I can't take it anymore.

Oh shut up. This is GREAT!

No. I don't like it.

What the hell do you know? What are you...one of THEM?

See, that's what I'm talking about.

I don't know exactly when this metamorphosis occurred. When my hideous alter ego reared his ugly head.When the butterfly emerged from its chrysalis as an impatient, crazed lunatic. I can't even recall a specific moment when the transformation, so painful it makes Spock's  pubescent years on Vulcan look like a day at the county fair, was complete.

But I am quite clear as to the driving force behind my Sybil-like behavior.

It's this damned election.

I remember the old me. Polite. Patient. Hell, I was voted "Student of the Year" when I was in high school. When I go through a door, any door, I'll wait and hold it open for anyone, man or woman, within 20 feet of me. I can't help it. I get off on it. It's Ferret-face's old "Nice to be nice to the nice" theory.

But that's the old me. Now I'm much more cautious. You have to be. For that old man in the check-out line, or that young girl at the teller window, or that guy sitting next to you enjoying the same movie? Those for whom I would've gladly given up my place in line for only a few months ago? Well there's a good chance that they could be...one of THEM!

The new me is consumed with despising THEM. Ridiculing THEM. You know. The idiots who want to vote for the OTHER GUY. When I drive behind one of THEIR cars (and I know it's THEM because of their stupid campaign sticker with it's lying, hypocritical slogan), I can't wait to pass and stare daggers at the moron behind the wheel. I pray they'll sneak a furtive glance my way, so I can shake my head in disgust before I flip them the bird and run them off the road.

Just yesterday I got stuck behind a late model, full-sized sedan that was perfectly content to zip along at 1/10th the posted speed limit. I live in Arizona, so as winter approaches and the older folks who can still afford to relocate here, we get used to the onslaught of Mr. and Mrs. Magoos clogging our roads. And this one fit the bill - silver hair barely visible above the dashboard, turn signal perpetually engaged. Without a doubt - one of THEM if ever I saw one. As I practiced my stink eye in the rear view mirror and prepared to overtake this mindless, ill-informed octogenarian, I saw it.

Her bumper sticker.

She was one of US!

And quicker than Joe Lieberman at a jobs fair, my viewpoint changed. I LOVE this woman. How dare these other drivers berate her motor skills? She's smart. Cautious. I immediately went from wanting to run her off the road to carrying her on my back to wherever her sage, logical, well-informed little frame wanted to go.

But that's not me. It's this damned election.

To use a sports analogy,  I'm a "Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate?" kind of fan. I've always supported my team in an encouraging, positive way, and would never stoop to ridiculing or belittling my opponents. I think this does nothing but inspire the other team to fight harder to defend their honor. It's much more effective to demoralize your opponent by having them witness the opposing fans undying loyalty and support. But lately my carefully calculated, ego-less method of encouragement has degenerated into what I despise the most. Now I chant "Your guy sucks! Your guy sucks!" I've gone from supporting MY team exclusively to condemning THEIRS. That's not me.

How did this happen? How did I get dragged into this out of control, never-ending, childish bout of name calling?

Boy, do I miss the old me. The Eckart Tole / Turn-the-Other-Cheek me. It's eating me up inside. My once calm, patient, accepting demeanor has been replaced with a disruptive, debilitating angst.

I want this to stop. I miss holding doors open. Helping people unequivocally.  Hopefully, as the election draws near, I'll be able to abandon this reprehensible behavior, this shameful comportment, and go back to my Chopraesque lifestyle of peace and understanding.

Just as long as MY GUY wins!

Blind Irishman sees with the aid of son's tooth in his eye

                          AFP - Thu Feb 28, 1:30 AM ET
                          DUBLIN (AFP) - An Irishman blinded by an explosion two years ago has had his
                          sight restored after doctors inserted his son's tooth in his eye, he said on
                          Wednesday. Bob McNichol, 57, lost his sight in a freak accident at a re-cycling
                          business in November 2005.

                          After doctors in Ireland said there was nothing more they could do,  McNichol
                          heard about a miracle operation called Osteo-Odonto-Keratoprosthesis (OOKP)
                          being performed at the Sussex Eye Hospital in Brighton in England.

                          The technique, pioneered in Italy in the 1960's, involves creating a support for
                          an artificial cornea from the patient's own tooth and the surrounding bone. The
                          eye socket is then rebuilt, part of the tooth implanted and a lense inserted in a
                          hole drilled in the tooth.

                          A national campaign was immediately started, and after several exhaustive
                          months of searching England and Ireland, someone with a healthy tooth was
                          actually found. Doctors were even able to forgo drilling the tooth by using one
                          of the many existing cavities already in the tooth.

                          "It was pretty heavy going," McNichol said. "The odds of finding a donor in this
                           part of the world are extremely rare. Now I have enough sight to get around and
                           watch TV. I've adjusted quite well, but I'm still having a difficult time learning
                           how to floss my retina."

                         

I'm often amused by those pretentious audiophiles who extol the aural virtues of vinyl while condemning the clearly superior digital format. Granted, there is something romantically nostalgic about prying open an aging album cover, carefully removing the record from the long-ago torn paper envelope (which usually belongs to some other album), wiping it with you shirt, and preparing it for play.

The old smell.

Cleaning  the furball-sized hunk of lint from the needle.

Scotch taping a couple of wheat cents atop the tone arm.

And that beautiful, scratchy static.

I still remember to this day exactly where my Smokey Robinson Tears of a Clown  45 used to skip:

"...there tryin' to fool the public, but when it comes down to foolin', to foolin', to foolin', to foolin', to foolin   (BUMP)  ifferent subject. But don't let my glad expression..."

Ahh. Memories. But acoustically superior? Are you kidding me?

Maybe it's a repressed longing for a happier, innocent time, a last-ditch attempt at staving off the inevitable effects of growing old. Or a way to thumb our gin-blossomed noses at the technologically advanced youth of today, who can reformat a hard drive faster than I can download a bootleg copy of The Best of Bread.

I do admit, I remember precisely where I bought my very first album, 1973's John Denver's Greatest Hits (a Woolworth's in Mesa, AZ).

Perhaps CDs really are inferior to capturing the subtle nuances of Pass the Dutchie.  Or the elusive, interwoven complexities of Billy, Don't Be a Hero.

But my ear, like my wine-tasting palate, is nowhere near refined enough to notice a difference.

I am, however, a huge fan of the old record commercials. K-Tel presents Disco Fever! Love Songs of the 70's! Or my all-time favorite, Freedom Rock!

"Hey Man. Is that Freedom Rock?"

"Yeah, man."

"Well turn it up, man!"

So what better way to honor these Titans of the Turntable than to present Campaign Jams! A collection of 30 original songs by 9 unoriginal candidates!

Special thanks to Donna Wilson of BELLATREX JAZZ for providing the female vocals. Unbelievable range, clarity, great singer. Check out their stuff:   http://www.bellatrex.com/

Campaign Jams! Order today!

But I'd get the vinyl. It sounds way better.

I'm only posting this because several people have asked me to do so.

OK, that's not true. It was a couple of people. But they really enjoyed it and wanted to see it again.

OK, that's not true either. They're actually in it, and can't find the copies I mailed to them.

Or said I would mail to them. Oh shit.

Anywho, this is a short film that won BEST COMEDY and a BRONZE MEDAL for BEST FILM at the San Tan Film Festival.

It is also in the prestigious FAUX FILM FESTIVAL next month in Portland (more about that later).

Lamar Newmeyer (that's him with the gun) stars as Curt Savage.

Shares of Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia Inc. have just been "kicked up a notch".

That's because the ex-con just shelled out $50 million for the rights to the Emeril Lagasse franchise of cookbooks, television shows, and kitchen products. And before you can say BAM!, the deal should bring in at least $8 million in earnings to her publicly traded company.

So as we approach the three year anniversary of her release from a federal prison on obstruction charges, what better way to celebrate then to re-rerun the column I wrote just days before they stuck her in the clink.

Shameless, I know.

But not as shameless as when I run it next year.

In an effort to ameliorate their tarnished image, FEMA administrators have pledged to "definitely" send "some" of the SEVENTY-FIVE THOUSAND trailers and mobile homes it has stored in various locations around the country to Tennessee and Arkansas tornado victims.

FEMA administrator R. David Paulison said Friday on a tour of the damage that the agency would prefer putting people up in rental properties. Partly due in response to Congress last year ordering FEMA to stop selling or donating the $850 MILLION worth of trailers after discovering levels of the carcinogen formaldehyde that were 50 TIMES HIGHER than the EPA's "elevated level".

Which, studies have shown, still kill slower than Cat-5 tornadoes.

Phil Parr, who is leading the federal response to the storms in Arkansas, refused to offer estimates as to how many mobile homes would be used, or when they would be delivered.

"We're moving as quickly as we've ever moved before," Parr said.

Beleaguered residents should begin seeing the first shipment of trailers as early as this November.

I went to The Comedy Spot in Scottsdale last weekend and saw James P. Connelly. I've worked with him before and find him to be absolutely hilarious! He has a show on XM Radio . http://www.jamespconnolly.tv/

The featured comic, Dustin Rhoads, was telling me how much he loved a bit I used to do about safety at baseball games.

So I dug it up and here it is. It was recorded in November of '06. The club was pretty new, the camera was pretty cheap, but the joke is pretty funny!

This idea has been kickin around in my head for a while, so I finally made time and put it together.

Some of the pix are low resolution and kind of grainy, but you get the idea.

I'm curious about what YOU think about it. I've caught some flak about one of the lines of dialogue.

Special thanks to the lovely and politically savvy Gayle Bass at  92.3 KTAR in Phoenix for mentioning it on the air and posting it on her blog.

http://www.ktar.com/?sid=330433&nid=234