Dream About Nothing and All Your Dreams Will Come True

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Honey, I'm Home

I don't know what to say about this. All I know is, this guy and his friends have put roots down in the trash recepticle directly outside our back door. In the lilywhite, soccer-mom suburbs. Meanwhile, in addition to our friends upstairs, another noisy family has now moved in below us, meaning we're getting it in stereo now until midnight, every night. We don't even know whose door to bang on anymore. Hey, I love Bollywood music as much as the next guy (whoever he may be); I just don't want to hear it at 12:30 when I need to up for work in six hours.

On a related note, the next time you come across
one of these...

Read the fine print very, very carefully before signing it. Then, don't sign it.

Friday, March 17, 2006

In Honor of Saint Patty's...

A sampling of tried-and-true Irish toasts:

May your glass be ever full. May the roof over your head be always strong. And may you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows your dead.

Here's to you as good as you are
here's to me as bad as I am
As good as you are and
as bad as I am
I'm better than you as bad as I am...

May those that love us, love us
And those that don't, may God turn their hearts
If he can't turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles
So we'll know them by their limping.

Some Guinness was spilled on the bar room floor as the pub was closed for the night/Out from his hole crept a wee brown mouse and stood in the pale moonlight. He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor and back on his haunches he sat/ And all night long you could hear him roar "Bring on the God damn cat!!!"

May you live as long as you want...and may you never want, as long as you live.

May luck be our companion
May friends stand by our side
May history remind us all
Of Ireland's faith and pride.
May God bless us with happiness
May love and faith abide.

All right, boys. In the wagon now, the lot of ya.

And my personal favorite:
I fucked your mother. Boo ya!

O'Brando McSlim

Thursday, March 09, 2006


Ah yes, it's 10:20am, which means there must be a new message from MoveOn.org in my email box. Let's see what they have to say today:

Dear MoveOn member,
The bigger plan to win in November—including the new Spring TV ad program—is within reach. So far 5,708 of us have contributed $250,966. We're half way to this week's $500,000 goal.
If 10,000 of us contribute $25 we'll beat our goal. Can you join with a $25 contribution? Together we can get over the top.

Every dollar we raise is one step closer to breaking the Republican stranglehold on Congress in November—2006 is our best opportunity yet.

The key word here is opportunity. But taking advantage of opportunity requires a HOW and WHAT- as in, How do you plan to take advantage of this opportunity, and What do you have to offer that will convince the average voter to abandon the status quo? If a baseball player steps up the plate and is facing off against the worst, slowest pitcher in the world, what good does it do him if he doesn't have a bat?

Last week, Debra from New York City, e-mailed and asked me to write more about the difference between Republican control and Democratic control of Congress. I thought for a day or so and decided that the best way to describe this was by talking about the people who will lead when Democrats win control of the House.

Therein lies Reason #1 why the Democrats are viturally assured to fuck up this golden opportunity and not regain control of Congress. When it comes to the issues that matter -the war, the economy, security- voters care less about WHO and more about WHAT. As despicible as Republicans can be, at least give them credit for recognizing this: it's not just the singer but the song. Republicans have a song. It's a lousy song and one that's not good for our country, but they have one. Democrats, on the other hand, have yet to finish tuning their instruments.

You can easily find a million people who love U2, but can you find three people who own Pop?

Taking just the House of Representatives, here is a small slice of who will be leading:
Nancy Pelosi—a progressive—becomes Speaker of the House of Representatives.

And a spineless, bandwagon-jumping progressive to boot. One who was quick to react negatively, before realizing how bad that made her look, to the bold pronouncements of the next person in our Fantasy Baseball Congress team:

John Murtha—a veteran and anti-war champion—would become chair of the House subcommittee on defense appropriations.

Okay, I have no complaints here. Murtha has balls, and when he spoke out for pulling out of Iraq, he took the unprecedented step -at least in Democractic circles- of offering a plan to achieve what he was calling for.

John Conyers—who forced a national debate on the Downing Street Memos—would be chairman of the House Judiciary Committee.

Another man whom I can say I admire. He's unusually bold among Democrats and sticks to what he says. He's seen by some as a radical though, so again, he and his supporters would need to outline a PLAN.

Henry Waxman would be chairman of the Government Reform committee.
Barney Frank—who has led efforts to rein in out-of-control CEO pay—would be in charge of the Financial Services Committee.


David Obey—who led opposition to the Republican budget—would be chair of the House Appropriations committee—protecting Medicaid, food stamps, veteran's benefits, student loans and more.

How, how, and HOW?

This is just a sample—six of these eight are either members or founders of the Congressional Progressive Caucus. Put aside for a minute any disappointment you might have in the Democrats overall—these leaders are what we'll get if we win in November.

Yes, hence the disappointment in the Democrats!

They are champions on issues we all care about. Victory in 2006 is possible and our big plan will make a difference.

WHAT plan?! The only plan I see is to attempt outspending Republicans in campaigning and advertising? What good does this do when you have nothing concrete to offer, point-by-point, as an alternative to how Republicans are handling things?

If each of us does our part we can fund the plan. Can you contribute?

Yes, I suppose if I cut back on few luxury items, I could contribute. But I'm not going to. I'm not giving them shit, because I don't want to waste my money when the best the Democrats can offer is names that mean nothing to most Americans and empty slogans that basically add up to "we're different" and "there's a better way." As a wise old sage once said: Show me the way.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Grizzly Retard

Lately, it takes something mind-blowingly amazing, stupefying, and/or unbelievable to inspire me to log into to Blogger and jot some thoughts down. Cheney's hunting "accident" (glug, glug) came close, but every pundit and late-night comedian in the country has already echoed my own thoughts in full, plus interest. Wiretapping? State of the Union? Sure, they piss me off as much as the next rational person, but anger eats up a lot of energy, and constantly tapping into it for the sake of a blog that almost no one reads can be exhaustuing. Plus, complaining about Bush lately is an exercise in futility. The Democrats can't get their shit together, can't figure how to speak to the American people like they're not all six years old, can't offer a concrete alternative, and thus probably won't win back a majority in Congress. Hence, there'll be nobody in power to hold Bush accountable, so we're stuck with him.

Last night, though, I saw something that I just can't get out of my head. Thoughts about it, thoughts of disbelief, keep swirling around my mind like mosquitos. The stupidity, audacity, and unbridaled ignorance I witnessed were frightening, even more so for the genuine reverence and admiration it has received from more than a few.

My only comfort is found in the fact that I didn't watch any of this in real time, and was blessed by the seperation of chronology and a TV screen.

All right, so I'm exxagerating a little bit, but seriously, if you need a refresher course in human stupidity, stop by your local Blockbuster tonight and pick up a copy of Grizzly Man, the much-hyped documentary about Timothy Treadwill, a self-proclaimed "grizzly bear expert" who wandered through wild Alaska like it was a Care Bears picturebook for 13 summers. Each year, he would camp out in the Alaskan wilderness, alone and weaponless, and "protect" these magnificient beasts by intruding on their territory, interrupting their habits and routines, getting in their faces, and repeatedly telling them, "I love you."

Even if you haven't seen the movie, you may have heard about him a few years back, when one of his friends ripped him and his girlfriend apart and made a meal out of them.

What bothered me about this movie was not Treadwill's apparent intentions. I'm an animal lover myself and don't want to see them exploited, abused, illegally hunted and/or wiped out. But it's disheartening -no, horrifying- to watch this guy and realize the depths human stupidity can reach. He puts his camera right up in their faces. He sneaks up and touches them when they're eating, touches baby cubs in plain sight of their mother. He sticks his finger in their faces. Even a seven-year old knows that you shouldn't stick your finger in an animal's face, not even a friggin' squirrel. But in this forty-something's mind, it's not antagonizing them, it's protecting them, it's loving them. Had he not died at the paws of a hungry bear, he may very well have electrocuted himself by trying to befriend an electrical socket with his wet finger.

Just as bad is the high esteem so many seemed hold him in. People in his "charity," Grizzly People (not a registered non-profit, btw), have no shortage of praise for him in the film, which the director, Werner Herzog, doesn't dare challenge or barely question. But this isn't just amazing- it's downright sad when Treadwell's completely unhinged mental state becomes apparent. In his own documentary footage, he cries when he happens upon a bee that died on a flower while pollinating it. "I love you," he weeps to the bee. Ditto for a baby fox that became dinner for a pack of wolves. He tries to uphold its diginity by shooing flies away from it. "Get out of here, flies," he hisses. "Don't eat him in front of me!"

Oh, and then there's the bear shit he worships like a newborn baby. "I know it's poop, but it was a part of that bear!" he says in wonderment. "Oooh, it's still warm!" he gushes as he puts his hand all over the bear shit.

Yep. And schools apparently let this guy give talks to elementary school kids. Amazing world we live in. Some semblance of balance (sanity?) comes from an interview with one wildlife expert, who had mixed feelings about Treadwell. "The bears must've thought, 'This guy must be mentally retarded,'" he says (which is the first I've heard about mental retardation being an issue in the bear community, BTW).

None of this is to say I didn't like "Grizzly Man." On the contrary, much of the footage Treadwell captured of the bears and Alaskan wildlife in general is amazing, and the cautious bond that the wild foxes build with him (a real bond, I should stress, not an imagined one as with the bears) is touching. And to say the least, it's incredibly thought-provoking. I just can't say that those thoughts are, well, positive. You might even find yourself a little pissed off by the whole spectacle.

Incidentally, I'm exhausted now. Time for more coffee.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Good to know someone is on top of this

The Boston Globe doesn't want to get all up in your grill- they want to provide you with detailed instructions on how to have a grill of your own custom-made.

I have nothing against unusual fashion trends, but I personally just don't get the appeal of this. Anyone out there have to wear a retainer as a kid? I did, and it sucked royally. They didn't give me any bling options- I wasn't asked if I fancied a pair of diamond canines to add some sparkle to my robot smile. Nope. Just a transluscent pink, nasty-ass, saliva-covered plastic thing with little slots on the side where "headgear" could be attached.

Anyway, my point is, it was uncomfortable, and I can't imagine a grill being any more so. Plus, no matter how much platinum and how many diamonds the thing is made out of, it just doesn't look good. It looks like your passive-agressive dentist really hates you and, not having the option of pulling your teeth before the Novocaine sets in (another fond childhood memory, btw), instead made your retainer out of an old Ford exhaust gasket and barbed wire. Put another way, it looks like the makers of Invisi-Line braces obtained a 5,000 mile restraining order against you and cock-blocked you from even looking at their brochures.

But what do I know? When I was a kid we thought a couple of earrings in the left ear looked cool. We thought shirts only lumberjacks wore were stylin'. As long as anyone but my old dentist is doing the grilling, it won't disturb my sleep pattern any. Rock on.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Ah Florida, What Will You Do Next...

...to make us shake our collective head in disbelief/shame/amusement? The license plate below, which is not a personalized vanity plate and not a doctored photo, is a suitable start.

How did something like this slip through their RMV's automated censoring technology? Musta been the same computer that "accidentally" purged all those black citizens' names from the registered voter list back in 2000. Freshly squeezed, for sure.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Off to The Land of 1000 Dances

One of the greatest soul singers of all time, Wilson Pickett, died of a heart attack yesterday at 64. With a singing/screaming style that made James Brown sound tame, it's a wonder his ticker held out as long as it did. Plus, who else could cover "Hey Jude" and surpass the Beatles' version by a hundred miles? As the old cliche goes, they just don't make 'em like that anymore. Hats off to ya, Wicked One.