Tag Archives: politiks

You say Tomato, I say Tomato

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Good morning, jerks. Lookit, I’m not happy to be up this early either. Why don’t you suck down some more of that flavored coffee that you like so much? What is it today, Cinn-a-Bon Surprise? You make me sick.

This really is a great week for assfucking, and I don’t just mean around my house in gay, gay Massachusetts. So as not to be too topical, I waited a few days before rapping at ya about this one, but hold on to your tinfoil hats! Our Monkey-in-Chief signed a bill that basically establishes a national ID card, but it was pretty well-buried in a military spending bill. Check out H.R.1268 for a minute (PDF). Do you see it? Scrolllll down. Yes, past the olde-tyme-y font. Past supporting the troops. Past helping the tsunami victims. Past Payment to Widows and Heirs of Deceased Members of Congress. Past REMOVAL OF TERRORISTS. Oh, oh, there it is: Real ID blah blah blah (hint: page 72).

CNet says Senate approves electronic ID card bill. CNN says Bush signs $82 billion war funds bill. See the difference? The bit about ID cards is touched on as “It also prevents states from issuing driver’s licenses to illegal immigrants.” They even quote Ted Kennedy (oh Ted) blah blahing about how the bill strengthens something or the other in Iraq.

Now I am not about to do any original thinking, and neither are you, so check out this article on How Real ID will affect you. Read all threeeee pages. Then you can get back to your coffee. Hazelnut Hoopla?

Vomitola and your morning coffee

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Make that Diet Coke. Ho hum. It’s afternoon already isn’t it. According to a dramatic shadowy figure not unlike the Phantom Gourmet, Vomitola is better than the New York Times. That’s not tooooo hard to do. That consarned Liberal Media! I am halfway through Lies and the Lying Liars…, and I have to keep putting it down because I become enraged at the fact-twisting that Mr. Franken uncovers. And he’s armed only with a modicum of common sense and a team of Harvard grad students! Just think what the Vomitola staff could accomplish, given an unlimited supply of Dr. Pepper-flavored LipSmackers.

But I have to really put the book down for a few weeks, as I packed it somewhere especially mysterious. The big day is tomorrow. We even returned the cable box and modem, although we forgot the remote. It’s worth $16.50 to not go back to the horrifying Ministry of Cable.

And to add insult to injury, we’re not even moving into our yuppie loft. That’s not ready for another 2 weeks or so. So our grubby possessions go into storage, and we end up at Casa de la Carpeted Kitchen, a.k.a. Mr. H’s ancestral home. I will take lots of pictures. People really live this way! And shop this way. I just don’t see how a carpeted supermarket would fare much better than a kitchen.

-xxoo

President Doctor Evil

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Just what we need, a manned base on the moon. Someone alert Astronaut Jones at once!

“”You’ve got the Chinese saying they’re interested — we don’t want them to beat us to the moon. We want to be there to develop the sweet spots,” Republican Senator Sam Brownback says.” Got it. Gay marriage is the new Communism. Asians are the new Russians. The new season of Queer Eye is all about turning straight men into clones of celebrities. Week 1: David Bowie. Week 2: Moby. Week 3: Adam Curry?! I’m hip to the jive.

Personally, I’d get more use out of a clone than a space station on the moon. Clone, go to work for me. Clone, go to the bathroom for me. Clone, administer to my mate, he had a rough day. Oh Clo-one? I could use some more scalloped potatos. Out of the box, just like I like ’em.

Confidential to the two co-workers on vacation while I sit at work rather peaked and weary: First one — I already coughed on your keyboard, or possibly your door handle. You too have a 50-50 chance of dying of rabies now. As for the other, I spread a rumor that you are off attending a FurCon. I keeeeed. Just making sure you’re paying attention. I would never ever do anything like that. Or would I?

-xxoo

WTF?

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”Freedom’s taste is unquenchable,” said White House spokesman Ari Fleischer. Via CNN.

That really makes very little sense. And it sounds like a job for Gatorade. “Freedom’s taste is impossible to slake or satisfy.” Huh? “Freedom’s taste is impossible to suppress or destroy.” We’re getting closer, but still…whatta maroon. Yes, I know what he means. I think.

Aaron put me on to this, which is some truly hilarious Fleischer-baiting.

He goes on to say: “You’re seeing what you see in mankind everywhere, given a chance to be free.” Yes, looting! Huzzah! I could use some gaudy gilded urns, or perhaps a washing machine. Or a hydrofoil, if I really push my luck.

A loosely connected series of topics only interesting to me -or- I wish I had a miniature secret camera

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There, you can’t say you were not warned. First, I successfully underwent highlights. I can assure you the results are most subtle indeed. I believe that this technique ceases to be known as highlights when jarring stripes of contrasting color are observed. Then it becomes something else indeed; I have a few names for it myself.

Yesterday saw the completion of an errand under some duress. In the interest of returning to work in a timely fashion, I stopped at McDonald’s and got a Happy Meal. As I was walking to my destination, I approached a very large young lady coming my way on the sidewalk. Not to offend any pleasingly voluptuous readers, but she was of the build where her head looks startlingly small in the context of sitting on top of her body. Arms could not be placed comfortably at the sides. In other words, freaking humongous. She started veering towards me, and she was definitely eyeing my paper sack.

I thought “Oh crap, she’s going to ask me for money,” but instead she gestured towards the bag and asked “Where is the McDonald’s where you got that at?” Phew, off the hook!

“It is back about two blocks that way.”

“JEEZ,” she sighed, “that far?”

I thought about just giving her my bag and running away, really fast. Fast enough to get to my target heart rate!

In other news, I’ve decided my true career calling lies with the CIA. Here’s their list of open positions. Of course I’m most attracted to Clandestine Service, but I fear I would not pass the background check necessary to get a security clearance. Also, I do not speak Korean, and they seem to be pretty hot on that. Wonder what manipulation of international policy we’ll be embarking on next as a nation?

Really, though, you’d think lying, cheating, and stealing would be what would qualify me for the job. That, and I’ve never been caught doing anything bad. I was always the sneaky one. My sister would tattle on herself when we were kids. But no amount of cajoling would ever induce me to release incriminating details. The secret to lying is to lie big. And you must believe your own lie and be able to produce genuine indignation if your story is ever challenged. But I suppose there is a down side to CIA life. For one, I’d have to live close to NoVa when I’m not off poisoning people with asps in backwards nations. And the traffic in Northern Virginia just blows. Still, they do get plenty of sick time, and there is access to two gyms. Sweet.

Anyway, by linking to those pages, I’m sure I’ve put myself under tight scrutiny and will definitely not get a clearance now. Dammit. I swear I would be really, really good at the job. Call me, you should know how to find me!

Corrections, mea culpas, addendums

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Licketysplit

It has been brought to my attention that the proposed title for my novel, Portrait of the artist looking real fine, is one of the most egomaniacal monikers since Peter Murphy had the spleen to name an album Deep.

I certainly do not mean to toot my own horn. I would be writing about hypothetical (yet comely!) characters. It’s not like I’m Peter Murphy, presumptiously assuring you that I am DEEP, and my intellect is VAST. I’m not even like that Zadie Smith, running on about my flawless dental hygiene. I shudder to think.

Aaron piped in again to tell me more shocking separation of church and state news. Those folks who were so into the national day of fasting? Their resolution PASSED! By a huge margin! Do email your local wonk and tell them you are most terribly distressed if they voted for this. We go on and on about theocracy being so terrible in Islamic countries, but what are we shooting for here? It’s A-OK to dictate the religious actions of an entire nation as long as the god in question isn’t swarthy? People may certainly pray and fast all they want, and I’m sure every little bit helps if such things are possible. But please don’t tell me how, when, and where to beam my own brand of goodwill into the cosmos! Although I prayed just this morning: “Dear lord, please let me always be able to afford professional hair color.” I’m just kidding. Sort of.

In other news, I got highlights.

xxoo

Obla di Indeedy

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lambchop

The video of captured american soldiers was impossible to escape on television here in Europa. But tears and hours of shaking my fist at the screen, enraged at the folly of humanity, was not doing any good. My usual civic philosophy is that you cannot change people, make them less apt to failure and unmerciful behavior. That the most you can do is arrange the world to make the best of our given nature. In this case, we have the opposite- everything is giving way to hunger for dominance, fanaticism, and brutality.

To combat such lowly thoughts, Steele shanghaied me from my television and my overflowing ashtray and took me for a ride on his BMW motorcycle. Its a high powered touring bike that he got for desert racing in Dakar. Vroom vroom! We would have kept going all the way to France, but I was getting a bit of a chill, and we had an oscar party to go to! Sunday night found us in the Hollywood hills toasting with Harvey Weinstein and chuckling amongst ourselves over Nicole Kidman’s oratory skills, which go something like “the world situation is ummm crazy. and umm, uhh, I believe that people are getting hurt in other countries, for example”.

Lunch is served, America, and it’s a giant shit sandwich. But darned if Steele didn’t look marvelous in his oscar night suit.

smooch

The humanity

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Licketysplit

In these times of “AUGGGHHHHH,” it is somehow less appealing to natter away about boys and makeup and low-fat yogurt, but I’ll just have to give it the old college try. I just got an email about a mass “die-in” scheduled for this Saturday in the Boston Common. Hoo boy. Guess I will be avoiding that area. So much for walking uninterrupted between my house and the gym! Shouldn’t I be fit in case I’m called to serve my country? Perhaps in the Miss World pageant, or an international swimsuit model-off? Americans have the poweful Mother of All Bikini Waxes on their side. Not to mention Pilates and numerous Sephora locations. It would be a slaughter.

But the gym is depressing. Everyone stares bug-eyed at CNN on the individual TVs on the cardio machines. It is pretty hard to slack off when you’re watching marines slinking around on their bellies via a night vision cam. There is nothing you can possibly think but “Damn, do I have it good right now. Now I must PAY.” So everyone is limping pitifully when they get off the machines. And no one is obviously picking each other up, phooey on terror sex.

My actual opinion about current events changes every 10 or 15 minutes. I am in no way an accurate barometer of American pacifism or jingoism. Right now I’m wavering in the camp of “Enough of this shit, I’ll personally go over and rip off some moustaches and berets.” Just get it over with. I know people who are serving in the middle east, and I’d quite like to get them back. The TV news is also stepping up Iraqi human rights atrocity footage. The best story so far was unquestionably the human meat grinder with direct outlet to the sewer. You have to wonder how much is true, but Barbara Walters has recruited a prodigious amount of people with hideous scars. I am certainly all for ending torture (who isn’t! Well, maybe Barbara Walters.), but we are establishing a dangerous precedent of intervention, and we all know that Iraqi human rights are not the real motivation for this war. Ugh ugh ugh.

Oh, what was I talking about? Makeup! Yes. I may have to totter over to Sephora at lunch and spritz myself with various fragrant potions ’til I reek like a French whore. Or I could just sniff this whiteboard cleaner….mmm tolulene. I believe that’s the stuff that melts styrofoam.

Ah, but let’s not forget my real port in a storm! Heather has introduced me to Steele’s twin brother Sloane. Sloane is a pillar of the community. He looks good in bike shorts. He makes a stunning spring vegetable risotto. Sloane is always available for consultation on matters of fashion. He plucked my eyebrows the other day, and I must say he uncovered a natural arch I never thought possible.

xxoo

Some people just buy corvettes

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Licketysplit

George: thanks for involving us all in your mid-life crisis! Aging is tough on anyone, especially on those with a prodigal son complex. So I feel for you, I do. Dad’s going to be so proud at long last! Some people just bang a secretary, some people start riding a Harley. But you are doing such a great Yosemite Sam. Whatever works for you! Pow! Pow!

But sillyness aside, folks, I have gotten my war on, and I have taken Kitty Winn’s advice. I sallied forth and bought a fetching pink shirt. I got my hair did. I have informed friends and loved ones of favorable language to be used to describe my life to date.

After work today, I went over to the Gap on Newbury to get one of those fancy t-shirt bras. They are on sale, by the way! As I was walking home, I heard cow bells and hooting coming from Copley Square, so I meandered by. I passed a batallion of cops in riot wear, well stocked with those plastic handcuffs. I stood towards the back of the crowd looking on, and I kept getting accosted by grubby socialists. After the 5th or 6th be-dreadlocked urchin asked me if I had my copy of Worker’s Vanguard yet, I said “I am carrying a Gap bag. What do you THINK?” I got a hearty “fuck you!” and she scuttled off in a huff.

I perused the various signs and pondered the general lack of credibility of the assembled throng. My photo was snapped multiple times, and I hope to god it doesn’t appear anywhere newsworthy. I’m not worried about the Feds since I pretty much get cavity searched any time I fly already. I am against the war but against the anti-war movement, if that’s possible. These kids strike me as opportunistic protestors, forsaking their devil sticks for the latest trendy thing, be it IMF or WTO. It’s not the 60’s, and you can’t get stoned in public, as nice as that might be. Sure, the Unitarian lesbians were sincere and respectful, but the “face” of this movement that attracts the most media attention is largely young, grubby, and unruly. It’s a PR disaster! Middle America sees these candy-ass hijinks and recoils. They aren’t going to stick around to hear the message when the messenger frightens them.

What really sticks in my craw is that these well-intentioned people were nowhere to be found when the presidency was finagled two and a half years ago. Were there demonstrations? I don’t remember any in Boston. Why is it so surprising that our president does not heed popular opinion when he wasn’t installed by the popular vote? I hope this same kind of enthusiasm for activism is still in place when the next election comes around. The irony is that a lot of these kids probably voted for Nader anyway. I recall people saying things might get worse, but they’d get better. Well, they are worse. I can’t wait for the better.

Who knows, maybe in ten or twenty years people will vacation in a rebuilt Iraq. The entire peaceful Middle East will be a holiday paradise. Surf’s up in Tel Aviv, booty be shakin’ in Baghdad, duty free in Dubai! Hussein and his regime are evil and corrupt, no question about it. But there has to be a better way to do this. Even if there were no alternative, having the effort led up by an oaf who can’t even pronounce “nuclear” and his band of profiteering henchman does not exactly inspire confidence.

Enough prattling for one night.