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We were driving back from lunch and my sister was in the back seat reading a local weekly paper when she suddenly said "I can't believe this." What? "'Convict Corner,'" she read from the Easy Reader (its actual name). "It's a column about what it's like to be in jail." So? "No, no, you gotta hear this." And she read from the column:

There are no “10 items or less” express lanes in prison. The canteen fills one order at a time and you may stand in line all day waiting to hear your name called. If it’s raining or 105 degrees outside—oh, well. This place doesn’t take coupons or food stamps, and there aren’t any shopping carts. However, for your shopping convenience, there are bag boys-guys who will drag your trash bags full of goodies across the yard to your cell for a Coke or popsicle. As for discount club cards? Forget it! We pay full price. Buy one, get one free? Yeah, right! Checks or credit cards? Nope! This is one place where it’s okay to leave home without your American Express Card.

"Are we supposed to feel sorry for these guys that they have to wait around to buy stuff? They're in JAIL. Where are they going? They DO have all day."

She's right, of course- articles like this are supposed to serve a dual purpose, as cautionary tales and as a way to humanize the prisoners to the general public, to make us all feel like, well, poor guys have it rough in there.

But they're criminals. They deserve to have it rough. They have to stand on line to buy things at the canteen? Who said they should even have the right to buy stuff? They get three squares a day- they have a right to a tray of food slapped in front of them, period.

I don't want to hear about the travails of the frustrated prison consumer. I don't care that they don't have the selection of Wal-Mart or the quick service of 7-Eleven. I don't care that they make 8 cents an hour. It's unfair? Too bad, life is unfair. Or, more correctly, life IS fair if you're a criminal and you have to suffer with long lines and limited selection.

That's what prison is for.

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We're going out on a Monday night.

Nobody goes out on a Monday night. It's a night to stay in and watch football or Raymond. Museums and restaurants are closed. Monday's just not a night for hitting the town. Besudes, it has a naughty feeling, like, well, a school night- can't stay out, gotta be up for class... er, work. And I do. But for a few hours, what the hell.

Gotta get out of the house at SOME point.

(And this explains the paucity of content today...)

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I lost my temper today.

Some people get violent when they snap. Some people yell, some people get chest pains, some people turn red, some people punch walls. I don't get violent. I get red, I raise my voice, I get really angry, but never violent.

I hate when that happens. I hate losing control, allowing the blood pressure to rise and rise and feeling the heat rise to my face. I hate sputtering, thoughts bouncing around in my mind then cascading out of my mouth in an incoherent torrent. But sometimes, you can't help it- you find the clouds rolling in, darkness descends, thunder and lightning follow.

That was me today. Never mind what it was about. Fran got a ringside seat- not being the target, she just watched the spectacle, and God knows what she thought she'd married while she looked on in horror- I guess there's some entertainment value in watching someone go ballistic, as long as it's not directed at you. I had to cut the show short, though. I was watching, too. It's something of an out-of-body experience to lose it like that. You're yelling and stomping and yet it seems like you're just watching yourself do it, and the entertainment value of THAT is limited. After a couple of intensely uncomfortable minutes, plus another few of silence followed by more Vesuvius, the spectator me told the performing me that it was time to go take a walk around the block, lest I say anything I'd regret.

And I did that, and I came back, and apologies ensued. But I have to apologize to myself more than anything else. Lose your temper, my sister used to say, lose control, and she was right. Sometimes you can't help yourself- you can't keep EVERYTHING in- but, as I said, I lost my temper and I hate when I do that.

I'm sorry, and I promise myself that I'll never do that again, until the next time, at least, when I hope I'll remember the way I felt today and I'll remember that it's definitely not me at my best. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go soak my head in some bad old sitcoms and try to return to my normal state. Let's hope that it'll be a Darren I episode- I hate those Darren II episodes, unless Dr. Bombay shows up.

See? I'm getting better already.

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Freak.

I mean, what else is there to say? We know it, it doesn't matter what happens in this case. Freak. End of story.

Next!

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California Senate leader John Burton is angry that the law giving drivers' licenses to illegal immigrants is under attack, and he has a definite opinion on why it's happening, according to an AP story:

"I say the issue is racism," the San Francisco Democrat told reporters. "Do you think if these people were white and not brown skinned we would be talking about it? I don't.

"A lot of people have different positions on different issues that are not necessarily racist, (but) I think what's driving this issue ... (is) people with accents and different colored skin somehow get looked askance by those of us who look like you and me."

Asked if Schwarzenegger, who has called a special legislative session to try to overturn the law, was a racist, Burton said, "I don't know if he is or isn't."

That's how he thinks. That's how a lot of people think. You disagree with me, ergo, you're a) an idiot, b) a racist, c) a pervert, d) all of the above. John Burton sees no reasonable, rational reason for anyone to oppose this law. It just doesn't register.

So let's help him out, shall we? Here's why this is a bad law:

1. Security. Virginia had a similar law. Many of the hijackers were carrying Virginia licenses, used to ease their way through American society and to do things like rent apartments and airplanes. Virginia's repealed that law.

2. Insult. If you're a legal immigrant, and you've bought into the American system, you have to work hard for years, study like a demon, take a difficult test that most natives couldn't pass without cramming, and finally attain the status of citizen, a title you hold with pride. And then someone sneaks in, fills out a form, and gets the same privilege to drive that you have, only he doesn't have to pay taxes and if he doesn't buy insurance, they'll never find him. In the words of John Lydon, ever get the feeling you've been... had?

3. Insulation. The law makes it impossible for law enforcement or immigration agents to use the license information to find illegals. It's a layer of protection from the law that citizens don't have.

4. Voting. It lets an illegal immigrant, with only a phony tax ID number, to not only get ID, but register to vote. Vote! One of the singular privileges of citizenship, handed over to people who aren't supposed to even be here.

Any racism here?

Burton thinks so. He has no answer for the facts outlined herein, of course. None of the law's supporters do. They speak of a need for identity, a need to belong, a need to have ID to be able to buy and sell their cars and cash checks and be accepted as citizens of the U.S.A.

But they're NOT CITIZENS. They have NO RIGHT to the rights and privileges of citizenship. They not only haven't earned them as have their neighbors and relatives, they're openly ignoring the process of earning them. Most Californinans know this, which is why this wasn't put on the ballot- it'd have no chance. Burton and his allies would ascribe that to racism, of course.

It's good that the law appears doomed, but it's frustrating when the other side goes with the ad hominem attack, the race card. On the other hand, it makes it less difficult to resort to the ad hominem yourself. Here goes:

John Burton is an idiot.

Hey, you know what? That felt good.

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Yes, I watched it.

I couldn't avoid it. It was on every channel, almost every one, at least- 2, 4, 7, 9, 11, even 22 en Espanol, plus all the cable news channels. There was the plane on the tarmac, the plane in the hangar, the escorted drive on the 101, the arrival, then- THERE HE IS!!!! IN HANDCUFFS!!!! THERE- AAAAhhhhh, he's gone. All of it live, in color, from choppers and on the ground, and more than one anchor mentioned how it was "just like OJ" except Jacko wasn't running FROM the cops, he was running WITH them.

Point?

None.

Did we learn anything from this? No. Was there any news in any of this? No. Was there entertainment value? For a grand total of 5 seconds, the glimpse of the accused with his hands cuffed behind him. So why was there saturation coverage, and why did we watch?

Got me.

Then Geragos showed up and gave the obligatory this-is-outrageous categorical denial, like this:

"He's come back specifically to confront these charges head on," said Geragos. "He is greatly outraged by the bringing of these charges. He considers this to be a big lie. He understands the people who are outraged, because if these charges were true, I assure you Michael would be the first to be outraged.

"I'm here to tell you today, Michael has given me the authority to say on his behalf these charges are categorically untrue. He looks forward to getting into a courtroom as opposed to any other forum and confronting these accusations head on."

Uh, OK, but what the hell is this?: "He's come back specifically to confront these charges head on." As opposed to what? What was his alternative? Could he have chosen not to return when there was a warrant out all over the country for him? What else was he going to do?

So the entire affair was meaningless- meaningless wall-to-wall coverage, meaningless hand gestures, meaningless platitudes and assertions from the mouthpiece, meaningless analysis by news anchors and "experts" who have no idea what they're talking about. We can look forward to more of this, plus the same for the Phil Spector trial, the Scott Peterson trial, the Kobe Bryant trial, the Robert Blake trial. This is a good time to be a TV legal pundit. Or Court TV. You'll watch, that's for sure. And you'll see a whole lot of nothing. And you'll still watch. And you won't be able to explain why.

That's OK. I'll be right there with you. And I'll be there specifically to confront the issues head on. Don't ask ME what that means, ask Geragos. It sounded like it meant something coming from HIM.

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It's office holiday party time again, a little earlier this year. (I figure that in a few years, it'll back up so far that it'll be timely again, like having 2007's holiday party in December 2006)

I'm not much for office parties, and it's not due to any fault of the people at the office, the bosses, the location, the food and drink, any of that. I like the people at my company a lot. No, it's me- I'm always ill at ease in these situations. I never know what to say or where to look or how to make adequate small talk. I'm not a small-talker. I'm fine when I have to talk big, loud, on mic. Otherwise, I babble. I talk a lot. I talk at any quiet moment, filling the vacuum, and coherence or relevance are not necessarily in the offing. I don't get to see the people with whom I work more than once or twice a year- such is telecommuting- and I wonder what they think from these brief encounters.

I'm sure they think I'm a nutjob. They may be right.

Anyway, I'll be going up to the party (solo this year- Fran can't come) and doing the Secret Santa thing (ironically, the gift I'm giving has a LOT to do with office interaction) and the stand-around-and-look-lost thing and the sit-quietly-and-push-food-around-the-plate thing and, well, we'll see how that goes. It's actually quite nice to see everyone; I'm not sure whether everyone will find it nice to see me. Wish me luck. Wish THEM luck.

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It's stress, I tell ya.

I've just been testy. Testy with waiters, clerks, drivers. Testy with strangers and loved ones. Just plain testy, and occasionally angry and rude and loud.

I haven't had a real day off- no work, no work-related travel, no work-related anything, sleep late, relax, nothing stressful- in a long time. We're not talking months, we're talking years.

I think I need one.

Too bad I don't get vacation.

You might want to give me a wide berth for now.

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