Monday, January 28, 2008

Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out...

Well, tonight is the night. Dubya’s final State of the Union. An event I’ve been dreaming about since 2001. The final report from the most corrupt presidential administration in American history. The coda, if you will, on seven years of conflicting stories, fabricated scenarios and outrageous lies that have quite possibly done irreparable harm to the Constitution and the future of the rule of law and its role in helping to govern our “great” nation. This administration managed to smash the mirror in which we as Americans see ourselves in relation to the world and we’ve been sitting shiva ever since. But today my friends, the seven year streak of bad luck has ended.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about those who didn’t live to relish this moment, those who would share my sense of relief and giddy apprehensive joy like Molly Ivins and Hunter S. Thompson. Voices of reason in an increasingly unreasonable world. But there are new voices and a sense of hope that has begun to seep into the country’s wounded psyche. We’re teetering on that brink of possibility. Of course, we can just as easily fall over the edge into an abyss of shit beyond our wildest dreams. But I think the Kool Aid is starting to wear off and folks are more lucid and balanced. It was all those meditation and yoga sessions we collectively took to take our minds off the pending apocalypse of the last seven years.
As the nation cautiously registers what will hopefully be an insignificant speech, we can all take solace in the fact that we will never again have to hear about the state or our country through the medium of this bumbling lunatic. Pray that he finishes up without another “axis of evil” sound bite or worse, having planted the seeds for a new declaration of war. Perhaps we’ll have a bird’s eye view of Bush’s farewell kiss to Joe Lieberman. Ahh, I’m all warm and fuzzy.

Speaker Pelosi, make sure they lock the doors – don’t let Rove get in – he has a mental connection with the president and can make him say anything! Senator Dodd, always stay in the President’s line of sight, especially when he starts rambling on about FISA. And for God’s sake, don’t look Cheney directly in the eye, his gaze will render you powerless. Fixate on George, he doesn’t know how to look anyone in the eye. You know your mission. You've been preparing for this moment for years. Don't blow it. We're counting on you. Make us proud, or at the very least, keep my nausea at bay.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Happy Friday


I've just been too exhausted to blog this week. Started acting and script writing classes. So, I'll leave you with this visual gem until I can muster up the strength to write something worth reading.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Sixteen Seconds is a Pretty Long Orgasm

Now it starts to get weird. As the great political philosopher and journalist, Hunter S. Thompson once said, “Buy the ticket, take the ride.” Well, as a reluctant consumer with limited funds, I’ve strapped myself into this contraption, clutching the ticket as I hang on for dear life praying I don’t puke before we come to a halt. What has me taking deep breaths and swallowing repeatedly trying to keep the bile as far down as possible? Why it’s the newly fabricated race war between Hillary and Barack.

After watching hours of this back and forth on all the networks, blogs and newswires over the last couple of days I’ve come to the conclusion that nothing of any real merit is ever going to come out of either campaign until the media stops its rabid, blood thirst for conflict where there isn’t any. Instead of reporting relevant news they’re on a diatribe of mindless race babble that culminated in what can only be described as an exercise in absurdity.

Last night the local NBC affiliate in my home state actually counted the seconds of applause that Hillary got after a speech she gave at a MLK celebration in New York. Sixteen seconds of luke warm applause. That’s right. Sixteen. I couldn’t believe my ears. Some moron actually felt the need to count the seconds. Now I challenge you – stand up and clap for sixteen seconds straight. No stopping. Seems like a pretty generous amount of time to me. I don’t think I applauded that long for Springsteen.

But the press headlines to the event were even more telling. And you thought the network media, the Big Three, were above the spin, immune to the hype. I’m not talking Fox news here.

MSNBC headline: Clinton Honors MLK at Labor Event (okay, pretty boring but accurate)

ABC headline: Clinton Faces Boos and Catcalls at MLK Event (boos and catcalls – wow, that’s a contrast from honoring MLK at a labor event)

WCBS out of NY: Clinton Gets Respectful Applause at MLK Event (okay, so what’s so respectful about boos and catcalls?)

Canada.com: Hillary Does Damage Control at King Birthday Dinner (Damage control? Canada? What the fuck do they have to do with this?)

This is the press’ racial equivalent of a wet dream.

Now sides are clearly taken. Bob Johnson, president of Black Entertainment Television (and Clinton supporter) makes a very off-color (pun intended) remark about Obama’s past in the streets of Chicago. The veiled implication that while Hillary was single-handedly saving the women’s movement and getting blacks the vote, Obama was snorting coke and smoking weed. Now, did he actually say that? No, of course not. That would be political suicide, right? He implied it, rather bluntly. Then there’s the Oprah factor, whatever the Hell that is. It’s getting tedious.

For the first time in American history we’ll get the chance to not vote for a middle aged, wealthy white man. So why is the press blowing it harder than a Louis Armstrong trumpet solo? Get with it for Christ’s sake. This is the most important election since 2004.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

The Kiss of Death


Senator Barack Obama triumphantly holds back tears at the prospect of this latest endorsement.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

When Scabs Attack – Welcome Back Boys…..

Those of you who know me know that I’m as pro-union/anti-corporate as Ralph Nader, but I’ll admit it, I stayed up last night to watch my two heroes return to the airways for an hour of revelry peppered with a dollop of poignancy and just a smidgen of Ativan worthy anxiety. Don’t hate me for being a scab. After two months of the proverbial cold shower and salt peter cure (in the form of Keith Olbermann), I was as excited as a drunken sailor with a two-day pass and a box of condoms. So much has happened that should have been skewered since November 1. Hell, just in the last couple of weeks Bill O’Reilly was thrown out of an Obama rally by the secret service for overstepping his boundaries (and apparently trying to step on the 6’8” Obama security detail), Sean Hannity was expelled from a restaurant by angry Ron Paul supporters furious over Fox News’ decision to not allow the popular congressman his rightful place among the Republican lunatics to debate. And, oh my God – CHUCK NORRIS?? Are you freaking kidding me?
The boys, of course, had their moments of glad grace – Jon’s “unibrow of solidarity” with the writers, changing the show’s name from “The Daily Show” to “A Daily Show,” Stephen shredding a script and having the cameras zero in on the wordless teleprompters and wondering why his telepathic brain messages weren’t showing up on the monitors as they always have in the past. The anti-union rant, the melancholy realization that there would be no “Word.” Though still hysterical, it was hard to watch. I can’t imagine what it was like to perform.
I’m all for the writers. Their argument is legitimate and they aren’t asking for all that much. However, it might behoove the WGA to make some sort of deal with Comedy Central – which apparently tried and was dismissed because they’re owned by Viacom – to get the writers back for TDS/TCR so that they can do what they do best, which would most surely include informing the public of the royal screw the writers are getting by the AMPTP (my dyslexia shows that acronym to read ARMPIT, so that’s how I’ll refer to it in all future posts so as not to induce a headache). Because, let’s face it, Jon Stewart (who I like to refer to as the CEO of Generation X), and Stephen Colbert (a national treasure if ever there was one) are worth 50 Leno’s, 23 Letterman’s and maybe 7 Conan’s combined. The others, such as Jimmy Kimmel, Carson Daley and Craig Ferguson are hovering at the Tom Tancredo mark of significance.
Last night’s shows certainly weren’t the best I’ve ever had, but then again, you know what they say about sex and pizza.

Friday, January 04, 2008

Props to Soul Brother Number One

I can’t say that I’m not absolutely thrilled with last night’s Iowa caucus. Barack Hussein Obama, the man, the myth, the legend, convinced an overwhelmingly white middle class corn-fed electorate to choose him over a ridiculously handsome white southern populist, and Bill Clinton’s wife. Don’t get me wrong – I like them all, and I mean all - even crazy Mike Gravel.

But the inconsolable ache in my heart that has not stopped throbbing since November 2, 2004 was finally given a brief, albeit Cognac induced, respite as I watched the coverage on MSNBC last night in almost disbelief. However, the real story here, the “nut graph” if you will, was the turnout. 22% of the caucus voters on the Democrat side were under 30. That’s huge, and it’s gotta be scaring the shit out of the Republicans. If we can only engage this demographic for the next 10 months, and if Obama doesn’t let loose some campaign ending barbaric yawp (I’m talking to you Deaniacs), then we might actually win this one fair and square. This kind of momentum can only grow. Of course, I’m sad to see Joe Biden and Chris Dodd throwing in the towel so early in the game, but I’ve already started forming my dream cabinet for Mr. Obama starting with Joe Biden as the Secretary of State and Chris Dodd in charge of Homeland Security (or at the very least being elected Senate Majority Leader. Harry Reid needs to take a long weekend in Vegas – preferably for the next 6 years).

Although Obama is shaping up to be our generation’s Bobby Kennedy, I can’t help but be apprehensive about falling completely head over heals for the guy. I’ve been burned so many times - Jesse Jackson in 88, Jerry Brown in 92, and of course, the dagger through the heart in the form of Dr. Howard Dean in 04- that I’m not sure I’m ready to handle another devastating breakup. But for now, I’m gonna eat this win like Altoids at a roadblock and say a little prayer that my heart doesn’t end up in the slammer, again.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Feliz 2008!

As I sit here sipping my Asti Spumanti by the fire watching the Cooper Scooper 360 re-cap the blazing bag of shit on the front porch that was 2007, I can’t help but reflect with a sick nostalgia all the non-essential information that I allowed myself to deep throat on a daily basis. 2007 was the kind of year that one could summon the resolve at any given moment to firmly believe that we were indeed weeks away from the apocalypse. I won’t bother to rehash any of the special American brand of lunacy that only a population of neurotic, overly paranoid masters of denial and illusion can perpetuate and produce, be it sports mishaps, celebrity train wrecks, political plasticity or those crraazzzy Arabs – we were all there, we all saw the movie, no need for further embellishment. It’s too painful and frankly, just too fucking redundant. I can’t say that I’m happy to see another year go. It just means more gray hair, crow’s feet and joint pain for numero uno, but I am giddy with excitement to see 2007 abscond far, far away. It is with that sense of fragile vulnerability one gets before telling their soul mate “I love you” for the first time that I greet 2008 – apprehensively, gingerly and with the mildest tinge of cynicism. So, Happy New Year everyone. Good night and good luck.