Words... Words...

Here's a headline I probably would have edited.

I don't know what I'm to say, I'll say it anyway

Hey, Mr. President, what the hell are you doing?

Let's give you the benefit of the doubt, maybe you weren't saying that your bowling performance was like the "Special Olympics", you were saying it was like the special "Olympics", you know, because the Olympics only comes around every 4 years and therefore its special.  And for retards.

Why don't you stick to interviews with Andy Katz where you fill out a comically sized NCAA tournament bracket and pretend that your final four picks aren't politically motivated.

What the hell is going on with Igoogle?

Last week as I was watching my vast stock portfolio dwindle away from my google homepage, I noticed that Celine Dion's face adorned the top banner.  Revolted and a little woozy, I made note of it.

So, the next day, Celine Dion was back, giving a come hither look that had the same effect on me as chemical castration.  And then the next day, and the next day.

Today, I get Faith Hill??  

Now at least Faith Hill is hot, but what in my browsing habits is giving google the notion that this is what I'm interested in?  Or, is Google just putting these images everywhere?

He beat me... Straight up

Yesterday, to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, I ran a 5k road race in my neighborhood in Somerville.  It started at 11:00am and I was enjoying my first Guinness by 11:45.  I then drank for 11 hours.

The race itself was great; 4000 people ran and the weather cooperated.  I ran my best pace time ever.  At about mile 2, however, something bizarre happened, coincidentally as we ran right past my apartment.  At mile 2, I was passed by a man in a lime green body suit.

As this mass flew past me on my left, I audibly screamed, "No way", letting my fellow runners that I was not going to get beat by this... thing.  So, I upshifted and started running as fast as I possibly could for several hundred feet, and kept pace with him as we started the final hill of the run.

Well, he must have had some extra fuel in the tank because he absolutely took off, vanishing into the crowd ahead of me and not reappearing until after the race had ended.  I had a lot of questions... should I give up recreational running?  Should I give up going anywhere in public? How was he able to see -- that suit had no eye holes???

After crossing the finish line, I made my way through the crowd and towards the bar, and passed a man in a bear costume, and overheard another runner saying, "Well, at least I beat the bear..."

A man in a bear costume also beat me?  I couldn't, and didn't accept that.  Since the bear never passed me on the course, I will just assume that he started way before me and that we had at least comparable finish time.  Unfortunately, there is no way to confirm that as the results page don't list the bear and I don't know his real name.

This was not my most embarrassing "Passed by a costume" experience -- in December on a race on the same course, right around the same point I was passed by a man in giant gingerbread man costume, at least 6 and a half feet tall.  He was carrying a 3 foot long candy cane.

Yeah he is!

Vulgar, when brought to light

Hahahaha, abortion.

I hate Foxnews.  If they're trying for a funny headline, my two suggestions would 1) be funny and 2) don't talk about abortion.  Maybe a sports joke, something like: "It's curtains for Steele"  or "Steele curtained?".  Perhaps a food pun: "Steele Cutlet".  I got loads of these.

And so it goes

The big news of the day?  The political sham relationship between Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston has ended.

"I still hate you."

Ah yes, the fairy tale engagement, which only happened because John McCain for some reason chose Sarah Palin as his running mate, is over.  Bristol Palin can go back to caring for her son (and perhaps her other son), and Levi Johnston can go back to doing whatever people do in Alaska, I don't know, fish?

Throughout all of this nonsense during the campaign, I think I felt the worst for Levi Johnston and Bristol Palin (well probably Trigg, actually).  Here are two teenagers who have sex like all teenagers do (except me) and whoops, they get pregnant.  What then should have been a completely private matter between the two of them and some sled dogs becomes a national news story; they are no longer allowed to decide if they want to keep the baby and are forced to marry probably the first person they've ever slept with.

For political purposes, this chucklehead Levi Johnston gets paraded around the RNC as an example of I have no idea what, and every move this guy makes is pretty much dictated to him for three months because he had sex with his girlfriend.  Then, the campaign ends, the baby is born, and he can go back to his hockey.  

The tumult that political children go through is pretty much never-ending; Chelsea Clinton went through a pubescent nightmare in front of the country among others.  But Bristol Palin?  What could she have ever expected in terms of press and notoriety, a photographer snapping a picture of her having some spiked cider at the Iditarod?  She wasn't groomed like the Bush daughters and Chelsea Clinton were, always having to be on guard and always knowing there was a next step up.

Ah, young love... oh, wait, I mean young fucking.  That's right, young fucking.

Oh, name

While the seemingly never-ending parade of rejected Obama nominees (Daschle, Gregg, El Gobernardo Gordo cona una barba) has proven to be a messy thorn in the President's side, he has come through the cabinet process relatively unscathed, which is great because he needs all of the political capital he can muster to take money from white men and give it to illegal day laborers.

I was ok with the losses of Daschle, etc... but after the withdrawal of intelligence chief pick Chas Freeman, I am inconsolable.  How can Americans go on after they realize they have been denied the opportunity to have a guy named Chas at the highest echelons of government?

He could have worn a leather jacket.  He could have bullied the young aides in the White House Press Office.  He could have made Jill Biden uncomfortable.  Where will we go for the Obama adminstration douchebag?

Oh, right, Rahm Emmanuel.

Lost song of the day

- The Swingin' Medallions  -- "Double Shot (Of my baby's love)" off Double Shot

  My mother probably has the best musical taste of anyone I know.  She raised me on the The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, CCR, Crosby Stills Nash and Young, Bob Dylan, and Fleetwood Mac, but she wasn't at all stuck in the 60's and 70's.  She constantly bought new folk and rock albums and would stay up to watch Conan O'Brien for the musical guests.  While her musical tastes kept evolving, she remained rooted: she has always been convinced that The Who and the Kinks are the best rock bands in history.  I feel like my love of music, of lyrics and intonation, of energy, came from her, so when I hear both old and new music I'll often think of her and think about whether or not she would like it.

  These guidelines she set for me also meant that I missed out on a lot of music growing up -- she never listened to Bruce Springsteen or David Bowie.  Two years ago I called her specifically to ask her why she never played any Velvet Underground.  So those would all come to me later.

   My father, on the other hand, stopped accepting new music into his brain sometime in 1969.  He listened to the Beach Boys, and Tom Rush, and early Beatles.  The latest song I've ever heard him really like was "The Weight" by the Band, which is fair because it's probably just about the best song ever recorded.  Because his car radio was glued to the Oldies station for my entire childhood, and there was such a limited catalogue of popular music recorded from 1955-1965, I learned all of those songs back and forth like he did.

   This song definitely comes from my dad's camp; it has silly and evocative lyrics, a loud and fast drum beat, and the hollow sound of a garage band.  Honestly, I know my dad knows this song but I can't say if it's one of his favorites, but every time I hear I think of him, which makes me happy.   I unabashedly love this song.

Finally

I know nothing about Dora the Explorer other than she seems to be a vaguely ethnic cartoon character with a backpack, but for me, any sluttification is a good sluttification so I'm all for it.

Aren't we all?

And if you don't know, now you know

That's it.  I've had it with Michael Steele trying to talk street.  First it's the bling bling comment, then this... We get it, you're black, you're expanding the party, it's not all just whites and slightly tanner whites (Charlie Crist)

Basically, stop frontin'.  You're fugazi.  You're whack.