The End is Nigh

I've been obsessed with the fact that in the next 10-20 years, America will finally fall from grace and no longer exist as the most powerful country in the world. The simple fact is that the EU, China, India and Brazil, and perhaps even Indonesia have finally gotten their shit together and are pressing forward voraciously to pin us back into submission.

What a concept...a multi-polar world! No longer will we dictate global priorities and policies. Imagine the idea of an entire block of Asia loyal to China, and perhaps a new arms race that the Americans won't be involved in! The prospect of China and India as global dominators makes me giddy - a Cold War that we're a pawn in!

Perhaps a merger with Canada and Mexico or even all of Central America is on the horizon, just to hedge our bets and prolong our dominance for a few more years?

The Backlash

We're nearing the close of day twenty-two without my precious cigarettes and for strange reasons I'm still whipping back slugs of black Kona coffee at ten o'clock in the P.M. This isn't the limp-dick "Kona Blend" variety mixed in at about a ten-to-one ratio alongside some ass-grounds cultivated from the hard scrabble semi-arid piss-dirt of the Mexican province of Chihuahua my dear friends. This is the REAL shit, the variety which keeps you running without proper nutrition for days mumbling bizarre quotes from obscure and long forgotten figures, mere footnotes of far East Asian philosophy. A powerful and bitter elixer that makes a man go blind in the right quantities, the true "white lightning" of the caffeine business for all you caramel latte types.
Having sufficiently poured the foundation of my bitter resentment toward just about everything, let me say this about the recent neo-con chain whipping back in November. It is true the Republican machine took the fragmented resemblance of what will forever be remembered as "the Democrats" behind the proverbial wood shed and beat the piss out of it within a hair of its life. The democrats are dead-meat kids. They'll return under the banner of something else, perhaps a bit leaner, a bit more unified in purpose, maybe a bit more vicious; or perhaps simply an even weaker caricature of the wimpy, gelatinous pile of useless legislative shit holding on to what little it has left right here, right now, in ought five. That party doesn't need a facelift, it needs to be put to sleep while it still has dignity. The boy didn't like putting two cartridges of buck-shot into Old Yeller but his pappy knew damn well it was boy who had to do the killin'.
That said, all I ask is that the neo-con voting block stops bitching about being victimized. Pure and simple, I'm tired of all the red state elephants who don't even know why they voted republican bitching about being the victims of the liberal this or that, I've grown weary of the directionless bitching of those chicken-shit pussies who can take credit for their accomplishments but fail to be held accountable for their failures. I'm tired of wedge-issue politics as well as bumper sticker domestic and international policy and I'll gladly lodge my little size 8-1/2 boot up anybody's self-righteous victimized ass that feels like elaborating on their compartmentalized and myopic vision of the reality in which we live in.

To Respond

The best way to describe it is simple - the Liberals got lazy and the Conservatives got organized. They had more coherent and logical messages, they did a better job with reiterating their messages in their echo chambers, and they gave the finger to the Center of the spectrum. This strategy can't work again, but as a last grasp at the Presidency, Rove's gamble paid off.

The liberals just assumed that outrage over the 2000 election would somehow magically transfer over 4 years of constant right-wing propaganda and elusive press conferences. How do you keep the fires stoked for 4 years? And falling behind Kerry was a terrible idea, but then again, falling behind any of those candidates, save Lyndon LaRouche, was a terrible idea. Not that W. is a stellar opponent, but shit, combining all 9 candidates still probably wouldn't do much against the machine that is W.

Its the cycle of government, my friends. We're doomed to a Republican majority for probably the next 25 or so years because the infrastructure is so finely tuned. And yes Mikey, Sun Belt and Mountain West states are indeed dumb, but they can afford to be fat, lazy and dumb because they're the ones who benefit from the largesse of the Blue State taxes. There is your end of a Republican majority - when Bush Inc. comes to the realization that their constituencies aren't benefiting, while the fat cats on Wall Street toast champagne and sail yachts to Bermuda with all the new-found cash that Bush Inc. provided to them through the tax cuts. Oh, and when the Christian Right finally realizes that W. and friends have taken off their chastity belt and Dick Cheney has planted his devil-seed in their collective womb...

Four More Years Apparently

Back to politics we go. I have to admit that I've generally ignored it since November 2nd. The weeks and months leading up to that were quite a fascinating drama to see play out. It was like inhaling information. Okay, yeah, so campaign season has nothing to do with actual "information," but it was great drama, can't deny that. And I had pretty much committed whatever intellectual and emotional faculties I had left. Which, with the disappointment of the outcome, kind of left you with a big, exhausted sigh.

Yesterday G-Dub kicked off his second go-around. The man is not the Antichrist some liberals (and New York alt-weeklies) hyperventilate about. A few items spring to mind. To root against G-Dub is to root for America to fail. Maybe? No? I think there's something more to this than simple AM Talk Radio Jedi Mind Tricks. It's spin, yes, I don't deny that. But if you were against, say, his invasion of Iraq and, thus, disagreed with his premise, then do you not take some minor glee every time things fuck up over there? You hear on the news that there's been another car bombing or soldier killed and you feel bad, but then you feel good because, dammit, your dissent has been validated. He WAS wrong, see??! And even if moral vanity somehow keeps you from gloating (which it usually doesn't), does not the failure propel you to further disagree with him -- to believe that he's taking us down the wrong path? America's failure (under Bush) is grist for the mill against him. I don't want to see America fail. But I don't want to see Bush succeed.

Also, why doesn't anybody ever call this guy out as a Christian? Where the heck is my Christian Left at? On foreign policy alone, they should be all up in his grill.

Lastly, looking for suggestions as to how to explain and -- yes, in a contrarian and insincere way -- defend G-Dub's reelection to furreigners'. And I don't want the usual Cali/NY/Democratic Party snob write-off about dumb dupes in red states. What a worthless, non-constructive and intellectually bankrupt paradigm.

-DJ Glock

Misinformed of the Change

Well, I'm not sure if I should call it misinformed, maybe it should be not informed at all. As most of you know I have finished my journeys and frolicks about the southern Pacific, mainly Japan. However the adventure continues into the depths of SanDiego county nestled under the Coronado bridge.
I joined arms with Uncle Sam, with his stories of fighting for freedom, and providing security for the homeland, and at one time I was very proud to have made the choice. The college aid, guaranteed job security, and promise of travel have all proven true thus far, and are all things I will praise the military for, even after my departure. One thing I will not praise, or support is their lies of providing three meals a day.
Through my days in the Navy, I have never been much of a big fan of eating their "chow", mostly because of the name I just mentioned, thats what dogs eat. However, I just spent over thirty days at home, and my checking account was rapidly depleted. I got to the sunny land of San Diego with about forty bucks to last me a week until payday. By Tuesday morning, I was down to about fifty five cents, thanks to having to buy a few comodities, a night downtown with an old pal, dinner with Johnny, Rachel, her brother Josh, and her sister Sarah, and a craving for the ever tasty Mocha Frappuccino(Grande of course).
Now onto Tuesday afternoon when I depart my new vessel of joy, for the barracks on Coronado. Across the street from where I am staying is a "galley", the place where the free "chow" is "served". I venture into this fine establishment seeking the benefits of the contract I signed some five years ago, free "chow". To my suprise a plate of the good stuff runs for about three fifty, except on Saturdays and Sundays it drops to the almost "free" price of one fifty. Thankfully my friend Steve was close enough to Coronado to provide me with a number three from McDonalds that night.
Ah, I forgot to mention that each month, a nice chunk of change comes out of my paycheck to provide those hot three meals a day they advertise. I pay for the meals each month, like it or not, eat the "chow" or not, and I have for five years now. No free meals, two days without food, and I refuse to eat at any of their establishments for the rest of my stay in the service. Thanks for looking out for the members of your Armed Services Uncle Sam, at least your kind enough to give me a portion of my taxes back each year, fucker.

My Day as a Marathon Runner in the Cannonball Run

It was early, and it was cold. But that's nothing I hadn't handled before. I once ran a 10-miler in blowing snow in Central Park-- start time was 8 am-- and a half-marathon in Brooklyn, for which I had to wake up at 4:45. It was about 45 at the start of the Philly marathon, i think.

I'm used to being aound lots of other runners. We talk about things like IT bands and favorite flavors of PowerBars and whether Wrex 'n Efex is better to run to than Guns 'n Roses. But this morning was different. The Cannonball Run didn't have any nice Gatorade stands along the way. I had no complimentary bagels to look forward to after the race. No corporate sponsors were willing to give me free t-shirts and sweatbands. And I was racing against a freaking horse.

Plus, my knee was bothering me. It's a new injury from an old injury from an older injury, I think. Either way, I knew I'd need a good hour to warm up and even then I worried about it interfering with my agility.

I eyed the other competitors. Mosi Secret was looking pretty quick, tooling around the parking lot on a Segueway. I eyed him carefully, as I do most men in tuxedos. I knew Josh Harkinson was once a bike messenger, so I started giving him threatening glances, but I don't think he noticed. Daryl Hall's pants looked a little too tight to permit gracious rollerblading, and I knew just from looking at him that John Oates would have his ass handed to him by that skateboard. Plus I caught them checking me out while I was streching, so I made a mental note to trip them if they passed me. And then there was that stilt walker. He just looked shady.

The race began and I stayed with the pack for a good ten seconds, but then I cranked up Usher's "Yeah" and took off. I sprinted flat out for about two minutes. I turned around, and the only person I could see was Josh. I presumed that some catastrohic collision had befallen the rest and they'd all tumbled onto the street. This heartened me, so I ran faster. Josh soon caught up, but I could see that he wasn't entirely comfortable on the bike. I slowed and let him pass. I'd save the "kick" for the last quarter mile.

I was going at a more liesurely pace (and now listening to Deelite's "Groove is in the Heart") when I decided to turn around again. The horse was about 10 feet behind me, and coming fast. My options at the moment were outrunning it or being trampled under hooves and left for dead on the freeway, so I turned the iPod to Oakenfeld, did the "kick" early and sprinted until I was out of the horse's trample radius.

Now I could see the Shell station. My knee hurt, but I kept going. I switched my thoughts to Muhammed Ali and his ilk, but got distracted when I passed Goode Company, because i remembered how good their turkey sausage is. Josh was still ahead of me, but I was gaining on him. I had the horse beaten. I noticed a series of puddles coming up and knew they would mess with Josh, so I started running on the grass next to the sidewalk. sure enough, at the last moment, Josh's bike slipped and he stepped off of it. I thought he was taunting me, so I yelled at him to just finish, but he was stuck. I passed him, raised my arms, and ran through the ribbon. Then I watched the horse finish and take a giant dump in the parking lot of the Shell station.

I was pleased with myself, but I was coughing a lot. I think it was all the exhaust. I decided to jog back slowly to cool down. On the way back a tractor trailer honked at me. It was the only recognition I had from a passerby.

I got a nice trophy, but it was nothing compared to the sponsorship deal i'm sure to get from Adidas now... come on, who else has beat a horse?

Kaeding popped my cherry

While I was in college, I became aware of the National Football League as an actual presence in my life as opposed to something the jocks were into in highschool. As I dove into the madness that is the NFL, I landed on San Diego as my team to follow. Arizona just had that loser mentality that I wasn't interested in, and I wanted a little diversity in my sports towns. So, San Diego being the place I was born, and having a cool lightening bolt logo, it was more like they chose me.

Anyways, that was in college. We're all aware that this year has been the first year the Bolts have done a damn thing other than lose a bunch of games. This was my first actual year as a football fan, with a football team in the playoffs, with something to win or lose.

I'm sorry, I'm rambling. What I meant to say was FUCK THE PATRIOTS.

No, wait...Chargers. Yeah. Mikey kept calling me throughout the game, and I kept telling him to get off the phone and watch the game. At some point he said Ramey kept talking about black me, which made him nervous. I'm pretty sure alcohol was involved (who'da thunk).

And fuck this fairweather fan shit. His name was Nate Kaeding. His name was Nate Kaeding. His name.

Was Nate Kaeding.

Barton was the guy who decided it was a good idea to punch Brees in the head. Barton re-kindled the flame, and Kaeding pissed it out.

So now what? Manning? Brady? Fucking Phili? Who the fuck is the quarterback for the Rams? Is Martz multi-tasking? I'm actully really sad Owens is out. I'd love to see a Owens/Moss match-up just because they're so fucking ricockulous. (for a great take on that, check out ESPN page two). And where the hell is Vick? Is anyone talking about Vick?

I just hope Phili wins this weekend, and then extends their losing streak to 4 consecutive years . Let's see a Atlanta/Pittsburgh match-up. Let's give The Bus and Ben Rothselimatumer a shot at the highlife.

Oh. And apparently something happened in the baseball world. I'm seriously confused about Yankees fans. I mean, it makes sense that Bob's a Yankee's fan I suppose, but I still don't understand it. I mean, seriously. How do you look at yourself in the mirror and say "yes. I support this organization". Well, maybe that's not so different than voting for Bush, and a lot of people did that. Whatever.

Sorry Ramey, but fuck 'em. (if that hurts my chances of giving mustache rides, I rescind)

J

America's Finest City (Still)

http://www.signonsandiego.com/sports/chargers/20050109-9999-mz1x9chrg1a.html

For a few minutes there in overtime - maybe for the first time this whole season - I thought, "Damn, they're gonna pull this off." This was the Chargers season that snuck up on you. This was the team that was supposed to go 0-16. San Diego sports fans get excited about once every five or ten years. That's not to excuse the utter lack of interest otherwise. I mean, there's a good reason they're called "fair weather" fans. What the hell else are you going to do in Green Bay or Pittsburgh this time of year? Sports is not religion in SoCal; it doesn't have to be. It is but one diversion in a kaleidoscope of paradise. So, sure I'm disappointed today; it's unfortunate that the kid kicker choked, but at least he doesn't have to worry about joining WitSec. This time next week, San Diego fan won't even remember his name. (We're kind of like goldfish that way.)

- Mikey

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