Quote of the Day

Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies in the final sense a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed.

-- Dwight David Eisenhower (1890-1969), 34th U.S. President, Republican

I like Ike.

Movie Idea

[Temporarily removed - it'll be in theatres soon enough! -- J.W.]

Quote of the Day

The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them.

-- George Orwell (1903-1950)

Me and My Monkey

This monkey was posing for pictures on the sidewalk on my last night in Thailand (down in one of the southern provinces that got whacked by the tsunami, a few days after the wave hit - I know, great timing...). There were two little blonde Swiss kids there with their dad taking pictures with it when I got close. They eventually finish, we come up, and the young thai kid with the camera hands me the monkey, then hops on his moped and takes off! So, I'm left standing there with this thing for about 10 minutes, and we have no idea where the guy went or if he's even coming back (maybe I should've brushed up on some thai phrases before we got there...) No idea what to do, we wait... and the monkey's kind of sitting in my folded hands, with his back to me, and keeps looking back ominously and reaching his little claws up around my neck... The whole time he's eyeballing me and showing his teeth... (I of course tried to pet him, because I'm stupid, and think I can pet all kinds of strange animals and have to touch plates when people tell me they're hot...)

Finally, after a high-noon stare-down between me and this monkey that would've made the outlaw Josie Wales break out in a cold sweat, the thai kid shows back up - he'd apparently gone off to get more film - so crisis averted, stand down! The guy finally takes the picture (of course cutting off 1/2 of me in the process - fortunately my buddy snapped this one with his digital) and we head to an outdoor restaurant down the street to get our eats on. (And yes, Ma, I washed my hands! A couple of times, actually, that primate was grungy.)

A few minutes later, the father of those kids comes up to us and asks us if the monkey bit us! Urgh?! Confused, we said "No, but..." It turned out that the monkey had bitten his son on the cheek - right under his eye! - right before we got there to take a picture with him. The dad goes "It didn't break the skin. It's probably alright, no?" So, we tell him we're not doctors, but that he might want to get it checked out anyway...

Personally, if I'm in Southeast Asia, it's 5 days after a tsunami just wrecked the area, the TV news is blaring repeated warnings about malaria, typhus, and other contagious diseases spreading in the stagnant waters, and a nasty, flea-bitten street urchin of a monkey bites my kid under his eye, I'm heading over to one of the 8,000 clinics that dot the landscape here and getting it checked out - wouldn't you?

Monkeys- sinister creatures of pure, unadulterated evil, forces for good, or simply innocent, benign forest denizens? You decide...

This About Sums It Up

KRAMER (moves over and sits next to George): Do you ever yearn?
GEORGE: Yearn? Do I yearn?
KRAMER: I yearn.
GEORGE: You yearn.
KRAMER: Oh, yes. Yes, I yearn. Often, I...I sit...and yearn. Have you yearned?
GEORGE: Well, not recently. I craved. I crave all the time, constant craving...but I haven't yearned.
KRAMER (in disgust): Look at you.
GEORGE: Aw, Kramer, don't start...
KRAMER (moving back to the othe side of the booth): You're wasting your life.
GEORGE: I am not! What you call wasting, I call living! I'm living my life!
KRAMER: O.K., like what? No, tell me! Do you have a job?
GEORGE: No.
KRAMER: You got money?
GEORGE: No.
KRAMER: Do you have a woman?
GEORGE: No.
KRAMER: Do you have any prospects?
GEORGE: No.
KRAMER: You got anything on the horizon?
GEORGE: Uh...no.
KRAMER: Do you have any action at all?
GEORGE: No.
KRAMER: Do you have any conceivable reason for even getting up in the morning?
GEORGE: I like to get the Daily News!
KRAMER: George, it's time for us to grow up - and be men. Not little boys.
GEORGE: Why?
KRAMER: I'm goin' to California. You know, I got the bug.
GEORGE: Yeah, I think I got a touch of something, too.
KRAMER: No, the acting bug. Ever since I was in that Woody Allen movie.
GEORGE: "These pretzels are making me thirsty"? That was one line! You got fired!
KRAMER: I know, I know, but man! I never felt so alive! Now, are you coming with me?
GEORGE: Uh, no, I'm not.
KRAMER: Alright, suit yourself. But let's keep this between us - we're key brothers now.
GEORGE: You're not really gonna go to California, are you?
KRAMER (points to his head): Up here, I'm already gone.

Mein Gott, werde ich gebohrt!

Bums

I got the idea for this post when I was walking down the street on the way to work a while back, and this bum I see every morning asked me for a dollar. Now of course I didn’t give him jack (if anyone asks, it was because I didn't want to contribute to his bad habits, but really I'm just cheap). The strange thing about it was that two days before the same guy had asked me for 50 cents. I did the math, and I may be wrong, but that sounds to me like this guy just gave himself a 100% raise. Who does he think he is, Congress? You can’t vote yourself a raise! What’s his justification? [Bum voice]: “Hey, I’m sorry man, but our expenses have really gone up in recent weeks. You can’t get a puddle of urine to sit in for less than $5 nowadays. My costs are skyrocketing! You think cardboard signs grow on trees? You think these clothes were free? Ok, maybe the clothes weer, but the sign, the pee, I'm bleeding money here! OK, really I'm just bleeding from that scab I picked a minute ago, but you get the point! This is just the cost of doin' business, and I hate to do it but I’m forced to pass these costs down to you, the consumer. If you don't like it, you'll just have to get yourself another bum to step over every morning...” Seriously, just because they're homeless does not mean the don't recognize basic economics. Mad props to my hom(less)ies!

You gotta give them credit, too. If bums have anything over the rest of society, it’s patience (which probably comes from not having to go to work every day) and a keen understanding of how things actually work (which I'd like to say comes from objective observations of human interaction made over time from their vantage-points on the sidewalk, but what really are probably just induced by LSD flashbacks). How else do you explain (other than sheer insanity) a fat, toothless, drunk, smelly, homeless guy with a double-lazy eye that hits on every girl that walks by? What goes through his mind? [Bum voice]: “Hey baby, you want some 'o this?” … Stuck up! … “Yo, baby, yo!” … Prude! … “Yo, baby, you wanna find god? He’s right here!” … Hater. … Shee, man, thass three in a row. Awright, awright, awright, best outta 7…” Someone musta told this guy that the law-of-averages approach works one out of a hundred times... I wish him the best of luck.

Mean Bums Suck. What is with the really nasty bums that yell at you if you don't give them money? I fully support them scraping by however they can, and if that means begging, then so be it, ya gotta go with what ya know. But some of these guys clearly need to change their approach. For example, there used to be a bum that sat outside McDonald's (go figure) and would yell at everybody that walked by. If 2 asian girls walked by, he'd yell "Go back to your own country!" (not unlike what many other upstanding American citizens say these days, I should add...) I once passed him on the way to lunch and ignored his request - nay, demand! - for money, and he yelled at me, "I hope you choke on your lunch!" Another time I heard someone say "Sorry." to his demands, and he snapped after them: "I wish you were here and I could walk by you and tell you 'sorry.'" Wow, didn't this guy ever hear you catch more flies with honey?! You're not gonna get any repeat customers that way, and you're going to fail miserable at work-of-mouth advertising. It only takes one angry customer with lots of time on their hands to destroy a business. Then again, I shouldn't fault his businss accumen - he is homeless, after all. Obviously his investing strategy was on a par with his sales tactics... This story does actually have a happy ending, though - it turns out that Angry Bum got himself a bum girlfriend! Yeah, the two were spotted sharing park benches, holding hands, the works. It was beautiful, I tell you, shakespeare couldn't have written a better ending. (Of course, his ending would have involved both of them dying in some very ironic fashion...)

Ok, last point while I'm on the subject of bums, what about the crazy ones that scream and preach and rail about god? And no, cynics, I'm not (just) talking about Rick Santorum. Now, I’m not just being mean here when I call them crazy, ‘cause ya gotta be just a tad off to think you’re gonna win someone over to the path of righteousness by screaming about god to them as they walk by on their way to work and you’ve got your head in a garbage can, there’s 3-day-old BK fries stuck in your hair, and your hands are full of the cigarette butts you’ve been harvesting to create the world’s biggest collection of fully smoked cancer sticks, which you will later line up in front of you on the sidewalk in alphabetical order by brand name just because you have that kind of time... No, sorry, Preacher-Man in a Can, when I want to hear about god and jesus from a raving old lunatic, I'll do what most people do, I'll switch the channel on my TV over to Pat Robertson.

Best t-shirt ever seen on a bum: "You Don't Know Me."

Best ravings ever heard from a bum (pictured below sermoning to a half-eaten tuna sandwich and yesterday's WaPost): "And do you know what Confucius said?! Where is my fortune cookie?!" Quality.

A Call For Remedial Kindergarten and Driver Ed Classes

I want to first start off with an apology. I used to come back from trips overseas and criticize the people there for things like, oh, not knowing how to line up (or "queue," for those of you that talk the Queen-speak) and generally violating my personal space. (The idea of "personal space" is, I believe, largely an American principle. We here in the U.S. expect -- and rightly deserve, in my opinion! -- 15-18 inches of "personal space" normally be kept between us and whomever is "gettin' too close." This is almost a necessity, because we're prone to anger and we like to shoot people.)

I now know that I was wrong. Wrong to judge. Wrong to criticize. Wrong to elbow the smarmy guy behind me in line to exit the airplane who was applying gentle but constant pressure to the small of my back in the hopes that somehow doing that would get the line, which wasn't moving at all, to somehow miraculously start going... But most importantly, wrong to think that people here are any better at little things like lining up! So, to you "for-ners," I apologize, sort of.

Now, on to some observations from the homeland. Keep in mind that I use public transportation, like the subway, every day, and live in D.C., the city with the nation's 3rd-worst traffic and absolute worst personalities, so I may run into more of this than the average commuter...

1. Single-File, Folks! Didn't they teach us in kindergarten how to get in line? Every morning I watch people rudely cut in front of me and others in some line, somewhere, even if there's only 1 or 2 people in that line. I don't care what kind of a hurry you're in, Ronald from Accounts Receivable, there's no way waiting for an extra 1 or 2 people ahead of you is gonna make you miss that buy opportunity on the stock market, the connector bus at your subway stop, or the 11 a.m. cut-off to get breakfast at McDonald's. For those of you that ride the metro in D.C., you'll see this every morning at the escalators. There will be 2 lines of people waiting to ride the escalator up from the station, the fast line on the left (we'll get to this later...), and the slow or standing line on the right. People will get off the train, and cut into the line on the left right at the foot of the escalator, no matter how many people are already lined up to get on the escalator. Hey ya'll, see that third rail? The one with the sign that says "Danger! Do Not Cross!"? Yeah, you guys should hurry up and step on it before people start forming a line. Suckers.

2. Escalator Eddie's ugly cousin, Train Car Tammy. She won't wait her turn to get on or off the the metro car, but instead has to elbow her way onto the car before anyone can exit to ensure that she can reach the vertical center pole, wrap her body around it like Reed Richards, and hog it all to herself while other people are left to grasp onto handrails, shoulders, people's heads - anything they can reach - to steady themselves, as our well-trained and very skilled metro train drivers play their favorite game: Full-speed ahead/Slam on brakes (to be repeated at least 5-6 times between each designated metro stop.) You two, you know who you are. Don't let me catch you on the last train with a car all to ourselves...

3. The Good, the Bad, and the Wide. Hey, Tubby-Tubby, when you're walking down the sidewalk with your 4 or 5 buddies, do you really need to form a line across that sidewalk, arms interlocked, looking like a poorly-executed rugby scrum and blocking every one behind you from passing and everyone coming from the other direction from getting by? People, you're walking down the sidewalk, not filming a slo-mo, pre-shootout scene for a spaghetti western, and you're certainly not filming a "Hands Across America" commercial. Just keep to one side like they teach you in driver's ed, ok? (Preferably the right side, this isn't merry old England.) I also offer an alternative solution: try moving like you actually have to be somewhere.

And hey, if your a$$ is more than 24 inches wide, this applies doubly to you, couch potato, because you're taking up even more space. Yes, if you're not sure this applies to you, just use this simple rule of thumb: if you've ever been charged for an extra seat on an airline because you are too big to fit into 1 seat, then don't stand side by side with your equally large friends and block human traffic in both directions. If you're still not sure this applies to you, check your clothes. Are they O.R. scrubs? OK, now look where you are. Are you standing in front of Macky D's? If the answer to both of these questions is "Yes," then I'm talking to you. Or, more likely, I'm behind you yelling "excuse me" for the umpteenth time, and late for work.

4. Beepy McHonksalot. Hey you. Yeah, you there, stuck in the intersection. Yes, you. The one that's really ticked off because there's a truck blocking your path. Yeah, you. The one that's been laying on the horn -- for so long that it has evolved to a state of consciousness and is now communicating with all the surrounding horns -- because the light's already changed color and that truck ain't going anywhere. Yeah, you. Guess what, YOU ARE ACCOMPLISHING NOTHING EXCEPT INFURIATING ALL THE PEDESTRIANS TRYING TO GET ACROSS THE CROSSWALK around you. Yes, and you're drowning out my IPod, and that's a serious no-no. And guess what? That dude in the truck? He's listening to his IPod, too, with the windows rolled up and the A/C cranked, and he either doesn't care that you're blaring the horn at him, he can't hear you, or he's toying with you because you look like such a schmuck. And the longer you lay on it, the better your chance of getting the fender of your Jetta kicked in by one of those irate pedestrians. Namely, me. Any questions? (Oh, p.s., when you drive a Jetta, you're just begging for truckdrivers to make you get stuck at intersections. Just a tip...)

5. Evil Glare Guy in the Crosswalk. Yeah, that's what I called you. The one giving me the Medusa death gaze with a twist of woman scorned topped off with the stink eye from one of the old geezers on the Muppet Show (I can never remember if it's Statler or Waldorf...) Yeah, the one who won't move his butt out of the way even though I have a green light, a full tank of gas, and Linkin Park jammin' on the CD player, and you have a Don't Walk sign. The one who thinks that by making me wait at the intersection while you amble lazily across to no particular destination, that you're getting back at me for some unknowable slight you or your friends or ancestors may have suffered at the hands of someone who likely had little or no resemblance or ties to Yours Truly. Look, I drive a beat-up jeep. And I have a short temper, as anyone reading this blog already knows. And no one's probably going to miss you and your passive-aggressive shuffle. Don't tempt me.

6. Evil Glare Guy's latino cousin, Hefe (and his rather large family). Hey, hombre, look, I fully support you taking pedestrianism to new heights with your uncanny ability to dart across no-matter-how-many lanes of traffic at any time of the day, any day of the week, for no discernible reason, but could you not do it on my watch? I'm already irritated at being cut in front of, beeped at, and elbowed out of the way. And like I said before, my jeep's already beat up. The last thing it needs is imprints of you and your 12 kids on it.

7. Out with the FADs Already. I'm sure anyone who's been on the road for more than 2 weeks has learned to avoid the Female Asian Driver at all costs. This creature feeds on the fear it causes other drivers around it. It has several preferred tactics to induce us to believe that it has included us in some kind of secret, vehicular double-suicide pact. It's favorite is the "Atari Lane Change." This technique is very simple: get your car (preferably a Honda Civic) up to cruising speed, match the flow of traffic around you, and then, suddenly, and without warning, change lanes for no particular reason. This technique can be followed up with the equally effective and no-less-deadly "Tri-County Tailgate" - this is where the FAD rides up on your bumper for at least 10 minutes, taking breaks only to execute more Atari Lane Changes in order to involve several other drivers in the feeding frenzy. A lesser know, but again equally effective, technique is called the "Don't Make a Left Turn While the Light is Green and No Cars Are Coming Despite a Half Dozen Cars Behind You Beeping for You to Go, But As Soon as it Turns Red Dart Out and Almost Collide With Another Car," for lack of a better term...

When used in combination, these techniques present a formidable fighting style. One last warning - if cornered, the FAD will turn one or both of its blinkers on and slow down to a crawl in the fast lane (usually during rush hour) - they call this "The Creeper." Do not be fooled! This is done only to induce other drivers into a false sense of security, and will likey be quickly followed up by an Atari Lane Change, so watch out!

As an aside, a lot of those FADs are pretty cute. Unfortunately, the closest you'll ever get to them are the grills of their brothers' souped-up, tricked-out Acura Integras, so don't bother, Romeos...

8. The Griswalds. I love to travel. and I really think it's great that families get out and travel together. And I also think it's great that D.C. has a huge influx of tourists every year that come here to see the monuments, the Capitol, the White House, the memorials, and the museums, buy "FBI" tennis visors and "CIA" t-shirts, and drop off all their hard-earned Confederate currency at the dirty-water hotdog stands on 2-dollar bottles of water and melted ice cream sammies... I just wish they could take all of us that have to live and work here around this time, and move us somewhere during tourist season. Tropical island, holding cell, it really doesn't matter. As long as I don't have to watch and listen to Bob and Harriet on the subway trying to figure out the *color-coded* metro system with their Captain Crunch decoder rings...

Seriously. Do you remember the scene from the Lion King where mufassa gets trampled to death by the frightened, stampeding heard of wildebeasts? Well, imagine how Mufassa felt as he was getting trampled -- multiply it by about 100; replace the wildebeasts in your mind with chubby families wearing straw hats, Hawaiian shirts, and fanny packs, with 8 kids in tow, 4 missing, 1 or 2 still in the oven, and the rest running up and down the wrong way on the escalators, hopping back and forth over the metro turnstiles, or B-lining straight for anybody walking in the opposite direction on the sidewalk, put some maps in their hands, binoculars around their necks, and a stream of Cheerios trickling out behind them -- and you know what we go through from about June to the beginning of September.

I do have a few words of warning to tourists in D.C., though, because, well, I'm a heck of a guy:

(1) If you have the audacity to *stand* on the escalators you better either do it on the right-hand side or, well, let's just say that if you haven't prepared yourself to fend off a vicious secretary who's 30 minutes late for work and hasn't had her double-shot Colombia Nariño Supremo espresso from Starbucks yet... you're in for a world of hurt, my friend, a world of hurt.

(2) If you're going to visit some of the sites in D.C., like oh, the Children's Museum, or the Titanic Memorial (never heard of that one, did ya?), you'd better either bring along an off-duty LAPD vice cop that's packing heat, or at the very least, change out of the "I'm a tourist, could you please take a picture of us, then mug me" outfit you bought at L.L. Bean last weekend for the trip.

(3) Don't bring the kids. At all. It's like 120 degrees here in the summer, folks, and muggy as a sauna. I appreciate, and I'm sure you'll appreciate, too, seeing a memorial to the men and women who died for our freedom and liberty during World War II that may or may not have been a bit too pricey. But if you think your 10-year old kid wants to see it, and wouldn't rather be sitting by the pool at the Howard Johnson instead gettin' groovy with Pitfall Harry on his Gameboy Advance, you're wrong. He'll just resent you for it. And eventually, when you're older, and he's in charge of YOUR welfare, he'll stick you in a run-down home where the orderlies beat you and make you watch Dharma and Greg every day. Bank on it.

To Whom It May Concern: Check this early and often, or else I'll blog about YOU!

Do Yo Homework, Eat Yo Vitamins, and Drink Yo Milk!

Yeah, kids, this one's for you.