When you think of an airport, what’s the first thing that comes to your mind? Airplanes, right? Maybe large bustling terminals, baggage carousels, overpriced concourse food, interminable security lines? How about gay sex?
Yes, gay sex. Leave it to a politician to forever change America’s perception of a commonplace architectural symbol of a now routine method of transportation from an annoying, stress-filled, delay-ridden, dehumanizing pain-in-the-butt to an annoying, stress-filled, delay-ridden, dehumanizing pain-in-the-butt – with gay sex. It’s everything aviation’s been waiting for. Give it a few weeks. United will unveil it’s new slogan. “Fly the Friendly Skies. Now with more gay sex.”
Obviously, the gay sex isn’t the issue. I’ve only used the phrase “gay sex” six times because it sounds kind of funny. The problem is Idaho Republican Senator Larry Craig and his “I was guilty at first, but now I’m not and never have been guilty, really, I swear” explanation for his guilty plea to a disorderly conduct charge for soliciting sex in a Minneapolis airport bathroom. In an age where purchasing knock-off perfume at T.J. Maxx enables some guy living in his mother’s basement to charge a Lexus to your credit card, it’s a bit of a mystery to me how an incident of this nature involving a person with this profile could take place three months ago and only be reported now, but I guess Senator Craig thought he had enough juice to keep this under wraps. Unfortunately for him he was wrong.
Until now, Craig had built his career in Washington around being a “family values” politician. He has campaigned against gay marriage, gay rights and pretty much anything having to do with gay people. But you wouldn’t know any of that from reading the incident report. In it the undercover officer states that while working a plain-clothes detail at the Minneapolis airport (apparently the airport bathroom is a hotspot for gay sex,) he slipped into an empty stall to wait for something to happen. About thirteen minutes later he noticed an older white male – later identified as Craig – standing outside his stall peering in. Two minutes later Craig entered the stall next to him and proceeded to perform actions, which, according to the officer, were consistent with actions performed by men seeking to engage in lewd conduct. Later on, once the officer revealed himself to be law enforcement, Craig provided him with several lame explanations for his actions including something about having a “wide stance”, and attempting to retrieve a piece of paper from the floor of the stall.
Now anyone who has ever been to a public restroom knows that whatever is on the floor stays on the floor. That goes double for paper on the floor of the stall. There’s a reason why the custodians wear gloves and use plastic buckets on sticks to clean the restroom. In addition to the unwritten rule, the arresting officer stated there was nothing on the floor, so nobody’s buying the picking up paper bit. And I’m not even going to touch the “wide stance” statement. If your “stance” is wide enough to spill over into the adjacent stall there’s something you aren’t doing correctly.
Senator Craig is under the impression that the scandal here is that if people think he was soliciting gay sex then he must be gay and he desperately does not want that impression conveyed. So at the same time he was trying to explain that his guilty plea really meant he was innocent, he made a point to stress the fact that he is not and never has been gay. Larry, nobody, aside from the six potato farmers in Idaho who voted for you care whether or not you’re gay. Unlike you, most of us believe people have the right to be who they are without being harassed and demeaned by people who feel superior. What we don’t like is the fact out of one side of your mouth you denigrate the lifestyle of a group of people but from the other side you tried to use that lifestyle to solicit satisfaction for your sexual urges in a public airport bathroom, then lied about it telling us you were just trying to pick up some paper. Your colleagues aren’t buying it and neither are we. Why don’t you save yourself any further embarrassment and retreat to your potato cellar before you really say something stupid.
8.28.2007
Last Dance With MaryJane
Another week, another weekend recap. Strange that so little happens during the week, but Friday thru Monday is just bursting with little gems – if one can call them gems.
For those of you who haven’t heard, the Midwest is under water. Vast expanses of Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana and Wisconsin are wishing they had heeded the Lord’s warning and built the arks from gopher wood to ride out the deluge of the past couple weeks. Rumor has it we might actually see the sun for the next few days and get a chance to dry out. Until then I’ll keep the pump next to the inflatable raft in the basement, just in case.
In keeping with the natural disaster theme, television tells me Greece is on fire. Apparently the entire country is engulfed in flames, and two guys caught on an amateur video are being blamed for the whole thing. You’ve got to love a country that feels no shame in blaming a countrywide disaster on a couple guys in an ill-advised home movie. We should consider doing that here. Infrastructure falling apart? Health care doesn’t work? No problem. Let’s pick up Frank and Donald off the park bench by the Seven Eleven, beat them senseless and toss them in prison for twenty years. That should fix it.
Reputed Ku Klux Klansman James Ford Seale, 72, was sentenced to three life terms for kidnapping and conspiracy in the murder of two black teenagers in Mississippi in 1964. Well it’s about DAMN time! All it took was 43 years, several major motion pictures, and one of his co-conspirators with a grant of immunity to finally roll on him. Justice isn't just blind, it's slower than $&*!.
Pre-orders of O. J. Simpson’s book “If I Did It” have doubled since Barnes & Noble announced last Tuesday that it would not stock the “fictionalized” account of his wife’s murder in its stores. I guess that begs only one question. What’s wrong with you people! This is not a trading card that will increase in value the rarer it becomes. It’s a book about a guy murdering his wife, written by a guy who got away with MURDERING HIS WIFE! Why would anyone read this drivel? How may trees have to die so that this fool can remain in the spotlight long after his fifteen minutes are up? I guess Fred Goldman thinks it’s okay to exploit his son’s death, as long as he can reap the benefits.
Michael Vick officially entered his guilty plea in federal court in Virginia on Monday morning. Shortly afterward he offered his apology the media. He said he “made a mistake,” he “took responsibility” for his actions, and said that through this situation he had “found Jesus.” Hmm. Seems like he’s already started off on the wrong foot. You see Mike, the first step in taking responsibility for your actions is to understand exactly what it is you are taking responsibility for. You didn’t make a mistake. Six to eight dogs didn’t accidentally drown in the tub while you were bathing them. Your actions, and those of your cohorts willfully and intentionally led to the death of those dogs. And as my step brother-in-law so eloquently put it this weekend, claiming you owned and oversaw the kennel but never bet on any of the fights is sort of like saying you own the casino but never play the slots. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t collect the money in the pit if that blood money ends up in your bank account at the end of the day. Parsing your words to try to avoid further punishment from the league in no way diminishes the vileness and the violence of your actions. As for Mike Vick finding Jesus, maybe you have, maybe you haven’t. Why is it that so many people find Jesus only after they’ve been caught doing something they know is wrong? Perhaps if you had spent a little more time searching for Jesus beforehand, you wouldn’t be in the situation you are in now. Remember, now that you’ve found him, you have to answer to him.
Attorney general Alberto Gonzalez has finally seen the light and has tendered his resignation effective September 17. Too bad it took 6 months of suffering through lies, denials, deflections, hearings and moronic statements of support from the president for him to get the message. This administration decided very early on that its modus operandi at the first sign of any trouble would be to deny, conceal and claim as privileged any relevant information in an attempt to shut down its critics. Gonzalez could have nullified the whole U.S. Attorney firing scandal before it started with the following statement, “The president has decided to remove eight U.S. Attorney’s and replace them with these eight yahoos standing here beside me.” Instead he said he said they were fired for sub-par performance, then said he didn’t have anything to do with their firing, then said he didn’t know why they were fired, then admitted he didn’t really know what a U.S. Attorney was and why he was talking about them in the first place. Gonzalez’ stewardship of the justice department boiled down to this. Either he knew exactly what was going on in his office and should be fired for lying to cover it up, or he didn’t (want to) know and should be fired for being incompetent. Either way, this resignation is at least six months too late, and for the president to come out and blame the vast left wing conspiracy is just embarrassing for him.
On the “lighter” side of the news, so to speak, someone released a study today showing my state of Indiana to be the 9th most overweight state in the country, with about a quarter of the adult population classified as obese. That doesn’t include obese children, or people merely classified as fat. Apparently too many Hoosiers are driving through the crossroads of America instead of walking or cycling. At least we aren’t Mississippi.
Finally, supermarket newsstands all across the country are mourning the passing of a tabloid icon. The final printed edition of the Weekly World News was published today. The tabloid will continue to exist online, but it just won’t be the same. No more Martians in the White House, no more finding Satan’s face in tornados, no more yearly Nostradamus predictions of Armageddon. All we have left now is a drunken Britney Spears swimming topless in some stranger’s pool. So long Batboy! This one’s for you.
For those of you who haven’t heard, the Midwest is under water. Vast expanses of Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana and Wisconsin are wishing they had heeded the Lord’s warning and built the arks from gopher wood to ride out the deluge of the past couple weeks. Rumor has it we might actually see the sun for the next few days and get a chance to dry out. Until then I’ll keep the pump next to the inflatable raft in the basement, just in case.
In keeping with the natural disaster theme, television tells me Greece is on fire. Apparently the entire country is engulfed in flames, and two guys caught on an amateur video are being blamed for the whole thing. You’ve got to love a country that feels no shame in blaming a countrywide disaster on a couple guys in an ill-advised home movie. We should consider doing that here. Infrastructure falling apart? Health care doesn’t work? No problem. Let’s pick up Frank and Donald off the park bench by the Seven Eleven, beat them senseless and toss them in prison for twenty years. That should fix it.
Reputed Ku Klux Klansman James Ford Seale, 72, was sentenced to three life terms for kidnapping and conspiracy in the murder of two black teenagers in Mississippi in 1964. Well it’s about DAMN time! All it took was 43 years, several major motion pictures, and one of his co-conspirators with a grant of immunity to finally roll on him. Justice isn't just blind, it's slower than $&*!.
Pre-orders of O. J. Simpson’s book “If I Did It” have doubled since Barnes & Noble announced last Tuesday that it would not stock the “fictionalized” account of his wife’s murder in its stores. I guess that begs only one question. What’s wrong with you people! This is not a trading card that will increase in value the rarer it becomes. It’s a book about a guy murdering his wife, written by a guy who got away with MURDERING HIS WIFE! Why would anyone read this drivel? How may trees have to die so that this fool can remain in the spotlight long after his fifteen minutes are up? I guess Fred Goldman thinks it’s okay to exploit his son’s death, as long as he can reap the benefits.
Michael Vick officially entered his guilty plea in federal court in Virginia on Monday morning. Shortly afterward he offered his apology the media. He said he “made a mistake,” he “took responsibility” for his actions, and said that through this situation he had “found Jesus.” Hmm. Seems like he’s already started off on the wrong foot. You see Mike, the first step in taking responsibility for your actions is to understand exactly what it is you are taking responsibility for. You didn’t make a mistake. Six to eight dogs didn’t accidentally drown in the tub while you were bathing them. Your actions, and those of your cohorts willfully and intentionally led to the death of those dogs. And as my step brother-in-law so eloquently put it this weekend, claiming you owned and oversaw the kennel but never bet on any of the fights is sort of like saying you own the casino but never play the slots. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t collect the money in the pit if that blood money ends up in your bank account at the end of the day. Parsing your words to try to avoid further punishment from the league in no way diminishes the vileness and the violence of your actions. As for Mike Vick finding Jesus, maybe you have, maybe you haven’t. Why is it that so many people find Jesus only after they’ve been caught doing something they know is wrong? Perhaps if you had spent a little more time searching for Jesus beforehand, you wouldn’t be in the situation you are in now. Remember, now that you’ve found him, you have to answer to him.
Attorney general Alberto Gonzalez has finally seen the light and has tendered his resignation effective September 17. Too bad it took 6 months of suffering through lies, denials, deflections, hearings and moronic statements of support from the president for him to get the message. This administration decided very early on that its modus operandi at the first sign of any trouble would be to deny, conceal and claim as privileged any relevant information in an attempt to shut down its critics. Gonzalez could have nullified the whole U.S. Attorney firing scandal before it started with the following statement, “The president has decided to remove eight U.S. Attorney’s and replace them with these eight yahoos standing here beside me.” Instead he said he said they were fired for sub-par performance, then said he didn’t have anything to do with their firing, then said he didn’t know why they were fired, then admitted he didn’t really know what a U.S. Attorney was and why he was talking about them in the first place. Gonzalez’ stewardship of the justice department boiled down to this. Either he knew exactly what was going on in his office and should be fired for lying to cover it up, or he didn’t (want to) know and should be fired for being incompetent. Either way, this resignation is at least six months too late, and for the president to come out and blame the vast left wing conspiracy is just embarrassing for him.
On the “lighter” side of the news, so to speak, someone released a study today showing my state of Indiana to be the 9th most overweight state in the country, with about a quarter of the adult population classified as obese. That doesn’t include obese children, or people merely classified as fat. Apparently too many Hoosiers are driving through the crossroads of America instead of walking or cycling. At least we aren’t Mississippi.
Finally, supermarket newsstands all across the country are mourning the passing of a tabloid icon. The final printed edition of the Weekly World News was published today. The tabloid will continue to exist online, but it just won’t be the same. No more Martians in the White House, no more finding Satan’s face in tornados, no more yearly Nostradamus predictions of Armageddon. All we have left now is a drunken Britney Spears swimming topless in some stranger’s pool. So long Batboy! This one’s for you.
8.21.2007
And Then There Were None
It’s Monday night, time for a weekend rewind. I think I’m going to make this a regular feature. Every Monday I’ll take a look at the things that have happened during the past 72 hours, and if anything interesting happens during the week I’ll deal with that then.
Looks like the search for the miners in Utah has stalled indefinitely following another shaft collapsed, killing several rescuers. This is about the last thing anybody wanted to happen. Our hearts go out to the families of all the miners and the rescuers, and we hope against hope that this is not the final outcome. This may not be the time, but at some point this question needs to be asked; with all the seismic activity and instability at this mine, should anyone have been working there to begin with?
Wanting to keep the resignation train rolling, White House Press Secretary Tony Snow Announced he will be leaving his post before the end of the presidential term – possibly by the end of the month. With first the brain and now the voice of the current administration checking out early, one wonders how long the eyes, nose and ears will stick around before they decide it’s no longer worth being attached to the face. Mr. Snow cited “financial pressures” as his reason for stepping off the sinking ship into the lifeboat. I guess that means that $170,000 a year just doesn’t go as far as it used to. But I wish him the best in his ongoing battle with cancer, and hope his next position – wherever it is – will provide him with whatever financial security it is he is looking for. Press Secretary is a difficult job, regardless of who is in power. It cannot be easy to stand in front of a room full of skeptics with cameras and recorders every day and try to communicate things that they – and sometimes you – might not necessarily believe.
In a move surprising to no one, the White House decided it, and not General David Petraeus would deliver the September 12 Iraq war report to the public. After all, why would anyone want the public to have access to information unfiltered, unaltered and unrefined by the administration? That kind of information, in the hands of the voting public, could prove to be very dangerous. Must protect people from themselves.
Michael Vick decided to plead guilty to federal conspiracy and dog fighting charges, finally allowing us to end the overuse of the word allegedly in any football-related conversation. “Sources” claim the government wants him to serve between twelve and thirty-six months in prison, and that his lawyers are trying to get that reduced to less than a year. Yeah, I’d like to go upstairs and find Ashley Judd practicing yoga naked in my living room, but I don’t see that happening either. In addition to whatever sentence he receives from the feds, there are rumors of a one to two year suspension, state criminal charges and legal action to recover some of his $130 million dollar contract. I hope it was worth it Mike. I hope the enjoyment you got from drowning, electrocuting and hanging those dogs will tide you over during your stay in federal prison. And I hope it’s a prison in Georgia. I hear they’re really comfortable.
For some reason known only to powers much higher than myself, Fox has tapped Ryan Seacrest to host the upcoming Emmy awards. I might be stepping out on a limb to say this, but this Seacrest character could be America's first pity superstar. Face it, he is popular for two reasons only; middle-schoolers think he's cute, and people feel sorry for him. Every week during the torture that is American Idol, Simon Cowell splits his time between berating wannabe pop stars and abusing Ryan Seacrest, who stands slack-jawed before the cameras and takes it like the chump that he is. Of course the swooning, squealing, shreiking masses of tween and pre-teen girls and their parents who make up the audience love to hate Cowell. And since the enemy of thine enemy is thy friend, they rally to the aid of Seacrest, with cheers for his perk and polished white grin and jeers for his abuser. For as long as I have been watching television I have never seen anyone become famous on the level of what Ryan Seacrest has managed to attain, for what amounts to a weekly emasculation. And I hope I never will again.
Finally, “High School Musical 2” broke all kinds of cable television viewership records this past weekend. I have no idea what this thing is, but apparently over 17 million (I have to assume mainly younger) viewers in the United States alone watched this thing. It is a sequel to “High School Musical” (how original) and prequel to “High School Musical 3”, and part of a whole “High School Musical” enterprise consisting of stage shows, ice shows, soundtracks and video games. My wife (whom I’d like to think is a perfectly normal 28 year old woman) assures me that although the sequel suffers from tinny music and a vacuous plot, the original High School Musical was fantastic and something everyone should see. Maybe I’d feel a little different about it if my high school experience had involved the brainy, yet attractive female science genius bursting into song while roaming the halls with backing vocals and back-up dancers. And does anybody else find it a little odd that the star athlete in every Disney television show is a scrawny-looking white dude? So much for realism.
Looks like the search for the miners in Utah has stalled indefinitely following another shaft collapsed, killing several rescuers. This is about the last thing anybody wanted to happen. Our hearts go out to the families of all the miners and the rescuers, and we hope against hope that this is not the final outcome. This may not be the time, but at some point this question needs to be asked; with all the seismic activity and instability at this mine, should anyone have been working there to begin with?
Wanting to keep the resignation train rolling, White House Press Secretary Tony Snow Announced he will be leaving his post before the end of the presidential term – possibly by the end of the month. With first the brain and now the voice of the current administration checking out early, one wonders how long the eyes, nose and ears will stick around before they decide it’s no longer worth being attached to the face. Mr. Snow cited “financial pressures” as his reason for stepping off the sinking ship into the lifeboat. I guess that means that $170,000 a year just doesn’t go as far as it used to. But I wish him the best in his ongoing battle with cancer, and hope his next position – wherever it is – will provide him with whatever financial security it is he is looking for. Press Secretary is a difficult job, regardless of who is in power. It cannot be easy to stand in front of a room full of skeptics with cameras and recorders every day and try to communicate things that they – and sometimes you – might not necessarily believe.
In a move surprising to no one, the White House decided it, and not General David Petraeus would deliver the September 12 Iraq war report to the public. After all, why would anyone want the public to have access to information unfiltered, unaltered and unrefined by the administration? That kind of information, in the hands of the voting public, could prove to be very dangerous. Must protect people from themselves.
Michael Vick decided to plead guilty to federal conspiracy and dog fighting charges, finally allowing us to end the overuse of the word allegedly in any football-related conversation. “Sources” claim the government wants him to serve between twelve and thirty-six months in prison, and that his lawyers are trying to get that reduced to less than a year. Yeah, I’d like to go upstairs and find Ashley Judd practicing yoga naked in my living room, but I don’t see that happening either. In addition to whatever sentence he receives from the feds, there are rumors of a one to two year suspension, state criminal charges and legal action to recover some of his $130 million dollar contract. I hope it was worth it Mike. I hope the enjoyment you got from drowning, electrocuting and hanging those dogs will tide you over during your stay in federal prison. And I hope it’s a prison in Georgia. I hear they’re really comfortable.
For some reason known only to powers much higher than myself, Fox has tapped Ryan Seacrest to host the upcoming Emmy awards. I might be stepping out on a limb to say this, but this Seacrest character could be America's first pity superstar. Face it, he is popular for two reasons only; middle-schoolers think he's cute, and people feel sorry for him. Every week during the torture that is American Idol, Simon Cowell splits his time between berating wannabe pop stars and abusing Ryan Seacrest, who stands slack-jawed before the cameras and takes it like the chump that he is. Of course the swooning, squealing, shreiking masses of tween and pre-teen girls and their parents who make up the audience love to hate Cowell. And since the enemy of thine enemy is thy friend, they rally to the aid of Seacrest, with cheers for his perk and polished white grin and jeers for his abuser. For as long as I have been watching television I have never seen anyone become famous on the level of what Ryan Seacrest has managed to attain, for what amounts to a weekly emasculation. And I hope I never will again.
Finally, “High School Musical 2” broke all kinds of cable television viewership records this past weekend. I have no idea what this thing is, but apparently over 17 million (I have to assume mainly younger) viewers in the United States alone watched this thing. It is a sequel to “High School Musical” (how original) and prequel to “High School Musical 3”, and part of a whole “High School Musical” enterprise consisting of stage shows, ice shows, soundtracks and video games. My wife (whom I’d like to think is a perfectly normal 28 year old woman) assures me that although the sequel suffers from tinny music and a vacuous plot, the original High School Musical was fantastic and something everyone should see. Maybe I’d feel a little different about it if my high school experience had involved the brainy, yet attractive female science genius bursting into song while roaming the halls with backing vocals and back-up dancers. And does anybody else find it a little odd that the star athlete in every Disney television show is a scrawny-looking white dude? So much for realism.
8.20.2007
Stack 'em Up
Over the weekend I was reminded of a line from the film “The Incredibles”. The villain of the film dislikes superheroes, and as built machines, armor and weapons to use to eradicate every superhero on earth. Once he has perfected the technology he plans to sell it to anyone who wants to purchase it. And why the hero asks him why he wants to eliminate all the superheroes and provide everyone with his techno powers he replies, “Because when everyone is special, then no one is special.” Truer words have never been spoken.
During my channel surfing this weekend I stumbled across something on ESPN that completely freaked me out. Now ESPN broadcasts bizarre “sports” all the time (see competitive eating contests and professional bowling), but this was like that accident on the side of the highway that’s been cleaned up for hours but no one can stop themselves from slowing to gawk at the broken glass swept onto the shoulder. The program was the World Cup Stacking Championships. Yes, cup stacking championships. Not the shoot-a-cup-from-fifty-meters-away championships, not the hundred-meter sprint-with-a-cup-on-your-head championships, the cup stacking championships! What, in the HELL, is this! When did arranging empty plastic beer cups into pyramids then dismantling them into little piles become a sport? Did I fall asleep under a tree and wake up twenty years later in some bizzaro version of my life? I know that the network has 24 hours of programming to fill over at least four channels, but this was really the best they could come up with? There were no old Monday Night Football highlight reels you could have whipped out of storage?
I have a theory as to how this… whatever this is, made it onto television. From what I could tell, all the participants were under that age of eighteen. So aside from training six years olds to grow up to become bartenders (which is the only career in which I can ever see this becoming useful), cup stacking seems like a way for children who don’t have either the skills required or the parental permission to play a real sport feel better about themselves. Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m all for people feeling good about themselves. But there’s a difference between feeling good about yourself and being special, and handing out medals for arranging plastic cups is not making anyone special.
We hold athletes in high regard because they can physically do things we cannot. We respect the Jeopardy champion because he knows more and thinks faster than the rest of us. We are impressed by the guy who solves the Rubik’s cube in three seconds because we couldn’t solve any puzzle that quickly, let alone one so complex. But if we’re going to start applauding kids for doing something we could train a monkey could do we might as well throw away the whole idea of competitive sport. There is no professional cup-stacking league, (and God-willing there never will be) so there’s nowhere to go once all the cups have been stacked. What will happen to these kids once they realize what they did to manufacture self-esteem is completely meaningless in the real world? I’m not saying every kid needs to play football or hockey or whatever. But at the very least let’s encourage kids to take up something that might benefit them later in life. Learn to play guitar, master calculus before the rest of the class, blow up the washing machine with the chemistry set experiment – anything to get you ahead in life. And don’t worry about being “recognized” by getting whatever your thing is to appear on television. Being on television used to mean something. It used to mean that you could do something or had accomplished something other people couldn’t. If all it takes to make Sportscenter now is a three-high stack of cups, then television – and fame - just isn’t what they used to be.
During my channel surfing this weekend I stumbled across something on ESPN that completely freaked me out. Now ESPN broadcasts bizarre “sports” all the time (see competitive eating contests and professional bowling), but this was like that accident on the side of the highway that’s been cleaned up for hours but no one can stop themselves from slowing to gawk at the broken glass swept onto the shoulder. The program was the World Cup Stacking Championships. Yes, cup stacking championships. Not the shoot-a-cup-from-fifty-meters-away championships, not the hundred-meter sprint-with-a-cup-on-your-head championships, the cup stacking championships! What, in the HELL, is this! When did arranging empty plastic beer cups into pyramids then dismantling them into little piles become a sport? Did I fall asleep under a tree and wake up twenty years later in some bizzaro version of my life? I know that the network has 24 hours of programming to fill over at least four channels, but this was really the best they could come up with? There were no old Monday Night Football highlight reels you could have whipped out of storage?
I have a theory as to how this… whatever this is, made it onto television. From what I could tell, all the participants were under that age of eighteen. So aside from training six years olds to grow up to become bartenders (which is the only career in which I can ever see this becoming useful), cup stacking seems like a way for children who don’t have either the skills required or the parental permission to play a real sport feel better about themselves. Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m all for people feeling good about themselves. But there’s a difference between feeling good about yourself and being special, and handing out medals for arranging plastic cups is not making anyone special.
We hold athletes in high regard because they can physically do things we cannot. We respect the Jeopardy champion because he knows more and thinks faster than the rest of us. We are impressed by the guy who solves the Rubik’s cube in three seconds because we couldn’t solve any puzzle that quickly, let alone one so complex. But if we’re going to start applauding kids for doing something we could train a monkey could do we might as well throw away the whole idea of competitive sport. There is no professional cup-stacking league, (and God-willing there never will be) so there’s nowhere to go once all the cups have been stacked. What will happen to these kids once they realize what they did to manufacture self-esteem is completely meaningless in the real world? I’m not saying every kid needs to play football or hockey or whatever. But at the very least let’s encourage kids to take up something that might benefit them later in life. Learn to play guitar, master calculus before the rest of the class, blow up the washing machine with the chemistry set experiment – anything to get you ahead in life. And don’t worry about being “recognized” by getting whatever your thing is to appear on television. Being on television used to mean something. It used to mean that you could do something or had accomplished something other people couldn’t. If all it takes to make Sportscenter now is a three-high stack of cups, then television – and fame - just isn’t what they used to be.
8.13.2007
Six Ways From Sunday
It’s been a busy weekend in news, hasn’t it? I hadn’t planned on parking my lazy butt back in front of the computer for a couple days, but there’s just too much stuff to pass up here. Nothing particularly coherent, just a couple thoughts on things.
Rescuers are still unable to reach the miners trapped in the Utah coalmine. It’s hard work, it’s dangerous work, and it’s damn slow going. I wish them Godspeed and I sincerely hope there are miners to rescue when they get there.
Mitt Romney won the Iowa Straw Poll on Saturday. Whoopty-freakin’-do. If I understand this Straw Poll business correctly, once every four years some of the more conservative attendees of the Iowa State Fair pay $35 for the privilege to sit in a room, listen to some speeches, and cast an absolutely meaningless vote a solid fifteen months before the election. And this year, a third of the candidates didn’t even bother to show up, reducing the already negligible value of the results to less than nothing. So, congratulations Mitt Romney. You are officially the most popular – of the least popular candidates… in a bogus poll… by people dumb enough to actually pay good money to vote. It’s a little like being the most popular IRS agent. Besides, thirty-five dollars could have bought a couple hot dogs, an elephant ear and a stick of cotton candy at the fair. Now that’s money well spent.
Former Wisconsin governor Tommy Thompson announced he would be dropping out of the presidential race. Hmm. Tommy Thompson was running for president? Seriously? What are they putting in that cheese up there?
According to the Associated Press, the head of a Chinese manufacturing company accused of shipping hundreds of thousands of lead-tainted toys to the United States (which were later recalled) has committed suicide. Just a couple weeks ago the Chinese government executed the (now former) head of its Food and Drug Administration for accepting bribes and approving untested medicine. Seems like they’re taking this personal responsibility thing pretty seriously over there. I’d be happy to get any of our corrupt politicians and or businesspersons to simply admit they’ve made a mistake, never mind take responsibility for one.
NASA has discovered a three-inch gouge in one of the heat-resistant tiles on the underside of the shuttle. Apparently one of the possible methods of repair is to cover the scratch with a flexible pink goo. Yes, that’s right, pink goo. I know I can’t be the only person who finds it absurd that in the year 2007 we are trying to repair a billion dollar spacecraft with BUBBLE GUM! Come on people! It’s the future. Can we seriously not manufacture a tile that can’t be shredded by a rogue piece of foam? We can make a plastic blister package impossible to open, but we can’t make foam stick to a fuel tank. Obviously our priorities are in the wrong place. Looking back on all the shuttle missions now it’s amazing that we’ve only had two accidents all these years. NASA just recently started checking the spacecraft for damage and this isn’t the first thing they’ve found. Isn’t it reasonable to assume that scratches, bumps and loose blankets all happened before and we were lucky to get away with it?
The headline of this morning – and probably the week was the resignation of the president’s chief advisor Karl Rove. The “Great White Devil” himself is calling it quits to “spend more time with his family.” Karl, nobody’s buying the more time with the family line. It’s the political equivalent of “it’s not about the money.” The Balding Braniac resigned for one of two reasons. One, he was politely asked to vacate the premises. Or two, he is leaving to either run or consult for another political candidate’s campaign. So just because Rove is parting ways with the president, doesn’t’ mean he’s going softly into that sweet goodnight.
On a lighter note, Tiger Woods won his 13th major this weekend at the PGA Championship in Tulsa. Ho hum, another Tiger Woods victory. Somebody call me when he loses something. That’ll be news. You know I’ve often wondered what it must feel like to know that you are so much better at what you do than anyone else who does what you do. Do you think he ever gets the urge to throw the other guys a bone so they’ll feel a little better about themselves and stave off suicide for at least another week?
Dario Franchitti rolled his racecar again this week – the second time in six days. And when I say rolled I mean completely airborne, end over end, nose in the ground, grinding on the roll bar and breaking apart against the wall. For those of you who don’t know, Dario Franchitti is the husband of the one and only Ashley Judd. Which only begs the question, what motivation does this guy have to even get out of bed in the morning, let alone risk his life in a racecar every week? Seriously Dario. From every man in America. Go home. Please. Live our dreams.
Finally, I know that what I’m about to say may label me as a hippie, but that’s okay, I’m at peace with who I am. I’m addicted to History Detectives, a television show on PBS. Yes I said PBS. But the funny part is I think I have a crush on one of the appraisers, Elyse Luray. You don’t have to look at me that way, I know it’s weird. There’s nothing particularly special about her, yet there IS something special about her. I think it’s her smile. Nice white teeth. I don’t know. Is it wrong to find a regular middle-aged professional history-loving PBS personality attractive? Is it? It is, isn't it. Great. Now I feel dirty. Tell me I’m not alone here.
Rescuers are still unable to reach the miners trapped in the Utah coalmine. It’s hard work, it’s dangerous work, and it’s damn slow going. I wish them Godspeed and I sincerely hope there are miners to rescue when they get there.
Mitt Romney won the Iowa Straw Poll on Saturday. Whoopty-freakin’-do. If I understand this Straw Poll business correctly, once every four years some of the more conservative attendees of the Iowa State Fair pay $35 for the privilege to sit in a room, listen to some speeches, and cast an absolutely meaningless vote a solid fifteen months before the election. And this year, a third of the candidates didn’t even bother to show up, reducing the already negligible value of the results to less than nothing. So, congratulations Mitt Romney. You are officially the most popular – of the least popular candidates… in a bogus poll… by people dumb enough to actually pay good money to vote. It’s a little like being the most popular IRS agent. Besides, thirty-five dollars could have bought a couple hot dogs, an elephant ear and a stick of cotton candy at the fair. Now that’s money well spent.
Former Wisconsin governor Tommy Thompson announced he would be dropping out of the presidential race. Hmm. Tommy Thompson was running for president? Seriously? What are they putting in that cheese up there?
According to the Associated Press, the head of a Chinese manufacturing company accused of shipping hundreds of thousands of lead-tainted toys to the United States (which were later recalled) has committed suicide. Just a couple weeks ago the Chinese government executed the (now former) head of its Food and Drug Administration for accepting bribes and approving untested medicine. Seems like they’re taking this personal responsibility thing pretty seriously over there. I’d be happy to get any of our corrupt politicians and or businesspersons to simply admit they’ve made a mistake, never mind take responsibility for one.
NASA has discovered a three-inch gouge in one of the heat-resistant tiles on the underside of the shuttle. Apparently one of the possible methods of repair is to cover the scratch with a flexible pink goo. Yes, that’s right, pink goo. I know I can’t be the only person who finds it absurd that in the year 2007 we are trying to repair a billion dollar spacecraft with BUBBLE GUM! Come on people! It’s the future. Can we seriously not manufacture a tile that can’t be shredded by a rogue piece of foam? We can make a plastic blister package impossible to open, but we can’t make foam stick to a fuel tank. Obviously our priorities are in the wrong place. Looking back on all the shuttle missions now it’s amazing that we’ve only had two accidents all these years. NASA just recently started checking the spacecraft for damage and this isn’t the first thing they’ve found. Isn’t it reasonable to assume that scratches, bumps and loose blankets all happened before and we were lucky to get away with it?
The headline of this morning – and probably the week was the resignation of the president’s chief advisor Karl Rove. The “Great White Devil” himself is calling it quits to “spend more time with his family.” Karl, nobody’s buying the more time with the family line. It’s the political equivalent of “it’s not about the money.” The Balding Braniac resigned for one of two reasons. One, he was politely asked to vacate the premises. Or two, he is leaving to either run or consult for another political candidate’s campaign. So just because Rove is parting ways with the president, doesn’t’ mean he’s going softly into that sweet goodnight.
On a lighter note, Tiger Woods won his 13th major this weekend at the PGA Championship in Tulsa. Ho hum, another Tiger Woods victory. Somebody call me when he loses something. That’ll be news. You know I’ve often wondered what it must feel like to know that you are so much better at what you do than anyone else who does what you do. Do you think he ever gets the urge to throw the other guys a bone so they’ll feel a little better about themselves and stave off suicide for at least another week?
Dario Franchitti rolled his racecar again this week – the second time in six days. And when I say rolled I mean completely airborne, end over end, nose in the ground, grinding on the roll bar and breaking apart against the wall. For those of you who don’t know, Dario Franchitti is the husband of the one and only Ashley Judd. Which only begs the question, what motivation does this guy have to even get out of bed in the morning, let alone risk his life in a racecar every week? Seriously Dario. From every man in America. Go home. Please. Live our dreams.
Finally, I know that what I’m about to say may label me as a hippie, but that’s okay, I’m at peace with who I am. I’m addicted to History Detectives, a television show on PBS. Yes I said PBS. But the funny part is I think I have a crush on one of the appraisers, Elyse Luray. You don’t have to look at me that way, I know it’s weird. There’s nothing particularly special about her, yet there IS something special about her. I think it’s her smile. Nice white teeth. I don’t know. Is it wrong to find a regular middle-aged professional history-loving PBS personality attractive? Is it? It is, isn't it. Great. Now I feel dirty. Tell me I’m not alone here.
The Poor Man's Porsche
I was on my way home from a barbeque at a friend’s home yesterday when I had a thought. Okay, my wife had a thought. But we’re married, so her thoughts are supposed to be our thoughts now, or so I’m told. Anyway, as we approached a gas station we noticed a shiny black 70s era Dodge Charger filling up just across the curb from us. As we passed the car my wife turned to me and said, “Why don’t they make good looking sports cars like that anymore?”
I suppose that technically the 70s Charger was created as a muscle car, but the question is a good one. Why don’t they make good looking sports cars anymore? Matter of fact, why don’t’ they make sports cars anymore? I know, Ferrari, Porsche, Lamborghini all make sports cars – great sports cars. But non-elite automobile manufacturers used to produce reasonably priced high performance vehicles as well. Remember the Toyota Supra, the Mazda RX-7, Acura NSX, Nissan 300 ZX, Dodge Viper, the Corvette Stingray? Cars that not only provided exhilarating driving experiences, but also looked really great doing it.
So what happened? The NSX, Supra and RX-7 all dropped off the face of the earth. Mazda (now owned by Ford – which is a whole other columns’ worth of complaints) is currently trying to pass off some bastardized four door family-friendly sedan with a back seat off as a sports car. The Viper, which used to be snarling, curvy, aggressive beast has been “redesigned” into little more than a bright red Sebring. Even the Corvette has been thinned out so much I nearly mistook one for a Saturn last night. Only Nissan continues to produce its sports car (now the 350 Z) and at a time where everyone is obsessed with looking back, has managed to push forward in both design and engineering to enhance a classic. But why are they the only ones.
The obvious answer is that somebody decided that sports cars just weren’t selling anymore. That may be true, but I think there’s something more behind that. The old muscle cars, the Japanese sports cars and the Italian supercars all had/have a few things in common. They crouch low to the ground, all their curves are accentuated, they flare out at the rear wheels and the rear ends are all set higher than the front. Sports cars and muscle cars take their cues from the female anatomy. Ooh, I can hear the steak knives being sharpened in the kitchen, but hear me out. What do men find sexy about women? Sensuous posture, accentuated curves, a little flare of the hips and a high, pert backside. Attraction is attraction, so why should a car be any different?
Now, before the pitchforks and torches reach my front door, what does the sex appeal of the sports car have to do with its disappearance? Well, the 60s and 70s were a time of free love and revolution. It was okay to be sexy, and it was okay to let everyone know you were sexy. Detroit graced us with the Mustang, Charger, Challenger, Chevelle, and the Stingray. But the 80s and 90s brought about a change. Women decided they no longer wanted to be objectified, or viewed in a sexual manner. They wanted to be equal to men in every way possible. So the clothes became asexual, the hairstyles androgynous and the vehicles, well, boring. Ford ripped the soul out of the Mustang, Chevy raked the curves out of the Corvette and Dodge simply sent the Charger to the scrap heap. Fortunately for driving enthusiasts Japan was still a few years behind with their Cultural Revolution and provided us with some fantastic sports car specimens. Unfortunately, the early years of this decade have driven us further from sexy and slammed us hard up against the guardrail of security. Security moms and soccer dads decided they needed some way to get their 1.3 kids, dog and dry cleaning to and from school four blocks from home without ever interrupting the child’s entertainment. So now we have ghastly eight passenger minivans and gas-chugging SUVs complete with LCD screens and video games, and pathetic imitations of formerly inspired names in automotive engineering (see the modern versions of the Malibu and the Charger). And don’t think for a moment that the proliferation of chunky clunky vehicles on the road is unrelated to America’s epidemic of obesity. Do you think a slender, young, hot Brooke Shields would be caught dead in a Scion or a Nitro?
I believe that what we choose to drive is in some way a reflection of who we are, and sports cars to some further extent an image of who we would like to be. As a sports car enthusiast I’m hoping that sometime soon it will be okay to feel sexy again. Right now it doesn’t look good. Fuel economy is still a huge concern and there is no passenger vehicle on the road less sexy than a Prius. Most manufacturers have not invested design time or resources in anything resembling a sports car, and the few who have are trying their darnedest to ruin the very image they are trying to create, maintain or restore. There are actually rumors of four door versions of the upcoming Camaro and Mustang, and we’ve already seen what’s happened to the Charger. But there is hope. I have a picture I took at an auto show seven years ago of a fine specimen of a vehicle that was at that time labeled the Charger. I have to believe that car or some derivation of it is still sitting in a warehouse somewhere in Detroit waiting to be released under some other name. Both Acura and Toyota are at least conceptually toying with the idea of once again producing something akin to the supercar challengers they’ve produced in the past. Unfortunately at this point, only the rich guys can afford the sexy sports cars. But that serves to prove the point, doesn’t it. After all, it’s the rich guys that score the really sexy women too. What is it with us guys and curves?
I suppose that technically the 70s Charger was created as a muscle car, but the question is a good one. Why don’t they make good looking sports cars anymore? Matter of fact, why don’t’ they make sports cars anymore? I know, Ferrari, Porsche, Lamborghini all make sports cars – great sports cars. But non-elite automobile manufacturers used to produce reasonably priced high performance vehicles as well. Remember the Toyota Supra, the Mazda RX-7, Acura NSX, Nissan 300 ZX, Dodge Viper, the Corvette Stingray? Cars that not only provided exhilarating driving experiences, but also looked really great doing it.
So what happened? The NSX, Supra and RX-7 all dropped off the face of the earth. Mazda (now owned by Ford – which is a whole other columns’ worth of complaints) is currently trying to pass off some bastardized four door family-friendly sedan with a back seat off as a sports car. The Viper, which used to be snarling, curvy, aggressive beast has been “redesigned” into little more than a bright red Sebring. Even the Corvette has been thinned out so much I nearly mistook one for a Saturn last night. Only Nissan continues to produce its sports car (now the 350 Z) and at a time where everyone is obsessed with looking back, has managed to push forward in both design and engineering to enhance a classic. But why are they the only ones.
The obvious answer is that somebody decided that sports cars just weren’t selling anymore. That may be true, but I think there’s something more behind that. The old muscle cars, the Japanese sports cars and the Italian supercars all had/have a few things in common. They crouch low to the ground, all their curves are accentuated, they flare out at the rear wheels and the rear ends are all set higher than the front. Sports cars and muscle cars take their cues from the female anatomy. Ooh, I can hear the steak knives being sharpened in the kitchen, but hear me out. What do men find sexy about women? Sensuous posture, accentuated curves, a little flare of the hips and a high, pert backside. Attraction is attraction, so why should a car be any different?
Now, before the pitchforks and torches reach my front door, what does the sex appeal of the sports car have to do with its disappearance? Well, the 60s and 70s were a time of free love and revolution. It was okay to be sexy, and it was okay to let everyone know you were sexy. Detroit graced us with the Mustang, Charger, Challenger, Chevelle, and the Stingray. But the 80s and 90s brought about a change. Women decided they no longer wanted to be objectified, or viewed in a sexual manner. They wanted to be equal to men in every way possible. So the clothes became asexual, the hairstyles androgynous and the vehicles, well, boring. Ford ripped the soul out of the Mustang, Chevy raked the curves out of the Corvette and Dodge simply sent the Charger to the scrap heap. Fortunately for driving enthusiasts Japan was still a few years behind with their Cultural Revolution and provided us with some fantastic sports car specimens. Unfortunately, the early years of this decade have driven us further from sexy and slammed us hard up against the guardrail of security. Security moms and soccer dads decided they needed some way to get their 1.3 kids, dog and dry cleaning to and from school four blocks from home without ever interrupting the child’s entertainment. So now we have ghastly eight passenger minivans and gas-chugging SUVs complete with LCD screens and video games, and pathetic imitations of formerly inspired names in automotive engineering (see the modern versions of the Malibu and the Charger). And don’t think for a moment that the proliferation of chunky clunky vehicles on the road is unrelated to America’s epidemic of obesity. Do you think a slender, young, hot Brooke Shields would be caught dead in a Scion or a Nitro?
I believe that what we choose to drive is in some way a reflection of who we are, and sports cars to some further extent an image of who we would like to be. As a sports car enthusiast I’m hoping that sometime soon it will be okay to feel sexy again. Right now it doesn’t look good. Fuel economy is still a huge concern and there is no passenger vehicle on the road less sexy than a Prius. Most manufacturers have not invested design time or resources in anything resembling a sports car, and the few who have are trying their darnedest to ruin the very image they are trying to create, maintain or restore. There are actually rumors of four door versions of the upcoming Camaro and Mustang, and we’ve already seen what’s happened to the Charger. But there is hope. I have a picture I took at an auto show seven years ago of a fine specimen of a vehicle that was at that time labeled the Charger. I have to believe that car or some derivation of it is still sitting in a warehouse somewhere in Detroit waiting to be released under some other name. Both Acura and Toyota are at least conceptually toying with the idea of once again producing something akin to the supercar challengers they’ve produced in the past. Unfortunately at this point, only the rich guys can afford the sexy sports cars. But that serves to prove the point, doesn’t it. After all, it’s the rich guys that score the really sexy women too. What is it with us guys and curves?
8.12.2007
First and Ten
I’m watching pre-season football this evening. I watched a little yesterday too. I know, I can see the quizzical, disdainful looks. Why would I subject myself to games that don’t matter featuring players that no one’s ever heard of? Well, the answer’s pretty simple. It ain’t baseball. So, as I sit patiently through the eternal pre-season, eagerly awaiting opening night, I have plenty of time to kick around a few thoughts about the upcoming season, and football in general.
Apologies to baseball fans, but football is America’s Pastime. From Pop Warner to the NFL, America is a football nation. Just ask any high school kid in Texas what Friday nights are all about. The baseball season is too long, too boring, and features the same teams in the playoffs every year. If I have to listen to another month of blather about the Yanks and the Sox I think I’ll hurl. Since there are only 16 NFL games per season, every game matters. No one can afford to just take a few games off. Everyone plays hard every game, or they don’t play. There are no Roger Clemens deals (only plays when he wants, doesn’t travel with the team, makes more money than the state of Wisconsin). And you absolutely never know at the start of the season who’s going to make the playoffs. Last year the usually abysmal New Orleans Saints shocked everyone by making it all the way to the conference championships on the surgically repaired shoulder of a veteran quarterback and the crazy legs of a rookie. Despite injuries to their superstars and a tax preparer playing in the secondary, the Seattle Seahawks still won the Wild Card game before being sent home by the Chicago Bears in the overtime period of the Division Championship. If you’re a Royals fan, I’m so sorry. But if you’re a Lions fan, this could be your year.
The sports media needs to stop the relentless plugging of the NFC East teams. I understand that it’s difficult to be objective about the home teams, but outside of New York, Washington and Philadelphia, NO ONE cares about the Giants, Redskins or the Eagles. Eli Manning will never be Peyton Manning, Joe Gibbs should have stuck to auto racing, and when the Philly fans learn how to act like human beings maybe we’ll care about what happens to their sports teams. How about a little more love for more exciting franchises, like San Diego, Cincinnati, Carolina, and even Chicago. And please, stop the insanity of trying to place a franchise in Los Angeles. People in Los Angeles don’t care about sports. Has anyone ever watched a Lakers game? Most of the fans don’t show up until midway through the second quarter. There are simply too many other things to do by the ocean in Southern California to bother showing up to a sporting event on time – if at all. Save the franchise for a city that might appreciate it.
Finally, I don’t really understand the purpose of the cheerleaders. I mean, I understand that you really can’t go wrong with attractive women in crop tops, hot pants and knee-high leather boots. But there are plenty of attractive women fitting that description seated throughout the stadium. Do we need a uniformed and choreographed version of the same thing standing on the sidelines? Is there really some guy in Wyoming sitting six inches from his plasma screen, telephone in hand, waiting to call DirecTV and cancel his Sunday Ticket subscription if he doesn’t see the four second clips of the ladies waving their pom-poms at the camera as the network returns from commercials? Really? I think the game may finally have reached the point where the gimmicks are no longer necessary. You know what sport needs cheerleaders? Ice hockey. The NHL should make the investment to provide teams with a cheerleading budget. Seriously, what American male would rather watch a bunch of yahoos playing poker with other people’s money than attractive women in fitted jerseys and Lycra shorts dancing in a nicely chilled arena? Hell, at this point, it doesn’t matter why they’re watching, as long as they’re watching, right?
Apologies to baseball fans, but football is America’s Pastime. From Pop Warner to the NFL, America is a football nation. Just ask any high school kid in Texas what Friday nights are all about. The baseball season is too long, too boring, and features the same teams in the playoffs every year. If I have to listen to another month of blather about the Yanks and the Sox I think I’ll hurl. Since there are only 16 NFL games per season, every game matters. No one can afford to just take a few games off. Everyone plays hard every game, or they don’t play. There are no Roger Clemens deals (only plays when he wants, doesn’t travel with the team, makes more money than the state of Wisconsin). And you absolutely never know at the start of the season who’s going to make the playoffs. Last year the usually abysmal New Orleans Saints shocked everyone by making it all the way to the conference championships on the surgically repaired shoulder of a veteran quarterback and the crazy legs of a rookie. Despite injuries to their superstars and a tax preparer playing in the secondary, the Seattle Seahawks still won the Wild Card game before being sent home by the Chicago Bears in the overtime period of the Division Championship. If you’re a Royals fan, I’m so sorry. But if you’re a Lions fan, this could be your year.
The sports media needs to stop the relentless plugging of the NFC East teams. I understand that it’s difficult to be objective about the home teams, but outside of New York, Washington and Philadelphia, NO ONE cares about the Giants, Redskins or the Eagles. Eli Manning will never be Peyton Manning, Joe Gibbs should have stuck to auto racing, and when the Philly fans learn how to act like human beings maybe we’ll care about what happens to their sports teams. How about a little more love for more exciting franchises, like San Diego, Cincinnati, Carolina, and even Chicago. And please, stop the insanity of trying to place a franchise in Los Angeles. People in Los Angeles don’t care about sports. Has anyone ever watched a Lakers game? Most of the fans don’t show up until midway through the second quarter. There are simply too many other things to do by the ocean in Southern California to bother showing up to a sporting event on time – if at all. Save the franchise for a city that might appreciate it.
Finally, I don’t really understand the purpose of the cheerleaders. I mean, I understand that you really can’t go wrong with attractive women in crop tops, hot pants and knee-high leather boots. But there are plenty of attractive women fitting that description seated throughout the stadium. Do we need a uniformed and choreographed version of the same thing standing on the sidelines? Is there really some guy in Wyoming sitting six inches from his plasma screen, telephone in hand, waiting to call DirecTV and cancel his Sunday Ticket subscription if he doesn’t see the four second clips of the ladies waving their pom-poms at the camera as the network returns from commercials? Really? I think the game may finally have reached the point where the gimmicks are no longer necessary. You know what sport needs cheerleaders? Ice hockey. The NHL should make the investment to provide teams with a cheerleading budget. Seriously, what American male would rather watch a bunch of yahoos playing poker with other people’s money than attractive women in fitted jerseys and Lycra shorts dancing in a nicely chilled arena? Hell, at this point, it doesn’t matter why they’re watching, as long as they’re watching, right?
8.07.2007
Blue Light Special
This past Friday I went to an Immigration Support Center to have my biometrics taken for my immigration proceeding. Now, the words “biometrics”, and “Immigration Support Center” sound pretty sophisticated, don’t they. Exactly the kind of important sounding bureaucratic mumbo jumbo you would expect from a government agency, right? I understand that most people in the United States are American citizens, and therefore have never dealt with Immigration. So I’m going to clear up a few misconceptions about the system.
Biometrics is just a fancy name for fingerprints and photographs. And frankly, I was a little disappointed. When most people think fingerprints they have this image of a guy in a dark room with one incandescent light bulb hanging from a cord sticking your fingers into a black stamp ink pad and smashing them onto a piece of paper. Unfortunately, it’s nothing like that. They swab your fingers with a little alcohol, then roll them across a little scanner like the one at the supermarket. That’s it. I have to say, it takes all the apprehension and intimidation out of the whole process. I don’t know if that was the intended effect, but it’s a bit of a let down. Where’s the fun in treating people like criminals if you’re not going to intimidating them throughout the process?
The most amusing part of the morning however was arriving at the Immigration Support Center. Right off the top I suspected something was amiss when the letter directed me to appear at the support center in Hammond, Indiana. Can anything good come out of Hammond? Let me save you from hours of racking your brain for an answer – no. But I digress. I pull up to the address listed in the letter, but there is nothing there but a long abandoned K-Mart, across the street from a recently torn-down Burger King. At first I thought there must be some mistake, that I had suddenly developed dyslexia and read the numbers backward. So I decided to circle the block and see if I’d missed a turn somewhere. But as I pulled around behind the old abandoned K-Mart, there, in the far corner of the parking lot was a sign hung over covered aluminum storefront window, which read “Immigration Support Center.” Right there, next to the license branch, part of the old abandoned K-Mart. At that point it all began to make sense. Every immigrant going through the process has to come to this god-forsaken office in the middle of somewhere nobody wants to be. If they all think that this place is representative of the rest of America, maybe they’ll think twice about filing that application.
In all seriousness, why are immigration services located in the back of an abandoned K-Mart? I know times are a little tight with the budget and all, but is it possible that some of the money earmarked for studies about monkey droppings and bridges to nowhere be redirected toward presenting a decent image of this country to people who respect it enough to do things the right way? Maybe what we should do instead of closing K-Marts all over the country, we should simply turn the entire immigration process over to them. K-Mart. Your one-stop immigration shop. Visas in aisle four, passports in aisle six. Oh, and don’t forget our Blue Light Specials. The first twenty-five non-citizens to the flashing blue light receive free permanent resident status, complete with green card (which, oddly enough, is an unsettling shade of pink). Maybe we could get Martha Stewart to redesign all the forms and ship then complete with hand-sewn leather carrying cases.
Immigration – both legal and illegal - is big business these days. And it’s really sad that the face this country has chosen to show to the world is that of triple layer fencing, unmanned drones and the National Guard with automatic weapons trained on the border. As someone who has spent the last twelve years plodding through the system I’m the last person who wants to see others skirt the law and cut in line ahead of me. But there has to be another way for this country to accomplish its goals without turning the country into a fortress and treating human beings like cattle. And somewhere along the way, is it too much to ask that we create some decent facilities in which to welcome (or reject, depending on our mood) those wanting to be part of what we have to offer. Anyone who’s been across the Ambassador Bridge in Detroit has seen the difference between the Canadian Customs building and the U.S. Customs hut. It’s not because Canada has more money – believe me, they don’t. They just seem to give a damn.
Biometrics is just a fancy name for fingerprints and photographs. And frankly, I was a little disappointed. When most people think fingerprints they have this image of a guy in a dark room with one incandescent light bulb hanging from a cord sticking your fingers into a black stamp ink pad and smashing them onto a piece of paper. Unfortunately, it’s nothing like that. They swab your fingers with a little alcohol, then roll them across a little scanner like the one at the supermarket. That’s it. I have to say, it takes all the apprehension and intimidation out of the whole process. I don’t know if that was the intended effect, but it’s a bit of a let down. Where’s the fun in treating people like criminals if you’re not going to intimidating them throughout the process?
The most amusing part of the morning however was arriving at the Immigration Support Center. Right off the top I suspected something was amiss when the letter directed me to appear at the support center in Hammond, Indiana. Can anything good come out of Hammond? Let me save you from hours of racking your brain for an answer – no. But I digress. I pull up to the address listed in the letter, but there is nothing there but a long abandoned K-Mart, across the street from a recently torn-down Burger King. At first I thought there must be some mistake, that I had suddenly developed dyslexia and read the numbers backward. So I decided to circle the block and see if I’d missed a turn somewhere. But as I pulled around behind the old abandoned K-Mart, there, in the far corner of the parking lot was a sign hung over covered aluminum storefront window, which read “Immigration Support Center.” Right there, next to the license branch, part of the old abandoned K-Mart. At that point it all began to make sense. Every immigrant going through the process has to come to this god-forsaken office in the middle of somewhere nobody wants to be. If they all think that this place is representative of the rest of America, maybe they’ll think twice about filing that application.
In all seriousness, why are immigration services located in the back of an abandoned K-Mart? I know times are a little tight with the budget and all, but is it possible that some of the money earmarked for studies about monkey droppings and bridges to nowhere be redirected toward presenting a decent image of this country to people who respect it enough to do things the right way? Maybe what we should do instead of closing K-Marts all over the country, we should simply turn the entire immigration process over to them. K-Mart. Your one-stop immigration shop. Visas in aisle four, passports in aisle six. Oh, and don’t forget our Blue Light Specials. The first twenty-five non-citizens to the flashing blue light receive free permanent resident status, complete with green card (which, oddly enough, is an unsettling shade of pink). Maybe we could get Martha Stewart to redesign all the forms and ship then complete with hand-sewn leather carrying cases.
Immigration – both legal and illegal - is big business these days. And it’s really sad that the face this country has chosen to show to the world is that of triple layer fencing, unmanned drones and the National Guard with automatic weapons trained on the border. As someone who has spent the last twelve years plodding through the system I’m the last person who wants to see others skirt the law and cut in line ahead of me. But there has to be another way for this country to accomplish its goals without turning the country into a fortress and treating human beings like cattle. And somewhere along the way, is it too much to ask that we create some decent facilities in which to welcome (or reject, depending on our mood) those wanting to be part of what we have to offer. Anyone who’s been across the Ambassador Bridge in Detroit has seen the difference between the Canadian Customs building and the U.S. Customs hut. It’s not because Canada has more money – believe me, they don’t. They just seem to give a damn.
8.03.2007
Fake Plastic Protest
I ran across an article today that made me wish I got paid to do this. Which then of course just made me depressed me because I don’t get paid to do this. But I digress. The article, from WFTV.com in Florida details the story of a Sarasota businessman’s use of naked mannequins in his protest against the city. Yes, naked mannequins. How could I pass this up?
Apparently, David Douthitt, a man in the Gulf Coast city of Sarasota, Florida wanted to turn an empty building in town into a hair salon. More precisely, he wanted to open a Bikini Salon and Day Spa, a place of styling and spritzing operated by “a beautiful staff of ladies in designer swimwear.) However, during his attempts to get a permit for his business, the entrepreneur discovered that his neighbors simply didn’t want “that kind of business” in their neighborhood. So, to protest the denial of his permits, he has placed naked female mannequins often posed in sexual positions on display in his storefront window. Predictably, the same neighbors who didn’t want a bikini salon in their neighborhood are pretty upset at the display of semi-anatomically correct plastic nudity just across from their elementary school. What must the kids be thinking? This could cause permanent damage to their impressionable Capt’n Crunch and Pop Tart powered brains!
It may be evident from the sarcasm of the previous sentence that I don’t have much sympathy for the position of the neighbors. Whenever I hear or see the phrase “those kind of (fill in the noun of your choice)” I get suspicious. Exactly what is it that the people of Sarasota do not like? Hair salons? Or designer swimwear? I assume everyone in town gets their hair cut periodically. I also assume that being situated on the Gulf Coast, the residents have all seen their fair share of designer swimwear – and that includes their children. So what is it about the combination of beachwear and hair salons that offends so many people? Is a bikini hair salon somehow more dangerous than one where the stylists wear jeans and t-shirts? Is there some increased risk of a clipping shears/bikini strap accident? Maybe the scent of styling products mingling with the cool ocean breeze in the presence of exotic swimsuit fabrics would cause patrons to freak out and run screaming into the ocean.
People need to lighten up. Is the naked lesbian mannequin menagerie a bit too much and a little inappropriate? Perhaps. As inappropriate as fake plastic people can be. But the argument could easily be made that if Mr. Douthitt had been granted a license for his hair salon, the plastic porn protest would never had taken place. Of course, what he could have done was say nothing about what type of hair salon he wanted to run, collect his permits from the city, open his bikini salon and sue the pants off the city (sorry, I couldn't resist) when they tried to shut him down. But he shouldn’t have to go through all that to open and operate a perfectly legitimate business. Recently several drive-thru coffee shops in Seattle have allowed their employees to wear bikinis to work. Guess what. Business is booming, the sky hasn’t fallen, and the rate of rear end collisions between cars in the drive-thru line is holding steady. Allowing “a beautiful staff of ladies in designer swimwear” to style hair in a beachfront resort town will not increase the rate of pre-teen mohawks or triple the urge to shampoo, rinse and repeat. The only thing the paranoid people of sunny Sarasota will notice will be a few more aging overweight vacationing Canadians wandering in off the beach to get a haircut. Now, if you object to aging overweight vacationing Canadians, that’s a whole other issue.
Apparently, David Douthitt, a man in the Gulf Coast city of Sarasota, Florida wanted to turn an empty building in town into a hair salon. More precisely, he wanted to open a Bikini Salon and Day Spa, a place of styling and spritzing operated by “a beautiful staff of ladies in designer swimwear.) However, during his attempts to get a permit for his business, the entrepreneur discovered that his neighbors simply didn’t want “that kind of business” in their neighborhood. So, to protest the denial of his permits, he has placed naked female mannequins often posed in sexual positions on display in his storefront window. Predictably, the same neighbors who didn’t want a bikini salon in their neighborhood are pretty upset at the display of semi-anatomically correct plastic nudity just across from their elementary school. What must the kids be thinking? This could cause permanent damage to their impressionable Capt’n Crunch and Pop Tart powered brains!
It may be evident from the sarcasm of the previous sentence that I don’t have much sympathy for the position of the neighbors. Whenever I hear or see the phrase “those kind of (fill in the noun of your choice)” I get suspicious. Exactly what is it that the people of Sarasota do not like? Hair salons? Or designer swimwear? I assume everyone in town gets their hair cut periodically. I also assume that being situated on the Gulf Coast, the residents have all seen their fair share of designer swimwear – and that includes their children. So what is it about the combination of beachwear and hair salons that offends so many people? Is a bikini hair salon somehow more dangerous than one where the stylists wear jeans and t-shirts? Is there some increased risk of a clipping shears/bikini strap accident? Maybe the scent of styling products mingling with the cool ocean breeze in the presence of exotic swimsuit fabrics would cause patrons to freak out and run screaming into the ocean.
People need to lighten up. Is the naked lesbian mannequin menagerie a bit too much and a little inappropriate? Perhaps. As inappropriate as fake plastic people can be. But the argument could easily be made that if Mr. Douthitt had been granted a license for his hair salon, the plastic porn protest would never had taken place. Of course, what he could have done was say nothing about what type of hair salon he wanted to run, collect his permits from the city, open his bikini salon and sue the pants off the city (sorry, I couldn't resist) when they tried to shut him down. But he shouldn’t have to go through all that to open and operate a perfectly legitimate business. Recently several drive-thru coffee shops in Seattle have allowed their employees to wear bikinis to work. Guess what. Business is booming, the sky hasn’t fallen, and the rate of rear end collisions between cars in the drive-thru line is holding steady. Allowing “a beautiful staff of ladies in designer swimwear” to style hair in a beachfront resort town will not increase the rate of pre-teen mohawks or triple the urge to shampoo, rinse and repeat. The only thing the paranoid people of sunny Sarasota will notice will be a few more aging overweight vacationing Canadians wandering in off the beach to get a haircut. Now, if you object to aging overweight vacationing Canadians, that’s a whole other issue.
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