The cameras flashed like any press conference. The legit press--or was it a town hall meeting?-- gathered around, taking notes. Standing outside, with cotton candy stuffed into their mouths until they gagged, were the gaggle of reporters who had been asking Obama questions like: "What has enchanted you about being president?" and essentially giving him a free pass on everything and letting his teleprompter answer for him. Even further down the road was a port-a-potty where everyone who had ever screamed a protest slogan or shouted down a speaker in a public forum was being crammed with ruthless efficiency. (There were many of them. They were very uncomfortable.) The Daily Show and Fox news had been told that there was a monumental pile of political hay on the other side of town, the kind for which their constituents are so hungry. They ran to it as though it would cure their raging rabies.
Even after these precautions had been taken, there remained a few idiots in the room. Some of them were intelligent idiots. We decided to proceed. At the pulpit was the Presidential Nominee of the New Federalist Party. She, (or he--we never even discussed gender) stood there without a prepared statement. There was no teleprompter. No action committee had trucked in supporters. No operatives had filtered through the audience and dismissed people who might disagree. The Networks had not been allowed to line up anything controversial for ratings.
The first question came: As President, what will you do about Education?
Quickly came the answer: NOTHING! Why would you ask the president about education? Before asking a question like that, you might peruse the Constitution. Then ask yourself: Does it give the president any authority or purview over education? You might further ask, "How the hell did the people of this country get fooled into thinking that an elected official in freaking Washington DC should have ANYTHING to say about the running of their school in Colfax, California--or anywhere else? So yes, my answer is, literally, I'm not going to do anything about education. I'm not supposed to. Get up off your couch and go to the local School Board meeting. Better yet, join the PTA and see how you can help out. This is not an issue that the federal government has the tools to consider. Next question.
Now there was a pause. The candidate spoke clearly, and like a real person, whose authority comes from confidence, rather than buzz lines followed by mandatory pauses for applause. The press were taken aback.
The second question was a little tentative: Your party's platform seems ambivalent on certain issues. for instance, What is your position on abortion?
The candidate smiled before answering: My position on abortion is officially irrelevant. I believe, with all my heart, that the federal government should have nothing to say about it. But since this will, apparently, not suffice, I'll give you my personal opinion. I think the idea of sucking a partially formed or potential human being out of a woman's body with a vacuum, or plucking it out with forceps, is disgusting and anyone with a soul feels the same way. But I also despise the kind of political activism that would protest outside a clinic where a woman is having one. Each state should decide that issue for itself and then you can move to a state where abortions either happen or don't, whichever makes you feel like you can go on living. Like most other issues, this should shake out on a local level. Does anyone have a question about something the President is supposed to decide and act upon?
A sea of hands went down. A burly ex-marine and an unwashed hippy peacenik stood and simultaneously said: What about the military?
The candidate smiled again: Wow, stereo! You know what? Believe it or not, I think I can satisfy both of you at the same time. This is, in fact, one of the few things the President is supposed to manage effectively. I believe in a strong military--but not necessarily in a gigantic, invasive one. My sacred trust, as President, will be to protect our country. I don't see how sending our forces out all over the world accomplishes that. Under my watch, we will no longer be regulating conflicts in other nations, unless I perceive a DIRECT and IMMEDIATE threat to our national security. Let me be clear. All troops will return from foreign shores. All forces will focus on national defence. And you know what?
This is an opportunity to address the idea of foreign aid. I'll be withdrawing it. Entirely. Until we pay off the national debt, we will send ZERO money overseas. Before you go hating me for that, think about it for a second. How does a country with TRILLIONS LESS THAN NOTHING send money to other countries? If your parents were in the hole, would you go to them with your hand out? Even if you did, could they help you? Think about it. By the way, once our debt is erased, believe me, whatever surplus we generate will go to the neediest countries we can find. We absolutely have a responsibility to help the less fortunate. Which begs the question: What have YOU done lately, with your own damn time and money, to help the less fortunate? You know why you want the government to dish it out? Because YOU DON'T, and yet you still want to appropriate, somehow, the good feeling of living in a world where people help each other. Get off your couch and open your wallet and help someone. Then maybe you'll stop crying when your government fails to do something it isn't supposed to do anyway.
At this point, a large section of the audience was getting into it. They had never heard a political candidate talk like this. They asked about taxes. About crime. About the movie rating system. The answers were all in the same clearly exciting vein. When it was over, it was clear that the next election was going to be very interesting indeed.
And then I woke up.
samedi, janvier 09, 2010
samedi, décembre 19, 2009
Coming Out Party
In this day and age, it simply won't do to hide who we are. In the past, perhaps, we could justify cowering in the shadows of Society's closet. "For the good of Civilization" we might say. But no longer. We have to stand tall. We have to fight the closed--indeed, the bigoted minds--that marginalize and belittle us. Merely admitting it will not suffice. We must proclaim it.
I'm coming out.
As a grown, educated, married, heterosexual man, who loves sports and drives a truck, I stand and say to the world: YES, I LOVE THE TWILIGHT SERIES.
I swam through a turbulent sea of dismissive critics and superior literati looking down their noses to see the movies. I fought past my own pre-judgements and my own well laid plan to mock, deride, and despise this teenage fantasy machine. And I ended up in love. Certainly not with the obsessive mobs of fans. Certainly not with the nuclear powered product mongering corporate interests. Certainly not with the books, which are so far down my reading list--I'm scheduled to read them, honestly, but--I just can't get to them until two years after I'm dead.
No, I'm taken with the concepts, the ideas, the mythos that beats at the heart of the Saga.
Much as you should accept, even embrace, what may very well have been born in me--thereby rendering any justification on my part superfluous--I think perhaps a brief treatise on why these movies are beautiful, and OK to love, will help you feel more at ease with me living the Twilight life.
1) Finally, I get why vampires are interesting. All my life, I've thought: So they suck blood, so they haunt the night, and have supernatural powers. Who cares? And, since Anne Rice made them dead sexy, I've been sort of turned off by their super hot sexlessness. I guess you could say I couldn't attribute any humanity to them. Somehow, until Twilight I missed the point: These are people, and they are bored. How horrible it must be to live forever on this earth. To pass through era after era of human history and never change. And see how nothing ever changes. After a few hundred years it must be a desperate and daily challenge to find something interesting on this planet. Through Edward Cullen, and through the Vulteri, this dilemma is explored with subtlety that borders on delicate. It gives one pause, as one translates the idea to the concept of living forever ANYWHERE. If you believe in God, or gods, you start to wonder how an eternal being makes life interesting once omnipotence and omniscience are achieved. You start to see why people cooked up this reincarnation idea. If all the series did was make vampires interesting to me, really for the first time, it may be enough. And there's more on that front . . .
2) While I hate updates to the vampire myth (the part about their skin sparkling in the sun was a groaner, almost a deal breaker), I kind of love the idea that there are vampires trying to do good in the world. Trying, against all odds, to live in peace and help people. I'm sure some lesser known work has more effectively explored the idea of Vampires actually using their powers to non-evil ends, but the idea of the Cullen family remains compelling to me. Why wouldn't a group of vampires evolve who refuse to drink human blood? Come to think of it, why couldn't a group of vampires evolve, after millions of years, for whom the sun is not lethal? (Maybe I don't hate this sparkling thing as much as I thought. Oh well. I still hated the baseball scene.) But you don't have to appreciate the vampires, because . . .
3) You can buy into the Twilight portrayal of what it means to have a soul mate. Believe me, I wish I could simply debunk the whole idea. And I think for a vast majority of the population, the idea IS the purest bunk. But for an unfortunate few, such a thing exists. And it isn't pretty. Every major work of art that attempts to legitimately explore the idea of "star crossed lovers," from Romeo & Juliette to Wuthering Heights, ends up revealing how destructive and dangerous the very idea is. And for all that, the reality of it is even worse. Living that intensely for a single other being is more often than not contrary to the needs and stipulations of Civilization at large. It makes you a freak. And it is beyond the will. You cannot choose your way out of it. It is misery of separation or the world's daily assault against the perfection it cannot permit to exist. Imagine having that load hoisted upon your shoulders as a teenager. I love that Twilight makes its lovers suffer through at least two books' worth of pain, inconvenience, destruction, chaos, separation, despair, societal alienation, family machinations, etc. I can't conceive of anything so miserably dangerous as finding out, at any age, but especially at a young age, that there is another person upon whom your happiness, perhaps your very existence, depends. Because of this, I don't mind the sullen behavior, nor the morose portrayals of the main characters. It thrills me in the same way (though certainly not to the same degree) as the above mentioned works of literary genius. And thankfully, Twilight doesn't stop there. The author wasn't afraid to show that there is a glorious side to that kind of love. If the people involved are willing to wager all and accept no substitutes.
I could go on. But the above points suffice. Hopefully. Look, I'm just asking you to give the movie, and the people who can't help but love it, a chance. Don't look down your nose at it just because bazillions of ditzy teenage girls are screaming themselves hoarse over it. Don't give up on it just because the whole thing seems, on the surface, to revolve around a buffed up teenage werewolf and a skinny, mopey vampire taking their shirts off.
Open your mind and heart to the possibility that people like me exist. And we just might be right.
I'm coming out.
As a grown, educated, married, heterosexual man, who loves sports and drives a truck, I stand and say to the world: YES, I LOVE THE TWILIGHT SERIES.
I swam through a turbulent sea of dismissive critics and superior literati looking down their noses to see the movies. I fought past my own pre-judgements and my own well laid plan to mock, deride, and despise this teenage fantasy machine. And I ended up in love. Certainly not with the obsessive mobs of fans. Certainly not with the nuclear powered product mongering corporate interests. Certainly not with the books, which are so far down my reading list--I'm scheduled to read them, honestly, but--I just can't get to them until two years after I'm dead.
No, I'm taken with the concepts, the ideas, the mythos that beats at the heart of the Saga.
Much as you should accept, even embrace, what may very well have been born in me--thereby rendering any justification on my part superfluous--I think perhaps a brief treatise on why these movies are beautiful, and OK to love, will help you feel more at ease with me living the Twilight life.
1) Finally, I get why vampires are interesting. All my life, I've thought: So they suck blood, so they haunt the night, and have supernatural powers. Who cares? And, since Anne Rice made them dead sexy, I've been sort of turned off by their super hot sexlessness. I guess you could say I couldn't attribute any humanity to them. Somehow, until Twilight I missed the point: These are people, and they are bored. How horrible it must be to live forever on this earth. To pass through era after era of human history and never change. And see how nothing ever changes. After a few hundred years it must be a desperate and daily challenge to find something interesting on this planet. Through Edward Cullen, and through the Vulteri, this dilemma is explored with subtlety that borders on delicate. It gives one pause, as one translates the idea to the concept of living forever ANYWHERE. If you believe in God, or gods, you start to wonder how an eternal being makes life interesting once omnipotence and omniscience are achieved. You start to see why people cooked up this reincarnation idea. If all the series did was make vampires interesting to me, really for the first time, it may be enough. And there's more on that front . . .
2) While I hate updates to the vampire myth (the part about their skin sparkling in the sun was a groaner, almost a deal breaker), I kind of love the idea that there are vampires trying to do good in the world. Trying, against all odds, to live in peace and help people. I'm sure some lesser known work has more effectively explored the idea of Vampires actually using their powers to non-evil ends, but the idea of the Cullen family remains compelling to me. Why wouldn't a group of vampires evolve who refuse to drink human blood? Come to think of it, why couldn't a group of vampires evolve, after millions of years, for whom the sun is not lethal? (Maybe I don't hate this sparkling thing as much as I thought. Oh well. I still hated the baseball scene.) But you don't have to appreciate the vampires, because . . .
3) You can buy into the Twilight portrayal of what it means to have a soul mate. Believe me, I wish I could simply debunk the whole idea. And I think for a vast majority of the population, the idea IS the purest bunk. But for an unfortunate few, such a thing exists. And it isn't pretty. Every major work of art that attempts to legitimately explore the idea of "star crossed lovers," from Romeo & Juliette to Wuthering Heights, ends up revealing how destructive and dangerous the very idea is. And for all that, the reality of it is even worse. Living that intensely for a single other being is more often than not contrary to the needs and stipulations of Civilization at large. It makes you a freak. And it is beyond the will. You cannot choose your way out of it. It is misery of separation or the world's daily assault against the perfection it cannot permit to exist. Imagine having that load hoisted upon your shoulders as a teenager. I love that Twilight makes its lovers suffer through at least two books' worth of pain, inconvenience, destruction, chaos, separation, despair, societal alienation, family machinations, etc. I can't conceive of anything so miserably dangerous as finding out, at any age, but especially at a young age, that there is another person upon whom your happiness, perhaps your very existence, depends. Because of this, I don't mind the sullen behavior, nor the morose portrayals of the main characters. It thrills me in the same way (though certainly not to the same degree) as the above mentioned works of literary genius. And thankfully, Twilight doesn't stop there. The author wasn't afraid to show that there is a glorious side to that kind of love. If the people involved are willing to wager all and accept no substitutes.
I could go on. But the above points suffice. Hopefully. Look, I'm just asking you to give the movie, and the people who can't help but love it, a chance. Don't look down your nose at it just because bazillions of ditzy teenage girls are screaming themselves hoarse over it. Don't give up on it just because the whole thing seems, on the surface, to revolve around a buffed up teenage werewolf and a skinny, mopey vampire taking their shirts off.
Open your mind and heart to the possibility that people like me exist. And we just might be right.
samedi, décembre 12, 2009
Unearthed Musicana
How does Peter Gabriel's album So escape people's "Best Albums of all Time" lists? Give it a listen. I don't care if several of the songs reached self parody status because of over exposure in the 80's. Even a 5 song EP with Mercy Street, Your Eyes, Red Rain, Don't Give Up, and Sledgehammer would merit consideration for All Time Greatness. If this were all he ever did, it suffices for immortality.
Speaking of which, a friend of mine and I recently performed at a local bar. When she wanted to do a Courtney Love song, I balked, having always found the former Mrs. Cobain loathsome, and believing that she was absolutely responsible in some way for her late, great, husband's death. But upon hearing the song Malibu, I forgave her everything. I remembered watching Immortal Beloved, wherein the woman Beethoven had terrorized (and loved) says: "I forgave him because of the Ode to Joy." I remembered reading an interview with Morrissey wherein he stated that David Bowie is pardoned of all sins because of Drive-In Saturday. Courtney Love is certainly no Beethoven or Bowie, but Malibu is that kind of achievement. If it were her only accomplishment, she could still be called great. And even Love haters would have to admit the greatness of at least that song.
It occurred to us, that every performer/band has their very own Malibu. The song that even detractors must accept. The song that makes you forgive them. Even non Smiths fans cannot dismiss There is a Light That Never Goes Out. It is too beautiful. Even non Bowie fans have to love The Man Who Sold the World, and/or Drive In Saturday. And for the greatness of these offerings you forgive his fop-pop in the 80's, and his hair in Labyrinth, and the fact that he made himself a publicly traded commodity (you see why he needs at least two). You might hate Metallica, but you can't help but rock out to Enter Sandman. ETC.
It isn't just picking the ear candy out of some one's catalogue. Think of every great band you like. They have to have at least one song that grabs the world and says: "judge me by this." Really great songwriters have several, in many cases because they need that much forgiveness. Often you discover these songs because bands you actually like cover them, and you realize, "I was never really into Michael Jackson, but that version of Smooth Criminal is coolness."
Can you think of any more examples?
What's your Malibu?
Speaking of which, a friend of mine and I recently performed at a local bar. When she wanted to do a Courtney Love song, I balked, having always found the former Mrs. Cobain loathsome, and believing that she was absolutely responsible in some way for her late, great, husband's death. But upon hearing the song Malibu, I forgave her everything. I remembered watching Immortal Beloved, wherein the woman Beethoven had terrorized (and loved) says: "I forgave him because of the Ode to Joy." I remembered reading an interview with Morrissey wherein he stated that David Bowie is pardoned of all sins because of Drive-In Saturday. Courtney Love is certainly no Beethoven or Bowie, but Malibu is that kind of achievement. If it were her only accomplishment, she could still be called great. And even Love haters would have to admit the greatness of at least that song.
It occurred to us, that every performer/band has their very own Malibu. The song that even detractors must accept. The song that makes you forgive them. Even non Smiths fans cannot dismiss There is a Light That Never Goes Out. It is too beautiful. Even non Bowie fans have to love The Man Who Sold the World, and/or Drive In Saturday. And for the greatness of these offerings you forgive his fop-pop in the 80's, and his hair in Labyrinth, and the fact that he made himself a publicly traded commodity (you see why he needs at least two). You might hate Metallica, but you can't help but rock out to Enter Sandman. ETC.
It isn't just picking the ear candy out of some one's catalogue. Think of every great band you like. They have to have at least one song that grabs the world and says: "judge me by this." Really great songwriters have several, in many cases because they need that much forgiveness. Often you discover these songs because bands you actually like cover them, and you realize, "I was never really into Michael Jackson, but that version of Smooth Criminal is coolness."
Can you think of any more examples?
What's your Malibu?
samedi, décembre 05, 2009
HodgePodgeman
[Editor's note - The ostensible plan was to allow the author to let his mind wander, stream of conscious style, and record each thought as it occurred, to the delight of a wide range of consumer demographics. However, the initial result was slightly darker than this space usually exhibits. In point of fact that composition, consisting of a question about the ever decreasing life in the battery of his lap top, which led to a bleak meditation on decaying love and lifelong dreams being deferred until the soul itself is a dry husk, which then actually became an immense black hole sucking all life and light into a dark core of nothingness, the location of which in the cosmos can be inferred by its gravitational effect on nearby stars and planets. With that boil lanced and deleted, the author was free to let his mind wander into strawberry fields. It is hoped that the reader will delight therein, though the fate of the cosmos (vis-a-vis the aforementioned black hole) remains, at best, questionable.]
*For my money, John Hodgeman's The Areas of My Expertise is the funniest book ever written. Every page is purest gold. Even the outside cover is delicious. It even contains a chapter entitled Those 500 Hobo Names You Requested. Need I say more? Find it. Buy it. You will thank me. And you'll owe me for a thousand and one smiles and delightful conversations.
Speaking of smiles . . .
*Armed with donated gift cards, I had the priviledge of taking a kid from the shelter to Pac Sun [super hip clothing store for tweeners, teens, and twentysomethings - ed.] and was impressed with their cutting edge set up. Problem: the young person in question has a 38 inch waist. There were only two pair of super hip jeans with a waist over 34, and they were 36's. Conundrum #1: On the one hand, I was absolutely sympathetic and supportive to the chubby teen, who is a really great guy who is in the process of overcoming a very difficult childhood. On the other, I was rejoicing inside that there was a retailer willing to bring the hammer down. How to put it diplomatically that you are secretly, and yes, uncharitably, glad that the fashion industry so blatantly marginalizes the more generously appointed? Conundrum #2: since when did skinny jeans become mandatory? I love a trim line, but I do not need jeans that grip tightly around my knees and ankles. I don't understand their range of cuts, which was "skinny" on the wide end, and "tighter than Billy Idol's leather pants from the 80's" on the other. Conundrum #3: PRICES. After shopping so long at second hand stores and bargain outlets, the idea of paying more than 20 dollars for a pair of pants sends my mind reeling. Some of the jeans in that place were $50. And that's a bargain to the fashion forward. I've seen jeans selling in the $80 -$200 range and thought: I am a country mile behind the world. If I won the lottery I wouldn't pay that. If George Soros paid me Al Gore money to tell America how stupid and evil it is, I still wouldn't pay half that. It is beyond my comprehension. Dang I'm poor.
Perhaps the dominance of the skinny jean paradigm is God's way of ending the bitter, loathsome scourge of sagging, baggy jeans. My prayers that he simply use the Smite App. on his Celestial i-phone have been long unheeded. But now I see. No lightning bolt, no foul disease, no earthquake or pestilence could make them see how disgusting they look. They will never see the folly of sagging their pants so low they cannot even run from the cops who should soon be arresting them. But soon, they will be marginalized along with fatty. They will wear sweat pants in public or they will step reluctantly into the light. The nightmare of boxer shorts and butt cracks will have an ending.
Speaking of endings . . .
*LOST is coming back. The YouTube promo almost rekindles some of the early enthusiasm I felt for that magical show. The fact is, we have to know. We have to know how it ends. And isn't it a relief to see a show that says: This is it. We are ending it. We will not compromise our artifact for profit. I wish more shows would know when to call it quits. Like Flight of the Conchords. Like Extras (and almost every other BBC show, including the original Office). Like Arrested Development (Please don't make the movie! People THINK they want it, but they will rue the day.)
Speaking of ruing the day . . .
*Christmas time rolls around once a year to remind us that Jim Carry will burn a thousand years in the ninth circle of Hell for his portrayal of the Grinch. Only his stint as the producer and narrator of Arrested Development has earned Ron Howard a provisional pardon. I heard that horrible "Where are you, Christmas?" song in the store the other day and went into convulsions. It's almost as bad as the torturous "Feliz Navidad." Here are the lyrics I hear every time it putrefies the airwaves:
Here's a Spanish phrase.
Which I'll blast in your face.
Let me say it again and again and again with a blah blah blah.
Now I'll sing the same thing in English.
Now let me sing the same thing in English.
One more time I'll say it in English from the bottom of my heart.
Here it comes again.
Do you wish you were dead?
This song never ends and prospero blah blow blah blah blah blah blah.
Try it, it matches up. [Addendum: In several states it is not considered murder if you kill the composer and/or performer of that song. I'm not saying; I'm just saying -ed.] If that song is now stuck in your head, you'll be wanting to kill ME, so we'd better close with a palette cleanser. Where does the mind wish to meander.
Still Christmas.
I was 7 years old when I figured it out. I got up in the middle of the night to pee and saw my parents wrapping gifts that were supposed to be from Santa. They didn't see me. For their sake I lied about believing in Santa for another year or two. I also continued to lie to my friends about believing. I didn't want to make waves. It was such a relief when the cat was out of the bag for everyone involved.
If you don't watch A Christmas Story and Dr. Seuss' ORIGINAL animated How the Grinch Stole Christmas sometime this month, you are inartistic, ignoble, uninspired, and unamerican.
Happy Holidays!
*For my money, John Hodgeman's The Areas of My Expertise is the funniest book ever written. Every page is purest gold. Even the outside cover is delicious. It even contains a chapter entitled Those 500 Hobo Names You Requested. Need I say more? Find it. Buy it. You will thank me. And you'll owe me for a thousand and one smiles and delightful conversations.
Speaking of smiles . . .
*Armed with donated gift cards, I had the priviledge of taking a kid from the shelter to Pac Sun [super hip clothing store for tweeners, teens, and twentysomethings - ed.] and was impressed with their cutting edge set up. Problem: the young person in question has a 38 inch waist. There were only two pair of super hip jeans with a waist over 34, and they were 36's. Conundrum #1: On the one hand, I was absolutely sympathetic and supportive to the chubby teen, who is a really great guy who is in the process of overcoming a very difficult childhood. On the other, I was rejoicing inside that there was a retailer willing to bring the hammer down. How to put it diplomatically that you are secretly, and yes, uncharitably, glad that the fashion industry so blatantly marginalizes the more generously appointed? Conundrum #2: since when did skinny jeans become mandatory? I love a trim line, but I do not need jeans that grip tightly around my knees and ankles. I don't understand their range of cuts, which was "skinny" on the wide end, and "tighter than Billy Idol's leather pants from the 80's" on the other. Conundrum #3: PRICES. After shopping so long at second hand stores and bargain outlets, the idea of paying more than 20 dollars for a pair of pants sends my mind reeling. Some of the jeans in that place were $50. And that's a bargain to the fashion forward. I've seen jeans selling in the $80 -$200 range and thought: I am a country mile behind the world. If I won the lottery I wouldn't pay that. If George Soros paid me Al Gore money to tell America how stupid and evil it is, I still wouldn't pay half that. It is beyond my comprehension. Dang I'm poor.
Perhaps the dominance of the skinny jean paradigm is God's way of ending the bitter, loathsome scourge of sagging, baggy jeans. My prayers that he simply use the Smite App. on his Celestial i-phone have been long unheeded. But now I see. No lightning bolt, no foul disease, no earthquake or pestilence could make them see how disgusting they look. They will never see the folly of sagging their pants so low they cannot even run from the cops who should soon be arresting them. But soon, they will be marginalized along with fatty. They will wear sweat pants in public or they will step reluctantly into the light. The nightmare of boxer shorts and butt cracks will have an ending.
Speaking of endings . . .
*LOST is coming back. The YouTube promo almost rekindles some of the early enthusiasm I felt for that magical show. The fact is, we have to know. We have to know how it ends. And isn't it a relief to see a show that says: This is it. We are ending it. We will not compromise our artifact for profit. I wish more shows would know when to call it quits. Like Flight of the Conchords. Like Extras (and almost every other BBC show, including the original Office). Like Arrested Development (Please don't make the movie! People THINK they want it, but they will rue the day.)
Speaking of ruing the day . . .
*Christmas time rolls around once a year to remind us that Jim Carry will burn a thousand years in the ninth circle of Hell for his portrayal of the Grinch. Only his stint as the producer and narrator of Arrested Development has earned Ron Howard a provisional pardon. I heard that horrible "Where are you, Christmas?" song in the store the other day and went into convulsions. It's almost as bad as the torturous "Feliz Navidad." Here are the lyrics I hear every time it putrefies the airwaves:
Here's a Spanish phrase.
Which I'll blast in your face.
Let me say it again and again and again with a blah blah blah.
Now I'll sing the same thing in English.
Now let me sing the same thing in English.
One more time I'll say it in English from the bottom of my heart.
Here it comes again.
Do you wish you were dead?
This song never ends and prospero blah blow blah blah blah blah blah.
Try it, it matches up. [Addendum: In several states it is not considered murder if you kill the composer and/or performer of that song. I'm not saying; I'm just saying -ed.] If that song is now stuck in your head, you'll be wanting to kill ME, so we'd better close with a palette cleanser. Where does the mind wish to meander.
Still Christmas.
I was 7 years old when I figured it out. I got up in the middle of the night to pee and saw my parents wrapping gifts that were supposed to be from Santa. They didn't see me. For their sake I lied about believing in Santa for another year or two. I also continued to lie to my friends about believing. I didn't want to make waves. It was such a relief when the cat was out of the bag for everyone involved.
If you don't watch A Christmas Story and Dr. Seuss' ORIGINAL animated How the Grinch Stole Christmas sometime this month, you are inartistic, ignoble, uninspired, and unamerican.
Happy Holidays!
samedi, novembre 28, 2009
Hack Into Me
What follows is an unconfirmed, possibly fictional statement from a scientist who may or may not have asked that his name be removed.
So they hacked into my private e-mails. Wherein I had spent a small amount of time, a few words here and there, wondering why the data wasn't matching my agenda. I might have also mocked those who disagree with me, referring to them as "twat" and "ignoramus" and other choice terms that mature adults use routinely when they don't think they will have to actually show their cards.
It has been really embarrassing. But not in the way you might think. I'm embarrassed for all of you.
How sad it is to see how deeply people's ideology clouds their judgement. There are actually people who believe in Anthropogenic Global Warming on a religious level. They have never looked up the facts. They accept the party line of their spiritual leaders. They derisively dismiss anyone who dares disagree with them. They assume that anyone who wants to actually look at the idea of climate change scientifically is their moral, social, and political enemy. To that end, they LOVE my smarmy name calling. The myriad UNtruths in their Gospel of Inconvenient Truth are unthinkable to them. They ignore, utterly and profoundly, the particular e-mail where I mentioned that the famous "hockey stick" graph mentioned by their Goracle is not supported by the data, and recoil, utterly and profoundly, from the possibility that I might have any questions about their dogmatic faith that man is at the root of climate change. I'm sure that if I ever find evidence to the contrary, they will throw pies in my face as I leave the symposium. They are, in short, utterly and profoundly, UNscientific.
They have counterparts. Doppelgangers if you will. People who have ignored the data with equal exuberance. Their opposition is equally devout. They sift through 3,000 e-mails to find the one or two where I dared question. They take them as evidence that makes their case. They somehow interpret my infantile jibes to their ilk as evidence that my arguments are flawed. Most of their minds exist proudly within the bounds of the AM radio waves that carry the vitriol of their prophets. If they end up being right--I should say, correct--their arguments will dismiss themselves with the self same tools they used to dismiss the tenets of their "enemies."
But these are the people who dwell on the surface. It would be wrong of me to expect better from them. From Time Immemorial humans have desperately sought after facts to fit their agenda, rather than the more sensible opposite modus operandi. That is what they will do with my leaked e-mails: they will hear what they want to hear, and this will render the whole debate fairly moot. Happily, you can count on religious types from both camps to at least be well intentioned. So I'll handle my embarrassment. I'll take my medicine like any mature adult who is caught with questionable half truths and insults in his mouth: I'll obfuscate the questionable and augment the insults even as I pretend to apologise. Watch me; it'll be beautiful. However, as you watch, you might begin to feel a bowling ball in your stomach, as the fingers of your brain grapple in the mist for the real revelation slinking around between the lines of my hacked private communications.
There are people who are much worse than those I have mentioned. People whose agenda is not well intentioned. Big talking individuals who profit in unthinkable ways by manipulating the data and the perception of the data. One group requires that GW [global warming] sink into the dank basement of myth so that their cronies and partners can increase margins and avoid regulation. They might even want to be free to pollute soil and atmosphere. The other group NEEDS desperately for AGW [anthropogenic, or man caused, global warming] to be a fact. They require the subsequent fear and panic and activism to implicate a political agenda that has little to do with the actual climate. Their financial well-being literally depends on their premise being true. I might even be one of them. Or I might work for them. Or I may depend on them remaining and gaining in power so they can dispense money in my direction. Or I am an important third party to their friends, who are captains of industry, who need to sell products that say "green" on the label. For all I know, these apparent poles of contraction are working together. Tricking everyone into choosing sides because that is how they get paid.
As it turns out, most of us have chosen sides on flimsy grounds, such as liking one side or the other, or how one side makes us feel, or whether they agree with our views on how socially progressive society should be, or whether their comedians are funny to us or not, or whether their religion is traditional or couched in pretending to be non religious.
I don't remember when I chose a side, but I did. I absolutely did. Being a scientist doesn't, and shouldn't preclude that. Keep that in mind when you judge our data. Keep that in mind when you judge our humanity. We are people. Cut us--do we not bleed? Make our private lives public, do we not appear as childish as everyone else? Try to untie the Gordian knot of where our politics end and where our objectivity begins, and are you not face to face with your own agenda driven ignorance?
If you aren't, perhaps you should be.
In the end, these are just 3,000 e-mails that will have no lasting effect on whatever passes for "debate" in this world. That said, if we squint long enough into the temporarily large shadow of this feckless electronic edifice, we might find a handwritten line by a long dead prince of Denmark: There is more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in our philosophy.
So they hacked into my private e-mails. Wherein I had spent a small amount of time, a few words here and there, wondering why the data wasn't matching my agenda. I might have also mocked those who disagree with me, referring to them as "twat" and "ignoramus" and other choice terms that mature adults use routinely when they don't think they will have to actually show their cards.
It has been really embarrassing. But not in the way you might think. I'm embarrassed for all of you.
How sad it is to see how deeply people's ideology clouds their judgement. There are actually people who believe in Anthropogenic Global Warming on a religious level. They have never looked up the facts. They accept the party line of their spiritual leaders. They derisively dismiss anyone who dares disagree with them. They assume that anyone who wants to actually look at the idea of climate change scientifically is their moral, social, and political enemy. To that end, they LOVE my smarmy name calling. The myriad UNtruths in their Gospel of Inconvenient Truth are unthinkable to them. They ignore, utterly and profoundly, the particular e-mail where I mentioned that the famous "hockey stick" graph mentioned by their Goracle is not supported by the data, and recoil, utterly and profoundly, from the possibility that I might have any questions about their dogmatic faith that man is at the root of climate change. I'm sure that if I ever find evidence to the contrary, they will throw pies in my face as I leave the symposium. They are, in short, utterly and profoundly, UNscientific.
They have counterparts. Doppelgangers if you will. People who have ignored the data with equal exuberance. Their opposition is equally devout. They sift through 3,000 e-mails to find the one or two where I dared question. They take them as evidence that makes their case. They somehow interpret my infantile jibes to their ilk as evidence that my arguments are flawed. Most of their minds exist proudly within the bounds of the AM radio waves that carry the vitriol of their prophets. If they end up being right--I should say, correct--their arguments will dismiss themselves with the self same tools they used to dismiss the tenets of their "enemies."
But these are the people who dwell on the surface. It would be wrong of me to expect better from them. From Time Immemorial humans have desperately sought after facts to fit their agenda, rather than the more sensible opposite modus operandi. That is what they will do with my leaked e-mails: they will hear what they want to hear, and this will render the whole debate fairly moot. Happily, you can count on religious types from both camps to at least be well intentioned. So I'll handle my embarrassment. I'll take my medicine like any mature adult who is caught with questionable half truths and insults in his mouth: I'll obfuscate the questionable and augment the insults even as I pretend to apologise. Watch me; it'll be beautiful. However, as you watch, you might begin to feel a bowling ball in your stomach, as the fingers of your brain grapple in the mist for the real revelation slinking around between the lines of my hacked private communications.
There are people who are much worse than those I have mentioned. People whose agenda is not well intentioned. Big talking individuals who profit in unthinkable ways by manipulating the data and the perception of the data. One group requires that GW [global warming] sink into the dank basement of myth so that their cronies and partners can increase margins and avoid regulation. They might even want to be free to pollute soil and atmosphere. The other group NEEDS desperately for AGW [anthropogenic, or man caused, global warming] to be a fact. They require the subsequent fear and panic and activism to implicate a political agenda that has little to do with the actual climate. Their financial well-being literally depends on their premise being true. I might even be one of them. Or I might work for them. Or I may depend on them remaining and gaining in power so they can dispense money in my direction. Or I am an important third party to their friends, who are captains of industry, who need to sell products that say "green" on the label. For all I know, these apparent poles of contraction are working together. Tricking everyone into choosing sides because that is how they get paid.
As it turns out, most of us have chosen sides on flimsy grounds, such as liking one side or the other, or how one side makes us feel, or whether they agree with our views on how socially progressive society should be, or whether their comedians are funny to us or not, or whether their religion is traditional or couched in pretending to be non religious.
I don't remember when I chose a side, but I did. I absolutely did. Being a scientist doesn't, and shouldn't preclude that. Keep that in mind when you judge our data. Keep that in mind when you judge our humanity. We are people. Cut us--do we not bleed? Make our private lives public, do we not appear as childish as everyone else? Try to untie the Gordian knot of where our politics end and where our objectivity begins, and are you not face to face with your own agenda driven ignorance?
If you aren't, perhaps you should be.
In the end, these are just 3,000 e-mails that will have no lasting effect on whatever passes for "debate" in this world. That said, if we squint long enough into the temporarily large shadow of this feckless electronic edifice, we might find a handwritten line by a long dead prince of Denmark: There is more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in our philosophy.
samedi, novembre 21, 2009
Candide
Mark Twain went around the country. In the end, embittered and full of bile, he was paraphrased in the blogosphere, saying: "If you don't watch the news, you are uninformed. If you do watch the news, you are misinformed."
Not long before, Voltaire sent Candide around the world. In the course of his misadventures, he discovered something: he didn't care about the price of tea in China. It was all outside the sphere of his influence and was therefore bereft of meaning. He decided, in another immortalized turn of phrase, to "tend [his] own garden."
This was all taken to heart by my good friend Jason, who said: "Don't talk to me about current events anymore. If there's nothing I can do about it, I don't want to know about it." A month later he has never been happier. He gets more done. He eats the food in front of him without being distracted by the menu at some distant Mcdonalds.
Ask yourself: does an infantile war between an administration and a television channel have anything to do with you? Does your certainty that they are in cahoots and are simply succeeding in boosting each other's numbers help you succeed at your job or studies? If members of that administration declare earnest admiration for history's worst dictatorial murderer [ed: it's Mao Tse Tung, for the ignorant] does that change the way the tomatoes grow in your garden? Will shaking your fist at the Wall Street insiders who advise your president stop them from flushing billions of dollars down fat cat investment bankers' toilets while common people suffer? Do you really think the future generations who are being crippled by the current rates of government spending will look back at average Americans and shake their debt shackled fists in anger? "If only you had been informed about this!"
They will not. Neither will anyone begrudge you missing a Conan O'Brian reference because you failed to catch CNN that day. Free yourself.
At any rate, at least if you watch the Daily Show, [or the even better Colbert Report-ed.] you can have a good hearty laugh whilst you are propagandized and misinformed.
Not long before, Voltaire sent Candide around the world. In the course of his misadventures, he discovered something: he didn't care about the price of tea in China. It was all outside the sphere of his influence and was therefore bereft of meaning. He decided, in another immortalized turn of phrase, to "tend [his] own garden."
This was all taken to heart by my good friend Jason, who said: "Don't talk to me about current events anymore. If there's nothing I can do about it, I don't want to know about it." A month later he has never been happier. He gets more done. He eats the food in front of him without being distracted by the menu at some distant Mcdonalds.
Ask yourself: does an infantile war between an administration and a television channel have anything to do with you? Does your certainty that they are in cahoots and are simply succeeding in boosting each other's numbers help you succeed at your job or studies? If members of that administration declare earnest admiration for history's worst dictatorial murderer [ed: it's Mao Tse Tung, for the ignorant] does that change the way the tomatoes grow in your garden? Will shaking your fist at the Wall Street insiders who advise your president stop them from flushing billions of dollars down fat cat investment bankers' toilets while common people suffer? Do you really think the future generations who are being crippled by the current rates of government spending will look back at average Americans and shake their debt shackled fists in anger? "If only you had been informed about this!"
They will not. Neither will anyone begrudge you missing a Conan O'Brian reference because you failed to catch CNN that day. Free yourself.
At any rate, at least if you watch the Daily Show, [or the even better Colbert Report-ed.] you can have a good hearty laugh whilst you are propagandized and misinformed.
S'abonner à :
Messages (Atom)
