Chilled Cheese with a Twist of Limey

Sometimes you hear a story and you think that there is no way that this could possibly be true. If you knew my buddy John Hepburn, you’d understand that with liquor, shrooms, and John, anything is possible. John was from Manchester and acted like it. He was cheap as hell, had an incomrehensible accent, and cursed like a marine. He had NO sense of any kind, common or otherwise.

At the time of this story John is living with my boyfriend of the week, Sam, and their Canadian friend, Tim, in a small three bedroom flat in the outskirts of Tokyo. This was one of the many points in my life where I mostly shopped and partied. (If you can believe it, I am actually much calmer now.) Anyway, a bunch of us expats (5 Brits and myself) decided to go to a nomihodai (a restaurant/bar where you pay a fee to drink all you want) then clubbing. The night progressed much as it normally did, with the exception that John decided to buy shrooms (which are perfectly legal in Japan) off of some skeezy guy (think the weird guy from Big Trouble in Little China) on the street.

We had a good time at the club and left there sometime between 3 and 4. We went to a nice little curry joint to wait for the subway to start running again (it quits at like 2:30 and starts at 4 or so). We are all very very drunk, and nearly all foreigners (though most of us speak nearly fluent or fluent Japanese) so we are attracting tons of warranted attention. Most of the attention was directed at John. This would be because John was white and 6’5,” kneading his curry rice like bread dough, and muttering angrily to no one in particular. Oli, his neighbor, is leaning on the table, focused on pretending he can’t smell curry, when out of nowhere John (who is a good foot taller) hurled his entire plate of steaming hot curry in Oli’s face. John lurched violently from his chair and lumbered out into the street like Frankenstein’s Monster. I ran out after him (who cares if Oli is blinded by a vindaloo, John is loose on the streets of Tokyo!) As we watched in silent horror, John ran across 6 lanes of traffic, jumped the subway turnstile and was gone.

After about thirty seconds we all shrugged, put Oli in a cab and the rest of us went to karaoke. I tried calling John a few times but I couldn’t get a hold of him on his cell phone. When the trains started running again we returned to our neighborhood and I went to my boyfriend’s apartment (Sam hadn't joined us that evening due to a hockey game).

The next morning someone started pounding on the door. Sam looked out the peephole and started laughing hysterically. He opened the door and John stormed in. He declared “Fuck all” in his impenetrable accent and stormed into the shower room. He had been dressed in black sweats and a white t-shirt, except that they were clearly made for a Japanese guy, not a giant Brit. He was also orange.

After his shower he sat down to tell us how this happened. This morning he woke up and it was freezing cold and pitch black. It also smelled terrible. The last thing John could remember was at the club. Suddenly he noticed that he felt very cramped and suffocated. He started to struggle, trying to kick out, only to come tumbling out of a fridge. Having short and long fridges to fit under counters is not completely abnormal.

He lay there for a moment staring at the ceiling of a room he had never seen before. He looked at the floor and noticed that there was food and bottles all over it. It was then he noticed two other things.
1. He was completely naked.
2. He was completely orange.

His first instinct was to get the hell out of this place, except he was orange and naked. He went to the sink and tried to wash some of the orange off. He then crept around the house looking for his clothes, wallet and cell phone. He couldn’t find any of that. He did find a Japanese couple in their early twenties naked, somewhat orange and asleep in one of the bedrooms. On the floor were several containers of squeezy cheese. John panicked grabbing clothes from a pile on the floor and decided to consider his keys, phone, wallet and clothes as a negligible loss.

He got out into the street and had no idea where he was. After wandering around for a few minutes he finally found a train station. He stared at the map realizing that he was in a suburb on the opposite side of Tokyo. In fact he was pretty much at the end of the line. He started walking up to Japanese people and in his best Japanese would say, “I’m sorry to bother you so rudely, but it’s that I have lost my wallet. Would you loan me the money to ride the train to Mitaka. I would mail it back to you.” This of course incited the Japanese housewives he was addressing to run away or at best say in bad English “English no good. I no speak English.” Which of course cause John, who was feeling kinda of crappy at this point to say in a loud and rude voice, “I’m speaking Japanese. Right now. See.” Which if they hadn’t already run away would quite ample inspiration to do so then. Finally a Kiwi came by and John was able to persuade him to give him the money he needed. John offered to pay him back, but apparently these sorts of things simply don’t happen in New Zealand and aside from this one good deed he wanted nothing to do with John.

John rode the train to the end. He looked at the map. He rode the next train till the end and into the heart of the city. Then the next back to Mitaka-Osawa (our neighborhood). As he exited the train station John saw his bike sitting forlornly on the corner. He walked over and realized his bike key was gone. The last of the Kiwi’s monkey was spent on the train ride back and John was not certain that Sam, Tim or I would be home to cover the cost of a cab. To cap it all John walked home (at least 2 miles) that day to cancel his cards, call the bank, get a new resident foreigner card, get new keys made, and finally to return two days later for his bike, to find it was stolen.

John never found his wallet, clothes, keys, or memory of what transpired that night.

Married man at work who sucks at adultery, are you mad because you figured out that it’s never going to happen?

Wow, after almost 3 years of trying to get me to have an adulterous affair, you’ve finally figured out it’s never going to happen. That’s quite the learning curve, pumpkin.

When you sat next to me for today’s all day meeting, I will admit, I wanted to poison you, but didn’t have any poison on my person. The part that I thought was really painful was when you noticed me secretly update my blog and commented that you wish you had enough free time to run a blog at work. I countered with “How’s your golf game coming along?” I’ve got to say that I could have done better than picking on the fact that you regularly dick around with your putting set instead of working. What I wish I could have said was, “Well, it’s funny that you bring up my blog, because my entry about how pathetic you are is one of my funniest so far.”

Oh well. It’s time for a break now and I’m just gonna toddle up to the break room and see if we have any nice pesticides or cleaners to put in your Snoopy mug.

See you in ten, big boy.

I don't need no stinking permission

Reprinted from a response to my email about friends not letting their friends date me (and for good reason) about 2 minutes ago:
Brief theatrical interlude in the stylings of Top Gun:

Loren: "You know why people don't want to date you Quiana? CUZ' YER DANGEROUS!"

Quiana: "That's right! Iceman!...er...LORAN!!!! I AM dangerous"(Quiana emphatically shoves Ice...er.. Loren in the chest and walks quickly towards her awaiting F-14 Tomcat fighter pausing only briefly to flip him the bird)

*fade to black-- next scene

This is not the droid you’re looking for.

A couple years back a friend of mine introduced me to a guy who was getting a divinity degree and was working as a youth pastor. Yes, I know I should know better.

We started hanging out a lot, in what I perceived to be a non-date type fashion. Eventually we were sitting next to each other at the beach and I was blah blah blahing about God knows what when he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was like, ok I should worry about this, but I’m having such a good time. Yes, I should have known better.

Then we started meeting up and he would play his guitar and we would hang out and one thing would lead to another, as ‘one thing’s always do and we would be making out. Part of the problem was that he was just a damn great kisser. The other part, and probably the larger part was that I am a huge idiot.

Eventually we are sitting on his couch and he decides to have a relationship defining talk. This catches me off guard, mostly because I am a huge idiot. Transcript of conversation:

E-“You know I’ve been thinking.” Twiddling with the guitar.
Q-Panic/ repression of snide comment. “Yes…?”
E-“I really like you, (long pause) and I think I can tell that you really like me, so you know, (twiddling guitar) I think maybe we should be official.”
Q-Blank expression (I hope- more likely an expression of panic) You know I adore you Erik, but (for one thing your 20 and for another you’re the kind of guy who spells Erik with a K) I don’t think you really want me to be your girlfriend. (you really want your stupid truck to be your girlfriend) Maybe you just feel like you should.”
E-“I don’t want you?”
Q-“No, you don’t want me, I think you’d be happier being single.” (I don’t want to be a pastor’s wife, Stupid. God, why are you so hot?!)
E- “I am happy being single.”
Q-“We probably shouldn’t be doing this.” (I would prefer your roommate. I’d date him for sure, he’s got that whole indie kid thing going for him.)
E- I think I don’t really want you to be my girlfriend.
Q- *sigh* you’re probably right. (Yes he totally bought that! I’m a Jedi Master.)

He was married to his ex-girlfriend 6 months later.

global existence of penises continues to threaten feminists

*WARNING* Potentially deadly rant below. Blame NPR, they’ve got me all riled up today.

Bryn Mawr is going to withdraw my diploma for this but, as I listen to news coverage about the recent appointment of a man as the Chair of Women’s Studies at the University of Washington, I can’t help but feel that the whole thing is appallingly fitting. Does everybody actually believe that one must be a woman to study women? Do herpetologists need forked tongues? Well I guess you can never understand the nature of snake-ness without being a snake…?

Women’s Studies is not really about the question “what does it mean to be a woman?” Women’s studies is about learning and documenting things having to do with women, a group historically ignored. Can I write a book illustrating what it is like to be an American, what American-ness is? Of course not. People are different; people have different experiences and different natures. What is it that these people are really implying: that a man can never understand women? No shit. That men and women are different? Yea, I noticed that in Junior High. Nope, they are asserting that no member of the privileged male gender can empathize with the ‘subjugated woman.’ How about a guy who didn’t get a job because he was Mexican, or too old, or gay, or short? Nope, Women’s Studies is a snatch only club. Sorry guys, no willies allowed.

Apparently the possibility that men and women are both capable of doing the same level of work is not part of feminism anymore. The kind of drivel I heard touted as feminism at Bryn Mawr was apparently not the rants of women with senses of entitlement larger than the state of Texas and mouths large enough to swallow a Princess cruise ship, but mainstream feminism today.

These are the same people who believe that only white people are racist. You want to see widespread commonly accepted racism? Be white and move to Japan or any crap neighborhood in Philadelphia. My male friends are more “Feminist” than my female friends and my black relatives are the WORST racists I’ve ever suffered.

I have always believed that the basic premise of feminism is that while men and women are different from each other, that neither gender fits into cookie cutter definitions, and that everyone should be free to do as they believe and desire without gender based constraints.

When women talk about the entitlement of the male patriarchy do they forget the meal they were bought the night before? Do they forget the doors held open for them? How about the being able to act utterly insane and then write it off as hormones?

I guess feminism is about chicks bitching about how men are being treated better while showing a little cleave to get a free beer.

Well, if I’m going to get free beer out of it, “Here’s a toast to our titties ladies.”

Up Next, Real World: Riyadh

I would like to settle once and for all, that "Islamic" and "terrorist" are not interchangeable words. The terrorists who are bombing shit are not part of a Islamic network, they are part of a terrorist network. An Islamic network would show interesting reality TV shows and dubbed Sesame Street, not be made up of criminals who are planning to murder non-combatants.

Rant courtesy of NPR's Morning Edition.

book reports speed dating style

So my book report project is not going well. Similar to high-school I am reading my books and failing to actually report on them. So here are all the books that I have read since my last book report (that I can recall) and a tiny blurb about them. Moreover, unlike speed-dating or meeting someone in a club I will tell you which one will turn out to be a Republican, 7th Day Adventist, or Journey fan before you're trapped in a restaurant.

DON'T READ:
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell- don't read- too long, for what you get out of it- could have great- but wasn't.


READ:
Partly Cloudy Patriot- non-fiction essay collection about America

Dress Your Family in corduroy and Denim- non-fiction essay collection about the author's childhood

Faith of My Fathers- account of the John McCains' (1, 2, and 3) military careers, focusing mainly on his time in a POW camp in Vietnam.

Freakonomics- an economist addresses various issues using his economics background to justify counter-intuitive arguments

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time- a fictional story about an autistic teen who is writing a book about solving the mystery of a dog's murder

Harry Potter 6- very well written and truer to life than the series has been in the last few books.

the worst thing I've had in my mouth... lately

Starbucks Green Tea Frappuccino Blended Crème, you are an abomination. You are a beverage abortion. When I asked the Barista if you were "vile," she gave me not even the tiniest of clues that you would violate my tongue in that fashion. You started with a peculiar vanilla-like taste, then bloomed into a Fruit Stripe Gum-like strange fruity flavor, chased by a tea-like after-taste. You tasted nothing like "good," your promised attribute, nor did you taste, as I had rather hoped you would, like the green tea ice cream I used to get in Hawaii.
Starbucks Green Tea Frappuccino Blended Crème, I did not hesitate before deciding, "This time I refuse to swallow!"

Koo Koo Kachoo Mrs. Robinson

Dear Manufacturer of the Regal Prowler Camper Trailer,

In my recent stay in one of your campers I was amazed at its level of sophistication. Built in TV antenna, surround sound, and a microwave; your camper may be nicer than my apartment! Your ingenious storage solutions put my Ikea and Storable products to shame. However, I have a design suggestion that will revolutionize the camper trailer industry.

Imagine with me that you are a ten year old boy who has needed to pee all the way through Koopa’s Castle. Finally, having beaten two Koopa Kids, you save your game and innocently skip to bathroom.

Now imagine that you are a twenty five year old woman who, having recently come back to camp after a long hike, is enjoying the soapy solitude of a nice hot shower.

Now imagine these two events happening concurrently in one of you trailers. This brings me to my amazing design suggestion: bathroom door locks.

Good morning Starshine, The Earth says, "Hello."

Went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with my friend Loren last night. The movie was excellent. Though my favorite part was the coming attractions- not that the creators of the offending movie trailer deserved any credit for it. The movie trailer was for Must Love Dogs, another romantic comedy in the tradition of… well I can’t remember any of their titles, since they blew, but rest assured if you watched anything with Kate Hudson, John Cusack, or Meg Ryan from the past 10 years, this will be the same, but with dogs. In fact it uses that same Natalie Cole song, This Will Be (an Everlasting Love) that has been used in at least 3 movies I can think of off the top of my head (Parent Trap, Charlie’s Angels, While You Were Sleeping).

Anyway, the trailer opens up with a single lady in her mid-late 30’s at the butcher shop….

Lady: One chicken breast please.
Butcher: You know they are much cheaper if you buy two.
Lady: I am pathetic and single and don’t want excess meat loitering around my fridge reminding me of my pitiful lonely life. I have a career, good friends, and interesting hobbies, but without a man I am nothing. (Fit of Hysteria) I just wish I had a sister/female friend/plot device to alleviate this….
Butcher: I’d pork ya. (ok, that wasn’t in the trailer- but that would have actually been funny.)

New montage of the sister/friend/plot device putting the lady on the internet and the lady getting mad action—action from men who apparently love dogs. Including John Cusack who, wait for it, doesn’t have a dog. But who cares about the “plot,” let’s get to the funny part. So the last scene of the trailer shows the s/f/p popping over to the lady’s house to drop off meat and yelling to the lady from the kitchen, wait for it, without knowing John Cusack is there….

S/F/P: Lady, I brought over extra meat for you to share with all of your new men.
S/F/P comes out of kitchen inexplicably holding the packs of meat. Sees John Cusack and freezes in fright. (No, he really isn’t aging well, is he?)
John Cusack: Can I have my meat now?
Lady Behind Me in the Movie Theater: Cause I’ll be giving you the meat later.

yo ho ho and about 5 bottles of rum

Pirate Party Pics Part 1

Melody gets back at Mebbie's comrade in arms, Scurvy
















Jen threatening Q























Mark and Jen
















Sarah shows Winston and Amine who's boss
















Q and Addy
















RAWWWRRRRR
















Mebbie in a fit of rage attacks Addy's superior breast.
















Loren, Mebbie and my fridge
















Loren attacking Czarina attacking an apple
















Emily, Yan, Matt, Luka, Q and the top of Kelly's head
















"Mad Eye" Mebbie and Scurvy the Flying Rat
















Johanna and Loren. Arms courtesy of Steve and Monica
















Johanna, Loren, and Steve "Bilbo" Powell

that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it

*WARNING: Brothers of roommate, herein may lie a vicious overshare capable of rendering you completely unable to look at your sister without thinking of her sex life. Have fun with that.


Last week in a fit of bitterness I decided to not purchase the fancy piece of kitchen equipment I had been planning to buy my roommate for her wedding. She had been acting like, well, a complete pain in my ass for the last couple months and I decided her gift would be under twenty dollars. It was then that I realized what the girl who has every imaginable kitchen gadget in the world, yet can’t make pasta would need: nothing. Let’s be honest, who are weddings for? How about the wedding registry items? How many guys care about their dishware? You know who is getting all the gifts? My roommate. Poor fiancé didn’t get anything, so I decided to get him the one thing he would actually want: a sex life.

Having never had sex before, my roommate was justifiably nervous and knowing her, if sex was uncomfortable, her poor husband would never be allowed to touch her with “that thing” again. I figured the best way for me to ensure that the poor guy got to have sex twice was to discuss lubrication with my roommate.

Eeep! That being utterly impossible I decided to just buy her a nice bottle of lube and assume she was innocently unaware of such things. Yet lube is scary stuff sometimes… have you seen a bottle of AstroGlide? “Now in Cherry Flavor!” Incidentally, does that bug anyone else? Cherry?!? Flavor??? Anyway, I brow-beat a friend of a friend into accompanying me to the XXX Hollywood Erotic Boutique, conveniently located two blocks north of me to purchase a bottle of their finest lube. After buying what was described to me as the “lubricant, preferred by most gay men” I noticed that lube, even in a cute ergonomically shaped bottle, could still be scary. (Don’t ask me how this friend knew statistics on homosexual lubricant preferences… but we went shoe shopping later. That’s all I am saying….)

Then it hit me: the Bedazzler. Once in a fit of drunken stupidity (known as “college”) we got wasted and were watching QVC. Well about two weeks later every imaginable infomercial product began arriving on our doorsteps. George Forman grills by the score (in complimentary colors), a food dehydrater, a phone in the shape of SpiderMan, the entire Bevis and Butthead DVD set, a chopper thingy and one top of the line Bedazzler. All returned except the DVDs which I Ebayed. I would bedazzle the bottle. Using lace and rhinestones leftover from previous craft projects I designed a total makeover for my roommy’s lube.

Unfortunately I couldn’t find my glue gun. Shrugging off that minor setback I opted to use super glue. And I swear that is how I ended up super gluing myself to that bottle of personal lubricant.

Viva la Revolucion!

Yesterday as I was leaving the office I heard “Pssssst. Quiana, come here.” I walked back to the receptionist’s desk and she said, “No come behind my desk.” And there she showed me her…

… secret light up flip-flops. I was too excited. She told me she got them at Wal-Mart. And my tiny pitiful world shattered.

I HATE WalMart. HATE IT. There are only 2 in the Seattle area and they are both at least 40 minutes from my house. And it’s not the travel time. It is the chaos that bugs me. People everywhere, products mixed up, children screaming and touching me with greasy salty fry-fingers. And the people are the dregs of society: red-necks, ghetto mamas, scary soccer moms who look like hookers in Winnie the Pooh t-shirts, women with ten children and their own gravitational pull. Gack. I mean sometimes at Target you pass a good looking guy who even smells nice. At WalMart everyone smells like Cheetos and pleather.

But it just so happened that I already had plans to go to Ikea with my friend Monica (I HATE IKEA) (HATE HATE HATE IT) and since they are both in Renton I could combine my sorrows into one trip. I hate Ikea’s crowded chaos, unpronounceably named items, and fiendishly irritating radio-spokesman. Nasty twenty something couples guarding the furniture as though you might steal it, nose picking Gymboree children, women with cheekbones and arms like boiled chicken explaining to their children at great length why mommy doesn’t want them to stand on furniture with their shoes on: they are all standing IN THE ISLE. You know why you don’t stand on furniture with your shoes on, Junior? Because the furniture monster will come and eat all your shoes, including the pair your feet are in! He will gobble up your feet like gummi-bears and slurp down your shoe-laces like spaghetti.


Anyway, so I had low expectations for enjoying this excursion, but light-up flops and a new shoe storer were totally worth it. Actually, this time, Ikea was kind of fun- though it could have just been good company. In good spirits Mon and I headed towards WalMart. The one thing that I really like about WalMart is the dollar DVD bin. I collect old movies and old cartoons and they can often be found there.

So as soon as we had carefully examined every pair of flops we raided the dollar DVD bins. By far our best find was the cartoon version of the novel Animal Farm. It had the most darling little farm animals on the cover and was smack-dab in the middle of the children’s section, nestled between Betty-Boop and Bugs Bunny. I have this feeling that WalMart is probably one of the few places where nobody will notice George Orwell’s anti-Communist parable in the CHILDREN’S section.

Well, I hope the children who unknowingly pick this DVD like the part where the horsey gets sent to the glue factory so that the piggies can buy more liquor. That’s my favorite part.


Four legs, good! Two legs bad!!!

Oompa loompa doompity do, I've got another puzzle for you...

Yesterday on NPR a man called in and asked the producer of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory if Johnny Depp's portrayal of Willy Wonka was intentionally Michael Jackson-esque. The producer defended Depp with the following:

"Now Michael Jackson really likes and has always really liked children. Willy Wonka doesn't like children at all."

Oh I see, that is the critical difference. Phew, I was kind of upset.

Don't worry Willy Wonka is just a flamboyantly dressed semi-gender-neutral soft-spoken unattached reclusive millionaire megalomaniac who lives in a theme park with unusual pets and occasionally invites children over with ulterior motives. See everyone, Willy Wonka is absolutely nothing like Michael Jackson.

Howdy Neighbor, Nice Titties

Well neighbor, I couldn’t help but notice the porn you had on your giant TV last Saturday night. Do you have HD TV, because the picture was super clear? I was totally surprised when they built a luxury condo building a block from the projects, and so close to our windows- a mere building away. The line of sight into your living room totally rocks. I can see your living room from my living room, dining room, kitchen and roommate’s bedroom. She’s a lucky dog! I see you like girl on girl action. Yea, I can understand that, if I had a penis I wouldn’t want to watch someone else’s penis either.
I admit, we were mooching your TV last Saturday. I hope that wasn’t one of those pay-per view porns; I would feel totally unethical watching porn without contributing to the fee. And it wasn’t just me, it was a bunch of my friends too. You see, we were having a party, kind of a big one, actually. The whole party was having a great time trying to figure out what was happening over there. Were you alone? We wanted to invite you over, but we didn’t know how to get you to look out your window. Probably pretty hard to turn away from that, isn’t it? We couldn’t see you, but we figured a sly dog like you probably had a bunch of honeys over-- after all you must have good credit to have such a big TV, and your lamp is pretty sweet too.
Anyway, we just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. Our new across the hall neighbors only brought us some smelly candles, but you brought us oral sex. That’s so thoughtful of you.

Thar They Blow

Dear Dr. Von Doom,

The people of Latveria would like to humbly thank you for your wonderful humanitarian works in your home country. Though we are saddened by your complete loss of accent, we will still give you one of our finely crafted extremely scary metal masks, the principal export of our tiny European nation.
Please use it in good health.

Sincerely,

The People of Latveria

Dear People of Latveria,

Thank you so much for the lovely mask. It really matches the outfit you got me for Christmas last year. I will treasure it always. As you see it’s getting lots of use.

Yours truly,

Victor Von Doom





So, yea I did see Fantastic Four last Friday. Yea, it did blow, funny that you noticed it too. I can’t even manage to criticize it any more. The only parts that didn’t completely blow involved partially nude hot people (or Spandex-clad hot people).

The best part of the entire movie was when Chris Evans burned off his clothes and was hopping around in an improvised mini-skirt made from a pink ski jacket. (Picture to be posted pending my finding one.) Also, this constitutes the best Halloween costume ever for a guy with a decent body.

nice wheels, Dick

Fudd/Cheney 2008- not even possible

I don’t know if you remember Wayne’s World too well, but I’m with Garth; Bugs Bunny is attractive when he plays a girl bunny.

As part of my self-improvement plan I’ve been trying to do the kind of snotty high-brow garbage that I used to indulge in during college. Yesterday I went to the symphony. It is called Bugs Bunny on Broadway; a performance that centers around Warner Brothers cartoons from the 30’s through the 50’s. They show cartoons on a giant screen and play the audio tracks (minus the music), while the orchestra plays the music. You’ve never seen a real symphony until you’ve seen a full orchestra playing Wagner, in front of a 15 foot tall Elmer Fudd yelling “Kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit!”

Cartoons and live music, nothing is better than that, well… maybe liquor and comics. The show itself was amazing. I don’t remember when I’ve laughed so hard. It was wonderful to see the wide range of people attracted to this show. It was especially funny when the conductor made the most interesting point:

You never see Elmer Fudd and Dick Cheney in the same room:

I am too a patriot you fat yuppie breeder

Mommy, what’s a patriot?
Well, Bobby, a patriot is someone who puts a yellow ribbon on the back of their car and defends everything the president does and says, because he’s our President and thus completely infallible!

Now, in answer to the unasked question, Dear Readers, yes, I have finally had it with the post 9/11 patriotism extravaganza. No, fat yuppie breeder at work, I will not buy a magnetic ribbon proclaiming that I support troops for my American Vehicle. Why? Well, since I have to work with you I will tell you that I think bumper stickers are tacky and ineffective. Which is true. However, fat yuppie breeder at work, the honest to God truth is that I am not actively supporting troops. I’m not. I have not sent one letter, one cookie, or one piece of body armor to any troops at all. I have allowed many to buy me beer and firmly believe that they would get laid (which they didn’t), does that count? I think that’s incredibly supportive of me.

In fact I am super-supportive of lots of things:

Things I support:
Abortion Rights
10 Commandments where ever the hell people feel like throwing them
Several comic book companies
Right to Die/euthanasia
The liquor makers of the world
Fiscal conservatism
The Democratic Party (although I’m quite frankly at a loss as to why at this point)
Death Penalty
Stem-cell research
The Boys and Girls Club
Indian gaming
Gay marriage
Public Radio
PAWS
Books for Crooks (reading materials for inmates)
Public Television
Local stores and bands whenever possible

It’s not that I want to be unsupportive, or that I lack the desire to send letters of comfort and support to our troops. I appreciate the work that our military does. I am not a peace-monger. I would love to support the troops, but somehow I feel that your magnetic ribbon fails to do that. I’m also willing to put money down that you don’t support the troops at all. I’d bet that while your ribbon says "support our troops" it’s really saying: “support whatever the government says is right at the time.” I certainly don’t agree with that.

So I guess in fairness, I am a very super-unsupportive person too:

Things I do NOT support:
Chinese Magnetic Ribbon Manufacturers
Bad foreign policy
Anyone blindly
Bad fiscal policy
Jingoism
Legalization of Pot
Artificial raspberry flavoring
MFN for China
Fruitless warfare
Bovine Growth Hormone
Non-organic farming
Juvenile incarceration
Making flag burning illegal

BUT let me be clear, I am a HUGE patriot. One of the wonderful things that I love about America is the freedom. The freedom to vote, to protest, to fair trial, to hold our own religious beliefs- all without persecution- now that is some cool shit. Being a patriot is doing your duty towards your county and exercising your rights. Refusing to buy a bumper sticker that makes false claims about my beliefs does not make me unpatriotic.

Let’s look at unpatriotic acts:
Disagreeing with government policy can be unpatriotic- if the policy is constitutional.
Agreeing with government policy can be unpatriotic- if the policy is unconstitutional.
Uninformed voting is unpatriotic.
Not voting is unpatriotic.
Ruining the land or killing American people is unpatriotic.
Not paying taxes is unpatriotic.
Refusing to follow your military orders is unpatriotic.
Dodging the draft is unpatriotic.
Dodging jury duty is unpatriotic.

Quick and Dirty Patriot Quiz With Bonus Morality Questions(*):
Martin Luther King disagreed with the Government. Patriot or not? Right or Wrong*?
Susan B. Anthony disagreed with the Government. Patriot or not? Right or Wrong*?
Millions of Germans agreed with their Nazi Party led government and millions of people died. Patriots or not? Right or Wrong*?
Millions of Germans did not agree with their government Nazi Party led and did/could not stop it. Patriots or not? Right or Wrong*?


Well, that’s enough of this political nonsense for a bit (I hope). I promise I’ll be back to talking about poo, shopping, and sex starting tomorrow.

how’s that war on terror thing goin’ for ya?

*WARNING* INFLAMATORY POLITICAL RANT AHEAD!!!
There’s a joke my mom used to annoy me with as a child:
A man goes to the doctor. He says to the doctor, “It hurts when I do this,” as he raises his arm. The doctor replies, “Well, don’t do that.”
Now, insert ‘reads Seattle Umbrella Conspiracy’ where it says “raises his arm” and ‘Quiana’ where it says “doctor.”

I’ve been listening to the coverage of the London bombings all morning on NPR. Finally an analyst gets on and says what every analyst has known all along: you can’t stop terrorism. You simply can’t. We can be vigilant, wary, and prepared, but people will always feel subjugated and where they feel subjugated there will be terrorism.

Anybody read, oh say the Bible? Moses and Pharaoh ring any bells? Moses makes threats and then wipes out the first born sons of both combatants and non-combatants alike. Terrorism. How about US history? Native Americans massacre a bunch of missionaries and settlers. Terrorism. How about the guys who dressed up as Indians and started destroying British property then sneaking around blowing up the law and order sent from abroad to protect the property? Funny how history picks good guys and bad guys isn’t it? We love the underdogs, until they’re blowing up our stuff.

England is used to living as a terrorist target. Anyone remember the IRA, or am I alone in this? America has a major incident of terrorism (not to be insensitive or devalue 9/11) and now all of the sudden we care about global terrorism (how about the plane hijackings of the 70’s and incident at the ’72 Olympics- I guess we didn’t care about terrorism then because it didn’t affect “us”). Just like in WW2 we sit around picking our noses completely ignoring the problem and just like then, in another “date which will live in infamy” (anyone even remember that first date o’ infamy?) we get wounded on our home territory and go in guns blazing. Except terrorism isn’t like WW2. There isn’t a field, no homeland to bomb, and no allied armies to bolster. THERE IS NO WAR TO WIN.

Just like Israel has accepted terrorism as part of daily life, so must we. Just like Israel, we have been playing hardball and now when our enemies start pushing hard we get offended. Unfortunately this is what happens when you go from being the righteous and plucky underdog to the shady global power hidden behind flowery ideals. I guess it’s tough being a hegemonic global regime. Poor us.

Luckily, being one of the wealthiest countries in the world means that we can afford expensive precautionary measures. Lord knows that policy change would be “letting terrorists win.” As we all know diplomacy doesn’t ever stop American military campaigns, except that one time in Vietnam, and that other time in Cuba, well, and that other time when we seceded from Britain.

Oh and another thing, now that I’ve brought up Vietnam…. Hey let’s do that again. Let’s get involved with another country’s civil war, by waging a largely unpopular and completely unsuccessful campaign in the enemy’s home court, until, at great length, we are forced by global and internal pressure to sign an embarrassing cease fire, with no discernable benefit for America other than making the war stop.

Chris Rock has this sketch about the Backstreet Boys, the punch line is: “Backstreet Boys? Why would you wanna do that? Didn't you see New Kids on the Block? Don't you know how this movie's gonna end?”

12/7/41