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I was really pretty shocked to have read that Henry Louis Gates Jr., professor extraordinaire of long standing at the venerable institution Hahr-Vahrd, was arrested two days ago.
But I wasn’t shocked to have read the context and circumstances of his arrest. Sure, there’s the easy explanation of racism in America (you really will never convince me a white professor would have been treated the same way), but then there’s the even easier explanation that no one seems to be talking about and it is this: the arresting “officer” in the affair is yet another example of a douchebag cop with a Napoleon Complex.
Sure, I have no doubt the cop behaved in a racist manner, but that is an action coupled with a personality trait and that trait being that the he is yet another douchebag cop with a Napoleon Complex.
A professor here at school is a retired cop and relayed to me the different types of people who become police officers:
1. The Fitness Nut: the guy or gal who somehow relives their high school athletic glory days by being a cop. They are all about how they look in the uniform. Being a good or bad cop is strictly a matter of happenstance.
2. The Gun Nut: I think this speaks for itself. The Gun Nut, who is almost always male, is also closely related to the Penis Insecurity Nut.
3. The Righteous Nut: this person has an overwhelming sense of self-importance and truly thinks that the worse they behave towards the general public, the better cop they are.
4. The Drunk Cop: who is actually a pretty okay person who took the job as a way of redemption but at the same time, does not know how to handle the stress better.
Now according to Professor Cop, a police officer can actually be a combination of these varying traits but one is always more dominant than the other. Like the thing about Elvis and the Beatles: you can like both, but you always like one more than the other.
With regards to incident involving Professor Gates, my money is on Cop #3. Then again, I’m not at all familiar with the inner workings of cop-hood and the public perception I have garnered of them over the years is really just boils down to the simplicity of the douchebag cop with the Napoleon Complex scenario.
An oldie but exceptional goodie from the brilliant mind at Indexed
If you want to explain the effed-up spectacle that is American Politics to a Viking, it is best explained via the Prose Edda, a collection of poetry about Norse Mythology.
In one particular understanding fo the world, there is the World Tree, Yggdrassil, which is inhabited by several beings: Veðrfölnir, a hawk residing at the top of the tree, and Níðhöggr, a dragon who resides at the bottom eating the roots.
The most interesting character residing there however, is Ratatosk, a red squirrel whose sole job is to ferry insults between Veðrfölnir and Níðhöggr and spread gossip.
So as we enter the final two weeks of this election season, and tempers flare hotter, and the attack ads get nastier, I think it is safe to assume that despite whomever one takes for being either the hawk or the dragon in this election, I think we can all agree who is Ratatosk.
I’ve never been more thankful to not have the TV hooked up.
As the economy continues to spiral down the drain, and yet another weekly bailout plan is thrown at us, I’ve been contemplating the increasingly strange evolution of the relationship of this government with its people.
The best idea of the government has been to throw more money at the banks and Wall Street. All of course with tax payers’ money mind you, which in theory gets the bank lending to each other again, and in turn, to their thinking, will somehow get us into back into the bed with these scummy entities via the form of investing in the stock market.
And the all the while Henry Paulson acts like he’s some noble hero by stealing our money and strong-arming the banks into accepting money some of them don’t even need. What Paulson fails to realize is that this behavior does not make him or the government heroes, but it does, however, make them pimps.
Yeah, that’s right, you heard me, big ol’ Pimp-thug-dealers. In fact the only thing missing from this picture of the government is the hat.
For years the government, let’s call it Big G, so Big G sat on the corner trying to entice people with his cadre of lovely banking beauties, his “Ho’s”, by stripping away every layer of regulated inhibition. C’mon what’s it gonna hurt? Who’s gonna know? Pushing and pushing until people felt a little toss underneath the sheets was a victimless crime. I mean really, who would it hurt?
But the economics of being a good pimp means you also have to diversify your product line. Few pimps deal strictly in sex. A little drug dealing, just enough to keep both “Johns” and “Ho’s” hooked, and the occasional enforcing to keep the deviants in line, all help flesh out the portfolio.
The banks got hooked on the crack of deregulation and the people got hooked on the sleazy ease of unlimited credit. And then the proverbial condom breaks and we all end up with a fat and nasty STD in the form a financial meltdown.
(Big G also failed to realize that if your Johns and Ho’s all die of overdoses and disease, you lack a both product and a customer at the end of the day.)
But really, the fact is it doesn’t matter how much play money Big G throws at this situation anymore. The Johns are not inclined to get into bed with a Ho who is going to them financial syphilis or worse. When England nationalized their banks, heads rolled and a new harem of Ho’s were brought in. No such provision is being made here.
Clearly, a massive does of penicillin is required. Whatever metaphor you want this penicillin to stand for is up to you. I just know that it’s time to either double-bag it, switch street corners, or get thee to a nunnery.
I haven’t checked my 401k or any of my IRA’s lately. No need to really. They’re all in the hole to some degree or another, of that I can be absolutely sure.
I’ve also stopped listening to the news for a while. There’s only so much you can take with regards to the bail out, the election, and economy. We’re blind people wandering about a coat room looking for a green print jacket. And while the guy clearly has made a wad of dough in his time, I don’t believe Dr-Strangelove-Henry-Paulson is the guy to find the coat.
So here’s my thing as far as all this election hooey is concerned: I’m almost to the point where I don’t give a damn about the personal politics of either candidate. Just give me a freakin’ business manager already. Congress and the Senate can handle to other crap, just give me an executive who can keep a budget.
We’re in freefall here and I have learned to accept it. I don’t plan on retiring for thirty years or more so I’m going to hope that there’s time to build back the lost nest egg. I don’t believe in this bail out so I’m willing to see where the absence of one takes us in the market place. The worst thing that can happen is that we hit absolute bottom and I don’t know about you, but I’m fairly sure I can see it from here.
And the best part about hitting bottom is that you have no where to go but up.
Looking back at the last entry, I noticed it’s been nearly month since I’ve written. Bad Blogger! Bad Blogger! And while I suppose I could use the excuse that school and life have overwhelmed me, Lazy Slug!, truth be told, I simply haven’t felt like writing. Slacker!
Until yesterday.
I went to a movie, and experienced something that sufficiently got my Irish up. Trash talk. Verbal Smack. I’m talking some good old-fashioned Propaganda of the World War II variety,
Should you go to see a film at the West Plaza Cinema, you will be treated to a short music video featuring self-anointed “The King of Trailer Trash”, Kid Rock, and NASCAR driver Dale Earnhardt Jr., pimping themselves out to the National Gard.
Kid Rock, whom I saw get booed off the stage at the State Theater in Detroit in the way back before time of the early 1990’s, has grown into what I think is a decent musical act. “Bawitaba” and “Cowboy” are sentimental favorites of mine, but his music since then has been a poor reiteration of the same. So of course now, in efforts to stave-off total irrelevancy, Kid Rocks whores himself out to this nonsense. I don’t care if he does have the top song in the country, he is dead to me.
And Dale Earnhardt Jr,? Well, let’s just say that watching cars drive in circles all day was never my idea of stimulating entertainment. He’s turning left, ladies and gentlemen! And, wait, OMG, he’s turning left AGAIN! That’s his 30th consecutive left turn! This is truly a thrilling day for cars!
Anyhoo, they team up for this “video” which is about the most heinous piece of garbage I’ve seen in some time. If you can stomach it, you can check out on YouTube. I entertained the thought of embedding it here, but I wish not to contribute in anyway shape or form to the increased numbers of downloads such an act might cause.
So here’s the premise, Kid Rock sings his song “Warrior” while Jr. runs around in camouflage on a set that is staged to look like a town in the Middle East. The “warriors” are dressed to the hilt in combat gear, looking tough and authoritative, while people of obvious Middle Eastern persuasion appropriately run in fear from them, and small children cower until on they, Jr., patronizingly deigns to acknowledge their basic humanity and kicks a soccer ball towards them.
Nice.
Oh, and later, they help evacuate unknown people from an unknown suburban location that is on fire. And all throughout, there are these inconsistent and bizarre cut shots of car racing footage mixed in.
But the point is this: if you want to be a bad-ass, mother-effer who makes Arabic people run and hide, then the National Guard is the place for you.
The heaps of shame that should loaded onto anyone involved with this can not be measured by modern science. Of course, the sort who buy into this crap typically don’t acknowledge science outside of a vacuum and believe that humans kept dinosaurs as pets.
Which almost makes sense since we clearly haven’t evolved.
Since everyone seems to be trying to provoke me into commenting about Michelle Duggars, again, by emailing me the latest news on how this woman is pregnant, again, I will sum up my feelings as such and then this is it:
1. I think Michelle Duggars has a compulsive illness and continues to have children the way some old people collect cats, by the dozens. She very clearly needs psychiatric help.
2. And seriously, she has to be running out of “J” names by now.
So Sailor Man’s cousins were in town last week, and aside from being a little more than insulted by the wife of one of said cousin about the state of my marriage, I also had the “pleasure” (note sarcastic quote symbols) of enduring some highly racist smack during beer-time on the deck.
Already pretty peeved-off about the whole marriage brouhaha, I wasn’t terribly inclined to get into it over the absolutely horrific “political discourse” about racial minorities. I merely put my drink down, picked up my things and quietly left.
And I’ve felt pretty crappy about it ever since.
Mostly this is because I have never let this kind of talk go on before (not the way I was raised), and being tired or in a bad mood is never enough of a reason to ever let talk like that continue, so in a way, I feel like I let myself/parents down. On the other hand, I have the tendency go pretty nuclear and it’s pretty hard to know how to approach the situation without creating more hurt feelings (which often tend to cloud the issue at hand) while still calling people on the carpet.
I had mentioned this problem to a friend of mine and he emailed me this YouTube link which perfectly lays out what to do and how.
No excuse next time. Next time I act.
I’ve never held myself as the Poster Child for Normalcy, but I would never go as far to say that I am the Epitome of Weirdness either. I admit that I live a rather unusual life and have strange and unusual tastes, but to be quite honest, I’m not all that different from most people I know and as a married person who can be lumped into the Living Apart Together phenomena, I find I am in good company.
Sailor Man, is well, a sailor. By definition he makes his living on the water. I am not a sailor. I enjoy water in many forms, but to live and work on it? Nu-uh, not this dame. As such, Sailor and I have lived much of our 8 years together apart. By my reckoning, I think we’ve actually been in each other’s actual physical presense just over 4 of those 8 years.
And we’re the happiest married couple I know.
The other night, I had dinner with some of Sailor’s family who was in town and our non-traditional union was called into question by the wife of a cousin. So much so, that she went as far as to suggest that we couldn’t really be in committed marriage when we spend this much time apart.
Needless to say, this did not endear her to me.
My reply to her and to all who have the absolute gall to question our union is this: don’t let your inabilities, insecurities and fears in your own relationship project onto my marriage and attempt to nullify what is right and works for Sailor and me.
Sailor was doing what he was doing when I met him so I knew what I signing on for. I have work, friends, a life, and none of that ceases just because Sailor is away. There’s also an enormous difference between being alone and being lonely. I have never suffered from the latter.
In this marvelous age of communication, Sailor and I talk all the time via his cell phone. And I know this is unbelievable to some people, but we actually write letters to each other. Shock! Recoil! Disbelief! But it’s true and we do. Often. I probably have a several hundred letters from him at this point and can no longer fit them in the letter valise he made for our 3rd anniversary.
And living together is not all it’s cracked up to be. Sailor is a slob. I like things put away. He litters the house with knick-knacks. I throw them out. His regular diet consists of hippy-granola food. Mine most certainly does not. I listen to the NPR when putzing around the house. He likes it silent. I like to watch TV. He prefers to read. All those annoying and nerve-grating habits most married couples have that drive each other crazy, I don’t have to deal with. At least, not very often.
And I like it that way. So does Sailor. It works for us. Trying to fit into this “traditional” construct of a marriage would not. I’m not trying to criticize anyone else’s marrital arrangement, but they should also understand that there are other ways of skinning the proverbial cat. It is estimated that 3.8 million, yes, million couples live like we do in this country. And this does not make us any less committed or less in love than the rest of the married folk out there.
And when Sailor and I are together, well, all I can say is that I appreciate morning coffee with my husband in a way only those other 3.8 million wives can.
I’m always surprised at people who complain that TV shows and movies are too violent and weird when the nightly news regularly seem to blow both out of the water.
Is it just me or does it appear the world is getting progressively more twisted? A serial bunny killer is loose in Germany. Feet are washing up in Canada with shoes attached but not the foot’s owner. Or this guy who faked heart attacks to get out of paying restaurant bills and cab fares?! And another female soldier is missing from Ft. Bragg, NC (what the hell is going on down there there is a constant stream of female soldiers being murdered?).
And unfortunately, I could go on from there.
Whatever, dude, blow up some cars and and bring on the cops looking at dead bodies on the tube. At this rate, it is entirely more benign than what’s actually going on in the world today.
