Tuesday, February 28, 2006


Boys. Two boys.

That’s what they are.

For whatever reason, I hadn’t really been mentally geared up for two boys. I had a hunch that we were having two girls. Julie was banking on one of each (perhaps because it was statistically the most likely outcome, and because you have to be at least half right… she’s smart like that). But in the end we were both wrong.

Reactions across the Curtis-Workman compound are mixed.

First off, it’s a right boon for the Workman franchise. My dad is one of two sons, and they have three sons between them (I’m one of them, in case you’re having a hard time following this). One cousin is married and has two daughters. They’re lovely, but they won’t do much to carry on the Workman name. My other cousin is… I don’t actually know, he’s kind of fallen off the map. So it comes down to me to keep “Workman” alive.

Now I’ve done it, twice. We’ll have an heir, and a spare. This could be particularly handy if we discover that our family is actually next in line for the Swiss throne or something. (Laugh all you want, these things happen all the time.)

Julie was shocked by the “two boys” announcement. She says she feels as if she will be outnumbered, and soon our new home will come to resemble a frat house, complete with stinking heaps of underwear instead of carpeting, and toilet seats constantly left in the “up” position.

“You’re the one responsible for potty training them,” Julie said as I returned home from my job as Medford’s News Authority.

“Well, you’re the one peeing for them right now. So for continuity’s sake…” I should have answered.

One advantage to fathering twin boys is the macho factor. Twin girls? People go, “Awwwww,” and assume you’re little Mr. Sensitive now.

Twin boys? You get respect from the other guys for that. No one will ever question your virility again. “You must have an amazing penis,” the other guys think, “because you just made two other penises in a single… uh… bound.”

This is particularly satisfying as I just learned that Ava (a decrepit and evil Hungarian leech who lives to suck the life and happiness from others) told my mother-in-law that I wasn’t “man enough” to get Julie pregnant. Oh yeah?

Now comes the naming challenge. We’ve got to come up with two, which is handy, because it will be easier to slip names past Julie. As long as she gets one name she’s happy with, who cares that the second child is named “Grandmaster Flash”?

And I do think “Grandmaster Flash” is a great name. Think of what a child could achieve with a name like “Grandmaster Flash.” He would be fearless. Come on, he’s Grandmaster Flash! It seems unlikely he would become an accountant, at the very least.

The only problem with calling one twin Grandmaster Flash is figuring out what to call the other one. It’s really hard to follow up Grandmaster Flash.

I like “Nathan Junior” as well, for reasons that should be obvious to fans of “Raising Arizona.”

Well, we’ve got several more months to work that one out. But as always, we’re open to suggestions.

Friday, February 24, 2006


About 6 years ago, I bought a Los Angeles Clippers hat. I made this provocative purchase for several reasons.

1. I needed a way to hide my hair when I didn’t shower in the mornings.

2. I lived in Los Angeles at the time

3. I didn’t like the Lakers (mostly the gold and purple colors)

4. The hat had a very cool, simple, classical design (black hat, white “LA,” with a larger red “C” on it)

Notice that nowhere in that list was “I’m a fan of the Los Angeles Clippers.” It’s nothing personal, really. I like underdogs, and I lived in LA, so I guess I was sort of a Clippers fan when I bought the hat. But it would be overreaching to say that I’m a fan of any sport. I’ve never really gotten into sports.

The most obvious reason is that I suck at sports, probably because I’m the biggest klutz on earth. I do not move with grace and majesty through this world. Instead, I go through life with a gait one would usually associate with a boy in early pubescence. But I’m 36 now. I was supposed to outgrow that, right?

So it goes without saying that I didn’t go in the early rounds of the kickball draft in the 6th grade. Likewise, my services weren’t usually called for when lacrosse season rolled around each spring.

Now that I think of it, I wasn’t all that great a student back in those days, so I couldn’t even take comfort in thinking I was smarter than those jocks. Not an athlete, or a mathlete. Rather a pathetic state of affairs, I think. But it has nothing to do with the subject of this post which is, if I recall my Clippers hat.

So I got this Clippers hat, and I started wearing it around LA. And pretty soon I learned that I would have to become a Clippers fan, or at least be able to speak about the team and not sound retarded. By donning this simple headgear, I had inadvertently entered a secret society, a society of misfits.

The Clippers fan is a rare creature, even in Los Angeles. So if one detects another, they can behave like old friends. I had my first experience with this when I walked into a bakery wearing my Clippers hat.

Bakery Guy: “Maggette showed the Pistons a thing or two last night.”

Me: Uh… he sure did. I… you know… it’s about time someone showed the Pistons something.

After that less-than-convincing exchange, I figured I had better at least glance at the sports page before putting that hat on again.

So I did, and not a moment too soon. Those Clippers fans, they’ll walk up to you right on the street.

Guy on Street: “Were they on last night or what?”

Me: “I’m telling you, Brand is a bulldozer.”

I’m still not exactly sure what that sentence means, but it was enough to get me through short exchanges.

Then I moved to Texarkana, and nobody cared about the hat at all, except to say, “That hat is for the Louisiana what?”

But now I’m back on the west coast, and there are all sorts of closet Clippers fans here. And I know who they are, because they walk up to me and say the same thing.

“This could be the year.”

Then they give me a serious, knowing, look.

And they may be on to something. The Clippers are actually having a good season. They’re second in their division now, and they may actually make the playoffs for the first time in recent memory. (I know this because I looked it up online after several “this could be the year” encounters.)

So when I get that comment and the serious look, I give them the serious look right back, then arch an eyebrow and give them a thumbs up. I’ve done this enough times that I’m almost not a fraud. Sure, I’ve only seen one Clippers game in my life, and that’s only because a friend bought me a ticket. But I’ve spent so much time dishing out vague complements to the team, that I actually may be a fan… in an odd sort of way.

Fact is, I do hope they go to the playoffs this year. Heck, I hope they sweep the finals. How can they not? Brand is a bulldozer.

Note: My Clippers hat is quickly fading, and will one day have to be retired. I’ve already purchased a Giant Robot hat as a backup. I still have to do more research before I’m able to knowingly converse with the Asian hipsters that are likely to confront me once I start wearing it.

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Wednesday, February 22, 2006


Each parent chooses one twin. That parent has the sole parenting and decision making authority for that child.

After 18 years, see which kid turned out better. Loser parent has to treat winner parent to dinner at TGI Fridays.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006


Since we announced we were having twins, people have been asking us, “Are you going to find out what they are?”

“What they are.” I’m assuming they will be humans (although, in one ultrasound, one looked so much like a fish that we have taken to calling the twins “the fish sticks”). But, of course, what they’re referring to is the gender (or genders) of the twins.

I can’t figure out why someone wouldn’t want to find this information out. This whole pregnancy thing has turned our lives upside down. Why would we willfully insert more uncertainty into the process? After learning we were having twins, I decided that I’ve had enough surprises for this year.

So Julie goes to the doctor in about a week, and we should know the genders then. A weird thing will happen on that date. The future Workman Twins will be somewhat more human. They will no longer be "its." Before you know the gender of a child, you just call it “it.” It sounds impersonal and dehumanizing. We’ve been spared the worst of it by having twins. “They” is a lot better than “it.” But separate them, and they’re still “its.”

But that’s the way it goes with English. If it’s got a penis, it’s a “he.” Vagina? She. Everything else—“it.” That’s actually one of the simplest things about English. Want to know what pronoun to attach to something? Have it drop it’s pants.

It’s not so simple with other languages. Most other languages, like French, try to assign genders to anything. Cars, toasters, CD players, newspapers, socks, they’ve all got genders. At least I think they do. Some words don’t, but I really can’t keep them straight.

And deep down inside, I don’t think the French can, either. From what I can gather, France is a mess. Their economy is stagnant, civil unrest reared its ugly head last summer, and the place doesn’t seem to be a hotbed of scientific discovery, either.

Sure, Airbus (a French company) is building that new, super-huge jet that will allow 500 people to develop deep-vein thrombosis at the same time, but the French have never put a man on the moon. They haven’t even launched a chimp, have they?

This seems to go for all French-speaking places. Just look at Quebec verses the rest of Canada. Toronto feels like a space-age city of the future. Quebec? It’s a third-world country. A very cute third-world country with some delightful old-world architecture, mind you, but a third-world country still the same.

And I can’t help but think the French language is to blame.

While the English-speaking world is out there inventing the internal combustion engine and microwave popcorn, French-speakers are holding conferences to figure out if a wireless modem has a penis.

Well, in about 7 days, we’ll know if any of our unborn kids have penises (peni?). I think they’re both girls. Julie thinks we’ve got one of each. But no matter what they turn out to be, I think it’s safe to say we’re not teaching them French. (Proposed twin experiment not withstanding.)

Note: The gender of these two little bundles of love will be determined by ultrasound. Many close friends may recall me calling ultrasounds a complete sham back in 2003. I have been shown ultrasounds purported to be of my children. Some look like something. Some look like static. The jury is still out for me. But as a bonus, I’m posting my deeply-thoughtful 2003 piece directly below this one.

Sonogram? Sono-sham!

First published: April 23, 2003

A friend of mine just announced he and his wife will be having a baby several months from now. Actually, she'll be having the baby, he'll just watch. Because these people are clever and tech savvy, they sent the announcement in the form of an audio file emailed to all their friends.

When you (well, me really) open the file you hear, well, nothing. Not really nothing, it sounded kind of like static recororded from a quasar billions of light years away. Some people who listened to it thought their computers were broken. Other people, however, didn't hear static, but a baby's heartbeat. These people were, not surprisingly, parents.

Modern medicine has brought us many wonderful things, laughing gas comes to mind. Occasionally, however, they just make up medical procedures for people who are vulnerable. And who's more vulnerable than a pregnant person? A guy in a coma, that's who. People who are in comas aren't all that funny, though, so we'll go back to making fun of pregnant people.

Pregnant people are vulnerable because their hormones are so far out of whack. Because of this, they'll do just about anything. Those pregnant people, they'll eat pickles with ice cream, they'll cry when they see a really good dry cleaning coupon in the newspaper, they'll even watch Paulie Shore movies. They're capable of just about anything, even producing another human being out of materials they already have inside their bodies.

Doctors are hip to the erratic and, dare I say, suggestible nature of pregnant people and are ready to cash in. They offer to sell parents-to-be an audio tape and photo of their child, before he/she/other is even born.

They call the procedure "ultrasound" and "sonogram." Both procedures are complete shams. Anyone (who isn't pregnant) who sees an ultrasound photo can figure it out. An ultrasound is basically a photo of what is known in the television world as a "snow pattern." A snow pattern occurs when a TV can't pick up a signal. In other words, it's static.

When a normal person sees static on a TV, they either change the channel or make threatening calls to their cable provider. When pregnant people see static on a TV, they see a baby. This is not uncommon. If you hold up any object in front of a pregnant person (an apple, for example) and ask them to identify it, they will invariably say, "That’s a baby, a baby!" This is a good test if you're curious to see if your friend is really pregnant or just trying to make up excuses for sudden weight gain

Pregnant people love these photos and love showing them to their friends. They'll hand you this photo of, well, nothing and say, "Look at the photo of our baby!" You'll look at it for a few moments, hoping that an image will appear if you stare at it hard enough, sort of like those "magic eye" pictures. After a while, you get the sinking feeling that comes from knowing a friend of yours just paid $300 for what is essentially an electronic ink blot.

This is a tragedy that is replaying itself daily across this nation, but I'd rather light a candle than curse the darkness. Many of you reading this will one day be pregnant, perhaps even on purpose, and I'm willing to do my part to help you during that trying time.

Instead of getting an ultrasound for $300, send me $50 and I'll send you a video tape I made when the antenna broke on my TV a few years ago. It's mostly static, but sometimes you can make out figures of people deep in the background, perhaps even Sienfeld. You can show it to your friends and tell them it's a video of your new child. Don't worry, your insurance will cover this.


Wednesday, February 15, 2006


So several cartoonists in Denmark did drawings of the Prophet Muhammad, and some of them weren't complementary. Then a Danish newspaper printed them, and that made some Muslims unhappy. Some Islamic organizations asked for an apology from the Danish government, but didn't get what they wanted. As the controversy grew, newspapers in Norway, Italy, and other European nations reprinted the cartoons as a show of solidarity.

Now we've got riots in various countries. Pictures on the news show people in the streets burning Danish flags and calling for the deaths of the cartoonists. Danish and Norwegian embassies have been burned in Beirut. European aid groups have pulled out of the Gaza Strip citing safety concerns. Violence over the cartoons has killed at least three people in Pakistan.

I can't even pretend to understand the passions that are fueling these riots. I'm Mormon, and we get mocked all the time on programs like South Park, but I can't say it really bothers me, perhaps because I find the program extremely funny. But I've also come across some extremely hateful anti-Mormon literature. It made me angry, but not even so mad that I would write the authors a letter.

That said, the riots have a certain juvenile logic to them. A Danish paper printed the offensive picture, so the mobs are coming after Danish targets. A Norwegian paper joined the fray, so now Norwegian targets are fair game.

But over the past few days, the riots have expanded their scope. Now protesters are burning Danish and Norwegian and American flags. American flags? Oh come on!

Now I know we're not popular in the Muslim world these days, and not without reason. We've got this bad habit of invading Muslim countries. This makes people unhappy. President Bush acknowledged this in a press conference a few years ago when he said of the Iraqis, "They don't like being occupied... I wouldn't like to be occupied."

Apart from the occupations and bombings, people in the Muslim world have a whole laundry list of things to hate us for. Some say we fill the world with a vulgar ideology that places consumerism over spirituality or community. Yeah, we probably do that. How about turning a blind eye to extremism in Saudi Arabia, even though most of the 9/11 hijackers came from that country? Again, guilt. Abu Ghraib? Secret torture prisons? Well...?

So you can understand when people get angry at us. As a matter of fact, a lot of us get angry at us. But folks on "The Muslim Street" take it a step further and call us "The Great Satan" and burn flags and draw horns and a pointy beard on photos of George Bush. You may not agree, but at least it makes sense.

And that's what's got my shorts in a knot over this Danish cartoon thing. For once, WE DIDN'T DO IT. We almost always do it, but this time WE DIDN'T DO IT. Someone else did it! Go get someone else!

In interviews, protesters say the US pretty much controls Europe, so we're probably behind the cartoons in some fashion. People in the Middle East should know better than that. Who invaded Iraq? The American army, that's who. If we controlled Europe, NATO would have invaded. Better yet, we would have figured out how to get Europe to do the whole invasion by themselves and pay for the reconstruction.

Furthermore, European newspapers rushed to print the cartoons to show unity and make some sort of statement on free speech. Meanwhile, almost every paper in the US didn't print the cartoons out of a deep respect for Islam or because they were chicken.

Yet still the American flags are burning in the Middle East over these cartoons. I don't know what the solution is, but if we're already in trouble, we might as well just print them.

(P.S. I've noticed that rioters in several Middle Eastern cities have run out of Danish flags and have started burning Swiss flags. I know they look similar, but this is just lazy. Don't mess with the Swiss. Those are my people. If you mess with the Swiss, you mess with me. Consider yourself warned.)

Saturday, February 11, 2006


Today I read that several nations are interested in sending people to the moon. Two years ago, operatives from the Bush administration said the president was going to announce a new moon mission as part of the '04 campaign. As it turns out, it never became at major plank of Bush's reelection campaign, but he managed to get a second term anyway.

But before any of that happened, I wrote a column for the Daily Sundial on the subject. When it hit print, some guy wrote me a letter saying I was a part of an evil cabal that included the New York Times and Michael Moore. In honor of that writer, I offer this piece from the archives...

(January 24, 2004)

It’s campaign season again, and that means it’s time for our leaders and perspective leaders to wow us with their deep thinking and stirring vision of the future. Candidates generally do this by standing in front of large banners that say things like “A Reformer With Results,” or “Patriotism and Pride,” or “Keeping it Real in the USA,” or even “Reforming Patriotism Resulting in Real Pride.”

Things are much better if you’re actually the president while campaigning. First off, you can stand in front of banners that say things like “I’m in Charge of Everything!” Who’s going to argue with that? You also get to fly around on Air Force One, preempt television programs for your speeches to Congress, and fire missiles at things.

Best of all, you have access to trillions of pretend dollars and you can make up fun ways to spend them. President Bush’s latest proposal to spend money and inspire people involves (wait for it) putting a man on the moon.

The president’s moon proposal is a bold and forward-thinking initiative. It will likely be embraced by the American public. I have reason to believe the president will go even further once his campaign really starts going. Through my extensive Washington contacts, I have been able to obtain a copy of a speech President Bush plans to give in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania late next month. Remember, you saw it first in the Sundial.

“My fellow Americans, our nation stands at a crossroads unprecedented in our history. Our economy is in distress, the cost of healthcare is spiraling upwards, our government is running substantial deficits, and international terrorism continues to threaten our borders. Many Americans are sharply divided on how to solve our country’s problems. As I mentioned last month, I believe we should go to the moon. But my vision for the future goes further than the moon.”

(look away from teleprompter, smirk if necessary)

“Tomorrow I will submit to congress a proposal to send a man across the Atlantic Ocean, in an airplane, by himself. The time has come for transatlantic manned flight. As a nation, we have come together to accomplish many great things. With hard work, sacrifice, and billions of dollars, we can do it again. I will devote sufficient resources to ensure we reach our goal by 2006. My administration will immediately begin a national search to find the hero who will pilot the new plane. The vice president will vet all the candidates. At the end of the search, the vice president will select himself to pilot the plane.”

(give the audience time to get joke, nod head to prompt audience if necessary, if all else fails, smirk)

“After we succeed at transatlantic flight, I propose we build a hot air balloon and circumnavigate the globe in 80 days. Man has always dreamed of one day floating through the skies, lighter than air. I believe we can develop the technology to make that dream a reality by 2007. The captain of the balloon will be able to bring back stories of exotic and savage lands far beyond our borders.”

(wait for applause, think about making “tiger claw” gesture to suggest exotic animals that may be found during the balloon tour)

“I have saved my grandest vision for the final year of my second term that Karl Rove has assured me I will get. America, it is time we explore the Louisiana Purchase. This vast tract of land is key to our country’s future. If we can discover a water route to the Pacific, we may be able to establish an efficient trade route to India. They have spices there, and we’d like some. In 2008, I will set aside 400 billion dollars to build a canoe and stock it with provisions. Two explorers will pick up a ‘native’ guide and explore the waterways of our new territory. The narratives and pencil sketches the explorers produce will inspire us all for generations to come!

“Now is the time, America! Seize your destiny!”

(smile, raise fist into air)

“Resist the Stamp Act!”

(wave, smirk, repeat)


Wednesday, February 08, 2006


I just received the news that my buddy Shawn Patrick is headed to Denver.

When I first started working at KTAL, I was lost and clueless. Some engineers at KTAL were lost and clueless, too, so the microwave transmitter between Texarkana and Shreveport was broken for about two months. That meant I had to drive my stories 80 miles down to Shreveport every night.

(When you figure out how much money they spent in gas and overtime during those two months, it probably cost more than the entire repair. But if I start down that road, I'll be ranting for hours. So I'll get back to the story.)

The drive was awful. It was on a twisty, two lane road with trees right up to the pavement and fatal accidents every night. On the way, there was a city called Fouke. Every night, the entire population of Fouke died in auto wrecks on that road. Needless to say, I hated making the drive down, and was terrified of the drive back up late at night.

But there was a bright spot to be found in all this gas guzzling and unsafe driving (note to KTAL management: yes, I drove a company car unsafely. You should know that there isn't some magic time warp on US 71 that allows you to travel between Texarkana and Shreveport in an hour. When you needed it there that fast, I sped. So there.)

Where was I? Oh yes, the bright spots. Like I mentioned in paragraph #2, I was pretty clueless when I started working at KTAL. It was my first professional TV job and I was probably more qualified to mop the floor at Burger King. But they hired me anyway, and I had to drive from the bureau to the station just about every day for a while. Despite my cluenessness, some people down in Shreveport took me under their wings.

One was Jake Corbell, and he's a lovely man and a great producer. But he's not moving to Denver, so we'll move on.

Another was Dave Schwartz. But he's in sports... and... I shouldn't say more.

And then there was Shawn Patrick. He was the anchor, and anchors are supposed to be total pricks. But instead, he was nice to me... said I was a good writer... helped me tighten up some of my stories.

KTAL eventually fixed the microwave and my trips to Shreveport pretty much came to a halt. But I kept in touch with Shawn and eventually we'd occasionally meet for lunches and complain about work and life and the hazards of being a Yankee in the south. It was big fun.

Some time in the middle of all this, a pair of hurricanes nailed Louisiana. During one marathon newscast, I was pressed into action running the teleprompter. The control room was nothing short of chaos. We had a series of reporters scattered across the south part of the state and satellite feeds were cutting in and out. Live shots weren't much more reliable. The rundown became nothing more than a wish list as stories were shuffled, created and killed at a blinding pace. My job running the prompter was pretty easy because almost nothing we were doing was on the prompter. It was all fly by the seat of your pants. But on the set, you would never know the chaos that existed just feet away. Shawn was cool as a cucumber, ad-libbing huge hunks of the newscast, rolling with the punches, and being as professional as anyone was during the storms. Give me ten years, and I could never muster that kind of composure.

(Note: Shannon Slatton was anchoring that newscast as well. She was equally impressive. But she isn't moving to Denver, so I'll move on)

When I decided I'd had enough of the Confederacy, my job, and everything that came with it, Shawn gave me advice on what stories to put on my audition reel. He even offered to be a reference.

Within three weeks of sending my tape out, I had a job in Oregon. It felt good to rid myself of my first job and Texarkana and all the baggage that came with it, but it's hard to leave a comrade behind in a place like Shreveport when you get to go to Oregon.

So it warms my heart to learn that Shawn has found his ticket out of the south as well. And to move from market #81 to market #18... well... it couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

The South will be a poorer place at your departure.

Oh wait, the South already is a poor place. Never mind.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006


So there’s this internet meme thing going on and I'd be lying if I said I knew exactly what it's suposed to mean. All I know is that people tag other people and you learn about new blogs and the people who write them and so-on. My friend Pat did it, and then “tagged” me. He was tagged by blog-goddess dooce, whom I made out with occasionally during the Clinton administration. She never made out with Pat… but she tagged him anyway. Oh well, she probably doesn’t know I have a blog anyway. Nobody knows, except a handful of journalists in Shreveport, my mother, and the odd collection agency operative.

So here it goes, with all apologies to people who are too cool for this (I thought I was one such person, but it seems I’m not.)

Four Jobs I’ve had
1. Fish Monger
2. Personal assistant
3. Movie extra (not a very good film, if you saw it, I'm sorry)
4. Ski lift operator

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over
1. Raising Arizona
2. Lost in Translation
3. Barcelona
4. All The President’s Men

Four Places I’ve Lived
1. Rochester, NY
2. Santa Monica, CA
3. Rexburg, ID
4. Texarkana, AR (there’s one in Texas, too, but I didn’t live there)

Four TV Shows I Love to Watch
1. The Daily Show/Colbert Report (best written comedy on TV)
2. Frontline
3. Arrested Development
4. British House of Commons on C-SPAN (If you’re a political nerd, this is perhaps the coolest thing on earth)

Four Places I’ve Been on Vacation
1. Singapore (didn't get caned)
2. Norway (didn't get any socialized medicine)
3. Venice (didn't get drunk--what with being Mormon and all)
4. Sam’s Mom’s House (got lots of good luvin')

Four of My Favorite Dishes
(it may surprise anyone who knows me that I eat as many as four dishes)
1. King Crab
2. Grilled Cheese
3. Danish Butter Cookies
4. Fried Cheese (you can save time and stuff them directly in your aorta)

Four Sites I Visit Daily
1. 3hive
2. The Economist
3. Rotowire (I’ve got a fantasy basketball team, and I’m almost not ashamed of it)
4. Blogs my friends run

Four Places I’d Rather Be Now
1. Skiing, perhaps in Utah
2. At a concert, perhaps the Coachella Festival
3. Tokyo. I’m assuming I’d rather be there because it looked cool on Lost In Translation and because I’m a fan of neon and big cities. But I’ve never actually been there, so I must admit this opinion is held in ignorance.
4. Santa Monica, which I have missed every day since I left.

Four People I’m Tagging
Now this is tricky, because I don’t really know four people who have blogs who haven’t already been tagged. Well there is Winter, who I don’t really know, but who has left some comments here and lives in Texarkana. I know Darrell visits here quite a bit, but if he has a blog, I guess he can consider himself tagged. Oh yeah, there is also my delightful gay Canadian friend John. He's got a blog... althought he never updates it. You're tagged, too, so there.

Enough of this nonsense, next time, I’ll post a very thoughtful essay on the nature of travel.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006


So tonight President Bush said that America is addicted to oil. Odd words coming from a Texas oilman who just gave huge subsidies to oil companies. Sort of like your crack dealer telling you you've got a problem, then selling you another hit.

But now at least I understand why Dick Cheney didn't want anyone to know who he met with as part of the energy task force. They were 12-step meetings! Dick Cheney's got an oil problem and he's trying to deal with it! Can't you people give an addict a moment's worth of peace?

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