May 2015


Fall to February — A bunch of guys in ugly uniforms giving each other concussions. Some of them have underinflated balls, which is apparently a problem.

February — A has-been pop star performs crappy music and the TV plays a bunch of dumb commercials. So the usual, but there’s also a game of some sort.

Spring — A bunch of guys strolling around a field, scratching their (not underinflated) balls and spitting out wads of chew. This is also the time of year when soft-spoken public radio hosts reminisce about hearing the crack of the bat when they were little children and bemoan the fact that America’s national pastime is no longer as popular as it used to be.

April — The Portland Trailblazers lose again. “We’ll definitely win next year!”

May — Awwww, look at the cute horsies getting raced to death.

Summer — Portlanders put on colorful scarves and pretend that they care about sports and that they’re European. Hint to Portland: Real soccer hooligans set cars on fire.

Summer, Once Every 4 Years — The world comes together to celebrate peace and harmony through athletic competition. I can tell that we’re totally serious about it because there’s a giant dove puppet involved.

Also Once Every 4 Years — The world falls in love with the most beautiful game, as FIFA is paid massive bribes.

Winter — Figure skating! Finally, I can watch a real sport! Also, the weirdly hypnotic appeal of curling. Hands down, the best part of the year.

Except that it’s back to the guys in the ugly uniforms again.

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I’ve never been one to hide the fact that I find the libertarian point of view to be annoying and unrealistic. But now, there is a new kind of person which irritates me even more than libertarians: People Who Pretend To Be Libertarian.

Yep, a lot of folks out there are faking being a libertarian. Whether it’s because they’re desperate to appeal to a changing demographic, or because “libertarian” has become the latest trendy term to fling around, like pretending to be a geek. How can you tell they’re not genuine? It’s the “I’m libertarian, but” phenomenon.

“I’m a libertarian, but I’m against gay marriage.” “I’m a libertarian, but we shouldn’t legalize marijuana.” This statement is then followed by some flimsy excuse about why, even though “I’m all about liberty!”, this particular freedom shouldn’t be allowed. Well…okay. So…hate to break it to you…you’re not a libertarian. The one redeeming value of the chaotic, might-makes-right libertarian vision of society is that you’re supposed to be completely free to make your own choices about how you live your life. If you reserve that right only to the people whose preferences match yours, and do not grant others that freedom, then the entire point of this concept breaks down. If you want the country’s laws to be based on the Bible, then we’re not in a libertarian universe anymore. Mind you, you can base your personal life decisions on the Bible if you wish, but the moment you try to force that on others, you are no longer a libertarian.

No, if you want to outlaw abortion and ban gay marriage, then you’re just a same old, same old religious conservative. I get it, you want to call yourself something else, because these days, being a conservative Christian is considered kinda lame. But your disguise is see-through. If you’re really a constitutional conservative, traditional on social issues, then own that. Stand up for what you believe in. Don’t pretend to be something you’re not.

Because political labels come and go, but one thing remains the same–posers are never cool.

Mom was staring at my plate in shock. It was covered with a messy pile of bacon, cheese and chicken.

“What is *that*?”

I was stunned myself. “It’s…it’s a…salad.”

Ah, the danger and the mystery that is the American roadside restaurant. You never know quite what you’ll get served. Somewhere, underneath all that protein, a few wilted green leaves could be found, or so I suspected.

But I was a wimp compared to my fellow eaters. Other families seated in the Kozy Kitchen dining room placidly awaited their deliveries of greasy eggs and meat, with two and three dishes per person, while here I was, a rank amateur, unable to handle a simple “salad”.

“There’s no way you can finish that.”

“Maybe I can, but I’ll need a stent right after.”

Let’s face it, on our trip through the towns of Southern Oregon, we must’ve acted like the most obnoxious of tourists. “Do you have anything with kale in it?” “Why doesn’t this store have an organic veggie section?” And things got even worse when it came to the alcohol department. “What do you mean you only serve Bud, Coors and Corona? This is a joke…right?” At least I dissuaded Mom from her idea of bringing her own personal lime into restaurants with her, so that she could “fix” the Caesar salad dressing. I figured the natives wouldn’t take too kindly to that.

Leaving my little hipster nest to travel the rest of the state has made me realize just how Portland I’ve really become, and has made me appreciate living here much more.

And my bacon and cheese salad? Well, I managed to eat about half of it, and was sick for the rest of the day. Like I said, I’m a total wimp. My review of the Kozy Kitchen–it’s only for the strong.

I’m not sure I can handle it.

The trashy pink lights. The corny classic rock soundtrack. And oh, those horrible performers.

There’s Hillary, sitting on a potential donor’s lap. “See? I can be warm and friendly,” she murmurs.

Meanwhile, Jeb Bush and Scott Walker are working the pole, gyrating their hips as hard as they can, while the Koch brothers make it rain cash on the stage. Maybe they’ll get more money if they make out with each other?

Poor Chris Christie is sitting at a table alone, all forlorn in his bra and garter belt. Nobody cares about him anymore.

And off in a dark corner of the club, Rand Paul is doing his own weird dance. Only a few are turned on by him–those who are into the kinky masochistic fantasy of living in a pure libertarian state.

Watching this spectacle doesn’t exactly cause feelings of arousal. It’s more of a mixture of disgust, despair, and a complete loss of self-respect. But this is the best we can do, or so we’re told.

Yeah, the 2016 election season…it’s going to be the worst striptease ever.