perfidy

As they say in Texas, anyway.

From Saturday's UK Telegraph: Israel seeks all clear for Iran air strike

Israel is negotiating with the United States for permission to fly over Iraq as part of a plan to attack Iran's nuclear facilities, The Daily Telegraph can reveal.

I know that such things as war-games, scenario planning, and clearing access to intervening airspace are required, even in a case where the likelihood of an actual bombing run is 0.01%. Left unclear in the news story linked above, of course, is any indication of said likelihood, let alone the chances of such a mission meeting its objective.

I prefer to think it's just posturing, for several reasons.

First, while sanctions are generally slow in achieving their aims, and cannot be counted on, in any event, to do so, they're initially more efficient, in lives and other costs, than popping a cap in a sovereign country's metaphorical ass. Outright war should be a final resort, and when it occurs, should be conducted in a fairly ruthless manner, designed to position the end of the war as close to the start as possible. Iran's nuke program should be halted, for a host of good reasons, but in a rational world, it's not yet clear that anyone should lose their life in order to effect that halt.

Second, if there's any contentiousness in the negotiations, and the poo hits the propellers, I'd hate to see a new sub-genre created, wherein there's a conspiracy theory on a level with the approximately 273,000 Google hits available for the "USS Liberty".

"We are planning for every eventuality, and sorting out issues such as these are crucially important," said the official, who asked not to be named.

"The only way to do this is to fly through US-controlled air space. If we don't sort these issues out now we could have a situation where American and Israeli war planes start shooting at each other."

Blue-on-blue action is among the last of the things needed, presently, or ever. I'm sure that some who remember the Liberty would, rightly or not, be tweaked by the possible recurrence of such a scenario.

Finally, and contrary to the claims from many quarters, in and out of Iraq, the US is not the colonial master of Iraq. Israel had better-damned-certain be negotiating with the Iraqi government at least in addition to, if not rather than the US. I'm thinking that's a trickier negotiation, however.

[wik] Rut roh!

[alsø wik] No, really? Thanks for the newsflash, Sy.

"As Anna Nicole decomposes, James Brown looking good"

I recently gave a eulogy for my father. This is a small part of it I'd like to share.

I’m a late sleeper by default, and I’d say that my father was my exact opposite in that respect. At the cottage I’d mostly wake up around 9 or so, or whenever the noise level would rise high enough. Some mornings I’d wake up earlier though, and on those mornings I’d see my father most at peace. He’d be up early, when mist would rise from the overnight cold of the water, and those first gold rays of sunlight would best the trees to the east end of the bay. That light scattered and glowed, and I think I have not seen more perfect mornings than those. Dad would quietly slide the canoe into the water, slip in, and paddle into it all, with only the sound of water trickling from wood as he faded into mist. I often saw him come back, but I rarely saw him leave.

There’s an early time for experiences, a less crowded time, and I think Dad had a yearning for paths less occupied. If we look around and see multitudes in comfort, that urge to look elsewhere has truth. As a kid I was too tired from being too energetic to wake up when peace and beauty emerged.

We’ve got a capable family, with lots of doers and shakers, engineers and boat-makers. In some ways I’m like that too, so as a young man and even sometimes as an adult I’d see Dad looking out over the water, or from a balcony, or just at a fire…and I’d wonder what he saw. I’m not an artist so I doubt I’ll ever see it his way, or remember it the same way…but watching Dad watching embers arcing up from the heat of a fire lit sparks in me that persist to this day, that have given me warmth and comfort, to recognize and accept, to appreciate the natural beauty around us all. That’s something we never see unless we stop and look.

When we stop and look we are sometimes enchanted, or even entranced and held there, in a timeless state of contemplation. I know I could not have become the person I am without learning that from him, without being curious about his state of mind in those times, and finding that same place within myself.

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Here at Perfidy, we love to hear from our dear readers. Your comments are without exception brilliant, incisive, charming and to the point. For example, this guy, JimmyPeteZappa11@aol.com, writes:

Buckethead you are the shit! You know this already, though. Hallelleezy praise Jeezy for dem Japanese technicians for programming your musical genius. I was at your concert at Martini Ranch in Scottsdale, AZ(where I live) and it was amazing. Mr. Head I must warn you not to exclude Arizona in future tours, or I'll send my own robot army to your residence. They will force you to play a private show for me & my associates. Anyway, I don't expect a response, of course. Keep on kickin' ass! Peace out...

Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

In all my life, in nearly thirty years of NASCAR fandom (albeit casual), I have never before seen someone finish a race upside down and on fire.

[wik] For those of you who might be less than fully up to speed on the intricacies of stock car racing, please consult this handy primer on the subject from QandO.

[alsø wik] And because I think it's funny, here's a good recap of the race from the New York Times, including a great shot of the thrillingly close finish.

Here I sit, watching (several years after the fact) the film Jackass, after the MTV show of the same name. Currently on the screen, Steve-O is attempting to cross a tightrope over an alligator pit wearing nothing but a helmet, shoes, and a jock strap with several pounds of meat stuffed in the waistband.

Recently, I watched the new Mike Judge movie Idiocracy, which I highly recommend to all. Some of you know Mike Judge from Beavis and Butthead. Others from King of the Hill. Still others may have seen Office Space a dozen times. The common thread through all these movies is an abiding contempt of the deeply stupid and pointless things and people that make life a little poorer for having encountered them. People mistook Beavis and Butthead for a mere celebration of dimwitted hijinks - I swear to you there's some anger in there also. How else do you explain the Halloween special where Butthead meets a farmer who dismembers people and helps the farmer, in a sequence what actually manages to be a little chilling despite the lo-rent animation, capture and dismember Beavis? King of the Hill features an endless parade of do-gooding dipshits who wreak havoc in the name of 'helping.' Office Space goes after the pettiness of managerial power and the deadening, soul-sapping routines that office life can draw one into.

Anyway, what was I saying before I disappeared up my own anus... O yeah. Idiocracy. Good movie. Not as good as Office Space but pretty great nonetheless, about an average man of today who wakes up 500 years in the future to find he's the smartest man on the planet. The President is a professional wrestler. Garbage is piled up everywhere. La-Z-Boys come with plumbing and a nice comfy toilet seat. The #1 show in the USA is called "Ow! My Balls!" and the biggest Oscar winner is titled Ass. Our hero, because he speaks in complete sentences, is told he "talks like a fag."

So.

Thesis A: Steve-O hanging from a rope as crocodiles lunge at him from below, attracted to the chicken carcass stuffed into his jockstrap, is comic genius of the first water.

Thesis B: Steve-O hanging from that rope not that different from "Ow! My Balls!," the type of comedy which Mike Judge holds in total contempt as the lowest common denominator of culture, a baseless, graceless, debasing parade of farting ass cheeks and nut-shots that not only lacks in any intellectual content, but which actually is hostile to the very idea of intellect, and which as a consequence impoverishes the culture that enjoys it.

So I ask you: as I sit here laughing my ass off, how can both A and B possibly be simultaneously true? They sure as hell seem to be.

Newsflash: Tim Hardaway Wants Only Straight Men to See His Penis

In case you've missed it, there is a minor brouhaha due to Tim Hardaway's comments yesterday:

"You know, I hate gay people, so I let it be known. I don't like gay people and I don't like to be around gay people. I am homophobic. I don't like it. It shouldn't be in the world or in the United States.''

This chain of events was triggered by a new book by John Amaechi, a former NBA center, including his disclosure that he is gay. Big whoop. So no, he's not the bad guy here. Dan LeBatard, the Florida ESPN radio host who provided Hardaway with the shovel he used to dig this hole, is also exempt from condemnation, due to the fact he just asked a simple question about current events, one of which was Amaechi's disclosure (audio available via the Deadspin link above). Totally above board, in my opinion.

With the exception of the San Francisco press (just an AP story, really), I've not seen much coverage of the story, and even then, it seems relegated to the sports section. ESPN radio, however, has seemingly been 50% devoted to Hardaway's gaffe ever since last evening.

Much of that ESPN radio commentary I've heard seems to indicate that people think Hardaway's wrong for feeling the way he does. I disagree - while his feelings on the matter are inflammatory and unfortunate, they're his feelings, not those of the radio callers (notorious retards, the lot of them), and he's entitled to them, however odious.

They'd have been far less odious if he'd simply said he was uncomfortable with the prospect of gay teammates. If I gave a shit about Tim Hardaway (I don't), I'd certainly say that he should have learned to exercise the governor on his cake-hole, since not every thought that runs across one's brainpan needs to be aired, on the radio or otherwise.

A bit late for that admonition, I'm afraid.

Discomfort at being put on the spot (tough crap, Tim - you're a big-time former ath-a-lete, and LeBatard was completely fair) might have caused him to amplify his rhetoric, resulting in the inflammation of sports-talk-radio listeners' sensibilities.

Having written an over-the-top headline or two myself, I should really give the Deadspin blog a bit of slack, but their article's title misses the point: Tim Hardaway is entitled to some opinion, if not some control, of who should see his penis. I guess so, anyway, though I've never really given it a lot of thought. And there are a lot of polite ways to make such a statement. Claiming to hate an entire group of people you've never met based on something you find distasteful but which they've not done to you, around you, or to anyone you know, is prima facie evidence of stupidity. Such extreme thinking has never been acceptable, but while it has been accepted the past, it's not now, and even Hardaway should have known this.

Have we, as a society, forgotten how to apologize? Tim Hardaway is way beyond any ability to retract his statement - it was pretty unequivocal. He did have the option to say something like "What a stupid I am!" (channelling Roberto DiVicenzo), and to apologize not for his views, but for his intemperance at expressing them in a public forum where people would then point at him and laugh. What did he say, instead? An attempt at the classic misdirection play:

Hardaway issued a statement Wednesday night to Local 10 saying: "There are more important things to worry about than my comments. We should be more concerned about President (George) Bush and all the people dying in Iraq."

Niiice. Real nice. That should calm things right down, moron. I'd almost prefer that he take the same approach all the other glitterati have after recent similar missteps. He could just check himself into the Betty Ford Clinic, under the delusion that they can cure "stupid" there.

[wik] Perhaps Amaechi's revelation has been improperly analyzed?

Shitdippery?

Douchefuckery?

Suckassery?

Fucknuttery?

As a proud resident of the Bay State, I have studiously tried to avoid commenting on the recent, um, asssuckery surrounding the doucheshittery arrest of two hippie dudes for putting up lite-brites around the city. But now the fuckdippy masters of Boston, the so-called hub of Teh Univerts, have actually claimed a prize, head of the Cartoon Network Jim Samples. Samples has resigned for his part in commissioning the commission of the recent act of, of... terror... that gripped Teh Hub because of the lite brites that... gripped our Hub with... um... terror...

Working as I do in Boston for one of the pre-eminent cut-rate educational institutions that litter the Hub like glitter on a transvestite's silicone cleavage, I am outraged, yes, outraged, that Samples is a goner yet the two suckdouchely nutass douchefuckers who perpetrated this, this.... terrorism, are not yet swinging by their, yeah, ooooh, right there.... ooooh, by their, what was I.... justice feels so RIGHT, uhhh, ooh,

I'm just so glad they got a scapegoat. I feel so much safer, and sleepy, now that someone got shafted because of those scary-ass lite brite terror things.

Unghhhhngh.

Justice feels soooo goood.

Of all the domestic animals, sheep are generally the least appreciative.

Or, perhaps more properly, the regular assertions that the debate, she is over!

From James Taranto's column of Feb 9, 2007, discussing a noxiously ill-thought-out op-ed by Ellen Goodman in that same day's Boston Globe. He has much to say about what's offensive in her rhetorical approach, and for that, I recommend reading the entire piece. More generally, however, he explains his take on global warming, and illuminates what's truly wrong about the attempts to stifle all discussion on the matter (Taranto uses "we" and "our" in the self-referential, "royal" sense):

This columnist is skeptical of global warming. We don't have enough scientific knowledge to have anything like an authoritative opinion--but neither does Ellen Goodman, who bases her entire argument on an appeal to authority, namely the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. We lack the time, the inclination and possibly the intellect to delve deeply into the science. No doubt the same is true of Goodman.

Our skepticism rests largely on intuition. The global-warmists speak with a certainty that is more reminiscent of religious zeal than scientific inquiry. Their demands to cast out all doubt seem antithetical to science, which is founded on doubt. The theory of global warming fits too conveniently with their pre-existing political ideologies. (Granted, we too are vulnerable to that last criticism.)

Above all, we can't stand to be bullied. And what is it but an act of bullying to deny that there is any room for honest disagreement, to insist that those of us who are unpersuaded are the equivalent of Holocaust deniers, that we are not merely mistaken but evil?

I remain skeptical (or, if I were British, not that I am, "sceptical"). I have seen nothing that convinces me global warming is a man-made problem, that it has a man-made solution, or, frankly, that it's even a net problem at all. And I, like Taranto, despise bullies, particularly those who bring highly debatable arguments to the table, and then demand my acquiescence.

Unlike my earlier post, which was an apparently futile attempt to forestall further posts from The BirdMan, this one's for real.

A bit of background is in order. Katy, Texas is one of the western suburbs of Houston, fast becoming the demographic center of the metropolitan area due to its inexorable growth. Pretty much all by itself, it's caused a massive construction project to widen Interstate 10 to something like 14 lanes from downtown to the west side.

Along with that growth has come a bit of highly-localized strife, the most recent installment of which can be found in this article from yesterday's Katy Times:

Baker Rd. pig races go “Daily”

By Nick Georgandis, Managing Editor

Thursday, February 8, 2007 1:56 PM CST

“The Daily Show” correspondent Rob Riggle, a alumni of “Saturday Night Live” and an improv comedian, holds a sausage-on-a-stick and can of beer while conducting an interview with a patron at the American Pig Race Friday night on Baker Road.

(Times photo/Nick Georgandis)

Those in attendance at Friday night's installment of Craig Baker's “American Pig Race” on Baker Road paid little heed to the camera crew at first - after all, members of the media have been no stranger to this part of town over the last couple of months. But when “The Daily Show with John Stewart” correspondent Rob Riggle decided to conduct an interview with one patron while simultaneously gnawing on an enormous sausage-on-a-stick and taking sips from a can of Busch Beer, there were plenty of double takes, pointed fingers and whispers from the 100-plus member crowd.

Craig Baker, a local businessman, owner of Craig Baker Marble Company, Inc., after whose family the road is named, is in the middle of a tiff with the Katy Islamic Association (K.I.A.).

Baker has stated that in late September, Yousuf Shaikh and Kamel Fotough came to his business to introduce themselves, then advised him that his business would not go well alongside their proposed mosque and Islamic Community Center, and that he would be wise to vacate the area.

Further detail, from an earlier story in November, 2006:

Craig Baker owns pigs. He's the guy behind the second big yellow sign on Baker Road. That's the one announcing Friday night pig races. "What does it matter, I can do whatever I want with my land right," asked landowner Craig Baker.

Sure can. But aren't pigs on the property line racing on a Friday night a little offensive to a Muslim neighbor?

"The meat of a pig is prohibited in the religion of Islam," said Katy Islamic Association member Youssof Allam. "It's looked upon as a dirty creature."

Yeah, there's that and also that Friday night is a Muslim holy day.

"That is definitely a slap in the face," said Allam..

Now before you go thinking Craig Baker is unfair, or full of hate, or somehow racist, hear him out.

Baker has long roots here. His family named the road and when the new neighbors moved in, he tells us, they asked him to move out. "Basically that I should package up my family and my business and find a place elsewhere," said Baker. "That's ridiculous, they just bought the place one week prior and he's telling me I should think about leaving."

This being Texas, and even though Houston lacks all the cowboy hats, boots, and big belt buckles of Dallas and other prototypical Texas towns, KIA isn't getting much sympathy so far. Instead, their alleged attempt to control use of someone else's land has gone over like the proverbial "turd in the punchbowl" ("like a fart in church"?). I wonder what the Koran has to say about either of those?

In any event, Comedy Central will reportedly be airing the episode at 10:00 Central Time, next Tuesday, Feb 13, 2007. I expect hilarity to ensue.

[wik] Other opinions on the matter exist, of course. I didn't say "any" I said "much".

[alsø wik] I'm thinking there's a chance that this isn't really a site affiliated with the K.I.A. Someone get the WIPO on the phone, pronto!

[alsø alsø wik] Let's not bullshit each other, however. This isn't a social or land demarcation issue - Baker gives every impression of disliking Islam, period. Which, he's totally free to do, in AmeriKKKa, no?

[wi nøt trei a høliday in Sweden this yër?] Am I the only one who thinks Mr. Georgandis was snarkily opportunistic in his choice of photo? I wonder what she'd just said to him?

"I heard the heartbeat."

Yep, my forthcoming son and/or daughter is now, inelecutably, fo' rizzle fo' shizzle. Hell yeah!

Next up, a fellow bested only by the roadrunner in bearing no resemblance to his cartoon version:

Picoides villosus just by the plumage, but the hairies I understand are both larger and don't range quite as far north as I and my suet. Also concerning plumage, this photo understates how striking the black and white ladder pattern down the back is.

You guys wanna play dickedy-dick? Not a problem.

Let's start with your friend and mine, Baeolophus bicolor:

He's omnipresent throughout the day at the seed areas. Once in awhile one might take a stab at the suet, but they're definitely seed-eaters.

They come pretty much at dawn and stay around until late afternoon. Bigger birds might cause them to leave the feeders, but they don't go far and as soon as they're open they come right back. I have seen 4 or 5 at a time around our feeding area, but I have no idea if that's typical.

My bird book says that, in identifying the titmouse, that it looks sort of like a mouse. Huh, thanks. And I...guess that's true, although a flying mouse more readily describes a bat, and the two look nothing alike.

Friggin weak-ass dollar bird book.

Not the birds!

Alright, that's about enough. If it's up to the Lethal to provide content for this joint, we're all gonna be deep in it.

If someone doesn't post something by 1300 only-timezone-that-matters time, I'm going to bird blogging.

See if I don't.

I can tell you all about my new feathered flying friends, who come to dine and tease my cat. Since we put out the seed and a coupla bricks of suet, we get tufted titmice, black-capped chickadees, some sort of yellow woodpecker, a male and female pair of downy woodpeckers, mourning doves (always in an odd-numbered group, interestingly enough), and most recently some chubby starlings (or perhaps grackles). And a few dozen little sparrows that hang around with their robin friends in the bushes. Maybe I'll tell you about the nice big bluejay who would stop by briefly on occasion. He never ate much, and now he surely won't because he died. Found him stiff as a board in the driveway with no visible wounds.

Try me, motherf*ckers.

1300, or it's the backyard aviary blog.

My morning commute is now a solid hour, not including time spent at the daycare where I leave the Li'lest Lethal. Sometimes I hang out there for up to 30 minutes if he's especially needy that morning or I want to work some more on the kickass pyramid of Legos I started there the other day. Well what the eff, I'm there for a half hour!

But we're talking about 60 minutes in the car. It must be said that the actual distance is only about 25 miles. Problem is that...well, I'm not sure really. I just know that the 15-odd mile stretch of interstate highway I utilize is comprised of 3 to 5 lanes, depending, and traffic on all them goes about, oh, 32mph when it moves at all. In such circumstances it is vital that my spawn remain at least nominally occupied, both for his own general wellbeing and to prevent me from opening the driver's side door and hurling myself out of it so I don't have to hear the relentless horrible crying anymore. Although, come to think of it, given that highway traffic is usually crawling, I probably wouldn't get too hurt. But I would look totally stupid. Maybe I could make sure I hit head first or something. THen I wouldn't hear the crying and I wouldn't have to care how stupid I (surely) looked.

The best form of sonic sedation is your basic kids' music, 100 of the songs you thought were played out and lame by the time you were about 4. These renditions are modernized and produced in a real studio by real engineers and real singers, which doesn't really help much, truth be told. And let me tell you, "Bingo was his name, oh" starts feeling like an icepick in my eardrums after awhile, and by the time the CD has restarted with "a tisket (?) a tasket (?) a green and yellow basket", my thoughts wander again to whether the situation might be improved by just jumping out the door.

But what happens is that while the music dominates the interior space and soothes the savage child's breast, I am looking at the exterior world with greater than usual attentiveness in an effort to find something to distract me from the unending preschool jams inside. Today, instead of having to really bear down and pay attention, something came to me: a dude on a motorcycle.

The only reason that is remarkable is that the ambient temperature was about 20. That's 20F, for you non-Amurricans or domestic bedwetters. And that's respectably chilly in these parts. You know, wear-a-hat weather. But this cat was not only on his bike, he was in the fast lane (which, quite abnormally, was actually going fast), where I sat on his back wheel at 75 for about 5-10 minutes, but when there were some openings in the other lanes he weaved and was gone, 90+. I don't have the science fu to calculate windchills and whatnot, but I would think that any micron of exposed skin would be black and necrotic in about 3 seconds. I like to think his car was just in the shop or wouldn't start, because a guy who's that into riding is kinda unsettling to me.

So that gave me enough to think about this morning to keep me from making the leap.

And btw, I learned (not the hard way, thank the Dark Ones) that the Connecticut State Police have at least one unmarked SUV. Couldn't get alot of detail; I was 9 lanes and a concrete divider away, going the opposite direction at about 70, and at a time in the early morning when colors tend to wash out. At a glance, looked like a white or gray Blazer, with heavy tint on the windows.