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Denial is an Ugly Thing

Especially when it's trotted out for weekend news programs by desperate people at the end of their time and ability to effect any kind of lasting changes.  Last weekend, Laura Bush and Condi Rice tried spewing one more last venomous lie at the stupidest segment of the American public - the lowest common denominator of proto-human still clinging to any kind of hope or respect for the (soon to be remembered by people spitting on the ground) Monkeyface administration.  As the sinking, dangerously listing ship of State prepares at last to dock with harbor, authorities holding people back from the bay's edge while the USS Clusterfuck burns across the water on a slick of blood and oil, two of the occupants would have you believe that a large majority of seasick Americans vomiting profusely over the side as this wreck of maladjustment comes lurching into port are mistaken, and that everything is going according to plan, the captain's not a drunken fuckwit surrounded by pirates on this vessel, it's all cool, this was how we plotted our voyage into history.

Well, I call "bullshit" on this duo of delusional bitches.

The next time any Republican, but most specifically a GOP woman, tries to argue that the voice of women on the right is not marginalized, tries to argue that the Republicans have strong women in their party, too, and even more egregious, points to either of these two easily-led puppets as an example, you smack them with the Frying Pan of Truth right across the face, laugh, and run the fuck away.  You don't want to be associated with a liar like that.  They are saying what they have been told to say, they are towing the party line.  The GOP needs to swap their pachyderm for a lemming, because that is the behavior they goddamn embody.  Let's haul the bullshit out and have a smell;

Laura, when asked about people who think her spouse's turn as Chief Executive was a miserable, ugly stillborn failure of a thing which should have been kicked down the cellar steps and never been allowed to the see the light of day: "Well, I know it's not. And so I don't really feel like I need to respond to people that view it that way."  Well, that's an example of faith, folks.  No logic there.  No more thought than goes into a "God Said It, I Believe It, That Settles It" bumper fucking sticker.  She knows what she knows, and she's not discussing it with anyone who doesn't believe it.  No information going out, none coming in.  She's a closed system, America.  And really - you would be, too.  Imagine that you wake up every bright, cool morning filled with promise, roll over and see an arrogant pile of failure next to you in the bed.  She probably represses one homicidal urge towards that monkey fuck once a day.  I bet the Secret Service watches her like a gaunt turkey buzzard.

No, hands down, Condi's a lot worse.  With no excuses left, not only is she defending the maladministration, she's still trying to order motherfuckers around; "Generations pretty soon are going to start to thank this president for what he's done. This generation will."  Fuck that noise coming out of your useless mouth, you piss-licking bulldog bitch.  You can't tell us what we will and will not do - "this generation" my whole ass.  Which things are we going to be thanking him for?  The protracted, unnecessary two-front war?  The economy, robbed and raped by his compadres?  The complete and total loss of respect from the rest of the world?  But apparently, Bush is not ours to judge;

"Any historians already criticizing Bush aren't very good historians; Good historians are still writing books about George Washington. Good historians are certainly still writing books about Harry Truman." Apparently, the ability of good historians to look up from their exhaustive and never-finished tomes about Washington and Truman and accurately assess what the fuck is happening around them because they possess the proper historical knowledge and frame of reference has been conveniently overlooked.  Basically, she seems to me to be asserting that people hate this President so much that they can't be objective about him, and it will take successive generations to properly distance themselves from what is an otherwise blinding rage.  This begs the question: Why do they hate him so much?  BECAUSE HE FUCKING SUCKS, THAT'S WHY!  Bleagh.  This was my favorite thing she said, though, proving what a competent and capable diplomat and analyst she can truly be.  Speaking about the Mideast & the failed talks from back in '07:

"We're leaving this in a lot better shape than we found it. We're leaving a negotiating forum where Palestinians and Israelis have said they have confidence that they will reach agreement - I think this is in much better shape than we found it."  Wow.  It'd be funny if it weren't for this.

Why We Do Holidays

The run-up to the holidays this year was just incredible. 

There was much of lists & shopping, online and otherwise, some last minute re-gifting, cooking, layout, printing, project finishing and logistics galore.  I labored, for most of the month of December, under the illogical misapprehension that there would be a kind of sustained emotional burst of satisfaction, a point when the holiday time would seem less like work and more like easy.  It never really got easy, though.  When you're a parent of two children hosting a major holiday in your 1300 square foot apartment, I have come to realize that easy simply doesn't enter into the equation.  I have also come to realize that it's not about "sustained emotional satisfaction," that the holiday time involves people, all of them complicated and messy, myself included.  Especially me, in some cases.  No matter how much you might like otherwise, the real world and its problems are going to intrude upon what should be the halcyon holiday times, and there will be stuff broken, messes, puke, and hurt feelings.  However, I did on the whole enjoy the holiday time, and while there was no unrealistic, Walton Mountain-type vibe of warm contentment, I did have a couple of solid moments, and I think that's why you do the things we do to have things fall into place: To create a moment, to capture a memory, to frame an experience for someone, whether or not it's you.

Someone will have a Christmas moment, whether it's Max getting a pogo stick and a scooter in the same morning or us watching the kids ride their vehicles around the parking lot or Abby with the scissors, meticulously cutting open her packages.  A meal shared, a particularly good conversation, a game played, a hand extended in friendship, with a gift, for a hug - it's all going to end up being about that.  The smiles on people's faces, the genuine gratitude for a gift given, the contagious exuberance of children.  You create a moment or a memory for your kids, or for your various family members, and sometimes the payoff is an airborne gossamer fiber, something not easily noticed or acquired.  It's there, though, and often makes itself evident when you're not expecting it. 

Yeah, when you get right down to it, nothing is ever perfect, my expectations are often unrealistic, and ultimately, I thoroughly enjoyed my Christmas holidays.

My apartment this morning is a wreck.  Amongst the stacks of dishes and containers in the kitchen, a forlorn hambone rests in a biscuit tin; coffee grounds and eggshells dot the sink, and we've been drawing clean dishes from the dishwasher since yesterday.  Both kids' rooms have signs of having played host to someone, whether it's the airbed in the middle of Abby's room or the shuffled nature of Max's.  My desk is littered with soda cans and antacids, crackers and cables and stacks of papers and DVDs. Hosting my mom, my grandmother and my father-in-law, we ran out of batteries, milk, coffee, and toilet paper.  We stayed up all night, ate great meals, had good times, and everything worked out for a good Christmas.  I learned how to cook a ham.  My apartment's debris makes it look like one of the best parties recently happened here, and in a way, I suppose that's true.

Have a happy 2009, everybody.

My Kids & Santa

No one wants to bullshit their kids.  On the other hand, there's something irrepressibly dark, boring, and lame about flatly stating "there is no Santa."  I can't go the "Santa exists in your heart" route because I'm me, and they'd never buy that from me anyway.  Just picture me saying it.  Abby's too young to question it, and besides thinks that "Santa has rocket airplanes.  He comes from behind a cloud.  And he has a penguin."  Sure, okay.  Seriously, the man has technology to produce toys for the whole world, and global distribution capability unparalleled by anyone - What Can RED Do For You? - why would he choose to smell magic reindeer farts all evening long if he could have rocket airplanes?  And a penguin?  In my head, I have named Santa's penguin Jonesy.

Our party line with Max has always been, "You tell us.  Do your research and tell us what you think."  Typically, he finds this a little fun and also exasperating.  This weekend past, Max and I had a lunch conversation that reveals Max's less-than-firm agnosticism on the subject of Mr. Claus.  He's questioning.  He's never seen Santa, so that's a strike against the big man.  He's not buying any of the mall or school or TV representations.  Additionally, he cannot figure out how Santa could possibly know what Abby wants for Christmas.  He can't put any logic with that, so that's hurting Santa's case, too.

MAX: She doesn't write letters or ask, so how could he know?

ME: I guess it's supposed to be the same way he knows if people are naughty and nice and awake or not.

MAX: No, that's cameras.  The elves are everywhere, even in the walls, like spies.  They gather information for Santa and report back all the time.  There's cameras and microphones in every room, all the time.

ME:  Even in the bathroom?  That's gross.

MAX: Especially the bathroom, 'cause that's where the bullies have their meetings, mostly.

ME: Oh.  Well.  I guess making it all over the world in one night's pretty crazy, yeah?

MAX: No, he can use the time zones for a little extra time, and not everybody even celebrates Christmas, so he doesn't have to go to those people's houses.  And if you've been bad, he doesn't have to come to your house, either.  So that's probably actually a lot of people he doesn't have to deal with.

ME: ...so where are you landing on this whole Santa thing?

MAX: I don't know.  We'll see.  Ask me something else.

ME: What about the Easter Bunny?

MAX: That's crazy.  And I think the Tooth Fairy is probably you taking my teeth.

ME: Are you saying I'm a fairy?

MAX: No, you know what I mean.  Would be funny if you had little wings, though.  And you see you flew into my room late at night...

Tryin' to Help the Kids

As my buddy Eric P of Deviant Synapse points out, you know where this is going. This is old news, and there's only a limited number of jokes you can make about a self-absorbed, self-important idiot manchild who heads out to the club with a loaded firearm stuffed into the waistband of his sweatpants. My fucking keys make my sweatpants ride south, but a gun would be secure.  Right.  However. This still makes me laugh out loud, and is therefore worth posting again.

Two things: I love the "you little bitch" line, and watch the gun carefully after he sets it on the wall and moves away.  There's muzzle flash.  A nice touch, that.

Improvised WMD

Here, that's a Winged Moccasin Distraction.

What makes a man decide this is a good idea?  Okay, you're pissed that the complete moron onstage is about to walk off into history, seemingly with no repercussions over having fucked your country while it was drunk & wiped his dick on your flag.  Yes, you're upset.  But the moron in question is the current President of the United States, and just sophomoric enough to think being able to dodge your shoes was kind of a coup for him, a cool thing to do.  Check the smirk on the Monkey's mug.  He wishes all political discourse were this basic and easy for him to understand.  He waves the first Secret Service guy away - "It's cool, they throw shit at you all the time in jobs I've had."  So you fucked up there, buddy.  You gave the Moneyface a chance to dismiss you as a lone dissenter, the White House a chance to be magnanimous about the incident, and you got yourself blown off as "bizarre."  If you're going to chuck your Chucks at Dubya, put something pointy or explosive in there first, something more than a sharp word for his Monkeyness.

Still.

What kind of rage must it take to call the POTUS a dog and fling not one, but two shoes at him?  Five years worth of lies, murders, invasions, arguing, destruction, kidnapping, terror, mayhem and infighting all so that the US could spread White Helper Guilt like a plague all over the Mideast, and so the current President could work out his daddy issues while looking like he was responding to 9/11.  So I understand that, yeah, and would gladly have shipped my shoes to the guy for throwing.  My shoes are crap anyway.  I don't know if the guy's a hero, but he's certainly a bold as brass motherfucker with a temper.  The world needs that kind of succinct clarity now and again.  'Honesty,' I think we used to call that, a lifetime ago.

But the world is full of reactionary idiots. Throw your footwear at the President, and you get your hands broken and hauled before a judge a couple of times before week's end.  You also turn skittish, lemming-like Americans (remember those people who got lead into a connection between Iraq & 9/11?) into a nation of shoe-fearing assholes, as they fear copycat shoe throwers. This is pure, unadulterated bullshit, like the kind you check for mushrooms.  I remember back when we knew how to throw a shoe - when Billy Corgan got pelted live onstage in 1994 here in the Nash for whining about how difficult it is to be a rock star after Cobain up and offed himself.  Or when people knew how to hit the President with something.  Bush has had shit thrown at him more than once - no hits!  What about that guy who tagged Nixon with an onion?  Now there's an arm.

Seventeen

No, not the magazine.  Saw this a couple of times on Facebook, decided to do it here.  The idea, apparently, is that you list seventeen random things about yourself, and then challenge 17 other people to do likewise.

1. I have chronic, periodic insomnia.  Some people say they "suffer" from this, but I don't really feel that I experience much suffering.  Not sleeping is not suffering, once you kind of figure out how to do it.  I do walk around my house and look at sleeping people, though.  This would likely creep them out if they knew.

2. Rob Zombie's music makes me irrationally happy.  So do most of the works of Schubert, Lightnin' Hopkins, Public Enemy, Webb Wilder, Danzig, and Johnny Cash.

3. I prefer to read my new comic books lying prone on the floor, just as I have done since the age of six, unless there are people around.  I also generally prefer the floor to furniture when playing games, watching a movie, or sharing a snackfood.

4. I am from Nashville, TN.  I have also lived in Sarasota, FL (3 years), Madison, WI (5 years), Pensacola, FL (3 years and change), and if three months at a clip counts as living in a place, New York City.  I liked all of these places except rather famously, Pensacola.

5. I miss people a lot, and would hang out more, but also understand that I can be difficult to be around, and am unwilling to change.  I would apologize, but I'm not going to, which demonstrates part of the problem.  Regardless of all this, I remain intensely loyal to those I love.

6. I am annoyed by the structure of television programming more than the content.  For the most part.

7. I have successfully negotiated with policemen while intoxicated, and been left free to roam about.

8. On the other hand, I have physically assaulted two policemen while stone cold sober.  Not at the same time.  I'm not that hardcore.

9. I'm a sucker for superhero and zombie movies (I keep waiting for the one that has both) but my favorite genre would have to be the one where guys stand about talking about stuff for two hours while periodically taking action.  12 Angry Men is the best example of this - and my favorite movie - but also included here would be Glengarry Glen Ross, Unforgiven, Ocean's Eleven, Three Kings, The Shawshank Redemption, Seven, The Usual Suspects, Suicide Kings, The Hunt for Red October, Dogma, Citizen Kane, most heist movies, and anything with an escape.

10. I have only ever beaten four video games by myself: NARC, Smash TV, Soul Calibur II, and Diablo II.  I feel empty inside when this happens, like I want my time and money back.  Please deposit 40 quarters.

11. I hate shaving and getting haircuts.

12. I wear black all the time and really have no good reason for it now other than I quite like it.

13. If I don't have a book I'm currently reading, I feel unproductive and stupid.

14. Best time to be me: When everything is done.  My brains go into low gear and start producing stuff I'd like to keep, instead of spinning around with lists and logistics.

15. I've had more stitches than you have.

16. I lack faith in a higher power in the same way that I lack the ability to fly.  It wasn't a decision, an emotional reaction, a justification or a process.  Now - my lack of faith in humanity?  That was a process.

17. I've been blogging since 2003, though this blog only goes back to '04.  Right here.

I tag: C, EP, DLF, Matt, Cayce, Mom, Mitch, Becky, Keith, Mer, Erin, Jimbo, Marty, Jesse, Brecca & anyone else who feels like doing this.

Bungee Bounce Shutout

Okay, since none of you inconsiderate bastards has any thoughts or suggestions for extending my holiday time (or at least my perception thereof), we'll move on to something far more important.  What you should know in terms of backstory here: Neither "Lloyd" or "Billy Joe" is a real name for either of the "contestants" involved in this Nashville Predators interperiod icebound diversion, and until the time of this video, "Billy Joe" was an undefeated shit-talker when it came to this particular enterprise.  I work with "Lloyd," who can be found here, and he swears on his gap that he was not wearing cleats or iron-lined sneakers or anything.  He also does not take performance-enhancing drugs, unless Mountain Dew counts.  I don't think you need to know any of that to find this hilarious, but I figured what the hell.

Holiday Timelessness

Some of this, certainly, is just the perspective of age, some nostalgia, but nevertheless...

I remember when I was a kid, Xmas vacation seemed like a vacation, even when I worked the whole time.  It was packed to the gills with activities, and each moment seemed to extend out forever, like molasses dripping off the dipper, with the fat gathering of material coalescing into a big droplet, then stretching way the hell out before finally, at long last, breaking from the main body of the stuff and falling free into the past.  I would get out of school, and the date when I was meant to return was in another month, another year, a time that seemed distant enough that it would instantly drop out of my head.  Clunk.  I never spent Xmas break thinking "only three more days."  I often did not know what day it was, and if I did know that it was Xmas Eve, for example, I would not have been able to tell you whether it was Wednesday or Thursday or what.  I worked a lot, long hours, which serves to make time spent seem longer, and I played a lot, often staying up 'til wee hours, which serves much the same function.  The point is, December seemed like a downhill roller coaster plummet into the Xmas holidays which then flattened out and dragged on for a good long time, creating a sense that they would not end, were a permanent state of affairs.

I keep thinking that there must be a way to recapture that.

Because I didn't feel that way last year.  Perhaps it's the intrusion of work for a couple of days between Xmas and New Year's, maybe it's being the person who has to do / schedule the things as opposed to just going with the flow.  I have to put up the tree, help cook, wrap stuff.  All things I like doing, but all time suckers.  Regardless, there was no extension of hours - just too much to do, and not enough time spent with people.  Seems to me that the best way to pull this off would be to cram more hours into a day - getting up earlier, going to bed later - and also to fit more slow time activities into each given day.  Not so much of the "on-the-go."

Thoughts?

Pickle Foreshortening

Tonight, as I was making lunches for my kids, I went to give Max a pickle. 

Every time I reached into the jar, I came up with pickle hugeness.  Like being in a pickle porn film or something.  Enormo the Pickle, a pickle with a name, a zip code, a personality and the beginnings of government.  Not a pickle for including in a lunch; rather, a pickle that is a snack in and of itself.  Something that would require utensils to eat properly.  Really, just a briny cucumber still, and retaining a good bit of the characteristics that would define it as such.  The jar didn't even look big enough to house four or five of these fuckers, and yet, here they were, apparently defying the laws of physics, like a magician's hat.  I looked into the jar, and slowly realized that a kind of pickle foreshortening was taking place, where the image of the pickles were distorted either by the brine or the jar or some combination of those, or perhaps a salty vinegar haze rising off of the surface of the weirdly green liquid pickling solution was becoming trapped behind the lens of my glasses, creating a kind of pickle bifocal effect.  Regardless, a quick gaze into the jar from a bird's eye view provided the illusion of standard snack size to small pickles, while a side view afforded pickles with tiny explorers roaming over their surfaces planting flags and organizing range wars.  Eventually, I was able to overcome my pickle conundrum and select something that would fit in Max's lunchbox and not dominate his lunch.

I ate one of the others.

Go Away, George

Delusional fuckwit and arrogant bastard George Dubya Monkeyface was recently interviewed by network tool Charlie Gibson, apparently because someone over at ABC saw a couple of hours not jammed to bursting with tired reruns of insipid Christmas programming and thought they'd fill them with something aspiring to, but not achieving, that same level of intellectual content.  "We've replaced the fine programming we normally serve with self-justification and transparent rationalization - let's see the results."

On The Economy:  Apparently, this soon to be irrelevant shell of man believes two things about the economic situation.  One - that having a conversation about taking bold and direct action is equivalent to actually performing that action, and Two - if you have faith in the economy, it will recover.  Which explains why the economy is in the shithouse at present: A combination of faith and delusion, hallmarks of the Bush White House.  He also doesn't think this is his fault, that it has more to do with decisions that got made on Wall Street decades ago.  So it's the fault of Gordon Gekko, then.

On "The War:" He still thinks of the attacks of 9/11 and the ensuing two-front war in Iraq & Afghanistan as a linear progression.  Like a child.  He says that he was unprepared for the attack which prompted the war.  Seemed pretty prepared to declare whole nations "evil," and go on a "crusade."  Typically, people don't say things like "bring it on" and feed thousands of lives into a meat grinder before they're good and ready.  He's a different breed of cat, though.  A polecat.

On His Legacy: While acknowledging that the rhetoric has gotten nastier, the tensions thicker, and the level of discourse lower, he somehow sees this as not really connected with himself.  "It's politics," he says, revealing that he doesn't know what the word means, and that he'd prefer to lie to himself anyway.  This is important, since in this way, he can kind of bullshit himself into thinking he won't be referred to as a "Pariah President, a complete failure, and the reason illustrated as to why the office of the Chief Executive is supposed to have openness, transparency and be a part of the system of checks and balances which prevents the rampant abuse of executive privilege and is guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution and inherent to real and lasting democracy."  I know this because I have a time machine and powerful magnifiers.  He goes on to compare himself to Abe Lincoln, for which he should be strung up by his thumbs and left for ravenous crows.

On History: He's not worried about it: "I don't spend a lot of time really worrying about short-term history. I guess I don't worry about long-term history, either, since I'm not going to be around to read it..."  This is amusing, as it implies that he can read.  He does it again when he talks about establishing a library and archives at Laura's alma mater...archives?  I assumed those would be locked behind several feet of steel and concrete and goons and guns and not unsealed until everyone involved in this train wreck of an administration is dead.  Let's have some foresight for once on this stuff and make a note: Preserve the brains of these fucking people in jars, assuming they have brains.  Let's put the brains on trial for war crimes in 90 years when this shit is public.

On Disappointment: Apparently, the Monkey was disappointed when there turned out not to be weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.  This is interesting, because it implies that the reason we went into Iraq was because they had weapons of mass destruction, and not because of some kind of retaliation for their non-existent role in the events of 9/11.  See, he's disappointed that they weren't there, which means he was really hoping they would be.  Why would he be hoping that?  Justification.  There's no justification for violating the sovereignty of the country without some kind of provocation, and he's backhandedly admitting here that without the WMDs, he didn't have one.  Moron.  If you were really hoping to find weapons, why didn't you let the UN and the IAEA finish their fucking jobs, you eternal fuckwitted fool?!?  Fie on you, Dubya.

On What's Next: "...wouldn't it be interesting for baby boomers not to retire in nice places, but to retire -- during their retirement, go help people deal with malaria or AIDS. In other words -- and I'm not suggesting that's what I'm going to do, but it is the kind of thing that intrigues me."  Okay, maybe that's not what's next - but it's intriguing.  Also, I'm betting there are some nice places that have people with AIDS who need help.  Look around.

Huh?:  This exchange:

GIBSON: Greatest accomplishment? The one thing you're proudest of?

BUSH: I keep recognizing we're in a war against ideological thugs and keeping America safe.

Your greatest accomplishment as President is the continual realization of two unconnected things?  This sentence doesn't even parse.  And neither did this period of history.  Since November 2000, I have looked around at this country and added 2 and 2 and consistently come up with 5.  It's as though an upsweep in nationalism and anger over 9/11 stepped on people's intellectuality, their thoughtfulness, their introspection.  When the highest leader in the land doesn't do it, why should we aspire to do so?  Bush says repeatedly in this interview that he wants to fade away, step out of the limelight.

Good.  Stop giving interviews.  I can't fucking wait.