There's a little Constanza in all of us......

  Raise your hand if you hate job hunting as much as I do.  Now now, this isn't going to be some piece where I bitterly wax poetic about being sacked from my last employment home.  The lesson to be learned is this.  When the company you work for thinks of you the way most people think of a cancerous growth, you don't give them the ammo in which to throw you out into the cruel world of the unemployed.  Not to get political, but I kind of felt like Bill Clinton during his impeachment trial.  My sins had come home to roost and all around me were a bunch of lions waiting to eat me.  Except, my hungry lions weren't republicans, they were Canadians.  But no hard feelings towards my former company.  None at all.  When someone pulls a "Constanza" nothing is more Seinfeldesque that hearing the head of HR fire you via speaker phone.  I am Constanza, lord of the idiots.  Or maybe the Seinfeld part is the fact that the people who used to write my checks were from Canada but the woman who fired me pulled the trigger from a cubicle in Louisana.  Maybe it was a sign from above.  Maybe the employment gods were fearful of me being unable to define where the hell my former company was actually based.  Maybe it was my destiny to help the disenfranchised citizens of Chicago keep their utilities on during the cold winter months that are common to the Midwest.  It could've been worse, I could've ended up doing the counter at McDonalds.  I will miss those emails from Aflac; the chick from the downtown office who tells me that I was born to sell insurance.  I will miss those email's from various Russians running various Ponze schemes.  I'll give you credit there Sergei, you're both persistent and creative.  One week you're a blind man who needs help with his body shop in Kiev and then the next week you're a wealthy businessman who needs help running western union wires out of a musical warehouse in St Petersburg.  Not Florida Saint Pete, Russian Saint Pete.  Or maybe there are Russian scam artists in Florida prowling career builder for victims.  Who knows?  But I digress....... I just wanted to give a shout out to Sergei.  Keep at it my Russian brother, my little email flim flammer.  You've got moxy my friend.  Yes, I will miss Sergei and I will miss the thrill of sitting in a day labor office with a large majority of people who barely speak any English.  To the lady at the desk who gave me freezing cold coffee and a whole lot of attitude, I thank you.  See, being employed again, I can laugh at this shit.  A few weeks ago I was sitting in a cubicle on a plastic chair drinking shitty coffee.  A few weeks ago I was sitting in some mouse hole inhaling paint fumes and cursing out a portrait of Barack Obama as he reminded everyone that it was against the law to pay any worker a salary below minimum wage.  I can proudly say, I resisted any and all urges to throw my cup of java/sludge at the commander in chief.  With age comes restraint.  With age comes wisdom.  Resist Tyranny!!!!!  Toot!!!  Toot!!!!

You.....

   You had three names.  Four actually.  You hated the clutter of three last names but you held onto to your given first name with the strictest of standards.  You were always Catherine.  Not Cat, not Cathy, you were always Catherine.  You were Catherine Emily when you made me crazy and as much as I loved you, you drove me to the depths of distraction on many many occasions.  You were with me during the embryo stages of adulthood.  You were there for the bars and the booze and the drugs and the self doubt.  You and I were like barflies.  With you, everything made sense.

  And then there was quiet and we both grew up and the quiet made me realize how much I truly loved you.  In the quiet, there was a one bedroom in a god awful part of town.  Naturally, you took the bed.  I remember you now, forever puzzled when I said that I loved you.  You never believed me but I meant every single one of those "I love yous'."  I meant those words when we were poor and barely existing.  I meant those words when I trekked out into the cold to get you coffee.  You loved coffee.  It was your love of coffee that I used to get you to take the picture I carry with me in my head and my heart.  You were so beautiful but you never realized it.  You had the audacity to say you were fat as you stood in front of the camera.  I told you over and over that you were beautiful but you kept saying you weren't.  Like always, you asked me why I was with you.  Years later, I know the answer.  You taught me to breathe, you taught me the wonders of possibility. You taught me that nothing was ever trivial.  You were the romantic among us and you were always the brave one.  Oh that feeling of possibility, I felt it with every smile and every curiosity that you awakened in me.  Oh that feeling of possibility, how it melted it away the static.  So this was for you Catherine.  I wish I was the writer everyone thinks I am.  Because if I was, I'd be able to truly capture your essence with my words.  You're rolling your eyes, I can see it now.  I hear your voice as you whisper one of your philosophies in my ear, I feel you with me as I hold you.

  You told me to go on but no one is you.  You can stop rolling your eyes, I know what I promised. But you have to understand; the world seems bigger without you.  A lot bigger without you.  You have to understand, I still feel you.  You're not out of my head or my heart, you're still there and you always will be.  You are there with every snowfall and every rumble of the train as I make my way past the place where we fell in love.  You are there when I think of those inane pictures you used to take.  You liked walls, you know you did.  I can see that old paint store, the height of your "watercolor" period.  You wanted to be an artist but I didn't have the heart to tell you that you couldn't paint for shit.  I'm sorry for being maudlin and I'm sorry for that little fib I told you about my skating ability.  You were a skater, it was your thing and I couldn't bare to disappoint you.  And like always, you turned my moment of sheer stupidity into something I would always carry with me.  My brain couldn't help my legs pull off the charade and I fell.  I fell and then you fell and just when I felt like crawling inside of myself, you showed me the value of letting go.

It's a bird.. it's a plane.... it's the US....

   I don't know about you, but it doesn't exactly leave me with a feeling of confidence when John Kerry leads the charge to make Syria pay for allegedly attacking its own people with something akin to nerve gas.
 
  -- British members of parliament received an open letter from the Syrian government Thursday, urging them not to take any military action against Syria, the press office for House of Commons Speaker John Bercow said.

  -- The Syrian letter to British lawmakers compared the current situation to the march to war against Iraq a decade ago, and riffing on Shakespeare, saying: "If you bomb us, shall we not bleed?" It also says an attack on Syria would be illegal, and "would automatically strengthen our common enemy, Al Qaeda and its affiliates."

    Can you really blame Britain for not wanting to get involved in another third world bar fight?  After Dubya's storming of Iraq like some second rate John Wayne clone, I think that Britain is obviously the voice of reason here.  There is nothing to be gained by joining President Barack Obama in his quest to stop every despot in every corner of the globe.  I can see Obama now; bandana tied around his head; his red white and blue huey taking out disposable Syrian bad guys in the name of good old patriotism.  When did America become Superman?  When did it become the presidents job to fly around the planet looking for injustices to right?  In case you haven't noticed, Mister President, Metropolis needs your attention.  Cities are going bankrupt, the economy is moving like mud, and people are losing their homes.  Yet, President Obama wants to fight another bully in another third world country.
 
-- Al-Assad's claim that rebels were behind the August 21 chemical attack is impossible, Obama said on "PBS NewsHour" Wednesday. "We do not believe that, given the delivery systems, using rockets, that the opposition could have carried out these attacks," Obama said. "We have concluded that the Syrian government in fact carried these out. And if that's so, then there need to be international consequences."

-- Former U.S. Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, who along with President George W. Bush helped send the U.S. military into action in Iraq and Afghanistan, told the Fox Business Network on Wednesday that the White House has yet to justify potential strikes in Syria.

  These two quotes are interesting on two fronts.  First, it always makes me laugh when I hear a former member of Dubya's inner circle throw around words  like "justification."  If Rumsfeld is alluding to attack on Syria being a case of political maneuvering, that's an even bigger laugh. Remember Rummy, it was your commander in chief who par laid one of America's darkest hours into a political panacea.  Remember Rummy, you've played this game before and you should know that nothing is a better form of political amnesia that a heroic stand against a rogue despot half a world away.  Still, I doubt that Obama can be as impulsive as old Dubya in terms of a fight. Obama is a diplomat at heart.  To me, he seems like a man who would rather talk than fight.  But who knows?  Perhaps Obama is looking for a little amnesia to distract us from the disappointments that have permeated his run as commander in chief.  I guess the question is this.  When does America stop trying to solve every problem in every corner of the globe?  If Syria did use nerve gas on its people, it's nothing new.  This is what despots do.  Is Obama going to attack India for turning a blind eye to the atrocities committed against women over there?  Where does it end?  As Martin Sheen said in The American President; "you fight the fights that need fighting."  Are you listening Mister Obama?

Sexuality in a can....

   I'm curious about something, ladies and germs.  When did modern sexuality become something skin to a big old neon sign.  I'm talking about Miley Cyrus and her twerking number at the VMA'S.  Here's the thing.  In my view, the purest form of sexuality is well.... pure.  Miley honey, no disrespect, but if you have to grind on someone in the name of public spectacle and announce to the world that you're a sexy gal..... odds are, you're not.  I guess it's all about the times we live in.  We're an automated society of blinking lights and various bells and whistles.  So I guess that's it's no surprise that a female pop tart in the public eye feels the need to announce her sexuality to the world with the same impact as a sledgehammer.  Didn't we go through this with Christina Aguilera at some point?   I felt the same way about her about her public displays of look at me sexuality when she was running around cooing about her bedroom antics.  To me, getting drunk and showing your nether region to the paparazzi after a night of clubbing isn't sexy.  Sorry, it just isn't and that's the way I roll on this issue.  I know that that was Britney Spears, thank you.  Britney is no stranger to manufactured sexuality in her own right, but that's beside the point.  Being sexy isn't about showing the public your who ha or spewing sexual innuendo like some hormone crazed Lolita.   I guess what I'm saying is, I want something in this god forsaken era to be pure and spontaneous.  There has to be one starlet or actress who doesn't come on as strong as some cheese ball wearing high karate and a cheap suit from the Studio 54 era.  That's what Miley Cyrus is.  She's the high karate of sexuality, she's the oblivious sex pot who isn't sexy.  She's Brian Fontana running around the newsroom wearing Sex Panther.  And now that I say that, it would be a bad idea to hose old Miley down and break down the finer points of sexuality to her.  If you've seen her twerking number at the VMA'S, it's obvious that Miley flunked the course in sexuality 101.  Miley, Christina, Britney, let me break it down for ya.  Being sexy isn't about running around in your underwear or showing off your boobs or purring on auto tune about what you desire sexually.  The sexiest women on this planet are the most natural of creatures.  The beauty of sexuality is when it's organic and not staged.  Give me a beautiful woman who can exude sexuality without wearing a sign and I'm happy man.  I know I'm aiming high but I refuse to believe that twerking and cooing are all that the modern woman has to offer.