From the Peanut Gallery...

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Pet Owners: Dogs vs. Cats

Everyone owns a pet for generally the same reasons. Though most people will claim that companionship is the primary reason, the convenience of owning a pet is actually what they value the most. This is due to a gift that the pet supplies for its owner known as the “ego boost”.

For instance: anyone who owns one knows that dogs were put on this earth for the two sole purposes of obeying their master, and being kicked. Persons with authoritative personalities who enjoy dominating others usually own dogs in order to achieve an ego boost. They own submissive pets because by bossing someone around, they feel better about themselves. Daschunds(aka Doxens, Wiener Dogs) are most often employed for this “aggression relief therapy” one, because they behave quite well and are very obedient, and two, because they greatly resemble a football with legs. The football resemblance is important because whether you like to admit it or not, everyone feels better after kicking a dog when they’ve had a bad day. OK, maybe not kicking—maybe just a friendly swat across the face, playful toss into the wall across the room, or a jokingly yanking out a handful of fur---anything to vent one’s hostilities and frustrations onto something else. People with K9’s take refuge in the knowledge that their furry little friends will just come trotting back for more, panting, smiling, tongue lolling out with a wagging tail as if nothing happened. Dog owners are simple and very predictable.

Cat owners, on the other hand, are not to be trusted. They try to relate themselves to their pets by slinking around in dark, quiet places that make dog owners uneasy. By doing this they feel they have a mental advantage over another, thus making them feel superior. Again, this is the ego boost, but in a different form. Cat owners are often emotional basket cases, drowning in insecurity. So, they try to better themselves by emulating their feline companion, a very intelligent, independent, graceful creature, shrouded in mystery. Cat owners are duplicitous just like their pets, which will cuddle and purr one moment, and then crap on your pillow the next when you’re not looking. Cat owners have no friends.

People with pets don’t actually own them. Really, it would be more accurate to say that the pets own the people, because the people wouldn’t be able to survive without their furry little ego boosts.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
11-12-88

HLN Has Spoiled.

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I'm sad to say that Headline News(HLN) has gone downhill from the days long past.

HLN used to be the perfect format, the perfect news source: 1/2 an hour, world headlines on repeat all day long, updates inserted into the feed as they came in. One could sit down on one's lunch break at school in the cafeteria or at work, at home getting ready for the day, or where/whenever, and one was up-to-speed on current
events in a jiffy.

HLN is now to the news what MTV is to music videos!

Now, you have programming.
WAAAAAY too many commercials.
OPINION shows.
NANCY GRACE--(would someone PLEASE put a muzzle on that woman & send her back to Hicksville with that obnoxious overbearing "style" and that ridiculous accent?!)

Who needs an hour-long show about John Travolta's son having a seizure so we can speculate as to how long he was in the bathroom?! A tragedy yes--I feel for the family and my heart goes out to them, but does this really concern the entire nation as a whole?

How about an hour long show about the WAR?!
The ECONOMY?!
Human rights violtions?!
Corruption in politics?!
ANYTHING but another episode of "Where's Caylee?"!!!!

The wicked worlds of advertising, ratings & demographics have engulfed your once proud, bold, innovative-in-its-simplicity network, and turned it into an alternative for gossip, blogging, and soap operas--perfect for the stay-at-home mom and out-of-work Joe.

It used to be CNN was your network with different programs & "shows" related to particular topics, while HLN was the steadfast "quick fix" for those people on-the-go who COUNTED on HLN to stay informed in the midst of a hectic lifestyle. Not anymore.

Today, the demand for commercial income has overrun your once great network. Since you have done what you have with HLN(ruin it), perhaps you might consider using some of your profits from it to create a NEW channel with the old format? One that serves the greater good and not just your own pockets, that is. I know that's not the American Way, but I just thought I'd ask.

I miss the old HLN. The GOOD HLN.

You guys suck.

-(author),
-(location).

P.S.--Thank you in advance for the auto-response email I am about to receive assuring me that someone will personally read this, when I know it's really going to be auto-filed by a bot into a category according to keywords, like "SUCK".

I sent this to HLN 1-14-09...let's see if they respond.
LIKE THIS? Copy & re-post it.

3 X 3 = NEIN

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Plant One single Seed;
Three Plants can become of it.
Just don’t throw Three Stones.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
1-12-09

“Fast, Fast, Fresh Mount, Keep Time with Thy Young Years”--*

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Fast, fast, fresh mount, keep time with thy young years;
Yet faster yet, oh tightened, supple springs;
List not the heavy part thy burden bears,
Doe makes quick her decision when she springs.
Mail must get through,
All rides on you;
Our duties are but ours;
Oh, I could brag,
Like falling rocks upon some jagged crag,
Clop, clop, clop, clop,
Since pony’s pride is now a leathered mailbag.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
5-29-90

*--(Simulacrum of Ben Johnson’s “Slow, Slow Fresh Fount, Keep Time with My Salt Tears”-below)

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears;
Yet slower yet, oh faintly, gentle springs;
List to the heavy part the music bears,
Woe weeps out her division when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers,
Fall grief in showers;
Our beauties are not ours;
Oh, I could still,
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature’s pride is now a withered daffodil.

-Ben Johnson (1573-1637)

Passing Thoughts

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My love for you grows stronger
with each passing thought.
You are the rhythm of my soul—
earthy drums that Time forgot.

You give me Love and Music
that sets my head to spin.
Our eternal bond
is my driving force within.

Electric is your touch:
my warmth throughout the night.
Your beauty’s unsurpassed:
you are Danu at her height.

The only darkness on me wrought
threatens losing you.
And with each time that passing thought,
my world is cleft in two.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
07-91

Mongoloid Child

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I saw a child walking alone-
A child with Down’s Syndrome.
She carried a backpack
and a purpose in her stride.
Her hair was neat, as were her clothes.
The lenses on her glasses looked like
the bottoms of soda-pop bottles.
She wasn’t beautiful, I thought,
but who am I to judge?
I wondered if she knew her shortcomings.
I wondered if she was happy.
And as she passed me by,
I hated myself for pitying her,
for at least she had a purpose in her stride.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
6-91

8 Theses

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To Christians all, I have a message:
To you who worship an unshaven man in a dress,
heed my words.
To bible-thumping, crucifix-bearing, simplistic morons,
open your minds.
To you who waste one of every seven days,
you waste one seventh of your potential.
To you who stifle creative imagination by promoting censorship,
you breed more negativity than the Love you try to create.
To you who build churches of wood and precious stone,
try worshipping through respect for the environment your deiety supposedly created.
For you who pity the less fortunate while your Papal Lord sits on a fortune five times that of the American national debt,
I have no respect.
For you who condescend to non-believers through pity and concern,
I pray.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
3/91

Ships on a Plane

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You never told me where you’re from…
I don’t know that I care.
While riding in a flying carriage
you caught me, unaware.
Chimes of laughter filled my ears
as I thought of all the years
the things we did, the places shared,
not to mention all the tears.
From ballroom dancing to a moonlit beach
to gilded dreams just out of reach.
From the moment we two shared a glance
I knew I’d ne’er forget
the love affair I shared
with the girl I never met.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
11/97

This was written on an airplane going to Seattle. I saw a woman get on the plane w/BRIGHT red hair—she looked like a human toy doll, but with the face of an exquisite China doll. Immediately I grabbed my pen & scrawled this out on a cocktail napkin…it took all of 2-3 minutes. I transcribed it onto a piece of paper & coaxed a stewardess into giving it to the woman anonymously for me. The squeals of delight & “Aaaww”’s were almost too much to bear from her & her three other friends…she looked everywhere to find a hint in someone’s eyes which would divulge the identity of the author, but found none. The poem was signed with my rune, & later in the terminal I had an airport employee give her my card, w/the rune on the back. Again, she whipped her fiery head all about the terminal to see if he (I) was watching. I left. On the return trip, she was on my flight. I wrote nothing else to her. I de-planed & went home to Santa Barbara, hoping to get a call. She never did.

Mousetrap*

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Carelessly, I poured my coffee
As I looked about the house,
Resenting that a kitchen trap had just
Outdone a mouse.
Luckless victim grabbed the cheddar
And was taken unaware.
Now he’s dead, sans a dream;
No one seems to care.
Pondering, I felt
Embarrassed as I began to
Stir. I
Thought of cheese
And
Noble rodents,
And then I thought of her.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
3/90

Catch 23

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Innocence traded for an hour of haze,
he trundles through darkness as if in a maze.
No thoughts for the wicked, no hope for the lost,
he lives in oblivion, ignoring the cost.
Voices fly by like so many years,
confirming suspicions, incarnating fears.
Night after night he plays out his hand,
always to fold; his thoughts turn to sand.
Reason escapes him, emotions run high,
he longs for escape, unable to try.
While those in his circle still seem to have hope,
imprisoned in mire, the boy cannot cope.
Forever trapped in an older man’s shell,
Little Boy’s Lost in an ages old Hell.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
8/19/93

*--Published Work: Campus Point, UCSB sponsored monthly newspaper, May ’94 issue.

Cramming

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Three-o-five, A.M.
All are safe in slumber,
save myself.
A mechanical heartbeat
signifies the passage of time.
My typewriter fires
a hundred words per minute.
The television is a babbling brook
in the next room,
adding to the silence.
The over-lit house
holds its breath,
sleeping with both eyes open.
The still air stirs
not a leaf in the yard,
nor a fold in the curtain
at the open window.
The street a playground
for otherwise wary cats,
poses no present danger.
Across the street is another
bloodshot kitchen window.
So…I am not alone.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
11/94

Last Kiss

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Snow fell softly.
Tears filled his eyes.
His voice whispered hoarsely,
“I hate good-byes.”
Holding her, he felt
Helpless and weak.
Shivering with cold,
He could not speak.
Wiping his tears,
He wrapped his ring
In her hand.
He gently kissed
her rosy cheek
and whispered,
“I’ll never let go.”
…
He then laid her body
to rest
in the cold, cold snow.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
03-87