I Know This Guy named Tony...

No...


Not this Tony..


But this one...

He goes by Anthony Romero, but I'll bet his mother calls him Tony.

He also happens to be the Executive Director of the ACLU, which some people would call a mob because they're in the protection racket, too.

But I doubt you'll ever hear about these guys busting heads and breaking kneecaps. This Tony's crew shows up at courthouses all around the country making sure that your Constitutional Rights as American citizens are not violated. Yeah, I know they'll defend just about anybody. No one said the protection racket was a clean business.

Anyway, this guy Tony sends me lots of letters. I try to read them all. I do. Being a sexy bookworm and all, a fella's got to make some sacrifices.

But this one caught my eye. Go ahead. Read it. I guarantee you'll love it. It may even move you to click on one of those red buttony thingies asking you to do something.

Seriously, folks. Read the letter and show Anthony some love. I have no doubt that their efforts helped prompt the actions President Obama's (how I love the sound of that) took today.

Thanks...

Sign the ACLU’s “Thank You” message, and urge President Obama to keep leading us towards an America we can proud of. Dear ACLU Supporter, Today is an extraordinary day for civil liberties and our country. And we should all pat ourselves on the back for helping make this moment happen. Just 48 hours into his presidency, Barack Obama took decisive action on civil liberties -- issuing four executive orders that set a new path towards an America we can be proud of. All those petitions you’ve signed, actions you’ve taken and contributions you’ve made are paying off in dramatic fashion. Because -- make no mistake -- President Obama’s decisive acts of leadership wouldn’t be possible without you and other ACLU supporters laying the groundwork. You refused to listen to those who said the ACLU was being idealistic, unrealistic and even crazy to expect a new President to act this quickly. And by acting on your convictions, you have helped make this a remarkable day for the Constitution and the rule of law. Thank President Obama for acting so quickly -- and urge him to keep moving forward. With four executive orders today, our new President: Ordered Guantánamo Bay shut down Banned torture Ordered a full review of U.S. detention policies and procedures, and Delayed the trial of Ali al-Marri, an ACLU client whose case is at the center of the Supreme Court’s review of indefinite detention policies. We’re seeing -- right before our eyes -- what it means to have a President who respects the Constitution and honors the rule of law. Please sign our “Thank You for Acting” message to President Obama -- not simply because he has earned our gratitude, but because he will need our ongoing support if we want him to follow through on crucial civil liberties and human rights priorities. This isn’t just about sending a message of thanks to Obama. It’s about sending a message to anyone who dares to stand in our way as we act to restore the Constitution and reclaim America’s reputation. Thank President Obama for acting so quickly -- and urge him to keep moving forward. In the last 24 hours, more than 30,000 ACLU supporters have already signed our “Thank You for Acting” message to the President. Count yourself among them. Please act right now. Sincerely, Anthony D. Romero Executive Director ACLU © ACLU, 125 Broad Street, 18th Floor, New York, NY 10004

I'm an (Un)Sexy Bookworm

First it was okjimm, and now it's Randal Graves.

Will these tags never end?






However, this meme is much easier for me to do because I am a book worm...

and I'm sexy as a muthafucka.

Here's how this one works:

You need to go the nearest book you find, whether it's this one or this one. Next, open it to page 46 and write out the fifth sentence on that page, and the next two to five after that. Once, you've done that, pass the meme onto five other bloggers you know.

So here is page 46 of Pete Hamill's "North River"

The cause of death was always life. Across many years now, he had comforted people he knew would soon die. He hoped too that he could reduce their immediate pain. He hoped his consoling whispers would do them no harm. He hoped too that he could reduce their immediate pain. He could not carry them around in his head like luggage.

I wish I could tell you all how this random passage from one my favorite authors is resonating with me now. Perhaps I should have chosen one from The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch which was underneath the Hamill book.

Hey! Rules are rules. Far be it from me to step out of line.

Okay... here are my usual suspects.

Skippy
Mauigirl
Alecto
Blondesense Liz
okjimm (because you tagged you me, sucka!)

If you done, it already fuggedabodit. If not... well get cracking.

Gee, thanks okjimm!

Wowsers! Nothing more says, "I care" like being tagged in the blogosphere.

This time the love comes from my favorite blogger from Wisconsin, okjimm who writes okjimm's eggroll emporium. So, ya wanna know six random things about me now. Well, I'm going to need to pop open a few frosty ones to take this one on because it may take a while.

Before I get going, there are a few administrative items that need to be addressed.

The Rules

1. Link to the person who tagged you.

2. Post the rules on your blog.

3. Write six random things about yourself.

4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.

5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.

6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Ya got all that? Good. Here are my six.

1. I'm 5'9" and wear a size 10 shoe.
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
2. I have an unfulfilled desire to perform unscheduled oral surgery with my fists on smug and sanctimonious people.
   
   
   
   
   
3. I'm a closet Bee Gees fan.
   
   
4. I taught Noodle how to laugh like Butthead... (uh... huh huh)
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
5. I wanted to name a son of mine Jackson, but Skippy wouldn't let me.
   
   
6. This Christmas, Skippy and I received this red bra as a gift.
   
   

Okay, show's over! Go and watch Obama get sworn in or something hopeful and useful like that. And, please, I'm trusting you all not to let that Bee Gee thing get out.

Here are the six I tag.

Skippy
Susan
Alecto
Blondesense Liz
Dianne

If you've done it, great. If not, take a shot. If you don't care to, remember what I said about that Bee Gee thing... shhhhh... mums the word.

Destiny Fulfilled

Yes, I once wanted to be a rock star. In my late teens and 20s, I wanted to be all that and a bag of chips.

The skinny kid on the left blowing the microphone is me.

I sang. I played guitar. As insipid as they were, I even wrote my own songs. Occasionally, I shouted obscenities and exposed myself to the audience, which drew everything from laughs and projectile vomiting. I wonder why.

Somewhere along the way, reality set in. I realized that playing wasn't enough to make it big in that business. You have to hustle and shamelessly self-promote.

Not there's anything wrong with that. I was either unwilling or unable to do that in 1985. Was it fear of the unknown? Maybe. Or maybe it was just a desire to know from whence my next meal would come? Probably.

So, I gave up that dream to pursue a more practical path in life. I returned to college and got my B.A. In English Literature. I got a good job working for the firm at which I am still gainfully employed. I even sold my beloved Fender Strat to buy Skippy her engagement ring. I made no big sacrifice in this career change. I did have regrets.





Go ahead make fun of the shirt and the Blagojevich 'do. I've been charged, tried and convicted for this shot many times over!






Still, I've always held out the hope that someday, I would return to my true love. Music.

I have, and you can thank Zeb for this.

The seminal moment came last Thanksgiving when La familia Spartacus hoofed it to my parent's place in central New Jersey where there is always a musical instrument within reach. Zeb brought along his acoustic to display his chops to his musically inclined relatives. He killed.

His signature piece is Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze", after which his Uncle Joe (my brother) said to him in a very Obi Wan Kenobe way: "You are fulfilling your destiny."

I laughed, mainly because the words rang true: musical ability is our family gift. I may have done nothing consequential up to now with this gift, but I was born with it, as was Zeb, Ricky D and Noodle.

Destiny? Perhaps.

And it appears that I am fulfilling my own, now that my musical stars are aligning. Zeb and I are taking lessons with a wonderful instructor and face melting guitarist, Steve Amend.

I have begun a "duet" project called Los Pablos with the incredibly-talented, wonderfully eclectic blogger and fellow music-loving Long Islander, Blondesense Liz. (Avert your eyes. Here's where I shamelessly plug my band mate's art blog and her MySpace page featuring her music.)







And... I got my beloved Strat back!!!










Our goal for now is to get out and play the Long Island "open-mike" circuit and have a shitload of fun. We're not looking for fame... or fortune... or being found naked and drunk, sprawled across a barroom floor. Nor will our music bring about world peace. But there's nothing saying we can't sing about it.

Tedious Business...

Developing contracts is tedious business. It really is. Regardless of whether they are social or business contracts, moral ones or immoral ones developed for nefarious reasons, it's always a struggle to reach the terms acceptable to all parties. Sometimes they can drag on forever.

I'm sure they will for my fellow Long Islander, Richard Batista (h/t to Pissed in NYC).

He's demanding that his wife give back the kidney he donated to her in 2001, or give him $1.5 million. Apparently, he feels like she violated the terms of their marriage contract, -- specifically, the fidelity part -- and is seeking to gain some compensation for his donation, if not, then a return of the donation itself. Good luck with that.

You can read about it here. The best part is that Dr. Batista has a fine legal team, that reduces drastically his degrees of separation to some other wonderfully dysfunctional characters spawned from the Isle of Long. Do Joey Buttafuoco and Jessica Hahn ring any bells? And so soon after the holidays.

I digress. This post is about contracts and the current, tedious negotiations in which Skippy and I are involved in with....

Ricdiculous!

Or as he now likes to be called, Ricky D Awsome.

This year, Ricky D's been having some school issues. His grades are not where they could be and we've had conferences with his teachers who all say that he has trouble staying actively focused on tasks, and that he is forgetful.

ADD? Perhaps. He'll be tested soon.

In the meantime, Skippy and I have had to implement some changes in his lifestyle that are more conducive to focusing. And, please, give Ricky D props on this one. He's been super-cooperative in our efforts to help him do better.

But he watches way too much TV (The Office is his favorite show) and spends lots of time on the computer, and we felt that curtailing these passive activities was in order.

So, we decided to limit his TV and computer use to one hour a day for each. Further, he is not allowed to watch TV or use the computer unless his homework is finished. Finally, his TV and computer use must be terminated by 9:30PM, when he is to hit the shower. Regardless of whether or not he used up his time, 9:30PM is when his carriage becomes a pumpkin, and he is not allowed to carry unused time into the next day. It's use it or lose it.

But among his many talents, it appears his inner lawyer is beginning to emerge. You see, he pointed out quite correctly, that these rules only apply to weekdays. Skippy and I have not fully worked out how to deal with weekends and, as this past holiday season can attest, school vacations are problematic, too.

Not for him. Our enterprising boy focused himself long enough to draw up a contract detailing his TV and computer use.

Here's page 1 of the contract. Notice how he tried to sneak in some provisions that essentially invalidate the contract. It's enough to make Henry Paulson cry tears of joy!

In this draft, Skippy and I are not allowed to raise or lower the amount of (TV or computer) time unless we both explicitly agree. Also, if Skippy or I violate the agreement that allows him one hour of TV and computer time, the contract becomes null and void for one day.

Nice try, Ricky D! Congress may have abdicated it's fiduciary responsibility to oversee how taxpayer dollars are spent, but, we, the benevolent dictators of Casa de Spartacus will have none of that. We reserve the right to dictate terms, the only caveat being force majeure.

My apologies for this long, drawn out post. And, let it be known that Skippy and I are more benevolent than dictatorial. Let the contract negotiations resume; tedious though they may be.

Skipping Through Years...

Skippy turned 46 yesterday. She really doesn't like it when I mention her age or that she's a full 11 months older than me.




"Don't you dare go there, Spartacus!!"







Okay. I won't.

But she's happy we remembered her special day.

We gave her flowers...












and some cards...












(I simply couldn't resist this one...)












Noodle baked her a lop-sided yellow cake with chocolate frosting...












Zeb and Rick just showed up...

We all came together to show our birthday girl how much we love her.












Happy birthday, Skip!

I Know That Kid

I know Garrett Quedens. I never met him before, but I know him.

Garrett Quedens is any young 14-year old child of suburban parents. He has lots of friends. He never cuts class. He rarely gets into trouble. Everyone that knows him describes him as a good kid.

Living in the Town of Babylon, which includes the Village of Lindenhurst where I live, I run into lots of Garrett Quedens all the time. In fact, I live with one. You know him as Zeb.

I also know his parents, Thomas and Gizella. I never met them, but I know them. They're not much different than me and Skippy or from our neighbors who work hard to provide a comfortable home in which to raise their children.

That's why this story threw me and Skippy for a huge loop. This could be our story.

No one could have forseen Garrett Queden being found dead in the early morning hours of New Year's Day, much less freezing to death after downing a bottle of vodka with his friend.

But that's how it went down, and now we have lots of questions.

Not so much of how it could happen, but if it could happen to us.

The answer is yes.

We broke down the circumstances behind Garrett's death.

He was out late.
We live in a bedroom community where it gets dark, cold and quiet early in these parts during Winter. So, whether one's curfew is 12 midnight or 8PM is negligible. The streets of Lindenhurst and West Babylon are fairly safe, and most kids know to avoid the trouble spots. After all, our neighborhood is not an idyllic, crime-free community.

His parents did not know where he was.
Like many kids his age, they all have their usual hangouts, and most parents know where they are. Garrett's was in a wooded section at the end of Watson Avenue. Zeb and his pals like to go to the athletic field behind Lindenhurst High School. When they get bored, they move to other haunts. These days, they all carry cell phones, so it's alot easier to get in touch with them. But regardless of whether they're carry a phone or not, when they are out of the house and on their own, they never roam far from home.

He drank a liter of vodka with a friend.
Okay. Garrett did a stupid thing. But that comes with the territory of being 14. As it turns out, this mistake cost Garrett his life. But it's still a mistake. His parents probably had that talk with him about the consequences of consuming alcohol, taking drugs, and premarital sex without making the boy feel like an idiot. That said, he died on a brutally cold night. He could have been hit by a car while walking along a poorly lit street.

The biggest fear of any parent is losing one of their children. Sadly, Thomas and Gizella Quedens fears have been realized. Their realization could just as well be ours.

And there's the rub.

This could have happened to anyone's kid.

So, yeah, I know Garrett Quedens. I never met him, but I know him well.

And I because I know him, I grieve his loss.