Due to a narcoleptic fit, I missed the 20/20 Palin interview last night, so I just finished watching it now on the trusty internets. Despite the non-stop agenda of divert, divert, divert coupled with evade, evade, evade (it seemed like Charlie Gibson just kind of threw in the towel towards the end of the interview, he knew he wasn't going to get a straight answer), I almost felt kind of sorry for her. It seems like she honestly believes that Alaska is a microcosm of America as a whole, and that she is therefore qualified to be in office as vice president. When she brought up the sports arena in Wassila, and the fact that she asked the people of town what they wanted as an exposition of her governing style, I was actually embarrassed for her, and a little touched by her naivete. Not "I'm going to vote for you, sister, you're a dreamer" touched, but more touched in the way one is touched when one watches children mimicking phrases and actions they feel are adult.
And, okay, the moose footage was a cheap shot, even by my liberal, pro-animal rights, anti-gun standings. It was awful. The moose was bloody, and clearly not yet dead, and in a great deal of pain. It worked, though. Look what the mean lady did to Bullwinkle!
I found her words of praise and description of Hillary Clinton as a woman with "grit and grace" to be humorous, because I know damn well that if Hillary had won the Democratic nomination, or if Obama had selected her to be his running mate, she would have been depicted as everything that is wrong with liberalism. I don't doubt for a second that the "if she can't control her cheating husband, how can she control a country" argument would have been trotted out in its full regalia.
Also, call me an elitist (because that's never been a criticism hurled my way before), but I want my nation's leaders to not leave off the "g" on the end of words that have a "g." I want someone who is capable of "leading and governing" not "leadin' and governin'." After eight years of Bush's verbal atrocities, I don't think an articulate, well spoken leader who has a command of proper pronunciation is that much to ask for.
One thing is certain: the "Obama doesn't have enough experience to run this country" view should be a dead issue going forward.
UPDATE: Here's the much anticipated Tina-Fey-as-Sarah-Palin footage. My expectations were high, and still they were exceeded.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Oh look out, you rock and rollers...
The next line of the song which I am referencing is, "pretty soon now you're going to get a little older." It's as if David Bowie is singing to me, and not in the way he's singing to the Asian chick in the "China Girl" video, much to my chagrin.
Here's the thing: if I were to die tomorrow (I don't want to, but I guess you never know), and my life were to flash before my eyes, I am pretty sure I'd have regrets. Not so much in terms of things I have done, as much as in terms of things I haven't done. For example, some things I might regret might be never going to graduate school, never knowing what it's like to be somebody's mother, or not having been more philanthropic.
Conversely, if I were to think about regrets I wouldn't have, here are a few I guarantee would not make the list: wishing I had spent more time in bars, wishing I had drank more, or wishing I had done more drugs. Because, friends, I have done a shitload of all three. To be clear, I don't regret any of it. I just know that I have done plenty of the aformentioned troika.
I went through a phase where I became really, really scared that I was going to be the tragic old person at the bar that doesn't know they are old, or doesn't think it's odd to be hanging out exclusively with people ten to twenty years one's junior, even though everyone else is well aware of the inherent tragic quality of this character. I know this statement might sound a bit judgmental, and I try not to be, but in all honesty, chasing the dragon of one's bygone youth ain't pretty.
A brief time line of this neurosis would be as follows:
Age 22: not old and not worried about it.
Age 25: too hopped up on God knows what with God knows who to care.
Age 30: slightly worried, resolve to live life in the fast lane with a seatbelt on.
Age 35: officially freaked out.
Now, two and a half years after my 35th birthday, a change has come about, and it has come without warning. I find the idea of going to a four o'clock bar pointless. Getting hit on by a 22 year old dude at such a place used to be flattering, but now I just take it as a testament to his severe inebriation. I don't have the constitution for reckless drug intake anymore. I don't even like staying up super late, because I find myself unable to sleep past 10 AM, no matter what time I go to bed, and I really need at least 6 hours of sleep to function at all (and preferably more). Then there's the small issue of the fact that I have a mortgage to pay in an economy that has devastated my profession, and a nightlife is expensive no matter how many people in the bar industry that you know. I'd be interested to see how this trajectory would have played itself out were we still in a Clinton-era economy. Sadly, I'll never know. These days, I'd usually rather just have a few friends over and drink at home, or if I am going to venture out, a non "scene" is almost always preferred.
In spite of my best efforts, I've become a bit of an adult. It's something I've wanted for quite some time. However, now that it is upon me, I have been caught utterly off-guard.
I do still like to drink, though. I like it a lot. That's something, right? Unfortunately, I still like to smoke, too. Hopefully that will be the the next thing to go, as opposed to, say, my hip, or my memory.
In unrelated octogenarian news, I've been making some headway in my ill-gotten (illegally downloaded) Pimsleur "Learn To Speak Italian I" course. All this downtime means I can actually prepare for my trip. This is one of those times I am really glad I live alone. I can't even imagine how annoying it would be to hear me saying "arrividerci" and "molto bene" over and over again whilst getting ready for work in the morning. It's annoying to me, even. I can also hear myself draining the beauty out of the Italian language with my flat, nasally Midwestern accent, yet find myself powerless to change it.
Finally, I want to go on record saying that I will kick any woman I know in the snatch for voting McCain/Palin because Sarah Palin is a woman. Seriously. If she winds up in office, she's going to singlehandedly set equal rights back about 50 years. She's going to make a (bigger) mess of things, and then people are going to say "look what happens when there's a woman in charge," which isn't really fair, but, sadly, that's how a lot of people still think. Okay, I won't snatch-kick unless the Republican ticket actually wins. But if it does, watch your hoo-ha if you're voting GOP this November.
Here's the thing: if I were to die tomorrow (I don't want to, but I guess you never know), and my life were to flash before my eyes, I am pretty sure I'd have regrets. Not so much in terms of things I have done, as much as in terms of things I haven't done. For example, some things I might regret might be never going to graduate school, never knowing what it's like to be somebody's mother, or not having been more philanthropic.
Conversely, if I were to think about regrets I wouldn't have, here are a few I guarantee would not make the list: wishing I had spent more time in bars, wishing I had drank more, or wishing I had done more drugs. Because, friends, I have done a shitload of all three. To be clear, I don't regret any of it. I just know that I have done plenty of the aformentioned troika.
I went through a phase where I became really, really scared that I was going to be the tragic old person at the bar that doesn't know they are old, or doesn't think it's odd to be hanging out exclusively with people ten to twenty years one's junior, even though everyone else is well aware of the inherent tragic quality of this character. I know this statement might sound a bit judgmental, and I try not to be, but in all honesty, chasing the dragon of one's bygone youth ain't pretty.
A brief time line of this neurosis would be as follows:
Age 22: not old and not worried about it.
Age 25: too hopped up on God knows what with God knows who to care.
Age 30: slightly worried, resolve to live life in the fast lane with a seatbelt on.
Age 35: officially freaked out.
Now, two and a half years after my 35th birthday, a change has come about, and it has come without warning. I find the idea of going to a four o'clock bar pointless. Getting hit on by a 22 year old dude at such a place used to be flattering, but now I just take it as a testament to his severe inebriation. I don't have the constitution for reckless drug intake anymore. I don't even like staying up super late, because I find myself unable to sleep past 10 AM, no matter what time I go to bed, and I really need at least 6 hours of sleep to function at all (and preferably more). Then there's the small issue of the fact that I have a mortgage to pay in an economy that has devastated my profession, and a nightlife is expensive no matter how many people in the bar industry that you know. I'd be interested to see how this trajectory would have played itself out were we still in a Clinton-era economy. Sadly, I'll never know. These days, I'd usually rather just have a few friends over and drink at home, or if I am going to venture out, a non "scene" is almost always preferred.
In spite of my best efforts, I've become a bit of an adult. It's something I've wanted for quite some time. However, now that it is upon me, I have been caught utterly off-guard.
I do still like to drink, though. I like it a lot. That's something, right? Unfortunately, I still like to smoke, too. Hopefully that will be the the next thing to go, as opposed to, say, my hip, or my memory.
In unrelated octogenarian news, I've been making some headway in my ill-gotten (illegally downloaded) Pimsleur "Learn To Speak Italian I" course. All this downtime means I can actually prepare for my trip. This is one of those times I am really glad I live alone. I can't even imagine how annoying it would be to hear me saying "arrividerci" and "molto bene" over and over again whilst getting ready for work in the morning. It's annoying to me, even. I can also hear myself draining the beauty out of the Italian language with my flat, nasally Midwestern accent, yet find myself powerless to change it.
Finally, I want to go on record saying that I will kick any woman I know in the snatch for voting McCain/Palin because Sarah Palin is a woman. Seriously. If she winds up in office, she's going to singlehandedly set equal rights back about 50 years. She's going to make a (bigger) mess of things, and then people are going to say "look what happens when there's a woman in charge," which isn't really fair, but, sadly, that's how a lot of people still think. Okay, I won't snatch-kick unless the Republican ticket actually wins. But if it does, watch your hoo-ha if you're voting GOP this November.
Promise Rings?
This is my first blog post. Woo-hoo! Anywhocares, I am watching The Today Show as we speak. Don't hate. I like to ease into my day. They just aired a segment on promise rings entitled "Do Promise Rings Work?" What? Of course they do! I mean, just look at how effective wedding rings are in the prevention of infidelity! Jeez.
I'm reminded of an old joke, straight from the annals of "Truly Tasteless Jokes," a mainstay of my pre-teen canon. The joke was something like this: "What's grosser than gross? When your girlfriend does the splits and your best friend's class ring falls out." Substitute "class" for "promise" and you get extra irony points.
That being said, I'm for accessorizing and bling. So if one wishes to add a bit of flair to one's virginity, I don't see the harm in it.
I'm reminded of an old joke, straight from the annals of "Truly Tasteless Jokes," a mainstay of my pre-teen canon. The joke was something like this: "What's grosser than gross? When your girlfriend does the splits and your best friend's class ring falls out." Substitute "class" for "promise" and you get extra irony points.
That being said, I'm for accessorizing and bling. So if one wishes to add a bit of flair to one's virginity, I don't see the harm in it.
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