Everything Kennedy......

  Suddenly, my cable universe is wall to wall with various films offering their takes on the late John Fitzgerald Kennedy and what allegedly happened on that fateful day in Dallas in 1963.  I have to admit, my guy Greg Kinnear handled the Boston accent well and functioned rather smoothly as a Hollywood JFK doppelganger of sorts.  It's amazing how poor Oswald gets treated in Hollywood move of the week circles though.  In the Kinnear led film, he's an emaciated, sweaty, Woody Allen esque assassin with a slight paunch and a flat Texas/Brooklyn accent.  In the other Kennedy film of the week, Oswald is seen as a gangly killer with piercing blue eyes with a hint of the speech pattern from Latka on Taxi.  I'm guess what I'm saying is, let's stop asking the question about why Kennedy died.  I say that because I'm a cynic and we're never going to get a definitive answer about what went down in Dallas that fateful November day.   All of these movies of the week about Kennedy are just repetitive tabloid fodder that stir the conspiracy theorists into an un necessary frenzy.  That's not to say that I don't dismiss the notion that our government, namely the CIA, would be calculated enough to arrange the Caesar like execution of its presidential field general.  What I do believe is that Oswald wasn't some loon who just picked up a rifle and took aim on a president for some unknown reason.  If you believe the stories, Oswald was a trained merc with a nice pedigree in weapons training.  The story I believe is that Oswald was a merc given a task (Kennedy) by whoever his master was and he carried out it.  And after Oswald carried out his assignment, he was subsequently served up to the world as a nut with a rifle and a grudge that reared its ugly head in Dallas.   While I admit there is some smoke to the theory that JFK was the victim of a conspiracy of some sort. one question remains.  If this was some covert plan within the halls of the very government Kennedy was the leader of, then why hasn't it happened again?  For every recorded tidbit about Kennedy's death that keeps you from over reaching, there are always certain elements that make you wonder. According to the history books, Kennedy's parade route was a turkey shoot; tall buildings with open windows and inviting sight lines.  Plus, it has been put on record that Kennedy's security detail was scaled back.  People in Chicago can't even use the expressway when Obama is in town, yet Oswald was supposedly allowed free reign to pull out a bolt action rifle and take aim at a president from a book suppository high above.  These are gross security miscalculations that either spell out incompetence or a grossly obviously betrayal by the secret service on some level.  Makes you wonder, doesn't it?  No no no.  Oswald acted alone and that's that.  I will not get caught up in the JFK conspiracy hoopla.... I will not get caught up in the JFK conspiracy hoopla.   Now if you'll excuse me, Reelz channel is running a special that examines the Zapruder film from a different angle.

If only kids were returnable with a receipt....

  I see these crime stories on the news all the time.  You know the ones.  They usually feature the parent who is trying to explain how the life that they led into the world turned out to be a sociopathic killer with bad wiring.   Maybe that's the reason I can't see myself ever being a father; the idea that I'll take a long look at my potential offspring one day and realize that I gave life to something broken.  And it's not like I can take my potential offspring back to Sears if they're defective.  If only there was a system where you can run your offspring back to the store and have the option of getting a store credit or a gift card upon their return.  Here mister or misses sales clerk, I'm here to return junior because he's a hopelessly fucked up idiot.  Store credit is fine since I don't have my receipt.

  I know for certain that if I ever did have a kid, I'd raise them with the same values that my mom did.  One of those values was honesty.  My mother's parenting style was based on improv but the fact that she spoke from the hip grounded me going forward.  My mother's favorite saying was "if I have it, you'll have it.  If I don't have it...."  She didn't even have to finish the sentence after awhile, I knew exactly where she was coming from.  Her most famous act of parenting was on bill day.  There'd always be two piles, one for the bills and one for the income she had just received. She'd point at the bill pile and tell us in a matter of fact manner that it was either going to be a good month or a tight month.
 
  The point is, I know I don't have the patience to raise a kid.  That fact I don't dispute in the slightest.  Although, strangely enough, I've managed to have a dog and a few cats and they've lived semi long lives.  My latest cat just got a clean bill of health from the vet and seems to be doing OK under my watch.  No no, raising animals and kids aren't the same.  I'm trying to toot my own non parental parental horn.   In all honest, if my ex,AKA my one true love, were still in the picture, I'd at least kick the tires on being a father.  Maybe that's the answer.  Maybe I'll be more reticent to have a kid when I meet up with some nurturing woman who balances out my need to grab a bottle of aspirin and ear plugs every time a kid comes in my general direction.  My ex had a gift with children, she seemed to speak their language.  She was the proverbial kid whisperer I guess.  Nah, I can't have a kid.  I'd blame myself if the kid was fucked up and I spend hours and hours analyzing what the hell went wrong.  Nah, my greatest fear is becoming everything, parent wise, that my father was.  I still remember the day I graduated college.  I thought, this is the moment; the moment when even this emotionally unavailable sack of crap can't possibly shoot daggers at me on one of my more prouder days.  Dad looked at me and said "good, now take that paper they gave you and try to get a job earning more than minimum wage."  Thank you dad.  I'm afraid to fail and I surround myself in walls and I over analyze things to the point of distraction but thankfully, I'm nothing like you.

Left is right and right is left

  Have you noticed something, mister and misses cable news watcher?  Though their political ideology differs, CNN has suddenly adapted the look and feel of its main competitor the Fox News Channel.   The Fox News Channel and its morning show have a three person hosting team with that talk showesque couch and now Jeff Zucker revamps CNN and suddenly the CNN morning show has a three person crew and the couch and the requisite blond anchor from central casting. Even the CNN afternoon show and the FNC afternoon show are almost indistinguishable.  Same interview on the plaza with the same rabble rousing news maker sounding the political trumpet for their respective political party.

   So let me get this straight?  CNN wants to be taken seriously again as a legitimate news outlet for the liberals and yet, it hires Jeff Zucker.  Jeff Zucker, the man who turned a once proud beacon of journalism known as the Today show into a banal exercise of fluff and irrelevancy.  I mean, Zucker was the man who thought it would be a prudent move to inflict Kathy Lee Gifford on the public again when Today was expanded to four hours.  But GMA actually started beating Today when they took Zuckers formula for dumb down and used it to take over the top spot in morning news.


  So I guess you could say that CNN is simply being proactive by attempting to beat Fox News Channel, their rival, by mimicking their format at every turn.  Or maybe this was the CNN game plan when Piers Morgan was hired to replace Larry King since Piers Morgan is the UK'S version of Geraldo Rivera with the sound and bombast turned down a few decibels.  Like good old Geraldo, Piers Morgan seems adept at making the story all about him. So with this being said, I wonder what's the next step for CNN under Jeff Zucker?  Well, Jeff Zucker can't counter the Kathy Lee Gifford move by hiring Regis because Regis is working for Fox Sports One at the moment.  So I guess Jeff Zucker will have to find another quasi celebrity who makes you yearn for the virtue of silence and or euthanasia.  If Jeff Zucker is going to go all single white female and morph into a clone of FNC, he'll have to start finding doppleganger's for FNC sacred cows like Shephard Smith. Surely, he can find the liberal version of old Shep, as they call em.  I'm sure it'll be easy for Jeff Zucker to find an elitist talking head with a twang and a liberal slant.  Or maybe CNN already has their Shephard Smith in their very own Anderson Cooper;  or, AC, as they say in the business. Maybe this is a trend.  Maybe the liberals will start pumping out their own politically slanted Limbaugh clones to take the airwaves back from the Conservatives. The left will try to look and sound like the right and the right will try and look and sound like the left.


  So what have we learned here, ladies and gentlemen?  Well, we learned that people like to bitch and moan about fluff, yet gobble it up every morning when they watch the Today show and GMA cross promote their respective mother nipples into oblivion.  And we've learned that CNN wants to be the Fox News Channel but they want to lean forward like MSNBC does while they do it.  And we've learned that CBS WANTS to be credible but can't seem to get out of its own way.  Only CBS could pledge its dedication to heard news in the morning and then hire a friend of Oprah's to hijack the last hour of their respective morning program with the same fluff that people are watching on NBC and ABC in record numbers.  Well, at least CNN doesn't have anchors on the payroll that want to be country singers.  There's hope yet.

Rebuild the shore!!!!

  If you've watched the news, you know that the boardwalk in Jersey is nothing but a pile of rubble right now.  I feel for the business owners who have been impacted by this tragedy but maybe the fire in Jersey was biblical in nature.  Maybe the fates or whatever wanted to purge the land that served as the back drop for that IQ sucking exercise known as Jersey Shore.  My question is this. You saw Sean Penn and Brad Pitt flying down during the Katrina disaster and what not.  So where are the kids from the Jersey shore when their Guido homeland needs them the most?  Heck, isn't Springsteen from Jersey?  Where is he at?  I say, he and Snooki and every tanned Guido should be shifting through the rubble and assisting in the rebuilding effort.  America needs its home of bare chested Guido's starting fights on the boardwalk.  Where will the next Jersey Shore hopefuls learn the values of GTF if the boardwalk in Jersey remains a Terninatoresque pile of smoldering rubble?
  Forgot Syria Mister Obama, the Jersey shore needs your support.  Forgot the masses who were bombarded with nerve gas, Jersey needs your guiding hand.  We need that Obama charm and we need Springsteen to sing about the night that the Boardwalk turned to rubble.  Keep it non Parisian Bruce, Dubya had nothing to do with this calamity.

  Wouldn't it be great entertainment to see little Snooki and J Wow or whatever the hell her name is doing half ass work trying to rebuild the boardwalk.  I can see Ron and Sammi throwing charred pieces of plywood at one another as they fight over some guy Sammi texted before the tragic fire in their homeland.  I can see the Situation standing guard for enemy grenades while someone goes to confessional and bitches about what little work he's doing to help rebuild the Mothership.   I know you're feeling me on this MTV.

  We can have Springsteen and other Jersey based celebs manning the phone lines in the fight to rebuild the boardwalk.  There will be shots of some poor disenfranchised T shirt shop owner and the sound of a sad movie soundtrack as he talks about all the shirts he never got to sell.  And then Kayne will but in and tell the world that Jersey doesn't care about black people.  Call Fema, call the National Guard, call a Carpenter.  We rebuilt the towers, now we must rebuild the boardwalk. Guido tested, Guido strong, the boardwalk must be rebuilt!!!!

Sundays with Joel.....

  A pal of mine has seen great things in Joel Osteen so here I am, a known atheist, trying to observe the Joel Osteen experience on a rainy Sunday Morning.   Now I have to admit; I look at Joel and I see a nattily attired salesman.  This is probably due to the fact that every five minutes, there's an ad asking the flock or whoever the demo is to buy Joel's newest book.  Yes, there are the ad's for Mister Osteen's book and then the constant flashing of a PO Box in which to send dough to the Osteen crusade.  So this is the man that is telling me to put my life into God's hands; a man with an 800 number full of tele marketers and a PO Box where the checks go.  So if I put my life into God's hands by giving Joel my rent money and nothing happens, is the plan for God to have me live in a box until something miraculously happens.  I find it funny that Joel Osteen preaches about relieving your mind of all things monetary when he preaches out of a church the size of three football fields.  So let me get this straight.  I'm supposed to put my fate into something I can't see.

  So let me get this straight.  I'm supposed to eschew all thoughts of what I don't have from a guy whose has no worries when it comes to all things monetary.  Maybe I'd trust Mister Osteen a bit more if he ended his sermon and simply went to black.  But no, the sermon ends and then there's an infomercial for Joel's book and the shot of Joel with two schumcks who are promoting their own religious empire.   Maybe I'm just to cynical and un-trusting to actually believe in anything religious.  I laughed when Joel mentioned God breathing on you and Moses with a mighty stick of fury ala Steven Seagal.   I'm sorry, I just can't open up my mind to a preacher with an 800 number.  For me, there has to be separation between religion and commercialism somehow.  But hey, Joel does put on a good show.  The flock was engaged and one woman was spotted taking notes.  I guess God breathed on her and she found out that she was going to be tested on all the dogma being thrown about.  Or maybe Moses threatened her with his mighty stick of justice if she didn't come back with a score of at least ninety percent.  Actually I was considering give Joel's empire twenty bucks out of curiosity.  But then I thought to myself; you get what you pay for.  You can't get a total life transformation for a mere twenty bucks.  I wonder if Joel supplies a Flo chart for the donations.  For twenty bucks and a little belief, God or whatever gives you this.  I'm thinking, the higher the donation the higher the results.  I wonder if God takes money orders?

the de evolution of the Peacock network

  NBC.... we have to talk.  I know you guys have been struggling to recapture the glory days since Seinfeld left the throne and his steady ratings behind on Thursday nights.  I had high hopes when I heard that Robert Greenblatt was hired to be the chairman for NBC entertainment.  After all, this was the man who gave us gems like Dexter and Nurse Jackie and Californication when he was the head of programming at Showtime.  So what's the deal with bringing Michael J Fox back into the fold as a mere punch line?  He has Parkinson's I get it.  The main thrust of the marketing campaign for Fox's new NBC show seems intent on using his physical ailments to get cheap laughs.  First it was Fox standing there shaking like a leaf while trying to conduct a breakfast gathering with his latest TV family.  Yuck yuck.  This morning, another long promo surfaced.  This one involves Fox  trying to conduct a welcoming party for his NBC line up mate Sean Hayes.  Hayes is seen standing there waiting for Fox to try put some sort of entree into his mouth.  The promo ends with Hayes opining that he has more food on his face than in his mouth.  Is this what NBC has come to?  Is NBC so devoid of ideas that they have to green light a lazily written series that just wants to exploit someone's obvious disability?  Is the new regime at NBC intent on pumping out comedies that are nothing but exploitive?
 
  Maybe someone at NBC creative can develop another howler about a former Hollywood star trying to come back from a traumatic brain injury?  Maybe the promos can center around this former star trying desperately to remember where they live?  I know, maybe one of the promo's can play up the fact that this star with the brain injury can't find the NBC studio where the pitch is.  Now that's just plain hilarious.   ABC.  CBS.  FOX.  You're.  On.  Notice.

  It's not even the promos for Mister Fox's new show that bother me.  It's the fact that NBC creative seems be to taking glee in using someone's disability as a punch line.  Do we really need to shine a flashing light on the fact that Michael J Fox is being ravaged by Parkinson's disease?  The first promo should've been enough.  You got your laugh, move on.  But hey, maybe NBC creative is onto something.  Amanda Bynes is fair game, why doesn't NBC creative develop a show that makes light of the fact that she's quickly losing her mind?  I see a promo ala Twelve Monkeys; Bynes walking around LA screaming at inanimate objects while flashing each passerby.  Cue the NBC jingle and flash that peacock proudly, we have a winner.   NBC equals genius.

Growing up all over again......

  So it's just another typical day in my head.  I'm getting that "look" from one of the managers at my new job and I'm hearing the echoes of my dad as he opines that I have the worth of a wilted prune.   Then I think about the words of a good friend; the ones who tells me to smile and think positive.   I think of my friend, who is younger than me by a few years, and I wonder what the hell he's doing hanging around such a cynical sort like me.  Actually, I wonder why the other people in my life are subjecting themselves to the agony of hanging around someone like me.  I don't mean this it in a suicide hot line kind of way.  I mean it in a funny ha ha, I'm trying to be an ironical son of a bitch kind of way.   My younger friend, the one I mentioned before,  is a ball of possibility and positivity, he makes me smile with his sense of youthful romanticism.  The other one of my friends is a success in every sense of the word and she's beautiful and rolling in dough with a job most people would kill for three thousand miles away on the opposite coast.  I do the math in my head and it doesn't compute I guess.  I'd like to say that those Joel Osteen tapes have allowed me to embrace the idea of God and a plan and.... fuck I still can't even say it without calling bullshit on myself.  Maybe it's just me, maybe it's that voice in my head; the one that guffaws when people say I'm intelligent.  Maybe it's that little voice in my head that makes me wonder why a beautiful woman with so much to offer would actually sleep with me in the first place.  Hell, she not only slept with me, she stuck around.  Maybe it's that little voice that makes me wonder what a guy with the world at his feet would be doing hanging around me.  Who would've ever thought I'd be riding in  a car listening to Joel Osteen tapes?  Who ever thought I'd ever consider possibly making a truce with God or whatever else is up there?  Maybe I'm evolving somehow and I don't know it.  Maybe I'm learning about the wonders of change.  Maybe I'm growing up all over again at age 36.  Maybe I'm finally surrounded by people who won't make me regret going all in.  Maybe the secret is in the details of clearing out the crap in my head.  Maybe the secret is to smile and think positive.  Maybe it's all about flipping my father the bird every time I hear him saying that I can't do anything.

  Maybe it's a new chapter of a new me; positive dogma and plenty of teeth and the inspiring fire and brimstone of a preacher who makes more than I make it in a lifetime.  Maybe it's like riding a roller coaster.  I should just sit down and enjoy the ride and embrace the drop.  I guess if the last few years have taught me anything, it's that you're never to old to learn and you're never to old to grow.

Boxes....

  Let's face it, we're a live in the now kind of nation.  We mourn and we grieve as a collective and then we all take a pause and everyone moves on to the next incident designed to inspire a detached sort of melancholic solidarity in that fast food way that our world functions in.  It's happening with 9-11 I fear.  The bad guys have receded to the shadows in our minds.  The site where the towers once were are trying to flourish under the guise of something oh so corporate and oh so New York.

  I guess it's the cycle of life taking precedence.  In death their is grief but the social contract seems to limit the shelf life on mourning.  We, as humans of the planet, we live by a contract in which the healing process requires the survivors to pack up the life of the person that they loved into a box in the storage of their hearts and or their sub conscious.  I didn't lose a brother or a lover on 9-11.  I didn't experience the pain of losing someone and having to deal with the realization that a proper good bye will never be possible.  But, having lost someone very close and very special to me, I know about the contract and that clause about moving on.  I'm betting that someone woke up today and asked why the loved ones of the 9-11 victims haven't moved on.  I bet someone read up the paper or watched the news and commented that it's been twelve years.  Twelve years, why ring bells and call out names?   I know that someone thought it if they didn't say it out loud.  In grief, there is no statute of limitations.  After all of the pomp and circumstance fades and after all of the partisan posturing stops and after Hollywood gets through using one of America's darkest days as a marketing prop for some A listers political idealism, it's just the survivors left standing.  Contrary to the old saying, time doesn't all heal wounds.  It''s not like the movies, where everyone reaches the key point of the plot and the emotional epiphany leads to the clarity that leads to the happy ending. For most of the 9-11 survivors who lost loved ones on that fateful day, they've packed up the boxes and they've taken that trip to the addict or wherever we put our grief so can we move on or move forward or whatever the fucking cliche is these days.   I guess what I'm saying is, don't be so hard on the ones that need to remember.  Don't be so hard on the ones that haven't done their required packing job yet.  Some people need to relive the shittiest days of their lives just to prove that they can feel.  I know because I'm one of em.  I guess it goes for all creatures that are grieving a loss of some kind.  Give them their space.  Let them ring bells, let them remember.  Don't bury them in cliches or self help scripture.  Most importantly, don't talk to someone whose grieving in generalities like time.  Time doesn't apply to the families who lost loved ones on 9-11 or anyone else for that matter.  Hopefully no whose reading this will have to experience the shitty deal that comes with losing someone.  You give your heart to someone, you come to know them as a part of your orbit and then you're simply supposed to paint over that portion of your life for the sake of normalcy, whatever the fuck that is.

Get ready for another bar fight.... Obama style....

   So I'm getting ready to clean up the old hacienda and as I'm wiping the sleep from my eyes I hear the dear old pres pleading his case for attacking Syria.  According to Obama, the intervention in Syria is not going to necessitate the deployment of American troops.  Obama also acknowledged the fact that America is weary after the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.  If you listened carefully, you could hear the little voice in Obama's head whispering "I'm not Dubya."  Well.... yeah..... Mister Obama.... you may not be Dubya but you're certainly letting your bravado get you into a potential pickle the way Dubya did with Iraq.  Didn't Dubya tell the American people that we were simply going into Iraq to be a force for change; to be an agent of democracy for an oppressed people.  And then somehow the quest for Democracy turned into a modern day John Wayne flick.  I take that back, Dubya became a modern day John Rambo.  Now here comes Obama with his latest quest for peace without any grunt work and or bloodshed.

  See, I'm a cynical sort and I don't trust my government as far as I can throw it.  When the president's mouth is moving, it's a good bet that he is usually lying.  I'm not talking about Obama in general, I'm referring to most every cut of politician that has taken the mantle of president at some point in time.  It's part of the gig, being a salesman without the American people seeing through the con.  No one was better at the con that Bill Clinton, god bless his amorous southern friend heart.   If Obama doesn't need the threat of force and or the guiding hand of the American military to stop what's going on in Syria then I'm Abe Lincoln.  Or does Obama simply expect to dialogue with the despot responsible for inflicting nerve gas on his own people.  Odds are, ASKING a despot to stop doing something requires more than diplomacy or the power of Obama speak.  Unless Obama is going to slip the latest baddie an envelope like they do in good old Chicago. we're going to war with Syria.  I say, it'll go like this.  Obama will talk and Syria will listen and Obama will board air force one thinking everything is OK.  And then, when dad is half way to Washington, that pesky despot in Syria will continue to commit atrocities.  And like some frustrated parental unit who was disobeyed, Obama will go back to Syria and shake his fist in frustration while the Syrian government hides whatever chemical agent it uses against its people.  And after all of the posturing and all of grand standing and after months go by and Obama's hair grows whiter we'll get that press conference.  You know the one.  It's where Obama sighs like the maytag repair man before he gives us those hound dog eyes.  And then..... drumroll..... Obama will announce to the world that he has to spank Syria because they threw spit balls at him.  And then we'll enter another war.

Late night with da Mayor.....

  So this is the alternative to Mayor Daley?  To me, Rahm Emanuel looks like Daley with a much smaller waistline and a much tighter grasp of the English language as a whole.  Like Daley, Rahm Emanuel has taken to disappearing when the city of Chicago seems to be reeling and or in need if some semblance of leadership.  Police Superintendent Garry McCarthy  is out gunned and out numbered by thugs and deviants of all kinds with a never ending cache of weapons and his boss is on Letterman.  Chicago is becoming a wasteland of senseless violence ala one of those Death Wish films and the leader of the city is out playing quasi celebrity.  To paraphrase a line from Joseph Gordon Leavitt in The Dark Knight Rises; "pay attention to the details Mister Emanuel because some of those details need your attention."  I understand if being the mayor of Chicago is a stop gap position for Rahm Emanuel until the political winds of Washington lead him to bigger and better political endeavors down the road.  But right now, Mister Emanuel, your job is to be the mayor of Chicago.  And as the Mayor of Chicago, your city needs you.  We need you to help figure out how to stop innocent kids from being gunned down left and right for no apparent reason.  Your city needs you, Mister Emmanuel, to stop with the shell games that have left the CPD unable to adequately tackle crime in this city.  I don't know about you Mister Emmanuel, but it alarms me when criminals feel brazen enough to carjack a police Sargent near his home.  It alarms me when someone shows little respect for law and order in our great city by trying to sexually assault an off duty police officer.  It's time to stop being a celebrity Rahm.  It's time to come home to the job you agreed to take, however taxing and or politically stagnant a position it may be for a former Washington power player with dreams as big as his ego.  It's time, Mister Emmanuel, to live up to the promise you made to NOT to be your predecessor.  Right now Mister Emmanuel, from where I'm sitting, it's hard to gage where Rich Daley ends and you actually begin.  The city of Chicago is crumbling and it needs leadership.  And where is the mayor?  He's on Letterman.

I used to work for Treadstone.....

  Naturally, I was mad when I heard through the grapevine that my old company had banished me from the property I used to work at.  I kind of wanted to come back and chew the fat with the fellas I used to work with.  I liked the crew I used to work with.  I learned alot from the crew I used to work with.  I learned about things like patience and professionalism.   I kind of wanted to see the old crew again and let em know that I was OK after my divorce from the company who used to write my paychecks.  The very company that saw me as the Simple Jack of their employment family.  All and all, I wish I hadn't loaded the pistol that was eventually used to whack me but sometimes I just do dumb things that defy any and all sense of belief.
 
  At first I thought I was absolutely going to go on a flame fest on my former employer on Facebook.  Then I remembered that it was my writing that had gotten me thrown out of the employment fraternity I was once a member of.  So rather than pissing in someone else's pool yet again I'm going to have a chuckle about the absurdity of what my former bosses are doing to not only me but to other people who left, without drama, to seek greener employment pastures.  I'm not sure, but I think one of former Co workers was labeled a security risk in regards to company files.   This makes me wonder if my former bosses have been reading one to many John LeCarre novels.  I guess my former bosses envision me coming back to my old place of work and in sighting the employees who are still there to bust the union ala Jimmy Hoffa.  I don't have Hoffa like prowess and I'm not a leader of the working man.  I was told my interpersonal skills weren't good enough to keep me in my last position but how in the world did Co mingling art and work on the company server get me labeled  a rabble rouser?  Oh well, I guess the best thing is to tip my cap and accept the fact my former company is something akin to the Treadstone project.  I wonder if they have an action shot of me blown to full life size length in the entrances of both buildings.   I just hope, in a purely vain way, that they have a photo of me that captures my good side.  I hope that my mug shot doesn't cast me, photogenically, as an awkward looking dufus.  So rewrite history, oh former company.  Throw mud if you must.  Plaster wanted posters of me all over River North; drop them from the sky like some sort of blitzkrieg.  I have moved on and I hope you will too.  This is the new me.  No more pissing in the pool, no more needless fires.  I'm taking the high road ladies and germs.

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.

Mysteries we don't quite understand.....

  I’m starting to wonder about things again and when I wonder about things… well….. Stuff seems to come out of my head.  On this day, the twenty ninth of July, in the mid tenure of my thirty fifth year of life, in the year 2013, I am wondering about the nature of bloodlines and the various destinies they send us off on that obstacle course known as life.  How do some of us grow up to conquer the world and amass great wealth and privilege?  How do some of us kind of schlep along trying to desperately to unlock the doors to the dreams and or the life that they want?  I’m a schlepper, I know that.  I’m a schelepper with a love life that is akin to all the neurosis of a Woody Allen film.  I generally hate the human race and I have not the energy, coming off a rather painful end to a long term relationship, to go to the old romantic lumber yard and build myself another romantic house.  I was in a long term relationship but now I don’t want another relationship because I just want the unsophisticated simplicity of sex without connection.  Where do these contradictions come from?  Was I born with them or did I pick them up somewhere along the way?  My love affair with food, now that I get it.  I love food it because it was my mother’s favorite parental panacea.  And I hate food because I resembled a young John Candy during my adolescence.  That and the fact that my male parental unit took daily notes on my caloric intake when I was a wee youngin.  But where did the fucked up part of my psyche come from?  Did I inherit it or did it manifest itself during that strange McInerney like abyss known as my twenties.  I actually enjoyed the world when I was drugging and boozing, if you can believe that.  And then I met a good woman and I got sober and I turned into a fucking misanthrope of epic proportions; I settled into my Shrek like existence if you will.  I just wanted to be on my swamp with my Fiona.  But then Fiona went away and I ended up having meaningless sex with a woman who thinks/thought she was gay.  Maybe it’s not my wiring at all.  Maybe I was just born a selfish self entitled prick and I just grew larger.  I can accept this, in light of the fact that I’ve known for awhile that I am, for all intensive purposes, an insufferable lush of the highest order.  Maybe I shouldn’t examine things so much.  Maybe I just be grateful for the handful of women who actually want to sleep with me and the few members of the human race who can actually tolerate me for more than a nanosecond at a time.  I’d tell you I’m a really loveable chap but why bullshit you good people.  I am the proverbial porcupine.  I poke, therefore, I am.  A few people have been jabbed by my quills and are still speaking to me and a few unfriended me on facebook and took the road of not acknowledging my existence.  And then I walked along the desert with my quills up and after a few moments of reflection, I decided I was to apathetic to actually give a flying fuck.  So there it is, the mystery continues.  Where oh where did this miserable lush spring from?  Why is he afraid of intimacy and why does he swear like a Mafioso?  Was this my destiny when I sailed out of the womb or did I build this long and winding road myself?

The Friday Rant.....

It’s been a long week so with your permission, I’d like to rant for a bit.  Can you tell me how in god’s name an entire city goes bankrupt?  What is this, Robocop?  An entire city, the city of Detroit to be exact, went bankrupt ladies and gentlemen.  Think about that for a minute.  I’ve heard of mismanagement but this takes the proverbial cake.  Being a resident of the land of Lincoln, I wonder if my great state isn’t too far from filing for bankruptcy itself.  The current leadership has borrowed itself into oblivion and has managed to drive the state’s credit rating right into the toilet.  But inept leadership and financial ineptitude is one thing.  But Detroit, a major American city, is about to go through the process of protecting itself from its creditors.  I wonder though, what exactly does Detroit have to sell to try and satisfy its obligations?  Does an organization like OCP (I know another Robocop reference) come in and privatize an entire city?  Can you imagine it?  An entire North American City being owned outright by a corporate entity of some sort.  I want to laugh but it just sounds too damn Orwellian in a way.

  And while Detroit is bankrupt and the state of Illinois is struggling to fund its pensions…… guess what Governor Closeau….. Er…. Quinn….. Found money for?  Drum roll…….. A new airport near Peotone.  (Clap clap.)  So let me get this straight Mister Quinn.  There’s no money in the till to keep the mentally ill under a protective flag or operate schools but there IS, miraculously, a tidy sum in the Abe Lincoln rainy day fund to bankroll a new airport.  What is it with this city and this state and Airports?  The former Mayor of The City Chicago, Rich Daley, went through heaven and earth to get an airport built near O’Hare.  Hell, he even had a cemetery uprooted to make sure nothing stood in the way of his baby.  How many airports do we need in this city anyway?  Isn’t the Airline industry struggling for profitability these days?  Yet there’s Pat Quinn, Illinois court jester, babbling about jobs and financial panaceas.  I’d be angry if I didn’t have a finally turned fertilizer detector.  With Daley it was solar power.  Solar power was going to be a financial panacea.  Nope.  Then it was the airport expansion at O’Hare.  Last time I checked, the new runways being constructed out there were being profiled on some local news station as poor constructed death traps   I’m in favor of a casino in Illinois but now I’m picturing some Bugsyesque saga unfolding.  Imagine it…. A big glittering palace in the middle of nowhere that’s all dressed up with nowhere to go.  And I imagine the press conferences as Governor Quinn tries to explain, as only he can, why yet another so called panacea has ultimately become an expensive tax write off for the people of Illinois.  Think I’m being cynical?  Remember what state the state of Illinois is.  It’s the land of promises and panaceas and miscalculations.  It’s the land of opposite thinking.  That is to say, if your elected officials in the land of Lincoln say that some project or plan or scheme will benefit the taxpayers, you can be sure that it won’t.  When an elected official in Illinois tells you, the taxpayer, that the sky isn’t falling, your best instincts are to find shelter as quickly as possible.

  And finally… a word for Alderman Tom Tunney.  Tom?  Mister Tunney?  OK.  Look, Mister Tunney.   Let me give you a line from one of my favorite David Mamet films.  Mister Tunney…. I think it’s about time you went to your room.   Good night America.  Resist Tyranny!!!  Toot!!! Toot!!!

The rebooting syndrome....

There is one Jim Belushi film that I like and wouldn’t you know it, Hollywood is going to reboot it in 2014.  Now some reboots I can understand.  Total Recall rebooted its premise and its cast and traded up, in my view, when Arnold Schwarzenegger was replaced by Collin Farrell.  But the About Last Night reboot troubles because it’s based on a screenplay that was based on a stage play by David Mamet.  This begs the question, how do improve on the work of David Mamet?  Better yet, why reboot the one film where you can actually watch Jim Belushi present himself as an actor without wanting to gauge your eyes out?   Is there such a lack of ideas in Hollywood than someone thought it would actually be a good idea to a take a film by the late John Cassavetes and replace the extremely talented Gena Rowlands with er…. Sharon Stone.  Not only Sharon Stone but her faux Brooklyn accent to boot.  There’s actually talk of rebooting Raging Bull.  Yes, Raging Bull.  The same principle applies to the film I just mentioned, as it does to Scorsese’s epic bio about former pugilist Jake Lamotta.  How do you get any better than Martin friggin Scorsese?  But should this lack of ingenuity and or cinematic smarts surprise you?  Hollywood is the place that spends billions of dollars trying to bring TV shows with a niche following to the big screen.  Often times the result is a box office dud with the fallout of a Chernobyl blast.  And if it isn’t Hollywood trying to constantly rewrite itself, someone is trying to make a musical production out of whatever film struck their fancy way back when.  The latest one to get the musical treatment is Flashdance.  What’s next, some Broadway producer decides to make a musical out of every sex comedy ever made.  I wonder what the premise of the Flashdance musical will be.  Will the actress in the Jennifer Beals role break out into song at some point while holding a welding torch?  In case you’re not as fossilized  as I am, the main character in Flashdance was a welder who had aspirations of being a dancer.  Myself, I want to see Scarface the musical.  I want to hear musical numbers like “F*** The Diaz Brothers” and “Don’t you ever f*** me Tony.”  You can make a musical revue out of the scene where poor Omar Suarez gets hung from a chopper after Tony’s future drug partner, Alex Sosa, finds out he’s a rat.  I’ve got rhythm….. I’ve got ya yo…. Who could ask for anything more?  I fear that this epidemic in Hollywood of rebooting films will spread to other aspects of our culture as well.  Someday the literary world will find itself short on ideas and someone will say…. Let’s do what they do in Hollywood.  And voila…. Someone is commissioned to reboot literary classics like a Farewell to Arms.  I can imagine that brainstorming session now.  Make it happier, maybe Hemmingway finds the chick he loved and they reconcile.  And maybe she doesn’t kick the bucket after all.  Why stop there?  Why not commission a fledgling writer to reboot War and Peace in print or perhaps Moby Dick?  I say, let’s not stop at books and films in terms of rebooting.  Let the rebooting begin in the art world too.  Give me some watercolors and a few days of training and I’ll do those painting just as good as Pablo P did them way back when.

England.... we REALLY need to talk......

I don’t mean to harp on the birth of the royal baby or the next dictator of England or whatever he will be called by that travelling circus of wealth and privilege he was born into but have the commoners in England lost their friggin minds?  I wake up from my pre shift slumber to see video of a few citizens of England popping champagne in a pub honor of an occasion that will not enrich their lives in any meaningful way.  These people even brought a horse into the mix.  Yes, a horse.  Apparently, the horse was dubbed the unofficial royal mascot of royal baby gate or Kategate or whatever the hell else you want to call this sad spectacle.   Let me talk to you for a second, good citizens of London and the UK at large.  It’s a baby.  That means that it pees and poops and pukes and does all the things that other babies do.  Except this baby will probably grow up to be a prince that half of England will be bitching about when it takes its rightful place on the throne as a full grown adult.  This situation is so absurd that it begs to be satirized on an absolutely unmerciful level.  In America it’s even worse.  NBC and its enquirer like news magazine aka Today, spent sixty minutes on what the hell the royal baby would be named.  Sixty minutes, ladies and gentlemen.  One whole hour.  And how many friggin royal historians do our television networks employ anyway?   We had three or four on FNC and there was one on the Today Show.  If we’re going to have meaningless coverage of a ridiculously banal spectacle why wasn’t Ryan Seacrest dubbed as a royal historian for this here occasion?  Why not have Ryan Seacrest interview the horse and get his thoughts on the royal birth.  Now that’s great television, ladies and gentlemen.  Seriously though, I’m worried about the collective IQ of our planet when we the birth of a celebrity baby we will only know from afar sends everyone into a collective tizzy.  Are we that disconnected?  Are we that desperate, as a society that we have to delude ourselves into thinking that we actually matter to someone in the public eye?  What does it say about our media when Nelson Mandela’s health crisis gets less coverage than this ridiculous spectacle in England?  I bet you anything that when Nelson Mandela leaves the planet he’ll be lucky to get five minutes on The Today Show because god bless em, they have to spend time telling us about us the latest fashion trends and which celebrities are currently dating one another.   Do you realize that Corey Monteith’s overdose got more coverage than Nelson Mandela’s health scare?   Eh, Mandela only spent twenty seven years in prison.  He only represents things like courage and dignity and sheer resolve.  But damn it, the world at large needs to hear Lea Michele’s thoughts on the death of her co star on Glee.  And we need to know there’s a heroin epidemic amongst the younger stars in Hollywood.  This is in spite of the fact that Hollywood has always had a drug epidemic of some kind.  Oh how we forgot young River Phoenix or Brad Renfro, just to name a few.  Good night America.  Resist Tyranny!!!  Toot!!!  Toot!!!

Home Runs... Peds.... and the smell of politics.....

  At  exactly seven am I heard some host on the CBS Sports Radio network deliver an insipid commentary about how Ryan Braun destroyed the concept of sports idols for young baseball fans everywhere.  Excuse me while I grab my vomit bag and then my tiny fiddle.  You know my feelings about idols and role models; there are no none.  Idols and role models DO NOT EXIST.  They're a myth, a spook story, something to drive ticket sales or profit margins or ratings needles or what have you.  I don't think, in my heart of hearts, that Ryan Braun's suspension will suddenly having young baseball fans turning their backs on America's past time.  And if some kid is sitting there weeping about how let down they feel by Ryan Braun then you know what;  it's their parents fault for not schooling them on how oh so un pretty this here world can be.  So this is the media spin for today.  Ryan Braun has broken the hearts of young baseball fans all across America and Bud Selig is suddenly being viewed as some Wyatt Earp like character with a white hat on.  Let's be clear here.  Selig was ALLOWED to suspend Ryan Braun by the MLBPA.  That's the difference here.  The MLBPA recognized that they needed to look like they were serious about steroids in MLB and they recognized that Bud Selig needed some good PR during the twilight of his tenure as the commissioner of America's Pastime.  Put two and two together and voila.... Ryan Braun is suspended for the remainder of the 2013 baseball season.  Did you notice that Selig went after the easiest mark here?  The Brewers are out of contention and who would be grudge Selig for suspending a superstar who was already seen by most of the baseball watching public as a dishonest, smug, pariah.  Suspending Ryan Braun wasn't about making a stand to clean up the game.  It was about politics and horse trading.  Would Selig dare suspend someone from say, the Red Sox, if Ryan Braun played for them?  Is Selig going to take the same steps to suspend Matt Kemp if Kemp is found to have violated the league policy on steroids?  I doubt it.  If more suspensions come down in bread and butter markets like say Los Angeles, it will be because the MLBPA will once again allow Bud Selig to once again look like an efficient leader of a billion dollar a year enterprise.  If Selig and the MLBPA were really the guys in the white hats, they would've stepped in and stopped the post strike renaissance in its tracks.  You know what the Ryan Braun suspension is?  It's a chance for Ryan Braun to do the press tour and perfect his mea culpas and it's a chance for Bud Selig and the MLBPA to stand triumphantly in front of every available camera as they shovel more fertilizer about the steroid era in baseball being eradicated forever.  The truth is, Braun will be back in 2014 and the fans will be there cheering him on and no one will be the wiser.  And then as the storm clouds of this so called day of recognizing finally pass you can be sure of one thing; there will be more guys like Braun who will try to beat the system.  And for every bio gensysis that gets shut down, there will be another one bound to pop up at some point.  There will be always be guys looking for an edge and there will be always doctors and or practitioners who will put the almighty dollar ahead of medical and or moral ethics.  If the players have proven one thing, it's the simple fact that they are a lot more creative and a lot more devious than Bud Selig can even imagine.  My money is on Bartolo Colon being suspended before Matt Kemp is.  Why damage the franchise that is the economic apple of Bud Selig's crooked eye when you once again punish a small market operation like Oakland?  Let's face it, Oakland doesn't move the economic needle like Los Angeles does.  Ah, the smell of hot dogs and apple pie and good old fashioned politics.  God bless you mister Selig.