Sure Hope These Hit the Airwaves

Surfing the Internet for videos on Proposition 8 is interesting. There are dozens, if not hundreds of them, both for and against (lots and lots on YouTube). Most of the ones for Yes are pious (one is even fire and brimstone, suggesting that last years fires in May were because of the court ruling legalizing same-sex marriage).

Bill Maher said Obama vs. McCain was YouTube vs. feeding tube. How true.

This set is my favorite because they parody a set of ads (PC vs Mac) that are fun and that everyone is familiar with. Check 'em out:

Now, this concept is genius


It's fun and gets the IMPORTANT concepts across


And next to these, the "Yes" ads seems so rigid


And Margaret Cho explains it for the really stupid people


Can the message be any clearer? Pass this proposition and you are creating human rights exclusion in a constitutional document. Duh.

The Corruption and Demise of SharkBoy

We have an aquarium. Steve gave it to me as a birthday present a little over two years ago. As with most new aquarium owners, we went through our share of fish dying. Luckily, the downstairs bathroom is directly opposite the aquarium, so the fishy Viking funerals were short and sweet. I'd say perhaps half a dozen fish came and went until we got the tank truly stabilized and the fish population healthy.

As I said to Steve, the nice thing about owning fish is you don't get particularly attached to them as pets. You can't stroke them, they don't make noises at you and they don't blink or rub up against you. So when one of them just doesn't make it, it's not an emotional tribulation. And then there was SharkBoy.

SharkBoy was a Bala Shark, more correctly known as Balantiocheilos melanopterus. We didn't know a whole lot about him when we got him, just that he was nice and silvery and about an inch long. We added him to the tank and he grew...and grew...and grew. Here's a shot of the tank from about a year ago, with an inset of just how big SharkBoy had gotten.

At one point we had gotten five little neons, thinking to add a small school of fish to the tank. One by one they mysteriously disappeared. And SharkBoy got larger. And the larger he got, the more confining the tank space was, and the edgier he got. It is not true that fish stop growing if the tank is small. SharkBoy grew and as he began to feel claustrophobic, he took to leaping out of the water and banging up against the glass top of the aquarium.

Recently, SharkBoy had dominated the tank, both visually and societally. We had a couple algae-eaters that just disappeared, and it's not like they can use a secret passage to escape from the tank. There was only one place they could go. We went to the aquarium store and asked if they would take SharkBoy back and resell him. They said no. We were stuck with him.

Then, last Saturday, Steve was checking for the two new algae-eaters he had purchased. They had large, splayed heads that would not easily fit down SharkBoy's gullet. We found the first one, but the second one, or shall I say the remains of the second one, half-eaten, were floating near the filter intake. More fleshy remnants waved among the plant leaves. A line had been crossed. We both knew it, though neither of us spoke a word.

Steve got out the net and opened the top of the tank. As he placed the net in, SharkBoy leapt up and over, falling six feet down onto the landing of the garage stairs then flopped, Slinky-like, stair by stair, ending next to the catbox. Steve flew down the stairs, got SharkBoy securely in the net and brought him up, where we took him to the bathroom, ready for his execution. Steve plopped him in the toilet and flushed.

But SharkBoy was just too damn big. He did not go easily into the whirlpool of death. I slammed the lid as he flopped and jumped. It was something from the Twilight Zone, this thing knocking against the toilet seat while we waited for the tank to refill. I got a plastic bag, put it over my hand and flipped open the lid. I pushed down, confining SharkBoy to the bottom of the bowl and flushed. I held the bag in place while the tank refilled. I flushed again. I removed the bag as the tank refilled a third time, then I flushed once more. All was peaceful.

Then, as I pulled the bag off my hand, from the corner of my eye I saw his head re-emerge in the bowl. "Oh, shit!" I screamed, "He's back!" I put the bag back on my hand, grabbed SharkBoy firmly around the body, inverted the bag and tied him inside and into the trash he went. I told Steve, "If you hear some flopping around in the kitchen, just ignore it." His response was, "I think I'll take the trash out."

Neither of us felt good about what we did, but it was a matter of reclaiming the aquarium. We're planning on getting some schooling fish now, little ones, that will bring back the peaceful and calming experience of watching a miniature underwater world in the living room. Rest in Peace, SharkBoy, you pushy little bastard.

In preparing the above photo for this confession/exposé, I checked online, and it turns out that, in their native Thailand, fish like SharkBoy are good eatin' fish. And damn if SharkBoy wouldn't have filled a small bun once he was filleted. But I don't think I want to consider the trauma of that experience.

Election Embedding

Here are two really good skits from Saturday Night Live. Enjoy.

A real blog entry follows soon.

The Stupidest Show on Television

Gosh. That's a tough one. It's hard to say. First of all, there's "Hole in the Wall" on Fox, which is hosted by the weatherman from Fox's L.A. station. People dress in silver lamé body suits and attempt to pass through holes in a moving wall. Almost as thrilling as "Deal or No Deal," where people pick numbers on attache cases that are then opened revealing another number which is more interesting since it's dollars.

Then there's "The Real McCains." It started out ludicrous, then it got tasteless, now it's just sad to watch. Worse, nearly half those viewing don't see the shameless farce unfolding in front of their faces, but think it's compelling drama. Let's cross our fingers and hope this one gets canceled in early November. Here's a shot from the show that kind of looks like "THX 1138," don't you think?

We're all waiting around for "The Wall Street Bailout" to run its course. That one's kind of like "Deal or No Deal," except they're playing with our money. It was supposed to be over in a week, but got picked up for another week because its numbers were so compelling.

Those from California who read this tome have probably run across the Yes on Prop 8 ad that's been running recently. And running. And running. And running. It has Gavin Newsom being his usual obnoxious self, and then intimates that, if the proposition does not pass, queers are gonna sue you for believing they're inferior; your churches will be taken over by queers, queers will control everything and children will be taught that queer marriage is just as good as real marriage. Queers. Queers queers queers. STRIKE BACK!

Why are they so threatened?

And the amazing thing is these people don't think their attitudes are bigoted, or they are working HARD to make others second-class citizens. They are totally convinced they are doing the right thing; what God wants. What would Jesus do? (He'd kick ass on these queers, that's what he'd do!) How do you try to alter that kind of mindset? I think it's probably much easier to just wait for them to die. As far as this picture goes, I found it online, I'm not sure where it's from, but I wanted to let everyone know that there are some Republicans who know how to treat a female impersonator.

You may recall that my brother Stephen [May 2, 2008] said this blog needed more meaningful content rather than simply being a diary style of writing. Perhaps it's because my daily life is so boring, or perhaps because we are living in really exciting times right now, but I note that the entries have become biting and opinionated over the last few months. Whaddayathink? It certainly is more fun to write.

WHEEEEEEE!!!!!

Was that a wild week on Wall Street or what? I don't think things are over just quite yet. And I'm wondering how extensively this whole financial episode is going to be spun and twisted and tweaked in the presidential campaigns. I made this photo illustration to commemorate it all. While putting it together, I realized: Red is not only the color for the Republican party, it is also the universal sign for deficit, loss, uncontrolled spending and bloodshed, whether actual or merely financial.

I can't help but think that the entire thing was generated by the quick and dirty, anything-for-a-profit financiers (the same ones who keep sending me a half dozen credit card applications in the mail every week), and now they're going to be forced to retire from their positions, accepting multimillion-dollar golden parachutes while previous homeowners that they talked into guaranteed-to-fail loans are living (if they're lucky) in roach-infested mobile home trailers instead of the homes they dreamed of buying with these institutions' assistance.

None of that sounds like a Democrat's state of mind (except, perhaps, the trailer home). One day McCain's against any kind of bailout for anyone and then, when the Bush White House comes out 180 degrees from that position, McCain falls into lockstep with the party. Maverick indeed.

And now Palin's office in Juneau is being run by the McCain campaign. Call Juneau with a question about Troopergate and you get forwarded to a McCain operative (excuse me, representative) who stalls and spins and then forwards you to the McCain-Palin campaign headquarters in Virginia. Try to get information out of Wasilla, Alaska, and the same thing happens; McCain cronies have taken over there, too. Even the Alaskan Republicans are getting pretty pissed off by all this.

But today we pause from the campaign trail and reflect on the wonders of televised entertainment as the 60th Annual Emmy Awards are given out. The limo just arrived to take the publisher and top editors to glitter at the ceremony. The rest of us grunts get to stay here, put out a paper and eat catered Mexican food. Hopefully, I'll be out of here by 8 or 9 o'clock, while some folks will be staying until 1:30 a.m.

All I can say about the Emmys is the Oscars they ain't. One of the guys I dated before Steve and I got together was a schlub of a sound editor, and he had an Emmy because he had worked on "Friends."

But the Emmys do herald the beginning of the Awards Season here in LaLa Land, and that means more pages (and more advertising) for The Reporter, which means more work and more income for us all, theoretically. Just as the retail sector makes the lion's share of its profit during the Christmas season, so do we make the majority of our ad income from now until late February, when the Oscars are held.

In closing, I wanted to say that Steve has a really great story about having lunch with a coworker in Van Nuys. It's really funny. I have to goose him to write it for y'all. I'll even provide some art. Until then, you'll have to digest my whiney political droning.

One point of interest: today I've been blogging for a year and 10 days. I guess you can keep some things going.

Find the Pig

I'll give you a hint: He's not wearing lipstick.

This photo illustration is of my own concoction. It's a reaction to the entire electoral process so far since the end of the conventions. Everything seems so preplanned this time around and the electorate seem to be once removed from everything that's going on.

And I don't even know if we should be blaming the candidates. The handlers seem to be coming out and saying the really nasty things, at least on the Republican side. The candidates themselves are spun as commodities; products that we're being marketed, and Palin is a shiny new SUV, just the kind you've always wanted. ICK!

I see the polls each week, like we all do, and I am astounded at how divided this country is. It makes me wonder just how these opinions are being arrived at. What are the questions that are being asked? How do the pollsters arrive at the simplified numbers via their statistical processes? We're remote enough from the process that we have to choose answers like brands of cereal. Then the numbers come out, telling us what we want to have for dinner.

Just like the candidates were chosen long before the conventions, I have a sneaking suspicion that the outcome of the election is sitting in an envelope somewhere in Washington, and the process of voting has become just another formality, like the conventions, to validate a decision that has already been made.

It won't be hanging chads this time around. Now we're going to get faulty tabulations from electronic voting systems, and many of them have no backup to allow hand counting. It's all suspect in my mind.

All I can say is this Palin woman is dangerous. Anyone who's ordered a cafe espresso has more foreign affairs experience than she does. I spent a year involved in government in Alaska back in the '70s, and I can tell you it's no training ground for a president. With just over a half-million people in the entire state, it's really more like a little club where everyone's on a first-name basis. If it weren't for the enormous amount of income from the oil concerns on the North Slope, the state would be another West Virginia populated by disgruntled folk who couldn't take life in the lower 48.

Two months. We've got to wait two months to see the outcome. Two months of sleazy Republican jabs at the Democrats that are so two-faced and self-serving that it's unbelievable the number people who are actually listening to the messages and buying them as sincere and accurate.

Perhaps we should program the presidential election, call it "Americana Idol," and let people vote on their cellphones. Not only would the election be approximately as accurate as the old way, but the charges for all those phone votes would help defray the monstrous debt that Baby Bush has amassed in the last eight years while dangling the boogeyman of terrorism over the heads of the American people.

God, I can't wait until November. The weather will be cooler, too.

Justa Montha Go

Yes, tomorrow marks the monthiversary of our nuptials. It seems to me like it's been a lot less time. Of course, we were domestic partners for a couple years already, so most of the economic and monetary situations of marriage were already with us. Still, I have to remind Steve that whether I write the check for repair of the air conditioner or he does, the money basically comes from and goes to the same place, so it's just a matter of cash flow.

Speaking of outlays of large sums of money, I finally broke down and purchased the Adobe Creative Suite Premium CS3 edition. I found it online for a measly $919 ($998 after tax and shipping). It was about time, too, since I have been using "borrowed" versions of the programs for the last decade or so and I'm tired of not being able to upgrade them. Also, the two major Web design programs, Flash and Dreamweaver, are included in the suite, and I have got to learn these if I'm going to stay competitive in the design field.

The small package arrived at work on Wednesday. It seemed so small for a grand's worth of programming data. I took it home and excitedly popped the DVD into my computer.

The first thing I saw was a warning: "Adobe Creative Suite operates best with a minimum of 1 gigabyte of RAM." My machine had only 512 megabytes. But since it didn't say "Don't load the program unless you have a minimum..." I decided to go ahead.

Over an hour later, it finally finished installing. When I opened it up, it took forever to start. I started looking around the Internet for how much new memory for my machine would be. The quote on the Apple Web site was about $400. Ick. I looked around for a place in Pasadena and discover Di-No Computers on Colorado Boulevard. They are Apple specialists and they really know what they're doing.

I asked for the memory cards the Apple Web site said I needed. The guy looked doubtful. "You live nearby?" he asked. I told him I was just a mile or two away. "Why don't you just bring in the machine," he suggested. Sounded good to me. As it turned out, the Apple Web site had been wrong; instead of a PJ4200 board I needed a PJ3200 board. We decided to max out the RAM at 2 gigs because, as I told him, the programs are just going to get bigger. And it cost me less than half of what was quoted on the Apple site.

Now my iMac is happy again. InDesign, Photoshop, Illustrator, Flash, Dreamweaver, Acrobat and Fireworks all load up right away (yeah, I guess seven programs for a grand isn't too expensive), and I'm once again up to speed.