(original post-date: November 3, 2010)
In the interest of full disclosure, I will confess that I am not writing this on Wednesday morning. Rather, it’s Tuesday night, and I’ve got the TV on in the other room. I’m listening with my left ear as I type with both hands. My mind is taking things in as I put things out. Call me versatile.
As with most years, I have been intrigued by the campaigns and rallies that have led up to this day of voting. In college, I majored in Poli-Sci, and electoral politics always held my interest most. Electoral politics reflect a combination of so many things: the personalities of elected officials and those who would like to hold office; the mood of the nation; the mood of individual groups within the nation; the economy; the income classes; the tragic tenacity of racism; what’s happening around the world; hopes and dreams; frustrations and difficulties.
This electoral season has been phenomenal on all those fronts. And what is abundantly clear is that a whole lot of people are pissed off. I’ve been sharing a quip for a few months now: if we Californians reinstate “Governor Moonbeam” as our chief executive, and if we simultaneously legalize marijuana, then make your moving plans. Please join me on the West Coast as we await the apocalypse.
That’s a joke, but the sentiment underlying it is not. Our country is having a serious meltdown. It actually might be a good idea for us to gather together around a fire, load up a very large bong, and sing Kumbaya for a while.
What concerns me most about the current angst is that it seems people are putting all the blame on the present. And, in my opinion, that is a huge mistake.
A lot of what is messed up today goes back to Reagan and deregulation. There also are the travesties of the first eight years of the current century…
I was on Amazon the other day, and I noticed their large advertisement for a book that will be released on November 9th. George W. Bush’s Decision Points.
I immediately questioned the title. Shouldn’t it be called Decidering Points?
As I thought about it, I realized there are many possibilities for the title of Dubya’s memoir…
How about Moments When Dick Cheney Told Me What to Do… ?
No? Okay then, here’s another option: How I Came to Support Halliburton While Hopin’ to Please Ol’ Pappy.
What do you mean you don’t like that one?
Too wordy, you say?
Alright then, how about My Delusion Continues.
Yeah, I agree, that might give him too much credit for introspection.
Of course, something extremely direct might be refreshing. Like… Check Out All These Ways I Fucked Up!
And here’s one that’s sort of obtuse: A Spine is a Terrible Thing to Waste.
(By which I’m speaking from the perspective of a librarian, not an anatomist.)
Update from my left ear: the news station I am listening to has projected Jerry Brown for governor.
Can you imagine spending $141 million in pursuit of a job and NOT getting it?
If tonight’s projections hold true tomorrow, then that’s what Meg Whitman did.
Everybody should be angry about that waste of too-much-money.
And if you think about it... and if you do so without partisan prejudice or any other ‘ism’s that might influence your perspective, you will realize that you cannot logically blame the obscene scenario of Whitman’s campaign on the Obama administration.
You just can’t.
Showing posts with label Dick Cheney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dick Cheney. Show all posts
Monday, October 31, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Scare Tactics
At the risk of offending you and/or causing you to worry, I will begin with a confession: I smoke.
I have smoked for more than quite a few years, and although I stopped for a while twice, the stopping didn’t take.
When I did stop, though, it wasn’t all that difficult, and I believe the ease with which I quit (however temporarily) was directly related to my strong desire to do so. I am eminently stubborn. I do what I do when I want to do it. That includes smoking, and that includes quitting.
I’ve been a little off-put (a “little?” – make that, A LOT) by all the recent legislation that puts us smokers in the realm of second-class citizenry. Yes, I know it’s bad. (How could I not know that?) But, banning smoking from outdoor areas of Los Angeles restaurants?
Imagine the scene:
“No, sir,” the West Hollywood waiter says, “I’m sorry. You can’t smoke out here. But, when you’ve paid for those five martinis, the valet will be ‘round with your car. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy inhaling the exhaust fumes from Sunset Boulevard.”
In my opinion, there are three things wrong with that picture. I defy you not to agree with me about two of them.
And recently, I also was dismayed to learn that my beloved New York City has nary a smoking section. Not in the whole city!
Seriously?
God, I must be a dirty, awful person. I don’t even know how I get out of bed in the morning!
Okay, so the latest is the plan for cigarette packaging. I’m sure you’ve heard about it by now. Beginning on some date in the not-too-distant future, a full third of cigarette packages will feature graphic photographs of the ugly truths: mouth cancer, chest incisions, tracheotomies. I’ve been thinking ahead, and my plan is to do one of two things – cover the photographs with duct tape or transfer the cigarettes into tamer packages that I’ll start squirreling away as the launch date approaches.
Seriously, I’m not carrying those photos around with me. I could just as easily tape a photograph of a bad car wreck onto my steering wheel…
So, yes, I’m one of those stubborn people who isn’t going to quit when the new packaging comes out.
And, yes, I’m not alone.
My knowing I’m not the only one was confirmed several weeks ago during the final segment of NPR’s Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me. The show’s host, Peter Sagal, posed a question to the three panelists – a question they would answer after the break. He asked (and I’m paraphrasing here): When the graphic cigarette packaging doesn’t get people to quit, what will they try next?
The panelists’ responses were fairly amusing, but not so amusing as to make me remember them... Besides, I was a little distracted in the moment. Because, just in that moment, I realized what would make me quit.
Bush and Cheney.
Seriously.
If the tobacco companies put photographs of either George W. Bush or Dick Cheney on cigarette packages, I would not buy them. Because the idea of paying money for a picture of either of those two bastards absolutely riles me.
I just couldn’t do it.
I just couldn’t.
And so, my non-smoking friends, if you’re worried about my habit and want to take action to put me on the road to recovery, write letters to the appropriate persons-in-charge. Suggest the Bush/Cheney packaging. It may not do the trick for other smokers, but I guarantee you, that’s the sure-fire way to get me to quit for good!
I have smoked for more than quite a few years, and although I stopped for a while twice, the stopping didn’t take.
When I did stop, though, it wasn’t all that difficult, and I believe the ease with which I quit (however temporarily) was directly related to my strong desire to do so. I am eminently stubborn. I do what I do when I want to do it. That includes smoking, and that includes quitting.
I’ve been a little off-put (a “little?” – make that, A LOT) by all the recent legislation that puts us smokers in the realm of second-class citizenry. Yes, I know it’s bad. (How could I not know that?) But, banning smoking from outdoor areas of Los Angeles restaurants?
Imagine the scene:
“No, sir,” the West Hollywood waiter says, “I’m sorry. You can’t smoke out here. But, when you’ve paid for those five martinis, the valet will be ‘round with your car. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy inhaling the exhaust fumes from Sunset Boulevard.”
In my opinion, there are three things wrong with that picture. I defy you not to agree with me about two of them.
And recently, I also was dismayed to learn that my beloved New York City has nary a smoking section. Not in the whole city!
Seriously?
God, I must be a dirty, awful person. I don’t even know how I get out of bed in the morning!
Okay, so the latest is the plan for cigarette packaging. I’m sure you’ve heard about it by now. Beginning on some date in the not-too-distant future, a full third of cigarette packages will feature graphic photographs of the ugly truths: mouth cancer, chest incisions, tracheotomies. I’ve been thinking ahead, and my plan is to do one of two things – cover the photographs with duct tape or transfer the cigarettes into tamer packages that I’ll start squirreling away as the launch date approaches.
Seriously, I’m not carrying those photos around with me. I could just as easily tape a photograph of a bad car wreck onto my steering wheel…
So, yes, I’m one of those stubborn people who isn’t going to quit when the new packaging comes out.
And, yes, I’m not alone.
My knowing I’m not the only one was confirmed several weeks ago during the final segment of NPR’s Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me. The show’s host, Peter Sagal, posed a question to the three panelists – a question they would answer after the break. He asked (and I’m paraphrasing here): When the graphic cigarette packaging doesn’t get people to quit, what will they try next?
The panelists’ responses were fairly amusing, but not so amusing as to make me remember them... Besides, I was a little distracted in the moment. Because, just in that moment, I realized what would make me quit.
Bush and Cheney.
Seriously.
If the tobacco companies put photographs of either George W. Bush or Dick Cheney on cigarette packages, I would not buy them. Because the idea of paying money for a picture of either of those two bastards absolutely riles me.
I just couldn’t do it.
I just couldn’t.
And so, my non-smoking friends, if you’re worried about my habit and want to take action to put me on the road to recovery, write letters to the appropriate persons-in-charge. Suggest the Bush/Cheney packaging. It may not do the trick for other smokers, but I guarantee you, that’s the sure-fire way to get me to quit for good!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Morning After
In the interest of full disclosure, I will confess that I am not writing this on Wednesday morning. Rather, it’s Tuesday night, and I’ve got the TV on in the other room. I’m listening with my left ear as I type with both hands. My mind is taking things in as I put things out. Call me versatile.
As with most years, I have been intrigued by the campaigns and rallies that have led up to this day of voting. In college, I majored in Poli-Sci, and electoral politics always held my interest most. Electoral politics reflect a combination of so many things: the personalities of elected officials and those who would like to hold office; the mood of the nation; the mood of individual groups within the nation; the economy; the income classes; the tragic tenacity of racism; what’s happening around the world; hopes and dreams; frustrations and difficulties.
This electoral season has been phenomenal on all those fronts. And what is abundantly clear is that a whole lot of people are pissed off. I’ve been sharing a quip for a few months now: if we Californians reinstate “Governor Moonbeam” as our chief executive, and if we simultaneously legalize marijuana, then make your moving plans. Please join me on the West Coast as we await the apocalypse.
That’s a joke, but the sentiment underlying it is not. Our country is having a serious meltdown. It actually might be a good idea for us to gather together around a fire, load up a very large bong, and sing Kumbaya for a while.
What concerns me most about the current angst is that it seems people are putting all the blame on the present. And, in my opinion, that is a huge mistake.
A lot of what is messed up today goes back to Reagan and deregulation. There also are the travesties of the first eight years of the current century…
I was on Amazon the other day, and I noticed their large advertisement for a book that will be released on November 9th. George W. Bush’s Decision Points.
I immediately questioned the title. Shouldn’t it be called Decidering Points?
As I thought about it, I realized there are many possibilities for the title of Dubya’s memoir…
How about Moments When Dick Cheney Told Me What to Do… ?
No? Okay then, here’s another option: How I Came to Support Halliburton While Hopin’ to Please Ol’ Pappy.
What do you mean you don’t like that one?
Too wordy, you say?
Alright then, how about My Delusion Continues.
Yeah, I agree, that might give him too much credit for introspection.
Of course, something extremely direct might be refreshing. Like… Check Out All These Ways I Fucked Up!
And here’s one that’s sort of obtuse: A Spine is a Terrible Thing to Waste.
(By which I’m speaking from the perspective of a librarian, not an anatomist.)
Update from my left ear: the news station I am listening to has projected Jerry Brown for governor.
Can you imagine spending $141 million in pursuit of a job and NOT getting it?
If tonight’s projections hold true tomorrow, then that’s what Meg Whitman did.
Everybody should be angry about that waste of too-much-money.
And if you think about it... and if you do so without partisan prejudice or any other ‘ism’s that might influence your perspective, you will realize that you cannot logically blame the obscene scenario of Whitman’s campaign on the Obama administration.
You just can’t.
As with most years, I have been intrigued by the campaigns and rallies that have led up to this day of voting. In college, I majored in Poli-Sci, and electoral politics always held my interest most. Electoral politics reflect a combination of so many things: the personalities of elected officials and those who would like to hold office; the mood of the nation; the mood of individual groups within the nation; the economy; the income classes; the tragic tenacity of racism; what’s happening around the world; hopes and dreams; frustrations and difficulties.
This electoral season has been phenomenal on all those fronts. And what is abundantly clear is that a whole lot of people are pissed off. I’ve been sharing a quip for a few months now: if we Californians reinstate “Governor Moonbeam” as our chief executive, and if we simultaneously legalize marijuana, then make your moving plans. Please join me on the West Coast as we await the apocalypse.
That’s a joke, but the sentiment underlying it is not. Our country is having a serious meltdown. It actually might be a good idea for us to gather together around a fire, load up a very large bong, and sing Kumbaya for a while.
What concerns me most about the current angst is that it seems people are putting all the blame on the present. And, in my opinion, that is a huge mistake.
A lot of what is messed up today goes back to Reagan and deregulation. There also are the travesties of the first eight years of the current century…
I was on Amazon the other day, and I noticed their large advertisement for a book that will be released on November 9th. George W. Bush’s Decision Points.
I immediately questioned the title. Shouldn’t it be called Decidering Points?
As I thought about it, I realized there are many possibilities for the title of Dubya’s memoir…
How about Moments When Dick Cheney Told Me What to Do… ?
No? Okay then, here’s another option: How I Came to Support Halliburton While Hopin’ to Please Ol’ Pappy.
What do you mean you don’t like that one?
Too wordy, you say?
Alright then, how about My Delusion Continues.
Yeah, I agree, that might give him too much credit for introspection.
Of course, something extremely direct might be refreshing. Like… Check Out All These Ways I Fucked Up!
And here’s one that’s sort of obtuse: A Spine is a Terrible Thing to Waste.
(By which I’m speaking from the perspective of a librarian, not an anatomist.)
Update from my left ear: the news station I am listening to has projected Jerry Brown for governor.
Can you imagine spending $141 million in pursuit of a job and NOT getting it?
If tonight’s projections hold true tomorrow, then that’s what Meg Whitman did.
Everybody should be angry about that waste of too-much-money.
And if you think about it... and if you do so without partisan prejudice or any other ‘ism’s that might influence your perspective, you will realize that you cannot logically blame the obscene scenario of Whitman’s campaign on the Obama administration.
You just can’t.
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