You're Just Not That Interesting!

I never gave up hope...

2009-02-20T18:04:00.002-06:00

Monkey! I knew that I would hear from you again. Our bond is strong. Even across oceans, I believe we have that magic still. Something noone can deny.

Yet, what am I saying, words cannot express my happiness at having found you again. Your face may have changed, but my feelings... never.

Here is a song that expresses how I feel...

Welcome back, ASM!

Livin' in the KKTC

2009-01-24T11:46:00.008-06:00

Lefkoşa, KKTC

Jew? Where are you? What's happened to your side of things? Did you give up on me?

I don't know if it's even a good idea to talk about this. I mean... what's happened to me.... and what happened to Heidi...
You will notice that I am a much changed man, Jew. Let's just say, after running afoul of the Austrian milch mafia, my dapper and statesmanlike mien had become a liability. Fortunately, Petey knew a reall good plastic surgeon here in Northern Cyprus. Jenny and I were able to hoe the barque down the Danube to Turnu Severin, where friends of Irina accepted 50 euros from each of us to drive us down to Thessaloniki in their mititei delivery van.

At Thessalonki, Irina's friends helped us stow away on a cruise ship headed for Antalya. Boy, that was an unpleasant trip. I came down with trichinousisf rom snakcing on the raw mititei in the Zalinescu's van, but Jenny never let go of my hand, even as I shed 18 pounds -- moost of those gained from a surabundanceo f Vienneses Sachertorte... which I guess doesn't make it that bad -- while consuming a strict liquid diet of the airplane bottles of Ouzo whcih Jenny was somewhow able to obtain from the ship's bartender, Isaak. Any was, once we got to Lefkosa, Dr. Avci was able to eliminate the infection while completing the reconstruction of my face.

From Antalya, we bought a couple of bus tickets to Mersin, eating only hard-boiled eggs and black olives while watching some kind of movie about vampires fighting werewovles, but dubbed into Turkish. It was all very strange, but in a somewhat poignant sort of way. Mersin, anotherr 200 euros got us place on a fishing boat bound for Girne. Jenny and I lay aboard under the full moon surrounded by nets full of mezit and levrek.

We whispered of alife of stopping running, of fishing tranquilly along the coast of Bilbao, of preparing our favorite recipes for each other, one day schnitzel, another day bouillabaisse. Sitting on the terrasse of a dusty T1 of T2, quizzing each other on whether we were "the mother" or "the mistress" according to the latest issue of Elle's criteria. I talked a bit about you, LIJ. Of houw I wanted Jenny to meet you one day -- that is, if we could every clear our names. I'm sure you'd get along great!

We arrived at Girne as the sun was just poking above the horizon, Jenny's hand warm and moist in my grasp. The flies had begun to amass and their bites stirred me from the sweet loukoum dreams of yesterday. Once I had shaken the stiffness out of my legs, I helped our hosts build an improvised brazier on the quai of the fishing port. We improvised a copious breakfast of grilled mezit, tomatoes, and a modling block of kasar peynir that had begun to stink more than the boat -- hell, what am I saying, more than I, myself, di.

Thus sated, Jenny and I began to make our way on foot across the countryside, relying on the renowned hosptiality of the Turkish Cypriots. As we approached Lefkosa, I unfolded one more time the crumpled SPAR receipt on which Pete had scrawled the address of Dr. Avci. It's been almost 6 months since I first stepped into his office. I first saw my face without the bandages shortly after I heard the news of the election. Jenny and I made custard for our hosts in order to celebrate.

Yes, I am staying in safety with certain people whose names I cannot mention for obvious reasons. Again, Irina has been very helpful in connecting us with some of her more esotreric networks who, for whatever reason, understand more than you or I about how to make as if some people don't exist. Some days, Jenny and I will go out into Lefkosa, or take a road trip to Gazimagusa, just to pretend that we're leading normal lives. Right now, I'm in a cybercafe in the capital. I don't want to say anymore for fear of compromising my hosts. As you may be able to tell from the picture, I am putting on some weight, perhaps not so much the bountiful generosity of our hosts as the constraints on our activity occassioned by our fugitive status.

In fact, the only reason I am able to say anything right now -- I just got a telegram from Pete. The capture of Laurent Nkunda has actually gotten him out of the sticky mess he's been in, due to the massive debt he had run up with certain elements of the Viennese underworld trafficking in Belgian chocolates and sachertorte on behalf of the Congolese rebels. They say that Nkunda might talk. That might be a good thing for Pete -- Heck, maybe even for Jenny and me -- but only time will tell...

G_d forgive us all!

Wasilla = Tikrit?

2008-09-14T07:48:00.003-06:00

Reading about Sarah Palin, in today's New York Times, I couldn't help but get the feeling that this could be the story of any ruling clan in an Arab Petro-dictatorship. Really, the home-town cabal, sham integrity, and personal ruthlessness are Baath-rific, but without the secularism...

Certainly, that would give more context to SP's bizarre "That's the beauty of Democracy, Charlie" response on ABC... It was the winking rumination upon popular rule typical of the charismatic, strongman who regularly has to sit down with journalists and put on some window dressing.

Have Message, Will Win

2008-09-11T04:23:00.002-06:00

I didn't want a "Fighter" back in the primaries, why would I want one now?
Few hysterical Democrats have recognized in Barack Obama's strategy to counter the McCain campaign's Gothic distractions the sage composure of another of America's favorite, vaguely foreign gurus:

Did you notice how they're dancing in the end? That could be the American people...

People who love me today

2008-07-29T15:16:00.005-06:00

Grape Nuts cereal.

The new Website promoting Grape Nuts is one of the most fascinating and enjoyable interactive installation pieces I have experienced in my brief existence. The young man who insists that he lives in the Website has a poignant quality about him, and yet there is also something transcendent about his ability to deliver an oral history of the genesis of Grape Nuts. This is more than an ad campaign; it is a philosophy.

Importantly, you will finally get the answer to the age old question: "Why are their neither grapes nor nuts in Grape Nuts cereal?"

Still, those of you trying to figure out how to avoid confusing your Swheat Scoop kitty litter with your cereal (Again!) will find the site wanting.

My Mother.

Bryan Adams, stop the Love Train or someone will get hurt!

2008-07-28T09:14:00.003-06:00

For those who really have done everything for you.

Really, you're just not that interesting

2008-07-27T19:11:00.011-06:00

"PW daily called it a “memoir,” a word that makes my skin crawl and which apparently makes everyone else’s skin crawl, too. What is a 26 year old who hasn’t overcome an addiction or been a child soldier doing writing a MEMOIR? But it’s hard to figure out what else to call a book of autobiographical stories, I guess. That is a few too many words to fit onto a computer screen, apparently."

Monkey and I used to hold down office jobs.

As you can see, that has left Monkey an angry, brain-addled and rambling wayfarer and, as for me, I am just bitter and cling to elemental hatreds.

It has come to our attention recently, that the French National Assembly voted to effectively gut the 35-hour work week that figured among the crowning achievements of the incomparable Jospin government. Further, French employees have seen their work year take on added days. From where I sit, the prospect of more mandated office hours can only result in an explosion of time-wasting never before witnessed.

This wasted time will undoubtedly come in the perverse form of needless e-mails.

Somewhere along the way, e-mail became a substitute for work. At one point, I was paid to do things that involved, for example, knowing something about what was going on in the world. (Thank G_d that I can do it for free, now.) In fact, one of the offices I occupied -- occasionally zoning out just to make sure my screensaver still worked -- actually had a compilation of news stories with links relevant to our stock-in-trade that were sent out daily and arrived surely and conveniently in all our mailboxes. Often, we would have people with glorified titles like Something Assistant or Intern compile or summarize news stories from regional press sources so that we could have an overview with what was going on in our particular corner of the world. But, of course, being specialists in some sense of the word, we also kept abreast of our regions and sources ourselves -- after all, why work in a gray matter field if one is to remain uninterested and remain at a distance from the subject of one's predilection.

Inevitably, though, there was the brave soul who would work at home starting somewhere around 5:00 AM. This usually consisted in sending links to the office or to a particular division of important or must-read stories. Sometimes, one is tempted to indicate that one subscribes to the Washington Post -- but the spirit of cooperation precludes such earnestness. I believe it dawned on me at some point that it was perfectly acceptable and an oft practiced work habit to arrive at the office not having read the paper -- which naturally explained, I suppose, the usefulness of having someone to point out to you what you should be reading as opposed to what you want to read. What a revelation, though, to learn that it was entirely ethical to use the first couple of hours of the day to drink coffee and read the news online. How different and unscandalously divine. And -- on those days where you wanted to hit the breakfast buffet at Reeves -- why not just e-mail a couple of articles to your colleagues before 7, and then, you can step into the office guilt free at 10 or 10:30 having already finished some work for the day.

I can't say, though, that it didn't induce a cringe on those days when a helpful colleague would shoot me an e-mail linking to a story specifically about my own sub-region or whatever it was that I was doing. As if to say, "See, I could be doing your job and mine all at the same time." Although the message would always innocently query, "Did you see this?" Seriously, I should think that I can keep up on my own little patch of gray. That is, after all, why I am so paid.

But that, thankfully, is all in the past.

No frustrations with office e-mail though could have ever prepared me for the nightmare that now confronts me -- here in the ivory tower -- in the form of Listservs.

It's not like I haven't confronted Listservs before. I believe my first experience of having a stable e-mail address -- sometime shortly before the turn of the century -- was almost immediately followed by the action of subscribing to some kind of Turkistan digest. Before I knew it, I was in the midst of internecine conflicts between Turkmen and Uzbek, an overflow of flaming, retaliatory e-mails in rambling Turkish touching on the American genocide of "Turkish Redskins" in the New World -- and occasionally, the thunder clouds would break, and a glimmer of information about the Azeri opposition or an oil contract in Kazakhstan would shine through with the hypnotic iradescence of an opal. In spite of these rare gems, it did not take long to understand that a Listserv is more burden than blessing... but inertia prevents a prompt unsubscribe. Instead, I eventually dropped that e-mail address and the Turkistan digest surely kept chugging along in its infinite querelousness.

Now, in the world of "Big Grad" one is required not only to enlist in Facebook, but also to participate in various Listservs. Nothing could be more depressing. Not only that, but through some stupid notion that I'd be engaged in some sort of productive dialogue, I actually subscribed to an additional THREE Obama-based Listservs (on a digest-basis, of course; I'm not that dumb.) The result is a useless bombardment everyday reminding me of the superfluousness of Web communications.

Amidst this continuous tintinabullation the screech of my departmental Listserv stands out in terms of odiousness and self-absorption. Perhaps I would be fine if there were just a constant drone of calls-for-papers for which I am woefully un-prepared. Perhaps, the course announcements for seminars which sound tempting but could not possibly fit my schedule would settle comfortably in my knotted innards. But does anything justify the constant ringing of small-minded voices saying, essentially, "I am here."

First, there's a reason I don't subscribe to the Nation. I do not consider it to be a source that informs my particular viewpoint. But let's ignore that for now and focus on the true abuses...

FOR G_D'S SAKE!!!!!!! CAN YOU NOT CONGRATULATE SOMEONE INDIVIDUALLY. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING REPLYING TO SOMEONE'S JOB SEARCH BEARING FRUIT BY PROVING TO THE ENTIRE FRICKIN' DEPARTMENT THAT YOU ARE HAPPY FOR THEM. THIS IS THE MOST VAIN AND USELESS ABUSE OF LISTSERV HUMANLY POSSIBLE. IF YOU ARE TOOOO BUSY WITH YOUR RESEARCH TO VOLUNTEER, THEN SURELY YOU ARE TOO BUSY TO FRICKIN' TAKE THE TIME OUT OF YOUR DAY TO TELL EVERYONE HOW HAPPY YOU ARE TO SUPPORT YOUR COLLEAGUES. YOU MAKE ME SICK!!!!!

I apologize. That message was intended for the person who has, since April (I inadvertently deleted all evidence dated January to March) who has sent such useless comments to the departmental listerv as:

"Congratulations, Dr. _______ indeed!!"

"thank you for sharing this article"

"great issue, ______ staff!!"

"a tasteful tribute site as well."

"Congratulations, dr. [stupid nickname]! the university of [look at how awful and stupid I am] is lucky to have you."

And he has also found the time to forward FOUR articles from the New York Times.

Seriously, every time I see his name on a Listserv e-mail I become apoplectic. And, the thing is, not ONE (OK, maybe TWO) other grad student actually abuses the Listserv in this inane, narcissistic manner. Nobody cares if you want to congratulate Abner! You know, if I knew Abner, I would probably send him a PERSONAL message or CALL HIM to offer congratulations. But you -- you insist on having the world witness your magnanimity. This serial Listserv piggy-backing ruins the usefulness of such a tool for EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You make me barf.

The American American Americans have been Americanized for so that they can America America America America

2008-07-24T14:49:00.005-06:00

I watched Obama's speech in Berlin today. Three things kind of stood out in my mind.

First, I cringed at the knowledge that the McCain campaign and Republican media would use this speech to prey upon the worst demons of our citizenry, among them rampant and unashamed xenophobia. The Corner provides an excellent example of this: In response to the address, "People of Berlin, People of the World," K-Lo, as more savant bloggers apparently call her writes:

"Apparently this is a moment that Obama doesn't really need Americans for."

One has to be alarmed when the United States is transported to a separate planet by right-wing pundits.

But, on a more positive note, I couldn't help but delight in the rhetoric of uplift that appeared to strike a chord with the diverse assembly gathered in Berlin. Acutely sensitive to the political and social arrangements that stereotype, marginalize and physically threaten people of color, immigrants, and Muslims in Europe, Obama was able to connect with the struggles of these communities in his speech while also reminding his US audience of the road we ourselves must travel:

"The walls between races and tribes; natives and immigrants; Christian and Muslim and Jew cannot stand. These now are the walls we must tear down."

For some reason, MSNBC's Chuck Todd commented that the content of the speech would be something with which McCain would be equally comfortable -- and yet, it doesn't seem to me that McCain can look at foreign countries and see them for their populations as opposed to for their targets.

Finally, I couldn't help but thinking, not just upon seeing the 200,000 people assembled for the speech but seeing them waving American flags, that we really can't afford not to elect Obama. To fritter away that goodwill and return to the days when the only time we see American flags burnished overseas is when they are being burned would pretty much signal our decline into irrelevance and the victory of the deepest misanthropy that a nation of free citizens can express.

13 hours, 5 tins of anchovies, 2 pints of Ben and Jerry's, a bottle of red wine and a hunk of cheese

2008-07-24T10:19:00.011-06:00

It took a while to sink in...

It had never crossed my mind that quality television programming could exist on networks other than the CW and Lifetime...

Yet, this past Sunday, I had a jarring -- perhaps transformative -- revelation as I lounged before my boob tube to take in the Mad Men marathon on AMC. Okay, so I needed an extra nudge from an occasional reader to discover for myself what all the buzz was about. The important thing is that I swallowed up my willful ignorance and indulged in the television equivalent of a marzipan orchestra.

Thirteen hours later, as I nurtured my bed sores, I was overtaken by a sensation of woozy euphoria tinged with a modicum of rueful anger over the fact that other television programming existed (with the exception, naturally, of Gossip Girl and Lifetime original programming).

Perhaps it was the savory dialogue, perhaps it was beautiful Jewess Rachel Menken, perhaps the way each shot was perfectly, colorfully framed as if it were itself a maquette drawn up by Sterling Cooper's Art Director Salvatore Romano.

What makes the series for me, however, are the strength and complexity of the exquisite anti-hero Don Draper as well as the tension generated by feminine aspirations in this male-dominated world, all set against the individualistic ethos propagated by Ayn Rand and adopted by the movers and shakers of the Mad Men microcosmos. In essence, then, Mad Men achieves for me the transposition of the oeuvre of that greatest American writer of the 20th Century, Mickey Spillane, (Okay, maybe Nathanael West gets points in this category, too) onto the cutthroat world of advertising. Certain scenes appear to uncannily capture in pictures the lights and darks of urban society that Spillane expressed in the bare bones poetry of his descriptions.

But whereas Spillane's Mike Hammer series seems to vaunt the triumph of individual morality over the blurred lines of an evolving society, Mad Men clearly mocks this effort as hubris.

Don Draper, himself, exemplifies this startling reversal. We are led to understand, early on, the Draper has a life scinded in two by wartime service; his pained handling of his purple heart hints at pained memories of brave service brushed under the carpet of his current achievements. This dynamic is reminiscent of Spillane's masterpiece, The Long Wait. There, Johnny McBride, amnesiac seeks to clear his name of smears which he can't recall, his life split between his actions and a forgotten past. However, just as McBride recovers through the novel a continuum of valor that justifies his current identity, we eventually discover the calculated cowardice and flight from identity that enabled Draper's ascension. This delightful ambiguity doesn't so much reveal a weakness in Spillane's narrative as it demonstrates Mad Men's ability to adapt its account of the transitional 60s to our society's self-perception in this 21st century.

Similarly, while strong women abound in the Mike Hammer adventures, their presence generates fear, distrust and anxiety. At first seduced, Hammer must conclude by reestablishing order. Thus the classic closing lines of I, the Jury:

"How c-could you?" she gasped.
I only had a moment before talking to a corpse, but I got it in.
"It was easy," I said.

Navigating the emerging social mobility of women in Mad Men, however, hardly comes easy to the aforementioned mad men. Betty Draper, Peggy Olson and Rachel Menken each expresses her desire for self-realization, and Don Draper's relationship with these women becomes a wrestling match with the status quo, the burden of passion, and marketplace calculations. The resulting consequences of belittlement, enabling and surrender mark the stark contrasts borne of these tensions in the private and public sphere. One would be hard pressed to find another program on television that traces as sophisticated a portrait of the power dynamics between the sexes.

Another one of the shining achievements of Mad Men is that, while so many programs strive for critical acclaim and authenticity through the illustration of brutal violence, the maturity of Mad Men is to portray a world where our demons and our valor express themselves in the muted betrayals and victories of personal ambition -- where the drama is generated not on the criminal margins of society but at its consensual core.

Finally, after countless hours spent watching television over the course of several years, one is once again reminded of the poverty of American fiction and the need to confront the truth that our country's greatest storytelling talents have apparently migrated to film and TV.

With Great Power...

2008-07-23T20:35:00.003-06:00

What better way to close the parentheses on our absence, than with the below meditation on what may have happened had Bryan Adams chosen to use his powers not for good -- but for evil...

Peregrinations and Retrouvailles

2008-07-23T19:30:00.003-06:00

Well, that was embarrassing...

While it may have appeared to my readers that I was malingering for over three weeks, I had actually completely forgotten about my participation in the Annual Young Werther Symposium on Exacerbated Self-Pity and Drang. Or, as we like to call our little get together -- appropriating the turn of phrase from Gerard de Nerval -- "Werther without pistols."

Naturally, in keeping with the theme of the symposium, we maintain late 18th century unity of time and place by isolating ourselves in remote hamlets without access to modern communication technologies. On principle, then, our annual event shares much with both the Society for Creative Anachronism as well as more conventional Revolutionary War Reenactments.

Of course, the distinction of our special event is the opportunity to engage in intense wallowing for three straight weeks. I was especially honored to attend this year, because, after having submitted my initial billet four years ago, I finally was accorded the role of Lotte in the Ceremonial Concluding Mummery. (Yes, for whatever reason, the event draws only male participants.)

So, without further ado, and with the above offered explanation, I have the great pleasure to announce that I am much refreshed, and look forward to catching up on what appears to be a monumental backlog of events to be scrutinized -- Including the mysterious fate of ASM...

Newsflash!

2008-07-01T04:31:00.002-06:00

This just in from the Atlanta Journal and Constitution:
Law students taking summer internships at big law firms in attempt to position themselves for future employment!

Next week, an exciting front page expose:
Rising high school seniors complete community service projects to enhance their college applications!

Do I look like Naveen Andrews?

2008-06-30T14:36:00.008-06:00

Interesting article about Iraq the other day in the Washington Post. Of note is the slideshow that demonstrates that Iraqis definitely do not look like Naveen Andrews. I have hammered this nail before, and we will continue to provide evidence that it is an insult to the proud Iraqi people to assume that we resemble South Asians in some way.

For further demonstration of the differences between Iraqis and South Asians I give you Figure 1: a portrait of Caliph and famous Baghdadi, Harun al-Rashid.

As you see, he looks almost exactly like the Iraqis pictured in the slideshow.

Figure 2 shows the famous Indian prince Rama from the famed story called Rendezvous with Rama.

If you are having trouble identifying Rama in the illustration above, just look for the blue guy. Yes, he is shown twice. Soooo confusing.

There you go. I don't think the dramatic difference of appearance between Mesopotamians and Hindustanis could possibly be made clearer. But apparently, J.J. Abrams never bothered to figure out what an Iraqi actually looked like.

Again, this is the most insensitive piece of casting since Robert Rodriguez tried to pass off Antonio Banderas, a Spaniard, for a Mexican in Desperado.

"I'm NOT Mexican"

And by the way, it was pretty insulting to have Salma Hayek, whose parents are both Lebanese, portray Mexican painter Frida Kahlo.

"I'm NOT Lebanese"

I hope that Hollywood will come to its senses and factor in the appropriate sub-continent/blood lineage as it goes forward. If not, does anyone have George Clooney's phone number?

Lightning Strikes Twice

2008-06-25T14:49:00.004-06:00

Turkey makes it exciting, but the Germans, as usual, exploit the Turks' efforts and impose limits on their aspirations.
The skies unleash their fury on Basel, reminding us that if Julie Foudy and Tommy Smith were playing, we probably would be doing something else.
All in all, the Milli Takimi plays with Heart, and can dream sweet tavuk gogusu dreams for 2010.

Quick, Abi, before I cry, pour me a raki...

In the Mood for Victory

2008-06-25T12:42:00.002-06:00

To get you in the mood for this historic Turkiye - Germany confrontation, here's a little ditty from the hipsters who straddle the German/Turkish divide... and who brought us the notorious Almanci Yabanci:

Reminder: A Day without Scarves

2008-06-20T17:14:00.005-06:00

Tomorrow, June 21 is the day we have declared action against the Oppressive Dunkin Donuts Regime (ODDR). Here's how you can make your voice heard:

DO NOT wear a scarf, no matter how tempted you are to accessorize.
Go to the nearest Dunkin Donuts.
Order a "Deici Frapped Mochislamofascichino."
When asked to repeat your order, ask for one dozen maple frosted donuts (may be replaced by French crullers and/or chocolate honey-dipped.
Pay in cash.
Include with your payment, a 3X5 yellow index card with the words "Free Rachael Ray's paisley scarf!" written on either side.
Once you have your Donuts and change, leave the store.
Eat the Donuts.
DO NOT put a scarf on even after leaving the store and returning home.
Repeat steps 1-9 as necessary.

Thank you for your cooperation. Together, we can defeat the forces of xenophobia and racism in our midst (unless they happen to be the Italian national team, in which case we will be forced to tolerate them for 90 incredibly boring and frustratingly sad minutes.)

And another thing...

2008-06-20T16:53:00.002-06:00

I would like to devote this celebratory video to Monkey, who I believe I caught sight of when the TV camera panned over the stands -- although all guys look the same with their shirts off and Turkiye written across their stomachs in red grease paint.

Monkey, come home!

Time to convert?

2008-06-20T16:21:00.004-06:00

Is secularism's subtle rollback in Turkey the cause of the miraculous way in which the Turkish National Team is winning every game in Deus Ex Machina fashion? I, for one, am getting religion!

The Turks just made the Croats relive the battle of Krbava Field all over again! Will they succeed in extending their empire over the rest of Europe? All I know is, come Wednesday, the Germans are going to look like the wrong end of a Fassbinder flick, if the Milli Takimi keeps this up!

Ne mutlu....

The Persistence of Metternich

2008-06-20T13:43:00.005-06:00

When are cliches not just bad color commentary?

So Tommy thought he was complimenting Tuncay when, during the first half of today's Turkey-Croatia quarterfinal match in Euro 2008 competition, he declared "He played with all the persistence of an Istanbul carpet seller!"

What was this remark truly, but yet another European belittling of how progressive and unencumbered by morbid European nostalgia Turkey is today? Maybe to this haggis-eating lout, Turkey today is just another rustic Old World tourist destination teeming with swarthy, Euro-grubbing merchants.

But perhaps more tactful praise might have been directed at Tuncay, giving Ataturk's children their due and providing those watching at home with some sense of the complexity of contemporary Turkey. I don't know -- something along the lines of:

He played with all the persistence of a populist pro-Islamic politician.

...with all the persistence of the headscarf ban.

...with all the persistence of Armenian genocide denial.

I'm just sayin'...

Cosi Fan Frutti

2008-06-17T13:40:00.002-06:00

I generally refrain from using the word "Gay" unless I am talking about my 2nd favorite movie, Zorro the Gay Blade. Many people (some of my best friends) tell me that the G-Word can be a hurtful slur, especially when used to describe things that are actually homosexual -- like batteries, celibate fish, and marriage -- and even moreso when used pejoratively.

But, as anybody who tried to communicate with me during the Euro 2000 France-Italy final knows, I think the Azzurri are totally gay! They ruin the game. And I hate them.

3 - 2

2008-06-15T15:27:00.003-06:00

I notice that the Czechs are pretty tall. That kind of makes Turkey's victory all the more impressive.

That was kind of weird when Demirel got sent off in extra time, huh? What a weird and glorious match.

Places to Go, People to See

2008-06-07T12:27:00.002-06:00

I am headed to the Palmetto State to see some people. Please return to visit our blog on Sunday, June 8, when I am sure we will have something nice to say about Cokie Roberts.

In the meantime, to help you get into the spirit of Summer, please enjoy this clip from a movie that, if Bryan Adams made movies, would surely be his chef d'oeuvre:

Truth in Advertising: You can predict the future

2008-06-04T22:17:00.002-06:00

Please help me determine where these two awesome hip hop free-eating kids will be ten years from now:

A) Dead of e-coli infection
B) Dead of botulism
C) Dead of the plague
D) Brain-addled by Creutzfelt-Jakob disease

10 Things I hate about you

2008-06-04T09:42:00.003-06:00

Like many young Americans who are trying to enjoy History today, I am finding there is something stuck in my craw. And it is making odd scratching noises as I get all choked up and teary eyed, singing Wind Beneath My Wings while thinking about Barack Obama.

Ah, yes... it must be the fact that Hillary Clinton has already begun the 2012 campaign.

Now, there are times when it is important to leave well enough alone. But that time is not now. As an avid reader of advice columns, I recognize that now, more than ever, it is time to stage an intervention. In fact, the bunker relationship of Clinton and her supporters, bears all the signs of emotional abuse. Indeed, her supporters are clearly victims of narcissism.

In the advice columns, one finds the evidence of this particularly poisonous relationship in the Best Friend Conundrum or the In-Law Standoff. It generally goes something like:

I've been friends with Chuck and Blair since we all met in college a few years ago. Since that time, Chuck and Blair began going out together, but things recently deteriorated and they went through a messy breakup. I value my friendships with both of them, but in my recent meetings with Blair, she has told me some awful things about how Chuck treated her and specifically requested that, if I want to keep my friendship with her, I will cut off contact with Chuck. I want to be supportive of Blair, but I have also heard different versions of the break-up from some of Blair's other friends. What should I do?

Or:

I am very close to my family and live a few hours away. As a result, I usually devote about one weekend per month to visiting them. I have recently become engaged to a guy who is all that. The initial meet-and-greet with my parents went over well, however, following the previous two monthly visits at my parents house, my fiance spent the entire drive back talking about how disrespectful my parents behaved toward him. To be honest, this takes me by surprise, since I didn't notice anything off about how they treated him, but he insists that I am too close to them to notice the slights he has picked up on and then proceeds to review with me in detail. It is now a few days before our next planned visit, and he has become increasingly irritable as the date approaches and has asked if we can call the trip off. I have offered to make excuses for him and go by myself, but he protests that this would send the wrong message to my parents and has said that if I really loved him, I would stand up to them about the way they treat him. I'd like to defend him, but I really have no idea how to when I honestly cannot see what they have done wrong. What do I do?

For a while, I have wondered why the Clinton supporters were so angry and how they managed to maintain their furor despite the lack of empirical support for Clinton's claims of wrongdoing on the part of the Obama campaign and the media. Only last night's speech and its specific location -- sealed off from cell-phone, Internet, and televisual communication -- revealed to me the truth: Clinton is manipulating and abusing her supporters in order to keep them from leaving her for Barack Obama.

As most advice columnists will point out, whether the abuse or manipulation is conscious or not is irrelevant. A narcissist genuinely believes that he or she is constantly being persecuted either by a real or constructed rival for the constant attention and validation he or she seeks, or due to his or her grandiose status, of which the rest of humanity is intolerant or envious.

A narcissistic abuser, as advice columnists will point out, will try to cut off his or her victim from information, construct false narratives of victimization (e.g. "Your father told me that I wouldn't make enough money as a professional blogger to support your lifestyle"; "The media has kept me down because I'm a woman.") and apply rules arbitrarily such that they are to their advantage (e.g. "Blair made Chuck systematically go through his photo albums and e-mail account to delete any photo, message or reference involving his exes, but she still regularly meets with several of her ex-boyfriends"; or "You owe it to me to give me all the delegates from the primary we agreed not to contest in Michigan, but you shouldn't have any, because they didn't vote for you.").

As with any abusive relationship, the victims cannot leave, because the combination of control of narrative, arbitrary application of rules, and the control of information create a vicious cycle of misperception and anger, where anyone who seeks to criticize the relationship or the abuser only further justifies the abuser's false narrative of persecution: "See, the media and Obama supporters say that I cannot win the nomination because by all empirical measures I cannot: They must really hate me and love Obama!" This feeds the bunker mentality of an abusive relationship, where the victim cannot leave, because the abuser has convinced him or her that he or she cannot trust anybody external to the relationship as they are only motivated by hatred for the specialness of what they have together, and further, that the victim would have no life worth living without the abuser.

It is this detachment from reality, the spectacle of seeing a small fraction of those 17 million voters (since it is only a small fraction who have been emotionally fragilized by the process) continue to be ensnared in Clinton's abusive manipulations, that has angered Obama supporters and generated the inflammatory rhetoric and counter-accusations that comes across online. Wat can we do to solve this?

First, as any advice columnist will tell you, validating Clinton in any way shape or form would be the worst possible reaction. That will only further perpetuate the adherence of her troubled victims to the "Clinton-BocaRaton Co-dependency syndrome" by legitimizing her delusions of grandeur and providing another false narrative to her supporters. But, then, so will our continued anger and incomprehension of how someone can survive by fueling so much hatred.

No, as most advice columnists will suggest and as clinicians will agree, we need to engage Clinton's victims in a slow, methodic phase of questioning the different principles upon which their relationship is founded. Ask pertinent questions. Provide them small snippets of information when you think they are ready. Allow them to hope for positive outcomes that might not be dependent on their relationship with Clinton. More than anything else, though, you must give them time. Time to cope. Time to heal.

But, be patient. Even if we start today, it may take up to five months.

Yes We Can!

2008-06-04T09:39:00.001-06:00