The world looks less bright today

UPDATE:

News of Breitbart’s death knocked me back a few pegs — I mean, I had been in his presence a few times, was introduced once, and heard him speak, but we had no relationship to speak of so I was slightly surprised by my sadness at his death. But I figured it out I think…I, like so many who are ideologically out of favor at the moment and who work to bring a little balance to issues in the political realm, must play the diplomacy game if we want to survive. It is a part of the work — no one listens to you or wants to work with you if you can’t collaborate across the aisle. But Breitbart, he did the kind of work that we couldn’t — okay, WOULDN’T, do. We are all cowards by comparison. We are all relative hacks. He screamed his truth without fear and I agreed with much of it. Because, as a younger man, he swallowed a lot of the kool aid that came to disgust him later, he was truly pissed off at how much subterfuge, narrow-mindedness, and disingenuousness he saw from the self-proclaimed “liberal.” The raging inhumanity from the tide of “humanists.” I never totally swallowed that kool-aid — I sipped it lightly in college and remember it when I start to feel a little too rational (emotional is good, too. Balance, people.) But I think he did. At one forum where I heard him speak he called himself an apostate. And it enraged him. And those of us who cannot be warriors, for whatever our reasons, are worse off without him. I have lost friends in this fight, too Mr. Breitbart. Good people that I didn’t want to lose. I think maybe it’s about time I got pissed about that, too.

Also, this is why he was enraged. The comparison to Hitler (Godwin’s Law becomes true almost immediately depending on the subject) made the Coach quip:

“Someone compares him to Hitler! Yes, because the systematic slaughter of millions of Jews and other ‘undesirables’ is totally the same thing as getting Anthony Weiner fired And cutting federal aid to ACORN.”

So, on behalf of the man who I really only remember laughing despite the YouTube videos where he’s verbally giving the finger to the rampant bullish*t, you people should know, your attempt to peddle the bullsh*t you do? Well, as we say in my family, you kinda suck for that.

Here’s an excerpt from Breitbart’s Righteous Indignation and his alt-80s playlist posted by a friend on Facebook this morning (h/t the lovely Christine). Rest in Peace big man. You made me feel brave.

The Big Plan: Join Us

Now you know the Complex, and you know that we can fight it if we just use the right tactics, understand our opponents, and walk toward the fire. Walk toward the fire. Don’t worry about being called a racist, a homophobe, a sociopath, a violent heteronormative xenophobe with fascistic impulses. They say all those things about you because they’re keeping you inside the Complex, forcing you to respond to their playbook. They want to stop you in your tracks.

But if you keep going, if you tell them you can stop their verbal bullets and keep walking, you’ll send messages to people who are rooting for you, who agree with you. That’s how you build an invincible movement willing to play by its own rules.

Here’s how I’m going to get you in that game.

Here’s my plan.

I spent years working as a team player. But at a certain point, after watching other people take the risks and have successes and have failures, it became a personal imperative that I start sticking my neck out and emerging on my own. So after I left the Huffington Post and returned to Earth, I was determined to use my knowledge of the news cycle to create a brand—a media entity that could operate on a par with other news outlets, but that would use the New Media to even greater advantage.

Breitbart.com and Breitbart.tv did that. People inside and outside the news business know the Breitbart sites: they’ve heard of them; they use and return to them. They learned fast that we had the newswires, and that we had the unique audio and video content.

It wasn’t enough for me. This isn’t it, I told myself. This isn’t going to define me—that I created a news aggregator, a generic media portal.

The stage was set for the true Frankenstein monster to be unleashed.

My ultimate goal became to take the news aggregation-​plus-​group-​blog model, build it up, and then implement my decade of New Media experience to make it explode into a genuine alternative news source. To turn the New Media into the media.

And I knew how to do it.

I knew the flaw with sites like the Huffington Post that my own sites could avoid. HuffPo’s structural weakness was that it was built upon people who were writing on any subject under the sun, often repetitiously. Mostly, that constituted, “Bush bad, Bush Hitler, Iraq War bad, blah blah blah.” Under the amorphous banner of the Huffington Post, people wrote about whatever they wanted.

Sure it sounds egalitarian and democratic and all that—but mostly it’s just boring. There were even kids of Arianna’s friends writing about the Dodgers. It hit me early on that the site lacked focus, that it was self-indulgent and repeated the media narrative.

And personally, I didn’t want to end up like Arianna Huffington herself—a powerful but reactive person who went wherever the news cycle went, the person who would be able to answer any policy question because I’d studied the Hotline in the morning and the Hill in the evening, and stuck doggedly to that day’s Democratic talking points.

In fact, I didn’t want to react to the news at all. I wanted to drive the news cycle.

Breitbart’s musical taste lives on as well:

The The (Uncertain Smile), Chamelons UK (Swamp Thing), New Order (Crystal, Perfect Kiss), Sinead O’Connor (Jerusalem), Echo & The Bunnymen (Never Stop), Fishbone (Modern Industry, Party at Ground Zero), Madness (Baggy Trousers), The Cure (The Perfect Girl), The Jam (That’s Entertainment), Crowded House (World Where You Live) – Off top of head; not all dancy, obviously. But not sure if this is for bar area, or what.
February 6, 2011 at 3:48am · Like

The Housemartins (Sitting on a Fence), China Crisis (Black Man Ray), Lloyd Cole (Jennifer She Said, Perfect Skin), The Church (Tantalized, Reptile).

Under the tent

From a speech given in 1944 at University of London. Find the author on your own if you wish.

The Inner Ring

My main purpose in this address is simply to convince you that this desire is one of the great permanent mainsprings of human action. It is one of the factors which go to make up the world as we know it — this whole pell-mell of struggle, competition, confusion, graft, disappointment, and advertisement, and if it is one of the permanent mainsprings, then you may be quite sure of this: unless you take measures to prevent it, this desire is going to be one of the chief motives of your life, from the first day on which you enter your profession until the day when you are too old to care. That will be the natural thing — the life that will come to you of its own accord. Any other kind of life, if you lead it, will be the result of conscious and continuous effort, If you do nothing about it, if you drift with the stream, you will in fact be an “inner ringer.” I don’t say you’ll be a successful one; that’s as may be. But whether by pining and moping outside Rings that you can never enter, or by passing triumphantly further and further in — one way or the other you will be that kind of man.

I have already made it fairly clear that I think it better for you not to be that kind of man. But you may have an open mind on the question. I will therefore suggest two reasons for thinking as I do.

It would be polite and charitable and, in view of your age, reasonable, too, to suppose that none of you is yet a scoundrel. On the other hand, by mere law of averages (I am saying nothing against free will) it is almost certain that at least two or three of you before you die will have become something very like scoundrels. There must be in this room the makings of at least that number of unscrupulous, treacherous, ruthless egotists. The choice is still before you, and I hope you will not take my hard words about your possible future characters as a token of disrespect to your present characters. And the prophecy I make is this: to nine out of ten of you the choice which could lead to scoundrelism will come, when it does come, in no very dramatic colours. Obviously bad men, obviously threatening or bribing, will almost certainly not appear. Over a drink or a cup of coffee, disguised as a triviality and sandwiched between two jokes, from the lips of a man or woman, whom you have recently been getting to know rather better and whom you hope to know better still — just at the moment when you are most anxious not to appear crude, or naif or a prig — the hint will come. It will be the hint of something which is not quite in accordance with the technical rules of fair play; something which the public, the ignorant, romantic public, would never understand; something which even the outsiders in your own profession are apt to make a fuss about, but something, says your new friend, which “we”– and at the word “we” you try not to blush for mere pleasure — something “we always do.” And you will be drawn in, if you are drawn in, not by desire for gain or ease, ut simply because at that moment, when the cup was so near your lips, you cannot bear to be thrust back again into the cold outer world. It would be so terrible to see the other man’s face — that genial, confidential, delightfully sophisticated face — turn suddenly cold and contemptuous, to know that you had been tried for the Inner ring and rejected. And then, if you are drawn in, next week it will be something a little further from the rules, and next year something further still, but all in the jolliest, friendliest spirit. It may end in a crash, a scandal, and penal servitude; it may end in millions, a peerage, and giving the prizes at your old school. But you will be a scoundrel.

That is my first reason. Of all the passions the passion for the Inner Ring is most skillful in making a man who is not yet a very bad man do very bad things.

My second reason is this: the torture allotted to the Danaids in the classical underworld, that of attempting to fill sieves with water, is the symbol not of one vice but of all vices. It is the very mark of a perverse desire that it seeks what is not to be had. The desire to be inside the invisible line illustrates this rule. As long as you are governed by that desire you will never get what you want. You are trying to peel an onion; if you succeed there will be nothing left. Until you conquer the fear of being an outsider, an outsider you will remain.

This is surely very clear when you come to think of it. If you want to be made free of a certain circle for some wholesome reason — if, say, you want to join a musical society because you really like music — then there is a possibility of satisfaction. You may find yourself playing in a quartet and you may enjoy it. But if all you want is to be in the know, your pleasure will be short-lived. The circle cannot have from within the charm it had from the outside. By the very act of admitting you it has lost its magic. Once the first novelty is worn off, the members of this circle will be no more interesting than your old friends. Why should they be? You were not looking for virtue or kindness or loyalty or humour or learning or wit or any of the things that can be really enjoyed. You merely wanted to be “in.” And that is a pleasure that cannot last. As soon as your new associates have been staled to you by custom, you will be looking for another Ring. The rainbow’s end will still be ahead of you. The old Ring will now be only the drab background for your endeavour to enter the new one.

And you will always find them hard to enter, for a reason you very well know. You yourself, once you are in, want to make it hard for the next entrant, just as those who are already in made it hard for you. Naturally. In any wholesome group of people which holds together for a good purpose, the exclusions are in a sense accidental. Three or four people who are together for the sake of some piece of work exclude other because there is work only for so many or because the others can’t in fact do it. Your little musical group limits its numbers because the rooms they meet in are only so big. but your genuine Inner Ring exists for exclusion. There’d be no fun if there were no outsiders. The invisible line would have no meaning unless most people were on the wrong side of it. Exclusion is no accident; it is the essence.

The quest of the Inner Ring will break your hearts unless you break it. But if you break it, a surprising result will follow. If in your working hours you make the work your end, you will presently find yourself all unawares inside the only circle in your profession that really matters. You will be one of the sound craftsmen, and other sound craftsmen will know it. This group of craftsmen will by no means coincide with the Inner Ring or the Important People or the People in the Know. It will not shape that professional policy or work up that professional influence which fights for the profession as a whole against the public, nor will it lead to those periodic scandals and crises which the Inner Ring produces. But it will do those things which that profession exists to do and will in the long run be responsible for all the respect which that profession in fact enjoys and which the speeches and advertisements cannot maintain. And if in your spare time you consort simply with the people you like, you will again find that you have come unawares to a real inside, that you are indeed snug and safe at the centre of something which, seen from without, would look exactly like an Inner Ring. But the difference is that its secrecy is accidental, and its exclusiveness a by-product, and no one was led thither by the lure of the esoteric, for it is only four or five people who like one another meeting to do things they like. This is friendship. Aristotle placed it among the virtues, It causes perhaps half of all the happiness in the world, and no Inner Ringer can ever have it.

If it barks like a dog…

“Since when has being cheap counted as ‘empowerment’?…Hey, I’m all for getting in touch with the ‘inner goddess’ by pole dancing your way to a ‘new you’, but you can’t get lobster thermidore out of a can of tuna. Get a life.” ~ A Heartless Bitch named Lola

“That’s just bimbo talk.” ~ Pops

The above two quotes, which represent two of my new favorites (you knew I collected these things, yes?), are perfect examples of why I’m a traitor to my gender. At least in the modern telling of what counts as female empowerment. Because while I try not to judge women too harshly for getting in touch with their power and sexuality (or whatever. And, as an aside, putting it out there for the world to see? I mean come on — don’t you keep the most precious and powerful things you have protected? Or is that just me…?), often they are just bowing down to the latest fad that’s marketed with a pretty neon sign with an arrow that says “Feminism!” Bah. Think for yourselves ladies. Because let me be clear: lying to yourself about what’s acceptable if it runs counter to your own judgment and understanding of your physical uniqueness as a woman — regardless if it’s what everyone else in your group of Joneses thinks is acceptable — so you can get the goodies from a dude is pretty much just being the chick in the video below once you strip away all the “empowerment” rhetoric. And being that chick = lame. Even Eddie Murphy thinks so. Also, that above sentence…grammatically correct. Boom.

I said I couldn’t tell you, I’ve lost mine

Happy Birthday Pops! Love you like the little daddy’s girl I am.

Hola. Not too much to report today lovelies but I did have a fabulous conversation over the phone with my Pops this weekend and he reminded me of a few things I had forgotten and told me he was proud of me because he thinks that, although I’ve wasted a lot of my life not being a grown up about certain things (yikes), he believes I’m finally figuring some things out. So, alright man, cool. Pops is proud. Always a win.

One of the other areas of discussion between myself and the patriarch was the notion of libertarianism versus conservatism, something that is all the rage in the geeky, wonky work circles I occasionally find myself running through. So, Pops, I think, likes the style of the libertarian — as do I — but he said something that hadn’t occurred to me before and seemed fairly profound. “These people want all the freedoms but they don’t want to give over any currency to have them. They don’t want to pay for those freedoms. And the truth is that you can’t have anything without paying for it — you pay for what you get in one way or another.” Too true. It might sound overly capitalistic but it is a basic truth of life, this notion of sacrifice. I don’t think it requires your agreement to be true. Which is a whole other discussion that has theological and sociological implications that I don’t feel like going in to because I’m a little emotionally drained at the moment. Because we also spent some time talking about eugenics — because what with the whole Planned Parenthood/O-care birth control mandate/personhood legislation cropping up in the states, it’s beginning to rear it’s twisted little head. I’ve read some interesting pieces on the subject (most interesting here and here) and am fairly comfortable in saying that it is an idea of a flavor that is really creepy and ethically vacuous because 1.) this idea that we are somehow qualified to judge fitness is hilarious because as a race we screw up so much I’m inclined to just let some things be the purview of nature and 2.) I have a brother who blows the notion totally out of the water because his developmental problems were not genetically inherited and were only the result of the birthing process (lack of oxygen during birth. I’ve written about it before) and so…is he one we consider having slipped through the cracks (to use an uncomfortable image) and sterilize him? Anyone who doesn’t read that as a purely rhetorical question can kindly move the f*ck on. And, as an addendum, maybe you should always and forever keep your thoughts about engineering superiority to yourself if you know someone who has a loved one you might consider “unfit” or risk getting a swift kick to the head, either metaphorically or literally. Just really seriously sayin’. Also, my sister Juli posed a really interesting question in terms of how birth control (and probably by extension, abortion) is being framed in the public debate as “preventive care.” I mean look, Juli and I are both pretty strong women who aren’t exactly shrinking violets, but as she noted, rhetorically framing the issue of pregnancy as falling under a category that also includes regular check-ups for diseases, etc. might be subliminally suggesting that getting pregnant is as unwanted as prostate cancer or something. “I don’t see how that’s empowering women to suggest that their natural inclination toward sexuality could lead to this ‘disease’ of pregnancy.” Good point.

In any event, moving on from that unpleasantness because it should be moved on from — diversions for you.

Tremendous. He breaks a few notes but in general nails it. Hope it made you smile Ms. Huston.

The Trotter brought this back to me from a conference he attended this weekend. Love squared.

Hey, lookie what I got! Thanks landlord, for being awesome.

Our Legal Director over here where I work was on a panel organized by this group (Where he pwned everyone. True story.) and, by way of thanking him, they gave him a little magnetized gift. Behold, the super PAC name generator that currently lives on our refrigerator in the office. Can’t wait to use santa…

Finally, because I’ve been reminiscing so much lately and it’s appropriate, your music for today:

Never attribute to malice etc., etc.,

I got kicked out of a bar once for throwing my gum at the bartender. He was ignoring me and trying to piss me off and, well, he did. Because I was in my early 20s and awesome. Yeah, I kinda sucked. So they literally bounced me. I mean, I didn’t get carried out thrashing around like a crazy person. They just asked me to leave, and so I did. And the folks with me at the time followed and, as they left, the bartender told a girl in my cohort: “You know, people judge you by your associations.” Man, I was devastated. Especially since that girl was kind of weird and had some major daddy issues and had a tendency to hook up with wannabe skinheads. We grew up together but we were never really friends. She was all into the shock factor you see and I never quite got that. It always seemed to me to be the flipside of the bubble-headed cheerleader who wore too much make-up and slept with every guy she could: gotta give em something sparkly or attention-grabbing to look at or talk about because there’s really not much there. Anyway, have never forgotten that and occasionally am reminded of it because I encounter another amateur provocateur and I flash back. What’s nice is that now, as a grown up, there are plenty of other people in the world who also recognize it as a silly game that they too stopped playing or even trying to understand when they grew up. When you’re young it can seem like everyone MUST play or risk ostracism. Because peer pressure is a bitch. Score one for adulthood. But it always amuses me when someone tries to drag me back to high school. Especially since the game is dependent upon the fact that the game is never discovered to be a game. (If that makes any sense…) Fortunately (?) for me, I was trained in my home by a f*cking Jedi Master in such things (Hey Mom) who also understood that, silly rabbit, trix are for kids — but it’s good to know when you’re the mark. Anyway, as an aside, it occurs to me that some people never stop playing, which is why I assume there are so many people in therapy trying to deal with their relationships, and why there are so many people bailing on their loved ones, and why there are so many kids trying to figure out if it’s their fault that mommy and daddy “just don’t love each other anymore.” It always reminds me of that play/movie Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf. George and Martha like that game a lot. And their misery and alcohol binds them tight. When I was in my teens I thought this was actually a beautiful love story of sorts. Heh. Score two for adulthood.

Anyway, I had an interesting conversation yesterday about this and I always find it so fascinating when men take a strong stance in mandating that a woman have the choice of abortion (yes, I recognize the paradox). This particular man is generally a thoughtful and good person and I think what interested him particularly was this notion that the man plays a role in pregnancy as well. Which kind of opens up the whole “choice” issue in a new direction, doesn’t it? It was a long talk and much of it is necessarily private but the take-away for me came when I asked him if he were in this situation and was told by the woman that she wanted an abortion, and this was something he didn’t want and he did all he could to convince her otherwise and she still insisted, would he still say that the choice was hers alone? To my disappointment, he backtracked to the standard left-of-center position and said, “It’s absolutely her choice unless he cedes some part of his anatomy to her.” But hasn’t he already? I guess what I’m saying here is that we shouldn’t forget the guys in this debate. And I appreciate that this man reminded me of that.

That said, without taking a position on the subject — because this is one that’s pretty personal to me and you people just don’t need to know everything — ladies, being cavalier about pregnancy and easily bought and sold when it comes to the idea that you can just terminate a pregnancy without feeling or regard for the life growing inside you — even my challenger had to admit that life does indeed begin at conception. He just wasn’t willing to call it more important than the mother’s choice. Which is not an unreasonable thought process — gives rise to this kind of dude. If you can stomach the whole thing, feel free. But most relevant is the last entry titled “abortion.” Over 11,000 people like this site on Facebook. So, seriously, people, stop playing in to these douchebags. You make it harder for the whole world, man.

Also, sometimes it is about malice.

Here’s your Friday music straight from the skate rats I grew up with. Slam dance.

 

Be gone J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D.

It’s all about the love today. So I will give you some thoughts and diversions on that topic. I admit it — I love love. I’m silly for it, in all its forms. There’s no point in being cynical about it because the only way to understand it is to let it wash over you. The cynicism comes, I think, because we’ve been misinformed that it’s a good feeling, this act of love (and it is a verb. But you know that…). It’s not a good feeling. It rips you apart and breaks you. “All I ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.” Leonard Cohen wrote that. Anyone who’s ever loved knows what he means there. So why can’t we hate this thing that destroys us — in some cases daily — and turns rational thought on its head to make idiots of us all?

Because the risk is always less than the reward. Always.

Saw this first thing in the morning and it made me happy. It’s called the Rosette Nebula. See? The reward always wins.

So, here are your diversions. Just a few of my favorite movie clips, a few songs (some old, some new) and proof that even scientists can’t escape the thing that would seem to run counter to control and logic. In fact, I would go so far as to say that much of our great work in this world as humans — in all endeavors — is inspired by love. Isn’t it wonderful.

From Practical Magic:

Young Sally: He will hear my call a mile away, he will whistle my favourite song, he can ride a pony backwards-

Young Gilly: What are you doing?

Young Sally: I’m summoning up a true love spell called amas veritas, he can flip pancakes in the air, he will be marvellously kind, and his favourite shape will be a star. And he’ll have one green eye, one blue.

Young Gilly: I thought you never wanted to fall in love.

Young Sally: That’s the point. The guy I dreamed up doesn’t exist, and if he doesn’t exist, I’ll never die of a broken heart.

Oh Edison, you old softie…

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, ‘O me! O life!…of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless – of the cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here – that life exists, an identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.’ That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”

Jack White, you get it my friend.

Sometimes it hurts.

Sometimes it works.

Sometimes it’s not about love at all, just about missing that stupid ape. (I want to dance to this song in the worst way…)

But always, there’s this:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

“The Secretary shall develop oral healthcare components that shall include tooth-level surveillance.”

Posting this from my go-to brunch spot Tonic while intermittently chatting with one of my new favorite people who has told me that he will be continuing to work here on Sundays. There was a hot minute when he thought he might be leaving and I was none too pleased. But he’s sticking around. And this is good because I walked in today to have some brunch and he was playing some old Whitney Huston, which is right and appropriate. Speaking of, I like to remember that the lady gave us this rather than what happened to her in her personal life. Also, he’s trying to fill me in on good dance spots because I’ve hit some good ones (Saint Ex, Napoleon, Habana Village) but am ready to explore more when Spring comes. In any event, this is a good place to write now that football is over because I can have a bloody mary and an omelet and just get my stuff worked out. Boom.

So many people have asked if I was down at CPAC when the protestors showed up. No, I was not. I left around 4 pm to go see a show that I think possibly made me a better person. The Fabulous Miss McClain and I had planned a month or so ago to be at Alvin Ailey so she saved me from the madness. And thank God for it because that’s not my scene at all. I don’t care for crowds much, even when everyone’s happy and on the same page. So, when people are spitting and red-faced I’d just as soon be somewhere else. Like here:

Ailey brings a smile.

I was totally fascinated by the lighting fixtures.

But I met the coach later for a cigar and a drink:

Stogies and politics

And he told me about his experiences and said it was all a bit silly and anti-climactic. (“Jeremy and I walked past McPherson Square after you left us Saturday and we saw some of the occupiers that were left…I think they were making s’mores…”) And then someone I know posted a photo from the Cupid’s Undie Run yesterday on Facebook and something occurred to me: while I had originally not given much thought to the notion of a few hundred kids using charity as an excuse to run around monuments in their underwear I think maybe I might be too quick in dismissing that. I still think it is largely an excuse — judging from said photo — to get half naked in below freezing temperatures and strut their business; but at the very least these kids are doing this for a demonstrable purpose. They are raising money for charity, and a good charity at that. And the Occupier-criers could totally use an infusion of that kind of thing. Both in silly spirit and in practical purpose. As an aside, I need to point out here that the whole Undie Run reminds me that someone I know who took issue with me once for watching my shadow as I danced on his patio — and called me out for my vanity — needs to check himself for supporting this kind of thing because, um, yeah. I mean, I can’t even look at myself in the mirror in dance class much less run around in my skivvies and let my picture be displayed all over the web. So you should apologize to me for that sometime. I’m sorry that I’m not as vain as you needed me to be in order to be right about your preconceptions. Wait…no I’m not. Again, just letting a long held vent come out…and it feels good my friends.

So, I managed to catch some of the big speeches at CPAC and then watch the rest via the magic little lightbox I carry around with me. And I think my favorite has to be Marco Rubio. Seriously, open your heads, give it a shot and devote 30 minutes to it. You may find yourselves surprised. Pay close attention to what he says about what other countries do and why that kind of thing actually drives people to our shores here in the good old U.S. of A. Couldn’t agree more. Does this man seem dangerous to you? I’m thrilled someone articulates this stuff in the manner Rubio does, with courage, humility, and humor.

Finally, the Coach and I got into an interesting discussion about the whole “contraception compromise that wasn’t.” He said that a friend of his who supports Obama made the comment after the compromise that amounted to something like: “That whoosh you hear is the sound of the air coming out of the ridiculous argument that Obama was waging a war against religious liberty.” Which prompted the Coach to remark that: “Yes, because Obama losing the argument means the argument never happened.” And this led us both to declare that cult mentality is weird as f*ck. I mean, the man can be wrong…

On that note, here’s one way he was, in a big way. Because let me tell you something about Catholics that you underestimated (and I speak with experience here): while it might seem difficult for someone like yourself to understand, Mr. President, given your penchant for soft adherence to great concepts, practicing Catholics take the observance of their faith and their religious principles seriously. And besides, who are we kidding, this really wasn’t about the separation of church and state at all. But I’ll let the great Mark Steyn explain what the real draw was for your Highness…

Okay, diversions: Avail yourselves of the information. Why is it when it’s actually appropriate to talk about race it’s the last thing mentioned? And if you’re confused just do a quick wiki search of Margaret Sanger. And then tell me again how poor old Planned Parenthood is suffering…

Music.

I just liked this article because harmonics is fascinating.

The History Channel is in here as we speak filming a segment on foods that changed the world and they’re rightly including Tonic’s tater tots. It’ll run in late Spring/early Summer. No, I will not be in it because I prefer not to be and instructed the cameraman as such. But I’ll link it when it airs…

Danced to this yesterday. And fell in love with life all over again.

Finally, currently drifting through the air…see why I come here?

Check your assumptions

I got nothing today because my world requires my attention at the moment and so I have nothing to give to any of you. But let me just say this: you don’t know irony until you wander around the stodgy halls of CPAC 2012 and a former colleague of yours says, “I have a present for you…” and proceeds to point out Allen Covert, great friend to Adam Sandler and primary writer of one of the greatest stoner films of all time. Also, the dude’s pushing 50 and he is looking fine. Just sayin. In any event, because of that surprise, and because I’m so, so busy kids and I mean I’m starting to have mini breakdowns which is generally the sign that I need to take some time off or I’ll break from reality in a way that will leave me stranded in my mind…whoa. Sorry…let me back up…

Grandma’s Boy was hilarious and here’s Nick Swardson’s standup, because he was in it and I love him.

It shakes my teeth

Hey yo. So, I was sent this article today by a work mate because I’m constantly annoying them with my incessant guilt about whether or not letting my cat be indoor/outdoor makes me a bad mom. I’ve never had a strictly indoor cat except once, when a former college roommate pressured me into doing it, and I couldn’t stand watching him stare out the window all the time and started letting him go out, whereby someone stole him. He was a great little cat named Faulkner. But I always felt okay about his fate because I’m certain his home life was more stable than what I could give him in my mad little world at that time. Constant parties, kegs in the kitchen, other things I can’t talk about (a lot of other things I can’t talk about. A great love from high school had moved into the spare room. God that was a strange time…). Anyway, the rest have always had their freedom and Alexander is no exception. And he’s a tough little guy who always comes home. But when it’s cold like this — because he sleeps in my bed with me at night and goes out during the day while I’m at work — I feel the guilts something terrible. So this made me feel better, especially since it came with the following thought: “You’re really doing community service by letting your cat outside.” Aces. And he does bring dinner home sometimes and leaves it by the back door. It’s disgusting. And so sweet. He loves me in his little alley cat way and that makes me happy. My silly little grey-faced monster!

Okay okay okay — moving on to something (semi) serious. Lots of talk about that Chrysler ad that Clint Eastwood did that aired during the Super Bowl. I saw it in real time and I just thought it was unfortunate that they used Eastwood’s voice over images of the bailout and the Wisconsin labor protestors and wondered at the time if Eastwood had any idea that would be the end result. Apparently not. And then someone who enjoys baiting me — and I tend to take the bait because a) this is how our relationship has developed over the years and b) we get a fair amount of things kind of figured out this way — posted this piece with the following questions: Why would someone be offended by this? America went/is going through some hard times. Detroit especially. And there is now a bit of a bounce back. What’s wrong with pointing this out? What’s wrong with making people feel that America isn’t down for the count? Because if things aren’t so bad, you can buy a car. And if you can buy a car, buy one from us!

Oh wait…it runs counter to the GOP narrative.

So is Rove offended that the economy is bouncing back? Or is he offended that a corporation ran a commercial that may be perceived as political? Perhaps he should talk to his boy Mittens. Even if this was a political ad – and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t – corporations are now people my friends.

I don’t know. It seems to me that if you don’t like the idea that corporations are people then you shouldn’t like it. Ever. So, when Chrysler runs an ad that is a thinly disguised issue ad, it shouldn’t be okay if you hate the idea of such things. My friend countered, pretty brilliantly, that this was his point about Rove as well. That if Rove is a supporter of such things, he shouldn’t be “offended.” And he’s right there. But I do think that this piece is true. And it all just makes the idea of coordination one that is likely to come up again and again. See, we figure this stuff out. You’re welcome from both of us.

Also, Remy gives us a reason why maybe the ad’s not quite accurate.

So, big week for the kid. I’m running some of the work folks around at CPAC tomorrow for some radio bookings and then hopefully trying to meet the coach a little later (after dance) for one of the related events. And then Friday is this. The fabulous Ms. McClain and I are coordinating our outfits as we speak. And then possibly trying to meet the coach back out at CPAC but I doubt Ms. McClain will want to tag along — she doesn’t swing that way. She’s a good liberal from Arkansas. We don’t talk politics much. Heh.

Oh, there’s also this little thing that might be a must-do Friday morning:

Please join Google for a Blogger Breakfast

recognizing CPAC Bloggers 

Friday, February 10, 2012

 8 a.m. – 9 a.m.

New Heights Restaurant

 2317 Calvert Street Northwest  Washington, DC

** Within walking distance from the Marriott Wardman Park Hotel**

Anyway, here are your diversions:

I’m just glad they still exist. Newt, you may have your colony yet.

Only Madonna could make the Super Bowl drag fabulous and get away with it.

Also, WWJD? He’d laugh. Cause this is just funny, man. (h/t Trotter)

And, your music. One of the best albums ever. Dig.

Perception of reality

I just felt like doing a little writing today before I head down to Blackfinn with some pals to watch The Big Game. Sorry Lou, but I hope Manning takes this one home.
First, I just want to weigh in on the whole Susan G. Komen thing. You know the most exasperating thing about this? The enlightened kids all over Facebook and elsewhere who just jumped on the back of the hate bus and decided that Susan G. Komen was a bunch of women-hating hypocrites. Jesus. Did you once stop to read anything else about why they are being investigated and why the charity may want to distance themselves? You just let yourselves be led to the trough of “it’s all about abortion and you crazy right to lifers hate abortion!!!” Did you look into the relationship between Planned Parenthood and the Democratic Party, i.e. what kind of money goes back and forth between the two? No, you didn’t. You were all perfectly willing to accept that Komen was bowing to political pressure but I wonder: are you willing to accept that the politicization of a reasonable decision not to fund an organization (which seems to be a fairly dynamic decision at this point) that does have some stuff to answer for actually came after the fact with the assault on Komen? Jennifer Rubin has the best piece I’ve seen so far on what amounts to little more than thuggery. And you all just jumped on board didn’t you? How can you expect to be taken seriously when you don’t think for yourselves? Sorry, that vent just had to come out…

I was talking to mom over the phone recently about what I like to call the “zero sum gamers,” i.e. the uber competitive who believe that any accomplishment by anyone else takes away an accomplishment from them. Cause there’s only a finite number of accomplishment to go around you see (stupid, but whatever). And, since the subject of the mean girls and their relationship to this phenomenon came up — as it usually does with me because I’ve just met so many of them and I’m pretty sure it’s one of those things I’m going to have to figure out or I will forever suffer it — mom had an interesting thing to say. She said that some women — people, but women particularly — need to convince others they have what they think others most desire. Even if it’s only partially true or completely untrue. This is often true when it comes to having a “date for the event” as mom calls it. “Many women need to have others believe she has someone to take her to whatever the group decides is the thing to go to,” mom said. That actually throws some things into perspective for me. Mom’s so much better at understanding this stuff because I honestly — to my detriment — stopped giving two whiffs about group think in high school when it became clear to me that a) it was largely superficial and ever-shifting in its “truths” and b) while it could be lighthearted and innocuous it could also be — and often was — useful as a tool to divide and hurt, which is counter productive and — frankly — not any fun. In fact, biggest buzzkill going in my opinion. And some dudes don’t help the situation because they recognize it as an easy tool to get what they want, that mean girl competitiveness. “You know she really hates puppies. It would drive her so crazy if you gave me a puppy right now…” Douche.

But I suppose I get the need to have the man on your arm (or make people think you do) — I have other needs as regards men, but whatever makes you most happy I guess — because it can lead to people questioning which way you swing, to use an impolite characterization. Which happened to me recently. I think my proclivities are fairly obvious but here recently I found myself slowly accepting the realization that the person speaking to me was trying to determine my preferences in the bedroom because I’m — gasp! — not married. I mean obviously, right? Now, in addition to my immediate reaction, which was a silent “holy shit, how rude! who raised you?,” I was hit by a thunderbolt as something occurred to me: almost every time this has happened in the past it has come from the girlfriend of a guy that I’ve become friendly with. And that friends, made me feel immediately better. Because wanting it to be true doesn’t make it true, sweetie. The truth is, I’m single because I form deep and lasting affection for boys (<– operative word) that are brilliant, troubled, and generally not very nice to me. One of the last ones, for example, didn’t like that I had a bit of a problem with his flying to NYC for New Year’s after a yearlong relationship to go party and stay with an ex girlfriend. And I was most emphatically not invited. And so, after a fight and a decision to see how things went, he broke up with me the day before Valentine’s Day. And that was one of the more innocuous of the wonderful dudes I’ve invested my time in. Now, I’m not trying to be all bleak and complaining — this tendency falls squarely on me and I’m working on it — I only mention it as a way to say perhaps you should concentrate more on the fact that it’s a pretty ugly quality to put your petty, bullshit insecurity about your relationship off on me. Now, go take your Atavan or whatever it is that keeps you from the edge and leave me to my business, which could involve making “your man” have a laugh. Stop being crazy and maybe you’ll find something fun in there, too.

And, because for some reason I remembered this today, I’ll post it here because it’s hilarious and kind of works with the subject. You can go ahead and see me as Aunt Susan if you want. And I’ll see you as Kelly’s mom. Deal?