Another Letter to the President

Dear Mr. President -

It’s been nearly a year since you were elected to office, and just seven months since you took the oath.  I would sum up everything you’ve done thus far, but, really, you haven’t done much.  And that’s okay.  Really.

You’re about to go on vacation, which I believe you might deserve more than you think.  For the past month alone, both sides of the aisle have been pummeling you for either doing too much or not doing enough.  This is the tough reality of making promises on your campaign, and facing those promises when trying to make public policy once you’ve succeeded in taking office.  I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.  I mean, the Democrats have a majority in the House and Senate, they’ve just voted a Justice onto the Court, and they have the Executive.  What happened?  Did your guys not compare notes with the Democratic National Committee when you developed your first term platform? 

Whatever the case, you have to know by now your lack of success in hitting those milestones you laid out for everyone when you campaigned during and after the Primaries last year has more to do with the inability of Democrats to successfully present a cohesive platform for America than crazy Right-wingers comparing you to Hitler at Townhalls, right?  Think of it this way: when Bush elected to go to war in Iraq unilaterally, and all those Left-wingers had pictures of him at his Hitler best, he still was able to go to war.  The Republican majority all but got their hair cut the same as W., and while it wasn’t the best foreign policy, it was realized because that Administration was able to lean on a Majority. 

I’m not excusing behavior… Barney Frank made a comment about the First Amendment the other day when he was accused of perpetrating “Nazi” policies regarding healthcare, something about how he is as happy for Free Speech as he is ashamed by it.  Aren’t we all?  But when he said that, I immediately thought of you because of those nasty Hitler signs, the Joker mock up, and God knows what else floating around the internet.  It’s easy now for the Republicans to say, “We had to deal with your nutjobs, now you get to deal with ours”.  But they aren’t.  Meanwhile, Democrats stand, mouths agape, shocked at the public response.  (41 percent approval for your healthcare policy as of this morning.  Yikes.)

I digress.  Frankly – I know Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi aren’t your biggest fans.  They wanted Hillary, everyone knows that, so you have political differences, not policy differences.  I’m pretty sure they’ve aligned Democrats against your healthcare reform because it was Hillary’s baby back in, what, 1996?  And as she steadies her electoral stance (did you only agree to one term for State?  tsk, tsk), Hillary is poised to pick up the pieces of whatever you fail to enact when she announces her candidacy next year.  Sounds ridiculous.  But she’s a drama queen, and, man, challenging a sitting President of your own party is, like, third season West Wing dramatic. 

What’d they tell you?  It wasn’t your turn?  That no matter what you’d try on domestic policy they’d kill it on the floor?  They had to know you wouldn’t hit the bipartisan notes you wanted to because Republicans were backed into a corner, and they don’t play well with others when they’ve been forced back to their smokey rooms to plot their next big thing.  They had to know that, thanks to you, a lot of traditional Red states went Blue, but opinions on domestic policy, such as healthcare, weren’t going to win any fans in the south and midwest.  The thing about a pendulum is you know the next move, and our political system, if anything, is a pendulum.  So, they had to know you’d lose a second term to a first term full of new ideas never realized because it simply wasn’t your turn.

You surprised a lot of people when you got the nomination, and you surprised even more when you beat the Republicans at a game they all but designed.  The House and Senate were ready to win their prize, but they weren’t ready for you.  Healthcare is going to fail one way or the other, and it’s not the fault of the nutjobs in the townhalls, or the Republican minority whose soundbites on the issue have been few and far between, it’ll be because Democrats can’t stand other Democrats getting their spotlight.  And while that sounds like an unfair stereotype, show me a Republican currently engaged in a public power struggle with another Republican.  Yeah, I’m assuming Reid and Pelosi want something in exchange for their undying loyalty, and you’ve said ”no” for the past few months on principle.  If that’s the case, then let healthcare fail for now, and move on.  Because I’d rather have a President who’s fought Congress on an issue and lost, than a President whose idea of winning is letting Congress dictate the issues.

Enjoy the Vineyard.

James

Top Chef is Back.

Even when he wasn't bald, he was bald.

I love me some Top Chef. 

Two seasons ago I discovered the show, nestled deep in Bravo’s notoriously feminine lineup.  For the unfamiliar, it’s a cooking show that places up and coming chefs in contest for the title “Top Chef” (clever!) and a boatload of money, as well as prizes along the way.  Besides being topically interesting, the contestants themselves are usually one ot two character flaws away from being eligible for The Real World.  At the beginning of each season, before producers and judges have plucked the amateurs from the competing cast, viewers can be sure of a good dose of crazy.  Last season, for instance, the first episode saw contestants huddling in groups aligned to their sexual preference, which resulted in “Team Rainbow”, a group of homosexual chefs.  It didn’t work out.  Producers latched onto the concept, and contestants were clearly forced to acknowledge the deterioration of Team Rainbow as individuals were kicked one by one, each episode.  On confessional exit:  “That’s one less gay for Team Rainbow”.  Wow.

Last night’s season premiere for Top Chef: Las Vegas was no exception to the rule of reality television, where producers draw nuanced lines for cast members, either through the scripted challenges, or in post-editing.  for example, contestants who were tattooed were shot together repeatedly.  The Indian girl on the show once again defended her culture, unprovoked.  (No curry!)  The androgynous he-she made statements defining his-her individuality.  The housewife stood alone.  Whatever, the show is visual crack, and last night was a great kickoff for the season.  Way to stick to formula, Bravo.  Anyway, rather than rave about a show I love, I’d rather make fun of some people.  What follows is a list of contestants on this season’s Top Chef I feel have the most potential for embarrassment.

Mattin Noblia

OK, so, the guy shows up and he has a red handkerchief tied around his neck.  He’s already embarrassed himself, and his country (France, duh) enough.  The sleight, effeminate restaraunteer and head chef from San Francisco states in his bio that if he “could have his last meal with anyone, he would cook a candle-lit dinner for two for himself and Jessica Alba.”  You’re not fooling anyone, Mattin.  It’s Top Chef. 

Ron Duprat

Last night, contestants were charged with making a dish that represents their greatest vice, being that they’re in the Sin City and all.  Maybe it was the language barrier or a head injury sustained earlier in life (dude sounds like Muhammed Ali after a sixer of Schlitz), but Ron said his vice was, uh, surviving immigration to the United States when he escaped Haiti as a child.  Even Colicchio called him out, “I’m not sure that’s a vice.”   Zing!  But there went Ron, as he shopped in Whole Foods, talking about his and his people’s struggle to make it in the USA.  I’m assuming for the rest of this season, Ron’s secret ingredient will be empathy with a dash of oh my God isn’t that just so sad.  “This food tastes like it came off a boa…. oh, right.”

Michael Isabella

He wore Ed Hardy his first episode.  He also heads up local favorite, Zaytinya.  (Tiny plates, expensive drinks, bastardization of Mediterranean food, etc.  I hate the place.)  So he’s doing pretty well in the embarrassment department.  He is this season’s Hosea.  Fans of last season know what that means.

Padma Lakshmi 

The ex-wife of Salman Rushdie slurs her way through each episode, her brain gelled with THC from her last bong rip in the green room.  Never having opened a restaraunt, nor having ever gone to culinary school, Padma has the culinary background equivalent to that of a successful novelist’s wife.  (She’s had some cooking shows, and "wrote" a cookbook.)  She dabbles in acting, and… well, I can’t tell you what else she does.  She seems to  be one of those people who are who they are because they’ve gotten some kind of reputation for being somebody because at one point or another they merely acted like they were something more than they actually were.  (RE: Kardashian girls.)  Still, she’s probably there because of sexual favors.  Every time she talks, I am embarrassed for her.  She couldn’t judge a a Coke/Pepsi challenge, let alone convince me that her decisions are on par with a professional palette, as she searches her incredibly limited vernacular to render judgement on what probably amounts to 4 star cuisine:  “Yum!”  “Spicy!”  ”More!”  “Ew!”  “Cold!”  “Hot!”  “Brown!”

I wonder what would happen if they just did a mash-up of  The Biggest Loser and Top Chef?

I know. I know, I know, I know…

I haven’t been keeping up with this very well.  Honestly, I’m a little dry on sources for topics right now.  But I’m here!  Forgive me.  For some reason, people still come here even when I don’t announce new material, so, if you have suggestions, please leave a comment here.  I need some help.  I can’t seem to get worked up about anything right now, and if that’s alarming to you, well, imagine how I feel.

Hiroshima, 64 Years Ago Today.

I wonder if they heard it coming…  The wave of fire that engulfed the city and took with it some 80,000 lives in those first seconds.  I wonder if they knew what was happening?  How their innocence had been subjected to the politics of strangers at arms… how they were 80,000 means to justify an end.  In the name of peace: death and destruction.  When did peace become synonymous with victory?  It’s a dangerous philosophy.  Peace is not merely a result of conflict, it is the absolute end of it. 

Hirohito begged forgiveness of MacArthur.  He claimed that he had tried to steer his Empire from war, but instead, like the men before and after him in similar positions, he rammed forward at reckless speed.  In pride, he lost, at the outset, 80,000 in Hiroshima, and another 40,000 in Nagasaki.  By the year’s end, another 90,000 to 140,000 would die of radiation between the two targets – no longer did they resemble cities.  (These numbers and their massive margin of error can be attributed to a lack of science available to diagnose the destruction.  It was, afterall, new technology.) 

Hirohito is now posthumously referred to as Emperor Shōwa.  “Shōwa” is synonymous with the era during which Hirohito ruled, and was given to Hirohito upon his death in 1989.  Thus, Emperor Shōwa was able to sever the name that adorned the crude posters calling for Pearl Harbor’s revenge, or the abhorently racist depictions of Japanese soldiers being slaughtered at the hands of American troops.  Such is war, even moreso in a time before any real embrace of intercultural empathy began to make itself apparent.   

Think of the number of atrocities that occurred in such a short time.  World War II saw Pearl Harbor, the Holocaust, atomic warfare, the Katyn Massacre, the Dresden and London bombings… to say nothing of the bloody campaign in between.  And still, it is referred to as the “good war”, in that it was justified, and therefore no death was considered in vain.  Strange. 

If thousands are dead because of its initial result, then the debate over whether or not Hiroshima and Nagasaki were justified is alive.  We seem to ignore the fact that toward the end of the long conflict, more victims than victors could be claimed.  We cannot vocalize, nor wrap our head around, the sacrifice on all sides.  Instead, we build statues, write books, make movies… we absorb it like a punch.  Emperor Shōwa, in the immediate aftermath of surrender, spent his life restructuring Japan’s State into a peaceful one.  Shōwa was forced to recognize his mistakes by the scars left on his home by his Aggressors in the West, and did so with a strange honor. 

The Potsdam Conference saw restrictions on Japan’s sovereignty, but it did grant the Emperor his clothes, so to speak.  He was allowed to remain supreme ruler of Japan until his passing in 1989.  He would ultimately be forced to admit his was not a supernatural command, and again, he would relieve his miltary… but he lived to see his Japan flourish as a democracy, with cities, and business, and peace.

The best of us are bruised from history’s lessons.  Hiroshima and Nagasaki should be viewed together as the horrible climax of culminating events that ultimatley drained our humanity and forced our hand.  A desperate, angry move to at once end and avenge a war, whose fault was many.    

At the same time, we should be careful to memorialize an event out of trend or because we’re told to.  We should stop and consider the circumstances, so that we might feel the full ache of history.  When we fail in simple reflection, then the people we attempt to memorialize will have died in vain.

I wonder if they heard it coming.

Oh Caption, My Caption.

Someone should tell the First Lady there are other bakeries besides the one at Giant.

This little piggy planned the attack.

This little piggy tied up the victim and put a bag over his head.

This little piggy brought the super glue.

...and this little piggy glued their lover's penis to his stomach. EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW OMG KILL IT OMG

Gary and Miles exchange vows at the Church of the Emaculate Chatroom, deep in the Sepulchre of Don't Tell My Jewish Mother.

Former President Clinton pretends to show a young Haitian boy a piece made of pressed garbage to be used as fuel a cell at a recylcing factory in Port-au-Prince. "Now, Charlie, can I call ya Charlie? In about 20 seconds that lady over there is going to turn around to pick up the lipstick she just dropped, and I want you to keep looking at me when I look away. OK? I've got this new phone with a camera... oh, dammit, Charlie, hold the fuel cell! HOLD IT! IT'S HAPPENING!"

"She said she was protesting the seperation of elephant partners at a North Carolina zoo... but, uh, it's clear, what we have here, is a Craigslist meetup gone horribly wrong."

 

"Oh, yeah, these are real nice... reeeeeeal nice. How you doin' honey? Mmm. Speakin' of honey, I asked that old man over there where I could get some McNuggets, and he didn't seem to understand me, ya know?"

"You guys get Cinemax over here?"

"...I mean, she kiss me near mouth. Like hello kiss. Maybe... you explain if we more than friends now? You expert! You American expert on sex! WE MO THAN FRIEND NOW YES?"

"Well, that was weird... wasn't it? I think you two owe me, huh, a favor or two, y'know what ah mean? Huh... oh yeah. Green first, then red, cool?"

Euna Lee and Laura Ling run, no, sprint off the plane to their families crying, presumably from being held captive in North Korea 140 days, and, y'know, not being stuck on a private plane with the former President for 15 hours.

 

"Best flight ever, boys... let me tell you what... best flight ever."

Let’s Get Politic… ah, forget it, who cares.

When did the President’s blog turn into Livejournal?  From the White House webpage:

“Scary chain emails and videos are starting to percolate on the internet, breathlessly claiming, for example, to “uncover” the truth about the President’s health insurance reform positions.”

Scary?  Breathlessly?  What is this?  A Goosebumps book?

So, basically, earlier this week, Drudge linked to several videos from the Obama campaign last year in which the President-to-be all but confirms his intent to eliminate private health insurance and move toward a single payer healthcare plan.  This led to the White House releasing counter videos for those quotes.

Dollars to donuts, it’s never a good idea in politics to 1) give your opponent the spotlight, 2) provide video evidence contrary to recorded statements, or 3) get Skeletor to be your Health Reform Office’s Communication Director.  That’s like making Andy Rooney Secretary of Rational Arguments. 

So their answer to this apparent campaign of “disinformation”?  Well, besides calling the other side a bunch of liars who have nothing to add to the debate (disinformation is only bad when the other guys use it), the White House has decided to get “the people” involved.  [shudder]  They’ve established an email address so people may write in when they believe they’ve witnessed “disinformation”.  A hotline for, y’know, concerned Americans who think that anything other than the President’s agenda is just flat out wrong.  Unpatriotic.  Un-American.  I was told this sounds a lot like the Gestapo.  Well, yeah.  I guess so.  It also sounds a lot like what the left was complaining about when Bush was in office.  I thought… nevermind. 

This is fun, though, isn’t it?  Democracy?  Makin’ things happen.  Shakin’ things up.  Yeeeeah.

In the meantime, the natives are restless.  People who work hard and pay for their own healthcare are scared that’s going to change.  And I don’t fault any disinformation campaign for that.  I’m pretty sure the President and Congress have done a lousy job of making sure everyone’s as informed as they should be.  They seem to be spending more time shutting people up who disagree with them, rather than making pointed counter-arguments.  God forbid we be convinced of everything.  Congress constantly wants to go to bed on the first date.  Romance us, awhile!  Foreplay!  Not so rough, guys.   

When the people in charge can’t wax details on legislation that will affect us all, they lose support.  Right now, they’re all back in their constituencies, trying to sell this thing.  Honestly, a lot of it sounds like a bunch of Baseball players trying to explain the rules of Cricket…  My confidence in our system has been forever depleted thanks to this whole mess.  As if that was even possible.

At this point, I’d prefer the Gestapo.

White House Meeting Minutes – Gates, Crawley, VP, and POTUS

July 30, 1600hrs – Rose Garden

POTUS:  Gentlemen.

CROWLEY and GATES: Mr. President.

POTUS:  Henry, good to see you… I brought Joe with me here.  Hope you, uh, don’t mind.

VP: Hey guys!  The Vice President gives a thumbs up, then clenches his fist toward Mr. Gates for “rocks”.

CROWLEY and GATES:  Mr. Vice President.

POTUS:  Joey won’t be having a beer today, will ya Joe?

VP: No… no sir, I won’t.  I’ve got a big d-

POTUS:  Cut the crap Joe.  You screwed today’s cabinet meeting.  You know Geithner doesn’t like being called Lil’ Tim.

JACKSON:  Mr. President, may I get you something?

POTUS: Ah, yes, Jackson… um, a Bud Light is fine, ok?  Guys, go ahead and order what you like, I’ve got to step out for a second, I just remembered something.

CROWLEY:  I’ll, uh, hello… I would like a Blue Moon if you got it.

JACKSON:  Of course sir.

GATES:  What is that?

CROWLEY:  Uh, it’s a heffeweizen.

GATES:  So it’s German?

CROWLEY:  Actually, I mean, the style is German, but it’s brewed by Coors, so, it’s American, I guess.

GATES:  It’s a… white… ale, is it?

CROWLEY:  Yeah, I think it qualifies for a… come on, Henry, not this again.

GATES:  I’m just saying.

JOE:  Hey, guys, can you order two of whatever you get so I can sneak into the bathroom and just, y’know, I’ll drink it fast.

GATES:  I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Vice President.  Um, yes, Jackson, I’ll have a Red Stripe.

JACKSON:  Excellent.

GATES:  So, “Officer” Crowley…

CROWLEY:  Call me Jimmy.

GATES:  Jimmy.  Have you been to the White House before?

CROWLEY:  Nah, Bush sent an invite to the Cambridge Department before, but, uh, I didn’t go.

GATES:  Why’s that?

CROWLEY:  My wife was sick, and, really, I wasn’t a big fan.

GATES:  That’s surprising.

CROWLEY:  Y’know what?  Let’s just wait till the President gets back.

JOEY B.:  Do you guys watch “Burn Notice”?  No response. Well, it’s about this spy, in Miami, and he gets burned, like, kicked out of the CIA or whatever, I’m not sure who it works, but the show, it moves real fast, and it’s got a lot of bright colors, and the chicks are so hot, and last, on the, on the last one?  On the last one, it was like, there was this guy trying to hire Mike, who’s the leader or whatever, I can’t remember, but he’s like, he wants him to kill this OTHER guy, and then, like, well, that doesn’t work, and I was like, woah, because, I remember, one time, in the Sena…

POTUS:  Sorry to keep you guys waiting.  Just this other thing.

GATES:  Is something the matter, Mr. President?

POTUS:  I’m sorry?

GATES:  Are we keeping you from something?

POTUS:  Oh, lord, no, Henry, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.  This takes precedent, clearly.  My schedule was pretty open anyway.  Now, let’s just get it out in the open.  I’ve known Henry here a long time.  I’ve know him longer than Joe here.  And, I, uh, I just need this to sort of, um, cool down for a bit.  Officer Crowley…

CROWLEY:  Mr. President, please, call me Jimmy.

POTUS:  Fine.  Uh, Jimmy?  Jimmy I need you to understand that Henry here, he’s, uh, he’s spent his life fighting against injustice.  He can be, um, a little paranoid, at times.

GATES:  Mr. President?

POTUS:  Now, Henry, I need to say this.  About six years ago, Henry was visiting me in Chicago, and he received a parking ticket.  Henry, well, being Henry, he claimed it was racist.  His car was parked illegally in front of my house, and, uh, even though I told him, he left it there to get some stuff from Whole Foods out.  Excellent salad bar.

JOEY BIDDIN’:  Great fried chicken if you can get it.

GATES:  What the hell is that supposed to mean?

POTUS:  Yeah, what the hell are you getting at there Joe?

JOSEPH P. BIDEN THE THIRD:  I’m just… it’s good chicken.

POTUS:  Now, Henry drives a black Porsche Carerra.  He was parked between two white cars.

CROWLEY:  And that’s why he called racism?

POTUS:  Yes.

GATES:  Mr. President… I was trying to get into my own home!

POTUS:  Yes, yes, I’ll get to that.  Another time, Henry complained to the manager of a Pizza Hut when he ordered an olive and mushroom pizza, and noticed the only olives on the pizza were, uh, black.  On several seperate other occasions, he’s avoided certain social events, because they were…

CROWLEY:  Black tie only.

POTUS:  You got it.

CROWLEY:  So, knowing this, Mr. President, and with all due respect… knowing these facts, why did you call what I did stupid?

POTUS:  Because it was.  Guy tries to break into his own house, and you arrest him.  Boil it down, Jimmy.  It was stupid.

CROWLEY:  But he called me names!  He insulted me!

POTUS:  A lot of people call you names, you’re a cop.  It happens.  Isn’t there protocol for that sort of thing?

CROWLEY:  Yes.  I suppose.

JOE:  What’s protocol?

POTUS:  Ah, beers.

GATES:  He ordered a German style, white beer, called “Blue Moon”.  Might as well have a swastika on the label and the blood of a black man inside.

POTUS:  Wow, Henry.  That is… <laughs>  That’s a good one.

CROWLEY:  I don’t think he’s kidding, sir.

POTUS:  Nope… No, he isn’t.  Henry, why did you order Red Stripe?

GATES:  Well, I like the taste.  Oh, and, ha, I like the commercials.

POTUS:  Really?

GATES:  Yes, sir.

POTUS:  I find them pretty offensive.

GATES:  How so?

FAT JOE:  I like them.  Hooray!

POTUS:  Well, for starters, the beer is brewed in Jamaica, and then marketed using Jamaican stereotypes to the United States.  It’s low hanging fruit.  Every scene is shot in a tiki hut of some kind, and there’s a black man with an accent yelling incoherently about beer.  I mean, you might as well put in a copy of Cool Runnings and play your steel drums while you drink that thing.  Jackson here can probably give you some dreads.  The girls have some Wailers records, too…

CROWLEY:  Yeah, I gotta admit, I thought they were funny at first, then I felt kind of weird about it.  Me being the white devil and all.

GATES:  Well, racist or not, it tastes good.

POTUS:  You are unbelievable.

GATES:  I’m sorry, sir?

POTUS:  Y’know, guys, I had… I had a lot of things I was going to do these past two weeks.  We were this close to real healthcare reform in this country, and you two bozos… you got in the news cycle Henry, and you knew I’d comment if you made a scene, because you’re pals with the President.

GATES:  That’s not true, sir, I am sorry, that is just not -

POTUS:  Shut up.  You’ve been wearing tweed and a bowtie since I met you.  For you to scream oppression would be like Joe here trying to win an election based on the fact that he commutes “just like everyone else”, from Delaware.

TRANSIT JOE:  But I did…

POTUS:  You lost, that’s why you’re here.  And Jimmy?

CROWLEY:  Sir?

POTUS:  Jimmy, you got an ego, just like every other cop I’ve met, and you made a stupid arrest.  And, yes, I wasn’t supposed to… I shouldn’t have gone up there and said what I said because I’m the President, and that’s sort of beneath me.  But I did.  Because I saw a tiny injustice go by me.  A tiny one.  Henry, you could have just cooperated, and this wouldn’t have happened, the man was doing his job, and you played the role you always wanted to play.  But, dammit, I was going to DO stuff these past few weeks, and now I have to wait till October, and the Republicans will have gathered steam, the Blue Dogs will vote this thing down, and you two will still be an asshole cop and a stuffy old professor of who gives a shit at Harvard, and I… I’ve just about had enough of this, so if you’d both kindly stop being in the news, it’d be great.  POTUS gets up, exits.  VP follows.

CROWLEY:  Y’know, they got M&M’s with the seal of the President on them in the West Wing.

GATES:  Do you really think Red Stripe is racist?

CROWLEY:  I dunno, I’m just saying, there’s M&M’s.

GATES:  We f***ed up, didn’t we.

CROWLEY:  Yes.  Yes, we did.

GATES:  I’m sorry.

CROWLEY:  I’m not.  We got to go to the White House.  This was awesome.  You realize what this means?  If I even write a parking ticket on a noted professor, who happens to be black, I will be in the news.  And he’s gonna have to say something.

GATES:  Oh, lord.

CROWLEY:  I’m a cop at HARVARD.  Watch where you park, Mr. Gates.  I’m coming back for my M&M’s.

You’ve got to be f***ing kidding me.

So, the President, a cop, and a Harvard professor walk into a bar…

This shouldn’t be happening.

I could argue that Obama meddling in local events violates the 10th Amendment; that his heavy hand in what might have remained a civil dispute between the police of Cambridge and Mr. Gates has elevated the issue to an unnecessary level, and ruined any chance of a fair trial for all parties involved.  I don’t like it much when we have a guy in office who presses pause on the Nation’s public policy tape deck to enjoy a beer with a couple of Massholes.  I didn’t like it when Bush did it, and neither did you.  This isn’t Presidential.  It’s bush league.

This is the Midas news story.  Everyone that touches it turns ruh-tarded.  This story is so big it has moons.  And it wouldn’t have been so big if we hadn’t injected it so messily into the national discourse, like using a caulking gun for an insulin shot.

I’m done talking about it, but guess what?  Mr. Gates and Officer Crowley are going to the White House.  And Congress ain’t voting till October.

Some “change”, huh?  Meet the new boss…

And for everyone out there who loves Obama and Oh My God he’s so awesome and he can do no wrong… you’ve got a Democratic supermajority in the Senate.  A Democratic House.  A press room full of ready hands and mouths for the liberal circle jerk everyone’s just dreamed of for the past 8 years.  But most importantly, and this is what I don’t get: you’ve got a Presidential platform campaigned on and agreed upon by the DNC.  And all you have to show for it is something called the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act.  So your first major act as a party has been to… spend more money because… we’re… running out?

Oh my God, I should just shut up now, because, really, I’m just pissed about the Henry Gates thing, and it’s, I, I dunno, I dunno what to say to make you people understand that you are going to piss this all away… It’s like Bush never even happened.  Public opinion is fickle!  Get off this track, get back on your agenda, stop calling audibles, and slow down your press conferences, it’s too much.

Enjoy your “beer”, Mr. President.  (Bud Light?)  But make it quick.  There’s a country waiting for you to stop dicking around with Mickey Mouse bullshit like this.

UPDATE:  Obama is calling the whole thing a success.  Surely we will herald this moment 0n par with Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream speech”, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, or, y’know, that time we figured out the whole healthcare for everyone thing.  Or at least maybe we will when we get around to it.

Blog to the Future III – The one where the guy eats manure.

August 24, 2005

Alas, no computer still.

I’m typing this from the attic of my office, where our intern usually resides. Her PC free and my mind melted by the numbers crunched earlier this am (math is evil), I’ve decided to ramble on a bit.

I recently turned down a trip, free, with my parents to Germany for 8 days. It’s been rolling around in my head; I could have easily gotten the time off, I could have gone and eaten so well for a week and a day, and oh, the beer… But I declined. I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t be selfish when it comes to traveling. I’ve been there, done that. Now, I find myself wanting to experience it in a different way. That is… I don’t want to go back there until someone wants to go with me. (And no, family in this case does not count, even if I am from Mississippi.)

I find this strange. I’ve been doing this ‘independent’ thing for about 2 or 3 months now, and I’ve gotten pretty damned good at it (with a few minor infractions), and something held me back from a sweet-ass trip to Alemania. (That’s Germany in Spanish. Another reason I’d be totally useless over there.)

I’ve also discovered that the only real rock band left is The White Stripes. Sure, we listen to other rock bands, but no group is as quintessential to the rock scene as are Jack and Meg white. The messy percussion, the vicious guitar/piano/marimba whatever… Jack’s high tenor… God, it’s like Zeppelin lite. What brought me ultimately to this conclusion was Ball and a Biscuit. The solos and lyrics (“Let’s have a ball and a biscuit…”) are so George Thorogood meets Robert Plant and Jimmy Page… it’s orgasmic at times.

I might be teh gay for Jack White.

Anyway.

Well.  That was embarrassing.  Reckless writing, really.

Note my immediate acknowledgment of my location.  While the time stamp would have implied it, it’s weird that I would state, outright, that I was posting from someone else’s computer at work.  I’m also not sure what ‘math’ I was referring to, since my job at the time mainly consisted of me traveling drinking scotch and pretending to be somebody.  And, speaking of traveling, Germany?  I said no to Germany?  I was 25, and I said no to Europe.  That’s me in a nutshell back then.  Stupid and confused.  Now I’m just stupid.  Also, I had just gone through a rough breakup.  That was more than enough reason to leave the country.

“The only real rock band left is The White Stipes,” and, “…it’s orgasmic at times”.  Really?

I’ve been going back through the 128 pages that spanned my three months in Tallahassee, and nothing is funny.  Nothing.  It’s depressing, it’s angry, it’s lost.

Sample, from June 13, the day before my birthday:

Content with life’s dessert, I suppose. 5 o’clock will come and I will fold my laundry, and I will play my guitar, and I will remember things that make my neck burn. Then, I’ll slowly march into the bedroom and place the phone on the dresser, under the lamp, where small plastic toys from the inside of chocolate eggs used to be. And if all this doesn’t make sense it’s because it really doesn’t. It’s part of that absurdity we find when we create mendacity out of love, when we harbor the redundant things we know we can get away from if we try, but fail, because we really don’t want the hurt.

Talk about Debbie Downer!  Mendacity!  Redundant!  WORDS!!!

I saved this thing because at the time, I thought it’d be good to go back and remember a few things.  Or maybe even spool together a book based on the events that each blog tracks… but, uh, there is no levity here.  I suppose there’s an accidental comedy in my praise for bands like The Foo Fighters , or the post that consists solely of lyrics from Coldplay’s “Fix You”.  There’s a post where I talk about my teenage idols (Todd McFarlane, Eddie Vedder, uh, Wolverine) which is goddamned hilarious.  There’s a post of a picture of me in a golf cart, sunburnt in Miami, trying to keep up with my insane boss.  The caption reads, “Chicks dig golfers, I will pursue this hobby”.

Jesus Christ.

So now, I will probably abandon this blog… 1) out of the impending and unavoidable embarrassment I will feel when I review it 5 years from now, and 2) I’m going to be super busy working on my time machine, so I can go back to 2005, and kick the shit out of myself.

Well.  I hear “Mambo #5″ playing, and the smell of Midnight Essence has wafted over my cube.  Guess it’s time to start the day.

Your Tuesday is my Monday, and your Thursday is my Friday. Just saying.

100 meter swimmer Aaron Perisol falls victim to the oldest swimmers' prank in the book: replace the water with gelatinous substance from which no one can esc... wait, what?

 

Cambridge police officer James DeFrancesco seen here handing out his band’s demo disc at a press conference on the arrest of Henry Louis Gates, Jr. That Jimmy, always makin’ lemonade outta lemons!

"...Okay, so that's healthcare. Is there anything else you guys want to talk about?"

"ME!"

"...I, uh... Social Security?"

"ME, dammit!""ME! YOUR FRIEND HENRY! MEEEEE!"

 

   

In related news, the Cambridge Police Department, not known for their timing or cooth, tries out their new uniform standard.

Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's OBGYN rushes by reporters after a "routine procedure".

 

Former Governor Sarah Palin once again describes her plan for resolving the economic downturn by using two fingers and a upside down boom mic. It's that, or she's still trying to figure out how to tell her kids about the birds and the bees.

Slow week for God, I guess.

Because if anyone deserves a second chance, it's Michael Vick. Right? Congress investigates the MLB for steroid use, but this asshole gets a free ride back into pro sports after murdering dogs for sport? Sorry, nothing funny here, just good ol' American depravity!