So, did you watch “Idol Gives Back” last night? My beloved and I sat down in front of the set with our healthy and nutritious small portions (yeah, we’re dieting. Grrrrrr.). He asked if I thought the show was going to be good, or if it was going to be treacly.
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.
“Please,” I said. “What do YOU think?”
Hunger makes me bitchier. Hard to believe, I know.
We both agreed that we were in for a long night, but that the alternative (actually getting up from the couch) would only make us hungrier, so we settled in.
I have to say, I was quite pleasantly surprised by the show. The live bits weren’t so bad (Fergie singing with the Wilson sisters! Who knew she could rock like that?) but it was the pre-taped bits with Bono, Annie Lennox and Forrest Whitaker that really drove the message home.
They were talking about how little it costs to prevent malaria (a $10 mosquito net or a couple of bucks for a pill) and how limited HIV/AIDS medications were in Africa and how far even a little bit of money goes. Then the British PM announced that Britain was donating $200 million dollars for mosquito netting. And it seemed like such an enormous impact would be felt from that amount of money. A literal world of good.
They talked about helping poor children in our country. They talked about rebuilding New Orleans. They talked about all the good that could be done with the MILLIONS they would raise.
As I fought back the manipulated tears, I suddenly started to get really angry. I don’t know what the current tally is in HUNDREDS OF BILLIONS of dollars we’ve spent on securing our access to oil reserves in Iraq (surely no one buys that “democracy” bullshit anymore. That region will NEVER be stable by our definition). But is that really more important than the HUGE FUCKING IMPACT that money could have had on the quality of life for millions of people around the globe?
Money is a finite thing. When we spend it on one thing, we don’t spend it on another. And while I know I’m preaching to the choir here, this administration is FUCKED UP. I think it is truly criminal what has been done. And I hope that Presidents Bush and Cheney will end up tried for crimes against humanity.
All that talk of toppling a despot. (des)Pot? Ketttle.
So much hope on display last night. So much opportunity to do good and make a difference. And it drew such a sharp contrast between doing something good for the world and lining the pockets of your friends at ExxonMobil.
Yes, I realize that ExxonMobil was a key sponsor last night. They even trotted out an INCREDIBLY uncomfortable looking white executive and what was obviously the highest-ranking African American in the company. Well, motherfuckers, enjoy the company you keep, because you’re all going to the same hell, where George can drink and Laura can smoke and Cheney can shoot anybody he likes.
You should have given BILLIONS. Greedy motherfuckers.
And the greatest irony of all is that this administration rode to the White House on the coattails of people who identify as “Christians.” So, why aren’t they behaving that way?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Teach Me Tonight
Growing up in East Texas, I got to witness a lot of inappropriate teacher-student relationships. The valedictorian two classes ahead of me ended up marrying the vice-principal. And the head cheerleader a year behind me ended up marrying my varsity basketball coach. That same coach also deflowered at least one other girl in my class, who then chose to give her ultimate gift to me. Fortunately for my budding gay self, she shared that tidbit in a fit of pre-coital, florid romance novel dialogue: “You’re not the first! Johhny was the first. (gasp)”
“Well, guess what? I won’t be the second either. But good luck with that rash.”
Well, times have changed, and maybe they still look the other way at these antics in East Texas, but not here in Austin. A 27-year old high school teacher has been charged with having improper sexual conduct with a 17-year old student.
Now, I don’t know about where you are, but in Texas it is illegal for a teacher to have sex with a student. Period. There’s no such thing as mutual consent. Now, if you can hold your horses until graduation night, you can make the map of France right there on your cap and gown. But not a moment before.
The great irony in this case is that the two just filed for a marriage license last Thursday (hmmm, maybe that was the tipoff.) and the greater irony is that, in Texas, you have to have parental consent to get married if you’re under 18. So teacher, starry-eyed student and (apparently brain-dead) mama headed off the courthouse.
There is a question on the application that asks the reason for the marriage. The mother wrote, “for Love.” Awwwww. That’s so sweet. Blech
Did I mention that their first date was in early March? And that other than their first date (dinner) all subsequent dates consisted of going to HIS apartment for sex? Sounds like “love” to me.
I’m afraid Lolita’s heart is heading for a breakin’ though. Mr. Man is facing a 20 year prison sentence if convicted. I’m thinking a couple of months of renting Barely Legal videos might have been a better option.
“Well, guess what? I won’t be the second either. But good luck with that rash.”
Well, times have changed, and maybe they still look the other way at these antics in East Texas, but not here in Austin. A 27-year old high school teacher has been charged with having improper sexual conduct with a 17-year old student.
Now, I don’t know about where you are, but in Texas it is illegal for a teacher to have sex with a student. Period. There’s no such thing as mutual consent. Now, if you can hold your horses until graduation night, you can make the map of France right there on your cap and gown. But not a moment before.
The great irony in this case is that the two just filed for a marriage license last Thursday (hmmm, maybe that was the tipoff.) and the greater irony is that, in Texas, you have to have parental consent to get married if you’re under 18. So teacher, starry-eyed student and (apparently brain-dead) mama headed off the courthouse.
There is a question on the application that asks the reason for the marriage. The mother wrote, “for Love.” Awwwww. That’s so sweet. Blech
Did I mention that their first date was in early March? And that other than their first date (dinner) all subsequent dates consisted of going to HIS apartment for sex? Sounds like “love” to me.
I’m afraid Lolita’s heart is heading for a breakin’ though. Mr. Man is facing a 20 year prison sentence if convicted. I’m thinking a couple of months of renting Barely Legal videos might have been a better option.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
A Pulitzer for Bob
If you’re a Bob Dylan fan, you may as well start typing your incredulous, flaming comments now. I’m afraid that I’m not one of the believers. So, imagine my reaction when I see that Bob Fucking Dylan has won a PULITZER. It was an honorary one, to be sure, but still. A Pulitzer?
The committee cited his "profound impact on popular music and American culture, marked by lyrical compositions of extraordinary poetic power." Poetic power? But you can’t understand a fucking word he says.
In fact, I’m pretty sure Johnny Depp’s “MUMBLER!” shtick as Willie Wonka came from hours of frustration at trying to decipher Bob Dylan’s singing.
But, to be fair, I went to a Dylan lyric site to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not really knowing Dylan’s canon, I randomly picked a song that sounded like it had great lyric potential. Here’s what I found:
“Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Come on brother, join the band,
Come on sisters, clap your hands,
Tell everybody that's in the land,
You ain't a-gonna grieve no more.”
Not sure the name of that one, but I’m guessing it’s “Horton Hears a HUNH?!?!”
Then there’s this little gem:
“Frog went a-courtin' and he did ride, Uh-huh,
Frog went a-courtin' and he did ride, Uh-huh,
Frog went a-courtin' and he did ride,
With a sword and a pistol by his side, Uh-huh.
Well he rode up to Miss Mousey's door, Uh-huh,
Well he rode up to Miss Mousey's door, Uh-huh,
Well he rode up to Miss Mousey's door.
Gave three loud raps and a very big roar, Uh-huh.
Said, "Miss Mouse, are you within?" Uh-huh,
Said he, "Miss Mouse, are you within?" Uh-huh,
Said, "Miss Mouse, are you within?"
"Yes, kind sir, I sit and spin," Uh-huh.”
“Are you WITHIN? Ummm. O-kay? What is this, the Renaissance Faire? Maybe I misread the press release. Maybe he actually won a Caldecott or Newberry.
I’ve long had a theory that Dylan only became famous because everyone he played to in the early years was trippin’ their titties off. He could have been playing a harp and, in their drug-induced stupors (and believe me, I have NOTHING against drug-induced stupors, per se—they’ve sold a lot of music over the years) people believed he was the second coming. Now, all of that mumbling is ingrained in their heads and they think he “changed their lives” and that he’s a “genius.” Well, that was the acid, people.
So I decided to give it one more try. And on my third trip to the lyric well, I actually hooked something.
“When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup”
But I still bet no one could understand his acceptance speech.
The committee cited his "profound impact on popular music and American culture, marked by lyrical compositions of extraordinary poetic power." Poetic power? But you can’t understand a fucking word he says.
In fact, I’m pretty sure Johnny Depp’s “MUMBLER!” shtick as Willie Wonka came from hours of frustration at trying to decipher Bob Dylan’s singing.
But, to be fair, I went to a Dylan lyric site to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not really knowing Dylan’s canon, I randomly picked a song that sounded like it had great lyric potential. Here’s what I found:
“Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Come on brother, join the band,
Come on sisters, clap your hands,
Tell everybody that's in the land,
You ain't a-gonna grieve no more.”
Not sure the name of that one, but I’m guessing it’s “Horton Hears a HUNH?!?!”
Then there’s this little gem:
“Frog went a-courtin' and he did ride, Uh-huh,
Frog went a-courtin' and he did ride, Uh-huh,
Frog went a-courtin' and he did ride,
With a sword and a pistol by his side, Uh-huh.
Well he rode up to Miss Mousey's door, Uh-huh,
Well he rode up to Miss Mousey's door, Uh-huh,
Well he rode up to Miss Mousey's door.
Gave three loud raps and a very big roar, Uh-huh.
Said, "Miss Mouse, are you within?" Uh-huh,
Said he, "Miss Mouse, are you within?" Uh-huh,
Said, "Miss Mouse, are you within?"
"Yes, kind sir, I sit and spin," Uh-huh.”
“Are you WITHIN? Ummm. O-kay? What is this, the Renaissance Faire? Maybe I misread the press release. Maybe he actually won a Caldecott or Newberry.
I’ve long had a theory that Dylan only became famous because everyone he played to in the early years was trippin’ their titties off. He could have been playing a harp and, in their drug-induced stupors (and believe me, I have NOTHING against drug-induced stupors, per se—they’ve sold a lot of music over the years) people believed he was the second coming. Now, all of that mumbling is ingrained in their heads and they think he “changed their lives” and that he’s a “genius.” Well, that was the acid, people.
So I decided to give it one more try. And on my third trip to the lyric well, I actually hooked something.
“When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup”
But I still bet no one could understand his acceptance speech.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Coming Soon!
According to a new study released today, the optimal amount of time for sexual intercourse is 3 to 13 minutes. That doesn’t include foreplay or the post-coital cigarette and whore’s bath. But then, if you’re only going to bang away for three minutes, why bother with foreplay. You’ve obviously got somewhere else to be.
The median time for sexual intercourse was 7.3 minutes. And just in case you were wondering, as I was, how they got such precise measurements—the women were equipped with stopwatches.
Now THAT’S sexy!
“Wait . . . no . .. don’t stick it in yet. WAIT! Shit, I pushed the wrong button. Pull out. PULL OUT! This doesn’t count. Damn it. How many seconds were you in there? Should we add that on? Damn it. Okay, I’ve got it. Ready? On your mark . . . NO, I know your name is not Mark. It’s a saying. Okay? On three . . . one . . . two—NO, go after three, not ON three. Ready? Wait, where are you going?”
Apparently, we live in a world where we each get 15 minutes of fame, but only half that much in nookie at a time.
Ladies and Gentlemen, the Sexual Revolution is officially over.
The median time for sexual intercourse was 7.3 minutes. And just in case you were wondering, as I was, how they got such precise measurements—the women were equipped with stopwatches.
Now THAT’S sexy!
“Wait . . . no . .. don’t stick it in yet. WAIT! Shit, I pushed the wrong button. Pull out. PULL OUT! This doesn’t count. Damn it. How many seconds were you in there? Should we add that on? Damn it. Okay, I’ve got it. Ready? On your mark . . . NO, I know your name is not Mark. It’s a saying. Okay? On three . . . one . . . two—NO, go after three, not ON three. Ready? Wait, where are you going?”
Apparently, we live in a world where we each get 15 minutes of fame, but only half that much in nookie at a time.
Ladies and Gentlemen, the Sexual Revolution is officially over.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
What Are You Looking At?
A funny thing happened on the way to Salvation. If you read the comments left after yesterday’s (APRIL 1st) post, you’ll notice some redaction. After I revealed my newfound dedication to El Ron, I received two comments from different people, but they were EXACTLY the same comment, and were obviously spam of some sort. There was even a link to click through. So I deleted them.
Yeah, yeah, I’m eaten up with power.
But another thought occurred to me. The only two times I have written about controversial religious sects (who shall remain nameless, but one follows J. Hova and the other El Ron) I have received odd comments. And it’s kind of creeping me out.
On the J. Hova one, I had a very polite and thorough rebuttal from a member of that sect. Followed quickly by a rebuttal to the rebuttal from another reader. At the time, it made me wonder if there aren’t members of these organizations that actually are tasked with googling all day long for mentions, then offering up commentary.
The two blatant spam comments yesterday now have me freaking out about spyware and such. Maybe the anonymous campaign is on to something.
Or maybe I’ve just managed to spook myself inadvertently.
Yeah, yeah, I’m eaten up with power.
But another thought occurred to me. The only two times I have written about controversial religious sects (who shall remain nameless, but one follows J. Hova and the other El Ron) I have received odd comments. And it’s kind of creeping me out.
On the J. Hova one, I had a very polite and thorough rebuttal from a member of that sect. Followed quickly by a rebuttal to the rebuttal from another reader. At the time, it made me wonder if there aren’t members of these organizations that actually are tasked with googling all day long for mentions, then offering up commentary.
The two blatant spam comments yesterday now have me freaking out about spyware and such. Maybe the anonymous campaign is on to something.
Or maybe I’ve just managed to spook myself inadvertently.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
If Only It Were a Joke
The CEO's of the five biggest oil companies testified before congress today. The headline in USAToday reads, "At hearing, Big Oil says it's profits aren't extreme."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
WHO THE FUCK BELIEVES THIS SHIT?!?! Not Congressman Edward Markey (D-Mass). "On April Fool's Day, the biggest joke of all is being played on American families by Big Oil."
Laughter through tears.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
WHO THE FUCK BELIEVES THIS SHIT?!?! Not Congressman Edward Markey (D-Mass). "On April Fool's Day, the biggest joke of all is being played on American families by Big Oil."
Laughter through tears.
A Long Time Coming
Faith has been an odd staple in my family for my entire life. Like most folks growing up in the South, my parents would scrub us up, make us put little clip-on neckties on our crisp white shirts, with our Montgomery Ward slacks and jackets.
Off we’d go to the Church of Christ, an odd choice, since neither my mother or (step)father were of that denomination. This was a vestige of my biological father’s “faith” (not sure he EVER set foot in a church post-divorce, with the exception of weddings and funerals), and I always found it weird that my mother continued the practice.
Strange as it may seem now, I was actually baptized in the Church of Christ. Full on dunking in the little tank behind the pulpit. I was one of the youngest people ever to be baptized in this church. Mostly because I knew how to bullshit even then. I told Pastor Jay everything he wanted to hear. I even told him I thought I wanted to be a preacher, just like him.
In actuality, Little 10 year old O’Pine just wanted Pastor Jay to hold him for a little while, even if it was under water in a simulated drowning. He was a hottie, but Day-um that man sure was verbose when he was holding a member of his flock under water. Little did he know, this flocker just wanted to hold his member. I know, sacrilege.
By the time my older siblings were out of the house, we had begun attending the Methodist church, which was the faith of my (step)father. But once I began to realize that small town Christians were uniformly casting my people (the gays) into eternal damnation, I realized that there was no way I could continue to attend church.
I knew I was a good person. I knew God had made me this way. And I knew that I couldn’t embrace any philosophy or congregation that was so willing to throw that all out based on one element of my being--especially since God had made me this way.
All these years I have found myself longing for a deeper spiritual connection. Wanting to find a faith that spoke to me, made sense to me, and mostly—embraced me for the totality of my being. And while I am loathe to proselytize, I am so overjoyed to have found my spiritual home that I am compelled to share that with you, dear reader.
For a while now, I have been quietly studying the work of L.Ron Hubbard. Like most folks, I saw Scientology as a quack religion for vacuous, closeted celebrities. I mean, Hubbard was just a hack science fiction writer, right? I found that was not the case at all. I found a spiritual home. I found like-mindedness. I found a philosophy based on sound science, intertwined with faith. It’s not like those other religions where the mythology seems so far fetched. And while I know it sounds funny, Xenu and the Thetans really explain so much about where we are as a society.
My road trip with Gardog a couple of weeks ago sealed the deal for me. His vast knowledge of religion, philosophy and mythology kept us in deep conversation for much of the long trip. I didn’t share with him what I was feeling, but hearing what he had to say made me certain I was making the right choice for my spiritual future.
So, once we got to LA, I sneaked off for a secret side trip to the Celebrity Center. I felt like I was home. And about to embark on the greatest journey of my life.
Anyhoo, I won’t go into the details. I want my faith to be a private matter between me, Xenu (and hopefully Tom Cruise!! Wouldn’t that be cool) and the Thetans.
But I hope you will wish me well on this journey. Peace.
Off we’d go to the Church of Christ, an odd choice, since neither my mother or (step)father were of that denomination. This was a vestige of my biological father’s “faith” (not sure he EVER set foot in a church post-divorce, with the exception of weddings and funerals), and I always found it weird that my mother continued the practice.
Strange as it may seem now, I was actually baptized in the Church of Christ. Full on dunking in the little tank behind the pulpit. I was one of the youngest people ever to be baptized in this church. Mostly because I knew how to bullshit even then. I told Pastor Jay everything he wanted to hear. I even told him I thought I wanted to be a preacher, just like him.
In actuality, Little 10 year old O’Pine just wanted Pastor Jay to hold him for a little while, even if it was under water in a simulated drowning. He was a hottie, but Day-um that man sure was verbose when he was holding a member of his flock under water. Little did he know, this flocker just wanted to hold his member. I know, sacrilege.
By the time my older siblings were out of the house, we had begun attending the Methodist church, which was the faith of my (step)father. But once I began to realize that small town Christians were uniformly casting my people (the gays) into eternal damnation, I realized that there was no way I could continue to attend church.
I knew I was a good person. I knew God had made me this way. And I knew that I couldn’t embrace any philosophy or congregation that was so willing to throw that all out based on one element of my being--especially since God had made me this way.
All these years I have found myself longing for a deeper spiritual connection. Wanting to find a faith that spoke to me, made sense to me, and mostly—embraced me for the totality of my being. And while I am loathe to proselytize, I am so overjoyed to have found my spiritual home that I am compelled to share that with you, dear reader.
For a while now, I have been quietly studying the work of L.Ron Hubbard. Like most folks, I saw Scientology as a quack religion for vacuous, closeted celebrities. I mean, Hubbard was just a hack science fiction writer, right? I found that was not the case at all. I found a spiritual home. I found like-mindedness. I found a philosophy based on sound science, intertwined with faith. It’s not like those other religions where the mythology seems so far fetched. And while I know it sounds funny, Xenu and the Thetans really explain so much about where we are as a society.
My road trip with Gardog a couple of weeks ago sealed the deal for me. His vast knowledge of religion, philosophy and mythology kept us in deep conversation for much of the long trip. I didn’t share with him what I was feeling, but hearing what he had to say made me certain I was making the right choice for my spiritual future.
So, once we got to LA, I sneaked off for a secret side trip to the Celebrity Center. I felt like I was home. And about to embark on the greatest journey of my life.
Anyhoo, I won’t go into the details. I want my faith to be a private matter between me, Xenu (and hopefully Tom Cruise!! Wouldn’t that be cool) and the Thetans.
But I hope you will wish me well on this journey. Peace.
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