Senator Ted Stevens (R-Al) represents everything that is wrong with the inherently un-Democratic body that is the United States Senate. Representing a state populated almost entirely by caribou, he wields as much power as senators from states where the entire population can't fit inside an Applebee's. More power, even, because he's not afraid to be a horrible man.
He wields considerably less power today, thanks to this indictment.
Sen. Ted Stevens, the nation's longest-serving Republican senator and a
major figure in Alaska politics since before statehood, was indicted
Tuesday on seven felony counts of concealing more than a quarter of a
million dollars in house renovations and gifts from a powerful oil
contractor that lobbied him for government aid.
Prosecutors said that work included a new first floor, garage,
wraparound deck, plumbing and electrical wiring. He also is accused of
accepting from VECO a Viking gas grill, furniture and tools, and of
failing to report swapping an old Ford for a new Land Rover to be
driven by one of his children.
Frowny face!
Other than being a shill for oil companies looking to drill in ANWR, his most notable contribution to the national political landscape is the Bridge to Nowhere. As nakedly a pork barrel spending project as there has ever been, the proposed bridge would have been longer than the Golden Gate Bridge and taller than the Brooklyn Bridge. Except instead of connecting San Fransisco to Marin County or Manhattan to Brooklyn, it would have connected Ketchikan (pop 8900) to Gravina Island (pop 50. Yes, 50).
Okay, big deal, right? Well, if the $223 million of taxes that were earmarked for the bridge in 2005 are mildly aggravating but not upsetting, perhaps this will put it in perspective:
"Alaska Sen. Ted Stevens threw the senatorial version of a hissy fit on
the floor the other day. The issue was a proposal by his Republican
colleague, Oklahoma Sen. Tom Coburn, to block $453 million earmarked
for two Alaska bridges in the recent highway bill and instead use some
of the money to rebuild the Interstate 10 bridge across Lake
Ponchartrain wiped out by [Hurricane Katrina].
"I will put the Senate on notice -- and I don't kid people -- if the
Senate decides to discriminate against our state and take money only
from our state, I will resign from this body," Mr. Stevens vowed. ... the amendment failed 82 to 15."
That's right, he busted out with "I'll take my ball and go home" on the floor the US Senate because they wanted to send money earmarked for Alaska to rebuild New Orleans. But surely Alaska needed that scratch, right?
"[Alaska] ranks number one in per capita federal spending,
$12,279 in 2003, compared with Nevada, number 50 at $5,235 for every
resident. Alaskans received $1.89 in federal help for every tax dollar
they sent to Washington, making the state second only to New Mexico as
a net beneficiary of federal largess."
Man, why you always gotta be disriminatin against Alaska? New Orleans always be gettin all the breaks.
The only thing about this story that makes me sad is that he's already 84. He'll only have to live in disgrace for a couple of years before dropping dead.
No matter what position you take or how right it is, there are always a bunch of assholes who agree with you.
I've made no secret of my stance on the wonders of bike commuting. It reduces fuel consumption, carbon emissions, cures cancer, saves money, defeated Communism, increases physical fitness, fights terrorists, saves kittens out of trees, and gives great back rubs. If you want to fight high gas prices, then building bike lanes and constructing public facilities to accommodate bike commuters (i.e. public showers and lockers) should get at least as much public attention as drilling for oil in space and building cars that run on hydrogen/fairy dust.
Instead, the only kind of public attention it gets is horseshit like this.
Critical Mass is a group of bike commuting enthusiasts who take to the road once a month. And when I say take to the road, I mean they take the whole goddamn thing over.
The idea is... fuck, I have no idea what the idea is. To piss people off? To make people think bike commuters are a bunch of traffic-jam causing assholes? Well, mission accomplished, douchebags. The car drivers are fighting back.
From today's Seattle Times: "A melee erupted Friday night in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood
between a motorist and a group of Critical Mass cyclists. The driver
and cyclists blame each other for escalating the incident into a
violent clash that sent two men to local hospitals, two men to jail and
a battered Subaru Impreza to an impound yard with $1,500 in damages. ...
Depending on who you talk to, Mark, a 23-year-old travel agent who
lives on the Eastside, is either the aggressor or the victim at the
center of Friday's altercation. ...
Mark, who asked that his last name not be published because he is
afraid for his safety, said Monday he found himself and a friend in an
unfamiliar part of Seattle about 7 p.m. Friday as they headed to pick
up another friend to go out to dinner.
Mark said Monday that he saw the mass of bicyclists and thought he'd
accidentally driven into the Seafair Torchlight Parade route, so he
pulled into a parking spot along Aloha Street to allow them to pass.
But he said when he tried to pull back into traffic, he was blocked by
cyclists who positioned themselves around his vehicle.
He admits he was angry and frustrated at being delayed -- but panic
and fear soon took over as the cyclists started rocking his car, saying
they were going to tip it over. Mark said he revved his engine but
didn't think his car was in gear. After it stalled, he restarted the
engine in order to get away but says he didn't realize he hit two
cyclists."
Fan-tastic! But if only there were some dramatic video... Oh, right, there's this video of an NYPD officer laying down the law on another CM cyclist:
The Suze and I move alot. Since we got our first apartment in 2003, we've lived in 5 different places in a little over 5 years. I know what your thinking. Well, you're thinking two things.
1) What the hell is your problem?
and
2) How do you decide where your next whim will take you?
Excellent questions, both of them. If only I could answer the first one. The second one is a little easier. See, we only have a couple of criteria when it comes to choosing a place to live (and when I say "we", I of course mean Suzi). The most important of these is, can Suzi walk places?
The Suze looooves walking around. Mmm, nothing finer than going out in the sun and walking for hours with no particular destination in mind! And yet, walking is not enough. Even though we usually end up just walking for the "fun" of it, the Suze requires that there be potential destinations should she decide that she suddenly wants to go into a store.
Anyplace we might live needed to be assessed by the Suze for walkability. This was done through an extensive process of driving around aimlessly, identifying areas that might be "cute", and making snap judgments on basically no information. It is one of the many things about moving that makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a staple remover rather than move again. Ever.
Thankfully, those days might be behind us, thanks to this website. You enter an address, and it rates the walkability of the surrounding areas on a score from 0-100. Some places of interest (well, to me, anyway):
My current residence in Houston: 72/100 (very walkable)
The lowest walking score we've ever had? 52/100 (somewhat walkable) in our first apartment out of college.
The highest score was when we lived in downtown Albany.
When we moved to Texas, we had a choice between Houston and College Station. The place we almost moved to in CS? Only a 38/100 (car-dependent). Blech.
And mom and dad, if you're wondering why we don't visit more? You guys got a 22. Although the bears don't seem to have a problem walking around. Just sayin.
I get my best ideas while watching So You Think You Can Dance. It puts me in a daze of creativity and really nice legs. Today, my inspiration was a little more direct, courtesy of guest judge Toni Basil (of "Hey Mickey" fame):
"...dance is my drug of choice."
Well, the episode ended 17 minutes ago, and I've already put that one on a shirt.
As always, you can find new shirts in the ObscureWear store - this time in a sassy ladies' V-neck!
ObscureCraft friend-without-a-website Joe [editors note: Joe actually has a website] sent along this fantastic link to a past slideshow about the future - wha?! The website features selected slides from a 70s IBM presentation about the future of computing.
Everyone knows that, of course, the 70s are hilarious (Will Ferrell has basically made a career out of this), but there is something else about this website that caught my eye. Check out the last slide. What is this guy looking at?
Himself in the mirror, doing his impression of Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver, which he just saw yesterday, because it's the 70s.
A Democrat.
A brylcreem salesman. I'm a pomade man. Now get out of my sight.
A feminist. She's liberated, all right - liberated to do what I say. Marlene, get out of frame and get back in the kitchen.
The price of gas. 40 cents a gallon? STFU.
A teenage boy with long hair and a van who just showed up to take his daughter out. Maybe if you get a haircut. No, Mary, go back upstairs. GO BACK UPSTAIRS.
At you. You got a problem with that, bitch?
(Got a better one? Post it in the comments. The winner gets a prize, maybe?)
How to describe Generation Kill? It documents the first days of the Iraq invasion, but it is not a documentary. It is about a war, but there isn't a whole lot of fighting; so far (2 episodes have aired, but I've only seen the first one) there hasn't been any fighting at all.
Did you see Jarhead? Do you remember Jarhead happened? Did anyone see Jarhead but me? Shit, this analogy is off to a rocky start. Anyway: this show is what Jarhead wanted to be. It is Jarhead crossed with The Wire - which makes sense, because it is brought to us by David Simon and Ed Burns, the masterminds behind that show.
It's a war show that depicts the horrors of war, but not just the horrors we're used to. It is the horror of following orders that don't make any sense; of going to war in a Humvee you had to pay to fix yourself because the Army didn't have the funds to do it (or give you maps and body armor for that matter); of trying to do the right thing, but not being allowed to do it.
I'm going to describe three scenes from the first episode. If you don't want to be spoiled, then leave and take this away: this is a great show, but it isn't for everyone. They bury you in military jargon and don't explain any of it. There is not any typical war action. This show demands the viewer to pay attention, and to invest themselves in the show. If that doesn't sound like something you are interested in, then go watch Law and Order reruns. No, seriously, do that. I love Law and Order reruns.
(I'm not kidding: I really love them.)
Okay, three scenes from the opener:
The Marines are still in camp, when a string of white vehicles is seen driving up to the gates. They turn the corner, and we see a Pizza Hut logo on the side. They are getting a pizza party! The men are excited, but a couple of Marines are suspicious. They realize they aren't just getting pizza for the hell of it. It means combat operations are about to begin. They are being primed for battle with the same prize you used to get for doing well in middle-school magazine drives.
On the road to Iraq, the Marines chatter, get on each others nerves, have a sing-along, and basically act like they are on a family road trip.
As the marines are camped near some railroad tracks, a group of Iraqi refugees come to surrender to the platoon. This includes former members of the Republican Guard, who will be shot on sight for desertion if they are found by anyone still loyal to Saddam. The men are told by their superiors to turn the refugees away. When they protest that, according to the Geneva convention they are required to accept and protect anyone who surrenders to them, they are told to "un-surrender" the men and send them on their way. So we are left to watch, in the final shot, as the Iraqis turn back to walk back down the train tracks, out into the desert and, most likely, to their death.
Back in April, I (and anyone else who could count) just about dropped a brick when Hillary Clinton and John McCain both suggested that the pain of high gas prices could be alleviated if we just stopped taxing the stuff for a little while. It is obvious in retrospect that Hillary was experiencing the death-throes of a presidential campaign, and John McCain... well, I think I've made myself clear on thissubject.
Fortunately, even the most math-challenged among us were able to see that the promise of an extra $30 bucks was not worth the $10 billion shortfall in the fund that finances highway maintenance and repairs.
As it turns out, not only was a gas-tax holiday completely insane, but the gas-tax may actually have to go up:
"As motorists cut back on their driving and buy more fuel-efficient
cars, the government is taking in less money from the federal gasoline
tax.
The result: The principal source of funding for highway
projects will soon hit a big financial pothole. The federal highway
trust fund could be in the red by $3.2 billion or more next year."
I'll be the first to admit that any major change in the status quo was bound to have some growing pains, and this looks like a doozy. The federal gasoline tax, as you may recall, is 18.4 cents per gallon (24.4 cents on diesel fuel). So, as we start driving less or switching to more fuel efficient vehicles, the number of gallons consumed goes down, even though the total amount being spent on gas compared to recent years may remain steady or even continue to climb. Because the tax is per gallon, fewer gallons means less taxes, regardless of the total amount spent.
So what are we to do? We're definitely in a tight spot. As a result of decades of car culture, the United States has a vast concrete infrastructure to get those vehicles around. Short term, I don't see anyway around it: bills have got to be paid.
Here's the problem: Should the gas tax be raised? And if so, by how much? Let's break it down.
How much less is everyone driving?
Back in April, we assumed the average American was consuming 500 gallons per year. Obviously, that number has gone down, since, well, that's the whole goddamn problem.
Ignoring the whole diesel thing for simplicity's sake, the gas tax is 18.4 cents per gallon. If we're $3 billion short, that translates into roughly 16 billion gallons, or about 45 gallons per person. Obviously, some large portion of this money is coming from commercial use. If we assume half, cause I'm too lazy to try to look it up, we'll say every person is using 25 gallons less in the next year. That would translate into a 5% reduction in gasoline consumption. If it's true, that is pretty fantastic. How much would the tax need to be increased to make up the difference?
While I'm all about facing reality, it also seems clear that the only politicians to suggest raising the gas tax at a time when people are absolutely losing their minds every time they fill up are the ones that don't want to be re-elected. Fortunately, I have declared myself ObscureCraft President-For-Life, so I'm free to explore this possibility.
If we assume our 25 gallon per person reduction annually is roughly correct, then we need each person to pay the same on 475 gallons as they would have on 500 gallons at 18.4 cents. This comes out to... 19.4 cents.
Yup, we need to increase the gasoline tax by about a penny to make up the difference. Let's assume a margin of error and that gasoline costs will continue to grow down, and make it 3 cents.
Holy shit, does nobody have the cajones to suggest raising the tax by 3 cents? Or am I just such a tax-and-spend liberal that I can't see the forest for the trees? Somebody please help me out here.
If not the gas tax, then what?
I honestly can't get over the fact we're spending $1 billion a month to fuck up Iraq while we search through the couch cushion for the loose change to keep our country intact.
Irony aside, the money is going to come from somewhere. We're either going to raise the gas-tax, invent a new tax and call it something else, or go into debt to pay for it. Highways don't grow on trees - although they do sometimes collapse onto them.
I know I'm late to the party having anything to say about this, and it's likely that everybody has already forgotten this thing existed. Before this issue of The New Yorker even came out, the news cycle consumed, digested, and spat the cover out:
"OMG, this cover is soo offensive!"
"No, dude, it's totally satire. Don't you get it?"
"Yeah, man, I get it, I'm totally hip and everything, but what about all those squares out there that won't?"
"Dude, that's totally condescending and stuff. Why you gotta be like that?"
"Man, fuck it. Look, Angelina had her babies!"
Unfortunately, it took me a couple of days to actually come to terms with what exactly was bothering me about the cover (I have a job and other things to worry about, sorry). Because I was one of those people who did not like the cover when I saw it. It just took me a few days to find the words to explain why.
This cover is good satire, but sure, I also happen to think these guys are shitheads. But I don't think it's my lefty liberal commie bias that leaves me disliking the new cover.
Same guy, but this works for me. (By the way, if we're electing presidents based on who handles a crisis best in the middle of the night, then Frankie the dog for president!)
So, what is difference between these pictures as the Obama one? The subject of the satire is in the image. With the Obama cover, the satire is not targeted at the subjects, but instead at the reader - or more specifically, the readers who think this is an accurate depiction. But if you think this is an accurate depiction, then how is it satire? And if the satire can only effectively speak to those that already agree with you, then what is the point?
Being woken up in the middle of the night is starting to turn into a pattern.
I'm startled from my sleep by Frankie the dog barking. I glance up at the clock to see it read 3am. I'm also vaguely aware of some light that shouldn't be there. It isn't intense, like the lights in the room are on. It's more like there is light down the hall from somewhere...
Frankie continues to bark, and I feel her jump off the bed, her nails clicking across the floor into the other room.
Is my front door open?
I jerk up into a sitting position, and I feel myself get a little cold. I see the light from the hallway for a fraction of a second before the door closes.
Still not fully awake, my mind goes through a stupid checklist of what is going on. Was Suzi taking the dog out for a walk? No, you moron, the dog woke you up in the first place. I look next to me and Suzi is there, asleep. I'm here. She's here. The dog is here. Who does that leave?
Everybody else. I'm finally fully awake, and freaked all the way the fuck out.
Frankie has stopped barking, and I hear her clacking her way back to the bed. I don't hear anything else. Still, I should get out of bed and look around.
Yup. Should definitely do that.
Not going to be able to sleep until I get up.
Frankie hops back into bed. She is satisfied with the situation. I am not.
I finally get out of bed. I don't want to wake Suzi up, so I don't want to turn on any lights. Everything is quiet. I go out into the hallway, and stop. No movement, nothing in here.
The apartment is empty. What the hell just happened? I walk over to the door. Maybe if I open the door and look around, I can see who was at my door.
Fuck that shit. I lock it.
The top lock can't be opened from the outside, even with a key - there is no hole out there. I must have left it unlocked last night.
As I climb back into bed, I consider the possibilities. The most likely scenario: tired/drunk from a late night out, one of my neighbors went into the wrong apartment, realized their mistake, and trundled off.
The other possibility?
Frankie is laying on the bed but awake, looking up at me with her tail wagging. I pat her head. She rolls on her side, looking for a belly rub. She gets it. Good dog, Frankie. Good dog.
So, there was a big awards announcement today. I'm sure you heard, and are all excited. That's right, the New York Giants raked in three ESPYs!!
Oh, and the Emmy nominations were announced.
Some highlights (and lowlights) from the nominations, as filtered through the person who watches enough television to actually have an informed opinion on this stupid crap:
No Best Drama nomination for The Wire, making them a perfect 5/5 in ignoring arguably the best television show ever made. It is no longer possible, after 5 seasons of every television critic calling it the best show ever made, that the people responsible for nominations haven't seen it (and Damages might have even gotten lower ratings). It must be on purpose by now. Does the academy dislike black people? David Simon? Ghetto-ass thug homosexuals who carry shotguns under their trench coats and can leap from balconies like Batman? My guess is they don't want to nominate a show produced in Baltimore, away from the TV hotbeds of LA and NY. Mark my words - the same thing will happen come Oscar time to Step Up 2 The Streets.
The world and I continue to disagree with Suzi about the quality of 30 Rock, which led the field with 17 nominations. Holy crap, 17? Are there even 17 categories? Well... 7 of the nominations are in the guest star categories (out of a total of 11 slots). I think one of them went to Bee Movie (yes, the Jerry Seinfeld episode was pretty terrible). But they still count. 30 Rock is awesome. They got some real ones too. Shut up Suzi.
Turns out that Two and a Half Men, the show I sometimes see the last 30 seconds of before I watch the first 5 minutes of CSI: Miami, is one of the best 5 comedies on television. Who knew?
The throwdown to watch? In the category of animated programs over one hour, South Park: Imaginationland goes head to head with Family Guy: Blue Harvest (the Star Wars episode). If Family Guy wins, think we'll get more of this?
There are a number of big, important topics that I was thinking of writing about today.
The New Yorker has taken to making anti-Obama propaganda and calling it satire. The mortgage crisis continues to spiral out of control, dragging down the rest of the economy with it. This guy blended an iPhone.
Jessica King, the dancer who beat Comfort out for a spot in the top 10, has been felled by an injury, making room for Comfort in the top 10. Not only that, but Comfort will replace Jessica on the 50 city tour later this year.
What the hell happened? Did she get hit by a bus or something?
(Tee-hee-hee!)
The show's producer, big-toothed Brit Nigel Lythgoe, won't get specific about the injury that occurred, so allow me to engage in some wild speculation.
Jessica was inadvertently impregnated during last week's "Adam and Eve" routine with Will.
Debbie Allen knee-capped her for dragging her protege into the bottom 3.
My threatening e-mails finally got through their spam filter.
Whatever the reason, there is a more pressing question: does this mean I'm not bad luck anymore? Is the curse broken? There is only one way to find out: to the casinos!
(Oh, and PS: If you actually do care about important things going on in the world, read this post on the mortgage crisis by Jonathan Golob of The Stranger, aka Dear Science. Could not have said it better myself.
It occurs to me that the "Word Problems" feature may seem as a way for me to apply my lefty-leaning politics to current issues under the guise of objectiveness, Sophie cheating at battleship notwithstanding. If it appears that way to you, might I suggest: my choice of topic certainly comes out of my tree-hugging commie bias, but numbers be what they be, motherfucker.
So: should we get drillin'?
Guidance from our politicians on this issue is shaky at best. Bush has been pro-drilling for about as long as he's been the son of an oil-millionaire - difficult to accept his opinion on face value, even if he wasn't, you know... stupid.
(Quick aside: I don't think Frank Caliendo is funny, but isn't it amazing that DirecTV is actually using his impression of the president as a fool who is astonished by the functioning of a television remote as a way of promoting their product? Has anything ever happened like that before with a sitting president?)
(Jesus Christ. 2 terms, people. Anyway, where was I...)
So instead of looking to the current pres for guidance, let's look at the stances of the two politicians looking to replace him. John McCain was long an opponent of offshore drilling, but has recently changed his stance to pro-drilling. However, as you heard here first, McCain has recently been dried and hollowed out so that George Bush can crawl inside and control his actions like the alien in the first Men In Black movie. So, we can't trust him.
Obama is anti-drilling, but, as a secret Muslim, he would obviously take that stance since increased oil production stateside would interfere with the operations of his Arab overlords. Can't trust him, either.
No choice - we have to go to the numbers. (Note: if you don't actually want to see the numbers, just skip to the end. Srs bizness!!)
Unless you are an oil company executive, your decision on a pro/anti drilling stance should be made on whether or not you think taking these actions will help bring down the price at the pump. Let's break it down: the question of "should we drill offshore and in the Alaskan National Wildlife Reserve (ANWR)" becomes "how much more oil will we get, how much will that bring down the cost of oil, and how much does the price of oil affect the price of gasoline?"
How much more oil will we get?
In the ANWR, about 10.5 billion barrels. Peak oil production would be 800,000-900,000 barrels a day... sometime after 2020.
Offshore, about 16 billion barrels would be opened up. Peak production would be on a similar scale and timeframe.
How much will that bring down the cost of oil?
I'm not an economist, and I don't feel like building a supply-demand curve to figure this out the right way. So, I'm going to fudge a little bit.
The US currently consumes 20 million barrels of oil every day, give or take. Let's give the ANWR and offshore fields the benefit of the doubt, and say we'll get a total of 2 million barrels of oil every day, once they hit peak production - this will happen many years from now, but, again, I'm going to make this simple, so let's assume it happened right now, today. Oil costs $140 per barrel. If there was an extra 2 million barrels on the market, let's say this drops the price of oil by 10%.
How much does the price of oil affect the price of gasoline?
Why, that is an excellent question. Thank you for bringing it up!
To determine this, we will explore some historical prices. Let's look at the national average price of both oil and gasoline today, 5 years ago, and 10 years ago. (Costs are per barrel/per gallon)
2008: $140/$4.12 2003: $28/$1.78 1998: $12/$1.17
From 98-03, oil went up by a factor of 2.3, while gas prices went up by a factor of 1.5. From 98-08, oil went up by a factor of 11.7, while gas only went up by a factor of 3.5.
On other words: the price of oil goes up much faster than the price of gasoline. Whaaa? That's right: there are other factors in the price of gasoline other than how much the oil costs. A 10% reduction in oil cost does NOT translate into a 10% reduction in gasoline costs. Refinery costs and capacity make up a very large part of the cost of a gallon of gasoline (that is why after Hurricane Katrina, gasoline prices spiked dramatically - refining capacity nationwide was hit hard by the storm, in addition to some black people.)
From a typical barrel of oil, depending on the refining process used, you get 20 gallons of gasoline (the rest of the oil goes to make jet fuel, heating oil, and the salve Dick Cheney soaks in every night to stay alive). At $140 per 42-gallon barrel, oil costs $3.33 per gallon. Reducing the cost of oil by 10% would result in a per gallon of oil savings of about 33 cents per gallon.
Summary
If the ANWR and the Gulf Coast fields were at full capacity today, we'd save something like 30-40 cents on every gallon of gasoline. Of course, full capacity won't be reached for 10 years at the earliest - who knows how high the price of gasoline will be by then. 30-40 cents will be a drop in the bucket against $6-7 per gallon.
At $140 per barrel, though, there is money to be made. Offshore drilling becomes profitable at about $60 per barrel. With a profit of $80 per barrel, the oil in the Gulf alone is worth $1.2 trillion dollars.
Like I said, the choice of whether to drill is up to you. Just know what you are getting out of it (30-40 cents off a gallon of gasoline), and what the cost might be.
I'll admit, it's possible that I've listened to too much Top 40 radio. Maybe after hearing the same song over and over again, the bloodied and useless corpse of my sense of taste for music is no longer there to tell me when something is shitty or if I just like it because I've heard it 25 times in the last 3 days, and I've adapted like a part some horrible Darwinian experiment. That being said, I'm pretty sure this song is awesome.
Unfortunately, I can't embed the video, but click here and listen, then come back. I'll wait.
Okay, now pretend I didn't tell you what the name of the song was, and you were hearing it on the radio for the first time. Do you know what he is saying in the chorus? I didn't. And not only that, it seems like he doesn't either.
My dugget. My duggy? My ducket. My doggy? My dougy. My ducky?
I'M FRESH.
Okay, but now you know he's saying "My Dougie." What the hell does that mean? Usually, my first stop to solve any slang mystery is the venerable institution of the Urban Dictionary.
"The term "dougie" derives from the name of 80's early 90's Hip Hopper
Doug-E- Fresh. The term "dougie" means to have a cool or hip stlye.
If we are going to go out tonight I need to go home and get dougie before we go."
Hmm... I'm not sure I buy that explanation. And Wikipedia is strangely silent on the topic.
Thankfully, there is no end to the resources available on the internet. And, for the first time in its recorded history, the authority on this topic is "Yahoo! Answers":
"teboz@s got it...mayne if u aint from
Dallas(D-Town stay down mayne 214) u aint gon kno wtf we talkin
bout....chek them dances up in youtube...all yall sayin its cuz of
Dougie Fresh got dat isshh wrong...lol
214
D-Town Stay Down
Webb Chappel Reppa!!!!
WCC
Nawf Dallas
Source(s):
tha chick from dallas should kno wut i mean wit all those lil tags i put up there^^^^ if not she aint down"
Aha! Um, glad we got that sorted out. Well, at least from this it is clear that the reference to Doug E. Fresh is a misguided attempt by white people to make sense of this song. Further down the rabbit whole we go... to the second entry at the Answers page:
"I'm from Dallas which is where the song originated. A "dougie" is a
style of haircut that boys have. So thats what it is reffering too. I
know a song can be made about anything. But that's why the dance kinda
resembles a guy rubbing his hair and lookin in the mirror with his
other hand."
PS: I tried calling the phone number that flashes up in the video (If you want to try for yourself, it is 214-329-1854), and got Lil Wil's voicemail. He wasn't able to take my call right now, for which he apologizes, but he is busy in the studio working on his next album. Also: FRESH.
What's the opposite of a lucky horseshoe? An unlucky cow-hat? That's what I am, an unlucky cow-hat. My ability to lose and cause others around me to lose is legendary. My own wife won't sit at the same table with me when we go to casinos - and considering how unlucky I am, why is it we keep ending up in casinos in the first place?
My bad luck is starting to stretch, and gain momentum, and touch things beyond the blackjack table. If I root for you, or wish you well, run away, for I am the kiss of death.
First, despite (or because of) my endorsement, Jason Giambi and his ugly-beautiful mustache will not be going to the All-Star Game. He lost the final vote to Evan Longoria-Parker of the Tampa Bay Rays, despite his complete lack of mustache.
But that wasn't the worst blow. No, that came on Thursday, when Comfort was kicked off So You Think You Can Dance before she got into the top 12, which means America will be denied the chance to see her perform on the SYTYCD tour later this year. But what's amazing is that my kiss of death endorsement didn't just make her lose, it actually made her deserve to lose. She was terrible on Wednesday night.
Oh, is there no respite from this terrible burden of mine! And I don't even get to hook up with Maria Bello in the end.
Much ado about the venerable Reverend Jackson and his not quite fit for the pulpit declaration that Barack Obama talks down to black people and that the Rev wants to cut his nuts off. This statement was, naturally, accompanied by a snip-snip motion.
Come on, do you expect me to believe that Jackson, who has spent his entire adult life speaking into a micro- or megaphone, doesn't know when his words are being recorded? Surely the Rev doesn't actually believe that telling black men they should stop fathering and abandoning out of wedlock children is a bad thing (although it may have hit a little close to home).
No, he knew exactly what he was doing. Jesse Jackson hating Obama can't do anything but make him a more attractive candidate to general election voters. "Oh no, Obama is a scary secret Muslim, I'm gonna vote for the dried out husk of John McCain that George W. Bush has hollowed out and climbed inside of. Wait, what? Jesse Jackson doesn't like Obama? Well, that changes everything... maybe he isn't so bad after all..."
Let me be the first to stand up and applaud the Reverend Jackson for helping the cause of Obama for Pres by putting the considerable heft of his reputation as a hypocritical blowhard to work.
The big weekend in sports that just passed did not go unnoticed here at the new OC headquarters. Some of the highlights:
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Everyone is talking about the big Nadal-Federer match, but it seems to me that, in all the rush to declare Nadal the new King of Tennis, everyone is missing the fact that Nadal played the last 3 sets with both hands wrapped around his throat.
- At 0-40 with a chance to break Federer in the 3rd set and put the match away in straights, Federer stormed back for a hold
- At 5-2 in the tiebreak and 2 service points away from the match, Nadal double-faulted to let Federer back in. R-Fed won the tiebreak to force a 5th set.
This match was a couple points away from being the tennis version of the 2004 ALCS. Seems worth mentioning.
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Lost in all the hubbub around A-Rod's impending divorce so he can marry an elderly fake Brit (by the way: if Madonna divorces guy Ritchie, who gets custody of her accent?) is the name of his lawyer: Ira M. Elegant.
I.M. Elegant.
Madonna's spokesperson, Ursula R. Awesome, was unavailable for comment.
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And finally, the MLB All-Star teams were announced. There is always some complaining about who is in and who is out, but this year is a travesty. They need to fix this thing unless they want it to turn into the Pro-Bowl.
- Jason Varitek and his embarrassing .217 average will be there representing the AL. - Miguel "Mitchell Report" Tejada will be there for the NL. - Geovany Soto? Kosuke Fukodome? Doesn't the National League have any real players? No wonder the NL hasn't won an All-Star Game in over 10 years.
But speaking of the Mitchell Report, you know who won't be there unless you vote him in on the Last Man ballot? Jason Giambi. Sure, he's only batting .256, but this isn't about statistics. It's about this.
You've heard of movies that are so bad they're good? This might be the first so-bad-it's-good mustache. Giambi's face is where mustaches go to die. Only this one keeps on going. It's a zombie-stache.
[Dear Mrs. Web is published... at some interval. I have no idea. Do they just give anyone an advice column these days? Anyway... for the original, click here.]
Dear Mrs. Web OC,
I am looking for impartial advice. My fiancé and I are getting married next month. We have a four-year old together. My mother-in-law has always been good, not interfering, or manipulative. Until now. She is in charge of the rehearsal dinner and instead of having it catered, she decided to host a barbeque. I was disappointed but agreed. My fiancé and I gave her the list of the invitees and now she says that she has family in town, about six people, who she is including at the dinner. She knows my feelings and is blatantly disregarding them. I told her to forget about the dinner, I would host it myself in a restaurant. Now she says that she will not be attending my dinner. My fiancé and I agree that this OUR wedding and we should be able to have things the way WE want them. She has no right to dictate to us. I don't want my mother in law to walk all over me. I think I deserve an apology.
Dear Bridezillas reject,
It is difficult you answer your letter without having an irony hernia, but here goes: you put your mother-in-law in charge of the dinner, then make demands on the guest list, and then accuse her of being interfering. I also like that you capitalized "our" and "we" for me so I didn't need to go out of my way to point out how self-absorbed you are being (although I'm doing it anyway, because, well, you are being incredibly self-absorbed).
Seriously: you are going to start your marriage with a rift between yourself and your mother-in-law over 6 additional in-laws at the rehearsal dinner? Do you have any idea the amount of compromise it takes to make a marriage work? Well, I guess not. Hey, who's hosting the divorce dinner?
Dear Mrs. Web OC,
A former co-worker called and asked for a favor. When he was with the company, he (ahem!) "borrowed" some old office equipment from storage. He now wants me to return it for him. What should I do? Put it back? Inform my boss?
Dear tattle-tale,
Oh, boo hoo, what should I do? Put it back you pussy. I bet you used to be a hall monitor, too. Did you keep your sash, or did you return it at the end of the term?
Dear Mrs. Web OC,
My best friend wants to be a singer and she is really good. I 'm afraid that when we grow up, she might become famous and not remember me. What do I do?
Dear hanger-on,
There actually is an answer to this. If you truly want to make sure that you stay friends with your definitely-going-to-be famous best friend, you need to look up a word in the dictionary: sycophant. Learn that word and you'll be all set. Sure, you could be true to yourself and if you are truly friends then it won't matter what happens, but why take that risk?
Dear Mrs. Web OC,
My fiancé has just told me that he is bisexual. He said that he has never told anyone else and has hidden it from me until now. I cried all night. I have many self-esteem problems. He also said that if he were in my shoes, he would end the relationship. However, he is glad that I haven't. He promises me he will be true. What should I do?
Dear bye-sexual (see what I did there? that's a pun),
This letter confuses me. The implication in your letter seems to be that because he's bisexual, this makes him unable to remain faithful to you. That seems to me, on its face, ridiculous.
However, I thought more about this. Why is he telling you? If he was gay, it would be one thing. Sweetheart, your genitals are not actually interesting to me. I'm looking for something more penis-y. Fine, I get that. But why tell you? No, no, I still love girls, but I'm also pretty keen on penis, too. That'd be like me telling my wife, no no, I still love you, but I'm also pretty keen on other girls, too. The only reason to bring that up is because I'm testing the waters. He's testing the waters. The you and him and another penis waters. Tread lightly.
(See what I did there? Water metaphor. Also, dump him.)
Dear Mrs. Web OC,
My daughter lives out of town, and is expecting her first child. We would like to give her a baby shower but she cannot attend. How does one go about giving a baby shower without the mother-to -be present?
Dear special needs mom who can't figure out the simplest things for herself,
Pimped out ride: 14' U-Haul towing the sketchy VW (approx 25' long total)
Total distance traveled: Approx. 1700 miles Number of states: 10 (NJ, DE, MD, VA, TN, GA, AL, MI, LA, TX) Gasoline used: 192.6 gallons Efficiency: 8.8 miles per gallon (gah!!) Money spent on gasoline: $758 Average $$/gallon: $3.94 Driving time: 34 hours (over 3 days) Average speed: 50 mph (including breaks - not too shabby) Number of crosses seen from the highway at least 40' high: 5 Number of times animals got sick in the car: 0 (really! good job Frankie!) Number of cans of dog food Suzi opened and then left somewhere in the truck until it smelled horribly: 1 Number of ridiculously torrential downpours driven through: 5 (seriously, WTF weather)
Okay, the rest of these aren't exactly numbers, but whatev.
Story from the trip I will never get tired of telling:
Everything was ready to go. The car was hitched to the van, our things were packed, the animals were in the car. I hop in the driver's seat, and start pulling out of the driveway...
CRASHBLAMCRACKPOWSNAP
Oh sweet Jesus tittyfucking Christ what was that.
It was the trailer un-hitching itself from the van. The dolly is laying on the driveway with the car still on it, and there is no way to get the ramps down to get the car back off. The driveway is entirely blocked, and there is already a line of cars behind me wanting to get out. Where is everyone going all of a sudden? Where did they come from?
They day has already been stressful, but now I am stressed worse than Kirstie Alley's pants. Thankfully, one of the guys waiting to get out of the parking lot was a decent human being (as you know, a rarity in New Jersey) and started helping me extricate myself. Urge to kill... fading... fading...
While we are out there working, I notice a woman walk to the dumpster and start rooting through like a hobo. Which is strange, because there aren't any homeless people in Red Bank. What was she doing? Whatever, I don't care, let's just get the car down.
"Is this yours?"
I turn around, and the hobo is holding a hand-held vac, a cardboard box, and a VCR. She must be new to being homeless. Things that people have put in the dumpster are up for grabs, she can take what she wants. "Why?"
"This isn't household garbage. You can't throw this away here."
Urge to kill... rising...
I go back to what I'm doing, while Suzi starts talking to her. "Can't you see we are dealing with a situation here? Is this really necessary?" Indignation turns to anger. She's not dropping it. She wants us to take the items out of the garbage. We're going to be fined. Fine, fine us. We don't care. We're leaving. That doesn't satisfy her. She's still standing there. Anger to frustration.
Suzi gets frustrated, but I don't. I just get angrier. And, well, some might say I lost it, but I wouldn't. I definitely made a decision that this had gone on long enough, and I was now going to be an asshole to this woman.
"Listen: we are not taking the garbage. You can leave it in the dumpster, you can fine us, or you can throw it around on the street, or you can shove it up your ass. I don't care. Do you not see us dealing with a problem here?"
That felt pretty good, but it wasn't enough. I'm still getting lip. I'm going to need to take it to another level.
"Hey! We. Are. Not. Taking. It. GO. FUCK. YOURSELF."
That did it. She drags the garbage after her back up the parking lot, to her garage. Nope, she doesn't just throw it back in the dumpster, she stores it in her garage.
We got this letter two days later forwarded to us by our former landlord.
Hi Vern
I left a message on your phone.
Your tenant moved out yesterday and we have issued 2 fines. One for
blocking the driveway entrance (when told to move, they were nasty).
$25.00
Secondly, they left a bunch of
non household items in the dumpster (3 area rugs, wire basket, vcr,
handheld vac, large box). These items were removed and placed in a
garage. You have been fined $50.00 for these items. You will also be
charged a removal fee, unless you want to remove them yourself. You
have until tomorrow night (Monday night) to remove these items,
otherwise we will have them remove and charge you for this service.
Please let me know if you plan on picking these items up so we can make the proper arrangements for access to the garage.
Thank you.
Diana
Springview Gardens
You see, she wasn't just any run of the mill dumpster diving hobo. She does it professionally.
Suzi wants to just pay the fines and be done with it. I want to take a picture of my junk and send that instead. We'll probably just pay the fines. In a way, though, I guess it works out. If not for all that, I might have actually missed New Jersey.
