Escape From Pianosa

I’m putting all my satirical stuff on a new site, Absolutely Serious.

I’m going to continue writing here as well. My (working) trip to Europe is looking more promising by the day, so I’ll be blogging that here as well.

Enjoy.

Unbelievable:

A Berkeley watchdog organization that tracks military spending said it uncovered a strange U.S. military proposal to create a hormone bomb that could purportedly turn enemy soldiers into homosexuals and make them more interested in sex than fighting.

Read the rest. Here’s the best line:

“The Ohio Air Force lab proposed that a bomb be developed that contained a chemical that would cause enemy soliders to become gay, and to have their units break down because all their soldiers became irresistably attractive to one another,” Hammond said after reviwing the documents.

I just watched the premiere episode of Flight of the Conchords. It’s an offbeat comedy about two Nw Zealanders transplanted in what looks like New York. Subtle but hilarious. You can watch the first episode for free. Link here.

I saw one of those big utility signs parked along the road this week. The message in big green dots said “water ban this weekend. Friday 6pm until Midnight Sunday.” And I thought to myself ever so smugly that a free market in water would never have this problem. When the supply gets thin, the price goes up. And people decide that maybe watering their lawn isn’t the best use of their hard earned dollars. Water ban averted.

And then I imagine the day that I drive by the hospital and there’s a sign that says “No medical care this weekend, due to overuse.”

Because I’ve heard the argument that medicine is far too important to leave to “the free market.” I agree in one respect; that medicine is important. Far too important not to leave to the free market. When the government runs out of “free” health care, where will you go? They don’t sell it in bottles at Safeway.

Having heard Ali G accuse so many of his detractors of “racialism,” I thought it was just a word made up by Sacha Baron Cohen. Alas, it’s really used in Britain, and there’s no parody here:

“So she explained. The Green Man, she said, prided itself on being the most racialist pub in England. That was her word: racialist. There were other racialist pubs, she said. In fact there were two more in Bury. But none was as consistently racialist as the Green Man. The Green Man, she continued, had never served a colored person.”

That’s from Among the Thugs by Bill Buford, a fascinating read about a reporter who infiltrates a gang of English soccer hooligans. It’s a good way to knock that notion of European civility from your brain, if only temporarily.

Once you watch The Wire, you’re spoiled. On the plane they showed Freedom Writers. What drivel. A movie about an idealistic white woman, inspiring the ignorant blacks and Hispanics. Yes, if only they had better, whiter teachers to teach them about literature and writing!

What’s the lie? That the system is OK. That welfare and housing projects and the drug war (especially the drug war) and socialist government schools haven’t destroyed inner city culture. No, everything’s OK. Nothing some good ivy league inspiration can’t solve, right? Or how about some Scheherazade?

Where to start? God only knows. Shows like The Wire don’t pretend to know. The good intentions of the guilt-ridden have done enough already.

I had an incredibly long travel day coming to Seattle. I thought about telling you but upon further consideration I realized that most stories of the “flight from hell” variety tend to bore royally. My preference is: don’t tell me about your airport ordeal unless it involves sex, an unexpected arrest, or ends in a raft in the Atlantic.

Again from The Introvert Advantage, comes this passage with the author describing herself:

“I’ve never understood why in the world anyone would view me as hiding anything. But as I’ve mentioned, I have been told that I’m mysterious.”

This hit me particularly hard in view of the fact that recently some of my friends have begun calling me “mystery man” because sometimes I don’t tell them things about my life or I seem to disappear. I have to examine things in my head a great deal before I can reveal them to the world, which can lead to some funny conversations.

Me: So I’m trying out for this improv group.

Friend: What? Where did this come from?

Me: Oh you didn’t know? I’ve been taking classes for 6 months now.

The effect is really magnified when it comes to my strange political views or my eccentric dietary habits.

Friend: Who you voting for? Hillary or Obama?

Me: Well, actually, I’m not really excited about either of those choices…

Friend: Really? I thought you were a Democrat.

Me: Well I was… But I changed… About two years ago. I’m actually something called a “libertarian” now.

Friend: Oh god!

Ok so maybe it’s not always about being an introvert. Maybe it’s about social acceptance!

One of the best things about being between careers is that you have some time to experiment and try out new ventures that you otherwise might not have time for.

One of these ventures is a Web TV show we’re creating for Generation whY; the show will discuss social and career-related issues that affect young professionals today.

We don’t have a website yet, but the show’s main sponser is Zoodango.com (”where you connect with young hip urban professionals”), a social networking site created by James Sun of Apprentice fame.

I’m super excited because I’ve spent the past few months working on show ideas and writing scripts with Aaron Altscher, and this weekend we’re flying to Seattle to film the show. More details to come…

This post by Don Boudreaux over at Cafe Hayek echoes my own thoughts on the post office. I can’t imagine why on Earth we still have this waste of an agency. What exactly about delivering little pieces of paper is too delicate to leave to the private sector?

One thing that I hated about living in Baltimore was that you couldn’t get packages delivered to your door. You had to go to the post office to pick them up, because the neighborhood ne’er-do-wells would inevitably scavenge anything of value lying on your doorstop. That’s city life and you get over it, but I never got over having to go to the Post Office to get my damn packages.

The word Kafkaesque comes to mind. Dingy atmosphere. Hot. Long lines that seemed to drag on forever. Often there was only one person at the counter, while you could see and hear several people chatting away in the back room. I always felt bad for the people working there; it felt like such an utterly hopeless existence, even though as far as jobs go, it probably wasn’t so bad. I mean, why does something as simple as picking up a package have to take so damn long!?