About 40 minutes into the Democratic debates on ABC, I decided to call it quits. I know who I'm voting for to begin with, but this is ridiculous. Charlie Gibson ought to be fired. Forty minutes of tabloid questions.
Do you love America?
Do you love the flag?
Do you love your opponent?
Do you like you opponent?
To Barack's credit, he seems to be trying -- a little, at least -- to steer the debate toward some substance. That, sadly, is more than I can say for anyone else involved in this laughable spectacle.
So I give up. I'll catch the 30 second soundbytes from which the moderators will pull their next batch of questions.
Now I'm ready for a good old-fashioned Red Sox comeback. Please?
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
In-Depth-esque report: The saddest place in the world
The latest news story from 2004:
The grey sky hangs lazily above the oversized orange lettering. There is a quiet breeze, the only sign of life between the parking lot and the obscenely indistinct building. The storefront protrudes from the otherwise plane building, and in it I find what I would find in any other supermarket. There are doormats by the entrances on both sides. The carts are where I expect them to be, carelessly contained in their allotted space by minimum wage.
I would welcome rain if it came. It would be a fitting and bitter end to the monotony that is a nubilous Monday afternoon in Fayetteville, Ga., and I'd welcome the consistency, for the sun still strained its way through the clouds and made itself known to the pavement, giving the scene a surreal quality -- the light on the ground, the darkness in the air. Welcome to Hobby Lobby. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
It is, for the most part, deserted. No, only we bedraggled stragglers dared venture outdoors. To think I left the house to escape the gloom!
A Brief, inaccurate history
Hobby Lobby was founded by David Green in 1972 with merely 300 square feet of retail space. And oh! how it's grown. There are now 335 of these grim palaces of craft in as many as 27 states. As the company's website declares, Hobby Lobby Creative Center "can no longer be considered just an arts and crafts store. With departments ranging from crafts, hobbies, picture framing, jewelry making, fashion fabrics, floral..." and so on, "Hobby Lobby is the place to shop with Super Selection, Super Savings... Everyday!" The space between "every" and "day" is conspicuously absent, intimating that maybe the folks at the Hobby Lobby are aware of their own dreariness. As Morrissey or a fifteen-year-old might say, "Everyday is like Sunday. Everyday is silent and grey."
However, Sundays won't be silent and grey at Hobby Lobby. No, Hobby Lobby is dedicated to "honoring the Lord in all we do, operating the company in a manner consistent with Biblical principles." They close on Sunday.
Big Lot's Wife
With the ravaging storms down south and the view of a sullen highway, the scene certainly evokes an Old Testament vibe. I entertain the thought that maybe Hobby Lobby is the ark. It would just be me and the beads then... me and the beads. And the styrofoam solar system for $9.99, roosters "as advertised," and classier glass roosters across the store. A feathered lamp to my left, a "World's Best Santa" hat to my right.
The essence of Hobby Lobby's sadness is in its juxtapositions: next to a "Stickability" sticker displaying John 3:16 hangs a green and orange sticker daring the reader to "Deal with me!" Is that from Proverbs? I wondered. Abound are symbols of both faith and pagany. Santa and Satan. Should I carve an evil skull into my pumpkin, or should it be a decidedly more Christian wolfman? Oh, the decisions I face as the gentle guitar music quietly plucks away.
"Did you find those beads with the other beads?" sighs the man at the checkout counter. The native shakes her head to indicate she hadn't. "Well, I'm going to have to charge you like it's from those beads." He sighs for his own loss of purpose. The music is a cheerful electric piano trickling from the speakers like wine from a box. I leave with a dejected sigh. It finally is raining steadily, and I pause in the downpour before taking shelter in the car. I glance back at the goliath of a wasteland as I'm sure Lot's wife did and I might as well have been turned to a pillar of salt because I don't know if I can go on knowing that such seriously fucked place exists. Hobby Lobby is the saddest place on earth.
The grey sky hangs lazily above the oversized orange lettering. There is a quiet breeze, the only sign of life between the parking lot and the obscenely indistinct building. The storefront protrudes from the otherwise plane building, and in it I find what I would find in any other supermarket. There are doormats by the entrances on both sides. The carts are where I expect them to be, carelessly contained in their allotted space by minimum wage.
I would welcome rain if it came. It would be a fitting and bitter end to the monotony that is a nubilous Monday afternoon in Fayetteville, Ga., and I'd welcome the consistency, for the sun still strained its way through the clouds and made itself known to the pavement, giving the scene a surreal quality -- the light on the ground, the darkness in the air. Welcome to Hobby Lobby. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
It is, for the most part, deserted. No, only we bedraggled stragglers dared venture outdoors. To think I left the house to escape the gloom!
A Brief, inaccurate history
Hobby Lobby was founded by David Green in 1972 with merely 300 square feet of retail space. And oh! how it's grown. There are now 335 of these grim palaces of craft in as many as 27 states. As the company's website declares, Hobby Lobby Creative Center "can no longer be considered just an arts and crafts store. With departments ranging from crafts, hobbies, picture framing, jewelry making, fashion fabrics, floral..." and so on, "Hobby Lobby is the place to shop with Super Selection, Super Savings... Everyday!" The space between "every" and "day" is conspicuously absent, intimating that maybe the folks at the Hobby Lobby are aware of their own dreariness. As Morrissey or a fifteen-year-old might say, "Everyday is like Sunday. Everyday is silent and grey."
However, Sundays won't be silent and grey at Hobby Lobby. No, Hobby Lobby is dedicated to "honoring the Lord in all we do, operating the company in a manner consistent with Biblical principles." They close on Sunday.
Big Lot's Wife
With the ravaging storms down south and the view of a sullen highway, the scene certainly evokes an Old Testament vibe. I entertain the thought that maybe Hobby Lobby is the ark. It would just be me and the beads then... me and the beads. And the styrofoam solar system for $9.99, roosters "as advertised," and classier glass roosters across the store. A feathered lamp to my left, a "World's Best Santa" hat to my right.
The essence of Hobby Lobby's sadness is in its juxtapositions: next to a "Stickability" sticker displaying John 3:16 hangs a green and orange sticker daring the reader to "Deal with me!" Is that from Proverbs? I wondered. Abound are symbols of both faith and pagany. Santa and Satan. Should I carve an evil skull into my pumpkin, or should it be a decidedly more Christian wolfman? Oh, the decisions I face as the gentle guitar music quietly plucks away.
"Did you find those beads with the other beads?" sighs the man at the checkout counter. The native shakes her head to indicate she hadn't. "Well, I'm going to have to charge you like it's from those beads." He sighs for his own loss of purpose. The music is a cheerful electric piano trickling from the speakers like wine from a box. I leave with a dejected sigh. It finally is raining steadily, and I pause in the downpour before taking shelter in the car. I glance back at the goliath of a wasteland as I'm sure Lot's wife did and I might as well have been turned to a pillar of salt because I don't know if I can go on knowing that such seriously fucked place exists. Hobby Lobby is the saddest place on earth.
The Parents Television Council gets cable
http://www.broadcastingcable.com/article/CA6549701.html
The music television programs have gotten awfully racy as of late. For instance, there’s that one music video they play… Er, I’ve seen it, but I can’t recall the song. Or the artist. You know the one. It’s got a really cloying chorus, and it’s very earnest and tuneful. Or was it f’real as fuck?
Either way, the PTC has apparently seen it, too, now, and they didn’t like it either. They’ve got it out for the gangsters, pimps, thugs and players on MTV and BET — stereotypes they claim portray blacks and Latinos in a much cooler light than your average white person (see VH1).
But racial justice is only one shade of the PTC hissyfit. Before all else, we must think of the children!
The MTVs and BETs are pratically heaving porn at your kids. I for one refuse to watch MTV until Damien Fahey stops wearing such lowcut shirts.
“A Shot of Love with Tila Tequila” is precisely the kind of show you don’t want your kids watching. And how are you supposed to tell me that the MTV execs aren’t trying to push that on the kids? She is a famous celebrity that I hadn’t heard of until there was a show about her, and kids love famous celebrities that no one else gives a fuck about. In no time, your kids will be asking you for thongs and watermelon-flavored vodka instead of asking to go to church and the dentist like they do now.
Show me a pre-teen who doesn’t love the 10 second Bad Brains clips between The Real World and The Real World/Road Rules Challenge, and I’ll show you a pre-teen who cannot love.
I’d go more in depth, but — god, I don’t know how to say this — Um, I don’t watch much BET.
The music television programs have gotten awfully racy as of late. For instance, there’s that one music video they play… Er, I’ve seen it, but I can’t recall the song. Or the artist. You know the one. It’s got a really cloying chorus, and it’s very earnest and tuneful. Or was it f’real as fuck?
Either way, the PTC has apparently seen it, too, now, and they didn’t like it either. They’ve got it out for the gangsters, pimps, thugs and players on MTV and BET — stereotypes they claim portray blacks and Latinos in a much cooler light than your average white person (see VH1).
But racial justice is only one shade of the PTC hissyfit. Before all else, we must think of the children!
The MTVs and BETs are pratically heaving porn at your kids. I for one refuse to watch MTV until Damien Fahey stops wearing such lowcut shirts.
“A Shot of Love with Tila Tequila” is precisely the kind of show you don’t want your kids watching. And how are you supposed to tell me that the MTV execs aren’t trying to push that on the kids? She is a famous celebrity that I hadn’t heard of until there was a show about her, and kids love famous celebrities that no one else gives a fuck about. In no time, your kids will be asking you for thongs and watermelon-flavored vodka instead of asking to go to church and the dentist like they do now.
Show me a pre-teen who doesn’t love the 10 second Bad Brains clips between The Real World and The Real World/Road Rules Challenge, and I’ll show you a pre-teen who cannot love.
I’d go more in depth, but — god, I don’t know how to say this — Um, I don’t watch much BET.
Today I Started a Blog
I started a blog today. It’s called Candy and Pizza. Or is it Pizza and Candy?
Hopefully, not remembering the name of my stupid NEW! blog will be the first of many failings and inadequacies that I commit to the internet.
As a special treat, here’s a great Drifter Pick-Up Line!:
I wanna drum “Hot Cross Buns” on yer vulva.
Hopefully, not remembering the name of my stupid NEW! blog will be the first of many failings and inadequacies that I commit to the internet.
As a special treat, here’s a great Drifter Pick-Up Line!:
I wanna drum “Hot Cross Buns” on yer vulva.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)