Me
Monday, April 30, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
Madness
These are the types of columns I hate to write. I can at least understand the madness that accompanies war. When confronting the demons that have been unleashed on foreign soil by a handful of Generals and scumbags in cheap suits I have the luxury of placing the blame squarely on the shoulders of men I can rejoice in hating. Today, as heaven, if it exists at all, sadly welcomed the souls of 33 innocent college students and their instructors we have no one to blame but an, as of yet, unnamed madmen who took his own life and gave us no clue as to why he lost his battle with reason and decided to become the nations most prolific killer in a matter of mere hours. With nothing but questions and tears we are left alone with our sadness. We are left alone in anger. These are the types of columns I hate to write.
I hate to write them because they go nowhere. There can be no obvious statement of defiance. I have no words of solace for a nation already teetering on the edge of madness. I have nothing to consider but the lives of those who are left in grief with the knowledge that they will never see their children again. Virginia, like New York and Columbine seem so much closer when you’re used to dealing with places like Baghdad and Karbala. This is our back yard and we have been forced to witness the worst mass murder in the history of our nation while staring out our windows and wondering to ourselves if the madness will ever end. Will the voices that taunt us in our sleep ever be silenced? Will our children ever feel safe? These are the types of columns I hate to write.
I hate to write these columns because I can feel in my soul that this won’t be the last one I write. It seems like an exercise in futility. This oh so American phenomenon of mass school shootings is an epidemic with no cure. No amount of politicking, writing or bitching will stop the next one from happening and no amount of denial will keep you safe from the instant gratification of a lone gunman on a quest for self destruction. Forgive me for being blunt but bullets and psychotics simply do not play favorites. These are the types of columns I hate to write.
By the time this goes to press you will know more than I do now. The faceless killer will have a name and an identity. The man we all want to be a monster will be rendered human. There will probably be a note. Some sort of explanation that explains nothing. The press will stick with the story until the victims begin to lose their identities and simply become the “victims.” Experts will be trotted out and families will get face time. Witnesses will be interviewed and eventually life, or what’s left of it, will get back to normal on the Virginia Tech. campus. Until next time. At that point these students, like the ones who lived through the Columbine massacre will relive the worst day of their lives and we will remember who they were and what they went through. This is why I hate writing these columns. The next time.
So, until the next time. Keep the memories of these children close to your hearts as if they were your own. No one expects you to learn their names or their life stories but try to remember that they existed. They believed in a world that was offering them dreams. They believed in a world that could keep them safe and they believed in a world where they could always go home. Try to believe in that world even if it never existed and never will exist. Try to believe in a world where this type of madness has never existed and never will. Try to believe in a world where our children are safe and always will be. Try hard enough and you can almost see it over the next horizon. You can almost feel it. Peace.
I hate to write them because they go nowhere. There can be no obvious statement of defiance. I have no words of solace for a nation already teetering on the edge of madness. I have nothing to consider but the lives of those who are left in grief with the knowledge that they will never see their children again. Virginia, like New York and Columbine seem so much closer when you’re used to dealing with places like Baghdad and Karbala. This is our back yard and we have been forced to witness the worst mass murder in the history of our nation while staring out our windows and wondering to ourselves if the madness will ever end. Will the voices that taunt us in our sleep ever be silenced? Will our children ever feel safe? These are the types of columns I hate to write.
I hate to write these columns because I can feel in my soul that this won’t be the last one I write. It seems like an exercise in futility. This oh so American phenomenon of mass school shootings is an epidemic with no cure. No amount of politicking, writing or bitching will stop the next one from happening and no amount of denial will keep you safe from the instant gratification of a lone gunman on a quest for self destruction. Forgive me for being blunt but bullets and psychotics simply do not play favorites. These are the types of columns I hate to write.
By the time this goes to press you will know more than I do now. The faceless killer will have a name and an identity. The man we all want to be a monster will be rendered human. There will probably be a note. Some sort of explanation that explains nothing. The press will stick with the story until the victims begin to lose their identities and simply become the “victims.” Experts will be trotted out and families will get face time. Witnesses will be interviewed and eventually life, or what’s left of it, will get back to normal on the Virginia Tech. campus. Until next time. At that point these students, like the ones who lived through the Columbine massacre will relive the worst day of their lives and we will remember who they were and what they went through. This is why I hate writing these columns. The next time.
So, until the next time. Keep the memories of these children close to your hearts as if they were your own. No one expects you to learn their names or their life stories but try to remember that they existed. They believed in a world that was offering them dreams. They believed in a world that could keep them safe and they believed in a world where they could always go home. Try to believe in that world even if it never existed and never will exist. Try to believe in a world where this type of madness has never existed and never will. Try to believe in a world where our children are safe and always will be. Try hard enough and you can almost see it over the next horizon. You can almost feel it. Peace.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Friday, April 13, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Stupidity Killed The Radio Star
What is it about the curse of celebrity that causes an otherwise rational and, seemingly, sane human being to say the most insane thing at the absolute worst possible moment? Let’s just say you’re a world famous radio personality. Now let’s say that your on the air discussing an NCAA women’s basketball match. Now let’s say one of the teams in question is comprised mainly of African American players. You have a choice to make here. Think really hard on this one. There’s a lot of people listening and their waiting with baited breath to be entertained. Do you….A) Compliment the team on a hard fought game and make some sort of witty comment on the inadequacies of their opponents? B) Give the score and fight the instinct to say something that, in these oh so sensitive times, could be construed as racist? Or…C) Call the girls on the Rutgers Basketball team a “bunch of nappy headed ho’s“? Guess which choice Don Imus made.
That’s right dear reader, Mr. Imus chose door number three, career suicide. I know this to be true because Al Sharpton has been on television for three days now and when Al Sharpton, that harbinger of trust, makes an appearance you can pretty much kiss your career goodbye. This of course begs the question. At what point in an otherwise respectable career do you decide that you have reached the point where it would be O.K. for you to start spewing racist and hateful nonsense?
The act of accidentally sabotaging ones own life seems to be a fairly common occurrence these day’s and the number of A and B list celebrity’s who have trod this treacherous path seems to be constantly growing. We can now add Don Imus to a list of names that include Mel Gibson, Ann (kill me now) Coulter, Michael Richards, Jimmy “The Greek”, and a host of others who have unwittingly roused the likes of Al Sharpton from his listless slumber. It’s almost as regular as the mail. At some point during every slow news cycle we can count on someone we all know to lodge both of their feet firmly in their mouths and then act surprised and shocked that anyone noticed or was offended. Life, perhaps should be on a five second time delay in order to give these idiots time to reconsider everything they just said. It would also give us the choice of not listening.
There are those who will claim that what Imus said was no big deal. They’ll try and tell you that people are being to sensitive and that political correctness has completely taken over our society. In a sense I agree but not in this case. After watching the news conference held by the team in question it became apparent that Imus’s statements were truly hurtful to these talented young women. They have fought their entire lives to get to where they are now and they don’t need to be recognized for the remarks of some ignorant cracker who has no idea what it means to struggle. If anything, these girls want to be acknowledged for their academic and athletic achievements not for the stupidity of someone they’ve never met. Imus, it seems, is truly apologetic for his remarks. But, one has to wonder, is it to little to late for these girls.
As for Don Imus. He will, for better or worse, be fine. NBC and CBS have both suspended him for two weeks and he’s made his apologetic rounds on the morning talk show circuit. Besides, he’s in radio. If his advertising money dries up and the networks lose faith in him he can just pack up and take his show to satellite radio like Stern did. As for the girls on the Rutgers University basketball team. They don’t have Imus’s millions to fall back on. They cannot simply “retire to the ranch.” What they do have is talent, intelligence and a drive to succeed. These hard fought qualities will take them places in life that Imus could never even imagine. They will lead them to a world of respectability. A place that Imus, in his genius, can never buy or apologize his way into.
That’s right dear reader, Mr. Imus chose door number three, career suicide. I know this to be true because Al Sharpton has been on television for three days now and when Al Sharpton, that harbinger of trust, makes an appearance you can pretty much kiss your career goodbye. This of course begs the question. At what point in an otherwise respectable career do you decide that you have reached the point where it would be O.K. for you to start spewing racist and hateful nonsense?
The act of accidentally sabotaging ones own life seems to be a fairly common occurrence these day’s and the number of A and B list celebrity’s who have trod this treacherous path seems to be constantly growing. We can now add Don Imus to a list of names that include Mel Gibson, Ann (kill me now) Coulter, Michael Richards, Jimmy “The Greek”, and a host of others who have unwittingly roused the likes of Al Sharpton from his listless slumber. It’s almost as regular as the mail. At some point during every slow news cycle we can count on someone we all know to lodge both of their feet firmly in their mouths and then act surprised and shocked that anyone noticed or was offended. Life, perhaps should be on a five second time delay in order to give these idiots time to reconsider everything they just said. It would also give us the choice of not listening.
There are those who will claim that what Imus said was no big deal. They’ll try and tell you that people are being to sensitive and that political correctness has completely taken over our society. In a sense I agree but not in this case. After watching the news conference held by the team in question it became apparent that Imus’s statements were truly hurtful to these talented young women. They have fought their entire lives to get to where they are now and they don’t need to be recognized for the remarks of some ignorant cracker who has no idea what it means to struggle. If anything, these girls want to be acknowledged for their academic and athletic achievements not for the stupidity of someone they’ve never met. Imus, it seems, is truly apologetic for his remarks. But, one has to wonder, is it to little to late for these girls.
As for Don Imus. He will, for better or worse, be fine. NBC and CBS have both suspended him for two weeks and he’s made his apologetic rounds on the morning talk show circuit. Besides, he’s in radio. If his advertising money dries up and the networks lose faith in him he can just pack up and take his show to satellite radio like Stern did. As for the girls on the Rutgers University basketball team. They don’t have Imus’s millions to fall back on. They cannot simply “retire to the ranch.” What they do have is talent, intelligence and a drive to succeed. These hard fought qualities will take them places in life that Imus could never even imagine. They will lead them to a world of respectability. A place that Imus, in his genius, can never buy or apologize his way into.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Friday, April 6, 2007
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Sweet Jesus
These are dark times we’re living in my friends. Dark times indeed. The world is teetering on the brink of all out war and, for the most part, our leaders have failed us. The civilized world has been creeping, lizard-like, towards anarchy for some time now and we apparently have no one left to turn to in our time of need. I’m here to reassure you. We are not alone. From the East (Manhattan to be precise) a star, like the phoenix of old, has risen in the night sky. A single bright spot of hope calls to the faithful and, just in time for the Easter Holiday, he has arisen. Behold the Chocolate Jesus!
Perhaps a bit of back-story first. You see children, in the days of King Herod there was born….wait a second, that’s an entirely different story. In the Days of Mayor Bloomberg there was an artist named Cosimo Cavallaro who was commissioned to add to a local art display in a mid-town Manhattan hotel lobby. Of course, this being Easter Week, Cavallaro decided to stick with that theme. The artist, who is known to work with food as his base, created a six foot tall, anatomically correct, chocolate Jesus. He titled his display “My Sweet Lord.”. End of story, happy Easter! Not so fast.
The Catholic Church, in their infinite wisdom, collectively exploded. A self-righteous tsunami swept through Manhattan like some sort of biblical plague. That old time religion was on the march in the heart of east-coast liberalism. In other words. They were not amused. The same people who stood in line for hours and dedicated web site after web site to the awful, Jew baiting snuff film “The Passions Of The Christ” lost their minds over a large piece of delicious milk chocolate. Let me make this perfectly clear for those of you who might misunderstand me. It’s not really Jesus. It’s a piece of chocolate. It will melt soon. When that happens you can sop it up with your equally delicious Mary Magdaline sponge cake. Now, for the love of God and his chocolate Son, shut up!
Last year, when the Muslim world went equally nuts over a cartoon depiction of the Prophet Muhammad you all chuckled to yourselves and thanked your lucky stars that something that silly could never happen here. Of course you were chuckling while protesting outside the theatre where the De Vinci Code was playing but that’s a different story. Now, when Bill Donohue, head of the Catholic League of America calls the Chocolate Jesus “one of the worst assaults on Christian sensibilities ever” you get in line behind him and shout Amen brother. The hotel where the sweet Jesus was supposed to have been displayed has canceled the art show after numerous death threats and the politicians are, after a quick time-out, beginning to get involved.
Does anyone else see the irony here? The Easter Season is supposed to be a celebration of the crucifixion and, subsequent resurrection of, you guessed it, Jesus Christ. Yet, one would be hard pressed to find any representations of Christ anywhere during the season. Instead we are inundated with Cadbury eggs, chocolate bunnies, hard-boiled eggs, little yellow marsh mellow chickens and, in a telling sign, gold wrapped chocolate coins. Where’s Jesus? How is it that a supposed Christian nation has managed to embrace all the old Pagan symbols of the season and not noticed? For years now we have been beseeched with calls from the faithful to put Christ back in his holidays. Someone finally combines the best of both worlds, religion and mouth-watering chocolaty goodness and you all go monkey-nuts! Call me crazy, but I just don’t get you people.
So now what are we left with? Somewhere on the docks of New York City sits an abandoned refrigerated truck. During this most holy of times your lord and savior needs your help. He is alone in the back of that truck my friends. He has been condemned to death. When the Freon fails Jesus will melt. Hopefully, in the spirit of the season, after his followers have abandoned him in his time of need he will rise again. He will stand among his people in all his chocolaty glory and announce to the world the words we have waited so long to hear; I have risen. Eat me!
Perhaps a bit of back-story first. You see children, in the days of King Herod there was born….wait a second, that’s an entirely different story. In the Days of Mayor Bloomberg there was an artist named Cosimo Cavallaro who was commissioned to add to a local art display in a mid-town Manhattan hotel lobby. Of course, this being Easter Week, Cavallaro decided to stick with that theme. The artist, who is known to work with food as his base, created a six foot tall, anatomically correct, chocolate Jesus. He titled his display “My Sweet Lord.”. End of story, happy Easter! Not so fast.
The Catholic Church, in their infinite wisdom, collectively exploded. A self-righteous tsunami swept through Manhattan like some sort of biblical plague. That old time religion was on the march in the heart of east-coast liberalism. In other words. They were not amused. The same people who stood in line for hours and dedicated web site after web site to the awful, Jew baiting snuff film “The Passions Of The Christ” lost their minds over a large piece of delicious milk chocolate. Let me make this perfectly clear for those of you who might misunderstand me. It’s not really Jesus. It’s a piece of chocolate. It will melt soon. When that happens you can sop it up with your equally delicious Mary Magdaline sponge cake. Now, for the love of God and his chocolate Son, shut up!
Last year, when the Muslim world went equally nuts over a cartoon depiction of the Prophet Muhammad you all chuckled to yourselves and thanked your lucky stars that something that silly could never happen here. Of course you were chuckling while protesting outside the theatre where the De Vinci Code was playing but that’s a different story. Now, when Bill Donohue, head of the Catholic League of America calls the Chocolate Jesus “one of the worst assaults on Christian sensibilities ever” you get in line behind him and shout Amen brother. The hotel where the sweet Jesus was supposed to have been displayed has canceled the art show after numerous death threats and the politicians are, after a quick time-out, beginning to get involved.
Does anyone else see the irony here? The Easter Season is supposed to be a celebration of the crucifixion and, subsequent resurrection of, you guessed it, Jesus Christ. Yet, one would be hard pressed to find any representations of Christ anywhere during the season. Instead we are inundated with Cadbury eggs, chocolate bunnies, hard-boiled eggs, little yellow marsh mellow chickens and, in a telling sign, gold wrapped chocolate coins. Where’s Jesus? How is it that a supposed Christian nation has managed to embrace all the old Pagan symbols of the season and not noticed? For years now we have been beseeched with calls from the faithful to put Christ back in his holidays. Someone finally combines the best of both worlds, religion and mouth-watering chocolaty goodness and you all go monkey-nuts! Call me crazy, but I just don’t get you people.
So now what are we left with? Somewhere on the docks of New York City sits an abandoned refrigerated truck. During this most holy of times your lord and savior needs your help. He is alone in the back of that truck my friends. He has been condemned to death. When the Freon fails Jesus will melt. Hopefully, in the spirit of the season, after his followers have abandoned him in his time of need he will rise again. He will stand among his people in all his chocolaty glory and announce to the world the words we have waited so long to hear; I have risen. Eat me!
Monday, April 2, 2007
Sunday, April 1, 2007
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