I wanted to acknowledge the passing of a friend who was taken off life support Tuesday night after suffering a sudden brain aneurysm.
To know Russell was to know the dramatic peaks and valleys that any life could achieve. A mercurial and capricious life lived at times to excess, and at others in spartan simplicity, he laid it all out for anyone to see, unapologetic. His passion and creativity was inspiring, his personality so strong it often left turbulence in its wake.
I once had the whim to write and produce a cable access television show starring all my friends, and Russell was one of the first I thought of. He is somewhere cringing that I should show this now, but his easy and understated talent shows through even here.
Russell wanted nothing more in life than his ultimate brand of freedom. He would sacrifice anything to find it, and in the end, that's just what he did.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
WORLD EVENTS
WORLD EVENTS
Popular uprisings have never been more popular. It seems as though the will of the people is finally being heard all over the world. Which is why it pays to make out your will, just in case it finally gets heard. In Egypt they filled the square and wouldn't leave until their demands were met. Once their demands were met, they hung around anyway thinking of more demands. It turns out that life in the square is less demanding than going to work.
I pictured thousands of people storming the plaza with their hands in the Bangles' “Walk Like an Egyptian” configuration. Years and years from now, there will be pictures in a cave in Egypt depicting people massing in the square checking their email. In Libya they are trying to oust strongman Maomar Khadafi, but they can't find him easily because sometimes he goes under the name Muammar Gaddafi, or Qaddafi. They keep trying to look him up in the phone book but every year he is under a different letter. His first name is so close to Mallomar that I every time he makes the news my mouth starts to water like Pavlov’s dog. He is a slippery individual, just like Saddam Hussein, who evaded the entire U.S. Army because he looked so much like the guy who "makes the doughnuts" in that ad campaign.
Anyway, the first place I would look for him is the gym- a strongman has to be able to bench press at least 200 pounds or he damn well SHOULD be ousted. Khaddaffi recently delivered a rambling speech where he mentioned things like, "Freedom is a tree watered with blood," and "... those rats that move in the dark." Many of these themes can be seen explored in better detail in a Roger Corman retrospective, only the acting is not as good. Coincidentally, Charlie Sheen said much the same thing in a tweet, and he was ousted, too. He added some odd items about fire-breathing earthworms and some other news flashes that really should be analyzed at length for possible greatness.
Kadafi doesn't seem like the type that ever bothers to check in the mirror before he leaves the house. He usually looks as though he just smoked an ounce of crack, then dropped his comb down the toilet. I don't know much about Hosni Mubarak, except that will all those billions, he never misappropriated one dime on a nose job. But I'm not here to make fun of political leaders' looks. I’m here to make fun of their wives.
Ghaddafi doesn’t seem to be interested in endearing himself to the people, either. In every speech he insists that his people love him and would die for him. The truth is that most have de-friended him on Facebook and many have died FROM him. Incidentally one of my wife’s Facebook friends is President Obama. I don’t know how often they hang out together, but they do stay in touch. I assume he gets a cat video from her once in awhile and it gives him a chuckle.
In the Middle East it's one faction of Islam against another. I always say that I am fundamentally suspicious of all religions, but really I'm just holding out for the best deal. If I'm going to get up early and go to church every Sunday, and act like a civilized person, I have my own set of demands. Not only do I want eternal life after death, but also before death, and possibly during. I don’t need 72 virgins- if you spring a leak in your sink, would you call 72 plumbers who never fixed a leak before? Also, I would like better food during communion. It’s fine if you want to keep the bread and wine to represent the body and blood of Jesus, but let’s make M & Ms represent something, and beer too. The music is already decent, but they could put the words up on a screen like they do at Karaoke, and let re-enactors cheesily present the gist of the song.
There are many lessons here for future generations of dictators. For one thing, don't put a square in the middle of your city. That is the first place people will go to complain about you. Put the palace smack in the middle of a trapezoid, and call it a name so long that it won’t fit on Twitter. Secondly, if you must have a square, make the traffic signage so lousy that you would have to risk your life just standing on a corner, like in Paris or Rome. Third, offer better concessions right off the bat: tacos, Knicks tickets, making "Dictator's Day" a national holiday. Quell the movement before it gains momentum. The U.N. is thinking about installing a no-fly zone there, which would probably go a long way towards calming things down. I had no idea that the technology was available for this, and I would like to install it on our deck if possible, where the mosquitoes are ridiculous right around dusk. I don’t know how bad the raccoons are in Libya, but they might consider a no-raccoon zone there also, and then the place would be pretty close to paradise.
Incidentally, Libya was annexed by Rome in 74BC, which means they knocked down part of the living room to expand the kitchen. Oil even then was a major export, only it was olive oil. During the 5th Century, after the decline of the Roman Empire, the place was Vandalized; the Vandals were an East Germanic tribe that invaded Rome, destroyed artworks, and sprayed graffiti all over the place. After the Arabs took over and ruled for 900 years or so, the Ottomans moved in and rearranged the furniture again. Ghaddafi staged a military coup when he was 27 years old, and removed the newly-officially-named Libya from the Italians, who ruled after World War I.
Popular uprisings have never been more popular. It seems as though the will of the people is finally being heard all over the world. Which is why it pays to make out your will, just in case it finally gets heard. In Egypt they filled the square and wouldn't leave until their demands were met. Once their demands were met, they hung around anyway thinking of more demands. It turns out that life in the square is less demanding than going to work.
I pictured thousands of people storming the plaza with their hands in the Bangles' “Walk Like an Egyptian” configuration. Years and years from now, there will be pictures in a cave in Egypt depicting people massing in the square checking their email. In Libya they are trying to oust strongman Maomar Khadafi, but they can't find him easily because sometimes he goes under the name Muammar Gaddafi, or Qaddafi. They keep trying to look him up in the phone book but every year he is under a different letter. His first name is so close to Mallomar that I every time he makes the news my mouth starts to water like Pavlov’s dog. He is a slippery individual, just like Saddam Hussein, who evaded the entire U.S. Army because he looked so much like the guy who "makes the doughnuts" in that ad campaign.
Anyway, the first place I would look for him is the gym- a strongman has to be able to bench press at least 200 pounds or he damn well SHOULD be ousted. Khaddaffi recently delivered a rambling speech where he mentioned things like, "Freedom is a tree watered with blood," and "... those rats that move in the dark." Many of these themes can be seen explored in better detail in a Roger Corman retrospective, only the acting is not as good. Coincidentally, Charlie Sheen said much the same thing in a tweet, and he was ousted, too. He added some odd items about fire-breathing earthworms and some other news flashes that really should be analyzed at length for possible greatness.
Kadafi doesn't seem like the type that ever bothers to check in the mirror before he leaves the house. He usually looks as though he just smoked an ounce of crack, then dropped his comb down the toilet. I don't know much about Hosni Mubarak, except that will all those billions, he never misappropriated one dime on a nose job. But I'm not here to make fun of political leaders' looks. I’m here to make fun of their wives.
Ghaddafi doesn’t seem to be interested in endearing himself to the people, either. In every speech he insists that his people love him and would die for him. The truth is that most have de-friended him on Facebook and many have died FROM him. Incidentally one of my wife’s Facebook friends is President Obama. I don’t know how often they hang out together, but they do stay in touch. I assume he gets a cat video from her once in awhile and it gives him a chuckle.
In the Middle East it's one faction of Islam against another. I always say that I am fundamentally suspicious of all religions, but really I'm just holding out for the best deal. If I'm going to get up early and go to church every Sunday, and act like a civilized person, I have my own set of demands. Not only do I want eternal life after death, but also before death, and possibly during. I don’t need 72 virgins- if you spring a leak in your sink, would you call 72 plumbers who never fixed a leak before? Also, I would like better food during communion. It’s fine if you want to keep the bread and wine to represent the body and blood of Jesus, but let’s make M & Ms represent something, and beer too. The music is already decent, but they could put the words up on a screen like they do at Karaoke, and let re-enactors cheesily present the gist of the song.
There are many lessons here for future generations of dictators. For one thing, don't put a square in the middle of your city. That is the first place people will go to complain about you. Put the palace smack in the middle of a trapezoid, and call it a name so long that it won’t fit on Twitter. Secondly, if you must have a square, make the traffic signage so lousy that you would have to risk your life just standing on a corner, like in Paris or Rome. Third, offer better concessions right off the bat: tacos, Knicks tickets, making "Dictator's Day" a national holiday. Quell the movement before it gains momentum. The U.N. is thinking about installing a no-fly zone there, which would probably go a long way towards calming things down. I had no idea that the technology was available for this, and I would like to install it on our deck if possible, where the mosquitoes are ridiculous right around dusk. I don’t know how bad the raccoons are in Libya, but they might consider a no-raccoon zone there also, and then the place would be pretty close to paradise.
Incidentally, Libya was annexed by Rome in 74BC, which means they knocked down part of the living room to expand the kitchen. Oil even then was a major export, only it was olive oil. During the 5th Century, after the decline of the Roman Empire, the place was Vandalized; the Vandals were an East Germanic tribe that invaded Rome, destroyed artworks, and sprayed graffiti all over the place. After the Arabs took over and ruled for 900 years or so, the Ottomans moved in and rearranged the furniture again. Ghaddafi staged a military coup when he was 27 years old, and removed the newly-officially-named Libya from the Italians, who ruled after World War I.
Friday, January 28, 2011
LOCAL WEATHER
LOCAL WEATHER
Today, following another major snowfall I went outside with a yardstick and measured: we had a ZILLION INCHES OF SNOW! It is the first time in history that a zillion inches have been recorded. It was another nor’easter. It seems like no matter where I happen to be, the weather sucks. We went to Florida last year, and what did we get? A sou’easter. We are going to Texas this year, where I expect to be hit by a mi’wester, and on the way, a sou’sou’easter.
The snow seems pretty at first. It’s a winter wonderland of pristine white until the dog turns half the yard yellow like an old tee shirt. Here in the Northeast we spend insane amounts of time and money to clear things away that fall on the ground. I just got through raking up the last leaf from autumn, and I turn around and the entire place is covered in snow. I heard that New York City blew half its snow removal budget on that one storm after Christmas.
The worst part of any major storm is the Mayor’s press conference. You’re just sitting down to watch Judge Judy and the dopey local news breaks away to Mayor Bloomberg. First of all, the lowest a microphone stand can go is about 4 feet, which lands the microphone straight at Bloomberg’s forehead. So he nasally twangs statements like, “We have the finest people in the business in charge of keeping New York’s streets clear and safe!,” and, “If you don’t absolutely have to be somewhere, stay home!” He twangs exactly the same nuggets every single time, and for that I have to miss Judge Judy. Apparently the same guys who pick up the garbage are the ones that remove the snow, so you have to put all your snow in plastic bags, and separate the ice in different bags since it is recyclable.
Bloomberg queries, “Are we going to get to everyone all of the time?” Before I can say, “I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of you doing that…,” he chirps, “NO!” “Are we going to make mistakes?” I start to answer, “Well, we ALL make mistakes, and I think-“ when he yells, “YES!” If he knows these answers ahead of time I fail to see why he asks us.
Not to mention that he is still backtracking after getting lambasted about the poor response that first snowstorm, where everyone learned what the word “tertiary” meant (it means any road in Staten Island). Now I use it in Scrabble all the time, and it gives me a fresh chance to skewer Mayor Bloomberg about not plowing our driveway.
We have to hire our own plow guy to come every time it snows because our driveway is so steep. The old plow guy quit because it was annoying to get up our driveway with all that snow there. The new guy plows a perfect half inch of ice from top to bottom, like a luge course. If my car doesn’t make it all the way up, it slides backwards back down to the street, bouncing off the snowbanks like a pinball. So I go out there and salt it even though I am supposed to be cutting down. My wife wants to get one of those electric heaters that sits underneath the pavement, so we can just move the TV out there and hang out.
Even if you got sick of all the snow and leaves falling, where would you move to? A lot of people move to Florida, where snow and leaves don’t fall as often as the property values do. Plus every year you have to board up your windows with plywood while the hurricanes blow through. The Midwest has tornadoes, and way too much corn. You would still need a plow guy to get all that frigging corn out of your driveway. Plus you will pull your hair out trying to find a decent pizza. The West has earthquakes and wildfires, and a much higher proportion of weirdos. Yes, you could move out of the country, if you could only get down your driveway.
At least the weather forecasting is much better than it used to be. Just before this last storm, meteorologists correctly predicted the time that it would begin, approximately how much snow we would get, and that the Steelers would not cover. Oddly enough, they can’t seem to tell you one damn thing about meteors.
Incidentally, There are several theories as to why we are experiencing higher snow totals this year. One is that since the polar ice caps are melting, less cold air is reflected into space, thus affecting the cold air patterns. Experts liken it to leaving the refrigerator open, so that the food inside gets warmer while the rest of the house gets colder. By the way, I notice that you are almost out of beer. Another theory holds that the warmer Arctic has resulted in more snow in Siberia and the surrounding mountain ranges, thus “bending” the jetstream further south. Still, no one has been able to explain to me why Iceland is so green, and Greenland is full of ice, other than that somebody left the fridge open.
Today, following another major snowfall I went outside with a yardstick and measured: we had a ZILLION INCHES OF SNOW! It is the first time in history that a zillion inches have been recorded. It was another nor’easter. It seems like no matter where I happen to be, the weather sucks. We went to Florida last year, and what did we get? A sou’easter. We are going to Texas this year, where I expect to be hit by a mi’wester, and on the way, a sou’sou’easter.
The snow seems pretty at first. It’s a winter wonderland of pristine white until the dog turns half the yard yellow like an old tee shirt. Here in the Northeast we spend insane amounts of time and money to clear things away that fall on the ground. I just got through raking up the last leaf from autumn, and I turn around and the entire place is covered in snow. I heard that New York City blew half its snow removal budget on that one storm after Christmas.
The worst part of any major storm is the Mayor’s press conference. You’re just sitting down to watch Judge Judy and the dopey local news breaks away to Mayor Bloomberg. First of all, the lowest a microphone stand can go is about 4 feet, which lands the microphone straight at Bloomberg’s forehead. So he nasally twangs statements like, “We have the finest people in the business in charge of keeping New York’s streets clear and safe!,” and, “If you don’t absolutely have to be somewhere, stay home!” He twangs exactly the same nuggets every single time, and for that I have to miss Judge Judy. Apparently the same guys who pick up the garbage are the ones that remove the snow, so you have to put all your snow in plastic bags, and separate the ice in different bags since it is recyclable.
Bloomberg queries, “Are we going to get to everyone all of the time?” Before I can say, “I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of you doing that…,” he chirps, “NO!” “Are we going to make mistakes?” I start to answer, “Well, we ALL make mistakes, and I think-“ when he yells, “YES!” If he knows these answers ahead of time I fail to see why he asks us.
Not to mention that he is still backtracking after getting lambasted about the poor response that first snowstorm, where everyone learned what the word “tertiary” meant (it means any road in Staten Island). Now I use it in Scrabble all the time, and it gives me a fresh chance to skewer Mayor Bloomberg about not plowing our driveway.
We have to hire our own plow guy to come every time it snows because our driveway is so steep. The old plow guy quit because it was annoying to get up our driveway with all that snow there. The new guy plows a perfect half inch of ice from top to bottom, like a luge course. If my car doesn’t make it all the way up, it slides backwards back down to the street, bouncing off the snowbanks like a pinball. So I go out there and salt it even though I am supposed to be cutting down. My wife wants to get one of those electric heaters that sits underneath the pavement, so we can just move the TV out there and hang out.
Even if you got sick of all the snow and leaves falling, where would you move to? A lot of people move to Florida, where snow and leaves don’t fall as often as the property values do. Plus every year you have to board up your windows with plywood while the hurricanes blow through. The Midwest has tornadoes, and way too much corn. You would still need a plow guy to get all that frigging corn out of your driveway. Plus you will pull your hair out trying to find a decent pizza. The West has earthquakes and wildfires, and a much higher proportion of weirdos. Yes, you could move out of the country, if you could only get down your driveway.
At least the weather forecasting is much better than it used to be. Just before this last storm, meteorologists correctly predicted the time that it would begin, approximately how much snow we would get, and that the Steelers would not cover. Oddly enough, they can’t seem to tell you one damn thing about meteors.
Incidentally, There are several theories as to why we are experiencing higher snow totals this year. One is that since the polar ice caps are melting, less cold air is reflected into space, thus affecting the cold air patterns. Experts liken it to leaving the refrigerator open, so that the food inside gets warmer while the rest of the house gets colder. By the way, I notice that you are almost out of beer. Another theory holds that the warmer Arctic has resulted in more snow in Siberia and the surrounding mountain ranges, thus “bending” the jetstream further south. Still, no one has been able to explain to me why Iceland is so green, and Greenland is full of ice, other than that somebody left the fridge open.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
HOLIDAY TRADITIONS
HOLIDAY TRADITIONS
This Christmas Season, as is my tradition, I enjoyed by complaining about the bad taste of others.
We went to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, and it was spectacular and everything, but we were surprised at how many dead spots there were in the lighting. It was as if nobody took a look at it from far away. Isn’t there a Dead Spot Manager assigned to this project? Even Da Vinci, as he was creating the Mona Lisa, took five paces back and looked at it from far away, where he needed his glasses to even see it at all. Then he realized that it was making a face like someone who had just committed a murder and put the body into a wood chipper. But that was the look he was going for, so DONE.
My sister was the DSM when we decorated our tree as we were growing up. I was usually assigned to the lights, sisters to the ornaments, and we all chipped in with the tinsel. It was a complicated production and to this day I am very particular about Christmas adornments and displays.
I don’t like garlands for instance. Especially those constructed from edible items. Popcorn garlands: do you microwave? Butter or no butter? For god’s sake don’t put on a movie-if you were to put on the Godfather trilogy for Christmas Eve you’re pretty much guaranteed of a bare tree by the time Sonny Corleone gets nailed at the toll booth. Chili pepper garlands? Too felice navidadish. Cranberry garland? All we have are those cranberries that come in a tin, and when you pour it out it looks like a quivering purple can. I don’t even like Judy Garland.
I like a tree where the lights are evenly spaced, around and around the circumference. Don’t start at the top and drape the lights down in a straight line- the thing looks like a bird cage. If you don’t have enough lights to make a good showing, pick a smaller tree. And don’t put a fake tree on your lawn, how stupid is that- there are more than enough real ones out there. It’s a carbon footprint slap in the face. Fake fir is even worse than fake fur. Swirlies are lame, those little spiral plastic cones of light. Something in between Snoopy’s tree and Charlie Brown’s would be perfect.
Rockefeller center is lined with large deciduous trees that had bright blue lights wrapped around every limb. They were almost more impressive than the big tree.
I’m not much for inflatable stuff on the lawn. It always makes me wish I still owned a BB gun.
We went to a friend’s house and they had reindeer made of lights with heads that bobbed up and down. Judging by how bright they were they must have eaten all the daffodil bulbs on the property. From a certain angle it appeared like they were having sex, which looks more festive than it sounds. I would love to mount a reindeer myself, but only for my den.
Sometimes I see a nativity scene on someone’s lawn and it reminds me of the small one we used to set up on the bookshelves as a kid. We cleared out the entire World Book Encyclopedia shelf to accommodate it, so I could not write a book report for two weeks, which was okay with me. Everything went fine for a few days, but then the poor baby Jesus would find himself in all sorts of ungainly predicaments. If he ever thought the manger was smelly and uncomfortable he should try dangling from the Christmas tree, or hanging out in the butter dish. Poor Jesus had worse luck than Jimmy Olson, or Lassie’s family, except that he didn’t have Superman or Lassie to rescue him. The only way he got out of one mess was for someone to think of an even worse one. My Mom usually took pity on the poor baby and saved the Savior, replacing him gently in his bed. The little Lord Jesus once again lay down his sweet head.
These days hardly anyone is born in a manger. A taxicab sometimes, and probably there are instances of a baby being born while waiting for the officials to review a play where it looks like Eli Manning has once again fumbled the ball. And sitting a baby in a bunch of hay seems irresponsible- any one of those hard stalks could poke his eye out as sure as I’m sitting here. At least put an old tee-shirt in there or something- all those sheep standing around and no one could scare up a sweater?
The three wise men found out about the blessed event awfully fast- Mary must have gotten the birth announcements out in jig time- how much did Jesus weigh? Is it in the Bible somewhere? IT’S A BOY! Joseph and Mary are pleased to announce their new bundle of joy! Birth cards always include the weight, but subsequent birthday announcements never do, especially after age 50. Waist size, shoe size, hat size, none of those helpful statistics on the baby. Sometimes they give the length of the baby, in case it is very light but several feet long, and might look like a snake. When you are a baby you have a length, since you’re lying down, and your height would basically be your width. One of the wise men then lights up a cigar around all that hay and almost burns down the manger. WHO’s the WISE GUY? The one with the gold says, “Now Jesus, this is a DOUBLE bar of gold- for Christmas AND birthday.” The other wise men were a little pissed off because they had agreed to do a “secret Santa,” or a grab bag and this jaboney shows up with gold.
Anyway, we used to do the whole big Christmas tree, and all that but over the years we have scaled down to just some lights in the living room. The lights last one and 364/365 years, whereupon one light in the chain breaks as I am trying to untangle it and half the strand is kaput. So now I pay about 15 dollars more, and get a string that is guaranteed to keep working no matter how many bulbs burn out, and as a result all are dead except for three.
Sometimes I look at a Christmas-lit shrub next to a house and it looks suspiciously like a net of lights has simply been cast over it, like on "The Deadliest Catch."
Incandescent lights are taboo now; everyone uses LED lights. Light-emitting diodes don’t really emit a whole lot of light. They were invented mainly for telling you that your transistor radio was on in case you couldn’t hear it. And thank god diodes didn’t start emitting sounds or smells, or there would be no reason to have children, and then good luck trying to get a diode to mow your lawn.
Incidentally, “The Twelve Days of Christmas” may not have been a carol at all, but instead a fanciful memory game, where each singer would have to remember all the previous versus before he sang his own. The phrase “four calling birds” was probably meant to be “colly birds,” or blackbirds. The “golden rings” would have meant ring-necked pheasants, not jewelry. The twelve days start with December 25th and end with January 6th, the Epiphany. If it WAS meant as a memory game, it is important to note that “twelve drummers drumming” is not a very important thing to remember, since it is never repeated during the song. So there.
This Christmas Season, as is my tradition, I enjoyed by complaining about the bad taste of others.
We went to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, and it was spectacular and everything, but we were surprised at how many dead spots there were in the lighting. It was as if nobody took a look at it from far away. Isn’t there a Dead Spot Manager assigned to this project? Even Da Vinci, as he was creating the Mona Lisa, took five paces back and looked at it from far away, where he needed his glasses to even see it at all. Then he realized that it was making a face like someone who had just committed a murder and put the body into a wood chipper. But that was the look he was going for, so DONE.
My sister was the DSM when we decorated our tree as we were growing up. I was usually assigned to the lights, sisters to the ornaments, and we all chipped in with the tinsel. It was a complicated production and to this day I am very particular about Christmas adornments and displays.
I don’t like garlands for instance. Especially those constructed from edible items. Popcorn garlands: do you microwave? Butter or no butter? For god’s sake don’t put on a movie-if you were to put on the Godfather trilogy for Christmas Eve you’re pretty much guaranteed of a bare tree by the time Sonny Corleone gets nailed at the toll booth. Chili pepper garlands? Too felice navidadish. Cranberry garland? All we have are those cranberries that come in a tin, and when you pour it out it looks like a quivering purple can. I don’t even like Judy Garland.
I like a tree where the lights are evenly spaced, around and around the circumference. Don’t start at the top and drape the lights down in a straight line- the thing looks like a bird cage. If you don’t have enough lights to make a good showing, pick a smaller tree. And don’t put a fake tree on your lawn, how stupid is that- there are more than enough real ones out there. It’s a carbon footprint slap in the face. Fake fir is even worse than fake fur. Swirlies are lame, those little spiral plastic cones of light. Something in between Snoopy’s tree and Charlie Brown’s would be perfect.
Rockefeller center is lined with large deciduous trees that had bright blue lights wrapped around every limb. They were almost more impressive than the big tree.
I’m not much for inflatable stuff on the lawn. It always makes me wish I still owned a BB gun.
We went to a friend’s house and they had reindeer made of lights with heads that bobbed up and down. Judging by how bright they were they must have eaten all the daffodil bulbs on the property. From a certain angle it appeared like they were having sex, which looks more festive than it sounds. I would love to mount a reindeer myself, but only for my den.
Sometimes I see a nativity scene on someone’s lawn and it reminds me of the small one we used to set up on the bookshelves as a kid. We cleared out the entire World Book Encyclopedia shelf to accommodate it, so I could not write a book report for two weeks, which was okay with me. Everything went fine for a few days, but then the poor baby Jesus would find himself in all sorts of ungainly predicaments. If he ever thought the manger was smelly and uncomfortable he should try dangling from the Christmas tree, or hanging out in the butter dish. Poor Jesus had worse luck than Jimmy Olson, or Lassie’s family, except that he didn’t have Superman or Lassie to rescue him. The only way he got out of one mess was for someone to think of an even worse one. My Mom usually took pity on the poor baby and saved the Savior, replacing him gently in his bed. The little Lord Jesus once again lay down his sweet head.
These days hardly anyone is born in a manger. A taxicab sometimes, and probably there are instances of a baby being born while waiting for the officials to review a play where it looks like Eli Manning has once again fumbled the ball. And sitting a baby in a bunch of hay seems irresponsible- any one of those hard stalks could poke his eye out as sure as I’m sitting here. At least put an old tee-shirt in there or something- all those sheep standing around and no one could scare up a sweater?
The three wise men found out about the blessed event awfully fast- Mary must have gotten the birth announcements out in jig time- how much did Jesus weigh? Is it in the Bible somewhere? IT’S A BOY! Joseph and Mary are pleased to announce their new bundle of joy! Birth cards always include the weight, but subsequent birthday announcements never do, especially after age 50. Waist size, shoe size, hat size, none of those helpful statistics on the baby. Sometimes they give the length of the baby, in case it is very light but several feet long, and might look like a snake. When you are a baby you have a length, since you’re lying down, and your height would basically be your width. One of the wise men then lights up a cigar around all that hay and almost burns down the manger. WHO’s the WISE GUY? The one with the gold says, “Now Jesus, this is a DOUBLE bar of gold- for Christmas AND birthday.” The other wise men were a little pissed off because they had agreed to do a “secret Santa,” or a grab bag and this jaboney shows up with gold.
Anyway, we used to do the whole big Christmas tree, and all that but over the years we have scaled down to just some lights in the living room. The lights last one and 364/365 years, whereupon one light in the chain breaks as I am trying to untangle it and half the strand is kaput. So now I pay about 15 dollars more, and get a string that is guaranteed to keep working no matter how many bulbs burn out, and as a result all are dead except for three.
Sometimes I look at a Christmas-lit shrub next to a house and it looks suspiciously like a net of lights has simply been cast over it, like on "The Deadliest Catch."
Incandescent lights are taboo now; everyone uses LED lights. Light-emitting diodes don’t really emit a whole lot of light. They were invented mainly for telling you that your transistor radio was on in case you couldn’t hear it. And thank god diodes didn’t start emitting sounds or smells, or there would be no reason to have children, and then good luck trying to get a diode to mow your lawn.
Incidentally, “The Twelve Days of Christmas” may not have been a carol at all, but instead a fanciful memory game, where each singer would have to remember all the previous versus before he sang his own. The phrase “four calling birds” was probably meant to be “colly birds,” or blackbirds. The “golden rings” would have meant ring-necked pheasants, not jewelry. The twelve days start with December 25th and end with January 6th, the Epiphany. If it WAS meant as a memory game, it is important to note that “twelve drummers drumming” is not a very important thing to remember, since it is never repeated during the song. So there.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
MODERN NIGHTLIFE
MODERN NIGHTLIFE
I went to a club recently, not knowing that it was a salsa dancing Mecca, playing only Latino music. I don’t really like the music that much; the songs all sound alike to me after a while, but hey at least it has a great beat and actual lyrics which I can’t understand since they’re in Spanish. Even though I took TWO YEARS of Latin in middle school, it is utterly worthless for Latin music. Some Spanish I know from song lyrics, mostly Santana and Ritchie Valens. For instance, “Oye Como Va,” I think means like “Oy vey.” Or “La bamba,” which means, “You have big cans.” Or “Amore,” which is when somebody hits you in the eye with a pizza, so I think it means assault in Spanish. I can understand the general gist of things, since Spanish is a romance language and I speak the International Language of Love. My native tongue by the way is red.
People come from far and wide to show off their dance moves. It’s nothing you don’t see Ahmad Bradshaw do on a weekly basis, but the difference is he often scores.
Some of the guys looked admittedly light around the loafer area, like they were filled with two-parts hydrogen and one-part helium. One guy spun around and pranced the length of the dance floor then vaporized into thin air. His partner was like, what the hell?
There were some other guys who actually danced slinkily but manly, and not too gayish. I always preferred Gene Kelly to Fred Astaire, who didn’t dance differently enough from Ginger Rogers for my liking.
My friend Wal is from some country with an “-istan” at the end of it, and he was dancing up a storm. He literally was, because all this fog came out of nowhere and I thought it was going to hail. The song ended and he looked winded, so I asked him if wanted me to get him an oxygen mask, and he said, “No thank you.”
I never for a moment considered that I should learn to dance this way. I picture myself spinning the wrong way with her hand firmly in mine, twisting the girl’s arm completely off. I drop it on the floor in horror, blood spewing all over the place, and somebody by mistake kicks it down the stairs where it gets into the revolving door and ends up outside, where a cat drags it to the curb and it falls down a storm drain. Meanwhile the girl is looking at me like I am a complete loser, and all I have is a disarming smile.
Sometimes couples who have been dancing this way for many years spin and turn as if they are on a track, like an expensive clock that plays music when it chimes. One couple dance so close I assumed one of his buttons was caught in her hair. Another guy took his girlfriend by the hair, whipped her in the air and snapped her like a damp gym towel.
One caballero had his partner turning so long he actually spun her into a cocoon. On the plus side she emerged a beautiful woman, but unfortunately during her metamorphosis she got a parking ticket.
Which reminds me they replaced all the parking meters in New York City with these “muni meters” which of course don’t take any money that goes clink. I don’t mind that but what I do mind is that at night I always have on contact lenses and I can’t read the menus. I don’t know how much money to put in because I can’t read my watch with my contacts in. My watch says either 7:03 or 12:35. But did I reset it for daylight savings time? In which case it’s either 8:05 or 20 of 1. I push a couple buttons and hope for the best.
Back inside the club I check out the sad dudes in the VIP area. I swear to god these people always look bereft, cordoned off behind velvet ropes. Four guys and a bottle of champagne chilling, waiting for someone to waste it on. They look like they wish they had thought to bring a deck of cards or something. Out of force of habit I get in line next to the velvet ropes in order to open a low-interest checking account.
I can see dancing supernovas going nuts on the floor. These are the ones that will burn brightly for a very short period of time. They will hit the wall fast, some quite literally. They will approach the hour of midnight like Cinderella, when their faces will start to fall like a Salvador Dali painting.
I order a cuubbrrrra libbrrrre, rolling my “r’s” in a very whitebread manner. A girl comes up to me and asks me if I’d like to dance. Sure. I put my drink down and warn her that I don’t know what I’m doing, which is a warning I use in just about every endeavor. I start dancing from side-to-side like I usually do, but she is dancing front-to-back and she puts a dent in my thigh with her ass. It is quickly ascertained that we are totally incompatible, like an octopus trying to teach a snake to ride a bicycle. An old guy with pomade in his hair gives me a dirty look and whisks her away like a dust devil. At this point I realize I have over-quandoed, somebody has taken my drink, and I just want to hear some Stones.
Incidentally, “Salsa” is a Cuban style of dancing popularized in the 1920s. It is characterized by three steps within a four-beat measure, the fourth beat observed with a kick or tap. That is the beat that is usually directed at my bad knee. One of the steps is usually a “break step,” which changes direction, often towards the bar. In Salsa the upper body remains stationary while the lower half is running around with who-knows-who, usually up to no good. Salsa differs from Meringue in that Salsa has no eggs in it.
I went to a club recently, not knowing that it was a salsa dancing Mecca, playing only Latino music. I don’t really like the music that much; the songs all sound alike to me after a while, but hey at least it has a great beat and actual lyrics which I can’t understand since they’re in Spanish. Even though I took TWO YEARS of Latin in middle school, it is utterly worthless for Latin music. Some Spanish I know from song lyrics, mostly Santana and Ritchie Valens. For instance, “Oye Como Va,” I think means like “Oy vey.” Or “La bamba,” which means, “You have big cans.” Or “Amore,” which is when somebody hits you in the eye with a pizza, so I think it means assault in Spanish. I can understand the general gist of things, since Spanish is a romance language and I speak the International Language of Love. My native tongue by the way is red.
People come from far and wide to show off their dance moves. It’s nothing you don’t see Ahmad Bradshaw do on a weekly basis, but the difference is he often scores.
Some of the guys looked admittedly light around the loafer area, like they were filled with two-parts hydrogen and one-part helium. One guy spun around and pranced the length of the dance floor then vaporized into thin air. His partner was like, what the hell?
There were some other guys who actually danced slinkily but manly, and not too gayish. I always preferred Gene Kelly to Fred Astaire, who didn’t dance differently enough from Ginger Rogers for my liking.
My friend Wal is from some country with an “-istan” at the end of it, and he was dancing up a storm. He literally was, because all this fog came out of nowhere and I thought it was going to hail. The song ended and he looked winded, so I asked him if wanted me to get him an oxygen mask, and he said, “No thank you.”
I never for a moment considered that I should learn to dance this way. I picture myself spinning the wrong way with her hand firmly in mine, twisting the girl’s arm completely off. I drop it on the floor in horror, blood spewing all over the place, and somebody by mistake kicks it down the stairs where it gets into the revolving door and ends up outside, where a cat drags it to the curb and it falls down a storm drain. Meanwhile the girl is looking at me like I am a complete loser, and all I have is a disarming smile.
Sometimes couples who have been dancing this way for many years spin and turn as if they are on a track, like an expensive clock that plays music when it chimes. One couple dance so close I assumed one of his buttons was caught in her hair. Another guy took his girlfriend by the hair, whipped her in the air and snapped her like a damp gym towel.
One caballero had his partner turning so long he actually spun her into a cocoon. On the plus side she emerged a beautiful woman, but unfortunately during her metamorphosis she got a parking ticket.
Which reminds me they replaced all the parking meters in New York City with these “muni meters” which of course don’t take any money that goes clink. I don’t mind that but what I do mind is that at night I always have on contact lenses and I can’t read the menus. I don’t know how much money to put in because I can’t read my watch with my contacts in. My watch says either 7:03 or 12:35. But did I reset it for daylight savings time? In which case it’s either 8:05 or 20 of 1. I push a couple buttons and hope for the best.
Back inside the club I check out the sad dudes in the VIP area. I swear to god these people always look bereft, cordoned off behind velvet ropes. Four guys and a bottle of champagne chilling, waiting for someone to waste it on. They look like they wish they had thought to bring a deck of cards or something. Out of force of habit I get in line next to the velvet ropes in order to open a low-interest checking account.
I can see dancing supernovas going nuts on the floor. These are the ones that will burn brightly for a very short period of time. They will hit the wall fast, some quite literally. They will approach the hour of midnight like Cinderella, when their faces will start to fall like a Salvador Dali painting.
I order a cuubbrrrra libbrrrre, rolling my “r’s” in a very whitebread manner. A girl comes up to me and asks me if I’d like to dance. Sure. I put my drink down and warn her that I don’t know what I’m doing, which is a warning I use in just about every endeavor. I start dancing from side-to-side like I usually do, but she is dancing front-to-back and she puts a dent in my thigh with her ass. It is quickly ascertained that we are totally incompatible, like an octopus trying to teach a snake to ride a bicycle. An old guy with pomade in his hair gives me a dirty look and whisks her away like a dust devil. At this point I realize I have over-quandoed, somebody has taken my drink, and I just want to hear some Stones.
Incidentally, “Salsa” is a Cuban style of dancing popularized in the 1920s. It is characterized by three steps within a four-beat measure, the fourth beat observed with a kick or tap. That is the beat that is usually directed at my bad knee. One of the steps is usually a “break step,” which changes direction, often towards the bar. In Salsa the upper body remains stationary while the lower half is running around with who-knows-who, usually up to no good. Salsa differs from Meringue in that Salsa has no eggs in it.
Monday, November 15, 2010
ELECTION AFTERMATH
ELECTION AFTERMATH
I hate talking about politics since it makes me so angry I could spit. I would only discuss it here, where no one can interrupt me, or while using chewing tobacco. This way I can kill two birds with one stone. By the way, I don’t need to kill birds at all- they will do it themselves: There is a cardinal who lives outside our house that flies into the garage window on an average of 40 times a day, and that is no joke. If the “No-Fly List” ever needed to be expanded, this is who it should be expanded to include. Somebody said, “he probably sees his own reflection in the window.” So what? I see my reflection in the mirror 5 times a day, and I don’t try to attack the mirror every time, I would say every other time though, since my hair has taken on a life of its own and often goes places without me that I have no interest in visiting.
So now that the elections are finally over, what does it all mean? The Republicans have answered the call of the American People: We want LESS government! Quit bailing us out of all our messes that we got ourselves into! Wouldn’t it be cheaper if we were bonded out instead? What if congress bails out Freddie Mac, and Freddie Mac jumps bail and changes his name? So the Republicans have issued the following promise: As YOUR representatives, we will do even LESS than we did before. In fact, we’ll go one further: we will do NOTHING! This election American politics held a giant mirror up to our society, and we looked into it and asked ourselves: “What the hell is that thing? Was that there before? That is GROSS.”
Candidates who were flash heroes will fade back into the gloaming. Carl Paladino will have return to whatever he used to do before. I fantasize that he was a Sunday School teacher:
“Kids, our last field trip we saw a bunch of sick animals all oiled up wearing Speedos. It’s disgusting.”
“But Mr. Paladino we were at the beach!”
I went around my house checking all the woodwork lest something else come crawling out of it, and I urge you to do the same.
The girl who said she was a witch or thought she was a witch or whatever, lost. Ding-dong, the witch is dead.
Linda Macmahon is headed back to the WWE. There are a lot of bald fat dudes over there who wear startlingly revealing clothing, and it’s probably a lot like Congress. Men should not wear unitards; men do need more than one tard. Wrestlers yell at everything and everybody, and abuse the referees, who don’t even carry whistles to protect themselves. If they are taking all those steroids (and you can tell that they are because their voices sound like a vacuum cleaner sucking up acorns) don’t you think they’d be in better shape?
The law to legalize marijuana did not pass. They figured they could slip it through by saying it would help the economy and create jobs. It WOULD create jobs because stoners are kind of slow on the uptake, so it takes two of them to do the same job a drunk guy usually does. There are a lot of laws that prohibit things that really don’t need prohibiting, and they tie up valuable police resources that should be going towards tasing people. For instance, “criminal mischief” should not be a crime. This is a catch-all term for all the crimes that don’t really belong in an existing category. It’s like when you go to a wedding, and there is one table where all the misfits are who aren’t really family, aren’t really friends, aren’t acquaintances, don’t work with the bride and groom, and are pretty much annoying, but they gave a REALLY expensive shower gift. What is criminal mischief? Example: you tie a guy’s shoelaces together, then run over him with your car. OR pull the chair out from under him just as he is about to sit, and grab his wallet on the way down.
Nor should “menacing” remain a crime. I mean Dennis was a menace for god’s sake. There is a face that I make when I’m on the subway and I encounter someone who might be violent and/or nuts. I consider it to be menacing, but it only cracks my wife up.
The new Health Care Law is in danger of being repealed. God forbid the nation should heal the people. In Amsterdam, they give out free syringes, but YOU have to figure out what to put in them. I was at a bar and a girl came around and asked me if I wanted shots, so I got one for diphtheria, a tetanus and one for my distemper, since the Tea Party has gotten me in the habit of being ANGRY.
The Bush Tax Cuts are scheduled to expire soon. I had NO IDEA that there was a tax on that in the first place, and I only hope that if they check my records they don’t go back too far.
The election did nothing to make Sarah Palin go away. In fact she even has her own cable show now, where she rides down rapids in an inflatable raft while she fires mortar rounds at elk from a 60 mm muzzle loader. Which is fine because she’s hot, but when she opens her mouth her hotness is instantly replaced by an annoying, shrill voice that puts my fantasies in reverse without having a chance to go to neutral first. Suffice it to say that I picture performing unspeakable acts with her, namely any act that during which she does not speak. In terms of gun control, I myself went out and bought a gun. Isn’t that proof enough that we need tighter laws?
Incidentally, The drug policy in the Netherlands remains widely watched by other countries interested in instituting similar legislation. The Dutch idea of “gedoogbeleid,” or “tolerance,” is easy to remember because it spells “dielebgoodeg” backwards. Cannabis is technically a controlled substance there, but its sale in coffee shops is widely tolerated, mostly because the coffee is so bad. A recent poll said that 60% of Dutch citizens were in favor of legalized marijuana, while only 15% were against it. Oddly, 5% supported a write-in choice of Twinkies.
Also incidentally, I only mention the Netherlands because this blog had 37 hits there last month. I thought that it was very exciting that I was so popular in world markets until I realized that the phrase “thewor ldinb riefs” means “Brittney Spears nude in the vegetable aisle” in Dutch.
I hate talking about politics since it makes me so angry I could spit. I would only discuss it here, where no one can interrupt me, or while using chewing tobacco. This way I can kill two birds with one stone. By the way, I don’t need to kill birds at all- they will do it themselves: There is a cardinal who lives outside our house that flies into the garage window on an average of 40 times a day, and that is no joke. If the “No-Fly List” ever needed to be expanded, this is who it should be expanded to include. Somebody said, “he probably sees his own reflection in the window.” So what? I see my reflection in the mirror 5 times a day, and I don’t try to attack the mirror every time, I would say every other time though, since my hair has taken on a life of its own and often goes places without me that I have no interest in visiting.
So now that the elections are finally over, what does it all mean? The Republicans have answered the call of the American People: We want LESS government! Quit bailing us out of all our messes that we got ourselves into! Wouldn’t it be cheaper if we were bonded out instead? What if congress bails out Freddie Mac, and Freddie Mac jumps bail and changes his name? So the Republicans have issued the following promise: As YOUR representatives, we will do even LESS than we did before. In fact, we’ll go one further: we will do NOTHING! This election American politics held a giant mirror up to our society, and we looked into it and asked ourselves: “What the hell is that thing? Was that there before? That is GROSS.”
Candidates who were flash heroes will fade back into the gloaming. Carl Paladino will have return to whatever he used to do before. I fantasize that he was a Sunday School teacher:
“Kids, our last field trip we saw a bunch of sick animals all oiled up wearing Speedos. It’s disgusting.”
“But Mr. Paladino we were at the beach!”
I went around my house checking all the woodwork lest something else come crawling out of it, and I urge you to do the same.
The girl who said she was a witch or thought she was a witch or whatever, lost. Ding-dong, the witch is dead.
Linda Macmahon is headed back to the WWE. There are a lot of bald fat dudes over there who wear startlingly revealing clothing, and it’s probably a lot like Congress. Men should not wear unitards; men do need more than one tard. Wrestlers yell at everything and everybody, and abuse the referees, who don’t even carry whistles to protect themselves. If they are taking all those steroids (and you can tell that they are because their voices sound like a vacuum cleaner sucking up acorns) don’t you think they’d be in better shape?
The law to legalize marijuana did not pass. They figured they could slip it through by saying it would help the economy and create jobs. It WOULD create jobs because stoners are kind of slow on the uptake, so it takes two of them to do the same job a drunk guy usually does. There are a lot of laws that prohibit things that really don’t need prohibiting, and they tie up valuable police resources that should be going towards tasing people. For instance, “criminal mischief” should not be a crime. This is a catch-all term for all the crimes that don’t really belong in an existing category. It’s like when you go to a wedding, and there is one table where all the misfits are who aren’t really family, aren’t really friends, aren’t acquaintances, don’t work with the bride and groom, and are pretty much annoying, but they gave a REALLY expensive shower gift. What is criminal mischief? Example: you tie a guy’s shoelaces together, then run over him with your car. OR pull the chair out from under him just as he is about to sit, and grab his wallet on the way down.
Nor should “menacing” remain a crime. I mean Dennis was a menace for god’s sake. There is a face that I make when I’m on the subway and I encounter someone who might be violent and/or nuts. I consider it to be menacing, but it only cracks my wife up.
The new Health Care Law is in danger of being repealed. God forbid the nation should heal the people. In Amsterdam, they give out free syringes, but YOU have to figure out what to put in them. I was at a bar and a girl came around and asked me if I wanted shots, so I got one for diphtheria, a tetanus and one for my distemper, since the Tea Party has gotten me in the habit of being ANGRY.
The Bush Tax Cuts are scheduled to expire soon. I had NO IDEA that there was a tax on that in the first place, and I only hope that if they check my records they don’t go back too far.
The election did nothing to make Sarah Palin go away. In fact she even has her own cable show now, where she rides down rapids in an inflatable raft while she fires mortar rounds at elk from a 60 mm muzzle loader. Which is fine because she’s hot, but when she opens her mouth her hotness is instantly replaced by an annoying, shrill voice that puts my fantasies in reverse without having a chance to go to neutral first. Suffice it to say that I picture performing unspeakable acts with her, namely any act that during which she does not speak. In terms of gun control, I myself went out and bought a gun. Isn’t that proof enough that we need tighter laws?
Incidentally, The drug policy in the Netherlands remains widely watched by other countries interested in instituting similar legislation. The Dutch idea of “gedoogbeleid,” or “tolerance,” is easy to remember because it spells “dielebgoodeg” backwards. Cannabis is technically a controlled substance there, but its sale in coffee shops is widely tolerated, mostly because the coffee is so bad. A recent poll said that 60% of Dutch citizens were in favor of legalized marijuana, while only 15% were against it. Oddly, 5% supported a write-in choice of Twinkies.
Also incidentally, I only mention the Netherlands because this blog had 37 hits there last month. I thought that it was very exciting that I was so popular in world markets until I realized that the phrase “thewor ldinb riefs” means “Brittney Spears nude in the vegetable aisle” in Dutch.
Monday, November 1, 2010
AMERICAN POLITICS
AMERICAN POLITICS
Americans historically are fond of crowing about how they enjoy the finest political system in the world. We don’t even believe that ourselves. It is of course among the worst. I think about this subject once in awhile, and I have come to the conclusion that the best political system may actually be a benevolent dictatorship. When you leave things in the hands of a bunch of committees, and let people who are not especially bright vote on them, what you get is the lowest common denominator. Subtract a couple denominators from that, and what you have is American politics. This is not a political blog, this is a place to make fun of things that seem dopey to me. And what is dopier than American politics!
Anyone who knows me knows that I never pick up the phone at home, even if I am the one making the call. The only people who DON’T know this are Bill Clinton, Ed Koch and this Southern guy who talks so fast that I could hardly understand him. I decided to leave all the phone messages from political robots on my machine so I could dissect them later and find out what makes American politics tick. When I tried to find out what makes American politics tick, what I found out was that if American politics was an alarm clock, we would continue napping until we have that dream where we are falling off a cliff and wake up just before we hit the bedroom floor.
We have 15 messages on our answering machine as I write this, a day before the elections. The Democrats are poised to have a mid-term showing that ranks right below mine during my junior year of high school. But that is not deterring the robo-callers. Here is what they have been robo-talking about:
The fast-talking Southern guy cut right to the chase: “Cat-fried mice” is KILLING our economy! “Cat-fried mice” built 750 low-income housing units right in MY neighborhood! Just say NO to “cat-fried mice!” When I heard this I couldn’t believe it: I think I have had cat-fried mice at the Chinese restaurant and it was pretty damn good. On the menu it’s called “General Tso’s chicken," and I couldn’t believe that it was killing our economy so I asked my wife about it. She said, “The guy is saying ‘Tax-hike Mike,’ you dummy.” Just to be safe I will be voting against both of them tomorrow.
Then Ed Koch called and told me to vote for Nan Hayworth, since she signed a petition for New York Uprising, whatever that is. The guy is about 90 years old, and I give him credit for just finding my number, since phone books are heavy. So I listened to the whole message, and just when I thought he was going to explain what New York Uprising was, he lost his train of thought and started talking about “Dancing with the Stars.” Then it sounded like his teeth fell out and hit the microphone, and then he hung up. The petition that he is talking about, as I heard from a reliable source, has names on it like “Zorro,” “Morris the Cat,” “Ed Crotch,” so I don’t think I’ll be voting for Ed. I’m not even going to mention television political ads, I’m saving that one for when I run out of ammunition. But suffice it to say that on TV, Ed Koch is starting to look a lot like Grandpa Munster.
Sue called from the AFL-CIO. Apparently John Hall is completely anti-union, or might be totally for them- I couldn’t really tell since robo-callers rarely robo-enunciate. She went on and on for about 3 minutes, of which I understood about 2:53. She gave a website in case I needed more information, but what I really wanted was a website that would give me less. By the way she didn’t even mention Daryl Oates, so I guess they are no longer together.
Somebody called whose name I couldn’t make out, and went into great detail about something-or-other. It had to do with exposing outsourcing. And then in order to make things even clearer than that, he plays a clip from a recent Town Hall meeting (he doesn’t say which town), and through my answering machine sounds exactly like when parents talk to Charlie Brown.
Jim Bartkowski wanted to phone and tell me that he is running for Assembly. I remember that I spent most of my school years running FROM Assembly, so I’m not voting for him.
Greg Ball called to remind me of what a great guy he is. It sounded like something I always got picked last for in grade school, so I am not voting for him, although I may be thinking of dodge ball.
Greg Andrews assumed that I might like to be hooked up to a live teleconference so that I could ask questions, and so even though I wasn’t there, he hooked me up for a good four minutes. As it turns out I DO have a question: ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS???
One guy called and wanted me to “stop throwing shoes at my TV set” and show up to a “traffic jamming, pig throwing (or something like that) hoedown” at the Putnam County Courthouse and to “bring my pitchfork.” This sounds like something I made up, but it is not. At the end of the message he went, “WOOO HOOOO!”
Claire rang from the DNC. I don't think it was even a robo-call. She sounded a little lonely and I think she just wanted to shoot the shit.
Since the average American attention span is no longer than a Twitter post, the television spots are getting shorter, like this one: “Linda MacMahon’s a slut!” And many ads run right in a row, democrat following republican, and vice versa. One ad says, “Dick Blumenthal raised your taxes, so that he can upgrade his cable.” Then the next ad says, “He did NOT!” The next ad says, “Did TOO!”
They recently had a gubernatorial debate, so that we could get a load of the people who want to become our gubernor. There was Andrew Cuomo, Paladino, another guy, a woman, and a black guy who looked a lot like a walrus. Jerry Springer was the emcee, and there was a lot of name-calling and some hair-pulling, and accusing each other of cheating and having each others’ babies. The Democrats declared that they had set the bar very high, and the Republicans complained that it was making it harder for short people to get a drink.
I am so annoyed with these calls that I think I will just vote against anyone who called me, regardless of what their party affiliation might be. I’ll be really glad when the election is over so that I can delete all these messages, but I probably won’t be picking up my phone anytime soon just in case. I’m Rickster, and I approve this message.
Incidentally, The Revolutionary War ended with the signing of the Peace Treaty of 1783. It was signed by John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, John Jay and British representative David Hartley, who used to host Good Morning America. After the signing George Washington rode a victory lap on his white horse from West Point through Westchester and into Manhattan. Now that they had won the war, his military officers wanted to install him as king, but he quashed the idea, "as every Man who regards liberty…undoubtedly must." When they went to raise the flag at Fort George (now Castle Clinton on the tip of lower Manhattan) they discovered that the British had greased the flagpole!
Americans historically are fond of crowing about how they enjoy the finest political system in the world. We don’t even believe that ourselves. It is of course among the worst. I think about this subject once in awhile, and I have come to the conclusion that the best political system may actually be a benevolent dictatorship. When you leave things in the hands of a bunch of committees, and let people who are not especially bright vote on them, what you get is the lowest common denominator. Subtract a couple denominators from that, and what you have is American politics. This is not a political blog, this is a place to make fun of things that seem dopey to me. And what is dopier than American politics!
Anyone who knows me knows that I never pick up the phone at home, even if I am the one making the call. The only people who DON’T know this are Bill Clinton, Ed Koch and this Southern guy who talks so fast that I could hardly understand him. I decided to leave all the phone messages from political robots on my machine so I could dissect them later and find out what makes American politics tick. When I tried to find out what makes American politics tick, what I found out was that if American politics was an alarm clock, we would continue napping until we have that dream where we are falling off a cliff and wake up just before we hit the bedroom floor.
We have 15 messages on our answering machine as I write this, a day before the elections. The Democrats are poised to have a mid-term showing that ranks right below mine during my junior year of high school. But that is not deterring the robo-callers. Here is what they have been robo-talking about:
The fast-talking Southern guy cut right to the chase: “Cat-fried mice” is KILLING our economy! “Cat-fried mice” built 750 low-income housing units right in MY neighborhood! Just say NO to “cat-fried mice!” When I heard this I couldn’t believe it: I think I have had cat-fried mice at the Chinese restaurant and it was pretty damn good. On the menu it’s called “General Tso’s chicken," and I couldn’t believe that it was killing our economy so I asked my wife about it. She said, “The guy is saying ‘Tax-hike Mike,’ you dummy.” Just to be safe I will be voting against both of them tomorrow.
Then Ed Koch called and told me to vote for Nan Hayworth, since she signed a petition for New York Uprising, whatever that is. The guy is about 90 years old, and I give him credit for just finding my number, since phone books are heavy. So I listened to the whole message, and just when I thought he was going to explain what New York Uprising was, he lost his train of thought and started talking about “Dancing with the Stars.” Then it sounded like his teeth fell out and hit the microphone, and then he hung up. The petition that he is talking about, as I heard from a reliable source, has names on it like “Zorro,” “Morris the Cat,” “Ed Crotch,” so I don’t think I’ll be voting for Ed. I’m not even going to mention television political ads, I’m saving that one for when I run out of ammunition. But suffice it to say that on TV, Ed Koch is starting to look a lot like Grandpa Munster.
Sue called from the AFL-CIO. Apparently John Hall is completely anti-union, or might be totally for them- I couldn’t really tell since robo-callers rarely robo-enunciate. She went on and on for about 3 minutes, of which I understood about 2:53. She gave a website in case I needed more information, but what I really wanted was a website that would give me less. By the way she didn’t even mention Daryl Oates, so I guess they are no longer together.
Somebody called whose name I couldn’t make out, and went into great detail about something-or-other. It had to do with exposing outsourcing. And then in order to make things even clearer than that, he plays a clip from a recent Town Hall meeting (he doesn’t say which town), and through my answering machine sounds exactly like when parents talk to Charlie Brown.
Jim Bartkowski wanted to phone and tell me that he is running for Assembly. I remember that I spent most of my school years running FROM Assembly, so I’m not voting for him.
Greg Ball called to remind me of what a great guy he is. It sounded like something I always got picked last for in grade school, so I am not voting for him, although I may be thinking of dodge ball.
Greg Andrews assumed that I might like to be hooked up to a live teleconference so that I could ask questions, and so even though I wasn’t there, he hooked me up for a good four minutes. As it turns out I DO have a question: ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS???
One guy called and wanted me to “stop throwing shoes at my TV set” and show up to a “traffic jamming, pig throwing (or something like that) hoedown” at the Putnam County Courthouse and to “bring my pitchfork.” This sounds like something I made up, but it is not. At the end of the message he went, “WOOO HOOOO!”
Claire rang from the DNC. I don't think it was even a robo-call. She sounded a little lonely and I think she just wanted to shoot the shit.
Since the average American attention span is no longer than a Twitter post, the television spots are getting shorter, like this one: “Linda MacMahon’s a slut!” And many ads run right in a row, democrat following republican, and vice versa. One ad says, “Dick Blumenthal raised your taxes, so that he can upgrade his cable.” Then the next ad says, “He did NOT!” The next ad says, “Did TOO!”
They recently had a gubernatorial debate, so that we could get a load of the people who want to become our gubernor. There was Andrew Cuomo, Paladino, another guy, a woman, and a black guy who looked a lot like a walrus. Jerry Springer was the emcee, and there was a lot of name-calling and some hair-pulling, and accusing each other of cheating and having each others’ babies. The Democrats declared that they had set the bar very high, and the Republicans complained that it was making it harder for short people to get a drink.
I am so annoyed with these calls that I think I will just vote against anyone who called me, regardless of what their party affiliation might be. I’ll be really glad when the election is over so that I can delete all these messages, but I probably won’t be picking up my phone anytime soon just in case. I’m Rickster, and I approve this message.
Incidentally, The Revolutionary War ended with the signing of the Peace Treaty of 1783. It was signed by John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, John Jay and British representative David Hartley, who used to host Good Morning America. After the signing George Washington rode a victory lap on his white horse from West Point through Westchester and into Manhattan. Now that they had won the war, his military officers wanted to install him as king, but he quashed the idea, "as every Man who regards liberty…undoubtedly must." When they went to raise the flag at Fort George (now Castle Clinton on the tip of lower Manhattan) they discovered that the British had greased the flagpole!
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