ASTA CHARLES

My Latino Saviors

2011-04-17T22:31:00.000-07:00

I've reached that pivotal point of marriage (yeah, 2 months, fuck you) and income generation at which it's been decided: I need a cleaning person.

I am extremely passive about asking my dear husband (whom I love more than anything, let that be understood) to do anything that I could easily and quietly do myself. I've tried. While I don't have the time or the mental capacity, it's easier for me to just do it myself.

I know, I know, if you've ever co-habitated, this isn't fucking unique to me.

Nevertheless, I've decided it's time for a cleaning person. Never before have has $50 - $100 and a skilled purveyor of cleanliness been capable of solving so many problems.

1) I won't wake up in the middle of the night trying to figure out when I'll have time to work out, clean the toilet, and negotiate a new contract with a new vendor without pissing off my boss.

2) I won't have to sacrifice working out for vaccuuming.

3) My husband won't be upset with me for being upset that I have too much shit to do.

So, I for one, welcome and thank our Latino friends. And no, they're not "taykin' yer jaeeeerbs", because I'm damn sure a 50 year old machinist isn't going to do a good job cleaning my apartment.

Is Kink the Key to Feminism's Revival?

2011-04-10T23:55:00.000-07:00

Something has been wrong with feminism for quite a while now. It was unearthed in an era in which women desired to work - to make their own money. In America, money begat power, and power begat more freedom. Getting into the work place wasn't as much of an issue as getting paid the same. So, women went to school. Women did all the same things men did, including beginning to act like men.

The glass ceiling still thwarts us. Why?

Because we can't embrace being female. We have vaginas. Hell, we have boobs. We have longer hair and wear make up. Or maybe we don't. I don't know, but we're prettier...generally. We have babies. We operate differently. We just aren't men. We can't succeed by pretending that we are.

Recently, I interviewed two female members of Los Angeles' BDSM (kink) community on definitions of their roles and their view of sex positive feminism.

The entire interview will be posted on GeekGirlontheStreet.com, but here's an general preview:

BDSM is in the unique position to show female empowerment not only culturally but physically. As any good marketer knows, tangible manifestations of a concept are the best way to infiltrate it into society.

BDSM is also a bit of a mystery to women. It's not abuse. It's not about men dominating women. Rihanna is a major misnomer and Chris Brown is a dick. It's about letting loose and accepting fetishes. Doing this can lead to more enlightening sexual experiences, and even - SHOCKER - one might learn something else about oneself.

Thanks in advance to Miss Drea Deville for her help on this project.

Modern Feminism: Should We Be Jealous of the Dutch?

2011-04-06T20:41:00.000-07:00

Scurry with your little fingers over to my first post on GeekGirlontheStreet.com

Here is the direct link:
Modern Feminism: Should we be jealous of the Dutch?

Be a doll and retweet, or post or whatever the hell you choose to do.

The Daily for iPad is Owned by News Corp

2011-03-27T22:03:00.001-07:00

I'm writing this solely to increase the number of search results that will contain the phrase "The Daily for iPad is Owned by News Corp."

Don't buy it. Please. Don't get more bullshit coverage from Rupert Murdoch, thereby giving Glenn Beck more money.

Check out the Privacy Policy!

The Daily Privacy Policy is located here.

It's $39.99 for a year. Donate that money to Japan instead.

Dear Los Angeles: I quit

2011-03-26T10:00:00.001-07:00

And it is with a heavy heart that I must turn in my resignation from my post as miserable resident of Los Angeles.

Wait, no.

SFX: Record scratch.

No, that's not right. I haven't a heavy heart at all, it's quite light in fact. Light like whipped cream on an Ikea frozen yogurt treat. I've been waiting for this for at least two years. I was in the midst of planning my jail break style exodus when I met my future husband. This of course sort of stalled my efforts. I say sort of because we agreed we would, in the future, plan to leave.

When we were getting to know each other, our main mode of conversation was my griping about LA. The people, the weather (I hate the heat and I have a major boner for the rain), the lack of non-puke covered public transit, and the constant feeling of financial failure despite doing all that you fucking can to succeed. Yes, we agreed that we hated all those things. And so now, we have agreed on a timeline for escape.

And in all likelihood, barring any possibility of emigrating to Canada, we will move northward to the Pacific North West. My homeland.

I feel like this is my Alcatraz. I'll swim with the sharks in the bay god dammit! I've been planning my breach of security for years now, and finally a date of expiry has been written in stone.

And so, when we announced this intent to our good friend Pedro, he seemed shocked.

"Why would you want to move there? People just get old there."

"Well, people get old everywhere, and it's not like we're some special breed of person that is getting younger." I replied.

Jab and I continued on our patented duet rant as to why we must get the fuck out of LA.

"It's hot."

"We want public transit."

"We want a smaller wealth gap."

"We like the rain."

"We want to get out while we're young."

"We want to be able to buy a place so we can have a dog."

And the list goes on.

But the most important fact is that it just isn't worth the money to be here. We pay a premium just to be in LA, and why? If there's anything, maybe it's the proximity to surfing, but I don't surf so I don't care.

I always wondered why so many Californians move to Oregon. When I was a kid, my dad even invented a product that was featured on several local news shows called "The Californian Detection Kit". It poked fun at everything that was stereotypical about Californians at the time (the late 80s). An offense to fine smelling air, blonde hair, dark skin combined with blonde hair, and the willingness to pay for bottled water (at the time, a sin). Through this, as well as his general bitching about Californians, I always wondered why they wanted so badly, and in such droves, to come to the northwest. I even misunderstood this so deeply, that I did the opposite, and moved to Los Angeles.

And now, it has become all too clear to me. Quietude, weather, the stretching of a dollar, seeing rain actually wash dirt and leaves away instead of people with their damned hoses. The idea is all incredibly relieving to me.

As my future husband says, "It'll be good for my lifehappy."

He's not retarded, he's just creatively articulate. I promise.

I've done my time. I've learned my lessons and had my experiences. I have the great clusterfuck of Los Angeles to thank for that. Of course I'll keep learning things, I'll keep having experiences, I'm not leaving town just to get old and die. I'm leaving town to get back some some freedom for my wallet and my brain.

Idiocracy In Action

2011-03-20T13:01:00.001-07:00

Don't say Mike Judge isn't a prophet. Not only did he know that your job at a giant technology company was a prison, but he is also predicting the downfall of mental capacity, generation by generation.

If the chart to the right is any indication, it may have begun.

Originally posted at popjolly.com, this chart not only shows that Americans spend an ungodly amount of money on producing life, but that those producing life are less educated than the average American.

65% of women giving birth in the United States today either have attended or graduated high school. 18% have not graduated from high school.

Based on the absurd expense of birthing then raising a child (costs of raising a child to the age of 18 range from $250,000 to $400,000), wouldn't it be stellar to be married and have a more likely second income? Yeah, it would, but 4 in 10 new mothers are not married.

While it's a massive assumption on my part to accuse women with mere high school diplomas (or none at all) idiots, how they match up to the rest of the population in the job market is a mark of a major economic disadvantage. This surfaces in the measure of unemployment rate by education level.

Unemployment rate among those without a high school diploma: 14.6%

With a high school diploma: 9.7%

Unemployment is obviously indicating of household income level. A higher household income begets health care, and an improvement in health care leads to better school performance.

So if we could just find a non-profit organization that can provide birth control to young women while they get their education...

Oh...right...I guess that's not really a priority right now. Oops.

My wedding got rave reviews and yours could too!

2011-03-16T19:55:00.001-07:00

However, it is possible for you too to achieve such greatness in matrimony if you follow the simple instructions outlined below.

I was watching a lot of Bridezillas, Four Weddings, and Say Yes to the Dress while planning my wedding. Planning, however, is a loose term because I wasn't so much "planning" as I was giving instructions to people who did it for me. This is not as expensive as you think, by the way. These shows made me realize that there is no damn point in spending $30,000 in forcing a bunch of your friends to be bored, wear crappy clothes, yell at your family, and hate your spouse before you've even gotten your marriage license.

However, that is not to say that marriage is a stale institution that has no place is modern society. I vehemently disagree, but that's another topic. So, assuming you agree with me that it still has a place, just how do you make it not suck balls?

1. Don't spend more than $10,000

When you get all riled up about how much money you're spending, that's when things start getting stressful. I used to freak out about the maintenance of the color and quality of my fucking jeans when I spent $200 on them. Just stop. $100 versus $200 still covers your ass.

If $10,000 is a very large chunk of your income, scale it back again. One day of your life is not worth going into debt for which both you and your new spouse will be responsible for.

2. Don't have bridesmaids and groomsmen

My dad is an engineer. He used to tell me not to buy cars with "too many moving parts" because it was just more shit than can break. Well dad, I engineered the fuck out of my wedding by eliminating as many moving parts as possible. This includes bridesmaids and groomsmen. Your best friends are still going to be there, and they'll be really happy that they didn't have to wear shit that they don't like, and rehearse for your play.

3. Make your cake funny

All cake really is is something that's either going to turn to poo or fat. So don't stress it. Make it funny and everyone will be amused and happy.

4. Don't get flowers

This goes along with the "eliminate moving parts" idea. Why bother? They're going to die. Yes they're pretty, but only for a few hours. Then you won't care about what happens to them. Eliminate the flowers and eliminate some money and stress.

5. Make your own playlist on and iPod and let that shit roll

Why pay for a DJ? Be your own DJ! This cuts down on cost and "moving parts". It also eliminates the possibility that the DJ will play some stupid white people jam like "YMCA". You can rent iPod sound systems for about $150. You absolutely cannot have that. If you do, you must be voting republican.

6. Hire a photographer that is in school

They need experience. Don't pay $1500 for a photographer. Just go with a novice. If they have good equipment, they'll probably do a good job.

7. Hire a non-denominational, non-Bible thumper, officiant

Religious weddings are regimented and boring. Why are you getting married? Is it for you or for "god"? Do you want to simply profess your love in front of a crowd of people, thereby showing your future spouse just how committed and enamored you are? Go with someone creative, write your own vows, and put on a show like none of your guests have ever seen before. Hopefully this includes sodomy jokes.

8. HAVE AN OPEN BAR

This is the single greatest gift you can give your friends. Get them drunk for free. Your photos will be better, some people won't remember the whole thing, and if you're like me - your grandma will get hammered and make a toast. Forego the flowers and expensive photographer and get the open bar. Trust me.

Time and hangovers make you a better writer? I hope that's right.

2011-03-16T19:43:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I've been here. Basically, here's my sob story: I took a job that paid a lot more money (but I pay with my mental fortitude) and planned a wedding.

Guess which of the two didn't suck.

That's right. Technically neither. Unfortunately, the mental toll that the new job took on me came at the price of my writing ability. I really didn't think, and still don't think, that anybody really wanted to hear about the trials and tribulations of Google's ad serving technology. That was really all I had to talk about.

But now, the flood of confusion information has receded and I am now more competent, and can do my job without breaking a sweat. I mean that literally. The HVAC sucks.

Soon you'll be able to catch me on geekgirlonthestreet. You can also catch me talking about Japan at shirojin.com.

Philosophically Correct: Thirty Years of Bad Religion

2010-04-11T23:12:00.000-07:00

On Saturday night I went to see Bad Religion at the House of Blues in Hollywood. Normally, I wouldn't think it's at all helpful to review a show or that one is worthy of reflection, but Bad Religion's show is worthy of not just reflection but praise. Bad Religion, as their name suggests, is a punk rock band launched in 1980 in the anti-conformist, anti-Reagan, vein of the Dead Kennedys. And no, they don't dig Jesus, or the Pope, or Moses, or Allah, or any faux-figurehead that has been the spark of wars in this world. They are anti-religion, not anti-theist.

Their logo has been, for decades, a cross with a circle and line through it. That was the reason I ever listened to my first Bad Religion record. I was entering an adolescence, exiting a childhood, of being beaten over the head with Christianity. Such blatant rejection of an institution I found to be bullshit was empowering. I remember clearly cruising through my BMG catalog (remember when you could buy 12 CDs for a penny? It seemed like a scam and it was, a little bit.) to find a CD by a band called "Bad Religion". I bought it. It was "No Control". It changed how I thought about, well, everything.

Very simply, Bad Religion taught me that it isn't just okay to have your own opinion, but it's an exalting and powerful thing to express it - but only if you do so flawlessly. Not everything I execute is perfect, but when it is, it is much more meaningful. It is easier felt and more strongly resonated. The thought, when expressed properly, can be an epicenter for aftershocks of the same thought.

You might have noticed that the Tea Party has utilized this same practice in the resonance of it's unhelpful, backwards tripe.

But I digress...Bad Religion would not have been able to do this for thirty years without deeply believing in what they are doing and doin' it, doin' it, doin' it well.

Today I was eating lunch with my fiancee and our good friend, Joe. They are in a band together. There has been much debate over whether or not their band will play Warped Tour next year. (If you're not familiar with Warped Tour, it's an annual punk/alternative music festival that tours the country for about three weeks each summer). As soon as my fiancee left to go to the ATM, Joe said to me, "Jab doesn't want to play Warped Tour next year and I don't understand why."

This led to my defending his stance that Warped Tour is politically harmful to small bands and venues and has generally destroyed the way people learn about bands. This is because it has monopolized exposure of said bands. Nobody that goes to Warped Tour now has ever considered that maybe they should check out their local venues at other times in the year to see the same bands. Which would help the local economy and bands on tour.

He retorted to my statement with, "But it gives smaller bands a chance to get exposure and make money, you gotta choose: do you wanna have fun or make money?"

"You won't find anybody in your band that doesn't want to make money," I said.

"What about Bad Religion?" Joe said. "They've been doing Warped Tour for years."

"Yes and they've always existed for something philosophically in addition to making money..." Then I had my argument-winning A-HA moment "...I think you'll be hard pressed to find any band that has existed for decades without having a mission beyond making money."

"I've found a lot of new bands at Warped Tour, I always check out the small stages," Joe finished off just as my fiancee came back from the ATM.

Joe's mission at Warped Tour is few and far between. Most are going to get drunk and see Paramore because the singer is hot, not to find new bands.

I think it's possible to live in this enviable world that Bad Religion exist in: being able to make money and communicate, flawlessly, ideas of a fair and secular world. Time after time, creating timeless songs that offer political observations that if considered, would make this world a better place.

If their mission and philosophy could be summed up, it would be in these words:

Faith in your partner, your fellow men, your friends, is very important, because without it there's no mutual component to your relationship, and relationships are important. So faith plays an important role, but faith in people you don't know, faith in religious or political leaders or even people on stages, people who are popular in the public eye, you shouldn't have faith in those people. You should listen to what they have to say and use it.
- Greg Graffin (Bad Religion vocalist)

I hope, with every fiber of my being, Joe and my fiancee's band can find this kind of mission and meaning. Making money, in whatever you do, is great. Making money doing what you love, and changing people's lives regardless of the venue in which you do it is even better.

Bad Religion Wikipedia Page
Bad Religion lyrics - "I Want to Conquer the World"

The Sea Org: Scientology and the American Al Qaeda

2010-03-28T20:54:00.000-07:00

Scientology may be, once again, at risk of losing its status as a religion. It's elite "Sea Organization" is being sued in a labor dispute. Former members, Marc and Claire Headley were once working in the Sea Org. They made $29,000 over five years, worked more than 100 hours per week for three years, making products for instruction of Church members - like tapes that were sold for a whopping $75 each. Additionally, they had to flee the Sea Org campus in San Jacinto separately.

Claire fled a "minder" that was assigned to go with her to an off-campus doctor appointment. Marc escaped on a motorbike, with $200 and two day's worth of clothing. He crashed the bike while evading Sea Org security and was found by a passer by. He and his wife were eventually reunited when Claire emailed Marc on an old email address that the Church was unaware of.

Stories of the Sea Org make it appear to be a para-military organization. Their facility in San Jacinto, California holds more than 500 members. All of whom have signed a "billion year contract", effectively meaning that the individual is a permanent, indentured, volunteer of the Sea Org for all their many reincarnated life times. Rich white guys in the south in the 1700s might have called this "indentured servitude". The rest of us called it slavery. Fuck that.

When a religion attempts to make a profit (and it's undeniable that that's what the CoS does that's why all it's highest ranking members are rich celebrities), particularly from its members, it no longer is a non-profit religious organization. It is a business - officially and not just because atheists like me who are suspicious of all religion have suggested that it is such.

If Marc and Claire win this case, Scientology's status as a religion in the US will be at risk.

Many well-meaning, brave, and dedicated lawyers that deserve to live in a land where chocolate won't make them fat and Olympic sports medicine specialists are constantly giving them massages around the world have spent this past year trying the Church of Scientology for varying misdeeds. In particular, these misdeeds have allowed the brave hero-lawyers and their clients to call into question the Church of Scientology's standing as a religion.

In 2009, the nation of France filed a lawsuit against Scientology for organized fraud. If France won, the Church would have been dissolved in that country. Alas, France didn't win the lawsuit and dissolution, but four leaders of the Church were convicted of fraud. Prior to the final verdict being read in the case, a law was conveniently passed that prevented the dissolution of religious organizations. This of course leads me to suspect that a CoS member (or members) is fucking about in the French legal system, passing laws to the benefit of his lord and master, L. Ron.

Many countries have revoked Scientology's status as a "religion". Of course that would prevent them from having many rights, such as allowing them to have private citizens function as volunteers. The United States is a very religion friendly country, partially due to the nature of its founding. However, Scientology has been able to manipulate this to its advantage in the US. It has it's biggest financial foothold in its US operations, this is because we have all of its rich celebretard members. It stands to lose a lot in the US. Scientology is actually economically beneficial to the United States, particularly California. I would suspect that if this lawsuit continues through the legal maze in the state, we may find it thwarted by some bullshit law mystically appearing out of no where but being dandily advantageous to the CoS in forcing the case to either be dropped or the dissolution of the Church to be made futile.

While Scientology is scary, and clearly I'm not the only one that thinks so, its Sea Org is far more frightening. It is the cult of cults. It is the pinnacle of weird brainwashery in Scientology. As the AP article describes, the Sea Org was started in 1967 by L. Ron Hubbard to acquire poorly captained ships and take his most dedicated followers around the world to spread the teachings of CoS. They wear maritime uniforms, carry swords, and are rumored to have an arsenal of weaponry which include tanks. This is some serious shit. This is government sanctioned, batshit crazy terrorist style worship, complete with firepower and rigid militaristic leadership.

Here is more information about the Sea Org.
Wikipedia
Xenu.net

For those that are not wealthy enough to obtain Scientology-required training, auditing, and religious education, they can become members of the Sea Org. They will essentially sell their existence for the training they have been told they must have if they ever want to become "clears" - the highest level of Scientology (Tom Cruise and John Travolta are clears). They can join at any time, stories of Sea Org members as young as three years-old have been revealed. However, the Sea Org does not permit it's members to have children, hence Claire Headley's coerced abortion.

I don't find too many differences between Scientology's Sea Org and radical Islam's Al Qaeda. They both offer education, housing, and religious sanctity for those who are desperate, young, and emotionally distraught. Neither care for the lives of their members, rather, they are interested in perpetuating the social power and fear-mongering skills of their leaders. They desire to spread the word of their cause no matter the cost and use the leniency of their governments to do so. Both the Sea Org and Al Qaeda act as paramilitary organizations.

While Scientology and radical Islam don't stand to take over the world, the stronghold they both have in their native lands is terrifying. But like all religions, the mindless dedication of their followers, who dare not bite the hand that feeds them, is their most powerful weapon.

Rush Limbaugh: Where'o'where is a conservative to flee?

2010-03-24T22:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Rush,

In 2001, when America's Doomsday occurred, some of us started pondering what life would be like in another country. Most of us thinking that were not huge fans of G.W. We were concerned about two things: 1) Our country heading down a diplomatic road which wasn't on the GPS and subsequently provoking our attackers to do further damage to us and 2) flee the new, increasingly polarized, religious America.

Some of us with these concerns have fled to Canada, or other commonwealth states, and I'm sure a smattering of other (probably) English speaking countries around the globe. Those countries would fit three major cultural and governmental criteria 1) socialist 2) English speaking and 3) secular.

Those of us liberals dying to get out from under the thumb of a potential theocratic president disguised as a lover of democracy had loads of places to go. The choices are myriad when you ask yourself: where could I go that is more secular, English speaking, and socialist?

I relish this. Indeed. I often fantasize about my potential Canadian life...someday...if it ever gets more religious here or the rich versus poor gap widens larger than I can stomach (it only has about 10 feet left to go), maybe then I will abandon my homeland. In my mind, it's my socialist utopia. A land in which lobbyists don't control which bills are put into place and how my tax money is spent, I can get healthcare from the government and not a corporation, hell, I can even get a reasonably priced master's degree if I so desire. I'm about to have an orgasm...let me get back to the point.

Then you entered, partially, your conservative hell this week with the passing of healthcare legislation. Though it's shitty, totally controlled by big business, and will only result in insurance companies making more money than they should (I'd think you would be having his your wet dream for what a fucking gimme this is to health insurance firms). You announced on March 6th that if this bill did pass, you would leave the country. More specifically you would go to Costa Rica.

If a widening in wealth gap is what he stands for (and you do, you are quite libertarian in values, me thinks), well shit, a central American country is the place for you.

Costa Rica has enjoyed a democracy for over 59 years, has recently deregulated the insurance and telecom industries, and its government is structured in branches much like the United States. But still, it's much poorer than the United States. Nothing will affirm libertarianism and capitalism like taking your rich-asshole-America dollars and moving into a country that you could buy a section of.

It would be a very fine fit for you, Rush. They'd love to have your money, I'm sure. So would the burglars. You'd have a very overworked security staff.

Costa Rica certainly lacks some things that conservatives and liberals alike have taken advantage of in the US: public schools, high quality hospitals, low crime rates. Crime in the US really ain't that bad compared to central America.

So where in the world could a wealthy conservative like you, or any one of the ever growing to the Nth degree Tea Partiers, go for a political, economic or religious climate more to their liking?

Nowhere.

Countries who lack government tend to fall into the "poor" category. In which you'd only flourish if you brought your America money with you.

Countries and government who dictate the lives of their people through religion are theocracies. You'll find them, oh in the middle east (I'm pretty sure that one's out).

Countries and government who refuse to tax their people at a high rate also fall into the "poor" category. They'll have shitty roads, no schools, libraries, etc. Nothing that we all tend to enjoy.

America is still the most conservative, most theocratic rich country in the world. We will remain so, likely for years to come. We're very young, we're very green, we're very much self-absorbed. The older we get, the more liberal and secular we tend to become. It's not terribly helpful to the populous to wish to go back in time.

However, Rush, if you really wanna go found Reganland or Limbaughberg or whatever down in Costa Rica, please go. And please, take all the Tea Partiers, birthers, and anti-abortion activists with you.

Peace out,
Asta

Jessica "Sexual Napalm" Simpson brings us "The Price of Beauty"

2010-03-14T16:59:00.000-07:00

In Japan, in our wanderings, we ran across a store that was rather hard to miss: Tokyo Hands. Well, in romaji it's spelled "Tokyu", but that doesn't translate to us westerners. It's a large multi-story department store. One floor, that we spent a large amount of time on, was dedicated solely to toys and costumes. This was like a pop-culture museum in which the curator was a Japanese teenager with a penchant for spending all his money on gadgets rather than clothing or things to attract the opposite sex. From what I understand, this is a practice learned later in life.

When I had completing scouring the goods, I went to go purchase my poo-shaped lollipops and toys (yes, in addition to gadgetry, this store had a lot of feces shaped articles). I noticed loads of wigs behind the register. They weren't costume wigs like the others, they had an air of legitimacy about them. The same begging, pleading tone that make-up containers and ads have. Those ads don't just spur allure and lust, there's something deeper with more yearning. The urge to look a way that just simply, biologically, can't.

The wigs were on noticably caucasian-esque models. Though they were certainly still Asian. They appeared to be wearing light make-up, to make their skin appear pastier. The wigs were all light colors: auburn, blond, strawberry blond, none were black. The models eyes also appeared large, be it by surgical intervention or make-up artist magic.

If American and Japanese ideas of beauty were put into Venn diagram, we'd have very little fitting into the center cross-section. It was at this moment that I realized a factor of beauty in any culture will be a feature that the homogenous society cannot generate from its gene pool. In other words: we always want what we can't have.

White people cannot (by lack of proper genetic material that would exist in a totally homogenous group) generate black haired, tan, lusciously lipped, skinny women. Yet, often, in a largely white society (cough, cough AMERICA) these things are considered exceedingly exotic and beautiful. These features are often found in ethnic groups such as south American, African, and Asian. But sure as shit not northern European. I know this because I'm Danish. I lack all of the above mentioned features, which puts me in a unique position to be especially sensitive to noticing how desirable they are by the remainder of society.

Alas, as I noticed in Japan, caucasians in America are not the only ethnic group pining after features that don't naturally occur in its non-mixed gene pool. The whole world does it, and they go to great lengths to do so.

Tonight, on vh1 will premier Jessica Simpson's new series "The Price of Beauty". The trailer appears to show this as a documentary series on the perception of beauty in other cultures and countries. Much more interesting than her prior reality show effort "Newlyweds". I realize I'm at risk of sounding like I'm pimping this show, but I am genuinely interested in it, and hope that it shows Jessica acting as a journalist, as opposed to a ditzy rich girl.

I don't want to preemptively criticize the first television show I've been excited for since Arrested Development, but I do wonder about the choice of Simpson as lead for the show. She's been a lightning rod for looks-ism for years. She's either been lusted after for her giant cans, and had a mildly successful pop music career because of them and her dad, or she's been lambasted for her weight (thinness being an American idea of beauty). All the while, she's made money endorsing Proactive, clothing (she has her own line, which includes high heeled shoes), and fragrances. She's certainly allowed herself to be a tool for the beauty industry.

The show's press release made it appear as though the point of the show is that beauty comes from within, regardless of what one's culture dictates it be outwardly projected. It's possible that the choice of Simpson to host the show isn't a hypocritical one, but is actually very poignant. Maybe she's more qualified to show the risks, costs, and hypocrisy of beauty across the world than any body else. After all, she's been praised and chided by the media due to the American idea of beauty. More than any one else, she may have an axe to grind in a hopefully intellectual and enlightening way.

Check out a trailer currently on the Huff Post, here.

I'm Voting Gay

2010-03-14T16:25:00.000-07:00

6 out of 51 states now allow full same sex marriage. That's nice, but it's by no means the full and honest execution of civil rights.

Chart of states and their level of marriage legality by the Economist.

Washington DC has now made full same sex marriage completely legal. There are a litany of what I'll call "cop out states" which have allowed civil unions, etc. But how is that really equality? How is it really marriage? Symbolically it says, "you can have that golden brick, except that it's steel and I painted it gold, whoops. I need all the gold to myself because I'm a wiener and am insecure about sharing."

Perhaps Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have the right idea: stave off marriage for themselves until all tax paying folks in love are allowed to get married. I feel a bit guilty about a lot of things, anything from leaving a piece of paper in my friend's driveway with a nasty note written by his neighbor, or to getting married when not everybody else gets to.

My silent protest would carry much less weight since Jab and I aren't "Brangelina". My tits and lips are far too small, but Jab can pull off the studliness of Mr. Pitt.

Alas, the idea has much merit. It would be nice of we could have some politicians, instead of actors that felt the same. Unfortunately, they appear to feel as though they must hide their sexuality and deny it. I must say, if one has filled his or her life with people that would hate them for who they truly are, they should step the fuck back and assess this situation: the emotional opportunity cost of lying about who you are is quite damaging. In the case of Roy Ashburn, he'll have to treat his relationship with his four kids like a kitchen remodel: not quite scrapping the whole thing, but certainly building it on a different framework. It would have been nice if the world, society, and the people in Ashburn's life let him feel like it was okay to be his gay-self in the first place. Yes, very nice indeed.

Given this situation, and the lack of politicians who will admit to secular spiritual associations, I wouldn't hold out much hope for activist senators or congressmen speaking out loudly in favor of gay marriage any time in the near future. Being honest and open about how one feels on issues would require politicians who carry weight to either 1) not care what others think personally and professionally or 2) present a valid enough argument to convince others personally and professionally.

By virtue of being in politics, congressmen and senators are horrible at both the above actions.

Is a silent success in the fight against bigotry and for real same sex marriage possible? Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Harvey Milk may beg to differ if they could.

Reasons not Rules: the Wedding Etiquette Police

2010-03-09T19:01:00.000-08:00

I've always had a problem with etiquette. Mostly because it falls into the category of "stuff that someone else is forcing me to do", which automatically results in my response of "NOOOOOOO!" Of course this is a psychological problem, or emotional advantage over the competition, depending on your association with me.

As I am planning a wedding, I've had many a run in with this demon "etiquette". It often dictates that one defy standard social norms or even, gasp, logic. Rich people that can't figure shit out themselves often rely on this "etiquette" fellow to determine their actions for them. I'm not rich, I don't like rich people, and I don't like etiquette. When I ran across the "ETIQUETTE POLICE" section of BRIDES magazine, I not only had a field day of "fuck you!" frolicking about my brain, but I had the inkling to answer the questions asked of weary brides-to-be all on my own.

Question 1:

One of my bridesmaids is a jewelry designer, and she surprised me by making a necklace to go with my wedding dress. Trouble is, it's hideous. How can I get out of wearing it?

Writer's response in summation: Lie and say you love it but that you already have another necklace you'd planned on wearing.

My response: If it's heinous, she's either trying to stroke her own ego and jack of on you, or she's using you as a promotional tool. Either way, she isn't completely giving you the necklace out of love and elation. Tell her it's not your style and jam on down the wedding road. Or, option 2, take it and then "lose it", if you're really into testing out the limits of your passive aggressiveness.

Question 2:

My fiance doesn't want to invite his stepmother to the wedding, because she was the reason his parents split. Can we invite his father solo?

Writer's response in summation: No. It's standard practice to invite the spouse or partner of any guest who is in a committed relationship.

My response: Hell yes invite him solo! Who wants that homewrecker around? For all we know she'll taint your wedding with witches cheater spirits. Who wants to piss off the fiance's birth mother? She BIRTHED THE GROOM! She's entitled to a non-awkward day as well.

Question 3:

Our wedding falls during basketball-playoff season, and my fiance wants to find a venue with a TV so he can watch in case his team is playing. Won't this look horrible?

Writer's response in summation: Without a doubt.

My response: This isn't just YOUR day, you time hogging bridezilla, it's his day too. If he's going to take a few minutes every hour to check in on the game, and that's if his team plays, that's cool. Now, if he's a huge douche about sports and finds it necessary to bolt to plotz down in front of the TV as soon as the words "I do" slip from his lips, that's another story. If that's the case, perhaps you should reconsider whom you're marrying.

Question 4:

We want guests to feel free to mix and mingle during dinner. Is it okay to skip assigned seating?

Writer's response in summation: Only if you want mealtime to be crazy.

My response: If you're inviting people who can't figure out how to sit down and eat with people they may not know, then you've befriended retards. Make new friends.

Question 5:

Some of my relatives say they aren't coming to my three-thirty wedding ceremony because they've got weekly errands to run. They're planning only to attend the reception, at five. I'm offended! Should I tell them?

Writer's response in summation: Don't guilt trip them into attending. Let them attend the reception.

My response: Sounds like they want some booze and food without any effort. What are their errands? Watching the solar eclipse at exactly 3:31? You can't have your cake and eat it too guys, especially my cake, 'cause now you ain't coming to the reception.

In some occasions, I was harsh. I know. However, most of this is nonsense I wouldn't allow to go on at Dave and Busters', let alone my own wedding. Why does etiquette trump logic? Maybe because, like most traditions, we allow them to be rules, rather than reason.

As for my own upcoming nuptials, the only quandary I have surfacing is trying to convince my best friend of my disdain of bachelorette parties. I think the answer is, simply, "no".

Toyoda: We're Sorry for Being Opportunists

2010-03-02T18:56:00.000-08:00

My parents were very frugal folk. Mostly because my paternal grandfather is a cheap bastard and my maternal grandmother didn't understand how credit cards worked in the 1980s and sent herself into a ravenous volcano of debt. So they had nobody to rely on except for themselves if shit went financially south.

They were constantly teaching me lessons on how to not waste money. One of those lessons was to never buy an American car.

Why?

Because I'd constantly be repairing it and paying a little bit more up front, for quality, is ultimately cheaper than paying for repairs throughout the life of the vehicle.

I'm sure in many cases this isn't true. Also, it's highly likely that this was one of my parents' many fear mongering inventions designed to help get me through life. At least their intentions were good.

Now, this goes against all my recent revelations about "buying American". The only way to really resuscitate our shriveling, quadruple bypass needing economy, is to buy American. I try to buy everything American now...except cars. Because, if mom and dad were right about American cars, the last thing I need in my life is to be stuck on the 405 where there's no shoulder, and be too poor to afford AAA for a tow or to repair my car which would undoubtedly have a busted timing belt or something of great importance.

My personal experience with American cars hasn't been so great, with or without my parents' influence. Numerous repeated repairs of seemingly non-remediable problems, weird noises, quickly fading paint, just to name a few issues. And in general, the designs produced by Ford, GM, and Chevy over the past twenty years haven't been too sexy. Definitely not as luscious as BMW or even...Toyota.

Toyota won over the American market by being fuel efficient, not pretty. Later the company mastered both. Toyota was able to dominate the United States by not just being efficient and pretty, but figuring out how to be amazingly reliable.

This came to be true of all Japanese cars, not just Toyota.

When Toyota recently failed in the quality department, it was one big massive, morbid failure. Which apparently seemed mammoth in comparison to American automobile manufacturers' decades of making shitty cars that didn't necessarily kill anyone, just cost them a lot of money unnecessarily - and for frequent repurchase.

It was also a huge opportunity to for congress to help re-energize the market for American cars. Given that the big competitor had just made the one huge fuck up that could give American car companies a chance - congress helped them go for the guttural.

And maybe, just maybe, it was a touch unfair. A touch opportunistic. It was a marketer's dream, as well as the congressional budget office's. We bailed out the automakers over a year ago and we best be workin' on gettin' our money back. What better way to do that than to exploit a folly of the one, single, biggest competitor?

It seems extremely underhanded and black-markety. It seems corrupt. It seems as though we're attempting to get back at them, in the most high school cheerleaderish way possible, for using our Just in Time (JIT) manufacturing methods better than we did.

But Toyota will recover from this. I don't believe their image is that tarnished. They provided the world with extremely high quality cars, that ran for over 200,000 miles with regular maintenance, for almost thirty years. Consumers tend to have a painfully short memory, but the quality of Toyota is hard to forget.

Angie Jackson's Abortion

2010-02-26T18:19:00.000-08:00

I've taken the morning after pill.

So, maybe, I killed what wasn't even a zygote? I don't know. I don't care, but there it is. I said it.

A woman named Angie Jackson, a Floridian, is presently catching some significant heat for Tweeting, in real time, the effects of taking RU-486.

The article from which I learned about this was titled "Angie Jackson Live-Tweets Her Abortion on Twitter". I'll let the title's grammar issue speak for itself.

Apparently Miss Angie Jackson is 27 years-old and has a four year-old special needs son. She regularly tweets about her life to her 800-some followers. The followers are there for empathy, for help, and she admits that they give her some strength and companionship. Given the fact that she gave birth to him at 23 years-old, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that she didn't have time to establish and incredibly gainful career and that it is probably emotionally, mentally, and financially taxing to raise a child with special needs. So really, who wants to deal with more of that?

Insert here the radical right screaming about her killing a child. Screaming about how she's a fool and, oh mercy, how could she truly love the child she has if she can kill one that she doesn't yet have?

Bollocks. All of it. Please, you religious fucking nut jobs weren't paying any attention because here's where the kicker lies: she has an IUD.

If you've ever seen a commercial for an IUD, like that one that's running interminably on WE (where I get all of my fine wedding related programing), pregnancy while having an IUD interned in one's uterus is pracitcally deadly. So really, really? Who really wants to chance death with a child that one wasn't planning to have?

So, ironically, these religious freaks think that she should potentially die in order to create a life that will probably kill her. Also, she's received a number of death threats.

She's going to "kill" something that isn't human and you wanna kill her? Ugh...I give up.

I will never understand religious people. I should also mention, Miss Jackson is an atheist and grew up in a sexually abusive cult. I think she has her brass on this issue.

Miss Jacksons says that since she started this, roughly one third of the emails and messages she's received have been from crazy asshat haters.

She chose an RU-486 abortion as she caught the pregnancy early enough. It isn't disgusting, she simply describes cramps and the eventual aftermath. I think it's possible that the great upset with this isn't just the abortion, but that the abortion that's occurring isn't a disdainful, horrible, surgical one. It's easy. It's simple. It's done at home.

If Miss Jackson were to have an abortion in a repulsive and frightening manner, the haters on her page may have nothing to say. They may only yell, "see we told you so." As opposed to, "you should die."

Of course abortion isn't ideal. No woman wants to do that, but does want the option in case, like Angie, her life is at risk. Or she was raped. Or she is poor. Or her pregnancy is the product of incest. Miss Jackson's live blogging shows that even if a woman must endure one horror of an unwanted pregnancy, they at least don't have to endure another horror of a surgical abortion.

The Business Casual Dress Code is Making Me Fat

2010-02-25T18:25:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time I worked at a fitness equipment manufacturer. As you might imagine, fitness was very much encouraged there. While most of us were chained to desks in our massive 10,000 beast of a facility in excess of 10 hours per day, we were also provided with a gym that is probably half the size of Bill Gates' gym, but for us, it was awesome. We were also provided an outdoor track on which to run whenever our schedules allowed, and most importantly: showers. Even better, we were given a cafeteria that was subsidized by the company and had nothing but healthy food in it.

I was fucking skinny when I worked there. Assuming skinny is everything (and sometimes, to me when I'm feeling all self-loathing, it is), this was a utopia. So why would I have ever left this Shangri-La?

They didn't pay me very much and I was bored. I moved to LA.

My first LA job was at an internet company. It was casual as all hell. Employees wore sweat pants, flip flops, and stained pieces of garb to work. I knew they didn't pay anybody very well, so I never judged this and literally thought that perhaps some of the part-time employees were homeless. I was close, but still managed to have a laundry coin budget.

This job sucked on many levels: my boss, the type of work, and the money. I found myself skipping out for walks a lot. I also couldn't afford lunch beyond an Amy's frozen meal that ran about $3.95 at the nearby grocery store. I was really skinny.

I can complain about both of these jobs a great deal: the money, the bosses, the lack of upward mobility, etc. But one thing I can't complain about is how skinny I was at both positions. Because they allowed fitness to occur at any given point.

At my current job I have a posh office, go out for lunch with my boss nearly every day, and dress rather well. This all sounds lovely and part of the American Dream I'm sure, but another part of the American ideology that this lends to is...drumroll...

Being fat.

I've put on, at my worst, ten pounds working at this job. I am successful at managing it because I don't have kids I have to feed, pay attention to, or love, so I get to spend my evenings in the gym.

I guess I wasn't so hyper-sensitive to my job being a factor in my weight gain until the HR department began plastering posters promoting "health" and "fitness" all over the office.

I became confused and flummoxed. My neck cramped up in the way that it does when I have a proverbial bee in my bonnet about something. My blood pressure rose. I was pissed by the catch 22 that was being presented:

So...you assholes want me to work out at lunch...but this is LA. It gets hot. There are no showers in our office. I have to dress up, I have to wear fucking heels. I can change all my clothes, but where? The bathroom where we have one stall? When the sun hits my skin I start sweating like a polar bear in global warming. I can't do my hair again when I get back here, as we lack the proper facilities. Let's also not forget, that we may have less than one hour to do all of this. So what do you really want me to do???

It appeared to be a lovely exercise in "well if we say it, then employees can't say we never told them they CAN'T go exercise, plus our group health insurance provider may leverage us some discounts."

I guess all I really want is for this to be less cumbersome. If I could have just one of my previous facilities: a shower, an air conditioned gym, or a casual dress code, I'd actually work out during the day and not wait until I'm tired at night. Which often results in me not moving my ass off the couch.

So, HR departments of the world, I ask you: would you be willing to give all us hard-working, overweight folks a casual dress code in exchange for my working out at lunch? I wish you would, I sure would like to be less fat.

Socialism in your own backyard

2010-02-11T20:13:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, I was gallivanting through my office's parking structure on my return from lunch, occasionally gawking into people's cars that just happened to meet my line of vision. It's not my fault when imagery collides with my sight, it cannot be helped. But I was amiss in my aim for the interior of vehicles and I caught a bumper sticker.

It read: SOCIALISM

The "O" was made into the Obama campaign logo "O" with a somewhat American flaggy enhancement.

I got excited and exclaimed to my boss, "LOOK! Somebody else likes socialism!"

She replied with some disappointment in her voice; both for my not getting the very obvious joke and because, well, it was a joke.

In small print below "SOCIALISM" read a web address (which I will not type all of in order to prevent any potential website traffic from going to the site): Palin_____.com.

So, I should have gotten it that it was an uber-sarcastic and slandering attempt at a political and economic system that could very well save America. But, to me, socialism is such a powerfully good thing, used in many ways to better the effectiveness of collective dollars, that such a joke was ludicrous.

Here is a list of all the terrible, awful, death panely, Hitler-loving, anti-American, things that in which socialism is instrumental:

1. The Gym
Look, you and I both know that most people who sign up for gym don't actually go. And if they do go, they don't go seven days a week. Hence, you have individuals paying for a service that they don't constantly use. This allows the cost to use this system, per person, to be quite low. If I only paid to go to the gym 100% for myself and didn't spread the cost amongst those that have signed up but don't actually go, I'd be paying ten times what I presently pay, if not more. Then, I wouldn't have signed up in the first place, gyms wouldn't exist, and I'd have approximately 4.664 times more cellulite than I do right now.

2. Schools
This goes for public and private schools. Private schools depend on donors, which I will refer to as "elective socialism". Public schools, thanks to all the genius of our voting public and the budgeteering committee of the state of California, are more and more in need of elective socialism. At this rate, all public schools will eventually be private, but not provide a better education. God...that makes me want to breed...right...now.

3. Public transportation
Not everybody uses public transportation. Those that don't use it end up paying taxes for it anyway (did I mention that I live in LA? Nobody walks in LA). This helps keep the per person fee nice and low for those that have no choice but to travel via public transportation. Beautiful.

4. The military
Hopefully we don't have to use them, but they're there. Sometimes idiots don't deploy them when people are truly in need of them, but hey, that's hopefully not going to happen again. We all pay for it. We all need it. We, at some point, all use it.

5. Marrying a rich person
If you marry well, you ultimately become someone that will benefit greatly from a heaping checkbook. And sometimes, depending on your social abilities and sense of real love, loyalty and commitment...this money might actually become yours.

I love that three of the five examples are already government based, at least partially. What's taking it a little bit further? How bad could that be? Socialism does not disincentivize companies or rich individuals, they will still be companies and rich people will still be rich by comparison to everyone else. Maybe some rich asshole will have a 6,000 square foot home in Manhattan Beach instead of an 8,000 square foot home with a pool. Boo fucking hoo.

The gap between rich and poor has become an ocean. A lean tax code has allowed families to keep their wealth and not spread it. The longer this goes on, the more protective these small-scale (and large-scale) heirs and heiresses become of their unearned cash. Extrapolate this situation and we get a caste system. If anything is un-American, it's telling people that they have no hope because of the family they were born into. What's wrong with changing that?

I think I like Meghan McCain

2010-02-09T17:44:00.001-08:00

It's not often that I find someone, alive in present day, whose logic and belief system I admire. This doesn't mean that I must agree with everything they say, but just fucking "going for it" and creating a movement out of an original and logical concept that could actually change the world if the laggards would actually open their damned ears...ugh. Well that is a breath of fresh air.

It's even more rare that those people have a viable, accessible, and marketed outlet for this brilliant communique; and even more rare that they aren't stuck preachin' to the choir.

While poor John McCain has been shackled, tarred and feathered, and mentally beaten into assimilation by his own party (even further chained to the idiocy of the GOP by the forced selection of Miss Sexypants Palin as VP candidate), his daughter, Meghan, was taking the reigns that he couldn't. She was busy, toiling away at Columbia University becoming a phenomenon writer and communicator. She was formulating coherent, logical, and progressive ideas. Most importantly, she was identifying herself as a republican but with all of the upgrades and improvements that the party ought to give itself.

There is nothing wrong with being a republican (I have probably contradicted myself in this blog on this statement previously, please don't look). There is something wrong with being an out of touch, "party of no", politician hell-bent on controlling others' lives based upon a reality of 40 years ago.

Meghan McCain is calling for the party to open it's fucking ears and listen to the way the world is. She appears to believe that social issues are not the government's god damned business and homosexual love and life should not be punished.

Meghan and her mother, Cindy McCain, campaigned for NOH8 in California and posed in ads for the cause. John McCain was forced, by lovely pre-scheduled, pre-aired, pre-written politics, to remain silent.

Where I have great difficulty with Meghan's views is when we get to the concept of socialism. She firmly believes the government should stay out of people's lives. She has also openly admitted that she does not understand economics (see her Wikipedia page). I believe that once someone understands economics, it will shape all of their social and financial beliefs. It is crucial, but not many people do understand it. I'm more thank happy to see economics be a pivotal academic tool utilized in the public and political debate forum for all issues. Debating socialism on the basis of macro and micro-economic principles is worth some blood, sweat, tears and thousands of sheets of paper.

What is not open to debate, regardless of political party or forum, is freedom over our bodies, sexuality, love, and lifestyle.

It would be lovely if Meghan was, at some point in the near future, empowered by the loudmouthed assholes of her party. Maybe once they get tired of Sexy Sarah they'll step aside and let a smart girl talk. She's a brilliant, shining, homage to the actual American ability to move forward and change, at the very least, our world if not THE world. She is a progressive.

I think I like her.

I hope you will check out her posts on TheDailyBeast.com (most of this blog I don't agree with, but Meghan refreshes me).

Newsflash: Online Dating is Still a Sales Stimulus for the Anti-Depressant Industry

2010-02-08T19:46:00.000-08:00

I'm presently working with a market researcher on some uh-duh, market research projects at the office. He is a 40-something male, who I'm assuming is swimmingly single due to his over-enthusiasm for cars and travel. For those of you that may think being judgmental is a bad thing, that is what this guy does for a living, and he is fabulous at it.

One of the judgments he has made about 18 - 34 year-old males (who are the target respondents in our research) is that they are lazy and do not communicate.

"These guys are lazy, we can't ask them to just tell us how they feel, we're going to have to pull it out of them. Doing collage exercise and stuff just isn't going to work."

His words were relative my job and the task at hand, but immediately, I thought that these were words I really could have used to have heard during my time in the social cesspool of confusion and misanthropy that is online dating.

I spent almost a year trying to make it work, this newfangled match.com and (our dear) Salon personals, were my only lifeline to the male gender aside from bars. It offered a way to filter individuals, which was nice, however I quickly learned that like any survey: the answers to the questions asked in online dating profile generators are easy to doctor with "desired" responses.

I wish I had known that I didn't stand a chance in hell against a demographic that was 100% interested in fucking and 0% interested in my brain. If I had known that they are (except for my fiance, whom I met in a bar) lazy and impossible communicators, I would not have taken the constant rejection so hard. I wouldn't have been compelled by my frustration and discontentment to write a manuscript about it.

Nevertheless, I'm glad I did.

But I do still wonder, a little bit, was it me? Or are all these people on these sites really fucking insane? As soon as you sign up for Match.com, do you automatically lose your mind? I purpose that perhaps you do, because the internet is not real life and it becomes rapidly apparent to your subconscious that this is the case. For those of you that have never attempted to get something meaningful (i.e. a damned conversation that isn't like non-novacaine involved dental work) out of online dating, allow me to boil it down for you.

Phase 1: Winks or other horribly innocuous signals are broadcast through the digital wasteland and someone that may or may not be attractive. Next, if their profile indicates that they are interesting, you may opt to send a real message with real questions and real hints of who you are.

Phase 2: If the "messaging" process is going well, you may move onto the phone. However, be foreward, no one will fucking call you. They will all want to text you. Thusly, it's exactly like "messaging" and you won't learn anything of their mannerisms or personality traits.

Phase 3: You give up and decide to suggest to meet up. You are either 1) repulsed or bored or 2) elated and your genitals are a bit giddy

Phase 4: You become so enthralled that some attention is being paid to you by the opposite sex, so you quickly bed down.

Phase 5: Whomever you slept with will never speak to you again.

That's why online dating is a sales stimulus for the anti-depressant industry. When there is a sea of so many ready and willing fish, it's very easy to chuck one and go back to the sexiness ocean for more. Devaluing humans in a sexy economy is a nasty nasty and sordid thing. Immoral really.

While I've been (ever so merrily) out of the game for over a year now and am not going back in for another play, I wondered if things have changed. Are they different for older age groups?

My report from the nether regions of my poor friends is that no, things are not different.

My good friend recently encountered an odd fellow who insisted on texting her every morning and every evening to say something to they effect of, "good night sweetheart."

Let me remind you, they had never met nor spoken on the phone. El texto solomente.

She quickly cut the cord as this one appeared to have a bit of crazy dangling on the tips of his fingers and in the depths of his brain.

I deeply feel for everyone legitimately attempting to use online dating to meet someone. You are probably very deserving people and are 100% worthy of having someone to empathize with, love, and share your life. However, nutjobs looking for a quick nutjob everywhere are ruining the idea. They've created a people-store with very low involvement in purchase.

Just like every good marketing test, a benchmark must be set to determine success or failure. No one has set this benchmark for online dating, as it's a giant money maker without having any proven success at all, so that would all be for naught wouldn't it? A major sales killer. Nevertheless, allow me to do it: marriages that can persist for longer than 20 years.

Online dating sites have been around for less than 10 years. Match.com was launched in 2001. Only time will tell if marriages generated online can actually stand the test of time. Though my money is on the horses racing on the track'o'real life.

What Tokyo Taught Me About Illegal Downloading

2010-02-03T19:24:00.000-08:00

I walked out on the stage, in my clothes that I'd been wearing for two whole days, after everyone else in my party. There were 700 pairs of eyes gaping wide open at us. Hungry for whatever we'd brought from Los Angeles. But they didn't know that the singer had almost just bailed due to "feeling like I'm gonna barf." Though the eyes weren't really looking at "us", the cumulative us, I wasn't truly included in that sentiment - I was just a bystander that happened to be awarded stage privileges because I live on the other side of the ocean with the performers.

I've done quite a lot of public speaking, which I enjoy. I enjoy it because of a bit of a rush it brings, it pushes me to say more interesting things, of a more dire interest. And often, try to be a bit funnier (on the internet I can call myself a satirist but write however I'd like; I think I'm a part-time satirist).

But I digress, I must say it had hardly prepared me for the vibe of this event.

My friends and I were in Tokyo. My fiance's band creates somewhat of a Venn diagram with a band that is American, but extremely popular in Japan. The drummer and bass player ride in the middle. We were there to promote the new band. We were there to create the meld between the two, the smooth any rough edges, to make sure all would go well - and of course to ensure that the A&R guy liked us.

The public that came to this show was unlike any that would ever come to a show in the US of A. Save for Britney Spears or the Jonas Brothers, or some other thing that had gone beyond talent but become a brooding PR spectacle. These show participants were true, dear, fans. They knew every word to ever song, they sent letters to the band, they got tattoos of their name and lyrics - sometimes without knowing what they meant (and we get kanji tattooed on us for god knows what fucking reason, I presume to appear culturally savvy though actually blissfully ignorant). They hung onto every word and every movement, yet two members of this band just couldn't see it. They either wanted to ignore it, or had profound cases Lead Singer Syndrome. LSS results in acting like an asshole to those which are your livelihood, because you don't fucking know, you just think you're kinda cool.

As Jab and I stood there, watching our friends play, those assholes ignore their fans, and the crowd beg with their eyes for more, more, more a beautiful moment happened...
our friend the bass player acknowledge a fellow in the crowd, whom we'd eaten and drank many a booze with the night prior, a beer.

His eyes lit up. His name was Makato. Then he drank the shit out of that beer.

Then Jab, of course a musician, muttered in my ear, "I want that to be my job."

As I had just been incredibly elated by the bass player's distribution of beer, I was immediately deflated by this statement. A very deserving man was watching two people do a job which he could do much better. And he could respect fans with much more grace. He wouldn't bitch about potentially being sick, or not wanting to sign autographs (as was later the case). He would do whatever it takes. He believes in mutual fame.

The night before, the band had another show. At this show, we wandered around while our friends signed autographs. Two boys came up to us and asked us for our photos - presumably because we were friends of the band.

"No, no, we are not famous." Jab and I replied.

We didn't want our photos taken for shame that we'd be appealed as something we really were not.

"I have a rule, " Jab said, "when I play a show, I always bring a book, and anyone that I sign an autograph for has to also sign my book." He's right. All fame has a source and it deserves to be acknowledged, especially by whom it has made famous.

All of this fandom seemed healthy. It seemed to explain why this band was famous in Japan and not the United States; because fandom and enthusiasm were acceptable and prevalent. Excitement spreads like wildfire, it only needs one influential spark. While all of this made the music industry in Japan seem alive and well, I soon learned that it was not. It had also fallen victim to illegal downloading.

I didn't used to think this was really a problem. I assumed most people that were having their money stolen by the public were already heinously rich and probably deserved to give back a little more than the tax system made them. Hence, I should take their creative product. But in Tokyo, I listened to a somber A&R guy describe how record sales had dwindled from the previous year, thanks to illegal downloading.

He's a guy with a wife in two kids living in a Tokyo suburb. His bands are working people, some of whom work for the record label. They are not rich, yet they're being stolen from. My friends, the American band with a couple of assholes in it, are not rich, yet their being stolen from. Illegal downloading isn't only unjust because of that, but because it de-incentivizes record labels from investing in new artists.

Enter the 52nd Annual Grammy Awards. Nary a new artist took the stage. A result of labels' fear of investing in something new. Knowing that if the artist was not proven, they would never make a time. Just like profit generating companies, individuals won't invest in anything that is unknown. If they can get if for free, why the hell not? Nine songs out of ten on the album might be horrible anyway.

The person who invents a prevention of illegal downloading will be a millionaire. New artists deserving to be recognized will grovel at her feet. Artists have a duty to acknowledge their fans, just as artists have a right, if they are good and talented and interesting, to be sponsored by their fans. If Jab, or any other fabulously talented performer is to ever have a financial chance to commit their life to their art, illegal downloading must be stopped.

The Politics of the Cock Block

2010-01-24T23:02:00.000-08:00

I think we've all been there.

In the heat of "oh I really really want this person," comes the realization,"but my friends are here." Which quickly turns into, "I can't ask them to leave." Then finally sudden hatred and the thought, "they're COCK BLOCKING ME."

At which point you kind of want to kill your friends, hoping they'll come back to live after you've completed the task. That way, you can tell them all about it.

I believe the phrase "cock block" can be unisex, given that it describes the act of preventing the subject "cock" in the activity of being "blocked" of a specific maneuver (read: "insertion). Though more often than not, it is not used in a mutually inclusive, genderbending context. Typically, it's a man wanting to get into the pants of a lady. Typically, it's the woman's friends preventing this from happening.

Last night, Jab and I went to grab drinks at a favorite local watering hole with our perpetually single cohort named Brian. His reason for being perpetually single is another blog, however, this blog may lend some insight as to the reason for his singledom. Brian decided that we must leave our sacred, and cheap, drinking grounds for Hollywood so that he could retrieve a specific female whom he'd previously had relations with. Jab and I let out a collective, "no way man, that area is a no-no." We just don't like it.

Brian assured us that we'd leave quickly if we were unhappy. Frankly, I couldn't be happier with how it all turned out: we didn't even have to enter some hormone laced establishment. We drove up to the front of Happy Endings on La Brea and Sunset to see a line stretching from the door to the street.

"No fucking way man, we're not going in there."

"Don't worry, don't worry, there she is." Brian recognized his reason for coming here. She was approaching the car with her boobs all cleavagey and her prance all libidinous.

I truly don't mean to sound like I'm judging, we've all done that as long as we could get away with it - and some of us for much longer than was a good idea. I'm so grateful I don't have to participate in the great female on female boob contest any longer. I could never have won anyway.

Brian's potential lady jumped in the car and we were off to another bar. One that we could just waltz into, and get a table, and drink.

Towards the end of our tenure at this bar, Brian's lady made a dash for the bathroom. At which point, Brian unveiled the plan.

"I gotta get her to come over. You guys gotta help me."

I was immediately smashed in the face with a pie of confusion. Do I help my friend? Or do I help my fellow female?

If this were biologically driven and completely tribal, it seems to me that I would help my fellow female. As we don't have brawn, perhaps it is our collective duty to protect each others babymakers?

But this is 2010. This is an era of birth control, taxis, and women having their own money and well...lots of choices. Truly if she didn't want to be there, she wouldn't be. But should I create social pressure to get her in the den alone with Brian and his libido?

I guess what really tipped the moral scales for me was the fact that they had had sex previously. And, I can verify, she was really into it.

So when Brian's lady returned to the table I blurted out my assistance to the "get Brian laid" program:

"Hey, have you seen 'Observe and Report' yet? It's hilarious. It's at Brian's house, we're gonna watch it when you get back there. You should come."

I knew no one had seen Observe and Report. It's funny as well, but it marked the point at which Seth Rogen began to lose his luster in the 18 - 34 year-old male demographic.

"No, I haven't, but my roommate is coming to pick me up in a little bit. He's drunk, so I don't know how long it's going to take."

Then the screams of "LAST CALL" rang through the bar. After much dilly dallying, we finally left.

Brian's lady bummed a cigarette from some fellow patrons. She realized her roommate was still quite far away. She agreed to come with us back to Brian's house and have the roommate pick her up there.

Upon arriving back at his lovely West LA bachelor pad, I was asked to give the confused roommmate directions to Brian's house. I gave proper directions, yet this guy still fucked them up.

When giving the second set of directions, directing the roommate away from the place he'd veered off to, Brian whispered to me "way to cock block, you shoulda told him to keep going the wrong direction!"

He was joking. He would never ask or expect me to do such a devious thing. But it made me go down that line of thinking. If I were to do that, it would be wrong not just because it was deceitful, but because it was deceitful to a member of my own gender.

There are few things, well okay nothing, that I consider to be a woman's duty. However, In this moment it seemed that it was a woman's duty to prevent another woman from getting laid.

Sorority Clothing Rules brought to you by Cornell's Pi Phi

2010-01-23T14:17:00.000-08:00

I recall as a child, my best friend, born four days after myself, was forced to wear a Rodney Dangerfield inspired golf outfit to her own mini-golf birthday party. We were about eight years-old. She was fucking horrified at what she was wearing. Her mother asked me to go up in her room to get her to come out. Apparently upon putting on the plaid bell-bottomed pants, white turtleneck, and plaid vest, she rejected all sense of normalcy and threw a fucking fit.

As I walked in the room and saw this, I really wanted to laugh. It was pretty damned funny. Not only because of what it is was, but because her mother was making her wear it to her own party to appease her mother's sense of...um...I have no idea what. Maybe she didn't get to wear something so rad when she was in her twenties? Was this really a secretly Caddyshack-themed party and us eight year-olds weren't in on the joke?

I eventually got my friend to emerge from the room. Her face rosy and tear stained. Her mother shoved us all in the van and got moving. My friend's birthday wasn't that great.

I, on the other hand, was rarely made to do anything other than math. I used to figure skate and designed my own costumes on notebook paper for my mother to recreate in real life with her majestic sewing machine skills.

So when I stumbled upon the fashion rules from Cornell's Pi Phi sorority published on Fashionista.com, I couldn't help but imagine how I'd feel to be given such strict guidelines on what to wear. I would have tried to wear all the don'ts at once.

Click here to review and analyze
Cornell's Pi Phi Do's and Don'ts.

No American Apparel leggings?
No open-toed shoes?
Accessories required?
No plastic bracelets?
Nothing is uglier than cracked lips!

These are all things that are quite mild, but hilarious when done properly. All outfits should be capable of not only expressing one's mood and style, but not have to cost $500 to create to be acceptable by one's den mother or whatever the hell his woman is called.

I didn't see plaid bell-bottomed golf pants mentioned on here.

Sometimes Economies Float

2010-01-21T17:20:00.000-08:00

Following Hurricane Katrina a slough of investors began purchasing real estate in the moldy, soggy, broken and economically depressed New Orleans. I suppose the most famous of these attempts to revitalize the town with Hollywood dollars and loads of sperm, ovum, and probably a zygote or possibly two at the time: Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. Numerous celebrities followed suit and quickly, New Orleans regained its vitality and functionality as a retail center with nearly the same economic prowess as it had prior to the hurricane.

So...when a city falls apart due to natural disaster, injecting it with outside money from areas not affected by said disaster is a good thing. Yes. Yes?

Yes. I think so anyway.

Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines has been, well not quite criticized, but strongly and pointedly questioned about continuing to drop off their cruise patrons at their leased resort called Labadee on the northern portion of the island.

Click here for the article in the Miami Herald.

I began to debate with with my brain whether or not this was an appropriate and moral thing to do. I suppose the need to debate it is even debatable, but I did wonder, as did many:

1. Was the area affected?

2. Do people there need food and water rather than visitors to tend to?

3. Would the locals be offended at the idea that American tourists are conducting "business as usual" while their country is torn to fucking shreds?

As is typical when a news outlet is attempting to incite controversy, some logic and information were conveniently left out.

Labadee was not in an earthquake affected area. It was virtually untouched by seismic nastiness.

Check out the USGS "ShakeMap" (nice name guys, sounds like something AT&T and Verizon are about to do in order to permanently silence one another).

As the case is such that Labadee is unaffected, there is no reason to assume that individuals employed at the resort would be unable to work. Rather, if your friends' and their families', and their friends houses had just all burnt to the ground in a world where homeowners insurance is a fucking pipe dream, you might be pretty god damned excited to have a place of employment.

Feasibly, you'd be able to then provide your loved ones with some sustenance, a place to live, some semblance of normalcy if their lives in Port-au-Prince had been literally shattered.

So why the dichotomy? Why the judgment of Royal Caribbean's attempt to help Haiti and not Brangelina's attempt to help New Orleans?

I think it's because they're all corporationy.

I don't like corporations. Neither do most people in our ironically capitalistic society. The idea that Royal Caribbean actually attempted to perform business as usual and act as a financial savior by doing so seems impossible. The idea that two individuals could act as saviors seems normal, despite the fact that it is actually more rare.

Let's also not forget that Royal Caribbean donated one million dollars to the relief efforts, as Haiti has provided them with such financial gain over the years. Have they made more than one million dollars off of Haiti? Absolutely. But is it not a positive thing that the cruise line has continued to pump dollars into Haiti by way of employing its people?

I don't see how it's not. It's just their face, it's just that they're a corporation.

Sometimes economies float. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are worth approximately $220 million together. They are an economy and a business in and of themselves. They move themselves and they move people, just like Royal Caribbean. As opposed to generating business in one geographic area, why not move it around to where it is needed most?

Punk didn't die; it moved to Tokyo

2010-01-19T19:16:00.000-08:00

I returned from Tokyo on Sunday. I'm still mulling the experience around in my head, as it was one that was atypical of any tourist. Please consider this the first of a multi-part (how many parts I don't know because I don't plan out my diatribes in advance, they must be semi-drunk spur of the moment verbal vomit) series on a recent visit to Japan.

The main feature and topic of the trip wasn't history or anything of like, it was music. Specifically, Japan being the final frontier for American bands. I'm prepared to declare Japan the only nation on the planet in which a non-publicized band can become famous by way of selling records and just being good. But what happens when Japan maintains its interest in non-PR whoring bands but loses its interest in buying their records?

We were traveling with a friend's band. You have probably never heard of them, because you probably don't live in Japan. So I'll just call them Banana Hammock, because it's funny and I don't care to associate them with their actual business secrets that I divulge in this here blog. They were playing two shows in Tokyo, one of which was without any supporting bands. They sold out the house. Their record reached second position on Tower Records Japan's charts. In Japan, they are a big deal. Alas, they have fallen victim to the little monster in the closet that is illegal downloading.

C'mon. You've probably done it. And you've probably thought that it was okay because the artists are rich. I agree, when they are rich and they're gallivanting all over town in the Lambo, by all means, steal their poor excuse for art. However, this is not the case of most recording artists. They're probably like Banana Hammock. They work day jobs and producing a high-selling record is just a part time job.

It would still be a part time job even if all these records were analog and all consumers who had the records in their hot little hands and legitimately paid for them.

So there isn't much money in music unless licensing agreements are all up in your business portfolio and tours are endless. That's fine. But those that do it do it for the right reasons are existing to make audiences happy. Their real payment comes in the form of signing autographs and taking photos with fans.

But in America, that's pretty hard to come by. Fans don't get excited anymore, unless they're in their teens. I don't quite know when it happened, but at some point in the last 20 years we stopped looking like we gave a shit. Artists that existed prior to that period are still famous. They still induce enthusiasm. Unless an artist regularly graces the postings of PerezHilton.com, nobody really gives a shit about them. What if they're just good? When did talent cease being enough to cause awe in the eyes of the general public? That's a bit sad, isn't it?

I think so.

It makes artists not want to try, or just abandon the USA and move to greener and more exciting pastures.

I used to be deeply entrenched in the underground music scene in Oregon. Making your friends well known was a prideful act. Because of this, I put on shows - anywhere. In my basement, in a church, in a park, anywhere. So long as it would be a catalyst for lots of people coming together and having fun. Then it turned into a high school popularity clusterfuck. The cool kids reigned supreme. I still have no idea what it means to be cool, I haven't figured it out and I'm a fucking dork. But hey, that's my cross to bear, and it means I get away with saying nerdy stuff and nobody has "coolness" expectations of me. It also unfortunately means no one will ever follow my lead.

And so, the cool kids set forth on turning this music scene into a seemingly negative place that only they controlled. They controlled it by scoffing, nitpicking, and mockery. Y'know, the same behavior you might remember from middle school. It seems that this a microcosm of what was to come on a large scale. This same behavior now has killed all underground music. Social acceptance based on listening to a certain type of music or a band always existed. Now it controls music in the United States all together.

At the first Banana Hammock show we met a guy that was a big fan and he took a shine to us - the Banana Hammock entourage. He had followed us to our own after-after party at a 24 hour udon place down the street from a club called Jump in Shibuya. He sat down next to me and didn't say a word. I assumed he spoke some English, since he'd thought to come hang out with us, but I was very wrong. I used my caveman-esque Japanese skills to try to muddle through a conversation with him.

I asked him his name.

"Matako...but please...call me...OG."

"You got it." He was henceforth known as OG.*

OG also came to the show the next night. We spotted him front and center. In his Banana Hammock band t-shirt and towel wrapped around his neck. He spotted Jab and I on stage and waved feverishly, like a kid meeting Mickey Mouse, from the audience.

At a break in songs we hollered to our friend on stage, "give OG a beer."

So he did. OG's smile lit up that night for me in a way I'll never forget.

Later, he showed us some album artwork that had been covered by the autographs of all band members save for one - the singer. The singer had been feeling quite sick that night but regardless, he needs to tend to his fans. Jab and I took the album cover back to the dressing room and asked Brian to sign it. He stared at it for a minute then finally made the minute motion with his pen that didn't mean shit to him but made all the difference in the world to OG. When we handed it back to OG, he hugged us, but he was shaking. I can only assume that was a shaking out of excitement and general enthusiasm. I hope I'm right, or I feel like a dick.

At the same show, two concert-goers approached my fiance and I and asked to take our photos. We tried to explain, in our shitty Japanese, that we are not famous and they should not take photos of us. Jab was very intent on communicating that we did not deserve to have our photos taken for the purpose of infamy. I understood, but was curious as to why this seemed so deeply important to him. A veteran semi-famous musician himself, he said, "I never play a show without bringing a notebook of my own for autographs. For every person I sign something for, they have to give me their signature too."

In our journey we met someone that was a hero of ours. We were ecstatic to meet him. He was formerly in a band called The Suicide Machines. They were punk rock icons. This fellow led the charge. He had moved to Tokyo two years ago to make music and work for a record label. He couldn't do this in the United States. While he makes a modest income in Tokyo, he makes more to do something that he loves than he would make in America.

My fiance told him regarding his own band, "we're not worried about giving our music away, we feel it's a necessary evil."

Our icon replied, "well get ready to bleed for it."

And bleed they will, as long as audiences are ready to welcome them with enthusiasm like OG had. That great hemorrhage of record selling blood is worth it to see the smile on the face of a fan. Being an artist isn't about fucking chicks and getting plastic surgery, it's about gathering autographs of your own fans and adoring them as much as they adore you. It's about cutting yourself open to ensure that your observers can dissect you. I suppose the challenge for which payment should be returned is that of opening up and being transparent.

I hope that our icon saw that in us. I also hope that it's the truth that the music industry may be able to be saved by truth and mutual adoration by fans and musicians. It may be forced into it by the eventual mediocre incomes of even the most business-savvy artists.

*Later I learned that what I had colloquially interpreted as "OG" or "original gangsta" was actually "oji" which means "prince." Regardless, that guy still holds a place in my heart for teaching me that it's possible to still admire musicians even if they aren't winning Grammy awards.

On the Eve of Japan

2010-01-06T22:10:00.000-08:00

Oh the land of the rising sun.

The land which we destroyed with the beloved fusion bomb over nearly seventy years ago.

The land which we mock, gain Asiatic impressions from, whether worthwhile and applicable or not, it's just a jolly good time. That which we don't understand but find odd is always such a jubilant time. You know, like Barnam and Bailey found the Bearded Lady.

Fuck, guys, some of us are just bearded. Fuck you.

In less than a week, I will go to Japan. I would typically not be writing an ode to it. My ode would not be in wonder and curiosity. Except for that my exodus is a rather unique situation. We will be an entourage.

Yes, like Turtle, E, and Drama in HBO's "Entourage" - I will be one frolicking about on the coat tails of those who have earned fame and infamy in Japan. A band that reached #2 on the Tower Records charts in Japan last week. And why have I earned this? I dunno, because I was there, I was just hanging out. Oh that and I have airmiles. Thank you, Dad.

The other "why have a I earned this question" is one which much geopolitical merit. I wonder why the fuck do I have the right to even go to Africa - we haven't saved them though we have the will and the means. Though quite to the Japanese extreme, we didn't have the chance to save them, we attempted to annihilate them and now Japanese youth appear to intently admire and desire to emulate American youth like me.

My fiance and I have been taking Japanese lessons from a tutor since August in anticipation of this trip. Though we didn't know it would be so soon. Our instructor's name is Sanae. She's an amazing girl. She teaches us whatever we want to learn. If we want to know how to mock our friends and completely destroy their game with the Japanese ladies, she'll tell us how to do that. All that and with style, grace, and perfection. I could not ask for anything more. But one thing we had to ask Sanae was, "how do we hand out sample CDs? what should we say?" Part of our duty while in Japan is to promote my fiance's new band.

She said, "oh well, 'hai dozo' would be fine, then hand the person the CD."

We agreed and made our notes diligently. Then probably forgot about it, like the shitty students that we are.

Sanae thought about it for a moment. She looked out the window and put her finger on her chin like she does when she isn't sure about a proper Japan/America linguistic equivalent.

"You should just say it in English...it would sound more cool." She was definitive, but then followed with a giggle. Giggling because she probably thought we'd think it was completely silly that a Japanese person would think English would sound "cool". And yeah, I did wonder why the fuck this was.

Though the reason I wondered "why the fuck do they think English sounds cool" isn't because I recognize English is not a widely spoken nor preferred language in Japan. It is because we bombed the fuck out of them. Japan is the only country on which an atomic bomb has ever been released. Yet, they are the second largest economy in the world.

Coming away from this I was fucking flummoxed. My brain pulsated with confusion, attempting to process the irony and un-American way that this was being dealt with.

Why do they like Americans? Why do they think English sounds cool? Why do they even let us in their country?

The way Americans deal with contrarian and aggressive opinions and actions in quite the opposite, even after the fact. We kick them out. We even interned the Japanese.

While I have my theories on this topic, I hope that my adventure to Japan shows me the light. I also wonder if Japan would ever wage war on the United States again. Not too long ago I had read a book that hypothesized this would be the case around 2050. So I asked a Japanese friend about this. I queried, "Do you think Japan would ever want to have a war with the US again?"

She responded, carefully, and in slightly broken English, "mmm...we have a rule."

She paused for about thirty seconds, translating in her head. So I asked, to ensure she knew I was listening, "what is your rule?"

"Mmmm...we do not have war unless other country attack first."

While this made all the sense in the world, and was historically mandated, my fiance and I laughed, "HA! Yeah, everybody says that, but nobody does it."

"Japan does," our friend said. I believe her.

Maybe, with good reason, honesty, and a faint presence of religion, countries can learn to forgive their attackers.

The Service Economy is an Asshole

2009-12-27T16:52:00.000-08:00

I don't like TV that makes me think too hard about something non-comedic. As a child I spent a lot of time watching "Unsolved Mysteries" and varying sci-fi related television. I think in my adolescence I decided that entertainment should be synonymous with "hilarity" and nothing else would be a substitute. Thusly, in my present life-stage (which has developed a great love for irreverence) I spend a lot of time watching Cartoon Network's Adult Swim.

Adult Swim has a fabulous little dob'o'television called Metalocalypse about a death metal band called Dethklok that so popular that they are monitored by the government because an entire economy revolves around them. In a recent episode, Metalocalypse frontman Nathan Explosion gave a press junket in which he exclaimed, "the recession is an asshole."

Dethklok proceeded to spend their billions of dollars on bullshit like a floating house, new airplanes, and the most expensive cocert venue in the world. All because they were absentmindedly determined to pull the world out of the recession. At the end of the episode they were broke and were unable to function in a life without a bottomless bank account - but that's the humorous twist. The point is that even a stupid cartoon meant for office workers who come home and burn down a whole weed forest at night knows how to pull a country out of a recession - you make stuff.

Out economy has been forged into one focused on service and money make from efficiencies derived from industry "protocol" over the last twenty years. As soon as digital communication was simple enough to keep track of billions of dollars of goods shipping around the world at any given time, and without a tax code to prevent it, we were free to outsource whatever we saw fit. The economy of the United States subsequently became one of service: servicing those who outsourced, servicing those who shuttled outsource goods around, and servicing those who worked in the service economy. We no longer needed, and still don't need, to build anything on our own soil.

Things that could not be outsourced were streamlined or made autrociously cheap; mainly housing and American cars. Health care is the only industry in our country that remains bloated and actually making money - ironically the one industry which I'd argue should not be making any money as it as a humanitarian effort. But I digress...

So there's one reason that we don't manufacture here anymore; outsourcing is easier and cheaper. The detriment of that is of course a loss of jobs. This has been a problem for years. Additionally, and possibly more importantly, it has lessened the general cost of goods and thusly made the more disposable. Fifty years ago I'm fairly certain that, "oh it's broken, I'll just get a new one" wasn't a terribly common household phrase. We don't repair things and keep them anymore. They are cheap and easily replacable. This means that China and Taiwan get to sell more goods to us and we don't have to worry about how cheaply they're made. Even worse, we don't have to worry about how they're made.

We've forgotten how to repair things, we've forgotten how to manufacture, our plants with which we do manufacture are in disrepair or gone, we've forgotten why engineering is important and why it should be a nationalistic endeavor. Innovation and improvement of proceesses and products are only important when your engineers are making these things.

I feel a bit bad, saying all this about how engineers are so important and manufacturing is so great, without being able to say that I've contributed something myself. I can't say that, I haven't, I haven't had a damned idea for an invention of anything like that in my life. My function is to sit here, mull over issues, and type them out. And sometimes get a spreadsheet or two going. I am a perfect example of a service worker. I couldn't produce a good if my life fucking depended on it.

If the world's most popular band asked our country to make them a floating house, new airplane powered by lasers, and bionic dogs or something...would we even be able to? I'd hope so, if national demand calls, supply better come following shortly behind.

Will the Clusterfuck of Health Care Reform be the Genesis of a Three Party System?

2009-12-24T09:48:00.000-08:00

I really wish I was a lot happier about today. When this whole possiblity of universal health care began discussion in the middle of 2009, I was wrought with smiles and sparkles. The sun shone lovingly upon congress and liberals like I existed in a haze of "what could be" - which was a world in which health insurance companies did not profit to the extent they presently do on what should be a humanitarian effort. But now, at the much anticipated Christmas health care reform deadline, all I can do is think about how huge those Democrat's anuses must be from taking it hard and fast in the legislative prison shower.

They made compromises which destroyed the whole purpose of any health care reform at all: to equalize over all costs for all citizens.

Making compromises with republicans, such as losing the Medicare buy in and the public option, was fucking fruitless. Not one of them were going to vote for it anyway by virtue of the name "health care reform". Democrats held the power, still hold the power, but took the easy road by compromising - and I can't even begin to explain why this might have been "easy" except for that maybe it stopped the whole Senate Clerk reading bullshit for hours on end thing.

It is economic and coroprate logic that for-profit companies will take whatever route they can to justify increasing costs. This will happen again.

The new health care bill does not do two things, that it could have done to prevent this:

1. Eliminate the for-profit status of all private health insurance firms
2. Create a public option (or Medicare buy in)

One of the two would have been just dandy. In the former, health insurance firms wouldn't have had to fire any employees. The gluttons at the top simply would have to cut their salaries - a function that Obama's lovely and forthright pay czar could have done.

Becuase private health insurance companies are still for profit entities, they are shtting themselves with glee over the prospect that they now have 30 million new customers. Who wouldn't be? There is no reprecussion for this other than um...

Oh they HAVE to take those 30 million higher risk customers.

But...nobody told they they coudn't amortize that risk over ALL of us. Nobody told them they couldn't hoard additional profit from this amortized risk and subsequently higher premiums.

No, the god damned senate could have told them that. With the iron fist the Democrats possessed, this was a reality that will never be again.

You fucked up guys. I hope that the revolution of a three party system starts now.

Calling Out Dr. Laura's Bible Thumping

2009-12-20T18:08:00.000-08:00

I rarely post the work of others, because I feel a bit plagiaristy about it. However, I find this far too amazing a gem to keep to myself.

Many of you are probably familiar with Dr. Laura and her rather strict theories on life, love, family and more. These strict theories are typically theologically driven: she is an Orthodox Jew. As an atheist, I find many of these rules and regulations that are dictated by the extremely profitable reifications that are the bible and Torah to be contradictory and illogical. Of course I know that I'm not the only one, but I'm not clever enough to email Dr. Laura with a list of questions asking for clarification on the most illogical, segregationist, bigoted, and offensive segments of the Old Testament.

Click here to view the whole email is all its awesome glory.

In case you don't have time to view it. Here are a few select questions posed to Dr. Laura:

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighbouring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of Menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?

Thank you to the Magic City Morning Star for making this an article and posting it. It's much needed, extremely important news...identifying the insanity of belief in the all-manipulated, Guttenberg pressed, guide to live in the year 1 AD.

I'd also like to hear Dr. Laura speak to the value of the Dark Ages.

Office Games

2009-12-16T23:34:00.001-08:00

I like my job. I like what I do, as a skill and general effort. However, like any job, it can get mundane as one gets better at it. I can do my job efficiently and proactively with a bitchin' hangover or with the flu. So I'd give myself a solid pat on the back and vehemently state that I've become quite good at it.

Though, there's down time to. An efficient worker must break up the day with varying events of a somewhat excitable nature. This is why some studies state that smokers are more efficient. This is because they take breaks, those cancer-prone geniuses.

Work is fun if you make it fun. That does involve the hazard of mockery of others. Fortunately, my office complex provides plenty of opportunities for this.

My boss and I have developed several games that pretty much just involve predicting a specific individuals behavior based on 1) gender 2) clothing and 3) other behaviors (smoking, walking oddly, talking loudly, things of that nature).

Game #1: Open Sesame
There is a restaurant that is loosely classified as a "grill" in the first floor of the building adjacent to ours. It serves food that might make Denny's slightly envious. The levels of MSG are likely quite high and for some reason a half of a turkey sandwich makes 15 minutes to make. There is a door that is constantly left open by weary office-worker patrons, allowing the breeze to blow napkins about and my skirt up over my ass.

We've noticed that the culprits of leaving open the door typically have common features. The object of "open sesame" is to properly bet on and classify who is going to leave the door open and who is actually going to close it behind them. I'm currently at 12 of 20. I think I hold a strong chance of picking up my ratio in first quarter 2009.

Game #2: Re-Name the Adult Human
Many people are not properly named. Their parents may have had horrible foresight, or were unfortunately not aware of what pop culture references and characters may change the inference of their child's name. Damn them for not being able to tell the future. So these children, that are now adults, need the help of my boss and I to properly rename them. While this game has no way of "winning" or "losing" per se, it's an excellent time. Just wait to bring up a name like "Perry" which has no connotation other than "Luke Perry". Watch the laughs fly.

Game #3: Bait the Sharks
Being the marketing department affords the luxury of receiving gifts of food and goodies during the holidays and on birthdays. Office workers tend to love food, because, as previously mentioned, it breaks up the monotony of a skill that has been very well learned.

So why keep these lovely yummies all to ourselves? We share. We feed the sharks in the central office kitchen. Anything placed on the office kitchen is automatically up for the munching. The object of game is to properly estimate the amount of time it will take for the sharks to consume the bait.

This of course depends on a variety of factors: type of snack, amount of snack, number of people in the office at the current time.

Here is a typical breakdown of time until complete consumption:

Cake - 40 minutes
Cookies - 20 minutes
Fruit - 6 hours
Vegetables - 8 hours
Sandwiches - 30 minutes
Salad - 3 hours

I am very surprised at the amount of time cake takes until complete consumption. Oh well, perhaps I've overestimated gluttony.

I encourage you to implement these games in you own work setting. Report back with your fun Office Games stories.

The Holiday Spirit Broke my Immune System

2009-12-14T23:31:00.000-08:00

I haven't been able to write a blog since November 30th. This saddens me greatly. Here I sit, crying big salty tears into my cup'o'water with emergen-c in it. Then I will some left overs from a party I attended last week and ten consider digging into a half consumed bottle of wine that was a gift from a vendor. I haven't been able to write a blog because the holiday rampage of scheduling conflicts and social obligations have broken my brain.

It was only one year ago when the holidays were fun. They were fun because I didn't have a damn thing to do. I craved social events leading to drinking and forced socialization because then I didn't have to make people hang out with me: they were begging me to hang out with them. Evite invitations flooded my email box, my phone blowing up daily with reminders and invitations, oooh joy! Such popularity! My presence was a commodity. I was a number to take up space and to consume goodies and perhaps bring a gift. Even if that were the lowly case, I loved it. I loved that my presence was wanted, because it wasn't wanted anywhere else.

This year, my life changed greatly. I like being at home now. Because I have a semi-family. He makes our place feel like a home. He makes this place feel warm and loving and entertaining all at the same time. So I don't much care to be driving my drunk ass all over town to varying events at which I am only there to consume drink and food.

Alas, I wasn't about to give up on my social obligations this year. I love my friends. Even if I feel overwhelmed and pompous by way of these myriad attendance requests.

Thanksgiving rolls in and then it starts. Then it's my birthday in the first week of December. Then the company parties begin. Then the Christmas and Chanukkah parties grow at a rapid rate. That doesn't count the normal drinking and carousing, no siree. And all while this goes on, I am working, planning the allocation of my company's marketing dollars for 2010. Also, I must remember, the last week of December is completely shot, as I will be visiting my family.

Do you think I'm an egomaniac yet? Ungrateful for having people around me that probably care about me?

Most don't. It's a numbers game. Especially the company parties. In that case, I view consuming their food and drink as an act of communism that I must perform.

I brought porn to a white elephant party. That was fun.

But the downside of that is that I'm just really tired and now I've gotten really sick.

I'm glad I'm really sick. It means that I don't have to pick up the phone now. I can set it to vibrate, I can ignore it, and in my sick voice call back the message sender later on and say, "oh, sorry, I was taking a nap...I'm quite under the weather."

Also, I got to write a blog. Even if it was a series of complaints that may seem completely unwarranted. In January, when the phone stops ringing and I can stop worrying about pissing people off because I have to reschedule or can't attend their affair, I'll relish this time. For now, I'm going to relish being sick, because it allowed for the peace and quiet between my brain 'n' me.

Ahh...sweet release.

Father of the Bride Syndrome

2009-11-30T17:39:00.001-08:00

I have a problem. It's gestating by the a person I know who is generally quite skilled at solving problems. This person is dad.

If I have a non-dad appointed problem (either involves sexiness or I can figure it out myself) I ruminate on it, I pontificate, I go for a run and swirl it about in my cranium. Once all that is done. I have a very solid answer that helps guide me in solving other problems.

I admit, that since I've been engaged, my fiance has done a swell job of filling in a lot of problems. I care not to replace dad, certainly not intentionally. The fiance and I live in Los Angeles and dad lives in Oregon. I have lived here for four years, so this isn't a new arrangement. I call him and shoot the shit at least every other day. All in all, I think I'm a fancifully attentive newly engaged transplant daughter.

The engagement announcement didn't go so well. I suspected this would be the case because when dad met future-fiance earlier this year, he didn't dig him too much. When I said, "Jab really enjoyed meeting you guys" dad replied, "well good for him."

Sick burn.

Since then, I've been aware that there is a divide. There is a rub. There is Father of the Bride Syndrome.

I am acutely aware of my father's mood swings. They are subtle and they are sharp. One time I got a sliver stuck under my cuticle of my fingernail. My dad getting pissed off is just like that. He's snarky, calculating, and knows exactly how to stick pins in me.

I am his only child.

Given all of this, I am aware of what types of things are going to turn his mood like a bi-polar meth addict, even if I don't know exactly what they are. So instead, I tell mom and hope that she'll just smoothly slide that info on over to dad.

I called mom to tell her that Jab and I were engaged. She was not surprised, but she was very happy that it was official. She started telling her friends, I knew because they started calling me.

But alas, no congratulations from dad.

Eventually, I got this email:

I am very happy for you. I know that you must feel whole now. I know that you must feel complete. I am glad that is the case. But he can never call me dad and I will never call him son. 'John' will do just fine.

In communications class in college they always taught us to end letters with the final takeaway. I got that one loud and fucking clear, dad.

I know that I am a bit sensitive about this. Generally I should chalk it up to nothing. But this is the most that's been said. Then he decided to launch our next of kin cannon on me: granddad.

Granddad is an interesting fellow. He should be made into a sitcom or an Ang Lee directed drama, I'm not sure which. He swings both ways in this case. Next to my dad, granddad is absolutely fearsome. He has been married twice, neither worked out so well. Because of um, personality clashes (hint: the common denominator was granddad). Consequently, he's less of a fan of marriage than say, the Pope.

My dad called the other day and told me I should call granddad and tell him that I am engaged. I felt like I was ten years-old being told that I have to clean my bathroom.

"Uhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh fine." I conceded.

"You know, I kinda already told him, so it's not a surprise, but he'll act surprised. And, I told him to try to say something positive, because this is very important to you."

The positivity from dad came in saying that someone else needed to give a positive statement. Someone he knew was virtually incapable of saying something positive, about anything. Because dad couldn't do it himself. Yup, that's what I heard.

I can't end this story with any kind of solution. I poured over Google books on "father of the bride" guides to try to understand what it is that he is going through. My fiance has a good job, we presently live together, we can pay our bills, he treats me like gold.

Quality titles such as "The pocket IDIOT'S guide to being father of the bride" provided me with useful information such as:

1. Dad feels like he will be second fiddle
2. Dad feels like he can no longer protect his daughter from life
3. Dad does not want this guy to take his place as main protector of daughter

All of this I understand, if one's daughter has been living a chaste life at home for the mass of her years. I firmly feel that if my dad knew everything I have done, has been done to me, and what situations I've put myself in, he'd feel quite fucking dandy about this whole marriage arrangement. But still, since telling my dad upsetting things frightens me, I can't tell him all of those things. I believe this will be the overwhelming case of marriages in my years. Many marriages are now secular and don't revolve around chastity and virginity. Will fathers ever accept that marriage, in some cases, is a sanctuary for women? Will they ever be able to realize that the married life is far safer, prudent, and sacred, regardless of religious backing than a life driven by Match.com dates? Regardless of its negative outcome, will future brides like me be perpetually stricken by Father of the Bride Syndrome?

In some cases, future fathers-in-law have a right to be concerned. If the engaged husband-to-be appears to have a wicked case of meth mouth and already has fathered five kids, yeah, that's a concern. I am somewhat blessed by my overprotective father, but this is truly the wrong time to choose to kick the overprotection into gear. I am now the most protected, safe, and happy that I have ever been.

Video Games, Romance, and the State of Accepeted Homosexuality

2009-11-28T11:51:00.001-08:00

I recall Bill O'Reilly's reaction to San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom's rogue legalization of gay marriage in the city in 2004. He likened this independent effort to take action into the hands of a heavily homo-populated city as a severe slippery slope that would of course end in the legalization of beastiality. Well, fuck Bill, why the hell wouldn't it?

More recently (November 2008) he can be quoted saying:
"Gay marriage just the beginning. Other cultural war issues will also be in display very shortly. These include limiting gun possession, legalizing narcotics, unrestricted abortion and the revocation of the Patriot Act."

Shortly after this was said, proposition 8 banned gay marriage in California.

But I digress, we must examine the chunky and discolored stream of logic that O'Reilly pissed out. I use O'Reilly only as an example because his quotation above was extremely convenient. By no means is he the only mouthpiece that has done this. As you and I well know, he is a megaphone for America and much of America digests and ultimately agrees with his thoughts. He believes that gay marriage would impact narcotics, gun possession, and patriot act legislation because it's part of a grouped and standardized liberal agenda, not because it has a fucking thing to do with civil liberties and equality. Painting as related makes it less palatable. Lumping pure equality in with items that are legitimately executive and legislative brand issues is flat out fucking bullshit. It is a lie designed to mold thoughts of constituents.

Then when a real life example of such discrimination comes to punch us in the jowls, we ignore it. This week a Japanese man married his girlfriend, who exists only in a video game, in a church in Guam.

So, pause. Digest this. In Guam...

Man + video game = legal marriage

Man + Man = not legal marriage

Woman + Woman = not legal marriage

But, ugh, men and women are people. They have a real relationship. Love grows and prospers and they can buy a house and stuff...and have a joint banking account and...go to the doctor and get their blood drawn and...THEY'RE PEOPLE! Should they not be extended the same rights that a video game character apparently fucking has?

I suppose what's more important isn't what's legal in Guam, but what it is that causes a ruckus. This video game character marriage situation didn't cause much of an uproar. The broadcast of this information seems to have been met with a collective eye-roll, regardless of religious or political affiliation. Nobody thought much of it, it was some idiot who has no grasp on reality continuing to play his silly game. Oh boys will be boys!

However, when gay marriage was legalized in the Netherlands in 2001 (the first country to do so), all hell broke loose in America. O'Reilly started talking about polygamy and beastiality, Westboro Baptist Church stated running around with signs proclaiming how they hated fags. It got even worse when Gavin Newsom went balls-out activist on us all and legalized gay marriage in San Francisco.

Everybody cooed and circle jerked when Madonna, Britney, and Christina Aquilera made out on stage at the VMAs a few years ago. This year, when Adam Lambert made out with his band's keyboard player and he simulated face fucking a few other band members and dancers, everybody lost it. Media discriminated against him and other media outlets stood up for him.

I ask the question: What's with the hatred of gay men? What is it that they do that so offends most of America? Their appearance and acceptability seems to be entirely conditional. When they are a single woman's only friend, they are completely acceptable and lovable, like a side kick. When they lead, ask for equality, and exude their sexuality, it becomes disgusting to the loud-mouthed dissenters of homosexuality.

Male sexuality is far more overt, hetero or homo, than women's sexuality. Male sexuality has routinely defined cultures and nations, whether we like it or not. Marking male sexuality that is different from the norm creates an upset, an ebb in a placid lake. Many of us see this as "ok cool, let's move on" while others are completely stuck on it. Those that are stuck are not transitory. Who they are is defined entirely by where they are. They are in a white, hetero, male founded nation. They exist in a nation that has never really extolled change beyond its creation. As the United States shakes things up internally, we will be forced to accept other changes. Families that have lived in the same city for generations will be forced to move to find jobs. They will discover that they do not own assimilation, but that assimilation is completely malleable. As the bigots learn how hard it is to be accepted, they will become the acceptors.

If global warming is a myth, I'm still not buying a Hummer

2009-11-24T17:52:00.000-08:00

My dad and I don't see eye to eye politically. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's not looking at eyes, he's looking at balls or something nether organ and pretending that it's the ocular organ. Regardless, I love him just the same. I also don't mind some good political banter now and then. While I see it as somewhat a game, I think he's trying to place me in his own personal interview-esque "gotcha" moment.

This happens about once per week.

Today's was, "so, did you hear about the big global warming scandal?"

His position on global warming is that it doesn't exist and it's made up by liberals. I can smell his victory speech heating up to 350 degrees in his brain-oven.

"No, I didn't. Tell me about that."

He knows by now that if the sentence starts with, or involves, "well I was watching Fox..." then I'm going to tell him to stop so that I may go do my own research, then return to the conversation when some non-Fox information has been dug up (by me).

"Well it was all over the news, the WSJ, NBC, everywhere."

No mention of FoxNews yet. Nor would there be.

"Apparently some hacker, or maybe it was an inside job, got all these emails from East Anglia University in England and the University of Pennsylvania regarding the UN's global warming research. They reveal that a lot of the data is doctored to show that global warming is more real than it really is."

So I took to the mighty Google to find these emails and any information about this. This is quite interesting and I certainly want to know if it is true.

I found this very telling article from the WSJ. Click here.

He listened as I mumbled through the article with half syllables, to indicate that I was reading.

"Sad, isn't it?" He said. "So many scientists careers will be destroyed by this."

That, I cannot argue with him about. In a time in which we so badly need scientific minds, we didn't need them to be doctoring information. We didn't need them to be enhancing graphs in places that didn't fit the hypothesis. We didn't need them to prove a case for the UN or Senate or whomever, when there wasn't one.

But what if this is still wrong and global warming is still real?

Frankly, my dear Wall Street Journal, I don't give a damn. Global warming, as a household phrase and phenomenon, has served as the means to a much better end: the yearning to become more energy efficient.

Regardless of whether or not global warming exists, because we can increase fuel and energy efficiency, we should. We have the technology dammit! We have the means! We have the knowledge! Our lives can be so much better! I'd love to go out for a dewy morning walk in the winter in Los Angeles without wondering if I should lick my lips or not because they've got a bit of mist on them, but what, might that mist contain? Hmm, that, well that's a bit frightening when I look out my office window to see a haze covering the little valley my apartment sits in. Hey, apartment, I hope there isn't a hole in the roof from all this shit withering it away. My renter's insurance doesn't cover that.

Something is afoot. Whether or not we should call it global warming, I don't know. Post-industrial revolution, what we've done to this planet is far from coddling or nurturing. We have completely pillaged it and there is so much more to come.

We can create electric cars. We can use solar power. We can use wind power. We can recycle water (and Los Angeles does). We can use less space. We can live in urban areas and not commute from the suburbs. Sadly, global warming may have been the fright trigger to get the general populous to start to take these technologies into their daily lives. Without global warming, myth or reality, we would not have even tried many of these things. Sometimes it takes belief in a God to turn a nasty selfish human into a decent one. Maybe global warming was needed to turn an energy gluttonous race into an energy conscious one.

Cruel, Dysmorphic, Feminist Intentions

2009-11-22T23:50:00.000-08:00

My view of myself is quite askew, my fiance knows this well and puts up with it triumphantly. I'd like to say this is merit of a true man, to allow me to comment on my generally mild body dysmorphic disorder and not tell me to shut up, but reply with a lengthy and amusing satire. Today's trip through the imaginary fat-mirror involved trip to the gym, which I found to be particularly unfulfilling (i.e. I still feel fat). I met the return home with the acceptance of my present feeling.

"Eh, this just is how it is, I'm never gonna look how I want. I'm always gonna be a little chunky."

Jab was not about to let this one go, regardless of how lackluster I had tried to make it sound, "what are you talking about? You're skinny. How many people have told you you're skinny lately? And I know it is more than one."

I have become relatively infamous in my own mind for completely denying these instances, of compliment on my body or general appearance. I wipe them from my memory because believing them would erase my dear old crutch, reliable friend "self loathing". Lately, however, I've gotten a bit better.

"Ummm...you? And um..."

Ok so maybe I hadn't gotten good enough. Then I remembered two more.

"Yosuke and Midori said I looked like I lost weight."

"...AND?"

Damn. There were more. My brain failed to recall this, using its shitty and routinely busted Dewey decimal system.

"I dunno." I folded. Here are my cards, I can't remember stuff that should make me feel good.

"Look, you do not see yourself how the rest of the world sees you. You just gotta accept that. You can't worry about it either. Look, I have two legs. I can't stand here and say, 'well I might as well have one leg because what if someday I do.'"

His pragmatic analogy was well taken. Then I forgot about my whining for a while. Then came the American Music Awards. We watch this bullshit because we feel a responsibility to our intellect to know what's going on in the world. As people who are somewhat decent at interpreting pop culture happenings into real meaning (yes, sometimes it exists), we try to absorb this information (I use the term loosely).

I commented on how J. Lo was now wearing tights because the sands of time had begun to reveal that she was not impervious to the demon cellulite. I felt that it was my "gotcha" moment for the rich and famous looking perfect.

"Why do you care? I bet no one else would notice that."

For the record, I do think other people would notice, but I don't think they would feel as strangely vindicated as I did. So I felt the need to explain.

" It's just showing that even though she's rich and famous and perfect, she isn't subject to the rules of nature. She can get cellulite just like the rest of us."

He wasn't satisfied by this. This was the catalyst for one of our epic hour long discussions involing a topic inserted into an extremely existensial vein of social psychology .

I had also just read this article, coincidentally, at theDailyMail.co.uk about a group of women who had participated in an experiment tracking their negative thoughts about themselves. The average woman has 36 negative thoughts about their face, body, or general self each day.

I'm not shocked by this at all, because I'd bet that I have more than 36. But I don't think that it makes it okay.

Dispensing this information, we were off and running on a discussion that would leave me doubting everything I had thought about feminism.

So why does all this shit matter? Why do I care that J. Lo has cellulite? While the thought doesn't take up hours of my day, it's a very brief moment of, "HA! I don't lose to nature as much as I thought I did! You did too! Sucka!"

I would like to say, "well it's because we think men are most interested in flawless bodies, so we attempt to subscribe to it." But I can't blame it all on men, that's complete denial and ignorance. It's a catch 22. This idea to subscribe to an image exists because 1) we let it and 2) we let it and 3) we let it. Yes, media perpetuates the problem, but we have the option to not listen.

This isn't helping women at all. This is hurting us and we all do it. Feminism had success as a civil rights movement, but as far as changing womens' perceptions of each other, it's done nothing. It's done nothing to leave us focusing on successes beyond the physical. Most young girls in the US want to be models, actresses, and heiresses.

Shit in one hand and hope in the other ladies, see which one gets full first.

This is a huge problem. While women are "allowed" and capabale of having great jobs practically anywhere they want, young women don't want them. Young women want the easy way out - more often than not, that has to do with relying on one's looks.

Do I get pissed off at seeing a woman that's better looking than me succeeding? Yes, sometimes, because I assume she succeeded by way of something I cannot compete with: looks. I have no reason to assume this. If I didn't, and no other woman did, we'd be competing on basic intellectual merit. That would be fair. That would be competing in the workplace and in life like men do (for the most part). We wouldn't be getting distracted by whose tits look better in their shirt and who has the best legs. We might actually be getting good at other things...like science, technology, and other pursuits that matter greatly to the human race.

My point of view is that we can see this change in how women associate and view each other in my lifetime. I might be 90 years-old, but it's possible. My fiance pointed out that this is not a civil rights movement, this is the alteration of the point of view and practices of millions of people: it'll take an era, if it happens at all. And even then, how do we decide it is happening at all?

Will women top wearing bikinis? Will women stop wearing make up? Will high heels go out of fashion? Will women stop caring about giant African-maiming engagement rings? Will women's virginity be less taboo? Will the loss be celebrated and not shied from?

My fiance, as much a feminist as I, does not believe that we will see these changes in our lifetimes. I cannot say that I do, but I hope I do. I fancy myself such a realist that hope and faith are such absure ideas they may as well be the same ubiquitous, unobtainable, inconsequential pariah that we all chase. In this case, hope is all I have. My fiance asked that I explain my view, I couldn't. All I could muster was, "I just hope we do." I really, truly, vehemently hope that we as women can get a handle on this obstacle we've given ourselves. We're at a fulcrum, one side is my obsession with my thighs touching and not reading about quantum computing and the other is breaking the glass ceiling. We can't tip it while hating each other for looking hot. So what's it gonna be?

Conservative Talk Radio is Raping my Ears

2009-11-20T19:04:00.000-08:00

I understand some things. Like gravity. I know that pi is 3.14. I know that h2o is two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen. I know that Barack Obama is a president as a result of American backlash to the GOP. I also know that the GOP is using the term "rape" to describe Obama's domestic policies. As in:

"Obama is raping your state."
-- Glenn Beck

Glenn Beck is such a damned eyesore and source of illogical eccentric verbal diarrhea that this should be discounted. However it was repeated by Michael Savage and Rush Limbaugh on their radio programs, just to name two.

That's fine if you want to use such hyperbole. I'm not one to talk. After all, I buoyantly declared health reform to be the space program of my generation - I had high hopes, but I was also saying this to place a crown atop its head (and I titled this post "Conservative Radio is Raping my Ears").

This "rape" that the GOP speaks of is taxation, by the way.

The "rape" of the wealthy. Right, because they got that way by hard, honest, work at the Ford plant and stocking shelves at WalMart, like real Americans. The wealthy got that way by doin' some rapin' of their own.

I'm not above hyperbole, but c'mon guys, be fucking responsible. Like right now, I feel responsible to write an entire essay on why I just typed "the wealthy got that way by doin' some rapin' of their own." That's an entirely differently blog on the merits and demerits of capitalism, but for the calming of my own psyche I will provide this explanation: wealth is defined by having capital assets in excess of that of the common man, the only way to get that is by taking it from a large number of "the common man".

Glenn, Michael, Rush, let's pretend your radio show is a car. It's a lovely car and there are people all around it, observing it, they're your audience. Talking out your ass about taxation being equivocal to rape is about as responsible as driving your car shithoused through the parking lot of the superdome during Hurricane Katrina. You've got emotionally distraught people in a country in the depths of the recession: do you want to just plow them over? Have you no sense of responsibility to be honest with them?

Though let's remember, this is the same party that generally harbors values believing that if a woman is raped and becomes pregnant, she need not be entitled to an abortion. Apparently the public is not allowed to abort these fucked up thoughts from their brains either. Glenn, Rush, Michael, you just keep right on humpin'.

Oh my, Monogamy

2009-11-15T23:05:00.000-08:00

I'm newly engaged. Which, because I'm an easily amused and obsessed pessimist, means that I am not obsessed with my wedding - but rather issues that can and do affect married people. If you're married, or have been, you're probably already way ahead of me and you are probably already bored with this drivel pouring from the keyboard of a 25 year-old monogamy novice, but still...here it is.

So what are these issues?
- Potential divorce
- Life insurance of spouse
- Joint bank accounts (we have a joint bank account...mine)
- Children (we've decided I'm preserving my genitals, if I could cryogenically freeze them I would, instead, I'm just going to adopt)
And...
- The general maintenance of monogamy

Some of these things I may never have to deal with. Others, or all, I may. The one that is completely unavoidable and all people and couples deal with in varying ways is the general maintenance of monogamy.

Recently, several friends of mine have reached a point in their life that is full of foul marital downgrades. Either their own or of other close friends. Loss of libido, other intimacy issues, parenting disagreements, and life stage realizations and changes. Some will choose to get therapy, deal with them, appreciate their spouse and trudge down the road of "for better or worse". Others, will choose to hang up the towel and move on and create another life.

Overwhelmingly these issues have been sex related. I listen. I hear stories about no horrible defamation of the relationship, no horrible wrong was done, no great upset created by either party. The female just decides she doesn't like sex any more, but she is still in love.

This has got to make the other in the party feel a bit disenfranchised, a bit fooled. However, the female typically feels somewhat vindicated by society. Other females empathize and agree. Comedians(ennes) commiserate. Sitcoms mock, middle-aged radio DJs make euphemistic references to the same situation - it doesn't even need to be spelled out. It's just common - after a while, women don't like sex.

So I must ask: do women stop enjoying sex because they really don't enjoy sex with their partner any longer? Or do they stop because it sounds like it's okay to stop?

We mock fat people because it's the last acceptable prejudice.

Maybe this is the same situation.

Just like being fat is a symptom of our superpower advantage of having as much shitty food around as we possibly want, maybe losing desire to fuck your husband is a result of having so many condolences around us all the time. Both are overwhelmingly understandable and therefore universally understood.

But...but...but...I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

I've been in a relationship in which I no longer wanted to fuck the one I was with. He became repulsive to me. He did not make me feel beautiful. He made me feel like I was nothing but a ball and chain on his Oedipus leg. So, I broke up with him. I didn't marry him, obviously, and I shouldn't have. I also had a boyfriend whose secret non-verbal method of breaking up with me was just to stop having sex with me and let me figure it out. Figure it out I did. It was like I dumped myself. Now that's a mindfuck.

On the other hand, I cannot get enough of my finace. Largely because I will never forget what it's like to be treated like shit, and my fiance on the other hand, treats me like a gold encrusted diamond fused with rubies and sapphires and emeralds.

Maybe this didn't happen to most people. Maybe most people don't know what it's like to be the opposite of lucky.

It's very easy for me to sit here and say that this will never happen to me, this mysterious loss of libido. I have many reasons to believe that this is so, however, I do not know what happened in these other relationships. Maybe there was no abuse, verbal, emotional, or otherwise. I don't know. I will never know. I only wonder, what's this problem with monogamy? If you have it, you don't want it and show it in a variety of ways, and if you don't have it, you want it and humans are pretty fucking good at sabotaging getting it.

Historically, marriages succeeded (and the definition of success being solely that there was no divorce and one spouse didn't kill the other) because it was socially required. It's presently completely optional. Whether or not you want it is completely optional. It should not, and is faulted if it does, depend on what world allows you to do.

I can safely say that if my plan works, and my reason for believing that we can thwart a lot of standard marital issues that rear their bulbous heads over time, it will be because neither of us will forget what it was like to be the opposite of lucky. We feel insanely lucky. I know that part of our success has much to do with our remembrance of our failures, and others having failed us.

Divorced, separated, bereaved? We've got a fair for that!

2009-11-11T18:09:00.000-08:00

I'm an extremely negative and forward thinking person. I'm also about to get married. My life is, quite frankly, the best it could possibly be at this exact moment. I guess there could be the leprechaun constantly handing me money or something, but that I'll keep for my warm snuggy sleep time dreams. My fiance will come home soon, I will kiss him, we will dandle on the couch and just be giddy and retarded in love.

That has nothing to do with me being negative, but this does. All he positivity and wonder feels like a lovely and sweet tub of ice cream that is some day going to get moldy and disintegrate - I know this is bad. I'm not fearing our relationship growing lousy, sexless, and generally gut-wrenching. I'm fearing the possibility of, "oh god, I could live the single life again some day...fuck that."

If your single life was anything like mine, you wouldn't want it back. My days involved constantly being in the prowl, drunk in real life at home, or on the internet, and consistently making terrible choices involving my genitalia and self-esteem. Hey heterosexuality, you can keep my fucking single life, I do not want it back.

But what if I have no control over that? What if there is a terrible accident and something happens to Jab? What if we're old and immobile and he dies before me? I would have no choice but to...ugh...prowl again. And of course there would be other issues as well: emotional, financial, legal.

Whilst I'm imagining this in my presently favorable state, it seems to me that I'd want nothing other than the help of someone who was experiencing, or had experienced the same thing.

Some brilliant brain in France did do something about it: The Divorce, Separation and Bereavement Fair.

Now of course my potential, future, and highly unlikely exodus to the single life wouldn't be like it existed in my twenties. For one, I'm aware that the propensity to fuck in bar bathrooms probably decreases with age. However, the other issues: financial, emotional, and legal are all examined in a number of workshops. And yes, of course, maybe you'll find someone to help you rebound. Even if they can't replace the one you lost.

Divorce, Separation, and Bereavement Fair.

Or maybe you didn't lose them, maybe you couldn't fucking wait to chuck them to the side of the road, to burn themselves up on their own devices. Well, in that case, there here is a fine crop of similarly aged singletons for you to peruse! Just please, don't take advantage of the grieving widows. They're using all their moisture for tears, not sexy juices.

Previously married (and presently single for whatever reason) individuals are a minority that are largely ignored. Let's narrow it down a little bit: over age 40, having teenaged children, and having to work. Let's move the age up a smidge: over age 55, empty nester, looking at retirement. Some people want to be alone, but everybody deserves somebody to love. Queue the jewelery commercial.

There are few viable emotional and dating services available to this demographic largely because they are viewed as being old and crotchety. I'm not counting online dating. Online dating is complete bullshit (One of my many blogs on the topic). I'm talking about real life meeting situations, being attracted to someone based upon how they look and carry themselves and your conversation, rather than some specs outlined with radio buttons and single field text boxes.

So, I worry about this because I worry that I could some day be in the same situation. I feel for my friends who are in the same situation. I feel for others that I know that are stellar matter in a filthy world. I hope that something like the Divorce, Separation and Bereavement Fair in France comes to the US because people deserve to have it. They deserve to feel togetherness.

P.S.
I also hope that gold diggers don't ruin such a fair in the US. That would be the way of the American slut, wouldn't it?

The Social Media Marketer's Manifesto

2009-11-09T22:43:00.000-08:00

I try very hard to keep my work life separate from this blog. I don't care to have the two intermingle, mainly due to the extremely conservative nature of my workplace and my irreverent use of the English language in this blog. The two crossing swords in an eye-meets text crossing of the swords would end very badly for me - with my head in my HR Director's guillotine.

Nevertheless, sometimes it's necessary to take a chance with this intersection of my two lives. I am a marketer for a very large corporation. This does lend itself, on occasion, to the topical nature of my blog. The monitoring of consumer behavior and communication preferences would be one such instance.

This is important for me because it is my duty to represent my brand wherever potential consumers' eyes may lie. These days, everybody and their dog (and their gerbil, aunt, babysitter, and psychiatrist) are keen to tell me that "SOCIAL MEDIA IS WHERE IT'S AT, FOO'!" Okay, so they don't really say it like that, but the force is there.

Of course I knew this was coming. I'm not simple. But truthfully, I feared it, I put it off as long as possible. It is my responsibility to investigate this phenomenon and make an educated judgment as to whether or not social media is a good investment for my company. So then, I made that fateful phone call to my agency admitting my defeat to the giant marketing buzzword that everybody is an expert on - social media.

"Hey Tracy, I'd like to have a call about social media. Just know that I have one constraint - I can't spend much time on it. I can't hire a team to manage it, I can't even hire one person to manage it. It's just me."

"No problem," my agency is quite an understanding one, that is why I picked them, "we will keep that top of mind."

How can one employee, who is intended to simply "dabble" in this nonsense truly put forth a full effort? It's impossible. The labor hours needed to put forth an honest effort are enormous. Though I wondered if these negative thoughts were just me being a poopy-pants and I should see if anybody else was truly having a better experience at this party. I took to Google to see what I could find.

As it turns out, I was right. The majority of "firms" (sole proprietors and small to mid-sized businesses) reporting relative success (it's always relative isn't it and statistics always lie) from using social media as a marketing method report having done it for "years" and twat on their Twitters and fart on their Facebooks for over twenty hours per week.

For all others out there like me who cannot hire support for their social media shenanigans let's hear a chorus of "fuck that".

Why is that? Because making a true social connection with people, your clients, your potential consumers takes time. One cannot take the shotgun approach to social media marketing. One consumer + one consumer + one consumer equals three. But they are all different. They all, quite literally, have separate identities. This is not like television. They must be treated as individuals, this is something marketing has never been good at and never will be. We are trying, sure, but there are some things that my magical and beloved combination art and science were never meant to efficiently do.

A defining moment is coming and it will be another small economic aftershock: the admission of defeat by marketing in social media. The great savior that was to change the way we marketed anything and everything will fall flat on its face. Consumers have every right to reject a product, they have every right to their privacy. Marketing is the reason that, you may notice, MySpace is dying a slow death.

Did you ever use MySpace before it's overlords Fox Interactive took over? It was a different "MySpace". It quite literally could be your own. It gradually became inundated with advertising, spam, and marketers pushing bullshit products like viagra and Cayman Islands grown Xanax. It is now officially fucking creepy and trying to emulate it's leading competitor Facebook in the most desperate of ways.

Facebook became more successful because the advertising is much less inyaface. But the demographic tracking is there. I can know how many males versus females visit my company's page, I know how old visitors are, I know almost anything in their "info" section on their Facebook. Of course none of this type of information is tracked to the individual level - I can't see that "Bill Joe Joe Smith is 46". Still, you thought you were safe didn't you?

I know you all thought marketers are evil. We are, a little bit, but I'm one of the good guys, I promise - I'm Robin Hood.

A few years from now, the real of social media will return to the hands of consumers. Marketers will largely be shoved out by the real business notion that "there is no ROI here." The gold we were told by the media isn't there to be panned. There are savvy consumers who know who we are and choose to ignore us. Finally, here is a place where you as a consumer have a vote. Pay attention to who you accept as a "friend" or "follower", ignore marketers in social media. Mark my words: in due time your online space will be rightfully returned to you.

Why Your Daughters Should Admire Lady GaGa

2009-10-29T22:40:00.000-07:00

When I first heard of this alleged "Lady", an adjective used to describe "Gaga", I assumed this songstress was a transvestite that had somehow made in the big time. I assumed this because of the overtly femme name as well as a very strong and robust, albeit quality, vocal tone.

I don't pay much attention to pop culture. I would normally never condone the emulation, mental absorption, or other learning about any celebrity whatsoever. For the most part they are self-absorbed, already rich, cancer that is killing society. Nevertheless, to keep all of this nonsense in check, I read Perez Hilton and the Superficial every day. I read these celebretard e-zines because, well, they're crass and they provide me with a slight bit of information. I read them for the jokes, I don't really care which proper names are used in each joke, just that the joke is good. And they always are. Whether it's a cock drawn on the face of some entitled financial pariah, or a blog that has such a fabulous sense of humor that it doesn't mind posting nothing but D-list models in bikinis over and over again.

So this is why I had never heard of the entity and person that is Lady Gaga. I had only heard of vague mentions of her in between jokes about other celebrities. Then, Perez Hilton posted the completely cinematically enhanced "Paparazzi" video.

I watched it, slightly irritated by how serious it was. I scoffed, "this is her third single, who the hell does she think she is, pulling this November Rain shit, ugh."

Then something about her intrigued me and I hit the Wikipedia to learn more. It seemed that there must be more than met my eye, I could smell...hmm...maybe...smarts. God dammit. I was impressed by what I learned.

Let's hit the surface level information first: Lady Gaga may be a semi-sex symbol, she has to be a little bit, in order to sell records (unfortunately not everyone waits 40 years to become Susan Boyle). However, there are some imperfections about her that are incredibly charming. She looks like a real girl that is playing dress up. Not a girl who was never real at all. While most female sex symbols' noses are marble sized ski jumps, hers is distinctly shaped and clearly a genetic reference to her Italian heritage. I'll be very upset if she ever changes this. Somehow I doubt she will.

And what of her beginnings? Yes, she did drugs. Of course you don't want your daughter thinking that this is the way to go about success, however, drugs are one of those things that when done at the appropriate time in one's life can either add character or destroy you. For Lady Gaga, it added character. She was performing at burlesque shows and singing in New York. However, prior to this, she was attending Juilliard and Tisch. Why? Because she's a god damned genius. We all know that Juilliard does not accept many students and it is extremely expensive to go there. However, Tisch accepts roughly twenty students per year. Lady Gaga was accepted at age 17. She studied not only music but art, religion, and socio-political order. She was born to be an activist through her medium. She was discovered by LA Reid whilst singing down the hall from his office, the reason is unknown. She was signed but then dropped three months later. She tried and tried again.

But alas, she wasn't signed for some time. She was writing songs for the likes of Akon, Britney Spears (who lacks the similar talent and work ethic that I am describing here), and Fergie (also, lacking the similar talent). She was actually working.

Approximately a year later, thanks to Perez Hilton, she jumped on a fucking NASA made rocket to stardom.

My fiance and I were having drinks with a friend of ours, a fellow successful musician, and Lady Gaga came up. He dismissed her, "she's a whack job."

"NO!" I was immediately defensive of my newfound hero, but then forced to describe why I felt so defensive of her. "She's great! She's a damned genius!"

As is my motto of life, I cannot offer an opinion without subsequently describing why I hold such an opinion.

"Do you understand what she's doing? With her clothing? With her style? She actually writes her own songs!"

He clearly didn't understand, and at that moment, in my slight buzz, I absolutely knew what it was.

"She's fucking with you! She's being a person, a person with actual knowledge and talent, not a singing-head and industry whore. She dresses like she does to make you ask that question 'what the fuck'?" She wore lace/gauze around her face at the MTV Video Music Awards this year because she wanted to symbolize that her face isn't important. She wore a huge distracting feather helmet (I guess?) because, again, she doesn't want her face to be the thing that is important. She is a muse, she is a message, and she has never let a man dumb her down.

The dumbing down and usage of women is clearly prevalent in Hollywood. Women that are a brand, that are a product, that sing, model, act, and do nothing to distribute or communicate their thoughts are everywhere. They are a dime a dozen. Lady Gaga is an experiment in mass psychology. She's testing all of us and making sure that people can appreciate she is an artist and not just a singing-headed woman that is hot. If we can all be convinced that she is as smart as she is, then we haven't been distracted by her body. We have been convinced by her creative strategy and her mission - the things she developed with her mind.

Church of Scientology Guilty of Fraud in France

2009-10-27T21:26:00.000-07:00

France, I was really excited for you.

France, you had so much hope glistening in your judicial eye.

France, of all the things you gave us - philosophy, Braille, the stethoscope, and the totally bitchin' gyroscope, something for republicans to project their discontent at from 2002 - 2008 - you couldn't give us the dissolution of the Church of Scientology. For shame.

France, you had such hope and now, well, I am only semi-disappointed in you because you did have a minor success with this whole bit.

On Tuesday, October 27th, France found the Church of Scientology guilty of fraud and fined in 500 million Euros.

In May, it was widely discussed that the prosecution was seeking the dissolution of the Church. While France currently does not regard Scientology as a religion, this would have meant that it's status would likely join the ranks of a "cult". In the following nations, the Church of Scientology is not regarded as a religion at all:

* Belgium
* Germany
* France
* Greece (though there is no formal mechanism that allows an institution to be classified as a religion in Greece)
* Kazakhstan
* Russia
* Switzerland
* United Kingdom

France's reason for not attempting to disband the Church of Scientology completely is rather lazy and appalling: "they would likely continue their activities anyway, 'outside any legal framework.'"

And while we're at it, let's all just make not paying taxes legal because, let's face it - it's going to happen anyway. This smells like bullshit to me.

Not mentioned in the MSNBC report on this case is an alleged law passed on May 12th that prevents a judge from ordering the dissolution of an organization found guilty of fraud. This measure, if it does exist, was supposedly carefully buried in a stack of other legislation that was unrelated. Sounds suspiciously like the American way, we call it "pork". I was able to find some info on this through some rather intense Googling.

The Church of Scientology is notorious for being underhanded and buying off individuals who have power. This means lawyers, celebrities, and government officials. They are so good at this because its members are everywhere and its members are a big profit generator. It's members have jobs that are beneficial to it, it's members commandeer entire industries that hold power - like Hollywood.

I'm hesitant to take this morsel of a sneaky sneak of a law from the netherregions of the internet as gospel. I realize I operate a small time blog full of complaining, cursing, and generally irreverent commentary. However, when it comes to something as serious as the dissolution of a Church that is clearly a financially greedy organization - I would like to get my facts as correct as possible.

Suppose it is true. Suppose for a moment that legislation wasn't bought and sold but it was slipped in by the nearly invisible hand of a fellow CoS member? What of the legal system then? What of the judge's ruling that they'd operate as they pleased no matter what? The 500 million Euro fine is mere slap on the hand for an organization that is 8 million strong. Each member is worth tens of thousands - if not hundreds of thousands of dollars over a lifetime of membership. Though being dissolved, that's worth much more.

Weed: Shall ye be California's savior?

2009-10-20T20:39:00.000-07:00

When I was in macroeconomics class in college, I was a bit of a teacher's pet. Oh how I loved guns and butter, supply and demand, elasticity, inelasticity and public policy. This lead to many after-class conversations about such concepts as marijuana legalization.

My professor was a worldly, wise, and not afraid to crack a nasty joke in class. My god...this class was everything I loved. I miss it.

One day, after class, I walked with my professor to her office. I asked her, "what do you think would happen if marijuana was legalized?"

"It doesn't matter what your political and philosophical opinion of it is, the bottom line is that if it were regulated it could then be subject to a special tax, like cigarettes. It would be a huge source of income for the government."

At the time, I was a conservative little pisher. So I wanted to disagree with this, but it made so much sense that I couldn't no matter how hard I tried to spin my mental wheels.

She was a touch before her time. She just needed a little visible hand of Obama to get her idea off the ground.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Have you ever been inside a "medicinal marijuana dispensary"?

In California, it's hardly an illegal-looking operation. It's not on par with illegal abortions, sketchy Mexican plastic surgeries, or buying Viagara from the internet. It's pretty damned safe and regulated. Whatever your position on consumption, it's no worse for the human body (but this is a war between lungs and liver) than alcohol.

There are advisers that know their crop better than their own ass. There are private consultation rooms. A professional cashier. You can be assured that you won't be getting something you don't want. Additionally, you can be sure you'll be offered the healthiest in weed options for you and your condition - that is, of course, if you legitimately have one.

The prices are fair, but they're raking in money hand over fist. In California, state law prohibits these cannabis confectionaries from being "money making organizations".

As of present, the only tax collected from dispensaries is standard California sales tax. Last year, this rang up to $18 million.

That's it? A paltry $18 million? Gee gadz. Seems to me we're missing out. It also seems to me that California has just been handed quite an auspicious gift - the new federal disinterest in prosecuting these dispensaries and other sticky-icky related crimes. Now, the state can decide how these "crimes" shall be prosecuted.

In a time when Los Angeles kindergarten classes receive a $30 a year for supplies, road repairs simply don't happen, and the state budget is simply fucked - isn't this quite the blessing?

This new removal of federal interest in prosecuting marijuana related crimes allows California to act - and possibly fully legalize and tax marijuana. Oh bless this new income opportunity. It's more than a piggy bank. It's a Three Mile Island of cash flow.

Seems like um, dare I say, we should just legalize it.

It does more than just create a source of income, it would eliminate a major money-suck: marijuana possession and distribution crimes. Prosecution, court times, and incarceration are absurd for such a non-violent crime. Legalization would also eliminate the opportunity for marijuana distribution to become a violent crime at all.

I don't smoke weed. This isn't a plea and examination for my own benefit. I hate weed. The last time I smoked, my boyfriend and I ended up slumped over in the corner of some back house on our friend's property. Unable to stand, unable to focus my eyes, and unable to formulate a fucking sentence. I was also convinced at the time that it was a great idea to take a cab from Burbank to West LA (approximately a $60 cost). Yeah. I don't like weed, but I know a lot of people to whom it is a favorable substitution for alcohol. Good for them.

Everybody needs their vice. Everybody also needs a savior. Right now, California needs both.

Ralph Lauren, I dare you to hire Kim Kardashian

2009-10-16T23:05:00.000-07:00

I think we're all aware that compatriots and puppeteers in media are mostly interested in conspiring to make women feel badly about themselves so that they can bend their wallets to their every whim.

Yes, of this, we are all aware.

Models in women's magazines (portraying what is nearly impossible for women to physically and economically attain, yet they're convinced is what men want) seem to, on occasion, deviate greatly from the models that men's psuedo-jerk-off mags portray.

For whom can I thank for this?

Kim Kardashian.

Kim Kardashian, I never thought I'd thank her for a thing. Though she seems to have been the single positive spawn from Paris Hilton's store-bought clusterfuck with media outlets from 2000 - 2008. It's not like Kim has really accomplished anything, but she was a catalyst for something valuable - girls with big asses finding their way into minor-league beat off publications.

I never thought this was possible, I thought my large ass was a sexual handicap. Lord, say it's so!

Dramatically large asses aren't just for the "ethnic" mags anymore. It seems as though Caucasia was ill-informed that white men only dig skinny Asian girls and white girls that are so skinny they appear to be slightly Asian. I say this because paparazzi can't get enough to Kim's ass. If paparazzi can't get enough of it it means only one thing: YOU can't get enough of it.

Kim's ass sells tabloids, it sells softcore porn (and real porn). Though I must digress, that's another complicated element of Kim Kardashian - what came first? The porn or the fame? I'm pretty damned sure it was the porn.

Ever since Ms. Kardashian came long, TheSuperficial.com started posting gargantuan ass photos of ladies other than her - Ice T's wife Coco, for one.

As a lady with a large ass, I feel quite vindicated by this. Outside of the bedroom, I have always felt ashamed of my genetic posterior embellishment, but in the bedroom I find it to be praised.

Men like ass. Don't let anybody tell you different.

In a week in which we've seen Ralph Lauren model's photoshopped to near concentration camp level thinness, we've also seen Ms. Kardashian's generous glutes praised in Maxim and FHM. There is even a shoddily fabricated KimKardashianass.org (it's just stills from her sex video, but I'm sure that URL will make millions one day).

Even though we should all be happy with who we are and blah blah blah, women will always compare themselves to one another. We will always compare ourselves to someone who gets attention paid to their physique, as it indicates that that person is a superior biological specimen.

Presuming we're speaking of straight women here: why do we give a shit how we look in the eye of other women? If it's a mate we seek, shouldn't we care more to emulate what they praise?

Which perception is legitimate? At the end of the day it doesn't matter. Please, do be happy with who you are, ladies, and just do your best to be healthy. It's likely that this is an age male-centric media awakening to the glorious sunrise beyond the horizon of a lucious, robust, and completely epic ladies' ass.

California Schemin'

2009-10-08T20:00:00.000-07:00

People think a lot of things about California. It's the Golden State, it's corrupt, it's full of celebrities and celebutants, it's the home of the liberal elite, it's the home of electric cars, Silicon Valley, it's the home of the wealthiest rat bastards in America, and sometimes - it's a land of dreams. All of these things are true, depending on who you are, how you live and where you live. The California dream is whatever you make it, but for most of us living here it's fallen into the gaping chasm between poverty and impenetrable wealth.

The media have recently taken note of this matter. It's been noted that Los Angeles couldn't afford Michael Jackson's funeral (this really meant that the city couldn't afford public servants such as police to wrangle the crowd that ultimately didn't turn up). Los Angeles can't afford to pay its teachers. Los Angeles can't afford to take care of its hospitals, its roads, and it's turned to giving folks like me $80 parking tickets to afford this which is an expense we should all share. But California can't raise taxes without a two-thirds supermajority vote, this was voted in in 1979. This is hard to come by. In advertising there's an adage (pardon the pun): "what happens when you don't spend money on advertising? Nothing." The same goes for an entire state.

Last week I traveled to Denver to attend the wedding of a childhood friend. I encountered people I hadn't seen in fifteen years, and it was truly a delight to see that it's true, some people don't change over time. I suppose I fear change in people a bit, I dearly wish that the world doesn't get to them and harden them. For this troop it appeared to be the case that they'd missed the "world is kind of a shithole" memo. But actually, it's probably just my perspective, as a struggling Californian.

Some guests came from Texas, a smattering from Virginia, two from Oregon (my parents), and some stragglers from Arizona. You couldn't get more of a diverse group of Americans. Then you had me...the temporary Angeleno.

Upon hearing that I resided in Los Angeles, I was met with gasps of, "Oh mah gawwwwd! Do you ever see any celebrities?! How is it? Is it beautiful?! I bet it's beautiful." That general sentiment, the California dream, had salivated all over those words.

"Well, I have a great boyfriend and a great job, that's enough to keep me there. But as for the city, I could take it or leave it. And about the celebrities...there have definitely been some but I'll have to remember. Let me get back to you on that."

In that moment I realized how jaded I was. I couldn't remember the celebrities I've met? I'm a storyteller, dammit, I write this blog and tell stories all the damn time. I should be able to remember some celebrities I've met. The first that came to me was the time I vomited in front of Dr. Drew Pinsky, who is a god in my mind, but most people don't know who he is. The story didn't draw much applause.

Wedding guests from Virginia wanted me to explain what it was like where I live. They wanted to hear about Hollywood, the beaches, the shopping. It was as thought I was a war hero back on my homeland's soil. Had I done battle with anything? Yeah, kind of. I had done battle with a place that is so gluttonous it is eating itself alive. However, that notion was so present in my acquaintances' questions, I don't think they were aware of it. It was subconscious. I was the only one that saw it. To them they were getting firsthand information about a place they had only ever seen in movies and television, they had only ever seen the California dream.

I didn't want to be too much of a downer, I want people to believe that a place like the California in their minds does exist, and at some point it really did. But now, it's anything but a dream.

The Guardian recently published an article (and I believe the Economist did as well) hypothesizing that California may become America's first failed state.

The reasons for such are extremely long term. The idea is that this land of dreams, the only place in the world with such existential optimism, is failing its residents and employees left and right. Public programs such as Healthy Families are being eliminated. Parents sending children to public schools are having to donate for their supplies - if they don't, the teacher will have to buy supplies with her own money. Not to mention that pesky real estate issue, which really was self-inflicted by the intense belief in the California dream. We can have our cake and eat it too can't we? We can have medium income jobs, nice new cars, and a fabulous house the suburbs that costs more than ten times the value of our stock portfolio! Of course we can, we're entitled to that by this mandated dream aren't we?

Rome fell for such a belief. It's possible that in California, we've fixed ourselves for such a state.

Sacrifice is a word that is unheard of here. Luxury, excess, and perfection dominate everything. Most people feel entitled to these things. Then occasionally a fire rips through it all and reminds us, for approximately two weeks, that we and our possessions are finite and fallible. Then we quickly forget. And the rest of the nation never knew the feeling at all.

I hate to say that there is no easy way out of this. California unemployment sits at a solid 10% and real estate values in some cities have dropped by 75%. What are we ever to do?

Learn to sacrifice. Learn that luxury is not common and excess is not necessary. Living in an apartment is perhaps where you should be, you're not entitled to a four bedroom house seventy miles away from where you work. Likewise, our state government should learn that they cannot spend without taxing.

California is the world's eighth largest economy. The United States is the world's first largest economy. It's likely that California is a microcosm of the United States. The United States, at this particular moment in time, just as much better management.

Alan Grayson, Barney Frank: I'm smiling at you because I think I like you

2009-09-30T18:03:00.000-07:00

When I was a youngster, I was a republican. I was a republican because my dad was a republican. From his perspective and our privileged living situation, it really was the way to go. It would have been traumatizing to our finances to have to pay more in tax and get nothing for it. My father was specifically referring to health care in this instance. I was a young one during the Clinton years.

Voluminous taxes for universal heath care would have been painful to us because we were really middle class. My parents had deemed us "middle-upper class" because my parents had no idea, what gap truly existed between us and the true middle-upper strata and upper-crust in American socio-economics.

When I moved to Los Angeles I learned what true "middle-upper" and "upper-crust" status is. It's appalling. It's gratuitous. It's absolutely slovenly for the most part. It's really not all that rare.

I've come to realize that paying for health care wouldn't hurt the rich a bit. But it would hurt republican senators and congressional representatives to soak those that pay their um, hell, I'll call it what it is - bribes*.

Michael Moore's new film (trailer) poses the idea, from presumably some middle America farmer sitting in his truck, "there has got to be a war between the people who got nothing...and the people who got it all."

There will be. It will begin on the topic of public option health insurance. Though it appears, much to my pleasure, that this war won't be fought literally between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. It will be fought between their representatives on the floor of the Senate and the Congress.

Senator Alan Grayson said some pretty uncouth things about republicans recently.

I like it when things are uncouth. I like any reason to use that word uncouth. I'm very happy to see that the representatives of the proletariat in America are getting dirty in public, rather than behind speech writers and money laundering and positively well-deserved sex.

I'm happy that he used a nasty shocker-word, "holocaust" to describe the current fate of Americans without health coverage. However inaccurate because this atrocity knows no racial bounds. It's up to grab whatever it's legislators will throw at it. At this point, that's pretty much everybody.

I'm happy that he just went on the Rachel Maddow show and stated that the republicans he's dealing with are "knuckle-draggers". In a world in which you can help your fellow man without hurting yourself, it is pretty god damned Neaderthal-esque to forfeit that option.

While I much dislike the idea of using individuals posed as average Americans in Town Hall meetings to ferociously pulverize a positive agenda, I much like the plan to use one's suit and tie and seat in a legislative office to fight this fight. After all, that's why we voted in people like Barney Frank and Alan Grayson. America knows, deep in its collective moistened subconscious that we need loudmouthed assholes like these guys to keep shit moving downstream.

If you didn't take on a job like legislator to give your constituents a voice, just what did you do it for? Oh yes yes, the fatty fat fat checks, the praise, and the fun times rubbing elbows with the political elite that you've been mindfucking yourself to since you were in grad school.

I think Mssrs Grayson and Frank actually did stop their mindfucking episodes a while ago, or are taking a hiatus to yell with a voice as loud as we all wish we had. I want this to get bloody. I want this to get evil. Either party can all the other a liar, they can call each other murderers, get nasty. I want to see some passion. What's that feminists bumper sticker say? Well-behaved women rarely make history? I do think it's true that these days, well-behaved representatives rarely catalyze change.

*And I am fully aware that republicans are not the only legislators taking bribes.

Why the Hell am I Obsessed with Wedding Shows?

2009-09-28T22:40:00.000-07:00

There is of course the obvious reason, that hits home for all of us ladies a little bit: I want to get married.

But there is something else, it's kind of like shopping, it's my horrible guilty little pleasure. When my boyfriend walks in the room to see me salivating while Bridezillas is on the screen, I feel quite ashamed that I'm being entertained by something requiring little gray matter to process, but not ashamed enough to change the channel.

I've only encountered one fair maiden in my day that had no desire for a wedding, though she did want to get married. She ended up getting hitched in Wyoming with Falcons (yes, literally, the predatory bird) as her bridesmaids in order to remove the attention of the crowd from her. She agreed to this for her husband. She wanted to submit the holiest of unions at City Hall.

In any case, one out of 982,960,965 isn't much. And there must be a lot of people like me because there is talk of creating a whole freaking channel devoted to wedding programming.

These people, like me, can talk for hours about our dream wedding. Maybe it's in the 9th ward, maybe it's being performed by an Aboriginal chief, or perhaps on in animal costumes because the couple of comprised of furries. Or maybe it matters more who is there, not where it is or what it looks like. Whatever the case: practically every woman, at some point in her life, decides what she wants her wedding to look like.

Perhaps this is a bit of a sycophantic notion, setting oneself up for failure by virtue of creating such a decisive illusion. Maybe, those of us doing this are sort of delusional anyway.

But aside from the obvious, why the hell am I obsessed with wedding shows?

Say Yes to the Dress: Oh yes gimme more, I cannot stop looking at bride after monotonous bride try on piles of white satin and tulle, wondering, "oh dear...I do ever so hope this is the one for her!" By proxy getting a minor fill of my own "shopping" and reflected joy as well.

Bridezillas: My love for this show is absolutely vindictive in nature. These women are nasty, futile, irreverent, and superficial. I'm not (except for when I watch this show). This makes me feel good about myself. I can sit here and cattily narrate, "oh GAWWD I'd never do THAT, that is so foolish and trite." But I'm wasting my time watching these bitches, so I guess that's score Bridezillas 1, Asta 0.

Masters of Reception: Who doesn't love a good party? I know I do! This show may actually be somewhat constructive. It causes me to go, "hey, that's a great idea, but you know what I would have done better..." Then I feel a bit like I'm correcting the end of a Michael Bay movie.

My Fair Wedding: Alright, so I've only seen half of the first episode of this show, but I'm taken. This guy, David Tutera, does what I WANT to do! He rights all of the horrible horrible wrongs made by brides with bad taste. He whisks away tackiness and misguided design without the Bride's involvement at all. Yay David!

America's Trashiest Weddings: Oh the Fox Reality Channel, when do you not provide me with low-brow entertainment? This show actually features people who love each other. I can't say anything bad about it.

The thing that I must note about all of these shows, for whatever reason they generate an emotion that most television is incapable of creating: happiness.

How many television shows can actually make us happy? We're happy for imagining our own weddings and we're happy to admire these people who seem to be, for the most part, legitimately pleased with their lifetime long decision.

Of course I can poke holes in the many facets of these shows that are corrupt and why society need not participate in these traditions any longer. The bridal industry is a massive moneymaker pretty much contrived by religion and little girls' dreams of being a "princess" on her special day (note that through my experience of watching these shows, I can conclude that these women are a nightmare, do not marry them).

All those nasty notions are lifted away when I sit back, relax, open my mouth to catch some flies, and lose some brain cells to an episode of one of these matrimonial productions. What's so bad about just spacing out and being happy? Nothing at all.

Levi Johnston is a Gay Icon: Fuck You, Sarah Palin

2009-09-19T11:39:00.000-07:00

If there were to be one star emerging from the McCain/Palin 2008 clusterfuck to meteoric mediocrity, I never would have imagined it would be the sperm donor to Bristol - Levi Johnston.

While Bristol is at home forced into being a martyr to her mother's pro-life cause (read: tending to their child), Sarah is talking to Chinese businessmen about capitalism (as if they need the lesson from someone who has not experienced the economic system, only verbally humped it between August and November 2008). Todd is riding snowmobiles and blood letting the earth of it's lucious black gold, the other kids are, I dunno, eating taco bell or something. All the while, Levi Johnston is packing plans to show his package to the word, male and female, gay and straight, in PlayGirl. He's gallivanting around New York with reporters from Vanity Fair and getting paid to go to parties. His fame is kind of benign like fellow deadbeat dad Jon Gosselin, however, his fame has become something else very interesting: he's been pegged as a gay icon.

To be a gay icon, one must be crowned as such by the collective gay community (lovingly referred to as the Velvet Mafia). This seems highly unlikely for a self-proclaimed redneck from Alaska who is a proven heterosexual breeder. Generally, gay icons do something for the cause of the gay community. They are promoting equality, embrace a flamboyant appearance and charisma, and are often gay themselves. These icons are people like Cher, Tammy Faye, Jackie Kennedy, Perez Hilton, and of course Madonna.

In my experience as a fruit fly (5 of 6 of my close male friends are gay), I can say that the gay community is a very easily mobilized and cohesive army. Nobody wants the gay community to be against them, they will be punished.

So I posit this theory: what if Levi Johnston was decided to be an icon, because of his conservative background and relationship to Mrs. Palin, by the queer community? What if he had nothing to do with it, but embraced it when he realized, "hey if I take this opportunity, since I'm decidedly not a homophobe, to give Sarah the big ol' 'fuck you'?"

I'm sure it also has something to do with the fact that he has no qualms with showing his gentials to the world. No doubt as an act of rebellion and a big gulp from the fleeting goblet of fame.

His "fuck you" is kind of the Barney's Beanery in West Hollywood. In the late 1970s, when the gay community began to populate WeHo, some asshole put up a a sign at the Beanery reading "no faggots". As a collective "fuck you", the new homosexual residents took the place over. It was a favorite hang out. They prevailed in numbers. Eventually the sign came down (allegedly to the dismay of the queer community) and almost thirty years later it's still a popular drinking hole.

It's really poetic. It would be beautiful if this is the case with Levi Johnston. He broke free from the pack, he refused to take the path that was set for him by Sarah Palin. He's a rebel with a cause. He was labeled as a white trash, hockey playing, piece of shit before he left the arranged marriage Mrs. Palin had set up for he and Bristol. Who knows if Bristol even wanted it, who knows if she even wanted to keep the baby. Since Bristol is tied down in her forced martyrdom the only person able to break free with the message of "fuck this and fuck you" is Levi. I hope Bristol is secretly proud of him.

Maybe his statements regarding being a redneck and loving it (on his MySpace page circa Fall 2008) painted him as a "no man's land" for the largely liberal gay collective. Seeing him naked, slapping the "gay icon" label on him, may just seem kind of politically and socially fetishy. Come to think of...I can see how that's kind of sexy. Seeing someone like that naked is a bit like stripping them of their foolish convictions. It's turning (them) him into a hypocrite while he isn't even aware of it.

But is Levi Johnston being made a hypocrite? He really can't be if he had never offered his opinion before he was already crowned, and aware of it, as a gay icon. There is one thing for certain, his fame will be more interesting, more legitimate, and more prolific than Sarah Palin's will ever be. For that, I think I kind of like him.

Here is the link to the Gawker "gay icon" article.

Click here for the Vanity Fair article "Me and Mrs. Palin".

Some Bees, a Doctor, and a Boy: My Bewildering Journey to a Happy Adulthood

2009-09-14T17:41:00.000-07:00

I hate bees.

I abhor those nasty little buggers. I am not allergic to them, however, isn't everyone a little bit? They can sting the shit out of us. They each have a biological apparatus (read: stinger) designed specifically for making us back the fuck off. Whether or not we meant to be in the way in the first place. I stepped on so many as a child, inadvertently was attacked through no fault of my own. When I was sixteen, shortly after getting my driver's license, a bumble bee flew in the window of my car landing in my lap and stung my inner thigh. I was traveling at approximately fifty miles per hour with no where to pull over.

That's just one of the many reasons I hate bees. I don't just hate them, I'm petrified of them. Nothing frightens me in the exact same way.

Every year, since I was about twelve, my parents and I have gone to visit my grandfather in Montana (yes, I'm citing the "Maced in Montana" post I just wrote). Perhaps I don't need to tell you, but there are loads of varying types of equally horrifying bees and hornets in Montana.

At, oh perhaps age 14, my grandfather insisted on taking the drift boat out on the Kootenai River. Sounded like a fine idea. I'm always down for a little boating. I enjoy the novelty of being on a craft that can float about and not drown - something I cannot do. Ten minutes into this two hour long float, we were surrounded by swarms of yellow jackets. I lost it. I started crying my eyes out and burying myself in my parka-made igloo. My grandfather yelled at me, "oh they're just bees, don't get so exercised!" Exercised - what the hell does that mean? Well he's a king of metaphor. It didn't matter what it fucking meant, he had just informed me that I was a meek little weakling and in my mind, I had lost his respect. I wasn't tough enough for him and my parents weren't about to stand up for me. I must not have been tough enough for them either.

That's only one incident in which I was taught that being sensitive or being afraid was not an option - there were many. I later figured out (oh about two weeks ago) that is one of the subconscious reasons I started getting tattoos. Of all the valid reasons, there was one that was dumb: I was doing it to look tough so that nobody would bother me. If anyone needed to assume one thing about me, it was that I wasn't a pussy, I wasn't a weak little girl.

For many years I was tortured by the fact that men would never treat me like a girl. I was never offered love, I wasn't even a prize, I was just sexless person that happened to be equipped with a vagina. A vagina brings no benefits if the possessor isn't mentally equipped to understand the perils that come with it. It must be managed and respected appropriately.

But I didn't do that. I was (and still am a little bit) a fucking masochist. I loved my misery. It was my one true companion, it understood me, it was there for me, and it made me what I was supposed to be: tough.

Maybe I could pretend to be tough, but I just couldn't be happy. Earlier this year, I broke down while drunk (yes, brilliant and classy I know, I'm quite famous for classy drunk maneuvers). I was crying to my boyfriend (the only man who has ever truly loved me, and I let love me) that I didn't know how to believe that he loved me. He asked, "what, do you think I am lying to you? What do you want me to say? I love you and I'm not going anywhere."

In my drunkenness I knew there was nothing he could say. It was all up to me. I had to stop being tough, trust someone for the first time in my life, and really believe that yes, he loves me.

A doctor helped me connect this thought to a more tangible notion.

My misery that I love so much was also closely tied to my need to impress. I have to be funny, be cute, be sweet, be crass, be smart, be everything that is my entertainment factor all at once. If am not, I believed (and am moving away from believing), then no one has any reason to keep me around. What good am I doing them if I'm not entertaining them?

I have a horrible habit of apologizing to my boyfriend for silences. If we are in the car, I will notice it is too quite because I may not be in possession of some monologue to trot forth from my word-hole. "I'm sorry I have nothing to say." I'll announce. He'll say, "that's okay, I just like being with you, obviously I don't have anything to say either." Clearly, he doesn't care.

I realized this must get annoying. I needed help. But in order to retrieve such help, my lovely brain decided to attach it to another problem that my boyfriend must simply hate me for (I use the word hate sarcastically): my weight.

I weigh 130 pounds and am 5'2". I'm no Taylor Swift, but I'm no Oprah either.

Really, I don't have a problem. But I pretended I did, so as to provide another thing to my beloved misery to feed on.

Misery...I'm sorry...but I need to break up with you.

So I saw a doctor about my weight gain. He is a holistic/western/psychological type doctor. He examines everything, from metals in your body to holes in your heart and head.

The first time I met with him he asked me lots of questions about my parents and my boyfriend. I explained the whole sordid deal about how I made my boyfriend chase me for so long (something I wasn't typically doing at the time, I was quite easy to catch).

He asked me, "why did you run away?"

"I don't know...I just wasn't ready I think." I said.

"No, it was too easy, you had never felt unconditional love before." He told me.

I repeat that every day in my head. It's been two weeks now since I saw that doctor.

He was right. I hadn't. Even if say, my parents, and thrust unconditional love upon me, I didn't feel it because I wasn't providing them anything. I wasn't always being entertaining, I wasn't being smart enough, I was being disappointing. I had not paid them enough in emotions and achievements to be returned with unconditional love. At some level, yes, they are responsible for me feeling like I have to give them something in order to receive unconditional love. Though I can't fathom that exact moment. It's a culmination of my whole life.

Before this doctor drew my blood he said, "tell me you are ready to be happy." I knew that meant I had to break up with my misery and commit myself to the real life unconditional love that I now receive from my human boyfriend. I tried five times to get the words out of my mouth. Finally, through tears, I said it, "I'm ready to be happy." With that he attempted to strike platelet oil from my extremities. I let him stick me six times. In my wrists and even my ankle. That pain didn't compare a bit to the pain of realizing that I had to give my misery the boot.

Before I left his office he said, "do you think Shakespeare was a smart guy?"

I said, "he was a great writer, sure."

He replied, "alright, fine...remember this...'assume a virtue if you have it not.'"

"Your virtue," he said, "is that you are not broken."

I'm not. I just pretended I was to give myself another reason to wallow in misery.

In July I went to Montana with my family. There were fucking bees everywhere. Bald hornets, bumble bees, yellow jackets, honey bees...you name it and those stingy little fuckers were there. I was immediately uncomfortable as I sat down on my grandfather's porch, maybe 10 years after the drift boating incident on the Kootenai, again surrounded by bees and my fear came bubbling up. It was insufferable.

On day two I relegated myself solely to the indoors. I sat inside, in my bee-free area, while my parents enjoyed the porch and all those bastard hornets. I sat there with my book, in the cabin, and I realized, "fuck them and fuck the bees. I don't have to prove anything. I'm an adult."

I don't have to prove myself to anyone anymore. I have developed a fabulous career without the help of my family, I have a boyfriend who loves me unconditionally, I have a great apartment, I have a whole new family of non-blood friends who love me without question - I have a great life.

Yesterday while driving back from visiting my boyfriend's parents there was some silence in the car. When you live with someone you're bound to run out of dialogue from time to time. I said, "y'know, when I was in Montana, I realized I didn't have to expose myself to the bees if I didn't want to...I could tell everybody to fuck off and I'd go enjoy the inside...I'm an adult...their judgments about my bee-based character don't matter."

He said, "absolutely true. I'm glad you realized that."

I said, "it's probably pretty late for me to have realized that."

He said, "no, it's not."

Maced in Montana

2009-09-13T21:33:00.000-07:00

Annually, my parents and I take a short vacation to northern Montana to visit my grandfather. This persnickety old bugger lives half the year in Montana and the other half in New Zealand (of course, the better perennial halves of both years, he wouldn't have it any other way.) Most family vacations, by the Griswold family stereotype generally consist of the following:

Large awkward meals
Children fighting
More large awkward meals
Adults fighting

These trips aren't quite the same. It's a non-TV version of man versus wild sprinkled with a lovely holiday essence.

The closest airport to my grandfather's ranch is Spokane, Washington - a pan socio-economic four hour drive from his actual residence. He never makes things easy. A vehicle passes through the following: the Aryan Nations, Ruby Ridge, the lavish lake homes of Lake Pend Oreille, the dilapidated single-wides of somewhere between Athol and Bonners. Additionally no trip to Montana is ever complete without one of the following events. Consider the following descriptions to be extremely general, let your imagination run wild:

- A mammalian or insect infestation in the guest cabin
- A mildly dangerous encounter with a large mammal
- Fires
- Guns
- Being attacked by biting / stinging insects

In previous years, there had been many "death hikes". This is what my parents and I refer to the hikes that my grandfather chooses to take us on, they end up being six hour long marches in grizzly bear habitat with only the relatively slow and benign "protection" of a handgun. Truly, guns ain't got shit on bears. It's a false sense of security, much like a Sonicare toothbrush is to dental health. Curse all those times I used one for six months and still found my mouth riddled with expensive and irritating cavities. It wouldn't be so bad if they softened my little nerve endings up with a nice breath of nitrous oxide, but oh no, I shan't be allowed such a noxious luxury.

The other method of protection against a bear is "bear gas". Bear gas is similar to the human-grade "mace", only much more powerful.

Knowing full well that our guns worked before we set out for this year's death hike (in which we were tasked by my grandfather to pick enough huckleberries to last him through the remainder of the summer, that tricky son of a bitch - he only gets away with this because he knows damn well we have nothing else to do on the ranch), we decided that we'd better test out the bear gas. Never fired, many times dropped.

My father and grandfather wrestled with it after they removed it from it's holster. I suppose it was quite a good thing they were figuring it out now. In it's incapacitated state, it wouldn't be much use as bear repellent at all. In those situations, we say, "just hope you can run faster than somebody else." But now that wouldn't be much family fun, would it? Nah, brah.

I moved away from their fumbling around, as they had frequently aimed it at my face. I thought I was being clever, predicting a possible misfire. Though seeing as how the gods of nature tend to frown upon me with a most fierce scowl, wind would soon show me who's boss.

My dad decided he'd fire off a blast to the side of the house, over the river, and away from us. It appeared that the wind was heading down stream.

Imagine the sound of an angered Lysol container. That's about what bear gas sounds like, but with some reverb.

Approximately let's see...

One-one thousand
Two-one thousand
Three-one thousand

Yes, about then, I knew what bear gas felt like.

At first it was a touch of serrano pepper on the back of my tongue. Then in no time at all, that same pepper was in my nose and in my eyes. I tried to play it cool. Acting all exercised and upset about something you can't do anything about is a big no-no in my family. But at this point, I realized I'd just been exposed to who the fuck knows how much bear gas.

"I'm getting the fuck out of here."

I took off down the porch with my mother not far behind me, who had gotten a good whiff of the gas herself and wasn't looking too good.

I ended up down by my grandfather's car near the forest when I decided the absolute worst outcome of the situation was that if this shit didn't stop stinging soon, I was going to throw up.

This is a reaction I'd never expected from mace. The stinging at the back of my throat had triggered a violent cough. As you all probably know, violent coughing often affects one's diaphragm. In which case, the impact is felt in one stomach, essentially the diaphragm is contracting and punching you in the stomach. Then it makes you barf.

I scarfed down some water in the safe, clean, non- bear gassed air of the car. It began to go away. I was free of the shackles of bear gas.

As we started the hike, not five minutes in, we spotted a nice steaming pile of black bear scat. Fresh as Dannielynn Smith.

At that point, i was happy to had inadvertently been part of the 2009 Montana Bear Gas Test Program.

I wish I could make this story more exciting, but fortunately for me and unfortunately for you, we didn't happen upon any real life human mangling bears.

I'm fairly certain that the moral I am about to impart can be applied to many dangerous and potentially harmful things (that end up being funny because they aren't lethal). Said moral of the story is this: don't test your pepper spray, just assume it works just fine.

My Republican Grandfather Experiences Socialized Medicine, Has Valid Point

2009-09-09T21:10:00.000-07:00

I was indoctrinated into conservatism. As a family, we basically bible-humped the Wealth of Nations. I must clarify at this point, it was the whole fiscal part of it, not the Jesus thing that is somewhat synonymous with present-day conservatism (which had not yet been invented when I was in the swells of my conservatism). My family believed that the biggest deal in the world was lookin' out for number one. Life was a big money race, dollars were like points, some people won and some people lost. There was one big obstacle to winning: the government. Ooooooh those democrats, they just wanna suck away money and give the people nothing back for it. I did believe that until I moved to LA anyway.

I moved away from the privileged middle class and was thrust into a place that looks quite rich and lovely, but it actually quite poor and well, fucked. It truly became apparent to me that only one thing could help the average human from being raped by the system: the government itself. With the right intentions, it could regulate the proper entities.

Given my ideological 180, you can imagine that often it's difficult to have political and economic discussions with my family. Certain individuals, yes, that is the case. The ones that practically write flash cards for memorization of lines from Fox News and think that Rush Limbaugh is 100% "for real". Rather than listening to the people, their neighbors, their friends, they listen to pundits. I've found people to be by and far more reliable. My republican grandfather is one that I happily listen to. He's oddly brilliant.

He's a hermit and an intellectual eccentric. He consistently provides himself with interesting experiences such as: encountering bears in the forest, going to rehab for one week, boarding horses for no real reason, and living in New Zealand six months of the year.

Throughout his seventy-something years he's been remarkably healthy. Despite some smoking and a substantial alcohol abuse. This past winter (a Kiwi summer) he experienced his first major health issue: a nearly paralyzing muscular disorder the name of which I have forgotten because I'm a bit of a ditz. He was in bed for nearly 10 days, he could not sleep for more than 10 minutes before he was awoken with pain. Finally, he decided to go to his general practitioner (a foreigner is allowed to buy health insurance for a nominal fee, or simply pay to go to a GP). Getting into his GP was easy. The trip up was when his GP recommended he see a specialist. He was required to submit a letter requesting an appointment with said specialist. A few weeks later, he received a letter in return stating that due to overwhelming demand, the wait to see the specialist was over six months.

Bummer for Grandpa. During the course of this story I kept expecting to hear that his major argument against healthcare reform in the US (specifically a universal option) would be the cost to him. He's quite a tightwad. It's not a great depression thing, it's just that he's kinda crotchety when it comes to his skrilla.

But no, as much as I awaited this issue to rise from the ideological dead, he let it be. His concern was the number of physicians available. He likes is wonderful combination Medicare + supplemental coverage deal. He feels that all Americans should be allowed such a choice. This lack of doctors conundrum got me thinking. It seemed to be the only real issue.

So how do we deal with the not enough doctors problem?

Encourage education. Way to go Mr. President! You hit this one with a one two punch this. You're fully aware that we have a generation of youngins that think school is hard and that India will just take care of it. They will, for India, not so much for America. Lovely strategic work.

Supplement education costs for the medical sciences. If kiddos aren't too lazy to go to medical school, they're too poor. The knowledge and privilege to spend a career saving lives shouldn't cost $200,000.

Wait it out. My generation and the one behind me are going to have a bit of trouble with it. This is because many of us haven't had basic preventive care our entire lives. If we had, the need for specialists would decline. The abundant GPs, whom my grandfather had access to in New Zealand, would be able to handle the bulk of issues before they became tricky.

Then we have yet another sticky wicket that my Grandpappy didn't bring up: forcing health insurance companies to cover everyone, regardless of pre-existing conditions, and other stuff that is human and we can't avoid. This is completely the right thing to do, however, if health insurers' status as a revenue generating for-profit entity is not also regulated, this will give them an excuse to increase their premiums even more. It's not a real reason to increase costs, it's an excuse. It will happen unless these firms are mandated to be non-profit.

Shareholders and for-profit firms are diabolical and notorious for making excuses to make shit more expensive. The government is notorious for providing too little too late. My generation is notorious for being lazy, careless, and shouldering a bitch of a burden created by capitalism (ok there are some good parts too, like some of us have parents that are rich because their parents were rich...some of us). Obama told us in his speech tonight that his "insurance exchange" (which is a bang-up plan in the opinion of this cynical blogger) will be ready to take force in four years. Is that a long enough time for Americans to decide that they wish to rise to the occasion, get proper educations to help out and take advantage of new job opportunities, get over the whole "lookin' out for number one" thing, and accept that profit machines have their time and place (and this ain't one of them)?

I sure as shit hope so.

The First Rule of Dick Cheney is Do Not Talk About Dick Cheney

2009-08-31T20:03:00.001-07:00

Last night my friend texted me, "Let's start a rumor that Dick Cheney is dead." My immediate reaction was a powerful malicious scoff, bursting with joy that at the hypothetical pipe-dream of a Cheney-less world. Then I felt a bit bad about falsely reporting that someone was dead - anyone - even Dick Cheney. He is human after all, at least that's what the heart condition suggests.

What is he really doing with his lascivious Mad Hatter grin flowing across my cable box and into my retinas? Why does he give a shit? Really, he's just forcing the previous administration to live on. In a time when it should fade into the past, as Bush has wisely done. Why does Cheney continue to vocalize his tactics from the extremely recent past? They didn't work all that well. His tactics, torture, threatening Iran, et cetera, were not responsible or irresponsible for anything. We cannot prove that his political and diplomatic (and I use the term loosely) devices assisted in the prevention of terrorist acts over the course of the last eight years. You know, come to think of it, I've been driving a silver car for the last eight years...oh my god...that's why Los Angeles hasn't been wiped out by a tsunami!!!

Okay, so as much as I dislike the guy, his correlation isn't quite that retarded. It just can't be proven at all. So why must we let such a windbag live on on our TV screens and interweb articles? He's got staying power - and he's got us naysayers.

Truthfully, he's a grizzly bear, he's more scared of us than we should be of him. Even though it seems completely ridiculous to not be afraid of a fucking grizzly bear. Really, you shouldn't, I've been around them, they have no very little interest in humans that aren't provoking them or touching their young.

Wait...did someone touch Dick Cheney's young? I don't know why the fuck anyone would, yuck, gamey. But we have. His "young" is his legacy. It's all he has left as the rest of his former administration has abandoned him. He is the janitor hanging out picking up all the streamers and dumped over porta potties after the totally kick ass party, not realizing that one man can't do it all. But he's got a plan. He's got you to help him out.

He needs the public to keep this legacy pulsing in our brains. He needs me, and you, and Rachel Maddow, and Anderson Cooper, and whomever will say anything bad about him to continue saying it to rally his army. There are loyalists out there, oh yes indeed, that will defend the former administration through all the stupidity, lies, and irrationality. It is because of them that in 2012, the republican party will have a chance.

So please, as an act of charity, stop saying bad (or good things, if that's your position) things about Dick Cheney; it only encourages him and his borg.

Disclaimer: I realize the irony of writing a blog about Dick Cheney in order to get people to stop talking about Dick Cheney. But seriously, I don't think this has become apparent. This will be the last you'll hear from me on the Birdshot King.

A Diesel Nation

2009-08-27T17:48:00.000-07:00

My father is a mechanical engineer. Quite a brilliant one at that. A topic of discussion throughout my childhood and my life has always been technology - primarily transportation technology. His specialty, and one we are all slaves to. He is particularly interested in alternative energy, not because he's any kind of fan of ecology (ironically, he's a Rush Limbaugh-humping conservative) but because he knows that we can be more efficient in our transportation. Because we can, he believes, we should.

While I can't say that I have any kind of the same affection for Rush Limbaugh - at all - in any capacity - I do agree with my dad's sentiment that we can and should exist with more efficient vehicles.

Unfortunately, we are often not exposed, in these petrol-laden United States to the best of fuel technologies. What is best and available to us isn't always the best in general.

Last October we went to the United Kingdom for two weeks. Just my ma, pa, and I. A jaunt of the trip involved renting a car and driving it from London to Glasgow, to Edinburgh, then back to London. I had reserved a small Citroen.

We obtained the little guy at the Sheraton Heathrow. Upon examining it's teeny weeny hatchback we realized that our luggage wasn't going to fit. Putting luggage on a roof in the UK isn't any sort of any option as you'll find your underoos quite soaked and not under your own accord.

The fine merchant assisting us upgraded us to a brand new Jaguar, free of charge. It had never been on the road, save for the drive from the warehouse to the Sheraton. And, it was diesel.

Knowing full well that the diesel engine wasn't a popular one in the States, our fine and generous vehicular sommolier reminded us dutifully, "fill it with diesel, not petrol." He may was well have said, "you damn yanks" at the end of it because he seemed so fucking certain we were going to fuck up his beautiful Jaguar. We wouldn't, and didn't, forget that this was diesel, though it was tough.

The 1970s was a very unfortunate time for the diesel engine in the US. It really ruined its reputation for decades. Even my father's expectations for this car were low, and he was quickly impressed. This diesel Jaguar was fast like a whip and got approximately forty miles to the gallon. We were almost to Glasgow before we had to fill up.

It didn't idle rough. It didn't smell. It wasn't loud. It was beautiful, sleek, and diabolically quick. This diesel luxury car wasn't anything like us dumb Americans thought a diesel car should be.

This left my father and I wondering: why doesn't anyone give it a shot in the States?

Almost a year later, my boss purchased a brand new Mercedes Bluetec SUV. "Bluetec" is the new VW, Audi, BMW, and Mercedes marketing jibberish for diesel. Diesel is generally around 30% more efficient than gas and an internal combustion engine. This is because it produces more torque. My boss can zip around in her 5300 pound German beast at 19 miles to the gallon - not too shabby.

My boss took me for a ride in it. It was quiet, like the Jaguar. It was fast, like the Jaguar. And it was sexy as fucking hell. I would have made sweet human-machine love to it if my employer wasn't present. I do have some standards.

This gave me "I wanna new car" bug and of course the consideration of fuel technologies. Are hybrids really helpful enough? Yeah, maybe if everyone in this country drove one. But that's not going to happen. For me, personally, it would cost me money to have a hybrid. I would have to take out a loan and I would only save $400 a year in gas. I drive approximately 12,000 miles a year. My driving habits are abhorrently average. Now what would make the difference would be a vehicle that got, oh say 55 MPG to 70 MPG.

Does such a thing exist? Is it possible to make hybrids perform this feat of efficiency? I thought back to our remarkably efficient diesel Jaguar...

Yes, yes it is, if we can get over our nationalized fear of diesel. My friends, I give to you, the VW Polo Diesel-Hybrid.

Check out the Polo.

This vehicle was just released in Europe and gets approximately 70 miles to the gallon. It is also rumored that Opel will come out with a diesel-hybrid that gets 59 miles to the gallon.

I'm sure there are some groans out there: Oh but it's DIRTY!!!

No, it's not dirty any more. Clean diesel, or Bluetec, cars do not produce particulate in their emissions. This is what made diesel so dirty in the 1970s.

Click here to read a Popular Mechanics article about clean diesel technology.

Also, the engines tend to be built stronger. You could drive one of these nifty little buggers until it has 250,000 miles on it. It even happened to the 1970s diesel cars, which is of course how we know this thing about the engines lasting a freaking eternity. Probably longer than you want to own the car really, unless you want to pawn it off on your kid, then they can pawn it off on their kid. Everyone wins (except your grandchild).

I do believe that we should still be working towards the pinnacle of clean transportation: the electric vehicle. I hate saying "working towards" since we had one, oh in the glory days of the Clinton era. In order for this to happen, we need a solid infrastructure for charging as well as government mandates and reasonable prices for the vehicles.

While this will be a reality someday, first we will see diesel-hybrid technology in the United States. We can all benefit from it, we just have to get over our fear of diesel. We may yet be a diesel nation.

The Rules aren't Rough Enough for You: You're Chris Brown

2009-08-26T21:17:00.001-07:00

...and millions of girls across the country would wet their panties and follow with a hurling of them at you and your back up dancers. But you don't care. You're perfectly happy with beating and frightening the hell out of the famous and unbelievably swanky and good lookin' one you've already bagged.

Yes, Chris Brown, it's apparent that the law isn't built for you. Nor is it built to torture anyone else rich and famous in the same way it can torture, deter, and generally ruin the rest of us common folk.

This isn’t new information. It’s not as though we’ve now learned that not only do the rules not apply to rich people, but they excrete gold and are able to turn water into petrol and Crème de la Mer. This is evidenced by driving through Beverly Hills, or any other extremely wealthy area in Los Angeles. Only the most expensive of cars run red lights, plow through pedestrian crossing areas without slowing down, and get exasperated when ass-kissing doesn’t come gratis with a drink ordered at Starbucks.

Social rules don’t apply and the law is limp-wristed at best. I was repulsed when Lindsay Lohan got off relatively easily, as did Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton for all their infractions. And now that I’ve learned what celebrity rehab is really like from a firsthand source, I’m even more appalled. But Chris Brown’s community service sentence for domestic abuse makes me retch in offense and spit like a llama.

It doesn't really hurt him. It takes some of his time, which he doesn't need to use to make money. He has an awful lot of that already. His criminal record is no matter. He will never have to undergo a background check in order to get a job.

In America, it is rare that a punishment fit the crime. But what about a punishment fitting a crime and an individual? Laws and their corresponding punishments for breakage are intended make one pause and have a pondering:

Gee, if I do things ghastly thing it may harm other people but if it DOESN'T and I am caught red-handed I could lose my job. I could lose all my money. Oh CHRIST fine, I shan't do it!

However, if one is rich, famous, or otherwise independently wealthy and prone to bullshit, these rules don't matter.

If you're the CEO of Countryside or Nicole Richie driving the wrong way down the freeway - your punishment may fit your crime but it will never fit you. It may only be a gnat buzzing about your ear - a minor inconvenience.

We have a mess of individuals that effectively are above the law because the law cannot deter them. Of the many unsavory things that greed can develop, this is only one of them that reared its ugly head today.

The Geology of Me

2009-08-22T22:18:00.000-07:00

I started getting tattoos on my eighteenth birthday. I was immersed in a subculture in which is was commonplace and expected to get tattoos - some may know this subculture as "straight edge". Frankly all of my generation are in a general sense part of the same type of subculture - the subculture of "tattoos aren't weird, it's just something some people do to entertain themselves."

I'm not even going to take the route of "self-expression". My tattoos express my personality. Even at age 18 I wasn't that much of a myopic 'tard, I knew that I would never rightly be able to express my personality on my skin. My personality is forever changing based on the situations (financially, educationally, and existentially) that I am in. My tattoos are demarcations of eras of my life. Tattoos are to me what carbon dating is to paleontology and geology

So it upsets me a tad when older men hit on me by asking me about my tattoos.

1. I'm in a committed relationship and don't look like I feel like talking, I'm eating my fucking food. If you don't get that much of a body language hint, then there is something wrong with you and you'll probably be accused of rape at some point.

2. I told you once I don't want to talk about them. Don't ask me a second time. I'm not George Bush, I don't have temporary amnesia.

3. If I did answer you, I highly doubt you'd be interested in the answer because it isn't what you think it will be. I don't think you expect that my tattoos are heiroglyphs of an era. I think you think they're superficial shit I thought up when I was surfing or doing yoga or shopping for "crystals" or something. In so verifying this, it would validate your suspicion that I'm a dumb girl.

Anyway, that's what happened to get my brain cogs turning about this topic: what my tattoos are to me. This is interesting because at the time I got them, they meant something entirely different to me than they do now. I presume that this is the sign of a good and just tattoo.

Many of them are controversial. It's not like a got a portrait of Jane Fonda on my chest or something, but they're existentially (some would rather use the word "spiritually") controversial. Here's a run down:

1. My X's. I was straight edge up until the ripe old age of 21 when I moved to LA. The concept of straight edge is best summed up as "don't drink, don't smoke, don't fuck".* Like most groups of people that claim to adhere to abstinence, us straight edge kids mostly ignored the "don't fuck" part. Our subculture was a veritable polygamist orgy. However, this is not at all what these tattoos mean to me. This was an era of fun, friends, and learning of my personal best. Because of straight edge, I got into marketing. I have this era to thank for my career.

2. My birds. I have a modified art deco piece of two doves kissing on my back. Along with them is the script "I began to see with my eyes and not with my heart." Many people find this frightening and surmise that I must be a deeply bitter and disturbed individual. Well, yeah, okay maybe that's somewhat true. I've been healed a bit. I need a little Mederma still. However, intellectually, I find this statement to be truer and truer every day. I would be even worse off if I had believed something that I could not verify with my own eyes.

3. No heaven. Yes, I have a tattoo that reads "no heaven". I'm an atheist. My best friend, who is still my best friend, got "no hell". Again, this tattoo commemorates not just our friendship but our commitment to reality. Without this commitment, we never would have been able to pull off some of the financially successful ventures we have.

4. Rose City. This is my home. I always wanted a tattoo to pay homage to the town that raised me. This marks my exodus Portland and the good things about it that I hold dear. Having left my home town has given me a breadth of perspective on people, trials, and tribulations that I would never otherwise have gotten.

At the time of getting these tattoos, I never imagined they'd have such longevity. Their connection to the ideas I now associate them with is entirely accidental, and I am lucky for it. I really thought I'd be sick of them by now and getting them lasered off so that I look like an impetigo victim rather than a chooser of shitty tattoos. I was in a bit of a phase where I really didn't give a shit about myself and what I did. Now that I do care more, I wouldn't change a damn thing.

Those who got tattoos on boats and in barracks in World War II are so lucky to have marked such an era on their skin. It was truly amazing, particularly in hindsight. Mine are downright rubbish in comparison, but still, they're mine.

This isn't my any means an evocation to go get tattooed. My point is about judgment. Even the simplest of human drones have layers behind them that make them who they are. And maybe these layers didn't even have meaning until decades after they were formed. Right now, sediment doesn't matter. It blows about every which way, getting in my eyes while I run and causing havoc. In thousands of years (provided North Korea hasn't blown our little blue planet to bits) today's sediment will hold history. Today, nothing seems what it will tomorrow.

*I now drink like a fish and love it.

O'Japan: Mother, Teacher, Secret Lover

2009-08-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

Opening scene: Japan and America sit at the kitchen table together, sipping hot coffee. America has quite a long face, and stares into its coffee cup longingly.

America: "Gee, I'm in quite a pickle."

Japan: "Well, why's that? Ask me anything, chances are, I've had the experience and know-how to fix the problem. My economy has been evolving for about for a seven hundred years."

Japan: "Except for that one time...when you told me a better method of manufacturing cars and then I took over the auto industry...you were just too slow on that one."

America: "Right, well my people really liked to buy giant cars, and I'd like to forget about that bit because it directly correlates to said pickle."

Japan: "Then don't we want to talk about it?"

America: "No. It'll work itself out."

America: "Anyway, I kinda got a little loose on lending and my banking system lent loads of people money to buy houses and take out home equity loans that they really couldn't afford. And they aren't saving any money for themselves on top of that. Now they've figured it out and aren't spending anything! What do I do?

Japan: "Why the hell didn't you ask me before you got loose on loans, you little tart?"

America: "I just...I didn't know! I thought I'd be okay! I am immortal you know, since Bretton Woods, the dollar is all powerful."

Japan: "Ugh, yes, that fucked us quite well. Let's save that verbal whipping for another time. I digress..."

Queue Disney-ish orchestra for Japan's monologue.

Japan: "You see, America, there once was a time, in the late 1980s when I too got a bit lax on lending. Condo prices in Tokyo rose to exorbitant levels - some of them were available for over a hundred thousand dollars per square foot! People couldn't afford them, eventually got wise to this, stopped saving and stopped spending. You see, that's what happens when you let people spend money that they don't actually have. They do catch on eventually and the repercussions are vast. My dear Nikkei crashed in the early 1990s, never to full recover. I entered a period of great sadness and stagnation called ushinawareta jūnen. Still, I have yet to fully recover from this. The fact is that my people will never be able to behave the way that they once did, I had let them loose, I had let them run wild with greed and excitement...truly this is not they way human kind may operate. Ultimately, I had to give free cash to some of my companies that were too big to fall, some economists called me a 'a losers' paradise' for this. I only began to lift, albeit a slight and slow lift, from this recession when I stopped giving free money to these low-lifes and suffered my own consequences."

Japan looks at America, America is slumped over its chair drooling.

Japan: "Wake up you asshole! I'm trying to give you a road map to success! Learn the lessons I didn't have, from me, NOW! And you'll be a hero!"

America: "Huh wah, ahhhhhh! It's time for Dancing with the Stars! Hey, but before I go, I've got all these cars I need to get rid of...you want some?"

Japan: "No, I make my own, and they're better. Y'know, you might try to stop outsourcing and make some of your own goods on your own soil. Service economies don't typically survive without massive inflation."

America: "That's cool, but um, it sounds hard. I think some of the companies I gave loads of free money too are going to start hiring people again, what do you think?"

Japan: "I don't think that's gonna work. They've learned to operate on a leaner staff, that makes their shareholders happy, they aren't going to hire anyone back unless you force jobs to be created for them - like manufacturing jobs."

America: "My people like to sit at desks and make jokes about sitting at desks."

Japan: "Stop outsourcing."

America: "Mmm...maybe next year. I'll think about it."

Japan: "You'll learn why this is important when you're older."

America: "Whatever, you don't know me."

America flips hair and rolls eyes.

Japan: "Fine, you think that. Some day, we'll be best of friends."

America: "I'm gonna go play with China, later."

Japan: "I'm gonna go study world economic history and geopolitics for a while. History always repeats itself."

The curtain closes.

Something I dislike more than Twitter: Heidi and Spencer

2009-08-14T16:07:00.000-07:00

There is only one thing that rivals my distaste for Twitter and it is known on the interweb as "Speidi". In fact I think...wait. I may hate it more. let me check...

- Ruining society by false ideals: check
- Ruining society with poor communication methods: check
- Cheapening people: check
- Slutting up your wife for your own fantasies and personal gain...

Twitter can't do that.

Uh oh, that means WE HAVE A WINNER!

Spencer and Heidi are officially my most disliked (I shan't say hated because that's just cruel and cheap) person/place/thing in 2009.

The duo is so contrived it makes my diaphragm slam violently against my stomach as a dry heave. I prepare to push my hair out out of the way and make haste for the toilet, but success doesn't quiet come. If any of us non-rich attempted such a coupling it would be social acrobatics, a stunt that only training and perfect execution could accomplish.

Here's the sticky wicket with these two: they're hypocrites to the Nth degree. The worst kind of hypocrites as well! Young, wealthy, and overly empowered by their publicists and PR people. They have no wisdom or sense of what wrinkle in time they're creating.

Aside from a point I've harped on before in my blogs, that celebrity can easily be bought and paid for in the good ol' USA, I guess what really yanks my chain on today is this:

Jesus' lamb gets naked and rolls around in the sand.

The overt Christianity of this couple has been a bit disturbing to me. Not just because of it, of course, but because of things like the link above. Of course the Bible never said that "ye shan't take noodz" or anything of the sort, but sooooooooooooooooweee! Maybe um, "ye shan't take professional photographers take noodz of your wife for financial gain."

I will say, Heidi has gotten progressively good at rolling around in the dirt semi-nude. That's a skill I haven't gotten to try my hand, or tits, at it yet.

Bikini + Beach + Sticky dirt = Heidi Montag Music Video.

I'm just sayin'.

Epic Win: The Destruction of Twitter

2009-08-06T22:54:00.000-07:00

Please allow me to just out myself for a moment: I am a Twitter hater. I lovingly refer to it as "Twatter". As in, "oh he's such a twat." Yes, that kind of spicy reference to female genitals and how they translate into personality traits. Yes, I'm saying that Twitter is eligible for such a personification.

I've tried it, oh yes, I've dabbled. It has the sharp sting of meth, and the quick readily available highs of the same drug. Dog the Bounty Hunter should be going after Twitter like like Oprah going after a luscious baked ham.

Too many people it has the same effect and they weave it into their lives like such an addiction. There is a bit of a high when one gets a text from someone they fancy, or a phone call. I call it a "phoner" (phone + boner = phoner). But Twitter, oh it's so much faster and so much voluminous.

What's worse is that some people that are addicted to it aren't people at all - they are journalists. CNN has a particularly ugly and "inyaface" addiction to Twitter. Some asshole producer thought it a fine tool to delete actual news finding a research tool. It's different than going out in the street and getting people's opinions. They are myriad, they can be cherry picked to reflect a particular demographic and they are anonymous.

Immediately after Walter Cronkite died, MSNBC aired a montage of his life. Many of these clips included his opinions on the profession of journalism and its future. As we all know, Cronkite believed it was important to be trusted. He believed it was imperative to deliver valuable and truthful coverage. He had producers behind him that he trusted every step of the way to give him real and useful information to the American public - therefore giving him the fantastical and godlike slogan "the most trusted man in America."

Most striking to me during this montage of a life that frankly, I'm pretty jealous of, was a reference to modern journalism's failure to be poignant and honest. It is the antithesis of everything he was and everything he stood for. Just as you can buy a $500,000 car to get a DUI in, you can buy journalistic reporting. Or you can just totally bastardize it and let the American public do it for you, anonymously, in snippets of 140 characters...like CNN prefers.

Twitter is a shitty excuse for socialization, but at least that wouldn't risk harming and misinforming an entire nation. I wish I could say that this medium got its big journalistic notoriety kickstart to it's heart around the beginning of the Iran election crisis, but that's not true. CNN was letting it in it's proverbial house to shit all over its rug far before that.

I'm sure that 75% of viewers are aware of what Twitter snippets and Facebook statuses are opinions. Unfortunately, I believe that ultimately news must be read and disseminated by a trusted source. There just aren't any anymore. Accountability was sold off to advertisers and Nielsen ratings long ago. Producers and editors, meh, they're just the ticket takers at the gate to the circus.

So today, I celebrate this defaultly anonymous DoS attack on Twitter. You stopped them in their tracks, you lovely hacktastic hacker that did this. Sometimes, in order to restore natural order, the infringing invisible hand must be eliminated. Bringing bullshit to its knees is a glorious thing.

Camp Quest and My History with Religion

2009-07-27T23:14:00.000-07:00

I am an underrepresented, hated, and "ill" minority in the United States.

Republicans even hate me more than they hate illegal immigrants.

I have been kicked out of homes, commissioned to conversion, and would never be elected president by today's public.

I am white, hold a college degree, and live in a "nice" part of LA (when the meth heads have abandoned their post on our street, anyway).

I am an atheist.

I didn't set out to become an atheist - I just am. I didn't want to get the world's panties in a bunch and make people uncomfortable (though now I've kind of become accustomed to it and a bit fond of the activity). I never imagined that I would be able to go to work and listen to others speak of church while I couldn't talk about my, um, non-church (which would contain reading the Economist and working out).

It never occurred to me to believe in a god until one day when I was five years-old. I was playing with the twin girls that lived across the street from me. They were in possession of the backyard envy of the entire neighborhood - a trampoline. We were bouncing about on it, having a grand old time due to being five years-old and not giving a shit about anything except the next kool-aid serving. Then one of the girls asked me, "do you believe in god?"

I pondered this a moment. Such a question had never been asked of me. My tiny little logic feelers then asked this question to determine the answer to the question in front of me: "can you imagine what god is?" My answer to myself was a firm "no".

"No, I don't." I replied and continued my bounc-a-thon.

She then tore off across the yard and into the house screaming for her mother.

"Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmm!!!! Asta doesn't believe in gaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwd!"

Their mother promptly drug me out of the house and across the street, plopping my ass down on my front porch. I don't believe she even explained to my mother what the issue was. Though later on I was told that she felt I was a "bad influence" because I liked The Simpsons.

At that moment, I became the target of conversion for every Christian in the neighborhood.

Nary a Friday at school passed without a local girl asking me if I would like to join them at Kiwanas or other variety of church group that coming Sunday. Feeling uncomfortable, and a bit like caged animal getting prodded with a hot poker pushed into the giant meat churner, I repeatedly declined.

Then I decided to ask my father, "what religion should I be?"

"Whatever you want. Research them, decide if anything is interesting to you."

So I did, nothing seemed interesting. It all seemed like, well, bullshit.

I couldn't understand why any large number of people would live their lives by something unprovable and would hate others that didn't agree. It seemed dumb.

I suppose it was inevitable, but at age 16 I was prompted by a cute boy (who was a devout Christian) to conduct the ultimate experiment and test of atheism: going to church regularly for a year.

At this point I legitimately wanted to believe in god. I came to think that life would be much easier if I didn't have to rely on myself all the time, but could blame things on and rely on god instead.

It didn't work. After one year of weekly church attendance (occasionally bi-weekly for some kind of phony Jesus-y basketball practice), I realized I had to get out of there as quickly as possible. I was defrauding perfectly honest and well-meaning people. I didn't believe in god. No matter how hard I tried, I absolutely could not bring myself to have faith in the magical man upstairs whom no one has ever seen or can prove existence of beyond "um the bible".

So I abandoned ship, never to consider such a thing as religion ever again.

I very much wish that my childhood had been a less cumbersome battle with being an atheist. Truthfully, a minority that most neighborhood parents couldn't begin to explain to their children. Gay you can explain. A difference race, of course. A different linguistic background? No problem. But atheism was impossible for the families in our neighborhood to stomach, let alone comprehend.

For faiths that claim to be open and accepting, I found them to be anything but. I felt alienated. It's not polite to bring up religion in conversation, but I wasn't necessarily good at biting my tongue when someone around me said something I found offensive to my sensibilities and logic. I pissed off a lot of people by being open about my atheism as a child and an adolescent. I'm still doing it right now...to some of you...probably.

A great sense of relief washed over me, like many a broken levee, when I read an article in the Economist about Camp Quest. Camp Quest is what I so needed and longed after as a child - the secular answer to bible camp.

Camp Quest means that kids like me don't have to exist alone and sheltered. Knowing that we are in on something big, that everyone else seems to be ignoring. We feel disbelief that "I'm really the only one that thinks this?". It's not true, kids, you're not the only one.

About Camp Quest.

I'd like to think that my parents did the best they could to create a compost heap of fertile fact and logic brewing organisms for me. But if I had kids today, they'd spend as much time as possible at this camp. If not just to know that they aren't alone, but to learn that they aren't as wrong as the world wants them to believe.

Health Care Reform is the Space Program of My Generation

2009-07-22T20:04:00.000-07:00

When I was two years-old, my father was diagnosed Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Two months before being diagnosed, he was offered a job at Nike. He didn't take it. He had no idea at the time, but taking it would have meant bankruptcy for my family. My dad survived to deal with over $150,000 in medical bills. This was in the early 1980s. At this time, healthcare insurance was just beginning to be reorganized into a corporate structure.

I take a pretty simplistic approach to most political, economic, and operational problems: if the current system does not operate logically, it must be inherently flawed. Any system that is incentivized or otherwise manipulated by visible hand, is inherently flawed.

The "mortgage crisis" is a prime example of this. There was no logic in the creation of these loans and they were bad. There was no logic in why or how the hell a customer service rep in my company making $35,000 a year could purchase a $500,000 home. But she did. (She no longer has this home, she lives in an apartment like the rest of us middle class "fuck the man" folk).

Of course another, not quite as inyaface example is the healthcare system. I don't understand how my own health insurance works. I have it, but it doesn't do much good. Each doctor's visit ends up costing me around $50, even if it's to check out a wicked sore throat that I was sure was like Alien growing inside my larynx.

President Obama's speech tonight was immediately criticized for not giving much information.

MY ASS.

Obama's identified the number one culprit: unregulated and unaccountable profit generating, shareholder-having, health insurance companies. I don't believe this has been so clearly said before this. Additionally, Obama's administration and varying task forces have actually constructed several plans. Only two of which are at the edge of the cliff, one may possibly fall into acceptance.

The Clinton task force didn't get that far. All Hillary and here minions were trying to do was come up with ONE plan.

The last president to attempt such a feat was Harry Truman. He was called a communist for wanting to insure every American. A decade later, care for the sick by a federal entity was cemented in public knowledge as a necessity. Private insurance would take care of the wealthy. This federal plan said nothing of those that were healthy and uninsured. At this point, healthcare costs were 4.5% of the US national gross domestic product.

Another decade later, in the 1960s, 700 health insurance companies found a niche in the marketplace and started taking hold of hospitals, doctors, and society.

View a timeline of American healthcare here.

Really, deregulated corporate private healthcare insurance is a relatively young system and concept - only fifty years-old.

President Obama is faced with a situation that neither presidents Truman or Clinton had to: He has an economy broken by greed and unaccountability and a mass of Americans with no spending power. In other words, he has a huge fucking wealth gap.

The President realizes that this wealth gap is affecting our deficit. Healthcare costs now make up 17% of our national gross domestic product. So to those of you that wonder why no one whined about healthcare in 1950, it's because it was one-quarter the size of the current blood engorged tumor that is the American healthcare system.

View stats on healthcare costs here.

This absolute financial and (often) emotional misery of the American people may just be what he needs to push us over into the world of accepting a nationalized healthcare program and beginning, in baby steps, to implement it.

Finding a way to lessen the percentage of income Americans spend on healthcare is not a luxury, it is a necessity. Just as the space program was a necessity for technological advancement and staking a claim on the big-boy-pants in geopolitics, healthcare is necessary to make American citizens feel safe and thusly put their best foot forward. We're scared shitless right now. We can't change jobs if we wanted to, we can't afford COBRA if we get laid off, we can't get in a car accident even if we have insurance. Government regulation of health insurance firms is necessary to curb greed and increase accountability, in this case, that would improve American morale and desire to spend significantly.

I know it's cliche, but it still gives me chills, the JFK moon speech:

"We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too."

America then lead the world in technological innovation because it did achieve this goal. Kennedy didn't want us to go to the moon because then we could all chest bump each other and yell "woo yay, we're big men now because we did it first"! He wanted us to go to the moon for all that we would learn along the way. The world forever looked different to people like my father, who as a budding engineer, watched the Apollo 11 launch from his living room in Oregon. It had hope and intrigue.

Healthcare reform is fucking hard. The benefit of going through with it isn't just to do it because it looks pretty in Europe. The benefit comes when Americans have a renewed faith in their country and government and they are less fearful of any slight employment change, or even of having minor and necessary surgery. Less fear means more spending.

This may be one of the largest infrastructure changes American society will ever make. As a nation, we tend to not make major advancements that won't make some major geopolitical shift in our favor. At this moment, however, a growing deficit could impact geopolitics and our global economic standing. Now's our time to shine, kids. This healthcare pill ain't gonna be a pleasant one to swallow, but shit howdy, it'll feel good when it kicks in.

American Kids are Bad at Math due to Speidi

2009-07-18T23:17:00.000-07:00

I think it was sometime around age nineteen, I realized something awful about my future that was awful only because it is contradictory to anything any nineteen year-old in generations before mine has had to think:
I will never be as well off as my parents.

I was probably sitting in managerial accounting or some other benign business school practice, when I realized that college didn't guarantee my future whatsoever. There were too many people around me. I wasn't special. In order to be valuable, I had to be obviously special. If the supply of me was low and valuable, my demand would be high. This is why being super hot is awesome - not many of us are super hot and demand for such a feature is very very high (not just from Joe Francis).

For most of you reading this, I know this is probably a very juvenile revelation. In terms of socioeconomic epiphanies, it's analogous to the toddler dropping his food from his towering high chair to torture his mom and learn how gravity works.
Nevertheless, it has its place. Follow me, will you?

In the last few years, there has been an epidemic of really shitty TV shows about rich kids that haven't done a damn thing to become rich (i.e. The Hills). But they can be famous because their parents are rich and they are rich by proxy (and can hire a publicist and agent) and good looking (i.e. have time and money to spend on a personal trainer, stylist, and plastic surgery).

Heidi and Spencer have become an icon of celebrity that can be bought like a college education.

Upon witnessing these frivilous (and possibly secretly brilliant) wildebeasts of silicone and bleach, the wheels began to turn in the little noggins of those currently betwixt the agents of twelve and twenty. Subconciously, realizing the reason that the economy is falling down all around them is through no fault of their own and thusly they cannot fix it. They, too, silently realizing that they will never be able to work hard enough to be as well off as their parents. All the while seeing a few individuals stay on the top of the steaming capitalism heap: celebrities.

These are middle class kids. Kids whose parents are better off than their grandparents, because they worked hard and got an education. Sorry, but thanks to outsourcing and the widening wealth gap, that doesn't pay the bills anymore. You have to be REALLY special to be better off than your parents. You have to be a celebrity.
The money is out there for a non-rich kid to invest in becoming a celebrity. It costs roughly $5,000 - $10,000 per month to hire a PR firm and/or publicist to manage your media appearances. Add in a personal trainer, stylist, and someone to help you pretend that you have talent and we're proably into about $15,000 per month. Really, in terms of what's available via credit card and other shenanigans you can pull in LA, that's not a lot. It's cheaper than college.

I fervently believe that this is the reason for American youth obsession with celebrity and shunning of education. Don't expect your kids to want an education, they have been quietly trained to see that they will not be better off than you, they will not even be as well off as their grandparents. For most of them, it sadly doesn't seem like it's worth following the American rules of success. The Heidi and Spencer method is so much more effective...and shiny.

Bruno: Exposing Bigotry One Flacid Dick at a Time

2009-07-18T23:16:00.001-07:00

Please consider these questions and answer them without "gay" clouding your thought process.

Have you ever met a man that dresses only in plastic ?

Have you ever met a man that travels with a "fuck machine"?

Have you ever met a man who felches?

Have you ever met a man with a fetish of watching other men clean a toilet with the brush attached to their face?

If you answered "yes" to any of these, then I'd very much like to meet this mystical indivdual and have many libations with them. Assuming, however, that you answered "no" to all of them, I'd like you then to plant this fact in your head: zero percent of people I've ever met feature the characteristics above. However, ten percent of the population (give or take in a metropolitan place) is homosexual.

So um, a duh, homosexuals don't possess the characteristics above.

These characteristics are exotic, a stereotype, distracting, and a very easy and upsetting-to-middle-rural-America illustration of a gay man. And of course, they are things that make up Sacha Baron Cohen's martyr of a character "Bruno".

The film depicts in a fucking hilarious and equally impactful light, the bigotry that gays experience primarily in rural America. Sure, he's shoving it in their face, just to see how much they can take. Just to see what they'd really do if they met the fictional gay man that they all imagine is roaming San Francisco, trying to fuck male mammal with an asshole and trying to put everything within in his own.

As it turns out, they don't much care for this fellow. Even though he's not real, any of us that have ever met or spent time with a gay person know that this is a character - straight or gay. But they were convinced that he was a real example of a gay man, and they acted accordingly: like obnoxious rednecks.

There are many times in this film where Cohen could have been seriously injured or killed. Not by a stunt, but by other humans that were so offended by his gay-ity that they were prepared to attack and seriously harm him. In one scene, while making out with his assistant/lover, a chair was thrown in their direction barely missing them (I won't ruin it for you).

Humans are instinctively frightened by that which they do not understand and have never been exposed to. Even though he wasn't portraying a realistic gay man, he had to create a sensationalized version of one in order to be unignorable. Thus all the hubbub and anger towards Bruno.

Sacha Baron Cohen is a hero for not only being a comedic genius, but being able to show the world exactly what it's like to be hated for being a homosexual in America.

Fathers, don't let your daughters grow up to date rich men

2009-07-18T23:10:00.000-07:00

Almost a year ago now, I was on an online dating escapade through Los Angeles. Really, it's what started this whole blogging thing I do from time to time. My experiences were wretched and I began routinely informing my mother that she was not going to have grandchildren.

"I hope you're okay with that mom, 'cause it just ain't gonna happen. These men are all assholes."

My understanding and forthright mother lovingly replied, "that's fine, you do whatever you need to do."

I was stuck with the awkward combination, Iraq and "a hard place", you might say if you like Hot Shots Part Deux references. Being a transplant in LA, with no friends to get a footing on new relationships, an intense desire for all this dating bullshit to just be over, and father dreaming that I'd do what he didn't and just marry wealthy. It was ugly.

I learned two things:

1. There is such a thing as too much sex

2. I hate rich men

I certainly selected my online dates by money. Online was a place in which I could ascertain one's financial power immediately. I didn't have to poke around about it and ferret it out, it was right there in front of me. It was a really shitty filter.

One of these men drove a Maserati and took me to a Kings game and sat me down in the second row. It was horribly boring. I left thinking, "I tried dating an exceedingly rich man in my age range. Conclusion: they think their wealth makes up for not having a personality. Thumbs down."

I went on to go on many more dates with income being a factor in my initial contact with all of them. I soon came to realize that this wealth, combined with being under age 35, guaranteed three things:

1. They would have sex with me

2. They wouldn't have a personality

3. They would never speak to me again

Poppycock, this was. (Actually, my sentiment was more like "waaaaaaaah I hate myself, what is wrong with me, I am a horrible person, I am a useless human being.)

As with most upsetting things that aren't of massive implications to one's life, time made this clearer and funnier. Helping this along was a conversation I had with a highly ranking member of the legal community in Los Angeles (read: old while guy).

"One of my daughters married wealthy...and the other just won't." He touted in our meeting.

"Oh my...only let your daughter get married if she's going to marry someone wealthy!"

My "I'm a work" filter immediately clicked off. I was pissed off by this great deal of ignorance. Clearly, the young rich men of today are not the young rich men of yore (no shit, right?).

"You know, I spent a great deal of time trying to date rich men. They aren't all that interested in getting hitched is the problem."

I received no response but a, "oh you're silly" type chuckle. This happens a lot. I'm like Lisa Simpson.

Though my anger was quelled, because I realized I'd answered my own longstanding conundrum:

The rich young men of today are dicks because their trophies are different. Their trophies are not a beautiful wife and family or a stable career - it's partying the fuck out of Orange County or whatever rich suburb and doing jaeger bombs and fucking girls from CSUN.

They'd be fine upstanding young citizens if you were simply a friend of theirs, but as a woman, they're your enemy.

Epilogue:

I since conjured up a real gem of a boyfriend whom I met in a bar. We live together now. It's wonderful. We have a modest income. We drink Stolichnaya vodka, but we're not quite Grey Goose people. For fun, we go to pawn shops and fantasize about socialism.

Do you Wanna See Me Even Though you Fucked Me Already?

2009-07-06T20:44:00.000-07:00

This chart assumes the following:

1. You're female
2. You met a fella in a bar / club of some drunkenly "fun" variety
3. You slept with him that night
4. You contacted him with your mobile device within 1 - 5 days afterwards
5. You didn't say some loony shit such as "I'm in love with you", "I want to have your babies", "I think we were meant to be", etc.

moar funny pictures

October 27th: France Will Read its Scientology Verdict

2009-06-30T23:56:00.001-07:00

Though it was not reported in any major news outlet in the United States (yet again), the Scientology trial ended in France on June 15th. A verdict will be read on October 27th. The two entities of the French Church of Scientology are the Paris headquarters and the bookstore.

I feel I must apologize for not originally including this in my blog posted on June 27th titled "Scientology Goes on Trial in France, America is Unaware". I stupidly thought that I should not have to search French publications in order to find this information. My thought process was as follows: "surely if the announcement of the trial was mentioned in Time and on the BBC, any major developments in the trial would be mentioned there as well." I was wrong. The Church of Scientology appears to be making great efforts to keep information about this trial off of American soil and out of American brains, as in the United States, Scientology is still classified as a religion.

Many countries (high fives all around everybody on the list below) have disallowed the Church of Scientology from being classified as a religion:

* Belgium
* Germany
* France
* Greece (though there is no formal mechanism that allows an institution to be classified as a religion in Greece)
* Kazakhstan (hold your Borat jokes, these fuckers know what's up)
* Russia
* Switzerland
* United Kingdom

The only country that has made major strides in discouraging activities of the Church of Scientology is Kazakhstan. They have been classified as an organization that poses a threat to national security. In February 2009, the Kasakh national prosecutor began to seek disbandment of the Church of Scientology. In a statement made by Kazakh Prosecutor General's Office, "Kazakh nation's health through inflicting harm on people's psychic and physical health". Click here for the Wikipedia article.

The bummer about Kazakhstan is that the dissolution, elimination, or "threat to national security" status, doesn't really matter to the Church of Scientology. Kazakhstan doesn't have a lot of money or bitchin' celebrities. The Church of Scientology, with its 8 million members worldwide, doesn't need the net financial gain of its Kazahk operations.

In France and, perish the religious freedom infringing thought - the United States - it would be a very different story. The Church of Scientology has much, much, more to lose in these wealthy and Scientologist dense countries.

In closing arguments on June 15th, French prosecutor Maud Coujard urged the court to return with a guilty verdict and a charge to dissolve the Church of Scientology in the nation of France.

France would be the first affluent nation to demolish the Church of Scientology. This Paris court holds in its hands the opportunity to begin the ruination of the Church of Scientology in the western world, which has been historically (okay, in the last fifty years) very friendly to "freedom of religion". This issue ultimately brings into question: "what is the difference between tithing spirituality and selling belief and knowledge?"

In my opinion, there has been, but there may never again be a difference.

Scientology Goes on Trial in France, America is Unaware

2009-06-27T20:43:00.000-07:00

On May 25th, ten of the Church of Scientology's French leaders went on trial. The ten of them, this time around, are defending against evidence and allegations that the Church of Scientology is a financially driven organization and non a non-profit church. The accusation specifically is that generates revenue by convincing psychologically depressed and disadvantaged individuals that they are in need of very costly spiritual healing and counseling session. This is known as "auditing".

This trial was planned to be over by June 17th. I've been waiting like a little rich kid waits for Christmas, but so far, there is no new information. I can't believe there haven't even been papparazzi swarming the exterior of the courthouse, if possible, I'd develop a blog dedicated strictly do this. Oh, that'd be glorious.

The lure of Scientology is understandable. For one, it has massive celebrity endorsement. And then it promises to not only provide such luxuries and niceties that they celebrities live in and possess, but to have complete mental healing. Elimination of all depression and anxieties - wow...what a fine target demo.

Scientologists have been on trial in France for similar allegations five times since 1978 to now. 1978 was L. Ron Hubbard himself. He was found guily of vulgar fraud. Specifically, the defrauding and taking money from individuals, promising them health and wealth by going through the auditing program.

So as I sit here, on the edge of my seat (alright I'm in bed right now, to be fair), wondering just what the fate of Scientology in France will be. I suspect that the trial will end just as pappa L. Ron's did in 1978. The prosecution has two key witnesses. One of which was scammed out of $27,000 in two months.

The result of a "guilty" verdict would be fines and possible prison time. Best of all (and this is my giant birthday present that I'm hoping to get to tear into and enjoy) is that the Church of Scientology would be banned from doing business and existing as an entity at all in the nation of France.

France is clearly a far more secular nation than the United States. However, Americans have gestated andincreasingly profound distaste for Scientology. Perhaps, as strong as that disgust France has and may take action on. Thank you, South Park, Tom Cruise, and The Celebrity Center.

Perhaps, France will pave the way for other nations (fingers crossed foolishly for the U.S.A.) to ban Scientology as well. Even better, perhaps the veil of spirituality will be lifted from other major profit driven religions. If not for judicial systems to take action, but for individuals to express lessened demand on their own.

Praise be to MJ

2009-06-25T16:16:00.001-07:00

It is tragic that a man's life ends at the age of fifty.

It is far more tragic that the man who died spent his entire life entertaining a planet; and he will likely be remembered just as much for his failures and potentially criminal behavior as he will the joy he brought the world.

I don't know if Michael Jackson is guilty of being a pederast, or if he was in fact extremely confused an unsure of social norms. Someone that is confused cannot be mentally ill or a criminal.

Though none of us can argue that he was a magnificent and charismatic performer. In order to be such a thing, one must be dedicated, talented, and instinctual.

No one can disagree that Michael Jackson gave us something to talk about, whether it was something he wanted talked about or not. He changed the world artistically and socially. I think deep down, that's something we all wish we could accomplish.

Praise be to MJ.

Romantic Love vs. Marriage: the Eternal Struggle for Juiciness

2009-06-24T22:14:00.000-07:00

Today the following article was posted on Salon.com:

Why your marriage sucks by Amanda Fortini

A good article. Completely relevant for the times. No doubt partially prompted by Jon and Kate Plus 8, making their dissolution from reality TV cash-cows to divorcees trying to tip-toe their affairs and new mating strategies around their children. It's kind of like hiding mentally destructive candy from them, you know, like the lithium in your medicine cabinet.

Where this article hits the g-spot is in its acknowledgment that the idea of romance must adjust for the times. However, it seemed to apply that the institution of marriage is no longer sustainable at all. It's another nuisance, or property, created by popular culture.

Let's not forget that this aspect of culture, the marriage fantasy, was first created by religion then perpetuated by popular culture. A popular culture that has not, by any stretch of the imagination updated it's concept of romance and romantic love.

Romance cannot be perceived and treated as a gateway to the unsustainable and mundane illustration of marriage: shuttling the kids around, distribution of chores, etc.

I say this a lot. It's probably infuriating by this point: without the proper genesis, any relationship is doomed.

In this case, romance must stem from the realization that you've found the "one" not because you've just found it and you want it. To have an to hold and to procreate with and from whence to take your legal tender from. That gets old for one party, or both, very fucking quickly.

To truly, enjoy, relish, and adore the person you've chosen you spend you life with you absolutely must know what other ill-fitting individuals lurk out there in the giant polluted "sea of fish".

Enter, the "love process".

1. Boy meets girl in an academic or church setting
2. Boy and girl graduate from academic setting (continue going to church, if applicable)
3. Girl wants to have babies
4. Boy wants to inherit mom and dad's money and prove to them that he's not gay
5. Boy and girl get married
6. Girl has baby

The love process never used to have the "sea of fish" stop along the way. It went straight from high school or college to marriage. A marriage in which the female was effectively financially enslaved and her uterus became gestation-land. This stop, of investigating the repulsive sea of fish, didn't exist in pop culture and wasn't at all socially acceptable. This would de-virginize the female, either figuratively or literally.

Here is the "love process" today.

1. Boy fucks lots of girls, has no intent of staying with any of them, wants to play video games
2. Girl fucks lots of boys, has every intent of staying with every last one of them. Gets very upset. Loses faith in boys.
3. Girl and boy get angry. Lose touch with humanity. Begin academic or other professional pursuits.
4. Girl and boy meet in random social setting. No rhyme or reason for this whatsoever.
5. Girl and boy are wary of each other. Have developed major insecurities.
6. Work through said insecurities / bullshit, get married. Have much more reasonable relationship, involving romance and being humbly grateful that they no longer must exist in the insufferable "sea of fish".

When the love process was modernized and began to show itself in pop culture, the social reaction to step 2 was "ugh, that slut!". That hasn't much changed.

I'm proposing that "being the slut" for a while, fucking the fish in the sea to test out what's good and what's bad, is a necessary part of the love process. Without it, one will truly never know what true love, with sustainable romantic qualities, feels like and how it applies to your own life.

Romantic love used to be an ideal, told to us by magazines and our parents, thusly being something we wanted to live up to. We were disappointed in ourselves if we didn't - we were shamed. This is still what it is. But it's up to us as a fucked up non-mapped generation dealing with a world that isn't what we thought it was supposed to be. We thought it would be affluent, we thought we'd be better off than our parents. There is no conceivable economic way that is possible as of preset. This of course fucks with relationships quite a bit too. We must create and adap to new idea (not an ideal) of what romantic love is and what it can be.

It is not the same to everyone. Romantic love cannot be prescribed and it shouldn't be harnessed. You have to create it on your own and it will probably be borne from awful mistakes and lessons learned from those mistakes. Apply this learning from fucking up and every day you'll say to yourself, "jesus christ, I'm glad I tested this shit theory out on someone else."

I'm the winner! Salon.com thinks I'm legitimate.

2009-06-24T19:44:00.000-07:00

I received an Editor's Pick on Salon.com.

I pat myself vigorously on the back and now I shall toast myself with a splendid glass of scotch.

Check it out here:
I'm Saving my Anus for Marriage

xoxo
Asta

Cock on the Brain: Do You Got It?

2009-06-21T21:27:00.000-07:00

A while ago, Jab, Trixie, her significant-personal-trailer-roommate fellow were watching the upstanding Nicholas Cage film The Rock. At the time the film came out, I recall being interested in it as a reflection of my father's interest in anything military/explosion/biological warfare related. I was trying to impress him. Though now as I've grasped reality and some common themes of what make movies "un-mockable", it's quite easy to use American macho flicks as the butt of many jokes. So we embarked on a MST3K like journey through watching the movie.

Though most jokes ended up being about dick.

Many of mine and Trixie's jokes were about some unbelievably good fellatio. I guess we'd like to think we give it, but we aren't sure. Well she's sure. She's received ovations (yes, in the actual meaning of the word, not with semen). I am a little less sure of my skills, however.

After leaving, Jab commented that Trixie and I talked more about dong than any other women he'd ever known. I guess I'd never thought about that. I just joked about that which I felt I didn't have power over, but wanted to. Yes, this is a self-deprecating thing again.

He said that he didn't know any males that talked about vagina in the same disposable manner that Trixie and I talked about penises.

I'm guessing this is because we greatly detest the abundance of times we've been treated as disposable. It's the only way to cope with it.

Jab is a very open minded fellow. I'm not saying that this discussion was at all double standard. I don't think that at all. I think I had somehow considered myself an elite female that was willing to make dick jokes. I don't know why the fuck that makes me special, it doesn't.

I had never pondered this either. Is this strange? All females I know are willing to speak of the male genitals in a frank and deconstructive manner. Do you?

Obviously this question is unanswered. How do you talk about phalluses? Do you? At all?

Hey Amnesty international, you can thank me for the free advertising later.

Adventures in Poverty: Being a Twenty-Something in a Shit Economy

2009-06-16T20:29:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago Jab and I sat at a table/grill in a Korean BBQ eatery, stuffing our guts with delicious marinated meats. Oh the $16 all you can eat carnivorous bonanza was delightful. Though it occurred to me, spending this $16 was now a rarity. Despite this, he said to me, "We're the richest people we know." Even though a $16 meal is a luxury, yes, it's true. We are the richest people we know*.

I used to regularly, albeit stupidly, spend $30 per dinner by myself. Approximately seven months ago, I realized that this was no longer feasible. I'm unsure why for a period time it worked at all, but it seemed that the cost of living had crept up just stealthily enough, and jumped upon me at the right time to make me realize:

"Fuck, I gotta cheapen up right quick."

Around the same time, I was pondering the possible future of the United States' once bourgeoise status (of course, by world standards, we still have this status). We imagined that the credit crunch which would unsheath the real prick that is inflation. Those of us that had outspent and just generally over-consumed, would be forced to level out. For example: those who once lived in $2000/month apartments would be forced to downgrade to a $1200/month apartment. Or perhaps, those that once made payments of $400/month on an Audi would be forced to downgrade to a $250/month Toyota.

We also thought that the present day "working class" would go relatively unharmed. We thought that their wages were low enough, at a modest $9 to $10 per hour, would stay in tact. Though their cost of living may be adversely affected by credit caused inflation. This is credit that we all have, it has caused inflation. Yes.

Mine and Jeremy's third economic prediction was that communal living would become a necessity for the alleged "working class". Basically the working class is just the normal folk who were unable to afford to go to college and did not believe that taking on twenty to fifty thousand dollars in debt to get a degree. Regardless of whether or not you think that is foolish, it's just a fact that exists. Let's move on.

So here I sit on my comfortable leather couch, with my cable TV, my cushy job, all my food, paid off car, liquor, clothing, and of course most valuable - knowing where my next paycheck will come from.

Most evenings, a friend of mine and Jab's sleeps on our couch. As of Saturday, we may be opening our doors to two other friends who do not make enough money to pay for a deposit on an apartment. They are from Japan, have questionable employment papers, and do not quite have the language skills to work elsewhere.

I feel guilty enough that I can't share my lovely (albeit shitty for what I pay for it) health insurance with those that I love that are uninsured. It's no problem for me, whatsoever, to open my home to individuals that work hard, and are enormously kind. I just wonder on what grand scale this phenomenon is occurring.

Here we are, communal living.

Can the government please treat the economy like a giant DSL modem (yes, this totally invokes the powers of the "on / off" switch so we can just reset and start fresh?

I know it's a pipe dream.

*In our age range. C'mon. I know some unbelievably loaded people twice my age. Though no younger than that. Oh, and they were all married at least once.

An Educational Parade through Erotica LA

2009-06-14T19:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I attended the much anticipated Los Angeles annual event: Erotica LA.

Coincidentally, the THC Convention was going on the same day. So there was plenty of weed to calm the horny that was generated in the loins of the Erotica LA attendees by porn stars gallivanting about.

But I digress.

I wasn't exactly planning to attend the event. I have a friend, who shall remain completely nameless, who works in the financial end of the industry. He invited me to attend the convention and meet his lovely business partner (who is a very well known pornographic actress though I'll leave her name out just in case).

After introducing myself, I wandered around and saw the sights for a bit. Dildo collection, stripper shoes, plastic surgery, Wicked Pictures, porn stars charging $50 to have a photo taken with them. You know, pretty much the usual.

I grabbed an exhibition guide to see what seminars would occur that afternoon. Before leaving the house, I said to Jab, "hey maybe they'll have deep throating classes." To which he lovingly replied, "ah yes...then we both win."

Lo' and behold, there was a deep throating class by the esophagially talented Nina Hartley at 3pm.

"Magnificent! I shall attend and learn this mysterious art of eliminating my natural gag reflex. Hopefully I can then shine like a dick chugging star in my own home."

Little did I know, I'd be in for an even better treat.

We returned to booth my friend's business partner was working. It was approximately 2:56 pm. I announced that I was going to scamper my school-marm looking little ass over to the deep throating seminar.

Business partner porn star said, "Oh honey! You don't need to do that. Here, I'll tell you now, it's so easy."

Get ready. Seriously. This is it.

"Just put his dick in your mouth, exhale really hard and right as you do that shove it in your throat." She spoke as thought it was as simple as changing a light bulb.

"But what about this stubborn gag reflex? It's pretty bad."

"You'll get over it. And remember, if your eyes don't water, then you don't really love him."

Hmm. Wise words. I think. I'm not sure yet. To be honest, I haven't tried it. I'll let you know when I do.

I think I admire porn stars, provided they make the most of their gallant willingness to show the world their genitals, for the same reason that I admire trannies. Many of them, do this because they feel like it. They love the industry, they love meeting people and fucking them. For many, that level of humanity is not involved. There is a great deal of desperation that jumps out and bites you from every booth at a convention like this. How do you sort out who does it for the love and who does it because they hate themselves? The answer lies in cocaine usage.

The Sexonomy

2009-06-13T12:37:00.001-07:00

Note: this is not the reason I changed the sub title of my blog to be "sexonomics". This was purely borne from a conversation I just had with Jab's best friend whilst walking to the gas station to purchase beverages. Enjoy.

moar funny pictures

Oh 'tis it Such a Crime to be Content?

2009-06-11T21:17:00.001-07:00

I've recently been accused of being "boring". Well, I guess the more "fun" days of the blog were the days when I was a near suicidal mess.

I find that or a solid 99% of my life I was discontent, uncomfortable, bitchy, miserable, and enormously self-centered to boot. This is all fine and good for going to college and creating a career. It was even better for starting this blog and writing a book. It wasn't so great for my health and general well-being. However, I find my creative energies are, well, stifled a bit now that I am happy. Many of you out there seem to be bothered by this. Soooooooo sorry I'm no longer a grumpy-pants.

I used to spend all my moments pondering why I'm pissed. My father was tremendously encouraging in my disillusionment and upset as a child.

Here's a standard scenario, a schoolyard chum perhaps pushed me over in a game of tag (the dick).

"Dad, I'm pissed."
"That's fine. If you don't wake up pissed, there's something wrong. So why are you pissed?"

At that point, it didn't matter why I was pissed. My father had been proud of me for my notion, even though it was a negative one. One that's generally unhealthy for me.

Cut to ten years later. I sat in an Embassy Suites near the airport, drunk and alone. Stressed out due to the riotous assholes I occasionally worked with. This particular day they'd pulled a real doozy on me - eliminated my marketing budget. I called my father, the only person I know that takes managerial and strategic responsibility as seriously as I do.

"Dad, I'm so stressed I can hardly breathe. My heart races and I bite my tongue."
"Why do you feel that way?"

(Notice the "why" is now the first part of the sentence).

I explained whatever budgetary story had gone on that day.

Then my father said to me, "You can't go on like that. You can't get upset by those things. You're going to turn out like me. If I hadn't quit my job, I was going to die."

Wow, what a change of tune. A lot had changed for the fellow in ten to fifteen years.

There's nothing like your father, your hero, telling you he's going to die by the force of the same weapon you're wielding into your own gut.

Though still, it took me years after that to finally become happy, content, and hopefully not on the track to dying so young. This time of utter unbelievable enjoyment of my life is really, right about now.

When I started writing this blog, I was an masterfully angry person. I knew how to harness my anger into entertainment, which many readers enjoyed. I've changed a great deal. My anger came from a number of places:

1. Having my huge ego shit upon by the whole city of Los Angeles
2. Being unaware of what my possible contribution to the world could be
3. Lacking a companion in my life whom I felt would always be there (part of my lovely afflication, "only child syndrome")

These have all been alleviated, by conscious alterations in my own psychology.

Sure, there are things about the world that upset me. Capitalism, consumer credit, ethnocentrism, religion's effect on society, those types of issues that I can't just wave a wand and fix. But god dammit, do I have some fucking ideas for them. Look for more political and economic related blogs in the future.

So, my apologies all around, for not being to mock my own sadness. For I no longer have much of it.

The Noblest Spirit Embiggens the Smallest Tweet

2009-06-11T21:06:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I decided to embark on an experimental Twitter usage. I'd been mocking the communique for months without ever having actually used it. Wrong of me, truly. I mustn't fear what I don't know. That's like being afraid of a blumpkin without knowing what it means, or trying it. Right? Right.

While I haven't much to report in terms of entertaining activity with other individuals, I will say that creatively, it's been mildly useful.

More often than not, I have comments, frustrations, queries, or just cunty things to say which can occupy the allotted 140 characters. No more, no less.

I expected much unwanted following of some creepy motherfuckers. This was my experience with Facebook. Though my follower count is extremely low on Twitter. I expect the volume of creepy motherfuckers to increase as I hold onto and use the account.

So if you're looking to see a good joke during the day or a passing through that I had about working life, sex, politics, et cetera...won't you check out my Twitter?

Twitter.com/AstaCharles

"He was the worst singer that band ever had"

2009-06-09T18:44:00.000-07:00

I've said this more than once: my life is an episode of Seinfeld.

You know the coincidental convergence of awkward events that just compound into a fusion bomb of uber awkwardness because they weren't expected and generally involve the red hot poker of shame? Yes, those kinds of things. My existence, and this blog, is effectively tile laid on my bathroom floor with vomit on it, strung together by the grout that is these incidences.

Picture last summer, will you, the Fourth of July. I find myself at a dive bar in Long Beach attempting to balance my attentions between several individuals whom I do not know. I am talking to a fellow named Josh, whom I don't know that well, but I know he has a major hetero-boner for Bruce Springsteen. Next to him, is Jab Uppercut. This was the first time I met Jab.

Jab is shithoused (what I know how to be his primo condition for joke telling and avoidance of social anxiety). He was telling a story that frankly didn't make any sense and I was attempting to get a word in to speak to Josh. I can't recall what I was trying to tell him, probably something about Obama or the Boss. They're both the bossman now. My thoughts were interrupted by Jab pointing in my general direction (though I was two feet away from him, he couldn't aim his arm all that well due to the libations) and interrupting his tirade on KROQ or whatever to exclaim, "...and you're hot..." then continuing on his verbal rape-a-thon of some poor corporate victim.

Now I know that when Jab gets drunk, he's a rather ethereal comic version of himself - a ghost if you will. He's like sitcom that ends with an orgasm rather than a moral.

I didn't think much of it because he was so intoxicated, but he pranced over to talk to me later on. He began to explain to me what he was doing with his life, which at the time was playing guitar in a band rocketing to stardom (they have since ceased rocketing as he left the band). I think he was giving me a chronology of his band memberships, at least that's what it seemed like, he and the story were losing their center of gravity.

He mentioned a band that rang a bell...a very coital bell.

"I was in This Engine Burns..."

My brain went stealthy transformed into Back to the Future Delorean mode to the year, oh I believe, 2002 or so. A year in which I was spreading my ego-laden marketing plasma all over the hardcore scene in Portland, Oregon (also known as "show booking and promoting"). I had made a sporadic practice of sleeping with members of bands whom I booked. C'mon ladies, don't say you ain't never done nothin' for the wang.

One such band happened to be, you guessed it, This Engine Burns. They had quite a striking singer named Chris. I bedded him and dyed his hair black. He had a fabulous phallus I must say, though that's one for the amorous memory 401k and this blog. I shan't worry about his wang any longer, nor did I ever speak to him again. He went back to LA and did whatever it was he did, which I'm guessing is loads of ladies.

With this firmly implanted in my mind I explained this connection in the most succint manner possible:

"HA! I totally fucked your singer years ago."

"Which one?"

"Chris."

"OH CHRIIIIIIST," Jab rolled his eyes and his entire torso in disgust, "he was the WORST singer that band ever had!"

"Shit, I wasn't making the decision based on singing...he was hot."

Jab wasn't in the band at the time, that would have made the story a great deal more humorous. So don't go thinking that I chose this fellow over Jab several years ago and here I am now enamored with Jab. No, no. No such circumstantial shenanigans occurred.

Later Jab tried to get into the vehicle of a man who had just been arrested for a DUI. Then his girlfriend got upset with him and he chased her, on foot, around Long Beach. This was one of the few nights I was not pummeled into alcoholic oblivion, so my driving services were requested to drive around town and try to find him. We found him, running like wolves were after him across a Chevron parking lot.

Since then, I've learned to be completely aware of how paths may cross in the future. At least if I am ready for it, I might be able to say something clever and snarky to remove my foot from my mouth...and in this case the bad singer's penis from my vagina.

Wait, 40% of American Women have had Abortions? Holy BibleJesusGod! Kill the Big Ones to Save the Small Ones!

2009-06-03T19:19:00.000-07:00

Reproductive rights found their return to the political horseshit glazed spotlight this week by way of the tragic and untimely death of Dr. George Tiller. Dr. Tiller will be remembered truly not as a "murderer" but as a redeemer and liberator of women who had few or zero options - many of his patients actually wanted their babies but their health was in danger if they did carry them full term.

Yes, this is going to get a little heavy. My views of reproductive rights in the United States, as well as the world, are as such: If you have a penis, you do not get to vote.

But I digress, women who procure abortions (Guttmacher.org Report 2004) did so for the top three following reasons:

- Having a baby would dramatically change my life (interfere with education, job, etc.)
- Can't afford a baby now (unmarried, student, unemployed, underemployed, etc.)
- Unsure of relationship or are having problems (abuse, unwillingness to get married, etc.)

The last two reasons were:

- Rape
- Incest

Consider the fact that we presently exist in a society in which women have been witness to the fact that they can be (and are) a vital player in the economy. They can break through the glass ceiling, a woman can get an education - and should. A woman can earn a handsome living (get it, I used a gender specific word, he he) if she chooses. A real quick way to suck that living away is, you guessed it, a kiddo.

Ok, so that sounds extremely selfish. Though we are not in danger of shrinking the population of the planet. We don't NEED to breed. The individual that should be the charge of population decrease or increase is the gate keeper - the owner of the uterus.

There is no sense, at all, in being a slave to biology.

Though, should the selection of which fetus stays and which goes have to happen at all? No, it doesn't: it's called fucking birth control.

Diaphragm? Condom? Birth Control Pills? The Patch? IUD? The Shot? THERE ARE SO MANY GOD DAMNED CHOICES AND NOT ONE IS MENTIONED IN THE ARTICLE BELOW.

Religious school grads likelier to have abortions

This article is a mere symptomatic response to the whole Bush administration abstinence campaign. Yes, it's related but not limited to religiosity.

While it mentions the much demonized act of abortion (and seriously, no woman wants an abortion, it's as unexpected and undesired as he pregnancy itself), no where does it examine the use, misuse, or non-use of birth control in any form.

Bristol Palin is a symptom, so is Jamie Lynn Spears, and Juno. They're a symptom not of the "epidemic" of teen pregnancy, but of the misunderstanding and refusal to make available BIRTH CONTROL.

Ugh. We have the technology, and last I checked, it wasn't the Gutenberg press.

Zing!

Latent Effects of Singledom and When a Fellow Stops Getting Ass

2009-05-31T15:37:00.000-07:00

If you are a resident reader of this blog, you'll no doubt know that it was born from a series of atrocious experiences I had with online dating (Match.com, Salon.com) in an epically drunk 2008. Around October 2008, I had decided to turn it down a notch and stop having so much unwarranted sex. I entered what I called "The Age of Celibacy and Boredom." It lived up to its name and was excrutiatingly dull. Also, it turned out to be several months of intense personal psychological evaluation and healing in which I wrote a memoir (yes, I've tried to obtain representation for said memoir, to no avail, fuck it). I also deleted any and all online dating accounts and abandoned the effort all together, having proven my hypothesis that it is completely and utter tosh. No good can come from a relationship generated digitally and they had best be developed through the old fashioned "mutual friend" technique.

I opened myself up to this seemingly remote possibility that I might actually have a friend of a friend in the same cohort and psychographic similarity as I. Maybe they stayed home and weren't as much of a libation obsessed socially anxious twat as I. Maybe they had the clap and that's why they never came out to meet members of the opposite sex. If that were the case, clearly I wouldn't want to meet them on account of 1) having the clap and 2) being too simple to realize that the apothecary has pills for such VD.

A friend of a friend (twice removed) of mine heeded my calls for assistance and introduced me to a fellow via Facebook. It was quite easy:

Friend: Hey there, email my friend Max. He lives in Silver Lake. You might get along well.

So I emailed Max. He responded several days later and informed me that he didn't use Facebook as a regular means of communication and thusly I should call him instead. He provided his phone number and I reciprocated by providing my own.

At this juncture I yielded to standard gender roles. I don't much believe in them, but in this case I felt quite lazy and unsure of how to approach the situation. Electively obeying gender roles in a fancy subversive trick us ladies can pull on occasion. I know, it sucks, but we do it. That's the truth.

I did not hear from him. I wrote him off. I was far too into myself at the time anyway. Eating at Bandera's, drinking anywhere, wishing I was in England, obsessing about Russell Brand, and working on my memoir was really all I was interested in at the time anyway.

Yes, I was every man's dream come true.

Then one odd day, about three months later, I was typing my little fingers to nubs at one of my company's satellite offices and I received a call from an unknown phone number. I never answer these. I've done too many regretful things and spread my phone number around Los Angeles like malaria in Jakarta. I never know which phone call I receive will unlock my shame bunker.

I happened to be talking to Jab on our good social anxiety enabling friend, AOL Instant Messenger, at the time. I was taking my car into the shop that day, he believed that my car needed a little affection was due to my trying to teach him to drive a stick earlier that week (not the case, and he never learned). Like the sweet lad he is he was offering to take me to his family's auto tech, too late, though I appreciated the thought.

Later in the day I got the ovaries to listen to the voicemail left by the unknown number, and as you guessed it, it was this fellow Max. His exact words were that he "expects a call back this week". Ooooh la la, are you fucking Nicolas Sarkozy? Do you own my wishfully socialist ass? No, you don't, you should not expect a thing from me.

This significant lag in "time from email to phone call" prompted the question: Whom was he fucking in the mean time? Clearly, I wasn't that important three months ago, but how that he needs a box for his tool, I became worthy of a phone call.

Put off and belligerent about this, I ignored it and never called back.

Approximately two months after this, Max called again, as I sit here on my couch with Jab. I let it ring, unsure of what to say to this individual who had never met me but probably had no platonic interest in me. He was interested in my mythical vagina.

I listened to the voicemail. It confirmed my suspicions. He stated that he'd like to get to know me, etc. It was sort of flirty and sing-songy. Something I just sound like a douche when doing. If you don't sound like a douche doing this, it means you do it with great frequency and have a lot of practice. Oh you, I've learnt my lesson about your smooth flirtatiousness.

Despite the fact that I was pretty certain I had this cat's number, I decided to email our mutual friend and ask for advice. Not wanting to upset who was possibly a good person, I asked what the appropriate steps were to letting him down easy. As she knows Max, she should be willing and able to let me know what the considerate script to concoct is, right?

No. Instead I received a ranting raving email exclaiming that I am a "teenager" and "too smart of a girl to be acting like this". Also, she is too old to be involved in interactions like this.

I was upset. My giant ego was wrongly wounded. My ego is enormous. The bigger it gets, the harder it falls. These days it's pretty huge but is leaning like the Tower of Pisa. Occasionally, a little aftershock knocks it into a more acute lean.

I complained to Jab. He quickly replied, "She's a prick. Don't worry about it."

So I let it go. Never to deal with again, until this here blog.

I still don't know if this has completely blown over. I can assume that since mutual friend had responded with rash upset and belligerence directed at me, that my non-response to it was probably the best course of action. You can never add fuel to the fire of something irrational. Only belligerence of greater significance and consequence will ensue.

Even if I was not in a relationship at the time I received that second phone call, I still would have never replied. It felt as though it was sexually contrived and frankly, I've smelled that shit and stepped in it far too many times. It took me over twenty times of shit-steppage, but I did figure it out.

The Nervousness

2009-05-29T15:25:00.000-07:00

I remember being scared shitless to speak to other children when I was small. Especially boys. I was like Joe Bauer's character in Mike Judge's Idiocracy. I sounded smart, I had a large vocabulary for a grade schooler, "bitch" wasn't a name I commonly called my friends as I imagined it would get me kicked in the crotch. Thusly, I was deemed "faggy", "lame", any number of other non-descript offensive names a fourth grader might throw at another fourth grader.

I still am, only I figured out how to make it funny, so people like me now. Now it's my special trick. Use a word such as "solipsistic" in a group of new people and it's a mystical intellectual conversation starter. No matter how nervous I may be, "solipsistic" covered me like a broad vocabulary-brella.

There are three types of nervous. I tend to feel only one kind: social anxiety. But that's not really what I want to discuss. I'm more interested type 2 nervousness, or rather, pre-coital nervousness. The kind that sinks your stomach into your fallopian tubes, as you hope biologically, you'll get to use your vagina for something other than the butt of a joke for once.

The final, less interesting, type of nervous is the "this is going to hurt really badly, isn't it?" nervouness. We all know and hate that one.

But I digress: type 2, pre-coital nervousness.

I can't decide what the biological benefit of being on the edge of heaving one's guts out in front of a prospective mate is, but we have all been prone to it at one time or another.

We feel it frequently in middle school and high school. We sweat in our little aldolescent Teen Spirit arm pits and get caught up on our own tongues. We do stupid shit like spew freudian slips like, "would you like to go down on me?" Pause for the silent freak out. "I mean um, shit, would you like to go down to the park with me?" As much as we desire that person, we then fear them because we've made fools of ourselves. At that age, being a fool is an unredeemable party foul. No amount of flattery or booze on prom night can fix it.

As we exit high school, we so fucking into ourselves that we forget how to feel this kind of innocent and luxurious appreciate and lust for another human being. We (ok me, maybe others have, but no one is as retardedly optimistic and I) avoid it, because it hurts. We forget that there might be some benefit from it.

I was dry from this lovely innocent lust nervousness for years before I started dating Jab and it was fabulously appalling because it's stellar in the first place, and I'd though I would never feel it again. I thought maybe I was the only twat out there that was so out of her skull for somebody that she was feeling like she was 12 years old jumping on a trampoline throwing water balloons at her pop. Nope, it wasn't just me. B.R. got the bug too.

She's currently in a rough limbo in oggling a fellow at her office. Tricky, those work relationships. So she's been sneaking around, at the cafe, in other parts of the office, attempting to make eye contact with him. He first caught her staring at his crotch at an office party. Ok, that's bound to make one get the nervousness. But B.R. is even tongue-tied. Insane what the nervouness can do to you!

What function does it really serve? It's there to remind you that you're not the greatest thing in your world and just maybe there is a counter part that can make you better. Oh, and hopefully it'll keep you and your better half fucking hard for a good long time.

Places One Will Urinate When Hammered

2009-05-25T10:27:00.001-07:00

Now this is just a hypothetical. I'm not saying I've done this, but it's certainly in the cards. Location of Urination is probably the best gauge of intoxication. It is a primary social skill developed at a very young age: I piss on myself, my friends go away. This must be bad. I go wee not in the toilet, my friends go away and my mom is angry at me. This must be bad. When this lesson learned somehow escapes us, only then are we truly "intoxicated".

moar funny pictures

Meet the Parents

2009-05-20T20:22:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow Jab and I are off to my homeland to see my parents, grandparents, and BR. This will be Jab's first time meeting my family and my father has already developed a brewery tour for him. Dad, you're the best. I love visiting home.

Of course this means a blogging hiatus. Thumbs down.