The Tyranny of the Cliched

Jonah Goldberg once quipped that cliches open doors to discussion, they

don't close them. I bring this up because it seems that I am barraged on

an almost daily basis by pseudo intellectuals, who whip out their arsenal

of barnacle encrusted, rallying cries from the '60's. You've heard them.

"Better a hundred guilty men go free", "absolute power corrupts

absolutely" - axioms that on their shiny surface layers

seem profound, but crumble apart like bad nacho chips under the weight of their own

implausibility. Just the other day, I was having a leisurely, albeit bizarre discussion,

about the case of a 19th century Englishwoman who, convinced that the plague
had been caused by bathing water, refused to wash herself, choosing instead to lubricate
herself in lard. She lived to be a 101, but stank like a Pakistani pay toilet.

Now, you would think such a bizarre historical footnote would cause a veritable
maelstrom of one liners and one up-manship - and that was the case until
an acquaintance of mine, a well meaning, affable, hemp soaked Rastafarian, drew
in a puff of his cigar and without the slightest trace of irony, shook his head and
said; "Now humanity is the plague".

Ugh.

My girlfriend, sensing the verbal fire storm that was on the verge of erupting from
my lips, but didn't materialize due to my James Bowman-esque adherence to the
code of proper manners, and social etiquette, knew me well enough to recognize
that the comment had pressed all my neo-conservative hot buttons.

Cliches are like a childhood friend who shows up on your front door needing a place
to stay. At first you're happy to accommodate, but after about 5 days of mooching from
the fridge and sleeping on the couch, you want to tie him by his jockey shorts to the back
of your SUV, and give him a five mile wedgie on the roughest patch of highway you
can find.

Cliches are like that. They roll nicely off the tongue, causing all around to nod their
heads in approval at the seeming profundity of the axiom, but rarely go unchallenged.
They sit like that left over brioche in the fridge. It was tasty last week, but it's
fast becoming penicillin now.

The next time someone says something sand-poundingly stupid like, "absolute power
corrupts absolutely", or, "US foreign policy was the real cause of 9/11", ask them
why, and challenge them to cite examples. Trust me. They'll sputter like an old
Chevy trying to get started on a cold December night.

My point, and I do have one, is this.

When people say they are "challenging the system", they're really not. Screaming
mindless obscenities about the Bush administration, or whining about the validity
of the war, is about as challenging as asking to have your fries super-sized. It's
easier to be right all alone, then to be wrong in a group. It's just takes the
courage to stand up to the tyranny of the cliched.

Cordially

Joe

Writer's Block Bloggin'

Blogging has its advantages for those who think their

friends are endlessly fascinated by the most intimate

details of their cat's personal life, or trips up to their

cottage on the weekend, where they spend entire Saturday

afternoons crocheting portraits of the Yorkshire terrier.

For those of us who don't lick ashtrays for a living and

aspire to a slightly higher level of blogging, when writer's

block hits, it gets noticed like a stripper at Mormon wedding

reception. (no disrespect to my man, Mitt Romney, or the

great state of Utah).

If you blog enough, eventually, people start checking your

site on a regular basis, and if your cheeseburgers are

starting to look like they've been under the heat

lamp too long, they'll go someplace else faster than you

can say "oh my god that was the most inane analogy I've

ever read".

For those of you who don't write, let me try and make the only obvious comparison
that my short circuited brain can make. Let's say a fellow hits a certain age where
he has the desire but no longer the means. Our fine gentleman wants to love his
wife in that special way that men love their wives, but can't, because his helium balloon
seems to be in a constant state of deflation. Now, he has the desire, the romantic intentions,
and even bought the roses and champagne, but he just can't get lift off. It's a little like
what Shakespeare said about love and alcohol; "it provokes the desire, but takes away
the means".

That's what writer's block is like. I feel a little like Jack Nicholson in the final scene
in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, when chief strangles him with the pillow. My literary
arms and legs are flailing wildly, but, there's nothing there. My brain is fried.

Of course, back in my drinking days, I could always count on a cold 12 pack to get
the pistons firing and the rust out of the cogs. This was a brilliant solution until I
caught Hemingway syndrome, and turned into a full fledged alcoholic.

For those of you who don't know me, I'm an alcoholic - yes, the kind that goes to
meetings. I haven't drank in 33 months, almost 3 years. It's no small coincidence
that many of the great ones suffered the same affliction. Sadly, they paid a hefty price
for the literary fluency that alcohol provides. Alcoholism is like sitting on the front
porch on a perfect spring evening. There's a light breeze, you have the perfect book in
your lap, and you wish you could freeze frame the moment and stay there forever because
you've never felt more peaceful and free. Being sober is learning to live without ever going
on the patio again, and avoid staring at it from the kitchen window for too long.

Hope this post satiates you rabid jackals for a few days, after all. We do have to get
to the bottom of that treacherous Hillary Clinton and her first quarter fund raising numbers.
37 Million?

Indeed

Cordially

Joe

Catherine Seipp, Dead at Age 49

Here is the LA Times Obit

Double Dutch Doobies

Say you worked at the peanut butter cup factory and one day, while eating

in the cafeteria, you saw a sign that said "This is a peanut free zone". You

would probably think, if you allow the pun, that the folks in HR had gone

a little "nutty". Well, it appears the Danish authorities have been smoking

far too much of what their laws freely allow.

The Dutch Health Ministry, in their infinite Rastafarian wisdom, has

banned the smoking of tobacco products in marijuana bars. That's correct. You

can light up a fat doobie, suck on a bong all afternoon, or do hot knives

over a bowl of hutsput, but you can incur the wrath of the Dutch authorities if

you dare light up a Marlboro.

Wouldn't everyone just be too stoned too care? What would your excuse be?

"Honestly officer, these cigarettes are for personal use, I swear I only smoke weed"



Cordially

Joe Camel

Table For One

Those who are avid readers of my many literary incarnations, know

that while I am partial to timeless axioms, I am a most ardent detractor when it comes to cliches. That being said, I must admit that the cliche which states that "one should not air one's dirty laundry in public",

seems to be the only appropriate turn of phrase that can best preface a

post that talks about the aftermath of a break up.

I have once again, joined the ranks of the single. You know who you are.
You spent valentine's day at home avoiding the TV because every time
a news anchorman blathered on about roses and chocolates, it felt like
someone was impaling your heart with a searing butcher knife.

There is some good news to report from the field. Frozen turkey dinners
have improved, and actually have a passing resemblance to real turkey - unlike
their tin foil predecessors that looked like shoe insoles, and tasted like Melba toast
dipped in paint thinner. They also seemed to have decided to do away the customary
side dish of fifteen peas that looked like shriveled leprechaun testicles.

Fortunately, I have recently moved into more suitable accommodations, so I
am no longer a slave to the culinary abortions that you stick in the microwave.
I can actually cook a real meal that has not been prepared by some giant machine
run by that crazy robot from Logan's Run. Not that I've actually been motivated
to cook anything yet, as I have yet to return to the ranks of those who have good
taste and proper sleeping habits.

The worst thing you can do when your wading through the emotional soup
that is a break up, is actually start reading about what your going through. Take
this encouraging passage I found from a cold and clinical study I had found
perusing the Internet.

"After a divorce, and/or break up, single men often move to sparsely furnished
bachelor apartments, often spending hours staring at the fixed points on the wall,
or of old pictures of their loved one."

It's one thing to be alone and heart broken, it's another to feel like your the subject
of an episode of Wild Kingdom.

Like all things that hurt in life, it gets easier. I guess every relationship, when you are able
to look back with a less jaundiced eye, always feels like the first and the last. Not to
down play the significance of this one. It was one of the most meaningful 3 years of my
life, and I wouldn't change them for anything. Except maybe for a talking monkey that
drank brandy all day, but otherwise said nothing except to quote Calvin Coolidge when
the situation warranted it.

Cordially

Joe

I Want My Say Joe!!!

We finally have lift off of our comment section, with several Hype readers,
already weighing in. The new blogger format offers a lot of new features.
(no, there still is no free salad bar)

One of the features is comment moderation, as even I maintain some
degree of proper taste, and etiquette. You may have to wait a bit before your comment can be seen as it must first be checked for appropriateness, excessive profanity, and lice. (just like John Murtha).

By no means is this some jack-booted attempt to strangle your freedom of
expression, and I intend to leave most posts unedited. The only concern
I have is some wing-nut sprouting racist or anti-Semitic ranting that could offend
readers.

So feel free to question, challenge, or confront any of my blog posts. Be forewarned.
If you want to tango with me, you better be equal to the enterprise.

Cordially

Joe

Happy Blogging.

Tumour, or no Tumour?

Apperenty, it's common practice for emergency room doctors to inform
you that you have tumours in your chest, then quickly leave the room
before you can say, "did you just use the word 'tumours'...as in
plural"?

I guess they think it's more fun to diagnose patients in "Deal
or no Deal" style.


"Mr Leger. You have two painful lumps in your chest, we know they're
tumours, but we're not sure if it's serious. We've got your blood work
back, and we've got some ex-rays too. Now...Joe Leger...tumour, or no tumour?"

Good lord man. At least the reckless gambling junkies on Deal or No Deal,
get to pick out of silver cases. I got to pick between grape juice or ice chips
in a glass.

The ex-rays were a real blast. I had to lean forward while holding onto
a metal bar above my head, half bent over with my ass sticking out of my
hospital gown, while some guy was holding my hips from behind trying
to position me properly. It was like a bad scene from a prison movie.
I was praying he wasn't going to say; "I'm gonna make you squeal like a
pig boy."

Well, Arnold Schwarzenegger may have said "It's not a toooomar", but
in my case, it is. (Tumours , actually. So far, nothing
to worry about. (Oh, except for the fact that they're going to grow and
get really painful, and I won't know much else more for a while.)

That's my deal. I'm just hoping that whatever's my case is good news.

Cordially

Joe

The Whole Truth And Nuttin' But

Marcus Aurelius, the famed and infamous Roman Emperor once said;

“If it is not right, do not do it; if it is not true do not say it.”

Sage advice, but in our clouded counter culture, where Bill Clinton
lowered the bar for honesty around the lowest mark of a drunken limbo
contest at a wedding reception, it seems that even the most ardent of
those who espouse the virtues of truth, and honour could feel somewhat muddled.

"Truth", should not have to have quotation marks, just like Paris Hilton
should not have to carry around a breathalyser to know she's a brainless
drunken tart. It should be a given that truth should always simply be the
truth, just like Paris Hilton should always be stinking of over-priced
Martinis - both are just a given.

Now if any of my liberal minded, hybrid car driving, Keith Olbermann
worshipping, readers are thinking this is going to be some dissertation
against the just struggle in Iraq, you've come to the wrong spot. I
believe President Bush is an honest man, who is fighting to protect
innocent Iraqi's who had been terrorized and murdered for over a decade
under Saddam Hussein, and continue to be terrorized and murdered by crazed
Jihadists who want to push forth their reign of genocide.

Anyway, we won't go there today. Like James Bowman noted about
honor its concept has changed through the ages, and the same can be said about truth.

Truth is not subjective, nor is it, as the simpleton's conventional wisdom
says, "in shades of grey". Truth is truth, or at least until the media gets
their nefarious little hands on it.

The trouble lies in whether we always need to know the truth, and in whether
knowing the truth benefits us in any way. The brain sucking pod people at
CNN and the rest of the media have created the fiction that "the people have
the right to know" - but do we really, or is that just a euphemism the
media uses to destroy lives, and spread political agendas.

But what about withholding the truth? Is it any less dishonest than
an outright lie? To lie by omission is to remain silent, withholding
the truth from someone else. Silence is deception in that it gives a
false impression to the person from whom the information is being withheld.

I suppose this post is cathartic for me tonight, and perhaps a little aimless,
like Lindsay Lohan at a petting zoo after a meth bender. My point, (and I do
have one), is this.


"If you truly want honesty, don't ask questions you don't really want the
answer to”

Cordially

Joe

Lala-Pelosi!

I am by no means a techno-phobe, nor do I suffer from any of the
crippling impairments to modern technology sometimes referred to
as "old fartedness", or "computer-ma-jiggy". I am, however, sometimes
inept when it comes to taking full advantage of all the benefits
that new technology offers. Case in point. The comment function,
which allows my loyal readers to wax philosophical on any of my
blog posts, had been inadvertently turned off since my blog's inception.

There are many reasons why this may have occurred, among them, but
not limited to, the vast quantities of nail polish I sniff at local
pharmacies as an inexpensive form of recreation.

Anyway, if you look just below any of my posts, you'll see the words
"comments". Just click on it and you can comment, rant, or send
a plenary indulgence to a special friend in need of a fast track
to salvation.

Interesting to note that Nancy Pelosi tried to sound like a blue dog democrat
in the opening session of what shall now forever be referred to as our
long descent into the abyss of hell, or the new Democratic controlled
house and senate. Unless a vast majority of the American public violently
smacked their heads trying to jimmy a free can of Fresca out of the pop
machine, it's unlikely that anyone will forget that Mizz Pelosi has voted
for virtually every spending bill, and tax increase that ever came up for
a vote on the floor.

Insiders are predicting that despite all her "Reagan come lately" rhetoric,
she intends to be beholden to the extreme, left-wing, elements of the party.
How extreme you ask? So extreme that sources are saying Charlie Rangell,
has been tasked with the job of reigning her in to the center should she stray off
into Howard Dean's fantasy land of lunacy. Now, for those of you who are
unfamiliar with the inside workings of the democratic party, Pelosi having
to be kept in check by the likes of Charlie Rangell, is a little like having
Mike Tyson keep an eye on Mel Gibson's drinking.

The folks down at NRO will
be keeping an eye on the first 100 days of the new congress. So will I.

Cordially

Happy New Year (and why Wolfe Blitzer should auction his kidney on EBay!)

Happy 2007, which aside from the Iraqi people's quick and efficient
dispatch of Saddam "soap on a rope" Hussein, arrived without so much
as a whimper. The most excitement was my rematch with yet another
gastro intestinal virus, which had me grasping both sides of the toilet
bowl, like a rodeo cowboy trying desperately not to be knocked off of
his bull.

Quite a contrast to the year 2000, or Y2K, when people where stocking
up on canned goods and flashlights, waiting for the count of 12:00, which
would set into motion a cataclysmic chain of events that would have planes
falling out of the sky, and computer's malfunctioning worldwide. Many people
thought that Jan 1st, 2000, would usher in the beginning of a new Mad-Max society
were we would be using rag torches for light, and weaker family members for food.
Nothing happened, which was a sad moment for those of us who thought the
micro chip implanted in Al Gore's head would explode like a scene in Scanners.
Of course, even if the apocalyptic prophesies had come true, Mr Gore's head
would have been quiet safe from combustion, as pressure cannot exist within
a vacuum.

No real resolutions on the table for '07, expect I pledge to do more stuff,
instead of just talking about doing stuff - like trying to persuade Wolfe
Blitzer to sell one of his kidney's on EBay, in a mad kidney for profit scheme.
I just have to convince Mr. Blitzer of the cash windfall that would result
in the auctioning of his kidney, and of course, convincing EBay of the short
sightedness of their policy restricting the sale of human organs.

A few predictions though.

1 - I predict the media will spend the early part of the year making the
bogus argument that the execution of Saddam Hussein sparked an up swell of
violence in the region. Like crazy jihadists need any more motivation
to kill American troops and slaughter innocent civilians.

2 - I predict that retro-packaging will be all the rave.

3 - I predict that James Bowman's "Honor A History" will
be a run-away best seller.

4 - I predict that after a string of financial misadventures, Wolfe Blitzer will see the brilliance
of my kidney for profit scheme, and pony up his kidney.

5- I predict Ace will do more blogging, and by a strange chain of events, become
a force in the tournament poker world.

6- I predict that my baby and I will set a wedding date and live happily ever after.

7 - I predict that toast will enjoy a brief re-resurgance in popularity as a mid-day snack option.

8 - I predict that The Straight Hype will be on everyone's bookmark list.

Happy New Year

Cordially

Joe