Late Night Anthem Open Thread

Okay, I’ll admit it: Both of these versions of our lousy national anthem are kinda charming. And I would say that even if the singers hadn’t driven the wingnuts into barking frenzies. Thank you, commentors!

In the spirit of the holiday, Spousal Unit got an email with the header “Happy National Watch-Colorful-Explosives-in-the-Hands-of-Drunken-Idiots-You-Wouldn’t-Trust-Sober-with-A-Glow-Stick Day”.

Finally, Ed Kilgore in the Washington Monthly on “American Revolutionaries“:

… Gallup just published an Independence Day survey that registered high levels of patriotism across every age, party and ideological spectrum. But when asked if they think the signers of the Declaration of Independence would be “pleased or disappointed by how the United States has turned out,” an interesting gap appears: conservatives answer “disappointed” by a remarkable 83-15 margin; while liberals are much more balanced (41% say “pleased,” 54% “disappointed”).

Now given the lofty values expressed in the Declaration, it’s not surprising a majority of people across the spectrum don’t think America has lived up to its founding principles for one reason or another (and some may even realize the Founders’ own limitations might make them disappointed at good things which have transpired since 1776). And you might argue that belief in the downward trajectory of human events is inherent to conservatism.

But I suspect something else may be going on: the recent tendency of U.S. conservatives—particularly those who call themselves “constitutional conservatives”—to read a special meaning into the Declaration, and use it to import such principles as Judeo-Christian religion, “natural rights,” absolute private property rights, state sovereignty, fetal personhood, and a perpetual right to revolution against Big Government, into the Founders’ Design for America…








What the Hell, Here’s Another Open Thread

Finally just ate my pizza, after first burning the roof my mouth and having to wait ten minutes for things to cool down. And damn, I made a delicious pizza- home made dough, ricotta based white sauce with some garlic and oregano, a layer of spinach, basil, roasted red pepper, sliced tomato, a little artichoke, and topped with buffalo mozz. and some red pepper flakes. It was amazing.

But that is not what I am hear to talk about. It occurred to me that I would rather a hidden cam video of me masturbating to an 80’s Playboy (remember back when they had real breasts and pubic hair and the only tattoo was a playboy suntan tattoo? Or Hot Lips Houlihan. But, I digress and realize I will now be on Jezebel’s most wanted website list next week.) be made public than a video of me inhaling the half of the pizza I just made. Grunting, sweating, red-faced, tomato and red pepper and cheese juice running down my forearms as I try to breathe through my nose because my mouth is full as I employ a backhoe like motion to shovel food into my fat face all while making kicking motions at the dogs at my feet to let them know they aren’t getting shit.

Sigh. I put the rest in the freezer so it wouldn’t be a temptation.

Although I do own a microwave.

And I am only posting this because I know that every single one of you, at one point in time, has just committed the same kind of pizza/taco/pick your poison crime. Don’t lie. It’s ok to talk about it.








4th Open Thread

I was sitting on the back porch with the girls watching the sunset, and it started to rain for a brief spell. All I could think of were the hundred’s of parents sitting in the bleachers with their now wet kids, hoping upon hope the storm will pass and they will see the god damned fireworks and not have to come back and do this again in two days.

I immediately imagined the sheer hell my parents went through 30+ years ago with all four of us. It’s the fourth, so everyone is sunburnt and cranky, yet at the same time smacked up on sugar from the kool-aid, punch, soda, cake, ice cream, and popsicles from the community picnic, and that sugar high has us all running around spazzing out about fireworks. Oh, and jello salad, especially that really sticky marshmellow one with pineapple. The only people who liked jello salad more than members of the Church of Fatter Day Saints were rural West Virginians in the late 70’s and 80’s.

And we are sticky, and probably trying to sit on dad’s lap and it’s ninety degrees and he’s sweating and everything about the four kids is sticky and spastic and he’s just miserable and thinking about condoms and why he didn’t use more of them and what he really wants is a gin and tonic in a gallon container, and we are just touching everything and screaming and running around being a nuisance and all the other parent’s kids are yelling and acting just like us. Mom, always the saint, is just sitting there feeling embarrassed and trying to keep dad from going ballistic while trying to engage in niceties with the people around us, and she’s just miserable because her sun rash is out and she’s thinking thoughts that Quakers don’t normally have, and all she wants in her Morris chair and an Agatha Christie novel. It’s amazing humans so rarely kill their young.

And even if everything goes according to plan, and the fireworks do come on after a rain delay, you still have to load everyone into the car, sit for 20 minutes to get out of the parking lot while all four of us spazz out and punch each other and touch every god damned thing in the car while Seth throws up because he had cotton candy and a root beer on top of all the other crap and dad has to work in the morning, then drive home. And once you get home, everyone needs a bath, the dog has puked and pissed on the floor, and Grandma Cole left a message on the answering machine that she and our cousins are planning a visit next week-end.

I called my parents and thanked them. There is a reason I am not a breeder. I’m surprised my dad only had a heart attack at age 71. But, you know, you gotta take the kids to the fireworks. America, Fuck Yeah. We should have prozac in the water.








Open Thread: Jason Everman, Always on the Edge

Another music-related thread, kinda. From Clay Tarver, in the NYTimes:

Jason Everman has the unique distinction of being the guy who was kicked out of Nirvana and Soundgarden, two rock bands that would sell roughly 100 million records combined. At 26, he wasn’t just Pete Best, the guy the Beatles left behind. He was Pete Best twice.

Then again, he wasn’t remotely. What Everman did afterward put him far outside the category of rock’n’roll footnote. He became an elite member of the U.S. Army Special Forces, one of those bearded guys riding around on horseback in Afghanistan fighting the Taliban…

What’s on the agenda this evening? Who’s got tomorrow off?








Happy Independence Day

I have decided to celebrate the fourth by declaring my independence from the clutter in my home office. I have about 6 large rubbermaid containers filled to the rim with old computers and hard drives and cables, and I am organizing all the cables, throwing out all the old computers, and going through all the old hd’s with my thermaltake blackx before I smash them and put them out with the trash.

Later on I am going to make homemade pizza, and as always, watch the Capitol Fourth on PBS.