Hey folks, sorry I’ve been absent this week. I’ve been blogging like mad at swingstateofmind.com. Next week I’m on the hard deadline, but maybe I’ll post a general life update after I’m off.
Sooooo, the Santa Fe Reporter’s got a new 2008 election blog at Swingstateofmind.com. I’ll be doing most of my political blommentary over there from now on, unless there’s something you guys absolutely positively have to see and then I’ll cross post. So far, I’ve put up posts about Hillary’s push-polling in North Carolina and how zombies figure into the presidential election.
You might also see some of the posts pop up on the Huffington Post. Already, my editor Julia Goldberg’s interview with Gov. Bill Richardson’s gotten some play. If you get a chance, check it out and give it “buzz up.”
Rev. Sharpton promises to shut down NYC. Damn right.
Dog Gone
The Rail Runner leaves Santa Fe’s prairie dogs homeless on the range.
Yes. From electronic Neo-Nazis to french-kissing prairie dogs in the span of a week. This is why I love being an alt. journalist. Initially, I’d set out to write a National Geographic-style piece about urban prairie dogs, and indeed, I spent hours and hours on the ground, dusting up my cargos, just watching the little varmint. But in the end, what came out was less David Attenborough and more, well, I don’t. A meandering and surprisingly sexy story of mini-Biblical proporations? And it’s sexier, than you might think. Isn’t the cover art adorable?
Yellow Cab, Green Fuel
Eco-friendly taxis stuck in bureaucratic traffic.
This is just a little one-off about a guy who wants to start a taxi service using hybrid vehicles. The problem is, the only other taxi service in town is calling it a “gimmick” and asking state regulators to block his license application.
As the white nationalists continue to “discuss” my very fair article about New Mexico skinheads on their message board, this “jew reporter” has tracked down a copy of a spoof I wrote last year based on one of their threads. Enjoy.
DOWNLOAD THE PDF: “Take the Skinheads LOL-ing.” (San Antonio Current, January 4, 2007)
First, I’d like to point out that Tom Tomorrow was dead on with his comic strip this week. It seems like the good guys at Truthout.org are the only ones in the written media with their priorities straight: Before we “hire” our new administration, we really need to deal with the criminals currently in charge. And yes, I join Thom Hartmann, in calling the Bush administration criminals, straight-up, no hyperbole. They approved water-boarding, a kind of torture that even back during the Spanish-American War earned American officers court martials (at the behest of none other than T. Roosevelt). And I’ll eat my words: John “History will not judge this kindly” Ashcroft was not nearly the total villain I thought him to be. (In fact, I think I started missing him the second Alberto was appointed.)
But now onto the point of this post. On the morning after the New Hampshire Primary back in January, I was on the phone with my friend and then co-worker David Alire Garcia. I was ranting about something, probably nothing of consequence. Probably some minor romantic or professional frustration. And after that, I started moaning, and then I started bitching, and after that, I began kvetching and whining and generally sucking hard on a half-empty baby bottle of negativity.
Finally, I asked Garcia, “Do you see what I mean? I’m right, aren’t I?”
And Garcia answered, “I think you’re just upset that Obama lost.”
I thought for a second about it, shrugged and then admitted he was right.
I don’t know how it is for Hillary’s supporters, but I’ve found that over the course of this election cycle, my mood flickers with the tide of Obama’s political successes. I hope some university psych department does a study. After Iowa, I felt like one of those novelty dancing flowers, the plastic ones with the sunglasses, that would shake their stems and bop their buds to whatever song was playing on the radio. Whenever Obama lost–in New Hampshire, then Nevada–it was like the music died, my petals went hangdog. I began to wilt.
Then there was that length of 10 or so states where Obama was on a roll–even Ohio didn’t bother me, because in the end, after the delegates were counted, Obama won Texas. I’ll call that my yellow period, my stretch of sunshine.
Last night, the clouds rolled in. Hillary won by 10 percent, declared the turning of tides, which to me sounded like a thunderclap. No rain yet, no lightning…but just threat that I hope will blow over.
As the cliffhanger continues, I actually want to like Hillary. I want her to woo me just a little so I don’t have to worry about a McCain presidency. I want feel enthusiastic for both the Democrats. That just ain’t the case.
For the last six weeks or so, Clinton’s undone a lot of Obama’s hard work. And I don’t mean Obama’s hard work for himself, but for our culture. Throughout this election cycle, Obama’s changed the tone of debate and been quite successful in driving the old politickin’, the mud-tossing and the blood-letting, the spin-cycling and the chameleon-coating, into obsolescence. I was looking forward to an incredibly fresh general election, because, frankly, McCain’s also a relatively clean competitor. We could’ve had a race of honesty and policy.
But no. In her desperation, Clinton ran out of items in the kitchen and started reaching into the garbage disposal for more fodder, regardless of the damage the blades could do to her. Hypocrisy doesn’t seem to bother the Clintons (slamming Obama for “complaining” about the ABC debate, when she openly whined about the earlier NBC ones, even mid-debate. Only Tancredo out-whined her). Nor does falsehoods (Bosnian sniper fire). She’ll pretend she can bowl and drink, painting herself as a working class hero, like some sort of Jennifer Beals in Flashdance. She’ll exploit his “bitter” statement and reel in tangents, like William Ayers, claiming that that’s what the Republicans will bring up…. and yet, is there a difference between her campaign and the Republicans? She was “endorsed” by Richard Mellon Scaife (he of the “vast right wing conspiracy”) and now the North Carolina Republican Party is using those same attacks against Obama, which, with its primary on the horizon, is virtually the same as supporting Hillary.
So, yes, today I’m more bitter than I was after New Hampshire. And so are a lot of people I know. Even Garcia was moody when I called him today. And it’s not because Obama lost, but because decency did.
I just hope that this time, like the times before, it passes.
So, you’ve find yourself lost in the Democratic primary and need a way to catch up? Well…you’re in luck. Here’s the entire Obama-Clinton saga summarized through a clever spoof on Rocky.
It’s been a trying two weeks for me as a dog owner. Last weekend, Marlowe was sick, and when I say sick, I mean that on Friday night she had diarrhea and I thought to myself, “Oh, well, she must’ve just got something, we’ll see how she’s doing tomorrow,” and then, the next morning, I sure as shit saw how she was doing, in the form of a dozen patches of slime decorating my carpet. Some of it was bloody.
So, off Marlowe went to the animal hospital, where they ran tests on a lock of crusty poop-hair they clipped from her butt. A few hours later, I picked her up with the instructions to watch her and bring her back if she relapsed. The vet said that my little girl had been fine, no accidents… but, as soon as she pranced into my room she had another eruption on the carpet, and off we went back to the hospital, where she stayed over night. I picked her up the next morning along with a vial of vile medication, which I had to spray in the back of her throat every 12 hours, and a couple cans of the mild food you can only get through the vet. She’s recovered quickly–I don’t think she even knew she was sick–and is now back to having thick, well-formed bowel movements.
Then, on Friday night, I dropped her off at David Alire Garcia’s place (my former co-writer, he’s now the managing editor for the Center for Independent Media’s New Mexico site, NewMexicoIndepenent.com) and the two of us attended the Santa Fe Reporter’s Annual 3-Minute Film Festival, with a stop at Souper Salad first. Four hours later, we were back at the house and as David jiggled his key in the gate, Marlowe’s “You’re Home!” squeals were eerily absent. I stomped through his yard… and she was gone.
Panic.
David and I ran through the neighboring field calling her name. We drove in circles around the neighborhood, my head out the window (not unlike a dog) calling out “Maaaaarloooooowe, Maaaaarloooooowe, c’mere lil’ girl, lil girr-rrl?” I called the animal hospital again (and spoke to the same Amy Sedaris-lookalike vet who’d treated her diary) and hounded the folks at the City’s Animal Control. No luck… and I started to lose heart. I was convinced she was gone for good, because if somebody had found her, surely they’d have called the cell phone number on her tag.
A half dozen terrible scenarios played through my mind. She could’ve been hit by a car and been smeared across the roadway. Another stray dog or, worse, a coyote, could’ve torn her to shreds. She could’ve stumbled across some rotten food and instantly poisoned herself. I imagined that someone came across her and immediately realizing how cute and friendly she is decided to steal her and keep her to herself. I didn’t know what I was going to do. She’s kinda my everything.
At about 1am, I decided it was time to admit that we weren’t going to find her. Maybe some body did pick her up and were waiting til the morning to call. The animal shelter wouldn’t be open til 8am. I was going to zip to the office and start printing up posters to hang around the neighborhood.
As we pulled into David’s driveway, his huskies were howling and there the little 7-pound bitch was, sitting in front of his gate like nothing was wrong. She had an expression that said, “Hey, wussup dudes? Why the long faces?” I sprinted across the yard and gathered her up into my arms and nearly squeezed the life out of her. I don’t ever remember feeling so relieved. The closest thing was maybe eight years ago in Japan when I thought I’d lost my $600 digital camera (1 megapixed - that tells you how far technology’s come). David’s sure that his dogs finally figured out what was going on with us and called her back with their wails. (Later, David would claim his prayers to Saint Whahooey were instrumental.)
So, I held her in my arms and we watched Battlestar Galactica… but as soon as we got in the car to drive home, I had my meltdown. Tears and snot, and me moaning at Marlowe, “Don’t you ever do that again. I don’t know what I do without you. I’d just die. I love you so, so, so much, oh Marlowe, oh Marlowe, oh Marlowe… I was so scared!” Seriously, I was a mess and she just looked at me with this “Dude, chill out,” look.
Dogs. They just don’t understand the trouble they are.
Holy fuck… they killed Tyrol’s wife Cally last night on BSG, ejected her right into space. For a show with so much death, there’s a surprisingly large amount of original cast members still frakking along… but Cally, who shot Boomer, took punches from Tyrol, gave birth to a half-Cylon baby, and who, probably more than any other actor on the show, really grew up over the course of the first three series? What the fuck? Was her character just getting in the way?Now, as much as I like Cally, I wouldn’t really like to see her come back as a Cylon, even though she’s probably only second to Tye in her loathing for the robot species… that would’ve been interesting to watch. But still, I’d rather see it be someone like… Zarek.
First one to call me a geek wins a prize.
If you got a moment, check out this slide show of the San Diego Charger cheerleader tryouts… they were shot by my former editor and very good friend, Keli Dailey.
