I’ve found my presidential candidate.  Read about him here.

He’s “in it to win it”, just like Hillary.

AND he’s got a sword and a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

Well, it’s reported that Paris will appear first on Larry King, but only after ABC and NBC backed out in embarassment over the disclosure of offers to pay the Hilton family a million for the exclusive rights to be the breathless ones who find out what the heiress thought of jail.

I’m not too worried about her, though, because she’s got some real entreprenurial ideas coming out of custody in her attempt to integrate into the non-criminal society.

John X turned me on to RedStateUpdate (thanks!), where I learned what Jackie and Dunlap think about the focus on news about Paris.

Had big fun Saturday night with baby sis. 

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A killer bolt of lightning comes out of blue sky and hits Florida man.  As quantum theory would have it, nothing is set, all is probability, and sometimes the very unlikely actually does happen.  It upsets my Newtonian mind to have Max Planc’s world intrude.  Next thing you know, something really really unlikely will happen, a mile-wide UFO or something.

Having MindOverMary in town Friday night was a complete hoot.  What fun!

she seemed to mix very well with my normal (?) Paseo Friday night crowd of friends.

the absolute apex for me was seeing MCARP turn fifteen shades of hot pink being described as the “hottie” after baby sis was telling him how big a fan she is of his blog.  we even got him to blush again when we made him admit to his okieblog award.

after dinner at Bellini’s and a relaxing stint next to The Gary’s pool, she and I ended the evening out on the back patio at Isis on Paseo.

adding to the brio of the evening is the fact that it’s my 12th AA anniversary and baby sis bought me a “chip” commemorating the milestone.  Twelve years of 12 Steps.  Just like baby sis, a gift from God.

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Congratulations to The Gary and Osager.  Many happy returns.

Welcome home, however briefly, KW, and also welcome back from your toils to the Debster.

Button’s cake was DEE-licious!

It’s after 10:10 p.m. and Bookmdano didn’t call, so it’s off to work on a Thursday that the SC sister flies into town.  Lock up your hearts, boys.

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I’ve always loved thunderstorms and see them as one of the really good reasons to live in Oklahoma.  Last night’s was a beaut.

It took me a little space of time to get out of my head and into the moment, but with persistent non-effort, I was able to get there.

Sinatra assures me he was abolutely NOT spooked by the thunder, he just wanted up in my lap because he always does that to remind me when it’s bedtime.

I sat at the kitchen table between the open window above the sink and the open sliding glass patio doors that look out on my front courtyard. 

I turned out all the lights, setting aside my book (Absurdistan by Gary Shteyngart, recommended to me by privacy shattered Sharon), but left the Coltrane CD playing in the background.

Early in the storm, I’d gone into my backyard to watch the rain as it first began to fall, retreating in time to a sheltered place under the eaves, smoking a cigaret and watching the sheet lightning erupt only to be surprised by a bolt that shot down so close by that the thunder literally shuddered my chest wall as it passed by.

No time to be on the laptop, I shut it down and unplugged it from the wall to avoid the worst case scenario.

In a sense, weather is elemental.  A sphere of water and dry land encased in an atmosphere of gasses and warmed by the sun.  And, of course, it’s also so complex that our best computers can’t predict it.

To be outside and directly experiencing violent weather is to be put in one’s place by Mother Nature.  Gaia reminds her children that they can be swept away, along with all human artifact, by her powers.  It’s humbling and thrilling to be in the presence of a goddess.

Sinatra and I sat at the portal staring into the courtyard for an untold period of time, he on my lap and me mindlessly and mildly stroking his pelt, nudged now and again into a rub of the crown of his head or a scratch under the chin. During a lull, I noticed his purr thrumming against my thighs, a miniature of the shuddering of my chest by the thunder.

We enjoyed the raw experience of the smell of wet earth and the tang of ozone that comes with lightning and rain.  We listened as rain and wind mindlessly and mildly stroked the pelt of green tendrils of living Earth. The light from the sky was sometimes staccato, freezing the outside in a split second of illumination, other times, the swaying leaves and vines and bushes were as much felt to move as observed.

At 10 p.m. or so, the outdoors was inhospitable, 85 degrees and humid, a sweatbox.  At midnight, it was cool and clean and fresh.  At 11 p.m., my mind was busy, busy, busy with tumultuous and meaningless thoughts of trivial, mundane, quotidian matters.  By 1 a.m., I was serene and relaxed, united with the cat the trees the grass the wind the rain the low clouds.

There is a time and a season for everything.  Turn, turn, turn.

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Raven, not to be confused with Robin or Robyn, asks in a comment below my thoughts on Nifong, the now disbarred DA in the Duke Lacrosse team rape prosecution.

The first thing I’d say is that most ambitious prosecutors in America would act in the very same way, except that they would be doing so in cases where the defendants were much less powerful and well-heeled; most prosecutors get away with that crap daily.  It’s Justice for Just Us who can afford it in this country.

And, isn’t part of the problem with Alberto Gonzales’ Justice Department identical to the Nifong problem?  Don’t we know for absolute fact that there have been prosecutions at the federal level for purely political reasons?  Real lives of real people forever tarnished, if not downright ruined, by charges meant to make an electoral point rather than the pursuit of making society more safe.

Moving back and taking in a larger scope, I’d say that both the medical and legal professions suffer somewhat the same problem:  a relatively small number of practitioners commit most of the wrongdoing.  If the professions would be more serious about policing their own and get rid of the worst five percent with their respective professional degrees, we would have solved the problems of 90 percent of medical malpractice and about 85 percent of the legal shenanigans that bedevil our justice system.

Imagine what might the world be like if doctors and lawyers actually stood for something in addition to holding a magic ticket to petite bourgoisie wealth.  What if being a doctor or a lawyer also meant that one with that label had personal and professional integrity beyond question.  What if the sobriquet “lawyer” included the meaning of a person with a daily and lifetime concern for the people and society and liberty of all instead of just a money-grubbing vulture fattening on the problems of the few?

I know, I know.  Utopian crap.  I can’t help being a romantic at times.  But, Raven wanted to know, and that’s enough excuse for me to rant.

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Words are strong

Stronger than Steel

They can leave a cut that hurts a lifetime

They can heal a wound that has festered for years.

There is a reason we are taught

the pen is mightier than the sword.

Words may crack and break under the slipshod sandals of a savior, it is true.

They are slippery, and we may stumble over them.

But I do not blame the hammer when I smash my thumb and what I can build with that tool might house all humanity.  Thus, also with words.

How would we know of the ancient wisdom of the wise without their words?  What truth and what beauty would we leave behind without those lifelines to another’s mind?

It is better for me to wrestle incompetently with misfit words than to stare at trees and squirrels.

I was awfully busy today, drumming my fingers and tapping my toes, waiting for Westika to blog like she promised (I’m hoping for something about Paris Hilton) …

And, I’m all upset thinking that Nina — no doubt under the influence of the overwhelming need to be like Paris Hilton — will get a huge, out of porportion boob job because her horoscope told her to go for the flood and not the trickle …

Then MCARP beats me to the punch with a hilarious Tommy Chong/Colbert Report vid about Paris Hilton …

so, here’s what I did today in my fabulous and singular life …

I somehow booted a call from a nice lady inviting me to blues and barbecue at bricktown…

I got my kitchen back together, have a ‘fridge working again and a table and chairs and a counter and the dishes done and the laundry done …

went with Oz filming places around town at night with my topless car; went ’round the capitol building, up to the flags as you enter south Edmond by Central X, a little of the asian market at 25th and Classen next to Lido, fuzzy street lights and dull industrial buildings.  We recently filmed a scene with the gorgeous and talented Kelley O that KO KO’d.  Oz is getting excited about getting to the end of this 1.5 year project.

Along the way, I realized I’d missed the first part of the gay pride celebration only when I passed the park going to the Red Cup …

I walked along Paseo, partaking of Isis, Sauced and G-spot and hugging as many women as I could along the way.  Pleasant but not really anything remarkable unless you’re stunned by a slice of pizza with a burned crust.  The gathering of men and Miss K at the RC pond was pleasant enough, and better conversation than of late among us in many ways, but nothing really worth repeating.  The reputation and standing of the Alquonquin Round Table is secure another evening.

Tomorrow I plan a stirring round of floor vacuuming and hedge trimming.  can’t wait.

there is something symmetrical and just about those of us who have lives of quiet desperation, those of us with lives devoid of meaning or purpose, those of us with vacuous, empty, deserts of lives, should receive “news” equally bereft of content and value.  After all, like the lady says, we all get exactly what we’re willing to settle for.

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Everything you ever wanted to know about the $54 million dollar lawsuit over a pair of lost gray slacks can be found here.

At the end of the case I think the nutball plaintiff will have to pay the Korean dry cleaners’ legal bills and he will be censured by the D.C. bar association for bringing the profession into public disrepute.

If you read between the lines, the guy is a whack job unlikely to actually be able to afford the legal bills and then, I don’t know what happens.

These cases come along and they are always some whack job representing themselves, but this happens to be a whack job with a law license.  Yes, some lawyers are whack jobs, just like waitresses and cops and teachers and preachers.  I see the guy’s too clever by half legal theory, but it’s sloppy law and sloppy thinking and it’s gone on way too long and I blame the dry cleaner lawyers for some of that.  They should have been able to knock him out TKO in round two and not be battling in the ring in the final round of trial.  Further, if I’m the judge, I know this whack job is going to appeal when he doesn’t get what he wants, so I cut it short and let it go up if that’s what he wants to do.  We also have laws that make it OK to require some frequent, vexatious or next to insane litigants to have their pleadings reviewed before allowing them to be filed and the process begin again over new lunacy.  This is one of those guys.  If he hasn’t already filed other frivolous suits, he soon will and I think he thinks the publicity is good for his career.  Another reason to have him sanctioned.

Not that this isn’t enough slumming through the bottom of the sludge pit of meaningless news, other prisoners at LA Co. Jail are filing suits because they weren’t released when they complained of illness.  You know you wanted the latest in your Paris news.

All Paris All the Time.

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