The Official Blog of the Grateful Web

See Emily Die.

On February 18, 2006, Emily Rice had too much to drink and drive. She crashed her car in Denver. The Denver Police arrived, and an ambulance took her to Denver Health Medical Center.

 

Emily told anyone who would listen: the Denver Health Hospital Staff, the Police, and the Denver Prison staff, of severe pain in her abdomen. But with a blood alcohol level of 0.1, they did what they usually do with DUI offenders; they gave her Ibuprofen and stuck her in a Jail cell. Meanwhile, Emily’s lacerated liver and spleen kept bleeding, and as she lay on the floor of the Denver Jail and bleed to death, those charged with protecting and serving the law watched her die.

 

Once Emily died, those charged with making sure Justice is served, served themselves, and edited out the Prison surveillance footage exactly when they discovered she was dead, and the amazement of the idiots we trusted to protect us. The crucial minute was deftly and professionally deleted from the Prison surveillance tape like only real pros could do. Cause when the chips are down, these scum got professional about their own skins, real quick.

 

I’ve was arrested by the Denver Police, spent a night in the same Jail Emily died in. I saw first hand what idiots the Denver Police were, and personally documented it. I went to the Denver Public Safety board and my fight against the bullshit I lived through got the Denver Police Handbook rewritten due to the documented unprofessionalism I witnessed, recorded, and reported. This was the only time in recorded history a civilian forced changes to how the Denver Police conduct themselves.

 

It was not enough, however, to save Emily. Now this 24-year-old woman lies dead under the Earth and the idiots who pretend to protect us still walk around with Badges of Honor.

 

Ever been arrested? No? Proud of that? Don’t be. Get arrested. Go through the system and witness how it works, it’s your tax dollars that fund it. See problems? Report them. Help fix it.

 

For now, we can only pray for Emily and her family.

Barney Moran

Grateful Word

Polygamist Compounds Key to American World Domination

Needless to say I was worried as hell when Texas barrelled into its teeming Polygamist Youth compound in April and shut down one of the most productive reproductive cells America had to replenish our Military at this critical time.

I'm relieved to report other states are going on the offensive, assuring American's their States Polygamist cells are still protected and fully operational, producing offspring well above the numbers of the rest of a complacent American population.

You have to be a fool to think America can continue to force democracy on the world with violence without strong young men (and women!) to fill the ranks of our military forces. John McCain has advised we are talking 100 years of forced democratization on the barbarians abroad, and America needs flesh and blood kids growing now and in the future to man this critical task.

Polygamists working away in these protected cells remain our greatest American's, putting aside the materialism of society and focusing on the critical task of seeding and reseeding the American population for the war effort in record time, shortening the time from birth to reproduction in well documented time.

Let's give thanks that in America, still, we have these freedoms!

Barney Moran
Grateful Word

Living Frisbee's Story

In a blog world full of ego's on parade, including mine, its humbling and refreshing to land on writers who, instead of proving why they are cool, share life experience to hopefully help others. Like Living Frisbee.

Here we reprint a portion of his The Day I Lost My Invincibility Post:

Sunday, January 18, 2004
Richmond Park, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Some time between two and and three in the afternoon, I can't clearly recall the time.

Lots of kids on sleds and tubes sliding down the big hill.

Another hill farther up into the trees, populated by kids on snowboards.

A steep hill. An icy hill.
Seemed like a more exciting prospect considering my love of speed when it comes to sledding.
I had a big toboggan style sled that could fit two people sitting, or my entire body lying down.
The snow was especially deep as I trudged along the tree lined hill up toward the top of the hill.
Knee deep and slow.



I was wearing two pairs of pants, three pairs of socks, a couple shirts, an thick heavy coat, knee high Sorel Boots laced up tight, goggles, gloves and a hat like what you see the Russians wearing in spy movies.
Between carrying the sled and the clothing and the general trudging, I was more than a little winded by the time I reached the top of the hill. The kids on snowboards were only traveling half way down the steep incline before loosing their balance and needing to come back up for another run. I casually asked one of them if it was safe to go down. I was half joking, and only 1/10th really concerned. The rest was my general lack of attention to my surroundings as I am usually thinking of something other than where I am physically.
As the hill cleared, I surveyed the positions of the trees and the angle of the slope. It was very icy. The sun shone bright off the surface. Most of the trees were far off to the side and of no concern. Near the bottom of the hill there was one formidable tree that needed to be avoided, but with a true aim I did not see this as much of an issue to worry about.
I sat the sled down and placed my feet at the front where two indentations allowed my heels to be secured. I dug my hands into the hard, icy top layer of the snow, pushed back as far as my arms would reach and pulled hard forward as the sled launched over the edge of the hill. I grabbed the handles at the side of the sled, keeping me head up to insure I had the correct trajectory.

I was good to go.
The sound of plastic screaming over ice filled my ears.
I was moving fast! Very fast! It was a very tall and steep hill.
There was a dip and a bump three quarters of the way down.
There was no way I could have seen this from the top given the sun and the sheer whiteness of the ground.

You know that silent sound that they always use in movies right before two cars crash together? That was the sound as I launched into the air at what I could only judge at exceeding thirty miles per hour. The bump surprised me and had caused my sled to leave my body.

I was a 215 pound bullet!
The sled went off somewhere to the right.
I ejected leftward toward the very tree I had aimed away from.
Still feet first and airborne.
My left leg was the only part of my body that I couldn't pull away in time.
I was directly lined up so when I collided with the wooden giant the entirety of my foot from the toes to the heel collided. As the force of my body came behind my leg I collapsed up against my knee. I pushed off the best I could manage.
I collapsed to the right of the tree as the momentum of my ride ended.

Have you ever jumped from a reasonably high surface and landed feet first?
You know that shaky feeling it gives in your heel and bones?
That's what my leg felt like, right up into my left hip.
It didn't hurt too badly.
I tried to stand up.
No dice.
I fell right over.

I was told later that a cracking sound could be heard throughout the whole area. A park worker was inside a building nearby heard the impact and came out to investigate.

Read the full story and recovery at Living Frisbee. Reprinted by permission from Living Frisbee.

Hun, would you have married me if I did this during our dates?

Would You? Sample # 1: Barney vs. Post Office

I'm into the second decade of marriage and I find myself asking my wife if she would have married me if she saw/heard/smelled me in action like she does now.

At my last place of employment, we were allowed $10/month in metered postage. It was a perk of the job. One of my weaknesses is 'free' stuff. So I racked up my allowance of stamped letters. When I moved on, I had several years of these. Now they are dated, some 3 years old. I bought the 2 cent stamps and stick them next to the metered .39 cents red imprint.

I mailed the Boulder City Vehicle Registration my check for my $30 Vehicle renewal last week from my new work, and my letter came back to my house 2 days later. Some careful postal worker checked my meter date and scribbled "Outdated", and sent it back to me. Why does money paid for postage get 'outdated?" Its that on the books? A law? Yes, I KNOW I have a problem: My 'free' thing is worthless and I'm wasting my life battling windmills over .41 cents.

I dutifully prepared another exact letter the same way, old meter imprinted .39 cents letter from my mothballed office plus another .2 cent sticky stamp, and put the letter in my mailbox. Briefly, I considered cutting out the .2 cent stamp from my first letter I lost in this first salvo and attempting to reuse it, but thought better of the effort. Even though the postal person had not scribbled on that part of the letter. I put the second letter in my mailbox for pickup. The mail came and the letter was still there, the post person had left it there. No note. Why should the post person waste time writing a note to an idiot like me?

I catch my wife looking with distaste at the mishagosh returned 3 year old .39 cent imprinted with a .2 cent sticker letter with scribbled notes from a postal worker. I use to remind her earlier in the marriage: I come from a 900 year European tradition being holed up in the cities writing down what the farmers grew while the goy farmers were outside in the sun growing. My stamped letter fight is a natural, organic version of this legacy here in 2008. I don't remind her anymore.

Now, right after I post this, I am going to dump this letter in a city street mail box for round #3. The registration is not past due until the end of March.

The questions: will my letter be delivered this time? Would my wife have married this nut had she known; am I really any better off?

Barney Moran
Grateful Word

Oratory Hunger

Why is Obama beating Hillary?

Where did he come from? Why are people who've never voted before voting for him?

What's the deal?

Cut from an Obama victory speech to Bush talking about Fidel's resignation. Or bailing out the recession. Or anything. What's the difference? Bush cant speak.

Americans are starving for the dream, for some hope, yes, for someone who can speak to them. Forget the politics. Its been years since we turned on the TV, radio, YouTube, or streamed from the Internet and heard a voice  speak to us.

We've had almost 8 years of broken, guttural meanderings, and meanwhile, America meanders. Hearing Obama, its like our ears have been turned off all these years, and something just turned them on.

I'm not taking sides here. Listening to Hillary explain why she voted for the war not knowing the outcome, but had she known..., listening to McCain say, 'My friend's in his aging voice, I am going to sleep again, meandering in my living room. America will always need a powerful, meaningful speaker, humanity does. Take this away for any length of years, and we will be back with a vengance.

Barney Moran

Grateful Web

The Worlds Greatist Music Collectable is the Owner

Aha! A crazier vinyl maniac then moi!

Paul Mawhinney, the ultimate Vinyl Album PacRat, makes guys like me look like a 'PacAmeoba'. Faced with the exact same marriage dilemma, "Me or the Records", Paul did our fantasy, saved the marriage and got a warehouse. This could only happen in Pittsburgh, PA.

Why would anyone own aisles and aisles of Vinyl? To WALK THROUGH of course. Not necessarily listen to anything. Walk through, check out some album art, spray the mold patches. Soon of course, a hard drive will come out that can hold this entire collection in your pocket. Hopefully Paul unloads this before next week. The 'buyers' comments on ebay tell the cynical story.



I am working on the beer belly, but right now Paul's got me on all counts!

Thanks to Northern Comfort for posting about this.
See the auction on ebay.


Barney Moran
Grateful Word

Echo and the Bunnymen: Heaven Up Here

I have thousands of Vinyl from last century. My records are crammed in under the basement stairs, in the rafters of our garage, and in my basement back office of horrors.

What records do I take the time to look for and pull out to spin and burn to disk? Echo & the Bunnymen's 1981 Heaven up Here is one. Dark, driving, with Ian McCulloch's amazing vocals, and drummer Pete de Freitas unrelenting but don't stop percussion.

Echo is a 'great promise' band, with a few classics worth entry into the halls of rock, and a unique sound. Great Promise bands share these traits, giving glimpses of greatness but producing a mixed bag and not enough compared to icons who bang out years decades of work building upon greatness .

Great Promise bands are content to release albums with 'filler' songs, way below par with their best, and Echo does not escape this on Heaven Up Here. If the final track 'All I Want',  simply had been left out  this may have been their best, though  pundits and sales figures say their 1984 'Ocean Rain' was their best.

Like re-visiting a dark lover from the past; cruel, purple bags under the eyes, and delicious, Heaven Up Here is a pulsing dark loneliness I love to visit. My kids and wife hate it, that's also a good sign, and I'm forced to listen when commuting. Its dark, delicious, too rich chocolate you can't have often. Just a treat now and then....

  "All My Colours"

Flying
              And I know I'm not coming down
              You're trying
              But you know you must soon go down
              All my colours turn to clouds
              All my colours turn to clouds

            

Zimbo...

            

What d'you say
              When your heart's in pieces?
              How d'you play
              Those cards in sequence?
              That box you gave me burned nicely
              That box you gave me burned nicely

            

Zimbo...

            

Flying down
              Flying down
              All my colours turn to clouds...

            Hey, I've flown away
              Hey, I'm blown away

**

Echo and the Bunnymen have reformed ( 3 of the 4, Pete de Freitas was killed in a motorcycle accident), and they are selling out shows like the Royal Albert Hall this September, 2008, and close to releasing a new album. Tells me other old farts have been dusting off this vinyl in secret, under the stairs, like me.

Barney Moran
Grateful Word

Grateful Web on TownHall

Yes, I am fully aware Grateful Web's founder, Barney Moran, is quoted on the first page of TownHall's Letters to the editor. Yes I know its in their just released February 2008 Magazine version of their famous conservative blog community where Grateful Web has a voice.

I'm proud of it. Why?  There is something I dislike much more then someone's views disagreeing with mine: Censorship. Townhall has founded the perfect open forum vehicle for all voices to be heard. Sure its founded by conservatives who seek to find ideas and a common purpose for the movement. But, what is wrong with that, even if you disagree with their views?

Who's side am I on? The side that gets things done instead of yelling. It's in the big fat American middle, where every day people are trying to work hard and carve out a life for themselves and their families.

Liberal and Progressive movements can take a pointer from TownHall, and remember the American way is for all voices to be heard.

Barney Moran
Grateful Word

My Breath Stinks

I'm in a strange place with my 9 year old and math homework.

I get all excited about it,  she just wants to get it done. I run around grabbing 'scrap' paper and showing her how fun to figure out the close multiples of 5 or 10 to work backwards towards the real answer, which is a multiple of 8, and she just says, "Your breath stinks."

This is one of the blessings of having children, this pronouncement. I know my breath stinks of course. I walk around and have long stretches of stinky breath. I mean I brush after meals, but this old cracker is not going to suck sugar all day to have fresh on the spot breath. Hey, I prep when needed, thats enough. For homework with the kids, I skip the Altoid.

Still its refreshing to be told. Its not like I can tell my boss, while they are asking me how a project is going, "Yes, they are very interested Bob, but your breath stinks." And they don't tell me. Adults just leisurely back head first away and try to keep their eyeballs from rolling. Kids shoot from the hip mouth .

Barney Moran
Grateful Word

2 Blue

I got to play the Game of Life last night with my 7 year old. As we started out, and I got to the STOP: GET MARRIED space, I went for the pink peg to add to my car, and STOPPED.

Why not use this little space in this Game of Life to bridge a discussion on homosexual lifestyle? "Can I be two men?" I asked her. "Sure" she replied, "My friend at school has two moms. One is 'Mom'. and one is 'Momma.'

It seems I was bridging to myself, my seven year old had been down this life course. "What will you pick?" I asked her. "Hmmm", she said, initially going for another pink for her car, but then considering. "I will close my eyes and pick", she said, and got a blue peg to join her pink one, totally at random. "I like that", she said, "You know I have Nedda." Nedda is a boy from the Netherlands she is friends with.

That was it for this topic that game. We had lots of other Life issues to deal with, car accidents, insurance, buying a home. 'How', I wondered as our two cars inched farther down the game of life, 'Do other parents, if they do, bridge the issue of sexuality to their kids?' Some I fear may with disdain for same sex couples, and how sad for the next generation if they are exposed to old hatred and fears. Not discussing does not seem a healthy alternative either, its here, as it ever has been, as long as we have been human. Unless your pegged in Iran, where they have no Homosexuals.

Barney Moran
Grateful Word