Archive for June, 2010

Okay, first, if you are allergic to bees and get stung several times and die, the bees are not killer bees — except in the sense that they caused a death…wait…never mind…

Second, this kind of silliness makes the depressing act of reading the news kind of enjoyable. The back story is that several states’ Attorneys General got together in Florida and filed a lawsuit against the individual mandate in O-care, stating that it essentially violates the reach Congress has to regulate commerce (should you be forced to engage in commerce — i.e. buying health insurance — if you just don’t — and pardon the colloquialism — freakin’ feel like it?)

Well, in addressing this push back, O and Co. have taken to calling the mandate a tax because, as a tax, it falls under the Anti-Injunction Act, restricting the courts from interfering with federal tax collection. Okay, here’s the awesome part — during the healthcare debate, Obama, in an interview with George Stephanopoulos, “absolutely reject”ed the notion that the mandate was a tax. I know. Hilarious. When you finish cry..ahem, I mean laughing, read Klein’s piece.

Third, while some of these are being addressed (Hallelujah!), this is a nice way to keep up with what needs to be done to get the situation in the Gulf in hand. I have an idea about something I might write about as concerns those skimmers we’re apparently ready to use. If it happens, you’ll know (even though my Dad thinks I’ve been writing boring things and I need to be a little more “out there.” But I think building a strong body of work needs to happen before I can really dazzle people with my genius. Ahem. Take that with a grain of salt.

Also, if you hear that Black Violin is playing in town, let me know. I’m there.

And the love only grows Mr. Gutfeld…

“Cool” Children’s Names Mean Their Parents are Asses

So, for purposes of this unspeakable truth, let’s just say I read a poll of roughly twelve hundred moms, in which 10 percent of them thought about changing the name they’d given their babies. According to the poll, the moms had a lot of reasons — mainly regret. The researchers say this is common, especially if you’ve bought fourteen books on baby names, and suddenly you realize that after six months, junior isn’t really turning out to look like Huckleberry Prawn. But more like Jeff.

And this is the central problem with parenting, and with civilization in general. We’re selfish pricks. We do things strictly based on how said actions touch our lives, not those of others. We name our kids not because of how we think it might affect them, but because of how it will affect us. Hence parents will think about how boring is sounds to say, “This is my son, John,” as opposed to, “This is my son, Atomic Submarine Sauce.” And so you’re left with a pile of pillows, towels, and picture frames monogrammed with the letters A.S.S., when you should have probably just worn a condom.

When I have kids, I’m changing their names every year. That way it keeps the relationship fresh, and I won’t be tempted to start parenting outside the home. Plus, the name can suit whatever phase they’re going through at that time. As a toddler, I’ll call him Smelly. As a preteen, I’ll call him Stupid, and as a teen, I’ll call him Slave. My parents did the same for me, and I didn’t kill them. Which is about the most you ask of your kids, really.

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There are some days when you just crave something more than the mundane. I like to listen to this song and desk dance on those days. Enjoy.

UPDATE: This one, too. I miss you hometown…

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It’s jungle hot out

Hi — Friday links follow. I’ll be here a bit later. Feel free to join.

  • SSP — I don’t love this one. There are redundancies of rhetoric that I’m not comfortable with and I never really got to the point I was interested in making but I offer it on the altar for your derision or desire.
  • I have gotten into numerous discussions with the officemates — who love to buy iced tea from the establishment next door — that I prefer not to drink tea unless it’s sweet. Which this tea is not. It’s harder to find here than where I’m from. And that’s a problem. the office mates don’t get that once there’s ice in it, it cannot be made sweet, even if it can — it’s just all wrong. Thankfully, one of the folks back home turned me on to this site (h/t C. Bailey) and so, coworkers, read and educate yourselves. My momma makes it with Luzianne loose tea and brews it in the coffee pot, which is the way I make it as well. And is really the only acceptable way to make it because that’s just how it works. The best tea is your momma’s. And it must — MUST — be sweetened before it gets cold. It’s a physics thing.
  • I want these for my birthday.
    (h/t The Mohel).

And, I love you Greg Gutfeld. I really do. For the former coworkers…

The Guy at the Help Desk Hates Your Guts

Can you blame him? You only talk to him when your computer isn’t working, usually because you spilled coffee on your keyboard. I always feel bad for these guys. No one ever calls them up just to say hello. People like you and me only call them when we are angry, confused, and prone to shouting. So who can blame then when they suddenly take a tour bus hostage?

I wouldn’t.

So, for today, why don’t all of us call the people we know in IT, and say “Hello!”

Then, is they ask you what the problem is, simply say, “My only concern today is your happiness.”

Then hang up.

Then call back, and say, “Just joking. Fix my computer.”

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Totally forgot — Go USA! Fabulous game. Very exciting. I hate those horns. That is all.

So we were sitting around in the office trying to figure out what in the blue blazes McChrystal was thinking. At first, it seemed that he must have known what the fallout would be from allowing an embedded journalist to follow him around and take notes. A colleague thought that a rapport developed and McChrystal let his tongue get a little loose, while I was certain he had simply become disgruntled and was looking to be relieved. And then I remembered — the guy that wrote the pieces that would eventually become The Hurt Locker was an embedded journalist who wrote for Playboy, Rolling Stone and others. Could it be that McChrystal let his guard down because he mistakenly assumed that there’s an emerging tendency in the media to write favorably about the military? Just a thought…because, c’mon man…what were you thinking?

So, the blogger’s briefing has me thinking about Elena Kagan, to the degree that I’m likely going to ask a few questions of someone I know who will talk to me about the thrilling subject of judicial activism. I’m just not sure I agree that anything can — and should — be potentially litigious. But Kagan does, if her admiration for one Aharon Barak is to be believed. Apparently this guy believes that judges make their decisions and the law catches up. The whole idea of interpreting the law as written doesn’t seem to concern him. Worrisome.

Also, still working on something related to jurisdictional limits. This will factor in somewhere I think. Writer’s block really bites. It makes one feel so helpless…I need some wine I think…perhaps that should be the after-work plan. Wine and write. Good deal.

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Here’s what I did this morning:

That's not actually me but it is my car...

This followed an equally unpleasant task I knew I was going to have to perform but didn’t expect to confront it early Monday morning. I won’t go into it. It’s too sad and makes me feel like the queen of bad luck. Some days you just have to plaster that smile on till it reaches the heart. Also, I have no wish to bring anyone who happens to read this down into the depths of the BS life sometimes throws at you so, have some softball pics instead. The coolers contained jello shots, sandwiches and beer — all of which I took full advantage of — and we kicked tail in both our games. Then, we sat outside at our sponsor bar and talked until it got dark. Saturday was a good day. I’m hanging on to that with the grip of a spider monkey…

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Jurisdictional limits people. They’re on my mind. Hopefully I’ll have an SSP link later for you. If not, it’ll be laid out here. Until then, here’s a thought on the Oval Office speech on the BP oil spill: it’s hilarious that there’s so much incredulity that the pundits on the left have begun picking up on our President’s penchant for the non-specific. He ran on a platform of change people. Not many specifics there but if you’re late to the party I won’t judge you. What’s more interesting — more than the generalities and the epiphanies of Olbermann et al — is that the rhetoric has always been doom and gloom, sanctimonious, holier-than-thou, paternalistic and frankly oppressive. And yet the man had this image of being some kind of light in the world. Seriously, despite the fact that he’s a radical with ideas that I’m certain will lead to no good for the country, I feel bad for him. He knows he’s pessimistic and cynical. It’s his fan base (and that is the right term) that has had it backward all this time. Reminds me of Bob Dylan complaining that all the 60s hippies kept looking to him for some peace, love and answers and yet if you really listen to his songs — yeah, not so much. But people are funny that way.

And they’re funny this way, too. Take it away Mr. Gutfeld:

Bad hair means a bad leader

Despite the fact that we have the strongest military in the world, we have somehow made ourselves defenseless against whack-job countries like Iran and North Korea. This proves a simple point: Having the greatest fighting force in the history of the world means little if there’s no will — or balls– in the White House.

But more important, both Iran and North Korea are operating under the same guiding logic: “You better not tell us what to do, or we will blow up something,” And although the threat might be spoken in a different language, these powers share a striking similarity: bad hair. This could be at the heart of the issue — these angry leaders’ childish behavior could be the product of insecurity over a horrible hairdo.

And the lack of awareness about one’s bad hair could very well be a sign of insanity. Think about it: Whenever you see institutionalized people in movies, their hair is always a godawful mess.

Which leads me to my simple solution: Kill people with bad hair. Or at the very least, the leaders of North Korea, Iran, and probably Venezuela.

Another point about hair: Junichiro Koizumi, Japanese prime minister, has absolutely terrific hair. I always find it interesting when a Western–style cut is adopted by an Asian man. It makes him look like an orchestra conductor or someone who plays an orchestra conductor.

This is absolutely 100 percent fact.

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In honor of Meg Whitman and suing for $200,000.

and, because it’s my favorite of their songs:

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Hi. A head cold has been causing me to be forgetful and a little cranky. It’s abating now but man it has been a drag. Anyway, for that reason, I just have lazy links for you. But they’re good ones.

Reading this. It’s hilarious. So far, my favorite part is the following:

…here is my only tip when voting in any election (including American Idol): Vote for the people who do the least amount of damage to the populace. Which normally would be voting for anyone who supports cutting the size of government, and, more important, tax rates. (I call this my “Run From Godzilla” theory. It works when voting for politicians, but also when running from Godzilla.)

On a related note, a business acquaintance has a hilarious series she writes in Human Events where she interviews famous people with the whole intent (I think) of humanizing them a bit. Recently, she interviewed Mr. Gutfeld. Good things followed.

As usual, my friend Fleury turned me on to two wonderful things: first, a choose your own adventure Twitter feed. Huge fan of these books as a kid. I’m sure I’ll waste far too much time here.

And, this says it all. I don’t even need to expound.

Pulling for someone in Eastern Europe to kick tail in the World Cup. Represent.

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Much to do but quickly…

Strasburg was impressive. Not so much for the excitement he generated in the city (not having a good baseball team forever will do that), nor the excitement he generated with his teammates (those home runs were phenomenal), nor for causing the umps to blow called strikes because his breaking ball (“Dude can throw a slider,” understated the softball coach) is so wicked that it comes in at the batter’s chest and breaks for a perfect strike going 82 miles an hour (benefit of watching at home is you get the view from the mound. really the only place to judge a pitcher), but because in the middle of the hype he just remained calm, cool, collected and threw a great game. I felt like I was watching The Natural. It would have been really easy to have thrown just a decent game amid the pressure and no one would have blamed him, just recognized him as a young, talented pitcher working for his legs in the show. But he threw a great game.

I fretted all yesterday about going to the game (yes, I could have gone) and in the end chose not to. And I rationalize that I actually got a better feel for his skill watching from home (and that’s true) but that was a helluva game and those games are amongst the best things in the world. The excitement is palpable. So I’ll accept my decision and hopefully make it out this year to see him pitch. Ideally before they “get a book on him,” as my dad says; i.e. figure out how to hit him. Which they will. It will be interesting to see how he responds…

Go Nats.

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I forgot I have to go to a work-related barbie this afternoon in Rosslyn. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t mind but my whole body aches. Because we did these yesterday in dance class:

You think I’m joking? I’m not. It was awesome. But I’m paying for it today…my hands feel like I have arthritis.

Anyway, Here’s the SSP link I promised, but it’s a link to another blog that linked me. My friend Mr. Peck who writes the ChamberPost linked the Caller piece. I could go into exactly how exciting this is but I think I’ll reserve my dorkiness for a few closest (you all will be hearing about it in excited tones. Just a heads up.) Be sure to read his other post on the subject here and a MoJo (??) take here. Bradley’s a sharp one.

Also, I like this column. Where are the manly men of yesteryear? Cause I gotta say, while I offer no end of frustration to those kind of men given the fierce independence and unabashed need to have a singular, unique opinion, I do so like those men. Very much. And an argument could be made that they are the only ones that can handle a woman such as the kid here…ahem. I digress.

And, I was compelled to listen this to this album today. A fave at 16, it still holds up.

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