Of Norse Gods and Giants and Amercian Goats and Shit

My Norwegian compadres on the Nobel committee did nether the US or Obama any favors by awarding the Peace Prize to our neophyte President, however noble their intentions (bad pun unfortunately intended).

True, he's made the world more amenable toward peace simply by not being George W. Bush and he's pretty good at it. I personally think he's mostly making the right moves, though at a much more leisurely pace than I would have liked.  Oh sure, there are a bunch of little things that bother me about what Obama's done or not done on one issue or another. There always will be until someone elects me president.  Even then, I'd find a way to find fault with some of my decisions immediately upon making them (perhaps especially then).   All in all, though, Obama's doing okay.

But the Nobel Peace Prize?

At the end of the day, Obama's the commander in chief responsible for two wars of our own making and it doesn't really matter that he inherited them. He's clearly accelerating the Afghan campaign and to my eyes not made nearly enough progress in getting us out of the muck that is Iraq.   And nothing else he's accomplished besides not being Bush has had time to bear fruit yet.  Perhaps they need a Nobel Not-Bush Prize.  Barack totally deserves that one.

And of course there are the downsides to winning a Nobel Prize for nebulous reasons: The right wing fear mongers now have more fodder for monging ("it's a vast worldwide leftist conspiracy!").  These are the people that cheered the news that we didn't get the 2016 Olympics because Obama lobbied to get it.  I imagine they'd cheer firebombing of orphanages if Obama came out against the idea.

But enough of this political claptrap - let's talk about important things, like Marge Simpson at long last making the cover of Playboy Magazine.  Alas, no Jessica Rabbit style centerfold to go along with it, but it shows that cartoon cougars can be bad too (well, not bad; just drawn that way).

I'm sitting here watching Discovery Health (naturally; what's an old fogy going to do on a Friday night?) and on comes yet another commercial by a company whose advertisements seem isolated to this channel: Home Delivery Incontinent Supplies (HDIS).   I've never seen so much as a reference to them anywhere else.  Know thy demographic.  And so they do, but I hope I won't need their services for a good long time.

I've mentioned HDIS in a prior posting, but it bears repeating for those who missed it: this company caters solely to those whose bladders and bowels are so out of control that they can't make it through the checkout line at the supermarket without leaving a trail of piss and shit in their wake.  Or maybe to those who are simply embarrassed to roll up to the "15 items or less" aisle and get yelled at by the gum popping teenager working the register for having 15 packs of Depends and a large block of cheese ("that's 16 items shit-for-brains!").   Who wants that?  Let HDIS ship your bowel and bladder control needs right to the front door!  Another bushel of butt plugs for the Petersons!

On that bright note I catch a glance at the clock: 11:20pm, time for bed.  Gotta get caught up on my reading: The Men who Stare at Goats has been teed up on my nightstand for a while and I've only gotten a few pages into it.

Goats, Shit, Piss and the Nobel Peace Prize.  Who could ask for anything more?

He was a Head of his Time

In his new book 'Frozen', author Larry Johnson alleges that employees of Alcor Life Extension Foundation regularly abused the frozen head of baseball great Ted Williams, even using it for batting practice, attempting to knock his noggin off the tuna fish cans (!) it was often mounted on. Icy decapitated humiliation for perhaps the greatest baseball player ever to strap on a pair of cleats.

That's just wrong on so many levels. Ty Cobb or Barry Bonds, yeah: knock yourself out, snowball fights all around. But not Ted Williams, for crying out loud. He was one of the good guys. Come 2195 when they thaw him out and slap a new body underfoot, his first glance in the mirror at the new Ted will be marred by a fucking Starkist tin jutting out of his frontal lobe!

Of course, there may be worries for The Splendid Splinter beyond simply a few dings in the membrane.  It seems the boys at Alcor lopped off Ted's head with something like a chain saw, the 'surgery' performed by a crew whose combined medical education consisted of high school biology 101 and a CPR correspondent's course. I imagine the procedure resembled that one scene in DePalma's 1983 Scarface remake (you know the one; if you don't, you don't want to).

Johnson was the Chief Operating Officer of Alcor for several years before turning tail to become a whistle-blower against his former colleagues. He claimed to fear for his safety after allegedly receiving threats of reprisal, penning the expose in hiding for the most part. He goes on to write that families of employees would come in regularly for photo opps with the batting champ.  They'd take Ted's head out of storage and toss it around while they took turns snapping pics, sometimes involving Williams' cranium in bazaar and 'unnatural' poses (as if there were 'natural' ones for such an occasion).

I'll certainly be picking the book up when it hits the stands this week.

Johnson's allegations are vehemently denied by Alcor, who attempted unsuccessfully to block publication of the book. I can't imagine why Johnson would fabricate such over-the-top outrages in the detail he did, for such a lengthy period of time, if there wasn't at least a kernel of truth there. Well, I can imagine why: the usual and obvious reasons of money and ego. But there has been more than enough corroboration since he first raised these concerns to tell me something's fishy in cryonics heaven.

Who really cares?  I mean really cares, beyond the ghoulish entertainment kind of caring that folks like me indulge in.  There are those cryonics believers, of course, and I would think Ted's family might have more than a passing interest.  But anyone else?

In the end, I find the whole thing supremely silly given everything else going on in the world. I'd find the whole thing supremely silly even if nothing else was going on in the world. It's a frozen hunk of inanimate matter that'll never be anything but again. Even if we have the technology to reanimate it at some distant future point in time, it's high likely by then we'll be able to transfer the thawed out neurons into a 'fresh' artificial head for him.

In the end, this is nothing more egregious than finding out people were desecrating Archie Bunker's Chair at the Smithsonian. Actually, I'd be far more disturbed to hear of chair abuse allegations (shuttering to think what some museum workers might be up to after hours when they get bored). That's real Americana you're messing with, punk! I'd be calling for congressional investigations and the whole nine yards.


But a dead baseball player's head? What can you say? Chin up, Ted!

Momar and Mahmoud rock Manhattan - A Blitzkrieg Bop through the Big Apple, featuring Hasselhoff and Winehouse

My eyes rested on two items today that Google News decided to categorize together for me.

One was David Hasselhoff's continuing struggle with the bottle. David claims this latest ride to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning was an 'ear infection' affecting his equilibrium. Sure, 'Michael' - tell it to K.I.T.T. It was his fifth such trip (emphasis on the fifth).

The other item was Mahmoud ImADickYaHeard's reaffirmation of (and pride in) his frequent remarks labeling the Holocaust a fabrication concocted by the Jews to steal his land. Well, not exactly - to steal the land of his friends. Er, not quite. (After all, I don't see him offering to drive the Palestinian people to the airport or help to paint their spare bedroom over the weekend.) Alright, to steal the land of people he despises a little less than the Jews. Or maybe just another grab at the spotlight and to look righteous and defiant (scoring points with the hardliners).

These are two ginormous goof balls whose ridiculous antics affect the world in different ways, to be sure. 'Mitch Buchannon' is mainly screwing up his immediate family and perhaps 'fans' who should know better. Maybe producers who should know better. ImADickYaHeard, on the other hand, is attempting to play on the pain and suffering of the disenfranchised, perpetrating a meta-lie (lying about people lying). Now to be clear, I'm no Israel apologist - they don't have a monopoly on right (or wrong). Ultimately, for any sort of real solution, the Israelis and Palestinians will both need to compromise. Sadly, that day may never come and it's dicks like ImADickYaHeard that'll help ensure it won't.

What do drunkard and dickweed have in common (besides being jack asses of greater or lesser magnitude)? Seemingly not much (though I hear through the grapevine that ImADickYaHeard is a closet Baywatch fan).

They do have a vaguely German connection in that Hasselhoff's 'music' is inexplicably popular in that country and ImADickYaHeard's worldview would have been favorably viewed by that country's leaders back in the 30s (though his race would most certainly not have been). But that's an unfair (and nonsensical) comparison based on a stereotype of the kind Iran's head bonehead would no doubt approve.

So it goes back to them both being goof balls. Fodder for the rest of us to have a bit of fun.

For instance, perhaps The Knight Rider could team up with Amy Winehouse, record a duet album of boozy classics (Tiny Bubbles, Tubthumping, One Bourbon One Scotch One Beer, Too Drunk To Fuck, Gin and Juice). Maybe go on tour? I think the New York Booze Cruise people are calling!

Speaking of duets, I think ImADickYaHeard should team up with Momar "Crazy Legs" GitOffMe. Mahmoud and Momar are both in New York toward the end of this week to catch some of the fall runway shows (and perhaps swing by the UN, if there's time). Two wild and (literally) crazy guys. Momar could give the hirsuted one some fashion tips ahead of their arrival.

Swinging batshit loony dictators out and about, doing the town! (Whatcha mean CBGB closed down!?! Momar, you promised! The Ramones! Blitzkrieg Bop! Johnny and Joey are dead? Next thing you'll tell me the Dictators have broken up! Well, there's always Scores!)

Or - and I'm just trying to tie this post up here somehow - we could book them on the Hasselhoff/Winehouse New York Booze Cruise.

We're talking wine(house and the liquid variety), women (Momar's Famed Female Body Guards) and song (David and Amy live!).

And after all the fun and games, we'll arrange for a nice long rest for them off the side of the boat into the East River (you too, Hasselhoff - let's see Mr. Baywatch swim with an anchor locked tight around your leg).

Sleep tight, boys.

'Cos you're making me feel like I've never been born

I see the NAACP is planning on being out in force for tomorrow's Eagles game, in support of Michael Vick.

Am I the only one who sees a heavy irony in this? This organization is sticking up for Michael Vick? An organization with a proud history of fighting institutionalized injustice of others, acting as voice where before there was none, hastening the progression of a people from property to perhaps one day enjoying true and full equal rights not just by law but in hearts and minds (and don't kid yourself, our country isn't nearly there yet). This is that organization?

Let's go back in time about 200 years, 150 even. A white guy who did to African Americans, to human beings, what Vick did to dogs, would likely have gotten a similar punishment, maybe even less, if he "owned" those individuals. If his was a public profession (entertainment or the like), he'd be in a familiar position. And likely there'd be the Klan or similar ilk out there showing support for the guy because "he'd served his time."

Now, before you get your Smuckers in a jar, I'm not suggesting that the canine victims of Vick's crimes compare to the human victims in this trip down that shameful corner of our nation's past. It's a fact that they were thought of this way, even less, is my point. Nor am I comparing the NAACP to the Klan. The NAACP is a tremendous group, have been and are a driving force for incalculable good; the Klan is a despicable organization responsible for equally incalculable evil.

Animals and human being do share one very important aspect: the capacity to suffer and feel pain. We're carnivorous, we kill and eat meat. However, a living creature capable of suffering shouldn't be made to if it isn't absolutely necessary, certainly not for 'entertainment' purposes.

Years of sociopathic behavior tells the tale, whether he tortures animals or people, whether he be black or white, whether he be a she, it doesn't matter if it's 1809 or 2009. I admire the hell out of the NAACP and am sure their intentions are pure. They are likely tired of seeing yet another African American demonized and are trying to be proactive in stemming the tide of public opinion. I sympathize. Frankly, I wish Vick was a blond haired/blue eyed sociopath, but he's a sociopath regardless. I can't stand inside their shoes and certainly do not presume to understand their perspective. Just suggesting maybe they don't really want a dog in this particular fight. So to speak.

Religious intolerance and fear made the news again today. But really this kind of thing plays itself out every minute of every day on this planet in guises we likely don't always recognize. Strident belief in a set of values handed down from some omnipotent deity which hint (or hammer) at the values (and, consequently, the core worth) of others. It's instilled in a lot of us at birth and continuously reinforced since. It's been responsible for the lion's share of humanity's violence and hatred since time immemorial. No news there. But that doesn't make it any less depressing. Usually poverty and powerlessness fan the flames (hell, they ignite the fire in the first place in a lot of instances). But not always. Another case of stating the obvious, and the obviousness of it not helping.

It's pretty easy for me to rattle off an obnoxious, high and mighty, self righteous observation like I just did. I'm not a religious person, though not exactly an atheist. Anyway, not one who insists that there was/is - time being so relative - intelligence responsible in some manner for our existence, the universe, the multiverse, etc. To insist that's true is just arrogance through the looking glass.

My take is we're not nearly evolved or intelligent enough as a species to be able to figure something like that out. I guess that makes me an agnostic, though I don't consider myself indecisive or unwilling to "take a stand." I'm not hedging my bets. The only thing I'm pretty sure of is that while everybody with a belief in a supernatural being might be right about such a being's existence, they're surely wrong about any of the specifics. But I recognize that this is only my opinion and I don't think you're "of the devil" if you disagree. Or "The Great Satan", to give equal voice to the intolerant among those not tolerated by the Floridian devil-t-shirt crowd.

But enough pontificating - let's get to important things ...

We are fortunate enough in America to have some leaders of great principles and honor, in the here-and-now, regardless of what might await us once we leave this mortal coil.

Folks like Mark Sanford, noted Appalachian Anthropologist and amateur Argentinian Gynecologist. And, I might add, a True Believer.

Hang in there and fight for what you believe in, Mark. Don't let the unbelievers tear you down. You have work left to finish, South American fact finding trips yet to take.

You're the anti-Sarah Palin.

Sarah inexplicably resigns to twitter her life away, so as not to be an all-destructive Lame Duck, quacking away at the very fabric of the Yukon's star spangled icebergs. She should have resigned immediately upon being first elected, so as not to risk being a one-term burden on the great white north.

But you, Marky boy, you take a different tact. It'll take a conviction on charges of mass genocide for you to consider leaving office. Mass genocide, mind you - a bit of genocide here and there, especially if done for love, might even be considered a strength (if done out of state).


Now for something completely different ...

Great VH1 retrospective tonight on what was my first favorite rock band, the Beatles. When I caught Beatlemania they were already in reruns, having broken up three years prior to my first album purchase. Still, I couldn't get enough of them (this was the early 70s - who else was I supposed to get excited over?).

Until the Ramones, Clash, Costello and Springsteen made themselves known to me, the Beatles were the shit in my book. If I had to choose, I think I'd still pick them. Well, maybe Dylan would be first, but I didn't come to his work until a bit later in life. Unlike many, I always dug the Beatles early work more than I did the later stuff. A Red Album Guy, as it were. With a decidedly Blue State hue. Just to be sure I had balance in my life, at least where the primary colors are concerned (the Irish in me rounding out the green).

Well, this was certainly a post for the ages, filled with non sequiturs, pointless ramblings, wild mood swings and generally a big mess ('the world's a mess, it's in my kiss' - love ya and miss ya, X; you & the Violent Femmes made the 80s tolerable).

I blame the six pack of diet coke I just drank and the all round lack of sleep since the flu last week. That and the mental letting go of things on the professional front as I look for something different. That's been an ongoing process but decisions were made last week and it's like coming to the surface after a long time at great depth. I have the bends. Gotta flush the iridium out of my system (and that means something only to those it does)

Time for bed, though not for sleep. iTunes Beatles 63-66 playlist, I think. And my umpteenth read of The Great Gatsby. For some reason, they seem to go together just fine. See ya in a bit, Daisy.

Johnny and Momar go to (Englewood's) White Castle

Everyone's favorite terrorizin' Gadfly is winging into town next month to introduce his fall fashion line. I also wouldn't count out a stylish collaboration or two taking place between Momar and Vogue's Prada wearing devil while he's here. Maybe I smell a cover? After all, he's already made Vanity Fair this month. He's clearly the Gold Standard of modern batshit insane urbane clotheshorse dictators.

Oh, yeah - and maybe he'll swing by the UN too, if he has time.

Apparently Libya owns an estate in Englewood, NJ. They've had it for years but it was seemingly unused and in increasingly dilapidated condition until a couple of months ago when the Pimp My Ambassador's Residence crew descended upon it. Now the Darnah Dandy says he wants to camp out there during his upcoming trip to nearby Manhattan, much to the chagrin of the local authorities.

Folks are concerned the town's large Jewish population might take offense at Sgt. Pepper and his Radical Islamic Hard Liner Hearts Club Band rolling into town. Come on, guys! He really didn't mean that crack about running all the Jews of the world into the sea! He was joshin' - he's such a card - the Dice Man & Don Rickles of the Middle East. Just ask his newest Pal, Johnny-B-Good McCain. Johnny, run on over to the Garden State and stand up for yer buddy.

Momar, baby - ya don't want to rock and roll in the sticks anyway - one of Trump's joints in the city is more your style! Maybe a Trump Soho Hotel Condo? That'll put ya in the thick of the action - close to the fashion district and the trendy artist community you so love but just a cab ride away from the mid-town or upper east side scene. Your personal bodygals will be bored silly in Englewood when Park Avenue beckons!

I wonder if J. Mac will offer his services as tour guide while the Libyan Lothario is in town? I know the Big Apple isn't exactly Johnny's turf, but it's only fair given the magical time he had recently at Momar's "Mustang" Ranch. Grampa Munster raved about it on Twitter and Facebook, sounding just a bit like a school girl with a crush. Must have been a mighty "interesting" time indeed. Do ya think they got juiced up on Benghazi Bourbon and started harmonizing to "Bomb-bomb-bomb, bomb-bomb Iran" together? Probably not, Momar doesn't drink (he's high on life).

Still, booze or no, you thought the SNL Czech Brothers were wild and crazy? Get Momar and Johnny together and they make those two look like the Bobbsey Twins. Look out, Scores! Daddy needs a new group of female bodyguards ...