The Day The Tepid Died

This is a repost only because Feedburner tells me that somehow it was never published, despite the fact that my records show it as appearing in March 2012.  Since I do believe there is a "War on Women," albeit a war waged by idiots (to which I'll double-down on that first "albeit," by saying "albeit idiots who likely are packing heat and out-of-date brittle condoms that have been in their wallets for over 5 years") -- well, anyway, I'll not risk you missing out on the day that "to each his own" died as an expression of any use.

**********          **********          **********          **********         **********

It's easy to find examples of the polarizing opinions that fuel our various controversies. Foster Friess tittering over aspirin between the knees. Terry O'Neill tittering over Rush Limbaugh.

In as bewildered a confessional tone as I can muster, though, let me divulge my utter surprise that the social issues being discussed actually constitute controversy.  Those many to the right of me make approbative-sounding throat grumblings, reassuring me that really, it is not the issue so much in question, as its funding.  We don't care if you sluts have beaucoup sex, just don't make others pay for it.  Those of my own directional ilk and the slim margin farther to the left are either speechless from apoplexy or inveterate silver-tongued opportunists.

I call them opportunists, and they snicker.  These are the people who are rarely surprised, who have kept their eyes and ears open, who have not relaxed, the men and women who have my back while I shrug and magnanimously opine a truncated "to each his own."

See, I think myself swift and cool when I mutter "to each his own," because it's so often damn faint praise, just enough of a soupçon of world-weariness to counterbalance my failure as an activist.  Think what you will -- you are so so wrong, of course -- but think what you will...


You see, the secret fear of my life has been that I'd become shrill.  Permanently, and sans cesse.

This morning, I filmed myself, and later asked Fred, as he helped La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore pick out her outfits for the first week of March Madness, when exactly had I become so ugly?  "Ugly?  Ugly?" he cried, precisely twice, as he juggled both his discomfiture and a pink boa.  "You are not ugly! Why do you say that?"

I managed to frighten myself this morning.  I picked up the little Flip camera and shot a few seconds of my fresh-from-rejuvenating-slumber face.  The assurance of my hideousness, it is perhaps long overdue.

Trying to put issues and physical revulsion aside this afternoon, I set out to do some light reading and video-watching.  And I very quickly decided to write this post as a testament to the dangers of the in-between, of those regions buffering, let's say, Freiss from O'Neill.

Because in the Land of To-Each-His-Own, there is a lot of terrifying good-natured stupidity out there, and for the most part, it is being unabashedly documented by The Stupid, themselves.

These ass-scratching, ball-adjusting self-absorbed men have no business grafting their disparate enthusiasms onto the lives of women.  [That would be another way of saying it...]

After setting my new, very slow, unimpressive, but working laptop on my knees, I set out to meander.  I read blogs, timelines, and walls of friends and family, especially enjoying some email from Grader Boob.  He was holding virtual office hours for his online course, and no one had shown up.

Were I out and about, I'd meet all sorts, and I try to approximate the experience when online.  I follow an innocuous comment back to its source.  I click on "next" to see another Blogger blog.  Most of the time, it's fun and rewarding.  Often it shores up my good feelings about the species.  Sometimes it is a riot -- I am particularly fond of consumer comments.  A potential buyer thought to ask the Walmart community about one of the table linens for sale, a 70" round Italian polyester Fauna Rustica tablecloth,  "I like it but do you think it will fit my 69" x 110" table?" It was gratifying to see someone listed as an "expert" reassure her that, yes, it would.

Anyway, I traveled the byways.  I followed boulevards and avenues, streets and alleys, click-click-clicking away... hoping to squash the nascent urge to debate Someone about Something Socially or Politically Relevant.

I came to a Facebook page through thoroughly innocuous means, by following some beautiful jewelry, in fact. There was something almost inherently feminine about the inexactitude of my journey -- plus I got there in a profoundly innocent, almost-Amish kind of way: through the gynecology of Etsy.

[What?  What?  Oh, come on.  Provenance matters!]

So smack dab in the middle of Organic Artsy-Fartsy Handmade Glass-and-Bead Land, the Facebooker posted The Helpful Information reproduced below:

There were several hundred "responses," a good many of them nonsensical [to anyone, I swear!] but most of them were quite clear.  So clear, in fact, that I decided to cull some -- willy-nilly --  for this post, sort of as proof that... well, you know... proof.  That it is not trickle-down but trickle-up?  That up is down, down up?

Diann valid ID...how does that work for all the illegals in this country?????? Valid Id...my son had to have it to be approved for disabiliaty but illegalls don't have to prove anything to get money for their children and food stamps and unemployment. Valid ID..who decides who is valid and who is not.????

Paul  We can't require ID. That would make sense. We don't do that anymore. If you can't afford 10, 20, even 40 dollars every what, 4 years? You shouldn't be voting. In fact you're most likely collecting free assistance and not caring about voting.

Sandy Without an I.D. to record, how do they keep track of how many times a person votes? Just curious. Seems if you don't have to show an I.D. you could just vote anywhere anytime and as many times as you like. Just go from one precinct to the other? Hmmm...we know who would like those odds....Oh I forgot, they don't have a ride to the polling places anyway.

Jeff  Most places that have ID laws also provide ways for people to get them for free. The only reason people make this a controversy is because they want to further the streotype that the GOP is racist. If someone is legitimately poor, they are probably receiving government assistance and therefore had to have an ID to sign up for it. Requiring ID doesn't disenfranchise anyone. 

I don't want to write one of those facile tirades bemoaning the idiocy of internauts or celebrating the heterogeneity of the citizenry, and I really don't want to use the word diversity.  Today I am unable to access forbearance;  I cannot make fun of, nor scoff.  The impulse to correct grammar and to encourage internally consistent logic is an impulse born from spit-spewing exasperation.

"We have to take these bloody people bloody seriously, and engage in a serious way, in serious places," I tell myself.

I march right over to a lefty political bloggy-mag thing that I frequent, where I find a link to a video featuring --

David B. Albo (born April 18, 1962) is a Republican politician from the Commonwealth of Virginia. He represents the 42nd District of the Virginia House of Delegates and has been a member since 1994.

I have my serious face on, by which I mean a very stern demeanor (I filmed myself again, to see what that face was like, and I was still ugly.  Maybe even uglier.  Unquestionably "stern," though.).  You are about to watch an example of what is produced by an elected representative of the people of Virginia on the floor of their statehouse.


Uploaded by notlarrysabato on Feb 24, 2012
"Dave Albo describes how his wife denied sex with him after the vaginal 
ultrasound bill was discussed on Maddow."

This would be about the time when "to each his own" became a patently ridiculous bit of rhetoric, and when my partisan nature reasserted itself with a hearty display of bonhomie -- because I had several immediate suggestions for the love life of Mr. Albo.

Dear Reader, it's way past time that we redefine extreme because it sure seems to lurk in some very ordinary, common places.


I'm gonna go seek out the comfort of my own kind.  I wonder what Bianca plans to wear for the Duke  v. Lehigh match...

[Late-breaking addendum:  The Lady wore black...  Congratulations, Lehigh!]

groggy and unwashed

look up groggy and unwashed in the dictionary and i'm the illustration.  my last cogent memory of anything done intentionally dates from early this morning, and even then, was incomplete.

staring at the computer screen (as it sucks my brains out through my eyes), i began ogling an article about the discovery of a shark hybrid species off the coast of australia.  i suppose the article might have situated the shocking news inland -- one of the more likely spots being the yeperenye shopping centre in alice springs, home of the rusty zipper (formerly bruce deans menswear), premier source of fancy dress.for the discerning shark.

right.  so i pay attention to stuff like this, because i am fascinated by the idea of actually knowing when and how something may be in the midst of evolution.  is that just not so totally awesomely cool, as notions go? i figure that the human evolutionary process, at least in the strict biological sense, will not be revealed to us, you know, because the intelligent designer is too intelligent for such shenanigans.  it just would be teleologically uncool.

although, and bear with me here, we may have glimpses of the subtle metamorphoses -- our teeny-weensy shape shifts -- in quantifiable moments such as the iowa caucuses.  i am pretty sure that years of inbreeding and one major clusterfuck of an all-nighter with an overly friendly "domesticated" species have resulted in our own little bit of hybridization. and just as the hybrid black-tip now hunts outside the limits of its previous incarnation, its realm of influence perversely expanded from tropical to more temperate waters, these freaking tea baggers are worming their way into the mainstream.  did i write that out loud?  anyway, theories have been  proposed, under the table (under *my* table, anyway), involving survival enhancements such as the repurposing of various facial muscles involved in the complicated act of sincerely smiling -- most notably the orbicularis oris and the platysma, the one diverted from "the playing of all brass instruments and some woodwind instruments," the other from "the expression of melancholy" (grimacing).  markedly republican budgets and educational policy have seen to the essential demise of most school music programs, and the grimace is antithetical to righteousness-based politicking. the main reason these intimations of evolutionary shift  have only recently come to light -- beyond the paucity of opportunities for vivisection -- is that the contribution of alien dna seems to be limited to behavioral modifications.

right.  so.  here's the intro to AFP's amy coopes' article on the world's first hybrid shark.  i'm thinking of a nap, though if i don't shower soon, fred is going to be moving out.  it's just one dilemma after another around here, where there are no evolutionary improvements in sight.  i wonder what's happening in iowa.*

Scientists said on Tuesday that they had discovered the world's first hybrid sharks in Australian waters, a potential sign the predators were adapting to cope with climate change.


The mating of the local Australian black-tip shark with its global counterpart, the common black-tip, was an unprecedented discovery with implications for the entire shark world, said lead researcher Jess Morgan.


"It's very surprising because no one's ever seen shark hybrids before, this is not a common occurrence by any stretch of the imagination," Morgan, from the University of Queensland, told AFP.


"This is evolution in action." [Read the rest of the article HERE]

AFP Photo/Pascal Geraghty

* i managed to scope out the news with what was left of my computer-drained central vision.  it's 11 pm and the folks in middle america deem santorum and romney to be about equally worthy.  the word is that they are separated by some ridiculous amount -- like 75 votes.  ron paul is cruising at third, a few percentage points behind, and newt is fourth, perry fifth.  i think bachmann is trouncing huntsman.  i'm not sure, though.  those wacky iowans!

From Outrage to Grief: Trying to Understand

When I read the news this morning, my outrage boiled over, pooling into disbelief. As the day wore on, it evolved into something akin to grief.

I have decided it to be a good thing that I am shocked, as opposed to nodding sagely and murmuring that "I am not surprised."

I am shocked and I am surprised. Profoundly so.

The insanely angry, sputtering atmosphere the Tea Baggers have created allowed one of their peculiar fetishists to think it a grand idea to yell "nigger" at John Lewis, who has lived a life of integrity and service, first as a civil rights leader, and then as an elected representative from Georgia.

Obscenities were shouted at other members of the Black Caucus, and, just to be equal opportunity bigots, Barney Frank had to endure lisps and being called a "faggot."

Someone spit on Congressman Cleaver of Missouri.**

Signs screamed: "If Brown can't stop it, a Browning can" and "We came unarmed [this time]." Then there is the artwork depicting President Obama, sporting a Hitleresque moustache for good measure, being shat out the arse of an ass.

ADDENDUM:

And racism and gay-bashing apparently wasn’t all. Add anti-Semitism to the list.

A staffer in Rep. Anthony Weiner’s office reported a stream of hostile encounters with tea partiers roaming the halls of Congress. The less harmful stuff was mockery. But they left a couple of notes behind. One asked what Rahm Emanuel did with Weiner in the shower, in a reference to... ex-Rep Eric Massa. It was signed with a swastika, the staffer said. The other note called the congressman “Schlomo Weiner,” among other [things].

There is good stuff being written every minute of every day, and some of it helps me to understand the fear-filled feelings of disenchantment (or whatever, searching for an honorific mot juste on behalf of the right wing nauseates me right now).

But not much tops what The Onion did last November. It came back to mind as I attempted to watch Meet the Press and skim commentary on yesterday's doings because the Word of the Day for Republicans, in advance of the historic House vote on health care reform, turned out to be unconstitutional.

If I thought something unconstitutional, I'd use that argument straight away, and not pull it triumphantly out of my... hat -- at the very last. But that's just me.

Area Man Passionate Defender Of What He Imagines Constitution To Be

Spurred by an administration he believes to be guilty of numerous transgressions, self-described American patriot Kyle Mortensen, 47, is a vehement defender of ideas he seems to think are enshrined in the U.S. Constitution and principles that brave men have fought and died for solely in his head.

"Our very way of life is under siege," said Mortensen, whose understanding of the Constitution derives not from a close reading of the document but from talk-show pundits, books by television personalities, and the limitless expanse of his own colorful imagination. "It's time for true Americans to stand up and protect the values that make us who we are."

According to Mortensen—an otherwise mild-mannered husband, father, and small-business owner—the most serious threat to his fanciful version of the 222-year-old Constitution is the attempt by far-left "traitors" to strip it of its religious foundation.

"Right there in the preamble, the authors make their priorities clear: 'one nation under God,'" said Mortensen, attributing to the Constitution a line from the Pledge of Allegiance, which itself did not include any reference to a deity until 1954. "Well, there's a reason they put that right at the top."

"Men like Madison and Jefferson were moved by the ideals of Christianity, and wanted the United States to reflect those values as a Christian nation," continued Mortensen, referring to the "Father of the Constitution," James Madison, considered by many historians to be an atheist, and Thomas Jefferson, an Enlightenment-era thinker who rejected the divinity of Christ and was in France at the time the document was written. "The words on the page speak for themselves."

According to sources who have read the nation's charter, the U.S. Constitution and its 27 amendments do not contain the word "God" or "Christ."

Mortensen said his admiration for the loose assemblage of vague half-notions he calls the Constitution has only grown over time. He believes that each detail he has pulled from thin air—from prohibitions on sodomy and flag-burning, to mandatory crackdowns on immigrants, to the right of citizens not to have their hard-earned income confiscated in the form of taxes—has contributed to making it the best framework for governance "since the Ten Commandments."

"And let's not forget that when the Constitution was ratified it brought freedom to every single American," Mortensen said.

Mortensen's passion for safeguarding the elaborate fantasy world in which his conception of the Constitution resides is greatly respected by his likeminded friends and relatives, many of whom have been known to repeat his unfounded assertions verbatim when angered. Still, some friends and family members remain critical.

"Dad's great, but listening to all that talk radio has put some weird ideas into his head," said daughter Samantha, a freshman at Reed College in Portland, OR. "He believes the Constitution allows the government to torture people and ban gay marriage, yet he doesn't even know that it guarantees universal health care."

Mortensen told reporters that he'll fight until the bitter end for what he roughly supposes the Constitution to be. He acknowledged, however, that it might already be too late to win the battle.

"The freedoms our Founding Fathers spilled their blood for are vanishing before our eyes," Mortensen said. "In under a year, a fascist, socialist regime has turned a proud democracy into a totalitarian state that will soon control every facet of American life."

"Don't just take my word for it," Mortensen added. "Try reading a newspaper or watching the news sometime."

**Battery: A battery is the willful or intentional touching of a person against that person’s will by another person, or by an object or substance put in motion by that other person. Please note that an offensive touching can constitute a battery even if it does not cause injury, and could not reasonably be expected to cause injury. A defendant who emphatically pokes the plaintiff in the chest with his index finger to emphasize a point may be culpable for battery (although the damages award that results may well be nominal). A defendant who spits on a plaintiff, even though there is little chance that the spitting will cause any injury other than to the plaintiff's dignity, has committed a battery.

Go read something!

A huge factor in having little to nothing to say? Not reading, and then not discussing what I have not read.

And quality matters.

When I read crap -- such as The Tweets of Stupid People or the intimate machinations of pulp media -- it's not so much that I, in turn, produce crap, but that I fall silent. There is nothing much worth repeating, rehashing, reposting, retweeting, reiterating in any way. The original iteration was failure enough.

I set out to defeat this tendency today. I grabbed some old New Yorkers, read some online articles, including George Packer's Stop the World, and Twitter: A Conversation (as the day went on, I got better with my chronologies!).

Allowing Twitter to stand in for all technology-driven communication, anyone concerned about Twitter, reading, and writing wonders along with Packer:

My question is whether Twitter and its accomplices will yield to some kind of reaction, a backlash, like, say, the reaction against urban sprawl or suburban sprawl. Back then, they sounded like reactionaries who said development is not a good in itself, we need to think about how we’re developing, and maybe there should be some limits on development.
Read more: here.

I moved on to Rolling Stone, thinking to work fast and hard at developing my hep attitudes and contemporary smarts in musical culture. My Darling Brother-Unit, Professor Grader Boob is coming here for Spring Break, after all, and we wants to be up to snuff, we does.

On that front, however, I have not just simple suspicions, but sneaking ones, as well. Grader Boob went and took on a course load of SEVEN classes, which does not bode well for his free time, or for things such as sleep and personal hygiene. His water bed having finally dried up, he has yet to purchase a new bed, and is therefore sleeping on the floor, and then daring to complain about back pain. (I thought the floor would be much better for him than the nightly tsunami that was his water bed, but it seems I am wrong.) So we are luring him onward to The Manor, deep, deep in the Tête de Hergé (très décédé, d'ailleurs) with promises of luxurious bedding, sponge baths administered by our healthy young Swedish neighbor, Helga, and culinary delights of which he has heretofore only dreamed...

Still. SEVEN classes. Maybe I will forgo the cooking of delights, and offer to bring my red pen out of retirement.

Mais je divague... I confess to rereading the 2008 article on John McCain, "The Make Believe Maverick," trying to look at old information in a new light. Not much resulted from that effort except brief muttering and foaming at the mouth. I am sure I have a pill for that but am equally sure that I cannot afford to fill the prescription.

It brought me back to the temper tantrum mode I was in after watching "my Sunday shows" yesterday. I was screaming at the television even though Rachel Maddow ably took dipshit Rep. Aaron Schock to school. I broke. The young whippersnapper had The Technique down Pat (I loved that old joke!). Hell's Bells, go here and read about it, watch the netcast, hoot and holler in your own space, time, and way.

In the meantime, here are two short clips of her training regime for gently slapping Lying Republicans on the snout:




She continues to spank the boy...




We tend to confuse real political conversations with the carefully orchestrated repetition of lies prevalent among the righteous right wing (as well as among the more knee-jerky of the left). Nothing maddens me more. As I age, the certainty that the electorate is full of Stupid People -- most are kind and use the more amenable term sheep -- has become set in stone. The Stupid People are easy targets for this type of bullshit.

Former Rep. Harold Ford Jr. got my ill-fated fist pump (I deliver one per show): "We are in the majority; We have an obligation to govern." I am not a fan of his, in particular, as he is quite the slick trickster and incestuous love-child of Wall Street, but that phrasing summed up my feelings well. As I slowly but surely head to my grave, I could give a Royal Hoot about bipartisanship.

The ever present Dick Cheney also participated in this plot to rob me of functional vocal cords. He is Beyond Scary and it would not be an overstatement were I to say that I wish he would... oh, well, you know. I don't need Halliburton Enforcers and Blackwater Ninjas showing up at my door.

I wasn't surprised to find that one of my favorite bloggers, Buckeye Surgeon, has kept his finger on the pulse (see how deftly I worked in that smooth medical reference?) of the torture issue, and Cheney, torture's greatest advocate, with his post Unabashed Torturer. It is perhaps the shortest and most emotive of what is beginning to be a regular Cheney Series. Poor Buckeye Surgeon sometimes fails to convey with clarity and can get lost in his words. Like here: "Dick Cheney is a criminal." I wish he would pick an opinion and stick with it!

To sample Buckeye's burgeoning Cheney Series, go here.

Ya, so from the McCain article to this little medical blog, my political muscles have been been working hard. It's like tossing perfectly dry split kindling onto the beginnings of a mighty bonfire -- I may well burn up, go up in smoke before the conversations are ever made meaningful, but at least I kept myself in the game.

I CAN'T HELP IT! THE TUBE IS SET TO LES JEUX-O and Bode got his bronze on! I don't think I've ever divulged my love affair with an Olympic Downhiller. Have I? Oh, so much to read, so much to say, so much to do!

See? Tear yourself away from the soaps and Twitter and Dr. Phil -- go read something. Start a freaking conversation.

New Left Media: Interviews with Palin Supporters

I don't know whether to laugh or cry, so I have decided to alternate every 45 seconds, with a few brief interludes of silent, bleak despair.




This is the script as posted on YouTube by New Left Media:

On November 20, 2009, at a Borders bookstore in Columbus, Ohio, Sarah Palin held a book signing event in support of "Going Rogue." Palin's supporters wanted her to run for the presidency, but they weren't exactly sure what she'd do as president. Short on specifics, most of them were uncertain what her policy positions are. They just felt that they liked her. She's "real." And that the solution to all of our country's problems—health care, energy, the deficit, unemployment, and the economy—was to cut taxes and lower spending, and Palin, they said, would solve them by doing just that.

This NEW LEFT MEDIA film was produced and edited by Chase Whiteside (interviews) and Erick Stoll (camera).

DONATE:
Donations to New Left Media will go toward the production costs of future videos. Any contribution, no matter how small, will go a long way in keeping us online.

I've *NOT* checked New Left Media out, and therefore do not endorse them. Be sure and do your due diligence before donating any money.

Joie de vivre!

It's Sunday morning and the fur is flying, as feline jealousies are in high gear. I am a "dog person," and so, of course, we have four cats.

Sam-I-Am considers himself mistreated and abandoned since we took in Uncle Kitty Big Balls back in May. Sammy is an impressive-looking cat, having cultivated a James-Deanesque sort of bemused glower. If there is such a glower.

He has been with us the longest, joining us after Dear Prudence passed away... when? Wow. It's been ten years. He came along to pester Monaghan -- Monaghan deserves a post all his own -- such a gentle giant. He was our Nurse Cat. He loved music. The Fredster brought him home as a "surprise" one Thanksgiving morning -- he appeared to be nothing but long, black, matted hair and proved his quality by enduring his first brushing with dignity. His death was very hard on Fred -- it came at a time when he was dealing with his diagnosis of adult ADHD, the loss of a job, my usual dramas, a new house -- beaucoup de stuff. Monaghan sort of marked the trajectory of his personal journey. Fred could not accept that the sweet thing was very, very ill and I had the awful task of forcing him to the vet, knowing that Monaghan would not come home again.

Among many other Monaghan Mysteries, we could never figure out how he managed to have such cold, minty breath.

Dear Prudence was a great influence on this oh-so-serious animal, as she was just a lovely ditzer. Sadly, she wasn't with us long. She apparently had a stroke that sunny summer day... and the forensic-inclined vet who examined her just minutes after her death opined that she may have had an undiagnosed seizure disorder. I miss the little thing. She was so naturally tiny that the shelter from which we adopted her was unsure of her actual age. Turns out they were a little off, the vet, too -- or Prudy set a record for Youngest Estrus. We were holding off on having her spayed because the vet refused to operate on such a young kitten. Ar ar ar!

The poor thing clawed her way out of a window screen in the middle of the night and when we managed to corral her the next day, she had obviously experienced a great deal of sexual trauma. As in gang rape.

Dear Prudence loved pretending she needed saving -- from trees, rooves, car tops, boulders. Typical girly-girl.

Sam-I-Am was born in a Walmart store. His mother was hit by a car after being chased outside, and her kittens were promptly delivered to the local shelter. Sammy was pitiful -- covered in fleas to an extent I'd not thought possible, really too young and tiny for adoption (but we're so glad they fudged the numbers for us!).

[beep:beep:beep: John McCain is on Meet the Press. His response to the implications of the burgeoning Cheney scandal and the possibility of an investigation: "What's the positive that could come from dragging this out in public when we already know bad things were done?"

Damn straight! Why examine our conscience -- I mean, we *get* it, already: Big goofs, they happen!

As for Sarah Palin and her baling out of the discomforts of governance? "I wasn't shocked. A bit surprised... I am confident she will be a major factor on the national scene..." And, explaining her reasons for resigning, as laid out by Palin in a breathy private phone call: "How can she best serve?" It is all about finding the best place, the most effective position, from which to wield her intricate policies. Warming to his mental notecards, McCain then goes on to blame the media, the ethics charges, and "sustained personal attacks." He does a fine jig when asked why he won't back her candidacy for future office.

Dance, John, dance!

David Gregory: "Knowing everything you know now, would you nominate her again?" Pirouetting, doing a great job of spotting as he whips around, McCain says: "Absolutely, absolutely." Said with the stiffest smile I've ever seen.

She really *owes* this man for his kindness, for his reticence to say what we all already know.

Looking more closely, though, I think he is either suffering eye strain or communicating in dotty dashes of blinking -- yes, Morse code blinking!

Calling on my somewhat rusty code skills, here is McCain's Morse text, translated:

.--. .- .-.. .. -. / - --- .-. .--. . -.. --- . -.. / -- -.-- / -.-. .- -. -.. .. -.. .- -.-. -.-- .-.-.- / ... .... . / .. ... / .- -. .- - .... . -- .- .-.-.- / .-. ..- -. --..-- / .-. ..- -. --..-- / .. / ... .- -.-- --..-- / .. -. / - .... . / --- .--. .--. --- ... .. - . / -.. .. .-. . -.-. - .. --- -. .-.-.- / .. -. / - .... . / .-- --- .-. -.. ... / --- ..-. / ... .- --. .- -.-. .. --- ..- ... / --. .- -. -.. .- .-.. ..-. ---... / ..-. .-.. -.-- --..-- / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. --- --- .-.. ... .-.-.-

On the need for additional troops in Afghanistan: "Let's not go back to a Rumsfeld war..." Hmm. When was the last Rumsfeld sighting? And... John, how are we to avoid the repetition of such errors if we don't give them a good airing, a close and public look? It's not that there is a subset of the citizenry jonesing for some bitchslapping of the Bush administration for its more criminal endeavors... Oh, wait. Yes, there is such a group of reprobates! That's precisely what I want, for instance.

Despite his tendency for duplicity, I still like McCain and will never understand why he shot himself, again, in the foot last time out, reviving doubts about his judgment and temperament.

John, remember to spot as you turn, else all that spinning will make you dizzy. Whip, whip, whip! beep:beep:beep]

Um, anyway. Choo choo?

After Monaghan died, the entire household here at Marlinspike Hall, deep deep in the Tête de Hergé, seemed to age and become somewhat musty. There was a lot of sneezing and blowing-of-the-noses. Sam-I-Am began to put on weight and undertook a deep study of cat-napping.

It was at this point that a rather ragtag pair of siblings began to haunt the moat area of The Manor: now known as Uncle Kitty Big Balls and his sister, the mercurial Marmy. In a creative stretch, they are also known as Little Boy and Little Girl. Okay, and occasionally: Pickle Head and Fluffy Butt. Then there is the ubiquitous unisexual appellation of Stinky Boy/Girl. Trust me, this family line has produced some bodacious foul odor producers.

This served to drive Sammy nuts -- his nose gone into overdrive, haunted by the markings exterior to Marlinspike Hall that easily invaded his space through the as-yet-to-be-repaired late Renaissance chinking, especially pervasive in our wing. (Spring cleaning usually keeps us busy twelve months out of twelve...) We plan to spend the $70 per 3 1/2 gallon bucket next "spring" and use PeneTreat: Log Home Preservative: "PeneTreat by Sashco is a borate-based wood preservative that forms a shell of protection to defend against rot, most wood-destroying insects and fungi." Yes, we are borrowing a page from those intrepid North American pioneers.

C. h. o. o.

And so it went that Miss Marmy turned up preggers. Huge, sway-backed -- a real test of her tiny body and mind. We couldn't let her remain out in the open, struggling to feed herself and escape outdoor dangers. Enter Miss Marmy!

She defies description. I'll not even try.

At eight months old, she delivered a litter of five kittens: Speckle-Belly-White-Foot, Fuzz Bucket, Little Girl, Mascara, and the one, the only Dobby. All were adopted out, eventually, except for Dobby. We kept him -- The Runt, and Our Little Idiot. That'd be him on the far right.



Sammy's head was likely spinning. He went from a staid life with Monaghan, and virtually free reign over a whole section of The Manor, to cohabitating with a Hormone Freak of Nature, to the truly terrifying period of dealing with Marmy -- and her pronounced lack of maternal instincts --
and the cinq chatons.

Once we adopted out the four -- life settled down for our Walmart hero, and life became good. Marmy remained aloof but still was young at heart and soon was racing like an addled nutjob down spiral staircases and leaping among the Caravaggio collection. Dobby proved to be a stellar little guy and definitely came to love Sammy -- seeking him out for play and nuggling.

Um, it was also a time of sexual experimentation for our now completely sterile brood. Sammy and Dobby continue to have periods of confusion about their orientation. Progressive and open-minded as we, of course, are? We don't judge and only intervene when Sammy's weirder efforts begin to elicit cries of fear and pain on the part of his little boy-toy.

Then... Uncle Kitty Big Balls began to come around again. I had thought him dead. And he looked pretty close to dead, closer with every subsequent visit.

In late April, as I lay in the ICU, hooked up to a ventilator, Fred came to my bedside looking all emotional and distraught. "Awww," thought I, "he is really worried about me, poor guy..."

"I need to talk to you about something important," he began. Calling it a "talk" was certainly a stretch, given that I had a tube down my throat...

"Little Boy came by The Manor today, begging for food. He could barely walk. I think one of his back legs is broken. He looks bad, real bad... I want to rescue him. I know you are, really, a dog person (Ha! And here you thought I had totally lost my train of thought -- choo to you!) and that we already have three cats, but I hope you will say it is okay."

After one of the nurses increased my oxygen and suctioned the hell out of my bronchs, gave me a little something for pain, re-positioned me, and fluffed a pillow or two... I held out my thumb, in the "up" position... and so it went. Had I a clue what I was approving? Not really. Some Dilaudid delusion...

Several thousand dollars and a few surgeries later (which NO, we could not afford but *did*, anyway, out of love for this strange little guy fighting for his life), Uncle Kitty Big Balls rounded out the feline contingent. He's almost alien in the depth of his affection for us; He seems to understand that he was at death's door and that The Fredster saved him. Me? I am some sort of side dish that he cannot quite comprehend. He thinks the wheelchair is a demonic vehicle out to run him down. Sometimes he is right.

It warms our hearts to see him playing, to have him curl up as tightly and as close as possible. He has begun to gain weight and his fur is coming back in.

So he is a little over the top in his rough-housing. So he will eat everyone's food so that he won't be hungry ever again. So he didn't seem to understand the point of the litter boxes, at first.

The others need a little toughening up -- and so long as it is done without malice, we let Pickle Head swat at them to his heart's content. It's an invitation to chase, to begin a round of hide-and-seek.

Still, when I wake, as I did this morning, to piles of cat hair all over Captain Haddock's antique Karabagh rug and a whole bunch of waling going on? Especially now, when I can barely move without cursing because the "good" shoulder is even dillydallying with the Pain Scale?

I smile at the intricacies of their relationships, at their liveliness. Sammy looks like a kitten, Dobby is trying out a little assertiveness and is thrilled with himself. Marmy so admires her fluffy butt. And Uncle Kitty Big Balls is simply pure joie-de-vivre!

Hands Down

Ick Cheney, a walking, talking turdescent worm. Rush Limbaugh? Why should I break a sweat when Margaret and Helen are on the case?

Oops, is my microphone on? Did I say that out loud? (No, Wanda Sykes did not go too far. She barely touched the surface... and I hope she was wearing gloves.)

I thought Obama was fairly funny at the White House Press Corps thingy. Cheney's memoirs are tentatively titled "How to Shoot Friends and Interrogate People." Okay, so I didn't bust a gut laughing or snort milk up my nose. Someone needs to explain to the President that real humor requires incongruity.

Ever reticent, Helen Philpot notes: "These morons have nothing left to offer. There are no solutions for peace. Instead we must always be ready for war. There are no solutions for poverty, instead we must carefully protect the wealth of the wealthy. There are no solutions for the environment, instead we must simply put our heads in the sand and pretend that life goes on forever – unchanging and without consequence. No wonder these guys look bloated and constipated. They’re full of shit, and lots of it."

Why don't we all just relax? Have a second cup of coffee, toast an english muffin. Treat the cat's ear mites.

Laughter is, indeed, the best medicine. It turns out that my O2 saturation rises into the proper 90s when I laugh! Here are some clips that ought to oxygenate your brain, too! Colbert at the 2006 White House Correspondents Dinner. (This is how it is done. Obama, Sykes -- take note.)

The S-Word

First, I hope it is as beautiful a day where you are as it is here. The eyes rest on flowering trees -- the colors! The sky draws them up to a crystalline blue that goes on forever.

Okay. Snap out of it.

{x-sneeze}

Second, this proposal of the Obama administration strikes me as stupendous -- and in more ways than are initially apparent. [I woke up *deep* -- a reg'lar Think Tank. Actually, I woke up to a barrage of the nimble-tongued Captain Haddock's verbiage. More on our, um, conversation in the minute or so it takes you to read this article.]

U.S. May Convert Banks’ Bailouts to Equity Share

Published: April 19,2009
WASHINGTON — President Obama’s top economic advisers have determined that they can shore up the nation’s banking system without having to ask Congress for more money any time soon, according to administration officials.

In a significant shift, White House and Treasury Department officials now say they can stretch what is left of the $700 billion financial bailout fund further than they had expected a few months ago, simply by converting the government’s existing loans to the nation’s 19 biggest banks into common stock.

Converting those loans to common shares would turn the federal aid into available capital for a bank — and give the government a large ownership stake in return.

While the option appears to be a quick and easy way to avoid a confrontation with Congressional leaders wary of putting more money into the banks, some critics would consider it a back door to nationalization, since the government could become the largest shareholder in several banks.

The Treasury has already negotiated this kind of conversion with Citigroup and has
said it would consider doing the same with other banks, as needed. But now the
administration seems convinced that this maneuver can be used to make up for any
shortfall in capital that the big banks confront in the near term.

Each conversion of this type would force the administration to decide how to handle
its considerable voting rights on a bank’s board.

Taxpayers would also be taking on more risk, because there is no way to know what the common shares might be worth when it comes time for the government to sell them.

Treasury officials estimate that they will have about $135 billion left after they follow through on all the loans that have already been announced. But the nation’s banks are believed to need far more than that to maintain enough capital to absorb all their losses from soured mortgages and other loan defaults.

In his budget proposal for next year, Mr. Obama included $250 billion in additional spending to prop up the financial system. Because of the way the government accounts for such spending, the budget actually indicated that Mr. Obama might ask Congress for as much as $750 billion.

The most immediate expense will come in the next several weeks, when federal bank
regulators complete “stress tests” on the nation’s 19 biggest banks. The tests
are expected to show that at least several major institutions, probably
including Bank of America, need to increase their capital cushions by billions
of dollars each.

The change to common stock would not require the government to contribute any additional cash, but it could increase the capital of big banks by more than $100 billion.

The White House chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, alluded to the strategy on Sunday in an interview on the ABC program “This Week.” Mr. Emanuel asserted that the government had enough money to shore up the 19 banks without asking for more.

“We believe we have those resources available in the government as the final backstop to make sure that the 19 are financially viable and effective,” Mr. Emanuel said. “If they need capital, we have that capacity.”

If that calculation is correct,Mr. Obama would gain important political maneuvering room because Democratic leaders in Congress have warned that they cannot possibly muster enough votes any time soon in support of spending more money to bail out some of the same financial institutions whose aggressive lending precipitated the financial crisis.

The administration said in January that it would alter its arrangement with Citigroup by converting up to $25 billion of preferred stock, which is like a loan, to common stock, which represents equity.

After the conversion, the Treasury would end up with about 36 percent of Citigroup’s
common shares, which come with full voting rights. That would make the
government Citigroup’s biggest shareholder, effectively nudging the government
one step closer to nationalizing a major bank.

Nationalization, or even just the hint of nationalization, is a politically explosive step that White House and Treasury officials have fought hard to avoid [....]

Where did I leave my helmet? The vociferous bloggers who enjoy scaring themselves and others with the big, bad S-word (Saltimbanco, sidereal, soprano, stellar, sorrow, sideshow, setters, Suzie Q? -- Oh, a psychiatrist would have a field day with such a list!) -- Okay, so strictly speaking, Edmund L. Andrews, the author and unacknowledged second cousin to Julie Andrews, she of potty-mouth fame, prefers the N-word -- which is just silly.

Yeah {cough} -- the vociferous bloggers in double knit polyester pants and stiff yellow polo shirts, through which one can determine the inny-or-outy situation of the navel, hissing away like the nasty snakes that they are! Whoa, Nelly, Retired Educator -- Settle down, there, Champ!

Puh-leeze. Vociferous double-knitted bloggers don't scare me. I just got off the phone with none other than Our Benefactor, in whose Ancestral Manor we are living, and whose generosity we enjoy. I mean it; We really enjoy it.

I was still half-asleep but hearing The Captain's voice booming in my ear brought me to wakefulness in an instant. Believe it or not, he's still hanging out in Africa with the good and faithful Bongi -- apparently, they enjoy regaling one another with Tales of Glory Days. Not that their present endeavors aren't Story Worthy, mind you.

Why am I speaking of The Captain, why of Bongi? It is a question of curses, creativity, catharsis, and, probably, but unconfirmed, the odd crumpet. Well, okay, *strictly* speaking -- something I endeavor to no longer do, in my felicitous retirement -- Bongi's concern is less The Art of Cursing and more the management of the surgical theatre, and saving lives.

Which is not to say that The Captain hasn't saved his share of lives.

You wanna talk Pirates? The mere mention of Captain Haddock makes their blood run cold. No need to have Navy SEALS pop 'em in the head -- no, they abandon ship as well as booty when they hear the Captain approach. One is more likely to hear him first, see him second. (I love the word "booty": A nautical term for treasure; American slang for buttocks...)

So anyway, half-asleep, I put the phone to my lovely cauliflowered left ear (too many years of MMA) to hear: Army of bachi bozouks, why are you still abed?

Oh, Captain, My Captain, is that you? mumbled lazy-ass me.

In the name of billions of blind whales -- who else would call on the Emergency Red Phone in the Visitor's Wing of Marlinspike Hall? Sub-products of ectoplasm, who's been using my minutes? Hairy cucumbers! Stinking goat-bearded dolphins!

He was on a roll.

Toward the end of our rollicking conversation, he inquired as to my reaction to Obama's performance, these first hundred or so days.

"Courageous and Bold," I proffered.

"Christ of a Commie Bleating Bolshevik," he countered, in a scary **whisper**.

"Whatever floats your boat, Captain," I hissed.

"Ship. Ship. Whatever floats my God-damned SHIP!"

Note the day and time. Even Captain Haddock becomes crass when discussing politics.

I think shifting ownership from common cash to shares is... very American, smart, and -- what I like most -- it drastically decreases the opportunity for graft chez some of these smarmy corporations.

I am going back to bed. Clouds are moving in. We may have to find a new place to live.

Go GOOG.

The Bering Strait Bridge

Very strange and totally unexpected, this. That my political will should find its voice again and finally slough off the dead weight of the malignant illogical who have dominated discourse for so long: hate-mongers, and shrill, every last one of them, fostering straw argument upon intended lack of clarity, and through pure laziness and underestimation of audience, linking unlike to unlike, as if the rejection of one entailed the necessary rejection of the other.

Parse *that*, my friends.

Friggin' obfuscators. But, you know, at worst, obfuscators waste my time.

Piety in rhetoric is the real cagey beast -- is, in fact, most often a downright out-and-out shitty rhetorical device.

I challenge you. Think of a person of your acquaintance whom you'd qualify as "pious." Now, are you having warm fuzzies or are you feeling a wee bit disgusted -- either with said person or with your own hypocritical self?

I'm just sayin'.

To keep myself in check, for you must concur that I'm on the edge of discourtesy, I had recourse to A List Of Fallacious Arguments -- from which the following is a citation:

In the context of debates, a Pious Fraud could be a lie. More generally, it would be when an emotionally committed speaker makes an assertion that is shaded, distorted or even fabricated. For example, British Prime Minister Tony Blair was accused in 2003 of "sexing up" his evidence that Iraq had Weapons of Mass Destruction.

Around the year 400, Saint Augustine wrote two books, De Mendacio[On Lying] and Contra Medacium[Against Lying], on this subject. He argued that the sin isn't in what you do (or don't) say, but in your intent to leave a false impression.

As much as I would love to talk, discuss, and debate salient points of socialism/Socialism or Democratic, Republican, and Libertarian sensibilities -- for I would be in a position to learn a lot, and want to, too -- I can no longer stomach the clinging, dangling, desperate dingleberries posited by some right wing journalists and bloggers -- those cozy little pearls of turds in the middle of what might have been an honest communication...

William Bradley wrote a piece today for HuffingtonPost.com, making reference to the recent reign of bombasters and generally blowing off steam. All citizens of good political will need to get this crap out of their collective and individual systems. Open the window and scream that you aren't going to take it anymore.

CNBC can see Russia from its house. It's just one example of a fin de siècle
folly, albeit one of the most recent and dramatic.

This is clearly end-of-an-era time, but some of the old era standbys haven't gotten the memo. Or been able to read it.

Jon Stewart's already legendary takedown of the CNBC financial "news" network was an extraordinary rebuke of a fitting stand-in for a clueless money culture.

It should have been obvious the era was ended with the worst economic crisis since the 1930s, not to mention the sweeping victory of Barack Obama. But the old attitudes -- which represent a sort of intellectual entropy -- have been very persistent.

He goes on to mention Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh, Michael Steele, Katon Dawson, even Joe the Plumber.

I hope he feels better.
I am beginning to.
It doesn't hurt to state the obvious; Certainly, I need iteration upon iteration when asked to absorb what I don't like (or almost anything, actually).

Constant repetition of lies has been this nation's steady diet for eight years. Its cunning simplicity is genius. Witness the Dick Cheney Show on CNN yesterday.

Cheney, against all odds and normal perceptions of reality, still insists that things went great for the past eight years. He and George W. Bush bear no responsibility for the near-meltdown of the financial system. Their policies of torture kept America safe and strong, notwithstanding the general unreliability
of torture as a means of interrogation, or the international opprobrium it brought America. Oh, and the Iraq adventure, which has kept the Americanmilitary pinned down for six years and empowered Iran? A smashing success.

He sees Russia from his house, too.

Rush, Shut the Hell Up

Margaret and Helen, each, never cease to amaze me and ease the tension in my jaw, at the same time.

Helen Philpot wrote this today:

Margaret dear, I need your help sorting all this out. Rush Limbaugh has a daily audience of 14 million morons- give or take a few rednecks - Howard excluded of course. So are we to believe that they all want Obama to fail? Do I have that right? I am a little confused by this recent turn of events because weren’t these the same peckerwoods who got so upset a few years back when a famous country western singer told about 2,000 people at a concert in London that she was ashamed that George Bush was from her home state?

Actually I believe her exact quote was, “Just so you know, we’re on the good side with y’all. We do not want this war, this violence, and we’re ashamed that the President of the United States is from Texas.” If I am not mistaken, conservatives everywhere were enraged - albums were burned, death threats ensued. It was treason.

But Margaret, let’s consider the following quotes attributed to Rush, another celebrity - albeit a celebrity who really gives renewed meaning to the saying a face made for radio:

“I mean, let’s face it, we didn’t have slavery in this country for over 100 years because it was a bad thing. Quite the opposite: slavery built the South. I’m not saying we should bring it back; I’m just saying it had its merits. For one thing, the streets were safer after dark.”

“The only way to reduce the number of nuclear weapons is to use them.”

“If we are going to start rewarding no skills and stupid people - I’m serious, let the unskilled jobs, let the kinds of jobs that take absolutely no knowledge whatsoever to do - let stupid and unskilled Mexicans do that work.”

“Bipartisanship only happens after one side has been defeated. Ask the Japanese after World War II. Ask the Germans.”

The same jackass who made those statements also said, “I want Barack Obama to fail.” And more recently he expounded on that statement when he said, “The dirty little secret is that every Republican in this country wants Obama to fail, but none of them have the guts to say so.” For goodness sakes, I am surprised he finds time to be so loquasious between the mouthfuls of donuts.

Personally, I think Rush Limbaugh is a big, fat pig. I can say that without worry because I am a big, fat bitch. But what he looks like is really just so much fodder for people like me who don’t like his politics. What he says, however… well that is another story.

Hypocrisy. It’s a powerful word. Republicans should look it up sometime.

Barack Obama is a sitting President of a country still at war and on the brink of economic disaster. And Rush wants failure? He is hoping for failure and 14 million listeners who call themselves conservative Americans are okay with that. But a country singer wishing the President didn’t come from her home state caused moral outrage. Has anyone gone and looked up that word hypocrisy yet? While you’re at it, look up the word culpable. Scratch that, just look up the word gluttony.

Of course, Limbaugh can say whatever he wants. It’s a free country. And people can stop buying albums when they don’t like the singer anymore. That’s what ”it’s a free country” means. And I can say that Rush Limbaugh is nothing more than than a fat, greed-filled radio star praying on the insecurities and ignorance of people who graduated high school thinking that they knew everything. Like I said - it’s a free country. You’re free to love it or even hate it if you want. All I ask is that you be honest with yourself about which of those two positions you have chosen to subscribe. Because considering the current state of the world, we will all succeed or fail together - like it or not.

Margaret, I know that Howard listens to Rush. I hope he doesn’t read our little blog. And know that if only because he loves you, I love him. I just wish he would check out the local NPR station once in awhile. I mean it. Really.

magnificent Rush Limbaugh parody credit

Common Good

In for Bob Herbert, Gail Collins writes the op-ed "The Dreaded Fairness Doctrine," published in today's New York Times.

Any mammal can obsess about fairness. (Did I mention how ticked off monkeys
get if they find out they’re getting cucumbers while somebody in the next cage
has a grape?) The real human trick is to get past the quid pro quo and try to
focus on the common good.

I forgot to mention that the purported subject is the bailout. Oh! Which bailout?

The Detroit one, the voom-voom zoom zoom zoom one. To be technical, the auto industry.

Back in October, would you have known, without checking, that bailout was one, unhyphenated word? Was $700 billion inconceivable to you way back then? (It may be that I, alone in this nation, am just still in sticker shock, still feeling snookered*. I have a good head for maths, pure preferable to applied, but no aptitude for the burgeoning field of snookered-mathematics!)

I didn't want to read it, especially how it was pitched in my email summary:
OP-ED COLUMNIST
The Dreaded Fairness Doctrine
By GAIL COLLINS
Any mammal can obsess about fairness. [My eyes fairly rolled back in my head in response to this universal cheesiness.]
The real human trick is to get past the quid pro quo and try to focus on the common good.

As a Socialist, I am considerably more grounded in reality than when I stroll around mathematically. I like my socialism applied, thankyouverymuch. So... she had me. There is nothing more despicable to me than the confusion of fairness with quid pro quo.

Collins makes a clear and simple point, rare enough these days. It can be dressed up for Senators and Congressional Representatives; It also plays well at the local playground:

The really hard lifting still lies ahead, and we cannot possibly do it if we’re going to dwell too much on the fairness thing. It’s just too easy for lawmakers to dodge the tough vote by reminding their constituents that somebody else is getting more breaks than they are.

Which somebody always is. If Senator DeMint’s constituents are going to riot over a bailout for the auto industry, they’ll wind up being met by tool-and-die makers waving torches and yelling about soybean subsidies. If the lawmakers from Alabama say their constituents do not want their tax money going to bail out Michigan, the people in Michigan are going to say that they never really enjoyed paying more taxes to the federal government than their state received in aid, while Alabama got a return of $1.61 on the dollar.

We do what is hard; We do what is right; We do it together; We recognize that now, and maybe always, need trumps fair.

How very... utilitarian. [Ar! Just checking for a pulse!]

*From The Phrase Finder:
Posted by Henry on March 22, 2004
In Reply to: Re: Behind the eight ball posted by Fred on March 21, 2004

: : Hi! Can you please tell me about this phrase? Thank you...

: If you are behind the eight ball you are in trouble. In the pool game called
: "eight ball" if you need to put the 5-ball in the pocket and the 8-ball is between
: the 5-ball and the cue-ball, you have a difficult shot. You are not allowed to
: use the 8-ball to hit the 5-ball.

The equivalent phrase in Britain is to be snookered. In the similar game of snooker, if a coloured ball lies between the cue ball and the remaining red balls, preventing it from hitting a red ball directly, then the player is snookered. The player must then play a more difficult shot, usually off the cushion although experts can make the ball swerve.

Image Credit

Palin pales

Q: Is an abortion clinic bomber a terrorist, under this definition, governor?

PALIN: (Sigh). There’s no question that Bill Ayers via his own admittance was one who sought to destroy our U.S. Capitol and our Pentagon. That is a domestic terrorist. There’s no question there. Now, others who would want to engage in harming innocent Americans or facilities that uh, it would be unacceptable. I don’t know if you’re going to use the word terrorist there.

I apologize for being about a week behind, apparently, on Palin-News-That-Startles-and-Shocks.

Let's see... can she claim, in this instance, to be taken out of context? No.

How about decrying the inherent meanness of the liberal media that whosits represents. Brian Williams. No. It's not that difficult a question, really, nor is its [correct] answer particularly dependent on an ideology. In fact, doesn't it seem a poorly positioned lob, its arc just begging for an overhead putaway? Isn't it a gimme? An easy test of her steely steadiness in the equal application of her Ethic?

{yes, i said "correct"!}

Wow. I begin to regret my Stupid People post -- because I am definitely dumbfounded and stupefied, because with such figureheads, stupid needs constant redefinition, and to thus dedicate my efforts would mean surefired brain death.

How scary is it that she appeals to lots of people?

I need to check myself -- I have an enduring high opinion of "people," making her fame that much more frightening.

Yes, this definitely renders my Stupid People post insipid -- because Palin is far from stupid, because she is crazy like a fox, because John McCain thinks her a worthy president.

Vote early, and vote often.

Z on TV

It's hard not to snort-laugh -- forget titter-laughing and simpering guffaws. And, yes, in the snort lies the proof of my political pudding:

http://weblogs.baltimoresun.com/entertainment/zontv/2008/09/couric_letterman_too_much_for.html