Yuppie parents have been provided with a new tool to guide offspring earlier onto success path - DNA testing to predict which sports will best suit your kids’ talents! And, yes, I’m citing an article in the NYT but the story originated out of Boulder, CO. Why am I not surprised. Parental quote from the article:
“I could see how some people might think the test would pigeonhole your child into doing fewer sports or being exposed to fewer things, but I still think it’s good to match them with the right activity. I think it would prevent a lot of parental frustration.”
Because it is, of course, all about the parents.
Tweety in 2010? Apparently a Senate run is on his mind (as much as he can be said to have an actual “mind”. The kind that thinks. And listens.) So far I have not signed up to volunteer in the campaign.
It will be interesting to see how the now marginalized religious right nutballs behave during the next four years, but perhaps more importantly, to see how an Obama administration accommodates them. I have to admit the way I view these poor souls has changed in the last couple of years and I want to write about that when I have more time. For now, though, here is another early post regarding Obama’s position on the pledge and what I saw at the time as an alternative outlet for Democratic energy:
Monday, July 10, 2006
What To Do?
I didn’t get the memo from Carville, so I don’t know if he warned Democrats to tip-toe around religious issues and instead suggested that more votes could be had by assisting the religious right in their attempts to take over the government. But I wanted to revisit the statement made a few days ago by Barack Obama where he paid lip service to religious conservatives by stating Democrats should embrace the evangelical end of the spirituality spectrum. He crossed a line, in my opinion, when he said this:
“It is doubtful that children reciting the Pledge of Allegiance feel oppressed or brainwashed as a consequence of muttering the phrase ‘under God.’”
First, let’s go back to the principle of saying what you mean and meaning what you say. A political party is much like a brand, and brands thrive or wither based on how consistently they deliver on what they promise. Along those same lines, it’s important for brands to stick to their knitting. If John Deere’s tractor sales are declining, they don’t say, “Tell you what, let’s make cars and airplanes, too.” Instead, they focus on producing better tractors.
I make that point because there’s a real temptation in Republican circles right now to try and be all things to all people. We tried that already — it was called “compassionate conservatism,” and it got us nowhere.
Less big tent, more pup tent. Less compassion, more indifference. I like it. Sounds like a recipe for success. Watching these disempowered dimwits thrash around in the coming months and years and (hopefully) decades looking for “the answer” as their base dwindles away will be a great source of entertainment for me. [via TPM]
Back at the end of ought-six, in the days when I was known to bash Obama for crossing the line with his religious rhetoric, an important event turned my head. It was then that I first learned that Samantha Power was part of Obama’s advisory team. If the choice had to made between justice and humanity in the world, and a little religion sprinkled into our political speech, I’ll go with the justice and humanity. Of course, it was Samantha Power who later got bounced from Obama’s campaign for this honest off the record utterance:
Clinton “is a monster” and “she is stooping to anything. . . . The amount of deceit she has put forward is really unattractive.”
Well, today, proving that there is no hatchet that can’t be buried, Samantha Power has returned to a position of influence on the O-team, and potentially on the C-team:
Samantha Power, the Harvard professor who was forced to resign from Barack Obama’s presidential campaign last spring after calling Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton “a monster,” is now advising the president-elect on transition matters relating to the State Department—which Clinton is slated to head.
Poetic justice even.
NOTE 1: The earlier post (first link above) explains where my loyalty to Samantha Power comes from, but also, notice who comments more than once to do some Obama bashing.
NOTE 2: ts spots a contingent who is not happy with this news.
And does anybody besides me think it’s a little weird that the the female judges at all these big dog shows dress like they got confused and thought they were going to opening night at the Opera House? I mean, nobody else is covered with sequins and bugle beads. The owners and handlers are all in nice business attire and half the audience is probably wearing jeans. So is this just some kind of dog show tradition? I realize this is not a pressing national issue but my family got tired of hearing me kvetch about it so I thought I’d run it past you guys. Anyone know the story on this?
If you wanna talk turkey today (gack!), you can do that here. I’ll leave this post stuck to the top o’ the blog for the rest of the day. I hope you all have a wonderful time today and thanks a bunch for making this such a great place to hang out. I’m honored to have so many smart, entertaining and damn funny folks indulging in the Rumproast. If my arms were long enough, I’d hug all of you right now. Best, K.
But the lucky bird didn’t breath a sigh of relief until President-Elect Obama assured him he would not have a starring role in the Thanksgiving Day feast. Even bird-brains don’t take Bush seriously anymore…
I once spent a fairly long amount of time talking on the phone with Diana Ross. The conversation was mostly about internet-related stuff (someone referred her to me because she wanted advice on setting up an official web site) and she was really nice. On the other end of the musical spectrum, I’ve spoken twice on the phone with the very reclusive Don Van Vliet (aka Captain Beefheart). He was nice, too. (Bonus fact: one of them used the phrase “fuck with my chrome” during one of the phone calls. I’ll let you guess which one.)
I have been known to grab squeeze bottles of brown deli mustard out of the refrigerator and squirt the contents right into my mouth. I have done that a lot. Sue me. I love mustard. (Bonus fact: I hate mustard on burgers, though. And key lime pie.)
I was editor-in-chief and co-founder of a humor magazine in college called The Chunk. It was originally called The Monthly Chunk but we had a hard time staying on schedule due to our debilitating drug and alcohol problems. The National Lampoon, which was a mere shell of its former self at the time, was so pissed off about an article one of our writers penned about how their magazine wasn’t funny anymore that they took a stab at The Chunk in one of their issues. I can’t remember what they wrote about us (the magazine is buried in storage somewhere), but I do remember that it was horribly unfunny. (Bonus fact: still not funny.)
I hardly ever use the word “awesome.” It’s not that I hate the word or anything, it’s just that for some reason I never incorporate it into my conversations or my writing. I noticed it a few months ago and I guess this is as good a place as any to share that utterly useless fact. (Bonus fact: one of my favorite words is “unctuous,” but I hardly ever use that one either.)
I was held up at gunpoint only a few months after I moved to New York City in the early nineties. I was walking through a desolate part of Greenpoint, a Polish neighborhood in Brooklyn I was living in at the time, when I was “accosted” by the “perp.” I gave him all of the money I had on me (I think it was about 60 bucks) and he asked me for my wallet. I said to him, I shit you not, “I have my bank slips in there and I have to balance my checkbook.” For some insane reason he thought that was an okay excuse and after he told me to turn around and run in the other direction, I thought to myself, “If I was him, I’d shoot me now for saying something so idiotic.” When I got back to my apartment I told my roommate the story and proceeded to chug inordinate amounts of amaretto, which was unfortunately the only booze we had in the joint. (Bonus fact: chugging amaretto sucks nearly as much as getting mugged at gunpoint.)
A lot of folks justifiably loathe Rupert Holmes’ “Escape (The Pina Colada Song),” but I think his song “Him” just may be the most impenetrably awful song ever created. I don’t care how old Holmes is right now, but if he ever gets near me I’ll punch him really hard in the face for writing and performing that abomination. (Bonus fact: if Rupert is, in fact, dead, I’ll hunt down his ghost and punch that fucking thing in the face. That’s how much I hate that goddamn song.)
We went out for a few drinks last night with icebergwedge and missmira, the myiq2xu slayer. Got up at 6:15 this morning and seriously hated the world. Like really hated it. Dragged my sorry ass to the gym. Watched Morning Joe on the treadmill. Hawkface is still a dick. Mika got upset when they showed a close-up of Sarah Palin’s face because I guess that’s sexist. Running while watching Peggy Noonan made me queasy. Stopped running. Listened to the Sex Pistols’ Never Mind the Bollocks while I was lifting weights. Haven’t listened to that in a while and really enjoyed it. Some day I will be as buff as Sid Vicious. Went to the grocery store to buy ingredients for the stuffing we’re bringing to tomorrow’s Thanksgiving dinner. Found out from the cashier that I qualified to get a free turkey! Barack Obama is magical! After only two speeches he’s gotten the economy back on track. Things are so good that THEY’RE GIVING AWAY FREE TURKEYS! Take that, you whiny netroot killjoys! Errrmmmm. Okay… pull it back. I then had to lug a nearly 22 pound frozen turkey home along with the rest of the groceries. This made me cranky after some seriously deranged jubilation at the grocery checkout. Jammed the bird into the freezer. Poured myself a coffee. Started writing this. THE END.
So what did you do this morning?
BONUS: Since we’re introducing people to our pets, here’s my cat Hubcap. She doesn’t want anything to do with you…