(The following post contains mild spoilers. You are duly warned.)
So I've been watching "True Blood", and by now I feel qualified to say that the show just doesn't work...except as a soap opera, and even there it's got problems. Here's why I think so:
1) The characters never change no matter what happens. Sookie has been betrayed on multiple occasions by Erik Northman, and yet she insists upon trusting him. Bill Compton is either Sookie's boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend or her enemy in turns, at it never seems to faze him. Jason has been pro-vampire, anti-vampire, and vampire-indifferent all in a single season. It's crazy, and if your defense is, "Well, since the characters interact with monsters, they don't have to act like human beings" then you're missing the point of drama, which is study of the human condition. I'm not particularly interested in characters who act like something other than human beings.
2) The magic is confusing. If vampires can move faster than the human eye can follow, there's little chance a human could ever hit one, even with a bullet; the vamp could dodge out of the way before you could even pull the trigger. Shifters can apparently only turn into animals that are on hand, except when they can turn into any animal they want. Sookie can send people flying with the flick of a finger, except whenever she's actually threatened with danger, at which time she can do nothing. And don't even get me started about Sookie's "telepathy", which was not sufficient for her to discover the murderer in Season One despite the fact that she spends half the season in the same room with the dude. Alfred Bester (from "Babylon 5") would have tracked down the guy before lunch and had him killed and buried in enough time to catch "Project Runway."
Magic is an acceptable story device, but it has to have rules and it has to be consistent, or else it's cheating. "True Blood" cheats.
3) The show is just vulgar. Every bit of violence is as explicit, bloody and graphic as possible, and the same goes for the sex. Humans are not killed; they are raped, terrorized, beaten, mutilated and then killed. When vamps are staked/stabbed/shot, they explode in great gouts of blood and viscera. Evidently, the directors think they if they turn the volume up to 10 in Scene One it will keep everyone excited until the end, but in fact, the opposite occurs. You get numb during the first fifteen minutes, and to snap you out of it the show tries somehow to get the volume to 11. After awhile, it's all just noise. They'd do better to dial it back, and only turn that knob to 10 when they have a real point to make...and only once in a while. But when your characters are flat and your storylines contrived, I guess you go with the noise.
I could go on and on, but I'll leave off. I understand why people watch "True Blood", and I can myself enjoy a hit of the show now and again. It's fun. However, you to enjoy this supernatural soap opera, you need to shut down your brain, and honestly, I enjoy drama more when my brain is on.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
I watch "Who Watches the Watchers"
In case you didn't know, Star Trek: The Next Generation has been added to Netflix "Instant View" queue, which is neat, so I have been watching it. Sad to say, I just can't enjoy it as I used. The characters are one-dimensional, the story resolutions contrived, and the almost complete lack of dramatic tension is just, well, dull. That being said, yesterday I watched my favorite episode, "Who Watches the Watchers", and I'd like to share.
Plot summary: Enterprise has been dispatched to Mintaka III to help repair a technological duck-blind that some Federation anthropologists are using to observe a proto-Vulcan, Bronze Age society. What makes the Mintakans interesting is that, despite their lack of technological sophistication, they have discarded nearly all their superstitious beliefs in gods, spirits, magic, etc. Just before Enterprise arrives, the duck-blind suffers a power surge that injures the anthropologists and disables the holo-projector that is hiding the site from the Mintakans. One of the scientists, Palmer, wanders away from the station in an injured daze, just before two Mintakans, a father and daughter, arrive on the scene and spy the cliff-side station. The father, Liko, climbs up the cliff wall to investigate and is just in time to see the Enterprise away-team materialize from thin air and then beam the other injured scientists to sick bay. When the officers discover him, Liko panics and falls, landing injured and unconscious. The selfless Beverly Crusher, MD, climbs down to tend him and, realizing she cannot effectively treat him in the field, beams up with him to the ship. From hiding, Liko's daughter watches this in horror. Last spring she lost her mother to a flood, and now she's watching her father teleported away by some alien woman.
Back on Enterprise, Picard is displeased to find that Crusher has brought Liko aboard, and instructs her to erase the Mintakan's memory of what he saw. She says she's not sure that will work, but before she can explain Liko awakens and witnesses Picard speaking over the communicator, which of course to him appears as getting answers from thin air. Crusher sedates him, does her memory thing, and beams him back down to the planet. He reunites with his daughter and tells her how he was killed in the fall from the cliff, but was taken to a magical place and brought back from the dead on the order of a supernatural being called "the Picard." They return to their village and spread the word.
Meanwhile, Picard is having no luck locating Palmer with the ship's sensors, so he sends Riker and Troi down to the planet, disguised as Mintakans, to continue the search on foot. They arrive in time to hear Liko telling Nuriya, the village leader, about the Picard and his resemblance to the mythical Overseers in whom they once believed. Nuriya is skeptical at first, but when two Mintakans enter, dragging the injured Palmer between them, she is convinced. The Mintakans decide that Palmer must have angered the Picard in some way, and they resolve to keep him prisoner until the Picard can make his wishes known.
Troi distracts the Mintakans and Riker drags Palmer off to a private location where they can be beamed away without witnesses. Troi, however, is not so fortunate, and the Mintakans decide to keep her in Palmer's place, to placate the Picard in case he is angry with them for letting Palmer escape. Picard, at wit's end, rejects a suggestion that he give the Mintakans a set of commandments, and instead decides to try leveling with the Mintakans. He beams Nuriya aboard and, in a great exchange, sets about trying to explain to her why he is not a god:
With Nuriya convinced, Picard beams down with her to Mintaka, where he confronts Liko, who at this stage is ready to kill Troi to avert the wrath of the Picard. When Picard tries to reason with him, Liko goes bananas and begs him to resurrect his wife from the dead. Picard points out that such is outside his power, and Liko, half-mad with grief, shoots Picard with the same bow he was going to use on Troi, to prove that the Picard is incapable of being affected by mortal weapons. The arrow strikes Picard in the shoulder, and when he sees the blood Liko is finally convinced that the Picard is as mortal as the Mintakans themselves.
I think "Who Watches the Watchers" is one of the best episodes of the series, and here's why. On too many TNG episodes, and in fact in the entire Star Trek franchise, the super-technology the characters possess becomes an easy way out of any problem. Got an incurable disease? We'll run you through the transporter buffer and cure you in three seconds. Federation losing a war? Just zip back in time and correct that one error that made every battle go bad. It's ridiculous, and not at all conducive to good drama. "Who Watches the Watchers" avoids all of this because no matter how much technology the characters bring to bear, the problem just keeps getting worse. Not transporters nor miraculous medicine nor long-range sensors do a damned thing to resolve the problem, and things are only put right when Picard bites the bullet and faces the problem with nothing but his mind. We as viewers are lost when Geordi LaForge starts babbling about re-routing power through secondary deflector systems, but we can understand perfectly Picard's pitch to Nuriya about why she shouldn't worship him. We may not know anything about chronoton surges, but we can directly relate to Liko's plea for the resurrection of his wife. Good drama does not rely on a bunch of tech-talk we don't understand; it draws us in with the commonality of human experience and the power of human emotion.
So that's why "Who Watches the Watchers" is my favorite episode.
Plot summary: Enterprise has been dispatched to Mintaka III to help repair a technological duck-blind that some Federation anthropologists are using to observe a proto-Vulcan, Bronze Age society. What makes the Mintakans interesting is that, despite their lack of technological sophistication, they have discarded nearly all their superstitious beliefs in gods, spirits, magic, etc. Just before Enterprise arrives, the duck-blind suffers a power surge that injures the anthropologists and disables the holo-projector that is hiding the site from the Mintakans. One of the scientists, Palmer, wanders away from the station in an injured daze, just before two Mintakans, a father and daughter, arrive on the scene and spy the cliff-side station. The father, Liko, climbs up the cliff wall to investigate and is just in time to see the Enterprise away-team materialize from thin air and then beam the other injured scientists to sick bay. When the officers discover him, Liko panics and falls, landing injured and unconscious. The selfless Beverly Crusher, MD, climbs down to tend him and, realizing she cannot effectively treat him in the field, beams up with him to the ship. From hiding, Liko's daughter watches this in horror. Last spring she lost her mother to a flood, and now she's watching her father teleported away by some alien woman.
Back on Enterprise, Picard is displeased to find that Crusher has brought Liko aboard, and instructs her to erase the Mintakan's memory of what he saw. She says she's not sure that will work, but before she can explain Liko awakens and witnesses Picard speaking over the communicator, which of course to him appears as getting answers from thin air. Crusher sedates him, does her memory thing, and beams him back down to the planet. He reunites with his daughter and tells her how he was killed in the fall from the cliff, but was taken to a magical place and brought back from the dead on the order of a supernatural being called "the Picard." They return to their village and spread the word.
Meanwhile, Picard is having no luck locating Palmer with the ship's sensors, so he sends Riker and Troi down to the planet, disguised as Mintakans, to continue the search on foot. They arrive in time to hear Liko telling Nuriya, the village leader, about the Picard and his resemblance to the mythical Overseers in whom they once believed. Nuriya is skeptical at first, but when two Mintakans enter, dragging the injured Palmer between them, she is convinced. The Mintakans decide that Palmer must have angered the Picard in some way, and they resolve to keep him prisoner until the Picard can make his wishes known.
Troi distracts the Mintakans and Riker drags Palmer off to a private location where they can be beamed away without witnesses. Troi, however, is not so fortunate, and the Mintakans decide to keep her in Palmer's place, to placate the Picard in case he is angry with them for letting Palmer escape. Picard, at wit's end, rejects a suggestion that he give the Mintakans a set of commandments, and instead decides to try leveling with the Mintakans. He beams Nuriya aboard and, in a great exchange, sets about trying to explain to her why he is not a god:
Picard: Nuriya, your people live in huts. Was it always so?
Nuriya: No. We've found remnants of tools in caves. Our ancestors must have lived there.
Picard: Well, then why do they now live in huts?
Nuriya: Huts are better. Caves are cold and wet.
Picard: Then why did they once live in caves?
Nuriya (considers): The most reasonable explanation would be that, at one time, we did not know how to make huts.
Picard: Just as you once did not know how to weave cloth, how to make a bow.
Nuriya: That would be reasonable.
Picard: Someone invented a hut; someone invented a bow, who taught others, who taught their children, who built a stronger hut, who built a better bow, who taught their children. Now, Nuriya, Suppose one of your cave-dwelling ancestors were to see you as you are today. What would she think?
Nuriya: I don't know.
Picard: Well, put yourself in her place. You see, she cannot kill a horn-buck at a great distance. You can. You have a power she lacks.
Nuriya: Only because I have a bow.
Picard: But she has never seen a bow! it doesn't exist in her world. To you, it's a simple tool; to her…it's magic.
Nuryia: I suppose she might think so.
Picard: Now how would she react to you?
Nuriya (the dawn breaking): I think…she would fear me.
Picard: Just as you fear me.
With Nuriya convinced, Picard beams down with her to Mintaka, where he confronts Liko, who at this stage is ready to kill Troi to avert the wrath of the Picard. When Picard tries to reason with him, Liko goes bananas and begs him to resurrect his wife from the dead. Picard points out that such is outside his power, and Liko, half-mad with grief, shoots Picard with the same bow he was going to use on Troi, to prove that the Picard is incapable of being affected by mortal weapons. The arrow strikes Picard in the shoulder, and when he sees the blood Liko is finally convinced that the Picard is as mortal as the Mintakans themselves.
I think "Who Watches the Watchers" is one of the best episodes of the series, and here's why. On too many TNG episodes, and in fact in the entire Star Trek franchise, the super-technology the characters possess becomes an easy way out of any problem. Got an incurable disease? We'll run you through the transporter buffer and cure you in three seconds. Federation losing a war? Just zip back in time and correct that one error that made every battle go bad. It's ridiculous, and not at all conducive to good drama. "Who Watches the Watchers" avoids all of this because no matter how much technology the characters bring to bear, the problem just keeps getting worse. Not transporters nor miraculous medicine nor long-range sensors do a damned thing to resolve the problem, and things are only put right when Picard bites the bullet and faces the problem with nothing but his mind. We as viewers are lost when Geordi LaForge starts babbling about re-routing power through secondary deflector systems, but we can understand perfectly Picard's pitch to Nuriya about why she shouldn't worship him. We may not know anything about chronoton surges, but we can directly relate to Liko's plea for the resurrection of his wife. Good drama does not rely on a bunch of tech-talk we don't understand; it draws us in with the commonality of human experience and the power of human emotion.
So that's why "Who Watches the Watchers" is my favorite episode.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Thinking about The Real World
I was clued into these reviews of Season One of MTV's The Real World...remember that? The great-grandmom of reality TV? I can't stop reading them.
Now, let me say right off the bat that, like the libbie I am, I used to be contemptuous of reality TV until I figured out the secret to watching it: don't sympathize with anyone on the cast, no matter what. These fools have agreed to make their lives my entertainment, so I am damned well going to gawk and chortle. When Jersey Shore's Snooki got rapped in the face at a bar, I laughed and wished she'd gotten two. When Dr. Zasio on Hoarders tried to connect to poor Arlene, who had been saving her own excrement, I cracked open a root beer and thanked my lucky stars there are people so insane. The cast of a reality show are just jesters who caper for my amusement, and I say, "Dance, monkeys, dance!"
The Real World (at least in Season One) was different. I'll quote the review, which does a better job explaining why:
This is a remarkably astute comparison of where reality TV began and where it is now. Don't get me wrong; I'm not launching a "in my day things were better rant", because these days I enjoy lots of reality TV. However, where my enjoyment of Real Housewives is purely visceral, whereas my experience of The Real World was more intellectual.
Now, let me say right off the bat that, like the libbie I am, I used to be contemptuous of reality TV until I figured out the secret to watching it: don't sympathize with anyone on the cast, no matter what. These fools have agreed to make their lives my entertainment, so I am damned well going to gawk and chortle. When Jersey Shore's Snooki got rapped in the face at a bar, I laughed and wished she'd gotten two. When Dr. Zasio on Hoarders tried to connect to poor Arlene, who had been saving her own excrement, I cracked open a root beer and thanked my lucky stars there are people so insane. The cast of a reality show are just jesters who caper for my amusement, and I say, "Dance, monkeys, dance!"
The Real World (at least in Season One) was different. I'll quote the review, which does a better job explaining why:
At some point, the vibe of social experimentation gave way to tawdry cliches, as cast members figured out that the best way to get screen time was to act out—not to sit around having freshman dorm-room-style conversations about race relations.
First, there’s the allegedly underemployed cast, who compared to Snooki and The Situation—not to mention subsequent Real World cast members—seem incredibly ambitious, articulate, and thoughtful. Each and every one has a discernable career goal. Julie, 19, wants to be a dancer; Kevin, 25, is a poet and journalist; Eric, 20, is a model; Heather B., 21, is a rapper with a gold record under her belt; Andre, 21, is in a band; Becky, 24, is a folksy, Suzanne Vega-ish musician; Norm, 24, is an artist. The cast member who most closely approximates the Gen-X stereotype is Andre, who seems drowsy no matter the time of day. Yes, they’re nearly all performers of one sort or another and certainly have ulterior motives for starring in a television show. But in retrospect, it turns out there’s something to be said for ulterior motives. In the grand scheme of things, free publicity seems like a relatively noble reason to open up one’s life to the scrutiny of cameras; in 1992, “reality television star” was not yet a career goal in and of itself.
Indulge me for a second here, but Julie, Kevin, et. al., are defined primarily by their aspirations, whereas today’s Real World cast members are often defined by their pasts. Consider the bios on MTV’s Real World XXV site. Leroy is a self-described ladies’ man who “was 10 years old when he and his sisters were suddenly taken away from their birth mother for her alcoholism and drug abuse.” Nany is a “Hispanic-American sweetheart” who longs to one day meet her father. Nowadays, everyone arrives at the house with their backstory clearly delineated, their psycho-babbly autobiographies down pat. Cast members are never unaware of their own “narrative,” a state of affairs that is the inevitable by-product of two decades of reality television.
This is a remarkably astute comparison of where reality TV began and where it is now. Don't get me wrong; I'm not launching a "in my day things were better rant", because these days I enjoy lots of reality TV. However, where my enjoyment of Real Housewives is purely visceral, whereas my experience of The Real World was more intellectual.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
My life is nearly complete
Saw the Go-Go's in New York last night, and I am still flying high over it. Following a tasty black-and-white milkshake, Dan and I went to Irving Plaza and picked up our fancy VIP badges that gave us access to the meet-and-greet. I should at this point mention that the ticket taker told us bluntly the badges were just for show; an unimpressive white card was the important thing for getting into the event. Ugh. In any case, I was taut as a bowstring, afraid I'd vomit tasty black-and-white milkshake all over the band, which would definitely make the wrong impression. Funny, but wrong.
While waiting for the meet-and-greet, I chatted with a guy down from Boston who had seen my Iridium video. I was excited to learn that although my video hasn't yet gone viral, it might at least come down with a mild head cold.
Meet and greet happened soon after, and there was no vomiting, just autographs and a bit of chit-chat. And pictures. Great googlymooglies, but I was on a cloud. My favorite band of all time. You can see the results above. That pic is kinda stiff though, which is to be expected; to them, I am just Fan #257732. However, when Dan's turn came, I said, "Ooh! This is my boyfriend...can I be in his pic?" Then the five of them broke up laughing and Jane said, without sarcasm, "Adorable lovebugs!" Then I thanked them all profusely, slobbering all over the place, until Dan, mercifully, pushed me out of the room.
After that we went down to the reserved area to watch the show, and I have to admit it was neat to be ushered past the unlucky saps who hadn't paid VIP prices. The unlucky saps didn't seem to care, but I pretended that they glowered enviously. Then the show started and I forgot everything except dancing and singing along. Well, that and the strange biker-looking (but not unattractive) guy who kept kinda scamming on me. When he twirled me around during "Lust to Love" I was laughing and absurdly grateful. When he slung and arm around my neck in a near-headlock I was a bit less grateful, particularly considering that oxygen was fast becoming an issue. Thanks to Dan for rescuing me from his clutches.
Set list (not in this order):
Vacation
How Much More
Tonite
Lust to Love
Get Up and Go
Mad About You (from Belinda solo)
Cool Places (Sparks and Jane Wiedlin, with Belinda singing Ron Mael's part)
Our Lips Are Sealed
Automatic
Fading Fast
The Whole World Lost Its Head
Unforgiven
Mother's Little Helper (cover)
This Town
We Got the Beat
Head Over Heels
Fun With Ropes
Skidmarks on My Heart**
Surfing and Spying
Beatnik Beach
The crowd was older, and serious fans who knew not only the lyrics but the harmonies. They were super-enthusiastic, and when Gina Schock stepped out from behind the drums to say a few words she was immediately greeted with 500 people yelling, in perfect unison, "Gi-na! Gi-na!" This could have gone on forever, really; we as an audience were ready to sing along with anything Go-Go's related.
A wonderful night! Given Dan and a picture with the Go-Go's, all I need is a book deal to call my life amazing!
**OK, so Dan winced at this song. I understand it's not exactly poetry, but I like!
Monday, May 09, 2011
We are all "Friday"
Being a the pop-culture idiot, I'm just now getting clued into this Rebecca Black, "Friday" stuff. If you even more of a PC idiot than I, watch the video.
Yes, I know the lyrics are insipid, the music forgettable, and the bridge puzzling. (I wasn't aware that passing a school bus on the highway was worthy of even a line in a song, much less three or four.) However, is "Friday" really qualitatively dumber than this? Or this? The world is full of uninspiring music, so why should Rebecca Black be criticized for cashing in? Everybody else is doing it. Hell, if I thought a little auto tune would make me some money I'd be composing "Mambo No. 5, Friday is a Place on Earth."
*OK, maybe Belinda gets a pass for being off her trolley on quaaludes at the time.
Yes, I know the lyrics are insipid, the music forgettable, and the bridge puzzling. (I wasn't aware that passing a school bus on the highway was worthy of even a line in a song, much less three or four.) However, is "Friday" really qualitatively dumber than this? Or this? The world is full of uninspiring music, so why should Rebecca Black be criticized for cashing in? Everybody else is doing it. Hell, if I thought a little auto tune would make me some money I'd be composing "Mambo No. 5, Friday is a Place on Earth."
*OK, maybe Belinda gets a pass for being off her trolley on quaaludes at the time.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Man, this chaps my hide!
This article is dated, but it's infuriating nonetheless.
A classic example of "scope creep." Personally, if I am on a plane I don't care if my seatmate has cash, a pound of blow and a bag full of child pornography; as long as he doesn't have a gun or a bomb, we're five by five. I thought it was the job of the TSA to ensure that said gun or bomb never made it on the plane, but the experience of Kathy Parker proves that the TSA is now really just the airport division of the FBI and state and local police.
The really insidious part of this story is on page 2:
If I were confronted by two police officers and four TSOs, accused of embezzlement and threatened with arrest I imagine I'd act pretty fearful as well. That kind of reasoning is analogous to making an animal savage by locking it in a cage, and then claiming, "Of course I have a cage...see how savage that beast is?" And of course the criterion for subjecting this woman to an in-depth search ("she seemed as if she feared discovery") is so subjective that it could be used to stop virtually anyone for anything. After all, one should be a bit hesitant to undergo TSA screening, so wouldn't an overly calm passenger be equally suspicious?
I remember when the notion of a TSA was floated back in 2002, and at the time I thought it was a good idea. Back then I harbored golden dreams of ex-Marines and retired FBI agents or police officers staffing the security lines, bringing years of experience to bear on an important job. What we actually got were a bunch of lightly trained, power-tripping Rent-a-Cops. I could not have been more wrong.
I said it before and I'll say it again: the 9/11 terrorists won.
A classic example of "scope creep." Personally, if I am on a plane I don't care if my seatmate has cash, a pound of blow and a bag full of child pornography; as long as he doesn't have a gun or a bomb, we're five by five. I thought it was the job of the TSA to ensure that said gun or bomb never made it on the plane, but the experience of Kathy Parker proves that the TSA is now really just the airport division of the FBI and state and local police.
The really insidious part of this story is on page 2:
TSA spokeswoman Ann Davis said the reason Parker was selected for in-depth screening was that her actions at the airport had aroused the suspicion of a behavior detection officer, and that she continued to act "as if she feared discovery."
If I were confronted by two police officers and four TSOs, accused of embezzlement and threatened with arrest I imagine I'd act pretty fearful as well. That kind of reasoning is analogous to making an animal savage by locking it in a cage, and then claiming, "Of course I have a cage...see how savage that beast is?" And of course the criterion for subjecting this woman to an in-depth search ("she seemed as if she feared discovery") is so subjective that it could be used to stop virtually anyone for anything. After all, one should be a bit hesitant to undergo TSA screening, so wouldn't an overly calm passenger be equally suspicious?
I remember when the notion of a TSA was floated back in 2002, and at the time I thought it was a good idea. Back then I harbored golden dreams of ex-Marines and retired FBI agents or police officers staffing the security lines, bringing years of experience to bear on an important job. What we actually got were a bunch of lightly trained, power-tripping Rent-a-Cops. I could not have been more wrong.
I said it before and I'll say it again: the 9/11 terrorists won.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
So excited!
I am pleased to announce that Dan and I will be working with literary agent Rebecca Strauss of McIntosh and Otis on getting a book deal for "The Duchess of the Shallows." Those of you who have read TDotS (that's our clever acronym for the story) have our eternal thanks for your wonderful feedback, and we promise you a signed copy should the thing actually make it into print. Those who haven't...well, you'll have to wait until it hits bookstores, if it ever does.
Rebecca is super cool and we have the highest hopes that she can help us turn TDotS from a manuscript into a published novel. We welcome any prayers, hopes, spells, incantations you care to offer in our favor; although we've worked hard on the writing and Rebecca is a sharp agent, we'll take all the help we can get!
Stay tuned...if TDotS gets picked up by a publisher, look for a Facebook status update that reads, "Book deal, bitches!"
Rebecca is super cool and we have the highest hopes that she can help us turn TDotS from a manuscript into a published novel. We welcome any prayers, hopes, spells, incantations you care to offer in our favor; although we've worked hard on the writing and Rebecca is a sharp agent, we'll take all the help we can get!
Stay tuned...if TDotS gets picked up by a publisher, look for a Facebook status update that reads, "Book deal, bitches!"
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I definitely have time for this
I'm going to complain about stuff people say; specifically, "I don't have time."
You hear these words all the time, "I don't have time for [fill in name of important activity]." This is often, but not always, used in the context of work, but in my view this has as little value there as anywhere else. Saying you don't have time = you don't want to do this, ever.
I think about the myriad of time-wasting, bullshit, no-value activities in which I engage on a daily basis. I visit my bookshelf refresh my memory as to why the House of Finwe was dispossessed in the First Age; suffice to say no lives hang on the answer to that question. I play Galactic Civilizations II, but no one besides me really cares if the Tavri Cooperative blunts the imperialistic tendencies of the Drengin Empire. I cruise the Web to find out which sitting presidents lost their own party's primary in their reelection bids, and that matters only if I plan to go back in time to vote for them. (OK, I admit that last one helped me win a game of Quizzo, but let's not confuse the issue.) And I'm hardly the only one who spends time on this kind of thing. So unless you work and live in the White House you have plenty of time to do the stuff you need to do, assuming you're willing to cut out the useless crap.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not proposing that we fill up our time to the limit with worthwhile activity; engaging in fluff is nice. I like fluff. Fluff relaxes me. Nor do I suggest that we take on every unpleasant chore asked of us. But let's be honest about it and drop the no-time-for-that excuse. When explaining why I am not doing something I just don't want to do (like, say, accumulating 16 more credits towards a master's degree) I'm trying to say, "I don't want to devote time to that." That kind of honesty also relaxes me.
By the way, I apply the same skepticism to "Life is too short for [insert undesirable concern]." Life is long; if you don't think so, try watching the remake of "Love Affair" with Warren Beatty and Annette Benning.
P.S. No need to point out the irony that I spent significant time composing this post. I get it.
You hear these words all the time, "I don't have time for [fill in name of important activity]." This is often, but not always, used in the context of work, but in my view this has as little value there as anywhere else. Saying you don't have time = you don't want to do this, ever.
I think about the myriad of time-wasting, bullshit, no-value activities in which I engage on a daily basis. I visit my bookshelf refresh my memory as to why the House of Finwe was dispossessed in the First Age; suffice to say no lives hang on the answer to that question. I play Galactic Civilizations II, but no one besides me really cares if the Tavri Cooperative blunts the imperialistic tendencies of the Drengin Empire. I cruise the Web to find out which sitting presidents lost their own party's primary in their reelection bids, and that matters only if I plan to go back in time to vote for them. (OK, I admit that last one helped me win a game of Quizzo, but let's not confuse the issue.) And I'm hardly the only one who spends time on this kind of thing. So unless you work and live in the White House you have plenty of time to do the stuff you need to do, assuming you're willing to cut out the useless crap.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not proposing that we fill up our time to the limit with worthwhile activity; engaging in fluff is nice. I like fluff. Fluff relaxes me. Nor do I suggest that we take on every unpleasant chore asked of us. But let's be honest about it and drop the no-time-for-that excuse. When explaining why I am not doing something I just don't want to do (like, say, accumulating 16 more credits towards a master's degree) I'm trying to say, "I don't want to devote time to that." That kind of honesty also relaxes me.
By the way, I apply the same skepticism to "Life is too short for [insert undesirable concern]." Life is long; if you don't think so, try watching the remake of "Love Affair" with Warren Beatty and Annette Benning.
P.S. No need to point out the irony that I spent significant time composing this post. I get it.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
The Wizard of Oz...revealed
As some of you know, I have a serious problem with "The Wizard of Oz." I like the story well enough, mind you, but let's not kid ourselves that it's about a young woman learning where home is. Ohhhh no. Let me tell you what that tale is about.
What is the very first thing Dorothy does upon arriving in Oz? No, it's not talk to some overly cheery small people. She kills the Wicked Witch of the East, on whom her house conveniently lands. The witch's body isn't even cold before Glinda "the Good" floats in and gets the Munchkins all excited about being "free." (You'll understand the motivation behind these quotes in a second.) The big party is brought to a screeching halt by the arrival of the Wicked Witch of the West (WWW), who is understandably upset that someone has iced her sister. Glinda responds by zapping the shoes right off the corpse and onto Dorothy's feet, then telling Dorothy "you've made a bad enemy." Seems to me it was Glinda who made Dorothy that enemy.
After WWW motors, Glinda packs Dorothy off to the Emerald City, ostensibly to beg the Wizard for help getting back to Kansas. The Wizard, no fool, recognizes a dupe when he sees one and aims her directly at the WWW, never suspecting that Dorothy has already wasted one witch and is perfectly capable of killing a second. She goes further than he expected, though, exposing him as a fraud and forcing him to flee Emerald City before the indictments come rolling out.
So let's review the story so far. The Wicked Witch of the East is crushed under Dorothy's house. The Wicked Witch of the West is melted into a puddle of goo thanks for a bucket of water thrown by Our Gal from Kansas. The Wizard of Oz is completely discredited, also courtesy of Dorothy. So who's left? Oh, yeah...Glinda.
Now the truth comes out. This story is not about Kansas, or Dorothy, or the power of friendship; it's about Glinda's bloody rise to power.
The tornado that swept up Dorothy's house now seems a bit too convenient, doesn't it? We know Glinda can turn herself into a pink bubble...can she also take the form of a twister? Even if we call that storm a coincidence, it was no coincidence that put those ruby slippers on Dorothy's feet and set her on a collision course with not only the WWW but also the Wizard himself. In a single stroke, Glinda gave Dorothy reason to leave Munchkinland (where Glinda will no doubt replace the Wicked Witch of the East), and set her up to take out not one but two of the only remaining magic-users in Oz. Well played, Glinda. Well played.
But it doesn't stop there. Once the Wizard has fled and his administration has been irredeemably tarnished, Glinda pops in with the news that Dorothy could have gone back to Kansas any time she wanted, courtesy of those ruby slippers Glinda stole from the witch's still-twitching corpse. The Scarecrow, no Nobel Prize winner, still has the wit to ask:
Glinda Butter-Wouldn't-Melt-In-Her-Mouth the Good, without missing a beat, replies:
Dorothy swallows this easily enough, although any rational person would say, "Wait a minute...you teleported these shoes on my feet, showed me a solid gold highway and then floated away as a giant pink balloon. At that point, I'd have believed anything you told me." Dorothy is not a rational person, so she allows herself to be whisked away by Glinda, who no longer needs her. In fact, getting Dorothy out of Oz is in Glinda's best interests; after all, the chick has already taken out three magic users. Who can say Glinda might not be her next target?
Emerald City is now without a leader, so Glinda naturally moves in to fill the power vacuum. Not that she does the day-to-day work; she has Dorothy's Three Stooges to do that for her. The Scarecrow is left in the Wizard's place, which makes sense for Glinda because the guy has no brain and is therefore easily manipulated. I imagine that Glinda put the Lion in charge of Emerald City's army; he's too cowardly to ever gainsay her. And the Tin Man? Who better to lead Glinda's secret police than a guy with no heart? The three of them will make a muck of ruling, but the citizens of Emerald City will resent them and not Glinda, who will float above it all while consolidating her power in Munchkinland.
And you thought "The Wizard of Oz" was about home or friends or whatever? Feh. It's a naked power grab, baby. Dig on it.
Kirkus Reviews calls The Duchess of the Shallows "a fresh, compelling twist on fantasy."
What is the very first thing Dorothy does upon arriving in Oz? No, it's not talk to some overly cheery small people. She kills the Wicked Witch of the East, on whom her house conveniently lands. The witch's body isn't even cold before Glinda "the Good" floats in and gets the Munchkins all excited about being "free." (You'll understand the motivation behind these quotes in a second.) The big party is brought to a screeching halt by the arrival of the Wicked Witch of the West (WWW), who is understandably upset that someone has iced her sister. Glinda responds by zapping the shoes right off the corpse and onto Dorothy's feet, then telling Dorothy "you've made a bad enemy." Seems to me it was Glinda who made Dorothy that enemy.
After WWW motors, Glinda packs Dorothy off to the Emerald City, ostensibly to beg the Wizard for help getting back to Kansas. The Wizard, no fool, recognizes a dupe when he sees one and aims her directly at the WWW, never suspecting that Dorothy has already wasted one witch and is perfectly capable of killing a second. She goes further than he expected, though, exposing him as a fraud and forcing him to flee Emerald City before the indictments come rolling out.
So let's review the story so far. The Wicked Witch of the East is crushed under Dorothy's house. The Wicked Witch of the West is melted into a puddle of goo thanks for a bucket of water thrown by Our Gal from Kansas. The Wizard of Oz is completely discredited, also courtesy of Dorothy. So who's left? Oh, yeah...Glinda.
Now the truth comes out. This story is not about Kansas, or Dorothy, or the power of friendship; it's about Glinda's bloody rise to power.
The tornado that swept up Dorothy's house now seems a bit too convenient, doesn't it? We know Glinda can turn herself into a pink bubble...can she also take the form of a twister? Even if we call that storm a coincidence, it was no coincidence that put those ruby slippers on Dorothy's feet and set her on a collision course with not only the WWW but also the Wizard himself. In a single stroke, Glinda gave Dorothy reason to leave Munchkinland (where Glinda will no doubt replace the Wicked Witch of the East), and set her up to take out not one but two of the only remaining magic-users in Oz. Well played, Glinda. Well played.
But it doesn't stop there. Once the Wizard has fled and his administration has been irredeemably tarnished, Glinda pops in with the news that Dorothy could have gone back to Kansas any time she wanted, courtesy of those ruby slippers Glinda stole from the witch's still-twitching corpse. The Scarecrow, no Nobel Prize winner, still has the wit to ask:
"Why didn't you tell her before?"
Glinda Butter-Wouldn't-Melt-In-Her-Mouth the Good, without missing a beat, replies:
"Because she wouldn't have believed me. She had to learn it for herself."
Dorothy swallows this easily enough, although any rational person would say, "Wait a minute...you teleported these shoes on my feet, showed me a solid gold highway and then floated away as a giant pink balloon. At that point, I'd have believed anything you told me." Dorothy is not a rational person, so she allows herself to be whisked away by Glinda, who no longer needs her. In fact, getting Dorothy out of Oz is in Glinda's best interests; after all, the chick has already taken out three magic users. Who can say Glinda might not be her next target?
Emerald City is now without a leader, so Glinda naturally moves in to fill the power vacuum. Not that she does the day-to-day work; she has Dorothy's Three Stooges to do that for her. The Scarecrow is left in the Wizard's place, which makes sense for Glinda because the guy has no brain and is therefore easily manipulated. I imagine that Glinda put the Lion in charge of Emerald City's army; he's too cowardly to ever gainsay her. And the Tin Man? Who better to lead Glinda's secret police than a guy with no heart? The three of them will make a muck of ruling, but the citizens of Emerald City will resent them and not Glinda, who will float above it all while consolidating her power in Munchkinland.
And you thought "The Wizard of Oz" was about home or friends or whatever? Feh. It's a naked power grab, baby. Dig on it.
Kirkus Reviews calls The Duchess of the Shallows "a fresh, compelling twist on fantasy."
Thursday, February 03, 2011
One Reason We Believe
No, this isn't a post about religion but about belief in general. Jeff Wise, whom I read occasionally, had an interesting post about the erroneous belief that vaccinations cause autism in children, but I think his words apply to other baseless beliefs:
This pretty well explains why people think the Affordable Care Act is deficit-increasing, or that climate change is a hoax. You find one bit of data that seems to contradict the rest of the facts and cling to that in the face of all the other evidence. If you've ever heard someone say, "This winter has been so cold...so much for Al Gore's ideas!", you know what I'm talking about.
I think most people find a belief or course of action that feels right, then find facts to ex post facto justify that position. That's why it's so incredibly difficult to change someone's opinion; he/she is emotionally committed to that position, and won't change until emotionally ready to do so. Until then, facts and logical persuasion are like bullets to Superman: they bounce right off.
Mary Griffith is a good example of this. She was pretty strongly anti-gay until her gay son's suicide broke through her emotional resistance and got her thinking more clearly about human sexuality. It would have been better if something less horrific could have gotten through to her, though.
The anti-vaccine movement is not an isolated case. Rather, it is an example of a problem that is endemic in the public health sphere. Scientists and policy makers operate on the assumption that if the public is provided with the most up-to-date, scientifically verified information about their health, then they will be able to rationally weigh their options and make the correct choices. The reality is anything but. Millions of highly intelligent, well-educated consumers are continually being misled by erroneous information because they fall victim to a single simple error of logic.
This pretty well explains why people think the Affordable Care Act is deficit-increasing, or that climate change is a hoax. You find one bit of data that seems to contradict the rest of the facts and cling to that in the face of all the other evidence. If you've ever heard someone say, "This winter has been so cold...so much for Al Gore's ideas!", you know what I'm talking about.
I think most people find a belief or course of action that feels right, then find facts to ex post facto justify that position. That's why it's so incredibly difficult to change someone's opinion; he/she is emotionally committed to that position, and won't change until emotionally ready to do so. Until then, facts and logical persuasion are like bullets to Superman: they bounce right off.
Mary Griffith is a good example of this. She was pretty strongly anti-gay until her gay son's suicide broke through her emotional resistance and got her thinking more clearly about human sexuality. It would have been better if something less horrific could have gotten through to her, though.
Friday, January 21, 2011
The Trouble with Telepaths
I'm going to bitch about Babylon 5, so here's your escape hatch.
Byron, the rogue PsiCop, was quite possibly the most annoying character I've ever run across in sci fi. (Keep in mind that I've been exposed to Deanna Troi.) He shows up on Babylon 5 in the fifth season little more than a beggar, asking for permission to set up a colony of rogue telepaths in direct violation of Earth law. Captain Lochley very wisely turns him down, but Michael-Steele wannabe John Sheridan, President of the Interstellar Alliance, overrides her. Not two weeks later, when one of Sheridan's lackeys comes asking for a favor, Byron turns him away with open contempt and (overdramatic) mockery. Way to mind-scan the hand that feeds you!
Later, when Byron finds out (during sex with Lyta that's telepathically shared by the rest of Byron's little coterie of psychic hippies) that the Vorlons are responsible for creating telepaths, he comes to the most baffling conclusion possible: the other races owe him and his psychic hippies their own home. Leaving aside the incredible creepiness of the tele-sex (yikes), Byron misses the fact that although every race was used by the Vorlons, he and his hippies got superpowers. The others just got used. Still, Byron never lets reality get in the way of his delusions, so he instantly begins "planning" his next move.
Now, if you were a P12 with the personal friendship of the President of the Interstellar Alliance who was currently banging the most powerful telepath in the universe, you'd have some pretty strong advantages, right? However, you are not an overwrought drama queen with shampoo-commercial hair and a baseless sense of entitlement. Byron is not you. Byron is barking idiot. So he decides to blackmail the ISA into granting him and his people a planet. An entire planet. Most people might be satisfied with a town or even a small city, but Goldilocks has to have the whole shebang. When the ISA reacts with dismay to this blackmail, Byron locks himself and his hippies in the shittiest part of the station and says there will be a hunger strike until their planet arrives.
The members of the ISA, quite correctly, are cheered by this. After all, a man who has threatened to reveal their innermost secrets has now threatened to starve himself to death. Would that all of the douchebags in my life would be so accommodating. Naturally, Byron loses control of his hippies, some of whom run off to take hostages and act tough until Byron's conscience reasserts itself and he kills the bunch of them, loyalists and rebels both, by igniting some fuel with a PPG.
Sigh.
Byron thought telepaths were a more evolved form of humanity, but I think a chimpanzee with a meat tenderizer could have gotten closer to being given a planet than that pack of self-righteous, mind-reading morons. Criminy.
Byron, the rogue PsiCop, was quite possibly the most annoying character I've ever run across in sci fi. (Keep in mind that I've been exposed to Deanna Troi.) He shows up on Babylon 5 in the fifth season little more than a beggar, asking for permission to set up a colony of rogue telepaths in direct violation of Earth law. Captain Lochley very wisely turns him down, but Michael-Steele wannabe John Sheridan, President of the Interstellar Alliance, overrides her. Not two weeks later, when one of Sheridan's lackeys comes asking for a favor, Byron turns him away with open contempt and (overdramatic) mockery. Way to mind-scan the hand that feeds you!
Later, when Byron finds out (during sex with Lyta that's telepathically shared by the rest of Byron's little coterie of psychic hippies) that the Vorlons are responsible for creating telepaths, he comes to the most baffling conclusion possible: the other races owe him and his psychic hippies their own home. Leaving aside the incredible creepiness of the tele-sex (yikes), Byron misses the fact that although every race was used by the Vorlons, he and his hippies got superpowers. The others just got used. Still, Byron never lets reality get in the way of his delusions, so he instantly begins "planning" his next move.
Now, if you were a P12 with the personal friendship of the President of the Interstellar Alliance who was currently banging the most powerful telepath in the universe, you'd have some pretty strong advantages, right? However, you are not an overwrought drama queen with shampoo-commercial hair and a baseless sense of entitlement. Byron is not you. Byron is barking idiot. So he decides to blackmail the ISA into granting him and his people a planet. An entire planet. Most people might be satisfied with a town or even a small city, but Goldilocks has to have the whole shebang. When the ISA reacts with dismay to this blackmail, Byron locks himself and his hippies in the shittiest part of the station and says there will be a hunger strike until their planet arrives.
The members of the ISA, quite correctly, are cheered by this. After all, a man who has threatened to reveal their innermost secrets has now threatened to starve himself to death. Would that all of the douchebags in my life would be so accommodating. Naturally, Byron loses control of his hippies, some of whom run off to take hostages and act tough until Byron's conscience reasserts itself and he kills the bunch of them, loyalists and rebels both, by igniting some fuel with a PPG.
Sigh.
Byron thought telepaths were a more evolved form of humanity, but I think a chimpanzee with a meat tenderizer could have gotten closer to being given a planet than that pack of self-righteous, mind-reading morons. Criminy.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
A return to tradition
More craziness in Congress...the Republicans must once again be in charge of the House or Representatives. Once the anti-flag-burning amendment is introduced, I'll be certain of it.
Reading the Constitution aloud is just a harmless bit of silliness, compared to this truly useless measure:
I just can't figure out exactly what this measure is supposed to accomplish. Obviously, no legislator will introduce a bill she herself believes to be unconstitutional, but that doesn't mean her colleagues will agree. Lawmakers often disagree about the meaning of the Constitution...they're like people that way. People interpret the Constitution in a variety of ways, and usually in line with their ideological beliefs. Slapping a constitutional citation on the front of a bill isn't going to convince those who believe the bill unconstitutional; hell, even actual rulings by courts don't always accomplish that. (There are still Americans who believe that the income tax is unconstitutional.) At the end of the day, the courts, and not Congress, decide if a law squares with our founding document, and no citation on a bill will change that. Period.
But I suppose a return to the past is a reminder that, like gravity, there are some things you can always rely upon.
Reading the Constitution aloud is just a harmless bit of silliness, compared to this truly useless measure:
[House Republicans] say they will require every new bill to contain a statement by the legislator who wrote it, citing the constitutional authority to enact the proposed law.
I just can't figure out exactly what this measure is supposed to accomplish. Obviously, no legislator will introduce a bill she herself believes to be unconstitutional, but that doesn't mean her colleagues will agree. Lawmakers often disagree about the meaning of the Constitution...they're like people that way. People interpret the Constitution in a variety of ways, and usually in line with their ideological beliefs. Slapping a constitutional citation on the front of a bill isn't going to convince those who believe the bill unconstitutional; hell, even actual rulings by courts don't always accomplish that. (There are still Americans who believe that the income tax is unconstitutional.) At the end of the day, the courts, and not Congress, decide if a law squares with our founding document, and no citation on a bill will change that. Period.
But I suppose a return to the past is a reminder that, like gravity, there are some things you can always rely upon.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Here's hoping!
As some of you dear readers might be aware, I am fairly politically active; I vote religiously, follow the issues, and donate frequently to political campaigns. One of those campaigns was that of Bob Casey Jr, back in 2006, and ever since he sends me Christmas cards.** Every year. Even though I know I am just one of a zillion people on a mailing list, I find this oddly endearing. So, this year, I am reciprocating in kind, although not with a card. Here's the text of the letter I just sent Senator Casey:
I suspect that this letter will be received in one of two ways.
One (most likely): Someone in Casey's office chalks it up to a nutcase and tosses it.
Two (I hope!): That someone thinks, "This is a riot...I have got to send this along to Bob."
I now await a reply. Maybe Casey will send me a recipe for apple cake, and if he does, I am baking it!
**I donated to the campaign of Delaware's Chris Coons, to keep that dreadful Christine O'Donnell out of office, and now he has sent me a Christmas card as well. I have displayed it prominently.
Dear Senator Casey:
Let me start off by expressing my appreciation for the work you do on behalf of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Although I think I am somewhat to the left of you, politically speaking, I find your stance on the issues sensible and, by and large, in line with my own. I voted for you in 2006 and don't regret it.
Here's the point of my letter. You send me frequent email updates on issues, holiday cards, and the like, and it occurred to me that I have never reciprocated in kind. Naturally, I'm not voting in the U.S. Senate (or in any other legislative body), so I have nothing of that kind to report, but I have been told that I make a mean peanut butter cookie. So I am sharing my recipe with you. Here goes:
Precious Peanut Butter Cookies
Ingredients:
• 1 cup butter
• 1 cup freshly ground peanut butter
• 1 cup white sugar
• 1 cup light brown sugar
• 3 eggs
• 2.5 cups flour
• 1 tsp salt
• 1.5 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 8oz peanut butter chips
Directions:
Cream the butter in a large mixing bowl, then beat three eggs in a small bowl. (The longer you beat the eggs the better the cookies.) Add the white sugar and about half of the eggs, then beat until smooth. Add the brown sugar, and the remainder of the eggs, then beat again until smooth. Stir in the vanilla. Then add the peanut butter, but – and I can't stress this enough – make sure to use freshly ground or, at the very least, organic. If you use a store-bought variety like Jif or Skippy the cookies will turn out salty and greasy.
In a separate bowl mix the flour, salt and baking soda, then add it to the butter-sugar-egg-peanut butter mixture along with the chips. I recommend adding, say, one-third of the dry ingredients, then one-third the bag of chips, and stirring, then another third of the dry ingredients, then another third of the chips, and stirring, etc. The dough will be VERY thick, so if you add the wet ingredients a little bit at a time you'll do better than simply dumping in everything at once.
Once you've got everything thoroughly mixed, refrigerate the dough for an hour. Then spoon out the dough on to a cookie sheet in cookie-sized portions. (I recommend modest sized portions.) Bake at 375º for 10 minutes (and no longer). Recipe makes 60-70 cookies.
*****
Hopefully this has been useful. I know that everyone has a cookie recipe, but I can tell you that my sister-in-law, a good cook herself, tells me that she dislikes peanut butter cookies but loves mine. If you try the recipe do let me know how they come out.
Sincerely,
Neil McGarry
I suspect that this letter will be received in one of two ways.
One (most likely): Someone in Casey's office chalks it up to a nutcase and tosses it.
Two (I hope!): That someone thinks, "This is a riot...I have got to send this along to Bob."
I now await a reply. Maybe Casey will send me a recipe for apple cake, and if he does, I am baking it!
**I donated to the campaign of Delaware's Chris Coons, to keep that dreadful Christine O'Donnell out of office, and now he has sent me a Christmas card as well. I have displayed it prominently.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Hey Star!
Yes, I am writing you at the last possible moment of this day. Better almost late than actually late, I suppose.
For me, 2010 has been a hard, hard year. Layoff, layoff, injury, illness, stress, and death. And then, of course, today. I guess today doesn't bother you in the Great Beyond, but it sure as hell bugs me. Hey, are there chocolate-covered Nutter Butters in the Great Beyond? I sure can't find them here.
Just as the good things pass away so do the bad, and right now I'm just hunkered down, waiting for that turn of the wheel. Thinking of those who left too soon. Speaking of which, keep an eye out for my friend Cathy, if you would. She'll need some showing-around, and I can't think of a better guide than you. Plus, she can share some embarrassing stories about me. Get that out of your system now, please, so I don't have to hear it later.
Tell her I miss her. And you, too.
For me, 2010 has been a hard, hard year. Layoff, layoff, injury, illness, stress, and death. And then, of course, today. I guess today doesn't bother you in the Great Beyond, but it sure as hell bugs me. Hey, are there chocolate-covered Nutter Butters in the Great Beyond? I sure can't find them here.
Just as the good things pass away so do the bad, and right now I'm just hunkered down, waiting for that turn of the wheel. Thinking of those who left too soon. Speaking of which, keep an eye out for my friend Cathy, if you would. She'll need some showing-around, and I can't think of a better guide than you. Plus, she can share some embarrassing stories about me. Get that out of your system now, please, so I don't have to hear it later.
Tell her I miss her. And you, too.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Hanging on? Not me
There's a motivational poster that reads, "When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on!" This is of course accompanied by a photo of a suitably adorable kitten clinging to a rope. Something always bothered me about that message, but only in the last few days have I come to understand why. Now you get to understand, too.
Life is tough sometimes. OK, alot of the time, and contrary to what we are told, it doesn't get better just because you work hard or go to church or generally intend well. I remember a high school teacher saying, "99% of what happens to you is in your control." Even at the tender age of 15 I went, "Hmmm" and now at the not-so-tender age of 41, I say, "What the hell was he thinking?" In my experience, most of what happens to you is well outside your control; illnesses strike, layoffs happen, and people die, and there's not a damned thing you can do to prevent most of it. And it sucks. It just sucks. The only real power you have is in your reactions to what comes your way.
Sarah Palin, in resigning the governorship of Alaska, said, "Only dead fish go with the flow." Unsurprisingly, she's wrong, and for the same reason as the hanging kitten poster. You can, of course, white-knuckle your way grimly through life, hoping that as soon as this problem or that problem is over, everything will be fine, but of course there's always another problem just over the hill or hiding behind the hedge. That's the irresistible force versus immovable object approach, and it ends in wrinkles, high blood pressure, and indigestion.
I take a different view. When the wind blows up, I don't stand tall and defy it; I adjust my sails and try to use that force to take me where I want to go. Doesn't always work, but I'm a good swimmer, so when my little boat flips over, I paddle around until I get things back in order. Then I look for a friendlier wind, because sooner or later, one always comes along. Just as you can rely upon the bad, so can you expect the good. So, Ms. Palin, I do go with the flow, because the alternative is to swim vainly against the current until you use up your strength and drown. Not this little fish, thank you.
It's true that I have neither wealth nor fame, nor do I have a respectable career or a fancy car. (Hell, I bought my car before Hillary Clinton started wearing pantsuits.) And maybe if I'd refused to go with the flow I'd have some or all of those things. As it is, though, my blood pressure is well within the normal range, I haven't lost my hair to stress, and I sleep at night with an easy heart. If someone had told me twenty years ago that would be the case, I'd have been pretty damn pleased.
So to (finally) come back to that kitten, do you know what I do when I reach the end of my rope? I let go. Sometimes, tying that knot is harder than just taking the fall.
Life is tough sometimes. OK, alot of the time, and contrary to what we are told, it doesn't get better just because you work hard or go to church or generally intend well. I remember a high school teacher saying, "99% of what happens to you is in your control." Even at the tender age of 15 I went, "Hmmm" and now at the not-so-tender age of 41, I say, "What the hell was he thinking?" In my experience, most of what happens to you is well outside your control; illnesses strike, layoffs happen, and people die, and there's not a damned thing you can do to prevent most of it. And it sucks. It just sucks. The only real power you have is in your reactions to what comes your way.
Sarah Palin, in resigning the governorship of Alaska, said, "Only dead fish go with the flow." Unsurprisingly, she's wrong, and for the same reason as the hanging kitten poster. You can, of course, white-knuckle your way grimly through life, hoping that as soon as this problem or that problem is over, everything will be fine, but of course there's always another problem just over the hill or hiding behind the hedge. That's the irresistible force versus immovable object approach, and it ends in wrinkles, high blood pressure, and indigestion.
I take a different view. When the wind blows up, I don't stand tall and defy it; I adjust my sails and try to use that force to take me where I want to go. Doesn't always work, but I'm a good swimmer, so when my little boat flips over, I paddle around until I get things back in order. Then I look for a friendlier wind, because sooner or later, one always comes along. Just as you can rely upon the bad, so can you expect the good. So, Ms. Palin, I do go with the flow, because the alternative is to swim vainly against the current until you use up your strength and drown. Not this little fish, thank you.
It's true that I have neither wealth nor fame, nor do I have a respectable career or a fancy car. (Hell, I bought my car before Hillary Clinton started wearing pantsuits.) And maybe if I'd refused to go with the flow I'd have some or all of those things. As it is, though, my blood pressure is well within the normal range, I haven't lost my hair to stress, and I sleep at night with an easy heart. If someone had told me twenty years ago that would be the case, I'd have been pretty damn pleased.
So to (finally) come back to that kitten, do you know what I do when I reach the end of my rope? I let go. Sometimes, tying that knot is harder than just taking the fall.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Our torture culture
This piece by Dahlia Lithwick is a great chronicle of the way the US moved from a nation that used torture surreptitiously to a nation that uses it proudly.
Well, at least we no longer have to outsource our torture to nations like Syria or Pakistan; we can employ good old American torturers! Now I'm wondering if the CIA will begin training torturers, or if universities can begin offering graduate programs in waterboarding.
Well, at least we no longer have to outsource our torture to nations like Syria or Pakistan; we can employ good old American torturers! Now I'm wondering if the CIA will begin training torturers, or if universities can begin offering graduate programs in waterboarding.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
My favorite guardian angel
This is terribly dated, I know, but I have always had a soft spot for Frankie Avalon in "Grease." It's not that he's attractive (although he is), but he's just the kind of guardian angel I'd like. If you remember, Frenchy wishes she had a guardian angel who could tell her if dropping out of high school to be a beautician was the right choice. Then, hey presto! Frankie Avalon appears with a heavenly choir and says, "Go back to high school." And he does it in song.
See, I'm not a big fan of dream interpretation or slow realization. I just want a guardian angel to pop in and say, "Hey, dumbass, here's what you should do." And he'd sing it.
See, I'm not a big fan of dream interpretation or slow realization. I just want a guardian angel to pop in and say, "Hey, dumbass, here's what you should do." And he'd sing it.
Monday, November 08, 2010
The time has come...
...to talk about bad candy. Here goes:
Circus Peanuts: Great gods, but these things are not only disgusting but disturbing. What are they made from? Why do they squeak slightly when one bites into them? How does anyone stomach them? I'll never know.
Mary Janes: They supposedly taste like molasses and peanut butter, and I guess there's a certain charm to the old-fashioned Mary Jane girl on the wrapper. As far as I am concerned, however, molasses and peanut butter have no business getting in bed together.
Peeps: Yeah, yeah, I know they are cute and are holiday-customized, but that doesn't qualify them as tasty. You know what might qualify them as tasty? Ingredients other than stale marshmallow and gritty cheap-ass sugar.
Indian Brand Pumpkin Seeds: Yawn. Not even a candy.
Orange Slices: Three things wrong with this candy: 1) It's jelly; 2) it's orange; 3) it tastes like orange.
Satellite Wafers: They should rename this, "Tasteless Styrofoam Discs around Balls of Grit." That's truth in advertising.
Now I'm angry and can't post any more. Comment your own gross candies, if you like.
Circus Peanuts: Great gods, but these things are not only disgusting but disturbing. What are they made from? Why do they squeak slightly when one bites into them? How does anyone stomach them? I'll never know.
Mary Janes: They supposedly taste like molasses and peanut butter, and I guess there's a certain charm to the old-fashioned Mary Jane girl on the wrapper. As far as I am concerned, however, molasses and peanut butter have no business getting in bed together.
Peeps: Yeah, yeah, I know they are cute and are holiday-customized, but that doesn't qualify them as tasty. You know what might qualify them as tasty? Ingredients other than stale marshmallow and gritty cheap-ass sugar.
Indian Brand Pumpkin Seeds: Yawn. Not even a candy.
Orange Slices: Three things wrong with this candy: 1) It's jelly; 2) it's orange; 3) it tastes like orange.
Satellite Wafers: They should rename this, "Tasteless Styrofoam Discs around Balls of Grit." That's truth in advertising.
Now I'm angry and can't post any more. Comment your own gross candies, if you like.
Friday, November 05, 2010
It was worth it
Obviously, November 2 was painful for we libbies, and there's been much discussion about whether or not it was the ACA that cost House Democrats their majority. My answer: So what if it did? Crafting good policy (and that's what the ACA is) is why we send these people to Washington in the first place, not to keep their damned majority. Obviously, you can't govern if you don't win, but there are some achievements that are worth risking your majority, and the Affordable Care Act was one of them. Bill Saletan at Slate has more to say on this. Give him a read.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A banner day
Working on a college campus as I do, I see a lot of signs. Free this one, impeach that one, save these other things…every liberal notion you can imagine has a sign somewhere at Penn. That usually doesn’t bother me, but this week my eye was caught by some banners extolling the virtues of consent. Here are some examples:
- Sex without Consent isn’t Sex
- The Joy of Consent
- Consent is an Aphrodisiac
The first one I am all about; it seems obvious to me but, clearly, not so much to others. Who’da thought anyone would need a reminder of that?
The second and third banners I find…well, vaguely objectionable. It’s all well and good to remind people that consent is something you seek before you try to have sex with someone, but to promote it like a new trend or an erotic enhancement just seems wrong.
Maybe I’m a stick-in-the-mud, but I wouldn’t even take a Diet Coke from someone’s fridge without asking first, and that’s not because Diet Coke tastes better when it’s given by permission. It’s because if I take a Diet Coke without permission I’ve stolen it. That’s theft. I learned that early on…so early on, in fact, that I don’t remember being taught the lesson. Breezing past the consent part of sex is not an oopsie; that’s assault and, at its conclusion, rape. These are both crimes and moral transgressions. Something else you should have learned early on was that you keep your hands – and all your other parts – to yourself unless invited.
Obviously, rape usually occurs in a heterosexual context (there are, after all, more heterosexuals than not), and I freely confess to not being up on all things hetero. However, I’m pretty sure that straight people are as capable as gays of getting the whole consent thing, and it seems most of them do. So I just don’t get these banners, and although I don’t normally get twisted up over stuff like this, I vaguely disapprove.
- Sex without Consent isn’t Sex
- The Joy of Consent
- Consent is an Aphrodisiac
The first one I am all about; it seems obvious to me but, clearly, not so much to others. Who’da thought anyone would need a reminder of that?
The second and third banners I find…well, vaguely objectionable. It’s all well and good to remind people that consent is something you seek before you try to have sex with someone, but to promote it like a new trend or an erotic enhancement just seems wrong.
Maybe I’m a stick-in-the-mud, but I wouldn’t even take a Diet Coke from someone’s fridge without asking first, and that’s not because Diet Coke tastes better when it’s given by permission. It’s because if I take a Diet Coke without permission I’ve stolen it. That’s theft. I learned that early on…so early on, in fact, that I don’t remember being taught the lesson. Breezing past the consent part of sex is not an oopsie; that’s assault and, at its conclusion, rape. These are both crimes and moral transgressions. Something else you should have learned early on was that you keep your hands – and all your other parts – to yourself unless invited.
Obviously, rape usually occurs in a heterosexual context (there are, after all, more heterosexuals than not), and I freely confess to not being up on all things hetero. However, I’m pretty sure that straight people are as capable as gays of getting the whole consent thing, and it seems most of them do. So I just don’t get these banners, and although I don’t normally get twisted up over stuff like this, I vaguely disapprove.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
I can't look away!
I'd heard Kate Bush's "Wuthering Heights" before, but only when I played it for Dan did I realize two things: 1) I really like the song; and 2) the song is downright weird. Some of #2 has to do with Kate Bush herself, of course; watching this video I just can't stop wondering how many heads in jars she has in her basement.
Dan, of course, proceeded to analyze the song in a musical sense. I just marveled at Kate Bush's range. I've come to realize that the true test of any female vocalist: she can convincingly cover "Wuthering Heights."
Dan, of course, proceeded to analyze the song in a musical sense. I just marveled at Kate Bush's range. I've come to realize that the true test of any female vocalist: she can convincingly cover "Wuthering Heights."
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Great gods...I must be dreaming
I've been looking over this Web site for a half-hour now, and I still can't believe it. Take a look. Go ahead, I'll wait.
It seems I find something flabbergasting on each page. Like the ready-made missing child poster, or the USB that contains that poster, along with everything else the authorities will need to identify your child's decomposed corpse when it turns up in a ditch. And then there are the comments from paranoid parents. (The kid's out of sight for 15 minutes and this woman's ready to close the borders.)
OK, I am no parent, but isn't this a bit...well, morbid? Should you really be making detailed plans for your child's abduction? From what I have heard, only about 40 kids a year are abducted, so you'd probably do as well preparing yourself a "In Case Little Johnny Is Struck by Lightning" CD. Criminy.
It seems I find something flabbergasting on each page. Like the ready-made missing child poster, or the USB that contains that poster, along with everything else the authorities will need to identify your child's decomposed corpse when it turns up in a ditch. And then there are the comments from paranoid parents. (The kid's out of sight for 15 minutes and this woman's ready to close the borders.)
OK, I am no parent, but isn't this a bit...well, morbid? Should you really be making detailed plans for your child's abduction? From what I have heard, only about 40 kids a year are abducted, so you'd probably do as well preparing yourself a "In Case Little Johnny Is Struck by Lightning" CD. Criminy.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
You're better off with a seatbelt
Bruce Schneier is my current security crush, and he has something interesting to say about parents and perceived threats vs. real risk.
I can't speak to any of this as an expert, but when Pennsylvania tightened its regulations regarding what age/size children must use car safety seats...well, you could have heard the howls of protest from Michigan. I imagine many of those howlers are in favor of the various Megan's Laws this commonwealth enforces, which probably don't provide much measurable protection, unlike car safety seats, which we know make children safer. According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, nearly 9,000 lives were saved by such devices from 1975 - 2008. I wonder if Megan's Laws have saved a hundredth that many.
I make no claims to parenting expertise, but I know fear-mongering when I see it, and it seems to me parents are a prime target.
I can't speak to any of this as an expert, but when Pennsylvania tightened its regulations regarding what age/size children must use car safety seats...well, you could have heard the howls of protest from Michigan. I imagine many of those howlers are in favor of the various Megan's Laws this commonwealth enforces, which probably don't provide much measurable protection, unlike car safety seats, which we know make children safer. According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, nearly 9,000 lives were saved by such devices from 1975 - 2008. I wonder if Megan's Laws have saved a hundredth that many.
I make no claims to parenting expertise, but I know fear-mongering when I see it, and it seems to me parents are a prime target.
Monday, September 06, 2010
Makes my head go "pound"
As many know, I am not a fan of security theater, a coin adopted by Bruce Schneier to describe the song-and-dance that passes for procedures. The fiction moves into the realm of fantasy in terms of airline security, and I have learned to choke that down for the most part, but this takes the cake.
I have serious doubts that any of the nonsense we endure at airports makes us any safer, and I am convinced that the TSA is a prime example of "scope creep." I don't care if my seatmate is carrying embezzled cash, cocaine or child pornography; as long as he doesn't have something he can use to destroy the plane, he's fine by me. I thought the job of the TSA was to make sure plane destruction was avoided, and not to safeguard husbands against wives who might (or might not) be cleaning out their accounts, but I guess I was wrong. I imagine that pretty soon those airport screeners will be conducting full criminal background checks on the passengers, and flagging those with unpaid speeding tickets or unpaid child support. We can't let those people fly, that's for sure.
Perhaps it's a bad time to say this near mid-September, but on 9/11 those hijackers gave the US an exam on our commitment to civil liberties, and we failed. Big-time.
I have serious doubts that any of the nonsense we endure at airports makes us any safer, and I am convinced that the TSA is a prime example of "scope creep." I don't care if my seatmate is carrying embezzled cash, cocaine or child pornography; as long as he doesn't have something he can use to destroy the plane, he's fine by me. I thought the job of the TSA was to make sure plane destruction was avoided, and not to safeguard husbands against wives who might (or might not) be cleaning out their accounts, but I guess I was wrong. I imagine that pretty soon those airport screeners will be conducting full criminal background checks on the passengers, and flagging those with unpaid speeding tickets or unpaid child support. We can't let those people fly, that's for sure.
Perhaps it's a bad time to say this near mid-September, but on 9/11 those hijackers gave the US an exam on our commitment to civil liberties, and we failed. Big-time.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Technology foiled again!
I haven't updated this blog in ages because Blogger kept telling me I had to update this and transition that, and when I looked at the eye-crossing directions I thought, "Uh...Dan?" But Blogger has left off, evidently deciding I have had enough, so I am back.
Ezra Klein, whom I read regularly, has an interesting piece today explaining why in politics party matters more than individuals. Think that Senate Republican Scott Brown has to be moderate because he comes from a blue state? Wrong! He voted with the GOP 82% of the time, which is more even than Maine's much-vaunted maverick Olympia Snowe. Keep it in mind next time you visit the polls. Oh, and I recommend reading Klein, or at the very least Googling his image and looking at that. 'Cause he's hot.
Is anyone else reading The Dwarves by Marcus Heitz? If so, can you explain why it's so boring? I used to be a huge fan of genre fantasy, but nowadays I have a hard time getting into it. First of all, when I open a book and find a world map, my blood pressure rises. Second, I just can't deal with any more strange fantasy-world names like Tungdil or Durzo Blint. And that doesn't even count all of the strange names with apostrophes or Ks used as Cs, etc.
Finally, there are the inevitable patterns that may once have been interesting but are now boring. Book opens with a battle in which evil prevails, then cuts to an idyllic country setting, completely at odds with the previous scene. There, a strapping young man of humble but somewhat shadowy origins is approached by a mysterious druid/wizard/magic guy who tells him of a Great Evil and the approach of Minions of Dread, bent on capturing/killing/seducing to the dark side this selfsame young man. Who is of course heir to the throne or the fated wielder of the Sword of All Things Good. Argh.
If I wind up in one of these stories, I'm going to tell Gandalf or Allanon or whatever other meddlesome conjurer appears that I don't care what Lord Blackness is up to in the Kingdom of Shadows. If Lord Blackness has a good health insurance plan that extends benefits to domestic partners, and will start me with three weeks' vacation, sign me up.
Ezra Klein, whom I read regularly, has an interesting piece today explaining why in politics party matters more than individuals. Think that Senate Republican Scott Brown has to be moderate because he comes from a blue state? Wrong! He voted with the GOP 82% of the time, which is more even than Maine's much-vaunted maverick Olympia Snowe. Keep it in mind next time you visit the polls. Oh, and I recommend reading Klein, or at the very least Googling his image and looking at that. 'Cause he's hot.
Is anyone else reading The Dwarves by Marcus Heitz? If so, can you explain why it's so boring? I used to be a huge fan of genre fantasy, but nowadays I have a hard time getting into it. First of all, when I open a book and find a world map, my blood pressure rises. Second, I just can't deal with any more strange fantasy-world names like Tungdil or Durzo Blint. And that doesn't even count all of the strange names with apostrophes or Ks used as Cs, etc.
Finally, there are the inevitable patterns that may once have been interesting but are now boring. Book opens with a battle in which evil prevails, then cuts to an idyllic country setting, completely at odds with the previous scene. There, a strapping young man of humble but somewhat shadowy origins is approached by a mysterious druid/wizard/magic guy who tells him of a Great Evil and the approach of Minions of Dread, bent on capturing/killing/seducing to the dark side this selfsame young man. Who is of course heir to the throne or the fated wielder of the Sword of All Things Good. Argh.
If I wind up in one of these stories, I'm going to tell Gandalf or Allanon or whatever other meddlesome conjurer appears that I don't care what Lord Blackness is up to in the Kingdom of Shadows. If Lord Blackness has a good health insurance plan that extends benefits to domestic partners, and will start me with three weeks' vacation, sign me up.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Am I going mad?
Or is Glenn Beck, of all people, suddenly defending the separation of church and state?
Good gods, but the world has turned upside down. Send him an ACLU membership form before he recovers his lunacy.
Good gods, but the world has turned upside down. Send him an ACLU membership form before he recovers his lunacy.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Wait...we elected Democrats, right?
This article makes me wonder just how much has changed.
Remember when we were told that indicting important people for these crimes would make Republicans stonewall health care reform? Well, now that Democrats themselves have fucked up said reform, I think it's high time we penned arrest warrants for Yoo and Bybee and Cheney and all those other folks who happily and shamelessly created a culture of torture within the executive branch of government.
I'm only half-kidding. The recent Democratic retreat on health care, in my opinion, will cripple the party's ability to pursue any sort of meaningful legislative agenda for 2010. So if we're to lose, we may as well lose big. Drag those torture-happy Republicans into a court of law and let the testimony begin! Let's lose not 25 House seats in November but 80, and really get our money's worth out of the loss.
Remember when we were told that indicting important people for these crimes would make Republicans stonewall health care reform? Well, now that Democrats themselves have fucked up said reform, I think it's high time we penned arrest warrants for Yoo and Bybee and Cheney and all those other folks who happily and shamelessly created a culture of torture within the executive branch of government.
I'm only half-kidding. The recent Democratic retreat on health care, in my opinion, will cripple the party's ability to pursue any sort of meaningful legislative agenda for 2010. So if we're to lose, we may as well lose big. Drag those torture-happy Republicans into a court of law and let the testimony begin! Let's lose not 25 House seats in November but 80, and really get our money's worth out of the loss.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Like a real comedian!
Performed both Friday and Saturday night in Marlton, and I totally earned enough to pay for my Friday visit to the doctor and the Saturday pad see-ew I ate before the show. That's living, my friends.
Friday night was plain awful. The audience was as not into me as possible and drunk in the bargain, so my ten minutes on stage seemed like three months. (To the audience as well, I am sure.) Saturday night, however, was a home run. I ditched my set list minutes before going on stage and decided to wing it with some brand-new stuff, written only that morning. (Thalia, as is her wont, awoke me at 7am with inspiration.) The new stuff worked, the old stuff worked, and my audience interaction was smashing. I nearly floated off that stage, and on the way out a number of audience members thanked me for a great show. I know I'm supposed to act all professional and coolly thank them, but instead I squeed like an eight-year-old. I roll that way.
Thalia, I totally forgive you for getting me up so early this morning. Keep up the good work, toots.
Friday night was plain awful. The audience was as not into me as possible and drunk in the bargain, so my ten minutes on stage seemed like three months. (To the audience as well, I am sure.) Saturday night, however, was a home run. I ditched my set list minutes before going on stage and decided to wing it with some brand-new stuff, written only that morning. (Thalia, as is her wont, awoke me at 7am with inspiration.) The new stuff worked, the old stuff worked, and my audience interaction was smashing. I nearly floated off that stage, and on the way out a number of audience members thanked me for a great show. I know I'm supposed to act all professional and coolly thank them, but instead I squeed like an eight-year-old. I roll that way.
Thalia, I totally forgive you for getting me up so early this morning. Keep up the good work, toots.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
It's still Saturday, dammit!
I performed in NE Philadelphia tonight. I guess it was technically yesterday, but in my mind the day has not turned until I sleep and wake up when it's light. So there. Anyway, I was sick as a dog today, so I medicated myself heavily so's I could climb on stage and perform adequately. The audience was attentive but not very into any of the comedians, but I did all right.
Can I tell you that certain word uses bother me? I already bitched about the overuse/misuse of the word "creepy", so now I'd like to extend the complaint to "stalking." Anyone who expresses any interest - romantic, familial, platonic - in another human being must now worry if s/he is a stalker. Let's review a few stalker examples:
A) Not stalking:
Asking to friend me on Facebook
Sending me an email without invitation
Asking me where in Philadelphia I live
B) Stalking
Asking for my Facebook password
Sending me a severed ear, with or without invitation
Asking me for my home address and Social Security number
If you behavior resembles Category A, you're good. If it resembles B, seek help. But let's not diminish the reputations of stalkers everywhere by thinking that contacting me on a social networking sight is stalking.
Can I tell you that certain word uses bother me? I already bitched about the overuse/misuse of the word "creepy", so now I'd like to extend the complaint to "stalking." Anyone who expresses any interest - romantic, familial, platonic - in another human being must now worry if s/he is a stalker. Let's review a few stalker examples:
A) Not stalking:
Asking to friend me on Facebook
Sending me an email without invitation
Asking me where in Philadelphia I live
B) Stalking
Asking for my Facebook password
Sending me a severed ear, with or without invitation
Asking me for my home address and Social Security number
If you behavior resembles Category A, you're good. If it resembles B, seek help. But let's not diminish the reputations of stalkers everywhere by thinking that contacting me on a social networking sight is stalking.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Cue the curtains
If you aren't reading Bruce Schneier, you should be. He is a security expert and a noted critic of the TSA and its various "security theater" measures. This is in my view one of the best things he's ever said:
As do we all, Bruce. As do we all.
Only one carry on? No electronics for the first hour of flight? I wish that, just once, some terrorist would try something that you can only foil by upgrading the passengers to first class and giving them free drinks.
As do we all, Bruce. As do we all.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
I don't know what to title this
Xmas is the only thing that makes me look forward to January. Oh, indeed. *
This being the holidays, I thought it was an appropriate time to say that I dislike sweaters. Not the concept of sweaters, mind you; I just don't like them on me. They always look stretched or saggy or something. I have exactly one sweater than has ever looked good on me, and I rarely wear it for fear that it will stretch, sag, etc. Down with them! **
I walked by Isgro the other day (for the uninitiate, Isgro is an Italian bakery that makes a marscapone eclair to die for), and there was a huge line complete with - get this - police for crowd control. Seriously. Evidently the city has not forgotten the hard lessons of the Cannoli Riot of '63. I felt sorry for those folks waiting because a trip to Isgro isn't quick on a normal day, but if you're fortieth in the queue? *** Cancel your plans for New Year's.
* I am watching "The Wire" and this is one of the pet sayings of my favorite character Omar. He's gay, he's hot, he carries a shotgun, and everyone fears him. I want to grow up to be Omar.
** For some reason,I kept typing "sweather" and having to go back and correct. More reason for dislike sweaters.
*** Why in this country is everything considered to be "in line" and not "in queue", except for documents you send to a printer?
This being the holidays, I thought it was an appropriate time to say that I dislike sweaters. Not the concept of sweaters, mind you; I just don't like them on me. They always look stretched or saggy or something. I have exactly one sweater than has ever looked good on me, and I rarely wear it for fear that it will stretch, sag, etc. Down with them! **
I walked by Isgro the other day (for the uninitiate, Isgro is an Italian bakery that makes a marscapone eclair to die for), and there was a huge line complete with - get this - police for crowd control. Seriously. Evidently the city has not forgotten the hard lessons of the Cannoli Riot of '63. I felt sorry for those folks waiting because a trip to Isgro isn't quick on a normal day, but if you're fortieth in the queue? *** Cancel your plans for New Year's.
* I am watching "The Wire" and this is one of the pet sayings of my favorite character Omar. He's gay, he's hot, he carries a shotgun, and everyone fears him. I want to grow up to be Omar.
** For some reason,I kept typing "sweather" and having to go back and correct. More reason for dislike sweaters.
*** Why in this country is everything considered to be "in line" and not "in queue", except for documents you send to a printer?
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Hey Star!
It's another year since you left us, and so much has happened I don't know where to begin. Lots has changed, and mostly for the better. I'll probably forget to mention something, but as I am sure you have Internet access where you are, you probably know it all anyway.
Feanor and Poppy are on their way to the Land of Parenthood, and your sister is in the Empire of Expanded Families. So there are all kinds of young minds to be properly introduced to the joys of zombies, video games and 80's New Wave. Personally, the notion of being responsible for a small human terrifies me, but they seem well prepared and less terrified.
Babyraven and the SO are comfortably ensconced in a house, yay, which is far larger than mine and has an upstairs living room to die for. Said living room is perfect for Beatles Rock Band, which I am so angry you missed. Unless of course you are playing the real thing with John and George, in which case I am angry to be missing it. Babs is going to India next month too...exciting! Oh, and there is also a basement in which I am told the SO is working on something strange and robotic. I told him, "If we end up on a rag-tag fleet fleeing through space from murderous robots, I am going to be so mad at you!"
Dan and I are - get this - just finishing up a novel. Really. I don't particularly enjoy writing fiction, and I have never fancied the idea of collaborating, but in this case both have worked out really well. We hope to begin peddling the thing within a few weeks, which is a blessed relief. Rejection I can handle; rewriting a chapter for the third time...that's hard. Speaking of rejection, my comedy adventures continue. I have now played for near-empty rooms, aging lesbians, drunken suburban housewives and gay club clones, so all that's left are hobbits. Now that I have gotten on the regular rotation of a local comedy club I perform often (although not for hobbits). I get to take audiences on a trip through my mind, and if I have done my job right, they enjoy the ride. Although I will confess to one or two moments in which I am mentally reworking my resume, on the whole stand-up comedy is a blast. An absolute fucking blast.
There's no doubt a bunch of other stuff I left out, but what I'm including is that everyone still thinks about you, and misses you awfully. You said once on your blog that the only monument you wanted to leave behind was your body of work. Although you have succeeded (if you doubt, try Googling "Slouching Towards Bedlam and see how many hits you get), I think an even more impressive monument is the fingerprint you left on our lives. I know I am not the same since you left, and although I wish you were still with us, I am grateful for the lessons you taught me in your departure.
Feanor and Poppy are on their way to the Land of Parenthood, and your sister is in the Empire of Expanded Families. So there are all kinds of young minds to be properly introduced to the joys of zombies, video games and 80's New Wave. Personally, the notion of being responsible for a small human terrifies me, but they seem well prepared and less terrified.
Babyraven and the SO are comfortably ensconced in a house, yay, which is far larger than mine and has an upstairs living room to die for. Said living room is perfect for Beatles Rock Band, which I am so angry you missed. Unless of course you are playing the real thing with John and George, in which case I am angry to be missing it. Babs is going to India next month too...exciting! Oh, and there is also a basement in which I am told the SO is working on something strange and robotic. I told him, "If we end up on a rag-tag fleet fleeing through space from murderous robots, I am going to be so mad at you!"
Dan and I are - get this - just finishing up a novel. Really. I don't particularly enjoy writing fiction, and I have never fancied the idea of collaborating, but in this case both have worked out really well. We hope to begin peddling the thing within a few weeks, which is a blessed relief. Rejection I can handle; rewriting a chapter for the third time...that's hard. Speaking of rejection, my comedy adventures continue. I have now played for near-empty rooms, aging lesbians, drunken suburban housewives and gay club clones, so all that's left are hobbits. Now that I have gotten on the regular rotation of a local comedy club I perform often (although not for hobbits). I get to take audiences on a trip through my mind, and if I have done my job right, they enjoy the ride. Although I will confess to one or two moments in which I am mentally reworking my resume, on the whole stand-up comedy is a blast. An absolute fucking blast.
There's no doubt a bunch of other stuff I left out, but what I'm including is that everyone still thinks about you, and misses you awfully. You said once on your blog that the only monument you wanted to leave behind was your body of work. Although you have succeeded (if you doubt, try Googling "Slouching Towards Bedlam and see how many hits you get), I think an even more impressive monument is the fingerprint you left on our lives. I know I am not the same since you left, and although I wish you were still with us, I am grateful for the lessons you taught me in your departure.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Eight months in the dying...
...WolfBlock, my erstwhile employer, has finally breathed its last. The firm is out of money, and since I don't work for free (except on stage), I'm out of there and out of a job. So in mere moments I will browse to the Web site of the Commonwealth of PA and make my first-ever application for unemployment benefits.
Last night, Dan and I had the following "Life of Brian" conversation:
Me: I've been fully employed, underemployed and unemployed on and off since 2006. We haven't been able to spend money for the last three years.
Dan: Umm...well, we did buy the house.
Me: Yeah, but that's just a place to live.
Dan: There was also the grill. The ceiling fan. The dining room chairs. The guest bed. The TV. The XBox, the DVD player...
Me: OK, well except for the house, the grill, the ceiling fan, the dining room chairs, the guest bed, the TV, the XBox, and the DVD player, we haven't bought anything for the last three years.
Dan: There were those new coats last winter, too.
Me: Get me a cupcake.
Last night, Dan and I had the following "Life of Brian" conversation:
Me: I've been fully employed, underemployed and unemployed on and off since 2006. We haven't been able to spend money for the last three years.
Dan: Umm...well, we did buy the house.
Me: Yeah, but that's just a place to live.
Dan: There was also the grill. The ceiling fan. The dining room chairs. The guest bed. The TV. The XBox, the DVD player...
Me: OK, well except for the house, the grill, the ceiling fan, the dining room chairs, the guest bed, the TV, the XBox, and the DVD player, we haven't bought anything for the last three years.
Dan: There were those new coats last winter, too.
Me: Get me a cupcake.
Friday, November 13, 2009
I don't often tip my hat to the RNC...
...but today, I tip. Apparently, the RNC will no longer offer its employees an insurance plan that covers abortions. I find this pleasingly consistent of them. After all, given how the Republicans are rupturing themselves over Stupak amendments and that nonsense, the least they can do is Stupak their own damned insurance policy. Besides, given how many Republicans are gay, this change will likely have very little impact on any actual Republicans.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
A few things
I got about my day blissfully unaware that the local Transit Workers Union is, once again, on strike. Instead of going through this folderol every three years, maybe someday the commonwealth will require mandatory binding arbitration. Until then, folderol. I'm just glad that the strike directly affects neither Dan nor I.
Voted this morning on the way to work, and as expected, the place was a graveyard. No ballot questions, for which I was profoundly grateful. I normally research that kind of thing before I get to the poll, but this year I was forgetful.
On a national level, the Republicans have decided to boycott committee work on a climate bill. I don't know why anyone should be surprised by this, really. The GOP has been out to lunch on this issue for years; at least now they acknowledge their absence. Maybe they should just check out until January 2011, when they will either have gained enough seats to sustain a Republican filibuster or lost enough so that Democrats need never worry about another.
Had a great game last night, from which I am still sore. Although the result was a tie (the lights went out early), I played well, handling the disc several times per point, getting a defense on the line and making two successful passes on the goal. That makes up for last week's game, in which my hands were two great insensate lumps of clumsiness.
*Given how many dead Philadelphians vote, that comparison is more apt than I intended.
Voted this morning on the way to work, and as expected, the place was a graveyard. No ballot questions, for which I was profoundly grateful. I normally research that kind of thing before I get to the poll, but this year I was forgetful.
On a national level, the Republicans have decided to boycott committee work on a climate bill. I don't know why anyone should be surprised by this, really. The GOP has been out to lunch on this issue for years; at least now they acknowledge their absence. Maybe they should just check out until January 2011, when they will either have gained enough seats to sustain a Republican filibuster or lost enough so that Democrats need never worry about another.
Had a great game last night, from which I am still sore. Although the result was a tie (the lights went out early), I played well, handling the disc several times per point, getting a defense on the line and making two successful passes on the goal. That makes up for last week's game, in which my hands were two great insensate lumps of clumsiness.
*Given how many dead Philadelphians vote, that comparison is more apt than I intended.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Stuff I have seen
Amazing dexterity! I was at the hardware store yesterday, inquiring about a replacement light bulb...one of those ring-shaped ones. As the not-unattractive young man who was assisting me took one box from the rack, two others fell in rapid succession, and he caught them - BAM! BAM! - with one hand. My reaction: Damn.
Unmitigated gall! Dan and I were at a Chinese restaurant not far from another pair of diners, one of whom was loud and rude. Dan whispered to me, "I haven't even seen him and I know he's in sales." As we were paying the bill and getting ready to leave, the suspected salesman starts up a shockingly racist imitation of Chinese people, in the same loud tone of voice that I am sure the staff heard. My reaction: Douchebag!
Fashion flogging! During my normal morning walk, I pass a drycleaning shop that always features a lovely wedding gown, on a dressform, in the window. This morning that dress (and its form) were on the sidewalk, being beaten with a flyswatter wielded by a man I assume was the owner. He was no doubt beating out dust, but in my head I kept hearing, "Bad bride! Bad, bad bride!" My reaction: Hit harder!
Unmitigated gall! Dan and I were at a Chinese restaurant not far from another pair of diners, one of whom was loud and rude. Dan whispered to me, "I haven't even seen him and I know he's in sales." As we were paying the bill and getting ready to leave, the suspected salesman starts up a shockingly racist imitation of Chinese people, in the same loud tone of voice that I am sure the staff heard. My reaction: Douchebag!
Fashion flogging! During my normal morning walk, I pass a drycleaning shop that always features a lovely wedding gown, on a dressform, in the window. This morning that dress (and its form) were on the sidewalk, being beaten with a flyswatter wielded by a man I assume was the owner. He was no doubt beating out dust, but in my head I kept hearing, "Bad bride! Bad, bad bride!" My reaction: Hit harder!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Biscuits 'n chocolate 'n feelin' good
Right now I am eating biscuits and chasing them with chocolate, because I saved up the calories all day and I am damn well going to spend them before bed. I am also rewarding myself for a pretty decent performance at a seriously dive bar in Norristown tonight. About half the crowd wasn't paying attention, but of those that were, I totally got good laughs. I even got heckled by this woman who looked alarmingly like a frog**, so I followed the advice of Zen and the Art of Stand-Up Comedy and gave her the attention she seemed to want, and she was satisfied and hopped back on her lillypad. And once again the Yoo-hoo joked worked like a charm. Sweet.
Oh, and a big thanks to Rosemary for her thoughtful birthday gift of Antony Beevo's Stalingrad, which details what might well be the most brutal battle of WWII. The more I learn about Stalin's regime, the more I think it might have been better if the Allies had waited until after the Soviets were defeated to cream Hitler.
**Yes, I am making fun of an audience member on my blog. Those who heckle comedians are bad and wrong and I reserve the right to say they look like frogs. So there.
Oh, and a big thanks to Rosemary for her thoughtful birthday gift of Antony Beevo's Stalingrad, which details what might well be the most brutal battle of WWII. The more I learn about Stalin's regime, the more I think it might have been better if the Allies had waited until after the Soviets were defeated to cream Hitler.
**Yes, I am making fun of an audience member on my blog. Those who heckle comedians are bad and wrong and I reserve the right to say they look like frogs. So there.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Overheard at City Hall
As I walked by City Hall this morning, I saw a confused-looking man hailing a well-dressed man. The conversation:
Confused man: Hey, do you know the way to -
Well-dressed man: Sir, I am an Englishman just set foot in Philadelphia. I don't know the way to doodleysquat.
Next time someone asks me for directions in London, I am saying the same thing, except I won't claim to be an Englishman. That works better in the States
Confused man: Hey, do you know the way to -
Well-dressed man: Sir, I am an Englishman just set foot in Philadelphia. I don't know the way to doodleysquat.
Next time someone asks me for directions in London, I am saying the same thing, except I won't claim to be an Englishman. That works better in the States
Monday, October 19, 2009
Shows!
Busy autumn!
Friday 10/22: Francescas at 1003 E Main St in Norristown, PA. 8:30pm, admission is free
Friday, 11/13: Humor in the Hardbacks at the William Way Community Center at 1315 Spruce Street in Phila, PA. 7:30 pm, admission is $15 or whatever you can pay. (It's a fundraiser for Giovanni's Room.) Learn more at Kelli Dunham's LJ.
Friday, 11/20: Comedy Cabaret in NE Philadelphia. Shows usually start around 8:30, admission is usually around $15. I have a 20-minute set on this one so if you've been waiting to see me perform this is a good one to attend.
Friday 10/22: Francescas at 1003 E Main St in Norristown, PA. 8:30pm, admission is free
Friday, 11/13: Humor in the Hardbacks at the William Way Community Center at 1315 Spruce Street in Phila, PA. 7:30 pm, admission is $15 or whatever you can pay. (It's a fundraiser for Giovanni's Room.) Learn more at Kelli Dunham's LJ.
Friday, 11/20: Comedy Cabaret in NE Philadelphia. Shows usually start around 8:30, admission is usually around $15. I have a 20-minute set on this one so if you've been waiting to see me perform this is a good one to attend.
Friday, October 09, 2009
A nice little smatter of publicity
Josh Middleton, blogging for Philadelphia City Paper, comes through. Now I just can't f*ck it up.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Things I Saw Today
I saw some neat things today that I thought I would share.
- A man on 12th Street who was leaving a newspaper on every doorstep. He had the papers at one hand, the plastic bags at the other, and he bagged and dropped these papers with machinelike rapidity. I couldn't look away.
- Two people were walking dogs, one large and white and the other small and fluffy. (The dogs, not the walkers.) They allowed their dogs to mingle, and the larger dog was clearly intimidated by the smaller dog. Neat.
- Dozens of boxes of useless paper that will be stored (at cost) for seven years, never recalled, and finally destroyed.
- A man on 12th Street who was leaving a newspaper on every doorstep. He had the papers at one hand, the plastic bags at the other, and he bagged and dropped these papers with machinelike rapidity. I couldn't look away.
- Two people were walking dogs, one large and white and the other small and fluffy. (The dogs, not the walkers.) They allowed their dogs to mingle, and the larger dog was clearly intimidated by the smaller dog. Neat.
- Dozens of boxes of useless paper that will be stored (at cost) for seven years, never recalled, and finally destroyed.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Why, Thalia?
I found out that Thalia is the muse of comedy, and she's been a naughty gal lately. Last night I dedicated two hours to writing material - set aside the time, stayed in, closeted myself in the spare bedroom with the door shut - and Thalia never put in an appearance. This morning as I was on my way to work she pulled up in a blaze of trumpets and started dictating, so I had to rush to the mostly empty offices of WolfBlock LLP and find a pen to write it all down before I forgot it. (I don't usually forget the jokes I write, but given how fickle Thalia's been of late I was taking no chances.) I probably shouldn't complain; usually that muse visits me at 3:30 in the morning, waking me up from a sound sleep to tell me that, yes, masturbating muppets can indeed be funny and relevant to presidential debates.
BTW, finding a pen at WolfBlock LLP has become increasingly difficult of late. Most of those things, along with sundry supplies and office furniture, has been sold to Thalia-knows-who, but I have managed to scavenge a few choice items. I just got my mitts on a CPU, given freely by the firm's dwindling IT staff, which Dan will hook up to the TV. We already have the wireless keyboard and mouse, so that means I can play Galactic Civilizations II from my sofa, bitches!
BTW, finding a pen at WolfBlock LLP has become increasingly difficult of late. Most of those things, along with sundry supplies and office furniture, has been sold to Thalia-knows-who, but I have managed to scavenge a few choice items. I just got my mitts on a CPU, given freely by the firm's dwindling IT staff, which Dan will hook up to the TV. We already have the wireless keyboard and mouse, so that means I can play Galactic Civilizations II from my sofa, bitches!
Monday, September 28, 2009
Video for Gayborhood Games posted
Sorry for the poor quality; there was serious club lighting going on there.
BTW, Christopher Ciccone was awfully grim-looking for a guy whose claim to fame is ratting out his famous sister. I'm just sayin'. Not that I wouldn't do the same to a famous relative. I'm just waiting for one of my own siblings to become a celebrity so I can do a tell-all book and then judge a gay talent competition.
BTW, Christopher Ciccone was awfully grim-looking for a guy whose claim to fame is ratting out his famous sister. I'm just sayin'. Not that I wouldn't do the same to a famous relative. I'm just waiting for one of my own siblings to become a celebrity so I can do a tell-all book and then judge a gay talent competition.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Gayborhood Games...lost!
Well, I competed against three other comedians in the Gayborhood Games but did not win. (I don't know how I ranked in the competition, either; the judges did not disclose that information.) The winning comedian, Jess Carpenter, deserved his victory; his set was a nice intersection of quality material and commanding delivery, and as soon as he left the stage I knew he was going to win. Yay Jess!
I was Comedian #1, for which I was profoundly grateful; I have learned that in bar shows you never, ever want to go last no matter how prestigious that position might be. The later you go on, the drunker and rowdier the crowd. I like to get on and off the stage while the audience is mainly sober. The judges seemed to like me, and I got some laughs from the rest of the crowd. The venue was in the round, though, which was a new experience for me. I didn't want to turn my back on the judges, but neither did I want to ignore the folks behind me. Argh. Sorry, folks behind me, but you weren't voting on my performance. As it happened, of course, that didn't matter anyway.
It was a fun night, though; I got to watch other comedians and a bunch of vocalists and drag acts and sample some cakes made by various gayborhood chefs, all for free. I also got to gossip with three other gay comedians...tee-hee!
On to The Attack of the 1-4-5 Show!
I was Comedian #1, for which I was profoundly grateful; I have learned that in bar shows you never, ever want to go last no matter how prestigious that position might be. The later you go on, the drunker and rowdier the crowd. I like to get on and off the stage while the audience is mainly sober. The judges seemed to like me, and I got some laughs from the rest of the crowd. The venue was in the round, though, which was a new experience for me. I didn't want to turn my back on the judges, but neither did I want to ignore the folks behind me. Argh. Sorry, folks behind me, but you weren't voting on my performance. As it happened, of course, that didn't matter anyway.
It was a fun night, though; I got to watch other comedians and a bunch of vocalists and drag acts and sample some cakes made by various gayborhood chefs, all for free. I also got to gossip with three other gay comedians...tee-hee!
On to The Attack of the 1-4-5 Show!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Mrs. Butterworth!
Dan and I were at the SuperFresh at 10th & South last night, looking at Mrs. Butterworth syrup and noting that the bottle was now plastic instead of glass. We weren't interested in buying it, mind you, but we were commenting on how much the bottle looked like the female Changeling from "Deep Space Nine." (UltimateSean gets the original credit for that comparison, by the way.) Anyway, along comes none other than District Attorney Lynne Abraham. I'm kind of a fan of hers, so I greeted her and she was very friendly. She thought we were mulling over syrup choices, so right there she gave us a tutorial on the comparative virtues of this or that syrup. It was great, and so informative that by that point I almost wanted pancakes for dinner. Isn't that like some strange dream?
Did a tasting at the caterer's yesterday, and I had a piece of cake that was absolutely divine. It was so good I almost wept. Can't wait to have more on the 10th!
Did a tasting at the caterer's yesterday, and I had a piece of cake that was absolutely divine. It was so good I almost wept. Can't wait to have more on the 10th!
Friday, September 04, 2009
If you want to hear a smack-down...
Listen to an archived episode of Radio Times (from September 2) about the investigation into CIA interrogation techniques. Scott Horton totally schools Edward Turzanski, who does all but admit that he thinks that torture is legally defensible under the proper circumstances. If you agree with Turzanski you won't like the episode; if you don't, you will love it!
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Love. Her.
I have a total crush on Sarah Palin, but it's nothing sexual. She's cute, all right, but her life is what really turns me on. She's a reality TV show just waiting to happen, and I want to direct it! Vanity Fair is running an article by Levi Johnston about the former governor, and I think I am going to buy it. The more scurrilous the gossip, the more closely I will read. Yum!
Oh, If you're wondering if I think Johnston is cute, let me lay it out for you. He's kind of hot in that only-because-I-am-young way, but fast forward 15 years and I think he's going to be gross. Seriously. So I don't get too excited about him.
I am still with WolfBlock, which at this point is kind of like Gollum. You can still sort of tell what it used to be, but by now it's worn and hollowed out and yet shambles on. At this point the management (or what's left of it) is literally selling the furniture from under us. I tell you, before the leaves fall we'll be working on desks made of boxes.
Oh, If you're wondering if I think Johnston is cute, let me lay it out for you. He's kind of hot in that only-because-I-am-young way, but fast forward 15 years and I think he's going to be gross. Seriously. So I don't get too excited about him.
I am still with WolfBlock, which at this point is kind of like Gollum. You can still sort of tell what it used to be, but by now it's worn and hollowed out and yet shambles on. At this point the management (or what's left of it) is literally selling the furniture from under us. I tell you, before the leaves fall we'll be working on desks made of boxes.
Friday, August 28, 2009
You know caramel creams?
They are tasty even at 9:30 am. It's true.
Got our dining room/powder room/hallway painted, finally, and I love it. Light blue for most of it, a few violet accent walls, and some purple trim. Did the powder room entirely in violet, but after the first coat it looked really pink and I thought, "Did I just make Barbie's Powder Room?" This did not deter me from continuing because: a) I had faith in my color choice; and b) owning Barbie's Powder Room would be kinda funny. Upon the second coat the violet turned out violet so Mattel need not fear.
I have a message for Americans who want government out of their health insurance: Any time you want to permanently waive your right to Medicaid/Medicare, I've got your back. Totally. I will write the president and Congress myself. We'll save oodles of money when you die at 72 due to lack of care (because no private insurance company on the planet is going to cover a 72-year-old with three preexisting conditions), which means more Medicare for the rest of us. Once you are dead and therefore no longer voting foolishly, the survivors (who were smart enough to keep government in our health care) will get Congress to enact sensible health insurance reform that will protect us and our descendants. So really, you should do it for the children.
Got our dining room/powder room/hallway painted, finally, and I love it. Light blue for most of it, a few violet accent walls, and some purple trim. Did the powder room entirely in violet, but after the first coat it looked really pink and I thought, "Did I just make Barbie's Powder Room?" This did not deter me from continuing because: a) I had faith in my color choice; and b) owning Barbie's Powder Room would be kinda funny. Upon the second coat the violet turned out violet so Mattel need not fear.
I have a message for Americans who want government out of their health insurance: Any time you want to permanently waive your right to Medicaid/Medicare, I've got your back. Totally. I will write the president and Congress myself. We'll save oodles of money when you die at 72 due to lack of care (because no private insurance company on the planet is going to cover a 72-year-old with three preexisting conditions), which means more Medicare for the rest of us. Once you are dead and therefore no longer voting foolishly, the survivors (who were smart enough to keep government in our health care) will get Congress to enact sensible health insurance reform that will protect us and our descendants. So really, you should do it for the children.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Biased media...yeah right
Biased towards foolishness I'd say. Thanks to Poppy for the link to this great op-ed about right-wing craziness and the media. Here's my favorite excerpt:
Objectivity is not the goal of journalism but the method of getting to the truth. The responsible journalist looks at the evidence and listens to the commentary, makes her best judgment as to the truth of the matter, and then reports it. She is not required to treat every opinion as equally true, nor should she fear to put the facts in context. Journalists need to worry less about conservative claims of bias and more about doing their frakkin' jobs.
Conservatives have become adept at playing the media for suckers, getting inside the heads of editors and reporters, haunting them with the thought that maybe they are out-of-touch cosmopolitans and that their duty as tribunes of the people's voices means they should treat Obama's creation of "death panels" as just another justiciable political claim.
It used to be different. You never heard the late Walter Cronkite taking time on the evening news to "debunk" claims that a proposed mental health clinic in Alaska is actually a dumping ground for right-wing critics of the president's program, or giving the people who made those claims time to explain themselves on the air. The media didn't adjudicate the ever-present underbrush of American paranoia as a set of "conservative claims" to weigh, horse-race-style, against liberal claims. Back then, a more confident media unequivocally labeled the civic outrage represented by such discourse as "extremist" -- out of bounds.
Objectivity is not the goal of journalism but the method of getting to the truth. The responsible journalist looks at the evidence and listens to the commentary, makes her best judgment as to the truth of the matter, and then reports it. She is not required to treat every opinion as equally true, nor should she fear to put the facts in context. Journalists need to worry less about conservative claims of bias and more about doing their frakkin' jobs.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
When you fail at the polls...
...you turn to brute force. Having been thumped in two successive elections, and facing long-delayed but much-needed reform, conservatives turned first to a massive campaign of disinformation. That campaign has been disappointingly effective, and we're likely to see the "public option" portion of health care reform dropped because of ridiculous claims of "death panels." Now, conservatives are turning up the volume by bringing firearms to presidential events.
When one brings a weapon to an event that is crawling with police and other law enforcement officials, it's not for self-defense, nor is it some statement about Second Amendment rights that have never been in jeopardy. It's a threat, plain and simple, and only frightened people make threats. Frightened people like, say, those who failed to achieve their goals at the ballot box.
I heard it said that when conservatives control government they work its levers without regard for anything but their own goals, but when they lose control, they throw themselves on the gears to make certain nothing works. Well, they've certainly succeeded in 2009.
When one brings a weapon to an event that is crawling with police and other law enforcement officials, it's not for self-defense, nor is it some statement about Second Amendment rights that have never been in jeopardy. It's a threat, plain and simple, and only frightened people make threats. Frightened people like, say, those who failed to achieve their goals at the ballot box.
I heard it said that when conservatives control government they work its levers without regard for anything but their own goals, but when they lose control, they throw themselves on the gears to make certain nothing works. Well, they've certainly succeeded in 2009.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Boo-yah!
I frakkin' conquered the Comedy Cabaret in Marlton Friday night. Seriously. There were ten comics in all and I think I got louder and more consistent laughs than at least eight of them. This was particularly gratifying after the lackluster showing I made last spring. When I got off stage I received many congratulatory handshakes and even a hug from a woman I didn't know, and the next morning my email box was filled with Facebook friend requests. It's like being a successful comedian, except without the fame, money and high demand for my services.
Monday, July 27, 2009
This changes everything!
You have to check out this RedState.com post about Sarah Palin and her "game-changing" resignation. It reads like a David Sedaris essay, except the author isn't away of just how funny it is. This is my favorite part:
So if Palin had done what voters expected and served out the term to which voters elected her, she would have been irresponsible and derelict in her duty. Yes, we have always been at war with Oceania.
The essay is also full of sentences with unnecessary exclamation points!!! Do read the comments, one of which is a warning not to listen to articles published in Alaskan newspapers or interviews conducted with family and close friends of Palin, because obviously none of those people know more about Sarahcuda than some blogger in Mobile, Alabama.
Of all of the reasons Sarah is stepping down over, the one big reason, in my mind, is her love of country. Her deep patriotism. Her sense of duty.
So if Palin had done what voters expected and served out the term to which voters elected her, she would have been irresponsible and derelict in her duty. Yes, we have always been at war with Oceania.
The essay is also full of sentences with unnecessary exclamation points!!! Do read the comments, one of which is a warning not to listen to articles published in Alaskan newspapers or interviews conducted with family and close friends of Palin, because obviously none of those people know more about Sarahcuda than some blogger in Mobile, Alabama.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Scratch one parking ticket!
Yes, the City of Philadelphia is going to have to look elsewhither for its lousy 51 bucks, 'cause my ticket is as dead as Sarah Palin's political future.
I got to the PPA at 12:30, checked in, and then made myself comfortable to wait. There were tons of people there, but I was so engrossed in writing material for my next show and reading the new David Sedaris book that I was fine waiting. I was called back after about 35 minutes, and the following is a transcript of the exchange between me and the administrative adjudicator (AA):
AA: So this ticket is for double-parking?
Me: Yes.
AA: You can't double-park, not with your flashers on, not ever. As a courtesy I'm going to cancel this ticket.
Me: Do I get something in wr-
AA: You'll receive something in the mail within 30 days.
Me: Have a nice day! **
So you can see that my victory had less to do with my rhetorical skills and more with the fact that the AA was running way behind and was dismissing the stupid tickets so she could make headway with the others. Not exactly Bryant vs. Darrow, but either way, that $51 stays in my pocket.
**At this point I gave a moment's thought to asking how one loads a vehicle in the city if you can never double-park, and if all those South Philadelphians get $51 tickets for double-parking every single night. However, I have learned in stand-up that if a joke works you don't ask why; you just tell it. So I kept my pie-hole firmly shut.
I got to the PPA at 12:30, checked in, and then made myself comfortable to wait. There were tons of people there, but I was so engrossed in writing material for my next show and reading the new David Sedaris book that I was fine waiting. I was called back after about 35 minutes, and the following is a transcript of the exchange between me and the administrative adjudicator (AA):
AA: So this ticket is for double-parking?
Me: Yes.
AA: You can't double-park, not with your flashers on, not ever. As a courtesy I'm going to cancel this ticket.
Me: Do I get something in wr-
AA: You'll receive something in the mail within 30 days.
Me: Have a nice day! **
So you can see that my victory had less to do with my rhetorical skills and more with the fact that the AA was running way behind and was dismissing the stupid tickets so she could make headway with the others. Not exactly Bryant vs. Darrow, but either way, that $51 stays in my pocket.
**At this point I gave a moment's thought to asking how one loads a vehicle in the city if you can never double-park, and if all those South Philadelphians get $51 tickets for double-parking every single night. However, I have learned in stand-up that if a joke works you don't ask why; you just tell it. So I kept my pie-hole firmly shut.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Creepy complaint
I've begun to notice, and be annoyed by, the overuse of the word "creepy", which has become synonymous for "anything I don't like." To me, creepy things are scary and/or dangerous, which does not, for example, apply to that dorky guy who hit on you at the bar. He may be irritating, uncute and pathetic, but he's not creepy unless you have compelling reason to think he's got a jar for your head in his basement. Those St. Patrick cupcakes with the green icing are not creepy either. They're unhealthy and not of nature, yes, but given the crap we consume on a daily basis, they're not scary or especially dangerous. So don't call them creepy. Because that makes me angry.
Speaking of ill-advised food, I made a very simplistic version of beef stroganoff yesterday, substituting ground turkey for beef, rice for pasta, and steak sauce for dill weed. So it wasn't much like stroganoff at all, I suppose, but Dan and I enjoyed it anyway.
I'm fighting a traffic ticket tomorrow, so wish me luck. No points on my license are at issue (whew!), but I really don't want to pay $51 dollars for doing for 10 minutes on one day what South Philly residents do every single night for 8-12 hours. Who ever thought a Philly cop would bother to ticket double parking on a wide residential street well after rush hour, anyway? Gar! If the City of Philadelphia can tolerate the other vehicular crap I see on a daily basis (blocking the box, running red lights, cutting off pedestrians in crosswalks), then it can damned well look the other way while I double-park to help a fellow city resident move. We'll see if the PPA agrees.
Speaking of ill-advised food, I made a very simplistic version of beef stroganoff yesterday, substituting ground turkey for beef, rice for pasta, and steak sauce for dill weed. So it wasn't much like stroganoff at all, I suppose, but Dan and I enjoyed it anyway.
I'm fighting a traffic ticket tomorrow, so wish me luck. No points on my license are at issue (whew!), but I really don't want to pay $51 dollars for doing for 10 minutes on one day what South Philly residents do every single night for 8-12 hours. Who ever thought a Philly cop would bother to ticket double parking on a wide residential street well after rush hour, anyway? Gar! If the City of Philadelphia can tolerate the other vehicular crap I see on a daily basis (blocking the box, running red lights, cutting off pedestrians in crosswalks), then it can damned well look the other way while I double-park to help a fellow city resident move. We'll see if the PPA agrees.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Curmudgeon alert!
First, I have to share my current favorite YouTube video.
Second, I'm at long last going to comment on Twitter. I never really had a strong opinion of this until I actually tried to read some tweets and found them incredibly annoying. My reaction had nothing to do with the content of said tweets but the mode of communication. I have said previously that I feel we are too connected these days, and Twitter is sort of the logical end to that trend. As Dan pointed out last night, the noise-to-message ratio is really high on Twitter. (He's smart.) Reading tweets is what I imagine telepathy in a concert would be like: a constant cacophony through which you have to sort to find the value. As Dan also pointed out, not all data transfer is communication. (He's really smart.) I tried to read some political tweets, but after a few posts I gave up. I have enough to do sifting my own mental blurts for a narrative, thanks; I don't need to work on someone else's.
Second, I'm at long last going to comment on Twitter. I never really had a strong opinion of this until I actually tried to read some tweets and found them incredibly annoying. My reaction had nothing to do with the content of said tweets but the mode of communication. I have said previously that I feel we are too connected these days, and Twitter is sort of the logical end to that trend. As Dan pointed out last night, the noise-to-message ratio is really high on Twitter. (He's smart.) Reading tweets is what I imagine telepathy in a concert would be like: a constant cacophony through which you have to sort to find the value. As Dan also pointed out, not all data transfer is communication. (He's really smart.) I tried to read some political tweets, but after a few posts I gave up. I have enough to do sifting my own mental blurts for a narrative, thanks; I don't need to work on someone else's.
Monday, July 06, 2009
The Inscrutable Sarah Palin
I have to tell you that I find Sarah Palin increasingly intriguing, and when the dust settles and the books have been written I'm going to read 'em. Obviously, everyone's heard she's stepping down as Alaska governor, for reasons she didn't quite articulate and no one is really sure. Slate's Bruce Reed points out that this is symptomatic of present-day Republicans:
Anyway, what I find so fascinating about Palin is that she has half of the qualities a politician needs for success, each counterbalanced by a weakness that dooms her to failure. She's cunning but not truly clever or smart. She makes a good impression on people but can't truly read them. She's very aware of how people react to her but doesn't waste a moment actually listening to them. She's enormously ambitious but she leaves behind her a wake of bruised egos and ill feelings. Palin can put herself in the catbird's seat but she just can't seen to stay there very long.
I said it before, I'll say it again. Palin is the political version of that girl you knew in high school, and we all knew one of these girls, regardless of where or when you went to high school. When you first met her you thought she was great, but the better you got to know her the less you liked her. She wasn't book-smart and her classwork was unremarkable, but she always knew who the winners were and how she could be among them when the credits rolled. She had the cutest boyfriends and she associated herself with the most popular circle, but none of them seemed to care for her very much, and in fact were sometimes downright wary of her. And no matter how sure you were that you'd seen her worst, she could always shock you with her near-total indifference to your concerns, needs or point of view.
Needless to say, this turn of events has only piqued by interest in Ms. Palin. So I'll be watching the bookshelves!
What makes her sudden resignation especially troubling, though, is not the flawed strategy so much as her jubilation and relief in putting the statehouse in her rear mirror. Palin's resignation is a symptom of what's crippling the Republican Party of late: Governing has become an unwelcome distraction.
Anyway, what I find so fascinating about Palin is that she has half of the qualities a politician needs for success, each counterbalanced by a weakness that dooms her to failure. She's cunning but not truly clever or smart. She makes a good impression on people but can't truly read them. She's very aware of how people react to her but doesn't waste a moment actually listening to them. She's enormously ambitious but she leaves behind her a wake of bruised egos and ill feelings. Palin can put herself in the catbird's seat but she just can't seen to stay there very long.
I said it before, I'll say it again. Palin is the political version of that girl you knew in high school, and we all knew one of these girls, regardless of where or when you went to high school. When you first met her you thought she was great, but the better you got to know her the less you liked her. She wasn't book-smart and her classwork was unremarkable, but she always knew who the winners were and how she could be among them when the credits rolled. She had the cutest boyfriends and she associated herself with the most popular circle, but none of them seemed to care for her very much, and in fact were sometimes downright wary of her. And no matter how sure you were that you'd seen her worst, she could always shock you with her near-total indifference to your concerns, needs or point of view.
Needless to say, this turn of events has only piqued by interest in Ms. Palin. So I'll be watching the bookshelves!
Monday, June 29, 2009
Two things
That's what this weekend was. Thusly:
Thursday night**: Ultimate
Friday night: RPG
Saturday afternoon: Ultimate
Saturday night: RPG
Sunday morning: Ultimate
The combination of those two in my life throws off every Internet geek test I've ever taken.
All that Ultimating meant that a) I was eating like crazy all weekend; and b) I was sore as hell. B was particularly acute because Sunday morning's game was filled out by a number of tall, young, extremely fast guys who forced me to play as if I were fifteen years younger. Argh.
July approaches, and that means the Gay & Lesbian Film Festival, or Q'Fest or whatever the hell they're calling it these days. I have five films lined up, which is unusual for me. What's even more unusual is that Dan will accompany me to two of them...yay!
On a tangentially related topic, the Log Cabin Republicans have in the grand tradition of all organizations gay, splintered, most likely over egos or a stolen blouse. But don't worry...no doubt the new gay Republican group, GOProud, will just as pathetically support GOP candidates who take their votes and their donations and still vote against same sex marriage. I find gay conservatives immensely amusing, mostly because all of their efforts to "work from the inside" of the Republican Party haven't resulted in any significant policy achievements. For more fun, check out this article. Here are some gems:
That approach evidently does not include protection from gay-bashers or employment discrimination.
I cannot imagine why gay groups would be uninterested in supporting a law to ban a practice that is legal nowhere nor even scientifically possible.
This is why I loved the Log Cabin Republicans, and why I look forward with great pleasure to watching GOProud make tools and jackasses of themselves.
**I know Thursday night is hardly the weekend, but when you aren't working Friday it may as well be.
Thursday night**: Ultimate
Friday night: RPG
Saturday afternoon: Ultimate
Saturday night: RPG
Sunday morning: Ultimate
The combination of those two in my life throws off every Internet geek test I've ever taken.
All that Ultimating meant that a) I was eating like crazy all weekend; and b) I was sore as hell. B was particularly acute because Sunday morning's game was filled out by a number of tall, young, extremely fast guys who forced me to play as if I were fifteen years younger. Argh.
July approaches, and that means the Gay & Lesbian Film Festival, or Q'Fest or whatever the hell they're calling it these days. I have five films lined up, which is unusual for me. What's even more unusual is that Dan will accompany me to two of them...yay!
On a tangentially related topic, the Log Cabin Republicans have in the grand tradition of all organizations gay, splintered, most likely over egos or a stolen blouse. But don't worry...no doubt the new gay Republican group, GOProud, will just as pathetically support GOP candidates who take their votes and their donations and still vote against same sex marriage. I find gay conservatives immensely amusing, mostly because all of their efforts to "work from the inside" of the Republican Party haven't resulted in any significant policy achievements. For more fun, check out this article. Here are some gems:
"If you pulled the lever for John McCain in 2008, then passing hate-crimes legislation or ENDA [Employment Non-Discrimination Act] is probably not your priority," says Mr. LaSalvia. "Most issues that are defined as 'gay' issues have been defined by the left. We take a different approach."
That approach evidently does not include protection from gay-bashers or employment discrimination.
Take abortion. Christopher Barron, GOProud's chairman of the board, points to an example from a few years back, when a Maine state legislator introduced a bill that would have outlawed abortion for a child thought to be gay, in the event genetic testing ever reached that point. That politician, Mr. Barron says, received virtually no support from gay groups.
I cannot imagine why gay groups would be uninterested in supporting a law to ban a practice that is legal nowhere nor even scientifically possible.
This is why I loved the Log Cabin Republicans, and why I look forward with great pleasure to watching GOProud make tools and jackasses of themselves.
**I know Thursday night is hardly the weekend, but when you aren't working Friday it may as well be.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Happy Birthday Star!
Some of those who remember you well are getting together tonight, and we will think (and speak) of you. and I'll raise a glass, although it may contain only Diet Coke.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Woot, loot and fruit
I have posted the vids of my performance at Gayety, the event that commemorated the closing of Joe Coffee Bar. As you will see, it was a fun crowd and I had alot of fun performing. And I got to open for Deirdre Flint...eat it, bitches!
Wolf Block is now officially dead, although a few of the employees - me included - have been asked to stay through the summer to attend to the burial. So I spend much of my days cleaning out offices and boxing up files. It's kinda fun, because the place is nearly empty so you can yell down corridors and throw empty boxes around without fear of hitting anyone. And so I do. Also, you can have your pick of the stuff the firm is throwing out, so there is a significant amount of looting.
Looking forward to lunch so much that I will savor even the granny smith apple I brought. In case you don't know I am not wild about fruit, although I eat it on a regular basis. Strawberries, pineapple and grapes are my favorites, but I eat the apples because they're more convenient to carry and they keep alot longer.
Wolf Block is now officially dead, although a few of the employees - me included - have been asked to stay through the summer to attend to the burial. So I spend much of my days cleaning out offices and boxing up files. It's kinda fun, because the place is nearly empty so you can yell down corridors and throw empty boxes around without fear of hitting anyone. And so I do. Also, you can have your pick of the stuff the firm is throwing out, so there is a significant amount of looting.
Looking forward to lunch so much that I will savor even the granny smith apple I brought. In case you don't know I am not wild about fruit, although I eat it on a regular basis. Strawberries, pineapple and grapes are my favorites, but I eat the apples because they're more convenient to carry and they keep alot longer.
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