because sometimes it's what's on the outside of the envelope that matters

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this came on a letter yesterday and since i can't take my eyes off of it, i decided to share it with you--enjoy.

and yeah, the postal worker who canceled this stamp should be shot*.



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*by another postal worker, of course

because even this blog needs an occasional happy post

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yeah, i treated myself to the entire five-year run of the dick van dyke show--every original, uncut, digitally-remastered episode of (with the one obvious exception*) the best situation-comedy ever to appear on television, complete with all kinds of cool extras.

and tell you the truth, i dunno why i waited so long--god knows i can probably count on one hand the things in this world i love completely and without reservation, and this show is one of 'em.

so v came over tonight, we cracked it open, and my intention to watch a few a week in chronological order went out the window pretty much as soon as he told me he had never seen the show before (ah, to be that young).

to give him the proper flavor, i decided to hit him with a couple hand-picked episodes (starting out with my all time favorite--the one with laura and the raft), but then two turned into four and then seven, and they were all as fresh and smart and funny as i remembered--and it was great experiencing them through the eyes of someone for whom they were brand-new.
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* and, as an extra-added bonus (and because there is no more dangerous and volatile combination known to man than an impulsive drunk and amazon's helpful "buy with one click" feature), i somehow ended up with the complete i love lucy as well--they were out, but they tell me it'll be here next week.

and the winning strategem is...

[see previous post for context]

picture in your mind john mccain calling a press conference tomorrow and giving something like the following speech:

"i feel your pain at the pump, my friends. what's more, i see billions of dollars going each year to the middle east, venezuela, canada and mexico that could--and should--stay right here, to be invested not only in finding new american oil, but in creating thousands of new, high-paying american jobs.

therefore, i'm declaring today that when i'm elected your president, my first priority will be to work with my fellow republicans in the congress [it'd be a nice touch for a few of 'em with shaky seats to be standing behind him while he's saying all this--shame they all hate your guts, huh, johnny?], and with those democrats who truly care about our economic future, to open up the ANWR province of alaska, and the oil-rich areas off the shores of california and florida, to new exploration and drilling.

it's an idea whose time has come--no longer can we afford to be dependent on others for our energy needs [and then he can hammer home this point for a minute or two, appeal to their patriotism and nationalistic pride and soften 'em up for the kill].

i feel i can say without reservation, my friends [you gotta put that in a few times, because you know he loves saying "my friends" a lot] that the minute the hedge funds and futures markets realize the seriousness of our resolve, the price of a barrel of oil will drop by at least $50, and the price of gasoline will follow."

and then, point made, he can blather on for awhile about how it's been the democrats with their wacko environmental ideas who have gotten us into this mess, how the drilling can be done in an environmentally-sensitive manner, and how doing so will restore america's greatness and the cheap gasoline which is our birthright as americans, yadda yadda yadda...

and you know what? i think it's a winner.

sure, the die-hard left would scream, as would california--but he's lost them anyway. the point is, after the hammering middle-americans have taken in their pocketbook lately, i think they'd abandon all the lofty environmental positions of the left in a fuckin' heartbeat if it meant even the mere promise of cheaper gas.

and the best thing is, there's not a goddam thing the democrats could offer in response, other than pallid wailing and gnashing of teeth about the "environment." which, as a happy bonus, would make them look like the hypocrites most of 'em are on this issue--expecting as they do to continue to use the majority of the world's oil output, but with a "not in my backyard" attitude about domestic drilling.

so there it is--even though i'm way behind the curve on this idea. the only excuse i can offer for my own myopia here is simple indifference: i haven't been paying attention to newtie and his boys on this one because, truth be told, i could give a rat's ass what gas costs; far as i'm concerned, the higher it goes, the more of the riff-raff it'll get outta their rattletrap cars and onto the buses where they belong so i can get to work.

so thanks to apollo over at snarky bastards for bringing it back to the forefront of my mind via this post--seriously, folks, i've thought this thing through six different ways from sunday, and i don't see how it could--if spun properly, of course (lee atwater, where are you when johnny needs you?)--fail to resonate with the public, endear mccain to conservatives and get him a lotta votes he would otherwise never see.

[unless, of course, the oil bubble bursts before november, in which case he'll be as fucked then as he is now.]

you really wanna win in november, johnny boy?

think for a minute, my babies--what if you were john mccain, you were down in the polls, and you were suddenly presented with a god-given magic issue whose time had finally come--one which would:

• grab everybody's attention
• present a seeming answer to a seemingly intractable problem
• suck in all those republicans who up 'til now wouldn't trust you as far at they could throw you
• resonate with every middle-american voter regardless of political stripe
• positively differentiate you from obama
• reduce the democrats to impotent, sputtering rage
• provide a coattail upon which every republican congressman or senator in a shaky district could coast their way to re-election
• take nothing more than sufficient cojones to put it out there and run with it.

what, pray tell, could this magic issue possibly be?

think about it for a few minutes, and because you're my readers and are therefore smart, it'll probably come to you--but if not, tune in tomorrow (or the next day or the day after that--hell, you know me), and i'll happily tell you.

finally, something sufficiently inflammatory to bounce mkf outta the funk he's been in all week

the following is an object lesson from our friends to the north as to why the concept of "hate speech" is so goddam dangerous:

a couple years ago a canadian magazine featured as its cover story an article which argued that, fuck terrorism-- through ambition and sheer numbers alone, islam will overrun europe within a scant few generations without firing a goddam shot--and then it's on to the new world.

and even though said article makes its point not with inflammatory rhetoric but with logic, demographic statistics and (believe it or not) sardonic wit, it was labeled "hate speech" in canada, and its publishers were hauled into court for daring to say such mean things about the poor defenseless radical-islamicists. the trial is playing itself out as we speak (which is why it came to my attention today).

there are two seemingly disparate issues in play here: first, the notion that viral islam might pose a threat to our vaunted way of life; and second, the notion that it might be criminal to even posit such a theory in a public forum in a western country.

and it's the second notion that scares me more--because if we in the west really buy into that, then if the first notion is also true (and i have no doubt it is), we have no chance against an ideology which not only has more people and more passion, but is burdened by no such morally-relativist qualms about good and evil.

and i know we're talking about a country whose free-speech laws are very different than our own, but there's a growing movement afoot here in our own country to similarly emasculate the first amendment of our constitution--you know, that troublesome little provision that gives any asshole in america, within certain limits, the leeway to express him/herself in pretty much any thoughtless, dumbass way he/she so chooses (a right pretty much unique in western civilization, btw).

and the reason i know the sentiment to change this status quo is running high is because i read your blogs, folks.

i read all you well-meaning right-wing bloggers who are ready to make flag-burning unconstitutional, and i read all you well-meaning left-wing bloggers who are ready to make yelling "nigger" in a crowded theater unconstitutional, and i scoff at you equally. at the same time, i see all the impassioned commenters you have rallying to your respective causes--and i look at the various polls regarding free-speech issues in america--and i fear for my country.

please, folks, i urge you to read the article--and then the article about the article. each are--for totally different reasons--compelling and scary, and, no matter what you think you think about the two seemingly disparate issues raised in this post, do the assigned reading and i guarantee you'll get a new perspective. and i'll have lots more to say about this because it's a hot-button issue here in guttermoralityland.

[oh, and more bad sex soon--or whenever.]

cheer up, sleepy jean

.

so this one comes up on shuffle at just that point at which vodka and old music combine to trigger long-forgotten memories. i flash back to my mother turning to me one day as this song played on the car radio and saying, "this is nice--who is this, mike?"

and i remember being surprised, and then thinking, "of course you wouldn't know who this is, because when daydream believer hit no. 1 you were so sedated you wouldn't have known frank sinatra had he done the hokey-pokey naked at the foot of your hospital bed," but all i said was, "it's the monkees, ma--you know, the guys who did last train to clarksville?"

and of course she did, because when last train to clarksville had charted, dad hadn't yet taken himself out and all was still pseudo-well.


Monkees - Daydream Believer

the sink-stopper story, and what it might mean

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back when i was in college, and about a week after i moved into a brand-new condominium*, the little knob behind the lavatory faucet--the one that made the stopper go up and down--quit working.

being me, i quickly adjusted down to this new reality--when i wanted a sinkful of water i pushed the stopper down with my finger, and when i was done and wanted an empty sink i opened the cabinet door, reached under with my right hand and blindly fumbled around for the release lever until i found it. at first it was a pain in the ass, but with practice it soon became second nature and i didn't even have to think about it.

fast-forward four years when i'm getting ready to move out: while giving the bathroom its final cleaning, i get down on my hands and knees and crawl under the sink and immediately see the source of the problem i've been living with for so long. i reach up, slide the two errant parts together, tighten the coupling and voila! everything works again. and for the remaining week i occupy the condo i marvel at how nice it is to be able to fill and empty the sink with the mere flick of a knob.

point of this story: rather than taking two minutes to fix the problem when it arises, mkf spends four goddam years and a thousand times the effort working around it.

moral of this story: depends on your point of view.

if you're the well-meaning friend who reminded me of this long-forgotten story today, it's that i need to learn to endure a little short-term pain for the benefit of long-term gain.

if, on the other hand, you're me, it's that i'd happily get down on my hands and knees and crawl under a sink to fix a problem for the next guy when for four years i wouldn't do it for myself.

either way, kind of fucked up, but it remains my pattern to this day.

sober update: this one only gets a 6.5 on the maudlin scale.
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* judi: unit 308 in that little complex at 30th & guadalupe, in case you're interested.