Some days I wake up glad that I am not a lawyer. I wake up every day glad that I am not a lawyer representing Saddam Hussein. It seems that not a day goes by when you don’t hear about one of Saddam’s lawyers, from his trial in Iraq, being executed. I would imagine it is difficult to keep a quality legal team together when they are all getting killed.
In the news today is a story detailing the extent of the hunger strike on which Saddam went to protest the killing of his attorney. Here is the story along with a picture of the former Iraqi president smiling for the camera:
A square meal for an Iraqi dictator
Anyway, it appears that Saddam missed lunch on Thursday, but he was able to put his anger aside in time to have dinner. I think Saddam went hungry long enough. When everyone hates you, nobody cares if you are not eating regularly. The truth of the matter is I can’t see that a hunger strike is a useful instrument of protest. Maybe he should make up a sign saying that the unstable political climate of Iraq is unfair to lawyers. Perhaps he should get one of those lapel pins that look like a twisted ribbon and draw the scales of justice on it with a magic marker. People would look at the pin and figure that Saddam was just like us. Now that would be effective.
Except then some dipstick would see it and start mass-producing them, and larger magnetic ones for your car and refrigerator and putting them up for sale in every gas station, convenience store and supermarket and everywhere else impulse purchases were made. People would get them confused with the ones for good causes and before long we’d all have symbols of support for Saddam and his lawyers plastered all over our lapels and cars.
Jesus! What have I started, here? Forget I said anything.
Saddam, if you’re reading this today, please understand that your skipping meals to protest the loss of your attorneys is an extremely effective tool of protest. Just keep doing it and I think it will serve dramatically to get your point across, and save food, besides.
At least that’s our thought, here in Jimbo’s world.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Saturday, June 24, 2006
from fat to slim and back
Last year, after I broke my finger, I quit playing basketball for about six months. The result was that I gained weight. Even when I started playing again, the weight stayed with me. I began to realize the extra twenty-five pounds I was carrying was going to eat into my life expectancy, so I decided to lose weight. I cut back on my intake of sugar and reduced the amount of food I ate, in general.
I’m happy to report that I have lost weight. I regret to inform you, however, that the twenty-five pounds I have lost so far were only fifteen. I went from 205 to 180 in just a matter of a month or six weeks. At least, I thought I did. When I weighed anywhere other than home, I was 190 pounds. Jimbo’s girlfriend cleared up the mystery last weekend when she pointed out to me that I was reading our scale wrong. Despite the fact that the line on the dial points at a large 180, the line actually is the increment for 190.
So I take back what I told many of you about my losing twenty-five pounds. I’m hoping this is just a premature statement and I will be able to start saying it again in another month or so. Thank you to all of you who noticed my stomach is not as huge as it was six weeks ago. It’s nice to look down at my stomach and to be able to see something protruding from my anatomy below my stomach again—my feet.
In the meantime, I don’t foresee Jimbo’s girlfriend changing her hairstyle to look like Myrna Loy, nor do I envision us getting a dog named Asta.
For the time being, however, I’m the not-as-fat man, here in Jimbo’s world.
I’m happy to report that I have lost weight. I regret to inform you, however, that the twenty-five pounds I have lost so far were only fifteen. I went from 205 to 180 in just a matter of a month or six weeks. At least, I thought I did. When I weighed anywhere other than home, I was 190 pounds. Jimbo’s girlfriend cleared up the mystery last weekend when she pointed out to me that I was reading our scale wrong. Despite the fact that the line on the dial points at a large 180, the line actually is the increment for 190.
So I take back what I told many of you about my losing twenty-five pounds. I’m hoping this is just a premature statement and I will be able to start saying it again in another month or so. Thank you to all of you who noticed my stomach is not as huge as it was six weeks ago. It’s nice to look down at my stomach and to be able to see something protruding from my anatomy below my stomach again—my feet.
In the meantime, I don’t foresee Jimbo’s girlfriend changing her hairstyle to look like Myrna Loy, nor do I envision us getting a dog named Asta.
For the time being, however, I’m the not-as-fat man, here in Jimbo’s world.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
dead presidents of questionable achievement
I had a chance last Sunday to talk to a fellow job seeker about his job search and we compared notes. While I’m looking for more of a managerial position, my friend Jonathan is looking for something more entry-level, since he is only eighteen. He also needs to find something within walking distance of his mother’s house, as he doesn’t have a car. His mother lives in the state capitol and Jonathan described to me the places he has applied and the names of the streets on which his potential places of employment are located. Not only will Jonathan be starting out on the ground floor, he will potentially be working on some street named after a president of the United States—and not top-ranked presidents, at that. Let me take you on a tour of his neighborhood—the mean streets of Capitol City-- from east to west.
Van Buren Street- Named after Martin Van Buren, a president whose native tongue was Dutch. In my reading about him, I found his nickname was Old Kinderhook (pretty catchy, huh?) and he was a fan of George Clinton. His picture makes it appear as if he had some kind of a white guy’s version of an Afro-Sheen blow out kit. I thought that maybe he wore his hair like that to emulate George Clinton, but I think the George Clinton with whom he was tight was not the one whose music we all know and love, as his presidency was more than 150 years before our George Clinton began recording.
Harrison Street- Named after William Henry Harrison, who was the oldest man elected to be president until Ronald Reagan. His picture indicates he had a big-assed nose. He also served only 30 days before he died. Some logic is starting to appear in these street names. As we go west, the streets are named after successive presidents. Harrison was succeeded by Topeka Blvd.
Topeka Blvd.- What the hell? There was never a president named Topeka Blvd. How did that one get in there?
Tyler Street- Named after John Tyler, the guy who pushed Topeka Blvd. out of the way and succeeded Harrison. It appears he was Harrison’s vice-president and was never re-elected, serving only four years. It looks as though his most important act as president was to meet his second wife and marry her while in office. Did fireworks go off when he met her? You bet. He met her at a ceremony during which a cannon exploded, killing two members of his cabinet and the father of his eventual bride.
Polk Street- Named after James Knox Polk, a guy who was ranked in the top ten presidents based on the research I read. I guess I’ll have to rag on him for the sort-of-mullet haircut he had. It is hard to describe, so try to look up his picture.
Taylor Street- Named after Zachary Taylor, who was known as Old Rough and Ready, apparently because he wore rumpled clothes and a straw hat, and not because of his sexual prowess. He only served sixteen months before he died in office and was succeeded by Western Ave.
Western Ave.- How did jump in line ahead of all the other dead presidents? Who named these streets, anyway?
Fillmore Street- Named after Millard Fillmore, who succeeded Taylor when he died. Fillmore served as president less than three years and when it came time for re-election, his party, the Whigs, failed to nominate him, so he ran for president on the ticket of the Know Nothing party. Now, we have had some presidents who arguably didn’t know anything, but I would propose that having “know nothing” written by your name on the ballot would not be a plus come election day.
Clay Street- Named for some guy named Clay, I guess. Logic would dictate that this street should be named for Franklin Pierce, the next president. I assume that it is because Pierce was a democrat and this is a republican state capitol.
Buchanan Street- Named for James Buchanan, who preceded Abraham Lincoln. Buchanan appears to be a man who did not enjoy his work. He told Lincoln on Honest Abe’s inauguration day, “If you are as happy entering the presidency as I am leaving it, then you are truly a happy man.”
My conclusion that Jonathan’s neighborhood is a grid of streets named for presidents whose achievements are not as well noted and accepted as those of some of our other, more illustrious presidents. And into this grid of streets, someone whose feel for history has allowed the naming of several streets to add to the asymmetry of the mean streets of capitol city. Maybe, it will allow, years from now, for someone to insert the name of another unremarkable man. Bush Street! I like the sound.
As for Jonathan and me, we’ll continue to pound the pavement, looking for that opportunity to end his unemployment and to keep me from entering mine.
At least that is our hope, here in Jimbo’s world.
Van Buren Street- Named after Martin Van Buren, a president whose native tongue was Dutch. In my reading about him, I found his nickname was Old Kinderhook (pretty catchy, huh?) and he was a fan of George Clinton. His picture makes it appear as if he had some kind of a white guy’s version of an Afro-Sheen blow out kit. I thought that maybe he wore his hair like that to emulate George Clinton, but I think the George Clinton with whom he was tight was not the one whose music we all know and love, as his presidency was more than 150 years before our George Clinton began recording.
Harrison Street- Named after William Henry Harrison, who was the oldest man elected to be president until Ronald Reagan. His picture indicates he had a big-assed nose. He also served only 30 days before he died. Some logic is starting to appear in these street names. As we go west, the streets are named after successive presidents. Harrison was succeeded by Topeka Blvd.
Topeka Blvd.- What the hell? There was never a president named Topeka Blvd. How did that one get in there?
Tyler Street- Named after John Tyler, the guy who pushed Topeka Blvd. out of the way and succeeded Harrison. It appears he was Harrison’s vice-president and was never re-elected, serving only four years. It looks as though his most important act as president was to meet his second wife and marry her while in office. Did fireworks go off when he met her? You bet. He met her at a ceremony during which a cannon exploded, killing two members of his cabinet and the father of his eventual bride.
Polk Street- Named after James Knox Polk, a guy who was ranked in the top ten presidents based on the research I read. I guess I’ll have to rag on him for the sort-of-mullet haircut he had. It is hard to describe, so try to look up his picture.
Taylor Street- Named after Zachary Taylor, who was known as Old Rough and Ready, apparently because he wore rumpled clothes and a straw hat, and not because of his sexual prowess. He only served sixteen months before he died in office and was succeeded by Western Ave.
Western Ave.- How did jump in line ahead of all the other dead presidents? Who named these streets, anyway?
Fillmore Street- Named after Millard Fillmore, who succeeded Taylor when he died. Fillmore served as president less than three years and when it came time for re-election, his party, the Whigs, failed to nominate him, so he ran for president on the ticket of the Know Nothing party. Now, we have had some presidents who arguably didn’t know anything, but I would propose that having “know nothing” written by your name on the ballot would not be a plus come election day.
Clay Street- Named for some guy named Clay, I guess. Logic would dictate that this street should be named for Franklin Pierce, the next president. I assume that it is because Pierce was a democrat and this is a republican state capitol.
Buchanan Street- Named for James Buchanan, who preceded Abraham Lincoln. Buchanan appears to be a man who did not enjoy his work. He told Lincoln on Honest Abe’s inauguration day, “If you are as happy entering the presidency as I am leaving it, then you are truly a happy man.”
My conclusion that Jonathan’s neighborhood is a grid of streets named for presidents whose achievements are not as well noted and accepted as those of some of our other, more illustrious presidents. And into this grid of streets, someone whose feel for history has allowed the naming of several streets to add to the asymmetry of the mean streets of capitol city. Maybe, it will allow, years from now, for someone to insert the name of another unremarkable man. Bush Street! I like the sound.
As for Jonathan and me, we’ll continue to pound the pavement, looking for that opportunity to end his unemployment and to keep me from entering mine.
At least that is our hope, here in Jimbo’s world.
Friday, June 16, 2006
the hygiene hypothesis
Recently, Jimbo’s girlfriend made a comment that sort of got me wondering. She complained that the house was not as clean as it should be and somehow hinted that this was a recent occurrence and that the house used to be clean. My reaction to her comment was to connect my being here with the dirt, and that somehow the lack of cleanliness was my fault.
Those who have known me for a long time probably remember that when I lived in my own house the place was immaculate and dust or dirt was never to be found. Okay, maybe I was not a perfect housekeeper, but my house was very clean.
Okay, okay! I would clean the house occasionally.
Today, however, I read a story on Yahoo! Which hypothesizes that perfect cleanliness may not be the best thing for human longevity. Anyway, here is the story.
You dirty rat.
The story says that rats that live in unsanitary conditions in the wild have better immune systems than rats in the lab that live in ultra-clean conditions. Because those feral rats are exposed to dirt and bacteria at an early age, they aren’t as prone to the maladies that plague those of us who live in pristine environments. Scientists refer to this as the hygiene hypothesis, and their assertion is that our clean living could be responsible for our high rate of allergies and asthma, type 1 diabetes and arthritis.
If this theory is correct, it may mean that we need a paradigm change in our lifestyle. Perhaps we should teach our children not to wash their hand after going to the restroom. Maybe we should encourage our children to play in the dirt. Maybe we should invite some germs to dinner.
For the time being, though, we’re going to save this argument for the next time our girlfriend implies that anything disorderly around our abode may be related to yours truly. I will use the tactic that I am trying to make life healthier for her.
At least, that is the plan here in Jimbo’s world.
Those who have known me for a long time probably remember that when I lived in my own house the place was immaculate and dust or dirt was never to be found. Okay, maybe I was not a perfect housekeeper, but my house was very clean.
Okay, okay! I would clean the house occasionally.
Today, however, I read a story on Yahoo! Which hypothesizes that perfect cleanliness may not be the best thing for human longevity. Anyway, here is the story.
You dirty rat.
The story says that rats that live in unsanitary conditions in the wild have better immune systems than rats in the lab that live in ultra-clean conditions. Because those feral rats are exposed to dirt and bacteria at an early age, they aren’t as prone to the maladies that plague those of us who live in pristine environments. Scientists refer to this as the hygiene hypothesis, and their assertion is that our clean living could be responsible for our high rate of allergies and asthma, type 1 diabetes and arthritis.
If this theory is correct, it may mean that we need a paradigm change in our lifestyle. Perhaps we should teach our children not to wash their hand after going to the restroom. Maybe we should encourage our children to play in the dirt. Maybe we should invite some germs to dinner.
For the time being, though, we’re going to save this argument for the next time our girlfriend implies that anything disorderly around our abode may be related to yours truly. I will use the tactic that I am trying to make life healthier for her.
At least, that is the plan here in Jimbo’s world.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
words we understand about words we don't
I have a problem this afternoon and I am in a quandary. I find myself agreeing with the President. Many of you feel that if the president said a piece of paper before him was white, I would say it is black. Many of you feel that I would disagree with anything the President said, just to be disagreeable. That is not true. I disagree with almost everything the President says because he is usually wrong. Today is an exception.
President Bush said today that immigrants need to speak in English. I heartily agree. I’m tired of sitting on the phone trying to navigate through an automated receptionist only to be told, “Press one for English. Press two for Spanish.” And then the voice goes on to say something in Espanol that I do not understand. At that point I begin to think:
“Is she making fun of me? Is she saying, ‘For those who don’t speak Spanish, you can kiss my large behind?’”
I just wish people would talk in English, so you could understand them.
I remember seeing a story on the news last night about Dan El-Padilla, a classics student and a recent graduate of Princeton University. He just happens to be an illegal alien. He seems to be an extremely articulate young man, and according to his professors, he is a genius, or close to it. He was even the class salutatorian. Where I fault the young man, however, is that he gave the salutatorian address in Latin. Who the hell delivers a speech in Latin, that no one can understand? Okay, most of you would have understood him, but despite my occasional use of Latin, even I don’t speak it. It would take some sort of deus ex machina for me ever to learn to speak it fluently.
Like the President, it is our belief if you are going to live here, you need to speak English, rather than ramble on in some tongue where you could be disrespecting us, and most of us would never know. Most certainly not the President.
At least that’s how we look at it in Jimbo’s world.
President Bush said today that immigrants need to speak in English. I heartily agree. I’m tired of sitting on the phone trying to navigate through an automated receptionist only to be told, “Press one for English. Press two for Spanish.” And then the voice goes on to say something in Espanol that I do not understand. At that point I begin to think:
“Is she making fun of me? Is she saying, ‘For those who don’t speak Spanish, you can kiss my large behind?’”
I just wish people would talk in English, so you could understand them.
I remember seeing a story on the news last night about Dan El-Padilla, a classics student and a recent graduate of Princeton University. He just happens to be an illegal alien. He seems to be an extremely articulate young man, and according to his professors, he is a genius, or close to it. He was even the class salutatorian. Where I fault the young man, however, is that he gave the salutatorian address in Latin. Who the hell delivers a speech in Latin, that no one can understand? Okay, most of you would have understood him, but despite my occasional use of Latin, even I don’t speak it. It would take some sort of deus ex machina for me ever to learn to speak it fluently.
Like the President, it is our belief if you are going to live here, you need to speak English, rather than ramble on in some tongue where you could be disrespecting us, and most of us would never know. Most certainly not the President.
At least that’s how we look at it in Jimbo’s world.
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