Tuesday, October 19, 2004

propaganda request

Ok, if any of my friends who read this have artistic abilities I have a request. I would be willing to pay for paper/paint (as long as it's reasonable) if someone will create a yard sign like the Bush-Cheney or Kerry-Edwards ones. I want the regular features: blue background, white lettering, red and white wavy lines, etc. The sign should read "Vote Quimby". I've also thought about getting a megaphone. Then I would need someone to drive me around while I repeatedly say, "Vote Quimby". On the slightly more serious side, I see that Dave Barry is running again this year. Sadly, I think he'd do a better job than either of the real candidates.

Monday, October 18, 2004

poker, beer and blood


Saturday night was poker night. The regular people were notified but somehow over double the usual number of people showed up. It was our finest poker night ever. We eventually organized a 17 person tournament which didn't finish until after 3am. Alex and I were the final two players which aroused much suspicion. The total beverage count was 29 beers and the last third of our bottle of Thor's Hammer vodka. You should only drink Thor's Hammer if you do, in fact, want to get hammered. I think it accurately conveys the sensation of being punched in the stomach by a Nordic god's weapon.

During the tournament rain began to pummel the house and I remembered that my rabbits were outside. I brought their cages out of the rain and cleaned out the cages. When I was bringing Attila inside to dry him off I managed to get into a fight with an inanimate object and lose. A vicious iron bar got the jump on me. I simply wasn't fast enough to evade it's deadly strike. In my defence I was more worried about the bunny and used my own body to shield him from the inanimate rage. I have a nasty lump on my head to show for it.

Monday, October 11, 2004

dyseducational road etiquette

I shall blog soon. Until that point comes amuse yourselves by watching this flash animation: Dyseducational Road Etiquette.

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

RIP: truth

What are the typical symptoms of a heart attack? If you said torn clothes, being dragged hundreds of yards, and covered over with brush then you were right. Such was the claim of a Massachusetts medical examiner in 1975. A 14 year old girl's scuffed up corpse was found hidden in a park and for twenty years the official story was that she died of heart disease. She was buried without an autopsy to verify her heart condition. Though the police were "dumbfounded" by the ruling fighting it would be difficult, so they closed the case. For twenty years the truth rotted in a grave until a new investigation dug up the body and a new medical examiner checked the "homicide" box. I wish I could speak with the policemen who worked on the case in 1975. How, I would ask, can you go back to your regular beat, ticketing speeders, breaking up quarrels, arresting vagrants when a lie has buried a mother's justice along with her daughter's corpse? How can you give up? Was the medical examiner really that lazy? Was he so stubborn that he would rather let her killer escape than admit to a mistake? Did the truth not matter to him?

What would you do if you found out your husband had murdered a girl two decades ago in another state? The truth matters.

Earlier this year of a 25 year old case re-opened in Ohio. The original autopsy concluded that James Silver committed suicide. He was found with a shotgun wound to his head, wrapped in sheets, partially burned, and buried under the floor. Can you imagine saying with a straight face that a man wrapped, burned, and buried himself after blowing his head apart with a shotgun? The truth doesn't matter to some people.

Last year Colonel Shue of the USAF died in a car crash. Emergency workers found duct tape on his hands and feet, a deep six inch gash under his clothes, and his nipples cut off. Blood that was found on the duct tape was clearly not from the crash injuries but no samples were taken for DNA testing. The police called it a suicide and a grand jury agreed. This time, however, the FBI has stepped in and is reviewing the case.

Officially, an Australian woman named Jennifer Tanner killed herself in 1984. With half a cup of coffee beside her and her baby in the next room she used her husband's bolt action rifle to shoot herself. Just in case she wasn't dead enough after the first bullet entered her brain she shot herself in the head a second time. And with the same two shots she managed to put bullet holes in both her hands. Without getting blood on the rifle. The first cops on the scene suspected foul play but were instructed not to gather evidence and told to take no photographs. Jennifer's brother-in-law cleaned up the scene immediately and the family organized a hasty funeral. Her body was buried only 60 hours after her death, before any serious investigation could be done. No one was questioned. No fingerprints. No forensics. The first constable to reach the scene is the only one who has tried to pursue the truth. He has been opposed every step of the way by Jennifer's brothers-in-law, one of whom was a tough big city cop.

Some people don't like the truth. Some are too timid or indifferent to seek out the truth. The truth is often difficult to find and frequently provides no reward beyond it's own merit. Should it really matter so much? I can't tell you why, but I'm sure it does. I respect anyone who doggedly pursues the truth. I denounce all who treat the truth with indifference. And I loathe those who hide the truth and promote lies. The truth does matter.