A Terrible Confession...

I’m not wild about Indian food. It’s no big deal; it's just not my kind of thing. I know it’s supposed to be very trendy, the Chinese food of the 21st century, so to speak. And I’m sure there will soon be shops on every corner delivering cheap, microwaved curry for a few bucks a pop. The same people who deliver Chinese food will deliver it, and going out for a curry will soon be as common as going out for pizza. After some time, American’s will make their own versions of traditional Indian dishes, just as we have with many previous international dishes. They’ll be somewhat similar, but more suited to our blander taste buds.
But I just don’t see the appeal. I’m not xenophobic, and I assure you it has nothing to do with the country itself. I’ve heard that India has terrible weather, but I’m sure there are some nice parts as well. George Harrison loved the place, and he was a Beatle for cryin’ out loud. He'd sit around with Ravi Shankaar, strummin' his guitar, drinking tea while floating down the river. Sounds like a good time to me. I haven’t met a lot of Indian people, but I’m sure they’re pleasant enough. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever met was from India. She was actually from England, but her parents were from India, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter where she was born. I figure that any one nation willing to produce such a beautiful skin tone can’t be bad. How do they do that, by the way? Maybe the secret’s in the curry.
But as I’ve said before, I can’t stand the food, and my fear of a boring night in with my friends yielding the suggestion of a night at an Indian restaurant is well founded. They are Foodies after all.

While we’re on the subject, I feel it is my duty as a voice of the people to comment on the recent arms deal made with Pakistan as a reward for their government’s coming down hard on terrorism. I’ll admit that the majority of my knowledge regarding India/Pakistan comes from The West Wing episode with Roger Reese, but I think that anyone within the privileged circle of geniuses to which I belong can agree that this is both dangerous, and stupid. What I do know about these two countries is that they have a passionate hatred for each other going back hundreds of years, and the grudge that these two nations foster is way beyond anything Americans can comprehend. Aside from the fact that we just pissed off India, Pakistan now has more weapons, including brand new fighter jets, not the kind of thing you want a country with an itchy trigger finger to have. But I could be wrong. I do-as I’ve said before-have limited experience with this kind of thing, so maybe I should step out of the ring, and leave it up to the big boys to figure out. I have more pressing concerns anyway; The Surreal Life is starting.

Hurricane Jesus

"It's easy to see without looking too far that not much is really sacred."
-Bob Dylan

Today, we had what my friends across the pond call "unstable" weather. It was sunny at eight, raining at 9, hailing at 11, and sunny again at noon. The weather remained unstable all day, and it soon became very annoying. But it's nowhere nearly as bad as the shite weather they have in England.
It takes a certain state of mind to survive the ugly summers in the U.K. The temperature can shift twenty degrees in less than an hour, and thunderstorms can cover what was blue sky only 30 minutes prior. No one goes to England for the weather. The beaches (if that's what you want to call them) are just as bad. Vacationers have to hit the mainland if they're looking for anything in the vicinity of a tan. But it's the feeling of helplessness that has the most damaging effect on the British mind. One is forced to face the fact they have no control over their lives, and it's just when you think you have a grip on things that everything goes out of control, and a sunny Florida day turns into an ominous pre-hurricane storm that pounds rain on the poor bastards too stupid to bring an umbrella.
The wind is the one constant regarding the meteorological aspects of London. You can count on it never going away. It's worst along the Thames, but any road you may happen to venture upon could be a natural wind tunnel thrusting air through the city. It's pretty hard to light a cigarette in London.

But, we should return to discussing the important matters. Speaking of Florida, our eyes are once again focused on the state that just can't seem to get it right. Gov. Jeb Bush just can't seem to keep his people under control. Poor Mrs. Shiavo is dying a slow death, and there's not much that can be done for her. I always wondered if she had any idea that her situation was causing so much fuss. She'll probably be Time's Person of the Year (perhaps a bit of a stretch, but those people have made some odd decisions in the past), and she's been in a vegetative state for more than a decade.
The Shiavo debate is a hot issue right now, which should come as no surprise to anyone who can read. Jesus made the cover of last weeks Newsweek, and Mel Gibson finally let his supporters talk him into releasing a censored version of "Passion of the Christ," a fictional film of an alleged incident being treated with documentary-like criticism. Yes, it's true. Jesus is the new superstar today. He's taken over that highly regarded pedestal once occupied by Justin Timberlake, Shai, or whatever the kids are listening to these days. Shiavo has unwittingly opened an opportunity for those greedy freaks on the fringes of the right wing to win in another big-dick contest with the inept left-wingers.
And why shouldn't they win? It certainly isn't a fair fight. The conservatives are using the impending death of this poor woman to accuse all of us who listen to science as being sinners, and degenerate, masochistic sleaze. They're probably right in half the cases, but not all of us think that way. The problem for the Democrats is that they can't say anything for fear of sounding insensitive to the woman's plight. Supporting the death of a brain-damaged woman never played well in a polling situation; not even in Texas where they kill for shoplifting, but never brag about it.
But the Shiavo issue has proven to be a touchy subject for both sides of the political spectrum. In an effort to divert attention from his legal troubles, Tom DeLay stepped in to force the courts to restore Shiavo's feeding tube. He intended to arrive in Florida as a ball-bustin', hard-ass who can get things done. He was going to kick some ass and take some names. The tom-meister was going to throw down. But it didn't really work out that way.
Instead, Tom came off like that guy who works in everyone's office. You know the guy, he has some bullshit title that technically puts him as a higher rank than you, but he doesn't have nor deserve respect from his underlings, people treat him like shit, as well as ignore every order he gives. Tom is on his way back to Washington, hat in hand, where he'll have to face the music. I'd like to think it was all over for DeLay, but Jesus is running our courts right now, and Tom's on the winning side.
Jesse Jackson is now answering a higher call, stepping in DeLay's failed position and hoping to make a difference. And if there's anyone who can make a difference, it's The Reverend. Look at all the progress he made in Florida during the 2000 election. The Publicans sent down 5,000 screaming lawyers with no wives or consciouses, and the Democrats send Rev. Jackson. I'm sure The Reverend is a good man, but he's going to have to accept his inetptitude, and move on. Perhaps he should find a nice small church in a city where there are no formal politics, and spend the rest of his days doing what he does best, being a messenger for God. But that's not where the money is, and it's unlikely that it will happen anytime soon.
As for me, I honestly couldn't care less about this whole thing. The only purpose this whole spectacle serves is to show us what a bunch of morbid freaks we are. We are literally counting down days to a hapless woman's imminent death. All sides in Washington should feel ashamed of themselves. In a week, this will all be over, and the press will be looking for the next millionaire televangelist who likes to rape both kittens and nuns with diseases, so they can beat that to death. And I thought O.J. was bad. Just wait until the next bit of news hits. I'm pretty sure that after that, we'll all be going to hell.

Michael Jackson Wouldn't Like It Here

SHIT! I just wrote ten of the most eloquent pages of prose, and the fucking computer erased it. I'm not kidding. This was Hemingway and Dickens combined, with a touch of Clinton. We would all be twice as smart for having read it. But now it's gone, and will never be reproduced. Piece of shit Blog! I don't want to spend another hour writing what I said before, and I probably couldn't remember it all anyways, so I'll just summarize.
Mayor Tom Potter made his national debut last week when he gave a quote to The New York Times regarding an article about the lack of juvenile growth in many healthy urban cities like Portland. Potter gave a bullshit quote about his commitment to raising the amount of children in the city. The children, after all are our future. Potter's quote was perfectly benign, just what you'd expect from a perfectly benign mayor. I was very hesitant to vote for him, and now the more I hear about him, the more I regret having done it in the first place.
I was fortunate enough to see Potter and Jim Francesconi in a debate on the environment along with City Council candidates Nick Fish and Sam Adams. I had just returned from England, and was out of touch regarding local politics (mainly because I didn't care). A friend filled me in on what was happening. Francesconi crossed the line and tried to buy the election, spending over $1 million on his campaign. As one might expect, such a trick only works on a national level. The backlash threw Francesconi so far behind Potter in the polls, he could barely see the old man's leisure suit. The election was now Potter's to win or lose, and winning wouldn't be too difficult, all he had to do was say nothing.
And say nothing he did. The only person, in fact, to say anything interesting was Francesconi, who stuck by his guns. In an environmentally-minded city during a debate on the environment, Francesconi was willing to say what he believed, rather than what people wanted to hear. He was acting as how Potter was trying to portray himself; the straightforward candidate unwilling to sacrifice truth in the interest of politics. But in a small city such as ours, buying election is a capital offense for which there is no pardon. Potter and the others told the audience exactly what they wanted to hear, never even thinking about saying something that would ruin their chances for victory (the Adams/Fish race was very close). Potter said little of value all night, but rather opted to sit on stage like a grandfather at little Cindy's dance recital; not knowing why he's there, and not really caring.
Francesconi also showed up fifteen minutes late to the debate, a crime for which the audience would hold him in contempt for the rest of the evening. Every time he said something unpopular, a wave of sighs came from the crowd. He tried to explain his position, and how it may economically effect the city, but the unruly mob wouldn't hear of it. He had to push molasses up a hill, and nobody wanted him to even bother. Francesconi lost the debate, but he did what everyone begs politicians to do, even though they obviously can't handle it: he was honest.
I'm still not sure why I voted for Potter on election day. I knew he was going to win, and nobody likes to be on the losing team (I would obviously know, I'm a Democrat). But I've been regretting it more and more. We could have elected an effective public official who may of played the rules of the big league, but also knew how to kick some ass downtown. Instead, we have Andy Griffith running our city. He may be the people's candidate, but right now, the people have shit for brains (remind you of any national elections?).
It could just be that I'm over reacting, though. The story was bullshit anyways. Of course there aren't any children in the Pearl District. This New York Times reporter has obviously never been there. It's no place to raise a child. Aside from the homeless (which are really very nice to children), there is nothing there but bars, coffee shops, expensive restaurants, and pretentious shoppes. The roads are narrow, the traffic is dense, and there isn't a lot in the way of parks in the area (yes, I know there are a couple, but they're surrounded by more busy streets), Yuppies and soulless assholes generally live there (not everyone, of course), and that's unfortunate because it's otherwise a great place. But it's no kind of place for a child.
We have plenty of livable areas all over the city, I'm not sure why the Pearl District is getting picked on. No one would be dumb enough to raise their child in Old Town either, but I don't hear anything being said about that. Anyways, how can someone want to raise their child in the city when all they hear about is school closings, and over crowded classrooms? Let's fix that problem first, Mr. Potter. You have to spend money to make money, and if we're too stupid to see that, then it's your fucking job to do it anyways, you're working for us after all.
But I've said too much. Education will have to be solved another time It is a discussion for serious men, and goddamnit, I'm just the man to steer the ship. One of these days, I'll devote a week to our largest problem, but I've overstayed my welcome for now. Until next time.
(This is actually about how much I wrote the first time, but the first one was much better. I feel like the metaphors play better when they're off the cuff and I just wasn't feelin' the rhythm the second time around. So just know that you've been short changed.)

Minor Setbacks

I woke up in a bad mood this morning, and things only got worse from there. The fluorescent lighting in our office has been fucking with my eyes since I started working at The Firm (which is what I'm going to call it for anonymity's sake), and today was one of those days where it got the best of me. I started to get blurry vision in my left eye, and it wasn't long before I was forced to retire to The Firm's "quiet room" to sleep off a migraine. I vomited once and the headache went away, but the overall discomfort has long since overstayed its welcome.
Migraines are an evil thing, and they don't ever completely leave you alone. Even when you're not having one, every quick glance at a bright light serves as a cruel reminder that you're their bitch anytime they want. The post migraine period is always touchy. You're hesitant to look directly into light, drink anything citrus, or even eat anything at all. Sudden head shifts can cause sharp pains in the neck and behind the eyes, and the discomfort doesn't leave for at least a day. There is nothing that makes someone feel so helpless as the unannounced migraine.
This is my way of saying I feel like shit, and am unable to save the world today. Perhaps tomorrow I'll be able to make some time. But, until then, keep your ear to the grindstone.

One thing I can recommend is that you read a great editorial in The New York Times on how pathetic religious representation is in this country. This guy pretty much hits it right on the nose.

An Era Begins...

I was at Scooter's one night having drinks with Porter, the bar's resident alcoholic/pervert. Somewhere between our fifth and sixth Jello shots, Porter had his most lucid moment in 25 years:
"David, you're comments are so interesting and witty, combined with an irresistible humor that I find to be engrossing. You should quit your job, write a book of modern philosophy and have it published. You could make millions, whilst making the world a better place."
"Nonsense," I replied. "Why would I want to ruin a perfectly successful career making boat-loads as an administrative services clerk [mailroom monkey] at one of the top law firms in the state? I'd be crazy to throw it all away."
I was right then, and I'm right now. But Porter's poignant comments got me thinking. His observation that I should publish the happenings of my everyday life was a brilliant idea. After all, who better to do such a thing than a man who has traveled the world and seen it all. My adventures in life equal that of Horatio Alger and John Muir. It would be a sin not to crack open one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century to the world, so we can all gain from it.
And what better format to do it than in a web-log, the greatest invention of the new century? In the past two years, the web-log (or "Blog" to put it in layman's terms) has ushered in a new era of journalistic standards. No longer will these lazy reporters from such old-hatted rags as The New York Times, and The Washington Post be able to sit idly by; asleep at the wheel while those fat cats in Washington slip another needless law through our fingers. These crusty old farts will be held accountable for their actions, as the Blog generation brings us a new form of up to the minute, in your face journalistic standards. They shove messy facts aside, and giving us what really matters, information based on questionable sources with little time blown of fact-checking. We are, after all, in the information age and it's time to behave that way.
So take my hand as we boldly go forth in search of answers to the greater questions in life, test the limits of reason, and perhaps win the heart of one lucky lady. It won't be easy, and I don't expect those ignorant bastards on the Beltway to like what I have to say. But with the political insight that makes Alexis De Tocqueville look like Sean Hannity, and with cunning, razor sharp satire that makes Gallagher look like Carrot Top, we can live up to the promise those old crusty white men handed down to us so many years ago as a nation where all are free to pursue the common goal of a nation where Christians, Jews, Muslims and Scientologists are able to live together in peace. I feel a strong sense of duty as I write tonight, and I now know what Porter was able to figure out in his infinite wisdom on that storied night, I can save humanity.