The Blog

Tim Suttle: Christians Should Unite For This Election (Behind Stephen Colbert?)

2012-02-10T20:10:11Z

This election year is going to be the most miserable in American history. The Citizens United Supreme Court decision has cleared the way for the invention of the super-PAC and unlimited corporate spending on political campaigns, which means unlimited corporate financing of negative campaign ads. Hold onto your hats, friends. It's going to get nasty.

The Court's decision is so unwise that polling data shows 80 percent of Americans oppose it. I didn't know it was possible to get 80 percent of Americans to agree on anything. That's how bad this stinks.

Welcome to the era of official corporate sponsorship of political candidates. "Ahem ... it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you the Exxon-Mobil candidate for President of the United States, brought to you by the good people at Nabisco and Target..."

For typical Americans, the Supreme Court decision is bad news. If money is speech, then your voice has finally been silenced. Not only does your small contribution to a candidate no longer count as much as it did four years ago, it no longer counts -- period. Not when corporations can spend unlimited amounts of cash supporting super PAC smear campaigns.

I am resolved to stay consistent in my assertion that the classic Christian political position should be to refuse an alliance with any political party, but this election year I have a recommendation for Christians. Instead of sending your $100 or $200 political donation to the party of your choice, why not consider throwing your weight behind Stephen Colbert's campaign against Citizens United? He actually might be making a difference.

Colbert's Super PAC, "Making a better tomorrow, tomorrow," is meant to lampoon and shed light on the deleterious effects of Citizens United. When it's all said and done, humor may just be the only effective way to fight big money in politics. Colbert and his cohort John Stewart have used their own super PAC to expose the sheer lunacy of this new situation. Most recently they ran a faux attack ad, calling Mitt Romney a serial killer ... of jobs. Ridiculous times call for ridiculous measures.

It's all silly, to be sure, but so is the Supreme Court's decision.

Although humor can be powerful, it has a pretty steep hill to climb in this case. President Obama has just taken his super PAC off the leash, while republicans have set a fundraising goal of $500 million. Reports emerged this week that the Koch brothers have recently raised pledges of $100 million to win the next election for Republicans. The two Koch brothers alone reportedly combined for a pledge of $60 million. The secret event was held at the Renaissance Hotel in Palm Springs, where nearly all of the 500 rooms were rented out by event organizers in order to ensure privacy.

By the way, $100 million would employ 200 people at $50k a year, for a decade.

Is it finally time for publicly funded elections? How about a short election cycle -- four months tops; no phone banking, no fund raising, no PACs, no super PACs, no advertisements, just yard signs and a series of six televised debates. Until then don't waste your money on campaign contributions; give it to Colbert's super PAC. Unfortunately, this knucklehead is the only one making sense right now.

Carolita Johnson: Contraceptive Autonomy

2012-02-10T18:55:24Z

I wonder why some are afraid to allow their employees to follow their own consciences when it comes to contraception?

Kris LoPresto: House, Star Wars, Super Bowl and More Top This Week's Like/Dislike List!

2012-02-10T18:41:20Z

Like any of my Dislikes or vis versa? Let me know in the comments along with what made it onto your list or contact me on twitter @krislopresto

Like: Super Bowl XLVI

The first score of the game was a safety! The game ended on a hail mary pass being batted down in the end zone! This game had it all. I still can't believe the Giants are the Super Bowl champions. What a season! It feels like a dream. I've pretty much given up on dating. I just can't imagine sharing my time and figuring out where to have brunch each weekend and other couple-y crap. But it dawned on me this morning that my Sundays are WIDE open now that the NFL is over. I honestly have no idea what to do with myself. Although, I think my cat will freak out if I'm not there on the couch for hours at a time like I was during the season. Sure, she ignores me the entire time but I know she appreciates me being there. I dunno, maybe I'll go see all these Oscar movies I've been putting off seeing. Hugo in 3-D? Warhorse? Ugh, this feels like a chore. Maybe I'll just clean up my apartment and watch Netflix.

Dislike: Star Wars: Phantom Menace in 3-D

Speaking of 3-D movies! This pile of shit is invading movie theaters this week and no amount of Mike Ryan posts can get me excited for it. Somehow George Lucas has taken the Star Wars name and made it the most "meh" franchise since Die Hard. Well done, sir! While some franchises have taken the reboot route and been given a much needed breath of fresh air (Batman, Star Trek, Spiderman) Star Wars went the other way with re-releasing the same movies over and over again with new technology. This is going to sound harsh but this franchise won't be relevant again until after Lucas passes away and someone else can re-imagine these stories differently. Until then, Star Wars is just not interesting.

Dislike: The Bourne Legacy Trailer

I don't really get it. Am I missing something? This character Jeremy Renner is playing is not Jason Bourne yet Bourne is in the title. What is Renner's name in this movie? What's the point of this movie? Why do they talk about Jason Bourne? Is there a cameo by Matt Damon? How does Hollywood not have any original ideas? Renner is pulling a Dwayne Johnson by taking starring roles in already proven franchises. The Rock has inserted himself in the Fast and the Furious franchise, GI Joe and something called The Journey 2. Renner on the other hand is jumping in on the Mission Impossible franchise and now the Bourne series. It would be great to see The Rock and Renner costar in Transformers or some other wildly successful franchise together. I think they would make a great duo actually. They'd be up there with Will Smith and Martin Lawrence. Hmm, maybe they can all team up to do Bad Boys 3!

Like: The New York Football Giants Ticker Tape Parade and Highlight Video

Yeah, the Giants make it onto the list twice this week. It's not every week or even every year the team you root for wins the freaking Super Bowl!! This is so very awesome. I've had a stupid shit-eating grin on my face all week. Besides the speeches at City Hall and the sea of humanity who came out to cheer the champs, the most memorable (and coolest moment) was when the team made it back to Giants, err, Metlife Stadium and a highlight reel of the season played on the monitors. I wasn't there but I heard it on the radio. Nothing says 'Giants football' like Bob Papa and Carl Banks, by the way. My buddy Brendan forwarded me the video and I dare you not to get pumped after watching it. There were even some angles from games I've never seen before! I'm pumped after watching it over and over but then I'm sad. I realize there will be no football until September 6th. 7 months! At least we know that game will be in New Jersey with the world champs.

Like: House Ending This Season

I used to watch House when I had cable. I miss cable. Or more specifically: I miss my DVR. I had drinks last night with an old friend from back home and we were reminiscing and catching up and I started to get nervous I'd miss my Thursday night shows. I actually told him I was gonna head out; that was at 7:15. He had a surprised look on his face like we were on a date and it was going great and I just blurted out that I wasn't feeling it and I wanted to leave. I ended up having another beer and I'm happy I did. Besides, I told myself I could watch the shows online. I need to get a DVR again. Somehow I've gone backwards and have appointment television again. So yeah, House is ending. I used to love this show but how many times can you watch a show that has the same beats week after week? Patient gets sick, goes to hospital, House makes fun of people, they treat the patient, patient gets worse, everyone is confused and then House figures it out. Fin.

Dislike: Jersey Shore Spin-offs

Let me just say that I used to love Jersey Shore. So very much! My buddy Aysha and I would watch it and enjoy every stupid moment with glee. We couldn't get enough! Part of the reason we watched was because we grew up with people like this (we're from Staten Island) and enjoy seeing them make asses of themselves. However, as the seasons pile up and the same cast keeps coming back year after year, it's just played out. One can only watch the Jersey Shore gang go to Karma so many times. The best thing for this cast would be to go away for a while and then make a big comeback and maybe we will appreciate them. But no! They are never going away. EVER! Pauly D gets a spin-off and so do Snooki and J-Woww. Sigh, this used to be a wonderful guilty pleasure, but no more. Maybe I'm better off without cable after all.

Rick Schwartz: Losing an Academy Award: The Aftermath

2012-02-10T18:05:12Z

This is the third of a four-part series. Read part two here.

Here's what you don't see on television: immediately after the last award is given, the TV cameras go off and the bright lights in the aptly named Kodak Theatre go on. This is now your worst nightmare. For security reasons, logistical stupidity and other associated causes, nobody can go anywhere for a few short but excruciating minutes. So basically, you have one group of really happy people with shiny gold statues, and then you have another group of people standing 5 feet away from them who are identical in every way -- except for the really happy part. And the statues.

You slowly shuffle out, as hugs and tears of joy envelop practically everyone around you. Around you, not actually you; a small but key distinction. Luckily, in anticipation of your Big Victory, you were invited to every major party. (If there were a way to gracefully rescind those invites now, they would surely do it.) There's little time to grieve -- it's happy face time! This classic look, perfected by every losing actor at every single award show, will now become your mask du jour. Except that they're professional actors who fake things for a living, and you're not -- so your smile will gradually erode into a half-scowl/half-smirk. That, you will soon discover, is why they are in front of the camera and you are not.

This will prove to be a very long night.

You try to act professionally, shuffling off to the first party along with the other Losers. You now see all human beings, however, through a brand new prism: people who were lucky enough to not be nominated, people who were kidding themselves if they thought they had a chance to win, and people who shouldn't be at these parties in the first place. Of course, every once in a while, amidst the crush of celebrity and wonderfully soft lighting, you spot an unmistakable glow: Someone holding that damn statue. Invariably, they're surrounded by the "can I hold it?" crowd, and wearing those goofy grins you've already come to hate. If they gave awards for envy, you'd be clinging to your little green guy right this second.

Much like the build-up to the Oscars themselves, there's a parade of more and more parties and you dutifully show your tortured face at each one. (Why, you ask yourself? Is there anything left to win?) Studio A has their particular winner front and center, bathed in the golden glow, holding court when you walk in so you're forced to pay your respects -- like it or not. Too much, too soon, so it's on to Studio B's party, where the mood is grim, since they spent way too much on advertising to win one lousy Art Director's award and you think, 'hey, I can hang with this crowd, but here comes their winner...' and everything brightens around them and suddenly you don't care if it's a 'minor category' or not, it's time to go. Studio C is way too celebratory for what's come their way earlier that night, giving you a brief pang of hope. Can you just pretend you won? Will people actually fall for that? (Maybe they didn't see the show?)

Then you pin down a mid-level accountant who's served 15 years there and he gives up the goods: they're using fuzzy math. Co-productions, split rights deals, independent divisions, movies they can pronounce -- they're counting them all and claiming them as victories for the home team. You're definitely a standout Loser in this crowd. Studio D is the one that took home the Big One, the one you were supposed to get. You definitely shouldn't be here -- the wound is way too fresh -- yet something draws you in. As you near the roped-off section where the Big Winners gloat, you suddenly devise a really solid, well-conceived plan -- grab their goddamn statues and run for the exits. Have your name engraved over theirs later. Deny you were ever at the party in the first place. But when you actually come face to face with them (after crawling under the legs of a mammoth bouncer and an emaciated actress), you both look at each other with a sense of déjà vu. We just had this moment a few hours ago at the ceremony, and the look on their faces says it all: you were a Loser then, you're a Loser now, and despite managing to squirrel your way into the VIP section just to ogle the Big Winners, you'll still be a Loser tomorrow. Needless to say, you slink off towards the valet.

To be continued...

Todd Hartley: I'm With Stupid: The Bizarro Mirror at the Center of the Universe

2012-02-10T18:01:59Z

Based on my routinely exhibited ability to make grandiose statements that can't be proven wrong but for which I nevertheless have no proof, I've always thought I would make an excellent astrophysicist. As such, I like to stay apprised of the latest trends in space exploration, and last week I saw a couple of news items that caught my eye.

The first concerned the creation of the world's largest mirror, which was built on a remote mountaintop in the Chilean desert and passed its scientific verification last week. The gargantuan virtual looking glass, which is composed of four huge, rotating telescopes and measures 424 feet in diameter, is now ready to start looking farther out into the heavens than any other land-based optical telescope ever has.

In the tradition of comically boring telescope names, the array at the Paranal Observatory has been christened the Very Large Telescope (VLT), and its opening was lauded by, among others, Frederic Gonte, the head of instrumentation for the observatory. Gonte called the event a "milestone in our quest for uncovering secrets of the universe."

I'm as big a fan of telescopes as anyone, so I don't want to seem as if I'm denigrating the VLT, but I don't know how much of a milestone this really is. I say this in light of the fact that on the same day as the announcement of the opening of the VLT, the Hubble space telescope released yet another stunning, close-up interstellar image, this one of a spiral galaxy in the Cetus constellation.

I'll be excited if the VLT can somehow see farther or take cooler pictures than the Hubble, but I think it's unlikely that a giant mirror is going to uncover any new universal secrets. This is not a knock on the VLT as much as it is an acknowledgment of the fact that there are some things we'll probably never know.

But what if we were able to create a mirror so large that it could see all the way to the center of the universe, if indeed there is one? What would we see? And what would we call it?

Reflection being what it is, I personally think we'd see some people with a giant mirror looking right back at us, and we'd call it Bizarro VLT, but that's just me. I bring the issue up, though, because in other science news that I know nothing about but consider myself an expert on, the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) is starting to see farther in the other direction than any particle accelerator ever has before.

A massive underground science project near Geneva, the LHC has been smashing protons together since 2009 in an attempt to see the tiniest thing in the universe, a theoretical particle called the Higgs boson. Back in December, the LHC announced the discovery of its first new particle, which it dubbed Chi_b (3P), a name that just rolls off the tongue.

Based on what we think we know about science, the Higgs boson, or "God particle," must exist and is the key to understanding how everything has mass. So far, however, it has defied all attempts to observe it. But what if we eventually detect it, and somehow we can see it? What will it look like?

Might I posit that the Higgs boson and the center of the universe, should we ever observe them both, will look exactly the same. If I had to guess, I would think they'll probably look a lot like the sun and other stars -- just very, very tiny ones and very, very large ones, respectively. Either that or they'll look like a bunch of people with a giant mirror.

The thing is, though, that even if we find the Higgs boson or pinpoint the moment the universe began, even if we get to the point where we think we know how everything works and came to be, I don't think it will get us any closer to understanding why everything works or why everything came to be. Those are still decisions that we'll all have to make on our own.

So what's my point, ultimately? I'm not sure, but I think this is my way of saying I agree with Newt Gingrich that it would be cool to have a permanent base on the moon. It would be exactly what we need to solve all of America's problems.

Is that true? I don't know, but like all good astrophysicists, I defy you to tell me I'm wrong.

Todd Hartley is the richest man in Bizarro World. Unfortunately, Bizarro dollars don't work here. To read more or leave a comment, please visit zerobudget.net.

Mark C. Miller: Money-Loving Woman Has Surgery to Look Like a Million Dollars

2012-02-10T17:55:40Z

Gould just prior to her operation. Photo: Getty Images/Eric Dreyer

BEVERLY HILLS, Calif. -- All her life, publicist Sandra Gould received compliments about her appearance. "People would tell me I was beautiful, sexy, and looked like a million dollars," revealed Gould. "The problem is, I never felt like a million dollars. I didn't even feel like a hundred thousand dollars."

But all that changed as a result of Gould dating a plastic surgeon. "Ted's crazy about me and would give me anything I wanted. So one day I said to him, 'Make me look like a million dollars.' He said, 'You already do.' But I said, 'No. I mean an actual million dollars.'" Gould's boyfriend finally understood -- and agreed. Four days after the nine-hour operation, the bandages came off. Her arms and legs were still there, but her torso had been stretched, molded, and engraved into an exact replica of a million dollar U.S. currency bill!

"It's the best thing that every happened to me," gushed Gould. "I'm the center of attention wherever I go. Countless magazines, newspapers and TV shows want to do stories about me. And best of all, Ted thinks I look hot. The other day, he told me I looked like a million dollars, and for the first time, I was able to reply, 'You know, I feel like a million dollars!'"

Gould would like just two more plastic surgery operations. "Ted's always telling me my lips are like two ripe cherries, and that my breasts are like luscious melons. And I got to thinking, 'Hey, why not?' So Ted operates again next month.

Brandon Thomas: Give Your Oppressed White, Straight, Christian Man a Valentine's Day Gift

2012-02-10T17:35:00Z

It's almost that time of year again when our society -- or, rather, our corporations -- project a view of what true love should look like. Some like to call it Singles Awareness Day or, if they aren't single, Valentine's Day.

But each year on this special holiday, a majority of us tend to overlook the most oppressed among us. I am, of course, talking about white, straight, Christian men.

For those of you living in the Southeastern part of the United States, you already know that it is most difficult to find a white, straight, Christian male to give a gift. No need to worry, though, because I have found the perfect two candidates who need your love.

The first is Stacey Campfield, a Tennessee state senator. Sen. Campfield was recently kicked out of a Knoxville restaurant, The Bistro at the Bijou, when the owner of the establishment recognized him from news coverage of his controversial "Don't Say Gay" bill and downright dangerous comments about gay people and HIV/AIDS.

Clearly, Campfield was discriminated against for his religious views. Everyone knows that the foundational beliefs of Catholicism -- Campfield's religion -- involve the concrete fact that HIV/AIDS was started by, as Campfield put it, "a guy [having intercourse with] a monkey."

Luckily, Scottie Thomaston understands the plight of white, straight, Christian men in the South, which Campfield himself compared to the treatment of Black Americans in the 1960s. Thomaston is the founder and creator of the Facebook group "Sit-ins for Stacey."

Thomaston made his point eloquently in his most recent Huffington Post article:

I will only say that I feel it's time to take a stand on behalf of all oppressed white, heterosexual, Christian males.

So to anyone who has ever been advised to eat at your second choice of restaurant, this is for you. ... To anyone who is, like Stacey, so thoroughly disenfranchised by our political and legal system that you can't catch a break, this is for you.

And so on this upcoming holiday, it is time to show Sen. Campfield that we understand his plight by giving him a Valentine's Day gift. That is what this day is all about, right?

The second oppressed white, straight, Christian male who needs some V-Day lovin' is Justin P. Gunter, a law student at Vanderbilt who recently wrote an article in The Tennessean outlining the injustice of having to allow gay people in religious organizations.

Indeed, this is a serious issue. If gay people were allowed to be voted into a Christian leadership position, just think of the consequences.

The "Good Book" would be replaced with Lady Gaga fan fiction, the traditional hymns would be replaced with Glee-esque, top-40 pop songs, and every Sunday would be "Drag Shows for Jesus." The Christian religion as we know it would be no more. Sadly, unlike "Sit-ins for Stacey," there isn't anything similar for Mr. Gunter.

Our fast-paced, multicultural, marginally-more-tolerant-than-it-used-to-be world is a scary place for some white, straight, Christian men. They're no longer sure of their place in our society.

So this Valentine's Day, do something special for the white, straight, Christian man in your life. While he may be an oppressed minority, you can make his day a little brighter with some Valentine's validation.

This piece was originally posted on The Sidelines.

Floyd Elliot: Congratulations, New York Giants Fans!

2012-02-10T17:08:49Z

Congratulations! With your team's win in the Super Bowl Sunday, you have no doubt already seen an immediate and vast improvement in the quality of your life! The air surely seems a bit cleaner -- but only for you and your fellow Giants fans -- and the sun seems a little warmer--and again, only for you and your fellow Giants fans. Well done! Kudos on your choice of team to root for! Here are just a few ways that your team's skill and determination has changed the world for you and those who, like you, were perspicacious enough to root for the winners in the most important contest the world has ever witnessed.

For Giants fans, the recession has ended and unemployment is at a record -5 percent. If you have not already been, you will soon be offered your choice of three different high-paying and fascinating positions, including astronaut, spy and television talk-show host. Additionally, a large pile of money will shortly be delivered to your home, suitable for spending, investing or just rolling around in naked.

Sadly, Patriots fans, the recession will not only continue for you, but will progressively worsen, until the only thing you have to eat are household pets that you will have to roast over a fire built out of a large pile of hair that you will be forced to shave off your body. (How sad, then, if you are both a Patriots fan and Swedish -- raw poodle for you, Lars.) Sure, that seems harsh, but did anyone force you to root for the Patriots? No sir, they did not.

More good news, Giants fans: all of you will receive degrees from Harvard! True, they're just English degrees, but really, you can't expect them to just give out degrees that mean you actually learned something. Patriots fans, on the other hand, will soon discover that they owe tens of thousands in student loans on a halfway-complete degree in cosmetology from Phoenix University -- hey, look on the bright side, Patriots fans: you're half a phoenix, in that your life has become ashes.

Remember what I said about the air smelling better? That was no metaphor! For you Giants fans, automotive emissions now smell like your choice of roses, bacon or a baby's head. For Patriots fans? The other end of the baby. Oh, and Giants fans? No need to worry about global warming! Your homes are safe -- and your mortgages have been paid off. You Patriots fans will be swimming to work through a rising tide of your own sewage.

Now some might claim that this distribution of fortune is unfair, but those people clearly have an interest in fostering Patriots-fan resentment and inciting fan warfare. Also, they're probably Patriots fans, and only out to forward their own interests. Ignore them, the sore losers. No one forced them to root for a team that was since Sunday night predestined for all time to lose.

John Blumenthal: Yesterday I Was Just a Sperm Cell. Now I'm a Person!

2012-02-10T15:07:04Z

God, I love President Santorum. Thanks to him, I'm a person now! I mean, embryos have got to be people, right? And six months ago, Congress declared that ova are people. So it's only fair. I mean, I'm half the equation, right?

Free at last! Free at last!

Since I'm a person now, I've decided to call myself Vincent. I've always liked that name. A few of my sperm friends have started playing poker every Friday night. Sometimes we go bowling. I'm not that great at it, but an amoeba friend of mine named Bob is giving me some pointers.

It's good to be a person!

Since the pro-lifers came up with this awesome personhood idea, I've been dating an ovum named Emily. She's a babe. We like to sit by the fireplace at night and drink brandy, or take walks on the beach at sunset (we met on Cellmatch.com). Obviously, we can't have sex because that would form an embryo, which is a no-no, but we can do... um... everything else.

We'd like to get married one day, but we can't decide where to live. She says the ovaries are cozy, but I like the gonads better. Cheaper housing. Besides, gonads are kind of my hometown and I have a lot of friends there. Maybe one day we could move to a more upscale neighborhood like the prostate, but it's not that stable there. I'm sure we'll figure it out.

Too bad we can't have kids.

Unfortunately, we sperm cells don't have much of a life span, so I'm keeping an eye on my cholesterol and jogging twice a week up and down the Fallopian Highway.

Legally, since I'm a person now, I can even vote. Can you imagine? But, since the economy sucks, I don't have a job, so I'm kind of poor and the Republicans have made it sort of difficult for us poor people to vote. My minority sperm pals have the same problem, as do some of the older members of the sperm community. That sucks.

Also, some of my sperm buddies are gay, but the Republicans won't let them get married. That sucks too.

One day, I'd like to meet a corporation since they're people now too just like me (thanks Supreme Court!), so we'd have a lot in common. I hear Citicorp is very nice, but a little sleazy. I think I'd get along pretty well with Exxon-Mobil or Chevron or General Electric. But they're all rich people, so they're kind of out of my league right now.

Maybe one day I'll get rich too. In fact, I'm pretty sure I will, and when I do, I certainly don't want to pay a lot of taxes. Taxes are evil. Go Republicans! You rock.

One of the things I don't like about being a person is that now I can be drafted and go to war. I don't really get that. I mean, the pro-lifers are crazy about fetuses (and now sperm cells and ova too, yay!), but once you're an adult, they don't really give a damn if you get killed in a war or executed in prison.

What's up with that?

Anyway, so far I have no complaints. Well, maybe a few. Mail delivery is kind of slow and the cable guy never shows up on time.

But I can live with that.

Spencer Green: God Endorses Unknown Ohio Man for President

2012-02-09T22:02:03Z

Following months of speculation, God has endorsed Edward Brimball, a resident of Shaker Heights, Ohio, as president of the United States. "God would like to see Edward Brimball as commander in chief," said Pete, a spokesangel for God. "Edward is kind, he's smart, he gets things done, and he's the type of person with whom God would like to have a beer, if God could assume corporeal form and drink beer."

Brimball, a 45-year-old accountant and father of two, was surprised by the news of God's endorsement. "I'm very flattered," he told reporters. "Especially since I haven't voted in the last three elections. Also, I'm an agnostic and this endorsement doesn't change my doubts about God." When asked if the news has affected Brimball in any way, Edward's wife Stacy replied, "Not at all. In fact, I keep telling him to add 'Endorsed by God' on his business cards for the tax season, but he just won't listen."

Republican presidential contenders Rick Santorum, Mitt Romney, and Newt Gingrich -- who had vigorously lobbied for God's endorsement -- have tried to meet with Brimball to see if he might be interested in a vice presidential slot. "I really don't want to run for any kind of political office," said Brimball. "Quite frankly, the thought of it sickens me." When asked why God would endorse someone like Brimball who questions His own existence and has no intention of running for president, spokesangel Pete responded, "That is exactly why God endorsed him."

Andy Ostroy: My Colonoscopy: Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself

2012-02-09T22:00:22Z

I went for my first colonoscopy this week. I'm 52 years old, and technically, by medical standards, two years late in taking the examination. The truth is, I put it off out of an absolute dread of the procedure and the preparation.

It's important to understand and appreciate a few facts: The American Cancer Society estimates an annual 141,000+ Americans will be diagnosed with colorectal cancer and that roughly 35% of those stricken will die. It is the third most commonly diagnosed cancer and the third leading cause of cancer deaths in the United States. Approximately 90% of all cases occur in people over the age of 50, and at a 35-40% higher rate in men. It's a particularly slow growing cancer, developing over a period of 10-15 years. Which is why it's critical to have a screening exam such as a colonoscopy every five years.

So at the aggressive urging of my girlfriend Phoebe, I finally made the appointment, albeit with uber-trepidation. Full disclosure: I'm a really lousy patient. I have obsessive fears of sickness and death (exacerbated by the shocking murder of my wife Adrienne five years ago) and tend to avoid doctors and hospitals unless I am incapacitated.

I'd heard horror stories about the prep part. Guys would tell me how the night before, after eating nothing all day, they had to drink about 42 gallons of a disgusting liquid that tasted like a pasty vomitous combo of chalk and Elmer's Glue, and that the rest of the night was filled with nightmarish bowel movements and desperate prayers to Jesus. I also made the mistake of watching videos on YouTube that demonstrated in gory detail every single aspect of this hellish ordeal. It literally scared the shit out of me (pun intended).

About a week before the exam my doctor mailed me instructions. I was told to purchase two 10 oz bottles of Magnesium Citrate and a Fleet enema. Leading up to prep day I was an emotional wreck. You'd have though I was going in for penile reconstruction surgery. At 6:30pm I bravely stuck a straw in one bottle, put it in my left hand, and held a raspberry lemonade chaser in my right. I was pleasantly surprised to find the medicine tasting almost like a Sprite. I sipped it up pretty quickly and waited an hour to drink the second bottle.

During this period I felt slight gurgling in my stomach, but little else. I drank the other bottle and naively asked Phoebe around 8:30, "Shouldn't something be happening by now?" Perhaps I did something wrong. Maybe the lemonade cancelled out the Magnesium Citrate? And then it hit. And hit. And hit again. And... then hit some more. And some more after that. Then a lot more. And even more. And even more than that. I basically spent the next ten hours in and out of the bathroom experiencing things no human being should ever experience.

Throughout the night I heard sounds coming from my stomach that I suspect the people of Pompeii never heard even as Vesuvius erupted. My bowel movements had the speed and ferocity of a tsunami. If I could only get a shower head this powerful. And it was like a Great White Shark had been cut open by Roy Scheider. All sorts of things came gushing out, like the pennies I swallowed as a kid, missing keys, beer cans and some small fish.

To be sure, I left my soul, and my dignity, in that bathroom that night. The experience left me weak, utterly exhausted and thirstier than I've ever been in my life. And if that wasn't enough I then had to insert the enema, just to make sure my insides were fully depleted before we left the house. "Lie on your left side and stay that way until you feel the need to evacuate," the instructions read. Evacuation? Is that what we're calling it now? At this point, "evacuation" was what I thought my neighbors might be doing to escape whatever the hell they thought was happening in my apartment that might hurt them.

An hour later I was inside the exam room, my horribly dispirited ass exposed by the always-humiliating open-back gown they had me wear. Waiting for the anesthesiologist and doctor, I curiously glanced around the room and immediately spotted the dreaded beast: the seemingly 40-foot black Anaconda-like hose-camera they were going to insert up my now empty canal.

Minutes later, as they were prepping to give me some Propofol, we talked about how this stuff killed Michael Jackson. They assured me my fate would be different than the drug-addicted bizarro King of Pop. "Think of someplace nice for a vacation," they then said and in seconds I was dancing like Dorothy in the poppy fields. I woke up about an hour later. Hadn't felt a thing, and felt pretty good albeit a little groggy. I lay there alone thinking about the events of the past 24 hours and was glad it was over.

In all honesty, there was truly nothing to dread. My intense, almost paralyzing fear had been overblown and unwarranted. Sure, it was a mighty unpleasant experience the night before, but the worst part of that was simply having to go to the bathroom so much. The prep drink was more than bearable and the procedure itself felt no different than had I taken a simple nap in the exam room.

There was one final piece of this story that is a bit nerve-wracking: getting the results. After sitting a few minutes in the waiting room I was asked to meet the doctor in his office. He stood up, smiled (oh God, why is he smiling?) and proceeded to close the door (oh God, why is he closing the door?"). He's smiling, I thought, because he wants to be reassuring that this cancer I now have is a "good cancer." And he's closing the door so that no one can hear me scream, "What the fuck do you mean "good cancer!?"

"You're exam went as well as I could possibly hope for," he quickly said. "Everything is perfect. See you in five years."

Music to my ears, and colon...

Pablo Andreu: Liberals Still Pretending Like They Might Not Vote for Obama

2012-02-09T21:03:03Z

A recent CNN poll found that 82 percent of registered Democrats are still acting like they're debating who they're going to vote for in 2012. The remaining 18 percent are so liberal that they feel it would be uncouth to pretend.

The poll asked 1,329 registered Democrats two questions. The first was, "Will you vote for President Obama?" Out of three possible answers (yes, no, still pretending), the majority of respondents admitted that they were still pretending.

"We need a bolder president that isn't going to offer the Republicans concessions every step of the way," said Natalie Smith, a registered Democrat who has voted Democrat 35 years in a row.

"Someone's that's not going to let healthcare bills get weakened by piling on amendments. Hmm, maybe Romney. Haha, just kidding. I can agree with Republicans here: Mormons are weird."

"He should have jammed liberal policy down the Republicans' throats when the Democrats had Congress," said Freddie Taylor, a hippie progressive left of Fidel Castro who recently joined the waning Occupy movement to score some marijuana. "I don't know, man, maybe I'll flirt with the idea of voting for an Independent or not voting at all before actually voting for Obama."

The second poll question was, "Seriously, are you going to vote for Obama?" One hundred percent of respondents said that they would.

Originally featured in The Daily Pygmy.

Soraya Chemaly: Republican Candidates to Debate Whose Sperm Is Most Sacred

2012-02-09T20:55:09Z

In the wake of Rick Santorum's three-state primary and caucuses win this week, Republican candidates have agreed to debate whose sperm is actually most sacred.

The debate, scheduled to coincide with the simultaneous annual meetings of the Quiverfull movement and the National Pessary Association, will be moderated by four virginal teenage girls who, although not in possession of their own sperm, are confident that they will have personal contact with sperm sometime during their reproductive lives. The candidates agreed to the 4-person moderated panel after rejecting Janet Howell, the Virginia state senator who recently attached a rectal exam for erectile dysfunction amendment to an anti-abortion bill, as a sole moderator. Given enduring evangelical antagonism towards Mitt Romney and Gingrich's serious problems with God-fearing women voters, this final debate, which recognizes the influence of both Santorum and Paul, could make a vas deferens in who wins the candidacy.

It is widely accepted that whereas neither Rick Santorum nor Ron Paul can secure the Republican presidential candidacy but both have the ability to split the seminal vote. Newt Gingrich's claim to be the one, true conservative is offset by the fact that Mitt Romney, a Massachusetts moderate, served as a Mormon bishop, an unimpeachable bone-a fide in some spermist circles.

Of all of the candidates, it is Rick Santorum who has set the tone for the debate. Among the remaining presidential hopefuls, Santorum has a clear advantage. Not only did the Duggar family give him their bus to use during the Iowa caucuses, but he has been a staunch and consistent anti-sperm-waste crusader, thinks contraception is "harmful to women" and believes that birth control should be illegal for everyone.

"Sperm is really important," explains an anonymous source close to Rick Santorum, "There is no doubt that the role of sperm as been marginalized during the past 50 years by radical women seeking equality. Rick Santorum wants to fix that."

At least one 2011 survey of sexually active women revealed that a substantial percentage of pregnancies, including unwanted ones, were in fact due to sex that involved sperm.

Another study, of blind lemmings conducted during the lunar phase that took place during last year's National Football League's annual convention dinner, seemed to reinforce his belief that contraception is bad for women. The study revealed that hormones secreted by female lemmings just prior to their annual suicide run emulate those found in oral hormonal contraceptives.

In addition to conservative, religious voters, Santorum strategists believe that the debate could help him with the broader audience of all women of childbearing years. Guttmacher Institute surveys confirm that there are 62 million U.S. women in this cohort, seven in 10 of whom would rather not get pregnant, even though Santorum wants them to.

"This debate could be a game changer," says a key player. "This gives him the opportunity to convince these voters to cede their reproductive rights on the basis of his having not just sperm, but more sacred sperm."

Although Ron Paul has been almost silent on the issue of sperm, his woman-as-reproductive-machine position reflects a popular 13th century understanding of sperm as an energetic teeny tiny man who runs around inside the vessel of a woman.

Despite their differences, the candidates agree that radical social changes that took place during their collective formative years resulted in a large percentage of women gaining control over the conception, fertilization, implantation, gestation and birth that takes place in their bodies. As any Leading Father with Family Values knows, sperm, its production, possession and sacrality, is the only remaining lynchpin to patriarchal control of reproduction. All of the candidates have been outspoken about their firm commitment to inequality for women on this basis.

In anticipation of radical, left-wing liberal media questions about whether or not, when taken to its logical conclusion, this approach doesn't lead to an exponential increase in unintended pregnancies and abortions, the candidates have agreed to form a manly scrum on stage as they light a small condom-shaped burning bush on fire and mumble words that sound like "we know what's best for women."

**Although this post is a parody, the links are all real.

Chris Michael: Santorum's Fight for Religious Freedom Inspires Others to Restrict Freedom, Too

2012-02-09T20:03:55Z

WASHINGTON -- Thrilled to discover American voters still knew his name, Republican presidential candidate Rick Santorum wasted no time after recent caucus victories to attack Obama's contraception stance as 'trampling' religious freedom.

"I think I speak for many Americans when I say that expanding personal choice is the exact opposite of freedom," an irate Santorum said, flagellating himself on MSNBC's Morning Joe.

Inspired by Santorum's iron-fisted crusade, conservative groups across America are demanding restrictions everywhere as an expression their own religious freedoms.

The Association of Jewish Noshers called for an all-out ban on breakfast sausage patties, saying, "Simply knowing that someone, somewhere, might choose to nibble a Jimmy Dean is an affront to religious expression."

The Church of Scientology wasn't exactly sure what it stood for, but released its own press statement saying, "Yeah. What they said."

House Speaker John Boehner vowed that Congress would reverse the Obama contraception mandate. "It violates our Constitution," he said, casting an orange glow across the House floor yesterday.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," the White House said at last night's press conference. "It doesn't matter what we do, these people are against it. Fine. If that's how they want to play, starting tomorrow, President Obama wants to privatize Social Security -- no, wait, he's going to get rid of it altogether. And, uh, we're bringing back public witch burnings, the slave trade, and curing the sick with leeches. Not covered by Medicare, obviously."

Upon hearing the White House's statement, a conflicted Boehner sat bolt upright in his coffin, shaking his fist, "You win this round, Obama. You win this round."

Sybil Adelman Sage: My Affair with Jack Kennedy

2012-02-09T19:12:31Z

I was 19 when I was offered a summer internship at the White House. Almost immediately, I got a call from Dave Powers. Dave was known as "the first friend" and had the president's ear. His other parts, I would later tease, were public domain. Dave asked if I'd like to go swimming at lunch time. "Swimming?!! You've got to be kidding. It takes three hours to straighten my hair."

"Well, maybe you would just stop by?" I was curious, and what could it hurt? When I got to the pool, Dave looked delighted to see me. "We have bathing suits," he offered. A girl whose mother had her putting down paper on toilet seats doesn't wear a communal bathing suit. I pretended to be considering it while bending over and testing the water with my hand. I gestured that it was too cold for me.

Then I noticed Jack reaching for the pool thermometer and signaling to somebody. "Now maybe you'll join me for a swim?" he called out, heading towards me.

Right, in a suit that Evelyn Lincoln wears when she swims laps! I used the excuse we all used back then. "I have my friend, Mr. President."

"Jack," he said. "Another time?"

Persistence is a good quality if you want to be president, but it gets annoying when someone keeps pestering you about the same thing. Jack only wanted me to go schlepping around the White House to see the parts they don't show on the public tour. I'd seen enough of Jackie's television special to know that they'd done what dogs do to mark their territory, pissing on all the old smells and furniture that was good enough for the Roosevelts, Eisenhowers and Trumans. Jack finally wore me down, and I agreed to see the family quarters. He pointed out the wallpaper panels from the American Revolution in the new private dining room, showed me the oval room and the Cabinet Room. I drew the line at going into Mrs. Kenney's bedroom. Maybe she'd left some of those Chanel suits on the bed or, worse, the floor? I wouldn't have wanted her poking around my dorm room while I was out riding which, of course, I didn't do because you can fall off and get hurt. Jack was particularly proud of a trophy swordfish he'd mounted on the wall of Roosevelt's "Fish Room."

"My family gets fish in a store from a guy named Murray. I didn't know you could get it yourself and save on the middle man." Jack laughed. "We don't eat swordfish. It doesn't have scales so it's not kosher." I liked making him laugh. "We also don't mount our food on the wall."

There was something so sweet and boyish about Jack, who was so eager for my approval. After looking at more wallpaper and antiques, I blurted out, "You don't think it's a bit much?" I was immediately sorry and tried to soften what I'd said, but knew there was only one thing that would undo the damage. That night I let him go past second base. We went all the way in the Situation Room. I wondered if that's how it got the name.

I'm not one to put up with nonsense. "A grown man doesn't play with rubber ducks," I told him the first time we took a bath together. "Okay, so there's a Cold War. That doesn't mean you can play with rubber ducks. Put them back in John-John's bathroom." The ducks were history. I did a little futzing with the staples in the private kitchen, making sure there would always be diet soda and horseradish for me in the fridge, way in the back where it wouldn't be noticed.

Relationships require compromise so I finally agreed to get into the White House pool with Jack and Dave. I brought my own bathing suit. The temperature was a comfortable 92, adjusted to make me happy. "What did you say?" was my response to something Jack had just said, which happened a lot because I never got used to his ridiculous Boston accent.

"Dave looks upset," he enunciated clearly. "Why don't you take care of him?"

"He's probably worried about the Cuban Missile Crisis. That's your job, not mine."

I didn't think of it as an affair, but whatever it was might have gone on longer if not for the waiting thing. That became an issue. "I don't like feeling I'm on call. I'm always having to make myself available and then I wait... until you're done writing papers, doing research, talking on the phone to someone more important than I am, having manicures," he summoned up the courage to complain.

Am I sorry? Nah.If not for Jack, I wouldn't have gotten an A in American History or a book deal!