West Wing rerun

Okay, the last source for great politics should be a fictional television show, I'll admit that. But from time to time the show does come up with pretty damn good quotes which I wish real politicians -- and the American public -- would heed. I was watching a rerun of the show on Bravo last night, and found myself going, "That's what I'm talking about!"

It was just before President Bartlet was announcing his intention to run for President again. He had just disclosed his M.S. recently, and the West Wing was engaged in a slew of hand-wringing about what he should say in his next address to the nation, etc. etc., when Toby reads out loud a draft sentence that contains the word "torpor." (The following dialog is paraphrased from memory; I didn't have the time to transcribe.)

Consultant: You can't use that sentence. No one will know what the word "torpor" means.
Josh: "Torpor"? It means "apathy."
Toby: And dullness.
Consultant: I know what the word means, but most of the American public won't!
[C.J. walks into the room.]
C.J.: What word?
Josh: "Torpor."
C.J.: It means "apathy."
Toby: And dullness.
Consultant: I know what it means! What I'm saying is most of the American people....
[The President's voice interrupts.]
The President: ... can look it up. We shouldn't have to talk down to be understood by the American people, we should be raising the level of dialog. If you're going to be the "education President" you can't very well be hiding the fact that you have one.

Now that's what I'm talking about. John Kerry was trashed early in his campaign this election cycle because -- scandal! -- he can speak fluent French. That quality of his quickly dropped from any public image he portrayed of himself, as if being ignorant of the world were an asset. "I don't want no hoity-toity French-speaking Massachusetts senator as President!", proclaimed the so-called "heartland" voter from the Red States.

Instead, they preferred a president who can barely string together a sentence in English without a teleprompter.

When Thesauri Go Bad

So I got an email from a client today which, I can only presume, is an attempt to thank me and my boss for a decent job in settling his case. I'm quoting the relevant language (more or less the entire email) below.

. . . I received my check today. I really appreciate the deference your team gave us. Its hapless I'm unable to revere all of you face to face. I believe that our relationship has been pithy, and affable during my resurgence. You are my implicit family, I hope to visit you on my vacation next June. In hindsight, you were sagacious, and this promoted a win/win aplomb for our denouement.

Huh?

I particularly enjoy having our attorney-client relationship being described as having been "pithy."

Voters are Stupid

Okay, so that statement isn't necessarily true on a blanket level. But Ward 8 D.C. residents leave a lot to be desired.

Marion Barry as been pretty much been reelected to the D.C. Council after a break from politics. Mr. Barry won the Ward 8 democratic primaries, ousting incumbent Sandy Allen from the post. (Seeing as Ward 8 is heavily democratic, it's unlikely he won't win the general election now.) Ms. Allen has been gracious about her defeat, stating that she will continue to represent the city, but then just lost an election to Marion Barry. That must be quite humiliating.

Backing up a bit: Mr. Barry was elected to the very post (Ward 8 Councilmember) in 1992 after having done prison time stemming from his arrest (based on videotape evidence) that he was doing crack in a hotel. Yes, the voters decided a crackhead would make a good person for political office.

As if this weren't enough, Mr. Barry eventually ascended to the position of Mayor of the nation's capital. Although I was already living in DC at the time, I was still in school, and still wasn't voting in the District: I disclaimed any affiliation with my neighbors for their idiocy.

Mr. Barry's tenure as mayor was a rocky one. Even though he served three terms (why did the voters keep re-electing him???), he never could quite dog the federal drug charges and perjury issues. Moreover, internet sites and other common lore started chronicling a history of Dan Quayle-like verbal mis-steps. (To be fair, many of these quotes appear to lack documented sources, although the lack of on-the-record quotes isn't really dispositive on the issue.)

This kind of voting pattern makes me wonder about our wonderful voting system. We've given power to everyone, including the most misinformed, misguided people in the country. If voters can't critically analyze a candidate, we truly do deserve exactly what we get.

Gay Literacy 101

In the ever-ongoing chronicles of "gay men on gay.com are such idiots," I bring you the following exchange which took place recently. I prefer not to identify the other person involved, but let's say the guy's screen name identified himself as "latin," and "nice."

Him: hi
Me: hey

As is usually the case, I must point out, I did not initiate this conversation.

Him: how are you?
Me: fine. you?
Him: i'm great.
Him: are you white?

I gotta say, at least the guy gets straight to the point. An idiotic and ignorant point, but the point nonetheless. Shall I also point out that this guy's profile identified himself as "Single, seeing someone special"?

More important, I need to highlight two important pieces of information about my gay.com profile. First, my tagline in the chat room says that sending me a private message is okay, but please read my full profile first. Second, my full profile identifies me as "Asian/Pacific Islander."

Me: uh, have you even looked at my profile?
Him: bye

I'd add a big, long, bitchy comment here, but I think I'll just let that conversation stand on its own. Some people are such assholes.

Still More Short Term Memory

On June 25, I blogged about "Self-Loathing Asians." I'd provide a link for that entry, but odds on, it's right underneath this one. That's how recent this event is.

So tonight I'm back in the gay.com chat room, when the following exchange takes place, involving the SAME Asian guy from last night. Keep in mind that, again, I DID NOT INITIATE THIS CONVERSATION:

Him: hi
Me: hi

I immediately recognize the name and tried to start thinking of ways to fuck with his mind. Then I started trying to come up with ways of telling him how FUCKED UP it is that he puts a blanket kaibosh on Asian men, when he is one himself. But in the end I failed.

Him: wassup?
Me: nothing
Him: horny
Me: eh

"Eh" was my way of being rude, frankly. To tell him I didn't care to have a conversation with him.

Him: u?
Me: dude, we've talked before

By this point, I have given up the charade. If he's dense enough to insist that I chat with him, I'm going to get the important info out for him.

Him: ok
Him: really?
Me: yes.
Him: no chance to reconsider?

See, I see this as a further sign of self-loathing. He immediately assumes that I am the one who turned him down. He thinks I'm some white guy, see? So if we talked before, then clearly he wanted me (since I'm some white guy) and I didn't want him. The tables at this point are strangely turned. Though for some reason, I am unable to turn this to my advantage. Perhaps it's because it's 1:40 a.m. and I am unable to bother to come up with witty or clever comebacks.

Me: dude, you were the one who said you weren't "into" me
Him: really?
Him: stats?
Me: asian. like you.

This last sentence was calculated for its maximum effect. I wanted to highlight to him two things: First, that objective measurable stats like height and weight were irrelevant to him, and I knew it. All I had to say was "Asian," and it would be the ace-in-the-hole to end the game completely. Second, I wanted to reiterate that he, too, is an Asian man, like me.

Shockingly, at this point the conversation ended, and my gay Asian internet buddy was never heard from again.

Short Term Memory

The woman who works at the front desk of my building has got to have the shortest term memory ever. Well, then again, I'm pretty sure she's a bitter, surly bitch who could care less about competently performing her job.

So there was something in my mailbox behind her head when I walked in tonight. So I said, "Hi. I'm in Apt. 202. Could I have what's in my box, please?" So she stands up, takes the paper from my box, and hands it to me.

Then I say, "Hey, what do you know about pool passes? I haven't gotten mine yet."

To which she responds, in a rather annoyed manner, "What's your apartment number?"

It was all I could do to refrain from immense sarcasm when repeating my apartment number, which I had just given her some 20 seconds before.

Subway stupidity

Although this post could (and probably should) be about idiocy on the Metro, it's actually not. The other day I had the most idiotic exchange ever with a person behind the counter at one of the many local Subway sandwich shops.

I've been collecting those little stamps like a fiend now. You know, so you can get a "free" sandwich after a while. I like buying the cheapest damn sandwich on the menu then redeeming the "free" one for the most damn expensive one they have. Just because I'm cheap that way.

One day, noticing that I had a slew of stamps but none of those little cards to affix them to, I walked into a Subway to ask for some of those cards:

Me: Do you have those cards to stick my stamps to?
Her: Cards?
Me: Yes. To stick my stamps on to.
Her: We have gift cards. They're $5.
Me: No. No no. I want these cards to use as part of the frequent eater program or whatever.
Her: Oh. [She doesn't move.]
Me: ... Uh, so, could I have some of those cards please?
Her: [Reaching for those gift certificate cards] How many do you want? They're $5 each.
Me: Uh, one more time, no. I want those cards that I stick my little stamps to. [At this point I'm a little annoyed that I don't have one of those stamps to show her what I mean.]
Her: Oh. Okay.
Me: So do you have those cards I'm talking about?
Her: Yes. [She doesn't move.]
Me: ... [Heightened annoyance.] Well could I have some please?
Her: Sure. They're $5 each.

By this point it's comical that we're actually both speaking English, and yet both not. So finally I resort to the lowest level dialog I can possibly muster:

Me: Look. When I buy a sandwich here, I get stamps, right?
Her: Yes.
Me: And after I get a certain number of stamps, I can get something for free, right?
Her: Yes.
Me: Now, when I get those stamps, I need to stick them to something, right?
Her: Yes.
Me: I want from you that card that I'm supposed to stick these stamps to.
Her: Okay. [She still doesn't move.]
Me: This isn't going anywhere, is it?
Her: So did you want a card or not? They're $5 each.

I left the store. At least the massive proliferation of Subways, like weeds in an unkempt garden, means that I can go almost anywhere and find a Subway that features a person who might actually know what I'm talking about.