The Green Porch

Adopt an Indie?

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What is more American than to be independent? (Honestly I don’t even believe in being independent in most areas of life, with the notable exceptions of continence and sin.) But when it comes to my professional writing career I couldn’t be more dependently independent.

The month of November, this 2011, shall forever be remembered as “Adopt an Indie” month. What exactly does that mean, you may ask. Well, you see, independents like me aren’t really so independent.

We rely on an army of followers for one. Plus, we depend on creative consultants, technical experts, retentive editors, supportive family and friends, etc.

More Bionic Horses

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Malcolm Reynolds from FireflyAt times like these civilized society needs more celebrities and swindlers like it needs a pudding can without a pull tab. They promise you sweet chocolaty goodness, but then stiff you when the cows come home.

In past posts I’ve written about the sustainable ethics of such outlaw heros as Bo and Luke Duke and Malcolm Reynolds from Firefly. And it still stands true, what we need today are outlaws with a heart of gold — bad guys who make us want to be good. But where have they gone? (click here to jump ahead to the punchline.)

In a day and age too glib for good guys to survive and too corrupt for the general populous to continue its complacency, we need these law-flauting, damsel-rescuing, firebrands more than ever, and yet… where can we turn?

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Potty Training Wall Street

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I smell like urine. Everything smells like urine. My fiercely brave wife and I have been potty training our 3 year old son for the last few days. (He’s doing well, by the way.) And I can’t help but feel like my son has mastered something in three days that people in our political and financial centers still haven’t figured out — namely, how to read and control base urges in order to avoid pissing all over everything.

It’s pretty amazing, really. (Both that my son is a genius and that so many career sorts still need newspaper spread around everywhere they go.) A few days ago my little boy was just letting it rip whenever the urge hit (a sensation I haven’t experienced since going tubing a few years ago). Now he’s registering the impulse to wiz mentally and cuing his little body to beeline for the toilet before doing so.

Yet, around our fair land, a noticeable percentage of the people in charge of leading us and forecasting our fates seem to have relapsed.

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