Thursday, December 31, 2009

For Dr. Suess at the End of Time

Adieu to the Aughts. You were hot.

You were not--not for nothing--a boring plateau, a glaze of stasis or a
    vapid star fucker.
Rather electric, this metric of progress; implosion of towers,
   re-moulding of truth,
You fooled us supremely, you laughed at the notion
that oceans of soldiers would change the night darkness,
the nature of things, the way of the world.
You were cool.

You played thrice a night, to standing-room buzzards
who circled the theatres and pecked out some eyes.
You summoned the urges and dirges of hankerchiefs,
suddenly swollen with torrents from widows
and knobbly-kneed tow-heads whose Game*Boy screens showed them
blue murals of heroes who could not bake bread.
You did well.

Not that we care--our noses in smart phones, our hearts in arrest, our
   thuggery branded by Ronald Artest.
Our holiday sentiments nicely wrapped up, the puppies of yesteryear
   fighting for phantoms of what used to pass for a classy romance.

The frothing of talking heads whipping up amnesty lacking a decent
   man's commonsense ancestry.
Ridicule heaped upon saintly relationships, gay penguins traded like
   black-and-white poker chips.
Hummers and bummers and Terri Schiavo and Sham-Wow and cable
    and Bush's Iago.

Thailand has marzipan! Congo has gruel. Media moguls burn drachmas
   for fuel.
And then ride on elephants shod in the latest, in Prada, in Dolce,
in Emo the fey-est of good little bad boys and nastier ladies, living the
   good life but paying in Hades.

How meaningless, time, the space that we're given,
so be nice to each other, attention is riven
in dirt road and skyscraper, polygraph muckraker, Vonnegut's
   caretaker, jockey Wil Shoemaker.

How meaningless, time, the bed that we've made,
with pointers from Einstein, what Asimov bade
us: Beware of the charlatan, false prophet's
pompous decrees of such utter stupendous stupidity.

Ending is hard. Don't you agree?
Off you go, then, my song's not for free.

To paraphrase Velma Kelly, Happy New Years, Suckers!!

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Putzing on the Ritz....

A funny thing happened the other day, during an *epic* roadtrip to my uncle's house in Tolland, CT, from my parents' winter hideaway in Florida. It was a saga, a three-act play, a journey fraught with detours. It involved changing weather patterns, calculating traffic algorithims on the fly, repairs (had to get a new transmission in Clark's Summit, Pa.), but I persevered, kept my eye on the ball, tried not to be selfish whenever I was stacked up with a bunch of other citizens, all of us merging into a single lane, minding the rumblestrips, obeying local laws. It was less than perfect, believe me, but with compromise, we all got to our destination.

Almost all of us, that is.

At the very end of the trip, after having chewed up over 1,100 difficult miles, having expelled myself from I-84 with an audible "Pop!" who should be standing in the middle of my lane but U.S. Senator Joe Lieberman, with his hand stretched out like the Supremes? So, like all Americans in December 2009, I Stopped in the Name of Lieberman.

I asked what he wanted, and he said that he wanted to be the King of Everything--and barring that, then the Overlord of The Free World, but if he couldn't achieve that, then definitely the Viceroy of Relevance, but if that post were already filled, then maybe just maintaining his current job as U.S. Senator, but with the expanded powers of the Under Secretary of Transportation for the Off-Ramp of Exit 67 at Connecticut State Road 31 and the Wilbur Cross Highway.

It was a logical turn of events, he explained to me. On a particularly slow day on the Hill, he was struck with this brilliant idea that only vehicles with employee stickers from the The Hartford Financial Services Group, Inc., ought to be allowed on secondary roads in Connecticut, and since the Dept. of Public Safety was weathering a hiring freeze, no one would be available to preserve smooth motoring for the insurance workforce of Tolland, in their immortal quest for profits--his constituency, you see--if he didn't roll up his sleeves and do it himself, because he thought it was the right thing to do, what he was elected to do, and did I have my ID card with me?

As it happens, for me that particular document was quite a few miles back, long forgotten at the corner of I'd-Never-Do-That and You're-A-Complete-Schmuck. So I nicely pled my case to the senator, telling him that, actually, secondary roads ought to be open to ALL Americans, becuase they provided excellent options when other, larger, more expensive avenues were hopelessly clogged--not unlike I-84. Nope, he smiled grimly. That's going to take my permission, and I'm just not gonna grant it. Your heroic slog of 1,100 miles was for naught, because I am exercising my power to stop you. (And the millions your allegory represents, for those playing at home...)

So what could I do in the face of One Mad Senator? Nothing to but phone in my regrets to my uncle, wheel the Studebaker around and look for a road I *could* take -- a Public Option back in the Sunshine State, that self-same place where the "Al & Joe, On Ice!"ctm  show made its last appearance, to standing-room crowds, in November, 2000, at the Miami-Dade Dinner Theatre. Florida Supreme Court, Jeb Bush, Exec. Dir.

What a waste of time, money and goodwill, I thought, as my Studebaker wheezed back onto the one-size-fits-all, might-is-right world of Interstate 84..... What a goddamned annoying citizen this man has become.

Don't get me wrong. A decade back, I was thrilled at the prospect of a Lieberman Vice-Presidency. He had Moxie; he could be the Bad Cop to Al's Good Cop. His ascension would also bring long-overdue religious diversity to the Executive Branch. And he was Al's man. How, after all, could Al lose? He was a by-god shoe-in after the Go-Go 90s....... (cue a five-minute clip of the longest traffic accident imaginable)

Let it be known that I don't blame Joe one bit for the eventual devolution of the 2000 Election. But I do blame him now, for the un-anesthetized spaying of Health Care Reform.

Seriously, Connecticut. Really? Your guy is holding peoples' lives hostage here. You need to take away this crudely-fashioned badge of "Independence," clean house, vote boyfriend out, and then take a 15-yard penalty AWAY from the polling stations and STAY THERE until you all come to some kind of concensus on a candidate who Plays Well With Others instead of a politican whose two-sheet playbook consists of One: a recent history of talking out of both cheeks of his ass, and Two: lying down in the road and becoming the Most Lifelike Pothole on the Bridge to Progress.

Allow me to be your check and balance here. Outmaneuver him now, before he invents another Party of One. (Angry Grandpa Party? Fiddler Crabs for Connecticut Party?)

Because just as sure as Bugs Bunny drew a 21 on one card, come 2012, we're all going to be a bunch of Daffy Ducks, our un-insured tailfeathers singed to the bone, our eyes bloody and red, screaming in exasperation, "I'm a Fiddler Crab... Go on and shoot me, why don't you? It's Fiddler Crab Season!!!"

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Take Out a Small Piece of Notebook Paper....

Hello out there in the Blogosphere, from all of us here, which is to say me, at BlaiserBlog. It's been over a fortnight since I've crossed anyone's radar, and so in honor of the rent, and other bills that come due on the First, I offer the following Quiz--inspired partly by hi-larious quizzes you'll find at Bike Snob NYC --in the hopes of upping your quotient, today, of Zany OptimismCTM. Please remember to phrase all your answers in the form of an essay...

1. If one had a very, merry Un-Birthday in Unalaska, would you:

A) Disappear in a puff of logic

B) Reverse the aging process

C) Maintain a very exclusive dis-invitation list

D) Get no presents and be cold.

2. Is it sexier to:

A) Set phasers to stun

B) Go to DefCon 3

C) Build a better mousetrap

D) Have a V-8

3. You have never been involved in a drag race.


4. Hillary Clinton is to diplomacy as:

A) Rachel Maddow is to straight women *

B) Margaret Thatcher is to "The Full Monty"

C) Anna Nicole Smith is to puff pastry

D) Jeanne Kirkpatrick is to Katherine Hepburn.....

5. You remember who Jeanne Kirkpatrick was:

Thanks for playing, and always try to keep in mind that if God didn't intend Pennsylvania school kids to get the first day of deer season off from school, he would have given the deer opposable thumbs so that they could shoot back...

* Lest it be misinterpreted, Let it be heretofore known that Rachel Maddow is probably one of the sexiest people on the planet, attractive to everyone, be they Republican, Democrat, or Bokonist... Or, to quote my great college friend Rachel K., "What straight woman wouldn't sleep with Winona Ryder?"