“Why do Sunnis kill Shiites? How do they tell the difference? They all look the same to me.”
— Sen. Trent Lott, following a closed-door meeting with President Bush and other Republicans at the Capitol
Nice. Very nice. The ugly American stereotype persists.
“The party of FDR and the party of Harry Truman has become the party of cut and run.”
— President Bush, criticizing the Democrats at a fundraiser for Alabama Governor Bob Riley
Doesn't this fool have more important things to do than further inflaming partisan name-calling? I mean... I thought he had a country to run. Maybe not.
“The Pakistani president claimed bin Laden is hiding in Afghanistan; the Afghan president said he's in Pakistan; and President Bush said, 'I like sprinkles on my ice cream.'”
— Conan O'Brien, on the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden
"President Bush was upset and said, He's making it really hard for me to choose my Halloween costume.”
— Conan O'Brien, on Hugo Chavez calling Bush "the devil" and a "cowboy"
And on the subject of Conan, who I would say is my favorite late-night personality BY FAR... this is pretty interesting, something I'd never even thought about. From Wikipedia:
"His father, Dr. Thomas O'Brien, was a research physician at Brigham and Women's Hospital and an associate professor at Harvard Medical School, specializing in infectious diseases. His mother, Ruth Reardon O'Brien, is a former partner of the Boston law firm of Ropes & Gray.
After graduating as the valedictorian from Brookline High School, O'Brien entered Harvard University and, in his three upper-class years, lived in Mather House. Throughout his college career, he was a writer for the Harvard Lampoon humor magazine. During his sophomore and junior years, O'Brien served as the Lampoon's president, making him only the second person ever to serve as president twice, and the first person to have done it in 85 years. He graduated magna cum laude from Harvard in 1985 with a B.A. in the History and Literature of America."
Go to Harvard, do late-night television. Rock on.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
So here we have another celebrity being checked out of a hospital, giving the ol’ thumbs up to reporters and being whisked away somewhere for debriefing and whatever else people-handlers do in these situations. “Celebrity” in this case is relative, as I’m talking about Dallas Cowboys football player Terrell Owens.
According to a Detroit Free Press news bulletin, Owens was cut by the Eagles [no, not the band, I doubt this guy can sing... maybe baritone?] and then signed on four days later with the Cowboys earlier this year. His contract? Three years for $25 million and a $5 million signing bonus. There are some mildly interesting, possibly significant things listed as well:
“June 8 — Owens arrives after 5 p.m. for a scheduled 3 p.m. visit with the roughly 60 campers attending the Terrell Owens Youth Football Camp. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’ve been playing for the Dallas Cowboys,” he tells the kids.”
“July 13 — At his first book signing, Owens claims he didn’t say his return in time for the February 2005 Super Bowl was “heroic,” even though that’s what he wrote. He called it one of the words chosen by his co-author.”
“Aug. 25 — Owens is fined $9,500 for missing a team meeting and a rehabilitation session, and being late to an offensive meeting. He later says he overslept. “It’s not a big deal,” he says.”
There’s some junk about an injured hamstring and a recently broken finger as well, but this is football. Injuries are expected. But alright, so here we are on the 27th and this dude has reportedly just tried to off himself with painkillers. The police report stated he had told a friend “that he was depressed,” and after someone tried to intervene he took another 2 pills.
“Publicist Kim Etheredge said in various interviews Wednesday with Dallas-area media that the police have gotten the story wrong. She said she was with Owens, who was having trouble because he'd mixed his pain pills with supplements. She said she called for help because he was becoming unresponsive. ... The Dallas police report said Owens was asked by rescue workers "if he was attempting to harm himself, at which time (he) stated, 'Yes."'
I’d like to know what kind of “supplements” these were. And here’s the kicker:
“"The fact that it has been reported a suicide attempt, he's laughed at that notion. It was a case that medication that was taken wasn't accepted well in his system with the other vitamins he's on," [NFL Network analyst Deion] Sanders said.”
I understand that football players are supposed to be these big, tough, strong, womanizing types but that doesn’t mean they aren’t susceptible to depression and the things that go along with it. Denying and attempting to make light of the situation does a grave injustice [sometimes literally] to people suffering from depression and/or suicidal thoughts. Suicides by toxification [overdose or poisoning] makes up roughly 20% of all cases, and about one million people commit suicide annually.
Couldn’t the NFL, for once, use a scandal to highlight an important issue? Something more important than Janet Jackson’s breasts, salary mal-distribution [they are ALL overpaid in my opinion], or who recently had sex with who and what steroids they’re all on? By turning their backs on “T.O.” they’re potentially turning their backs on hundred of thousands of others who might just end up “O.D.”ing.
According to a Detroit Free Press news bulletin, Owens was cut by the Eagles [no, not the band, I doubt this guy can sing... maybe baritone?] and then signed on four days later with the Cowboys earlier this year. His contract? Three years for $25 million and a $5 million signing bonus. There are some mildly interesting, possibly significant things listed as well:
“June 8 — Owens arrives after 5 p.m. for a scheduled 3 p.m. visit with the roughly 60 campers attending the Terrell Owens Youth Football Camp. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’ve been playing for the Dallas Cowboys,” he tells the kids.”
“July 13 — At his first book signing, Owens claims he didn’t say his return in time for the February 2005 Super Bowl was “heroic,” even though that’s what he wrote. He called it one of the words chosen by his co-author.”
“Aug. 25 — Owens is fined $9,500 for missing a team meeting and a rehabilitation session, and being late to an offensive meeting. He later says he overslept. “It’s not a big deal,” he says.”
There’s some junk about an injured hamstring and a recently broken finger as well, but this is football. Injuries are expected. But alright, so here we are on the 27th and this dude has reportedly just tried to off himself with painkillers. The police report stated he had told a friend “that he was depressed,” and after someone tried to intervene he took another 2 pills.
“Publicist Kim Etheredge said in various interviews Wednesday with Dallas-area media that the police have gotten the story wrong. She said she was with Owens, who was having trouble because he'd mixed his pain pills with supplements. She said she called for help because he was becoming unresponsive. ... The Dallas police report said Owens was asked by rescue workers "if he was attempting to harm himself, at which time (he) stated, 'Yes."'
I’d like to know what kind of “supplements” these were. And here’s the kicker:
“"The fact that it has been reported a suicide attempt, he's laughed at that notion. It was a case that medication that was taken wasn't accepted well in his system with the other vitamins he's on," [NFL Network analyst Deion] Sanders said.”
I understand that football players are supposed to be these big, tough, strong, womanizing types but that doesn’t mean they aren’t susceptible to depression and the things that go along with it. Denying and attempting to make light of the situation does a grave injustice [sometimes literally] to people suffering from depression and/or suicidal thoughts. Suicides by toxification [overdose or poisoning] makes up roughly 20% of all cases, and about one million people commit suicide annually.
Couldn’t the NFL, for once, use a scandal to highlight an important issue? Something more important than Janet Jackson’s breasts, salary mal-distribution [they are ALL overpaid in my opinion], or who recently had sex with who and what steroids they’re all on? By turning their backs on “T.O.” they’re potentially turning their backs on hundred of thousands of others who might just end up “O.D.”ing.
Monday, September 04, 2006
The headline reads "U.S. warplanes strafe, kill Canadian soldier." And then "Canadian soldier killed, others wounded in NATO 'friendly fire'."
strafe |strāf|
verb [ trans. ]
attack repeatedly with bombs or machine-gun fire from low-flying aircraft : military aircraft strafed the village.
noun an attack from low-flying aircraft.
ORIGIN early 20th cent.: humorous adaptation of the German World War I catchphrase Gott strafe England ‘may God punish England.’
I think that is the first time I've ever heard the term "strafe" used in the media. Probably even the first time I've ever heard it. I had to look it up. A lot of people skim headlines when "reading" the news, and using a word like "strafe" in place of anything else might be an attempt to smooth over the harsh reality of what actually occured. I'm not implying that anyone is denying what happened— it's a question of presentation.
And then to go and deem it "friendly fire"?
friendly fire
noun Military
weapon fire coming from one's own side, esp. fire that causes accidental injury or death to one's own forces.
There's nothing "friendly" about that, and being "strafed" sounds like a rather violent end. Not just one errant shot.
"KABUL, Afghanistan (AP) -- U.S. warplanes mistakenly strafed Canadian troops fighting Taliban forces in southern Afghanistan, killing one soldier and seriously wounding five on Monday in an operation that NATO claims has also left 200 insurgents dead."
War is nonsense. We're aware of how big, almost exactly, the world is. We know what is where, who and how many live in any given area. And still we're bombing one another like children at recess playing a fast game of Dodgeball. To what ends will this continue? And is it not the 21st century?
Maybe I just don't understand the rules of the game.
strafe |strāf|
verb [ trans. ]
attack repeatedly with bombs or machine-gun fire from low-flying aircraft : military aircraft strafed the village.
noun an attack from low-flying aircraft.
ORIGIN early 20th cent.: humorous adaptation of the German World War I catchphrase Gott strafe England ‘may God punish England.’
I think that is the first time I've ever heard the term "strafe" used in the media. Probably even the first time I've ever heard it. I had to look it up. A lot of people skim headlines when "reading" the news, and using a word like "strafe" in place of anything else might be an attempt to smooth over the harsh reality of what actually occured. I'm not implying that anyone is denying what happened— it's a question of presentation.
And then to go and deem it "friendly fire"?
friendly fire
noun Military
weapon fire coming from one's own side, esp. fire that causes accidental injury or death to one's own forces.
There's nothing "friendly" about that, and being "strafed" sounds like a rather violent end. Not just one errant shot.
"KABUL, Afghanistan (AP) -- U.S. warplanes mistakenly strafed Canadian troops fighting Taliban forces in southern Afghanistan, killing one soldier and seriously wounding five on Monday in an operation that NATO claims has also left 200 insurgents dead."
War is nonsense. We're aware of how big, almost exactly, the world is. We know what is where, who and how many live in any given area. And still we're bombing one another like children at recess playing a fast game of Dodgeball. To what ends will this continue? And is it not the 21st century?
Maybe I just don't understand the rules of the game.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
"Rose Lake is a beautiful place, miles and miles of trails winding through a DNR State Wildlife Area. The nice thing about it, and its greatest drawback and eventual downfall, is that it is open to anyone who knows of its existence. In the winter I see only the "regulars," none of whom are recognizable through layers of clothing [though I know their dogs]. Summertime brings families, "seasonal" dogwalkers, partying highschoolers, and everything in between.
"Sunday was a first, however. Long story short, my dogs and I were followed by a fairly young raccoon [probably less than a year old]. I kept my dogs away from it, having no desire to find out about rabies firsthand, and chased it back with a stick. It kept trying to follow us despite my attempts to chase it away, and it mewed almost like an infant might. The thing probably followed us for 75 or 100 feet before we took off at a run [at which point it ran after us], and then it wasn't behind us anymore.
"We were out on the trail for a few hours, a good part of which I spent thinking about the crazy raccoon following us. Needless to say, that is an unnatural behavior to witness in any animal, unless it intends to make you its lunch. By the time the trailhead was once again near, I had worked out in my head the perfect way to tell the story to my friends.
"Then my dogs took off after something, and a little grey blur went streaking up a tree. The raccoon.
"I was glad it was at least smart enough to run up a tree, and after calling the dogs we walked the remaining distance to the parking area. I noticed some idiot had broken [and left] a lightbulb, and some other idiot had left a fast food bag, so I started to pick up the shards of glass. The dogs sat nearby in the shade. Then I heard a familiar mewing coming from some bushes, and a little bandit's face appeared.
"I grabbed a nearby stick and told the dogs to heel, and we walked back to my car so I could put the dogs in. It followed us, occassionally scampering back a ways as my stick dictated. After closing the dogs into the car, I looked around for the raccoon and saw it underneath my car, apparently playing with some grass caught near the exhaust. I stealthily grabbed my purse, keeping a wary eye out for grey blurs, and walked around in an attempt to find cell phone service. My plan was to call my father to ask if there was a DNR or Animal Control number I could call to come get this thing. No point in some seasonal dogwalker getting bit, I figured.
"After a static-y and short conversation with him, a woman emerging from the woods asked if it had been following me as well. I told her it had, and she told me she thought someone had been keeping it as a pet and had dumped it out here. In my zeal for adventure and a sensational story, I had completely neglected to think about any possibilities other than RABID RACCOON CHASES, DEVOURS YOUNG WOMAN AND DOGS."
I wrote the above a few weeks ago, soon after that Sunday afternoon. It is now August 31st. Since that day, my mind has been travelling back repeatedly to what occurred. I can't get the image out of my mind, him playing at our feet with pebbles as we discussed what his fate would certainly be. An owl, no doubt, or a dog— hopefully an owl, for that would be a surely swifter death.
It's not fair, really, that humans have such capacity both for good and destruction. While there are many among us who devote themselves to improving the standards of living among people and animals alike, there are far more whose thoughts never stray far from their material posessions and expensive upcoming vacations. Those who do care might not want to make a show of it, as is the case of President Bush who's a known "environmentalist" when his GOP buddies aren't skulking around nearby.
What do we have to show for our nonchalance, our inaction, our embarassment in potentially being labeled a "tree-hugger"? Increasing temperatures, violent storms, harsh droughts and unforgiving floods, the extinction of undiscovered species, mutation in frogs, depleted resources, rising energy costs, lower standards of living, war.
Maybe I should reevaluate what I consider to be important, because one potentially sick or potentially abandoned raccoon has occupied my thoughts so consistently. But that animal is symbollic of all the things wrong with the way we view nature and the world around us.
I don't know what happened to him. He was gone by my next return to Rose Lake.
"Sunday was a first, however. Long story short, my dogs and I were followed by a fairly young raccoon [probably less than a year old]. I kept my dogs away from it, having no desire to find out about rabies firsthand, and chased it back with a stick. It kept trying to follow us despite my attempts to chase it away, and it mewed almost like an infant might. The thing probably followed us for 75 or 100 feet before we took off at a run [at which point it ran after us], and then it wasn't behind us anymore.
"We were out on the trail for a few hours, a good part of which I spent thinking about the crazy raccoon following us. Needless to say, that is an unnatural behavior to witness in any animal, unless it intends to make you its lunch. By the time the trailhead was once again near, I had worked out in my head the perfect way to tell the story to my friends.
"Then my dogs took off after something, and a little grey blur went streaking up a tree. The raccoon.
"I was glad it was at least smart enough to run up a tree, and after calling the dogs we walked the remaining distance to the parking area. I noticed some idiot had broken [and left] a lightbulb, and some other idiot had left a fast food bag, so I started to pick up the shards of glass. The dogs sat nearby in the shade. Then I heard a familiar mewing coming from some bushes, and a little bandit's face appeared.
"I grabbed a nearby stick and told the dogs to heel, and we walked back to my car so I could put the dogs in. It followed us, occassionally scampering back a ways as my stick dictated. After closing the dogs into the car, I looked around for the raccoon and saw it underneath my car, apparently playing with some grass caught near the exhaust. I stealthily grabbed my purse, keeping a wary eye out for grey blurs, and walked around in an attempt to find cell phone service. My plan was to call my father to ask if there was a DNR or Animal Control number I could call to come get this thing. No point in some seasonal dogwalker getting bit, I figured.
"After a static-y and short conversation with him, a woman emerging from the woods asked if it had been following me as well. I told her it had, and she told me she thought someone had been keeping it as a pet and had dumped it out here. In my zeal for adventure and a sensational story, I had completely neglected to think about any possibilities other than RABID RACCOON CHASES, DEVOURS YOUNG WOMAN AND DOGS."
I wrote the above a few weeks ago, soon after that Sunday afternoon. It is now August 31st. Since that day, my mind has been travelling back repeatedly to what occurred. I can't get the image out of my mind, him playing at our feet with pebbles as we discussed what his fate would certainly be. An owl, no doubt, or a dog— hopefully an owl, for that would be a surely swifter death.
It's not fair, really, that humans have such capacity both for good and destruction. While there are many among us who devote themselves to improving the standards of living among people and animals alike, there are far more whose thoughts never stray far from their material posessions and expensive upcoming vacations. Those who do care might not want to make a show of it, as is the case of President Bush who's a known "environmentalist" when his GOP buddies aren't skulking around nearby.
What do we have to show for our nonchalance, our inaction, our embarassment in potentially being labeled a "tree-hugger"? Increasing temperatures, violent storms, harsh droughts and unforgiving floods, the extinction of undiscovered species, mutation in frogs, depleted resources, rising energy costs, lower standards of living, war.
Maybe I should reevaluate what I consider to be important, because one potentially sick or potentially abandoned raccoon has occupied my thoughts so consistently. But that animal is symbollic of all the things wrong with the way we view nature and the world around us.
I don't know what happened to him. He was gone by my next return to Rose Lake.
Friday, August 11, 2006
__ o'clock and all's well!
If you go to Google.com and search "time," the first result is http://www.time.gov. After selecting the proper time zone one can find one what the official time is, accurate to 0.2 seconds. A map illustrates where the sun currently shines and which areas of the world are shrouded in darkness.
I don't know about the rest of you, but certainly I feel better knowing that, whenever I wish, I can figure out officially what the time is.
Oddly enough, it seems as though we spend part of our life wanting to grow up, and the other part wishing we were younger. My age seems like a good one, but at the same time I get tired of being referred to as "sweetie" and other such embarassing terms of faux endearment when I'm speaking to clients on the phone. Even people with whom I work call me sweetie sometimes. I'm not even all that sweet. But since I'm younger than they are, since I have nine or so months of "-teen" on my age, I'm still in that cutesy age bracket.
We are all separated by tell-tale signs of age— hairstyle, choice of makeup, dress, mannerisms, vocabulary and the ease with which one uses slang... Obviously as we age we adjust ourselves to what we consider to be the appropriate norm. My friends will seek to cover their tattoes and reverse years of sun damage. We will trade in our junker cars for something a little more, well, kid-friendly. Days of easy relaxation will turn into a lifetime of work, broken up by weekends and sick days.
At the same time kids are pushing one another to "grow up!" our parents and their peers will buy shiny sports cars and have their hair dyed and styled to fit the times. People ignore death, or fear it, and when the end comes it isn't to be dwelled upon. While humans are capable of living for many many decades, time both flies by and drags on. Are we never satisfied?
Time is an abstract concept, both "the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole," and "a point of time as measured in hours and minutes past midnight or noon." And yet we define what midnight is, when it occurs, and how exactly to calculate the moments which inflate a second or a minute into what is becomes to people. It means nothing, or it would mean nothing did we not give it meaning.
Amazing that I've been alive for 19 revolutions about the sun, and still the passing of years is as the passing of a moment, and the passing of mere weeks drags out to reveal and eternity.
Maybe time travel really is possible.
I don't know about the rest of you, but certainly I feel better knowing that, whenever I wish, I can figure out officially what the time is.
Oddly enough, it seems as though we spend part of our life wanting to grow up, and the other part wishing we were younger. My age seems like a good one, but at the same time I get tired of being referred to as "sweetie" and other such embarassing terms of faux endearment when I'm speaking to clients on the phone. Even people with whom I work call me sweetie sometimes. I'm not even all that sweet. But since I'm younger than they are, since I have nine or so months of "-teen" on my age, I'm still in that cutesy age bracket.
We are all separated by tell-tale signs of age— hairstyle, choice of makeup, dress, mannerisms, vocabulary and the ease with which one uses slang... Obviously as we age we adjust ourselves to what we consider to be the appropriate norm. My friends will seek to cover their tattoes and reverse years of sun damage. We will trade in our junker cars for something a little more, well, kid-friendly. Days of easy relaxation will turn into a lifetime of work, broken up by weekends and sick days.
At the same time kids are pushing one another to "grow up!" our parents and their peers will buy shiny sports cars and have their hair dyed and styled to fit the times. People ignore death, or fear it, and when the end comes it isn't to be dwelled upon. While humans are capable of living for many many decades, time both flies by and drags on. Are we never satisfied?
Time is an abstract concept, both "the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole," and "a point of time as measured in hours and minutes past midnight or noon." And yet we define what midnight is, when it occurs, and how exactly to calculate the moments which inflate a second or a minute into what is becomes to people. It means nothing, or it would mean nothing did we not give it meaning.
Amazing that I've been alive for 19 revolutions about the sun, and still the passing of years is as the passing of a moment, and the passing of mere weeks drags out to reveal and eternity.
Maybe time travel really is possible.
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