Couldn’t Say Shit ‘Cause He Had a Mouthful

I was watching the NHL playoffs the other night on Versus (Go Pens!) when the rink-side reporter had an outtake moment, except it was live. When they cut back to the studio, the announcer there stumbled on his words as well. I figured it was because he was pretty much lying when he said technical difficulties were the culprit. Maybe it wasn’t even a blatant lie, but more of a fall-back lie in the industry. Even as little or automatic the lie was, something clicked in his brain and he stumbled on the words. There must be something in our brain that makes lying more difficult than not. I don’t mean to say it isn’t possible to lie fluently, but simply to say you may be more likely to be tongue-tied when trying to bullshit someone.

This made me think of our befuddled commander-in-chief and his notorious love-hate relationship with his first language. He has been ridiculed and mocked and imitated and satirized since the 2000 election campaign for his speech follies. Remember when he said “strategery”? Me neither; because he didn’t say it. Will Farrell said it in a piece of comic genius. Take that little factoid and put it in your lockbox for safe keeping, lest it get swiftboated by truthiness.

The presidential language gaffes have been easy to find and come across. When someone speaks as much and as often as the president, they’re bound to screw up. But many people speak as often and screw up far less. I would like to put forth the theory that the president fumbles his phrases on account of his having to lie through his teeth so very often. He must speak to a much larger audience than the hockey announcer and he tells much bigger lies. This administration has been downright organic in growing their secret files by heaping loads of bullshit on them. If George W. Bush stumbles on words and can’t find the right thing to say, it is certainly helped along because he is lying through his teeth. That and he may well be illiterate. Maybe this explains Laura’s pet cause of literacy.

My Soul Is a Black Hole

Language Origins

Language is a funny thing. Try thinking outside the bounds of language and one can find that thought, as well as communication, is limited by language. At the boundary of precise language there comes into play a new set of words that are blurry conglomerations of the even blurrier concepts on the other side of this boundary. These blurry concepts aren’t much more than feelings or hunches; one can feel pretty sure there is an “other” side of the boundary between the materialistic and the purely conceptual, but the things on this other side cannot be put to a form – at least not very easily.

The concept of a soul or a spirit is one such word that exists on the blurry conceptual side of this language boundary. Culture is perhaps the largest producer of these ambiguous words and the greatest influence on our individual conceptions around them. Our culture – itself a pretty conglomerated word – could consist of lots of factors from our personal tastes and the personal tastes of those around us to religious and social traditions. The culture of religion and religious teaching that has been ever-present in our history colors much of our language and the concepts behind ambiguous words.

The idea of a soul, especially, has its roots in religion. To a believer in these general religious concepts, the idea of a soul is akin to having an avatar for a person in the unseen spirit world where God, angels and demons dwell. This avatar is lifted to such great importance that the actual physical life of the holder of the avatar is held in less esteem. This avatar then becomes the ante in a high-stakes game of karmic poker. Behave poorly or outside the desired doctrine of a particular religion and that ante is lost forever.

Having rejected the common religious mythology of the soul, I am left with the phrase in the language, but now without an anchor.

Wrapping Things Up

Just like the Penguins closed out their first playoff series win in too many years, I have made the final touches on a dynamite (if I don’t say so myself!) exploration of, or more rightly for, my soul.  This finished post will kick off the virtual mixer where we can discuss our different conceptions of spirit and the soul until we have a few cocktails and the conversation spirals from philosophy into politics and finally settles on the “I love you, man”  drunkenness of a different kind of spirit.  I have my Nadurra all ready to go.

The finished product will post around 4 or 5 pm EDT on Saturday.  This is just a reminder.

Again, if anyone would like to contribute or opine, drop by and leave a comment.  If unable to attend Saturday night, comments could always be posted later or sent to me early to post.  I hope to see everyone there.

Super Sandwich Goodness

My previous post about sandwiches made quite a stir. The metaphor was kind of lost in the lettuce of dispute over the status of an open-faced sandwich as something other than a sandwich. Well, the metaphor was only added as an excuse to write about sandwiches. So this time I’ll give you all sandwiches all the time.

As I previously stated, I love sandwiches. I may even have a sandwich problem. I also have an enabler. Around Thanksgiving A___ had the idea to take the quirkiness of stuffin’ muffins - stuffing made in a muffin pan - and making it in a loaf pan in order to cut it into slices and make a leftover turkey sandwich between two slices of stuffing. The idea had a mad scientists kind of appeal that I drooled over.

The stuffing bread makes interesting sandwich material, in a particle board kind of way. The stuffing was made slightly more moist than usual in order for it to hold together. A couple of days layer, the loaf was cut and toasted to add some stiffness and strength to the stuffing bread. Then we piled on turkey, candied sweet potatoes, (maybe some red onion), and some homemade cranberry sauce (not the gelatinous stuff from a can). I was worried that the bread may not hold out, but it worked like a champ and luscious leftovers were transformed into succulent sandwich goodness.

There are pictures to document the event below.

It’s Fake, You know

I remember a time when, in youthful innocence, I would watch, follow, and enjoy professional wrestling.  I would actually be upset when someone would tell me, “It’s all fake, you know?”  I thought for sure it was real, that the outcomes were completely decided by honest competition.  As a discerning adult I now know better, but such entertainment offerings just evolve and don’t go away completely.

Some people, with the realization that the wrestling is scripted, continue to enjoy it and are entertained by it.  Some people watch the harlequin equivalent to professional wrestling - soap operas (where the professional wrestlers are put out to stud and grow long, flowing hair?).  For some reason, this entertainment habit is looked down upon by certain people.  Yet, these same people hold it up as a sign of sophistication if someone follows politics?  At least in one case, the folks know they are being entertained!

We’ve Come So Far?

Elections are nothing more than lopsided compromises. There is usually something that people will find to try and take away from the experience that doesn’t make them feel like a powerless tool. It has started early this time, just like everything else in this round of the rat race. As the Demoligcratic Party’s primary race drags on at the public expense (what’s next, publicly-funded elections for Fraternal Order of the Moose officers?), the nugget of dignity that people are holding up to justify their making a choice between bad and worse is the fact that a black man and a white woman are in the running for the nomination for the presidency. “We’ve come so far,” they say. How far toward what?

In the beginning, women and blacks were among the most oppressed and exploited class of people in America. There was also the poor white immigrants and, below them, the poor brown and yellow immigrants. While women and blacks have gained traction in the exploitation machine, they have achieved this progress by treading on those yet below them. So does progress mean privilege is expanded and there are more hands on the reigns of the political machine? As long as the goal is expanded exploitation of producers by the political class, then praise be to progress! If the goal is to remove privilege and achieve liberty for all, then more boots on our necks is not progress.

The candidates give lip service to the “progress” and oppression their race or gender have endured, then promptly fight to become the gears that crush and oppress. The institution of oppression is the same; changing the face, color, or gender of the institution won’t change its nature. To vote for real change, vote with your economy and your non-vote. The time has come to stop compromising for further oppression and start smashing the institution of oppression. The time is long overdue to smash the state!