Monthly Archives: February 2011

Cain!

I love this guy. He’s fantastic and regardless of what the talking heads think of his “electability,” I think he’s my guy already. He had me when I heard him on the air, talking about business. I’m such a sucker for free market talk.

Funny is sexy.

Duh.

Funny is sexy. I think the researchers are onto something in that certain types of humor do seem to indicate intelligence, though French humor is a little iffy. Dry wit is my favorite, personally, although off-color and inappropriate is always appreciated.

It’s interesting that men don’t necessarily find funny girls attractive based solely on their wit. I think that’s because men are pretty simple when it comes to what attracts them: perhaps not just boobs, but also a great waist-to-hip ratio. I’m not knocking guys; I love their simplicity when it comes to these things.

Anyway, smart and funny is hot, hotter than a great set of abs. (Although those help too.)

Just sayin’.

I really like this guy.http://www.hermancain.com/

Abortion is safer than childbirth — who’d have thunk it?

This is just unbelievable.

Abortion Safer Than Birth, British Docs Told – http://pulsene.ws/13A9o

I admit it. I’m laughing.

I hope it was worth it, Kathleen. I don’t want anyone to lose their job, but honestly, she’s been sucking up to establishment media types for so long that it’s kind of funny to see her get burned like this. I’m not going to lie, I may have giggled a bit when I read this headline.

Spitzer is a dog, isn’t he? He’s so nasty, and not even good-looking. As for Kathleen, well, she’s had issues with Palin because her (Parker’s) husband thought Sarah was hot, she’s been whining about the meanie conservatives who’ve called her out on her affinity for friendly fire, and she’s an all-around bubblehead. I love that Chris Buckley called her “hot” — it just goes to show what passes for attractive in the world of punditry. (Me-ow! That was bitchy, wasn’t it? Yes. It was.)

That’s it. tHG out.

Out of time.

Quick! I’ve got about 15 minutes to write something relevant and semi-coherent. I can’t make any promises, however. I never work well under pressure.

Oh. Dear. God. The phrase “sensitivity training” needs to be struck from our collective consciousness immediately. On top of the fact that it’s stupid, the thought of sailors, soldiers, and Marines sitting in a multi-hour class teaching them how to be “sensitive” to the gays is quite bizarre. I mean, I’m pretty cool with gay marriage, but I’m not so cool with openly gay active duty servicemen and women. For all of my latent feminist tendencies, I’m also against women in combat.

(Surprised you, didn’t I? A long time ago, I read something by CS Lewis that really struck me. Lewis wrote that there was something so ugly about women in war, and though at the time I felt a bit irritated, I have since come to see his point. We are the fairer sex, and for all my tough posturing, I love being seen as a woman — a safe place, if that makes sense.) But I digress.

Anyway, as much as equality is fabulous in theory, the repeal of DADT will simply open the floodgates for people who believe they’ve got something to prove, just as many gay couples who weren’t ready got married just because they could. And I’m sorry, but just because you can join the military as an openly gay person doesn’t mean you should.

Exit question:

Why is anyone surprised that Qaddafi is crazy? He’s a f***ing nutjob; always has been. We’ve spent so long ignoring him and giving him de facto legitimization, we’ve forgotten that he is a dangerous, unstable man willing to do anything to hang onto power.

The survival of individuality in the age of homogeneous suburban adulthood.

Is what I’m going on about at inveterate scars. Taking time out from Kundera was painful, but it needed to be done.

I know the world’s on fire…

… but I’m reading Kundera. The new lit blog has apparently turned into a chronicle of my journey through The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I’m stoked on it, to tell the truth.

Milan rocks me, and Qaddafi ain’t hit bottom yet.

Working on a more in-depth Kundera post over at inveterate scars. He is rocking my socks, kids. Unbearable Lightness is so good, I can’t keep my hands off it.

Unfortunately, things are not so fabulous in the real world. Qaddafi, gone? I can scarcely fathom it. What will fill the void left by the fleeing tyrant? Before sunrise, I pulled up Drudge to find Qaddafi’s grotesque visage splashed across the page, a short headline heralding his escape, and though I am very much hoping that the nasty, evil, mad bastard will meet an appropriate end, I can’t help but worry about the monsters that may replace him. There is seemingly no rhyme or reason to the collapse in the MidEast, just the march of chaos and death. A vacuum never stays empty for long, and without a clear plan, anarchy reigns.

Mr Hague spoke after a meeting of EU foreign ministers on Monday which sharply condemned Libyan authorities for their crackdown against pro-democracy protesters.

Where was everyone’s outrage when the Iranians were murdering women in the streets during the Green Revolution? No matter; dwelling on the past will only serve to make me angry. Supporting the Libyan people, encouraging them to seek true freedom and informed democracy is really all that counts now. I just can’t help but think of Palestine and what happened during their “elections” — and how now we’ve got a “legitimate” Hamas government.

There is no doubt that I am glad Qaddafi is on the run. He’s a monster, a tyrant, a demented, evil man. I’m just afraid that what comes after might be even worse.

That’s what I thought.

So I see that Libya is practicing its world-renowned restraint and slavish devotion to human rights. Good for them. I mean, taking out mourners at funerals isn’t completely over the top or anything.

This literally makes me sick. These are the bastards to whom Obama debased himself and this country at the beginning of his presidency, with whom we were supposed to be able to reason. Um.

How’s that working out for ya, Barry?

It’s still raining.

I face a terribly pretentious problem over at inveterate scars — what to read next. Nabokov or Kundera? It’s harrowing.

Change is good. New things are fun!

So I’ve been busy. Every couple of years or so, I get restless and moody and decide to wiggle out of whatever corner I’ve backed myself into and find something else. Like shedding my skin, but in a blog sense.

I don’t think I can take any more of this pseudo political punditry gig I’ve got here. I can’t handle writing it, and I especially can’t stomach assholes who are less talented than I getting credit, attention, money. I can’t say that I’m leaving this site forever, but I can say that I now have a vacation home in the blogosphere, a place to discuss Eliot and Nabokov, Lovecraft and Austen and all the rest. I love writing; I just don’t feel like I do much of it anymore.

So here’s the address: http://inveteratescars.blogspot.com

It’s still at that formless, nothingness phase, so don’t worry about it.

And now I have to go to bed. I am literally falling asleep over the keyboard.

‘Cause what we need is high speed rail.

Have you ever jumped rope barefoot? As an adult, I mean. I did yesterday and I highly recommend it. It does sting a bit when you miss a step, but overall, it’s a heckuva lot of fun.

Every “personal trainer” and “fitness expert” says the same thing: Working out should be fun — but how fun is slogging away on the elliptical machine for an hour, then doing a circuit on the weight machines? Woo. Fun. Jumping rope barefoot, running in the rain, climbing a rope, playing dodgeball — that’s fun. And I do stuff like that, everyday, with people I really like.

Speaking of people I really like, since the beginning of the year, I’ve been listening to this new talk radio guy on KFMB here in San Diego named Mike Slater and I’m about hooked at this point. I listen to him on the way to CrossFit, and this week he’s just been giving it to the county workers over their incentives and whatnot. I love it. My favorite thing he said was just the other day during a rant in which he asked government workers what makes them more important than anyone else. I’m paraphrasing, of course. We hear, especially from this president, how vital and noble and selfless and superawesome the government worker is in this country, but why? I pay their salaries with my taxes, which means I pay them to be surly, uncaring, perpetually preoccupied and annoyed by my presence. I pay for their incentives — like the sick day thing here in SD County — but why should they need something so extravagant to just do their job?

I don’t get those kind of incentives to do my job. I work for free sometimes if it will benefit my gym. Why? Because I believe that the larger good of growing our clientele supersedes my need for compensation. The long term benefit ultimately outweighs the unpaid hour I work on Saturdays. If my gym succeeds, I will benefit later. But what’s the long term benefit for a government worker? The bureaucracy is removed from the free trade system that rewards hard work and ingenuity with prosperity, therefore there is no incentive for workers to excel at their jobs. Thus, the government must basically bribe workers to excel — which would be their problem, if they weren’t paying their employees with my tax dollars. So that makes it my problem. And I’m not cool with that.

How about we get rid of the massive, bloated bureaucracy in this state and fix these damn potholes? How bout that?

General ennui.

I sat down with the intention of writing, but now I’ve lost all train of thought. I’m debating reading Dune again, or perhaps delving deeper into the archives and pulling out Oriana Fallaci’s A Man. Maybe some Anne Sexton, that suicidal, self-destructive and quite terrible mother. I really want to get my hands on an affordable copy of Inshallah, but I’ve yet to make that happen. I may just end up reading my Bronco manual, however, because it’s time for her to either work or find a new home. She’s making me sad, sitting out there in the driveway.

Perhaps I’ll write about my very favorite things: my Bronco, my books, and CrossFit. Politics be damned; I’m not sure anyone is listening anymore anyway. Except for, of course, you smartly turned out pillars of the community who check in every day. You’re the only ones that matter anyway, aren’t you?

I think it’s time for my annual reading of TS Eliot, viewing of Fight Club and Marla Singer worship. I need a shot of creativity. And a new tattoo. And possibly the repiercing of something.