So I had this post in my head about understanding and not understanding and agnosticism and religion and politics and empathic imagination. . . .
It’s still there, and there it remains, at least for another day.
So I had this post in my head about understanding and not understanding and agnosticism and religion and politics and empathic imagination. . . .
It’s still there, and there it remains, at least for another day.
I’d say I was a lousy Democrat, except that I’m not.
A Democrat, that is. (I’m a lousy independent socialist, thankyouveddymuch.)
Still, since I’m Oh-yeah-Obama I wonder if I should watch/listen to the convention, just. . . because, or something.
Now, there was no way I was going to listen to the GOPpers at their shindig. My hammer-down realism can only go so far in protecting me from rampant bullshit, and I didn’t feel like spending three nights uncreatively cursing those motherfucking motherfuckers. . . !
(Yes, I am teaching an intro American govt course and it would probably be a good pedagogical thing to subject myself to the parties partying, but hey, I’m an adjunct and CUNY does not pay me anywhere near enough to put myself through that.)
I did watch Michelle Obama’s speech today, and, yeah, it was good (tho’ the ‘mom-in-chief’ bit? good grief), but I don’t really care. My sister likes her A LOT and I like her just fine, but I’m voting for the president, not the first lady, so, eh.
Then again, I’m pretty “eh” about all of this, probably because I am Oh-yeah-Obama—I’ve already made up my mind. I live in New York, which is going to go blue in November, so it’s not as if I need to be charged up to go knock on doors or cold-call strangers in order to bring the state home.
In other words, these speeches ain’t for me.
They’re for my sister, who needs the boost in the teeth of the disaster that is Scott Walker, and Dems in red states who need the boost in the teeth of GOP domination and fence-sitters who don’t know into which pasture to fall and activists who are determined to push those fence-sitters in the right direction. They’re for the people who need to know they’re not alone and those who want to stand up an be known.
And they’re for the Republicans, to let them know there will be a fight, that the president cannot be separated from his party and his party cannot be separated from the Yoo-nited States of America.
Anyway, I’m listening to Bill now, because, yeah, that man can give a speech, It’s all right, so far, but, again, it’s not for me.
What is nice, however—and a distinct contrast from those mofing mofers—is that it’s not against me, either.
*Update* Okay, okay, I’m now watching Bill on PBS’s website, and, damn, that man can give a speech.
I’m always surprised by how salty the ocean is.
I dive into a wave, come up with salt on my lips, salt in my eyes, and I think, Oh, I was so sweaty, so much salt.
And then I remember, no, this isn’t me, this is the sea.
Of all of the lies Paul Ryan has told recently, this is the one he walks back:
“I had a two hour and fifty-something” marathon, Ryan said last week an interview. “I hurt a disc in my back, so I don’t run marathons anymore.”
But the Ryan campaign confirmed to Runner’s World that he has only run one marathon, the 1990 Grandma’s Marathon in Duluth, Minnesota, which he finished in just over 4 hours.
“The race was more than 20 years ago, but my brother Tobin—who ran Boston last year—reminds me that he is the owner of the fastest marathon in the family and has never himself ran a sub-three,” Ryan said in a prepared statement. “If I were to do any rounding, it would certainly be to four hours, not three. He gave me a good ribbing over this at dinner tonight.”
Fannnnntastic.
Source: Alana Horowitz, Huffington Post
Labor Day weekend is here. Unfortunately.
Every year I think, Oh good! A three-day weekend! Every year I forget, Oh shit, Caribbean Carnival.
The first year I lived in lovely Prospect-Lefferts Garden, I was surprised by the Sunday-midnight parade down the avenue next to my building. The music and whistling would rise, then fade, then rise again as another contingent made their way down the street.
All fucking night long.
The next year, the parade began before midnight, but on the avenue over someone shot a police officer, which meant the neighborhood went into lockdown (complete with hovering helicopters and spotlights) and the parade dissipated.
Call me a bad neighbor, but I was not unhappy with this turn of events.
Last year the party again began before midnight, went on all night, but unlike in previous years, the goddamned noise went on throughout the day. This was most unexpected and unpleasant.
You see, the Caribbean parade is an annual Labor Day—and may I emphasize DAY—festivity. It starts on Eastern Parkway and makes it way eventually down Flatbush. Since I live, oh, maybe a half-mile from Flatbush, I generally don’t hear the celebration—which, given that I am crabby from the lack of sleep—is just fine with me.
Anyway, I had forgotten, once again, that the Labor Day weekend sucks. Until tonight.
Tonight is Thursday. Thursday. Five days before Labor Day, and there is a steel-band and chorus in the lot across the street from me, playing what sounds like the same goddamned song over and over and over again. Even if I wanted to listen to Romney’s speech, I would be unable to do so because of those fucking steel drums.
Have I mentioned that I am not a fan of steel drums under the best of circumstances?
I know, this is a Caribbean neighborhood, and given that in New York people like to throw parades and parties, it is not uncalled for that this community wants to celebrate.
Which is fine. During the day. Away from my apartment.
Now, honestly, I like this neighborhood. I wish there were a few more bourgie elements—a coffee shop hangout, a bistro, a few laid-back pubs—but overall this is a decent place to live. It’s also generally pretty quiet (except for that one asshole who’ll park his SUV on the avenue and boom out his mediocre hip-hop for all to hear—I swear to the entire pantheon of gods and goddesses that if I had a gun I would be sorely tempted to shoot out the radio), and I can usually both leave my windows open and get a decent night’s sleep. But not this weekend.
I’m hoping for rain Sunday night. Heavy, heavy rain.
Courtesy of the redoubtable dmf, a few of the Google street-shot photos caught by Canadian artist Jon Rafman:

The. . . absurdity of this scene strikes me.

The building makes the rock seem alive.
See the rest of the sad, surreal, and puzzling photos—including one of a tiger ambling across a parking lot—here.
Sorry for the light blogging, but I had to get my shit together.
This is how I am: I let things go, then reel ’em back in.
Not my hang-ups—Hera forbid I would let go of my hang-ups—but various tasks and maintenance and organization. Papers proliferate, folders flop about, and the miscellany of work and life moulders on benches and shelves and. . . anywhere, really.
This is a minor problem during the school year, but it worsens in the summer (when I’m not teaching) because, well, I hate everything in the summer and am utterly unwilling to do anything which might improve my surroundings and thus, my mood.
I wallow, in other words.
Well, the school year is about to begin, and although I am still in the midst of the August mugging, the necessity of pulling my teaching shit together prompted me to begin pulling my apartment together. I bought—even though I really don’t want to buy any more stuff—a couple of shelves, moved a pile of books off of the floor and on to one set of shelves, and cleaned up my sweater pile with another.
Then I attacked a mess of papers lurking about my desk, recycling a bunch of stuff and filing the rest. There’s more to be done, but at least the remaining piles are sorted.
And then—oh, yeah!—I had to update my syllabi, print out notes and class rosters and check on just where my classes would be meeting. Terribly embarrassing to show up in the wrong classroom.
Do I sound excited for the school year to begin? It’s because I am!
Yes, your bitter, sarcastic, foul-tempered and foul-mouthed blogger actually enjoys teaching!
Don’t hate me because, while I do hate everything in August, I don’t hate everything all of the time.
And I have a tidy apartment to prove it.
Mayan campaign mashup 2012: Links!
25 08 2012Just a quick note: I put links to the various sites that anyone who cares about intelligent commenting on this election should read all in my blogroll.
Under the heading Mayan Campaign Mashup 2012, natch.
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Tags: commentary, political science, Politics, presidential campaign
Categories : Politics