2001-04-02 - 10:04 p.m.
Every first Monday of the month my journalism association meets in the main conference room at the San Diego Union-Tribune--a paper I used to make fun of until I got to know many of the reporters there and started feeling guilty about deriding it constantly as a conservative dishrag. Even though it is.
Anyway, this conference room is filled from floor to ceiling with portraits of every politician, diplomat, world leader and minor celeb who ever--I don�t know, drank coffee there once or something. Ever been inside one of those mom-and-pop pizza places that have pictures of every famous or semi-famous Italian who�s ever eaten there? This is the journalistic equivalent of that, sort of.
One wall, however, is completely bare except for pictures of U.S. Presidents. From left to right (geographically, not politically), you have Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush1, and Bush 2.
Uh, OK.
Anyone missing?
Bueller? Bueller?
I mean, really. They�ve got a picture of Jesse Ventura in that room, for chrissake. And Barry Scheck, too (the nerdy annoying member of O.J. Simpson�s defense team), of all people.
Apparently Bill Clinton is the Emmanuel Goldstein of the American right. He is The One Who Must Not Be Named. Another year or so and we�ll all be sitting down every day for the Two Minutes Hate and screaming obscenities at his puffy face while the entire Eurasian army (commanded by Janet Reno) marches ominously behind him.
Good grief. I know you loathe the man, but give it a rest already.
Still, I will have to take a picture of Dubya�s portrait and post it here some day. He looks like he�s trying to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop.
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On a similar subject, what�s with this sudden push to name everything in the world after Ronald Reagan? I read last week where some Republican congressmen are throwing hissy fits because the DC Metro stop for National Airport (now called Ronald Reagan Airport) hasn�t changed its signage yet to reflect the New Order. One of the GOP lawmakers was quoted as saying he won�t rest till every town in America has something named after the Gipper--you know, kind of like how every little armpit village in the old Soviet Union had a humongous statue of Lenin in its town square. Hey, congressman--remember what eventually happened to all those statues?
I can�t wait till the Democrats get back into power and start naming shit after Bill Clinton. No donut shop in America will be safe.
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Today�s Google hit: "henry rollins gay."
Um, yes, he is. Duh. But as much as I�d like to claim this one for my bingo card, the correct response is "henry rollins neck muscles." So, no cigar--unless you are in fact Henry Rollins.
I also got a hit for "willow/tara." So apparently the slash-fiction aficionados are traipsing through Diaryland. Someone tell Andrew. He�ll be wanting to disinfect.
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I just realized--I almost made it through an entire entry without using the f-word even once. Fuck that.
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