Everything I need to know about America I learned from YouTube

I'll have a double chili nihilismdog to go

I'll have a double chili nihilismdog to go

It’s true, though. It’s not like America is complicated anymore.

Back in 2001 (nearly a century ago, if you don’t think about it too hard) the New Yorker published a truly ground-breaking article on the ways that Powerpoint (itself around and changing worldviews since 1987) was reducing the American capacity for original thought.

PowerPoint, which can be found on two hundred and fifty million computers around the world, is software you impose on other people… The usual metaphor for everyday software is the tool, but that doesn’t seem to be right here. PowerPoint is more like a suit of clothes, or a car, or plastic surgery. You take it out with you. You are judged by it—you insist on being judged by it. It is by definition a social instrument, turning middle managers into bullet-point dandies.

But PowerPoint also has a private, interior influence. It edits ideas. It is, almost surreptitiously, a business manual as well as a business suit, with an opinion—an oddly pedantic, prescriptive opinion—about the way we should think. It helps you make a case, but it also makes its own case: about how to organize information, how much information to organize, how to look at the world.

and, as anyone familiar with human interaction or communications theory could tell you, the way you get information about the world changes your concept of the world, and that in turn changes the world in which you live, if you do in fact live and not just exist. And what does this have to do with burgers, YouTube, and America? Plenty, my friends, plenty.

Think about this: the greatest technological success story of our time is Twitter, which limits what you can say to 140 characters; or we can equally say that it gives you 140 characters of void to fill with existential screaming. Some people have to pad to make the word count.

You thought I was kidding, didn’t you?

Think about the Tea Party, and think about exactly how deeply its members are thinking about the most important issues of the day. You can’t say their politics are not heartfelt, but you’d be hard-pressed to defend this particular capito-populist tribe as an intellectual movement. They make Pat Buchanan look like Bill Kristol. On the opposite side, a relatively intellectual President had to dumb down his message to single-word talking points; not much room for nuance when it has to fit on a Shepard Fairey poster.

 

Shepard Fairey Barack Obama

Shepard Fairey does Barack Obama in words of one or two syllables

And of course, popular culture is debased to the point where the Kardashians have not one but two television series among them, simply because sister Kim has a sex tape and a legendary caboose. It’s not exactly Witness to Yesterday, my friends.

So, yes, everything you need to know about the USA right at this moment, you can get from two brief YouTube videos and twenty or thirty minutes of cogitation thereon.

Here is the greatest scene from Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle that does not have Neil Patrick Harris in it:

Now that immigrant can-do-ism and aspirational capitalism have been explained, it’s time to take on geopolitics, and who better to tackle that nest of vipers than Team America, World Police?

That is all ye know on Earth, and all ye need to know.

Deadbeat Club Unicorn Chaser

It hasn't begun till the unicorn sings

It hasn't begun till the unicorn sings

So it’s a little later than Wednesday this week; still, you can always use a good unicorn chaser, can you not? And what could be perkier, happier, or more charming than the B-52’s singing the theme song of every blogger I know, Deadbeat Club?

I once had a Facebook group called that, for the purpose of hosting FNFF, short for Friday Night Fuck Fest, but consisting of people who generally have nothing better to do on a Friday night than sit at the computer, drinking, and commenting on other people’s websites. Which actually isn’t a bad way to spend a Friday night, if you have half a bottle of something decent, a good connection, and time on your hands. Now that I don’t have an office, even a home office, anymore, those days are behind me. I swear, I’m paying so damn much for inferior coffee every damn day that I might as well just rent an office; it’d be cheaper.

Hence this choice of Unicorn Chaser.

It should also be noted that, after several years’ quest, I finally have that leopard coat. I do not, however, have the huge ’60’s eyes, but it’s on my wish list for the next life.

Deadbeat Club

I was good, I could talk

A mile a minute,

On this caffeine buzz I was on

We were really hummin’

We would talk every day for hours

We belong to the deadbeat club

Anyway we can,

We’re gonna find something

We’ll dance in the garden

In torn sheets in the rain

We’re the deadbeat club

We’re the deadbeat club
Going down to Allen’s for

A twenty-five cent beer

And the jukebox playing real loud,

“Ninety-six tears”

We’re wild girls walkin’ down the street

Wild girls and boys going out for a big time

Let’s go crash that party down

In Normaltown tonight

Then we’ll go skinny-dippin’

In the moonlight

We’re wild girls walkin’ down the street

Wild girls and boys going out for a big time

Anyway we can

We’re gonna find something

We’ll dance in the garden

In torn sheets in the rain

Chorus

Oh no! Here they come

The members of the deadbeat club

Shebeen Club tonight at Rogue

Shebeen Club S

Shebeen Club S is for Scribes!

Just a reminder that tonight’s Shebeen Club meeting, Going Pro with Sylvia Taylor, is at Rogue Kitchen and Wetbar, in Waterfront Station skytrain/seabus station. They’ve developed a terrific seasonal menu for us, too, and of course they offer all the fabulous microbrews of their partner in crime, Steamworks Brew Pub. We have lots of space in our private room, so you can just show up and join us at 7pm tonight: $25 at the door.

Choice of Entrées:

1. Coconut Poached Chicken Salad

snap peas, red & yellow peppers, mixed greens,

thin asian noodles, sesame soy dressing

2. Mediterranean Penne

kalamata olives, basil, tomatoes, artichokes,

yellow peppers, goat cheese

3. The 9.2 oz Rogue Burger

home ground sirloin burger cooked to 160

degrees farenheit, sesame brioche bun, bacon,

cheddar, lettuce, tomato, pickle, sweet relish,

mayo, hand-cut kennebec fries

4. Fresh Halibut Tacos

seared cajun-spices halibut, avocado cream,

mango salsa, fennel coleslaw, white flour tortilla

Watch Out!

Genuine Fake Watches
Image by orangejack via Flickr

I posted this in the technical support forum first, for reasons that probably have more to do with the fact that I’ve had three Martinis than any other ones, but where was I? Oh yes, stories about my mother’s time in Saudi Arabia are popular, as are Schadenfreude tales, so I thought you’d like this.

My mother was working in Saudi Arabia and got a boyfriend there, an American CIA agent whose day job was teaching battlefield communications and whose night job was running a private casino/brothel for blackmail purposes of the US government. She figured it out when all his paycheques came from the Pentagon, and I figured it out when I heard he’d been in prison on a 20-year sentence, was released when he agreed to serve in Vietnam, and that his CO in Saudi in the 80’s was (coincidentally?) also his CO in Vietnam. As for the blackmail, it went “hello, PrinceWhatever, we have photos. We would like the development contract for X province”.

Anyway they bought a fake marriage certificate from a Filipino forger who was, apparently, legendary in the days before desktop publishing and swung through Riyadh once a year (she briefly considered buying me a Harvard PhD but it was $500 and she cheaped out, which is why I still have to scramble for a living BUT I’M SO OVER THAT) and lived as a married couple. I met that guy’s son many years later in a small town in Indonesia, but that’s a tale for another time.

My mother brought Jerry From Alabama, her boyfriend, back to Vancouver to meet her daughters. Well, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree and we’re both very opinionated my sister and me. And while my sister isn’t a snob, I did get that gene, plus her share. My sister somehow got the “obliging” gene (and GOD knows where she got it from) so she adopted his accent instantly and he could NOT figure out why he liked her better than me, right from the start. But then, maybe he was just psychic.

So, we’re sitting at dinner with Jerry, and my mother has obviously told him I’m a snob (taking credit for her ,work? I dunno), and at some point something happens And. Dude looks me in the eye, takes off his watch, hands it to me (WTF?!) and says, “What do you think of that?”

I look at it. It’s a “Cartier” but the second hand ticks, it doesn’t sweep. I turn it over, and it has the classic beefy Cartier back.

I say, honestly, “That’s a really good fake.”

He collapses in mortification, and my mother collapses in laughter.

Bad news for Dick Grayson

bad news for robinOh dear. This will not end well (and if you read the comic books, you KNOW it didn’t) but here’s poor, young Master Dick getting seriously pushed around by upper management, just because they all know damn well as a ne’er do well circus orphan he’s got exactly zero other offers on his plate.

WHEN will the Proletariat arise? (secret answer for people who remember the New Teen Titans: when some over-tanned princess from a far galaxy starts sleeping around on her husband with them, that’s when).

Also: never heard it called a Proletariat before.

But enough of this nonsense! Let us view the super-sekrit, shocking videotape of Grayson‘s contract negotiations with a certain shady Mister Bruce Wayne.

Also: Dick, honey, they’re called Hot Pants.

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