Saturday, October 31, 2009

Air in the spare

I'm flattered, but I disagree. Yeah, these are turbulent times. I'd long hoped history would skip my idiot generation, but 9/11 changed all that. No, my voice isn't required to take on the burning issues before the nation.

Hmmm, I've hit a new low it seems. How many basements are there in this house anyways??? I'm now writing quite seriously on the topic of writing silly...

Yep, there sure is a lot of joblessness in America. The job of every human is to be faithful to God, and live in a state of infectious joy. So yeah, there sure are a lot of people out of work.

Harumph harumph, bald hillbilly has a lot of dang nerve lecturing on the celestial, when thousands are losing their homes. First, I'm not lecturing anybody. I'm simply paraphrasing the words of Jesus, who according to movies I've seen looked a lot like George Harrison.

Human hearts are prone to infection; something's gonna dwell there, so why not joy?

We can't be joyful every day, life isn't designed like that. Hospital waiting rooms and funeral attendance are appointments in every life. But I think we all go around dour faced and glum too often, with too little justification.

So I'll just be silly, until I decide to be something else. Small feeble attempt to remind a few people of what we already know. This is an amazingly funny world. It has giant worms and backwards green coments, and cows with names give more milk than nameless cows, but I'll have to get to that in the future.

Sure, these times feel like changing a flat in cold hard rain. Lots of shrill voices are screaming about whose fault it is there are nails on the road. Some of them are likely correct. There aren't enough voices observing how cool it is that there's air in the spare. I'll be silly old "air in the spare" guy and let others address the burning issues.

And hey? I've got burning issues of my own, all right? I'm still trying to figure out how bats manage to poop while hanging upside down.

Friday, October 30, 2009

An apology

My legal counsel says my remarks about scary movies might be deemed injurious by some in the movie making community, and I should apologize.

Instead of taking the path currently popular among politicians and celebrities, an apology that boiled down actually says, "I deeply regret that my statements were misinterpreted by some weirdos, losers and morons" I'll go with option B and really apologize.

I sure didn't mean to imply that making good scary movies is easy as pie. There, that should satisfy my friends at Horowitz, Horowitz, Horowitz & O'Brien.

Yeah, making a good scary film is very hard work. That's because one has to hit some formulaic markers in a way that feels natural to the audience. I'll use as examples two films that seem quite diff but are really about the same movie, "Tremors" and "Jaws." In each of those, you have a buddy pic where a monster happens to show up.

OK, before I hear from the Monsters Union, let me say? I've great admiration for monsters in general, and the monsters in "Jaws" and "Tremors" specificially did groovy work. More than that, a lot of the formulaic horror movie constructs? They apply very directly to monsters.

Like for instance, the monster absolutely can't be shown until the second half of the movie. First half, partial glimpses are fine, but save the full on shot for second half. That builds audience anticipation, which brings me to another rule. The audience has sat there imagining the monster for an hour. If it's going to be a good scary movie, the monster must exceed their expectations.

While we're on that subject, I will say? If you want to make a really great scary movie, that hits audience in the gut and becomes an enduring film, well? You're going to have to let the monster eat somebody the audience identifies with. It's not a great scary movie, if all you feed the monster is cheerleaders, OK?

Now, now, wait a minute. My statements weren't meant in any way to condone an ambivalent attitude towards cheerleaders being eaten by monsters. Cheerleaders are fine patriotic Americans. At primary and secondary education levels, and in professional sports, cheerleaders work hard and add value.

Hmmm. Never thought about that before. Wonder why they don't have cheerleaders at baseball games. Oh, they probably don't need cheerleaders, since the players are all on steroids.

Now, that was taken out of context there. In no way did I mean to suggest that anything but a tiny minority (well, they're not tiny really, they're huge) of baseball players use anabolic steroids in pursuit of success in baseball, America's great pastime, a sport for which I've always nutured...oh, I give up!!!

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Boo and stuff

It's the witching season and everybody knows what that means. 187 cable channels and not ONE decent Halloween movie is playing, not even en Espanol.

I realize that comment may have opened me up for accusation of being "judgemental" and Lord knows nobody wants to wear that scarlet letter in these times. Nazi pedophile would be easier to bear! But like Steve Martin, Martin Luther, Martin Luther King, Don King, and the Kingston Trio? Comes a time when a man must say, "Here I stand, I can't do otherwise, and hang down your head Tom Dooley" or something a lot like that.

Hollywood perhaps believes it's making horror movies. Mere typo, they're to be forgiven. What they're making is horrible movies.

Saw 87, or whatever number they are up to now? That isn't scary at all. I'm from the generation upon which "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" was first launched, so I was there at ground zero when "Gore is more" cinema saw the light of day. Nobody thinks such movies are really frightening, not in the least.

If one wishes to make a horror film, the formula is fairly simple. Characters the audience can identify with and root for are menaced, and stuff jumps out at them unexpectedly. That's all there is to it really.

We don't need plausible explanations of how all this came to be. If you say there is a thirty foot long nuclear mutant alligator living in the sewers under Manhattan, then I will go for it. The reptile can even be an accomplished violin player, I don't care.

Just give me somebody in peril that I can root for, have stuff unexpectedly jump out at them, and we're cool.

Now, there's a totally different genre of Halloween movies that couldn't in their wildest dreams be scare fodder, but are still loads of fun. I'm not going there, as I'm a very busy person, what with the whole vetting process for my nomination as Halloween movie Czar in the Obama administration.

There are two ways to scare people with movies. Cerebral cortex or spinal chord. Very very scary movies, hmmm, let me do a partial list...

Something wicked this way comes
The Lady in White
Dead Again
The Mummy (orignal version with Karloff)
The Uninvited
Ghost Story

All it takes is somebody to root for, and stuff jumps out at them unexpectedly. Pocket your $40M in special effects. Dudes and dudettes in Hollywood? Ain't like this is whaddya call 'em, one of those Quantum physicals?

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The whys of spies

It's generally accepted, closeted homosexuals make the most effective spies. Nobody knows why for sure, but I figure? They're already successfully keeping one big secret, so a few more shouldn't hurt.

The 'household' names spies; Nathan Hale, Benedict Arnold, Mata Hari and the Rosenbergs. We know of them because they got caught. Know why they got caught? Yep, that's right. Because they weren't homosexuals.

While invasion plans and atomic secrets are glamorous, it's always been industrial espionage where the big money and steady work are found. In that area, there's no one personality type that shines above the rest.

The Quinine project, that was big deal industrial espionage. One of the team was captured and tortured to death. The brilliant team leader was an Alpaca farmer.

Operation silkworm was even bigger, when done in the 11th century, and two monks pulled that one off. I really should be more admiring of their daring, but I'm distracted by reverence for some other guy in the silk story, lived a few thousand years ago and his name is lost to history. Whole thing must've started like...
"Hey, Kwang Chai, see that worm chewing that mulberry leaf?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"We should make clothing from its cocoon."

Wow! What an original thinker!

But of all industrial espionage stories, the chair has to be my all time favorite.
First, I think it's hilarioius someone had to invent the chair, yet archaeologists agree the chair was first invented in Egypt.

One is tempted to sympathy for the untold preceding generations of the human race, telling each other, "I'm so tired of standing up, but I don't want to lie down, somebody should do something about it!" But our sympathy truly belongs with the Egyptians, I think.

See, by all rights they were sitting (literally) on a gold mine of export biz with the new invention. Only problem was, once an outsider got a look at the chair, good luck defending your patent! The cat was out of the bag. Wait a minute, ancient Egyptians, how would they say it? Oh yeah! The scorpion's out of the canopic jar buddy! So you got this really cool invention, and you won't make a darned shekel off it.

If that's not bad enough, try putting yourself in Pharaoh's place for a minute. You've invited dignitaries from foreign lands, to intimidate them with the might and majesty of Egypt. You say, "Behold our eternal pyramids, our sphinx, our war chariots in number like unto the stars in the sky" and just when you get going good, it's "Excuse me Pharaoh, but what's that you're squatting on there? We got NOTHING like that back home! Can I try it out? WOW! A cup holder too?"

You can imagine how, after four or five ambassadors in a row, it would get annoying.

And, I don't know? Could've been way indirectly, invention of the chair even led to conquest of Egypt. Think about it. A guy sitting on a stump. I sure couldn't with a straight face address such a man as "Alexander the Great." Stumps simply aren't regal. History might've been vastly changed, if every time an ambassador visited, Egyptians were just standing around winking slyly at one another. Alexander might never have become a conqueror. Instead maybe he'd have been a spy, and a really good one too, cause he was homosexual.

Friday, October 23, 2009

The borders of wilderness

No, I haven't run out of silly. There's still lots of it out there. For instance? Pearl Jam is angry because their music was played loud and often to annoy Gitmo prisoners. While I understand how the band feels? As the father of a former teenager I must admit, that's a very effective method. Works on parents anyway!

The B-17 tour is worth some attention though. It complements the general theme of middle aged determination to expand one's horizons. And yeah, too? This life ain't a dress rehearsal, so stop and smell the roses (or in this case the machine guns) or whatever the Creator puts it in your squirrely head to find honest joy in smelling, every chance you get.

But this should be about the plane and the boys.

Here are two things every American schoolkid should know about the B-17...
A.) If you survived 25 missions in a B-17 you automatically rotated back to the US for the duration of the big shooting match. You'd done your bit.
B.) One third of all B-17's that saw combat were shot down by the enemy.

That makes it sound like an unsafe plane, though it was anything but. The Nazi military carefully studied all B-17 wreckage (they're so precise, those Germans) and concluded it was one stubborn aircraft.

Better to let an actual participant speak. Paraphrase from an interview, New Yorker magazine, 1944.

I was bombardier, sat right up in the nose. I remember my first mission. The Ack-Ack exploding far below us looked so beautiful. We dropped the bombs, seemed like a game to me. On the way home, I saw three B-17's explode. Not go down smoking, but explode, mid-air. One minute they were there, and the next gone.

This one mission I recall? I thought they had us. I fired a nose gun until it jammed, ran aft and fired a waist gun until it jammed too. They were coming in so close I could see their faces. About that time the belly gunner got hit. I ran to him, and about that same time a round hit me, nothing bad but knocked my headset off. He was blinded from plastic dust in his eyes, from the bubble getting shot up. He was leaking bad from the cartoid artery, all I could do was apply pressure, and he was in semi-shock. I was yelling fore loud as I could, "Get me some help back here, Eddie's hit kinda bad. My headset got blown off." So now he's screaming he's gonna bail out, cause Johnny just got his head blown off. I'm yelling right back at him, "Shut up you idiot! I'm Johnny, who ya think has his hands on your dumb throat?"

So that's what a participant had to say about it in 1944. But it's not all blood and gore and fighting for your life over Europe. A certain amount of absurdity attends every human endeavor, moreso if Americans are involved.

A B-17 once got so lost, they bombed Zurich, Switzerland. Not funny for the citizens of Zurich, but kind of hilarious in an objective sense. I really don't know how they managed that, Switzerland kind of being known for lots of Alps and stuff, but they did it. However it happened, they had a good story apparently, since they were absolved at the Court Martial. Myself, personally? I think the navigator was distracted by listening to Pearl Jam probably.

What I don't understand about last weekend, is the old men flocking to run their hands on the fuselage of that B-17. That's something I'll never forget. The way they lovingly ran their hands across the riveted skin of that old plane. What makes a man revisit an artifact from the borders of his personal wilderness? What is it that draws old men to a symbol of past terrors, almost impossible to imagine?

I wish I'd had the guts to ask them. But shaking their gnarly cookie hooks, thanking them for what they once did, tears in my eyes? I couldn't ask them WHY, because my heart was filled with a partial understanding of their personal WHAT.

Why do old men flock to an artifact from a time in their youths, when they nearly died, over and over? I'm not sure, but I suspect Pearl Jam has something to do with it.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Dis-Honest Injun

It's fairly weird actually. Sure I got some data on folks pretending to be French or Russian, but nothing in numbers or intensity compared to the fake Indian gag. Why is that? Hmmm...

American Indians have been romanticized for nearly two centuries now. The lure of the underdog too, there is that. Also, these hundreds of cultures are mostly lost now, and there's always a willingness to believe lost cultures took with them mysterious wisdom. So yeah, I get generally why somebody would want to go Indian. There's probably lots more going on in each individual choice though. Such an intensity to it.

Grey Owl was the first widely famous fake Indian. Books, lots of time on the lecture circuit. Once he passed away, turned out his name was Archibald and he was from England. Me personally? I'd have rather been "Grey Owl" than Archibald any day. Wish I knew more about him, but I suspect at the lecture podium ol' Archie really thought he was Grey Owl.

Forrest Carter is a stranger case. Back when he was Asa Carter, might've been the only guy ever got kicked out of the KKK for extremist views. But around 1970 he started taking a bizarre turn. Wrote a well recieved book about being an orphan raised by Cherokee grandparents. Only snag there was he wasn't an orphan, and didn't have enough Cherokee blood to interest a vampire bat. From 1976 until the end of his life, Forrest Carter insisted he didn't know who this "Asa" Carter was, and why does everybody keep asking about him. I kinda think he believed that at times.

My favorite fake Indian is Iron Eyes Cody. He's a born in Louisiana, and his a momma and a poppa, they were from a Sicily. At some point in his life though, he went Indian all the way. Married an Indian girl, adopted two Cherokee kids, wouldn't leave the house unless in the buckskin getup. What an amazing thing really.

Objectively, I so admire those who go straight at whatever their heart desires. Admittedly, such behavior seldom yields positive results, but hey? It's fun to watch!

Surrounded by fake Indians! Drawing most of my life experience from B-movies, I think my line is, "Yeah, it's quiet. Too quiet."

Tonto, Jay Silverheels, I trust him. He was an authentic no kidding Indian. The Lone Ranger though? I don't trust that guy. It's not the mask, but the powder blue jumpsuit. Just saying? If I'm sitting around a campfire in the desert and cat in a powder blue jumpsuit shows up, I'm going to keep a sharp eye on him.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

The Bluff City

I'M GONNA TOUR A B-17! WOOHOO! A REAL B-17 WITH A HALF NAKED LADY PAINTED ON THE FUSELAGE, THAT FLEW MISSIONS IN WW2!!! (not the half naked lady I mean, I don't know what she was doing at the time)BUT THE PLANE! THE PLANE!

Calm down David. Deep breaths, think of a quiet meadow...OK

Memphis would have long ago changed its name to "Rodney Dangerfield" but the City Council won't consider any proposal unless race can somehow be injected.

Any time a "worst" list is published, look for Memphis near the top. Most obese, dumbest, least healthy, most violent... Memphis is always on the list somewhere. Now, when "best" lists are made? Always look for Spokane near the top. My personal opinion, somebody from Spokane is making all these lists, but I can't prove that, so I'll talk about Memphis instead.

Memphis just had a mayoral election, and keeping with tradition two of the candidates were an aging professional wrestler and a self-identified space alien. This is taken in good spirit because of the modern South governing rule...

Visitors to Memphis would be forgiven for believing the city is actually governed by the Bail Bondsman Association, since they seem to profit most from the status quo, but it's really not like that. It's the rule that governs.

Stated vaguely, goes something like: Do what you like, long as you're not hurting anybody else, and I don't have to watch.

Now the recent biz with the "National Coming Out Day" billboards? That was example of knowingly violating the rule and leverage of the resulting reaction. Me, I didn't even know there was a National Coming Out Day, but there is. Big billboard on a main thoroughfare, grinning homosexual Marine. Somebody was going to tear it to shreds, cause they have to drive that road everyday, and considered the billboard a violation of their privacy. Then the advocacy group had a big "Stop the Hate now" rally, getting more donations and publicity than if the billboard had been left alone.

See? Even when violated, the rule works, long as everybody knows there is a rule. Everyone involved had fun and nobody got their eye poked out. Which is a much better result than some family reunions I've attended.

Conversely, when people ignore the rule it looks like what it is; trashy and disgusting. Example of that is vandalizing the Jewish frat house last week. Spray painting swastikas. Swastikas for Lord's sakes? Nazi stuff? Hang on, let me look that one up...

OK, says right here...NAZI: Group of people believing blue eyed blondes are destined to rule the world, organized and led by a guy who looked like Moe Howard.

Yeah, that's a very logical bunch to emulate. But aside from that, it's against the modern South rule, with no goal except to hurt strangers. If folks leave you alone, you leave them alone. Bunch of Jewish college boys, just wanting to quietly do their thing, and some creep paints swastikas on their frat house. Now I'm just saying? It might've been somebody from Spokane, snuck in here and did that.

Either way, it really is an amazing world. Spray paint is easy, but I'm about to tour a B-17. A plane built by civilians who hated swastikas, flown by young, frightened boys who hated swastikas. The world can't ever be rid of those who do creepy things, but we can turn the spotlight upon the response, and consider courage and sacrifice instead.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Paper or Plastic

He wasn't merely a PhD. That guy had enough letters behind his name to start a new name. A very erudite chap, he was speaking on nuclear proliferation. A lot of very large words were used. When you really listened though, it boiled down to "your guess is good as mine."

Then he got to the topic of Iran and said, "Well the cat's out of the bag there." I immediately felt sympathy, not only for Iran's neighbors but also those just learning english. Those learning a new language have to string together the literal meanings of words and sort out context.

So right when the guy said that, something like this happened somewhere.

"Borees! TV man talk of Iran secret cat bomb! Come queek dahlink!"

I wonder if Natasha is related to Eva Gabor; they sure do talk alike.

Inconvenient as it is to foreigners, I don't think any english speaker can totally excise phrases like, "cat out of the bag" from his speech. These idioms are the linguistic equivalent of a favorite pair of jeans, after a long day of wearing dress clothes. One slips into them unconsciously.

People with lots of letters behind their names will occasionally say, "All experience is localized." This means, try though you might, you can never really know another man's life and culture as he does. Or it could mean, "Your guess is good as mine." I'll have to research that.

So as an American, I'm tempted to presume only english contains phrases that literally make no sense, yet we all know the meaning. Tempting, but common sense argues otherwise. People who live overseas also require these linguistic equivalents of blue jeans. Moreso, since all jeans are made over there now. Therefore, in China right now somebody is likely saying, "I don't mean to let the Panda out of the crate" or something like that.

I can't help wonder about the origins of these things though. How precisely did "cat out of the bag" come to mean the element of surprise is lost. Hmmm. Were cats in bags once a popular birthday gift? It's not just cats either. "Pig in a poke" well a poke is a sack.

What is all this? Lingering echo of the caveman percursor to our modern sack lunch? I never saw that on "The Flinstones." Or could it have been the fashion in Medieval times to walk around with critters in bags? I guess we'll never know for sure. Which means, your guess is good as mine.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Yeah, no kidding

Mr. Obama won a Nobel Prize? For what I wonder. Oh, says so right here; for not being George W. Bush. Wish I could win a prize for not being somebody. Nevertheless, it is historic. Some day kids will read about it in school and find it very boring.

The reason schoolkids think history is boring is because nobody tells them the good stuff. Like it's about to be Columbus Day for instance. Besides meaning that furniture made in China is on sale all over the tri-state area, means teachers will have to mention it in the daily lesson, well perhaps.

Lord only knows what that'll look like in some school districts. The day Europeans introduced the concept of violence to peace loving native Americans maybe? Yep, that's right kids! Pre-1492 the entire Aztec empire was wandering around Central America hugging trees.

Why don't they tell the kids how America got its name? Oh sure, you say everybody already knows that. America is named for Amerigo Vanconfucious, famed explorer, philosopher and furniture maker. I didn't say "from whom" I said "how."

America got its name because an oversexed pickle merchant's butt kissing letters home got plagiarized. OK, I put it to a show of hands in a classroom of teenagers. Who wants to hear about the Louisiana Purchase, and who wants to hear about the oversexed pickle merchant? It's an inescapable fact; teenagers are fascinated with pickles.

Amerigo had the contract to provide pickles for the Columbus expedition. Pickles are really good on an ocean voyage. They don't spoil, and they're an excellent source of vitamin C, prevents scurvy. And look, while we're at it? Wasn't like Chris was the only person who thought the Earth was round. Every blue water ship captain knew it. Lots of folks in Arabia and China knew it too. What they didn't know was the circumference, which is what made the Chris gambit rather daring. Actually a Greek cat named Eratosthenes had figured Earth circumference back around 300 BC, by measuring shadows of sticks placed on a wide flat plain during solstice. He was only off by five percent too, rather impressive. But hey, even I have journalistic standards, so I'm not going to dwell there. Had he measured the shadows of pickles, I could work with that.

So when Chris came back, lots of people said, "Wow! No kidding?" Except they said it in Spanish of course. Amerigo saw opportunity. He prevailed upon his employers the Medici family, to pull strings and get him on future voyages. Frankly, Amerigo wasn't a fundamental contributor on any of the four voyages. He was more like a celebrity contestant on "The Dating Game."

His honest claim to having two continents named for him? He was the first person who publicly said, "Ya know what? I don't think this place is Asia at all." He didn't intend to say it publicly. He wrote it in butt kissing letters to his boss, Lorenzo Medici. He wrote lots of letters to Lorenzo. An oft visited topic was how native American (yeah, they weren't called Americans yet) girls weren't like the girls back home, if ya know what I mean? These letters widely circulated among European nobility and were read with much interest and some drooling.

Then some plagiarizer got hold of them. You got these letters from an oversexed pickle merchant. You got the recently invented Guttenberg press. What are you gonna do? Soft core pornography, DUH! Lots of embellishment added to the already randy letters from Amerigo, and was it a popular book? Think JK Rowling and Dan Brown have a baby and he grows up and writes a book, like that popular.

So Amerigo was widely associated with the new land mass about a decade later when a group of cartographers met and decided on the name. That's how America got its name.

Even the Louisiana Purchase is interesting, if you tell the good stuff. For one thing, Napoleon needed the money to finance his wars of conquest. His Russian invasion was doomed in part by the alloy French uniform buttons were made from. Brilliant strategist really, his army did well in button friendly warm climates. His navy? Napoleon was a land guy. He never understood naval warfare. Still, they'd have done well if not for Nelson. Nelson was DA MAN! Walking around the decks in full dress uniform during an intense firefight might not have been a good idea in hindsight. Want a pickle?

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

The furry menace

Well what next? I can't tell the Shampoo from the Conditioner. When did they start making the printing so small on the bottles? OK it's not a bottle, it's a plastic container. Future archaeologists will dig through our garbage and wonder why the human race suddenly forgot how to make glass containers, around 1969. I'll be dead by then, but I hope those future nerds correctly identify the reason for our calamitous drop in IQ... Billy Jack movies. So they're not bottles anymore, but like a bunch of idiots we keep calling them bottles because, well, Billy Jack movies.

The two "bottles" look just alike, and the printing is so small. It's not as easy as don't worry about it and use some of each. You're supposed to use that stuff in proper sequence. If I use conditioner first and then shampoo, I could end up with hair that while clean, isn't soft and manageable. And I'm not wearing my glasses in the shower! I'd look like Clark Kent at a nudist colony or something.

But just when I think nobody could have it worse than me, I read about a woman in Florida attacked by a gang of raccoons. Like any other American, my initial reactions were:
A.) Yeah Florida would be the place for that, or California of course.
2.) Raccoons in organized crime? Makes sense; they already wear masks.

In complex times we yearn for simple answers. My Mom would say the raccoons haven't had any raisin' for instance. Others would say it's too much MTV. Really though, when raccoons turn to crime, it's due to a culture of hopelessness and despair.

Put yourself in their shoes. OK, I realize they don't wear shoes, but you know what I mean. Before the recession a raccoon could feed his family off the stuff in one garbage can. In these challenging times, you arrive at the garbage can to learn the Armadillos have already taken the good stuff, and you end up licking a pizza box. You can't feed a family of raccoons with a pizza box.

Obivously the raccoons are angry. They're angry about bad loan practices that led to an extreme housing bubble. Now many homes that once had garbage cans you could count on, well those houses are empty. Nothing but a sign in the yard and it doesn't taste good either. And these Armadillos? Why don't they stay down in Mexico where they belong and knock over mexican garbage cans?

I'm not excusing raccoon street crime. Mrs. Gretchen Whitted isn't responsible for the housing bubble or illegal Armadillo immigration, but the innnocent often are the primary targets of mindless rage. Thank the Lord she's going to be just fine. And too, good the attack happened in front of witnesses. Because around here, if I call the police and say I've been attacked by a gang of raccoons? Guess who's getting a field sobriety test?

So yeah, I'll go noble and say that the softness and manageability of my hair, maybe isn't as big a deal as gangs of angry raccoons roaming Florida subdivisions.

And I don't want to alarm anybody, but raccoons have opposable thumbs. They can fire a handgun. Reminds me of a bumper sticker I saw the other day. "When guns are illegal, only raccoons will have guns." I'm pretty sure that's what it said. They make the printing so small on bumperstickers nowadays.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

If you feel like it

Yep, says so right here on the hand cleaner bottle. "Kills 99.99% of germs." Quite a useful thing in these Swine flu times, but I can't help wondering about the other .01% of germs. They must be the envy of the bacterial world. What's it take to kill them, sulfuric acid or something? Well, that probably wouldn't make for a popular hand cleaner, even if it did smell like lemons. Guess we'll have to settle for the best we can do, for now.

In the same way, I understand why President Obama went to Denmark. He thought it'd be a nice morale boost to get the 2016 Olympics, he thought he could shmooze a good outcome, I understand. What I can't fathom is the correct pronunciation of "Copenhagen." Among our nation's news readers, that seems to be an unresolved issue. We've got to watch out for unresovled issues, because that leads to divisiveness. Divisiveness is bad, since as Ben Cartwright once said, "A house divided against itself cannot stand."

Ha ha ha, I kill me. Sure, it was Abraham Lincoln who said that. A very smart man, I bet he could pronounce Copenhagen correctly. I merely wanted to swim against the current, and take quotes away from Abe as others are piling quotes on him. Lincoln would've had to talk nonstop for fifty years to have said everything attributed to him. The stuff he actually did say though, reveals great wisdom. Historians all agree, Mary Todd Lincoln was not an attractive woman... nope, the OTHER thing they all agree on David? Oh yeah! Historians all agree, the man who warned about "a divided house" was himself a very divisive leader. That's called irony, because aluminum hadn't been invented yet, and people had to settle for the best they could do.

While some of our most divisive leaders have been impressive quote hurlers, I wonder if that alone is worth all the trouble they cause. Yeah, just about every President we've had, all my life anyways, people either hated him or loved him. Isn't it time for a President we can be emotionally ambivalent about?

Eisenhower and Ford, now those were great shrug inducing Presidents. They brought the nation together in a consensus of, "Eh, what ya gonna do? I guess he's trying." I'd like to point out:
A.) Both those guys were bald.
2.) Neither of them worked very hard to get to the Oval Office.

The truth is inescapable; I'm perfectly positioned for a 2012 candidacy. I'm bald and I'm willing to not work very hard to accomplish things, I mean if my country needs me to of course. And talk about experience! I'm been provoking ambivalent shrugs for fifty years.

Our country needs a President nobody gets excited about either way, so we can stop bickering and return to the proud American tradition of settling for the best we can do. I urge you to support my candidacy, I mean if you have time. I know we're all so busy these days. And vote for me, if you feel like it.