What About Endy?

About a week ago, the Huffington Post alerted me to this article. To summarize, after his almost assured re-election, President Hugo Chavez might decide to restrict the rights of talented Venezuelans who want to play baseball in the US. "Das ist verboten!" Hugo says, although he says it in Spanish.

Oh, Hugo. Overall, you rate positively here at B&E. But my most recent previous post about you covered the weird sulphur smell comments you made at the UN, and now this. If you keep Endy Chavez from returning to the Mets, I might just have to name you Dickhead of the Week.

One other little thing about the article. The British are so cute when they talk about baseball. They say the most popular Venezuelan baseball player is Bob Abreu. Heh. Bob. Does anyone call him Bob? And is he really that popular?

Months Later and Still Pissing People Off

I don't believe that admitting I'm wrong makes me less than a real man. It is many other things that make me less than a real man.

To summarize a continuing saga, I'm still receiving occasional comments to my April post naming CEO Rex Tillerson of Exxon Dickhead of the Week. Yesterday's post by anonymous (which I had no idea was such a common name!) reads like this:

Talk about a dickhead... you don't even know how to spell the name of the company!

Well, anonymous, if that is indeed your name, you're right. I did misspell the name of the company. Apparently, it's ExxonMobil, not Exxon Mobile.

But in fairness to myself, I'm not sure that misspelling the world's most profitable corporation's name makes me a dickhead (even a lowercase dickhead). There are many other things that make me a dickhead (even an uppercase Dickhead), perhaps, but poor spelling is not one of them.

If anything, I'm guilty of being able to tune out the ExxonMobil corporate branding efforts. At worst, this makes me clueless, autistic, or even retarded. At best, I am an unsusceptible consuming American. And we are a rare breed indeed.

Happy Thanksgiving

I'm sitting here watching the Thanksgiving Day Parade... oh, excuse me... the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade... and it occurs to me that other than the warm feelings of nostalgia I feel, I hate the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Lip-synched musical numbers, tacky floats, silly marching bands... who needs it?

Hey, look! Tom Otterness did a balloon! Cool!

I found the parade on NBC first, but it's also on CBS. How the hell does that work? And why?

That new (old) Snoopy as World War I Flying Ace balloon kicks ass, though. And it's brought to us by United Features Syndicates. Why do I need to know that?

Maybe I don't get it because I don't have any damned kids, but what's the deal with Laurie Berkner?

And why the fuck does Barbie get a goddamned musical number?

OK, I'm not turning this into a live blog of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. But it's an idea for next year, assuming I'm not doing any cooking.

Seriously, the parade is stupid. And yet I can't stop watching. I hate it. I love it. I hate myself. I love myself.

Eat lots of turkey, everybody. Can we get a "Bah Humbug!"?

What? Beard? Post!

Some of you may know about my fascination with beards.

Well, here's another tidbit. 500,000 Irish pounds - that's monetary pounds, not weight pounds - are lost each year thanks to facial hair's absorption of beer. At today's exchange rate, that's coming on a goddamn million greenbacks worth of lost beer.

For the love of Jehosophat, Irishmen! Shave off your beards! Get rid of the mustaches! What the hell kind of Irishman would let that much Guiness go to waste? And if you're dripping down your front, shave the chest hair, too!

[Thanks, Hil, for the linky-poo.]

A Sporting Time in Kansas City

It is decidedly awkward to use the term "negro" in front of someone of the African-American persuasion.

I went to Kansas City this weekend. The missus had a music therapy conference, and I thought I'd use it as an excuse to see ma. And while there, I went to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum.

As I hopped in a taxi, I noticed the cab driver was black. "I'd like to go to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, please" I mumbled awkwardly.

"EXCUSE ME??"

"The, uh, Baseball Museum?" I asked meekly.

He sort of stared at me in the rearview mirror.

"I think it's at 18th and Vine?" I said, as I rolled onto my back to show my submissiveness.

"Oh, OK," Black Cab Driver said, finally understanding where it was I wanted to go. My lack of assertiveness, I suspect, kept him from hearing me.

But seriously, you try saying, "negro," even in a totally innocent context, to the face of a black man, and you'll understand the anxiety. Black Cab Driver was perfectly nice, and we chatted the rest of the way to the museum.

And the museum is great. Don't go to Kansas City without seeing it.

That didn't end our sports excitement. Ma, ma's man, the missus, and I went to a fancy-pants steak place that happened to be in our hotel (the Hotel Phillips), and seated at a long table in the middle of everything was Larry Brown.

Larry Brown was, of course, the Knicks coach that got canned after last season, but I still think of him more as the last coach to lead Kansas University basketball to a national championship. Next to Larry was legendary North Carolina coach (and Kansas native) Dean Smith. Then there were a bunch of people I didn't recognize. Then at the end of the table were the longest legs I'd ever seen in my life. Even with his back to us, I immediately recognized him as Bill Russell. A couple seats from Bill was Oscar Robertson.

The following day, Dean, Bill, and Oscar were being inducted into the NCAA Basketball Hall of Fame, and Larry was introducing Dean. So they were eating some steaks to celebrate.

Bill Russell has the greatest high-pitched, joyful laugh you'll ever hear.

Universal Jurisdiction

It's the weekend, so I'm finally able to do a little browsing on my regular news sites while the missus does a little sleeping in. I see that Time.com is claiming an "exclusive report" about a German court filing charges against Rumsfeld, Gonzalez, Tenet, and other Bush administration officials for "crimes against humanity."

Since I read about this very thing last weekend in the ever-reliable The Nation magazine, I fail to see how Time.com can claim an exclusive. But I'm not going to pretend to understand journalism any more than I'm going to pretend that I understand the law.

But keep your eye on the legal phrase "universal jurisdiction." It is under this premise that the German court is filing its charges. The Nation introduced me to this concept back in October, as it relates to former Chilean dictatorship Augusto Pinochet and former Guatemalan president Efraín Ríos Montt.

It is through universal jurisdiction that domestic courts can prosecute criminals outside their own countries. (In that way, the words "universal jurisdiction" mean exactly what they say. Amazing how language can do that, even in the legal system.)

So you know that torture bill that President Bush just signed into law? There's a silver lining among the waterboarding and beatings. It appears that the unconscionable passing of the bill has become evidence itself in the German case against the Bush administration. Why does the US need to protect itself from war crimes prosecution if they're not committing war crimes?

While the sentences from these trials are hard to enforce, the possibility of prosecution is kept open. And let's face it: the political victory is in some ways as important as the actual prosecution. Half of the Bush administration will be seen by the world as the torturers they are.

I guess Germany has become (through experience?) experts on war crimes.

Boy, That's Some Good Shit

Obviously, the departure of Donald Rumsfeld is good news, although I can't help but think that the President is just finally changing out of his Cosby sweater.

Occasionally, when I stop into my local bodega to buy some milk, I take note of the tabloid headlines. They're always good for a giggle or comforting word. For example, after the Mets lost, I think it was New York Newsday (the ugly stepsister of tabloids) that had the best headline: "Ya Gotta Bereave."

This morning, though, it was the usual suspects covering the Rumsfeld ouster with their usual sensitivity. The New York Daily News went with Bush showing Donny the door with the thought bubble, "Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out," a sentiment many of us can relate to.

But it's the New York Post, famous for its Rupert Murdoch right-wing reactionary nature, that wins today's headline war. They kept it simple and to the point. "Rums Felled." On the inside, they're discussing the Midterm Massacre and feature another quality headline: "Cut-n-Rum."

With the AP declaring Webb the winner in Virginia, it's a pretty good week to be a Democrat.

Of course, I still don't feel comfortable calling myself a Dem, so let's just say that it's a good day to be a voter who caucuses with the Democrats.

Subpoena Power, Baby!

My biggest concern is that last night's Democratic victory will be mostly symbolic. I mean, if they live up to their reputation of being feckless weenies, there will ultimately be no point to this victory. But hell, I'll take whatever victory I can get these days, even a symbolic one.

I'll allow myself to focus on the positive for a moment. The Senate is still undecided, but even if that ends up going Republican, the Democrats now have subpoena power in the House. And the chairfolks of some of those powerful committees are pretty progressive. Charles Rangel on House Ways & Means. Barney Frank on Finance. Henry Waxman on Government Reform. If these three men live up to their reputations (and obligations), they might just insist that the Bush administration is held accountable for the many disasters of the past six years. Oh, that's a tasty prospect.

And a special shout-out to Nancy Pelosi, first female Speaker of the House. Nice job, lady. You're third in line for the Presidency. I've got only one complaint about you as Speaker. You're too svelte. Not "fat cat" enough. You need more jowls. See Dennis Hastert for direction.

Tuesday, November 7

vote
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Hey! B&E readers!
Don't forget to vote!
Tuesday's the day!
Vote!
!

The Joke's On Us

Mega-church pastor Ted Haggard has allegedly been paying a man to have sex with him monthly for almost three years. During the trysts, he's also apparently been snorting crank to heighten the experience.

So, you see, when "I Like My Men In A" Teddy Haggard preaches hate toward the queers, he's really just being satirical, exposing the hypocrisy and bigotry in others. Like Borat.