Attack of the Clones

10/31/06

There seems to be some confusion out there. I realize trying to extrude the nugget of truth buried somewhere inside the shit-mountain of political ads and 20-second sound bites can be difficult. Voter turn out in this country hovers right around the 50% mark and most people think their vote matters about as much as what flavor icing to put on their toaster strudel. This mentality I can understand. What I also understand but find staggeringly terrifying is the number of willfully ignorant people who go to the polls and vote without really being aware of what their voting for or why. I don’t mean they’re stupid, though there’s no shortage of that category, either; no, I mean seemingly functional adult human beings who vote, I guess, based on something they read etched into a bathroom wall.

Aside from the great honor of choosing either a right-wing ass-clown who gutted Medicaid or an uncharismatic left-winger who is so moderate I could die in the Senate race this year, Missouri has several amendments on the ballot for the upcoming election. The most hotly debated is Amendment 2. If passed, Amendment 2 would allow stem cell research to be conducted in the Show-Me State. I’ll just wait while the sound of rifles cocking and bibles opening subsides.

I had thought the idea was straight-forward, but apparently even one as cynical as I can have bouts of naïveté. I had thought that the fact stem cell research is not cloning, and the fact that Amendment 2 does not allow human cloning, would be enough to assure people that we’re not attempting to turn Missouri into a haven for hand-wringing madmen bent on creating a personal army of super-soldiers. Well, you know, that, and the fact that it’s a plot from Star Wars, but in either event, I was wrong.

I was nearly shocked into a coma when talking to a friend of mine the other day and he mentioned that some very special individuals at his job believe the point of Amendment 2 is to allow fully-formed human clones to be warehoused, I guess, for organ harvesting. Which…is also a movie plot. After I got over the initial jolt of a reminder at just how insane our species can be, it was almost funny. I would have imagined that if one thought about it for more than six seconds, they would realize that, aside from psychotically detached from reality, that theory has the gaping hole of necessitating a Senator with enough balls to introduce a bill which contains allowances for cloned organ farms.

As far as I’m aware, the Stem Cell Initiative is meant for the development of medical procedures and treatments for diseases such as Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s, not the plot to a Superman comic from 1965. It’s not human cloning, okay? It’s just not. You can call it cloning if you want, but then again, you can call syphilis chocolate syrup; it doesn’t make it so and please don’t put it on my ice cream.

Speaking of Parkinson’s Disease, let’s talk about Michael J. Fox. There is a commercial running right now which has Michael talking about the importance of the Stem Cell Initiative so in the future, people like him can, you know, not die. Care to watch?



Pretty depressing, huh? The worst part of this whole thing is that after the ad came out, right-wingers led by Rush Limbaugh blasted him for allowing himself to be used by and “shilling for” the democrats. Yeah, how dare he go on television and express an opinion for what he believes in to find a cure for the disease he has. What a selfish prick. Oh, did we mention that Michael won’t even be around to enjoy the cure? Yeah, he’ll die of Parkinson’s before it can be found even if Amendment 2 passes. What a shill.

Rush, sensitive son of a bitch that he is, even suggested that Fox was hamming it up for the camera, making his tremors worse than they actually were. Either that, or Rush surmised that Fox had deliberately not taken his medication to that end. Is it irony for Rush to suggest someone else is abusing prescription drugs? Any description of what a selfish, disgusting prick of a human being Limbaugh is couldn’t come close to the truth, so I just leave it to your imagination, dear reader.


If you’re voting, there is no excuse in this day and age of instant information at your fingertips not to get informed, preferably from a third-party source not affiliated with any particular agenda before you form an opinion. Then ask me if you’re right or not; I’ll be happy to tell you what you should think.

Vote November 3rd, ladies and gentlemen!



See here to read more about Amendment 2 and the other bills on the ballot for Missouri.

In My Office

10/27/06


Stupidest Thing to be Smug About Ever:

“I tell you what, I’m trying to go faster but the computer can’t keep up with
me. I put the numbers in faster than it can post and it’s causing problems.”

Doubly stupid since this was said to a peer; nary a superior in sight. The only thing sucking sideways can get you is those around you imagining new and creative ways to do you bodily harm. Saying something like this illustrates you as a person who would call someone into a room so you could spend ten minutes pointing out the fascinating way in which you arranged your houseplants. What a douche-bag.


Proportionate Response

I think it’s unfair that you can walk around the office with a wild scowl on your face, carrying a handful of pruning knives and people just think you’re headed to the cafeteria for lunch, but you try to play catch with one squirrel… Oh now, then you’re crazy.


Stupidest Thing Heard Before 9 a.m.

Bear in mind the following was said without any irony whatsoever.

“We are so much more smart.”

Yes. You certainly are.

Dead Alive

10/24/06

I'll just put it here on the table: I watch the Lifetime Network. Yes, this might quite possibly put my testicular fortitude in jeopardy, but let it be known that I only tune into "the network for women" from 11 p.m. to midnight for a double shot of Frasier; I'm not watching the seemingly endless train of Lifetime "special" films where, oddly, women are perpetually getting raped, beaten, killed and stalked. But in the course of my Dr. Frasier Crane hour I'm inevitably subjected to the sometimes frightening advertising of this channel.


Lately they've been promoting a new show by Lisa Williams called Life Among the Dead, premiering Oct 30th. This advert, shown at every possible commercial break, is not as bad as Off the Leash, which is a steaming nugget of a show someone actually thought up, pitched, produced and edited about a talent agency which promotes dogs for TV, movies and commercials in Hollywood. How the earth can keep from just vomiting lava all over anyone psychotic and pretentious enough to put the phrase "is that bottled water? Oh no, she only drinks bottled water," on television referring to a fucking dog I'll never know. But we've gotten way off track here. I was talking about Lisa Williams.

Lisa is—am I actually writing this?—a medium. She talks to the disembodied souls of rotting corpses, in other words. I had thought the fad where people you've never met give you completely useless information that you already knew about your deceased loved ones burned itself out seventeen or eighteen minutes after John Edward went on the air, but clearly I was mistaken. Now I'm sure Lisa is a perfectly nice human being, and in case that were in doubt, Lifetime gently tugs at the maternal heartstrings by working in the fact that Lisa is a mother during her promo. How could you possibly refuse to watch some trite, sideshow malarkey when she has a family to support? Are you heartless demons?

I should point out that I don't have anything inherently against psychics, save the fact that I think most of them are more inferring ability than genuine paranormal perception. Despite the fact that I am an atheist, there is no evidence in the physical laws of the universe precluding ghosts and spirits. I personally think that humans are not inherently more special than dogs or cats or lungfish, and the biochemical energy (or soul, if you prefer) in our bodies just slowly leaks away like a 9-volt in a smoke detector until there's not enough to keep this corporeal body going and we just cease to be. But sure, I've seen enough evidence to suggest that something deeply fucked up goes on in certain places that lends itself to the idea of ghosts hanging around because of a violent or sudden end. Do I think Aunt Mae is just hovering about out there in the void waiting for Lisa Williams to deliver the message that she's very pleased with how you're raising her seven cats she graciously willed you after her death? Good gods I hope not.

I guess my real problem with these celebrity dead-whisperers is that even in the best case scenario, it all just seems really fucking boring and mildly depressing. Does the fact that you have to have some spiky- haired talk show host act as liaison between you and your loved ones give anyone comfort? They make the afterlife just seem like some big waiting room with everyone gathered around playing solitaire or whatever until the outside chance that a medium wanders by. And they don't strictly give advice or even provide anything other than what you already know and can confirm. Grandma's happy, Grandpa is playing poker with Malcolm X and little crippled Jimmy who drowned in the pool can finally walk again on magic spirit legs! Who the fuck cares? There's never anything even remotely helpful; you never see a destitute cousin on there asking where tightwad Uncle Rufus buried all those IBM stock certificates, for example. I'm also slightly skeptical over the fact that you never get to hear from some genuinely repugnant friend or relative who comes through to give you the phantom finger, despite the fact that every medium I've ever seen is very careful not to endorse the idea of "heaven" vs. "hell." It just makes better fiscal sense that way; you can't go alienating over half your audience by suddenly claiming to channel Jesus. No, THAT would be nuts.


And who the fuck wants to exist in an afterlife where you're the same miserable douche bag you were here on earth? I find the idea that everyone is exactly the same, no matter how pleasant, as they were while alive to be just terminally sad. Isn't the payoff of dying that you get to finally know a few secrets of the universe? Well, no, sorry; apparently crossing the threshold of death is about as enlightening as crossing the street to get a Dilly Bar, because these "spirits" never have anything more encouraging than "I feel great!" like some kind of deceased Tony the Tiger. Lisa Williams sums this complaint up when she says "What do dead people sound like? They sound like you and me." Oh, well that's just spit-on-your-crotch terrific! I think I've never heard anything quite so depressing. Forget visiting new and exhilarating secrets of the universe; you're still the same unenlightened, boring ass-face you were down here! Way to drop the ball, Jesus!

Buddhism; now there's a religion I could get behind. They don't get all bizarrely caught up with this whole "what happens after death" bit. They are mellow and content to be around and accept that some things are beyond the reach of mortals. The Buddha didn't say there wasn't a god, but he did say that there was no point in looking for one, since the nature of reality and the divine was fundamentally unknowable by our weak little senses.

I wish people would rub my belly.

Ice-Scrapers and Martinis

10/22/06


There are few things more frustrating than (1) waking up late so you have to rush to get ready for work, and (2) going out into the parking lot in 32° weather only to realize that, inexplicably, your ice-scraper has vanished from inside your vehicle and now you have to look like someone who moves his lips when he reads in front of your neighbors because you're scraping your windshield with a spatula while cursing in vaguely incoherent language.

Dude…what kind of sick mind would hijack an ice-scraper? They're like 69¢. Oh, in case you were wondering, no; a spatula does not work well to remove frost. Try peeing on the glass instead. I'm getting a martini.

Schadenfreude*

10/20/06

It hasn't been an easy 6 years for liberals, but '05 and '06 have vindicated those of us who, after watching the 2004 election results, shook our heads in stark bewilderment and considered applying for Canadian citizenship. And thank goodness, because if the level of liberal outrage fatigue I felt had continued unabated I can only assume a massive stroke was in my immediate future. But finally the GOP started to implode like a big, fat red giant star collapsing into a singularity under its own bloated gravity. The majority of American citizens awoke from what I can only assume was a drug-induced coma that nevertheless didn't prevent them from reaching a voting booth, blinked in the bright sunlight of reality, and discovered, hey, I don't think the Republicans had my best interests in mind.

With President Bush currently the political equivalent of a flaccid dry-hump and Republicans across the board champing at the bit to be the next big scandal, I'm feeling pretty good about the changing direction in America. Instead of the impotent rage I once felt anytime I heard a representative of the GOP speak to the public, what I now feel as we ramp up toward Congressional elections in November can best be described as elated hilarity. Two years ago the Republican reaction to recent scandals would have sent me sprinting to the bathroom cabinet intent on medicating myself into a stupor because the American public would have actually listened to what now just seems sort of pathetic and sad in a really, really funny way.


Mark Foley's Underage Cyber-Diddling


For those of you living in a cave on the moon for the past month, you can clue into what we're referring to here. How do you distance yourself from the fact that your party knew it contained a mild sexual predator with a penchant for underage boys? Well, for my money it doesn't get better than crazy conspiratorial speculation worthy of the X-files:

The following is a transcript from the October 8th episode of CNN's Late Edition with Wolf Blitzer, interviewing Rep. Patrick McHenry (R-NC) who made wild-eyed claims that the Democratic Party knew about Foley's actions and sat on the info until now so it could do the most political damage. My favorite line is in bold.

Blitzer: Well you don't have any evidence though, right?

Rep. McHenry:
Well look at the fact points...four weeks out from a national election...

Blitzer: Yes or no: do you have any evidence? Do you have any evidence
Congressman?

Rep. McHenry: Do you have any evidence that says they
weren't involved?

Blitzer: I'm just asking if you're just throwing out
an accusation or if you have any hard evidence.

Rep. McHenry: No, it's a
question Wolf. The question remains, were they involved? And if they were not
involved they need to say clearly, and it's a question, it's not an accusation.

Touché, Mr. McHenry! Because nothing says "my party is innocent" like asking someone to prove a negative. I can't, for example, prove that dinosaurs aren't still wandering around; ergo, pterodactyls might be behind the nasty, borderline pedophilic instant messages Foley sent to Congressional page boys.




North Korea & Iran: Bombs of Disruption


North Korea just conducted a successful test of a nuclear bomb and Iran is undauntingly refusing to back down from nuclear programs of its own, albeit supposedly for peaceful energy production, despite UN threats and sanctions. Of course, being threatened by the UN is sort of like when the library sends you a letter informing you that if you don't return your book this week, you'll be charged 13 cents. But don't be fooled, America! It's not only the hated Left who wishes to undermine our beloved Republicans! Just ask clinically insane GOP mouthpiece Bill O'Reilly:

Oct 9th edition of The O'Reilly Factor:

"Now, the reason North Korea is causing trouble is that it wants to influence
the November election. As we discussed last week, Iran's doing the same thing in
Iraq -- ramping up the violence so Americans will turn against the Bush
administration."

"That is not a partisan statement. It is a fact."

"Iran has ordered its killers to up the violence in Iraq for the next
month."

Okay. Well, wow. I don't know why we waste all our time with military intelligence when we could just ask O'Reilly what foreign nations are planning and from whence their motivations come. Sounds to me like they send him a typed itinerary in the mail. Or maybe he's secretly a superhero, I dunno. Anyway you slice it he's a big bag of crazy. How narcissistic and egotistical do you have to be to believe that other countries engage in openly hostile actions with no objective other than possibly influencing a mid-term election in America, where voter turnout is lucky to hit 20%?



Now all Democrats have to decide is precisely how and to what dramatic level they can take all this momentum and completely fuck it up before the election.




* Shadenfreude is a German word meaning "to take pleasure in the misfortune of others." God bless Deutschland for providing us with such a useful and deliciously malicious turn of phrase.


Sources: Media Matters
The Huffington Post
CNN.com

Co-Habitat for Humanity

10/16/06

Few things can make one so intimately aware of just how repulsive your taste in surroundings is as living with a girlfriend or fiancé. I was somewhat dimly aware that I had an affinity for, shall we say, eclectic furniture and belongings before Hanni and I lived together, but moving into our new apartment several weeks ago has brought this into stark, naked view. Apparently most adults approaching the third decade of life don't find it perfectly acceptable to own things predominantly procured from the garbage. What a bunch of Philistines.


As I've lived either on my own or with other bachelors for all of my adult life, I had no real idea that "inherited" furniture repeatedly patched with glue, duct tape and several grosses of nails sticking out of it at awkward, skin-ripping angles should be replaced at some point with new products not made from particle board. And take note, gentlemen; couches and chairs that look like a motel sex-crime investigation under a black light actually cause women to think twice about sitting on them. Near as I can tell, the main difference between men and women is the amount of dirt and semen they're willing to happily ignore in their homes. I can look at the huge, plaid chair in the living room and have no compunction about plopping myself down on it, blissfully dismissing the fact that the upholstery has, over the years, slowly taken on the shade of a burn victim's skin. Hanni looks at the same chair and apparently sees a grotesque object, possibly pulled out of the swamp, that has been used as a prop in a Roman orgy.


B.C. (Before Co-habitation) I was only aware of this information in a vague, sort of offhanded fashion, the way you feel gravity when walking around on the surface of a planet. Combining all of Hanni's worldly possessions with my own has made me aware of it in the way you feels gravity when a large building falls on you.

We're getting new furniture, is what I'm saying. I have no specific, loving attachment to most of these objects, so it will be a novel change to have objects that no one has previously spilled wine on, urinated upon, or been murdered in. I don't mean to paint my future wife as some sort of shrieking demon who is forcing me to get rid of everything near and dear to me (even if she did make me move my toy collection into the office instead of the living room) on the contrary, she is very concerned that the new stuff we get be something we can both live with, and I retain veto power. That being said, clearly the only way new objects are coming through that door is if neither of us is perfectly "happy" with the purchase. Which I believe is the definition of a compromise.

The only real causes for complaint I have on this whole process are when it comes to lamps and paper maché. For whatever bizarre reason, I like horrible lamps. The uglier they are the better I like them. Lamps from the 70's are a particular gold mine for this reason. Made out of suede with an animal print? Bring it on in! You say it has a clear base with a shrunken head inside? Sign me up! What's that? A 4-foot red velvet cigar-shaped lamp that hangs from the ceiling? I'll give you $500! This last example is not a hypothetical; this specific model exists at a local flea market and it takes everything in my power not to get an erection at the thought of owning it. Aside from the fact that it matches nothing in the apartment and we have no place with enough room to put it, it's perfect! I think Hanni's more afraid she'll wake up one night and find me naked, lovingly stroking the lampshade and whispering diabolical plots to it than she is of just how ugly the goddamn thing is.

As far as paper maché goes, Hanni has forbade me to make any more life-size paper maché characters like Ramses, the Egyptian fellow I created last year. Well, she forbade me to make any more that I don't give away. I fail to understand what sort of person doesn't want large, entirely un-functional mannequins hanging around the house. Few things have caused more comment whenever people enter my house than the sight of Ramses standing there looking smug. And he's anatomically correct to boot! I must confess, this is the only viewpoint of hers I cannot at least see where she's coming from.

I'm totally going to open a lamp store. I'll either call it "Let There Be Light," or "Red Light District," I dunno. Aside from the money I don't have and business expertise I don't possess, I see no flaw whatever in this plan.

Ring Toss

10/10/06



For those of you who still don’t know (and I can’t imagine there are a great many of you) I would like to take this opportunity to say that about a week ago I proposed that Hanni and I spend the rest of our lives together in holy matrimony. True, we had decided quite some time ago that we were going to get married; had even settled on a date, so this proposal didn’t come as any great surprise to her, but she is dutiful and wonderful enough to have acted surprised and delighted. I even got down on one knee and everything.

We went ring shopping and narrowed it down to two different baubles, but my dear fiancé made it abundantly clear which one she preferred. The deal was that she knew which ring she was getting; she knew I was going to propose, but she didn’t know when. Last week was when. Incidentally, for those of you wishing to purchase high-quality jewelry at very reasonable prices, I highly recommend Loftis Jewelry; they’re quite helpful to boot.

So, wallet stinging from the dent I’d just made in its hide, I took the little treasure to my future wife. Let me just say that, for someone unused to carrying around either large suitcases of cash or kilos of high-grade cocaine, carting around an easily-stolen ring worth more than any single other item in my life is terrifically nerve-wracking. Oh, here’s a picture of the ring:

As you may have noticed I've completely obliterated much idea of scale here so as to make it look as big and impressive as possible. I have a very fragile ego.

She said yes, by the way. This must be what it feels like to be happy. I must say it is an emotion with which I am not intimately associated. Kinda feels itchy, but nice. This is very dangerous now, me being happy and all, because I love her unfailingly and now have actual hope and optimism for our future life together. Damnit. I suppose I’ll just have to get used to being happy. Things were so much easier when I was alone and depressed and didn’t much care whether I woke up the next morning or not. Ah well, bygones.

I love you, Hanni. The rest of you can just pretend that this blog was about, I dunno, how much I hate Larry the Cable Guy or something.