What, Was I Born Yesterday?

For some reason that the reaction among right-wingers to the sexual assault of Lara Logan is "what did she expect?/serves her right" surprises me. You'd think I'd have learned by now, but no, I sit here genuinely appalled at the behavior of my fellow human beings.

As long as my cred as a cynic is being thrown out the window, I might as well say, "Fucking really? Do you fucking people wake up in the morning and ask yourselves 'What would be the worst thing I could say or do today?' and go from fucking there? Fuck me you're pieces of shit."

A Timely Reminder

I am not having the best of days. This perked me up considerably. Thank God for youtube.

We jam econo

So when, exactly, do I become a member of this coastal cultural elite that I hear so sneeringly derided? I don't think that I'm a member, although I'll readily admit to wanting to be an "elite..." something or other. But although that vilified segment of the population sounds a lot like me, I have a hard time thinking of myself as any sort of elite.

I mean, I like lattes, but at $3.50 a pop, it's not a taste I can regularly indulge.

We like to do Big Cultural Things, but our access to that relies on T.'s practiced eye for must-sees and good deals rather than being able to just randomly decide we'd like to try that opera thing.

I'm sure the mythical Martian sociologist would classify us as culturally as "creative class," but we're definitely on the lower edge of that spectrum.

I'll cop to being a snob when it comes to some things, but elite? C'mon. I don't even know the secret handshake.

Woodstock My Ass

My lovely wife and I went to see the Hancock last night. I have to take her to all the Will Smith summer blockbusters, as she's made it clear to me that she loves the Fresh Prince more than me. Taking her to see the movies is my way of showing that I'm cool with that.

Anyway, Hancock was a fine film. You should go see it. Seriously, I'll wait.

Back? Okay, there was one thing that bothered me about the film [insert clip from the movie Clue of Martin Mull saying, "One thing!?" Classic.] Jason Bateman's character, as you know, just having watched the film, is a bleeding heart liberal and so is his smoking hot wife, whom he managed to score despite having a young kid and no visible source of income, but that's not what bothers me, as I, too, have a smoking hot wife whom I landed while working at Taco Time. So what bothered me is the Woodstock poster they have on their bedroom wall. I know this is hard for people over the age of fifty to understand, but those of us in our mid-thirties who have hearts that bleed for the suffering in the world, do not look to the 1960s for inspiration. Well, maybe a little, but we do not hang framed Woodstock posters in our bedrooms. There would have been hundreds of other ways for set decorator Rosemary Brandenburg to emphasize the fundamental nature of these characters without resorting to Woodstock. Woodstock was the defining event of the previous generation.

Alright, let's get our Independence Day freak on!