strate.cution

Time to Re-inVENT Yourself.

That was the annual theme, but it would seem that many attendees of the annual Vent Haven Ventriloquy ConVENTion 2005 had already done a pretty good job of
this on their own.

With names that live somewhere between soft-core porn stars and drag queens,
the most ordinary little old ladies, car salesmen and the unfortunate children of ubernerds re-invent themselves annually as ghoulish caricatures made of wood and foam. Waco the Cowboy Weasel. Magnolia Peckerwood. Spankee Doodle. Chadwick McNutley. I could not make this shit up if I tried.

Vent Haven is the world’s only museum dedicated to the art of ventriloquism, and a delightful little sideshow nestled in a suburb of Fort Mitchell, Kentucky. It is home to an impressive collection of dummies and historical ventriloquy paraphernalia from around the world. Founded by Cincinnati native William Shakespeare Berger (again, not making this up), the museum is actually a residential home with three added structures that take up most of the yard. I could go into how disturbingly compelling it is to stare into a sea of dead eyes and lurid grins, but this you’ll really have to experience for yourself.

 Back to the convention. Those who know me know that I am totally  game for chatting up the odd oddball, but the Vent Haven Convention was an experience for which I arrived hopelessly psychologically unprepared. These folks have created a sophisticated social structure that doesn’t actually require talking to each other. If their puppets get along, all is right with the world. It took a good part of an hour to synchronize, to pick up the nuances of their interactions, to read between the lines of furry eyebrow trembles and awkward gestures. I felt like a chain-smoking Jane Goodall. Except more afraid.

The vendor rooms were a sight to behold. Puppet nerds talking to other puppet nerds about their puppet problems. Gay dummies flirting with other gay dummies. Animal dummies bonding cross-species. Religious dummies preaching to atheist dummies. This apparent unity gave me pause: if dummies ran the U.N., might the world be a happier place?

As a fellow nerd, I have to give respect. These kids have found each other. Kind of like marrying your Vulcan soulmate in the paper castle at RenFest.

I could go on, but words are truly insufficient.

The Vent Haven Convention 2007 will be held without fail, July 12-15, at the Drawbridge Inn in Ft. Mitchell, KY.

...he is so innately insight-driven and humane. unlike most business strategies I've seen lately.
i want steve martin as a client.

"Some people have a way with words...other people, not have way." 
- Steve Martin

So I'm on my way home from the gym, after work. Waiting patiently for the light, a white car speeds towards me, wrong-way down the street, and screeches around the corner I am about to cross.

Huh. Good thing I waited for the light, I think.
I am a chronic jaywalker.

The car crashes to a stop up on the curb around the corner. a guy jumps out and runs like a bat out of hell, back towards the intersection he just peeled through, past me, down the street.

2 SFPD cars come wailing around both corners, guns drawn, crawling all over the empty car, searching the alleys between the houses.

I am so helpful.

"Excuse me." I say quite canadian-ly to the nice man in the swat gear and the automatic rifle.
I fucking love america.
I walk towards him.

"Sorry, miss, you can't come into this block, there's a manhunt, guns are drawn."

I smile sweetly. "Well, the man hunt better move down the street, because the man who popped out of that car just ran by me in the opposite direction."

Blank stare.

"Thatta way." I point plaintively down the street, desperate for a sign of comprehension.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"You're quite welcome."

You know, sometimes, all you have to do is ask.
But I have a sneaking suspicion that I took all the fun out of their Tom Clancy play-date.

Addendum: 
How do you tell a real cop from a leather daddy costume in San Francisco?
This is not a joke, this is a real-life problem. Every time I see a cop in this city, I have to supress my instinct to scream, "Hey girl!" and stuff a fiver in his pants.

Sorry, the political rant will have to wait one more day.
Because of this. 

Pardon me while I have a fashion whore moment.
I LOVE comme des garcons.

I have never understood the emaciated peacocking of dandy designers who want nothing more than to bind girls up in frills and feathers and fur, like the twittering little birds of christian lacroix or vivienne westwood (props to her though, crazy old decadent twat that she is) or god forbid, the insipid wedding fascisti uniforms of vera wang. this princess has officially flown the coop, leaving the crackled gold gilt and mouldy taxidermy behind.

I like suits. I like strong, asexual, dark, clean-lined suits. I like suits that make women look like they have something to hide, like a machete or a third arm. There is something profoundly punk to me about a suit.

Ok, I'm finished.
We will now return you to your regularly scheduled bitter political rant.

UPDATE: Glen Beck voted Olbermann's Worst Person in the World

Glen Beck is the new-ish pundit on CNN.

He is also a spectacular douche bag.

Beck is the first person in media political punditry who may just be as stupid as Rita Cosby. I mean, there's O'Reilly and Coulter and all those other inflammatory cowards who have no interest in reporting news. But at least - and it pains me to say it - at least they have some brains. I know, I know, their brains are working on nothing but ways to feed both their pocketbook and their rampant narcissistic personality disorder. But I have this uncanny feeling that isn't going away:

I suspect that Glen Beck is stupid as a bag of hair.

I am still at a loss for words in regard to the following exchange between Beck and Keith Ellison, first-time congressman for the state of Minnesota. Oh, and he happens to be Muslim.

BECK: Thank you. I will tell you, may I -- may we have five minutes here where we're just politically incorrect and I play the cards face up on the table?

ELLISON: Go there.

BECK: OK. No offense, and I know Muslims. I like Muslims. I've been to mosques. I really don't believe that Islam is a religion of evil. I -- you know, I think it's being hijacked, quite frankly.

With that being said, you are a Democrat. You are saying, "Let's cut and run." And I have to tell you, I have been nervous about this interview with you, because what I feel like saying is, "Sir, prove to me that you are not working with our enemies."

And I know you're not. I'm not accusing you of being an enemy, but that's the way I feel, and I think a lot of Americans will feel that way.

ELLISON: Well, let me tell you, the people of the Fifth Congressional District know that I have a deep love and affection for my country. There's no one who is more patriotic than I am. And so, you know, I don't need to -- need to prove my patriotic stripes.

You bet your fat white ass Ellison doesn't need to prove his patriotic stripes. Upstanding taxpayers in Minnesota just elected Ellison to represent their interests in Washington. And I don't know if Mr. Beck is aware of this little-known fact, but Muslims can, in extenuating circumstances, be Americans. Especially if they were born here. Sometimes to American parents. On American soil. In the American fucking state of fucking Minnesota. No offense, Glen Beck. I know assholes. I like assholes. I've been to their frat houses, their football games, I've entertained their slanted, boring conversation.  But I really do believe that ignorance is THE religion of evil.

Sir, I think you need to prove to all of us that you are not working with our enemies.
And now, so does CNN.

I can't help it...this little clip is so petulant, so despairing, that I can't stop listening to it.
Poor W, he's about to learn that you can't always get what you want. And that sometimes, life is fair, which means he is up a creek with no paddles. And no one to tell him what to say, evidently. I bet anyone $100 that behind the podium, there was a litle foot stomp action as he uttered these simple little words. Awww. our little boy is growing up so fast.

Ten things that I think are batshit crazy:

1. Ohio goes Democratic. Cincinnati keeps Jean Schmidt. Are you all retarded? I asked you a question, retard.

2. Rick Santorum brought his 20-week-old dead fetus home for his children to cuddle. This won him votes in Pennsylvania.

3. Today's headline from the Seattle Post Intelligencer: 'Rumsfeld Becomes Another Iraq War Victim'. I know, how about  'The Seattle Post Goes and Fucks Itself'.

4. James Dobson instructs fathers to let their sons see their 'big boy' penis is the shower, to show them who's boss. He no longer has time for his brother-in-christ Haggard, apparently due to his immoral sexual conduct.

5. Stephen Baldwin is reborn and calls himself a "Psycho for Christ". I expected more from him. Like a date rape trial or a hooker in the new patio concrete.

6. I am starting to think Scientology is normal.

7. Fish, and sometimes frogs, still rain down from the sky. It happened recently in India, and no one cares but me.

8. John Negroponte is the anti-christ, and no one seems to notice. Honduran death squads ring any bells??! Awww, forget it, just look at him. He's a giant skeleton head on some popsicle sticks.

9. We no longer have a TV, and I still managed to find out about Britney Spears' divorce. This makes me really really angry.

10.  Republicans repeatedly pull out their brilliant, top-secret psy-ops weapon, "Do you want the terrorists to win?", and people act like it's a NORMAL QUESTION.

I love my friends! I miss my friends! And you should know why. Right now. If you know these people, don't embarrass them. If you don't, forgive my boring self-indulgence.

Linsey: Linsey, you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. I miss hearing you say, Hello friend! It is beautifully corny and refreshingly honest at the same time, which pretty much sums you up. You will always be my favourite business traveler and savvy international woman, and I promise we will do it again someday when you come visit.

Kricket: If I knew I would never hear you say miiikeviiiine again in my entire life, I would jump off a bridge right now. You are so much fun and wonderfully zen at the same time, and you are definitely one of the most clever chicks I know. You take care of so many people who don't recognize that you need taking care of too. I recognize it. Sell your house, come here now, and find someone to worship you.

Demanda: God, I miss you kiddo. I miss your laugh and the naivete that you don't even realize that you have, because you are so busy being a tough little bitch. You are dear to me like my little sisters. And you're a nutcase, which makes you endlessly interesting to someone who secretly just wants to make documentaries. Please don't play dodgeball any more, I worry.

Kitzi: Aaaargh! You make everything okay, all the time. I cannot overstate the value your friendship brings to my life. You are also a deeply odd person, which is what happens when a subversive grows up and lives out his life in the midwest, far and away from his tribe of aliens.  You are so much smarter than you know, and your strange mix of humility and cockiness makes great conversation. Which you are pretty much oblivious to. Your grin will be a sight for sore eyes.
 
Chris B: Thanks so much for reconnecting with me. You are one of the most endearing people I have ever met. And thank you for remembering that your roommate was a dick to me after watching Shannon Briggs lose to Lennox Lewis some eight long years ago. And finally, thank you for being my secret boxing boys'-night-out friend. It was appreciated more than you know.

Gord: You were my first love and my first hate. Thank you for coming to my wedding and not smoking that joint in front of my cousin who is an FBI agent. It was big of you. Thank you for being a strange sort of life line at Scottlea, and thank you for trying to join the marxist/leninist party with me when we were ten. You have always pushed my head really, really hard. In hindsight, it was good.

Joe: Jo Jo, when are you going to come and live in my walk-in closet? Not that you belong in a closet, with the way you take that banana. Your silence has never been uncomfortable, and I miss it like I would miss laughter if it didn't exist any more. Incidentially, there is no one who has a more contagious laugh than you. In my heart, you will always live at the corner of Gay and High Streets.

Kris L: Spending more time with you before I left Cinci is one thing I wish I could have done. You are pure wickedness. You are also incredibly talented and I miss your toque...I saw the same stripey beanie on the bus last week, and smiled. I owe you 2 padlocks. 

Why do I always manage to upset the christian folk?
Maybe it's because I post with titles like How Pastor Mark Driscoll Wrecked my Saturday. Or maybe it's because I told him to suck my dick when I don't have one.

Or maybe, just maybe, I am starved for better answers than I get. Answers to questions like, why do creationists tell children the earth is 6000 years old, when it's simply not the truth? Why don't we strive for intellectual rigor in supporting our belief systems? For example, if the earth is more than 6000 years old, which of course, it is, why don't we embrace and explore the paradigm shift that it creates in faith? Can't faith simply accommodate it, learn from it, be better for it? Or perhaps, as Richard Dawkins submits, are faith and evidence forever on a collision course, set to destroy one another?  It would seem to me that religious belief is a path to truth, a way to satisfy our longing to understand the whys and hows of the universe that we live in. But when this path to truth becomes a dogmatic construct in and of itself, doesn't it implode, destroying the very thing it sets out to understand?

Since when does truth not set us free? I will never, ever be ashamed to ask questions. And I will never, ever be ashamed to seek a better understanding of humanity. And I will never be ashamed of striving to follow a moral compass - compassion, humankindness, acceptance, and intellectual honesty - without the aid of a benevolent, or malevolent, imaginary friend. I am tired of tiptoeing around religion as though it were a cake about to fall. Or rather, a kingdom about to crumble.

On a less soap-boxy note, the beach was incredible this weekend. Me and husband took the dog to Fort Funston with Jere. Everyone is SF is so incredibly nice to each other, it really warms my heart. Even the dogs are nice to each other, which to me is more miraculous than intelligent design.

Will I miss the existential silence of snow? Perhaps.
But right now, I am too busy throwing sticks into the ocean. Over and over and over again.