Okay,
Here's a big confession. I'm obsessed with puppets. Not the Jeff Dunham, vaguely racist Vaudeville shit, but the REAL puppets: Sesame Street. There's something about an animated fuzzy rodent that just makes me happy.

Don't know where it came from, but I just am captivated by Sesame Street. From Big Bird to Oscar the Grouch, I just love those little furry things.

So tonight I am captivated by Elmo. Elmo, since 1985, has been played by an actor named Kevin Clash. This man is almost 50, but even after almost thirty years of talking to toddlers has not lost his incredible sense of comic timing. Take his recent appearance with the incredible Ricky Gervais: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUB7zTOpYaY

Dude, Kevin is cracking up and can barely take it but rolls with the character, and ultimately makes Elmo look more witty than one of the greatest comedic minds of my generation.

Then, there's Elmo's encounter with world-renowned opera singer Andrea Bocelli: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgUnYzXU-Fo

Cute overload. Is this a subliminal paternal instinct kicking in? Maybe, but I know that whatever girl I marry will never produce an Elmo. Sigh. I guess I should be thankful that my future wife will produce a human instead of a puppet.

Then Elmo meets Robert Deniro. And it's sublime: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqHfser_9_s

A Robert Deniro Cabbage? FUCKING AMAZING.

Elmo, I wish we could spend more time together. But you are a fake being made of felt and cheap fur, voiced and animated by an amazing pupetteer. So I'll just watch Youtube.

I wish you were real :(

Ulysses.

There it sat on my bookshelf, undisturbed for at least two years.  I pulled it off the dusty shelf the other day to use it for "bathroom reading," which is like trying to move Stonehenge into your living room.

I read the forward, some correspondence between Joyce and his publisher after the book was cleared of obscenity charges (more on this later), and the first few pages of the first chapter.

Every time this book defeats me.  It's been officially declared the greatest novel of the 20th century and I can't fucking get past the first 100 pages.  Usually I leave it to the realm of mathematics to make me feel stupid, but this book makes me feel like I'm taking my Junior year Pre-Calc final.  Just this panicky, hopeless blanket of sopping fear: James Joyce is clearly an infinitely more intelligent and gifted writer than me.

Sure it's pretentious, but it's what every burgeoning writer wants written on his tombstone: "This fucker wrote a book that is completely impenetrable but is widely acknowledged to be mind-shatteringly brilliant."

I've read other Joyce.  I've read A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Dubliners, and both were dense but comprehensible, and very enjoyable.  My friend Josh, after I said that I've read Dubliners, provided my favorite Joyce-related quote ever: "The best thing about reading Dubliners is that you can now say that you've read Joyce."  Amen.

My friend Sam, a few years my junior, is deep into the book, and apparently there is a large section of the book where a man is jacking off on a beach while watching a cripple sunbathe.  And I'm aware that the last two hundred pages of the book is one sentence.  Heady stuff indeed.

Joyce, you will not conquer me.  I will best you eventually, even if I don't understand a damn thing that's going on in your magnum mick opus.

There has been a a provision on the books since 1949 called the Fairness Doctrine, and some aspects of it were incorporated into FCC regulations in 1967.  It was killed again in 1987 by the FCC in a landmark case.  As defined by Wikipedia, the Fairness Doctrine is this:

The Fairness Doctrine had two basic elements: It required broadcasters to devote some of their airtime to discussing controversial matters of public interest, and to air contrasting views regarding those matters. Stations were given wide latitude as to how to provide contrasting views: It could be done through news segments, public affairs shows, or editorials. The doctrine did not require equal time for opposing views but required that contrasting viewpoints be presented.^[

In theory this sounds like a great idea.  If an issue is presented, why shouldn't both sides be represented equally?  If Sean Hitler Hannity is spouting off some of his deliberately misleading and factually suspicious hate speech to the Fox News base, why shouldn't a liberal come on and have equal time to counter his points?
(Oh wait, they had that.  Alan Colmes, the human mantis with a bone density problem.  I would have LOVED to see Keith Olbermann sitting next to Hannity.  Two big, boisterous assholes with opinions for days).

The reason is this:  Any speech that is regulated is not free speech, and thus violates the First Amendment.

Would I like to see the "God Hates Fags" family, the ones that protests at Iraq soldiers' funerals, banished to Antarctica?  Abso-fucking-lutely.  Same thing with the KKK.  Same thing with the misguided PETA lesbians.  Same thing with Christian Fundamentalists.  Same thing with Greenpeace and Christopher Hitchens.  You all suck and I hate you.  But Goddamnit if I won't stand up for you at the gates of Hades to spew your nonsense.

The "Fairness Doctrine" in fact does not promote fairness.

Two bullshit rules of the doctrine were actually in effect until 2000"

Two corollary rules of the doctrine, the "personal attack" rule and the "political editorial" rule, remained in practice until 2000. The "personal attack" rule applied whenever a person (or small group) was subject to a personal attack during a broadcast. Stations had to notify such persons (or groups) within a week of the attack, send them transcripts of what was said and offer the opportunity to respond on-the-air. The "political editorial" rule applied when a station broadcast editorials endorsing or opposing candidates for public office, and stipulated that the unendorsed candidates be notified and allowed a reasonable opportunity to respond.

What?  It's called life.  People will attack you.  You are protected under libel and slander laws, so why would you need a transcript of your personal attack?  Do you have a television or a computer?

Unfortunately the Democrats are trying to revive this doctrine.  Let me make it clear that I am not an affiliate with either party, a registered Independent, and thus I vote for issues, not down party lines.  I voted for Barack Obama in the election, and while I have confidence in his abilities to reach across the aisle, I am increasingly infuriated with the Democratic party for trying to steamroll every agenda past the house and senate as they ride the new wave of "togetherness" that we in the USA are experiencing.  Yes Obama is very liberal, but at the same time I think he's got the bigger picture way more locked down than someone like Nancy Pelosi.

The Fairness Doctrine has been strongly opposed by prominent libertarians and conservatives who view it as an attempt to regulate or mandate certain types of speech on the airwaves. Editorials in The Wall Street Journal and The Washington Times have said that Democratic attempts to bring back the Fairness Doctrine have been made largely in response to and contempt for the successes of conservative talk radio.<sup>[


PS - I think I'm officially coming out as a libertarian.</sup> 

But it's so true!

“Happiness is like a butterfly: the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…”

Henry David Thoreau

Apparently I am aging.  I know.  Don't let the boyish visage which you see before you fool you.  I am really pushing 30.  I will be 30 years old on June 21st, 2010.

I don't know what it is about that number that scares me the most - the fact that I will be an official "adult," or that I'm still single, or that I will go to rock shows and be among the oldest people there, or that I am actually starting to get gray hair.

It's subtle, like fall turning into winter.  But I can now count ten gray hairs along my temples.  And I have to be honest, I think it's kind of cool.

My last couple of girlfriends represent the polar opposites of the attractiveness of gray hair.  My last girlfriend found it worrisome and unattractive, but my ex before her found it a huge turn-on.  She almost couldn't wait for me to turn gray.

Granted, at the moment you would have to look at my hair in a certain light to see the grays, but for me, waking up every day and checking out the slow but noticeable retreat of my hairline, it is most definitely happening.  And, with having a still full head of hair, I would much rather prefer going gray to balding, but I know that that second word will be on my horizon eventually (shudders).

Staring down 30 (and I still have a year and a half to go) is not so scary in terms of the actual age - it ain't nothing but a number, right?  But it's more the taking stock of your life thus far that makes it a little unsettling.

Society puts so much pressure on us to be at a certain level of being by the time we are 30.  I know "30 is the new 20," but I still feel a certain level of "quarter-life crisis" about that age.  And also the fact that I can still remember grade school and it doesn't seem that long ago/forever ago.

Getting older is weird.  Some aspects of your childhood still seem so viscerally immediate, and others so long ago it's like ancient history.  The last five years of my career are like a weekend as far as my memory is concerned, but college seemed like a decade.  Every relationship I've had since moving out on my own in 2003 has been a major touchstone in my life, but working has been a fog.

I guess the important things just happen at different speeds.  Apparently I've been writing my novel for almost three years, but only in the last six months have I felt like it's been alive.

I wonder what things will stick with me "When I'm 64."  Hey mom, I'm making a Beatles reference from 30 years ago!  And if my parents are any indication, when they are 55 (which they are), things will be pretty awesome.  Maybe I shouldn't fear getting older.  Maybe my generation just takes a little longer to do things.

I think I'll be alright after all.

My friends, I have been so scared since Prop. 8 passed on election night. Even though we have won the right to be bigots, there are still some huge, lingering fears that lingerficate in my brain. Let's just go over some of these nightmare hypothetical but really real realistic scenarios that might play out if this Latter Day decision is overturned: If homosexuals get the right to marry, many things will happen. First, we will all die. That's a given. We have already elected the Antichrist as president, so why not usher in Satan's new spawn? Of course it will come from Michelle Obama's uterus. You know her and her black family have been conducting BLACK masses in Chicago since he got elected. Second, pedophiles will roam the land, collecting young boys which they will enslave in some Caligulaic perpetual sodom-orgy. This is just common sense, people. Third, straight people will no longer marry or have children. They will just retire to bunkers and grieve over a world lost. Conventional reproduction will cease to exist - every baby will be born through lesbians with syringes. FOR SHAME. Christian churches, be they Mormon, Baptist, or Catholic, will employ fear tactics to get their constituents to vote against gay marriage - lest they plummet into eternal pits of damnation and despair for having their own carefully considered opinions. Don't you dare bring up the anti-interracial marriage laws that were enforced since this 60's, this is a COMPLETELY separate issue. Black people didn't CHOOSE the color of their skin, but gay people totally chose to be attracted to their same sex. Most emerging gay adolescent males decided early on that a life of harassment, bigotry, and parental shaming was totally worth it even though they were straight. It was a choice just like pepperoni or mushroom on a pizza. Wait, am I even being satirical anymore? Are Christian churches actually employing fear tactics presently? Oh shit, this new age irony, I am in a fog! It's amazing to me as this world inches slowly towards harmony and progression, that the only people that stand in the way are those that (falsely) claim to be agents of peace and love. Those that proclaim God's ultimate judgment over all, but instead would rather pass the judgment themselves, as if they were God. Dude, if gay marriage happens, soooo many people will fuck their dogs. It's like, a fact. YES ON 8!!!!!!!

I watched a fairly mediocre film about the Andy Warhol muse/exploited socialite Edie Sedgwick tonight called "Factory Girl."  In it Sienna Miller plays the titular character, Guy Pierce of "Memento" fame does an amazing Andy Warhol, and Hayden "Wooden Anakin" Christensen plays Bob FUCKING Dylan. Oh, oh, he's called 'Bobby Quinn' because there apparently was a defamation lawsuit filed by the Dylan camp that might have to do with the fact that in the movie "Quinn" is fingered as a possible inspiration for Sedgwick's suicide.  But in reality, Edie was one of the first casualties of the papparazzi machine.  And drugs.  Lots of drugs.

I've watched Warhol's factory tapes.  I've watched his mediocre, basement
16mm "art" pornos.  In fact, this summer, I saw a pencil on butcher paper sketch of a skull with protruding lines coming out of it like cosmic rays (Chicago Art Inst.).  It stung me for a moment because this simple sketch was probably rendered in seconds by an artist that truly had skillfull gifts, but chose to waste them on cheap exploitation films and soup prints.  Try as I might, I still can't see his genius.  Never have, and this is from a kid that at 11 years old preferred Picasso's classical period over his cubist period.  (Blue was a close third).

Warhol was one of the first artists that had to be admired 'in context.'  Lots of art is contextual.  Take Fitzgerald's "Great Gatsby."  Written in the roaring twenties, it is about loss, emptiness, and the futility of wealth.  The iconic cover art by Francis Cugat painted a picture of a hovering sadness above the lights of the city.  Prohibition (LOL) dampered the "Flapper" spotlight, but Francis and Zelda's reckless lifestyle was a symptom of the time.

If the Fitzgeralds, as writers, critics, and socialites, were the toast of the roaring pre-crash age - a couple on the edge of self-destruction - then Sedgwick and Warhol  were the same at the end of the sixties.  Too fabulous to engage the gauche hippy movement, The Factory maintained a certain twacked out, drug-addled fur-and-angora loftiness that excused the hard drug use that Edie was very much a part of.

Edie died of a drug overdose not long after she exited the Warhol camp.  She married an inmate of the institution she was committed to.  But the needle proved a bigger call.

Here's what we can learn from Edie Sedgwick:  She was fucking RICH.  She was an art student.  She was absolutely fucking gorgeous.  She was talented.

But she relied on her looks and charm.

Holy God, can you see Paris Hilton doing the same thing now?

Sure it worked for most of the 2000's, but any girl that flaunts her wealth now will be summarily... well, NOT LIKED.

Here's my big statement:  Edie Sedgwick was the first hipster.

Oh yes, you know what I mean.  Edie was the first pretty girl that loved the star, that would fuck for recognition.  This is the saddest thing that I've ever been involved with.

Someone wake me when we can look at starlets with more than a used condom.

:-(

I was watching a movie last night with my esteemed colleague Amy E. Northcutt called "Harsh Times" starring Christian Bale, in what is an interesting, but ultimately failed performance. A Welshman should not attempt an urban Los Angeles accent. Especially if you're Batman.

Bale plays a marine who has seen several tours of duty in post-9/11 Iraq, and is balls-out ratshit insane. He has PTSD as well as what seems to be innate sociopathic tendencies. It's basically the movie Training Day with Bale as the Denzel corrupt cop character.

But anyhoozles, his best friend at one point chooses to stay at home with his girlfriend, Eva Longoria, rather than go to Mexico with Bale (aka "Jim" in the film) and presumably be killed by Federales and die in a hail of Tijuana gunfire. But to Jim, this is a SERIOUS violation of the "Homey Code.

"HOMEY CODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That phrase dances on my brain lips like other awesome phrases such as "Smurf penis" and "Sarah Palin dies in fiery car crash."

Homey Code. I HAVE to make my own. What are the chivalrous, timeless rules that I expect my homeskillets to abide by? What are the irrefutable mores that my fuckin' homies need to live and die by?

I need my own Magna Brota.

And here it is:

THEE HOMEY CODE

Homey code rule number the first:

1. No non-consensual sodomy. This one is pretty basic. Just because I take you fishing and we bro down for like twelve hours doesn't mean when the beer starts flowing that you get access to my holiest of holies. Seriously, does this even warrant a rule? Unfortunately, it does.

2. No non-consensual sodomy with said bro's girlfriend. Pretty sure this is illegal.

3. Homey will buy the next round. Unless your homey states unequivocally up front that he has no money and you will be taking care of him the whole night, if your homey buys a round, you pretty much gotta buy the next round. That's the way it's done.

HOMEYCODE!!!

4. Your homey knows you think his hot girlfriend is hot. There is an innate homey competition for your girlfriend. It will never amount to anything, because your homey loves you like a brother and would never betray you, but the homey's girlfriend will flirt with you just enough to get you off of her back, and will tell your homey how you kind of sort of hit on her, but in a respectful way, so that your homey will make love to his girl in a way that validates his friendships and also makes him ejaculate. This part of the homey code is kind of weird.

5. No being passive-aggressive to your homey. If you are mad at your homey, you have to sack up and tell him: "Dude, last night, you were fucked up and embarrassed all of us. If you want to bro-down in the future, you need to take it down a notch." This is a difficult homey discussion, but said homey will appreciate it very much after his ego recovers. A homey listens to a homey, even if they don't admit it at first.

6. Mercy kill your homey. If your homey has had a horrific accident, or has been shot multiple times, or has been cut in half somehow, maybe by one of Caligula's plows, or a Minotaur, or a giant prehistoric creature such as a Velociraptor, please kill your homey. You will have a seriously non-homo-erotic moment with your homey where you can pretend to be Frodo and your homey is Samwise Gamgee. And as you gently suffocate your homey, you can pet his face and whisper: "Shh, Mr. Frodo, it's your Sam. It's your Sam."