The Comedy Stylings of Michele Bachmann

“I don't know how much God has to do to get the attention of the politicians. We've had an earthquake; we've had a hurricane. He said, 'Are you going to start listening to me here?' Listen to the American people because the American people are roaring right now. They know government is on a morbid obesity diet and we've got to rein in the spending.”

This statement was made by Presidential hopeful Michele Bachmann in the wake of a week that brought an earthquake and a hurricane to Washington DC. Her handlers are now saying that Bachmann’s statement was made “in jest,” but I’d just like to take a moment to examine what this statement, if true, would really mean in terms of the world and how it works.

1. “I don’t know how much God has to do to get the attention of the politicians.” - Oh my goodness, Mrs. B., you have got an ego on you, don’t you? Are you aware that there are more than politicians who were affected by the earthquake and hurricane? If you believe that God is powerful and forceful enough to conjure an earthquake and a hurricane, don’t you think he has the skills to simply visit each politician with a simple, elegant heart attack? I mean, honestly, he could have saved himself about 60% of the work and just visited your enemies, the Democratic politicians. That just seems like a much better way of getting the attention of politicians. Michele Bachmann, do you think that God’s powers are weak and random?

2. “We’ve had an earthquake; we’ve had a hurricane.” We have also had a string of bright, beautiful, sunny days. You simply can’t attribute one to God and not the other. Unless you think that God is random, capricious, bipolar, and a real asshole. Also, as my friend Emily correctly points out, why would you, Michele Bachmann, take something that is already really, really scary (unless you think that people dying in a hurricane is funny) and associate that with an even scarier image of God As The Random Act of Destruction Guy? Do you, Michele Bachmann, want the world to cower at God’s name? Is that what you think God wants? Is that why God sent his son WHOM HE LOVED LIKE A SON down here to die? So that we would think, “Yeah, that God, he’s a real hater.” Jesus H. Christ. The guy spent almost the entire New Testament trying to salvage the PR disaster that was the Old Testament (it was a real smote-fest), and then you start pulling this. Michele Bachmann, do you think God is a hateful, bipolar maniac?

3. “He said, ‘Are you going to start listening to me here?’” - What the hell, Michele. When did he say that? I am so confused right now. Did he say it on CNN? Michele Bachmann, do you think that God speaks to you?

4. “Listen to the American people because the American people are roaring now.” – So let me get this straight: God is the voice of the American people? Does that make God a constituent of Congress? Are you really trying to get me to believe, Michele Bachmann, that if God has a concern, he, just like Ida Bellmont from Mount Claire, Indiana, follows up with his duly elected representative? Do you remember the part of the Bible where God was like, “Hey, Abraham, please kill your oldest son by 8 o’clock tonight, okay?” If he has no compunction about handling things in that manner, why in the heck do you think he would, even if he cared specifically about the American people, use such a roundabout way to effect the change he wanted to see? Michele Bachmann, do you think God is stupid and ineffectual?

5. “They know that the government is on a morbid obesity diet and we’ve got to rein in the spending.” So, what you’re saying is that, if God were to effect all kinds of really gross natural disasters on Washington DC, he would do so in order to stop deficit spending? Deficit spending? Not immoral behavior, not ill treatment of the poor? Not a society that crushes the weakest in its ugly, Tea Party machinations of “health care for none” and “I don’t want to pay my fair share.” He doesn’t want to stop genocide, suicide, child molesters, drunk drivers, people beating their families, HUNGRY CHILDREN, and people who can think of no better way to spend $30,000 than on their child’s birthday party? Michele Bachmann, do you think that God is so goddamn petty?

For your sake, and for the sakes of the people of the great state of Minnesota, I sure hope this isn’t what you mean. And I hope that, next time you “jest,” that you make a joke about something that is actually funny.

Summer Reading Reviews

This summer, I had a couple of weeks off of law school, so I asked my friends to recommend some summer reading. Based on my friends’ recommendations, I got a list of about 37 books, and read seven of them. I enjoyed all of them, and ranked them in order of “would recommend with a few caveats,” (The Help) to “would seriously have to reevaluate our friendship if you didn’t love this book.” (Spooner.) So, please read – and weep – my summer reading reviews:

The Help – Kathryn Stockett - If you haven’t heard of this novel by now, you may need to get out more. Everyone is going apeshit over this thing. Here’s the good news: you won’t be able to put it down. It has a cast of engaging characters, and a story that sucks you in, although much of it is a ripoff of the peerless 1991-93 television show I’ll Fly Away. The bad news: the end of this novel completely disintegrates, leaving a number of plot strings abruptly unresolved. I didn’t buy the ending of the novel, and am interested in seeing the movie to see if there’s a better resolution there.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie - Alan Bradley - This is a murder mystery, but with an incorrigible 11-year-old as the central character and protagonist. Her most endearing quality is her unbridled enthusiasm for poison, and her recurring fantasies of killing her older sisters with it. This is an extremely well-written novel with a number of interesting literary references (Jane Austen fans will get a real kick out of it), and a great sense of what the English countryside looked like in the Post World War II era.

Rachel’s Holiday – Marian Keyes – This was a cheat, because I’ve read this before. If you like chick lit, or know someone who likes chick lit, this is exceptional. Marian Keyes is a native Dubliner, and her Irish heroines are modern, flawed, and very relatable. Keyes tends to tackle real issues in her novels (in this one, the heroine is a drug addict going through rehab), but she still manages to bring in the happy ending of a romance novel. What else could you ask for?

The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins - Everyone recommended this book to me, and I was like, “Why would I want to read a ripoff of the excellent Stephen King novel The Running Man, and the equally excellent Shirley Jackson short story The Lottery?” Well, it’s because it’s a great story, and it survives the retelling. Set in a postapocalyptic United States of the not-too-distant future, this novel imagines some of the consequences of a have-versus-have-not society, resource deprivation, big-brother-style government, the technology explosion, and reality television. It is also a real page-turner. I hear the sequel is even better, but I’m, like, #288 on the waiting list at the library.

Before I Go To Sleep – S.J. Watson - You will not want to go to sleep when you start reading this novel. Here’s part of the synopsis from Amazon.com: “Every day Christine wakes up not knowing where she is. Her memories disappear every time she falls asleep. Her husband, Ben, is a stranger to her, and he's obligated to explain their life together on a daily basis--all the result of a mysterious accident that made Christine an amnesiac.” I LOVE AMNESIA! It opens up a world of possibilities that just cannot exist anywhere else, and this novel dives right in. The ending kind of falls apart, but you won’t care. This is a perfect book for a long plane ride or rainy weekend.

Atonement – Ian McEwan - This was the second-most recommended book by my literature-reading friends (The Hunger Games was the most-recommended). My friend Dean pointed out that “nothing really happens for the first 170 pages,” so if you are not interested in that kind of book, don’t bother. However, if you are looking for a character study, and a meticulous look at the notions of remorse, revisionism, and the horrors of war, read this. It is beautifully written and heartbreaking, and, as my friend Mr. Farquhar noted, much better than the relatively lifeless movie of the same name.

Spooner – Pete Dexter – This definitely makes my list of top ten favorite reads of all time. This novel follows the lives of Warren Spooner and his stepfather, Calmer Ottosson, as they figure out life, love and family in the 1950’s south and beyond. Fans of Pete Dexter probably know him by his dark novels Paris Trout and Brotherly Love, and will recognize his unblinking fatalism and eye for interesting, authentic human detail and terrific storytelling in the vein of John Irving. There are some truly unforgettable moments in this book, starting on page one. You will laugh, you will cry, and you will be a different person after you read this book. It is absolutely superb.

Go Bucks, Part II

As my son and I were walking our dog the night before he left for college, he said, “So…uh….are you going to write a blog about me this week?”

“I’ve already devoted two posts to you going to college,” I reminded him. “Don’t you think you’ve gotten enough airtime?”

Which is funny, because I have a child who doesn’t believe that there is enough airtime for him in the world. Nonetheless, I haven’t much left to say about leaving him on the doorstep of his tiny new home except that he needs to brush his damn teeth and go to class. If he can manage those two things, I am cool.

Now, on to sunnier subjects. Specifically, Terrelle Pryor and The Ohio State Buckeyes.

This week, the NFL ruled that Pryor would be eligible for this year’s supplemental draft, with the caveat that Pryor must sit out the first 5 games of the season. When I heard of his eligibility, I threw my arms up in the air and ran from room to room, yelling, “Wooooooooo!” Here’s why:

Terrelle Pryor is a young man with lovely poise, incredible skill, who is extremely coachable, physically gifted, and he stood up to two years of Buckeye Nation Assholery with grace and humility. As an athlete and a football player, he deserves to play in the NFL if he can make it work. I hope he kicks ass.

As mentioned above, Ohio State Buckeye fans really were unbearable during this whole tattoo-gate piece of BS. These kids did not get tattoos to specifically mess your life up; they made a mistake, one that involved tattoos, not drugs, not alcohol, and not, ahem, strippers. Ohio State fans seem to have an awfully short memory – Cris Carter, beloved ESPN analyst, was ruled ineligible his senior season after secretly signing with a sports agent. His loss contributed to a disappointing final season for the now-beloved Earle Bruce, who was then fired. But Carter is cheered as hard as any Buckeye alumni, despite his PERSONAL FAILURE IN FULL AWARENESS OF THE RULES. Furthermore, Art Schlichter, former Buckeye great, was often spotted at Scioto Downs, gambling, while in COLLEGE (yes, college, at OSU), but the Ohio State athletic department did not “feel” that they had “enough evidence” to go to the NCAA about it. Right. That was in 1979. This crap isn’t new.

I’m not going to lie. I will always be on Pryor’s side, because I am not on the side of Jim Tressel, and somehow, Buckeye Nation has turned this issue into a Team Edward or Team Jacob thing, where, I guess Edward is a right-wing , religious white guy who preached morals and values while ignoring his own lapses, and Jacob is a young, talented black guy who’s also really good at basketball (sound familiar, anyone?) Jim Tressel, as the coach of the football team, should be hanging his head in shame over the fact that he asked those young men to sit at a press conference and admit what they had done, while continuing to hide his own culpability in the whole mess. Gross behavior on the side of the coach, respectable behavior on the part of the students, who continued, and continue to apologize for their actions. I don’t understand why you would buy a ridiculous “JT” bracelet to support Tressel, but want to tar and feather a kid who seemed like a decent sort, aside from liking tattoos.

Buckeye fans, I get as teary-eyed as you do when I see the band march onto the field pre-game, and see the drum major run up the middle of the field, his legs kicking high in the air. I love my Bucks with the passion of ten thousand suns, but seriously, you guys have got to lay off of the pressure on these poor kids. They are not politicians, they are not community leaders, and they are not on your fucking payroll. They are at the University to get an education and play on the football team, not make you feel like you’re a winner. If and when they fail, on or off the field, it affects them far worse than it affects you. Can you imagine Joe Bauserman calling your work every time you made a mistake and screaming about how “we” have to do a better job proofreading and “we” were really looking weak on our expense reports? This team is going to be a little raw this year, and I feel certain that a number of excellent kids are going to be disappointed in what they had hoped would be a National Championship senior season. But the players and the coaches are showing up every day, and they are going on, despite something that I feel certain rocked their world. The very least you can do is go on with them and show them that you love your Bucks, win or lose. And while you’re at it, throw a little love TP’s way, too.


PS, you can read last year’s advice to Buckeye fans here, and you can read my two previous posts about my son going to college here and here. That should keep you from calling radio talk shows for a little while.

The Perfect Man

Occasionally, my shrink gets concerned about the fact that I love my couch and my giant blue sweatpants a lot, while my feelings about people are often less clear-cut. And, while she can accept that I will never be interested in marriage, she thinks that I should do more to engage in a relationship with some poor, unsuspecting guy. Fine. Let the candidates present themselves. Here are my requirements:

1. He cannot be shorter than me. It’s not that I don’t like short men, I just don’t respect them
2. No tattoos. Seriously, people, I don’t like tattoos
3. He must drive as well as Jeremy Clarkson
4. He can’t be blonde. First of all, as my friend Dean will point out, blonde men are invisible to me. Second of all, our children would be too beautiful
5. Also: eyes that are too close together? Not a chance. Paul Rudd, you’re out
6. He has to work out at least four days a week. For realz. Can’t just be “getting back into working out.” He has to prove that he’s been working out at least four days a week for the past five years, or forget it
7. Also, he has to be willing to go running with me at least once a week at my pace. And he can’t bitch about how he’s not getting appropriate cardio. He will just keep his trap shut and run with me and act like it’s fun
8. When I start freaking out about things, which happens, he needs to just keep his advice to himself and fix it
9. He needs to just kill bugs instead of announcing that there is a bug in the house
10. Obviously, he needs to know how to drive a stick-shift car
11. And how to fix shit
12. It is important that he is willing to talk about Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein, Yo Yo Ma and Todd Rundgren on a regular basis
13. He must fully appreciate Robin Meade and Cat Deeley
14. And he has to be willing to ATTENTIVELY sit through So You Think You Can Dance and Intervention every week
15. He cannot be a Republican. I am sorry
16. And no small children. I’m done with those
17. He is never allowed to say to me, “Can you cool it on the swearing?”
18. If he has an ex-wife, he must be on excellent terms with her
19. He cannot wear smaller jeans than me
20. And he must read. Books
21. A job. He needs one
22. He has to be willing to sit in the cigarette smoke-filled den that is my mother’s family room at family gatherings, not complain about how it makes his clothes stink, and not start fights with any of my family members, even if he is totally right
23. And he must accept that, if I insist I am right about something, I am right, even if I am dead wrong
24. But he still has to be willing to debate me about things. It’s a fine line
25. He needs to know how to grill, because I sure as shit don’t
26. He must like sports. A lot
27. And he can’t say “we” when he’s talking about his favorite sports team, e.g., “We need to do a better job of passing the ball.”
28. He must get teary-eyed when he hears Carmen Ohio, but not talk about it
29. He must tip well, be generous with his friends, have money in the bank, and regularly get haircuts
30. His teeth must be perfect. Bad teeth really freak me out
31. He needs to leave me alone a lot of the time
32. And not want to move in with me
33. And he can’t ever say that his ex-girlfriend/wife used to let him give it to her up the butt
34. Or that he had a dream that he strangled me
35. And he needs to understand that what I say while under the influence of Ambien is probably best left unmentioned
36. He cannot complain about how my hair is all over his house
37. And he has to think my dog rocks more completely than all other dogs. Because she does
38. He must own every album by the Who
39. He has to think my blog is fucking hilarious
40. And give it a “thumbs up” every week
41. He can never utter the phrase, “I’m not gay, but….”
42. And he can’t ever call a woman fat unless I do first
43. He must hate wind with the same passion I do
44. And he must agree that this list is perfectly sensible

Jersey Shore

For some reason, this week, my son decided that Jersey Shore was the most important thing in his life. He hijacked our DVR to record what I guess was the season premier, where the entire cast sets off for Italy, because nothing says Jersey Shore like Florence.

How I came to watch the show along with my son is a long, complicated story that involves a trip to CVS at 8 in the morning for a passport photo, a woman with a cell phone obsession, 60 unpleasant questions, and a deep desire to put on my pajamas at one in the afternoon on a weekday. And there I was, on the couch, halfheartedly reading Atonement with one eye and watching the horror that is Jersey Shore unfold before my eyes with the other.

Here was a precious moment from Jersey Shore (paraphrased, but general spirit intact):

Person One (interchangeable disgusting middle-age relative of cast member): "Is there anything you need to know about Italy before you go?"
Person Two (interchangeable douchey twenty-something guy who is in cast of show): "Heh heh, the age of consent, heh heh."
Person One (I shit you not on this one): "Lift up the arm and check for hair. If it’s there, she’s old enough."

After I swallowed back the barf that came up in my throat at that line, I said to my son, who I’d assumed was a decent sort before this moment, “That is disgusting. What kind of person would say that?”

“They’re funny,” my son replied, giving me a talk-to-the-hand gesture.

But here’s the thing: they are NOT funny, those Jersey Shore people. They are so incredibly reprehensible, I found myself making Hitler comparisons before my less reactionary nature told me that this wasn’t exactly the extermination of 6 million Jews. However, if I may, I would like to review the central themes of this fucking lousy show:

Sex – or “smooshing” as they so maturely reference it, apparently with anything that moves. Including the trolls who are their cast mates. I use the term troll literally. One of the cast members is a troll. Tiny, hairy and bug-eyed. Troll.
Bronzing – and all that a great, orange tan implies.
Drinking – which they literally do from sunup to sundown, in some sort of gross, fraternity style smackdown challenge. These are four women who are going to resemble Liz Taylor in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf in about five years. They are not tremendous beauties right now; the booze is only going to make it worse.
Hair – and the various appliances that can be used on it. With all the weaves and products used here, a small house fire could turn into a blaze in the blink of an eye. Especially with these morons flat ironing their weaves in the kitchen. PS, word on the street is that weaves stink real bad. I would not want to share a cab with these ladies.
Boobs – in the most infantile and immature way, every person on this cast seems to be obsessed with boobs. How to show them, emphasize them, see them, make other people see them, etc. etc. I would not have been at all surprised if someone would have made blinking headlight gestures with their hands and shouted “Honk, honk!” at someone’s breasts, followed by a loud chorus of “Aroooooooga!” Nothing classier than reducing women to fake hair and knockers. That’s the best that America has to offer, for sure.

My son says that I take this stuff way too seriously, and really, it’s just good old-fashioned entertainment. I sweetly informed him that this show would never show up on our DVR again, and that the kind of Id-driven behavior celebrated on this show is the same sort of behavior for which three-year-olds get written up in preschool. To which my son replied, “You love Intervention, Mom.”

Well, touché, you, except for one thing: at the end of every episode of Intervention, there are generally two choices: you go to rehab or you go to jail. But, come to think of that, I have a feeling that's going to be the choices some of these cast members will be facing soon enough, too.