A Letter to my Senators

After reading this, I wrote the following letter to our two US Senators from Colorado, Mark Udall and Michael Bennet.

Hello Mark, I've not typically been the type to write his local politicians for anything. I tend to be a speak-with-my-vote kind of guy. But as one of the millions of solidly middle-class citizens bearing the brunt of our fragile economy every day, I feel beleaguered, even defeated, when I read this from the Washington Post Online: "At rescued banks, perks keep rolling." (entire article linked below). We threw $700 BILLION to Wall Street with little more than a note that said, "Happy birthday! Go buy yourself something just for you." And as my wife and I are struggling to decide whether or not we let the bank foreclose on a rental property that's been sucking us dry for the past six years, Kenneth Lewis, Jeffrey Peek, Ralph Babb and Alvaro de Molina are showing off what they spent on their shopping spree. What I need from you, and from Michael Bennet, and from every single person who claims to represent "the people of this great nation," as politicians are so fond of labeling us, is to feel the outrage and betrayal that we feel and get this figured out. Today. Because this country is boiling, man, and people are ready to lose it. You see it in the schools, in the malls, on the highways, in the workplaces... Rage. Not anger, not hurt. Rage. It's a frightening time. I'm originally from Michigan. Lived there for 27 years before moving to Colorado in '97. I was in Detroit last month for the first time in years. Have you seen Detroit lately? It looks like a movie set for Blade Runner II. That's today's America. That's what $700 BILLION to Wall Street gets us. So change it, Mark. Just... change it. You can, you know. Find out who's with you -- who are the real Americans up on Capitol Hill -- and grab them and start beating the crap out of any poser up there who doesn't think this is the most important issue facing our country today. We need you.

The Tragedy of Detroit

The above image is from a stunning photo montage by Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre, called simply The Ruins of Detroit.

Detroit has been the convenient butt of jokes for a number of years. Crime rates. Corrupt government. Corrupt unions. Greedy, irresponsible industry. We can argue until we've lost our voices over what Detroit has fallen into ruin, but one fact remains undeniable: This is one of the great tragedies in our country's history.

As Marchand and Meffre state on their website, "Nowadays, (Detroit's) splendid decaying monuments are, no less than the Pyramids of Egypt, the Coliseum of Rome, or the Acropolis in Athens, remnants of the passing of a great civilization."

I admit I am not an objective observer. I'm from Michigan, and grew up going to Detroit to Tigers games, the Henry Ford Museum, Greek Town and the Fox Theater. I have family who live(d) there and work(ed) there. I'm from a family of automotive workers. There was once great pride in that, by the way.

The Detroit of the early 1900s was, in large part, responsible for the creation of this country's middle class. We were manufacturing actual things. Things people wanted to buy and use. No more. What do we manufacture in this country now? Electronic transactions. Fake money. Intellectual property. That's just about it. So bye bye Detroit.

Again, I'm not here to argue about who or what is at fault. Anyone who thinks there's a simple answer to that is a simple person. I care about the people. Lost homes, lost jobs, lost families, lost lives. No matter who you are or what your political beliefs, these are fellow Americans. Not to be confused with a bunch of book-cooking crooks who were bailed out by our inglorious government to the tune of 700-something BILLION dollars, mind you. These are my relatives.

Go click the link above and look at the pictures. The one of United Artists Theater literally made me cry. Cry for what has been permanently lost.

Of Milk and America.

Last night we finally got around to watching Milk. I'd had a copy of the movie since it was still in theaters (one of the perks of having a SAG card -- DVD screeners!), had even loaded it onto our Apple TV so that I could just push buttons to have it play rather than going through the hassle of standing up, taking the DVD out of the case, opening the DVD tray... good god, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. But, when the occasion would come that wifey and I could watch something we wanted vs. the Wiggles or the Wiggles, we'd inevitably choose something else. Milk is definitely one of those movies you gotta be in the right mood for. And finally, last night, we were.

I first really learned about Harvey Milk when I was a senior in high school. My high school football coach was also my government teacher. On the football field he was a predictably gruff old bastard, but in the classroom he was dynamic, open-minded and incredibly engaging. One day he showed us a documentary on Milk and Moscone. I remember the classroom being utterly silent for a few minutes after the film ended, until some moron who thought he was being funny said "fags." Coach moved faster than I thought humanly possible, grabbed the kid by the shirt collar and literally dragged him out of the classroom. That's always stuck with me. The documentary, and Coach's response to the same bigotry that contributed to Milk's assassination.

I was pissed when Mickey Rourke didn't win best actor last year. His turn in the Wrestler was so damn good. But now I get it. Sean Penn was just plain eerie as Milk. I found myself a few times remembering, that's Jeff Spicoli! So yeah, the Academy made the right choice. The movie as a whole was really, really good. Great supporting cast, great pacing. But without Penn in that role it's easily forgettable.

The movie brought back memories of the documentary. Of how emotionally draining I'd found it when I was 17. I was sad and angry back then, for the simple fact that I couldn't comprehend the kind of hatred and bigotry that could poison a person's soul.

Last night I was once again sad and angry. But this time it wasn't only because of the inhumanity of it. It was a sober reminder of the vast amount of citizens of this country who would piss all over our Declaration of Independence. And not just in the late 70s, but today. Last year -- 30 years after the California battle over Prop 6 -- was deja vu all over again with Prop 8, only this time the bigots won.

If you would not afford a fellow citizen of these United States the same exact freedoms and liberties that you would expect for yourself, simply on the basis of that person's skin color, religion or sexual orientation, you are not worthy of those freedoms that our forefathers gave you. And if you profess to be a Christian as you fight to restrict the rights of others, you are not worthy of the sacrifice your Christ made for you.

We've made remarkable progress in this country in the past 30 years with regard to government-supported bigotry. Harvey Milk had a lot to do with that progress as it pertains to homosexuals, and activists continue to fight the hatred and discrimination. But then there's Prop 8 and all the other efforts throughout the country to restrict our fellow citizens' rights. The progress we've made isn't nearly enough. We cannot allow the course of this country to continue to be dictated by the anti-American bigots who desire not freedom for all, but religious totalitarianism (though they don't know that because, come on, look at how long the word "totalitarianism" is). A reminder:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Me and...

Stop it. Stop talking like that. You are an adult and you sound like a child when you say "me and..."

It's never me and... NEVER.

It's either _________ and I, or _______ and me.

If you say "Alicia and I" and you should have said "Alicia and me," I'll forgive that. You should certainly take it upon yourself to know when to say "I" and when to say "me," (the cheat is to drop all other people from the sentence but you, and then say it and see which one you need) but you're not completely embarrassing yourself.

When you say, "Me and Alicia were going to work on that," that's embarrassing.

No matter how talented and how intelligent you are, you're going to have a major blockade in front of you until you correct that shit. I'm never going to put you in an important client presentation, because I don't want them to think we have little kids working on their account.

Oh, on a related topic, all those "likes" you put in every sentence? Unless you want me to keep treating you as a sixth grader, cut that shit out too.

ADDENDUM: Some residents of Smartassia have left comments referencing the "me and..." structure used in song lyrics, such as "Me and My Shadow," "Me and Bobby McGee," and "Me and You and a Dog Named Boo." Obviously I was talking about everyday speaking, particularly within a business setting, but I tell you what: If you can sing like Janis, you get a pass on my "me and" rant. Of course, only when you're singing. And rhyming.

ADDENDUM 2: Just listened to "Me and You and a Dog Named Boo" for the first time in decades. That's a horrible song, Jodi. Almost makes me revoke my Janis pass. Fucking Kent Lavoie.

Wanted: Democrats With Balls

Okay, at the risk of getting the ire up of some of my more right-leaning friends, nothing would make me happier than to have those yella Democrats in Congress actually grow spines and bring articles of impeachment against Bush. And then Cheney.

It is mindboggling to me that we as a nation sat through the impeachment of Bill Clinton for lying to Congress about... wait for it... S-E-X... and this Congress won't impeach Bush and Cheney.

In the book Articles of Impeachment Against George W. Bush, the Center for Constitutional Rights set out legal arguments for impeachment on four separate charges that could be brought against this administration with abundant evidence (note that the book was published before the whole Valerie Plame incident):

1. Warrantless surveillance.
2. Misleading Congress on the reasons for the Iraq war.
3. Violating laws against torture.
4. Subverting the Constitution’s separation of powers.

Who cares if the Senate wouldn't vote to convict? They didn't vote to convict Clinton, either, but that Congress had to "send a message." If ever a White House needed a message, it's this one. Not that I'd expect them to get the message, but at least American public would be sent the message that the Rule of Law is greater than this or any other administration.

I'll never forget Bush, after accepting the Republican nomination about seven years ago, saying that he would bring honor and integrity back to the White House.

Um, yeah, you failed, W. You seriously, pitifully failed.

You know, the thing that bugged me the most about Clinton was the guy's arrogance. He truly believed himself to be greater than the office he held, to be above reproach, and to be exempt from accountability.

Multiply each of those things by 1,000 and you've got Bush and Cheney. Nixon was a fucking choirboy compared to these two. And yet no one has the stones to give them the bitch-slapping they deserve.

Making the all those big-talking Democrats controlling the legislature up there no better than the Right they keep criticizing.

*Dumbfuck Mountain poster found through a Google search that led me here.

Sad? Angry? Bored? Shoot Someone!

In one of those ironic life moments you just can't script, I was sitting here with my iPod on shuffle when Johnny Cash's "Hardin Wouldn't Run" came on. What an awesome tune. It starts off with telling a story about John Wesley Hardin losing his money shooting dice in a saloon, then pulling a gun and demanding his money back. As I was enjoying Mr. Cash's sad song, I pulled up the Rocky Mountain News on my 'puter and saw this headline:

Lone gunman opens fire in Vegas casino; 3 wounded

My first thought (well, second thought after, "How ironic") was how amazing it was that no one was killed. What a failure that guy was!

In all seriousness, how exactly did it become fashionable to get a gun and shoot at random people because you're not happy with your life? I just can't fathom it. I can grasp wanting to take out someone who had a direct impact on your life. I can grasp getting so distraught that you decide to take your own life. (though, of course, I neither condone nor recommend either of those things) But I can't for the life of me grasp the desire to take out completely anonymous strangers.

What is it about the world... about the United States... that poisons people so much? Yes, this happens in other places, but nothing like here. It's akin to terrorism, of course, but it's not the same. Terrorists are part of a larger machine; they believe that what they're doing is serving some greater purpose. For all intents and purposes, they've been brainwashed.

These shooters here are loners. There may be a couple working together, like the Columbine kids, but they're not part of anything. They're on the outside looking in. And at some point, their hatred of those on the inside grows so great, their whole view turns red with blood.

And then they start shooting.

Kids. Adults. Upper-class. Middle-class. Lower-class. Educated. Uneducated. Family men. Drifters.

That's a pretty wide range there. About the only constants are that they're men, and they're pissed.

I gotta tell you, while I'm certainly conscious of the threat of terrorism, I'm not nearly as fearful of it directly affecting my life as I am one of these psychopaths opening fire somewhere my family happens to be.

Shit, whether you agree with the policies and methodologies or not, there are at least governments out there trying to keep terrorists from attacking us. There are lots and lots of people studying and planning and counter-planning, all to end the threat of terrorism.

Who's studying and planning and counter-planning to end the threat of the angry fucker with a gun?

Enough with the heat already.

After three straight days of it hitting triple digits, we're finally getting a reprieve. Not. Every year I complain about temps in the 90s, and every year I am completely ignored. And for those of you in Arizona or Nevada or some other "It's always hot here" area, DO NOT POST A "YEBBUT" COMMENT! You chose to live on the sun. You are supposed to be hot and miserable all summer long. Not me. When I moved to Denver, it was warm and sunny and perfect, and it rained every afternoon for an hour to cool things off and give the vegetation a drink of water. Now? It's just goddamn hot and dry. We had a wonderfully rainy spring, which filled us all with hope for a summer like the old days. Then, a couple weeks ago, hope took a donkey punch to the back of the head.

What's Porn Got to Do With It?

UPDATES AT BOTTOM OF POST.

A fascinating case of stolen property turned to tragedy here in Denver recently, resulting in lots of finger-pointing, speculation and armchair psychiatry.

Former Denver City Attorney Larry Manzanares resigned his short-lived post back in February amidst allegations that he'd stolen a laptop from the State Court Administrator's Office. He admitted that he'd bought the laptop from a dude in a parking lot, but said he didn't know it was stolen.

He was later charged with felony theft, embezzlement of public property, tampering with physical evidence, official misconduct and computer crime -- charges that carry penalties of up to six years in prison.

The big story, however, was that the computer had a "massive porn stash" on it.

Please note once again that none of the filed charges had anything to do with pornography.

So it was off to the races for the media -- the story wasn't that the city attorney bought a stolen computer. It was that the city attorney had porn on it.

Larry Manzanares shot himself in the head on June 22.

To date, nothing has come out stating that any of the porn was illegal porn -- no child pornography, no snuff films, etc. If that comes out, it sheds an entirely new light on the story. But from what's been reported, that's not the case.

The guy just liked porn. As lots of guys do.

Did the media's and the DA's handling of the porn aspect lead to Manzanares' suicide? I'm sure it did.

I'm not absolving the guy of his real crime, which was buying a computer from a dude in a parking lot (or, possibly, actually stealing the computer from the State).

But I don't for a minute believe that the porn was important to this case. All it did was serve to vilify the man.

And that vilification ended up costing him his life.

UPDATES: Here is a letter from the District Attorney who was assigned to this case. It explains much of how and why certain things were done and said. In one paragraph he addresses the issue of the pornography. As of yet, absolutely nothing has given any indication that there was any illegal material on the computer. And here is a story from yesterday's Denver Post, speaking to the family of Manzanares. It explains the history of depression in his family, and their speculation as to why he did it. Again, no mention of illegal material. The media ran with one tiny fraction of this story -- the most embarrassing one.

Bumper Sticker Bitchin'

I'm not much of a bumper sticker guy. That's mostly because the vast majority of bumper stickers either fall into the "Who cares?", the "That's stupid" or the "That type's way too small for me to read while I'm driving" camp. On the rare occasion that I see a clever bumper sticker, I think, that's clever. Then I go back to paying attention to the road, because the "I was reading a bumper sticker" defense doesn't work with the poh-lice.

Yesterday, while driving home from work, I saw one on the back of a car that made me think.

"FUCK WAR"

No, it didn't make me think about war, or about my stance on war, or about whether I wanted to fuck war or not.

It made me think about how I felt seeing that on the back of a car. Whether I thought it was an appropriate place for something with the word "FUCK" so prominently displayed. I spent the rest of my drive in a battle with myself.

The parent me thought, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'd really rather you showed some class and considered the amount of children who will see that on a daily basis. George Bush isn't going to see it. Sure, some of the pro-war crowd will see it, and look into your Jetta and see you, edgy 20-something girl with a cigarette, and think, fuck you, slacker, and then continue to be pro-war. But a lot of kids are going to see it, too. Little kids. So show some class.

The rebellious me, however, thought, if that's the way you feel, tell everyone. Seeing the word "fuck" isn't going to traumatize a child. It might actually spark a conversation between parent and child. A healthy conversation about language and freedom of speech and individuality.

I'm still being pulled in both directions.

How do you feel about it?

Killing Internet Radio

If you ever listen to any sort of streaming radio on the Internet -- including one of my favorite sites, Pandora -- please take a moment and go to this site:

Save Net Radio

In a nutshell, the Recording Industry Association of America convinced the Copyright Royalty Board (CRB), which oversees sound recording royalties paid by Internet radio services, to increase those royalty fees between 300 and 1,200 percent.

Not only that, but the fees are retroactive for 18 months.

The vast majority of Internet radio services will obviously not be able to absorb this sort of cost. So they'll go away.

This isn't piracy. These Internet stations have been adhering to the law and paying licensing fees. But the RIAA wants them out of business. And if this sticks, it'll succeed.

Big-vehicle driving douchebags.

Okay. Look. I know you got a big-ass Superduty. I can see it. I can hear it. A full mile away from you, I can fucking see and hear it. I concede that you are King of the Road, Roger Miller. You and all your other Warning-Testosterone-Levels-At-Critical-Mass brothers out there own the road. You proved your point. So now, maybe, just maybe, how about you

GET
OFF
MY
ASS.

First of all, it doesn't matter how slow I'm driving, or in what lane I'm driving. You getting your big shiny chrome bumper two inches from my tailgate is GOING TO GET SOMEONE KILLED.

Let me state right here in this public forum that if it were guaranteed that you would be the only one you killed, I would pull into the left lane, drive 45 and put a big sign in my back window that says, "Please Tailgate Me!" I would root for your death.

The problem is, you and your brothers are never the ones who die. No, you just kill other people. People who, you know, like to drive the speed limit and obey traffic laws. People with kids in the car. Elderly people. My wife. My mom. Me.

Back. The. Fuck. Off.

If you want to go open up your Hemi and see what she's got under that hood of hers, get out to a clear, open stretch of road somewhere and let her rip. When I've got clear highway in front of me, baby I let it fly. Okay, I did before I got this, but that's a whole nother story.

But dude, you're in rush hour traffic. You got up late, you left late, now you're late because of YOU, not ME, so take a deep breath and give a little space there in front of you. Hey, here's a thought: smoke a bowl. Then you'll drive 10 under and leave 12 car lengths between you and the next car.

Oh, and ladies in big SUVs? WTF? Why are you acting like men with small dicks? Are you a man with a small dick? If so, well, read above and apply to you. If not, um, read above and apply to you. 'Cause while the majority of the douchebags about whom I'm speaking are male, that ratio is disturbingly increasing on the female side.

Don't act like a dude. That's just plain gross.

Accentuate the Positive

That's what I'm going to be doing, and looking for, here in Blogovia. That's not to say that I'll never post about, nor comment on, topics of the "What the hell's this all about?" variety. But I'm through getting mired in comment wars. That's not an indictment of anyone other than myself. I've just got much better things to do with my time than following, let alone participating in, the antagonism that surfaces in the comments of some of the blogs I read.

In the real world, I rarely get the kinds of opportunities to hear multiple points of view that I do here in Blogovia. That's what I love about it. I love debate. When it's done with respect, I often learn things. Sometimes it's just learning a new perspective, other times it's learning new facts and developments. And because of that, sometimes my perspective changes. I never understand why so many people are so adverse to changing perspective, because when I do, it feels really good. It's a major accomplishment. Maintaining your position in the face of opposing points of view can often be admirable, proper and even necessary. But it's also pretty easy. Truly listening to and considering an opposing point of view is a phenomenal skill; allowing yourself to admit that the opposing point of view carries more weight than yours takes guts. I appreciate that. And no, I'm not talking about politicians who change their "beliefs" as the tide of public opinion changes. I'm talking about the individual, and what's in the individual's heart.

The problem is that many times, debates in Blogovia are anything but respectful. And once they digress to insults, name-calling and the equivalent of middle-school playground pushing and shoving, I'm no longer going to learn anything. All opportunity for me to get what I want from the conversation -- healthy debate, even enlightenment -- is gone down the shitter. I'm not above reproach; I've gotten wrapped up in some of that shit, only to look at it later and think, why the hell did I waste my time with that trainwreck? I will give myself some credit and say I always try to keep it respectful, even when other participants are not. But even then, my comments are still enabling those creating the cesspool.

I've done a pretty good job of keeping things here at Boiled Dinner relatively civil. But I can't control what happens at other blogs, nor can I control what other people do or say. I can only control Jeff K. And Jeff K just ain't gonna play in the shitbox anymore.

Jeff K also ain't gonna keep referring to himself in the third person, but at the moment, Jeff K feels it's the most powerful way to get his message across.

Charity

A lot's being made of Michael Moore's supposed anonymous donation of $12,000 to the guy who runs Moorewatch.com (a very anti-Moore website), Jim Kenefick to aid in his wife's medical bills. Of course, the anti-Moore crowd are taking him to task, calling it nothing more than a publicity move coinciding with the release of his latest film, Sicko. And that's exactly what it was. You can read the story directly from Kenefick here.

Whether Moore got publicity from it or not, my question is, who cares? Is a good deed only worthy if it's done with complete anonymity? Was Warren Buffet's massive donation to the Gates Foundation a big crock of shit because he held a press conference to announce the move? Of course not. Even Kenefick admits that at the end of the post I linked to above. Moore helped the guy. I'm sure Moore, who'd been working on Sicko for quite some time, saw Kenefick's predicament and though, wow, the guy who hates me is in a situation that completely illustrates the point of my movie. That's ironic.

Then Moore cut the guy a check for $12,000.

That's pretty damn generous. Publicity or not. If you found out someone who was constantly badmouthing you on the Internet was in financial need, would you send him/her a check?

I seriously doubt it. I'm not sure I would.

Hey Smoke Break Takers

Get back to work! Holy shit, a couple 10-minute smoke breaks a day I can deal with, but 10-15 minutes every hour? You are the least productive workers BY FAR. There are a handful of you at my office, and I swear to God, you are standing outside the parking lot door half the work day. And you're not just smoking; no, that would be bad enough, but you go out there with your little cluster of fellow nic fiends and have a damn gossip session. Guess what? PEOPLE ARE TIRED OF PICKING UP YOUR SLACK. If you need that many breaks throughout the day, then you should be considered part-time and paid accordingly. Get back to work, damnit!

C

Four and a half years ago, C killed my dad. It was a rare type of thyroid C, and it took about 2-1/2 years from the time we discovered it until the day he died. He was only 51 when he died, and I still struggle with it daily. Try as I might, I just can't put it together in any sort of box that I can stash away. It's open, it's out, and it makes me really angry.

My grandfather -- Dad's Dad -- will be 95 this August. He's the Energizer rabbit. An astonishing man of physical and mental strength, and faith. He's buried five -- yes, 5 -- of his children in his lifetime. Four of them were truly children, and then my Dad in '02. My Dad's death took a lot out of my Grandpa. He slowed down a lot. He still lives on his own in a regular apartment (no nursing home, no assisted living), but he really struggled, particularly mentally. He recently admitted to me that he had been horribly depressed, and finally got help. The last time I talked to him, which was about two weeks ago, he was doing much better. He's still sharp as a tack, my Grandpa. Has a wicked sense of humor, and the stories he can tell -- he was born in 1912, so suffice it to say he's seen a lot. It was great hearing him sounding good, sounding happy.

My Uncle Ray -- Dad's brother -- has had C for a few years. They discovered it right after my Dad died. I'm not quite certain what the origin of his C is, but it's been manageable. Until now. Uncle Ray and his wife of nearly 40 years, Aunt Peg, have been in Florida where he's been undergoing some experimental treatment. We all thought it was working, but I guess not. My cousin called last night to say they're flying back to Michigan today and Hospice is being called in.

It's deja vu all over again. C just doesn't fuck around. C might give you some time, might give you some breaks, but when C wants to, C ends it. And there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it. And while C may directly kill one person, C also wounds everyone in the vicinity without ever getting its grips on their bloodstreams. Grandpa had a skin C a number of years ago, but he beat it. Now C may still kill my Grandpa by killing his boys.

Why C has taken such a liking to my family, I'll never know. But I look at my step-mom, and my Aunt Peg, and my Grandpa, and my Uncle Doug, and my Aunt Bert, and my cousins and my mom and all the rest of my family and I say, damn you, C. Why don't you just fuck off and leave us alone?

Just leave us the hell alone.

Getting Political

I don't typically delve into politics on my blog. I'll rant and rave about certain issues, but a quick click on my "Politics" label reveals that I've done 17 posts labeled "politics" since I started this blog in '04. And none, until my little 5-line post,Right to Life, abbreviated, was directed at G.W. Bush.

While that post only generated 21 comments (paltry!), it managed to spawn a number of posts and comments on other blogs all rooted in the fact that, to some, mine was a strawman argument.

Well, I've commented at those sites, but since it was my post that started the whole stinking thing (even though it was really Grapes 2.0 who started it), I'm going to bring it on home.

I stand by the point of my post: Bush saying he won't use taxpayer dollars for the destruction of human life is an outright lie. He is with Iraq. Case closed. That point cannot be argued.

Unless, of course, you begin a new argument debating whether abortion and war can be compared. Then you can argue.

But you're not arguing about what I said. You're on a tangent. One that has nothing to do with me, because I didn't compare abortion to war. In order to tie my post to an argument about abortion vs. war, you have to first begin a discussion about what Bush meant. He didn't mean what he said. He didn't say it right. He meant innocent lives. Oh, wait, that doesn't work either. He meant unborn innocent lives. Yeah, that's it. That's what he meant. Strawman!

Sorry, you lose this one. Classic debate structure: Did Bush say he will veto any measures that “allow taxpayer dollars to be used for the destruction of human life"? Yes, check. Has he, in fact, allowed taxpayer dollars to be used for the destruction of human life? Yes, check. Two truths equal true. Game over.

Now, let's say I did get into the tangental debate over whether abortion and war can be compared. Were I to do that, here's what I'd say (and did say, somewhat, over at Law Wench's):

I have about as much respect for pro-lifers who support war as I do for anti-war, tree-hugging pro-choicers. And of the former crowd, I'm particularly curious as to how those who base their pro-life stance in religion (as W does) can somehow justify the concept of collateral damange.

To me the two things absolutely are related. If enlisted U.S. military personnel and terrorists were truly the only ones getting killed, like they were stuck in a big paintball complex with real bullets, this would be a different argument (though still, I don't see an asterisk and disclaimer after Thou Shalt Not Kill). But innocent lives are being lost every single day because of the war. Innocent lives who, to paraphrase Wench, do not volunteer to be killed nor have they brought it on themselves to be killed. How are those innocent lives different from unborn lives? What differentiates them? Birth. That's it. That's the only difference. One group was (un)lucky enough to be born. Those lives are worth every single bit as much as yours, mine, Ws, or anyone else's on the planet, born or unborn. They're related.

God's Away on Business

When he gets home and sees what a mess we've made of the house, he's going to be really, really pissed.


*Post title borrowed from the estimable Tom Waits

Right to Life, abbreviated

Saw this at Grapes 2.0 and had to comment here.

From W to Congress, as reported in the New York Times:

He will veto any measures that “allow taxpayer dollars to be used for the destruction of human life.”

So, who's paying for Iraq?

I hate him.

Whiny Conservatives

A recent post over at Joe's compelled me to tune in Glen Beck the other day, something I hadn't done in quite a while.

Once upon a time I listened to Beck fairly frequently, because unlike other conservative talk radio personalities, he could be funny. As a matter of fact, the promo for his show is, "More comedy, less politics." Problem is, that's no longer the case. Over the past couple years he's pretty much lost every ounce of entertainment value and is now just like every other talk radio dude.

Anyway, something hit me about 10 minutes into listening: Whine, whine, whine, whine, whine. All he was doing was whining about the Democrats. It got me to thinking about other big-time right-wing talkers like Limbaugh, Coulter, Hannity and O'Reilly.

Whine, whine, whine, whine, whine.

What the hell? I though liberals were supposed to be the whiny ones? Whatever happened to the good old "Fuck You and the Donkey You Rode in On" conservatives like this guy? I may not agree with everything they say, but I still respect anyone who can frighten me. When I hear these talk-radio pansies I want to put the gloves on, get them in the ring and see how fast they throw in the towel, crouch in the corner and suck their thumbs.

Don't get me wrong, there are still whiny liberals out there. But they're supposed to whine -- it's what's expected of them, and we know they're whining because they just care so damn much.

But whiny conservatives?

Sack up or STFU.

Doing the right thing.

UPDATE: My step-daughter's middle school is under lock-down right now because a kid brought a gun to school today. Her dad is there to get her out, so she's okay. As far as I know, the gun wasn't fired. I don't know anymore details, but I'd venture to say it's helping to make the case of this post.

NBC shit-cans Imus, claiming to have done so because of his insensitivity.

Then they air the package of photos, videos and writings that Cho Seung-Hui sent them between killings, claiming to have done so because it was important for us to understand why this disturbed young man did what he did.

Excuse me while I throw up for a while.

NBC fired Imus because of money. NBC aired Cho's stuff because of ratings, which equal money.

That's it. Their bottom line is the bottom line of all of this. Period.

Imus got what he deserved, what he's spent years all but asking for. But NBC made the decision out of fear of loss of revenue from sponsors.

Their decision to air the Cho footage, and make it available to other media outlets, was reprehensible. It was exactly what Cho wanted; he's a celebrity now, immortalized not by what he did, but by the exposure he received after he did it.

Cho's dead, so it doesn't mean shit to him.

But it means a shitload to all the other psychos out there who want to be immortalized too. The message to them is quite simple:

Wanna go out in a blaze of glory? Wanna be immortalized?

We'll help you.

There is absolutely no redeaming value to broadcasting that stuff throughout the world. None.

You turn it over to the authorities, you report that Cho left behind a whole mess of disturbing self-produced materials that further show he was deeply fucked up, and you leave it at that. You don't sate the morbid curiosity of the masses for your fucking ratings. You know, I bet there was even some pride felt at NBC because Cho chose them.

I would like to point out that while almost every other media outlet showed the stuff, CBS did not. And get this: They're taking heat for not showing it.

I'm so sick of the media showing people wondering how someone can get that messed up, blaming guns, blaming a lack of guns, screaming about warning signs, screaming about what the proper response should have been, blah blah blah, and not actually stopping to consider that YOU'RE HELPING TO CREATE THE FUCKING PROBLEM.

It's indefensible.