On the art of politics

When I was younger I followed politics with the fervor of a wolverine. I knew all the movers and shakers, read all the important books, watched CSPAN during house votes, etc...

Perhaps you might say I was idealistic in my youth, but that would be completely and utterly wrong.

I was as conservative as can be. I registered as a Republican the moment I turned 18 and could register to vote.

What I never subscribed to social conservatism, my argument involved fiscal conservatism. I believed and still do believe in a federal government that kind of just worked to keep the states getting along, but that ultimately the states get to do what is best for the folks that live there. The important issues one faces in New York, may seem trivial to one that resides in Omaha. I mean, we are not a "one-size-fits-all" nation.

But lately over the course of the years, I've begun to question my "loyalty" (for lack of a better term) to the GOP. I dislike the course the party has taken, with the whole "Family Values" label they've tried to pervert. Again, we are not a "one-size-fits-all" nation. What I consider a "family" may vary from what you may consider a "family." Yet we are both right.

I cannot for the life of me consider myself a liberal, as I do have issues with some of the Democratic Party stands in regards to fiscal issues, but at the same time I do find myself agreeing on many of the social stands.

So my question is, what am I?

I believe in a small federal government that does not interfere with an individual's rights to make money or to live their life in whatever manner they choose.

I believe in having a strong military and federal funding of NPR and Planned Parenthood.

I believe in abstinence as an ideal, but agree with the reality that teens NEED to know alternatives.

I believe that those that worked hard to make a fortune should not be penalized to making it by being taxed to death, but I do believe it's gotten out of hand.

If we were talking sexuality, I'd be a bisexual.

Am I a Bipartisan?

What's the logo? An Donkey riding an Elephant? A small elephant with donkey ears?

I prefer the latter.

I hereby proclaim the official bipartisan logo for others of my kind to rally behind is Dumbo.

Dumbo.

Makes as much sense as anything going on in this country anyway.

To state the obvious

"You know wrestling isn't real, right?"

Why does everyone ask me this when they find out I enjoy wrestling?

I don't ask them, "You know American Idol is rigged, right?"

I don't see how telling me how "fake" it is will change my opinion. Although, I am fascinated by folks' interpretation of "fake" is.

Is the lack of reality the fact that wrestling has a predetermined ending? A lot of shows on TV do. Does something being a work of fiction automatically carry the stigma of being "fake"?

Or is it because it was long believed to be a work of nonfiction and a true athletic competition? The problem with this argument is that it has LONG been known that the ending were predetermined. How long? Before TV came into the picture. Think on that for a minute.

Maybe because wrestling is a live performance, without retakes, it cannot be categorized among regular fictional TV fare. Theater, ballet and the circus do not fit that category either, but no one would argue that because they are also live performances, they should not tell fictionalized stories.

Perhaps the term used to describe wrestling in the new media universe, "sports entertainment" is what causes people to fail to get over it. I guess the Ice Capades in the 70's and 80's, based on the sport of Ice Skating, but telling fictionalized stories would not be considered "sports entertainment" in today's day and age, correct?

My point is, yes I know wrestling is "fake" you moron. Asking me only exposes your stupidity to the world, dumbass.

What do dogs dream about?

Sometimes I sit there and watch my dogs sleep. They're funny little dogs that like sleeping on their backs.

They look so peaceful, and calm... and then the twitching starts. It usually starts with their whiskers. Then it moves on to the upper lip, as though they are trying to look vicious, baring their itty bitty teeth.

The next thing you know, hind legs start kicking, and front paws flap, and then something along a high pitched whine turn growl will come out and they'll wake up with a start.

I often wonder what their dreams are about. Obviously they start out pretty good, but by the end I know they must turn scary as when they wake up it takes them a few seconds to calm down.

Do they dream of running in wide open fields chasing bunnies, only to have those bunnies turn into giant semi trucks with teeth that breathe fire that chase them until they fall off a cliff... and then they wake up?

Do they dream of being a tiny puppy surrounded with sausages and hamburgers and all the food they could every eat only to have those giant sausages and burgers turn into giant semi trucks with teeth that breathe fire that chase then until they fall off a cliff... and then they wake up?

Maybe they're dreaming of spreading a fun day with me, playing ball outside in the yard... only to have ME turn into a giant semi truck with teeth that breathes fire that chases them until they fall off a cliff?

I guess I'll never know.

But I am certain of one thing: There's giant semi trucks with teeth breathing fire chasing them until they fall off a cliff.

I'd bet money on it.

The lullaby of Broadway...

As I sat here listening a musical selection from "Rent" that Pandora insisted I must like since I tend to have Patti Lupone on heavy rotation on my Musical Theater station, it occurred to me how utterly depressing Rent truly is. It also occurred to me that Pandora is a poor judge of character. Why else name the program after the source of all the evils of the world? I suppose it's questions of this sort that kept Robert Stack in kibble so for many years after his Untouchables days. I digress.

Back to the impossibly depressing Rent... Now, it's not that I dislike Rent. The melodies are modern, the hooks memorable, and the heavy handed "message" gives me that ABC After School Special vibe that is both familiar and disturbing:
"In The Shadow of Love: A Teen AIDS Story"

I kid you not. Look it up. Omar Epps (of House fame) and Harvey Fierstein (if you don't know him by name, shame on you) are both in it.

Back to Rent.

Anyhow, I never gave this play more than a fleeting thought. It didn't speak to me, as I could never envision myself in the situations those characters found themselves in. Forget the disease, I'm talking about being 20 something, squatting in some flat, without electricity, and most probably having some kind of body lice from living in squalor and not bathing on a regular basis.

This is saying quite a bit, considering I grew up watching West Side Story, The King and I, The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, Evita, Tommy, and Jesus Christ Superstar.

Obviously I had enough imagination to be able to connect and envision myself being a Jazz dancing Puerto Rican Young-Tuff, marrying a bald King in Siam, running away from Nazis with my Austrian singing family and an ex-nun, while eating spoon fulls of sugar, becoming first lady of Argentina, beating Elton John at Pinball and starting my own religion... Heck, I even believed Judas was black! I've got imagination. I know all about letting go and letting the story take hold.

And like Maude... And then there's Rent.

I met a young girl, identity withheld by my choice, who had a seemingly sick obsession with Rent. She was in high school at the time, and was chin deep in the teenage drama muck that is adolescence. Her fangirl affair can be forgiven, as I'm sure I latched onto something equally depressing at the time (I recall a Grunge period.)

Fast forward this child's life to her 20s, and she's living the dream. Squatting and all ill manner of vices that come with that social status.

I came to the conclusion that it must be a some kind of generational gap.

All the musicals I grew up watching had happy endings. Even West Side Story. Tony is martyred and the gang war ends. If you are a Christian you'll also see JCS ending as happy too. Without his death, there is no way, right?

Rent doesn't end. Sure you get an onstage conclusion to their drama, but AIDS isn't cured. They're still gonna die. They're still homeless, unemployed, and battling drug addiction. (Addiction is never cured, it just controlled... The More You Know...)

I aspired to better myself as those I saw on the stage. I guess kids now don't aspire. They just accept.

Rent didn't create this atmosphere of "The is What Life Is, Sucks to Be You." It's just a byproduct.

I wonder what else Pandora thinks I like.

Where did the magic go?

I sometimes wonder where did the magic go?

I remember not that long ago, believing in the irrational; in that which cannot be seen, held or heard; in that which must be taken on faith alone.

Somewhere out there lived Santa Claus, toiling away in his workshop, making most excellent wooden toys for every good child of the world. Granted, I myself never received a wooden toy for Christmas, nor did I know any child that had.

Not once did I think anything of it, though. I just knew both could exist.

Halloween was a scary time of the year when ghosts and all manner of boogeyman roamed the vacant, darken streets of fall. Just because you couldn't see them, didn't mean they didn't exist. You just knew they did, on faith alone.

David Copperfield once made the Statue of Liberty disappear from it's base on Liberty Island. I saw it happen. How can you not believe when you see it? It was magic.

Magic, superstitions, folklore... The world was an amazing place back then. Somewhere beyond the confides of my home, unicorns galloped, gnomes mined, and I suppose Smurfs lived.

Nothing bad could ever happen in this world of never ending possibilities. I could grow up to be an astronaut or president, or marry a prince and become royalty. Anything and everything was possible.

So when did the magic leave? When did Santa become an alcoholic with a grungy fake beard? When did this huge unknown world become so very small?

The simple answer everyone gives me is, "you grew up!" That is not only a simplistic answer, but a lazy one, to boot. There are millions of grown ups, of adults who still have plenty of magic in their lives. Call it faith of a religious manner or call it conviction. Millions of adults believe in the unseen, the unheard, the untouched.

Age of the individual means nothing when talking about the wonders of life.

So again I ask, where is the magic that once populated my world?

Of fastfood icons, and their ilk.

What is Grimace?

All these years watching McDonaldland adventures in ADD bitesized 30 sec morsels have never fully answered that question for me.

McDonaldland is obviously named for Ronald McDonald, the flat footed, onesy wearing, burger clown. Yet, he is not Mayor of McDonaldland. That job falls to Mayor McCheese, a walking, talking, sash wearing cheeseburger. No surprise or ambiguity as to his race or species there.

Maybe Ronald was like King of McDonaldland? Hmm. He wears no crown. The Burger King wears a crown, and he's always making sure you know it. He makes everyone call him "The King."

Heck, Ronald was probably just a well paid spokesman. Well paid in Happy Meals! Regardless...

Big Mac, an anthropomorphic big mac that wears a keystone cop outfit is obviously Johnny Law. There's the Hamburgler, who is somewhat human, and burgles hamburgers. Captain Crook is a pirate, and human. The Fry Guys... heck, I don't know what the fry guys are either. Maybe they're anthropomorphic mops from the McDonaldland's McDonalds custodian's closet. The Early Bird, is a bird... who flies... early.


But the Grimace... he's gynormous, and purple. He's also rather slow. Not physically slow, but mentally. On his first appearance he seemed to be obssessed with sodas and milkshakes. Later on, his Uncle O'Grimacey appears and he's totally into some disgusting green milkshake.

So apparently there are other Grimaces. A whole island of Grimaces if one is to believe those commercials disguised as a cartoon, where they have their own king. Although none of the other Grimaces appear to be nearly as stupid.

But again I am left with the question... what the heck IS Grimace?

And while we're at it, which branch of the armed forces did Colonel Sanders serve in that I have to call him The Colonel?

Also, is the Wendy's girl Ronald's bastard daughter? If so, WHO is the mother of that ginger nightmare?

I'd venture to guess, Grimace's sister.

On the welfare of Smurfs.

From the Smurf cartoon produced by Hanna Barbera, to the original strips and storybooks by Peyo, we are lead to believe that the Smurf village houses 100 Smurfs.

However, I have never seen 100 different Smurfs.

I have been introduced to many, by name, but nowhere near 100 Smurfs.

I have seen background Smurfs, so I know there must be an unnamed majority that reside in the village. I see them working on the dam, picking Smurfberries, and generally walking around in the background. But where do they live?

All the "main" Smurfs that have proper, if oddly task-related, names all live in wonderfully large Mushroom houses. Most have second floors. Yet, when Gargamel tramples in the village square or we see an aerial view, there is no way there are 100 Mushroom houses in that micro hamlet.

This leads me to believe that there must be some sort of Smurf Public Housing Development (Smurf Projects, if you will) for these no-name having, not important enough to have their own house or adventures Smurfs. These Smurfs obviously have no trades, or talents and must therefore be day laborers. Handy Smurf just shows up in the middle of the square, by the well I suppose, and yells, "I need 5!" and five of these nobody Smurfs jump in the back of his pickup truck made of wood and twine and leaves.

I feel bad for these Smurfs. What if there's no big project going on? No windmill to build, no dam to reinforce, no Smurfberries to pick... do they get to eat? I mean, I've seen the spread Greedy lays out, and although it looks like enough to feed an army of Smurfs, I don't believe I've ever seen 100 Smurfs at the table.

I hope Greedy runs a soup kitchen for this underclass of Smurf. The Smurf society is supposed to be some sort of co-op, so you figure with a soup kitchen it would mildly conform.

I think I just depressed myself.

Now all I can think about is these poor Smurfs, coming home to their overcrowded Mushrooms after a day hard at work at the fields and dam and bridges, taking off their soiled caps, and going to sleep hungry, while jackasses like Brainy Smurf eats tasty cakes and drinks sarsaparilla.

Speaking of sarsaparilla, this drink is a form of root beer. I do believe I read somewhere that originally Smurfs drank regular beer.

If this is true, is there a Drunky Smurf? Do the welfare Smurfs spend the weekend drunk?
Maybe if they'd sober up they could become proficient enough in a trade to lift themselves out of the Smurf ghetto, get themselves a name and a big fancy Mushroom in the foreground. But then again, why bother? Their basic needs are met with a roof, granted a crappy roof, over their heads, soup from Greedy's soup kitchen, and they never have to worry about adventuring. Plus they get to be drunk all weekend (talk about insentive!)
 
Oh Smurfs, how you vex me!