Last night should have been a fine time to catch up, do some writing, think, create, etc. and so on. Instead, I fell asleep on the couch taunted by the senseless, in the sense of having no sense to them, rantings and bon mots of what I consider the lunatic fringe.

I meant to come home and perhaps celebrate M. and the day we had in the big city that ended with the restaurant he chose in advance, the very San Francisco-esque dinner at Foreign Cinema. A place that in addition to serving good food and wine projects, well, Foreign Cinema on it’s courtyard wall. We dined to the relentlessly and tragically optimistic whoredom of Fellini directing his wife, Giulietta Masini, in Nights of Cabiria.

Beyond the movie’s almost feeling like it could have a Pretty Woman, happy ending for a streetwalker theme, before we remembered it was Fellini and a happy ending was fucking unlikely, I could have written about the Bay Area family, mom, dad, teenage daughter and boy dining next to us. The boy, who was maybe 9 or 10 at that clearly a human being but still fun enough to build a fort and not have pubic hair level of boyhood, was rapt by the film being projected. He considered it the kind of “bad movie” you end up watching when flipping channels, or so he mentioned between bites of pasta and staring at the movie. He clearly didn’t understand what was happening and why all those men were being mean to Cabiria, even after his earnest, very Northern California seeming mother tried to explain prostitution to him.

But, I didn’t write about that or the nice British couple who stopped us in Union Square, because we clearly looked the sort to know where Abercrombie and Fitch might be. Nope, I read comment after comment and stupid website after stupid website, and it’s all Paul’s fault.

Paul is obsessed with Larry Sinclair. Larry Sinclair is the sad, little, scruffy guy whose Youtube video is making the rounds on account of his probably never sucking any famous cock ever but wanting to believe he did.

Now, Paul is actually someone I know from Boston comedy who I would call a friend. So, I know he is not actually either a Hillary or Obama supporter. He’s also not a Huckabee supporter, although he’s known to play a right-wing, religious wingnut alter-ego on stage, who may well be. Nope, he’s one of them there card-carrying capital L liberals, which is probably why we’re friends, and I do believe put an X beside the sadly doomed, but consistent and honest, Dennis Kucinich.

The beauty of Paul is he snarkily gets in there and tilts at internet windmills like nobody’s business. He’ll try to get a dialogue going with religious radicals, anonymous “fans,” if you call them that, of Natalee Holloway, a swath of politicos, comedians and various other dregs of the magical electronic intertubes flame-war of cyberspace. And, he makes his dough off computers, so he knows how to switch identities and keep on commenting, even when moderators and arguers shut him down. Worse yet he has the technology to post not only as himself, but as his aforementioned conservative alterego.

The world needs a new word for the kind of web-based crazy that allows you to argue with yourself in two different voices. (Not saying I haven’t done it. Lord knows, I have too glassy a house to throw that stone.)

I’m waiting for the day his wife hides his keyboard. Although, like myself, she’d probably have to also hide a number of cell phones and other devices.

As for Larry, and the story that may or may not be waiting in the wings for a big, ugly FOX news outing, as the poster of this video clip claims, I’m not biting.

Sometimes, I just need to believe that the fringe is the fringe and that is where it will stay. That the voices represented by gossip rags, tabloids and now crazy folks with computers, are minority voices. They are pervasive, they in their small way, stick like a super-strength epoxy, but they never make it to the center of the marketplace of ideas, because they’re crazy talk.

I have to believe. To contemplate a world where every shithead is heard equally is to horrible to contemplate. Poor little Larry. He’ll either be used and churned by a temperamental and hungry, conspiracy-theory baiting, short-wave radio public, or his scruffy hick self will give one blow job too many to a strange black man on drugs and die a lonely death.

Technorati Tags: Barack_Obama, California, campaign, Fellini, FOX_news, Hbee, Larry_Sinclair, North_Face, Paul

Three years ago today, I left the land of the bean and the cod. Jesus I’m unoriginal. But, I did get the hell out. Three years.

Here’s my start of that journey.

What a strange week at work it was. The work itself was as it always is — paperwork and phone calls with mild spikes of interesting. By the way, note to anyone out there who cold calls anyone for any reason, fucking look the place you’re calling up on the web (at least) before picking up the damn phone. I answer the phone for those calls and when I give that spiel about “yeah, here’s what we do and shit,” I can tell the lie in your voice when you say, “yeah, me too.”

No, the intrigue at work was various levels of disgruntlement in high and low places, and my sitting in the vicinity of the confessional of such things. Here’s the surprising twist, I’m not at the pissed off vanguard. I’m cool. I don’t think my job is a life-changing lovefest of mind-altering proportions, nah, it’s fucking toil. But, it certainly ain’t working at the meat packing plant with blood and gore at my feet and unsafe sharp-bladed equipment in my hands.

There’s even very little pooh smearing. (Although, if I figure out who the insensitive twat is who uses one of them ass-saving paper doilies on the commode to protect her precious posterior and then leaves the fucker behind on the seat, there will be some legend-making, extreme finger-wagging in that women’s room. (Remember when I use to write about shanking people. I am so reformed.)

Anyway, I’m mildly content. I even got a shiny new RED campaign iPod as a team gift. They were dispensed at a work party I arranged before heading off to Rat Year Celebrations in Asia. Mine’s a bit late but still playable. I loaded it up Linux style on the Asus ‘puter, just because I can. Red and open source. How communistic.

I think some electric scootering videos will have to be created. Now that the weekend is upon us, I think I shall endeavor to create.

Technorati Tags: technology, toilets, RED_campaign, work

I only just saw the commercial Hill’s been airing in Texas.

Not the sleeping children. Whatever will become of them?

I’ve already ranted about her alleged 35 years of experience, although I don’t doubt Hillary’s been answering the phone since her post-college days. But, fucking come on. Why does she get to say she has foreign policy experience, as she is now? That whole 90s dual presidency thing, sure, she was speechifying on domestic stuff. Ain’t no one giving her security clearance back then other than as the wife. She wasn’t sitting in with world leaders chatting, except over state dinners and other shingdigs. When the time came for cigars and the war room, she was left with the other spouses discussing the mushroom souffle and locked out of the big boy room.

Maybe her experience on the Whitehouse red phone was letting folks know the Commander-in-Chief would be there in a moment, soon as he got out of the john. (I was going to go for the gratuitous “soon as he zipped up his pants,” but, eh.)

Technorati Tags: 2008, 2008_Campaign, campaign, Campaign 2008, elections, foreign_policy, guilt, Hillary_Clinton

It’s almost midnight, the start of the day that is my gestational anniversary. Woo-fucking-whoo.

On Friday at work, I got the teddy bear, balloon, floral cake, chocolate treatment, courtesy of 1800flowers and M. Whilst suffering the embarrassment of a circle of co-worker chicks discussing my delivered booty, I mentioned the plan for today that M. had made. (I was going to write “humiliation” instead of embarrassment, but the co-worker chicks were nice enough. It wasn’t like the tampon scene in Carrie or anything. “Plug it up.”)

M. had decided to (1) drop of his car for service and (2) pick up my gift. Now, over a month ago, he picked this gift out and ordered it, and I think it’s been killing holding inside the surprise. I thought he was going to tell me a few thousand times between then and now. All he told me is that it was new technology, and we were to go pick it up north of San Francisco.

I mentioned the drop of car, drive north of the city in my car plan, and my co-workers were full of speculation on what that could mean. Wine country, for example, good old Napa and Sonoma counties, are north. At least one decided on a romantic, champagne-ridden balloon ride or some such thing. They mocked my insistence that the scenario was almost completely unlikely, doubting that I know the man with whom I have chosen to live.

This morning, he told me we were either going to Vacaville or the parking lot of the Costco in Vallejo to meet a man. Rather than a hot-air balloon, I anticipated my own special episode of Unsolved Mysteries. The one where it turns out M.’s name is actually Lee Harvey John Wayne M., or some other killer-styled three-name arrangement, and the parking lot was to meet up with his Navy veteran (or other armed forces), who would aid in hiding the body.

My co-workers and I were both wrong. And, M. kept his standing as an unusual, surprising gift-giver.

It’s an electric scooter, suitable for tooling to work almost silently and without using any of them bad fossil fuels you hear tell about. We scooted around town a bit today, well he jogged. Pretty fun.