cool. furniture. with. periods.
This website has got to be my Saturday website offering. I found Funfurde (an amalgamation of the words, Funky Furniture Design) at the Blogger control panel. The blog features daily doses of odd, unusual, and pretty nifty items of furniture, along with descriptions of how to find and/or buy the pieces (If at all affordable.) I've loved going back to it to see what the author has added. I even went so far as to try to help find the Pablo Vase on the internet (See FunFurde's July 14th entry). See the entire blogsite here: Funfurde
George W. Bush speaks in 2000, stating that he firmly believed that not one of the 152 inmates executed in Texas was in any way not guilty and had entire due process of the law. George W. Bush had no moral dilemma whatsoever. He held life or death decisions in his hands and with the arrogance of a Roman Emperor, turned his thumb down with no hesitation or apprehension. (How did this man get into the White House?)
The undeniable truth is that capital punishment is entirely unfair. People with money and influence can defend against it. Like the documentary pointed out, we treat criminals as if they are their crime, destroy the criminal and the crime is vindicated. So many people who have loved the murdered victims of executed criminals will tell you, the execution does nothing to offer them closure.
I heard, in my younger days, the argument that, “What if it were your mother, your partner, your child?” My only answer is that, “Then I would be angry. Certainly I would hate the killer and want retribution.” But retribution would be best served with forcing the killer to serve life in prison, without the possibility of parole, forced to live with the guilt of their crime. It certainly is less expensive than execution. I’ll deal with my closure with grief counseling, psychiatric sessions, and visits to my loved one’s graveside.
The program is being rebroadcast on Saturday night from 8 to 10pm on MSNBC.
View the website: 
Want to get published? Want to present your work to an audience of admiring new fans? Want to win prizes?
Well, here's the pressure you need to pick up that pen. Dust off one of your old favorites or write something new, then submit it to Pride, Prose & Poetry.
This contest is sponsored by Lavender Writes, The Independent News and Borders Books & Music and is open to all South Florida writers. Material need not have gay content to be considered. We're looking for good writing, no matter what you write about. Let your imagination be your only limit.
The top three winners will be published in The Independent News and receive a prize package presented by Borders and Lavender Writes. All winners and finalists will be invited to appear in a reading of their winning work at Borders Books & Music in Fort Lauderdale.
Submissions can be up to 1,200 words and should be suitable for publication in The Independent. The deadline for submissions is Friday, August 27, 2004. Before submitting, please read the complete rules at 
I’ve got a midnight deadline to get today’s post in, but I’m stuck watching Comedy Central discussing the Democratic Convention. The interminably inattentive Colin Quinn’s on, with his usual dense team of stand-ups, discussing the convention. They’re yelling at him, at each other. It’s tiresome.
Jon Stewart was somewhat impressive, however. He made fun of the numerous pundits who blasted Al Sharpton’s twenty-minute speech. I can’t stand Al Sharpton, but truly, from what I saw, they do protest too much. This time he was pretty much on the money.
I’m over this election. I can’t imagine that Bush will get reelected, but I’ve become so jaded that I can’t see how Kerry’s election will make much more than a cursory difference in the corporate takeover of America. Maybe the top 5%ers won’t get richer quite as fast, but they will get richer. Still, I’m going to vote, if only to help point out to the Bush voters, that selfish or misguided 30% of the population who will comprise just about 48% of votes cast, we are damn sick and tired of our environment being stomped on, of the 5%ers draining our pockets to fill their coffers for gasoline and fuel, of insane moralists trying to convince the rest of the nation that gay marriage somehow affects them, of close to 1,000 Americans dying in the Bush Family personal vendetta in the Middle East. We’re sick of 2% of the male population being incarcerated, primarily due to drugs.
There’s actually someone in my neighborhood that has a Bush 2004 bumper sticker on his or her car. I normally carry a baggie around when I walk 
When I find myself more and more uncertain and frightened about where my quickly deteriorating financial situation is leading, I seem to fall into an everlasting triangle of worry, paralysis and failure.
The worry is based on my own preconceived notions of myself, derived from the mistakes of my past and combined with the negative parental and sibling suggestions from my youth. My mind focuses on the unknown, the impossible to predict, the future; and I am unable to function in the present. Thereby paralysis sets in. Failure soon follows, for I have made promises and taken on obligations only to have to apologize for my own ineffectuality. I make fewer promises; avoid any and all opportunity for people to ask me favors; and continue to doubt my talent and ability to work effectively. I start to worry again.
What is the unfortunate constant in this stream of unconsciousness? It remains entirely in the first person. I worry, I can’t do anything about it, and I fail. As I remain close to spiritually based friends, I watch their successes and examine how they deal with problems on a day-to-day basis. Often when confronted by negative forces, they will claim to “give it up to G-d.”
Most of my life, I paid attention only to the physical evidence before me, and possessing the genius mind that I possessed, I determined that there could not possibly be a G-d. Any declaration of G-d’s existence came from less capable minds, sad unfortunates who were easily duped by fraudulent ministers and ancient, dusty texts. There was no convincing me that G-d was, in fact, a true and verifiable force in people’s life.
During the most difficult time of my addiction, I often remarked at the miracle of my survival; which could only have be the result of desperate “foxhole” prayers. I suddenly believed: G-d did in fact exist, and I was one of G-d’s abject failures. G-d listened to my prayers at only the worst of time, the rest of my life I would have to rely on the higher power of other men.
But when I learned more about prayer, and began to pray on a daily basis, I found out that A) I wasn’t asking the right things, and B) I was only looking for G-d where I wanted to find G-d. This superior being, my higher power, was always open to hearing my prayer. I only needed to learn to align my requests with the will of G-d!
As I began to open my eyes without the cloud of my history behind them, I could see the evidence I so dearly sought. People were in my life at certain times. Opportunities presented themselves the very moment I needed them. It wasn’t that G-d was ignoring me; G-d was constantly working in my life and the lives of everyone around me!
When I make that decision, to “give it up,” I am surrendering the misguided perception that only I know what is best for me. I am able to work moment by moment, not putting things off until a tomorrow that never comes, but putting one step in front of the other and doing what I can do for myself today. My own will is faulty, for all too often I don’t know what I want anyway.
My life is forever in G-d’s able and loving care, and always has been. It was, even when I did not believe in G-d. It was, even when I believed G-d had forsaken me. Turning my life over to G-d’s care is simple, for that is where G-d is all along.
G-d, to my understanding, simply is. I don’t have to intellectualize G-d. I don’t have to decide that G-d is the Lord over all His people or the Mother in the Earth. G‑d is all those things, or the best qualities of all those things, without the rain of fire on the city for acts that offend Him, or the burning lava and ash in revenge for harming Her kingdom. G-d is in my fingers as I type, and in my mind as I work.
I live much happier when I know I am in the care of G-d.
Artwork image entitled "Emergence of Mother God" courtesy of 
I'm back to writing for a living, at least part-time; and the good thing is, I can do the work right here at my desk at home. The bad thing is, my ADD mind has to maintain a schedule of getting to my computer at a certain time and dedicating myself, distraction free to sitting here and doing the work.
Certainly I have the potential to make a decent amount of money, enough to pay the bills: electricity, mortgage, water, credit cards, credit cards, credit cards. It's really just a matter of sitting down and doing it.
So what new glimpses can I offer into my life today, to make this blog remain interesting and to keep you all coming back? Agh, nothing, my friends. Remember, I'm writing for myself, not for you. But if you get fulfilment from the days that I actually provide fascination or wittiness or intrigue, you can certainly put up with the dull moments of my bleary day-to-day existence.
After all, this is developing me into a person who knows what he likes to write about, and the stuff with which he's absolutely fulfilled. For instance, that piece I put together last Saturday morning (July 17) for the Lavender Writes reading was entitled "Plugging In." First of all, the other readers who didn't already know me commented on how shocked they were to find out I put that together in one morning. Secondly, I sent it to Michael (see earlier post 
This entire thing was brought up in a discussion that I initiated about "flame wars". Before I continue, I offer here a little explanation from 
Of course, I committed myself to writing every day for this blog in some manner or fashion—involving full sentences in essay or story format. That is what I must do.
The truth be told, once again, I could not put a book down until way, way past 2AM. Fool’s Fate, the third book in that Robin Hobbs trilogy. That book I said I was not going to pick up until I finished another book. A friend hand delivered me the book on Friday, and on that day I said, “I’ll read a few chapters then go back to the other book.” Now I’m almost done with it.
Of course, I scheduled my alarm to get me up at 7:00 AM so I could start my new/old job and be ready and able, bright-eyed and bushytailed, first thing in the morning. I’m writing copy for my old company of little 30 second messages for people to listen too while receptionists at various companies have them on hold. If you want to understand all that better, check out my employer’s website: 
Kern stumbles across a dying man, from whom a strange curse, a.k.a. "The Mirror's Shard," emerges and plants itself into Kern. The forger of the Shard is a magical and mysterious beautiful demon named Odessa Helipatilliga, who wants it back.
Now, I finished the first draft, in which Kern and Gertrue were only twelve-or-so years old. It truly drew from the story, and I wanted to add a love angle that made older children work much better.
But I haven't worked on the story in quite some time. I have piles and piles of paper with notes sitting on the edge of my rear desk, but I seem to have a "block" in returning to it.
At least I'm writing something. That's what Karen told me; and I keep it with me. I'm writing something...something of my own, and I will get back to this. Just writing about it here has helped me.
Update 9/17/04: Read the Prologue here: 
I have decided to post a limited amount of fiction on the blog, as part of the jump-starting process of actually writing on a regular basis. Of course, commentary is very much appreciated. Critique—constructive of course—is welcome. But first and foremost, response! I need to know that writing is worth my time and effort, else why do it? Plus, it gives me the incentive to continue to write.
Limited, for should I wish to publish this story in its entirety, no publisher would wish to purchase something previously read (no matter by how small a readership I may have).
I beg of thee, kind reader, to send me your opinions, whether positive of negative of the sci-fi mystery thriller, From a Fountain. I have already formulated much of this, but have a need to put it to the pen.
Your assistance is greatly appreciated.
Somehow, my satellite dish, satellite receiver, and television from the bedroom all aren’t working at the same time. I am now considering that we might have been struck by lightning at some point in the past year. I am thankful we’ve paid extra to DirecTV for a plan to cover all of this. It’s nice to know that an investment is coming back in our favor. I still can’t watch 
Let's find better and faster ways to destroy the environment, sending us spinning even faster toward global warming.
As we get closer to the election, the White House is just going to bombard us with even more and more idiotic things so we can't focus on the real evil ways they're working to get the elite embedded into the government. Anyone notice how in state governments dominated by Republicans the congressional districts are gerrymandered beyond comprehension to concentrate likely Democrat voters into areas and spread out Republicans so that they dominate voter percentages in a greater amound of areas. How come nobody has gone to court.
I'm starting to sound really paranoid. Maybe it just seems to me that the White House is entirely obvious in its deception. I think that the rest of the voters just don't mind.
I don't have the source of this quote, but I just hope the last part is true:
Thanks Micah! And for the compliment! Linking again: 
I don't think Hatrack River really needs me to send them links, but if you're into fantasy or science fiction, take a look at Orson Scott Card's huge website.
I got involved with role-writing in Hatrack River back in 1998, and that is part of what helped me initially find my confidence in my imagination and writing ability that I have today. I strongly disagree with a lot of Uncle Orson's LDS-influenced beliefs, but there's no denying he's an imaginative and intelligent man, as well as being an accomplished writer.
The Library was first initiated over thirty years ago, and now is in its twentieth year of operation. According to its by-laws, the purpose is to:
Now, from what I've been able to piece together, based on loose evidence, Sheldon might have been founded in 1881. It looks like it was a railroad stop according to an old-time picture of the town. More historical pictures are available at 
People in Sheldon 
Finally, he's done, and I wait for him to go BACK to the attendant and wait in line. It's about 11:55 by now, and I'm more than ready when he finally returns and drives off. Why doesn't a man with that kind of vehicle have a credit card? I pull up, stick my card in the machine and... none of the keypads work.
I start to get mildly angry. Actually, I'm slamming the butt of my hand into the pump. Nothing.
I walk over to the attendant with my credit card and say, "You know, you need to have a sign on that tank."
He takes my card and I walk back. There is now one of the Mexican-looking fellows using my gas pump.
"No, no no no no no!!!" I scream at the man. "I just gave him my card!"
The man is insisting he paid $4.00 to get gas. I won't have it. I grab the nozzle out of his hand and plant it in my tank.
He walks off. I'm fuming. The pump stops at $2.00.
I'm furious as I return to the attendant. He tells me in his Some-Island-In-The-Caribbean voice that the other guy was next. I scream at him that I have been waiting for THAT pump for fifteen minutes, and how DARE he give it away.
I give the Mexican my first two dollars. He takes $2.14 worth of gas. I commence to fill my tank. The guy in the pump next to me is explaining how there's no such thing as service any more. He's wondering what the hell happened to service, and that in the old days you wouldn't have to deal with people like this. This guy is about my age. I respond affirmatively, not necessarily because I agree with him but that I'm completely pissed off
By the time I pass $20 I'm wondering why the hell I'm still pumping. I replace the nozzle and storm back to the attendant, waiting in line behind two other people. His nametag declares him, "Nick".
"Can I see your ID," Nick declares. I'm certain it's only because I'm yelling at him.
"Fuck you!" I rant as I pull my wallet out.
He hands me my receipt as I demand, "What's the name of your manager?"
"I'm the manager, and this is my name!" he points at the name tag. I'm certain that neither is he the manager nor is his name, Nick.
"I'm getting in touch with your corporate headquarters!" I scream. My voice is squeaking now, about half an octave above normal.
He snorts his derision.
I spit the following, "You need to learn something about service."
My day is completely fouled up, and I drive the last two miles back home. I speed-dial the Housemate, who is on a job site. I explain to his message center that my day is all messed up.
Sherry, the neighbor who holds hostages in conversation, is in her yard as I pull in. I unload myself on her, in a kind of ironic reverse roles. I am saved from hearing about her difficulties by a television being delivered to her home.
As I get inside, I pull up the Hess website to get more information, but I'm already reflecting back on what happened.
The satisfaction I'm looking for involves "Nick" admitting he was wrong and apologizing. There's a remote chance I could make a big enough stink and get him fired, but judging by his attitude, and the condition of that gas station, he doesn't much like it anyway. I realize that I couldn't possibly get any kind of satisfaction from it.
Then it occurs to me that G-d is screaming a message at me. My last job was in a service-oriented profession. I'm not doing so well with my interpersonal skills lately. The message? I have to be certain that whatever it is that I will be doing next, it should involve as little human contact as possible. At this point, I feel like a million dollars.
Tomorrow, I get back on track. No gas stations this time.
Spiderman 2 was fantastic! I had to say that it topped the first movie. Tobey Maguire is looking fine. I still think of Kirsten Dunst as the infant vampire, Claudia, in Interview with a Vampire, but she is certainly taking Mary Jane and making her her own. I missed the green suit that Doc Ock wears in the comic book, but Alfred Molina was convincing in the part.
Spiderman 3 is almost certainly going to feature the wedding of Peter and Mary Jane. Villian of choice? If the closing scene with Harry Osborne is any indication, it’s going to be the Hobgoblin. That actually was Harry Osborne in the comic book if I remember correctly.
If you’ve been thinking about going to see Spider-Man…go and see it.
So when do I go see Harry Potter? Hopefully before too long. You’ll hear it here first.
You can visit the Spider-Man 3 official website here:
Like cattle to the slaughter, Moore skillfully leads the audience toward the only possible conclusions he will allow. Furthermore, he uses the worst possible media clips of Bush and his cabinet, making certain that we understand that the president is the idiot ringmaster of a Circus of Fools, and the puppet of far more ruthless people such as his father and the vice president. Moore pulls no punches.
I commend Moore for his ability to make a statement in a time when speaking out against the president and his policies is painted as unpatriotic or anti-American. However, I caution the viewer to maintain an open mind while watching this movie, for Moore uses tactics commonly favored by Republican campaigners.
Michael Moore only gives part of the picture, and lends no time to any facts that might detract from those that support his own conclusions. This is irresponsible in itself because it gives the opposing side additional ammunition when it comes their turn to tarnish the movies credibility.
As a documentary, Fahrenheit 9/11 is a fantastic movie. Make no mistake—however much I may love all things leftist and liberal, this movie is propaganda timed to coincide with an election year. I want George W. Bush out of the White House as much as Moore does. I only wish that my fellow countrymen would smarten up, and vote intelligently, and not the way one or another piece of propaganda tells them to vote.
You can visit the official movie site at:
Don't forget this state was the birthplace of Thomas Jefferson and George Washington as well as many other heroes of freedom. Although I'm certain that these great spirits have much better places to be than rolling around in their graves—if that's in fact where they are, then I am positive that's what they're doing.
Just so you know, there's a boycott going on. I just read about this site today in the Advocate News Magazine. Take a look at what you can do: 
The Key West Wreckers Levi/Leather Club was organized in 1991 by thirteen men (hence the “13” in their logo) interested in forming a club to endorse the leather lifestyle and raise charitable funds for the local community. They hold several fundraising parties on certain days of the year, and are quite busy during the week of Fantasy Fest. I even marched with them in their contingent back in 1999 (During my bad ol' days).
You can find out more about them by visiting their site: 
Interesting point: We never even bothered to watch the original Mad Max before I returned it. We had both seen it long ago, and I started it, but it simply appeared archaic, dusty and uninteresting. I put it right back into the Netflix package where it belonged.
Neither this movie nor the previous one, Road Warrior, is a marvel of modern cinema. Fascinating, yes, to the teenage sci-fi junkie that I was in the early eighties when they were released. Now that I’ve written a few things, however, I’m left to wonder about the continuity among the three movies.
Mad Max’s