A Beauty Queen from Alaska walks into a Presidential Election...

Hey everybody, so get this! John McCain, the semi-senile, confused, out of touch Republican Presidential candidate just picked his running mate. Check this out: She’s from Wasilla Alaska, she’s a former beauty queen, she’s got like no experience and she hunts moose with her bare hands. And McCain chose her to be his Vice President! Isn’t that funny?

Hello? Did you hear what I said?

Oh, you already heard this one.


Ok, fine, but listen to my hilarious take on it: She’s like this hockey mom with 5 kids and she makes McCain look even older than he already does, and they think she’s going to win over women voters even though her views are completely opposite of what most women want or need!

Get it?

No?

Alright then, I’ll do my dead-on impression of her, which happens to be the same voice I do when I recite lines from any character in the movie Fargo, except instead of “So is that your friend in the wood-chipper then?” I say things like “What does a Vice President do every day?”
Ha! Get it? See because she’s so inexperienced and lives in a state that is practically another country, I’m portraying her as someone so unqualified that she would say she doesn’t even know what a VP does!

Zing! Nailed that one…Ha ha!...what?

She actually did say that? Holy shit.

Wait, come back! I can make this funnier, give me another chance!

What is happening to me? I used to be someone who could get a few laughs by ranting about real issues and putting my own unique comic spin on them. Why can’t I do that anymore? Today I feel like the guy who just repeats lines from a Seinfeld episode that everyone has already seen and laughed at, and expects credit for remembering the bits and reciting them verbatim.

I got nothing. Yesterday I heard the news about some unknown Governor named Sarah Palin being picked as the Republican Vice President nominee and I actually started to drool a little bit. This is just the kind of stuff I like to make fun of!

So why doesn’t my skewed view of this surprising news seem funny to anybody? Not even to me?

Oh, no. I know what this is. The McCain campaign has somehow stumbled upon the perfect defense plan for the ridicule they previously seemed so vulnerable to. They have turned the country’s sense of humor back in on itself! It’s like the whole two negative charges make a positive thing, or something like that. It’s a goddamned self-awareness double-reverse! When reality becomes so ridiculous that to flip it on its head actually makes the comedian seem like the one who isn’t joking, that is Satire Kryptonite in its purest form!

You can’t satirize a group of people who are capable of creating real-life scenarios so far beyond that of human imagination that the mere facts generate a daily supply of comic genius without any interpretation.

And it isn’t just me. I noticed this disturbing trend appearing elsewhere as soon as the news broke. As much as I love my daily doses of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert’s twists on political events, as well as most of the MSNBC comedians’ straight-faced “analysis”, I did find most of their jokes on the Palin story a little…predictable. It was as if I’d heard them before. In the news reports. One of the most important elements of a good joke involves a certain level of surprise. It’s hard to be clever about something everyone can see coming. That comic edge doesn’t come from pointing out what everybody already realizes, it comes from doing the unexpected. Like, I don’t know, for example… CHOOSING SARAH PALIN AS YOUR RUNNING MATE!

Look out funny Americans, John McCain is defeating us at our own game.

I thought for a while that it might actually be good for our national humorists to see John McCain win the Presidency. Sure it could completely destroy our civilization in a hurry, but we’d go out laughing. I realize now that we must work even harder to keep him out of office, as clearly he even intends to take away our basic right to feel superior to him through mockery. We can’t laugh at someone who beats us to the punch line.

Stay focused, America, at least we now really know what we’re up against.

And say, did you hear the one about the guy who wanted to overturn Roe v. Wade and once called his own wife the C-word in public, then went on to pick a female running mate just to convince women that they should vote for him because he cares about their rights?

What’s that? Yeah, I don’t get it either.

Are You Ready For Some...SWIMMING!!!

Can we get back to normal now? I love the Olympics, probably as much as anyone else in the world. I just don’t watch any of the coverage. I’m kinda busy at 2:00 am when all the good events are on, and to be honest, I like to think of myself as a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to America’s most beloved sports, like swimming relays. Sure it’s cool to see Michael Phelps become the most bejeweled athlete in Olympic history, but the hype and the settings take away some of the purist appeal that has made competitive waterplay one of our country’s greatest pastimes.

The state of the art facilities, the hyper-specific scoring methods and, well, the foreigners, tend to sterilize the typical memories we hold dear: Fathers in the backyard inflatable pool, teaching their sons the backstroke and the perfect kick turn. It’s enough to peel some paint off of our visions of the famous Norman Rockwell painting we all associate with youth, family, and a young athlete’s first competitive swim lesson with Dad. I believe it is entitled “Touch Out Boy”.

I’m all for giving these American treasures a spot on the world stage from time to time, but also truly look forward to the end of this “demonstration” and a return to weekends spent at home once the American Swimming League season officially starts. Nothing signifies the welcome change in season like a brisk autumn day, a pot of chili on the stove, neighbors stopping by for some nachos and domestic beer, as we all assemble in front of the big screen to root for our hometown swimming team. I must say it’s been a long summer, because I have actually forgotten the name of Chicago’s aquatic franchise. (the Fins? The Water-Rhinos? What is it?) I’m even a little fuzzy about its members. So what else is new? Every year there are trades, and fights for position, and the typical “Anchor controversy”. But there is nothing like Chicago sports, and as hard as it is to keep track of the off-season rebuilding maneuvers, there is still no doubt that Chicago is and always will be a Competitive Swimming town. (dammit, what is our team name? cows, something to do with cows I think. Lamp-kickers? Yeah, Lamp-Kickers sounds right…maybe. Dammit!)

As the hot summer draws to a close, and the Beijing Olympics end, I will begin dusting off my foam swimmers cap (oh, I bet the name is on there… Splashing Gangsters? No…The Al Carpones? Dammit!), and my foam goggles, and my foam pruny swimmer’s finger, and get ready for draft night of my Fantasy Competitive Swimming League. I can already hear the guys ribbing me for my Mark Gangloff pick, but we’ll see who’s laughing come playoff time! (Crap, I need to remember when the playoffs start.) And soon enough it will be time to start making grids for my much-anticipated Swimming pool at work. (“Swimming Pool”, I love that more every year.) I’m even one of those geeks that likes to read about all of the ground-breaking commercials shown at our biggest American spectacle, The Swimming Bowl! The…Stroke Bowl… Splash Bowl? Why am I having so much trouble remembering this stuff. Guess my age is catching up with me…

So hurry home swimmers, it’s time to bring our most cherished and frequently-televised American sport back where it belongs. I know I say this every year, but this year I might just spring for season tickets to see the Chicago…The Chicago…Dammit!

Something sort of irritating...

In recent years, by my watch, there has entered into our sort of collective American vocabulary a new sort of phrase that has undoubtedly overstayed its sort of usefulness and moved into the realm of so many interesting terms to what I would consider to be a sort of overuse to the point of sort of meaninglessness. Sort of. Yes, that’s the phrase. One I believe probably began somewhere on an NPR program, where it currently suffers its highest levels of abuse, as a harmless way for someone to give an opinion without appearing so convicted as to seem pretentious, this phrase has developed into a pseudo-intellectual nervous tic equivalent to a slightly more subtle and mature version of a younger generation’s “like”.

“That movie was like, awesome.”

Add an undergraduate degree and a couple years to this phrase and the adult counterpart to this brilliant review sounds like this:

“That movie was this sort of, epic grand spectacle.”

Sure, the description sounds more specific, but still requires some double-clutching axiom to distance the speaker from any responsibility of the words that follow. “Sort of” is a crutch these days, used by people who need to give opinions but don’t have the confidence to commit to them 100%. “Sort of” will apply just enough of a disclaimer when you aren’t completely sure that you are about to use the most appropriate word. And it’s not limited to any one form. Nouns, verbs, names, analogies; anything can be qualified, or rather disqualified by the iron-clad “sort of” clause.

“My ex-boyfriend drove this sort of monster truck and wore cowboy boots. That’s why I broke up with him.”

“I grabbed my pants and sort of ran right through the screen door into the alley.”

“My new boyfriend is tall and has a sort of Tom Brokaw way about him, but with much bigger teeth.”

“My boss has this sort of “rhino in the henhouse” philosophy regarding spreadsheets. That’s why I broke up with him.”

All fairly common phrases, sure, but note how each one becomes slightly more ambiguous and therefore lessens the expectation of the speaker to actually be describing something with any accuracy. And that’s the real perceived value of “sort of”; it’s used in a typically lazy American way to not have to stand behind what you are saying or the implications of your opinions, because in reality you’ve made it clear that you only sort of mean it. Or more to the point, you only sort of know what you are talking about.

A harmless enough phrase in its infancy as a cute little diversion from the always reliable but less refined “um…”, it fell into the same seedy trap that all of this society’s verbal habits ultimately do when reused with any frequency, which is that they lose their integrity, becoming cheap and easy. The suffix “peat” is a sad example. For centuries it was very useful and dignified as a part of the word “repeat”, it now suffers merciless ridicule among the word community for whoring itself out to phrases like “Five-peat”, “Eight-peat”, and “Hanging chad-peat”. Oh, wait, that’s “gate” I’m thinking of. The half of the hotel name “Watergate” that went on to spread for any word needing to change its meaning to include “scandal”. And “sort of” is stepping out onto the streets itself, with slightly overeducated people who are trying to sound thoughtful as its pimps, becoming everything it once pretended not to be.

I want us to all take part in saving this one by letting it go before its life is ruined beyond repair. Let’s do it because we owe to our own language to stop filling the heads of new phrases with the hopes of becoming a respected addition to our culture only to turn them into filthy, unwanted practices we will only ultimately try to rid ourselves of. Remember what a great word “awesome” used to be, before we rode it into the ground and beat it silly? Now we mock and hate that word because of our own lack of self-control, disowning it to be cared for by high-fiving fraternity boys, extreme sports enthusiasts and Bret Michaels. Shame on us.

“Sort of” will be hard for some to give up, I’m sure. But it’s for the best. If you need a substitute while you ride out the withdrawal tremors, allow yourself a few “ummmms” to give yourself the time needed to find the half-baked descriptor or adverb you seek. It’s not as smart sounding, but it’s honest, and it never pretended to mean something it doesn’t.

I’m sure that proponents of the cool new “sort of” vernacular would have an argument that this expression has a usefulness, and that it lends a gentleness to the usual stuttering, stammering or grunting that less civilized people use when stalling to let their brains catch up with their mouths, and if anyone would like to make the case to preserve it, I would be glad to listen. Sort of.

Celebrity President? Over My Dumb Body.

Ever since Barack Obama announced his bid for president, I’ve been paying pretty close attention to our candidates and what they mean to me and my country. I, like most, became enamored with Obama’s speeches and message of hope, because, why not? Sounds plausible. Hope didn’t sound that expensive the way he described it, and I didn’t see where a little hope might change my daily routine too drastically. I tried to give John McCain the same amount of attention, and really learn what he’s all about, but I have to admit that I don’t think I’m smart enough or politically savvy enough to understand what it is he plans to do. Even when his confusing and inconsistent views of a world that sounded completely unlike the one I read about and lived in started to make a little sense to me, his impatience and condescension reminded me that I have no business trying to understand a mind like his. I wish I could, but I went to public schools, and I need things explained to me with a little more detail and, well, in grammatically correct English if possible. So, by default and as a result of my own limitations, I became an Obama supporter. I voted for him in the primaries, and planned to vote for him in the general election as well. I really appreciated the efforts John McCain made to inform my decision, and I wanted to believe him when he slipped on his $500 shoes and boarded his wife’s private jet to travel the country and remind me that Barack Obama is an elitist. But again, my sub-par education must be failing me, because it’s obvious that the meaning I had always assigned to “elitist” is completely wrong. Shucks. I wish I was smart enough to understand all of that stuff.

But then McCain did something that shook me out of my silly, overly-positive admiration for my candidate by doing what any great leader of a nation of simple folks would do to save me. He dumbed it down. I hadn’t even realized how close I was to casting a vote for my own destruction until I saw this…



Barack Obama is the BIGGEST CELEBRITY IN THE WORLD?

What the Sam Hill? When in tarnation did this happen? I had seen the crowds, and the constant attention, but I guess I read it differently than I would my favorite gossip mag. I thought he was running for political office, something that I don’t care about because it doesn’t really affect my life at all, but I NEVER thought he would be trying to take the place of my favorite celebrities! And right there, in the first few seconds of the ad, I realized how bad I had let it get. Beautiful photographs of two of the most regal celebrities in the world, Britney Spears and Paris Hilton, reminded me of how seriously my priorities had been damaged. What frightens me most now as I remember the first time I watched this illuminating ad, is that in one second, in one split unforgiveable second, with the sounds of Obama’s voice ringing in my ears, I realized that I didn’t know Britney and Paris anymore. I had almost…I shake as I type this…forgotten about them. In the last year I have spent so much time following Obama’s speeches and interviews and frivolous talk about taxes and increasing my family’s income and ending some war or something, that I had completely neglected my fascination with the real heroes of this country, our celebrities.

In a panic, I began to quiz myself.

“Is Paris in rehab now, or out?” I didn’t know.

“Are Britney’s kids old enough yet to ride around on the hood of car the way she likes them to?” I had nothing.

“Are they even her kids anymore or are they with Kevin?”

Oh my God! Where is KFed!

I looked around for a People, or an US, anything to get my bearings and convince myself that I hadn’t completely lost touch with what is truly important, but all I could find was an OK from June. Of 2007! Lindsay Lohan probably has a half a dozen drunken sex tapes that I don’t know about, and I’m sitting here in my living room watching an African-American Jr. Senator from some Midwestern state speak to 200,000 people in Berlin. Wherever that is.

How did he do it? How did he successfully pull off this celebri-coup? I spent the better part of last night googling phrases like, “Obama Rehab Escape”, “Obama Lip Sync Scandal Fat Dancing” and “Upskirt Obama No Underwear” and I found nothing that could explain how he has earned this title. Biggest Celebrity in the World, how dare he even try. So what is Kirstie Allie then?

McCain has been right all along, and I wasn’t smart enough to see it. Obama’s rise to the top of our nation’s most sacred form of worship is the most diabolical form of terrorism. There is no better way to completely destroy our American way of life from within than to distract us from what makes us who we are, and what makes us better than everyone else, by making us turn away from Entertainment Tonight and pay attention to politics.

And to think it almost worked. I feel so dumb.