2001-08-13 - 9:10 p.m.
I got your stem cells right here, George.
Pretty much the only good thing I can say about the whole stem cell fiasco is that at least Dubya picked the merely partially stupid alternative over the completely stupid one. That�s one of the two basic reactions I�ve been having to most of his actions as President: "Thank God he hasn�t authorized oil drilling in Yosemite yet." "At least this surplus-draining tax cut of his is netting me an extra 300 bucks too instead of it all simply going to Dick Cheney�s friends." "Isn�t it great that the Europeans just pointed and laughed at ol� Shrub instead of stripping him naked and pelting him with eggs and rotten tomatoes while he runs crying for mommy through the streets of Madrid?"
That�s my first reaction. The second is usually something along the lines of, "I can�t believe this nimrod is President of the United States."
The case in favor of stem cell research has been made much more eloquently elsewhere, so I won�t bother. Besides, to me this whole hoohah is the most completely manufactured "controversy" since flag burning. Be honest--do any of you who are reading this (certain molecular biologists of my acquaintance don�t count) know anyone in your immediate circle of friends who even knew what a stem cell was three months ago, let alone have an opinion on their use in research? Now granted, it�s August, and in August the media always cream their collective shorts over non-stories like this because nothing newsworthy ever happens until after Labor Day, but jeez. Did they really have to take an issue that no one has an opinion on but a handful of right-wing wackjobs and build it up into some grand controversy and allow George W. Bush of all people to come off like some sort of Deep Thinker by claiming the nonexistent middle ground between two equally nonexistent extremes?
I can�t believes this nimrod is President of the United States.
Trust me, stuff like this will be a thing of the past when I become World Overlord. Since my birthday is in August, I�ll be renaming the month Miguelitus and declaring it an imperial holiday--a whole month where single-malt scotch will be half-price, the radio will play nothing but the best music, and anyone can get sex simply by going up to the object of their desire and saying, "Hail Miguelito--wanna fuck?" That should put most of the world�s stupidity on hold at least till September.
***
Not much worth reporting on this past weekend. Saturday was devoted to sleep and more sleep, with occasional errand-running interrupted by sudden bursts of frantic inactivity. On Sunday I spent a couple of hours at Hillcrest's Cityfest, which is like all other street fairs in San Diego--mobs of sweaty people, row upon row of booths selling artsy-craftsy thingies and overpriced food, a couple of stages with mediocre bands playing on them, and one or two giant inflatable beer bottles--only gayer. Then I went to talk to the tattoo artist about the work I'm having done.
Observation: Tattooists and body piercers look scary but are actually the nicest people on the face of the earth. The tattoo shop is up a long, steep, dark, narrow slight of stairs--I haven't dared to let myself be carried up stairs like that since a certain debaucherous party I attended in Toronto six years ago--but as I was sitting there wondering what to do, the dude at the piercing shop on the first floor saw my predicament, ran up the stairs, and brought down a whole army of tattoo dudes to give me a lift. Seriously, there had to be at least eight of them, any one of whom was so buff that he easily could have tucked me under his arm and carried me himself.
On the way out, I thanked Piercing Dude, who responded with, "It's alright man. Everyone looks after everyone--that's what it's all about." I have no idea what he meant by that, but it sounded nice.
***
|
 |