You're Darn Tootin' Palin Sucked!

I'm not going to say a great deal about the Vice Presidential debate last night, which is a mercy both to you and myself. Darren the Merciful! But I will say that (big surprise) Biden cleaned Palin's proverbial clock, as she went down a list of memorized responses so tenaciously that it required her to ignore the actual questions. When Biden said that Cheney is, "The most dangerous VP in American history" I swooned. His comment about being a single parent after his wife and son were killed in a car crash was a direct hit on Palin's "hockey mom" malarkey.

Basically, Palin's expectations were so low that all she had to do was talk. Preferably about politics. That's it. That's both a joke and, in my opinion, an accurate analysis of what happened last night. But if you look beyond the folksy nonsense (Joe Six Pack? Come on) what you'll find in Palin is a cute Fascist. Think about it. She loves capitalism and the free market, wants to reduce freedom (no more abortion rights), and wants to go to war with everyone without even talking to them first; Iran, Darfur, Pakistan, Russia and probably Australia.

I submit that ANYONE who wants to cut funding for every social program (and nail the poor) and increase military spending and adventures should NEVER use a phrase like "doggone it." Then she spoke past the moderator and via "straight talk" talked to "the people" I'm sure the douchebags out there who think the media is run by Liberal Jews just ate it up.

Of course the media is actually run by a conspiracy of internationalist Communists hell-bent on making us all read "Family Circus."

Last night, I had a dream. Palin was president and Commander-In-Chief and just cut Social Security and Medicare. Strangely, or appropriately, she insisted on telling everyone in person that their benefits were cut. Thus, she knocked on my door and I looked through my little eye-hole, and had to let her in. "Hi there! Are you Darren W. Lyle?" I nodded, and she continued, "Well that's super! Just want to let you know that, doggone it, your benefits were cut, and you betcha it didn't happen a moment too soon!"

At that point, I strangled her to death. The end.

I told you it was a dream, not a nightmare. Onward!

Of Voids and 300 Yards To My New Toilet

A voice whispering, not into my ears but into my mind. Whomever is behind the voice is relating a bitter fact (it is presented as one) about my life. The thought enters my mind and instantly makes a home, among self-loathing, guilt, disgust, depression, and then goes deeper to find dark thoughts of suicide, and even murder. Specific memories related to these general feelings begin to percolate to the surface, where the whispered idea will find an ally in the simple goal of becoming the predominate thought in my mind.

The whispered fact is but 10 words, and it is a fact about life, death, and religion. Mel Gibson once said that, "Life is a shit sandwich for everyone, the only difference is some get more bread." But beyond the shit sandwich that is life, there are some mighty fine moments sprinkled about. Falling in love has to be among the greatest and most enjoyable experiences in the universe. And how easily does such a wonderful thing turn to unspeakable pain. The heat that kept you warm suddenly burns you horribly.

She said to me loudly near the Park St. T stop, "Thankfully, life is fragile and it should be over soon!" loudly because there was a band playing nearby, we were at some sort of protest. We were together for a month before breaking up, and I spent my weekends at her place in Revere, very close to the sea. It was autumn. The smell of the see helped us create the illusion that we were hidden away, and it was seemingly always overcast. We were celebrating surrender and welcoming death, which is wrong when one is only 26. She was even younger. It was my idea to break up, but she was not surprised or hurt. For various reasons, it was a hard relationship on both of us. Two dead ends trying to find a way out. We were both carrying a torch for someone else, as they say.

There were two phone conversations after that day on Beacon Hill, but that was the very last time I saw her, saying that. Such nihilism. A variation on that question that can't be put into words has soaked into my brain and distracted my mind. No self defense exists against depression or isolation or whatever other crazy shit I feel.

Nothing but the void.

I will survive this bout of melancholy. This is my time of year, after all. The cold weather cools my brain, like a cold snap makes the local dump less fetid. Or something. And the occasional smell of the ocean that reaches my flat is rife with a million different meanings and feelings, I have but to choose.

A lack of enthusiasm for life is embarrassing to a thinking person, as life is rare, and at worst interesting. It makes sense to live life to the fullest, and all that shit, until the big finale. The "Big Finale" for most of us is a heart attack, but cancer gets a lot of us, too. Accidents are statistically less common, but still it's a good chance you'll die in one.

Anyway, I have trouble keeping my eye off the void, of not thinking of what that girl said almost 10 years ago this fall. And life is easy for me, relatively, compared to most human beings. Even so, there is so much pain and fear and anxiety and guilt. And everything beautiful, like music and romantic love, will end one day, never to be experiences or appreciated again. I'm trying to keep that thought from ruining my enjoyment of living, and I've been successful. Love is perhaps the very best thing, and Tchaikovsky's violin concerto is a mighty fine group of sounds.

Just yesterday we found out that the House of Four Cats will be moving, about 300 yards south-west. It will be a lovely new flat with all sorts of modern conveniences, like a "toilet" or "seat of ease" as it's called elsewhere. Also, a device that allows you to shower your body with water, thus cleaning it and making it less offensive to others. Also, electric lights, a new stove and a state-of-the-art doorbell. When you press it, Die Internationale plays.

November 19th Oh, fuck!

Of Bailin' and Palin

As I sit here drinking my coffee in my favorite "Le Chien" mug from France, a vague desire for this life to end is pestering me. They call it "suicidal ideation" and it has got to be connected to this fucking election. It's looking good for Obama, whom I support and, for reasons that are unclear to everyone, I want to play with his ears. Obama has cute ears, what do you want from me.

Despite how well Obama is looking right now, I have a feeling that McCain is going to swoop down like a vulture and, well, win. This sort of negativity did not evolve without the help of experience. In 2004 I just knew that Kerry was going to win. He didn't, and now we pay the price. The "price" for me includes no small amount of my sanity, a will to live and faith in my fellow man.

But Bush won, and I learned a lesson; the American people (at least half of them) are stupid. Thus, I'm taking nothing for granted. In fact, I'm expecting a McCain win just to desensitize myself against the spectacle. There has never been a candidate, or ticket, more clueless and scary than McCain/Palin.

I've been asked if I "really" support Obama, given that I'm a Socialist Party USA member (until they get around to booting me for supporting the Fist and Rose split) and my politics are far to the left of the brown man from Chicago. The answer is that I really do support Obama. He's not perfect, of course, but he's smart and communicates his ideas well. That alone puts him far ahead of McCain or Bush. Moral scruples help, too. Remember those? I miss the days when we had leaders who didn't have to be told that torture was beneath us and bad. Le sigh.

Beyond the election there are the markets, which are just a joy to watch these days. Capitalism is collapsing, as it tends to do, without government assistance and regulation. Eventually they will throw $700 billion at the banking crisis, but until they do, suck on it Wall Street.

Prince Swears Off Sex

As everyone knows, Prince is a sexy motherfucker. And his ambiguous sexuality means that anyone can justify trying to bang the son of a bitch. He's a musical genius, to boot. But because Prince is such a fucking weirdo, he recently swore off sex. The man...the man is not well upstairs. But who gives a shit, he's still putting out great music.

Read the exciting story here.

Rain, World of WarCraft and Matt & Megan Tie The Knot

As I write this little missive from the Front, it is raining steadily outside. This weather is a total delight for me; it feels nice to walk in, there is no annoying sunshine to urge me outside, and the sound of raindrops hitting the green copper roof over the stoop is vaguely sad, and inspires feelings of melancholy and nostalgia in me.

When I was 15ish when I took a mail order writing course. Many an evening was spent hanging over my ancient Royal typewriter. I wrote a lot. Our place in Billerica had, and may still have, a large porch. If it were raining, I would take my Royal outside, onto the porch, with the idea of letting the rain and wind inspire me. It didn't, but the memory of typing away on the porch as the rain fell has stayed with me. Even electro-convulsive therapy didn't kill it.

But enough of the finer things, let's talk about getting a warning from Blizzard Software for calling a McCain supporter some nasty names. To whom did this happen? Me! The transcript of what was said is below. I have it because they put it in my warning. I'm "Kam," for these purposes.

Account Action: 1st Warning
Offenses: Harassment Policy Violation - Inappropriate
This category includes both clear and masked language which:
* Is a mildly inappropriate reference to human anatomy or bodily functions
* Is otherwise considered objectionable

Details (Note - Times are listed in Greenwich Mean Time, GMT):
2008/09/24 23:51:26 (GMT) - X says "GO MCCAIN/PALIN YOUR AWESOME"
2008/09/24 23:51:59 (GMT) - Kam says "What a fucking idiot. The Special Olympics in town?"
2008/09/24 23:53:06 (GMT) - X says "im gong to report you, bye bye asshole"
2008/09/24 23:53:46 (GMT) - Kam says "Now you've sworn, as well. Ha! You can report me all you want, but you're still a cunt, a douchebag, and an asshole. Oh, yes, and a fucking idiot, to boot. Deadly combo."

That's about how it went. I needed to get a warning from World of WarCraft, otherwise I'd be afraid I didn't have a pulse. You either talk about your +4 Frost Damage Mace of the Owl or the last episode of Fringe. Generally, I choose to be silent, but this asshole has a limit, baby!

Before I role away, break on through to the other side and do whatever it is I do, I'd like to congratulate Matt & Megan on their nuptials. The photograph below gives you an idea of how beautiful is Megan, and how adorable and affable is Matt, the most gregarious man I've known since Adam Sulkowski. Our regular readers may remember Adam, who teaches some variation on international business law over at UMass Dartmouth and is featured in some earlier posts. He's too busy for me now, what with the end of the financial world and all.

But I digress. This is the best pairing of human beings since, well, they started doing that. In Megan and Matt you have two people who are actually in love with each other. And they kept looking at each other as if they were the last two people on Earth. Naturally, people getting married love each other, but these two are in love. Generally, being in love causes Hellish problems, because it's only going one way. So many people fall in love with someone who simply refuses to do so in return. Or can't.

But M & M are just wonderful for each other and so clearly in love. The wedding was perfect, elegant and simply spot-on in every detail. Methinks it will mirror the marriage in exquisite harmony.

I'm happy they found each other, and that I could be a part of the wedding in a small way by being there. It was memorable because it is not often that one sees love like this, two people so complimentary of each other in so many ways.

Yes, I'm an romantic. You can be an romantic existential nihilist! It comes from listening to Russian music. Anyway, Cheers M&M!

PS- Megan, I have your dress stored in my closet. I only tried it on once. Well, twice. But that's it.