Now Leaving Missouri

Now Entering Missourah.

My favorite thing about election season is the pandering, particularly of the linguistic kind. The most half-assed of this sort always happens in senatorial campaigns for Missouri. Both sides wind up calling the state "Missourah" by the end of the campaign cycle, because that's how twenty drunken boaters in the Ozarks say it. Even better is when, taking a cue from these campaign ads, pundits on CNN and Fox call it "Missourah." Look for it. It's happening. I'm scared to find out if this tactic is effective or not, because with Missourians, it probably is. It reminds me of how conservatives starting pronouncing the word "Nucular" as a show of solidarity with the president. So basically, politicians, note this: You can never understimate how stupid your voters are.

Saturday

I hope New York just vomited a little when it realized the World Series starts today.

* * *

I was out last night with a friend and one of her friends, and didn't really hit it off with her (this friend of a friend), but it wasn't awkward or dreadful or anything. Anyway, at bar time, some douche in a black t-shirt asked her what time it really was, she laughed at the novelt of this statement, and wound up going home with this guy and his friend with a hipster mullet.

What's the etiquette here? He just started talking to her when I had been at the bar right next to her. First off, when you don't acknowledge the other person in the party when you're clearly meaning to hit on someone, you are a douche. When you are being hit on by a black t-shirt wearing douche who thinks saying "you know" is hilarious (at least he laughed every time he said it), and you don't even superficially include the person you're platonically at the bar with in the conversation, you're both transparent and probably a little bit slutty. Seriously: had I been superficially included in this obvious-as-a-train-tunnel conversation, I would have gotten bored and sauntered off to watch fuckin' Quadorophenia on the big screen elsewhere. What a terrible movie. That's not my problem, though.

My problem is that I just realized that if I had bone-thin arms and a black t-shirt, as well as a career I found on Monsterjobs, a coke problem, and a basic inability to string multisyllabic words together, I would be neck deep in pussy. Those are actually what Jesus's last words were, right after that "Forsaken me" bullshit.

Meet the Mets? Fuck the Mets!

I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I commented on some guy's blog about the Mets. It was linked from Deadspin, and he wrote about the "vapid" crowd at Busch stadium. First off, nice thesaurus. Second, I have my problems with St. Louis and with Cardinals fans. He seems to take issue with the "Best fans in baseball" tag. It's not our fault Peter Gammons is awesome and descriptive.

Anyway, the comments section was filled with shit like "screw the Cardinals fans" and typical imaginative NY fan fodder. Then someone says (baseball?)(the Cardinals?)(Cardinals fans?)(society?) this label is racist. Somehow. Because a ton of white people live in St. Louis, apparently, and the camera showed one Mets fan who had dark skin. Then the inexorable posts about how New Yorkers are "passionate" and they "speak their minds." I never thought of this, but really, these terms only apply to New Yorkers who root for New York teams. You want passionate? How about a Philadelphia fan who cheers when Michael Irvin is laying, paralyzed, on the field? Jesus Christ, that's some hate.

Anyway, I'm embarrassed that I left a comment, too. I'm also embarrassed that I'm commenting on the comments. I'm in a surly mood, I guess, and in need of lashing out at people who disagree with me.

Here's what I said:

Reading all these posts by Mets fans who, apparently, have somehow (miraculously) learned to write, is kind of like is like looking at a mule with a spinning wheel. No one knows how he got it and danged if he knows how to use it.

Holy Shit

I enjoy Gawker, especially how they take the time to label the douchiest douches at douche parties in New York. I enjoy the "Hipster or Homeless" game on Blue States Lose. I even enjoyed the "hot piece of twat" threat that ran so astonishingly long, but I was ever so disappointed in Idolator - part of the Gawker network - today. They gave away tickets to the New Yorker Dance Party, and had the winner write a summary of the night. Please read.

Back?

Okay, first off, how old is this guy? And how awesome does he think he is in this picture? Between pudge, wrinkles, and blemishes, he's anywhere from 24 to 45.

To the prose:

I had this really hot date so I didn't really get to nose around much

When I read this, I thought of that part from "Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask" where the guy's on a date, and the little people in his brain are saying they don't know if they'll have a chance to have sex that night, and Tony Randall, the brain-commander, asks where she went to college, and and someone says, "NYU." Then Randall says, "Oh, we'll do it alright."

While me and my date were fucking making shit happen on the dance floor, there was this one guy (looked like he was almost done with his first novel) just standing there, fixed, right beside us.

I can't tell if he's snarkily saying he was fucking making shit happen, or if he truly believes that he was fucking making shit happen, but based on the photo and what ensues in this paragraph, I'm going for the former. What a douche. (Oh, and of course the guy looked like he was almost done with his first novel, because that's how you mock people these days. Not for being hipster douches.)

He looked funny, but kind of fun too, so my date did some fuck-me wriggling in front of him and ran her hands up and down his body repeatedly. No avail. He still didn't move. It was hilarious.

Yes, what a douche, indeed. So you think people with painful social anxiety are 'hilarious'? And your date is a shameless harlot? I bet your Halloween Sangria parties are fuckin' sweet. I hope this guy's sterile.

Note to Bill Simmons

It's pretty fuckin' dumb to follow up "The Quadruple-A Playoffs kicks off" with "Chris Carpenter against Jake Peavy," especially when both were better than any pitcher on the Sox roster. Regardless of the fact that the NL blows this year, you don't have much leeway when your team dropped five consecutive (same series) games to the Yankees. Hey Bill, compare this somehow to "How I Met Your Mother" or some other worthless fuckin pop culture topic.

Fox News Watch

Bill O'Reilly was stunning last night. He has slowly descended into self-parody (if only by revealing who he really is over time... he always was a self-parody), and yesterday's interview with Bob Woodward was a perfect example. Stephen Colbert's parody of right wing talk show hosts hinges on the utter transparency of his arguments. As he told Frank Rich last week: "This issue is bigger than you and me... it's about me, and my need to outsell Hugo Chavez."

O'Reilly's thought process was on display last night: the truth serves at the pleasure of the president. Or O'Reilly. Example:

WOODWARD: You rally with the truth. You rally with the truth.
Look at the times this country has been at war when presidents have come out and said, you know, look, we've got a big difficulty here. And -- but we're going to go do the job.
I -- look, you talk about "no spin" and "straight talk" and so forth. You know what the American people like? Straight talk. And even if it's bad news. This is a big…

O'REILLY: This is a different situation, Mr. Woodward. And I'm going to politely disagree with you here.

It's different, because O'Reilly's viewers fuckin' know the truth, 'cuz he tells 'em, see? Who's to say that if the president is forthright, we'll know what to think? We won't have anyone to tell us what to think. It'd be a disaster.

I also love the inference that the President has a different situation on his hands, as if you can only use "straight talk" when it, you know, doesn't matter. I think that's what Uncle Ben told Peter Parker: "With great power comes the ability to discern when to tell the truth and when to lie. Here's a hint: Arabs + 'imminent threat' = lie.

And, oh, there's so much more. O'Reilly suggested Woodward is being used by Americans who hate America and "want us to lose" the war. Woodward said, "But what's the alternative, Bill? Do I then not write the truth as I find it as a reporter?"

Side-note: Bill's voice seems to be laboring lately, when he tries to make a point to anyone who disagrees with him on the show. He's hoarse, worn. Hilarious.

Another great part: Woodward talks about how troops who have come home have talked to him about what a mess it is over there, and O'Reilly says he's heard the same, but for every troop with such a sentiment, there's one who says 'we have them on the run,' or 'the tide is turning.' Flatly, Woodward says, "I haven't heard that once." O'Reilly completely drops the subject. It was stunning television.

What is the Deal With the Hold Steady?

Now I have to pretend at parties that, yeah, I've heard good things about them, and I liked the one song I heard, but no I'm not that familiar with them. Thusly will I betray the fact that the Hold Steady bore me to tears. Not since the Rapture have I been so thoroughly underwhelmed by a Pitchfork-endorsed band. Craig Finn talks, but he isn't funny or charismatic like Eddie Argos. He just talks. Boringly.