When pulling your Weiner will be okay

Our national media obsession of all things Weiner and wieners ended – at least we hope ended – today as U.S. Congressman Anthony Weiner (D. New York) resigned his elected position. The once-promising high flyer for the Democratic party, and a very likely future mayor of New York City at that, came crashing down to Earth in a humiliating scandal derived from risqué pictures sent via Twitter.

Now, have you seen the picture that caused all the hubbub? Really, a little chub, a bit of wood in a pair of jockeys, caused all that?

In the first place, what’s the big deal, anyway? This is the day and age of ubiquitous social media platforms and connected hardware devices, of information overload and whatever the hell “sexting” is. If you haven’t sent an inappropriate picture of yourself over the internet, you're just not trying - it’s just a matter of when, not if.

It’s always something pushing the boundaries in politics. What’s one’s cross to bear and a career ender in one decade becomes a non-issue in the next. Remember the idea of Ronald Reagan becoming president, and the scandalous thought that he had once been … divorced!

Bill Clinton famously – and barely - escaped the drug use fervor created by his “never inhaled” stance. Eight years later, the United States voted in the silver-spooned cocaine cowboy, George W. Bush and his DUI conviction past. Who the hell knows what Obama has done. We don’t know, simply because we don’t care enough to ask. Drug usage is so … last generation.

Of course, nothing changes the fact that Weiner is out on his, uh, butt, and things aren’t looking good for the career public servant. He hasn’t ever had a real job, and he has no business or law degree. What’s next for him, other than his recent job offer from Hustler’s Larry Flynt? American politics have given some pretty outrageous second and third chances before.

Well, hello Marion Barry, how long have you been standing there?

We’re won’t have Weiner to kick around once all this fades into history sometime in the next 42 minutes. Oh, there will be the hard-to-resist Weiner jokes, “pulling the Weiner,” so to speak. The lasting legacy will be a redefinition of what’s appropriate or inappropriate to tweet, post, etc. The bar has been raised – or lowered, depending on how one looks at it. Everyone is going to have a picture, you just wait and see.

A couple of more martinis, and I just might tweet out mine tonight.
Look for my photos on Twitter @RayHartjen

But, does every vote HAVE to count?

Oh, the boys in the bar love a good political story on TV, what if there’re no sports on ESPN, ESPN 2, ESPNU, “ESPN the ocho,” etc. Democracy and dictatorship – those are two topics, often morphing into a singular one that makes for a spirited debate between sips of spirits.

Let me go on the record here: As a devout believer in democracy, freedom, and liberty, deep down I don’t really have any strong objections against tyrannical dictatorship as long as one simple rule is observed, and that is that I get to be the dictator.

Not coincidentally, the same goes for censorship; if I’m the censor, then no problem.

Alas, break the simple rules, and all doesn’t seem so bright, right and rosy.

Anyway, the subject of voting came up between martinis it conjured back memories of a flight I had into Oakland International Airport – an awfully regal name earned by having a daily flight to Mexico, or what we often call South San Diego - 12 or 13 years ago, before I relocated to the Bay area. Pre-9/11, this was when the rental car lots were right across from the terminals, a brisk 45 second walk through the congregation of smokers who cloud the vicinity of every public building on the west coast.

I showed my Washington license to the National attendant, who offhandedly remarked, “Oh, Washington, D.C.”

I politely corrected her. “Washington state,” I replied.

Naturally, she said …

… wait for it …

… “What’s the difference?”

Where to begin? Geographically? Politically? Ideologically? Existentially?

I decided to take the Kindergarten approach and said, “Washington, D.C. is the nation’s capital, on the east coast, between Maryland and Virginia, while Washington state is two states above California here on the west coast, you know, where Seattle is.”

“Uh, yeah, whatever. Will you be returning the car full of fuel or would you like to prepay the entire tank?”

I drove off that day in my non-descript, no frills GM fleet car with a profound realization. Being old enough to have a job meant that dumb ass was old enough to vote. Granted, I don’t know if she was smart enough to vote, but she was certainly old enough to vote, although working at the Oakland airport meant it was possible, if not entirely probable, that she was a convicted felon, and therefore prohibited by law from exercising that right.

I enjoy hearing public policy debate and commenting to a friend that I am looking forward to canceling her vote with my opposite vote at the polls. That perspective is so much more funny than the realization that some dumb ass “what’s the difference between Washington D.C. and Washington state” voter might cancel out my own vote.

Oh my, I just thought of it – What if she actually voted with me? What would that say about my choices?

Nah, that’s just nonsense.

So, the true realities present themselves. We’ve got to get people out to vote, but we’ve got to get the right people out to vote. You know, the right people – the people who see things as I see them.

If you end up with too many voters like that National attendant, you’ll likely end up with Sarah Palin in office. Then, when she’s in her U-Haul driving around Seattle looking for the White House, we’re going to have to bring that entire Washington D.C./Washington state debate to a bigger, broader public forum, and that’s something I just don’t know if I have the stomach for anymore.

Hit me on Twitter @RayHartjen.

The Mighty Pen (& a still dangerous sword)

In the early part of the 19th century, English author Edward Bulwer-Lytton wrote “the pen is mightier than the sword.” It’s been the battle cry for the meek ever since, giving hope to those hopeless of pushing their way to, and over, the top. It’s the rallying cry, the last bastion for the meek in their quest to actually inherit the Earth.


It sounds nice; almost utopian, in a manner of … typing. Over the long-term, it might even be accurate. Key is “over the long-term.” I can’t help but noticing while watching democratic protests streaming from around the world on CNN to my comfy, warm, corner bar that the first attempts to counter swords with written words sort of ends up as a bit of a disaster for those very first to draw the battle lines.

Of course, there’re no pens these days, or swords to for that matter. The pen went out with stationary. Seriously, has anyone outside of Japan, home of the 5-story stationary store, seen a piece of stationary in the last decade? Today’s pen and paper is a high-speed network connection and social media platforms. Unfortunately for the initial protestors, those trailblazing mavericks of social unrest, the sword too has been replaced – by high-powered bullets and rifles.

Old regimes in Tunisia and Egypt have toppled, and the impact of the modern day pen (the internet) on those revolutions, cannot be underestimated. However, those regimes, and those currently under duress in Bahrain, Libya, and even, shhh, keep it on the down low, China and Iran, have a fondness to embrace the quick first response, that of violent attack and repression.

You don’t bring a smartphone and a Twitter feed to a gun fight, unless what you’re going for is martyr status. So, while others rejoice in the revolution and the freedom that invariably springs from it, try convincing the families of the over 250 dead in Libya that the ‘pen is mightier than the sword.”

History will remember those with the pens fondly, but for my liking, I’m making sure me and my pens stoke the fire of the revolution safely ensconced in some pub, far away from the rat-a-tat-tat of some kid’s AK. Those on the wire might be advised to turn tail and get the hell back. That or trade in their pens for bigger pens that go “bang.”

Viva la revolucion.

Tweet me up @RayHartjen

That's likely to leave a mark

Sometimes you need a trip to the hospital and an X-ray to properly diagnose a broken nose.

Other times, it's as plain as the nose on your face.

For Brandon Vera after his UFC fight on Jan. 1, it was the latter.  Of course, I could be wrong, as I'm not a doctor. 

Since when did Philly get so soft?

So, tonight it finally happens. The Eagles and the Vikings square off in Philadelphia, in a game that was supposed to be played on Sunday night but was postponed – 9 hours ahead of kickoff – because of a pending snow storm. Since when has football succumbed to the mamby pamby depths of baseball?


Okay you baseball lovers, before you start writing all sorts of hatred vitriol; just remember that your sport is pretty much the only one where a player pulls himself from a game because he got a blister on his finger.

Oh, what now? Cat got your tongue?

Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell gets just how ridiculous postponing a football game is because of the pending threat of 8 inches of snow and some winds. However, he gets it wrong in that it speaks to the wimpy nature of the United States. Rather, it’s the candy-ass wussification of Philadelphia that should be under indictment. The City of Brotherly Love used to be known as one tough city. Hell, it’s the city of Rocky Balboa, for crying out loud. The city that once famously booed Santa Claus and cheered when Michael Irvin laid injured on the field with a neck injury. Fans were once so notoriously rowdy in the old stadium, an adjunct municipal court was put in. 

That's a tough crowd.  Or, apparently, was a tough crowd. 

Hey, around the rest of the United States, we held up our end. We were ready for game time. Philly, you let us down

Postponing the game was criminal. First of all, I-95, right next to the stadium, was never even closed on Sunday. If the freeway stays open, how freakin’ dangerous can getting to the game be (other than the ordinary danger of navigating Philadelphia on any given day)?

So, me and the boys in the bar have what exactly to entertain ourselves with on Sunday night absent the game? Ourselves? The same old boring conversations we have every other night of the week, save the blessedness that is Monday Night Football? Yeah, I don’t think so.

Exhibit two in the criminal nature of the postponement: Fantasy Football. Week 16 in the NFL is also known as semi-final week in the world of Fantasy Football, where my team – the first place Bay Area Bad A$$ - is taking on a challenger who has the Philadelphia Eagle’s Michael Vick playing quarterback. Now, if the game is played on Sunday, in a mini-blizzard, it looks pretty good for yours truly. Tonight, when it’s just cold – let’s just say I’m praying for a sprained ankle to come early in the first quarter.

Somebody, somewhere owes me. Somebody needs to pay.

Freakin’ Philadelphia. I wonder if they all got dresses for Christmas?  Its only saving grace is Scrapple and Pat's steaks. 

Stupid is as stupid does

Sometimes the stupidity we humans display is mind-boggling, don’t you think? Potential causes are aplenty. Some can clearly be pinned on genetics, biology, and just plain ol’ fashioned bad luck of drawing the short straw. Yeah, that’s a pisser. But, what about societal stupidity – plain “learned” stupidity based on being self-centered and unwilling to sacrifice one iota for a more collective good?


Don’t think it happens? Let me present case in point #1 (and, it will be the only case, because I fear my martini will lose its chill, and that won’t be good for anyone).

You're certainly familiar with Sun Chips. You know, those chips you think are good for you because they’re called “Sun Chips” – evokes some kind of vegan utopia of natural ingredients and low fat content. Anyway, a little while ago they introduced new packaging – a completely biodegradable package; the first of its kind, made entirely of plant matter, not plastic.

Earlier this month, Frito-Lay announced they were going to abandon the innovative, eco-friendly, “green” packaging. Now, why would they do something that stupid, you ask?

Short answer: because people are stupid.

Long answer: Consumers complained vigorously. The roots of the complaints, however – in my opinion – didn’t lie with the bag, but rather consumers themselves. People just aren’t willing to sacrifice one bit of modern convenience and pampering. Frito-Lay is discontinuing the bag because of complaints that it’s too loud.

Yes, you heard that correctly, it’s loud.

Go ahead. Look it up online. Go to YouTube – there’re a lot of videos out there about the topic. True, the packaging is louder, I'll even admit it's just flat out loud, but for cryin’ out loud, it’s completely compostable and biodegradable. In no time at all, the package turns into fertilizer. Alternative plastic bags, on the other hand, continue to pile up in the oceans for generations. Not generations of marine wildlife; generations of stupid human wildlife.

So, what’s good for Mother Nature and the planet goes away because of bunch of fat, sodium-addicted, mental Neanderthals are too f’ing lazy to put their guilty pleasure snack in a bowl so they can better hear Jerry Springer while they sit on their vinyl covered sofas?

Are you f’ing kidding me?

I need a drink. Now, where did I put that glass?

This morning’s sign of the apocalypse

There are a few tell tale signals that society is going to hell in a hand basket. The first is that people sit around on bar stools all day criticizing others while offering nothing productive in return. Yes, it hits a little close to home, but it’s rather unavoidably obvious, now isn’t it?


An even more obvious sign that the apocalypse is hitting, though, lies with the simple observation of Monday morning habits in the office.

First off, it’s a generally accepted rule of a civilized society that the first person in the office – particularly on a Monday – does not make a pot of decaf coffee first.

Never!

Bloody hell, people, that’s a mortal sin.

But, wait, that’s not all!

Making decaf may have been a mistake. Granted, a mistake that earns one a non-stop, shinkansen bullet train ticket to hell; but, in the end, just a mistake. There’s still hope for saving your entire family from a fate of eternal damnation. That punishment is reserved for the cretin idiots who stop making coffee after their pot of decaf is completed.

WTF?

Would it kill you to at least start a pot of “real” coffee before you slink off to your cube and your miserable, decaffeinated existence?

There was once an age of civilization where people dressed up to fly on commercial airplanes, where restaurants, movies, and everyplace in-between weren’t disturbed with incessant mobile phone chatter, and when people had the collective common decency and courtesy to brew more than just their own shitty decaf coffee.

Yes, the apocalypse is upon us, and just one more reason to slip a little Bailey’s Irish Crème into your morning coffee.