June 30, 2005

Who's your daddy?

Until I read Salon's recent article on The Genius Factory, a book by David Plotz, I never knew about the notorious Nobel Prize Sperm Bank. The bank was founded by Robert Graham, a man who believed "the genius factory was nothing less than the most important project of mankind, because it was the only possible salvation of a genetically doomed world."

Plotz followed up on the project, looking up some of the 200 babies that were produced from Graham's semi-racist eugenics project. Obviously, the project didn't produce a breed of super-geniuses that now run every facet of society. In fact, many of those who donated not only never received a Nobel Prize, but at least one mentioned in the article was a fraud and con artist. But Plotz makes some interesting observations about the Nature versus Nurture questions raised by the project:

For example, "Samantha," the mother of another of "Jeremy's" sons, is an engineer at a high-tech company in Massachusetts. Her husband had had a vasectomy, and, writes Plotz, "her inner nerd loved the idea of a genius sperm bank. She was smart, she'd always been smart, and she wanted a smart kid."
So she raises one. Is it any surprise that on a day-to-day basis she is highly involved in her child's education and well-being? The paradox is ironic. The kind of mothers who would choose a donor from a Nobel Prize Sperm Bank, and thus place a bet on heredity, are precisely the kind of mothers who will also labor to make sure that the environment their children grow up in is as supportive as possible. So who's to say which is more important, nature or nurture?

While the Nobel Prize Sperm Bank seems like a far-fetched scheme dreamed up by a delusional idealist, the concept of genetic selection may not be that far off. Everyday scientist understand the human genome a little better, and the prospect of picking the physical and mental traits of your unborn child sounds less like science fiction and more like a real prospect.

Graham wanted to breed geniuses because he felt the world was in danger of becoming overrun by idiots. I'll admit, sometimes when I consider some of the things that happen in pop culture, the media, and our elections, I wonder if he was right. But whether it's done with sperm from Nobel Prize winners or genetic manipulation, breeding geniuses isn't the answer. Genius is defined as, "extraordinary intellectual and creative power." Genius is one of those measurements that are relative to what they are measured against. In a society of bred geniuses, competition may increase, but excellence would lose its value. Imagine a basketball game played by 10 Michael Jordans, or trying to teach a classroom full of Einstein's. Society thrives on diversity, and a uniform society, whether full of nothing but idiots or geniuses, would stagnate.

But a more feasible scenario, should we develop the technology choose our children's traits, is that this will be an option for a privileged few. Those who can afford it, will breed super-intelligent babies who will be assured of maintaining a dominant position in society. Social mobility will slow to a crawl, and the gap between the wealthy and poor will grow wider.

While the rest of us throw our sperm and eggs into the roulette wheel of chance, the Paris Hilton's and the Jessica Simpson's of the world will have daughters that are not only sexy and talented, but also much smarter than their dumb-as-a-brick mothers.

And I just have one thing to say to those future spoiled, privileged brats, whose good looks are rivaled only by their entertaining personality and witty intellect: How you doin?

Posted by Elyas at 04:10 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

June 29, 2005

Promotion

In order to beef up the content a little, Acinom the Intern has been promoted. I offered him the position of Vice President of Ablogistan, but he declined, apparently content in his lowly status as an intern.

But, he now has authorship privileges and can post directly to the blog. For those of you unfamiliar with Acinom, he was supposed to submit his bio to add to the "About me" page, but he's about two months late on that.

We'll see how long this promotion lasts..

Posted by Elyas at 05:05 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

June 28, 2005

The definition of irony

From here:

Weare, New Hampshire (PRWEB) Could a hotel be built on the land owned by Supreme Court Justice David H. Souter? A new ruling by the Supreme Court which was supported by Justice Souter himself itself might allow it. A private developer is seeking to use this very law to build a hotel on Souter's land.
Justice Souter's vote in the "Kelo vs. City of New London" decision allows city governments to take land from one private owner and give it to another if the government will generate greater tax revenue or other economic benefits when the land is developed by the new owner.

On Monday June 27, Logan Darrow Clements, faxed a request to Chip Meany the code enforcement officer of the Towne of Weare, New Hampshire seeking to start the application process to build a hotel on 34 Cilley Hill Road. This is the present location of Mr. Souter's home.

Clements, CEO of Freestar Media, LLC, points out that the City of Weare will certainly gain greater tax revenue and economic benefits with a hotel on 34 Cilley Hill Road than allowing Mr. Souter to own the land.

Posted by Elyas at 06:40 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Scientology, Tom Cruise, and Everything

In the land of Ablogistan, we try not to rush to judgement too quickly based on rumors or gossip. With Tom Cruise drawing so much media attention to Scientology in recent weeks, it would be easy to jump on the Tom-bashing bandwagon and dismiss Scientology as a fringe, extremist cult. Like one of Acinom's coworkers who recently referred to Cruise as an "atheist with no balls," while watching him tear in to Matt Lower on the break-room television.

But, honestly, I don't know the first thing about Scientology. Yes, the general consensus among the American public is that Scientologists are about as sane as Wacko Jacko. But this is the same American public that acquitted Michael Jackson, elected someone named George Bush three times, and bought millions of Britany Spears/Jessica Simpson albums.

So, I did what I always do when I want to learn something new, I went to Wikipedia. I wikilearned that Scientology's central beliefs are that:

1. A person is an immortal spiritual being (termed a thetan) who possesses a mind and a body, accompanied by a lesser "genetic entity"; 2. The thetan has lived through many past lives, stored memories of which can cause problems in the present day; 3. And that a person is basically good, but is "aberrated" by the memories of past traumas.

That doesn't sound too odd. It has combined bits and pieces from some of the major religions. Basically, like all religions, it's a system of beliefs and ritual that help us deal with life, the universe, and everything. I could have learned a little more about the specifics of the religion, but I grew tired of reading the long Wikipedia entry, skimmed through the headings, and left in search of a shorter, more entertaining answer.

So, I went to the Scientology website, hoping to find a few answers there. After clicking the "What is Scientology?" link, I came to a page divided into 13 ways Scientology can improve your life. But when I clicked on these categories, instead of an explanation of what Scientology offered, I was asked to purchase a book or pamphlet by L. Ron Hubbard, the religion's founder. Now, I'm not expert on the whole evangelizing thing, but it seems that charging people for information is a hard way to spread the word.

Not willing to shell out money to satisfy my curiosity, I Googled the subject and stumbled upon an anti-Scientology site, where I found this quote reportedly made by L. Ron Hubbard in the 1940's:

"Writing for a penny a word is ridiculous. If a man really wants to make a million dollars, the best way would be to start his own religion"

Apparently, one of the biggest criticisms of Scientology is that it exploits its members in order to make money. The (very biased) site claims:

It practices a variety of mind-control techniques on people lured into its midst to gain control over their money and their lives...The results of applying their crackpot psychotherapy (called "auditing") is to weaken the mind. The mind goes from a rational state to an irrational one as the delusional contents of the subconscious mind are brought to the surface and are assumed to be valid.

But isn't this what all religions can be said to do, if you like at them cynically, from an outside perspective? Do churches not ask their members to empty their pockets every Sunday? And as far as "weakening the mind" and going from a "rational state to an irrational one"... this is the very nature of faith. Most religions, by their very nature, are irrational (strictly speaking). Even devout religious scholars will tell you that faith is inherently at odds with logic and reason. That's why it's called a "leap of faith."

I'm currently reading Under the Banner of Heaven, by Jon Krakauer, a fascinating examination of the nature of religion and its control over its members. Krakauer explores how polygamy has survived in some fundamentalist sects of the Mormonism, and how deeply held religious beliefs have driven people to molest their own children and even murder in the name of God. His message seems to be that, while most of us view these fundamentalists as crazy nut-jobs, these people are simply taking to the extreme the same principles of faith, moralism, and obedience that are such an important part of most people's religious experiences.

After all my web-surfing, my perception of Scientology hasn't changed much. I think most people who view it as a crack-pot cult are simply reacting in defense of their own religious beliefs. Scientology is just another religion. Another founding individual, another hierarchical organization, that claims to have THE answer to the meaning of life, the univerise, and everything. Personally, I think this is a question without an answer, but there will always be people trying to answer it. And those who aren't satisfied with the answers given by Christianity or one of the other major religions, will turn to Scientology, and years down the road, other religions will spring up claiming to posess the ultimate answer.

Yes, it's none of Tom Cruise's business what medicine Brooke Shields takes. But his outburst on national television doesn't make him any crazier than a Jerry Falwell who tells a homosexual that his or her lifestyle is wrong. Both are acting on deeply held beliefs and sticking their noses in other people's lives.

But, Tom is a celebrity, and this is a "Christian nation," not a Scientologist one. So, I'll leave you with our friend Bachem Macuno, who had a nice little satirical, fictional interview with Mr. Cruise about his views on modern medicine. Click here to read it.

Posted by Elyas at 03:29 PM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

June 27, 2005

More from the Blame America First crowd

For the handful of San Antonio readers I have, I'm sorry to announce that I will be moving to Boston soon. Don't worry, despite what certain insubordinate interns may claim, I will never be a Celtics fan. Loyal to the Spurs I remain.

Something over at Crooks and Liars about my new hometown recently caught my eye:

In an oped for Catholic Online, Rick Santorum writes that "When the culture is sick, every element in it becomes infected. While it is no excuse for this scandal, it is no surprise that Boston, a seat of academic, political and cultural liberalism in America, lies at the center of the storm."

So, according to Santorum, Catholic priests don't molest little boys because of archaic rules of chastity or a hierarchical structure that has no accountability. Rather, it is because of a "sick" American culture, which apparently has its heart in Boston.

Why does Santorum divert the blame away from those responsible? Instead of blaming the perverted priests responsible for the abuse, instead of blaming the Church that has allowed it to continue for so long, why does Santorum blame America first?

Posted by Elyas at 02:42 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

Pharmaceutical companies: Hands off my balls.

Aside from the energy industry, I've always imagined pharmaceutical companies as one of the most powerful corporate blocs in the country. They seem to be extremely successful at influencing legislation in their favor. And while these companies make products that save lives and improve the quality of life, they overcharge us for drugs that we could get in other coutries for a fraction of the price. And, according to an article in The Seattle Times, we may not need as many of these drugs as the pharmaceutical companies would have us believe.

From the article:

You walk into your doctor's office for a physical exam and step on the scale. Last year, the doctor said you were overweight. Now he says you are obese — at the same weight.
A nurse takes your blood pressure. You have hypertension — with the same previously healthy reading you've had for years.

The doctor scans your wrist bone. You have a condition called "osteopenia" — with the same bone density that was fine last time you were measured.

You are suddenly sick, simply because the definitions of disease have changed. And behind those changes, a Seattle Times examination has found, are the companies that make all those newly prescribed pills.

The Times found that:

• Pharmaceutical firms have commandeered the process by which diseases are defined. Many decision makers at the World Health Organization, the U.S. National Institutes of Health and some of America's most prestigious medical societies take money from the drug companies and then promote the industry's agenda.

• Some diseases have been radically redefined without a strong basis in medical evidence.

• The drug industry has bolstered its position by marketing directly to the health-conscious consumer, leading younger and healthier people to consider themselves at risk and to start taking medications.

If pharmaceutical companies want to market directly to me, fine. I think television commercials for prescription drugs are ridiculous, especially when they vaguely mention symptoms and don't say what the drug is for, but I can always change the channel. "Do you feel groggy in the mornings? Are you sometimes tired? Have you urinated in the last week? Then ask your doctor about Fixitol."

It's when pharmaceutical companies influence the medical community, and more specifically my doctor, that I get really mad. My doctor is someone I'm supposed to trust. He is an expert in an area I know absolutely nothing about. He's like a mechanic, except he's supposed to be honest. He's touched my balls for Pete's sake, and I don't let just anyone do that.

But with the line between the doctor and the pharmaceutical industry becoming blurred, some of the trust is gone. How am I to know if I really need the $200 bottle of pills the doctor prescribed, or if an over-the-counter remedy would work just as well? Suddenly, I don't know if it's my doctor touching my balls and asking me to cough or the CEO of Phizer, and it makes me nervous. I just can't trust a boardroom of latex-gloved pharmaceutical execs cupping my most trusted assets.

Thankfully, I've never had the rectal prostate exam, because I don't think I trust even my doctor enough to do that.

Posted by Elyas at 08:39 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

June 26, 2005

Adventures of Acinom #6

It seems like Acinom has been responsible for more of the content recently than I have. Don't worry, he's still just an intern. I'm back from vacation and will taken the reigns again soon. Until then, here's Acinom's latest adventure, late as usual, but still funny.

Episode 6: Acinom meets a girl

I'm typing on a brand new keyboard—sort of giving it a test drive. Here's how I broke the old keyboard:

Today I realized that I am still in my awkward phase. For those who don't know what the awkward phase is, it is that period of time in your life, common during puberty, when everything about you (and I mean everything) is completely awkward. It's when your braces were huge, your voice cracks high/low mid sentence, your arms were too long, your legs were too short, your head was too big, your wore jean shorts everyday…the list goes on. What makes an awkward phase especially painful and potentially lethal is when your social skills are somewhat less than average. So today I was reminded that I am still in my awkward phase—but I don't wear jean shorts.

A gorgeous woman walks into my office today and seeing my name thingy on my desk says, "Hi Jay, my name is Megan."

I've never seen this woman before and I froze. So I said to her: NOTHING. Yeah that's right. I said nothing and just sort of gawked at her somewhat…awkwardly.

I'm not saying that this is the first time this happened to me where I am stunned stupid by someone very attractive. BUT…this is the first time that I did it while the gawkee was standing there trying to have a conversation with me. All the other times I had the comfort of doing it from across the room or at a television screen. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there is this voice mentally abusing me for being so stupid.

Megan starts to talk and I find myself nodding and grunting in agreement even though I am completely unable to comprehend what she is saying. It was like she was speaking in tongues—I just could not concentrate on what she was saying. All I can recover from that one-way conversation is "new employee," "looking forward," "college," and "coffee."

At one point I think Megan realized that in the five minutes since she had walked into my office I had not uttered a word aside from my grunts of agreement. So she decides to get evil on me and asks me a question. I'm still not following the conversation and when I see that her face is now a question face I COMPLETELY FREAK OUT.

I can't tell you what the question was but I can tell you what my genius response was.

"Ummm," I squeaked. "This is my IBM laptop…."

THIS IS MY IBM LAPTOP?????????? I know. I AM WORTHLESS. My mind raged at itself for saying that. I felt like Milton showing off his fucking red Swingline stapler. The instant those words left my mouth I knew that all was lost. (I suck again)

She sees a picture of a girl and me on my desk and asks, "Who is that?"

I'm beet red with embarrassment and don't even remember what picture she is talking about. I just say, "This girl."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. I was in bad shape.

"Where are you in the picture? That water looks beautiful," she says.

I finally focus on the picture she is talking about and say, "That's when we lived in Honolulu."

"You guys lived in Hawaii?" She asks excitedly. "You must be pretty serious."

I gave her a funny look. I didn't realize that I had answered her in the affirmative when she asked if the girl in the picture was my girlfriend.

"….sister," I mumbled. "I meant to say earlier…that's my sister."

She gave me the weirdest look and finally realized that she was talking to the biggest weirdo ever. I'm still staring at her with this meek pathetic look on my face like someone just made me eat my dog. Then she notices my bottles.

By the way, I have this fascination with Nalgene bottles. People collect coffee cups for their office…. I collect Nalgene bottles. I got some with stickers, some with school logos, and some plain ones. I just love those bottles. So I had one that I had been drinking out of and she notices my collection and says, "Hey I like those bottles too."

Now when she says the word "bottles" my arm, on reflex and with a speed I've never seen before, shoots out to grab it. Well apparently my hand didn't coordinate with my arm and I just end up backhanding the bottle. Chaos ensues.

The water goes all over my keyboard and desk and I start flapping around like a fish out of water trying to clean the spill. I grab some tissues and start rubbing the keyboard vigorously trying to save the damn thing. I'd forgotten that tissues tend to disintegrate when in contact with water. So the handful of tissues disintegrated in between the little keys of my keyboard and joined the rest of the soup that was in there. I look in terror as the scroll lock light begins to blink erratically finally fading into….nothing.

I start mumbling something about my IBM keyboard and Megan is now staring at me. But not like I had been staring at her. She's got to be wondering what kind of medication did I just run out of.

She gracefully ends the conversation saying something like "nice to meet you" and ducks out of the office. She was real nice about everything even though I was ACTING LIKE A COMPELTE BO-TARD in front of her. Anyways this episode taught me three things:

1. I absolutely SUCK at life; my pathetic-ness knows no limits.

2. This new keyboard works pretty nice.

3. For the sake of all people and electronics around me, I am gonna avoid Megan like the PLAGUE.

Posted by Elyas at 12:42 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

June 20, 2005

Let it go

Imagine waking one morning to find your wife unconscious and completely unresponsive. Your heart pounds in your chest, and stomach acid creeps up your esophogas. With wobbly hands, you pick up the phone and struggle to dial 911. Sleepless hours in hospital waiting rooms, strong coffee, and cheap fastfood keep you going as you wait for what you know will be bad news. Your life as you knew it is over.

Now, imagine 15 years later. A vindictive governor is trying to prosecute you for discrepancies in the accident report, even though the initial police report found nothing unusual about your wife's accidnent. Imagine you're Michael Schiavo.

Why is Jeb Bush still persuing Michael Schiavo? Most likely because he is considering a presidential run in 2008, and he needs the publicity of the Schiavo controversy to appeal to the current Republican base, which is bat-shit insane.

Why now?

Jeb and the "pro-life" camp (as opposed to the "pro-death-and-destruction" camp) are doing damage control, after Schiavo's autopsy showed that she was indeed in a vegetative state, and she was completely blind and untreatable. This makes Jeb Bush and Bill Frist, both with an eye on the White House for 2008, look bad. Afterall, brother Jeb is responsible for the whole Schiavo fiasco to begin with, and Bill Frist, a medical doctor, said on the Senate floor:

"Speaking more as a physician than as a U.S. Senator," Frist said from the Senate floor, he thought there was "insufficient information to conclude that Terri Schiavo is in a persistent vegetative state."

And there's nothing better to take attention away from the fact that you were blatantly wrong than a witch hunt. But public opinion of the Schiavo fiasco has turned so against the Republicans, this will probably hurt Frist and J. Bush more than it helps them. If Michael Schiavo is persued too agressively, the public will likely come to his defense.

Let's just hope that if Michael can be haunted 15 years the incident, Jeb Bush's and Bill Frist's asses will be promptly bitten by this Schiavo debacle the minute they announce their candidacies.

Posted by Elyas at 10:54 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

June 16, 2005

Jerry Springer Politics

It comes as no surprise that the controversial book, The Truth About Hillary: What She Knew, When She Knew It, and How Far She'll Go to Become President is filled with personal attacks on Senator Clinton. It seems to make it on a non-fiction bookshelf these days you have to write a radically partisan attack book that stimulates a brute, politically savage area of the brain.

Fine. If the markets decree that polarized attack books are what America wants, then I'll search a little harder in the bookstore for resemblances of objectivity. Or I'll read fiction. But when these best sellers are riddled with inaccuracies and slander, as the new book on Clinton supposedly is, why are they allowed to be categorized as non-fiction? In my elementary school library, I was taught that one piece of fiction was enough to earn a book the fiction classification. But is that just a general guideline, with no real method of enforcement? I'm not advocating for a federal agency to oversee the publishing industry, but I would like to be able to pick a book off the non-fiction shelf and have a little confidence in the material.

(One example of the book's content: the author claims Hillary was raped by her husband Bill, which resulted in the conception of Chelsea.)

The standard response to this problem is to let the market work out the problem. If a company publishes unverified garbage, they will eventually pay when consumers consumers take their business to more reputable publishers. But the current political climate actually encourages publishers to find the most vile, unverifiable material and milk it for all it's worth.

If you don't think this book will make a difference, just wait. When it comes time for Hillary to run, even if this author has been discredited, his unsubstantiated rumors of Hillary's lesbianism will be everywhere. The Swift Boat Veterans did the same thing to John Kerry last year. It may be dishonest, but it's sound political strategy. If you make intelligent criticisms of a candidate's policy decisions, you'll be ignored. If you want to be heard by the media, be as contoversial as possible and be as offensive as possible.

If the Democrats really want to win in 2008, I suggest some of the party faithfuls start digging up all the dirt they can (whether true or not) on Rudy Giuliani, Jeb Bush, and Bill Frist. Seriously, just think of the most vile, shameful act you can imagine, and start accusing Republican hopefuls of doing it. You'll become rich, famous, and you'll probably change the political course of history. I would do it, I could certainly use the money, but my stomach, and my conscience, couldn't handle it.

Posted by Elyas at 11:02 AM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

June 15, 2005

Congressional Rounds

When judging what our representatives are doing with our hard-earned tax dollars, most of us only take notice of the legislation that actually passes and the handful of controversial bills that cause a stir in the media. But once in a while, it's fun to take a look at the bills that aren't going to pass, just to see how much of our tax-money legislators are wasting on far-fetched legislation. Here's the roundup:

HJ 24: Proposes an amendment to the Constitution to repeal the 22nd amendment (which sets term limits for Presidents).

As much as I would like to see a George W, Bill Clinton showdown during the 2008 election, I think the chances of this passing are slim to none.

HR 1146: Also known as the "American Sovereignty Restoration Act of 2005", the bill simply proposes that the United States completely withdraw from participation in the United Nations.

It would be a shame if this passed, because the last four months of fighting and bickering over the John Bolton nomination would be down the drain.

HCON 163: This bill honors the Sigma Chi fraternity on its 150th anniversary (May 23, 2005).

It's actually surprising how much time is spent honoring certain individuals and groups. I'm not sure why our government needs to debate for a month on whether or not it should officially endorse Pope John Paul as a good guy. And a fraternity? Are you kidding me? If they did this in passing, as a break between important bills or as a warm up to solving the country's problems, that would be one thing. But let's look at the actions of the bill:

5/23/2005:Referred to the House Committee on Education and the Workforce. 6/13/2005 2:27pm: Mr. Kline moved to suspend the rules and agree to the resolution, as amended. 6/13/2005 2:27pm: Considered under suspension of the rules. (consideration: CR H4364-4366) 6/13/2005 2:36pm: On motion to suspend the rules and agree to the resolution, as amended Agreed to by voice vote. (text: CR H4364-4365) 6/13/2005 2:36pm: Motion to reconsider laid on the table Agreed to without objection. 6/14/2005: Received in the Senate and referred to the Committee on the Judiciary.

From the time it was introduced to the time it passed: nearly a month. If you would like to call and thank one of the bill's nine sponsors for a job well done, the list is here.

Posted by Elyas at 04:23 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Blame America First

For the past few days I've been cut off from civilization, and I seemed to have missed Michael Jackson's acquittal. Actually, I wouldn't say I missed it; I didn't really follow the trial at all when it was going on. It was more annoying than interesting. But what I do find interesting is how devious right-wing pundits can be in their never-ending struggle to blame us (that is, everyone who isn't a right-wing pundit) for every problem in America.

If you listen to Cal Thomas in Faultless Nation, Michael Jackson was aquitted, not because the jury had a reasonable doubt of his guilt, but because the entire American culture is immoral and sexually promiscuous:

What was missing in virtually all of the commentary and analysis of the verdict was how this case reflects America's moral climate. The narcissistic generation has come full circle, from indulging children to abusing them; from setting standards to removing all taboos. Nothing is wrong any longer, because nothing is right.

It's amazing how these guys can take any subject and twist it for their assault on America's amoral or immoral culture. And for them, any set of morals that isn't their own qualifies as immoral. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if they somehow blame Jackson's acquittal on Bill Clinton.

There seems to be a whole clique of pundits that make it their life's work to blame any deviant act on American culture. I think we should nickname this group, so they're easier to identify.

How about, the Blame America First crowd?

Posted by Elyas at 11:59 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

June 10, 2005

Adventures of Acinom, take 5

I'm officially on vacation right now, which means I probably won't post as regularly for the next couple weeks. I apologize to all the loyal readers out there (all two of you). In the meantime, I'll need some "filler" to take the place of regular content. And by filler, I mean another installment of The Adventures of Acinom.

I now turn it over to the intern:

Last weekend I had the honor of serving as the “decoy.” Ok let’s rewind:

It was my five-year reunion last weekend. I had plans on dropping by until I heard that it cost $85. Yeah you read right. $85 per head. EIGHT FIVE with a Y in the middle. Now the $85 doesn’t really get you anything—that’s just for the pleasure of showing up. Drinks cost extra. Food costs extra. The snazzy alumni golf tournament costs EXTRA. The real kick in the shnaseberry is that I LIVE near my alma mater so its like I’m paying to go to this place that I see on average of once or twice a week. Did I mention it was EIGHTY FIVE FREAKING DOLLARS?

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6….Okay I’m calm. And here’s another thing. It’s not as if it was the Class of 2000 reunion. It was the 5 and 0’s reunion. Which means that if your class graduated in a year that ended in five or zero, it is your reunion. Doesn’t this make it that much more personal and meaningful? Does this sound like a pyramid scam to anyone else? (If it doesn’t that is because, and I will be honest with you, I don’t really know what a pyramid scam is—aside from that it sucks…)

Basically the school is hosting hundreds of old and middle aged folks and they are making a killing charging 85$ a head and $45 for kids. Ironically, 2 people from my class showed up to the actual reunion. Everybody else who came into town just skipped the damn thing and went out to spend their $85 bucks elsewhere.

Which brings me to my decoy duty. We went out to a bar and by mid-evening, we were pretty hammered—Don’t judge, we were celebrating our unofficial five year psuedo-reunion. I was with a friend of mine talking to these two girls who liked us enough to spend the rest of the night at the bar with us. Anyways after an hour or so of heavy drinking and not-so-subtle flirting, this girl’s cell phone rings—I know: ACINOM, ALWAYS WITH THE FUCKING CELL PHONES!

She gets real quiet and puts her phone down and glances nervously at her friend. The phone is still ringing so, amazing drunk that I am, I pick it up and answer it for her.

“WHAAAATTSSSSSAAAAPPPPP?” I slur stupidly forgetting that it has been in years since that was couth (word of day calender hollaaaa).

“WHO THE SHIT IS THIS?” I hear.

“Hey you called me,” I said. By now our lady friends are rolling. So they ask me to be a “decoy.”

I told my phone buddy to hold on. “What’s a decoy?” I asked. They told me that I was talking to one of the girl’s ex-boyfriend, Drew B. Drew had cheated on Heather (one of our companions) with his ex girlfriend. So Heather had deep-sixed Drew B. (Does this sound like a bad R&B name to anyone else or is it just me?) and now Drew B. was back with his ex. Heather and the ex, Stephanie, were not quite friendly.

I agreed to this decoy duty and decided to take the Drunk Phone Guy route. OK, it wasn’t much of a decision because I was, in fact, drunk and on the phone.

The following conversation ensued:

Me: Drew B. My man, whatsup?

D.B.: I want to talk to Heather.

Me: So do I.

D.B.: You got her phone.

Me: Its one of em video phone jobbers. Its nice. Who are you?

D.B.: It’s DREW. Where is Heather?

I decided to begin my attack.

Me: Heather is with Stephanie.

Heather and her friend nearly died of laughter.

D.B.: BULLSHIT.

Me: NOSHIT. They are fighting. They are engaged in hand to hand combat.

Note: I get a little dramatic and wordy when I’m hammered.

D.B.: BULLSHIT. Stephanie is right here with me. And she wants to talk to Heather.

Me: A lot of people want to talk to Heather. (Pausing) Ok. Let’s quid pro quo.

D.B.: WHAT?

Me: (Feigning exasperation) Quid pro quo, Drew B. What kind of R&B singer are you anyways

D.B.: (Utterly confused) What are you talking about?

Me: You put Stephanie on and I’ll put Heather on.

D.B.: Fine.

Stephanie: Heather?

Me: (In Dark Helmet Spaceballs voice) FOOLED YOUUUUU!!!!

Stephanie: I want to talk to that BITCH!

Me: Which one?

Stephanie: HEATHER. Tell her that if that fat ass bitch wants to fight I’ll whup her ass.

So I started staring at Heather’s ass and for the life of me it wasn’t very fat. And honestly, I was kind of aroused that she wasn’t offended at me for so blatantly staring at her beedonk.

Me: I’m sorry Steph. But Heather don’t got a fat ass. Its nice in fact.

Stephanie: Well, you are probably gonna get to know it at the end of the night. That slut.

Me: YES!!

Stephanie: You tell that chicken I’ll kick her ass next time I see her. I don’t mess around.

Me: Steph what does your ass look like?

Stephanie: Whatever I’ll beat that skinny bitch down.

Me: Why’d you call her fat ass then?

Stephanie: You just tell her I’m gonna destroy her.

Me: Why are you taller than her or something?

Stephanie: I’m 5’4.

Me: That’s not very tall.

Stephanie: I don’t need to be tall. I’ll whup her ass.

I asked Heather how tall she was. She said 5’8 and 125 lbs.

Me: Sorry Steph, but Heather here’s got a good four inches on you.

Stephanie: Yeah well does her four inches and 90-pound anorexic ass want to mess with 227 pounds of pissed off bitch?

Now this latest comment kind of caught me off guard. See, I’m 6’2 and around 225 lbs. I’m not a small kid. So when I hear this girl telling me that she is 5’4 and 227 lbs I’m rather caught off guard. My state of sobriety coupled with that tidbit of information made for a bit of a volatile situation. And I’m not insensitive to weight issues either. I was a lineman in my football days so I know what’s its like to carry a little extra weight. But this was too much. DAMN YOU SHINERBOCK FOR TURNING ME INTO A DICK!!!

Me: (Incredulously) 227 lbs and 5’4. Um Steph, you are a hoss.

At this point Heather and her friend are dying of laughter. In retrospect I feel bad for Steph but I guess I don’t know the whole story and let’s be honest….she walked herself into that one with all the fat ass and skinny references.

Stephanie: Listen you asshole, I’ve had three kids.

Me: Then maybe you should be home with your kids on a Saturday night instead of worrying about kicking Heather’s ass.

Stephanie: I’m still 24 and I’m gonna work it for as long as I can.

The idea of 5’4 treetrunk working it was too much to handle.

Me: Listen I gotta go.

Drew B.: What did you say to my girl mother fucker?

Me: Dude I’m gonna go.

D.B.: No man, you disrespected me and my girl and now I’m coming for you.

Me: You’re coming for me?

D.B.: Yeah man. How big a boy are ya?

I looked over at Heather and my friend and reported what he’d just said. They got wide-eyed and told me that Drew B. loved Roy D. Mercer. They also told me Drew was a shrimp.

Me: What’s with all the weight talk tonight? I’m a big guy man. How big are you?

D.B.: 5’4 and 119.

It was at this point that I imagined a kid that was 5’4 and 119lbs. It took me back to sixth grade when I was around both. And why the heck where these people so frank about their bulk or, in Drew’s case, utter lack thereof?

Me: (after a long pause) Sorry Drew, I was just trying to picture a guy next to a girl whose got over 100 lbs on him. Dude, have a good night. (hanging up)

Now, I’m not a bully but I had mixed feelings after this conversation. First, I really was sorry for making anyone feel bad but they sort of walked themselves into it. Apparently after I left with my buddies Drew B. showed up with Stephanie in tow and tried to find me. I’m a regular and the other regulars told me that they were rather amused that this short kid was so determined to find me. What are you gonna do? So ends my duty as a decoy.

Posted by Elyas at 12:49 PM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

June 06, 2005

The Conservative Elite

Liberals, and Democrats by association, are often stereotyped and criticized by conservatives for being "elitist." You saw it in the last election, with pundits portraying Kerry as a snobby intellectual going against the good-ol-country-boy George Bush.

But what about conservative elitism? Can't right-wing pundits be just as condescending and arrogant as anyone? Let's take a look.

First, we have Rush Limbaugh, who recently said making election day a national holiday won't help Democrats because most of their voters don't work anyway:

LIMBAUGH: The two to three big opportunities so far mentioned by Howard Dean -- pension portability and changes to election laws. ... So portability of pensions. What's the second one? Oh, yeah, Election Day a holiday. And well, you know -- I don't know why they need to do that. Most of their voters don't work anyway, so I don't know how that's going to help them that much. At least in a percentage basis. (June 2)

Granted, Rush could be talking about the elderly, who typically vote Democrat. But in the last election, Bush received the most votes from the over-65 demographic. What Rush seems to be implying is that the majority of Democrats are unemployed bums. Considering the unemployment rate is 5.2 percent, and a little less than half the voting population votes Democrat, the numbers just don't add up. From what little I've read, it seems making election day a national holiday would be much better for Democrats than Republicans in terms of improving voter turnout.

Partisan politics aside, it is hard to find a logical reason why election day isn't a holiday. We bitch and moan about the low voter turnout in this country, but we can't even give people the day off to go vote.

Next, we have conservative radio host Laura Ingraham, who recently went on the O'Reily Factor and defined what it means to be normal:

INGRAHAM: Well, I think it's interesting that people like [New York Daily News chairman and publisher Mort] Zuckerman [who wrote a June 2 op-ed suggesting that religious conservatives may hurt the Republican Party] would be saying this now, coming off of an election where President Bush was elected with middle-class support, Bill [O'Reilly, host], from about $23,000 to about $50,000 bracket for annual salary. Bush won by six points in all Americans and 22 points in white middle-class voters. So the Republicans are clearly connecting with the regular people, where the Democrats aren't. (June 2)

I guess Ingraham meant to say the majority of the people, instead of regular people. Or maybe not. Maybe she really believes that her demographic, and most importantly, Bush supports, are normal Americans. Everyone else is abnormal. Freakish deviants whose ideals have mutated into something that needs to be looked down upon and pitied.

Posted by Elyas at 11:34 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

June 03, 2005

NDD

Richard Louv makes an interesting point in his new book, Last Child in the Woods, about the physical, psychological, and spiritual problems that stem from the lack of regular contact with nature, particularly for children. If you've ever sat under the stars around a roaring campfire, it's easy to understand the psychological benefits of spending time in a natural setting.

But in this Salon interview, Louv talks a little about the causes of what he calls "nature-deficit disorder."

Louv argues that sensationalist media coverage and paranoid parents have literally "scared children straight out of the woods and fields," while promoting a litigious culture of fear that favors "safe" regimented sports over imaginative play.

Ok. Fine. That's a reasonable argument. But if you want to talk about sensationalist media and scaring parents, why subtitle your book, "Saving our children from nature-deficit disorder"? Isn't that a little sensationalistic? Is the problem so bad that we really need to "Save the Children"? And isn't comparing this to attention deficit disorder playing on parents' fears of that disorder?

According to Louv:

It's not good for human beings to live with fear all the time. In this society we are increasingly living in fear, whether it's of terrorism or "stranger danger" -- and statistically, most of that fear is not warranted. Child abductions by strangers are, in fact, rare, and criminologists and others report that the number of them may have decreased in recent years.

Now parents can stop worrying about stranger danger and obsess about how their irrational fears are screwing up their kids psychologically.

Posted by Elyas at 10:01 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

Adventures of Acinom #4: Barbershops and Purple Hearts

I was in town to see my sister graduate and needed a haircut bad. I'm
not too particular about my hair but I do like to keep it short because I have very straight hair that DOES NOT gracefully swing a la Pantene Pro-V Commercials. It sticks straight the #$@& out at a PERFECT 90° angle from my scalp. I have to wear a freaking hat to paste it into place. Rather sad actually.

Well I had two hours to get to the Honor's Day Ceremony so I looked up a barbershop in the yellow pages and dialed away.

"Waaak'n-Air-Care-SaLong. Thays is Betty Joe. May ah hell'p ya?" I heard.

"Um, Hi is this the barbershop?" I asked.

"No thays is the Waaak'n-Air-Care-SaLong," the lady corrected.

I looked back at the yellow pages and saw "Walk-In Hair Care Salon."

"Right, well can I schedule a cut for around 11 AM?" I asked.

"Ah can cut ya at 11:10."

"Great. Be there at 11."

Let me give some background info. I'm "from the south." But there
are limits to how "from the south" I am. These limits include that I
too sometimes need a sentence repeated or, at the worst of times, a
translator to understand some of the southern dialects that are
prevalent in my hometown. That's not meant to be insulting—it's just
the truth.

Back to hair. Now all I wanted to do was clean up my sides and get
the hair off my ears and collar. I used to be in the military so I've kind of grown partial to shorter hair—not the high and tight marine look, just fairly short all around with enough on top to prove I really have hair.

Stupidly I went to the barbershop in my nice clothes figuring I could
just head straight to the ceremony afterwards. Looking rather dapper
in my white shirt, tie, and pants I walked up to the counter and
before I could say anything, the cashier/woman reading the Inquirer
gave me a dirty look.

"We don't allow no so-liss'tin in hea," she hissed.

"What?" I asked genuinely confused and in need of my Dad's linguistic expertise.

She pointed to a sign that read "NO SOLICITORS."

"I'm just here for a haircut."

"You ain't Mo'mon or one of 'em Jay-hova Witnesses?"

"Not that it matters but no," I said starting to get pissed.

"Then whys you dressed up in a shirt and tie?" She asked.

"Is there a dress code for getting a hair cut now?" I was starting to get a bit exasperated.

"Don't need to be rude 'bout it, I was just asking. What's yer name?" she asked.

"Jay." She entered it into the computer.

"What's yer last name?"

"Norton."

"Phone number?"

"Why do you need my phone number?" I asked starting to get really annoyed.

"We use the phone number to identify customers in case they come back."

I submitted and gave her my cell phone number.

"What's your address?"

"Why do you need my address? Are you offering to come out to my house next time I need a haircut?"

"Listen, SIR, I'm jest tryin to do my job," she said getting rather
testy herself.

"Well, I'm sorry but I don't think it is necessary that I give you my address."

"Fine," she said clearly not meaning it. "What is your place of work?"

"Why do you need my place of work? This is getting ridiculous," I
said. "I'm here for a haircut not to apply for a loan."

"We jest want to make sure we can serve ours cus—"

"I have hair. I have money," I said cutting her off. "If I have both of those it should be pretty easy to get a haircut. I don't recall the Patriot Act requiring people to go through a FREAKING NATIONAL BACKGROUND CHECK prior to getting some hair cut!"

"Fine, Sir." She said with a menace. "Please sit in that chair over yonder."

It was at this point that I realized that like waiters, maybe a barber is a person customers don't want to piss off during their work. She asked me how I wanted my hair cut and I asked her to take a bit off the sides and blend it in up top.

Now going to some barbershops is a treat. When I was in the military
we had this Korean barbershop next to the base that absolutely doted
on the soldiers. The ladies had these soft hands that would just make you sleepy whenever they gently touched your ears and face to move your head at the right angle to cut. They would use the hot lather and shave around your neck. Then they'd use the small clippers without guards to clean up the lines. The small clippers would then be run against the back of your neck giving you a tingly rush—like a r'gasm with the OOOOO (Every guy who has gotten a haircut from a woman other than your mother knows what I'm talking about whether they admit or not—the haircut big O). Afterwards the ladies would actually give you a little neck massage right after the haircut. I don't know about the other fellers but when I walked out of that Korean barbershop I went back to base with a dreamy little smile on my face.

This barbershop, however, was definitely NOT like the Korean
barbershop of my memories.

First of all the lady had some pretty rough hands. They were rougher
than my feet. Second, she was not gentle in placing my head where she wanted it. After a couple of minutes of her jerking my cabesa this way and that I felt like I had been rear-ended by an 18 wheeler and had whip-lash from hell (probably had something to do with our psuedo-argument earlier). She also was going to town with the clippers. Every time I started to ask her to take care of something
that didn't look right, she would cut me off and say, "Haven't got
thare yet. Okay?" And then she would just take the clippers and go
to town on that particular spot like she was mowing a 5 acre lawn with a weed-eater.

I was starting to get pissed.

"Can you just take it easy with the clippers? Also could you blend
the top in with sides?" I asked.

"What do ya mean?" She asked.

"I don't know…. I mean can you cut the top and the sides so it doesn't look like a deck of cards sitting on top of a shelf!" At this point I've pretty much had it.

Apparently so had she.

"You're gonna have to leave," she declared taking the cape off of me.

I have to admit I wasn't expecting that.

"You can't kick me out," I said (okay shouted). "You're not done and
my hair looks like horrible."

"Yes I can kick you out," she replied. "That will be 15 dollars."

"WHAT???? I exclaimed. "You can't kick me out before you
finish and then demand that I pay 15 bucks!!!" (By the way, since when are freaking haircuts 15 bucks?)

"Unless you start using some manners I ain't gon touch your hair and
when you leave this place ya'are gonna pay 15 dollars," she said.

So I demanded to speak to her manager. Unfortunately she was
the manager so I had to calm down. I tucked my tail in between my
legs realizing that I was running out of time before the ceremony
started.

"I apologize," I said. "Can I please just get my haircut finished now?"

"Why, you got somewhere to be?" She asked knowing that she had won.

I just nodded. I wanted to say: NO I'M JUST WEARING A SHIRT AND TIE
BECAUSE I LIKE TO DRESS UP TO DEAL WITH CRAZY ASSHOLES LIKE YOU. But
I didn't. And I sat back down while she looked at my head. Only this
time she looked like she was seeing it for the first time.

"Well, I can't do much with this hair now, since you came in here with such a bad hairstyle," she determined.

It was this point that I was considering just walking out of the shop, cape and all, and running down the street until I was apprehended by the local law enforcement.

"What I can do is to shorten it up even more so's it looks like yer in the army or mah-reens," she said. "It would be sorta like a starting over for yer hair."

This seemed a better option than leaving it to her creative skills
and I figured that I've had army haircuts before. Wouldn't look that
odd.

"That will be fine," I said politely as possible.

Surprisingly she did a good job with army cut. It had been a long
time since I had my hair that short but I knew it could have been
worse.

"Do ya want fer me to shave the neck and sides?" She asked.

Now the smart thing would have been to say no. But I then I
remembered back to Shangri-la back with the Korean barbers and with a
dreamy look on my face said, "Yes, please, I think I've enough time."
She began to spread shaving cream on the back of my neck. She was

actually careful not to mess up my clothes and for this I was kind of
grateful. She then whipped out her straight razor with a little bit
more gusto than I was accustomed to and began scraping the cream off
my neck. Now I don't know if she thought the blade was dull or
something but she was really pressing hard. Pressing hard enough that I knew exactly what happened when I felt the blade catch at the lower part of my neck. SHE FUCKING CUT ME.

I gave her an evil look that said YOU FUCKING CUT ME ON PURPOSE! Now
when a person with a straight razor slices your neck open usually the
person who did the cutting is a lot more hysterical than the cut-ee.
But not this piece of work.

"Its not that bad," she said.

Not "Oh I'm sorry" or "Oh my god you're gonna die." No she says ITS
NOT THAT BAD.

I can literally feel the warm blood starting to drip down my neck and
I'm still sitting there not quite knowing what to do. She wiped the
rest of the cream off—probably because of the look I gave her when she asked me if she should finish shaving my neck. She gives me a
band-aid because she says she always has some handy. With the way you work, you'd better, I thought.

Then she takes off the cape in such a manner as to allow all of my
hair to fall right on to my clothes. She didn't even acknowledge she
did it. Did I mention I HATE this person?

We walk back up front with me looking like I'd just been bitten by a
rabid dog that happened to be shedding profusely.

"That's 15 dollars," she said. I said nothing and gave her the blood
money (literally).

"Have a great day and come back to see us," she said robotically. I
HATE YOU WOMAN!!!

I get to the ceremony and walk through dejected. People are looking
at me like I just got back from a war. I walked to where my parents
were sitting and my Mom gave me a look.

"Do you know that you are bleeding through your white shirt?" She
asked. "I can't get that stain out."

I just looked at her.

"Your hair looks like it did in the Army," my Dad said. "You got hair all over your clothes. Are you bleeding?"

I just looked at him.

I was asking myself how my morning could get worse when fate decided
to answer for me. (
For any of you not familiar with my cell phone history, see here)

In the middle of the invocation while the rest of the place was dead
silent my cell phone decides to make my day:

"An incoming call you have," Yoda sang. "Answer it quickly you must."

All eyes darted to the bloody, shedding guy with Star Wars cell piece. I looked at the caller ID and saw the number to the Walk-In Hair Care Salon.

Posted by Elyas at 09:30 AM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

June 02, 2005

My boy is famous

Someday, when young Acinom has graduated from his lowly rank of unpaid intern and risen to the god-like status of a Jon Stewart, he can trace all of his success back to me. I submitted one of his previous adventures to the Carnival of Comedy, and now handfuls of visitors are pouring in each hour to read about his latest shennanigans.

Yes, loyal readers may recall that I fired Acinom last week after he turned fluff piece about movies instead of an actual adventure. But his semi-celebrity status has redeemed him for the moment (although I am still taking intern applications). Be sure to tune in this Friday for the next installment of...

The Adventures of Acinom!

Posted by Elyas at 01:03 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

June 01, 2005

The Odd Couple

From NY Daily News:

Last week - after Matrix Media announced a deal for Sharpton to host a "Limbaugh of the Left"-type talk radio show - the conservative radio star said he'll think about mentoring the minister in the finer points of the medium.
Yesterday, Sharpton said he's eager to accept the sort-of offer to (as Limbaugh put it on his own show Friday) "let [Sharpton] guest-host the program for, like, 30 minutes at a time while I am sitting here critiquing him."

Limbaugh of the Left? We don't need a Limbaugh of the right or the left. Imitation is said to be the greatest form of flattery. And the last thing we need to do is flatter this guy.

Posted by Elyas at 01:13 PM | Comments (12) | TrackBack