Good Riddance Blue Dogs

I read somewhere that a large number of the Democratic seats in the US House of Representatives lost in the recent elections were the seats of so-called "Blue Dog" democrats. These are the most conservative members of the Democratic party, largely from the South. These are the guys who pull the party to the right, who held up the Health Care law for a provision that no federal funds be used to pay for abortions (which was already law anyway). These are the guys who make it almost impossible for the party to achieve consensus on anything.

So I say, good riddance. I'd rather have a minority who more closely share my liberal views and will fight for them as a solidified group, than a party that always seems to be fighting among itself and always manages to produce watered-down legislation that no Republican votes for anyway. Eff you guys! Have fun lobbying!

Now we have to wait and see what the Republican majority will do. Probably, they will be revealed to be hypocrites, calling for lower taxes and the requisite lower spending, but they will just lower taxes and be too pussy-ish to actually cut spending, so the deficit will go UP not down. If they want to actually cut the hell out of the budget, I say go for it -- I might not agree with the cuts, but at least I would applaud their gumption. Of course I don't expect this. Their leadership has said their only real agenda is getting rid of Obama. Nice.

Alan Greenspan is a F*&@king Idiot

I'm going to start venting my rage here about the latest US economic crisis. Not every post, but occasionally. Every American should be outraged. The financial reform bill recently passed doesn't go nearly far enough. (More on that later.)

I don't blame the economy for my current situation -- anything can happen in the entertainment business, and we took our chances. And, were doing fine.

But still, I'm appalled at the idea that huge financial institutions can mismanage themselves to death and the federal government bails them out with MY money. And the senior executives of these institutions are still taking home huge paychecks, for what reason? Because we still must prop up these companies? Only the executives at Lehman Brothers, and long ago Salomon Brothers (and others I can't remember) have had to pay the price of their incompetence.

Tonight the object of my scorn is Alan Greenspan, who famously championed deregulation because of his firm belief that Corporate Officers would always act in the interest of the corporation, which would lead them to act properly and ethically so their businesses could thrive. Now of course hindsight is 20-20, especially when that hindsight is literally from my ass, but clearly this guy has never actually held a job. Employees always act in the best interest of their company? Hasn't he ever worked at a restaurant and stolen food? It seems obvious that when greed is the main motivator (and I have no problem with that in theory), it's possible -- nay probable -- that those in line for huge bonuses will simply act in a way as to guarantee that bonus is big for a few years, company be damned. Greenspan couldn't see this coming?

His later apologia and admission of error in this regard cuts no mustard with me. Where were you when we needed you? Now we're screwed.

Now Greenspan I'm sure has several advanced degrees, and has said many smart things about complicated topics his whole life. But for his short-sighted and pro-corporate contribution to the economic clusterfuck of the last few years, I dub him a fucking idiot.

Next?

Afghanistan Bananastan

I've been meaning to post about Afghanistan for a while now. The whole thing frustrates me, because I know it is a lost cause. No one has ever succeeded there, not for hundreds of years, in creating a stable government. That's not to say it isn't possible, but I believe it can only be done by the Afghan people themselves. I hate to see any one brave American lose his life or his limbs trying to reach what is essentially a non-military goal. And as much as I dislike a lot of the compromised politics of the Obama administration, I hate to see the glimmers of hope that still exist sacrificed on the altar of an unwinnable war.

But why listen to me? Rachel Maddow says it more succinctly and more cogently than I ever could.

http://maddowblog.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2010/07/15/4687273-maddow-the-hard-choice-in-afghanistan

I'm not a Rachel Maddow dittohead -- sometimes I think she strays too far from rational argument just to make point, wandering into Michael Moore territory. But she is a much more reliable liberal reporter of the news than ANYONE on the other side of the political spectrum. So far, she is the yardstick by which any politically aligned reporter must measure themselves. And, frankly, any reporter who considers themselves "unbiased."

Living with an Old Man

Living with a very old senior citizen is never easy, but we try to make do, since our senior citizen is a terrier mix. His name is Louie, as faithful readers of this blog know well. By our calculations, the number of faithful readers of this blog is: 0.

Louie's back legs have started to go, so he doesn't have much of the spring he had in his mid-single digits. He can't jump up on the bed anymore, and his attempts to get up on the couch are a 50-50 affair, with some successful and some resulting in him holding onto the seat cushions for dear life with his front paws, with a kind of desperate look on his face, determined not to give up the progress he's made but unsure how to proceed. Then he falls back to the floor, gives up and wanders away. If you noticed his thwarted assault on the couch and approach to physically lift him up, he will avoid you, as if to say, "I think I know why you are chasing me, and I refuse to submit as I find your help humiliating and frankly a bit discomfiting." Sometimes I'll grab him and heave him up anyway; he then leaps back down, only enjoying a sojourn on the Davenport if it is the result of his own efforts.

Also, his back leg weakness makes the usual race down the stairs to greet us when we walk in the door an adventure in skidding. Louie doesn't seem to remember the last time and will run down the carpeted stairs just as fast as Elliot, but when he reaches the tiled front entryway his back legs will fishtail out from under him like a drunken hockey mascot attempting to run on the ice in street shoes. Occasionally, he will bash into the front door. But like any dog, he doesn't seem to mind, or notice, or certainly not remember the next time.

With regard to the bed -- ours is, admittedly, too high -- he seems to have given up trying to get up onto it, even though he very much used to like to sleep there. I recently bought carpeted stairs made for just such a need, but they are kind of steep and Louie will have nothing to do with them. When we try to force him to make an ascent, he struggles and falls/jumps off. Of course Elliot is no help, because when you try to get him to use the stairs, he just springs up onto the bed in one leap, wondering what all the fuss is about.

Also, in our ongoing efforts to make Louie's last years as comfortable as possible, we bought him a new bed, the kind that had and seemed to favor when he was young and I lived in Burbank. He sniffed it, tested it out reluctantly, pawed and scraped at it to try to make it conform to his specifications, then wandered away annoyed. After several days of this, we gave in and returned his old bed (given many years ago by his Aunt Lee Anne) to its rightful place and he seems happy again. The new bed sits in the living room, available to all comers, dog or human. Much to our delight Elliot was discovered sleeping on it the other day. This is the first time in recorded history that Elliot has slept on a dog bed. Maybe he'll play with his first dog toy someday soon.

GOP leader John Boehner demands apology from Paul McCartney

Washington D.C. -- GOP leader John Boehner today demanded an apology from Sir Paul McCartney, in the wake of the former Beatle's performance at the White House where he received the Gershwin award for songwriting.

"I think all of America deserves an apology for that ridiculous punchbowl turd 'Ebony and Ivory' that he did with Stevie Wonder," commented the visibly angry House Minority Leader. "I mean, is that song supposed to sit in his body of work along with 'Let It Be,' 'Blackbird,' and 'Hey Jude.' Those are classics! But 'Ebony and Ivory' -- I could shit a better song than that! Not only are the words simplistic and the tune boring and derivative -- the metaphor on which the whole thing is based is dumb and obvious." Boehner then called for an immediate emergency session of Congress to make performing the song punishable with a fine and, if judged constitutional by the Roberts Supreme Court, caning.

When subsequently asked about McCartney's comments in which he implied former President Bush didn't know what a library was, Boehner smiled. "He's right on that front. That guy was a gigantic dumbass."

Raining In Glendale

It's raining tonight in Glendale. We like the rain. Something about inclement weather makes the house seem more like a home, makes us feel warmer inside. That's a common feeling in New England and in the Pacific northwest, but rare here. I think it contributes to the general malaise that afflicts Southern California.

Elliot's Lament

Once in a while, as many as several times a month, little black Elliot will wander to an empty part of the house and begin softly to whine. Just for a minute or two: then he'll stop. If you hear it and call to him -- "Elliot, what's wrong?" -- he'll come to you, seemingly snapped out of it, full of affection.

What makes him do it? We don't know. It could be some minor pain that he feels; it might happen more often after meals. (We haven't really been able to deduce a pattern.) But there is nothing wrong with him, and it doesn't sound like physical pain. It sounds like sadness.

As you might know, we adopted Elliot from a local shelter after seeing his picture in a newspaper ad. We took cranky old Louie with us to see him, in order to know if they would get along. Louie paid absolutely no attention to Elliot; he was focused on walking around new place with new smells.

Elliot looked like hell. They told us that he had been found alone, on the street. His hair was so matted they had to cut most of it off. You could easily feel his ribs. Still, he had a certain nervous amiability, so we took him. How could we not? He's still a tentative sort, sometimes giving love enthusiastically, sometimes edging up to you hesitantly until you pet him. But he's been a part of our family now for a good 6 years.

When I hear his low-volume, high-pitched keening in some dark corner of the house, I can't help but think that he is remembering his long lost mommy, from whom he might have been taken too early, for whom he desperately longed during those cold hungry nights on the street, and for whom his heart still aches.

We love you, Elliot. I hope that's enough.

A Friend Request From Saint Nicholas

As presented at Cam Clarke's annual Christmas party, 12/19/09. It killed.

A Friend Request from Saint Nicholas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a computer was stirring, not even a mouse.

No children were nestled all snug in their beds,

I’d shot them and buried them out in the shed.

Just kidding I’d never had kids of my own,

But that left me this evening to be all alone.

Yes I in my bathrobe, the only one home,

Just me and my gin and my little iPhone.

I thought, maybe this will amuse me tonight,

So I fired it up and let music take flight!

(Sadly tap out Jingle Bells on iPhone)

Well that wasn’t working, its sound was so slight,

Where else could I find Christmas cheer on this night.

So I settled down in my chair with a plop,

And opened my red candied Apple laptop.

My computer is often my only real friend,

I thought as I sat on my flabby rear end.

I considered my usual nights online whirl,

Pretend I’m a nubile young age 13 girl.

Seducing some mayor or minor State Senator

Who’ll inevitably end up on To Catch a Predator.

No not on this night, not on this Christmas Eve.

I said as I wiped my red nose on my sleeve.

I think I will see how the holidays look

On that home for the lonely: I’ll check out facebook.

Facebook – that well-known web-based friendship shrine

Where I can keep up with my good friends online.

Here we gathered – me tonight, others online since dawn

In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would log on.

Instead facebook gave me the same old malaise,

Snooty parents bragging kids who brought home straight A’s

Some people I barely know off shooting movies,

Or lunching with someone that’s famous or groovy

It seems all these people are much more successful

Than me which I find so annoying and stressful.

But then on my homepage arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my desktop to see what’s the matter.

Away to my inbox I flew with a smile,

Clicked double the e-mail and opened the file.

The background of white looked like newfallen snow,

Or lines of imported Columbian blow.

When, what to my wandering eyes should appear,

A curious message that bid me draw near

Its sender mysterious, its format so slick,

I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.

His big fat red face then appeared on my screen,

And loudly he spoke as his eyes they did gleam:

Now Flickr, now Twitter, now MySpace and eBay!

On Yahoo! On Hulu! On YouTube and Pal-Pay!

He added: yes my reindeer naming rights I did sell

My costs have gone up and corporate sponsors pay well!

Now to the top of the profile! And a’top the firewall!

Now text me, and poke me and reply to all!

I eyeballed the screen and said, “No need to shout,”

“And Santa – what the hell are you talking about?”

But it turned out to be what I wanted the best,

It was from old Kris Kringle– a facebook friend request.

But then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As ashes flew round my dim room with a poof,

Down the chimney Saint Nicholas fell with an “oof.”

He stood up and looked at me straight in the eyes

Then he shook, what he saw was a shocking surprise

Every Who down in Whoville the tall and the small

Was singing without any presents at all!

(Pause, realize this has veered off into “Grinch," then continue.)

Down the chimney Saint Nicholas fell with an “oof.”

He was dressed all in fur, and none of it faux,

And sweating like crazy – it’s LA, you know.

He was covered in soot from his head to his toe,

He looked like a homeless guy down on skid row.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

His pupils dilated, and don’t think I’m joking

I wondered what kind of mistletoe he’d been smoking.

For one thing he giggled a lot from his belly,

So his man-boobs they jiggled like silicone jelly.

Santa, I said, you’re looking quite punchy

He said got some cookies? I’m getting the munchies.

Then he stood and addressed me, as he straightened his spine,

It’s Christmas Eve what the hell are you doing online?

These people on facebook they’re not your real friends

They don’t really care – it’s all just pretend!

But Santa you yourself tried to friend me, I mentioned.

He said I was just trying to get your attention!

I started to argue then put up no fight,

I realized that Santa Claus surely was right.

Facebook friendship is nothing, it’s nada, it’s zip

It was supposed to be fun but it’s really a gyp.

I smiled and Kris Kringle saw I understood

And he took a long puff from his pipe made of wood

He held in his breath, grinned, and said “HydroPonic

Sure helps those darn elves grow some damn righteous chronic!"

I said dope and Santa – aren’t those two antithetical?

He said hey back off man my mary-jane’s medical!

Why don’t you try daily hoof-kicks to the head

While you’re trying to rig eight crabby reindeer to your sled.

Then up the chimney he went, which wasn’t so easy,

His bulk was tremendous, and the flue tight and squeezy,

Then he sprang to his sleigh, well not sprang, more like fell,

And away they all flew like a bat out of hell.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Now get the hell out of your house for the night!”

Then my computer it died with a sad little sputter

Maybe from all that spilled Vons peanut butter

But then my heart gave a discreet little flutter

As I heard Old Saint Nick had some last words to utter.

He yelled from afar be like Holmes not Moriarty

Be like Rick in Casablanca don’t be like Ugarte

I figured that meant don’t be dumb be a smartie,

So I rose and got dressed and I came to this party.

So to you my real friends, or those Cam did invite,

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

A