Subsiding Rage
I know I've been absent in my ranting as of late, and, likewise, I need no convincing that with all that is going on in the world currently, that there should be ample fodder for my ire cannon. Suffice to say that in part I have been busy doing productive things. By that a mean carrying out a scientific experiment to see just how much alcohol a liver can filter before it gives out completely. Ok, you got me; that's not exactly productive since such an experiment is already in process: the scientists simply refer to it as Gary Busey.
So, it must be more than just that, right?
I mean, I should be chiming in on the Sonia Sotomayor hearings. I should lambaste the GOP for their overt racism and hypocrisy. Senator Jeff Sessions, hailing for my homestate (and for the record, I have NEVER nor will I EVER vote for him), made his early career out of blasting the NAACP, once infamously referred to a black lawyer in the condescending reference of the old South of "boy," and also allegedly warned another black lawyer that he'd better watch the way he talked to white people. And he, of all people, seems to be screaming the loudest about one menial phrase in one inconsequential speech about a "wise Latina woman" making better judgments that a white male. If only the great Jung were around to observe this behavior, he'd probably talk in some detail about a "shadow." (I know it's an erudite reference. Look it up if you must.) Still, Republicans accused of racism, while appalling, is about as new of a concept as using leeches to ward off infection. It hardly rouses the anger the way it used to.
And speaking of hypocrisy, there is, of course, the extramarital affairs of Senator John Ensign and Governor Mark Sanford. Both were Bible-thumpers using a platform of family values to vault them into political relevancy. I think, however, rather than showing shock and condemnation, most Republicans were just relieved that the last two sex scandals from the party were heterosexual affairs. (They were also probably a little grossed out.) Again, this is such a frequent recurrence that it's hard to muster up the vitriol necessary to fire the trusty rhetorical rifle in their direction.
And, as always, there's Sarah Palin. If I may slightly alter Fleetwood Mac: "Sarah, you were the source of all my laughs/and now you've changed, stopped/and now it's gone/no one knows what for." I once reveled in holding up her exploits to humorous scorn. Now there is no joke that can be made that will be funnier than her own political implosion. She's like The Simpsons--funny for so long that there's no longer any humor left to milk from those dried up teats.
What about Larry King? Yeah, Larry. I really hate him as of late. The man who once was a respected journalist never afraid to place himself in the thick of every political scandal, ask the tough questions of anyone who dared come on his show? His devolution into the tawdry didn't go unnoticed. His guest line-up, a string of Joy Behar, Judge Judy, the American Idol finalists, the Jonas Brothers, of anyone he could possibly find who would belong on TMZ or an episode of Showbiz Tonight but not a serious news show did spark a little fire in me. His last two weeks, however, have been filled exclusively with dirt and gossip on the death of the King of Pop. Seriously? You couldn't even invite Bill Maher on for a little scorn and sarcasm for the world today? I know that the death of a former icon is news. I remember in first grade wearing a glove on only one hand and grabbing my no-nos quite a bit (and not just for the obvious reasons), but Michael Jackson is dead, gone, and buried. Can we not bury the story too?
Still, what more can we expect from the station that obsessed over Anna Nicole Smith's drug overdose and Natalie Holloway's mysterious disappearance? Whatever nets the ratings, right, old boy? If the salivating public would rather obsess over the sudden death of a molesting singer and ignore stolen Iranian elections, battles over health care, sudden profits by banks who received TARP cash, and massive cover-ups by the VP of the previous administration, then we have to give those morons who are more brain dead than Terri Schiavo what they want, right? If reporting what the nation needs to hear trumped feeding the ad revenue by drawing the biggest audience, then Bush would have been impeached six years ago and Matthew Sheppard would have been a household name. But we all know Hannah Montana posted a pic of her in her Hello Kitty Underoos on her personal MySpace page. At least we have our priories in order.
So who am I to be angry? I heard today that Jessica, since she's broken up with that second-rate quarterback, might be getting back together with Nick. And, thank heavens, as far as I know Lindsey and that other chick are doing just fine. I don't need terrorists attacks on hotels in Indonesia to drag me down. All I need to know is that my own stash of Indonesia is intact and smelling nice.
Why be angry? Why rant with fervor and righteous rage? The unemployment rate has reached double digits? Well, I still have my internet where I can watch hour upon hour of YouTube videos of people getting smacked in the balls with various blunt objects. And Dane Cook has not released another movie he's shamelessly trying to pass off as funny when he's the least funny person since Bob Hope in the last few months. Life is good.
Now it's time to crack open another beer and crank up my Bobby McFerrin CD. Don't worry. Be happy, now!
So, it must be more than just that, right?
I mean, I should be chiming in on the Sonia Sotomayor hearings. I should lambaste the GOP for their overt racism and hypocrisy. Senator Jeff Sessions, hailing for my homestate (and for the record, I have NEVER nor will I EVER vote for him), made his early career out of blasting the NAACP, once infamously referred to a black lawyer in the condescending reference of the old South of "boy," and also allegedly warned another black lawyer that he'd better watch the way he talked to white people. And he, of all people, seems to be screaming the loudest about one menial phrase in one inconsequential speech about a "wise Latina woman" making better judgments that a white male. If only the great Jung were around to observe this behavior, he'd probably talk in some detail about a "shadow." (I know it's an erudite reference. Look it up if you must.) Still, Republicans accused of racism, while appalling, is about as new of a concept as using leeches to ward off infection. It hardly rouses the anger the way it used to.
And speaking of hypocrisy, there is, of course, the extramarital affairs of Senator John Ensign and Governor Mark Sanford. Both were Bible-thumpers using a platform of family values to vault them into political relevancy. I think, however, rather than showing shock and condemnation, most Republicans were just relieved that the last two sex scandals from the party were heterosexual affairs. (They were also probably a little grossed out.) Again, this is such a frequent recurrence that it's hard to muster up the vitriol necessary to fire the trusty rhetorical rifle in their direction.
And, as always, there's Sarah Palin. If I may slightly alter Fleetwood Mac: "Sarah, you were the source of all my laughs/and now you've changed, stopped/and now it's gone/no one knows what for." I once reveled in holding up her exploits to humorous scorn. Now there is no joke that can be made that will be funnier than her own political implosion. She's like The Simpsons--funny for so long that there's no longer any humor left to milk from those dried up teats.
What about Larry King? Yeah, Larry. I really hate him as of late. The man who once was a respected journalist never afraid to place himself in the thick of every political scandal, ask the tough questions of anyone who dared come on his show? His devolution into the tawdry didn't go unnoticed. His guest line-up, a string of Joy Behar, Judge Judy, the American Idol finalists, the Jonas Brothers, of anyone he could possibly find who would belong on TMZ or an episode of Showbiz Tonight but not a serious news show did spark a little fire in me. His last two weeks, however, have been filled exclusively with dirt and gossip on the death of the King of Pop. Seriously? You couldn't even invite Bill Maher on for a little scorn and sarcasm for the world today? I know that the death of a former icon is news. I remember in first grade wearing a glove on only one hand and grabbing my no-nos quite a bit (and not just for the obvious reasons), but Michael Jackson is dead, gone, and buried. Can we not bury the story too?
Still, what more can we expect from the station that obsessed over Anna Nicole Smith's drug overdose and Natalie Holloway's mysterious disappearance? Whatever nets the ratings, right, old boy? If the salivating public would rather obsess over the sudden death of a molesting singer and ignore stolen Iranian elections, battles over health care, sudden profits by banks who received TARP cash, and massive cover-ups by the VP of the previous administration, then we have to give those morons who are more brain dead than Terri Schiavo what they want, right? If reporting what the nation needs to hear trumped feeding the ad revenue by drawing the biggest audience, then Bush would have been impeached six years ago and Matthew Sheppard would have been a household name. But we all know Hannah Montana posted a pic of her in her Hello Kitty Underoos on her personal MySpace page. At least we have our priories in order.
So who am I to be angry? I heard today that Jessica, since she's broken up with that second-rate quarterback, might be getting back together with Nick. And, thank heavens, as far as I know Lindsey and that other chick are doing just fine. I don't need terrorists attacks on hotels in Indonesia to drag me down. All I need to know is that my own stash of Indonesia is intact and smelling nice.
Why be angry? Why rant with fervor and righteous rage? The unemployment rate has reached double digits? Well, I still have my internet where I can watch hour upon hour of YouTube videos of people getting smacked in the balls with various blunt objects. And Dane Cook has not released another movie he's shamelessly trying to pass off as funny when he's the least funny person since Bob Hope in the last few months. Life is good.
Now it's time to crack open another beer and crank up my Bobby McFerrin CD. Don't worry. Be happy, now!