Art of the Union

Reading news recently has been somewhat of a trying experience, and I blame it all on the article comment sections. I feel like a character in a Cormac McCarthey novel, trudging my way through a trail of misinformed dreck, waiting for a family to take me in and tell me that the road has been wrong all along.

The comment section is a hierarchical tree of superuser badges and favorite commenter awards, all of which can be attained by scrawling such nonsensical junk as “Sarah Palin-in comparison, am I right?” Woah, make sure you sign that gem. Don’t want anyone to steal it. It can be comparable to a whitetrash caste system – the more furniture you have in your yard, the higher up you are. Having 12 couches on your porch will grant you the position of town Brahmin, much like having 12 super user badges will net you 13,000 followers on Huffington Post.

Now, before I quickly derail my intended purpose for writing this, I should get to what inspired this post. It is not to combat all comment section writers, I want to hone my scorn in on a select few. Listen up Baltimore Sun commenters, this PSA is for you:

Maryland’s gun control bill takes effect on Oct. 1.

There you have it. That’s October, the month that comes after September and before November. It’s the 10th month of the year. It rhymes with Shmoctober. Please quit inferring that the bill has taken effect every time you take to your Utz salted keyboard and type “How’s that gun control working out for ya?” on every single article that comes into your line of vision. It is a ridiculous question, and unless you are Professor X strolling through comment boards while your gifted mutants are in study hall, it is an unanswerable question.

This is a city that’s so eloquently nicknamed “Bodymore, Murdaland,” so you can imagine that city news outlets would provide acres of articles for such asinine comments to roam free. Normally I just sit and stomach them, but one finally broke me. It was an article about the fatal shooting of a 1 year old in the Cherry Hill neighborhood. Even the comment calling it the “gun grab” bill is incredibly wrong. A key tenant to the Maryland gun bill is that owners get to keep any gun owned or ordered prior to the Oct. 1 date. 

What there is a severe lack of in comment sections is an understanding of what the writers are lobbying for. The least you can do is know when the law of your ire is set to kick in (In this case Oct. 1. Remember, rhymes with Schmoctober). After that date, feel free to say that it’s worthless, try and tie it to President Obama, or you can blame it on GNC being out of Gov. O’Malley’s favorite flavor of Muscle Milk. But until that date comes, you’re just a troll shouting into the wind.

This Tuesday is scheduled to be the Senate vote for defense secretary nominee Chuck Hagel, finally one step closer to the ending of this incredible storyline and letting Hagel take the nap that his face has been screaming for since it started.

You are probably familiar with the accusations that have been trotted out against Hagel, everything from the Dan Friedman “Friends of Hamas” joke that went viral in the Senate halls to the idea that Hagel hates Jews (the monster probably didn’t even cry during Schindler’s List). Tactics that don’t even involve Hagel have been used to block Hagel, such as Sen. Lindsey Graham vowing to block the nomination until he receives more information about Benghazi. Don’t worry though, every other embassy attack during 2012 is ok in Graham’s book.

Most of the holdups on Hagel’s nomination have been purely cosmetic, an effort by a handful of Republicans to make sure we know they still exist after the election. But then you get to the real criticism against Hagel, and it seems that he is being punished for being ahead of the curve when it comes to disowning George W. Bush.

The Tea Party movement and new Republican ideology was (supposedly) spawned in part by a party upset with the direction that had been taken under Bush’s lead. And don’t forget that the 2012 Republican National Convention hid Bush in a closet like was a young Harry Potter. And yet, Hagel is being put to task for his tendency to go against the Bush Administration, primarily when it came to the Iraq War.

Fast forward 2009, and the whole Republican party had turned their negative opinions of everything that happened during the Bush Administration into the Tea Party movement. Anti-immigration, anti-government, and anti-spending. Logic would tell you that Hagel would be the “not in the mainstream” wet dream that Republicans are always trying to brew up in their dusty cauldrons.

Unfortunatley for Hagel it seems that he was ahead of the trend. And as with fashion, no one gets credit for predicting a trend, it’s not cool until it’s accepted by groups in the know. Hating Bush 10 years ago only made Hagel the guy in a coffee shop with a handle bar mustache trying too hard. 

I’ve been watching the new Netflix series “House of Cards.” A quick synopsis for those unaware: “House of Cards” is a political thriller/drama based on various characters dealing with life and business in Washington, DC (The main 2 characters being House Majority Whip Frank Underwood and reporter Zoe Barnes.)

To be honest, I love the show and have become completely enthralled with it. But, every time I watch the show the same question rings in my head - “What political world does ‘House of Cards’ exist in?” You see, “House of Cards” is a show populated with handsome men, beautiful women, and all are definitely not left wanting in the coolness category. Juxtapose that with the political world I worked in which consisted of a bunch of dudes eating Cheeze Nips in a small office bathing in their own smells. Sure, everyone was nice, but I feel like I missed out on a party.

Now granted, the political scene of Florida is probably a very different scene than that of Washington, DC. But still, every character looks like they just got off of an L.L. Bean photoshoot and are on their to an Aerie video shoot. Has anyone actually looked at the political elite while watching the news? At best they look like a mannequin pulled out of a Marshall’s store window. On average, they’re like watching a turtle exhibit at the National Aquarium.

Also, I feel like the bravado and intent on display by the characters is a bit of a fairy tale. Main character Frank Underwood (Kevin Spacey) is a calm, cool, and conniving Southern Democrat. He’s what we would’ve gotten if Charles Bronson ran out of death wishes and ran for Congress. His wife, Claire Underwood (Robin Wright), is a supermodel who heads a non-profit. The closest real life example I can think of to this power couple is the Gingrich’s, and the coolest thing they can boast is that their hair hasn’t moved out of place since the 90’s.

Obviously this is just nitpicking, and the show is a great watch. It especially is worth checking out if you are tired of the same dull real life story lines of Washington do nothings that seem to be on a repeat track these days.

Last night while catching up on the days news, I was introduced to the concept of the end of the NFL. The article in question, an interview with Ravens Safety Bernard Pollard, predicts that the end of professional football will come at the hands of disgruntled fans who will grow tired of the games rules and regulations. 

Further investigation lead me to read articles predicting that parents will quit letting their kids play football due to new research linking brain damage to the game, eventually drying up the talent pool.

I for one am inclined to brush the doomsayers to the side, if only because people who usually make such bold predictions fail to realize that their opinion is one of a handful. Take for instance professional wrestling. Despite numerous crippling injuries and suicides, the WWE still thrives as a half-naked multi-million dollar toy machine.

There have been many theories on how the NFL can “save” it’s game, whether it be more rules or less tackling and pads (which, as a former rugby player, I can say first hand does not stop bad head injuries). 

If I could postulate my own opinion, I believe that the NFL should implement size restrictions on it’s players. Now hear me out. Throughout the 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s, the NFL had a love affair with it’s fans because it wasn’t watered down with rules as it is today. I believe that the onset of such rules came about as players morphed from larger than average men into striated industrial appliances. An impact from Jack Lambert would hurt, but not nearly as much as one from a modern Universal Soldier like James Harrison.

Just look at a position comparison. Compare linebacker legend Mike Singletary to modern day linebacker Ray Lewis. Singletary, a Hall of Famer, looks like your uncle who works construction. On the opposite end, Lewis looks like a monster who was pulled out of a Universal Studios warehouse.

If the NFL pushed more natural bodied players over performance enhanced monstrosities, and couple that with the new helmet designs that will undoubtedly be developed overtime to help absorb shock, perhaps the NFL would no longer have a need to keep thinking of the best ways to protect the players from each other.

To me, the biggest scandal about the new NRA attack ad is that the election has been over for 2 months and I’m still saying the words “new” and “attack ad.” Lord help me if I open my mailbox tomorrow and find a piece of campaign mail.

The ad starts out by asking “Are President Obama’s children more important than yours?” As anyone who’s ever seen the movie “First Kid” knows, the answer is yes. We as civilian children didn’t need the combat expertise of Sinbad because we stood a far less chance of being held hostage by Timothy Busfield everytime we snuck out of the house.

This ad also highlights Americans strange view of police authority. We want to outfit our schools like a Riker’s Island inmate housing facility. But, whenever we get pulled over for driving 75 mph in a 45 mph zone while instagramming our steering wheel, we scream that we are being downtrodden by big brother’s muscle.

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Things I learned this year:

• Gov. Rick Scott hates everyone who lives in Florida.
• Sheriff Joe Arpaio is not Joe Peschi’s racist grandmother, despite fooling me in pictures.
• Congress’s idea of doing their job is playing I Spy with their genitals, not legislating.
• Mitch McConnell’s head is not a thumb sewn on to a torso.
• Legislators refer to video games like they are a lost tribal people in the South Pacific.

Things I want to learn next year:

• Is Charles Krauthammer a human or a tie-wearing tobacco leaf?
• Newt Gingrich’s hair – real or glued on doll hair?
• If my suspicion that Harry Reid buried all the bodies of aide’s who didn’t like his garden in a Nevada Desert.
• What exciting thing Republicans think will happen once Hillary Clinton testifies on Benghazi, like that Jimmy Hoffa is buried under a Tampa Bay Huddle House.

So a while back I had expressed my utmost faith that our Congressional leaders would reach a deal on the “fiscal cliff,” stating that surely they aren’t crayon eating morons that need to wear styrofoam suits so they don’t hurt themselves. Well, it looks like Mitch McConnell is in the kitchen whipping up a Crayola salad because the deadline will pass with no deal voted on.

It doesn’t mean much, as a deal could be voted on tomorrow. Also, “fiscal cliff” is just a term that news networks overplay in an effort to boost viewership and sell advertising time so that they can keep bringing you stories about old white men not doing their job. But still, inaction in Congress is becoming too normal. Why didn’t anyone think to rename it the “abortion cliff”? Or we could’ve told Lindsey Graham that every minute he delays a vote, an illegal immigrant gets one step closer to the border. You know, get their attention, because the issues of middle and lower class citizens have been off of their radar for along time.

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Poor Petraeus, he survived Iraq and Afghanistan only to be toppled by an IED placed in a mediocre writers panties. I guess even the bravest of warriors can find Operation Datass one too far. Since I’m commenting on this fairly deep into the scandal, I’m sure you are all aware by now of David Petraeus’ affair with his biographer, Paula Broadwell. With one email check, Petraeus went from CIA Director to the Pentagon’s war-hardened Kardashian sister. The man threw his career away to get cozy with a frozen Stretch Armstrong.

Now, I could connect the dots from Broadwell to Jill Kelley to General Allen to Petraeus to the shirtless FBI Agent. And then I could lament about the apparent secret information leaks made between Petraeus and Broadwell, but outlets such as Mother Jones or The Atlantic have done a far better job on that front than I could ever do. Instead, I want to confess how much I love political sex scandals.

It’s probably just bred into me as a native New Yorker, a state that seems to be the Jurassic Park of politicians not wanting to touch their wives. Of course everyone remembers Eliot Spitzer and Anthony Weiner, and then there was my own Rep. Eric Massa’s “tickling” incident. How do you even formulate that excuse with a straight face? “No honey, I didn’t grope him. I just thought Jimmy looked a little sad so I invited him to an innocent shower tickling party.”

Sex scandals are the highest forms of entertainment that politics can offer. As a country we scoff and pretend to be above such things, but every so often when one gets leaked we all hover around the campfire to watch the tale unfold. As bad as it sounds, sex scandals offer a nice reprieve from never-ending terrible news. Headline’s proclaiming “18 Dead in Bombing” or “Sea Levels Rise Faster” can be broken up with a nice “Old Scarecrow Eats too Much Horny Goat Weed.”

My Facebook feed has been one for the ages, and I fear some caps lock keys may never recover. It’s expected to have some dissenting opinions after an election, but it seems the majority of my Facebook acquaintances got in touch with their inner Kansas grandpa overnight. To put it simply, my friends list is the key demographic for political advertising. 

I woke up to an influx of stupid in status form. It’s like if “Day After Tomorrow” replaced the weather theme with poorly researched rants. What’s odd is that I’m a Democrat with a full time job and am on no assistance programs. If you were to read every status in my feed it would lead you to believe that I’m a young black girl bathing in WIC cards because I vote for liberal candidates. People who have coasted through life on their parents wealth typed about lazy liberals lining up for welfare. Old classmates of mine lamented about Obama’s economic formula for destruction, despite the fact that I clearly remember their GPA falling somewhere between a gym sock and a can of Chef Boyardee Ravioli.

Election years are like the playoffs. Every year for a brief moment in time the barely-there’s descend from parts unknown, drawn to the warmth of feeling apart of something. The fair-weathers express their love for the “Baltimore Bengals,” ask who just “scored a goal,” cheer for the defense when the offense is on the field, and then slink back into the shadows until the next year. The peace between elections is great, not a butchered talking point to be seen for miles. And then, just when you are getting comfortable, it’s midterms and you inexplicably get flooded with Ron Paul posts.

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President Obama’s ship of gold has departed for the horizon, leaving him behind. Of course I am speaking of Donald Trump’s $5 million offer to the President which he has officially withdrawn yesterday. If you are one of the 3 people who has not heard about this story – in an effort to manufacture a supermarket tabloid worthy October surprise, Donald Trump offered to give $5 million to a charity of the President’s choosing in exchange for his school and passport records. This is yet another effort in which Donald Trump wishes to remind us that he is very bad at spending his father’s money. What we don’t know is this scheme beat out Trump’s original October surprise in which President Obama, Dee Snyder and Meatloaf must pitch a new line of bath salts to the marketing director of Macy’s.

The $5 million offer naturally spurred an outcry from the Twitterverse, and pleadings that we just ignore Trump and his stupidity from journalists and comedians who froth at the mouth for news with dignity, like sex affairs and Joe Biden gaffes. And while I agree that Donald Trump is a fool, it would be a danger to pretend that he isn’t real. Politically, Trump is a stooge. He often acts as a sideshow character who is let out of the broom closet when the time is right to distract us by eating pizza with a fork or mesmerize us as we try to figure out if he’s actually slouching or standing upright. He’s like the Great Gazoo of American politics.

And then there’s the side of Trump that we must not ignore, the business side. If Donald Trump were to enact a business venture in your town, there is a good chance that the laws will change and you will be homeless. Take Aberdeenshire, Scotland where Trump and his team are actively trying to evict the citizens to build a golf course. Most recently, Trump purchased the Old Post Office in Washington, DC with plans of turning it into a luxury hotel and spa. If we were to ignore Trump, how long will it be until downtown Washington, DC has a bankrupted, gold encrusted turd where a national landmark once stood?