dey is none so bline as dem dat will not see

You may have noticed that Jimbo hasn’t been blogging much lately. I am sure that many of you are tired of coming by this site and seeing the same old crap.

To which, I’m sure, many of you are thinking, “That’s the way we feel when you are blogging every day.”

Well, Jimbo’s broken finger is really putting a crimp on his ability to keyboard, so, consequently, I haven’t been able to type much. You would have shaken your head in pity had you seen me hurriedly finishing a seven-page report at work Friday afternoon. So, I wanted to take a break from keyboarding the first two days of this holiday weekend. But, now I have something to say, so I guess I just have to “play through the pain.”

In addition to keyboarding, Jimbo has come up short in his ability to cut it man-wise. Saturday, Jimbo’s girlfriend had to cut the grass, because Jimbo can’t grip the handle of the lawn mower. It is somewhat frustrating to see your woman come through the door with her hair disheveled, her makeup smeared, after having gotten for herself what you couldn’t provide her. It makes one feel—well—impotent.

Speaking of which, I read a story in the news this week concerning erectile dysfunction drugs, hinting at the possibility they could cause blindness. However, a closer reading suggests that the condition that causes erectile dysfunction may actually be the cause. Either way, it sounds like a problem for anyone who has this affliction and takes this medication. It makes one wonder whether the advertising campaigns for these drugs will have to be modified to compensate for the circumstances.

For example, will Bob Dole wear a pair of dark glasses, hold up a bottle of Viagra and say, “They tell me these pills are blue. All I know is this stuff turns me into a stallion.”

The lady in the Cialis advertisement who ends up wearing her lover’s shirt will say, “When the moment is right, my man will be ready, as long as I can guide him in.”

And then, there will be the disclaimer, “If you experience erections lasting more than four hours, please see-- er consult—a physician.”

I’m sure there will be guys who will continue to use these medications, even if there is a risk, just as I am letting the doctors put me in all sort of medieval apparatus, which supposedly will make me whole again. Fortunately, not being a consumer of these medications, and not being able to grip anything with my right hand, I am in no immediate danger of going blind. I hope.

Because here in Jimbo’s world, we like to see what is going on.

"highbrow" humor for lowbrow jimbo

Last night we went to see Bill Maher in Kansas City, MO. It was great. He had us laughing all night.

He is my ex-wife’s favorite comedian so I hadn’t given him any attention, figuring if he was her favorite, I probably wasn’t going to like him. That is, until the last few months when we switched our Showtime to HBO and I have started to watch Real Time religiously. We, of course, TiVo it. A couple of weeks ago, the Lieutenant-Governor of Maryland sarcastically told Bill, on Real Time, that Bill had convinced him he was “highbrow.” I was convinced well before that.

It appears that Bill and I have similar opinions when we critique the performance of our sitting government, and our loss of freedom at the hands of the evil monotheists-- the religious right and its shadowy mirror-image twin, Osama Bin Laden.

I particularly enjoyed a segment of his performance where he translated hip-hop song lyrics into “white.” He referred to that segment as “Master P’s Theater.” Jimbo has told people for years that twenty years from now hip-hop will be mainstream and you’ll hear it in elevators. I have said that the rappers will all move to Branson and have shows down there. I have specifically said that eventually there will be a venue down there called Master P’s Theater.

Bill initially joked that he was in Kansas, and the audience immediately admonished him that he was in Missouri, which he obviously knew. The Uptown Theater, where he was performing is a good two miles across the state line from Kansas, although I would wager probably half the audience or more were fellow Kansans. Fortunately, Bill didn’t dwell too much on how backward we Kansan’s are.

Anyway, Bill’s show was top-notch, and I’d be happy to see him again, if the opportunity arose. It’s nice to yuk it up at Dubya’s expense.

Because we like laugh or two here in Jimbo’s world.

bad breaks, tough breaks and just breaks in general

Well, there’s so much going on that I can’t tell the tales in one blog, so here goes a string of them. I’ll start at the beginning. Jimbo tried to out-rebound someone he shouldn’t last Sunday. Instead of ending up with the ball, he ended up with a spiral fracture of the ring finger of his right (shooting) hand. Jimbo’s days as a baller may very well be over.

I’m spending the week with my hand in a splint and I get a cast Friday.

Jimbo has managed to live more years than either his maternal or paternal grandfathers and I attribute that primarily to running up and down the court on Sundays. I’ll try to make what’s left of my life count for something, brief as it may be.

good news; bad news

It appears that in a week and a half Jimbo will be homeless.

“Oh, that’s bad,” many of you are probably saying.

To which I respond, no, that’s good. I have a contract on my house and the buyer wants to pay cash and take possession next week.

“Oh, that’s good,” many of the same readers are probably saying, now.

No, that’s bad. Now I have to move the last two remaining things out of my house and I have a broken hand, and my son is working from five in the morning until nine at night and just about exhausted, and between us we don’t have much free time to do it.

“Oh, that’s bad,” you are probably already saying.

No, that’s good, because in this day of high unemployment, we’re both working steady.

“Oh, that is good,” I’m sure you are saying right now.

No, that’s bad. Because my son has been offered a permanent job by the company with which he interned while going to college, so now he has the pressure of this decision to make, besides all the crap we have to do.

“Wait a minute, Jimbo,” all of you are probably thinking. “You’re working, you have a contract on your house and yor son has a job offer. That is good.”

No, that’s wonderful.

on the road again

In addition to everything else going on this week, Jimbo is on the road again. You may recall the following lines from Canned Heat’s song of that name.

Well I’m so tired of cryin’
But I’m out on the road again
I’m on the road again

You may recall as February went out and March came in as lions, Jimbo was making a trip east. He’s again travelling this week and will be next. In case you forgot those thrilling days of yesteryear, here are the reminders.

http://jimboandhisfriends.blogspot.com/2005/03/on-road.html


http://jimboandhisfriends.blogspot.com/2005/02/jimbo-road-warrior.html


I was only road warrioring for three days this week, but it will be five next. Ah, life on the road. It makes one yearn for his own bed and hearth. I think Canned Heat was being a little too dramatic, but it will be good to be back home again.

the simple life

Life used to be simpler.

This morning two limes ran across the screen of my computer monitor carrying cans of Pepsi. Damned limes! I remember when limes knew their place. They would sit sedately in your refrigerator and provide a source of citric acid when consumed and they would prevent scurvy. They sure as hell didn’t run around carrying off cans of Pepsi for no good reason. And they didn’t have those squirrelly little green arms and legs.

Then my anti-spyware program kept giving me pop up windows telling me to update. Damned spyware! If I wanted crap to pop up on my screen, I would not have gotten anti-spyware in the first place.

Many of you are probably saying something like, “Jimbo, you are a relic of a prehistoric time. You know you are getting up in years when you start lamenting the good old days.”

While I can’t disagree with you, the simpler times to which I was referring were the day before yesterday. I loaded the software yesterday and the limes invaded this morning. Up until then, life was better. I surely hope those limes don’t come back, or that my anti-spyware blocks them, if they do.

Because we like to feel protected from spyware—and limes—here in Jimbo’s world.

christian soldiers and conscientious objectors

As an epilog to the blog concerning the minister-gone-wild about whom I wrote yesterday, another blog site I visit occasionally had a link to an article in the Ashville (N.C.) Citizen-Times. According to the article, it appears that the vote to remove the nine Kerry supporters may not have been on the up-and-up and that forty members of the congregation left in protest after finding out what their church had done.

It appears that there are still good conscientious people going to church like I remember when I was young. I guess there are still Christians who read their bibles instead of using them as weapons. Perhaps the prediction in yesterday’s blog that the Christian right would be minimalized by their own excesses turns out to be a statement of current affairs rather than a wishful thought.

Perhaps there is hope for America, after all.

the unforgivable sin of voting against bush

Jimbo has never been good at standing before a crowd and talking to them, but I remember once when I was a mere child, my Sunday School class made a presentation to the congregation at the church I attended. Somehow, I was the one who stood at the pulpit and did most of the talking. My memory is pretty vague about the whole thing, except I remember I stood on a wooden box to be able to reach the height necessary to stand at the podium and I believe the audience numbered in the hundreds. I remember it felt kind of special to be up their in front of the congregation. It made you feel like you could do things; I don’t remember being nervous at all, and afterward people told me they knew I was going to become a minister.

My message that day was not fire and brimstone and I don’t believe there was any political content. Somehow, between then and now, the parties, the wild women and mammon and maybe Satan himself led me down a different career path. After all, on Sunday morning, it’s easier for a camel to walk through the eye of a needle that it is to get up after an all-night party and go preach.

The minister we had at our church back then occasionally discussed a social or political point as ministers have for years. Guys like Dwight Moody, Martin Luther, his namesake Martin Luther King, Jr., and many others had social themes to their ministries.

But, today we find out that in North Carolina, a minister who may well not fit into the same classification as the ones just mentioned, encouraged his congregation to vote out nine members who voted against Bush in the last election. That minister probably is not familiar with the New Testament, but in that part of the bible there was this guy named Jesus whose theme was that we should all get along and that we should not exclude those with other ideas.

The preacher is probably also not familiar with the constitution, which urges the separation of church and state. Somewhere between these two documents, this minister is treading on some dangerous ground, but he is not in virgin territory. It seems since November that someone, “with good Christian intentions,” is telling us how to walk, how to talk, how to think and how to act. I’m concerned, but I’m not afraid. Because when you start dictating to Americans how they are going to behave, you have crossed the line. As with Saul on the road to Damascus they will see the light, although they will probably not hear Jesus’ voice tell them, as he told Saul in Acts, Chapter 9, verse 5, “It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.” And when that happens, that desire of the majority of Americans to press their lips against Dubya’s ass will go away.

At this point some of you are probably sipping your Sunday morning coffee (with just a hint of Wild Turkey) and asking, “If the religious right is going to be minimalized by their own excesses, then why are you railing on and on about it?”

Well, we don’t just want to leave it up to fate. And, would you please pass that Wild Turkey? Also, we just felt about talking about it on a fine spring morning. And we figured we wanted you on our side, if you weren’t already.

Because we like company here in Jimbo’s world.

the gospel according to st. jimbo

I was embarrassed to hear since Thursday that there are courtroom hearings in my home state debating the teaching of evolution in public schools. My problem with hearing this is not that I’m opposed to debate on the subject, because intellectual debate on the origins of man is always welcome in a civilized society. My concern is that the purpose of the debate is for members of the religious right to try to take us backward in time.

It seems that the Kansas Board of Education has a 25-member committee that recommends how science should be taught and that a minority of members dissenting from the majority opinion are holding these hearings. This minority group says about evolution that it is, "an unpredictable and unguided natural process that has no discernible direction or goal. It also assumes that life arose from an unguided natural process."

Well, duh.

The summer before last, on the way to my mom’s house after playing basketball on a Sunday afternoon, my son and I were somewhat excited to see a tornado coming in from a westerly direction. Unfortunately, I was killed and am telling this spooky story from beyond the grave. No, wait! That’s right, we lived through it. While a tornado is an act of God, I contend that it fits within the parameters of an “unguided natural process.”

Last fall, while returning from dinner on a stormy Friday evening, Jimbo and his girlfriend were proceeding down the highway when we drove into a torrent and my car began to float away. I was able to use the drive wheels to propel us in the same direction the water was moving and we were able to find high ground and drive away and escape death, but again this act of God was an “unguided natural process.”

You may recall the day after Christmas last year, the tsunami created havoc in Asia. This was also an act of God, but I did my best to take the blame off the old fella. You may recall I said the following.

http://jimboandhisfriends.blogspot.com/2004/12/oh-lord-grant-me-my-prayer.html

However, in retrospect, there is no denying the tsunami was an “unguided natural process.”

I know sometimes it is easy to yearn for the good old days and a time when things were simpler. I know that it would be nice for progress to stop so we could all get caught up with all the changes, but the truth is there is only one constant in life and that it change. Darwin knew it, I know it and now, you know it, too, if you didn’t already.

Even if we could transport ourselves back to a quieter, slower time, the same people who are bringing the suit would want to move further back and they would want to set fire to any woman that didn’t act exactly as they wanted her to. Then, maybe they would decide that it wasn’t right that dark-skinned people occupied the holy land and they would march in armies against them.

Ignorance may be bliss, but I don’t accept the gift of bliss that this splinter group from the Kansas Board of Education wants to give our progeny. I’d rather know the truth, even if it isn’t pretty.

In Jimbo’s world we seek beauty and truth, and for today, one out of two ain’t bad.

cold, hard images and brief attire

I don’t want this to sound like hitting below the belt, but two stories I read today concentrate themselves in that area of a gentleman’s anatomy. One story is ice cold and one is geared toward fun in the sun.

The first story came from the cold winter of Laramie, Wyoming. It seems as if two guys were arraigned and pled not guilty to obscenity charges. They were accused of building a snow phallus in their front yard and it offended their neighbors. Now, I don’t know dick about art, but I know what I like and I don’t particularly like to see phalli poking up out of the virgin snow. I don’t know who was the model who posed for these young artists, but he should be ashamed. And the artists, themselves, should have picked better subject matter. Perhaps, it was a self-portrait, and, if so, one must admire the young man for being able to keep his pose in the cold Wyoming temperatures.

The story goes on to say that the evidence was destroyed, apparently by some angry neighbor who probably remembered Exodus 20, verse 4, which says, “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image.” I’m just wondering if the young men’s lawyers will get them off by claiming the case was based on hearsay evidence.

“If my client did wrong, then show me the shlong!”

“If you can’t produce the wiener, then there’s no misdemenor.”

“If there’s no cold phallus, then where is the malice?”

In our neighborhood there are a number of kids who are always up to something and I’m sure when they hear the story of the snow penis they will try to do the same thing. Fortunately, there won’t be any snow here for another eight months at the earliest, so we can assume they will forget all about it by then, and society will survive.

All I can say to the guys in Wyoming is that they should keep their minds on something else, rather than the erection of icy monuments in celebration of their own phallic pride and running the risk of being coldcocked by one of their angry neighbors.

The other story comes from Cape May, New Jersey. It appears there has been a law on the books there for thirty years banning Speedos, and the law has been repealed. On the surface ones first reaction is that this is one good law that should have remained in force and that it is a sign that we are descending that slippery slope into godlessness and lawlessness. While Jimbo himself wore a green Speedo back in the sixties, he then had a physique that lent itself more to that sort of attire. If Jimbo wore a Speedo today, it would be a horrible thing to have to see. Even back in the sixties, though, someone should have said to me:

“Put some clothes on, dude.”

Upon further inspection of the origin of the law, we find that it was initially enacted due to complaints about gay men who wore Speedos on the beach. I guess that gay bashing isn’t just a modern phenomenon. The director of the local gay advocacy organization in Cape May said the law had no real significance to gays and that they would wear whatever they wanted to, anyway. Apparently the law has not been enforced for decades, it appears.

I think that if you’re swimming the anchor in the 4 X 100 meter relay, then Speedos are appropriate. If you’re not, wear something with a little more fabric—if you are male, that is.

Seeing guys wearing Speedos in the summer and seeing erections in the snow in the winter are not our idea of fine art.

At least, here in Jimbo’s world, anyway.