Baby You Can Drive My Car?

I come out of hiding to bring some scary news...

Noodle is a licensed driver....

July 2, 2009 will be momentous occasion for her. A major milestone on her journey to adulthood and individual freedom... (queue the patriotic music)

Much like the Founding Fathers 233 years earlier, she placed a signature on a document that declared independence from a benevolent and sometimes evil despot.

That would be me....

I know it's a stretch see it this way, but Noodle is now free to drive my Jeep whenever she needs it for work, school, and other times when I'm three sheets to the wind on the couch and the keys fall out of my pocket.

Even before she became a licensed driver, she had already made the pronouncement that my Jeep would be the vehicle to take her and her friends on a road trip to Toronto or Montreal. (Yes, she really is that nerdy.) She's made numerous claims expressing certain inalienable rights. Of course, Skippy and I had to remind her in whose house she resides and whose vehicles she drives.

Does all this sound familiar? History has a funny way of repeating itself, no?

Well, there will be no wars of Independence in the Spartacus household. No battles over when and where she can drive the Jeep. But like the Declaration of Independence and the subsequent United States Constitution, there will be checks and balances to this freedom. Noodle will be bound to the same contractual obligations Skippy and I do to vehicular ownership:

1. You have the right to keep the car filled with fuel.
2. You have the right to get the engine oil, transmission fluid changed and the radiator flushed.
3. You have the right to rotate the tires with each oil change and fix your own flats using one of those cheap hand-pumped jacks the car manufacturer's give you.
4. You have the right to pay for your own tolls and for your own traffic violations.
5. You have the right to wash and wax the car. (h/t okjimm)
   

I'm sure there are many more rights I can come up with, and if you, dear readers, can think of any more, please feel free to share them in comments. So yes, baby, you can drive my car.....




Thank you once again for indulging my infrequent blog posts. I promise not to be such a stranger.

Happy Independence Day everyone.

Talkin' 'bout My Girl

Again, I know I said I've taken a break from blogging. I believe I also said I would chime in with a post from time to time. Well let's consider this a chime, okay?

Last week, my Noodle (and Skippy's, too) participated in her school's Spring Vocal Concert. The students were magnificent. But what made this concert extra special (and not short-bus special... beep beep) was that my our Noodle got to choreograph and perform an Irish Step dance to "The Voice" by the Celtic Women. I We are biased, Skippy and me. We thought she was awesome. We saw firsthand how hard she worked to make this a great performance, and it showed.

Way to go, Nood!

My apologies for the amateurish video quality. I used Ricky D's camera. I should have taken his tri-pod, too.



Okay good people. It's back to blogging hibernation for me.

What She Said...

I know. I said I was taking a break from blogging. Officially, I still am.

But I could resist the opportunity to write about yet another blogger meet up I had last Saturday. That evening, Skippy and I ventured into New York City to meet Alecto and her pal, Florkow for dinner and a comedy show at Joe's Pub down in NYC's East Village.

It isn't often that I get a chance to pose for a photo with three beautiful women, let alone meet fellow bloggers face-to-face. So when these opportunities arise, I jump at them.

I've met several in the past few years -- among them are Distributorcap, Morse, Pissed in NYC, and Divajoood. And there are a few more I know that I'll get around to meeting someday -- New Jersey is not that big a state Mauigirl!

I also know the lovely and talented Blondesense Liz, with whom I formed that soon-to-be-open-mike-night sensation, Los Pablos.

And now, I can say I met Alecto.

Skippy and I found her and Florkow to be delightful and charming company, and, an incredibly funny, if not unintentional, warm up act for Hazelle Goodman.

Man these ladies have some good stories to tell. Oh, those crazy women from Connecticut!

Okay, good people, it's back to my fortress.

Move along now. Nothing to see here.

While My Family Celebrated Easter Mass...

I stayed home and tried to write a post to Blog Against Theocracy.

I had all sorts of ideas lined up to try and compare the U.S. Constitution to the Christian bible, and republican government to religious rule. I'm not sure how many words I typed and the hours I wasted on this project, but no matter what I wrote, it all seemed to fall flat on its face.

I figured that most of my readers know the difference between the texts -- the Constitution is a flexible document that defines both the rights of individuals and the limits of governmental authority. The Bible is a book that lays out the rules handed down by an omnipotent being, wrapped in tales and parables attesting to both its benevolence and wrath.

Ultimately, what it comes down to is choice.

You may choose to be a part of those who want to subvert the Constitution by having us all submit to an invisible higher authority; the rules of which will be enforced by the most pious among them as chosen by their omnipotent one.

In this paradigm, there is no arguing the perfection of divine rule. The omnipotent one knows best. You don't need to see him, you just need to place your faith is his existence, and abide by the rules. "Trust me," he says, "or I will fucking smite you."

Check out this website and you'll know what I mean.

The Society for the Practical Establishment and Perpetuation of the Ten Commandments

Or, you may choose to join groups that help ensure the preservation of those rights, privileges and freedoms (including the freedom to worship the deity or deities of your choosing) written into the very imperfect Constitution of the United States of America. The intent of the framers is very clear about its imperfection and its inherent modesty is something to be admired. This is why we have an Article specifically outlining the revision process and amendments that prove the process works.

People like Barry Lynn of the Americans United for Separation of Church and State do a great job of protecting those constitutional freedoms. So does the American Civil Liberties Union. But, ultimately, none of this would really be possible were it not for those who've made the supreme sacrifice. If you have time, take a moment to honor a veteran. The Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America is a great place to start.

*********

On a personal note, I want to say thanks to Tengrain and Blue Gal for including me in this blog swarm. I know I'm a little late to game with this post. When am I never? You honor me with your invitation.

I also want to say thanks to all those who have stopped by to read this blog. I have decided to take an indefinite hiatus from writing on My Saturday Evening Post . Between playing music and just wanting to give my brain a well-deserved breather, I just feel the need to take a long break.

Again, thanks everyone.

St. Patrick's Day

Today is St. Patrick's Get Stupid Drunk Day.

I call it so because this date has long been used by chronic, serial binge drinkers as an excuse to consume such excessive amounts of booze as to qualify themselves as human distilleries. They ride the train with me at night causing all kinds of mayhem in their drunken states. They're loud. They start fights. Some even puke when they can't hold their liquor. And don't get me started about what happens after the train ride. Many of these morons drive home. Enough said.

In all fairness, I don't mean to paint all St. Patricks's Day celebrants with the same brush. There are many Irish and people of Irish descent who see this day as an opportunity to acknowledge and educate others about their wonderful culture. I love the Irish. I do. And I see no problem in washing down a corned beef and cabbage dinner with a pint or two. In fact, I may have one myself tonight when I get home.

I must also disclose that as an American of Puerto Rico descent, we are not immune to the stupidity of drunken celebration. I lose it when I see my fellow boricuas become borrachines during the Puerto Rican Day parades, usually held here in May. But whether you're speaking of Puerto Ricans or Irish, drinking heavily mocks the cultural significance of the day and reinforces hurtful stereotypes.


Typically, the St. Patrick's Day imbibers I've had run ins with on the train are white, wealthy suburbanites who skew politically towards conservative Republican positions. I'm making generalizations, I know. But this assertion comes from years of empirical observation. It's also fair to ask me how I know this. Look, these are my neighbors. I know them. They talk. I listen. I seethe silently. I see no point in debating them on moral or political issues. They're faithful.

They'll tell you they support denying Irish gay men and women the right to identify themselves as such at the annual parades. "Why draw attention to yourself that way?" they argue. Drawing attention to oneself is not the Irish way, after all, especially when it runs afoul of the moral sensibilities of the diocesan Cardinal who blesses participants as they pass St. Patrick's Catherdral on 5th Avenue. Yet, I've witnessed many of these same folks publicly dive into such depths of sloth, debauchery, and immorality that would make even the most sinful of Popes blush.

I digress. There was a time when this was a cheerful day for me. Despite this date being my niece Megan's birthday, it also holds sad memories. It was on this date in 1984 that my sister lost her infant son to crib death. I know I ought not care about the drunken morons; the packs of whom I'll wade through as I make my way to my train out of Pennsylvania Station. I have more pressing and immediate concerns.

But my point in writing this rant is to ask a favor. Please celebrate wisely and show some respect for the rich Irish culture. Go ahead and raise your pints of Guiness Stout or Jamesons on the rocks and be proud if you are of Irish descent and revel in their joy if you are not.

Please save a slice of Irish soda bread for me and, by all means, don't be this person.

Slán agus beannacht leat

Photo credit: Gary Holtzman

Begging Your Pardon

I just want everyone to know that I am alive and well.

For the last week and a half, my time has not been my own.

Between work and home, I've pretty much running myself ragged. So, sadly, blogging and commenting has been knocked down on my priority list.

Please bear with me. Though it may be awhile longer before I get around to commenting on your sites, know that I do enjoy reading what you post.

In the meantime, please take the time to peruse through my blogroll and check out those bloggers who work just as hard as I do, but have not slacked off on their blogging.

Until then, I leave you with the words of the (in)famous (asshat) General Douglas MacArthur:




You have my word. I shall.

And You Thought...

... the cartoon in The New York Post was bad.

Check this out....



This is old news. I know. But when is crap like this ever going to end? Was the owner of the bakery trying to be funny? Some people need to get over the fact that Barack Obama is the duly elected President of The United States.

Here's the thing. This is not a racial issue, but a free speech issue. The bakery owner has a Constitutional right to express whatever views he has, no matter how vile or repulsive those views may be. So long as they do not incite a crowd to violence, panic, or other forms of mass hysteria, he can say what he wants; after all, you can't yell "fire" in a crowded theater and expect to be protected by the 1st Amendment. However, we must vigorously defend his right to expressing his views because I enjoy the same right to call him out on his bullshit on this blog. .

You can protest his establishment by walking a picket line in front his store. Again, it is your free speech right to do so, as long as you do so on public property and do not disrupt the peace. But this tactic accomplishes nothing but provide his business with free publicity by inviting curiosity.

No. Here's what you can do. Shame him by not buying anything from his shop. Moreover, use your free speech rights to tell others in Greenwich Village, in the New York City area, or anyone you know visiting our great city to not patronize this man's establishment. Do your part to run this idiot out of business and out of town on a rail. Money (or the lack thereof) talks. There are dozens of bakeries in Manhattan, the surrounding boroughs, and even the suburbs who will gladly serve your needs without offending you.

Okay. I'm stepping down from my soapbox. Thanks for listening.