Another sign that the economy stinks...
Nearby, in the Colton/Rialto train yard that parallels the I-10 freeway, is a string of mostly Union Pacific locomotives parked end to end...for nearly two miles. I counted between 135 and 145 engines on my way home from work this week. If, as the commercials say, "American moves by rail," then we're really in bad trouble what with so many trains idle.
...and when (and why) did America's rail roads give up on graffiti control? There doesn't seem to be a single rail car left in the USA that doesn't have extensive decoration by vandals. Some of this "art" took hours and hours to "create". Where's the fabled goons of yesteryear protecting the rail yards with 30-30 Winchesters and big clubs? ...probably all got laid off, then joined the border patrol or "Homeland Security" to protect us from the same individuals who spray paint the shit out of everything.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Teach Your Children...
Teach Your Children
by Graham Nash
You, who are on the road
Must have a code
That you can live by.
And so, become yourself
Because the past
Is just a goodbye.
My eldest daughter dropped by last night. This is notable in itself as I usually see her only on the most major of major holidays, and there was nothing special about yesterday. She's 24 years old now, and lives just a couple of miles away, but years ago our relationship was explosively shattered. She was a hellion back then, fighting at every restraint I could impose on a rebellious teenager. There wasn't a line she didn't cross, and I was right there, ready to draw a new line, daring her step over. I was certain I was doing the right thing.
Teach, your children well
Their father's hell
Did slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick
The one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would die
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.
It all came to a horrendous, painful climax, and... I thought I'd won, as if there could be a winner in a full-scale nuclear war. Our worlds lay in ruin, with me claiming some sort of Pyrrhic victory.
And you Of tender years
Can't know the fears
That your elders grew by
And so please help
Them with your youth
They seek the truth
Before they can die
And here she is, ringing my doorbell, presenting me with her graduation announcement from nursing school. A color photo shows my daughter in her nurse's uniform, beaming with pride. As well she should. She did it all on her own, her way. All my threatening and anger did nothing to motivate her to do this.
She said she sees old friends from high school hanging out on the streets, accomplishing nothing, and wonders why. She sees loud and unruly kids in stores and remembers she once was that way. How far she came, without me.
Did I fail her? Yes. Yes, I did. Am I proud of her success without me? Absolutely. I am proud she proved my fears wrong; my anger misplaced. But I did it because I cared so greatly, and I took the only path I could see. And I care now just as much, my pride, my ego tempered with the knowledge that I failed her so miserably when she needed my love the most.
Teach your parents well
Their children’s hell
Will slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick
The one you’ll know by.
Don’t you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.
by Graham Nash
You, who are on the road
Must have a code
That you can live by.
And so, become yourself
Because the past
Is just a goodbye.
My eldest daughter dropped by last night. This is notable in itself as I usually see her only on the most major of major holidays, and there was nothing special about yesterday. She's 24 years old now, and lives just a couple of miles away, but years ago our relationship was explosively shattered. She was a hellion back then, fighting at every restraint I could impose on a rebellious teenager. There wasn't a line she didn't cross, and I was right there, ready to draw a new line, daring her step over. I was certain I was doing the right thing.
Teach, your children well
Their father's hell
Did slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick
The one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would die
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.
It all came to a horrendous, painful climax, and... I thought I'd won, as if there could be a winner in a full-scale nuclear war. Our worlds lay in ruin, with me claiming some sort of Pyrrhic victory.
And you Of tender years
Can't know the fears
That your elders grew by
And so please help
Them with your youth
They seek the truth
Before they can die
And here she is, ringing my doorbell, presenting me with her graduation announcement from nursing school. A color photo shows my daughter in her nurse's uniform, beaming with pride. As well she should. She did it all on her own, her way. All my threatening and anger did nothing to motivate her to do this.
She said she sees old friends from high school hanging out on the streets, accomplishing nothing, and wonders why. She sees loud and unruly kids in stores and remembers she once was that way. How far she came, without me.
Did I fail her? Yes. Yes, I did. Am I proud of her success without me? Absolutely. I am proud she proved my fears wrong; my anger misplaced. But I did it because I cared so greatly, and I took the only path I could see. And I care now just as much, my pride, my ego tempered with the knowledge that I failed her so miserably when she needed my love the most.
Teach your parents well
Their children’s hell
Will slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick
The one you’ll know by.
Don’t you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.
How About A National Lottery?
Here's my plan:
For every dollar in federal taxes paid, up to $50,000, you get one entry.
On, say, April 15 of the following year, the President draws the winning ticket.
The winner gets their very own Hawaiian island and a hundred million dollars.
Plus, the winner is exempt from all taxes of any sort for the rest of their lives.
You also get a license to kill.
Ex-boss who made your life a living hell? Bang: no problem.
Idiot with loud stereo in the car next to you? Bang.
Anoying street mime? Bang.
Mickey D's screwed up your food order? Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang....
Think of the social ramifications of that, alone. Bet you'd never get bothered by the press wanting pix of the lottery winner.
For every dollar in federal taxes paid, up to $50,000, you get one entry.
On, say, April 15 of the following year, the President draws the winning ticket.
The winner gets their very own Hawaiian island and a hundred million dollars.
Plus, the winner is exempt from all taxes of any sort for the rest of their lives.
You also get a license to kill.
Ex-boss who made your life a living hell? Bang: no problem.
Idiot with loud stereo in the car next to you? Bang.
Anoying street mime? Bang.
Mickey D's screwed up your food order? Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang....
Think of the social ramifications of that, alone. Bet you'd never get bothered by the press wanting pix of the lottery winner.
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