Come on, gentlemen. Who among us doesn't have to find a desktop during a playing of "Carouselambra" and beat Bonzo's part out at the bridge? RIGGA-DIGGA! RIGGA-DIGGA! (rest) BOOM! Zeppelin ROOLZ!

Jesus! Jesus! Pass it to me! I'm open! Speaking of Jesus...you may find some kitschy little items here and here. Happy Easter.

A mailing list I'm on recently mentioned the notion of priests abdicating their vows of celibacy in light of the most recent charges of child abuse in the Catholic church. I responded: I for one would hate to see the Catholic church do away with its celibacy rule. The simple fact of the matter is that the Catholic church needs dysfunction and foolishness to surive. For centuries, the Catholics made a career of finding fault with other peoples and cultures and working hard to assimilate, to purge, and to achieve political power, criticizing other religions as superstitious cults while grasping with white knuckles the notion that they were actually eating the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, castigating polytheists while praying to Mary, Jesus, Joseph, and anybody but the Man herself, and widely spreading the completely unhealthy philisophical view that humans are essentially sinful creatures in constant need of redemption and forgiveness. Vatican II may have allowed services to be held in English, but it didn't reform the church's twisted and bizarrely firm stance on birth control, a stance which does nothing to reconcile itself with the church's even firmer stance on abortion, nor did it help to stop the church from lording over the rest of the world with an attitude toward human sexuality that is infantile and destructive. The douchebag sentiment at work here is the one that says that abstaining from fucking is a great way to become more effectively plugged in to the forming and nuturing forces of the universe. I have a suspicion that for centuries the creator has been giggling at them and wondering when they'd catch on to the fact that She put those tingly bits there for a reason, and that caging that energy is about as holy as kicking up your bare feet on a pew back during Easter service and letting a thundering fart rattle the wooden seat. One thing that hasn't come out of all of this yet: These latest events convince me that it's high time for some American religious institution to extend a forgiving hand to the Rev. Sinead O'Connor for creaming the Pope on Saturday Night Live some years ago. This is, after all, precisely what she was bellering about, and while her method of protest was bizarre at best, it turns out that she was absolutely right. Let's have a ceremony in New York City to affirm this woman's priesthood in the church and a marketing push to welcome her back into the fickle fold of the American music industry.

Last night, Fox Television aired a one-hour Bill Reilly diatribe called The Corruption of the American Child. I have a few thoughts. Does anyone else find it ironic that this television show aired on Fox, which is presently warping the minds of young adolescent men with a show about a man who has 15 women at once vying for his hand in marriage? (It doesn't work this way, boys. If you can find one wonderful woman to pursue you with such an intent, you're a damned fortunate man.) Does anyone else find it inappropriate that a show moralizing about the horrors of mass media provided hundreds of visual references to what O'Reilly considers to be the worst of it? Did anyone else cringe when Opie and Anthony appeared as guests?* Had O'Reilly wanted a real debate, he would have gotten the real McCoy. Generally, I disagree with O'Reilly's hypothesis. Violence isn't just rampant in our fictional media, it exists in our news media because it exists in our world. In these post 9/11 days, and in days when violence in Israel doesn't even take a holiday for Pesach, it seems naive to crusade against the Insane Clown Posse. And the problem is not the appearance of sex in the media, it is American unhealthy Puritanical attitudes toward human sexuality in general. The fact that we're supposed to avert our eyes contributes to the obsessive and sometimes destructive horniness of American culture. Besides, to chastise Hollywood like this is to do so in a vacuum—American mass media still produces a lot that is appropriate and healthy for children. I have to say, though, I loved having the opportunity to throw rotten tomatoes at the ACLU lawyer, who took the bizarre and extreme position that a national group is entitled by the First Amendment to espouse sex with children. Wow, when you're wrong, you're wrong. It was an interesting little show, but being a tiny cog in the machine of media, I will always cringe a little when the accusations come at us. It's easy to blame the media for our social ills and far more difficult to examine the social, governmental, and economic causes. It has always been thus and shall always be. *I am not a fan of Opie and Anthony. From what I know of these two, they have distilled only the most prurient aspects of the Howard Stern Radio Show for their own use. Casual listeners should not place Howard in the same class as these two morons.

Do you need an afdb?

Meanwhile, in the "Kids Say the Darndest Things" file: A conversation between my father and his six-year-old son, my little brother, about a recent trip to an art museum. Little Brother: Dad, the girls laughed at the sculptures. Dad: They did, Willie? Why did they do that? Little Brother: They just have no respect for art!

Top three things I'd like to ask Bobby Knight when he appears at Olsson's Books & Records in Arlington March 28: 3. What were you, born in a barn? 2. If you and Godzilla were in a fight, would you show him your own shit, or just throw a chair at him? 1. If you could throw a chair at any historical figure, who would it be?

Big Brother...3? There are two kinds of people in the world, those who divide people up into two groups, and those who do not. Having said that, there are two kinds of people in the world, people who watch Big Brother, and people who absolutely do not understand the perceived madness of those who do. I can see how those in that other crowd might believe it to be madness. I myself will admit to only a few of my Big Brother-related behaviors. I join show-related listserv groups. I search the Internet for updates. And yes, I have actually spent money to vote in the polls. But no, I have never jumped up around screaming to cheer on so-and-so during a head of household competition. My point in bringing up Big Brother at this juncture: Big Brother is looking for houseguests for BB3. While I am utterly elated that we will have another season, I do have a note of concern for the producers of this fine television program. As we all know, MTV started the "reality television" boom with The Real World. When the show first aired, producers managed to populate its real world with real people, folks like you and me...well, with the exception of Puck. The new crews, however, have simply been pretty people, people who really aren't very interesting. I'm hoping CBS won't make the same mistake. They improved production values dramatically in the second season, reducing Julie Chen's role to focus more on the houseguests, making competitions less grueling and more fun (save except for the final HOH competition, which encouraged the three remaining houseguests to wet the bed), and placing voting powers within the house, not across the nation. I would hate to see the show turn into a place where the Kents and the Chicken Georges of the world wouldn't stand a chance. Thank you.

How to make a perfect chili dinner for yourself and two friends who have come over to watch the Kansas game but spend most of the evening watching the goddamn Maryland game because the morons at network would rather broadcast the rather lackluster Maryland game in your area: First, spend four hours shopping for a Crock Pot, unless you have an appropriate one on hand. Go to Hecht's first, and ask the saleslady to go in the back and look of a 3.5-quart Crock Pot. She will return after ten minutes and tell you that they don't have any in stock. Get in your car, pay $1 for parking, and drive to Target on Jefferson Davis Highway. Find the location where they have every model of Crock-Pot except for the one you want, then find a salesperson who will go to the back, and explain to you that they don't have any left in the back, either. Go to Linens and Things and Best Buy next to CostCo and have a similar experience. Finally, drive to Macy's and find a three-quart Farberware crock. Thank goodness. Now, here're the groceries you need: Two cans each of pinto beans, mixed vegetables, chopped tomatoes. One twelve pack of Sam Adams Spring Ale. One six-pack each of Coke and Diet Coke, which nobody will consume. One package of chili seasoning, maybe two if you're feeling dangerous. Grated cheese. One bag of Fritos. Three boxes of Jiffy cornbread mix. Eggs. Milk. A red pepper. Sliced banana peppers. A pound o' meat (optional). Scallions. Mushrooms. Spring squash. Salt. Pepper. Chili powder. Drinks some beer. Brown the meat. Slice the veggies. Drink some more beer. Throw the whole mess together and stir it really really well. Make cornbread. Crock it. Eat. And don't be neat about it. Top it with cheese. Throw the cornbread into the mess. Drink some more beer. Throw the Fritos in, too. Damn. And oh, yeah. Go Kent. They play Indiana tonight at 7.

Kent State is going to the Eight. ::lip doodle::

I hate to admit it, but I am giggling with glee watching Todd Bridges kick Rob Van Winkle's ass.

I know that readers' eyes glaze over when I talk tech. So, I apologize for the past few days' immersion in the subject. I did lose comments for awhile because Blogger is, unfortunately, not the most reliable service in the world, though it is wonderful. I believe I have reached a solution: I no longer publish directly to my index page. This leaves my blog page unaffected should Blogger decide to screw something up. Then, I can copy and paste and edit entries to my heart's content, and republish via FTP. It adds a step, but it ensures that I can keep the page's quality up. Incidentally, I know I lost a post. I will see if I can retrieve it at home. Anyway, I might as well take a moment to note that as of today, the Whitewater issue is finally closed. And yep, that DNA stain is all that ever came of it. I swear, this city is such a shitpile. The homeless cats lady was back at Ballston yesterday. She sets up a table there from time to time with a big sign that says "HOMELESS CATS." I still want to ask her how much she wants for them.

When my cousin Christopher was 6, he and his family were traveling on a bus in some metropolitan area, Chicago, I think it was. Christopher, in his childlike persistence and enthusiasm for pushing buttons and making noise and such, was insistent that he should get to "ring the dingy." "I get to ring the dingy, right?" he asked my Uncle Jim. "Yes, Christopher, you can ring the dingy," Jim would reply. Then, of course, after a few moments..."But Jim, I get to ring the dingy, right?" The time drew near for Christopher and fam to exit the bus, and, as the story goes, Uncle Jim got a little excited. "Come on Christopher! Ring the dingy! Ring the dingy!" It's an odd little etiquette we have on buses, isn't it? I watched this morning as a young woman sitting in the front seat of my bus rang the dingy, though she could have just as easily leaned over and said, excuse me, ma'am, but I will need to get off at this stop. I thought of this odd transport of communication, that instead of going from person to person, this idea is transferred via telegraph regardless of one's situation on the bus. I mean, immediately afterward, the woman said "thank you and have a nice day" to our driver, it wasn't as if direct communication between these two human beings was irreperably impaired by some universal happenstace. We are a society that is used to prosthetic media. We have telephones and Internet and television and yes, we have the dingy. Social circumstance and national mindset mean that, given a choice between interacting directly or poking someone with a stick, well, we'll pick up the stick every time. That's just the way it's done, I guess. When you're on the bus, you ring the dingy.

I was in Safeway today, the one in Arlington across the street from the new Harris Teeter that will put it out of business in 4.5 months (trust me), and this guy came over the loudspeaker and said: "Will the owner of the Toyota please move it? Put it in a PARKING SPACE WHERE IT BELONGS!" I hope that guy gets a raise.

Tipper Gore has announced that she is considering a run for Senate. In a related story, Al Gore has announced that both of his testicles have turned black, shriveled, and fallen off completely.

Show me the way to the next sushi bar. Oh, don't ask why. Oh, don't ask why. I tried sushimi while in Vegas. I didn't order it directly, I tried somebody else's. Not to be unsophisticated or anything, but blech! I also tried sake. Also, blech. I'm home now, and ever so happy to be here. I got in at 1:30 a.m. Stayed up 'til like 3. Woke up and had breakfast with Uncle Johnny. Glad to be home. I missed the feta cheese and spinach and tomato omlette at Metro 29. I missed Alice the Cat (I've renamed her "Alice." Don't ask.) I missed having my own computer. I missed not having to wear a tie every day. Now that I'm home, I can start telling everyone to read Michael Moore's Stupid White Men. Every American should read this fabulous book. Yes, that means you. And now, to go recover from Vegas.

Friends, you haven't lived until you've had the opportunity to eat something called "fried goat cheese cakes." This is, I think, perhaps, the world's most perfect food. After all, it has goat cheese, and it's fried. Other unsolicited opinions from Gomorrah West: The world needs more men like James Carville, Tom Tomorrow, and, most of all, Bill Bradley. I know, I know. The man has a turkey neck and two first names. I saw him speak this morning, however, and I'm telling you, he is one of the clearest thinkers this nation has to offer today. His prescription for America: "...a pluralistic democracy and a growing economy that takes more and more people to higher ground." I told him so, too, as I got my picture snapped with him after his speech. "I think we need you in 2004, Mr. Bradley," said I. The giant man standing next to me didn't respond. I think he had jetlag, and my bet is that the little blue dot from the flash was still hovering for him.

The Bellagio has perfected elevator muzik. When you step onto the elevator, there is no music playing. Then, once the elevator car begins its descent, music starts to play. It is always a different genre; sometimes it plays show tunes, sometime Sinatra, sometimes Baroque. It's little details like this that makes a week's stay at this place interesting and pleasant. From my room, I can see the fountain waters dance. The water streams, I've heard, are directed by little explosions at the pool bottom. You can turn on the television in your room to a particular channel and listen to music the water dance is coordinated to. I actually stood at my window a few nights ago and watched the waters dance to Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." And it was actually pretty cool. Our convention has been successful. My program with the author G.D. Gearino went over very well. I'm going to write Dan a big thank you note when I get home. "Dear Dan," it will read, "thank you for making me look good." I'm ready to go home now. Unfortunately, the convention schedule disagrees with me. I have one more day.

I'm going to write a book for children about how to behave in airports. Here is a brief excerpt: "See the pretty dog. See the pretty dog sniffing the suitcases. Pet the pretty doggie. Good doggie."

For the record, I made it to Vegas. No terrorist attacks, no major shakedowns by overzealous security staff...I suffered nothing but boredom and fidgeting on a 5-hour (BEVERAGE ONLY) flight. The time difference is difficult to account for right now. I have already tried to attend a staff meeting two hours early.

Is it just me, or does John Basedow look like a chicken?

Today, I'm packing. Well, that's the plan. I'm getting somewhat psyched about convention. It's going to be different from previous years because I'll be wearing a lot of hats. I'll be busy, you bet. It will be strange not traveling under a full moon. When I was traveling more frequently, I could always seem to count on a full moon to watch over me. I've seen her full and strong over the Alamo and in the middle of Vegas. I'll miss her, though I don't know if I'll have much time to notice her. I'm nervous about the trip. Nervous I won't be able to drag my ass out of bed on time, nervous about flying, nervous about the whole security rigamarole, nervous about convention. I'm psyched, though. Looking forward to it. Off to pack.

In today's Washington Post, there is a story about one of the officers involved in the attack on Hatian immigrant Abner Louima being released on $1 million bond. Louima, you'll remember, was treated by New York's finest to an asstickle with a broom handle. This is an actual paragraph from this story. I am not making this up. "Louima eventually received an $8.75 million settlement from the city of New York and the police union, and moved last year to the Miami area with his wife and three children—in part, he said, to try to put his painful past behind him."

Meanwhile, in the "all our base are belong to us" file...(click this!)

When you decide to make changes to your blog, you can make some hellish mistakes. I decided today that I want to keep my domain name next year. I like owning my own domain name, and to me, it's worth the money. So I decided to put some redirect script onto the blogspot page. In the process, I messed up the template. I will, I hope, have it back the way it was before, better, stronger, faster...You may change your bookmarks, if you like. Sorry about all the confusion. My e-mail will continue to cruise over to AOL, though I have forwarded bjp.com mail.

Brit Hume says that Disney, who owns ABC, must be smarting at being portrayed in the press as "a profit-hungry, greedy corporation uninterested in bringing the news to America." Well, Brit (is Droopy your dad, by the way?), if it walks like a profit-hungry, greedy corporation uninterested in bringing the news to America, and if it quacks like a profit-hungry, greedy corporation uninterested in bringing the news to America...well... It's nice to some extent to know that the bullshit doesn't stop when you're in the highest levels of the profession, that the capitalists will always dick around with the news staff no matter where you are, and that the foolish dynamic doesn't change at different levels of professionalism in the media. Even at ABC news, it seems, management just isn't happy until it runs in and goes mad with a thresher. By its very nature, news is a liability. News staff is not there to help sell advertising. News staff will require a budget and will sop up your resources and will never on its own generate a dime for you. The concept of news as a profit center is a new idea. Television networks initially established news departments because radio had them, and radio had them at the behest of the FCC, which once upon a time as a useful governmental entity held a crazy notion that the public airwaves belonged to the public and had an obligation to serve said public. "Nightline" was born from that idea in an urgent time. Iran had our people, and Ted Koppel kept us apprised of the progress at 11:30 p.m. every night. There was no CNN and no Internet. There was only Ted. It was a noble experiment, one that stuck and one that has brought some of the most compelling news stories over the years. Every weekday evening, a serious and respected newsman sits down to tell a story, and a news format developed and perfected in that time slot delivers news with a depth that Stone Phillips and the gang can't touch. It doesn't surprise me that ABC and Disney brass can be so cavalier with Koppel, who deserves a far fairer shake than all of this. Stuffed-shirt capitalist pinheads like this cannot grasp the value of a good news staff and can't grasp the value of anything that doesn't have a bottom line. "Nightline" is still doing its job, and people still need "Nightline." Demographics be darned to heck.

Pet peeve #7,642: Just because that door has a button to push to make it open automatically doesn't mean that you should push that button and make the door open automatically. Do you see the little icon underneath it? That button is for folks who can't open that door on their own. "Disabled" people, as it were. Here's the thing about machines: The more they're used, the more maintenance they require and the more likely they are to BREAK. Therefore, the more pedestrians use that button, the more likely it is not to be available for somebody who might actually NEED it. So take your little arm and grab the little handle and PULL.

My last two entries ended with questions. Is that okay?

I am Lloyd Dobler. I am the keymaster. And I want to be President of the United States of America. Can you dig it?

Note to self: Don't forget to watch "The Osbornes" tonight on MTV at 10. Thank you. Note to YOU. Amy Fisher isn't boxing Tonya now. Paula Jones is. Won't that be a little more interesting?

In about 15 minutes, I'm going to eat cake. We're all going to eat cake. Everybody in my office is going to eat cake. Cake, cake, cake, cake, cake. Cake, cake. Let's all eat some cake.

A few boring technical notes... I have, you may have noticed, changed my e-mail address back to AOL. This is a part of my effort to save myself some dough on this little hobby in a sensible fashion. I am soon to relinquish my Earthlink account and to return to relying on AOL as my ISP at home. It was a practical choice. When I offer people my e-mail address as "Aaron@brassjarproject.com," they scratch their heads and say, "huh?" When I tell them to write to me at AOL, however, everyone knows precisely what I'm talking about. There were, of course, other advantages. AOL has FTP space and does not restrict accesibility via Blogger like Yahoo does (for images and such). Plus, a lot of folks I know are on AOL. Oddly enough, I felt estranged from them, not being here myself. So, I'm back. ::wave:: Also, for those of you who used to visit just to play Tetris...I've moved it to the links page. Look under "T." For "Tetris." One more boring technical note: I've moved the archives. That is all.

Last night, I made what was possibly the most yummy lasagna that has ever been created in the universe. It was a test project. I'm having the fam over to the big house Friday for lasagna. Some of the housemates are traveling, so I decided that this would be a great week to go nutzo in the kitchen. And I've been dying to teach myself how to make a good lasagna. However, it's never wise to spring your first attempt on guests. So, I guess I'll be living on lasagna for the next few days. A tip: The non-boil noodles are fantastic. Just throw them in and they do all the werk. No muss no fuss. I made a few mistakes, but that's why I have the practice batch. The batch I pull out of the oven on Friday is going to be killah. In other breaking news: I'm going to Las Vegas on Sunday. I'm a little nervous about the whole damned thing, starting with the question of whether or not I will be capable of getting my ass out of bed when I'm required to in order to make my plane and ending with the question of whether or not some whackos will try to fly my airplane into the side of a building. But I have to go. It's bidness. I will, by the way, be able to blog from there. One of the advantage of using Blogger is that I don't have to rely on having FTP software to do what I gotta do. And, I am in charge of the Cyber View Café, so I'll be sitting in front of a compyooter pretty much all day. Yep, I'll blog from Vegas, baby.

Hi. I'd like a gyro please. Yes, with onions. Chomp!

There are so many things wrong with this that I don't know where to begin. Okay, fine; I'll start here. They SHOULDN'T BE BOXING. Boxing is a sport that athletes train hard for and use their brains and their bodies for and that has a history and a methodology and a glory all its own. It's like having a football game with singer-songwriters from the early to mid-70s. England Dan and John Ford Coley will be team captains. Uh, okay, I pick James Taylor. James? HELLO? Yeah, I heard you. Well get over here. Well, okay, then, I pick Carly Simon. She'll kick his ass, and she can hide the ball in her teeth. Uh, okay, well, then, I pick Ace and Gary; I mean, Hall and Oates over there. Oh yeah? Fine, fine. If you get both of them, then I get Todd Rundgren and Janis Ian... Second, why is Tonya Harding boxing Amy Fisher? Shouldn't Tonya Harding be boxing Nancy Kerrigan? Shouldn't Amy Fisher be boxing Mary Jo Buttafuco? And why the hell isn't Mariah Carey boxing anybody? This is, surely, a sign that each of these individuals has just given up. I suppose one can only fight so hard and against so much for self-respect before she reaches the conclusion that her deeds have been malicious enough and reviled enough that her only option is to profit through self-ridicule. I suppose that once your crime becomes you, all you really can do is to throw yourself in front of the camera, do whatever they want you to do and waddle off with a wheelbarrow full of cash. I'd say that I wish they'd both get paid to beat the living shit out of Darva Conger, but what she did wasn't in the same league. It was stupider. I'll be watching, all right, but only because I love boxing. I want to see if Bonaduce has a decent hook. He's boxing Barry Williams. God Damn, I Love America!