wait, that's not right
The difference between Sarah Palin's reaction to Rahm Emanuel's ill-advised use of the word "retarded" (directed at liberals), and Rush Limbaugh's use of the word (directed at advocates for the mentally handicapped) speaks volumes. When it was reported that Emanuel used the word in a private meeting -- one time -- Palin quickly took to Facebook and, mentioning Emanuel by name, called on President Obama to fire him. When Limbaugh repeatedly used the term on his radio show, Palin did nothing. Then, after being goaded by commentators, she had her spokesperson offer a generic criticism of "demeaning name calling," never mentioning Limbaugh by name -- and even had her spokesperson phone Rush to assure him she hadn't used his name. Then, in an interview with Fox that aired this morning, Palin defended Limbaugh's use of "retards" as "satire." Which it wasn't -- unless I'm missing the humor in calling a meeting of advocates for the mentally handicapped "a retard summit."
couldn't this all be resolved if more people accepted use of the term "artarted"?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
one night walking
walking out on to the sidewalk felt like being reborn from a birth canal of moldy coasters and painfully mundane smalltalk.
"yea, bud light lime. you know, bud's making a hef now these days. well, it's a wheat bear anyways." PUSSSHHH!
and there i was, right back outside. in a placenta of cold, refreshing winter bay air. it can get a little old come july, but damn it feels nice. i looked around deciding which direction to hike back up the hill towards home. regardless of circumstances, no one enjoys walking uphill. i didnt really have a choice, so i began trudging up the first block and thinking about how much i hate carrying small talk and how much bud light lime tastes like cheap expired laundry powder detergent.
a younger couple was stumbling down the sidewalk, the guy regretfully holding his unfamiliar date up while staring vacantly up at the trees. "i tend to find humor in thingssss........," she slurred. his expression seemed to read, "i wonder if she'll leave in the morning." if only he could've read mine: "doubt it."
i once overheard part of a conversation on a sidewalk downtown: "... and then they locked me in a cage with a tiger!..." i thought i'd learned to eavesdrop a bit more effectively since then, but there aren't enough people on the sidewalks in this neighborhood to be conspicuous enough to find out exactly what things this obviously profound girl found humor in. i trudged on.
up the top of the hill, past my former dry cleaner. she'd always demanded that i sign for my pick ups even though she recognized me. her untrusting chinese gaze, her rotund little index finger and the way she'd flop it down onto the "name" line like an overcooked weenie that escaped a backyard 4th of july barbecue but still demanded a signature for picking up two work shirts. that's not even why she's a "former" dry cleaner. she seemed to find sadistic pleasure in ironing over collar-stays and apparently operated a dress shirt button black market racket downstairs.
it's incredible how quiet this block can be at 10pm while the bars are packed 100 yards away. the breakfast joint with the always pretentious line of hipsters waiting an hour for a ho-hum meal. the empty park. the feeling of being alone while in the midst of thousands. good time of day to take in the city.
up the last block in a good pace. two overweight italians sauntering by, "and there was piss all over my carpet..." again, the unlearned eavesdropping lesson. around the last corner past the painful garage bands performing tired covers, past the desperate girls with a few unfortunate hours still ahead of them, and past the homeless man urinating 10 feet from the stoop he's slept in for the last 3 months.
i dig my neighborhood
"yea, bud light lime. you know, bud's making a hef now these days. well, it's a wheat bear anyways." PUSSSHHH!
and there i was, right back outside. in a placenta of cold, refreshing winter bay air. it can get a little old come july, but damn it feels nice. i looked around deciding which direction to hike back up the hill towards home. regardless of circumstances, no one enjoys walking uphill. i didnt really have a choice, so i began trudging up the first block and thinking about how much i hate carrying small talk and how much bud light lime tastes like cheap expired laundry powder detergent.
a younger couple was stumbling down the sidewalk, the guy regretfully holding his unfamiliar date up while staring vacantly up at the trees. "i tend to find humor in thingssss........," she slurred. his expression seemed to read, "i wonder if she'll leave in the morning." if only he could've read mine: "doubt it."
i once overheard part of a conversation on a sidewalk downtown: "... and then they locked me in a cage with a tiger!..." i thought i'd learned to eavesdrop a bit more effectively since then, but there aren't enough people on the sidewalks in this neighborhood to be conspicuous enough to find out exactly what things this obviously profound girl found humor in. i trudged on.
up the top of the hill, past my former dry cleaner. she'd always demanded that i sign for my pick ups even though she recognized me. her untrusting chinese gaze, her rotund little index finger and the way she'd flop it down onto the "name" line like an overcooked weenie that escaped a backyard 4th of july barbecue but still demanded a signature for picking up two work shirts. that's not even why she's a "former" dry cleaner. she seemed to find sadistic pleasure in ironing over collar-stays and apparently operated a dress shirt button black market racket downstairs.
it's incredible how quiet this block can be at 10pm while the bars are packed 100 yards away. the breakfast joint with the always pretentious line of hipsters waiting an hour for a ho-hum meal. the empty park. the feeling of being alone while in the midst of thousands. good time of day to take in the city.
up the last block in a good pace. two overweight italians sauntering by, "and there was piss all over my carpet..." again, the unlearned eavesdropping lesson. around the last corner past the painful garage bands performing tired covers, past the desperate girls with a few unfortunate hours still ahead of them, and past the homeless man urinating 10 feet from the stoop he's slept in for the last 3 months.
i dig my neighborhood
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
death cult dwarves
Satellite image of north and south korea at night. An excerpt from a story on the north's closed society, where citizens average 6 inches shorter than the south:
Unlike previous racist dictatorships, the North Korean one has actually succeeded in producing a sort of new species. Starving and stunted dwarves, living in the dark, kept in perpetual ignorance and fear, brainwashed into the hatred of others, regimented and coerced and inculcated with a death cult: This horror show is in our future, and is so ghastly that our own darling leaders dare not face it and can only peep through their fingers at what is coming.
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