19 Years and Still Glowin'

Somebody get Debbie Boone over to the Ukraine. Stat. There are a few thousand Reds over there that NEED to hear “You Light Up My Life” as today marks the anniversary of the Chernobyl nuclear reactor explosion.
What’s a Cold War without some serious nuclear happenings? C’mon, kids – just think about it and go back to the crazy ‘80’s. That reactor leak gave those repressed Russkies a chance to glow like Olivia Newton John’s leg warmers and run around all willy-nilly like the college grad cocaine-infused NY stock brokers of the time. It was like one big American gift!
Sure, you may say, “D, that’s pretty cold – those people suffered a fate almost worse than those of Hiroshima…” and I would respond with, “OK…”
Sure, there was enough radioactive material spread over there to give Hiroshima their one-time dose over 200 times. And – it might have, well, affected the soil somewhat. I say – they knew the risks! And even if they didn’t – at least they now had something to talk about other than what happened in yesterday’s bread line.
Don’t get all bleeding heart on me. Boo hoo hoo! People got hurt! Boo hoo hoo!
Bah! People survived! I’ll even bet that some mutations occurred, creating one or two genetically altered super-kraines! We may not even know they’re there… It may take two more gene mutations… One more deviation… and bam! There shall rise from the glowing hills a savior! The new Czar! Maybe super advanced intellect, allowing a new Mother Russia, one that will surpass the dominant West, in space, war, or at least able to grow a freaking potato or make a clock radio.
So – back to my point. Let’s help mark the anniversary of the Chernobyl Glow, and go on home and cook up something in our SAFE Asian-made microwave nukers!
Or – check out where YOUR local reactor is, and stay the hell home and slip into something lead-lined.

"I don't care!"

Caring. I guess we have to. I couldn’t help but remember that I read this book to the spawn the other night, and since then I’ve been scouring the Interweb for free mp3’s to the Carole King album.
In retrospect – Pierre held his ground pretty hard until the Lion called his bluff and ate him. After the alleged King of the Jungle coughed him up alive and unhurt(?) Pierre changed his tune faster than John Kerry and we are all supposed to gain wisdom from his tribulations. Bullshit.
We all know that Lion is gonna look back and realize that Pierre’s family, after beating on him and making him look bad, needs to pay the price. So you can bet hard dinero that he’s going back for a full family feast Pierre-style. And that’s just to save face. He’ll go and drag the doctor back to the den for the rest to chomp on, or to maul in front of his friends. Gangsta-Lion style.
‘Nuff said about the little Frenchy kid. Might as well have tooted on about some Aesop fable, ‘cuz it be like the Man talking in parable all over again. Those folks didn’t listen, either.

So what?

I really don’t think I could have put it better than what is depicted on the strip above.
Yeah – I haven’t posted for a while, and I’m listed as being static content, and I’ve done some interesting things in the past month. Take a note from the Chili Peppers : Taste the Pain.
First up – the trip to Mouseland was way freakin cool. Not so much in the “I came, I saw, I conquered” way, but more in the parental “live through the kids” way. Watching the spawn struggle to wave higher, faster, and more emphatically than the other kids to get the characters’ attention was worth more than any thrill a Space Mountain could provide in 30 seconds or less. After going through the hundreds of pictures – the fact that I’m not in more than four of them only belies the truth of it – I wasn’t there as much as the KIDS were there. Mission accomplished.
Second up – back to the cartoon pic. There is nothing outside of general kid stuff to talk about. Perhaps I’m feeling the opposite of what normally happens in spring time, but I just couldn’t care less what is happening on the face of this rock. Is it the maniacal dervishes that call themselves upper management at work? Could it be post-trip depression? The fact that some work buds got the axe? Poor diet/health? Bad teevee programming? Whatever.
All I know is that I got me a big case of season-opening attitude. Trouble is a-brewin. I need to find a healthy distraction, and I really don’t think the kid’s T-ball parental slavery is going to do it.
Of course – I can’t make it to Bill’s gig due to “other” things going on. Yippee.