Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Timely (and Funny) Spam

In light of yesterday's little rant about ESPN's fawning over All Things LeBron, I received this email:


Some buddies and I made a LeBron search engine. Would you consider posting about it on your blog?



What's are the words I'm looking for.....hmmmmm.....

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

President LeBron James?

No doubt is was an amazing and unforgettable shot. Even from someone who could give two shits about the NBA and basketball in general, it was a thing of awe-inspiring athletcism and grace.

But holy shit, you'd think Jesus Christ had just been resurrected the way ESPN covered it. And covered it. And recovered it. And analyzed it. And reanalyzed it. And reanalyzed the reanalysis. Then had to report on other sports, like baseball, NHL playoffs, Indy 500, Mickelson's wife's breast cancer, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda, let's go back to covering LeBron's shot!

And that was just on Saturday's broadcast portion. It was understandable because it was The Day After The Trey By Christ. But it carried over into Sunday too.

And Monday.

Now here it is Tuesday, four days after The Trey By Christ, and ESPN has a clear case of journalistic priaprism.

I mean, really, LeBron James playing in the NFL is a nice fantasy and a great TV spot, but writing a 1,500+ word column about the scenario possibly happening is fanatical hyperbole.

It's. A. Fucking. TV. Spot. It's not real. LeBron wouldn't last 2 plays in the NFL.

Look, I know the NBA is desparate for the Average Sports Fan's dollar, which it's losing at a rapid rate. I also know the NBA's big PR machine is doing everything it can to push LeBron as the Next MJ or Magic or Bird and The One that saves the NBA from itself—and LeBron may very well be all those things and quite possibly better and more. I also understand ESPN is a 24-hour all-sports channel and they have to eat up time and space and pay the bills some way. Those are all well and good. But is this kind of coverage necessary? Reasonable? Even sensible?

Honestly, this LeBron adoration is merely the sports version of the unthinking, unquestioning idolatry we saw the mainstream media partake in during the last presidential election. Really, it is—only on a much smaller, much less important scale.

I will tell you what, though, if I'm President Obama and I start to see King James' mug on Newsweek every other week, my ass is starting to worry about my 2012 reelection.....

Monday, May 18, 2009

A Good Day for Gay Couples

I have a very simple and probably shocking (at least to some) opinion on gay marriage: So what, it doesn't affect me.

Which is why I believe that Gov. Chris Gregoire's signing legislation granting all the rights and benefits that same-sex couples today is a good and decent piece of legislation.

To those who believe that gay marriage devalues or threatens the meaning of marriage or who oppose this legislation, I have this to say: Stop being bigots; it does no such thing. And to the right-wing Christian groups opposed to this legislation, I also have this to say: You're being very un-Christian and your faith is weak.

Let me further clarify my "simple" view.

When my wife and I were in the process of getting married (aka: pre-cana), we sat down with our priest and discussed what our marriage would mean. In so many words, he explained that we were getting married in the eyes of God. Even though we had to register and sign a marriage license with the state, in our eyes, we were not getting married in the state's "eyes"; those "eyes" and documents are soulless, godless and hold no moral value, therefore, in that sense, gay "marriage" is not a 'threat' to us if it is recognized by a state.

Let me also say that marriage isn't a "right"—no one has a "right" to get married. (You're damn lucky if somebody loves your sorry ass enough to want to marry you in the first place.) However, no matter whether or not one believes gay marriage is actually a marriage*, states have no right to arbitrarily grant rights and benefits to one group and not to another. That is unconstitutional. This legislation clears that up.

Should gay advocates press legislators to pass legislation to require churches to officially recognize and conduct gay marriages, then, well, there would and should be a legit and vigorous opposition. But I am unaware of any such efforts.

What both straight marriages and gay 'marriages' have in common is quite simple: love. That is a very good thing. Do I believe gay marriage is an actual marriage? No, I don't; it is not in line with the teachings of God. However, I also believe that love is love no matter who it's between*. (That places me square in the middle of the eternal quandary of Man's willfulness against God, but that's my business to reconcile with my God.)

In the end, I believe that if two people want to make a lifetime commitment and share that love together, then the world is absolutely a better place. We need more love; not less**.

*And really, don't go with the 'well I'm in love with my dog, can I marry her?" idiotic misdirect.
** Kinda hokey and Kumbaya for me, I know, but here we are....

Way To Go, Eco-Mom

Imagine you're an 7 or 8 year old kid again, and you're birthday is just a few days away.

You've been talking about it for weeks, completely jacked up out of your mind with excitement. You've told your friends what you want at least 5 times, paying careful attention not to tell two friends about the same gift so you can avoid 'doubling up'. And you've invited everyone except for the big kid that chases you at recess, saying "It's Wedgie Wednesday, asswipe!"

The night before the big day you can barely sleep. This is almost worse than Christmas, you think. You wake up, and your body is streaming adrenaline so it doesn't matter. The hours until the party drag.

Finally, the door bell rings! Yes, here comes the first present! (The friend is secondary.)

He hands you the present. Cool, it's the Ben Ten Humungasaur you wanted!

Wait a tic. Something's wrong here. Why isn't the present wrapped? Hmm, okay, maybe it was a mistake, you think.

Then other party goers arrive, and all the other presents arrive unwrapped too. No paper. No bows. No cards to read that you wouldn't bother reading anyway. Just the gifts themselves, and a random gift or two that are decidedly not what you asked for.

In your little kid mind you think, 'What the heck? I wanted to rip open some paper, tear into some gifts. Be surprised. What gives? I think I'm getting jobbed here.'

You perk up a little because, well, you got everything you asked for, so that's cool.

Then your mom announces that every one should gather 'round the table for cake and ice cream.

'Aw, heck yes! Here we go!', you think, and dash over to the table, ready for your friends to see the sweet football theme you picked out.

Only you arrive at the table to see a green table cloth that looks more like the one mom uses at Christmas every year versus the one you saw at the Party Time store. And that cool centerpiece of the quarterback throwing the ball you wanted? It's, well, you don't what the hell it is but it's definitely not a quarterback. It's not even a player. You're sure of one thing, though: it's homemade.

The disappointment is rising. This isn't at all what you wanted.

Then there's the cake. Or is it a cake? It looks kind of nutty and walnutly, and there doesn't seem to be an ounce of chocolate anywhere.

And the party favor bags includes not the football cards, candy and Super Fun Balls you requested, but Clif Kid Organic Bars, packets of green 'kid' tea and a pair of gardening gloves. Gardening gloves? What are those for? Then you see the map to a local creek with instructions on which bushes to pull out and which ones to leave.

This is a nightmare.

You go over to your Mom, tug on her sleeve, your lip half quivering and ask, 'Mom, where's my football theme? Where's the QB I wanted? And all my gifts came unwrapped. And....'

She shooshes you and calmly explains that she thought it would be more fun to be environmentally conscious and asked that your friends not wrap their gifts, or to make their own gifts. She also thought she'd save some paper by using the table cloth because, well, green cloth is just like a green football field, right? It may not have the yards and lines on it, but you can imagine it, right? And she opted for a centerpiece that she made from a recycled milk carton to look like a football (not at all) and dried moss that looks like a football field (not at all). Besides, she says, what's really important is that your friends are here sharing your special day and helping the earth.

You think, 'No, Mom, you're out of your fuckin' mind. This is a fuckin' joke, right? You know this is how serial killers start out, right?' And you really want to say those words out loud, but you don't because you know you'll get a mouthful of organic soap—likely much worse than the time when you didn't recycle the Coke can that you weren't supposed to have in the first place because it wasn't organic.

But none of this is a joke. She's quite serious.

That's when you snap.

The door to your room thunderously slams shut. Your wails are heard in every corner of the house. Sprinkled in between the sobs are shouts of "This is the worst birthday ever!" and "I hate you!" and "Gardening gloves!? Gardening gloves!?"

And you're right. It is the worst birthday ever.

And all because your overeducated halfwit of a mother was trying to assuage her hyperventilating state of eco-guilt.

Friday, May 15, 2009

I Know It's Wrong....

I know I shouldn't be enjoying it.

I know it's petty.

I know it's juvenile.

I know it seems vicious.

I know it's remarkably similar to the behavior the left engaged in for more than 8 years.

I know two wrongs don't make a right.

I know all these things.

Yet I can't help but enjoy watching and listening to Nancy Pelosi torture herself when it comes to what she knew and when about "enhanced interrogations techniques." With every word that drops out of her mouth, and every report and official that refutes her timeline of events, she's revealing herself to be the dishonest, duplicitous, grandstanding, politicizing, BDS-addled phony tramp we've know her to be all along.

She and her little misbegotten and detestable "truth commission" started her down this road and now it's quite possibly be the very thing that will sink her.

Good. She gets everything that's coming to her.*

And I'm loving it.

Loving. It.

*The media is doing a fine job of doing just that, I might add. For once.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Worst. Play. With Pocket Aces. Ever.

Pocket aces. American Airlines. Bullets. Rockets.

Chances of being dealt them at a 9-handed table: 221-1. And a 2.8-1 favorite against any two cards pre-flop.

Given that rarity, you're looking to extract maximum value.

Last night. $60 buy-in at Roxy's double-stack tournament. 10,000 in starting chips. Blinds 50/25. I'm in the big blind (BB). Here's the action:

Under-the-gun (UTG), first to act pre-flop, raises to $200. Folds around to the button who goes all-in. Me and the small blind fold.

UTG laughs and mucks.

Button shows his A-A.

Other players oh and ah. I quietly chuckle and mutter under my breath, 'fucking...horrible'.

Honestly, I wanted to burst out laughing and say, "That was horrible! Wait, no, let me clarify: That is the single worst play I've ever seen with A-A. My 14-month old could play those better, really. But look on the bright side: I'll posting your play on my blog and at the Card Player forum so you'll be famous!"

I know I've only entered this tournament 5 times now, but it's amazing I haven't won yet. But I will if this keeps up. And I'm sure it will.

I finished in 11th—just missing the final table for the very first time.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Crickets and Tumbleweeds....

I love a good joke. I admire people who can tell them—mostly because I'm not very good at remembering and telling them to others. I tend to step all over the punchline before I even get to it.

It's not that I'm incapable of throwing out one liners or can be be funny from time to time.

I just know that I pretty much suck at telling jokes.

In that regard, President Obama and I have something in common: He too sucks at telling jokes. Take these doosies he delivered at the recent White House Correspondents' Association dinner:

Former Vice President Dick Cheney couldn't make the dinner, Obama joked, because he was writing his memoir, "How to shoot friends and interrogate people."

Oh. Hehe. Haha. Nothing says laugh riot like something that was beaten to death* 3 years ago.

"Michael (Steele, head of the GOP) for the last time, the Republican Party does not qualify for a bailout. Rush Limbaugh does not count as a troubled asset, I'm sorry,"

Why not? Everything else qualifies as one.**

"No president in history has ever named three commerce secretaries this quickly," Obama said. The president's two top choices for the position dropped out.

OK, I'll cut him some slack here. This one is mildly amusing for the self-effacing angle. But as an old friend of Dad's used to say, "It could be funnier..."

Obama noted that he and Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton had been political rivals, but he assured the audience "these days, we could not be closer....In fact the second she got back from Mexico, she pulled me into a hug,"

Um, yeah.

But this was actually funny:

"I believe my next hundred days will be so successful that I will be able to complete them in 72 days," he said to a roar of laughter. "And on my 73rd day, I will rest."

That's a well deserved rest, Mr. President. Financially ruining the country takes a lot of a fella.***

Obama may certainly have a humble free "Harry, I have a gift" for speaking, but apparently God didn't include joke telling as a part of that package.

My suggestion is that Obama should hire the real Jon Favreau as his writer instead of Jon Favreau.

The former is pretty money on humor, baby.

*Get it? Huh? Do ya? Yeah, I'm crazy funny like that.
**See, Michael? You need me on that wall! You want me on that wall!
***Snark on!

Monday, May 11, 2009

Welcome Back, Everyone! (Except You, Dong Shower)

Welcome to OP’s World!

Now 100% Penis-Picture Free!


Well that wasn’t fun.

For those of you who don’t know, or didn’t have the pleasure of seeing it, someone was able to guess my password and to post a picture of a penis on the Blog Formerly Known as The Mudpuddle. I noticed the offending post pretty quickly and was able to delete it, which was good. But too late, my trust for that site was officially broken.

This was the culmination in a semi-long laundry list of issues that kept plaguing MP.

First, there was the “I like your blog…” spammer, who was fairly harmless, but annoying.

The real fun started in one of my first mildly controversial posts. What ensued there required me to delete numerous vile and threatening comments—and deleting comments is not something I like practicing, as I believe in free speech. Throughout the past year since that mess started, I had to delete other similar comments at various times, too.

Third, I had a similar incident to the dong shower occur a couple of months back, only that picture was too blurry to make out.

And then there was the latest tripod incident.

I don’t know who the dong shower was, and I don’t really care.

I have several people in mind that I think it could have be, all from several political sites, but again, I don’t care. (Could be from a couple of poker forums, too, who knows.) Since I don’t have the power to block IPs or find the offending IP, the easiest and quickest solution to losing Mr. One-Eyed Love Missile for good was to delete the blog. Did I want to? No, obviously not. I lost some posts I liked. Then again, the longer articles I almost always write and edit in Word, so no real great loss.

I suppose I could have just changed my PW and just continued deleting the occasional vile comment, but really, I was tired of doing that.

What this boils down to is me being far too careless and simplistic with with my password and, in part, my email.

Did I learn some lessons? You bet.

One, obviously don’t make your recently deceased dog’s name your password; it becomes far too easy to guess what your password might be. Two, don’t be stupid like me and occasionally leave your email in threads. Together these are so dumb that the next time you see me you have my permission to punch me in the nuts. Hard.

Three, there are some weird fucking people in this world, people that will stalk your blog and take the time to post pictures of schlongs. Don't believe me? Then you misunderestimate the number of weird ass people in the universe.

Finally, no more hyperlinks back to my site from political sites in hopes of gaining traffic. (This too may also qualify me for a second punch to the nuts.)

Now my password is so ridiculously secure that I hope I remember it. I have a new email address strictly for this site, too. And no more hyperlinking back to this site from various political sites. Now I feel much more secure!

So welcome back!

Add me to your blogroll again!

Link me in your posts again!

Just don't expect penis pictures again. I'm sure that will disappoint you terribly.