VeryAngryMonkey

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Fuck the airlines

You know what? Fuck the whole process of flight.We leave Japan on New Years Day. Destination is Seattle with a stopover in Vancouver B.C. Due to U.S. Customs/"Homeland Security", we cannot let our bags go all the way through - instead we have to go through Customs in Canada, re-check our bags, and then re-do security just in case between our gate, U.S. Customs, and the other metal detector one of the many incompetent airport employees has slipped us some C-4.We get our bags, cruise through customs, and then obey the bobble-headed Indian fellow telling us to put our bags on the conveyor again. We work our way excruciatingly through the metal detectors (again) and wait for our plane which is 3 hours away.We arrive in Seattle and half of our flight fails to get their bags. "Don't worry," they say. "Your bags will probably be on the next flight." They weren't. "Well, we find 95% of the bags in 24 hours." Except for ours.I give explicit instructions for them to call me as soon as the bags get there - if they arrive that night to hold them, call me, and I'll get them. Otherwise, they should deliver them to us. We get a voicemail message today saying they got our bags Thursday night but were holding them for us. I sprint down to the counter at Sea-Tac today to get them.Bags are nowhere to be found. No record of whether or not they were picked up by the delivery company.  They say, “Oh, well, we’ll reopen your ticket and I’m sure they’ll show up at some point.”  Yeah, that’s fine for you to be positive, you fucking prick.  You’re not the one that’s missing all of your shit.I drive the 40 miles home all sorts of pissed off. I talk to the wife and the phone rings. It's the courier with our bags lost. I drive out and meet the courier to get our bags. The wife's bag was sitting in the rain or something since her articles are all soaking wet. Miraculously, mine are all dry. I attribute it to the case itself, or maybe they knew that I'd personally hunt down and end the life of anyone that did something terrible to my bag.They're home now, finally. But how effing hard is it - really - to keep track of bags going from Vancouver B.C. to Seattle?

Saturday, July 01, 2006

At least they have jobs

Schucks.  Auto parts supplier to the Northwest and beyond.  "ASE Certified Parts Employees" is what the sign says.  No, I don't know what that means either.

I've been looking for a part for my convertible.  A belt.  A simple, 74 1/2" belt.  With 8 ribs (ribbed for her pleasure..."Her" being the car.)  Not really a difficult ask.

Last weekend, I spent time calling around to the various parts stores that are in my immediate vicinity.  Every single one of them was either stymied by the request or just plain ol' out-of-stock.

Today, obviously a BEAUTIFUL vert day, I took myself roundabout for errands and to just generally enjoy the sun.  On my way home after picking up some bird seed for the feeder, I stopped in at the local Schucks.  I figured they'd tell me no, but at least they could give me a price and a ship time.

I walk in.  Two guys working behind the counter.  Young, dopey-looking kid with a crew cut who was more interested in impressing the gal he was helping with his singular wit, and an exceptionally overweight, thin mustached, NASCAR-loving local.  This is the person who has enormous girth above the belt - or maybe the belt is so tight that it actually pushes fat from his legs to his upper body - and then these tiny hips and legs that make you wonder how they support aforementioned torso.  The moustache just looked sad.  However, I'm partially jealous since I can't grow one.

At any rate, I stand there waiting for them to help their prospective customers for about 5 minutes.  The rate at which they were moving along with their help was spectacular.  I think that after four aborted tries, the younger kid successfully dialed their sister store to have a part held.  Five more attempts to get the actual part number correct and the gal was able to leave and pick it up at another location.  I end up getting to go to Tiny for my help.  Here's the dialogue:

Him:  "Hi."
Me:  "Hi.  I need an 8-rib, 74 1/2" or 74 5/8" belt, Gates-type."

Him:  No words.  Mouth agape.  Staring at me like I just shit on his head.
Me:  Direct eye contact, no expression.  He needs to speak.

Now, this is the point in time that was only about 10 seconds, but seemed to stretch to eternity.  When his mouth fell open, I could see - literally, see - in through his vacant stare to the single gear which turns in his brain as it ground to a halt and fell silent.

Finally....

Him:  "Um, what's it for?"
Me:  "It's a supercharger belt."
Him:  "Um, what kind of car?"
Me:  "03 Ford Mustang, Cobra."
Him:  "OH.  Well.....it says here that's the wrong..."
Me (cutting him off):  "I have a smaller pulley, therefore I need a smaller belt."
Him:  "Oh.  Ok.  Well, let me look here..."

He spends some time hitting random keys on the keyboard.  After about three minutes he speaks again.

Him:  "Let me check in the back."

Now, we all know what this means.  This means he's going to go into the back, probably grab a smoke, and maybe cry a little.

He finally returns.

Him:  "Yeah, I don't have one in stock.  I could order one, but it's going to take a few days.  It's $43.99 plus tax."  (Ed note:  This is a good price.)
Me:  "I'll look around, and if I can't find one I'll come back and we can do that."

I've decided that I'm going to go take a part-time job at a parts store.  Only because I want to see shocked expressions on peoples' faces when they realize that someone working behind the counter has more than basic motor skills.

Feh.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Spring time. Time for mini-carnivals to pop up in deserted parking lots and abandoned K-Marts like weeds. Weeds which Round Up (TM) is completely unable to kill. You drive through any two-bit down and you'll find these attractions filled to the brim with toothless locals and the seedy traveling underbelly of society bilks the witless out of their hard earned coin.
Oh, who am I kidding. Odds are that's government money. No self-respecting, gainfully-employed person would visit these brothels of sin and corruption.

At any rate, they're a virus. A wart on the genitals of America, and no amount of freezing will get rid of them.

I mentioned earlier the one that has now popped up on the outskirts of SnoHo. It's roughly 300 meters due west of the little airport. Surrounding their gimmicky rides are a smattering of "try your luck" booths and RVs, where the dregs inhabit and defecate. Now, I suppose you might argue that at least they're out earning their money in a manner no less reputable than, say, a used car dealer or a politician. I have no argument to that statement EXCEPT to say that the bathing factor does in fact make a large impact as to my opinion of this.

In Spokanistan a few years ago, it was one of these very tiny traveling carnie shows which led to the abduction and forced sodomy of a 14-year-old girl - the item frequently used? Baseball bat. Later on this girl's bad luck would continue when she was accidentally shot and killed at a party by a kid playing with a gun. He would subsequently kill himself 10 minutes later out of distress. No real loss in that department.

Anyhow, the carnie in question got...10 years, maybe? He should have been dragged out and shot. Actually, no. He should have been dragged out, forcibly sodomized by a bear. THEN shot. Then sodomized again. Shot AGAIN, and then his corpse should have been sodomized by a gaggle of shit-flinging monkeys.

Yes, sure, this is only one example, but you know that if you were to see a cluster of carnies approaching your place of business, your hand would grip your purse or wallet just a little tighter, and your ass would pucker just a little bit more than normal.

So my dilemma: I'm a huge proponent of people working for a living. However, I'm not a big proponent to genetic waste being allowed to propagate rampantly, which is normally what happens in these communities. Using a sandwich bag and a rubber band do not a condom make. So what is the solution, I wonder?

I don't know. The movie "Surviving The Game" comes to mind, except you'd be polluting the Wenatchee National Forest (where the movie was filmed, btw.) I think for now we monitor them, and then expel them later. I'm thinking 500 miles due west into the Pacific would be a good start.

Oh? You say we should at least give them boats when we put them there? Feh. Details.

*Author's Note* I have no intention of committing any illegal acts to inact the Jon Doctrine. You will never read this content on CNN.com from the perspective of, "The signs were ALL THERE! ANGER ABOUND!"

Anyway, FoxNews would scoop CNN and spin it somehow on the side of the repressed Conservative clan.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

The Colbert Report

This is the text that the White House Correspondents and their respective media outlets have been lambasting over the past week.  You be the judge as to whether or not it’s funny.  

The correct answer is yes, yes it is.  And true, too.

STEPHEN COLBERT: Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Before I begin, I've been asked to make an announcement. Whoever parked 14 black bulletproof SUVs out front, could you please move them? They are blocking in 14 other black bulletproof SUVs, and they need to get out.
Wow! Wow, what an honor! The White House Correspondents' dinner. To actually -- to sit here at the same table with my hero, George W. Bush, to be this close to the man. I feel like I'm dreaming. Somebody pinch me. You know what? I'm a pretty sound sleeper; that may not be enough. Somebody shoot me in the face. Is he really not here tonight? Damn it! The one guy who could have helped.
By the way, before I get started, if anybody needs anything else at their tables, just speak slowly and clearly into your table numbers. Someone from the NSA will be right over with a cocktail.
Mark Smith, ladies and gentlemen of the press corps, Madame First Lady, Mr. President, my name is Stephen Colbert, and tonight it is my privilege to celebrate this president, cause we're not so different, he and I. We both get it. Guys like us, we're not some brainiacs on the nerd patrol. We're not members of the factinista. We go straight from the gut. Right, sir?
That's where the truth lies, right down here in the gut. Do you know you have more nerve endings in your gut than you have in your head? You can look it up. Now, I know some of you are going to say, "I did look it up, and that's not true." That's 'cause you looked it up in a book. Next time, look it up in your gut. I did. My gut tells me that's how our nervous system works.
Every night on my show, The Colbert Report, I speak straight from the gut, okay? I give people the truth, unfiltered by rational argument. I call it the "No Fact Zone." FOX News, I hold a copyright on that term.
I'm a simple man with a simple mind. I hold a simple set of beliefs that I live by. Number one, I believe in America. I believe it exists. My gut tells me I live there. I feel that it extends from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and I strongly believe it has 50 states, and I cannot wait to see how the Washington Post spins that one tomorrow.
I believe in democracy. I believe democracy is our greatest export. At least until China figures out a way to stamp it out of plastic for three cents a unit. As a matter of fact, Ambassador Zhou Wenzhong, welcome. Your great country makes our Happy Meals possible. I said it's a celebration.
I believe the government that governs best is the government that governs least. And by these standards, we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq.
I believe in pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. I believe it is possible. I saw this guy do it once in Cirque du Soleil. It was magical!
And though I am a committed Christian, I believe that everyone has the right to their own religion, be you Hindu, Jewish or Muslim. I believe there are infinite paths to accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior.
Ladies and gentlemen, I believe it's yogurt. But I refuse to believe it's not butter.
Most of all, I believe in this president. Now, I know there are some polls out there saying that this man has a 32pproval rating. But guys like us, we don't pay attention to the polls. We know that polls are just a collection of statistics that reflect what people are thinking in "reality." And reality has a well-known liberal bias. So, Mr. President, please, please, pay no attention to the people that say the glass is half full. 32eans the glass -- important to set up your jokes properly, sir. Sir, pay no attention to the people who say the glass is half empty, because 32eans it's 2/3 empty. There's still some liquid in that glass is my point, but I wouldn't drink it. The last third is usually backwash. Okay.
Look, folks, my point is that I don't believe this is a low point in this presidency. I believe it is just a lull before a comeback. I mean, it's like the movie Rocky. Alright? The President, in this case, is Rocky Balboa, and Apollo Creed is everything else in the world. It's the tenth round. He's bloodied. His corner man, Mick, who in this case, I guess, would be the Vice President, he's yelling, "Cut me, Dick, cut me!" And every time he falls, everyone says, "Stay down, Rocky! Stay down!" But does he stay down? No. Like Rocky, he gets back up, and in the end he -- actually loses in the first movie. Okay, doesn't matter. Doesnt matter.
The point is it is the heart-warming story of a man who was repeatedly punched in the face, so don't pay attention to the approval ratings that say that 68f Americans disapprove of the job this man is doing. I ask you this, does that not also logically mean that 68pprove of the job he's not doing? Think about it. I haven't.
I stand by this man. I stand by this man, because he stands for things. Not only for things, he stands on things, things like aircraft carriers and rubble and recently flooded city squares. And that sends a strong message, that no matter what happens to America, she will always rebound with the most powerfully staged photo-ops in the world.
Now, there may be an energy crisis. Well, this president has a very forward-thinking energy policy. Why do you think he's down on the ranch cutting that brush all the time? He's trying to create an alternative energy source. By 2008, we will have a mesquite-powered car.
And I just like the guy. He's a good Joe, obviously loves his wife, calls her his better half. And polls show America agrees. She's a true lady and a wonderful woman. But I just have one beef, ma'am. I'm sorry, but this reading initiative. I'm sorry, I've never been a fan of books. I don't trust them. They're all fact, no heart. I mean, they're elitist, telling us what is or isn't true or what did or didn't happen. Who's Britannica to tell me the Panama Canal was built in 1914? If I want to say it was built in 1941, that's my right as an American! I'm with the President. Let history decide what did or did not happen.
The greatest thing about this man is he's steady. You know where he stands. He believes the same thing Wednesday that he believed on Monday, no matter what happened Tuesday. Events can change; this man's beliefs never will.
And as excited as I am to be here with the President, I am appalled to be surrounded by the liberal media that is destroying America, with the exception of FOX News. FOX News gives you both sides of every story: the President's side, and the Vice President's side.
But the rest of you, what are you thinking? Reporting on NSA wiretapping or secret prisons in Eastern Europe? Those things are secret for a very important reason: they're super-depressing. And if that's your goal, well, misery accomplished.
Over the last five years you people were so good, over tax cuts, WMD intelligence, the effect of global warming. We Americans didn't want to know, and you had the courtesy not to try to find out. Those were good times, as far as we knew.
But, listen, let's review the rules. Here's how it works. The President makes decisions. He's the decider. The press secretary announces those decisions, and you people of the press type those decisions down. Make, announce, type. Just put 'em through a spell check and go home. Get to know your family again. Make love to your wife. Write that novel you got kicking around in your head. You know, the one about the intrepid Washington reporter with the courage to stand up to the administration? You know, fiction!
Because, really, what incentive do these people have to answer your questions, after all? I mean, nothing satisfies you. Everybody asks for personnel changes. So, the White House has personnel changes. And then you write, "Oh, they're just rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic." First of all, that is a terrible metaphor. This administration is not sinking. This administration is soaring! If anything, they are rearranging the deck chairs on the Hindenburg!
Now, it's not all bad guys out there. There are some of the heroes out there tonight: Christopher Buckley, Jeff Sacks, Ken Burns, Bob Schieffer. Ive interviewed all of them. By the way, Mr. President, thank you for agreeing to be on my show. I appreciate it. I was just as shocked as everyone here is, I promise you. How's Tuesday for you? I've got Frank Rich, but we can just bump him. And I mean bump him. I know a guy. Say the word.
See who we've got here tonight. Weve got General Moseley, Air Force Chief of Staff. Weve got General Peter Pace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. They still support Rumsfeld. Right, you guys aren't retired yet, right? Right, they still support Rumsfeld. Look, by the way, I've got a theory about how to handle these retired generals causing all this trouble: Don't let them retire! Come on, we've got a stop-loss program; let's use it on these guys. I've seen Zinni in that crowd on Wolf Blitzer. If you're strong enough to go on one of those pundit shows, youre strong enough to stand on a bank of computers and order men into battle. Come on!
Jesse Jackson is here, the Reverend. Haven't heard from the Reverend in just a little while. I had him on the show. It was a very interesting interview, very challenging interview. You can ask him anything, but he's going to say what he wants at the pace that he wants. It's like boxing a glacier. Enjoy that metaphor, by the way, because your grandchildren will have no idea what a glacier is.
Justice Scalia is here. Justice Scalia, may I be the first to say, Welcome, sir! You look fantastic! How are you? Just talking some Sicilian with my paisan.
John McCain is here. John McCain, what a maverick! Somebody find out what fork he used on his salad, because I guarantee you it wasn't a salad fork. This guy could have used a spoon! There's no predicting him. By the way, Senator McCain, it's so wonderful to see you coming back into the Republican fold. Ive actually got a summer house in South Carolina. Look me up when you go to speak at Bob Jones University. So glad you've seen the light, sir.
Mayor Nagin! Mayor Nagin is here from New Orleans, the chocolate city! Yeah, give it up. Mayor Nagin, I'd like to welcome you to Washington, D.C., the chocolate city with a marshmallow center and a graham cracker crust of corruption. It's a Mallomar, I guess, is what I'm describing, is a Mallomar. Its a seasonal cookie.
Joe Wilson is here. Joe Wilson, right down here in front, the most famous husband since Desi Arnaz. And, of course, he brought along his lovely wife Valerie Plame. Oh, my god! Oh, what have I said? Ay, gee monetti! I am sorry, Mr. President, I meant to say he brought along his lovely wife Joe Wilson's wife. Patrick Fitzgerald is not here tonight, right? Okay, dodged a bullet.
And, of course, we can't forget the man of the hour, new press secretary, Tony Snow. Secret Service name: "Snow Job." Toughest job. What a hero! Took the second toughest job in government, next to, of course, the ambassador to Iraq. Got some big shoes to fill, Tony. Big shoes to fill. Scott McClellan could say nothing like nobody else. McClellan, of course, eager to retire, really felt like he needed to spend more time with Andrew Card's children.
Now, Mr. President, I wish you hadn't made the decision so quickly, sir. I was vying for the job myself. I think I would have made a fabulous press secretary. I have nothing but contempt for these people.

Road Observations Part I

I decided to take the long way to Circuit City today.  The long way normally involves a trip up Highway 9 to Highway 2, and then a jaunt westbound toward I-5 and Everett.  You can normally tell you're getting close to Everett by the absence of roadkill in the area.

Let that one sit for a moment.  Just....a little bit longer....There.  You got it.  No explanation necessary.

From there, it's a short yet leisurely drive down I-5 to the Everett Mall exit.  You know you're nearby when you see the gigantic area set aside for the burying of local corpses.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, you find yourself surrounded by traffic and you know you're well on your way.

When heading westbound on Highway 2, there's a portion of road - 20th St, I think - that merges onto the highway prior to you crossing one of the many smaller tributaries which play into the greater Snohomish river.  It was here that I was treated to the sight of a nice yellow Hummer H2.

I know what you're thinking.  There's nothing particularly appealing about a Hummer H2, nor spectacular.  To these thoughts, I would absolutely agree.  What struck me about this particular one - outside of the heavily tinted windows and the barely recognizable outline of an older gentleman operating the behemoth - was the fluttering of U.S. flags on the front - almost as if this were a vehicle for a dignitary or ambassador.

Flap, flap, flapping in the wind these flags were.  Before I could ponder an amusing anecdote in my own head, I was treated to a unique set of images adorning the flank of this great beast.  The rear quarterpanels were covered in...camouflage.  Yes.  You read that correctly.  Camouflage.  Written in the camo - which I can only assume was to represent a duck blind, or possibly promote environmental friendliness - was simply 'HUMMER H2'.  I suppose this was present in big letters in case onlookers were unable to casually identify this beast by the shape or by the 'HUMMER' logo written twice on the back of the vehicle naturally.

Note that these observations happened in the course of what could have been no longer than a quarter of a mile.  This is equal to roughly two gallons of petrol expended by the lumbering giant of a vehicle next to me.

As the Hummer moved on, I was able to pull behind it and observe its customized license plate.  Of course.  And what do you think that plate said?  "LEGAL 2".  Legal 2 what?  Or just Legal 2?  I couldn't figure that one out.  I thought maybe it meant "Legal to drive" or "Legal to rape the gas pump" - and honestly, I don't mind.  I enjoy the fact that most people that have purchased Hummers do so as status and accept the fact that they will absorb a level of rectal bleeding just by the nature of owning one of these cars.  But no, it was nothing of the sort.  The license plate frame further clarified with a statement such as "Don't spend time in jail.  Call 1-800-FUCK-LAW.  Ok, not really.  But it did have some sort of 800 number on it.  I'm sure that if you were to chart the letters to numbers, it'd spell something like "I EAT BABIES" or some such thing.

Next up: Shitheads who put carbon fiber parts on their cars and big fart can exhausts and have NO HOPE of ever being fast, just annoying.

And to that dipshit in the CRX that thought racing a station wagon would give him street cred?  How do Outback taillights look from that distance?  Can you even see them?  

Saturday, April 22, 2006

[PSA] Gas Pricing

Taken May 2005.  The chart would look different today, and I bet we'd be at least one spot lower, maybe two, on where we *might* fall on this chart.
 
Nation
City


















































































































































 
Before you bitch about gas prices, go look at the list from last year at what others are paying.  Instead, go vote for and ensure officials are elected who will *really* make sure that mass transit programs are built on time such as light rail, etc., etc.
Seattle and area residents should be absolutely PISSED that we seem to be one of the few cities completely inept in terms of developing a system that works.  Portland got off their own nuts and did it, and it's fantastic.  Even Vancouver (B.C.) has one that works...except for the small inconvenience in stopping in Surrey...but I suppose poor dangerous people have a right to get around as well.....
I would point out that raising of gas prices is a fantastic way to make sure that driving is only done by those who have the economic means to drive in the first place, but that point would be wasted here, since poor people can’t afford Internet access to be incensed about anything I write anyhow.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Public bathrooms make baby Jesus cry.

Two peeves today, boys and girls. Let's touch on the first which starts with a (semi) famous catchphrase:


"If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down."


NO! This is not acceptable. At ALL. If someone wants to live their life like this in their own household, so be it. You pay your own mortgage, and do whatever you'd like. In a public restroom, especially at work where hundreds of people are forced to share the same confined space, show a little courtesy.


Moral absolutes in this world: We need air to breathe. What goes up, must come down. We all die. And....


....tech geeks are the most un-hygenic people on the face of the Earth. I'm not going to get into the whole, "I don't have time to wash my dainty hands" part (although you know who you are, you fucking dickweasels. You should be beaten about the head with a large metal pole) but more on the actual toilet hygiene.


Flushing. It's what's for dinner.


So in our men's room on our floor, there is a single washroom set aside for males. And by males I mean, "people who don't necessarily have to squat to pee unless they're Emo pricks." Adorning the wall nearest the door are two (2) urinals. For you ladies, that's the porcelin thing that men aim (poorly) into and end up splattering their human waste all over the floor and the metal divider. There are also three "stalls" (because horses graze there?) which I will get to on Point Numero Dos.


Frequently, one will travel through the door and head directly to one of the two strategically placed urinals to find...yes....wait for it....a pool of stagnant and foul male liquid excrement. The urinal itself will be remarkably plain: one metal neck to the bowl, one white porcelin cupped bowl, and one PERFECTLY FUNCTIONING HANDLE.


My co-workers are too stupid to flush.


I got fed up, so I posted a sign up above the urinals yesterday (which has been subsequently torn down...and probably urinated on) which said, "If you're unable to flush after you finish, please - go outside." The statement was accompanied by a photo of a rottweiler urinating in the grass.
Of course after I posted it, someone (out of spite, or stupidity) didn't flush their stuff.


It makes me want to kill. Repeatedly.


While I'm dripping in contempt for my co-workers (no, not their urine...contempt!) let us turn to Point Number Two.


I do not want to hear you. No one else wants to hear you.


I understand that one, on occasion, has a need to "drop the kids off at the pool" or "pitch a deuce." I get it. I really do. That's why Man invented porcelin mouth-things to take human waste and push it into the water supply, where it's processed and mostly sorted from our drinking water before we consume it orally in a highly diluted form. But what I do *not* want to do is hear you while you're doing it. And I'm not talking about someone who might be going through a "soft" or "squishy" phase. I'm talking about the guy who, if he were any more constipated, would be required to grab a large piece of lumber, forcibly shove it deep into his rectal cavity, and pry the excrement from its abode in the lower intestine. This is the, "Hrrrrmmmph! Arrrrggggh! Ooooooooooffff!" guy. This is the one that communicates verbally through a monosyallic series of grunts and groans the pain and effort he is expending to force feces out the fecal canal which is his chocolate starfish. I'm pretty sure if one were to put their ear against the stall door, they would be able to hear the ocean.

I would go on about the guy who answered his cell phone while violently ejecting into the cistern, but that's a whole different story. Plus that one just makes me gag.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Josh's Query

So here's the $63,000 question that I must parrot and ask of you (now that I've wiped the overnight wax off my car and made it all shiny...)  I cannot claim originality of the question.
Does Bush now have to fire himself?
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/12187153/
"...
Court papers filed by the prosecutor in the CIA leak case against I. Lewis Scooter Libby said Bush authorized Libby to disclose information from a classified prewar intelligence report. The court papers say Libbys boss, Vice President Dick Cheney, advised him that the president had authorized Libby to leak the information to the press in striking back at administration critic Joseph Wilson.
McClellan volunteered that the administration declassified information from the intelligence report the National Intelligence Estimate and released it to the public on July 18, 2003. But he refused to say when the information was actually declassified.
'Officially declassified'On July 18, 2003, McClellan said that the information had been declassified that day. It was officially declassified today, he told reporters in a briefing in Dallas. At the White House on Friday, McClellan interpreted his own remarks to mean that the information had been officially released to the public.
The date could be significant because Libby discussed the information with a reporter 10 days earlier, on July 8 of that year.
Sen. John Kerry, D-Mass., citing Bushs call two years ago to find the person who leaked the CIA identity of Wilsons wife, Valerie Plame, said the latest disclosures means the president needs to go no further than a mirror...."
 
Bush once said that he'd fire anyone on his staff that leaked classified information.  So....is he going to man up on this issue, or not?
 
I find that as I get older, my leanings, which have always been to the more conservative side, are in a higher state of flux.  I find that while my personal fiscal policies continue to lean to the right (and in some cases stretch their sexy little frames all over the right-hand couch...) my social policies lean a bit more to the left.
Some of it has to do with the current administration.  Call it final disillusionment.  But I think a fair chunk of it is how organized religion has raised its head up like a serpent and demonstrated a level of intolerance I thought was reserved only for the Klukkers and other fringe groups. 
Not that I didn't know it lurked there - the message growing up in the Baptist church was always, "Believe this way.  Everyone else...especially those rabbit-spawning Catholics....are going to HELL! HELL! HELL!"  It's what really irked me about organized religion as a whole - the whole "we're right, everyone else is wrong" attitude, which quite frankly is absolute crap to me.  Most - and I do say MOST - religions operate under the same basic belief principle of deity.  They just differ on what constitutes following the path to righteousness.  I'd submit that if there were only one path, EVERYONE has fallen off into the chasm at one point or another, and I'm unwilling to accept that there's only one path to ones spiritual destination.
At any rate - the one thing that's really rankled me is our (as a nation) criticality of other countries which are governed by religious groups.  Iran, while completely and utterly batshit insane, is not insane due to their adherence to religion.  No.  It's insane because they allowed insane power-hungry hellspawn to charm them into putting them into power.  But when one looks at the 04 election in this country, and the support and changes to the current administration, the question one has to ask is, "really, how much different are we?"
The answer?  Not too terribly much.  Oh sure, women vote and we don't lop off the heads of unbelievers, but there is a radicalism in various degrees.  We're slowly but steadily ratcheting up the knob on that one.
Plus, any time your elected officials use the word "crusade" as you deploy military troops to a foreign nation, your starfish should pucker ever so slightly.