Thursday, May 17, 2007

Remembrance of Things Past

Oh fuck, where were we? Oh yeah, now I remember. We were going through the motions of entertaining ourselves with ripe little thoughts about getting somewhere. Anywhere, really. Just not here. But there. Yeah, over there. Been there? Yep. Done that. Whatever.

But it’s still not clear to me. I’m having a foggy notion of thinking about stopping the war. And I’ve got a vague recollection of having hopes for impeachment. But I’m not sure. It all feels like a bad dream. Shit, I even think I got arrested. Oh damn, not that again.

Now, let’s see. I remember frantically searching out computers in the middle of a painter’s workday to speak with you about the current events swirling around us in this capital city. And I remember getting all kinds of emails from readers telling me sweet little things like, “shut the fuck up you loser.” Yeah, I definitely remember that. Kind of.

Oh yeah, and I remember reading other Vermont blogs and thinking, “why can’t my life be that simple?” I mean, I’d love to think the Dems had all the answers. Or that more photos of myself posted on the Web could be interesting to someone – anyone. Or that Bernie Sanders is God. Imagine how good it would feel to give two thumbs up to Patrick Leahy and then go back to bed – or the bottle. And just think how much of a relief it would be to let yourself say this to the Vermont political world: “I think we should just give Peter Welch some time.”

Life would be easy. I would, for example, be really content with the do-nothing legislature. I’d think Peter Freyne was still relevant. I wouldn’t notice Jim Douglas’ doublespeak. I’d think it was sunny and warm today and everyday.

Yep, now it’s all coming back to me. I’m the guy who didn’t drink the Vermont Kool-Aid. I’m the fart at the party. I’m the hair in the Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food. I’m the udder pus in the Cabot Cheese. I’m the man without a political party.

I’m just Snarky Boy.

Ready. Aim. Fire.

The Bastard Fairies - Whatever

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

The Bastard Fairies -- We're All Going to Hell

Hey folks. I'm still alive. And thinking of Jerry Falwell. This one's for him.

(I'll be back to explain my absence soon.)

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Oh, The Joys of Gardening (and more...)

Wow. This gardening thing ain’t half bad. Look how much fun we were having! Boy, I’ll tell you, the ladies of the house never come out to dance like that with painters. Never. It must be something about the soil and the nature of it all.

Okay, okay, so it wasn’t all one big nude dance and a face full of bong hits. Hardly. It was fucking work. And the only lady who came out to visit with us was the madam of the house who dressed in the kind of cartoonish neck to toe gentry garb that one can regularly see on House Speaker Gaye Symington. Yeah, you know the style: The kind that screams, “I am really, really uptight and proper.” Quick, someone hand her a laxative.

But, with her lips held as tight as everything else in her body, the oh-so-proper lady of the house pointed demonstratively here and there as she rattled off the names of plants I’d never heard of. At that moment, my only task was to keep from being a smartass, keep my mouth shut and aid in the continuing charade that the foreman of this crew had assembled the most expert mulch movers in all of Vermont. Oh yeah, baby, we’re good.

Soon enough, the finger pointing and flower name-dropping would end and off she’d go, back into the mansion of leisure where – from time to time – we’d find her sneaking peeks at our progress. I’m guessing that she didn’t have any pants on at those moments. But it’s just a guess.

I’m going to give this the four or five days I promised and not a day more. Well, unless they ask me to leave before then, a not-so-unlikely scenario if I continue to confuse weeds with prized perennials. Oops. Or, more likely, if I decide to become a wise-ass with the lady of the house in an attempt to squeeze a moment of spontaneity out of her. It’s got to be in there somewhere. And why, oh why, do people like that make me want to find it?

The good news is that landscapers – like painters – enjoy an after work romp through the bars. And the better news is that the politicos seemed to be out in full force last night, all revved up about the quickening pace of the legislative session as the end nears. And the best news is that the liquor was doing its trick on these fellas and their lips were singing into the ears of Snarky Boy. Oh how they like to play, and here’s what was on their minds:

* On the issue of who in the hell the Dems will put up to run against Governor Douglas, one insider knowingly offered one name that I haven’t heard yet: Chuck Ross. Yep, the Chuck Ross who’s been attached to Senator Patrick Leahy for years and, before that, was a legislator and, even before that, was a farmer. Nice credentials for a Dem that will be largely sacrificial. Ross, according to this person in the know, won’t have much to lose since he can always climb back on the Leahy gravy train after taking one for the team in an effort to put some dents in the Douglas armor. It’s this lack of a fall-back plan that will stop the other rumored candidates from walking off the end of the political dock by taking on Douglas, especially Jeb Spaulding, Deb Markowitz and Bill Sorrell. But, remember, there are always what the insiders are calling the “retreads,” Parker and Dunne. Yawn.

* The biggest source of entertainment for the inside the Statehouse crowd yesterday came from the attempts by the right-to-life wingnuts to attach their parental notification bill onto the medical marijuana legislation. Hey, at least they can recognize winning legislation when they see it. Because that’s what this act of desperation was all about. It’s a cold and lonely time for the right-wingers at the Statehouse – unless you live in the Governor’s office – and they tried to jump on the moving pot train to pretend they’re getting somewhere. Good luck with that. And Speaker Symington did the stunningly obvious thing of declaring that the two pieces of legislation shouldn’t be mixed. Duh. But I guess if you’re a Statehouse rat these kinds of ironies make you giggle. Whatever.

* I asked a right-leaning lobbyist if there was anything the super-majority Dems have done this session to squeeze Douglas. His response? Hearty laughter and one big “hell no!” And then he made a reference to the Dems and their recent attempts to make an issue out of that the fact that the official vehicle that Douglas is driven around in was a day overdue on its registration. “If that’s all they’ve got, bring it on,” was his conclusion. He’s got a point. That vehicle thing was just stupid. And, as usual, Douglas made them look stupid for trying to make it an issue. His response? “It’s not my car.” Come on, Dems, you can do better than that.

* Finally, I asked an elected Dem why House-leader Symington was getting more flack than Senate-leader Shumlin. “Because,” he said with a grin, “Shumlin’s more fun.” And, I might add, he buys beers for the boys at McGillicuddy’s. I think Gaye needs to borrow that limitless credit card from her millionaire hubby, Chuck Lacy, and get to the bars if she wants to salvage the session – reputation wise, that is. Oh yeah, and it wouldn’t hurt if the Dems tried to really address and fight for an issue from time to time. Okay, maybe just once. Yeah, we’ll start there. Good luck with that.

Oh hell, I’ve got to get to work. And what a day to be outside. Enjoy.

[Email me at:]

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Wednesday Morning Random Blogging (Just Read It!)

Good morning, class. I hope you all had a good night of rest, a fine breakfast and all the wholesome love and attention you deserve as fine little servants of the capitalist democracy. Because you’re about to get yet another hyper and heaping spoonful of snark – straight, no chaser. Worse, I haven’t got much time so there won’t be any of those dopey moments of reflection whereby the inner-Snarky pauses to ask that most annoying question in all of creative writing: “You can’t say that, can you?” Fuck yeah. I can say anything I want. It’s my blog toy – not yours.

And why, I hear you asking, is Snarky Boy in such a hurry this morning? Well, thanks for asking. Because in my night of reverie (I know, I know, Mom, it was a Tuesday night but I was bored), I bumped into a most fun-loving group of local landscapers who were letting it rip after a frantic day of “prepping the gardens” for the kind of people who hire other people to – well – prep their gardens.

And what do you get when you mix an overworked landscaping crew, an underemployed painter, and more than a few games of fun-loving pool with beer as the golden lubricator? A job, motherfuckers. Yep. The Snarky Boy is donning a new hat today as a landscaper to the rich. Imagine that.

It’s what we at the bottom of the working barrel call a “win-win” situation. They need a live body with four working limbs and I need some work to hold me over until I start my summer of re-painting Liberty Street. Nice to meet you, fellas. And off we’ll go…

I, of course, know nothing about landscaping. But I know how to get on my knees (don’t ask) and I know how to manage a shovel, rake and wheelbarrow. I was told last night that my primary task would be mulch moving. Whatever. Just show me the money.

Someday, you know, I’m going to get a real job that is a couple more rungs up the ladder from the equivalent of a prison work crew. I promise. But, for now, I’m just wondering where in the hell my non-white overalls are for this kind of work. I can’t, you know, show up looking like a painter who’s just lost in the gardens. The police would likely be called --- that or the State’s mental health unit. And would they believe me if I declared my name to be Chaunce?

But, before I ransack the creepy closet for something gardener-like to wear, let’s rip through some news:

Bush vetoed the Dems war-funding plan. No surprise there. But how gross was it to hear Bush talk about “early withdrawals”? Ew. Sorry, George, but that’s what Laura dreams about. Well, actually, she probably hopes you never enter. I can here her now: “Oh, George, can’t you go do Condi again?”

But the most hysterical part of Bush’s silly little veto message was his reference to an early withdrawal plan leading to “chaos” in Iraq. What the fuck? Does this man ever watch the news? Ladies and gentlemen, we are a nation being led by a complete and total ass-face. And, yes, it is time to hit the panic button. Now.

Oh yeah, that panic button is the rather orderly process called impeachment. And, oh yeah, the navel-gazing Dems still think it’s an irrational option to an ape-shit crazy maniac. Go figure.

Speaking of the Dems, get ready to watch them fold like a cheap suit in this little game of chicken they’re playing with Bush. In fact, the rhetoric of retreat that they speak so well has already begun. Joe Biden, for example, is now calling the “deadlines” in the funding bill mere “target dates.” Yep. Beep, beep, beep and back they go. That was hard to predict. Not.

Oh, and how is that great Leahy attack on the Justice Department going? While the Vermont Dems continue to piss themselves with excitement over St. Pat’s national huffing and puffing, let me remind them that the prosecutors who were fired remain fired and Gonzales is still proudly showing up to work everyday as the Attorney General. So about the only thing that has changed is that the Vermont liberal elite has now added another ring around St. Pat’s halo. Yawn.

So are you starting to see the pattern here, boys and girls? The people – yeah us – see very clearly that this war must be stopped now and that Bush must be chased from the White House. But the Dem ninnies who are supposed to be representing us just keep doing anything and everything BUT what we’re asking for. Instead, they’re posing and preening for the cameras in one desperate attempt after another to act like they’re listening and feeling our pain.

Yo Pat, Bernie and Peter: Fuck the hearings. We want action. And we want it now.

Finally, speaking of con games, the New York Times’ Andrew Revkin wrote a nice little article on Sunday that poked some mighty fine holes in this stupid “carbon-neutral” game that our own Peter Welch is so faithfully playing. Yeah, you know the game, it’s where rich kids like Pete pay to pollute. It’s the latest in the great liberal-guilt-reduction game.

Here’s how Revkin quotes Dennis Hayes of Earth Day fame (another silly hoax – one fucking day?) on the carbon-neutral scam:

The worst of the carbon-offset programs resemble the Catholic Church’s sale of indulgences back before the Reformation. Instead of reducing their carbon footprints, people take private jets and stretch limo, and then think they can buy an indulgence to forgive their sins.

Yep, that’s how millionaires like Welch think. Life’s one big payoff!

Speaking of millionaires, I’ve got to go pull their weeds. Perhaps I’ll take a piss where I’m not supposed to….

Snark on. And keep writing me at:

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Knock, Knock, Knocking on Welch's Door...

Okay, okay, I hear you loud and clear. And it sounds like this: Quit your bitchin’ Snarky Boy. Fine. You won’t hear another peep out of me about the unseemly business side of the ever-growing Snarky empire. Nope. Instead, you will simply await the grand surprise of the goodies to come. But, to quickly break the promise of only 27 or so words ago, I still await the little bird that wants to land on my shoulder and say: I want to play with Snarky Boy because I know Wordpress and the Web enough to make it one big fucking hoot. There. Done.

The good news is that I’m in one foul snarky-assed mood. Yep. Triple dose of snarkiliciousness coming your way. Buckle up.

Let’s start with Peter Welch. What the fuck is it about this guy that just makes me want to hate him? Oh yeah, he’s the embodiment of every little prick-know-it-all that we all knew in school. He was the kid, for example, who always had his homework done and – worse – joined the teacher in giving the rest of us that smug little look that said: “Why are you underachieving?”

And for purposes of my own battered self-esteem (fuck you, Wordpress), I’m going to ignore the fact that Welch went on to be a congressman and I’m an underemployed painter for now. I mean, who cares if that “why are you underachieving?” look was a sixth-grade prophecy? I can still hate him for it, you know. Hey, why stop underachieving now, baby.

Welch is on my mind because I was just absolutely tortured by the interview the increasingly inarticulate Anthony Pollina did with him on WDEV this afternoon. Welch basically practiced the art of filibustering with Pollina, gobbling up the minutes with his whiny little voice regurgitating the same old same old. Yawn.

Here’s a recap: It’s all Bush’s fault. Everything. Never mind that the Dems have been handing Bush those “blank checks” that Peter pretends to be opposed to. Oh yeah, and never mind that even though Peter the Pelosi-Puppet blames everything on Bush and is convinced he’s trashed the Constitution, broken laws and the nation’s trust, he doesn’t think impeachment is a good idea. Go figure.

And of course Pollina and his three-steps behind thinking never could quite catch up with Welch’s rambling to ask him anything challenging – let alone coherent. Sometimes I think the Progs are Progs just because it seems fashionable and hip rather than because they have any fundamental beliefs to set themselves apart from the two-party duopoly. Because why else would Pollina, the sleeping granddaddy of the Progs now that Bernie dances so comfortably with the Dems, be so bland and unchallenging to the Dem congressman? I mean, Welch gets more grief in the mainstream media than he got going toe-to-toe with the Prog man. Weird.

Speaking of Welch and grief, it’s nice to see that the Vermont impeachment crowd is, indeed, taking aim at Welch this week. Well, kind of. Because the first thing they’re planning to do is aim to knock on Welch’s door and request a little chat. I guess they’ve got a lot of time on their hands because it’s pretty damn clear that Peter will pull out his auto-responder-template and say something really close to these words (accompanied, of course, by the grade school look discussed earlier): “Oh, there’s no one in Vermont who is working harder against the presidency of George Bush than I am.”

But then he’ll go into a litany of hearings, bills, and anecdotes that will put the room into nothing short of a deep state of somnolence, only able to come back to semi-consciousness at the sound of his goddamn dog barking because it’s not only bored, too, but it also has to take a piss.

And then Welch will make his first major stumble of his term – notwithstanding his war-funding vote and his shameful pursuit of the Bush autograph – and blurt out these uncharacteristically honest lines: “You know, I owe my current job to two beings: That damn dog and President Bush.”

It’s a good thing most everyone in the room will be fast asleep and miss this rare moment of Peter candor. Too bad.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Peter the Pelosi-Puppet will be meeting with the impeachment crowd later this week so he can be annoyingly condescending to them and have yet another opportunity to take a warm piss on the left. Thanks for coming!

Unfortunately, given the chipper-chirpy nature of the impeachment leadership, the warm piss will be greeted with little more than enthusiastic “thank yous” all around and a promise to continue to be oh-so-fucking happy to stop their lives, spend their time and money, and otherwise inconvenience themselves so that Welch can continue to ignore them.

They won’t, for example, be the least bit insulted by Peter’s use of the old trick amongst smarmy representatives that goes like this: Tell the angry mob to take their anger elsewhere but to keep in touch and – most importantly – keep the pressure on. It’s like yelling to the schmuck knocking at the door that you’ve got no intention of answering it but keep knocking!

Let’s hope the impeachment folks don’t fall for the old trick and, instead, refuse to leave the very nice meeting until Peter does what he should instead of issuing them more democracy homework. But, sadly, I think the impeachment movement has come to its dead end. Like the Vermont antiwar movement, the passions and dreams of this movement will be largely extinguished by the three-dollar-bill promises and faux-sincerity of Welch. And the closer we get to the next election, the less the libs are going to want to rock the boat. They’ve got Kool-Aid to make, baby! Not to mention Bush-bogeyman posters!

It’s the elections that matter, we’ll all soon be told over and over again. Forgetting, of course, that not much seems to be happening between the elections. Well, other than rearranging the deck furniture on the sinking ship. Gurgle. Gurgle.

Help Wanted

Oh holy hell. Yes, holy hell. The holiest of hellishly holy hells. Or, if you’d rather: fuck it. Yep, that’s the mood again this morning as I attempt the ghastly task of upgrading the Snarky Boy website for you, dear readers. And so, with lots of unsnarky humbleness, I issue this plea to the great web community: HELP! Specifically, I need someone who knows the most basic code for Wordpress-powered blogs. Anyone out there? Anyone want to get creative with Snarky Boy? Because, as of this minute, I’m not wasting another minute trying to decipher the nonsense of codes, themes, templates, style sheets and the like. Nope. Ain’t gonna do it. Instead, I’m gonna write – and paint, of course.

I’m waiting for you to contact me at