Archive for December, 2011

11 Songs to the End of ’11

December 31, 2011

The Year of the Clown

December 31, 2011

There’s a sign hanging up in Michele Bachmann’s campaign headquarters that says she is… “Biblically Qualified to be President of the United States.”  I added the period to the end of the quote because her crack squad of graphic sign designers decided it was unnecessary.  There are other things unnecessary at Michele Bachmann’s campaign HQ, such as the existence of it in the first place, but I’m not here to be mean.  There’s a new year upon us, and the continuing dissidence and derangement within the Republican Party it’s promising to shape up 2012 to be the year of the clown.

Once again, I must turn to my anonymous familial source who said Wisconsin governor Scott Walker would be popular if he was…  If he was what?  What do you think my source said?  If he was… less of an ulcerated dickhole?  If he was… a human being?  If he was… not such a heartless scrooge McDuck?  No, it wasn’t any of those.  My source claimed Walker, and thus his policies, would be uniting all of Wisconsin in a big hand holding sing-song round of Kumbaya My Lord if only he was… BLACK!  That’s right because the whole world loves a black man.  Who isn’t more loved than the black man?  Only Jews get more love than the black man.  I know.  I know, but my source said it, and it got me to think… where did this line of reasoning come from?  It’s an entrenched tenant of the right wing actually.  Some of the right actually believes Obama is never criticized because of the color of skin.  They think the media is afraid to levy a solitary negative word against a black president out of fear of getting called racist.  So, essentially, in a country where most people alive today very likely believed they’d never see a black president in their lifetime, suddenly being black is an asset.  When not long ago, Chris Rock was making jokes about the first black president having to be a crack whiz at dodging bullets (literal bullets shot out of a gun), the right wing now perceives blackness as akin to being bullet proof (metaphorical bullets in terms of criticism).  My mind never stops boggling at the logic possessed by the right.  I’d really like to know where thinking like that starts.  Its roots are, of course, totally and completely racist.  Believing that black people have it awesome and that white people are at a disadvantage is simply racist.  First, it’s a distortion of the reality on the ground, but in the world of the increasingly right-shifted Republican no reality is left crystal clear.  Second, it allows the white man to bemoan is miserable lot and life, and, third, it gives the white man someone to blame because of the black man had it worse, then he, the white man, would be doing so much better.  All the white man asks for is a level playing field.  It’s another brick in their fortifying wall of victimization.  Maybe in Rick Perry’s next ad he can tell us he’s not afraid to admit he’s a white man because who has it worse than white Christian men.  Those guys can’t even get away with child rape!  Everybody’s on them about the slightest infraction.  It’s like they’re not allowed to make a single mistake without some liberal crusader jumping all down their throats about the separation of church and state and how posting the Ten Commandments in a courtroom is unconstitutional.  Only a secular atheist Muslim commie fascist would go on record stating, “…no religious test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States.”  It’s like the lunatics on the left might think a candidate for president of the United States doesn’t have to by biblically qualified.  Bollocks to that!  It’s in God we trust not Adam and Steve!

Monsters of Rape

December 29, 2011

It boggles.  It really truly does.  Newt Gingrich, Michele Bachmann, Ron Paul, Rick Perry and Santorum all agree, even in cases of rape, abortion should be absolutely 100% illegal… except for rich women who will be able to afford to fly off to jolly liberal Europe for a rape scrape.  This is the new G.O.P.  This is the face of the beast, and if it’s who they want to be, then I have a few slogan suggestions.

The Republican Party… We complete the Rapists’ Attack!

The G.O.P. is… Government Ordered Parturition

The Republican Party would like to remind you during this Holiday Season: Rape Babies… They’re God’s Little Miracles!

From forced violent impregnation to forced traumatic birth… The Republican Party is there.

Home for the Holidays

December 29, 2011

“What you people don’t understand is that greed is what pays your salary,” said an anonymous source within my family. My source watches so much FOX News s/he’s actually arguing that greed is a force for good in this country that creates jobs and pays wages. This is the sort of thing we’re up against now. Thanks to FOX News, rapacious corporate criminals and the obscenely wealthy are being praised and defended for how they contribute to society. “They’re the ones that make the jobs,” my anonymous source went on to say, “and if you tax them more they’re just going to pass it on to the shoulders of you and me.” This is the perfect argument, and it must come from the illogical minds of the FOX News machine. Basically it goes that if you tax them, then they’ll cheat on their taxes, therefore, we shouldn’t tax them. Also, anyone who creates a job, shouldn’t be taxed. How dare I pay sales tax when I’m the one paying guys to mow my lawn! I create jobs. Big government off my back, man! This kind of thinking goes on all around the United States, but it definitely pops up for me more on a visit to Wisconsin than it does in the relatively safe and warm confines of California. But really, no amount of crazed fever thought should surprise me in a state where political discourse on the right has degenerated into calling teachers and nurses overpaid union thugs. Wisconsin, it’s where support Ron Paul signs sprout in the fields of angry, vehemently anti-abortion soybean farmers intent on growing marijuana. It’s where you’ll see the billboard reading, “Smile! Your mom was pro-life!” My boy is going to grow up knowing he was a choice, and that he was chosen. His mom was not pro-life, and neither was dad. Yeah, I went home for the holidays, and it wasn’t too bad. The bars hand out free shots for touchdowns scored by the Green Bay Packers, and you can’t complain about that. I suppose you could express your dissent to the free shots by puking all over the tavern floor, but in Wisconsin everybody would conclude it was simply the spirit of Christmas moving right up through you.

It’s the War on Christmas, Charlie Brown!

December 25, 2011

Most of what FOX News misguidedly sees as a war on Christmas involves retail outlets that decide not to use the expression, “Merry Christmas,” when customers enter the store leave through the checkout lane.  This to them is an absolute affront on the pious sensibilities of good Christians and their infant man-god.  Aside from me thinking it sounds somewhat deranged to wish someone a “merry Christmas” when it is not Christmas (I wouldn’t wish anyone a Happy St. Patrick’s Day two weeks before St. Patrick’s Day), I find it interesting that they have decided the problem is retail stores.  Charles Schultz lodged an early complaint about the commercialization of Christmas being the problem with Christmas: garish light displays and the horribly high expectations put on people to have everything perfect.  This isn’t the problem for FOX News.  They want the purveyors of commercialization to strengthen the bonds between their crass exploitation of the holiday and the word “Christmas.”  “Christmas” the holiday and “Christmas” ‘what you get fot Christmas?’ should be the same thing. To them, the war is embedded in language, specifically, that one word: CHRISTMAS!  For Peanuts’ creator Charles Schultz the problem was what that word “Christmas” had come to represent in popular culture, which is precisely what FOX News thinks it ought to mean.  Schultz and FOX, if meeting head to head today, would be on opposing sides in this imaginary war.  Schultz wanted the opportunistic leeches out of the Christmas game.  FOX wants them forcibly shackled to it.

The fact is, Christmas as it plays out in the retail shops of this country has nothing to do with the birth of the savior of all mankind – at least all of mankind that fervently believes that God turned himself into a man – one that had to be born and grow up in order to be executed by the state and spend a weekend in Hell before returning to life and abracadabra we’re all good insofar as that whole eating from the fruit of the tree of knowledge thing goes.  Christmas for the shop owner is profit.  For the tree farmers: profit. For the manufacturer of light strings and glowing nativity sets and blinking fucking Santas: profit.  The economy doesn’t give a fuck why you buy, only that you do… Christian, Musilim or Jew.

FOX is not involved in a war on Christmas.  They are fighting a war on language.  They are fighting a war on thought.  They are positioning themselves as the bullies of the free market.  For FOX, the free market is the greatest thing any society has ever come up with, but if it doesn’t behave the way they want it to behave, then it’s an evil secular institution.  They want to Christianize the market place, which is fine by me.  Let’s convert the churches into malls and may the taxation of religion commence or, contrarily, classify all commerce as an act of religious freedom and tax nothing.  I for one will be naming my yacht the “Merry Christmas, Sucker!”

Super Typical

December 23, 2011

I’m a stay at home dad, and not a single dad, but I think I can empathize, and perhaps partially sympathize, with the single parent.

At my parents’ house, the television is rarely quiet.  The thing always has stuff to tell me, and today it wanted to tell me about a remarkable single father: “NBA Superdad Dwyane Wade.”  That was their way of putting it – “superdad.”  They praise him for being a single dad, and he speaks out against broken homes (especially in the African American community), but let’s never mind that he is divorced and let’s doubly never mind that anybody who has truck loads of money is never truly a “single” parent doing it all on his own without help.  Dwyane Wade, the darling of single parenthood.  Good thing he’s not a single black woman in need of food stamps.  If that were the case, then we’d have the media spokespeople calling him a “welfare queen.”  Single parents in poverty are the media’s scum.

Sure, he’s a single dad, but he has a high paying full time job, and that’s a guarantee of quality nannies who probably do more to raise the kids than their father the check book super hero, but the news show doesn’t mention the nannies and they don’t mention daddy’s buckets of gold bullion and they turn a blind eye to all the time he spends working and training and practicing.  In short, they don’t actually go into the total number of hours he puts into raising his kids.  Between seemingly endless seasons of stuffing a ball through a hoop and his time spent lecturing others about the importance of a solid and reliable familial foundation, how much time is left for the kids?  What kind of hours are put in by the nannies?  How many meals a week does daddy cook?  Who’s doing the shopping and the cleaning and the yard work and managing the accounts? Who’s watching the children when daddy’s out looking for a brand new mommy?  Superdad?  No, not that guy.  There are many paths on the road to neglectful parenting.  Running away from your responsibilities entirely is only one.  Passing the work on to others as you fork the over the cash is another, but if that’s what it takes for the media to recognize someone as the greatest parent in the history of all time and space, then, well, maybe we should only allow the rich to breed.  The rest of us can creep in the shadows, raising their spoiled rotten brats, and planting in their pliable minds the seeds of patricide and revolution.  Praise be to the rich and their privileged children.  How wonderful it is their parents can afford all the best parenting money can buy.  There are parents out there that I look up to and respect, and the Dwyane Wades of the world aren’t among ‘em.  Not by a long shot.  Cheers to the welfare queens.  Cheers to the struggling.  Cheers to those who go years without a night out. Cheers to all the dads and moms with their boots on the ground and their hands in the shit.

Friendly Skies

December 22, 2011

If I wanted to, I could pay 10 bucks to have internet access up here high over the western states.  I won’t pay so I don’t have it, but it’s still bears testimony to these fantastical times we live in… fantastical times if you have the money.  I guess though, most people don’t have the money.  Most human beings live primitively.  They will never search the internet.  They will never fly.  And they certainly won’t browse the web from above the clouds so even though I’m writing this as high altitude fucks my ears, I can’t get these words out into the world (no loss) until some café somewhere gives me the access I need for free.  This is how information will work in the future.  The wealthy will have all the access as the poor are slowly removed from the picture.  The Unabomber was right.  Access will define the future of the classes.  Someday, Kaczynski’s manifesto will be considered prescient, and I have to wonder how the TSA would respond if they knew I was praising a mad bomber aboard one of their flights?  Hopefully I’ll never know.  Besides, they’re too busy torturing old ladies in wheel chairs to give a shit about anything else.  Nothing says you’re working to keep the public safe more than forcing grandma out of her chair to walk through the metal scanner as she howls in pain from her dislocated hip.  Fly the friendly skies, fucker.  Yes, and these are TSA agents at Burbank, the theoretically friendly ones, at least when compared to the LAX security staff who can regularly be heard shouting “mother fucker” and “cocksucker” and “nigger” and “bitch” and other such vulgarities from the confines of their makeshift modular break room.  It fills me with everlasting confidence to know that misogynists and homophobes are running the security show while daydreaming sleep deprived pilots are taking us into the wild blue.  I should stop there.  Complaints about flying are trite.  We’ve been complaining about airlines in one way or another since the first lucky comedians were allowed to board planes.  At that time their grievance usually involved the quality of the food.  They must all be happier now that they no longer serve food.  Don’t like the stuffed chicken breast served to you a mile in the sky?  Fine, fuck off.  Here’s a bag of mixed nuts you buy for a dollar.  You see, no matter how shit flying is it can always get worse like the day when the fuel crisis while mean we have no flying at all and then we can all take our chances lining up for the trebuchet.

I Bought a 99¢ Pair of Earrings

December 17, 2011

I bought a 99¢ pair of earrings.  They were in Chinatown.  To get to them I had to take the train.  That’s a buck fifty, one-way, and I needed to get home too.  So that cost three bucks.  I walked around a bunch, and then I got hungry and ate at LA Chicken in Little Tokyo.  The sign on the door said, “LA Chicken….. where the chicken tastes like Lexus!?”  I ordered the two-piece lunch special for six dollars.  The pieces of chicken were intriguing and unlike any I’d ever seen.  They take that little drumstick part of the wing and encase it in this cocoon of additional chicken meat, then that whole wing-mass is breaded, fried and constitutes a piece: a piece of chicken the size of a breast with one stubby bone tucked away in the middle.  My meal was a combo.  Combos come with drinks, and I usually just get water, but when it’s a strange place where I’ve never been before it’s easier for me to order by getting whatever’s most prominent on the menu board.  This had the affect of costing me more for lunch than I’d otherwise normally pay.  When I got back to my neighborhood I needed a coffee.  That cost one seventy-five for the double shot.  And then my friend called from my house and asked if I could pick him up a soft drink.  I went into the dollar store and bought a Mountain Dew.  I browsed through the DVDs and found a copy of Punch Drunk Love for another dollar.  And then, of course, there was the tipping.  I tipped a dollar at the chicken place and gave a quarter at the coffee house.  Hm… I bought a fourteen dollar and ninety-nine cent pair of earrings.  Actually, thinking back, the earring saleslady never gave me my penny in change.  They were fifteen even.  I still think they were a pretty good deal.

Thought Crime? Thought is the Crime!

December 16, 2011

Pretty much everything I agree to do, I don’t want to do.  When it comes right down to it, when it’s time, I don’t want to.  This goes from the obvious, agreeing to cover somebody’s shift at work, not that I’ve known what that’s like for a long time, to even having a kid.  Having a kid is something I agreed to.  Loads of people aren’t that lucky to get to choose to have a kid.  It’s just something that happened to them when they were fifteen, but I chose.  I chose to upset the status quo, to rattle my comfort zone and get up close and overly personal with poo.   Poo in diapers, poo in pants, poo on the floor, in the bathtub, under my nails, in hair, slathered all over the scrotum like peanut butter for the family dog.  This was all ultimately my choice.  And when I agreed to it, to have the kid, I hoped it would never happen.  Sterility was my dream.  If it would have been possible and not have been a completely immoral act towards my wife, I’d have gotten a secret vasectomy.  So, I’d ask myself, “If I don’t want it, then why’d I agree to it in the first place?”  Especially, now this is crucial, when I knew I didn’t want to do whatever it is before I agreed to do that thing. I shouldn’t act like having a kid so horrible.  I haven’t agreed to anything totally horrible.  The fact that I haven’t been partially eaten yet by a German is testament to my fairly sane decision making skills, but I seemingly don’t want to do nearly anything I’ve agreed to. It’s as if I simply don’t trust myself to do anything I maybe even at one point wanted to do.

I say I’ll play a show or attend a party, and when I said “yes” to either of those, I meant it, but on the day of the event I start scrambling around looking for excuses not to play, not to go.  Why would I want to?  It just means I’m going to have to be around other people, and that might be the worst thing about having had a kid is that I have no choice but to be around the kid all the time.  I have to hear every little bullshit idea that crosses his mind.  I have to watch his ordinary human insanity grow and unspool before my eyes, and worst of all, I’m responsible for it.  I made him.  I’m raising him.  If he grows up to be Ted Bundy or Newt Gingrich, then I will somehow have been to blame.  Maybe not to blame in a big way, but to blame enough that I’d never forgive myself for unleashing yet another typical monster into the selfishly overpopulated world.

What have I been saying?  That I’m a selfish twat who only wants to do what he wants to do precisely when he wants to do it.  No revelation there.  People are selfish.  Hurray for all my words.  I know I am a self-centered island unto myself, and when people wash up on the shores of my life, I don’t want them climbing in my coconut tree.  But I let them.  I’ll even get out the ladder and volunteer to go up there for them so they don’t get hurt.  For this – I don’t want to use the words selflessness or altruism even if objectively they work because subjectively, from my point of view, those words don’t do shit to explain what’s really going on – minor act of selflessness some people need religion.  They are good, they’ll say, because God demands it of them.  I don’t believe in gods, let alone universal dictates based on these gods’ alleged authority, but I go ahead and basically do the selfless thing anyways.  But I don’t do it in my mind, and the bible gets bitchy about thought crimes or shit you say in your heart.  It’s these thought crimes I’ll never be able to turn off.  The bible pretty much says you can cheat on your spouse using only the power of your mind.  That book knows how powerful thinking can be.  I think that’s why it takes great pains to shit all over thought, and actively seeks to direct the thinking of the people who decide to go ahead and believe its wackaloonery.  It’s a device used to frighten children.  “He knows what you’ve been thinking…”  That’s a scary lyric.  Slayer has never come close to that level of appalling horror.  “He knows what you’ve been thinking.”  Get out of my head!  What the fuck are you looking for in there?  Yah!  And that’s when you take the electric drill to get out the bad ghost that lives in your skull.  Well, I don’t want to leave anything for the ghost, and that’s why I’m disclosing it all here.  I do things I don’t want to all the time, and maybe agreeing to do something you don’t want to do and carrying through with it while hatred and bile churns in your black hearted guts, maybe that’s what morality is all about.  Now get the fuck out of my head.

Another Great One Gone

December 16, 2011

Christopher Hitchens is dead, and there’s nothing good about that.  It’s good his suffering is over, but why is that a comfort to the living who still have death ahead of them?  It just means that our suffering will have the volume dramatically cranked up until the speakers blow and we go out like a whiff of ozone riding a thin puff of smoke.  Knowing Christopher’s propensity in health for the imbibing of the occasional cocktail, all my feeble brain could think, attempting to justify death, was that it, death, is like the first drink of the day – preferably held off until at least 2.  Life is a constant buzzing.  A long screaming aaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! – that ends in lcohol.  The defiant din of the world can be quelled by the mere sound of a pop top popping or a bottle gurgling its amber beauty over a couple cubes of ice. Life is precious, but sometimes life needs to quiet the fuck down: phones, vacuum cleaners, street repairs, sub-woofers, car engines, train crossings, horns, bells, drums, dogs, birds, radio, television, human voices and more human voices… hush.  Listen to the rhythm underneath it all – the clock ticking the seconds.  The only sound I want to hear is the sound of ice hitting glass, and when my last breath comes, I’d like to be able to hear that too, and since I don’t know when that breath is coming… shhh.  Grant this condemned man his last wish, and just… shhh.