Consensual Living

As a relatively new parent, I have found myself, on occasion, debating how to raise this little kid.  I mean, let's be honest, he's eight months old and right now is the easy part.  To spank or not?  To ground or not?  Time outs?  Maybe.  What if my kid turns out to be a freak and wants to dress as one of those freaky goth people?  Ugh.  What will I do if he tells me he wants to go to the University of Iowa?

Well, my prayers have been answered! 

It's a little something called the "Consensual Living" movement...basically, you just let your kid do whatever they want.  Boo-yeah.  That's easy enough.

here's a blurb from the above linked article:

One morning last September, Melanie Leavey's six-year-old daughter, Savannah, insisted on wearing a Halloween cat costume instead of normal clothes. She wore it all day long, and the next too. Eventually, she agreed to take off the costume so it could be washed, but the minute it was laundered, she pulled it on again. Weeks passed, then months. It wasn't until February, almost six months later, that Savannah finally decided to put the cat costume to rest.

See how easy it is?  And guess what?  It WORKS, too!

So, Ms. Leavey began to practise consensual living, a set of principles designed to help family members understand each other's feelings and meet one another's needs.

Ever since her daughter got the chance to assert her autonomy in her clothing choices, Ms. Leavey says, helping her get dressed in the morning has been "a piece of cake."

Indeed.

I haven't really talked it over with Anne yet, but I'm sure she'll warm up to the idea.  I feel like the scales have fallen from my eyes and the next 18 years are sure to be a LOT easier. 

As I write this, I realize how popular this is sure to become.  Since the IBC strives to be relevant, I've looked up what all is involved...

Consensual-living.com offers this advice: 

CORE PRINCIPLES

• Everyone's wants and needs are equally valid, regardless of age.
• Children can be trusted to know their own minds and bodies.
• Punishments and rewards are tools of manipulation, unneeded when family members work as a team.
• There is a creative solution that works for everyone.
• Each family member has a positive intent and desires harmony.
• When all are secure that their needs will be met, they will branch out and help others meet their needs.

TECHINQUES

• In a conflict, identify the underlying needs - usually there are several ways they can be met.
• Pay attention to the underlying needs in someone who is hungry, angry, lonely or tired (HALT). Sometimes addressing biological needs helps get everyone back on track.
• Otherwise, explore underlying needs through validation ("You're feeling sad that we're about to leave the toy store, aren't you?") and clarification ("What I hear you saying is that you want more time to look at the marbles, right?").
• Once others feel heard, revert to "I" statements to express your own needs ("I want to head home so there's enough time to make dinner before everyone gets really hungry").
• Think outside the box with other family members, including children, to come up with a solution for each situation.

I love the Cosby Show.  I still watch the reruns every chance I get.  I recall one of the early episodes, Theo was screwing around in school or something and Cliff was getting pissed.  He's like, "You WILL do better am school because I am your Father and I said so!  I brought you into this world, and I'll take you out.  It doesn't matter to me because I can make another one just like ya!"  Although this statement is in obvious violation of nearly all the core principles of the Consensual Living movement, something tells me it's slightly more effective.

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$26.7 Billion

That's the amount the Dear Leader and the Dems in congress have spent EVERY SINGLE DAY they've been in session this year.  Remember last years when they were bitching about the $10 billion, $12 billion or $30 billion per month or whatever we were spending in Iraq? 

It makes me ask...What about the children?

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Sold!

Well, the first happy customer took posession of the first two JD-2000b production models (with matching ottomans).  I'm happy I didn't have to break up the twins.  Here's a look at how they turned out.  The last thing I did was a little trick I've been reading about - to wet sand them with Penofin oil.  I used 600 grit sand paper and it made the surface just like silk.  Pretty shhnazzy!

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Thought of the Day: Jack of All Trades

You know, I might have had this Obama fellow all wrong.

Not only does he know everything about government and how to run the country, he knows everything about "alternative energy," how to raise our children, what we should have our thermostats set at, what movies Gordon Brown likes, the NCAA should set up football playoffs, what income level is "appropriate," what doctors we should see, what cars we should drives, how to run a bank, how to run a mortgage company...but I see he's basically fired the CEO of GM and told them all their recovery plan is "a lemon." He's even able to run American car companies!

We sure are getting our money's worth with this guy.

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Friday's Rant: Go Green, Run Red

One of the first things they tell you in Political Science class is that, unlike other sciences, there are no “laws” of political science. In other words, there isn’t any instance in politics that can be replicated 100% of the time.

I disagree. I’ve always said something to the effect that entrepreneurs are ALWAYS smarter than government bureaucrats. No matter how much regulation, laws, etc. that are created, an entrepreneur will always find a way to skirt the regulations and make money – if there is a market for their stuff. That’s the way it works. Always.

I was reminded of this Doorah Law of Politics #1 the other day when talking with a friend of mine about the socialism that’s sweeping, unabated, across our country. We were talking about all the crap that’s been going on – each worthy of its own rant (so many rants, so few Fridays) and he made an excellent point.

Pointing to the Doorah Law of Politics #1, he argued that we shouldn’t fight the socialism, but embrace it. Embrace socialism and find ways to make money and use it to our advantage. I must admit, it jolted me. Almost instinctively, I wanted to oppose his point.

But I’ve thought about it and I think he’s right.

On an unrelated point, anybody who knows me knows how I feel about stoplights. I hate’em. I hate waiting, stopping, turning on red, etc., etc. In fact, and I bet you don’t know this…The Iowa Blog Cabin is located in the ONLY Iowa county that doesn’t have a single stoplight. But I digress.

THEREFORE, with these points in mind, I’m starting a new cause – one I’m truly passionate about. And because I trust the people who read this blog to not give away my true motivations, I’m going to let you in on it. Here goes:

GO GREEN, RUN RED.

For decades now, millions upon millions of cars, trucks, vans and SUVs have spent thousands of hours idling at red lights and have wasted billions of gallons of fuel for literally no good reason. Our organization believes it is critical to our efforts to reverse climate change that we develop a sustainable model of transportation usage that eliminates our irrational dependency on stoplights.

By creating a new transportation system usage paradigm and banning stoplights, we will literally save the earth and eliminate our need for billions of gallons of devilish fossil fuels. However, saving money is not what this is about. It’s about saving the earth, working to eliminate the need for fossil fuels and increasing the market for renewable fuels.

By banning stoplights, traffic will flow freely and eliminate all of the waste and thousands upon thousands of tons of pollution belched into the air by idling gas guzzling monster vehicles, like SUVs.

How will this be achieved? We have recently created a non-profit group – “Go Green, Run Red.” With a staff made up of dozens of recent college grads and the Philosophy degrees they worked hard for, we’re applying for government grants that will fund our important research, advocacy, outreach and logo development. Additionally, we are planning a National Run-A-Red-Light Day, to bring awareness and understanding to the dangers stoplights pose to our environment.

Go Green, Run Red is committed to implementing sound alternatives to dangerous and pollution causing stoplights. However, these alternatives can be achieved only after stoplights are banned. This is, and must be, our first priority.

Now, we anticipate that there will be some resistance to this critical effort to save the planet. The stoplight industrial complex is deeply entrenched into the fabric of western culture. Their lobbyists, the Republican Party, the Rush Limbaugh show and the insurance industry will no doubt resist this vital crusade. This is why we need you.

We need your grass roots support, your fundraising, your Facebook pages and your participation in National Run-A-Red-Light Day to bring about our vision of a future that implements a sustainable transportation system usage paradigm that eliminates our dependency on stoplights.

Breathe in, breathe out…and imagine a world without stoplights.

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Mysteries of the Katy Trail, Part 3 of 3

Read Part 1
Read Part 2

CHAPTER V: Tempting Fate
With the civilized world doubting our exploits and discoveries, we were left with one option…to take them with us and go back. We’d go back to New Franklin, back to the Katy trail, back to McBaine…and back to the mysterious bar. Then they’d understand…they’d have the good time we had and we’d be the heroes that had claimed McBaine, MO for Ames.

The gods of the Katy Trail knew we’d be back…their warnings continued.

The trek from Ames was very similar to the first…we left late and drove through the evening…in the dark. Once again, we approached New Franklin in a massive thunderstorm. The rain poured. The thunder pounded. We had to set up our tents in the rain. The first night was misery.

But like the first trip, we woke up to a beautiful morning of bright sunshine. I stood at the picnic table, sipping my coffee, with an uneasy feeling. This had been the very definition of deja vu.

“I bet Lewis and Clark had days like this,” I thought, letting the warmth of the mug heat my hands. I looked across our much larger group, packing their bikes up, readying for the trip to McBaine.

“So young, so innocent.” They had no idea what was coming. They hadn’t seen the trail, the caves, the bluffs or the town. They had no idea what they’d face in the next 20 miles.

We loaded up and started down the trail, stopping frequently to maintain our hydration. We stopped at a restaurant along the way for lunch, after passing through a long, damp tunnel…Built in 1893, the tunnel was still charred black from a 100 years of soot.

We passed by the Moniteau Bluffs, staring down upon us. A derivative of an Indian word meaning, “Great Spirit,” the Moniteau Bluffs were to the gods of the Katy Trail what Olympus was to Zeus. A cold breeze suddenly blew across the Missouri River and into my face…As I thought about the “Great Spirit,” a dark cloud rolled across the top of the bluff.

We suddenly encountered a massive portion of the trail that had completely washed out. Gone.  A sign read, "Rough conditions ahead.  Proceed with caution."  Never before had the gods of the Katy Trail spoken so directly to us.   

Carefully, we found our way across the cavernous gorge, and continued. A couple hours later, as we grew closer to McBaine, Cory and I began to again tell stories of McBaine, the bar and our previous exploits. Not understanding the bounty that lay just around the bend, our fellow explorers were growing tired. Our tales encouraged them on.

We came around the bend to the sight of the first trailers dotting McBaine. We looked down the hill to point out the massive two story building that made up the entire McBaine skyline…

It wasn’t there.

We stopped in our tracks. Stunned. Our fellow travelers asked, “Where is this place at?” We were speechless.

We continued down the streets of town. Again, not a living soul in sight. No cars, no life…of any kind. We pulled up to where the building once stood, or so we thought.

Gone. Completely gone.

As the gods of the Katy Trail had warned years earlier…we had now discovered what weren't looking for - and what we didn’t want to find.

Cory and I turned back to the group…who had all dismounted from their bikes and were staring at us.

“It WAS here!” Cory, pointing towards the ground, exclaimed to a very skeptical mob.

As good friends do, I backed him up. I walked around the parking lot, outlining where the building had been. There wasn’t an old foundation, pile of bricks or wood. There wasn’t a burned out shell of a building. No signs, no lights, nothing. There was literally no evidence that the building – or a building – had ever been there. Only a gravel lot.

We walked to our bikes and opened up a can of PBR, leaning against a telephone pole. “This just doesn’t make any sense. It was right here!”

Or, was it? As I stood in the gravel lot, I looked up and thought about Daniel Boone, the thousands of hobos, Lewis, Clark and all the explorers that had come before us. I thought about the Katy mainline, Thomas Jefferson and the Louisiana Purchase. We were standing smack in the middle of one of the greatest exploration highways of all time! Then it hit me. The only logical conclusion…

Aliens. They were explorers, too.

I turned around to see the rest of our friends leaving us. They had called others who had not come on the bike trip to come and pick them up. Soon, it was just Cory and I and our bikes standing in the parking lot. Except for Heather, everyone had abandoned us. Eerily though, Cory had drawn similar conclusions as me.

“The building was abducted by aliens. That has to be it,” he speculated.

“Or…it wasn’t a building at all,” I replied. “That bar was the alien mother ship! We were in it! This isn’t a parking lot…it’s a launch pad!” It all made sense now. “Why else would there be a huge, massive bar – with no name – in a town with ZERO people? Why else would it be two stories tall? Why else would it have blast doors on it? What else explained the weird long ramp into the main room? The butt numb-ers? The David Allen Coe on the jukebox? The aliens were just following in the footsteps of thousands of explorers who had come right down this trail before them. They weren’t any different than us.

Slowly, Cory lifted his head towards the heavens, pondering the possibility. It began to rain softly. The gods had spoken.

We finished our beers, got on our bikes and began the lonely ride back. Wiser. More worldy. More out-of-this-worldly. It rained the entire way.

Twenty miles later, Cory and I pulled into New Franklin to the sight of all our friends feasting gleefully at a local steakhouse. Wet, tired and exhausted…we joined them.

Except for Heather, who had been there, none of them ever believed us.

EPILOGUE
I realize to some, this story may seem…farfetched. One more shred of evidence…Of the five people that went on the original trip to the alien mother ship, one of the individuals has, to my knowledge, completely disappeared from the face of the earth. Another has gone on to become, not so coincidentally, a NASA scientist at Cape Canaveral studying top secret “stuff.” The three others are Cory, Heather and me.

None of us have returned to McBaine since that late summer’s day in 2002. But I’ve told you this story so that I can tell you this…we’re going back. This summer, we’re preparing to mount an expedition back down the mysterious Katy Trail. Many mysteries still remain. Among them, is Daniel Boone buried along the trail? The legend says he is. What has come of McBaine, MO since the aliens left? Had the aliens been there before? Indian carvings written on the bluffs seem to indicate they were. Have they returned? Did they ever leave? The time has come to dare the gods of the Katy Trail once more.
The End...?

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Mysteries of the Katy Trail, Part 2 of 3

Read Part 1.

CHAPTER III: Doing What Explorers Do
The gods of the Katy Trail are fickle. They have no favorites. They follow no pattern. They show no mercy.

I believe it was Cory who suggested we hop on our bikes and ride down the Katy Trail. Follow in the footsteps of Lewis, Clark, the Boone boys and countless hobos looking for a little adventure. “We had survived the storm, the sun was out, why not?” Unable to argue with such logic, we loaded up our bikes and headed for a town called McBaine – about 20 miles away.

It was wet, but a beautiful day for a ride. The trail follows very close to the Missouri River and right next to some very scenic bluffs. Caves dotted the cliffs along the old railroad line and you could imagine the thousands of hobos that had once stayed in these caves. Indians who had hunted from them. Even spots where Lewis and Clark had camped. I was shocked back to reality by bats flying out of the cave into the bright day.

In the faint distance, I could almost hear the gods of the Katy Trail warning us to not go looking for things we didn't want to find.

After several hours of riding, we arrived at the small town of McBaine. If you’ve never been to McBaine, at the time it had about a dozen trailers and a gigantic, two-story bar...with no name. Nothing else. We rode through the empty streets of town and did not see another living soul. Completely desolate. There wasn't even a car parked outside the bar. The neon lights were on, so we figured it was open. We pulled up and got off of our bikes.

“This looks like a pretty good place for a drink,” Cory exclaimed.

We all nodded and walked in…

Immediately upon walking in, we had to go up a long, eerie, very narrow ramp that took us to the second floor. It was odd, to say the least. But we were explorers and this is what explorers do.

At the top of the long, narrow ramp, was a large, heavy door. We opened the door and entered. We walked into a huge, cavernous room on the second floor. A bar sat in the far corner with, presumably, a bartender standing behind it.

The five of us walked up ordered a beer and sat down at an empty table to relax. We sat, sipping on our beers, talking about the storm of the previous night, the day's ride and what a neat place we had discovered - smack dab in the middle of nowhere.

It was crazy, and somehow, it didn't make sense...why was this place here? In a town...in the middle of nowhere...with no people. Where was everybody?

We stayed for hours. Not another customer entered the entire time. The lone bartender was a great guy. He invented a drink for Heather, in fact..."the butt numb-er." Considering we were a group of tired, weary riders...it made a lot of sense and made for a good joke.

CHAPTER IV: The Legend Grows

Throughout history, when explorers have returned from unknown lands, mysterious ports of call and undiscovered countries, they brought back with them tales that were beyond belief. Mountains, animals, jewels, spices, oceans, people...outer space - outrageous stories that were nearly incomprehensible to a civilized world that had nothing to compare it to.

So it was with this exploration. We left the "bar," still amazed at its location and wondering "why?" We made our way down the long, narrow ramp and into the parking lot...almost without casualty. The gods of the Katy trail would let us go, but not Scot free. We made our way back to New Franklin and on to Ames. Ames - where the legend of our exploration in New Franklin, McBaine and the Katy Trail grew epic.

We told tales of the storm we'd survived. Like rumors of the Fountain of Youth, Eldorado or Shangri-La in centuries gone by. We told of the caves, of the trails, of the bluffs, of the mighty Missouri River. But most of all, we told tales of the bar. Sure, it didn't have a name. Sure, it was in a town that wasn't on the map. Sure, it was a massive two-story building in the middle of nowhere. But it was there. We were there. Our friends should believe us.

With our friends doubting our tales, we began to plot our next trip. We'd expand our group - this is how we'd prove it to them. Do what explorers have done throughout the centuries - go back.

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Mysteries of the Katy Trail, Part 1 of 3

CHAPTER I: A Path of Exploration

I suppose it was probably the Ouemessourita Indians who were the first group to explore along the Missouri River in what is today Missouri. But they sure weren't the last. It wasn’t long before Bourgmont, in 1713, became the first European to explore the lower Missouri River, up to the junction of the Kansas and Missouri River.

Then, of course there was Lewis, Clark and their Corp of Discovery, paddling their way up the river from St. Louis. Not long after that, it was the sons of Daniel Boone - Nathan Boone and Daniel Morgan Boone who were scampering their way up the river, settling just long enough to establish a successful salt business, before traveling on to settle in what is now Kansas City.

A few years later, in 1870, The Missouri-Kansas-Texas (MKT) Railroad was established. Because of the sound of the acronym, the railroad quickly gained the nickname of “The Katy.” This railroad snaked its way across Missouri, Kansas, into Oklahoma and was the first railroad to enter Texas from the north – all the way to San Antonio.

The railroad created a new wave of explorers up the river - hobos. The hobos represented a lingering thread of American explorer and those who were truly, free.

Well, decades passed, monopolies came and went. Railroad barons were born, lived and died. In 1988, fate and the Union Pacific were too much for the Katy.

But along the Missouri River, the Katy lives on. Today, the rail line that was once part of the Katy mainline is a pea gravel ribbon of nature that runs from just southeast of Kansas City all the way to just north of St. Louis. It’s a bike trail that is traveled by thousands of naïve riders who have no idea what it really is - a path of continuous exploration that continues to this day.


CHAPTER II: Riding Out the Storm
In 2000, another small group of intrepid explorers traveled down to Missouri to do a little camping and ride a section of the Katy Trail. Innocent enough. We started late and drove much of the way in the dark. However, the closer we got, the angrier the gods of the Katy Trail became.

With every passing mile, the thunderstorms grew more intense. Thunder and lightning pounded, seemingly right outside the car. When we pulled up to the campsite, just outside of New Franklin, Missouri, it wasn’t raining, but the thunder and lightning lit up the night sky like day.

In need of supplies, Heather Cramer and I drove to find a grocery to buy some food. We drove around in the dark until we came across a small country general store, seemingly, in the middle of nowhere. We went inside for supplies. As she turned off the Pontiac LeMans, the radio blasted something about an imminent tornado warning in Howard County, Missouri.

“I wonder where Howard County is at?” I asked, walking into the store.

Heather shrugged…

We grabbed a shopping cart and hurriedly threw the bare and vital essentials – brats, chips, PBR and a couple bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill - into the cart and walked to the register. We were met by a creepy old pasty white cashier with a lazy eye. He began to ring us up.

“Can you tell us what county this is?” Heather asked politely.

“Hawwd. Ya’ll in Hawwd county, Missourah,” the man replied in perfect Southernese.

Heather and I looked at each other – confused.

“I’m sorry, what county?”

“Hawwd.”

Not wanting to look like idiots we didn’t ask again…neither of us had a clue what he said.

We took our bags and walked out of the store and into the purple light of continuous lighting. We pulled out the cooler and started loading things up. An enormous crack of thunder pierced the night air. We looked up and across the sprawling Missouri River bottom to an enormous wall cloud hovering over us and the entire area. It swirled in the purple glow that surrounded us.

It began to dawn us that “Hawwd” county was in fact, Howard County. We were in the eye of the storm.

“MUST pack faster!” Heather exclaimed, hurling our food into the cooler. We jumped into the LeMans and fled towards the campground. The three cylinders groaned under the demands of 61 mph and 1,200 RPMs.

The gods of the Katy Trail were growing angry. Looking back, they were trying to tell us something…to leave. Immediately. Unfortunately, we didn’t heed the warning.

The rain was starting and the wind was picking up as we pulled into the campground where the rest of the group had been setting up camp. We all dove into “the Lodge” and hunkered down for what would be a long night.

The wind and the rain was continuous, powerful and swirled all around us. You could hear the faint sound of sirens howling in the distance. Huddled in the Lodge, we sipped our Boone’s Farm, played cards and carefully grilled our brats outside from inside the tent - making the best of a bad situation.

The morning brought the humbling realization that we had survived. Like sailors tossed upon a relentless sea, we had ridden out the storm – and survived. I unzipped the tent to warm sunshine and to find myself standing on what had essentially become and island – a peninsula to be more precise. We were almost completely surrounded by water that had flooded all around us during the night. The tent sagged under the immense wait of all the water.

But we had survived...

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Video of the Day: Crawlin'

As you watch this video, softly 'hum' the theme to jaws...

From Collin Videos

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Friday's Rant: Workin' Man Blues

It's been a long couple months for us workin' men (and women).  They're wanting to raise taxes on the air we breathe, the gas we burn, the smokes we smoke, our tattoos and pretty much anything else you can think of.  You wanna catch a break?  Too bad unless you're a member of one of two groups:  a bum with no job who can't pay his bills or a big corporation who's "too big to fail."  If you're not part of that group, you're pretty much screwed.  Prepare to have your "wealth" "redistributed."  You're welcome. 

Well, it's time like these when I look to old Merle Haggard for a little advice.  So here's what I like to call, a classic country music minute to get you through the day and, perhaps, the next four years or so. 

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Your Post-Shamrock Quick Hits

The Dear Leader's teleprompter screwed up yesterday...and like any telecaster (see Will Farrell's 2004 classic, "Anchorman"), he'll read whatever it tells him...He "thanked" himself yesterday. 

Reason #963 why George W. Bush is a better person than me...refusing to criticize the Dear Leader.  Some of the retards that hate him could learn a thing or two.  But probably won't.   

English is a second language to one in seven students...in England.

It was 70 degrees at the Iowa Blog Cabin on Tuesday.  Spring Feevah!

Is nothing sacred?  Guess not. Take the religion out of St. Patrick's Day - Change the name to Shamrock Day! 

Iraq combat deaths at six-year low.  It's Bush's fault.  Admit it, Harry...America won. 

There are over 15 million square kilometers of sea ice at the north pole right now.  The entire United States is 9.6 million square kilometers.  I don't care what Al Gore says, that's a lot of ice.

Finally, AIG gave something like $165 million in bonuses...and congress poops a brick.  Last month Congress gave $160 million for "paid volunteers" at the Corporation for National and Community Service...nobody noticed.  Stupid AIG...they forgot Congress has cornered the market on wasting money without accountability!

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But, Do You Have a Logo?

Last summer, when floods devastated eastern Iowa, one of the first thing Iowa’s state government did was set up a commission – the “Rebuild Iowa Commission.”  The first thing this commission did? Pay to have a logo designed.

This month, the “Group of 20” most developed economies met…what is the first thing they did in preparation for this meeting? Developed a logo.

When our Dear Leader starts blowing all the money they just printed on all the "shovel ready" stimulus projects that are going to "create or save" zillions of jobs - what's going to be plastered on each of the "projects"?  A specially designed logo.

I’m reminded of that stand-up bit by Eddie Izzard – “Do you have a flag?” He basically is talking about how all of the empires through history were basically justified by the fact they have a flag and the conquered group didn't.

Great Britain lands in India, sticks its flag in the ground and declares, “We claim this land for Britain!” The Indians who are already living their say, “WHAT? You can't do that!  There are already 500,000,000 people living here!”

Unimpressed, the British reply, “BUT, do you have a FLAG?”

Confused and flagless, the Indians then find themselves part of the British Empire.  It's that simple. 

So it is with government bureaucracies and logos. Until a government agency, blue-ribbon commission or department develops an official logo, it is impossible for them to be a fully entrenched and permanent member of the bureaucracy. The latest example is Chet Culver’s “Iowa Infrastructure Investment Initiative.” Or, “I-Jobs.”  Clever. 

I-Jobs is basically Chet's attempt to be like the Dear Leader, borrow something like $750 million dollars, blow it on "infrastructure" projects and create bazillions of good paying union thug jobs employing all the illegal Mexicans willing to smuggle their way into Iowa.

(As a side, Chet Culver is lovable.  He may be a knuckle-dragging, butt-scratching, beer drinking, old substitute teacher unable to use three-syllable words who sweats a lot, but he's our governor, damnit.  The people have spoken.)

Anyway, all you have to do is throw together a PowerPoint, pay thousands to develop a logo and, SHAZAM!  You have a good idea. 

I remember an old political science professor I had once defined politics as simply, "the manipulation of symbols."  I guess the bureaucracy and it's love affair with the creation of logos is one more example of this.  A logo, like a flag, implies legitimacy and the idea that, "if they have a logo, something must be getting done, right?"  Uh, well, perhaps maybe, no.

That, or a cabal on the part of ad agencies to further tighten their grip on the logo industrial complex we are all slaves to.   

------
P.S. ~ Here's the clip of the Eddy Izzard "Do you have a Flag" stand-up sketch using, of all things, legos.
 

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Friday's Rant: Awareness Daze

I have this calendar at my desk – you know the kind – one of those free calendar's you get from a bank or hardware store with a bunch of scenic pictures on it.  Like most calendars, it has all the holidays and “awareness” days in red. Maybe I haven’t looked at a calendar in a while, and maybe it’s a sign of the times, but nearly every day on this calendar is some kind of holiday or “awareness” day.  Seriously.  I mean, if I was to celebrate all of these holidays, I’d never work. Bizzaro world.

We have Administrative Professional’s Day (sounds like something that was once called “Secretary’s Day” until that became demeaning), the Chinese New Year, something called “Purim” (which was apparently March 10 – so, in case I forgot, Happy Purim!), more standard holidays such as Passover, Good Friday, Easter…Cinco De Mayo, Armed Forces Day, Flag Day and the First day of Shavuot. Ramadan, Patriot Day, Grandparent’s Day, Constitution Day, International Day of Peace (what the…?), Yom Kippur and the first Day of Rosh Hashana. Oh, don’t forget the first Day of Sikkut – Grandma will be pissed if you miss that one – Shemini Atzeret, Simchat Torah, United Nations Day, Columbus Day, Election Day, Veteran’s Day and Thanksgiving. Cap off the year with eight days of Hanukah, Christmas Eve, Christmas, Kwanzaa and New Year’s Eve (P.S. – I’ve skipped a LOT of them). Holy crap.

Maybe what made me take notice of this calendar was all the days were red, but also how stupid all these dumb “awareness” days are. I was reading a while back how our esteemed Governor, Chester J. Culver, stood from the balcony of Terrace Hill, beer can in hand while eating a butter burger, and declared to the world, “I hereby declare March is Flood Awareness Month! Therefore, be aware!” Okay, maybe it didn’t quite happen that way, but March is now Flood Awareness Month.

Seriously, people. If you’re driving to work and the road is flooded. You’re aware. If you live in a flood plain and the river is lapping up against your front porch, you’re aware. If you’re not aware of what this means, you’re about to learn something you can learn no other way. Good luck, FEMA will be there in a week.

Not to belabor the point, but were you aware that March is Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month, National Kidney Month, National MS Month, American Red Cross Month, Mental Retardation Month - along with Save Your Vision Week, National Poison Prevention Week, World Tuberculosis Day and National Patient Safety Awareness Week?

Oh, and my personal favorites…March is also International Listening Awareness Month, Irish-American Heritage (what a bunch of racists – just because St. Patrick’s Day is in March, they automatically assume March should be Irish-American Heritage Month! Let me guess, the logo includes a drunk leprechaun eating Lucky Charms?), National Chronic Fatigue Syndrome Awareness Month, National Talk with your Teen about Sex Month, Gender Equality Month, Johnny Appleseed Day, Pulmonary Rehabilitation Week and Universal Human Beings Week.

And don’t forget, March 19 is not only my birthday; it’s also the day for the Great American Meatout. I’m taking that day off and eating a huge steak (take that you rotten vegetarians)!  Now, go buy a Hallmark card and get back to work! 

Breathe in, breathe out and make up your own holiday…this week’s rant is over!

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Pic of the Day: Cowboy

So yesterday Collin was on "Live with Regis and Kelly."  Anne called and told me and I was like, "Huh?"  But, sure enough, he was...some "cutest baby" contest, I guess.  Can't argue with that.  Here's the link to the video - he's the second kid in the clip, right after it starts.  Exciting stuff! 

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Monday's Friday Rant: Surviving Barack Obama

At the last minute, I took Friday off of work. No particular reason – it was a nice day, and I felt like it. It was great; I didn’t even touch the computer for three days. I hung out in the Old Confederate workshop, fought off a ferocious man-eating squirrel (successfully) and watched Collin roll all over the floor.

Having the day off, I completely forgot about the all-important rant. Not that I didn’t have one – I just kind of blew it off. BUT…if I would have written a rant, it would have gone something like this:

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Nationalized banks. Socialized medicine. Free college education. Cap and trade tax for evil carbon burning industries. Mortgage bailouts for deadbeats. Billions more for union thug automakers. Billions for DTV converter boxes. Millions for STD prevention, hog lot odor research and trains to Disneyland. Tax increases for the “rich,” reduced charitable and home mortgage deductions and don’t forget about the electric golf carts.

It’s a crisis, and we have to do whatever it takes to end this crisis. Including peeing trillions of dollars down our leg. Here’s how it works:

“Uh, in this extraordinary crisis, uh, which, uh, I inherited…uh, the only way we’re going to, uh, fix it is to, uh, create electronic medical records and socialize the healthcare industry.” Immediately following this statement, the markets tank, afraid of another socialized industry. Republicans come out against the program, arguing it has little to do with fixing our present crisis. The Dear Leader holds a press conference/interview…when asked about the criticism and plummeting markets, replies,

“Uh, this decline in the markets is not my doing. I, uh, inherited the problem…I think we can all agree, healthcare is a problem that needs fixed. If we can fix it now it will help the economy. Those criticizing this important program need to realize this is a crisis and we almost united together in a post-partisan era. Now, uh, is not the time to debate. Last November, the people, uh, spoke…and they wanted change.”

Whenever the Dear Leader and his goons want to shove a new socialist program down our throats, that’s their template. So the question becomes, how do we survive Barack Obama? I’m not an economist, a therapist, a politician or someone who stayed at a Holiday Inn last night. I’m just a guy who lives in the log cabin somewhere in the boot heel of Guthrie County. I’ve always thought that those “tin foil” hat types were kind of kooky. But seriously, for the first time in my life, I’ve actually had conversations with relatively normal people about how much gold and silver bullion to have stashed away for when the shih-tzu hits the fan.

Anyway, here’s my thinking. For the next four years, we’re pretty much screwed. Let’s start with that. For the next two years, we’re really screwed. For the next 12 months, it’s pretty much every man for himself.

Clearly, the policies the Dear Leader have proposed are going to do nothing but advance his liberal/socialist agenda (health care, war on carbon, education and higher taxes for everybody). They aren’t going to bring us out of the mini-depression we’re in. They’re not going to “save or create 3.5 million jobs.” This fact is almost implied throughout even much of the mainstream media at this point.

But that doesn’t matter to the Dear Leader and his goons. For the short term, this crisis is a good thing for them. They’re calculating several things: first, the economy will begin to recover (naturally), by the time the Dear Leader has to run for reelection (assuming the constitution isn’t changed to allow him to be president forever) and he’ll be able to run “stay the course,” “morning in America” sort of campaign. Second, they’re calculating by the end of 2009, real resistance to his policies will begin to form in a wind up to midterm elections, making it very difficult to implement much of anything “big” in 2010. Third, that after 2010 he’ll be left with smaller Democrat majorities in congress and quite probably a majority in the Senate that is much weaker and less able to implement his socialism.

Which leaves us with 2009. This is the year. No matter how bad it gets, no matter how crazy he looks, he cannot let himself be diverted from his agenda. Spread the wealth. That means his primary strategy will be to tie EVERYTHING he wants to do to the economy…no matter how silly it seems on the face. Which means STD prevention becomes “economic stimulus.”

There are many things that could quickly change this equation…foreign policy, for example, is something that he is entirely ignoring. Note, the big pile of DVDs he gave Gordon Brown last week. But until an outside force changes the equation, this is the direction we’re headed. Right now, we’re in the eye of the socialist storm.

I remember when I was in graduate school, dutifully writing my master’s thesis – I took a political science class. I can’t remember the teacher’s name, but he was pretty much crazy. I disagreed with him on nearly anything, but he was smart. He said something once that I’ve always remembered… “I don’t know everything, but I do know crap when I smell it.” Along that same line, Americans (at least those living outside of about 35 counties in this country) are generally the same way. The Dear Leader has been burning through political capital pretty quick. I think things are beginning to change as we speak – and his calculation that he has a year is looking optimistic.

Friends and neighbors, take heart. These are the times that try men’s souls…the next four years are going to be bad. Call me a dreamer, but likely, right now is the worst. The GOP/America must focus on stopping the really bad stuff (e.g. Socialized healthcare) with an eye toward the future.  In the meantime, all we can do is hoard our cash, gold and scrap metal.  Buy a generator, plan a huge garden, brew our own beer and hope for the best.  Haha?!

Breathe in, breathe out…last week’s rant is over.

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Introducing the JD-2000b

Straight from the Old Confederate Workshop...introducing the JD-2000b Adirondack Chair.  I still have a little spit and polish to add, but it's basically done.  The main difference between the JDx-1000a and the JD-2000b is that made the entire thing out of 1" thick cedar stock (the JDx is 3/4").  It gives the entire chair a very solid, stout feel.  I also decreased the width of the back slats and seat slats and added a couple more to make up the difference.  Additionally, I broadened the round on the back slats and hand rests to give the entire chair a more rounded feel.

I need to finish up the ottoman for it, oil it up and it should be good to go.  The only thing I might change in the next chairs is I'll probably slope the back of the chair a little more

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Add to Favorites

The entire editorial board at the IBC does a lot of reading.  Well, here's a new Iowa Blog Cabin fave to add to your daily "must reads" - thebeanwalker.com.  It's a sort of Iowa version of the Drudge Report.  Good stuff. 

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DOA

And one from the irony file...The state legislature, always tackling the big issues, is changing the name of the "Department of Elder Affairs"...to, "Departement of Aging," or D.O.A. 

Gulp! 

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Pic of the Day: Ahhh!!

From Stocking Cap

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Have You Seen Me?

Hi.  I'm the remote for the upstairs TV at the Iowa Blog Cabin and I've been lost for nearly three weeks.  Nobody seems to care.  Sure, now that Doorah has his big, fancy 42,000", 1080pightl Hi/lo/medium Def/hard of hearing TV, I'm not quite as important as I once was.  But don't I deserve to be found?  After all, wasn't I good enough when you were stuck down in the basement (before it was cool) watch NASCAR, football and Cosby show reruns on that pathetic 27" TV?  I'm begging you, find me.  I still have good years left.

Doorah's funny...he'll come home - usually around 5:20 p.m., and want to flip on Ed Wilson or That 70's Show while waiting for dinner.  He'll stumble around the living room for a few minutes mumbling about how he's "never had a remote that was this lost."  He always looks in the same spots, thinking somehow I'll be there this time.  Frustrated, he'll sit down at the kitchen table - they'll all eat dinner and then go downstairs to watch...that THING in the basement.  I don't know if he'll ever find me.  But I'm here.  Right where he left me. 

I thought about writing a randsom note - demanding to be returned to the basement - the "manatorium," as he calls it.  But I'm not sure it would matter.  I'll just sit here and collect dust as my batteries slowly wear out.  I've had a good run, but please, please find me.  I'm still good for a few more years of HGTV or pro bowling...Anything. 

Please find me.

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