Slackjaw's Forum

It was just a week ago that we found ourselves at each other’s throat. Our country at the brink of war left a lot of thinking to do. It started innocently enough as an invitation to a peace march, and one vicious replay later, became an increasingly interesting document on the benefits of war and peace. Over the period of about three days emails flew back and forth, and for the first time in a long time we were having a discussion about this country and this world and where we see our place in it. I saved all the emails, patched them up and compiled them here. I have no idea what else to do with them but put them up on my site. Hope you enjoy the read.

In his controversial autobiography, Fisted Full of Dollars, (Harper and Row) Lambchop, the lovable children’s character-turned-activist, talked a lot about the constant threat of being replaced. There were always rumors of cats and bears being called in to read and at the end of the sixties there was even talk that Snoopy had been offered the job. In the end Lambchop and the show died it’s normal death like all children’s TV shows do, living for a while in that hazy land of syndication and Christmas specials before dropping of the radar, appearing only in the occasional PBS fundraising special and strip-mall openings. I bring this up because in Volume II chapter 13 he kind of goes off on a tangent about Shari Lewis spitting all of her lines, and how, especially near the end of their run, when the crew wrapped, he would have to be toweled off before being put down for the night. You can really tell he’s in a lot of pain recalling those days, there’s a lot of anger, hurt a...

I’m done with pink. Finished with the little hearts that trail every word, and cover every boarder. This Sunday’s paper had more reds and pinks this year than any other year I can remember. Don’t get me wrong I have no real issues with Valentines Day. I have no trouble with this marketed holiday anymore than I have trouble with any other holiday. Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, I do just fine with them thank you. But I am sick to death of this pink. This year for some reason it’s that Barbie-pink color that’s everywhere. Yahoo has covered its home page with it. The sports section in this morning’s paper even had pink advertising. It’s like The Cat In The Hat has comeback more out of control than ever. Pink ring in the tub? Childs play. Pink snow? Amateur’s work. This year I’ll do that and even turn all Lingerie pink. All clothes, candy, storefronts and busses. I tell you one thing, I know of no quicker way to get smacked upside the head then by trying to...

It’s kinda quiet here today. The copiers are going off down the hall and though there is still the intermittent humming of the florescent ballasts no one seems to hear but me, overall I’d say it’s gonna be a slow sort of day. I tried to eat an orange this morning. I say I tried because I was unsuccessful and wound up throwing all but one slice away. If I have but one flaw (which would be a lie, I know I have many far worse than this) it’s my intolerance for lousy fruit. I have no patience for a dry orange or a mushy apple, no hunger for a green banana or a hard pear. For the most part fruit and I get along like my cats get along with my kids. We co-habitate and at times find each other’s company beneficial, but most of the time we just avoid each other. When I was younger, it used to be that it was only the deceptive fruits and vegetables I disliked. You know, the raisins that hide in chocolate-chip cookies pretending to be a toll-house morsel, or the jalapeno pepper hid...