Mato mi Pavo is Spanish for "I killed my turkey" and is slang in the Yucatan for "I give up". With the direction our country it taking and the lack of outrage in all quarters, I needed a place to say I DON'T give up.
Here I will share harebrained opinions from my bald head in an effort to keep said head from bursting due to the pressure. Blogging for me is a skill set under development. I hope to find it therapeutic. I hope you find it thought provoking, interesting and above all entertaining.
I haven't posted in a while. It isn't for a lack of topics. Lord knows there is much going on today that deserves comment. I've been busy trying to do more productive things like work, fix the house and rip my CD collection to a hard drive (just passed 17,000 songs and growing).
I just couldn't pass this one up. I visited Revolution Muslim's website to read and hear their comments on the recent fracas over South Park's treatment of the Prophet Muhammad in their episodes 200 and 201. After giving them (well their spokesperson actually) a chance to air their side of the story, I have but one comment...
Younus Abdullah Muhammad, you can kiss my ass you cowardly piece of trash!
Next time you post an thinly veiled threat against the life of, well, anyone, you should have the intestinal fortitude, courage and decency to stand behind those remarks when they are rightfully questioned.
I'm just your average guy. As such, on occasion, Mrs. Bald Man catches me staring longingly at our local Hooters restaurant as we drive by. Since I've an aversion to red meat, she knows I am not salivating over their incredible hot wings, she feels it necessary to comment on some imagined desire in me to chase the suitably dressed waitresses around. In the past, I've always commented that I am like a dog chasing a car. I wouldn't know what to do with it if I caught it.
Sweet freedom. It is not often in these intrusive times of increased government regulation aimed at saving our cooling planet from global warming (excuse me, global climate change), internet ads so targeted my browser recommends a tie to match the shirt I happen to be wearing while surfing the web and corporations so intertwined that my purchase of a Kosher dinner ends up feeding the coffers of Mercedes Benz (talk about irony) that one gets to stick it to The Man. Face it, The Man got to be The Man because he wins a lot more often than some other schmo. David did beat Goliath but, depending on your views regarding a supreme being, he either made a very lucky throw or, considering the size of his all powerful ally in the heavens, he wasn't the underdog in the fight.
It must be that fact most of us never get to experience being The Man that we take such pride in seeing the big guys fail. We also take every opportunity to inflict what amount to pin pricks of pain on corporate giants whenever possible. If you've ever had a cashier at your local WalMart give you too much back in change on your purchase of a five gallon Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey and said "screw 'em, they can afford it" as you pocketed your booty in the booty pocket of your soon to be tighter jeans you know exactly what I mean. Unfortunately, it is the cashier who, upon closing out her till for the evening who will be repaying the shortage in the form of a payroll deduction or several years of indentured servitude added to the contract she signed when she sold her soul to the Arkansas based denizens of hell by agreeing to work there. Either way, the Man doesn't lose.
It is, therefore, with glee and a defiant middle finger poised on the Domino's redial button that I tell you all the Bald Man household has cut the tether to The phone company. Granted, The phone company is not quite the same as it was a few decades ago when Mama Bell was broken up in to more sister companies than a Fundamentalist LDS Church leader has sister wives. But it still feels good. There is a growing community of callers who are choosing to forgo traditional telephony when reaching out to touch others. That is, of course, when they are not fending off telemarketers interrupting a dinner full of pizza and ice cream. High minute cell phone plans and the ability to twitter away at will for pennies and the ability to route a call via your broadband cable modem are swaying the pendulum to the alternative side of the communications spectrum.
In reality, we've only switched from paying one giant corporate entity to paying another giant corporate entity but there remains a liberating feeling in telling one their services are no longer required. I can't help but wonder if that feeling was anything akin to what The Man The Donald feels saying "Your fired" to a narcissistic MBA whose business acumen has proven to be as dazzling as an Amish funeral shawl. Stupid is the new black in business after all.
It is doubtful Qwest (the sister wife phone company for our region) will go the way of a candle maker in a post Edison world but, as more of us realize there are alternatives, The Man will notice. I will take note every time I pick up the phone to reach out and bother someone that there is no longer a monthly payment going to a faceless, uncaring corporate coffer.
There will still be a yearly tax paid on the IP routing equipment we use now to make calls. When it comes to our government, The Man plays with a stacked deck and never loses. But we can all drink some tea and hope.
We've been told for weeks now that the passage of Obamacare is immanent. I've been holding off posting something new until I could get my addled brain around the dirty tricks, bribes and blatant disregard for the constitution that comprise the sausage factory that the legislative process has become.
While letting my thoughts wander from topic to topic, I came across a beautiful presentation by none other than the formerly Mr who is now the never married Mrs. Garrison, third grade teacher at South Park Elementary.
Forced to teach evolution, Mrs. Garrison proceeds to offer her take on this yet to be proven theory.
Sometimes, if you don't laugh (like while we await the monumental changes about to be wrought) you will end up crying.
plat·i·tude /ˈplætɪˌtud, -ˌtyud/ Show Spelled[plat-i-tood, -tyood] Show IPA –noun 1. a flat, dull, or trite remark, esp. one uttered as if it were fresh or profound.
If I have said it once I've said it a thousand times, the ability to effectively communicate in an original and effective way has gone the way of the dinosaur in these Twitter-filled days of instant messaging. When one believes that any salient point can be made in 140 characters or less or that a platitude laced political speech proves the utterer is statesmanlike, we further erode a social link that is retreating faster than a Greenland glacier in Al Gore's worst nightmare: the ability to convey information from one person to another. R U Serious? OMG yes. IMHO txt spk is ruining English. Woot!
Unless you live in a cave, you've probably attended a presentation in which the presenter used a PowerPoint to help impart knowledge. Residing in a cave isn't even a valid excuse. I am sure Usama Bin Laden has seen his fair share of Webinars on topics as varied as "This year's suicide bomber vest, slimming yet potent", "Dirty Bombs: a path to clean the hedonist world", "Beheadings, they aren't just for Jihad anymore" and the ever popular "Vestal Virgin or Goat: Heaven can wait". I'd be willing to bet an Obama stimulus check that most of these PowerPoint presentations contained enough trite lemons to make more lemonade than you could drink in a lifetime. The hellbound road of good intentions has seen plenty of angels overtaken by fools rushing ahead to prove that no good saying goes underused when it comes to success and the hard work that it takes to achieve it. Huh? Exactly.
There are two commonly used phrases that I would be happy to never hear again. The first is used in about a third of tax related news articles from about mid-March to mid-April: "There are two unavoidable things in life, death and taxes". This self-defeating point of view, despite being inaccurate, is the type of saying that allows elected officials to continue their unrelenting grab at every penny that passes before their eyes. In addition to the inevitable terrible twosome, I can guarantee at some point you will become ill, have to empty your bladder and bowels, spill milk and sneeze. But I will eat right, exercise and wash my hands so that illness is less frequent and my bodily functions are more regular. I will take care when pouring a glass of milk and I'll cover my mouth when i sneeze. I will also make every effort to fight unnecessary and imprudent taxes being levied and try to leave a personal legacy that will last beyond the grave. So let's move beyond the worn out utterance of Mr. Franklin and find a new way to complain this tax season. Remember, old Ben also suggested the turkey as our national bird although the staff here thinks that is a topic ripe to readdress.
1 : a deranged state of the mind usually occurring as a specific disorder (as schizophrenia) 2 : such unsoundness of mind or lack of understanding as prevents one from having the mental capacity required by law to enter into a particular relationship, status, or transaction or as removes one from criminal or civil responsibility
Second on the no play list is the tried and true: "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result". I would swear in a court of law that not a week has gone by in the last 10 years without my having heard someone utter this trite bit of pseudo brilliance as though they were the only one in the room to have heard it before. A court of law is probably the only place it belongs. Insanity is no longer a medical term or condition, it is a legal definition and relates to a person's capacity to be found innocent or guilty of a crime. Instead, it is used in nine out of ten business presentations to explain why companies continue to make wrong or ill advised decisions which lead to failure. What is insane is that those responsible for these decisions are allowed to explain away their mistakes or inadequacies with a quote from a bad haired genius. We would all be better off if, the next time this ploy is tried, instead of nodding like a Donald Trump bobble head doll on the set of the Apprentice, someone did their best Rohm Emmanuel impersonation and said, "It's not insanity, it is the fact you are a F$#king Retard!" It may be their last act on the company payroll but at least they'd go out with a bang.
I doubt we will be able expunge either of these platitudes from their place on the rotation list of useful utterances but life goes on. But every cloud has a silver lining, since anything that can go wrong will go wrong, many of the presentations these are being put in to will probably fail to run and the presenter will be left to wax extemporaneously about a subject they know as in depth as the words on their cliff notes. If you find yourself in such a position, just wing it. It won't be long after the meeting ends until all will be water under the bridge. Most likely everyone else in the room has had the same happen to them because no man is an island and since misery loves company, they will go easy on you.
Soon, I will address the annoying practice of elucidating, or explaining in more detail, larger words used in a conversation because you assume the reader is too stupid to comprehend, or understand. To do it now would just obfuscate, or confuse, the subject here. And, of course, we will also discuss the annoying practice of inserting definitions of words as block quotes or call outs to make your article seem more scholarly.
Tonight, on the eve of the start of the Catholic Church's Lenten season, all eyes turn to the hedonist haven of New Orleans as the drunken and debauched have the sinner's equivalent of a condemned man's last meal by consuming copious amounts of alcohol and debasing themselves by flashing all sorts of body parts in exchange for a few pennies worth of plastic beads before their forty days of penitent living begins. Sounds like fun to me!
This week, I will be on the road just a few days, flying to the city that wears its sin on its sleeve all year long and doesn't need a religious holiday to cut loose; Las Vegas. I don't know if it a testament to age, sobriety or common sense but, like tonight, I will most likely be snug in my room early in the evening researching another blog instead of pickling my liver on the 24 hour a day playground that is the Strip. They do have free beer at the hotel for a few hours so I may have a few; just to keep my liver from getting complacent.
The anxiety for my trip will be the flight from Utah to Nevada. Flying on Southwest Airlines to save money (sic), for me, is a stressful game of seat mate musical chairs that inevitably has me straddling the aisle because the not-so-frequent flier in the middle's thighs are invading my 17" of ass space more aggressively than Hitler moved in to Poland. Even worse is when they decide to raise the arm rest to its full and upright position which opens the aisle seat to middle seat border to a flood of unrestricted fat emigration equivalent to the rush of East Germans in to Berlin after Mr. Gorbachev finally tore down that wall. Like a svelt sun tanning beach goer on the Thailand coast is washed to sea in a Tsunami, I spend the hour long flight fighting the wave of human flesh trying to push me in to the airplane's aisle and in to the path of an oncoming drink cart.
I do feel for overweight people. As a person with enough miles on my physical odometer to be well out of warranty, I have to choose my meals with more care and spend more time swearing at Tony Horton and his "bring it" routines than I had to before in order to maintain a BMI that keeps me out of the store to buy new pants and off Michelle Obama's obesity radar. I can see how a person's weight can get out of hand. But seriously, at what point does a person who makes a conscious decision to eat another muffin top shortly after seeing their own waistline muffin top over their belt as they dress in morning begin to deserve our sympathy?
There are some who are clinically obese for reasons beyond their control. There are others who aren't. In the news the past few days is self-admitted fatso and highly overrated movie maker Kevin Smith. Mr. Smith was kicked off a Southwest flight when his girth was deemed a safety hazard and thanks to the fact any twit can now twitter to the world instantly, the rotund one was able to gripe, bitch and whine in 140 characters or less. At the root of the problem, and against Mr. Smith's point, is that he had purchased two seats, one for each cheek, on a flight but decided to try and catch an earlier departure. The earlier sardine can that is your typical Southwest Airlines flight only had one seat available for Mr. Smith. Like trying to squeeze ten pounds of Hollywood ego in to a five pound bag, getting the Clerks director in to a single seat proved an insurmountable task and the airline was forced to ask him to deplane. Silent Bob didn't live up to his character name and began tweeting immediately.
In Mr. Smith's defense, he admits he is fat. He is so fat, he knew to buy two seats. So why, when he made the decision to fly earlier than scheduled does he feel the need to condemn Southwest Airlines for enforcing a customer of size rule that he tacitly endorsed by his decision to purchase the extra space for his spare tire?
It can't be easy for larger, o.k. fat, people to fly. But why do they have the right to inconvenience others? Why must I rebuild Hadrian's Wall every time I board a plane to ensure safe haven to enjoy a book? The norms, as Kevin Smith refers to those who must be height weight proportionate, have the right to enjoy their full purchased seat. I view the dividing arm that is the arm rest between seats in the same way I look at a fence surrounding my property. Neighbor, you can do what you want up to the point where you cross it. When the person next to me on the plane begins to ooze under the arm rest I want to yell like the old man in the neighborhood at the the rowdy little kids to "stay off my lawn!" Even worse is when the ground attack of my seatmate's flanks are encroaching on my defensive flanks while there is an air war being waged by the crying baby one row back and the little brother goose stepping his way up the back of my seat.
Perhaps the solution is to make the metal detector we all must go through to enter the terminal the same width as your average airplane seat. If a passenger can't make it through, they don't board the plane! If they can do that, we will only need a way to muzzle children and then, once again, the skies will be friendly to fly.
S2 [ED Note: The staff at NoMatoMiPavo does not despise or condemn overweight people. We understand that you are fully aware, and often painfully and embarrassingly aware, of your size in situations such as a transcontinental flight. Many of you probably work at losing weight and set backs in exercise and diet regimens are harder to overcome every time they occur. But obesity can be overcome. We've seen many people do it. This blog is not meant as an attack on you but simply an effort to show the other side.]
As the list of Democrat elected officials retiring grows as a rate only exceeded by the growth of our national debt, The ONE is seeing his popularity and approval shrink faster than the hopes global climate change champions in the wake of ever increasing snow drifts in nearly every state of the country.
From what were historically high approval rates and a nearly cult like following, Obama is now polling almost dead even with... well... anybody. ________________________________________________ ________________________________________________
A recent Gallup poll shows that the GOP could run just about anyone with a pulse and they would have a chance at unseating the one once thought sure to serve three terms as President before retiring to his rightful place on Mount Rushmore.
Three years, when talking about election cycles, is an eternity so much could change before voters are again lured to the polls by promises of a life uncomplicated by candidates from all parties and the president's downward trend could easily be reversed. All it would take is his going a little gansta.
It seems every time the sun rises in this land of ours, there is another group seeing red because they've been slighted, belittled or referred to in a way they feel is racist.
On the face of it, you might think a story about a group of Asian-Americans being upset because officials at Atlanta's MARTA (rapid rail system) decided to name the branch that happens to run in to the heart of a popular Asian-American area Yellow was a made up news item. Well, my friends, it is right here in black and white.
Despite the fact several other major cities with rail systems use color coded lines, including yellow and the highly unlikely scenario that this color was chosen because of the race of rail's surrounding citizenry, the angry horde is threatening to hold their breath until they turn blue unless MARTA officials meet and agree to spend an undetermined amount of taxpayer greenbacks to change the line's color designation from yellow to, get this, Gold.
MARTA officials have acquiesced and are rolling out the red carpet for members of the nonprofit Pan Asian Center for Community Services to meet and offer their solution; a set of stickers to be placed over the offending colored signs. These members must not have spent much time on a city rail system because they don't realize there will be stickers, spray paint and various other substances placed on these newly printed signs soon enough.
I've not seen a full map of the MARTA system and don't know Atlanta well enough to determine if the black line goes to a predominantly African-American area, the Brown line goes to predominantly Cuban-American territory, the Red line goes to the Native-American casino, the Pink line goes to Alternative-American closet and bedroom communities and the White line goes to American of northern European descent super rich-American suburbia but I am fairly sure these colors won't be as coordinated as your average Benetton advertisement. This rainbow of stereotypes might actually make the city more ethno-friendly to all but the most color blind of visitors.
Still, you would think someone in the upper echelons of MARTA's gray matter trust would have seen this coming. In fact, the potential White knight in this story is non other than former MARTA employee, John Yasutake, who voiced concerns regarding the name change during a staff meeting a month before the decision was inked. If only his concerns would have been heard and heeded, we might not have so many people feeling blue.
As predicted, it didn't take long for the mainstream media news corpse (sic) to bury in the body of their print and verbal reports any mention of yet another verbal gaff by The ONE (see previous blog post here). Instead, the issue (sic) that has them wringing their hands in gleeful anticipation of delivering a left-winged and left-handed bitch slap to the Tea Party faithful is the fact Sarah Palin wrote a few crib notes on the palm of her hand when delivering a speech and answering a few questions.
Harry "the voice" Shearer opened his interview on Keith "the self-absorbed feaux male" Olbermann's show with a palm-reading joke. No sooner had the ink dried on Ms. Palin's palm and the Huffington Post grabbed on to the topic and devoted a bunch of digital ink to covering it. Chris Matthew's off handed remarks aren't even worth mentioning and Andrea Mitchell on CNN stepped way outside the bounds of journalistic neutrality with a rambling shtick of "callouts" that had her co-reporters (sic) giggling like the schoolgirls who usually resort to such hand writing on final exam day. Perhaps the examination all of these intellects (sic) should undertake is in to the depths of their angst over anything Palin.
There are supposedly two main issues at hand with Palm-gate. On one is the fact Sarah Palin blasphemed the anointed one by pointing out his unprecedented use of the teleprompter for everything from political speeches to grade school presentations to ordering a hot dog with Dijon mustard and Giardiniera (which he reads as "Garden era"). [ED Note: yes this is an alternative spelling of Jardiniere] Once it was pointed out that the hand notes in question here were not for her speech but were little reminders for the question and answer period of the conference, the gloves came off. I guess the recorders of fact (sic) for the mainstream (sic) media forget that Obama actually used teleprompters to answer "off the cuff" pre-screened questions during a press conference right after his election.
On the other hand, it is being stated that the hand written palm notes are further evidence of the former Governor's lack of intellect. She can't even remember five words? When are these talking head, scripted and intern reliant denizens of Mensa (sic) going to realize their questioning of anyone's intelligence is the pot calling the kettle black?
The root of this latest scandal (sic) to rock the beltway is that it is another example the media working left hand in glove with all things Obama; or more accurately all things anti-Palin. I've not raised my hand to jump on the Palin for President band wagon but she deserves better than the back handed and sick way she is being treated.
I guess making fun of a broad and her hand is worth two shots at Bush.
Politics can be brutal and those in politics can be, and usually are, petty little whining narcissists who make even the slightest of gaffs in to issues requiring letters of apology and review committees of the highest order to be seated.
President Obama recently threw craps for a second time when he said that in these hard financial times, people should not spend college funds gambling in Las Vegas. Everyone from the Nevada state speaker of the house to Harry "he speaks well for a black man" Reid came to the table with Poker faces demanding The ONE settle up his debt to those slighted in the Silver State. Not wanting to hurt anyone's feeling more, the President ordered a minor staffer to draft a letter expressing an appropriate amount of consolation and begging forgiveness. Whew. I am glad we nipped that crisis in the bud.
Last week White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel stirred a few chromosomes in those on the right when he referred to liberal activist groups who were opposed to Health Care reform as F$%*ing retarded. Faster than the your average Special Olympics gold medal winner could run a 50-yard dash the calls arose for his firing. Instead of firing a guy for offending the parents of mentally or physically challenged children (kids who probably already know they are mentally or physically challenged)with an off hand remark, why don't we suggest firing those who retard legitimate progress in our government?
Finally, we come to another verbal gaff by the world's most famous teleprompter reader. During the White House Prayer Breakfast, an event skipped last year and with interesting speeches by each the current and a former First Lady, The ONE read the word corpsman (core man) as "corpse man" several times. As a singular event, this is funny. It is also fodder for every right of center leaning talk show host and television talking head to poke fun at the orator in chief. I can't help but wonder, in light of the over reactions referenced above, how long it will be until the Society of Funeral Parlor Directors or the Affiliated Grave Diggers Local 456 Union begin calling for investigations and letters of apology. What will prove interesting is how the mainstream media reacts. Will they herald this gaff with any of the zeal they did when George W said Nucular (phonetically spelled here)instead of nuclear or any of his many malapropisms? Or will this add to the body of evidence that the media is more interested in shaming a Republican at every turn but Democrats get free rides more luxurious than Nancy Pelosi's recently remodeled jumbo jet?
The ONE just sent his budget to congress and it is evident that, despite the so-called spending freeze announced in the State of the Union address last week, the spending in Washington will continue unabated. The debt ceiling has been raised several times and our elected officials seem to have the "I still have checks I can't be broke" syndrome so common among recent college grads on their own with their very first bank account.
I am at a loss to understand the need for more and more consumption in an age when we are bombarded with ads to continue to conserve to "save the planet". I can only suppose government officials equate spending to power and, after all, that is the true quest of those in the elected elite in our country; acquire more power.
On the way from the airport to my hotel this evening, I saw in the lane beside me a young girl with a car piled full of packing boxes, laundry baskets and a mish mash of other receptacles so full she was either moving or a member of some new breed of homeless living in her car devotees.
I remember the days when everything I owned would fit in to a 1978 Buick LeSabre. Those belongings made several cross country trips and occupied many different residences on my way from the backwoods of Pennsylvania to the thriving metropolis of Salt Lake City. Now, were a move in order, several vans or a really big semi-tractor trailer would need to be called in to handle the accumulated crap that a natural born hoarder collects. Crap that, truly, serves no purpose other than the fact I want it.
There is nothing wrong with using one's gains gotten from legitimate means to purchase truck loads of knick knacks and pattiwacks and dog bones for the purpose of personal enjoyment or neighborhood one upmanship. After all, that is the American dream; conspicuous consumption of the highest order.
It is a different story though when our elected officials treat the public coffers like some gigantic piggy bank to be used to treat their constituents to pork barrel projects like some preteen Carnegie emptying the bank to buy pork rinds for his classmates to curry favor. If our government acted more like the young college grad and kept their consumption to that which fit, not in to the vehicle of their choice but, in to the vehicle of our economy, we wouldn't have deficit spending as far as the eye can see. It is right that we, as individuals, grow our personal fortunes and acquire wealth as we can. A government is not an individual. It needs to keep it's growth confined to what the economy can drive and no more.
S2 (Editors note: The bald man is in a hotel with pathetically slow internet and chose to write a beer fueled extemporaneous diatribe with no links and no research.)
Tomorrow is a very big day in the former colony of Massachusetts. If you are one who relies on the New York Times for all the news that is fit to print, you might not be aware that the Republican candidate has taken a lead in the tightly fought race for the Senate seat that Democratic candidate Martha Coakley said Ted Kennedy would want her to have. I am pretty sure brothers John and Robert spoke through dead talker and fraud psychic John Edward to voice their spiritual approval of the state's attorney general and die hard Sox's fan.
Reports from the commonwealth are coming in faster than my addled brain can digest them and cover everything from Brown's once posing provacatively in a woman's magazine to how everything is still George Bush's fault.
This election is being touted as a referendum on Obama in general and health care reform in particular. Republican enthusiasm is running high while democrats seem resigned to lose... or cheat.
Of all the turns of events in this momentous campaign, none caught my eye more than the fitting support shown to Ms. Coakely by the son of the seat's rightful owner, Patrick Kennedy. It seems mispronouncing names is a Kennedy trait. Just like daddy mangled the president's name during his campaign, his son doesn't even know the name of the candidate he is endorsing.
This is going to be an interesting few days. As I blogged before, the Dems are ready to slow the swearing in of Brown should he win. Let me go on record now and predict a recount being called for before the polls even close!
The ground had barely stopped shaking on the island nation of Haiti before relief and support from around the world, but especially from the ever philanthropic United States citizenry, began pouring in like a tsunami. Politicians, with their hurricane force winds of hot air are expressing an appropriate amount of sympathy while posturing to garner additional points in re-election polls commensurate with their promised level of government assistance.
Following the advice of Rohm Emmanuel, no one it seems is willing to let this crisis go to waste. While legitimate fund raising is going on, thieves and con artists are raining a typhoon of scams down upon the big of heart and small of mind who want to help but don't realize most charities wouldn't use a long lost Facebook buddy to ask on their behalf. The not so Reverend Pat Robertson set off a tornado of controversy with his ill timed and absolutely cruel comments. His mouth should be washed out with Holy Water. Even the global warming, sorry global climate change, nuts have taken the Glovers off in an effort to stop their recent drought of support.
Actor Danny Glover provides yet another example of why those who make a living portraying other people should never be allowed to speak in public unless they've been handed a script and there is a bearded guy in a baseball cap sitting close by in a folding chair ready to yell "cut" the second they lose focus. Let's hope George's teleprompter has enough battery to make it through an entire telethon lest we be subject to extemporaneous Hollywood banter. Thankfully, the majority of Haitians won't be watching. They've suffered enough.
Not to be outdone by the generosity of the evil empire to the north, Fidel Castro wheezed orders from his permanent deathbed to temporarily rescind the no fly rules over Cuba to allow American relief planes to more quickly ferry victims from the poverty stricken island 90 miles to the south to modern medical facilities 90 miles to the north. It is compassion like this that puts you in the running for an elusive and difficult to win Nobel Peace Prize. Look out President Obama, your likely back to back victory is in danger.
I shouldn't make light of the grandiose offering by Cuba. Having to fly around the island adds an hour and a half to what could be a critical situation. I just wonder why we'd even ask permission. We should just fly over. I mean, by the time the pilots in the Cuban air force put down their Havana's and wind up the single prop, the patient would be in the recovery room. What I should question is the need for us to fly over the country at all?
Haiti, as mentioned, lies but 90 miles from Cuba's white sand beaches crowded with topless Canadians and Americans claiming to be Canadian who would be topless but can't commit to being as faux European as our neighbors to the north. So why don't we take those needing emergency medical treatment to this much closer bastion of medical science? Michael Moore, another of the modern liberal intelligentsia, in his highly fictionalized documentary Sicko showed us the modern, well stocked and pristine hospitals that only a government, a socialist one at that, can run. So why force critical patients to endure a flight twice as long as it needs to be? You'd think Fidel would be happy to nurse back to health some able bodied Haitians to replace the flood (whew, worked in one more natural disaster) of able bodied Cubans paddling to the Keys for a chance at a someday receiving socialized medicine here in Obama's America. The American health care system, if you've listened to the rhetoric from the very light skinned thin guy from Nevada recently, is crumbling faster than a Swedish clinic's floor under the weight of a Weight Watchers group meeting. So why are we going to further traumatize the poor Haitians by bringing them here? We can't even dispense pain pills right.
Am I as guilty of politicizing for the sake of possible persuasion, the suffering of a people who've already suffered under an oppressive government in Haiti as those whose motives I disdain? Perhaps. I don't mean to. Natural disasters have a way of exposing frailty in social structure as much as they do a frailty in infrastructure. We are still in a position in the United States to offer unparalleled assistance when tragedy strikes around the world. We are in this position because we've build an infrastructure on solid foundations and and economy and society on the foundations laid by our fore fathers. We are on the verge of experiencing a tectonic shift of monumental proportion with the passage of government run health care and even more social spending bills. If we aren't careful, we might be asking Cuba for permission to fly over on our way to greener climes of our own.
At the end of each work day, I ask myself if I feel I earned my pay in what I did for the company that day. Fortunately, being in a low paid position has it's advantages as my goals are somewhat reduced from those of your average fry flipper in a paper hat. Even with this self imposed benchmark, I find some projects delayed well past my personal point of comfort. In the world of private business, that is very bad. In the world of government, I hope for this to be a frequent occurrence.
I am one for whom the idea of governmental gridlock is a good thing. The less done by these slaves to the power of the ballot box the better off we all are. This goes for the federal, state and local levels of public service.
It is therefore somewhat unsettling for me to complain about a situation of possible governmental delay. Next week the voters (and quite possibly a few illegal aliens) of the state of Massachusetts will head to the polls to decide on an elected replacement to fill the senatorial seat vacated when Ted Kennedy joined Mary Jo Kopechne for that final car ride in the sky. The polls are showing a very close race and it is quite possible a Republican could win the seat. If that happens, the Democrats super majority of 60 votes will disappear quicker than a reality show about the Jackson family sans Michael.
Should Republican Scott Brown win the seat, MA Secretary of State William Galvin has the ability to wait 10 days for absentee ballots to arrive and another five to then file the paperwork. He could probably schedule a few days vacation but that might be pushing the envelope a bit too far. This delay would enable the interim seat holder, Paul Kirk, Jr, to vote yeah on the healthcare bill and make sure he has two weeks notice to give on his apartment in DC.
This normal and legal waiting period would not give me pause were it not for the fact Galvin bypassed these same rules way back in 2007 to seat a fellow Democrat in the House who joined in overriding a veto by then President and still hated George W Bush.
As it typical in government, politics overrides doing what is right. Or even doing what is consistent. At the end of the day I hope Mr Galvin asks himself if he earned his civil servant's six figure paycheck. Or if he earned only the respect of pundits while sacrificing ethics.
This blog runs on a shoestring budget and, to keep the lights on, occasionally we have to reach out to advertisers. The political slant, minuscule readership and disagreeable nature of the staff scare off most main frame marketers. Therefore, we can't be too picky when a willing sponsor comes calling.
It may be coincidence but the envelope that contained this month's ad arrived at our office postmarked from Amsterdam on Christmas Day. Let's hope their check clears.
I was in an O'Hare airport bookstore today trying to decide between a business book on decision making and Tera Patrick's expose on the life of a porn star for my in-flight reading pleasure. I decided on Sway, a book which discusses our propensity to make bad decisions in light of obvious evidence that our decision will, in fact, be bad. Halfway through the flight, in validation of my purchased book's premise, I was wishing I'd gone with the ghost written book about an adult film legend. The cover alone was worth the price of admission.
Of course, until I saw her book at the front of the store, I had never heard of Tera Patrick. A quick Internet search informs me she is an adult star of some note. This woman is at the top of her profession and her movies are under the mattresses of teenage boys across the globe. Yet, more people have never heard of her than have.
I began to think about fame and how few truly make it past Mr. Warhol's fifteen minute time limit. Today would have been the 75th birthday of Elvis Presley. Today still he remains a household name. From the grave and through his estate he remains one of the top earning artists in the world and Cirque Du Soleil has devoted a Las Vegas stage to Elvis and, I am sure, a few topless Tera Patrick wanna be dancers.
I took a quick look at the Billboard top 100 for this week. Somehow I doubt we will be honoring Ke$ha, Lady GaGa or Jay-Z thirty three years after they take a final bow and their personal fat lady's sing. Of the remaining 97 artists, Michael Jackson is the only one likely to cheat death by being remembered. I can't help but wonder if we will discuss his career in white and black years like we talk about the thin and fat Elvis.
Fame, and the quest for it, inspires people to act for the purpose of effect rather than the purpose of right. Too often these seekers are rewarded with fame, fleeting as it surely will be. The two White House "party crashers" will be hosting a party of their own in Las Vegas. Jon and Kate are burning through enough ink in the tabloids to print a dozen copies of the Healthcare bill. Speaking of dead famous people, the "balloon boy's" dad has garnered an hour of his own on Larry King. And Fox is preparing for another round of their show designed to make famous another marginally talented karaoke singer.
As I work through my boring business book about the decisions we make and how easy it is to make the wrong ones, I can't help but think the world would be a better place if more people just did their best. Fame would find those, like Elvis, who deserve it and we could ignore the rest.
Instead of relaxing the criteria to become an officer in the Chicago Police department, perhaps there should be some increase in the qualifications needed to occupy an office in city hall.
Since the failed terrorist attach on Christmas day, travelers have been bracing themselves for the virtual anal probe that is coming to airport security in the form of full body scanners. On Fox News tonight, Ann Coulter, whose body scan image would likely fetch a fair amount on Ebay and one for which I would join in the bidding, joined ranks with the ACLU in decrying another ineffective government intrusion in the form of safety.
I've long complained about the inane and outright ludicrous security procedures in place at our nation's airports. We sheeple continue to flock to and through security turnstiles on our way to meetings and reunions because we've little alternative when faced with needing to be across our great continent in a short period of time. As TSA officials ogle our nearly nude images, saying they've got us by the short hair is appropriate when discussing our alternatives for transportation.
Instead of focusing on more likely terrorist subjects through profiling, all of us will have our "secrets" laid bare before the almighty agents of national security.
I only wish our leaders in our government's legislative body would be as forthcoming in their transparency. Despite several campaign promises of openness in debate, the health care bill will be finalized in secret, behind doors so thick that no scanner can penetrate.
So as you empty your pockets, take off your shoes and belts and jackets and socks and under-wire bras in order to sit in a too small seat and pay $7 for a beer, you can take solace in the fact your representatives in Washington will be secure, behind closed doors, making deals and hiding pork in thousands of pages of drivel designed to wrench control over the health of our nation.
If you have been watching television in general or any one of the seemingly thousands of college bowl games specifically, you have most likely seen one of the competing ads for Verizon or AT&T focusing on maps of their coverage, etc. While I find ads from both companies marginally entertaining, I can't help wishing for a pause button to read the fine print that flashes briefly on the screen during the 30 second plea for business.
For, you see, it is in this fine print that the truth is told. We all know it. The FCC dictates the size, length of visualization and content of much of this fine print and it is done in order to protect us, the ignorant consumer, from being taken advantage of by evil corporations. This same regulation has brought us the super fast voice over in radio commercials and the laundry list of potential side effects (nausea, vomiting, anal bleeding, erectile dysfunction, increased ear hair or audible flatulence) for every drug currently marketed on television, radio or in print.
I've often wondered why any drug company would pay for an ad where over half of their media purchased time is spent pointing out potential problems from usage of their product instead of the benefits of the same. Imagine if Pizza Hut had to warn you of weight gain, stained shirts and lactose intolerance in every one of their ads.
The fact most people aren't even aware of the fine print in commercials is yet another example of the ineffectiveness of this type of government intrusion in to capitalist endeavors. Marketers have found ways to minimize their exposure in these disclaimers and ads often make outright fun of them.
So why is it that our lawmakers feel the need to impose regulations that serve little purpose, produce no results and frustrate both the producers and consumers of advertisements? I wish I knew but....I think of this type of ineffectiveness often when considering the increased regulations sure to appear with Health Care reform and new laws around supposed climate change.
Next time you are watching a show from your DVR or, in the old school case, VCR, take a pause from skipping a commercial to pause the commercial and read the fine print. Better yet, take a pause from the boob tube altogether and read the fine print in the health care bill. I think you will find that, instead of protecting us from evil corporations, we should find ways to protect ourselves from evil government instead.
The $2 million dollar Waterford Crystal ball above Time's Square in New York hadn't even begun its symbolic New Year's descent from old to new and the 24 hour news stations were deep in to the first scandal of the new year. There's actually two closely related scandals being talked about simultaneously: do we call this new year Two Thousand and Ten or Twenty Ten and is Twenty Ten (I've not made a decision if this should be the moniker of choice but Twenty Ten is easier to type than Two Thousand and Ten) the last year of the first decade of the second millennium or is it the first year of the second decade of the second millennium? This issue is of such phenomenal importance that it supplanted both the Health Care debate and the attempted act of human caused tragedy (see the Obama Administration's official guide for dealing with angry men of Middle Eastern descent for clarification of this reference if you are confused) on Christmas day at the beginning of nearly every news story for several days.
New Years, in addition to providing useless drivel laced stories as fodder for television talking heads, is a time when many people feel the need to change their lives in dramatic fashion in the form of resolutions that are so encompassing that they become unreachable by the end of the second week of the year. I guess the idea of starting anew with a clean slate is more tolerable when your planning is being done on a freshly opened calendar. After six months of "we will start our diet and exercise program over again on Monday" because we had Waffle House breakfasts, McDonalds lunches and Pizza Hut dinners for two days straight, I fail to see what difference a change in digits on the date line of our checks to the health club is going to make in our ability to move our ever increasing butts off the couch and on to a treadmill. But hope springs eternal.
Like the flowers that appear each spring when our supposedly warming globe emerges from a winter's slumber, the Bald Man is back to provide his own personal stench upon the social and political climate in the form of mostly rambling and often disjointed blog posts. It has been a while since I've posted and much has happened. But like water under the proverbial bridge to nowhere, issues will constantly appear to make up for missed opportunity to comment on the death of Michael Jackson, the birth of National Health Care and the continued reign of The One. The well of scandal and idiocy runs deep in our nation's capitol and in the halls of governments from local to international.
I look forward to again sharing my thoughts and opinions and hope your wait for this award winning blogs return was more tolerable than that of Fox television executives anticipating an affirmative utterance from Simon Cowell regarding their latest contract offering.
This weekend is a working one so I'll see you Monday with a cup full of commentary.
I am a left-handed, right-leaning, foul-mouthed, fair-scented biped living in beautiful Salt Lake City, UT with my lovely wife and a slew of four footed creatures. This blog is my way of sharing all the crap I yell at the TV and radio with anyone who cares to read it.
