What do *I* care?
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “what the hell do you care, Weasel? You ain’t hanging around for President McClintobama. You’re setting sail for the island of warm booze and offal pie.”
Well, shut up, that’s what. American politics will affect me nearly as much in Badgerland as it does in Weaseltopia. I still have to file a US income tax return every year — America is the only country that makes its expats do this, forever — though I’ll never make enough money to owe anything to Uncle Sam (I think the threshold is, like, eighty grand). I own land in the US, so there’s property taxes to deal with. I desperately need whatever pittance I can screw out of Social Security after thirty-some years of paying in (Uncle B and I both signed up for the “work until you die” retirement plan). I’ll be back every year to buy mayonnaise and cheap blue jeans. Heck, we’ll both come over and build that romantic bunker in the woods I’ve always wanted, if the Musselman overruns the South of England.
And you would not believe how US current events saturate British media.
I don’t mean entertainment. Hollywood dreck is a major American export. I expect to see a lot of it abroad, most especially in English-speaking countries (which includes parts of Britain). (Though, you know, geez…we’ve done other things since Sergeant Bilko. Splash out, Limeys. Try something new in that 10am time slot. Flipper. Or Bonanza, maybe).
No, I’m talking about how American news and general cultural stuff permeate British media, the BBC in particular. Sure, a lot of that is Bush Derangement Syndrome. Some of it is simply responsible international reporting, since we have our fingers in so many…ummm…dykes. But, whoo! Seriously, honest-to-geez, they can work America into the weather forecast. Spend a day listening to the BBC’s Radio 4 — America is with you from the Shipping Forecast right through to Book at Bedtime.
Whenever I hear some lefty tool mouthing off about “American cultural hegemony” I think, “oh, here’s an idea — you could maybe SHUT THE HELL UP about us for, like, two seconds. You think that might help lower our profile? Yeah. Go talk about Belgium for a day and let us rest our hegemoning muscle.”
So, rest assured, whatever you guys do, I’m going to spend all day hearing about it. Especially if it’s something stupid and embarrassing. Most especially if that stupid embarrassing thing involves beer, guns or Jesus.
And so, my fellow Americans, do a weasel a favor? Don’t make this immigrant thing any harder than it has to be. Refrain from getting drunk and shooting up a megachurch, please. And send me my goddamn absentee ballot.
February 18, 2008 — 3:59 pm
Comments: 51
Just resting my eyes
I had a whole weekend of delightful moving and packing planned, then a friend Skyped yesterday morning and said, “wanna go hiking?” And I’m, like, “Tcha!”
We hiked around Arcadia all day, one of the best forests in Rhode Island (of which, believe it or not, there are many). Then we managed to drop $50 on pizza (my friend has a seriously messed up eyes to stomach ratio; I have enough cold pizza in the ‘fridge to last me to Wednesday). Then I stayed up late drinkin’ and watchin’ the Towering Inferno on DVD.
All in all, Saturday was an island of happy in a sea of meh! Now it’s Sunday and I’m footsore and seriously behind.
You?
February 17, 2008 — 10:19 am
Comments: 51
They’ve dug up the Gipper!
George Gipp (1895-1920) All American football player. Died of pneumonia and may or may not have said the following:
I’ve got to go, Rock. It’s all right. I’m not afraid. Some time, Rock, when the team is up against it, when things are wrong and the breaks are beating the boys, ask them to go in there with all they’ve got and win just one for the Gipper. I don’t know where I’ll be then, Rock. But I’ll know about it, and I’ll be happy.
Which was immortalized in Knute Rockne, All American, with Ronald Reagan in the role of Gipp. Which is why…etcetera.
Anyhoo! Somebody dug him up this Fall to see if he was that somebody’s babydaddy. Which he wasn’t. ESPN was invited to film the exhumation, which sounds like it was very badly done. Messy. Bad feelings and lawsuits all around.
I’m pretty sure that quote is bogus. I’m pretty sure most deathbed quotes are bogus. Surely, nobody dies talking about football, unless it’s a hammer murder.
I bet you anything the vast majority of last words are something
along the lines of, “HOLY SHIT MARGARET I’M DYING!!!!”
February 15, 2008 — 3:46 pm
Comments: 45
Wawwy Wound the Fwag, boys!
Okay, so I ditched work and went to the McCain rally. The crowd was much bigger than I expected. I saw so much blue hair it looked like Free Sample Day at the cotton candy factory.
My pictures are teh suck because I was late and stuck way in the back.
If ever there was such a thing as a John McCain faction of the GOP, Rhode Island is it. He won the Republican vote easily in 2000, partly because he was the only politician who actually visited. Nobody else bothers. I think the mid-Atlantic states felt sorry for us and scraped together a delegate they let us use sometimes.
So maybe he’d give a different speech someplace else. There was lots of the usual talk about his military experience and invoking of Ronald Reagan. He did mention “Islamic radicals” specifically, so…good. That “my friends” thing is going to wear on the nerves over time.
He said his support for the surge almost cost him his career. What did he mean by that? Surely he wasn’t blaming his campaign problems on the war…? Is that what “I would rather lose a campaign than a war” means? Because, who the hell was going to hold that against him…the other party?
Speaking of what almost did deep six his run, he didn’t. Not one mention of immigration.
He talked for a while about global warming in a wheedling sort of way. Basically, “even if we’re wrong about global warming, we’ll develop some neat new technologies.” Meh.
Every time he said something they liked, a forest of AARP signs rose up all around him. That’s American Association of Retired Persons, for you foreigners. Old coots are the most reliable voting bloc, but that image is going to kill him if it’s Obama.
He’s a little fart, too. Senator Sawed-off McRunty, Angry Old Man, versus tall, thin, elegant young black man bursting with Hope and Change. Yosemite Sam versus Tuxedo Mask. Oof!
On the way out, one sweet little old lady turned to the other and said (for no particular reason I could discern), “I just love that Lindsay Graham.” And the other coo’d, “oh yes — me too!”
I hate the Stupid Party.
February 14, 2008 — 6:51 pm
Comments: 48
Neener-neener-neener! w00t!
I have…productivity issues. I’m sure I could have accomplished great things in my life, were I not so…utterly…butt-lazy. And there’s that alcohol thing, too.
I started sweasel.com in October ’06 on WordPress, and a very uneven job I made of it. When I moved to my own URL, I had a personal goal: to pull at least one post out of my ass every weekday for a year. Just to see if I could do it.
Well today, I am a man.
Ummm…whatever. I did it! It’s a year today!
Oh, sure…some of those posts were pretty lame. Okay, a lot of them were very lame. Sometimes, Weekend Weasel is all you got on a Friday. But, hey, those weasels don’t Photoshop themselves, you know. And sometimes, you got two lame posts out of me in a day!
Well, onward and outward. For Year Two, my goal is…
Oh, shit. I don’t have a goal for Year Two.
Ummm…happy Valentine’s Day!
— 6:25 am
Comments: 31
Huh. That’s odd.
Isn’t that odd, calling the night before? It’s a 1:30 event. Like, who can arrange time off on that kind of notice?
I’m awfully tempted to try to nip out for an hour. It’s not far from the office and I can’t imagine there’ll be many people there. So I could look him right in the
eye and say, “Ummm…hi, Senator.”
February 13, 2008 — 7:32 pm
Comments: 14
It’s a big game; let’s play it on the whole field
THE NEXT PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES IS SITTING IN THE SENATE RIGHT NOW
Boo! That means (among other unfortunate things) he, she or it is going to have all kinds of history with the Senate. Alliances, grudges, favors to call in. The next president is going to know how to play that instrument.
So it’s especially important that we get good people in the House and Senate and maintain some influence over them. A solid conservative in a state a thousand miles away is going to have far more positive effect on your life than a squish (or a Democrat) in your home state (unless you’re looking for somebody to bring home the pork. You’re not looking for pork, are you? Are you?)
By all means, get off your duff and vote in November. Our side isn’t going to be enthused this time, so turnout will inevitably be down. That makes your vote weightier than usual. But many of us live in districts with no interesting contests. And in terms of direct influence over the election and subsequent behavior of legislators, nothing beats money and direct communication.
It’s unfortunate that demonstrators, donors, letter-writers and other loudmouths count disproportionately in the system. But you know what? Tough. They do. We’re like cockroaches to politicians: for every one of us they see, they assume there are a hundred more just like us in the walls.
So let’s make some noise. Small donations and no green ink! Well, no more than you can help, you ‘winger nutcase, you.
SeeDubya got out ahead of me on this one (get out of my head, man!). He suggests a sort of Adopt-a-Pol scheme, where you pick a good guy and send him $20 every month along with a nice letter or an article. It’s a plan.
DoublePlusUndead suggests a place to start — Lou Barletta, mayor of Hazleton. He’s one of the guys drafting local laws that crack down on businesses and landlords who aid illegals. He’s running for Congess in Pennsylvania’s 11th District, which is considered a very safe seat for the Democrat incumbent (all the more fun to make them at least sweat a little).
Me, I’m looking to stick my nose in a number of places it doesn’t belong. I need a distraction this year and this could be more fun than breeding show rats. If you know of vulnerable or up-and-coming conservatives, get out the word. Maybe we can use that internet thing the kids are all het up about.
And don’t forget governors. We make some of our best presidents out of those.
Despite everything, I have a really good feeling about the state of conservatism today. Why? Because I drink excessively and it affects my judgement.
Still, I’m wrong only maybe 50% of the time!
The ultimate determinant in the struggle now going
on for the world will not be bombs and rockets but
a test of wills and ideas. No, really. I said that.
— 12:10 pm
Comments: 6
Should I drink it, or skip the middleman and pour it directly down the toilet?
Say, I haven’t posted anything pointless and excruciatingly personal in almost a week. That ain’t right. So, behold! The only passion Bill Clinton and I share: Diet Dr Pepper.
Better, when I can get it: Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper. I don’t usually like excessively sweet things, but DCVDP has a fake fruit metallic zing that is perfect for barking the scunge out of a weasel’s gob. [That was an unpleasant phrase. Please forget I wrote it. Thank you]
My last trip to the supermarket, they had this swill instead of my usual tipple: Diet Cherry Chocolate Dr Pepper. So I bought it. Shall I tell you why it’s labeled ‘limited edition”? Because I guess they made a whole shitload of it before they realized what a gustatory horror show it is.
Does it taste of chocolate? Oh, yes. Yes, it does. That’s the problem.
Ummmm…okay. Politics. Right. Read Iowahawk. This one got the Uncle Badger Seal of Approval, and Uncle B knows him some Chaucer. And some Englande folk.
— 10:17 am
Comments: 17
Forgive me, Zombie Reagan
I was just hitting my teens when the Vietnam war ended in shame (my big brother was one of the last draftees — the most persuasive argument I know for an all-volunteer army). Then Watergate. The energy crisis(es). The Iranian hostage crisis. Stagflation. A president named “Jimmy.” Oh, it was a terrible time.
We had our 200th birthday and the press was full of stories by learned men about the death of empires. Two centuries was a pretty good run, everyone agreed.
We made shit products and charged too much money for them and nobody wanted to buy. Instead of making things better or cheaper, we tried to guilt each other into buying our own junk with strongarm appeals to a patriotism we didn’t really feel (“look for the union label” the Textile Workers sang to us on the TV. Buy our shoddy, overpriced crap or you hate America).
Everything cost too much and nobody had enough and we were COLD all the time. We — my family — ate a lot of game. Greasy stews and small furry animals bleeding out in the sink; that’s what the Seventies mean to me. That, and disco.
Malaise was busting out all over. It was pervasive. Drenching. It got right down into your bones, like damp cold. It worked its way into the drapes like a ripe stink. It was all over for America, we were all done.
Jimmy Carter didn’t totally own the malaise, but he was the perfect front man. Turn down the thermostat and put on a sweater, he said. You aren’t so special, he said. Pride goeth before a fall, he said. You’re going to poke an eye out with that thing, he said. America elected Jimmy Carter to atone for her sins, because surely God was mad at us.
The media assured us that sour, spiteful, shriveled up whey-faced bitter schoolmarm Jimmy Carter was going to be president forever.
When Ronald Reagan kicked his ass, it was like Spring after Winter. Like rain in the desert. Like all the bad things in all the stories coming untrue at once. Like lollipops, quilted toilet paper and a pony for Christmas. Every Christmas.
I was not all that political. Maybe, in a way, that made the contrast more vivid to me.
For years, I was so distracted by the difference Reagan made that I largely missed what a remarkable man he was his own self. The press helped me here: Bush Derangement Syndrome didn’t flare up out of nowhere. Ronnie led the way on this one, too. Damn, but the media hated that man.
Well, forgive me. For I have just boughten the Reagan Diaries and I shall readen them cover to cover.
So help me Zombie Reagan.
Wait! You didn’t pick the guy with the great hair?
Did you learn NOTHING from me?
February 12, 2008 — 3:14 pm
Comments: 16
Help us, Zombie Reagan — you’re our only hope!
UPDATE: Since this has turned out to be the Identity Election, I believe the time is right for an undead candidate. Got any slogan ideas for Zombie Reagan? Please join us in the thread and share. Let’s win one for the Kipper!
February 11, 2008 — 6:56 am
Comments: 71