hurtling toward the sun (disco mix)

Let's not talk politics. Let's ride the downward spiral slide to a different beat. I just watched the Ashlee Simpson Show on MTV. It made me feel dumb 'n' numb. But everyone on the show was so breathtakingly bone-stupid it also allowed me to feel superior at the same time. Dumb and superior. A few more injections and I'll be ready to vote republican. Ashlee is, of course (and by "of course" I mean "we are doomed") Jessica Simpson's kid sister. Jessica, of course (and by "of course" I mean "make sure those pliers are big enough to remove my brain in one shot"), is one shiny half of the MTV juggernaut "Newlyweds," a reality slice of life loaf starring Jessica and husband, former boy band bland boy Nick Whatever. They are famous for singing, but they can't sing. Not in a "Bob Dylan" can't-sing way. In a "LIVE at the waffle house" way. So I was amazed to discover that Ashlee is less talented than her sister, who has no talent. Is that mathematically possible? Now that the black hole theory is kaput, can we focus on this? Thanks.

caution, democracy in progress

The DNC machine is putting the finishing touches on next week's Democratic National Convention (note: rumors that the nominating ceremony will happen in secret 2 days earlier than advertised have been squashed.) Boston is a city transformed. Look up as you walk the curiously litter-free streets near the convention hall and you'll notice what appear to be attractive new street lamps. But these are not ordinary street lamps. They are high-powered FBI surveillance cameras. Yes, as you and your loved ones stroll the historic FREEDOM TRAIL you can be safe in the knowledge that your freedom is being preserved, in real time, in medium close-up. So act naturally. Not that you have anything to feel guilty about. Right? Please keep moving.  Best of all, Boston gets to keep the cameras. That's right, after the convention leaves town, the "street lamps" will stay in place, reminding us that any freedom worth preserving is a freedom worth curtailing. Welcome to Boston. Like Singapore, but with clam chowder. Oh, I almost forgot: If you're visiting the convention and you're tired of being spied on where you're not sure you're being spied on, stop by the FREE SPEECH ZONE, a cordoned-off area adjacent to the convention hall reserved for the orderly expression of alternative viewpoints. Ignore the barbed wire and police dogs. Dissent is alive and well and caged for your safety. Say cheese!

alpha males tunnel to freedom

You can tell a lot about a man from the hole he hides in when the going gets tough. Say you are the not-so-beloved leader of a Middle Eastern country. Imagine your country is being attacked (liberated) by a much larger country. The much larger country has bombs the size of minivans and they are dropping them everywhere, all day long, hoping you'll eventually be under one. Where do you go? Since your gross national product is tied up in leopard skin bedding and heroic statuary of you looking all bronze-like, your hiding hole options are limited. You may seek asylum in a modest earthen opening, finished off with a plywood ceiling slab. Cozy. Classic dig-it-yourselfer. Disposed? You could be home now! But what if you're a rich white guy and you are second in command of the larger country. You know, the country actively spending down its virtuous WMD stockpile to rid the world of your bad WMD? Congrats! You are Dick “over easy” Cheney. When you’re feeling vulnerable, you don’t crawl into just any hole in the ground. You go down, down, down to your sprawling underground fortress; a state of the art “undisclosed location” paid for by taxes collected from the rank and file, who won’t even notice you are gone. They will be too busy looking out the windows of their (alas) above-ground bungalows, wondering in unison why the sky is all purply and glowing. It’s good to be almost King.

a prison big enough for all of us

Lifestyle super-being Martha Stewart received the minimum sentence for covering up a “personal matter” known as insider trading. The sentence, suspended pending appeal, is split between five months lockup at a four-star containment facility and five months of mansion arrest. Break those rocks. Fluff those pillows. Because she is rich beyond Stephen Hawking’s ability to calculate same, and beloved for turning common household items into common household items covered in glitter, she was able to hold forth on the courthouse steps on a) judicial system inequity, and b) the continued fabulousness of all things Martha Stewart Living. The media, controlled by Dr. Evil types who play golf with Martha board members, made sure to corner regular humans on the street to secure quotes on the “unfairness” of it all. That someone with mogul money, essentially a TV character, will serve time is hard to comprehend. Poor people in possession of white powder and bad plants? Yes, prison. Upper crusters manipulating commerce for personal gain? Ain’t that America?

the circus is coming to town

In just a few days, Boston will put on its best long pants and play host to the festive foregone conclusion known as the Democratic National Convention. That's the official name. Unofficially, local politicos have taken to using the feel-good term "National Security Event." Yes, it's more than democracy in action. It's an opportunity to be blown up. With confetti! But before you head down to the basement with duct tape and canned peaches, know that Boston is taking its National Security Event seriously. We're closing all roads leading in and out of the city. The delegates will be blindfolded. The mayor's mumbling will scramble all official communication.  And if that wasn't enough to ward off would-be terrorists, Tom Ridge even stopped by to tour the convention hall and bless the harbor. I feel better. What about you? So let's do this thing. Let's nominate John "Turtle Wax now being applied" Kerry, and puckish sidekick, John "can-do attitude set to stun" Edwards, as our designated dynamic duo. The fate of mankind hangs in the balance. Plus, we already paid for the fake straw hats.

night of the living NASCAR dad

I'm getting a little worried. George Bush says he shares my values. He knows my values. He embraces my values. We are good ol' buddies, connected forever at the values. But still, I'm not totally convinced. Unless I'm mistaken, the VALUE SET that George is referring to could be nothing more than thinly-veiled campaign code for intolerance, assault weapons, and unbridled snowmobile access. What's more, he's not even looking at me when he says it. He's on TV, working crowds of bussed-in believers. Sensibly dressed just-plain-folks who live in the big square RED states. You know, out in the HEARTLAND, where the wheat reaches up to touch the heavens and "Jesus!" is not just something you say when the cable goes out. But that's OK. George knows his audience. And truthfully, when I say I'm worried about my values, I'm really not. I'm just lying.  Hmmm. Maybe George and I do have something in common.