Because then he does something like this:
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Face Palm
More from Mudflats' recapping of Going Rogue.
Page 217
“I didn’t believe in the theory that human beings – thinking, loving beings – originated from fish that sprouted legs and crawled out of the sea. Or that human beings began as single-celled organisms that developed into monkeys who eventually swung down from the trees…” (Wow.)
Steve Schmidt felt a little uncomfortable with this part of the discussion. Imagine that. “I had just dared to mention the C-word: creationism. But I felt I was on solid factual ground.” (Wow.)
Page 225
More of McCain’s introduction of her. It struck her as ironic that Obama had captured the theme of “change.” After all she’s the one who came up with it first. She wondered how she could interject that into the campaign – that she was for change “when change wasn’t cool.” (Wondering how many other political campaigns have had change as a theme. Probably every single non-incumbant. Nice try.)
Page 236
The McCain communications team learned that she was the VP pick the same day everyone else did so they were completely unprepared and had no idea who she was.
So when the avalanche of press inquiries tumbled in, the national media folks had zero information. What they did report, patchy factoids cobbled together from the Internet and a few left-wing Alaska bloggers was usually wrong. (Woooo! “A few left-wing Alaska bloggers” shout out!)
The national media, referred to as the “black-suited, laptop-toting flatlanders” (Flatlanders?) apparently drove around Wasilla trying to find out where Sarah Palin bought her liquor, and talked to: “a defeated former opponent” (Andrew Halcro), “a maniacal blogger” (Heck, that could be any of us, but probably Syrin), “the falafel lady” (political watchdog Andree McLeod) and “the Wasilla town crank” (presumably Anne Kilkenny).
Page 258
Tracey tried to do good, but her hands were tied by “headquarters.”
Even though the campaign was instructed to ankle tackle her if she tried to open her yap to the press on the plane, she sent the kids back to talk to the press. I guess that was so the press would stay away from her kids. Piper handed out heart-shaped stickers to reporters that said, “Vote for Piper’s Mom.”
Page 217
“I didn’t believe in the theory that human beings – thinking, loving beings – originated from fish that sprouted legs and crawled out of the sea. Or that human beings began as single-celled organisms that developed into monkeys who eventually swung down from the trees…” (Wow.)
Steve Schmidt felt a little uncomfortable with this part of the discussion. Imagine that. “I had just dared to mention the C-word: creationism. But I felt I was on solid factual ground.” (Wow.)
Page 225
More of McCain’s introduction of her. It struck her as ironic that Obama had captured the theme of “change.” After all she’s the one who came up with it first. She wondered how she could interject that into the campaign – that she was for change “when change wasn’t cool.” (Wondering how many other political campaigns have had change as a theme. Probably every single non-incumbant. Nice try.)
Page 236
The McCain communications team learned that she was the VP pick the same day everyone else did so they were completely unprepared and had no idea who she was.
So when the avalanche of press inquiries tumbled in, the national media folks had zero information. What they did report, patchy factoids cobbled together from the Internet and a few left-wing Alaska bloggers was usually wrong. (Woooo! “A few left-wing Alaska bloggers” shout out!)
The national media, referred to as the “black-suited, laptop-toting flatlanders” (Flatlanders?) apparently drove around Wasilla trying to find out where Sarah Palin bought her liquor, and talked to: “a defeated former opponent” (Andrew Halcro), “a maniacal blogger” (Heck, that could be any of us, but probably Syrin), “the falafel lady” (political watchdog Andree McLeod) and “the Wasilla town crank” (presumably Anne Kilkenny).
Page 258
Tracey tried to do good, but her hands were tied by “headquarters.”
Even though the campaign was instructed to ankle tackle her if she tried to open her yap to the press on the plane, she sent the kids back to talk to the press. I guess that was so the press would stay away from her kids. Piper handed out heart-shaped stickers to reporters that said, “Vote for Piper’s Mom.”
Five Things From My Google Reader
Just returned from another one of my ill-advised-but-so-worth-it epic theater road trips, driving over 1000 miles in 56 hours to catch Punchdrunk's 'Sleep No More' (and a minor cold). Show was fantastic, the company was fabulous and the cold didn't kill me. A successful weekend.
Now, 56 hours, is really not that much until you come home and log-on to the interwebs for the first time since gleefully leaving work early on Friday. 487. That's the number of posts Google Reader had waiting for me and, I am proud to say, I have finally gotten through them all! So today's Five Things will be culled from those offerings. In no particular order...
1) Via Joy, I give you the automatic packing list. I just tried it out for my upcoming weekend jaunt to New York, and while it seems pretty straight-forward it DOES save you the hassle of thinking for yourself. And in this day and age, who doesn't love that?
2) Remember, back a bit ago when Obama offered to write a little girl at one of his speeches a note for missing school? Maybe he got the idea from one of his predecessors. It seems another awesome president, this one by the name of Lincoln, once took time out from saving the Union to write a note to a little boy to confirm the child's story about meeting him. If you can't read it, it says "To whom it may concern: I did see and talk with Master George Evans Patten, last May, at Springfield, Illinois. Respectfully, A. Lincoln."
You can find the original story over The Daily Dish.
3. You know what else you can find at the Daily Dish? A baby otter. But I will save you all that tiresome clicking and just give it to you here:
Now, 56 hours, is really not that much until you come home and log-on to the interwebs for the first time since gleefully leaving work early on Friday. 487. That's the number of posts Google Reader had waiting for me and, I am proud to say, I have finally gotten through them all! So today's Five Things will be culled from those offerings. In no particular order...
1) Via Joy, I give you the automatic packing list. I just tried it out for my upcoming weekend jaunt to New York, and while it seems pretty straight-forward it DOES save you the hassle of thinking for yourself. And in this day and age, who doesn't love that?
2) Remember, back a bit ago when Obama offered to write a little girl at one of his speeches a note for missing school? Maybe he got the idea from one of his predecessors. It seems another awesome president, this one by the name of Lincoln, once took time out from saving the Union to write a note to a little boy to confirm the child's story about meeting him. If you can't read it, it says "To whom it may concern: I did see and talk with Master George Evans Patten, last May, at Springfield, Illinois. Respectfully, A. Lincoln."You can find the original story over The Daily Dish.
3. You know what else you can find at the Daily Dish? A baby otter. But I will save you all that tiresome clicking and just give it to you here:
4. It's only been a week but I'm already experiencing post-Mad Men malaise. This video of Roger Sterling's best one liners did a bit to cheer me up, but they left out three of my favs! A big ol' "Good for you" if you can guess the missing lines:
5. There are a lot of things that disturb me these days (previous posts), and The Disney Channel ranks pretty high up there. Through baby-sitting and my sister (who is for the record, 19) I have wound up seeing at least one episode of the following: Hannah Montana, Jonas, Sunny With a Chance, The Wizards of Waverly Place and, the subject of this Slate article, The Suite Life of Zach and Cody. None of it makes me feel great about the future. Where's Beauty and the beast when you need it?
Friday, November 20, 2009
I Read Mudflats' Recap of Going Rogue So You Don't Have To
Seriously?
Seriously.
This is about as close to reading the book as I'm ever going to get, unless I suddenly have the urge to become a model and need a quickie crash diet/bulimia plan. Eegads, i hate this woman. I would say why, but I will let the following selections from Mudflats' blogging of the reading experience clue you in instead.
Page 30-31
Her Dad was the coach of many of her teams. He made her work harder than the other kids. She would be hurt because he was nicer to them than her. But there were advantages. He knew she hated playing in the pep band after a game, which was required for everyone. So he’d tape her fingers together and she’d lie and say they were sprained so she didn’t have to play the flute.
Page 53
Named Track because it was track season. If it had been wrestling season – Mat. If it had been basketball season – Court. Hockey season – Zamboni.
Page 86
Everyone else was “be-bopping” all over the state raising money and she only had $40,000. She didn’t like asking for money. “There were times when I thought, You know what I could really use? A wife."
Page 103
“There was a longing inside me that winter, a sense of purpose hovering just beyond my vision. Was it ambition? I didn’t think so. Ambition drives; purpose beckons. Purpose calls.”
Page 114
She found it amusing when Barack Obama “one of whose senior advisors (come to think of it) – had roots in Alaska – adopted the same theme. Yes folks, you read that right. She is insinuating that Barack Obama stole HER idea to run a campaign on “change” via Pete Rouse. I bet nobody in political history EVER ran a campaign with a change theme before.
...more to come as Mudflats continues. In the meantime, I have some drinking to do.
Seriously.
This is about as close to reading the book as I'm ever going to get, unless I suddenly have the urge to become a model and need a quickie crash diet/bulimia plan. Eegads, i hate this woman. I would say why, but I will let the following selections from Mudflats' blogging of the reading experience clue you in instead.
Page 30-31
Her Dad was the coach of many of her teams. He made her work harder than the other kids. She would be hurt because he was nicer to them than her. But there were advantages. He knew she hated playing in the pep band after a game, which was required for everyone. So he’d tape her fingers together and she’d lie and say they were sprained so she didn’t have to play the flute.
Page 53
Named Track because it was track season. If it had been wrestling season – Mat. If it had been basketball season – Court. Hockey season – Zamboni.
Page 86
Everyone else was “be-bopping” all over the state raising money and she only had $40,000. She didn’t like asking for money. “There were times when I thought, You know what I could really use? A wife."
Page 103
“There was a longing inside me that winter, a sense of purpose hovering just beyond my vision. Was it ambition? I didn’t think so. Ambition drives; purpose beckons. Purpose calls.”
Page 114
She found it amusing when Barack Obama “one of whose senior advisors (come to think of it) – had roots in Alaska – adopted the same theme. Yes folks, you read that right. She is insinuating that Barack Obama stole HER idea to run a campaign on “change” via Pete Rouse. I bet nobody in political history EVER ran a campaign with a change theme before.
...more to come as Mudflats continues. In the meantime, I have some drinking to do.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Must You Pistol Whip Everyone, Emmett?
Upon a scan through the annals of the blog, I am horrified by the number of times Twilight has been mentioned. As it is, this is the third one today, but the only joy I have received form those books is the ability to read things like Growing Up Cullen (extensive IM conversations imaging the life of a 108 year old male teenage vampire virgin) and be in enough on the joke to find them hilarious.
Possibly we will move on to more substantive material tomorrow. More likely, I will have some very important thoughts to share on the finale of 'America's Next Top Model,' and thus my shame continues.
Possibly we will move on to more substantive material tomorrow. More likely, I will have some very important thoughts to share on the finale of 'America's Next Top Model,' and thus my shame continues.
Twilight Means Never Having to Say You're Kidding
Are we sensing a theme in today's posts?
Claire was kind enough to pass on a kind of Twilight-plus-Mormanism recap of the four books, which I highly recommend reading in lieu of the books themselves. I found myself laughing through the tears over these, enjoying the mockery and wit being displayed while also mourning the subject material exists in the first place, much like my experiences with anything Wonkette writes about Palin or Beck.
But that's besides the point. For your reading pleasure, I give you the Twilight series (I refuse to call it a saga) as it was meant to be experienced...
Twilight
New Moon
Breaking Dawn
Eclipse
** EDIT: I totally switched the titles of the last two books. The links are in the correct order, though. Honestly, I'm kind of relieved. I don't know enough about Twilight that I can correctly order four books! There's hope for me yet.
Claire was kind enough to pass on a kind of Twilight-plus-Mormanism recap of the four books, which I highly recommend reading in lieu of the books themselves. I found myself laughing through the tears over these, enjoying the mockery and wit being displayed while also mourning the subject material exists in the first place, much like my experiences with anything Wonkette writes about Palin or Beck.
But that's besides the point. For your reading pleasure, I give you the Twilight series (I refuse to call it a saga) as it was meant to be experienced...
Twilight
New Moon
Breaking Dawn
Eclipse
** EDIT: I totally switched the titles of the last two books. The links are in the correct order, though. Honestly, I'm kind of relieved. I don't know enough about Twilight that I can correctly order four books! There's hope for me yet.
Low and High
Two things I felt were worth sharing this morning:
1) I admit it, I've read the Twilight books. Yes, yes, all four. And no, I don't get a pass for the fact that a) they were my sister's and b) by the time I was 20 pages into the fourth I was making audible sounds of pain, the terrible plot and name "Renesme" still burned into my brain and haunting my dreams. And I really, really don't get a pass for having rented the film on iTunes while packing for America. I gave them legal tender, and thus helped enable this terrifying juggernaut of teenage angst and pining. No amount of regret can reclaim those two hours of my life or two dollars of my wallet, and I feel that in itself is punishment enough...I have said it many times, and will say it many times more-- the way the "Twilight Saga" makes me feel is identical to the sensation you get when you are hooking up with someone and then you realize you don't really want to be any more. Awkward, embarrassed, shameful, a little unclean, palpably uncomfortable and longing for selective memory loss. You can walk away from the encounter, but the flashbacks live on.
So I felt a little better once I read A. V. Club's Twilight edition of their I Watched This on Purpose feature. It helped explain to me things I didn't even fully understand myself about why I actually went through with the whole crushing experience. It didn't give me that time or money back, and it didn't restore my dignity, but I think it has helped give me the tools to move on and put this whole incident behind me.
2) You know what also helps clear away my rueful haze? Reflecting on things that are NOT terrible. Like Sherlock Holmes. The real Sherlock Holmes of Conan Doyle's books, though. I will reserve my judgement on this whole Downey-Law-Ritchie thing, but I CAN say that, even if the movie is terrible, it's still going to make Holmes a very popular cat this season, and that's cool. Because then you get things like Londonist's map of Holmes' London. Seriously, these people are more obsessive than even I am, and that's why I love them.
1) I admit it, I've read the Twilight books. Yes, yes, all four. And no, I don't get a pass for the fact that a) they were my sister's and b) by the time I was 20 pages into the fourth I was making audible sounds of pain, the terrible plot and name "Renesme" still burned into my brain and haunting my dreams. And I really, really don't get a pass for having rented the film on iTunes while packing for America. I gave them legal tender, and thus helped enable this terrifying juggernaut of teenage angst and pining. No amount of regret can reclaim those two hours of my life or two dollars of my wallet, and I feel that in itself is punishment enough...I have said it many times, and will say it many times more-- the way the "Twilight Saga" makes me feel is identical to the sensation you get when you are hooking up with someone and then you realize you don't really want to be any more. Awkward, embarrassed, shameful, a little unclean, palpably uncomfortable and longing for selective memory loss. You can walk away from the encounter, but the flashbacks live on.
So I felt a little better once I read A. V. Club's Twilight edition of their I Watched This on Purpose feature. It helped explain to me things I didn't even fully understand myself about why I actually went through with the whole crushing experience. It didn't give me that time or money back, and it didn't restore my dignity, but I think it has helped give me the tools to move on and put this whole incident behind me.
2) You know what also helps clear away my rueful haze? Reflecting on things that are NOT terrible. Like Sherlock Holmes. The real Sherlock Holmes of Conan Doyle's books, though. I will reserve my judgement on this whole Downey-Law-Ritchie thing, but I CAN say that, even if the movie is terrible, it's still going to make Holmes a very popular cat this season, and that's cool. Because then you get things like Londonist's map of Holmes' London. Seriously, these people are more obsessive than even I am, and that's why I love them.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Five Sonnets
I am feeling that generally lovey feeling that comes with the onset of the Christmas season (seriously, I think this is the most romantic time of the year) and the creation of a Fred Astaire Pandora channel. Why not keep it going with some poetry from a guy who knew a thing or two about love, my main man Mr. Billy Shakes? Thus, today's Five Things is dedicated to five of the Bard's sonnets (in order of personal preference).
1. Sonnet 30
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
1. Sonnet 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
3. Sonnet 27
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.
4. Sonnet 128
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
5. Sonnet 109
O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
1. Sonnet 30
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
1. Sonnet 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
3. Sonnet 27
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.
4. Sonnet 128
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
5. Sonnet 109
O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
27 is One Goddamn Sexy Number
The embedding isn't working, but if you want to see your 2009 World Series Champions celebrate like school boys (in the best possible way), clickety click!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)