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September 30, 2004
WORDS FAIL ME
I had a couple of witty posts in mind tonight - a report on Toronto, a couple of baseball things, and of course my take on the debate. But plans have changed.
We got the news early this evening that a colleague of mine, barely older than I am, died this afternoon - not in an accident, but a very sudden health thing. (I'm not going to get into details, it feels like a violation of their privacy. Suffice it to say that it blindsided everyone in the office and there was no indication it was coming.) The person leaves behind a spouse and two young children.
I can't pretend that I was particularly close to this person; we were collegial to one another and were friendly enough when we saw each other or worked together, but it's not like we were tight. And yet this feels like a sucker punch to the gut anyway. It's awful for their family.
The team of people I work with is extraordinary, both in terms of professional ability and personal character. We're already rallying around one another tonight, and I've been amazed at how quickly 50+ people have drawn together like a family. It's an amazing thing, watching people support each other like this.
Anyway, the reason I'm telling you this isn't to work out anything in public. It's just to explain why there's no new posts tonight, and why I won't have a take on the debate, at least right now. Toronto, baseball, and the debate just don't feel as important as they did a few hours ago. I'll write more again soon, I promise. But my heart's not in it tonight.
Posted by Christopher at 09:24 PM | Comments (0)September 28, 2004
BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH TO DO
Let's see... the United States has tens of thousands of troops committed in hostile territory -- and according to the National Intelligence Estimate (NIE), things are getting worse, not better... Florida has been hit with four major hurricanes in six weeks and has hundreds of thousands still homeless and who've lost everything... we have a budget deficit of $440 billion... our schools still are not performing at the level of many other industrialized nations... and numerous other issues that should be demanding the attention of our leaders.
So what is the US Congress up to on your behalf? What pressing, urgent issues are they handling?
They've made the oak tree the national tree.
Yes, you read that right. With all the varying issues facing our nation, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives chose instead to focus on being sure to properly honor trees.
The oak tree, said Rep. Bob Goodlatte, R-Virginia, is present in all 50 states and "represents the fundamental characteristics of this great nation: strength, endurance and beauty." Goodlatte, in a statement, said the oak, in addition to being a highly prized material for furniture and flooring, has played a vital role in the nation's history.
Okay, I will be the first to admit that this one wasn't partisan. No matter who brought it up, no one seems to have argued that the House had more important issues to deal with. So the House Democrats get my ire on this one too. Could none of them have stood up and demanded that the body get back to the serious issues that actually impact the lives of our citizens?
But the irony of the whole thing is that, given the Bush and Republican Congress' environmental record and policies, this may well be the first time a Republican in Washington has cared about a tree in at least 10 years.
Posted by Christopher at 10:23 PM | Comments (0)September 27, 2004
TALK TO YOU WEDNESDAY
Hey guys. Flying out first thing in the morning for a quick work trip to Toronto. Will be back Wednesday night.
September 26, 2004
I HAVE AN ALIBI IN HERE SOMEWHERE
Look, I admit, I spent an awful lot of 2002 and 2003 in Florida, on one coast or the other. But I swear this wasn't me -- despite the obvious resemblance.
The "Beer Belly Bandit" has struck again after a 10-month break, adding to the dozens of bank robberies he has committed in Florida since 2000. The robber, known for his bulging midsection, hit a bank on Tuesday, pulling a gun on two tellers.
All I will say is that it's not me. Nobody saw me do it. They can't prove anything.
THE KIND OF PEOPLE WE'RE DEALING WITH
Have you been watching lately? There's been quite a spate of refreshed rhetoric in the last week or so, as those brave patriots the Republicans try to defend you, the citizens of America, from those crazy liberal folks like me.
(As a side note, ever notice how very few Republicans who now claim to be the only patriotic Americans actually served in the military when they had the chance? Check the listing here to see a side by side comparison between Democratic leaders and Republican leaders' military backgrounds)
I'll try to remember my lesson from a couple of weeks ago, when my fury with Dick Cheney spilled into an invective-laden, profanity-laced diatribe that actually diminished my point. Rather than give you any of my own words, I will let Republican words speak for them.
"Daschle's role as the Senate's chief complainer gives comfort to the enemy." -- South Dakota Republican Party chair Randy Frederick, 9/17/04. See story here.
"I would not have chosen those words but let me say this... what it does is emboldens our enemies and undermines the morale of our troops and I...
MR. RUSSERT: His words embolden the enemy?
MR. THUNE: His words embolden the enemy. I think they do." -- South Dakota Republican candidate for Senate, John Thune, when given the opportunity to denounce Frederick's comments on Meet The Press, September 19, 2004. See transcript here.
Appearing in the Rose Garden [Thursday] with Iraq's interim prime minister, Ayad Allawi, Bush said Kerry's statements about Iraq "can embolden an enemy." -- September 23, 2004. See story here.
When a reporter asked Hastert if he thought al Qaeda would operate with more comfort if Kerry were elected, the speaker said, "That's my opinion, yes." -- Republican Speaker Dennis Hastert, September 19, 2004. See story here.
Terrorists "are going to throw everything they can between now and the election to try and elect Kerry." -- Republican Senator Orrin Hatch, September 21, 2004. See the story here.
If you've noticed all this, don't worry. So have a lot of others. The Republican Party has embarked on a shameful, disgusting, deliberate campaign to connect Kerry, liberals, and anyone who does not support Republicans to terrorism and anti-Americanism. In several cases, they have flat out accused liberals of treasonous behavior or siding with the enemy. And all for the "crime" of disagreeing with George W. Bush.
Wow. I guess when your administration has been an utter failure -- when you've taken a $200 billion+ surplus and turned it into a $440 billion deficit in only three and a haf years, when you've taken the nation into war under falsified pretenses and with absolutely no exit strategy or plan for after the war, when you've spent almost four years gutting every piece of environmental protection in the American books, and when your own government accounting office reports that the tax cuts you've spent years delivering in fact benefit the wealthiest Americans while shifting the burden to the middle class... you've got nothing left to run on, so you have to spend time trying to scare Americans away from the other guy, because it's all you have to offer.
As for the trend toward Republicans labeling their political opponents as in league with the enemy, don't just take my word for it. The Washington Post and New York Times have noticed it too. As the Post reminds us, it's not a new phenomenon, either. Accusing domestic political opponents of siding with the enemy has been a hallmark of this adminsistration for years.
Such charges surfaced soon after the attacks on Sept. 11, 2001. Late that year, Attorney General John D. Ashcroft said tactics used by critics of the USA Patriot Act "only aid terrorists" and "give ammunition to America's enemies." In 2002, Bush charged that opponents of his version of homeland security legislation are "not interested in the security of the American people." In 2003, Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld said that if terrorists think Bush's opponents might prevail, "they take heart in that, and that leads to more money going into these activities or that leads to more recruits or that leads to more encouragement."
Here's what the Times had to say in an editorial Saturday:
This is despicable politics. It's not just polarizing -- it also undermines the efforts of the Justice Department and the Central Intelligence Agency to combat terrorists in America. Every time a member of the Bush administration suggests that Islamic extremists want to stage an attack before the election to sway the results in November, it causes patriotic Americans who do not intend to vote for the president to wonder whether the entire antiterrorism effort has been kidnapped and turned into part of the Bush re-election campaign. The people running the government clearly regard keeping Mr. Bush in office as more important than maintaining a united front on the most important threat to the nation.
We think that anyone who attempts to portray sincere critics as dangerous to the safety of the nation is wrong. It reflects badly on the president's character that in this instance, he's putting his own ambition ahead of the national good.
I disagree with the Times on one thing: to reflect badly on Bush's character, he would have to have character in the first place.
Do I think George W. Bush is a good president? Absolutely, utterly not. Do I thnk he is a good human being? Not in a million years; I think he, his adminsitration and his campaign team are among the most despicable people our nation has ever produced. Do I even think that some of their actions violate the Constitution and the very spirit of Americanism? Sure, I've said as much, and I will again. But not even I am so desperately power-mad that I would call them enemies of our nation. (If I have, then I'm about as unhappy with myself for saying that as I am for losing my temper in the Cheney post a couple of weeks ago. But at least my slip would have been from anger, not from a coordinated, deliberate campaign to label anyone who doesn't share my beliefs as an enemy of our country.)
Calling political opponents enemies of the nation is the least American thing an American "leader" can do. Such rhetoric is better suited for Stalin's Soviet Union, Mao's China, Castro's Cuba, or Saddam's Iraq. And the saddest thing is, it's inaccurate to suggest that Bush and his people have become so desperate that they've "stooped" to this level. Because they've always done this. It is the kind of reprehensible people they are. The Bush Administration record is irrefutable: these people have no trouble labeling domestic political opponents as enemies. If you don't think they way they want you to think, you are "comforting the enemy." If you don't go along with Bush on every single issue, without question and in perfect lockstep, then you're siding with terrorists. (If you don't like that, don't blame me. It's Republican rhetoric, not mine. I just report it.)
If you are still, for reasons unfathomable to me but clear to you, considering or even intending to vote for George W. Bush, I just have to ask you -- blogfan to blogfan, friend to friend... American to American:
Regardless of the politics and policies involved... do you really want to be lined up with people like this?
Posted by Christopher at 10:37 AM | Comments (0)A SELECTION FROM GEORGE ORWELL'S 1984
It just seemed appropriate to post a passage from this story today. So here you are - excerpts from 1984.
A Party member is... supposed to live in a continuous frenzy of hatred of foreign enemies and internal traitors, triumph over victories, and self-abasement before the power and wisdom of the Party...
But stupidity is not enough. On the contrary, orthodoxy in the full sense demands a control over one's own mental processes as complete as that of a contortionist over his body. Oceanic society rests ultimately on the belief that Big Brother is omnipotent and that the Party is infallible. But since in reality Big Brother is not omnipotent and the Party is not infallible, there is need for an unwearying, moment-to-moment flexibility in the treatment of facts. The key word here is "blackwhite." Like so many Newspeak words, this word has two mutually contradictory meanings.
Applied to an opponent, it means the habit of impudently claiming that black is white, in contradiction of the plain facts. Applied to a Party member, it means a loyal willingness to say that black is white when Party discipline demands this. But it means also the ability to believe that black is white, and more, to know that black is white, and to forget that one has ever believed the contrary. This demands a continuous alteration of the past, made possible by the system of thought which really embraces all the rest, and which is known in Newspeak as doublethink.
Think of whoever this makes you think of... I'm not in any position to tell you who you see parallels to. I suspect, however, than 97% of us are thinking of the same person.
Posted by Christopher at 10:31 AM | Comments (0)ROWBOAT VETERANS FOR TRUTH
The liberal media has claimed for more than 200 years that George Washington was a patriot and the father of our country.
Because of the liberal agenda, our schoolchildren are taught that George Washington was a war hero, and that he crossed the Delaware River on Christmas Night, 1776 in a daring overnight holiday raid.
But it's time you knew the truth.
The Website, "Rowboat Veterans For Truth" (unaffliated with the Bush campaign, we promise) unveils the liberal deception surrounding Washington's alleged military heroism and experience.
His campaign wagons about a handful of Revolutionary veterans throughout the 13 States, and trots them out at public appearances to sing his praises. George Washington wants us to believe that these men represent all those he calls his "rowboat band of brothers." But if bother you ask his boat mates, they'll tell you. The truth is, the man is unfit for command, and as president he would quite literally leave our young nation up the creek, without a paddle.
Pay special attention, friends, to the "Myth vs. Truth" section... you'll learn a lot about who George Washington really is. For example,
Myth: George Washington raised morale across the Colonies after his surprise raid on the Hessian garrison.
FACT: It was Christmas and morale was already high. This little publicity stunt against a few unarmed drunken Germans was performed only so Washington could get his name in the newspapers.
Myth: The rowboats transporting the Americans struggled across a river choked with dangerous chunks of ice.
FACT: Ice is easily pulverized with a good whack of a paddle.
My friends, the only true war hero in this country is George W. Bush. The fact that he never went to war, and doesn't seem to ever have bothered to show up for his stateside duty in Alabama, is irrelevant. (Why are you asking questions about that? Don't you love freedom?) The only way to protect America is to vote for Bush. The only way to be an American is to vote for Bush, and think only the things and believe only the beliefs that George W. Bush, Karl Rove, Tom DeLay, and Ed Gillespie tell you to. If you're still supporting George Washington, then you just don't love your country, you pinko, freedom-hating, America-hating liberal trash!
Posted by Christopher at 10:16 AM | Comments (0)THE NATIONAL GUNS BELONG IN SCHOOL ASSOCIATION
You would think that even the NRA would agree that schools are no places for guns. You would think Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris sort of drove that point home a few years ago. You would think that. But you'd be wrong.
In a display of just how fanatically extremist and uncompromising the gun lobby has become, the National Rifle Association is going to court on behalf of a New Hampshire high school student who wants to have his shotgun slung over his shoulder in his senior yearbook photo.
The kid is a skeet shooter, so they say, and this hobby is no different than a student posing with other items that reflect their interests, such as sports gear or their musical instruments. (I can hear it now... "And this one time, at gun camp...")
So are we saying that every kid's hobby is acceptable for publication in the yearbook? I bet there's at least a couple of the burner kids would love to pose with their bong... can we get that in there? Given that these are high school boys we're talking about, maybe a few should pose with issues of Playboy and a bottle of baby oil, too.
I'm not ripping skeet shooting as a hobby. But if schools can ban baseball caps or colored bandanas because of their gang connotations, then certainly a gun doesn't belong in a yearbook. (And if we're letting a kid's family's political beliefs influence zero tolerance policies now, then you'd better believe that when I have children someday, if the parents of the kids at my kid's school want their children to learn about creationism, they'd better send 'em to Sunday school.) As the superintendent of the district said,
"Nobody's saying skeet shooting is a bad thing," he said. "But I think it's a question of appropriateness and venue. If you allow this to happen, you open up a whole series of other possibilities, and I think the school has a right to edit a yearbook."
I'm betting that this kid isn't just doing this because he likes to skeet shoot. I'd wager that there's an NRA-member dad in the picture somewhere trying to make a point. And what a message it sends: if guns are okay for school photos, they're perfectly all right for society, too... right? (Then again, we're talking about people who think that it's perfectly okay for criminals and terrorists to be able to buy an assault weapon anywhere in America... just so's we don't infringe upon the rights of those folk who hunt squirrels with AK-47s. Nice crowd, eh?)
There's limits on some things in society. You can't bring an animal to a hospital. You can't watch a Jenna Jameson video at work. And you shouldn't be able to bring guns to school -- even in the yearbook.
What gets me most is that the folks who usually support the NRA tend to lean to the right... and many of them are the same folks are usually the ones up in arms about scary things like literature and textbooks in schools. You know the ones... the morality police abstinence folks who get extremely upset if anything remotely resembling the actual facts of sexuality or birth control are even discussed within 100 yards of a school.
What's more dangerous to have represented at school: a condom, or a shotgun? You be the judge.
Posted by Christopher at 09:06 AM | Comments (0)September 25, 2004
TOP TEN THINGS THAT SHOULD HAPPEN TO TERRY FRANCONA
In case you missed it, the Red Sox relived history again last night. In Game 7 of last year's ALCS, Red Sox manager Grady Gump -- I mean, Grady Little -- left Pedro Martinez in the game too long against the Yankees, letting him pitch into the eighth inning. Pedro got rocked, and the Sox lost the game, the series, and the chance to play in the World Series. Grady Little lost his job over the incident.
So last night, in a critical game against the Yankees, what does new manager Terry Francona do? Leaves Pedro in the game to pitch into the eighth. Same stupid action. Same @^$(#!@ result. And what was this moron's justification for his stupidity?
Why start the eighth with Martinez? "In my opinion, he still had good stuff," the manager said. Matsui's home run, on a fastball Martinez left over the middle of the plate, was a compelling reason for Francona to reconsider that decision. That's not how he saw it.
"If I run out there after two pitches, you understand what I'm saying, it would make it look like I wasn't making a very good decision before the inning," Francona said.
WHAT??????????????
What the @!%#@!#ing hell? You screwed over the team and planted a psychological seed in their heads that we can't beat the Yankees... BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T WANT TO LOOK LIKE YOU'D MADE A BAD DECISION?????
Oh, Francona, you arrogant, prideful, STUPID bastard. I really thought that there would never be another human being I despised more than Grady Little. But you've surpassed ol' Gump in record time. See, Gump was just stupid. You are stupid AND arrogant. And not for nothing, but with the talent on that roster, the Sox ought to be 100-52 right now. You've bungled everything you were handed this year, you are a lousy manager (as evidenced by the fact that you FAILED MISERABLY in Philadelphia too), and you deserve so many hideous things that I can't name them all. Or wait... let me try naming just ten, at least. Here are the top ten things that I think should happen to Terry Francona:
10. He should be handcuffed to a chair in an elevator for the period of one year and forced to listen to a repeating loop of Hanson's "MmmBop" and Biz Markie's "Just A Friend."
9. He should be made to listen to George W. Bush pronounce it "nuke-yuh-ler" 1,459,892,348 times in a row.
8. He should be tied to one of the piles of garbage on the sidewalk outside a Manhattan Chinese restaurant and his privates smeared with honey... just at dusk when the rats come out.
7. The only thing that comes in on his television for the period of one year should be Tony Little infomercials.
6. He should be buried up to his neck in the sand at a beach, with no sunblock on his bald head, and then abandoned at low tide, thus allowing him to feel the gradual torching of his skull before the salt water tide comes in and gets all over the sunburn.
5. Endless "According to Jim" re-runs.
4. His fingertips should be given 2.497 paper cuts, and then he should be made to dip them in lemon juice.
3. He should be forced to attend a black-tie charity dinner with Courtney Love while she's on a coke bender.
2. He should be flogged with a cat-o-nine-tails until it draws blood, then made to take the Nestea Plunge into a swimming pool filled with tobasco sauce. When he comes out, he should receive a habanero enema.
1. His no-good, player-coddling, arrogant, screw-the-team-just-so-I-won't-look-bad self ought to be fired immediately, even before the playoffs, and he should be relegated to the dustbins of baseball history along with the 2003 Tigers, Marv Throneberry, and that midget that Bill Veeck once sent to bat for the St. Louis Browns.
September 22, 2004
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY
The best part about this being my blog is that I get to do and say whatever I want. So if I feel like sending a personal message, I get to do it, and you guys have to just put up with it. Well, guess what? I feel like it.
If you've been reading my stuff for more than a week, you know that two of my closest friends in the world are The Doc and Mrs. Doc. Why she ever settled with that guy, I'll never know (Doc would tell you the same thing!), but she did... and so it is that Thursday (September 23) is their 9th wedding anniversary.
And so I hope you'll join me in wishing them both a Happy Anniversary, and wishing them many more. You guys are the best, Doc & Missus. Good on ya, and here's to you. Cheers, friends.
Posted by Christopher at 09:59 PM | Comments (0)A SLICE OF NEW YORK LIFE
I've had two really unexpected experiences in the last 24 hours -- one that sucked, and one that was kind of cool. The one that sucked actually led to the cool one, so I guess it wasn't all that bad. But it means that to tell you about the good one, I have to by necessity at least allude to the bad one. So bear with me.
I found myself at an auto repair shop in my neighborhood this morning, after the unexpected experience of last night. (There is nothing that'll get your adrenalin pumping faster than slightly pressing your brakes a little on the way home from work, just to slow down a little as you round a curve at 50 mph... and meeting no resistance -- is there?) Now, I should explain that while technically I do live in suburban Westchester County, my city borders New York City, and has far more in common with the Bronx than it does the tonier enclaves in the more northern parts of the county. I've complained before that the average price of a home in Westchester is $575,000; this figure would in fact be quite a bit higher if not for all the $240,000 tenements in my neck of the woods.
As a result, many of the neighborhoods in my city are rougher than a paunchy yuppie should probably feel comfortable in. Add in the fact that all of my friends in this area live either across the Hudson in Rockland County or in those aforementioned tony suburbs further north, and what you get is that I've been in this particular apartment for three-plus years now, and other than knowing where the grocery store, post office, and train station are, I have not ever really checked out the very city in which I live. The bars I go to are either up north or in Manhattan; same with the restaurants I frequent. Since I am at work more often than I am home, I selected doctors and a dentist who have offices closer to my office than my apartment. In other words, I don't know this town I live in at all -- and if it were not for the fact that my car pretty much should not have been on the road, I wouldn't have been going to a mechanic here either.
So I get in first thing in the morning after crawling my car across an empty shopping center parking lot, and the guy tells me that they will have the several hundred dollars worth of repairs done in about 90 minutes to 2 hours. I asked him where the closest place was that I could buy a paper and maybe get some breakfast; he pointed me down two blocks to one of the main drags in town, and said there was a coffee shop on that street about a block to the right. Having no other option, I sojourned off to find breakfast on an avenue only yards from the border with the Bronx.
I've said many times that I do not like New York; I still don't, and I never will. It's just not for everyone, and I am one of those with whom it just doesn't agree. However, even I am willing to concede that there are things and atmospheres here that you will never find anywhere else in the world. One of those things is the diversity. Other cities have ethnic neighborhoods, sure. But nowhere else do they have every ethnic neighborhood, often stacked on top of one another. And as I wandered down this avenue this morning, I discovered that my city has a bustling ethnic atmosphere that I never even knew existed.
I walked past about four Irish pubs and restaurants on the way; this in itself is not surprising, except that they were real Irish, not American Irish. I went into a convenience store to get a New York Daily News, and there were collection cans for sending money back home to Ireland, hand-made flyers advertising babysitting "by a real Irish mother," and Celtic music on the radio. And it wasn't for show; everyone in there, from the guy at the register to the old woman in line in front of me, to the five year old little girl with her mother behind me, all spoke in thick Irish brogues. I had no idea there was an enclave of first generation Irish immigrants only five minutes from my place!
So I kept walking, past the outdoor fruit stands and laundromats, and past at least two bodegas where the signage was entirely in Spanish. I passed an Ethiopian place and an Indian grocery store. And then I got to the coffee shop. It was everything you think of when you think of a Bronx coffee shop... a hole in the wall, very dirty looking, a couple of guys leaning up against the lamppost outside, looked like the floor hadn't been mopped since 1973... the breakfast menu on painted signs above the short-order counter... and everything fried you could think of on that menu. I stepped inside, and stepped into immigrant Americana.
I ordered my $3.25 breakfast (2 eggs over easy, three slices of bacon, toast, home fries, orange juice and coffee -- the cheapest meal I have ever found in this state), and sat down at a nastily dirty booth to read my paper. As I sat there, I overheard conversations in American English, Spanish, Russian, something that sounded like something Caribbean, and that delightful Irish brogue. The short-order guys behind the counter were all Mexican. The clientele was every color under the sun. And as the guy brought me my big old plate of food (little of which I intended to actually eat; I've been doing very well in the last two weeks of watching my diet and eating smarter... and there were no healthy options on that menu), I just thought to myself...
"Even as dirty as this place is and as skanky as I think this food's gonna be, this is America, right here. This is a neighborhood full of people who just got here, just like my family once had just gotten here. There's every color, about a half dozen languages, and at least as many cultures. And they're all sitting in here, enjoying a morning breakfast or working hard at their job, and oblivious to the fact that it doesn't work this way in every part of the country, that in most places the various tribes and colors self-separate and don't intermingle effortlessly. This is life for people here, the melting pot alive and not just as cliche. And all only about ten minutes away from my apartment, only in a direction I've never chosen to venture." And I realized that this was an experience I could only ever have in New York.
The food was as bland as I thought it would be; for $3.25, I don't know why I expected much. Despite its blandness, it managed to make my stomach do all sorts of funny tricks today; my cube farm cell mates were laughing at the preternatural sounds eminating from my rumbly tumbly all day. Even so, I am really glad I had the unexpected chance to experience a little slice of New York I would never have seen had it not been for faulty brakes.
I still don't like it here. But days like today remind me that there are definitely things I will miss about it, if and when I ever leave. It's not for everybody. It's not really for me. But even so, there is no place in the world like New York.
Posted by Christopher at 09:36 PM | Comments (0)AN ANGEL IN AMERICA
So I am probably the only one who's going to see the irony in this, and I am probably exposing myself 1) as something of a letch; and 2) to great amounts of ridicule. But tonight I experienced one of the greatest moments of irony since I started this blog.
Last night, I wrote about that Top Ten List we all have of famous people we would like to do the wild thing with... and I mentioned that we all have those few stars who manage to stay virtually affixed to the list no matter how much your tastes change over the years. I mentioned that one of my permanent members is Ashley Judd; another of my permanent hotties -- and one whose name I almost used instead of Ashley's in last evening's post -- is Mary Louise Parker. I've dug on her since "Boys on the Side," and when she joined the cast of "The West Wing," my life became nearly complete.
So tonight, I'm watching "Angels in America" on HBO (which is gratuitously re-airing the miniseries virtually non-stop around the clock now that it just won all those Emmys). I'm being very moved by some astounding performances (Al Pacino, Meryl Streep, my special favorite Mary Louise Parker, and especially Jeffrey Wright) and a really well told story, and I'm getting very engrossed in the show.
I'm really enjoying the show, when suddenly, something happens that I honestly didn't know was coming: for the first time on film, Mary Louise Parker goes completely starkers. Full frontal nudity. And full back-al nudity, too. And best yet, it's not gratuitous -- within the scene and storyline and conflict her character is going through, the show of skin makes perfect sense and actually contributes to the storytelling. And it's not a short scene, either - she's up there on screen literally yelling, "Look at me!" for a good 20 seconds.
I'm suddenly deciding that this is the greatest miniseries in the history of miniseries.
For the record, and totally unrelated to my letchery, "Angels in America" really is an outstanding production and an amazing, amazing film. Incredible performances from all of the main actors, and a heart-wrenching, gut-wrenching set of storylines, all built around the arc of the early days of the AIDS epidemic during the 80s, when no one knew exactly what we were dealing with yet, and people still thought of AIDS as "the gay disease." (Since at that time most victims were gay, most of the characters are as well.)
Pacino is infuriatingly good as Roy Cohn, the lawyer who helped Joe McCarthy destroy lives and make a mockery of the Constitution -- only to be living a closeted life as a homosexual (he died of AIDS in 1986). I say infuriatingly good because Cohn is a despicable character and Pacino plays him so well that you hate him. Meryl Streep plays several roles, all well; Emma Thompson plays an angel of God; and Mary Louise Parker plays a wife whose husband is gay and only just in the process of coming out of the closet.
If you have HBO, I recommend watching it on any of the 97 occasions it runs this week.
Posted by Christopher at 09:07 PM | Comments (0)MORE PROOF THAT THE CURMUDGEON IS RIGHT
Being a curmudgeon takes an incredibly strong will. To be a curmudgeon, you have to truly believe that not only is the world generally a sucky place, but that no matter how good you may seem to have it or how good your luck seems to be, life will eventually bite you in the ass. Not only will it bite you in the ass, but the wound will get infected and you'll soon be dealing with septic shock.
It takes incredible strength of will to maintain this level of cynicism. You might not know that if you're not a curmudgeon, but it does. It's not always easy to remember that fate has a sick sense of humor, and that anything good that happens is only a cruel tease before the bucketload of bricks falls on your head. Optimists, I've heard it said, always hope for the best and expect it, while pessimists hope for the best and expect the worst. Cynical curmudgeons don't even bother hoping for the best; we just understand that the worst is what we're all going to get. It doesn't even really bother us, because we know that this is the way of the world, so why be disappointed?
This attitude inevitably meets with criticism from all those Up-With-People types who want to try and convince me that the world is a beautiful place, and that every day is a good day to be alive, and that everything is possible if only you believe. My reaction is usually to want to slap the sunny-faced optimism right out of their mouths, but current law being what it is, this is not a practical reaction. So I must wait for stories like this one to remind people for me.
You remember that oh-so-heartwarming story last week about how Oprah gave her entire studio audience a new car? And how the audience was comprised of people selected because someone wrote to Oprah that they needed a new car but couldn't afford one? Well, if they couldn't afford five grand to buy a used (oh, excuse me, pre-owned) car, I wonder how they're going to afford the $7,000 they now owe in taxes on their new Pontiacs?
When Oprah Winfrey gave away 276 cars last week to the audience of her show, images of people laughing, jumping, crying -- some hysterically -- filled the airwaves and the give-away became stuff of legend. Late night talk show hosts and newspaper columnists are still talking about it. But now some of those eager prize-winners have a choice: Fork over $7,000 or give up the car.
The Harpo spokeswomen said winners had three choices. They could keep the car and pay the tax, sell the car and pay the tax with the profits or forfeit the car.
Heh, heh, heh. Someday, people will listen. Someday, people will be forced to admit that the 'ol Mudge was right.
Posted by Christopher at 08:51 PM | Comments (0)THE ABSTRACT BECOMES LITERAL
Over the centuries, religion has killed more people than almost any disease. Well, not literally, of course. But the abusive use of the idea of religion -- and the most stridently faithful of any faith pathologically needing to prove that their God is better than your God -- has been responsible for many of history's worst crimes against humanity. (I could go into the litany, but I won't. Suffice it to say that we're all guilty, and that for all the good that religions have done, they also have many sins to atone for.)
But I've never read a story like this one before -- where religion actually literally killed someone.
A 67-year-old woman was killed when a three-meter tall metal crucifix fell on her head in a small southern Italian town on Wednesday, police said.
Either this is the funniest instance of divine retribution since that whole pillar of salt thing, or the lady had worse luck than the Boston Red Sox.
Posted by Christopher at 08:44 PM | Comments (0)September 21, 2004
QUICK SHOUT-OUT
I've been pointed in the direction of another promising new blog... my friend Jay in DC knows a guy on the Hill who has just begun blogging. And I dare say, when I checked it out tonight, it was pretty funny and very well written to boot. The rumination on the purchase of clothes hangars is worth the price of admission. (Okay, so there is no admission cost. So what?
So do drop by "Weekly Wonders." Tell David that Jay's friend 'Mudge sent you. And encourage him to keep writing - I hear via e-mail that he's just started it and isn't sure he's going to keep it up... so encourage him as best you can, if you would. It's worth dropping in!
Posted by Christopher at 09:54 PM | Comments (0)AND THEN THERE WERE EIGHT
Every one of us has the famous "Top Ten List" in their mind - the ten sexiest, hottest famous people who we'd give a month off of our lives to have two hours with... (oh, who am I kidding... two minutes then, fine!) the Ten Most Wanted, if you will.
These lists aren't always consistent -- on any given Sunday, there could be as many as four or five of the spots on the list being in flux, with old wantees dropping off and new objects of affection popping up. There are the exceptions - the famous people who just do it for you so intensely that they receive an etched position on the list. (In my case, Ashley Judd has remained pretty much a constant for about six years running, so I think she may soon qualify for Hall of Fame status.)
But my list has very suddenly gotten shorter lately. One of my perennials (Britney Spears) has dropped off the list because of her descent into trailordom over the last year. Why do I get the feeling that her divorce papers will be on The Smoking Gun within 18 months? And if she gets anymore Springeresque in her life choices, she's going to be taking a blood test in about a year to determine "Who My Baby Daddy?"
So Brit... babe... it's been a great four year run... ever since the day you stopped being jailbait, you've been right up there. But this whole little drama with Kevin Punchline -- oops, I mean Federline -- is just too much, honey. See ya - don't let the door hit you in the ass (mandatory moment of silence at the mention of Britney's ass) on the way out.
And the other one... Paris Hilton sometimes has crept up on the bottom rungs of my list -- usually depending on whether I've seen that DVD within the last week or so. But after reading excerpts from her "memoirs" (what kind of memoirs can you write at 22? What are her chapter titles - "That Time At Nicole's Party?" "The Shoes of Navarone?"), I have become convinced that this spoiled and airheaded little diva is hereby granted a permanent hall pass to be off of my list. For example,
Despite what you've read, being a famous heiress is not that easy. It is, of course, fun and exciting, and it comes in handy for air travel. But look around you, and in the gossip columns: Not every heiress is famous. Or fun. There are a lot of boring heiresses out there. What a waste, I say!
Or this gem:
By being brave -- and channeling my "inner heiress" -- I created a new opportunity for young heiresses.
Or how about this piece of life wisdom:
That is what being an heiress means to me: being in charge. After all, if you have money and certain advantages, no one should be in charge of your life but you.
Dear God: if You are so inclined to prove Your existence to me, here's a suggestion: an surgically targeted F5 tornado with 350 mph winds that hits only Paris Hilton's bedroom. (I saw the DVD... you wouldn't be harming much. You couldn't find cold fish like that even in the Arctic Ocean!) Please... I'm begging You. Either that, or suddenly have every Hilton hotel around the world fold up into a fiery ball and eat themselves like that house at the end of Poltergeist... forcing this idiotic little princess to actually see what the real world is like (when those stupid-ass Simple Life camera crews aren't there). I promise that if you do this, I will never again put a woman on my Top Ten List until after she turns 21.
"After all, if you have money and certain advantages, no one should be in charge of your life but you." Freaking all-time classic. Here's hoping that Paris Hilton is the Kato Kaelin of the 2000s.
Posted by Christopher at 09:53 PM | Comments (0)MORE IMPACTFUL THAN EVEN MARBURY VS. MADISON
In the history of courts and judicial systems, there have only been a handful of cases that really ever mattered... that set the tone for the way we all live our lives from here on out. We can all rattle off the names of a few that we remember from civics class in 10th grade -- even if we don't always remember the subject of the decision. Gideon vs. Wainwright (1962), for example... or Miranda vs. Arizona (1966)... or even the ones we do know, like Brown vs. The Board of Education (1954) or Roe vs. Wade (1973).
But in Spain, there is a case that's been brought to court that will have a more significant impact on the daily life of millions of Americans... nay, billions of people around the world!
A Spanish man tried to have his wife charged with domestic abuse because she refused to have sex with him on five consecutive days, Spanish newspaper El Sur reported on Friday.
The middle-aged man from Seville -- the city of Don Juan and Carmen -- said her refusals amounted to "degrading treatment" and domestic abuse.
Oh, man... can you imagine the caseload in the American judicial system if legal precedent gets set over this one? First of all, from the stories I hear from my married friends (and you know who you are), 98.6% of the wives in America are about to get some prison time. Actually, that raises a question: what is the punishment for being found guilty of this kind of domestic abuse? An un-restraining order? And what exactly do you call this crime - negligee-ance? And what if the guilty party goes to jail? How would she handle conjugal visits? If she does it from prison, does that get her time off for good behavior? For time served? Does it even count?
Are there degrees of this crime? For instance, first degree would be abject denial of service... would second degree consist of just lying there in the missionary position, thinking about the PTA, and asking if he's done yet? And how does this ruling impact the age-old -- and all too infrequently successful -- male quest for the old Lewinsky treatment? Should a wife have to go downtown for refusing to go downtown?
And another wrinkle: does this apply just to married women? Can I sue any single woman for not having sex with me? (Man, if that's the case, I am about to get way rich!) Would this be a class no-action suit?
And think of the pick-up lines! "Want a get out of jail free card?" "You have the right to remain un-silent." "Badges? I don't need no stinkin' badges!" The possibilities are endless.
We here in Mudgeonland will keep you posted on breaking developments in this case.
Posted by Christopher at 09:46 PM | Comments (0)COULDN'T HAPPEN TO A NICER GUY
You know, sometimes stuff happens that just reminds me that there is such a thing as karma. For example, Kellen Winslow Jr. -- the arrogant, blowhard idiot of a tight end who plays for the Cleveland Browns -- got just a little karmic payback.
Why don't I like Kellen Winslow? Remember his little tirade last year after a college football game -- when we had soldiers on the ground in combat in a hostile country? He laid a cheap block on an opponent, the refs called him on it and gave him 15 yards for unsportsmanlike conduct, and here was his reponse:
"It's war," Winslow said Saturday, his voice raised in the locker room. "They're out there to kill you, so I'm out there to kill them. We don't care about anybody but this U. They're going after my legs. I'm going to come right back at them. I'm a [m-f'ing] soldier."
Yeah, class human being this little punk is, huh? Next, add in the fact that this rookie who had never played a down in the NFL rejected a contract worth $40 million and held out of training camp, insisting that he was worth the largest contract ever given to a tight end -- before he ever even played one minute. Arrogance to go along with the attitude... nice.
Now add in the fact that his father is an embittered, bigoted racist who wouldn't allow his son to sign a letter of intent to play football at the University of Washington because the coaching staff wasn't black enough (can you imagine the uproar if a white football legend refused to let his son sign with a program because the staff wasn't white enough????). Now you understand why I feel the way I do about this jerk.
So what happened this past weekend? Well, Kellen Winslow Jr. broke his leg - badly. I'm not dancing about that - you hate to see injuries to almost anyone. (Except for Steroid-head Barry Bonds. I keep hoping for a muscle blowout or something to end his chase at two legitimately great, un-chemically enhanced ballplayers.) But what I am chortling in Curmudgeonly glee about is the impact the injury is going to have on Winslow's wallet.
Winslow gambled he would achieve one of 10 supposed easily achievable performance incentives. Those standards ranged from having 41 catches or 801 yards receiving or the simplest standard -- playing time. All Winslow had to do was participate in 35 percent of the Browns' offensive plays and he qualified for two sets of bonuses that would have given him $5.3675 million in 2005.
Winslow is scheduled to undergo surgery Tuesday to repair a broken right fibula and is expected to miss eight to 10 weeks. Should the surgery go well and he makes it back on time, it still will be difficult for him to get the 35 percent playing time bonus because of the injury.
This jerk's arrogance came back to bite him in the butt. It cost him more than $5 million. It's comeuppance fit for a self-proclaimed soldier, don't you think?
Posted by Christopher at 09:04 PM | Comments (1)September 19, 2004
THE PASSING OF A HERO
In the aftermath of 9/11, many of us started reflcting upon how loosely we threw around the word "hero." No longer can we afford to casually toss the word into conversation or bestow the title too easily. Now that you know I understand that, let me just say this: a true hero left us this month. His state funeral was this weekend.
Beyers Naude may not be a household name here in America, but in South Africa, everyone knows him -- either by his given name, or the affectionare endearment bestowed on him by his people, "Oom Bey." (It means, "Uncle Bey.")
Thousands of people of all colros gathered near Johannesburg this weekend to pay their respects and say goodbye to Oom Bey on Saturday, including the President of South Africa. What did an 89 year old Anglican priest do to deserve this attention?
He changed his country and his world.
Beyers Naude was once a leader in the Dutch Reformed Church in South Africa, which used to use the Bible to justify apartheid... and he was also part of the Broderband, a secret society devoted to preserving apartheid. But in 1963 -- long before international attention focused on apartheid and the world began pressuring the white government in South Africa -- Beyers Naude stood in front of his church and denounced apartheid, and his church's role in propogating it. The church hierarchy quickly gave him a choice: his church and parishioners, or his activism. Beyers Naude chose activism.
Here was a man who could lose everything... and who was ostracized by his fellow white South Africans for years as a result of his choice. But Beyers Naude knew that sometimes there is right in the face of wrong, and right doesn't make allowances for personal concerns. He gave it all up and became the leading white South African voice against apartheid. In 1963, no less -- remember where the United States was regarding the rights of blacks at that point. His action was the equivalent of a white southern governor denouncing Jim Crow and signing on with Martin Luther King, Jr. He took his stand, and was willing to give up everything for it, years before the anti-apartheid movement became a cause celebre.
Despite being ostracized by his own people for years, he was embraced by millions more, the milions he brought hope to. He became a symbol of harmony and tolerance , beloved and admired by his nation and its people. When South Africa finally became free in the 1990s, a street was re-named in his honor - a street once named for a prime minister who was one of the most virulent supporters of apartheid. And the recognition given him upin his death reflected the unity and humanity he stood for.
South African President Thabo Mbeki and Nobel Peace Prize winner Bishop Demsond Tutu delivered eulogies at the funeral service attended by thousands.
"Sacrifices he made guaranteed us our peace and reconciliation because they told those who might have sought vengeance that the Afrikaner people are not their enemies, because Beyers Naude was not their enemy but their comrade, friend and leader," Mbeki said.
Tutu said Naude could have gone to the highest office in the land but instead he chose to stand up against apartheid. "He gave the credibility of Christianity back to black people. There are no half-measures when an Afrikaner sees the light ... his commitment is total ... he becomes committed to the hilt."
Tutu said nothing could have been more excruciating for Naude as an Afrikaner than to be rejected by his own people. [But] "The more the apartheid system attempted to discredit him, the more his stature grew."
One man, forty years ago, was willing to lose everything for what he knew to be right. And slowly, surely, the world did change. In part, it changed because of Beyers Naude. And even those of us living 12,000 miles away must remember his lesson and his courage.
I hope that I would have that kind of courage and conviction. I wish that we all would.
Posted by Christopher at 10:08 PM | Comments (0)September 17, 2004
GABBA GABBA HEY
I could claim to have been a Ramones fan in high school, but that would be revisionist history. I barely knew them before I got to college; I was into either metal or the slightly more embarassing 80s synth-fare common to pop radio at the time.
But once I got into college, I started widening my horizons a bit. I got into a band with a couple of guys with broader musical tastes than I had, and I started learning more about the music I had missed out on as a kid. And it was while sitting in my friend Mic's room trying to write songs one night our freshman year that he introduced me to the Ramones.
I was hooked immediately. Within a month, I had about six of their tapes. (Yes, I am that old, I still bought cassette tapes while I was in college; I didn't get a CD player until my junior year.) And all of a sudden, I went through about a nine month phase where I rediscovered the mid-70s punk era. The Pistols, New York Dolls, Iggy Pop, and especially the Ramones were all I listened to. I began wishing that I'd been lucky enough to be around and old enough to be a part of the energy and attitude of the scene down in the Bowery section of Manhattan from about 1974 to 1978. I started seeing CBGB's -- the club where it all began and took wing -- as Mecca.
I've been in New York now since January 1999. In those 5 1/2+ years, by far my favorite memory and the favorite night I have had since I got here was the night that Tim, the Doc and I took a boys' night out and made a pilgrimage to CBGBs. I still remember the lineup we saw - full of classically punk names... The Strap-Ons, The Nogoodnix, A Gaggle of Cocks (Tim and I still laugh every time we tell people that we saw the Strap-Ons and A Gaggle of Cocks on the same night), the Devil's County Death Cult, and The Bullys.
We got there 45 minutes before the first band took the stage. As stupid as it sounds, we wanted to see the place - it was a bigger draw than the acts. And as I walked up to the front of the stage and put my hand on it, I swear I was thinking to myself, "I'm touching the stage that The Ramones played on."
I'm thinking about the Ramones tonight because Johnny Ramone died this week of prostate cancer. He was 55. He was the third of the four original Ramones to die within the last three years, following Joey in 2001 of lymphoma and DeeDee in 2002 of a drug overdose.
It's a sad thing that so often in life, it is only death that brings the recognition earned in life. Such was the case with the Ramones. Despite being adored by two generations of fans, and influencing 30 years' worth of musicians, the band never received the popular success they deserved. They're in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but they never had the big albums or chart songs that many of their contemporaries (The Clash, The Talking Heads, Blondie) eventually had.
And now, only Tommy Ramone remains. Three chords, two minutes... one left.
But Joey, DeeDee, and Johnny left this world -- too soon, all of them -- knowing that they'd earned the respect of both their peers and a couple of generations of bands that came after them. That's something. Hell, that's everything.
Goodbye, Johnny Ramone -- and thank you. Tell Joey and DeeDee we said hey. And I hope that God and St. Peter were ready for you... slouching against the Pearly Gates in black leather jackets and torn jeans, and shouting, "Gabba gabba, we accept you, we accept you. One of us, one of us."
Posted by Christopher at 11:20 PM | Comments (0)BUY PROCTOR AND GAMBLE
Quick - what's the best possible reason in the world to buy a company's products?
Here's the answer: because conservatives don't want you to.
That's what's happening with Proctor and Gamble. The conservative self-appointed guardians of your morality don't want you to buy their products. Why? Because P&G had the audacity to put a statement on their internal Web site opposing a local statute in Cincinnati designed to deny homosexuals their rights. Heaven forbid a company want to treat all its employees and customers equally, right? So the Morality Stasi are urging a boycott of P&G.
The kicker in this whole thing is the leap of logic these jokers are employing.
The leaders of the groups, Dr. James C. Dobson of Focus on the Family and the Rev. Donald E. Wildmon of American Family Association, contend that by making the statement, Procter & Gamble, based in Cincinnati, is implicitly supporting same-sex marriage.
First of all, if P&G were supporting same sex marriage, good for them. But the thing is, the statute has nothing to do with the marriage issue. Article XII to the Cincinnati city charter specifically exempts homosexuals from equal civil rights protection.
Due to Article XII, it is legal to fire someone for being gay, to deny a gay person housing, or to refuse service to a gay person in a restaurant or in a store. While the city has a civil rights provision in it's charter, gays and lesbians are by law exempted from its protection - making Cincinnati the only city in the country with such a law.
Nice that conservatives are lining up in support of denying Americans their basic civil rights, isn't it? We're not talking about same sex marriage here; while I support it, I can at least understand where people of good faith and good intentions could be uncomfortable with that.
But we're talking about basic human rights here: the right to live wherever one wants and can afford, the right to be served in a commercial establishment, or to do one's job without fear of being fired because the boss doesn't like what you do when you're not working. Apparently, that's too much for conservatives. I'm surprised Wildmon and Dobson haven't tried to mandate separate drinking fountains.
Well, here in Mudgeonland, we don't like to give the Pharisees one solitary inch. (You remember them from the Bible, don't you? The self-righteous pseudo-pious folks who cloaked themselves in religion while persecuting anyone who didn't think, act, or believe as told?) So I am instituting an anti-boycott. (Would that be called a "girlcott?" It is now!) I'm asking you to join me in supporting P&G for their stand against discrimination.
I'll be going out of my way to purchase P&G products in the coming weeks as part of my girlcott. I urge you to do the same; you can find lists of the P&G family of products on their Website. Just to give you a couple of ideas of things to buy, here's a few I'll be buying:
Old Spice deoderant and body spray (sure, I'll smell like a 16 year old on his first date, but the cause is worthy); Aussie Mega or Citrifier shampoo; Zest soap; Noxema facial cleansers; Hugo Boss cologne (easy to do, since I wear Boss anyway); Dawn dishwashing liquid; Mr. Clean; Gain laundry detergent (you could also choose Tide or Cheer); Bounce fabric softener; Charmin; Pepto-Bismol (I swig stomach stuff like soda, so this'll be easy too); Crest toothpaste; Scope; and Folgers coffee. Even my cat Salinger will get in on the act, because from now on he'll get Iams cat food.
These Stasi-wannabes want to say that it's okay to discriminate in America in 2004. I hope you'll join me in opposing their efforts.
Posted by Christopher at 08:57 PM | Comments (0)September 14, 2004
VANITY SEARCHES ROCK
So tonight I indulged the need we all have from time to time. No, not that one, you perverts. I'm talking about doing a vanity search - you know, you Google your own name (or in this case, my nom de blog-guerre) and see what kind of search results come up for you? Soothing your ego by trying to figure out how many people have actually referred to something you wrote or said?
Every once in a while you find a reference or link to yourself that you didn't know about. Such was the case today. I was surprised to see the old 'Mudge's site bolded in the results for a bumper sticker company, "Progressive Bumper Stickers." . Sure enough, when I clicked on the URL, there I was... listed as one of the "Other Liberal Sites" they linked to... and was right up there with a bunch of other rabble rousers and malcontents.
I haven't clicked on most of the rest of the links, so I have no idea of whether I am proud to be on this list or not. Still, I think it's extremely cool that without even knowing it, I got linked to by someone running a site with which they make money. How freaking cool is that?
Vanity searches rock, man.
Posted by Christopher at 11:43 PM | Comments (0)BEST THING FOR HIM, REALLY... HIS THERAPY WAS GOING NOWHERE
Why do I think of Hannibal Lecter and The Silence of The Lambs when I read this story?
A former church minister and Boy Scout leader who cut off another man's genitals in a makeshift gender reassignment surgery in a hotel room, pleaded guilty to first-degree assault and practicing medicine without a license.
Jack Wayne Rogers, 59, of Fulton, Mo... promised Michael Abercrombie he'd remove his genitals in a four-hour operation. That time passed, complications developed and bleeding refused to stop.
Abercrombie, now known as Madison, says she didn't feel like a victim at first, but changed her mind after prosecutors presented her Rogers' checkered criminal history, peppered with allegations of cannibalism and a pornography collection that included photographs of severed genitals.
Okay, not that I wish to be insensitive to the transgender community, but... come on. This Abercrombie person agreed to have someone cut off his Fitch. The fact that the surgeon was not a trained physician, or that the procedure took place not in a hospital but in a hotel room, never seemed to cross his... her... mind? I tell you what: nothing sharper than a Nerf ball is getting near the Mudgeonitalia. I suspect that anyone sane would feel the same about their own. This is another case of the gene pool being given a little extra squirt of chlorine, is all.
And as for Jack Wayne Rogers, our assailant, what kind of a Mr. Rogers is he, huh? I can hear the song now (to the tune we all know)...
"It's a beautiul day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a patient. Would you be mine, could you be mine? It's a neighborly way to lose your wood, a surgery day for a cutie. Would you be mine, could you be mine?
I've always wanted to have a neighbor just like you... I've always wanted to remove your manlihood, for you.
So, let's make the most of this beautiful day... Since we're together, I might as well flay... Would you be mine, could you be mine? Won't you be my patient?
Won't you please... lose your wee? Please won't you be my patient?"
The dude had photos of other severed genitalia!!!! Good grief, what a freak! No confirmation of the rumor that Rogers' nurse was Lorena Bobbitt.
I'M GEORGE W. BUSH, AND I APPROVE THIS MESSAGE
Thanks to the Daily Kos for this cartoon that supposes what Bush's campaign would be like if Jesus of Nazareth were his opponent in the presidential race. Poor Jesus would be a sitting duck for the Rove-style manipulation of the record and campaign strategy of making the voters fear the opponent more than Bush.
At least then, we could hope for a lightning strike for retribution.
Posted by Christopher at 11:22 PM | Comments (0)ICE CAPADES
Having grown up in Minnesota, I have a real appreciation for hockey. In a lot of cases, the old line is true: kids learn to skate almost before they can walk. Some of the best memories I have from childhood involve heading down to the rink in the park behind our house, and playing hockey with my friends until we couldn't drag ourselves around on the ice anymore. The Minnesota State High School Hockey Tournament draws more than a quarter million fans every year, and even eighteen years after I last went to one, it still ranks as among the most exciting sporting events I have ever attended.
(By the way, I strongly recommend the Sports Illustrated article on the tournament that I linked to above... it may seem a little bucolic to my northeastern friends, but the whole thing is laced with touches of life in the prairie midwest, such as this gem paragraph:
The tournament is void of thuggery and features wide-open play and unstaged fun and drama. School officials estimated that almost half of Moorhead High's 1,274 students made the 250-mile journey to watch their team win its Class AA quarterfinal against Elk River, many of them sporting orange hunting vests (the Spuds' colors are orange and black) and screaming for Moorhead's mascot, a skating potato that circled the ice before the game.
This ain't made up, kids. It's real. You can't make this stuff up. Not even Jimmy Buffett could invent a school with a potato mascot. Y'all can have your lacrosse teams and rich kid class trips. You never had a skating potato.)
Anyway, I am digressing... my point is that I love hockey. I still take great pride in the fact that I received my B.A. and M.S. from two of the greatest college hockey schools in the country -- the University of Minnesota and Boston University, respectively. BU vs. BC hockey is the best sporting event I'll ever see (only in part because the #1 chant from fans of both teams at the games, even in the middle of January, is "Yan-kees Suck!"). I was a huge fan of the Minnesota North Stars as a kid, and once I moved east I adopted the Boston Bruins, like I pretty much adopted all the sports teams from the beloved home of my grad school... Bruins, Pats, and especially the Sox. I'd consider moving just over the border to Connecticut, if for no other reason than that their cable systems get NESN (New England Sports Network), and I'd be able to see all the Sox and Bruin games, not to mention updates on the great college hockey scene in Boston and New England (BU, BC, Harvard, Maine, New Hampshire and UMass-Lowell have all won national titles or been in the Frozen Four). I'd be in heaven - I love hockey.
And that's why I am so disappointed that the NHL is shooting itself -- not in the foot, but in the head -- by beginning a lockout tomorrow that threatens to not only delay the 2004-2005 season, but eliminate it altogether.
It's just the latest in a series of missteps by the NHL. There were a dozen ill-advised expansions or franchise moves in the 90s to try and widen the game's American fan base, for example. This was stupid; San Jose, Los Angeles, Phoenix, Dallas, Nashville, Atlanta, Miami, Tampa, and Charlotte all have teams, but Winnipeg, Quebec, Hartford, Cleveland, and Milwaukee do not? There oughta be a law: if the ice machine inside the arean broke down and you couldn't just go outside to play the game in the winter cold with naturally occuring ice, your city should not have a hockey team. Period. End of sentence.
Next, they tried an ill-advised national TV contract. This was also foolish; Fox or ABC affiliates south of the Mason Dixon line couldn't possibly be expected to get an audience for a winter sport. National ratings were doomed from the start. They should have just signed a series of mini-deals with the regional sports networks (NESN, FoxSports New York, Chicago, Detroit, etc.) in the northern areas, where there was an established fan base that actually cared about the game and the teams. Some sports are regional by nature; you'll never have a NASCAR race track in Manhattan, you won't see anyone playing lacrosse west of the Appalachians, and no one outside of Florida even knows what the hell jai alai is. And hockey does not have a non-winter area audience. It's okay. Not everything has to be national.
On top of this, like in many pro sports, salaries for the top players reached ridiculous and un-maintainable levels. The problem is that baseball, football and basketball have enough of a base -- both financially and in terms of fans -- to weather out salary spikes until the market corrects itself. Hockey does not. And in an era where there are 30 teams with 30 owners -- at least a dozen of which got into the sport as a business investment, not a love of the sport -- you can't count on ownership's passion for the game to entice them to ride out rough spots. These guys want to be making money NOW, and if it doesn't happen, they're cutting out on their hockey team like they'd sell off an unprofitable investment.
The NHL is in precarious shape as it is. And now you're going to have a labor standoff that cancels part or all of a season, just as your TV contract runs out and several teams are poised on the brink of bankruptcy or sell-offs? Stupid. Just plain stupid. The stubbornness of both ownership and the players' union is truly cutting off their noses to spite their faces.
It took Major League Baseball close to a decade to recover from the 1994 strike and the cancellation of the World Series. Hockey does not have that luxury. If the 2004-2005 season is not played, the next time you see the NHL it will not resemble anything like its current incarnation. You'll keep the Montreal and Toronto franchises and both New York teams, plus Detroit, Chicago, Boston, Minnesota, Philadelphia... and maybe two of the three teams in western Canada, and maybe Washington. That's it. Everyone else is gone. 9-12 teams survive. That's it. The NHL cannot afford a labor stoppage. And yet both sides seem prepared to accept one rather than concede an inch.
Oh well. There's always the skating potato.
Posted by Christopher at 11:12 PM | Comments (0)BUSH-CHENEY'S SECRET ECONOMIC WEAPON
Trying to find all those jobs that W and the Dick keep claiming they've created? Maybe you should look online.
Indicators measure the nation's unemployment rate, consumer spending and other economic milestones, but Vice President Dick Cheney says it misses the hundreds of thousands who make money selling on eBay. "That's a source that didn't even exist 10 years ago," Cheney told an audience in Ohio. "Four hundred thousand people make some money trading on eBay."
I'll go one better than the Dick. Do you realize how many Americans, both men and women, play fantasy sports? Baseball, football, basketball... even NASCAR? I mean, I myself am a part of this phenomenon... I play fantasy baseball, and my Vice City Vultures -- having been in first place by double digits for two months now, and with only 19 days left in the season -- are about to win their first-ever pennant in our league. I'm going to make "some money" out of this! My heavens, don't forget to include fantasy baseball in the nation's economic indicators!
Good grief, what an idiot.
Posted by Christopher at 10:31 PM | Comments (0)WATCH OUT, FLORIDA...
So if known terrorists are being harbored somewhere, and we accept the W Doctrine that lands are either for stopping terrorists or against it, and proactive action against those lands that accept terrorists is the proper course of action... then I guess we can expect the Tomahawk missile strikes against Disneyworld and Universal to begin any moment, followed by bombing runs over Miami.
As Jillian over at The Snarky Cat points out, the United States just accepted into Florida four known terrorists, including one who blew up a plane with 73 people aboard. We knew they were coming, and they were met at Opa-Locka airport, questioned briefly, then allowed to enter the country, met by cheering throngs and open arms.
How did this happen, you ask? Well, maybe it's because these terrorists aren't Muslims, and didn't bomb the West. They're Cuban, and they went after a leader we don't like. But in George W. Bush's black and white world, apparently any tactic is acceptable if it's applied against someone we don't like.
As an editorial in the L.A. Times (free registration required) wrote:
The fourth man, Luis Posada Carriles, was the most notorious member of this anti-Castro cell. He is an escapee from a prison in Venezuela, where he was incarcerated for blowing up an Air Cubana passenger plane in 1976, killing 73. He also admitted plotting six hotel bombings in Havana that killed one tourist and injured 11 others in 1997. Posada has gone into hiding in Honduras while seeking a Central American country that will harbor him, prompting Honduran President Ricardo Maduro to demand an explanation from the Bush administration on how a renowned terrorist could enter his country using a false U.S. passport.
The terrorist backgrounds of Posada's three comrades-in-arms are as well documented as their leader's. Guillermo Novo once fired a bazooka at the U.N. building; in February 1979, he was convicted and sentenced to 40 years for conspiracy in the 1976 assassination of former Chilean diplomat Orlando Letelier and his American colleague, Ronni Moffitt, in Washington. (His conviction was subsequently vacated on a legal technicality.) Gaspar Jimenez was convicted and imprisoned in Mexico in 1977 for murdering a Cuban consulate official; he was released by authorities in 1983. Pedro Remon received a 10-year sentence in 1986 for conspiring to kill Cuba's ambassador to the United Nations in 1980.
These are violent men. Panamanian prosecutors said they had planned to detonate 33 pounds of explosives while Castro was speaking at a university in Panama. Had they not been intercepted by the authorities, the blast not only would have killed the Cuban president but quite possibly hundreds of others gathered to hear him speak during the inter-American summit.
So to sum up, we have men responsible for the deaths of 77 people, one of whom fired a bazooka at the UN, two others who either murdered or conspired to murder international diplomats, and all of whom were caught planning to detonate 33 pounds of explosives at a crowded university. These are the textbook definition of international terrorists, are they not? These are the kinds of men that ol' W and John Ashcroft would be all set to snare the moment they set foot on our shore, right?
Uh, wrong. Guess not. Why, may you ask? The answer is simple.
Florida is crucial to Bush's reelection strategy. Currying favor with anti-Castro constituents in Miami appears to trump the president's anti-terrorism principles. So far, not a single White House, State Department or Homeland Security official has expressed outrage at Panama's decision to put terrorists back on the world's streets.
If 9/11 should have taught us anything, it is that no cause can ever justify wanton violence against innocents. Yet there is a community that considers these men "freedom fighters" -- much as hard-line Islamic fundamentalists consider suicide bombers and the 9/11 hijackers to be -- and Bush needs that community. So his so-called principles are left behind. Once again, George W. Bush has proven that he will do anything to get elected, even if it means letting convicted terrorists roam our streets.
Say, I just remembered something. The two largest Arabic communities in the country are in the Detroit area and in/around Patterson, New Jersey. Michigan is a swing state that Bush needs... and New Jersey has 15 electoral votes.
If we are to judge Bush by his demonstrated track record, I guess we can expect that Osama bin Laden and Ayman al-Zawahiri will be given US passports soon and welcomed to America with open arms. (It wouldn't work; these Arabic-American communities are as patriotic and loyal as any other ethnic community... but I doubt that such a nuance would occur to such a power-mad crew as the current regime.)
Thanks again to Jillian for drawing my attention to this shameful story.
Posted by Christopher at 10:24 PM | Comments (0)IS IT A CRIME TO BE A JERK?
My cousin Joe over at The Corner Bar will like this one.
Humberto A. Taveras put his money where his mouth is and ended up arrested, accused of leaving an inadequate tip at a restaurant.
Taveras, 41, faces a misdemeanor charge of theft of services after he and his fellow diners argued with Soprano's Italian and American Grill managers over the legality of requiring an 18 percent tip for large parties.
Taveras and eight others had pizza at the restaurant in this resort village Sunday night. He said they weren't completely satisfied with the food and left a tip of under 10 percent. Taveras said they also were not told of a mandatory 18 percent gratuity for parties of six or more and did not see notice of it on their menus.
Okay, in reading the article, you can pretty much tell that this guy's kind of an ass, at least in my opinion. It turns out that they may have been pretty rude and abusive to the staff, so they gave the owner even more motivation to press charges.
And as a rule, I generally am a decent tipper -- I'll usually try to leave 20% or so, on average. If I've been particularly pleased with the service or the server, I'll leave 25%. (And if it's a bar I intend to frequent and a bartender who's there often, we climb up into the 30-33% range... it's good to be friends with the bartenders.)
Not to be ostentatious, not at all -- in fact I usually have it on a card, so anyone I am with won't even see how much I leave -- but rather because I appreciate that people in the food service industry work their backsides off, and their hourly wage is less than most. Not to mention that it's brutally hard work... on your feet your whole shift, running around the whole time, dealing with customers whose kindness to you may well depend on whether they were having a good day before they walked in the door... it's rough stuff. I waited tables for a little while in undergrad, and it's exhausting work.
I reserve the right, however, to tip lower than the standard if the service is sub-standard. (If it is the food that is lousy, but the service is good, I still tip the server what their effort's been worth, but will tell them that I did not find the food to my standards. Like it's their fault that the guy in the kitchen isn't on the ball?) If a waiter has attitude, is slow, does not respond promptly and courteously to any issues we have with the kitchen, etc... then they're getting 10% from me, or even less. (I usually don't leave nothing -- that would allow them to delude themselves into thinking that maybe I forgot.) Tips aren't entitlements; they're earned. And just as I have a responsibility to compensate someone well for a job well done, they have a responsibility to earn that tip with the quality of their service.
Where am I going with all this? Well, I am just really nervous that there's apparently a law that says you have to tip 18%, even in cases of large parties. If the service is lousy and undeserving, should I be required to hand over an additional 18%? Even if the service is good... can they legislate that I have to be a decent human being and tip 18%? I say they absolutely should not be able to force you to do so.
Look, if I take a large group into a place and I don't tip the server 18%, it makes me a jerk, not a criminal. And if you're going to legislate that tips below 18% are illegal, are tips above 18% then illegal too? If 18% is what we're prescribed by law to give, then am I violating the law by giving 20 or 25%? Are food service industry workers sure they want to go down this path?
Posted by Christopher at 09:41 PM | Comments (0)NOT GUILTY DOES NOT MEAN INNOCENT
So Kobe the Rapist's lawyers managed to assassinate the character of his victim and intimidate her out of testifying... doesn't mean he didn't do it.
First of all, in his "apology," he even said -- and I quote: "I now understand how she feels that she did not consent to this encounter."
(Sidebar: While specific details can vary state to state, there is not a whole lot of disagreement on this basic definition: Rape is unlawful sexual intercourse with a woman without her consent. Hmm... Kobe says she feels that she did not consent... nice of him to understand that now, huh? Last time I checked, there was nothing in the law excepting "sexual intercourse that the guy decides to admit more than a year later was non-consensual." He's a rapist. He admitted it. And the simple fact that his lawyers intimidated and shamed her into dropping the case doesn't change it.)
Now, we have further proof -- proof his lawyers don't want you to see. Thankfully, there are reporters at Sports Illustrated who do their jobs, and they have obtained Kobe Bryant's statement to police the night of the rape. Want to know what Kobe had to say -- and why his lawyers want it sealed?
- When he was questioned by two police officers in the parking lot of the Lodge and Spa at Cordillera in the early morning of July 2, 2003, Bryant, after first denying an encounter took place, admitted to "holding her around her neck from behind" and graphically described a series of sex acts he engaged in with his accuser.
- As the officers and Bryant made small talk while walking to his room, Bryant told them he would pay his accuser to make the charges go away because "I'm in the worst f------ situation."
So by the clinical definition and his own admission, Kobe Bryant is guilty of rape. And by the statements Kobe Bryant made to the police the night of the rape, he first lied to cover his tracks, then described the rape, then expressed a desire to pay the woman to keep quiet and make it go away.
Yeah, we're talking about a real class act here, kids. This unconvicted rapist will make more money next year than most of us will see in our lifetimes... and got away with behavior that would land most everyone else in jail -- deservedly so.
I hope that in every city the Lakers play in, Kobe Bryant is greeted with catcalls and angry chants of "Rapist" or "She Said No!" And for Kobe Rapist's lawyers (and his defenders), I have this hope: I hope they all have daughters. And I hope all their daughters someday get to be blocked in a hotel room with Kobe Bryant.
Posted by Christopher at 09:02 PM | Comments (0)September 13, 2004
TOILET HUMOR
I will tell this story as delicately as I can, both out of respect for my audience and to save myself the embarrassment. However, I know you guys are an imaginative bunch... I think you'll see where the story goes.
Imagine, if you will, that you live in a co-op apartment building in the suburbs of New York City. Like most multiple resident dwellings, your building has a "super," a guy who lives in the building and, in exchange for his living space, maintains the building... fixes the boiler when it breaks every other week, can fix your heating if it breaks down, or any other maintenance fix-it work. So if anything goes wrong, you don't call some anonymous repairman... you call a guy you see almost every day as he makes his rounds.
Now, think of the worst possible circumstance you could imagine for your toilet to break - for the flusher to completely stop flushing.
For example, you might imagine that you weren't feeling well... that you ate something that didn't agree with you. And you might imagine that in such a case, you might have need of modern plumbing. You might imagine further that upon making use of said plumbing, only then would you discover that your flusher was broken. And that you would, in fact, have to call your neighbor the super to fix your toilet at that point... with it in that condition.
That would really be awful, wouldn't it?
Such has been my night.
Posted by Christopher at 10:14 PM | Comments (0)September 11, 2004
SEPTEMBER 11
Today is September 11, and I remember.
I remember that I was running late that morning, because I almost always am running late in the morning. At 8:46, I was on my way to work, on a parkway that follows the Hudson north. Had I known what was coming or had I happened to look up, I probably would have seen American Airlines Flight 11 barreling toward the city ten miles south.
I remember the traffic reporter breaking into regular programming to break the news of the first collision, which he and the announcers called an accident. And I remember looking up at the clear blue sky through my windshield -- and whether it was my naval intelligence instincts kicking in, or just a sinking sense of putting two and two together, I knew. I just knew. I remember shouting at the radio, "That was no accident!" It may seem now that my memory is aided by hindsight, but I will go to my grave swearing that I knew as soon as I heard.
I remember my heart stopping around 9:45 when the Pentagon was hit. My best friend and former roommate worked at the Pentagon as a civilian contractor; my brother's job also occasionally requires him to be there. And I remember looking at the image on the screen and wondering where my brother was that morning, and wondering which floor my friend worked on. I called my parents back to ask if they'd heard from him. They hadn't. I tried reaching him on his cell phone. I couldn't.
I remember crowding into a room in the office that was meant for half the people who were crammed into it, because it had a TV. I used a phone from an empty desk to call home; I couldn't get a signal, and I slammed the phone back in its cradle. My boss's boss said, "Hey!" and I looked at him and said, "You don't understand -- my brother and best friend were in the Pentagon! I know people in this!" He looked at me with a face I will never forget and said quietly, "Chris, we all know people in this." And I remember realizing for the first time how big this might be and how many people would be impacted -- and feeling very small for not understanding right away that in a New York-based office, all of my colleagues were in the same boat.
I remember the horrible black smoke vomiting out of the slashes in the faces of the towers. I remember people waving towels frantically in hopes of the rescue that everyone knew could never come. I remember the horrific sight of bodies falling through the air as Americans made their last conscious act of defiance and free will, preferring to die from a fall they chose instead of an inferno they did not.
I remember the collapsed facade of the Pentagon -- a building I knew well, having lived merely blocks from it during my time in the DC area, a building I had been inside many times for work, a building in which I knew a couple dozen people. I remember reporters scrambling and running away from the White House, Secret Service men urgently ordering them away because it appeared that the President's home was the next target.
I remember the utter, shocked silence that descended on the room as we watched first the south tower, then the north collapse. I remember that no one said a word for the next forty minutes at least, as people silently filed out of the office to head home.
I remember the inches of gray-white powder that covered everything like snow from hell. I remember the crushed fire trucks, and the image of the four firefighters removing the body of their beloved chaplain Father Judge, the first named victim of that day.
I remember driving home after the company announced we were closing for the day... still numbed, not sure what to do, and for the first time pondering that I might not ever see my little brother or my best friend again. Still, it didn't seem real at all. None of it did. Maybe that was why I couldn't cry right away.
I remember hearing on the radio at just after 1:00 that the lines to give blood in Manhattan were already four hours long, so many people that they were worried that they wouldn't be able to process all of it fast enough while it was still usable... and they were urging people to not show up any more that day. I remember noting the irony that the blood was being donated for survivors who did not seem to ever be coming... and I remember noting the beautiful sense of hope and optimism that even having seen something this horrible happen right in front of them, New Yorkers were lined up four hours deep to help. And I felt a bit of a lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow down.
I remember that just then, I got to the elevated highway that runs right by my apartment. I have to drive on that highway for about 20 seconds on my way home as I get from the parkway to my city street. Ordinarily, it's a nice 20 seconds, because you're rewarded in your elevated perch with a good view of the not-too-distant Manhattan skyline. But this day when I looked southward, I could only see a grayish black cloud -- I could not make out one building. And something about that sight and the idea at the same time that people were lined up four hours deep in the middle of it to give blood... well, it broke the floodgates for me. I remember tears just coming at that point, uncontrollably streaming down my face as I got back home.
I remember the vigils that started even the first night. I remember the crying, sad faces who begged local reporters for even fifteen seconds of on-air camera time so they could hold up a photo of a loved one and plead with the viewers to call them if they knew anything.
I remember the awful jagged beams of steel that poked from the wreckage, jutting 50 feet skyward and looking like a giant twisted snow fence. And I remember that rescue workers were joined by members of construction unions -- steelworkers, pipefitters, Teamsters and others, anyone who had any experience at all on a job site and could use the tools of their trade to aid in the search for survivors -- who just showed up without being asked.
I remember that when my brother finally called my parents at around 4:00 and explained that while he hadn't been at the Pentagon that day, Washington and his job had been crazed, and he had no chance to get to a phone... well, when my mom called with the news I cried for the second time that day.
I remember being on the phone with my friend's girlfriend, trying to assure her that everything was okay, and that the reason we hadn't heard from him was that he was busy; his job involved disaster and emergency planning for the Dept. of Defense, and if there had ever been such a thing, this was it... he would call us soon, I said. I remember hanging up and being terrified that I was lying.
And I remember finally getting a one line e-mail forwarded on to me from his girlfriend on Wednesday afternoon… after 29 hellish hours of not knowing where he was or whether he was alive, his first contact with the outside world was a note that said simply, "Man, working at the Pentagon really sucks today." The smart-ass attitude and obviously intended understatement made me laugh for the first time in more than a day.
I remember the flyers and posters everywhere you went in the New York area, with the faces of people you knew were never coming back. There is a parking lot for the train station three minutes from my apartment; the chain link fence surrounding it was plastered with American flags and these faces of suburban workers who had gone to the city for their livelihoods and gone to the city for their deaths. I remember that Grand Central Station was virtually wallpapered with flyers like this; to accommodate them all and centralize the effort to find people, they erected a corkboard display area in the atrium between where the city subways and the suburban railways come in. In a show of compassion, the station left that display up for more than a year, long after the awful reality had set in. It turned into an impromptu memorial, an urban Vietnam Wall, with people writing messages to their lost loved ones and telling them they were missed, and with foreign tourists expressing the grief they shared with us.
I remember Americans from all over the country giving blood, sending supplies, even donating little booties to protect the pads on the paws of the rescue dogs from the heat on the pile.
I remember going to the Ground Zero site on October 13. I remember the surreal quality of the scene; the still-smoking wreckage that had become so familiar from television, the crowds who filed respectfully and quietly past the barricades that had been erected four blocks away from the site.
I remember that posters and notes from people had been attached or tied to the barricades. Dozens of American flags, and everywhere along the fence were notes that said "Thank you," "We love you," "God Bless You," "America is with you, New York," and "To our heroes." On either side of the intersection, enclosed bus stop stands that usually contain advertising now were plastered with notes from schoolchildren in Florida, Virginia, Oregon and Arizona -- notes and crayon drawings expressing a child's horror and incomplete understanding of the events, sorrow for those lost, along with awe and respect for the rescue workers.
I remember that everywhere you looked, on Chambers Street, on Greenwich north of the barricades, on Hudson... everywhere, there were signs on shops proclaiming "We Are Open," or "Grand Re-Opening." Even as the smoke still lingered and the debris was still being cleared, the city was coming back. And I remember the pride I felt at that.
I remember the 189 people who died at the Pentagon, and the more than 2,800 who fell with the Twin Towers, and the brave people on Flight 93 and the other airplanes. I remember how Americans banded together in a spirit I'd never seen before and probably will not see again. I remember that despite our very real differences, Americans are still a united and special people who will stand together when it counts. I remember that freedom is not free, but is worth any price. I remember that despite all of our foibles and imperfections, I love America.
Today is September 11, and I remember.
Posted by Christopher at 10:21 AM | Comments (0)September 09, 2004
PART-TIME BLOGGER
I'm going to be posting a little less frequently for a couple of weeks... I'm not stopping completely, but I won't be writing as much or as often for a little while. I finally have a good story that's in my head and wanting to be told... and that short story contest is looming, with a deadline of September 30. With only about 2 hours' writing time a night, I want to spend much of that time working on some fiction.
So if I skip a day or two here and there, forgive me, won't you? Thanks.
Posted by Christopher at 11:30 PM | Comments (0)SCORE ONE FOR THE ANIMALS
There's an old joke about "dog bites man" not being news, but "man bites dog" making the cut. So what would you call it when a dog shoots a man?
You know what a softie I am for animals... well, I saw this story out of Florida today and didn't know whether to laugh or to cheer.
A man who tried to shoot seven puppies was shot himself when one of the dogs put its paw on the revolver's trigger.
Jerry Allen Bradford, 37, was charged with felony animal cruelty, the Escambia County Sheriff's Office said Wednesday. He was being treated at a hospital for a gunshot wound to his wrist.
On Monday, Bradford was holding two puppies -- one in his arms and another in his left hand -- when the dog in his hand wiggled and put its paw on the trigger of the .38-caliber revolver. The gun then discharged, the sheriff's report said.
You go, Fido! I love it.
Posted by Christopher at 11:21 PM | Comments (0)NEW MUSIC DISCOVERY: BUTTERFLY BOUCHER
She may not be new to you, but I've just recently heard of a new young woman on the music scene who's earned my attention. Butterfly Boucher (yes, that appears to be her real name!) comes out of Australia... and has just arrived in the States. She's currently opening for Sarah McLaughlin, and her first single, "Another White Dash," is out.
After hearing the song, I went to her website to see what I could learn about her. I was very pleased to read that she's actually a 22 year old musician who writes her own music and plays several instruments and does her own arrangements. That just means I can respect her as well as enjoy the music. And I was further pleased to see that the video for "Another White Dash" is on the site.
Record companies hire directors to make videos for artists, so I can't hold the video against her... and she's got to ditch that green outfit with the white cap (it's hideous) that is one of her costumes during the video. But this is a very good song -- I am quite intrigued. I always enjoy someone who uses multi-tracks to harmonize with themselves - it takes talent and an ear to sing multiple parts of the same song - and Boucher does it quite well. And while it's pop, it doesn't really sound like anyone else out there right now.
If there were room on ClearChannel radio for anything new or fresh or unformatted, Butterfly Boucher would be all over the dial right now; this song sounds to me like something that would have been a huge chart hit back in the days before ClearChannel and SoundScan diluted, homoginized and ruined pop music in this country. As it is, I had to hear it for the first time on the piped in Muzak-soundtrack at the Bass Outlet store in Rehoboth Beach, and had to look up the song on my own on the Net based on just guessing that the title.
But no matter how I had to find her, I'm impressed enough by her that I'll be buying a couple of her songs off of iTunes to see what I think of her beyond this first single. But do check out Butterfly Boucher, and her album "Flutterby." Her website's here.
Posted by Christopher at 10:48 PM | Comments (0)FUN WITH PICTURES
Okay, I'll admit it up front... I'm about to be juvenile. But it's time to play everyone's favorite game: 'Mudge's Separated at Birth?'
Here's your first couple of pairings:
I report. You decide.
Posted by Christopher at 10:25 PM | Comments (0)BANKAMERICAN GOTHIC
Shhh... if you're very quiet and listen very carefully, you can actually hear the banjoes playing.
AIKEN, South Carolina (AP) -- A robber who used a rusty pitchfork to stick up a bank got away -- and so far, finding him has been like looking for a needle in a haystack.
The man, wearing sunglasses and a mask, entered Security Federal Bank Tuesday morning and threatened employees with the 4-foot-long pitchfork. The man took an undisclosed amount of money.
Aiken Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane is said to be distraught; unconfirmed reports suggest the pitchfork-toting assailant also kidnapped a basset hound, named 'Flash,' belonging to the sheriff. Deputy Enos Strate was unavailable to comment on Colrtrane's state of mind. However, Strate was overheard talking to a young local dressed in a gingham top and very tight, very short cutoff jeans; the deputy allegedly told the young woman that Coltrane was "real broke up" about the dog's disappearance.
Unconfirmed reports also suggest that two young men were seen driving reckelessly near the scene, camouflaged in a bright orange Dodge Charger painted with Cale Yarborough's "01."
Man, only down south. Read more about it here.
Posted by Christopher at 09:17 PM | Comments (0)September 07, 2004
THE 50 BEST MOVIE LINES EVER: #1
You really shouldn't be surprised that I picked this one as the number one line in movie history. If you know me at all, you know that my love for the subject of this film borders on obsession. (Mileah, I know that my passion for this sport and not football baffles you... sorry.) And while the movie is among the sappier of the movies devoted to baseball, it contains the line that is far and away my favorite line of all time.
The number one best movie line ever is..... (Casey Kasem-esque drum roll)...
1. "The one constant through all the years, Ray... has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball ... has marked the time. This field, this game... is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good... and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come." (Listen to it here.)
There is something timeless to the end of Field of Dreams, as sappy as it is. There is something that reminds the old ballplayer in me of evenings spent in my backyard, or Saturday mornings at Sand Creek Park in my small town Little League field... learning the game from my father, learning how to hit and how to square my shoulders on a throw to second to make sure the ball was on target, learning how to pick up the movement on the ball as it leaves the pitcher's hand to better anticipate where it's going to be when it gets within reach of your bat, and learning how to block the plate when a runner is trying to score.
Baseball represents my dad to me; today, the easiest conversations we have are the ones about whether the Dodgers have enough offense to hold on in the NL West, or whether Pedro has lost a little off his fastball. At the end of Field of Dreams, when Kevin Costner chokes back tears and asks the ghost of his long-gone father to play catch, I'm usually on the phone to my old man within about two minutes, trying not to let on that I'm a little choked up, and wanting to chat with him about the Dodgers or the Red Sox or the Phillies or whatever else is on his mind that day.
But it's more than that. On a larger level, baseball is a unifying experience; it is the smell of peanuts and hot dogs with the spicy brown mustard... baseball is grass stains on your knees and elbows, and dirt stains on your chest and pants. It's a bunch of eight year olds getting together after school and begging the sun for just a few more minutes on an overgrown field... and it's hearing your mother call you in for dinner just as you're coming up to bat with two on and two out... and pretending you don't hear her until after the pitch. It's little girls showing up for Little League -- and smoking a fastball by the kid who thought she was "just a girl."
It's about keeping America's faith during a world war, and about the players who sacrificed the best years of their career to go fight in it.
Baseball is generations of families loving the same team, year in and year out, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters... grandparents having something in common with their grandkids. Baseball remains a safe haven in a world that feels too uncertain; it is a tie that binds. My dad listened to games on the radio at night as a kid; I begged to stay up late to see games and scoured the box scores in the morning; someday, my kids will promise to mow the lawn for the summer if we can get the DirectTV Extra Innings package so we can see all the games. My dad taught me to play while playing catch in the backyard; someday, I will teach my kids to play while having a catch in our backyard.
Baseball is "The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant!" It's "I don't believe what I just saw!" It's "How much more can you give us, Big Mac?" It's "He's sittin' on 714..." Baseball is the calmingly familiar voices of Vin Scully, Harry Kalas, Jon Miller, Phil Rizutto, Ernie Harwell, and Milo Hamilton... and knowing that your grandfather listened to the same voice on his radio when he was a boy.
Yes, as cheesy a movie as Field of Dreams is, it contains the line that sums up the greatness of the thing that I am most passionate about in this world. And that's why it's my number one movie line of all time.
Posted by Christopher at 11:28 PM | Comments (0)MIRACLE - AGAIN
ESPN is celebrating its 25th anniversary today -- which in itself is a noteworthy milestone given the impact ESPN has had, both good and bad, on sports and on society. But what I wanted to write about isn't ESPN; it's something at once both smaller and bigger than a sports network. They've been highlighting the greatest games and greatest moments in sports during their 25 years on the air. Not surprisingly, one moment -- one game -- has swept all their #1 titles.
The Miracle On Ice of 1980.
I've blogged on it before (see last February when the movie came out)... but I just watched an hour special on that game and that team, and I'm just as moved today as when it happened. It was the only "once in a lifetime" moment in my lifetime... the shuttle blowing up happened more than once; another terrorist attack like 9/11 is probably inevitable; and the Red Sox will probably choke another World Series. But there will never be another sporting event and social event like the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team.
Think sports are over-emphasized and are insignificant in the bigger picture? Watch the footage and see how people reacted when we beat the Russians. Or watch how people still react to the players, or how they reacted to Herb Brooks' death last year. Ask yourself why people who hate sports and think roughing is eating a lot of fiber still know the phrase, "Do you believe in miracles? YES!" Ask yourself why, when in 2002 in the aftermath of 9/11 those same 20 men stood on a podium in Salt Lake City in warmup uniforms, holding an Olympic flame and pointing to the sky, people cried.
If you were old enough to be aware of sports and of the world situation at the time, you remember exactly where you were and what you were doing on February 22, 1980 - and you probably cannot watch the footage without shedding a tear or two. If you weren't old enough, you have heard all the stories and seen the footage anyway. There has never been another sporting event dissected and replayed in such detail; even 24 years later, the scoring order and chain of events are known to even casual fans.
It was more than a hockey game. It was the last face to face showdown between the heroes and villians of the Cold War. Our young men faced down the other side holding not machine guns, but hockey sticks. And we won. Good triumphed over evil; the white hats walked away the winners. Suddenly, the impossible seemed possible.
Ten years later, we watched walls fall and we believed in a different kind of miracle, and once more the impossible seemed possible. But this time, we knew that we could believe it. They taught us that it was okay.
So much has changed since 1980 that it makes a repeat of the moment impossible. Professionals dominate the Olympics - as does commercialism in a way that it did not twenty four years ago. The world situation has changed; never again could the United States position itself as an underdog in anything. We still have enemies to rival the old Soviet Union; but the enemy today won't ever be meeting us on a field of sport to display our conflict in microcosm on the field of play. And the 24/7 news cycle, unremitting media coverage of everyone's foibles, and short attention span theater that is life today have made us all just a little more cynical... if the Miracle on Ice happened today, we'd all probably wonder aloud if the kids were doping or taking money from agents or bookies. So there's no use ever asking for another Miracle moment... the stars and planets will never line up like that again.
But for those two incredible weeks in February 1980, they were lined up. And on one magical night 24 years ago, sport transcended life and united a people. Twenty college kids who learned to skate on the ponds of Massachusetts and the lakes of Minnesota changed the world.
That night, the moment was so enormous that we had no words or phrases to capture the feeling of what we'd just seen. So we invented new ones. Twenty-four years later, its magnitude has only increased, and the descriptions have become cliches. But behind every cliche is a moment of its truth. And this moment was so true that a quarter century later, what we witnessed is etched in our memories and our lexicon. We saw the Miracle on Ice.
Posted by Christopher at 10:10 PM | Comments (0)SOME GAVE ALL
No politicizing it; no criticizing anyone or any policy. There are other times and places for that, and I'll make use of them another time.
Today, I just want to acknowledge and honor the 1,000 Americans who have given their lives in the service of our Armed Forces in Iraq.
Whatever you think of the war or those who direct it, pro or con, there is a reality that 1000 families face. Their loved ones -- sons, husbands, fathers... daughters, wives, mothers -- are never coming home.
There will be birthdays never celebrated, candles never blown out, and first communions never attended. There are daughters whose fathers will never see them in their prom dress, nor will their dates be warned to have them home by 2:00. There are little girls whose father will not dance with them on their wedding day.
There are lives interrupted and changed forever; mothers who will never again comfort their son after a bad dream. There are some mothers who will raise children their fathers never even knew. There are parents whose sons and daughters will never hold their hand and comfort them as they lay dying. There are wives and husbands who got only months together, and who now face an empty and terrible reality: the life they imagined together is the only one they got.
It's not a political statement to remember and honor our war dead. It is what is right. Whatever one thinks of the cause, in favor or against... all of us know that there is no denying the courage and bravery of our fellow Americans who chose to put on a uniform and to do the jobs they were trained to do. These men and women earned our respect in life; they deserve our remembrance in death.
There are 1000 Americans who live now only in our memories. Keep them alive. Please, today, wherever you are... stop and take a moment to reflect on the loss of our soldiers and our Marines, of our sailors and our airmen. If you're a person of faith, say a prayer for them. If not, honor their sacrifice by remembering them - today and each day. Thank you, friends.