all things amity

2010-04-01T13:11:00.002-07:00

Craigslist Fools' Day

The following two "estate sale" ads, found in the Bay Area craigslist, strike me as a hoax. But are they? Or is the first one actually legit? Who uses the the terms "wheretofore" or "thereof" nowadays, even if they do supposedly go by the name of "Bathseda Barrington"?

The first ad:

Fine estate sale, large record collection (Oracle, California)

Date: 2010-03-31, 10:37AM PDT
Reply to: sale-zwnmc-1670263015@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

My name is Yserba Berrington. My father, Bathseda Berrington was an independent sales rep for small record companies in the 1950s. He amassed a fairly large collection into the thousands of the records he distributed and kept them carefully stored in our house in Brookdale Arizona, where they stayed until I moved here to Oracle, California in the 1970s.

My father always did things his own way and he left careful instructions for the accurate disposal of his belongings:

"On Easter Sunday of 2010, my last remaining child shall hold a reasonable sale of what remains of my worldly goods and possesions. Wheretofore I wish these possesions to be shared by the many, the terms of the sale shall be as portends:

The sale shall start promptly at 10:59 the morn thereof. The participants will walk around the house two times, then enter through the garage door. The pricing for my record collection is as follows: $0.25 for the first record, $1.00 for the 2nd record, $5.00 for the 3rd record, $10.00 for the 4th record. There shall be a 4 record limit per person per visit. Said person may return after walking around the house 2 times, and the same rules will apply again. I leave the world an assortment of unknown enchantment, music rarely heard, unique and kind. Please be respectful of my last remaining offspring and belongings. Bless You Kind Souls".

There also will be furniture, some photographs of oxen and pigeons father raised, as well as some various mementos of a life well lived, including his journey to the Saharan desert with Cecil Klein. The first 10 people to email will be given the address to this once in a lifetime event.

And the response:

Regarding the Berrington Estate (Oracle, California)

Date: 2010-04-01, 8:09AM PDT
Reply to: sale-qumcn-1671565316@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

Regarding the estate of one Bathseda Berrington. I am Walegnacious Barrington III, fond brother of Bathseda Berrington. My niece Yserba is mentally ill and has not the authority or right to sell my late brothers records and artifacts- that is my responsibility as stated in Bathseda's real will. Yserba coaxed her father into signing a will of her making while in his last days- it can not contend in a court of said law.

Please do not patronize Yserba's sale- it will be in dire violation of my late brothers wishes and liability may extend to many in the wake of said event.

I alone am authorized to entertain offers for the correct fulfillment of the Berrington Trust for the Preservation of the Western Oxen. I may be contacted fortnightly and discerningly.

I apologize for Yserbas abberant behavior, and pray you can forgive her as I myself do.

2010-03-31T14:13:00.001-07:00

Choose your own adventure...or don't, because, really, choice is all an illusion anyways

2010-03-17T12:06:00.002-07:00

"I see how boys have been brought up, and I see this across the planet, to be tough, to be hardened, to distance themselves from their tenderness, to not cry. I actually realized once in Kosovo, when I watched a man break down, that bullets are actually hardened tears, that when we don't allow men to have their girl self and have their vulnerability, and have their compassion, and have their hearts, that they become hardened and hurtful and violent."

--Eve Ensler, from "Embrace your inner girl" on TED.

2010-03-15T19:01:00.013-07:00

The Feminine Musique: Top 15 Feminist Songs and Performances

Recently I caught a sorry excuse for a feminist song list, entitled, "A (Sort of) Feminist Playlist" that the Gawker faux-feminist site Jezebel posted. They were inspired by The Onion AV Club's even weaker list: "A soundproofed room of one's own: 17 well-intended yet misguided feminist anthems." While both sites raised some good questions about why there is such an evident dearth in powerful feminist anthems in popular music today, neither one really pointed to any of the good stuff of decades past, or any of the songs that have come up more recently in the indie world. I think it's a disservice to even raise the topic if these writers aren't willing to commit a modicum of time and research to highlight some of raw power and glory that is out there. So. Ahem:

1. Lesley Gore, "You Don't Own Me":

This song came out just after Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique was released in '63 and, like Friedan's groundbreaking treatise, was waaaay before its time. Perhaps the first pop song in America to feature a woman declaring her own independence and equality.

2. Tupac Shakur, "Keep Ya Head Up":

If all rap songs were like this, rap music would still be popular and selling. Tupac's plea for feminism is so basic and logical, yet so brilliant:

And since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women, do we hate our women?
I think it's time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don't we'll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies, that make the babies
And since a man can't make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one
So will the real men get up
I know you're fed up ladies, but keep your head up

3. Le Tigre, "Hot Topic":

A laundry list of powerful female activists and artists; all set to a groovy sixties jam. I hope young girls listen to this with a pen and google the hell out of these names.

4. Tori Amos, "Cornflake Girl":

Fun fact: Tori Amos was literally a cornflake girl in the '80s. Years upon ages before this song ever came out, Amos did an ad for Kellogg's Just Right cornflakes--but that's not what this song is about. It was inspired by Alice Walker's novel Possessing the Secret of Joy, about a young African woman forced to undergo female genital mutilation by her mother. Amos, exploring themes of female betrayal, grouped women into two categories: the "raisin girls" who were open-minded and multicultural, and "cornflake girls" who were narrowminded and prejudiced.

5. Ani DiFranco, "32 Flavors":

No list could be complete without Ani DiFranco, founder of Righteous Babe records. She was a cult figure among the Intro to Feminism set in most if not all colleges across the country and, unfortunately, faded into the background after ostensibly giving up on lesbianism and marrying a man. But from whatever perspective she was coming from at this stage in her career, I think she captures misogyny and competition among women really well in this passage:

and god help you if you are an ugly girl
course too pretty is also your doom
cause everyone harbors a secret hatred
for the prettiest girl in the room
and god help you if you are a phoenix
and you dare to rise up from the ash
a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy
while you are just flying back

6. Martha Wainwright, "Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole":

Martha Wainwright breaks my heart with every word of this song. I love her weathered, vulnerable crooner voice so very much. And while I'm not entirely sure what she means with some of these lyrics, I do think I pick up on the rebellious nature of this song, refusing to "put on a smile" and "say I'm alright for you" while pining to be a male musician that can "stamp his feet to a different beat."

7. The Vaselines/Divine, "You Think You're A Man":

I first heard this song through the Scottish male/female grunge duo called The Vaselines, who covered it in the late '80s. But John Waters ingénue Divine originally performed the song, turning it into a club hit that sounds more akin to a disco classic like "I Will Survive." This is just a fun, playful song belittling a man who can't satisfy sexually.

10. Beyonce, "If I Were A Boy/You Oughta Know":

The Onion's list thinks Beyonce's gender-reversal theorizing in "If I Were A Boy" is undermined by the singer's vulnerable intonation throughout. But I think they miss the point entirely. This song seems to be written from the perspective of a woman wronged, contemplating the heteronormative dynamic whereby women generally do the majority of emotional work: from cooking and comforting a man in the home, to waiting by the phone while he parties with buddies and flirts, to accepting the fact that he fools around--this is the standard emotional work of a heterosexual woman. And her transition to a cover of Alanis Morrisette's "You Oughta Know" is brilliant and powerful here. It's obvious that both songs compliment one another because they allow the singer to cross an emotional spectrum from the perspective of a woman wronged. And there's nothing at all vulnerable or demur about Beyonce's powerful shoulder moves, crotch-grabbing, and warrior-like ensemble in this performance.

11. Neko Case, "Pretty Girls":

It's hard to interpret the exact meaning to some of the lyrics in this country ballad by the divine Ms. Case. Some believe it's about girls getting knocked up and feeling their only worth is giving birth. But I think it may have more to do with rape. Serious note: I once knew a girl, briefly, who was brutally raped and left for dead in a ravine just as I was approaching 21. She was a year or two younger, as I recall, a virgin, and her body wasn't found until weeks later. What was worse was that a close friend of mine was forced to go to court as her "character witness." That is, to prove to a judge and jury that this young woman was not promiscuous and perhaps flirted with her abductor prior to the violent act. This girl's killer had been miraculously let out of jail after several convictions of stalking, intrusion, and abduction in the past. That's all that I think of when I listen to this passage:

our hearts are so tried and so innocent
When your flimsy blue gowns tied around you
Around curves so comely and sinister
They blame it on you pretty girls

12. Salt n' Pepa, "None of Your Business":

Classic song about women owning their sexuality and doing whatever it is they choose to do with it. 'Nuff said.

13. Sleater-Kinney, "Modern Girl":

There's no real reading between the lines with this one. The saccharine, harmonica-laden track is just a simple little story of illusory romance. But juxtaposed with the ferocity and raw, hard rock sound of the women of Sleater-Kinney, becomes a punctuated pomo classic.

14. Patti Smith, "Rock n'Roll Nigger":

I understand and completely endorse the appropriation of the "N" word in this song, and marvel at Smith's bombast in using it to describe Jesus and grandma and anyone "outside of society" --and with how she describes the "N" word, who wouldn't want to be one (an "N" word)? Not exactly a feminist anthem, but deals with oppression, social stigmas, et al, with unparalleled ferocity using a distinctly feminine voice.

15. Sarah Jones, "Your Revolution":

"This is Sarah Jones, not Foxy Brown." And this is one badass mockery of misogynist hip hop culture while honoring Gil Scott-Heron's "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised."

I probably left out a hundreds of other songs that will haunt me in days upon years to come, but it is what it is.

2010-02-28T20:18:00.002-08:00

I love you Weiner

Andrew Weiner (D-NY). Bless you for being an honest man in Washington.

2010-02-17T21:56:00.005-08:00

On the other line

Mother Jones did this amazing photo essay, "Phone Sex Workers," just in time for Valentine's Day. The piece below hit me the hardest--these images really seemed to illuminate how very complex and curious human sexuality can be.

Just last night I received possibly the most disturbing phone sex call I’d had in a long time. A caller shot himself with me on the phone. Things like this always scare me. My current track record stands at one confession of incestuous sexual abuse, and two other suicides.

2010-02-15T20:04:00.012-08:00

Notes on the Vancouver Winter Olympics, Opening Ceremony

In case you were too busy living your life to watch it, I can sum it all up for you! First off, I have always hated the Olympics. The only reason why I watched this year is because my housemate has Tivo and I thought it would be fun to watch some of the spectacle and fast forward through the cheese. Sports and nationhood are destructive social constructs that pit human beings against other vicious masses under a false sense of "team building" in the aims of proving themselves superior to others. As such, both are inherently asinine and ultimately unsatisfying if one indulges in them as a means of gaining personal identity.

That said, I love Vancouver and I love Canadians. And I really wanted them to have their time to shine. But here are some notes on the garbage that I suffered through:

1. The untimely death of a 21 year-old Georgian luge racer, play by play and shown on repeat, with sports casters including Brian Williams and some other douche providing grave narration to add a dash of sensitivity. Bonus points to NBC for showing the shots of the young luger's bloodied face in the arms of paramedics!

2. Interviews with hot American snowboarder chicks wearing lots of makeup. News flash: they were outwardly confident by their impending performances, yet complementary towards competitors, and honored to be there, all at the same time!

3. A documentary in which Canada and America are portrayed as fierce allies in combating atrocities around the globe. A particularly strange emphasis is given to the Iran Hostage Crisis, where a member of the Canadian Embassy gave Americans false documents so that they could seek asylum in Canada. After explaining the intricacies of the covert Americans-as-Canuks smuggling scheme, it is then admitted that the Canadian official was really working for the CIA and was in fact American. Moral of the story: sometimes Americans need to impersonate Canadians so that the world doesn't target them.

4. Some dude snowboards through some giant olympic rings and down a half pipe. I think there were fireworks in the background but I can't remember, it was that instantly forgettable.

5. Native American/Canadian tribes are gathered in packs at various points on the perimeter of the olympic stage, slowly, as the booming white man voice screams: Dance for me, my little monkeys! they begin to dance and call out their ancient warrior calls and move towards the center of the stage. It is obvious to all viewers around the world that the Natives are way into the white man telling them to dance before a live audience of millions of white people.

6. A chubby fellow in a beret and ethnic vest throws down a little spoken word atop a mighty, precarious pillar. He gives some key insights into the character of the Canadian peoples:

"We're more than just hockey and fishing lines/off the rocky coast of the Maritimes/and some say what defines us/is something as simple as 'please' and 'thank you'/well we say that too/ but we are more than genteel or civilized."

This was probably the highlight of the event as the rhyming here was simply superb. And if poetry is nothing more than just throwing some words together that rhyme then by all accounts this sweet little poet nugget has really outdone himself.

7. Bryan Adams and Nelly Furtado sang a little ditty, and it went something like this:

From near, from far/It's clear, wherever you are/This is your moment, your time to run like the wind/Dream big, aim high/Even believe you can fly

8. Canadian river dancing: like the Irish folk tap, but with punk rockers dressed in leather and jean jackets.

That is all. I'm sure there were more acts I've left out, but at that point I had seen way too much already. Oh Canada! Way to go!

2010-02-15T20:00:00.002-08:00

The circle of life

Warning: the following video contains images not suitable for any persons sensitive to sexual violence in the animal kingdom. Viewer discretion is advised.

2010-02-15T19:50:00.003-08:00

Quote of the Week:

Dad: So honey, you ever got them Tibetan flags in the mail? In all those different colors, you can hang 'em up n shit? I got 'em hangin' up by over the heating vent near the kitchen. Like God waving with 50,000 btu."

2010-01-31T12:37:00.004-08:00

Star Wars/Richard Pryor blast from the past

Don't know much about this video, have no idea where it came from, but I do know that this sketch used original Star Wars costumes and the set of Mos Eisley Cantina. Enjoy!

2010-01-31T12:04:00.007-08:00

Mamma Mia! in the subconscious

If you've ever thought about watching the Meryl Streep/ Pierce Brosnon blockbuster musical "Mamma Mia!" based on the play that was based on a set of disjointed ABBA songs, ABBA being a band that was based on a couple Swedes winning the Eurovision Song Contest for "Waterloo," think no more. It's really excruciating to sit through, and will leave you with nightmares. Fortunately in my case, I got a good dream out of it. I woke up this morning and had to jot it all down:

I came from a family of Greek gods of the sea. We went to an expensive scucba shop to buy swimming equipment. I bought really expensive shampoos and conditioners that were made out of things like seaweed, which was ironic because why did I need that. Then, I went to test some of the new equipment out: like the underwater backpack with the sports bottle. The sports bottle was made of metal and stretched out like an accordion. I swam a few strokes and complained to my mother about its weight. I asked her why I didn’t just get a plastic one that weighed just a fraction of this terrible weight. Later, I went on land and met a girl who said she could help me get a job as a waitress. She was just getting off of work and still had her TGIFridays uniform on. She got me a free Amstel Light at the snack bar of a park. I talked to my mother for a while because I was trying to figure out who my real parents were. Since the family I swam with were all part gods/part people, one of my parents must actually be my sibling because I had to be half human somehow. She said I was right, and that my real mother was Tina Fey.

The whole Greek thing I attribute to the fact that the movie is based on a Greek island, and Aphrodite is mentioned. So I got to thinking about Greek myth and this is what happened. I don't know how the product placement came in, but I will say that I have been really sick lately, watching a lot of television (including 30 Rock). I didn't watch the whole movie, but I hope that Tina Fey is in it.

2010-01-26T12:04:00.003-08:00

The Magnetic Fields's 69 Love Songs, Illustrated

Ahem...May please I divert your attention from these meandering political tirades that currently make up my little weblog momentarily and cast a light on a most fantastic blog project, an illustrated revisioning of the Magnetic Fields's masterpiece 69 Love Songs, and on the day that the band has released the gorgeous new album Realism?

From "If You Don't Cry":

Now listen:

2010-01-22T15:56:00.020-08:00

Blog for Choice Day

Well it's that time of year again, the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. Below is my post to honor the day. It's been 37 years since the landmark case paved the way for women to have more control over their bodies; however, today the procedure seems only slightly less stigmatized than it was in the '70s, with the added bonus of an accelerated pressure for women to contribute to the workforce like never before.

Women are on the brink of making up the majority of the workforce in America, and when it comes to abortion, I think the debate needs to be elevated beyond the neanderthal argument of: "Abortion is wrong. It is murder. It is amoral." Regardless of how morally superior anti-abortionists believe themselves to be, the reality is, women will abort fetuses for their own survival. They will do it illegally, they will endanger their health, and in some cases they will die in the process. But they will do it for critical and rationally-minded reasons. Not because they do not value human life and are inherently selfish or evil.

According to Planned Parenthood's Alan Guttmacher Institute and the Center for Disease Control (found here):

Black women are more than 4.8 times more likely than non-Hispanic white women to have an abortion, and Hispanic women are 2.7 times as likely (AGI).

The abortion ratio for unmarried women is 510 abortions for every 1,000 live births. For married women it is 61 abortions for every 1,000 live births (CDC).

On average, women give at least 3 reasons for choosing abortion: 3/4 say that having a baby would interfere with work, school or other responsibilities; about 3/4 say they cannot afford a child; and 1/2 say they do not want to be a single parent or are having problems with their husband or partner (AGI).

What do these stats say? Economics play a major role in the decision to have an abortion. So it's all fine and good to be able to afford to be morally superior. Stand out there in front of clinics with your morbid pictures of bloody fetuses, stalk abortion doctors, plot and scheme about blowing up clinics and become a domestic terrorist. But if you don't see the irony, you're just not intelligent enough to grasp your own political principles and should probably shut your trap.

You can also announce to the whole world how ethical you are for never buying illegal drugs and label a cancer patient a heathen for smoking marijuana. That is your choice. But when anti-abortionists attempt to use politics to advance theories of morality, and endanger individual civil liberties, something is deeply wrong in this country. Like the marijuana or even the arms debate, these issues are complex. Public policy should never placate the morality preferences of a select few, or the rather, the stupidity of the masses.

Below is an interview with the late George Tiller, which just surfaced recently via Physicians for Reproductive Health and Choice:

Tiller was known to wear a "Trust Women" button on his shirt. I hope he is never forgotten, and that one day all women will indeed be trusted to do what they feel is right to their own bodies, and for their own lives.

2010-01-21T12:42:00.007-08:00

The weight of Haiti

I keep reading about what's going on in Haiti one week after the 7.0 earthquake, estimated to have killed at least 200,000 people, and I wonder: do Americans know what's going on over there? I mean, do they really know?

There have been several faulty news reports claiming that chaos has been unleashed in Port-Au-Prince ever since a recent prison outbreak. As the lede of a recent CBS News story callously claimed:

"Once again in Port-Au-Prince today, looting and lawlessness spread like a virus."

Really? "Like a virus"? Well shit! We'd better call in the entire US National Guard and arm them with the best tasers, pellet guns and tear gas money can buy! The kind of propaganda CBS is providing here is eerie in its blatant attempt to justify sending more security forces to the ravished black republic, rather than sending humanitarian aid. And what's more, the Heritage Foundation came out with a statement suggesting the lucrative nature of the situation:

"In addition to providing immediate humanitarian assistance, the U.S. response to the tragic earthquake in Haiti earthquake offers opportunities to re-shape Haiti’s long-dysfunctional government and economy as well as to improve the public image of the United States in the region."

This is just another prime example of neoliberal economic opportunism during times of natural disaster, a prime example of what Naomi Klein warned about in The Shock Doctrine.

But revisiting the idea that there is somehow a situation that calls for military efforts in lieu of humanitarian aid: If there is any sort of outbreak of violence (and there has not been any reports of humanitarian aid workers getting attacked thus far)--which, you know, is completely possible given that these people have been starving to death and suffering unimaginable physical pain--it would have absolutely nothing to do with greed or opportunism. It's like the MSM wants to turn the situation into the LA riots all of a sudden. This is just unacceptable.

Over the past week I've been following the coverage of Democracy Now! which has been compassionate and heartbreaking, and completely respectful to the Haitian population. Unlike those incompetent, asinine schmucks at CNN like Anderson Cooper, with his muscle tee, posing as a serious newsman, but really just exploiting the situation. I cried my heart out when I heard about the 27 year-old Haitian med student who was trapped inside a building for nearly a week and had to drink the blood of surrounding corpses just to stay alive. Or this outrageous story brought by a DN correspondent:

"...a helicopter from a Mormon charity had landed. It was on the ground, and there was Haitians all around, young and old, waiting for food to be handed out. This helicopter took off, off the ground, and began throwing the food down at the Haitians. It did not distribute it when it was on the ground. They threw the food from the air. These were ... See Morepackets of bread that they were throwing. It ignited just fury and indignation on the ground by the people there. They began screaming. One man started crying. He said, “We are a proud people. We are not dogs for you to throw bones at.”

Guardian columnist Seumas Milne rightfully called this "a result of calculated impoverishment" in his article the other day. Milne writes:

"Most scandalously, US commanders have repeatedly turned away flights bringing medical equipment and emergency supplies from organisations such as the World Food Programme and Médecins Sans Frontières, in order to give priority to landing troops. Despite the remarkable patience and solidarity on the streets and the relatively small scale of looting, the aim is said to be to ensure security and avoid "another Somalia" – a reference to the US military's "Black Hawk Down" humiliation in 1993. It's an approach that certainly chimes with well-established traditions of keeping Haiti under control."

The situation in Haiti is absolutely devastating. But not nearly as devastating as what will happen if the U.S. gets away with militarizing and capitalizing upon the devastation itself.

2010-01-19T16:10:00.004-08:00

What English sounds like

Can't remember how I found this video, but it's some Italian pop singer spouting off gibberish that he thinks sounds like English. I luuuurv it, and wonder, if I listen to this song long enough, will I know the "chorus" by heart?

See more funny videos and Music Videos at Today's Big Thing.

2010-01-15T01:42:00.009-08:00

Neil Hamburger

Last night I went to see the Tim and Eric Awesome Songs Puss Whip Bang Gang show. Which was a lot better than it sounds. But what really made the overall experience was opening act Neil Hamburger, the faux-lounge comedian and alter ego of one Portland, Oregon-based comedian Gregg Turkington.

I was wedged between two friends, both absolute Tim and Eric obsessives, both into the same wacky British humor I grew up with, but one utterly disgusted by Mr. Hamburger, while the other (along with myself) roared with laughter, and had to repeat some of these jokes back a few times to make sure they were as off-color and hideous as they sounded. With Hamburger, the schtick is more about the posturing, phlegm-clearing, spitting into the cocktail, nervously brushing the comb-over to the side, yelling at the audience to shut up even though everyone is quiet, et al, that really makes it.

These jokes are bad. Real bad. But I just had to sit down and jot them all down before I went to bed last night, as if forgetting them would somehow leave a void in the very fabric of my soul. The part of the soul that yearns to blurt out every taboo, politically-incorrect idea that pops into one's head like a compulsive mental patient. Here they all are, in a somewhat chronological order:

1. What was the last good thing that the Osmonds produced in the last four decades?

A stillborn.

2. Why don't rapists eat at TGIFridays?

Because it's hard to rape with a stomach ache.

3. On the day before he was executed, why did the last meal that the Washington sniper requested consist of a can of Pringle's chips, a Nestle's chocolate bar, and a bucket of KFC chicken?

Because those were his sponsors.

4. Why did Colonel Sanders, on his death bed, give Sally Fields the secret spice recipe to make his chicken?

He was desperate for a blow job.

5. Why did God give Smashmouth five hit singles?

It was a clerical mixup, he meant to give them all syphilis.

6. What happens if you put one copper piece, a one cent coin, into each member of Smashmouth's ass?

They turn into Nickleback.

7. What's worse than 9/11?

311.

8. Why did Heath Ledger win over the hearts and minds of a generation?

Because he was a brilliant actor.

9. Why did soon-to-die Heath Ledger call Mary-Kate Olsen right before his quick demise?

He had just taken some pills that he needed to know how to throw up.

10. Why did Julia Roberts smear shit on her vagina?

To honor Heath Ledger. It a Tibetan Buddhist custom, to honor the dead that way.

11. How many Red Hot Chili Peppers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

It depends on how recently they've shot up.

12. What did the Red Hot Chili Peppers do when they heard that no one liked their recent tracks?

They wore more long-sleeved shirts.

13. Why did the Red Hot Chili Peppers want to be taken under the bridge?

There heard there was a plate they could poop on.

14. What is the difference between Harriet Tubman and the Red Hot Chili Peppers?

Harriet Tubman was a heroine to the slaves, but the Red Hot Chili Peppers were slaves to the heroine.

15. Why did God create Domino's Pizza?

To punish humanity for all the complacency during the Holocaust.

16. How do you get your dog to stop licking its own balls?

Coat them in Domino's Pizza sauce.

17. What do you get when you cross Michael Jackson's life with Farrah Fawcett's death?

I don't know, but if I were you I'd stay away from the ass.

18. Who sponsored Michael Jackson's funeral?

Jack in the Box.

19. What do you call it when a homeless wino is raped and mugged by a sexual deviant?

A Wham reunion.

20. Why do the gays like Cher and Barbara Streisand so much?

Because it reminds people that there are easier people to hate than the gays.

21. How do you get Carlos Santana to stop trying to molest your children?

Put a guitar in his hands.

22. What did the medical doctors call it when they decided to cut off the life support they gave to a man in the hospital treated for being an imbecile?

Eric Clapton: Unplugged.

23. What do you get when you cross a pit bull with a hockey mom?

A child with down syndrome, apparently.

24. What's the worst thing that Kenny G can give a woman after a one-night stand?

His latest album.

25. What do you get when you cross someone with down syndrome with a person with Turret's?

Ladies and gentleman...Robin Williams!

2009-12-31T15:18:00.013-08:00

Top Ten Songs of 2009

By the end of two-thousand and nine, not just the end of a year, but the end of a decade and literally "an era," music was in a strange and wondrous place. In addition to the myriad "best of" music lists floating through the internets, crammed with the voices of both mainstream and independent audiophiles ad nauseam, I would like to add my own paltry two cents by submitting ten little ditties that had me no less than obsessed in 2009. And as for the past decade and what it's meant for music, I'll let the editors at Rolling Stone sum up that one:

"It was a decade in which we saw our leaders squander the peace and prosperity of the previous decade. We watched as they sold us into an endless war, stomped civil liberties and trashed the economy, all while the icebergs kept melting and the seas kept rising. It was a decade of lost chances, which we can only hope are not last chances. The ’00s really began on December 12th, 2000, the day the Supreme Court blocked Florida from recounting ballots and anointed George W. Bush. Other bad days were to follow — most famously 9/11. But we never recovered from 12/12, spent the rest of the decade trying to forget it and mostly succeeded. Before you knew it, we were at the airport, waiting in line to take off our shoes. Why? Who knew? We just were. Yet music offered shelter from the storm, even if it was just for one three-minute song at a time."

I know that this list may make those with a more sophisticated musical palate contemptuous, but I'm going to go with what hit me the hardest on an emotional/visceral level. Without further ado:

1. Radiohead: "Hearing Damage"

Like me and my "going rogue" top 10 list, Radiohead doesn't care what you and Matthew Friedberger think. Radiohead is gonna rule the world while giving away albums all up in the internets's face, and they're gonna kick out the jams by producing a track for a teenybopper vampire flick. Because you know what? They just don't give a fuck. As a result, their music is always timeless and utterly original. "Hearing Damage" is a powerful salvo of Krautrock with it's 4/4 beat and dark bass-heavy synths. And Yorke's minimal, disaffected lines interrogating themes of alienation and schizophrenia are pitch perfect, appealing to film viewers and beyond.

And okay, I'll be the first to admit it: I really enjoyed Twilight: New Moon. Kristen Stewart is the Keanu Reeves of her generation, and I can't wait for her next move as Joan Jett in that Runaways biopic. The music for Twilight was absolutely amazing, it captured the otherworldliness of the supernatural running amok in a small Pacific Northwest town so well that it seemed to give hints of a Twin Peaks aesthetic. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club deserves an honorable mention here, as does the collaboration between Bon Iver and St. Vincent, and The Killers's "A White Demon Love Song." Also, Lykke Li's song "Possibility" was utterly heartbreaking and haunting, and it really fit well on this soundtrack. All I had as a preteen was the Cocktail and Dirty Dancing soundtracks, just a pile of odd '50s nostalgia crap in the creative void that was post-Reagan America. To the naysayers, I say be glad younger generations are getting turned on to exciting new artists. Perhaps one day we'll live in a world without Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers (a girl can dream).

Anyways, enjoy this clip from the movie. Srsly. The music is incorporated into this badass vampire v. werewolf scene really well.

2. Bat for Lashes: "Daniel"

Considering how well Natasha Khan's last two albums have been received, and her unmistakable imprint on music trends over the last few years, I've really been surprised that her work has been overlooked in many a retrospective. Consider her conceptual trademark: she's dark, mystical, obsessed with the '80s and seems to have risen from Mordor to unleash her siren call. Will you respond? How could anyone not to a song like "Daniel"?

And when the fires came
The smell of cinders and rain
Perfumed almost everything
We laughed and laughed and laughed

...And as my heart ran round
My dreams pulled me from the ground
Forever to search for the flame
For home again
For home again

Khan's powerful pipes, easily fluctuating from deep, Cat Power-esque molasses to soaring soprano heights, easily make her my stand-in when going through Kate Bush withdrawals. "Daniel" really seems to highlight the great leap Khan took from her first album Fur and Gold, whose primary ambient device simply consisted of cold, dark keyboard arrangements that seemed to come straight out of a Dario Argento horror flick.

It should also be noted that Bat for Lashes was a major player in the whole Halloween aesthetic of many emerging bands in '09. The obvious example being actor Ryan Gosling's much-lauded Dead Man's Bones, where dark piano ballads calling upon Edward Gorey-inspired imagery featured a chorus of children, who were of course all wearing Halloween costumes while performing. Other bands creating goth '80s-inspired sounds more on the electro side were Cold Cave and Horror Disco. And then, of course, there's Fever Ray, which I will get to...

3. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes: "Home"

This song came completely out of left field. I thought it was an old country tune drudged up and remastered upon a quick listen, but when I found out it was new I soon became obsessed. My love for this song, and this band, however, is bitter sweet.

When I found out that lead singer Alex Ebert is actually the former lead singer of Ima Robot, a supremely dreadful Los Angeles-based electro punk outfit, I felt a bit cheated. I really wanted Edward Sharpe to be a real person, and for him and his family of musicians to have lived in a Partridge Family bus, scouring the deep south for grubby watering holes to showcase their roots country souls. In fact, about three months ago I bumped into the lead singer on Market Street here in San Francisco, as he was stumbling out of the Four Seasons at three in the morning (disclosure: I, too was stumbling out of the Four Seasons). I ran up to him and screamed "Edward Sharpe" and he, in turn, gave me a big old hug in his white linen '60s cult leader uniform, and Jesus hair pulled into a bun.

Apparently, Edward Sharpe is simply the name of a character in a book Ebert wrote after a meltdown and subsequent rehabilitation program. And after hearing about his motivations for the album, I can't help but respect his vision. When asked by the Onion AV club about recording on a 24-track with 12 musicians, Ebert said:

"We were all experiencing a feeling of stupidity and fragmentation, feeling disjointed in some way and especially fuzzed out by technology and staring at screens. Musically, I was looking for authenticity in my life and I guess that quest spilled over into the actual process of recording it. It made sense to me that we recorded [the album] in a way that was simpatico with the whole concept of the music."

Technically, from a musician's standpoint (disclosure: I am not a musician), this band is not good. I've seen them live, and about four of the band members appear as nothing more than human props, standing around pretending to play instruments that the microphone doesn't seem to pick up. And the trumpet player that belts out the solo halfway through the song is a terrible hack. But despite it all, this band gave one of the best live performances I've ever seen. The way they worked the crowd with call-and-response and foot stomping was magic, pure magic. My hands were so sore from clapping, and my feet so achy from stomping that it was ridiculous. All I can say is, the overwhelming spirit of this band is undeniable, and this song so classic and memorable, that it deserves to be on this list.

4. Cass McCombs: "You Saved My Life"

This waltzy country number snuck in as the closing track on McCombs' Catacombs, the most accessible, pop-friendly album of the singer/songwriter's career. It's one of the most heartwarmingly romantic songs I've ever heard, and I will no doubt play it at my wedding whereby my bridesmaids will all slit their wrists, and the priest will shoot himself in the face upon listening to it. What I'm trying to say is: this is a really sad song. But my gawd I wish all country music sounded like this--so pure and heartfelt, with the only country twang to be heard coming out of a guitar; not someone's obnoxious voice.

5. The Dirty Projectors: "Stillness Is The Move"

This song is on everybody else in the world's list, and rightfully so. The Dirty Projectors made a quantum leap from experimental indie rock, to more mainstream sounds seeped in West African guitar stylings and, as in this song, warped hip-hop beats. Their sound is so original that it's nearly impossible to explain to someone in a few sentences, and I've been grappling with it all year. This song is also, conceptually, beautiful and moving, and the yearning that background vocalist-turned-torch singer Amber Coffman evokes seems both primal and carefully punctuated--you can literally picture her belting it out on a mountaintop. I'd also seen this band live, and it was absolutely mesmerizing. The female vocalists were harmonizing with inhuman precision that made me contemplate the possibility that they were in fact androids from the future.

6. Bill Callahan: "All Thoughts Are Prey to Some Beast"

If you don't find yourself zoning out and contemplating your own existence while gazing out the window and imagining birds taking flight every time the strings in this song set in, you just don't have a soul.

This song makes me want to learn guitar so bad it hurts. The lyrics here are so stunning and gorgeous, that it makes me wonder if Callahan has a book of poetry floating about. If so, I need to steal that shit and read the hell out of it:

The leafless tree looked like a brain
The birds within were all the thoughts and desires within me
Hoppin' around from branch to branch, or snug in their nests listenin' in

An eagle came down over the horizon and shook the branches with its sight
The softer thoughts: starlings, finches and wrens
The softer thoughts, they all took flight

...Sweet desire and soft thoughts, return to me
Sweet desire and soft thoughts, return to me

Sigh.

7. Phoenix: "1901"

I don't know how/why/what could possibly compel a group of Frenchies in the '00s to create such poptastic hits that sound straight out of '80s, but they've done it--really well. I don't think anyone can understand the mangled English they claim to utilize throughout this album, but in "1901," the momentum that builds up to the lines: "It's twenty seconds to the last call/you're going hey hey hey hey hey hey hey" --it hits you real hard from there, and doesn't let up. Before Cadillac stole this ditty for their crappy commercials, this album, Wolfgang Amadeus, for me brought to mind images of neon-tinged aerobics fads and John Hughes films. This summer I spent a few weeks down in LA, and blasted the album in my rental car while heading down Beverly Drive, which has a width of a football field and is lined with palm trees so tall that they must have been planted during the Jurassic period. Cruising by pastoral front yards and palatial, obscene colonial bastardizations made me feel like Axel Foley, and that spirit couldn't be complete without this song. All my fondest memories of being a kid in the '80s seemed to be captured in this album.

8. Fever Ray: "Seven"

If I may, I'd like to paint a picture of walking in on this song as it was being performed in a grand ballroom here in San Francisco a few months back: A synthesized voice sounding akin to Siouxsie Sioux blasted along with a bass line so strong it made my intestines vibrate. Although I couldn't even make out the silhouettes on stage, they seemed to be conjuring spirits with tribal celtic intensity from behind a foggy neon glow on a stage emitting laser beams. As lasers weaved and crossed through the tops of the audience's heads, a woman dressed as a futuristic Indian chief flailed her arms around in the corner near the bar. Was I at the Regency Ballroom or the Mos Eisley Cantina?

This song is freaky and sounds like nothing else out there; quite simply I love it. It really seems to pick up at the second movement, at "I know it, I think I know it from a hymn/They've said so, it doesn't need more explanation." Word.

Watch the video only if you want nightmares.

9. Taken By Trees: "Watch The Waves"

Unfortunately, the only track off Victoria Bergsman's side project, Taken By Trees (Bergsman is most commonly known as the female vocalist for Peter Bjorn and John, or from her own bands, El Perro Del Mar, and The Concretes), to gain any attention was a cover of Animal Collective's "My Girls," entitled, "My Boys." Too bad. This album was as gentle as a lullaby, as environmentally-conscious as Green Peace, and as fascinating as a Middle East travel diary. The Swedish artist, inspired by the music of India and Pakistan, actually set out and recorded the album, East of Eden, in Pakistan, with the help of local Sufi musicians. The result, a masterful collection of real deal regional rhythms and harmonies gently sprinkled with the sounds of birds and insects, is Bergsman's most impressive project to date. Side note: this is the only modern, studio-recorded song where I find the use of the Pan flute actually acceptable. Listen to "Watch the Waves" here, and watch this short National Geographic documentary about her journey:

10. Real Estate: "Suburban Dogs"I don't know why this song gets me, with its clichéd, low-fi garage band sound. I don't even think it stands out as something nearly as unique as the aforementioned songs on my list. And there have been several notable garage bands that really stood out here in the San Francisco scene like Girls, Grass Widow, Thee Oh Sees, etc. This was truly a remarkable year for localized, low-fi garage and psychedelic rock. Maybe it's a backlash against all these mash-up movements, and re-imagined versions of the '80s--perhaps we're overdue for a grunge revival? At any rate, there is something striking about Real Estate, and something undeniably universal about the mood and atmosphere that "Suburban Dogs" evokes. The twinkling, harmonizing guitars seem to undulate and drift like waves along the shores of Atlantic City (that's just what I imagine, since the band is from Jersey). But I could also see this song as providing the perfect soundtrack for so many lazy summer days in Santa Cruz, or any suburban town in California, nay anywhere, for that matter. But I think what made me fall in love with this song is the lyrics:

Suburban dogs get afraid when it rains
Suburban dogs bark at slow moving trains
They'll run from your house and come back the same day
Suburban dogs are in love with their chains

This song gives me a strange kind of nostalgia for teen angst and romanticized depression; I wish I could have penned a poem like this as a youth.

I also thought of this song when I read a recent news item about how more and more Americans are chained to their current residences, unable to relocate for better jobs because they can't afford it. Again: sigh.

Well on that cheery note--that's it! All ten. Happy New Year!

2009-12-31T14:06:00.006-08:00

Things I learned from the New Yorker 2009 Quiz

Sometimes you just watch The Daily Show and think you've heard every absurdity there is to know about in Washington. That's what I thought, until I did this New Yorker quiz. Here are some highlights:

--Larry King actually thought that Michael Moore wrote "The Times They Are A-Changin.'"

--G. Gordon Liddy said of the Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor, "Let's hope that the key conferences aren't when she's menstruating or something."

--Sen. Joe Lieberman said he decided to oppose the Medicare buy-in because the liberals seemed to like it even better than the public option.

--Bill Gates released mosquitoes into the audience at the TED conference and said, "There's no reason only poor people should have the experience."

--Oklahoma senator James Inhofe said, "If global warming really exists, explain that to the people of Oklahoma. We had the largest snowstorm in the history of Marches three days ago.

--Congresswoman Virginia Foxx said that Americans had more to fear from the passage of health-care reform "than we do from any terrorist right now in any country."

--A Fox News map of the Middle East labelled Iraq "Egypt."

2009-12-22T00:49:00.009-08:00

Seasonal Waltz

My very first commissioned poem was completed today, and sent via the electronic mail to my dear pen pal Sean in London, Ontario. I was paid in chocolate, a good book, and a Pee-Wee Herman doll.

Enjoy (or don't, if, y'know, poetry isn't your thing):

Winter/Perseverance

Wind chants “fall into me”

It purrs and it whistles

First thing you hear

after the din diminishes

of downtown streets

that bustle and beep.

As the swirl of frustration

wears thin, looses grip.

So you cease to fight it, and cease to hide

Hair in tangles,

ears hot; turning red.

Soothe the dry sore skin of all winters past

Incite morning’s biting kiss.

Countless walks in barren courtyards

Skeletal trees,

skeletal umbrellas

left to the elements both harsh and unkind.

On these gray days, and blackest of nights

a single tears streams gently down—

Let it go

like a snake and the shed of his skin.

Fall/Reverence

Don’t forget to catch the day

Like a clear photograph of a bird in flight

Motion in the air made still

Don’t let it blur, linger on.

You sit on the front porch

watching children jump,

kick, crunch the leaves.

Cinnamon, cardamom,

nutmeg swirl at the top of a mug

like a dream.

How many tears drops does it take to cleanse,

rattle the cobwebs of the heart?

It’s a question you ask only on the days when you forget

to forget to forget to forget.

But the wisdom of days spent

basking in reverie

come back,

come back to you still.

Of awe and beauty,

love and endearment

This is the language we speak.

Spring/Innocence

Into the tall grass

go children and lovers

to their oblivion.

Submission

so boundless is dear.

Soon weeds wreak havoc

Flowers fight, stand your ground.

While cascading drops from cotton ball clouds

Trickle down, tap and shower

Replenish your soil, bring back light.

Sunshine like mother’s arms

So fleeting,

bittersweet.

On days like these

the night envelops it all

Too soon.

And there’s a vulnerability,

you recall—

a soft fear you miss

in illness, while in bed,

waiting for a gentle hand.

Summer/Exuberance

Under weathered tarmac, the grass still grows

Roots still move through the earth

And through folly and hardship

and doom you know

that this is but one way to see it.

Parallel worlds, the dreamers say—

Tilt the kaleidoscope.

You’ve been beat down by the end of a day

Yet neglected waves at beaches

never slow.

Poor souls in grottos

frightened to find what awaits:

The laughter of summer,

its joys and its triumphs—

all part of the mad adventure.

Gravity move in reversal you say.

Start it all over, children cry out.

Give back what you’ve taken,

for better, for worse

and birth, only birth

plead the old and unwise.

2009-12-22T00:35:00.003-08:00

Letter from Rome

This just in from my dear friend Joelene, who I have mentioned and had as a guest blogger a few years back. She is still living in Rome with the Italian voice of Homer Simpson. Recently, I asked her about how the whole PM-getting-a-statue-thrown-in-the-face thing was going, and if there is an Italian satire show to mock him:

Italy is as hysterical (in the Latin sense- not "ha ha" hysterical) as ever. We're in for at least three weeks of constant media coverage of this whole Berlusconi getting hit in the face thing. Already there are so many conspiracy theories (Italians are way worse than Americans in coming up with conspiracy theories). The latest one is that his bodyguards were paid off by the leftist party to let the assailant pass through to get to Berlusconi.

I don't know, Italy is such a beautiful country with an amazing culture-- but sometimes it feels like it's in such a mess organizationally and politically. You know what it is? It's oppressive! I don't know if all of Europe is like this, but here in Italy you really feel the weight of a government that seemingly exists only to collect taxes (seems like they do absolutely nothing to improve infrastructure, education, culture, etc.), a social hierarchy that leaves people with little hope to get out of the "class" into which they were born, and a bureaucracy so useless and complex that even completing the most mundane task is near impossible (try paying an electric bill!)...and the high cost of living with low paying jobs. I can't even tell you how many stories I've heard about people trying to start up something positive here and running into government bureaucracy that ultimately shuts it down. The nurse at my dentist's office was telling me about how her class in university started a dental education program for little kids, where they would visit classrooms and teach kids about dental hygiene (which there is a HUGE need for, since nothing like this exists in Italy and since the "dental care" of your average Italian involves letting your teeth slowly rot until you're 50 years-old so you can get a whole set of implants or dentures). She said they were forced to shut the program down after just one semester.

So there you have it. You know, on days when I miss the US it's usually because I miss the freedom of hopping in my car and going to the bank or going to the grocery store. Stuff like that becomes really difficult here in Rome between the traffic, no parking, and weird hours (everything closes from 1:30pm to 2:30 with lots and lots of exceptions-- for example, the butcher doesn't reopen until 4:30, apparently there's some historic explanation as to why butchers need a three hour break).

To answer your question, no, there's no Daily Show equivalent here, which is a shame because they would have sooo much material. That's another thing, everyone's so paranoid here that they're afraid to bad mouth the government. There is this show called "Hyena" that does some pretty good investigative journalism- -they're always doing exposès on some type of corruption of the system. One time they showed how easy it was to walk into the public courts building and rifle through files and literally walk out the door with stacks of confidential documents.

Ah, "La Dolce Vita." Sounds kinda sour to me.

2009-11-22T18:48:00.017-08:00

Top Ten Orphans

Lately, I've been thinking an awful lot about orphans. Perhaps because it's the time of year for folks to be thinking about things like hunger and charity, family and community, Dickensian imagery, and the feelings of alienation that can come from familial separation around the holiday season--a kind of adult orphanhood.

At any rate, I've always loved stories of orphans and the orphan aesthetic. And in film and literature, orphans are always masters of their own fates; slaves to none. So here are my top ten classic orphans:

10. That one kid from Slumdog Millionaire: He just made slummin' it look so badass, whatwith ripping off tourists, and jumping from train car to train car with M.I.A. singing in the background. That was rad.
9. Superman: I really don' t need to justify this choice. Although not particularly pleasing to the eye by way of orphan chic, Superman still provides a badass story of pullling yourself up from your bootstraps and being super.
8. Harry Potter: I don't know if I really can consider a character whose parents died and left him alone, rather than decisively parting ways, an orphan. I guess I just had to include him to appease any geeks who may be offended by his exclusion.
7. Tom Sawyer: Great style, sass, mucho brio. Artful in manipulating the adult world; however, not quite as artful as...
6. Artful Dodger: Makes greasy hair and dirt on the face super hot. Grade A for style, B for sophistication. A cockney accent is the ultimate orphan accoutrement.

5. Punky Brewster: I'll admit it, I totally wore a bandana around the leg for a few days in the first grade, such was the influence of this fashion maven. Also, I claimed to want to be an astronaut when I grew up for approximately three years, simply because that's what Punky Brewster wanted to be on her television show.
4. Annie: Aw man, I wish I could give Annie the #1 spot, I mean, the style, the sass, the songs that really spoke to orphans and orphan-wannabees such as myself. She really paved the way for orphan chic. And how supremely fantastic is the choreography in this video?

3. Peter Pan: His force was so powerful that he was able to command an entire army of orphans to outsmart pirates. Pirates! And you can't knock an orphan whose name has been used for the title of a syndrome to describe the ultimate man-child.
2. Oliver Twist: The Audrey Hepburn-in-Breakfast-at-Tiffany's of orphans. So chic; so beautiful, my inner eight year-old girl still yearns for him. He was so very captivating as a child orphan that it is actually rumored that Michael Jackson used the actor who played Oliver in the classic film adaptation, Mark Lester, as the sperm donor for his child, Paris.
1. Eleanor Roosevelt--because, really, no shit, she was an orphan. And how many orphans grow up to be first ladies? The ultimate orphan in terms of style, Protestant work ethic, and prowess.

That's it--I'm buying up all this orphan garb. I'm bringin' orphan back.

2009-11-16T18:03:00.002-08:00

Dear Men:

I've said it once (well, actually way too many times), and I'll say it again: you people never really grow up, do you?

2009-11-12T20:34:00.005-08:00

My Letter to the Editor at the San Francisco Examiner, which won't be read by anyone but you, dear blog visitors

This morning I read this Examiner editorial about the Fort Hood massacre, specifically targeting the Muslim Army psychiatrist for his creed and unproven ties to terrorist operations--not his obvious mental instability. The fact that this paper is distributed in San Francisco is the only relationship to my dear city that it enjoys: it does not speak for us, and it is not locally-owned. I thought that the conservative titans of industry who spoke through this asinine rag went a bit too far when they endorsed John McCain. But this, this is just disgusting.

What I wrote will not be read by them, as both emails to send your letters to are now defunct (sfeditor@examiner.com and letters@examiner.com). Instead I was left to leave a comment under the article, which curiously disappeared immediately after I submitted it--twice.

I guess my only option is to publish it here, or post it as a facebook status update, but I don't think anyone would be into that, so here goes:

I am deeply disappointed in your article regarding Nadal Malik Hasan, the former Major and Army psychiatrist who opened fire at Fort Hood and killed 13 U.S. soldiers just one week ago. On the day after Veterans’ Day, your paper chose to criticize the viewpoint that our dear, brave soldiers are in dire need of more care when it comes to TBI and PTSD. Instead of acknowledging what we all know—that PTSD rates are on the rise, while funding is scarce for veteran care (please see: “PTSD Rates Rising” Veterans of Foreign Wars Magazine, June 23, 2009, or “Nidal Malik Hasan case: Are Army psychiatrists overwhelmed?” Christian Science Monitor, November 6, 2009)--your paper chose to side with the Right Wing echo chamber that is having a xenophobia fest with the massacre, using it as an excuse to further discriminate against Muslims in this country. Question: was the devout Christian who slayed abortion doctor George Tillman mentally ill, or just a zealot with an agenda? If these two characteristics are not mutually exclusive, should we then target the religious group that inspired this mental illness? Should American Christians be scrutinized and discriminated against?

It’s true, “we all know” that Hasan yelled “Allahu Akbar” (God is great) before opening fire. And we also know that he associated with his local imam who had ties to al Qaeda. But we also know that there were signs of Hasan’s mental illness under George W. Bush’s watch, outbursts and disorderly conduct, that were sloppily investigated years ago—this is old news. What should be news, however, are the grave consequences of pushing these selfless young men and women to the brink of mental sanity. This man sat and listened to gruesome tales from soldiers who, one can venture to guess, suffered deep mental and emotional scars. He sat and listened day by day, waiting for his turn to be deployed into that same world.

Need your editorial board be reminded of the U.S. soldier who opened fire and killed five soldiers in a Baghdad stress clinic just this past May? U.S. Army figures claim an estimated five soldiers stationed in Iraq attempt to kill themselves every day. And the Department of Veterans’ Affairs states that nearly 45% of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans who sought care have been diagnosed with possible psychological disorders.

Your editorial cited a DOL study that Vietnam vets are just as competent and mentally stable as their civilian counterparts. Need I remind your editorial board: this isn’t Vietnam. I am ashamed for the bigoted writer of this article, on the day after this country honors our dear veterans—veterans that desperately need public support for mental health care.
Amity B
San Francisco

2009-11-11T23:41:00.018-08:00

So I was all like, "That totally looks like Keanu Reeves," and she was like, "Yeah, I guess," and I was totally all like, "Whoa."

Let me back up. I spent Veteran's Day afternoon at the Legion of Honor, which as it turns out, is not so much about honor or legions thereof, but more about classical European oil paintings, primarily from the 16th century up until the middle bits of the 20th, with a dash of mummies thrown into the mix. Radical!

So there was a room full of various French oil paintings, and a man was sketching a painting of one of the portraits in front of him. I kind of snickered, mockingly telling my friend Yelli that it looked like the actor Keanu Reeves. But then I instantly felt embarrassed, and thought to myself, Geez Amity, you need to get over your childhood crushes and stop seeing them everywhere. Turns out it was a portrait of Frenchman Paul Mounet (1847-1922) who, oddly enough, was also an actor by trade!

But just moments ago, my friends, something totally mind-blowing this way blew. I happened upon this very video, I totally forget how (it wasn't by thoroughly investigating ever obsessive fan site I swear!):

The likeness is just too awesome. Obviously, I thought, Keanu Reeves must indeed be immortal.

Compare:

2009-11-10T14:23:00.016-08:00

Let's talk about Celine Dion

I've been reading Pitchfork reviewer Carl Wilson's masterpiece from the 33 and 1/3 series, "Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste" on and off, and find myself constantly fascinated and enthralled with all the little factoids about her music and her fans. I learned a lot about taste--good and bad--and think that this book has really instilled a sense of compassion and patience towards those whose tastes I find repulsive.

I used to be far more outspoken and intolerant when it came to others' taste in pop music and culture. As a teenager, I ruined a friendly group outing by lambasting my blind date, a guy who made us listen to Christina Aguilera in the car ride home, thereby creating an awkward silence in his souped-up Honda Civic for nearly an hour. I had recently learned the term "melismatic" and found it necessary to lecture on how showy and trite I found this vocal choice to be in popular music. Years later, I made a good friend's little sister cry. She was about 11 years old at the time, and I was horrified to discover that she idolized The Spice Girls. But there's a happy ending that particular tirade: I caught up with her recently, and she thanked me for turning her off the girl group at a young age, freeing her up for better things. But at any rate, I realized I had become very judgmental--as I think many people my own age are, brimming with pride about our under-the-radar indie rock findings; easily smug when others haven't heard of our new favorite bands.

But this book really made me understand the justifications for Celine Dion love. Here are just a few of the curious fun facts I discovered from Carl Wilson:

--A February 2007 USA Today article credits Celine, Bryan Adams and Lionel Richie with helping popularize Valentine's Day in Ghana, where public displays of affection among unmarried couples are traditionally taboo.
--From Observer Music Magazine, Dec. 2003, a 21 year-old Iraqi girl claims: "There is a lot of pain and separation in Iraqi songs. Generally the Western music we like is slow: Michael Bolton, Celine Dion."
--Jamaican-American music critic Garnette Codogan reminisced on a recent trip to Jamaica: "I remember always hearing Celine Dion blasting at high volume whenever I passed through volatile and dangerous neighborhoods, so much that it became a cue for me to walk, run or drive faster if I was ever in a neighborhood I didn't know and heard Celine Dion. The unofficial rule seemed to be, "If you hear Celine Dion, you're in the wrong place."
--26 year-old Iranian-Canadian activist Neda Hassani immolated herself outside the French embassy in London in 2003, trying to force French prisons to release several leaders of the leftist People's Mujahedeen of Iran: "Amid a glorious pile of wilting flowers laid days before at Ms. Hassani's funeral, a child sang Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On' through a makeshigt public-address system, and the tears flowed."
--The Chicago Tribune (in 2003) reports that the most visible cultural influence in Afghanistan was Titanic. Most residents saw illegal videos when the Taliban was still in power: "In [Kabul's] central market, vendors now sell Titanic Mosquito Killer, Havoc on Titanic Perfume Body Spray, Titanic Making Love Ecstasy Perfume Body Spray...Whatever big is "Titanic." And Celine tapes played from boomboxes in many stalls.
--From Wilson's research: around 45 percent of Celine listeners were over fifty, compared to only 20 percent of music buyers overall. Add to that the fact that 68 percent of her listeners were female. Celine fans were about three-and-a-half times more likely to be widowed than the average music listener.

All of this mind-blowing information led me to learn one very important lesson: for every artist or piece of music that I believe to be pure and utter crap, there is a damn good reason why people love it, and it's not due to lack of intelligence or cultural sophistication.

2009-11-07T15:06:00.010-08:00

Quote of the week:

Recently, I was struck by a most startling and drunken telephone call by an old high school friend in Los Angeles, who had decided to confess a love for me from outside of a sports bar after a Lakers game. This was confusing as, last time I checked, we were platonic friends of over ten years.

My friend Paul, who is also his best friend and last year gave a most memorable quote of the week, assessed the situation:

"Amity, ____ was drunk. Very drunk. And alcohol changes everything, Amity, everything. Like the other day, my friend Allison drove us to the Carl's Jr drive-thru, and I was about to order my usual, a double cheeseburger with bacon. But since I had been drinking, I yelled over her, "NO! FREEZE! Stop what you're doing in the kitchen! I WANT A CHICKEN SANDWICH." Alcohol changes everything Amity, everything."

2009-11-05T13:33:00.002-08:00

I'd rather be...

Taking a nap under the hot Tunisian sun with my body double from Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, in my sparkly Princess Leia slave girl getup. Oh to be Carrie Fisher circa 1983.

2009-11-04T18:55:00.003-08:00

Sino-U.S. Relations

I had a great "conversation" via the facebooks about a week ago, from a Chinese friend who works for Aljazeera English in Beijing. She wanted to know what concerns Americans may have about China and Sino-U.S. relations, as Obama makes a visit to China later this month.

I told her my concerns about real estate tourism, and what it means that China, by way of owning nearly all of our debt, owns us. I also told her about how controversial the Olympic torch event was here in San Francisco, since a lot of Americans were angry about China's human rights abuses, namely those involving Tibet. I wanted to post her response, firstly, since I have the first amendment right to do so; and second, because I think it's fascinating to hear from someone that must live in a country so overwhelmingly brainwashed by its own government:

You have touched on a lot of issues that's very interesting and complicated. The economic aspect is definitely something we want to reflect in our stories, how China is getting the upper-hand in the whole economic downturn and like you, many Americans are worried that because of this, no one would really press China on human rights issues.

It's very interesting to see that human rights issues in China seem to be a very big concern for you(and a lot of Americans). China is hugely nationalistic, you'll be very surprised how Tibet issue has been down-played in China, and that if you discuss the issue with any Chinese, 9 out of 10 people will be offended, and believe you're one of those narrow-minded Americans who judges China from a western perspective. And this is how successful China's brain wash has been. Nearly all of my friends think Dalai Lama is a lying wolf dressing in a monk's robe(the government line) though none of them read anything written by him or even heard him talking. The blindness is shocking. This is something i think very difficult to reflect on TV---the scale of things. And it's the same with Taiwan. You'll be shocked to see how easily government lie and its people comply. It's not to say that Chinese people are so stupid they believe everything government says. But it's very difficult for people who are brought up being taught one value and see reality operates in another. I do think that free countries like America should press China on human rights issues, but i don't think it will ever work. Chinese love Americans, but Chinese also firmly believe that American values are so different that it can never work for China. In the end, like Iran, only when Chinese people realize the suppression can there be a solution. But this is very unlikely in the coming years as the economy is growing and the riches, the middle class are benefiting.

But, it is disappointing to see the country advocates human rights and freedom of speech is getting less and less vocal about China’s issues, when Nancy Pelosi( though a political opportunist, have displayed strong emotions against China many times) came to Beijing, her overly positive schedules in China have amazed me, and I, for once, shared my countryman’s view that America doesn’t care about human rights as long as there’s business to be done. It’s always about business and interest.

Word.

2009-10-31T17:01:00.000-08:00

Happy Halloween!

2009-10-31T15:21:00.003-08:00

I ♥ San Francisco

And this oh-so-magical artifact.

San Francisco 1958 from Jeff Altman on Vimeo.

2009-10-31T15:07:00.004-08:00

Were you aware...

that in Japan, Kit Kat bar pandemonium has intensified, with Nestle's release of a special "cherry blossom" edition? "Kitto Katto," as the bars are known there, come in a wide variety of flavors including Green Tea, Apple, Melon, White Chocolate and Maple, etc. The cherry blossom flavor will be released in April to coincide with cherry blossom season, as well as test-taking season because, apparently, Kit Kat bars are are viewed as lucky charms in Japan. This may be due to the fact that "Kitto Katto" sounds very similar to the Japanese phrase "kitto katsu," which translates to "You shall surely win/be victorious."

Take a little trip down Kit Kat Breaktown way; buy some golf club bags.

2009-10-26T20:37:00.005-08:00

Tough times in the world of dudes

My friend P found this recently on the Craigslists. She found it amusing, but I think her interpretation was: "geez, this guy is a real a-hole." But I don't, I think I see his frustration:

Check this out! - 28

Date: 2009-10-25, 9:28PM PDT

I know my job and I own up to it, I learned the hard way - but I own up to it now. My job is to be decisive when you say "what do you want to do tonight?" My job is NOT to say, "I dunno, what do you want to do?" It is my job to say, "I would like to [verb here] to [insert place] and [activity here]. Yet, I must also know when you have your own idea and actually want me to say, "I don't know, what about you?" How should I know? That's my job as a man. I must know. I do know.

He wants to be that in control/take charge kind of manly man. But, at the same time, he wants the lady to feel like he respects her ideas as well. At any rate, I'm glad it took him only 28 years--not the average 45 or older--to discover that women want to be with someone that knows what they want and how to take control, yet can also manage to respect a lady's need to feel like she has an equal say in all matters of going out on the town. I know if I were a dude, I'd be confused about my gender role as well. Old fashioned values in the modern world--it's tough for dudes, tough times indeed.

2009-10-23T17:59:00.008-07:00

Adlai Stevenson

I'm a new mother now, to a four month baby kitten that I've named Adlai "Cricket" Stevenson. While I've always been wary of pet people that refer to their little bundles of joy as "children" in general, I'm starting to see how easily it can happen, how one can fall into parent mode when a new, vulnerable life rests solely in your hands. But hopefully I won't become too comfortable with this concept, for I fear I may turn into this:

But it's strange how these things happen. One day, you're just looking out for top dog numero uno, and the next, you're buying food for this new creature, taking it for physical examinations, being handed an "adoption certificate," and, worst of all, having nightmares that the little varmint has fallen into a well or worse. And when someone calls the squirrelly little rascal "stupid" or "slow" for attacking the knob on your dresser, or for biting its own feet, you get protective and your mama bear sensitivities make you defensive. But all of this ridiculousness is well worth it when you come home to a little creature that seems to want nothing more than to love you and get showered by your attention. This strange new animal is now looking at you lovingly, as if you were the only person in the world that matters. Is that a kind of motherhood? I think so.

Although, you won't see me putting my precious one in a stroller and adorning it with sweaters. I'll save that for the gay couples that frequent Duboce Park (a friend of mine witnessed it, this is what happens when people aren't given the right to start an actual human family).

So, getting back to the name "Adlai." I love this name, and this man. Adlai Ewing Stevenson was a one-term governor of Illinois who ran for president; lost to Eisenhower--twice--but, the third time, when up against JFK and of course losing, was entrusted with the role of UN ambassador. Stevenson was known for his grandiose oratory skills, his wonky professorial demeanor, and as a liberal crusader for the Democratic Party. But his most resonant characteristic was his quirkiness, and an iconic photographic of his shoes:

Supposedly, Stevenson wore these shoes with great pride, as it represented his devotion to pounding the pavement while on the campaign trail. I only found out about this man and his mysterious shoes when this image came out during Obama's campaign:

There is one more sweet little anecdote about this obscure man of mystery and beauteous name, found via the wiki:

At the age of twelve Stevenson accidentally killed Ruth Merwin, a 16-year-old friend, while demonstrating drill technique with a rifle, inadvertently left loaded, during a party at the Stevenson home. Stevenson was devastated by the accident and rarely referred to it as an adult. However, as the Governor of Illinois he was told about a teenager who had survived an automobile accident while his friend was killed. Stevenson told the teen's father that he should tell his son that "he now has to live for two", which Stevenson's friends took to be a reference to the shooting incident.

If names become indicators of anything, my child/cat better grow to be something special.

2009-10-12T17:23:00.013-07:00

Asgarda photos by Guillaume Herbaut

File under: epically great ideas

I read some shocking news the other day, got me real mad: In India, illegal, sex-selective abortions are still on the rise, and contribute to a $250 million per year industry for the country. Despite the government's best efforts to give incentives for families to raise daughters, females are being killed brutally by such methods as drowning, starvation and poisoning. Over the last 20 years, researches have begun noticing the impact. Whereas in most countries there are 105 females for every 100 males, there are now only 93 females for every 100 males in India. Apparently, some Indians believe that those who give birth to females will be reincarnated into a lower caste system. How murdering an infant can then allow these scumbags to reach a higher ranking in the "next life" is something I can neither comprehend nor explain.

However, I can explain how to eventually reverse this horrific predicament: send members of the neo-Amazonian, Ukrainian tribe Asgarda to India, have them beat the shit out of known offenders, then whisk young Indian girls away to their own special commune in the foothills of Nepal, where they will learn karate and grow strong like the Asgarda. Then, let the Indian girls loose where they can rape and pillage the hell out of all those neanderthals killing babies. Like the original Amazonians of the Scythian variety, they can rape men and have the babies in a safe place where no one will kill their infants, then continue to raise only the girls, sending the male infants back to the villages from whence their fathers came.

Then, Quentin Tarantino can make a bloodfest of a film about it, a worldwide phenomena will be created, and similar Amazonian tribes will naturally crop up all over the place. I must say, my ideas are quite brilliant at times.

2009-10-02T10:30:00.003-07:00

Priceless

I love watching children get into a song, and the mesmerizing innocence they can bring to the most jaded of ballads. This reminded me of the Langley Schools Music Project from the late '70s.

(Thanks, Sean!)

2009-09-28T20:54:00.007-07:00

Skating in Afghanistan

A group of Aussies, Americans and Afghanis have teamed up to create Skateistan, teaching both young boys and girls in Kabul the joys of the skateboarding--a once vapid exercise reserved for Southern California mall rats. And it is ADORABLE. Who knows what benefits and confidence-building skills these kids may acquire with this stuff, but looks pretty bitchin!

2009-09-28T20:07:00.004-07:00

A playlist of '90s classics

There was a small window of time at approximately age 14-15, around the time that I started purchasing my first CDs and discovered indie college stations while living in Memphis, Tennessee, when I really expanded my tastes beyond the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, the B-52s, and They Might Be Giants. A little folk rock band named Dave Matthews Band was playing at the local book store, this girl at my school ranted and raved about some amazing new singer named Tori Amos, and I was enthralled with Weezer's "Sweater Song." It seemed like a magical time in music, or a magical place for discovering the brilliance beneath the pop surface of dancy R&B one-hit wonders, and schmaltzy adult contemporary behemoths. My mother had a job at a casino on a Mississippi riverboat, and we used to drive for hours exploring the dusty strips of highway peppered with tin-roofed shacks and Norman Rockwell-esque town squares with prominent white churches. Sitting in the car felt like a strange safari ride.

I had begun school feeling like an alien from the start, whatwith the backwater apathetic teachers and the black and white schism among students. Besides not having any friends, I obsessed over the woman I was growing into, wondered if I would one day be physically attractive, and, oftentimes, would gorge myself on Krispy Kremes from the Piggly Wiggly and stare at my Cindy Crawford exercise video gathering dust. River Phoenix had died around that time, and Cobain was right around the corner. The grunge era seemed like an awkward moment in culture, but fitting for an awkward teenager.

At any rate, here are the some of the songs I remember the most. Songs I sat and stewed over, obsessed over, and coveted most of all.

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2009-09-21T19:11:00.003-07:00

Cryptic messages from the Post Office

Somebody found this USPS note on our front door, and no one knows who it could possibly be from. True, one of my housemates just broke up with his girlfriend. But it was hardly a bitter ending that could have inspired cryptic messages scrawled on official USPS delivery notices.

Under "Article Number(s) it reads: "Your game will be like saying: clean up your act and defeat the enemy."

Then, under "Notice Left Section" it says: "Guard your territory or basket."

We don't own any baskets, so this must largely be a symbolic statement. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that this wasn't written by the postman.

2009-09-15T12:08:00.001-07:00

Talented people need to stop dying

I'm calling for a cosmic moratorium on death--no more death this year please!

2009-09-13T13:50:00.004-07:00

The politics of misinformation

I read this from The Economist about the health care debate, got real mad, decided to try to deconstruct just what this windbag conservative writer, Robert Guest, was trying to say in his latest Lexington column (my notes in red):

The politics of death
THE first patient Dr Sherwin Nuland ever treated died horribly in front of him. James McCarty, a 52-year-old construction boss, had eaten too much red meat, smoked too many Camels and suffered a heart attack (i.e., a typical spoiled welfare mooch--here is where your tax dollars could go under a "socialistic" health care plan). Dr Nuland, then but a student, was asked to keep an eye on him while he recuperated. Suddenly, McCarty threw his head back, bellowed out a wordless roar and hit his own chest with balled fists. His face turned purple, his eyes bulged out of his head, he took “an immensely long gurgling breath”—and he died. Since this was half a century ago, Dr Nuland did what the textbooks then recommended. He cut open his patient’s chest and tried, unsuccessfully, to massage his heart back to life with his bare hands. It felt like “a wet, jellylike bag of hyperactive worms”. And it did no good. The “dead McCarty… threw back his head once more [and gave] a dreadful rasping whoop that sounded like the hounds of hell were barking.”...

The current debate about health-care reform is in part a debate about death, which is why it evokes such fear. Some of this fear is absurd. Outside a town-hall meeting in Reston, Virginia, last week, a few buffoons likened Barack Obama to Hitler. But most of the protesters are sane. (Compared to what? Obviously Guest is out of touch with the demographics of these protesters). Mr Obama plans to cover millions of uninsured people, says Brittany Tomaino, a young would-be oncologist. He will have to find the money somewhere. That means cuts to Medicare, the government health plan for the elderly, which covers her 95-year-old grandfather, she reckons. “If he needs care, they’re going to give it to someone younger,” she predicts. (Which of course is a false prediction, but let's not get hung up on actual facts here.)

A slim majority of Americans support Obamacare (Since Obama did not author the health care bill being passed around, members of the Senate did, the term "Obamacare" is a misnomer. As such, it could also be seen as synonymous with "Unicorn" since both entities do not exist. Or it could, alternatively, be called "Senatorssleepingwithlobbyistscare. But for the sake of succinctness, I am going to replace all references to "Obamacare" with "Unicorns.") But that majority is declining, and the passion is mostly on the other side. Pro-lifers, for example, worry that reform will mean taxpayer-funded abortions. Half of all Americans believe this will happen. Democrats point out that the bills in question do not mention abortion. Pro-lifers respond that the language is vague enough to allow bureaucrats (who are so much worse than the operatives of the Medical Industrial Complex that always look after their customers' best interests) to add abortion funding after the bill is passed. (Hey, here's a fun game: Let's just keep throwing around unfounded misconceptions about the Senate plan and imply that there's merit to sinister conspiracy theories!) They also fret, like Ms Tomaino, that Mr Obama will deny life-saving treatment to Grandpa to save money. This possibility alarms Grandpa, too. Americans over 65 currently receive, through Medicare, fantastically generous health insurance for which they pay only a small fraction of the cost. Only 23% of them think Unicorns will make them better off, while a growing plurality think it will hurt them.

Health reformers always smash up against two unpalatable truths. We are all going to die. And the demand for interventions that might postpone that day far outstrips the supply. (That's an interesting theory--but what has yet to be measured is the impact of preventative care against current medical practices that are only equipped for expensive, last-minute emergency treatments and how preventative care could drive down the need for "death day interventions"). No politician would be caught dead admitting this, of course: most promise that all will receive whatever is medically necessary. But what does that mean? Should doctors seek to save the largest number of lives, or the largest number of years of life? Even in America, resources are finite. (huh, last time I checked, the health care industry is booming in the midst of the most devastating economic downturn in American history, with executives making salaries that would make Goldman Sachs shysters envious). No one doubts that $1,000 to save the life of a child is money well spent. But what about $1m to prolong a terminally ill patient’s painful life by a week? Also, who should pay? (OMG revelation! I see the Hitler connection! This is just like eugenics all over again! Bureaucrats are gonna decide which categories of patients to save by means of unfair, fascist public policy! Eureka!)...

Blithe and distrustful

Mr Obama’s supporters say that objections to his reforms are largely based on misunderstanding, fuelled by Republican scaremongering. They have a point. But the Democrats’ bigger problem is that most Americans have pretty good health insurance and no idea how much it costs. Taxpayers foot the bill for the old. Most workers with employer-provided health insurance imagine that their employer is paying for it, when in fact it comes out of their wages. Soaring medical inflation depresses Americans’ standard of living and threatens to bust the budget. The system is riddled with waste. Yet most Americans feel little urge to make it more efficient. When asked if insurance firms should be obliged to pay for expensive treatments that have not been proved more effective than a cheaper alternative, 56% say yes.

Few Americans have a clear idea how Unicorns will affect them—unsurprisingly, since even quite basic details are undecided. The uninsured have the most to gain, but they are only 15% of the population. Everyone else has something to lose. (Outright L.I.E.) Many Americans do not trust the government to do anything much, let alone make decisions about life and death. Small wonder Mr Obama finds the headwind against health reform so blustery.

Actually, I think that at this point a more accurate statement would be that MANY Americans do not trust insurance companies that cut their benefits and life-saving treatments to make a profit and allow their loved ones to die without dignity. But what do I know, I'll never write for The Economist.

2009-08-29T19:17:00.001-07:00

People die, but ideas live on...

R.I.P. Kennedy.

2009-08-20T16:59:00.005-07:00

North Beach Crazy

I stood at the corner
waiting for the light to change.
Head pointing toward the sky,
a month's worth of clouds formed
and diminished before my eyes.

The Transamerica pyramid to the left of me,
the old Transamerica building to the right.
Two beautiful smiling girls stood at the entrance
of what is now the Church of Scientology.
One of sunny blond hair;
the other pale and of dark brown.
Black sweaters and white collars
and all kinds of crazy behind those smiles.

I walk towards the dim sum restaurant
and wonder if they eat dim sum too.
Black sweaters white collars gotta eat.
Gotta mail letters and water their lawn.
Black sweaters white collars gotta brush their teeth,
watch the news or turn it off.
Do they smile at the DMV,
or when they do their taxes?
Will they smile in a mass suicide
when their god tells them:
this is The End.

Beatniks once charged down this street;
later hippies and yuppies too.
But now I am on this street
among the power hungry,
the mad,
like my Barbary Coast-dwelling ancestors.
But now I fear Volcano God worshipers
in black sweaters and white collars.

2009-08-19T13:32:00.002-07:00

Barney Frank: Representative from Massachusetts/general badass

Franks to a woman who has drawn a Hitler mustache on a picture of Obama: "It is a tribute to the First Amendment that this sort of vile, contemptible nonsense is so freely propagated.”

Word.

2009-08-18T17:26:00.007-07:00

Typical Libertarian in his natural habit, igniting the Revolution, one message board comment at a time

Let the right one(s) in

I never thought of myself as even having the slightest inclination towards Libertarian thought. I mean, I don't get all crazy nervous about "Big Government" taking over, I don't think that the Constitution is meant to be interpreted as literally as the Neocons interpret the Old Testament, I don't believe in social Darwinism, I Hate the NRA, I hate the concept of laissez faire economics and an extremely free market, and I would never evangelize my beliefs by passing out fliers about Lyndon LaRouche while singing folks songs in the faces of commuters throughout the greater DC metropolitan area (I've witnessed this; his minions are ruthless).

However...the Cato Institute, a major Libertarian think tank, just came out with a study concluding that legalizing illegal immigrants can actually help the US economy--significantly--and I think it just may be the most logical argument f0r reforming national immigration policy that I've ever seen.

The report, entitled "Restriction or Legalization? Measuring the Economic Benefits of Immigration Reform," claims that by filling up low-skilled positions by paying low wages (i.e. slave wages, I know, gross but true) that more high-level positions will be made available by means of a competition upswing. If this doesn't make sense, think of this historical example (according to the report):

"The influx of low-skilled immigrants during the `Great Migration' of the early 20th century induced native-born U.S. residents by the millions to complete their education and enhance their skills. The greater competition to fill low-skilled jobs helped to spur a sharp increase in high-school graduation rates from 1910 to 1930, a phenomenon known to educational historians as the `High School Movement.' In this way, low-skilled immigrants chased native-born workers up the occupational ladder. A greater inflow of legalized workers today would have the same beneficial, long-term effect on U.S. households."

And here's a great snippet of a new book by Jason L. Riley, who serves on the editorial board of The Wall Street Journal of all places--his findings back Cato's claim completely:

But alas my friends, I do realize that the idea of making illegals legal is as likely as getting a single payer health care system. I mean, it's sound policy based in logic and reason. And this is America. Sigh.

2009-08-07T09:58:00.015-07:00

R.I.P. John Hughes, R.I.P. the '80s

Out of all the celebrity deaths that have ensued over the past year, I can't think of any more deserving of the saying: "You don't know what you've got til it's gone."

The number of films since John Hughes ended his screenwriting career that have been directly influenced by, and/or blatantly ripped off from him is staggering. But to say that no one has matched Hughes' ability to capture a generation of teen angst on film is a fact; not an opinion. With many of the movies that he has spawned, sexual exploits and gross-out humor seem to overwhelm (American Pie, Cruel Intentions, Superbad, etc). To me it just appears that everyone's trying to out-do the Farrelly Brothers or Judd Apatow, year after year. It's exhausting. And what we're left with is a decades-long legacy of teensploitation in lieu of any truly insightful narrative of the (teenage) human condition.

I saw The Breakfast Club last summer, in the park on a massive, inflatable drive-in theater-sized screen. I hadn't seen it in nearly 15 years, and it brought back so many memories. It was the first time that I realized, as an adult, just how brilliant and insightful John Hughes actually was as a storyteller. Hundreds of people were cheering and shouting lines along with the actors, whose voices carried across 10-ft speakers placed all over Dolores Park. It was as if we'd all shown up for a rock show, and these characters were the main attraction. It made me realize that Hughes' "brain children" must have truly resonated in the minds of so many people of my generation, and over a substantial period of time.

I was trying to think of reasons why his movies were so influential, and will remain classics for my generation, when I found this article in the NYT. Writer A.O. Scott just nailed it:

"...it’s a little eerie that Mr. Hughes died so soon after Michael Jackson, another fixture of ’80s popular culture locked in perpetual youth.
Their deaths make me feel old, but more than that, they make me aware of belonging to a generation that has yet to figure out adulthood, for whom life can feel like a long John Hughes movie. You know the one. That Spandau Ballet song is playing at the big dance. You remember the lyrics, even if it’s been years since you heard them last. This is the sound of my soul. I bought a ticket to the world, but now I’ve come back again. Why do I find it hard to write the next line?"

The documentary (trailer below), Don't You Forget About Me, about Hughes and his impact on the industry, hasn't been released yet. But I'm sure there are growing legions of fans now anticipating it. Hughes, you will surely be missed.

2009-08-04T17:59:00.002-07:00

Health care, Blue Dogs and Prostitution

Hearing about all the quid pro quo going on between Congress and health care industry lobbyists leaves vile images in my head: crusty old white men giving other crusty old white men hand jobs and lap dances. As the struggling working class and poverty-striken battle each day to simply live their lives with dignity, all that our legislators can do is prostitute themselves.

Olbermann concurs (sitting in a darkened cave in a black turtleneck and holding a human skull; addressing the audience in his best Olivier-as-Hamlet delivery):

You were elected to serve the people. And if you fail to pass or support this legislation, the full wrath of the progressive and the moderate movements in this country will come down on your heads. Explain yourselves not to me, but to them. They elected you, and in the blink of an eye, they will replace you.

If you will behave as if you are Republicans -- as if you are the prostitutes of our system --you will be judged as such. And you will lose not merely our respect. You will lose your jobs!

Every poll, every analysis, every vote, every region of this country supports health care reform, and the essential great leveling agent of a government-funded alternative to the unchecked duopoly of profiteering private insurance corporations. Cross us all at your peril.

Because, Congressman Ross, you are not the Representative from Blue Cross. And Mr. Baucus, you are not the Senator from Schering-Plough Global Health Care even if they have already given you $76,000 towards your re-election. And Ms. Lincoln, you are not the Senator from DaVita Dialysis.
Because, ladies and gentlemen, President Lincoln did not promise that this nation shall have a new death of freedom, and that government of the corporation, by the corporation, for the corporation, shall not perish from this earth.

That is all.

2009-08-03T19:46:00.006-07:00

This woman knows more about you and your parents than you ever will

Talkin' bout my generation

A few weeks back, the WaPo profiled a "Generational Consultant" named Anne Loehr. Loehr, who is in her mid-40s and spent an entire decade in the '90s running a hotel in Kenya, claims to know how to speak the jive (i.e. she's "hip to that" and she's way "off the chain") among the young people of Generations X and Y. And she tells banking execs how to relate to younger clients, "enlightening" them on age-appropriate slang (the article claims that she actually got one of her advisees to use the terms "sucks" and "cool" more often when speaking to a particularly youthful client). The Gawker post rightly dubbed this woman as having the "fakest job in America."

Here's a breakdown of Loehr's cheat sheet, according to WaPo:

"Generation Y" (born 1981-2001):
Life-Shaping Events: 9/11, Reality TV, AIDS, Internet boom/bust, Safety laws.
Traits: Authentically confident, Well-educated, Tolerant and diverse, community-focused, Tech-savvy, Socially, politically and eco-conscious.

"Generation X" (born 1965-1980):
Life-Shaping Events: Stagflation, Gulf War, High divorce rates, Women working, MTV.
Traits: Pragmatic, Self-sufficient, Skeptical, Flexible, Individualistic, "Me" Generation, Distrust authority.
"Baby Boomers" (born: 1946-1964):
Life-Shaping Events: Man on the Moon, Vietnam War, Free love.
Traits: Idealistic, "Break the rules," Time-stressed, Politically correct, Causes, Making a difference, Consensus-driven.

"Traditionalists" (born: 1922-1945):
Life-Shaping Events: World War II, Depression, FDR Era.
Traits: Conservative, Disciplined, Respect authority, Loyal, Patriotic, Risk-averse, Trust the system

Since I was born in 1979, apparently my entire world was rocked by stagflation. Because I totally know what that is you guys, and it pains me deeply--it haunts my dreams, and makes me depressed, like, all the time. And "Me" Generation? Excuse me but the last time I checked, that label was ascribed to the Boomers. And what does that even mean, anyways? As if any generation accustomed to a healthy GDP, substantial suburban growth etc wouldn't indulge and become more "me" focused?!

Oh, and I like how the "Y"ers have five major "life-shaping events,"one of which is "safety laws." Whereas the Boomers are marked by three simple things: "man on the moon," "Vietnam war," and "free love." Because, you know, civil rights movements didn't affect anyone back then or even now. Even for the "Y"s, gay rights don't bear any kind of significance on anyone's life and how they view the world around them.

'Well,' you say, 'if you're so smart why don't make up your own list?' You know why I don't make up my own list? You wanna know why? Because this is a load of bullshit--this is like astrology for money-grubbing bankers and other vile, treacherous vermin. What angers me the most is that this woman is making a killing with this "job" of hers; she is influencing the minds of many; and she is being profiled by the WaPo with a 1,500 word fluff piece honoring her work. It makes me physically ill.

Then again, I think what really angers me most is, out of all the myriad signifiers that could have marked a collective generational arch, art and culture were not looked upon as significant means of identification. When I think of generational identity, the first thing I think about is culture: music, film, literature, et al. What was embraced, what was not; who were the visionaries that left enduring legacies. I don't think to bust out an American history textbook from the sixth grade and make bullet points for current affairs. And the "traits" bits are so painfully vague, so disgustingly cliche...how is this woman employed, in this economy, again?

The WaPo completely missed the real story: how are people like this in business? Is there a hidden market catering to banker fatcats with stimulus money to burn? If they would only try to answer that question, they'd have a much larger readership. Instead, they've become a target for the gawking. Yet another MSM tragedy and bellwether media group showing signs of self-destruction.

2009-08-01T17:17:00.015-07:00

Facebook is the devil

It's no secret to my friends and acquaintances that I spend a fair share of time on the facebooks. But what they don't know is that, in between posting moronic quizzes like, "Who is your hip hop husband?" or "What is your robot name?" or even as I write status updates about what I've eaten, or how I could live in sweatpants, I am really dying inside. Well, maybe just a little.

Lately I feel it's become more of a sadistic endeavor than a lighthearted means of "socializing." For instance, I have to stop myself from peeking at the profile of any guy that I have been dating or intend to date because, more often than not, there will be some ballsy girl marking her territory, making date plans via a public forum. Or there will be some pictures that I care not to see. Like, for instance, when I was dating someone a year ago. We had been seeing each other for nearly four months (a big deal for Singles Capital of the World standards here in SF), and I was really excited about him. So one day, I have a friend over, and she wants to see his picture. So I look to his page, and, lo and behold, there he is being straddled by this girl "friend" of his, with her tongue down his throat (they were surrounded by a crowd of onlookers; obviously very drunk). To add insult to injury, when I confronted him about it, he was shocked that I didn't just laugh it off. After all, he said, "she's married to my best friend! And I was the preacher who married them!" In his eyes, my bad. Only in San Francisco, right?

But recently, as much as I am glad to see my exes happy and in love, I really don't need to see pictures of them every time I log onto the sight. Specifically, there's the case of ______ who I haven't been with in about five years. Long story short, we had an intense international love affair, and he broke my heart. I'll never forget one of our final fights, right before he dumped me. He was invited to go to St. Tropez with some buddies, and I threw a fit over it. I imagined it to be like Lake Havasu, only with supermodels and billionaires. I wouldn't have put up a fuss except for the fact that I was strictly not invited. This was to be a "lad's trip" (he was British). And I know what young Englishmen do on vacation--I've seen it firsthand--they toss away their cultural oppression and let their proverbial hair down, female commitments/significant others be damned. So I was not cool with that, and I had to, at the very least, try to get him to invite me. In the end, he never took the trip, but he did dump me just a month later.

So recently I have noticed that, every time I look to the upper right hand corner of the home screen to view the "highlights" section, there's ______ in St. Tropez, up at the very top in a revolving set of pictures from somebody's album. But that's not all! He's posing with his girlfriend of a few years, a stunning half-Japanese theater actress with a fondness for wearing blouses with necklines that are mere slits dropping down and falling well below her "girls." These pictures have been popping up for the last two weeks. One day, there they are, slow dancing to a jazz band beneath a festival lighted canopy. And on another day, there they are, sipping martinis on a yacht. Or another, lying poolside, looking deep into each other's eyes.

I feel that I have reached the age where I can see the cosmic pranks going on in my life and give a hearty laugh--this, however, is ridiculous.

But today I was mentioning the "hilarity" of this whole situation to someone, and my friend on the phone actually had an f'book story to top it. Instead of her upper right hand corner being filled with exes and their significant others, it was filled with friend suggestions. And one of the most common suggestions that pops up: a friend that had died more than a year ago. Fortunately, my friend has a healthy attitude towards this, and sees the absurdity for what it is.

So apparently, once you've shuffled off this mortal coil, your facebook account lives on! Desperately seeking new facebook friends! This creeps me out a lot you guys. I mean, I can only imagine how bizarre it must be if one were to look up an old high school pal, request their friendship, and, as time goes by and they have not accepted your request, start to think "what an asshole!" So then, you start to ask around, "Hey, what ever happened to _____?" Eventually someone breaks it to you: "Oh _____, yeah, she died like three years ago!"

It's like a creepy ending to a ghost story or something. Only it's real life, brought to you by facebook. I've said it once, I'll say it again: facebook is the devil.

2009-07-24T17:48:00.008-07:00

Some pictures I took last week of

W o o d s t o c k

(actually, from the archives of LIFE)

2009-07-21T13:45:00.000-07:00

Homelessness and hobos, then and now

It's a fairly obvious elephant in the room: homelessness among working people is rising at an alarming rate in the US.

The Nation magazine published a list of things of "Ten Things You Need to Know to Live on the Streets" the other day. Which is telling of our times, I suppose. Although you wouldn't know it due to the lack of media coverage.

I actually found an interesting story on Foxnews of all places:

"Campgrounds all over the country are seeing an alarming number of people pulling up with tents, campers and RV's with nowhere else to go. What once was a symbol of American fun in the sun has now become an affordable refuge for those with no place to live."

At any rate, FYI, brought to you by The Nation magazine, here's a fun guide to being homeless!

1 Be prepared to be blamed for your circumstances, no matter how much they may be beyond your control. Think of ways to disabuse the public of common misconceptions. Don't internalize cruelty or condescension. Let go of your pride--but hold on to your dignity.

2 There is no private space to which you may retreat. You are on display 24/7. Learn to travel light. Store valuables in a safe place, only carrying around what you really need: ID and documents for accessing services, a pen, etc. You can check e-mail and read at the library. You can get a post office box for a fee or use general delivery (free).

3 Learn the best bathroom options, where you won't be rushed, turned away or harassed. Find restrooms where it's clean enough to put your stuff down, the stalls are big enough to change in and there's hot water so you can wash up. If you're in New York City go to Restrooms in New York.

4 It's difficult to have much control over when, where and what you eat, so learn soup kitchen schedules and menus. Carry with you nuts, peanut butter or other foods high in protein. Click here to find a list of soup kitchens by state.

5 Food and clothing are easier to find than a safe place to sleep--the first truth of homelessness is sleep deprivation. Always have a blanket. Whenever possible, sleep in groups with staggered schedules, so you can look out for one another, prioritizing children's needs over those of adults.

6 Know your rights! Knowing constitutional amendments, legal precedents and human rights provisions can help you, even if they're routinely violated. In New York, for example, a 2003 court-ordered settlement strictly forbids selective enforcement of the law against the homeless. The Malcolm X Grassroots Movement offers another resource, and the ACLU has cards, brochures, fact sheets and films.

7 Learn police patterns and practices. Be polite and calm to cops, even when they don't give the same respect. Support initiatives demanding independent police accountability. Link with groups from overlapping populations of nonhomeless and homeless people (i.e., black, Latino, LGBT groups) that are fighting police brutality and building nonpolice safety projects, like the Audre Lorde Project's Safe OUTside the System in Brooklyn. Organize your own CopWatch--and photograph, videotape and publicize instances of police abuse. Consider and support models like the Los Angeles Community Action Network or the People's Self Defense Campaign of the Malcolm X Grassroots Movement in Brooklyn.

8 The First Amendment protects your right to solicit aid (panhandling), especially if your pitch or sign is a statement rather than a request. To succeed, be creative, funny, engaging ("I didn't get a bailout!"). Find good, high-traffic spots where the police won't bother you.

9 Housing is a human right! Squat. Forge coalitions with nonhomeless but potentially displaced people in this era of mass foreclosures. Support United Workers in Baltimore, the Coalition on Homelessness in San Francisco, the Nashville Homeless Power Project. Learn about campaigns against homelessness in other nations, including the Landless Workers' Movement in Brazil and the Anti-Eviction Campaign in South Africa.

10 Don't go it alone! Always be part of an informal network of trust and mutual aid. Start your own organization, with homeless people themselves shaping the fight for a better life and world. Check out the Picture the Homeless Blog for news, updates and reports on homelessness in NY.

Thinking about the #1 tip: "Be prepared to be blamed for your circumstances..." really made me internalize the stigmas and misconceptions that come with living on the streets. I've been giving more money to panhandlers recently, trying to put things into perspective by realizing that, while many of the homeless in San Francisco do choose to this lifestyle, several do not. And for them, I hope to build more compassion.

On a lighter note, here is a mock PBS documentary about hobo history as told by John Hodgman:

2009-07-21T11:39:00.006-07:00

Poems about riding my bike yesterday

I was scared to ride the bike at that moment
There are just some things you're not supposed to do with a full stomach,
like swimming and jumping jacks and all things fun.
Mothers like to threaten us with promises of cramps
making us think about our stomach and its needs.
In the same way, friends now threaten me
re: my helmetless ways.
But I don't want to see the point in it.
Wearing a helmet steals my freedom.
Nothing but a death grip.

I left the grocery store with a plastic bag hanging on handlebars
In it a pint of milk, bread and strawberries.
I made my exit and the Hare Krishnas were chanting
but it only clashed against the white noise of a bustling city street.
I wanted them to stop, they made me nervous with their stares
and unsolicited public demonstration of faith.
A friend was mugged by a Hare Krishna in DC years ago.
I made my getaway, and the bag got caught in the spokes.
The carton sprung a leak, and the milk sprayed at 360 degrees.
I stopped in the street, took it out, and left it leaking next to the Krishnas.
Their stares now directed towards the milk, they went silent.
I win.

I've had a beer, at a pub, alone and with a book.
I've hopped on the bicycle, a little more confident than I should be.
The wind feels cooler through my hair, I have more strength to charge the hills.
I'll be home soon, and the journey will be more of a blur than usual.
I'm on my street, just one block away.
And a car door swings open, blocking my path.
In a flash, I am filled with terror and let out a scream.
The woman in the Honda is Asian.
She must be, because when she yells
it's like a Bruce Lee scream.
I've swerved well, and I think: boy is she lucky.
My hospital bill would've been huge.

2009-07-19T17:03:00.004-07:00

Robert Frank: Cafe in Beaufort, South Carolina

A slice of Americana

"That crazy feeling in America when the sun is hot on the streets and music comes out of the jukebox or from a nearby funeral, that’s what Robert Frank has captured in tremendous photographs taken as he traveled on the road around practically forty-eight states in an old used car (on Guggenheim Fellowship) and with the agility, mystery, genius, sadness and strange secrecy of a shadow photographed scenes that have never been seen before on film. For this he will definitely be hailed as a great artist in his field. After seeing these pictures you end up finally not knowing any more whether a jukebox is sadder than a coffin. That’s because he’s always taking pictures of jukeboxes and coffins—and intermediary mysteries like the Negro priest swatting underneath the bright liquid belly mer of the Mississippi at Baton Rouge for some reason at dusk or early dawn with a white snowy cross and secret incantations never known outside the bayou—Or the picture of a chair in some café with the sun coming in the window and setting on the chair in a holy halo I never thought could be caught on film much less described in its beautiful visual entirety in words."

--Jack Kerouac, from the introduction to the Robert Frank book of photographs entitled The Americans, published in 1959.

2009-07-15T11:37:00.004-07:00

Failing celebrity pop quizzes, predicting the president

Two years ago, I was applying for a job with a blog site. The site was geared towards women: the gossipy, Cosmo-loving, Lifetime Network-watching types of women. Mainstream women, that wanted to read fluffy infotainment. But the blog was supposed to cover topical, political news (the Presidential elections were swiftly approaching). So I thought, 'Brilliant! Perhaps I can break through the apathy and boredom these types of women feel towards politics. I will make women smarter, through the brilliance of my writing!'

Alas. I was interviewed but did not get the job, as I failed a pop quiz on recent celebrity news.

Interviewer: So, do you stay up to date on celebrity news too?

Me: Yeah, you mean like Britney Spears and Angelina Jolie?

Interviewer: Yeah.

Me: Oh yeah, like, I read Britney Spears is kinda going crazy, like more so than usual. And, yeah, Brad and Angelina just adopted a kid from a third world nation. Again!

Interviewer: I didn't hear about that.

Me: Oh, yeah I think they did. Or maybe they had one of their own, yeah, I think that was it, yeah I was just confused there for a second. Sorry.

So anyways. Before I scored and bombed the interview, I had to write a substantial writing sample based on several prompts that the blog people provided. One of which was to predict the top three presidential contenders. Mind you, this was written to be fun and goofy, and it was written in September of 2007:

1. Hillary Clinton: Ahead of high-profile challengers Barack Obama and John Edwards, Clinton is the Democrat to beat, and the GOP knows it. Even President Bush and Newt Gingrich think she’ll get her party’s nomination. Polls claiming voters don’t like her personality still haven’t stopped her from beating out the competition. Fun facts: she’s a Scorpio and her favorite color is Yellow. We could assume this is one passionate lady that looks to the sunny side of life.

2. Barack Obama: Barack Hussein Obama has arguably been attacked more than any other presidential candidate, but has still managed to trail Clinton by no more than 25 percentage points since January. Fellow candidates claim he lacks experience, conservatives question his Muslim background, and African American critics claim he isn’t “black enough”. But despite it all, his powerful speeches sometimes carry the news of the day. Fun fact: Currently a smoker, Obama claims he’ll quit when elected President since smoking is not allowed in the White House. Note to Barack: nicotine gum is sooo unpresidential.

3. Rudolph Giuliani: Although he started off in the race neck and neck with John McCain, and is now closely running against Fred Thompson, Giuliani has steadily held the lead among fellow Republican competitors since February. And even though many have criticized him for capitalizing on his 9/11 experience (the Onion’s article about the “President of 9/11” has been referenced by pundits), his favorability rating among voters is higher than any other candidate—including Democrats—at 59% according to Gallup. Fun facts: His favorite movie is the Godfather. Let’s hope the film hasn’t influenced his political career.

Two out of three ain't bad.

2009-07-14T19:07:00.003-07:00

My new favorite song, and album

Well for the time being anyways: Cass McCombs' "You Saved My Life" from the album Catacombs, which came out a week ago. The video below was actually directed by Eric Fensler of "Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job!" It's a far cry from the late night bizarro sketch comedy that is the "Awesome" show, but captures the emotional pull well, and especially proves moving at the end:

2009-07-13T19:50:00.002-07:00

Hard Times

My new favorite way to waste time, Zefrank's "Hard Times":

2009-07-13T17:55:00.007-07:00

On worshiping false idols

I really don't feel any sense of loss with the death of Michael Jackson. Not because I was never a fan of his music, or was never able see the cultural impact of his work. I mean, what would the world of pop music be without the sonic mastery of Britney Spears or Justin Timberlake!

You cannot convince me, however, that the man behind the star: the father, "babysitter" or general "friend of children," the man that had nicknamed his child "blanket" and nearly threw the infant off of a balcony as a cute publicity stunt, will leave his family any less off as he shuffles off the 'ole mortal coil. The same man who was tried on multiple counts of child molestation and conspicuously settled for outrageous sums of money, who readily admitted to sleeping with children and showed not one ounce of remorse or fear of judegment; the same man who even named his daughter after himself and, by all accounts, did not have a sexual relationship with his children's mother and most likely was gay and attracted to young boys. I am sorry to those who want to indulge in '80s nostalgia and listen to his songs now made bittersweet, but I will never accept the notion that an artist's place in the course of pop history could ever cancel out gross abuse of children in any way, shape or form. And it is no less than absurd that, when I bring these issues with Jackson up to any of my friends, they feel the need to point out his "loss of childhood" as a prepubescent superstar. As if it were an adequate excuse to molest children as an adult.

And the Reverend Al Sharpton, the nerve of this cretin to latch on to the sensitivity of the fans and family that seiged downtown Los Angeles by inventing a half-baked conspiracy that the media was out to tarnish his dear saint's image! What a show! What an act of pure revisionist drivel! Sharpton has a fabulous flair for the dramatic--they don't call him a reverned for nothing:

"I am here because of the disgraceful and the despicable way some elements of the media have tried to destroy the legacy and image of Michael Jackson. You have had other entertainers that have had issues in their life. But you [the media] did not degrade and denigrate them...Show the same respect for Michael and Michael's family that you showed Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley. I don't think the media understand who Michael was. I don't think they have any cultural significance."

Right. Because we all know that Elvis and Sinatra also slept with children at their ranch full of roller coasters and chimpanzees.

And how does the media respond? In typical fashion, by hearing no evil and speaking no evil. They reap his childhood for accounts of child labor and exploitation, swoon over his steady rise in the world of pop music, and quickly tip toe over a few "controversies" here and there. The day MJ died, the MSM died yet another death. Here we have it, folks, CNN reduced to playing this "E! True Hollywood Story" on repeat.

NYT columnist Bob Herbert wrote a brilliant peice on how the media's treatment of MJ's death is a fair analogy or reflection of this age of denial, the one in which American prefers the reality of "reality" television--that is, fiction masquerading as reality, to that of, well, actual reality.

Reality is unforgiving. There is no escape. Behind the Jackson facade was the horror of child abuse. Court records and reams of well-documented media accounts contain a stream of serious allegations of child sex abuse and other inappropriate behavior with very young boys. Jackson, a multimillionaire megastar, was excused as an eccentric. Small children were delivered into his company, to spend the night in his bed, often by their parents.
One case of alleged pedophilia against Jackson, the details of which would make your hair stand on end, was settled for a reported $25 million. He beat another case in court.
The Michael-mania that has erupted since Jackson’s death — not just an appreciation of his music, but a giddy celebration of his life — is yet another spasm of the culture opting for fantasy over reality. We don’t want to look under the rock that was Jackson’s real life.
As with so many other things, we don’t want to know.

And if you think I'm out of line here, consider this: seven US troops died in Afghanistan on the same day that Michael Jackson overdosed on pills. Seven men went through significant pain in the line of duty, while a neurotic pop star overdosed on pills. But who cares about those guys right? None them could moonwalk, or dated Lisa Marie Presley, or hold any Guinness Book of World Records titles in cosmetic surgery.

Off into obscurity go the sacrificial lambs...

2009-07-09T12:55:00.004-07:00

Here's a thought: try being less of an asshole

I think I may have to add a new feature to the old blog and chain, entitled "Here's a thought: try being less of an asshole." The other day I decided I really wanted a job I had applied for, and passed on, two years ago. I don't want to name names, but this would have been a kickass publication to work for. The person who had this position left because she got hired for Wired magazine. So I very sweetly, and oh-so-cordially, decided to check in to see how the editor who almost hired me was doing, and to let him know that I would like to be kept in mind for future job positions. Here is his response:

Amity-

Thanks for checking in. We don’t have any openings. In fact, we had to lay off the associate editor earlier this year because of budget cuts at Stanford. I don’t anticipate any changes to our economic condition for at least a year.

Good luck,

(name withheld)

It's not really that rude. But, if you can imagine the font size twice as large as shown here, you can see that it was toooootally unnecessary.

2009-07-05T21:47:00.013-07:00

Hangovers

Besides your standard alcohol-induced day-after illness of headache and nausea, there are so many other types that I have been pondering as of late (as I write this with aforementioned, standard hangover). There is a food hangover (which in my case typically follows another medical condition known as "burrito regret"), there is the love hangover (that is, when the unflattering lens of rationality takes hold to reveal irritating idiosyncrasies), there is a movie called "The Hangover" which I haven't heard anything good about so it's probably crappy, and then there's the economic hangover. The economic hangover can take on many forms, and, if one is looking for it, one cannot escape it...it is especially inescapable these days.

The picture at the bottom of this post should provide the perfect symbol of an economic hangover. It is of the failing construction project of the Echelon resort in Las Vegas, an ambitious $4 billion plan to build a casino the size of two football fields, four hotels with 5,300 rooms, and 25 restaurants. Construction was postponed last August for 3 to 4 fiscal quarters (yeah, I'm sure the project will be up and running any day now), and was supposedly set to finish in 2010. The developers fancied it a grand, classy affair, with the hopes of giving the Venetian a run for its money. But before they could get to work, they had a little celebratory destruction, doing it up all-American style, they set some fireworks and decimated the historic Stardust Casino, as it was impeding on their now ill-fated vision.

I shall not shed a tear if the grand plans for the Echelon never come to fruition. Especially not after discovering the following footage of the Stardust's implosion at the hands of the Echelon developers in March of 2007. When it opened in 1958, the Stardust was the largest casino in Las Vegas history, it launched the careers Siegfried and Roy and was a major venue for Andrew Dice Clay and Wayne Newton for years. It's sign became an icon of the strip itself, and of the jazzy '50s Rat Pack-influenced era of Las Vegas itself.

First, witness the excitement of the Stardust's untimely death:

And now, the ultimate hangover, coming to the Las Vegas strip in the form of a completely abandoned construction site:

Hangovers can be a real bitch.

2009-07-04T13:17:00.001-07:00

Happy Independence Day!

2009-07-02T18:54:00.006-07:00

Emilio Gutierrez Soto (R) meets with reporters following his release in January

Heroes of Mexico

I've been trying to read a lot about what's going on with America's neighbors to the south recently. I feel that most Americans, disturbingly, are completely unaware of just how quickly things are spiraling out of control. Tijuana is no longer a haven for frat boys on Spring Break, Swine Flu is not what's killing most citizens at an alarming rate; the chilling onslaught of disappeared women in Juarez is probably the least of the country's worries.

Quick facts:

-- In 2008, more than 6,000 Mexicans died from drug violence, a larger loss than the total number of American troops that were killed in Iraq. Some estimates are higher (by some 1,000 Mexican lives).

--Since 2000, two dozen reporters have been officially reported as murdered, and at least seven have been recorded missing. An unknown number have fled to the U.S.

--More than 150 people from Mexico, including police officers, businessmen and at least one prosecutor, have sought asylum since October 2007, according to U.S. Customs and Border Protection officials in El Paso.

Just this month, Mother Jones magazine published--rather admirably under the circumstances--the grizzly story of Emilio Gutierrez Soto, a former reporter for El Diario in northern Chihuahua state, who's head is wanted by nearly everyone in his home country: the Mexican Government, the Army and the drug cartels (all of whose members are practically interchangeable anyhow). While he has successfully filed for political asylum and now lives in the U.S., his head is no less being hunted.

I say MoJo is admirable here, as scant news outlets have told this very symbolic, very prescient tale of Mexico and its base human rights abuses towards this poor journalist. Gutierrez Soto has kept his head down; his eyes and ears shut when it comes to the gross corruption and barbarism that he has witnessed. He isn't an insatiable muckraker, he knows the stakes, and besides, he has a young son to think about. His only misstep may have been the fact that he never accepted any bribes from anyone, and he refused to publish "corrections" to his stories when certain authorities threatened or bribed him to do so.

Stories that got him in trouble included one in which he reported that the mayor had peed in a gutter after leaving a club (intentionally leaving out the fact that the mayor was exiting the club with known drug pin leaders), and one in which he reported that a drug counselor was fired from the local school district. At that point, Gutierrez Soto was a wanted man. But what really tipped the scales, and what sent hordes of henchman after the journalist and single father, was a story involving the Army. One day, six Mexican soldiers stormed a run down boarding house, looting and stealing food and jewelry from migrant workers. The citizen reporter could not resist the urge to help in any way he could. After he broke the story, there was no turning back. Gutierrez Soto quickly went into hiding, and soon realized that his only option, should he want to live, was to get out of the country and seek asylum in the U.S.

Seven months later, Gutierrez was released from a Texas detention center run by Deco, Inc. And it is not speculative to say that if Obama was not elected into office, it never would have happened since the Bush administration's policies were such that all those from Mexico seeking political asylum be detained immediately; many indefinitely.

Gutierrez Soto's attorney, Carlos Spector, told the Washington Post:

"I think that once the Obama administration came in and laid out their policies and their vision, that we were going back to what America is all about, due process...The Bush administration was characterized by silence, non-accountability and inhumane treatment of detainees."

The story by Mother Jones is highly illuminating, and at times feels very personal. The following quote is haunting, and completely saddened me (the reporter describes Gutierrez Soto):

"He sees Mexico as genetically corrupt. A corrupt Aztec ruling class fused with the trash of Spain, the conquistadors. This thesis helps him face the reality around him.

'In Mexico,' he says, 'we operate in disguise. There is one face and under that is another mask. Nothing is up-front.'"

I feel for this man, and the many brave, honest Mexican citizens that make this journey to the north and succeed. They should be celebrated as heroes--not detained, for they know that staying in their homeland is tantamount to a death sentence; yet they move forward, and tell their stories anyhow.

2009-06-27T12:28:00.008-07:00

San Francisco's Ocean Beach, with the Cliff House on the right.

The Woman, the Myth, the Legend

This morning I educated myself on life and times of "San Francisco Carol," a 75-year-old woman that is living Ocean Beach. It's hard to say "next to" or "near" Ocean Beach, as SF Carol is more "of" the beach, and of the elements, than most Bay Area natives could ever dream.

According to the Surfer's Journal article I read this morning, Carol Shuldt has been body surfing naked since the ripe old age of 10, and has since become something of a local legend in her own right. An extreme case of naturalist tendencies has seen Carol, in decades both past and present, sleeping on the beach despite owning a beach house, recycling to the point of composting her own waste, and becoming a staunch anti-drug advocate (she was even said to have battled it out with Timothy Leary in the '60s).

Her OB digs, a peachy A-frame bungalow, comes replete with wild cactus and other greenery obscuring the front windows, and a psychedelic mural on the side featuring Saint Francis of Assisi at it's center. Over the years it has provided shelter for many well-known surfers, as well as drug addicts she has taken under her wing in the hopes of rehabilitation. Oftentimes, according to the article, she has accommodated so many house guests that she sleeps in her kitchen.

The pictures in the feature story are both revelatory and inspiring (unfortunately I do not own a scanner), and there is a portrait of Carol laughing that I would love to describe: her shoulder-length, wavy orange-red hair is pinned into a '50s era bouffant, and her fuchsia pink lipstick provides a perfect frame for the generous rack of fierce, slightly-yellowed pearlies. What appears to be a kitchen hand rag is tied at her neck and draped over her back like a cape, and her pastel-colored, daisy bikini top completes the retro look. But it is her skin that is most striking: it's braved the elements for so long that it appears to have resembled the elements themselves.

Carol recalls the times she spent with her first husband in her twenties and thirties:

"It was like a family...Your generation has such a hard time understanding because you're into technology. But people didn't just drive to the beach, call their friends on their cell phones, surf, and drive away. We lived on the beach and lived with the beach. There was a community around the fire. We needed the fire. We had to live with the elements. We had to feel."

Her skin, now shriveled, coarse; and with deeply marked grooves, is lightly speckled brown to create an overall brownish tone. While I am sure that many a pale San Franciscan has spotted Carol on the beach and shuddered at what may be viewed as unsightly skin damage, her unorthodox flesh could also be seen as an evolution of sorts, for I am sure it has shielded and camouflaged her against the rough sands of many a Northern California beach.

Even her demeanor appears rooted in the elements. Jaimal Yogis, who authored the article (in addition to Saltwater Buddha: A Surfer's Quest to Find Zen on the Sea), and also happens to be Carol's neighbor, writes:

"She speaks in a stream of consciousness that is akin to watching sea foam change into multiple patterns--connecting, separating, reconnecting--in the ebb and flow of the tides."

It just struck me as such a revolutionary concept: become more connected to the elements, and you can not only understand them--you can become them.

2009-06-07T22:25:00.006-07:00

John Wayne

Second installment of fiction, well--this one is semi-fiction. I did in fact once have a collection of John Wayne portraits on my wall as a teenager.

Not many people know this, but I was once enamored with the Duke. John Wayne. That hard-bit all-American hero with the sour look of a cowboy that can smoke a half dozen cigarettes in his mouth at one time; in the blazing desert sun while lassoing a buffalo the size of Oklahoma to the ground at breakneck speeds. I know not of his many films, his real-life amours, nor the temperament and tenacity that, I am sure, made him a force to be reckoned with on the set. I do know one thing however: I did not follow the Duke. The Duke followed me.

In pawnshops, thrift stores, garage sales and flea markets is where he found me. On deep velvet, hazy canvas, in dark oily strokes, and sometimes even gentle breezes of delicate pastel. His eyes looked steely/his eyes looked faded/his eyes looked upon me through artist renderings that could shake a young girl to the core. Why did I find ways to take him home with me every time our eyes locked? How could I not?

How did he know to be here as I casually perused fine vinyl selections, weather-beaten tennis rackets, Chia Pets, and scintillating 1950s Playboys?

I don’t believe in miracles, but I do believe in the Duke. Ours was a connection that no generational gap could tarnish. At one point I dedicated an entire wall of my bedroom to this man of majesty. With intricate, brassy gold frames clustered like patchwork between lesser ones of faded black and imposter wood, Mr. Wayne’s many faces nestled snuggly.

In smoky gatherings of marijuana-infused revelry rested the Duke, persevering and staring blankly onwards. Crowds evaporated, atmospheric college rock died and morphed into Nina Simone soul and Sam Cooke molasses. The air thinning and the moon glow cooing through the blinds, and a boy on my arm that I wish were as great as my one-dimensional cowboy.

2009-06-05T17:55:00.006-07:00

Sugar and Spice

And all things nice...it's what little girls are made of, right? Wrong. May I present as evidence the following video, brought to you by Sarah Haskins at Current TV, which proves that this classic rhyme could use an update. How about "Deodorant and cream cheese and canned croissants, that's what..." Naw. Sorry. That doesn't rhyme at all! But that's all I got.

Credit to Sean for the hot vid.

Sparkles!

2009-06-04T10:20:00.009-07:00

Iranian press totally punked

Big shout-out to one of my favorite local sketch comedy groups, the San Francisco-based Kasper Hauser, who successfully made Iranian headlines today with their spoof book Obama's Blackberry.

This new work of satire makes obviously bogus claims that Kasper Hauser, a group most likely named after the famous 19th century wolf boy, have hacked into the President's personal phone service. And now, the Iranian government-funded "Press TV" has come out with the story as a legitimate news item, referring to the comedy troup as "cyber hackers" and "terrorists." Somebody, anybody, please destroy their uranium enrichment plants--I don't trust rogue states that don't have a sense of humor.

2009-06-02T21:11:00.003-07:00

Interview questions?

So I may end up interviewing this fine chap for an arts magazine some time this week. Trying to come up with some good questions. So far all I want to know is where he learned to dance, and what music--other than his own--inspires him to dance.

2009-06-02T20:23:00.008-07:00

Archie and Veronica Wed

I don't know what disturbs me more: that Archie chose Veronica over Betty, or that I am actually really mad about a 60-something year old comic book character proposing to his fictitious teenage girlfriend. It is rather depressing though. I mean, this Archie character had to choose between two girls that look exactly alike, only one is blond and the other brunette. Other distinguishing character traits? The blond has a heart of gold and the other one is a total bitch. But then again, the bitch had all the money to inherit, so there you go. If the comics are meant to reflect reality, I guess it isn't entirely unlikely that this would happen--especially during an economic downturn.

It was really interesting to see the kinds of news items that came out of this comic book development. Jezebel, the women's Gawker site that sometimes lamely poses as a feminist response to popular culture (it's no feministing.com), decided to open up a debate about blonds v brunettes. You go, you pro-woman culture vultures!

"...in addition to surveys that indicate more billionaires have brown-haired wives, and most men would rather marry a brunette, a look back through the annals of pop culture shows that the sassy, dark-haired girl is more likely to come out on top than the boring, blonde girl-next-door..."

Wow. Why read Cosmo when I've got Jezebel to tell me what men really want.

I got a real kick out of The Atlantic's break down of the major comic book event:

"Veronica is the girl Archie worships, and accepts abuse from, the girl for whom he is only sometimes good enough, polished enough, or rich enough to escort. If Veronica’s fortune ever withers, and when her looks inevitably decline, it isn’t clear what she and Archie will have left. The recession—or any edition of Bravo’s Real Housewives—provides all too many examples of what happens to a marriage when one partner’s financial expectations, whether of opulence or simple security, are disappointed...
If Archie wanted a life partner, a wife who knows how to work on a relationship through decades of disappointment and joy, Betty Cooper would have been an easy choice. She could have helped him figure out what he wants to do with his life, because she has dreams and ambitions of her own: She wants to be a journalist—a potentially quixotic goal as the industry crumbles in 2009, but then, she has plenty of practice chasing lost causes."

Insightful? yes. Great rhetoric wasted on cheeseball 1950s Era comic book characters? Totally.

Oh, and of course The Onion had to do a Man on the Street regarding the Betty v Veronica debate:

Noah Magee,
Systems Analyst
"I'd pick Veronica. I’ve picked Veronica every day since puberty, as a matter of fact."

Elaine Tekle,
City Auditor
"If that guy knows the first thing about anything, he'll choose Betty. Or Veronica would be pretty great, too. Actually, he can't really go wrong.”

Theo Brotman,
Lehr Operator
“Married? Oh, no! This is totally going to break up The Archies."

But leave it to the NYT to reveal one little tidibit that can shed light on this travesty: Michael E. Uslan wrote this Archie issue, a man credited with writing and producing The Dark Knight.

So if this story gets all dark and bleak and extreme terrorism is involved, you better bet I'm gonna start buying up issues, only this time with a zeal not felt as a preteen bored in the register line at the grocery store.

2009-06-01T18:52:00.003-07:00

Were You Aware of It?

"Jack Ruby owned seventeen dachshunds, whom he referred to as 'his children.' In an astonishing coincidence, all of his dogs were named either Lincoln, Kennedy, or Oswald, except one, which was named 'Li'l Grassy Knoll.'

Meanwhile, Jaqueline Kennedy kept seventeen cats. She disliked the animals, but kept a pack of trained felines for the hunting of voles. This was an ancient European pastime akin to fox hunting, but replacing the dogs with cats, the fox with voles and/or shrews (moles and mice are disqualifiers), and the horses with single-speed bicycles. Her passion for the sport, which bordered on addiction, was considered a potential liability by some within the White House, who feared that many in mainstream America, who rarely eat vole, would perceive the sport as an aristocratic European fancy. Still, it was practiced on the sly, and as a result, most of Washington, D.C., is still voleless. "

--John Hodgman, The Areas of My Expertise

2009-06-01T18:43:00.004-07:00

Shepherding becomes eclectic

"I know you wanna herd sheep so bad it's like acid your my mouth, Johnny." --Patrick Swayze, Point Break.

2009-05-31T19:50:00.003-07:00

(The following is one of several flash fiction pieces I've written recently)

The Bench

He was kicking the pebbles with the toe of his sneaker. With furrowed brow weighing heavy as shoulders, he felt the sagging despair of words lost in the thunderclap. She breathed and waited for something to happen, anything; a hurdle to slow the steady beat of her heart. Her teeth began to chatter seconds past the first chilled drop of rain hit the back of her neck now arched to the sky.

Moments alone together were as fleeting as the clouds overhead, and they both knew it. But teenage pride was hard to shake, every word muttered too ripe for the mocking. She felt invisible to him as he took the Swiss Army knife to the seat of the bench, piercing the space that separated him from the warm flesh he felt helpless before. A last act of faith, he thought, a faith that she wouldn’t forget him as the seasons waltzed along and left them both adrift. School’s out for summer, as the Top 40 song went—school’s out forever.

The fog was too thick to see whales. The rest of the class had vanished towards the bus. He removed his hand from the wooden bench and revealed the markings he had carved, “Tim and Anna ’73.”

2009-05-31T16:13:00.003-07:00

"From Burger It Came"

People who do not believe in sex education in the schools should watch this animated short film by Dominic Bisignano. Children should not live in fear that they may one day contract HIV/AIDS from eating a hamburger--it just isn't right.

2009-05-29T13:57:00.006-07:00

Oh Snap!

For my third installment of Oh Snap! I'd like to do something a little different. Instead of recounting some heated argument from long ago and then writing down a major burn that I just thought of as I sat at my computer several months or years later, I will recount a total burn that I blurted out in public just yesterday as a man attempted to steal my wallet from my purse.

Today's Snap finds our hero (me) uncomfortably shuffling towards the center of a sardine tin bus on her way to the Upper Haight district of the city of San Francisco. Her left arm is raised to grasp the bar well above her head for support. Her right is extended along the front of a medium-sized black satchel that has been left open, due to the fact that a large San Francisco magazine with Barack Obama on the cover is jutting out. She looks over towards the purse, thinking of checking the time on her phone, when she notices a heavy-set man of African American descent with a black Raider's jacket. He is holding his jacket over his hand which is slowly hovering above her purse, disabling her from looking inside.

Amity: Are you trying to steal something from my purse?

Pickpocket: (In authoritave tone of indignation) EXCUSE ME?!

Amity: You're trying to get into my purse. GEEE-SUS!

She moves further back in the bus, away from him, covering the top of her bag. A few stops down, her eyes move hawkish and she carefully studies the hands of the pickpocket as he walks towards the back of the bus as well. She is cushioned by a few men of medium height, but can still see the pickpocket's every move.

She notices that the pickpocket is now dangerously close to a short girl of college age who is carrying a messenger bag. As the bus pushes forward from its last stop, the pickpocket suddenly adjusts himself and moves away from her, putting his sports jacket on. The girl zips the side pocket of her bag, and scowls up at the pickpocket.

Girl: Hey, come on.

Amity: (yelling so that her voice carries across entire bus) IS HE TRYING TO STEAL FROM YOU TOO?

Everyone stares at our hero as if she were certifiable.

Girl nods. A soft-spoken Asian man to our hero's right asks who stole from her.

Amity: (pointing) THAT MAN! BLACK...JACKET! BLACK JACKET!

Random black man from the back of the bus: SURE, BLAME THE BLACK MAN!

Amity: BLACK JACKET I SAID BLACK JACKET! DON'T BE A RACIST!

Random: You know our president's a black man!

Amity: DON'T BE A RACIST!

The pickpocket is now hurriedly moving out the door of the bus, with the random man trailing him. Our hero looks down at her magazine, saddened that our president's name has been used in vain.

Fin.

2009-05-29T13:41:00.003-07:00

Doogie Howser Orchestra

I never even really liked this show, but now I am caught up in both nostalgia and want in equal measure.

2009-05-21T00:57:00.010-07:00

Endurance and the American Way

“Here in the half-light they lie, these sprawling, unconscious forms, their cots side by side, their clothing hung in listless disarray ... a girl is sprawled, her lips moving in pain, as she moans incoherently, and jerks her hands. Bending over her is a man, her ‘trainer’ apparently, who massages her swollen feet with some ointment. Beside her, another girl is lying, her mouth open to reveal her gold-crowned molars, while flies crawl across her closed eyes and buzz against her chin.” (Alice Elinor, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, August 8, 1928).

The above passage is from a news article on Depression Era dance marathons. Marathons which involved depraved, poverty-striken American couples dancing for an average of 40 days straight with 15 minute breaks every hour. Dancers were motivated by the 12 meals (hardly square) they received each day, as well as a grand prize of--in some cases--roughly a thousand dollars cash. Meanwhile, motivation for the organizers consisted of all the income to be made from wealthy onlookers with nothing better to do. June Havoc, a former child actor and participant in such dances in the 30s as a teenager, explained to Time magazine in 1959:

“Our degradation was entertainment; sadism was sexy; masochism was talent.”

My interest on the subject was aroused as I sat through my third viewing of the 1969 Sydney Pollack film They Shoot Horses, Don't They? starring Jane Fonda. And my interest in watching this film yet again came from being introduced to "Dancing with the Stars"--a far cry from the brutal marathon style; nevertheless, degrading and strange on some level.

What strikes me about dance show entertainment--whether it is performed to garner attention to professional performers, or to degrade average Americans competing for sustenance, is that it is a perversion of dance--pure and simple. When I think of dancing couples I want to think of old-timey romance; innocent encounters with first loves. I don't want to think of C-list celebrities in gaudy ice skating outfits smiling until their faces are sore. And I sure as hell don't want to think of men and women on the brink of collapse, swaying back and forth like circus animals in a Depression Era scheudenfraude.

Here are some fun archival pics of dance marathons I found upon investigation:

'

This is the death of dance and romance. This is the American Way.

2009-05-07T19:41:00.004-07:00

Tupac is Dead

I don't care what TMZ reports. I know that Tupac Shakur is dead because rap music is dead. I fortuitously discovered one of his songs long forgotten on ye 'ole iPod shuffle the other day, "Keep Ya Head Up." The lyrics are provocative, catchy; overwhelmingly positive and pro-woman. I'd never paid attention to them before--I just liked the song's melody and danciness. Got a nice bounce to it. Anyhew, if only more rappers followed this brave man's lead into writing intelligible, respectful songs about women, I do believe rap would not be dead...like Tupac.

And since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women, do we hate our women?
I think it's time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don't we'll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies, that make the babies
And since a man can't make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one
So will the real men get up
I know you're fed up ladies, but keep your head up

(Sigh)

2009-05-04T22:50:00.004-07:00

Golden Gate Park totally dissed

Last month's issue of California Home and Design listed Mission Bay Park as the Number One park in San Francisco. That park looks like this:

Ah, California Home and Design: catering to folks who really don't know much about anything outside of the home. Remarkably, although one of my favorites, Dolores Park, made the cut at #2, Golden Gate Park wasn't even mentioned. Golden Gate Park! Where botanical gardens abound, two major museums of the Arts and Sciences await, playing fields and tennis courts run aplenty, windmills...like, sit there...and buffaloes roam! Yes buffaloes!

This caused a major sensation at my workplace a week ago, as our office windows overlook the little slice of the Mission Bay Park, with its imported greenery wedged between a toxic inlet off the Bay and the industrial no man's land that is the outskirts of the UCSF Mission Bay Campus.

Hey California Home and Design, why don't you make lists about stuff you know, like all things domestic and inside of the home!

2009-05-04T21:13:00.002-07:00

Jamie Lidell, From the Basement

Just started watching this amazing DVD of live performances, brought to audiophiles fresh from the hands of epic rock producer Nigel Godrich. The DVD, entitled"From the Basement," came out in March but is new to me. There are some particularly amazing performances by Radiohead, The White Stripes and Sonic Youth. But someone who really blew me away--this funk singer I had never heard of and probably wouldn't be interested in if I had--gave a highly impressive performance. Ladies and gentleman, Jamie Lidell:

2009-04-29T19:37:00.007-07:00

A Great Guide to Wellness*

Today marks the millionth billionth time that Amity has found herself in bed and sick from a cold or flu when she should be a good little busy bee, out there in the real world of productivity, weather-related small talk and overwhelming coffee intake.

But in the fake world, the one where only me and some type of unidentifiable, untreatable soul-sucking leach of an illness contracted hither or thither via subway train, public restroom, unwashed bowl; loved one's mouth...life can be good. Life can be great! Below, please find a list of FAQs for the sickly and doomed. PLEASE NOTE: If you have swine flu...boy have I got a joke for you that I just totally made up:

A: Knock, knock
B: Who's there?
A: Oink oink.
B: Oink oink who?
A: Oink oink I've got that pig flu!
B: ..uh...you mean "swine flu"?
A: Yeah! Same thing! And I'm a gonna kill you!
B: This is really awkward, er, why did you come to my door?
A: Uh...this is just a classic joke format and not meant to be taken literally?
B: Right. I am slamming this door! Good day sir!

Q: Amity, how do I combat the bitter loneliness plaguing my soul?

A: I'm glad you asked. A common side effect of the common cold and/or flu.

Q: So what's the answer?

A: Sleep more! That way there's no loneliness, just dreams.

Q: Isn't that a Steve Bruele quote?

A: Shhhnext question!

Q: How do I find the strength to go on? There are so many things that people want to sell me to get better and I have no idea what to ingest!

A: I strongly advise flushing all Airborne products down the toilet. They are a sham! Film flam! You're like the elephant in that Disney cartoon movie with the "magic feather," trying to fly. Just drop the feather, Dumbo, you will fly if you believe! Also, fruits that make your throat scratch are good. Think oranges and pineapples, I have no idea why but they help.

Q: This general malaise: why?

A: Your body hates you right now, in turn, you are hating life. Copious amounts of Nyquil and Theraflu are commonly accepted as legitimate medical treatment for this condition among the glitterati of the medical community. Drink and be merry!

Q: Speaking of drinking and being merry, can I do that whilst sickly? I want some booze!

A: Ah, quite the controversial topic. Fact: hot toddies are soothing to the throat, as well as soul. Fact: all you need is 4 parts whiskey to 1 part hot water, fresh lemon, and honey. Cheers to your health!

Q: I feel more confused than when I started asking these questions.

A: Let me put it this way: if two hands clapping make noise, then what is the sound of one? I.e., if your bowl is already full, how am I to help you fill it?

* Not written under the influence of Nyquil.

2009-04-16T17:21:00.003-07:00

The Best Parable for Relationships

Can be found in Shel Silverstein's children's book "The Missing Piece Meets the Big O." What could be more simple, profound, and true than this charming little tale?

Enjoy this little film version found on the youtubes:

2009-04-15T19:19:00.007-07:00

When people stop being polite

"...and start getting real." I believe that was the original catch phrase of the '90s era episodes of the MTV reality show "The Real World."

Well the puppet masters of reality television are beyond impoliteness at this point: they're downright sadistic. It seems Rupert Murdoch's television wasteland, Fox, has decided to begin airing a reality show about people getting laid off. Fox's "Someone's Gotta Go" will feature a real-life company of around 20 employees competing for...well...so it's kinda like "The Apprentice." Only there are no winners. Just the unemployed.

Employees will be given an opportunity to view eachother's salaries and decide who gets "voted off the island" as it were...or who's "the weakest link" et al etc etc. Instead of employers doing the firing, however, employees will freely judge eachother's worth and value before a national television audience and demean one another until one of them is no longer on television.

According to the Huffington Post, Mike Darnell, programming officer, said that the show was about "employee empowerment."

Yeah, and "Rock of Love" is about Bret Michaels finding a soulmate.

"Somebody's Gotta Go" will be brought to you by producers over at Endemol USA. No, it's not a pesticide or a nasal spray or Viagara substitute; Endemol USA is comprised of subsidiaries and joint venture companies spanning 23 countries, which have brought such culturally enlightening programs as "Big Brother," "Fear Factor," and "Deal or No Deal." Just last year, Endemol bought up the company that was responsible for the reality/celebrity shows over at VH1--51 minds.

I mean, if it takes 51 minds to think up that Flava Flav show or "Tool Academy," you've got to question the quality of those minds. I do believe they are overpaid and at least 50 of them should decide on which one should be fired.

A few years ago, just after the company decided to go public, 75% of Endemol was bought by the company Mediaset, which, in case you're not familiar with your megaconglomerates, is owned by the Burlusconi Family.

I've got a great tag line for those Italian bastards I do. How about, "Mediaset: Doing for quality television what Silvio Burlusconi has done for his withering nation."

I'm just hoping that the American public will reach its low culture threshold and somehow create a backlash against this show and the impending culture surrounding it. It seems as though the process of judging eachother and creating entertainment out of it live on television is corrosive, vile and destructive. As constant voyeurs into the nightmare "reality" world of rejection and judgement, we are engaging in a destructive societal mentality. I can't help but believe that this mentality will somehow, perhaps subconsciously, seep into the day-to-day.

I know that, personally, whenever I face rejection in the workplace or elsewhere, all I hear are those damn catch phrases, "the weakest link " or "you've been voted off the island."

That being said, I do love Bret Michaels and his fine taste in classy ladies; you can never hear the words, "will you continue to rock my world" too many times from D-listed rocker in a doo-rag.

2009-04-13T22:43:00.006-07:00

Obama, pirates and privacy

Earlier today, President Obama made a bit of a gaffe while discussing the triumphant victory of America v pirates (tune in next week, when Obama prevails over rogue ninjas!) Obama stated:

"And I want to be very clear that we are resolved to halt the rise of privacy in that region."

We all know Obama is no Bush--i.e. he's no gaffe laugh machine. Coincidentally, many progressives and Libertarians are taking issue with the Obama administration's behavior regarding state secrets and civil liberties. Freudian slip perhaps?

I've found this administration's insistence upon extending the unconstitutional, inhumane foreign policies of the Bush administration--injustices such as the denial of Habeas Corpus, persistence in carrying out extraordinary renditions, and insistence of warrantless wiretapping very strange, very strange indeed. Is this president progressive...or regressive?

(A brief Talking Points Memo concensus: here).

I know that it's going to be hard for Americans to see the importance of moving past the savagery of the past eight years--whatwith our economy turning to shit and all. But we need to evolve from the dark days of that cowboy monkey man. Immediately. As painful as it is to face the realities of our torture practices, our leaders need to practice a little moral certitude and call for a stop this involvement in all matters clandestine abroad. These innocent men that our troops are beating; psychologically and sexually humiliating? Their stories won't die even if they themselves do by our own country's hands. Nor should they.

Author Mark Danner gave a brilliant analysis of 14 detainee testimonies filed by the Red Cross:

"...monumental decisions taken after the attacks of September 11, 2001—decisions about rendition, surveillance, interrogation—lie strewn about us still, unclaimed and unburied, like corpses freshly dead.

How should we begin to talk about this? Perhaps with a story. Stories come to us newborn, announcing their intent: Once upon a time... In the beginning... From such signs we learn how to listen to what will come. Consider:

I woke up, naked, strapped to a bed, in a very white room. The room measured approximately 4m x 4m [13 feet by 13 feet]. The room had three solid walls, with the fourth wall consisting of metal bars separating it from a larger room. I am not sure how long I remained in the bed...."

Read the rest here.

It's a horrifying thought: Obama continuing the cycle of torture and abuse that once seemed to horrify him as well--at least when he was selling himself on the stump, that is. I can forgive our president for many things, but this one--I don't think anyone can afford such forgivance.

2009-04-13T21:43:00.013-07:00

Bike meets girl

I am so in love with my new bicycle right now. I bought it from a lovely lady couple that create beautiful vintage hybrid bicycles with fine brand-name frames. Mine is a 70s Gitane (fancy pants French brand) mixte 10-speed with moustache handlebars--bright, beaten-up white with a dark brown leather seat.

Recently, I discovered what a mixte is via the internets, as I was too embarrased to ask the bike nerd ladies what it was.

The things I found out really blew my mind.

Apparently it is the kind of frame that dips down, rather than going straight across to form a triangle. I just thought triangles were for boys; non-triangles were for girls that wore dresses. While this is true, the mixte is also a style that was once in vogue for both genders; I had no idea that they stopped making this frame style in the 60s and 70s.

From Dave Moulton's Bike Blog:

The mixte frame, for whatever reason, it seems has caught on with the teen and twenty set of young men in America and they are buying up older ones on eBay. They seem to like this style of frame because, like the dance hall on the Queen Mary, it offers a lot of Ballroom.

(My bike, bottom left)

My Gitane has the vintage look of a classic clunker, with the lightweight maneuverability of a racing bike--probably due in part to the fact that there are no fenders. Oh how I love my white chariot that glides over pavement with the greatest of ease! And I almost feel as chic and graceful as these bicycle-loving ladies:

Almost. Need some fancy golden jazz shoes.

2009-04-13T21:01:00.006-07:00

Feeling Check: today, mad at the television

If Bill Maher saw this finned friend, he surely would jump it

Bill Maher talks to Ron Howard on "Real Time" for a one-on-one sesh lasting no shorter than 25 minutes, allows politically-insignificant filmmaker to ramble on about high school incident whereby his penis pops out of his shorts during basketball game, also allowing said *completely politically-insignificant filmmaker* to discuss entire career including, ironically, the day that "Happy Days" turned bad and The Fonze "jumped the shark" whilst water skiing. Ironically...

Feeling check: I am so mad you guys. I have actually blown off Friday night plans with people to indulge in new "Real Time with Bill Maher" episodes. Even if I find some of his jokes personally offensive or off-color, at least he has intelligent guests that actually engage in thought-provoking dialogue. Where can you find that nowadays?

Let it be noted, however, that I do believe Gore Vidal's later presence nearly made up for it.

Bill Maher what happened?

2009-04-13T19:42:00.006-07:00

All work and no play makes this a dull blog

Yeah. Another one of them "I'm so lazy with the blog hey lemme tell you all about it!" posts. Unfortunately I've been exhausted from work, plus the added stress of finally moving out of my apartment for another one across town...a full three miles away...and I've been visiting the dentist a lot, could be the lucky recipient of yet another root canal...(yawn)...well I can see this post is going nowhere...hey, so, whenever somebody tells you "Work is Freedom!" you tell them they're no better than a Nazi.

Actual photograph of concentration camp with "Work is freedom" written in German.

2009-03-26T18:34:00.010-08:00

The day the waves stopped crashing

Tuesday marked the 20th anniversary of the Exxon Valdez oil spill, a cataclysmic event for the communities surrounding Prince William Sound, Alaska. The local fishing industry was devastated; not to mention the wildlife that flocked there--salmon, sea otters, seals, seabirds. Roughly 11 million gallons of crude oil were spilled into the ocean when a massive oil tanker struck a reef. Apparently the ship was on auto pilot as the men who should have been steering it did exactly what anyone who had not been given a six-hour break between 12-hour shifts would have done--they slept. Prosecutors claimed they were drunk.

Riki Ott, a resident of the nearby fishing village of Cordova, wrote a book about the incident and appeared on Democracy Now! the other day. She spoke of fishing communities economically and spiritually bankrupt; a mayor that committed suicide...I found her words chillingly poetic:

We were worried that the oil—the killing would not stop in 1989, the scientists. It was a huge devastation. I couldn’t even go out on the beaches initially. I couldn’t take the emotional hit. People came back, the fishermen, and they said they had sat down on what they presumed was rock to cry, and it turned out to be like an oiled sea otter or something that was dying. There were just bodies everywhere. The oil in some of the bays was over three feet thick. You couldn’t even hear the sound of the waves crashing on the shoreline; everything was muted. Some of the oil, with the storm that came through—there was a huge storm that came through, and it just smeared oil up to forty feet high on some of our coastline—was in the trees. I mean, it just took animals out, and it was very, very quiet.

2009-03-26T18:27:00.003-08:00

And the best picture of a former president from the 20th century award goes to...

The Gipper: camping it up in Vegas variety show. Isn't he fabulous? Bonus points for sporting PBR paraphernalia.

2009-03-22T14:37:00.003-08:00

And no religion too

I read a column in the Christian Science Monitor last week that gives convincing reasons why the collapse of Christian evangelism is fast approaching. This made me extremely happy and greatly relieved. Not because I hate religion--I respect people who are kind and moral and claim to have a strong faith. Yet I can't help but despise those who are intolerant towards others who don't think exactly as they do, and what's worse, those who make their faith political. Evangelicals tend to be this way. I mean, the whole "Left Behind" series-toting, global warming-denying, George Bush-loving, Chicken Little apocalypse-fetishising Creationists have had their time to royally fuck up this country if not world for the past eight years. I propose euthanasia for these anemic ideas; followed by a proper burial.

Oneida, Ky. - We are on the verge – within 10 years – of a major collapse of evangelical Christianity. This breakdown will follow the deterioration of the mainline Protestant world and it will fundamentally alter the religious and cultural environment in the West.

Within two generations, evangelicalism will be a house deserted of half its occupants. (Between 25 and 35 percent of Americans today are Evangelicals.) In the "Protestant" 20th century, Evangelicals flourished. But they will soon be living in a very secular and religiously antagonistic 21st century.

This collapse will herald the arrival of an anti-Christian chapter of the post-Christian West. Intolerance of Christianity will rise to levels many of us have not believed possible in our lifetimes, and public policy will become hostile toward evangelical Christianity, seeing it as the opponent of the common good.

Millions of Evangelicals will quit. Thousands of ministries will end. Christian media will be reduced, if not eliminated. Many Christian schools will go into rapid decline. I'm convinced the grace and mission of God will reach to the ends of the earth. But the end of evangelicalism as we know it is close.

Reasons for this assessment:

1. Evangelicals have identified their movement with the culture war and with political conservatism. This will prove to be a very costly mistake. Evangelicals will increasingly be seen as a threat to cultural progress. Public leaders will consider us bad for America, bad for education, bad for children, and bad for society.

The evangelical investment in moral, social, and political issues has depleted our resources and exposed our weaknesses. Being against gay marriage and being rhetorically pro-life will not make up for the fact that massive majorities of Evangelicals can't articulate the Gospel with any coherence. We fell for the trap ofbelieving in a cause more than a faith.

2. We Evangelicals have failed to pass on to our young people an orthodox form of faith that can take root and survive the secular onslaught. Ironically, the billions of dollars we've spent on youth ministers, Christian music, publishing, and media has produced a culture of young Christians who know next to nothing about their own faith except how they feel about it. Our young people have deep beliefs about the culture war, but do not know why they should obey scripture, the essentials of theology, or the experience of spiritual discipline and community. Coming generations of Christians are going to be monumentally ignorant and unprepared for culture-wide pressures.

3. There are three kinds of evangelical churches today: consumer-driven megachurches, dying churches, and new churches whose future is fragile. Denominations will shrink, even vanish, while fewer and fewer evangelical churches will survive and thrive.

4. Despite some very successful developments in the past 25 years, Christian education has not produced a product that can withstand the rising tide of secularism. Evangelicalism has used its educational system primarily to staff its own needs and talk to itself.

5. The confrontation between cultural secularism and the faith at the core of evangelical efforts to "do good" is rapidly approaching. We will soon see that the good Evangelicals want to do will be viewed as bad by so many, and much of that work will not be done. Look for ministries to take on a less and less distinctively Christian face in order to survive.

6. Even in areas where Evangelicals imagine themselves strong (like the Bible Belt), we will find a great inability to pass on to our children a vital evangelical confidence in the Bible and the importance of the faith.

7. The money will dry up.

Hallelujah!

2009-03-10T20:22:00.006-08:00

Little Lord Fontleroy

I'd like to start a new section of the old blog entitled "Irrelevant Victorian slang terms that you will never use." It shall begin with the concept of the "Little Lord Fontleroy," a name taken from the title character of a Victorian era children's book.

Wiki description:

The Fauntleroy suit, so well-described by [Frances Hodgson] Burnett and realized in Reginald Birch's detailed pen-and-ink drawings, created a major fad for formal dress for American middle-class children:
"What the Earl saw was a graceful, childish figure in a black velvet suit, with a lace collar, and with lovelocks waving about the handsome, manly little face, whose eyes met his with a look of innocent good-fellowship." (Little Lord Fauntleroy)

Alas, you can now in fact use this term. I came across a real-life Little Lord Fantleroy recently; his name is Arlo Weiner, and he is the son of Mad Men creator Matt Weiner, named after Arlo Guthrie.

This Little Lord is so cool at the ripe old age of eight years, I wish that I too were eight so that I could ravish him (is that so wrong?). I mean, to have Beck stalk you simply because you look so awesome walking down the street--there's something beyond cool about that. (See GQ article).

Tip of the hat to you, modern day Little Lord Fauntleroy!

2009-03-10T19:00:00.006-08:00

With one fell swoop of the text

I have become my mother. Well, almost. She's always had this strange attachment to the characters in All My Children; and, recently, a friend who had to miss the latest episode of Big Love texted to ask about it. Here was my response:

"Nicky's affair has been made public and now she's in the dog house. Barb and Margine are real mad. Staying with her brother Albie, so you know she' s up to no good."

I feel a sudden rush of unease now. I am discussing fictional characters the way my mother talks about soap stars, or the way my father references the characters in Seinfeld.

2009-03-10T17:30:00.008-08:00

Suck It, Mussolini

The economy in San Francisco is pretty bad right now. Now I'm no economics expert, but I did read that unemployment rates for my state were up to 8.7 percent in December. While just recently, I found that the national average went up to 8.1 percent--not sure how they were in December, but most likely a few percentage points below that. So once again, California has proven itself to be ahead of the pack.

So I've been doing a little house hunting lately. With all these people leaving the city, there are indeed housing bargains to be had. However, some people in this town didn't get the memo. And the Craigslist ads listing rooms for rent are still rife with fascist, crazed a-holes who think they can still give potential housemates a series of hoops to jump through in order to "consider" them.

The first room I ever lived in, in this city, was in a four-bedroom Victorian off of Haight almost three years ago. I lasted three months before the German cancer researcher (and I quote: "I won't get offended if you call me a cleaning Nazi!") and depressive struggling actress had a confrontation with me to kick me out. I was so sad, you guys; I felt really rejected. I asked them if I hadn't cleaned enough, or if I did something to offend them? They said "no." Their reply: "You just don't fit in" and "there's going to be a lot of turnover."

Lately, me and a friend have been comparing our room rental finds. Some of our favorites included an ad that was entitled: "Cool people--let's live together!" --while it gave very little details about the actual house and room, it did contain a collage of people the Craigslist ad creator thought looked "cool": a late 70s surfer dude with wavy highlighted hair on a skateboard, a band shot of some mod rockers, etc. It was weird. And apparently he swtiched the images around almost every day.

Another ad was put up by a married couple. They were strictly looking for a young bisexual woman and requested pictures. Below, a similar ad:

We are three friendly people who share a very large 4 bedroom Victorian flat in the lower Haight. One of us is a youthful older woman who is a body worker, the others are two forty-something men, one a student, the other a body worker.
We have varied schedules and busy lives, but enjoy a friendly atmosphere at home.
Two of us are bisexual and poly, so we'd like someone who is queer-friendly, meaning someone who gets it and won't make us feel like weirdos, even though we are weirdos, if that makes sense.

Right. I'm going to live with some weirdos while living in a state of denial that they are in fact weird. Got it...

Some people are such fascists that they don't even realize they are fascist because they probably don't understand the meaning of the word:

hi
this place have Comes \
Comes with electric kitchen, Dishwasher, garbage disposal and over the range microwave. Indoor Parking for a reserved garage spa
you will share with two korea room mate there both go to school and nice
this picture is you room !! (insert really ugly, terribly-lit room here)
asia only

Awww man, I really wanted the room, but unfortunately I'm not the world's largest and most populous continent and I don't cover more than 25 percent of the Earth's surface area!

And then this one--a true "diamond in the rough" of absurdly fascist Craigslist ads--popped up on the internets just today:

Hallo! Let's get to the skinny. Ideally, you are somewhere from between 30 to 40 years old. You are healthy and shower daily. You appreciate a nice living situation by being quiet during quiet hours (10 pm to 10 am), and you like to clean up after yourself always and after others occasionally. You are not a TV couch potato and have a life. You are not a Bush neo-con supporter and recognize that even Obama has his hands tied by the corrupt party that nominated him. In other words, you'r not clueless and blindly patriotic. NO drug abusers beyond the occasional spliff (that means NO daily pot heads), no alcoholics, no TV couch potatoes will be tolerated. I need to stress this b/c you won't last a week if you say you are one thing but you are not. This is a trial period for you as a housemate. Also, and I stress, I am looking for a NON-SMOKER.

Please tell me about yourself: your age, your work and length of employment there, your waking and sleeping hours on weekdays and weekends, your noise level, your interests, your former residence and city. Send photos or online profile if you like.
First month, last month and a $400 deposit required and I might ask to see proof of income and savings...We are all mellow, respectful, quiet in the mornings and nights, clean and responsible. You must be, too. No posers, please. Again, NO drug abusers beyond the occasional spliff (that means NO daily pot heads), no alcoholics, no TV couch potatoes will be tolerated. I need to stress this b/c you won't last a week if you say you are one thing but you are not. I am also looking for a NON-SMOKER because we've got one who smokes (outside only) and is trying to quit. Feel free to include photos of yourself, a profile or of anything creative you've done. Oh yeah, you must love or at the very least enjoy a small and sweet Dachshund perrito who weighs only 15 pounds. He is all love and is part of the household as much as we are. Alas, that means no more pets so those of you who are inextricably tied to your pets must look elsewhere.
Again, first and last month plus $400 required. That's $1500 plus $400 = $1900. Don't break anything and you'll get all your deposit minus owed utilities. Write Ben at the address above. Move-in date is the 8th of October.

October! Ha! Seven months away, good luck you sweet bastard! Aww gee, I can't wait to tell you about myself. I'm sure we have so much in common! Do you accept political theory essays about the elitist Left and the hypocritical culture of moderates? Because I have one up my ass somewhere...er, lemme just try to find it...OMG Dachshund perritos are my FAV! City dogs that yap all day are the greatest! Now I know you just asked me for my work and sleep hours for both the week and weekend, but can I tell you more? Like, I think you should know my kitchen hours--how long the average meal, the average snack (midnight snacks not included (-;) and oh, I would love to calculate the average time I spend both on the toilet and in the shower per week--month if needed.

I look forward to seeing this ad up for months until these a-holes finally given in and accept a (shock! horror!) COUCH POTATO! Ooohhhnoooo!

Suck it, Mussolini!

2009-03-01T14:54:00.004-08:00

Blast from the Past

I spent over five years as a student and resident in Santa Cruz, California--a little dabbling in the extremely liberal arts here; a little reporting for the local newspaper there. I felt I knew that city well.

Nevertheless, it was so shocking to see the following montage of "public comment" before the city council and board of supervisors recently.

Welcome to the patients-running-the-asylum bubble town that is Santa Cruz. Around the time I moved there, the mayor was giving away medical marijuana on the steps of city hall, a former Black Panther lectured at the university, and there was a spot in the middle of the woods where the center of gravity went awry ("The Mystery Spot"--they still give tours). The Daily Show had reported there twice, once referring to it as a town with "more dreadlocked white men per capita" than any other place in the nation.

And as for the city's politics, Santa Cruz had out-progressived Berkeley by several initiatives, making them look more akin to Orange County than your typical liberal college town. Among them: impeaching former president Bush, and immediate troop withdrawal from Iraq. Welcome to the circus:

2009-02-19T09:37:00.004-08:00

Cuteness Showdown: Kitten v Japan's finance minister

Kitten?

or a drunken Shoichi Nakagawa?

Which one's cuter? It's a battle of the adorable! Bonzai!

2009-02-12T10:19:00.004-08:00

The Science of Hell

Supposedly a student at the University of Washington came up with a most profound explanation as to whether Hell is endothermic or exothermic. In response to a bonus question on his Chemistry mid-term, the student wrote:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave.

Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different Religions that exist in the world today. Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell.

With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added. This gives two possibilities:

1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, thenthe temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa during my Freshman year that, "it will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you, and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number 2 must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over.

The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct...leaving only Heaven thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa kept shouting "Oh my God."

Wow, reading about the "afterlife" in scientific terms really magnifies the absurdity of the concept.

2009-02-10T13:17:00.001-08:00

So glad I don't live in Montgomery

Because if I did, I would allow this man to sell me all his furniture as I danced my cares away.

2009-02-10T10:07:00.005-08:00

Shepard Fairey picture subject of copyright heat

From the NYT:

In a pre-emptive strike, the street artist Shepard Fairey filed a lawsuit on Monday against The Associated Press, asking a federal judge to declare that he is protected from copyright infringement claims in his use of a news photograph as the basis for a now ubiquitous campaign poster image of President Obama.

What really gets me is this quote, from the photographer whose photo provided the template for the artwork:

“If you put all the legal stuff away, I’m so proud of the photograph and that Fairey did what he did artistically with it, and the effect it’s had.”

--so the photographer, Garcia, is neither mad nor offended by the image's use. And the AP's impending lawsuit isn't frivolous because...?

2009-02-09T10:09:00.002-08:00

Michael Cera does Christian Bale

Wait, that sounds rude...I mean, he does an awesome impression of Bale flipping out on the set: