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I was rolling around an ancient TV at work today on a cart and hit a drain in the floor. I saw the TV crashing to the ground and thought to myself: “Self, this is no good. Try and stop that”. I didn’t stop it from happening. In fact, I made it worse. Not only did the TV fall onto the concrete floor, but I got pinned under it. My left leg is all swollen and bruised and gross. Old TVs are really, really heavy.

For the record, the TV doesn’t work anymore. So the Center is minus 1 TV and I’m minus one knee.

I have saved the money for a pot rack that I want to hang in my kitchen. I hadn’t picked out one in particular that I wanted yet, but figured that - after taking the measurements I wanted - it couldn’t be that hard to track one down on the trusty Interwebs.

I can’t find one at any price that will work with the way the exposed joists (the logical place to hang the thing) are in my apartment. It’s important for me that the chains are all parallel to one another.

How hard can this be?!

I was coming in the building tonight carrying my laptop in my Acme Made Cadet Stripe bag and a guy that lives on the first floor stopped walking his dog to tell me that he thought my bag was great. He mistook it at first for a Jack Spade, but was considerably impressed when I told him that I had one of those too.

Compliments make me feel nice. Especially ones that confirm my good taste.

Josh Kilmer-Purcell of Out magazine explains why he doesn’t want to destroy Pastor Fred Phelps of Westboro Baptist Church. If you don’t know the hate-filled Fred Phelps, go look him up. He’s awful.

Donate to the Partridge Family of Hate
by Josh Kilmer-Purcell

Part of the proceeds of this column will go toward establishing the Phags 4 Phelps Dephense Phund. Why? Because Pastor Fred Phelps, the most tenacious homophobe in the world today, has done more for gay Americans than most activists.

I first became aware of the Phelps clan in the mid ’90s when they came to protest Atlanta’s pride festival. I so admired the graphic simplicity of their neon posters depicting stick figures having anal sex that I actually tried, without luck, to purchase one of them from Phelps’s GodHatesFags.com website.

Soon afterward, Phelps burst onto the worldwide mass media stage when his congregants (the majority of whom are family members—currently inbreeding to make more) showed up to protest Matthew Shepard’s funeral. Since then, they’ve repeatedly grabbed the media spotlight via actions ranging from protesting a 12-year-old’s school essay about Ellen DeGeneres to rejecting an invitation to a debate in Ireland because “leprechauns…are likely to be fags.”

In today’s world, with so many different threats and causes to choose from, it’s hard not to admire such dogged single-mindedness of purpose. Fred and his spawn have traveled to all 50 states and several foreign countries to spread their message of anti–stick figure anal sex. They’ve racked up more frequent-flier miles than most circuit party regulars. But to me, Fred will always be the down-home obsessive kook who called me a “vile blasphemous sodomite whore” on a sunny June day in Atlanta.

Which is why I felt betrayed when my Freddie shifted his picketing focus from AIDS victims’ funerals to the funerals of U.S. soldiers returning in body bags from Iraq. He seemed to be going off message. Sure, he still preached that the soldiers had died because they were fighting for a country that allowed stick figures to have anal sex, but it’s a bit of a meandering chain of logic. Not like the old Fred, who’d spit directly in my face.

But I forgave him. The events of 9/11 affected people in different ways. For instance, it caused our president to see imaginary weapons of mass destruction and send thousands of American men and women to their deaths—deaths followed by funerals that could then be protested by Fred, until Congress passed and George signed the Respect for America’s Fallen Heroes Act, which bans protests within 300 feet of national cemeteries during funerals. And I couldn’t help but feel a little tinge of pity when Fred recently received a $10.9 million smackdown from the U.S. district court in Baltimore for inflicting emotional distress on the father of a fallen soldier.

I’m not setting up the Phelps Dephense Phund because I pity Fred. I’m doing it because I respect him more than George Bush and other like-minded homophobes in sheep’s clothing.

Why? Because I would much rather have Fred Phelps be the public face of homophobia than “tolerant” homophobes like Mitt Romney, who preaches “respect for diversity” while recently insinuating that dead heterosexual parents would raise children better than live gay men and women.

I would much rather have Fred spewing undiluted hatred on CNN than listen to all of the front-running Democratic presidential candidates tap-dancing around gay marriage like Larry Craig on a layover. Unlike them, the only “middle of the road” position Fred takes is the one blocking the hearse.

I would much rather have Fred’s kooky daughter Shirley raging on Fox News than George Bush and Congress not being enraged by two decades of Phelps’s protests at AIDS victims’ funerals. (Now they decide that protesting funerals is not OK? But only those of America’s fallen military heroes—no gays allowed.)

Yes, I want Fred Phelps free to walk the streets verbally assaulting stick figures having anal sex because Fred Phelps, as crazy as he is, is an honest homophobe.

By not hiding his repugnance under a bushel, Pastor Phelps is one of America’s most effective gay activists. Middle America finally gets to see what homophobia actually looks like when it’s stripped of such polite, compromising words as tolerance, states’ rights, and activist judges. And for that we shouldbe grateful.

I believe that each time Fred Phelps gets a little airtime, a fallen AIDS hero gets his wings.

More about Josh Kilmer-Purcell here: myspace.com/joshkilmerpurcell.

Live World War II era bombs were found and detonated at a Florida middle school built squarely atop an old munitions field.

Reports fail to mention that the munitions field with the school on top of it covers up an old Indian burial ground. So there are ghosts. The bomb squad called Scooby-Doo already. No worries.

Remember when elementary school was only scary because of the potential to be picked last for a team-sport?

Now that the woe and heartache of losing my trusty PowerBook to electrical trauma has worn off, I’m again impressed by the folks at the Apple store. I didn’t think it was possible - since I’ve worked there some of the magic isn’t as magic as it once was. I picked up a brand new 15″ MacBook Pro and a wireless Mighty Mouse in less than 10 minutes. Reinstalling all my software and restoring my photos and music took considerably longer, but I think everything is in place now.

It feels good to rejoin the SuperComputing Highway. I’m feeling good about this guy lasting for years to come.

Michael posted a quiz that I thought looked interesting. I’ve not quite decided who I’d like to vote for and every bit of information helps - even if it does come from an internet quiz. Don’t get me wrong: I won’t choose my ideal candidate based on this, but I’m surprised by how high my match is with Obama. I’m going to need to do some homework.

And Obama has the best website. That’s important.

My important issues are most closely aligned with:
91% Barack Obama
86% Chris Dodd
86% Dennis Kucinich
86% Hillary Clinton
85% John Edwards
85% Bill Richardson
83% Mike Gravel
79% Joe Biden
43% Rudy Giuliani
34% John McCain
27% Mike Huckabee
27% Mitt Romney
23% Ron Paul
20% Tom Tancredo
16% Fred Thompson

2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz

Snow!

Big Bird tried to break into our administrative office at work. I have evidence.

Special thanks to CSI for teaching me the value of a misplaced fiber.

My laptop is on the blink in a big way. If you need me, Instant Messenger probably won’t be very instant. I will, however be checking email on the iPhone like a fiend.

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