THE SCENE: It's a chilly March afternoon in the Pennsylvania Statehouse in 1787. Delegates from around the nation have been working since February to hammer out the particulars for a new American Constitution. Amidst the intense discussion, the delegates start arguing over the language of a proposed First Amendment.
GEORGE WASHINGTON: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the. . ."
WILLIAM LIVINGSTON: What about telemarketers?
GEORGE WASHINGTON: Excuse me?
WILLIAM LIVINGSTON: Well, I was just thinking. You know, what if that whole electricity thing Ben Franklin sitting over there discovered eventually gives rise to the invention of a talking device that brings the world together through special wires.
BEN FRANKLIN: Dude, that would be sweet!
WILLIAM LIVINGSTON: Um, yes. Well, anyway, what if some companies started using the device to bother people at inconsiderate times in an attempt to sell them useless things?
BEN FRANKLIN: That would be, like, a total bummer.
ALEXANDER HAMILTON: Yes. I concur. That would be a total bummer. We should do something, immediately, to prevent that from happening.
GEORGE WASHINGTON: Very well then. Ahem. "or abridging the freedom of speech, except for in the case of invasive marketing attempts made during dinnertime by an as of yet uninvented instant global communications system, or of the. . ."
JONATHAN DAYTON: Now wait just a darned minute! That's just too wordy. It sounds terrible. Go back to the way it was.
ALEXANDER HAMILTON: No, no, no! We have to take action on this right now. We're trying to provide a model of government for the future.
JOHN LANGDON: What about if we tack on a "Do Not Call" list somewhere towards the back?
JONATHAN DAYTON: A what?
JOHN LANGDON: A "Do Not Call" list. We'll send out a form to fill out, and every American citizen can decide whether they want to allow themselves to be bothered by invasive marketing attempts made during dinnertime by an as of yet uninvented instant global communications system. We'll gather the responses and staple them to the back.
JOHN LANSING, JR: That's un-Constitutional!
BEN FRANKLIN: Dude, we haven't written it yet.
JOHN LANSING, JR: Oh yeah. Sorry. My bad.
JOHN LANGDON: Then it's agreed. Every so often, however, we'll have to update the list to include new people to our great nation.
JOHN LANSING, JR: That sounds like a lot of extra work, and this thing is getting pretty long as it is. Can't we just trust that future generations will have the common sense to deal with this potential problem on their own?
ALEXANDER HAMILTON: I suppose that sounds reasonable. I mean, there's no way that, 200 years from now, Americans could possibly decide that telemarketing, as Mr. Livingston calls it, should be protected by the First Amendment. I mean, it sounds almost like some sort of stalking behavior, after all.
ENTIRE DELEGATION: *Laughs and nods in agreement.*
I didn't realize that, when Madonna kissed Britney, she ran her hand on her breast. Really, the picture is fascinating.
I was beginning to wonder what happened to the cliche-dropping annoyance that is Jill Nelson. She just disappeared, drowned out of MSNBC.com by other, more compelling, opinion columnists. Well, she's back, and she's in her typical mope till you drop form. So, let's begin with the dissection.
As Congress commences hearings on the Bush administration's request for an additional $87 billion for operations in Iraq and Afghanistan, Americans and the rest of the world's citizens should be very, very worried.
Yeah, I'm feeling just terrified. In case you aren't familiar with Jill Nelson, she's about as loony left as you can get without falling off the edge of the world. She thinks the war on terrorism should be fought using balloons and squeek toys and that the overall money to fund the "happy fun war" should come from old bed mattresses somewhere. She's as dillusional as a heroin addict gong through DTs, and about as coherent.
WE CAN ONLY HOPE that this time around, unlike in April when Congress approved $79 billion or a year ago when they were deafened by the drumbeats for war, members of Congress — particularly those running for president — will stand firm in challenging the latest round of funding for what from its inception has been an ill-conceived and executed "war on terrorism."
Ah, it only took her until the second paragraph to dig into her cliche bag and draw forth "drumbeats of war." It's all about the drumbeats with her. Stop beating those drums, George W!! What really bothers me about Nelson is that she constantly, CONSTANTLY, drops paragraphs like the one above, but she never, and I mean NEVER, offers up any alternatives for how the U.S. should fight the war on terrorism, although one suspects by reading her that she'd like to build a huge wall around American and hide under her bed waiting for the first airborne shipment of anthrax to blow under her door.
It's clear that in spite of the bodies and bombings, the administration is steadfast in its refusal to recognize the debacle of its own making. George W. Bush's speech yesterday to the U.N. General Assembly was like déjà vu all over again (with apologies to Yogi Berra, who, unlike Bush, was on a winning team).
See what I mean? Bodies and bombings. . . alliteration at its finest, summing up how she perceives the war in Iraq. It's like the rumenations of a three-year old. Okay, Timmy, what is war all about? Bodies and bomings. And a quick cliche check: deja vu all over again. And she even threw in a barb about Bush not winning the last presidential election, because Jill is perpetually stuck in 2001. I sometimes wonder if she's personally hand counting the Florida ballots, chad and all, to vindicate her delusions. Listen. I didn't vote for Bush. I won't vote for him in '04. And, although I'm still amazed that the Supreme Court stepped in to stop the recount (an overstepping of Court power the likes of which has never been seen), it should be obvious, to anyone with half a functioning brain, that Gore lost Florida. He lost Florida. Gore did not win Florida, and because of that, he lost the electoral college. I don't care that he won the popular vote. It's totally irrelevant. In true Constitutional form, Bush won the election. The hypocrisy of folks like Jill Nelson is this: they decry, rightly so, that homeland security infringes on our Constitutional rights, and yet they yelp and scream that Bush lost the election, forgetting completely that he won as per the requirements set forth by the Constitution. Which is it folks? Constitution: burn it or embrace it?
There was no acknowledgement from the president that the war in Iraq has plunged the United States and the world into a quagmire with no end in sight. Or that to unilaterally wage a war that was opposed by most of the nations of the world undermines democracy and the possibility of world peace. Or that, having done so to disastrous effect, the United States now desperately needs the help of the United Nations to stabilize and rebuild of Iraq and provide a patina of legitimacy. Instead, Bush was the wolf in sheep's clothing, mouthing words of democracy, humanitarian concern and peace, while not budging on crucial issues such as the relinquishing control over that devastated nation.
Ah, Jill's favorite word: quagmire. And for those of you who like cliches, she offers up "wolf in sheep's clothing." And yet, despite her lamentations, she doesn't offer up even a semblance of an alternative. It's just, "Bush sucks," and that's about it. She also clings to her love of the United Nations, as if handing control of Iraq over to that odd conglomeration of "hug everyone" and corruption could do anything in Iraq but pass 20 resolutions, resolving to resolve to think about maybe, perhaps, you know, in the future, providing clean water in Baghdad. Thank you, no, I'll take the coalition of the willing and their engineers any day over the hobbled institution that is the U.N.
In spite of the pundits' strenuous efforts to spin the Bush speech as something new and important, the truth is that it was the same old, same old. Bush's passing mention of the need for AIDS relief, aggressive action against the international sex trade, and an end international slavery was overshadowed by the ominous cloud of Iraq and his self-declared "war on terrorism."
Did you know that the war on terrorism was "self-declared" by Bush? News to me. I could have sworn, in the days following 9/11, that most nations of the world vowed to fight terrorism. Cliche check: "same old, same old," and "ominous cloud."
In the end, what the president wants from American taxpayers, Congress and the members of the United Nations is not critical discussion and united action, but money and bodies for Iraq. With an election in 2004, Americans are already saddled with a failing economy; the prospect of having to ante up another $87 billion to rebuild post-war Iraq — that's just the latest installment. With our sons and daughters being shot and blown up by insurgents there, we might not be so eager to pull the lever and give Bush four more years without someone else to help us pay the monetary and human price.
Yep, because, in Jill's mind, dead American soldiers, those sons and daughters, are being shot up with such frequency they're being stacked up like firewood. One would almost think, by reading Jill, that she sort of WANTS American efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan to fail. Anything to ensure Bush loses in '04. She sees war. She sees $87 billion dollars. She refuses to see a world without Saddam. She rufuses to admit that the U.N. cozies up to dictators like a newborn pup suckling a nipple. Does the U.S. have clean hands when it comes to dealing with the political pukes of the world? Hell no, but in Jill's mind, the U.S. is the worst the world has to offer, and the U.N. is the guiding light that will save us all. Meanwhile, the U.N. is voting on a resolution that will decide, once and for all, whether to think about possibly, maybe, passing another resolution to stock the New York U.N. office with either Coke or Pepsi.
No matter that the invasion of Iraq is a debacle by any standards: more American soldiers killed since the war ended than during it. Daily sniper attacks. Political chaos and religious fervor growing. The bombing of U.N. headquarters in Baghdad on Aug. 19. The murder of Saddam Hussein's sons and the public display of photographs of their bodies. And still the question remains, where are Hussein and the weapons of mass destruction used by the Bush administration to justify this war?
Yep, should have left Uday and Qusay alone. They're just KIDS, after all. Plus, we MURDERED them. Those poor little boys. Political chaos? You mean the fact that more areas of Iraq, every day, come under ELECTED self rule? I wonder, sometimes, what the war critics imagined post-war Iraq to be like. Well, first off, the war critics were envisioning a coalition defeat, but nevermind. Did they think that, once the war was declared over, everyone would just lay down their AK-47s and go back to eating corn flakes? Furthermore, do the Jill Nelsons of the world honestly think that, if the U.N. oversees Iraq, the violence will suddenly stop? Alternatives, Jill, I'd like to hear your take on alternatives. I know you hate Bush, and I know you like to whine. But, some alternatives, woman!
Instead, America's president stood before the world and made no concessions, contradicted the obvious fact that the world is now a far more dangerous place than it was two years ago, and called upon the United Nations to help pay for and support our disastrous venture with bodies and bucks. Bush's message boiled down to simply this: America has made the world's bed; now we've all got to both lie in it and pay for it. Is it any wonder that the response of the majority of this august body might politely be described as tepid at best?
That "august" body. Sheesh. The U.N. is about as august as a homeless crack addict peeing on the street. The world is a far more dangerous place? Let me ask you this. Where, besides Iraq (and I think a recent incident in Saudi Arabia), in the past month, have terrorist attack occurred? If this world is suddenly so much more dangerous, I'd like to see evidence to support that. *waiting* *tapping foot*
Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, most of the vaunted American free press declined to broadcast the speeches of U.N. Secretary General Kofi Annan before Bush or French President Jacques Chirac afterward. Both of these world leaders spoke eloquently of the pitfalls of any nation of the world acting unilaterally, of the dangerous precedents such actions set, and of the threat to world stability that America's actions have exacerbated.
You'll have to excuse me for not giving a royal fuck for what Jacques Chirac has to say. His nation was so in bed with Saddam and Co., there are still used condoms with Hussein DNA laying near Chirac's nightstand. And, again, in Jill's mind, we acted UNILATERALLY. Forget about the British. Forget Spain. Forget Italy. Forget Poland. Forget Romania. Forget Hungary. Forget Turkey. Forget. . . well, you get the idea. And yeah, world stability is, like, TOTALLY in jeopardy. Jeez, Jill, overstate much?
Is anyone surprised that Bush himself didn't even deign to stay for Chirac's speech? Instead, the media went to its usual stable of paid political pundits, whose job it is to convince Americans that Bush is either "presidential," "strong," "clear" or all of the above and then some.
Is she living in some alternative universe of which I'm not aware? Last I checked, except for Fox News of course, practically every major news organization in America is critical of our Bumbler in Chief. But, the problem with ultra-leftists like Jill, is that they automatically lump everything Bush does into a general category of "wrong." For the most part, Bush is repeatedly, and unabashedly wrong. But to let blind hatred of Bush cloud your judgement to the point you can't see the very real danger of international terrorism, and the immediate need to fight it, is far more dangerous than any weapon of mass destruction. Hate Bush all you want. I do. But also admit that, in the one realm of fighting terrorism and cleaning up the shit that is the Middle East, Bush and Co. are following the right course.
Yet try as they might, you don't need glasses to see that the president has no clothes. That with the exception of a very few allies, the United States is hanging out there alone, naked for the world to see. The question is, when will the American people recognize what a sham and disaster this administration is, both abroad and at home, and refuse to continue funding such madness? The world can only hope it's before November, 2004.
Leave it to Jill to wrap up yet another pathetic tirade by invoking the "emporer has no clothes" cliche. She uses that analogy so much, you wonder whether the fable is under her pillow. Very few allies? Try over 20, Jill.
And, I'm sure you noticed, except for calling for a new president in '04, Jill never, not once, offered up solutions to all the problems she perceives. Just one long, drawn out whine. If she's what passes as a pundit nowadays, I'll take vanilla, thank you.
Well, he has a lot to say, even though the entire world, and arguably the universe, has no idea what it is he's saying. And he's back again this week, Stewartville's resident nutball, offering up more of his mind-boggling political analysis.
MACHEYE. Now for the full truth - it is called LX7-sinus not X2. Now as homeland security use of propaganda and their LS7 to stay in power, we the people of the United States get the blunt end of a raw deal. So don't forget a year 1961 and 1964. Now you have the truth. Now would you like to help or keep on running.
Who knew the full truth could be so incoherent? I'm so mad about getting the blunt end of a raw deal right now. Lousy LX7-sinus.
Jesse. Jane. Jesse. Jane. Jesse . Jane. Stormy . Daniels. Stormy. Daniels. Stormy. Daniels. Stormy. Daniels. Or something like that..
You know what?
If I had access to lucrative endorsement deals that allow me to pretty much pick and choose expensive clothes, furniture, food and hygience products, all basically for free so stores and products get exposure on a television show, I'm pretty sure I could convince the world that I'm flamingly gay, if I had to.
I could rip on poorly dressed men with waning social skills in a playful and friendly fashion. I could do that quite convincingly. I could lisp when I do it, too, if it makes me seem all that more queer.
I mean, I'm a fan of the show and all, and Melissa and I watch it quite a bit, probably more than is healthy to be honest. But, every time I watch it, I end up thinking, "I could fucking do that!"
Of course, I'd still rather have Dave Atell's "Insomniac" job.
I'm just sayin'.
Last night, I realized that everything I've written for this blog is housed on an unknown server somewhere. I mean, I've always known that, but I never stopped to ponder what that meant.
What it means is, if Blogger ever goes down for good, or starts charging for access, or whatever, I could very well lose two years of ramblings.
So, last night, I went through all my archives, month by month, copying and pasting the text into Microsoft Word. It wasn't a particularly fun exercise, but it was necessary.
The end result was over 400 pages of 8 pt. text. 400 pages of 8 pt. text. That just astounds me. I mean, it takes every last bit of ambition to write my weekly column, and that's typically only one and a half pages of 12 pt. text.
I've written short stories, plenty of them, that rarely exceed 20 pages of 12 pt. text. I've started on a couple abandoned book attempts that fizzled out after 40 pages of 12 pt. text.
400 pages of 8 pt. text after only about two and a half years. This blog has been a writing tool like nothing else I've ever dabbled in. It was fascinating to revisit all my old entries and watch a distinct style evolve right before my eyes. Without really even realizing it, my writing, my humor and my argumentative abilities have all drastically improved. And that doesn't even take into account all the commenting I've done on countless other blogs.
And to think, when my former officemate, Jen, told me I should start blogging, I at first rolled my eyes. I almost passed on a daily writing exercise that has helped produce more column ideas for me than anything else.
And this blog has given me an outlet to swear and rant and engage in unrestrained toilet humor. Oh, and I've also built a readership, made friends from around the globe, and even established contacts who help me in my job. All due to a blog, a tiny voice in a sea of voices.
Thank you, Jen.
So, last night I went to Subway, because I was too lazy to cook and I had two filled out Subway cards which meant I'd eat basically for free. I ordered a turkey footlong on parmesan/oregano bread, with lettuce, tomatoes, onions and green peppers. Just call me Jared, except I've never been overweight, and I'm not a dork (well, at least I don't think so).
I brought the sandwich home to ingest, and upon unwrapping the sub, I decided it needed some spicing up. So, I grabbed the hot sauce, consisting of basically pure pepper extract, that I bought in Indianapolis in the spring. This stuff is pretty much liquid flame. Use sparingly. I used it sparingly, but it still almost welded my teeth together. I love hot food.
It never occurred to me, even after seeing the hot sauce drip down my fingers, to vigorously wash my hands afterward.
So, I went to put my contacts in this morning. . .
The resulting pain was exquisite. It took me about three seconds to fully absorb the sizzling sensation overtaking my right optical orb. If I could have raked my eye from my head and placed it on the counter to cool off, I would have. Thankfully, I only polluted my right eye. My left eye escaped the trauma thanks to a hand washing that most ER doctors would consider overkill.
I yowled, and I howled, and I cussed, and I sweared. And then my nose started running uncontrollably (we're talking gobs upon gobs of nasal discharge). Then my eye started to swell and redden, and then I couldn't see due to a fountain of tears. I was honestly considering calling in sick, because there was no way I could drive with my compromised vision.
I sat on my bed for 10 minutes, waiting for the pain and suffering to subside. Finally, I was able to slink my way to the shower and eventually the eye watering subsided and I regained my vision, well, mostly.
I'm now sitting at work, with a slightly swollen, red eye. This shit is supposed to happen on Mondays, not Tuesdays.
Layne, over at Plain Layne (you know where the hell she is, and I can't hot link while blogging at work any more, so figure it out), related a tale of getting busted by her girlfriend while surfing for porn. It made me think back to. . .
First off, I should say that, for guys, surfing for porn is no big deal. In fact, it's largely believed by most men that the Internet was created for the sole purpose of looking at naked people and downloading clips of couples in full fornicating action. However, there's a big difference between looking at digital nudity and, um, taking matters into your own hands.
About four years ago, while living with my longtime roomie, Gozz, I was doing my duty as a good male Web surfer, toggling between news reports and nudity, when I felt a twitching down below.
With my door firmly closed, and Gozz watching a movie in his room, I thought it was safe for me to proceed with a personal coronation ceremony and "crown the king," so to speak.
Midway through the coronation, however, the phone rang. Gozz answered, and I listened intently, like a mouse aware of the presence of an owl nearby. He seemed to be talking to someone he knew, so I relaxed my vigilance and went back to crowning the king.
Suddenly, BAM! My door flew open.
"Dude, it's for you," growled Gozz into my darkened chamber, and it should have been painfully obvious, with me silhouetted in front of my flickering monitor, just exactly what it was I was doing.
In a sudden state of panic and desperation, I did what any tagged masturbator would probably do: I dove for my closet. Actually, it was more of a pathetic stutter-step, with my pants around my ankles, followed by a headlong trip into my closet, bringing roughly two-thirds of my clothes down on top of me.
Even after Gozz retreated back to his room and closed my door, sinking me back into darkness in my mountain of clothes, I stayed motionless for about five minutes, debating what to do next. My gut instinct was to find a new apartment but, upon reflection, I decided to pretend nothing happened and go from there.
Gozz never said a word. Now that's an awesome roommate.
UPDATE: I just spoke with Gozz via MSN. Here's what we had to say:
Mark G. says: I just read your blog
Mark G. says: I have tears in my eyes
Ryan says: Oh, crap. I was wondering if you would read it.
Mark G. says: Funny thing is... I dont remember that
Ryan says: You don't?!
Mark G. says: no
Mark G. says: not at all
Ryan says: I mean, that's awesome, but amazing.
Ryan says: My tax-lady was the caller.
Mark G. says: I dont remember
Ryan says: So, I probably shouldn't have blogged about to bring the information back to you.
Mark G. says: I never took the time to see what you were doing when I did shit like that
Ryan says: Soooo, just ignore the post. It never happened. You didn't see nuthin.'
Mark G. says: I would open the door, say what I had to say and go
Mark G. says: the door opening was to make my voice clear
Mark G. says: GOD that was funny!!!!
Mark G. says: I was laughing so hard I had to stop reading
Ryan says: Glad I could entertain you.
So, the moral of the story, children, is never assume that you were caught masturbating. And definitely don't blog about it unless you're absolutely certain!
Melissa and I decided to go back to my hometown of Harmony (motto: We're Not As Dull As Preston! Oh, wait, we are!) for the weekend. I'm not sure why, but Melissa really likes Harmony. She refers to going to my hometown and staying at my parents' empty house as "A Retreat." Strangely, I frequently use the same words regarding Harmony, but it's in reference to getting the hell out of there.
Okay, I'm somewhat kidding here. In reality, I do like Harmony, a little bit. I particularly like Harmony for its solitude and lazy living. After consecutive weekends spent in the twin cities, Orlando and of course, Rochester, I was ready for a nice relaxing stay in my hometown.
We drove into Harmony at about 8 p.m. on Friday, at which time we decided to cook dinner. Dinner consisted of me whipping up a batch of my famous Japanese curry, and accidently spicing it up to a point that it practically melted our forks. In addition, Melissa, who was in charge of vegetable dicing duty, got lost in her task and sliced up five garlic cloves (in addition to the two cloves I prepared with the chicken). Let me just take a moment to explain, in no uncertain terms, that seven cloves of garlic, in anything, is overkill.
With our stomachs full of spicy curry and a disturbing amount of garlic, we went off to bed. What followed was a night of rumbling stomachs that no doubt sent tremors throughout the town, to say nothing of the flatulence that hung in the air the next morning like a rancid fog. We both thought it was hysterically funny, even as we battled to get the hell out of the bedroom. Retreat indeed.
At 2 p.m. on Saturday, after dropping off a vehicle at our destination town and stocking up on Gatorade and other goodies, we set off on a 24 mile rollerblading trek from Harmony to Lanesboro. For those of you who get the chance, I strongly suggest taking advantage of the extensive bike trail system of southeastern Minnesota. It's one of the prettiest, most nature-rich areas of the state, in my opinion. This was our second time rollerblading the Harmony to Lanesboro route this year, and the weather was fantastic, nearly perfect, with the only imperfection being that everyone else in the area took advantage of the day to do some trail riding as well.
One thing I find most amusing about a lot of people who ride the trails in that area: they take it WAY too seriously. So many of them are decked out in the ridiculous bike racing gear I've grown to dislike so much, including the loud, tigh-fitting shirts and the spandex biker shorts that look like they're just on the verge of being outlawed. And I won't even get started on their bicycles, which look like they cost more than some automobiles and include more accessories than they probably will ever use. I mean, we're talking about thousands of dollars invested in biking equipment and clothes, for a trail system that could be traversed by a three-year-old on a Big Wheel.
Then there's Melissa and me, with her wearing a tank top and denim shorts, and me wearing an ancient pair of shorts and my trademark tee-shirt that features a ripped male torso. What's more, we're the only rollerbladers on the entire trail system. Some bikers actually seemed to regard us with scorn as they passed us by. Not everyone, mind you, just the folks who believe the trail should be dedicated exclusively to expensive bikes and stuck-up people.
A funny thing about rollerblading over 20 miles: at the end of the trip you can't WAIT to get those damn things off your feet. Still, the trip itself was awesome, and again I totally recommend it.
Alas, since Melissa had to work back in the cities on Sunday morning, we had to depart from "the retreat" Saturday evening, but only after polishing off the curry leftovers. With our garlic levels thusly re-fortified, we headed back to Rochester where, a couple of hours later, garlic vapors started to issue from our mouths, noses, pores and pretty much everyhere else garlic can issue from. We were a stinking couple, to be sure, so we sequestered ourselves in the bedroom where we couldn't offend the outside world.
Such was my little weekend, and it was great.
