I Still Believe That There Is Gold At The End Of The World

I know, I know. But I've been busy. Sort of. Not really. Just not much to say.

Except on "24" tonight, there was a joke that pissed me off quite a lot. There are a couple surprising things about this. First, I love "24." Usually, I'll go along with anything they serve up, no matter how preposterous or fascist. Second, "24" went for a laugh line. At least I hope it was for a laugh, because otherwise it was really offensive.

You can count on one hand the number of times in six seasons that "24" has gone for a joke--and no, I am not including "Chloe said something inappropriate again". The folks on "24" don't just take themselves seriously, they treat themselves like they're the ones really saving the world every week. They have to. The minute the show begins to become a little self-referential or amusing, the cracks that I'm willing to overlook now will seem a lot bigger. If even Jack Bauer begins to wonder to himself why the guys CTU sends with him always get shot while he always escapes, then that's it. I have to start asking ALL the questions.

But tonight, Milo was in Bill Buchanan's office defending a CTU agent of Muslim descent. The White House handed down some obnoxious order about all Middle Eastern agents going through an extra layer of security, and Milo was complaining that it was slowing down his attractive Semitic co-worker. And to demonstrate how absurd the idea of her being a sleeper agent was, Milo said...

"She's a registered Republican, for God's sake!"

You catch that? She can't be an enemy of the country...she's a REPUBLICAN.

Now, I know that the exec producers of "24" are conservatives. They get all gooey every time the Heritage Foundation throws them a dinner. They court conservative publications and go weak in the knees for Rush Limbaugh. And, of course, there's the entire content of the show, where concern for civil liberties = DEATH. It's my favorite show and all but shit, guys, enough's enough.

Hopefully, Milo eats it sometime this season.

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One more thing. I saw this a couple of months ago with my brother when it originally aired. It's Tom Waits on "The Daily Show" singing his song "The Day After Tomorrow," which is pretty much the best anti-war song written (obliquely) about the Iraq war. Where Green Day and Neil Young are blunt and clumsy, Tom Waits is elegant and subtle.

When it aired, they cut it off halfway for the credits, but the whole thing is on the web. Well, the whole performance, anyway--Tom Waits cut one verse to keep it to time, so if you want to hear the song in its entirety you need to buy this.

Which you should do.

Dressing for Success

They say that clothes make the man.

Really? Let's look deeper at that for a second. Honestly. WHO really says this?

It would have to be the people who truly believe it. People who care about their clothes to the extent that they not only hang their own self-worth on them, but their view of other people. The vain. The snotty. By saying that clothes make the man, they can feel like their priorities are in the right order and shame you at the same time.

And, just like that, you...you...

Shit, I can't keep this up. I just hate buying clothes. Hate it. And right now I have to, because the ones I have--the ones I've had more or less since college--are falling apart at an accelerated rate. Fabric is wearing away at the creases. Seams are actually dissolving. Pretty soon, there won't be anything left. So it's time to replace...everything...and have I mentioned how much I hate buying clothes?

I've decided to look at this as an opportunity to change the way I dress. Plus, as we all know, external change equals internal change. Ergo, new clothes=new me. That's the plan, anyway.

The first step of the plan has already been put in motion. I have a new shirt and a new sweater and I wore them both with a pair of pants that is NOT jeans. You know what? They're just not me--which is exactly the point. They're horrible. I love them.

Anyway, there are several people consulting on the New Matthew rebuilding project. They've been going over designs, making suggestions. New shoes are ahead that will not be Doc Marten's, new shirts that are not plaid or plaid-like. When the whole thing is finished, it won't matter if I like the new clothes or not because they'll be the only ones I have.

Until they fall apart...

You're My Witness, I'm Your Mutineer

OK, that's more like it. Just like I intended, that six month break seems to have shaken off the chaff around here. You know, things were getting a little too crowded. The need to play to the masses was beginning to corrupt the art, but we've gotten rid of the bandwagoners, the groupies, the hangers-on. It's just you and me now. Back to basics.

Hello? Anyone there?

Fuck.

Chapter Two, Wherein We All Continue As If I Have Been Blogging Since July

Wow, well...sorry.

It looks like the last six months of this blog were accidentally deleted by the server. Totally. Even the archive--it's like every entry after July 31st just never happened.

We lost the hilarious and the poignant, from my award-winning rants about traffic in each of our fifty states to the daily chronicle of my month-long battle with dry skin. The serialized novel that John Updike reviewed in the New Yorker as "the remarkable first effort from Richard Russo's heir apparent." Gone forever.

Personally, I'll remember each of those entries with the regret of a perfectionist but, yes, a little pride. We move on, though. The past lies behind us and the future is bright. It has new challenges and, unfortunately, the future appears to be wearing a sweater.

Come on back tomorrow.