President Makes Big Move on Roof Issue

ST. PAUL, MN (AGR)--President Bush today announced that he is going to continue to implore Congress to pass legislation insuring that every roof in America be painted white. When asked why every roof needed to be white, the President responded "I am the decider and I decide what is best"*. It is unclear where in the budget money would be diverted for this enormous home improvement project, but the President seemed undetered,"“Sometimes things aren’t exactly black and white when it comes to accounting procedures… I still haven’t figured it out completely.”*



*Actual Bush Quotes

Pack 'em Up, Move 'em Out.

No biting sarcasm today, just a pinch of humbling intospection.

When I was five years old, my parents stuck me and my sister in a 1973 Chevrolet Kingswood stationwagon, that I swear on Great Odin's Raven was a block and a half long if it was 3 feet. They proceeded to take us on a five day drive from Hammonton, New Jersey to Tucson, AZ. Now at the time and as I grew up this struck me as odd. Sell the house, pack our things drive to somewhere where we have no house, no job nothing.
There are some things about this drive that I remember distinctly. I remember swimming in the pool at the Ramada Inn in North Carolina, I remember the cockroaches at the Days Inn in Montgomery, Alabama. I remember Egg McMuffins every morning, and Kenny Rogers "The Gambler" on the radio everytime we got close enough to a town to pick up an FM signal. I remember Odessa Texas and having to drink soda at every meal because all the water tasted of oil. I was not too far into my teens before I began to connect to these memories a deep rooted sense of respect for the courage it probably took my parents to leap into uncertainty, to move from family and familiarity, into possible opportunity and certain uncertainty. I remember the change it produced in all our lives, almost certainly for the better.



It is difficult sometimes to measure the effect of change in a system where it is constantly felt. The one constant in my adult life has been the shedding of a relatively stable childhood, in favor of a life of constant change and renewal, of advancement followed by disarticulation. Difficult to weigh the natural evolution that lifes own changes provide, versus the difficult, loaded, and often self perpetuated changes that we can burden ourselves with through fear and doubt, and their nagging child: procrastination. The reaction to that change has seldom been negative, since many times, particularly with the latter kind, I have created it. The greatest problem with that brand of change is that it has generally been reaction, as opposed to action. It is beckoned by a fear of success or failure that strains at our souls until we bail on the things that are most important in favor of those that are the most comfortable.
As I get older and hopefully mature I hope this one lesson of my mother and father stick with me: That sometimes we need to abandon the comfortable in favor of what is most important.

Fox News Promotes Radio Host to Press Sec.

WASHINGTON, D.C. (AGR)--In an attempt to consolidate its "Fair and Balanced" coverage of national politics, Fox News promoted analyst Tony Snow, host of "The Tony Snow Show" to White House Press Secratary late yesterday. Officials at Fox hope that this move will enable them to more easily create the notoriously fair and non-partison news coverage for which they are famous.
When asked if this could serve to reinforce the belief that Fox News is nothing more than the public relations arm of the White House, Fox News Chairman George W. Bush said simply "I'm the decider and I decide what's best!".
The White House hopes that this move will help restore the President's record low poll numbers, Fox News just hopes they will get some damned credibility out of the deal.

We have a ballgame.

Well alrighty then....We have a ballgame!

I recently contracted a bad case of MySpace. I know what you are thinking, and you are right. But we will cover that later. The point is is that in addition to all the senseless crap you have to sift through there, I recently came across this little gem of poetic wisdom.

Now I would like to state for the record that this was reposted by a friend of mine who I happen to think very highly of. I would also like to stress the word "Reposted", this was written by someone down the line who I think may be a little misguided about the nature of political protest. So without further ado:

Take a man and put him alone,
Put him twelve thousand miles from home.
Empty his heart of all but blood,
Make him live in sand, in mud.
This is the life I have to live,
This the soul to God I give.
You have your parties and drink your beer,
While young men are dying over here.
Plant your signs on the White House lawn;
"Lets get out of Iraq".
Use your signs and have your fun,
Then refuse to use a gun.
There's nothing else for you to do,
Then I'm supposed to die for you?
There is one thing that you should know;
And that's where I think you should go!
I'm already here and it's too late.
I've traded all my love for all this hate.
I'll hate you till the day I die.
You made me hear my buddy cry.
I saw his leg and his blood shed,
Then I heard them say, "This one's dead".
It was a large price for him to pay,
To let you live another day.
He had the guts to fight and die,
To keep the freedom you live by.
By his dying, your life he buys,
But who gives a f**k if a Soldier dies!

If you give a f**k repost it and let ppl know you do
If you are in the Military add your name to the list
(Veterans add rank name and combat unit)


Setting aside for a moment my personal feeling about the unpalatable, if not slightly paradoxical nature of rhymed verse with no sort of discernible measure or meter, there are several things about this thing that I happen to take exception to.

Am I supposed to infer from this (and I may have read that wrong) that if I want our troops to come home, then I do not give a f**k about them? That seems a bit odd, and more than a little insulting and narrow minded.

Having been in the military, and as a free thinking American I think I can tell the difference between not agreeing with the fabricated pretense for war that we were handed by our government, and not caring deeply for the men and women that are making the ultimate sacrifice in some horrible desert 12,000 miles away.

I think the best way to honor their sacrifice is to hope and pray they come home soon. Any attempt to tie disagreeing with sending them in the first place, with not offering whole hearted support for what they do has been a PR drive by the current administration to intimidate and guilt the callow and the naive into supporting the geo-political machinations of the Whitehouse's hopelessly misguided foreign "policy".

It pains me that this is not evident to more people.

That whole piece is like implying that someone does not love their child because they do not agree with the amount of homework their teacher is giving them. It is baseless and insulting, to say nothing of confusing and completely disconnected .

One of the things I found most disturbing is that the piece itself is followed by a list of servicemen who have been subjected to this hatefull and closed-minded propaganda, and signed their names to it. It hurts me to believe that all the people on that list may actually have become convinced that the very people that want to see them home...Safely and soon, truly do not care about them as much as the people who are pleased with the fact that we are in Iraq in the first place!

This nation is still held in the bitter grip of our involvement in Vietnam and the completely inappropriate way that people treated returning servicemen. This is a different time, with different players, and although the rules may appear to be the same, they are vastly different. Not once in three years have I heard anyone suggest that our servicemen and women are somehow in the wrong, or not supported by Americans. It is high time that those who have supported the war stop trying to make themselves feel better (or score cheap political points) by making those very soldiers feel like the people not in support of the war are hateful, bitter people who do not concern themselves with the fact that people are dying. These are the people who are hurting our soldiers...NOT ME. I want to see them home...Safe and soon. To suggest that that notion constitutes a lack of support for them is hurtful to the very people that you feel you are defending by saying such things.
That, I will gladly sign my name to.

Vincent J. Salvatore III

In Vino Veritas

Alright, so I still have not decided on the format, or more specifically the content that we will deal with here at The Arch Groovus Report, so for the time being, I will just focus on writing and trying to figure out a way to get people to read it. And while I am on the subject, I am not sure why this is important to me. The fact that people read this I mean. I really think part of it has to do with a lack of a creative outlet. I have virtually no artistic ability at all, so the chances of me actually creating something are pretty slim ( that of course does not include you, Christofer!). This was actually a story I wrote a year or so ago. The characters are rather characatures of people whom i have "experienced" over a dozen of so years of enjoying friends and good times, in what a recent Jack Daniels ad refers to as " fine establishments and questionable joints everywhere..". Somewhere, I am sure there is a story inside my head detailing the events that led up the this rather surly, disjointed catharsys in Patton's life, but so far this story stands alone as an example of human emotional frailty and the harsh face of the hopeless day to day that some people feel they are forced to endure. So here it is In Vino Veritas.


..."Im sorry babe, was that black or red?"
"BL-ACK"
Patton over-enunciated, annoyed at having to repeat himself in the first place. He crushed the cigarette down into the heavy glass ashtray as he eyed the woman over. Not unattractiveHe passed judgment on his bartender as she poured him a glass of Johnnie, smiling politely as she caught him looking her over "Not bad lookin" he mused to himself, "but probably worked in bars a little long, lookin a little weathered." He smiled at his observation, timing the change in expression so that she no doubt thought he was smiling back at her. Patton was shaken out of his amusement, suffering an inadvertent elbow, as the fat, sweating-mouth-breather of a stockbroker reclaimed the stool next to him returning from wherever fat, sweating mouth-breathers return from when they arent swilling down cheap chilled vodka, believing that they are getting a great martini. Patton tried to ignore the man as he shifted n his seat turning his attention back forward to realize his bartender had settled into a leaning spot on the bar directly in front of him.
"So whats your name sweetie?"
Patton thought for a moment about not answering her question. He already knew how this conversation played out, and he just didnt feel like enacting this scene.
"Patton actually." He responded, choosing not to be overtly rude. Here we go He added in his head. Wait for it, wait for it.
"Oh, like the war guy?"
There it is, good girl!
"No, like the flavored coffees"
"The what?" she replied as Pattons sarcasm shot wide and drifted harmlessly over her head.
"Yes," he paused to look at her nametag "Debra, like the war guy."
Patton said dryly as he returned to his drink. His sip at the scotch became a swallow, and before he knew it he decided to just finish the job, tilting his head back swallowing again before slamming the glass back down on the bar, gasping. Two down. "Debra," Patton said, as he slapped Fat-Guy on the shoulder, "another round for me and my new friend!"
"Really?"
Fat-Guy spat suddenly smiling and excited at the prospect of free booze. Patton turned and half smiled realizing the man just didnt get it, and probably never would.
"Uh, no not really"
Patton turned back to Debra,
"another scotch please."
Patton started in on round three as he casually flipped through an appetizer menu filled with various fried vegetables, cheese doused morsels, and high fat, low carb solutions that kept the patrons satisfied, content, fat, and stupid. Patton could tell that Fat-Guy was not real happy as he shifted in his seat, doing the uncomfortable dance of a coward nearing conflict. Patton continued to sip on his scotch closing his eyes and looking down occasionally, trying to drown out the incessant rambling going on around him. When he opened his eyes again he noticed for the first time two women a couple of stools down on his left. The first thing that struck him about these ladies was the volume at which they saw fit to have their conversation at. It was not that act of trying to raise your voice over the pitch of the room, as these women were several decibels louder than the rest of the insipid surface noise so typical of a chain restaurant and bar. It was that kind of shrieking, piercing loudness that was typical of one who saw themselves above the crowd, of one who so desperately wanted everyone to hear what they were saying, so everyone in the room could rest assured that these Cosmo slurping pop-culture whores were in fact having a great time, possessed of such a feeling of self importance, that the simple act of laughing harder or talking louder would make the entire room feel better about their pathetic existences. Late thirties, dressed like early twenties and gossiping like they were in there mid-teens. Patton groaned suddenly unable to drown out what was the singular thing that became the most important to ignore.
"Debra, please."
Patton called to the bartender shaking the ice in an otherwise empty glass. Debra dutifully poured the scotch and walked it over to him.
"Hey, I dont suppose you could get them to shut up or something." Patton continued, motioning with his head over to the talkative duo a couple of stools down... Debra just smiled and walked away. Patton, for his part, simply went back to the business of ignoring the women as they went on and on about everything from their shoes to the girl in the finance depart ment at work with the bad hair and what guy did what to them and how. Having decided after another swallow of scotch, that something needed to be done about these beasts, Patton cleared his throat and turned to plead his case to them. It was at this moment that he heard the voice from behind him.
"You know, youre not very nice."
A smile crept across Pattons face as he turned to face Fat-Guy.
"What?"
" I said, you are not very..."
" No, No. I..." Gulping down more of the drink: "... I heard what you said. Patton laughed as he turned back to his drink.
"Well, what is so funny about that?"
The words had barely gotten out of Fat-Guys mouth and Patton was all over it. "Nothing is funny. Nothing is..." Patton, now absolutely incredulous, continued. "You have been sitting there steaming for ten minutes Socrates? And the best you could come up with is youre not very nice? Christ, did ten minutes of internal dialogue get so miserably tripped up by your tongue or are you just that much of an idiot?"
Fat-Guy was now wide eyed and sweating even more as he meekly fired back.
"You know what, Im gonna..."
"You are not going to do anything, thats the whole point. You are going to sit there and do nothing, and 99 times out of 100 you are not even going to do as much as youve done already. Most times youre going to keep your mouth shut and drink more and sweat more and eat fried cheese dipped in ranch dressing, and then the whole way home, you are going to fantasize about the things that you wish you had the balls to say and do. You are going to sit on that stool thats barely able to support your sizable load, the same way you do, what three, four times a week? You are going to get drunk-ER and fat-ER and go home by yourself with no woman and no phone number and no dignity and no self-respect, because you have absolute..."
" Hey take it easy!" Debra jumped in trying to cut off Pattons colossal rant. "Debra, it is not your turn, genius! ...Absolutely no balls. You see these girls over here?"
Patton motioned over to the pair of overdressed woman to his left. Getting off his stool, Patton raised his voice several notches and continued. "These two works of art came here with a singular goal: get tanked and find someone, anyone to share a meaningless sexual experience with, praying that somehow they can temporarily drown the pain from their complete inability to develop a meaningful relationship, let alone a complete sentence."
Patton had now drawn the attention of not only the objects of his latest attack, but nearly everyone within twenty or so feet.

"The only thing lower than their IQ is the level of self esteem that the two of them share. And still, and still there is no way you would ever take them or anyone else like them home because you are absolutely pathetic. Patton continued to loose his venom on the hapless Thursday night patrons of Stuckeys on Ardmore Avenue. Although his voice was as loud as it was going to get, being at that point just between talking loud and yelling, his voice became clearer as the room became deathly silent. The entire room suddenly enraptured by the exciting and rarely seen theatre of a man completely unraveling before their very eyes. Patton was now utterly unglued, and did not even notice the fact that he was actually winning over his audience. As he attacked the garb, attitude, intention, lineage, social background, education, sexual orientation, drink selection, promiscuity, hygiene, and, of all things, mental stability, of patron after patron the entire room began to watch with a sick enthusiasm, some almost seeming to wait for their turn. Patton, for his part was livid, the more laughs he got from his audience, the more intense he became. Cursing now and spitting the anger of a dozen meaningless jobs that invariably led to nowhere, of half a dozen relationships that never panned out or led anywhere, having his heart torn out or walking in on God knows what. A thousand great ideas that never amounted to anything more than a fleeting moment of unrealized semi-genius or forgotten rumination, spilling out onto the faux wooden floor that had no doubt seen many a moment of unrealized whatever. A lifetime of unfulfilled promise, of broken lies and circular pathways inevitably leading to the spot a few feet back from where it started. Frustration, abuse, hangover, heartache, broke-and-lonely angst.
AND THEY LAUGH.
"SHUTUPIHATEYOU"
Pattons drink fell to the floor as he spit out the final lines of the final act of his one man show. The drunken, broken-hearted, dying man stumbled out the door crying as his audience followed him with their collective gaze hoping for more of his wisdom in a world lacking any sort of meaning or enlightenment. And as the door closed on the life of Patton Mitchell Hampton Jr. the room full of his most adoring fans slowly faded back into its average gray and his people drank cocktails and ate fried things.

Wow. It is only the first day of this project that we here at the Arch Groovus Report lovingly call "The Arch Groovus Report" and already the reviews are pouring in.

E.W. of New York, New York says "One of my favorite people in the whole world to talk to is Vince Salvatore...Vince if you write it I will read it!"

T.S. of Tucson, Arizona says "It is such an honor to know...you...I fully...partial to your...part(s)"

and K.S of Pitman, New Jersey calls it "wiser...brilliant" and goes on to say "I am upset i didn't think...The World...needs someone like you."


The Arch Groovus Report....If you are not reading it, you just don't get it.

Welcome

Good Morning!

Ok, so I would like to begin by telling all of you what a computer illiterate fool the author is. I only say this because I used to stare at these things wondering how in the world these seemingly normal people could have access to the internet to do the two things I really enjoy doing (no, don't worry I do THAT somewhere else on the internet) : 1) Offering my opinion and 2)......well okay the one thing I really enjoy doing.

Then something occured to me: If 14 year old fans of Ashley Simpson and overly-opinionated fascists could figure out how to do the blog, I could too.."After all," I said to myself, " I am overly opinionated! I have been 14! and damnit, I love..like...okay well, I have heard of Ashley Simpson!"

So I started my research, I started asking questions: "What sort of web log defines me as a person?", "what is it that the people want, because afterall you have to give the people what they want!" and "I wonder if anyone is going to finish that Low Fat Caramel Apple Scone on that table?". When I got the report back from my research department, I was astounded at the amount of feedback I got in regard to what "the people" wanted from me. It turns out that the people, much like myself, want honesty, integrity, and a sincere regard for the thoughts and dreams of the average member of the Community of Nations.

So then I thought to myself: " Lacking all those things, what could I bring to the World Wide Web and all of its fans, most of whom are obviously possessed of a surplus of disposable time?"
Then the answer hit me like the High School girl at the adjacent table when I tried to finish her Law Fat Caramel Apple Scone: ....wait no colon yet, this is the "big reveal" as they say in writing, so instead of just a colon, I am going with the Colon-New-Paragraph combo for added effect. So let me try that again....
Then the answer hit me like the High School girl at the adjacent table when I tried to finish her Law Fat Caramel Apple Scone:

"Give the people a part of yourself!" a voice said to me.

It turns out the voice was the retired Superior Court bailiff sitting behind me in the Starbucks, reading this over my shoulder. But if there is one thing I have learned in my blog-writing career it is that inspiration is a fickle and sneaky little Muse, so ...thanks Rusty!

Now for those of you who know me, you also know that offering a piece of myself in an honest revelation, does not always come easy for me, so this blog will offer us an opportunity to grow together, you and I.

Now I know what you are thinking.."Vincent, what is my part in this revolution?" Well, good question, and here it is: If you are reading this, it means you got the email about it. That means that I invited you because I value what you think, or at the very least somehow ended up with your email address. So your new job is to sheperd my self-esteem to a pasture of ego and artificial confidence by constantly telling me how clever I am after you read these. At least that is my understanding of the role of the blog reader, and blog reader my friend, is what you now are!!!

The other purpose you now serve is as my Reseach and Development team. You can offer up ideas that I can pass off as my own, and serve as my brain and soul.

Congratulations, and welcome to the World Wide Web!

vincent
The Arch-Groovus