The Great (Wo)Man Theory

Three 20th century figures still ruining our lives today:

Ronald Reagan
Holy mother of god, if one more person says “Well he may not have been perfect, but he did win the Cold War,” I’m going to shit myself. Presiding over the end of a war is different than winning it. Soviet-style communism had had one foot in the grave since 1917. Political systems in which extravagantly-mustachioed despots are able to intentionally and unnecessarily starve millions of their own citizens don’t last forever. When Ukrainians started eating each other, that was the beginning of the end. Perestroika was more about bread than missiles.

So if we cross off “Won the Cold War” from our list of pros, what are we left with? I’m having trouble coming up with one. On the con side, I have “Once said that ‘Government is not the solution to our problem; government is the problem,’ thereby bequeathing upon the American people a pernicious legacy of small-government fundamentalism that continues to destroy us from the inside out.”

Margaret Thatcher
The UK’s answer to Ronald Reagan. We can thank her for lots of the austerity bullshit currently preventing Europe from appropriately handling its sovereign debt crisis.

Ayn Rand
L. Ron Hubbard wrote (science) fiction that transmogrified into holy scripture. While I think we can all agree that Scientologists are crazy, their influence is mercifully limited to bad actors.

Ayn Rand on the other hand wrote fiction that transmogrified into holy scripture, and that holy scripture influenced people like Alan Greenspan. From what I’ve been able to piece together, Ayn Rand’s argument was that poor people should be left to die because they’re not as good as rich people. This argument gels nicely with libertarianism – perhaps the most puerile political theory to ever receive serious mainstream consideration – and now forms the basis of the modern Republican Party. The fact that they’ve latched on to social Darwinism while rejecting real Darwinism tells you pretty much all you need to know about the GOP’s intellectual rigor.

Brother, can you spare a dime?

During the first Great Depression – it’s total bullshit to call what we’re in the now the Great Recession; it’s been too lengthy and too crippling to be lumped in with previous recessions, which were mostly brief and non-devastating affairs – the shantytowns that sprung up around the country were referred to as “Hoovervilles.” The reference, of course, was to President Herbert Hoover, perceived architect of the Great Depression. There’s a certain zing to that name. Hooverville. What should we call the neo-Hoovervilles that are fast becoming a familiar site in populous areas?

Well, at the moment we’re calling them Occupy ________. Occupy Pittsburgh, Occupy Oakland, Occupy Detroit, etc, but Occupy ________ just isn’t catchy enough. Here’s what I propose: Boehnervilles. Good, right? I was thinking Reaganville would be more accurate, but why hearken back to ancient history, i.e. the 80’s? Norquistville doesn’t really roll off the tongue, although again it has the virtue of accuracy. Ditto Gingrichville. I chose Boehnerville mostly because Boehner looks like it should be pronounced “boner,” which makes it funny. Plus, he’s an orange dick. I’m open to other ideas if anyone wants to share…

Enough lucre to make Midas blush

There’s a website out there that you MUST visit immediately: Actually, you’re the 47%.

Allow me to provide a bit of context. Members of the Occupy Wall Street movement have been garnering attention of late by claiming that the bottom 99% of Americans are being financially raped by the top 1%, which is a pretty accurate depiction of the state of our union. So some partisan hack whose name I can’t remember and isn’t worth mentioning anyway, decided that the 21st century incarnation of Nixon’s silent majority needed its own catchy number slogan. He latched onto the number 53, which apparently represents the percentage of Americans who pay income tax, and created a website in celebration of these Fine Americans.

The 53 percenters’ website consists of photographs of said Fine Americans holding copies their own personal, one-page autobiographies/manifestoes, all of which end with the sentence, “I am the 53%.” In terms of tone, the written works run the gamut from “poor me” to “woe is me.” You know, I used to have to walk to school uphill both ways, barefoot in blizzards without a coat, returning home to a dinner of pond water and dog food. That kind of shit. But the moral of the story is that despite it all, nay BECAUSE of it all, I’ve survived and perhaps even prospered. I don’t blame Wall Street or rich people for my problems, and neither should you because this is America goddammit, and we’re the greatest country on earth. If you’re thinking that this isn’t the logical conclusion to draw from a back story that includes dog food dinners, you’re right. It’s safe to say that they’re shooting from the gut, not the brain.

Now, I genuinely am one of the 53% of Americans who pays income tax, by virtue of being childless and earning somewhat more than the average Wal-Mart employee, which I guess makes me a Fine American. The same could not be said of a sizable portion of the posters on the 53 percenters’ website, which includes entries from full-time students, housewives, the unemployed, and a bizarrely high percentage of current and former pizza-delivery people who may or may not be affiliated with Herman Cain. These people, I think it’s safe to say, do not pay income tax as a great many of them have no income. I’m not blaming them for that, but this is the raison d’être of the “Actually, you’re the 47%” website. If you’re driving a car with 265,000 miles on it to deliver pizzas to frat boys, don’t brag about how virtuous you are for paying income tax, because the fact is you don’t.

That doesn’t mean that my status as an income tax payer makes me virtuous, because that would be silly. I was born lucky. At the same time, eating dog food doesn’t make you virtuous. If you had a shitty life, I feel for you, and if you clawed your way out of poverty, I admire you, but that doesn’t automatically make you wise. Being a 53 percenter, however, does automatically make you an idiot. You’re on your high horse, bragging about how you don’t blame anyone else for your problems, but that’s a pretty stupid position to take if your misfortune is in fact someone’s fault. Do you know why black people blame white people for slavery? Because it was white peoples’ fault. Well, you and I are in financial slavery. We’re owned by the mega-rich, and we didn’t get a say in the matter; our elected “representatives” have also been bought. Our circumstances are wholly dependent on the whims of a few men with enough lucre to make Midas blush. On your behalf, I blame Wall Street.

So here’s to the 47% and the 99% and all the OWS folks. Those protestors may smell funny and get in my way each evening when I’m walking from the office to the train, but I still love ‘em, and I don’t care if the message is muddy. It doesn’t matter, because only eggheads worry about shit like that. Finally income inequality and capitalism and unemployment and underemployment are at the forefront of public discourse, which I didn’t even think was possible. This is attention-seeking populism at its finest. Please don’t go home, except maybe for a quick shower.

Which would you rather do, sleep or live?

At the moment, I’m reading “Life” by Keith Richards, and it’s kind of making me want to write my own memoir. Keith mentions that for many years, he slept only twice a week – presumably due to the gross over-consumption of certain illegal substances – and has therefore lived more life than the rest of us; hence, his memoir is quite extensive. Being 40 years Keith’s junior and a daily sleeper, my memoir is decidedly brief. Here are some highlights…

I am born in Ann Arbor, Michigan, the only child of an age-inappropriate, quasi-interfaith marriage; my father is Catholic, my mother Jewish. Thankfully neither believes in god so faith is moot, which leaves me free me to drop out of Hebrew school aged 4. Also, Easter is all chocolate, no bloodied Jesus. Some of my very first words are “Bryan Adams.”

I have a rough time at school because everyone thinks I am weird. Being a member of the local silent film society doesn’t win me any popularity contests, although I am finally elected to student council in fifth grade after the implementation of some complex rules which effectively disqualified everyone else. The only other person on the ballot is my best friend, Alanna, who never did forgive me for her defeat. We go our separate ways soon after, but I later hear a rumor that she performed oral sex on her whole high school football team. Alanna, if by chance you’re reading this, please confirm or deny.

I’ve blocked out my 11th and 12th years. They were not happy. I eventually transfer to a ritzy prep school after some public school hooligans bestow upon me the nickname “Bush Lady.” I think it had something to do with pubic hair. Anyway, I stopped letting them copy my math homework after that. Once I turned out to be a bust, they conned some Asian kid named David into being the new me. The summer before transferring schools, I manage to break my neck. Due to the sweltering heat, I emit buckets of sweat into my neckbrace, which in turn begins to smell like a dead raccoon.

Despite my charming aroma of decomposition, I find private school to be intermittently bearable. I become friends with Katie – who did not go on to perform any sex acts on entire sports teams – and together we have our first Keith Richards-esque experience: On a school trip to Washington DC, we drink vast quantities of Jolt Cola – tween crack – and sleep very little. Katie and I see the Stones a few times during high school, thinking Keith might keel over at any moment. Thus far, he has not.

I spend one terrifically unhappy and expensive summer in Europe before starting college.

I think that’ll do for now. If you enjoyed this, you can stay tuned for future installments in which I discover that the carbonation in beer makes it come back up, and that feuds between francophone and germanophone Swiss kept Switzerland out of the European Union. In other words, college.

No funny title for this one.

We Americans are barbarians, merciless rogues of the worst variety. Yesterday, the state of Georgia murdered a man named Troy Davis. They would claim that he was executed because he shot and killed an off-duty police officer one night in 1989, yet there was no confession and no physical evidence. The case hinged on the testimony of nine eyewitnesses, seven of whom have since recanted. Even if the vast majority of witnesses had NOT recanted, it would hardly matter. We’re increasingly aware that the eyewitness testimony of strangers is so unreliable as to be virtually useless. The fact that this crime occurred at night – when it’s hard to see – and involved a gun – which tends to distract witnesses – only made matters worse. Additionally, at least one person submitted a signed affidavit after the trial claiming that another man has since confessed to having been the shooter.

Essentially, the police bungled this case. They and the prosecutors set their sights on Troy Davis, and molded the evidence to fit their vision. The point here isn’t that Davis was unequivocally innocent; he and a number of other people were absolutely present when the crime occurred. The issue is doubt. While not a supporter of capital punishment, I don’t lose sleep over the execution of people who are most assuredly guilty, but in the presence of uncertainty, execution becomes murder.

Of course, guilt isn’t even the only mitigating factor. All available evidence suggests that race plays a major and inappropriate role in determining who is sentenced to life and who is sentenced to death. Indeed just last week, the Supreme Court rightly halted the execution of a black man named Duane Buck whose race had been given as a compelling reason why he should be put to death; a psychologist testified at his trial that, as a black man, he was likely to re-offend and would therefore pose a permanent threat to society. In short, a white man in his shoes would have been jailed for life. Buck was to be killed for being black.

There are also criminals whose mental capacity is a concern. During the 1992 campaign, Bill Clinton, as Governor of Arkansas, oversaw the execution of a man named Ricky Ray Rector. While Rector was unquestionably guilty, a botched suicide attempt just prior to his capture left him effectively lobotomized. He had no understanding of the court proceedings, nor of his sentence; he is said to have left to the side a piece of pecan pie from his final meal, telling the prison officials leading him to the death chamber that he was saving it for later.

That an innocent man may have been killed last night is unconscionable. The time has come to reign in our baser instincts, and join the civilized world.

I'm looking for someplace comfy to plant my ass!

Now that mega-rich dickholes – and their dimwitted proxies in the Republican Party – are shouting “class warfare,” it’s time to dust off the guillotines.

A little background: Despite having a household income more than 1.5 times the national median (!), my partner and I relax on $50 chairs in an apartment lit with $10 Christmas tree lights. That’s apparently what passes for a comfortable, middle-class existence these days. Now I assure you I’m not complaining. We have a place to live, a place to sit, and (eco-friendly) lights to guide our way. In short, we’re so fortunate it makes me blush. But consider the fact that NYC mayor, Michael Bloomberg, resents the notion that he should pay more taxes, yet owns a million dollar couch. Makes you kind of sick, right?

I mean, really, give it a moment’s thought. A MILLION dollars! That’s completely fucking insane. You can get a really terrific couch for $1,000, a well-built, comfortable sofa that will last for years and look great in your home. It might even massage you or pull out into a bed. I can’t imagine Michael Bloomberg’s couch is 1000 times better – does it offer happy endings? – but it’s 1000 times more precious. In what universe is that kind of expense justifiable? For that kind of money he could send a half dozen poor kids to Harvard; he could pay for an uninsured cancer patient’s medical treatments; he could buy some bungalows for a few families facing foreclosure. Or he could acquire something to put his ass on. Disgusting.

This is just further evidence of what all right-thinking people already know, namely that the rich are out of control and no longer in touch with reality. Sadly, they seem adept at portraying themselves as victims and lots of people seem to buy it. I’m not talking about people whose net worth is a million dollars, although they too could stand to pony up a little more. I’m talking about people who own a single item – with the possible exception of a house – for which they paid a million dollars. There’s just no good reason for anyone to be that rich, especially when there are working people out there who can’t afford a pot to piss in. Why defend these people from the tyranny of taxes? The government taking some of their money to fund programs that ensure old people and babies don’t starve is not class warfare. Buying a million dollar couch is.

Which brings me back to my original point. They deserve to see real class warfare through the lens of a guillotine. Who’s with me?

Making Larry the Cable Guy look good

I have a theory that the History Channel’s programming decisions are made by barnyard animals. There’s really no other way to explain the travesty that is “Ancient Aliens.” “How bad could this show possibly be?” you ask. Well, it’s so bad that it makes another History Channel show, “Only in America with Larry the Cable Guy,” look positively trenchant. Larry the Cable Guy, in case you were wondering, is apparently some sort of redneck comedian who manages to make poop jokes – POOP JOKES – unfunny. You probably didn’t think such a thing was possible. It is.

Anyway, “Ancient Aliens” is so incomprehensibly stupid, so completely fucking insane, that it’s hard to look away. “Ancient Aliens” is in fact about ancient aliens. Not their civilizations – although that would be another wildly speculative show the History Channel could add to its roster – but their (alleged) interactions with ancient earthlings. Perhaps you’ve heard it said that historians and archaeologists are not sure how ancient Egyptians built the pyramids, and this may be true. Such an undertaking would have required incredibly complex engineering that, according to our present understanding of their level of advancement, might have been beyond the ancients’ capabilities.

Of course the rational explanation is that we don’t know that much about the ancient world, because it was a very long time ago indeed. They may well have had knowledge and skills we tend to attribute only to much more recent civilizations. The Romans had plumbing for Christ’s sake. They even brought it to the Britons, who forgot all about it after Rome fell, and didn’t rediscover it until 1976. Shit happens. Gaps in knowledge exist. Our best recourse is to keep on investigating, accepting that there are some things we may never know.

This view is not shared by the talking heads on “Ancient Aliens.” These maniacs, who prefer to be called ancient astronaut theorists, think the answers lie in outer space; take a gap in our knowledge of the ancient world, and insert extra-terrestrials. We don’t know how the Egyptians built the pyramids, so aliens must have done it. Their motivation? Well some ancient astronaut theorists speculate that the aliens needed gold for their spaceships, and came to earth to mine it. Some further speculate that humans were in fact created through a series of genetic experiments performed by these greedy spacemen on existing terrestrial species, with the intent of producing a race of workers who would do the mining for them. I speculate that ancient astronaut theorists are psychopaths.

Said psychopaths are also charmingly clueless when it comes to mythology. You see, a myth is by definition untrue; were it based on fact, it would not be a myth. This is of little concern to ancient astronaut theorists, who are not members of the reality-based community. They’re laboring under the misapprehension that ancient myths are historical fact, and therefore require explanation. If the ancient peoples of Peru believed that the sun god descended from the heavens, straddling a dragon with something shiny in his hand, this is evidence that Peruvians from olden times were visited by an alien – misidentified as the sun god by the credulous ancients – riding a spacecraft – misidentified as a dragon – holding a technological device of some sort – unidentifiable not only to the backward Peruvians thousands of years ago, but evidently to modern ancient astronaut theorists as well.

One particular ancient astronaut theorist on “Ancient Aliens” has really captured my heart, a gentleman by the name of Giorgio Tsoukalos. He generally sports a velvet smoking jacket and defiantly wears his hair in a style that brings to mind Ace Ventura. According to wikipedia his credentials consist of an undergraduate degree from Ithaca College – smugly known as “IK” among students at neighboring Cornell University – in the field of Sports Information Communications. Mr. Tsoukalos is precisely the breed of lunatic you’d expect to be dreaming up conspiracy theories in his garage, and to know that he really is doing just that is almost comforting. It means that all is right with the world. Anyway, he’s a real gem, and worth the price of admission (or cable).

When it comes right down to it, I really can’t recommend this program enough. If you like to scream obscenities at your TV, “Ancient Aliens” is most definitely the show for you.