "Lady Pamela"

Muriel grew up in our Meeting and is doing quite well these days. You political folks need to calm down. Give it a listen...

Well you know you can't stop it
When they start to play

I'm not voting Tuesday and I'll give a full accounting for it at the end of this post but - just so you know - those people can go play in the muck all they'd like. I will have nothing to do with it.

Pictured to the side is a character named Rick Blaine. Rick is an avowed neutral with a penchant for standing opposed to Nazism. The character fought in Spain against Franco and ran guns to the Ethiopians struggling to fight off Mussolini's invasion and, at one time in his life, helped a man wanted by Hitler to escape to freedom so that la résistance française could continue. That's a good enough record for me. Anything else would be nothing more than bullwankie anyhow. Anyway, Rick Blaine is our political mentor these days. All hail Mr. Rick.

Don't let me spoil your fun if you've a mind to help out one or the other of the creeps and lunatics that make up our political class here in the States; I love watching delusional people make long-winded justifications for their participation in the grand charade. It is very entertaining.

But just for your own background there is a pesky little internet phenomenon known as FactCheck.org, a steady diet of which will turn you into an Independent faster than you can say Wendell Wilkie, that collects all the little "stretches" politicos make about one another during the live-long year. The site is never as active as it is in an election cycle....

Oh those evil Democrats! In Ohio, a Democratic ad said Republican House candidate Joy Padgett was investigated "for abusing her position to help her own business." The truth is the investigation was triggered by an anonymous accusation and the investigators concluded there was "no substance to the allegation."

Oh those evil Republicans! In New York, a Republican ad accused Democratic House candidate Michael Arcuri, a prosecutor, of letting an accused rapist go free because he "failed to indict him in time." The truth is that Arcuri was left with no choice when the victim and another key witness didn't show up. The man was free eight days before Arcuri eventually indicted him and secured a guilty plea to a reduced charge.

Oh those evil Democrats! In Florida, a Democratic ad accused GOP Rep. Clay Shaw of profiting from a "drug deal" by buying and selling a pharmaceutical company's stock while voting for the Medicare prescription drug benefit. The truth is the company in question was not among those that could have benefited from the new Medicare program.

Oh those evil Republicans! A national Republican ad suggested in not-very-subtle terms that voting Democratic carries a risk of death in a nuclear attack. It quoted a bin Laden lieutenant boasting that "we purchased some suitcase bombs," followed by images of al Qaeda fighters and a graphic image of a rapidly expanding orange-yellow globe resembling a nuclear fireball. The ad offered no evidence that Democrats would be any less zealous in keeping nuclear weapons from the hands of terrorists, however.

Oh those evil Democrats! A Democratic-leaning group ran false ads accusing a few Republican senators of voting to deny modern body armor for troops in Iraq. In fact, the amendment cited by the ad didn't mention body armor, and passing it wouldn't have allowed the Pentagon to acquire a single additional armored vest: It already was buying as many as the economy could produce.

Oh those evil Republicans! Republicans repeatedly mischaracterized the Democratic position on President Bush's National Security Agency eavesdropping program, which is being conducted without court warrants or review. An ad by the pro-Bush group Progress for America falsely gave those wiretaps credit for the thwarting of a hijack plot that was actually uncovered by Scotland Yard following up an informant's tip.

Oh those evil Democrats! Democrats repeatedly accused Republicans of voting to "raid the Social Security trust fund," based on their support for federal budgets that were in deficit. That's nonsense. Deficits don't affect Social Security benefits by one penny, and have no effect on the IOU's that build up in the trust fund, either.

Oh those evil Republicans! Numerous Republican ads claimed Democrats wanted to "give Social Security benefits to illegal immigrants." But nobody's proposing paying a dollar of benefits to anyone while they are illegal. The ads mischaracterize Democratic support for current law, which allows immigrants to get credit for the Social Security taxes they paid while working illegally, but only if and when they become legal or gain citizenship and then become eligible to receive benefits.

FactCheck also has a list of the Whoppers of 2006, or pick your fave: Republican lies, or Democrat ones.

Now, I recognize that this may offend a viewer or two who has their partisan hack boots on, but this too shall pass dear friend. In just a week or so the mud and the muck will subside and your favorites can thereafter go about the business of doing nothing at all in return for your efforts. Then we can all put our waders on in another couple of years and pound all the old code words into each other's foreheads all over again - just like we done a'fore.

In the meantime - champagne for the reprobates at THIS table please!

I go way back with Carlton. Why, mid-August already! Internet friendships are so very bedrock, wouldn't you say?

A while back he and I - along with Joke and Basil, the Man About Mayfair - formed an exceptionally loose confederacy, just to circle the wagons a bit in the face of the ever-growing tribe of sideways ballcaps and poorly fitted short pants in this wretched, wretched world.

We dubbed our affiliation The Legion of Well-Dressed Men, and thereafter proceeded to demonstrate all the principles of a true confederacy you could imagine. Meaning; we did what we wanted regardless of the other three, every man his own master, as life should be. Though we are of somewhat varying outlooks (only by mere degrees, it must be noted) we dress well and we smell better than your husband. And this is quite simply the manifesto we, all of us, believe in - whatever else in the world may appear to separate us.

The other week I had a birthday. And I was very happy to see everyone's good wishes left here on that day. Wonderful. Shortly thereafter I got a request from Carlton for a mailing address. Quite properly done, don't you know. No pressure. Nonchalant-like. Gentlemanly and all.

So I sent it along.

Upon my return from Los Angeles this week I found a packet waiting for me from the UK. Lo and behold, a birthday gift had arrived! And it was from my dear old friend of many... days... Carlton. Himself.

I was presented with a treasure available (near as I can tell) only in the UK, entitled "Etiquette For The Well-Dressed Man." Quoth the opening of the treatise: "To become a millionaire... a man needs to be well-dressed."

But my God! This is a veritable manifesto of grace! Exactly what the entire world needs (outside of my personal dictatorship) to right its ship and straighten its course. Here is the entire crux of the matter, the saving advice to this miserable, self-hating world.

"Dress well and you increase your self-confidence and your self-respect."

Lest you think I am merely making a pun at my friend Carlton's offering, think again. Having the proper dosage of self-respect would put a stop to a thousand ridiculous errors in behavior that have led us to hundreds of bad situations we now are trying to elect dozens of nincompoops to fix. It is because exemplary self-respect has been replaced with a greedy self-love that we have less care for each other in this world. The universe of Me, now in full sway, is even killing in its own behalf these days.

The Modern World is no longer just a finger from a passing car.

It has become obvious the world needs the Legion more now than ever before. We need mixed drinks and bowties and wearing white to the face.

Carlton - I thank you so very much for this gift. It will be in my closet always, right beside my dry-cleaned shirt tower (and Mrs RW sends a little kiss to your adorable baby daughter as well).

Soldats! Avance!

Alone in the jet-setting city of Los Angeles, amongst the questionable ethics and morals of the fast-paced power elite that ignite the engines of commerce and big money, I finally caved to the temptation.

I'm sure my wife will never forgive me, my daughters will forever think me a scoundrel, and all my associates turn their backs from this day forward.

I couldn't help it. I was lonely. I was bored. I was drunk. Or something.

There at Gate 49A at LAX we sat waiting for our flight to board. Well-dressed people with cell phones who smelled good. Not the phones, the people. She flipped her phone, that chirped like Captain Kirk's did, and read off a list of high-tech jargon mixed with commands and pointed requests to her minion on the other end of the line while her rings and bracelets sparkled in the smog-dulled sun. When she finished she snapped it closed with authority and disdained to look at the rest of us.

Then, across from her, a man in a personally-tailored Italian suit and impeccably bright shoes (with tassels) flipped his cell phone open. It too chirped like the prefix to a command to Scotty for a beam-up. He wanted the Carmichael insurance papers on his desk in the morning, and did you handle the tickets to Malta? And before he could finish, a third phone opened and a disturbed executive went into a long whine about this or that person at the office.

And when they all put their phones away, with the neat but simple shirt and comfortable shoes of your average millwork salesman... I opened my phone. It didn't chirp.

They didn't see me turn it "OFF" (for what I was about to do, if it rang would be disaster), but I looked at it and said loudly in my best ice-cold economics professor voice, "Call Mrs. Abernathy." I waited a respectful period and put it to my ear.

"Yes Claire. It's me. No. No. These guys were full of shit. All they want is for me to give them $15,000,000 so they can continue to live their lavish lifestyle and have a company that produces nothing at a great cost to their bank. Like everything else in LA, all flash and no substance. What? Yes I'm coming home now. We'll turn them down by not bothering with them further.

"By the way, Mrs. Abernathy, did John fly First Class to Phoenix to talk to that diamond fellow last Monday? Mmm-hmmm. Well could you please tell John that he can get there in coach just the same and that he doesn't have to spend three or four or five hundred dollars more just to get a breakfast roll and a mint, please? Our investors entrust us with their resources to make money, Mrs. Abernathy, not to squander their largesse going around in airports like a bunch of pompous children. I will not have my people flaunting their position. He is going to interview boards of directors and operating officers to see if our capital can be of any use, not to eat lobster. He went to Kenosha the week before, that's all the excitement he deserves.

"What? Oh yes. The Hillman Trust. I see. Yes. Yes? No. I'm not going to Singapore. Send Marshall, he could do with a little airing-out.

"What? Oh. I think we're arriving at 10:30. Have Masterson bring the Maybach to the reserved door will you? I'm tired of crowds just now. Thank you my dear. See you Monday."

True story. The jealous silences I lived with the rest of the wait were priceless.

The Roundtable is a pro-active way of exchanging and expanding our audiences. Every Thursday a different blogger from the group hosts the gathering with a subject of their choice (hopefully non-political) and the rest of the crew lets their readers know where the party is. Then we all sit around and say cool stuff to each other.

There is always room for new participants and, if you can at least guarantee to spread some "linky love" to your fellow members every Thursday (there's no requirement to participate in the wittiness itself) you'd be most welcome to join.

This Thursday while the party is going on I'll be on the road making money to add to my Million Bucks and won't have the chance to participate, so I am leaving my linky early because that's the kind of a guy I am.

This week's host is Debra and you are most welcome to go over to see this all first hand on Thursday.

And in the meantime I'll see you two plane flights later. Ta!