This is my blog. I speak for no one but myself here. The words I write, the images I post, and the articles I link to interest no one but me. I stand by what I put here, however, it is not a reflection of time, effort, or particular care. I just want a clearinghouse of what does interest me and a space to spout out poorly written and thoughtout rants. Consider this a disclaimer.
I hate this guy. I really do. He has no honor and his embrace of politically expedient issues as opposed to having an overriding political philosophy (look at him as the West Coast Spitzer, but Spitzer had some credentials, and was the Attorney General before he was Governor, while this guy just f***s his best friend's wife and is Mayor of one of the least appealing cities in North America) makes him perfect to be the next Governor of California.
The shadowy craters near the south pole of the Moon may be the coldest places in the solar system, colder than even Pluto, NASAscientists reported Thursday as they unveiled some of the first findings from the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter spacecraft.(NY Times via Gawker)
This is not true. I have been told by a number of people that the coldest place in the solar system is where my heart once was.
Book: What are we up to, sweetheart? River Tam: Fixing your Bible. Book: I, um... [alarmed] Book: What? River Tam: Bible's broken. Contradictions, false logistics - doesn't make sense. [she's marked up the bible, crossed out passages and torn out pages] Book: No, no. You-you-you can't... River Tam: So we'll integrate non-progressional evolution theory with God's creation of Eden. Eleven inherent metaphoric parallels already there. Eleven. Important number. Prime number. One goes into the house of eleven eleven times, but always comes out one. Noah's ark is a problem. Book: Really? River Tam: We'll have to call it early quantum state phenomenon. Only way to fit 5000 species of mammal on the same boat. [rips out page]
David Rakoff's version of this on TAL was wonderful. A turtle was happily swimming along a river when a scorpion hailed it from the shore.
"Dear friend turtle!" called the scorpion. "Please let me climb upon your back and swim me to the other side of the river!"
"No," replied the turtle, "for if I do, you shall sting me, and I shall die."
"Nonsense!" replied the scorpion. "If I kill you in the middle of the river, you shall sink, and I shall drown and die with you."
The turtle thought this over, and saw the truth of the scorpion's statement. He let it upon his back and began swimming towards the other side of the river. Halfway across, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck.
"Why have you stung me?!" cried the turtle as his body began to stiffen. "Now you shall die as well!"
"Because it is in my nature," replied the scorpion as the turtle sank beneath the waters.
Now, I will admit to being a complete douchebag, especially when it comes to women. I am often crass, rude, and indifferent. However, there are limits to what constitutes douchebaggery.
Now, I was outside talking to a couple of friends, including someone who I used to work with, while my housemate was inside and talking to a guy. When we came back in, she seemed to be having a good conversation but after a moment she shot me a look that as part incredulous, part fear.
I walked over to ask her if she needed to be backed up, and as I did this, the guy walked away to use the men's room.
My housemate was...in a word...freaked.
'He asked me if I wanted to see his c**k*" "Just like that?" "Yes. Who does that?"
Now, what would you have done? I am honestly interested because I don't think I overreacted. I did what I would want men to do for my sister, my friends, et cetera...
I walked into the men's room.
He watched me walked in.
His words were "Don't knock me out."
Now, if he was afraid that I was going to knock him out why did he act in such a way? Drinking isn't an excuse. As an adult, you need to own your behavior, especially when you are drinking. He didn't think his behavior through, said something kind of (kind of? really) douchey and then waited to get hit.
I did convince (forced) him to apologize to my housemate.
And he did...at one point saying that he deserved to "have (his) ass kicked."
The image of Obama as the Joker from The Dark Knight has been taken up as a badge of the Beckian right's battle against what it perceives as seeping socialism. But the irony is that nobody could be more like that Joker character than Beck himself. In the film, the Joker says, "Do I really look like a guy with a plan? You know what I am? I'm a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it. You know, I just… do things." And of him, Alfred says, "Because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn." Now, is there anyone on the national platform that that describes more than Glenn Beck, a man who bills himself as a comedian? Barack Obama, Racism, and the Internet
St. Crispen's Day Speech William Shakespeare, 1599
Enter the KING
WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day!
KING. What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin; If we are mark'd to die, we are enow To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more methinks would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse; We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.