Amused Cynic

Sorry Stickershock and Fundingfather, but we will have to be sworn enemies when the Eagles take on the Giants. Just for an hour or so.

Why? I have no idea. I rarely remember my dreams. I go into the deep slumber of the guilt-free, and wake up refreshed, usually. It’s only during these holiday times when I have visitors disrupting my sleep that I go into that shallow-sleep netherland that leaves me with dreams that I can recall, usually bizarre.

In this morning’s dream, I was at a house somewhere on the coast. Several of my closest friends, male and female, from adolescence were there, and we were working on the property, as if we were part of AmeriCorps or something. It was raining, but we were out there wading around in the mud swinging hammers and shoveling on some kind of project.

The owner of the house was a buxom blond single mother, and a chain smoker, and for some reason cigarettes figured prominently in this dream….every hour or so, someone was collecting change to run off to the store for more cigarettes. I was smoking like a fiend, and I haven’t smoked in almost 30 years. See my post about my last cigarette here.

In the dream, I was smoking unfiltered cigarettes. Not hand-rolled, but the old manufactured unfiltered ones, like Lucky Strikes or Chesterfields. In the dream we were working our butts off, and smoking our butts off, thigh deep in mud, as we worked on this house. We were all smoking our unfiltered Luckies down to the finger-burning last bit, like a joint. We took breaks to come inside and sleep and have sandwiches for meals. Then we went outside and worked again, smoking the whole time.

This dreaming all took place between 4 and 6am, due to my son’s late wanderings when he got home. I was literally drifting between unconsciousness and semi-consciousness, which is the only reason I remember any of this dream. Any explanations by amateur dream analysts would be welcome.

In the meantime, do you know what you get when you’ve taken your last breath, when they’ve paid their last respects?
A Cigarette!

Now that my holiday hiatus from politics is over, I’m again watching the ridiculous farce that is happening in the Minnesota senatorial race. This stuff is absurd. As I’ve written here, there’s no reason in the freakin’ world that we can’t utilize modern technology currently available to run much cleaner elections than we do now. This is ridiculous.

For those who watched the Washington State governor’s race recounts in 2004, the ongoing recount drama in Minnesota is just another rehash of the same script — albeit for a U.S. Senate seat that might put Democrats one vote away from a filibuster-proof majority.

Four years ago in Washington, Democratic Party candidate Christine Gregoire lost the first count, lost the recount, and then won a second, highly dubious recount by 133 votes. In Minnesota, where Sen. Norm Coleman is defending his seat against comedian-turned-candidate Al Franken, the first count showed Mr. Coleman up 725 votes. Today, thanks to another dubious recount, Mr. Franken is apparently in the lead.

Razor-thin margins like these put election systems to the test. As the old proverb goes, they are a crisis and an opportunity. Yet the crises keep coming and the opportunities continue to be squandered. It’s time to learn the lessons of the recount wars and address the systemic flaws in our election processes. Indeed, the price of a continued decline in voter confidence is too troubling for most Americans to comprehend.

I just love ONN…

‘Warcraft’ Sequel Lets Gamers Play A Character Playing ‘Warcraft’

…..and that’s what the boy reporters at the WaPo are saying about our new, soon-to-be Sun King. Hahaha.

I’m avoiding politics right now, but sooner or later, as The Anchoress reminds us, the coronation will take place and the Child Senator will assume the mighty controls of the POTUS. Hopefully, soon thereafter, the press will come down off of cloud nine and realize just how ridiculous they have behaved. Anyway, the Anchoress reminded me of one of my favorite pre-election themes: Barack Obama as David Cassidy, and of a favorite Onion spoof I liked to use….

President Bush, who famously never enters the Oval Office in anything but a suit-and-tie, likely had too much respect for the Office of the Presidency to make a point of walking around shirtless. But had he done so - had he moseyed out of a workout with shirt in hand and pecs glistening, can’t you just imagine how the press would have howled about it, decrying his “vanity” in displaying the effects of his workouts? Of course they would have.

American “reporters” have become the political equivalent of teen magazine editors; this person is so hunky and in, this other person is so dweeby and out! Our cover boy loves argula and hates rainy days. He loves to work out and hates to see sad puppies! Send us your secret Barack fantasy! Special edition Barack Poster: Photoshop yourself in his arms!

They’re even giving us the beefcake photos of the slender, chest-waxed non-threatening male (ala Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy) who is about to be sworn in as president. How dreamy! Win a dream date with The Prez! We don’t actually know him or have a clue how he’ll lead, so let’s all just look at his pecs!

The Obamaphenomenon really is (and always was) just that ridiculous.

….which means it’s time to get my Christmas cards out. As long as they arrive by the feast of the Epiphany (January 6), I figure they still count. But first, another shout-out for the Eagles:

My son, who also attended Game 5 of the World Series (both parts) is beginning to get a bit of the “rooster who took credit for the sun coming up” syndrome, and will accept tickets to next weekend’s game at Minnesota, if you want to fly him out there and ensure an Eagles victory. Oh well, it was his birthday yesterday, what a fun way to celebrate it. It’s hard to make me feel sorry for the Cowboys, but I did begin to cringe on their behalf as their game collapsed.

There was some very funny stuff that I couldn’t get to yesterday, perhaps you’ve seen it, but if not, these are both keepers. First, Dave Barry’s end of the year wrap up is one of his best pieces in a very long time. His comments on Obamamania in the press (particularly the NYT) are spot-on, and should have been fodder for late-night humor shows before the election….but better late than never. Read it and weep with laughter…or something.

A mesmerizing speaker, Obama electrifies voters with his exciting new ideas for change, although people have trouble remembering exactly what these ideas are because they are so darned mesmerized. Some people become so excited that they actually pass out. These are members of the press corps.
[...]
Finally, in what some economists see as a troubling sign, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac invest $12.7 billion in Powerball tickets.
[...]
The economic news is also gloomy for the U.S. automotive industry, where General Motors, in a legally questionable move aimed at boosting its sagging car sales, comes out with a new model called the “Chevrolet Toyota.”
[...]
Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac invest $17 billion in an Herbalife franchise.
[...]
Barack Obama, having secured North and South America, flies to Germany without using an airplane and gives a major speech — speaking English and German simultaneously — to 200,000 mesmerized Germans, who immediately elect him chancellor, prompting France to surrender.
[...]
Speaking of trouble, the economic news continues to worsen with the discovery that Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac have sent $87 billion to a Nigerian businessman with a compelling e-mail story.
[...]
In yet another troubling economic indicator, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac rob a liquor store.
[...]
But the presidential campaign is soon overshadowed by the troubled economy. The federal government is finally forced to take over Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac after they are caught selling crack at a middle school. But that is not enough, as major financial institutions, having lost hundreds of billions of dollars thanks to years of engaging in practices ranging from questionable to moronic, begin failing, which gives the federal government an idea: Why not give these institutions more hundreds of billions of dollars, generously provided by taxpayers?

Mark Steyn riffs off of a truly awful “modern Christmas carol” which I had somehow thankfully missed, although when I read the list of those who had covered it, it wasn’t so surprising. Jeez, every bubble-gum hack except you-know-who seems to have sung this very trite song.

Don’t get me wrong – I love seasonal songs. “Winter Wonderland” – I dig it. “Rudolph” – man, he’s cool, albeit not as literally as Frosty. But “Grown-Up Christmas List” is one of those overwrought ballads of melismatic bombast made for the “American Idol” crowd. It’s all about how the singer now eschews asking Santa for materialist goodies – beribboned trinkets and gaudy novelties – in favor of selfless grown-up stuff like world peace.

Which is an odd sentiment to hear at a shopping mall.

But it seems to have done the trick. “Retail Sales Plummet,” read the Christmas headline in The Wall Street Journal. “Sales plunged across most categories on shrinking consumer spending.”

Hey, that’s great news, isn’t it? After all, everyone knows Americans consume too much. What was it that then Sen. Obama said on the subject? “We can’t just keep driving our SUVs, eating whatever we want, keeping our homes at 72 degrees at all times regardless of whether we live in the tundra or the desert and keep consuming 25 percent of the world’s resources with just 4 percent of the world’s population, and expect the rest of the world to say, ‘You just go ahead, we’ll be fine.’”

And boy, we took the great man’s words to heart. SUV sales have nose-dived, and 72 is no longer your home’s thermostat setting but its current value expressed as a percentage of what you paid for it. If I understand then Sen. Obama’s logic, in a just world Americans would be 4 percent of the population and consume 4 percent of the world’s resources. And in these past few months we’ve made an excellent start toward that blessed utopia: Americans are driving smaller cars, buying smaller homes, giving smaller Christmas presents.

And yet, strangely, President-elect Barack Obama doesn’t seem terribly happy about the Obamafication of the U.S. economy. He’s proposing some 5.7 bazillion dollar “stimulus” package or whatever it is now to “stimulate” it back into its bad old ways.

And how does the rest of the world, of whose tender sensibilities then-Sen. Obama was so mindful, feel about the collapse of American consumer excess? They’re aghast, they’re terrified, they’re on a one-way express elevator down the abyss with no hope of putting on the brakes unless the global economy can restore aggregate demand.

What does all that mumbo-jumbo about “aggregate demand” mean? Well, that’s a fancy term for you – yes, you, Joe Lardbutt, the bloated, disgusting embodiment of American excess, driving around in your Chevy Behemoth, getting two blocks to the gallon as you shear the roof off the drive-thru lane to pick up your $7.93 decaf gingersnap-mocha-pepperoni-zebra mussel frappuccino, which makes for a wonderful thirst-quencher after you’ve been working up a sweat watching the plasma TV in your rec room with the thermostat set to 87. The message from the European political class couldn’t be more straightforward: If you crass, vulgar Americans don’t ramp up the demand, we’re kaput. Unless you get back to previous levels of planet-devastating consumption, the planet is screwed.

I am thankful for these guys…if we couldn’t laugh we would all go insane.

Off to deal with my Fifth Day of Christmas responsibilities: cards, then taking stuff down to the thrift shops, a trip to the recycling center, then charitable donations. Then more Eagles gloating.

…a slight glimmer of a return to normality. Which is not to say that I didn’t enjoy it, or that I’m not grateful for a wonderful holiday season….I am. My friend Laurie Kendrick wrote a poignant piece on this:

The last present is unwrapped.

The food is put away and the dishes are done.

The last guest is gone.

Was it a good Christmas?

You ask yourself the rhetorical question. Suddenly, save for one television set in a another room, quiet permeates the house. You can actually feel the energy as it wanes. It’s like the last swirls of water down the drain. The sink is still wet and that’s all the proof you had that water was once there.

You know that feeling. The house is vacant, but there is residual energy. Proof that people were once there.

As each second passes, the energy fades. It’s all in the timing and today the timing was perfect, as was the holiday.

You are tired. And with good reason.

The heavy part comes later….do read the whole thing. She really nailed it.

My Christmas was rather calm compared to those of the past, in both good and bittersweet ways. Good: I only had one relative deployed to Afghanistan or Iraq this Christmas, down from a high of four a few years ago. Good: We are no longer engaging in obscene gift-giving—-by which I mean obscenity of quantity, not of nature.

Bittersweet: another of my in-laws was missing from this celebration, one which he dearly loved; I am officially a parent-in-law orphan. This was a time for his children to complete the task of going through his belongings that have filled my house to the gills for the last 6 weeks, and decide once and for all who wants what, what gets donated to thrift shops, and what simply gets discarded with the other Christmas trash. Most bittersweet moments: finding copies of his Christmas letters and pictures from years past, and reading some of them aloud, a chronicle of pride and joy spanning the late ’60s to the mid 2000s.

My own kids have grown up, and turned into clever Christmas elves themselves. They enjoy finding gifts for their parents, and for their young cousins, who remind us with the patter of little feet running down the hall, then down the stairs early on Christmas morning, that eyes still grow big and little mouths still gape at the the now-empty plate of snacks left for Santa, elves, and reindeer.

My favorite present: The first year of “Get Smart” on DvD. Watched the first disc on Friday, and haven’t laughed so hard since, you know, the late 60s. Also got some great books, this one, which appeals greatly to modern day classicists (3 guesses who that one was from), and even cleverer, this book, which I didn’t even know existed: Michael Palin was always my favorite Python….and he kept a diary!

We are still cleaning up around here, this is what the Yasgurs must have felt like after Woodstock, but things are getting back to normal, my kids are at the Eagles game, and it looks like the birds still have a playoff shot! Back soon.

“Four Calling Birds” UPDATE: I wonder if the Fourth Day of Christmas had anything to do with the perfect confluence of NFL outcomes and the Birds’ spectacular rout of the ‘Boys here in Philly last night? In any event, see ya in the playoffs, Viking Nation.

UPDATE: Something for all NFL fans and players to contemplate:

Pre-Game Coin Toss Makes Jacksonville Jaguars Realize Randomness Of Life

Taking a little time off from blogging/Hermit-baiting to get the holiday show on the road here chez moi. Best holiday wishes to you all, and your families.

EDIT: h/t to Collegemom16 for the Palin pic!

It seems that I have an obsessed fan named Peter Noone. Yes, that Peter Noone. And that he is a self-proclaimed “mental health specialist.”
It would seem that the moniker “the Head Hermit” is appropriate on more than one level. If you would like to join his fan club, you can do it here, for a mere $20. A quick visit there will explain to you how Barack Obama just got elected president. Same principle…you get an autographed photo, a hand-written welcome letter, and a membership card to show your friends. Just like junior high school all over again.

Who knew? Peter Noone, a mental health specialist. I could not have been more surprised, you could have knocked me over with a feather. It’s amazing what you can learn on the internet. I haven’t been so surprised by a musician since learning that Jeff “Skunk” Baxter is a highly-regarded missile defense expert and DoD consultant, in addition to being one of the best damn guitar players I’ve ever seen.

It also seems that Peter Noone is something of a computer geek. He has devised a system in which he can automatically Google himself, so that he is not disturbed as he lolls on his poolside chaise in his tiny European Speedo swimsuit, checking the spelling of the countless bloggers who mention his name. I imagine that his Blackberry emits a “beep” each time someone in cyberspace types in “Peter Noone, leader of Herman’s Hermits,” at which point he sits up, orders another drink with a little umbrella in it (in perfect faux-cockney French), and responds with the same wit that brought us this brilliant ad-lib in “I’m Henery the Eighth, I Am”: “Second verse, same as the first!” And the third. This is music to the ears of people who would drive across the country to hear “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” sung by a grinning gnome.

I was a little troubled that Peter was so casual about recommending that I self-medicate with “pink pills.” And then go out driving. We call that “DUI” here in the states, Peter. I have been drug-free for a very long time, but I can understand how a ’60s throwback would seek self-improvement in a pharmacy bottle, it’s just part of the culture. It also explains the fixed grins on Peter and his fans (I took his advice and visited his fan web site.)

I’m having a great time. My younger son, just home on winter break, woke up earlier than expected, and began doing his part to bring holiday cheer to the old manse. Put his decorations up on the tree, went outside and strung some lights on “the shubbery.” Yes, we are Monty Python people here.

My grooviest new commenter–Peter Noone of “Herman’s Hermits”– (Hi Peter!) is still checking in with less than cordial comments. I suppose I should be flattered, but I envision him lying poolside in Florida, ordering “les bonbons” in his perfect French with faux-Cockney accent. “Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter,” and all that. Believe me, I understand unrequited love, I understand Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and I’m not trying to be mean to Peter. But still, I think he should be resting up for his big gig in Annapolis six months hence, instead of fencing with strangers on the internet.

Soooo……I am doing a Christmas humor post here. Hope you enjoy. Everyone should just cheer the f*ck up, says I. I am watching “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” with my son, for example. It’s actually a lot of fun.

Among the things that I would like you to be aware of, as we go into this season of mirth and joy:

Walkin’ ‘Round in Women’s Underwear

Chipmunks Roasting on an Open Fire

Great old Calvin and Hobbes Christmas stuff here…. [See: "Manipulating Santa"]

We set up our creche tonight, which felt great. And our Christmas village, complete with train. In our Christmas village, the three kings can get off at Victoria Station and bring their gifts to the Christ Child in the New England Village, right next to Scrooge & Marley. See: Edward Eager.