Pet Food Recalled In 23 States, Company Waits Two Months Before Telling Public

There’s a certain mentality among workers, whether union or non-union and that is, if you’ve been warned ahead of time regarding the possibility to follow the instructions as you’ve been assigned as such or to heed the warning signs, you heed them, right? Let’s say the worst possible event happens, so you tell the most immediate supervisor and the situation can be remedied before anything else horrible occurs.

As it is important in all work situations, I’d say it’s probably this is most important when it comes to manufacturing and food processing facilities, no matter what the product is, like say meat packing or automobiles.

Diamond Pet Foods in Meta, Missouri is one such company whose employees apparently don’t believe in such things. Their plant in Gaston, South Carolina is one fine example of not heeding that early warning, such as the possibility of receiving contaminated corn that contained aflatoxin.

Aflatoxin is a naturally occurring toxic chemical by-product from the growth of the fungus Aspergillums flavus on corn and is well-known to cause liver damage in dogs.

Diamond Pet Foods knew about the trouble as early as September, 2005, but I honestly don’t believe that it took them two months to get themselves together and suddenly decide to tell the public about it in late, December; December 20, to be exact with an official press release that can be found on their website, along with several related items on the tainted food(www.diamondpet.com).

When a death of a single dog was linked to their product(s) and subsequently 22 more dogs died shortly after publicizing the news and 18 more dogs fell ill from the toxin according the Food & Drug Administration (FDA), it seemed as if little press was given to the situation. In fact, I’ll go one step further; there was never any mention of a recall of this pet product that I ever heard on nation radio news or saw online until the Chicago Tribune ran a wire story regarding the recall on December 31, a newspaper in a state that was unaffected by the recall.

That’s nearly 11 days after the fact! Why did it take company officials more than two months to alert the public about this contamination within their own products, that is fast becoming a liability issue with pet owners? It takes 23 dog deaths for the press to cover this? That’s ludicrous!

Now, you have to wonder with a blood-thirsty American press so bent on sensationalism to sell newspapers, didn’t pick up on this story earlier? I don’t think “the holidays” would be a reason to keep them from reporting it.

This recall of pet food, according to an Associated Press (AP) story dated January 14, says “The maker noticed it was suddenly receiving more contaminated corn a month before some apparently eluded testers and got into the food, a company executive said.

"Diamond Pet Foods said employees were warned to test closely for a naturally occurring toxin called aflatoxin, but the sampling methods probably missed a pocket of it in one of the shipments, said Mark Brinkmann, the company’s chief operating officer…”

Missed a pocket, Mr. Brinkmann? Gee, the deaths of 23 dogs means nothing but a “missing a pocket”? How nice of you.

The AP story continues: “The company typically rejects one or two truckloads of corn each year because of aflatoxin levels exceeding federal limits, Brinkmann said. But in September, the company began identifying the fungus on one or two truckloads of corn each week and rejecting the loads, he said. The Gaston, S.C., plant receives about 12 shipments of corn a week, he said.”

Company officials believe the contaminated corn entered production in October. Supposedly a new test was implemented on November 30, before Diamond even realized the contaminated food already had been shipped.

September? You knew this was going on it September and you didn’t warn your employees or your testers? You didn’t punish them? Or did you slough it off, like most giant corporations do when they get into big trouble, thinking it wouldn’t get this bad?

This past week, according to AP, Diamond “narrowed the batches of potentially toxic dog food to two varieties: Diamond Maintenance Dog and Diamond Premium Adult Dog with "Best By" dates of April 3, 4, 5, and 11, 2007.”

Although the recall affects mostly the east and south, at least two Midwestern states were affected; Michigan & Ohio, Illinois was not part of the recall.

The other states include: Alabama, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Kentucky, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Mississippi, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, Tennessee, Vermont, Virginia and West Virginia.

Symptoms include loss of appetite, yellow white of the eyes, yellow gums, and yellow in the belly or areas where hair is very thin, severe, persistent vomiting, combined with bloody diarrhea, discolored urine and fever. If your dog has experienced any of these symptoms, see your veterinarian immediately and also see a lawyer.

And here I thought that America was the greatest country in the world, but alas and again, stories like this prove me wrong. Can’t afford to kill your dog with tainted dog food? Try chocolate, it’s a heck of lot easier and cheaper.

Don’t let the corporate dirty rats get away from this one! Sure heads will roll, but you take back what you dish out to begin with! After all, this is America; land of the free and home of the non-stop lawsuit!

Just Think; Ariel Sharon Has A Great Future Serving As A Jewish Vegetable Poster Boy While Comatose, Yet Dutifully Serving His Country Proudly!

It’s been a few weeks since Israeli doctors forced Ariel Sharon into an induced coma, following his massive stroke after his minor stroke previous and then slowly have eased him out of it. If you ask me, I believe those doctors should take Ariel Sharon out of his coma and let him pass over (no pun intended) naturally, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

When the body sends messages to the brain such an alarming overload message that reads something to the effect of, “Hey pal, this is your heart talking to you and I can’t take it the pressure of your extra poundage anymore,” than it would signify to me, one damn well better listen!

In other words, one shouldn’t mess with the natural body rhythms of a soul, even if you have all the world’s finest doctors, medicines and operational procedures at your fingertips. The bottom line is of course, that if you don’t take care of yourself properly, both health and nutritionally, then you’re bound to hatch into a great horrific foreign egg like Ariel Sharon.

Let’s face reality; Ariel Sharon was overweight and he probably didn’t care what he was eating, kosher or non-kosher. Ariel Sharon probably never made any conscious effort to work out or stay in shape, thereby ballooning up to 300 pounds, which could more or less trigger strokes, as well as a number of other afflictions, like a massive coronary.

So as the people of Israel wait with bated breath and pray for their fallen leader to recover, I’d say chances for survival are nil and void.

It might also occur to some that keeping Ariel Sharon alive this way, will make him America’s answer to the late Terry Schavio, who laid in a vegetative state for several years, while her parents and her husband battled in the courtrooms for permission to unplug her (husband) or to keep feeding her with a tube (her parents), and still others who made it their sole political agenda to defend pro or con, down to the U.S. government becoming involved several times over.

When you look at the stats regarding brain damage, which Ariel Sharon has and the doctors won't tell the public how bad it really is, thereby making him "seem alive" in more minds than possible and also by keeping up false hope; I might add, prognosis is not that good, his chances again are slim.

True there are stories of miraculous recoveries, tales of hope and glory, but again they are few and far between.

Nothing will help Ariel Sharon recover, except for an act of God and again, in all honest, I don’t expect Ariel Sharon to recover anytime soon and yes, as cruel as this sounds, I believe those doctors in Israel are wasting their time keeping him alive.

Now for all the great and terrible acts that Ariel Sharon committed while he was among the living (sic) as both an Israeli leader and political terrorist (as in armed forces general), including relinquishing the Gaza Strip back to the Palestinians, while kicking out his own people.

What kind of Jew does that to another? It’s like an incestuous brother, I asked myself aloud at the time; I still do, as a matter of fact! But of course, Ariel Sharon bowed to American pig-dog pressure to give back the land that Israel won fairly and squarely decades ago. The move was unprecedented and Jewish folks like me became embattled and heartsick over the incident.

I’m sure that President George Bush Jr. is happy that Ariel Sharon gave up the land, just as he could claim he invoked the idea and take claim or responsibility for it, so he could at least has a better shot at earning a Nobel Peace Prize out of the deal for something other than earning accolades for things like torturing prisoners and spying on his own countrymen, which I’m Ariel Sharon did to a degree, while heavily embroiled in scandals, but I’m rambling.

I believe we should let him slip into the abyss and into the annals of time and let the next guy in line to pick up where he left off.

Good-bye Mr. Sharon; I certainly won’t miss you. As you descend below, be sure and say hi to Yassar (Arafat), Ronnie (Reagan), Adolph (Hitler) and a dozen and a half other hateful political terrorists that crawled and ran this world into the ground not so long ago.

Remember! Celebrate! Act! A Day On, Not A Day Off: The Proper Way To Celebrate The Martin Luther King Jr. Federal Holiday

Today is a federal holiday, but after all, it’s not just any holiday, it’s Martin Luther King’s Jr’s holiday and that is a big difference to some folks. Still after all, a federal holiday is a federal holiday, meaning no mail delivered, banks are closed, no trading on Wall Street or anywhere else in the United States, all federal governmental offices are closed and of course, school children have the day off.

What’s wrong with this picture; school children have the day off? That seems kind of ludicrous in the overall scheme of things, when you examine it more closely. Why should school children have a day off of school that will undoubtedly be spent in front of a television set, at the mall or in some Internet chat-room, when they could be in school, learning about the man who gave his life for his philosophies, what he stood for in terms of civil rights and why he is being honored.

What is the point of schools shutting down for a day, when both students and teachers could learn about Martin Luther King Jr. together? Sure it’s more work for a teacher, yet what is a teacher’s purpose in life, but to educate students. Teachers are the backbone of their student’s formal education, period!

The theme this year for the King Holiday is to: “Remember! Celebrate! Act! A Day On, Not A Day Off.” If King enthusiasts really wanted to celebrate Dr. King’s life, a true Marxist visionary, they would implement nationwide educational programs within the United States educational systems, strike down the day off bit for school children and have a regular school day filled with activities and assemblies geared toward Dr. King.

Speeches, prayer breakfasts and remarks from anyone that was related or knew Dr. King are all well and good intentioned, I’m sure, even that old media crap-hound Jesse Jackson Sr., who seems to behave every way that Dr. King wasn’t and it kind of makes one wonder, why people recognize Jesse Jackson Sr. at all, but I’m straying.

The point of the Dr. King holiday is not to sell white linens at Wal-mart, Sears or J.C. Penny’s, but to honor a man for what he did for what he did within his time for his country.

After all, our children are the future of the United States and everything else should be secondary, including Jesse Jackson, Sr.

So, what do you say? Let's all get off our halves-moons and make this idea a reality for next year and years to come, we only have 364 days left...

Old Melting-PotFolklore>Who's That Guy With Morris?

My dear readers, I don't often post jokes, but this one I came across in an old treasury of "melting-pot" folklore and I'd like to share it with you all. I've updated it for the 21st century, so some of you will appreciate the sense of value it still holds after 50 years or so...Who's That Guy With Morris?

Abe and Morris are talking to one another when Morris begins to tell Abe about all of his friends, among them the Mayor of Chicago, Richard Daley. Morris says, "Hey Abe, I just had lunch with him and his wife last week" Abe turns to Morris and says, "No way! You are lying." Morris says, "Look I’ll prove it to you that I know the mayor, let me call him." so sure enough, Morris whips out his cellphone & gets the mayor on the line almost immediately. "Hi Richie (Mayor Daley), how are you? Yes I had a great time with you and Maggie last week, yes, the salad was kind of bad I agree, but Richie, the reason I called was to tell you that my friend Abe doesn't believe that I know you." So Morris hands Abe the phone and sure enough Mayor Daley says hi to Abe and they speak for a bit, then Abe hands back the phone to Morris and hangs up with Mayor Daley. Abe says, "Well, that's all fine and well that you know the mayor, but I bet you don't know the President (Bush)." Morris turns to Abe and says,” as a matter fact I do, him and I were inside the limo together that took us to the stock exchange." Abe says, "Now, I know you're really lying, there is no possible way..." Morris cuts Abe off and says, "Hey Abe, don't believe me? Look, I’ll prove it to you." So again, Morris whips out his cellphone and in a matter of seconds, he has George Bush on the phone and speaks with him. "Hi Georgie. Yes, I agree I had a great time with you here this past week, yes I know how bad traffic was, but that's Chicago for you. Look, Georgie, my friend Abe doesn't believe that I know you at all, so I was wondering if I put Abe on the phone, could you say hi to him?" So, Morris hands the phone to Abe and sure enough, President Bush says hi to Abe. Abe is beside himself as they speak then hands the phone back to Morris who says goodbye to the president and hangs up." Look Morris, I now believe you. You know the mayor, you even know President Bush, but I bet you don't know Pope Benedict! And Morris turns to Abe and says, "Hey, are you kidding? I was over to his place a month ago, talking church politics with him." And Abe says, "No, this time you are lying, I don't believe you. I think you are pulling a fast one. So Morris says, "Fine, don't believe me? Here’s what I propose: let's both you and I fly to Rome and book us a hotel. On Wednesday, when Pope Benedict comes out on the balcony, I’ll be with him. if I’m not, then I’ll pay for the entire trip, if not and I am there then you have to pay for my difference. Fair deal?" Abe says "sure" thinking to himself that he's won the bet hands-down. So Abe & Morris book a flight to Rome get settled into the hotel and tour around a bit. Shortly before 10, Morris bids Abe goodbye and tells him he'll see him on the balcony with the pope. Abe says to himself, "Yeah, right" and then waves goodbye. At noontime, Abe arrives at the Pope's palace and looks up to the balcony; sure enough, out walks the Pope arm-in-arm with Morris chatting it up. Abe is flabbergasted to see the both of them, just speechless. in the meantime, a little Italian child in broken English casually walks up to Abe and tugs on Abe’s pant leg and asks him innocently, "hey Mister! Who’s that guy with Morris???"

Some American Cops Plus The American Mainstream Press Equals Nothing But American Paranoia AKA Random Thoughts From The MishegasMaster

American cops can be awfully stupid sometimes. Take the cops in San Francisco this past week who originally thought a flashlight filled with corroded batteries in a Starbucks coffee shop was a bomb.

They evacuated approximately 100 people from both the store and the living units above the store and arrested a homeless man who said he accidentally dropped the flashlight in the bathroom.

According to the story in the Associated Press, San Francisco police authorities said “initially said the device was powerful enough to seriously injure or kill someone if it had exploded.”

I know we live in a day and age where people are especially paranoid of strange-looking or odd-appearing devices, suspicious activity or anything or anybody that may stand apart from the rest. This is what 911 has done to us as a people, as citizens of these United States.

And the fact of the matter is most citizens are doing exactly what they are told to do, with the exception of course being the free independent thinkers, the liberals (who are secretly disguised as Martian Democrats) and artists of all mediums.

The mainstream American press in the United States isn’t helping matters anymore than usual; in fact most are swallowing what is given to them, the press as a whole doesn’t bother creeping out further and take a stand against this government of ours that is wrecking every value we as citizens of this sovereign nation once held to be true.

Oh sure, there is an occasional stab at President George Bush’s policies, but many reporters who write or cover stories or investigate stories involving our government seem to take a lax attitude. When 911 occurred, the press covered mostly stories of hope, survival and horrific trauma, I can’t say I blame them, after all that kind of sensationalism sells newspapers.

But when Bush invaded Iraq and began his undeclared war against terror, where was the press? Why are the criticisms now coming from the press a few years after the fact? I always thought the press was there to report the news, not make the news and not to serve as lap dogs to the president.

Are selling newspapers far more important than investigating all the illegalities that our government has committed? Is using our dead American troop causalties as a kind of mega-poster children far more plausible than what is really happening and that is protection of oil interests?

Why is that the people and I mean the citizens of the United States, whether it’s an individual like myself writing in a blog or a group of like-minded people staging a protest at a federal building are being ignored? Why even after several polls taken on the matter of an undeclared war that is a losing battle for this country (and many other countries, I’m certain) is the press behaving like a bunch of lame ducks?

I don’t mean all of the press, I mean the mainstream American press; I mean the press that citizens of America relies on to give them their news, day in, day out.

When will this American press stop living in a cave and come out to say it’s time for a change in policy for this undeclared war? Why haven’t any American newspapers with a budget the size of a state legislature, come out and asked for a formal investigation of what’s really happening to the taxpayer’s money and why so much profit is being made in this war? Why does it take the initial concerns of the American people to get the press to “look into the matter?”

Why hasn’t the press suggested that President George Bush be impeached for all of his dirty tricks, including unauthorized spying on his country? What will it take to get them moving, besides better pay?

Sadly, this is not the America that I once loved.

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>My Boy (For Noam Gaster)

Well, here we are, the second Friday of the year!!! What I thought was going to be a miserable week, turned out to be one of the best weeks of my life! I sure hope the same can be said for each and every one of you out in blog-land, the great capper beating back the misery! Thank heaven for Fridays. Well, I think this poem is good enough for today. And remember my dear, gentle readers, always, always, enjoy!!!

My Boy (For Noam Gaster)

Lit up like a firefly

My boy is in love

And when he gets like that,

World look out!

My boy, he’s got “the look.”

Furrowed eyebrows

Sweetie lovey-dovey smile

My boy got’s the grin

Of the cat who ate the canary

Two cypress moons

And

Stars streaking across autumn’s sky

Love has found my boy

But has my boy found love at long last?

For The Love Of Neil Diamond

I have this Internet online friend named Soulmated Sunshine; I gave her that name a long time ago when I met her in a now-defunct Jewish chat-room. We’ve had our ups and downs both through the various chat-rooms we meet up in and through emails, but I suppose any online correspondence is bound to run into that sort of miscommunication every now and again.

She’s a nice woman, very sweet, sincere and kind. I know a bit about her, but I will choose not to disclose that at this present moment; for you see, I believe that Soulmated was put on this earth for one purpose and one purpose only and that is spread the good gospel on how great Neil Diamond is.

Quite frankly, I never did think much of Neil Diamond until Soulmated came along. The only thing I could recall about him was that he was a lousy actor in the remake of “The Jazz Singer,” which originally starred Al Jolson. I honestly felt it was a great insult to put Neil Diamond in that role and mess up the great name of “The World’s Greatest Entertainer” (Al Jolson).

Besides, I was working on my own film script, my own revisit of that great first-ever talking picture at that time and I thought that Neil Diamond was hardly the guy I would have picked to play the main character. My own pick to play the role that Jolson had, was Jackie Mason.

In short, I knew nothing more about him, other than I felt he was more like a dinosaur musician, sort of like The Rolling Stones, who continually make records and go out touring every two years. I own two Neil Diamond albums, both greatest hits.

A musician can make a plethora of records, certainly, but there has to be a point in his or her career that they say, “Hey! I want to make a decent record and not put garbage out all of the time just to make records and to make me a buttload of cash,” which some musicians do.

In the early days of chatdom, Soulmated used to talk Neil Diamond up to no-end, ambushing almost every new chatter in some sweet conversation starters, like, “Do you listen to music? What do you think of Neil Diamond?” It would go downhill from there.

A lot of other chatters would make fun of her and rightly so; she seemed a bit obsessive with him, as if Neil Diamond owned her and technically he did; what with his charming husky singing voice, I suppose what’s not to like (Oops, I made a small omission, Soulmated might see that and she might think I am beginning to like him)?

But then I began to recognize her behavior; it was the same way I behaved when I first got into The Beatles; the sweaty palms, the excitement and joy they brought me when I first discovered them and all the other bands, musicians and genres of music from throat-singing to jazz, it’s all made me feel the same.

Everyone experiences it differently, some of us are a bit crazier than others about our music, but I’m not saying that Soulmated is crazy at all; she’s just into her music far more than most people are, in particular though, Neil Diamond.

And how far has she gone, you ask? To the point a few years ago, where she would post a petition web-link to get everyone to “sign” a petition to herd the powers-that-be to include Neil Diamond as an inductee into the Rock-And-Roll Hall Of Fame every few minutes! Now that’s a lot of chutzpah! Yet, to me that shows a lot of care and understanding and she would do almost anything to get her “man” into the hall.

Then there have been some real live characters both past and present who have come into the chat-room who pretend they are Neil Diamond and come into the chat-room and try to put Soulmated on; I think she’s a lot smarter than that to believe in that hocus-pocus! Most of the Neil Diamonds’ I’ve seen inside there all do the same thing on the surface; they sing to her the same old songs and don’t exactly know what they are talking about, especially when everything that is said seems so archaic and old.

There is one Neil Diamond impersonator though I have seen a few times come in there under the name of “Jewish Elvis,” he (or she) seems to be the closest of them all to Neil Diamond and might be the real McCoy, but who knows for certain? Why would Neil Diamond want to even bother to come into a chat-room and speak to a delirious fan? I’m sure he has better things to do than to waste time in a chat-room, but I’m straying.

They also call Neil Diamond “The Jewish Elvis,” because of his mutton-chop look and style, but in all reality, I believe Neil Diamond could be the next Liberace, you know with those bigger-than-life soundstages and fancy clothes he puts on with a huge female fan base, God only knows he’s getting on in years, almost a senior citizen, but that’s beside the point.

Last night, in chat, Soulmated told me that TV talk-show host Oprah Winfrey is holding a contest to find the “ultimate” Neil Diamond fan. I told her to enter and of course at first she made a bunch of excuses NOT to enter. But then we struck up a deal, I told her that if she entered the contest, I would get the Internet at home. Sound like the plan? Let’s see what Soulmated does. To me, the quintessential fan will do almost anything to be with their beloved hero.

One of these days I sure hope old Neil makes a throat-singing album.

Here’s to you Soulmated! Good luck!

Expect The Unexpected...And Ye Shall Reap Thunderous Rewards Of Happiness!!!

“Expect the
unexpected…” The Arizona Babe

When I write whatever I write about on my blog, I usually write for me and how an issue, problem or turn of events affects me. I usually don’t expect any responses, since I turned off the comment control button due to unforeseen circumstances earlier last year (2005).

I do hear from old and current friends who do comment or critique my work, which I sort of half expect, but when I received an email letter from someone I didn’t know, I was completely floored, but happy.

The letter began, “Hello, I just read the wonderful blog you posted about your experience with my brother Michael. My mother found the link and forwarded it along, said it was wonderful as well…reading it made us all very happy and proud…I’m so ecstatic it seems I am beside myself. Thank you, your post made my night…best, Stuart.”

Then I received this one the today.

“Hi I am Michael's mom. I just want to say thanks for your blog on Michael. He has left a very huge hole in many people's lives. I am sorry you did not have the opportunity to get to know him better; I think from what I have been reading on your blog that you would have been good friends. He was a stellar person and is sorely missed by many. I have learned so much about my son since his death. I am glad to know him better; devastated at the situation that has brought me to this sudden familiarity. Again thanks; maybe some day we will get a chance to meet. With fondness, Sydney (Michael’s Mom)”

For those of you who have been following my blog since the early days of when it began at the end of March last year as an outlet for what I thought would be my poetry, has of course merged itself into this great little space of my wisdom, thoughts and experiences.

The letter above is referring to an essay I posted back on July 25 of last year (2005) on my experience by a nice fellow who is no longer of this earth and of course, I’m referring to none other than “Michael Mumbler,” late drummer for Silkworm, conceptual artist & idealist for the great idea of The Mumbling Orchestra.

When I read both Stuart’s & Sydney’s letters, I wept softly to myself, because it means to me more than anything else that my writing touched someone else’s life, if even for a tiny chance encounter between two souls.

To recall briefly what transpired last year, I was in a furtive state of mind, I had just began private throat-singing lessons in Chicago, I had auditioned for a sound movement orchestra based on Walter Thompson’s Sound Weave technique in New York which used hand gestures to conduct the orchestra and I had hooked up with Michael Mumbler, who wanted to start a mumbling orchestra; which was a great concept I thought at the time.

But like all things, Michael put it on hold; I suspect the band he was in (Silkworm) was taking off and he told me on the phone sometime later that the project was on the backburner. Then in mid-July, his life along with two other friends (John Glick and Doug Meis) of his were killed instantly when the car they were traveling in on Dempster Street in Skokie, Illinois were smacked from behind from a young suicidal woman who had a death wish for herself…yet she lived and the rest as they say is history. (To read the original essay and the entire experience, click this link: http://themishegasmaster.blogspot.com/2005/07/mumblers-orchestra-concept-well-ahead.html)

Life is not fair. They take away the people we love and leave us with the crappy ones that hurt, maim and destroy what we formally had. All we have left is our happy memories and that’s just enough to make us smile.

This coming Saturday, January 14 (2006), Cabaret Metro, 3730 N. Clark Street in Chicago will play host to a memorial as well as pay tribute to the many friends, family, & the music community throughout Chicago, gather to the lives of Michael Dahlquist (Mumbler), John Glick and Doug Meis.

The show, titled “3FRIENDS Memorial and Benefit Show,” is an all-ages show, with the bands Exo, The Dials, The Returnables & The Negligents. Doors open up at 6pm and the show starts at 6:30, which seems to be an early time for the Metro, considering all the shows I used to go to, when I went to the Metro last century! Tickets are $10. I’m going to do my best to go and ask my friends to go as well.

That’s why life can be so brutal at times and as much as I hate thinking about it or writing about it, I can only hope that tonight after you’ve read this essay, that you will pick up the phone and call, email or write a snail mail letter to someone like a friend, your parents or a sibling and tell them how much you love them.

One never knows the fate of where our souls are headed, from one day to the next.

Thanks for writing to me, Stuart & Sydney, you both made my week!

A Rose By Any Other Name Is Not Pete Rose

Today in the world of sports, in particular, the world of baseball, a sole winner emerged; relief pitcher Bruce Sutter, who formerly pitched for among other teams, the Chicago Cubs, was voted into Baseball's Hall Of Fame.

He will take his place and formally be inducted among the many other recipients already inside on July 30 (later this year) in Cooperstown, New York, but I really couldn’t care less, considering that baseball has done itself an injustice by not inducting one of the greatest among greatest of baseball players.

That former baseball player is none other than Pete Rose.

Yes, sure; so Rose admitted to betting on his own team the Cincinnati Reds and yes, he did bet on baseball and yes he supposedly hurt the integrity of the game of baseball as a whole, but according to, whom? The fans? The sports-writers? The world who doesn’t give a hoot?

Rose was never found guilty by a trail jury of his supposed crime; rather he was convicted of tax evasion, a petty charge that seemingly has tarnished the image of a grand-master player.

I don’t get it; Rose was never found guilty, yet he gets shit upon for doing something that is so commonplace these days, hell! Everybody bets, from the boys hanging ‘round the pool-room, to the lowly office worker who partake in football bets based on squares, to families and relatives who bet against each other for major sporting events.

There are betting halls all over the world, from bingo to slots to poker to craps. It’s all legal; heck Las Vegas is the betting capital of the world for God-sakes! So why is Rose being ostracized? Perhaps it’s a personality conflict on the part of the current baseball commissioner, Bud Selig.

Why hang a man for one tiny misdemeanor, when his career highlights far outway the good sportsmanship he brought into the game during his time?

Or maybe he just wants Rose to kiss-ass and cow-tow to his liking, just like most big and little bosses do to their workers, kiss-ass and you shall receive; don’t kiss-ass and you will recede.

Whatever happened to doing what you loved doing without ever worrying about the chance to get ahead and you would get ahead based on merit, not on who you know or who you slept with?

In the meantime, why didn’t Selig move faster on the steroid usage within major league baseball?

Why did our United States Congress have to hold hearings and enact a policy prohibiting steroid-usage? Why has Selig let steroid-happy sluggers like former St. Louis Cardinals' Mark McGuire and San Francisco Giants’ Barry Bonds continue to play, break and hold homerun- hitting records under the guise of taking steroids to enhance their playing ability?

In the real world and in the sports world, drug enhancement has always been unacceptable, yet lots of sports players in the various fields are taking them to bring them forward to the next level.

In a fan’s mind, it is mixed, many taking both sides or listening to big-mouthed radio & television talk show hosts blab on about what they believe is right and what is blight and let their fans control the airwaves for an hour or so and then they move onto the next subject.

In The MishegasMaster’s world, I see it like this; if you need drugs to enhance your ability to play a sport or lift weights, then perhaps you shouldn’t be playing or working out. Prescribed drugs are different, obviously, so please I won’t even argue that point. Those that use steroids should have all of their records removed from baseball and be banned outright for life!

Whatever happened to wanting the thrill of playing with the natural self-mutating wonder drugs like “enthusiasm” or “adrenalin” or wanting to set an example for the younger folks (and older generations in between) who look up to sports heroes like they were your big brother, big sister or your parents?

Baseball heavy-hitting legends like Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio, Ernie Banks, Johnny Bench, Ty Cobb, Al Kaline and many others, never used drugs as they smacked their way into the record books.

And neither did Pete Rose.

So why is drug use tolerated and betting or gambling is not?

There is truly something wrong within these United States.

And that’s sad, especially for Pete Rose.

Watch Us Disappear! The Strange Intriguing Tale Of The Amazing Zander And Laughing Larry Lunatic: An Occupational Hazard>Act 19

Disclaimer: Dream as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today. Dance like no one is watching. Sing like no one is listening. Love like you’ve never been hurt and live like it’s heaven on earth. Fiction can be that way sometimes. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental & should not be taken or misconstrued as such. Anyone who thinks otherwise probably believes that to listening into other people’s conversations whether by ear or by recording devices without asking if they can do so, is a lot like spreading loshon hora within your own group of friends.

There is no such thing as a parole board on Devil’s Island, but when there is a possibility of a prisoner exchange, a prisoner being granted freedom or a prisoner being executed, a most exclusive executive board led by the likes of The Most Holy Father, Upper Prison Brass, Josie Peppermint & The Sorcerer Sisters who have emerged as the leading candidates and rumored to replace the fabled and yet still missing in actual, The Fraternal Goon Twins.

It is these members of the board who decides who stays and who goes, either free without bonds or leaves with a history as long as the sky. Closer to home in terms of prison cell approximation, two inmates here on Devil’s Island have been going through the meat grinder for several days, if not weeks and months, meaning mostly being scrutinized and studied, as if plans to execute them most Holy Father-style was on the agenda in the not-so-distant future.

The Amazing Zander, one of the first two prime targets on the hit list, came to Devil’s Island nearly 24 months ago, during an appearance at the annual Devil’s Island inmate holiday party stitched together by the late great Va-Va Voom.

The Amazing Zander brought with him a bag of tricks and among other things sawed The Most Holy Father in half, which explains the split personality factor, dismissed the ghost of Old Black Devil indefinitely and made Johnny Vegas bark like a dog, flap his arms like a chicken, laugh like a hyena and confess all of his sins (as they pertained to Devil’s Island) like a pubescent school girl caught peeping in a boy’s locker-room for the very first time.

The Amazing Zander was then offered a permanent place on the inactive parole board, so when push came to shove, The Amazing Zander could be blamed far more easily than any other members of the board for performing black magic on innocent prisoners. After 18 months of being blamed for executions that he didn’t solely commit, The Amazing Zander blew the whistle on the board, but not before other prisoners heard his story. The inactive parole board immediately expelled The Amazing Zander from the board and placed into solitary confinement for three months. After that brief exclusion, The Amazing Zander was placed back into the prison population, and into the prison cell with Laughing Larry Lunatic, who no one ever messed with, when it came down to the precise moment.

Orders came from the top and trickled down through the prisoner guards long ago, to leave Laughing Larry Lunatic alone…for as long as he lived within the walls of Devil’s Island. This simply meant no one was to bother, threaten or intimidate Laughing Larry Lunatic under any circumstances for fear it would set him off into a rage.

Laughing Larry Lunatic was unpredictable, a menace to virtually anyone who upset him, whether it was the toughest prisoner all the way to the Upper Prison Brass.

In the old days when Old Black Devil reigned supreme, Laughing Larry Lunatic snipped her to pieces time and time again, even after she had been warned, but alas Old Black Devil never listened to anyone except herself, so she got exactly what she deserved.

Laughing Larry Lunatic landed at Devil’s Island back when it was known as “Friendly Island” and Laughing Larry Lunatic was simply known as Happy Merry Larry.

Happy Merry Larry prior to being dubbed "Laughing Larry Lunatic," only known crime against humanity that brought him to Friendly Island was just for being his original self, friendly, open and honest, but as time went on, he got taken advantage of by many, so much so, that one day Happy Merry Larry's mind snapped like a twig, went overboard and became Laughing Larry Lunatic instantly.

He was taken down almost immediately to the fabled prison insane asylum, former home to the likes of The Pontificating Princess and Danceman Darryl. Laughing Larry Lunatic spent approximately 36 months inside the asylum, until he was deemed safe and fit to be placed back into the prison population once more.

But the tide has turned black and against The Amazing Zander and Laughing Larry Lunatic. Both have been verbally attacked, bullied, threatened and intimidated by Upper Prison Brass, The Most Holy Father, Josie Peppermint and Roving Robot Robin, who takes matters into her own hands and stretches the truth just a little too far for her own personal gain.

“Something must be done about Roving Robot Robin and immediately,” Skeleton Key Carlita was heard to blurt aloud one day. Of course, Skeleton Key Carlita was sent into solitary confinement for that remark, for as everyone knows, Roving Robot Robin does not appreciate humor, however it is expressed.

Late one afternoon when no one noticed, The Amazing Zander and Laughing Larry Lunatic “borrowed” a set of keys from Skeleton Key Carlita and escaped from the madness within.

To this day, no one knows where the pair disappeared to, if they even survived their escape or even if perhaps they are hiding somewhere within the landscape of Devil’s Island and waiting for the right moment to perhaps reappear and give back the gifts of which each man received when their respective time on Devil’s Island got rough.

One never knows their fate on Devil’s Island until it is signed, sealed and delivered like bad news to a waiting world!

Focus On The Family-My Younger Brother Benjy The Music-Maker>Act 1

Whenever my younger brother Benjy is gigging locally in town, I do my best to see him. See, Benjy holds down a regular job, plus gigs for four bands, two rock and roll, one reggae band and one jazz group as either an electric bassman or a stand-up bassman. It’s the current jazz group that he's in, that I’m particularly fond of.

Alright, I’ll admit it, I’m a jazz fiend; before got my first CD player, I listened to nothing but cassette tapes, mostly jazz and even had a big carrying cassette case, filled with 120 jazz cassettes. I carried them around in the truck of my car when it wasn't so full of the useless, trvial junk that now occupies the space for the winter season.

I haven’t quite figured out what draws me to jazz so much, but maybe it’s the freeness of it all, or perhaps it’s the unpretentiousness of it, sort of like early punk rock, you know the solidarity and friendliness between band members even after the show.

It’s a rare moment when I get to see a good band with a lot of heartfelt happiness in it. Now, knowing that I’ve mentioned that the jazz group my brother Benjy is in, it sounds like I might be a little bias, but no not really, when I consider all of the crappy bands he went through from age 15 to his late 30s.

I wasn’t always around for the later years, but I remember his first band he was with, in 1981 to be exact, the summer after my first year in college, a band by the name of Eternity, a basic Journeylike namewise, cranking out music that was a cross between a screeching tires and a shoulder dislocation; sort of like early Christian rock music.

I ought to know a lot about the band, I managed the group for about a month that summer, trying to get them organized, recorded them on cheap tape so I could score them gigs at local church with a demo, trying to manage their rehearsal times, working it around summer school and such, but when you have a drummer who believes he’s the next Keith Moon, what could one do, but to shrug their shoulders.

a month into the mangement gig, I realized that they’d do better if they managed themselves as most musicians I know (hint-hint) don’t like being told what to do. I have their early tapes; they sound…well, interesting, but it’s not much to crow about. They disbanded eventually and everyone moved on to the next great gig....

Human Interest Stories AKA News For Profit

I’ve often wondered how ordinary people become instant TV stars in a matter of moments. Is it due to the immediateness of television or the determination that 15 minutes of fame no matter the response is better than 15 minutes of silence?

Take for example this past week in Chicago the mother of a dead 15-year old boy who collapsed and died after playing a simple game of basketball at a friend’s house. The boy’s parent “allegedly” (even though I heard it on WBBM NewsRadio 780 A.M.) said, “He was determined to make it to the NBA.”

A lot of good that does now that the young teen is dead, right?

Was it a status quo move that made his mother decide to make such an outrageous claim or was it just one of those instances that she used her dead son as a pawn for her own selfishness to gain herself a spot in the limelight? I’ll take the latter over the former any day of the week.

There seem to be a weird trend toward that lately, more so, at least within the last decade, although some editors and publishers might call those kinds of outpourings “blurtatations,” all part of the human interest stories they try to write or produce.

Human interest stories. Hmm, I wonder about that. It seems sort of odd to me; I mean is there some publisher, editor or reporter out there in media-land making up a predetermined question so all the interviewee has to say “yes” or “no,” thereby making the answer seem less premeditated than it really is?

The easy answer to the above self-imposed question is obviously, yes. It’s a lousy way to sell newspapers, write and produce stories and also have answers that are way too obviously assumed, when the writer knows darn well what the answer will be.

It makes a goods soundbite and both soundbites, good quotes in newspapers and visually-vocal news broadcasts sells a lot of good ad space. Funny sort of thing, it used to be that news was news and news was not for profit.

That was of course, until giant corporations started buying up any or all newspapers, radio stations and visual broadcast mediums and tell them how to run their newsrooms like a business, not a newsroom.

And pray tell how have they survived this long by pulling crap like this?

By making stories that are normally negative into positive; telling people things like; green forests will automatically grow back in abundance after they’ve been burned to the ground; McDonald’s French fries still taste great after being dropped on the restaurant floor and stepped on by employees; staged press conferences in Iraq with soldiers holding up cue cards for other soldiers to follow in order to make our wonderful enemy combatent president George Bush look as if he knows what he's accomplishing over there, other than securing oil fields. It runs the gamut, but the bottom line is put a positive public relations spin and the negatives will suddenly stop messing up behind-the-scene strategies.

Go Hollywood! Bright lights! Everyone is always happy and there is always a happy ending to a downfall, just like the way it’s portrayed in politically correct Disney movies!

That sort of stuff that I refer to as “mass media trickeration,” doesn’t sit well with this writer, for certain. So what can we as viewers and listeners do? Plenty!

You can boycott the sponsors that help them pay for the airtime. Believe me, once the puppet-strings or the panic buttons are no longer pulled or pushed, things will be so much better, you’ll see.

Unless of course, you like happy newscasters like Katie Couric in her corporate baboon dress reading words off a teletype at one thousand words a minute or a few cue cards taped to a camera, telling you to stay with her for an exciting news story about the puppy population explosion post-hurricane Katrina New Orleans.

Oh how I long for the days of Walter Cronkite.

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series> Those Of Pain

Well, here we are, the first Friday of the year!!! Everything was fine as wine until midweek when I suffered multi-mini tremors within my space at my expense (of course) but today, was a big earthquake, 9.6 on the richter scale, nearly the greatest upon greatest cappers of them all!!! Thank goodness for Fridays, eh? Well, I think this poem is fits in well with my mood! And remember my dear, gentle readers, always, always, enjoy!!!

Those Of Pain

Those of pain,
They brood themselves to the bone
An ancient human ritual unfolds
(They) can't smile again
Til invisible tears stop flowing from their eyes
Many sleep in droves, while others lie awake
They surround each other, involved in give and take
Behind their backs, they conservate actions amongst their peers
Some weave wonder into fear
And fear becomes the anthem of the lost
The ill-willed souls who never rise
The deepened penetration of disguise
The bitter hatred for those they do not know
The ungrateful pity they cannot show
Unless it's circumstance of cause
A lesson learned, a battle interred between the minds of the mighty and the weak,

The winners are losers whence they speak
Those of pain
Will not rise again

Militant Bicyclists, Hurry-Hurry Henrys & Lobster-Clawed Bozos: Welcome To The Egress>Act Three

The following story is true, no names are protected and for good reason: tonight we focus on a more personal side of those "Hurry-Hurry Henrys." Some of these "Hurry-Hurry Henrys," always believe they should always be first in line, first everywhere in fact, always hustling in such a hurry, unless of course they are a doctor, lawyer, undertaker, fireman, FBI agent or policeman...

I used to have so much empathy for foreigners who came into the United States to start over and make their own American dream come true, but lately, that’s been crumbling for me, especially with the plethera of young Russian female rip-off artists who disguise themselves as lonely travelers looking for companionship and money from some poor lonely male sap.

Last night’s experience with a "Hurry-Hurry Henry," was the last straw.

Yesterday evening while I was driving to the library where I post this most wonderful blog my dear readers, I pulled over when I saw an emergency vehicle pull out from the local firehouse, not even 200 feet in front of me. That’s the law in Illinois and elsewhere (I think) and if you don’t pull over you can be fined $500 and face a year in prison. I pulled over to right like the cars ahead of me did and beside me, both on my side of the street and the opposite side of the street.

Except for the guy directly behind me.

I felt my car jolt as I was smacked from behind; I’m guessing he was moving at a rate of 20 to 30 miles per hour, but I couldn’t tell for certain. I felt the jolt throughout my entire body, particularly through my legs, my left wrist, neck and head.

So, I put the car into park, turned off the engine, flipped on the hazard lights, unhooked my seat belt, opened and shut my car door and walked to the back of my car to survey the damage. Thankfully, I have a plastic bumper on my car, so I didn’t see any visible damage.

Shortly thereafter, the other guy hopped out of his car, attempting to tell me that he didn’t damage my car and to look at the hood of his car, as he tried unsuccessfully to pull up his car’s hood.

I responded to him, “But sir; you hit me and I was fully stopped.” He was clearly flustered when I immediately asked him for his name, address and telephone number. Right about then, a woman (presumably his wife) got out of the other side of the car and got very vocal with me, telling me that they didn’t damage the car, while telling her husband to stop talking to me and get back into the car.

I repeated what I told him earlier; they hit me, I didn’t hit them and they were responsible. That’s when all the screaming began between those two, presumably they were speaking another language, Assyrian, I think, because halfway through the conversation he suddenly changed his story and said, “I don’t understand English,” got back into his car, and fled the scene with his woman friend.

In the meantime, I looked up the information up online that he had given me and found that the bulk of it was false. Thankfully, my journalism skills are still intact and after a few minutes of monkey-wrenching, I found the correct information and behold! I can now proceed forward.

Beware of drivers like Jendo Lazar, folks, especially in light of the fact that he seems to enjoy denting his car, like so many others seem to do these days. His license plate number is 200785, just a few numbers ahead of mine.

Now I bet you’re wondering why I didn’t call the police and fill out a report and all that other stuff, right? I guess I didn’t see any visible damage on the bumper nor did I feel so terrible either, other than the obvious headaches I have today, but hey I like to suffer through pain once in a while, but not as much Jendo Lazar may suffer if he keeps dinging his car into other cars anytime soon.

I often wonder why they give driver’s licenses to foreign citizens (there’s a true oxymoron) if they claim they can’t even speak the language, but I suspect Lazar, who lives at 9119 LaCrosse Avenue in Skokie, Illinois might have received his driver’s license from a George Ryan vending machine shortly before they became obsolete.

I can still hear the loud bang from his vehicle inside my head. I lost a few hours of sleep this morning as a result.

Tonight, I will be filling out that police report.