November 7th, Hurry Up!

A person holding the conch, being told the floor is yours, or being passed the microphone; different ways for different time periods. Jumping on a soapbox so that others can hear what one has to say is nothing new. Ignore, for a moment, the soapbox analogy. Examples of speaking to groups of people is nearly as constant as the world's longest running profession of prostitution, which could be a bit analogous to the source of irritation that prompts me to write this morning.

Come November 6, 2012, Americans will cast their vote in response to a months - or years - long process of several men trying to assume the office of the President of the United States. Other laws and offices that will be voted upon, but none, in my opinion, will make me happier to see come and go. Keeping my focus on American Presidential elections, I'll share some of what I understand concerning the history of the American Presidential campaign.

In it's earlier stages, campaigning for the office of President didn't have the benefit of reaching the same number of people that can be reached in recent years, a change owed to radio, television, and so on. Let's also acknowledge that people had shit to do, farms to tend, and families to raise; time was better spent hard at work rather than sitting idly listening to a person who really didn't matter in then daily lives, at least not perceptively so. Organized events were still in use, so there were still recorded picnics, parades and rallies that a candidate would use as vehicles to speak to the people. These still happen today, which are awesome opportunities for candidates to get their word out and endear themselves to the people which affect the outcome of the election.

Behind the scenes activity was evident too. Interested entities would organize these events as the candidate rode town to town. Buttons would be made, flyers printed, and banners sewn; all so the candidates presence would be felt wherever they were - and were not - able to go. A goal of "breed familiarity so that others vote for you" was still prevalent back then.

I imagine there are no less buttons and flyers these days, but the behind the scenes work is even more apparent. Turn on the TV and see an advertisement ending with "I'm (so & so) and I approve this message." The phone rings and on the other line is an automated voice preaching the amazing good on the horizon, should their particular candidate be elected, which is certain, but only with your vote. Drive through any random neighborhood and you'll see lawns planted with sign after sign expressing the homeowner's Presidential go-to guy. Talk show hosts become venues to gather support for a candidate, celebrity luminaries lend their support, and even musical artists stage shows to raise money for their chosen candidate, many artists of which who once sought to stick it to "the man." Fashion, even, has become a popular avenue for supporting one's chosen candidate. The interweb has become saturated with people seeking to have their two-cents heard. I wonder, is nothing exempt from political flag waving and rabble rousing? I'm surprised that food isn't injected with something that turns our bodily functions into campaign advertisements.

My irritation rose just writing the last paragraph. I don't even care to count the words or sentences within. Presidential election years are beyond irritating, and I know exactly why I feel this way. It has nothing to do with the ridiculous derision on both sides of the fence, though this, too, bugs the living shit out of me. It's not the arguing and endless debating amongst the little people (meaning "us"). It isn't even the campaign strategies mentioned above that send me over the edge. No, the source of this annoyance is far more insidious.

Seeing as there is no specific day in which campaigning begins, the start begins long before election year has arrived. Often times, a candidate is tapped for future ascendancy long before their designated time arrives. At first it's barely noticeable, finding it's way into the media like a slow moving cancer moving it's way through our lymphatic system, just waiting to embed itself and make itself known. Before you can protest it, you're favorite TV show is being interrupted or cancelled in lieu of a debate. Commercial times are filled with campaign spots. Written media becomes more focused on the topic. Facebook becomes increasingly permeated by candidate support. Soon, that's the only thing most of us talk about at bars and over tea & crumpets, not that I have a damn clue just what is a "crumpet."

Perhaps, like political opinions, this is an inherited trait from my father. I've listened to him for years grumble about the amount of time a candidate has to campaign in an effort to secure his/her goal. He believes, as I believe, that presidential campaigning should be limited - by law - to a specific amount of time. Not that I personally can say what timeframe is best, and even to what extent campaign efforts ought to be prohibited. Still, I find myself wondering things like "doesn't he have a job to do" or "how better could we spend all the money wasted on those campaigns?"

Yes, I know I'm a lowly sheep, however wayward. Unlike the men and women running for various political offices, I don't "know" anything; I only have "ideas."Ideas are infinitely better than knowing, in my opinion. Ideas can be changed more easily, are more flexible and don't require the same level of commitment. They are quickly adaptable and open to suggestion. Yes, I have...ideas.

Not entirely applicable to my rant, but...

Titty Sprinkles

Yes, Titty Sprinkles

For anyone aware of my brand of humor, you know that my particular brand is often morally ambiguous and left of center. Embarrassing, socially unacceptable, or downright offensive? I've been accused of each and then some. Sacrilegious has even been applied to my comedic throughts. There was a time when I was too offensive for a Hot Topic, a very "non-corporate" store slangin' counterculture goods unable to handle a few F-Bombs being spoken aloud. That's for another time. Besides, it's time to contemplate titty sprinkles.

So, just what are "titty sprinkles," you might ask. I thought it was obvious. They're sprinkles having to do with titties, duh! How silly of you to even wonder such things!

In reality, I have no idea what the hell they are or the origins to the term, nor am I really concerned. As I type this, however, there is a wave of Tweets & Retweets all over Twitter, courtesy of my beloved Suicide Girls. Juvenile, I suppose, to laugh at that bit of nonsensical vulgarity. It even brings to mind memories of prepubescence and the very immature humor that is often part of that era in our lives. Anyone remember laughing when someone said "let's do it" or "let's erect this thing?" Cue the Beavis & Butthead laughter. 

I have no problem with women, as long as they stay in the kitchen.

What exactly do I find funny? Hard to clarify, really. Everything is within the situation. I can laugh at the picture to the left, but in another situation, I'll find no humor in it at all. Jokes that concern prejudice will likely make me laugh, however amoral they may be. Sexual innuendos are a constant source of humor & flirtation, regardless of the their perceived immaturity of others. Hell, even an inappropriately place swear word can bring a smile to my face.

Regardless of the butt (hehehe) of the joke, there is a time and place when and where it is definitely NOT appropriate. Not that I'm the one to make that judgement, though I will frown on things when they seem inappropriate. You won't hear me crack a Jew joke at a Holocaust memorial, nor will you find me telling you the latest black joke at a KFC.

Seemed appropriate, given my recent comment concerning Jews.

Exactly why I, or anyone else for that matter, finds humor in more offensive material is a good question. For example, I find it disheartening and saddening when pondering the decimation of the Jewish people during WW2. I can only imagine what it was like to be slowly ostracized by one time neighbors, carried off in over - crowded trains, stripped of nearly all dignity, forced to watch our people suffer and die, and then - ultimately - divested of the last thing we have to call our own; our life. Being able to recognize, if not fully comprehend, those horrors, why do I still find myself able to laugh at a joke making light of that blight on human history? 

In spite of the blatant disrespect, I still laugh, or at the very least, smirk at such things. In the picture below, I know others find discomfort in such an image, yet, I can't help myself. I'm weak and vile and hypocritical, or so I acknowledge. I can easily reprimand others for making such jokes, arguing that it's not appropriate, but then arguing "place and time" when I myself am called out. 

WINNING!

Ignoring the more serious, I friend who once said she had "a mouth that could make a sailor blush." Only understanding this years later, I began wondering why if it's inappropriate in one situation, when is it ever appropriate? Perhaps it's the break in decorum that gives rise to the laughter, a sort of disbelief to which your mind confuses the appropriate response. It can be confusing, hearing your father scream all manner of obscenities when fixing the fuckin' plumbing or the goddamned car only to scorned for making use of the same choice words. How the plumbing can "fuck" or why God would choose to "damn that car" is beyond me, on that note.

Again with the break in decorum, or what is considered "couth." Why can I, at 32 years of age, become irritated with children who bust a grumpy, as my nieces refer to it, but cackle like a demon when I do it behind closed doors? Sexual innuendos are disrespectful to a more serious act, but so easy to make light of outside of mature conversation. The examples are endless, and very much subject to opinion. 

Assuming we're all guilty of these transgressions, I wonder if anyone else thinks as I do now. How many of us acknowledge what we find to be immature, yet still treat things so flippantly and facetious?

Leaving you a bit abruptly, I bid you adieu. 'Til next time....

Classy, but so poignant.

Movin' on up...

"...to the east side!"

Greetings and salutations, my beloved Andy-villains! Though our congregation is few in number, I will continue to preach. I hope that you continue to read, and, more importantly, enjoy my rants, ramblings and revelations.

My earlier expressed desire to be a Murse is in jeopardy. I won't go so far as to say dead and buried, but  it's nowhere near the perceived vocational calling it once was. Events have come to pass that have made me reevaluate that pathway, and have also given me cause to consider another, albeit it an older, once desired one. It's now that I am strongly leaning towards that older interest, while putting the more recent desire on the back burner. It might, however, make more sense if you allow me to put on the often rose-tinted glasses of the past, and let me elaborate further.

During a simpler time, back when I was cradled within the hallowed halls of my teenage alma mater, I had a knack for writing. Not that I was then an avid author of anything especially engaging, but it was a telante nonetheless. My rhetoric was often a source of complimentary statements, but even with that encouragement, I did not take writing seriously enough to consider "writing" as a chosen profession. I had entertained thoughts of becoming an English teacher, which is still being mulled over, but never anything akin to strict writing. Maybe I just wasn't sure who'd be interested in hearing my voice lent to reporting or perhaps I thought I lacked creativity. Even today, I feel that my ability with words is greater than that spark of creativity, the same spark that helps more prolific writers/authors to pour out all their creative thoughts onto the page.

If only men penmanship had enough game to use one of these.

Now, however, I find myself consider using my ability to form written discourse as more than just a past time. Be it for my own creative purposes or for an entity that requires someone with my talents. Perhaps in time, I'll begin to write a bit more creatively and produce short stories/novels of my own. Education, may also be a beneficial choice. By educating others, I can (possibly) imbue youth with an appreciation of the written word, but also maintain a continued learning of the rules of composition.

The Jeffersonian humor earlier in the blog is less indicative of any actual progress in life, and more revelatory of my decisions having been narrowed and solidified. It's also a sort of throw out to my Special Lady Friend, Phanny B. Relating to both - writing and Phanny - I feel as if I'm excited and comfortable with my decisions, that things can only "move on up" from here. I feel happy thinking that, even if poor, I'll be able to do something that I'm passionate in doing. Again, even if poor, I won't have to look beyond the Spexican at my side, knowing that I have what I want.

Although you may already be humming to something along the lines of "duhn, duhn, duh-duhnnnnn," allow me address something. I really don't know if "she" is "the one." I mean, in this day and age, there can be more "the one;" just look at the Highlander franchise for validation of this precept.  What I'm merely saying is that I want to take it further with her. I want to explore what a life spent with might be like. We're not even a full year into our relationship, but I have incredibly strong feelings for her.

I must've done something right in a previous life.

Why I want to avoid talk of weddings and marriage is in part due to many variables. I'm not sure if I'm the marrying type. I haven't been entirely confident of my decisions in the past, a lack of confidence that runs deep enough to cause more than a bit of anxiety. I want to explore a more intimate life with and see if any issues might arise that are "irreconcilable," so that we know before tie the knot.

There's a lot of indecision, that I've not hidden in many of my blogs. Important, however, is that I'm beginning to feel more certain: about life, my studies, Phanny too.  I may not be sure of things, but I'm beginning to feel that way. I just wish certainty had been less reluctant to meet me sooner.

There's more to share, as always is the case, but I'm signing off for the night. It's nearly 2am, and I'm at work and can't think of much more to say about my goings on. I'm going to kick up my feet, eat a granola bar, and prepare to taser anyway attempting to run.

Let's all be like the Fonz,
Andy

"Love, Peace, and Bacon Grease!"