"Klotz" As In "Blood"

Miami-Dade County Superintendent of Schools Rudy Crew says State Representative Ralph Arza called him names. Racial names, too, although he won’t say what they are, or even what language Arza used. And four others (described as “officials”) say they heard it too, over a period of a year, but they’re not saying it too loud or publically because they’re scared of Arza.

Waaaah! Waaaah! Why can’t our kids play nice?

“I’m just not used to this kind of treatment,” groused Ru-Crew, sourly. “Back in New York, we had Puerto Ricans who were always friendly and nice, even if they weren’t too bright. But down here, these Cubans are a pack of nasty back-stabbing assholes.”

Okay, he didn’t really say that. And Arza didn’t reply, “He can get up off his knees and go back across the pond where he came from. Miami doesn’t need Plantation Darkies running our schools, spending our money.”

Or maybe they did. We won’t know, because nobody’s talking. Nobody has any courage. Or integrity. Or sense of decorum. Or a modicum of what it means to serve the public interest. Or simple maturity, ferchrissake. No wonder the schools eat shit and the money gets wasted.

These are the luminaries who determine which books kids read and the curriculum teachers use. The visionary elite who determine the limits of acceptable behavior and moral conduct in the nation’s 4th largest school district. The powerful and sophisticated leaders of a vibrant, diverse community that heralds the demographics 21st Century America.

Pathetic. Nauseating. Infuriating.

Sorry for the nasty words, readers, but it’s to make a point. I’m just a powerless slob in the middle of the pack with a hole in his ass like everybody else, but I know right from wrong , as do most of us. What’s wrong with the rest of these jokers, and why do we need to put up with it?

On Wednesday, Mayor Mara Guilanti of Hollywood became the latest victim of a disturbing trend throughout Broward: thieves target drivers (usually women) at area stations as they’re filling their tanks. Story with video here!

Sources at FDLE maintain that while there are no actual suspects at this time, a list of “Persons of Interest” (POI) has been generated. (A spokesman agreed to discuss these under condition of anonymity.)

“In Hollywood, where the political long knives are always looking for protruding jugulars, we’re checking out city commissioners who have clashed with the mayor over the years,” he confirmed. “Of course, that’s about all of them. And then some.”

Seems rather petty, doesn’t it?

“Well, that’s Hollywood. Ever seen the kindergarten antics at commission meetings? We’re also checking out the family whose property the city seized in that eminent domain case. Maybe they’re looking to intimidate her.”

Hell. Whay not ring her doorbell and run, while you’re at it.

“Bob Norman at The Daily Pulp suggested we get Alan Koslow’s alibi, but he blames Koslow for everything bad that ever happened in Hollywood since the 1926 hurricane. Homeland Security wants us to re-arrest the downtown Egyptian restaurateur they thought was a terrorist and sent off for torture — they’re still pissed off at that fiasco — and one of the west-side neighborhood associations blamed what they called the “decadent east-side yuppie brie and white wine artsy fartsy folks” or something.”

All this for a purse-snatching?

“It’s business as usual in Hollywood. Those people are loony tunes. We even got people callin’ in blaming Castro’s agents, the Jews, PETA, gay activists, and Barry Bonds. Barry Bonds!”

David Samson, maybe I could see. But Barry Bonds? No, that’s weird.

“No, weird is the call from some crackpot that said Haliburton and Dick Cheney were behind it. Something about driving up oil prices.”

Any thought that maybe she arranged it herself to distract media attention from something or other? Maybe she’s……

“Hey! Don’t YOU start. Just don’t.”

Strange technical problems again — images vanishing, fonts swelling up like a teenager’s hard-on, invasions of spam comments…….and I blame Alesh because (a) it’s a catchy headline, (b) why not — he did 75% of the site’s set-up, and (c) the kid has “Scapegoat” written all over him. Please bear with.

Cruising along the Suwanee River in Bell, Gilchrist County, a 31 year old Kennth City woman was knocked on her ass when a 3-foot-long Gulf sturgeon jumped into her fiance’s boat, hitting her in the face. The impact of the bony plates of the fish caused the woman to suffer facial injuries and fractures requiring plastic surgery.

She was rushed to Shands Hospital at UF. Her father called the incident “an Act of God.”

Authorities note that this isn’t the first Finny-Face incident: in 2002 a 19 year old suffered a concussion from a beaning by a leaping sturgeon. The same year, a woman endured a collapsed lung and 5 broken ribs in a similar run-in. — Gainesville.com

Study Questions

1. Where the hell are Kenneth City, Bell, and Gilchirst County, and why would anybody care?

2. What happened to the sturgeon? Was it damaged? Was it taken to an icthyologic specialist for observation? Would such a specialist be called a “Sturgeon Surgeon”?

3. If the girl’s father is correct that this was an “Act of God,” what are some of the theological implications for what occupies god’s attention while women in Darfur are gang raped by soldiers and burned alive? Discuss.

4. Does IGFA maintain records for face-fishing? What is the largest fish caught (and released) on a 19 year old’s face? A 31 year old’s face? Are there separate records for males and females (anglers, not sturgeons)?

In other news, a Pinellas County man fired gunshots at his son’s computer monitor, allegedly because he was distressed that the boy wasted too much time neglecting his chores playing video games. The father was taken to the Pinellas County Jail and charged with one count of attempted murder. — WFTV news

“Amazing what gets into these people,” muttered one officer. “Why doesn’t he just take the kid fishing?”

A short while ago, responding to a post about the Australian organization that wanted to cover up cheerleaders’ midriffs, my old friendly adversary Dr. Libby Rae Shoan weighed in with a pair of coments. Hadn’t heard from the old dear for quite some time. So I went through some old files gathering dust on my hard drive and turned up this telephone interview I conducted with her a few years ago……

A new study published in Nature Magazine indicates that a woman’s preferences regarding a male’s features alter drastically within different phases of her menstrual cycle. In sum: during the week when conception is likely, they prefer “more traditional” (rugged) masculine features, while during the other three weeks, they incline toward smoother, less rugged looks.

What Do Women Want, Part 859.

Whenever issues of male/female relationships arise, I contact my favorite shrink, Professor Libby Rae Shone, Ph.D., for clarification. I reach her at her office.

“I saw that study,” she confirms. “Seems to be legitimate. Frankly, I don’t know what the big deal is.”

Yes, by now we’re accustomed to crazed, hormone-driven female inconsistency.

“I don’t read it like that,” she replies, dryly. “I think what this shows is that women more accurately and intensely reflect tensions between two natural urges: the innate drive for self-perpetuation, and the human attraction toward sensual pleasure.”

You don’t see it as yet another justification for women to whine about men’s barbaric shortcomings? How men can’t or won’t organize their secondary sex characteristics to match their mates’ menses?

“Don’t be silly,” she admonishes. “The closest to that I’ll get to that is to suggest the study illustrates another area where women are destined by nature to experience disappointment. But where you go from there depends less on physical science and more on ideology.”

From there I go home. Alone.

“It’s well established by now that of the two genders, it’s the female that more closely reflects natural phenomena,” she starts in.

The term “natural disaster” springs to mind.

“So for women to apparently change their tastes with a change in their bodies that parallels a change in the natural order of things, well, why should this either surprise or dismay us?”

Libby, I see a genuine qualitative distinction here. A “matter of taste” is chocolate today and butter pecan tomorrow. That’s a far cry from wanting to hump some Australopithean werewolf this week and Boy George next because your moon is in the seventh house or something. What does this say about woman’s self-control, refinement, and mastery over her own body?

“All part of the natural flow,” she replies, celestially. “And if it’s really a problem for anybody, it’s gropers in singles bars. If you’ve already achieved stability in your mating relationship, this can’t be relevant, even if it’s true.”

Evidently Libby doesn’t get out much any more.

“All human beings have preferences,” she rolls on. “And you’ll find scores of putative explanations for what they are and how we got them. This study simply illuminates one very basic pattern of human motivation.”

Assuming females are human, of course.

“Whereas it appears that the determining factors motivating males are, shall we say, less selective than females, this study actually underscores the complexities of similar subconscious conduct among females.”

What you affectionately label ‘complexity’ in females goes by other labels among males. Like illogical, inconsistent, irrational, maddening, bitchy, crazed, Babbit-ized, etc. And those are the clean ones.

“Your hostility is unwarranted. You need to get over your typical male revulsion for the feminine mystique.”

You mean I shouldn’t get exasperated by a scientific study that celebrates a link between women’s tastes and their menses while simultaneously enduring women who loudly condemn men for “thinking with their little heads” all the time?

“It’s not the same phenomenon at all,” she sniffs. “In one case, we have a natural instinct to perpetuate the species by selecting specimens that nature itself suggests have the best chances of survival.”

Gotcha. One week a month, Mother Nature hard-wires women to pick a sperm-spewing ape out of the line-up, and the other three she steers women toward New Age Magazine’s prescription for the New Sensitive Male of the New Millennium. A woman with three legs.

“And in the other, we’re confronted with the unthinking, basic, brute male urge to indulge in pleasure.”

Yep. Basic, self-indulgent, brute sexual pleasure. Certainly not that same Mother Nature directing males to perpetuate the species by sheer numbers, the way it does in, oh, every other plant and animal life form on the planet.

“Whatever. Look, I gotta go. But before I ring off, have you been feeling all right? Last time I saw you, you didn’t look so hot.”

Maybe I’ll look better to you next week. It’s a full moon.

“Well, maybe.”

The news out of Washington this weekend shocked even the most cynical long-time observers of the political scene.

As you know, the Bush administration finally bowed to pressure from within the party and began making at least cosmetic changes in its staffing assignments. Karl Rove was moved out of policy, Josh Bolten became Chief of Staff, press secretary Scott McClellan is leaving shortly. And even though new chief of staff Josh Bolten promised more personnel changes in the coming weeks, the stunning rumor that leaked out late Sunday night stopped the presses. And so far nobody has denied or confirmed a damn thing.

“It makes sense,” argued one high-placed insider (on the condition of anonymity). “It’s pretty well known around town that George W. Bush and his father don’t see eye to eye on a lot of policies and practices. That shouting match over the phone they got into over Iraq, when W hung up on him, was really only a small sample. The two don’t get along, and the old man just faded out so as not to become an issue.

“But that in itself looks bad — that his father, a former president, an active force in national politics, a prominent Republican — turns his back. So they figured, while we’re making personnel moves, why not swap fathers?”

Fathers? What happens to Barbara Bush?

“Well, she blabbed to the media years ago about how she didn’t like the party line on abortion rights, so they kept the clothespins on her for a while. Won’t be a problem swapping her out as well. Word is they’re talking to Sandra Day O’Connor about being the new President’s Mother, but I think she wants too much money. And besides, as W’s mom, she might wanna just slap that smirk right off the boy’s face. Most women do.”

Any ideas for the new father?

“Yeah, several. Pat Robertson might be a good choice — he’s getting senile, but his presence still carries a lot of weight with the Christian conservatives. When Reagan was just brain dead, he’d be perfect; now it’s a little tougher. Maybe push Rumsfeld out of Defense and make him Daddy — solves two problems at once! And then there’s Buck O’Neil, the former ballplayer.”

You wanna make the new president’s father a Black man?

“It’d be a good way to reach out to a community he’s had some trouble breaking into. O’Neil’s got a lot of star power, good profile, and as a former athlete, he relates well to the media. Same applies to Juan Marichal, which might repair some damage in the latin community over immigration laws.

Well, shit. Why not make the new president’s father a woman? Shore up the female vote.

“Yeah, but even around the White House there are some limits. I think. Although somebody suggested Rene Richards.”

Wait a minute. You can’t just change parents like that. This is totally bogus, a complete fabrication. Who the hell would believe this?

“Ha! Remember who you’re dealing with, and what they got away with so far. Compared to WMD and tax breaks for the wealthy, this is a cakewalk. Hey — gotta go”

Damn. He’s got a point. And I guess we know now what happened to the twins.

Pulitzer prizes in journalism were awarded this week. Ostensibly absent from the list are any Florida’s newspapers, including the Miami Hurled. This is no oversight: Pulitzers are awarded for journalistic excellence, a quality notably absent from the scaled-down Hurled.

In fact, not one of the 32 daily newspapers formerly owned by Knight-Ridder — the Hurled, Philadelphia Inquirer, St Paul Pioneer-Press, Charlotte Observer, Ft Worth Star-Telegram, etc. — earned a Pulitzer this year. (Neither did the Sun-Sentinel, but remember, we’re talking about newspapers.)

Reached for comment in his San Jose office (K-R abandoned Miami for the west coast several years ago about the same time it abandoned genuine journalism), K-R community relations manager Peter “Pud” Puller expressed pride. “The Pulitzer Board’s decisions affirm the success of our corporate strategy. When we announced our intention to conform with our investors’ directive to generate additional profits by cutting expenses, we noted that our capacity to report news, offer editorial insights, serve the information community, etc., would suffer. We immediately went to work closing news bureaus around the nation (we gave up international reporting a decade ago–left that headache for the NY Times!) sacking experienced reporters, cutting down on newsroom staff, etc.

“So here’s your results: not one single award! Obviously, our efforts to reduce the quality of our journalism in the interest of greater profits succeeded.

“We’re very proud. Congratulations to the three or four journalists left for their efforts. And we’re glad we don’t sell papers any more. McClatchy bought ‘em all, lock, stock, and barrel. Hoo-hah! It’s on their ink-stained asses, now!”

But the Hurled captured seven “green eyeshade awards” for journalists in 11 southern states. Doesn’t that indicate some small remnant of commitment to excellence?

“Well, I guess. But it’s one thing to beat out the Alabama Possum Dick Post or the Carolina Cracker, as opposed to the Washington Post and New York Times. I mean, those are real papers, y’know?”

Yeah, Pud, I know the difference. All of us do. Good luck running the world you left behind.

Here’s something to toss into your weekend conversation: the 100 Unsexiest Men In The World, compiled by Phoenix (out of Boston).

No, Rosie O’Donnell didn’t make the list. And neither did I, thanks for asking.

Seems like many made the list largely because of their hair, including John Lovett, about whom it is noted “hair in all the wrong places.” That’s TMI. Certainly it’s the reason Art Garfunkel is a perennial. And Jimmy Johnson.

Anyway, have fun with it and please post your thoughts and suggestions (especially you, Manola).

Experiencing some technical troubles today, but should be able to post later. (Note the “should”).

Meanwhile, let’s open the phones: post a comment, any comment, and let’s see what happens. Who’s in line for some fresh abuse? Your suggestions welcome.

For $100, Jason Niccum of Longmont (CO) purchased a device that let him change traffic lights from red to green on his daily commute, saving him hundreds of hours, but illegally tying up traffic for thousands of other drivers. Arrested and fined $50, he remarked, “I guess in the two years I had it, that thing paid for itself.”

The device, called an Opticon, was confiscated by police who called its possession illegal. — The Longmont Daily Times-Call

Sorry, but it just wouldn’t work in Miami. Red and green lights are as significant to local drivers as they are to color-blind dogs. If you had a buck for every time you sat there, fuming with impatience, as some crazed bastard zooms through a red light, only to be followed by two or three more autos roaring in his wake, you could set up the bar with rounds of Don Julio Anejo from Happy Hour ’til closing time.

In Boston they drive faster and more aggressively, and in New York, they drive just fucking rude. Jersey drivers don’t seem to even look at the road in front of them. But all these northeastern state navigators have better command of their cars, more sense of the road, and fewer traffic accidents than here in the nation’s dicktip, where traffic lights, like speed limits and turn signals, are just irrelevant.

My pal Miami Harold once said it all, and said it best:

The worst drivers on the roads here in south Florida
aren’t necessarily old, young, redneck, or stupid.
They’re dead.
They keel over someplace up north,
where they haven’t driven a car for years
(believe it or not, northern cities actually have
functioning public transportation systems).
Ten years later, when they resurface in Florida to haunt a condo,
they buy their first car since the Eisenhower era
and hit the roads at full crawl.
You’ve seen ‘em: slack-jawed creatures,
eyes wide with fear and indecision,
death grip on the wheel like cholesterol on an artery.
They sit frozen at green lights
and paralyzed in left lanes;
oblivious to waved fists, car horns, and pointed fingers.
They don’t give a shit about other drivers
because the dead care nothing for the living.
South Florida is the land of the dead,
and our roads are the highways to hell.

So hats off to Jason Niccum of polite, gentle Colorado. Were he here in Miami his transgressions would go eternally unnoticed, save by the string of grateful drivers glommed to his ass-most bumper, thumbing their noses at drivers on the sidelines.