February 2009

It’s short, and Bonnie is right, it is ultimately meaningless.

But here’s what I know: This dog will protect, comfort, play with whenever the child desires, love, and die for this adorable little human.

I just love this clip.

…making it awfully tough for my native cynicism.

He’s no magician. He can’t do it himself. But every time I watch him speak, I have hope. And anyone who thinks we didn’t elect the right guy is a fucking idiot.

President Obama is very, very good at his job.

Unemployment, sadness, and personal illness of grand proportions creep ever closer. It’s only days now.

Kind of an interesting time to be around.

My man has been storing some stuff up, and as usual it is very good.

He gets it. Even better, he can write it.

With all due respect, fuck you, David Denby. The little people are pissed off, and out here in the hinterlands, “fuck you” is fairly normal discourse, even with people we like. “Civil,” even. Usually just funny, laughter being a key part to maintaining some level of sanity as we count on the morons who drove the bus into the ditch to fix the whole fucking mess from their glorious perches above us, worrying not about what most of us actually experience.

Snark, ridicule, is all we have. And I’m sorry for you, Mr. Denby, that there are so many so good at it.

Here’s a thought, D.D. Release your financial profile, and maybe we’ll consider your vapors more seriously, if we can see that you are relatable from the actual real life place most of us live.

Until then, you’re just another sanctimonious, pretentious, out-of-touch dick who doesn’t get it.

Update: The link embedded in the link above is such a terrific and ironically brilliant example of high-art snark that it needs to be re-linked. One you might not want to miss, if you’re in to that sort of thing.

It is a lovely piece of asking the old man yelling at you to get off his lawn, “Why? We’re not hurting anything. For some reason, you just think we are. You’re too mean and creepy for us to stick around long enough to hurt your perfect lawn, and your dog kind of enjoys the attention. Oh, and congratulations for raising a great dog. Because, you know, that’s really hard.”

Update 2: Oh, and Mr. Denby? Hungry sick hopeless homeless people are not going to be too interested in civil discourse with you, should you ever run into a pack of them. I hope for both of us that doesn’t happen, and I mean that in the most civil way.

My life is like “Must Love Dogs,” the movie, except without the dogs, Diane Lane or the cuteness and charm of John Cusack’s character.

I’m gonna chalk it up as a phase.

Rumor has it we’ll be getting our first wave of layoffs this week. 30% in total, though no one knows for sure how long it will take to get to that number.

I’ve been there a long time, and have strong good feelings about many of my colleagues. It’s fair to say I even love some of them.

So even if I “win” and don’t get the axe, there is at best a good deal of vicarious pain and suffering ahead. Some of the people who lose their jobs are going to be in for some very bad times.

No good.

The Great Bong Hit Story of 2009 gets weirder. Radley is all over it, as usual.

Seth had it about right in my eyes.


Though I feel some obligation to keep up on what the Pundits are telling me I should think, it is becoming increasingly grating to listen to rich people lecture on the economy, almost invariably from the personal position of not having to worry about said economy one bit.

It would be nice to hear some disclosure leading into the academic pontificating. “Not that this matters to MY wealthy self, but…TAX CUTS! Government waste!”

I believe in “love,” I really do. All kinds.

I believe in love when I see it in real life or in pictures of senior citizens who’ve obviously been together forever, like this one. You can just see it.

I believe in love of family, of friends, and love of pets, and love of mankind, and just about every kind you can think of that one could describe as normal and healthy and positive. But for this day, I will try to keep to the romantic love ideal.

Romantic love is clearly the best kind. I’ve been fortunate to feel it a couple of times in my near 50 years, and even without having the feeling reciprocated or in at least one case consummated, it is indescribably fabulous. Your world is turned upside-down; when she (in my case) is in the room you can’t even see anyone else. You don’t want to spend any time with anybody else, you don’t want to talk to anyone else, and you surely can’t imagine being lovers with anyone else.

There are four general spheres in which we live our lives: The physical, the emotional, the spiritual, and the intellectual. When all four spheres’ needles are pinned to the max on the dial, it is the most intoxicating pleasure known to human beings. It is, tritely I admit, magic, and I’m truly sorry for those who’ve never been there. Having had a taste, I’m relegated to the lottery-like odds of settling for no less.

The thing is that the combination of being that stimulated on all four fronts is incredibly rare. I’ve seen it perceived as there when not with my own eyes, many, many times. Often what I see are marriages built on not much more than the sandy foundation of the timing of the whole thing, a simple convergence of time, place, lust, affection, and to no small degree the thrill of it all as society perceives it. Gowns and balls and fabulous cakes and parties and hope.

But real life is made up, at least in terms of volume, by the mundane. The grind. The little things, the petty grievances like toothpaste globs in the sink or toilet seats left up, clean dishes misplaced, beloved artifacts being relegated to charity, ancient unfunny jokes or boring stories repeated, handling children in good times and bad, going to work, dealing with all the complications that work and the mundane throw at you. Money problems, fitness issues, sexual stagnation. Others you find attractive, and them finding you attractrive.

The magic part is an illusion, a transitory thing, unless you are one of those very rare couples who’ve experienced the joy of having a mutual needle maxing out in all four spheres of life. The important thing is to understand that it actually happens amidst the swirl and oppressive reality of the mundane.

Love is grand. In any form. But romantic love just doesn’t come along as often as most people think it does. Not in the proper form.

So I offer sincere congratulations to all those who are experiencing Real Romantic Love on St. Valentine’s Day 2009, and know that you need no well wishes. It will work out just fine.

And to the rest, I say, good luck. Yours can be worked out in a good way in almost any circumstances, as long as both/all parties agree to the terms. Love is to some degree a good deal of just plain ol’ “will.” Almost always. And that earns respect too.

I wish you all more happiness than not.

Funny and relatable for me.

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