Dr. Phil(andering)

I read a quote once by a doctor, who said, "I'm sick of people saying beauty is only skin deep. What do you want, a beautiful pancreas?"

That said, everyone--and I mean that seriously--EVERYONE has some physical beauty about them that should be appreciated right along with the more intrinsic qualities we all strive to recognize. The body and the spirit make the soul.
Problem is, you have to be honest about it or it doesn't count. You can't tell someone with a bad haircut how great it looks. On the other hand, our society has gone so poncey that you can't tell someone when something isn't working. I guess all you can do is look for the beauty, artfully change the subject, and be honest about something that works.

Problem there is, with some people you have to look long and hard, and the reception of compliments like "your pancreas functions beautifully" is always a little awkward.

Or maybe all this pseudo philosophical falderal is simply my chronic avoidance technique, and the real problem is, I'm nice. I want people to understand their inner beauty and feel good about themselves. So I say nice things, which honestly come from the heart, and sometimes people get the wrong idea.

The other problem is, I'm a shameless flirt. I want hot women to understand their outer beauty and feel good about me. So I say nice things, which come from the heart, and sometimes people get the right idea.

It's your classic lose/lose scenario.

And it has to be what inspired the great Franz Liszt to say: "Truth is a great flirt."

Barush LimbaughMa

The following is a transcript of a recorded conversation that "took place" on Airforce 1, on an unspecified day of the week following the inauguration, between the President, and a man identified (by voice analysis technology) as Rush Limbaugh.

B.O.>Hello old friend. I'm so glad you could come.
R.L.>You go to Hell, you socialist bastard! And may you get there before your leftist policies drag the whole country there! [a brief pause, followed by both laughing heartily]
B.O.>Not bad. Did you use that?
R.L.>I can't say bastard in that context on the radio. Bush's FCC really has my nuts in a vice.
B.O.>I'll get to work on that.
R.L.>Perfect. I've got a whole thing ready on the decay in old fashioned values you're about to cause.
B.O.>I think you're on to something there. And seriously, before we really dig into this, I gotta thank you for the way you energized my base. That "Barack the Magic Negro" bit was damn brilliant. Almost got you a pay raise.
R.L.>Honestly, it felt like cheating. Your people are so wacked out on Obama juice I could have said anything. By the way, I'm not complaining, but as a point of order, when Farrakhan called you the Messiah it took a lot of wind out of my sails. I mean, I put it to good use, but-
B.O.>Sorry about that, Louis misinterpreted the memo. Admit it though, we handled it pretty deftly.
R.L.>I guess as long as I get the credit . . .
B.O.>Alright, we're almost to your drop point, so let's get down to it. We're going two prong. First, we need you to say you hope I fail.
R.L.> You're reading my mind.
B.O.> Go ahead and make it ideological. My people will spin it personal.
R.L.> All of them?
B.O.>The major networks and papers are ready to move, the periphery will follow suite as usual . . . Unless they start thinking for themselves! [Both laugh]
R.L.> What else?
B.O.> We need to label you the face of the Republican Party and charge you with running their machine.
R.L.>Did you talk to them about this?
B.O.> They're on board.
R.L.> It just seems a little on the far edge of believability. I've spent a long time establishing the opposite.
B.O.> Which is what makes it so delicious.
R.L.> O.K. . . but you're gonna have to give me something. You gotta really angry up my people. If you govern anywhere near the center, my market share shrinks; and you can't pay me enough to make up for the advertising dollars I lose.
B.O.> Oh, believe me, I'm about to seriously piss that shit off.
R.L.> I love it when you talk ghetto.
B.O.> I think I'm getting much better at it.
R.L.> Not bad for a Harvard man.
B.O.> So, are we down?
R.L.> Pour the champagne, Mr. President. Here's to the numbers.
BOTH> The numbers! [The sound of crystal goblets clinking together, followed by loud slurping and gulping from one of the men--presumably Mr. Limbaugh.]

Deathitude

In 1521, Emperor Charles V issued the Edict of Worms [pronounced "verms"], essentially a papal hit on Martin Luther, eliminating the annoying legal, social, and eternal consequences normally attached to taking a human life.
Now, in 2009, and here, in a country where each of us is, or should be, the Emperor and Pope of his own destiny, I hereby issue my own personal Edict of Worms.

Which is to say . . .
Under the following conditions, I will not consider it murder to kill me:

1) If I am in a persistent vegetative state.

2) If I am incontinent of bowel for a prolonged period of time, and there is no surgical option.

3) If I lose my mind to the extent that I am reliving any experience from any year between 1986 and 1993.

4) If I ever seriously consider running for public office.

5) If I start my own church. [ed. note: this is NOT in ANY WAY a knock on Keith Lowell Jensen]

6) If I join the democrat party.

7) If I join the republican party.

8) If I ever get so fat that the paramedics have to cut a new door to remove me from the house.

9) If I kill another person in cold blood.

10) If I get definitive proof that Emily Dickinson is waiting for me on the other side.

11) If I ever audition for American Idol.

12) If the world stops making sushi.

This edict I issue, being of sound mind and body, on this, the 16th of February, 2009.

Pro/Con

I AM FOR the so-called "Fairness Doctrine" as long as it applies to all media--television included. If, on the other hand, it is simply about leveling the right wing monopoly on AM talk radio--a medium where, one must assume, anyone is free to have a show, unless it fails miserably like Al Franken and everybody else on that side has. (Except the strident and fairly talented Ed Schultz, who happened to have had a front row seat at the recent press conference. Can you imagine the media shit storm if Rush Limbaugh had sat in ANY row of a Bush presser? Hey stupid, there is bias in the media.) I think the FCC should mandate that Bill O'Reilly and Keith Olberman have to share air time, and a desk, and an office, and an office cubby. I want Sean Hannity and Bill Maher to have to urinate in the same urinal at the same time. If that is what the Fairness Doctrine accomplishes, then Mr. President, have at it. Try to remember, however, that the doctrine in question was instituted at a time when AM radio was part of a very small media presence. There was, at the time, an extreme paucity of information. You cannot say that about the current landscape. Instituting it now as it was before makes you, at best, appear afraid of the ideas of your loyal opposition. At worst, it makes you a dictatorial fascist, about whom the term "Hitleresque" will not be an overstatement.

I AM AGAINST red delicious apples. They are mushy and flavorless compared to countless other varieties. On the other hand, the skin is thick and bitter, so they have that going for them. If we boycott the misnamed red delicious apple, perhaps they will stop wasting precious resources stocking them in our grocery stores and restrict their use to juice and applesauce. Let this be our motto: FOCUS ON THE FUJI.

I AM FOR the passage of the stimulus package. Don't get me wrong, I hate socialism with a virulent hatred and am totally convinced that its proponents are either stupid or evil. And the stimulus package is pure socialism, make no mistake. Neither am I foolish enough to think that spending 60 million on golf cart upgrades (or any other of the pork flavored ear marks in this legislation) will have an immediate or lasting effect on the economy. I just want to see what happens when a smart, good looking president with good numbers passes a bill with an approval rating comparable to the last disastrous president. Shows you how principled I really am. I stand by my philosophy until it looks like something interesting might happen by abandoning it.

I AM AGAINST awards shows. (Unless Radiohead is playing. In which case I'll just skip the telecast and catch their masterful performance on Youtube. I love the way Radiohead just makes every other act look bad. Except for Justin Timberlake, who, unless the Youtube clip is doctored, brought the house down.) How do people sit through these shows? I'm the world's biggest snob, but I'm really not trying to be too cool for school here. I simply don't understand the allure of any of it. From Oscar to SAG, it bewilders me. As for the Grammies specifically, don't they have a "painfully out-of-date" feeling? Why don't they just reduce certain categories to lifetime achievement awards and have done with it? We know that Metallica is going to win the heavy metal category. We know that Radiohead is the last of the marketable "alternative" bands and will win in any year they have released a record. We know that whoever releases a polka album will win in that category, despite the fact that nanotechnology is still trying to measure how little the people care. But honestly, the real reason I am officially AGAINST them is that they snubbed David Sedaris, who actually gives an excellent reading of all his masterful books, incorporating character voices and lending a tone to the reading that enhances one's enjoyment, in favor of Al Gore's wooden reading of his propaganda. They really need to rename the "spoken word" category. Just call it "Our Favorite Politically Correct hack job." Look at the winners in the last five or ten years and you'll know I'm right.

I AM FOR SLEEP. Because I am tired. All this taking of firm positions is tuckering me out.

I AM AGAINST SLEEP. Because it is monumental waste of time. All this wavering back and forth makes me want to get down to brass tacks and concoct some real opinions. I guess working all night has screwed up more than just my biological clock.

Either way, it is, as you can tell, catching up to me. Goodnight (which is to say, Good Day), sweet America.

Am I a PETAphile?

For the record, I don't eat meat. Not that I mind being top of the food chain--a lion doesn't and shouldn't feel guilty when it brutally slaughters the antelope. It's the meat industry that is demonstrably evil and undeniably disgusting.

But I never wanted to be a PETA person. They were abrasive, holier-than-thou, nose in the air, shriek voiced, neck bearded socialists. They had soft cotton hearts and brains to match. They made me want to eat meat so as to disassociate myself from them. Whenever I was forced into telling people I didn't eat meat, I would follow up with "But I'm not one of those PETA vegetarians."

As a matter of fact, when Marilyn Manson dealt with their protests about his use of animals in his circus clown act by saying: "Listen each time I see your name in print with mine, I'll actually hurt one of these animals," I actually felt what might have been something other than disdain for the man who would soon become a laughable historical footnote. "You go, girl!" I said.

Even though it was PETA's "Meet Your Meat" video that cemented my antipathy to the mass production of edible flesh, any association with them remained distasteful--and not just because activists and ideologues are on my short list of people for whom I'd cross to the other side of the street.

But then something changed. First they came up with the brilliant "I'd rather go naked than wear fur" protest/campaign. Then they made headlines (and put an ingenious twist, so speak, on the milk argument) when they coyly suggested that Ben and Jerry's make their ice cream from human breast milk. When they were able to pull the old double switcheroo by making a Superbowl advertisement, which they probably couldn't afford, but which was sure to be rejected because it posited that vegetarians have better sex and featured hot women licking fruit, thereby getting into the issue (and the commercial) into the national consciousness for free, the 180 was complete. Somebody savvy is running that organization, and I am on their side.

My official word to PETA: I can't go as far as giving you money, or attending some horrible protest. And I certainly can't endorse a lot of the science or philosophy behind some of your arguments (for instance, my own research in the field study of my marriage proves conclusively that vegetarians to NOT have better sex). But I will no longer speak ill of you. And I will certainly not go out of my way to distance myself from you.

Just Another Day

Officials are considering a ban on the word "historic."  The phrase "first black president" is also under scrutiny.  [Ignoring the essential inaccuracy, those who don't know by now that the president is the first of mixed heritage don't deserve to be told.  Those of us who already know, (and love and appreciate) the fact, don't need to be punished by being told over and over again.]  Those who will be discussing the events of the day are strongly encouraged to say something NOT so useless.

What that might be, I have no idea.  Let's think about this together.  We know he is smart, well read, articulate (when NOT speaking off the cuff) and good looking.  We know the address itself was predestined to be eloquent and inspiring.  We also know that a magazine in Britain has ridiculously posited that our new president is redefining the male physique.  But these are commonalities.  Let's dig a little.

You might comment on the abject lack of class of Obama's supporters, as they booed and jeered (and sang the infantile 'Na na na na hey hey hey goodbye' song) when they espied the departing president, who used his final radio address to thank us all.  For what I don't know, but it was gracious and dignified, in stark contrast to Obama supporters who marred what was otherwise a gracious and dignified inauguration.  If you smiled even for a second, or in any way approved of the incidents in question, or especially if there is a slight chance that you might have joined in the trashy hullabaloo, then I have a sharpie waiting for you to write "CLASSLESS ASS" on yourself when next we meet.  Perhaps I'll sink to your level and skip the middle man and write it on your car.  

You might explore the idea that the millions being spent on these proceedings are out of place for a man who is a friend to the poor in general, and in these difficult times specifically.  You might read a little history and peruse the account of Thomas Jefferson's inauguration, wherein he shunned all pomp and circumstance for a quiet dinner with close friends and associates.  You might imagine what good could be done with all this money.  You did so when you heard how much Sarah Palin was spending on her wardrobe.  Why not for this, or for the Academy Awards?  You might wonder about the 600 private jets that landed in DC for the event.  Or observe that the entire affair has been dominated by rich fat cat out of touch people just like any other inauguration [except Jefferson's!]  A new day is indeed dawning, where we don't have to hate rich white people anymore--as long as they visibly supported Obama.  Huzzah!

You might justifiably snicker about the words that got jumbled during the oath of office.  Was Chief Justice Roberts a little nervous, or was that a touching tribute to W?

You might help someone who has already voted for a black man in a presidential election three times, who really doesn't give a tinker's taint what color someone is, why he is supposed to feel differently about this event than any other of its kind.  LET ME MAKE THIS PAINFULLY CLEAR: I am moved to the point of tears when I think that we are experiencing a peaceful transition of power yet again.  I am inspired by the genius and majesty of system that not only limits and divides authority, but gives the people an opportunity to transfer presidency from one person to another (from a person who doesn't do well with a tele-prompter to someone who does--huzzah!).  These feelings do not obligate me to have a personal interest in the demagogue who is ensconced on this day or any other.    

Donny the socialist at work is full of joy, and went on and on about how miserable these last eight years have been, then recited the litany of his emotional state during every presidency since Kennedy.  His argument was essentially this: when there was a president with whom he agreed, everything is GREAT!  When there was a guy he didn't like, the world was a shit hole.  So, I guess we can all be happy for poor Donny, who can finally pare down his therapy and whiskey bills.  [For the record, Donny has had a GREAT 8 years.  He is better off now than he ever has been his entire life.  I guess if he can attribute that to Obama, then more power to him.]

But what if my sense of hope and well being is not IN ANY WAY, NOT FOR ONE SECOND attached or connected to the person or party sitting in the oval office? I didn't care about the Carter, Regan, Bush, or Clinton inaugural.  There isn't anything about this one to get me to start.  You hate me now, but sorry: it's just another day.  

Even so, heart felt congratulations and best of luck to President Obama [and the masses who have their identity and sense of hope wrapped up in him], here's hoping the next four years are . . . historic.