Defenestrate Everything

Friday, March 21, 2008

Windows - that explains it!

Yes, I know this particular strip was published several years ago, but I think it's funny.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Now I can't be annoyed if someone thinks I'm a racist because of the color of my skin???

Becky C., who usually has spot on analysis for politics and the like, really makes a heinous statement in Boss Clinton and the Racial Gambit:

Blacks, like Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson ... assume there is racism, until proven otherwise. And there is certainly a very valid reason for their assumption, and the fact that a lot of whites are irritated by the attitude proves it. (Emphasis mine)

Now let me get this straight, Becky. If Al Sharpton assumes I am a racist due to the color of my skin, and I feel this assumption is unfair, and feel the slightest bit peeved by it, my annoyance at this proves that I am a racist? What else could we prove through this method?

Am I proven to be a misogynist because I dislike when women think I am a misogynist because I am the proud owner of a penis? Or could we prove Rev. Sharpton a racist by my assuming he hates white people because he's black, then having him express dismay at me for making a racist assumption?

No, the only things the above would prove is I am annoyed when people assume I am racist, dislike when women assume I am misogynistic, and Al Sharpton would become dismayed for assuming he's racist.

I have proven though, Becky needs a beginning course in logic.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Alone, for real

I truly am alone now.

I have felt  isolated  for most of my life.
Yesterday, my father called and asked for my help. He asked me to leave work early, and come help with the kids. My mother already had been at the hospital with Mothra for 24 hours when he had called. He couldn't be with her; there is no way to safely bring a near 3 year old with bronchitis into a hospital room with a 6 month old with pneumonia.

Hell, most of the time,  I  isolated myself.

I have always despised social situations.

I haven't been writing this blog for you to know the gravity of this request. My parents, as a rule, don't ask me for help. They certainly don't ask me to leave work early to profer my help. Yet that's what happened yesterday.

At parties,  I  am all too happy to stand on the side and watch others have fun.

I, up until now, have had only the perception of alone.

My parents have been the only two people in my life in whom I trust enough to share my emotional troubles. My friends are emotionally stunted, and have problems of their own. I am their rock, not the other way 'round. I fear breaking them if add my issues to theirs.

I have never actually been alone.

My penchant for  vicariously living  may be why I take to the parenting thing so easily.

My parents are getting old. They are less capable, both physically and mentally of taking care of two kids than they think, and than I thought. I will soon, be unable to unburden my demons onto my parents, lest they break. That day may be sooner than I think, and is likely sooner than I hope.

I will be alone soon.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Godzilla & Mothra are both sick. Godzilla has bronchitis, and Mothra is in the hospital with pneumonia. This is God's way of saying, "D-Rock, you thought you were powerless before... wait 'til you see this." Kids shouldn't be allowed to be sick. It's just wrong.

For those of you without kids: imagine you just got as a gift: a top of the line BluRay player, complete with Bose surround sound system and 40" plasma screen. Now after, using the best of your new system's capabilities for a few months, suddenly the only thing will play is BioDome. In mono. And the disc has scratches on it. And you think the person who gave you all this cool stuff is going to take it away because you took lousy care of it, but you know you took great care of it, including using fiber optics instead of regular cable, cleaning the dust off everyday, and turning it off at night at a decent hour. Okay, so you didn't clean the dust of every day, but that wouldn't make it break, would it? It's not like you took a hammer to it or dropped it in a swimming pool. But this is a precision instrument. Maybe a little dust could hamper performance. So you call up that techie friend of yours, Doc. Doc looks at your setup and says, "looks like you've got a little Pauly Shore infection." He pulls out a screwdriver. Well, you're pretty sure it's a screwdriver, but you've never seen one like this before. He turns one of the screws on the sound system a half a turn clockwise, and the stereo sound returns. He hands you the screwdriver and tells you to turn one screw a quarter turn clockwise twice a day for the next ten days, and everything will be fine. After that, what's left of the screwdriver will be useless, so don't try to use it anymore, but don't use it any less than that either.

Doc never asked if your stuff got dusted every day, if you used cable, or what time you shut it off each day. This all seemed very normal to him, like Pauly Shore is on every new TV in world once in a while.

Friday, November 16, 2007

How my Ron Paul convert converted me to Ron Paul.

I'll admit it. I had no hope to convert Frau or The Captain to being Ron Paul supporters. I was simply happy to have a ride and company. I have been a supporting the Libertarian Party so long, I have grown accustomed to both being marginalized (politically) by nearly everyone, and losing, both in the races, and in discussions. Frau, however not only jumped on Dr. Paul's bandwagon, she wants to drive. We are participating in a letter-writing campaign to Iowa voters, and she is the reason I think I can handwrite 300 letters before Christmas. She is the reason I will be attending my first Ron Paul meetup this Monday. Her excitement has created excitement in me. Gone are the days of Freedom as an intellectual concept. After years of supporting the entire Libertarian Party as a mental exercise, Frau has turned this into something real. I thank you, Frau. Dr. Paul thanks you. And while they
don't know it yet, the American people thank you.

Sunday, November 11, 2007


With the exception of the day Mothra arrived at our house, this has been the most exciting day of the year. I got to meet the man himself, Dr. Ronald Earnest Paul, the next President of the United States of America. I saw some of the crazy people that you hear about from Dr. Paul's detractors- the 9/11 truthers, the I hate everyone who doesn't look like me anti-immigration people, and of course, the computer geeks. But (and sorry to disappoint), the vast majority of the people I met fell into the category of "normal." I saw: old, young, white, black, Asian, Hispanic, gay, straight, Republicans, Democrats, Libertarians (and lots of libertarians), anarchists, families, single people, extroverts, introverts (harder to find than the extroverts, though), and nearly every other category that you could think of to put people in. Who is this man who can bring all there seemingly disparate people together? Ron Paul. His message? Freedom.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Sometimes you can be surprised

This flag is in front of a door to a Baptist Church. Just found that interesting


I am here in Philly, staying at Frau's parents' house. (Sorry I don't have a clever nickname for you yet, Frau.) Frau and her husband are not Ron Paul supporters yet, but I am working on that. I can't sleep. I am experiencing the same feeling I did when I first went to Disney World, or the one I still feel every Christmas Eve. Later today I am going to meet one of my heroes. This is akin to meeting Superman. I promise not to tug on his cape. I just hope to get some sleep before then.

Friday, November 2, 2007


Godzilla is my nephew, and as is the case with all the other names on my blog, Godzilla is not his real name. Simply, I am extremely paranoid that someone will find out who I am and start stalking me and my family. This assumes that anyone will ever read what I write, and that assumption seems ludicrous to me.

Eventually, I will break down, and faithful readers of this blog may one day know my address. I know one of the keys to good writing is being specific, and my being paranoid to the point of not be able to talk about anything I care about is definitely at odds with that. I may even post a picture or two of someone I've actually met one day. So, to help the confused reader, I start with this post a series of cast biographies.

Godzilla's pretty amazing, and I want to be him when I grow up. I want to live with the knowledge that if I jump from the seventh step of the stairs, someone will catch me, and if no one catches me, someone will come make me feel better. (Both regular occurrences, except we're lucky if it's only the seventh step.) I want to have heroes again. He thinks I can scare away monsters, and because he thinks it, it's true. He thinks his grandmother knows the lyrics to every song ever written, and his grandfather is the funniest person on the planet.

I fear his sometimes excessive television watching has stunted his imagination, and its use as a babysitting tool started at way too early an age for him. As I have stated previously, I am not home as often as I would like to be, and I have very little control over this. Also, Sunday is for football. This is a tradition he will understand soon enough. Most of his television watching comes under Lost Sheep's (his mother) watch, but those are issues that I'd rather not discuss right now (For Lost Sheep's sake, not for mine).

He lives in a house with Mothra (his sister), Pollyanna (his grandmother), Cuddly Porcupine (his grandfather), and myself. His grandparents are currently his legal guardians. I gave him the moniker Godzilla because he's two, and he's good at it.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Captain Godzilla

Godzilla is dressed as a pirate right now and will soon wander the streets with Lost Sheep and Pollyanna begging for candy. He will probably be done begging before I get home. This disappoints me. His costume came with a long hair (a la Jack Sparrow) attached to the hat. This is unfortunate, because Godzilla is 2, and can't grow facial hair worth a damn-- the poor lad looks like a girl.