the daily snivel

  Bush-isms

You all know about Bush-isms, I assume, which include the malapropisms and neologisms and grammatical blunders made by the 43rd President of the United States, George W. Bush (including the greatest hits like "misunderestimated"). I came across a great compilation of the other kind of Bush-isms -- namely, the policy blunders, loss of American jobs, destabilization of American security and the chaos he has wilfully strewn across the world. These are handy for when you're about to strangle someone who swears they're going to vote for George W. Bush in November, but can't quite articulate why. Now you can re-educate them with some fantastic reasons not to vote for him.

http://democrats.senate.gov/resource_center.htm. 

  I'm trying hard to love you, but you don't make it easy, babe.

I went out with my dear friend Natalie to see Sarah Harmer play at the National Arts Centre on Thursday night. I very much enjoyed the performance, but I have to admit, I was blown away by the opening act, who in my opinion actually stole the show. Sarah was touring with Josh Ritter, who writes and sings funny, sensitive, moving, and lively songs reminiscent of Hayden, Blue Rodeo, and Nick Drake. I was very disappointed when their set ended (as much as I did like the main performance), because I could have stayed and listened all the longer. I was rapt and moved and spellbound. Once the show was over, I insisted on running to the lobby to buy a copy of the Josh Ritter CD, Hello Starling, and am currenly enjoying it immensely. There is another album I need to buy, a 2002 release called Golden Age of Radio. Do give Josh Ritter a listen if you have the chance. He comes highly recommended.

Last night, my good friend Sandy had a housewarming party for his new apartment in the Byward Market. The neighbourhood is a bit dodgy (located on Murray Street and nestled near the homeless drop-in centre and the Shepherds of Good Hope, where many generally harmless and generally friendly but nevertheless colourful characters hang out), but also lively and in the middle of a great deal of nightlife. His new place has been decorated wonderfully -- I helped him move, and while the apartment had a lot of promise when he took it (plus it didn't have rats, unlike the last place), he's truly made it his own, complete with his old record player cabinet, vinyl collection, Star Wars bedsheet, a framed copy of the Magna Carta, and a bathroom wired with speakers. We had a rather nice time at his new digs, drinking Gibson martinis, Mangner's Cider (my new favourite cider, which is aged and imported from Ireland), and enjoying some great music, and then we retired to the Dominion Tavern (Ottawa's best, rock'n'roll'nest, cheapest bar) where we met a lot of other law school friends for cheap pints and quarts and some lovely conversations.

In particular, I was very glad to see a friend who had just returned from New York City for the school year, as I've been too busy and too distracted to have many words with her (even though I've missed her terribly). And, actually, I didn't get the chance to say much to her that night, either, as there were so many people to talk to and both of us were keeping our eyes on some ordinarily sweet friends who were getting too drunk and surly for their own good (one quote: "That guy over there is makign goo goo eyes at me and I don't want him to make goo goo eyes at me!"). And despite the fact that many people were slurry and sloppy and drunk and silly and variously seeking to chat up, hook up, and feel up one another, I was mostly just amused and distanced from the whole thing -- at least inasmuch as I could be removed given that I was behaving like a mother hen as I sought to keep an eye on some friends.

There was one guy there in particular who gave me an odd feeling -- call it spidey sense -- and he was very horny and putting his hands quite liberally over quite a few of my colleagues. In a way, it's silly, but I'm protective of my friends and strange, annoying, and embarassingly inebriated second-year law students should be cautious when taking such liberties with pals of mine. I remarked to a friend that I thought he was way too schmoozy for my taste, and she kind of blushed and confided to me that she and he had made out in the not-too-distant past, and that there may indeed still be something going on between them. Judging by his very grabby body language for the rest of the night, at least, that was probably the case. And of course, then my foot was in my mouth, and so I decided to just let it be. We all do silly and obnoxious things when we're drunk, and we all think we're at the height of our charm and poise while we do so, right?

We stayed out until the bar closed, and people piled into cabs and one of my friends protectively cabbed home with someone who was too drunk to make the trip herself, and I cabbed another friend home who was cold and drunk and not even wearing underwear as her pants were too small -- and, really, you just can't send someone like that out alone into the cold, cold night, because it's just so pathetic.

At one point, I was bidding a certain someone goodnight, and let her know that it was really good to have seen her, and that I was glad she came out. One of our drunken charges interjected: "What about me? Wasn't it great seeing me?" And I had to reply, that of course it was nice to see her (talking to people who are just that drunk is like talking to children, which is perhaps another reason why I don't find them attractive), but that I'd seen quite a bit of her that night as we'd been chasing her around and talking here and there, but that I'd hardly said a word to my other friend at all.

I guess I was trying to be cool and sort of aloof, and there were a lot of people there that night I was interested in talking to, so she and I only had limited opportunities for words. And whenever I thought about joining her, she was sitting with other people and talking, and I didn't want to interrupt. But in reality, seeing her was extremely distracting, and every word meant a lot to me.

Anyway, I had a great time. I just think too much, even when I'm full of beer. It'd probably be easier if I were a horny ass when intoxicated, as opposed to a silly but lovesick chicken mother hen. 

  Some election year advice:

THE SUREST WAY TO BE PROVEN WRONG IS TO GIVE GEORGE BUSH THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT.

The environment. The judiciary. WMDs. The occupation of Iraq. The deficit. Pick a subject, any subject, and giving Bush the benefit of the doubt has been a guaranteed loser.

James Wolcott, author of Attack Poodles and Other Media Mutants is one of the most astute media observers I've yet read. The quote above is taken from an article he wrote this week chastising a rather self-satisfied justification of Bush wishy-washiness from a "purple" American (Republican Red and Democrat Blue), which itself was very dismissive of those citizens who absolutely cannot stand George W. Bush after four years of bumbling and divisiveness and lethal arrogance.

Overall, I'm amazed that "Bush hatred" has become "the new racism" (just like blue dress shirts are "the new white") in political discourse -- where any mention of his incompetence, simplicity, failures, or lack of integrity simply brands you an irrational Bush hater who cannot possibly have anything meaningful to contribute and should be shunned as an example to the others. There are so many valid and defensible reasons to abhor the policies, words, deeds and plans of this Administration that dismissing it as wild-eyed fervor is both insulting and tellingly desperate.

Anyway, read the above article. It makes the point far more eloquently than I.