Uncommon cents

OMG....Down over a trillion yesterday (777.+ fall) and up this day....make it stop! Lets just let the all the countries who hate us buy our debt...that would be soo helpful...

The Most heart felt scene between Paul Newman and Richard Jaekel in my favorite Paul Newman movie…”Sometimes a Great Notion”

Paul Newman and Richard Jaekel in my favorite Paul Newman movie…”Sometimes a Great Notion”

GOP V.P. candidate Sarah Palin talks to Katie Couric parts one and two....

Watch CBS Videos Online


Watch CBS Videos Online

Bailout the Bailout....

Bailout the Bailout…

Please give us a break here Mr. President. You have spoken about twenty minutes total on this subject. It really shows your style in addressing issues, (kindly read crisis), similar to Katrina and both irresponsible wars. Add to that your part in increasing our national debt and we can see what a true jewel we have in our leadership.

I do not know the answer, heck I barely know the questions in the so-called rescue plan. You have said, and I quote, “It is hard work and a big proposal. We gotta big problem and we need to move quickly.” I have taken more time on these silly blogs than you have taken in your speeches to your nation on this “big” issue. I just want to say thanks for being such a brave and caring, dim witted useless leader. Praise God for term limits!

Some harmless and tasteless fun?

Oh No Mr Bill

A Couple of Wall Street 'Buskers' Beguile CNN...

Oak Creek Colorado at its finest hour?

I think because of the entire hubbub resulting from what I call a home invasion of Oak Creeks former mayor, (Kathy ‘Cargo’ Rodeman), "alledgedly" perpetrated by the now former Oak Creek police sergeant Erik Foster. Both Oak Creeks Police Chief Russ Caterinicchio and Sgt. Erik Foster resigned September 11^th and the Oak Creek town board accepted the resignations during the citizen packed meeting.

They, (the resignations) surprised those in attendance.

Russ Caterinicchio turned in his letter of resignation at 5 p.m. Thursday September 11th, roughly an hour after Erik Foster gave his to a town Trustee and the police commissioner, Chuck Wisecup. Also quitting was the town’s community service officer, Tony VanDeventer.

The Oak Creek Colorado town board met at 7 that evening and went into executive session immediately discussing undisclosed personnel issues. Following that meeting, board members and the towns police commissioner accepted all of the resignations. None of those resigning attended the meeting.

There is a recording of the 911 call made by the former mayor later in these postings, see Oak Creek clusterfunk below. She made the call during what I call a home invasion by this former Oak Creek sergeant.

Small town living at its finest....these are the days of our lives.

WTF LIPSTICK?...People coming home from war in bags....and news is about cosmetics....wow

WTF LIPSTICK?...People coming home from war in bags....and news is about cosmetics and pork products....wow

Here I go again...I need a new bathroom..a large one with a kitchen....lol

Good Ol' Ghengis W, Bush is loosing us our allies

Good Ol' Ghengis W, Bush is loosing us our allies, the ones he so carelessly did not even cultivate. Even with the 8000 troops exiting Iraq there will still be more troops there than before the surge. What this country needs is an election surge...be sure to vote....I care for who you vote for, but do not care to tell you who you should vote for, (not for me to say),....just vote, too late for the damage Ghengis W. Bush has done. Read Bob Woodward's new book..The War Within: Secret White House History 2006-2008

Snow tonight..

Snow in the passes tonight..Colorado high country that is...

Eroica 'Ludwig Von Beethoven

FWD email and such stupid (?) you decide. Also check the link at the bottom please...

Old Age, I decided, is a gift. I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. Moreover, often that old person that lives takes me aback in my mirror, but I do not agonize over those things for long. I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, and my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I have aged, I have become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I have become my own friend. I do not chide myself on eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed or for buying that silly cement gecko that I did not need, but looks so avant-garde on my patio. I am entitled to a
treat, to be messy, to be extravagant to drink my beer and drink my scotch (blue of course). I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging. Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60 & 70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love... I will. I will walk the beach in a swimsuit that has stretched over my bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set, they, too, will get old. I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things. Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when a car hits somebody’s beloved pet? But broken hearts are what give us strength, understanding, and compassion. A heart that has never been broken is too pristine and too sterile and will not ever know the joy of being imperfect. I am so blessed. To have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver. As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I do not question myself anymore. I have even earned the right to be wrong. So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)

MAY OUR FRIENDSHIP NEVER COME APART ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S STRAIGHT FROM THE HEART! MAY YOU ALWAYS HAVE A RAINBOW OF SMILES ON YOUR FACE AND IN YOUR HEART FOREVER AND EVER! FRIENDS FOREVER

http://www.youtube.com/Keith Olbermann

This video is hard to watch due to poor recording and audio as well as subject. Important though none the less

Diagnosis, other ramblings…A link to clinical trials for Crohn’s (click this title) or read the post for more information on this website.

There is no denying the fact that living with Crohn’s disease sucks, blows, bites, stinks, (literally), hurts and any other synonym you may think of. Anyone who has Crohn’s knows that. Vomiting fermented diarrhea, as awesome as that sounds, is seldom if ever… fun. When the vomiting stops is when the fun starts.

I had read or heard of a little girl who told her mother she knew why she was so sick, it was because she had all that puke in her. Cute saying, but also filled with such truth, as often the little children’s words are.

One bright spot in my journey with this disease was the diagnosis. I first experienced symptoms of Crohn’s when I was twelve years of age, 1969. Since the symptoms resemble other illnesses we, (my parents and I), never felt a need to see a physician. Since this effluent had an odor that no one else in my family had when they were praying to the porcelain goddess, and since I would tear up with pain in my abdomen, I just figured that everyone is different so everyone manifests the flu (as an example) in different ways.

My episodes were however, seldom until my early twenties. That is when I first started to see doctors about this mysterious version of the flu that only I had. If you are reading this, you know what I am saying. I am sure we all have horror stories about doctors and their attitudes. In my case when I had an episode I would schedule a visit, but after throwing up so much before the visit with the doctor, the symptoms were greatly subsided, (all the puke was gone). Even and often nonexistent at those times when I went. So there was no way they could accurately diagnose it other than as the ubiquitous twenty-four hour bug.

Finally, in 1997 after several especially violent episodes, a trip to a specialist in the gut, and lots of tasty barium, as well as an especially experienced X-ray physician they told me about Crohn’s. Another trip to yet another specialist confirmed the diagnosis a couple weeks later. Whew, I finally knew I had something other than the flu or twenty-four hour bug. Oddly just knowing what I had made me feel better, not literally but emotionally it helped. You may know what I mean.

Here is some links that may be useful for you if you are looking to participate in clinical trials:

www.clinicaltrials.org

Crohn’s specific link:

http://www.clinicaltrials.gov/ct2/results?term=crohn%27s

By clicking, the title to this post will take you directly to the Crohn’s disease page, as shown above, but you may want to enter different criteria for your state or particular circumstance. Good luck to all and thanks for listening.

Just to remember....originally posted 09/10/05.

Pat Tillman died at age 27; He was a member of the 2nd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, based at Fort Lewis, Washington. The battalion was involved in Operation Mountain Storm in southeastern Afghanistan, part of the U.S. campaign against fighters of the al-Qaida network and the Taliban government along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border; military officials were recorded as saying. I'm just saying…

This is funny at its best....

Evil stepmothers and soldiers

My father’s funeral

When I attended my father’s funeral several years ago, many things struck me and flooded my memories of my time with him as a child and too as an adult. Overwhelmed at the loss of my father as well as my friend, but also of the loss to this country of a patriot. I have a feeling or obligation to qualify that statement a little. I call him a patriot because as I was growing up in the sixties watching rioting and looting on the nightly newscasts, he would say, “Go hippies!” in his enthusiastic way, often shaking his fist at the screen. His meaning of the hippies actions were to him a good thing. Yelling at the television screen as those “hippies” demonstrated against the Viet Nam war, or protecting (at least trying) to protect their freedom of speech at Kent State, or the 1968 democratic convention. The surprising thing was that my father was a man of modest means, attending college part-time to earn his engineering degree in electronics, actively helping to raise his five children, one of which was at that time, considered mentally retarded, all the while volunteering for the Army National Guard. This seems now, with the benefit of hindsight, a contradiction of terms. Praising “hippies’ and civil disobedience. Similar to “Special report with Britt Hume, or Bob Hope Special", on the fixed news channel.” Here was a man who would dress in his uniform on weekends or during national disasters and confront sometimes the very hippies he privately urged and encouraged to endure. That to me is what this republic of our great nation is. We all wear our own uniforms or masks and at different times, we are responsible either by family or job obligations to perform contrary to our beliefs. At least that is how it was in the 1960 is when and where I grew up. When I was twelve years old, I had the opportunity to attend a little music festival in upstate New York. Many of you may have heard of it. Sadly, my parents did not allow me to attend this event (known as Woodstock of course); however, in 1971 I was granted the opportunity to attend a Grateful Dead concert in Austin Texas. This is where I lost all respect, (almost) for Arlo Guthrie as he threw a tantrum on stage about how out of tune a technician had made his piano. It had more to do with how out of tune the crowd was to having to endure Arlo perform before the Grateful Dead, I think.

Now getting back to my fathers funeral and the reason for this rant. He was interred in a tiny little town north of Idaho Falls, Idaho. With a post card view of the Grand Tetons to the east. Nevertheless, since he was a veteran there was a full twenty-one gun salute. The color guard all where eighty years old and a few of the seven men were older. Many of them dragged their guns as they marched in their own fashion to the gravesite. Many had to have another relative (I assume), hold the gun barrels up in the air and reload. There were seven of these old-timer veterans firing three shots each. It was the only time that the particular brand of my father’s ironic sense of lifestyle, humor, and essence shined enough to bring a sly smile to my face. All day long, I had been too filled with grief. I was asked to sing and perform on guitar a song that my father had told me he wanted at his funeral. The song is a ditty called, “When the Works All Done This Fall.” I rehearsed it in the funeral homes sanctuary a few hours before the actual services, alone with his open casket, with my wife dutifully enduring listening to the umpteenth versions, of the cowboy standard, but this was the first I actually performed it for my father. I sang all the verses, if I recall there were seven, with the chorus every two verses. I played it finger-stylye, capoed all the way at the seventh fret, so it had a bell like quality to the instrumental portions. Now I am not known as the greatest vocalist but in that key, I was able to keep the pitch close to where it needed to be for my limited range. I was not able to make it through the actual service with all of the verses, as I was too grieved, so I sang and played an abbreviated version for those who were present. If you are asked to sing at, one of your parent’s funerals, and you were very close to that parent, I do not recommend it. It was probably the most emotionally difficult thing I have ever done, or do.

My mother worked, part-time, as well as attending a high school degree equivalency program at night. Even though she was twenty-two years older than I was, she graduated high school one year before I did I kid her often. They were divorced by the time my father succumbed to his colon cancer, but she was welcomed at the funeral. Then my evil stepmother ended up stealing all of his children’s inheritances. This will be a rant for another time.