The Long War: Laurie Lee and Alan Rickman

Here is everyone’s favorite velvet-throated thespian Alan Rickman, reading Laurie Lee’s poem The Long War for Peace Day, which was, apparently, September 21st. I wish they’d tell me these things ahead of time.

The Long War is a title which has been applied to any number of seemingly-endless conflicts, most recently used by the Bush administration to describe their “War on Terror” which has been the excuse for the continuing encroachments on civil liberties both within the US and around the world.

From The Long War by William S. Lind:

Long wars are usually strategic disasters for winners as well as losers, because they leave all parties exhausted. If they work to anyone’s advantage, it tends to be the weaker party’s, because its alternative is rapid defeat. The Rumsfeld Pentagon certainly does not see the United States as the weaker party in its “Global War on Terrorism.” So why has it adopted a long war strategy, or more accurately lack of strategy, unless one sees national exhaustion as a plus?

The answer is a common strategic blunder, but again one that is seldom seen up front; it normally arises as a war continues longer and proves more difficult than expected. The blunder is maximalist objectives. In a speech announcing the QDR, Secretary Rumsfeld said, speaking of our Fourth Generation opponents,

“Compelled by a militant ideology that celebrates murder and suicide, with no territory to defend, with little to lose, they will either succeed in changing our way of life or we will succeed in changing theirs.”

Guess which one won.

The Long War
by Laurie Lee

Less passionate the long war throws
its burning thorn about all men,
caught in one grief, we share one wound,
and cry one dialect of pain.

We have forgot who fired the house
Whose easy mischief spilled first blood
Under one raging roof we lie
The fault no longer understood
But as our twisted arms embrace the desert where our cities stood
Death’s family likeness in each face must show at last our brotherhood.

Samuel L. Jackson’s past as a Junior Hockey coach

Not many non-Canadians know, but Junior Hockey is the bloodiest. Oh, there may be less blood on the ice, but there is far more in the stands and in the parking lot. My parents, for instance, who, having two figure skating daughters, had no particular interest in junior excuse me Junior Hockey, still went out to every game. And why?

Because they were fight fans, and they watched the stands.

Hockey parents are notoriously bloodthirsty. If William Wallace were building an army now, he would choose from the stands of Junior Hockey and be assured of the bloodthirstiness of his crew. And, in Samuel L. Jackson, this crowd has at last met its match in a coach that will say, “Fuck your pussy son’s bench-warming ass, I am playing Lucifer and Fang on defence and there is fuckall he or you or any creature in Creation can do about it, you motherfucking minivan-driver!”

Can I get an “Amen!”?

Weezer: Pork and Beans and Posts and WordPress.com

I know three point two million people have already seen it, but I can think of nothing more appropriate with which to celebrate my glorious return to the internets! Yes, finally the Write Post page takes less than five minutes to come up, and it appears that I may even be able to post pictures, although not via the super-snazzy flash uploader. I note with terror that Photobucket and Flickr are also debuting flash uploaders, potentially cutting off my only working workarounds…dear god, if I developed these workarounds and held them for ransom I could actually make a decent living. Although Automattic’s footsoldiers might put me on their to-do list.

Should I be proud or mortified that I identified more of these than Valleywag did?

Do You Doubt I Am Rich?

Is this the greatest infomercial teaser of all time? Yes; yes, it may well be.

His name is takeittothebank and his game is putting the “ass” in “class.”

Have you ever wondered how the other half lives? Wonder no more. It lives like ME. Every morning I eat caviar even though I do not like caviar!!! Would I do this if I were not RICH!?!?! The fillings in my teeth are gold. Are the fillings in your teeth gold!?!? They are not. The caviar I do not want for breakfast I feed to my cat. What does your cat eat!?!? Cat food?!?! I pity your cat. Mine is the world you live in when you are RICH!!! CARS!!! WOMEN!!! STATUES!!! CAVIAR!!! Perhaps you are beginning to understand. If so, I welcome you. HELLO!!! Now let me ask you this: Do you know the pleasure of owning a tie made of genuine SILK!!! I do!!! Now let me ask you this: would I call myself “THE BANK” if I did not have lots of money? I would not. That would be ridiculous!!! But I am not ridiculous. I am RICH!!! I will ask you one last time: DO YOU DOUBT I AM RICH!?!?!

This is like Donald Trump‘s long-lost Desi twin.

From the whoreanus outfit and grooming to the chubby, inert harem, to the amateur porn-worthy direction, not to mention the maniacal, self-deluded laugh, this could well be the greatest, most inspirational infomercial of all time, greater than the great Aleksey Vayner’s Impossible Is Nothing, even if it ISN’T an infomercial. It appears to be a YouTube channel. I wonder why he hasn’t signed on in a year…must be out being rich somewhere, right? Monte Carlo? Goa? Paris? Dubai?

Atlantic City?

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The Definitive Act of the Twenty-First Century

For Realz.

And that is: notquoting Tionna Smalls.” Although that’s a close runner-up. No; no indeed, the definitive act of the Twenty-First Century is, naturally, something that first surfaced on YouTube. Because you, the reader, are so finely attuned to nuance and Zeitgeist and other foreign-sounding words, you are reading it here before it registers on the consciousness of the tastemakers at Gawker Media, the Times, or CBC. Ahead of the curve, in front of the pack, on the top of the heap, and (perhaps?) good for loaning me twenty bucks till the end of the month?

Yes, that is the raincoaster blog devotee!

And just for you we present the following video, another Brian Atene monologue, but this one may be somewhat familiar in parts, if you’ve survived high school English. I had all of the great “To be or not to be” speech memorized by the time I was ten because it was on the cover of my best friend’s mother’s cookie tin and it would always take her ten or fifteen minutes to talk her mom into letting us get at the Peek Freans, so I had plenty of time to go over the lines. I used to recite them to her poodle when I was pet-sitting, just to discombobulate it.

It was a nasty little dog, and I’m a bitch. What can I say?

So here it is, the video containing the plan for the definitive act of the twenty-first century. And what might that act be, you wonder? Well, I’ll tell you. But I’ll tell you over the jump, because I’m like that.

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