How the debate would go if I were the moderator....
Moderator (me): Mr. McCain, is it not true that you are, in fact, a fibber and you are, in fact, fibbing right now? Do you need a moment to try and turn that into a personal attack on Mr. Obama? OK. I'll give you a minute.
When I get annoyed my blood sugar drops.
Tonight I watched the debate.
I listened to John McCain.
I'm currently having cookies and juice.
I think you see my point.
PS? Biden is going to hand Palin her ass in their debate...field dress that, Governor!
Friday, September 26, 2008
I Have Many Questions.
I just watched the news. So, sadly, I may not be so coherent or upbeat. My bank is looking for buyers. Great. That’s swell. It’s not as if I have a billion dollars so I can’t lose a lot but, ya’ know, it’s not actually about me (for once). What about all the people who have their retirement wrapped up in that bank? What about all those people? What happens to them if buyers aren’t found? It’s insured, you say? Oh, great! By who? Oh, right. The rocket scientists. Fantastic. I have a lot of faith in them. Seriously. I do. I have faith that they couldn’t find their ass with both hands and a flash light.
The state of the country is deeply depressing. As some of you may know, I am very patriotic. I love my country. I do. I believe, as I’ve said before, in the dream of America. I believe that we can be great. I believe that we have a duty, as Americans, to try and provide the American dream to any and all who want to grab that dream with both hands. How can we do that if we’re broke? How can we do that if we can’t get gas to get to work or to school or to, G-d forbid, the doctor? How can we do that when most of the world hates us? How can we do that when we’re told that the people who are in the highest tax bracket are the middle class? What does that make the rest of us? Why is making sure that two people who love each other can’t get legally married more important than the economy or an illegal war? What kind of people laugh at community organizers? In what world is the ability to field dress a moose of more importance than actual job experience? How can we be great if we’re a joke? How can our children hold their heads up if we raise them in fear and ignorance? How? Somebody, please, tell me. How?
BUT!
All hope is not lost. An election is coming. Go vote. If you love your country, you will vote. If you care about the troops, you will vote. If you want to hand over a better world to your children, then you will vote. If you’d like to retire and not have to live on dog food, you will vote. Hell, if you care about anything at all, you will vote.
Go register. Go vote. Go get involved.
Not someday.
Now.
The state of the country is deeply depressing. As some of you may know, I am very patriotic. I love my country. I do. I believe, as I’ve said before, in the dream of America. I believe that we can be great. I believe that we have a duty, as Americans, to try and provide the American dream to any and all who want to grab that dream with both hands. How can we do that if we’re broke? How can we do that if we can’t get gas to get to work or to school or to, G-d forbid, the doctor? How can we do that when most of the world hates us? How can we do that when we’re told that the people who are in the highest tax bracket are the middle class? What does that make the rest of us? Why is making sure that two people who love each other can’t get legally married more important than the economy or an illegal war? What kind of people laugh at community organizers? In what world is the ability to field dress a moose of more importance than actual job experience? How can we be great if we’re a joke? How can our children hold their heads up if we raise them in fear and ignorance? How? Somebody, please, tell me. How?
BUT!
All hope is not lost. An election is coming. Go vote. If you love your country, you will vote. If you care about the troops, you will vote. If you want to hand over a better world to your children, then you will vote. If you’d like to retire and not have to live on dog food, you will vote. Hell, if you care about anything at all, you will vote.
Go register. Go vote. Go get involved.
Not someday.
Now.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Hmmm...Well, why not?
I’m watching “Failure to Launch,” a truly horrifying movie. I don’t know why. Well, that’s not true. I know why. Matthew McKindahigh is hot, except, of course, when you look at his arms which are entirely too short for his body but then, who am I to talk? So, let’s just say he’s a good looking man and leave it at that. That is all besides the point. Besides? Beside the point? Besides the point? Whatever! It isn’t the point. The point is that the only good characters in this movie are the sidekicks. It occurred to me that that is often the case in “romantic comedies.” Look at “Four Weddings and a Funeral.” His friends are much, much more interesting than the leads. And that isn’t just because one of them is played by Andi McDowell. Look at “Pretty Woman.” I’d much rather see a movie about her friend Kit.
Why are the sidekicks so much more interesting? And why doesn’t somebody write a movie where the sidekicks are the main characters? I mean, it would be interesting. Let the leads be the sidekicks for once. You’d still have the Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant types and they’d still be the catalysts for the action of the sidekicks but the movie would follow the sidekicks. I don’t think I’m explaining it well but I still think it’s a good idea. So sue me.
Why are the sidekicks so much more interesting? And why doesn’t somebody write a movie where the sidekicks are the main characters? I mean, it would be interesting. Let the leads be the sidekicks for once. You’d still have the Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant types and they’d still be the catalysts for the action of the sidekicks but the movie would follow the sidekicks. I don’t think I’m explaining it well but I still think it’s a good idea. So sue me.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
"Ducking for apples -- change one letter and it's the story of my life." - Dorothy Parker
My two favorite poems by my favorite poet (because a woman doctor is not a doctoress, that's why).
Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend and a foe.
Four be the things I'd been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.
And he cares not what comes after.
His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,
And his eyes are lit with laughter.
He is jubilant as a flag unfurled-
Oh, a girl she'd not forget him.
My own dear love, he is all my world-
And I wish I'd never met him.
My love, he's mad, and my love, he's fleet,
And a wild young wood-thing bore him!
The ways are fair to his roaming feet,
And the skies are sunlit for him.
As sharply sweet to my heart he seems
As the fragrance of acacia.
My own dear love, he is all my dreams-
And I wish he were in Asia.
My love runs by like a day in June,
And he makes no friend of sorrows.
He'll tread his galloping rigadoon
In the pathways of the morrows.
He'll live his days where the sunbeams start,
Nor could storm or wind uproot him.
My own dear love, he is all my heart-
And I wish somebody'd shoot him.
Oh, what the hell? One more!
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.
Inventory
by
Dorothy Parker
by
Dorothy Parker
Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend and a foe.
Four be the things I'd been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.
Love Song
by
Dorothy Parker
My own dear love, he is strong and boldby
Dorothy Parker
And he cares not what comes after.
His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,
And his eyes are lit with laughter.
He is jubilant as a flag unfurled-
Oh, a girl she'd not forget him.
My own dear love, he is all my world-
And I wish I'd never met him.
My love, he's mad, and my love, he's fleet,
And a wild young wood-thing bore him!
The ways are fair to his roaming feet,
And the skies are sunlit for him.
As sharply sweet to my heart he seems
As the fragrance of acacia.
My own dear love, he is all my dreams-
And I wish he were in Asia.
My love runs by like a day in June,
And he makes no friend of sorrows.
He'll tread his galloping rigadoon
In the pathways of the morrows.
He'll live his days where the sunbeams start,
Nor could storm or wind uproot him.
My own dear love, he is all my heart-
And I wish somebody'd shoot him.
Oh, what the hell? One more!
Unfortunate Coincidence
by
Dorothy Parker
By the time you swear you're his,by
Dorothy Parker
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.
Where there is a sea there are pirates.
When Walter Somlug first set out to sea there was no way he could have known how profound an impact it would have on him. When his doctor suggested a little sea air would do his poor lungs a world of good Walter wasn't sure he could stand to be away from his family's paper bag processing factory in Little ShimSham on Thames. Of course, his Uncle Fred and Cousin Alf both said Walter's health had to come first and that they'd be well able to get a temporary accountant to come in and see to the books for a few weeks.But Walter just felt that Great Grandfather Somlug's fine busines shouldn't be left in the uncaring hands of strangers. And he hadn't just been thinking of that temporary accountant. After all, what did the family really know about Uncle Fred, other than the fact that he'd married Aunt Mudgey...and wasn't that odd in itself?
Now, after just ten days at sea, Walter wasn't sure he could bring himself to go back to that nine to five grind. But, he consoled himself, he'd always have the memories and the tattoo to remember it by. . .and, naturally, all that booty would shore up the employees retirement fund nicely. He wondered what the tax codes would have to say.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
"Pray for intestinal fortitude, work hard, and keep the faith. Oh, and pray for good luck, you're gonna need it." Jerry Reed
I’ve always loved “trashy” boys. Always. I can prove it.
When I was five or six, I can’t remember which, my mother came into the living room as I was watching TV. I was, she says, enraptured. I turned to her with the love light in my eye.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” I asked.
My mother looked at the television. I was watching “Smokey and the Bandit.”
“Who,” she asked, “Burt Reynolds?”
“No! Him!” I said, pointing at Jerry Reed without turning around.
“Sure,” my mother laughed. “He’s dreamy.”
Now, for those of you who haven’t seen this edifying and transcendent film, Jerry Reed was playing a good old boy trucker. Not much of a stretch I imagine. Who cares? I was, for once, not in it for the acting. I loved Jerry Reed’s character and, therefore, since I was five (or six) I loved Jerry Reed. And, lo, these many years later, I still do.
Of course, now I know the difference between an actor and a character. Still, for all that, the man apparently made a deep impression on me in my youth. To this day I love a man who was brought up rough, if you will, around the edges. A man who knows what a dollar is worth and how hard you have to work to get one.
Don’t talk to me about men who know which fork to use at every course! That is knowledge I can give them if need be. But you can’t teach somebody things that should have been instilled since birth. Respect for hard work, love of family and how to react when times get tough…’cause they pretty much always do, eventually. These are traits I admire.
I do not, let us be clear, want anything to do with an illiterate (or may as well be), slack jawed, hill billy, beats “his” woman because he can redneck. No. Thank you. I’ve had one of those. I don’t care to repeat the experience. Call me crazy! However, a blue collar man is a thing of beauty. A blue collar man who reads and doesn’t listen, exclusively, to country music? Indefinable joy. If I could find all that and he can make me laugh until I pass out? Book the hall, people, I just changed my mind about marriage! But, sadly, they are few and far between. And, as of September 1, 2008? They’re getting rarer.
Goodbye, Mr. Reed. You may not have been any of the things I thought or admired. You may have been all those things. But, whatever you may or may not have been, to this little girl, you were beautiful.
When I was five or six, I can’t remember which, my mother came into the living room as I was watching TV. I was, she says, enraptured. I turned to her with the love light in my eye.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” I asked.
My mother looked at the television. I was watching “Smokey and the Bandit.”
“Who,” she asked, “Burt Reynolds?”
“No! Him!” I said, pointing at Jerry Reed without turning around.
“Sure,” my mother laughed. “He’s dreamy.”
Now, for those of you who haven’t seen this edifying and transcendent film, Jerry Reed was playing a good old boy trucker. Not much of a stretch I imagine. Who cares? I was, for once, not in it for the acting. I loved Jerry Reed’s character and, therefore, since I was five (or six) I loved Jerry Reed. And, lo, these many years later, I still do.
Of course, now I know the difference between an actor and a character. Still, for all that, the man apparently made a deep impression on me in my youth. To this day I love a man who was brought up rough, if you will, around the edges. A man who knows what a dollar is worth and how hard you have to work to get one.
Don’t talk to me about men who know which fork to use at every course! That is knowledge I can give them if need be. But you can’t teach somebody things that should have been instilled since birth. Respect for hard work, love of family and how to react when times get tough…’cause they pretty much always do, eventually. These are traits I admire.
I do not, let us be clear, want anything to do with an illiterate (or may as well be), slack jawed, hill billy, beats “his” woman because he can redneck. No. Thank you. I’ve had one of those. I don’t care to repeat the experience. Call me crazy! However, a blue collar man is a thing of beauty. A blue collar man who reads and doesn’t listen, exclusively, to country music? Indefinable joy. If I could find all that and he can make me laugh until I pass out? Book the hall, people, I just changed my mind about marriage! But, sadly, they are few and far between. And, as of September 1, 2008? They’re getting rarer.
Goodbye, Mr. Reed. You may not have been any of the things I thought or admired. You may have been all those things. But, whatever you may or may not have been, to this little girl, you were beautiful.
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