As further proof that you don’t have to be all that bright to be elected to your state’s house of representatives, the North Dakota house has just tossed out a 116-year-old law that prohibited unmarried couples from living together—by a vote of 48-41.
48-41!
The law had been in place since North Dakota became a state, and according to the AP story it made living together without being married a sex crime. And 41 North Dakota legislators looked deep in their hearts in the year 2007 and thought “Yes, that makes sense.”
Rumor has it that these 41 are desperately trying to drum up support for a new law that would prohibit the mixing of male and female clothing in any given load of laundry—along with open-mouthed kissing, foot massages, and the use of the word “moist.”
The North Dakota Family Alliance wanted the law left on the books because they’re vehemently opposed to the idea of people saving money by splitting the cost of rent and utilities. No, not really—I’m just messing with you. The words “family alliance” gave it away: They don’t want you to have sex unless you get it authorized by the county clerk and have the forms submitted to God. Then it’s okay.
Congratulations to the North Dakota legislators who realized that it’s none of the government’s business who lives where and with whom. To the other 41 and the constituents they represent, take heart: This won’t affect you in the least.
* * * *
This marks the second straight post that contains the phrase “won’t affect you in the least.” Seems to be a recurring theme here at the Runes--as well it should be. As Hank Williams put it, “Mind your own business and you won’t be minding mine.”
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Friday, March 02, 2007
Who Would Jesus Fire?
Here’s the story in a nutshell: Steve Stanton had been city manager of Largo, Florida for 14 years, and his performance reviews were good. However, after he announced his intention to have a sex-change operation, all hell broke loose. A few hundred of the local yahoos descended on the next city commission meeting to express their outrage, and as a result, the commission voted 5-2 to terminate Stanton’s contract.
The loudmouths who felt compelled to protest did so on the usual grounds: Bible Bible Jesus Bible blabbidy blabbidy blah. Peggy Schaefer of the First Baptist Church of Indian Rocks said “I don’t want that man in office…We don’t believe in sex changes or lesbianism. They have their rights, but we do, too.”
How was he doing as city manager, Peggy? Or were you even aware there was such a position before you decided to haul your self-righteous ass down to the city commission meeting?
And by the way, Pegster, I’m trying to figure out how the rights you allude to supersede the right of another human being to be employed.
Rather than devote this entry to every hateful example of bigotry that came out of that February meeting, I’m going to focus on one quote, this from Pastor Ron Sanders of the Lighthouse Baptist Church of Largo. Pastor Ron said “If Jesus was here tonight, I can guarantee you he’d want [Stanton] terminated. Make no mistake about it.”
Wow. Guess we don’t need to discuss it any further, now that we have a personal guarantee from—well, not exactly from Jesus, but from a guy who certainly considers himself authorized to speak for him. If it didn’t require getting inside the festering ooze of Pastor Ron’s mind, I’d be curious to know the thought-process a guy goes through before making a guarantee in the name of Jesus.
Think about what that means. Sanders wants us to believe that Jesus would agree with terminating Steve Stanton’s contract.
That’s Jesus “Love Your Neighbor” Christ.
The guy who kicked out the moneylenders.
The guy who stopped the crowd from stoning the prostitute.
Above all, the guy who said “Whatsoever you do unto the least of my brothers, this you do unto me.”
Pastor Ron might have balls the size of Pharisees, but unless the New Testament has changed from the time I was a churchgoin’ fellow, he’s wrong, wrong, wrong. I can’t guarantee it, but I’ve got a pretty good feeling—and I think people who aren’t blinded by irrational hate would agree with me, believers or not.
Imagine what a small sad life Pastor Ron must lead. Imagine getting all worked up about something that doesn’t affect you in the least, to the point where you believe it’s your place to send someone to the unemployment line. And imagine being deluded enough to think Jesus would back you up on it.
Whatsoever you do, Pastor Ron. Whatsoever you do.
* * * *
By the way, kudos to Largo mayor Pat Gerard and commissioner Rodney Woods for casting the votes to keep Stanton on board. Rock on. Also kudos to the bloggers at Pandagon and Alas, A Blog, where I first heard about this story. Their accounts are well worth reading and someday I'll figure out how to link there.
The loudmouths who felt compelled to protest did so on the usual grounds: Bible Bible Jesus Bible blabbidy blabbidy blah. Peggy Schaefer of the First Baptist Church of Indian Rocks said “I don’t want that man in office…We don’t believe in sex changes or lesbianism. They have their rights, but we do, too.”
How was he doing as city manager, Peggy? Or were you even aware there was such a position before you decided to haul your self-righteous ass down to the city commission meeting?
And by the way, Pegster, I’m trying to figure out how the rights you allude to supersede the right of another human being to be employed.
Rather than devote this entry to every hateful example of bigotry that came out of that February meeting, I’m going to focus on one quote, this from Pastor Ron Sanders of the Lighthouse Baptist Church of Largo. Pastor Ron said “If Jesus was here tonight, I can guarantee you he’d want [Stanton] terminated. Make no mistake about it.”
Wow. Guess we don’t need to discuss it any further, now that we have a personal guarantee from—well, not exactly from Jesus, but from a guy who certainly considers himself authorized to speak for him. If it didn’t require getting inside the festering ooze of Pastor Ron’s mind, I’d be curious to know the thought-process a guy goes through before making a guarantee in the name of Jesus.
Think about what that means. Sanders wants us to believe that Jesus would agree with terminating Steve Stanton’s contract.
That’s Jesus “Love Your Neighbor” Christ.
The guy who kicked out the moneylenders.
The guy who stopped the crowd from stoning the prostitute.
Above all, the guy who said “Whatsoever you do unto the least of my brothers, this you do unto me.”
Pastor Ron might have balls the size of Pharisees, but unless the New Testament has changed from the time I was a churchgoin’ fellow, he’s wrong, wrong, wrong. I can’t guarantee it, but I’ve got a pretty good feeling—and I think people who aren’t blinded by irrational hate would agree with me, believers or not.
Imagine what a small sad life Pastor Ron must lead. Imagine getting all worked up about something that doesn’t affect you in the least, to the point where you believe it’s your place to send someone to the unemployment line. And imagine being deluded enough to think Jesus would back you up on it.
Whatsoever you do, Pastor Ron. Whatsoever you do.
* * * *
By the way, kudos to Largo mayor Pat Gerard and commissioner Rodney Woods for casting the votes to keep Stanton on board. Rock on. Also kudos to the bloggers at Pandagon and Alas, A Blog, where I first heard about this story. Their accounts are well worth reading and someday I'll figure out how to link there.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Sky Valley Elegy
They’re closing down the golf course in my hometown.
It was a little nine-hole course built on one cow pasture and bordered by another, a course with some rolling hills and a ball-eating drainage ditch and a couple of birdieable par-fives. The #2 and #6 holes shared entirely too much fairway for my taste: One went north, one went south, and in my high school days I lived in constant fear of taking a ball in the face on my way to the second hole.
The little course had a couple of tempting par-threes, too, and one early morning before the dew burned off I emptied my bag and hit a good two dozen balls off the #3 tee, hoping for a hole-in-one. Fruitlessly, it turned out. My dad and brother scored their holes-in-one the legitimate way—in the middle of a round—and Dad even managed to do it twice.
My dad was a hell of a golfer: consistent, patient, and a good straight hitter. He taught me to play and hoped I’d love it as much as he did—though that, I believe, was impossible. He was our high school golf coach, too, and each spring from 1975 through 1978 I was out on our little hometown course every afternoon after school, trying to lower my average score enough to qualify for the varsity matches and succeeding only rarely. Dad would send us out in random foursomes and we’d walk the former pasture carrying our clubs, shooting the breeze, discussing girls and school and life, praising each other’s best shots, occasionally bending Dad’s rules and awarding a gimme if the situation called for it. While the baseball players were doing conditioning drills and the track team were running their lungs out, we were enjoying a stroll on a sweet cool spring afternoon, pausing occasionally to hit a ball a little closer to the hole.
The name of the course was Sky Valley back then, and it was generally the smallest and scrubbiest of all the courses the golf team played on. The fairways were far from lush and the greens sometimes got rubbed down to dirt in places, but that never bothered me. I liked the fact that it was ours. There were only two places in the county with courses, and my little hometown was one of them. We traveled to some much nicer facilities over the course of each season, but the bigger and better cared-for they were, the more they intimidated me. Sky Valley felt like home.
I stopped playing regularly after I moved away in 1985. Seven years after that, the entire Sky Valley complex—golf course, campground, lodge, and restaurant—was purchased by the Indiana Regular Baptist Youth Camp, which changed the name of the place to Twin Lakes Camp and Conference Center, closed the restaurant, and converted everything but the golf course into a church camp. After reversing their original decision to close the course on Sundays, the Baptists bravely entered the world of golf course management.
The change of ownership didn’t affect my dad’s love of the game. By the time the Baptists took over, he’d turned my mom into an avid golfer, and ever since then the course has been the hub of their social life. When they were both retired, they were free to go out in the middle of a weekday and play a round or two—and since they had a family membership they could tack on an extra four holes before going home. They golfed with couples their own age and couples who were younger, and if none of their friends were around they golfed by themselves.
One of the younger couples ostensibly adopted Mom and Dad and soon the four of them were going out for pizza after their Friday-night rounds. On Saturday afternoons it was common to see 20 or more of these regulars lining up on the first tee and dividing into foursomes, and then at the end the round switching into new teams and playing again. Whenever I was home for Mother’s Day weekend, I’d join this motley crew and experience firsthand the camaraderie and competition of people who truly enjoyed each other’s company.
My dad has been in declining health for the last few years. He’s on oxygen full-time now, and last year he only felt well enough to play golf four times, a number exponentially lower than his average. Most days, though, he went out anyway and rode in the cart with Mom, taking pleasure in the warm weather and the warm presence of his friends.
This past winter, when they were looking into course membership for 2007, Mom and Dad decided it made sense to buy only a single membership for her.
I can hardly imagine a summer without my dad golfing. Until last summer, I’m sure he couldn’t either. I’m sure it hurt for him to see Mom mail that check for just one membership, and to know he’d be limited to a summer of being the golf cart chauffeur.
But even that was taken from him—from both of them—when Mom opened the mail one day last month and found a refund check for her membership. According to their website, Twin Lakes has decided to use the golf course land for “sports fields, bike trails, disc golf, a hydra course, and a nature/welcome center in the former pro shop.”
I don’t think the Baptists were ever all that gung-ho about managing a golf course, and I don’t know why they couldn’t have sold it to investors who would have been. But it’s not important now. What’s important is that something unique to my little hometown is gone. Something good, something fun, something that was important to quite a few people.
Sure, there are other golf courses within a 20-minute drive, and maybe the younger golfers will gravitate to one of them. Maybe the older golfers will head there too when they feel like a round, and maybe they’ll invite Mom and maybe Dad will go along for the ride.
But it’ll never feel like it used to. It’ll never feel like home.
It was a little nine-hole course built on one cow pasture and bordered by another, a course with some rolling hills and a ball-eating drainage ditch and a couple of birdieable par-fives. The #2 and #6 holes shared entirely too much fairway for my taste: One went north, one went south, and in my high school days I lived in constant fear of taking a ball in the face on my way to the second hole.
The little course had a couple of tempting par-threes, too, and one early morning before the dew burned off I emptied my bag and hit a good two dozen balls off the #3 tee, hoping for a hole-in-one. Fruitlessly, it turned out. My dad and brother scored their holes-in-one the legitimate way—in the middle of a round—and Dad even managed to do it twice.
My dad was a hell of a golfer: consistent, patient, and a good straight hitter. He taught me to play and hoped I’d love it as much as he did—though that, I believe, was impossible. He was our high school golf coach, too, and each spring from 1975 through 1978 I was out on our little hometown course every afternoon after school, trying to lower my average score enough to qualify for the varsity matches and succeeding only rarely. Dad would send us out in random foursomes and we’d walk the former pasture carrying our clubs, shooting the breeze, discussing girls and school and life, praising each other’s best shots, occasionally bending Dad’s rules and awarding a gimme if the situation called for it. While the baseball players were doing conditioning drills and the track team were running their lungs out, we were enjoying a stroll on a sweet cool spring afternoon, pausing occasionally to hit a ball a little closer to the hole.
The name of the course was Sky Valley back then, and it was generally the smallest and scrubbiest of all the courses the golf team played on. The fairways were far from lush and the greens sometimes got rubbed down to dirt in places, but that never bothered me. I liked the fact that it was ours. There were only two places in the county with courses, and my little hometown was one of them. We traveled to some much nicer facilities over the course of each season, but the bigger and better cared-for they were, the more they intimidated me. Sky Valley felt like home.
I stopped playing regularly after I moved away in 1985. Seven years after that, the entire Sky Valley complex—golf course, campground, lodge, and restaurant—was purchased by the Indiana Regular Baptist Youth Camp, which changed the name of the place to Twin Lakes Camp and Conference Center, closed the restaurant, and converted everything but the golf course into a church camp. After reversing their original decision to close the course on Sundays, the Baptists bravely entered the world of golf course management.
The change of ownership didn’t affect my dad’s love of the game. By the time the Baptists took over, he’d turned my mom into an avid golfer, and ever since then the course has been the hub of their social life. When they were both retired, they were free to go out in the middle of a weekday and play a round or two—and since they had a family membership they could tack on an extra four holes before going home. They golfed with couples their own age and couples who were younger, and if none of their friends were around they golfed by themselves.
One of the younger couples ostensibly adopted Mom and Dad and soon the four of them were going out for pizza after their Friday-night rounds. On Saturday afternoons it was common to see 20 or more of these regulars lining up on the first tee and dividing into foursomes, and then at the end the round switching into new teams and playing again. Whenever I was home for Mother’s Day weekend, I’d join this motley crew and experience firsthand the camaraderie and competition of people who truly enjoyed each other’s company.
My dad has been in declining health for the last few years. He’s on oxygen full-time now, and last year he only felt well enough to play golf four times, a number exponentially lower than his average. Most days, though, he went out anyway and rode in the cart with Mom, taking pleasure in the warm weather and the warm presence of his friends.
This past winter, when they were looking into course membership for 2007, Mom and Dad decided it made sense to buy only a single membership for her.
I can hardly imagine a summer without my dad golfing. Until last summer, I’m sure he couldn’t either. I’m sure it hurt for him to see Mom mail that check for just one membership, and to know he’d be limited to a summer of being the golf cart chauffeur.
But even that was taken from him—from both of them—when Mom opened the mail one day last month and found a refund check for her membership. According to their website, Twin Lakes has decided to use the golf course land for “sports fields, bike trails, disc golf, a hydra course, and a nature/welcome center in the former pro shop.”
I don’t think the Baptists were ever all that gung-ho about managing a golf course, and I don’t know why they couldn’t have sold it to investors who would have been. But it’s not important now. What’s important is that something unique to my little hometown is gone. Something good, something fun, something that was important to quite a few people.
Sure, there are other golf courses within a 20-minute drive, and maybe the younger golfers will gravitate to one of them. Maybe the older golfers will head there too when they feel like a round, and maybe they’ll invite Mom and maybe Dad will go along for the ride.
But it’ll never feel like it used to. It’ll never feel like home.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Please Strap Your Explosives Somewhere Else
I really should just devote this blog to some of the silly comments I run across online. I can’t think of a better way to ensure daily updates.
Case in point: There’s a story on Time.com today about an upcoming documentary produced by James Cameron and making the claim that construction workers in Jerusalem have uncovered a burial vault containing Jesus and his family. Yeah, that Jesus. Cameron says his evidence for this claim includes DNA tests, which is pretty silly in its own right. (“Your honor, I intend to prove that the DNA taken from the corpse’s shoulder matches the DNA taken from the same corpse’s foot.”)
Anyway. There was a comments section following the story, and I only made it about a tenth of the way through before realizing that it was just going turn into a shoving match between believers and non-believers. However, I read long enough to find this gem (quoted here verbatim, spelling and all), from a reader named John:
I’ve already advised the Discovery Channel that if they air this I will cancel my subscription....they should be lucky that I don’t strap explosives around my waste.
This gives new meaning to the phrase “a shitstorm of controversy,” doesn’t it?
Case in point: There’s a story on Time.com today about an upcoming documentary produced by James Cameron and making the claim that construction workers in Jerusalem have uncovered a burial vault containing Jesus and his family. Yeah, that Jesus. Cameron says his evidence for this claim includes DNA tests, which is pretty silly in its own right. (“Your honor, I intend to prove that the DNA taken from the corpse’s shoulder matches the DNA taken from the same corpse’s foot.”)
Anyway. There was a comments section following the story, and I only made it about a tenth of the way through before realizing that it was just going turn into a shoving match between believers and non-believers. However, I read long enough to find this gem (quoted here verbatim, spelling and all), from a reader named John:
I’ve already advised the Discovery Channel that if they air this I will cancel my subscription....they should be lucky that I don’t strap explosives around my waste.
This gives new meaning to the phrase “a shitstorm of controversy,” doesn’t it?
Friday, February 23, 2007
A Bit of Doggerel
O sing a song of Britney Spears
Who took a pair of barber’s shears
And trimmed the hair above her ears
For reasons hard to say
With new tattoos upon her back
She launched her major hair attack
The scissor-blade went snicker-snack
And chopped it all away
We don’t know why she shaved her head
At least I’ve never heard it said
Perhaps the former Mrs Fed
Was having a bad day
But now the one-time Mouseketeer
Has only skin from ear to ear
The hair she used to hold so dear
Is selling on eBay.
* * *
I'm not sure why I was so compelled to write a poem about this non-subject. I was going to do an essay on celebrities who get to be celebrities without much in the way of discernible talent, but this came out instead.
Who took a pair of barber’s shears
And trimmed the hair above her ears
For reasons hard to say
With new tattoos upon her back
She launched her major hair attack
The scissor-blade went snicker-snack
And chopped it all away
We don’t know why she shaved her head
At least I’ve never heard it said
Perhaps the former Mrs Fed
Was having a bad day
But now the one-time Mouseketeer
Has only skin from ear to ear
The hair she used to hold so dear
Is selling on eBay.
* * *
I'm not sure why I was so compelled to write a poem about this non-subject. I was going to do an essay on celebrities who get to be celebrities without much in the way of discernible talent, but this came out instead.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Strike One, Mitt
The best thing I can think to say about Mitt Romney is that he’s the most prominent politician named after a piece of baseball equipment since Spikes Washington and Protective Cup Roosevelt.
I guess the next best thing would be that he’s not George W. Bush.
And I guess it doesn’t matter because I won’t be voting for a Republican presidential candidate in 2008 under any circumstances, but Romney said something this week that didn’t sit well with me. Speaking to an audience of retirees in Florida, he said “One of the great things about this land is that we have people of different faiths and different religions, but we need to have a person of faith lead the country.”
Why is that, Mitt?
Why would you say that?
I would argue that we need to have a person of intelligence lead the country: a well-read student of history with a lifelong thirst for knowledge and an understanding of cultures other than his or her own. Someone, say, with more than a cursory knowledge of economics.
I would argue that a person of compassion would also be a good leader. This person would understand the old bumper sticker message that no one is free while others are oppressed. He or she would stand up for the unfortunate and reject policies that make life worse for those who don’t have it that good to begin with.
A person of conscience would be nice, too. This leader would make thoughtful decisions and have no hidden agenda. The rest of us could feel certain that our trust in this leader wouldn’t be betrayed.
I could go on and on, substituting all sorts of positive attributes: a person of justice, a person of respect, a person of not-batshit-insanity. The point is, when I think of the qualities that make a good leader, I think of actions, not beliefs.
I think of qualities that translate into benefits for everyone.
If a person of faith has these other characteristics, fine. Be intelligent, compassionate, accountable, just, respectful, and not insane, and I won’t care who or what you worship behind closed doors.
And by the same token, Mitt Romney, don’t pretend that a person of faith automatically has those qualities, and don’t pretend that a skeptic automatically doesn’t.
I guess the next best thing would be that he’s not George W. Bush.
And I guess it doesn’t matter because I won’t be voting for a Republican presidential candidate in 2008 under any circumstances, but Romney said something this week that didn’t sit well with me. Speaking to an audience of retirees in Florida, he said “One of the great things about this land is that we have people of different faiths and different religions, but we need to have a person of faith lead the country.”
Why is that, Mitt?
Why would you say that?
I would argue that we need to have a person of intelligence lead the country: a well-read student of history with a lifelong thirst for knowledge and an understanding of cultures other than his or her own. Someone, say, with more than a cursory knowledge of economics.
I would argue that a person of compassion would also be a good leader. This person would understand the old bumper sticker message that no one is free while others are oppressed. He or she would stand up for the unfortunate and reject policies that make life worse for those who don’t have it that good to begin with.
A person of conscience would be nice, too. This leader would make thoughtful decisions and have no hidden agenda. The rest of us could feel certain that our trust in this leader wouldn’t be betrayed.
I could go on and on, substituting all sorts of positive attributes: a person of justice, a person of respect, a person of not-batshit-insanity. The point is, when I think of the qualities that make a good leader, I think of actions, not beliefs.
I think of qualities that translate into benefits for everyone.
If a person of faith has these other characteristics, fine. Be intelligent, compassionate, accountable, just, respectful, and not insane, and I won’t care who or what you worship behind closed doors.
And by the same token, Mitt Romney, don’t pretend that a person of faith automatically has those qualities, and don’t pretend that a skeptic automatically doesn’t.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Fetch, Boehner, Fetch!
Funny thing about dogs. They’ll stand by you even if you’re the most despicable person on earth. A dog doesn’t care if you’re a racist, or if you’re a pervert, or if your incompetence caused a fire at the nursing home—he’ll act like you’re the lord of the universe.
But the same kind of loyalty that’s so admirable in a dog is less so in an elected official. Yet “party before country” is the watchword for those Republican senators and representatives who either refuse to believe Bush started the nursing-home fire or are proud that he did.
Rep. John Boehner of Ohio is opposed to the nonbinding resolution expressing disapproval of the troop escalation in Iraq, and yesterday he had this to say:
“This battle is the most visible part of a global war against terrorists. If we leave, they will follow us home. It's that simple.”
Wow. That is simple. It’s simple-minded, too, though I’m not sure it’s as simple-minded as thinking you can conduct a global war on anything by committing a huge chunk of your military to a single place, especially when that place had a negligible connection to terrorism (if any) to begin with.
Boehner’s remark sure makes it sound like Bush is using American soldiers as bait for new terrorists. I find this too reprehensible for words, but maybe it’s perfectly acceptable for Boehner and Bush’s other family pets. (I can’t remember the exact quote, but Immanuel Kant, who might have been a little smarter than John Boehner, once wrote that when the old men who make the wars have to fight them too, then that would be the end of war.)
If Boehner thinks terrorists are going to follow Americans home from Iraq, then I have a solution. On the way back to America, we stop off at a rest area to go to the restroom, and then when the terrorists are over by the vending machines getting corn chips and pop and pretending not to follow us, we sneak out the back window. It’s that simple!
Sigh. Ever since the September 11 attacks, the Bush administration has been hammering us with the same two messages: “Be afraid” and “We know what’s best for you.” The good news is that more and more people are beginning to see through this horseshit. John Boehner isn’t one of them.
But the same kind of loyalty that’s so admirable in a dog is less so in an elected official. Yet “party before country” is the watchword for those Republican senators and representatives who either refuse to believe Bush started the nursing-home fire or are proud that he did.
Rep. John Boehner of Ohio is opposed to the nonbinding resolution expressing disapproval of the troop escalation in Iraq, and yesterday he had this to say:
“This battle is the most visible part of a global war against terrorists. If we leave, they will follow us home. It's that simple.”
Wow. That is simple. It’s simple-minded, too, though I’m not sure it’s as simple-minded as thinking you can conduct a global war on anything by committing a huge chunk of your military to a single place, especially when that place had a negligible connection to terrorism (if any) to begin with.
Boehner’s remark sure makes it sound like Bush is using American soldiers as bait for new terrorists. I find this too reprehensible for words, but maybe it’s perfectly acceptable for Boehner and Bush’s other family pets. (I can’t remember the exact quote, but Immanuel Kant, who might have been a little smarter than John Boehner, once wrote that when the old men who make the wars have to fight them too, then that would be the end of war.)
If Boehner thinks terrorists are going to follow Americans home from Iraq, then I have a solution. On the way back to America, we stop off at a rest area to go to the restroom, and then when the terrorists are over by the vending machines getting corn chips and pop and pretending not to follow us, we sneak out the back window. It’s that simple!
Sigh. Ever since the September 11 attacks, the Bush administration has been hammering us with the same two messages: “Be afraid” and “We know what’s best for you.” The good news is that more and more people are beginning to see through this horseshit. John Boehner isn’t one of them.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Not Ready For Prime Time
What do Republican presidential candidates John McCain and Rudy Giuliani have in common? No, no, rancid ideology isn’t the answer I’m looking for.
Actually, they’ve both hosted “Saturday Night Live.”
McCain’s appearance was in 2002, before the invasion of Iraq, before he became Bush’s shoeshine boy, before he started pandering to Falwell and Dobson and others of that ilk. As I recall, he was relaxed and funny on the show, but I think I’d have a tough time watching it in reruns, knowing that he’s out there beating the drums for troop escalation and the nebulous “victory in Iraq.”
I don’t remember anything at all about Giuliani’s SNL appearance, and it’s quite possible I missed it. However, the Los Angeles Times had a story today in which Giuliani seems to be auditioning for another guest-hosting gig.
How else can you explain comparing Bush to Abraham Lincoln (and favorably, to boot)? Assuming he did so with a straight face, Giuliani must surely rival Bob Newhart and Steven Wright as a master of the deadpan.
How else can you explain such wry quips as “America is very fortunate to have President Bush”?
Giuliani told a convention of California Republicans on Saturday that he wants to be the kind of president who makes decisions that move the country forward. He admires Bush’s leadership and apparently agrees that the president should be a decider.
Which is fine if the president isn’t making his deciderings unilaterally, if he’s weighing all the sides of an issue and then doing the right thing based on his sworn oath to uphold the Constitution. Right now we have a president who’s ignoring the will of his constituents, dismissing the advice of military experts, abandoning his oath, and flying in the face of common sense.
As a result, he has further destabilized the Middle East, created more terrorists, lined his cronies’ pockets, and done a pretty good impression of the angel of death.
This is Giuliani's role model?
I used to think Giuliani wasn’t a bad guy for a Republican. His reasonable stance on abortion and gay rights made him seem somewhat human. But anyone who thinks America is fortunate to have this president can only harbor a serious hatred of America.
And thus shouldn't be allowed to host SNL again.
Actually, they’ve both hosted “Saturday Night Live.”
McCain’s appearance was in 2002, before the invasion of Iraq, before he became Bush’s shoeshine boy, before he started pandering to Falwell and Dobson and others of that ilk. As I recall, he was relaxed and funny on the show, but I think I’d have a tough time watching it in reruns, knowing that he’s out there beating the drums for troop escalation and the nebulous “victory in Iraq.”
I don’t remember anything at all about Giuliani’s SNL appearance, and it’s quite possible I missed it. However, the Los Angeles Times had a story today in which Giuliani seems to be auditioning for another guest-hosting gig.
How else can you explain comparing Bush to Abraham Lincoln (and favorably, to boot)? Assuming he did so with a straight face, Giuliani must surely rival Bob Newhart and Steven Wright as a master of the deadpan.
How else can you explain such wry quips as “America is very fortunate to have President Bush”?
Giuliani told a convention of California Republicans on Saturday that he wants to be the kind of president who makes decisions that move the country forward. He admires Bush’s leadership and apparently agrees that the president should be a decider.
Which is fine if the president isn’t making his deciderings unilaterally, if he’s weighing all the sides of an issue and then doing the right thing based on his sworn oath to uphold the Constitution. Right now we have a president who’s ignoring the will of his constituents, dismissing the advice of military experts, abandoning his oath, and flying in the face of common sense.
As a result, he has further destabilized the Middle East, created more terrorists, lined his cronies’ pockets, and done a pretty good impression of the angel of death.
This is Giuliani's role model?
I used to think Giuliani wasn’t a bad guy for a Republican. His reasonable stance on abortion and gay rights made him seem somewhat human. But anyone who thinks America is fortunate to have this president can only harbor a serious hatred of America.
And thus shouldn't be allowed to host SNL again.
Friday, February 09, 2007
If Only They Were Afraid To Talk To Anyone At All
I promised in an earlier post that I’d write about what those intellectual heavyweights Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck had to say about Joe Biden and his awkward semi-compliment to Barack Obama, and as you might have already guessed it was pretty entertaining—if the idea of grown men saying things that would embarrass a seventh-grader strikes you as entertaining.
As reported on the Think Progress website, in the process of leading a discussion about Biden’s remarks, O’Reilly said this to one of his guests, whose name I didn’t catch:
“Now you got to feel sorry for us white folks here, because I’m telling you now I’m afraid to say anything. You know, you’re an articulate guy, doctor, but I’m never going to say that. You’re a smart guy. Is that bad if I say you’re a smart guy? … Yes, absolutely, instead of black and white Americans coming together, white Americans are terrified. They’re terrified. Now we can’t even say you’re articulate? We can’t even give you guys compliments because they may be taken as condescension?”
Yeah, I know. Where to begin?
O’Reilly is guilty of pretend-indignation. He pretends he doesn’t understand the difference between condescension (expressing amazement that a black person is articulate) and a genuine compliment. “Is it bad if I say you’re a smart guy?”
Come on, Bill. It’s all about context, and stop acting like you don’t know it. The times when it’s okay to tell a black person he’s a smart guy are exactly the same times when it’s okay to tell anyone the same thing.
“Hey, Bob, you’re a smart guy—settle this bet for us.”
“You bought Microsoft at $5? You’re a genius!”
“Say, Ted—brilliant work on the Henderson account.”
Otherwise, the subject isn’t going to come up very often. Yet judging from his words, O’Reilly is constantly having this internal struggle: “Oh, no—this guy’s black and I’m white. Must…resist…Tourette’s Condescending Compliment Syndrome…”
Most people are just content to have normal grown-up conversation. That includes the “white people” O’Reilly presumptuously claims to speak for. (Honestly—suggesting that anyone should “feel sorry for white folks” because he's a case of arrested development?)
But let’s get Glenn Beck’s two half-cents in here, too. In the course of a similar discussion on his CNN program, he said
“I don’t have a lot of African-American friends, and I think part of it is because I’m afraid that I would be in an open conversation, and I would say something that somebody would take wrong, and then it would be a nightmare. Am I alone in feeling that?”
Well, Glenn, I’m pretty sure you’re not alone. But I don’t think there are a whole lot of mature, rational, intelligent people in the boat with you.
As reported on the Think Progress website, in the process of leading a discussion about Biden’s remarks, O’Reilly said this to one of his guests, whose name I didn’t catch:
“Now you got to feel sorry for us white folks here, because I’m telling you now I’m afraid to say anything. You know, you’re an articulate guy, doctor, but I’m never going to say that. You’re a smart guy. Is that bad if I say you’re a smart guy? … Yes, absolutely, instead of black and white Americans coming together, white Americans are terrified. They’re terrified. Now we can’t even say you’re articulate? We can’t even give you guys compliments because they may be taken as condescension?”
Yeah, I know. Where to begin?
O’Reilly is guilty of pretend-indignation. He pretends he doesn’t understand the difference between condescension (expressing amazement that a black person is articulate) and a genuine compliment. “Is it bad if I say you’re a smart guy?”
Come on, Bill. It’s all about context, and stop acting like you don’t know it. The times when it’s okay to tell a black person he’s a smart guy are exactly the same times when it’s okay to tell anyone the same thing.
“Hey, Bob, you’re a smart guy—settle this bet for us.”
“You bought Microsoft at $5? You’re a genius!”
“Say, Ted—brilliant work on the Henderson account.”
Otherwise, the subject isn’t going to come up very often. Yet judging from his words, O’Reilly is constantly having this internal struggle: “Oh, no—this guy’s black and I’m white. Must…resist…Tourette’s Condescending Compliment Syndrome…”
Most people are just content to have normal grown-up conversation. That includes the “white people” O’Reilly presumptuously claims to speak for. (Honestly—suggesting that anyone should “feel sorry for white folks” because he's a case of arrested development?)
But let’s get Glenn Beck’s two half-cents in here, too. In the course of a similar discussion on his CNN program, he said
“I don’t have a lot of African-American friends, and I think part of it is because I’m afraid that I would be in an open conversation, and I would say something that somebody would take wrong, and then it would be a nightmare. Am I alone in feeling that?”
Well, Glenn, I’m pretty sure you’re not alone. But I don’t think there are a whole lot of mature, rational, intelligent people in the boat with you.
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