Author Archives: Kyle Kimberlin

truth & consequences

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WASHINGTON, June 23 — Vice President Dick Cheney on Friday vigorously defended a secret program that examines banking records of Americans and others in a vast international database, and harshly criticized the news media for disclosing an operation he said was legal and “absolutely essential” to fighting terrorism.

“What I find most disturbing about these stories is the fact that some of the news media take it upon themselves to disclose vital national security programs, thereby making it more difficult for us to prevent future attacks against the American people,” Mr. Cheney said, in impromptu remarks at a fund-raising luncheon for a Republican Congressional candidate in Chicago. “That offends me.”

Wait just a minute. Hold the phone. The Press isn’t the leaker here; they’re the leakee. It is, and always has been, their job to disclose what Power is up to. The Press is in the private sector, not a functionary of the government. (Mostly, though that’s rapidly changing.) They’re not the origin of news, they are the consequence. Actually, the ultimate consequence is that Cheney doesn’t get elected to public office again. Right?

And this is yet still again another criminal violation of the US Constitution – 4th Amendment, Right to be Secure in Persons, Papers and Effects – on the the part of the nefarious cabal of thugs that has taken power in Washington. Didn’t these guys take some sort of oath concerning the Constitution? Thought I saw that on TV.

IMPEACH!

animal farm

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If any kid ever realized what was involved in factory farming they would
never touch meat again. I was so moved by the intelligence, sense of fun
and personalities of the animals I worked with on ‘Babe’ that by the end of
the film I was a vegetarian.
 
-James Cromwell, actor (1940- )

a moral imperative

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I was going through the Wayback Machine, a site which archives old versions of Web sites.  Seems that back in 2002, a friend suggested that in order to achieve the purpose of a quick and painless merciful death of a pet, it’s morally defensible to commit an act of violence.  In other words, It’s OK to shoot your own pet.  That’s the issue, and here’s what I wrote. Just thought I’d share it, because since then  I’ve been down the road I described. 

 

There is a right way to do such a thing, in which a person stands up to the cold wind and rain of grief and gives the final kindness and mercy that are his burden alone to bear and dispense.  It’s about loyalty, courage and dignity. 

 

When an old dog or cat gets sick and arthritic and can’t go for walks or jump into the truck or even get on the couch; when she gets sick and can’t keep down her food and looses sight of her toys and looses her bladder in the living room, she looses her dignity.  When she’s at the end beyond help and hope and ready to go on, then her family makes the appointment, takes her up in her blanket and takes off her leash and collar for the last time. 

 

Euthanasia is an act of mercy, a gift of love and a redemption of that lost dignity.  To do it by any means less than the most gentle, humane and even contrite is an act of shallow and vulgar cowardice, in profound ignorance of the gifts of love and humanity that pets bring to our lives.

 

To say that such an act of love and such a gift of peace can be morally performed with a weapon, in an act of violence and with an arcing spray of blood, is tragic thinking. With the exception of a situation where to wait for a veterinarian would cause the pet useless suffering.  The gun has its functions and none of them apply here. 

 

Let’s keep violence and peace clearly before us.  If we allow our sight to dim and they become confused, God help us.

 

 

Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child’s loss of a doll and a king’s loss of a crown are events of the same size.

                         -Mark Twain 

 

 

false memories

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The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.

 

-Salvador Dali, painter (1904-1989)

 

heard on the radio

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I’ve been listening to the radio a lot up here. It’s keeping me company, in a sense, along with the cats. They have good radio in these parts: KVMR, which you can listen to online. Obscure and eclectic music, interesting local talk, news, and Democracy Now. I haven’t been listening to the radio much back home, because it’s all either Classic Rock, which is so repetitive, or Air America. There’s classical out of LA, but I’m not always that relaxed. Air America simply bites, but that’s a topic for another post.

redrum

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Hey, I forgot to tell you guys what was on the TV Friday night, the night before I left to begin my week of seclusion in the deep woods. The Shining. No joke. For a week or two, my buddy Erik and I have been joking about how I’m going to wander off into insanity and start typing All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, over and over and over. And I still might. But to find that movie on, while I was packing, was just too weird. I wasn’t really sitting and watching, but I got to catch the scene where Shelley Duval finds the manuscript, the scene where the kid is riding the big wheel through the halls (damn that’s scary!) and the end … them driving off in the snowcat, and Jack with his frozen grin.

So far, just one paranormal experience. Last night, I was heading downstairs here to the bottom level of the house, which is the playroom, office and laundry, off the garage. Romie, the little gray cat was ahead of me on the stairs, but when I got to the bottom I couldn’t find him. Vanished. I looked everywhere. On the furniture, under the desk, behind the TV … searched the room. No cat. The laundry machines are in a nook under the stairs. I looked on both sides of them, and even — feeling crazy — in the drier, which had been closed. I thought he must have dodged me and run back up the stairs when I entered, and I sat at the desk.

Strange noises from the laundry. I looked again. No cat. I’m starting to get a little freaked. Finally, he came walking out. He’d been behind the washer and drier. WTF?

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I just adore a cathouse view

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It was a long drive up here yesterday. Eight hours and a little more. I saw a lot of agriculture, a good deal of insanity behind the wheel, and a little irony. The best example was a billboard for a business in Delano, north of Bakersfield. It said, “Se Habla Espanol.” Spanish spoken. I had to laugh. That sign in Delano is like one in Paris, saying “French Spoken.”

Anyway, it’s a beautiful warm late Spring day in the foothills of the Sierras, and here I am, hanging with the kitties. I’ve set up a writing space in the dining room, from which I have this view to the northeast for about 15 miles. The radio station, out of Nevada City, is playing reggae.

I like reggae well enough. Brother Joe and I saw Jimmy Cliff open for Jerry Garcia at the amphitheatre in Berkeley once.

Helluva show, and a very happy crowd.

Speaking of Happy, it seems she accidentally got let out yesterday, and ran like the wind. It took a small task force of Mom, Dad, neighbors and kids to catch her, and my Dad to carry her home. She’s OK. For those who haven’t been following the thread, Happy is our Pomeranian, who has a serious heart condition and a lifelong history of making a run for it. Not to run away, she just loves to run. In my mind, it was a tragedy narrowly averted. But my Mom said the little dog looked Happy, like she was young and free again, like old times. Something to be said for that, no doubt.

I was listening to Me & Bobby McGee, Grateful Dead version, on the way up yesterday.

Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose …

Nothin’ left to lose? Well that’s pretty ironic, isn’t it? … Be at peace in your heart, little friend. We all get a big race to run at the end, and ‘til that day comes, no shame in settling for a good tummy rub.

coming attractions

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I’m hanging out in the coffeehouse, listening to a French singer, with bongos and a trombone. I don’t speak French, but I think this means you need to know what’s coming up for me.

I don’t know if it can get a lot stranger than this music, but it’s going to get pretty weird. My brother and sis-in-law are getting ready to take off for a 10 day trip. They have two cats, one of whom has a heart problem and has to stay home. He can’t travel to my house to be cared for, and he can’t go to the vets’ for boarding. They need a petsitter. I won’t bore you with the process of selection and elimination by which the task falls to be alone. Me, alone. Alone.
Now I’m not a solitary person. Writers spend a lot of time alone – hours alone. In fact, I’m alone write now. (Write now – get it?) But not all day. Never all day and all night. I’m social. Solitude is part of the process, sometimes part of life, especially if you live alone like me. But it needs to be taken in manageable doses. I spend time with other people every day. And I live in a condo. There are people around. I can look out and see people – children playing – right outside. I can hear them talking below my windows. That’s what I’m used to.
My bro and his wife and child live in the foothills northeast of Sacramento, in a remote home, in a quiet, secluded and woody neighborhood. It’s not exactly in the middle of nowhere, but you can see the middle of nowhere from their porch. On a clear day, you can see sometimes the end of the line from the deck. And did I mention it’s quiet? It’s on a forested cul-de-sac, with just a few neighbors off through the trees. It’s rare to see them drive by. You never hear them, unless someone fires up a chainsaw.
But I agreed to go up and look after the kitties and and keep them company, for a little less than a week, while my nephew stays here in SB with my folks. We hope that a familiar person will be good for the cats, keep the separation anxiety in check. A paid petsitter will come daily for the rest of the time. Speaking of time, I have a few ideas for avoiding going completely Here’s Johnny, but there’s nothing in my experience to compare with this. So I can’t guarantee I’m coming back with my elevator still going all the way up.
I’ll be blogging it, of course.