Probably.

Like that time when I had just woken up and was starting to do the still-asleep zombie shuffle by the giant windows in the master bedroom that had sold us on the house in the first place. It's an older house, been on the city rolls since 1900, and there are some parts that are probably original, but that's okay 'cause they knew how to build things to last in those days, right?

Except this window, which was apparently the victim of some sort of an insidious & silent dry rot which had been subtly weakening its stoutness for decades probably.

So when my still asleep stumbled over themselves as I was climbing and I fell sharply toward the window and my right arm shot out to brace myself against the frame, it gave away with a sickening stop-time moment of thinking clearly to myself something like 'Hmmm, that's not right.' and then thinking to myself as I defenestrated myself 'Good thing that porch roof will break my fall - and maybe I can grab something there to stop my descent'*.

The porch roof slowed my fall, alright, but my hands clawed fruitlessly at the asphalt shingles as I slid down the angled roof and fell with a loud thud on the sidewalk outside.

I was understandably jarred for a moment and my breath all seemed to been forced out of my body with a huge grunt as I hit. Again, within that peculiar clarity, I remember being embarrassed that I had made such a loud noise - 'Great, now all of the neighbors are going to look and see', I thought with chagrin.

Then I remembered I was just getting out of bed when this unfortunate accident has befallen me.

And that I usually sleep in the buff.

And that was the state I was in.

And, because I had no clothes on, I had, obviously no pants, and therefore, no pockets in which my housekeys normally reside.

And, because I traditionally lock the doors before bedtime - out of the fear of the extremely unlikely fear that an unknown intruder would murder me in my sleep - that the doors would be locked now.

Which brought me back to my current state of nudity.

As I processed all of these thought, I turned my head and saw the first of my neighbors gathering at the edge of my lot, gazing slackjawed in a mixture of shock and hilarity.

And that is how I became known eternally to my shame as 'that naked guy', all because of a singular bad move.

Witness.

Daily Kos: What the media isn't saying about Carlin

Carlin dared us to get the joke. He pushed us. That's what made him a legend and an inspiration to those of us drawn to the art of comedy. I, myself, was offended by a lot of his stuff when I was a teenager and didn't get the deeper meaning (and didn't yet know that he was usually right). But as I grew and began to explore myself and understand the world around me, I came to truly admire his courage and his talent. It's his ability to pinpoint the hypocrisies and flaws of our society that should be talked about most when remembering him. But I guess there still aren't things we as a society and those in the media are able or allowed to discuss... at least not until we grow up.

(There don't seem to be any permalinks on the site, so this story ["Jason Werner arrested by Cleveland police"] might go away).

Sounds like these convicts or these people.

Jason, sounds like you were were righteously busted for disturbing the peace. My spirituality, like my sexuality or my political beliefs or whether I like boxers or briefs, is mine alone and is not open for discussion.

If you feel the need to convert me to your beliefs, please do it passively: put a bumper sticker on your car, wear a t-shirt, buy ads in the medium of your choice but DO NOT insist that I listen to your views. That, my friend, seems a lot more totalitarian ('communist' as you term it) than any of the love you preach.

I don't dislike Christians. I strongly dislike blinded zealots.

There's been a huge freaking project at my day job for the last couple of weeks, one that has just reached the point where most of it is done - it's just all about shooting the stragglers in the head and leaving them for dead.

Jesus, did I just type that? I guess even after about eleven hours of uninterrupted sleep I'm still in that walking-dead mode of taking just one more step toward that ultimate goal. This is the sort of mindset that led me to write arbeit macht frei on an index card and tack it above my desk way back in college during finals week when I would be struggling to complete all of the work I had successfully ignored so far in the semester. (Did you ever have that dream where you're going to take a final for a class that you had forgotten to not attend for the entire semester? Yeah, me too. Even twenty years beyond the big sweat point for me. At least the one about showing up for class in my underwear seems to have gone away from my nighttime parade at last.)

The idea that "self-sacrifice in the form of endless labour does in itself bring a kind of spiritual freedom" makes sense to me, given that if you don't sort of blank your mind to the horrible amount of work at hand, your mind (mine, at least) starts endlessly repeating that part from Devo's cover of "Working In The Coal Mine" speaks "I am so tired! How long can this go on?"

My officemates and I began to get a bit giddy as we reached the end of the week, laughing hysterically at jokes that - even now, a scant day later - seem incredibly dull and unfunny. At one point, for some reason, in a quiet moment, somebody launched into a monologue:

At times like this I remember how happy I was back at the puppy farm, playing in the green meadow under blue skies with my brothers and sisters. Those days were wonderful. We never even considered that they might someday end.

There was a quiet pause in the room and I looked up to see who had said that. I saw my officemates gazing at me, puzzled and bemused, and I realized it had been me.

Glad to be back, everybody!

I mean, really: is Cyndi Lauper an oldie now? Oh, wait, that record was a hit twenty years or so ago.

The same stars of the Liberal Media who paralyzed the country for two years with their fixation on Bill Clinton's sex scandal -- and who relentlessly insisted that he be forced from office -- have spent the last seven years calmly telling us that there is no reason to get all excited or upset by what the administration has been doing.

But something is different this year.  My republican and right-wing friends are actually trying to engage me in debate on issues.  Not sure why, actually, but I have noticed that they always leave the debate at one point when they get stumped.

(I found it at noted hate site DailyKos)

Today is National Donut Day.

When : Always the first Friday in June

National Doughnut Day honors the Salvation Army "Lassies" of WWI. It is
also used as a fund raiser for needy causes of the Salvation Army.

The original Salvation Army Doughnut was first served by Salvation Army
in 1917. During WWI, Salvation Army "lassies" were sent to the front
lines of Europe. These brave volunteers made home cooked foods, and
provided a moral boost to the troops. Often, the doughnuts were cooked
in oil inside the of the metal helmet of an American soldier. The
American infantrymen were commonly called doughboys. Salvation Army
lassies were the only women outside of military personnel allowed to
visit the front lines. Lt. Colonel Helen Purviance is considered the
Salvation Army's "first doughnut girl".

On National Doughnut Day, look to see if your local doughnut shop, or
other organizations, are offering free donuts to solicit donations for
the Salvation Army or for another needy cause. If you find them, please
be generous.

Note: The word "Doughnut" is often shortened to "Donut. So, if you see
the term National Donut Day, its the same day.

(I found it at noted hate site DailyKos)

It's times like this the burden of this kind of love feels too heavy. Like the weight of it will crush me before I learn to carry from the core.

Those many of you (un)fortunate enough to see me shirtless may have noticed that my left nipple points a bit unnaturally downward, like a pouting lip. It's not sad, it just does that because of my own experience akin to Eva & Maggie's.

I was a little older than Eva, so my Dad was letting me run around a little bit on my own at some neighborhood festival, and I was cutting through some bushes to meet up with him again when I met some BIG kids (maybe 8 or 9 years old; I was probably 5 or 6). There wasn't much room on this path through the bushes so they pushed me out of the way. As I tumbled, a branch poked a hole in my shirt and underneath it, a smallish cut under the Nipple-Soon-To-Be-Named-Droopy. I did what any self-respecting youngster would do; I started crying and looking for Dad.

We found each other, he comforted me, then left me under the supervision of friends while he searched for the marauding gang of youths.

I'm a dad now myself, and my son is a little younger than I was then, so I can imagine the emotions that must have been coursing through my Dad's - and Maggie's - worlds at those times. I'm gonna guess that a lot of people have wound up dead or crippled as the result of similar instances.

Then too, I remember my Mom, visiting us when the boy had been walking for a few months, but not yet talking. Some object frustrated him and in response, he whacked at it. "Tch," mom said, "He must be learning to hit like that somewhere!" In my mind, of course, I was certain she was pointing the finger of parental failure at me. Still sort of am, truth to tell you.

Now, a little less than four decades after Droopy entered my life, and watching the boy interact with his younger sister, I realize that it's really unlikely that there is or was dangerous malice in the actions of those boys in the bushes or Eva's agressors or my boy's rudely grabbing his sister's toys - they just really don't know any better. Does it indicate truly evil spawn or atrocious parenting?

I don't know. I started to make an unequivocal negative answer but then I got caught up in a kind of solipsistic cul-de-sac of arguments pro and con. I think I'll have to ask Dr. John, my philosophy professor pal. But until then, you decide.

The upshot for me, though, is that I think immediately responding in protect and retaliate mode - as my dad and Maggie did and as I'm sure I will - is justified and understandable. Worrying about it afterwards isn't really necessary, unless there's literally blood on your hands.

This photo provided by the State Department shows Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, center, posing the hard rocker group Kiss, Thursday, May 29, 2008, in Stockholm, Sweden. From left are, Tommy Thayer, Paul Stanley, Secretary Rice, Gene Simmons and Eric Singer (AP Photo/State Department, Anne Lyons)

"It was really fun to meet Kiss and Gene Simmons," she told
reporters, noting that they seemed well-informed about current events.
The band had asked if she could stop by after she finished dinner with
the Swedish foreign minister and Rice readily agreed, she said.

Rice, a classically trained pianist, said she has eclectic musical tastes ranging from Beethoven to Bruce Springsteen.

Hard rockers such as Kiss are included in the mix, and Rice said her favorite Kiss tune is "Rock and Roll All Nite."