Scared

1 Apr

Dad’s in bypass surgery right now. 

This is one of the moments that doesn’t strike you as being possible until you’ve reached a certain age – when you’ve married, had kids, gotten through the hard part of having toddlers and things are fantastic.  Life is easier,  the family is thriving,  the future’s bright and it really feels like you’re  hitting your
stride.

Now I wish I could just roll the clock back.

http://youtu.be/6YRl54zq_2M

Naked woman arrested trying to visit husband in jail

20 Mar

Is love a crime, now?

Her man had just gotten pinched the day before and this young filly wanted to lift his spirits with a conjugal visit.

So, showing up naked to reassure the prison staff that you’re not carrying any contraband is a criminal act?

We used to call that “helpful”, back when manners were last taught in this country.

If You Gave Superman A GoPro | TechCrunch

18 Mar

I’ve been fooling around with a new GoPro Hero 3+ Silver Edition and so far it is one kick-ass little camera.

Over at TechCrunch is a pretty sweet video of what it would look like If you gave Superman a GoPro camera to wear.

The Feel-Good “Fuck You” Story of the Week

11 Nov

In Texas, a 24-year old white Republican has defeated an incumbent black Democrat in a local race for a seat on the board of the Houston Community College System by using racism – the racism of the voters.

A white Republican unseated a 24-year African-American incumbent from office in a surprise election victory that some are saying was racially tinged and deceptive.

Dave Wilson, who KHOU reports is an “anti-gay activist and former fringe candidate for mayor,” is being criticized by his opposition for his campaign that reportedly lead the overwhelmingly African-American, Democratic district to believe he was black.

Now how the hell are you going to convince black voters that you’re not white?  By relying on their sloth and stupidity, of course.  Like printing fliers with pictures of black folks with the caption, “Please vote for our friend and neighbor Dave Wilson.”  Or by drawing on endorsements from local black political leaders, like state Democratic representative Ron Wilson.

No, wait.  Ron Wilson is Dave’s cousin.

However, the fine print below the slogan states, “Ron Wilson and Dave Wilson are cousins,” a reference to Wilson’s non-politically affiliated cousin who lives in Iowa.

“He’s a nice cousin,” Wilson told KHOU, suppressing a laugh. “We played baseball in high school together. And he’s endorsed me.”

Now, was this sneaky and underhanded?  Yes.

Was it racist?  YES.  Because the only reason this kid won the election is because the overwhelmingly black Democrat voters who elected him thought he was black.  In other words, if they had known he’s white, he would have had no chance, for no other reason than that he’s white.

That’s why I love this story – it’s so fucking simple.  There are no political or economic issues to complicate the underlying truth:  for the vast majority of black voters, black skin is enough to secure your vote.  Reality, your own personal economic situation, foreign affairs… none of that honkey bullshit matters to your average black voter.  Take a look at the approval ratings of black voters from the most visible black man on the planet, Barack Obama:

According to a Wall Street Journal/NBC News poll released on Wednesday, only 78% of blacks now support Obama’s job performance, which is “down from 88 percent in June and 93 percent in April.”

The poll found Obama’s overall approval rating is at 45%, which is a “a 3-point drop from last month” and “one point off from his all-time presidential low that came in Aug. 2011.”

Blacks overwhelmingly supported Obama in 2008 and 2012, propelling him to the White House by giving him over 90% of their votes. Meanwhile, the unemployment rate in black communities rose to 13.7% in June while Obama has championed a comprehensive immigration reform bill that the Congressional Budget Office determined would devastate the wages of working class Americans.

Think about those numbers.  “Only” 78 percent of blacks support Obama.  Even after five years of his administration making things worse for blacks in particular, you can Always Bet On Black.  I bet if I asked 100 percent of Catholics their opinion of Mother Theresa at least 32% of them would say, “FUCK that bitch.”

Pay attention, GOP.  Until the American black community undergoes a major educational, cultural and attitudinal change towards whites in general, you will never secure meaningful amounts of their votes.  The change won’t come from outside, if it comes at all.  You keep preaching personal accountability, education and self reliance not because it will change minds, but because it’s the right thing to do.

Or maybe you could try calling them racists.  Seems to work for them.

 

 

Chicks Who Rock

7 Aug

One of my favorite timewasters is looking up acoustic covers of my favorite songs on YouTube to get some ideas of how other people arrange them and to play along until I get ‘em down. I gotta tell you, some of the best musical talent in the country can be found on YouTube. And sometimes, that talent gets discovered and makes it big. Just look at Justin Bieber – he started off recording videos of himself playing cover songs on street corners for pocket change when a music industry insider came across his YouTube channel.

After one meeting, Justin’s mother allowed a man named “Scooter” to fly her 13 year-old son out of the country and take him to Atlanta, to hang around with thirty-something rappers and hip-hop producers. Next thing you know, Justin Bieber is an international sensation, having gone from cute, talented Canadian kid to a scrawny, tattooed wigger with a lesbian hairdo.

See?  Dreams can come true!  Wait.  What the fu-

See? Dreams can come true! Wait. What the fu-

Sorry.  That’s Miley Cyrus.  This is Justin Bieber:

I mean, I THINK this is Justin Bieber.  Help me out, here.

I don’t want to say, “OK, that’s better” because “better” is not how I FEEL, but I’m just saying now the picture is accurate.  Probably.

 

Anyway, I was looking at the “Suggestions” sidebar and I see this young gal, Kelly Rosenthal, has some guitar videos up of her doing famous classic rock riffs.  Pretty cool – so I look at the other videos she has listed and see that she has formed a trio with a couple of other girls and covered one of my favorite songs – “Gravity” by John Mayer.  Check it out:

Man, that kid can play.  And her friends can sing, too.  Probably what I enjoy the most about these types of videos is seeing how much folks like myself just enjoy playing music and belting it out.  If you have friends you can share music with, it makes it even better.

By now,  you’re probably complaining, “Where are the chicks that ROCK?  The title specifically mentioned chicks who rock.  And John Mayer ain’t rock.”  Fair enough.  I present Meytal Cohen, badass Israeli chick drummer, covering another of my favorites, “Five Minutes Alone” by Pantera:

 

 

She’s trying to crowdsource funding to produce an album, so if you’re interested in pissing away your hard-earned money so she can chase her rock-and-roll dream, you can throw her some bucks.  On second thought, that seemed too cynical and harsh and belittles her talent, ambition and entrepreneurial spirit.  Also, she covers “Cowboys From Hell” while wearing a bustier.  NOW how much are you willing to bid, friend?  Rock n’ Roll lingerie ain’t free, you know.  Ask Lita Ford.

In conclusion, fuck American Idol. It’s always been a half-assed karaoke contest, and anyone with true musical talent gets the fucking hook well before the last rounds. Do your own talent search – you might be pleasantly surprised.

How Man Of Steel Saved The Superman Brand

24 Jul

It’s actually very simple: by taking the property seriously. You might not think it matters with a comic as the source material, but just hear me out.

Let’s start with the premise of what Superman really is. He’s an extraterrestrial alien being with near-godlike powers. He can fly at supersonic speeds. He’s nearly impervious to physical harm. He has the strength of ten thousand retard gorillas. He can shoot heat rays out of his eyes that burn through rock and metal. He has X-ray vision. And for most of his childhood, he has no idea why the hell he can do the things he can do, because his parents neglected to mention that they pulled him out of a crashed spaceship as an infant. Sorry, son. We were just hoping to avoid having you vivisected by Uncle Sugar or milked for your alien man-juice so that the Army could create a race of hybrid super-soldiers.

And that causes real problems for young Clark Kent. And they should. Do you think a little kid could take the manifestation of some pretty disturbing abilities in stride? Or would he maybe be upset by them and ask Why am I so strong? Why are the slightest noises so deafening to my ears? Why do I set shit on fire with my death ray eyes whenever I get – OH MY GOD WHY CAN I SEE EVERYBODY’S BONES AND INNARDS THAT IS SO FUCKING GROSS! MOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYYYY!

If you saw Slim Goodbody every time you opened your eyes, you might be a little upset, too.

If you saw Slim Goodbody every time you opened your eyes, you might be a little upset, too.

A little kid who’s freaked out and upset by all the things he could do, compounded by a family who wants to keep his abilities secret makes sense.  That’s what I mean by taking the property seriously – the characters in this movie may make good or bad choices, but you can understand why they make the choices they do.  Dad’s scared for his son – so much so that he would rather die than be saved and risk exposing him as an alien.  The Army wants to put Superman in chains.  Wouldn’t you?  Motherfucker is Hovering. In. The. Air.  Mayhap he’s a little dangerous.  They also want to hand him over to General Zod.  Wouldn’t you?  “I don’t even know this asshole, Mr.  Zod.  Can I get you a beverage or something?”  Again – this makes sense.  They don’t want to involve our country over some foreign spat in which we have no national interest.  Hmm – he’s not shown on screen, but maybe the President is Ron Paul in this scenario.

Speaking of General Zod – his actions may not make sense to us, but they make perfect sense to him.  “There’s only a handful of my race left, I was born and bred for the sole purpose of protecting that race, and the only way for that race to survive is to juice this Kal-El kid like a fucking space orange and reconstitute the Kryptonian race.  Oh, and they’re going to need air to breathe when they’re born, so I’m going to have to just refuckulate Earth’s atmosphere until every living being on it that isn’t a Kryptonian suffocates to death.  Sorry about that.

Well, no.  Not really.  Can’t do nuttin’ fo you, man.  Tha Z-O-Dizzle’s got problems of his own.”

Speaking of which, and this may be a throwaway part to many of you, but this next bit perfectly illustrates my thesis in just thirty seconds of film:

To set up the clip, General Zod’s henchmen, Nam-Ek – a nine foot-tall giant, and Faora – a smallish female, have been fighting Superman on the ground and kicking his ass.  Which makes perfect sense – they’re soldiers who were bred for battle and trained in combat for their entire lives.  Clark Kent hasn’t been in a single fight in his life, because he’s afraid of killing someone with a light jab that ends up with bits of pancreas on his knuckles.

They haven’t had as much time to adjust to their new powers as Clark Kent, but they were also expecting that they would gain them because they understood the significance of Earth’s sun type – they even have a scientist in their crew.  So Colonel Hardy, played by Chris Meloni, has just witnessed Zod’s crew not only beat the shit out of Earth’s only hope, they’ve soaked up whatever damage America’s weapons can dish out, and he’s just had his chopper swatted out of the air like a tsetse fly with a gimpy wing.  Now Faora moves in for the kill.

 

So Colonel Hardy dumps an entire magazine of 9 mm into this broad’s chest and face and she doesn’t even drop her smirk.  So what does he do?  He pulls a knife.  A. Knife.

 

Why?  Because Fuck Her, That’s Why.

 

This is what I loved about this movie, and what I hated about the first Superman movies, in which our soldiers ineffectually rattle off a few shots while backpedaling in terror.  All humans in these films are simpering pussies who are waiting for Space Daddy to come along and save their bacon.

Col. Hardy isn’t having any of that shit.  “You want my blood?  You’re gonna have to work for it, honey.  See this?  I’m going to shove this knife up your ass and tote you around like a Krypton-flavored bitchsicle.”

He doesn’t look terrified.  He looks grim and determined.  The humans in this movie are fighting desperately for their survival, and generally losing pretty badly.  But they keep fighting, because that’s what you do.  That’s taking the subject matter seriously.

No campy bullshit.  No Otis.  No Lex Luthor fumbling with his toupee.  No Jimmy Olsen, with his useless “Gee willikers!” faggotry.  Lois isn’t a helpless, bowling alley-grade, two-pack-a-day Margot Kidder gutterskank, but neither does she swing all the way into some annoying, unrealistic Grrl Power! asskicker.  She uses her smarts and turns out to be very useful.

Oh, and the Kryptonians’ godlike powers are GODLIKE.  When they collide in Metropolis, the worst thing that happens isn’t some guy’s ice cream cone blows into his face when General Zod uses his totally gay Super Breath and we get a Keystone Kops slide-whistle sound effect.  Oh, hey!  There’s a guy in a telephone booth that just blew over, and is sliding down the street, and he’s still talking on the phone!  He’s so clueless to the titanic struggle taking place all around him!  (Sproing! sound effect).

FUCK YOU, RICHARD DONNER.

No, when Kryptonians fight, skyscrapers collapse.  Shit catches on fire.  Thousands of people are burned, lacerated and crushed to death in the mountains of rubble that these superbeings create.  And in the meantime, our armed forces don’t sit on their hands and wait for some alien dude in a fucking cape with unknown motives to come and save their asses.  They make their own plans and take their own actions as best they can.  When you take your subject matter seriously, it makes it easy for the audience to suspend their disbelief and lose themselves in the world that the filmmakers have created.  Thank you, Zack Snyder for making this one of the easiest movies to enjoy that I’ve seen, especially in the superhero genre.

 

Great movie, great cast, good script and backstory to set up the final showdown.  Highly recommend, and I’ll definitely buy this one when it hits DVD.  My only criticism, and this is more of a general criticism of all action movies these days:  Why does EVERYTHING have to be in 3-D?  I understand the economics behind it, but for once, I would love to not have to either wear those stupid glasses which are still slick with some kid’s pimple grease if I don’t want to wait until the home release.

 

The Value Of Being Judgmental

23 Jul

Stop me if you’ve heard these before:

“You shouldn’t be so judgmental.”

“Judge not lest ye be judged.”

“You shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover.”

Really?  I shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover?  How am I supposed to anticipate what’s in it?  What do you think this one is about?

Surprisingly, Swamp Lust was NOT about wetlands preservation.

Surprisingly, Swamp Lust was NOT about wetlands preservation.

And yet, every time we make a stupid decision, we’re told “You should have used better judgment.”  It sounds contradictory, because it is.  Judgment is a valuable tool that keeps us from making stupid decisions and alerts us to take advantage of opportunities that may not be readily apparent.  Good judgment tells you that being 95% sure that the hot chick you’re talking up in that French Quarter bar is actually a chick just isn’t good enough for a guy like you.  That is, a guy who doesn’t want to wake up with a pounding ether headache and a rubber hanging out of his ass.

Bad judgment tells you that it’s perfectly fine to let your hammered friend drive you home, because hey – if he gets into a wreck, HE gets the DUI, not you.  Great plan, until it ends with the Fire Department hosing your ashes out of the flaming wreck of your buddy’s car while he walks away without a scratch.

But we’re not supposed to judge each other, right?  That’s what it’s all about – and it’s usually coming from people who are super defensive about the shady choices they’ve made.  Fuck all that.  Some people are assholes.  People like Amanda Marcotte,  who if I were being judgmental, strikes me as a bitter, man-hating, fishlicking tuna boat captain who will only be mourned by her five cats.  Until day three, when they’re finally hungry enough to eat her corpse.  Here’s Amanda pissed that anyone would be happy to celebrate the birth of Kate Middleton and Prince William’s new baby boy:

  ‏@AmandaMarcotte22 Jul

I’ll give everyone a couple of hours to enjoy this arbitrarily selected baby to gush over before I start reminding you of infant mortality.

Really, bitch?  Really?   What are you mad about – that people feel happy to see a married heterosexual couple bring a new life into the world?  That you’re not getting enough attention?  Or are you mad that God didn’t love you enough to make you pretty?

I'm guessing her cat is named "Sontag" and loves playing with the chain connected to her wallet.

I’m guessing her cat is named “Sontag” and loves playing with the chain connected to her wallet.

You know what’s really got to chafe your undoubtedly unshaven hamhocks, dearie?  That you can’t spell Amanda without “MAN.”  See how the patriarchy keeps hammering you with its giant rapey Dick of Oppression?

But she can’t be   all bad.  After all, it was because of her that I stumbled across my new daily read:  JUDGYBITCH.

“JB” is one of the best writers I’ve come across on the Intertubes.  She seems to put out about a post a day, but they’re all fairly lengthy, well thought-out essays ranging from antifeminist ranting to more antifeminist ranting, and some surprisingly poignant observations on the nature of true, mature, everyday married love, which was buried in the middle of some quality antifeminist ranting.  Plus, there’s lots of pictures for simpletons like me to stare at when the thoughtwords hurt my headbrain.

I am well and fully aware that there is a huge disparity between me and my husband when it comes to the idea of “romance”, but I have never, for one moment confused “romance” with love.  Love is going to work every day.  Love is paying all the bills.  Love is being here even when I’m being unreasonable or I’m in a bad mood or I’ve had a rough day with the kids and I take it out on him.

It happens.

My love is providing all his meals, keeping our house (somewhat) neat and tidy, caring for our children with as much kindness and patience as I can muster, being here even when he’s boring me into a coma with the details of some stupid planning meeting or yelling at me because something at work pissed him off.

For my husband, that’s enough.  Devotion, commitment, tolerance, patience and the rock solid knowledge that I will never leave.  For me, it’s not.  I want all those little fairy tale gestures, too.  Yes, I realize it’s not fair.  If he is happy just knowing that I am here, I should be happy just knowing that he is here.  Well, I’m not.   Boo fucking hoo.  Buy me some flowers.  Life isn’t fair.

When he falls off the “I must please my irrational wife” bandwagon, I don’t confuse that with “he doesn’t love me”.  Pleasing me is not love.  Sharing my interests is not love.  Love is being here.  Forever.

 

If you are amused by my puerile brain shittings, you’ll be thoroughly impressed with the thought and wit JUDGYBITCH puts into her posts.  Add this one to your daily reads – everything I’ve seen so far has been top-notch.  She’s on the blogroll now, so get to clickin’.

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