T-minus 1: Civil Disobedience, or Keeping It Real

In the tradition of Kurt - a true trendsetter - I have wended my way to the lair of Fuzzworks to spend my birthday with Jenifuzz, Hogg, and the ever-elusive Fuzz Bandit. It has been a lovely day here in ___________(location). Following an extended morning bout of intensive blogging and blog-related activities, we were provoked by the fine weather and news of the impending speech by our President (George W. Bush) to commit some anticipatory and fun civil disobedience. Walden Pond proved an appropriate - if crowded - spot to swim, picnic, and plot the downfall of our current administration (by nonviolent means). Our cabal continued its plotting while enjoying some of the local ice creams for which Walden and is environs are so famous.

On a related note, we officially condemn today's Supreme Court decision that allows manufacturers of file-sharing software to be sued by The Man for copyright infringement. As a red-blooded American - or so they tell me - I should be allowed to exercise the God-given right to share my love for all things Hootie and the Blowfish. Why not? In the end, they are only hurting themselves.

As Henry David Thoreau famously wrote, "Make love, not war."

On the way back to the parking lot, we made a brief pilgimage to the original site of Thoreau's crib. This dwelling is most well-known for being the Notorious T's home-away-from-home when he was in the woods keeping it real (and on the D.L.) 24/7 - 365. Unfortunately, we found neither signs of the original beanfield, nor evidence of any rough-hewn bling.


After enjoying a multitude of pre-birthday fêtes, feasts, and benders, I plan to spend tomorrow - the birthday proper - secluded in a dark, semi-private room. This is in part (I'm ashamed to say) because of my newfound and irrational fear of birthday overkill. - And in part because 4 out of 5 experts consulted agree that it is absolutely necessary to lie low before any planned civil action involving the tactical deployment of substandard ice creams, bogus bling, or the less-popular Blowfish. But mostly it is because the municipal American League baseball team I've cheered on from afar - for lo, these many years - is enjoying a three-day stretch of home games coetaneous with my visit, but it is impossible to get tickets now that everybody who's anybody and his monkey likes them, so what's the point?