July 2004

July 6, 2004
"Fahrenheit 9/11" sickens and entertains.

Watching the film, I was awash in apprehension and nausea. I came prepared for the savage attacks on Bush (actually, I was surprised Bush wasn't made out to be a bigger 'tard. Really, Moore coulda just spliced together 90 minutes of Special George stammering and attempting to banter the big words.), but I was completely unprepared for some of the brutal images in the documentary/op-ed piece. I had to stare at seat backs during the shots of Iraqi babies killed or maimed by coalition air strikes. The reality of those images, the weight, the enormity, is soul-flattening. But there are other reasons to launch bile at your tonsils. After all, you can only take so much of The Smirk™ before you want to yarp in your super-combo, gigundo-sized Diet Beverage and trans-fatty-corn. Thankfully, Michael Moore is smart enough to break up the long stretches of film that feel like lead languishing in your belly with some brief spots of levity (of course, nearly always at the expensive of our Commander-in-Chief) (or other Republicans) (Sure, Moore makes the suggestion that he might be offering a balanced view by painting the odd Democrat as a rube, but really such attempts are vestigial-er than an alien's nose).

I'm surely glad I went, but it was a bit like the cinematic equivalent of eating your broccoli. And after credits rolled, I left the theater with heavy steps. My game plan for the evening was to stick it to Hollywood by slipping in to a showing of "Spiderman 2" after "Fahrenheit 9/11" for a little ten-finger-discount double feature. But I hardly felt like watching some douche in tights swing around Manhattan. I ambled back to the car with my eyes afixed to the sidewalk, some 10-ish paces ahead of me.

For all its effectiveness, in the end (literally), what the movie lacked, really, was some denouement. I imagine my grocery list offers as satisfying a resolution. I guess that's the problem with supposed non-fiction - there are so rarely nice neat ends, with nice neat answers, that leave one feeling nice and neat. Michael Moore implies a great deal, and the guy is clearly jumpin' mad... but at the end of the day, I'm left with the feeling that, apart from shouting our outrage from the mountain top (or Cineplex Odeon), there is no recourse. We are left to gnash our teeth like Job and simply bear it.

We may all be party to one of the greatest running injustices of our time. And welcome to it.

July 5, 2004
Eddie Van Halen was spotted in Boston recently (apparently he's holed up here in between East Coast stops on VH's summer tour), stumbling into a high-end Back Bay eatery and "blessing" a table of young lovelies - utilizing a happy marriage of their drinking water and his fingers to perform the sacrament.

20 years, one hip-replacement surgery, and an excise of cancerous tongue tissue ago, the girls might've been pleased to be doused by a drunken EVH. These days, I imagine, not so much.

I seem to remember a whole lotta stink around the end of the Haggar-era Van Halen about how Eddie had finally sobered up, and was recording straight for the first time ever. This was right around the time when VH became absolutely unlistenable (some would protest that this had occured years earlier, some would protest that this was always the case, your mileage may vary). So, my cockles are warmed considerably by tales of the father of modern rock guitar stumbling about, pissed out of his mind.

Healthy livers be damned, I'm going to send Eddie a case of Heineken with a sticky note:

ROLL TAPE.

July 2, 2004
"We're going to take things away from you on behalf of the common good."
- Hillary Clinton

As stated and proven previously, I don't know from politics, but that line sure smells a lot like Communism to me.

Perhaps I'm being unfair by taking her words out of context. So, here:

"Many of you are well enough off that ... the tax cuts may have helped you. We're saying that for America to get back on track, we're probably going to cut that short and not give it to you. We're going to take things away from you on behalf of the common good."

Now, granted the journalist who used these quotes in her piece could have further taken the former firstest lady's yak-yak out of context, but keep in mind I snipped this from sfgate.com, which seems to be affiliated with The San Fran Chronicle, which I'm going to charge right ahead and downright assume is a fairly left-leaning rag. What I'm getting at, is I doubt such a periodical would proffer quotes from Mrs. Clinton that it suspected could be construed as un-American (even if it agreed with the un-American viewpoints that her words avail).

Do we really want someone in government arbitrarily deciding when we are "we enough off" that we can afford to have additional chunks of our income (that is, the fucking cashmoney that we earn to pay for things like, I dunno, food, gas, anime, whateverthefuckwepleaseasitsourfuckingmoneynotthegovernments) taken away from us? For the "greater good?" I've seen government in action, and I'm not enthused about their idea of what the "greater good" is, frankly. A warm, bubbly, happy-smiley feeling is not instilled here. Confidence not restored.

I hardly qualify as "well off" by any definition, so I'm not worried about Hilary showing up at my door to slice more of the cash I work for out of my paycheck today, but what if that definition changes over time? Or, what if I bust my ass and eventually do make enough cake that Hilary decides I'm friggin rich? Have I been working to secure myself, my family, and anything else I deign fit - as it's my fucking money (I'm working on a theme here, see? I also like lots of italics and bold type!) - or have I been working for the "greater good?"

Cause if I'm working for everyone else, I'm going back on vacation. Fuck it.

July 1, 2004
I took the little girl to the playground early Sunday morning. The weather, much like the werewolf's hair, was perfect. Sunny sky, air crisp, breeze blowing. The temperature was at that elusive sweet spot where it was neither warm nor cold - just felt like your skin was extending outwardly without end. That sounds gross. The park was deserted, which was also perfect, for I dislike others' children as much as I adore mine own. The little girl was especially giggly on the swings, which was pretty fucking perfect, as well.

After a time, eutopia was broken by the repeated throttling of a 70's era Corvette down the street aways. Despite spending a good chunk of my life with my head parked directly in front of a Marshall 4x12 cabinet, I don't really like loud noises. Not firecrackers, not motorbikes, not 70's era Corvettes. Typically. This particular ride was tuned in such a way that the tone produced by multiple stomps on the accelerator was actually really pleasing. It was low, growly, but still soft and warm. Much like the dive bomb at the end of Eruption. The 70's era Corvette always transports me. I don't particularly like the body styling, (it reminds of a cake that's been topped with far, far too much frosting) but it sure does personify the 70's. Couldn't have been built in any other era. It's like a guy in a brown polyester suit and a moustache. That's either a guy from the 70's or a guy dressed up for Halloween as a guy from the 70's. Or an asshole.

This Corvette had an elaborate and expensive-looking custom paint job. It was painted to appear as though the entire car was swaddled in the Stars and Stripes. It was also waxed to the point of sparkle. The auto cruised by and down the street and I saw a man who appeared to be in his late 60's at the wheel. His white hair atop his head in the shape of Mr. Bill's mouth - a big ol' bald spot in the middle. The model year juxtaposed with the flag produced a weird sweeping mixture of nostalgia and patriotism in me.

It really brought me down.

I'm sure I view the fortune of being a kid in the 1970's with the rosiest of rosy-hued, big, fire-engine-red sunglasses, and as a kid, I'm also certain I was blissfully unaware of the vast majority (or, all, really) of the soul-debasing things that were happening at the time (Vietnam was nothing more than an odd combination of vowels and consonants to me until well after Platoon). That said, there was also no possibility that I could've viewed an hours-old video of a captive American in a foreign land about to be decapitated. Followed by another hours-old video of another captive American in a foreign land about to be decapitated. Followed by another hours-old video of another captive American in a foreign land about to be decapitated.

Sean and I have opposing views on Americans' suffrage. I won't speak for him, but from our conversations/shouting matches, I surmise that he believes it is an American's duty and responsibility to vote - I'm speaking of the Presidential election here. I don't really know if he hits the polls every time they open to decide any pissant local office. God bless 'im if he does.

Mostly because I am lazy, I view voting as a right we 'mericans are free to exercise, or, not exercise, as we see fit, individually. In addition to being lazy, I'm also enormously distrustful of politics. The Bible says that wherever there are two or more people gathered in God's name, He shall be there (sort of like a Jesus Christ Bat Signal!) - effectively creating a Church. It's my fervent view that whenever two or more people gather in God's name, in government's name, for just about any purpose other than to craft brew me a grande mocha with whupped cream on top, everything gets super fucked up. Taking an active role in what I view as the most efficient means of rump f'ing the world gives me pause. In addition to that, I am an entirely uneducated (potential) voter. Trust me, you don't want me punching out any chads. I've never understood the "it doesn't matter who you vote for, just vote!" mentality. Sorta government via Russian roulette.

During the last Presidential election, I cast a vote for Al Gore.

I actually did a minimal amount of digging, educated myself just enough to make what could easily have been mistaken for an informed decision, registered, got my super-sized ass to a booth, and flipped the fucking switch. Presto.

Now don't I feel silly. I picked a helluva election to cast off my "I don't want to participate in this organized sham" cloak.

From my retardedly limited understanding of the two major political parties and what they "stand" for (I actually snickered typing that), I guess I fall a bit more often on the Republican side of the fence. Well, if that means small government, low (and I mean low) taxes, people pulling their own weight, etc., etc. But that's really just blather - every time I see a card-carrying Republican politician open his/her yapper, I want to use my digits like dental spanners to force and hold the politico's jaws apart and projectile vomit directly into his/her maw.

That's true of Dems, as well, so maybe that's just a personal fetish.

Unlike a lot of folks, I'm not convinced a new administration will have any measureable impact on what I kinda feel is the world slipping a bit in the direction of Revelations. Can't really hurt, I guess, but I'm not expecting some other dunderhead in the Oval office to pay world peace dividends.

I'm just going to keep socking away those pennies for my "deserted island fund." One day I will buy her.

And guns.

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