Tuesday
12/16/03
Saddam And Texas Vs. The World
Two things today, and actually I’d be hard-pressed to say which is more noteworthy, but the first is of course that our boys (and lasses) finally turned up Hussein. What I found interesting is that there seemed to be some surprise in the media that the markets didn’t react one way or the other. Well it’s no surprise to me, and since I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy today I’ll let the media in on a little secret: It DOESN’T MATTER that we found him.
We spent the better part of a year hunting down a tired old dictator who we knew had no weapons and had nothing to do with the 9/11 attacks. Great, good for us. You wanna make this New York boy feel better? Try finding Bin Laden, the guy who actually holds the hearts and minds of countless Arabs and was actually behind the 9/11 attacks.
Secondly, in a matter that originates in Texas as well, this little tidbit was passed along to me by a friend who has a habit of doubting, shall we say, the intellectual rigor with which Texans conduct their lives. Makes you wonder who’s in charge in a town where they thought spending the time and effort to entrap a mom for selling a dildo was a simply smashing idea.
For my part, I’m just sort of mystified by a culture that is as enamored of its big guns and funny hats as it is terrified by dildos and gays. Sounds to me like a state that could use a fifty minute lie-down on Sigmund’s couch.
Really now, arresting a mom for running a franchise whose best seller is "chocolate flavored passion pudding"? Grow the fuck up.
|
Saddam And Texas Vs. The World
Two things today, and actually I’d be hard-pressed to say which is more noteworthy, but the first is of course that our boys (and lasses) finally turned up Hussein. What I found interesting is that there seemed to be some surprise in the media that the markets didn’t react one way or the other. Well it’s no surprise to me, and since I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy today I’ll let the media in on a little secret: It DOESN’T MATTER that we found him.
We spent the better part of a year hunting down a tired old dictator who we knew had no weapons and had nothing to do with the 9/11 attacks. Great, good for us. You wanna make this New York boy feel better? Try finding Bin Laden, the guy who actually holds the hearts and minds of countless Arabs and was actually behind the 9/11 attacks.
Secondly, in a matter that originates in Texas as well, this little tidbit was passed along to me by a friend who has a habit of doubting, shall we say, the intellectual rigor with which Texans conduct their lives. Makes you wonder who’s in charge in a town where they thought spending the time and effort to entrap a mom for selling a dildo was a simply smashing idea.
For my part, I’m just sort of mystified by a culture that is as enamored of its big guns and funny hats as it is terrified by dildos and gays. Sounds to me like a state that could use a fifty minute lie-down on Sigmund’s couch.
Really now, arresting a mom for running a franchise whose best seller is "chocolate flavored passion pudding"? Grow the fuck up.
12/16/03
Where Saddam Really Was
"The yard was a mess, the laundry wasn't done, the pantry was bare" begins this story about the capture of Saddam. My interest was piqued. Something seemed oddly familiar about all this. The story continued on, noting that his hideaway looked "like a derelict property abandoned by squatters…" and "In the makeshift kitchen, a small refrigerator contained a few Bounty candy bars, some hot dogs and a can of 7-UP. There was old bread on a counter, leftover rice in a pot and dirty dishes in the sink."
Now my interest in this matter became more urgent as a chill ran down my spine. No, I thought to myself, it can’t be… I read on: "The yard was littered with garbage, plastic bags, empty bottles, rotten fruit and a broken chair."
You can just imagine my surprise as the truth finally hit me; Saddam had been hiding out in the old house in Harrison I used to rent with a buddy of mine. Just imagine, all this time our troops had been looking in the wrong country entirely, when all along Saddam was right over here, laying low in my old bachelor pad on Gainsborg Avenue.
Sure is a small world, isn’t it?
|
Where Saddam Really Was
"The yard was a mess, the laundry wasn't done, the pantry was bare" begins this story about the capture of Saddam. My interest was piqued. Something seemed oddly familiar about all this. The story continued on, noting that his hideaway looked "like a derelict property abandoned by squatters…" and "In the makeshift kitchen, a small refrigerator contained a few Bounty candy bars, some hot dogs and a can of 7-UP. There was old bread on a counter, leftover rice in a pot and dirty dishes in the sink."
Now my interest in this matter became more urgent as a chill ran down my spine. No, I thought to myself, it can’t be… I read on: "The yard was littered with garbage, plastic bags, empty bottles, rotten fruit and a broken chair."
You can just imagine my surprise as the truth finally hit me; Saddam had been hiding out in the old house in Harrison I used to rent with a buddy of mine. Just imagine, all this time our troops had been looking in the wrong country entirely, when all along Saddam was right over here, laying low in my old bachelor pad on Gainsborg Avenue.
Sure is a small world, isn’t it?
12/14/03
Clowns. Clowns Are Bad.
Being the fan of rhetorical questions that I am… what the hell is it with clowns? No, more specifically, what the hell is it with people who enjoy clowns, think they’re amusing, and hire them to bug the bejesus out of those of us who know them for what they really are: demented, soul-stealing demons from the very last circle of hell? Or something like that. I may have some issues with clowns.
Anyway, it’s like this. The family and I went to our fave local bar/restaurant that has killer pizza (The Nanuet Hotel) to celebrate a good report card. As we were waiting for a table in the midst of the throngs of little people (kids, not midgets), teenage waitresses and fellow hungry people, we heard a rather alarming bang. As I looked around, I realized with a creeping sort of horror that it was a clown. Worse, a balloon-animal-making-clown. Did I mention that I hate clowns?
Actually, it may be a more of a distaste for up close and personal performers in general. Jugglers, magicians and mimes and the like. There’s just something creepy about people whose only goal in life is to bring delight and a sense of childlike wonderment to others. What’s the motivation behind all this non-conforming behavior? There can’t be any real money in wandering around, making balloon puppies and patting kids on the head. I think they’re all plotting something; I just haven’t figured out what yet.
Anyway, as luck would have it, the restaurant was busy enough that the clown circulated here and there but never caught our scent. Later, as we made our balloon-free escape to the car with doggie bags in hand, I took the opportunity to explain the dangers of clowns to the boys. I told them, in my most authoritative tone, to never make eye contact with a clown, because that’s how they steal your soul.
I thought it went over rather well, but all I got for my troubles was a sharp poke in the ribs from my Lovely Bride and an admonition that I would frighten the tots. On the ride home, with ribs still smarting, I consoled myself with the thought that even though being the Father and Family Protector can be a thankless job sometimes, somebody has to do it. No balloon-making purveyor of childlike whimsy is going to steal my kid’s souls if I have anything to say about it.
Did I mention that I hate clowns?
|
Clowns. Clowns Are Bad.
Being the fan of rhetorical questions that I am… what the hell is it with clowns? No, more specifically, what the hell is it with people who enjoy clowns, think they’re amusing, and hire them to bug the bejesus out of those of us who know them for what they really are: demented, soul-stealing demons from the very last circle of hell? Or something like that. I may have some issues with clowns.
Anyway, it’s like this. The family and I went to our fave local bar/restaurant that has killer pizza (The Nanuet Hotel) to celebrate a good report card. As we were waiting for a table in the midst of the throngs of little people (kids, not midgets), teenage waitresses and fellow hungry people, we heard a rather alarming bang. As I looked around, I realized with a creeping sort of horror that it was a clown. Worse, a balloon-animal-making-clown. Did I mention that I hate clowns?
Actually, it may be a more of a distaste for up close and personal performers in general. Jugglers, magicians and mimes and the like. There’s just something creepy about people whose only goal in life is to bring delight and a sense of childlike wonderment to others. What’s the motivation behind all this non-conforming behavior? There can’t be any real money in wandering around, making balloon puppies and patting kids on the head. I think they’re all plotting something; I just haven’t figured out what yet.
Anyway, as luck would have it, the restaurant was busy enough that the clown circulated here and there but never caught our scent. Later, as we made our balloon-free escape to the car with doggie bags in hand, I took the opportunity to explain the dangers of clowns to the boys. I told them, in my most authoritative tone, to never make eye contact with a clown, because that’s how they steal your soul.
I thought it went over rather well, but all I got for my troubles was a sharp poke in the ribs from my Lovely Bride and an admonition that I would frighten the tots. On the ride home, with ribs still smarting, I consoled myself with the thought that even though being the Father and Family Protector can be a thankless job sometimes, somebody has to do it. No balloon-making purveyor of childlike whimsy is going to steal my kid’s souls if I have anything to say about it.
Did I mention that I hate clowns?
