Monday, September 29, 2008
When Ronnie Reagan took over, and conservative America began their 28 year circle jerk, the country was ready for something new. The only problem was Reagan's economic views were based on one thing, I, Ronnie, me, pay too much in taxes. That's it. Oh, you can study the theories and post your graphs, but all it really was about was him. Him and his wealthy supporters. Give me back my money, and I will invest it and all sorts of good stuff will happen. So the Democrats, having had the backbone-ectomy somewhere around this time, went along. The rich got richer. The poor got, well who gives a well there ya go again about the poor.
Regulation is coming back, my friendshh. Trusting you cowboys with money is just not a smart move. They had a 28 year free ride. It's over.
Christ, who am I kidding? This will blow over about the time Simon Cowell starts being snarky and rude again. Ronnie, you are still giving us the Bronx cheer. Congratulations. With that little head nod, and that grandpa tone, you soothed America's crying. Yeah, I may be struggling to pay the gas bill, in debt up to my eyeballs, have no retirement plan, and just feel plain lousy, but by god, I live in a country that can solve all my problems by bombing the shiite out of anybody they choose. U-S-A!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Paul Newman passed away over the weekend. He was freaking 83 years old. Paul Newman is NOT 83 years old. The real "Old Blue Eyes" is not allowed to get old and die of cancer. No!
Well, he did get old and die and once again, I am sad. This has been one shitey year for this kind of thing. These people I really like and admire keep dying. My fear is nobody will come along to replace them.
Paul Newman, the kind of actor who knew who he was. He played Paul Newman, brilliantly of course, but he played himself a lot. He played himself in Empire Falls, a great HBO mini-series. He played himself in Nobody's Fool, a crusty old guy looking to hit the trifecta. He played himself in Road To Perdition, a patriarch. He played himself and he always called younger people "kiddo". I loved that.
If you want to see Paul Newman really act, and he could act, see him in The Verdict as an alcoholic bum of a lawyer. Watch him when he knows he's been betrayed by Charlotte Rampling, and woman or not, he decks her.
See Newman in Fort Apache The Bronx, not the greatest movie ever but watchable. Watch him when he sees the dead body of Rachel Ticotin, who has overdosed on heroin. Watch him refuse to accept it and attempt to wake her up. How much of that acting involved channeling his son's death from drugs a year or so earlier?
Oh there's so many. You know them. But what really defines Paul Newman is not acting but his actions in real life. The $250 million in charitable giving, the camps for sick children, the 50 year marriage to Joanne Woodward.
No no no! Paul Newman isn't dead, or 83 years old. I gotta go. I have vision while rest of the world wears bifocals! Next time I say let's go to Bolivia, let's go to Bolivia. Bye!
I had first read David Foster Wallace's works back in 2000 when he wrote about John McCain's ill fated campaign for President in Rolling Stone. Now remember, the McCain of 2000 was not the man who is running now, and Wallace, though still suspicious and cynical of McCain, wrote many words of admiration for this so-called maverick. I agreed at the time with Wallace and became fascinated not only with McCain, but with the writer.
I read Infinite Jest, a really long 1000 page novel he wrote back in 1991 or so. I read Brief Interviews With Hideous Men, a series of short essays about fictional men of questionable character. Consider the Lobster had a wonderful essay about talk radio and how Americans are beginning to base their thinking on what some guy working for Clear Channel says.
Anyway, if you like satirists, curmudgeons, cynics and plain old cranks like James Wolcott, Tony Kornheiser, Mencken, Carlin and the like, David Foster Wallace may be for you.
I will miss the guy. But seriously ,dude, I understand the depression, I understand the need to say bye bye, but hanging yourself? Not too creative.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
One of these people is the face of evil, the other is evil's innocent victim. Last January, 20 year old Kyle Bormann sat down to watch the Green Bay Packers and the New York Giants play in the NFC Championship game. He started drinking whiskey and got ready to root his Packers onto the Super Bowl.
Brittany Williams was at her job. She was working to put herself through UNO and become a nurse. She also volunteered at Habitat For Humanity and the Boys and Girls Clubs. She was going to make the world a better place.
Kyle Bormann was drunk. He was pissed. The Packers had lost. He thought the officials in the game had favored the Giants. The official was black. Some of the Giants players were black. In the twisted mind of Kyle Bormann, despite the fact plenty of black men played for the Packers, the black referee favored the black Giants players. Therefore, Kyle Bormann had to make his feelings known, Somebody black had to die.
Brittany Williams called home. Did anybody need anything? Her mother said it would be nice if she picked her stepfather up some KFC for when he got off work at midnight. She said fine, she'd stop on the way home.
Kyle Bormann sat in his car in a parking lot about 130 yards away from the KFC. He had his scoped deer rifle pointed out the window. The Packers lost, somebody black had to die. He pointed the rifle out the window and looked through the scope.
Brittany Williams pulled up to the drive-thru window to get her stepdad some chicken for later. She was like that, always thinking of others.
Kyle Bormann saw a black woman in a car at the drive-thru window of the KFC. This is it, he thought. Somebody has to pay. The Packers got screwed. Those goddamned black refs.
The window on the passenger side of the car shattered. Brittany Williams slumped over, a bullet in her head. She was dead. Just like that. Dead. The world ceased to be a better place at that moment.
Kyle Bormann drove away. He had to get closer to his kill. He drove up to the scene of the crime to view his revenge. That'll show them. The police began to arrive and put up crime scene tape.Kyle Bormann panicked and drove through the tape. The cops chased him. He jumped out of the car and stumbled away. The police caught him. He drunkenly told them his sick story. He was justified he slurred.
Kyle Bormann was convicted today of 2nd degree murder in the killing of Brittany Williams by a jury of his peers . They apparently thought because he was so drunk, he couldn't possibly have planned this murder. 2nd degree murder. 21 years to life.
I don't believe in the death penalty. I do believe in throwing people like Kyle Bormann into a deep, dark hole forever. People like Kyle Bormann make me question everything. Whether this earth is worth saving. Whether I give a shiite if humanity survives. Whether I care if a higher power exists.
Then I think of people like Brittany Williams. There are so many more of her than him. At least I hope so
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
I have no idea what's going on here but over 9,000 people, including some females, packed the old Civic Auditorium to watch whatever it is. Ok, I know it's Ultimate Fighting and it's all the rage among the people who have figured out professional wrestling is fake yet think boxing, with all that Marquis of Queensbury rules junk, is for sissies.
Ultimate Fighting is for lack of a better word, a street brawl which would bring the SWAT team running if it happened out on Capitol Avenue. But these 9.000 people, including some females, actually like watching two human beings (I assume) pummel each other into a bloody pulp and crawl around in very homo-erotic positions on the mat. In fact, they get so close I'm surprised Fred Phelps and his inbreds didn't show up to protest.
Watching it in bits and pieces on the Spike (how manly) Channel, I have concluded that the sport not only suffers from a brutality only a true sadist could enjoy, but it also suffers from the ultimate sin. It's freakin' boring. Once the two doofuses in the octagon hit the floor and start crawling on each other it turns into real wrestling. The kind with singlets and headgear and really short squat guys, not the steroidfest with the huge actors. Let me tell you one thing. If there's another sport in the world that is more sleep inducing, ok golf is worse, it has to be wrestling. I know because I've participated in it. I wrestled for a few weeks in high school. It bored me when I was actually fending off some mouth breather checking my oil, so I can't imagine watching it.
Some say it's illegal under Nebraska law. Really? Punching a guy in the face, kicking him in the taint, choking the life out of him is illegal? I'll bet the 9,000 people, including some females, would want the government out of the ass-kicking business. That is, if they knew there was some sort of government.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Last week's investment came through when Georgia stomped the middle of Michigan into the ground so we are 2-0. Today's wager, errrr, investment features the aforementioned St. Joseph or San Jose State as it is known on campus and San Diego State. Last week San Jose held its own with Bo and the boys from Lincoln and San Diego State disgraced itself by losing to that sad, decrepit team from South Bend, the Drunken Irish of Notre Dame. Absolutely disgraceful, Chuck Long. So this week give the 6 1/2 points and see San Jose State roll. Notre Dame? You lost to Notre Dame?
Friday, September 12, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Then Max began playing at the age of 4. I could now watch soccer without being demeaned. I like soccer. There, I said it. It's a great sport. Not as great as baseball, but still great. I love to sit there and watch it unfold before my eyes. Now I know this isn't popular, especially here in a state that worships 19 year old children in pads and helmets who grow to unnatural sizes and push each other around. Football, the state religion, often bores the hell out of me. It's 5 seconds of action, then they stand around and talk about the next 5 seconds of action. People are on the edge of their seat, stomachs gripping, veins bulging, lives shortening, over a game. Now I know soccer fans in other countries are the same, in fact, often worse, but let's face it, soccer is the football of the rest of the world. Soccer here in the U.S. is relaxing and often attended by tens of people. Perfect for me. Lots of room to stretch out, relax, and watch a game in which the clock never stops.
My confession is complete. You don't like soccer? Good, more room for me.