Army of Fun


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Saturday, January 04, 2003

From the good Roger Ailes, a story of Brit media-types running amok.
Fyrste, 12:47 PM

Friday, January 03, 2003

Happy New Year, is I suppose the appropriate thing to state, so state it I will. Happy New Year. Ah, and now we're both satisfied. Wait, you say, we're not satisfied at all. Happy Fucking New Year? We get that from our friends, from our families. From you? You better give us more. Where are your ten best lists? Your round ups? Your invaluble notes on what's in and what's out? Throw us a bone. Cast your pearls before us teeming swine.

Well, uh, I, uh, wow. I didn't expect such a contumacious reception. I'm stunned by the heat of your comments. I suppose a good mollification might be in order, but considering the results of my last supposition I'll just ask you to cease your fashing obloquy. Face it, you're unlikely to find a ten best list here, there are plenty of other places to find them and that's all I'll say about it because I'm getting perilously close to violating one of my few New Year's Resolutions.

Resolution: Don't blog about blogging.

So rather than getting blogged down in that (blogged down! get it? man, I kill me.) Where was I? Right. Rather than explanations of thisnot and whithernon let us use my recent trip to St. Louis as an entre into the usual Discursive DiscourseTM.

Actually, there's not much to it. I was delivered into a white Christmas much to my horror. I have little use for snow or ice except as a beverage enhancer. In my adult life, I've appreciated snow only during my time in Seattle where after about an hour or two of snow the precipitation would come to it's senses, realize where it was and revert to snow-obliterating rain.

In: Placing your entertaining, edgy, funny show on fox.
Out: Your show ten weeks later, max.
In (at least among three year-old boys related to me): Power Rangers.
Out: Elmo, though you'll be relieved to know that there's still a place for Rockin' Ernie.

Out from the airport, Lambert-St. Louis it's called, out from the city itself into the suburbs; the small towns of old houses of various sizes, but tending toward the cozily small, that some would undoubtedly find quaint and charming; the areas of new development largely consisting of McMansions and trailer parks, and there's a nice third-world/feudal type arrangement sure to engender class resentments in any reasonable country though here in the USA I'm sure vouchers for religious schooling and a god-given flat-tax will surely curb any potential problems; and, of course, Walmart-anchored strip malls by the score.

In: "Fucking A"
Out: "Shit, yeah"

Typical week with the family. Stress-induced arguments. Crimination and re-crimination. Intra and inter-ethnic strife. Sex scandals, always involving one party outside of the family, thank you. I played Barbies alot. I caught a cold. I flew home on New Year's Eve.

New Year's Eve itself is another story. And, what with the flying and the cold, not a very good one.

In: "Angel"
Out: "Buffy"
In: Anything Airbus.
Out: Anything Boeing 7x7

One last thing I want to mention is how much I appreciated the new airport security. I hadn't been on a plane since September 11, 2001. Not for any grand reason that's just how it worked out. Sure the lines to the gates were longer than I remember, but no longer is one asked the stupid bag-packing/chain of possession question, and the screeners seem more efficient and attentive, so good. Plus, as someone of, let us say, a certain indeterminancy of ethnicity I was pleased to note that I was hassled less than I had been in the past. Maybe this will change but I was glad for once to escape the repeated wandings and swabbings I'd been subjected to previously. Especially, that time at Sea-Tac when I suffered the indignity of having a latex-gloved security apparatchik push a chemical detection stick down my pants and swab my ass-trench for explosive residue. In their defense, I imagine that one could shove enough C-4 or Semtex up one's ass to explode a plane, certainly more than you could fit in your shoes. Still, who's done that and what profile did I fit? Unshaven, brownish, appearing to suffer from gastro-intestinal distress? Here's a better and much more common explanation than an ass-bomb: it was ten after seven in the a.m. and I had to drink three cups of coffee to drag myself to the airport.

While we're at it I do have one suggestion for the security profilers. I seem to recall the the 9-11 hijackers had shorn themselves of body hair, so let's be on the look out for people with a suspicious lack of same. Anyone whose arms seem unnaturally smooth should be pulled away for further inspection. Those found to be lacking in all body hair will be detained unless they can provide medical documention proving they suffer from alopecia universalis.

Resolution: Be sure to maintain luxurious, sexy coat of body hair.

Fyrste, 7:04 PM