I don’t know how he got it up there, but not to worry. He caught a bus.

The Patriot Act has kept its teeth.

“This new world we live in is going to force us to have some constraints.” So said Rep. Zach Wamp, R-Tenn, as he and 209 other patriots — in the new sense of the word — voted to leave the nefarious Patriot Act as it is, so the government keeps its power to spy on us. And I believe the gentleman from Tennessee is right. We’re forced to have constraints, we’re forced to lose our liberty, we’re forced to betray the legacy of our nation and our veterans. Because we’ve elected idiots and cowards to Congress. So it goes.

Shame!

“‘Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us

comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes

seeming to divine a purpose…. From the standpoint of

daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: that

man is here for the sake of other men — above all for

those upon whose smile and well-being our own happiness

depends, and also for the countless unknown souls with

whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy.”

~Albert Einstein

I went down to the shopping center today, to have coffee with Dad. When I drove up, I noticed a man sitting on the ground, next to the bench, in front of my insurance agent’s office, near the coffeehouse. Another man was with him, though not sitting on the ground. We got our coffee, and sat on a bench nearby.

The second man walked some thirty feet away, made a call on his cell phone, then returned to the first man – whose name we soon learned was Robert. Robert had gotten off the ground and was sitting on a bench. His friend spoke to him. I only heard little bits of what he said, but it went something like this:

“Man, they say you have a warrant out for your arrest. … Robert, you know I’d help you, but I’m on probation myself. … You think you should turn yourself in? … You know you can’t run. … Robert, you can’t run. … You have people who love you. … You’re a wonderful man. … You go in, you can get into detox.”

We drank our coffee, and in a few minutes, a police car cruised slowly by, then another, and a third. They took parking places among the other cars in the lot, discreetly.

I told Dad, “I had a feeling they’d be here. Maybe we should move, give them a little room to work.” So we moved a little farther away, but we were still within earshot of what was going down with Robert.

The police officers walked up and talked with Robert’s friend, who told them Robert “needs help.” Then he left, drinking a Starbucks Frapucino through a straw. I don’t mean to seem flippant, it’s just a fact. He’d done his best for his friend.

The cops woke Robert up – he was drifting off in a sitting position – and helped to his feet. They handcuffed him, and let him sit on the bench, while one of the officers went to get a car to take him in. Another officer asked Robert why he was drinking so much today, and if he always does. He didn’t answer; in fact, I never heard him say anything. The cop added that this was for the best: “You can go in take care of your warrants tomorrow.” They put him in a car and took him away. I noticed he was laying across the back seat.

I told my Dad, and I’ll tell you, that alcoholism ruins countless lives. It never lets you go. There’s no cure. Did you know that? Alcoholism/drug addiction is a progressive, incurable, ultimately fatal disease. There is a treatment, by which the disease can be arrested – so to speak – and I pray to God that Robert finds it, before it’s too late.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could find a source of the resources to find a more compassionate way of dealing with the victims of the disease, besides taking them to jail. That’s a good dream. Meanwhile, let’s pray for Richard and all those who suffer.

Status.Blogger.Com

Seems the folks at Blogger are working to correct some technical problems. If you have trouble reaching this site, please keep trying.

I couple of days ago, I mentioned my Dad’s favorite coffee mug. Here it is.

He left it out on the counter, vulnerable to anyblogger hanging around with a camera. Nyahaha.

An excellent essay by Dan Gillmor :

“Still, there was no doubt that the courts were doing what they must if we are to remain a free society in any form: Restrain the worst impulses of the legislative and executive branches when they bow to the mood of the moment and trample on liberty.”

A nanotechnology update at Instapundit.com.

Oh, I am having so much trouble with Blogger. It’s been going on all weekend. I think they were having an office party on Friday, and somebody spilled beer in one of their servers. It won’t publish property, won’t re-publish an edited post, half the time my blogs won’t display at all, and their feedback e-mail is bouncing. Aaargh!

CBS Marketwatch

A little something helpful for those like me.

The opinions expressed are those of the author, and not necessarily those of this blog’s author. That guy may be full of it. Would you really want your resume in txt format – plain old Notepad? Naw, at least Word, it seems to me. I tried formating mine in Notepad, and it looks terrible. Any thoughts on this?

Please read this plea from my friend and fellow animal activist, Jacki Hadra, to help the Senior Canine Rescue Society. They’re in trouble, because dogs were in trouble and needed help.

Jude Fine and SCRS have a special place in my heart, because they love and care for older dogs — those that even people who care enough to adopt from shelters will often pass by. Those that, like my own beloved Tasha, are going gray.

Please help if you can.

I was going through one of my notebooks, and came upon this notation: “Be a tribal writer.” A friend said this to me, while we were discussing the creative process one day a few years ago.

Be a Tribal Writer. What does it mean? Perhaps it means to write in such a way – with such a consciousness – as to seek to express our communal condition. So that my solitude as a creative person is transcended, and attains an insightful, circumspect generality. E Unum pluribus. The cheese stands alone, and decides to take a few notes on universal suffering.

Oh, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer!

~ Shakespeare

I don’t think so; I mean, maybe that’s a valid interpretation, but not something I’m willing to do. I live in a condo, not a freaking hermitage. There is plenty of agreement that suffering is the universal, implacable common denominator, but no more so than flatulence.

I think it means I get to write as a member of a tribe, with other poets and writers, musicians, painters, artists of all kinds. I have to write by myself in any case, and this is my reward. See? From time to time, I get to come forth from the cave and see who’s been throwing shadows on the stones.

Okay, I’ll meet you half way. Let me sit in the sun with the others, on the bank of the blighted canal, and I’ll keep trying to find a way to beat the undertow. Deal?

For there are deeds Which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.