I spent far too much time today sorting and deleting email message after email message about a mystery odor in the building. It’s much easier to just run from a game of “What’s that smell?” than to deal with one via email. So that you don’t miss out on any of the fun, I thought I’d tell you about it, but to make things easier (for me) I’m just going to refer you to one from the archives:
Welcome to another round of “what’s that smell?”
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Many creatures live here, as I’ve also mentioned before. The usual gators, bobcats, boars, snakes, lizards, and frogs. Insects of every type imaginable (and unimaginable). The wackiest creatures of all, I have concluded, are also the most beguiling. Well, at least in their own minds. That’s right, we’re talking about the Geezeropticus floridae, more commonly known as the Free-Range Geezer.
I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket today and I humbly apologize for any lasting damage I may have done to you or your loved ones who may have been watching TV today.
The FCC held their meeting, held their vote, and attempted to doom democracy in one fell swoop.
Commissioners Copps and Adelstein (who are now proud owners of both Code Pink buttons and Code Pink Freedom Awards) gave brilliant speechs, but the vote was still 3-2. The rules on consolidation will be relaxed and soon television and the papers and the internet will go the homogenized way of commercial radio.
I have a lot to say about this vote, but not right now. Right now, I need to have a tantrum, a tantrum that has been building all weekend. I was mildly annoyed about it at the teach-in. I was outwardly cranky by the time Chomsky’s speech rolled around. I’ve now, officially, had it.
You know how when you love something so much you see it’s flaws tenfold? That’s the way I feel right now about liberal activists. More specifically, liberal activists and their damned flyers. I’m sorry, and I know this is going to make some people angry, but I have to say it.
Here’s a quiz people. Pay attention.
Question 1: I’m standing in the middle of a press conference. Jesse Jackson is speaking. There are 2 Congresswomen and 2 FCC commissioners standing around me. Is this:
a) a good time to hand me a flyer?
b) a bad time to hand me a flyer?
Question 2: I’m talking to a reporter on camera. Is this:
a) a good time to hand me a flyer?
b) a bad time to hand me a flyer?
Let me give you a hint: B. The answer will always be B.
It’s really the worst possible time to hand me a flyer and try to talk to me. Do not try to hand me your fucking flyer while the cameras are running and the soundbites are flying.
In fact, do not hand me a flyer ever again. Ever. Do you hear me? Ever.
EVER.
I will light your flyer on fire and burn it right in front of you.
If I do not have a lighter I will fold it into a paper airplane and fly it into the trashcan. Possibly, while singing. That would teach you a lesson.
I do not want your flyer.
I will compost it, crumple it, dissolve it in acid.
Do not hand me your flyers.
I do not care if you have been named God’s emmisary and you have flyers announcing that the world will be ending in 10 minutes. I do not want your flyer. In fact, in that case, we’ll all be apprised of the apocalyptic situation soon enough so why spoil the surprise!
Do not hand me your flyers. I am now officially a flyer free zone. Do you hear me? A FLYER FREE ZONE.
There. I feel better now.
Ariel Gore’s Atlas of the Human Heart. Heartbreaking, depressing, funny as hell – in equal measures, sometimes all at the same time.
Eric Schlosser’s Reefer Madness: Sex, Drugs, and Cheap Labor in the American Black Market. I read a bunch of reviews that compared this one, unfavorably, to his earlier work Fast Food Nation. I found this to be a worthy follow-up and suspect that it’s the lack of humor in this book that left the critics wanting. It’s much easier to wax poetically wacky about a machine that shoots french fries than about migrant workers in California, outrageous prison terms for medical marijuana possession, or the absurdities of the Meese commissions pornography witchhunts. That doesn’t make the book any less compelling, in fact I sacrificed a lot of sleep while reading it. I don’t know which of his works I’d prounounce “the best”, I thought each stands on it’s own merits.
Schlosser is talking Wednesday night at Politics and Prose, by the way. Let me know if you’re going. (And Jonathan Schell will be there reading from Unconquered World on Tuesday night, incidentally).
Also last week was Pink Think: Becoming a Woman in Many Uneasy Lessons, Lynn Peril’s dissection of the cult of femininity. (Here’s a tip girls: no matter what the manufacturer told you, never douche with Lysol. Eeeesh).
Driving home from work, rush hour, tons of traffic, blah blah blah.
Traffic stops. The guy behind me in the Lexus lays on his horn. He’s fully occupied in his phone conversation and can’t be bothered to take the big picture into account. He keeps honking and honking and honking. My headache goes from bad to nearly unbearable.
Honking will not make the cars move, this is very obvious. After all, there’s a missile launcher in the road. A missile launcher, surrounded by Army Dudes in full Army Dude Attire. Honking will not intimidate the missile launcher. Honking will not make the Army Dudes say, “Code Red? Bah! Let’s knock off early and have a beer, we’re inconveniencing this guy.”
The odd part was all the camoflage they were wearing, particularly the helmets. The helmets had that netting stuff on them and everything, and it’s not the first time we’ve seen this around the Pentagon lately.
“If the enemy attacks we’ll, uh, take cover in this carefully manicured park. Quick men, cover yourself in hydrangea branches.”
So despite the fact that traffic is slowed down so the Pentagon can position a missile launcher, the guy keeps honking. What the fuck? It’s a missile launcher. A missile launcher. It launches missiles.
Stop honking, hang up your cellphone and pay attention to the road.