Too Clever By Half

There's an expression of some sort, along the lines of "too clever for his own good." This phrase came to mind as I read a letter to the editor in The Economist. I know, you're thinking "that's what you get for reading the goddamn letters to the editor," but I had a really good excuse--I was at an airport. There, that explains it.

The letter in question refers to a short article that The Economist had printed in the previous issue, detailing the latest developments in the Elgin Marbles controversy. If you are unfamiliar with what I'm talking about, the Elgin Marbles are a series of sculptures that come from the exterior of the Parthenon; when it was under Turkish occupation, the British Lord Elgin made a crooked deal with the Turks and made off with these friezes, losing a couple along the way (but no matter). As a result, the Brits have been in possession of one of Greece's greatest treasures for the past 200 years, as both sides and their museums sniped back and forth.



I will concede that at one point there was good enough reason to let the marbles stay in London: it was unsafe under the Turkish occupation, the pollution was enough that it could seriously damage the marbles, and London provided a great outlet for worldwide access as many people visit the British Museum. Now all these points are moot, especially considering the brand new state-of-the-art Acropolis museum that was built. And whaddyaknow, there's a space all ready for the return of the friezes (facing the correct direction no less--the Brits have them facing inwards instead of outwards). The Economist, trying to prove itself as the statesman above petty squabbling, suggested the only sensible solution: The Brits maintain ownership, while sending the marbles on loan to Greece.

Uh, WTF, ol' chap. You assholes have it exactly backwards--there is no question of ownership (the statues are clearly Greek, anyone can see that, and they don't need no fancy law-talking guy to tell them that), but if we're going to compromise, fuck it, London can hold on to the Marbles for a little bit, maybe having a nice going away party for them.

While the magazine once again proved the rule about British arrogance, the truly infuriating item came from the responses. The most intriguing (and most retarded) came from a gentleman by the name of Robert Ingle from Corvallis, Oregon, who attempted some sort of historical argument. He argues that the marbles were built on funds provided by the Delian League. Those funds were supposed to pay for defense, but as government funding tends to do, some of the money ended up going towards the creation of these sculptures (I mean, really, Mr. Ingle, that stuff NEVER happens today). The gentleman then indicates that in the interest of moral fairness that the marbles be returned to the people that paid for its construction, those that reside in the city-states of the Delian League. And since most of these were located in the Eastern Aegean, that would mean returning the marbles to...Turkey.

Robert Ingle, you ignorant slut.


First of all, thatt's quite an amazing display of mental gymnastics that you employ to ascertain ownership of the Marbles to only these particular people, and ignoring the fact that you know, Athens was the head of the Delian League. I mean, since California and New York pay the most in taxes, does that mean that they should claim ownership of everything that the United States produces? This is just pure nonsense. One might even call it bongtarded.

The problem is, Robert, you really attempted to be too clever with your next assumption, and that's where you get into real trouble. Back in the time of the Delian League, who do you think made up the citizenry? Umm...Greeks. You fucking idiot. I'm sure you wanted to impress some comely Beaver Gal with your impressive knowledge of ancient history after taking that one class at OSU, but this is just painful. Greeks want their artwork back, and even by your convoluted logic, they should STILL get them back. Turkey would have no claim whatsoever, under any circumstances, since they didn't populate the area until, oh, centuries later. What you proposed, was sheer stupidity. IT JUST DOES NOT MAKE SENSE.

Ugh, I need to relax and just watch kittens ride a Roomba or something.

Oregon Matters!

The one (and only) benefit to the drawn-out Democratic Primary campaign has been the attention paid to some, ahem, lesser states. And Oregon certainly fits that bill. It's about time that people learn the finer points of...timber payments? And have the media visit such illustrious locales as...Albany. And Pendelton. Because THIS is America, fuck yeah.

At least we had a brief bit of national attention to our quirky little state. Granted, most of this occurred around 11 p.m. Eastern Time, but at least we got all the insomniacs on the up and up about the O-Regon. Everyone had a crash course in the total awesomeness that is the vote-by-mail system that we have in place; words like "sophisticated" and "efficient" were thrown around, especially as we had 50% of the vote counted within an hour, the kind of terms not usually associated with Oregonians. And we also had the great delight to hear CNN's John King refer to Salem as a "college town". Of course, people that are familiar with the area would probably call it a town full of old people and meth heads, but who's to quibble?



We also learned that even though Oregon is waaaaaaaay white, we are apparently "affluent" and "educated". This would be news to 97% of Oregonians, but then again, when you're competing against Kentucky, it's hard NOT to look impressive. And the fact that most rural, white, hard-working Oregonians voted for Mr. Obama means absolutely nothing, because Kentucky went so hard the other way.

That's the story of Oregon: Always overshadowed by Kentucky. Damn you, Colonel, and your delicious herbs and spices!

The Down And Dirty That Is Oregon Politics

Having grown up in Louisiana, I am no stranger to shady politics and backroom deals. Hell, we invented dirty politics, folks. But when Louisiana-style politics come to Oregon, well that's a story. Hell, these kind of tactics would make Huey Long blush.

This year in Oregon we have a particularly contentious race in the 5th Congressional District, which happens to be my home district. In 2006, I was a volunteer coordinator for the incumbent, Darlene Hooley, and sure enough we defeated her challenger, one Mike Erickson. But with Darlene's retirement at the end of her term, the 5th is once again in play. In an area where party registration is nearly equal, both sides are eager to get their hands on the seat.

Whereas the Democratic side is filled with a laundry-list of no-names, there are two heavy hitters for the Republicans. There's the aforementioned Erickson, who managed to at least get over 40% of the vote, and longtime Oregon politician, the infamous Kevin Mannix. Oregonians know well of his shenanigans over the years, but lately has been a big loser in the state-wide offices he sought. Even though he lost state-wide, he managed to win the area of the 5th each time, meaning that the race was going to be competitive.

And it's been neck-and-neck for some time, which means it was time to get dirty. Mike "Because I'm a Cowboy"* Erickson lobbed the first volley, playing the old "you voted to increase taxes" card, which in GOP circles is almost as bad as gay-marrying a terrorist (*the "Cowboy" reference is an inside-the-campaign joke that we had--it really means absolutely nothing, but is fucking hilarious anyway). How does Mannix respond to these fairly benign charges? With this letter.

This letter has it all: Affairs, Abortions, Cocaine, and...HOUSEBOATS?!?!



That's right, a week before ballots are due, Mannix pulls the old "my opponent paid for a secret abortion and had wild houseboat cocaine parties card". I think Buddy Roemer pulled that one in '88, except the houseboat was a pirogue in his case. And since blanket denials by the press secretary of the Erickson campaign isn't enough, the local papers are all over this like flies on shit. Proof? Who has time for that! Of course, the most amusing part about the coverage has been the focus on the secret abortion, and not the wild COCAINE PARTIES ON HOUSEBOATS. How is that NOT the most interesting part of the letter?

Man, leave it to the press to miss a good story entirely.

Tales of Old Salem Towne: Of Glass Bongs And Lucky Fortunes

Salem: Taking the Fun Out of Psychedelics Since the Mid-19th Century

Nothing may ever top the tale of Methheads On The Loose, but that doesn't mean that the exploits of Salemfolk should be ignored. No, there is simply too much good shit that goes down in Capital City that needs to be remarked upon, and we're here to fulfill that purpose.

Now, I'm not one for studying the local paper--I skim a headline or two, and mainly check the various Op-Eds, because I'm a masochist like that (God forbid it's a Thursday and I have to examine a David Reinhard piece). But for some reason, fate drew me to this story on the bottom-fold of the front page, and I thank fate kindly for that. Simply put, it was a story of two men and their drugs.

Really, the headline "Glass bong becomes weapon amid drug-induced paranoia" says all you really need to know about the story. The story goes 1) Man eats mushrooms; 2) Man goes on bad trip; 3) Man accuses buddy of being a narc; 4) Man then uses closest thing to a weapon (the glass bong of the headline) to knock the shit out of buddy. All of which is proof that there are certain people that should be prepared to take the path of bullshit enlightenment, and others that should just stick with huffing spray-paint in the safety of their attic, or just drinking like the rest of us. Of course, you could also take the lesson to be "Don't leave your glass shit lying everywhere".


On a completely unrelated note, Salem landmark "Lucky Fortune" restaurant & lounge is on the brink of losing their liquor license\, therefore making the entire operation potentially pointless. Mind you, I'm only using the term landmark in the loosest sense--in reality, it's only a landmark to the WDR crew, who have constructed an entire mythology behind what we believe to be the one mob-backed eatery in town (well, yakuza-backed to be specific). Of course, when we heard that the reason for this is the fact that people constantly get shot there, we couldn't say that we were surprised. Not coming from a place that recently scored a 48 on its health inspection test.

We'll be sure to keep you updated, as more trivial retarded shit develops.

Tales From Old Salem Towne: Scrap Metal

Salem: Now Here Is Nowhere


This story may be apocryphal (i.e., complete utter horseshit), but the fact that I can even believe its authenticity for a minute is testament to the brilliance of life here in Oregon's real-life Capital City.

So I was listening to the radio, and a caller phoned in to the show to tell the story of his encounter with Salemites the night before. He was driving home from work, which was some time past midnight since he worked the late shift, going through some of the residential thoroughfare combo roads that are prevalent in Salem, especially on the north side. As he was going down Cherry St., he had to slow down because there was a small group of people in the middle of the road (and he wanted to avoid manslaughter charges, I presume). Eventually they disperse and move to the side, allowing him to pass.


He goes up the street a little bit, then pulls over to the side to take a look back to see "what the deal was with these guys". As he looks back, he sees that one of the group pulls out a crowbar...and goes to town on a manhole cover in the middle of the street. That's right, what our caller witnessed was probably a fortnightly occurrence in Salem Towne, the swarm of Meth-heads looking for pieces of scrap metal to sell for their next fix. Because while Meth-heads don't possess the ingenuity to break into your car and steal your stereo like your garden-variety crackhead, they have the Meth-strength to bust the shit out of some metal objects. Hence, your scene with the crowbar.

To be sure, I'm going to be avoiding Cherry St. in all my travels around town.

WDR Election Day Craptacular!

That's right kids, it's that one day a year that truly marks us as citizens of these glorious United States, Election Day. (Well, today and Tax Day, but who wants to remember a day in which you unwillingly give money away (unless you're me, who's getting a nice fat check from the government this year--perhaps it will even reach into the triple digits! That'll get me my fair share of penguin bongs)). To the more idealistically inclined, it's a day where we swear to uphold our duty to the principles of democracy, and for a brief moment put the destiny of our nation into our hands. Of course, to the cynical and opportunity-costed mind, it's nothing more than a waste of time. And to the conspiracy-minded (which, according to our latest research, makes up 92.4% of our blog's populace), it's just another confirmation that we've sold our souls for the illusion of control, when in essence we have none. And for the majority of the population, it's a Tuesday that has shitty weather.

Since it's one of those off-years, there's not much up for debate this year. Most people are the President-or-go-home crowd, and with not even a congressional seat to decide, we're left with ballot measures here in Oregon. Because we don't trust our legislators, we have a ridiculously easy system that puts various cock-eyed measures up for direct vote, and then when it comes time to vote for them, we bitch and moan that the legislators in Salem aren't doing their job and that we're doing their work for them. If you haven't figured it out already, Oregonians are good at two things: indie rock and fucking complaining.



At least Oregon has one thing going for them when it comes to the democratic process, and that is its vote-by-mail system. The number one complaint that people have about the national election process has to do with the inconvenience of voting, in terms of both times and location. There's no such problem in Oregon, where we have about two weeks to decide on how to vote, and can mail or drop off our ballots at our convenience. In fact, during the writing of this blog, I just dropped off my ballot. Plus, you keep a paper trail and avoid other problems associated with electronic voting, though I'll defer to others to argue the merits of this point (that means that Hal the Holiday Armadillo better make an appearance in the comments section). The only downside that I can find is that I never get the privilege of confining myself to a tiny voting booth, and re-enacting the scene from "Black Sheep" where Chris Farley single-handedly destroys a polling scene.

So what are we democatizing this year? Here are the issues:

Measure 49: A few years back, Oregon voted on a similar issue with Measure 37, whose defined purpose had something to do with restoring property rights, which involved compensation for when the government fucked over your property by enacting some sort of zoning restriction or another (honestly, my eyes roll back into my skull when people talk about zoning). That all seemed fine and dandy, because apparently we all saw commercials that showed Ida and Hank and their family farm, and how they had relied on being able to sell the property for developers to make a couple of houses but were now unable to do so. Apparently this loss of income resulted in them living in a Nicaraguan nursing home. Instead, we ended up with a measure in which people could file multi-multi-multi-million dollar claims of potential lost income because the government would not allow them to develop a turd mine on their property. So we have 49, which attempts to split the difference between Grandma Ida and Turd Miner Johann.

There's something to be said about property rights--I mean, after all, who is the expert on everything about my property, from the scientific to the aesthetic, than my uneducated ass? However, I don't want to get into my problems with full-blown libertarianism here (the fad political affiliation of the young and retarded), so I'm going to stop typing.


Measure 50: This measure is essentially a state-level version of the federal S-CHIP bill, where our President, Dummy McChimp, made one of his great principled stands and busted out the veto pen for the third time, because sick kids are nobody else's problems but their own. This particular measure puts a tax on cigarettes (and cigars), with the money then going to kids health programs, rural health programs, and anti-smoking campaigns. There is something to be said about the constant gang-raping of the rights of smokers in this country, especially when compared to those who engage in other "sins". There is also something to be said that this is the only resort we have when we need to raise taxes.

The argument against the bill states that it is unfair to burden one small segment of the population for the cost of providing a benefit to others. Unfortunately, that's exactly what we do when we do things like tax the rich. And the fact that treatment for lung cancer and other smoking-related illnesses put an undue burden on the health-care system are avoided by the opponents of this measure as well. Then again, obesity-related illnesses not only put a strain as well, but they are also a national security risk! Tax the Mars Bar!

But in the end, what got me was the ads. It's one thing to be pummeled by them at all hours--who wants to deal with politics when you're watching TMZ (not me, but then again, I don't subject myself to the War Crime that is TMZ)? But it's another thing to be subjected to such atrocious acting. Dammit, RJ Reynolds, couldn't you hire somebody with experience beyond community theater?



Yeah, so now you can see how this Election Day was depressing, even for government wonks like me. Let's just get drunk and play Hungry-Hungry-Hippos!

Don't Bother Me, I'm Watching TV

I'm sure most of you are wondering what I do with my time besides write for this blog, watch movies in a drunken stupor, and "researching". Since I am of minimal social skills but practice good hygiene, I spend a lot of that time watching TV (instead of, say, playing video games (hence the point about hygiene)). And tonight marks the night where I celebrate this fact rather than mourn it.


That's because for once TV is worth watching. It's Thursday night, and that means the comedy lineup on NBC. There's the amiable My Name Is Earl, which while the weak link of the night, is a nice appetizer for what's to come. Then there's the brilliantly zany 30 Rock, which quickly became a favorite last season. Between Alec Baldwin's deliciously insane portrayal of a corporate head to the endless parade of quotable lines ("Live every week like it's 'Shark Week'"; "TELEVISION: ON! PORNOGRAPHY!"), it's comic sunshine in my dull dull life. There's the now-familiar standby, The Office, which still has a kick in it, even when you think it's heading downhill. And then there's Scrubs; though it may have lost its fastball, it's still worth keeping up as it winds down its run.


Adding to this great lineup this season, there is the added bonus of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia on FX. 10 o'clock rolls around, I'm watching this one. As Zhuang put it, it's kind of like Friends, if all of them were evil. I've totally caught up on the first two seasons (not much of an accomplishment, in any sense of the word, since there were only a handful of episodes in total), and now I'm prepared for doubleshots of new episodes each week. Follow this with the standard Daily Show/Colbert Report power hour, I've got my entire Thursday night booked. And that means I want no distractions.

Fuck you if you ruin my Thursday night. Of course, NBC kind of ruins it with one-hour premieres and FX does the same with slightly long episodes that bleed into my power hour, but I can take it. I'm strong like that.

Great Oden's Raven!

Tomorrow should be one of the greatest days in the history of the Portland Trail Blazers. That is, if they do as exactly as they should and select the mythical Norse God Greg Oden.


I don't care if the man was used as a historical consultant on "Evan Almighty" because he and Noah were grammar school pals, he is simply the right choice for the Blazers to make. Franchise centers don't come around very often, and the last one that did just won his fourth NBA championship. As Socrates once said, "Don't fuck wit da Big Fundamental."


Plus, Greg Oden is perfectly suited for Portland. We like our people down-to-earth and unflashy. In fact, he's a lot like our own Joe Reefer, if Joe was black and had any knowledge of sports whatsoever. Oden's personality fits the Pacific Northwest: laid-back yet still giving a crap.



Plus, I'm not sold on this whole Kevin Durant deal. Granted I saw him play one game, but damn, he sucked against my boys from LSU. Glen Davis totally had his way, and the kid couldn't shoot. Even though I've learned in Stats classes that one game is not a large enough sample size, fuck it, I'm running with it.

Durant won't be better than Lebron, and he couldn't beat Duncan by himself. You go big, dammit.

Oden. I'm sure he throws lightning bolts. Or something.