ChristmASS

My brother has so kindly introduced the song "Dominick the Donkey" to me. A delightful and forgotten holiday classic, here is one ridiculous music video rife with great dancing, fake mustaches, and any number of good-natured Italian stereotypes: OMG I can't believe this exists.

Quote o' the Day

Patriarchy-Blaming Matriarch Twisty Faster has stated essentially my thoughts exactly upon seeing the new Bayer "for teens" vitamins that emphasis healthy muscles for boys and good skin for girls: "Hey, Bayer Product Development Guy! The 50’s called, and they want their male chauvinist pig jibbajabba back!" PS- Is it just me or does the mustachioed man on the top left resemble a mischievous (and mostly-loathsome) Jimmy Kimmel to anyone else?

Prehistorical post

No, this isn't a neanderthal post, silly! It's the post before Thursday History Blogging! A few things: 1. Obvs, I'm pumped about the defeat of McMav. I've never been a super Obamaphile, but I am pleased with the results. 2. Fuck you, Californian gay-haters. 3. Via Shakesville, I discovered this AMAZINGLY AWESOME website: Mustaches of the Nineteenth Century. Sweet old photos of mustachioed men. Though there is a bit of beard blasphemy, I will let it go for the sheer nerdy history and facial hair enjoyment.

Sarah Palin calls Barack Obama a socialist and Joe the Plumber wears plaid

So.

I woke up all early and shit and went to the Sarah Palin/Republican rally. We stood outside in the cold. Not "Minnesota" cold, obvs, but Ohio October chilliness. So I couldn't expose my subversive homemade t-shirt until I got inside. In line in front of me and Thrift Store Champion were some guys discussing how best to kill a moose. Behind us was a middle-aged couple expressing their "suspicions" about how Obama "got his money" to a high school student. It was AWESOME.

Vic-to-fucking-ry.

The BGSU cheerleaders were leading "USA" cheers and throwing out tons of pompoms in patriotic colors to the audience. It was un poquito scary. Besides the culty patriotism, the fact that a school group was directly involved seemed a little bit, I don't know, "inappropriate" or something. Local politicians talked for awhile, then the amazing Aaron Tippin country-patriotic performance occurred. I kind of wanted to die inside when I spotted a classmate of mine down in the crowd rocking the fuck out. I'll try not to hold it against him too much.

He's down there somewhere.

After that, we waited for probably more than half an hour and observed the natives. Un poquito bizarre/familiar 'cause of that whole "Mormon upbringing" thing.

Amazing barrette + gigante American flag! Thrift Store Champ and an amazing moosehead/flag hat.

Then the Palinator came out and accused Obama of being a socialist and linked him to a "radical" professor with a Muslim-y name and PLO connections. Blahblahblah. I honestly got bored. Until she brought out JOE THE PLUMBER! (plaid-ish shirt on her far side) I had a subversive homemade t-shirt created at the suggestion of my dear Ka$h. Thrift Store Champion made one too, but I didn't get a pic of it. However, heere's the sweatshirt his old, old mustachioed father gave him:

Read my lips: no second term for you, buster.

How many guys do you know have statues in the Houston airport, huh? Via mrdavisdc's flickr.

George H.W. Bush, "Bush 41," "Bush, Sr.," that guy who threw up on the Japanese Prime Minister,* etc. The 1988 Presidential Election is the first one I remember. For some reason, in my preschool brain, Bush was represented by a giant stalk of broccoli (this image may have come from a California Raisins special) and Dukakis was a styrofoam cup. I don't know why. Anyway, GHWB. Much like his son to come after, the first President Bush was born into privilege. His father was a pro-birth control, anti-McCarthyism U.S. Senator from Connecticut. Little George went to private schools growing up, and deferred enrollment to Yale to join the Navy upon high school graduation. He went on to be come the, like, youngest naval aviator EVAR in 1942. Some crazy shit went down on aircraft carriers and in planes over the Pacific during WWII, and GHWB was kind of a badass. After the war, he enrolled at Yale, where he participated in an accelerated program to graduate in 2.5 years with a bachelor's degree in economics. That means he wanted to make money. And he did. But first he was in a fraternity, played baseball and met Babe Ruth, and joined secret/sketchy patriarchal society Skull and Bones. He married a lady named Barbara Pierce, who was the great-great-granddaughter of President Franklin Pierce's fourth cousin and moved to West Texas to make money out of the petroleum business. He and Barb had six kids, one of whom died in childhood, one of whom is the former governor of America's Smartest State™ and goes by his initials "JEB,"** and of course, one who followed in his footsteps to become the President of the United States. People don't really seem to like that one very much, despite his reelection and "get-a-beer-with-ability." ANYWAY. George, Sr. was a millionaire by age 40. Which, we've all got to admit, is pretty speedy. But so he lost his first bid for the Senate in 1964 when his opponent called him a "right-wing extremist." Bush, Sr.? Ha! But he recovered quickly and was elected to the House as Houston's first Democratic representative in 1966. Then in 1970, Nixon was all, "Hey, George, you should totes run for Senate again." But then he totes lost. Again. So, Trickly Dickly felt a little bad and made him the Ambassador to the U.N. Which I didn't know you could do without a bad attitude and an even badder mustache.

He was dreamy, even holding the little booger.

Then he tried to salvage the RNC's reputation after that whole "Watergate" thing, was the sort of-ambassador to China, was the head of the CIA for like a year, and then took some private sector jobs before gearing up for The Big Run in 1980. So he tried to run for #1 that year (so did Bob Dole!), but he made up for his failure when Reagan chose him as his #2. As Vice President, George Bush went to a lot of funerals, had lunch with Ronnie on Thursdays in the Oval Office, worked on economic deregulation, the wildly successful War on Drugs, debated Geraldine Ferraro once on TV in 1984, and claimed to be an "innocent bystander" in that whole Iran-Contra "thing." In 1988, he ran for President (again), having to fight off Dole, Kemp, and Pat Robertson (!) in the primary. He promised not to raise taxes. He did not realize that one should never promise anything having to do with taxes. But he became the first serving VP to be elected to the presidency since Dutchy McShortguy Martin Van Buren! As President, he tried to avoid raising taxes. Unfortunately the meanie Democratic Congress was like, "Hey, lets try to fight that whole gigantic Reagan Deficit thing." Bastards. He appointed Souter and Thomas to the Supreme Court (he will not be forgiven for the latter) during his tenure, but also he helped make life a little bit easier for wheelchair-Americans.*** Then there was some sort of "just cause" in Panama that required us to depose some guy, we had to fight against Saddam. However, we avoided invading Baghdad and ousting everybody's favorite mustachioed Middle Eastern dictator and being "forced to rule Iraq" (see Wikipedia, as per usual). That would've sucked, right? The Berlin Wall came down and Bush met with sexy, sexy Gorbachev and helped usher in Russia's Golden Age of Capitalist Oligarchy at the end of the Cold War. Anyway, the American people were kind of down because of some sort of economic recession. Whatever, what a bunch of whiners dressed in unfortunate early '90s fashions.**** Blahblahblah Bill Clinton won in 1992.

XPBFF!

Now George Bush, Sr. hangs out at his various family compounds, holds his own fishing tournament in Florida, became one of those British knight-thingies, got a supercarrier named after him, plays tennis with sexy Russians,***** tries to avoid being seen with his son too much, and goes golfing with Bill. Writing about people who are still living is hard because there is far too much information available. I'll try not to make that mistake again. *Dear Wikipedia-editing Bush fans, just because you delete any reference to this event in his official article does not erase the public memory of said vomiting. Nice try. **If that doesn't spell "D-O-U-C-H-E-B-A-G" to you, you're beyond help. ***I am a terrible person. ****I was never a regular fan, but I know enough to wonder who the hell the guy on the far right is. *****The Cold War is truly over, thank The Sexy Gay Jesus.

Chester A. Arthur: Possibly Secretly Canadian-Born President of Civil Service Reform

Young Chet sure was dreamy.

Chester A. Arthur was a man who not only possessed the ability to grow magically awesome hair on his face, but was able to rise above the spoils system that brought him to power and left his one term in office a beloved figure.* He was born in 1829 (or 1830) in Vermont (or maybe Quebec) to an Irish-born preacher and his Vermontian wife. He grew up in New York state and went to Union College where he partook in that great patriarchal tradition of college fraternity membership (Psi Upsilon). He got a master's degree in something and then spent some time as a school principal. But, of course, since he wanted to go into politics, he decided to study law. He passed the bar and began practicing in New York City. During the Civil War, he did some stuff like quartermastering in the army or something and he was promoted a few times before finishing his military stint in 1862. At some point Chet (as his friends and family called him) fell in with Roscoe Conkling, a finely-bearded man and Republican operative. Old Roscoe got him an in with President U.S. Grant, who appointed Arthur to the position of Collector of Customs for the Port of New York. Apparently there was a lot of money in this job, but the future prez was far less corrupt than most of his predecessors had been. After Rutherford B. Hayes came to office in the late 1870s, he threw Arthur out of the Customs House and replaced him with one of his own guys. Arthur went back to practicing law while his pal Roscoe worked on getting Grant nominated to run for a third term. Well, shenanigans at the 1880 RNC ensued and James "Dark Horse" Garfield was nominated instead. Garfield's people wanted a Stalwart (someone from the pro-spoils faction) for VP, and Arthur was enthusiastic about being their second choice. A close election eked Garfield and Arthur into the White House in 1881, though apparently they were not friends. Roscoe kept calling Chet and being like, "Hey, when can we get our pals new government jobs, yo?" And Garfield was like, "STFU, asshole." But then in July some guy shot Garfield and claimed he had done it in the name of patronage and to make Arthur President. Chet really kind of felt bad about this, since the guy was crazy and had nothing to do with him. So once Garfield finally died of complications from his wounds, Arthur defied the Stalwarts (and the rest of his party for that matter) by pushing through serious civil service reform. Also, he was a good dresser. But totally like President Bartlett, Arthur found out he had a fatal disease** and didn't tell anyone. He was pretty blase about running for reelection because of it, and he actually ended up dying of a cerberal hemorrhage in 1886. Other facts about Chester Alan Arthur: -Because of his fancy clothes, he was known as "the Gentleman's Boss" or "Elegant Arthur." -He was a widower who vowed never to remarry. -Supposedly he had, like, 80 pairs of pants and would change into different pants multiple times a day. I speculate that this had more to do with an incontinence problem than a penchant for fashion, though there does not seem to be any historical basis for such claims--I just like making them. -Before moving into the White House, he insisted on getting rid of all the old furniture and totally redecorating. I don't want to stereotype, but Chester A. Arthur may have been gay. -He was an avid fisherman who caught big fish sometimes. Fish are gross. Objectively. *Except for by his party, the Republicans. Also, Democrats. But non-politicians totally thought he was the cat's pajamas. **Some kidney thing.

Yeah, I'm TOTALLY reading my Lukacs right now

Young Georg tries on the mustache for size. And is all slouch-y. So for my (admittedly awesome) communications class on cultural Marxism, we're reading a big ol' chunk of History and Class Consciousness. Large swaths of this work are completely incomprehensible, despite appearing to have been translated into English from the German or the Hungarian or whatever it was originally written in. But I can feel my smarts growing. You too can watch them growing by reading all my really good sentences. Anyway, a few tidbits to share: -The train just went by (it's maybe a half-mile away) and it is serious about constant whistle-blowing. Apparently drunk college kids wander onto the tracks sometimes and get hit. -I saw a nurse practitioner at the student health center last week, and I'm not going to lie, she was a little bit judge-y. I mean, she works at a university, I don't see where she gets off. Just because she happened to have encountered me at the tail end of Lauren's Ridiculous/Awesome Summer of Promiscuity™ and I didn't feel like counting up an exact number in front of her right then and there doesn't mean she can give me shit about "taking risks." This is why the Sexy Gay Jesus invented condoms. We've been over it.* I think it was a little over the line for her to tell me when I left that she was glad I was in a relationship now instead of "trying to get in one." Trying to get in one? How about, "enjoying being single"? or "I knew I was moving"? or "mind your own goddamn business"? Fuck you, judgmental health center lady. I bet she was disappointed to find out that I didn't have chlamydia OR gonorrhea.** -Only a couple people came to my CSI: Miami season premiere/birthday bash the other night, but Caruso did not let me down. Unlike everyone I know here in town who apparently had "homework" or "a family," an "illness" or "somewhere to be on Tuesday morning." Whatevs. Thrift Store Champion and a couple other diehards made it awesome. Although, take note: do not ever make a "Miami Punch" that involves three bottles of Cold Duck (Annn-dre) per batch. It is gross and will make everyone feel ill. Especially when they eat 2958798 lbs. of Doritos/cookies/pretzels/cake because only four people are at the party and they might as well go at it. Ah, birthdays. *Although she did tell me that condoms with spermicide on them don't do much besides irritate vaginas. So guys, quit buying that shit, it doesn't help; it only hinders. **She also kept asking me if I wanted to take a pregnancy test.

What I learned in school today: Marx just wanted to spread some sunshine to the proletariat

Some random guy with a bust of Karl Marx.

As you all know, I am from America. In case you are unfamiliar with America, it is the awesomest, most reddest-whitest-bluest country ever.* And it is full of delicious, delicious capitalism. However, it turns out that some of that propaganda patriotism I learned in school may have misled me about Karl Marx and communism. First of all, who could demonize somebody with such a fucking awesome beard? Second, it turns out Marxy Marx is just a big softy. Who knew!? Out of context quote from Capital: "It is, however, just this ultimate money-form of the world of commodities that actually conceals, instead of disclosing, the social character of private labour, and the social relations between the individual producers." Pretty much Karl is like, "Let's stop relating to each other through objects and money and these various abstractions that distract us from holding hand and singing 'Kumbaya' while really valuing each other's labor." But he would have said it in German. Through his sweet fucking beard. And then he would have stroked Engels' mustache before writing some more impenetrable theory. My new bearded friend Thrift Store Champion had this to say about Karl's facial hair just now: "I think he had all kinds of stuff in that beard." Probably leprechaun jewels. *Don't forget to Never Forget™ tomorrow, fellow Americans!

Norton I: Did you know America had an emperor?

The Emperor gets his bike on.


As per an exciting request from Zachary (look at how I am passive-aggressively encouraging you to update your blog): I introduce to you Joshua Abraham Norton AKA His Imperial Majesty Emperor Norton I of these United States and Protector of Mexico. Just like today, nineteenth-century San Francisco encouraged local citizens to wander about in wacky apparel and make ridiculous public pronouncements. A crazy guy declared himself a royal sovereign, and the city indulged him for over twenty years. Although, I'm not going to lie, my favorite touch in his self-appointed title is the "First" part, as if he was expecting generations of Emperor Nortons to follow him. We're still waiting on that count.

But so anyway, the future emperor was born some time in the 1810s in London, and grew up in South Africa. After gaining a significant inheritance upon his father's death, Norton emigrated to San Francisco. He made a bad deal on some Peruvian rice,* lost a drawn-out lawsuit over the whole thing, and disappeared from SF for a few years. When he came back in 1859, he pronounced himself Emperor, and began making public demands. His fellow San Franciscans were apparently only too happy to play along. Besides claiming imperial rule of the country, Norton I declared that Congress should be dissolved, and tried to force the Protestant and the Catholic Church to officially ordain his rule. He was summarily ignored. Whatever, I know for a fact that The Sexy Gay Jesus totally endorses Emperor Norton I.

So though people in power (like Congress and the Army and such) pretty much just ignored His Imperial Majesty, but that didn't stop local newspapers from publishing his decrees (seriously, check them all out, they are hilarious). He became the city's awesomest resident eccentric, and was welcomed at some of the city's finest establishments and cultural events. He was buddies with famous local stray dogs Bummer and Lazarus, broke up at least one anti-Chinese immigration riot, abolished the national Democratic and Republican Parties, insisted that the word "Frisco" be banished,** and most awesomely, printed his own money:

Local restaurant owners and the like put up plaques to honor the Emperor and accepted his currency as legit. Joshua A. Norton may have been penniless, but Emperor Norton I had the Treasury! When he was arrested in 1867 to undergo treatment for mental illness, the city cried out in protest, and he was released. Luckily, the offending policeman was offered an Imperial Pardon, and the local officers continued to defer to the Emperor's inspections and authority.

Apparently our nation's first and only Emperor just wandered around San Francisco for a couple decades, wearing old army uniforms, a feathered hat, and carrying an old beat-up saber while making imperial statements. He was universally beloved, and when he collapsed on a street corner and died in 1880, 30,000 people came to pay their respects. The city paid to have him buried in a Masonic Cemetery.*** Mark Twain based the Huckleberry Finn con-artist character "The King" on him. Most recently, local officials wanted to name a new span of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge after him (one of his main unmet demands was that the city build a bridge and a tunnel across the bay, both of which occurred in the 20th century). Apparently same lame-os on the city council or something didn't like that idea, and it got stuck in committee in 2004. But Emperor Norton I is still considered one of San Francisco's finest historical citizens. If I ever go crazy and start claiming I'm the emperor of something, I just hope my neighbors are as awesome as his were.



*A serious blunder, to be sure, "But only slightly less well-known is this, 'Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!'"

**Punishment was a $25 fine paid to the Imperial Treasury.

***YOU GUYS: The Freemasons are EVERYWHERE. This should make you nervous.

Putting a feather in my reviewer's cap: The Lookout

I rented The Lookout recently because it has Joseph Gordon-Levitt in it (sigh), was supposed to be good, and I thought my "I only like actually good movies" roommate Ka$h would want to watch it with me. I ended up watching it on my own last night, but I was totally not disappointed. The movie started out sad but slowly turned tense. You know if you're watching a movie alone and at some point find yourself yelling aloud to the screen: "No, no, no, no, no, no!" or "Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it!" it's gotta be good. Or at least engaging. The movie starts out showing (not telling!) us how Gordon-Levitt's character--Chris, a hotshot high school hockey player--got into a horrible car accident on prom night (he was driving) that killed two friends, took his girlfriend's leg, and left him with a serious head injury. Four years later, Chris is living with an awesome (and sweet) blind man named Lewis, who is played by the always-lovable Jeff Daniels, whom I have had great affection for ever since the eighth grade when we were forced to watch Gettsyburg in which he plays the walrus-mustached Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain. Anyway, the beginning of the movie does a great job of showing us what it might be like to live with a head injury. Chris has serious short-term memory problems, he sometimes has trouble censoring himself, he gets angry and frustrated easily--especially when he remembers what a charmed life he used to lead before the accident. He spends his evenings working as a janitor at a rural bank, where he has to write down all of his tasks for the day or he'll forget to do them. He becomes easy prey for sexy conman Gary Spargo (Matthew Goode), who gets a hot chick to sleep with him and pretends to be his friend. But what Gary and his sketchy pals want is for him to be their inside man when they rob the bank Chris works at. Chris is pretty easily convinced to help them, but on the night of the robbery, he tries to back out. BAD IDEA. Super-scary-silent Bone has got a shotgun and Chris is going to be their lookout and help them with this robbery, dammit. The movie does a great job of building up to this point. It seems obvious that Gary is a sleaze, and there's something weird going on with the girl (who has no real defining characteristics to talk about, she's just hot and played by Isla Fisher), Chris' rich family is shitty and unsupportive, and Gary does a great job of manipulating his guilt and frustration with his mantra "Whoever has the money has the power." Chris writes this down in his little reminder notebook. Now I will list some other good things: 1. Joseph Gordon Levitt = adorable and awesome. He does "desperate" really well, but not over the top. 2. I liked how Chris' tricky memory worked both for and against him. With the note-writing (to himself), the final long action-y sequence reminded me a bit of watching Memento. 3. Jeff Daniels in sunglasses, telling it like it is, swearing up a storm, and having a pretty good beard earns this movie, like, 45 extra points. 4. Despite the fact that you knew that they'd never pull off the bank heist and Chris was surely screwed by becoming involved, the plot never gave itself up. There were still even surprises to keep the suspense going until the end. 5. SPOILER ALERT: Chris and Lewis open up a sandwich shop called "Lew's Your Lunch." It amused me.

Teddy Roosevelt: America's Most Cartoonish President to Date

I think a regular Thursday (or whatever day I feel like) U.S. history blogging feature has become necessary after the popularity of last week's ode to James K. Polk.

Seriously, we carved this guy's face into a mountain? He looks like a jolly walrus.

Theodore "Teddy" Roosevelt, Jr. really liked wars. He was the (Assistant, but pretty much acting) Secretary of the Navy leading up to the Spanish-American War, and was like, "Yeah, let's go fight those motherfuckers in Cuba. Let's get a bunch of ships and shit." Also, the media was totally agitating for a war. Newsies*-era newspaper barons Pulitzer and Hearst were cultivating what came to be known as "Yellow journalism," but back then it wasn't considered a racist term.** But as soon as war was declared, Teddy (or "TR," as lazy people call him) was not content to just sit behind his desk at the Department of the Navy (or whatever). Nope, he rounded up a bunch of rich friends and cowboys and the like and formed the "Rough Riders" cavalry. Have you ever thought about fighting a war on horseback? What if you fell off your horse and you got trampled? Or your horse got shot, and it landed on you? And even if it didn't land on you, then you'd be screwed, because all your fellow cavalrypersons would be able to ride off really fast, and you'd have to try and catch up to them on foot. I'm pretty sure even Teddy Roosevelt couldn't run as fast as most horses.*** Though it turns out only Teddy had a horse. I was wondering how they got all those horses to Cuba. But anyway, Teddy loved killing Spaniards. Also, he liked hunting animals. So basically, he liked shooting living things. Much like Dick Cheney. But more adorable. By the way: drawing or photograph? So hard to tell with him.

After the war and becoming the governor of New York, the Tedster was nominated as William McKinley's second-term VP. Apparently McKinley's first No. 2 sucked a lot, and I am too lazy to look up who he even was, because we'd probably have never heard of him anyway. Well, McKinley got assassinated by a crazy son of a Pollack**** and TR became one of our nation's most ridiculous presidents. I will now list some of his accomplishments:

1. He was a trust-buster. AKA not friends with the day's Halliburtons: Carnegie, Rockefeller, etc.

2. Because he like camping and hunting and whatnot so much, he thought we should maybe not cover the entire continent with railroads and steel factories. He established the U.S. Forest Service, and even got his own motherfucking National Park. Too bad it's in South Dakota.

3. He spearheaded that whole "let's build a canal in Panama so we don't have to sail around the southern tip of South America anymore" thing. Too bad we give it back to those crazy Panamaniacs.

4. HE HAD HIS OWN COROLLARY. Every ambitious woman or man should make it a priority to coroll-ize someone else's doctrine. I'm aiming for the Heaven's Gate Cult. But mostly Teddy was like, "Yeah, Monroe wanted to keep Europe out of our Western Hemisphere business, but now these Latin American countries, like, need money. Ummm... well only WE can interfere in their business because we live on this side of the Atlantic. Also, shut up or I will hit you with my big stick." Thanks for making intervention part of the Doctrine, pal! Who doesn't love the subsequent awesomeness of Iran-Contra, the embargo on Cuba, the War on Drugs, NAFTA, CAFTA, and any number of CIA-backed coups and assassinations? Seriously, who? But this is not his greatest legacy. Nope, that belongs to:

5. Teddy bears. 'Nuff said.

Unfortunately, after some safariing and Latin travels, Teddy really jumped the shark with that whole, "I'm pissed at the Republican Party and at my fatty fat successor Taft, so I'm going to form my own Bull Moose Party because it's a manly name, split the party, and hand over the 1912 election to Woodrow Wilson." He spent the rest of his life enjoying his poached elephant ivory and loudly criticizing public policy from his malarial bed. And that is all you need to know about Teddy Roosevelt.


*Did you know that "Governor Teddy Roosevelt" makes an appearance in Newsies? Oh, well you probably don't know all the words to "King of New York," either. Not that I do. Ehhh....

**This is a joke. Sorry. Racism has never been funny. And neither has sensationalism, the term "muck-racking," or tabloid magazines. Unless Bat Boy and/or Lindsay Lohan is on the cover.

***Though he is known as "the Roosevelt who's not a cripple."

****Is this slur out of the "offensive" realm and into the "ironic and HILARIOUS" usage realm yet? Whatever.

Neglected Nietzsche Blogging: Maybe this weekend

But dear fans of the mustachioed madman, hopefully this silly YouTubery will tide you over until your next fix. I must say that the Kant attack ad has more substance, but this one really gets to the heart of the matter.

Found via Kierkegaard's 3rd-party bid featured at QuizLaw.

Facial hair pleases me

Uncle Walt knows what I'm talking about.

I'm going to point you towards this post by Jeff Fecke because a) he is awesome and b) facial hair is your friend. Vote in the poll! I wish both that it were socially acceptable for women to have visible facial hair and that I could grow it. I'd totes have a big beard that I'd store snacks and leprechaun jewels in.

Introducing Nietzsche Blogging

So I was about to re-read a philosophical favorite of mine (I actually do have one), Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity by Richard Rorty, and in the intro or preface or whatever he's all, "Nietzsche blah blah blah," and I was like, "Oh yeah, I've got The Birth of Tragedy and The Genealogy of Morals just sitting on that shelf, waiting for me to finally pick it up and fucking read it." So, dear Richard, I will do the requisite survey of Nietzsche before I get back to you and your delightful disavowal of absolute truth and objective morality. It has been long enough since Pretentious Ex-Boyfriend (henceforth to be known as PEB) left me for his Nietzsche-rrific honors project that I can read it without it having to be about PEB and his recommendations for BASIC READING REQUIREMENTS FOR NOT SUCKING AS A HUMAN BEING. I still refuse to go anywhere near Marcuse or Žižek, however.

The point of all this being that though I do read a fair amount of non-fiction for pleasure reading, I suspect it may be a bit more difficult for me to get through this particular set of works. Therefore, I have decided to make Nietzsche Blogging a regular thing, where I have to periodically discuss what I read, so I feel like I have a reason to keep on going. And then when I'm done, I can read something fun. Like feminist theory. Or a nineteenth-century epic romance novel. But so, so far I have read our Friedrich's own "Critical Backward Glance" that he wrote about The Birth of Tragedy sixteen years after its original publication. He's pretty much like, "I am definitely awesomer than I was like sixteen years ago, but I totally had great ideas and it's too bad I wasn't as awesome at writing back then as I am now." But then he talked about Christianity and actually said, "From the very first, Christianity spelled life loathing itself, and that loathing was simply disguised, tricked out, with notions of an 'other' and 'better' life" (p. 11 in my book). I totes feel that, Neech. If you're spending all your time thinking about how much Jesus is going to reward you in super-awesome heaven for being good, I think a certain lack of appreciation for our one and only mortal lives is kind of inevitable. And you end up expending all this effort following arbitrary rules instead of doing things like enjoying sex or alcohol, which are both awesome, by the way. By the same token, if Jesus is just going make up for all your suffering in the next life, it's also a lot easier to disregard all the shitty shit that goes down in real life all the time that if you are paying attention makes you want to cry and start a revolution and change the world. But if Jesus is coming back pretty soon anyway to take Chuck Norris and the rest of us good guys to heaven, there's not a lot of reason to worry about things like trying not to destroy the environment or ending world hunger or achieving social justice or whatever. But that's just what this apathetic agnostic thinks. I guess.