Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Newsflash
As if this needed to be decided by a court.
I mean...duh! Why legislate common sense? ;-)
Happy Belated Mother's Day to all the Lavish Spenders out there.
May your wallets be full (and Vuitton), your days be wonderful, your nights even better, and may you have the intelligence to stay the hell away from, excepting Israel, any Middle Eastern nation that is still rooted in the dark ages.
-B-
I mean...duh! Why legislate common sense? ;-)
Happy Belated Mother's Day to all the Lavish Spenders out there.
May your wallets be full (and Vuitton), your days be wonderful, your nights even better, and may you have the intelligence to stay the hell away from, excepting Israel, any Middle Eastern nation that is still rooted in the dark ages.
-B-
Friday, May 08, 2009
The Short-Cut and The Damage Done
In our online travels, we seldom get the whole truth. We get a glimmer of truth, or a slice of it, or we get a half-waxing moon of it. We never see the entire picture. And typically, depending on the source for whom we entrust to provide us with whatever fraction of truth we eventually absorb, that truth has undergone so much mutation between source and recipient that it rarely, if ever, fully resembles its own original form.
The point of this is not to tsk-tsk the internet or Rupert Murdoch's plan to start charging for online media/content and change our Internet Culture forever. Quick sidetrack: Rupert Murdoch is a self-aggrandizing tool whose grandiose, inflated self-worth is only exceeded by the excess by which he lives his daily life.
But I digress.
The real meat and potatoes of this post, if we can assume there is something worthy of consumption herein, is not to knock the system but to show how these lines of gray can randomly and subtly appear between what is black and what is white.
A very good example of this is the recently-published book by Selena Roberts on A-Rod, entitled "A-Rod: The Many Faces of Alex Rodriguez," and the subsequent fallout that she has endured courtesy of author Jason Whitlock, who has, piece by piece, torn her a new one and who has a lot of legitimate links and points in the guns he's aimed squarely at her.
First and foremost, despite the fact I am an unabashed and lifetime Yankee fan, I'm far from an A-Rod supporter. I think the guy has talent but I was thoroughly satisfied watching that talent from afar (ie Seattle, Texas, or wherever else there was an owner dumb enough to pay a guy $25 or more million a year to put up great numbers without appearing in the playoffs). So while I have respected the guy's abilities and been impressed by his consistency, I was never an A-Rod fan.
Having said all that, Ms. Roberts decided to publish her book to coincide with new allegations about A-Rod's admitted and denied steroid use. Considering that Manny Ramirez was, just yesterday, suspended for fifty games for a positive test regarding some banned substance -- who knows, thus far, what that substance is/was -- the timing of this book is interesting. And frankly, the book isn't about steroids, it's about A-Rod being shallow, plastic and phony.
Thanks for the newsflash, Ms. Roberts. Pardon my yawning, good luck with the book sales.
Put another way, I think Ms. Roberts is a bottom-feeder looking to capitalize on the cult of personality Alex Rodriguez has fomented in the New York spotlight. Sure, the guy is and should be a target of focus. He's making ungodly sums of money to do -- relatively speaking -- nothing special. Personally, I think his presence on the Yankees has adversely affected the team in a number of ways, but since this is not about baseball but about the bottom-feeders of society going after people, what he has or hasn't done for the Yankees is relatively inconsequential.
What is consequential is the fact that he did, in fact, take steroids. When, from whom and how are questions which -- if you care about the answers -- are still out there for conjecture. But let's face it -- who really cares? I'm not letting him off the hook -- I think a cheater should be punished. My take on the matter is thus: I don't know or care why he did it, I think he cheated and I have an even greater distaste for the guy than I did prior to discovering that he did, in fact, juice.
But what is even more disdainful, in my opinion, is the fact that Ms. Roberts has basically sprayed her stink over the entire story -- psycho-analyzing A-Rod, telling the tale of why he took steroids, prying up the floorboards of his legacy from high school and before, and talking about his persona as if she has a clue. To me, she not only doesn't, but the fact that she's throwing this crap onto paper and talking it up on talkshows makes it all the more irresponsible. Why? Because most of her "sources" are either anonymous or non-existent. Does this make her book worthless? No, it doesn't. Does it make it untrue. No. Does it leave her opportunistic, ambulance-chasing tactics suspect?
In a word, yes.
Jason Whitlock's piece about this whole mess sums it up fairly nicely, so I won't clutter the situation with further retelling of the whole she-wrote, he-wrote festival. If you're so inclined, head over there if you'd like a pretty concise disassembly of her whole take on this particular situation. The thing to remember is that it's not just what is in those pages of her book, it's also her credibility -- or a lack thereof -- that is at issue.
The point of this long-winded ramble is not that she's a bottom-feeding, ambulance-chasing shyster. Those descriptors may very well be accurate. The point, however, is that we as a society seem to be increasingly content being spoon-fed news and fact and we, as a society, seem to be increasingly disinterested with questioning that which is plated for our consumption. Mr. Whitlock may be far off, but the fact is that I'm more inclined to agree with his take on this situation if only because my initial reaction -- and my gut reaction -- essentially mirrors what he has to say about this whole thing. Is Selena Roberts entitled to her opinion on A-Rod, the soup of the day or whether 30 Rock is an entertaining comedy? Certainly. But should we accept the spew and take a big bite? My feeling is we shouldn't.
Incidentally, part of Mr. Whitlock's criticism of Ms. Roberts' brand of "journalism" was her characterization of the gentlemen that were involved in the Duke lacrosse scandal. Long-time HoB readers may recall my take on the matter and acknowledge I was pretty repulsed by the bandwagon effect that essentially scarred these guys for life, despite the fact they really did little, if anything, that could be described as "wrong."
The fact is that we are so amped up to rip into people, places and/or institutions that we seldom insure we have the facts. Sure, A-Rod -- eventually -- admitted he used steroids, but do we need a mean-spirited book describing him down to the last inch and giving his psyche a colonoscopy in the process? Even if it was done properly, with journalistic integrity, we don't need it. But the fact that it was done out of greed or opportunity in a shitty, low-end way, simply adds shit-flavored icing on a horseshit cake (I have the application in for the trademark on that phrase, so caveat emptor).
The point being that rather than absorb and trust as fact everything we see in print -- especially online -- we should stop and think rather than consume and react. It's interesting to me that as we debate and discuss this latest celebrity expose -- by someone whose pedigree clearly is at question -- we also have Rupert Murdoch discussing the likelihood that media will someday soon be pay-for-play.
And as the shortcuts abound, doesn't anyone care that there are increasingly frequent typos on CNN's and The New York Times' web sites? Okay, that might be pushing it (there are lots of typos, but whether some web proofer can properly spell secretary is admittedly secondary to the story disclosing that a secretary hacked her boss to death with a letter-opener and then jumped out of a tenth-floor window).
Yet again I digress.
The point being that this story -- Ms. Roberts' book about A-Rod, rather than the story of A-Rod himself -- should be looked on not as simply another example of greed and the almighty short-cut but how we as a culture can learn to cut through much of the bullshit rather than swallowing it whole. And, for Mr. Murdoch's part, knowing better than to be bothered paying for the privilege.
The point of this is not to tsk-tsk the internet or Rupert Murdoch's plan to start charging for online media/content and change our Internet Culture forever. Quick sidetrack: Rupert Murdoch is a self-aggrandizing tool whose grandiose, inflated self-worth is only exceeded by the excess by which he lives his daily life.
But I digress.
The real meat and potatoes of this post, if we can assume there is something worthy of consumption herein, is not to knock the system but to show how these lines of gray can randomly and subtly appear between what is black and what is white.
A very good example of this is the recently-published book by Selena Roberts on A-Rod, entitled "A-Rod: The Many Faces of Alex Rodriguez," and the subsequent fallout that she has endured courtesy of author Jason Whitlock, who has, piece by piece, torn her a new one and who has a lot of legitimate links and points in the guns he's aimed squarely at her.
First and foremost, despite the fact I am an unabashed and lifetime Yankee fan, I'm far from an A-Rod supporter. I think the guy has talent but I was thoroughly satisfied watching that talent from afar (ie Seattle, Texas, or wherever else there was an owner dumb enough to pay a guy $25 or more million a year to put up great numbers without appearing in the playoffs). So while I have respected the guy's abilities and been impressed by his consistency, I was never an A-Rod fan.
Having said all that, Ms. Roberts decided to publish her book to coincide with new allegations about A-Rod's admitted and denied steroid use. Considering that Manny Ramirez was, just yesterday, suspended for fifty games for a positive test regarding some banned substance -- who knows, thus far, what that substance is/was -- the timing of this book is interesting. And frankly, the book isn't about steroids, it's about A-Rod being shallow, plastic and phony.
Thanks for the newsflash, Ms. Roberts. Pardon my yawning, good luck with the book sales.
Put another way, I think Ms. Roberts is a bottom-feeder looking to capitalize on the cult of personality Alex Rodriguez has fomented in the New York spotlight. Sure, the guy is and should be a target of focus. He's making ungodly sums of money to do -- relatively speaking -- nothing special. Personally, I think his presence on the Yankees has adversely affected the team in a number of ways, but since this is not about baseball but about the bottom-feeders of society going after people, what he has or hasn't done for the Yankees is relatively inconsequential.
What is consequential is the fact that he did, in fact, take steroids. When, from whom and how are questions which -- if you care about the answers -- are still out there for conjecture. But let's face it -- who really cares? I'm not letting him off the hook -- I think a cheater should be punished. My take on the matter is thus: I don't know or care why he did it, I think he cheated and I have an even greater distaste for the guy than I did prior to discovering that he did, in fact, juice.
But what is even more disdainful, in my opinion, is the fact that Ms. Roberts has basically sprayed her stink over the entire story -- psycho-analyzing A-Rod, telling the tale of why he took steroids, prying up the floorboards of his legacy from high school and before, and talking about his persona as if she has a clue. To me, she not only doesn't, but the fact that she's throwing this crap onto paper and talking it up on talkshows makes it all the more irresponsible. Why? Because most of her "sources" are either anonymous or non-existent. Does this make her book worthless? No, it doesn't. Does it make it untrue. No. Does it leave her opportunistic, ambulance-chasing tactics suspect?
In a word, yes.
Jason Whitlock's piece about this whole mess sums it up fairly nicely, so I won't clutter the situation with further retelling of the whole she-wrote, he-wrote festival. If you're so inclined, head over there if you'd like a pretty concise disassembly of her whole take on this particular situation. The thing to remember is that it's not just what is in those pages of her book, it's also her credibility -- or a lack thereof -- that is at issue.
The point of this long-winded ramble is not that she's a bottom-feeding, ambulance-chasing shyster. Those descriptors may very well be accurate. The point, however, is that we as a society seem to be increasingly content being spoon-fed news and fact and we, as a society, seem to be increasingly disinterested with questioning that which is plated for our consumption. Mr. Whitlock may be far off, but the fact is that I'm more inclined to agree with his take on this situation if only because my initial reaction -- and my gut reaction -- essentially mirrors what he has to say about this whole thing. Is Selena Roberts entitled to her opinion on A-Rod, the soup of the day or whether 30 Rock is an entertaining comedy? Certainly. But should we accept the spew and take a big bite? My feeling is we shouldn't.
Incidentally, part of Mr. Whitlock's criticism of Ms. Roberts' brand of "journalism" was her characterization of the gentlemen that were involved in the Duke lacrosse scandal. Long-time HoB readers may recall my take on the matter and acknowledge I was pretty repulsed by the bandwagon effect that essentially scarred these guys for life, despite the fact they really did little, if anything, that could be described as "wrong."
The fact is that we are so amped up to rip into people, places and/or institutions that we seldom insure we have the facts. Sure, A-Rod -- eventually -- admitted he used steroids, but do we need a mean-spirited book describing him down to the last inch and giving his psyche a colonoscopy in the process? Even if it was done properly, with journalistic integrity, we don't need it. But the fact that it was done out of greed or opportunity in a shitty, low-end way, simply adds shit-flavored icing on a horseshit cake (I have the application in for the trademark on that phrase, so caveat emptor).
The point being that rather than absorb and trust as fact everything we see in print -- especially online -- we should stop and think rather than consume and react. It's interesting to me that as we debate and discuss this latest celebrity expose -- by someone whose pedigree clearly is at question -- we also have Rupert Murdoch discussing the likelihood that media will someday soon be pay-for-play.
And as the shortcuts abound, doesn't anyone care that there are increasingly frequent typos on CNN's and The New York Times' web sites? Okay, that might be pushing it (there are lots of typos, but whether some web proofer can properly spell secretary is admittedly secondary to the story disclosing that a secretary hacked her boss to death with a letter-opener and then jumped out of a tenth-floor window).
Yet again I digress.
The point being that this story -- Ms. Roberts' book about A-Rod, rather than the story of A-Rod himself -- should be looked on not as simply another example of greed and the almighty short-cut but how we as a culture can learn to cut through much of the bullshit rather than swallowing it whole. And, for Mr. Murdoch's part, knowing better than to be bothered paying for the privilege.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Got a Limp Dick? Don't Call Jim Moran
In some part, I can't argue with Virginia Lawmaker Jim Moran's suggestion that ads selling Erectile Dysfunction be banned from TV. After all, between Viagra and Cialis, my TV (and my junk folder) are relatively clogged up (although most of my junk folder is dedicated to penis enlargement, not functionality). I'm happy to state that -- to date -- I haven't found a need for either of these products (thanks to my significant other and, in the case of past "acquaintances," thanks to Cinemax) but even if I did have a use for these drugs, I wouldn't be wearing a "I'm a Viagra user and I'm happy" badge. And I sure as shit wouldn't be running around singing the "Viva Viagra" song, especially wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts and cavorting with a bunch of guys. I'd no sooner be caught wearing a shirt that says "For me, having sex is like shooting pool with a rope." In other words, if you're a loser, it's already implied; there's no need to fill a prescription or wear a shirt (or a pair of lame shorts) confirming what's already obvious.
Personally, I think the only person in the world qualified to sell Viagra, Cialis or any other wonder-schlong drug is Hugh Hefner. After all, in a relatively subtle way (ha!), Hugh's third leg has probably seen the inside of more kitty than a 100-year-old hospital's maternity ward.
Back to the ads: they are sort of irritating -- what's worse than the implied imagery of older people fucking? Seeing them breakdance naked is a close second, but doesn't quite reach the heights of the former choice. With respect to similarly irritating, obnoxious ads are falling behind the Viagra campaign. It's gotten to the point that "Mom, do you ever feel...you know...not so fresh?" is a distant, forgotten memory and these "ED" ads are now the new bane of the existence of parental watchdogs and people who don't want to hurl whilst eating a late dinner.
But to be perfectly honest, I also think that the reason why Jim Moran wants these ads blocked is because he doesn't want to be reminded that his wife secretly refers to him as Ol' Limpdick.
Your guess is as good as mine, as I don't expect Ol' Limpdick to call me back anytime soon. He's too busy watching reruns of "Sanford and Son."
-B-
Personally, I think the only person in the world qualified to sell Viagra, Cialis or any other wonder-schlong drug is Hugh Hefner. After all, in a relatively subtle way (ha!), Hugh's third leg has probably seen the inside of more kitty than a 100-year-old hospital's maternity ward.
Back to the ads: they are sort of irritating -- what's worse than the implied imagery of older people fucking? Seeing them breakdance naked is a close second, but doesn't quite reach the heights of the former choice. With respect to similarly irritating, obnoxious ads are falling behind the Viagra campaign. It's gotten to the point that "Mom, do you ever feel...you know...not so fresh?" is a distant, forgotten memory and these "ED" ads are now the new bane of the existence of parental watchdogs and people who don't want to hurl whilst eating a late dinner.
But to be perfectly honest, I also think that the reason why Jim Moran wants these ads blocked is because he doesn't want to be reminded that his wife secretly refers to him as Ol' Limpdick.
Your guess is as good as mine, as I don't expect Ol' Limpdick to call me back anytime soon. He's too busy watching reruns of "Sanford and Son."
-B-
Monday, May 04, 2009
Epic Futility Fail, Part 37 (aka Ex Parte Milligan)
I don't know if I'm getting older, maturing (got my pubes last month, thanQ very much!) or if I just regard my time as non waste-worthy.
This is something that has two simultaneous, effective uses, and yet -- it's about as ridiculously dumb an idea as I've come across since I talked Pauly Shore and Carrot-Top out of joining Yahoo Serious in the Shakespeare Dinner Theater production of The Tempest in Templeton, Wisconsin (the Meatloaf Shack, behind the Crab-Boil and Bowl-Til-Dawn Lanes).
These are laser-"engraved" business cards made out -- yes -- beef jerky.
Now, before I roll out a 24-case of whoop-ass cans and pop a few tabs, we all -- theoretically -- agree that business cards do serve a purpose. If you're one of the seventeen people with a home of some sort (not made of cardboard, natch) and you don't happen to have a cellphone, it's nice to be able to take a person's business card so you can a) contact him later, b) check out his company and consider doing business with him, or c) take his card and have it analyzed at a local lab for DNA evidence in the murder of your Great Aunt Gertrude by some traveling salesman who vanished in the still of the night back in Tennessee in August, 1982.
But I digress.
Everyone -- except for a bunch of people -- eat meat.
I suppose it would make lots of sense if the manufacturers of Meatcards could make zucchini jerky and laser-etch that too. And while we're on the subject, I could use some hamachi jerky.
And if they can do it, chicken jerky might be an option. And why stop at protein? Why not see about gummi-bear jerky or, for that festive feel, a peppermint candy-cane jerky? Why not make Rudolph into jerky? Nothing says the holidays like that bright, flashing nose and the taste of reindeer cooked and air-dried over a bunsen burner's flame.
Seems to me that the only real use for these things -- save really astute, knowing planning in advance of the arrival of the Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse -- would be for butchers and grocery stores to pass them out, especially as advertisements for specialty meat purveyors and suppliers.
But overall, I believe that anyone handing me one of these Meatcards would probably have me hand it back and tell them to have something more closely resembling their personality monogrammed.
Which begs the question, can douchebags be laser-etched?
There's much more stupid shit to come.
This is something that has two simultaneous, effective uses, and yet -- it's about as ridiculously dumb an idea as I've come across since I talked Pauly Shore and Carrot-Top out of joining Yahoo Serious in the Shakespeare Dinner Theater production of The Tempest in Templeton, Wisconsin (the Meatloaf Shack, behind the Crab-Boil and Bowl-Til-Dawn Lanes).
These are laser-"engraved" business cards made out -- yes -- beef jerky.
Now, before I roll out a 24-case of whoop-ass cans and pop a few tabs, we all -- theoretically -- agree that business cards do serve a purpose. If you're one of the seventeen people with a home of some sort (not made of cardboard, natch) and you don't happen to have a cellphone, it's nice to be able to take a person's business card so you can a) contact him later, b) check out his company and consider doing business with him, or c) take his card and have it analyzed at a local lab for DNA evidence in the murder of your Great Aunt Gertrude by some traveling salesman who vanished in the still of the night back in Tennessee in August, 1982.
But I digress.
Everyone -- except for a bunch of people -- eat meat.
I suppose it would make lots of sense if the manufacturers of Meatcards could make zucchini jerky and laser-etch that too. And while we're on the subject, I could use some hamachi jerky.
And if they can do it, chicken jerky might be an option. And why stop at protein? Why not see about gummi-bear jerky or, for that festive feel, a peppermint candy-cane jerky? Why not make Rudolph into jerky? Nothing says the holidays like that bright, flashing nose and the taste of reindeer cooked and air-dried over a bunsen burner's flame.
Seems to me that the only real use for these things -- save really astute, knowing planning in advance of the arrival of the Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse -- would be for butchers and grocery stores to pass them out, especially as advertisements for specialty meat purveyors and suppliers.
But overall, I believe that anyone handing me one of these Meatcards would probably have me hand it back and tell them to have something more closely resembling their personality monogrammed.
Which begs the question, can douchebags be laser-etched?
There's much more stupid shit to come.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
The Argument for Vegan Gun-Control and Oxygen Masks
Swine flu is the latest and most compelling threat to the sanity and the sinuses of Americans from coast to coast since avian flu. Personally, I'm somewhat concerned, but whether it's because I'm stupid or too busy to be overly worried, I haven't stopped riding the subway, mingling with the masses or even being out and about.
The main thing is how and why do these things continue to evolve from the middle of nowhere -- whether Mexico, New Mexico or Queens -- and how we can somehow move past these regular threats.
The main thing to consider is that, apparently, one of the sources of this particular strain of the flu virus is a farmer who gave his pigs the bug.
This reminds me of the suggested source of HIV, the mother of all virii; apparently, it was the interaction of humans and monkeys that was its source. Then the avian flu -- and who knows where that came from -- and now the swine flu.
None of this smacks of the arrogance of Montezuma's Revenge or the biological abuse we bestowed on the American Indians (prior to the military abuse we subsequently doled out). It's in our history to absorb and interact with our environment. The problem is these post-interaction outbreaks are becoming increasingly serious. HIV is flying below the radar, but sooner or later we'll manage to foment something that will not be as forgiving.
For those who are fans of Alton Brown's excellent Food Network show "Good Eats," the term "food-borne illness" should be familiar. Thing is, and this is where our society may -- eventually -- have a serious problem, while we can avoid areas of danger -- schools, subways, Mexico, et al -- we can't stop eating (sounds like the mantra of the "before" class of Richard Simmons' self-help overeaters anonymous).
That means we have to start considering what to do in the future. That means avoiding, perhaps, peanut butter, birds, still water in urban, dirty areas, swine, Mexico, border crossings, and locations rife with immigrant activity.
That pretty much wraps up 75% of the nation.
Seems to me that if we hope to be able to breathe, consume food and not further destroy our environment a la "Druidia" from Spaceballs, then we should try learning from our mistakes rather than keep on repeating them.
Just my $0.02.
The main thing is how and why do these things continue to evolve from the middle of nowhere -- whether Mexico, New Mexico or Queens -- and how we can somehow move past these regular threats.
The main thing to consider is that, apparently, one of the sources of this particular strain of the flu virus is a farmer who gave his pigs the bug.
This reminds me of the suggested source of HIV, the mother of all virii; apparently, it was the interaction of humans and monkeys that was its source. Then the avian flu -- and who knows where that came from -- and now the swine flu.
None of this smacks of the arrogance of Montezuma's Revenge or the biological abuse we bestowed on the American Indians (prior to the military abuse we subsequently doled out). It's in our history to absorb and interact with our environment. The problem is these post-interaction outbreaks are becoming increasingly serious. HIV is flying below the radar, but sooner or later we'll manage to foment something that will not be as forgiving.
For those who are fans of Alton Brown's excellent Food Network show "Good Eats," the term "food-borne illness" should be familiar. Thing is, and this is where our society may -- eventually -- have a serious problem, while we can avoid areas of danger -- schools, subways, Mexico, et al -- we can't stop eating (sounds like the mantra of the "before" class of Richard Simmons' self-help overeaters anonymous).
That means we have to start considering what to do in the future. That means avoiding, perhaps, peanut butter, birds, still water in urban, dirty areas, swine, Mexico, border crossings, and locations rife with immigrant activity.
That pretty much wraps up 75% of the nation.
Seems to me that if we hope to be able to breathe, consume food and not further destroy our environment a la "Druidia" from Spaceballs, then we should try learning from our mistakes rather than keep on repeating them.
Just my $0.02.
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