Shit, piss, fuck

Carlin is dead.

Long live Carlin. Long live the Seven.

To the man who was arrested in Milwaukee for uttering the rest of the Seven...

To the man whose alternative version of American the Beautiful is always the one I sing...

To the man who pointed out the irony of Ali not wanting to kill people but enjoying the shit out of beating them up...

To the man who made fun of the national pastime and religion and some many other sacrosanct subjects... I say

Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits. (Balls and prick optional of course.)

Sunny

It is the solstice. The summer one. My favorite day of the year (besides the highest of state holidays - my birthday! May 13th for those of you who have shamelessly forgotten).

Usually on the longest day of the year, I make it my personal mission to spend 12 hours in the sunshine. Insert your skin cancer joke here. Today, not so much. It was a special circle of hell known as Saturday Bar Prep. But still the sun was on my mind.

Do you know you can watch shadows move? Honest. And it is the most peaceful thing if you pull it off. I was tucked up on a park bench and noticed the shadow moving across a sidewalk. There were pebbles in the crack and I thought I'd mark the time by seeing how long it would take the sun to move on to the next pebble in the shade. I was zoned out, thinking about other things, and my eyes stopped focusing directly on the pebble and the sun/shadow line. And then it happened. I could watch the shadow and the false shadow move out and the sunlight move in.

Try it. It's fun. And it opens up that child like innocence that we all need a dose of every now and then.

And you

I don't even know what your thing is.

This post is irrelevant to most of you and I apologize for taking up your reading time so if you are not the person this is aimed at, click off and wait for the next post.

I know you are still watching every move I make. There are things in the cyber world, fafi, that track even the most stealthy - or those whose arrogance leads them to think they are stealthy. I can tell every time you look at my facebook, my my space and this blog. Don't think I don't know. And don't think I'm not watching. And don't think I'm not keeping score.

The World Would Be a Better Place....

if there were more people like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.

I know, I know. You mostly hear about their baby making capabilities and all the variations there of.

But, would you do what they do? I don't mean the acting, the jet-setting and the gazillion dollar chateau in France.

Would you strap on body armour, knowing you're four months pregnant, to draw the camera lights and the attention to the plight of Iraqi refugees? Would you give up a large percentage of your income to fund a rebuilding project in the Ninth Ward to fix what the government can't or won't? Would you use whatever fame you might possess to focus the attention of those around you on the plight of those less fortunate?

Here's to a couple that is dedicated to themselves, their children and their world. The world would be a better place if there were more people like them.

Of Generations

I'm on my 11th generation of babies.

Seriously.

Think about. How many generations have you seen come and go in your life time?

Generation 1: My step brothers
Generation 2: My step cousins
Generation 3: My IU friends' babies
Generation 4: Stepbrother's girls
Generation 5: My nephs.
Generation 6: My god kids
Generation 7: My college buddies' babies (interestingly everyone has two except the Frogs who welcomed three to be the trend breaker)
Generation 8: My drinking buddies' kids
Generation 9: My workmates' babies
Generation 10: My cousin's kids
Generation 11: My law school kids' kids

All this got me thinking about what exactly is a family - and who decides who is your family?

I have three fathers, I've been the only, the oldest, the youngest. I've had grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, friends too numerous to name but all added something to the calaloo that is me. What makes up a family?

I think it is this simple: Whoever has a claim on your heart is your family. Titles don't matter. The imprint does.

Why God Don't Own A Car

I've gone green, at least in my commute. I take a bus to the law school where I'm doing the Bar Prep high colonic. Every day I stand at a bus stop and watch the world go by. I'm usually the only white person there: the other white people hang across the street on the campus side of the street until they see their bus coming. I wouldn't stand over there with them for a 258 on the bar.

Today, a young black man, still a child to my eye, approached the crowd and was encouraging them to register for the upcoming general election. All visible parts of his body - sans face - where covered in tats, most of them gang related. He was nervous in approaching me but I offered to fill out a card. As we talked about his criminal career and how he got into this gig, I was amazed by him. He'd done juvy time for drugs and attempted murder and here he was out there trying to change the world, one voter at a time. And sweet. Oh, this child was gentle, soft-spoken and by his admission, broken but recovering. Some of the other folks at the bus station were giving me grief that there was no way a whitey Nancy Northshore was going to vote for a black man, that the only reason I was talking to the kid was because I was afraid I was going to get mugged, etc., etc., etc. I told them I had planned on voting for Barack since the keynote at the 2004 Democratic Convention.

Sometimes the world comes in snap shots. As the young man talked to me about his belief in change and hope for his life, I could see an elderly white man was rummaging in the street side garbage can for food over the boy's shoulder. I broke off the conversation with the young man for a moment to give the elderly man my lunch. When I came back to the young man, he was shaking his head from side to side.

"All this carrying on these folks doing about you being white and monied and whatever they think about you, and you just upped and gave up your lunch. None of them would do that and they all gots more than he does. Hell, I got more than he does. And that ain't right. It just ain't right."

And off he went, clip board and voter registration cards in one hand, the other guiding the old white man down the street to get some food. And that's why God don't own a car.

My Window on the World

Welcome aboard.

I make no promises that I won't offend you, piss you off or make you want to punch me in my face. Now that's the clear, let's begin.

Anyone who knows me well will know exactly where the title of this blog came from. When in doubt, consult the Bible of Buffett. A friend of mine who blogs always titles his entries with song titles - which was the inspiration for the title of my blog. Thanks, Froggie.

This blog will undoubtedly be part politics, part law, part my friends and part what I see on a daily basis. This isn't about changing the world, changing what you think or changing your perspective. It's about the internal dialouge that happens in my head. And as of right now, it appears there is no need for medication.

I hope you enjoy it. I hope you hate. But above all, I hope it makes you think.