Letters from the Lunar Outpost

He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.
- James Graham, Scottish General (1612-1650)

Monthly Archives: August 2012

I’m away from the Internet and yet here’s my blog, making posts . . . kind of spooky, isn’t it? I call them my “ghost posts.” This is number two.

As I write this, the convention hasn’t even started and yet I have no doubt what the Obama State Media’s game plan is going to be. As Hurricane Isaac heads to New Orleans, the OSM is going to use every chance it gets to remind viewers of Katrina and Bush during the Republican National Convention. As the OSM does their ditry work to smear the GOP, just remind yourself of this:

Katrina Buses

It is not the Federal Government who evacuates a city with an approaching hurricane, it is the LOCAL GOVERNMENT AND THE MAYOR. Five days they had to run busses and get everyone and their wheelchair bound grandmother out of the low ground and up to the Superdome. FIVE DAYS they had to set up generators at the Superdome, they did none of that, instead, for the few that could make it on their own, the Superdome became a lightless, powerless cesspool of filth.

None of that is on George W. Bush. The local government’s failure to evacuate it’s own citizens is the real tragedy of Katrina, but you’d never know it listening to the Bush-bashing media.

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The Salvation ArmyI’m writing this the day before I go into rehab and I’m postdating it so that by the time this goes live and you’re reading it, I should be locked down in the program at the Salvation Army and unplugged from the Internet.

Think of these posts then as a little series that I’ll call “Ghost Posts” to keep things alive here at the blog while I’m off the Net.

So it looks like I landed a bed, I was planning on The Betty Ford Clinic, but the waiting list was so damn long and . . . ah, who am I kidding? I’m a Salvation Army Rehab project on a Salvation Army budget.

Truth is, even if I had Betty Ford Clinic-type money, I’d probably find myself much more at home at the Salvation Army, where the penniless go when they’ve got nowhere else to turn.

It reminds me of my favorite part of the Bible. I loved the way Jesus always hung out with the outcasts and the dregs of society, seeking to save the lowest of the low first – the lepers, the thieves, the prostitutes, even, *gasp* the tax collectors . . . I always loved that about Jesus, so I’m actually looking forward to being down with the downtrodden.

I also found this looney liberal post listing a half-a-dozen reasons why people should never donate to the Salvation Army and it gave me six more reasons I think that where I’m headed is exactly where I need to be. After reading that post, you may just want to drop a little extra in the bucket when the holiday collections roll around.

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No One Here Gets Out AliveIn my most formative years as a teenager, I managed to get my hands on the Jim Morrison bio, No One Here Gets Out Alive. I read that book and then I read it a second time.

That book grabbed me, I even took notes as I read it. All through reading it, the fact that I was so enthralled with a self-destructive rock star who only lived to see the age of 27 never even registered a blip in my mind.

No One Here Gets Out Alive probably had more of a profound effect on me than any book I’ve ever read before or since. Beyond the crazy stories of this out-of-control rock star who had the soul of a poet, I was fascinated by how Morrison wanted to destroy the limits of all social conventions and obliterate the bounds of reality.

The book features a quote by William Blake that seems to exemplify the drive behind everything that motivated Morrison, “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”

I took that philosophy to my own heart as well. I felt the only freedom worth perusing was the ultimate freedom found through reveling in complete abandon. Whatever I could get a hold of, I’d take it to the extreme, whoever I could get my hands on I’d have them and make them and then my mind would move immediately to wondering who would be next.

The ultimate reality for me, however, was that the road of excess led to a den of inequity. The freedom of that excessive lifestyle ended up in my enslavement to drunkenness and debauchery.

It’s time for me to now accept a new brainwash where I can unprogram all the compulsions I’ve developed for self-abuse, self-destruction and humiliation over all these years. The time has come for some serious changes.

To all my friends across the blogosphere and throughout the twitterverse, it’s been such a privilege sharing some time with you, I’ve appreciated all the reads and retweets you’ve given me, I’ve cherished the comments you’ve made and the dialogs we’ve had.

So it’s been a blast, but I’m going to have to take a break from the blogging and this whole Internet-thing altogether.

God bless Christian charities, because I’m headed to an open bed that’s available at the Salvation Army. The program is pretty hardcore, this “break from the blogging” involves no Internet (90 days) no cell phones, I don’t think I can even get an onsite visit for 30 days, I’ll be working full-time to earn my room and board with a $5 a week salary for expenses like laundry detergent and toiletries. Most importantly, though, is it’s a faith-based recovery program, so I’ll be getting to know Jesus better than I ever have in my life.

So I’ll be out of contact until the end of November. I’ll even be missing the election for the first time in my life (no worries there, mine would have been nothing but a symbolic vote anyway in a California that’s blue beyond any hope of redemption) so I won’t be casting a vote, but toward the end of that month of November, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you all and returning with a vengeance! Who knows? Perhaps I’ll be returning maybe just a little less belligerent but a good deal sharper.

Hope life is good to you all in the meantime. Fight the good fight, love your loved ones and try to view your every day as a gift (even those days that totally suck.)

I’ll see you all soon. Take care,


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Taking nothing away from fearless sailors sailing uncharted oceans, or explorers risking death, braving the most brutal elements on Earth to become the first to the poles or the first to the great summits of the Earth, of all those great adventures of exploration, none of them match the achievement of man walking on the Moon.

Three astronauts sitting atop the tallest, heaviest, and most powerful rocket ever built, blasted into outer space, travelling in a vehicle with a computer system the rough equivalent of a calculator from the 1980s, leaving the home planet nearly one-quarter of a million miles behind in the rear view to orbit and then land on the very Moon that human beings had simply stared at in awe and wonder for hundreds of thousands of years? To me that was easily mankind’s greatest adventure.

Rest in peace, Neil Armstrong. Neil Armstrong, whose skills as a pilot and whose cool under pressure helped avert disaster on a landing fraught with technical glitches, Neil Armstrong, who came home a hero and could have spent the rest of his life a rock star doing a tour of every TV show imaginable, but instead chose, for the most part, to keep a very low profile and stay out of the limelight.

So keep in mind my respect for Armstrong as a class guy, a guy who was never a braggart, but when I heard of his passing today, it also reminded me of a Saturday Night Live short film that had always stuck with me from the one time I saw it a good fifteen years back . . .

I just thought that was so perfect, I mean, how do you come back to Earth after walking on the Moon? How do you come back down to Earth, literally and figuratively? How do you put up with all the mundane bullshit of day to day life here on Earth and not just keep responding to all of it by saying, “I walked on the friggen’ moon, man!”

And yes, for those of you back at home who were paying close attention, the filmmakers got it wrong, the date of the moon landing was July 20, 1969.

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Joe Soptic, as Full of It as a Septic Tank


I was thinking of that disgusting ad where Joe Soptic accused Mitt Romney of the death of his wife (an ad that ranged from disingenuous insinuations to flat-out lies in five different ways.)

<--- Click the thumbnail to get a good look at this man.

It got me to thinking, and I wondered what a Romney ad might look like if his surrogate super PACs were just reckless and dishonest as Team Obama’s.


When Barack Obama was elected, he warned America that if we didn’t rush through his $787 billion stimulus, unemployment could go as high as 6%. The Democrat-controlled Congress passed his stimulus, only to see unemployment rise as high as 10%. The HOPE and CHANGE we were promised became a reality of gloom and doom with 43-straight months of unemployment over 8%.

All of that is fact, of course, but here’s where the Obama-style sleaze comes in . . .

Perhpas it’s no surprise then, that as hopeless as the prospect of having to re-enter the job market is these days, we hear more and more stories of employees losing their jobs and snapping, like the employee who shot the employer who fired him and died in a hail of bullets right out on the city streets as happened in front of the Empire State Building yesterday. The hope is gone, the job market is abysmal, and yesterday we saw two more stark examples of victims of the Obama economy.

This ad paid for by Co-opting Obama’s Sleaze for the GOP.


As outraqeous as this bit of satire may be, it should be pointed out that it’s no worse than things that have actually been said by that lunatic vice president of ours who has numerous times suggested Republicans, by not supportings administration policies, were supporters of rape and murder.

Going by Joe’s standard’s, maybe my hyberbole wasn’t so over the top after all.

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Currently Listening To:

Team of Rivals
Doris Kearns Goodwin