American Sluts

OK, so this is another post that has nothing to do with life here in the PNW. Oh well. This is national news, and as the PNW is - sadly, sometimes - part of the nation, this affects me.

On a recent radio broadcast, Right Wing host Rush Limbaugh called Georgetown University Law student Sandra Fluke a "slut" for attempting to testify before Congress about the necessity of mandated birth-control. In her case, this practicing Protestant (read: Christian) was speaking specifically about the "other" uses of contraception, in this case for the treatment of polycistic ovary syndrome. 

Childless adulterer, tri-divorcee, opiate addict, and more or less noted anti-feminist Rush Limbaugh was quick and ruthless with his uninvited response, which was clearly not based on the facts of why she was testifying. Mr. Limbaugh referred to Ms. Fluke as a "slut" and a "prostitute," and when the backlash began, he insisted that if taxpayers were footing the bill for her birth control (a non-issue, based on what her testimony was about) she should post videos of her sex life online to give taxpayers a little return on their investment.

In all fairness, when sponsors - including free PSA and non-profit ads - began fleeing his program, Limbaugh made the following "apology:"

"For over 20 years, I have illustrated the absurd with absurdity, three hours a day, five days a week. In this instance, I chose the wrong words in my analogy of the situation. I did not mean a personal attack on Ms. Fluke.

I think it is absolutely absurd that during these very serious political times, we are discussing personal sexual recreational activities before members of Congress. I personally do not agree that American citizens should pay for these social activities. What happened to personal responsibility and accountability? Where do we draw the line? If this is accepted as the norm, what will follow? Will we be debating if taxpayers should pay for new sneakers for all students that are interested in running to keep fit?In my monologue, I posited that it is not our business whatsoever to know what is going on in anyone's [sic] bedroom nor do I think it is a topic that should reach a Presidential level.

My choice of words was not the best, and in the attempt to be humorous, I created a national stir. I sincerely apologize to Ms. Fluke for the insulting word choices."

I ask: Why the fuss? Why the anger? Our nation has been shaped by sluts! Sandra Fluke might be the latest, but I feel it is important to point out the other sluts who have raised their voices - clearly hoarse from all the fellatio they were clearly performing - in whorish attempts to bring more rights to women.

Here, I list a few of these loose women of history:

Susan B. Anthony - When this raging whorebag didn't have her ankles behind her ears, she worked for equal pay among sexes and races, suffrage, and was even arrested for voting. 

Helen Keller - I know what you're thinking: a woman who can't speak is perfect right? Wrong. This slut overcame her crippledness to become a slutty advocate for equal rights, suffrage, and rights for the disabled. To top it off, she was a Communist, so she was not only exchanging sex for money, but then turned that money over to her Soviet overseers.

Eleanor Roosevelt - When she wasn't using her obvious sex-appeal to bag any man who walked past, Mrs. Roosevelt fought for equal rights, international peace, and labor relations. A whore in the worst sense of the word.

The Founders of NOW - The tremendous slutcans - including Christian pastors - who pulled their panties up long enough to found this brothel of a non-profit thought that in between sexual exploits, they could "bring women into the mainstream of American society." They might as well have been advertising angry handy-jays in the local Penny Saver. 

Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, Snooki - These upstanding examples of strong feminist values have dominated American media due to their strong moral values, stable relationships, and keen sense of Christian values. Each one is a walking, talking example of why marriage is an institution that should be preserved for heterosexual couples.

Sandra Fluke - Yeah, so, I already touched on this pile of skank wrapped in a pantsuit. I think she is worth revisiting, as I am sure her many paying johns agree. So she's a Christian, and so she was pitching the birth-control pill for its various other health benefits, but lest we lose sight of the facts: appearing before Congress on behalf of those in need of help is the move of a three-cent whore who wants nothing more than government-funded French ticklers and Spanish fly. We can only be impressed by her bravery when taken in context: this young college-educated Christian woman took the time to dig herself out of a flesh-pile long enough to rinse off her face, pull out the bottle of Riesling, and step in front of the law-making branch of the United States Government to advocate for equal health coverage. Stupid whore.

Mischief Doesn't Mean "Up To No Good."

Seattle distillery Mischief creates some solid spirits. In particular, I enjoy their whiskey, which is probably the best regional whiskey - with strong vanilla notes, a touch of smoke (more like toasted marshmallow), and caramel flavors - I've had.

As if a quality product weren't enough, this local business has released a "limited edition" of their whiskey which features the bottle in a cardboard "lantern," featuring the quote "Carry the lantern." The bottle also has a dog tag imprinted with the name of a veteran, the war they served in, and the phrase "We thank you." hanging around the neck. To top it off, a dollar from each bottle goes to help support "families of men and women serving in the United States Armed Services." Awesome.

If there is anything better than supporting a local business, it is supporting a local business that supports a good cause. If there is anything better than supporting a local business that supports a good cause, it is supporting said business when they create a product as grand as Fremont Mischief's whiskey.

From Abraham Lincoln's 1863 Gettysburg address via the cardboard "lantern" surrounding the bottle:


"It is for us the living, to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we carry increased devotion to that cause for which they so nobly gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

Fuck war. Support troops.

Peace.

Thank you Sgt. R. Marshall and family for your sacrifices. For that matter, thank you to all the brave men and women who don the American flag on their sleeves and go out to defend our great nation, and thank you to their families, who know a kind of sacrifice most of us will never face. Cheers. Peace...

Indian Food + Wine + Friends - Vampires = Good Times

Kat's friends from Virginia and my friends from here Chris and Caitlin ventured into the Dirty South (read: anything south of Seattle) for a visit today. Can't complain.

We hung out at our house and shared first a bottle of red brought by our guests, and then the most recent house blend from Metropolitan Market, which is one of the better releases of late (although they're all good!).

Dinner was at the crown jewel of Federal Way dining, East India Grill. This amazingly authentic - according to people who have actually been to India - restaurant is reasonably priced and absolutely out of this world. We have yet to be anything but thrilled with the atmosphere, service, or food.

Good conversations were had, laughs were shared, and the utter lack of vampires cemented this as a good night.

OBPS2

Spoiler alerts!!!

Today was day two of two in this year's AMC Oscar Best Picture Showcase, and it was the longer of the two, with five features rather than four. Five movies are actually a lot harder to get through than four, believe it or not. Four is kind of our limit before our brains complete the transition from neural material into a thick, viscous fluid similar to Cream-O-Wheat to which a bit too much water has been added. By the end of the fifth film, the Cream-O-Wheat brains come to resemble the same dish, but after it has been sitting - neglected - in a bowl on the kitchen counter for several days in a hot, humid environment.

This Saturday was also the first time where I can report that the attendees - film buffs all - behaved quite rudely. Our first encounter was a man who cut in line - yes, grown-ups cut - claiming that his wife (who was now...where?) had previously been standing behind us in line. Apparently this entitled him ("Fair's fair!") to get in front of us as we waited to get into the theater. After a week of tense workplace situations, my wife had her chutzpah all worked up, so she called the guy on his bullshit. He "explained" his situation, but moved from in front of us to behind us. He then become someone else's problem, so who cares?

Next up was a couple - yes, two people - who "saved" nine additional seats for people who had not yet arrived. Of course, these seats were some of the primo seats in the theater. FYI, draping blankets over a row of seats for people who would not arrive for two hours is rude, selfish, assholeish, and completely American, dammit. There was a high likelihood of one or both of us calling these assholes out on their assholedness, but our seats were decent enough, so we figured a confrontation was not needed.

As for the movies, we started off with Hugo 3D. This period piece from Martin Scrocese is the most nominated film this year. This fact is enough to prove that Americans are a mass of Cream-O-Wheat-brained morons. As if Freedom Fries, Snuggies, and poker on ESPN were not proof enough.

Hugo is the story of an orphan boy who lives in the bowels of a Paris train station where he fills in for his missing, drunkard uncle and keeps all the station clocks wound. He also employees his father's training in clock making to try and revive an automaton (old-school robot) that his father rescues from the attic of a museum.

This is a tediously long and complex movie, so I'm going to sum it up as quickly as possible: Hugo tries to steal a wind-up toy from a toy seller, who catches him and takes Hugo's father's journal. Hugo tries to get it back, gets involved with the toy seller's ugly Goddaughter, they learn that the toy seller was the greatest silent film creator of all time, dodges the crippled station inspector several times, makes the former director realize his lost passion, and becomes an honorary member of the family.

It is much easier (and more fun) to point out the many, many faults of this film than to discuss its merits. I will do it in bulleted form:

• The movie is set in Paris, France, but every character has an English accent. That might have flown in the past, but it was 2011 when this film came out. Surely there is a big enough pool of actors to find some that speak French or that can do a French accent.
• The many jokes at the expense of the crippled station inspector - while played quite well by Sascha Baron Cohen - in  my mind, came at the cost of differently-abled people. When he is fitted with a mechanical leg brace, he remarks that he is a "fully functioning man." To me, this is a sleight against people with physical maladies. 
• 3D has its place in modern films, and in examples like Avatar, it is done brilliantly. In Hugo, it was poorly executed and often became visually jarring.
• Did I mention the English accents?
• This movie wanted to be lots of other films. The optimistic youths trying to help others (Amelie), the bookish girl mentoring - in a way - the brilliant, orphaned boy (Harry Potter), the "quest" of a child to complete the work of his or her parents', and/or to reconnect with said deceased parents (lots and lots of films).
• I think I mentioned the accents, but it really pissed me off.
• There was an impractical blend of magic and reality. I don't mind a blend, that's cool. What got me in this movie was the inconsistency. It felt added on, and not at all organic to the story. There is a scene where the children spill a box of art by the toy seller/director, and the papers immediately launch into the air, swirling around for no reason while the art on them changes and morphs. OK, neat, if it blended in at all with the rest of the movie.
• Hugo's (Asa Butterfield) face emoted too much. It was as if he had a tic. It was distracting and over-the-top.
• In 1962's The Longest Day, all the characters spoke in the appropriate language of their nationality. 1962. This is 2012, and we couldn't find a cast to at least do French accents???

So, yeah, disappointed in Hugo.

Next up was The Help, which is the only movie of this year's lineup we had previously watched. It's the story of a white reporter in Jackson, Mississippi who decides to interview the many black maids in the town about what their lives are really like. It's a good movie, but I don't think Best Picture good. We are presented with three character types in this movie: downtrodden black servants, racist whites, and just whites. The just whites stand up to the racist whites to help the downtrodden black servants. This can be looked at in a few ways, but largely comes down to two: One, this is a white empowerment film, meant to make whites feel good about how they helped the Southern blacks, and Two, this is a film showing that the only way for blacks at the time to get ahead was with the help of whites. 

However you want to look at it, the story is solid, the performances are above reproach, and the emotions are genuine. That's a good movie no matter your opinion of the goals. 

The third film in the lineup was one that more or less skated under my radar, as I had only heard of it or seen a trailer a month or so before the Showcase. This was the son-on-a-quest story (see above) of an autistic boy whose father was killed in the 9/11 attacks, and upon finding a key in the dead dad's closet, sets out to find the lock it fits.

Again, the performances were great, and it was made obvious that 9/11 is not so far gone that it has ceased to render us into emotional globs when it is dramatically referenced. The story, however, was severely formulaic, and it seems a lot of A+ actors signed on to an A- film. 

This was another example of a movie where (like in all movies) the audience suspends its disbelief fo rthe sake of the story, but in this case the suspension led to a few items that were disorientingly unbelievable. Speaking solely for myself, sometimes an emotional story grounded in reality loses me when fairly minor details pop up as being unfaithful to human nature, science, or logic. 

I fully admit I liked this movie, and even found a little saline leaking from the corners of my eyes, but all-in-all, it was not a Best Picture contender. 

The movie I had been most excited to see today was The Artist. This French film is shot in a number of completely new ways: it's silent, it isn't widescreen, and it's in glorious black-and-white. 

The story is of a silent screen actor in the 1920s who is unable to transition to the talkies. As his marriage, finances, and career crumble, he sinks deeper and deeper into alcoholism and self-pity. At the same time, a young actress he discovered is becoming more and more successful until she is the "it girl" of the time. 

I don't know how to write a review of this film or even how to write a decent synopsis, but I must say that it exceeded every single one of my expectations, which were high to begin with. I had recently listened to an NPR program where some movie critics said that this movie didn't really count, as it is almost entirely silent. Bullshit. The acting was some of the best I've seen, and the direction, score, cinematography and editing were all top of the line. 

In particular I enjoyed the cinematography and framing, as well as the character arcs of the two main characters. As the end credits rolled, Kat and I both bursted with positive comments about this movie. 

As our brains began the transition to creamy bowls of breakfast gruel, we finished our movie marathon with the latest Woody Allen flick, Midnight in Paris.This was not at all what I had anticipated, thanks to my lack of trailer memory. 

Owen Wilson plays a Woody Allen-esque  character who is in modern day Paris with his bitchy fiance and her parents. As he tries to avoid this family, he winds up drunk on a street corner when he is invited into a vintage limo by a group of drunken revelers. 

As it turns out, this is a Twilight Zone twist, as he finds himself surrounded by the many artists of 1920s Paris: the Fitzgeralds, Hemmingway, Stein, and Picaso, among others. This is an almost sci-fi film about a man who keeps venturing into 1920s Paris, getting his novel reviewed by some of America's greatest authors, and learning more and more about himself. 

This movie spoke to me on many personal levels that I can't write about eloquently enough here, so screw it (eloquence).

I heard a reviewer on the radio state that this year's selection was a number of sevens and eights (on a scale of 1-10) rather than the handful of tens we usually see. Still, my prediction is that The Artist takes Best Picture. While I had assumed that we would participate in this event until we died, this year's mediocre selection makes me think that unless the titles are much more exciting, we might skip it. That said, when you see Hugo get 11 nods, you assume it must be a great movie.

Did I mention that the actors all had English accents?

Serious Illness

So I saw my doctor today. Those of you who know my history with cancer might think I had been through enough in my relatively short life. The fates, it would seem, disagreed.

I was diagnosed today with a severe condition brought on by Linsanity.

My doctor Linformed me that I had Linphoma, and that the tumors are Linoperable. The disease, it seems, is Lincureable.

The cancerous cells had even spread to my medula obLingota, and there is even some concern that I might have passed it to my wife's Lindometrium.

My Lindocronologist has suggested that extensive Lindoscopic Linvestigations might lead to some solutions, but hope remains slim.

RadiatLin therapy seems to be my only hope.

I will miss you all, my fLinds.