(Edit, 12:42 a.m., Dec. 21: In a development that can only be seen as startling in the eyes of people dumb enough to fork over money to Brian Kolfage, he is evidently a lying sack of shit. I still think all of this is funny because I have no idea if those who donated to the cause will get a refund if the whole enterprise topples. I rather hope they don’t.)
I joked the other day about someone starting a GoFundMe campaign to empower private citizens, specifically fuckups, to fund the border wall. For a host of obvious logistical and political reasons, such a thing would be bursting with the potential for disaster and, thus, schadenfreude.
Therefore, shame on me for not immediately realizing that someone from Florida was already on it.
I went to high school with a guy who is also a triple amputee: His frontal lobe and both temporal lobes disappeared sometime between 1988 and 2016. He was making noises about doing this shortly after Trump took office it and slowly started to dawn on him, like a dog that has been basking in the smell of its own farts for years before the day it finally starts looking suspiciously at its own asshole, that maybe Mexico wasn’t as eager to pay for a border wall as Trump had promised.
The reasoning of the many, many fartbaskers just like this fellow now seems to be:
Continue reading “Who’ll fund my hospital stay after I suffer a hernia from laughing?”
The most important thing about this graph (source) is that it signifies not an increase in the general public’s understanding of climate science, but a trend toward greater trust in science and scientists as a whole. The former is not vital but the latter clearly is.
This is good news, but — and forgive me for my glass-half-shattered outlook here — it only further exposes just how foolish the many remaining holdouts are.
I have a degree in a physical science, and I try to keep current on important (or sometimes simply interesting) scientific issues. But I don’t pretend to have more than a passing knowledge of what climate scientists do in terms of information gathering and data analysis and computer modeling. What I do know for certain is that their conclusions are not whimsical or capricious or, worse yet, products of influence-peddling or part of a conspiracy aimed at making a few climate scientists rich. Yet we live in a country rife with “bloggers” who apparently think that climate-change data is the result of a few guys from NCAR sticking a ruler and a thermometer into the Antarctic ice shelf once a year and bleating “Owned, Inhofe!” as they scribble bullshit into their little notebooks. They are the ones who aren’t joking when they point at May snowfall in Colorado or a sub-freezing day in Tallahassee as proof that human-caused climate change — or hell, global warming, period — is an elaborate hoax.
Continue reading “Is climate change the new gay marijuana?”
…had you told me these things about the present day 20 years ago:
* a black guy who smokes cigarettes will win the presidency — twice — while running against a wealthy, handsome white guy the second time.
* gay people will be legally allowed to get married in numerous states, with the support of a growing majority of Americans.
* something called the Internet will reveal that a horrifying fraction of Americans are functionally illiterate racist misogynist swine. (Well, this one might not have shocked me.)
That is all.
Once there was an old man in the twilight of his life. One night he had a dream. In his dream he saw a beautiful sand beach stretching along the shore of a great ocean. And on that beach was a set of footprints heading off into the distance. In a moment of insight the old man realized that the footprints represented his own journey through life. And so he followed the path they made, re-examining his experiences across the years.
At times the footprints were steady and true. At other times they appeared erratic and deeply embedded in the sand as if a heavy load had been carried. These in particular were the times of great duress during the old man’s life. But light or heavy, always the footprints were alone. And the old man wondered how this could be. After all, he always thought that he had “walked with the lord”. Why weren’t the lord’s footprints alongside his own? So the old man cried out “Lord! Did we not walk together? And why were you not with me when the times were most difficult?”
And the old man listened for an answer but heard nothing. He cried out again but still nothing. No matter how intently he strained to hear, nothing came. And it was then that the old man realized that there was no lord. Rather, it was the old man who had been carrying the burden of an ancient, now useless concept which had made the journey so difficult. It was a concept which had been placed on his shoulders as a child and reinforced by well meaning family and friends as the years went by.
And so the old man straightened himself, cast off his burden, and looking out across the vast ocean, felt at long last a true sense of freedom and relief. He smiled to himself knowing that, truly, tomorrow would be a new day.
Nope. He’s pretty close to the top of the pile, actually. Check out 19th place in the small-school boys’ race at this past Saturday’s Manchester Cross-Country Invitational. (Okay, the spelling is a bit off, but were this a road race rather than a sanctioned high-school event, I’d be screaming fraud.) It was at this meet in 1985 — my sophomore year — that I first transformed myself, in my mind, into a decent runner. The event has exploded into an extravaganza attracting many top teams from New England and — obviously! — New York State.
Really. I think this is perfect.
I don’t find a Pastafarian demanding to be able to wear a colander on his head for a license photo any more ridiculous than a Christian demanding to be able to wear a cross or a Jew wearing a star of David.
I do draw the line at practitioners of voodoo wearing dead chickens around their necks, though. Health concerns mostly.
I wish that for one day, everyone in the United States who is ambulatory would lose the ability to walk, but retain the ability to run. This would happen with no concomitant improvement in anyone’s fitness. In other words, the only way people could get from place to place on foot would be to run, however slowly, sloppily and painfully. If they needed to take breaks, they’d have to sit down or stand there until ready to go again.
This would be an awesome sight in the non-ironic but non-hackneyed sense of the word. Just imagine it. Young people, fit people, heavies, senior citizens, smokers, drunks, cops, aspiring pedophiles, missionaries, whores, cable servicepersons, Wal-Mart shoppers, everyone — running along sidewalks, across parking lots, from the bread aisle to the checkout counter, into family court, out of bars at last call. I would spend the entire day filming people, except at the end, where people like me would be at a distinct strength advantage we would put to heroic use, e.g., in the form of looting or recreational vandalism.