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One of four things has been happening with alarming regularity in the apartment directly above mine:
1. My neighbor has, for weeks, been learning to play the guitar chords from the tender Brokeback Mountain theme, practicing for hours on end, until even my cats are walking around saying, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
2. My neighbor has spent countless hours downloading and enjoying the endless stream of Brokeback Mountain parodies in which the dusty, gentle, solo guitar is featured prominently.
3. My neighbor has an illegally-pirated DVD of Brokeback Mountain, which is viewed several times a week at a volume just loud enough for me to hear the prominently-featured, soothing guitar.
4. My neighbor owns the Brokeback Mountain soundtrack and listens to the same piece of the score repeatedly until I am forced to stuff socks in my ears to muffle the sweet, tender chords.
So, which is it, folks?
From Fogbay.com, a wonderful San Francisco photoblog:
Buffalo (actually American Bison) have resided in Golden Gate Park since 1890. Originally they were brought from the plains of Wyoming and Kansas by early naturalists for safe-keeping. In 1993 a group of Lakota Sioux held a ceremony in the park at which each animal was given a Native American name. At 115 years, the herd is one of the oldest symbols of San Francisco.
(And here I thought it was the Chinese food...)
Why did no one inform me when I moved here that I'd be sharing this rather small, hilly peninsula with roaming hoardes of hairy beasts?! (Apart from the ones who own restaurants in North Beach [aka Little Italy], that is?)
Dear Andy (the lanky, mustached 20-something wannabe hipster kid standing next to me yesterday on a semi-crowded Muni train who pitched backwards into my lap before face-planting to the dirty train floor):
If you simply cannot refrain from ingesting mind-altering substances, might I suggest taking a taxi next time?
Luckily for you (and the rest of us), dear Andy, you happened to be standing directly in front of a handsome, headphoned medic when you blacked out amidst dozens of commuters and your companion's slurred cries of "Dude, Andy! Oh my god, dude!"
Mr. Medic leapt into action, demanded your buddy advise him what the two of you were on ("Dude, he just took some 'shrooms," was the reply), and helped you to your feet when finally your eyes stopped rolling back in your head and you were able to stand and sip from your hemp-leaf adorned Nalgene bottle.
"Nicely done," I told Mr. Medic, who was checking your pulse and vital signs as you woozily sat down, head between your knees, either wholly embarrassed (rightfully so) or hallucinating so badly you couldn't bear to look at your surroundings. Poor you in your Chuck Taylors and cargo pants. Next time, take a cab and spare us all your druggie drama.
Regards,
Your Fellow Bay Area Commuter
P.S. Thank you for not puking. Looked like you might there for a minute.
From the AP yesterday:
"The U.S. should shut down the prison for terror suspects at Guantanamo Bay and either release the detainees or put them on trial, the U.N. said. The world body also called on the U.S. to refrain from practices that 'amount to torture.'
Followed by, predictably, "The White House rejected the recommendation to shut down the prison."
With not so much as a moment's thought except for "Hey, we're the U.S.! We ain't got to listen to NOBODY!"
Scott McClellan had this textbook response: "These are dangerous terrorists that we're talking about..."
So what, we hold them in a cell indefinitely, with NO authority to do so? Feeding them, housing them, and yes, TORTURING them without even letting them speak to a lawyer? How is that humane treatment?
I wholeheartedly support the U.N.'s position: "The persons held at Guantanamo Bay are entitled to challenge the legality of their detention... that right is currently being violated." (my emphasis)
Yes, the United States of America is openly violating people's rights. What the fuck happened to "innocent until proven guilty?" Give these guys the basic right to a lawyer and a trial, and let them PROVE to us they haven't committed a crime. If they can't do that, we prosecute their asses and throw them in prison, not some mismanaged detainee camp in Cuba.
Or you can just go on, illegally tapping the phone lines of admittedly innocent Americans, pretending you're doing something important to stop terrorism. Because, as we all know, laws don't apply to the government.
Hundreds rotting away at Gitmo, being routinely beaten, tortured, deprived and ridiculed by the U.S. with no indication they'll ever be tried or set free.
And what do we say when other countries engage in such appalling practices? Well, naturally, they're barbarians! Their justice system is archaic; they could learn a thing or two from the U.S., the world's brilliant, shining example of democracy and fairness and decency!
Our government's job is to be the voice for millions of Americans. So when people around the world despise us for our acts of barbarism and bullying and miscarriage of justice to others, they hate all of us, not just those committing the crimes. The government is largely responsible for the regrettable reputation Americans have around the world. And I, for one, am deeply worried about American citizens taking the fall for our government's shameful, sickening lapses in judgment.
Yes, these Gitmo captives may have committed terrorist acts or are "linked" to terrorists or have information we need. So why the hell aren't we fucking getting it? How much longer till we get it? How many more vacations at Crawford until the president is well-rested enough to go after Osama?
The worst part is the outright hypocrisy. The U.S. blatantly defies the U.N. and at the same time, our administration continues to obstinately condemn any other government that does the same. We are pretenders to some grand throne of righteousness over the world kingdom and one of these days, we're going to be knocked so viciously from that throne, we won't know what the fuck hit us.
And what's truly sad is, we may very well deserve it.
Look, despite his well-known, well-earned reputation for belligerence, we know Dick didn't shoot the guy on purpose. Accidents do happen (especially in the disgustingly brutish pasttime of killing innocent animals for "sport"), blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda...
But, Washington image consultant Holly Horning puts it quite well:
"What [Cheney] should have done to diminish the bad press was to visually show people that he actually is a very caring and concerned man. It would have been nice if they had gotten some footage of Cheney going to the hospital to visit this man. Unfortunately he's done the total opposite. He's gone into hiding, basically."
And, shockingly, a few Republicans actually spoke out:
"I am appalled by the whole handling of this," said Marlin Fitzwater, former press secretary to Ronald Reagan and the first Bush.
Ari Fleischer, Bush's press secretary in his first term, noted, "It would have been better if the vice president and/or his staff had come out last Saturday night or first thing Sunday morning and announced it."
At least the White House has stopped joking about it now that the poor man has suffered a mild heart attack. Of course, that hasn't stopped Letterman, Leno, et al.
One interesting take on the incident comes from Michael Goodwin in today's NY Daily News. An excerpt:
"That Cheney is now being ridiculed reflects how far he has fallen. When he signed on as Bush's running mate in 2000, he was regarded as the intelligent adult on the ticket. But asset turned to liability as Iraq proved messy and Cheney's band of neocons seemed better at infighting than managing world affairs. The fact that his old company, Halliburton, profits from the war only adds to his baggage."
I've always considered Cheney far more destructive a force to this country than his "boss." Dubya can actually be likable. There are times I actually feel a bit sorry for the man-child surrounded by mean, unsmiling grown-ups; the man who seems to have been thrown into shoes way too big for his feet. But Cheney has given off an unmistakable air of utter malevolence since his first days in politics. Let's just hope we never see how fierce or damaging it can really get.
Quite possibly my favorite headline of 2006 (so far):
Hezbollah Leader to Bush: "Shut Up"
Many of you have probably seen this already, but if not, click here and check out the video. The "morphing" is really quite cool (and more than slightly creepy).
This is what happens when I attempt to smile for a photo...
...I end up looking like a surburban serial murderer with a twisted past and one too many jars of formaldehyde in the attic. Or some Shakespearean maiden who has just witnessed/caused/suffered a tragedy beyond the realm of human comprehension. As if smiling were the most profoundly painful effort I could imagine.
Seriously, I went to campus Friday with the intention of a) spending half a week's pay on textbooks and b) picking up my student ID (if only to use it for discounted movie tickets).
Believe it or not, I was in a fine mood that glorious afternoon, sporting a new green corduroy jacket and smug as all hell because I can spell "corduroy!"
Hair pulled back in a messy bun, makeup frightfully limited, eyelids heavy from a wild night of crossword puzzles and mint tea, I staggered into the Student Services center to obtain my coveted ID card.
Little did I know, a camera awaited me, manned by an aloof, clock-watching photographer who sat me down, recited the requisite, "One... two... three" and then, upon pressing the shutter, said "Shit, it didn't take."
Sadly, this semi-deft, semi-high cameraman did NOT give me the benefit of a repeated numerical recitation and instead clicked the shutter when his subject was, quite obviously, contemplating something far more sinister than "Cheese!"
It's worse than my passport photo, folks. This guy is clearly an untapped goldmine of talent.
No, I have not been kidnapped by aliens from the 10th planet (bigger than Pluto, you say?) or silenced by our First Amendment-bashing dictatorship government. I've just been busy dealing, in my own hyper-charged and oversensitive way, with various stresses that have arisen, both expected and butt-kicking. But #1 on my list of character traits: I deal with shit. Guess that makes me a good shit-dealer. There's something for my resume!
Yesterday I became a graduate student, entering and sniffing out a university classroom for the first time in nearly a decade. All day I felt a certain excitement, as if I were returning to a chapter in my life left unfinished years ago, while at the same time beginning a brand-new chapter. It was unexpectedly exhilirating. Kind of like the high you get when you're walking down the street and smell that delicious exhaust from the clothes dryer in some building's basement.
Then I got the syllabus. This harmless-looking, two-page document includes a) horrifyingly expensive textbook requirements and b) a list of assignments that must be completed, week-by-week and ON TIME. In my rather alarmingly youthful professor's words, "Five minutes late is the same as one week late." Ummm... not exactly, Professor Doogie. I've been out of the edumacation world for a while, but I'm pretty sure you'll want to check the math on that.
Still, hearing my professor say things like, "You can order the books from Amazon.com" and "Before we begin, please turn off all cell phones" stunned my late-blooming ass into the shuddering reality that I'm not in the Kansas of my undergrad days anymore. Gone are those technology-limited days when papers were typed on typewriters and cell phones only existed in "is that a giant phone in your pocket or are you just REALLY happy to see me?" form. (Yes, I'm that old!)