Brief note: so, recently, I was re-assigned from my cushy work-at-home-and-blog-whenever-I-damn-well-please job to a less cushy drive-twenty-miles-no-blogs-allowed job.
Heh. Noooo blogs allooowwwwed. You’re not alllowwwwed…
Oh, Snoopy – you’re so cute when you’re the hapless victim of an oppressive and arbitrary policy. Awww. Anyway, no blogs allowed at my current day job. Also, I’m applying for grad schools and trying to make music and do productive things with my time, and this blog ain’t puttin’ food on the table, if you catch my drift. Therefore, while I’m not suspending it, I’m also not necessarily going to be paying a lot of attention to it for a little while.
However, I gotta talk about the inauguration. I have a friend who I love dearly, but with whom I disagree vehemently when it comes to politics. The other night, she exclaimed “Well, we’ll all be living in a Communist nation on Tuesday, so there.” Right. Because there’s absolutely no difference whatsoever between a series of infrastructure bailouts, specific and targeted tax hikes, and the temporary increase of the size of the federal government to deal with a specific and imminent economic scenario…. and, you know, gulags and shit. I could have pointed out that the last eight years have had certain things in common with “Communist Russia”, with extreme state secrecy, a crackdown on civil liberties and, um, gulags and shit. I could have also pointed out that the main reason America didn’t go fascist with the rest of the world in the 1930s was because FDR decided to put people to work building bridges and doing government-funded projects, and that American history has shown us that, every now and then, a little bit of socialism keeps us from cannibalising each other, but I’m really bad at snappy comebacks.
The point being this: capitalism ain’t going anywhere, folks. Behold, the cavalcade of commemorative crap you can buy if you make your way down to the District of Columbia this week. For example:
There’s nothing like casually comparing the legacy of a sitting President to a dirty diaper full of greenish, rancid-smelling, baby poo.
See more over at the Slate slide show, Thongs We Can Believe In, here. Yes, thongs. Being familiar with Cafepress, where anyone can stamp their crappy band, webcomic, or improv troupe’s logo all over anything from coffee mugs to clocks to, yes, underwear, this doesn’t shock or suprise me. However, blah blah if you actually decide to wear this to bed blah blah blah stimulus package. Oh ho ho!