June 2003 - Pride Goethe Before...
RayzRealm (c) June, 2003

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Sunday June 1

It's June once again, and that means it's "Pride Goethe Before Destruction" time. Each year I give my weather predictions to Boston visitors, that the weather during the Boston gay pride week will probably be the best weather of the entire Summer. With very few exceptions, this has always been the case. I don't usually participate in these festivities, since I'm not one of the clan, and no longer feel compelled to stand by the sidelines dressed in cheerleader drag as the poof procession passes in review. I did take a ride into Boston last year to watch the parade, and am happy to report that the "light in the loafers" brigade seemed to be as joyless and sullen as the rest of "non millionaire" Amerika. Bush's reign and 9-11 have cast a dark gray pall over the land

Now that the neo conservative, religious right wing fanatics control everything, including God and the weather, I assume that God now votes for the Grand Ole (Hypocrisy) Party. I bet Jesus himself will be throwing a posh $100,000 a plate "loaves and fishes" fund raising dinner for Bush's reelection. With the current political climate being what it is, I am revising my prior forecast to predict tornadoes, tidal waves, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, blizzards, plagues of locusts and killer bees, and asteroid strikes in American cities that are hosting gay pride celebrations in 2003.

What's been going on in my life?...absolutely nothing right now! Here's a short list of articles for your reading enjoyment. Right now, the weather here is absolutely abysmal.

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Friday June 6

I'll try to refrain from talking about King George today. Dad always warned me to avoid debates regarding politics and religion. These two subjects seem to start more riots, war and other assorted mayhem as it is. I was in Harvard Square last weekend chatting with a fellow military veteran, who shared my doubts and fears about the current regime. A young professional couple (Biff and Buffy if there ever was one) broke into the conversation, "excuse us, but we are Bush Rebublicans, and you two are Un American communists! Bush has done right by us and we feel he is the best president in our lifetimes!" The guy I was talking with asked the male if he had ever served his country in the military, and the reply came, "well no, there was not need for me to serve, besides I was starting my career and had other more important priorities." The guy I was talking with looked at me and rolled his eyes, whispering, "well that figures, I fought so that guys like him can sit back and make his millions." Biff and Buffy left in a huff shortly after that, as we continued our exchange of war stories (to those of us who served in the navy, sea stories). After handshakes and sayinfg our goodbye's, I wandered the square and headed into Boston, buckets of coffee, yadda, blah, blah, nothing new.

I've been reading Jimmy Carter's, "Living Faith", and am finding it an inspiring book. I still believe that Carter was one of the best presidents in my lifetime. He had too much integrity and a conscience to play hardball with the globalist assholes, so he was a one termer. Let's see in my lifetime, the best (and only) Republican president (IMHO) was Ike. On the Democratic side I liked JFK, Carter and Clinton (sort of). I still believe that Kennedy was assassinated by our own covert gummint, because he stepped on too many toes.

It always seems strange; if a Democratic president's fly is unzipped the repuglicans scream bloody murder for his public execution, but a Republican could be openly running a whore house and crack den from the oval office and nothing would ever get mentioned by the media.

But anyone with a few working brain cells, who hasn't totally lost the ability for critical thinking, knows that the president doesn't run the country, huge multi national businesses and special interests do. It's like the Mafia, "we scratch your back, you scratch ours...or else." There are currently quite a few web sites that carry Ike's exit speech, where he sternly warned Americans about the Military Industrial complex.

I'll step down from my soap box now. The only other thing I've been doing is scrambling around like a long tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs at work. At least I'm being kept very busy. Other than that I have no life. Mom's been in and out of the hospital and was transferred to a nursing home, and all she talks about is wanting to die and begging for me to pray she goes soon. After 5 minutes of visiting with her, I'm crawling on all fours. I read an article that claims the American military is torturing terrorist suspects at Gitmo by playing heavy metal music, Sesame Street and Barney the Dinosaur songs over and over. You want to really turture some prisoners, place them in a room with my mother for 10 minutes, and if they are hiding anything, they'll be spilling their guts to the interrogators in a snap; no muss, no fuss, and no visible bruises or scars.

Here's this week's collection of mind candy

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Friday June 13

Bring up sounds of spooky music, "today is Friday the 13th"; don't walk under any sky scrapers, wander down any dark alleys where terrorists may be lurking, and don't let any calico cats cross your path, per Homeland Security Act directive from our beloved attorney general.

I didn't do squat last weekend, which accounts for not having anything to write last week. Since I no longer have any social life to so speak, I wandered aimlessly in Boston last Saturday morning. Of course as soon as I parked my car the sky clouded over and the rain began to fall shortly after. To kill some time I stopped in at the animal shelter in the South End to lift my spirits and to pet some of the homeless kitties and puppies. In one cage was the cutest calico kitten. I picked it up to pet it, turning it over to see what sex it was (hey wait calico cats are all female, duh!). Omigosh, a tattoo on it's belly read, "Inspected by 666, Made in Hell by Al Qaeda elves for American export." Omigosh, John Ashcroft was right, calico cats ARE the work of the devil!

It was time to leave the animal shelter to browse at Barnes and Noble, then have lunch at "Dick's Last Resort" behind the Pru. By the time I finished lunch (The oodles of noodles were delicious) it was pouring, so cut my stay short and drove back home. Other than that all I did was nap, watch X-Files and Twilight Zone episodes, and "The Manchurian Candidate", some bright cheerful selections from my video library for another abysmally rainy weekend.

I was going through the 5 or so legitimate e-mails I got during the past two weeks and wanted to include some of these philosophical gems that Paul in Las Vegas sent me; thanks Paul I needed a chuckle. By the way you can have some of our rain if you like, or come back here to the land of overpriced everything and pretentious snottery. If you want to return to Boston to live, I can see if there are any available dumpster rentals. There might even be a nice clean dumpster in a quiet alley for under $1600 a month; let me know. The way I see it, by the time Bush has finished his second term, and Rove, Rummy, Ashcroft and Jeb have had their two terms as president, about 99% of us will all be dumpster diving.

Give a person a fish and you feed them for a day; teach that person to use the Internet and they won't bother you for weeks.

Some people are like Slinkies. . .not really good for anything, but you still can't help but smile when you see one tumble down the stairs.

I read recipes the same way I read science fiction. I get to the end and I think "Well, that's not going to happen."

Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals dying of nothing.

The other night I ate at a real family restaurant. Every table had an argument going.

Have you noticed since everyone has a cam corder these days no one talks about seeing UFOs like they used to.

According to a recent survey, men say the first thing they notice about a woman is their eyes, and women say the first thing they notice about men is they're a bunch of liars.

Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.

All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism.

Have you noticed that a slight tax increase costs you two hundred dollars and a substantial tax cut saves you thirty cents?

In the 60's people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.

Politics is supposed to be the second oldest profession. I have come to realize that it bears a very close resemblance to the first.

How is it one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box to start a campfire?

You read about all these terrorists--most of them came here legally, but they hung around on these expired visas, some for as long as 10-15 years. Now, compare that to Blockbuster: you're two days late with a video and those people are all over you. Let's put Blockbuster in charge of immigration.

I got this in the mail from a coworker today, heh heh....

The White House announced today that it is changing its emblem to a condom because it more clearly reflects the Republican Party's position. A condom accepts inflation, halts production, destroys the next generation, protects a bunch of pricks and gives you a sense of security while you're actually getting screwed

I've revised the Area51 Boston weather forecast for this coming weekend. No rocket science here, area meteorologists are predicting heavy rain Thursday night and throughout most of today and continued cheerful gray skies and showers for Saturday. So much for the vacation travel tip I give every year to Boston visitors, whether you're gay or not, it's usually one of the most splendid weekends of the Summer. This year due to Repuglican intervention and the never ending war, it will rain, followed by scattered showers of frogs and walking catfish falling on cities, with possible volcanic eruptions and attacks by anthrax and SARS infected killer bees. This weather advisory is for all American cities sponsoring gay pride parades this year; carry an umbrella.

I didn't have any plans to play voyeur and watch the parade this weekend anyway. I watched last year's parade with Warren and some people he knew. It was no great shakes, a never ending procession of politicians of every stripe blowing kisses to the crowd as they passed out campaign buttons, churches from every denomination inviting the gay community to come splash in their baptismal pools, drag queens, dykes on bikes (the high point) and a legion of 20 something inked, thorazine eye'd pierced, oiled and pumped Log Cabin Republicans in g-strings and jock straps flexing from the various bar floats, beer signs, gay moms and dads, gay alien visitors from Rigel 7 with a supporting cast of thousands.

That's about it for today. Here's a really bloated list of fat-free mind food to nibble on for a rainy afternoon, harvested from my weekly alternative news runs.

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Sunday June 15

OK, curiosity got the best of this cat, and I wound up driving into Boston early yesterday morning to once again witness history being made, and watch the 30 something'th annual Boston gay "pride goethe" parade. It had poured all all day Friday and through the night, and from the look of the sky when I got up on Saturday morning, it looked like the clouds had an inch or two of additional rain in them. For all I knew, Noah might appear navigating his ark along Boylston Street among the Dykes on Bikes and born again pagans for Jesus and Buddha.

Something told me God or Bushna, the great shrubbery goddess would take pity on the city and hold back the rain. Did I wear something glittery and gay to show my support on this auspicious occasion? Unfortunately all of my sequined thongs and jock straps were still at the dry cleaners and terrorists from P.E.T.A. had broken into my apartment and liberated all of my finest full dress leather last week. I would up wearing a pair of tasteful knee length levi shorts and black tee shirt displaying in big block letters, "Out of body, back in 5 minutes". Most people usually stare at the tee shirt, some asking if it contains any hidden meaning. Duhhh! it's a silly ass pun children.

After parking in the Boston Common garage, had my usual bucket of iced coffee and overheard a large herd of "Friends of Dorothy" discussing today's festivities. From the sounds of it, this year's parade would be "Longer, Bigger and Uncut", which meant that the food vendors selling jumbo Italian sausages in a bun would be doing a land office business today.

Boston is a small city, a tiny backwater town compared to many other larger American cities, considering all the world class hype it gets. Boston is also a favorite stopover for foreign terrorists, a last night fling before hijacking airliners. To quote my late dear ole Dad, Boston is a "Blivot", 20 pound of shit in a 5 pound bag." Considering the buzz I was hearing, 250,000 lesbigays or more would descend upon Copley Square, plus there was a Red Sox game at Fenway park, and an oldies concert on the Esplanade. Considering the Back bay was built on marsh land and is nothing more than a glorified sanitary landfill, perhaps half of Boston would sink like Atlantis under all the additional weight.

I took up a vantage point to watch the Dykes on Bikes lead off along with Mayor Menino (a very nice mayor who really cares about the cities neighborhoods and communities). Immediately following the bikers, was a long line of local politicians blowing kisses, which is much better than Freddie (Kruger) Phelps and his band of rabid Christian pit bulls screaming "God hates fags".

I followed the parade into the gay South End's ground zero, sitting on a curb in front of the Psycho-Trauma (Cyclorama, Boston Center for the Arts), and after resting my aching feet, established my final resting spot by the Arlington Street Church. After the politicians were groups from every possible church and faith, then a huge group for legalizing gay marriage (yeah ok, whatever floats your boat).

Much of the parade was the same ole same ole; scantily clad guys (why bother wearing anything) bumping and grinding on bar floats and in the streeet, gay car clubs, book clubs, gay aunts, uncles, parents, grand parents, bankers, police officers, yuppies, cell phone zombies, etc, etc. Then the float to end all floats passed by. I wish that my digital camera had not crapped out last month, just to catch this one shot, a Starbucks float with a tropical Summer theme. I felt an overwhelming urge to run right out and buy a grande Frappuccino.

A number of the floats carried people tossing trinkets into the crowd, strings of beads, little travel packs containing condoms, lube, guides to all the hot sex parties and a cyanide capsule, key rings, magic wands, vials of fairy dust. One passing truck was tossing Hoodsie cups (frozen ice cream treats) into the crowd. The onlookers would all stampede (like pigeons in a feeding frenzy) wherever the projectiles seemed to be headed. One of the inked, bare chested Nancies ran blindly, careening into yours truly, knocking me down just as an ice cream cup hit me squarely between the eyes. Did he say, "oh I'm sorry, you OK?" Noooo, the little tart sneered at me muttering, "fucking ass hole!" I should have taken after him and stomped the fluff Marine into the ground, but he merged back into the crowd before I could sink my talons into him. Less than 5 minutes later a flying wadded up tee shirt from another float whacked me off the side of the head, bringing back memories of the Simpsons episode where Maude Flanders gets killed by a flying tee shirt. Between getting assaulted by a barrage of flying condoms, beads, tee shirts, jock straps, cock rings, ice cream cups and free cans of beer, I was beginning to feel a bit paranoid. I kept watching to see if there was a gay bowling league float on the horizon. If there was, I would be beating a hasty retreat down a side street. I didn't need to get hit by a complimentary flying pink bowling ball.

Ever since the Stonewall incident back in 1969 (the basis for all American gay pride parades), the gay sub culture has been begging, screaming, coercing the masses into letting them also jump into the big societal blender. One major negative product of this (only my observation and from talking to a lot of older gay people) is that they have lost a lot of what made them an interesting and refreshing culture. They have joined the ranks of the all American Pod People. I wouldn't be surprised if next year there's a Wal Mart float and a gay SUV owner's club. I believe this will be the last parade I care to watch.

Some might be asking, "why do you bother to go see the parade in the first place?" I ask myself this same question, and some of it is out of scientific curiosity. The fundie Bible thumpers are getting a lot more vocal in these troubled times, talking about the Rapture coming very soon, so on the remote chance that Jesus came Saturday to liberate all the innocent hostages from the human asylum, I was wondering how many gay and lesbian people would disappear suddenly. According to the fundies all gays will be left behind to eventually burn in Hell, but what if, just what if 500...1000....10,000....25,000 just vanished from sight. Would an equal or greater number of non gay investment brokers, politicians and big business lobbyists disappear from Washington DC or the New York Stock Exchange trading floor come Monday morning. Curious minds want to know.

After the parade I had lunch at Vinny's. The sky had cleared and the sun had finally decided to make a cameo appearance for a few hours. I stopped to browse some of the booths and stalls that were set up on the Common for the post parade rally. This year they went all out. There are always public speakers and bands that perform on stage, but this year not only could you hear them, you could see them live on a Jumbo-Tron that sat elevated above the crowd. I didn't stay long as the crowd was thicker than crabs in a whore's pubic hair. I beat a hasty retreat out of Boston to visit Bob in Revere to see his brand new Dell PC, then crashed early.

The topic of the Boston gay pride parade brings up another totally unrelated point to ponder, the Iraq war, in particular the nooze footage of liberated Iraqis and US soldiers pulling down Saddam's statue, live and in color. From the first time I saw the footage something didn't seem quite right. Saddam is/was a general all around weasel and evil bastard, and he kept his subjects living under tyrannic rule for a couple of decades. Why were there only a select handful of Iraqis in the square and not 10's, even 100's of thousands of jubilant Iraqi citizens dancing in the streets, tossing stuffed grape leaves, baklava and cans of 10W40 from passing floats, people wearing large comic papier mache novelty heads bearing Saddam's likeness? Something smelled very fishy to me of a staged photo op. There were more drag queens riding on the rear decks of convertibles in the Boston gay pride parade than there were visibly celebrating Iraqis. I know this is totally off the topic, but the thought popped into my mind. I guess we'll have to see how large the first gay pride march is in Baghdad.

This morning I headed into Boston again early (glutton for punishment) as today is supposed to be the better of the two days. I had my coffee, then spent a long time browsing at Barnes and Noble, this time remembering to bring my book shopping list. I didn't leave empty handed, buying some (to me) interesting Summer reading. I got George Carlin's, "Brain Droppings" since I enjoyed his other book, "Napalm and Silly Putty" so much. This is scary, I think a lot like George Carlin. Also in my shopping bag was , "Turn Off Your Mind" a Disinformation Company book by Gary Lachman about the dark underbelly of the 60's, that I can hardly wait to dig into. Third in the list was "The Culture of FEAR" (about all the wrong bogeymen that scare Americans) by barry Glassner, and lastly "Reefer Madness" by Eric Schlosser, which is not just about pot, but America's vast underground black market economy. Some x-perts speculated that the Internet would kill reading and book stores, but I read, visit the library and buy more books today (due to my web wanderings) than I did before the web was born. I haven't even finished what's on my plate yet and am already loading it up again. I should at least finish "Pigs at the Trough", "Living Faith" and "Mortal Men" before I dive into the new pile.

I had lunch at Whiskey's, a burger, ribs and BBQ place on Boylston Street, across from the Prudential Center, and was the only customer there at 1PM. All of the overpriced yuppie bistros were filled to capacity. I avoid places that charge $12.95 just for reading the menu in the window. Boston must be one of the playgrounds of the filthy rich because all of the dirt cheap places were empty and the eateries that had umlaut's, accent grave's or Bistro in their names were shoulder to shoulder with young professional cell phone zombies. The 3/4 pound burger, fries and slaw at Whisky's was simply delish!

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Friday June 20

A mixed bag of totally incoherant crap today...enjoy at your own peril.

Buying George Carlin's, "Brain Droppings" was money well spent. I must be one sick mother in the eyes of the mainstream because I find his commentary hilarious despite his excesses of profanity, but reality tends to be profane. He hits the nail on the head and I could not make more incindiary side splitting observations if I tried. Actually the volumes of stuff (about 20 360K floppies worth), I wrote form 1983 to 1987 under the pseudonym of "Jason" was a lot like what Carlin so eloquently captures in his books and performances. My best writing was done back in the old Usenet days, before the Internet wore graphical makeup. Only the high tech priests, colleges, denizens of BBS systems or people lucky enough to work for a company that had a gateway onto the Infobahn had access to e-mail and electronic information. During this 5-6 year span I wrote about 275 articles and journals averaging from 15 to 25 single typed pages (if you were crazy enough to print and read my rantings). I had literally thousands of e-mail pen pals and fans from around the world. A lot of people who knew me then suggested that I convert all my old stuff to HTML and upload it to my site. There are a number of obstacles that prevented this.

I have kept journals, plus written fiction and non fiction for fun and my own savage amusement since I was in junior high school. When I was in the Navy, I passed many a day/night at sea either reading or writing short fiction. My fellow shipmates always claimed that I should pursue this as a career, or at least try to make a few bucks from it. A lot of the guys told me that my style gave them the creeps (my fave genre were stories with an X-Files or Twilight Zone theme and irreverent dark humor), and reading my ramblings was like listening to someone tell a story that had actually happened.

After completing my Navy hitch I attended college and majored in Management Science (big mistake) but my true love was with technology, psychology and and literature. My professors were always entertained by my term papers; my student advisor insisted I was majoring in the wrong subject. Oh well 20/20 hindsight. As boring as I found business subjects, I did manage to graduate Summa Cum Laude with a 3.9 cum average.

Most of what I wrote after college was during the zenith and final declining years of my heavy drinking daze, in other words, I wrote most of it late at night fueled by 55 gallon drums of wine, beer, scotch, bourbon, rum, vodka or whatever other creative lubricant was at hand. I usually seldom remembered writing and uploading a verbose tome until the e-mail began rolling in during the week that followed. What's amazing, as full of flames as the Internet has always been, I only received a handful (3 to 5) flames in 5 years. What did I write about?....usually anything and everything, but mostly observations surrounding the gay sub culture, Christians, UFO's, aliens, conspiracies and the business world, which make for strange bed fellows. Most of what I wrote was serious, but written in such a way that made it cryptic and silly. Those who were tuned into the same frequency on the Karma channel as I was usually caught my drift right away, the rest sent me mail asking if they understood correctly what I was saying.

The booze got my creative juices flowing, which allowed me to say pretty much what I wanted (high speed buss to my subconscious), without being overly offensive. After I quit drinking, everyone claimed that I was one of the most entertaining, gentlemanly, friendly and harmless drunks they had ever met. Alcohol helped open me up socially, got me to sleep at night and what I realize now and most important, helped kill the constant pain, alienation and loneliness I felt.

When I stopped drinking (my own decison), I also stopped writing. The timing was perfect, as this coincided with an invasion across the net of PolitiKally Korrect thought police, who began screaming for my banishment. I barely spoke to anyone, let alone wrote for fun for the better part of my first two years of sobriety.

Shortly after the web reared it's ugly head, I began writing again and a few sysops asked for some of my stuff to post to their BBS's. In December of 1995 Bigboote's Area51 went online with a page containing a few dozen links and some of my writing (it's grown a bit since then). I used to have a lot more journals and articles in Area51, but have removed some of the best material long ago. I have learned to be careful who visits from work, the FBI, CIA, NSA, ASPCA, EPA, CDC, AARP and Department of Homeland Insecurity. If you're not universally loved and admired by everyone at the office or are not independently filthy rich, pulling out all stops on a personal web site can be a career stopper.

What I have learned in my lengthy high tech career is that most Finance, Accounting and pure Business types are 180 degrees out of phase from me. I always got along better with the geeks, technoids and gear heads anyway, but fate has immersed me among tribes of bean counters, so I mind my P's and Q's, which some interpret as being aloof and stand offish.

All this rambling leads to another of the problems. All of my early material was stored on 5 1/4 inch 360K floppies that were formatted in proprietary DEC DOS, written on a shareware DOS version of the Eve editor. I could not find anyone who could convert these files, plus the floppies sat packed in a box in my mother's basement for years, where they became overgrown with mold and mildew. I don't think that I write nearly as well as I used to, and have never been able to quite capture the tone and feeling of my earlier style.

So anyway, reading Carlin's book made my sides sore from laughing, sicko that I am. Anyone that knows me well (not many left) knows that I seldom laugh out loud. It takes some random, irreverent form of entertainment to get me belly laughing. Over the past decade or so only a few things have triggered uncontrolled outbursts of laughter. My favorite computer CD ROM games were Monty Python's "A Complete Waste of Time" and "Search For The Holy Grail" which I had a copy of in Windoze 3.1 format. They never did port it to Windoze 95, and when I upgraded, 95 had a difficult time running A Complete Waste of Time, but Windoze 95 had a difficult time running anything in the first place. I would sit there like a loon, laughing my ass off as I moused around in the games.

Reality has gotten so totally weird. Carlin has a way of shining a light on the worst human kind has to offer in a way I can relate to. When I read the stuff I write today, I have to admit my first feeling is, "this is crap! who in their right mind would read this junk?" There's an almost endless supply of junk available on the net, a lot written by far more talented people than I, but I'm in good company, What keeps Area51 online and me writing are comments I get in the mail, like this one from an Area51 frequent flier in the Southwest last week.

Always an enjoyable read. You should get a column in
the New York Times. I'm sure you can fabricate as well as
anyone else, so why not get paid well for it. It worked for
Mike Barnacle, why not you...

I heard a couple of interesting news items on the radio this this week during my daily commute. One was regarding some gummint statement about safe levels for Uranium in public drinking water, hmmm! At some point, some agency will be coaxed (large envolope filled with unmarked bills) into announcing to the public, their need for minimum daily requirements of arsenic, cyanide, plutonium, uranium, lead, solvents, petroleum byproducts and e-coli. Makes me thirsty for a tall cool glass of cloudy, foul smelling water containing 100% of all the heavy metals and other essential toxins my body needs.

The other tidbit was about a chewing gum containing Viagra that may be available soon. As if there are not enough men running around carrying a hardon about something or other as it is. I can see it now, a stressed out executive or politician is about to make an important speech before a large crowd. He's trying to quit smoking, stuffing a couple of sticks of what he thinks is nicotine chewing gum in his mouth before stepping up to the podium. In his haste he grabs the viagra gum instead. It should make for some interesting comments among the audience as well as tittilating press photos.

I received the following spam three times this week, reassuring me of a penis that would rival a third world country's attempt at building an ICBM. I just wonder why "more women" are coming to them. I truly feel empowered and privileged to be on this list; now where did I put that penis pump...

We are the #1 MALE ORGAN ENLARGEMENT
supplement on the web. We guarantee the
success of our program or we will refund every
penny. Come find out why more men AND WOMEN
come to us than any other site.
Click Here to enlarge your member 1-3 inches in a matter of days!

Have your ever wondered why, when whoever is in
power or a Republican speaks, they are sharing important
information with the the people (good PR), but when an opponent or
enemy speaks, they are spreading PROPAGANDA and lies.
-An Area51 observation (or propaganda)

My last comment for today is about Military stuff. I was laying awake in bed last night staring into the darkness, while random memories from my Navy daze floated in and out as if I had walked down the gang plank yesterday. After being out of the military for 32 years, I still have dreams with Navy themes in them. And now the entire country is caught up in military fever. I was watching one of the TeeVee news magazine programs containing a segment on how everyone is on this patriotic military fashion kick. And to think I got rid of my genuine 100% Navy clothing years ago; Pea coat, bomber jacket, flight jacket, bell bottom jeans, dress blues and whites.

Fashion designers are incorporating camo and other military designs in their new clothing lines; military back packs, fake grenades, toy M16's, belts made to resemble belts of machine gun bullets, etc. And my heart swells with pride as I see more and more Hummers during my daily commute. I thought I was coming up on a National Guard convoy on their way for weekend war games, but it was just a bunch of young professionals on their cell phones driving Hummers with desert camo paint jobs, with the machine gun turret and rocket launcher option (ammo and uniforms sold separately) "Conner, go back there and man the 50MM, Hyundai coming up at 8 o'clock, open fire! Tiffany, hand daddy a couple of his grenades will you, there's a pedestrian about to step off the curb." Of course none of these faux patriots have ever seen the inside of a military base as a GI, or had a drill instructor bark in their faces."

But you know what I miss? Army Navy stores, the real kind. When I was younger every city and town had one or more with names like "Pete the Greek's, Army/Navy Surplus". "Joe's Army Navy Store", "Sergeant Mike's Army/Navy", "Goldberg's Army/Navy, Camping supplies". I miss those stores, most all were mom'n'pop operations, the stuff was usually genuine, cheap and fun to browse. Many also carried a broad selection of hunting, fishing and camping gear, and had a musty smell as you walked in the door. Now they're all gone, replaced by those mega-mall chain "get close to nature and sneeze" outdoor stores. You're all familiar with these emporiums where the weekend Trendia Titanic SUV crowd shop for new age meditation CD's, animatronic owls that hoot in 57 languages, tee shirts bearing environmentally sensitive sayings like "Save The Gay Baby Whales", designer tents, sleeping bags, back packs and outdoor clothing, desert and jungle camo colored cell phone and lap top carrying cozies, overpriced ego boosting togs made in third world sweatshops by elves. Screw this global chain store, over priced rip off crap and bring back the real deal!

That's about it for now. I'm finishing up "Pigs at the Trough" and beginning "Brain Droppings" and "Turn Off Your Mind". Here's this week's laundry load of yellow journalism from my daily news runs.

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Friday June 27

It rained most of last weekend, and by rain, I mean the kind Noah sailed because of. Jezzzus another total washout. I attended a cookout that my chiropractor's receptionist invited me to. It was amusing, and an excuse to just get out of the house. I got to spend a few hours with a bunch of 20 something, mostly vegans (from the planet Vega) who talked in binary, but at least was able to have a few intelligent conversations with a couple of older women and an older guy (for that crowd anyway) who shared a Bigboote's Area51 state of mind.

This country is getting weirder and weirder. I heard a news report about a hit and run driver in Texas, who ran down a homeless man, continuing to drive home with him embedded in the windshield. She pulled into the garage with him still stuck in the windshield. After he died, she got help dumping the body in a nearby park. Her excuse, "I was drunk and stoned on drugs". Oh hell, they should let her off with a verbal warning, but only if she voted for Bush.

This was also on the day I borrowed "Fargo" from the cafeteria at work. A number of people were surprised that I had never seen Fargo, and strongly suggested it. Talk about a dark, weird film that got my mind all tied up in knots, based on a true story to boot! My mind was already a bit shaky after hearing the Texas drunk driver story 10 times on the news before I watched Fargo. The movie was actually quite well made, a bit too violent for my liking, but did an excellent job of creating a dark, desolate setting in Murca's heartland. Note to self: Do not move to Minnesota or the Dakotas.

The escalating "you too can have a weapon of mass distraction" spam keeps rolling in. I got two offers for increasing my "member" by an unbelievable 3-5". Last week it was my penis and dick, this week it's my member. But these spammers value differences. I also got 3 offers for larger, firmer, more voluptuous breasts, at least a 38C cup, guaranteed.

I really don't like purveyors of porn eroticizing the military, I almost find it an insult. It seems that a lot of gay bois are turned on by military drag, "ooooh sailor" or "I just love a Marine in uniform". Well, if you love it that much, enlist today. I'm sure Bush needs a few more good men to use as cannon fodder, but wait, there are no homosexuals in the military.

During the years following my discharge from the Navy, I got to know a lot of gay men and lesbians. A lot of the men asked if there was lots of mano-a-mano sex in the military; they heard there was. I'll put this issue to bed right away; there is no homosexuality in the military, nor is there any cannibalism, pot smoking or strange Voodoo cults. Hmmm, I do remember being out at sea, and on a few occasions while in the shower, some guy with rotten teeth named Billy-Bob or Bubba from the South saying something like, "yer ass sure is purty, whah it's purtier than my sister Betty-Jo's."

As I look back fondly on my 4 (I never once got sea sick) years in the Imperial Navy, it's with 20/20 hindsight that I realized that 3 of my best Navy buddies were gay. During my college years I met 3 or 4 guys from my ship who I never knew during my Navy hitch at mixed parties in Boston, who approached me asking if I made the 68 Westpac cruise, claiming I looked very familiar. I found out from talking with them that there was a quite large and active underground gay social network on our ship and base and I was under close scrutiny by the lavender CIA (is he one of us?). Of course I served during the LBJ and Tricky Dick years, when Vietnam was in it's prime, so Uncle Sam was welcoming almost any warm body that had a pulse.

I was stationed in Sunny Diego for 6 months of computer training before heading off for a pleasure cruise with the Tonkin Gulf Yacht Club. I regularly overheard guys in the barracks early on a Friday or Saturday night as they prepared to hit the beach moaning, "Gawwd awmighty, I sure am horny. I need to get laid!" A voice could be heard in the background, "go to the Marine base, Marines are better than pussy!" To set the record straight, I never did find out first hand if this was true, and I'm sure the grunts were in their barracks saying similar things or worse about the squids over at the Naval base. Of course the best way to get your itch scratched on a Saturday night was to take the water taxi into town, or if you were feeling like some cheap twisted thrills, catch a bus into Tijuana.

But as far as male hanky panky bonding..... don't ask, don't tell, and you don't need to know. This information is classified "Majestic" level anyway, Brigadier Generals eyes only.

Here's another little news item I heard this week about the sodomy ban being lifted. This strikes me as a bit odd, considering we're currently in the grips of an ultra right wing, conservative (supposedly) Christian regime. Two possibilities for this action come to mind, either there's been a lot of same sex salami hiding going on along the corridors of power, or the Republicans are courting the gay vote in 2004. I wonder if the Supreme Court decision has anything to do with Canada's talk of legalize gay marriages, and gave a "don't ask, don't tell" thumbs up to prevent all the gay Log Cabin Republicans from heading North to apply for Canadian citizenship.

I had written a very lengthy journal about my Navy years, which was to be part of the "Mea Culpa" series. A lot of the above stuff, plus much more is included in this unpublished journal. The only one that is currently on my site is Part 1, "Mea Culpa, I Have Sinned."

I met with my doctor this week to review my quarterly round of Russian Roulette lab results. Everything remains stable, so I'll live another 3 to 4 months at least. (Don't try the following at your doctor's without adult supervision) He asked how everything else was going. I told him about being in a funk, that nothing excited me any more, everything, even tiny events made me grumpy, that not having any friends to socialize with increased my feelings of isolation, and of having a free floating sense of anxiety after 9-11 and dealing with the Russian Roulette that the Bush Cartel has created. After a pause his response was, "hmmmm sounds like depression, you need drugs, lots and lots of drugs, drugs to make you happy, drugs to bring you down, drugs to take the edge of the anxiety, and drugs to counteract the side effects of all the other drugs. Can I write you up a few prescriptions now?" I told him, "no more friggin drugs. I took anti depressants, about 9 years ago and they made me feel like an 18 wheeler was parked on top of me." He was not happy with my reply, "but you need drugs, happy drugs, just like everyone else is taking. You're not having thoughts about suicide are you?" I assured him, "no, I'm too Catholic to take that route, plus I'm like a nosy old woman. I want to stick around to see how the story ends." He's known me long enough to be familiar with my sense of irony, so no drugs for now, I take enough meds already. If my state was really getting beyond my control, I would raise my hand for help, but these dark nights of the soul always seem to pass sooner or later on their own.

I also keep in mind that America is currently in a period of runaway greed, and drug companies are in business to sell as many drugs, to as many people as they can. You never used to see the barrage of ads in the media for every sort of prescription medicine that you do today. And if they can't sell some new drug, they'll create a novel medical condition (caused by a recently discovered renegade gene or virus) that requires treatment with their (only by prescription, ask your doctor, pretty please, can I take their drug) revolutionary drug. Let's see, since we're in for at least 4 more years of Bush, maybe the drug companies will lobby for the right to sell drugs to all cities and towns, mandating the treatment of all public drinking water with the minimum daily required doses of anti depressant, anti anxiety, social phobia, anti psychotic and attention deficit drugs. It'll be just like in Huxley's "Brave New World" where the gummint doled out Soma to the masses.

I sometimes wonder if this desire by the medical establishment to medicate the masses with happy drugs is not so much out of compassion for the psychological pain that many feel day in and day out, than it is out of fear that someone will go postal and run down to Wal Mart, where they can get guns and ammo at "everyday low prices". It does seem a bit strange that at least one of the shooters at Columbine was on psych meds at the time. Perhaps the ruling class should stop and examine why so many people have holes in their souls, and not look for some genetic or microbial cause. Nobody ever wants to be totally honest and look at the obvious, our keepers have created a social system that keeps the majority in a constant state of fear, anxiety and uncertainly over their futures.

Summer has arrived like a surprise nuclear attack; it was 20-30 degrees cooler than normal all during this Spring, in the 50's last week and in the high 90's, with equally high humidity and adjusted heat factor of 100-105 this week. Welcome to what passes for Summer in Boston. According to the Area51 weather station on the wall of the computer room here at Chez Bigboote, it's a delightful 99.7 outside and a refreshing 94.5 inside with 67% humidity, and that's with both AC's cranking away for the past 2 hours. As I looked out the window, I thought we were having an early Summer snow storm, but it's only the pollen that's floating around outside. When I saw my doctor earlier this week, he commented that in all the years he's practiced medicine, he has never seen the pollen and allergies as bad as this year.

I'll end this week's rambling with a reassuring thought. My doctor said, "in all the years he's practiced medicine "....practiced! I would think that a doctor would become an expert, a Grand Poobah of medicine, an evangelical bringer of health and wholeness, not some beginner who's still practicing medicine. Does a cyclist who's been racing in the "Tour de France" for 20 years still keep training wheels on his bicycle, I hope not.

I can joke with my doctor about the imprecision of medicine. I got him laughing once when I said, "you expect me to believe that! 100 years ago you guys were drilling holes in people's heads to let demons out, and you called it state of the art medicine!" He laughed, "we still do that, but call it relieving cranial pressure now." So when your doctor insists you take some prescription drug that might turn you into a werewolf or hermaphrodite, tell him or her, "no, I refuse to take that drug until you stop practicing, and get really good at medicine. Hell, after 20 years of practice you should be able to hang around in grave yards and raise people from the dead with a flick of your wrist."

All of that nonsense being said, here's this month's final bumper crop of genetically engineered mind food. I think I'll cash out June at this point, and will continue in July with more psycho babble.

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Shalom, Ray