An Entirely Other Day

Nostalgia Isn't What It Used to Be

I once read that if you want to sell someone a piano, you figure out what was on the radio when they were eighteen and play it as part of the pitch. The mark will get all dreamy-eyed and think back to their youth and drop several grand, just out of wistfulness.

This assumes, of course, that they actually enjoyed being eighteen, when they were young and free and having wild, drunken sex on the hoods of moving cars. Instead of, say, sitting inside, writing magazine games on their Atari 400.

And this occurred to me recently, when I was trapped in some department store somewhere and they started piping Cutting Crew through the overheads. Suddenly, I got all dreamy-eyed and started thinking about the vertical-bank period and the free-memory Page 6.

But I also realized, after slightly over twenty years, that the lyrics are:

Ah!
I just died in your arms tonight
I must have been something I said
I should have walked away

Instead of what I’ve always heard in my head:

Ah!
I just died in your arms tonight
I must have been something I ate
I should have walked away

Somehow I think I’m never going to buy a piano.

Because It's Statistically Significant

This Observation Just Arrived from 1992

Journalism Was Dead Long Before Blogs

I accidentally stepped in some local news last night, announced by its ISO-standard mating call:

Authoritative White Guy: “I’m Mike Johnson.”
Usually Asian Woman: “And I’m Trish Yamota.”
Authoritative White Guy: “And this is the Channel Three Eleven O’clock News!”

This introduction is so common, so boilerplate, that they could replace it with pretty much anything — including the truth — and nobody would notice:

“I’m a drooling simpleton.” “I’m the journalistic equivalent of a spastic colon.” “And this is the Channel Three Eleven O’clock News!”

“I’m— Ooo! Pretty!” “I appear to have wet myself.” “And this is the Channel Eleven Three O’clock News!”

“I’m a howler monkey.” “I, also, am a howler monkey.” “And this is the Channel Three Eleven O’clock Poo-Flinging Time!”

And then they show half an hour of on-the-scene-thirteen-hours-too-late crime reports and adorable-animal stories and clips of amusing and/or horrifying video from place that aren’t within a thousand miles of “local.” Or “news.”

And then they say, “Good night,” but they don’t mean it.

Four-Letter President

As the Bush Administration lurches towards its place on the ash-heap of history, it’s time to start experimenting with candidates for the single idea that will represent the entire eight-year ordeal in the public’s mind. Out of all the thousands of days, and hundreds of thousands of decisions, and millions of mistakes, one single reference point will rise above all the others to become short-hand for George W. Bush’s tenure in the Oval Office. No, it’s not really fair, and yes, it will inevitably omit the vast majority of the disasters that this administration produced, like some big disaster-producing machine. But everybody who has held the office receives it as judgment. For instance, the presidents during my lifetime:

• Johnson: Viet Nam
• Nixon: Watergate
• Ford: Chevy Chase
• Carter: Inept
• Reagan: Cold War
• Bush: [N/A]
• Clinton: Blow-job

Oh, sure, these labels are all overly-simplistic. That’s why they work. The above ignores Johnson’s civil rights efforts and Nixon’s detente with China and if history were kinder it might call Carter “over-matched” instead of “inept.” Reagan gets “Cold War” instead of “deficits” or “amiable simpleton” because he’s been far-bested the last two by the position’s current occupant.

George H. W. Bush doesn’t get a word because I’m not really convinced that he ever actually had an administration — do you remember anything from that time? Sure, the Gulf War, but that didn’t actually amount to much. Oh, and, “Read my lips.” But having “Lips” associated with a president is reserved for Clinton.

And so we arrive to today, and discover a problem. The George W. Bush administration is so misguided, so befuddled, so awful that there’s simply too much to choose from. The slow-motion car accident that has accompanied the opening of the 21st Century doesn’t lend itself to quick or easy summary. There are literally dozens of accidents, screw-ups and outright disasters — both intentional and not — that define the scope and breadth of the Administration’s accomplishments. How can anybody easily pick from a list that includes:

• Iraq (inclusive of sub-disasters WMDs, the Quagmire, Abu Graib, Walter Reed)
• Katrina (inclusive of sub-disaster Cronyism)
• 9/11 (inclusive of sub-disasters Domestic Spying, Death of Habeus Cropus, Guantanamo Bay, Tora Bora)
• Corruption (inclusive of sub-disasters Abramoff, Libby, Foggo, DeLay, Cunningham, Ney, Foley, Gannon)
• The Economy (inclusive of sub-disasters Deficits, Sub-Prime Mortgage Crisis, the Dollar, Recession [pending])
• Various Intentional Policies (inclusive of sub-disasters Kyoto, ABM Treaty, Energy Meetings, Global Warming, Tax Cuts)
• The Politicization of Everything (inclusive of sub-disasters Justice Department, Valerie Plame, Various EPA/NIH/etc. Reports, Executive Privilege, Signing Statements, Terri Schiavo, Freedom Fries)
• The Abandonment of Science (inclusive of sub-disasters Stem Cells, “Faith-Based” Funding)
• General Clownishness (inclusive of sub-disasters Malapropisms, the Pretzel, Facial Shotgunning)

And many, many more.

Clearly, there’s no easy way to pick which single disaster will epitomize the Bush Administration. There are simply too many candidates.

Therefore, the only reasonable thing to do is to turn the equation around: Instead of picking a single event to define the Bush Administration, the Bush Administration should be used to define the events, and all similar events generally. Instead of any one idea becoming short-hand for Bush, the word “Bush” becomes short-hand for all that he as accomplished, a synonym for an epic, all-encompassing, near-mythical series of screw-up, mistakes and incompetencies.

It can also be used as an expletive.

Can't We Disintermediate the End-Points, Too?

The trouble with social networks is that there’s always people on the other end, and people are a problem.

I recently put an old jogging stroller — jogging… stroller, jogging stroller, jumbo shrimp — up on Craigslist and had a completely wonderful experience: creating the ad was fast, easy, secure, anonymous and free. I was contacted by several interested local parties over the next day. I schedule a time with the first, great, and they would stop by after work.

And that, of course, was where things went wrong. The system breaks down as soon contact with other people is required.

They poked it and prodded it and wheeled it around and put their children in it and took them out and put them back in and fretted that it was too wide and wondered if the tires were still any good despite all the poking and prodding and wheeling and took their children out. And then they started over. Twice. And then they hemmed and hawed about how their third child — yet unconceived — would fit into it. And it took them thirty freakin’ minutes to decide if they wanted a perfectly serviceable stroller for less than a third of the retail price. And then they offered $40 instead of the $50 I listed it for. And then they paid in fives and ones and a handful freakin’ Sacajawea dollars.

And come on. This was a beautiful transaction right up until it involved human contact. Is there anybody out there working to fix this problem? With something other than a gun?

I Don't Even Want to Know What Counted As His "GUI Work"

[Obligatory Charities-Are-Good Disclaimer Goes Here.]

After I pulled up to the order board at the McDonald’s drive-through and listened to the perky pre-recorded greeting and gave my order to the actual surly employee and re-gave my order to the actual surly employee and clarified my order to the actual surly employee, he said, “Would you like to donate a dollar to the kids with cancer?”

Which is a tough pitch to turn down. It makes it sound like the kids with cancer are right there with him, dew-eyed and hopeful. And there I am, waiting for my five bucks worth of grease and suger, and I can’t even be bothered to toss them the change.

But it turns out he actually means, “Would you like to donate about seventy cents to McDonald’s corporate PR effort, wherein some kids with cancer are helped?” Which is somewhat less compelling.

Besides, I try to keep my cancer-curing and cancer-getting distinct, to avoid increasing the already dangerous levels of irony I’m exposed to.