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January 28, 2007
Station Break
I'm back from Vermont, and home now... where I will be for all of about 16 hours before heading to Atlanta to keynote a conference, then off to Chicago for work for the rest of the week. Doubt very much I'll have opportunity to blog...never say never, but it's not a likely thing.
I'll be back on the air again on Sunday.
January 25, 2007
Thursday Thoughts
I can't really call it "Thursday Thirteen," because I honestly don't think I have thirteen things to say. But here's a collection of random and unrelated thoughts that have occurred to me over the past week.
1. That whole thing with the homophobic actor from Gray's Anatomy seeking counseling? I don't like it. I don't ever want to defend homophobia; I am offended by it. But man... the message this sends is that "unacceptable" thought can be "corrected" through psychiatric treatment. That's all fine and good for bigotry and all, I suppose... but given the mindset and actions of the administration in power and the kind of people who put them there, do we really want to establish that thinking that doesn't jibe with what the majority/powers that be say it should be... should be treated pyschiatrically? Doesn't that feel just slightly Soviet to anyone else? And do any of you really trust Bush/Cheney/Rove neocons or social conservatives with that kind of power? I just am very uncomfortable with this. Idiotic morons should be shunned by society for displaying bigotry (are ya listening, Mel Gibson?), but treating them with counseling? Gives me the heebie-jeebies.
2. AirTran Airways kicked a family off a flight because their screaming three year old was throwing a tantrum and wouldn't take her seat. To that I say: Bra... freaking... vo! Look, in the last six months or so as things took off with TG and as I've taken on a role in the world of her 4 year old, I have become more sympathetic to parents than I have ever been before... but you know what? I'm also a frequent flier whose trips are often disrupted by the screaming child somewhere on the plane -- the one whose mommy and daddy refuse to calm or are incapable of calming. I've muttered aloud "shut that kid up" on more than one occasion. I have had my travel experiences mucked by an unruly kid before. And because of that, I have no sympathy for them.
The parents are whining that they weren't given enough time to subdue their kid. You know what? According to the article, the flight was 15 minutes delayed by the time that family got booted. If a kid's been screaming and won't sit down for fifteen minutes and the parents haven't gotten the little monster under control, then that's plenty of time to prove that they're incapable of controlling their kid. 15 minutes is plenty. The parents should count themselves lucky that the airline spared them from their fellow passengers. The father is whining that he'll never fly AIrTran again. I sincerely hope he never flies any of my airlines again either.
3. Speaking of TG, she was on TV the other day. National TV even. She'll be mortified enough that I mentioned it at all, so I won't say which network or why, but if you knew her and knew where to look, there she was. Occasional commenter Tweetypie also appeared. As much press as I've gotten in the past 18 months, I haven't been on national TV yet. So honey, you're one up on me. Can I have your autograph? ;-)
4. The whole controversy over the Dakota Fanning thing seems to me to be waaaay overblown. For hell's sake, the people whining loudest haven't even seen the damn movie.
5. It's cold out. Very cold. I don't like cold. It makes me cold. I never went back to Minnesota because it was too cold. I don't like cold. So naturally, Saturday morning I am heading up to Vermont to hang out on Mt. Killington with the Doc, MU Hoop, and respective missuses.
6. Work project kicking into high gear lately. I will be on the road all of next week -- leaving Monday, not returning till Saturday night. So I likely won't blog at all next week. You're welcome.
7. I miss my brother. I've missed his last two phone calls by satellite phone, and I've been too busy with work to write anything like a real e-mail to him lately. So dude, if you're reading... miss you, bro.
8. Baby Einsteins is a sham? Say it ain't so! I mean, if Bush likes the lady behind it, that makes it more likely... but I have to admit, not only do I have a lot of friends who've infused the Baby Einsteins material into their kids' early years, but I've become a huge fan of their big cousins, the Little Einsteins. It's become the Saturday morning routine for TG's 4 year old and I... he doesn't watch Little Einsteins with Mommy, he watches them with Christopher.
And on weekends where I'm not over there on Saturday mornings, I find myself missing the ritual. Handy Manny, Higglytown Heroes and all the rest, I kind of fall back asleep to. But Little Einsteins, I dig. He digs. We dig together. Digging is good. (Good god, I'm going domestic... somebody please pass me a kamikaze shot, set up the keg stand, fire up some System Of A Down, and return me to my overgrown teenager self. This is no less startling a metamorphosis than the one Kafka described.) Anyway, it's kind of sad to read that this woman has sold yuppie parents a bill of goods and that exposing babies to "smart" things when they're young does nothing to aid their development, according to the American Academy of Pediatrics and many others. Sigh.
9. Saw a headline and story in the Washington Post today that left me shaking my head in disbelief. "Can Barack Obama appeal to blacks?" Good god, if the black community is going to look at the man, the passion he inspires, the things he stands for and wants to do, and the historic chance he has to be a pioneer... and reject him for "not being black enough," that's about the most selfish, short-sighted, reverse-bigot thing I have ever heard.
"He is going to have to figure out whether there is a way not to alienate and anger a black base that almost by definition is going to be disappointed," she said.
Good god, America might finally elect a black president, and the black base might "almost by definition" be disappointed? What, disappointed that white people also believed in and voted for the man? So if white people vote for him, he can't be good? Y'know, if the story had been about a redneck town in the South somewhere that wasn't sure it liked a candidate because he wasn't white enough, there'd have justifiably been screams at that kind of ignorance almost before the ink dried. I can only hope that this article was skewed, ill-conceived, and not representative of the community it purports to survey.
10. Why has Paris Hilton not just gone away yet? Ugh. Train wreck.
11. It's not Van Halen unless all four original members are back. Until then it's just Eddie's vanity project.
12. I told you I didn't have 13 things to say.
Posted by Christopher at 09:31 PM | Comments (0)January 24, 2007
Dumb Dora Was So Dumb...
While flipping channels last night in a desperate attempt to avoid having to listen to Zippy the Wonder Chimp explain all the ways he intends to fork up our country in the next 12 months, I stumbled upon the Game Show Network, and watched an episode of Match Game -- I think it was the '76 vintage. Man, they don't make game shows like they used to, do they?
Match Game was quality entertainment, man. Okay, sure... the clothes were hideous and the fashions embarrassing... but besides the fact that no one seems to be able to discern what, besides marrying Jack Klugman, made Brett Somers "celebrity" enough to hold down the top middle seat, this was red white and blue American burlesque, writ large for the TV screen. Charles Nelson Reilly was the resident Paul Lynde figure... and RIchard Dawson was actually funny -- I mean, not in the contrived sense either, but actually funny. The premise seems quaint today, compared to the game shows on TV now: instead of picking from among 26 suitcases, a contestant just had to match six celebrity double-entendre answers to leading questions.
"Donald said, 'I think we're going to have to get a bigger house. Last night, my in-laws walked in while my wife and I were blank-ing on the couch." Of course, the celebrities would respond "sleeping" or "talking," but the quaint 70s way of teasing the risque answer was the show's raison d'etre. And you know? I didn't even get the jokes back then -- I was 5 when the show started and only 11 when Match Game '79 went off the air -- but I used to love that show... last night I remembered its appeal.
The plaid sport coats. Gene Rayburn's dirty old man hosting persona (remember the famous Karen Lesko incident?). The funky guitar riffs while the celebs were writing down. The cheesy $500/$250/$100 "Super Match." It was all classic, all part of a fun package whose whole was a wonderful greater combination than its parts.
A remake wouldn't work; you couldn't get away with it today. After Sex & The City episodes about teabagging and rabbits... after the Sorpranos have turned the F word into noun, verb, adjective, adverb, gerund and dangling participle... nothing is shocking anymore. Having a show whose calling card is its risque nature doesn't work when even the concept of risque is as antiquated as a manual typewriter. But as a time capsule of a gentler time that was trying to become less gentle -- and just for pure humor -- I still enjoy the Match Game.
Besides, I'd rather watch Brett Somers and Charles Nelson Reilly than W and Dick Cheney any day.
Posted by Christopher at 06:56 AM | Comments (0)January 21, 2007
Great Game
Congratulations, Peyton Manning. Look, you beat my Pats and so I'm not thrilled. But this was honestly was one of the best football games I have ever watched in my life. Classic football game, and nice to see class acts like Tony Dungy and Peyton Manning going to the Super Bowl.
Congratulations, gentlemen. You earned it.
Posted by Christopher at 10:17 PM | Comments (0)Pick Your Cliche
Sick as a dog? Feeling like I was hit by a truck? Death warmed over? Whichever cliche is your personal favorite, it applies.
It is perhaps an inescapbable truism that, whenever you have the most going on and can least afford to get really sick... invariably, that is when you'll fall so ill that you want to stay in the fetal position for oh, about a week.
Whatever bug is going around has hit me full throttle, starting around Weds night or Thurs morning. 102 fever, stuffy head and sinus pressure, sore throat, lost voice, hacking cough... don't you wish you were me? Of course the fact that there's a ton going on in my world and that I need to be healthy right now is impacting nothing.
Anyone owning an 18 wheeler, a Stinger missile, or yet another paparazzi photo of Lindsay Lohan's nether regions ... who can thus use said items to put an end to my misery and put me down like the wounded animal I am, please feel free.
Posted by Christopher at 02:43 PM | Comments (0)January 20, 2007
A Tragic De-Spamming Accident
On Friday, I got hit with more than 2000 spamments. (Once again, I call for the immediate eradication from this earth of anyone who has ever programmed or used a comment bot. Maybe the Norse god Holler can pay them a visit.) Of the 2200+ spamments, about 300 made it past my increasingly ineffective filter. As I was trying to exterminate the infestation, I forgot that I was on the "approved comments" page of my site manager -- thought I was still seeding through "junk" comments -- and accidentally hit "delete all" for the 100 comments on that page. This resulted in the accidental deletion of about 60 legit comments from you all, pretty much everything after the dead pool entry (and including some of those).
Apologies to everyone whose thoughts I have inadvertently erased.
Posted by Christopher at 12:10 PM | Comments (0)January 16, 2007
Disappearing Act
Work. Kicking. My. Ass.
No other way to put it. I've been put on a team that's doing a major project for the company, and it's involving things like being in interior conference rooms (read: no windows) from 8 am until 9 pm and all day writing and brainstorming sessions. As you might imagine, I'm in no mood to even think, much less write, when I get home.
I'm mentally spent and creatively bankrupt for the time being, kids. I will be back when things slow down... maybe toward the end of the week.
Posted by Christopher at 11:48 PM | Comments (0)January 14, 2007
Scene From A Meltdown
A supermarket in suburban Westchester County, New York. It's Sunday afternoon, and there's a football game on TV. Few people are grocery shopping today; of those who are, precious few are men. In fact, there are only three men in the entire store, and one of those is a sixteen year old dutifully bagging groceries and doubtlessly wishing he were somewhere -- anywhere -- else.
There are only a handful of checkout lanes open, however, so there are lines despite the thin crowds. The shortest line is at Lane 7, with only two people. Enter MUDGE: a big guy to begin with, his bulk seems even greater due to his heavy black Boston University sweatshirt, and he has a cart full of items that clearly belong to a man trying to keep a new year's resolution. He eases into Lane 7 behind WOMAN #1 -- who, we will soon learn, is stereotypical New York both in accent and attitude. In front of her, WOMAN #2 is having her groceries totaled. REGISTER GIRL is busily tapping the register keys, but looks up long enough for MUDGE to pick up an unmistakable look of consternation and frustration on her face. Meanwhile, noticing what appears to be a shorter line, WOMAN #3 and WOMAN #4 each pull their half-filled carts into the lane behind MUDGE. And it is here our story begins.
WOMAN #1(turning to MUDGE): You might want to go into another lane. Princess here (nodding toward WOMAN #2) is taking forever.
MUDGE (looking behind him and seeing the other women behind him): I think I'm stuck. What's going on? She's taking a while?
W1: Just watch her. She's been here five minutes already. And she's a bitch! She's totally railing on the checkout girl and the bagging kid.
MUDGE looks up, and notices that CHECKOUT GIRL and BAG BOY both looking down to avoid eye contact with WOMAN #2, who is taking everything out of the bags BAG BOY has just filled and putting them back on the checkout counter. The kids are clearly unhappy, but they're trying to do their job. W2's voice can be heard; while we cannot make out what she's saying, she is clearly unhappy.
Two more minutes go by. W1 is by now constantly sighing and harumphing under her breath. Mudge is preturbed but not yet angry. From behind him, another voice speaks up.
WOMAN #3: What's the holdup up there?
WOMAN #1: This idiot up here. She's unpacking everything the kid just packed.
WOMAN #4: What do you mean?
WOMAN #1: Just what I said. The kid bagged her (stuff), and now she's unpacking it again.
MUDGE: You've got to be kidding me.
W1: Would I lie?
All look up to see WOMAN #2 unpacking the bags more and more feverishly. She's showing no signs of going anywhere. She's obviously berating BAG BOY at this point.
W4: Hey, come on up there!
W3: You got to be kidding me!
M: Let's go, no one has all day!
W1: Except for her, apparently.
WOMAN #2 now looks up at the growing line behind her. She scowls; while she says nothing, her face shouts "mind your own business.
Another 60 seconds go by. WOMAN #2 is still unpacking her bags and repacking them, and is muttering at BAG BOY and REGISTER GIRL. While we cannot hear the whole conversation, we pick up bits and pieces: "want to speak to your manager"... "very irresponsible and unprofessional".... "don't take that tone." Behind her, the line has about had enough.
W1: Lady, move it. There's other people here.
W4: What's the problem up there?
W3: Is there a reason we're unbagging groceries?
MUDGE: Maybe she's sorting them by color.
WOMAN #2 looks up; the lone male voice is louder and stood out, and she's heard his comment.
W2: Do you mind?
M: Actually...
W1: Yeah, lady, we mind. Let the kid pack your stuff and go; I got things to do too.
W2: Well, you picked the wrong line, now didn't you?
WOMAN 3 sighs loudly.
W4: Oh, for Christ's sake!
MUDGE now has been freed by WOMAN #2's attitude; all pretenses of understanding or politeness can be discarded.
MUDGE: She's sorting 'em by color, like Rain Man. I bet if we ripped open a bag of frozen peas and they spilled all over the place, she could tell us how many were on the floor.
WOMEN 3 and 4 chuckle at this; WOMAN 1 doesn't just laugh, she cackles as if MUDGE were George Carlin, Lewis Black, Will Ferrell and Steven Wright all rolled into one, braying like a cross between Fran Drescher and "Janice" from "Friends.". MUDGE is sure that this over-laughter at a merely mildly funny remark is designed to send a message to WOMAN #2, not because he is really all that funny.
WOMAN #2: You're not funny.
MUDGE (motioning to WOMAN #1): Well, she seemed to think so.
WOMAN #2: I will leave in just a minute, as soon as I see the manager. These pinheads stole my lighter.
(Simultaneously)
W3: What?
W4: Why would he steal your lighter?
W1: Oh my gawd.
MUDGE looks up at WOMAN #2, who glares back. She's going to try and stare him down... but she has no idea what she's just done.
MUDGE:Oh, lady. You have about two seconds to tell me that this isn't all about a lighter.
W2: It's not any of your -- my lighter is missing --
MUDGE (interrupting, now raising his voice so that not only can everyone in the aisle can hear, but everyone for four aisles can hear): You've kept us all waiting for a goddamn lighter? You're yelling at that kid over a lighter? You're unbagging your stuff for that? I'll tell you what -- there's a gas station around the corner that sells 'em for about 79 cents. If you didn't see it, I'm sure everyone in this store will be happy to tell you where it is.
W1: Or where to go.
W2 (angry now): One of them took my property. I don't care about other ones, I --
MUDGE: Lady, I don't give a (spit) if your dear sainted grandmother willed that one to you on her deathbed. It's a freakin' lighter. You shouldn't be smoking anyway. And no one else in this line wants to wait for you anymore. So go find your stupid cigarettes and buy a new lighter and be on your damn way.
W3 (behind Mudge): Ha!
W2: I'll stay here as long as I --
REGISTER GIRL: Ma'am, we've checked every bag, it's not here. Are you sure --
W2: YES, I'm sure! I had it when I got here, so it didn't just disappear. What did you do with it?
MUDGE: Lady, you have five people in line behind you, and none of us feel llike sitting here all day just because you want to smoke. Take your stuff and just go. Move along, nothing to see here.
W2: You have no right to be so rude to me!
MUDGE: Hey, I figure I have as much right to be rude to you as you do to be rude to them (pointing to REGISTER GIRL and BAG BOY.)
This remark elicits wide approval from the queue in Lane 7. WOMAN #1 cackles out loud again. WOMAN 3 laughs out loud. WOMAN 4 starts to clap, and is joined by someone in Lane 8 who's overheard the exchange.
WOMAN 2 glares at Mudge, who glares right back and goes into staredown mode. He's not planning on giving an inch of ground to anyone this rude -- but least of all a smoker. She opens her mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. Just then, the manager arrives.
MANAGER: So what's going on here? Can I help you?
W2: Are you the manager?
W1: Good luck with that one! Watch she doesn't accuse you of stealing her lipstick.
WOMAN 2 glares at MUDGE again, then turns to the manager and starts snapping off; MANAGER guides her to the customer service counter a few feet away. Meanwhile, BAG BOY has rebagged her groceries while she was jawing with Mudge, and quickly pushes her cart away from the counter. REGISTER GIRL smiles at MUDGE as WOMAN #1 takes her place at the front of the line. We can tell she wanted to say something to WOMAN #2 but was biting her tongue.
WOMAN 1 (to REGISTER GIRL): Honey, I'm sorry you have to deal with bitches like her all day.
REGISTER GIRL: No, she was pretty much the only one today.
WOMAN 3: There's always one.
MUDGE: See, you just have to stop stealing lighters.
All chuckle a little. CHECKOUT GIRL continues to routinely ring up WOMAN 1 as the other patrons smile and shake their heads. FADE TO BLACK.
End scene. How was YOUR Sunday, kids?
Posted by Christopher at 09:14 PM | Comments (0)January 13, 2007
Yet More Republican Hypocrisy
God, I love croccodile tears.
For years, Republicans and conservatives have made a perverse art form of not just glorifying, but beatifying "marriage" -- and foisting "be fruitful and multiply" upon the country as a matter of governmental policy. They hike the tax burden on single Americans and then pose sanctimoniously about how they've "eliminated the marriage penalty." Talk to an anti-choice jihadist, and you'll likely get a self-righteous screed about how the fact that they've brought children into the world gives them the right, in their mind, to impose that obligation on everyone else. The entire Republican/conservative mindset is built around disliking single people.
Except, of course, when it's one of theirs. Then, they'll stomp their feet and shake their fists and issue sanctimonious proclamations about the right of single people to live their lives free of the same judgements that conservatives have been passing on other singles for years.
Case in point? Witness the wailing and gnashing of teeth going on over Barbara Boxer's statement about Condi Rice -- namely, that someone who doesn't have children, a la Rice, cannot be personaly impacted by the war that Rice is prosecuting on behalf of Zippy the Wonder Chimp.
“In retrospect, gee, I thought single women had come further than that, that the only question is are you making good decisions because you have kids,” Rice said in an interview Friday on Fox News.
For the record, Rice is right - parenthood does not bestow special or privileged superior judgement, nor in my mind does it convey moral superiority to single people. But her reaction -- and that of all the conservative fist-shakers -- is disingenuous in multiple ways. They know that Boxer's statement wasn't intended to impugn all single people; it was specifically directed at situations of war and those who are directing and perpetuating it.
But moreover, for any Republican or conservative to complain with any kind of indignance about the self-righteousness of those with children toward those without. Republicans and conservatives are the ones who initiated that self-righteousness, perpetuated it, and kept it as a popular meme in American society. If Condi Rice or the editors of the New York Post want to blame or cast sanctimonious aspersion at anyone over the superiority of parental types, they ought only look in the mirror.
Posted by Christopher at 10:32 AM | Comments (0)January 12, 2007
National De-Lurking Week
Work is kicking my rather broad butt these days... so in lieu of a real post, I'll just remind you all that this is National De-Lurking Week -- when you're all supposed to come out of your holes and if you see your shadows, we get six more weeks of the winter we haven't even had yet.
Wait... maybe it's just that you're supposed to actually sound off like you got a pair, and let me (and the rest of us in this little community) know that you're here by commenting and saying hello. In other words, don't just read... say something. You know... de-lurk.
Who's in da hizzouse?
Posted by Christopher at 08:09 AM | Comments (0)January 10, 2007
More Observations on the McGwire Hall of Fame Vote
1. Every single member of the BBWAA who voted against McGwire over perceived steroid use had better be ready to vote against Barry Bonds as well. Sosa too, and Palmeiro...but especially Bonds. Why do I say that? McGwire was always suspected, true... but there has never been confirmation of his alleged steroid use. No reporters were able to meticulously detail not only the specific steroids and drugs McGwire was taking, but the schedule on which he took them. McGwire was never called to a federal grand jury to testify about his steroid use. All we have on McGwire are strong suspicions and his shameful performance in front of the Congress in 2005.
By contrast, we have specifics on Bonds. Fainaru-Wade and Williams have meticulously crafted the complete picture of what Bonds took and when he took it. They've detailed his perjury to a federal grand jury. There are specifics to the Bond allegations that will likely stand up in court if the trial is ever held. And if you're playing the integrity card, Bonds has denied his usage to the cameras and media, as well as that grand jury... so he's no different than McGwire. Actually, he is; McGwire simply and famously refused to answer -- he didn't directly lie about it like Bonds has.
So, BBWAA voters... if you voted against McGwire because you think he juiced and you believe that having done so requires some sort of sanction or punishment... all based on vague if strong suspicions... then you had better vote against Barry Bonds ever making it to the Hall either -- because there's a lot more compelling evidence against Bonds than there is McGwire. Anyone who votes for Bonds after having voted against McGwire is a hypocrite and a phony.
2. Were you listening, Barry? The writers just sent a message. Your jacked up, pathetic, arogant, worthless ass isn't getting into Cooperstown unless you pay the admission fee for the tour, just like all the other non-enshrinees. So go on with your arrogant and self-serving belief that you're smarter than the system and have different rules from everybody else. Break the great Henry Aaron's record if you can without being all jacked up on the juice. You could hit 777 home runs... your pathetic ass isn't going to the Hall. You hear that, punk? You're out.
UPDATE: Well, well, well. Now it appears that Bonds failed an amphetamine test in 2006. And in the true form of his character (or lack thereof), when caught he tried to throw a teammate under the bus. Yeah, that's the kind of class act that you want on your team.
Posted by Christopher at 10:41 PM | Comments (0)January 09, 2007
Random Tuesday Thoughts
1. Am in Philadelphia this evening to give a keynote speech tomorrow morning. The conference organizer was kind enough to take me to dinner this evening (nice perks, this whole speaking thing has) for cuisine of my choosing. Being a Mediterranean/Middle Eastern food nut, I opted for Turkish. I wasn't disappointed. For anyone living in or visiting the City of Brotherly Love, I give two thumbs up (or is it one big fat belly up?) to Divan Turkish Kitchen in the "up-and-coming" Gradual Hospital neighborhood. Okay, "up-and-coming" is the restaurant's nice way -- on their Web site -- of describing a neighborhood that I might describe as "clearly entering the first stages of gentrification, but still don't walk to dinner." The locals apparently call it "G-Ho," and local media does in fact refer to it as a rapidly trendifying area. Fine. I still was glad to be in a cab. But the food is outstanding, the service friendly and efficient, and the ambiance is fantastic. Big Fat Mudge recommendation.
2. Because I hate the smug superiority of southern football fans and SEC fans in particular, and because I am a Big Ten guy, I hated Monday night's results. Not that I give a rat's butt about college football.
3. Goose Gossage at 71%? Jim Rice at 63%? 11 writers who didn't vote for Tony Gwynn, possessor of the second highest career BA of any player in the last 75 years? Albert Belle -- whom I admittedly would not vote for but who has Hall-caliber numbers -- getting bounced from the ballot with fewer than 5% of the vote? Jose Canseco receiving six votes instead of zero? Jay Buhner receiving a vote from someone? That's it... it's time to relieve the BBWAA of its Hall of Fame voting duties and replace them with 1000 monkeys trained by Montgomery Burns.
4. 2006 was officially the warmest year on record. But global warming isn't real, right Mr. Bush? We're at the tipping point, kids. If we don't do something drastic within the next 5-10 years, I honestly believe it will be too late.
5. Donald Trump, you really, really need to shut up now. It takes a stupid and shallow asshat to make Rosie O'Donnell look sympathetic -- but you've pulled it off nicely. Shut the hell up, put another layer of Krazy Glue on your damn rug, and go the hell home.
6. I have been absolutely infested with comment spam lately... a problem I have long growled about, sure -- but not like this. In the past week, I have suddenly been targeted with more than 1000 spam comments every day. My filter takes out about 90 percent of them and puts them in the junk file, but lately that means that still up to 100 spam comments make it on to my blog every day. I don't know what caused the uptick. I do know that I want to find all the Oedipal aspirants who are responsible for this spam, and remove their genitalia and intestines with fishing twine and a fork. I may move my blog to WordPress so as to take advantage of Akismet. And I really hate having to sort through 300 spam comments in my junk file to find the three or four legit comments submitted by you, dear readers. Anyone with ideas on what to do to comments spammers, or more realistically how to prevent them from happening (a better filter still means I need to sort through junk comments to find real ones, unless I go with an authentication function) is welcome to make suggestions.
7. It's a good thing I have a speaking gig and lots of other work this week. I really don't have a whole lot of compelling things to say.
Posted by Christopher at 10:50 PM | Comments (0)January 07, 2007
A Pasty White Guy's 20 Favorite Rap Songs Ever: #2-#1
Not sure how much blogging I'll be able to do in the next month to six weeks... have gotten drafted for temporary assignment to a huge project at work that has already meant nights and weekends, and will mean lots more of both as well as a bit of travel in the coming weeks. So spare time is more rare for a while... and that said, I wanted to be sure to complete the countdown in progress so that I leave no one hanging. So here are my final two in my 20 favorite raps songs ever.
2. "California Love" -- Dr. Dre & Tupac Shakur One of the five best videos ever made, in my opinion -- iconic, memorable, and elevating the song even beyond its aural brilliance. A post-apocolyptic Mad Max homage, the video featured funkmaster George Clinton and a then-unknown Chris Tucker (sounding a lot like he would a few years later in The Fifth Element).
The song is a collaboration between two of rap's giants, and also features the late Roger Troutman and his distinctive voice box. An ode to the state of California, the song also captures the zeitgeist of mid-90s rap like perhaps no other. Combine it with the unforgettable video, and you have my second favorite rap song of all time.
1. "Mama Said Knock You Out" -- LL Cool J Absolutely love this song. From the opening declaration that this is not a comeback... to the way he growls "uuuuuuhI'm gonna knock you out" in the chorus... to the adrenaline pump melody... love it. This is definitely a workout song for me -- on every gym mix on my iPod. I don't care whether LL Cool J has cred or not (don't even know anymore what the perception of him is); I just love this song. Favorite rap song ever.
Posted by Christopher at 12:41 AM | Comments (0)January 05, 2007
Dead Pool 2007
Okay, I've had friends asking me when this post was coming and who'd be on the list... so once again, I present to you the often imitated, never duplicated, karma-tweaking Curmudgeon's Dead Pool for 2007. Remember... this is a twisted game I was first exposed to while working at the Minnesota Senate in the early 1990s; you list ten famous people who you think are goners in 2007 and will not celebrate Jan 1, 2008 with us. If they do indeed "pass on" during the next 12 months, you get a certain amount of points -- 1 point if they're over 65, 2 points if they're between 40-64, and 3 points if they're under 39. Yeah, it's sick, sorta twisted, and rather perverse... but then, so am I, and I think this is morbid fun!
In 1994, Kurt Cobain and Richard Nixon died within two weeks of each other, giving me four points and vaulting me into an insurmountable lead in the pool among capitol workers... and I was hooked. So who makes my list for 2007? (Please recall that I of course bear no ill will toward any of the people on the list and am not wishing death upon them... I'm just taking my best educated guesses as to whose number may be up.)
1. Britney Spears - 3 points. She's a walking OD waiting to happen... and has gotten so trashy that even I am not really as interested in the inevitable pictorial in Playboy now. Only two questions are: will she pose before she goes? ... and will she live longer than my #2 selection....
2. Lindsay Lohan - 3 points. Another OD walking. She's got some talent, but you'd never see it hidden under all those shenanigans. I have friends who argue that Britney's antics are largely harmless partying that is different than what we all did in our college/early 20s years only in that she has a microscope on her. That argument is harder to extend to Lohan. This kid's in trouble, and without an intervention of some sort all that talent will go to waste.
3. Zsa Zsa Gabor - 1 point You can only slap so many cops before karma smites back. Famous for being famous, in 2007 this octegenarian sexpot will become famous for not being.
4. Barack Obama - 2 points I don't want this. Repeat, I will be thrilled if I'm wrong. But Obama poses too big a threat to the ubiquitious "they" ... racists and suthun crackers won't like the potential of a black man with a non-traditionally American name becoming President... conservatives won't like a liberal populist... there's too many people who'll feel too threatened by this man. I fear a Bobby Kennedy-like martyrdom.
5. Eddie Van Halen - 2 points Another one I don't want. But if you've seen Eddie lately, you know that he is a poster child for the walking undead, and the prime example of what decades of hard living can do to a person before their time. He's already had cancer of the mouth... and he's still smoking, insisting that it was years of holding guitar picks in his mouth that caused his tongue cancer. The Van Hagar reunion was cut short when both Sammy and Michael Anthony got sick of Eddie being too drunk to perform well on stage. Methinks Eddie's on borrowed time.
6. Rush Limbaugh - 2 points Wishful thinking on my part? Maybe. But objectively, the man's had multiple addiction problems with painkillers, and an overdose would seem possible -- as would other health problems related to years of abusing opiates like oxyc0ntin.
7. Henry Kissinger - 1 point Now that Ford's gone, Kissinger is really the last scion of the post-Vietnam Republican leadership. He's had a long life, and it may be time for him to mumble on up to that great think tank in the sky.
8. Bobby Knight - 1 point He's got the record. What else is there to live for? Especially for a hypertensive Type A personality like Knight? If there's ever been anyone capable of tantruming himself to death, it's Coach Knight.
9. Hugh Hefner - 1 point He's 80 now, and has spent 50 years living a life that most straight American males wish we could have had for just 5 years. It has to catch up to him some time.
10. Courtney Love - 2 points She'll be on this list every year until she either proves that she doesn't belong on it anymore, or finally finishes herself off.
So there it is... my 2007 list. My 2006 record: 1 point (and even that came late, as Gerald Ford died on December 26.) Anyone else out there got any suggestions?
Posted by Christopher at 07:34 AM | Comments (0)January 04, 2007
It Couldn't Happen Here, Huh?
He's out of control.
That clueless, rudderless, soul-less, dishonorable treasoner in the White House -- after having decided earlier in the week to completely disregard not only the will of the people but the best counsel of his father's wise men, and rather than trying to get us out of a war he started and lost, will instead deepen our troop commitment in Iraq, condemning yet more Americans to die over his war -- and after having eroded or directly violated more of your rights as an American citizen than any person in history INCLUDING J. Edgar Hoover... has taken it upon himself to abuse an act of Congress in ways that not even its Republican sponsors intended. Your rights are being trampled yet again by that irresponsible traitor... and this time even Republicans are dismayed.
George W. Bush has just unilaterally decided that he has the right to open your mail.
Doesn't matter if you've done nothing. Doesn't matter if you're a perfectly loyal American citizen. If he wants to see your mail, he's going to open it... whether Congress likes it or not.
Federal law has long required a search warrant to open first class mail unless postal inspectors suspect it contains something dangerous, like a bomb or a hazardous chemical... But in signing a postal bill just before Christmas, President Bush said federal law also gives the government authority to open the mail "for foreign intelligence collection." ... But members of Congress — Republicans and Democrats alike — say that's not what they intended the law to do. And they call it another example of a president claiming new legal authority while signing a bill into law.
“I was really surprised. There was absolutely nothing in the Postal Reform bill that in any way diminished or changed the privacy protections for domestic sealed mail,” Sen. Susan Collins of Maine said.
This SOB is completely out of control, and needs to be stopped. Congress passes a bill, and he reinterprets it to suit his own perverse agenda while signing it into law, despite the will and intent of the Congress?
I hadn't planned on supporting impeachment during the Democratic Congress. Bush and the neocons have so badly screwed up this country and bungled every single thing they've touched so irreversibly that I felt the Congress should focus on trying to clean up the mess instead. But it's become even more clear that this administration, beyond being dangerous and de.ceitful, is also intent on seizing power it has not been granted. For the protection of all American citizens, this president has to be removed. Sign me up for the impeachment hearings
Posted by Christopher at 09:47 PM | Comments (0)January 03, 2007
Stupid Conservative Tricks
Two pieces of stupid news today from the land of conservatives.
1. Pat Robertson: Horse's Ass Of The Apocolypse That noted pathological liar and idiot, Pat Robertson, after having said that God sicked Katrina on New Orleans as punishment, calling for the assassination of Hugo Chavez, and proclaimed Ariel Sharon's stroke to be divine retribution, has now publicly stated that God has told him that there will be a "mass killing" of Americans in 2007... probably nuclear.
"I'm not necessarily saying it's going to be nuclear," he said during his news-and-talk television show "The 700 Club" on the Christian Broadcasting Network. "The Lord didn't say nuclear. But I do believe it will be something like that."
Okay, wow... what an out-on-a-limb prediction -- that there will be a mass terorrist attack on the US in the coming year. That's so far beyond the pale of realistic possibility that, if it happens, it just must be proof that God talks to Pat Roberston, right? Wait... or not.
Back about a year ago, the History Channel did a special on Nostradamus. In it, Penn Gillette -- speaking as a skeptic and debunker of Nostradamus and his adherents -- argues that there is no trick to retrofitting vague quatrains to fit events after the fact. "Where were the Nostradamians on September 10?" he asks. "Because if I had a book that told me that September 11 was going to happen, that terrorists were going to attack in planes and thousands were going to die... and I didn't warn anybody, or do anything to try and stop it... I don't think you could find a more textbook definition of evil." The same argument applies here. If God's telling Pat Robertson about an upcoming nuclear terrorist attack, and Robertson doesn't give the authorities the details and attempt to stop it... I don't think you could find a more textbook definition of evil.
2. George W. Bush... Despite his father's cronies on the Iraq Study Group telling him that his botched invasion has failed and that he needs to get out... despite the Secretary of Defense telling Congress point blank that we're losing the war... despite being fully rejected by the people and costing his party control of Congress... Zippy the Wonder Chimp has decided to... wait for it... increase the number of troops in Iraq.
Daddy brought in all his wise men to keep junior from permanently screwing up our nation... and junior's intent on doing it anyway. It just goes to show you: you can lead an ass to water, but you can't make him think.
A Pasty White Guy's 20 Favorite Rap Songs Ever: #3
3. "Woo-hah! I Got You All In Check" - Busta Rhymes The bizarro dancing in the video... and that distinctive, unique backing melody that sounds vaguely like a Nintendo soundtrack for like Super Mario or something... and Busta's comical "Yah yah yah... yah yah" at the beginning... I was hooked on this song as soon as I first saw/heard it. Still on my adrenaline mix on my iPod. Not much more to say about it other than that I totally dig on this song.
Posted by Christopher at 08:33 PM | Comments (0)January 02, 2007
New Year's Resolution: Same As It Ever Was
I have only one New Year's Resolution this year.
Last year I had four. I had a mixed record this year... let's review.
I wanted to play a gig... just wanted to play with a band one more time. Well, I'll give myself an A+ on that one... got together with some friends, formed an impromptu band, and played not one but two gigs -- the last one in front of about 150 people. Couldn't have done better on that one if I tried. I wanted to finish in the first division in fantasy baseball, and stay competitive till the end of the year... I finished 6th of 15 and was in the chase for a money (top 5) finish until the season's final week. A- on that one... would have been an A if my team had won money. I wanted to write a short story last year... while I did no fiction in 2006, I didn't expect the work success that came for me, and didn't expect to be doing all the speaking and interviews I did. So I'll give myself an "incomplete" on that one.
Which leaves me with the big glaring failure from last year... and the resolution I am making again this year (like I do every year). I have to drop weight.
I did try several times in 2006 to get into a working out routine. They always lasted about 6 weeks to 2 months tops, and then something -- work travel, illness, my blown up knees -- made me quit the routine. I did real well in July-September, actually... and then my right knee decided that it didn't want to play anymore, and I haven't been able to do a full workout since. I also can run through the typical excuses, and they're all legit for me... as well as some less typical ones.
But even though I was forced out of action (stupid knees! at what age do they allow you to start thinking about knee replacement surgery??) and can't be entirely blamed for having dropped out of the gym yet again this year, I also can't let the knees be an excuse. Nor can I allow it to be an excuse that I hate exercising and always have; I don't enjoy it nor get anything resembling an endorphin high... I look forward to the gym like I look forward to a prostate exam. But... (no pun intended)...
I simply have to get back into it. My involuntary time away from the gym resulted in not only gaining all the weight back that I'd lost, but putting on even more pounds. I seem to wear it okay -- no one who guesses my weight gets anywhere close to the real number, and no one who knows me believes my weight when I tell them, until I step on a scale in front of them. But whether I look ginormous or not, I am at my heaviest weight ever right now. It's a vicious cycle -- the bigger I get, the worse my knees get... but the worse my knees are, the harder they make it to do anything to lose weight. And it has to stop. I need to drop a significant amount of weight... like 20-25% of my body weight. In an ideal world I'll get down to about 210 (remember, I'm a big guy even when I'm not fat... if I had 7% body fat I'd still be over 200 pounds), but I'll be happy if I can just get down to 225.
I was training last year for an 8k race... didn't work out so well. I don't know what I'll set as my target this year, but I have to aim for something. (Don't tell me to go swimming, by the way... no pool is convenient to me.) And while I exercise more, I'll also be watching what I eat (again), and checking into whether stuff like this works (they sell it at GNC, so how quack could it be? There has to be something to it, I'd think). All I know is, despite hating exercise like kids hate brussels sprouts, despite knees like Joe Namath's, despite it all... I have to lose a lot of weight this year. I'm pushing 40... no more time to lose.
And that's my new year's resolution.
Posted by Christopher at 09:46 PM | Comments (0)A Pasty White Guy's 20 Favorite Rap Songs Ever: #4
4. "It Was A Good Day" -- Ice Cube Because you know... any day where you don't even have to use your AK... I guess that's a good day. I'm not even sure why I like this song... maybe it's just that I like Ice Cube (loooove the movie "Friday"). Maybe it's the positive vibes in the tune. Maybe it's that beep from Kim -- you know, she can... no, never mind. Maybe it's the smooth Isley Brothers sample that forms the melody. For whatever reason, I love this song. (This was another one that MML and I used to rap at each other back in the DC office.) Lyrics not work safe... just in case you're clicking the video.
Posted by Christopher at 09:02 PM | Comments (0)January 01, 2007
New Year's Wishes
My new year's wishes for the famous and the not-so-much:
To all of you, I wish peace, prosperity, happiness and a continued good sense of humor. Thank you for being my blog-family.
To Corey, Jennifer, and Sarah… I wish peace of mind and knowledge of self. Each has, on their blogs and in their own way, a soul-search in process… and I wish for them that they find who they like and like who they find.
To TG, I wish a better second act than any Broadway playwright could dream up.
To the dollar, I wish more familiarity with me in the coming year. I hope for you that we grow to be really good friends.
To the people of the Middle East – Arab and Israeli, Muslim and Jew, Palestinian and Iraqi, Sunni and Shi’ite… I wish a year of sanity when you all finally put down the damn guns, stop exploding the bombs, stop building fences and start building bridges. You may never be friends, but I wish for you all that you could live in peace. (It’ll never happen, I know, but I wish it for you just the same.)
To New York City… I wish another year of peace and safety. You’re a target by virtue of your very existence. And while US “leadership” has gone out of its way both internationally (diluting the war on al-Qaeda by making up reasons to divert resources and effort into the Iraq invasion) and domestically (cutting your self-defense budget in favor of places like Louisville and Omaha), the city itself has remained defiant and proud. I will never be a “New Yorker,” but I’ve made my peace with you and you with me.
To Britney Spears: I wish a Undie-of-the-Week Club membership from Victoria’s Secret… and a “pay for two weeks, get one free” special at the Betty Ford Clinic.
To Paris Hilton, I wish some talent. At anything. (For those of you who saw her infamous home tape, you know that she didn’t even display any discernable talent in that effort either.)
To Tom Cruise, I wish a deprogramming intervention. To Katie Holmes, I wish an endowed surrogate. To “Baby Suri,” I wish DYFS.
To Fergie, I wish a face that looked less like a man’s, a comb, and an etiquette class from Emily Post or someone similar, to remind you of how to respect yourself in your behavior and speech. Your "music" is insipid, inane, demeaning and vapid.
To Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid, I wish the perceptiveness to realize that theirs is power on loan only, and that we’ll take it back as easily as we gave it. I also wish them the wisdom to know what’s right for the country and for our world, and the fortitude to do it.
To George W. Bush, Antonin Scalia, Samuel Alito, Gary Bauer, James Dobson, and Ann Coulter, I wish a quail hunting trip with Dick Cheney.
To Tom DeLay, Rob Ney, and Mark Foley, I wish a cozy cell with a cell-mate named Razor who likes the weight room and idolizes Boggs from “The Shawshank Redemption.”
To Con Edison, I wish competence. I’ve been at this townhouse since Memorial Day. Today was my fifth power outage of more than three hours. If any business that didn’t have a monopoly demonstrated as much incompetence as you do, they’d be out of business.
To Major League Baseball, I wish the sanity to impose salary caps and floors, so that the Yankees, Mets and Red Sox can’t buy post-season contention every year, while the owners in Kansas City, Pittsburgh and Tampa can’t line their pockets with revenue shared from the big markets instead of trying to improve their teams.
To Barry Bonds, I wish a perjury indictment right as you reach 753 home runs, only 400 of which were legitimate. Cheating asshat.
To Michael Vick, I wish you whatever new head coach you want. Because despite the fact that no one in football has supported you like Jim Mora did, you turned on him late in the season. So I wish for you that you get whatever coach you want. Because when you do, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself… and maybe then you’ll figure out that no “quarterback” who rushes for 1,000 yards in a season is a real NFL quarterback. You’re a running back who lines up under center, and no team with you as “quarterback” will ever win a championship.
To the NCAA, I wish the sense to eliminate 2/3 of the useless, uninteresting, chase-the-money bowl games that no one cares about and that make it possible for 6-6 teams to play in the post-season. There ought to be 10 bowls, for the 20 best teams in the country: Rose, Orange, Sugar, Fiesta, Cotton, Gator, Sun, Independence, Liberty, and Sun. We can erase the Independence Bowl and re-insert the one on New Year’s Day in Orlando IF you force the BS corporate sponsorship out of there and re-name it the Tangerine Bowl like it’s supposed to be. No bowl game that is named after its corporate sponsor should ever be allowed to be played again.
To George Steinbrenner, I wish a case of sudden-onset dysentery. And a 57-105 record.
To March Madness, I wish more Cinderellas like George Mason.
To the family of Darrent Williams and the families of all urban violence victims, I wish peace and tranquility and the end of the killing.
To our planet, I wish a year of us taking better care of you, and of no longer ignoring the warning signs you’ve been conveying to us for decades now but especially in the last few years. We don’t mean to be willfully ignorant of you (well, some of us do, but they’re called Republicans), and I wish for you that we lower your fever and start doing things to heal you.
Posted by Christopher at 09:37 PM | Comments (0)A Pasty White Guy's 20 Favorite Rap Songs Ever: #5
5. "Everything's Gonna Be Alright (Ghetto Bastard)" - Naughty By Nature I realize the folly of me, an exurban white kid who by the time this song came out had gotten a college education and was on my way to a white collar career, feeling a sense of identification or empathy for the protagonist of this song... a guy from an underprivileged -- no, make that impoverished -- neighborhood angrily speaking back to purveyors of hope and positivity, telling them in effect that it's awful easy for a limousine liberal or a blame-spewing conservative to rail about positiveness and taking control of one's life... when none of us have been there or experienced the hopelessness and rejection and abject poverty that too many kids in America still know. I can't say I "identified" with the song's sentiment, but damn did I think it was a good tell-off to all the hand-wringers and blamers.
"So don't say jack -- and please don't say you understand. All that man to man talk -- just walk, damn! If you ain't lived it, you can't feel it, so kill it, skillet; and all that talk about it won't help it out, now will it?"
And now you want me to rap and give? Say somethin' positive? Well positive ain't where I live!
As I've gotten older, I've joined the hand-wringers on language and violent influence in hip-hop; but I think it bugs me as much because the industry encourages it specifically and perpetuates stereotypes through it, as it does on principle. When it was coming from people who'd really lived it and who were rapping from their heart and not some A&R guy's green-colored goggles, it at least had an air of authenticity. But be that as it may, even listening to the song today -- the angry, almost desperate rap laid with deliberate irony over Bob Marley's assurance that everything's gonna be alright -- it strikes at my overprivileged heart with the damning realization of my fortune and advantage, like few songs before or since have. The line that Treach (lead rapper of Naughty By Nature) closes the second verse with is haunting in its starkness and frank admission of hopelessness...
How will I do it, how will I make it? I won't, that's how.
Sometimes a song stays with us and is more than music... for me, "Everything's Gonna Be Alright" is a permanent reminder of the fortune I've had in my life... and a reminder I hope to carry with me always that no matter how much fortune smiles on me or how much privilege life provides me, I dare not forget that there but for the grace of God or accident of birth go I... and that I will always have a responsibility to those denied that fortune. Yeah, it's just a song... but it never let go of me. I hope it never does.
Posted by Christopher at 08:40 PM | Comments (0)
