Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Gas tax holiday schmoliday

If you're not visiting The Washington Post's Fact Checker blog every now and then, you really should.

Michael Dobbs provides a refreshing take on the hot air around Major Issues in the presidential race and doles out "Pinocchios" for the candidates who get it wrong (on purpose or otherwise).

Dobbs' current assessment of the summer gas tax break touted by both McCain and Clinton is near perfect.

Thomas Friedman from the New York Times also provides a good perspective on this misguided idea here.

Whether you like Obama or not, at least he got this one right.

And not because of politics. Because of - of all things - actual experience right here in Illinois.
I am listening to: How Far We've Come - Matchbox Twenty
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Busy

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Neil's out, Craig's in

Confession: I will be getting a divorce. Soon.

As soon as Craig Ferguson arrives to take me to L.A. so we can live happily ever after.

He will wear nothing but a kilt and speak to me with his lovely Scottish accent.

And I will wear nothing at all and do WHATEVER THE HELL HE WANTS.

I'm not kidding.

Craig Ferguson could say: "Heatherrrr! I'm goin' t' crlap in yer shoooz!"

And I'd hear: "Heather! I'm going to rub your boobs!"
But Hedy, I thought Neil Steinberg was your guy.

Nope. Not anymore.

Sorry, Neil.

Ya got no accent. Well, maybe you do. But it's a nasally Midwestern thing that's fairly common in these parts and doesn't exactly butter the muffin, ya know?

Plus, as far as I can tell, you're short and bald-ish. Craig is tall. Messy dark hair. Devilish blue eyes. And did I mention the accent?

Of course you are one damn fine writer, Neil. But it's time for me to be moving on.

And call me shallow, but the Scottish funnyman always trumps the Jewish brainiac. Always.
What does Jim say about all this, Hedy? Is he concerned?

"If it means Jessica Alba and I can finally be together, I'm all for it."

See, Craig? It's meant to be. Call me.
I am listening to: Craig on the Late Late Show
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Leaving soon

Monday, April 28, 2008

An orgasm is a terrible thing to waste

A German survey has found that educated women are less fun in the sack. At least that's what the headline says:

Clever girls have bad sex.

In the study, 62 percent of women who had completed their education said they often had problems achieving orgasm. Only 38 percent of women with a lower educational qualification said they had such problems.


Of course the survey makes no mention of how these women are (or aren't) managing to achieve the Great and Powerful O.

But it seems like this study is more of an indictment on educated German men than their thinky little Frauleins, ja?
I am listening to: Foo Fighters - The Pretender
I am reading: The Prophet from Jupiter by Tony Earley
And I am: Doing homework

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Lights out

"I really wish we had one more Malibu light for that garden," says Jim. "They were on clearance at Home Depot and you can't get that kind any more."

"Why don't you take one of the lights from by the deck and move it over there," I say. "See? Problem solved. What would you do without me?"

"He wouldn't be worried about lights anymore, I can tell you that," says neighbor Willy.
I am listening to: The neighbor's mower
I am reading: The Palm Isle Blog
And I am: Relaxed

Friday, April 25, 2008

You poor, put-upon white person

It happens every few months.

A message hits my in box with the subject 'Proud to be White' or something equally ridiculous.

It rants about how 'THEY' have the United Negro College Fund and 'THEY' have Black Entertainment Television and 'THEY' have Martin Luther King Day and claims that if 'WE' had White Pride Day or the White Entertainment Network, then 'WE' would be racists.

You poor, put-upon white person.

I hate to tell you this, but you don't need a special holiday or TV station.

If you believe the crap in that e-mail, you're already a racist.

You want your own TV station? Really? Try NBC, CBS and ABC. And CNN and MSNBC and Fox News. And HBO and Showtime, too.

You really feel you need your own holiday? Because Christmas and Easter and Good Friday and President's Day and Labor Day and Memorial Day and the Fourth of July and Columbus Day and St. Patrick's Day and Thanksgiving just aren't enough?

You want to march for your race and your rights? Do it. C'mon. You'll send out an e-mail claiming white people need a march, but let's see you cowboy up and join those hateful idiots in the Ku Klux Klan. Just be sure to wear your sheet because God knows you wouldn't want anyone to identify you.

You've suffered needlessly. Your life is obviously worse because of all these organizations designed to help minorities. I feel so sorry for you, you poor white person.

Get a fucking grip, people.

If you're white and your life sucks -- it ain't because of some minority college in Georgia. And it sure as hell ain't because of Martin Luther King.

Your life sucks because you're a small-minded dumbass who made bad decisions that you're trying to blame on others.

And if - as I suspect - your life as a white, middle class American hasn't really sucked that much at all then SHUT THE FUCK UP AND TRY TO SHOW SOME GRATITUDE FOR HOW MUCH EASIER YOUR LIFE HAS BEEN BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T BORN WITH BROWN SKIN.
I am listening to: Jack's Mannequin - Bruised
I am reading: No more of these hateful e-mails
And I am: Sick & tired of angry white people

Thursday, April 24, 2008

See what happens when I take a day off

Lynchings in Congo as penis theft panic hits capital

Some lucky stiff at Reuters had a blast writing that headline.

I'm trying to figure out the mechanics of a penis snatching. Is it similar to my Uncle Frank's famous "I've got your nose" trick?

Because it's not as if a penis is a purse or something you could grab and run off with too easily.

Although, if we can believe all of the National Geographic specials on Africa I've ever seen, they do keep their wieners, shall we say, readily available and ripe for thievery or whathaveyou.
Penis. Theft. Panic.

C'mon. We know what's really happening, don't we ladies?

"Can you describe the penis, sir?"

"It was big. Huge. And it always worked. Always."

I am listening to: Craig Ferguson
I am reading: Eh, not much right now
And I am: Saying penis theft panic three times fast

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Outliving Erma

Confession: I check the obituaries in my hometown newspaper almost every day.

It's not from some morbid freakiness on my part -- I gave up screwing around in cemeteries in high school -- but because I love the poignant little stories in every single obit.

A person's entire life is published in black and white for strangers to review: What they did before they died, who they loved and who loved them, what people thought of them, and who they outlived and who outlived them.

Fascinating. Great stories, every single one of them.

With truly fabulous names.

Like Helen Yankitis, God rest her soul. I once knew a guy with Yankitis. I think he went blind. Or something.


There's Ernest and Norman and Walter. God I love a good Walter, don't you?

And there are Helens and Harrietts and Ethels.

All blessed souls in their 70s, 80s or 90s, kicking the bucket every single day.

Ernest, for example, was completely devoted to his family and friends and was a lifetime member of the Elks club. And as for Norma, her family says she'll be dearly missed.

The thing is, they kinda have to say that stuff once you're dead, don't they?

"Um, Mr. Flanigan, I'm not sure that 'He was a dirty cocksucker who shoulda been stump-hung long before he kicked the bucket' strikes the proper solemn tone for your father's obituary. Shall we try something a little more heartfelt?"

"How about this: 'Good riddance you fucking coot and we'll jig on your grave.' Better?"

"Much. Thanks."
I am listening to: My Chemical Romance - Dead!
I am reading: Mary Queen of Scots, who is also dead
And I am: Starting a Yankitis Awareness Campaign, I think I can pull it off, seriously

Monday, April 21, 2008

Calling Pennsylvania

Say what you will about Obama.

But when it comes to the whole campaign fund raising + volunteer thing, he's just slick. Slick in a good way, not the Willy way.

His wife Michelle sent out an e-mail Saturday morning asking volunteers to help make calls into Pennsylvania in advance of the primary.

No, I don't believe it was actually his wife who sent out the e-mail, but it worked and that's the only thing that matters.

Within five minutes of receiving her message, voila, I was actually making calls. Once you're registered (I already was), Obama's web site provides you with a list of names/numbers to call, a detailed script, and tips.

Unfortunately the only thing that got me through my list of 25 registered voters was the idea of actually reaching Pos or Molly on the phone. Here's the tally:

7 wrong numbers (4 within the first 10 minutes)
12 voice mail messages
2 busy signals
1 “She’s tired of getting phone calls.”
1 “No, not right now.”

And only two live people. Two.

Of 25 calls, I actually spoke with two people.

What's more depressing, they were both women and hardcore Hillary supporters.

You're not supposed to waste any time once you've identified a hardcore Hillary-head, according to the script. You're supposed to say "Thank you, have a great day, and good luck pulling your head out of your ass."

I made up that last part.

Confession: I did deviate slightly from the script with the two Hillary supporters, only because I'd never actually spoken with someone who plans on voting for her.

"I'm voting for Hillary," says Julia.

"May I ask why?" says Hedy in her friendly/curious tone.

"Sure," she says. "It's because of her experience and I just don't know enough about Obama. Can I ask why you're voting for him?"

"Sure," I say and give her all the reasons I've given you a hundred times before. Not politics as usual, works for the people, doesn't take money from PACs or big oil, and knows how to shake his ass.

Then there was Brenda.

"May I ask why you're voting for Hillary?"

"Because I prefer her."


"Okay, then. Thank you and have a great day."

And good luck pulling your . . .oh, never mind.
I am listening to: 4 Minutes - Madonna/J. Timberlake
I am reading: Mary Queen of Scots by Margaret George
And I am: Busy

Sunday, April 20, 2008


"I'm offended. They gave me a spoon with my waffle cone."

That was The Nephew from the back seat on our way home after dinner and Oberweis.

"How do you expect to get the ice cream out?" asks Jim.

"With my tongue, like God intended," says The Nephew.

"I thought you didn't believe in God?" says Hedy.

"I believe in ice cream," says The Nephew.

I am listening to: Rock 'n Roll Jesus - Kid Rock
I am reading: Mary Queen of Scots by Margaret George
And I am: Unbelievably happy

Saturday, April 19, 2008

But a bitch ain't one

Read this story from the Washington Post, then tell me Obama isn't fucking brilliant.

It makes him even cooler than we thought and wipes out the bullshit elitist label in one move.

And Hillary doesn't dare criticize his appreciation for rap music because, well, you know why.

If you feelin like a pimp nigga, go and brush your shoulders off

Ladies is pimps too, go and brush your shoulders off

Niggaz is crazy baby, don't forget that boy told you

Get, that, dirt off your shoulder
Prediction: Within the next 48 hours Hillary will make reference to some inane pop song and parade out her iPod for public inspection.

Clinton Staffer #1: "But what are we gonna do? It's all fucking Barbara Streisand and that skinny bitch from Canada, whatshername? Celine Dion."

Clinton Staffer #2: "Get on iTunes. Now. Give her some Madonna - she's a whore, but she's from Michigan and they love us there - and Mariah Carey. Sprinkle in some of that soulful feminist crap from Sarah McLachlan and Dido, but for God's sake nothing too angry. No Alanis Morissette."
Of course this rap revelation does absolutely nothing to help Obama with the Crabby Old White Guy demographic. But they were never big fans anyway.

You just know Rush Limbaugh or someone like him will ask the question: "Do you people really WANT someone who listens to RAP MUSIC in the WHITE HOUSE?"

I guarantee they're looking up the lyrics now.

And it would be dubbed BallerGate, if those silly out of touch bastards actually knew what a baller was.
The best part of all this?

If Obama really is a Jay-Z fan, then he's definitely got 99 Problems on his iPod.

If you're having girl problems I feel bad for you son

I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one

I am listening to: Dirt Off Your Shoulder - Jay-Z
I am reading: Mary Queen of Scots by Margaret George
And I am: Chill

Friday, April 18, 2008

So now

"So now that you're unemployed maybe you could walk Max? Clean up his poop?" says You Know Who.

"Of course." I say.

"But you never clean up the poop at home," says Jim.

"I'm not getting paid for it."
I am listening to: O.A.R. - Madison Square Garden
I am reading: That bitch from Scotland whatshername
And I am: Laughing

He gets my jokes

We three are on the back porch before dinner yesterday, soaking up the early Spring sun.

I'm finishing up a glass of water and trying to read about Mary Queen of Scots. Jim is smoking a cigar and yapping about yard projects.

Out of the Blue, Gromit begins barking because a) the neighbor's dog is barking, b) the neighbor's child is outside, c) the neighbor is outside, or d) all of the above, plus the fact that he happens to be OUTSIDE and that's just what he does.

In an effort to shut him up, I say "Grommie, you want some water?" and offer him my empty cup.


Gromit will deign to sip from his bowl if he has to, but he prefers fresh water from a cup.


Shaddap. If you ever met Gromit, you'd let him sip out of your cup, too. Seriously. He is one charming-ass dog.


As expected, the cup gets his attention and he walks over, well, expectantly. He sticks his snout in the cup and - surprise - no water.

It is at this point I swear he looks up at me with that classic "Ah, ya got me" look and LAUGHS RIGHT OUT LOUD. He opened his mouth and exhaled, just like a laugh, and his tail started wagging like mad.

So there ya go. I may be unemployed but at least I can make the dog laugh.

That's something, eh?
I am listening to: Frogs out in the pond, birds out in the trees
I am reading: Mary Queen of Scotland by Margaret George
And I am: Really happy

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Better days

Mom says she can hear it in my voice.

Things are better already.

I am officially unemployed again. But this time, it's just...FABULOUS.
I am listening to: Goo Goo Dolls - Better Days
I am reading: Mary Queen of Scotland and the Hoo Ha by Margaret George
And I am: Smiling

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

John Adams

I’ve been shit, I mean shut down for the past two days due to another odd virus.

Of course it could just be my body’s way of saying “WHY ARE YOU STILL WORKING IN THIS, THE SEVENTH RING OF HELL?”

But who knows.

The upside: I started watching HBO’s John Adams mini-series. Mostly because I didn’t have much else to do but lie/lay/whatever on the couch and moan occasionally, but also to get Jim to SHUT THE HELL UP about how much space the series is taking up on the DVR thingy.

“Do you know they’re 75 minutes each? 75 minutes.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to delete one of your precious License to Grill episodes now, would we? God forbid we do without ‘Godfather Italian Feast’ here.”


I didn’t expect to like the John Adams story so much – European history is more my thing – but it is truly outstanding.

And who knew Adams successfully defended the redcoats involved in the Boston Massacre? Fascinating.

Of the first two episodes, the best scene involves Adams, Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin editing Jefferson’s first draft of the Declaration of Independence.

This is a document that changed the world.

And these guys are sitting in what constitutes a colonial conference room, quibbling over what is ‘sacred and undeniable’ versus ‘self-evident.’

Can you imagine putting something like that together today?

Jefferson: “A draft (DOI_draft.doc) is attached. Track changes is on. Send your revisions ASAP.”

Franklin: “What do you think about Helvetica for the title? I’m liking purple. It really pops. And let’s definitely make the logo bigger.”

Adams: “I thought for sure you’d want Franklin Gothic.”
I am listening to: O.A.R. – Hey Girl
I am reading: Mary Queen of Scotland and the Isles by Margaret George
And I am: Fine

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Paging Mike Hunt

“Um, Heather? There's a Craven Morehead on the phone for you want to take the call?"

That’s a co-worker via intercom Friday afternoon.

Of course I laugh.

There’s a customer whose last name is Morehead. So, logically, Craven got added to the list with Heywood Jablome and Ben Dover and Dick Gozinya and Phil McCracken.

"Are you gonna take this call or what?" he says insistently.

I assume there’s a real caller waiting.

"Seriously, who is Craven Morehead, really?" I say.

"Apparently YOU ARE!"


Still can’t believe I fell for that one.
I am listening to: More Than This – Roxy Music
I am reading: Not much
And I am: Still laughing

Friday, April 11, 2008

There's no explaining this one

I woke up this morning with the Irish Rovers' Unicorn song in my head.

What's worse, I really don't know the words.

So I was singing "The humpty back tigers and the Smithereens, some cats and bats and ratatats, but hmm hmm hmm hmm, hmm hmm hmm hmm THE UNICORN."

At the risk of implanting this song into your gourd, here's my "Purge The Unicorn" song list from iTunes:

Bloody Mary Morning - Willie Nelson
I Think Ill Just Stay Here and Drink - Merle Haggard
Uneasy Rider - Charlie Daniels Band
A Few More Rednecks - Charlie Daniels Band
Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys - Ed Bruce
East Bound and Down - Jerry Reed
Y'All Come Back Saloon - Oakridge Boys
King of the Road - Roger Miller
It Was Almost Like a Song - Ronnie Milsap
Sixteen Tons - Tennessee Ernie Ford
Good Hearted Woman - Waylon & Willie
Ghost Riders in the Sky - Johnny Cash & Willie Nelson
Beer for My Horses - Willie Nelson
I am listening to: UNICORN
I am reading: Neil at the Sun-Times
And I am: Happy

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Jungle love

"Federal employees charged millions of dollars for Internet dating, tailor-made suits, lingerie, lavish dinners and other questionable expenses to their government credit cards over a 15-month period, congressional auditors say."

That's really all you need to read from this AP story published today.

Okay, I lied.

You really should read the whole thing, especially this part:

"The review of card spending at more than a dozen departments from 2005 to 2006 found that nearly 41 percent of roughly $14 billion in credit-card purchases, whether legitimate or questionable, did not follow procedure — either because they were not properly authorized or they had not been signed for by an independent third party as called for in federal rules to deter fraud. For purchases over $2,500, nearly half — or 48 percent — were unauthorized or improperly received."

And this:

"Out of a sample of purchases totaling $2.7 million, the government could not account for hundreds of laptop computers, iPods and digital cameras worth more than $1.8 million. In one case, the U.S. Army could not say what happened to computer items making up 16 server configurations, each of which cost nearly $100,000."

But wait, here's the best part:

"At the State Department, one credit-card holder bought $360 worth of women's lingerie at Seduccion Boutique for use during jungle training by trainees of a drug enforcement program in Ecuador."

To summarize: Some government cock-hole used your tax dollars to meet a monkey via an Internet dating service, bought that hairy bitch some new squirrel covers and then fed her a fancy schmancy steak.

God, I love this country.
I am listening to: Jungle Love - The Time
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Submitting my resume to the State Department

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Gromit, Genius Dog

“C’mon, Gromit,” She says. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”

But I, Gromit -- Genius Dog -- shall not be interrupted mid-sniff. And most certainly not whilst partaking in the wondrous waftings of a fresh pile of opossum poop.

However. I do detect abnormal urgency in She’s voice, so I cast a quick glance behind on the trail.



I suspected as much.

A Shepherd. The German variety, I believe.

And She knows that I tend to be somewhat – shall we say – exuberant among these fair creatures due to fond memories of an ill-fated, beyond-the-fence love affair with a gorgeous, energetic Fraulein named Ufta which ended tragically when She and He abruptly decided to MOVE me from MY YARD where I’d been peeing quite HAPPILY since I was a mere pup. But I digress.

She knows my proclivities so She is rushing Sunday Walkies in an attempt to avoid said Shepherd.

I, Genius Dog, shall have none of this.

In order to be certain She understands my opinion on the serious matter of Shepherd avoidance, I look directly into her batty brown eyes.

And slowly. Quite deliberately.


Gromit Dog! Move!” She yells, yanking my Leash.

When She uses my surname, I know She means business.

But of course this only elicits my patented Withering Stare of Defiance, followed by the Disinterested Yawn and (patent pending) Brief Wiener Inspection.

The He walking the Shepherd laughs, so I join in the merriment. Soon we are all laughing at She, pulling frantically on my Leash.

She gives in. Defeated yet again by Gromit, Genius Dog.

I contain my mirth and leap rapturously for the succulent Shepherd, who sadly passes with nary a glance for yours truly. Bitch.

Walkies re-commence.

“Asshole Dog,” She says, under her breath.

I don’t know about you, but I am of the opinion that only those of the lowest intellect resort to name-calling. Don’t you agree?

Slightly altering this evening’s already hectic schedule, I pencil in “give She a particularly sloppy set of kisses” immediately following my regular apr├Ęs-poop tongue-on-butt scrub.

Asshole. Dog. Indeed.
I am listening to: That insufferable hound two yards over
I am reading: Hello? Nothing. I'm a DOG
And I am: Gromit, Genius Dog

Monday, April 07, 2008

From an e-mail I sent to a co-worker today

With all the names/places experg...expirg...DELETED to protect the innocent:

I’ve been contacting [the president of ] a large trader's group in [major western city] since I started here – sending e-mails & voice mails at least once a month, usually more often – trying to get them to let us sponsor and present at one of their events. We're offering to pay for the room/food/bev in exchange for doing an hour-long presentation on our product.

Never once got a response.

On Friday, a competitor that I met at the New York show told me he was heading to [major western city] to do a presentation for the same group I've been trying to contact, so I said “HEY – ask [the president] why he's not responding to me, would ya please?”

Here’s the IM from today:

Heather: what did he say?
Paul: well...picture this
Paul: sitting at a table with 15 of these [city] people
Paul: when I bring up your name
Paul: and [my company]
Paul: so they were using [my software]
Paul: and they loved the platform
Paul: but they said the owner was a real dick
Heather: that would be my boss
Paul: they left [my company] due to him
Heather: amazing
I am listening to: Bloody Mary Morning - Willie Nelson
I am reading: Lemonade, a short story by Maxine Clair
And I am: Not surprised, oddly enough

Sunday, April 06, 2008

Only outlaws will have pillows

Did you hear? Those crazy Brits have outlawed Samurai swords, of all things.

I'm guessing it's what finally killed that old coot Charlton Heston.

"Samurai swords are part of Japanese history and genuine artifacts can change hands for large sums of money. But in recent years there has been a trade in reproductions which can be bought over the Internet for as little as £35 and they have been used in several attacks."

Several attacks? Jeez, no wonder they banned 'em.

Actually, according to this web site, there have been upwards of 80 sword attacks in England over the past four years. That's roughly 20 per year.

"Care for a spot of tea, Charles?"

"How can you think about tea at a time like this, Camilla? I'm simply overwrought by this Samurai sword crisis. It's got my smalls all scrunched."

"Let me help you with that."
According to this fascinating little tool brought to you by the CDC, there were 2,097 cut/pierce homicides per 100,000 in the United States in 2005 (the most recent stats available.)

Homicide suffocation deaths per 100,000 for the same year: 633.

Yes, I understand there are more of us silly Americans and therefore more of us silly homicidal Americans.

But Charlton Heston is DEAD, people.

And when pillows are outlawed, only the outlaws will have pillows. Seriously. Moses has left the building so there's no one left to protect us from the bleeding-heart Brits and Michael 'I'm a fat retard' Moore types.

So I say use your guns to protect your pillows and swords, and don't give up without a fight.

Now I'm off to get a new bumper sticker.

It'll be 'You will take my pillow when you pry it from my cold dead hand' or 'Charlton Heston is My (dead) President.'
I am listening to: The Chris Matthews show
I am reading: Everything
And I am: Re-loading

Saturday, April 05, 2008

The anti-Christ of chocolate

I'm just gonna throw this out there: White chocolate is the anti-Christ of chocolates.

Think about it.
I am listening to: A Few More Rednecks - The Charlie Daniels Band
I am reading: Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay
And I am: Born again

Friday, April 04, 2008

User error

As my friend Pos said, it's been a rough week technology-wise.

Last night was the capper.

After nothing but Cheetos and Cheerios for dinner all week - Jim's been in California - I decide it's time to pull out all the stops and make a frozen pizza.

Standing in front of the oven for what is probably the first time since Thanksgiving, I hit the BAKE button. I punch 4 - 5 - 0 on the numbered panel like a pro.

I push START.

"PUSH START" flashes from the tiny screen on the oven.

"I am pushing start," I say to the oven.

I push START again.

"PUSH START" flashes the screen somewhat indignantly.

"I AM PUSHING START!" I scream at the oven.

That's when I realize I'm pushing the START button for the lower oven, not the top oven. In which the frozen pizza is waiting to bake.

Last time I try to cook. Ever.
I am listening to: Modest Mouse - Missed the Boat
I am reading: Homework
And I am: Domestically impaired

Thursday, April 03, 2008

More irony

I signed up for a creative writing class at the University of Chicago. It started Monday night. But since then I haven't been able to write much.

Back soon.
I am listening to: I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic at the Disco
I am reading: Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer
And I am: Empty-Hed'd

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

I’ll bite on Wright

“Okay, I gotta ask,” says Mom this morning. “How come you haven’t written about Obama and that Wright minister?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to stay clear of writing on anything religious lately.”

Neil Steinberg wrote a short piece on it yesterday in the Sun-Times and acquitted Obama quite nicely as we’ve come to expect. You can read it here.

My man Steinberg is always good for leveling the playing field by drawing comparisons to similar situations throughout history. It works most of the time.

However, as Mom is quick to point out, Obama is a member of Wright’s church and has been for 20 years. We also know that, at least since Harvard and possibly much earlier, Obama has wanted to run for president.

So if this preacher spent every single Sunday spewing the kind of hateful crap YouTube has made him famous for, I’m guessing Obama would’ve left a long time ago – simply to avoid any kind of major political fallout.

The fact is, these are sound bites. Offered up by the media. And we know that no one in the media ever, ever has an agenda, right?
This is what’s most ironic and interesting about Wright: This golden-robe wearin' dude is a hardcore, rolling-around-the-aisles, speaking-in-tongues Evangelical Christian.

Where are all the right wing-nuts who proclaimed Obama is secretly a radical Muslim set to destroy our fragile Christian nation if elected?

If anything, this silly non-scandal was orchestrated by the Obamites themselves to crush any last vestige of the Muslim rumors.

Can I get an amen here? Hallelujah!
I know you’re not running for office. But indulge me.

There’s at least one person you know and love who says crazy-ass, embarrassing shit once in a while.

If you were running for office, would you abandon this friend or relative because of their views? Of course not.

“Is it true, Ms. W_______, that your husband Jim believes Jesus Christ was an alien and will eventually return to take all the half-human/half-aliens back home in the Mother Ship? And don’t you think this is a problem with you running for Queen of the Neighborhood?”

“Yes, it’s true. My husband believes he is descended from aliens. What does that have to do with Gort! Klaatu barada niktu!”

Listen. Obama’s doing everything he can – more than any candidate in history quite frankly – to make sure we know where he stands on the issues.

So he’s got at least one freaky acquaintance.

So what? This makes him like the rest of us. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
I am listening to: Ghost Riders in the Sky – Johnny Cash
I am reading: Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer
And I am: Gort!