Politics is my favorite sport.

Sadly, the New Hampshire primary did not go as I hoped it would have. Very sadly in fact. I started off well enough with a celebratory glass of wine. Then the numbers started coming in. So it went to glasses of gin, gritting my teeth as I drank. The polls disappointed me again.

It takes me back to November of 2004. When I assured all my friends that after months of reading polls America would choose cottage cheese John Kerry over insipid pepper jack Bush.

So I spent that evening at a bar, filled with drag queens and their admirers. Watching the numbers come back in ways they shouldn't have but somehow did.

I hate drag queens. I hate George Bush. And most of all I hate being wrong.

cheers

• edit*

No, I wont let this set back discourage me. For, while I do not want to spend yet another election night drunk and surrounding by drag queens there is a shining glimmer of hope.

For Bill Clinton lost both Iowa and New Hampshire and still came out on top!

And there is but one drag queen who still bestills my heart with her grace and talent.

The one

The only

Dina Martina




cheers

Is America ready for a black or woman president?

This is the most banal question of the campaign. It is also the most over asked question of the campaign.

Why wouldn't be ready? Because there are some drooling yokels who think the darkies should go back to Africa and women make babies, not decisions?

For months we heard people question the authenticity of Obama's blackness. Perhaps because he was raised by his white mother and Indonesian step-father. Maybe it was because his father was Kenyan, not African-American. His bio-father left when Barack was 2 and didn't play much a roll in his life, if I understand the story. This means he isn't black enough. The black man in public life is either a preacher, a pop/rap musician, or what ever the fuck Allen Keyes is. Since Barack does not fit in any of these characters he is not black enough. Um.. what? It is a non-issue.

Hillary is criticized for being too butch. She is cold and stony. For years people have called her a lesbian because her belly isn't perpetually full of babies or has spells of the vapors. She is too manly, accused of being a megalomaniac and authoritarian. It is classic Freud. Male anxiety fearing castration by vagina-dentata.

Yet, when she merely choked up yesterday the media and John Edwards jumped on her for being too weak and feminine. We dislike her for being to masculine and then deride her for being famine.

America is and has been ready for a black or woman president. But the media is still dragging its knuckles on the ground, asking stupid questions for stupid people.

Is America ready for intelligent media?

Wow,

I am not a Hillary hater. She isn't my candidate of choice but I still like her well enough. But she is having a rough, rough day.

Between thursday and tomorrow she has gone from the inevitable candidate to barely alive. Obama leads her by double digit numbers in New Hampshire (tomorrow's primary) and South Carolina (the next big, important show). This means he has gone from distant second place to the clear front runner in four days. Let me say that again in a new paragraph for full emphasis.

In four days Hillary has gone from the Democratic candidate for a presidential election she was sure to win to a hail mary strategy to win a few unimportant primary states.

You have to feel some compassion for her. It is different from Mitt Romney who is an empty suit that tried to buy the election. Hillary was a genuinely good candidate with a very good chance at winning.

Today she choked up with tears when a woman asked her how she stays so upbeat.

Then we had her husband Bill, doing his best borscht belt comic impression, say "I can't make younger, taller, male. There are a lot of things I can't do. But if you want a president and need one she would be by far the best". Is that the best you could do Bill?

But the worst thing to happen to her campaign happened today. She played the race card in the worst way in the history of the game. Here is what she said

Dr. King's dream began to be realized when President Johnson passed the Civil Rights Act. It took a president to get it done."

So, she likens Obama to Martin Luther King, Jr. and her to Lyndon Johnson. She says MLK's contributions to American civil rights were less than President Johnson's. She likens her self to a one term president with a mixed legacy. Who is running her campaign and why are they still working for her? That is not how the race card works. You do not liken your opponent to one of the most beloved and respected of Americans and then try to say you are better than them. That is setting the bar absurdly high.

Well, at least she has her Senate seat.

So, it is show time tonight!

The pre-election season has been running since November 2006. And tonight we finally start to get this over with.

Iowa has been the first state to nominate a candidate since 1972. Which means there will be no sensible farm bills passed as long as it remains first, but that is a rant for another post.

A candidate has lost Iowa but gone on to the presidency 25% of the time. A candidate has lost Iowa but got their party's nomination 25% of the time(GOP) and 33%(Dem). So, it is a state that is not to be missed.

So, at worst you have a 66% chance of picking the next president of the USA. And who picks that candidate? Only about 150,000 people.
In 2000 31,000 people chose George Bush to be president. In 2000 31,000 people chose to fuck everyone up the ass an administration with horrendous policies that have been known to inflame rhetoric.

yikes.

Media pundits are saying that there will be record turn out! Just like they did in the 2004 general election. Oops, the kidos who didn't know who John Kerry was but knew they hated Bush because John Stewart does and that dude is fuckin' funny bro, didn't show up to vote... again. Some are saying it will double, or triple. Well, if there is a huge turnout at all it will be the Dems and asshat independents, not the GOP. I certainly wouldn't miss CSI: Juno to decide which empty suit is more viable.

So, America, this is what you do if you don't live in the anointed state of Iowa. You throw rocks at them. You throw rocks at them and pull their hair.

That is all, my little Davids.

If you don't read Rehabilitating Mr.Wiggles you are either not aware of this fantastic comic strip or are a descent human being. Knowing many of you, I am going to bank of the former.

This, however, is not an intro to Mr.Wiggles for the uninitiated, for that requires several paragraphs explaining that AIDS, child molestation, genital mutilation, and homicide are no laughing matter, even if spoken by a teddy bear.

So, in that spirit is the New Year's strip, without apologies.

• Edit*

Christ, you can't read that. Go here to read it

wise words indeed.

My resolutions are

1) to pirate music a little less and pirate ships of bounty a little more.

2) help propel cybernetic crime fighting by injuring a police officer

3) not laugh so hard when people tell me The Bionic Woman is a good TV show.

4) don't necessarily drink less, but drink better.

5) write more and be less picky. I haven't updated my poetry blog since april (the site has been down for a month *cough*) because I am still wrestling with spacing and punctuation on three dozen pieces.

see you cats and kittens in a bit.

ZOMG!

Stop the press! I have a great addition to the Society page of the newspaper.

My first celebrity encounter was with Leslie Feinberg, author of [i]Stone Butch Blues[/i. I was working at Feel-Rite and she had a special order. Oh ya, I handled Leslie Feinberg's package. tee hee hee

Well, last night (e:Jim) and I went to Saigon Cafe for din-din. We had to wait a few minutes for a table and a party was getting up and took forever getting out. Among them was an old man singing unintelligible tunes softly. We heard he was celebrating his 98th birthday.

Hm, who else is celebrating their 98th birthday? According to a billboard in front of the historical society it is Milton Rogovin's 98th. So, ah ha! We stumbled upon the birthday party of the Buffalo's most influential, living artist.

His mustache moved me to tears.

Hi,

Any queer worth his salt should not only know but love and adore Gore Vidal. He was throwing down with Bill Buckley while toe tapping senators were still in diapers (not a joke about David Vitter).

Well, imagine if you would that his epic film Caligula were remade for todays theater goer at the edge of collapsing Imperial culture. And just when its star studded cast including Helen Mirren and Benicio Del Toro in sumptuous togas by Versac hooked you in you realize it was all a beautiful dream.

"Somewhere between pornography and ironic post-modern art lies Francesco Vezzoli's trailer for an imaginary remake of the notorious Caligula."

It is so, so not safe for work. But it would be worth getting fired for I think.



enjoy

Hi,

There is a hilarious story behind all of this, but only (e:Jim) knows all the players and so I will spare you it.

Well, there are four, count them four cats living in my bosses attic until the 1st. They need a new home before they are fed to the dogs. They are spayed/neutered and have all their shots. I can't say what their temperament is like.

Hm, you know. I think I will tell a little tale.

So, my boss and her husband were getting ready for a quiet life as their two children moved out. Just the two of them in the house they could take weekends in Canada, go together on conferences for his job, a blissful life together.

But then, she came into their life.

She was a butt ugly German Sheppard mutt who would gnaw on anything with razor puppy teeth. Their son had found her and took her in to his cramped studio apartment in Cleveland. The dog was nice (she wasn't) but she didn't get along with the cat. So, she ended up living not in Cleveland in a cramped studio apartment, but in Buffalo in a large home with his two parents.

But that was it. No, more, pets.

Then the son had to move to Baltimore, and kitty couldn't come.

So, a cat with a meow like a dying squeak toy came to move in with the dog she didn't get along with in a home with two people who wanted neither.

But that was it. No, more, pets.

Last year on Christmas morning the son noticed a dog outside the window. He was an emaciated yellow dog not quite lab. The concerned young man he is saw that the dog had no tag. With his heart full of Christmas generosity he brought the smelly gutter dog in and fed him the fat Sheppard dog's food.

Christmas ended and the son went back to Baltimore, with the dog still living in the house. The husband put his foot down. No, not another dog. No, no way, not how. I like him, so I helped them get rid of the dog. I took him to get scanned for an information chip. I then took him to the SPCA and turned in a found dog as a man with tears in his face brought in a beloved old pet to be put to sleep.

But that wasn't the end of the scraggly yellow dog. For the daughter, in the few hours she spent with him, fell in love with the dog. She went and adopted the scraggly yellow dog.

Of course, she had cats. The yellow dog came over to play with the fat dog. Then the yellow dog spent an evening or two over the house. Now, the yellow dog and the fat dog live together full time.

But that was it. No, more, pets.

Through another long, long story the daughter can no longer keep her FOUR cats. They are in the attic and headed to the SPCA soon. That is, unless one of you wants them.

But you can already see the plan erode. Sure, the deadline has been set to new year's day. But we all know they will still be here by July 4th. So please, wont you save a marriage and adopt one?

Hi,

I can't talk for long so this will have to be brief. Jim has left his laptop to go do something like eat or hydrate himself for the first time in days. I don't know when he will get back but if he finds me sending this message it is all over for me.
I have been at my parent's house since friday night. There is more food here than anyone could possibly eat. Seriously, I was going to make dates stufed with toasted pecans wrapped in bacon for an appitizer this evening. There were two 5lb bags of pecans hidden underneath mounds of 5lb bags of walnuts and almonds. I think if you added them all up their combined weight would be that of a grown man. A grown man complete with beard and pot belly no less!
The holiday madness rages on constantly. Here on Friday, Saturday family visited and the place was hopping with dozens of people. It was great. Later I got to hang out with my good friends Mike, Joe, and Hannah. They are high school chums and we do what we always do when we hang out during the holidays. Drink like fish.
As this is a vinyl sided suburb the only places to go are instantly familiar to you and everyone else in America. So, we went to Chilies, one of a few chain restaurant options with monopolize the local cuisine. Drat, a 45 minute wait. Thankfully as everything is in a strip mall it is only a two minute walk to the liquor store. We passed one of the hobo sized bottles of cheap rum back and forth in a crumpled brown paper bag. We drank in a tiny gazebo just out side the restaurant. A quaint pastoral touch out of place but drink-ready none the less. Well, from the time we got in the queue, got the bottle, and drank it only eight minutes had passed. Damn.
Well, we did this two more times. Each time walking into the liquor store with an increasing sense of self-deprecation. We didn't genuinely feel bad until we took the last bottle of coconut rum. And we certainly felt worse when we later bought some other beverage which tasted as much of rum as it did of Listerine.

Something happened later I seem to think. But I could be wrong. But I have been cooking for a few hours. Recipies that I would never cook for myself or loved ones, but which are required during the holidays. But I will spare you a description of butter and bacon grease dripping from things that are neither vegetable nor whole grain. I can feel my colon slowly becoming a vestigial organ.

you folks have a merry religious or secular time.

Thinking of you (e:Janelle) and (e:Laureen)

You love to rock out.

I know you do.

But, you couldn't get your hands on Guitar Hero III

Or maybe you didn't dig Rock Band.

Or maybe you don't want to look like a 13 year old boy simulating being an actual pubescent guitar player, pimply, and high, and getting your girlfriend pregnant in your parents' basement.

Well, no worries! For your desire to ROCK has slipped his serpentine tongue down the holiday throat and given birth to the most bitchen holiday rythem game!

Hand Bell Hero

To those about to hand bell, we salute you!