Rorschach Test

Old Navy wants to know: how big of a pervert are you?

I must hate America.

Remember when President Bush told everyone to go shopping after 9/11 to help the economy? Good times. He did the same thing in 2007, when the current recession loomed:

As we work with Congress in the coming year to chart a new course in Iraq and strengthen our military to meet the challenges of the 21st century, we must also work together to achieve important goals for the American people here at home. This work begins with keeping our economy growing. … And I encourage you all to go shopping more.

It sounded really stupid coming out of his mouth (natch). But I am hearing the same message in more subtle ways from less retarded-sounding sources.

According to this AP article, for example, saving is bad for the economy. "For years, stores enjoyed boom times as shoppers splurged on TVs, fancy kitchen decor and clothes. Suddenly, frugality is in style."

For the first time ever, I have a savings account. With actual money in it. If that makes me "stylish," even better. I reached this point after paying down $10,000 in credit card debt. I hope never to go that far into a hole again.

The AP article laments, however, that "hard times will persist in 2009 as consumers, squeezed by layoffs and tighter credit, delay purchases of cars and other big-ticket items. Some experts say consumers have been so shaken by how fast their wealth has shrunk, so burned by credit card debt, that they might not resume their robust spending for years, if ever."

Thanks for the guilt trip, AP. But Americans' "robust spending" got us--including me--into lots and lots of trouble. Shouldn't we learn from our mistakes? Isn't it a good thing that more of us are saving?

This article doesn't try very hard to challenge what I would argue is a flawed philosophy: that the strength of America's economy is measured by the number of plasma TVs, McMansions, granite countertops, and iPhones purchased on credit.

I'm no economist, but there has to be a better measure of how well we are doing as a society. Urging me to go out and buy stuff, either subtly or in so many words, doesn't seem like a prudent way to make our economy sustainable over the long term.

I did, however, buy new shoes this weekend. Does that make me a patriot?

The Purple People Eater

Good thing I am unlikely to have grandchildren, so I don't have to tell them about the time I almost made it to the inauguration of the the first black president of the United States.

I live four blocks from the U.S. Capitol. I was lucky enough (or so I thought) to score a ticket to one of the standing sections between the reflecting pool and the Capitol. I left my apartment before the sun came up to arrive more than an hour before the gates opened. I actually brought a book because I was worried I would be bored standing around waiting for the ceremony to start.

Ha. I forgot that the D.C. Police and U.S. Capitol Police were in charge. I have never experienced such an epic clusterfuck in my whole life.

The photo above shows the "line" I stood in to get into the Purple Gate, designated for purple ticket holders like me. For security reasons, they were funneling all ticket holders for the section through a single security checkpoint, which was not clearly marked. When I arrived at 7 a.m., any semblance of a line leading to that illusive checkpoint had started to deteriorate into a blob. But everyone was in good spirits and hopeful, even as the blob turned into more of a mob. People chanted "Obama!" and sang songs. My little part of the mob even tried (in vain) to start the wave.

While standing in this mob, I noted happily that this is the most integrated I have ever seen DC. Black people and white people hanging out (if involuntarily), joking around, making conversation.

While freezing cold and uncomfortable, we had no reason to believe that we wouldn't get in. After all, we had heard about the precision inaugural preparations non-stop on the news, and we had arrived early, as suggested by event organizers. Three hours in, however, we hadn't moved more than 50 feet. And we weren't really going anywhere in that 50 feet; rather, the mob was just getting denser. By 10 a.m., I couldn't move my arms because I was so packed in.

Not once--NOT ONCE--during this three hours did I see a single police officer, National Guardsman, or event volunteer.

By 11 a.m., one hour before Obama was to take the oath, people started to get desperate. The mob descended on the security checkpoint and started chanting "Let us in!" and "Purple! Purple!" As the mob grew more restless, I still didn't see a single cop. The only uniforms I saw were those of the medical personnel who twice had to fight their way through the mob to help two elderly people who had collapsed from standing in line for hours in the cold without access to water or restrooms.

By 11:32 a.m., I realized I was never going to make it in. With tears in my eyes, I fought my way out of the crowd and sprinted home. I made it home 10 minutes before the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court flubbed the presidential oath.

The Washington Post reported that "at least 4,000 people with coveted blue or purple tickets to the presidential inauguration were blocked from entering the U.S. Capitol grounds because too many tickets were distributed, entry procedures bogged down and security officials were overwhelmed by surging crowds at several gates." This is a GROSS under-estimation of the number of purple people denied, let alone the other sections. I was surrounded by thousands of people. And that doesn't even take into account the thousands of purple ticket holders trapped for hours in what became known as the Purple Tunnel of Doom, the I-395 tunnel that runs under the Mall.

Check out this photo of the Purple Tunnel of Doom (the survivors of which have already started a Facebook page). Event organizers directed thousands of people to stand in line underground in a cold tunnel for hours with no restrooms, no water, and no police presence. This is ineptitude on an epic scale. It is a testament to the patience and good will of the people trapped in that tunnel that no one was hurt, even after most of them emerged from the tunnel to learn that the gates were closed.

My favorite excuse for this disaster: the Sergeant at Arms said people wearing bulky winter clothing took up more space on the Mall than expected. Are you fucking serious? This is your excuse? It is January 20th, moron. While this ain't northern Minnesota, it also ain't Miami. It's winter, dumb ass. Moreover, satellite images taken of the Mall at 11:19 a.m. show open space in the purple and blue ticketed sections and a mob of people at the gates. Don't blame the weatherman, Sergeant, for your incompetence.

I was so disappointed. If I had known that having a ticket meant nothing, I would have gladly gone and stood miles away at the Washington Monument with my friends and witnessed the event on a Jumbotron. After all, I didn't expect to see much even from my ticketed seat; I wanted to experience the jubilation of the crowd, which you can't get from watching it at home on TV.

Instead, I spent the majority of this historic event either staring at the back of frustrated strangers or sprinting home through blocked off streets with police yelling at me to stay on the sidewalk. Why the police felt it more important to patrol blocked off streets rather than ensure the safety of tens of thousands of people trapped in the Purple Tunnel of Doom is beyond me.

As disappointed as I was, I felt terribly for the people who spent thousands of dollars on plane tickets and hotel rooms in order to be a part of history. Many of them had stood in line for hours at the House and Senate office buildings just the day before to pick up their tickets, which turned out to be useless.

I felt even worse for the numerous elderly African-American men and women, most dressed to the nines, to whom this event likely meant more than most. As it became more obvious that the Great Purple Gate Disaster of 2009 had reached Code Red Clusterfuck, many of them started to tear up or even quietly cry.

Fuck you, U.S. Capitol Police Chief Morse, for making little old black ladies cry.

That's just how I roll.

I love yoga. Not the touchy-feely kind! God no. I love a yoga class that makes me sweat and my muscles shake. When I have a good yoga class, I feel strong, healthy, and eager to see how far I can push my body. But there's one yoga posture that can erase any goodwill I accumulate about my body in yoga class: the shoulder stand. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

I hate it because gravity is not kind. When I lift my legs up and align them over my hips, everything sliiiiiiiides dowwwwwwwwn and forms two solid rolls of fat. And of course, with my chin pressed to my chest, I can do nothing but glare at my fat rolls for a good five minutes. It's like the final showdown scene in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, except without Clint Eastwood and his cigar. I expect a dramatic swell of music as I stare down my blubber.

The irony is, yoga geeks say this posture is supposed to stimulate the thyroid gland and boost metabolism. All it makes me want to do is put on my baggy sweat pants and Google "fat festishism." Or "bulimia."

When did Ikea go all Stanley Kubrick?

I bought a chair from Ikea this weekend. The inside front page of the assembly instructions included the graphic below.

What the hell? This character is like some demented cross between the Schmoo and the masked frequenters of the sex club in Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut.

Why does he have pitchforks for hands? And why is his nose growing out of the side of his head in the 3rd panel?

My grammar skills came later in life.

But how friggin' cute was I?

Things that make you go ew.

I was watching TV last night when I saw a commercial for the PedEgg, a "revolutionary" egg-shaped cheese-grater for feet callouses. As someone with nasty soccer feet, I admit I was semi-intrigued by this commercial.

That is, until the camera zoomed in to show a woman opening up the PedEgg and dumping her skin shavings in the trash can. Seriously, I almost hurled.

The commercial boasts that PedEgg is designed to collect skin shavings in a "convenient storage compartment." Isn't that enough? Do I need an Extreme Close-Up of the skin flakes pouring into the trash can to believe it?

It reminded me of this time I went to the doctor because I couldn't hear out of my ear. The nurse had to irrigate my ear canal to dislodge some waxy build-up (barf) that she caught in a kidney-shaped bowl.

NURSE (after she finished): Do you want to see it?
ME: Um, see what?
NURSE: Your earwax.
ME: No! (pause) Do people often ask to see it?
NURSE: Oh yeah. I get old men in here all the time who want to see the huge chunks that come out of their ears.

I have never been able to shake that visual. And now I have the "cascade of skin flakes" image to keep it company.