Saturday, September 04, 2004

What a Week

I know, long time no update...sorry!

Just back from the 2004 Republican National Convention, and what can I say...what a week! It was surreal to be rubbing elbows with the who's-who of talk radio and have glancing elbows with dozens of politicians. It was a head trip!

Got to meet some people I have been wanting to meet for ages - in both arenas. It was great seeing Alan Colmes too, after x-illion years.

Great speech by Zel Miller, really brought the house down. Ah-nold was great. W's speech hit the points in good fashion. Awesome. Best of all, the nattering nabob of nebulous nincompoops that lurked around MSG all week trying to disrupt the proceedings were nothing more than humorous curiosities and not producers of disruptive anarchy. You gotta love NY's Finest.

Got tons of pics and great memories. Maybe I'll do that again some time!

In Other News...

I think I'm gonna close the site down for a while and rework the whole blog thing. The election is coming up, and between going crazy at work and pressing the flesh until November, it's gonna be hard to maintain this thing. I hope to get a REAL "blog-hosting site" in the future, at which point I'll re-emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon.

Bottom line is you probably won't hear from me until AFTER Election Day. Hopefully by then I'll have some fingernails left, not TOO many ulcers, and won't be applying for citizenship on Mars!

Be well...stay wild.

Monday, August 30, 2004

Pete's Fun Fact Of The Day

If you loan someone three-thousand dollars, and they pay you back in fifty dollar increments, it will take them five years to pay you back (provided they actually START paying you back) - which, since the increments are so small, you'll probably spend it as soon as you get it - thus, you'll never actually see that three-thousand dollars in its' original form ever again. That's IF you even get a payment. It's basically lost money.

You'll thank me for this nugget of wisdom later (when you're rolling dimes to pay for lunch).

Monday, August 09, 2004

How Do You Get To Boston? Make a Left

Well, the Democratic National Convention came and went, and as expected, the Dems paraded out quite the assortment of ULTRA-left-wing much so that even *I* was shocked by how far they have swung southpaw. This was a tacit slap in the face of any moderates within the party; in fact, this was the convention of Michael Moore and Ben Asslick. In fact, there were more Hollywood stars in the audience than you see at the Oscars (though I'm sure just as gaseous). They also wheeled out just about every Lefty within the party that they could get their hands on. From Ted Kennedy to Jimmy Carter, all the way down to Al Sharpton. It was some show.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Speaking of conventions, the Republican National Convention hits New York City on August 30th - along with an assemblage of human flotsam the likes we probably haven't seen around here in many a year. As you may of may not know, various protest groups will be making the trip as well to make a "statement" against the Bush administration or some other such crap like that. My personal feeling is that they all have nothing better to do.

People have forgotten that when the GOP picked New York as the site for this convention, it was only a few months after the attacks of September 11th, and the city was still reeling economically and emotionally. It was thought at the time that bringing the RNC to New York would generate some much needed revenue for the city - a nice thought.

Of course, having a few years under the bridge has helped people forget a lot of things, like a few thousand dead victims and the thought behind some actions. New York being what it is, what a better way to say "thanks" than with rampant civil disobediance?

Friday, July 23, 2004

They Threw an Election and a Hockey Game Broke Out

In what is shaping up to be the dirtiest election since in ages, the latest salvo is being fired from the Kerry camp. This time, it is about the ads purchased by Swift Boat Veterans for Truth, a group of veterans who served on the swift boats at the same time as Kerry and are expressing their belief that he is exaggerating his record from his four-month stint in Vietnam. They are also outraged about the claims of war atrocities Kerry made before the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations that smeared the lot of them.

According to Kerry, the fact that the Swift vets are receiving a few hundred thousand in funding from a Republican (in addition to plenty more from other individuals), this apparently puts them "in bed" with the Bush campaign, and is making his usual loud...and excruciatingly long...protests aimed at President Bush to 'denounce' the ads. He then had the chutzpah to file a complaint with the FEC complaining that these ads are a violation of the campaign finance laws.

I have to give Kerry credit for two things: one, he has brass ones. Two, he is fully aware that the media are never going to pound him inside with hardballs so he can pretty much say whatever he wants.

It takes some set to accuse the swift boat vets group of being a tool of the Bush campaign, and then DEMAND Bush denounce the ads, when the DNC has NEVER denounced the shameless propaganda of "Fatass 9/11" - and even INVITED Michael Moore to the Democratic Convention, where he proceeded to sit over the proceeding like a bloated Nero. While we're at it, let's not forget the outrageous ads that were cooked up by the fine humans over at, who not only are being supported by BILLIONS of dollars from mega-lunatic George Soros, and millions of individual donations, but have so many connections DIRECTLY to the Democratic National Committee that I'd need another web page to list them all. Never mind the list of Hollywood glitteratti that are telling us all how we need to vote while they shuttle back and forth in their limousines and wipe their asses with hundred-dollar bills.

But do you hear ONE news organization or reporter ask Kerry HOW he can make such claims and requests in the face of the propaganda and dogma coming from Moore, his cronies and Do you hear one reporter asking the parade of mouthpieces the DNC is trotting out how they can defend these statement in light of all this? Do you hear KERRY being asked about this? Of course not. And you won't. This is why when a friend of mine tries to tell me that a reporter or a news writer's personal politics do not affect how they report, I have to laugh my ass off. It's just the vast left-wing conspiracy doing what it does best.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

It Sure Gets Late Early Around Here

Hello peoples. It's been well over a two weeks since my last entry, but as you remember from my LAST entry (July 1) it's been a tad stressful around here.

Fourth of July came and went rather uneventfully, mostly because the Mom-in-Law parental unit finally tied the knot with Stepdad-in-law parental unit (YAY!) the Friday before, so everything after that was anti-climactic. There really wasn't anything exciting going on, and by the time we got invited to something on the 4th (proper), we'd already made plans to do nothing (and you can't mess with THAT karma).

I'd been hoping to catch some movies and complain about them since the last update, but none of the plans ever materialized. To be perfectly honest, I'm quite happy not doing anything these days, and to be further perfectly honest, I have nothing in the hopper right now, either. Previously-planned trips to VA and Cooperstown didn't happen, which is just as well since when it comes to money, I am currently minus a receptacle to urinate in.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

Goodbye, Sweet Friend

Friday, June 25th started off like any other weekday here in the Pete household. The alarm went off at 5:45 and the cats, Calvin and Hobbes, leapt across the bed like prize show jumpers, hoping to coerce one of us into feeding them immediately. As was the case every morning, I jumped in the shower first to keep things on schedule, then came out to get dressed and ready for work while Mon took hers.

As usual, Hobbes sat at the end of the bed, facing the bedroom window, while his well-meaning "brother" Calvin went through his morning rituals. As I opened the armoire (which doubles as my dresser) to select my clothes for the day, Cal jumped a good four feet off the ground into the open area above my jeans, mainly so he could be eye level with me so I could rub his forehead. Like every other morning, I had to grab him out of there and place him on the bed, where he would sit patiently waiting for me to finish getting myself together so breakfast could be served - all the while taking time for rubs across my back and craning his neck for tickles under the chin. Calvin's needs were simple, as always: a moment to fight with my laid-out socks, a stop to sit and purr while I sang my morning songs to him. "Cal-y, my little pal-y...". He'd leap up for a head moosh and you just knew he understood it all.

Every day, to keep Cal from running into my closet while I picked out a shirt, I needed to pick him up. Fast little bugger, if you didn't he'd zip right by (and getting him out requires a little work). This sight always amuses Hobbes - me holding Cal and struggling to get a shirt off a hanger with my free hand. Oh, the things you have to do.

Having fetched the shirt of the day, I placed Cal back on the bed next to Hobbes. The two of them decided they'd had enough of waiting for me, and bolted out of the room together the same way they did a million times a day. After a few trips between the kitchen and the bedroom, they stopped to play and wrestle by the bathroom, hoping to impress "Mom". Now that I was fully dressed, the two of them ran ahead of me - fully aware that food was on the way within moments.

Just like every other breakfast, I split a can between the two of them and refreshed their water and dry food, being sure to give both of them a rub as they walked over to the bowls. "Enjoy, guys" I said, repeating the daily routine, and walked back to the bedroom to finish getting ready for the day. It was going to be a busy weekend - Mon's brother and his family were coming in to stay up at her Mom's, and we hadn't seen them in ages. I needed to pull a change of clothes for that evening and made a mental note to myself to stop and buy film on the way home if I had the time.

Their morning needs sufficiently met, the boys returned to the bedroom. Hobbes took his usual place in the window contemplating the meaning of the universe behind the glass, and Cal resumed showering us with love. It seems that was all he worried about. Just the night before, on the way to bed, Cal jumped up on Mon's exercise bike seat (he'd do that if Hobbes wasn't there first) and just looked at us with that wonderful look that he always had and purred so loud you could hear him in the next room. "Can you get over this guy? He MUST be the happiest cat in the world!" I remarked, and Mon agreed.

We were ready to go, cereal ingested and hair combed. It was 6:45 and we had to get a move on if I was going to make the 6:50 bus. I wanted to get out of work early so we could get up to Number One Mom-In-Law's and see the kids. Hobbes had transferred himself from the bedroom window to the living room window in search of new enlightenment, and Cal proceeded to do what he did every morning: he threw himself in front of the door in a courageous attempt to block our exit.

And just as I did every day, I had to pick Cal up so Mon could scoot by. And just like every other morning, she told him she loved him, and made her way out the door while he watched her walk down the driveway from my arm. In order to keep him from following me out, I had to put Cal a few feet away, in the kitchen. He took a few steps toward me anyway, and I said "uh-uh, buddy, you stay put. I'll see you later". Cal sat down and looked at me with that same look he had every day at that time: head tilted, eyes full of love, as if to say "OK, I'll be here". And off we went to end another week.

I'll remember and cherish every second of that morning vividly for the rest of my life, for while it was identical to every other one we'd had for many months, one thing changed that day - and it was something that would effect the rest of our lives. Calvin left us that day while we were at work. Things will never be the same again.

Mon came home that night and Cal appeared to be napping - not unusual. But the sight of Hobbes standing protectively over him revealed that something far more serious and awful had happened. For fear that a virus or something equally heinous might be to blame, the vet recommended an autopsy. Turned out to be something called FHC - Feline Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. Basically, FHC is a cruel demon - a heart defect that causes the walls around the heart muscle to enlarge. Cal was a perfect example of the worst-case scenario for FHC - no warning signs, no symptoms. Most cats that suffer from it are fine one second and gone the next. The number one cause of death in cats under the age of two.

Calvin was just short of his first birthday.

To Know Him Was To Love Him

I could sit here and write several hundred pages and several thousand words and I still couldn't properly explain how wonderful Calvin was, other than to say I truly feel sorry for every person in the world that didn't get a chance meet him. Cal was far and away the most unique and impish little boy trapped in a cat that it was ever my pleasure to know. Cal was the perfect Yin to Hobbes' Yang. He could always tell when Hobbes was being a fusspot, a grumbler, a grouch (which he has the tendency to do). His solution was to sneak up on him and force him into a few rounds of full-contact rasslin'. In no time, the two of them would be tearing around the house like tornadoes, stopping on their way back and forth to play with the various toys that lie about the place.

While most cats would flee from strangers entering a home, Cal would welcome them. He melted the hearts and touched the lives of every single person that set foot in our house. Whether it was reducing a pair of burly roof repairmen to cooing doves, poking his head into the fireplace to check on the chimney inspector, or crawling into the open loops of the cable repairman's utility belt, Cal had a way of taking away the wall that separates humans and felines. In no time at all, people who had never met him would be talking to him like he was their best pal. Hell, people came here just to see him.

Most cats live by the union agenda - sleep and eat, show affection when only necessary. Not Calvin. His main itinerary was giving and getting love. The boy wanted his back stroked and his head petted, plain and simple. A tickle of his butt and it would fly right up in the air, after which he'd flop to the ground and offer up his belly for a vigorous rub. Man, did he love having his belly rubbed. It was his nirvana. In return, you would get a touch from his huge black paws, a loud purr or a prolonged nap next to you or on your lap. You could be in the worst mood possible - and Cal would find a way to make you forget what you were upset about. He just had a way like that.

Topping this off was Calvin's love/hate relationship with being kissed on the nose. Cal's nose got pinker and cuter as he got older, and it was irresistible. When you picked him up, his face would scruntch all the way in, and he'd grunt like you were subjecting him to the most inhumane torture possible. Yet, as soon as you were done, he'd rub up against you and start up that never-ending purr, so you knew he was loving it all the same, the little faker.

And In The End...

There's a lot of irony in what took Calvin from us. All who knew him know he had a heart bigger than life itself. Making people happy made him happy. He was the happiest thing on Earth, and he made the rest of us happier for it. Even now as I write this, I can't believe he's gone. I keep expecting him to jump up on the computer desk and park himself in front of the screen, or plop down by my feet in search of a belly rub. I keep expecting him to try and coerce me away from writing so we could play with his favorite toy for hours. But it's never going to happen again, and so we remain heartbroken.

We spent the first 30-some-odd hours afterwards crying. I didn't know one could find such sadness, but this was much more than losing a "pet"; this was a family member, a friend, and Hobbes' companion. The feeling of emptiness still remains as strong almost a week later.

We buried Cal on Saturday. It took everything out of us just to tear ourselves away afterwards. Who knew such a little ball of fur could have such a profound effect on us in such a short amount of time? But that was Calvin. We came home to find poor Hobbes in varying states of confusion. He toured the house aimlessly in search of his pal, and obviously upset, became glued to our sides.

After a few days, the initial shock of what happened wore off. We were finally able to think about the joy and warmth of Calvin without being overcome with sadness and tears. On Saturday night, unable to sleep and in despair, I sat down and e-mailed some friends to let them know what had happened. At the time, anger had set in as I could not fathom why something like this could happen. Why would Cal be taken away from us like this?

My friend Steve put it into proper perspective for me. We didn't know it, and he didn't know it, but his fate was destined at birth. Rather than looking at it as Cal being "taken away" from us, I try to look at it as he was given to us, so that we could make his short time here as fun and full of love as possible. We did, with joy. The rewards we got in return from him simply being in our lives made it a pleasure. We made it through a Thanksgiving, a Christmas and Easter with him. According to what we've been told, we had twice as much time with him as we should have.

God bless Hobbes. As hard as this must be for him, he's done so many things to comfort us. As crazy as it sounds, he's even begun taking some traits of Calvin and making them his own. You couldn't go NEAR his belly before. Now, he welcomes a rub or two. His life must be getting back to some normalcy as well, as he has resumed many of his daily rituals, and has taken his familiar perch, right here next to the keyboard, enjoying a cat nap.

As I said earlier, I could write from now until the end of time and never be able to properly convey what Calvin was all about. Meet anyone that knew him and you'll get a story or two not unlike the ones I've told here. His warmth radiated like a super nova, touching everybody. He came into our lives on borrowed time, made it better, filled it with love and we did our best to return in kind. Then, when it was time for him to go, he did so peacefully in his sleep with Hobbes at his side. I guess in an unfair world, that's not all that bad.

Don't ask why of me
Don't ask how of me
Don't ask forever of me
Love me now

Take care little buddy...see you later.

Thursday, June 24, 2004

Fourth of July is coming

I'll probably update before then to bitch about something, but in case I don't, have a swell holiday, peeps.

Love, luck and lollipops,


Wednesday, June 23, 2004

What's New

Not too much, actually. Work still has me beside myself, and if you've know me you know the concept of TWO of me side-by-side is pretty damn scary. I basically look at work as war: me against the crapola. If I can defeat the crapola I feel like I've REALLY done something. The 37th birthday came and went yesterday without incident (and only a slight increase in the recession of the hairline).

Saturday, June 19, 2004

The Summer Of My Discontent

It's pretty much been the warmest Summer I can remember in a while - thank goodness for central air. An' I got a lot of unplanned spurious crap going on that's causing me grief.

Adding to the misery is the fact that fat bastard Michael Moore's "film" opens tomorrow or something like that. If there is any justice, it will crash and burn like the Hindenburg in a lightning storm, but that's not likely to happen since the Galloping Gourmand has discovered that he can be fairly successful by pandering to his niche market: like-minded left-wing moonbats. It's all about the money with this rotund charlatan; that's all it's ever been about. If you know ten million hypoglycemic lunatics will eat chocolates, make chocolates with crack in them. His marching army will love this hot, steaming human dump disguised as a film.

I can only go by the example of his last work of fiction, Trolling for Concubines (stole that from Dennis Miller) that Fat-In-Hind 911 (LBS) will follow in the same manner - skewed views, faked facts and outright lies (see for a complete rundown of Moore's penchant for skewed fakery). The 9/11 Commission has already debunked plenty of the fakery in this piece of garbage. It's unfortunate, but he appeals to enough wack jobs to reap some returns and keep himself in pork chops for some time to come.

When you have to hire lawyers so you can "sue" people that take you to task, that's a pretty good indicator that you are full of cat box fodder. I'll be awaiting my subpoena.

I'm sure the same mental defectives that line up to pay 10-13 dollars to sit and watch this Riefenstahl-ian propaganda will have no problem leaving the theater and heading over to Barnes and Noble to shell out ANOTHER 35 bucks to buy Slick Willie's fictional autobiography, My Lies. Why does Mikey Baccala have so many devoted worshippers? Simple: when you are used to constantly being full of crap, eventually you forget that you are full of crap and start believing the crap is reality. Moore is their enabler - he validates their phoney-baloney Bizzarro reality. Much in the same way Howard Stern devotees spend all of their time living in their parents' basements, cultivating their comb-overs, and waiting for some big horrific disaster with lots of innocent deaths so they can call CNN pretending to be a witness to say "Baba Booey" - then blame the news media for putting their stupid asses the air. Only different.

If you're gonna see ANY movie having anything to do with Fatso McGirk, see this one: Michael Moore Hates America. Filmmaker Mike Wilson (who deals with regular threats from Moore's group of drooling worshippers) JUST got a distribution deal, so it looks like a late-August release (get your fatass lawyers on standby, Chunky). It will be nice to see the truth about America for a change. My fifteen bucks are waiting.

Thursday, June 10, 2004

Hello Again

Hello friends, family and other happy people. Welcome back to my Web Log, v2.0. I know what you are thinking..."why is Pete doing a web log again? Who cares what the hell Pete thinks?". Relax. I've been doing a lot of surfing on the 'net these days, and it seems EVERYONE has a friggin' web log. Ten-year-olds. Grandmothers. Uncles. Aunts. LOTS of college kids. You know what? Most of them CAN'T SPELL.

SO, in a fit of blasé non-creativity, I figured I would do one too. Firstly, I can spell (for the most part), and it's a really convenient way to stay in touch with the maximum amount of people with the minimum amount of effort. Second, if people are gonna blather on incessantly, I might as well join the gang mentality and get with the 21st century.

Bottom line, I'm lazy - but involved.

Today's The Day

Some good advice from the legendary Ray Stevens.