Flying Pigs (in Lipstick, Even)

I never thought I'd say this, but Sarah Palin was correct. Her assertion that "dinosaurs and humans walked the Earth at the same time" is irrefutably accurate, and I stand wholly corrected. Never again will I mock her claims that she has "seen pictures of human footprints inside the tracks [of dinosaur fossils]."

I concede the point entirely, and come bearing evidence proof positive:



Now let's put that lady one melanoma-stricken heartbeat away from the big red button!

Got Legs?

Yesterday I saw a man in a wheelchair wrestling with his keyring in the building where I work. Both of his legs had been amputated at the knee. As I walked behind him I glanced at his t-shirt. Poking above the top of the chair's seat was the image of a frog. The caption above?

That's right.

"Got legs?"

I. am. not. making. this. up.

I have secretly named him Mr. Beckett because he is clearly that kind of awesome.

And in completely unrelated news, your Moment of Zen, featuring break-dancing Russians who really love Sarah Palin (like really a lot):



Aaaand here's a direct link.

Suffering Fools

Yesterday, as I was leaving the pharmacy, I walked behind an SUV that had just pulled in with a McCain-Palin sticker emblazoned on the back. As I passed behind it a woman launched herself from the passenger seat followed shortly by a man on the driver's side who tumbled from the car shouting — shouting! — "Women just shouldn't be allowed to drive!"

I was sorely tempted to stop him and inquire as to what logic led him to believe that the female human animal is incapable of operating a motor vehicle but is nonetheless fully qualified to occupy the Vice Presidency. However, he was far too busy chasing after his wife (who was unsurprisingly storming away from him with the force of a Cat-5) for me to engage in what would undoubtedly have been a most enlightening exchange.

And for the record? Women get cheaper auto insurance rates than men do because women get in fewer accidents. Not that I'd want to confuse Mr. Shirt-Tucked-Into-My-High-Waisted-Acid-Wash-Jeans with pesky facts.

If Only She'd Had My Vote to Lose

The City of Wasilla, home of Republican Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin, has responded to "a flurry" of requests and begun today to release public files to the media. Anyone with access to the internet can access the documents through the City of Wasilla's website here.

One item of interest to me is the city's response to requests regarding Palin's book-banning attempts. According to The New York Times, Palin attempted to have Wasilla's librarian fired for "disloyalty" (apparently a big Palin peeve) after she resisted the then-mayor's suggestions that book-banning ought to be considered. The firing attempt was blocked by public outcry.

According to the city's records, no books were actually banned as a result. Good. Nonetheless, this raises some serious questions about Sarah Palin's commitment to democratic (small d) ideals.

For now, there's plenty to dig through. Kuddos to Wasilla for releasing these documents to the public. Assuming they weren't thoroughly scrubbed.

I Miss Veronica Mars

You know what I really hate about your garden variety high school TV show? It's not the insipid dialogue. It's not the banal yet soapy plot lines. It's not even the fact that every frame is a free ad for the Anorexia is the New Awesome Council of America.

No, what I hate about high school TV shows is the fact that every time there's an actual classroom scene, the camera opens on the teacher asking what is clearly a beginning-of-class question (such as "Who wants to tell me how a haiku was defined in last night's reading?") and ends thirty seconds later with the bell ringing. At which point the teacher inevitably waits until half of the students have poured out of class before remembering that maybe he should tell them what tonight's homework is.

Gah. No wonder voters think teachers need better accountability.

The Lovers, the Dreamers and a German in a Funny Hat

You may be under the impression that today's big headline is "Obama rocks it out at Invesco" or something to that effect. You are wrong.

Today's big headline is in fact this: "Crucified frog angers pope".

Furthermore, the frog is apparently holding a beer glass in one hand and an egg in the other. Having often found myself concurrently holding those very same objects, I think I'll have to side with the frog.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I feel compelled to report that during my eighth grade science class' frog dissection, my lab partner disregarded the teacher's instructions to pin the frog's legs in a spread-eagle fashion and in fact crucified our frog with T-pins. Our teacher then unwittingly held our frog up as an example of a well-pinned subject. No beer or eggs were involved.)

Pirates vs. Ninjas

Long have we Americans as a people pondered that age old question — who would win in a fight, pirates or ninjas? A longtime member of the ninja camp myself, today I bring breaking news in pirates versus ninjas front:

On Sunday, a team of ninjas was apprehended for threatening to go all vigilante on some local drug dealers. It was unclear if pirates were involved, but clearly the ninjas were firing the first salvo in a resurrection of the long-running battle with their optically challenged opponents.

The pirates wasted no time in retaliating, robbing a luxury yacht on Monday. While initial reports made no mention of ninjas, this was clearly a direct affront intended to mock and humiliate their nunchuk-wielding nemeses.

(People. This is funny because it is TRUE. Click the links!)

SRSLY?

Today, while sitting at a stoplight, I found myself staring at a license plate that utterly compelled me to take its picture. Behold:



Putting aside the absurdity of paying the government actual cash money in order to have "RPRAYRS" stamped on the back of one's car, I just have to ask... an Escalade? Really, you prayed for an Escalade? And you got one?

Maybe next time you could do us all a favor and ask for world peace. Or a cure for cancer. Or at least a Prius.

Don't Mess with (the Illustrious Educators of) Texas

Any plans I may have had to visit Harold, Texas (What? I'm sure they have a gigantic ball of yarn or something.) are officially canceled pursuant to their decision to allow teachers to carry concealed weapons to work.

What better combination than disgruntled youth, overworked employees, and things that kill people?

You know what would make my job as a teacher easier? Fair compensation for my socially crucial work. A supportive administration. A school district that doesn't hide behind the Governator while firing 900+ teachers.

But I guess pissing us off and then arming us works too.

Paris is for Fighters

To say I am not a big fan of Paris Hilton is like saying I am not a big fan of stabbing myself in the hand with a fork.

But I have to give her pretty crazy props for this:

"Loves it."

And in the event that you live under a rock, here's the McCain attack add that Paris Hilton was responding to:



The best part? Guess who wants their $4,600 McCain campaign donation back? That's right. Ma and Pa Hilton.

Chasing Trends

Yet again today I was confronted with the meaningless expression "40 is the new 30." I haven't even turned 30 yet and apparently it's not even cool any more.

Besides, I thought satin jumpsuits were the new 30. Or something.

Ground Control to Major Tom

I'd like to break my week-long silence to share with you the super-special knowledge that, according to a highly reputable source, non-Earth lifeforms have indeed contacted the planet Earth.

And by "highly reputable" I mean NASA astronaut Edgar Mitchell, record-holder for the longest moonwalk.

Now, granted, astronauts have a tendency to later devote themselves to careers as alcoholics and artists (and hey, same difference, right?). But still. I consider this to be totally reliable.

My mind is officially blown. For serial.

(Okay, posterity demands the following: I am fairly certain humans are not the only cognizant lifeforms in the universe. However, I am equally certain that given known technological mechanisms — or even edgily and fantastically theorized technological mechansims — it's probably just us. Suck, I know. Captain Picard for President, etc. etc.)

Insert Skeletal Pun Here

One of the things that seems to happen to me every summer is the discovery of some excellent television show (which I assert do, in point of fact, exist) that for some reason I have been totally oblivious to up till that point. This summer, being no exception to the pattern, has brought me Bones, the story of a crime-fighting forensic anthropologist and her actor-formerly-known-as-Angel partner.

Looking back, I think the reason I didn't start watching this show three years ago was that I was still livid over the cancellation of Angel, which I have now almost kind of gotten over (recent purchase of full-series DVD box set notwithstanding). The show really does have a little bit of everything: CSI-style mystery of the week, seasonal arcs that manage not to be too intrusive, humor that generally avoids the overly pedestrian, and of course the requisite star-crossed should-be lovers.

Plus, all of season one is currently up for free at Hulu, so really, you have no excuse.

Tripolar

Last night I saw a car with three bumper stickers on the back:

1. Ron Paul 2008

2. Barack Obama 2008

3. Anti-Gay Marriage (with American flag graphic)

...

O-kay.

mobile ME

It's likely that Steve Jobs is, perhaps, somewhat responsible for the success of Apple. Probably maybe. But. Today I realized that he truly is standing on the shoulders of giants — giant spoiled brats. Like me.

See, Cult of Mac members don't just own computers. We feel ownership regarding our computers, in that cheesy social worker sense of the word. Mac enthusiasts believe that their computers have some sort of moral obligation to meet their every need, current or future, plausible or implausible. And if the computer should fail in that noble task, the Mac enthusiast is truly offended. It's like if your best friend doesn't call you back for a day and a half. Hello, rude.

As evidence I offer reactions to the launch of the iTunes app store, allowing users to download third party applications for their iPhones (translation: software developed by someone who doesn't work for Apple). More than excitement or gratitude, the overwhelming tenor of comments I have read are almost peeved, evincing a genuine and self-righteous sense of annoyance that Apple hadn't developed any such thing sooner. Jerks.

Confessedly, I share this mentality myself. The apps developed thus far for two-way syncing of Google Calendar on an iPhone and a traditional computer are, in a word, utterlyanddeeplydissatisfying. Resultingly, cutting into my total glee towards my new iPhone is a penumbra of, "I can't believe someone hasn't already thought of and created this. Eye roll."

Shoulders of giant spoiled brats.

I assert, however, that this is actually a good thing. Macophiles' sense of entitlement increases the productivity not only of the source corporation (Apple) but of the consumers themselves, many of whom contribute to solving the problems they identify long before Apple gets around to it. If my parents' generation is the Me Generation, then perhaps mine is the Mobile Me Generation. (Not that I'm going to purchase Mobile Me — that was just a too convenient rhetorical device. Google totally already does all of that for free. Pfft.)

None of this is to say that Mac users are more obnoxious than PC users. Because they're totally obnoxious, too. But that's a different post.

Tragically, Hips

I hate it when this happens to me. I was totally going to start an awesome line of leggings that make even mannequins look hip-heavy, but then Lindsay Lohan went and stole all of my ideas!

There's no way she thought of leopard ankle gloves first. No way.

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's...

...the moon. Yes, this past May someone in South Wales mistook the moon for a UFO. They even called 999 (the Welsh version of 911) about it.

Here's an excerpt from the transcript:

Caller: "If you've got a couple of minutes perhaps you could find out what it is? It's been there at least half an hour and it's still there."

Control: "It's been there for half an hour. Right. Is it actually on the mountain or in the sky?"

Caller: "It's in the air."

Control: "I will send someone up there now to check it out."

Well, we all get confused sometimes, no? Just the other day I though my nail clippers were an angry little man wearing a shiny, oblong hat.

The Inconveniences Attending Too Much Liberty

In 1783 William Pitt (the Prime Minister whose actions began the slow dismantling of the hideous British East India Company) stood on the floor of the House of Commons and argued the following:

"Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom. It is the argument of tyrants. It is the creed of slaves."

Strong words from the man who would soon become the Prime Minister of Britain — a nation which had only recently lost one of its most profitable tentacles in a revolution spurred by accusations that Britain was indeed in the habit of making "the argument of tyrants" to attain its goals.

Today we celebrate that very event, blowing things to bits in the sky to honor our determination to be a nation of free men (yes, then, men) rather than the worker bees of a corrupt king. Reason and the public good were to be our guiding principles — not necessity. Human freedom was to be held sacrosanct, and its infringement was to be guarded against by the vigilance of a robust populace.

And so to me Independence Day is very much worth honoring, less with hot dogs and streamers than with reflection upon the radical language that led to the formation of our nation.

On July 4, 1776 Thomas Jefferson and 56 other men laid a series of charges at the feet of declared tyrant King George III, making the case that he was no longer fit to govern them. Two of the charges were these:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

King George, of course, disagreed.

History repeats itself, and we have had other King Georges, and other attempts to impinge upon self-evident human freedoms, and other rationales for why necessity trumps the right of humans to be free (or at least the right to argue one's case for freedom before a jury of one's peers).

Bush: Dangerous Gitmo Detainees Could Walk US Streets After Supreme Court Ruling

William Pitt: "Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom. It is the argument of tyrants. It is the creed of slaves."

We've forgotten our roots. We have. Look:



One of our closest data twins is Iran. Iran. We, the descendants of men who would rather die standing than live on their knees, are now the ideological brothers of those whom we accuse of Islamo-fascism when it comes to humanity's most basic of civil liberties — the right not to be tortured.

Pass the celebratory hot dogs!

When someone tells us that giving prisoners the right to a trial means that they'll inevitably strangle us in our beds, we believe them. In a pique of textbook fear-mongering, White House spokeswoman Dana Perino disingenuously frets, "The judge might say to the United States, 'You don't have enough evidence to hold this person.' And then what do we do? ... Is he allowed to leave?" (The implication clearly being "Because if he does, he'll garrote your sons and deflower your daughters.") And we sagely nod along.

Am I missing something here? If a judge might reasonably say "You don't have enough evidence to hold this person," then why are we holding this person? If we know that someone is a terrorist, why not try him or her as such, attain a conviction, and carry on? How can we possibly deny the right of prisoners to a fair trial in one breath and celebrate the Declaration of Independence in the next?

You know, this Declaration of Independence:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

Like it our not, we live in a nation whose greatest linguistic architect was prone to saying things like this: "I would rather be exposed to the inconveniences attending too much liberty than to those attending too small a degree of it."

Hear, hear.

I'm not against fire works and hot dogs. (Well, actually, I am against hot dogs, but that's a separate issue.) I just think we ought to know why we're eating them. (The hot dogs, not the fire works.)

Happy Independence Day, readers. I wish you happy meditations upon self-evident truths.

ThunderCats! HO!

There is going to be a ThunderCats movie! In 2010! Wikipedia says so so I know it's true!

After being shockingly not disappointed by the recent Transformers movie, I am trying not to get my hopes up here. Because if they ruin Mumm-Ra for me I will never forgive them. Ever. Whoever they are.

Cur, the Curative

My two-month vacation officially starts tomorrow. My husband and I just bought a shiny new gadget on wheels Prius. We'll be vacationing in Monterey for our anniversary. Bush's approval ratings are in the low 20's. I feel safe in saying I am the opposite of depressed regarding my existence these days.

Nonetheless, out of curiosity today I scanned through an article entitled something to the effect of "12 Ways to Deal with Depression" or some such (I'm too lazy to link, and it was barely worth the read). The list contained groundbreaking suggestions such as Make Friends! Find a Hobby! Exercise! (Although the winner had to be "Number 9: Get on Your Knees" which was apparently meant to inspire people to pray). That gem notwithstanding, these lists are almost always laugh-worthy to me because, well, duh much? If you spend all your days lazing in isolation on your ever-expanding posterior with nothing to stimulate your intellect but staring at a talking box, of course you're going to be depressed.

I was, however, pleased to see the presence of furry friends on the list. This, I think, is my secret to surviving what has been a horridly stressful year for me pretty much unscathed — DOGS. (And yes, they really do require the dreaded all caps.) It is definitionally impossible to get all woe-is-me, sad-snowflake when you have 25 pounds of wiggle sticking its tongue in your ear. Really, they should be prescribed. Prescription drogs.