The hell with all of it.

Political rant below the fold.

This whole idiotic business about President Obama’s birth certificate perfectly illustrates what’s wrong with political discourse in this country. This week, Obama finally got sick of the whole damned thing and released the long form certificate, which says exactly what the short one he’s released all along said it would say. Well, duh. What a stupid nontroversy this has been.

I thought of it a couple of weeks ago when I went to the DMV here to apply for my Enhanced Driver’s License (a souped-up license with embedded electronica which is accepted as proof of citizenship and identity at Canadian border crossings). One of the required documents for that license is a birth certificate, and I’d never really looked at mine before. Turns out it’s a short-form certificate that refers to a long-form document that is filed with some governmental office in Pennsylvania (I was born in Pittsburgh — or so my parents tell me). I didn’t have to provide the long-form certificate; this one was fine. Nobody questioned it. I wonder why that is? Probably because I was a white guy applying for a driver’s license, not a black guy running as a Democrat for President of the United States. (Of course, nobody in any governmental capacity who works with such documents for a living ever questioned Obama’s short-form certificate either, because they’re not Teabagger idiots.)

But now we’ve had Donald Trump for weeks blathering on about this, saying things like “I’ve had people in Hawaii investigating this for weeks and they can’t believe what they’re finding!” And of course, no reporter challenges Trump on this: “What are they finding, Mr. Trump?” Of course, Trump is one of those people who just steamrolls his way through interviews, ignoring questions entirely, but reporters let it pass because it’s either let him do that, or don’t get the interview, and well, that‘s just not an option. Our media sucks. It really does. The whole “He said, she said” approach has been disastrous for the country. When one entire side of the political discourse is allowed to lie with impunity, we’re all screwed.

A perfect example of how debased the media is happened this week on the TODAY Show. At Obama’s press conference in which he scolded the media for focusing on the birth certificate idiocy instead of actual issues, he called out reported Chuck Todd by name. Next morning, there’s Todd on TODAY, doing a two-minute story on the birth certificate story, complete with “Here’s what Obama said, and now here’s Donald Trump’s reaction!”, because in this country we decide who gets to share the stage with the President of the United States by virtue of who’s loudest. At the end of Todd’s story, he finished up by saying: “Later today, the President will go to ____ to dicuss issue ____. Back to you, Meredith.” Chuck Todd’s response to being scolded by the President for focusing on stupid non-issues was to keep reporting on the non-issue of the day. It’s just embarrassing.

And it continues. Now the Teabaggers want to see Obama’s school transcripts. Why they should be demanding those is beyond me, since there’s no way they’d be voting for him anyway, whether he posted straight A’s or skirted through college with just a high enough GPA to not get kicked out.

But then, this is how the Right works in this country. Fifteen years ago, the fate of the nation hinged upon obscure land deals in Arkansas and an occasion or two of fellatio. I do think that racism is a big factor in all this crap, but the other large factor is simply that the Right will gear itself up to destroy any Democratic President. (Or any almost Democratic President — remember the Swift Boat Liars?)

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Saturday Centus

Wow, I’ve been a crappy blogger this week. Only two posts. That’s pretty weak. A weak week.

And now I’m reaching for lame puns.

Sigh.

Saturday Centus celebrates one year of writing prompts today. I haven’t been along for the whole ride, but I’ve enjoyed the parts I’ve been around for. So….

As Emily received her anniversary gift from George, she remembered his proposal, in the empty big top after the show. And the jugglers and stilt walkers and lion tamers who stood up for them at the wedding. Their vows being interrupted by the elephants. The popcorn and cotton candy at the reception.

She made a sound like “oomph”. Then she opened her eyes and, through the chocolate-cream covering her face, saw her smiling husband. Emily laughed as she picked up the coconut-cream pie, her gift for him. Although the traditional gift for a first anniversary was paper, this was life with a circus clown.

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A Random Wednesday Conversation Starter

Once again, our DSL was very buggy yesterday and continuing into today, hence the lack of posting. But anyway: one of the local sports-talk radio guys here claimed on the air a few weeks ago that he had just that morning eaten his first banana. Ever. In his life. And he’s over 40. White American male, over 40, ate his first-ever banana in 2011. Am I alone in thinking that this is incredibly weird?

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Sentential Links #244

Two hundred forty-four. Wow.

:: And the books haven’t dated at all, despite or perhaps partly because of, their lack of graphic sexual and violent content. And that’s borne out by teenage girls to whom I’ve introduced the novels; they are immediately captivated by their glamour and excitement and do not care at all that the books are set in the 50′s and 60′s. It’s always fun when you can pass on something you’ve loved to the next generation, but passing on the Mary Stewart bug is sheer delight. (I really need to re-read Mary Stewart’s Arthurian quartet — actually a trilogy with one extra book tacked on after-the-fact — one of these years. Probably soon, actually. I read it in college, during my big “Arthurian” phase, and I remember it as being wonderful.)

:: Which presents the age old question, if you were able to achieve immortality, what would you do with your time? Would you use it to intimidate, bully, and coerce innocent women, children and babies in the supermarket? The Living Dead are not a bunch of rocket surgeons, that’s for sure! (Ooooooh, if you ever enjoyed thumbing through issues of Famous Monsters of Filmland, this blog is for you. Thanks to the Facebook friend who linked it the other day!)

:: Last year I spent Easter at Laduree, and as much as I will always love it there I enjoy discovering new favorites in Paris. I recently stumbled across Meert on the long way home, tucked away on a tinier street of the Marais. One peek in the window and it was a coup de foudre au chocolat. Inside the most precious treats are perfectly organized and displayed on the shelves and in the cases, beneath a pastel ceiling adorned with tableaus of gourmandises. Candy coated happiness! (I just discovered this one, too. Happiness is new blogs to page through and read!)

:: I want some stories about a tough femme fatale who works for an eccentric, rich dude who wants to go on collecting knowledge and artifacts, but is too old to leave his creepy, old mansion to go on his own adventures anymore. That’s the sequel to Atlantis that I’ll never get unless I end up writing it for myself. (A nice post about Disney’s Atlantis movie. As I pointed out in comments there, the late 90s and early 2000s were an interesting period for Disney; Pixar was just getting going, and Disney’s films weren’t as universally beloved as they’d been in the early 1990s. But still, Disney was producing good films, and even their lackluster efforts had interesting things in them. Atlantis is a solid, fun adventure film, and would likely be my favorite Disney film from that era, if not for the sublimely wonderful The Emperor’s New Groove.)

:: She slipped away peacefully last month 6 days shy of 98. You see, for the last 21 years, she has been …. figuratively …. patting her foot, sitting on go, just waiting to join daddy. She’s gotten her wish and they’re probably off together playing golf, again.

:: When I was a kid, I wanted to grow up to be Phil Tippett. (I wanted to be Lawrence Kasdan….)

:: I love the anecdote about Tony Blair’s visit to Washington following 9/11, and he and President Bush were walking through the White House, and Blair made some admiring comment about one of the rooms, and Bush made some joke like, “You guys burned this room down.” There was a brief pause, and Blair replied, “My apologies.” (I hadn’t heard that one.)

More next week.

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Saturday Centus

Oy. A picture prompt, this time. And it’s a horrible one, too.

Like I said: Oy.

“Hello?”

“Mmmmmmfff.”

“Hello! Wake up! Wakey wakey!”

“Mmmmmmmm-whuh?”

“Wake up, sleepy-head! Time to face the day! Oh, and nice sleeping cap. We don’t wear those where I come from.”

“Who are you?”

“I am the Ghost of Easter Future, bada-BING! And you’ve been very, very naughty.”

“No I have not! I’m nice now. ‘God bless us everyone,’ remember? Tiny Tim’s not even tiny anymore.”

“What? Let me check my notes…what’s your name?”

“Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Aww crap, you’re not the CEO of British Petroleum. Sorry to wake you. I’ll go now.”

“Wait! Are those canoli?”

“Awwww….”

I’m not thrilled by this, but the picture prompts always throw me off….

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Something for Thursday

My favorite of Antonin Dvorak’s symphonies is actually not the 9th, known by its nickname “From the New World”. Wonderful as that symphony is, I adore the exuberance and wit of the Eighth. Here is the fourth, and final, movement from Dvorak’s Symphony No. 8 in G.

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Wrenchin’

At the end of last year, all the big hardware stores started displaying what I came to call “dog bone wrenches”, because they look like dog bones. On each end was not one single head to fit a single size of fastener, but a swiveling doohickey with four different heads on it to accomodate multiple fasteners. Here’s a representative example. None of the reviews I read of such tools were particularly enthusiastic, and the things just look gangly and unwieldy, so I never even considered buying one.

But I was in AutoZone a month or so ago, and I saw these:

Wreches

I was sufficiently intrigued that I bought them. They’re not terribly expensive, as ratcheting wrenches go, and each one has four sizes on it, for a total of…let’s see, carry the two…eight common SAE hex bolt sizes. You can kind of see how they get different sizes by looking at the upper end of the larger wrench in the picture there — the ratcheting insert actually divides into two different sizes, depending on which side of the wrench is down and which is facing up. In practice, this does make operation a little tricky once in a while as a bolt head can slip all the way through, but I like having an option now for when my socket set isn’t the weapon of choice (when the opening I have to work in is shallowed than the depth of my ratchet, for one).

These aren’t awesome tools, by any chance, and I’d love to own a fuller set of ratcheting wrenches sometime in the future. But as ratcheting wrenches are pretty expensive, these two combo-wrenches make a pretty good compromise for now.

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