by Jake Tauber
April 2, 2006
Order in the Court...
Recently, I traveled to Istanbul. To pass the time on the long Air France flight, I buckled myself in and while enduring a Gerard Depardieu movie, I drank too much Bordeaux. As the credits mercifully rolled, I nodded off. This overdose of French culture caused a nightmarish dream in which a cigarette smoking flight attendant littered me with ashes while she recited Balzac and repeatedly offered stale brie sandwiched into a dog-eared copy of Sartre’s, “Essays in Existentialism”.
An interesting side effect of flying a great distance in an easterly direction is the loss of an entire day. While cruising umpteen hours in a jetliner, the world spins indifferently underneath. You might think this is a prelude to an argument on French philosophy or a discussion on Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, mais non. This is about what happened on the ground while I was hurtling through the stratosphere on the way to the Bosporus for a dinner of stuffed grape leaves.
As the after-dinner drinks were merrily clinking down our aisle, an earthbound Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia was gazing up at the heavens while he attended mass at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in Boston. Justice Scalia is nothing if not a devout Catholic. Despite denials, rumors persist that he is a member of the cultish ultra-conservative Catholic group called Opus Dei; Latin for “the work of God”. To cleanse the soul, they are known to promote self-flagellation; the kind of pain one would willingly suffer while locked in a small room with the women from The View.
According the Boston Herald, after the services, Scalia was asked by a reporter how he responds to critics who might question his impartiality as a judge given his public worship. Justice Scalia answered by giving a well known gesture of disdain consisting of flicking his hand under his chin. At the same time he proclaimed, “To my critics, I say, ‘Vaffanculo’.” Politely translated from the Italian it means; to the agile among you, go procreate with yourself. Truthfully, I am comforted to know we have a relative of Tony Soprano on the Supreme Court.
Justice Scalia’s profanity may have been inspired by his close friend Vice President Dick Cheney. On the floor of the Senate, Mr. Cheney famously directed the F-word at Vermont democrat Patrick J. Leahy. If that wasn’t unpleasant enough, Mr. Cheney wanders around the Capital Building waving his shotgun and blowing his duck call.
While the Justice may be pious, his judicial ethics have come into question. The Supreme Court agreed to take up the Vice President's appeal on lawsuits over his handling of the administration's energy task force and concerns regarding his meetings with Enron’s Ken Lay. Only three weeks later, Scalia went mallard hunting with Dick “shoot-now-and-ask-questions-later” Cheney. Thankful to escape un-maimed, Justice Scalia returned to Washington to argue in favor of the Vice President who won his case.
Justice Scalia’s religious beliefs also inform his views on capital punishment. Scalia has cited the New Testament to claim that government “derives its moral authority from God...to execute wrath, including even wrath by the sword”. Off-the-record, clerks at the Supreme Court have reported that on dark moonless nights the Justice locks himself in his chambers where he downs a pitcher of sangria, turns his robes into a cape and shouts, “I am Zorro!”
Astonishingly Justice Scalia has said, “Indeed, it seems to me that the more Christian a country is, the less likely it is to regard the death penalty as immoral. Abolition has taken its firmest hold in post-Christian Europe and has least support in the church-going United States. I attribute that to the fact that for the believing Christian, death is no big deal.” Tell that to the mothers of soldiers killed in Iraq.
Antonin Scalia’s self-righteous point of view may offer some insight into why George W. Bush and his crusaders for democracy are so willing to sacrifice our troops into their mismanaged war. And while they trumpet the value of the price paid to secure Iraq from itself, no member of the administration’s fervent crowd has sacrificed a single person from one of their own families.
Order in the court.
jt
March 12, 2006
Thrills and Chills...
If you crave thrills, just gulp down a couple of motion sickness pills and take the kids to your local amusement park. If you are not immediately kneecapped by a careening five-year-old, you can spend the afternoon riding the always popular Mega-Colossal Upchuck.
For even more excitement, you might spend an hour on a Los Angeles freeway. With sixteen lanes of concrete, you can frequently ignore the highway patrol and pretend you are on the Autobahn. A mile-and-a-half a minute is hardly NASCAR speed. But it is a gut-clenching experience when you are cut off by a woman who is simultaneously plucking her eyebrows and sending text-messages to her Feng Shui decorator.
What makes this adventure as electrifying as any theme park attraction is the knowledge that at any moment someone might roll down their window, pull out a weapon and begin shooting.
Recent events prove that crossfire is not limited to our highways and byways. Now that Vice President Dick Cheney has a taste for blood, he is going after bigger game. With a firm grip on his gun, he is waving it in the direction of Iran. Mr. Cheney said, "Iran will face meaningful consequences" if it fails to cooperate with international efforts to stop its nuclear program. For those of you not familiar with diplomatic-speak, he means; I am going to take you quail hunting.
Mr. Cheney also told the American Israel Public Affairs Committee that the United States "is keeping all options on the table in addressing the irresponsible conduct of the regime" and is sending "a clear message: We will not allow Iran to have a nuclear weapon." Then mustering the full weight of his office he said, and they are on double-secret probation.
With words frighteningly similar to those used in the run-up to our invasion of Iraq, Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice says Iran may be the number one challenge facing America. What a fool I am. All along I thought the biggest things testing our mettle were: the mess in Iraq; the festering Katrina residue; a locked-and-loaded North Korea and the judges on Dancing with the Stars.
There is no doubt that a nuclear armed Iran would be a menace. But most intelligence agencies say it will be at least five years before Iraq’s neighbor could manufacture a bomb. Even so, we should not ignore a country where at the Ayatollah Khomeini’s funeral a huge swarming crowd grabbed pieces of his shroud causing his corpse to plop to the ground. At the same time, some mourners sacrificed sheep while shouting, "We wish we were dead, so not to see our beloved imam dead." Not exactly Dr. Seuss, but you get the picture.
Just a suicide bomber’s toss across the Persian Gulf is our best ally against terror in the whole wide world; the United Arab Emirates. At least that is what President George W. Bush tells us. Unsuccessfully, the administration tried to convince the public and a very nervous Congress that it would be okay to have Dubai Ports World manage our docks where thousands of unsecured freight containers pass each day. It is a logical question to ask why in the face of intense criticism was Mr. Bush so steadfast in supporting this deal. Until DP World withdrew, it was the worst public relations disaster since Britney squeezed her baby between herself and a steering wheel.
It’s widely known that the Bush clan has strong ties to the Saudi royal family. But they have even more pals in the Middle East. GW and his daddy are connected to the Carlyle Group, a huge, politically wired, 30 billion dollar private equity firm that has employed both the president and his father. Rest assured they were not working for minimum wage and discount coupons for the Wal-Mart.
Carlyle’s sole Middle East office is headquartered in Dubai where they have managed to attract substantial funding from investment groups all of which eventually lead to the UAE government. It’s not unreasonable to think that when GW’s second term is mercifully up and he scampers into the sunset, he might land back at Carlyle as a highly paid consultant. Add to the mix Neil Bush, the president’s philandering brother. He has also gathered a large amount of capital from Dubai for his Austin-based Ignite Learning. There are so many dots flowing from the Emirates, they form a straight line directly to the Oval Office. Are you getting chills yet?
Thrills and chills...
jt
March 5, 2006
A confession...
Like most boys, I had my share of secrets. My life was not an open book, but was enlivened by the fantasies found in the “men’s” magazines hidden in the crannies of my bedroom. What I gleaned from those “articles” was that all one needed to impress a woman was a good stereo, a fast car and socks that went well above the ankle. With this knowledge I imagined myself to be sophisticated even though I was yet to learn that a good cheese did not come in a box with recipes on the side.
While I put on the airs of someone seeking an acceptance in the world of culture, I had an early distrust of the French. This was due to their propensity to eat escargots which the gourmands among you know are bugs soaked in garlic butter. Another Gallic curiosity was their unnatural preoccupation with mimes who for unexplained reasons were unable to escape from invisible boxes. Never mind the number or Parisians who liked to sit in smoky cafés insulting foreigners, secretly agreeing that the Germans looked good marching down the Champs-Elysées.
Nonetheless I studied their language. But my willingness to conjugate verbs had less to do with mastering a romance language than it did with my adolescent obsession with what went on under mademoiselle professeur’s perfectly tight sweater.
As you can see, my interest in the humanities and gentility was mostly a ruse. Now as an adult, I have learned a valuable lesson from America’s greatest behaviorist and taste maker -- Oprah. That is; the truth will set you free. And, you had better let the rich lady into your store after-hours or she’ll eviscerate you on her television show.
There comes a moment in everyone’s life when they have to fess up. So here is the dirty little secret I have kept for many years -- I believe in science and reject hoodoo. At social gatherings when others talked about the sun revolving around the planets or how a good investment strategy was turning lead into gold, I denied my knowledge and nodded in agreement. I didn’t want to cause any trouble while I nibbled the onion-dip and Spam satay.
I have decided to make this announcement at a time when our government dispels or distorts almost all science to match its political needs. George W. Bush’s idea of a scientific endeavor is a group of men in lab coats waving bibles while wearing tinfoil hats in a lightning storm.
The president and his flat-earth team continue to deny the existence of global warming even as the Artic ice flows are disappearing so quickly the polar bears are forced to build rafts. With the icebergs melting, the rising seas will likely make that ocean front property in Arizona a good deal after all.
Meanwhile in another state, South Dakota just ratified a law where virtually all abortions are banned. Leslee J. Unruh, founder and president of the Abstinence Clearinghouse in Sioux Falls has said, “The real problem is not premarital pregnancy. The problem is premarital sex.” With that bit of empirical insight let loose on the world she also said, ''We're concerned with the 800 children aborted here every year.'' Mrs. Unruh must believe that even a zygote is a child. Remembering my biology lessons, I have to differ. A child is someone who plays with the neighbor’s dog and occasionally beats up a sibling. A zygote is a single fertilized cell. It is not something found on a swing-set in the backyard. Thanks to Mrs. Unruh and others like her, in South Dakota the only thing a woman will have the right to chose is what to defrost for dinner.
After skipping out on the natural sciences, Mr. Bush also left his geography studies behind. On his recent trip to India he said Pakistan can be a "steadfast partner" with the U.S. for peace in "the Arab world." This came as shock to the Pakistanis who like millions of other Muslims are not Arabs.
Isn’t it time that Mr. Bush and company along with their overzealous followers confess that they are clueless?
A confession...
jt
February 25, 2006
The Gang that Couldn’t Shoot Straight: Part 2...
The quail feathers have slowly settled on Katherine Armstrong’s modest 50,000 acre spread in Texas where vice president Dick Cheney splattered a close friend with a misaimed blast of buckshot. Realizing it would not be a good thing to get Mr. Cheney riled up any further, attorney and bulls-eye, Harry Whittington graciously went in front of a phalanx of reporters and apologized for being shot by Mr. Cheney.
While it may have been a surprise how much damage the vice president could do with a modest shotgun, we know too well what he can do with the entire United States military at hand. Mr. Cheney was instrumental in promoting our incursion into the oil soaked country of Iraq. Now through the miracles of mismanagement and unintended consequences, sectarian factions are on the cusp of an all out civil war while maniacs roam the streets of Baghdad using exploding burkas to defile mosques.
Although George W. Bush is the smirking face of this administration, by some accounts Mr. Cheney is the smirker-in-charge. Our publicly taciturn vice president began his political career working as assistant to Donald Rumsfeld in the Nixon White House. You may remember from your class in ancient history that in 1974 Mr. Nixon avoided impeachment by resigning amidst a swirl of alcohol, denials and disgrace. Mr. Nixon taught distrust to the impressionable Cheney and once said, “The press is the enemy.” Mr. Cheney never forgot those words and today whenever in the company of a reporter, he packs some serious heat.
Mr. Cheney relishes his role behind the scenes. As chief of staff for the exceedingly brief Presidency of Gerald Ford, Mr. Cheney’s Secret Service code name was “Backseat”. The Indian tribes in his home state of Wyoming gave him the code name “Pants Full of Buffalo Chips”.
While the president glad-hands the hoi polloi, Mr. Cheney acts. When Mr. Bush declaimed, "We do not torture," Mr. Cheney was busily lobbying the Senate to stop it from prohibiting torture. As a member of Congress, Mr. Cheney once voted to protect citizens' constitutional right to own armor-piercing bullets. This was not good news for his hunting buddies.
With the fall election season rapidly approaching, nervous republicans are less than enamored with the success rate of this administration’s initiatives. Regarding the war in Iraq Mr. Cheney famously said, “My belief is we will, in fact, be greeted as liberators...I think it will go relatively quickly.” He also said Clay Aiken rocks.
Now the pigeons have come home to roost with the on-going hurricane Katrina mess. A House committee made up of eleven republicans compiled a report grading the government on its response to the storm. It was aptly entitled, A Failure of Initiative. It stated that the actions of our government, in the highest offices, were on a skill level equal to approximately six bobble-head dolls and a poodle.
What is most disturbing about this failed response is that it comes four years after the September 11 attacks. If our government has not figured out how to aid the populace when they know a massive whirlwind is clearly on the horizon, how will they possibly respond effectively to a surprise terrorist attack? The committee concluded that the colossal failure to react was akin to staying in Las Vegas while knowing with certainty there will be another farewell performance by Cher.
In the latest public relations fiasco, it has been announced that a company from Dubai will be in charge of administrating some of our ports. Mr. Bush said no one told him this deal was in place. That alone is more frightening than squirrel soup. But the president has endlessly demonized “evil doers” which is thinly veiled code for “Arabs”. Now he must calm republicans and democrats as well as the guy who spit-cleans your car windshield. He says the good folks in the United Arab Emirates are our friends and everything will be okey-dokey. He also insists their oversight of tens of thousands of frighteningly unsecured freight containers is not the same as letting Mr. Cheney loose with a shotgun and a flock of sitting ducks.
The gang that couldn’t shoot straight: Part 2...
jt
February 15, 2006
The Gang that Couldn’t Shoot Straight...
Someone let Vice President Dick Cheney out of his bunker long enough for him to wreak a considerable amount of havoc on a quail hunting expedition in the wilds of rural Texas. Always on the lookout for bigger prey, the veep managed to take down Harry Whittington, a 78-year-old gray-crested lawyer. Ask any taxidermist and they will tell you that attorneys don’t make particularly attractive trophies. But Mr. Cheney said he considers them to be “mighty good eatin’” and added, “They taste like chicken.”
Not surprisingly, the secretive Mr. Cheney was slow to inform anyone of the mishap. His staff practically drilled themselves into the ground trying to “spin” the story to the vice president’s advantage. At first, they were going to let Condoleezza Rice make a presentation to the United Nations Security Council. There, she would show CIA satellite images focused on encampments of small fowl scurrying about hiding weapons of mass destruction under their feathers. The slide show would be followed by video of a heroic Mr. Cheney firing away at a dive-bombing covey of quail.
In this scenario, the hapless Mr. Whittington would be declared collateral damage. Realizing they didn’t have time to effectively manufacture all the pieces of the story, they reluctantly went with the truth. The White House issued this statement; while mixing up a pitcher of gin and tonic, someone in the vice president’s hunting party jokingly yelled, “Hey look, Ted Kennedy is here.” Instinctually, Mr. Cheney turned and fired.
Adhering to this administration’s policy of, “we don't need no stinking badges”, Mr. Cheney went on his Lone Star safari without the appropriate hunting license. This is standard operating procedure for a man who believes he and his boss can do and say whatever they please at home or abroad no matter what the consequences, even if they are unintended.
After promoting a democratic election in Palestine, our feckless team in the White House was shocked when they discovered that the terrorist organization Hamas came out on top in the voting. At first, President Bush could not understand how a dip for pita bread could win an election. He got it after Laura Bush offered up a careful explanation and glass of warm milk. Wanting a different outcome, the Machiavellian crowd in Washington is hatching a plan to destabilize the freshly minted Palestinian government. Our boys know how to get the election results they want, even if it means a “do-over”.
It turns out this group can’t get anything right and then lies about it. Right after the Katrina disaster, Mr. Bush said no one could foresee that the levees in New Orleans would fail. Not true. As it turned out, not only did everyone know they could fail, the White House knew that they were failing during the storm. Now, an inept FEMA, run by world class “buck-passers”, is telling the displaced victims of the hurricane that the government will no longer supply them with hotel rooms. After all, we’ve spent almost 500 million dollars on that. At the same time, the administration is playing down the fact that a week or so in Iraq cost that much and more. Add the price of shooting lessons for Mr. Cheney and, ah, well, we’re a bit short this month.
Once you get used to it, lying becomes habitual. It doesn’t matter whether it’s about National Guard service or the real reasons for our incursion into Iraq. This administration bends the truth like none before it. Even Bill Clinton finally copped to playing hide the cigar with Monica.
Oprah Winfrey, the diva of daytime television and queen of all book clubs, took A Million Little Pieces author James Frey behind the woodshed and opened a can of whoop-ass on him. This after his inspirational memoir turned out to be largely fictional. I have to ask, when will the country do the same with Mr. Bush?
The Gang that Couldn’t Shoot Straight...
jt
September 25, 2005
Damage Control...
As he sat in front of a group of grade school children on September 11, 2001, George W. Bush looked like a deer caught in the headlights. The widely traveled story is that he was reading to the class. In fact, that tall tale was created out of whole-cloth by the president’s spin-master Karl Rove. The assembled press corps that witnessed what really transpired that day were quickly whisked to a detention camp in Guantanamo Bay. There, they were forced to listen to Jimmy Buffet albums as they were browbeaten into silence by a group of young republicans.
Only Mr. Bush’s inner circle knew that the president was not a guest in the classroom, but that he was actually enrolled at the Emma T. Booker Elementary School. Just after his morning cookies and milk, he was giving yet another report on what he did on his summer vacation. Previously, Ronald Reagan held the record for most vacation days by a “Leader of the Free World”. Although that feat was seemingly insurmountable, Mr. Bush has exceeded it with ease. And amazingly, he has a stunning three years to go in his term. Although there have been accusations of steroid use, the democrats have been unable to prove anything.
It should be no surprise that when the devastating hurricane Katrina roared into New Orleans and Mississippi, Mr. Bush was down on the Crawford, Texas ranch taking another break from Washington and the hard work of bungling the war in Iraq. In fact, even as one explosion after another rocked Baghdad, pretty much the entire Bush team was out of the office frittering away the waning days of summer. Even with the impending natural disaster predicted on virtually every TV channel and with stunning accuracy by the National Weather Service, FEMA and the rest of our government fiddled while our “Rome” burned.
After the magnitude of the disaster was apparent to all and talk of reconstruction began, Mr. Bush announced that he used to get hammered in New Orleans. Good to know. He also said that no one could have predicted the damage to the levies. That’s when Mr. Rove reeled the president back in and informed him that virtually everyone knew the levies would break and sink. In an attempt at damage control, Mr. Bush recanted by saying no one could have predicted his Levis would shrink.
Stung badly by the fiasco in the Big Easy, the White House lead by Mr. Bush was ready to tackle hurricane Rita. As the latest tempest bore down on the southern states, the president planned to be at ground zero to greet the storm and show the nation that he cared about something beyond his daily two hour bike ride. Attempting to avoid the public relations mess still ricocheting around the empty streets of New Orleans, chief propaganda officer Mr. Rove informed the president that the Navy was arranging to have an aircraft carrier come into the picture at the height of Rita’s fury. The idea was to have the Commander and Chief land on the rain slicked deck and declare victory over evil-doer Mother Nature.
Despite this grand plan, the president changed his mind. While putting his flight suit on over his jammies, he turned on the TV. There he saw perpetually damp CNN reporter Anderson Cooper. Facing the howling wind and rain head on, Mr. Cooper traded in his safe spot in the newsroom to become the nation’s human wind-sock.
When Mr. Bush saw that he might actually have to come face-to-face with the reality of human suffering, flooding neighborhoods and flying livestock, he quickly decided to head to the safety of the Department of Defense’s Colorado Springs Command Center where from afar he would monitor the latest whirlwind as it bore down on the homeland. While watching satellite images of the impending catastrophe, Mr. Bush ate barbeque and then spent an hour doing Pilates.
The Bush clan is not known for mingling with the common folk. Once, Bush the Elder found himself in the unfamiliar confines of a supermarket. After the secret service cleared the jams and jellies isle of potential assassins, George Herbert took his Smuckers to the cashier at the checkout counter. There he asked what the beeping sound was. Turned out he had never seen an automated grocery scanner or a black person.
Inexplicably, someone let Barbara Bush out of the knitting room. After seeing all the evacuees ensconced in the Astrodome she said, "And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this--this (she chuckles slightly) is working very well for them." This typically Bushian statement makes Marie Antoinette look like a humanitarian; further evidence that the splinter doesn’t fall far from the blockhead.
Damage control...
jt
August 27, 2005
A Brief History of Intelligent Design...
Once upon a time, after sniffing some bodacious frankincense, a few guys took it upon themselves to create a bible by writing down the word of God, as well as every known Led Zeppelin lyric. Most believe their first draft read, "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." But a few dedicated scholars know that in fact the epic tome originally started with, “Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true. Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.” Later, they met Phil Collins who convinced them to call their first book Genesis.
A few epochs came and went and the creationists arrived on the scene believing all life has been crammed into roughly six or ten thousand years. According to them, life started with Adam and Eve. For those of you who missed catechism class, they were the happy-go-lucky sitcom-couple who were on a few seasons prior to the Honeymooners.
Adam and the little woman lived in an idyllic suburb called the Garden of Eden where their neighbors were the Flintstones. There, school vouchers and cappuccinos were plentiful and gasoline cost a buck-fifty a gallon. With fig leaves discretely Velcroed over their nether regions, the two frolicked innocently while Bambi and Thumper played nearby.
Meanwhile, the other side of the gorge was less swell. In “that” part of town the dark and bearded Cavemen had to hunt, gather and watch cable re-runs of Paris Hilton on The Simple Life. They also spent much of their day avoiding the occasional rampaging Tyrannosaurus or the all too frequent drive-by spearing.
According the creationists, during the crusades the peskiest lizards were chased into Africa. But at some point during the 1950’s, innocence was lost when a snake managed to get past security and slither across the divide. Selling oranges and bags of apples on a street corner, the reptile corrupted Adam and Eve, thereby driving down property values.
This compressed world view is not looked upon favorably by most scientists or intellectuals. And no wonder. If the theory of evolution and the norms of science are tossed out of a Kansas high school window, then a lot of PhDs are going to be looking for work at the Wal-Mart. Nonetheless, the empirical crowd has made inroads in dispelling one of the creationist’s most sacred beliefs; that little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice, while little boys are made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails.
Bracing for a fight between the students of complex science and the faithful who hold dear the stories contained in the Cliff’s Notes friendly bible, the creationists had to come up with a new tactic. Florida State University philosophy professor Michael Ruse said, “and the new tactic was intelligent design or what I call creationism light."
The theory of intelligent design says life on earth is too complex to have developed through evolution, implying that a higher power must have had a hand in creation. This “theory” is gaining some traction. Gallup surveys have shown that about 45 percent of Americans believe the Earth was created by God within the past ten thousand years. These same people believe in the Tooth Fairy and that Pauly Shore actually had a career.
Apparently, not much has changed from early man to the Greeks to the present. When no one understood the cause of thunder, frightened Athenians created a god named Zeus who ruled the sky. From his pantheon, he just loved to tweak the locals. Once, at the 18th hole of the Acropolis Open, a player was in the midst of his back-swing when he was suddenly sent to Cloud-Cuckoo-Land by a lethal lightning bolt. The sizzling electrical event was too complicated and mysterious for either men or women of the time to comprehend. Thus they reasoned, the deadly-bogey clearly had to be the work of Zeus. Tra la, early intelligent design!
The natural world is complex. The structure of cells and the mysteries of life continue to boggle the mind. But no matter how daunting, over time man will likely figure most of it out. The real miracle is even if we don’t, those not bound by narrow thinking will not give up their quest for knowledge by simply writing it all off to the work of a supernatural intelligence.
When a religious holier-than-thou loudmouth such as Pat Robertson suggests we should assassinate the president of another country, it’s hard to believe there is anything approaching “intelligent design”. On the other hand, GW Bush famously proclaimed, “The jury is still out on evolution.” You know, when I look into his eyes, I might have to agree.
A brief history of intelligent design...
jt
July 31, 2005
The National Pastime...
I grew up in Detroit where as a young teenager my summers were filled with bright humid days and where from morning until dusk my friends and I played sandlot baseball.
In the short break between games, I ran home to quickly eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on rye bread and to gulp down icy glasses of lemonade made by my mother from concentrate. I then raced back to the diamond where I tried to live out my fantasies of ninth inning heroics. With a man on third and our team down by a run, I would get the game-winning hit. In the real world of ballgames, not all dreams come true.
While I may have occasionally struck out in the batters’ box, I had better luck a few blocks from our dusty infield with a slender brunet who I knew from school. She and I shared the boredom of homeroom by trading flirtatious adolescent notes; hers with little smiling faces drawn over the letter “i”.
On stormy mid-western afternoons when our ballpark turned muddy, I eagerly rode my bicycle to her house. In the basement rec room, built by her father in his evenings after work and paneled with real yellow-knotty-pine, she and I would sit on an old sofa making-out while upstairs her mother and friends played Mahjong and smoked mentholated cigarettes.
In the cool darkness with a slight smell of mildew and winter-woolens stored in mothballs filling the air, I earnestly tried to steal second base. Even with this minor league experience, it would be a few years later before I would hit my inaugural home run with a different girl on a different playing field.
The first time my father took me to a major league baseball game, the Tigers were at home against the reviled Yankees. We entered the stadium from the street, walking up a series of ramps to our seats. When I caught sight of the field, I was amazed. I had never seen grass so green, so perfect. And there were my heroes warming up, stretching and casually tossing baseballs back and forth with an élan my own teammates and I never quite managed to duplicate. Too many casual throws on our field of dreams ended up smacking a player somewhere other than his glove. Once, an errant toss plunked our shortstop hard in the forehead causing a perfect impression of a baseball and its seams to rise from his brow. After he regained consciousness, his mother was none to pleased.
My father and I found our seats in the grandstand. Sitting next to me with a copious quantity of pink flesh showing from the bottom of his t-shirt was a man loaded down with popcorn, hotdogs and beer. Each inning, after shouting obscenity laced insults at the umpires and visiting team, he added to his girth by munching on more food, swilled down with cup after cup of bitter smelling beer. He was asleep by the seventh inning stretch, snoring and leaning heavily in my direction. It was then I realized his national pastime was different than mine.
With baseball now dulled by four hour games and with the Red Sox finally the world champions; a new national pastime has caught on. This one exceeds any interest in pennant races or the statistic boosting effects of steroids. It is our on-going obsession with celebrity gossip.
As a nation, we have become fascinated with a group of largely self-absorbed people who if it weren’t for their fame, you probably would not want to know. How many of us would enjoy a house guest with wild-eyes who leaps around on the furniture expressing his love for a woman whose every word sounds scripted? Who would like to spend time with someone who schizophrenically becomes a finger-pointing deadly-serious drone espousing his religious beliefs and demeaning your knowledge of the world? Well truth be told, Oprah would.
Lately, the tabloid press and Monday morning water-cooler babble is filled with chat about Jude Law’s tryst with his children’s nanny. Is being too rich and handsome so boring that the actor was forced to take up with the hired help?
And why do we care? Do we relish the possibility that someone far more famous than we’ll ever be, is awash in scandal? Does that make us feel better about ourselves? What is the fascination with Angelina Jolie’s trips to the third world? Is it important that we know with certainty why the blonde Brad Pitt lurks in the background as Ms. Jolie acquires yet another child and escapes the realities of marriage and pregnancy?
Ignoring our ever crumbling civilization as reported hourly by CNN and Fox News, too many of us race to the supermarket to buy jumbo bags of potato chips, super-sized packages of cream filled cookies and quarts of not really imported ice cream. These refreshments are all intended for us to gobble up while watching a stream of celebrity gossip on oxymoronic “entertainment news” programs.
Personally I would rather see a well executed double-play, even with a snoring drunk sitting at my side.
The national pastime...
jt
July 17, 2005
And We’re Roving, Roving, Roving on the River...
I stand here today in front of you to announce that there has been a persistent and troublesome leak in your white house; one that threatens the very core of its structure. This spill has caused a stain that will not simply be painted over and could potentially lead to an infestation damaging to your way of life. Are these the comments of George W. Bush discussing his top political advisor and personal sycophant, Karl Rove? Not a chance. Unfortunately, it’s my contractor talking about some costly storm induced seepage causing musty odors often found in the homes of the elderly and in the basements of compulsive hoarders.
If you’ve been paying attention, you know that a few stray words, likely dribbled from the usually invisible Mr. Rove, have created an enormous ruckus and a golden opportunity for the NAALP (National Association for the Advancement of Liberal People). Unfortunately, it is almost certain the political southpaws will whiff at this slow-pitch chance to advance their party. This, primarily due to the fact they spend too many nights out at fundraisers for “Save the Newts” and any event where Barbara Streisand performs.
All the fuss is over career diplomat Joseph Wilson and his wife Valerie Plame. She was outed as a CIA operative by right-wing ideologue and hack columnist, Robert Novak. The question at hand is; who informed Mr. Novak or his source? Adding to the furor, Mr. Wilson has said the leak of his wife’s name was an attempt by the administration, in the form of a pudgy Mr. Rove, to discredit him. This happened after Mr. Wilson challenged the Bush White House assertion that Iraq’s Saddam Hussein was seeking materials necessary to make nuclear weapons when all along Hussein was just looking for a good recipe for macaroni salad.
Exactly who is Karl Rove? Relishing his life in the background, he is like the 1930’s radio character The Shadow who had the power to “cloud men’s minds”. Ironically, Mr. Rove speaks through our syntax challenged President whose mind already appears to be clouded.
In the early 1970’s Mr. Rove went to the University of Utah; only one of the colleges he attended without graduating. While his Mormon classmates were busily out collecting their wiggles of wives, a more secular Mr. Rove became obsessed with politics. The closest he would ever get to a date was a smudged dog-eared poster of Raquel Welch.
At a time when “Young Republicans” was an oxymoron, Mr. Rove campaigned hard to take oversight of the college based organization. Once in control of his little group of trolls, he did what any upwardly-mobile conservative-reactionary would do, he went to work for Richard Nixon’s band of dirty tricksters. His primary handler and mentor was soon to be convicted felon, Donald Segretti who was eventually caught poking around the Watergate Hotel without a reservation.
Jumping forward to the primaries during George W. Bush’s first presidential campaign, Mr. Rove was reputedly the brains behind a flurry of e-mails alleging that war hero John McCain had fathered an illegitimate black daughter. Here, Mr. Rove was at his sleazy best fostering complete lies for the benefit of his employer. He made his case against Mr. McCain by leaking pictures of the Senator with his black daughter. What went unsaid was this actually was McCain’s adopted black daughter. During this same period, the ever portly Mr. Rove spent time performing community service after copping a plea for stealing Ju Ju Bees from a baby.
Mr. Rove went on to refine Mr. Bush’s political strategy of, “Compassionate Conservatism”. A policy highlighted by the odd fact that it is neither. Mr. Bush continues to cut programs benefiting the poorest Americans. At the same time, he makes true hardcore conservatives like Pat Buchanan spin in their rumpled Brooks Brothers’ suits. Unlike a traditional conservative, the President is emptying the contents of Fort Knox at a rate that would make Michael Jackson blush. Of course, Mr. Jackson is unable to blush due to on-going medical procedures that make him look more and more like Raggedy Andy.
During Mr. Bush’s most recent campaign to spend as much time as possible at his ranch in Crawford, Texas, Mr. Rove was his constant voice. In the midst of a debate with pathetically mismanaged Democratic candidate John Kerry, something looking suspiciously like a large battery pack was noticed under Mr. Bush’s suit coat. Some suspected it was a device allowing Mr. Rove to remotely feed his boss responses to his opponent. Well, not exactly. At a top secret location in the Nevada desert, scientists working alongside the producers of Honey I Shrunk the Kids enabled Mr. Rove to sit in a small room that was carefully stitched onto Mr. Bush’s back.
As the story of the “leak” continues to hone in on Mr. Bush’s closest toady, the question will become whether or not Mr. Rove is set adrift to “protect” the bogus White House rationale for war in Iraq. But no one should underestimate what has been said by those who observe the give-and-take between Mr. Bush and the man he dubbed "the architect" of his 2004 re-election. Their relationship is something like that of an old married couple. There is bickering, tension, dependency as well as frequent moonlit walks down by the Potomac.
And we’re roving, roving, roving on the river.
jt
July 3, 2005
Wishful Thinking...
You are dangerously engaged in wishful thinking if you regularly consume butter-laden mashed potatoes while eating pork-rind garnished pot roasts, ignoring the possibility that this diet will likely clog your aorta and add immeasurably to the girth of your rear-end.
If during those potentially lethal feasts your faithful Fido sits patiently nearby staring intently and hopefully at your fork as it moves from your plate to your mouth, you are witnessing another version of wishful thinking.
When bosom baring American Pie semi-actress Shannon Elizabeth recently announced she is getting a divorce and half the post-adolescent males you know think they now have a chance to get her; that’s wishful thinking on a larger scale.
Wishful thinking can be described as interpreting facts and events according to what one would like to be the case rather than according to the actual evidence. This definition pretty much describes the daily activities of Chicago Cubs fans and a jury that believed Michael Jackson was simply a misunderstood white man with an innocent affinity for boys who wear jammies with trap doors.
However, if wishful thinking is intentional and done without regard for the facts, it is more likely disingenuous or a perversion of the truth. This makes George W. Bush, Karl Rove and Dick Cheney some of the greatest dreamers of all time. Unsubstantiated reports leaking from Washington stated the three men were seen in the Rose Garden holding hands, each wearing glitter-covered red slippers and clicking their heels together.
Their combined wish is that the public will continue to believe whatever it is they say. Lately, their proclamations are being met with growing skepticism. While Mr. Cheney insists Iraq is becoming more stable, an increasing number of car bombs are redecorating the cafés and landscape of Baghdad. Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Mr. Bush has been particularly repetitive in his attempt to prove the war in Iraq is connected to the attacks on 9/11. Privately, he has also focused his rhetoric on trying to prove his stay in the White House isn’t just an Ivy League fraternity prank gone horribly wrong.
Journeys from the realm of reality are equally pervasive beyond the Washington Beltway. Tom Cruise recently unfettered himself from his professional public relations team and is now represented by his sister. Apparently, she is unable keep the vertically-challenged mega-star from saying whatever crosses the vast empty expanses of his mind. Historically, Hollywood stars have had their images carefully controlled by studio bosses, managers and plastic surgeons.
Through Scientology Mr. Cruise has “cleared” himself of those boundaries. He is a true believer of the so-called religion which emanates from the science fiction writings of second rate author L. Ron Hubbard. Like other zealots who believe they have found a panacea for life, Mr. Cruise wishfully thinks the rest of the world should follow his path. Most recently, he confronted hapless television personality-cum-newsman Matt Lauer. During the interview, Mr. Cruise insisted that psychiatry was a pseudo-science. He argued that Scientology, where the faithful have their mental state analyzed while holding two tin cans, is the genuine highway to peace of mind. He failed to mention that holding two cold 40-Ouncers of malt liquor can lead to the exact same result.
While out on the PR trail flogging his latest film, Mr. Cruise has used the opportunity to hop and leap from one TV talk show couch to another announcing his love for actress Katie Holmes. Many tabloid newspapers have offered up the possibility that this relationship is designed to highlight the toothy leading man’s masculinity. They have opined this in an attempt to exploit rumors that his sexual preferences are not what they seem. No matter what Mr. Cruise’s personal interests may be, unlike Michael Jackson, at least they lean toward adults.
If Mr. Cruise ever confesses a desire to perform Oklahoma in dinner theater rather than continue as an action hero star, he can find help from another group engaged in wishful thinking called Focus on the Family. This group of über-Baptists believes homosexuality can be “repaired” by the love of God. Of course, God had his own issues with his son whose final meal was attended only by men.
If this group of narrow thinkers lead by right-wing evangelist James Dobson is wrong, President Bush is ready to step in and call for a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage. He also wants to ban Capri pants for men and words with more than three syllables.
Wishful thinking...
jt
June 19, 2005
That New Time Religion...
From a very early age, the meaning of religion escaped me. As a young boy, my father’s father took me to an orthodox synagogue. Echoing in that dusty place, the archaic language of Hebrew sounded as if the 200 hunched-over men of the congregation were trying to dislodge phlegm from their throats. That turned out to be true; given it was a particularly harsh flu season.
With the disturbing sounds of the hacking devout still ringing in my head, we returned to my Grandmother’s house where she was preparing our holiday dinner. In the kitchen, it appeared as if she had somehow managed to beat aside Wylie Coyote to capture the Road Runner. On top of the stove, for all to see, were two fowl’s feet sticking out of a pot of boiling soup. Also in the kitchen was an overcooked brisket of beef and a drunken uncle.
If that scene wasn’t unpleasant enough, I was then forced to wear an irritatingly stiff blue wool suit. Squirming uncomfortably, I sat through an endless dinner accompanied by a telling of the Jews’ 40 year exodus into the desert. As the tale was told, they ultimately ended up in Palm Springs where they joined a country club and invested heavily in white patent leather. The dinner continued on longer than a Wagnerian opera, but with fewer jokes.
A few years later, I was sent to Hebrew school to learn the language of my forefathers. To me, each word had the coarse sound of an insult. As a skinny bespectacled kid, I was already the victim of endless barbs from my schoolmates. So, I chose not to pay attention. During those sessions, all I discovered in the Old Testament was that the ancient tribes learned how to get out of town quickly and then locate a good place to buy discount furniture.
The final activity regarding my religious training involved preparing for a Bar Mitzvah, an event promoted as a ritual where 13 year old Jewish boys are ushered into manhood by reading from the holy scrolls. The service is held in front of friends, family and the occasional passerby who is looking for a free glass of cheap wine and a cookie.
In reality, the ceremony was less about religious meaning than it was an opportunity to collect envelops filled with gifts of money and discounted savings bonds. At what would now be called the “after party”, I was able to dance extra close to a blossoming girl who would otherwise never talk to me at school. Now that had meaning. However, nothing comes without a price. To acquire access to this bounty, I had to endure getting my butt pinched by old maiden aunts. Each of whom had an overpowering aroma of too much perfume coupled with a hint of mothballs.
The Bar Mitzvah was simultaneously a blur of stage-fright induced panic and newly arrived puberty. With these memories firmly etched into my adolescent mind, I quickly abandoned any further practice of religion. However, I am still fascinated by grown men who dress up as the Easter Bunny and symbolically lay eggs. Clearly, this is something from the Newer Testament where meanings are often distorted for use in Crusades, the US Congress and justifying playtime with choir boys.
Screaming from the tabloids and from Oprah Winfrey’s couch was the news that after only a few dates, the actors Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes were madly in love with each other. With Mr. Cruise as it’s most high-profile and fervid believer, another controversial religious organization has popped into the headlines. It is the 50-year-old Church of Scientology. Based on science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard’s Dianetics, his methodology supposedly relieves, or “clears”, the faithful of their psychosomatic illnesses. Many lawsuits purport that the church more effectively relieves church goers of their money than their neuroses.
Not surprisingly, it’s remarkably popular in Hollywood where most people join-up thinking its practices are based on “diuretics” and attend meetings hoping they will lose excess water-weight.
Another of Hollywood’s biggest proponents of Scientology is John Travolta. After years of attending Church sessions, Mr. Travolta is completely “clear”. Now in his own version of “real-life”, he has taken on the persona of an airline pilot. Approaching the size of the late Marlon Brando, it is necessary for him to live in a house resembling an airport terminal. His idea of a good time is dressing up in a “Captains” uniform and flying his own personal Boeing 707 through the carryout window at Jack in the Box. There, he picks up orders of tacos, burgers and extra crispy fries.
Why Scientology takes more criticism than other religions confuses me. True, they lack the robes, the swinging incense, the shouts to prayer and bingo. But like the others, their “Bible” is available in paperback and from Amazon.com. And also like the others, it is a combination of faith, wishful thinking and made up stories. All very much like Tom and Katie’s first date.
That new time religion...
jt
June 5, 2005
So Near, Yet So Far...
While some of you were spending your school days wadding up spitballs preparing to annoy your classmates, you may have missed an illuminating little tale from Greek mythology. That was the period in ancient history where the gods ruled and many a priest eagerly attended Michael Jackson’s Saturday afternoon toga and boy tossing parties. During the same era, ads for the Trojan War were banned from the playbills at the Dionysian Theater. The censors were members of an early chapter of a group called Focus on the Family that mistakenly thought that a battle of condoms was about to ensue.
The story from school was about a fellow named Tantalus. He was trying to trick a few Olympian gods back into their older identities by offering them a sacrificial-banquet of human flesh; sort of like a sushi bar without the seaweed and shouting chefs. Although not widely known by Greek scholars, descended from the victims of those bone-picking parties are Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Ritchie; two girls who along with Mary Kate Olsen have brought new meaning to the phrase “skinny dipping”.
Needless to say, Tantalus’ activities annoyed everyone over at the Acropolis where the Socrates “Hemlock Party” was in full swing. After receiving their gift bags filled with free bottles of Ouzo and the latest designer sandals, the Athens elite strolled over to the other side of town where Tantalus was enduring his punishment. He had to stand in a pool of water beneath a fruit tree with low branches. Whenever he reached for the fruit, the branches raised his intended meal away from his grasp. Whenever he bent down to get a drink, the water receded before he could get any. As any of you who have watched Pamela Anderson’s new television series know, this is the proverbial temptation without satisfaction.
Most of us only dream of feeding the gods the cretins and miscreants we endure each day. Well OK, except for Jeffrey Dahmer who took things into his own hands, and kitchen. However, the mere thought of such activity causes us to suffer the same fate as Tantalus. We stand in a communal pool of water where the objects of our desires are often maddeningly just beyond the grasp of our earthly reach.
In the latest age of “tantalization”, both men and women are inundated with images of lifestyles and glittering objects the vast majority of us will never obtain. Splashed across the covers of weekly magazines are permanently unwrinkled faces, the latest chirping electronic gear, recipes for endless youth and gorgeous celebrities all in love with each other. At least that’s what their press agents tell us. But who really believes that Tom Cruise is more in love with Katie Holmes than he is with himself?
Despite the non-stop lists of what we absolutely must have to lead a fulfilled life, we should be careful what we wish for. By way of example, modern science has made available to men, virility on demand. One little pill and a guy can rise to any occasion. It is with no small amount of irony that that the FDA has launched a probe into reports that use of these medications might induce the loss of sight. Who would have ever guessed that our elders’ warnings may have actually been true? Apparently, too much artificially induced activity in our nether regions can indeed cause you to go blind.
Women have always suffered from the sight of impossible ideals in magazines where the models and movie stars have been airbrushed and coifed to perfection. Then throw in the catty personal questionnaires and the hapless reader discovers what she already knows; her life doesn’t measure up. No doubt, this is why there are so many fans of the tabloid press. Women want to revel in the knowledge that Jennifer Aniston’s life is not absolutely perfect and that soon, banjo music will play in the background as a very pregnant Britney Spears waddles through the door of her trailer.
Men face the same pressures. Once there was only a pajama clad Hugh Hefner publishing his monthly volume of unattainable young women. Now there are scads of hipper versions of his magazine. Each new edition tells its readers that if you wear the trendiest clothes, crunch your six-pack and buy the carbon-fiber roof-rack for your kayak along with the correct bass-pounding sound system, then you too will party with the dazzling bikini clad girls from a beer commercial. More often than not, the average wannabe never connects in real life with anything close to these fantasies and in thinking about them too much, risks the loss of his vision.
So near, yet so far...
jt
May 22, 2005
A New Pair of Glasses...
Very early in the third grade, I was told that I was severely near-sighted. Other than not being able to see the teacher or her chalk scrawling, I had no idea my vision was any different from the other kids’. Although in the schoolyard, I had a propensity to get hit in the face with one of those big red rubber bouncy balls. I imagined it was just because I was preoccupied with memorizing those “duck and cover” drills we practiced endlessly. Our teachers wanted us to be fully prepared just in case the Russians dropped an atomic bomb on our school and we had to hide under our radiation proof wooden desks.
Inside or out, without glasses, my world was an Impressionistic painting. This was particularly disturbing as I was a devotee of abstract expressionism.
Noticing my continually distant stare, my mother was the one who suspected something was wrong and took me to the doctor. There, the nurse asked to see my old glasses. I didn’t have any. It was then I suspected that the girl in the next row at school may have been something other than that. After being fitted for my new peepers, I discovered “she” was actually an effeminate boy who ultimately went on to Broadway to star in Cats.
Before designer frames, glasses were like Henry Ford’s early automobiles. Generally, you could have them in any color as long as they were black. My mother picked the pair that went best with my strictly parted haircut and there I sat, just turned eight years old and too stunned to offer up any sort of coherent protest. I instantly became a poster-child for “pencil necked geeks” everywhere.
When most kids are very young, their facial features are not fully developed. I however had and still have a nose which looks as if it was purchased from the Cyrano de Bergerac Collection. Now, imagine thick black glasses planted on top of that protrusion. If I had painted on a mustache, I would have looked like a pre-adolescent version of Groucho Marx.
A couple days later, I was summoned to the principal’s office. I feared that my fantasy about jamming a jar of white paste into the ear of the bully who sat in front of me in class had somehow leaked out of my head and I was now doomed.
I had no idea what I had done to deserve an un-requested hall pass to the Big Man’s office. When I arrived, I was horrified to see both my parents sitting there grinning. How awful was this going to be? Even at the age of eight, I realized that too many smiling adults likely meant someone didn’t want to create a scene while a random kid was carted away to an institution.
Back then, my grades were pretty good, mostly because I had done an analysis for my teachers on the protagonists from my early readings of Dick and Jane. I said they had real issues which were being suppressed by conformity. Also shaping their lives were too few verbs and an almost complete lack of adjectives. And, they were spending far too much time with their dog Spot instead of socializing or at least reading something substantive such as Marcel Proust. I went on to say that both were certain to end up in unhappy marriages and suffer from substance abuse; likely a combination of tranquilizers and martinis. This seemed to resonate with my elementary school faculty.
Despite the scenarios swirling inside my little head, I had never acted out any of my growing hostilities toward the endlessly threatening numbskulls in my class. So, with my parents bursting with pride, I was told that I was going to pass “Go” and completely skip the third grade. Overnight, I would go from being the youngest least mature kid in my class to the really youngest and least mature kid in the fourth grade. And, I was still barely eight years old. Added to the equation was a new pair of coke-bottle-bottom lenses plopped in front of my squinting eyes. Trying to absorb it all, I desperately looked for somewhere to “duck and cover”.
Though my new teacher was now clearly in focus, he was not much more illuminating than my third grade instructor. On a less blurry front, I did not confuse the cute “older” girl a couple of rows away with any young man who may have had dreams of a future in musical theater.
During the intervening years I’ve always worn glasses. With the latest technology, it’s continually suggested that I try the newest form of corrective laser surgery. The idea of having a million dollar George Lucas inspired light scalpel whittle away at my eyeballs doesn’t thrill me, but the truth is, after all this time I only know me as someone who wears glasses. But it might be interesting to sit under a machine that can liberate me from my myopia and simultaneously remove any unwanted moles.
Recently, I bought yet another new pair of glasses. And the old feelings never go away. I worry if they’ll make me look silly, but I also wonder if they’ll allow me to skip a grade.
jt
May 8, 2005
Some Kind of Miracle...
Because so many German automobiles cruise southern California roads, Los Angeles has been called, “Berlin with Palm Trees”. All one has to do is look at any line of cars cueing up in front of trendy restaurants and hotels across the city to see many of the Fatherland’s finest four-wheeled exports. More surprising is how willing their owners are to hand over the keys to their pricey machines to valets who likely possess neither a driver’s license nor green card.
Recently, a bunch of self-proclaimed patriots formed a volunteer border patrol group called the Minutemen. Initially, their goal was to guard parts of our nation’s shared fence-line with Mexico against illegal incursions. Now every night, the mission of these concerned citizens is to prevent hoards of terrorist gardeners and red-vested parking attendants from crossing into our promised land. However, under pressure from Hollywood liberals, they have been ordered not to fire at anyone backing a Porsche into a parking space.
I admit to driving a relatively modest German sedan and I have mixed feelings about it. The vehicle combines a heady combination of 21st century technology, leather upholstery and a folding cup-holder more complex than a Rubric’s cube. However, I am ever fearful that one day I will put the key into the ignition and the windows and doors will seal shut while the radio blares, Deutschland, Über Alles.
Adding to my misgivings is the fact that my Autobahn cruiser may have been assembled by a cousin of the freshly minted Pope. It’s been widely reported that the new Pontiff was a member of the Nazi youth corps. Absolving himself, the Pope said he participated because it was mandatory. “Mandatory” is when your dentist tells you to floss every day or your teeth will end up in a glass on the night stand next to your bed. You’ve got to think that joining Hitler’s boy scouts was more of a lifestyle choice. In addition to wearing the khaki shorts, knee socks and sharply pressed shirts, the members got to roast schnitzel over a roaring campfire. Then after a few games of naked Dodge Ball, everyone held hands and chased the Jews across the Polish countryside.
This knowledge about the newly elected Pope’s early years may have caused the College of Cardinals to audibly gasp when they discovered they had chosen the German holy man as their leader. It’s also possible the collective gulp was caused by the news that Michael Jackson had decided to host a sing-a-long with the Vienna Boys Choir.
The negative hubbub got the Church’s public relations mill churning at full speed. The Vatican PR team quickly realized that it might be good idea to draw attention away from the dicey past of the new Catholic spiritual leader. Their strategy was to raise the notion that the dearly departed Pope John Paul II should be put on a fast track to sainthood. To become a saint, one must perform a miracle. Under that criterion, a glow-in-the-dark statue on the dashboard of your car will soon be a replica of Robert Blake’s attorney.
It’s open to debate whether or not John Paul performed any miracles. But lying quietly all those days in Saint Peters Cathedral with thousands of tourists and the faithful traipsing by crying, genuflecting and taking pictures with their cell phones; well, I have to say he had the patience of a saint. I mean he didn’t even scratch his nose once.
Roughly sixty-four hundred miles to the east of the heart of the Catholic Church is another Mecca, this one is more than a bit tawdry. It is the aforementioned city of Hollywood; a place where most inhabitants are not known for their saintliness. There, one street is itself a shrine where pilgrims from around the world flock— the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Embedded in the granite are memorials to the heroes of show business; greats such as Greta Garbo, Groucho Marx, Carole Lombard, Alfred Hitchcock, Steve McQueen and Grace Kelly. For some mysterious reason a new personality was just added to this pantheon. Although his career runs through Fox Television, it is not nearly as controversial as a Pope who once skipped rope with Arian supremacists. Nonetheless one has to ask, how does a cue-card reader in the form of saccharin Ryan Secrest deserve this sort of recognition? For you skeptics and non-believers, that is some kind of miracle.
jt
April 20, 2005
Ethics and Morality, Oh My...
Each day, as I search for my own personal Emerald City, my sensibilities are regularly detoured through a threatening forest where the morality police stand on every stump. While Dorothy’s leafless woods was a frightful and dangerous place, it was downright idyllic compared to what lurks in our Congress. There, the congregation is led by a pair of men who want us to live in their particular hidebound version of Oz; a city where they believe God is behind curtain number one. The two faith-mongers are House majority leader Tom DeLay and his counterpart in the Senate, majority leader Bill Frist. Don’t share their conservative religious beliefs? Well be careful, or they will reach out and get you, my little pretties.
Much like the trees along Toto’s rough and bumpy road, something is going on with the nation’s leadership that requires some serious sniffing. Currently, smelling up the People’s House is Tom DeLay. Another dreary bible beater, Representative DeLay presents his holier-than-thou persona while ignoring any approved congressional rules of behavior. Worse, in the House cafeteria, he is known as a lousy tipper.
Last year, he was admonished three times by the House ethics committee. Small stuff like letting special interest groups pay his wife and daughter a half-million bucks to work for his political action and campaign committees. His unrepentant supporters said, “All the other guys do it.” That pretty much sums up the entirety of my excuses from the seventh grade.
Ignoring the criticism, Mr. DeLay led the congressional charge to pass a bill to keep Terri Schaivo alive by allowing the federal courts to hear her parents’ appeals. Holding the constitution down with his foot, he waved the Holy Scriptures and ranted about the right to life. He wanted Ms. Schaivo’s feeding tube to remain in place even though the state of her mind was on a par with a typical fan of an ABBA tribute band.
Adding to the hysteria was Senator Frist. Although he is a trained physician, Dr. Frist is not a neurologist and never examined Ms. Schaivo. Still, he argued that Florida doctors had erred in saying she was in a “persistent vegetative state”. He said, "I question it based on a review of the video footage which I spent an hour or so looking at last night in my office." He went on to say, "She certainly seems to respond to visual stimuli." He also announced if you send him a photograph of your aging aunt Millie, he will diagnose why after she pinches your cheek, she asks, “Who are you?” Further damaging his credibility, he later reported watching a tape of the film Gigli and said, “Ben Affleck certainly seems to be acting”.
Now playing the morality card, Senator Frist is inciting action against those who oppose President Bush’s judicial nominees. His primary targets are Democrats who don’t uphold his particular religious world view. Leading the Jihad for the “family values” crowd, he says those who oppose right-thinking judges are against people of faith. Not your faith, only the faith of the didactic Senator and his allies. This is the same man who as a young surgeon went to animal shelters benignly saying he wanted to rescue cats. He then used them in his medical experiments. If you still think it’s too soon to lock up Fluffy and the kids, then you haven’t been paying attention.
Speaking of locking up the kids, if you can’t trust a pop star with your children, who can you trust? Rhinoplasty addict and Neverland resident, Michael Jackson has been accused of molesting a young cancer victim. Worse than inappropriate tickling, worse than searching in the boy’s pants for a dropped Gummy Bear, worse than making the boy listen to Tito’s solo album, the boy’s mother reports seeing Mr. Jackson lick her son’s head like a cat. Where is Senator Frist when you need him?
Ethics and morality, oh my...
jt
April 9, 2005
There’s No News Like New News...
Until today, the magnitude of the Pontiff’s death was lost on me. The enormity of the moment only became clear as I drove past Our Lady of Chicken McNuggets. There, in a gentle afternoon breeze, almost looking as if it had been placed there by the Vatican was something you don’t see everyday; the iconic red flag emblazoned with the golden arches flew solemnly at half-staff.
This said more to me than the sight of George W. Bush prayerfully kneeling a few feet away from the expired Pope. Afterward he said, “I felt I was in touch with a spirit.” Later, it was determined the “feeling” was caused by a lonely priest who stood uncomfortably close to the President.
Always up for a photo opportunity highlighting his own reverence, the President was compelled to attend the Pope’s funeral. Closer to home, he has been unwilling to face the less popular image of tearful American families. Somehow unable to find the time, Mr. Bush has never appeared at a service for even one soldier returned from Iraq in a flag draped coffin. His priorities indicate he is more comfortable being connected to god than reality.
Looking for more favorable press, he will soon travel to California to pay his respects to a chili-stained finger lying in state at a Wendy’s. In a brief update, newscasters are reporting that authorities are investigating the woman who waved the detached digit at nearby diners. It seems she has a history of filing crank lawsuits. Nonetheless, you have to wonder where one acquires a lone finger. Is there a special section at the Wal-Mart near the chainsaws?
In death, the Pope did something even the price of gasoline, now approaching three dollars a gallon, couldn’t do; he knocked Terri Schaivo off the front page of the Daily Blab. Distracted by cat fights between the actresses on Desperate Housewives, most US citizens are seemingly incapable of keeping track of more than one headline at a time.
Moving on, the press readjusts its focus to the College of Cardinals where the holy men must decide who inherits the scepter and bulletproof Mercedes. Given the endless scandals surrounding priests, one can only imagine the hazing ceremonies at one of their wine and bread parties. This brings us to Michael Jackson.
Hearing accounts of the accusations against Mr. Jackson, it’s clear he missed his calling. A pop star’s fame is tenuous. All too often a cultural icon quickly goes from the front page to Page Six. Then without notice, signaling the approach of eternity, a trailer-park may loom on the horizon. Just ask Britney Spears. If he had known this, the fifth Jackson might have considered a life in the priesthood. There with the support of Cardinals and the Pope alike, his nefarious activities might have stayed hidden longer. Like many of the defrocked, he could have retired to a quiet life in the country and been given a nice hat. Now, he confides to both friends and family that his best hope is to end up in “juvie”.
Briefly brushing the front page, Prince Charles wed the love of his life. As a young man, he was busy trying to find a hairstyle to hide his genetically inbred ears. By the time he gave up this futile pursuit, his dear Camilla had married another. After many years, in a low-key ceremony, the long-time lovers managed to keep Elizabeth at bay and finally tie the knot. Fuming that her adulterous son would marry a divorcee, the Queen boycotted the civil ceremony. She stayed at home where she shuffled around the castle wearing an old ermine and an emerald tiara.
In August, at least one story will stick out from the summer doldrums. Hunter S. Thompson, acclaimed gonzo journalist and author who committed suicide in February, will have his final wish fulfilled. Knowing both the power of the press and how easily it can be manipulated, he has requested to have his ashes shot from a canon. His widow, Anita Thompson, says that it will be expensive, but "worth every penny." She said he loved explosions.
There’s no news like new news...
jt
March 27, 2005
There Is No Sanity Clause...
As the nation’s collective sanity continues to careen down a pothole filled highway, this week a milk carton landed on our doorstep with a picture of a missing finger on the side. An unsuspecting woman found her way to San Jose, California where she located the lost digit in a bowl of Chili at a Wendy’s restaurant. Making certain no one pointed the offending finger at them, a representative for the chain said, “All of our employees have ten digits.” Leaving no side dish unturned, police officers asked the workers to take off their shoes and socks while they counted everyone’s little piggies. Although all toes were in place, a member of the kitchen staff was caught with two orders of Buffalo Wings and a chafing dish hidden in his pants.
If this incident were not strange enough, Congress awoke from its own persistent vegetative state and tried to rescue brain damaged Terri Schaivo from her right to die. Leading the “more-pious-than-thou” charge were the brothers Bush. As usual, our President was vacationing in Crawford, Texas where he likes to strap on his spurs and chase the chickens around the hen house. Despite all the ruffled feathers, the roosters know later that night, unlike Mr. Bush, they are going to get some. Hearing that both Senators and Representatives alike were whipping out their bibles, Mr. Bush dusted himself off and headed back to Washington. Upon arrival, he took out his Bic and signed a bill that would allow a federal judge to rule on the fate of Ms. Schaivo.
After the federal courts repeatedly did the sensible thing and denied the woman’s parents the right to resume her feeding, Florida Governor Jeb Bush got up from his pew and launched into the fray. He attempted to take “custody” of Ms. Schiavo. If he proved successful, he promised to get her fed, although not likely at Wendy’s.
Thankfully, due to term limits, both Jeb and George are unable to run for their respective offices again. They have been quietly discussing a reality television series where they will travel across the country in horse drawn wagons. They plan to stop in every hamlet and burgh along the way. After presenting their raucous J & G Medicine Show & Revival Meeting, they’ll earn cash by selling autographed copies of the good book and snake oil.
Perhaps in the hope of keeping the Pope upright, the frequently science adverse Catholic church has recently sponsored some unorthodox laboratory work in Australia. There, researchers announced that the human nose could provide a steady supply of stem cells. This notion was first raised 32 years ago in a Woody Allen movie. No doubt the church was not paying attention to a Jewish director who is revered in god-doubting France.
Before again launching into his right-to-life rhetoric, President Bush reportedly did not consult his Svengali, Karl Rove. In this case, Mr. Rove certainly would have advised the President to leave his religious fervor in the bunkhouse. What the Bushes and their knee-bending friends did not anticipate is that a majority of clear-thinking Americans – even most conservatives – believe people in Ms. Schaivo’s condition ought to be allowed to die. So like all good politicians, the President quickly changed the subject.
Back in Crawford, President Bush awoke from a nap six days after the deadly school shooting on an Indian reservation in Minnesota. Belatedly, he touted the government’s response “at this tragic time”. This statement came only after some American Indian leaders complained he paid little attention to the killing spree. Of course, every time a gun is pulled, the National Rifle Association perks up. A top NRA official said, “All options should be considered to prevent rampages like the Minnesota school shooting that took 10 lives — including making guns available to teachers.” I am sure there is nothing you want more than Miss. Marzipan, your 10th grade home economics teacher, packing a Glock .45 along with her cupcake tin.
There is no Sanity Clause...
jt
March 7, 2005
Incomprehensible News at 11:00…
News cycles now have a shorter half-life than the probable length of Ashley Simpson’s career. Here today; on The Surreal Life tomorrow. The Asian tsunami is already old news. It only rises to the surface when some faded rock group mounts a half-hearted benefit to revive their career under the pretense of sending a few truckloads of Evian and Duran Duran t-shirts to Sri Lanka.
Articles detailing the on-going carnage still raging in Iraq barely hit the front page before they are sent into smaller print opposite ads for carpet store close-outs. The story about how the democratically elected leadership in Baghdad has more interest in furthering their relationship with the Ayatollahs in Iran than they do with our leaders in the White House teletypes urgently across the bottom of your TV screen only to disapear back into a computer. Meanwhile, NBC’s Brian Williams teases a story on how your voice-mail can be hacked just like Paris Hilton’s.
Is any of this troubling? Apparently not. According to the experts at Media Maven Research, our attention span now rivals that of a gnat. Oh sure, we are occasionally riveted by the random train wreck, but what really captures our interest is when The Insiders Pat O’Brien reports unsubstantiated rumors that it was Angelina Jolie’s lips that disconnected Brad from Jen. We then TiVo over to Access Hollywood’s Nancy O’Dell who wears a slinky form-fitting gown as she lets us know we should all be seriously worried about Cameron Diaz’s five pound weight gain. Even blustering self-aggrandizing Bill O’Reilly is spiked by such sensational counter-programming. Unnamed sources are reporting that he regrets turning down a couture designer’s offer of a little strapless red chiffon number to wear on his daily rant, The Factor. Slammed in the ratings, he’s now sorry he opted to buy “off-the-rack” at Macy’s.
Most recently, Martha Stewart’s release from West Virginia’s federal “Camp Cupcake” broke through our collective attention deficit. Weighty reports from the media filled the air as Ms. Stewart hopped into her caravan of SUVs on her way to a nearby tarmac where a private plane jetted to her Connecticut estate. Rumors flew back and forth that a plastic surgeon was there waiting to remove a small collection of prison tattoos she acquired during her incarceration. In particular, tongues were wagging over one which reportedly read, “Roxy Forever”. Her former cellmate was unavailable for comment.
Returning home, Ms. Stewart wrapped herself in the warm embrace of friends, pet horses, a quilted Ralph Lauren “black label” barn jacket, freshly brewed green tea, servants and six fireplaces. To prevent any unauthorized trips to pick up a fresh bit of camembert, she was visited by her parole officer who along with a representative from Cartier attached her custom-made government mandated ankle bracelet. This was reported in detail by Inside Edition’s Deborah Norville, who told her ex-con-wannabe viewers they could pick up a similar accoutrement from street-corner vendors for only $7.95.
For the briefest moment, Ms. Stewart pushed the Michael Jackson trial to page two. For those of you like me who had not been paying attention because you’ve been face down breathing into a brown paper bag trying to ward off a panic attack, Mr. Jackson is on trial for child molestation. The only people who are shocked by this are his fans. They somehow have not noticed Mr. Jackson’s steady and disturbing physical transformation from brilliant black pop artist to his current incarnation as Judy Garland. Really, put him into a pair of fishnet stockings, a white sequined jacket, throw a blue spotlight on him and you can hear, “Over the Rainbow”.
In court, the accuser’s father said, “(my son) was the one who asked Mr. Jackson, ‘Can I call you daddy?’ and he (Michael) said, ‘Of course’.” Fox News headlines screamed, “Who’s Your Daddy?”
In keeping government honest, James Madison called the press, "a bulwark of liberty." Now, the press has become a participant in a bizarre reality show where events of meaning are trivialized with symphonic music and computer generated graphics while all things inconsequential are super-sized.
Stay tuned for incomprehensible news at 11:00.
jt
January 22, 2005
Secrets Revealed...
Everyone has secrets. As I stumbled into adolescence, a close friend quietly told me that he always wanted to be Amelia Earhart. Although I was somewhat taken aback by this revelation, we remained chummy until the ninth grade. Then one day, he arrived at school wearing a smart little beret, sharply creased trousers and brass wings on his breast-pocket. While walking down the aisles of our homeroom passing out small bags of peanuts, he stopped at my desk and asked for my boarding pass. I knew it was time to seek out new acquaintances.
When exposed, some secrets are merely surprising. Others shocking. And some; almost expected. When an administration is led by George W. Bush, who has had fewer press conferences than any president since Truman, it should not amaze anyone that perhaps he doesn’t want to let the voters know what he and his cohorts are really up to. Also, his handlers don’t want Mr. Bush to engage in off-the-cuff conversations—unless crib notes are written on his sleeve.
Even John Dean, who was White House counsel for Richard Nixon, believes this is the most secretive administration in the history of the country. Take the case of conservative columnist and talk-show host Armstrong Williams. USA Today recently discovered that the Department of Education clandestinely paid Mr. Williams $240,000 to go on news programs to shill for the Administration’s “No Child Left Behind” program. There is no difference between Mr. Williams’ activity or what fat actress Kirstie Ally does when she is paid to go on the Jay Leno Show to surreptitiously hype Snickers Bars. But there is an ethical difference. Ms. Ally is being compensated by an advertising agency. Mr. Williams’ windfall comes from tax dollars gathered from you, me and an elderly couple in living in Miami.
Despite all efforts to keep some information closeted, secrets usually leak out. The American Family Association is accusing some liberals of making furtive under-the-sea payments to SpongeBob SquarePants to promote a gay agenda to youngsters. This is the same group of bible thumpers who think the Teletubbie Tinky Winky and Barney the dinosaur are spending too much time together in the West Village shopping at The House of Love and Leather.
Sometimes a code is employed to keep the real message from being understood. In the President’s recent inaugural address, there was an endless stream of biblical references that surely whizzed past the heads of those unfamiliar with scripture. So many in fact, that when the cameras caught brief close-ups of the crowd, one could see the faithful sitting in pews and mouthing, “Hallelujah”. Of course, the inspirational part of the President’s speech was just there to mollify his core supporters. The real and clear message was his desire to spread “liberty and freedom” around the world. He made it sound as urgent as the need to spread manure over the south forty in the springtime.
Here’s a frightening secret. Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney have been hatching this “freedom” plan since 1997. Long before the attacks on 9/11, these fellows were among the founders of a group called the Project for a New American Century. This organization has been proposing “military and economic domination of land, space and cyberspace by the United States, so as to establish American dominance in world affairs”. In essence, it is a Manifest Destiny for the 21st century. Even scarier, Mr. Rumsfeld and Mr. Cheney are secretly planning to open Donny & Dix, a chain of oyster and karaoke bars.
With the slick ease of a Three Card Monty artist, our team of Washington schemers works seamlessly. They found no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq or any links to 9/11. Then, as if this was the plan all along, they claim we are bringing freedom to the country’s oppressed population. Undaunted, they want to take their slight-of-hand to other countries around the world. And you and the couple from Miami will pay for it.
Freedom is everyone’s inalienable right. But we will all be ice skating in Hell before Mr. Bush takes on liberating any rights-starved Saudi men and women. Does anyone think he’ll ever attack his family’s close friends, the oil-gorged Sheiks of Arabia? Uh, sit down Condoleezza.
Here’s another not so startling secret. During an interview, Mr. Bush was asked if he thought spending 40 million dollars on the inaugural celebration was excessive in light of the daily deaths of our soldiers in Iraq and the ever-growing tsunami disaster in Asia. He responded by saying, “No, I think it will be fun.” It’s very early in the season and academy voters have yet to see all the 2005 nominees, but the President has just vaulted into the lead for the annual Marie Antoinette “Let Them Eat Cake” award.
Secrets revealed.
jt
January 15, 2005
Stupid is as Stupid Does....
As scientists ponder one of Saturn’s moons, theologians grapple with the spiritual question of how does a supposedly benevolent god allow the planet to crack and destroy the lives of hundreds of thousands. When the recent shattering earthquake lifted the floor of the Indian Ocean sending renegade waves rippling around the globe, the earth’s rotation was altered. In another time, primitives might have sacrificed a virgin to appease the gods of dirt and really heavy rocks. Today, with virgins in short supply; this is not only impractical, but illegal in 43 states.
Despite the current devastation, if you’re a regular reader of the daily papers, you know the world has been far off kilter for quite some time. For instance, how does anyone explain the fact that Forrest Gump somehow managed to become the President of the United States?
For many of us, sanity is an elective. No space-probes or seismometers are required to know that an ever growing segment of the world’s population is clearly off its collective rocker. The obvious evidence of this tilt is an endless torrent of stupidity.
Most recently, third in line to the British throne, Prince Harry showed up at a soiree nicely turned out in a Saville Row Nazi uniform. He likely found it in his great great uncle Edward’s closet. The glamorous Prince Edward and his love, Mrs. Wallace Simpson, thought Hitler was a swell guy and a good dancer. Years later, who would have imagined that fashion-conscious Harry would make arm-bands this year’s black? To her credit, the Queen whose fashion sense leans towards hats that look like parade floats wants to make headlines by taking a polo mallet to the young prince’s forehead.
Even though the British royals are notoriously dimwitted, one doesn’t have to travel abroad to locate the absurd. Our home-sweet-home has enough of the strange for everyone. This became clear in 1512 when Ponce de Leon traveled from Puerto Rico to Florida looking for the Fountain of Youth. Instead, he found a bunch of shrinking retirees driving eight year old Buicks. They greeted the graying explorer as one of their own. But before sitting down to an early bird dinner of left-over brisket and bits of slightly stale pastry, they asked him to sweep the porch.
More recently, the democratic national committee’s failed attempt to land their man in the White House revealed the tiny tip of their incredibly dumb iceberg. One campaign anti-genius thought windsurfing and allowing Mr. Kerry’s wife out of the house would add to the Senator’s likeability. That advisor is now selling 25 dollar Rolexes on Seventh Avenue.
Speaking of icebergs; this weather report just in. Cold-fronts, mudslides and violent storms are slapping our land of plenty. Forecasters say there’s an 80 percent chance that a chunk of glacier the size of Rhode Island will eventually visit your hometown. If this comes to pass, only Olympic ice-skaters will be able to get to work. This will certainly cause the demise of the human race. Let’s face it, a man who earns his living performing triple-axels in a sequined stretch pantsuit is unlikely to ever mate with Kristy Yamaguchi.
Not surprisingly, Television executives continue to make choices that would please any nitwit. Is anyone surprised that advertisers had a problem with a pilot called, Win a Date with Phil Spector. The guys from Queer Eye have a new series called, Desperate Houseboys. Animal Planet is trying to jump on the reality bandwagon. Their new show takes place in a smoke filled room where dogs play poker. After producing an episode of a new cooking show from the federal corrections facility in Alderson, West Virginia, Martha Stewart foolishly tried to escape by beating a guard with a pound cake. A new musical variety show is in development called, Live, with Ashley Simpson. And Michael Jackson’s remake of Kid’s Say the Darndest Things has been put on hiatus.
Stupid is as stupid does.
jt
January 1, 2005
So long 2004. Hello 2005...
Although each year seems to pass faster than the one before it, there is still plenty of time within any 12 months for unsettling events, stupidity and the incomprehensible. In recognition of that fact, here is my brief review of “twenty-aught-four”.
The year started off with a momentous happening that has already created a lasting effect on our society and culture. No, it was not George W. Bush’s State of the Union address. It occurred during the Super Bowl half-time show where Janet Jackson, for the briefest moment, bared her breast. This set off a round of clucking by the self-appointed arbiters of morality that was so severe, Homeland Security had to put Chicken Little on red-alert. It’s hard to know what the uproar was about. Half the population has breasts and the vast majority of the other half wants to be as close to them as possible.
Ronald Reagan died. Afterward, he used his frequent flyer miles to make well publicized visits to both coasts. He hit more towns than the Rolling Stones did on their last concert tour and he played to bigger crowds. To be fair, the Stones sold more t-shirts.
Around the world, the Catholic Church paid out hundreds of millions of dollars to settle child abuse cases. This likely prompted the making of Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ where Mr. Gibson showed Jesus being flogged for an hour-and-a-half. The film was made in the ancient language of Aramaic. This was to keep audience members from understanding the men in the crowd who surrounded the suffering savior while hissing, “hey, Jew boy.” Mr. Gibson is planning a more punishing sequel where Jesus is forced to attend an Ashley Simpson concert.
Inspired by a re-run of the original Star Trek, President Bush announced that America should send a man to Mars. Voters in the Blue States hoped it would be Karl Rove. Mr. Bush also said that he thought the Enterprise’s communications officer, Barack Obama was hot.
With his presidential campaign swamped by swift-boat ads and indecision, shocked and awed John Kerry walked into a bar. The bartender looked at him and said, “hey, why the long face”.
Across the country, Creationists were winning the right to have their point of view presented in classrooms next to scientifically established evolution. The key tenant of their philosophy is; little girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice, while little boys are made from frogs and snails and puppy dog tails. In one town, heavily populated by fundamentalist believers, the Tooth Fairy was made police commissioner.
Multi-multi millionaire Mary Kate Olsen turned 18. She decided not to spend any of her money on Quarter-Pounders and instead was treated for an eating disorder; ruining the fantasies of some men who hoped to take her out for an evening of dinner and roofies.
Bill O’Reilly made tabloid headlines when a female employee accused him of sexual harassment. During a deflating attempt at phone-sex, Mr. O’Reilly confused a loofah with a falafel. Later, the woman discouraged his desire to host a show on the Food Network.
In Detroit, during a basketball game between the Pistons and the Indiana Pacers, tempers flared and the players rushed into the stands where a hockey game broke out. Elsewhere professional hockey was on strike, so two fellows in Saskatchewan were sitting in their ice-fishing shanty watching the NBA game on the satellite. Enjoying the fisticuffs, they clinked their bottles of Molson and shouted, “shoot the puck, eh”.
Oprah gave everyone in her audience a new car. Not to be outdone, the Fox Network announced a new reality dating show. In it, all the participants will get a sexually transmitted disease.
In December, while vacationing in Crawford, Texas, President Bush was criticized for not reacting quickly enough to the horrific catastrophe that wreaked havoc in Sri Lanka, India and elsewhere. An official, speaking on the condition of anonymity, said when Mr. Bush heard that a devastating tsunami had hit Asia, the President could not figure out how so much damage could be caused by a piece of sushi.
There you have it. In 2004, events went from the ludicrous to the disappointing to the simply awful. No doubt 2005 will be just as astounding, eh!
A happy and safe New Year to all!
jt
December 15, 2004
The Donald...
Ever since the earliest wars raged across the planet, soldiers have been a disgruntled lot. Roughly 200 years ago, Napoleon Bonaparte's troops were no exception. While Parisians were refining the concept of "le cranky", le Petit Caporal's men hunkered down at the front complaining about the stale quiche and runny brie. To take their minds off the misery of battle and a life meaningless without truffles, Bonaparte tried to amuse his army by tapping his head and rubbing his stomach at the same time. Despite his antics, they were not amused even though they had the opportunity to see much of the Continent without having to pay so much as a single Franc for a Eurail pass. Mon dieu!
These days, leaders don't march off to battle with the hoi polloi. Instead, they hold press conferences. Occasionally, they are emboldened enough to accept questions from the uniformed ranks. Recently, career bureaucrat and buck-passer Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld decided to hear what the men and women in his charge had to say. One stalwart fellow stood up and asked why he and his comrades-in-arms had to scavenge piles of scrap metal to find armor for their vehicles. In a tradition distilled to an art by his boss George W. Bush, Secretary Rumsfeld managed to deflect blame. He offered up this little gem, saying, "You go into war with the Army you have, not the Army you might want or wish to have." Given that the administration picked the starting date for the war, this may be the "disingenuous" comment of the year. As this imperious group strolls into its second term, "government honesty" now draws ever closer to another oxymoron; "mildly psychotic".
It didn't take any time at all for Rumsfeld's lackeys at the Defense Department, along with the right wing idiot-brigade led by Rush Limbaugh, to squeeze through the woodwork and accuse a reporter of feeding the offending question to the soldier. Not surprisingly, they did not address why the question prompted rousing cheers from the rest of the gathered military crowd.
Secretary Rumsfeld once said, "I'm not into this detail stuff. I'm more concepty." Too bad the fighting personnel in the field don't have the same luxury. There, homemade bombs, rifle propelled grenades and high-powered ammunition are just some of the lethal "details" they have to cope with daily.
One of Secretary Rumsfeld's concepts was to found Project for the New American Century. This nifty organization has the immodest goal to "promote American global leadership". A year before 9/11, one of their leadership ideas was to invade Iraq. Their chairman is the editor of the conservative Weekly Standard which is owned by Fox News magnate Rupert Murdoch. Dick Cheney and the President's little brother Jeb are also members. Who thought playing connect-the-dots could be so much fun?War wise Napoleon once said simply, "The most dangerous moment comes with victory". Nineteen months after President Bush famously landed on the deck of an aircraft carrier declaring "mission accomplished", Secretary Rumsfeld continues to deny any problems with how the war in Iraq has been conducted. In an attempt to render the press brain-dead he said, "Reports that say that something hasn't happened are always interesting to me, because as we know, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns ? the ones we don't know we don't know."
Isn't it time the public hire The Donald; the real one with the cotton candy hair and the gorgeous model on his arm. We need him to demand that the Department of Defense Donald show up in the national boardroom, so we can all yell, "You're fired"!
jt
December 7, 2004
It’s a War Out There...
For those of you too young to remember, 1789 was a banner year. The United States Constitution went into effect and George Washington took office. Painfully, President Washington went through life without his own teeth or a middle name. Nonetheless, unlike the current GW, he parlayed his war record into political office.
Always up for a party, Paris Hilton’s great, great, great grandmother Philadelphia Hilton appeared at the first inauguration. Because the Chihuahua had yet to be invented, she arrived carrying a miniature raccoon in a chic imported handbag. On the blue carpet (red was for the Tories), she posed for the paparazzi who painted small watercolors of her. She then caught the eye of Benjamin Franklin who had recently returned from France. There, he was more beloved than Jerry Lewis. They thought it quaint the way he drooled his bouillabaisse while screeching, “Hey, mademoiselle!!
Mr. Franklin was the creator of the hundred dollar bill. He was also legendary for his way with women and for the resulting number of offspring. Some believe his dalliance with the original Ms. Hilton led to his demise. A little over a year after their encounter, he died. Admired by some as the real father of his country, twenty thousand people attended his funeral; most of whom were his children.
Another landmark event occurred in 1789. The US Postal service opened for business. After slogging through rain, snow and rush-hour traffic a disgruntled employee, weighed down by the Christmas issue of Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanac, returned to the post office. There, he promptly shot his boss.
Given the raucous state of the national mailroom and the burgeoning French Revolution, President Washington and company got down to business and created the War Department. This succinct and threatening name lasted until 1947 when the National Military Establishment was created; also known as the NME. Some of you who are fans of instant messaging and who also enjoy deciphering personalized license plates may have already guessed these initials read as “enemy”. Two years after it’s inception, the NME became the politically correct sounding Department of Defense.
Fifty-five years later, it may be time to create a Department of Offense. As a society we don’t simply attack problems, we declare war on them. There are so many on-going battles it’s hard to keep track. In the forefront is a cultural war led by crusading religious groups. These are the same people who at least once a year discover an image of Jesus on someone’s screen door. Righteously, they want to ban homosexuality, abortion and pictures of booty.
Then there is the “war on drugs”. It’s difficult to know what the national position is on this one. Hardly an hour goes by on prime-time television without an advertisement for a FDA approved balm promising cures for anxiety, pain or the occasional fungus. Got erectile dysfunction? There’s a product called Cialis. It was named by a Madison Avenue genius who during a night of lowered expectations found relief after he went to “see Alice”. But there is a darker side to this struggle. If you get your “medications” clandestinely on a street corner then you’re a losing combatant; a criminal. If however, you have a doctor’s prescription or a resourceful housekeeper, a cornucopia of drugs are available. Just ask right-wing ideologue and dope fiend Rush Limbaugh.
Of course, the most popular conflict is the “war on terror”. This one has the backing of just about everyone. Ignoring the issue that no one is certain what constitutes a victory in this war without borders, the White House brood of hawks got aggressive. They pushed aside anything that might stray into the path of the “Big Win”; things like the Bill of Rights, the Military Code of Conduct, the Geneva Convention and most egregiously, the Boy Scout Handbook.
While our government blasts away in other countries, a struggle rages on in the homeland. The biggest war of all may be the battle to keep in place the personal freedoms Washington, Franklin and others risked their lives to create.
It’s a war out there.
jt
November 25, 2004
Now You See it, Now You Don’t...
Although most of us hate to admit it, the older we get the more easily we are fooled. Ask any magician. They will tell you that except for the unnaturally curious, most children are not distracted by a posing assistant’s cleavage, or their fishnet stockings. While an unexpected appearance by Sponge Bob Square Pants holding a bag full of Squidy Candy Crud might cause them to blink, the standard diversions don’t work. No matter how hard a conjuror might try to bamboozle them, kids know the Eiffel Tower has not vanished. It continues to reside in France surrounded by effete Gaulois-puffing Parisians who, instead of seeking gainful employment, still debate existentially whether or not they should resist the Germans.
Grown-ups are an easier target for misleads and slights of hand. While you’re watching the waving wand, the trickster is more than likely stealing your watch. Even magicians are not immune to glittering distractions. Take the case of magic man David Copperfield who was so bedazzled by the gorgeous Claudia Schiffer; he actually thought she found him interesting. The Teutonic part-time restaurateur is a bit of a magician too. After the glamorous head-turning model left the gala opening of her Fashion Café, the investors discovered their bank accounts considerably diminished. It turned out not many diners could make the connection between a size-four supermodel and pork chops.
Performing an amazing act of prestidigitation, George W. Bush and Company managed a startlingly brilliant reelection campaign. Well aware of how easily the American public is attracted to shiny objects and Jingoistic rhetoric, the republicans easily managed to buffalo the voters into allowing Mr. Bush another four years.
The White House has become a magic castle where Mr. Bush likes to polish his hoodoo. There, his audience consists of Condoleeza Rice and Karl Rove. Behind closed doors, these two most loyal fans direct Mr. Bush while he rehearses his spells. His specialty is making doves dematerialize.
Now evaporating is Colin Powell who announced he’s leaving Mr. Bush’s cabinet. Ironically, as the only member of the president’s inner circle to serve in the military and see combat, he preferred diplomacy over war. This did not sit well with the hawks who nest on Mr. Bush’s shoulders. Unlike his boss, the war in Iraq makes the secretary uneasy. A foreign diplomat recited a news account that said in the middle of a war, Mr. Bush was sleeping like a baby. General Powell reportedly replied, "I'm sleeping like a baby, too. Every two hours, I wake up, screaming."
Never to be underestimated, Mr. Bush is in the midst of the most ambitious magic act ever attempted. His first trick was to show the world satellite images of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Even with thousands of US troops looking; the WMDs vanished. Next, he performed an illusion so dark and dishonorable it would make any demonic shaman proud. He made the flag-draped caskets of returning soldiers invisible to the public. For this hocus-pocus alone, he deserves induction into the sorcerer’s hall of fame.
Mr. Bush is not a man to rest for long on his laurels, or in the National Guard. He is now set to unleash the biggest hoodwink of all time. Is he dealing from the bottom of the deck? Will he make Air Force One percolate into a mist? Is he finally going to form a complete sentence? No to all. While most of the country is focused on Monday Night Football hoping to see the next Desperate Housewife drop her towel, our stealthy president will enact his piece d’ resistance. He is about to fund his global excursions as well as every spending-bill congress has to offer by making the entire contents of Fort Knox disappear.
Now you see it, now you don’t.
jt
November 15, 2004
Let the Eagle Soar...
Recently, singing Attorney General John Ashcroft announced his retirement. As a member of George W. Bush’s cabinet, his specialty was annoying anyone who believed in the sanctity of the Bill of Rights. Whenever he took action, he had the unique ability to cause bile to rise up into the throats of his critics. Ironically, Mr. Ashcroft’s own gall bladder suffered a bile overdose and had to be removed. The offending organ is now on display at the Smithsonian Institute where it resides somewhere between Charles Lindberg’s airplane and Pee Wee Herman’s career.
Mr. Ashcroft is the son of a Pentecostal minister and is a member of the Assembly of God; a church with severe doctrines against those with beliefs different than theirs. They frown on most recognized forms of fun and anything remotely looking like cocktail franks. They are also strongly opposed to premarital kissing and men who wear Capri pants.
After the devout Mr. Ashcroft won the job as governor of Missouri, his father took the opportunity at the swearing-in ceremony to anoint him with holy oil. When he was elected to the U.S. Senate, the Bibles “R” Us store was closed and no sacramental lubricant was available. Forced to improvise for this ceremony, his father reportedly used Crisco instead. Later, the prayerful governor was accused of an unnatural act with a cookie sheet.
Mr. Ashcroft gained laughable notoriety when he tried to keep his senate job. After a difficult re-election campaign, he lost his seat to a dead man. This sort of ignominious defeat is usually reserved for politicians in banana republics.
Seeing a man of faith in need of a job, George W. Bush quickly nominated Mr. Ashcroft to his cabinet. Blatant conservative and undistinguished Supreme Court justice Clarence “I-never-leered-at-Anita-Hill” Thomas swore in the new Attorney General. Like Mr. Ashcroft’s father, Justice Thomas performed the requisite blessing and oil change.
Mr. Ashcroft will be remembered as someone who mightily chipped away at the rights most Americans take for granted; freedoms such as the right to hold a legitimate political or religious meeting without government surveillance. On the plus side; as a public service, he tried to limit the number of Baldwin brothers who appear in movies. Despite bi-partisan support, Ashcroft’s efforts failed.
After Mr. Ashcroft announced his retirement from the Bush administration, some speculated it was due to the stress of the job and a slow recovery from his surgery. Others say it’s because he was unable to stop the insidious nationwide spread of metrosexuals. After infiltrating New York, Los Angeles and other big cities, these sensitive well-groomed men are slowly moving into rural America. Now, farm boys dressed in Abercrombie and Fitch are giving delicately wrapped packages of aromatic candles and soaps to the livestock. Not surprisingly, the Attorney General sees this as deviant behavior. After all, he is a man so uncomfortable with S-E-X, he ordered the covering of a bare-breasted statue of Justice that lurked behind him while he spoke in the Justice Department press room. Later that evening after a compulsory group prayer with his staff, he snuck a guilty furtive peek under the cloth.
What will Mr. Ashcroft do after he leaves Washington? Will he take a chance, return to Missouri and attempt a rematch against his still dead opponent? Will he front a new vocal group similar to his beloved “Singing Senators”? Or with his Mr. Microphone in hand, will he follow his father and play evangelical gatherings? If he does, the crowd will sway to his notorious cheese-encrusted composition:
"Let the eagle soar,
Like she's never soared before.
From rocky coast to golden shore,
Let the mighty eagle soar.
Soar with healing in her wings,
As the land beneath her sings:
'Only god, no other kings.'
This country's far too young to die.
We've still got a lot of climbing to do,
And we can make it if we try.
Built by toils and struggles
God has led us through."
jt
November 7, 2004
The Dark Ages…
Eighteen hundred or so years ago, before homeland security, queer-eyes and four-and-a-half dollar lattes; the Goths and the Visigoths roamed across Europe conquering anyone in their path while they looked for a place to get a flu shot. As the violence continued over these early centuries, the Visi-Ginzbergs hid in their shops trying to avoid an axe to the forehead. Those who survived went on to prepare Attila’s tax returns.
Eventually, the non-literate tribes took over the land formerly controlled by the art-and-orgy crowd that was once the Roman Empire. As a result, culture, science and toga parties declined; making parking spaces more available.
During this “Dark” period, Christian influence rose even though they were perceived by many intellectuals as having a primitive irrational belief system. Nonetheless, they became the prevailing culture even after years of receiving second billing to the lions at the Colosseum. Enjoying their newfound popularity, they began feeling their oats as well as the occasional choirboy. These same European Christians went on to oppose the believers of Islam who were forced to decamp to North Africa where they invented the camel.
Somehow stopping evolution in it’s tracks, humankind has not advanced much in the intervening centuries. After a vicious attack by a renegade tribe of Moslems, the neo-anti-intellectual Bushians decided to foil the rival hordes by attacking a country that had little to do with the offending mob. The goal being to spread democracy to the Middle East while giving wealthy mullahs tax breaks and the guarantee of a pool party with Carmen Electra.
During the recent election, a significant number of voters put more importance on “values” than they did on the economy or security. Now, there is a move afoot to create a constitutional amendment banning the word “nipple”. A prime feature of the president’s revered “family values” is a desire to abolish gay marriage. Ultimately, this may force gay couples to leave the country; effectively ending all musical theater.
Even with death threats from Puff Daddy, usually liberal youth stayed home. There, they applied medieval makeup, counted their piercings and didn’t vote. Meanwhile, the faithful got off their pews and came out en masse to re-up the president. Perhaps this was because Catholic Bishops warned parishioners they would go to hell if they voted for the challenger. Throughout all of this, Karl the Rove giggled demonically.
Not unlike early Europe, we live in a society dominated by Christian sensibilities. While many church-goers focus on the good found in the bible, our devout leader rarely offers up any hints of kindness. Praising god and proclaiming faith does not equal morality. Where is Christian forgiveness in supporting the death penalty? Where is charity when not once during the president’s campaign did he offer assistance or hope to the poor who are all too plentiful in our land of bounty. He says he is a uniter not a divider. But when asked about the polarization he’s created, he strolled out of a Crawford, Texas voting booth and said, “I take that as a compliment.” At some point you’ve got to ask, what would Jesus do?
Adding to the increasing dreariness, the vanquished Dems are apparently suffering from the Stockholm syndrome. They’ve announced that the only way they can win the next election is to become more like their opponents who they think have kidnapped the country. Will a single new party form and be called the “Repidems”? Like the Vandals who came before them, will they ride roughshod over the land spreading their brand of orthodoxy? Will they continue to do battle with Arab tribes and then face-off against the feared Seoul Brothers? Will our leader ever listen to reason and not just god? Only time will tell.
jt
October 24, 2004
Sound-Bite Nation...
As the new millennium lurches forward, we are confronted with an ever increasing number of pre-fabricated sound-bites. Hoping to make the evening news, political candidates now speak in a shorthand designed to diminish substance and thrill the uninformed. If the messages are reduced any further, the next President of the United States will be a fortune cookie.
Despite a fear that all thinking will be boiled down to fit a ticker tape running beneath Larry King’s suspenders, short comment can show considerable insight. Here, for your contemplation, are brief thoughts from great minds including Aristophanes and Frank Zappa along with the likes of Winston Churchill and Albert Einstein. There are also a few leaks-of-wisdom from George W. Bush.*
“Under every stone lurks a politician.” ? “He may look like an idiot and talk like an idiot, but don’t let that fool you. He really is an idiot.” ? “I love to bring people into the oval office...and say, this is where I office.” *
“The problem with practical jokes is they often get elected.” ? “I glance at the headlines just to kind of get a flavor for what’s moving. I rarely read the stories, and get briefed by people who probably read the news themselves.” * ? “Stupidity has a certain charm...ignorance does not.”
“The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help’.” ? “I actually did vote for the $87 billion before I voted against it.” ? “Those are my principals and if you don’t like them...well, I have others.” ? “Facts are stupid things.”
“Americans will put up with anything, as long as it doesn’t block traffic.” ? “A great many people enjoy a war provided it’s not in their neighborhood and not too bad.” ? “I’m honored to shake the hand of a brave Iraqi citizen who had his hand cut off by Saddam Hussein.” * ? “Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.”
“The statesman who yields to war fever must realize that once the signal is given, he is no longer the master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncontrollable events.” ? “Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate.” ? “How is the world ruled and how do wars start? Diplomats tell lies to journalists and then believe what they read.” ? “My answer is bring them on.” *
“When I was a kid my parents always moved a lot, but I always found them.” ? “I promise to just serve two terms. Republicans do it differently. They just have the son repeat the father’s whole first term.” ? “I just received the following wire from my generous Daddy...?Dear Jack, don’t buy a single vote more than is necessary. I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay for a landslide’.”
“It’s easy to be brave from a safe distance.” ? “We can’t all be heroes because somebody has to sit on the curb and clap as they go by.” ? “I am a veteran, I fought in a war. I’ve been a prosecutor. I’ve sent people to jail for the rest of their lives.” ? “I served honorably in the National Guard.” *
“A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject.” ? “Free societies are hopeful societies. And free societies will be the allies against these hateful few who have no conscience, who kill at the whim of a hat.” * ? “If the facts don't fit the theory, change the facts.”
“It's not the voting that's democracy, it's the counting.” ? “What me worry?”
_____________________
Additional credit to: Ronald Reagan, Groucho Marx, John Kerry, Aesop, Karl Kraus, Will Rogers, Dan Rather, Alfred E. Newman, Tom Stoppard, John F. Kennedy, Bertrand Russell and Rodney Dangerfield.
jt
October 18, 2004
Proof That Perhaps There is a God…
“I sometimes think that god, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability.”
Oscar Wilde
In a perfect world, I would be the Roadrunner and the people who annoy me would be Wily Coyote. I’d shop at Tiffany’s and they would all be wearing Acme underpants. Or when a guy on the freeway cuts me off while flashing his IQ with his middle finger; he would end up with his nose mashed against a bridge abutment.
Sadly, the world isn’t perfect. And the proof is on Fox News, where almost any blabbermouth with a television camera and a microphone can have his say and make too much money doing it. It makes one wonder if there is a god out there who will ever drop in for a guest appearance.
Recently, condescending egomaniac and conservative commentator Bill O’Reilly has caught the attention of the Justice Train. Blow-hard O’Reilly wants practically everyone to “shut up”, thus allowing only his words to fill the air. Despite his desire to be the most important man in the universe, he finds himself in the midst of yet another lawsuit. Previously, he forced Fox News to sue over a satirical book written by Al Franken. Mr. O’Reilly didn’t like the notion of a political pundit being funny on purpose or at his expense. The judge saw the entire matter as ridiculous. Looking at the befuddled Fox attorney, the judge said, “your suit has no merit.” He went on to say, “neither does your tie.” He then proceeded to throw everyone out of the courtroom and order a carry-out of Chinese food.
In his latest brush with reality, Mr. O’Reilly stands accused of sexual harassment by an associate producer who worked on his show. In turn, he is suing the young woman for extortion while he sniffs the air with righteous indignation.
Even though such he-said she-said cases can be murky, here are a few gooey details. According to the young woman’s complaint, after she broke up with her fiancé, Mr. O’Reilly recommended she get manicures and pedicures and pick up men at bars. Obviously, Mr. O’Reilly relishes the alluring qualities of tidy cuticles and polished little piggies.
During a dinner out, the young woman claimed “Mr. O’Reilly’s eyes became glazed and bizarrely strayed in opposite directions”. In the absence of a man, he suggested she purchase a type of personal electronic “assistant” and give it a name. He went on to say, “all girls have one”, so does my wife. With this revealed to the public, the missis must be buzzing with something other than pleasure.
While attempting phone sex, Mr. O’Reilly said he would like to take the associate producer to the Caribbean. He said he wanted to “rub her with the falafel (sic) thing”. He meant to say loofah. Although traditionally known for their protein and fiber, Mr. O’Reilly apparently has others uses in mind for garbanzo beans.
If Mr. O’Reilly is proved guilty, he will join an exclusive club whose members specialize in holier-than-thou rhetoric. Fellows such as Oxycontin addict Rush Limbaugh who once pompously said, “Ladies and gentleman, too many whites are getting away with drug use. The answer is to…find the ones who are getting away with it, convict them, and send them up the river.” He now has a gaggle of lawyers trying to keep him off a Florida chain-gang. Other members of this elite club are televangelists Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Bakker who both had one hand on their bibles and the other on women who were not their wives.
It’s easy to lose faith when you live in a country where citizens demand super-jumbo free-refill tubs of buttered movie popcorn, and where the president can’t construct a complete sentence. But when you least expect it, joy fills the air as some bloated conceited bombast finds himself in the unwanted spotlight of scandal...proving perhaps there is a god.
jt
October 8, 2004
A Brief History of Compassionate Conservatism…
With the Presidential race tightening, George W. Bush, like a nervous flasher in a grimy trench coat, has once again whipped out his “Compassionate Conservatism”. It’s his way to gain votes and get a good seat at the Christmas parade. Mr. Bush was not elected for his creativity. So where does this catchy “ism”, come from? The political slogan that worked successfully in 2000 as the core of Mr. Bush’s campaign, was originally dreamed up by a fellow named Marvin Olasky.
Born to Russian Jews, Mr. Olasky’s journey to the Right started after his Bar Mitzvah. According to some now hazy family accounts, he had a traumatic experience during the post-ceremony party. After his trip to the sacred Hebrew scrolls, a maiden aunt, who secretly attended Christian tent meetings, cornered him in a dimly-lit cloak room. While Hava Nagila played in the background, she coerced Marvin into an unnatural act beneath a mink stole from Saks. Wooden hangers clattered indiscreetly. As she pressed herself tightly against him, her breath smelled vaguely of whitefish and sweet wine. In a life altering moment, she forced him to eat a decidedly un-kosher, but ecumenical, combination of chopped liver and mayonnaise on a communion wafer. A little over a year later, he became an atheist.
At Yale, he moved on to Marxism and the Communist party. After many meetings and lingering memories of his aunt, he found the dogma as well as the catering to be less than appetizing. Still disenchanted, he converted yet again. Enjoying the notion of a wrathful God, he became a born again right-wing Christian. Today he is the editor of a conservative publication called, World Magazine. By its own admission, it presents news “from a Christian perspective” along with “sharp full-color pictures”. Here facts are checked against the Word of God and an iHop menu.
In 1992, Mr. Olasky published The Tragedy of American Compassion, a book promoting the privatization of welfare and early ideas of faith based initiatives. It was funded in part by the “Heritage Foundation”. Although it sounds like a homey place where you might buy maple syrup or discover what part of the family tree you fell out of...it isn’t. It’s a conservative think tank founded in 1973 by racist, homophobe and brewery magnate Joseph Coors. Another charter member was Paul Weyrich, a founding father of the Religious Right. He once proposed that Congress formally declare a war on drugs so suspected drug users could be treated as prisoners of war and held without trial until “the war is over”. Combined, the two men had the sense of humor of a Prussian stand-up comic.
Shortly after the book was published, former Drug Czar and slot-machine junky Bill Bennett got a hold of the volume and gave it a favorable review. He passed it on to his friend, philanderer and über-conservative Newt Gingrich. In his first address to the nation as Speaker of the House, Mr. Gingrich said that Marvin Olasky’s point-of-view should be our model. He went on to say, “We are going to redefine compassion and take it back.” And the republicans did. They turned “compassion” into a code word for “religion”. By co-opting Mr. Olasky’s utopian sociopolitical theology, they raised the visibility of a little known professor—a man viewed by his colleagues as a narrow-minded crackpot with an odd affinity for coat check girls.
Flash forward to the year 2000. Marvin Olasky became a domestic policy advisor to presidential candidate George W. Bush. When Mr. Bush first heard of Olasky’s writings he thought the work was about being a “passionate” conservative. Yelling, “Giddy-up”, he proceeded to chase Laura around the Governor’s mansion wearing nothing but boots and a pair of leather-fringed chaps.
After Laura doused his enthusiasm with a bucket of water, he realized his error. A short time later, Mr. Bush integrated Compassionate Conservatism into his narrow world view. He went on to win the election and take a vacation.
jt
October 3, 2004
A Left, a Right and Some Sound Bites…
In 1922, James Joyce unleashed his stream of consciousness novel Ulysses on the literary world. Perhaps fearing such a challenging tome would make the public’s collective head explode, three days later, DeWitt and Lila Wallace published the first issue of Reader’s Digest; the antithesis of Joyce’s book. Despite an unsettling feature article in the inaugural issue entitled “The Future of Poison Gas”, the simply written Digest has not only endured, but thrived. Later that same year, Charles Francis Jenkins made the first laboratory transmission of a television picture signal. Since these landmarks of culture and technology landed on the population, the world has changed less than one might have predicted.
Eighty-two years later, two men met at the University of Miami in the first televised debate of the 2004 presidential race. Setting the tone for the evening’s festivities, each participant had count-down lights on their podiums much like an old-fashioned game show. In this competition, the stakes were significantly higher than an all expense paid trip to Puerto Vallarta.
In carefully negotiated rules of engagement, the candidates agreed not to touch each other. Nonetheless, they shook hands and like two middleweights in a fight for a big gaudy championship belt, they faced off in front of a television audience filled with millions of hopeful citizens. A population wanting reassurance that whoever takes them into the next four years will keep them safe and free to barbeque the meat of their choice.
The challenger’s weakness is his tendency towards complex Joycean-like thinking. For this bout, he avoided the endless paragraphs and conflicting points of view that have made him an easy target for Karl Rove and the Rovettes. Knowing in this confrontation anything resembling a passive rope-a-dope would lead to sure defeat, Mr. Kerry narrowed his focus and came out firing. He opened his attack with a vicious left; a voter pleasing punch focused on Osama Bin Laden. The President countered with a feint of Saddam Hussein. Scoring points with the crowd, Mr. Kerry avoided any mention of windsurfing and his wife’s condiment fortune.
Surprisingly, the incumbent barely ruffled his opponent. “Working hard”, the President stubbornly stuck to his sound-bite filled right jabs. This tactic worked in front of adoring crowds at airplane factories. It’s also worked effectively at Hooter’s. But by repeatedly accusing his foe of sending “mixed messages”, the Texas Brawler showed a narrowness of thinking that did not play well in the debate. After reviewing the tapes, it became clear the evening’s most damaging blow was self-inflicted when the President managed to cram 30 minutes of ideas into a 90 minute debate.
Searching out the nearest political paparazzi, the RNC public relations minions practically screwed themselves into the ground trying to spin the President’s remarks and extract him from the sizable cow pie he had just stepped in. They offered up excuses that didn’t pack much of a punch. They said he was tired from spending the day offering condolences to hurricane victims. After seeing the blank stares emanating back from the media, they went on to say his food-taster died during the night and Mr. Bush ate a debilitating pre-debate meal of grilled Cheese Doodles.
Before their next meeting, the candidates went back on the rabble-rousing trail. Not much has changed as the accusations are flying fast and furious. As usual, the White House mob assumes the public will only swallow pre-digested political messages. So, the President’s men have directed the Boss to focus on two words from Mr. Kerry…“Global Test”. In public, Mr. Bush interprets those words to mean other nations would have a veto over American national security decisions. In private, he admits he’s worried that during the next debate there will be a geography quiz.
Mr. Kerry, acting very much the school boy, mocked the p-p-president’s speech patterns before saying, “The Global Test is not asking for a permission slip. It’s making sure your decisions stand up to scrutiny and are backed by facts.” Now, if Mr. Kerry would only decide which is today’s decision.
In the next round, medics will be standing by as wily veteran, but heart attack prone, Dick Cheney squares off against the boyishly slick new-comer John Edwards. Stay tuned…
jt
September 25, 2004
Kukla, Fran & Allawi…
I’ll take “Widely Quoted Quotes” for a thousand dollars, Alex.
“My friends, today we are better off. You are better off. And the world is better off without Saddam Hussein”
September 23, 2004
Did you answer, “Who is George W. Bush?” Sorry, that’s incorrect. The money is subtracted from your score and you will not get to play Final Jeopardy. The correct answer is Iraqi Prime Minister Select, Ayad Allawi.
With an uncanny consistency of message, Mr. Allawi, in his recent speech to congress, echoed much of what our President has been repeating endlessly as his reelection campaign ambles across America. Namely, Saddam Hussein was only slightly less evil than the Wicked Witch of the West and with him incarcerated, we and all our little Totos are significantly safer. Only time will tell whether or not this is a fairytale.
Immediately after Mr. Allawi’s remarks, the democrats sent out scandal sniffing dogs to search the White House backyard. While on their mission, they were temporarily distracted by Barney, the President’s Scottie, who put out a tray of Yummy Chewy Chews and some pork rinds left behind by the previous administration. Shortly after the canine snoops returned to the offices of the Democratic National Committee, CBS Evening News anchor Dan Rather went on the air waving an edited version of the Prime Minister’s speech along with a plate of falafel. He reported that a reliable investigative team named “Poochie and Snuggles” had dug up the evidence in the West Wing. He went on to say that the speech was initialed and approved by Kareem-Abdul-Rashad-Laham Rove. After his newscast, Mr. Rather was seen relaxing at an exclusive spa and rest home adjoining Belleview hospital.
After garnering applause from one side of the isle in the Capital Building, the Prime Minister took a motorcade to the Garden of Rose Colored Glasses where he and the President gave the press an update on their new television show called, Extreme Makeover; Country Edition. So far, the reviews have been mixed.
Later in the news conference, Mr. Bush said while chuckling, “I saw a poll that said the right track/wrong track in Iraq was better than here in America.” A world away from anyone being dismembered by a flying bucket seat launched by an exploding car bomb, the President managed to keep his sense of humor.
Mr. Allawi is used to being closer to the action. While he was he was in London in 1978, Iraqi secret police were sent to assassinate him. They burst into his bedroom and hacked at him with an ax. He suffered serious injuries and spent a year in the hospital. As a reminder of this encounter, he still walks with a limp. As a result, lurking beneath his glad-handing political demeanor and his well-tailored clothes, there is a man with a grudge and a Paris Hilton video. He also has a revolver.
In July, 2004, Paul McGeogh, the Bagdad correspondent for the Sydney Morning Herald, reported that two eye-witnesses stated that during the week prior to the handover of power, Allawi had drawn a pistol and executed up to six people detained for suspected attacks on Iraqi and U.S forces. Apparently, the “old school” system of justice did not disappear down a spider hole with Saddam Hussein.
Much like the current Washington administration, Mr. Allawi, continues to tell anyone who will listen about Saddam Hussein’s connections to Al-Qaida. Before the United States invaded Iraq, he insisted to the CIA that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction. Now, he diminishes the daily violence that wracks his country. And practically verbatim, he parrots the White House party-line.
Back in the 1950’s during the “Unreality Age” of television, there was a children’s program with a kindly blonde hostess named “Fran” who talked with two puppets; one a round-headed clown named “Kukla”; the other a mischievous dragon named “Ollie”. If the show were remade for the new millennium, what part might Mr. Alliwa play?
jt
September 18, 2004
Lost in Translation…
“Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our county and our people, and neither do we.”
George W. Bush, August 5, 2004
Our President is accurately accused of launching one mangled sentence after another into the ether. Gems such as, “Rarely is the question asked; is our children learning”? Although I often disagree with the reigning Bush, I’m with him on this one.
Mr. Bush has spent years avoiding any semblance of a complex thought. Is he just easily confused, or is he reaching out to a potentially new constituency by speaking the argot of the street? Not being an “undecided” voter, I’m putting my “x” on “confused”.
As a youngster, I lived north of Detroit on the suburban side of 8 Mile Road a generation away from where rapping wordsmith Eminen would eventually find his voice and fame. Ironically, his swift rhymes are often more coherent than Mr. Bush’s prose. Like most kids, some things confused me. Unlike our leader, grammar wasn’t one of them.
After deciphering Mr. Bush’s bungled vaudeville-act syntax, it’s hard not to agree with his belief that the enemy wants to inflict harm on us. But the President is mostly hidebound and inflexible. Never entering his head is the notion that our actions in Iraq may ultimately cause more damage than good.
Frighteningly similar to the Islamic radicals, Mr. Bush believes that faith and God will lead the Others down a righteous path. Fredrich Nietzche, someone considerably more articulate than our President, said, “Faith, is not wanting to know about what is true.“ Unwilling to be detoured from his path, Mr. Bush has no desire to be confused by the facts.
The facts are increasingly disturbing. Too many in Mr. Bush’s following would rather believe the “Fox News” televised version of the world than challenge the substance of his optimistic statements. As time passes, the likelihood grows that we may all end up watching a televised show called “CSI - White House”.
Mr. Bush says there is progress in Iraq. True, but are we the ones making it? Put aside the cost, now rocketing toward a budget busting 200 Billion Dollars. Put a pin in the fact that US soldiers and innocent bystanders, now numbering in the thousands, have been killed or maimed. Never mind that the Bush Girls are interning for Snoop Dog. Give the benefit of the doubt to the President, even though U.N. Secretary Kofi Annan believes if the violence continues at it’s present level an election will be impossible.
Even if there is an election, then what? Who honestly believes that deconstructing and then reconstructing this anthill of rival factions will keep terrorism at bay? There hasn’t been this blatant an attempt to mislead the public since Liza Minnelli married David Guest.
On September 4, 2004 Mr. Bush said, “We will make sure our troops have all that is necessary to complete their missions. That’s why I went to Congress last September and proposed fundamental – supplemental funding, which is money for armor and body parts and ammunition and fuel.” Right now there is a young Marine dodging shrapnel outside an Iraqi shoe store. Not surprisingly, he isn’t comforted by that particular guarantee from his Commander and Chief.
Unbeknownst to most of us, in July of 2004 a report was released by the National Intelligence Council offering an unhealthy prognoses regarding our efforts in Iraq. It stated that at best, Iraq will remain unstable. At worst, they are headed toward an all out civil war. Even though President Bush was briefed on the troubling state of affairs, he continues to forge ahead saying that victory in Iraq will keep us safe.
Is something lost in translation?
jt
September 11, 2004
Your Permanent Record…
Can history be rewritten, or are all your successes and missteps indelibly etched on your permanent record? What exactly might we find in your particular unexpurgated life story?
How about the time in high school when you got caught staring too long at your French teacher’s angora sweater? What about last year’s Christmas party when you eagerly ate the cocktail franks prepared by the accounting department and stabbed yourself in the lip with a toothpick. And then after you sipped too deeply from a box of Chardonnay, a co-worker, who was after the same promotion you ultimately received, saw you dancing a little too close with the boss’ spouse. Is that in your dossier? You bet. That and the last stop sign you rolled through are all definitely on your permanent record.
Lately, George W. Bush’s permanent record has come under some intense scrutiny. Barbara Bush has spent much of her motherhood following her son across the landscape with a dustpan and a public relations team. Nonetheless, there appears to be a discrepancy between the facts on his permanent record and what the president and his minions say. Apparently, some correspondence originally generated by his superior officers in the Texas National Guard escaped from a file cabinet and ended up on the venerable “60 Minutes”. The memos outlined problems with the young Lieutenant’s service. The papers say; against orders, Mr. Bush was doing something less than defending the homeland. It’s been reported that Karl Rove unsuccessfully attempted to throw himself on the documents and smother them. But they blew up anyway. Mr. Rove is known by some as “the president’s brain”. Why anyone would want that on their permanent record eludes me completely.
Now, the mimeos have hit the fan and the din has briefly shifted from John Kerry’s military service to Mr. Bush’s “escape from the draft” which will soon be a feature film starring Kurt Russell. Despite Mom’s stern visage, her influence somehow left George the Younger undisciplined and free to do whatever he pleased. Which he did. This included drinkin’, drivin’, snortin’ and avoidin’ Viet Nam.
During Dubya Dubya Two, Bush Sr. was a Navy pilot. He flew harrowing combat missions in the Pacific theater and like his run for a second term, he was shot down. Setting his own course in the early 70’s, his son flew loop de loops around the regulations.
Like a medieval Kahn Mongol, he’s taken his personal mission and Texas swagger into other countries as well as onto the campaign trail. Even more revealing than old memos, videotape shows that the farther south Mr. Bush travels in his quest for reelection, the deeper his drawl becomes. Creepily, at the same time he kicks up the dust, his legs become more bowed.
Never one to let logic get in his way and ignoring the swirl surrounding his military record, Mr. Bush recently said to a New Mexico crowd, “I’ll give you some reasons why I think you ought to put me back in, but perhaps the most important one of all’s so Laura’s the first lady for four more years.” What should frighten all who care about the real issues is his comment drew cheers and applause from his adoring followers. If anyone truly cared that much about who ends up as first lady, they would vote for Charlie Sheen.
In his expensive sweat-stained blue denim-like shirt and bold belt buckle, Mr. Bush easily fits the image of a down home, plain speaking, crowd pleasing cowboy president. Knowing that saying anything of substance might confuse voters or end up debated on CNN, Mr. Bush is heavily coached to say virtually nothing of meaning.
Senator Kerry ought to take a lesson from his opponent. Avoid the facts. Use short uncompounded sentences. Deny history. Go for the jugular. Learn to mosey. If he doesn’t, on November 2, a certain defeat will go on his permanent record.
jt
September 4, 2004
Listen Carefully…
“Mr. Chairman, delegates, fellow citizens: I am honored by your support, and I accept your nomination for President of the United States”, so intoned compassionate conservative and teleprompter riveted George W. Bush. Wrapping up the Republican National Convention, he thanked Mom, Dad, Laura, Dick Cheney and his obviously sedated twin daughters. The stern and elder Mrs. Bush made sure there would be no spontaneous toga parties during her son’s speech.
In the fading weeks of Pacific Daylight Time, the recent political conventions blurred easily into the twilight. The televised and highly choreographed public relations events had the remarkable ability to quickly induce an alpha-state in viewers. The political droning caused a frightening drop in the public’s brain activity when almost anyone can be quickly convinced of anything. Things like, Keanu Reeves will someday win an Academy Award. Or nine out of ten cardiologists think a super-sized double Fat & Bun with extra crunchy fries will keep your arteries flowing as freely as the Hoover Dam. No doubt Bill Clinton’s quadruple bypass was caused by repeatedly listening to his own speeches and then, against all medical logic, gorging himself on roast beef and catfish Po’ Boys.
Drifting in and out of awareness, I wasn’t sure if I was watching a convention or an infomercial. Was that Governor Arnold Schwarzenager regaling us with stories of how a poor Austrian boy arrived in the promised land to become a wealthy actor and fondle movie extras? Or was it a pitchman selling contraptions designed to give me the midsection of a collegiate running back? One minute I’m hearing “girlie men” and in the next, I’m ordering the same supplements that disqualified the Romanian badminton team.
At the risk of letting some of you know what will be under your holiday shrubbery, I also ordered a dozen “Hair Fertilizer and Irrigation Systems”. Using only small amounts of cow byproducts, a garden hose and a solar powered implement made by International Harvester, you too will have a lustrous head of hair.
During George W. Bush’s speech, I was awash in “I believes” and then told, “Americans have been given hills to climb”. That was followed by, “we can see the valley below”. I haven’t heard a sermon like that since Jim Bakker told a tearful Tammy Faye her mascara was running. At what point did the citizens of the United States become the chief executive’s flock?
Of course, the man of the past four years had much more to say. Most of which I heard. What follows are exact words from Mr. Bush’s text: “Not long ago, 18 months after the fall of the Taliban, I was in the Oval Office. My OB-GYN came to see me. He and I have come to know each other. We are making progress and I am fortunate to share my walk through life with him. I stood in drag, but soon I will be able to open the door and say, “I am a white haired lady”. “
No kidding. He said those words. Of course, there were lots of other words and a few punctuation marks thrown in between. The truth has been distorted…except for the part about the gynecologist. So I’m in no way surprised when someone from the Bush camp says John Kerry voted against certain weapons systems while slyly leaving out the fact that Dick Cheney, as secretary of Defense, was against those very same bills.
No one will ever accuse George W. Bush of being a lousy politician. As we draw closer to this election, we have to listen very carefully to what he says. In his convention speech he said, “to create jobs, we will make our country less dependent on foreign oil.” Great sound bite, but that gem is no more clear than the conundrum: “do you walk to school, or carry your lunch?” He went on to say, “government should help people improve their lives, not try to run their lives.” That is not particularly reassuring to gay couples.
Mr. Bush has been criticized for going it alone in the war against terrorism. He responded in his address by saying, “Our allies know the historic importance of our work. About 40 nations stand beside us in Afghanistan, and some 30 in Iraq. I deeply appreciate the courage and wise counsel of leaders like Prime Minister Larry, President Mo and Premier Curly…”
Listen carefully…
jt
August 27, 2004
Reach Out and Touch Some Screen…
Recently, I found myself at the humongous home improvement store where after browsing the remodel your life and polyester sod isles, I bought a high powered nail gun along with some boards and a shovel.
Given my lack of handyman skills, I might do worse than shoot myself in the foot with the potentially lethal tool. So for my first project, I'm making a six-foot long pine box. I'm leaving the shovel to my heirs.
Assuming I survive to the end of the instruction manual, I want to be ready for the 2008 summer Olympics. It's been announced that synchronized nail-gunning will be a demonstration sport. While I train, the neighbors are hiding behind closed doors cautiously peeking through their blinds with their fingers poised to call 911. I have to admit, I like the sound the nails make when they careen off their aluminum siding. Their behavior has less to do with the occasional misguided nail than it does with my practicing while wearing flip-flops, goggles and a Speedo.
Getting my goods out of the store was a frustrating experience. At any given moment, there are a hundred or so people wandering around the place gathering grout, duct tape and packages of screws they'll never use. Eventually, they all funnel down to the checkout. In the golden age of "checkout", you could stand in any one of a dozen lines with some fellow do-it-yourselfers waiting for the clerks to finish their debate with each other over global warming. After comparing their body piercings, they would examine your items, scream for a price check and tell you what was owed.
In the name of efficiency and cost cutting, there is now only one checkout clerk. The only people in her line are purchasing unwieldy items like anvils and houseboats. Having just traded my Victrola for a hi-fi, I felt confident that no technology was too advanced to try. So I headed to one of the many electronic self-service checkouts where I was confronted with a glowing touchscreen.
This being the United States, I was asked to pick a language. After selecting Pig Latin, a graphic came up saying, "ixnay", so I looked farther down the list and opted for English. A disembodied uninflected female voice asked me to scan my items. Apparently, even a pre-programmed virtual woman is unaroused by my presence. Nonetheless, I soldiered on. I was then asked to select a method of payment. Given the high price of hardware, I looked for "long-term low interest loan". That being unavailable, I was prompted to swipe my credit card. Things went downhill from there. After three attempts, the computer voice told me to start over. I called on the employee whose job is to prevent unscanned two-by-fours from leaving the store. After a brief eternity, she called for a supervisor. At that point, I took my stuff to the line where the guy with the houseboat was clearing customs. I paid the smirking tattoo-covered clerk and left.
Shortly after this boondoggle, I was distressed to learn that up to 50 million Americans will be casting their votes for John Kerry or George W. Bush by using touchscreen voting machines. The few people voting for Ralph Nader will be using Crayolas and biodegradable Post-its.
After my experience at Hardware Heaven, I was not surprised to find out these marvels of technology don't work very well. They have failed in elections in Georgia, Maryland, California and elsewhere. In fact, they work so erratically, even Florida governor Jeb Bush has criticized their use. Not completely understanding the technology, he has no idea how he will fix the upcoming election in his state.
All is not lost. He can take solace in knowing that the president of Diebold, one of the largest manufacturers of touchscreen voting machines, is a strong supporter of George W. Bush. Now, add this to the equation. A computer scientist and electronic voting expert at Carnegie Mellon recently told lawmakers in Washington, D.C. that the system for "testing and certifying voting equipment in this country is not only broken, but is virtually nonexistent." And last. Only in Nevada will these overblown iPods have a paper record of votes.
Has anyone seen my nail gun?jt
August 21, 2004
Straddling the Fence…
While watching the world's best women gymnasts spin and flip across the Olympic balance beam, it was obvious this was no event for the faint of heart or for a man. Even a brave well padded fellow is aware that straddling a narrow beam offers up only the potential for disaster. Men know very well that skipping down a slender piece of wood will ultimately lead to severe pain and possible damage to their gene pool.
Despite their remarkable skill, eventually every gymnast trips on the beam. At worst, their stumble may allow a winning opportunity for tiny Bulgarian girls who are adorned with more glitter than the chorus boys in Cher's annual farewell tour.
John Kerry has more at risk. Why can't he see that straddling the fence on critical issues creates more possible hazards than a hard landing on the balance beam? His desire to lose no votes by simultaneously being both for and against the war in Iraq could be his undoing. Worse than bad marks from the Russian judge, the American electorate might subtract points from his score.
George W. Bush has no problem picking one side over the other. Although sometimes he does so by remaining silent. On September 13th the federal Assault Weapons Ban ends. Not wanting to offend the powerful and conservative members of the National Rifle Association, the president has done nothing to continue this legislation even though virtually every police officer in the country wants the ban extended.
With it's demise, any eighteen year old will be able to travel faster than an armor piercing bullet to their local "Point & Shoot" to purchase a sturdy American made AK47 along with a bag full of ammo. The "guns and suds" sporting crowd will defend the constitution and then stagger off into the woods for some early morning squirrel hunting. In the interest of fairness, it's clearly time to arm the wildlife.
While the migrating red vested shooters trample into the forest, some embedded terrorist will wander out. They've got errands to run. You can never have too much firepower when planning havoc. After picking up a Slurp and Gulp at the 7-11, they'll head over to the fertilizer store where they'll need no permit to buy a truck full of highly explosive ammonium nitrate. It's unlikely they're trying to squeeze more zucchini out of the south forty.
Meanwhile back at the Crawford ranch, Mr. Bush is once again vacating and recouping his energy after his recent campaign whirl of grinning and meaningful pauses. Who knew taking instructions from Karl Rove was so exhausting?
Many believe our government is run by two men. Fewer realize that neither of them is George W. Bush. Between the ever secretive Dick Cheney and political "strategist" Karl Rove, the west wing is well covered. This leaves Mr. Bush to put his feet up and watch his bunkhouse boys poke the cows.
Karl Rove holds enormous sway over Mr. Bush. While beating back Ann Richards during the Texas governor's race, Rove gave Mr. Bush ten index cards and remarked, "This is what you're going to say. Don't confuse yourself with the issues." Even today, if you look closely, you will see Mr. Bush at his bullet proof podium with his little blue cards. Nickname loving Mr. Bush calls Rove the "Boy Genius". Knowing his true nature, Mr. Bush also calls him "turd blossom". Honestly, no one can make this stuff up.
No matter what he's called, Karl Rove also knows which side of the fence is his and he's not afraid to promote his point of view even if it's in a clandestine way. Back in the 70's, while the rest of America was watching "Sanford and Son", going to the disco and feeling groovy, he was working for Nixon henchman Donald Segretti and boning up on his dirty tricks.
Proving his nefarious abilities, it's been reported that Mr. Rove was the person who outed CIA undercover agent Valerie Plame to the press. This after her husband, former ambassador Joseph Wilson, criticized the administration's claims regarding Iraqi's nuclear weapons capabilities.
No one in Mr. Bush's company straddles the fence. He's hired a bunch of guys like Karl Rove to get the job done. Whether it's overtly, covertly or silently, they are out there slamming away as hard as they can, so Mr. Bush is free to just read his blue cards.
jt
August 14, 2004
In Another Disturbing Report…
The Bush campaign motorcade arrived in the Golden State adding uncomfortably to the congestion. In Los Angeles where limousines are as common as a presidential malapropism, the president's added presence made already clogged roads impossibly worse.
Cutting the average speed of traffic in half on an LA freeway raised the memory of a grammar school exercise where "slow" went beyond "slower", to "slowest". If anything in a locale frequented by brush fires and heat waves can move at a glacial pace, it's a southern California freeway. Most politicians who worsen traffic are aware they create some amount of resentment with the public. But like much else in this administration, our president cruises to his own agenda.
If any commuters managed to slog through traffic in time to watch their favorite newscast, they were greeted with the now ubiquitous headline of, "In Another Disturbing Report…". On this particular evening, the overly coifed news readers gravely proclaimed that our electrical grid is vulnerable to terrorist attacks. That announcement is about as surprising as Angelina Jolie getting another tattoo.
For those who don't know what lies behind a wall socket, the electrical grid is mostly made up of power-plants, crisscrossing wires, whizzing electrons, substations and industrial strength chewing gum. Substations are those ominous looking walled-in electrical clusters seen here and there along the side of the road. Containing high voltage transformers, warning signs and a stunning amount of electricity, they look like a robot's hat from a 1930's science fiction movie. Generally, they have no security to speak of. Most drivers don't notice them as they are too occupied chatting on their cell phones, drinking wine coolers out of paper bags or doing their nails. But if one or more of these critical electrical hotspots is blown out of commission, another disturbing report will be focused on a sizable and debilitating blackout. Not only do the terrorists know this, they have maps.
In Israel they know a few things about security. There, a man has to pass through a metal detector to enter a pharmacy to buy condoms. Many women here would like a similar level of protection. Almost every business and restaurant employs a casually clad security guard with an automatic pistol tucked discreetly into his waistband. Young military men and women with Uzis slung over their shoulders stand at bus stops. Not only are they trained to shoot, but to recognize the behavior of someone ready to detonate. Nonetheless, determined bomb laden martyrs wearing hand-me-down no-iron shirts and slacks still manage to blow up a commuter bus or café. Why is it then we think we can stop religious warriors who are willing to explode themselves?
Mr. Bush says we're monitoring the chatter. We've raised the alert level. It's under control. He's the man for the job. Perhaps. Perhaps not. He reminds us that we haven't been attacked since 9/11. But the Al Qaeda cabal has enormous patience. They spent years planning their airborne forays into New York and Washington. They've got nothing better to do than face Mecca, plot and play Scrabble.
While in LA, Mr. Bush's handlers rustled up a photo op with Nancy Reagan. No doubt it was intended to diffuse the differences between them regarding stem cell research. Ron Jr. along with his mother have a point of view driven by a pragmatic realization that within this revolutionary science there might be cures for terrible diseases. The president's opinion has less to do with science than it does with his simplistic fundamentalist's point of view. Fearing her Chanel filled closet would be padlocked, Nancy agreed to write a note saying she would support the GOP's man. Given her frail condition, she could not risk a verbal endorsement as that would have caused an excess of bile to rise up in her throat.
Mr. Bush is so busy wringing every last vote out of the religious right, he has avoided addressing another disturbing but equally distressing report. It's the announcement that over 50% of the interest due on our national debt is owed to foreign countries. Additionally, our ever widening trade deficit is currently pegged at a record 55 billion dollars. You don't have to be Alan Greenspan to figure out these numbers will lead to trouble.
Who is benefiting from this commerce? Without naming names, suffice it to say, on a Thanksgiving in the not too distant future you'll be trading in your turkey drumstick for Moo Goo Gai Pan. And that will lead to yet another disturbing report.
jt
August 3, 2004
It's What They Do, Not What They Say…
After spending most of the month of July vacationing at his Texas ranch annoying the cattle and lurking on the Kerry For President web-site, George W. Bush returned, as Donald Rumsfeld would say, to the not-round-office where he dove back into politics as usual.
Before leaving, the president kicked a lot of dirt and drove his tractor aimlessly around the south forty. While engaged in this version of Texas Zen, GW's staff worked feverishly to get the 9/11 Commission report whittled down into Cliff Notes shape, so their book adverse leader could digest the document without upset. Given that pictures are worth a thousand words, no doubt illustrations of what New York City would look like blown to smithereens were added.
Reportedly while at the ranch, he watched most of the Democratic Convention. When Baraka Obama was introduced, for a moment GW thought the democrats had captured the leader of Al Qaeda. Only after seeing that the Illinois state senator was not emerging from a cave did GW realize his error. He quickly called Condoleezza Rice in the hopes she would use her feminine wiles to co-opt the articulate rising democratic star. She declined, saying she had a meeting on the hill the next day and her obfuscation coach was arriving soon.
After an early bird dinner, GW skipped Kerry's acceptance speech. Even though Kerry's address to the faithful came on at roughly 9:00 pm Crawford time, GW wanted to hit the hay…happily putting on his denim PJs and his bunny slippers with spurs. It seems GW stopped burning the candle at both ends years ago at Yale where he was well known as the "king of wedgies".
Trading his Tony Lama boots for the wingtips of power, GW reluctantly announced the new federal position of national intelligence director. Despite his desire to ignore the 9/11 report, Mr. Bush is not one to ignore the opposition. He was forced into action after Mr. Kerry made the pragmatic statement that he would adopt most of the report's recommendations. Of course, beyond hiring another bureaucrat, no one is yet certain what GW is agreeing to.
While announcing this new position, GW stood amidst the White House brain trust of Powell, Ridge, Ashcroft and Rumsfeld who along with Dick Cheney and Ms. Rice are against virtually all the Commission's recommendations. But given the public's desire to stay alive and more importantly Barbara Bush's desire to keep her son in office, the White House team presented themselves as strong supporters of the Commission's report. Keeping his real agenda to himself, GW managed to say little else of substance other than we should all stay fearful.
"Considering recommendations" is government speak for when Hell freezes over. When hearing a politician at the height of his game, the wise among the population will pay attention to what is happening, not to what is said. So when our lone star leader says, "the U.S. economy is on a rising path", it's time to listen to that little voice in your head saying, "huh?". Something's rising alright, but is it the economy or our debt? Despite GW's efforts to convince us that the economic rebound is not on the wane, his optimistic vote swaying forecast came a day after the White House projected that the deficit for the budget year ending September 30 will soar to $445 billion…the highest in history. And when that credit card bill comes home to roost, look out.
GW's genius is saying one thing and doing something else or nothing at all. He's well aware that after the sound bites have faded into the distance only Al Franken will actually follow up.
In this democracy, we all have to follow up. We are obliged to make certain our leaders are doing what they say and holding them accountable when they don't.
jt
July 27, 2004
Is Civility Dead?
Recently, I was driving my modestly sized sedan through a supermarket parking lot. Despite the freshly painted arrows indicating I was headed in the right direction, a gargantuan SUV came toward me. It was driven by well coifed woman with two young children in the back seat. It's doubtful this family, encased in their four wheel drive, climate controlled, 400 horsepower, chrome wheeled monster, would ever need all their vehicle had to offer. But it's nice to know if the apocalypse ever arrives, Wil Smith will be able to commandeer their rolling fortress and entertainment center to save the world. So as the driver continued her head-on path, I gave the universal signal for "what the heck are you doing?". A signal consisting of holding my hands palms up above my steering wheel coupled with a slight shrug. She promptly scowled and showed me the manicure on the middle finger of her right hand. Even though her cuticles were perfectly trimmed, I was more than a little offended. And given my concern for the sensibilities of impressionable youngsters, I was taken aback by her actions. After all, I was going in the right direction and she wasn't. What kind of example was she setting? Will her spawn grow up, take her example and go on to engage in even more offensive episodes of road rage?
Finally, she squeezed by forcing me to almost run over a semi-retiree who was keeping active while earning minimum wage by collecting discarded shopping carts. Thank goodness he was wearing one of those shiny plastic day-glo safety vests which went nicely with his sagging khakis, plaid shirt and brand new running shoes. After this silent-movie-like altercation, I parked my car. I was steamed, but immediately fascinated by what had just transpired. So much hostility had been exhibited in just a few seconds and with barely a word being uttered
A few weeks later and 3000 miles away from my supermarket parking lot, Teresa Heinz Kerry, at the Democratic National Convention, briefly told a too aggressive reporter to, "Shove it". Of course, this set off a frenzy of clucking from conservative pundits. Sadly, most of GW Bush's supporters think a "pundit" is like a play on words, only shorter. No matter. Off they went blathering about how Mrs. Bush would never say such a thing. Unlike her still upwardly mobile predecessor, Laura Bush is the perfect adoring wife. She says so little for the public record, it's a marvel she doesn't walk behind the president and wear a kimono. While trying to find something against the Dems to rail about, the any-knock-is-a-good-knock crew went after Ms. Kerry. Not shockingly, they made no mention of Dick Cheney's spicy comments when he used a short phrase to encourage a political foe to have an explicit sex act with himself.
Of course, the conservative rabble is ignoring what's really at work here. And that is the near death of civility. What's caused it? Bill O'Reilly? Perhaps. But could it be we have no time to fully explain ourselves…to engage in real conversation? Does Mr. O'Reilly run roughshod over his guests so he's able to jam in a sound bite before his next commercial? Are we so busy, so hurried as a culture, we've begun to speak in fragments? Is this shortened speech causing an irritating and potentially dangerous loss of meaning? What about our President who busily shuttles between Kennebunkport and his Texas ranch. A man of few words and even fewer syllables, he has pared his message to such a degree that if reelected he will launch legislation aimed at removing certain consonants and at least one vowel from our alphabet. With just the words, "evil doers", he has managed to insult entire populations. Would the woman in the steel colossus and I have had our irritating run-in, if she had opened her window and said, "Sorry, I'm lost. Where's the exit? Oh, your glasses are cute. Where'd you buy them? Would you like to have a cup of coffee? My kids are driving me nuts and if I hear that Nemo fish voice one more time I'll go insane."
Is there enough time to save civility? Don't know. Outta my way. Gotta go. Blank you!
jt
July 23, 2004
9/11 Report Released…Photo Ops Abound.
The 9/11 Commission released their report this week. In response, the White House and Congressional leaders put on their most sincere suits and power ties as all of Washington's elite came out for an orgy of strenuous smiling, photo-ops and the chance to talk with Wolf Blitzer. Not smiling was Tom Ridge who could lose his job and control of the terror-level traffic lights if Congress accepts the Commission's recommendation to create a new position with the oxymoronic title of national intelligence director.
The festivities started when the 9/11 Commission chairman presented GW Bush with a copy of the soft covered 600 page document. GW believes hardback books are not worth reading unless there's a Cat in The Hat on the cover. While looking as if he was about to miss his tee time, GW told the chairman he was would study the report. Somehow, the veracity of his response was questionable as our leader was not known during his academic career for his assiduous study habits. Further, the cynical among you may want to take our president's statement with a heart stopping dose of salt. After all, we're dealing with a man who said in a speech to the GOP faithful, "government should never try to control or dominate the lives of our citizens" while at the same time he was actively pursuing a ban on gay marriage. Also along the way, GW and Company did everything they could to combat the Commission and their work. They didn't want to increase it's funding as requested. They withheld documents. They sicked John Ashcroft on commissioner Jamie Gorelick in an unsuccessful attempt to discredit her. Most noticeably, GW refused to publicly testify in front of the Commission. Ultimately, he did speak to the panel, but only in private and with the helpful company of the vaporous Dick Cheney.
No matter what your opinion of the Pennsylvania Avenue team, they know how to play hardball. Anticipating the report might not go their way, they covered their bases, making sure the Sandy Berger terrorism-document-stashing incident came to light this week. That way, if required, they could diminish the impact of the report. If only they had that kind of planning in place on September 10.
More chilling than the prospect of Anna Nicole Smith going off her Slim Fast diet, the 9/11 chairman said, "Every expert with whom we spoke told us an attack of even greater magnitude is now possible and even probable. We do not have the luxury of time." With that, Congress announced it's taking a recess.
Due to the upcoming political conventions and fall elections, this session of Congress is winding down and won't reconvene until early next year. Let's have a show of hands. What's more important to our collective well-being? Should our leaders, a) Attend a week long convention where the outcome is already determined; where most of the speeches will induce a drooling stupor; where only the balloon contractor will go home truly satisfied? Or b) stay on the job and try to prevent some fervently religious mental patients from cramming a U-Haul full of fertilizer and blowing up half a city? Clearly, for the political establishment this is a no-brainer. They're going to par-tee!
Where is our country's leadership when the safety of our world is at stake? Where is the vision on both sides of the aisle and in the Rose Garden? Who's saying, forget about Boston or Madison Square Garden? Who's saying, we need an emergency session of Congress? Who's saying, if we stop these misguided missiles in their tracks, we'll throw the biggest party you ever saw and we'll all turn the other way when you engage in some embarrassing behavior with your secretary…and maybe we'll even get re-elected. Instead, it appears our leadership is booking rooms at the Holiday Inn, hitting the campaign trail and waiting for a turn on CNN.
jt
July 21, 2004
A Feeding Frenzy
Lions ripping apart a Thompson's gazelle. Hollywood agents eating free caviar at a movie premiere. My mother-in-law at a bargain basement lingerie sale at Macy's. What do these events have in common? All are feeding frenzies of sorts and a politically opportunistic frenzy began when Republicans and conservative commentators learned that Samuel R. "Sandy" Berger, former Clinton national security adviser, is under investigation by the Justice Department for improperly taking highly classified documents related to terrorism from the National Archives. And why are the boys and girls from the red states so eagerly baring their fangs and dripping political venom? Although many of them would still like to impale Mr. Clinton beyond his Oval Office dalliance, they are now focused on presidential hopeful John Kerry who they desperately want to turn into chum. Due to Mr. Berger's role as "informal" advisor to the Kerry campaign, the Republicans smell blood or, at least, discounted undergarments.Mr. Berger claims to have taken the documents, "inadvertently". There are reports to the contrary saying he stuffed the papers into his socks and trousers. Despite my reckless college career, I have to say, nothing has ever been inadvertently stuffed into my pants. I will confess to one crisp autumn evening on campus involving a trip to the liquor store, boxer shorts and a basket of produce, but I just chalk up those things to sensible party planning. Nonetheless, I am somewhat suspicious of Mr. Berger, as is Senator Saxby Chambliss, R-Georgia who has taken this slow pitch opportunity to criticize the Kerry campaign saying, "I don't know what happened to these documents after they were put in Mr. Berger's pants." Well, thank goodness. However, unlike the aggressive supporters of the current White House home team, I am not ready to condemn Mr. Berger, Senator Kerry or the entire Democratic Party until all the facts are in. Then, if warranted, I'll gladly give them the requisite hot foot. No matter my prudence. Along with a myriad of un-telegenic radio pundits, Senator Chambliss, who is on the Agriculture, Nutrition, and Forestry committee, is happy to quickly offer up his partially informed opinion on any possible clandestine activity he can publicly lay at the feet of the Democrats.
Apparently, few of us are immune to the gravitational pull of a potential scandal. Entire cable television networks have been created to service our thirst for dirt. Fess up, how many of you have spent the bulk of your day hanging out at the fax machine dishing on how Martha Stewart will fare as she decorates her new digs at the federally funded, minimum security, Graybar Hotel in Danbury? Speaking of Ms. Stewart and frenzies, can you imagine the whirl that will surround her when she shows her new dorm mates how to make a shiv out of a pine cone and a used Wheaties box? Or when she turns a dull flannel blanket and stale dinner roll into a gazebo?
With less than four months left until the presidential election, the feeding frenzies have just begun. Each party will lick at any potentially scandalous straw in an attempt to stir up a blinding dust storm hoping to divert attention away from their own failings. Until the next opportunity presents itself, both sides are circling overhead, stuffing napkins into their collars and looking for someone to devour.
jt
July 15, 2004
A Battle of the Gods & Other Developments
Despite his frequent staggering self exaltation, I recently found myself listening to blustering egoist, Bill O'Reilly. He once claimed the work he did on the radio, bringing his version of "no spin" to the public, was more important than the daily toil of congress. In my naïve way, I'd like to think at least a few of our Washington elected are up to some good. Despite the moments when I wonder what they do beyond insult each other, attend Georgetown cocktail parties or engage in the occasional inappropriate touching of an upwardly mobile page. Nonetheless, I do find him amusing. Not in a funny way like watching some unfortunate wannabe glaze-over in front of Simon Cowell on "America Idol". But much in the same amusing way I enjoy watching a huckster sell knives at the fair. Even though you know someone's going to get cheated, they'll at least walk away with a bag full of cutlery.
One morning, after fawning over a caller whose views coincided with his own, he importantly agreed to send the listener an autographed copy of his recent book, "Who's Looking Out For You"…his version of cutlery. Although I doubt the O'Reilly scribble will add much value to his tome, someday it could very well end up on EBay in a category usually reserved for Billy Beer and Elvis's sweat. As his final opinion for the day, he offered up a nugget of reason as to why the United States has not been attacked by terrorists since 9/11. Not completely agreeing, I think it can be safely argued that watching Jessica Simpson and her spouse on TV could be construed as an act of terrorism.
Conforming to his own non-secular world view, Mr. O’Reilly stated it is the Deity who has kept us from being attacked. This brings up an interesting question. Is there an on-going primordial battle of the Gods happening somewhere in the heavens or in a netherworld hidden in the backroom of rundown desert bar outside Vegas? Is it our Guy against theirs? What else could O’Reilly mean? He must be saying our One is duking it out with Allah and perhaps other nefarious self appointed rulers of the universe we haven’t yet met. That shows you what I know. I thought all this stuff ended after the Greek God Cronus ate his kids and left for Italy where he morphed into Saturn…or where he drove a Saturn…I guess I should have paid more attention in class. Recently, freshly minted Iraqi Prime Minister lyad Allawi implored his new security force (they sound ominously familiar) when he said, “We will annihilate those terrorists groups, God willing.” Every time a Bin Laden tape shows up where he threatens half the planet, he says his band of zealots will be successful, “god willing”. So, I’m really confused. How many Gods are there? Can ours kick the celestial butt of theirs? In the 21st century do we really have to call on a God to take us into battle? I guess so. Where’s Zeus when you need him?
And then…in an attempt to distance himself from the anti-gay constitutional amendment debacle launched at his request in the senate by his pious brethren, GW said, "What they do in the privacy of their house, consenting adults should be able to do. This is America. It's a free society. But it doesn't mean we have to redefine traditional marriage." The fact is, traditional marriage hasn't existed in this country since Elizabeth Taylor and the Gabor sisters wore out one minister after another. And between Jay Lo and Brittany, the hallowed "institution of marriage" is about to be irreparably tossed off a cliff. Surely, GW thinks gay marriage is icky. His view was likely formed while attending prep school at Andover during an unfortunate towel snapping incident and group hug. But politicians are a sly lot; especially our shoulder shrugging leader from Texas. He'll still preach the message of traditional marriage knowing full well it's unlikely ever to be etched into constitutional stone. So what. His prayerful followers will believe in him and cast their votes.
And lastly…glamour boy Vice Presidential candidate John Edwards has a little surprise for all his liberal friends. In case any of you have forgotten, during his unsuccessful run at the Top Dog job, he offered up the idea of a domestic spy agency. He hasn't let go of this spiffy notion. Dissing the FBI he said, "Many of the examinations of 9/11 have raised serious questions about whether the FBI is the right agency to conduct domestic intelligence collection and analysis." So if the Dems win the election, don't be surprised if you see someone in a hair sprayed bouffant peeking out at you from behind a tree, wearing a little flowered off-the-shoulder number and a pair of mules while smoking a cigar and conjuring up the ghost of Jay Edgar Hoover.
jt
July 2, 2004
Sovereignty, Rental Cars & What is John Kerry Up To?
As we head into this 4th of Jingo…er, July weekend, I thought it would be a good idea to take stock of where we stand. Fortunately, some of you have disagreed with my points of view as presented in past missives. I'd hate to be right about everything. Then we'd be in worse shape than I thought possible.
So briefly, in no particular order:
Bill Clinton's self aggrandizing bio-tome hit the book stands at a mere 950 or so pages making it only slightly shorter than the Gutenberg Bible. Fortunately for God, he didn't have Kenneth Star to deal with or Moses might have come down from Mt. Sinai with indictments. As is typical of world leaders in Brioni suits, power was everything to Mr. Clinton. Arkansas's favorite son diminishes his oval office tryst with Monica Lewinsky saying he dallied with her and his favorite Havana because he could. Well Mr. Former President, you could have invaded Liechtenstein but somewhere along the line you thought the better of it. You will be remembered for your choices.
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Scientists have announced that the prolonged use of cell phones may have a negative effect on sperm production and male fertility. So guys, don't call in your Viagra prescriptions from the car. This may also explain why you continue to get calls from your ex-wife on your Nokia.
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Just in time for the big push for re-election, Mr. Bush, holding his palms up and brushing his hands together much like a blackjack dealer just prior to heading off to a break, has returned sovereignty to Iraq. Now in charge is an interim government. A group of leaders who would make Jim Henson proud. They must be well compensated as I doubt health insurance is part of their benefits package, given the risks associated with visiting a Baghdad Starbucks or hiding under a Bedouin's rug.
After the explosive events of the past year or so, isn't returning this country to its citizens the same as turning in a rental car? Like Iraq, a rental car belongs to someone else, so there is little guilt when it gets trashed, or when it's used to knock over a 7-Eleven. Mr. Bush & Company lose no sleep over the collateral damage caused when liberating a country because to them it's like driving a Hertz…when you're done you can return it and walk away…just leave the paper work and turn in the receipt for someone else to pay…that would be you, me and our young soldiers.
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I don't know about you (actually I do know about you, but I don't want to embarrass you in front of the others), but if the election were held today, I am put in the position of voting against a candidate. You know who I mean. The one who shrugs, winks and points to his cronies like a Johnny Carson impersonator working the lounge at a fading downtown Vegas casino. However, Mr. Kerry and his highly paid handlers have, probably shrewdly, managed to tell me very little so far that is substantive about what he plans to do if he gains entrance to the ultimate country club on Pennsylvania Avenue. What he's done very well is exploit roughly half the population's distaste for the incumbent. But he has to do better than looking good flipping a football a la JFK and tossing out time-tested computer generated liberal buzz-phrases. And he has to it soon. The other guys are highly motivated and are not going to let go of those all-access passes without a struggle.
jt
June 26, 2004
Suicide Bombers & Dick Chaney
Classified Ad : Wanted, Martyrs - No degree required. No long term commitment. No dress requirements. No selling. Must be willing to travel. Bonus paid to your heirs upon completion of a successful mission. Set your own hour.
You might be wondering what suicide bombers and Dick Cheney have in common. I'm not sure, but let's find out.
Recently, Dick Cheney took a stroll over to the floor of the Senate. Despite his constitutional responsibilities there, he is loath to leave his joy-stick filled control room…a fortified and secret place well stocked with Gummy Bears and hidden from view by a decorative Oz-like curtain. While at the hallowed Senate hall, he took the opportunity to tell Democratic foe, Patrick Leahy to "F**k-off". I'm not using the real word here for fear that the Janet Jackson traumatized FCC chairman, Michael (son of Colin) Powell will levy a fine against my keyboard.More amazing than Cheney's use of this most flexible of words was his ability to say it at all. How does one form the "F-word" without having lips? Hmmm. Dick Cheney…no lips. GW…no lips. Donald Rumsfeld…no lips. And perhaps most shocking…Condoleezza Rice…no lips. Suicide bombers…no lips? Well, who knows? After they've done their work, it's admittedly hard to find their lips. But no doubt their message is the same as Cheney's…and that is; "F**k-off". After Mr. Cheney's un-Christian-like harangue he told a reporter, "I expressed myself rather forcefully. I felt better after I had done it." I guess one could argue this was a more civilized blow-up than what we usually see on the streets of the Middle-East, but in terms of commitment, the suicide bombers are willing to go the extra kilometer…a place where Dick would never tread without a phalanx of men who speak into their lapel pins.
What goes on in the mind of a suicide bomber? I have been unable to verify this personally, but I have it on good authority if you put your ear right up against the head of a suicide bomber, you can hear the ocean. Despite their unwillingness to join the local Kiwanis Club, they can have a huge impact on the neighborhoods they visit. There's nothing like walking down the street, minding your own business, listening to "Rashed Al-Fares" on your iPod, when suddenly there's a flash of light and a deafening noise coupled with a crushing pressure on your entire being…and if you're lucky enough to survive, you might have the Dali-esque experience of seeing a total, now incomplete, stranger's spleen land at your feet. Unlike our all too serious and lipless Mr. Cheney, suicide bombers are hard to ID. When they activate their explosive waistcoats, their heads are usually separated from their bodies. The same thing happens if you apply undue pressure to your Sammy Sosa bobble-head doll. To the best of my knowledge there are no Republican bobble-head dolls.Are today's suicide bombers like the kamikazes of yore? Kamikaze means "God's Wind". One can only imagine the impact of that at a party. Given Cheney's health issues and his time spent eating hospital cuisine…well suffice it to say, he rides a lot of elevators alone.
So, do suicide bombers and Dick Cheney have anything in common? Let's review. Both are committed to a cause. Both consider themselves to be public servants. Neither is a fan of Hillary Clinton. One likes potatoes and gravy, the other likes humus. Both think their God is the One. Both would like to spend some quality time with Heidi Klum. Need I go on? Ultimately, you'll have to decide for yourself.
jt
June 21, 2004
And Now Introducing Al Qaeda…
"The reason I keep insisting that there was a relationship between Iraq and Saddam and Al Qaeda is because there was a relationship between Iraq and Al Qaeda". - G W Bush, June 17, 2004.
If Reagan was the great communicator, then GW is the great simplifier. Unfortunately, he's attained his drawling efficiency of language by removing from his pronouncements logic, reason and most noticeably, adverbs. This technique may work for some, but didn't win him a spot on the Yale debate team.
As I write this, GW is surely planning more time away from Washington, so he can race his cigarette boat off the coast of Kennebunkport while flashing that ear-to-ear the rest-of-you-are-screwed grin. Meanwhile, the hired help is at the home office worrying about more mundane things like the survival of life as we know it. Despite GW's work ethic, I have to agree with him and President Chaney along with the rest of his dour-club on one very pressing issue. And that it is, Osama Bin Laden and Al Qaeda have to go.
To start, Bin Laden hates everyone. This likely is due to the fact that he is one of 52 children. Talk about sibling rivalry. Clearly, dad needed a hobby. It reminds of me of Groucho Marx's interview with a man who had a mere 12 kids. When Groucho heard how many progeny the man had he quipped, "I love my cigar, but I take it out of my mouth once in a while". But let's get back to hate.
Now the Al Qaeda guys (the girls are all home mending their burkas and practicing supplication) have captured some hapless Korean and I'm pretty sure he has no interest in meeting Allah, now or in the future. Despite his coming from a country where a good time consists of assembling televisions and whipping up a dazzling puppy-fondue, he does not deserve to meet his demise at the hands of fanatics. In case you didn't know, a fanatic is just a lunatic with a hobby…much like people who collect Hummels.In his former life, son of a billionaire, Osama and his sycophantic buddies spent most of their time drinking, going to strip clubs, and playing video games. Whoa! That sort of describes GW during his post post-grad years. Anyway…apparently, some suicide hijackers felt that militant action would redeem them and erase past sins. The 9/11 Commission discovered that one of them upon leaving a nudie bar was seen hailing a taxi and shouting, "driver, step on it and take me to paradise." This particular group of zealots continue to pick and choose among the Koran's texts, interpreting their religion as they please. Proving that if you show me a book of God, I'll show you someone thumping it.
Political psychologist Dr. Jerrold Post argues that people are drawn to political violence not purely from ideological considerations but also through personal and psychological factors, as an end in itself: "Individuals become terrorists in order to join terrorist groups and commit acts of terrorism." Gee! Really? That statement is suspiciously Bushian. What exactly is a political psychologist? I want a shrink who is politically agnostic, so when I describe my dreams about Krispy Kreme doughnuts and choo-choo trains he'll let me know whether or not I have issues with my mommy. I don't need him to tell me I should have voted Republican.
Al Qaeda must be swept up and taken somewhere allowing the civilized world, such as it is, to dish out some serious punishment. Something brutal they can understand, like two weeks locked in a room with Ryan Secrest. Some would say living in Afghanistan is punishment enough. The place is barely a country. There is no infrastructure to speak of. The main street of Kabul is something out of Sergio Leone movie without the valet parking.
The bottom line is the world is brimming with crazies all of whom are trying to impose their morality and belief systems on us. They'll stop at nothing. They'll kill themselves. They'll send their countrymen off to do battle. They'll risk all by making secret deals with shady groups who will eventually turn on them. They'll toss personal freedoms out the window. They'll even stoop to constitutional amendments. Uh, ah…oh…sorry, this is the beginning of another rant.
jt