I'd been told "you can't go home again"… mainly because my parents no longer live there, and the people who currently do live in the place in which I once dwelled don't, in all honesty, like me very much. So instead, I opted to go to the place my folks now call home… which wasn't easy, what with them having moved several times and forgetting to give me their new address.
And sure, there was the whole restraining order thing.
But eventually, I caught up with… er… reconnected with my parents and arranged to travel to their new home outside Syracuse for a visit. And so it was that I boarded a train with high hopes and low blood sugar, ready for adventure!
Traveling by train is a lot different than jetting off into the wild blue yonder via plane. For one thing, you get to actually see the landscape zipping by as opposed to looking out your window and seeing nothing but clouds. You could be pretty much anywhere… over water, over a mountain… it all looks the same when you're head is literally in the clouds.
But more importantly, once you're on a plane and that aircraft takes off, you have a pretty good idea of when you're going to arrive, especially when flying direct. The same isn't exactly true when you climb aboard an Amtrak train, which was how I was traveling. This trip would involve numerous scheduled stops, and more than a few unscheduled ones.
You know how on planes the pilot occasionally will address the passengers, alerting them to turbulence, delays, or the score of the Maple Leaf's game? Yeah, Amtrak doesn't feel the need to tell you any of that crap. If the train makes an unscheduled stop in the middle of nowhere, without a station in sight, you're pretty much left to wonder what's going on. If the train is an hour or two behind schedule, nobody tells you diddly, as if to say, "Hey, when we get there, you'll get there."
Worse, there's no resentment-filled stewardess to bring you a meal or sell you a tiny here's-a-little-bottle-with-a-half-ounce-of-booze-make-your-own-damn cocktail. You want something on an Amtrak train, get off your lazy ass, walk the five miles to the Dining Car and, assuming it's open, get it yourself.
Interestingly, we as a nation don't seem all that concerned about the possibility of a train being blown up by terrorists. While you'll be strip-searched before being allowed to board a jet, you can bring your puppy, four semi-automatics and that left-over anthrax you've been hoarding onto a train without anybody so much as raising an eyebrow. Your luggage -- and you're welcome to bring aboard as much as you like without those pesky fees the airlines now want to charge per bag -- isn't glanced at, let alone x-rayed or searched.
A major downside to traveling by rail? Cell phones. Anybody who gets annoyed when that Repressed Rachel, the bitter stewardess with control issues, insists they turn their phones off has never spent a goodly portion of their trip listening to the under-appreciated strip club bouncer, obviously made deaf (poor thing) by constant exposure to pumped-up, titty-shaking music (as opposed to pumped-up-titty shaking music, and there is a subtle difference), rant loudly into a phone about his undocumented common-law wife's status as an under-tipped lapdancer, as I did during this trip.
And why do the airlines assign seats, but Amtrak is content to turn each car into a free-for-all, with little old ladies laying knitting needles across the seat next to them and insisting, "Oh, someone is sitting there" while dazed and confused passengers wander aimlessly up and down the aisles of the sold-out train thinking, "I just sort of assumed that buying a ticket on this train meant I'd have a seat…"
On the plus side, when you travel by rail you can put your tray table down and keep it down for as long as you want, and no matter how bumpy the ride, there's nobody insisting you fasten your non-existent seat belts. Sure, they don't show movies, but when's the last time you boarded a plane showing an in-flight flick you actually wanted to see? (Flying back from L.A. a few months ago, Continental actually showed episodes of Chico & The Man!)
Plus, the bathrooms are much roomier on trains then on their winged brethren. (I assume a lot of people have had sex in them, but I guess the "Cross-Country Club" doesn't sound as exciting as membership in the "Mile High Club", explaining why it's not a hotter topic of conversation.)
In the end, despite the pitfalls, traveling by train is somehow more charming than being rammed into a sardine can and being forced to breath recycled air populated by the germs of every sneezing child and wheezing elder in the vicinity. Watching the scenery zip by, your mind wanders and you can actually, if you're not careful, find yourself pondering the beauty of nature.
At least until the guy behind you starts talking about his wife's crotch rot.
Houses? Oh, I thought you said blouses and got confused!
Category: News and Politics
Oh John, John, John.
I'm sorry, is that disrespectful? Should I call you Mr. McCain? Given your terribly informal and not exactly presidential speach patterns, I just kinda feel like we should be on a first name basis. Especially since, despite the fact you're the Republican party's last, best hope -- a fact that is in and of itself kinda sad -- it seems increasingly unlikely that anyone will be addressing you as "Mr. President" anytime in the near future.
Guess I could have stopped at "anytime", huh?
Anyway, I'd like to offer up a little bit of advice. Just something to consider if you're going to continue in this campaign. (Now if you're going to do the smart thing and just kinda quietly back away from campaigning in general and microphones in particular, then feel free to ignore this blog and go back to napping.)
My advice? Stop talking. Period.
Just let your spokespeople do all the hard work, like, you know, strining together coherent sentences and answering difficult questions about things like your political positions or how many houses you own.
After all, they're already having to follow you around like puppy owners with pooper scoopers, trying to prevent anyone from noticing the big ol' steaming piles of crap you're dropping here, there and everywhere.
Now, between you and me, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe when you were asked that question the other day about how many houses you and the Mrs. own, you were genuinely bumfuzzled, as my gramps used to say. (I figure it's probably best to speak slowly and in the language of your peers so as not to confuse your obviously addled brain.) After all, being a very wealthy man, there's probably all kinds of real estate investments that you may or may not even be aware of. So yeah, I'm willing to cut you a little slack there and assume you weren't just hemming and hawwing to cover the fact that while many Americans can't even afford the one home they live in, you've got, what is it, seven different homes? Valued at around 13 million?
Not that there's anything wrong with that. (Although it is kinda tacky for you to then turn around and try point out that Obama lives in a million-dollar home -- yes, just the one -- while talking about how the country's economy is fundamentally sound and declaring that a person has to make fivemillion a year to be considered "rich".)
But seriously, dude, when asked how many houses you have, "I'm not sure... I'll have to check with my staff" is never, ever going to be the right answer.
Now, if you had a sense of humor or were a half-way decent speaker, you could have turned this into a charming, funny moment. "You know, I've gotta be honest with you on this one," you could have replied. "My wife has her fingers in a lot of pies, and one of them is the real estate market. So technically, when you count condos and things like that, we probably own more than I'm even aware of."
But no, you did what you always do when trying to evade a question. You did the white boy shuffle, getting that dumb-ass look (you know, the one your pal George gets so often) that says, even when you don't, "Well, damned if I didn't just get caught with my hand in the cookie jar!"
So yeah, do yourself and everyone around you a favor, sir. Just stop talking.
Unless, like I said, you wanna give up campaigning. Then you can feel free to go down to the local old-age home -- you know, whichever one happens to be closest to the home you're currently residing in -- and spend all day talking about those years you spent in prison.
Wait, what was that? Prison?
Um, sir, on second thought, don't let the people around you talk, either. Because if they're going to refer to the time you spent as a prisoner of war as the five years you spent "in prison" -- painting you not as the war hero you undeniably are but rather someone who was doin' time in the Big House -- they might have the same problem as you.
If you ever need a good laugh -- granted, the kind that leaves you feeling a little queasy upon realizing the people by whom you're amused aren't in on the joke -- pay a visit to the American Family Association website.
Or don't. The last thing I want to do is up their daily hits. Instead, I'll fill you in on the highlights.
For those not in the know, the AFA -- formerly known by the less-friendly sounding but much more accurate moniker the National Federation for Decency -- was founded by Donald Wildmon back in 1977. (Time flies when you're repressing people in the name of Christianity!)
Wildmon is one of those fun-at-cocktail-parties kinda guys who would have been a big hit at the Salem witch trials. His favorite game? Pin The Destruction Of The Human Race on the Homosexual! He's also big on word association. for example, if you say "tolerance", he responds "heretic!" And if your next word is "AIDS", his would be "quarantine."
There's nothing this group likes better than to take someone -- hell, anyone! -- to task for supporting the DHA. (You know, the Dreaded Homosexual Agenda!)
To that end, the Association recently sent out an "Action Alert!" asking that members boycott McDonald's (as if Wildmon has ever resisted a Big Mac Attack in his life... look at the man!) because of their stance on homosexuality.
Proving how willing they are to take away the benefit of any doubt, here's an example of what they're upset about. Please note how, at the end, they've done a little word-association for those of you too stupid to get their meaning:
At the bottom of McDonald's half-page ad in the Out & Equal Summit booklet is this statement: "From neighborhood to neighborhood, coast to coast and around the world, McDonald's is proud to celebrate diversity" (homosexuality).
Wildmon and company have practically declared McDonald's an enemy of the state, what with the company taking pro-gay stances, supporting same-sex marriage and even sponsoring floats in Pride parades. (Frankly, McDonald's taking a leading role in the gay-rights battle is downright funny when you consider the fitness-centric nature of gay culture. No card-carrying homo would be caught dead in a McDonald's!)
We show our love in a different way.
The AFA actually took offense to a McDonald's rep saying, "We stand by and support our people to live and work in a society free of discrimination and harassment."
But every now and then, even an athiest like me has to admit that the Lord works in mysterious ways. Well, okay, more like "technology is a wonderful thing in the hands of idiots." Because recently, the AFA's "news" feed -- which is programmed to replace the word "gay" with "homosexual" so as to punish my peeps for having "stolen" the happy word from everyone else -- ran an article about an Olympic runner's victory.
The runner's name? Tyson Gay.
You see where this is going, right?
Thanks to the AFA's determination to protect the sanctity of the word gay, the article read:
Tyson Homosexual was a blur in blue, sprinting 100 meters faster than anyone ever has… "It means a lot to me," the 25-year-old Homosexual said. "I'm glad my body could do it, because now I know I have it in me."
Folks, that's just comedy in a bag. Proving once again that sometimes, the morons of the world make it almost too easy for the rest of us. Thanks for that, Mr. Wildmon.
It's a lazy Sunday here in the House of Thruple, and is often the case, that means lying around, each of us surfing the net on a laptop, sharing things we find. And since I'm not really in the mood to blog about anything in particular -- not the self-proclaimed narcicism that drove John Edwards to think he could keep a secret during a presidential campaign, or the fact that the National Enquirer's uncovering of his affair might just mean we have to take a tad more seriously some of the stuff they report, or even McCain's idiotic attempt to take Congress to task for going on Summer break when he hasn't attended a vote in four months -- I figured I'd entertain you, HoT style. Enjoy!
First up, one of the funniest things I've seen in a while. Puck found this one while reading his favorite blogger, Andrew Sullivan. (Yes, his favorite blogger. I don't think Puck has ever once read anything of mine. Heretic!) Anyway, this is Puck's offering in the "let our household entertain yours" category. Enjoy!
Next up, OMC found this guy who does absolutely amazing songs set to movie themes. My favorite? His take on the Halloween theme.
Or, perhaps you're more a fan of James Bond...
Finally, if you haven't yet seen this, get ready to have your world turned upside down. Why? Because a few minutes from now, you're going to find yourself put in the unthinkable position of... laughing WITH, not AT... Paris Hilton.
It is a tale that shall be handed down from generation to generation, with an impact more far-reaching than that of Bush's ill-fated war or the Obama/McCain feud. And while you'll no doubt hear many different versions in the days and weeks to come, I believe it is important that you know the truth behind one of the most significant events in the history of our nation. The truth as only I can report them.
And so I present a timeline covering the arrival on this Earth of Jack Ian, child of a Nubian Goddess and the mere mortal with whom she chose to mate.
August 1, 2008 7:30 a.m.: Donny pries Nina away from the computer in order to take her to the hospital so that labor can be induced. "I have to update my peeps!" she is heard screaming.
7:45 a.m.: As the doctor prepares to induce labor, Nina sends Donny for ice chips. Once he is out of hearing range, she pulls out her checkbook. "Look, name your price. I need to keep this kid in me for another three weeks. The second I give birth, I'm no longer the precious vessel carrying that man's first born. I'm just another wife. Disposable as toilet paper."
8:15 a.m. The first contraction begins. As a tapestry of obscenity explodes from Nina's lips, one nurse faints and another is seen clutching her rosary beads.
8:30 a.m.: Bored now, Kali goes to the cafeteria where she will be entertained by strangers and forced into child labor for the next six hours. Not surprisingly, at the end of the day, she is seen posting a listing on Craigslist which reads, "Free To Good Home: Newborn Baby Boy, Barely Used. Don't Tell Mommy or Daddy."
9:15 a.m.: An hour into fighting the good fight, Nina realizes that she can't keep her knees clamped shut and the child within her forever. This realization comes only after the doctor calls in three large male nurses to pry her legs apart.
10:15 a.m.: Nina's father attempts to call her mother in order to spread the joyous news that Jack Ian will soon arrive. Instead, he reaches her voice mail. As another contraction hits, Nina is heard shouting in the background, "That bitch is out whoring around with some guy she met on blackstuds.com while I'm layin' here giving birth!"
11:30 a.m.: Realizing there is a videocamera trained on her hootch, Nina seeks assurances that nobody will be allowed to watch the tape. Donny offers her his assurances, failing to mention that said camera is streaming a live feed onto the internet.
Noon: The va-jay-jay cam becomes the hottest thing on the internet, receiving more hits than Paris' sex tape and newly released footage of McCain's wife having sex with a group of bikers as word spreads from coast to coast. Two major studios begin fighting for the movie rights to Nina's uterus.
1:30: A doctor shoves a ballgag into Nina's mouth and informs her that the baby hasn't even dropped into position yet. "In other words," he says, "You're being a drama queen. You aren't even in pain yet." Quickly looking around the room, Nina responds, "Lucky for you my husband isn't in the room to hear you say that. I gotsta milk this for all it's worth. Do you know how much a Wii Fit costs? Another hour of seeing me suffer like this, Donny will buy me a gold-plated one."
2 p.m.: "He's staying in there for at least another hour," declares Nina. "I'm watchin' One Life To Live."
4 p.m.: A doctor suggests it's time to start pushing. Nina suggests he have his head examined. "Hello?" she says, gesturing wildly at the television screen. "Oprah!"
5 p.m. Jack drops into position and with great reluctance, Nina agrees to push. "How bad can it be?" she thinks to herself, apparently having completely blocked out any memory of Kali's birth.
5:01 p.m.: "Holy Mary Mother Of God, make it STOP!"
5:06 p.m.: Nina invents several new obscenities, during the course of which she vows that Donny will never, ever be allowed access to her va-jay-jay again. Seeing his son's head appear, Donny waves away her words. "My penis is the hammer," he declares, having seen Dr. Horrible one too many times.
5:19 p.m.: Instructed to give one more push, Nina does. With a waft of fairy dust and a little poo -- "You make sure people know I pooped ON your hand, not IN it!" Nina screams to the doctor -- Jack is born.
5:25 p.m.: Staring down at the child that looks just like him, complete with curly black hair and gorgeous eyes, Donny, standing far too close to his Nubian Goddess, suggests they immediately set to work on having another. Nina reaches out lovingly...
5:26 p.m.: Cradling his freshly-crushed nuts, Donny squeaks in an unusually high voice, "Um, okay, we'll talk about this another time."
Tell It Like It Is Tuesday: Licensed To Thrill
Category: Life
Things are heating up between you and your insignificant other du jour as his hands move up your thighs and his lips caress your neck.
"Come on, baby... I want you so badly!"
Common sense is on the verge of giving in to temptation, the angel and devil on your shoulder are engaged in a fight to the death when, as if sensing just how close you are to unleashing your inner slut, the person who wants to violate you nine ways to Sunday pulls back and says, "Maybe this'll help."
And with that, he whips out...
... a passport or license which declares him to be disease free.
"Well in that case," you declare, flinging your inhibitions -- and underwear -- to the wind, "climb aboard!"
Apparently, several companies, including STFree, founded by Eli Dancy of Brooklyn, are offering a service whereby a person is given a battery of tests for various sexually transmitted diseases and then, once cleared, sold a "license." You can then present this license to potential love slaves, who call the number on the back of the card and give your private pin number in order to be assured by a helpful operator that you are, in fact, clean as a whistle.
Or, um, at least you were on the day of the testing.
Of course, the holder of the License To Thrill might have had the test done within the six-month period during which HIV lies dormant in the blood stream. Or they might have gone immediately from the testing facility and had sex with an infected prostitute while shooting up with dirty needles.
According to the New York Daily News, at least 15,000 people are wandering around the city and its boroughs with these cards. And while Dancy is to be given credit for recognizing a problem in his community (the program is largely targeted at African-Americas), it seems a misguided effort at best. How many people, presented with an STDFree License, will take that as permission to have unsafe sex? How many people walking around with the license consider it a "Get Out Of Condom Free" card?
Would you consider getting such a card? More importantly, would you, if presented with the card, take it at face value?
Is Dancy's effort a positive step? Or is he misguided at best, and an opportunist at worst?
It ain't often you're gonna hear me trash-talking Obama, but recent developments have left me wanting to pat him on the head with one hand while smacking him with the other.
First, the good news: While McCain's camp was quick to slap Obama for flip-flopping on the topic of expanded drilling in previously protected areas (and not even given a nod to the irony of them bashing anyone for changing stance on anything), they failed to really pay attention to what the Democratic presidential candidate was saying.
Unlike McCain, who stood proud in Florida and said, "I know what Americans want. They want drilling, and they want it now!" -- apparently under the mistaken belief that he had already been elected President and was now free, like Bush before him, to speak on behalf of all of us despite those who might feel otherwise -- Obama said that he was willing to COMPROMISE and CONSIDER drilling if it meant passing a comprehensive energy plan.
Compromise. McCain and his ilk might wanna look that word up. But don't head to the Bush library... you won't find it there.
But then Obama went and suggested that Exxon should be hit with a windfall profit tax which would then be distributed to the American people, with individuals receiving $500 and couples getting $1,000, all courtesy of the oil company and its record-shattering profit.
There are several problems with that, not to least of which is this: The corporation did exactly what corporations are supposed to do: It made the most money possible for shareholders. That is the corporation's only goal. It's prime directive, if you will.
What Obama is suggesting is that the corporation should be punished for having a successful business model, which is downright obscene.
I know, I know, I'm sounding like a Republican, and no one is more surprised by this development than I, trust me. (Well, maybe Puck, whom I turned to for guidance in making sure I understood the complex economics behind Exxon's profits.)
If oil company profits are now to be taxed after the fact and redistributed back to the people, what happens when, say, McDonald's has a record-breaking year? Are we all to get coupons for free Big Mac's, courtesy of Mayor McCheese?
There are those who labor under the simplistic -- and wildly inaccurate -- belief that Exxon could simply make a smaller profit and thus help lower the price of gas. Unfortunately, that's not the case. Exxon does not control the price of gas. While they DO benefit from the higher prices and the current market conditions, they did not CREATE those conditionss.
Obama's suggestion that Exxon be punished for doing well is no doubt a crowd pleaser. It's easy to point at the oil companies and say, "Oh, look at the big, rich, evil company sucking all the money out of your pocket!" But for him to suggest that the government basically serve as a pickpocket and score points by playing Robin Hood is as outrageous.
Okay, sure, John McCain hasn't actually handed over the presidency (yet), but he might as well seeing as his campaign is going down faster than a nickle whore at a sex addict convention.
The Repubican candidates latest move is a stunner no matter how you look at it: The latest attack ad launched against his Democratic rival likens Obama to Britney Spears and Paris Hilton, basically saying, "Sure, the guy is a rock star, but can he lead the country?"
The problem is this: Even if you buy that analogy -- and it could be a valid one -- it will no doubt have exactly the opposite effect of what the McCain camp is hoping for. Sure, folks like him (read: old folks who are terrified of all those young 'uns runnin' around stirrin' up trouble with their, um, youth) will shake their heads and mutter, "What is this country coming to?" But dubbing Obama a celebrity will only make him more attractive to millions of young people who might never even think about politics.
For God's sake, when I went to tell OMC about this ad, he interrupted me with, "I know. I read it on TMZ."
TMZ people! TMZ is reporting on a political ad!
Shouldn't the McCain campaign operations director -- you know, the guy who helped Arnold Schwarzenegger remain Governor of California during his re-election bid -- realize better than anyone that celebrity status is anything but a negative in today's world?
Worse, the ad -- in typical attack-ad fashion (you know, the kind of ads run during tye kind of nasty campaign McCain swore he wasn't going to run), McCain's new ad then goes on to attack Obama's policies... without actually mentioning any of his own. The ad takes Obama to task for objecting to drilling in protected areas (never bothering to mention that McCain himself has flip-flopped on this issue several times), and then equates that "no drilling" stance with an increased dependance on foreign oil. Look, kids, just because you dont' support drilling in previously protected areas does NOT mean you want us to be more (or even as) dependent upon foreign oil. It means you are smart enough to see that the former is a knee-jerk reaction to the latter, and that we need to seek out other alternatives. That we actually have to be (gasp!) responsible citizens of the world and decrease our dependence on foreign oil by actually decreasing our consumption, period, and focusing on other alternatives.
Obama's camp responded with an ad blasting McCain's campaign, using quotes from various media outlets which have pointed to his rival's taking the low road. The difference? Obama's "a good defense is the best offense" ad ends with several of his own stances on various policies. Detailed? Of course not, it's a 15-30 second ad. But they are there, and they encourage one to go and, as voters should, research his stances.
My favorite quote regarding McCain's ad -- and his past attempts to portray Obama's trip to Europe as pointless, because who cares if people overseas like you (yeah, we'd hate to have a president people in other countries didn't despise) -- was this exchange from last night's Countdown:
Keith Olbermann: Did McCain's campaign just spend a lot of money to show pictures of his opponent being cheered by big crowds of people who are waving American flags?
Craig Crawford: I get a kick out of this argument that I'm hearing from McCain... "Oh, you, you with all your big crowds and your eloquent speeches and all those votes you get! If it wasn't for that, I'd be winning this race!"
Yes, a campaign should be run on the issues. They are -- or at least should be -- what it's all about. But anyone who ignores the fact that any election -- be it school board or presidential -- boils down to a popularity contest ("Pick me! Pick me!") is deluding themselves.
And really, does John "I didn't say that unless you have tape of me saying it in which case I didn't mean what I said then but I mean what I say now until tomorrow when I'll say something different" McCain need any help in that particular department?
Tell It Like It Is Tuesday: Drink, Drank, Drunktank
Category: Life
Proving that you never know exactly where our little debate sessions are going to go, last week's discussion on the "n" word took a few detours, including one which inspired this particular dialogue.
While trying to make a point, my uber straight, republican, majorly-in-need-of-conversion-on-both-counts would-be boyfriend Bryce said this:
"Drinking and driving is about the dumbest thing one can do in a car. However, the punishment for it when there's no accident involved, no pain inflicted on another, is also insane. It's entirely based on a hypothetical situation that...never happened. So, if you want to prosecute crimes based entirely on a hypothetical, then you might as well just put my ass in jail for setting up a hypothetical situation in which I kill Fidel Castro for being a Communist piece of shit."
Now 92 percent of the time, I think Bryce is one of the smartest people I cyberknow... but every now and then, he corrects my thinking in that regard, and this was a prime example.
It was also somewhat surprising, seeing as Bryce is very interested in the Constitution and making sure that it is interpreted and applied correctly. Not that this is a Constitutional issue, but it's an interesting case of bending the law to suit one's own particular mindset.
Basically, Bryce's statement indicates that he thinks one should not be punished for getting behind the wheel drunk unless doing so causes an accident. My belief, however, is that the law has been broken the moment one gets behind the wheel having passed the legal point of intoxication.
My belief is that the resulting arrest is based on the fact that you broke the law and got caught. Just because you didn't kill someone doesn't mean you didn't break the law. The law does not say "if you get drunk and get behind the wheel and kill someone, you will be arrested." It says "if you get drunk and get behind the wheel, you will be arrested."
Just as there are different levels of punishment for conspiracy to commit murder, attempted murder and actual murder, there are different levels of punishment for driving while drunk, getting into an accident because you were driving while drunk, and killing someone because you were in an accident while driving drunk.
There is no presumption of guilt. There is simply guilt. The law says "do not drink and get behind the wheel." If you do that, then you have violated the law, pure and simple.
Am I crazy here, people?
In Bryce's defense, when I tried to instigate... er, I mean, interest him in defending his position, he said, "I'd respond to this, but I'm about 7 beers into the night, and it wouldn't make sense if I did."
Hopefully, if we catch Bryce before noon, he will be sober enough to explain his position on this topic. But while we wait for the coffee to wage war with his hangover, let's open the floor for discussion...
... aren't more people paying attention to T. Boone Pickens? When an oil man is telling us that we need to develop alternate energy sources, it's time to stop talking and start doing.
... is Bravo airing Date My Ex: Jo & Slade? This has to be one of the worst reality shows yet... and that's saying something. Any show that starts with the woman-to-be-won and her friends having a lunch at which they basically "come up with" the idea for the show (um, if you're just now thinking of it, why are you already filming?) has as much in common with reality as my desire to see The Edge Of Night return to the airwaves. Worse, why the hell am I watching?
... is Bob Barr running for president? The fact that 80 percent of you are saying, "Who?" illustrates the validity of my point. He claims to be showing people they do have a legitimate choice aside from the two parties, but seeing as it's impossible -- and not even just virtually, but legitimately -- for him or perpetual candidate Ralph Nader to win, what's the point?
... does Two And A Half Men always get so many Emmy nominations?
... won't one of John McCain's advisors take him aside and kindly suggest that he stop telling those things he calls jokes? "And sir, if you're going to insist on playing the jokester, please stop following them up with that crazy laugh? I don't like it when Bill Maher laughs at his own jokes, and his are actually funny.
... do I have absolutely no interest in chocolate at home, but if someone brings sweets to the office I'm on them like sand on a desert.
... are we holding impeachment hearings which are oh-so-obviously for show? Even many Republicans have supported the hearings, which, in the end, will be the literal definition of "much ado about nothing", not so much because there are no offenses to potentially act upon, but because of our representatives collective refusal to put on big boy pants.
... does the far-superior So You Think You Can Dance? not receive even half the audience of the disturbingly nasty American Idol?
... do I sometimes, late at night, wake up with the thought that there's something scary about the notion of an Obama presidency? I can't put my finger on it, because 95 percent of the time I am fully behind him, and yet something deep inside me seems to be issuing a silent scream that's saying, "look closer!" Frankly, I think it started after reading some stupid-ass blog about how his meteoric rise basically mirrors the tale of the coming of the anti-christ. It's positively ridiculos -- especially to an avowed athiest such as myself -- and yet there it is, the thing my mind always comes back to somehow.
... am I damn-near obsessed with Laura Linney? Ever since first seeing her in HBO's fantastic John Adams -- which Puck and I started watching months ago and just finished last night -- I sigh and declare my love to her every time she's on screen.
... is an entire generation, and, by extension, those of us who pre-dated them, allowing the CD industry to die? When did we become okay with the notion of not actually physically owning the music (and, eventually, movies, etc) you pay for? I've always loved organizing my collections, dividing CD's up alphabetically this year, and then next year by genre. And as an added bonus, I didn't worry that an EMP would someday wipe out my entire music collection (and take all those digital photos I keep meaning to download along for good measure).
... do I, generally a kind-hearted soul, laugh my butt off each Tuesday as people risk their necks for my enjoyment on ABC's Wipeout?
So what thoughts rattle around your head following the word "why?"
