huge mess

The huge mess behind me is not nearly as huge or as messy as it could be. It was only a couple of nights ago, some wild hair up her ass, Momma dumped all the Legos into the floor. We have three separate tubs of Legos and the random Mega Blocks that are basically Legos ( or would that be legos?) Before Momma's big Lego tub dumping, there was no order in how the Legos were separated into the tubs, as Lego cleanup has long ago become of the order of scoop and dump.

The Legos were already out, just not all the way out. The soccer set never go much chance to be a soccer set, but they were a good portion of the reason that the Legos were out at all. Big Brother built a Ninja Warrior course, a good portion of which was made up of the green rectangles that make up the Lego soccer field.

There are plenty of Lego people, most of whom came with the soccer set. The majority of Lego people are currently sitting in piles, completely pulled apart. Big Brother has even gone so far as to pull their little hands out of their arms.

I'm pretty sure it's the current fascination with Lego Star Wars video game that has him pulling the people apart. One of the features of the video game is the ability to build new characters using the cast of characters available in the game.

You might wonder how Ninja Warrior and Lego Star Wars fit together. Well, it comes together when an eight year old boy builds a Ninja Warrior course out of Legos and then builds people to compete using random Legos and imagination to build the characters from Lego Star Wars, such Luke Skywalker on Dagobah, Han Solo as a storm trooper, and so on.

I began writing this post last night when there was still a mess behind me. I didn't finish it and left it till today. Momma did in fact pick nearly all of the Legos up that she had dumped. Her original goal, for whatever reason, was to dig out all the parts that go into the Slave1, Bobba Fett's ship. It's a difficult thing to do, and it's possible that Big Brother never did succeed in building it when he first got it. He tried on and off for a while before growing frustrated and putting it away. By putting it away I do mean of course allowing the pieces to become mere Legos as opposed to pieces of a bounty hunter's transportation. They became merged into the tubs.

There are still three tubs, but we now have a few extra containers to house the various parts and pieces. Because the Bionicles have their own separate tub, and because we had the plastic container that one of them came in, we now have separate storage for wheels and axles. We have an old baby wipe container holding the random pieces, the one of a kind tiny pieces and we have a plastic takeout dish from the Thai place that once held soup, maybe even tom yum, that now holds the people.

Damn, now I want some tom yum soup.

expo bout

Our roller derby league was lucky in the earliest days of the league to find a place to skate, a place for both practice and bouts. There have always been some issues with the rink, and location and size have always been the top issues.

Saturday night Hard Knox Roller Girls present Triple Threat, our expo bout where we check out a possible new location. The Icearium is huge, lots of parking, serves alcohol, has parking, is still technically in our town, et cetera. Did I mention they sell beer?

The fact that our current home is in the next county is enough to throw some people off. People just don't want to go to Maryville, as it seems like a drive. It's not any closer or farther for the average person than the Icearium, but sometimes it's just the name.

All three of our intra league teams will be playing in Triple Threat. I'm not sure how we're going to manage it, though some system of staggering the teams on the floor will occur so that each team skates the same number of jams and each team faces each other team the same number of jams.

If you live anywhere within the sound of my voice, I suggest you hitch up the mules, help grandma and the kids into the wagon, and come out and show your pride. Whether you wear Kelly purple, Betty red or Lolita black and white, your favorite team needs you to come and show your love. More than that, your league wants you here, screaming and cheering for us all.

borrowed theme

Carol Borges, blogging at KnoxViews, has an interesting piece about the possible racism in damning the violence and misogyny in hip hop music when "white" music has many references to similar actions and attitudes. She listed a few songs to make her point. I hadn't really considered the issue this way before. Though not much of a hip hop fan over all, I do listen to a few groups and tend to steer away from a lot of gangsta rap as well as the more overtly sexual groups. For me it's more some quality I see in the groups I do enjoy versus the content of their songs.

Celebrating the misogyny as well as the bling culture that so much of hip hop seems to have devolved into is more damaging I feel. To some extent, the more violent music, at least at one time, could have been argued to open a window onto the reality of life for too many people, but at some point even that rings a little hollow when you wonder why so many artists can get rich at the expense of the suffering and yet the gangs still continue to hurt people and make neighborhoods unlivable. What good is the money when all the community sees is gaudy diamond encrusted watches and necklaces? Of course there I seem to hold black artists somehow responsible. If we are to suggest this, then why not also suggest that country artists are responsible for rural communities?

I grew up in Atlanta, in south Dekalb County. We attended church and school in an area that would have been considered white at the time, though south Dekalb is and was decidedly not. On some level I've always had an interest in issues of race and equality. It seems like it's always questions and never enough answers.

them toes

Before I say anything else, the following post is to be in no way misconstrued as a comparison to any real injury earned in the actual bout. Yes, you are getting another post that is in some way derby related, but I really have to reiterate the whole not comparing thing. I'm not including bruise or contusion pictures, because this post isn't about that, and I don't have any.

I do have some toe issues though that are related to the bout. This was my first time as an announcer for the league. For the most part I did team and skater intros, I introduced the refs and tried to do a reasonable play by play. I exhorted our fans to cheer louder and audibly swooned over the soul crushing hits our team dealt out.

My toe problem is related to both the shoes I was wearing and the physical stance I take when actively observing a roller derby bout. I tend to squat on one leg, a position that is not quite standing or sitting but leaves me in a position from which I can easily stand to shout encouragement or even to leap into the air with joy when our jammer makes that move past the opposition's pivot, faking a quick step before ducking to the inside and hitting the power as she skates away, hands raised high in the devil horns.

And here is where we come to the shoes. They are some absolutely sweet shoes, black and white wing tips, a good bit clunky, and they even sport a steel toe, for whatever the hell that gets me these days. Steel toes on me are nothing more than added weight. The shoes get really uncomfortable after an evening of being out, so I tend to reserve them for those random nights that we actually have an all night baby sitter and it's worth getting dressed up.

Getting to cheer on the league that much louder is certainly a worthy event, and that they match the team's black and white motif makes it that much harder not to wear them. However, combining them and the squatting stance, I've temporarily fucked my foot up. I've almost convinced myself that it's the shoes fault and not that I squat like an idiot on one foot. At the same time I'm sure it's not the shoe's fault.

Monday morning I woke none the worse for wear except that the toes on my squatting-on foot felt numbish. They'd bothered me throughout the bout, mostly in the breaks between periods when I climbed down from my perch and walked around, and I knew it was from the squat or maybe the shoes, but I assumed it was just a thing, too long in one odd position kind of thing.

That does happen to me, but it's because I squat, and it's never something I don't just walk off. I do it outside smoking sometimes too. I don't really think about doing it, and it's weird to occasionally realize you've bypassed a perfectly good chair in order to squat on your haunches.

I may just have to stand up when I do the announcing, but at the rink we currently use, the place I have to be is just this crazy perch in the air where I'm just standing like a dancer in a cage without the cage part. There are people crowded all around it to the point where I almost feel like putting up a sign that reads "servers only." Maybe it just feels weird that I have absolutely no separation beyond height from the people I'm talking too. It bears thinking about I'm sure. Maybe it's looking down and realizing I'm standing in someone's face.

The toes don't hurt. They're actually a sort of numbish, asleepish feeling. I can feel the feeling coming back into them with each day, but I also feel that I need to rethink those shoes. I really never thought I'd be concerned with the price of beauty, and in many ways I really feel I should be able to be above it. But you should see those shoes. And that leads me to think I should just wear the shoes. Who really needs to squat anyway? We're evolved past squatting. Hell, we've evolved to the point where our women can pit themselves against each other in feats of strength and speed combined. The least I can do is look good for them.

ooooh, derby stuff

Want to see some derby action? You know you do, so click HERE to go to the video. It was produced and is hosted by a local group, Mind Punch that is basically like a local Myspace. I couldn't figure out how to embed the video in this blog post.

Our team is in black with our pivots and jammers in red helmet covers. As usual, look for Momma wearing the skull face. She's an amazing jammer, which you might know if you'd come to town and watch our league tear shit up. You might also know if you ever read here, as I kind of have a habit of making sure people know that my wife rocks.

If you do in fact pay attention and find the girl with the skull you might also see here take a couple of hard hits. Pay special attention and see that she deals out some hard hits. I'm not sure how many roller derby leagues have jammers that hit as do ours, but I doubt there's too many jammers that hit as well as ours. Another of our jammers, Goblynn, is also seen knocking an opponent ass over tea kettle.

The match is our Hard Knox Roller Girls versus Tragic City Rollers from Birmingham Alabama. They beat us in our first ever bout last year and have beaten us again. They took an early lead and not only held on but increased it. The score totals between the different jams however was all over the place and, in my opinion, gives a better view of the skills evident in both teams.

I can't speak for playing with them as I'm not allowed, because of my dude parts, but our team seemed to have fun, and TCR was a blast at the after party. I don't know if any of them will read this, but I'd love to tell them thanks again. Thanks for a great game and for great after party. I'm pretty sure we and they all made it back home and in one piece, so outside of the fact that the win is ours next time, we couldn't really have asked for a better weekend.

fresh ink

I've always wanted a pinup tattoo, but it wasn't something that was necessarily at the front of the line of ideas queuing up to be sunk into my skin. I was quite certain that my next tattoo was going to be something dragon related, another of the classic tattoo themes that I've always loved.

The inspiration for the jammer inked onto my arm was the jammer I'm married to. It was in fact the top picture that screamed at me, "Wouldn't I make an awesome tattoo?" And I had to agree that it was indeed a great idea.

I won't assume you are familiar with roller derby, though why you haven't found a local team by now is beyond me. Seriously, just google your town and the words roller derby, but that really isn't the point right now. My tattoo is a jammer, or point scorer. This is signified most obviously by the star on her helmet. The hands at her hips indicate she's calling off the jam. That she obviously kicks ass could be an indication that she's a Hard Knox Rollergirl, though without hurting the other teams' feelings, you see the purple Kelly love in evidence.

Finally is the shout out. Corey at Saint Tattoo etched this onto me, and he does great work. His calling card graces the skin of several people I know or have known around this town. Of the people I know that have seen the tattoo and thought to ask who did it, they all knew immediately when I said Corey, and they all answered the same way, "He does great work." So thank you to Corey because it is awesome and I love my jammer.

I'll be honest with you, I'm at least a little bit thinking about getting a blocker pinup so the jammer doesn't get lonely but only a little.

I'll probably update this in a week or two, assuming I remember, so that you can see her without the fresh ink scabby parts, just so you know.

rate me baby

Who always has the fun? Pissed Off Housewife, because she finds great finds, like this rating doohickey.

Anyway, my blog, as if I needed to ask them, gets . . .

Mingle² - Online Dating

The rating was earned because of the following words.
kill-used seven times
ass-used five times
shit-used four times
punch-used one time

I don't know how far back they look when they peruse your blog for their rating, and I'm not saying I disagree with NC-17, but honestly, if that's all they found then they didn't look very hard. How about all the times I say fuck, jizz splash, cock gobbler and santorum? Didn't they even try? Punch apparently is a bad word, but it's not like I was talking about neck punches and throat babies.

I'm calling this a meme, so go and play along, but I don't expect too many people who show up here to even get past a possible PG. I know who you are.

nothing really

Yet another weekend plus full of me not writing. The Saturday and Sunday parts of me not writing are easily explained with two words, roller derby. We had a meet and greet cookout Saturday night to welcome the skaters from Birmingham, and Sunday was bout day and early to the rink after rushing to get the boys to the babysitter followed by much too late of a night at the after party.

Friday was out because I spent a good portion of it with some guy jabbing inky needles into my arm. My arm stayed stiff for most of the rest of the day from the odd position, and the skin is slowly growing less and less tender. Thankfully Momma found my tube of Aquaphor in the place we'd both looked at least once each.

She is now going to fetch the boys. She also needs a bath, and I need to figure out something to cook for supper. I'm really not feeling the cooking. The actual bout last night left me feeling almost deflated. I feel like kind of a dork for even thinking like this. I was not one of those girls hitting and getting hit. All I did was stand on a box and holler about things and get sweaty hugs from awesome girls. But I still feel a tiny bit drained. I'd almost rather have the bangs and bashes, but there isn't enough duct tape to convince them I'm a girl.

I'm quite likely going to ignore a large portion of dirty house today. It's been begging for attention and is now screaming for cleaning. Along with not posting, I've spent the weekend letting things pile up in Bloglines, so I have a fair amount of reading and catching up to do as well. Right now, I just need a smoke.

Bonnie and Clyde

My most recent post, concerning a certain fellow who continues to question without the benefit of listening, has drawn more comments to a single post than I've ever had. One commenter mentions my picture of Bonnie Parker, and another commenter, from Europe, is at first unaware of who Bonnie and Clyde were. Upon learning about them, she asks, "Why are these people a hero? Is it possible I can never understand completely the American sensitivity?"

I love that question, but I'm afraid I may not really be able to answer it.

As Americans, we do seem to cheer for the bad guy, often seeming to develop a sort of Robin Hood view of some of our worse societal elements.

It's true that Bonnie and Clyde were murderers and robbers. It also has to be understood that their heyday was during the American Great Depression. This was a time when the gangsters ruled the street, prohibition was in full swing, and Americans thrilled to the exploits of those daring rogues.

In a sense, we seem to have always been a people that loved the outlaw side. Our nation was founded by people who could, in a sense, be considered outlaws, bucking the system of laws that were in place from the King of England who was in fact the ruler of the colonies as they then existed. It was not until several of our founding fathers turned outlaw and bucked the system that we eventually became our own nation.

Looking at our founding as a nation, it's not a large leap to see ourselves in love with the rogues. We still do that to this day, the dark and troubled hero being more popular than the shining example, uncertain motivation and a sense of brooding being more popular than purity of desire.

One can also look to our fixation with the old west, the cowboys that we imagine stepped out of bed in the morning directly into a pair of boots and a gun belt. We don't love a John Wayne that always did right but the John Wayne that swaggered in, fists or guns blazing, whichever seems appropriate to the situation.

So why do we so often idolize the scoundrels? Is this only the US, or is it a human thing?

I think as a final thought we should examine the double standard of this view. While we may romanticize Bonnie and Clyde, we certainly would not look forward to being the bank teller the day they showed up. Many people are currently fixated by the idea of some cutesy piracy that completely ignores the truth of the men and women who we celebrate. We overlook the murder and the deprivation, the added shares from the prize for those sailors unfortunate enough to lose a limb or an eye. We ignore the fact of entire ship's worth of people being drowned rather than being allowed to become a burden to the crew who were after more prizes, more robbing, raping and looting.

So what's your idea? Why do we celebrate the rogues and scoundrels, the Bonnies and Clydes?

calls you shouldn't answer

At some point, some people should just shut up. You can be against homeschooling as much as you want, but the proof is in the children, and ours just keep on being okay, one grown up homeschooled child after another. I'm friends with a number of homeschooled families, and they all seem pretty much normal. Granted, my idea of normal is pretty wide open, but that's how I roll.

To say Greg Laden is a blank is putting it mildly. He can't let go of his antipathy for homeschoolers, be it the parents or the children, and his newest post may easily be the absolute stupidest jab at us I have ever been sadly astounded by. I honestly can't do his idiocy justice, so you'll have to go and read for yourself.

Greg Laden is the kind of person who is so secure in his infallible rightness that he feels quite happy to assume that his will should be law. He has a problem with homeschooling, and no amount of answering his questions will change his mind. He's so sure that we are wrong to homeschool that truth and proof are of no consequence to him.

Talking to him is like trying to thresh wheat with a pair of socks for a flail and the idea of wheat instead of real grains. You can beat all you want, but you're not going to get any wheat worth shit out it.

And thanks to JJ of Cocking a Snook for bothering to keep going back for more. JJ, if you're out there, leave the mad dog alone. He's just going to keep growling and slathering, and reason doesn't seem to live where he is.

dig that groove

Ready for another video? This isn't about Ska Weekend, though you're more than welcome to wait patiently for the next in that series. No, this is the newest band that The Boy keeps asking for. Out of nowhere just moments ago, not prompted in any way to pick music, he asked if we could listen to the Toy Dolls. How can you not say a loud, "Hell Yes!"

You know the drill, either click play or go to the actual YouTube and biggify the video. This would actually be a good video to view large as it's not nearly as pixelefied as so many. Turn the volume loud and rock out hard.

Oh, and anyone who can get me a pair of those sunglasses will have my undying love and gratitude.

true grits

You have less than a week to plan your trip to my town. You know you want to, because this weekend is the rematch, Birmingham Alabama's Tragic City Rollers get to make the long nervous drive up and the long sad drive back.

Sunday, June 24, Hard Knox Rollergirls face off against the very first team we ever faced. We were fresh meat last year when we drove south and suffered the defeat, but such will not be the case again. This time we're ready.

There are plenty of things different this time. Our skaters have played a few teams from outside our town as well as a season of intra league bouts. HKRG has also been practicing hard and preparing for this rematch. Another difference between then and now is that we have a new announcer, yours truly, though my nervous, quavering voice won't really make a difference in how much ass we kick. It will sound better though, and perhaps my dulcet tones will warm our girls little derby hearts and drive our team to skate that much faster and hit that much harder. I do believe that TCR will be in for a bit of a surprise. They may think they remember some of our skaters, but even if we had the exact same roster it still wouldn't be the same team.

You know you want to come see our skaters, and you know you have nothing better to do on a Sunday. You may just as well drag your ass out to the skating rink and see the action. Your option is to wait till whenever next week I get around to writing about it. You don't want to have to wait that long do you? Of course not. So make the drive. Unlike TCR, you won't have to drive all the way home crying.

almost not monday anymore

And since it's not Tuesday yet, I can at least attempt to begin the Monday Melee. I've got to get The Boy in bed soon, which means another chapter of Harry Potter, and that may interrupt me a bit, but you won't notice unless I tell you, so there.

Since it's Monday Melee time, I should remind you that we have Fracas to thank for this. Please feel free to take the fun to your own blog. If you want to know more, click the fancy thingy right down there, hopefully after reading all the cool things I have to say.


1. The Misanthtropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.
Too often, people fail to see past their own needs/desires to the truth of the matter. It's sort of like the anti gay rights people who are willing to outright lie to people/sheep in order to make their inhuman point when in reality they are just being selfish assholes.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.
abridged books

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.
I may have mentioned this before (possibly both times previous to today that I've done the Monday Melee) but I really need to make more of an effort to write. Blogging is supposed to be practice and a hapit builder, but even the blog finds me giving too little attention too often.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.
The US Men's National Soccer team is kicking ass in the Gold Cup. Too bad all the games are on Fox Soccer Channel, and I don't get to see any.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
I make myself laugh so hard that I often almost but not quite pee a little.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.
This isn't really make believe, as it all rests on me, but I do wish for it. I'll be announcing my first roller derby bout in just less than a week. I'll post later tonight about that, but I really hope I do well. I love our league, and the fact that they are willing to give me a shot is very gratifying. I only hope I can do well and help the league as we grow and continue kicking ass.

And there you have it. I didn't yet get The Boy in bed, and he and Big Brother are having a blast playing and charging through the house, possibly being Jedi, but who really knows with the two of them.

go, read, learn

Who doesn't love a Country Fair? How about when that fair is in reality a blog carnival? Think you know a little something about homeschooling? This month we celebrate the ways we celebrate diversity.

I am sadly not featured at all in the fair, but that's all my fault. I scribbled out a little something a week or so ago and sent it in. Then I paid attention for a moment and realized that what I had written was in no way going to fall under the theme of celebrating diversity. I should read all of things before assuming I know what's up.

That's actually a common them among people who are anti homeschool. Too often, people scribble some anti homeschooling rant and post it on their blog or as an article in their local paper. The nature of the internet is such that we can find these people and their rants laden with untruths and misconceptions. It doesn't take much looking around and reading all the way to the bottom to understand homeschooling better or even just to learn whether or not we've already covered your concern. And we probably have covered your concern, and we've probably covered it over and over and over and over and . . .

LMLC

I promised a couple of weeks ago to post videos and talk with heart full of love about the ska bands that I'll be seeing in a couple of months. I'm antsy as is possible looking forward to this show, Ska Weekend, when our town hosts an easy metric shit ton of bands from all over the country and even a couple from outside our borders.

Tonight's band is one I haven't heard offline. I don't yet own any of their music, but having listened at Myspace and having camped out at YouTube, I've come to really look forward to Last Martyrs of a Lost Cause, and it's not just because the singer is kind of really hot.

I've found a number of videos of them on the Tube, and none of them are spectacular quality sound wise, but they do show you the band's style, more ska-punk than ska, and they do give one a feel for the band. I'm excited to see them, as I'm excited to see all the bands that will be playing. So click the play button, turn it up and rock the fuck out already people!

Last Martyrs of a Lost Cause, Don't Take it Personal

ooookay

On my customized Google page I have a quote of the day (actually three) that come to me via The Quotations Page. One of today's was a bit of a doozy, assuming some amount of religious belief on the part of my readers, though I personally feel that it's one of those truths-that-can-hurt sort of situation. So without further ado, and with no more commentary from me, today's quote, which comes to us from Steven Weinberg. This is what Wikipedia has on him.

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.

eight things

You've seen it, and you've loved it. It's taking the internet by storm, laying waste to blogs left and right. If you have a blog, then you've probably been tagged, and if you haven't yet been tagged, you may be thanking your mystical, interstellar being of choice.

Ren tagged me, which I appreciate, because I like the idea that she reads my blog. She's not not local to me, and I always enjoy reading about all the fun stuff she does with her kids. Plus, when she posts pictures, at least one of the family, Ren or a kid or both, have the greatest hair color. Don't tell her she's stealing the punk thunder by making it pretty to dye your hair a crazy color instead of it being a slap in the face of "the man."

So onward, without any prior thought as to what eight things I will include, I give you, Eight Things About Me meme.

1. I'm fairly cynical and jaded, and I really don't like people in general, but I still find myself wanting to please people to some extent. Try though I may, it seems I still almost care what people think. Plus, I don't want to be an unreasonable dick.

2. I never settled on a gender to be interested in. In fact, I don't feel that I married a woman so much as the person that woman is, and should there ever be reason for me to seek out a new relationship, I'd go back to not having picked a gender.

3. Me and my inner child both have always felt like the kid who always gets picked last to play kickball, and I was never bad at kickball, so there must be some other reason, possibly having to do with perceived dorkiness.

4. I'm an atheist, but I still love a lot of the music I grew up with. I love a lot of the stories of sacrifice, the themes of ultimate good versus ultimate evil. I can do without every single bit of religion, but songs like Amazing Grace or The Old Rugged Cross still carry a tiny sentimental weight.

5. I DJed at a titty bar for about ten months several years ago. I developed a coke problem and threatened dancers with That Smell, a Lynrd Skynrd song that is never appropriate.

6. I tried selling pot for a short time until I got mugged, even more years ago than the job in number five. Two guys got me to follow them to an area that was a little shady (in the bad way) and then proceeded to beat the shit out of me. They got most of my pot and my money, but they didn't get my MARTA card, so I was able to get a bus back home, shirt torn, face and head bloody and pounded on looking.

7. I habitually think that everything I like is the best and that people should listen to me when I tell them how great a band or a writer is and that they'd be happier if they took my advice.

8. I hate and am unaccountably afraid of calling people I don't know on the phone. It makes no sense, because there's always a purpose behind any phone call I make. The worst is at the start of a new soccer season when I have a list of seven or eight families that I don't know, and I have to go down the entire list and call them all.

And that's my list. I don't know about the tagging thing because everyone I came up with to tag would be someone that's already done this or someone that doesn't do memes. So if you haven't done the eight things meme yet, consider yourself tagged, and share the love.

my chat with ack

I have meant for at least a week to post this conversation. The incident happened at a local grocery store, in the parking lot. I had just purchased the evening's beer and cigarettes and was walking to my car. I had seen the woman I was about to meet as I was chatting with the guy that's worked at that same store since I've been going there, happened to look out into the parking lot, and she wandered past through the middle.

I had a bad feeling as soon as I saw the woman. This grocery store can be interesting and is nicknamed locally after Italian filmmaker Federico Fellini. Considering the lateness of the hour, knowing the locality, I walked a little slowly out the door, sighing with relief at seeing this woman well enough away from the car as to give me hope that I could reach the car unaccosted.

Such was not to be the case. I hadn't gotten very far before she doubled back, meeting me mere feet from the relative safety of my automobile.

She: Can you give me a ride?

Me: (cringing inside, rolling my eyes, not willing to not help but knowing this can't end well) Where do you need to go?

She: Just down the street.

Me: Down the street where?

She: Just to the end of the street?

Me: (a bit incredulous) The end of the street?

Now, understand that I am now incredulous because she is indicating Broadway, a street that becomes any number of streets and is also a US Route that's over 900 miles long, much like the Broadway in any number of towns. She's obviously not quite sure what she's talking about, and I'm not willing at this point to get involved in whatever is happening. I can tell this isn't going to end well, and I'm surprised it was a ride and not money.

Me: I'm sorry, but I can't help you.

She: (suddenly growing "frantic") But they'll kill me!

Me: What? Someone's going to kill you? I have my phone right here. I'll call the police.

At this point I reach into my pocket for my phone. I know I'm not going to be calling the police, and she confirms this for me. She's not the least bit frantic or worried or upset. She still hasn't asked for money the entire time, and I can well imagine that she's just looking for a lift. I can also tell this isn't any scenario that's going to play out with me as a cast member.

She: Oooohhh nnnnooooo! You can't call the police. They're going to kill me.

Me: Ma'am, who's going to kill you? Let me call the police, because I really can't help you. I can call the police though, and if someone is trying to kill you . . ."

She: You can't, I just need a ride or they'll kill me.

It was about this point that the nice young gentleman who has worked there for ages walks up. He asks if there is a problem at which point the woman's attention is drawn to him for a moment. I take this opportunity to open the car and put my things in. I sit down, turned toward the action as store employee and the woman are out of my hearing for a moment. I'm still willing to call the police, and I inform this woman again. She refuses the help, admonishes us that it will all be on our shoulders when she gets hurt and stumbles off toward the fast food place.

I never found out what her real deal was. Maybe she did just want a lift somewhere. Maybe she wasn't going to offer to suck me off at a reasonable rate. Maybe she wasn't high as shit on the kinds of drugs I don't do. Maybe someone was really going to kill her if she didn't get a ride.

please no!

So really, this isn't an unschooling blog, though I'm proud to mention the fact on occasion, just to make sure people remember. I insist, at least once in a while, in throwing out a rant about something someone else found and wrote about better.

I might have written the socialization post sometime ago, though I'm not quite sure if I did or not. I'm sure I must have because it seems a staple of the genre, even though I don't really fit in the genre, you know, home/unschooling blogger. It would be great if this were the last socialization post anyone ever felt compelled to write considering homeschool socialization, according to those practicing homeschooling and socializating, is really a non issue.

Seriously. Let it go already.

Darryl posts, and probably writes better, about some new someshit or other proclaiming that homeschooled kids are not allowed to socialize and therefore will end up social misfits, pariahs, outcasts at the very least. As everyone knows, life outside of public schools perfectly mirrors that of "life" inside of public schools. Love those scare quotes by the way. Also, I didn't read the article he linked. I don't need to anymore.

So, my kids aren't socialized? Does seeing grandparents count? How about playing soccer, does it count? Does the homeschool group count?

How about roller derby practice? It's my favorite example because of the variety of kids to be found. In all, it's possible for there to be ten to fifteen kids at derby practice depending on who is there and who brought their kids, though usually there are much fewer. There are a couple of tinyish fellers that don't quite count till they get a little steadier on their feet. The rest of the kids range in age from four to twelve. The Boy, is his own person, not always even interested in playing with the other kids. Big Brother, at eight, is right in the middle.

And then there's the practice when you have Big Brother, The Boy and three five/six year old girls, and they all still run around and act crazy and have fun. It's at that point where I think that I'm glad he's not fuming because he's bored. He's got friends that aren't a bunch of eight year old boys. There are of course those practices when it's all boys except for the lone sad little girl that can't figure why the boys won't play something she wants.

Not to make it all about derby, but we're going to socialize tomorrow with the derby mommys. Did I tell you I'm a derby mommy? We're going swimming. The day after that we're going swimming somewhere else with homeschool friends, where we will probably forget to socialize. We'll just hang out like usual with a random smattering of ages and genders, doing what we want, not being pressured into wearing the hip new this and listening to the cool new that. We'll enjoy each other's company, have and resolve conflicts, play with toys, splash water, wish they'd eat the good food and not the other, and we'll leave in time to get Momma to work.

mmmm, maybe not

Thanks to Gem of My So Called Homeschool blog for relating a story of something she thought she'd never hear herself say which reminded me of my own story from today.

We were doing some major grocery shopping, the boys doing their thing, me trying to keep them corralled and not bowling over the old guy in the orthopedic sunglasses. The Boy was a gonk droid for a short time, pulling his arms and knees into his shirt so that he was just a little torso with head and feet. He even fell over in the middle of the aisle and kicked his feet just like they do in the Lego Star Wars video game.

We walked up the aisle a little further, and then came one of those things I never thought I'd say, not that I ever had a reason to imagine saying this.

To The Boy, I found myself saying, "We don't punch ourselves in the butt at the gro . . . uuuuhhhh, what's next on the list?" Not even looking around to see if anyone heard, just keep moving at that point. Wondering why he was in the first place, wishing I'd encouraged the gonk droid because at least it just stumbles along and looks funny.

melee

In keeping, at least for now, with the Monday Melee tradition, I present you now, on Monday no less, the melee. Enjoy!


1. The Misanthropic: Name something (about humanity) that you absolutely hate.
I hate when people treat life as a contest and try to outcool you by being more punk or more street or more anything. It sounds so completely silly to discuss, but I think we all know people like this. It's fanboy syndrome.

2. The Meretricious: Name something or someone that's phony, fraudulent or bogus.
county commission

3. The Malcontent: Name something you're unhappy with.
I need to do things differently day to day to make things better for my family, even things as simple as cleaning the house more regularly would help.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name them if you can.
Momma gets a metric shit ton of credit. She finally got tired of the damn credit card and took the time to figure out how we could pay it off. We now owe our bank a bit of money, but GM Mastercard will soon get the pay off and may then feel free to go fuck themselves. Thank you, Momma!

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
Though I really need a haircut, my hair isn't nearly as annoying as I remember it. It's been kept shaved for so many years that I've really forgotten what it's like to have it.

6. The Make believe: Name something you wish for.
An end to the procrastination that sees me not really working toward doing the writing I've told myself for years I was going to do.

you know

You know your four year old doesn't need to watch UFC when . . .

I don't really care what people let their kids watch, what video games their kids play, that sort of thing. The media your children enjoy is not nearly as important as having a parent there to help understand what's real and what's not, what's acceptable behavior and what's not.

Having said that, there is a point sometimes when you are given an example that perhaps your child isn't getting the parental input they need. And perhaps The Boy doesn't need to watch mixed martial arts fights. The sign was simple enough to read in glaring neon.

So, you know your four year old doesn't need to watch UFC when you're lying on the couch and he comes over because you tricked him into coming close enough for you to drag him onto the sofa for tickling and giggling and instead of all that, what you get is the hammer fist. Yes, my four year old tried to pull out the ol' ground and pound. It sucked more for him because if he's going for the hammer fist it's only natural that I get him in the guillotine and choke his little ass out.

Disclaimer: My son did not in fact actually attack me. He did, in a playing way, use the hammer fist just as he has seen done. I in fact did not choke him out nor did I use any other submission on him. The only submissions I use on my children involve the fact that I'm enough bigger to force access to their belly for tickling.

look at me

Shameless plug time. For whatever reasons, I get access to Beers Gone By where I get to talk about drinking beer. I can wax stupidic about anything, as you may well know, and to get to spread myself across the internet like butter on a biscuit is the dream I've followed these many years. Cross that with beer and you couldn't beat me off with a stick.

HehHeh, beat me off with a stick . . . I'm not saying don't try . . . or something.

dragonlord

strings

There's a very good chance I've found the next album I want, but then I just don't know, because one thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, you've used more commas and conjunctions than you can really afford, and you haven't even stopped to explain yourself or make sense even a little.

And this is one of those kinds of stories anyway, so it's best told quickly, like pulling a bandaid. It all started on Myspace at the page of a friend and Hard Knox All Star teammate of Momma's. One of her friend's Myspace name is Plastic Jesus, a song I hadn't heard in quite some time, a song I've always enjoyed.

My first path was of course just to highlight, right click and search Google. I'm sure my first click from there was the almighty Wikipedia. As a side note, there is on our desktop already a Wikipedia window minimized down low with two tabs, one mashed potatoes and the other potato. Big Brother wants to know who first made mashed potatoes. But that isn't the point, look it up yourself and get the whole story, as this is a whole other post.

The song Plastic Jesus is most likely best remembered from the movie Cool Hand Luke, sung admirably by the always lovely Paul Newman. After getting the runaround about people often assumed to have written the song we eventually learn that none other than Bob Dole, yes that Bob Dole, was most certainly the true author. You might also learn at Wikipedia, assuming you don't already know, The Flaming Lips are one of many bands that have covered the song over the years.

Reading those words, whether or not you are a fan of the band, may cause you to want to hear the song, sort of subconscious something, and then you'll remember that with your Comcast internet service, you get the absolute crappiest and draggiest version of Rhapsody ever, but it's good for twenty five free listens a month, and that's sure to be worth something.

While The Flaming Lips are reveling in the relative safety provided by a religious icon brought to life in plastic, perched expediently atop the dash board, you decide to use the track search option for Plastic Jesus and learn that, as you assumed, there are more versions of the song. You could easily waste an entire short while listening to basically the same song over and over, which isn't really what you want, unless you do. I didn't and generally speaking don't.

Of course, I soon forgot about Plastic Jesus sinking myself in the Flaming Lips instead, which should have been expected, and as that was happening, I noticed a trend in their songs being covered by The String Quartet. What's The String Quartet you ask. As far as I can tell, it's some guy or chic or group or pile of people, all of whom play stringed instruments, who get together and play all sorts of songs that you wouldn't expect would lend themselves to a more classical treatment. I don't know if they have ever played Plastic Jesus, but they have done a tribute album covering Flaming Lips songs.

Now, I'm not saying just anybody should be covered with violas and violins and cellos (musically, not physically, but if that's your thing . . . which isn't the point.) There's plenty of shitty bands out there, like Led Zeppelin or Nickleback, that deserve to be taken out back and shot before they ever deserve praise in the form of a musical tribute, and most of The String Quartet's catalogue seems to veer toward the crappier side of music of the last couple of decades or so. But what I've listened to of the Flaming Lips tribute is actually pretty cool. I'm not surprised though because I can honestly imagine a lot of what the Flaming Lips have done covered with strings.

I'm not saying I'm going to rush right out and buy the music, but I'm mildly interested. I've only listened to a couple of songs so far because I'm waiting for Momma to get out of the bath so she can hear too. She'll think it's cool. I don't know if you'll think it's cool, but if you like both the Flaming Lips and string quartets, then you might as well at least check it out. If nothing else you can throw it on at parties and make people stop talking for a moment every few minutes as they start to recognize a song and the realize "Oh yeeeeaaaahhhhh, The String Quartet. Cool! But like I was saying . . ."

brogloll

HaHa, funny title, how it's a little not so much spelled right and is all funny and stuff.

You may notice I have no blogroll. It's always almost sorta bothered me that I haven't set one up, but I've always been certain there was some sort of scratch-my-back thing going on that I wasn't sure of, so it's always seemed safer to just not bother. I have noticed myself appear in blogrolls, and part of me thinks I should repay the favor. One reason I haven't is that i just don't want that thing on the side of my blog, while another reason is that I'm not the kind of guy to be shamed, even by myself, into following along.

I'm pretty happy with my blog's appearance, even if it is one of Blogger's backgrounds that any number of other people could be using. I like, now that I've ordered it a bit, the little side thingy that has all my little pictures and pithy sayings (though I think I took those down.)

The last thing I ever wanted was to make the page an extra mile long including all the lovely and amazing people whose blogs I read, though I do want to share all those great people with more great people.

So, here's where I am. I've thought about posting a short blog, maybe once a week, highlighting some of those people I've read and want to share. Another option is linking to Google reader, which has it's own problems. I don't use Google reader, not for any reason other than learning of Bloglines first, though I could easily use it and could even figure out how to add a link to it. I have actually loaded up Google reader, so far with only homeschooling blogs, and when I get a moment, I'll figure out the linking part.

So that's one of the many things festering in my brain. I'm thinking about it, and I'll come up with something soon. I might be leaning toward a weekly sharing of love, giving you all my weakling's share of love, or I may continue to mess with Google.

Finally, I'd like to hear what others think of blogrolls. I'm not against the idea, I'm just not sure how I want to share all of you with all of the rest of you.

about nothing

I've slipped once again into my sucking-as-blogger funk, having posted so fitfully that I probably ought to be ashamed.

I had a rant all worked up about a bunch of people complaining about anti homeschooling media bias for not informing us all that a spelling bee winner was homeschooled, and their comments to the story are just ridiculous, especially when you learn that the child in question isn't really a homeschooler. He's actually a student of the public school whose family has opted into a program that allows children to do public schooling from home.

Outside of the homeschooling universe it may seem that the differences are not worth being concerned with, but inside our little world, it is a big deal. My family has opted out of compulsory schooling for a variety of reasons, though many of our reasons are shared by both the left and the right side of the homeschooling world.

Public school at home programs often sound like a great idea. The program often offers the family many resources, presumably free, such as computers and access to teachers. If that is the best idea for your family, then your family should by all means pursue such a program, but we ask that you not pretend that you are homeschoolers. In fact, most homeschoolers, though they may agree with my opinion that this family is not homeschooling would in fact argue for their right to seek out the best educational model for their family, and to me, that's the very heart of homeschooling, reviewing all possible options to best aid your family.

The problem has to do with questions of law. As homeschoolers, we often have chosen this to allow our family an amount of freedom from the teaching that happens in a public school. Teaching history provides a great example of my opinion. I want my kids to find history through a variety of sources and develop the ability to pick out the thread of truth. While this is possible even with children who attend brick and mortar public school, it's much less likely as the children need not be concerned with truth so much as the answer that is expected and deemed right by the system.

A further problem comes when these public school at home families start to represent homeschooling more than we are able to represent ourselves. We fear that legal issues will arise that will eventually erode our freedom to educate our children as we see fit. We fear that these programs will come to replace what we feel is our right to raise our children and educate them.

And that's my rant. The people on the wings never help anyone, and we'd all be glad if they'd just shut the fuck up. I did provide a link to the wackos that I'm discussing, but I'd be doing you a disservice if I suggested you go and read it. No one has that much time in their day.

melee

Lifted from one Mark Steele of Blogitude, I present you with the Monday Melee. I'm not going to pretend I'll do this every Monday any more than I'll pretend it's still Monday, though it is Monday for me.

So you get yourself a meme for the fodder, like there was any other kind. Plus, Momma's trying to play a video game that I've played a shit ton more than she has, and it's getting really hard not to tell her how to get through the level. And really, who needs that shit?

1. The Misanthropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.
Smug arrogance, the kind of person who can drive a Hummer and deflect honest and accurate criticism of their choice with the argument that my concern is only jealousy at their outrageously narcissistic choice.

2. The Meritricious: Name something or someone that's completely fraudulent or bogus.
People who refer to equality as special rights.

3. The Malcontent: Name something you're unhappy with.
My and my family's financial situation is just about pitiful. Credit cards are both a necessary safety net and the devil's own lure. Or maybe I just wish like hell Momma and I had put more thought into some of the decisions we've made over the last few years.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something, and name it if you can.
My children are insanely cool.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
I'm not nearly as big an asshole as I seem when you meet me.

6. The Make Believe: Name something you wish for.
Right now it all comes down to money in one way or another. I can't say that's the answer I'd have given if I could think of something else, but when I think of what I wish for, it's either sanity or money, and money is the one of those two I feel I can have any control over. Sanity isn't even a wish at this point but one of those unattainable things you imagine, like growing wings out of your back.

Now go and tag someone or something. I don't know how this crap works.

UPDATE: Here is where I point out how little I pay attention. If you've read my comment, then you are likely aware that the blogger from whom I took this meme is not the blogger to whom the credit for this should go. The real originator is Fracas, and the link will take you to the Monday Melee page. I'll do better next time, promise. Either way, I did lift it from Mark, and he does deserve some credit from me.

old

Today's mail brought a wonderful piece of news. I can resubscribe to Smithsonian magazine for only twelve dollars. We've subscribed to Smithsonian in the past, and I've generally enjoyed the magazine, so twelve dollars sounds like a great deal.

There's one little part that bothers me. I'll admit here that I am in my mid thirties. I'm not as young as some, but I'm certainly also not old other than to the kids, or so I assume.

The bothersome part of the twelve dollar deal is that it's described in the notice as a senior discount. The sender of the letter is listed as Smithsonian, Senior Discount Services with the cover price of a year's worth next to my senior rate.

If we were living about a thousand years ago, years before America or even the Smithsonian existed, my current age, accounting for life expectancy and high mortality rates, might place me in the senior category, but such is not the case anymore.

I have to wonder if I should go ahead and order the subscription at the twelve dollar rate. I can't be the only youngster getting this letter, and at no point in the letter is age discussed as a prerequisite for accepting the offer. If they were concerned about these issues, I imagine they'd have looked a little bit deeper into me and my age. If I do accept the offer, will Smithsonian then check (to be sure) and learn of the mix up? Will they make me pay back the remaining cover price?

Apparently I have ten days to reply. I don't know if the ten days is from the date I received it or some other date, so perhaps I have less than ten days. Before ten days from now, I'm sure we'll have the extra twelve bucks for a magazine. We've let nearly all our magazine subscriptions run out to the point where whenever I do get a National Geographic or Popular Science, I'm always a little surprised. I miss piles of magazines adding to the clutter in the house.

While it sounds like a good deal, the cynical side of me imagines it's a test. Within days of Smithsonian receiving my payment, I'll get a visit from a representative of the Senior Services Department of Smithsonian. They'll act nice and friendly until they realize that I am me and not some old person. Then, quite likely, all hell will break loose. But I just want cheap magazines.

weekend update

What a weekend.

Saturday saw me sleeping much later than I should have. I stumbled around the house most of the day thinking about wishing I felt like doing something more than just stumble around the house.

Momma went into the garage, messed with a bunch of the shit that's in there, and ended up ordering it slightly better than I had when I most recently pretended to clean in the garage. The same amount of crap is still in there, but we are going to at least be rid of, as soon as we remember to sit the garbage out, one small child's ride-on, plastic tractor that is cracked and breaking in a number of places.

Sunday saw me up slightly earlier, closer to a reasonable time to wake up, though I was certainly dragging from yet another needlessly late night. I really have issues with staying up late. I think I've sort of always been this way, but I also wonder if years of late night kitchen work made me a bit more this way. I'm just a night owl I suppose.

Momma's roller derby practice was in a new location, a place that maybe (just maybe) will be the new league home. The girls mostly seemed to like it, and the added amenities, location, size, et cetera, make it a prime location. I'm not sure what needs to be worked out, and I don't know if I should even be talking about it. It can't be too damn much of a secret as the league is, at the request of the venue, adding an expo bout to the schedule to take place at this venue.

Our next bout will be at the same ol' place we've been doing it, though there will be a major difference. Unless my balls shrivel up inside me and I turn absolute rest-of-the-way chickenshit, I'll be doing the announcing. I have yet to get too nervous about it, and my worst day will be better than the best day of the guy that's been doing it.

I can only wonder how this will turn out. I have experience as a very particular sort of DJ, experience that doesn't really carry over other than that I have spent time on a microphone alerting a specific clientele to the specific show that was the basis of the business model. The model itself is similar only in that they both involve women. And that's pretty much it. There was also the childhood in a christian school, that one year that three of us, me, the preacher's son and the coach's son, decided that we'd all been called to preach, and we would get our teacher to, after lunch, allow us fifteen minutes to "preach" to the rest of the class. Fifth grade seems to sound about right for that one. Bet you didn't see that coming!

And that's the weekend. Tomorrow starts a brand new day, full of good times, fun and if we're lucky, more rain, though I imagine it's moved off. We'll see. And I'll have to get back to you about the announcing thing. I've got some work to do so I don't come off sounding like a big dick. I'll have to tone down my cheering, but what better unpaid job than to get to shout at people how much our league is kicking ass from moment to moment?

derby prayer

Not a praying person, though I come close when I'm far into my cups and wishing I could just vomit it all back up and go to bed, I found myself writing the following prayer. The inspiration was one of those wink-wink racist Irish prayers that was all about drinking yourself stupid and not stubbing your dick too hard when you fell down in the street or something.

I forget now where I found the "Irish prayer," though Myspace comes to mind for some reason. Because life is 24-7 roller derby, I immediately related it to the derby, and my wee widdle brain tossed this one off.

a derby prayer

may your blockers always hit hard
your pivot not get too damn far ahead of the pack
and your jammer always have an open track before her

You read it here first, unless someone else has written one, in which case I'm sure theirs is better. Being a dude and all, I kind of feel like a chump even bothering. I'm afraid I'll end up the guy that's trying too hard to be cool.

Either way, a hundred years from now when football has finally fallen to the side, when soccer and roller derby take their rightful place as the two greatest sports ever, this prayer will be shouted aloud. At after parties in local bars the world over, the clink of the bottle, the cloche de l'amitie, and the rousing shout of my derby prayer will ring loud and strong.

wildlife

Wasting time earlier today, I heard a sound that practically yanked me out of my chair. It was the wailing scream of a cat either fighting or being attacked.

I jumped around the table to our front window, the sound seeming to come from as close as our front porch. I didn't see a cat at first, and in fact didn't see a cat till I went outside moments later, drawn by what I did see.

About fifteen feet from the front of our house is one of the world's saddest and ugliest trees. It doesn't grow anything pretty anymore, scarce patches of leaves like a thin green fog dissipating and lots of tiny sticks that are constantly peppering the lawn beneath the tree. One of these days I will write a rant about tree topping, but this isn't the day for that.

As I jumped and looked out the window, not seeing any cats, a motion in the tree caught my eye. I knew from the shape of the bird that it was most likely a hawk, and a bit of searching leads me to believe that it was a juvenile red tailed hawk. I only got about two seconds to see him as he quickly took off again, leaving our tree.

I alerted the family on my way toward the door, wondering at once how likely we'd be to see the hawk again and how likely our noise would be the very thing to run him off.

We proceeded around to the front of the house. As we came around the corner, fairly high up in our poor tree was a beautiful cat, white, brown and black, like three large spots combining to color one cat. Across the street, passing quickly and perhaps a little guiltily through the neighbor's yard was another cat. As it peaked back at us, we could see that it was a Siamese. Not that that matters, but we all know about those Siamese cats.

The cat in the tree was obviously frightened. It ignored our entreaties to come down while keeping a wary eye on us. We knew that our presence wasn't helping her feel safe in descending the tree, and we hadn't arrived in time to see any hawks, not that it had been likely.

Stepping back outside moments later for a smoke, I went around to check the tree. The cat was at that moment finally taking the last leap down to freedom. I heard a neighbor call from a couple yards over, asking about the cat. He'd heard the same noises I had. He listened to my story and told me that he was aware of the Siamese as this cat terrorizes both his cats on a regular basis. The hawk of course was an added twist.

It's an unsolvable mystery, a scream, a hawk flashes past, one cat is up a tree while the other slinks away. I can piece together the same stories you do. I can wonder how a cat would fare against hawk claws versus how a hawk would fare against cat claws. Is this going to be the summer of wildlife stories? I'm up to two, and I haven't even mentioned the lightning bugs yet.

ugh, yes, that klan

Not going into too many details, the ku klux klan recently paid our town a visit and have promised to come back, telling us even when they plan to do it.

A blogger at our local politicalish Knox Views ponders a response. She mentions a black friend who believes that the black community should have a counter demonstration, while the writer herself feels that ignoring the klan would be a better alternative.

Many of the commenters seemed somewhat to agree with the idea of ignoring the klan. What could be better than disdain when appropriate? It was mentioned that the counter demonstration to the visit we already mostly ignored was people mostly by whites. I'm not sure what that says beyond that it seems the black community already decided once to ignore them.

One interesting suggestion for a counter demonstration was an African drum circle. While drum circles may or may not have at one time been African, they are sadly not so today, at least not anywhere as white as this town is. Which is not to say I'd be against a hippy drum circle. What better first wall of defense should a bunch of racist nut sacks turn murderous than your/my town's hippy population. Sure, they will be as usefull as a wet match, but the rest of us will be ready, the hippy's screams having warned us. Outside of hippies as pawns in a possible klan riot, I have no use whatsoever for the infernally selfish racket of a hippy drum circle.

My own idea, had we but the time to schedule it, would be to host a contest/demonstration of the local high school marching bands at the same time. It's got all the youth-as-the-future kind of teary eyed shit, and it has the added benefit of attracting a racial demographic more in tune with the population of this little town.

And what would make all of this even better would be to hold the contest/demonstration somewhere far away from the klan rally so that you didn't have to hear their shit between songs. We could get the sheriff's department to fly some reporters over the rally just to be sure we citizens could see on the news later, and then they'd fly back to the concert/demonstration where all the kids were playing random songs transcribed for gawky teens in uncomfortable hats, walking.

It's got all the makings of a good time. As a counter demonstration, we wouldn't be ignoring the klan while not having to see them or hear them or even pretend that we could smell them, hoping to demean them when we pretend they smell bad. We'd likely get a good night of music together, and you can bet that the local restaurants would be selling food in little booths. Knowing this town, there'd probably be fireworks, and that would be the final added benefit, that the klan would probably see and hear the fireworks. They'd be sad and lonely, knowing all the fun we were having while they were missing out on the party, and it was all because they only came to town to be a bunch of dicks.

Stupid klan.