NOTE: I started this fisking Friday night, but then I lost Internet access and wasn't able to post it.
How do you know Nick Coleman has completely lost his journalistic marbles? Well, I mean, besides by reading virtually anything he writes. I'll tell you how: he quotes a commenter from Craigslist.org.
After the appalling murder in Uptown of Michael Zebuhr, a visitor who died after a street robbery on March 18, Twin Cities blogs and discussion forums zeroed in on the likely culprits. The killers, many agreed, were Somalis.
Or, as one enlightened soul put it in a posting on craigslist.org, "dirty somali ....." I've deleted the expletive he felt free to use.
Now, Coleman has had it in for bloggers since before he could write his name which, according to my trusted sources, was about three years ago. But, honestly, the man should know better than to lift a venomous quote from a blog or forum and hoist it up as proof of ANYTHING. I mean, how freakin' LAZY CAN YOU GET? While he's dishing up the hateful comments from blogs and forums, maybe he could amble on over to Democratic Underground, where he can REALLY bathe in hateful rhetoric.
I would like to introduce that fellow to some Somalis I know. But maybe he would rather pass. Mr. Big Mouth was wrong: Police have not arrested any Somalis in Zebuhr's murder. Instead, they have arrested a number of good old born-in-the-USA Americans.
This is what Nick Coleman has been reduced to. . . matching wits, such as they are, with a commenter on Craigslist.org, hoisting this commenter's bigoted brain drool up as if it's indicative of people's attitude in general. This from the man who once complained of demagoguery?
What we almost had here was a 21st century lynching: No one ended up swinging from a tree, but some people were definitely in the mood.
Oh, for crying out loud. Right, Nick. Yeah, whatever. According to some Internet commenters, the moon landing was staged, Kennedy was shot by his wife, and Princess Diana was assassinated by Rudy Giuliani. In other words, Nick, you have no business whatsoever putting any stock at all into what some crazy dumbass commented on some forum. A lot of people on the Internet are bat-shit insane. That's your story. Film at 11.
"I was worried about something like that happening," says Omar Jamal, head of the Somali Justice Center, who met with Uptown residents after the shooting. "If I had turned on my radio and found out that a couple of Somalis were killed out of vengeance, I would not have been surprised."
Except, you know what? It didn't happen. There's no story here. None. Without the nutball Craigslist.org comment to draw from, Nick's swatting at air.
As for the rest of the column. . . well, it's Nick Coleman, so what can I really say? He can't think, and he can't write, but we've known that for years.
Why anything about Katie Couric is considered major news? Nude Yoga? Love the nude woman stretching.
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Writing a weekly column has its challenges, not the least of which being coming up with something to drone on and on about as the calendar reaches deadline day each week.
I can't say I live a particularly adventurous life, so I depend on life's little silly anecdotes to crop up once in awhile, which I then dutifully share with you, my valued readers.
Of course, sometimes, I have no such anecdotes to share. Sometimes, the anecdote well runs dry and I struggle the uber-struggle to come up with a column idea. Sometimes, nothing, and I mean nothing, comes to mind.
Then my mother e-mails me, asking me to buy her lotion and panties, and BOY HOWDY if I don't have a sudden, ready-made column idea.
My parents live in Japan, and my girlfriend and I recently planned a vacation to visit them in Tokyo. My mother, realizing she had an opportunity to get her hands on some hard-to-get American goods, sent me the following e-mail:
"Good to hear that you're excited about your trip. I have some shopping I'd like you to do for me: At the bath shop by Macy's, buy me a tube of creamy body wash and a matching one of the bath lotion—just pick a nice smell; I know you'll avoid the Old Lady scents, even though that suits me. Next, in the lingerie department of Macy's, buy me five pair of Olga panties, style #00873 (look on the tag inside)."
I sat still for awhile in front of my computer, wondering if I had really just read what I thought I had just read. I was okay with the lotion request, I guess. I could see myself buying lotion. Lotion is okay. But, somehow, the mental image of me rifling through an Olga panties display, scrutinizing the tags. . . well, let's just say there were certain discomfort issues when I boiled it all down and realized I'd be buying lotion and panties for my mother. I mean, if I'm going the lotion and panty route, I may as well buy her a box of chocolates and maybe a Barry White CD. The more I thought about it, the more horrified I became.
I replied to my mother, asking her (praying, really) if she was joking with me. I asked if it was her attempt at a late April Fool's prank, or maybe my Dad was playing with me, pretending to be my Mom. To which my Mom responded:
"EXXCCUUUSEEEE MEEEE!!!!! It's not my fault my panties are in bad shape—too many washings. The sad story is that I just didn't bring enough new ones back with me this fall, so I need some more. I could get by with three new ones, but I figured—as long as you were at it—why not go for five. Why do you find this so hard to believe???? Haven't you ever had undies that self-destructed???? As your mother, I happen to know you have had that problem. If you really think you can't handle this assignment, I suppose I can struggle to the end of the year with panties with no elastic drooping down around my navel. Could you live with that kind of guilt?????"
To be perfectly honest, no, I couldn't live with that kind of guilt. There's no more powerful guilt like panty guilt. The mental image of my mother literally "struggling" with her tattered panties struck me as incredibly sad. What kind of son would I be if I couldn't get past my petty insecurities to save her from her pathetic panty situation?
What really drove the panty spike through my heart was the intense punctuation of my mother's e-mail. My mother is an English teacher by profession, so to see all those extra and unnecessary exclamation points and question marks underscored for me just how dire and desperate she had become, shuffling mournfully in her perforated panties.
Then, to really make her panty point, she had the audacity to turn the argument around on me and call attention to my own shameful past of underwear decimation. It occurred to me then, as I remembered back to my youth—and my father and brother in their Swiss-cheese unmentionables—that my entire family tears through underwear like Hulk Hogan with a tee-shirt.
As if thinking about my father had some conjuring quality, I noticed another e-mail in my inbox, this one from my Dad:
"Panties, or socks? What's the difference? She didn't ask you to buy used ones. Glue on a beard and wear dark glasses, go on in, and get 'em. I can't quite remember the word for panty phobia or whether or not there is a cure."
I was still enduring the tormenting mental images of my mother struggling in her destroyed panties, so this fresh assault from my father was akin to diving into the Dead Sea with my body covered in fresh paper cuts. Great piles of shameful, selfish, ungrateful guilt spilled over me like panties from a fallen Victoria's Secret display.
At that point, it wasn't an issue about IF I'd purchase panties, it was an issue of HOW MANY. I know my mother asked for five pairs, but my guilt was such that I was considering 30 or more, while throwing in the chocolates and Barry White CD for good measure.
Panty guilt, man, it's the worst.
UPDATE: As per Amy's and Melanie's suggestion, I did a Google image search on "Olga," as I was told that there are plenty of hot Olgas out there. To be honest, I'm a bit torn. On the one hand, there's this, which makes me happy. But, on the other teabag-filled hand, there's this, which makes me very sad, in a testicles-on-a-rock sort of way.
Ryan says: You'll never believe what Mom asked me to do.
Jody says: ok, I'm being filthy minded here but what?
Ryan says: So, first, she asks me to buy a certain lotion to bring with me to Japan. I'm fine with that.
Ryan says: Then, she writes:
Ryan says: Next, in the lingerie department of
Macy's, buy me five pair of Olga panties, style #00873 (look on the tag
inside), size 7.
Ryan says: Honest to God, I thought it was Dad fucking with me.
Jody says: was she serious?
Ryan says: YES!
Jody says: and OLGA panties to boot...yikes
Ryan says: I KNOW!
Jody says: AND brake open the packaging to make sure its the right style
Ryan says: I wrote back:
Ryan says: Mom, I can't help but feel you're messing with me about that panties
request. Five pair? When you'll be home in a month? What are you
planning on doing? Did you develop some sort of problem you're not
disclosing? Is Dad eating them? What the hell? Dad, did you write that
as a joke, pretending to be Mom? Is this a late April Fool's joke?
Even Mel blanched when I showed her.Seriously, what the hell?
Jody says: I don't know but I have a feeling you will be arrested for sure if you are digging around in panty packaging
Ryan says: Mom wrote back:
Ryan says: EXXCCUUUSEEEE MEEEE!!!!! It's not my fault my panties are in bad shape---too many washings. The sad story is that I just didn't bring enough new ones back with me this fall, so I need some more. I could get by with three new
ones, but I figured--as long as you were at it--why not go for five. Why do
you find this so hard to believe???? Haven't you ever had undies that
self-destructed???? As your mother, I happen to know you have had that
problem.
If you really think you can't handle this assignment, I suppose I can
struggle to the end of the year with panties with no elastic drooping down
around my navel. Could you live with that kind of guilt?????
Ryan says: Then Dad chimed in:
Jody says: gawd...this keeps getting better
Ryan says: Panties, or socks? What's the difference? She didn't ask you to buy
used ones. Glue on a beard and wear dark glasses, go on in, and get 'em. I
can't quite remember the word for panty phobia or whether or not there is a
cure.
Jody says: hahaha
Jody says: why don't you just get her favorite type of menstrual protection while you are at it
Ryan says: I just can't believe this.
Jody says: she really should have asked Mel to do it
Ryan says: She did say Mel could do it, but then Mel brought up a valid point: "Would you buy panties for MY mom?"
Jody says: no, you wouldn't but you would be more inclined to buy them for her DAD...meaning its more of a gender thing
Jody says: ok...bad bad bad analogy
Ryan says: I wouldn't buy underwear for her dad.
Jody says: regardless...what are you going to do?
Ryan says: But, besides that, even if Mel DID buy the panties, she'd be buying OLGA panties, which doesn't strike me as the brand of choice for the 31 year olds of the world.
Jody says: I know...OLGA of all fucking names...why don't they just call them HAG or something else nasty
Ryan says: As I told Mom in a follow-up e-mail, if I'm going to buy five pairs of droopy geezer underoos, I'm getting a column out of this.
Jody says: LOL
Jody says: did she take offense at the word GEEZER
Ryan says: Well, obviously, I didn't word it QUITE like that.
Jody says: you should of just to see what reaction you got.
Ryan says: I knew you'd get a laugh out of all of this.
Ryan says: Mel says I should buy her a bunch of leopard print thongs.
Jody says: well, I'm only laughing because I can just imagine Reg's response if she would have asked him
Jody says: but she knows better than to ask him
Ryan says: Oh, Gawd, he'd commit seppuku.
Jody says: If he had to wander around the women's department looking for OLGA panties...he'd shit twice and die
Ryan says: I didn't even know there was a brand called OLGA panties.
Ryan says: Old Ladies Getting Around.
Jody says: Old Lonely Grannies Association
Ryan says: TMI: hhttp://www.freshpair.com/catalog_section_women_id_7_brand_15.html
Jody says: what makes me laugh about your mom's email is when she said the panties would hang down by her navel...I thought they were supposed to be down there, not up under your breasts
Ryan says: If that's what makes you laugh, you have serious problems.
Ryan says: freshpair.com?
Ryan says: And here I didn't think I'd have a column this week.
Jody says: which style is the one she wants...never mind, don't care to knw
Jody says: well, she's right, they sure aren't hanging BELOW the navel
Ryan says: You don't care to know? I'm the one who will be rifling through the racks to find a size 7 in a particular model.
Jody says: I feel for you
Ryan says: Keeriiist.
Jody says: I guess going on a shopping spree every summer with her for clothes for yourself has some drawbacks
Ryan says: That's just it. . . I don't really have a choice here.
Jody says: no...you dont' which makes it all the more funny
Ryan says: Panty guilt would be unbearable.
Jody says: I realize that she is asking something that a 60+ year old woman thinks is no big deal but to a 31 year old male, she's gotta be a little more aware of what you must be going through
Ryan says: Lotion and panties. Why don't I just buy her a box of chocolates why I'm at it.
Jody says: dinner would be appropriate too
Ryan says: You know, I'm laughing, but I'm also horribly embarrassed here.
Jody says: I know...its hysterical from my end
Ryan says: I KNEW you'd enjoy this.
Jody says: I'm not being snotty...just realizing from a woman's perspective that I'd never ask a male, let alone my son, to buy me underwear
Ryan says: No, I know you're not being snotty. I told you because I knew you'd enjoy it.
Ryan says: And I fully expect you to relay this information to Reg.
Jody says: Oh I will
Jody says: I'm on the phone with him right now and he's giggling uncontrollably
Ryan says: *sigh*
What can I say? With intermittent (to put it mildly) access to my blog and posting at work, I'm a silent Sally.
Which, if I am being actively blocked, is kind of funny. I used to blog, maybe, about 10 to 15 minutes a day, if I blogged at all.
Smoke breaks, if taken every hour or so, can eat up almost four times that.
Whatever. Maybe I should buy a laptop with wi-fi, and SAY I smoked, although it would look odd typing on a laptop while people smoke around me.
I'm just waiting for some scientific study to say blogging causes cancer.
Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker.
