Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 29 August 2008.
Let me explain that one. I’m not saying that filling landfills with plastic is a good thing. When I was a kid, absolutely everything a house discarded was tossed into a black plastic bag, which was tossed into a big hole in the ground. Pretty ridiculous, when you think about it, and it’s great now that we’ve been able to get to a point where the greater majority of waste we produce doesn’t have to go into a landfill. It’s predicated on public willingness to ‘contribute’, but it’s not really that much of an effort. All hunky dory, so far.
What bothers me, though, is not the effort required to recycle and compost like a good citizen. What bothers me is how much less the effort could be, with just a little work.
I honestly have no idea what’s recyclable and what’s not. Any plastic item that’s not a Coke bottle gives me cause for doubt: do I throw this in the recycling or in the garbage? Maybe it says so somewhere on the packaging itself. Maybe the three-arrow symbol has a number in it. Maybe I can call my parents and ask them. Maybe it’s recyclable where they live, but not where I live.
None of this makes a lick of sense. I don’t know why some plastics can be recycled and others can’t (and I certainly don’t know why some types would be accepted in one city but not another). I do know that the science of recycling and the chemistry of plastics is not something your average Joe is going to possibly know. As an average Joe myself, I’m living proof.
The thing is, we oughtn’t need to know. There ought to be a strict set of regulations standardizing what is recyclable and what isn’t across the country, and there should be very clear instructions on packaging itself about whether or not the packaging conforms to those regulations. In fact, non-recyclable plastics ought to just be completely banned from the world of packaging, but perhaps there’s something I don’t know about why they continue to be used. I’ll happily plead ignorant on that. Because it’s not the point anyway.
The point is that manufacturers need to take the initiative, at legislative gun-point if they won’t make the effort themselves, in making the products we buy recycling-friendly, so that we’ll be better able to recycle correctly, solving the problems of recyclable things going to the garbage, and of non-recyclable things going to recycling centres (both of these are, of course, problems). There seems to be a constant struggle in the public arena between companies’ rights and their responsibilities. Those who defend big business will be happy to talk about how companies ought to have the right to behave however they want within the strictures of market economics, and as such will condemn any attempt by the government at what they see as ‘interference’. As a result, legislation with big businesses is often condemned in and of itself.
But this one seems to me like a no-brainer. Allowing recycling programs to run anything short of peak efficiency only to make the lives of big business easier makes no sense at all.
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 22 August 2008.
I like my comedy. I like a good laugh as much as the next guy, and even fancy myself a bit of a card myself. Not that I’d expect that to manifest itself in this here blog in any way or anything…
I’m really quite particular with my comedians. One thing I hate is an unfunny stand-up comedian, and something I hate just as much is a slightly funny stand-up comedian. Anyone who seems at all tired or half-baked, and I’d sooner be watching nature documentaries about lions.
This obviously means I have no time for Saturday Night Live, and haven’t in fact seen a single episode in probably some fifteen years now. It’s become this strange testament to survival as a virtue. The most awe-inspiring thing about Saturday Night Live is that is has somehow managed to stay alive all of these years.
Well, of course, people have been saying that about SNL pretty much non-stop down the decades, and picking out an era to call SNL’s “Golden Age” based less on the relative merits of the show down the years and more on which years the commentator in question was a teenager.
I was a teenager during the era with Kevin Nealon, Chris Rock, Dana Carvey, Julia Sweeney and some other people I can’t remember. Older people back then were glorifying the previous years, with Chevy Chase and Bill Murray and whoever else. Thing is I knew a lot of what I was watching then was pretty lame (I mean, really, Pat?) but even in the middle of the worst episode, you knew you’d have five minutes of great comedy. The highlight for me was always “Weekend Update”, and that was all down to my favourite comedian, Dennis Miller.
Back then, Dennis Miller was a genius. People big up his so-called arcane references, but for me it’s not that they were arcane (hardly a virtue in and of itself) but that they were spot-on and incisive. And, okay, maybe a little elitist, but it’s rewarding to get a joke that flies over the heads of other people. Dennis Miller spoke not only with wit and humour but also with passion. When he was really committed to what he was saying, years before he seized on the word ‘rant’ as a promotional campaign, he would let fly with an invective that was cathartic.
A righteous invective, what’s more. He would take on politicians and other sacred cows and take them down, and my teenage iconoclastic self would cheer. And agree.
Over the years, I’ve changed. Everybody does. But many things about me are still the same. So when I listen to the bearded blowhard spouting right-wing rhetoric on baiting TV programs today, the once-proud independent working as the GOP’s spokesman, I’m forced to conclude that the one who’s changed more, and not for the better, is him.
Apparently, September 11 ‘woke Dennis Miller up’. Apparently that tragedy is what brought about his political change of heart. Clearly the death of 3000 innocents shook him enough to turn his searing questioning of, and contempt for, political double-talk and lies into an unquestioning support for our generation’s most objectionable elected regime. Somehow, this terrible tragedy has not merely led him to the conviction that the Republican Party is stronger on foreign policy than the Democrats but has somehow pushed him so far off centre into the reactionary right that you can now find him chumming with the likes of Ann Coulter and Bill O’Reilly, defending gas companies and condemning environmentalists.
People have the right to change. People have the right to progress on their policies and beliefs from one point to another. And people also have the right to be disappointed in their childhood heroes when those heroes become reactionary blowhards. Frankly, continuing to like and admire someone who’s gone so far to the right and become so partisan that he might as well seek office as a Republican would make no sense at all.
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 6 August 2008.
You’ve seen the pictures or films or whatever, right? Girls aged seven or so slathered with make-up and paraded around on a stage. There was a movie recently, “Little Miss Sunshine”. Perhaps you’ve seen it. Surely you remember the whole Jon-Benet Ramsey thing back in the day.
My question is, what the hell is this sick circus and who is not creeped out by it? There are strange things in the world, but this has to be near the top of the list of creepiest.
Many people say they exist for the vicarious thrills they provide the mothers, that this circus is all about these women overcoming their personal failures by transferring their ambitions onto those of their children. Fair enough – this happens a lot, actually. You know, forcing piano lessons, overhyping academic success… But this goes above and beyond the limits of appropriateness. Frankly, these little girls are transformed into sexualized objects for, one presumes, the benefit of pedophiles everywhere.
And what I find most amazing is the reaction that I imagine I would get from such a mother were she to read that sentence. I can imagine that they would get their proverbial knickers in a twist, talking about how I’m the inappropriate one for even suggesting it. The fact is that these pageants present a child dressed up in a highly inappropriate, overly sexualized fashion and then pretend that they don’t.
Who are they kidding? I don’t know any of these parents and I don’t know any pedophiles. Thus I don’t know anybody who would dream of going to such an event. I don’t know anybody not completely revolted by the idea, in fact. Let’s try to imagine for a minute a person who has no personal self-interest in the pageant and is not sexually attracted to children, yet still enjoys, attends and appreciates these… um, spectacles. What kind of person is this? What’s in it for them? I honestly don’t know.
Kids are wonderful. I love kids. I think little girls are beautiful. But when I say ‘beautiful’, I don’t mean anything even remotely similar to what’s paraded about on the stage at these pageants. Kids need to be kids. There are a million sick, twisted ways that adults conspire, intentionally or not, to rob kids of their childhood prematurely. We do not need these kinds of child beauty pageants as yet another.
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 31 July 2008.
Okay, not a long one this time out; just a quickie. Perfect for the summer, right? Ah, summer... sand, surf, sun and... Speedos.
Speedos are the bottom half of a bikini filled out a little more and stuck on a man. No doubt you're familiar with them. No doubt you're also well aware that they are evil incarnate. The thing is that not only are they themselves hideous: even the most attractive man in the world will still look like a dolt wearing them. No, it's not just that. It's that invariably the man wearing them is not the most attractive man in the world. Far, far from it. Speedos and obesity seem to go hand in hand.
I don't get this. Among the non-Speedos wearing public, condemnation is nearly universal. And for good reason. They are butt-ugly, pun certainly intended. Yet those who wear them valiantly continue to do so, seemingly unaware of how horrified their fellow beach-goers are.
Freedom is a good thing and all, but for once and for all, can't any government step in to save us from this evil?
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 24 July 2008.
...You’d think I care about Hollywood or something. I really don’t; trust me. In fact, high on my list of Hollywood-related things I don’t care about is Eddie Murphy and everything about him.
Okay; too cruel. Everything about him after, say, 1986. There was a time, no doubt, when Eddie Murphy was brilliant – you know, incisive stand-up, great cocky movie roles, amazing characterizations on “Saturday Night Live”. There was a time when he was one of the funniest guys out there. Okay, okay, there was “Party All the Time” too. But no-one can be perfect.
That was more than 20 years ago. Obviously people can’t keep it going that long. There’s got to bee a cooling of pace, a dulling of the cutting-edge. It doesn’t matter to me that Eddie Murphy’s turned to family comedies. The problem is that he’s turned to absolute garbage family comedies.
Take for instance his current vehicle, Meet Dave. It is, of course, absolute garbage. The fact that I haven’t seen it, seen clips from it or even heard much of anything about it does not affect the fact that I know it to be absolute garbage. I mean, come on…
Playing multiple roles is not always a bad thing. Dr. Strangelove is an amazing movie, and Peter Sellers’s bravura performance gives it wings. Eddie Murphy can play multiple roles because he’s a decent character actor. He did Stevie Wonder and Gumby brilliantly on “Saturday Night Live”. His impersonations of his own family members during his stand-up routines are hilarious and filled with a loving humanity. The man has comedic talent.
But he just doesn’t care. By scouring imdb.com, I can ascertain that Meet Dave is the seventh multiple-role Eddie Murphy vehicle. And, like Norbit before it (which I have seen and truly hated), it is clearly nothing more than a multiple-role Eddie Murphy vehicle. I can’t see it having a profound message, having noteworthy music or supporting actors, being produced by a visionary, using colours or sets in a novel way… the sum total of this film is “Eddie Murphy plays multiple roles!” Again, for the seventh time. Even if the diminishing returns in question diminish imperceptibly slowly, by #7 there can’t be much more than an empty shell left.
And I don’t see why it needs to be that way. Eddie Murphy is truly funny, yet family-friendly, in the Shrek franchise. He hasn’t lost it. But he seems to have lost the desire to do anything really new with himself. So he just churns out the same film over and over again.
The thought that anybody would still be intrigued enough by this to see these movies makes no sense at all.
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 10 July 2008.
I’ve finally come to terms with Aspartame. All growing up, it seemed like a scary chemical where no scary chemical need be. I was no sugar junkie but I was, ahem, a kid. Sugar-phobic kids are hard to come by.
When Baskin-Robbins introduced a sugar-free cone to stick under a ball of cold sugar and saturated fats, it struck me as comical. I think the main reason it struck me as comical is that it is comical. Terribly so. I’m still of the opinion that the best way to decrease your Baskin-Robbins sugar intake is never to go to Baskin-Robbins, but I do acknowledge that in other situations, lowering your sugar intake can only be a good thing.
So Diet Coke it is. I’m not a big fan of Coke all told, actually (it’s the colour). From an all-round perspective of ‘healthiness’ (a/k/a making you feel good about what you consume), Coke regardless of sweetening method is still down at the bottom of the list near bongwater and dish detergent. Yet merely in regards to caloric intake and sugar, a glass of Diet Coke actually towers above mainstays like apple juice and a tall glass of blue-tinted milk. Okay, ‘towers above’ is completely the wrong phrase. But oh well.
I seem to remember Diet Coke being disgusting when I was a kid. Perhaps that’s because (a) I misremember, (b) it was different then than it is now, (c) I was actually drinking bongwater (and/or “Tab”, whatever the hell that is). Because the simple fact is that, prejudices aside, Diet Coke is precisely as foul as its red-canistered sugary twin.
But prejudices are what it’s all about (apparently), since somebody at Coca-Cola Ltd. (or whatever the hell the mothership in Atlanta calls itself) has decided, apparently quite successfully, that Diet Coke is too girly a kind of diet Coke. Apparently, guys don’t drink Diet Coke because its can is grey and it doesn’t feature a number in its name.
Enter Coca-Cola Zero, the ‘macho’ non-caloric Coke, which is completely different from Diet Coke, because its can is black and it doesn’t have that nasty four-lettered word in its name (hands up everybody who, in history class, thought “Diet of Worms” was the coolest name possible). Instead, it has a four letter word that means ‘nothingness’ and is pronounced “Jerro” by Korean people. This is why Korean people are cool.
But this is not why Coca-Cola Inc., or whatever they are, is cool. They are not. For some reason, apparently their ruse worked, as millions of people flocked to prove their masculinity by drinking Aspartame from a black can. So today, you can choose two completely identical products that differ only by the colour of their can. Coca-Cola GmBH are, of course, marketing geniuses. Because the rest of the world are total schmucks.
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 3 July 2008.
Have you ever taken a gander at the comics page of your friendly local newspaper? I mean, since 1984?
It wouldn't really matter whether or not you've looked in the past 24 years, of course. Nothing, and I mean nothing, has changed in all that time. Sure, there is the odd new comic. Some of the new ones are actually pretty good. What I am in fact referring to is the evil that is "Garfield", "B.C.", "Cathy" etc. Any comic over a generation old.
I can't imagine an industry where stasis and complete lack of innovation is rewarded so handsomely. These comics have not had a single worthy punchline in my entire lifetime and haven't even attempted anything new in that long. On absolute auto-pilot, they glide through the years recycling the same jokes over and over, to the point where no humour whatsoever remains unstrained.
If you think I'm exaggerating, take a quick check at today's comics. Viewed objectively, not a single one can claim to have anything even remotely funny - or, God forbid, cutting edge - about them. 2008? 1973? 1994? 1979? It makes no difference whatsoever.
How creepy can you get?
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 26 June 2008.
I know, I know. It's hardly cutting-edge technology I'm speaking of. In fact, as the 'album' dies its slow death, it becomes pointless to even speak about it. Yet I am compelled to do so.
I was motivated by an ad I saw for "Dreamboat Annie Live" by Heart. It is, as the name suggests, a live version of Heart's début album. It is also pretty much an official confirmation that Heart have lost the plot and are riding on past glories (though at least it's not "Bad Animals Live").
I tried to imagine why anybody on God's green earth would buy that CD. Even if it's a capable performance, why would anybody want to listen to it instead of the original?
Then I got thinking about how that's true for 99% of all live albums. Sure, you've got your "Live at the Apollo" and your "Live at Leeds" and your "At Folsom Prison" and a small handful of 'era-defining' live albums. But the simple fact is that sooner or later every artist gets around to releasing live albums, mostly because it seems to be the thing to do. They feature the same songs you know by this artist recorded with shoutier lead vocals and screams in the background. What, I ask you, does this offer in the way of entertainment value?
Alternately, consider that in April of this year the Rolling Stones released their ninth live album. Yes, ninth. What could possibly appeal to people about such a thing? Are there people out there saying, "Oh thank God! It's been a full four years since the last Rolling Stones live album. I've been waiting so long."
Who would pay money for this?
More importantly, as the tradition of releasing sound pressed into discs of plastic-coated aluminum fades away, and as record companies struggle to remain relevant, is this really what will keep them alive?
A year or two after buying them, does anybody ever go back and play old live albums? Does anybody, for example, go back and put InXS's "Live Baby Live" or Yes's "9021Live" The Solos" on the ol' record machine? Does anybody find themselves saying, "You know, I really do prefer Celine Dion's live performances to the studio versions. They just have so much more gusto."
And if so, how do these people manage to feed themselves?
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 19 June 2008.
Okay, this one is more than a little Andy Rooney-esque.
Let me explain the situation to you. I live in Toronto, but Iknow that similar things exist throughout the +1 phone dialing area. So if you live in or near even a moderately big city, it will most certainly apply.
Toronto's main area code is 416. It's also overlaid with 647. The main area code of the areas around Toronto is 905, though it's overlaid with 289. So far, so banal. Some Torontonians actually make a point of calling the area within the city limits of Toronto 'the 416' and the suburbs around it 'the 905'.
Well, some Torontonians. Not me.
Okay, as I said, so what. When I was a kid,the whole mess was 416, now there's a lot more phones these days. It happens throughout Canada and the USA, and is no biggie. The local calling area in Toronto is larger than the whole 416 telephone exchange. So there is actually local calling across four area codes. When you get a number that starts with 905, it might be local. It might be long distance.
This is where it starts to get odd. When a number starts with 416, I know it's local. When it starts with, say, 212, I know it's in Manhattan and, ergo, long distance. When it's 905, it might or it might not be.
But what makes no sense at all is that, when I dial a long-distance 905 number without putting the '1' first, the phone company refuses to put the call through. It tells me it's long distance and that I need to hang up and dial the damn number again.
For the life of me I can't understand this (additionally, when I'm outside Toronto I can't use my cell phone's address book since I need to go in and manually add that '1' to all the numbers). 80 years ago, when Bell was staffed by little old ladies pulling out and pushing in cables, this might have made sense. But certainly it can figure out how to insert that '1' all by itself, right? Certainly the pleasant operator voice could say "We're sorry. That number is long distance. Please press 1 to put it through." Would that be so big a deal? Why force me to hang up and call again? Do I have to memorise the entire list of suburban and exurban Toronto hamlets to know which ones are local and which ones aren't? After all, I'm still going to call that humber; just this time I'll have to pay for it.
Perhaps I doth protest too much, but a computerised phone system that can't sick in a '1' makes no sense at all.
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 5 June 2008.
Okay, I'll step out of the closet. I admit it; it's true. I am Canadian. I was born in Canada, I live in Canada, and I was here for much of the stuff in between. I point that out because, while my harangues so far to date have tended to focus on events happening with regards to our lovely neighbours down south, not all that I have to gripe about involves our beloved brethren south of the border, down New Mexico way.
After all, they booted out the British Royal Family centuries ago.
Have you ever seen the flag of Virginia? Now that is one bad-ass flag. It features some dude, decked in a liberty blue toga, carrying a spear and standing on top of a slain king wearing regal purple, his crown fallen off his head and abandoned on the floor nearby. As a stern warning, it says in Latin, "Thus Always to Tyrants".
Love 'em or hate 'em, Americans have got their republican furore going on. They may aw-shucks Lizzie and her brood of inbreds today, but that's because they ain't got to live with them anymore.
Well, in a sense, neither do we. Lizzie only makes her way round these parts once or twice a decade, and when she's in Buckingham Palace, I don't imagine concern about affairs in Canada crosses her mind appreciably more often than, say, affairs in Antigua and Barbuda or affairs in Belize (and I wonder if she could even find Tuvalu, one of her realms, on a map). Poll after poll shows middling support for republicanism in Canada mostly because nobody even notices she's here.
But she is. Not just on the back of our coins. Canada's status as a monarchy is an embarrassment. For a country that leads the world in equality and civil liberties, the unelected, hereditary and foreign head of state we continue to cling to is an anachronism and a source of shame. The fact that she doesn't do anything doesn't excuse her - if anything, it supports the need to get rid of her.
I have no personal beef with the Windsor family themselves. I'm sure they're lovely people and I'd love to have a beer with them. I don't want to lop off their heads, just the metal hats on top of them. Without excessive jingoism, I do think this is a fine country we live in - at least a pretty good one. The desire to give Lizzie the boot is nothing more than a desire to make this country even better. To say, "as proud as we are of our historical ties to the UK, they are historical, and what Canada now is is something more than merely that. What Canada now is is something that flies in the face of hereditary monarchy."
If nothing else, it might help a certain disgruntled province come to terms with its equal status, as opposed to foreign subjugation, within Canada. As ugly as Queen Elizabeth II's English language style is, her being styled as "Elizabeth Deux, par la grâce de Dieu Reine du Royaume-Uni, du Canada et de ses autres royaumes et territoires, Chef du Commonwealth, Défenseur de la Foi" is all that much more ridiculous (Which 'foi' is that again? Ah yes, Anglicanism: the religion of precisely no francophone Canadians...)
We are not some ridiculous country with its head in the sand, blind to the changing times. We are a country that embraces progress and freedoms. Canada remaining a monarchy makes no sense at all.
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 29 May 2008.
Apparently, former Arkansas Representative Jim Bob Duggar and his wife Michelle Duggar have recently announced that they are pregnant with their eighteenth child. He or she is due on New Year's Day, 2009.
In case it needs mentioning, these two people are completely out of their minds.
It's not just the eighteen kids either. I mean, it's not just fact of their having eighteen kids. It's the following particular details that prove that these people are completely off their tree:
- All eighteen of the kids have names that start with "J". These include, but clearly are not limited to, Jedidiah, Josiah, Joy-Anna, Jessa and - most heinous of all - Jinger (sic).
- Their web site, www.duggarfamily.com, is chock-full of cultish Jesus-babble (the kind that capitalize the words "LORD" and "GOD" like those old "footprints" posters).
- Their web site shows pictures of the whole brood, in which every male child, regardless of age, has the exact same face, haircut and inane Jesus-smile.
Their web site is also filled with smug references to their financial independence - without reference to how much of that 'financial independence' comes from TV shows and appearances calculated to capitalize on public interest in their freakishly rodent-like reproductive habits. In a world where population growth is a very real concern, their gruesome existence not only makes no sense at all, it gets me curious how it can be that the Duggar family and I can be, roughly speaking, of the same species.
Incidentally, I mentioned that Jim Bob himself was a member of the Arkansas House of Representatives.
Any guess which party he was a member of?
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 22 May 2008.
Ah, the contemporary conservative... it's such an interesting position to be in, grabbing onto the back of a train, digging your heels in the ground, being pulled forward - like it or not - anyway, effectively doing nothing more than slowing down the train's progress. And annoying the conductor...
It's always the same with conservatives: new ideas are presented, the conservative reflexively condemns it, a pointless and time-wasting struggle ensues, progressives win, the conservatives eventually accept the new position and pretend that they always supported it.
It's only a few decades since the American Supreme Court forbade Anti-Miscegenation laws. Those, for those who don't know, were laws that existed in a good many states banning marriages between the races. In several states of the US, it was illegal as late at 1967 for a black person to marry a white person.
I put the date in italics, because it came to me as a surprise and hopefully will come to you as a surprise too. The simple basic reality that no government could possibly have the right in good conscience to forbid marriages based on skin colour is so firmly entrenched now that, outside of radical fringe and hate groups, you wouldn't find anyone seriously taking issue with it. Ask any member of the Republican Party in the USA and (unless they're being candid) they'll tell you how much they support the freedom and human rights of 'mixed' couples.
Forty years. A blink of an eye.
Why did it take so long for those laws to be repealed? It was those damned train-draggers, digging their heels in and fighting progress just for the sake of fighting it. Instead of showing contrition and humility and admitting that they were wrong, the conservative approach is to be shamed into accepting the new reality, and then pretending that they always did.
So last week the Supreme Court of California voted to overturn its ban on same-sex marriages - a decision that unfortunately at present we're obliged to regard as a 'breakthrough' and a 'landmark' (even though it's shameful that it's taken this long). It's great to see, even though the journey is far from complete. As can be expected, the knee-jerk reaction from 'social conservatives' has already begun: the screaming, the haranguing, the beside-the-point Godtalk...
Just as surely, we can alread start writing the history books for, oh, 2048 (just a guess). We can right now talk about the anti-progressives who so vehemently protested something that, by then, has become completely accepted.
And conservatives in 2048 will, of course, through gritted teeth pretend to have always supported same-sex marriages. Anybody publically denouncing the rights of all people to marry regardless of gender will be seen as representative of a radical fringe.
And the reason it'll take that long? No good reason whatsoever. Just conservatives doing what they do best: getting in the way...
Some three years ago I had a blog that I called "Makes No Sense At All", named after the Hüsker Dü song. The point of it was to give me an occasional soap-box from which to give into Andy Rooney tendencies and just grumble and complain about whatever took my fancy. I didn't carry on with it too long, and it was read by, like, a maximum of five people who were not GoogleBots. So since it's just sat there moribund, collecting digital dust down the years. I decided I might as well close down the old blog and syndicate its contents here, in weekly installations. I've eliminated a few blog entries that seem too anachronistic by now, but the blogs that I have included I've not edited at all. So enjoy watching me at my grumpiest... Makes No Sense at All.
Originally published 15 May 2008.
2008... the year the sun was meant to start shining again... For four - actually eight - years, billions of people worldwide have been patiently waiting for a chance to watch Americans make the Republican Party pay for what they've done to the world. We watched with excitement when the only viable alternative to the Republican Party started the process of determining its candidate... a slate filled with great choices. "They're all worthy," I can remember saying around January or so of this year, "They all deserve to win." It felt strange to be spoilt with choice - certainly not the way it usually is with American presidential candidates.
Then what happened? Well, the groundhog saw its shadow... Now it's starting to look like those bright rays of sunshine might yet be obscured by clouds.
Why? Well, due to an incredibly stupid process in the USA that forces candidates to spend more time fighting against their teammates than against the real enemy. With the bad luck of the Democrats facing a drawn-out primary season while the Republicans' process was short, we're now in a terribly annoying situation where Clinton backbites Obama, Obama backbites Clinton, and McCain - the real enemy (or at leats nominal head of the party which is the real enemy) sits back, relaxes, and manages to look more and more presidential while his competitors do his job for him by digging up dirt on each other.
The process has seriously made me mistrust both Clinton and Obama. It shows to me priorities well out of whack with what is truly important for their party and for their country. As someone unable to vote (by dint of not being American), I am used to sitting back in quiet frustration. I'm sure it bothers progressive Americans, however, to be forced into the same idle silence. If the schism within the Democratic party is not healed very soon, there will be another four years of Republican hegemony in the world. Which very much is the whole world's concern.
I think Barack Obama would be a fine president. I think Hillary Clinton would be a fine president. I think Obama/Clinton would be a good ticket, and I think Clinton/Obama would be a fine ticket. Hell, if Paris Hilton were heading the Democratic ticket, I'd support her. The goal, it seems to be, is to make sure the Republican Party is made to pay for their sins since 2000 by being thoroughly trounced in the presidential election this year.
It's a real pity that both Obama and Clinton appear to have lost sight of that.
