(Warning: Politics!) I got an email yesterday from an anonymous visitor to this blog site thingy. He/she didn't leave a return address in the "Contact Me" thingy on the right column there. It left only "KS" as an ID. I hate that. The note read:

Hi - I have been reading your posts on and off for two years I think. First saw it on Weblogs.com and clicked randomly. Got into it, bookmarked it, you get the picture. I can't get a handle on you politically. You're neither here nor there, and then you're very much here AND there. So what's your deal?

Well, "KS", (Kensington Simeone? Kevin Smithson? Kaleigh Sanford? Kelvin Stapleton?) I hate politics, although I have to admit I often think politically. I say that to my exhaustion. Modern politics is the ugliest thing we have going. That said, I vote for people, not along party lines. Voting blindly along party lines is, to me, the epitome of ignorance and laziness. I'm still a registered Democrat from my college days as a raging liberal riding the Collegiate Raging Lib Bandwagon, which, by the way, did not, and still does not, come with a steering wheel. It doesn't have brakes, either. The CRLB has only a gas pedal and a horn. A loud horn. But I digress.

You say that I'm all over the place, and that's because I am. I believe that your philosophies of life and living should steer your political leanings. Political platforms shouldn't steer your philosophies. You might think this is obvious, but in my observations, most people coast from one issue to the next, reacting to events as they're presented to them in the media. Evidence of this is all over the political blogosphere—just read the list of comments from any politically-charged entry at The Huffington Post or any other political blog, regardless of its bent. It seems that instead of exercising critical thinking, many people react with their emotions, or with the tide of their peers, or both. Note the fickleness of political polling data. When foundations are not strong, the majority goes whichever way the wind blows.

I get frustrated with the level of dialogue that we hear even in some of our better programs in the media. We should be dealing in terms of right conduct, as laid out by the best thinkers of our species. Important political debates should sound like pages from the writings of Plato and Aristotle. Instead, even our presidential debates are full of vapid rhetoric, embarrassing smears, gaffe traps, and opportunistic freshman debate tactics. (I don't know about you, but I came away from the last election's debates feeling like our country has been dumbed down to a doornail.)

If you listen to the positions that typify the left and right, you'll hear blatant incongruencies in both of them. Neither of our two major political parties adhere to a consistent philosophy. Interests have pulled at them so much over time that they're shapeless and wan. I dare say that if you pull party line levers every time you enter that booth, you stopped thinking at some point.

So, I can't really tell you where I am politically. Fortunately or unfortunately, there's no label for it. I like to think that my core beliefs are rooted in logic, historic and scientific facts, and good ol' common sense. First, I think that the most powerful political statement ever written is that famous line from the American Declaration of Independence:

"We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness."

I believe that the primary role of government is to protect its citizens from those who would violate those unalienable rights, not to hand out checks, run health care, or create programs of dependency. To let us be ourselves, while doing no harm to others. (No, this does NOT mean that I don't back programs that support the truly needy.) This might make you want to slap a conservative sticker on my lapel. But I also think that the decades-long war on drugs is the most wasteful and idiotic prohibition humankind has ever unleashed on a society. That might make you want to slap a liberal sticker on my forehead. I don't subscribe to any religion, and I believe that we'll learn more about ourselves through science than we ever will through belief. That might also make you want to lump me into the left. I believe that free market capitalism is the best social system ever created. But it could be better if we stopped lowering educational standards so that more people could learn to benefit from the system. That probably sounds conservative. But wait! Amending the Constitution to prohibit homosexual marriage is one of the worst ideas of the last ten years, and I think Ann Coulter is an annoying egomaniacal bitch! Liberal, right? Point being that the lines we draw between ourselves are just plain goofy. Well, not the lines themselves, but the drawing of the lines. You know what I mean.

Anyway, you asked, "What's your deal?" I hope I answered your question.

Labels: politics

Like clockwork I can count on having the same anxious dream about twice a year. I'm in high school or college, not sure which, and I'm enrolled in a class that I've been skipping with reckless abandon for weeks. I learn that the deadline for dropping the class without penalty has come and gone, and am now forced to jump in way behind and do the best I can, or just bag it and accept the F. I always wake up before I make a decision.

I know, I know, this isn't really unique in the world of anxiety dreams. You can find variations of this dream told in zillions of sites on the Web, if not in your own head. And I think most of the posited explanations are bullshit. I've tried Jungian amplification, but my wakeful imagination flips the bird at that sort of thing and just takes over the scene, usually to comic effect. Many people are inclined to give great meaning to dreams such as this, but I'm more comfortable with the notion that it's just sort of an electrochemical purging of some kind. As if the unconscious brain freely activates regions associated with our basic emotions, and those regions fire off electrochemical messages to other regions that store past anxieties and experiences, thus producing a re-run.

I don't know.

But I'm also inclined to believe this because our adult psychology is predominantly rooted in childhood and adolescence. So it makes sense that we dream these youthful, archetypal experiences over and over again while the mind is idle and undirected. I'll keep wondering about it, though. The other day, while catching a much needed nap thanks to Das Füssmeister, I had the I have a part in a play but I blew it off and now it's showtime dream. I was never in a play. Never tried out for a part. Never dug the stage.

But there I was, trembling offstage behind the curtains. Of course, I woke up before they opened. Why are dreams such a tease, anyway? Can't I get to see myself bomb the show one of these nights?

Labels: at home

Hilarious. An Onion Parody from February, 2004, predicted Gillette's 5-blade razor. Is a 6-blade razor inevitable? Seven? When does it end, and how does the Razor War ultimately end? Gillette's Fusion Web site is so ridiculously over-the-top you might think it's a parody of itself, but I don't think so. No, someone thought it was clever. Philips, on the other hand, does make fun of itself cleverly in its latest ad campaign.

But I'll stick to my primitive 3-blade technology.

Labels: advertising

Most analysts and commentators have likened Tiger Woods to Jack Nicklaus and Phil Mickelson to Arnold Palmer, and it's obvious why. Like Jack in his prime, Tiger has the best set of golf brains on the planet. Everybody on tour can bomb it, everybody can hit this shot or that shot, but nobody can out-think or out-will Tiger on a golf course, particularly in a major, and especially when he has a lead in a major.

And like Arnie in his prime, Phil has played the role of everyman. He wears a giant scarlet letter F on his shirt; he's the consummately fallible guy who makes the same kinds of mistakes weekend duffers like me make—missed 3-footers, going for the low-percentage shot, hitting the "big dog" when a safe 3-wood is the smarter shot, etc. Arnie had built himself a reputation for giving (some) tournaments away, too.

But like Phil, Arnie was loved. Nicklaus was too, but it wasn't quite the same, and it wasn't as universal. To many, Nicklaus was merely respected. I think that's mostly a product of being the best in the world at anything. Getting to that pinnacle means that you haven't revealed as much human fallibility as the next guy, or the next guy, or the next guy, etc. To be loved, you had better show some vulnerability. Jack was the best, but he wouldn't let you in quite like Arnie did, or like Phil does. Jack was just like Tiger.

Tiger is the best golfer in the world, and probably the best of all time, but that's an appellation we can't officially give him until he's bested Nicklaus' record 18 major wins. But Tiger has always kept us at arm's length. He doesn't reveal much in interviews, keeps his private life tight as a drum, and shies away from revealing opinions of any kind. He's a victory machine. A victory machine with a hot wife.

But today, after his last putt dropped to win the British Open for the 3rd time, he did something that I believe will propel him past respect toward admiration and love—he broke down in front of millions of viewers. Those were deep sobs into Elin's shoulders, not just glassy victory eyes.

Sure, he cried a bit in his father's arms at the 1997 Masters, but he was a kid then. He's a man now—a man in real pain despite his superhero stature. If you know what it's like to lose a parent, then you know that losing a parent makes no sense. The bewilderment of their absence can last a long time, and you never quite get it. For me, Tiger just took on a whole new persona. You just have to love the guy.

Labels: commentary

"Finches on Galapagos Islands evolving." Creationists are going to have to become more...creative...instead of relying on non-scientific arguments and the trusted old, "devils did it" fallback.

If you can't handle a quick pat-down at a stadium event, and you have to go crying to the ACLU, then just stay the hell at home 24/7 and suck your thumb, asshole.

" Mystic mushrooms spawn magic event" Uh, yea. I know a few people who could have told you this a long time ago. And any anthropologist worth his salt could have told you that religions have been based on psychotropic hallucinations for *millennia*. So why is this written as discovery?

That Wisconsin professor who teaches a course based on the premise that the U.S. government was behind 9/11 is under attack. And he deserves to be. I've listened to his paranoid thesis. It's embarrassing. To him, that is. For example, he claims that the towers fell as they did because they were "clearly taken down in a controlled demolition." Well, gee, Mr. Barrett, before you fill innocent minds with that shit, maybe you should consult with the actual engineers of the WTC, who were afraid that it might happen as soon as they heard that the buildings were hit where they were hit. Thousands of engineers reviewed the rubble, ran the science, and determined that what we've been told happened is precisely what happened. PBS/Nova will be covering the investigation thoroughly. Besides, if there had been a controlled demolition, any demolition expert would tell you that clear, obvious signs of it would be all over the rubble. There could not possibly be any way to hide such a thing, especially with so many engineers and forensic scientists on site.

The best course I ever took in college was on the paranormal. I'm all for unconventional courses. But bad science and conspiracy theories rooted in politics have no business in the classroom. This guy is an idiot. An idiot who speaks well. Dangerous combination.

Speaking of the ACLU, this Onion headline and story is hilarious.

Back in 1985, or possibly 86 (Ty?) my friend Tyler and I were staying at his gramma's humble home in East Hampton for a lazy week of beaching and hoping yet failing to meet some chicks also on vacation. One night we figured we'd catch a movie. If memory serves, that movie was Ferris Bueller's Day Off (Ty?), but that's irrelevant. While standing in line, we realized that Chevy Chase was in line right in front of us. He was a lot taller than we'd figured. Tyler's face turned a beet red shade of holy shit. I mean, hey...it's Fletch, for god's sake.

Chevy turned toward our chuckling and whispering, and when he did, we looked up at his face and he quickly said, rudely, what's your problem? (With the emphasis on the "what's"), and then mumbled to himself, before grabbing his girlfriend/spouse/whatever, walking out of the line, and on his way off, saying to us sarcastically, "big party at my place, come on over." It was our first direct encounter with celebrity, and it made no sense whatsoever. Ty and I stood there looking at each other, hoping that the other would have some idea as to what had just happened. No such luck.

So I wasn't surprised to read this story, which doesn't really say much, but is consistent with the read I had on him. A somewhat bitter has-been with nothing really good to say about anyone. I had always liked Chevy Chase, but I never looked at him the same after that incident. He had stopped being funny by then anyway.

I'm so glad there are people out there with some basic editing equipment and lots of time on their hands. These guys culled snippets of James Earl Jones' great voice from several of his films and used it to re-create scenes from Star Wars. I like the second one, but they both have their moments...I doubt you'll ask for these few minutes back.

Today, the world's focus is on the war in the Middle East, the other war in the Middle East, the war of words in the Middle East, the insanity of the North Korean government, another tsunami in Indonesia, one of the worst U.S. heat waves of all times, more depravity and corruption in New Orleans, and a stock market that some claim has broken down into Bear Market mode due to fear and the Fed. CNN tried to throw visitors to their front page a bone with this gem: "Brad Pitt says fatherhood is 'a true joy'". Gee, thanks CNN. Now that Brad has said it, our feelings are validated.

So, if you have any good news, today would be a good time to share it.

Then you'll probably agree that this clip from Family Guy is hilarious. The out-of-nowhere absurdity gave me a sore stomach. This couldn't possibly be funny to somebody who didn't grow up with those Kool Aid commercials assaulting them every Saturday morning. I don't think Kool Aid uses a giant pitcher with a face as a pitchman anymore, but I could be wrong; I haven't watched Saturday morning cartoons for about fifteen years. What's the point, if the world is too fuggin politically correct for Looney Toons? I stumbled on this video, and it makes me think that I really need to start watching this Family Guy show. I've been told by enough trusted sources, but I keep forgetting to record it.

I'd say something about Calvin & Hobbes...y'know, something like how it was a diamond in a pit of coal, and how most every other cartoonist published on the not-so-funny pages should bow in servility and apologize for their relative mediocrity, but this page does all that well enough. Thanks for the link, Todd.

Labels: neat-o

This is a toughie. How do you choose between Freak accident sends Hasselhoff to surgery, More human heads found in Acapulco, or Operation to remove light bulb from inmate's anus...?

So my firewall tells me it's time to renew my subscription. So I take its hand and follow it to the upgrade site, where I enter my info and check out. The page has no information about obtaining a copy of a receipt, nor does it indicate that I'll receive an email receipt when the transaction is done. So I figure I'd print the page just in case. And what do I get? The entire fuggin page printed out. Not just the relevant receipt of transaction information, but the navigation bar, all the fine print, all the colors, everything.

You might be thinking, "so what?" Well, if the Web manager for this company had a fraction of a clue, he'd tell his Web wonks to create a print style sheet so that they won't waste user's color ink for no good reason, and to prevent completely irrelevant information from being printed. How useful is a navigation bar on a piece of paper? It should never come out with the print job.

Sad thing is, all browsers had this capability built-in circa 2000. So there's no excuse for not using print style sheets, particularly for a company that produces pages that are likely to be printed by their users. A multi-billion dollar company that produces pages that are likely to be printed by their users.

What's doubly sad is, it would take me about an hour to fix this issue for them. It would require about, meh...5 lines of CSS code. Tops. So why does this major U.S. company NOT write a print style sheet for this and other pages to ensure that their users get optimal print outs free of irrelevance and ink waste? Because the majority of Web site managers haven't a clue.

You might think this is an overreaction. It's not. I'm underreacting.

Labels: commentary

So much buildup, so much hype. So many people around the world glued to the tele. Rabid fandom beyond anything we're used to with football or hockey or whatever. One month of hype and games, and how does it end? Fittingly. The World Cup Fuggin Final came down to what? Penalty shots? In a game in which scoring chances are as rare as a perfect analogy, the victor is decided by giving a player a free kick, some 15 feet in front of the net?! Are you kidding me?

Soccer goalies already have it tough. They have to mind a net as big as a barn. On penalty shots, the best they can do is guess the 50/50 shot that the ball is going left or right. Half the goals scored, however, went straight at the goalie's standing position as he dove away in the direction of his guess. You'd think that this would mean the goalie has a 33% shot of guessing it right if he just stands still, but apparently they never do. I'd put a goalie's chance at stopping a penalty shot at 15%, and that's mainly based on kicker error. The World Cup was decided not because of a great save, but because a Frenchman's kick hit the crossbar. (ZUT ALORS!)

The game ended with a sad and pathetic whimper. Sad and pathetic like the countless players who fell down and cringed and rolled around as if shot by an elephant gun, only to get up and smile once the foul was given to the offending player. Sad and pathetic like the stretchers brought out for every twisted ankle, every bumped toe, every poked eye. Yes, a stretcher was indeed brought out for a guy who was poked in the eye. He even got on it and was carried off. Can you tell I don't like soccer? Soccer fans should watch what hockey players do when they get cross-checked to the back of the head by a guy crushing him into the boards at 15 mph. They should take note at how every hockey team has a resident dentist at every game, and having teeth knocked out only means missing a few shifts while the repair work is done.

I won't be waiting impatiently for World Cup 2010.

Labels: commentary