Even in the middle of a tough campain, McC always finds time to scam...Thursday, February 21, 2008
KOSOVO IS BURNING
A lot of chickens from the Bush-Clinton years are coming home to roost. The next President of the US of A is going to have a full plate.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
THE DREAMER’S DREAM…A SUPER TUESDAY SOMNILOQUY
There aren’t many polling places out where I live. I was going to have to mosey on down to where the “civilized” people roam to cast my primary ballot. So I saddled up and rode into town last night. My plan was to get up early Tuesday morning, be waiting at the door when the polls opened, ink my votes, and then get the hell outta Dodge before anybody even realized I was there.
As I rode down the main drag in the cold night air, I saw a bunch of kids standing on a street corner, all of them waving large, homemade Barack Obama signs. It was a clear-eyed and optimistic effort to shore up support, maybe even change the minds of those passersby who found themselves wavering between the uncomfortable norm and the shock of the new. After all, can there be anything less frightening than youthful idealism? And here, before me, stood the unspoiled virgin voters of the United States…people young enough to have an unsullied and unwavering faith in the American political system…believing that their belief is enough to change to world. I was once one of those kids myself, though I’d be ashamed to admit the name of the guy to whom I lost my virginity. Suffice it to say it didn’t go well. He was a loser in more ways than one.
To me, these kids embody the dream of that “more perfect union” I once shared…a reverie that has long since slipped beyond my reach no matter how strong the desire to close my eyes on reality and keep on dreaming. They believe in Barack Obama and his message. And they believe their hard work can get him elected despite an enormous machine that is working in the opposite direction, threatening to crush their naïve optimism like the tanks of Tiananmen Square. Perhaps most importantly, they believe that President Barack Obama will be able to change this country, and that is what this election is truly about.
It’s easy to write these kids off. They are inexperienced at best and adolescent at worst. Still, it's tough to forget the sage council of Dr. Robert Zimmerman when he prescribed that “he not busy being born is busy dying.” The good doctor was all of twenty-four years old when he penned that line. And it should prove to warn that this country hasn’t been born in a long, long time. You can call the youth “idealistic” or even “dreamers,” and you would be correct. But remember that idealism is rooted not in the way things are, but the way things ought to be. To castigate the idealist is to embrace the greater fallacy that society, as it's come to be, is working out just fine.
So perhaps it’s fitting that I woke up this morning with another of Dr. Zim's tunes in my head. As I walked down to the polling place, the cold morning sun paying fine compliment to the icy air stinging at my lungs, my boot heels hit the pavement in time with the music in my mind.
I want you
I want you
I want you so bad…
I hit the polls just as the doors swung open. There were three others there ahead of me, no doubt dreaming the same dream. But it was what happened next that is truly the stuff of fantasy. For the first time in my life, I voted for someone.
As I rode down the main drag in the cold night air, I saw a bunch of kids standing on a street corner, all of them waving large, homemade Barack Obama signs. It was a clear-eyed and optimistic effort to shore up support, maybe even change the minds of those passersby who found themselves wavering between the uncomfortable norm and the shock of the new. After all, can there be anything less frightening than youthful idealism? And here, before me, stood the unspoiled virgin voters of the United States…people young enough to have an unsullied and unwavering faith in the American political system…believing that their belief is enough to change to world. I was once one of those kids myself, though I’d be ashamed to admit the name of the guy to whom I lost my virginity. Suffice it to say it didn’t go well. He was a loser in more ways than one.
To me, these kids embody the dream of that “more perfect union” I once shared…a reverie that has long since slipped beyond my reach no matter how strong the desire to close my eyes on reality and keep on dreaming. They believe in Barack Obama and his message. And they believe their hard work can get him elected despite an enormous machine that is working in the opposite direction, threatening to crush their naïve optimism like the tanks of Tiananmen Square. Perhaps most importantly, they believe that President Barack Obama will be able to change this country, and that is what this election is truly about.
It’s easy to write these kids off. They are inexperienced at best and adolescent at worst. Still, it's tough to forget the sage council of Dr. Robert Zimmerman when he prescribed that “he not busy being born is busy dying.” The good doctor was all of twenty-four years old when he penned that line. And it should prove to warn that this country hasn’t been born in a long, long time. You can call the youth “idealistic” or even “dreamers,” and you would be correct. But remember that idealism is rooted not in the way things are, but the way things ought to be. To castigate the idealist is to embrace the greater fallacy that society, as it's come to be, is working out just fine.
So perhaps it’s fitting that I woke up this morning with another of Dr. Zim's tunes in my head. As I walked down to the polling place, the cold morning sun paying fine compliment to the icy air stinging at my lungs, my boot heels hit the pavement in time with the music in my mind.
I want you
I want you
I want you so bad…
I hit the polls just as the doors swung open. There were three others there ahead of me, no doubt dreaming the same dream. But it was what happened next that is truly the stuff of fantasy. For the first time in my life, I voted for someone.
Friday, February 1, 2008
EUPHEMISM OF THE WEEK:
“STIMULUS”
Do you feel it, baby? I feel it in every nerve ending in my economy. Oh yeah, that was good. I could use a cigarette...and thanks to the remarkably shortsighted economic stimulus package our President has given us, I can even afford a few cartons of Marlboro Reds.
The stimulus has the weight of a feather, and it’s intended to tickle the scrotum of the American economy. It will do that. But the effect will last about as long as a male orgasm. Whether we each get three hundred bucks or a grand, it’ll be here today and gone tomorrow. The momentary spike will rapidly recede. And we’ll soon find ourselves in the very same sorry state, albeit with a bigger international debt to pay down. Swiping the ole plastic can feel good, and it may even provide a quick fix in a pinch. But remember, credit card bills are paid with interest.
Definition: Credit Card Economics. See also Dutchboy’s Finger.
Do you feel it, baby? I feel it in every nerve ending in my economy. Oh yeah, that was good. I could use a cigarette...and thanks to the remarkably shortsighted economic stimulus package our President has given us, I can even afford a few cartons of Marlboro Reds.
The stimulus has the weight of a feather, and it’s intended to tickle the scrotum of the American economy. It will do that. But the effect will last about as long as a male orgasm. Whether we each get three hundred bucks or a grand, it’ll be here today and gone tomorrow. The momentary spike will rapidly recede. And we’ll soon find ourselves in the very same sorry state, albeit with a bigger international debt to pay down. Swiping the ole plastic can feel good, and it may even provide a quick fix in a pinch. But remember, credit card bills are paid with interest.
Definition: Credit Card Economics. See also Dutchboy’s Finger.
PICK-A-POL (part 6)
The PICK-A-POL dispatches were my crack at some sort of Consumer Reports, intended to give you (the political consumer) correct and concise information about the four top brands in American politics today. There were other, smaller brands that found popular support at one time or another (i.e. the Drunk, best exampled by Ulysses Grant or the Warrior, exemplified by Andy Jackson and Ike). But these are largely defunct political products relegated to the antique shoppes of history. Today, a pol with enough clout to have their names printed in an election ballot will either be a Suit, a Hairdo, a Preacherman, or a Fuzzbuster.
But perhaps I shouldn’t say “either/or.” Because somewhere beneath their synthetic political veneer, these men and women are actually human beings, capable of exhibiting more than one trait (or, at the very least, capable of pandering to more than one special interest group). So it’s only fair that I close this article with a tip of my hat to cross-branding in Presidential politics.
While Bill Clinton was more Suit than Hairdo, and Taft vastly more Suit than Fuzzbuster, each man exhibited some traits of both brands. FDR was equally Preacherman and Suit, a glorious bit of cross-branding that enabled him to see society’s problems, inspire the “congregation” to rally, and use political capital to promote positive change. While many Presidents have been double brands, never in the course of US history has one carried all four banners.
But once, just once, we had ourselves a triple brand. And since the setup reads like a joke, I might as well go for it:
Q: What do you get when you cross a Suit, a Hairdo, and a Preacherman?
A: A waking nightmare!
But perhaps I shouldn’t say “either/or.” Because somewhere beneath their synthetic political veneer, these men and women are actually human beings, capable of exhibiting more than one trait (or, at the very least, capable of pandering to more than one special interest group). So it’s only fair that I close this article with a tip of my hat to cross-branding in Presidential politics.
While Bill Clinton was more Suit than Hairdo, and Taft vastly more Suit than Fuzzbuster, each man exhibited some traits of both brands. FDR was equally Preacherman and Suit, a glorious bit of cross-branding that enabled him to see society’s problems, inspire the “congregation” to rally, and use political capital to promote positive change. While many Presidents have been double brands, never in the course of US history has one carried all four banners.
But once, just once, we had ourselves a triple brand. And since the setup reads like a joke, I might as well go for it:
Q: What do you get when you cross a Suit, a Hairdo, and a Preacherman?
A: A waking nightmare!
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