Archive for February, 2009

If you were on a date with a woman and she told you her favourite food was “breakfast” and her favourite movie was Men In Black would you:
A) run screaming for the door
B) politely listen to her recitation of random breakfast foods and hope that you’ll at least get some necking out of the deal
C) give up all hope for the future of the Human race


D) hope the woman in front of you in the Kroger express lane will stop laughing at your date and also that she won’t wonder why you’re on a date at Kroger.

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Honky Blues

So my email just now tells me that if I donate some money to the TNGOP they will send me a free bumper sticker.

Said bumper sticker reads “HONK if you’re paying my mortgage”

What? While I get the point the TNGOP is trying to make I think they lose it on the word ‘my’.

Theoretically all of the good folks who fly that sticker are paying their own mortgages. Right?


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This is why I’m a libertarian. This right here…this quote I heard on an interview on CNN last Saturday evening.

Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an “I’ve got mine, so screw you guys, I’m goin’ home” kind of person. I believe in helping the needy, the poor, the hungry, the whathaveyou. But I believe that it’s our job–as adult people–to do that ourselves.

You know, we are adult people. We have jobs and houses and cars. Sometimes the jobs lay us off, the houses have burst pipes and the cars break down. It sucks. It’s called “life” and it happens. And as adult people we do the best we can. But if we just can’t find another job or enough money to fix the pipes or the car then there are charities that can help.

But this new attitude is sickening me. This attitude of chronologically grown people who behave like children. Newsweek says “We’re all socialists” (partially because the Newsweek editors haven’t met me), but they ought to say “we’re all acting like babies”.

Uncle Sam will take care of me? Really? That’s how you want to go through life? Yes, Virginia, there IS an Uncle Sam.

What sickens me most about this attitude is not that there is hope for the truly needy. It’s that so many adults don’t understand what true need is. Going without something you want does not you a needy person make.

True story. There are a few people I know around the way. One of them desperately asked another one for money. We’ll call that person “Annie.” Well, “Barbara”, the person Annie asked for some cash, figured that Annie’s need must be desperate if she was asking. So Barbara–who is struggling financiallly, by the way–took the few dollars she had set aside to go out to the movies on her birthday and gave them to Annie. Barbara was sad about missing the movie but she at least felt good about being able to help Annie out. The very next week, just a few days after Barbara spent her birthday alone at home, she heard the grapevine that Annie had gone to a concert and out to dinner. Turns out that Annie can always find the money for fun stuff–dinners out, concerts, movies but just doesn’t like paying her light bill. A few months after that I found out that Annie was also spending a lot of money on buying pot. (See, I’m not in love with all pot smokers, mom.)

I have the feeling there are a lot of Annies nowadays.

And I’ll be honest about something. Part of my libertarianism is a “judge not” attitude. I believe that if you’re an adult you should be able to do just exactly as you please as long as you don’t hurt anybody. But here’s the thing. I’m finding myself getting awfully judgemental about the folks who are receiving stimulus money. And I don’t know if I mind. Because honestly, if you can’t pay your way and are asking other folks to do that for you I think it’s perfectly okay for those folks to ask if you are going to concerts, restaurants or pot dealers with the money they gave you.

Uncle Sam may take care of you. But that also gives Uncle Sam a right to know what he bought with his dough. And if that were me, I’d worry. I don’t want to have to justify myself to anyone else–especially the government.

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There are two stories in the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly, seperated by, oh, say maybe four pages.

The first talks about a singer I’ve never heard of named Chris Brown and the serious beat-down he allegedly gave his girlfriend, Rhianna. (Another singer I’ve never heard of. I don’t do top 40, I guess.) The gist of the story is that it was a stupid thing for Brown to do because he’s so popular with teenage girls but his career might recover for the same reason.

The second story is about swimmer Michael Phelps. Everyone loved him last summer when he was doing his Olympic thing. Here’s a guy who has put himself through training regimens that would make almost everyone else’s eyes bleed. But Kellogs has dropped him off their endorsement deal. Why? Oh, let me tell you why. There was a picture of him smoking a joint.

Pause and reflect.

One guy (allegedly) beats the lifeblood out of his girlfriend. The speculation is that he may lose some endorsement deals but otherwise we believe that he’s so popular he will get through this after maybe going to rehab or something. Just to reiterate. He is accused of beating a woman.

The other guy puffs a spliff at a party and he’s up for public execution.

What does this say about this society? Either way I’m scared. I know I take a lot of grief from my parents for being a marijuana apologist, but I’ve gotta say. I’m a marijuana apologist because I’m a common sense apologist. Marijuana at a party? Who’s Aquaman hurting?!? His sperm count and a couple brain cells, maybe. But the Tastycake company is rejoicing.

Stoolcoward (Alleged) Woman Beater, on the other hand. He has beaten a woman bloody **(allegedly)** and we’re already itching to give him a pass. He’s cute and we like him. Well, somebody likes him. Teenage girls mostly. Yes….let’s give them that role model back. And along with it let’s continue to propigate the message that it’s okay, honey, if he hits you and kicks you and grinds your face into the linoleum if he didn’t like his dinner. Just as long as he’s really rich and really popular it doesn’t matter.

I don’t use the F word on this blog but if I ever did now would be a time. Because, honestly. I can’t believe we’re saying this as a country.

And before I go let me point out one more thing I’ve pointed out before. I’ve never heard of a stoner beating a woman. I hear about drunks beating women all the damned time. Explain to me again why we’ve allowed the Woman Beater Vice to be legal but not the Lay Around And Eat Junk Food vice.

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I knew on my last visit to Barnes & Noble that St. Patrick’s Day was coming because their “Irish Fiction” table was smack dab in the middle of everything. This being a recession and me being a cheap bastard (bastardess?) I stood there with my iPod and entered the names of all the books I wanted to read. As soon as I got back to WiFi, I requested them from the library.

What this means is that I can’t lend any of my friends my copy of Confessions of a Pagan Nun. I wish I could, because I foresee this being one of those books I buy multiple copies of to give away. It’s beautiful and lyrical and moving and, I think, written just for me. That’s the sign of a great book–that it speaks to you on such a personal level.

But enough now of the deepness. I must now pass on to all of you a warning.

Do not look up the musicians you love on the internet. If someone’s music speaks deeply to you, just enjoy the music. Because the odds are that once you find out how much of an assbasket the artist is, you’ll never be able to listen to the music the same way again.

I of course am not saying that I came to this realisation after googling Van Morrisson yesterday, but I suppose if you wanted to make that connection you could.

So between all my Irish library books, my Van Morrison, Steeleye Span and Pogues playlist and my sudden craving for corned beef and cabbage I think that I’m pretty much into Irish Season. Which is good because it allows me to overlook the garish pinkness of Valentine’s day.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband more than I love just about anything other than God. The libertarian in me just balks at the idea of having to tell him I love him on one specific day because society deems it so. I always feel like such a joiner when expressing my love on Valentine’s Day. Like a sheep.

Or maybe I’m just saying all of this because I haven’t gotten to get him a card yet.

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