I Want to Fight Peggy Noonan.

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Here’s my recipe for writing a weekly (ha!) blog; ignore, ignore, and then frantically try to come up with a subject in my vain hope of posting every seven days. Last night, when I was reduced to looking through the contents of my kitchen for an idea, I remembered that I had made a list.

I did this at the behest of my friend Paul, who writes a really nifty blog that recently stuck it to the man. Relieved, I went to my PC (Yes, I’m still using my Amiga, damn it!) and opened up the appropriate file.

Apparently, I must have just suffered a head injury on the day that I started this list. It only contained one and it made no damn sense;

“Noonan sez CDN silly.”

Other than my spelling of the word ‘says’ being from The Simpsons, I recognized none of this. My usual remedy of chain smoking while downing generous gulps of Glenlivet didn’t help – but I did beat the crap out of my neighbor. I later asked my wife, the lovely and erudite Mrs. Sinister, but she noted that she didn’t go looking for things on “that part” of the computer since finding my erotic fanfic about The Golden Girls.

Eventually I did what any serious opinion columnist would do and performed the Google Dance, guessing at what my phrase might mean. I eventually found a column from the Opinion page of the Wall Street Journal written by Peggy Noonan. Much to my surprise, I had apparently read such a thing. Initially, this just served as a reminder not to surf the Interwebs when gooned on cough medicine, but then I found this:

“In France they speak French, and in China they speak Chinese. In Canada they have two national languages, but that’s one reason Canada often seems silly. They don’t even know what language they dream in.”

What language they dream in? Maybe we should examine what language you write in? To be fair, it’s obviously English, but the kind of English indicating that Peggy is a native of the tiny village Western Rhetorical Nonsense.

I’m going to ignore that since more than 32 million people speak Spanish there, the United States is essentially bilingual already. Spanish is also recognized as an official language or ‘language of government’ to some degree in California, Arizona, New Mexico, the frightening state of Texas and in whatever the hell Puerto Rico is. I will further ignore that in 1794, a motion was presented to the United States Congress asking that laws be printed in English and in German.

Yup, German…and you thought that the French disliked the Americans for no good reason.

Further, the current President of the United States speaks Spanish, and presumably as his first language. Given the regularity with which he turns whatever he’s thinking into serial misspeaking of English, he must have come to it later in life.

In France they speak French – Peg has us nailed there and I’m proud of her. They also invented that language, so I’m even more proud of them. Same for China and Chinese, although they speak about two hundred thousand variations of it according to the number I invented since I couldn’t bother to look it up. Germans speak German – they invented that too, or maybe it invented them. It only makes sense that Peggy should expect that in the United States, they should all speak United Statesian.

What’s that? There is no such language? English is actually a foreign language and merely an accident of the flow of immigrants? English is just a grand coincidence to the American identity?

Damn – don’t tell Peggy. Can I call you Peggy?

Peggy’s oeuvre on language culminated with the following compassionate and charitable statement that in no way made me want to gag;

“We must speak the same language so we can hearten each other.”

Oh, so that’s why?

Hypothetically, I have two situations in my head and I cannot decide which is more heartening;

1. Peggy Noonan Schools for Mandatory Heartening through Forced Education spring up around the country where people can have their potential for heartening increased dramatically. Programs could also include ‘An Introduction to Cultural Assimilation As To Not Make Whitey Uncomfortable’ and ‘Who’s Your Favorite Fifty-Something Former Reagan Speech writer, Pedro?’

2. You hearten people by accepting them as they are and agree that both you and they need to work very hard to get on the same page with language, culture and education.

Personally, I think I know which one I prefer but I need someone to help me with the math since I never took Heartening and Discrete Mathematics for Rich White Women.

So when I turn of the klieg lights here in the Sinister Tower and descend into the murky depths of my peat bog for a well-earned sleep, I will think of Peggy. It will occur to me, as a Canadian, that being called silly by such a person may be a blessing rather than a slight.

Then, I will dream…of Peggy…and I will do so in English, French, Franglais and maybe in some dizzyingly forbidden combination of the three.

And I will be heartened.

 

 

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Lights, Camera, Genuine Rage!

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Sometimes fake is just as good as real. Splenda works pretty well. Turkey bacon isn’t *that* bad. Women faking orgasms is an unmitigated act of kindness – thanks to all of you. Even tubes of wax that pose as headache remedies can’t actually hurt you, unless you tried to swallow it whole like a dose of Advil.

In 1982, Ricardo Montalban made a dent in the zeitgeist by uttering the fictitious Klingon proverb that ‘…revenge is a dish that is best served cold…” He did this while wearing a fake chest, presumably because his own pecs were not the sweater meat of an evil man.

In a cruel twist of fate (really, it’s neither) it turns out that the presumption that both these things were fake, was itself, fake.

The fictitious Klingon proverb was actually a fictitious French proverb from the novel Dangerous Liaisons. It makes more sense coming from the French, since all dishes are best served cold when you are on the move from constant surrendering. Also, far better to serve someone a tepid Coq au Vin than to engage them on the field of eventual-withdrawal-after-some-moderate-shooting.

Apparently, Montalban’s chest was Montalban’s chest. The prominent and malevolent man-bosom was, according to director Nicholas Meyer, the result of regular exercise. This is in strict contrast to the amazing technology designed to keep William Shatner from overacting, becoming ungirdled and having his hairpiece fly off at the same time. This scientific wizardry would later be modified into high-impact airbags to protect the Mars Rovers from the brutal collision of landing.

Trivia; In 1983 while filming an episode of TJ Hooker, Heather Locklear had the last of her talent knocked to the floor and shattered thanks to Shatner’s hairpiece.

Trivia #2; No one noticed.

This, of course, leads me to the topic of the Arab Street, and the generally widening crisis in the Middle East.

Really, it does.

First of all, I hate the term ‘Arab Street’. It’s insulting to Arabs and typically what most people mean when they write or say it is the ‘Muslim Street’. How ‘Muslim Street’ is more offensive than Arab Street eludes me; certainly, I think if we started calling American opinion polls the ‘Christian Herd’ there would be some blow back.

Also, in this case, the Arab Street is in India.

Since the world-shift that happened after 9/11, we have been treated to various and numerous analyses of the Arab Street, and how this amalgam represents the mood of the Muslim world. Usually, and repeatedly, ‘The Street’ is made up of angry Arab persons cheering when something has exploded or when burning people in effigy. Apparently the ‘Arab Living Room’, where reasonable people sit around and worry about their world doesn’t make for very good copy.

Maybe I’m being naïve again, let’s not forget that I used to think that Skittles came from actual rainbows, but it honestly never occurred to me that portions of the Arab Street were about as real as the production of Sesame Street.

Allow me to introduce you to Rage Boy.

Chronicled at SnappedShot.com and by perennial grump Christopher Hitchens at Slate.com, Rage Boy is an actor. Not unlike Montalban playing the madman Khan Noonien Singh, Rage Boy will drop into a mask of twisted and vile hatred at the drop of a hat. He’s pretty good too – he looks more upset than a goat on the seventh day of having his scrotum bound up in elastics. According to my count, Rage Boy has also done this at least 14 times. (Be a grump, I mean…I’m not speculating about his scrotum.)

I’ll now quote Hitchens without permission and hopefully get sued (the right lawsuit can make you famous…);

“I have actually seen some of these demonstrations/…/and all I would do if I were a news editor is ask my camera team to take several steps back from the shot. We could then see a few dozen gesticulating men/…/Around them, a two-deep encirclement of camera crews. When the lights are turned off, the little gang disperses/…/you may have noticed that the camera is always steady and in close-up on the flames, which it wouldn’t be if there was a big, surging mob involved.”

Personally, I’m unimpressed with a choreographed riot. It makes about as much sense as wild and uncontrolled revision of the federal tax code. Although I’m told that Alan Greenspan, in a fit of wild animal passion, once sprained his wrist because of demand-pull inflation.

I don’t even know what that means…

To my knowledge I agree with nothing espoused by Islamic extremists, but I always gave them credit for having a certain, spontaneous joie de vivre when it came to showing us the face of unmitigated fury.

Being a veteran of the interweb tubes, I’ve seen some pornography (note to my wife: always by accident) and we all know that these people are putting us on. No one would enjoy doing *that* for so many people on a hay bale. Further, despite wearing the proper hat, none of those women are really nurses.

Is Rage Boy faking it? Is his beard a cheap implant from the San Fernando Valley?

When directing Montalban, Nicholas Meyer advised him to have his character speak quietly for most of his lines. This way, when he erupted into a rage, the effect would be exponentially greater.

Good advice.

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I See Paris, I See France.

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From high atop my perch here at The Sinister Tower, I see many things. Generally, I ignore most of what I see, preferring instead to return to the confines of my Mixology Research Center where I frustrate the staff by refusing to put anything in my Scotch. But not this week, Jim.

I have uncovered a perverse and unnatural alignment of world events. A series of events so unbelievable and so Byzantine that they rival when Alexios Angelos IV, in a brazen act of polygamy, was married to each of his footstools. In a clear indication that La République Française is slowly trying to overwhelm the Western World, I have taken note of the following news stories that now eek their way across the zeitgeist.

1. The French have elected a new French-person-in-Chief: On 6 May 2007, Nicolas Sarkozy won the second round of the presidential election in which he beat the holy living Roquefort out of Marie-Ségolène Royal. The final tally had Sarkozy winning by about 2.2 million votes.

No hanging chads here.

My own reaction was mixed. I can’t say that I wanted Royal to win, but she would have been much more pleasant to look at during G8 summits. What’s really amusing about this is the reaction in the United States (surprise!). Most nations that have strong ties with France congratulated the new guy and moved on. But you whacky kids south of the border took another approach entirely - you are one zany and unpredictable global hegemon!

The American Left (motto: We’re Lost in Victory) quickly derided Sarkozy as another lap dog for President Bush. The American Right (motto: Infighting for Freedom!) seemed moderately pleased that France had elected a ‘conservative’. Bill O’Reily even lifted his personal ban on France that had apparently cost them billions of imaginary Franco-dollars as reported in many imaginary Franco-publications.

Let’s be clear though; this is France – a nation with 5 political parties that self-identify as socialist, revolutionary or communist. The “ultra-conservative” Sarkozy, in a frightening shift to the radical right, is considering that he might want to look at possibly exploring the possibility of eventually drafting some legislation to extend the workweek beyond 35 hours. Wow.

Let’s not even mention that Sarkozy is an ally of Jacques Chirac and just-resigned Prime Minister Dominique de Villepin (translation: Dominic Likes Vile Bread) who did a very nice job of jointly telling the US to go pound Chauvignol prior to the invasion of Iraq. The last person to lead France that would appeal to the current American Administration was Napoleon Bonaparte.

2. Mitt “Mittens” Romney Declares War on France: In an accidental exercise of his First Amendment rights, Mitt Romney’s campaign expectorated a strategic document that listed France, Hillary Clinton and ‘Jihadism’ as “enemies…he could run against”. This would be a lot more troublesome if Mittens hadn’t already held every possible political stance in existence. Mittens Romney was for abortion, and is now against it. Mittens Romney was for gay marriage, and is now against it. Mittens Romney was against being a political tramp who would stoop so low as to eat a kettle of boiled moose droppings in exchange for your vote, and is now…you get the idea.

To illustrate how ludicrous this is, prior to seeing France as a campaign target, he was actually their Foreign Minister under the alias of Roland Dumas. Also, he used to be for Jihadism (you can’t become offended at this, since Jihadism is not even a word) and his Jihadism-ite codename? Hillary.

This Mittens guy has no shame…yet… this week.

3. Los Angeles Superior Court Judge Michael Sauer Captures Paris: You may not think that this is really about France, but Paris Hilton and the albino dude from the DaVinci Code look an awful lot alike. So since I’ve just spelled it out for you, I’ll move on.

Unlike many bloggers, I have no problem writing about Paris Hilton, but it’s only now that she’s done something really interesting. Paris has gone from merely being a vacuous rich girl to being an official, honest to jeebus convict. Paris might be going to jail for 45 days, or maybe for 21 days. Paris might be going to jail in California or they might incarcerate her in Arizona. All of this stems from the fact that the Los Angeles county jail is supremely overcrowded. Personally, I think we should send her to Gitmo, but that’s just me.

This is a girl who would have no trouble being interrogated by Marines or held in uncomfortable positions, injected with truth serum (or injected generally, I’m guessing) or forced to sit naked in a room full of strangers. If one of those strangers had a camera, the Marines might need reinforcements. Really, it’s a win-win.

Especially for France.

Wait…what?

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