The Next Few Weeks of Upcoming Emotional Hell
Category: Life
My mother is coming tomorrow. As some of you know, I'm trying to help her find a place to live here. Since she's on a fixed income, I'm having to narrow my search towards apartments that cater to seniors with income restrictions.
Except that what I'm been able to tell, her commitment to this has been minimal. My mother doesn't seem like she wants to make this work.
It's bad enough that my mother is a paranoid woman. To this day, she will not divulge any personal information over the phone. If she sends you personal info, she'll be sure to send it all via certified mail. This paranoia hasn't emerged from old age or illness; she's been like this as far as I can remember.
No, what's causing me sleepless nights and fits of anxiety is that, as of tomorrow, she's giving me exactly 20 days to find her a place to live. She's already bought a return ticket to NYC, and from there, she'll head to Argentina. Her health is slowly deteriorating, so it doesn't take much of an effort to figure out why she'd want to return home to Argentina.
It burns me that she's only willing to give 20 days for a resolution. It's been explained to her time and time again that find an apartment, especially one for someone with a fixed income, isn't as easy as walking in and saying, "I want that one." Her income needs to be verified so that she can qualify for subsidized housing. And you'd better be honest about divulging your income and assets, since the majority of subsidized housing is subsidized by both the Federal and local governments. I can't seem to get her to understand that if you hem-haw about divulging your personal information, or act beligerent or hostile about such a request, what makes you think the manager at that property will want you as a tenant?
Come to find out not only is she not showing the kind of commitment needed to make this happen, she's flat-out refused to complete an application for one property. I checked that property out; the management was very courteous, it seemed clean and well-kept, and the residents seemed like they were able to get on with their lives. But since it was run by the Salvation Army, and my mother, the elitist snob who believes she's only good enough for a Park Avenue penthouse, won't live in a property that caters to bums and, worse, black people. Yes, my mother is quite the bigot. Who cares if 70% of her rent would have been subsidized, and she'd be within walking distance of shopping, public transportation and healthcare?
This is what I've grown up with: nothing is good enough for her.
As if this entire scenario isn't bad enough, my sister, Ms. Meddlesome, has had to stick her nose in all this. The other night, she and I were talking and reconfirming my mother's flight plans. I asked my sister for her opinion on what Mom's emotions are right now. I'm then told that if I'd spent more time talking to her and asking her myself, then I'd know how she was doing. I explained that I do talk to Mom frequently, but a lot of times Mom doesn't want to tell me what's going on with her, and I'm forced to pull teeth. Again, this is all my fault, because since I moved from NYC, I've "alienated" everyone. Yeah, I've "alienated" my family, the same family that's made a half-assed effort to visit me since I moved 8 years ago, yet I'm still expected to make the trip every year, and find a hotel, etc. Me, alienate? My mother and sister were the same people who, when we came to visit last April, made several excuses as to why they couldn't even come into the city for just a few hours...yet several of our friends made every attempt to see us. Right, I'm the "alienator."
Even better...I'm told I'm being insensitive for constantly bringing up our mother's financial constraints. To top it all off, without even saying it, my sister insinuated that I'm being selfish for not letting Mom live with us, when my sister can't afford to let her stay. Oh, I was also told that I was ungrateful for mentioning that I was bending over backwards for Mom to make this move work, when I never showed any gratitude for everyone who bent over backwards for me.
You have no idea how furious I was that night. It took Jaime every effort in her to talk me down from the rooftops.
To add insult to injury, I get an e-mail from my sister this morning asking me not to mention to Mom that we had "a tiff."
"A tiff?"
You cunt. You took this opportunity to push everyone one of my buttons. You insulted my character, yet you want to dismiss this as "a tiff?"
I've made it clear to myself that I don't wish to speak with my sister any longer.
So when I pick up my mother from the airport tomorrow night, we're going alone, just the 2 of us, to a nice dinner and a long talk. I need to know if she's committed, or if she's here for a few weeks to spend with her granddaughter. I want these next 2 weeks to work, but I know they won't. I'm going to irritable and short-tempered, because I have to bite my tongue and watch what I say, and I have to play mind games with my mother.
The next 2 weeks are going to be an ride through emotional hell. I can feel it.
Everyone’s Blogging Political, So Why Can’t I...
Category: News and Politics
Something's been bugging me about both John McCain and Sarah Palin. It's not their policies that have been bothering me. No, it's just the way they've been behaving. Like something's wrong with their circuitry.
Then it hits me, during the VP debate. All that winking that Sarah Palin does...she seems like a robot to me.
And all that growling McCain does? Somewhat robotic, no?
Of course!
McCain and Palin are Cylons!
Think about it: McCain and Palin are acting completely irrational, the way Boomer/Athena was acting all weird and shit before she found out she was a Cylon agent.
Well, I'm not the only one who thinks McCain's a Cylon, and so is Palin. Here are a few other blogs that posit that question:
Hell, McCain kinda snarls a lot like Col. Tigh, doesn't he?
Here's the question: in order for McCain and Palin to be Cylons (and there's no doubt they are), then who's the head Cylon behind the McPalin bunch being Cylons?
I ordered one, but for some reason, I got 2 extra stickers of the same. I'd like to give them away, so here's my contest:
If you could vote for a fictional character, who would you vote for and why.
The best 2 answers will receive a sticker in the mail from yours truly.
If you've been watching MSNBC lately, you've no doubt seen the Rachel Maddow show. In comparison to Keith Olbermann's self-righteous bluster, and Chris Matthews' relentless fawning, Rachel Maddow's a breath of fresh air. She's witty, fiercely intelligent, and she's not afraid to go toe-to-toe with Pat Buchanan (their "It's Pat" segment demonstrates only that opposing viewpoints can be expressed with intelligence and respect, and not resort to the idiotic name-calling that was once Crossfire on CNN). Since I can't listen to Air America around here - that kind of left-leaning radio just ain't tolerated in these here parts - and I absolutely refuse to listen to talk radio over the Internet, I didn't know much about her. I did remember her being on Tucker Carlson's show on MSNBC (and what idiot on that network decided giving this windbag his own show was a good idea, when you've got 2 bigger windbags on that network anyway?), though.
I was impressed with her background: Rhodes scholar, AIDS activist, radio talk show host. Impressive indeed. But it's her demeanor that has endeared her to me. The way her eyebrows arch when she's in the midst of listening to Buchanan run off about something toxic...priceless. And she's got something of a warm smile.
I'm going to throw this out there: I have a serious crush on Rachel Maddow. Yes, I know she's a lesbian.
500. It's a nice, round number. You're halfway to 1,000.
If I were a baseball player, 500 home runs throughout my career would guarantee me a spot in the Hall of Fame. Unless my name were Barry Bonds or Mark McGwire. Anyway, that's a nice number to have.
500 would be my take on 300, wherein I'd defy history and add 200 more Spartans. Who knows, the additional 200 Spartans under King Leonidas' lead could have repelled the Persians.
Pardon me for using another sports analogy, but 500 also means you're a winning team. Or, you've won as many games as you've lost.
There have been a number of cars on the road with the number 500 on it. The Galaxie 500 (also the name of a very good, criminally under-rated band), for example. The Fiat 500. The Mercedes Benz 500 series.
You've got the Forbes 500, Fortune 500, the S&P 500.
The 500 Greatest Albums, or the 500 Greatest Films Ever.
An HTTP 500 error means you're screwed.
So what does the number 500 mean to me. Today, as you're reading this, the number 500 means this is my 500th blog. I meant to write something big to commemorate this somewhat momentous event. I even tried talking someone close to me to guest blog this 500th blog. But 500 may seem somewhat big to some, and no big deal to others, especially to those who've been blogging long than I have.
Instead, I just want to take this opportunity to thank all of you who've been reading my blogs since I started blogging here some 3 years ago. Has it been that long? Thank you all for putting up with my opinions, my rants, and my off-the-wall observations. You've been there for some of my triumphs and my failures. You cheered not only me but my family on, and, on several occassions, you'll called me out on my bullshit.
In many ways, it's been my honor to blog for you. That's right; without you, I'm not a blogger. I write my blogs for my sake, knowing I have an audience that wants to read my material. Hence, my honor to blog for you.
I hope you'll keep reading my blogs, as I've read many of yours as well. Of course, I promise to continue with the same free-form hostility and pundit-like insight on all things bizarre and obscure. And, of course, I promise to continue to pepper my blogs with the prodigious use of the word "fuck."
Random Thoughts on the Bailout, Paul Newman, and Mini-Vacations.
Category: Blogging
First off, a Happy Rosh Hashanah to all my Jewish friends.
I think I have Jewish friends...
A few words about this bailout business...
To paraphrase a line from Cool Hand Luke (and more on Paul Newman in a bit), "what we have here is...failure to communicate." I was under the impression this "bailout" was a way to help out those Wall Street fatcats that simply got too big and too greedy, and now every taxpayer in America had to bend over and help these fuckers out.
It was only until I stopped paying attention to the pundits, and to both Obama and McCain and President Bush, and started paying attention to economists, that it became clearer to me that this "bailout" isn't a "bailout", it's a rescue for you and me, not Wall Street. I'm no economist, but I know a little bit about how credit markets work. If I, as a small business, don't have credit, I can't pay my overheads or make payroll. Once my credit dries out, I can't afford to pay for my home. If my home goes into foreclosure, then it affects you as my neighbor, because your home property value drops, and now we're looking at higher property taxes to pay for essential services. It may seem like a benign explanation, but this explanation belies the simple truth: it's credit that makes markets float. Without credit, we're all doomed. If you can't get credit, then I can't, etc. Again, I'm no economist, but if there isn't enough credit to go around, it's not just Wall Street that suffers.
Jean Chatzky's column in the Huffington Post today eloquently explains this very same thought.
So who's to blame for the bailout/rescue not passing in Congress yesterday? The GOP, who bragged about having a deal in place, and then reneging? The Democrats? Nancy Pelosi (that hosebeast), for supposedly "offending" some on-the-fence members of the GOP? John McCain? Barack Obama? Honestly, I don't care right now. Forget the finger pointing and let's get this shit settled.
As I mentioned before, there's been a stunning lack of communication regarding this entire bailout process. No one, especially Henry Paulson, has been able to explain this with any clarity. But now this all makes sense.
One thing's for sure...we're all to blame for this mess occurring in the first place.
Your thoughts?
As you all know, Paul Newman passed away this past weekend.
I would have loved to have know Paul Newman personally. He seemed like the kind of person for who fame was an amusement, and something not to be taken seriously. After all, he never seemed to be too caught up in all the trappings fame and celebrity presented him, and, unlike many of his movie star colleagues, Newman used his celebrity to shine light on social causes dear to him. His "Newman's Own" brand of foods is seen as a bright model of how to run a business that's profitable, raises social awareness, and is ethical.
But since I didn't know him personally, I can't speak about the kind of man he was. Yet the kind of man Paul Newman was always seemed to glow through in his roles. Take his Henry Gondorf in The Sting. Sure, he's a con artist, but, along with his buddy Robert Redford, they're seething with indignation at the crime boss who's screwed one of their buddies. Their revenge is well-plotted and ultimately very sweet.
It's hard to say which was his best role, or even his most iconic. His roles in The Hustler, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Somebody Up There Likes Me, The Verdict, The Color of Money, just to name a few, featured some of his most outstanding work. For me, his two singularly best performances were in Hud and Cool Hand Luke. Especially Cool Hand Luke; there's a little bit of that aimiable loser Luke Jackson in every one of us.
My favorite Newman role, and my favorite Newman film, is Slap Shot. I love Newman's roguish charm, as the aging player/coach of a dismal minor league hockey team who resolves to play dirty in order to boost the team's standing. Newman curses like a sailor on shore leave, and the film itself is insanely raunchy at times. Any film that uses the word "cunt" repeatedly gets a special place in my heart.
I was shocked to learn of his death. Paul Newman was one of the last great movie stars. I'll miss him greatly.
We were in Orlando last week; Jaime had some business-related stuff to do there, so we combined her trip into a mini-vacation. Here now are some random observations I made during our mini-vacation:
- Car rental places in Orlando automatically loan you a minivan if you're travelling in groups of more than 2. This was the first minivan I ever drove. Admittedly, it was a nice ride; the van handled quite smoothly, and was very roomy. No, I'm not buying a minivan, not now, not ever.
- The food at SeaWorld is unforgivably terrible. I ate something that resembled a Cuban sandwich, with the thinnest strip of ham and burnt bread you can imagine.
- The buffets at both Tusker's Restaurant, at Disney's Animal Kingdom, and at the Animal Kingdom Lodge, are quite good. An eclectic mix of African-flavoured cuisine that's very good. And expensive.
- Is it "holiday" time in the UK? Because I can't tell you how many Brits (and Scots) I saw roaming around Orlando. Especially those wearing the jerseys of their favorite teams.
- Disney's Animal Kingdom (the only one of the Disney Parks we visited) was a lot less corny than I anticipated it to be. Actually, it was a lot of fun. The Mount Everest Expedition ride was pretty awesome.
- Sophia was enthralled by the penguins at SeaWorld. She couldn't have given any more of a shit about Shamu, though.
Anyhoo, there's an assload of photos from our trip for you to see in my Trip to Orlando photo album.
In Which I Make a Crassly Stereotypical Observation About A Popular Cartoon Character
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities
A little blog to keep you all afloat on all things in my own corner of the Blogosphere, before I begin blogging again this week...
Across the street from the resort in Orlando where we're staying is the Nickeloden Hotel. From the looks of it, the hotel seems like the kind of place where Ritalin-starved children would have lots of fun tormenting their masochistic parents. The hotel is a giant mural to all things Nickelodeon, complete with life-sized photos of your favorite characters.
One of the murals is of Dora the Explorer. You know her, the pint-sized little girl with the insatiable curiosity who loves to explore strange new worlds. She speaks Spanish, so she's cool in my book.
"Who's the boy next to her?" Jaime asks. That's Diego, from Go, Diego, Go. Supposedly, he's Dora's cousin. I tell Jaime he seems like a nice kid, but a bit of a putz...
"You know, the kind of nice kid that eventually gets himself hooked up with the wrong crowd, if he doesn't pay attention. Sure enough, he'll turn into gangbanging cholo with the Latin Kings, complete with a wife-beater and the obligatory Mi Vida Loca tats on his arms. He's going to turn into a complete fuck-up and do time at Folsom or San Quentin, but not before trying to get inside his cousin Dora's pants, but he's too macho to wear a rubber, so he'll end up knocking her up before he heads up the river..."
Jaime just does that head-shaking thing again.
Yeah, I guess I shouldn't have said that about Diego. I'm sure he'll grow up to become an honest, upstanding citizen, and not the leader of the Latin Kings like I imagined he'd be.
Think of this like Mad Libs: you plug in some nouns, adverbs and adjectives, and a story is created for you. Oh, the laughs you'll have.
This was introduced to me by Heidi last night, and I've been having fun with this.
Go ahead, take a whack at it, and post your results below.
Oh, and here are my results, with apologies to the Bard:
Slobodan and Muffaleta by William Shakespeare
Enter Slobodan
Muffaleta appears above at a window
Slobodan: But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the thong, and Muffaleta is the puma. Arise, skanky puma, and salad toss the shifty flax seed. See, how she leans her spleen upon her earlobe! O, that I were a glove upon that earlobe, That I might touch that spleen!
Muffaleta: O Slobodan, Slobodan! wherefore art thou Slobodan? What's in a name? That which we call a vulva By any other name would smell as truck-shaped Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say "like tits on a boar hog." And I will take thy word; yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove heinous.
Slobodan: Lady, by yonder shifty flax seed I swear That tips sitting on a park bench the incandescent Kim Kardashian--
Muffaleta: O, swear not by the flax seed, the fluffy flax seed, That unfortunately changes in its radiant orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise radiant. Sweet, irregular night! A thousand times irregular night! Parting is such muffled sorrow, That I shall say irregular night till it be morrow.
Exit above
Slobodan: Sleep dwell upon thy spleen, peace in thine earlobe! Would I were sleep and peace, so expeditiously to rest! lactatingly will I to my skanky vulva's cell, Its help to salad toss, and my truck-shaped vulva to tell.
An Open Letter to the Kingdom of the Netherlands
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes
September 18, 2008
Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs PO Box 20061 2500 EB The Hague The Netherlands
To Whom It May Concern,
Good day. Or should I say goede dag?
I am writing you in hopes of understanding how I can become a contributing member of your glorious nation, first as a resident alien, then hopefully as a naturalized citizen. I am not seeking political or religious asylum, but the reasons for my wanting to reside in the Netherlands will be clear to you momentarily.
As you are no doubt aware, my country is in the midst of a Presidential election. While I am endorsing, but not wholeheartedly in love with, Barack Obama, it is the candidacy of John McCain that has me worried. If he were to win the election, I fear the Most Powerful Nation in the World, already in possession of an itchy trigger finger, will now be in the hands of a cranky old man with chronic skin disease and an ill temper. He's already threatened to bomb the shit out of Russia should they mess with Georgia again (which, by the way, has many of our Southern citizens worried, because none of them truly understand why Moscow has any beef with the Peachtree State). Worse yet, should, heaven forbid, "President" McCain pass away while in office, he would be replaced by his Vice President. You may have heard of her...Sarah Palin. Yes, we too share your befuddlement, amusement, and outright terror at the prospect of a "hockey mom" becoming Commander-in-Chief, leading her troops to war as if she were shooting caribou from a 'copter. Plus, she can see Russia from where she lives.
If the McCain-Palin ticket were to win, I'm making contingency plans to leave my country and flee the inevitable frenzy of moral hysteria, warmongering and outright cannibalism that is sure to plague this nation. I'm not saying Mr. Barack Obama is perfect; I'm damned sure he'll fuck up, just like every President with the exception of Lincoln, the 2 Roosevelts, and a few of those other guys we call The Founding Fathers. Obama will screw the pooch, but it's all a matter of containing the fuckup. I doubt he'll instigate a war against, say, Mongolia. I doubt "President" Obama will address the nation and present flimsy evidence backing his assertions that the Mongolians are hoarding weapons of mass destruction (my guess it's camel poop) and invade Ulan Bator. In an unintended ripple of consequence, the oppressed Mongolians will channel the spirit of Genghis Khan and give the invading US-led coalition the kind of bloodthirsty war not seen since...
Forgive me, I'm disgressing.
Please note that I'm not some shiftless day laborer from the Carpathians seeking a decent paying gig at the Amsterdam Hilton. No, I have many useful skills that can no doubt be put to immediate and lasting effect. For example, I am bilingual. Unlike many of my fellow Americans, I am fluent in a language other than English - I speak Spanish fluently - and am somewhat conversant in French. This skill with broken French can come in handy should I need to tell those French-speaking Belgian neighbors of yours to le fuck off. Also, you may have noticed I'm something of an accomplished writer. If I weren't, you wouldn't be reading the remainder of this letter, now would you?
Also, I know quite a bit about the Netherlands, having visited your country in the fall of 1994, and have a lot of respect and admiration for Dutch culture and its' contributions to Western Civilization. For example, I know what Heineken truly tastes like. It's not that watered-down nonsense that passes for "foreign" beer in the States. I have been to the Heineken brewery, and the taste of Heineken pilsner as it should taste was like suckling down on the sweetest nectar spewing from the teats of Shiva herself. Heavenly, indeed.
I'm something of an admirer of your liberal leanings. It's a well-known and well-documented fact that the Netherlands has always practice tolerance and permissiveness when it comes to drugs, prostitution, gay/lesbian/transgender rights, reproductive choice, euthanasia, etc. Many of my fellow Americans would gnash their teeth and decry the Dutch as "godless" and denounce the Netherlands as "Sodom on Earth", but with the except of a little incident called World War II, your permissive ways have not caused your nation to implode. What's your secret, really? Let me live there, and I'll find out for you. You can even think of me as some kind of "cultural attache", bridging the gap between you godless Dutch and my holier-than-thou American compatriots.
Oh, I should also mention that Marvin Gaye once lived in Holland. How cool is that?
While we're on the subject of culture, yes, I have an affinity for the Dutch Masters: Rembrandt, Vermeer, Van Halen. I fell in love with the Rijksmuseem. Loved it. I'm most in love with what you folks refer to as votebol, or as us rubes refer to as "soccer". Being a lifelong fanatic of the sport, and of your contributions to the Beautiful Game, I'm well-versed in both the national team and clubs like Feyenoord, PSV Eindhoven, and, of course, AFC Ajax. Names like Van Nistelrooy, Sneijder, Van Persie roll off my tongue with ease, and I should point out that I grew up idolizing the greatest Dutchman of them all, the great Johan Cruijff. Yes, I even use the correct Dutch spelling of his name. Ha!
(Incidentally, if citizenry requires me to choose a club to root for, I wholeheartedly will choose Ajax, not because they're the biggest club in all of the Netherlands, but because of their long-time embracing of Amsterdam's Jewish community, even when doing so could have meant certain persecution from the Nazis, and long after much of Amsterdam's Jewish community was wiped out.)
Well, it seems like I'm taking up too much of your time. In short, I would like to conclude that if I were in need of getting out of the United States when the shit his the fan, I would like to take asylum, of sorts, in your country. Canada's immigration process is expense, and, quite frankly, a fucking racket. Plus, it's cold there. At least you have moderate temperature.
I can provide references upon request, along with more writing samples. If necessary, I will smoke weed to prove my non-squareness.
For everything I read, and for what all our friends with children told us, I'm still utterly surprised at how tight Sophia is attached to me. I know all about little girls being all attached to their daddies, but, frankly, I'm stunned. For example, if I leave the room, even for a second, Sophia loses it. When it's bedtime, only I can rock her to sleep. Sure, Jaime can rock Sophia to sleep, but she doesn't give her daddy nowhere near the grief she'd give her momma.
Of course, I love this attention I'm getting from Sophia.
Of course, all this attention is giving Jaime a massive case of resentment.
Jaime now thinks Sophia hates, which isn't true. Sophia loves her mommy very much, of this I'm sure of. I honestly don't know why, but Sophia seems to act differently around me. Maybe it's because I'm more of the "good cop" when it comes to having to discipline her. Maybe she seems me as being as childlike as she is. Needless to say, Jaime's the "bad cop" when the real disciplining needs to be done.
Whatever the case is, Jaime's resentment is a bit more deep-rooted than the fewer hugs she gets from Sophia.
Jaime, professionally, is the go-getter, the bread winner in the family. Jaime's mapped a career path for herself; it wouldn't surprise me at all if she's some global head of Human Resources, overseeing dozens of direct reports who, in turn, oversee HR responsibilities for thousands of employees. She has a high-paying job - one that earns her a six-figure salary - and, with that, the high stress. She works for a Fortune 15 company that, while rewarding their employees handsomely with some of the best benefits in the business, they're going to get their pound of flesh from their employees. They're going to work you to the bone. So when Jaime comes home from work, she's already mentally and physically drained.
Me, on the other hand, I'd never be confused with being a "go-getter". I like what I do, but I'm not the ambitious type who lusts for a senior management role. If I were to ever become a Chief Information Officer, it would be completely by accident, and only because I unwittingly became the puppet of some nefarious and unseen hand using me to promote their evil ways. I do my job, I do it well, always aiming for more than the best of my abilities, but that's all. I have a private life, and I like to keep it that way. No company's ever going to get their pound of flesh from me, no matter what they'll pay or offer.
I mentioned the "good cop/bad cop" thing. Jaime has zero patience. She loathes standing in line for anything. She hates having to drive slow. And she certainly isn't going to exhibit any patience when Sophia's getting ready to throw a mini-fit. And it's that lack of patience, I think, that might cause Sophia to seek me out instead of Jaime. I have patience to spare - it's tolerance I lack. If I'm stuck behind some blue hair hogging up the passing lane, there's nothing I can do about it except to wait for the passing lanes to open. But if you're some bill collector hounding me about some bill I've already paid, I'm not putting up with your shit. So, when Sophia doesn't respond to me saying "no" when she's messing around with the cat's food bowl, I'm not about to spank her for it. I'll simply pick her up and more her elsewhere. If she persists, then I'll consider spanking her.
But I'm too much of a wuss to spank her. Actually, it's not that I'm a wuss; I'm simply terrified of hurting her. I'm a big fella who doesn't know his own strength at times. The last thing I want is for us to end up in the emergency room because I'm spanked Sophia hard enough to cause her some deep physical pain, all because she won't listen.
Jaime isn't afraid to spank Sophia, but she's also not spank-happy. I mean, if Sophia spills her sippy cup, she's not going to get a rap across the knuckles for it, but if she continues to harass the dog, then that merits a spank. The problem is Jaime's the one to dish the punishment. If this were an interrogation room, Jaime just might go full blown Andy Sipowicz and smack a perp with a phone book.
(Actually, she wouldn't do that. I'm just saying this for purely dramatic effect)
Truth is, I'm a wuss. Yeah, I said it.
I tell Jaime to let go of her resentment. Interestingly enough, one of her closest friends and colleagues told her of the same resentment she has - Jaime's friend is pretty much Jaime's doppelganger, and has a hubby similar to me, who's gladly wrapped around his daughter's finger.
I also tell Jaime to let me enjoy my time as Sophia's object of admiration. The way I see it, I'll become such a spazz of a dad that I'll have to pay her to give me a hug...and she'll be tugging on mommy's dresses all the while.
So, to all you Moms and Dads out there who read my blogs...any advice? Have you Moms dealt with resentment? How have you Dads responded to this? Advise a brother.
Maverick My Ass, Or: How I Lost All Respect for John McCain
Category: News and Politics
Author's Note: I've been trying very hard to go into long rants during this Presidential campaign season. However, the utter sleaze that came from the McCain camp has made me beyond livid. Truth be told, I want to see John McCain burn in hell for the way he's conducting himself.
A confession: 8 years ago, I seriously considered voting for John McCain, were he to win the GOP's nomination. I respected the Senator from Arizona. While I wasn't a student of his senatorial record, I appreciated the fact that McCain was willing to sidestep loyalty to his party and reach across party lines. His work with Senator Russ Feingold, a Democrat, in crafting the Campaign Finance Reform Act, will be regarded as his legacy.
Until now.
The evil forces of George W. Bush's campaing, led by Karl Rove (the reincarnation of Heinrich Himmler), made every attempt to smear John McCain's professional career. And it worked. McCain was soundly routed by Bush during the primaries. A light bulb must have clicked in John McCain's head sometime during the 2000 RNC: if I can't beat Bush, I better join him.
Everyone knows in the past 8 years, John McCain has sided with GWB over 90% of the time, on policies that have been proven as failures over and over again. His support for an unpopular President has been questionable at best, foolish at worst. Fast-forward to early this year, when John McCain's campaign, once on life support, now roared back into life, and he became the presumptive GOP nominee.
How so? Simple: gone was the "maverick" John McCain. Now here's John McCain, Bush acolyte. He's run a campaign promising to further the failed policies of George W. Bush, all the while ignoring a failing economy and promoting an offshore drilling program that will only serve to benefit his Big Oil masters. In the meantime, he's run a campaign based on innuendo and fearmongering, promising "change" that's clearly an empty promise.
In other words, in order to become President, McCain has aligned himself with the very same people that were personally responsible for derailing his 2000 campaign. He's traded in his so-called "maverick" status for self-serving status.
Mind you, I'm not fool enough to believe there isn't a politician that isn't going to make empty promises. I'm damned sure Barack Obama's going to oversee taxes being raised, and more partisan infighting, and Big Oil and corporations getting their way. The difference is John McCain has often portrayed himself as the John Wayne type, the rugged individualist who lost 5 1/2 years of his life in a POW camp while serving his country. We all appreciate John McCain's service to our country; that's never been an issue. It's simply now a matter of the truth coming out: John McCain will do and say whatever he can to get elected. Whether it's promising to continue the same tired policies that have failed this country, or choosing an unprepared, ultra right-wing running mate that's a heartbeat away from becoming President.
Until yesterday, I still believed John McCain had some sense of honor and dignity. That is, until the unveiling of one of the sleaziest ads ever brought forth. See for yourself the depths of scum McCain has dived down to:
"In essence, Obama supported "age appropriate" sex-education for children as a means of teaching them what was proper or inproper touching, as well as to protect them against pedophiles, his campaign has said. Used in the context of the McCain campaign ad, however, Obama's stance becomes another one of those cultural issues that seems designed to alienate the Illinois Democrat from more socially moderate voters."
McCain isn't misrepresenting Obama's stance on sex education, he's clearly lying. The worse part of all this is he approved this message. You read right: John McCain has approved a message that clearly distorts Barack Obama's record on legislation dealing with sex ed for grades K-12, but, worse yet, implies that Obama's perfectly fine with teaching kindergarteners on sexual matters that are wholly inappropriate for them.
John McCain has spent a lot of time apologizing for his gaffes and his missteps, but any apology he can muster for this is utterly empty. He's shown his true colors, that of a vile, slimy politician who's no stranger to sleaze.
The time has come for the media and the American public to tell John McCain enough. The media had better start calling beyond bullshit; they've turned a blind eye to the pack of lies the McCain-Palin campaign has tried to shove down everyone's throats. The American voters must go out and vote; whether you agree with Obama or hold true and fast to your independent beliefs, the time has come to cast your vote against John McCain. Send a message to the McCain-Palin camp that enough is enough.
Shame on you, John McCain. Shame on you for being the lying piece of shit you are. May you spend the rest of your remaining years living with utter regret, for conducting yourself in such a sleazy fashion. You have disgraced yourself, and you've brought shame to your state, your country, and to the citizens whose vote you long for.
