December 2007


Keep in mind this is ONLY for 2007.

Since Congress nor our “watchdog” press seems at all interested in shoving this Administration’s profound pathos down the American public’s collective neck, I’m just going to have to wait for the historians, I guess.

I’m not sure which is sadder, the legal arguments or the need to wait for history to reveal the revulsion.

H/T to people all over the blogosphere.  I think the last reference I saw was at Crooks and Liars, a true work of arty blogness.

At YKos, a prominent TIME person told me to renew my subscription.  “We want you back,” this person said.

I said, “Bill Kristol?” 

Then I asked, after a few more drinks, “Are you telling me I’m not the only one that cancelled their subscription (Ed:  Mine was 20 years or so) because you hired B.K.?”

“You’re not the only one.”

And now ol’ blood-loving, wrong every time Bill Kristol gets a job at the “liberal” NY Times.  One thing I love about the “intellectual” moniker, pause for money quote:

“The idea that The New York Times is giving voice to a guy who is a serious, respected conservative intellectual — and somehow that’s a bad thing,” Rosenthal added. “How intolerant is that?”

…that gets passed around so liberally, *cough* is that if Bill Kristol is defined as an “intellectual,” I’m among the smartest people on the fucking planet.  If I were as wrong as Kristol has been, as consistently as he as been, about as many things as he has been, I would’ve been on an unemployment line about 15 years ago.  I don’t have a wingnut welfare gig, nor a famous father, nor a love of war (thus ratings, thus money).

Thanks to Dr. Black, who also has this right.  When your world-view is as grossly twisted as Kristol’s, “intolerance” is a laughable criticism.  Respected by whom?  Other war-crazed, blood-loving–as long as it isn’t his–xenophobes?

My America is better than Bill Kristol’s.  And tougher, stronger, and smarter.

We are doomed as a nation when complete bloodthirsty lunatics get space on the NY Times Editorial page.  My money is in cash.

Bill Kristol:  Greatest patronage welfare recipient of all-time.

Kudos to the NY Times for showing their true colors. 

Vote with your wallet.

Update:  This is what I need to do to get a job at the New York Times?  Insinuate they should be prosecuted?  Rip them a new one?  Sign me the fuck UP.

“President Bush addresses economic woes of families.”

By telling them they can just eat cake, one imagines.

In a related story, Scarlett Johansson addresses woes of unattractive women.

Compare the courage.

It’s not even close.  Cheney should be wallowing in shame about his own wimpitude, but of course he’s not.  He’s too busy hiding somewhere secret, until he comes out and speaks to an audience of equally bed-wetting, sychophantic fans.

The man can’t even take dissent in his own country, even with security so tight you couldn’t pull a needle out its ass with a bulldozer.

Dick Cheney’s autobiography should be titled, “Cowards In Power:  The Dick Cheney Story.”

B. Bhutto, OTOH, pretty much knew what was coming.  THAT’S courage.

President Cheney wouldn’t know courage if it walked up to him and introduced itself.  The greatest coward of our time, though Bill Kristol is chasing him for a tie for first.

How do these people look themselves in the mirror?  Inquiring minds want to know.

What can I say?  The blog speaks to me.

A little more absurdity on the S.F. escaped tiger story.  And some desperately needed perspective to go with it.

Much more popular from a “news” standpoint than that boring old corrupt, inept Administration, I guess.

It’s all just too depressing for me to go after, and besides, there are a bunch of people with far greater intestinal fortitude, and writing skills, who’ve done it for me.

J. Heywood with a doubleheader of spot-on analysis.  As with the tragedy of Steve Irwin, I always find myself coming down on the animal’s side, in the latter link to J.

More good news for the little guy, and more bad news for The Man, courtesy your Equal Employment Opportunity Commission.  Just kidding, of course.

Kevin Drum on George Bush going on trips to promote democ…champion freed…spread peace (!)…whatever it is he thinks he’ll be doing other than making every country he visits remember why we’re now hated.

Politics 201:  Never waste any time taking advantage of an assassination of someone we needed.  There are elections to be won.  How proud they must all be.  I will add, once again, that there is no stopping someone willing to die for a cause.  The very discussion of it is absurd and ridiculous; trimming the branches of the terrorism problem by ignoring the healthy tree.

And Digby on President Cheney’s personal, paranoid, peculiar world-view and overall competence.

One other thing, since Cheney came up.  Every time I hear a suicide bomber described as a “coward,” I wince.  A psychopath or sociopath, a religious nutjob, a poor, desperate person, a brainwashed moron, any combination of the above or more I can take.  But coward?  No.

Which brings us back to President Cheney.  HE is a coward.  The classic cowardly bully.  Five Viet Nam deferments takes a little bit of cowardice, and 9-11 made him wet his pants so bad he changed his entire world-view, from an absolutely sane and prescient view of the idea of taking Baghdad during Gulf War 1 (you can WATCH him say it, if you don’t believe it), to an absolutely paranoid, intelligence manipulating, Bush manipulating power whore of epic proportions.  No one ever knows where he is, and he rarely speaks in front of anyone, though periodically he comes out to spew the Gospel in front of wildly sympathetic warmongers like himself.  He never does anything without intense secrecy and security.  Those things, at least to me, define cowardice far better than someone willing to strap a bomb to their guts and end it all.

Dick Cheney is a coward.  He wouldn’t even blow himself up for a huge bonus check.  He wouldn’t blow himself up for his wife and daughters. 

I would say he’s also a delusional pyschopath, but I don’t know the man personally.  He’s a coward, though.  The record on that one is clear.

Even people who read my blog should be at least passingly familiar with the Flying Spaghetti Monster, who won another victory today against the religious fundies.

In Florida, of course.

I attended the funeral of a cousin’s husband due to a random act of violence.  Gang-initiation, we think.  (The perps are caught, thanks to their childish ineptitude.)

I was told someone I REALLY love a lot wants a divorce, leaving broken hearts all over the place in the wake.

Still, Christmas was grand.  It always is.  Great company, great food, great laughs.  The stuff of a good life.

One strange trip, indeed. 

Merry Christmas, everyone.  And fear not the tragedies that will inevitably come.  There just isn’t anything you can do about it except roll and move on.

I take the movie in small doses.  Never even saw it until I was near 30.

Moderation in all things.  The damn thing makes me cry every time.

My friends and family are the Kings and Queens of the World.  I’ve been careful to make it so, and it is.

I am a rich man.  I love, and am loved.

There isn’t all that much more to it, when the final accounting comes.

Good luck to you haters.  Especially if there’s a God.

You’re not going to do well if there is One.  Of this I am sure.

I love Mom and Dad, Kevin and Keith, Sally, Nancy, Val, Myles, Adam, Kristen, Heather; all my immediate family.  And they have it coming, believe me. 

I love Joann and Jack, Lois, Don, Kevin, Vikki, Doug, Melissa, Dax, Craig, Scott, Amy, Rose and Lucy (Indigo12), Liz, and the cutest little girl in the world, Allison.  I love Layne and Lisa, Steve and Deb, Cliff, Dustin, Phil, and Anita and Ed.  I love Dave and Elizabeth. 

I love Cliff and Jackie, Chris and Sue, Gerry and Regina, Bernadette and Vince; Jenny and John, Lindsay and Ben, Nick and Brit, Weston, Declan, and Keenan.  I love Matt and Katie, even though M&K don’t even know it.  I love Bob and Donna, and Kevin and Brian, and I love Mike and Linda and their kids Kevin, Allie, and Tyler more than they will ever know.  I love Bill and Steph, and their kids, too, though they don’t know it either.

I love Cathy and Ron and Kristen and the seemingly infinite number of cousins and their kids I’m blessed to have.

I love Tom and Pat, I love Bob and Nancy, Bobby and Joe, I love Judy and Marilyn and I love all their kids and their kids, all aunts/uncles/cousins of decency and kindness and good heart and good will.

I love the Cameron’s; Scott, Bruce, Kevin; above all Marcia, Lisa, and Julie.  I love John Campana enough to donate an organ to his brilliance and genius and excellence in all matters human.  I love Marcia’s husband Bill, and their two glorious children, Ben and Elena.  I love John and Lisa’s model-grade daughters, Mercedes, Bella, and Miriam (Mims), none of whom know that I love them, either.

I love Digby, Susie, Taylor, and Jane Hamsher, Duncan, TBogg, all the folks at Sadly, No!; I love Attaturk and Roger Ailes (the good one), Thers, Molly Ivors and I love all those who care about their country in a way that motivates them and speaks to our better angels.  (Can’t list all of those; sorry, but you number many.)

I love just a whole bunch Jeanne, Carrie, Chris and Sally and their wonderful twin toddler-girls; Candy; I love Curt and Mary and Dylan and Allie and Max and Maddy; I love Rickey, Mack, Bailey, Stella, and Leigh Anne.  I love Nikkie, Slush, and Comet.  I love Major and Belor and Gazer and Sonic and Candy’s equally puntable dog whose name escapes me now.

I love Victoria and Mary and Joanna and Julie and Jodi and Maureen K. and Maureen G.  I love Tina J., Ruth, Theresa and Eric.  I love Tim B. and his wife Nancy; I love Randy and Kathy, I love Laura.  I love Janine F.  I love Phil and Mike W.  I love SusieQ and Phil and Kyl and Ben.

I know not nor care whether they all love me; I know some of them do, and that’s enough.  There are some on this post that haven’t even met me, though they are few.  Many of the kids only know me by face, since I’m 48.  But I love them anyway, and they all have a secret guardian.

There are more.  I need to sleep on it.

How lucky can one man be?  I mean, I’m not even done.  I’m just saving this for anyone who might read it, to remind them that it is not the geography, or the money, or the fame, or the power that makes for happy people.  It is only those we touch, and those who touch us.

Merry Christmas to my 10 readers.  You touch who you can, and you cherish those with whom you succeed. 

I wish you all the best in the coming year.  Tragedy will come, trust me, but it is those we have touched, and who’ve touched us, that get us through the circle of life I like to call, “occasionally a drag.”

Update:  I love all dogs reflexively.  I love the teachers I was lucky to have, and the coaches, too.  I love having all my limbs, and my generally good health. 

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