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The Sporadic Curmudgeon

(Wherein I Frequently Complain)

by David Bryant

Enough

Monday, July 14, 2008 @ 2:59 am  
Republican Ani Whoops! Idiots

It’s been a while since I’ve ragged on Our Fearless Leader, mainly because the rest of you finally woke up and smelled the napalm. I swear, until the day I die I’ll never understand how anybody with two functioning brain cells couldn’t tell that Bush was an evil, greedy, lying bastard from the first time he opened his smirking, illiterate mouth. Are people really so incredibly stupid and blind that they ever thought Bush was one of the good guys?? From day one his brutal nature couldn’t have been more plain than if he’d been making campaign speeches while eating a live puppy.

Then you elected the warmongering Constitution-destroying asshole for a second term. He’s actually got access to The Button, and he can’t even pronounce the word “nuclear” correctly, for God’s sake. But no, it took the destruction of New Orleans with the horrifying spectacle of doctors having to decide whether to euthanize their patients or leave them to die of thirst while The President of the United States of America cheerfully played guitar at a fundraiser and the Secretary of State went shoe shopping*, and the sacrifice of five thousand of our sons and daughters in a war he lied us into, and the death of about a hundred thousand innocent Iraqi men, women and children for people to start thinking that maybe this AWOL fratboy isn’t the messiah we’d been looking for.

Then there’s the little nastiness about torturing people, and warrentless wiretaps, and war profiteering by the company that still employs the Vice President, and on and on and on and on ad infinitum. Honestly, at this point I’m beginning to think that H.G. Wells was being overly optimistic about the future of mankind in The Time Machine.

Well guess what, kiddies? Our Morlock-In-Chief has been doing something far, far worse since the Supreme Court mooted the 2000 election and plopped him into the Oval Office. This so-called “leader” has deliberately suppressed any scientific evidence that global warming — excuse me; the accepted term is now “climate change” — is a real and imminent danger to the survival of humanity. I’m not talking about a couple of million people dead here; I’m talking about the complete extinction of the human race. These scientific findings inconvenience his buddies in the oil industry who are largely responsible for the mess, and so la-la-la-la I-can’t-HEAR-you they don’t exist. In 2001 most of the computer models predicted that we had about ten years until we reached the “tipping point,” when we basically are fucked beyond all redemption. That was almost eight years ago.

Alas, even that bleak scenario was a tad too rosy. It turns out that a little-known (to the public, at least) phenomena called “global dimming” has reversed itself. Believe it or not, the amount of light reaching the surface of the earth had been decreasing since the 1950s, due to particulate matter in the atmosphere. And not by an insignificant amount, either: some estimates put it at a full ten percent. I can attest to that; I was born in 1957, and sunlight seemed brighter in my boyhood than now. I suspect most people my age remember light looking different back then.

The reason dimming has reversed is that we’ve stopped spewing so much soot and smoke into the air; we had to, since airborne particulates can, and have, brought on ice ages. We know of two for sure: 250,000 years ago a super-volcano in Indonesia erupted with a force 20 times that of the largest thermonuclear explosion ever detonated. All evidence indicates it created an ecological catastrophe that whittled humanity down to between ten to a hundred thousand individuals. This genetic bottleneck is why every single human on earth is descended from one woman who lived in Africa. More recently, the 1815 eruption of Mount Tambora in the same region caused the “Year With No Summer” of 1816, with snowstorms in June throughout Canada and New England, and river ice in Pennsylvania as late as August.

Unfortunately, this dimming, which was unsuspected until about 1988, has been masking the worst effects of rising greenhouse gasses such as methane and carbon dioxide. (As an aside to an already far-too-long post, please stop calling the offending substance “carbon.” We’re carbon. All life on this planet is carbon-based. It’s carbon dioxide that’s the problem.) As a result, all of the computer models were way, way off. Later this summer we will probably see an ice-free Arctic passage across North America for the first time in human history, and vast ice shelves are melting away in Antarctica. The “tipping point” is, unfortunately, probably a year or so in our past. Translation: we are in all probability royally screwed, and most of the proposed solutions are pretty darn scary, such as releasing a vast cloud of aluminum particles orbiting between us and the sun. Nothing could possibly go wrong with something like that, right?

It’s a simple fact that we are in the early stages of a global catastrophe, with rising water levels, weather patterns changing unpredictably, more frequent and more violent storms as the oceans heat up, mass extinctions of wildlife, famine, etc… Your basic Old-Testament clusterfuck. And we are facing this crisis simply because George W. Bush chose to silence his own scientists and make a few quick bucks instead.

So I find it very irksome indeed when this monster that may have doomed our species does something like this at the G8 Summit in Japan last week:

The American leader, who has been condemned throughout his presidency for failing to tackle climate change, ended a private meeting with the words: “Goodbye from the world’s biggest polluter.”

He then punched the air while grinning widely, as the rest of those present including Gordon Brown and Nicolas Sarkozy looked on in shock.

Impeach this human stain now. Impeach him, try him according to the laws he so contemptuously disregards, and throw his worthless murderous ass in prison for the rest of his stinking days. Meanwhile, the rest of us will have to suffer for his crimes of commission and omission. I hope we make it.

And you gullible fools that voted for him: your hands are as bloody as his.

* To the woman who walked up to Rice in that Mahattan shoe store while people were needlessly dying in Louisiana and said “How DARE you?” — God bless you. You served your nation well, and I am in awe of your courage. I hope history remembers you along with the man that stood in front of the tanks in Tienanmen Square as an ordinary person that stood up for simple human decency and said enough is enough.

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Go ye forth, and procure the wherewithal for sustenance and transportation to Hollywood

Saturday, July 12, 2008 @ 1:38 pm  
Movies Artys-Fartsy

I’ve got a special treat for you today: the Sullivan Studio’s greatest silent film star in all his feline glory: Felix in Hollywood, from 1923. There is some controversy over who created Felix the Cat, but the amazing character animation was done by Otto Messmer. Messmer’s technique was the complete opposite of later cartoon production: each frame of Felix was penciled and inked on a sheet of paper, and the backgrounds were drawn on celluloid that was laid on top.

Felix was the first cartoon character to bring patrons into theaters on his star power alone, predating the popularity of Mickey Mouse by almost a decade.

Get the Flash Player to see this player.

This is one of the earliest examples of an animation sub-genre: the Hollywood caricature film. Ben Turpin, Will Hays, Charlie Chaplin, Douglas Fairbanks and William S. Hart all make appearances. A few of these people you’re probably not familiar with. Turpin was a popular comedian with crossed eyes who actually had them insured by Christie’s in case they ever uncrossed, leaving him without a schtick. Hart was the first cowboy star to actually attempt realism in westerns. Think of him as the Clint Eastwood of his day.

And Hays, who you’ll notice gets his own paragraph, is THE Will Hays, of the infamous Hays Code. This is the asshole guy that introduced arbitrary and capricious censorship to the movies. I happen to know something pretty funny about him: the actual “Hays Office” was in a tall building from the early silent era, when things were much less restrictive. Although it was too high up to make out from the street, running around the top of the structure was a ceramic frieze depicting the filming of a gladiator movie. Yes, the Hays building was covered in naked men. It was still standing when I lived in Hollywood in the eighties.

If you’d like to get a higher-resolution version of this cartoon, you can find it at the Internet Archives. (You really can’t appreciate the nuances of Messmer’s beautiful character work in this flash clip.) This, and all the other classic cartoons you can find there, are in the public domain, free and perfectly legal, so download to your heart’s content.

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…He’s a Demon on Wheels…

Friday, May 9, 2008 @ 9:49 am  
I, Curmudgeon Geeking Out

Man, oh man, I’m looking forward to today. I’ve taken a cherished vacation day and my daughter Naomi is playing hooky so that she and I can see the first showing of Speed Racer at noon. I’m a rabid fan of the original early-60s series, and if the rumors are true that they’ve gone to absurd lengths to preserve the cartoon’s atmosphere then I’m a happy man. Later this evening I’ll post my typical half-baked review. I’m expecting a ridiculously fun popcorn movie. Keep your fingers crossed!

By the way, this is the first non-Pixar movie I’ve made it to in a theater since The Fellowship of the Ring came out. Parenthood is a mixed blessing for a cineast: attendance goes way down, but DVD rentals skyrocket.

Special correction note: Actually, I saw the third Matrix film (I think it was called Matrix: Regurgitated or something like that, and was made by the same people that made Speed Racer) but it was such a God-awful mess that I blocked it from my memory. I mean, come on. Exoskeleton battle suits with completely open cockpits so that a ten-year-old could take the pilot out with a well-aimed rock? Give me a break. Weapons designers of the future, please take note: if your primary enemy wields deadly mechanical pincers at the end of flailing tentacles, at least PUT IN A FRIGGIN’ WINDSHIELD.

Special After-Movie note: We just got back from watching Speed Racer, and all I can say is that the negative critics out there are probably the same soul-dead jerks that think they’re above enjoying Disneyland. This movie is loud, colorful, fast-paced and one hell of a lot of fun. I’ve even read reviews claiming that kids were bored by it. My daughter is as hyperkinetic as they come, and she sat through the whole thing with a goofy smile on her face. Come to think of it, so did I. If you’ve got one little smidgen of the eight-year-old you used to be left in you, go to the theater, buy the biggest soda and popcorn they have, and settle in for some serious fun.

To wrap up: my life is little more than a steaming pile of pain and degradation, but my personal troubles didn’t enter my head once during Speed Racer. You won’t learn any major life lessons from it, but you’ll be free of the crap we all live in for a couple of hours. If that sounds good, by all means go see it and enjoy yourself.

And take the kids, too.

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The Scarlet Scarab Is No More

Sunday, April 6, 2008 @ 11:25 pm  
I, Curmudgeon

My lipstick-red 1999 VW Beetle, which was almost paid off (at last), was taken from our parking lot sometime last Wednesday night or Thursday morning. We’ve since had to rent a car, but can only afford to do so for one week. We are currently looking for a new car at presumably usurious rates which will further degrade our quality of life.

Shortly before its being nicked, Google Maps happened to capture it on Street View.


View Larger Map

I was very fond of this car, and its loss has affected me more strongly than I expected. It’s almost like someone has died.

Of course, I’m in the middle of a raging mid-life crisis, so who knows how I really feel about all this. I turned fifty almost a year ago, I’m artistically dead, and most of my personal relationships are so damaged as to be beyond repair. Especially the ones that really matter.

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A Typical Meal At Home (When I Make It, Anyway)

Sunday, March 16, 2008 @ 7:15 pm  
I, Curmudgeon Whoops! Food

After I handed off the baton of my daughter’s interminable English assignment to my wife (and I do mean interminable; in all violation of time and space she began the dang thing back when New York was called New Amsterdam), I started dinner.

Our pathetic menu was hamburger steak (our fancy name for ground beef squished into a vaguely pancake-like shape) and supremely unpopular leftover Potatoes-Au-Gratin from the night before that have been miraculously transformed into mashed-potatoes-with-the-works using an electric mixer. I smashed the meat and plopped it into the frying pan. Hmmm, I thought. This could probably uses some seasoning to disguise the pervasive tang of beef hormones. I reached for the garlic powder (hey, I was in a hurry), unscrewed the lid, and sprinkled some on.

It was like an old Candid Camera sketch where they unscrewed the lids on all the salt shakers. Garlic powder completely covered my hamburger patties. I stared at the container. All previous garlic powder from this manufacturer (a famous spices-and-herbs brand that isn’t Lawry’s) had screw tops with a shaker underneath. THIS one had a screw top cleverly hidden beneath a barely-visible flip top. There was no shaker underneath the screw top.

To make sure I wasn’t going crazy (sadly, always a possibility), I checked the same brand’s onion powder. Screw top with a shaker underneath. Someone at the seasoning company was obviously playing some sort of mean-spirited practical joke.

I scraped the excess garlic off as best I could and tossed it in the trash, then continued as if nothing had happened. My family has yet to try it, so I may be spending the rest of my evening dodging hurled epithets and regurgitation. I’ll let you know, assuming I live.

Special Gastronomic Update: To my astonishment, the meat was eaten with nary a retch. The potatoes, however, were still regarded as something you might serve party guests in order to cut the evening short. Our cat is at this moment trying to bury the leftovers in her litterbox while glaring at me accusingly.

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Bad Haiku XLV

Thursday, March 13, 2008 @ 5:49 pm  
Bad Haiku

what part of the phrase
“we’re gonna die like dogs here”
are you not grasping?

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Bad Haiku XLIV

Wednesday, February 27, 2008 @ 1:26 pm  
Bad Haiku

man’s evolution:
eternal shitstorms favor
obliviousness

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Bad Haiku XLIII

@ 1:25 pm  
Bad Haiku

a two-stall restroom
outer door locked: “occupied”
an act of mercy

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Bad Haiku XLII

@ 1:23 pm  
Bad Haiku

a sumo wrestler
writes haiku in a strip joint
limp efforts result

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Bad Haiku XLI

Wednesday, February 13, 2008 @ 8:04 am  
Bad Haiku

“invigorating”
on skin and hair care products
means “burns like crazy”

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