I'm stuck in a T-Hole.
I finally got a decent amount of sleep last night, after about two weeks on 3-4 hours sleep a night. I actually feel more tired, rather than less. Also, I want ice cream.
I'm trying to write a paper before I get my drafts back, but since it isn't my thesis it's really hard to care.
I finally got a decent amount of sleep last night, after about two weeks on 3-4 hours sleep a night. I actually feel more tired, rather than less. Also, I want ice cream.
I'm trying to write a paper before I get my drafts back, but since it isn't my thesis it's really hard to care.
I bought a Suit a few days ago, and pick it up from alteration tomorrow. This is no ordinary matched set of garments. No, it is the first suit I have purchased with my own funds. It is a simple, sharp black 3-button affair, but it holds for me a certain magic. I hope that it will be with me for some time. Perhaps, one day, it will be my Lucky Suit. It certainly made me look lucky, and that was before its tranformation to something more approximate to my own fairly atypical dimensions. The tiny asian woman marking it up with chalk had to stand on tip-toes to indicate, in some arcane Script, the precise extent to which it would be let out across my shoulders, which few garment makers seem to anticipate.
I can hear you, through the electronic Ether. my reader. I hear you asking "Why, O Sweet and Just Lord, why would he submit to the hegemonic Fashion-Fascism of Corporate America?! Why, indeed. I am engaged in a tournament this weekend, a debate of Thyngs Ethycal. While I might well have trotted out in jeans and a hoodie, I am in this competition representing The School of My Choice, and as such, I feel I should, within reason, subordinate my own will to that of the aforementioned Establishment. Besides, I wouldn't compete in a joust without armor. That would be Stupid. And worse, I would probably lose. And I am not a Loser.
I can hear you, through the electronic Ether. my reader. I hear you asking "Why, O Sweet and Just Lord, why would he submit to the hegemonic Fashion-Fascism of Corporate America?! Why, indeed. I am engaged in a tournament this weekend, a debate of Thyngs Ethycal. While I might well have trotted out in jeans and a hoodie, I am in this competition representing The School of My Choice, and as such, I feel I should, within reason, subordinate my own will to that of the aforementioned Establishment. Besides, I wouldn't compete in a joust without armor. That would be Stupid. And worse, I would probably lose. And I am not a Loser.
John F. Kennedy was a profound man. He got elected to the Presidency, in spite of his Catholicism. He had his head popped like a dropped cantaloupe by a Marine Corps veteran, and no one alive today will fail to recognize the tragedy of his demise. Truly profound.
Kennedy was not one to compromise. He cheated on his wife, who was probably one of the five most desirable women in the world, with Joe DiMaggio's wife, who was without doubt the Most Desirable Woman in the World.
One of Kennedy's convictions was to the legacy of Franklin Roosevelt, that conglomeration of Promises he called the New Deal. His claim that "a rising tide lifts all ships" has become a living eulogy to the New Deal.
Sure, it took FDR a couple swings to get it to work, but consider the debt we owe him for finally getting the ball out of the park. Can any of you imagine an America without real income redistribution? An America where 'the common good' meant 'what's good for me and maybe you'll get yours next time'? An America without the highway system?
I am not a Marxist, but before the New Deal the laboring proletariat were practically enslaved by industrialists. It is possible that the New Deal was meant to stave off the Socialist revolution that might have gobbled up this country had this division continued, but that question is immaterial.
The philosophy of the New Deal can be summed up in one simple sentence: Government should empower the governed. A good government should be like a good parent. Government should encourage the best elements and discourage the worst, not just in society but in every individual.
Kennedy also said something about not asking what our country can do for us. I appreciate the sentiment, particularly at the time, but now we have a different question before us. What must our country do for us? If these nationalist sharks keep running the tank, I, and a legion of concerned citizens with good hearts and good minds will simply leave. I do not want to be a Loser that badly. We will go and become faithful citizens of Another Country, one which enjoys and desires our Talents.
I ask you this: what is the bottom line? At what point will you leave the shark tank? Will you return with a large Boat and Dynamite and Chum?
Kennedy was not one to compromise. He cheated on his wife, who was probably one of the five most desirable women in the world, with Joe DiMaggio's wife, who was without doubt the Most Desirable Woman in the World.
One of Kennedy's convictions was to the legacy of Franklin Roosevelt, that conglomeration of Promises he called the New Deal. His claim that "a rising tide lifts all ships" has become a living eulogy to the New Deal.
Sure, it took FDR a couple swings to get it to work, but consider the debt we owe him for finally getting the ball out of the park. Can any of you imagine an America without real income redistribution? An America where 'the common good' meant 'what's good for me and maybe you'll get yours next time'? An America without the highway system?
I am not a Marxist, but before the New Deal the laboring proletariat were practically enslaved by industrialists. It is possible that the New Deal was meant to stave off the Socialist revolution that might have gobbled up this country had this division continued, but that question is immaterial.
The philosophy of the New Deal can be summed up in one simple sentence: Government should empower the governed. A good government should be like a good parent. Government should encourage the best elements and discourage the worst, not just in society but in every individual.
Kennedy also said something about not asking what our country can do for us. I appreciate the sentiment, particularly at the time, but now we have a different question before us. What must our country do for us? If these nationalist sharks keep running the tank, I, and a legion of concerned citizens with good hearts and good minds will simply leave. I do not want to be a Loser that badly. We will go and become faithful citizens of Another Country, one which enjoys and desires our Talents.
I ask you this: what is the bottom line? At what point will you leave the shark tank? Will you return with a large Boat and Dynamite and Chum?
Some watery-eyed kinder had the misfortune recently of querying your political scientist in residence just why the President was so ardently avoiding an inquiry into his NSA domestic eavesdropping program if he wasn't afraid.
The simple truth is that on this day our President has little to fear. If this Scandal is to result in his timely and entirely deserved Impeachment and undignified return to the land of the Criminally Insane and Free, it will require a total reversal of the political fortunes of this lonely shithole country that so many of us seem so irrationally attached to. That's love, I guess.
Bush is in Deep Shit, no doubt about it. But he has a legion of legislators pushing back the tide. He long ago crossed the threshold beyond which any real political damage would certainly be as fatal as a case of Ebola Zaire delivered in a pint of contaminated blood going Mach 4 through your torso or a crippling Taco Bell problem.
Now the trick, if you're Bush or you like him, is to maintain a careful balance, like on a rope bridge across a chasm full of magma, because his next misstep might well be his last. If, like me, you feel like Genghis Kahn is running the circus, there's only one option. Find a Machete, and hack those ropes to satisfyingly small pieces.
I notice that I still haven't answered my little acquaintances's question, and I'm getting a little unhinged, so I'd better bring the old wagon round. The bottom line is that the American people have, by their nature the ability to follow at any given time precisely one half of one scandal these days.
Eliot Ness, confronted with the mass of conspiracy swirling around Jack Abramoff, might have dropped an almost entirely involuntary load in his drawers. Only about half of Americans have what it takes to deal with pronouncing the man's name. The Bush Administration can, and does rely on a plurality of Americans' uncanny tendency to pass their wide-set gelatin eyes over something, experience an intensely disquieting moment of panic, and then get caught up in the exploits of a neighbor's gastrointestinal tract.
The answer to the retarded question that I got started with today is this: Bush is stalling, because he knows that if he stalls for long enough, he will be out of Office before anyone nails him to the deck for what he's done, just like his Loser father. This might be a more subtle point, but every softheaded chump who goes squirrely just because Darth Cheney shotgunned a friend in the face and then had the Secret Service impede the official Investigation is helping these filthy Swine distract the herd from its impending Doom.
We must stop letting the unscrupulous results of half-botched abortions control the news cycle and stop trying to reframe the debate, and wrap our teeth around these wretched animals' Throats.
Here's the bottom line: Anything coming out of the Beltway that doesn't constitute a capital offense is almost certainly a distraction. Ignore the fact that Cheney shot an old friend of his, regardless of how fishy it is, because we will never string a Vice President up on the White House lawn for such silliness.
Mahalo.
The simple truth is that on this day our President has little to fear. If this Scandal is to result in his timely and entirely deserved Impeachment and undignified return to the land of the Criminally Insane and Free, it will require a total reversal of the political fortunes of this lonely shithole country that so many of us seem so irrationally attached to. That's love, I guess.
Bush is in Deep Shit, no doubt about it. But he has a legion of legislators pushing back the tide. He long ago crossed the threshold beyond which any real political damage would certainly be as fatal as a case of Ebola Zaire delivered in a pint of contaminated blood going Mach 4 through your torso or a crippling Taco Bell problem.
Now the trick, if you're Bush or you like him, is to maintain a careful balance, like on a rope bridge across a chasm full of magma, because his next misstep might well be his last. If, like me, you feel like Genghis Kahn is running the circus, there's only one option. Find a Machete, and hack those ropes to satisfyingly small pieces.
I notice that I still haven't answered my little acquaintances's question, and I'm getting a little unhinged, so I'd better bring the old wagon round. The bottom line is that the American people have, by their nature the ability to follow at any given time precisely one half of one scandal these days.
Eliot Ness, confronted with the mass of conspiracy swirling around Jack Abramoff, might have dropped an almost entirely involuntary load in his drawers. Only about half of Americans have what it takes to deal with pronouncing the man's name. The Bush Administration can, and does rely on a plurality of Americans' uncanny tendency to pass their wide-set gelatin eyes over something, experience an intensely disquieting moment of panic, and then get caught up in the exploits of a neighbor's gastrointestinal tract.
The answer to the retarded question that I got started with today is this: Bush is stalling, because he knows that if he stalls for long enough, he will be out of Office before anyone nails him to the deck for what he's done, just like his Loser father. This might be a more subtle point, but every softheaded chump who goes squirrely just because Darth Cheney shotgunned a friend in the face and then had the Secret Service impede the official Investigation is helping these filthy Swine distract the herd from its impending Doom.
We must stop letting the unscrupulous results of half-botched abortions control the news cycle and stop trying to reframe the debate, and wrap our teeth around these wretched animals' Throats.
Here's the bottom line: Anything coming out of the Beltway that doesn't constitute a capital offense is almost certainly a distraction. Ignore the fact that Cheney shot an old friend of his, regardless of how fishy it is, because we will never string a Vice President up on the White House lawn for such silliness.
Mahalo.
I am declaring today Ineternational Pronoia Day. Speak truth to power. Stay pissed off, or get pissed on.
Sometimes I wish we still had milkmen, only they were hot chicks, and they would come by your house and give you fresh blowjobs first thing in the morning. Nothing else really gets my day going like that.
In other news, I no longer have a bleeding wound in my head.
Sometimes I wish we still had milkmen, only they were hot chicks, and they would come by your house and give you fresh blowjobs first thing in the morning. Nothing else really gets my day going like that.
In other news, I no longer have a bleeding wound in my head.
I am declaring today Ineternational Pronoia Day. Speak truth to power. Stay pissed off, or get pissed on.
Sometimes I wish we still had milkmen, only they were hot chicks, and they would come by your house and give you fresh blowjobs first thing in the morning. Nothing else really gets my day going like that.
In other news, I no longer have a bleeding wound in my head.
Sometimes I wish we still had milkmen, only they were hot chicks, and they would come by your house and give you fresh blowjobs first thing in the morning. Nothing else really gets my day going like that.
In other news, I no longer have a bleeding wound in my head.
Two of my wisdom teeth seem to be coming in right now. The medical term for this is, colorfully, 'eruption.' This term seems more than apt, granted the condition of my mouth parts.
The two 'eruptions' are occurring on the right side of my mouth. Usually, when a tooth comes in through the gum, the gum will produce a relatively small tear to acommodate it. Of course, wisdom teeth are big fuck off molars, so a small tear isn't going to suffice, mais non. You got a big tooth, you're gonna need a big gap in the gum, and that means a big fucking tear has to happen at some point. As of late, I was suffering through having two such rends in my sweet sensitive mouth flesh meats.
At some point last night, they merged. I can't open my mouth comfortably. Having opened it, I can't close it comfortably. I don't have any real food in the house, and it started snowing before I got up, so Portland was pretty well closed. I ate some bad Chinese food earlier, though.
It hurts to talk, so I haven't made the phone call I said I would earlier, and GMail is acting up.
I keep swallowing blood.
The two 'eruptions' are occurring on the right side of my mouth. Usually, when a tooth comes in through the gum, the gum will produce a relatively small tear to acommodate it. Of course, wisdom teeth are big fuck off molars, so a small tear isn't going to suffice, mais non. You got a big tooth, you're gonna need a big gap in the gum, and that means a big fucking tear has to happen at some point. As of late, I was suffering through having two such rends in my sweet sensitive mouth flesh meats.
At some point last night, they merged. I can't open my mouth comfortably. Having opened it, I can't close it comfortably. I don't have any real food in the house, and it started snowing before I got up, so Portland was pretty well closed. I ate some bad Chinese food earlier, though.
It hurts to talk, so I haven't made the phone call I said I would earlier, and GMail is acting up.
I keep swallowing blood.
I'm listening to Ludacris. The signal originates in my Powerbook, and is played by the massive ol' record player in my dining room.
It's snowing.
It's snowing.
So my birthday was a couple weeks ago, and I think I've had enough time to sort of put everything in perspective. There are a few lessons I'd like to relate.
Some folks view strippers and their patrons as paradoxically intertwined. The 'men,' in this conception, objectify the 'women' by staring unabashedly as the 'women' dance and remove their clothes. The 'women' simultaneously degrade the 'men' by retrurning this total lack of human acknowledgement. These people are real, and they're everywhere. I know, I used to be one of them. These people suck.
Strippers rock. They jump around and jiggle their tits and take off their underwear. It's not that they don't really like their patrons, although I'm sure every stripper has run into the bad ones. No no, stripping is all about acting. Thses chicks' job is to portray the hottest, sluttiest, nastiest piece of ass in the city, and in Portland that can be a tough game. But just because these chicks have to play the role of the life of the party doesn't mean they can't actually be pretty cool.
I had lunch with a stripper in Seattle once, though I didn't realize beforehand that she was. I also didn't realize until much later that I had actually been on a date with a stripper. Regardless, she was a really smart, very attractive young woman, who was almost disquietingly well-adjusted. Better adjusted by far, compared to the poo-flinging lab monkeys that go to my school.
I digress: Strippers are awesome. That said, having been really drunk in a strip club for a couple hours, leaving is an experience in itself. It is suddenly quiet, bright, cool, and smoke-free. And suddenly, women will be really impressed when you stare at them. Provided you're a cute young blond boy wearing a grin that says "I just saw the funniest tattoo ever, on the finest piece of tail ever."
Sure, I've learned a thing or two about objectifying women recently, largely from strippers. But I'll never use those gifts on them. What would be the point? They're just performers.
Some folks view strippers and their patrons as paradoxically intertwined. The 'men,' in this conception, objectify the 'women' by staring unabashedly as the 'women' dance and remove their clothes. The 'women' simultaneously degrade the 'men' by retrurning this total lack of human acknowledgement. These people are real, and they're everywhere. I know, I used to be one of them. These people suck.
Strippers rock. They jump around and jiggle their tits and take off their underwear. It's not that they don't really like their patrons, although I'm sure every stripper has run into the bad ones. No no, stripping is all about acting. Thses chicks' job is to portray the hottest, sluttiest, nastiest piece of ass in the city, and in Portland that can be a tough game. But just because these chicks have to play the role of the life of the party doesn't mean they can't actually be pretty cool.
I had lunch with a stripper in Seattle once, though I didn't realize beforehand that she was. I also didn't realize until much later that I had actually been on a date with a stripper. Regardless, she was a really smart, very attractive young woman, who was almost disquietingly well-adjusted. Better adjusted by far, compared to the poo-flinging lab monkeys that go to my school.
I digress: Strippers are awesome. That said, having been really drunk in a strip club for a couple hours, leaving is an experience in itself. It is suddenly quiet, bright, cool, and smoke-free. And suddenly, women will be really impressed when you stare at them. Provided you're a cute young blond boy wearing a grin that says "I just saw the funniest tattoo ever, on the finest piece of tail ever."
Sure, I've learned a thing or two about objectifying women recently, largely from strippers. But I'll never use those gifts on them. What would be the point? They're just performers.
