John Furie Zacharias
having a bad day in a strange place
Thunderstorms Anywhere

Thunderstorms in the Imajica



 The different ways I don't like you 
 in a list that may never become organized
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JfZ making a mess of the web
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Monday, February 09, 2004
YCMTSU - Pink Pistols Bag Big Gay Buck


Pink Pistols Bag Big Gay Buck  While I was hobbling around downtown Tampa for about about a half mile using my HFD walker looking for an open entrance to a municipal building, Plasticians were discussing how the recent gay marriage laws were creating a huge grass roots recruitment of born-again organizations against that law.

Meanwhile, my arms were turning to jello after going around the 2nd or 3rd city block only to find the one and only security entrance had a flight of stairs to negotiate or a ramp with such a slight incline a ball wouldn't roll down it and so long that it doubled back on itself.  After hobbling a quarter mile, I monkeyed up the stairs.  The second quarter mile came after the security check point where I basically hobbled back to where I started inside the massive fucking building.

Anyway, since we're talking about security and gays, think about this.  For a number of years now, homosexuals have been getting killed for being themselves after they have come out of the closet.  Everyone can think about it for a minute and recall some horrific gay-bashing incident that has made the evening news.  PBS' Frontline web site is my favorite for reading about all the angles of any story or topic.  One such Frontline story is entitled Assault on Gay America about the murder of Billy Jack Gaither.

It was only a matter of time before GBL people armed themselves in self-defense.  Two organizations, Pink Pistols and Cease Fear (whose logos I have displayed above) are more than just a gay parody of the National Rifle Association (NRA).  They take their 2nd amendment rights seriously and have 41 chapters of their national organization in 29 states.  It's likely there is a chapter in your area recruiting members and making news like the Michigan Pink Pistols chapter written up in the Detroit Free Press a few months ago.

Michigan, like many states in the U.S., has a not-so-insignificant portion of their economy depending upon the various yearly hunting seasons.  I can remember when I was working as a union bricklayer, our company would nearly shut down all construction work during the opening weekend of deer hunting season.  They had to do it.  Typically, there wouldn't be enough people to man even a small crew as everyone would be in the woods with a beer in one hand and a rifle or bow in the other hand depending upon the type of hunting season.  There are plenty of game animals to hunt in the U.S. afterall.

According to nature biologist, Bruce Bagemihl, there are plenty of gay animals in the U.S. to hunt too.  He wrote a book about it.  In a Salon article by Susan McCarthy, that you have to check out if only to see the gay monkey illustration by Zach Trenholm, she talks about Bruce's book:

Bruce Bagemihl spent 10 years scouring the biological literature for data on alternative sexuality in animals to write "Biological Exuberance: Animal Homosexuality and Natural Diversity," 768 pages about exactly what goes on at "South Park's" Big Gay Al's Big Gay Animal Sanctuary.

So here's my question: If a pink pistol bags a big gay buck, is it a hate-crime?



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Sunday, February 08, 2004
Retardo Cat



Retardo Cat aka Scrappy-Doo
Since I was talking about Retardo Cat aka Scrappy Doo the other day, I thought I should put up his pic.  One of these days, I'll record this deaf cat's constant loud yowl and sequence into a techno MP3.  He falls somewhere in between NeCoRo Cat and the Code 16 cat.



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Saturday, February 07, 2004
Moving day v1.0


The wet bio-chemical chaos between my ears
The wet bio-chemical chaos between my ears has been moved over to Hygelic's kindly provided home on mical.net.  The M link is fixed on the Grayspaces page, too.  Go buy some K-Y warming liquid and check that out.  I had to edit a bunch of existing web pages since Grayspaces was on my established left-side nav menu of so friggin' many pages.  ( wipes digital sweat from virtual brow )

Since I was already in notepad doing this screamingly tedious activity, I did a little re-organizing during moving day.  I've checked to see if most of the moving boxes are labelled correctly but if there are any broken links, let me know and I'll fix the URLs in v2.0 of the move. 

v2.0 involves FTPing the online backups of all the happy little blog entry grafix stored on atlantic.net over to mical.net (Dude where's my car? asian drive-thru lady voice: " AND THEN!? ") editting each and every fucking Thunderstorms blog entry to display the grafix from its new home so we won't see any annoying little boxes with missing file X's in them here.  Although, for some of you, it might be enlightening to see the ALTernative text I sarcastically put on all my web page grafix here for the benefit of those ADHD friends I have that spastically move their mouse all over my pages looking for such hidden treasures.


But for now (v1.0), I've glommed any graphic art under Morphine Dreams.

I also took the opportunity to put something up I've been fiddling with offline at home.  You've seen one of the java scripts already: FBI's most wanted.  The Lab is where I tinker.




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Friday, February 06, 2004
Happy 14,610th day!


Slippery Slope Ahead
It's just a slippery slope toward becoming worm food from here on out, folks.  I want to draw your attention to the statistical bell curve.  You'll notice in the above diagram, that I have been breathing the air of this dirty little mudball in space for 14,610 days now.  And before you even make a comment about it: 14,610 days equals 40 years times 365 days/year plus 10 extra days for 10 leap years.  I figure if I am off by a day, then it's only a margin of error of about seven thousandths of one percent -- a number so small that your bank savings account most likely earns that much interest on your money each day -- so you innately comprehend that must be a very small number.

There is some weird feeling about this whole situation in which I find myself growing deep inside my subconscious.  (Kindergarten Cop voice: "It's not a tumor")  I mean, really, what have I been doing with my 14,610 days roaming around in search of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness?

Well.  Hmmm.  Right.  I guess I'd have to say that I've been a few places, seen a few things, met a few people and done a few things.

I voluntarily joined the U.S. Army.  I went to work in camoflage everyday for what is now about a tenth of my life.  Besides working the green collar job, I've had fun working while wearing a blue collar, a white collar, and no collar at all.

I've been able to
ski in the Swiss alps,  eat space-cake in the original Amsterdam coffeeshop, and stare into the eyes of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa in the Louvre Museum in Paris.  I've seen the changing of the Buckingham Palace guard in London and a bull fight in Spain.   I've done blotter, moved the furniture against the walls and played hackey-sack in my hotel room in Zurich.  I've walked through the French Quarter in New Orleans with a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other.  I've gone backstage and been to private parties of rock stars.  I got my name put on the back of an album.  I've been on a Bahamas Carnival cruise with millionaires (and Taz!) for free.  I've dipped my now middle-aged ass into the warm embrace of Atlantic, Pacific, Caribbean, and Mediterranean waters.

Not only have I experienced being homeless, hungry, jobless and broke in the past, but also eaten in fine restaurants and raided the minibars of expensive hotels in a few dozen major cities around the world.

I've tried to learn to speak english, spanish, german and some italian, polish and russian.  Motivated to learn usually in the pursuit of some affection from women that I've known.  I have appreciated the company of many people from many places -- white, black, hispanic, asian, and mutts like me -- casually and intimately.  I've read or studied the teachings of the Talmud, New Testament, Book of Mormon, and the Quran.  I've learned about the beliefs of Born Agains, Seventh Day Adventists, Zen and Tibetan Buddhists and Hindus.  I've met some very interesting people.  Some are still my friends.
 
So, I thought about it for a few minutes today.  Overall, I have no regrets that I care to articulate and I'm generally grateful for the time I've already been given.  I'm not going to be unreasonable and expect another 14,610 days either.  I'm just going to do my best to be happy with the additional 24 hours I'm hoping to get if I wake up still breathing the air tomorrow.


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Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Mr. Dress-up glasses


A blind eye doesn't read the news  From sea to shining sea.  From the west coast to the east coast. From the left coast to the far right.

I normally roll my eyes when I hear neo-cons bitch about the federal court system.  The main reason for most of the yadda-yadda is the decisions that the ninth circuit federal court of appeals hands down.  If, for just a moment I play Mister Dress-up, put on some neo-con glasses and read the newspaper, I would probably bitch too.

Earlier this month, Born-Agains were whining because the San Francisco Chronicle reported a fired HP employee lost his appeal over anti-gay signs.  The court ruled the Idaho man wasn't a victim of religious discrimination.

Then, just the other day, the San Diego Union-Tribune reported the same court decided that a San Diego police officer who sold videos on the Internet of himself performing a sex act was engaging in protected speech and his wrongful termination suit should not have been dismissed.

Reading these stories with my HFD neo-con eyeglasses on, I can see why someone might bitch.  Personally, I'm a free speech Libertarian so anything that impedes me from telling you to go fuck yourself bothers me.

If the west coast is too liberal, then let's read what the federal court was busying itself with in Florida.  According to the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, the 11th appeals court supports Florida's ban on gay adoptions.  The article doesn't go on to say that Jeb Bush couldn't be happier because his brother, George, got so screwed up when he was adopted by Mr. Barbara and George Bush Sr.

In the end, I think it all balances out.  It's like the tides in the oceans on either coast.


 
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