Okay, so everyday on my way into work, I listen to Democracy Now on the local NPR station (which, as some may deduce, means that I’m always late for work, but that’s beside the point). So I get the wonderful opportunity of starting out each morning with tales of the war crimes, continued abuses of The Constitution, the further proliferation of assault weapons and other more “personal” weapons of mass destruction, and other niceties.

This morning, as I heard once again the use of the term “War Crimes” in reference to U.S. treatment of detainees (prisoners are actually CHARGED with something) in Iraq, I realized that that’s not the correct term. There can only be crimes committed when there is someone there to enforce the laws that dictate criminal behavior. As the last surviving Super Power, WE get to make up the rules as we go along, so a tortured Iraqi here and a detained “enemy combatant” there really don’t amount to much as long as we’re the ones on watch.

Notice that I keep saying “we.” The unfortunate reality of representative Democracy is that each and every one of us is complicit in this global game of cowboys and indians that Shrub has been playing. I heard a stat on the radio yesterday that said 68% of Americans polled thought that extending the assault weapons ban was the right thing to do. SIXTY-EIGHT PERCENT. So we’re not talking about everything hinging on Florida here. That’s a CLEAR majority of our Nation. How come our elected officials aren’t listening to the voices of their respective constituencies? Because that majority didn’t elect those officials. That majority was too busy following the court appointed “president” and shopping to fight terrorism. I wonder how many of those 68% made it to the ballot box over the last four years. Two-thirds? Half? More like 30%. Maybe.

We who live in the free (which is to say “costly”) world have an obligation to actually practice what we preach. PLEASE take a role in your LOCAL political scene. It’s nice that every four years people think that marching in New York or putting a sign in their yard is REALLY making a difference in the world, but that simply IS NOT the case. The phrase “all politics is local” is true. Go to a school board meeting and make your opinions known. Run for alder(wo)man. Hell, get elected to Congress if you can.

And VOTE! And find someone you know, maybe not even that well, and get them to VOTE. Not necessarily for your candidate, but just get them in the ballot box. Affecting REAL, democratic change is not going start at the top. Just like prosperity, Democracy is not going to trickle down... 

So, is Alan Greenspan, while remaining “politically a-sexual” on the surface, actually peeking out of the Democrat closet by telling Congress and the world that we need to cut Social Security to cover deficit spending? I know that sounds a bit paradoxical, but bear with me here.

An announcement like that IMMEDIATELY gives whomever the primary process selects as the next Democratic candidate for president a HUGE talking point, since it’s the current administration’s tax breaks to the wealthy/spend-spend-spending habits (I think that last line would best be said by Max Headroom...oh Matt Frewer where are you when we need you most?!) that have given us such a rapidly growing deficit–$1 million per minute or something like that if you believe the Kerry campaign.

Where is the largest segment of those most likely to hit the voting booths in November? Squarely in the Baby Boom demographic: those most likely to get spooked by the possibility of dwindling Social Security benefits (benefits, by the way, that are being paid for by schlumps like you and me working TODAY, so maybe we oughta be a little miffed, too). Suddenly anyone talking about getting rid of the deficit looks like a pretty alright guy.

So, I ask again, is Greenspan really on our side? Weird, but maybe true. 

Okay, so I’m at this very moment watching the new Dennis Miller show on CNBC, and never in my life would I ever have thought that a day would come when given a choice between the two, I would choose MARTIN SHORT over Dennis Miller as the person who makes the most sense.

Dennis, Dennis, Dennis. What happened, man? We were all scared by 9/11. We all feel anxious about the state of the world and our country’s dwindling status as a bastion of safety within it. But to allow that fear to completely erase the last shred of left-leaning wit that made your career and instead become a Bush-loving, A-rab hating, blow 'em all up Hawk is absolutely reprehensible.

Dude! You couldn’t even get decent writers to follow your lead into this half-assed venture. You’re throwing around “liberal” like an epithet instead of using the well-placed jabs at ALL politicians that your humor once provided.

Maybe it just shows that anytime a media/political watchdog starts regularly choosing the same side, s/he loses the edge that made his/her opinion entertaining in the first place.

Or maybe this is just how he’s decided to be entertaining this year.

but he actually said that he “likes the cut of Bush’s jib.” That one’s going to be hard to forgive.  

Turns out, you CAN have too much hot sauce. While it is unfortunate that my first two entries here relate to lower intestinal distress, I believe it’s also rather fitting, as I spend much of my day wrapped up in thoughts of the scatological and my own tiny role in that realm. In any case, Super Bowl parties–in addition to being bastions of commercialism and knee-jerk conditional responses to culturally codified gender role portrayals (i.e. men hit men, women shake prettily and serve alcohol to said men, men hit women)–are first and foremost a time for over-eating. 

Well, when you’re drinking, writing blog’s seem funny and poignant. Also when your sick, drinking will either make you feel better or make you feel worse. Right now I feel better. Plus booze helps with the demons telling you to drink more. That’s ironic.

And when was the last time you killed someone driving a car. Well, next time, just tell everyone," hey that’s not my fault, I was drinking. Sorry about your Mommy’s Jaw, or where your Mommy’s jaw used to be."

As I cruised through the drifting snow and crunchy sludge of Route 34 this morning, the urge to “push” struck me, and I wondered why there is such a taboo associated with all things scatalogical. It must be some primal reaction to the leaving of one’s spoor, and thereby leaving evidence of one’s weakness to be found by predators and enemies.

Primal. Got to be it, because the modern human, possessing a (sometimes) rational mind should be able to see the excretion of waste as a natural result of the complex system of chemical and physiological reactions that sustain life.

Ahhh, who am I kidding? No matter how old I get, I shall defy ANYONE to convince me that doodies, farties and peepees will ever be anything but DAMN funny. 

Dora was at the circulation desk, assisting Beatrice, since Lori was too busy dishing dirt with the Troll in the cave to cover her shift at the desk. A small dark-haired boy approached the desk and said, “Hi, I got a call that some books came in for me. My name’s Cam Wellington.” Dora started looking through the shelf while Beatrice asked the boy what the titles were. “The three Star Wars Jedi Princess books,” he answered, eagerly eyeing the books Dora pulled out. She frowned at the package with the a yellow slip that had “cam wellington” written on it in the Troll’s grade school handwriting. She looked at the books: two Star Wars Jedi Princess books and a bodice ripper-murder mystery titled “The Ties That Bind” with a cover that gorily erotic enough to suit the genre. She handed the books over to the boy who took them and studied them. Dora found the old Sesame Street song, “Which of these things doesn’t belong?” going through her head. The boy finally shook his head and handed the adult book back to Dora.
“Um, I didn’t want this one,” he said slowly. Dora burst out laughing.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. I was wondering if maybe your mom requested a book on your card?” The boy shook his head to answer no. “Yeah, it’s a mix up here. Sorry. What’s the title you actually wanted?”
“Jedi Princess: Ties That Bind - the Star Wars Series,” he rattled off rapidly.
Dora wrote it down carefully. “Okay, I’ll put this in and we’ll give you a call when it comes in.” The boy nodded and raced happily out the door with his two correct books.
Dora held up the inappropriate book to show Beatrice. “Does this look like an Intermediate Reader Star Wars title to you?”
Beatrice had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep her laugh from ricocheting all over the library. “Oh lord. Who do you think she’ll blame this on?”
Dora shook her head, trying to keep her laughter at bay. “Do you want me to take it back to her?”
Beatrice tipped her head to the side, pondering the entertainment that this errand might be.
“Nah, you do it. Ten bucks says she’ll say it was my fault.”
Dora walked back to the Cave with the book in her hand. She handed it to the Troll.
“This is the wrong book. The boy who requested these wanted the three Star Wars books in the series. He got two of them, but then this was ordered instead of the third. Here’s the title and his information.” The Troll looked up at Dora, her fury barely contained.
“Oh. They didn’t tell me they wanted Star Wars books,” she said, grabbed the slip of paper and the steamy paperback and turned away from Dora. Dora headed back to the circulation desk, glad she wasn’t out ten bucks right now.

Allison came into the office and checked the printer for her paper.
“It ain’t workin',” the Troll said. Allison looked at her, frowned, and tapped the reset button on the printer. Still nothing. “I don’t know what’s going ons, but ain’t none of us can print today.” The Troll shrugged her meaty shoulders and laughed delightedly.
“Well, I wonder why,” Allison asked, almost to herself. “It was working fine last night.”
“I really don’t know. The rest of us, we’s just have to wait and find out,” the Troll crowed.
“The server’s down,” Dora muttered from behind her screen. Allison looked at her, intrigued. “You can print to a printer attached to your computer, but not to the networked one until they get the server restarted.”
Allison nodded and told Dora thanks. The Troll stared daggers at Dora for usurping her right to the news.

Lori walked up to the Troll’s desk, pulling her winter gloves on. “I thought I’d run out during lunch and pick up some sympathy cards.”
“Oh, I know,” the Troll piped up, eyes gleaming behind the dirty lenses of her cats-eye glasses. “I saw there was two listings in the paper, and it waren’t until I saw that they want donations to go to the Menmouth Liberry that I knew it was Laverne’s mother.”
“Have you ever bought cards at Dollar General?” Lori asked. The Troll was disappointed to leave the subject of obituaries.
“I don’t know. Which one is that?”
“The one out on Route 4, past the car wash.”
“Oh, no, I don’t go there. I go to Family Dollar.”
“Hmm,” said Lori. “I was wondering if they have decent sympathy cards there. They have everything else.”
The Troll’s eyebrows raised as she contemplated purchasing cards somewhere other than a drugstore.
“Of course,” Lori continued, “they were the ones that got robbed a few weeks ago.”
“What?” the Troll burst. “They got robbed?” The urgent tone in her voice revealed that the Troll simply did not believe crime to be possible in this part of the county.
“Yeah, there was a young girl who distracted the clerk out in the aisles while the other took the money from the register. I was driving past it later that day and there were all these cop cars all around it, lights flashin' and everything.”
“And a lot of those places only have one person working there. I was at the 7-11 the other night, and there was only this one girl behind the counter. And I didn’t think none of it,” the Troll leaned in to accent the gravity of the situation, “until these four boys come out of a pick-up in the parking lot and come in the store. And they was talking to each other in a different language, like they was from a different country. So I asked the girl if she wanted me to stay, be another body- I weren’t gonna get in the middle of anything, though- and she just looked at me real funny and said ‘No, why?’ I mean, this girl all alone with them guys, and you just never know what they might be doin'. And she don’t seem scared at all!”
“Well, I’m pretty sure they tell the people who work in those places just to hand the money over and not put up a fight if you get robbed,” Lori said.
“But you never what they might be up to,” the Troll insisted. “There could be violence or guns, or worse. I’d a been stark scared outta my mind to be alone with all them guys! And she’s in there by herself, and that teeny girl behind the counter all by herself, she don’t stand a chance.”
Lori shrugged and laughed a little at the shopgirl’s foolhardy bravery before leaving to take her lunch. The Troll was actually angry that a young, defenseless girl would be foolish enough to put herself in the dangerous path of non-english speaking males seeking to purchase Doritos and Mountain Dew.