A Sunny Place for Shady PeoplePithy, contrarian, politically incorrect and curmudgeonly rants on sex, money, power and politics and religion and philosophy. In short: Nothing matters, everything changes and there are no guarantees. The rest is rationalization and bribery. (c) Tom Milner 2002-2003. DIRECTORY of offensive POSTS at Archives: 07/09/03. RECOMMENDED BLOGS: Archives: 07/29/03. email: theoldbuzzard AT sunnyplaceforshadypeople DOT com.
Saturday, January 11, 2003
Monday, January 13, 2003
Want to noogle a skanky tree hugger while relishing a blunt and still maintaining cred?
Sounds sporting to us.
All these strange words have apparently been newly formally admitted (by Merriam-Webster, Inc.) to our language, after having achieved sufficient currency to qualify them for so august a body.
They join an ever changing and vibrantly expanding English that's the envy of the world.
They will become as common as some of their counterparts of yesteryear: soccer mom, e-book, booty, dot com, gated community, day trader, flatline, warp speed, netiquette, road rage, eye candy and electronica.
And we predict dominant dollarization worldwide, led by the American fashionistas in e-tail with webcams, all contributing eventually to the ever expanding repertoire of urban legends.
We live in exacting times with the pleasures of neutraceuticals, foosball, half-pipes, biomimetics, chipotles and hotties.
Hotties, we understand, are insistently in demand.
Translation of the first sentence: Want to rub your knuckles slightly painfully on the head of a filthy but committed environmentalist while smoking a hollowed out cigar filled with marijuana -- and still remain credible?
The rant appears Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Thursday, January 09, 2003
Friday, January 10, 2003
While we were never ardent champions for capital punishment, we morally accommodated and acquiesced, and with the other blood thirsties we probably applauded when some low life, convicted of a heinous act, fried, gulped gas or smartly swung.
Not that we actually witnessed any of this.
The press is irrationally barred from such drama.
Our continuing objection to the death penalty is the hypocrisy of pretentiously parading it as a deterrence, and then hiding -- far away from that supposedly deterred public -- the spectacle of electrician, plumber and hangman discharging their grim tasks.
Executions should be public, preferably on prime time television.
But the newly tasty method of eliminating the undesirable by lethal injection would quickly bore today's audience.
Why must felons grand be soothingly sedated, made comfy and then enjoy a peaceful, graceful, painless death, while the rest of us (excepting the ten percent who actually die in their sleep) abide pain, suffering, vegetation and probably the Hell of the Nursing Home in order to finally exit?
Those state governments adopting the lethal chamber have diminished further any assumed deterrence by closeting the secure and harmonious death by injection, instead of choosing a more operatic mode: electrocution, hanging, firing squad.
The irony is that capital punishment cannot be demonstrated to deter crime anyway.
The old and infirm in vegetative states, extreme pain and grand loss of quality of life should be encouraged to book early some of these lethal suites between executions, so they, too, can enjoy a placid "passing."
This should improve a state's budget and serve a worthy cause: a good death for the good people.
Why should only death row denizens delight in their decorously dainty death?
Tuesday, January 07, 2003
Wednesday, January 08, 2003
Once, we honeywagoned with Elvis.
Now, the media insist on commemorating what would be his 68th birthday (January 8, 1935); apparently the iconic putative hipster of the 1950's still stirs irrational reverence among the legions of zealots who dutifully pilgrimage to his Memphis estate every day of the year.
We were contemporaries of but never even slightly addicted to Elvis' guiles, constantly polished as they were by the ubiquitous Colonel Tom Parker, his excessively compensated tutor, pimp, agent and hustler, who is rumored to have pocketed half or more of his tyro's vast earnings.
Whether the good Colonel (honorary title courtesy the Governor of Kentucky: think of that other famous entrepreneur Colonel Sanders) deserved his loot we leave to historians to attempt to determine.
Know that the Colonel was on sentry duty 24/7, protecting his fountain of cash. (He may even have been along on the honeymoon.)
The Colonel also vigilantly screened his charge from the press, which made an interview almost impossible to negotiate.
We tried and failed to win that concession.
In the summer of 1961, Elvis, Parker and their regiments were filming a picture in rural Yankeetown, north Florida.
We were on assignment from the local Gainesville daily to turn in a feature story.
From that summer's published article: "[Parker] was omnipresent and so overly solicitous that he carried the boy's name-stenciled chair for him."
After lunch we sauntered over to the honey wagon (a tony mobile bath and dressing trailer) and got in line for the obviously busy lone inside toilet.
After one of the longest sustained and splashy urinations we had ever heard (and unattended by the Colonel), Pelvis emerged smiling, friendly and very relieved.
We shook hands and exchanged banalities.
We're still not fans.