Announcement

This blog has been abandonded in favor of the same blog with a new name. It is called Carnival in Paradise, and can be found at carnivalinparadise.blogspot.com

Everyone Knows It's Just a Bunch of Dicks in Congress...

Heres something that has just been aggravating the shit out of me. I recently read an article about John Boehner's triumphant success in passing the budget cutting measures that allowed us to avoid a government shutdown last week, or whenever that was. The article hailed his tremendous success, in the face of a potentially serious and embarrassing defeat, and credited him for his outstanding performance in bipartisan negotiations. This is all fine and good, and frankly it is something that would be great in the White House. Imagine a president with a plate of initiatives served as skillfully as that. Imagine also, that same President's meteoric rise as a canidate, managing to garner enough of a following to unseat the generally not-despised Barack Obama. Well, it certainly couldn't happen to the aforementioned gentleman. Not the one who so deftly navigated the dense and seemingly impenetrable jungle of disagreement that is the US House of Representatives. For you see, that gentleman insists on being called “John Bay-ner,” when he has a last name that clearly reads “Boner.” It would be impossible to elect a President Boehner no matter how esteemed his qualifications were. Imagine being a relatively uniformed voter. You've heard some stuff on the radio, and maybe caught the end of some conversations around the office, but you haven't put in a lot of hard library time researching the candidates. And then you are in the voting booth on election day, fully prepared to vote for this “John Bayner” you've been hearing so much about, and the only canidates you see on the ballot are old-news President Obama, and some Boehner guy. Somehow, you have been sold a bill of goods. If I had never heard that name out loud, and was specifically told that it was not pronounced “Boner”; the only alternative pronunciation I would be able to imagine is “Boo-ooner”, and that still sounds more like “Boner” than it does to long-shot pronunciation “Bay-ner.” Furthermore, this isn't just a cheap penis joke. If he embraced it, I would take no issue. This comes as a completely non-partisan observation -- I do not necessarily trust the congressman who I will soon mention. There is a democrat in New York who has been making waves lately. His name is Anthony Weiner, and he pronounces his name “Weener.” Frankly, I'm sure he has some members in his family that occassionly slip the “Why-ner” when picking up their clothes from the dry cleaner. But not him. He sees what it clearly reads, accepts it, and frankly somehow seems “more honest” as a result. I hasten to say “seems” there, but politics does appear to be drawing down to mostly an image game these days. For example, Mitt Romney. But if perception is the most important aspect, well-sold fake honesty seems sappingly preferable to an unacknowledged fake ignorance.

Pitch Meeting

This is how I imagine the pitch meeting given to Patricia Heaton went, before ABC's new Wednesday opener "The Middle" was greenlit.

-Patricia. Pat. Can I call you Pat? Well, we'll start with Pat and see where it goes. So Pat. Let me ask you. How would you like to be the next Bonnie Hunt?

-It's good to see I have your attention. I'm sorry. Bonnie Hunt has been a major film star. Your window for Bonnie Hunt is closed. That's how I work -- I draw you in with a taste of the good life, and then push you tumbling over the hunched back of reality. But Pat, I wouldn't string you along if I didn't have the very next best thing. Jane Kaczmarek.

-Yes, Kaczmarek. Don't give me that face. She's fucking huge, Pat. A high-powered, bipartisan, legal drama on cable? She's comfortable. You're not refusing job security until you are dead, are you? Two words, babe. Andy Griffith.

-Well, we were thinking. By we, I mean, me, Steve, and the boys. We said to ourselves, who's got it? Who's got that classic Kaczmarek charisma? Barbara Eden had it. You better believe Esther Rolle had it. Well, Steve and I were watching a few reruns of "Everybody Loves Raymond," and zingo. You know what we said? Pat Heaton's got it, too. In spades.

-Ok, so this is how it goes down. What made Kaczmarek a star? (points fingers to temples) Flashback...the year is 2003...middle American moms are delivered a no nonsense, take-no-prisoners, do-what-she-has-to female star to fill the intimidatingly large shoes left by Rosane Barr. She is a palpable force on Malcom in the Middle. Shockwaves. (Hands Flutter) So, why try to invent something new, when we've got a perfectly good recipe for success?

-Haha, exactly. So we were thinking about calling it just "The Middle" this time. Nobody ever had any interest in Frankie Muniz anyway.

- Not unless TLC wants to make another show about little people. That's gold, Pat. Isn't that gold, boys? We've decided to replace his character with a homely, young, girl.

-Yeah, it works. Right, so we were thinking about calling it "The Middle," which Steve cleverly pointed out also means middle America. That's who we've got the crosshairs on, so for my buck, it's win-win. Those blue collar types out there have been downright chomping at the bit for something new that is also old at the same time. We've got numbers.

-Well, you would be starring of course. For your son, we got Charlie McDermott.

-He is that little mute boy you've been hearing so much about. He is the Stevie Wonder of the mutes, no lie. His disabled person power is expertly displaying angst and obstinancy without uttering a single word-- you couldn't ask for a better teenage actor.

-Well, it wouldn't be ABC without a little incest, so we got Neil Flynn.

-Yes, he plays the janitor on "Scrubs." Everybody likes that guy.

-Of course he has more than one dimension.

-I know. I loved Dewey, too. In fact, I hope you loved him as much as I did, because we got him again.

-Haha, no. Not the original actor. He's much too old and ugly. But this new kid, I'll tell you what, he had me fooled. Here, look.

-Here is Dewey.

-And here is the new kid.

-I know if I were on the other side of this table, I would be asking for the pen at this point.

-Well, I am glad to hear it. We'll be in touch.

...and scene.

Japan and Monkeys

Tangenting(?) before I can even start the article(?) I just want it on record that I despise the word "guesstimate." It solidifies the personality of the speaker so quickly in my mind; it is like a giant annoying statue that blocks my vision and impedes me from learning anything else about them. Estimate, the original, non-fucked with word, is completely applicable in every circumstance that you might need to use "guesstimate." Instead, you, an adult, consciously choose to sound like a fucking child. Why not guesstimate how many punkins they have out in front of the libary? You rube. Kids, on the other hand, can say it all they want. They are supposed to be stupid.

But lets get to the meat.

I'm not really sure if the Japanese watch a lot of TV. I'm led to believe that yes, yes they do. I feel like they have TV's built into the dashboards of their robot fighting suits. Which is to say, TV's are everywhere there. They also seem to have quite a few TV manufacturers. So yes, for the sake of the argument, lets say that they do. Lets just say they watch like 18 hours a day, in some sort of "advanced entertainment tube."

Now, I have never seen even one minute of Japanese television as it is broadcasted. That would require me to have visited Japan, and while I can say that I pray for such a windfall of good fortune nightly, I freely admit that I have never been. That is not to say that I haven't seen Japanese television. On the contrary! I feel like I have seen a great deal of it, although my recollection is mostly a stereotyped blur. I know they like gameshows. Thats a given. And apparently they are really mean on said gameshows. So we've heard...

What I never hear about though, is what seems to be the other half of Japanese television. Well, not counting Anime. I bet anime is a sturdy half, if not more, of the percentage of "shit on TV" in J-pan. I think thats also a given2. For arguments sake, lets just say it is. So we'll say Anime is 50%, and gameshows are 25% of the remaining 50%, ensuring that this article will satisfy all the necessary criteria for a word problem on a state issued math test for sixth graders. But I'm losing track of my point. The remaining 25%(fig 1.) --non-gameshow, non-anime-- is a never-ending show, featuring a panel of Japanese celebrities, who are constantly being featured in mini-reaction windows, in a manner that parallels the chart layout of (fig 1.), all this while a monkey is tortured by a team of highly trained Japanese monkey torturers.

Fig 1.

I suppose I should be more precise. A chimp. They are filmed while a chimp is tortured.

Don't get me wrong though. I'm not trying to come down on them. It is torture from our aggressively PC Western perspective. The monkey seems to be having the time of his monkey life. Always. Apparently, the Japanese have managed to unlock the secret of the monkey. We are years behind them in that respect.

The last I remember hearing about monkeys in America was when that crazy-like 600 pound chimp, some aging circus chimp or something, hung up his slide whistle and finally settled down with a trashy old bitch who fed him beer all the time and made him run errands. Naturally then, he flipped out and mauled her despite his balding, overweight, plumber-like outward appearance. He then proceeded to furiously dominate her comatose body until police finally put him down. A pretty serious meltdown, and a harsh blow to those who have been pushing so hard for chimp ownership legalization3 in the US. These Japanese monkeys, the ones being tortured on television, they never do that.

To prove that I'm not making this all up, here it is. If you really want your mind blown, read the article as if the transgressor, "Travis," were not a monkey at all, but just some dude. And then read it back again as monkey. Weird, right?

But back to these shows. It bears mentioning that I have no idea what the fuck they are saying. And they always end up giving the monkey subtitles too, which I cannot read. I can't help but imagine that the Japanese have managed to crack monkey talk, and his subtitles are the direct translation of his very eloquent but forceful ape dialect.

Hopefully I can figure out how to embed these, but until then, links should suffice in completely proving the argument for whose sake we have been letting a lot of things go unquestioned.

The first, and prime mover of this chimp conclusion.

Further proof.

This last one is a classic, and its at the end, but I probably won't have to convince you to watch, you will definitely want to watch all of this4.

2. See the previous given concerning gameshows

3. The rule as it stands now is no chimps for anyone, unless you were grandfathered in. I know, lame.

4. This clip is actually an interesting hybrid of the two dominant non-anime sectors of Japanese television

Brick Walls

It is interesting how quickly a lifetime of premier education can fade into the shadows when the subscription cycle finally gets the axe. By that I mean I have graduated from college. I shant be returning to a four year institute ever again. Three cheers.

Not only have I graduated, but I initiated and completed the single greatest adventure of my young life. And now, here I sit, fresh from the four corners, head overflowing with experiences, stories, and living images of all manner of people and and places, and my dilemma is not how best to elaborate on this glut of writerly goods, but rather, I am facing a brick wall of whether or not I can do anything with this stuff.

Not because it wasn't a worthwhile trip. Oh no. It was practically a reenactment of the classic college comedy "Road Trip," with maybe five fewer hijinks per day. So without going into extensive detail, right there, goldmine. No, its something else.

You may notice this post has taken on a certain rambling quality. That is precisely what I am talking about. In the past week, I have forgotten nearly everything I have ever learned-- ever. Not shit like the theorems and statutes of geometry. I'd be a liar if I said I ever knew that stuff to begin with. No, far more troubling is my loss of the simple. For example, contractions are completely over my head. Contractions, right? The same ones that children are taught as early as first grade.1 Yes, those. Contractions. For some reason, they have become like landmines in sentences. God help me if the contraction has a negative spin to it like, can't or don't. If you hand me a written instruction that specifically commands me to avoid something, like "Don't use the swimming pool. It is filled with ants," I will undeniably be spotted tenderly pawing at my itchy welts through oven mitts in under an hour.

Edit: This is clearly an incomplete thought. Finish it later. -Dad

1. testified by many foreigners as the most difficult concept in the English language

Michelle Obama

So I'm no fashion guru.

But I will admit I have noticed her predilection for sleeveless clothing.

Is this her calling card? Is she now known as "the woman who doesn't have sleeves?"

Because if I were to do that, not wear sleeves all the time, I wouldn't be seen as a beacon of hope.

I would be seen as this guy.

Facebook

So here it comes. The promised facebook post.

I am torn. 

Just ripped asunder. I had a long conversation with this dude, who also happens to teach me, about how weird the internet is. What with all the virtual identities and this odd middle ground that we reside in between anonymity and what we want to be.

Facebook in theory is a great idea. Privacy shit aside, which is really putting a lot aside, the connection thing seems obviously necessary. It's like a phonebook for the computer. Practically a duh kind of connection. But its filling up. Filling up to the point that I am torn. 

And for those of you who have been around since the beginning, which is most of you who might ever read this, you have been there for every incarnation. The initial deluge of information. Which I refer to as the "I like 10,000 fucking bands" phase. Which bands you ask? Well, I will list them in their eclectically, self-revealing, glory-- just so you know who I am. Dave Matthews Band you say? Of course. Of COURSE, I like Dave Matthews. I play guitar, acoustic, but you already knew that. But I'll tell you, I like Dave Matthews, but not nearly as much as I like my heady jam bands, because sometimes, on the weekends, I smoke pot. I'm down, as they say. And when I smoke pot I listen to 311, specifically "Amber," because that is a really heady, jammy, song to smoke pot to. And then, when I'm in a mood to harsh my mellows, I listen to slipknot, because I'm harder than you think. 

Those days have come and gone. Because suddenly, people's grandparents have facebook.  Not that that is a bad thing. Like I said, its like a phonebook. At some point, everyone thinks its important to have a phonebook. You don't just resist owning a phonebook on ideological principle. You might stubbornly resist listing your own number. But when the day is done, it remains a useful tool, and ultimately, with facebook, you have the added bonus of being able to spy on people. 

Don't call me weird for wanting to do that. Everybody is curious about what the fuck other people are doing with themselves. Even if its the most fleeting moment of that. For instance, as I write this, I am fucking ravenously curious about what Ben Dworkis is up to. What the hell happened to that guy? I don't want to know any more than his favorite 10,000 bands. That should spell out plenty. And then I'm done, I never want to see or hear from Ben Dworkis again.

But right, that puts me where I am now. I am accruing friendships with more and more people who should not be seeing my information. Facebook has a habit of making things public that should remain private. Pictures for instance. I have never uploaded my own picture to facebook. And there are incriminating pictures of me on facebook, but I don't want to take that shit down. Why is it my responsibility to erase treasured memories of my past, just because some other douche is going to judge me for it? Thats on them, not me. But the filters for hiding that information are just not very effective. They don't have a simple tab, or bin, for "these are all the pictures when I am fucked up." It should be right next to "trip to Rome" or whatever the fuck you think your family might want to see. And so here I am, struggling to keep up with all the people who I do not want knowing exactly what I'm up to, while still trying to allow them some sense of me--which is terrible. It's like the CIA or something. These people are not on a need to know basis. For a second of laziness you might say, well, it wouldn't be that bad. They will just get to know me better than they did before. But then you realize, thats fucking retarded. I say things and do things on there that are straight offensive to most, and only if you subscribe to my specific brand of irony are you able to see that I am not being serious, and I do not have the will, nor the desire, to give detailed explanations of my insincerity to my friend's grandparents. Or my relatives. 

And so there you go. It all comes down to facebook being the most obnoxiously fake depiction of a person since a glamour shots glossy. First, your profile is not you. It is who you want to be. You put only so much information as you feel other people should know, hence 311 and DMB. There is never any real honesty. Nobody puts "my favorite place to masturbate is the shower" or "I cheat on girlfriends because I think women are generally dumb," unless you somehow wanted to project "I am an asshole." And then it is put through yet another filter, like some sort of weird Escher painting, because even with this fake identity, the information is still too revealing for the rapidly growing "everyone in the world" contingent of facebook. 

I like it as a tool. I like it as an aggregator of my social life. But as far as connecting me to everyone I know, it needs to be broken into pieces. I cannot have these two worlds mixing so seamlessly. I am not dishonest because I like to keep some parts of my life private. I would rather say whatever I want to on facebook without fear of repercussion. But I can't, and it will only get worse. And, what's even worse, is that this is it. This is where people are putting their eggs. MySpace was early adopters. But you could tell that it was a half-baked product. It was not going anywhere. Facebook was the one that learned to adapt, and look at it now. No start- up is going to suddenly get everyone to switch because its "new features" are legitimately better. To quote Simpsons, facebook will just release facebook "with a new hat" and everyone's waning interest will be rejuvenated. It's just like how Amazon will forever be the primary internet shopping website, and eBay will always be the auction site. Facebook is the social networking website and nothing will change that. It is infuriating.