President's Day

So, last Friday I was driving across the Bay Bridge on my way up north to visit family and friends, and fleeting and random thoughts were dancing in my brain. I was mildly nervous, but doing OK because I don't live in a state of fear and paranoia.

Well, that's actually a big, fat fucking lie. My entire life is built around fear and paranoia, but I manage to live with it - embrace it even, in a Zen-like fashion. I'm at one with my fear and paranoia.

Anyway, I was driving across the bridge and briefly wondering if it would blow up. It was a holiday weekend, after all. Then I thought about the fact that my parents still worry about me when I travel and will worry even when I'm ancient and grey(er), just as I worry about my daughter constantly and annoyingly. We're a family of worriers. It's something we do, and we're damn good at it.

I know my mom says little prayers for everyone she loves and that my grandma is watching out for me, wherever she is. The bridge might blow up, or it might not. If it doesn't, great - I live. If it does, Grandma would be waiting for me with open arms and a steaming dish of pasta, topped with herbs from her heavenly garden and freshly grated Romano. So, either way, I win.

All of this took place within a matter of seconds and wasn't nearly as linear as I've described. Not even close. In fact, picture a connect-the-dots puzzle and you'll get the idea. The problem, though, is the dots keep jumping around the page and switching places.

So, I was almost across the bridge when I gave myself a mental slap across my self-absorbed face for my beastly and selfish thoughts. Then I realized that my glib cost/benefit analysis was just masking the fact that yes, I really do get scared about terrorism. Very scared - for us all. 9/11 frightened people, of course, but it left me more sad than afraid. One of the scariest things about 9/11, though, is how this administration used it to manipulate people. "Of course there's a connection between 9/11 and Iraq. Oh wait, that might not be quite true. OK, but Iraq has WMDs. Oh wait, that one might not be entirely true, either. Or even true it all. Oops. Did we just say oops? That was a mistake. We don't say oops. Or make mistakes. That didn't happen. What are you talking about? Anyway, yeah, OK, of course, we want to spread democracy. Freedom is on the march. That's what we wanted all along. Didn't we say that? That's what we meant. And don't forget 9/11!"

What really scares the hell out of me are how easily this adminstration used our fears to market the Iraq war and, now, our rumblings about Iran and Syria. I'm sickened by all the lost lives in Iraq, the ruined lives at home and all of the worried families, who hope and pray for their loved ones to come home safely. But another awful aspect of this awful mess is that we are putting out the welcome mat for new terrorists, and Bush and his cronies don't appear to care. And why should they? A large-scale attack like 9/11 takes years of planning and W will most likely be out of office before the sequel, driving around his ranch and blaming the new President - unless, of course, it's Jeb.

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Serendipity-do-dah

I like my job. The work is challenging, yet fun, and my officemates are funny and progressive. It's a great place to work, but nothing is perfect. Not that I'm complaining. I do have some retroacttive complaining to do about past jobs and the freakshows I had to deal with on a daily basis, but all that is for another day and another post. Oh, it'll be good, trust me.

Anyway, there's just the teensiest fly in the workplace ointment. We're not allowed to have a mini fridge in our office. I think that is fucking stupid, but whatever. So, I got curious one day last year and wanted to know how other offices handle this situation. Surely, other worker bees must have to deal with this. To get the buzz, I googled "ridiculous policies" +fridge. This is what I got:

George W Bush The Real Major League Asshole's Dreambook
... to see the opportunity to turn the tragedy of that day to support for my ridiculous policies. ... Mix all the ingredients in a bow, then it a night in the fridge. ...
books.dreambook.com/brozebub/mainhtml - 97k - Supplemental Result - Cached - Similar pages

Serendipitous, no? I was feeling cranky about my fridgeless state, and then I just happened upon this site about cold-hearted, ridiculous Dubs.

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But what about the children II

This is interesting.

Maybe it's because I love blood, or that I love children, or that I'm reading A Modest Proposal, or some combination of the three, but I'm kind of hoping Bush doesn't suddenly get it in his head to read Swift. Fat motherfucking chance of that, you may say, the man won't even read a newspaper. I say, stranger things have happened. And if he does read it, uh oh.

Bush doesn't do irony, unless he is just putting us all on with this swaggering, war-mongering posture. That's unlikely, as I imagine that the thousands of dead Iraqis and American soldiers didn't see him as ironic. And he doesn't appear to get satire, although he satirizes himself damn near every day. (Note to self - Can a person be a caricature of a caricature? Research and reflect.) So what would happen if he did trip over one of the Norton Anthologies or stumble upon the Gutenberg Project site? What if this most uncurious of presidents got a little curious and decided to take Swift's ideas seriously? Those school lunch programs are expensive, after all. And I shudder to think what he'd make of the MSN story. Fresh blood to reinvigorate the dead souls of the neocons? Mwah ha ha!

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I love the rain

Really I do. It's so clean and cleansing. I love walking in it and engaging in a sometimes graceful, sometimes awkward dance with my fellow pedestrians, each of us tilting, or lifting our umbrellas. Except of course, for the occasional asshole who carries an umbrella the size of a circus tent. walks quickly and purposefully and refuses to give an inch. Today I was walking down the street with my officemate, and suddenly, walking toward us, was a man wielding an umbrella five times his size. He was clearly on a mission (and coincidentally, we were on Mission Street), so we did our best to stay out of his way. We moved as far to the right as possible, turned sideways, and I held my breath. Even so, we didn't give him enough room because his umbrella nearly knocked me down before slamming me into a fence.

Still, I love the rain.

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Grammy notes

I don't often watch the Grammys. Not that I'm a music snob by any means. I'm a dork who says "I don't know much about music, but I know what I like." The Grammys are just usually not my cup of whatever.

This year's show, though, looks like it might be better than most, so I'm watching. I'm really hoping to hear Green Day sing American Idiot. And how bad can it be if Elvis is nominated?

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Is it just me, or is Keith Urban a funny name for a country singer?
Update (February 17, 2005) - Keith Urban is considering changing his name to Keith Cityslicker.

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Has any winner ever thanked Satan? Just wondering.

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Lobbing it in

Call me kooky, but I thought a certain amount of training was needed to be a real reporter. Like, maybe a journalism degree. But I guess if you have the right conservative creds, you can get a White House press pass and get to ask hard-hitting questions like,

"Senate Democratic leaders have painted a very bleak picture of the US economy," Gannon said. "[Minority Leader] Harry Reid was talking about soup lines, and Hillary Clinton was talking about the economy being on the verge of collapse. Yet, in the same breath, they say that Social Security is rock solid and there's no crisis there. How are you going to work - you said you're going to reach out to these people - how are you going to work with people who seem to have divorced themselves from reality?"

If all it takes is a $50 weekend "journalism" course and association with a "news" site, then I want in. Hell, I'm even more qualified than Mr. Gannon. I've taken a few writing courses, and this blog is affiliated with the media outlet Freak-Ass Crustacean Wire.

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Bush gets last laugh - and last word

LOS ANGELES, California - Democrats concede that the right has won the language wars - and their hearts. After years of misunderestimating President Bush, the Dems admit they've fallen under his folksy spell. "Searching for just the right word, trying to communicate clearly - especially with all those foreigners - has just become tiredous, tedioush, I mean tedisome," said John Kerry in a press conference yesterday. "Nuance, shmuance. Let's stop practicing our grammar and our fancy speeches and just let the president practice his love on all of us." The president, standing behind Kerry, slapped him on the back and winked at reporters. "John and I used to waste a lot of time arguing over stuff," Bush said. "But we're friends now that we speak the same language." That language, which the administration calls Bubonics, is expected to replace standard English by the end of the decade.

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Aim low

Let me see if I understand. Affirmative action is bad because it holds some people to a lower standard, perpetuates divisions, blah, blah, blah. But we mustn’t criticize Alberto Gonzalez or Condi Rice – or question their actions for that matter. That would be racist. Freaking people out with visions of mushroom clouds is cool if you’re black, and advocating torture is just swell if you’re Mexican? That sounds like the soft bigotry of low expectations to me. But what do I know? Not much, apparently. I just learned I’m a racist - that’s how little I know.

I do know one thing, though. I’m one-eighth Lithuanian and I have a third cousin five times removed who’s from some country in Asia. Technically, she's not a blood relative, but the point is I’m really diverse. I also like wiretapping, censorship and The Singing Senators. I have a high school diploma, so I know some stuff. My resume is on its way, W. I'm not a morning person and I can't type, but other than that, I'm flexible. Looking forward to chatting with you soon.

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Yay, life!

Here's one thing that the Dubs and I can agree on: We need to promote a culture of life. Life is cool. Life rocks! Culture is swell, too. Yay for culture! Put them together and wow! A culture of life, a life of culture - too cool. Right on, W!

You can find out more about live cultures here. I like to put some LAC yogurt in the blender with a handful of organic frozen strawberries, a banana and a little cold water. I flip the switch, watch it meld into a yummy, life-culturey drink and pour it into a tall glass. Mmm. While I'm sipping my culture of life smoothie, I might do some reading on stem cell research or perhaps make a donation to Planned Parenthood. Life is good.

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Ku

Bushku*

Beady eyed despot
Evolution in reverse
Don't blow up Iran

Condiku

Not on agenda?
Some day? Later? Pencilled in?
Don't blow up Iran

*After posting this, I googled "bushku" and found that someone had thought of this way before me. I swear I've never seen this site before, but I must give credit where it's due.

I also won't be using "irony-deficient" in a future post about the religious right. Someone already thought of that one, too. Fuckety fuck!

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But what about the children?

From the SOTU address:

"Our second great responsibility to our children and grandchildren is to honor and to pass along the values that sustain a free society. So many of my generation, after a long journey, have come home to family and faith, and are determined to bring up responsible, moral children. Government is not the source of these values, but government should never undermine them."

In fact, government should reinforce these values, should impress them upon our children, should brand them, if necessary.

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State of the crab

I'm not always crabby and cantankerous. Sometimes I'm depressed and deflated. Take tonight, for example. Take the last four fucking years, for that matter.

Yes, I was moved by the Iraqi woman and the soldier's mom hugging. And maybe the Iraqis are really inching toward democracy. Hell, maybe there won't be a civil war. Anything is possible. Bush even sounded kind of good, kind of convincing - if you don't look too closely and don't compare his words with his deeds. And many people aren't looking closely, or they're just fucking fickle. His approval rating has been below 50%, but after the State of the Union address, he's fucking golden. This from CNN:

Overall, Bush got very positive or positive reactions to his speech from 86 percent of respondents, his best numbers since the State of the Union address he gave January 29, 2002 -- just four-and-a-half months after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 -- when 94 percent of those polled gave him positive marks.

See what happens when a crab gets all sad and mopey? She starts saying stupid shit like, Gee, maybe Bush isn't that bad after all. She starts getting all Bob Dole and talking about herself in the third person. She then bitch slaps herself and - ouch, that hurt. OK, I'm back.

So what to do? Be glad for the Iraqis who got to vote and sad for the Sunnis who didn't. Be pissed off about this administration's lies, their smirking, sneering contempt, their feigned compassion, their ominous threats to Syria and Iran. Maybe have a glass of Shiraz or six. Maybe take some comfort in literature. This poem by D.H. Lawrence, for example, is particularly timely. (Bonus: This isn't just relevant to Bush and cronies - think of Hummer owners, too, as you read it.)

How Beastly the Bourgeois Is

How beastly the bourgeois is
especially the male of the species —
 
Presentable, eminently presentable —
shall I make you a present of him?
 
Isn't he handsome? Isn't he healthy? Isn't he a fine specimen?
Doesn't he look the fresh clean Englishman, outside?
Isn't it God's own image? tramping his thirty miles a day
after partridges, or a little rubber ball?
wouldn't you like to be like that, well off, and quite the thing?

Oh, but wait!
Let him meet a new emotion, let him be faced with another man's need,
let him come home to a bit of moral difficulty, let life face him with a new demand on his understanding
and then watch him go soggy, like a wet meringue.
Watch him turn into a mess, either a fool or a bully.

Just watch the display of him, confronted with a new demand on his intelligence,
a new life-demand.

How beastly the bourgeois is
especially the male of the species —

Nicely groomed, like a mushroom
standing there so sleek and erect and eyeable —
and like a fungus, living on the remains of a bygone life
sucking his life out of the dead leaves of greater life than his own.

And even so, he's stale, he's been there too long.
Touch him, and you'll find he's all gone inside
just like an old mushroom, all wormy inside, and hollow
under a smooth skin and an upright appearance.

Full of seething, wormy, hollow feelings
rather nasty —
How beastly the bourgeois is!
 
Standing in their thousands, these appearances, in damp England
what a pity they can't all be kicked over
like sickening toadstools, and left to melt back, swiftly
into the soil of England.

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