Oh Lena, have a cupcake (or 20) and just shut up for once.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Lena Dunham is pulling our collective leg on a grand, abdominal scale.

All her antics and despicable faux-intellectual showboating is part of a master plan she’s concocted in that bloated skull designed to elicit grimaces from that sector of the American public that still clings to common sense.



Her bullshit can’t be real. I’m a tinfoil Dunham Doubter. I never thought I’d say it, but it seems what comes out her mouth actually dwarfs the platters of plentiful culinary cornucopia that slither down that serpentine gullet.

Lena Dunham thinks the colloquialism, “TMI,” is sexist.

According to feminist icon Lena Dunham, yet another common expression is actually really a super-sexist one: “too much information,” or “TMI.”

In fact, Dunham said she finds the expression so offensive that it’s her “least favorite phrase.”

“I think when men share their experiences, it’s bravery, and when women share their experiences, it’s some sort of — people are like, ‘TMI,’” she told NPR’s Terry Gross in an interview this week.

Despite Dunham’s claims, men have in the past shared their experiences without being praised for “bravery,” and women have used “TMI” to tell a man they think he’s “oversharing.”

To top it off, Dunham said that the word “oversharing” is also unacceptable because it, too, is “really gendered.”

“I feel as though there’s some sense that society trivializes female experiences,” she said.

Dunham published a book, Not That Kind of Girl, about her own “female experiences,” and earned a very not-trivial $3.5 million off of its publication alone.

It was released Tuesday.

If I won the lottery, I would send her a ten-year supply of cupcakes. That should silence her nonsense for a few minutes.

Posted in L2

It’s time for Texas to begin accepting EBT (Ebola Benefits Transfer) cards…I suspect there may be more Thomas Eric Duncans in the charity pipeline.

The NYT did a smash up job of retracing Thomas Eric Duncan’s escape from microbe-infested Liberia straight into a welcoming Dallas emergency room last week as he writhed in the throes of deathly Ebola infection. Great timeline, great maps, Gray Lady!

(courtesy, NY Times)

(courtesy, NY Times)

On September 15 in Monrovia, Liberia, Mr. Duncan, in a fit of altruistic charity, carried a young girl to a hospital as her life slowly drifted away while the last stages of Ebola ravaged her soft tissues. The hospital, decidedly less altruistic, but more African, turned her away. Duncan brought her back home, where she later died. Five days later, he boarded several airborne tin cans that would bring him to Dallas by way of Brussels and Washington D.C. In Dallas, he began a short-lived stay with relatives before he began displaying the gory symptoms of initial Ebola infection (and contagiousness).

I don’t know what to make of this chain of events.

Duncan quit his Liberian job in early September, decided to carry a girl who was dying from Ebola around, just short of a trip to the United States. Don’t most people just pack for their trip? The level of ignorance in Africa leaves the rest of this story (which is yet to play out) up to anyone’s wild, speculative imagination and paranoia.

Even the dirtiest public ER in the United States must seem a paradise compared to the dirt infested hovels where sick people must seek treatment in the poor areas of Africa. Who can blame someone for fleeing to the U.S. when the beacon of free, effective, health care awaits, no questions asked (until after you’ve puked all over EMT’s and exuded microbe laced dander all over some young children as they run off to school for the day)? Free ER rooms have long been the cynical draw for all manner of Third Worlders here in Los Angeles.

Texas is sickeningly fond of endless recitation about what a great draw that state is for business; of its free-wheeling, free-market Utopian dust vision. And the Texas Chamber of Commerce especially loves to rub their anarchic prosperity in the face of Californians.

Well take this, Texas. Have a virus.

Perhaps it’s time that Texas surrenders the facade of EBT payments from its lowest, most destitute leeches, and simply re-brands the “We Accept EBT” moniker for hospital emergency rooms. If businesses flee to Texas, why not the Ebola African hordes seeking cheap health care? Unlike their homeland, American hospitals will not turn them away.

All Texas hospitals can now post this familiar icon:

Ebola Benefits Transfer

Posted in L3

Where Camille Paglia and Socially Extinct intercepted.

It’s quite revealing and indicative of our instant cyber age that an article that is just a little over 24 hours old can so readily be cast aside as “old news,” but that is certainly the sense that I get in linking to Camille Paglia’s Time Magazine treatise in which she opines on the American (and the West’s) Darwinian reversal march. According to Paglia, complacence and pampered home lives and an over-civilized familial culture interspersed with First World entitlement-fed apathy and ignorance has resulted in a breed of college student that is incapable of self-protection or the calling upon of sharp, primal instincts which should automatically trigger when survival beckons.

Simply put, modern technological culture is breeding a domesticated, innocuously coated species of Millennial “beast” that is, at best, helpless in the foreign role of recognizing and contending with danger.

Paglia wrote:

Too many young middleclass women, raised far from the urban streets, seem to expect adult life to be an extension of their comfortable, overprotected homes. But the world remains a wilderness. The price of women’s modern freedoms is personal responsibility for vigilance and self-defense.

I agreed heartily as I read her piece. I concur strongly with Paglias’ sentiments. Technology and modernity have made men less warrior-like and women less prudent.

In a world where your primal instincts are lathered over by our culture of electronic nannyism and effusive watchdoggedness, the result can only be a caliber of human that is but a skinny stack of delicate bones and tremulous sensibilities. So shielded are today’s youth from savagery, cruelty, unfairness, brutality, that their entire chain of maturity is molded around the acceptance and expectation of a scripted world approved by censors and protectors. Paglia’s article struck a note, for I recall having written a post which vaguely touched on this point.

I found it. Titled Why do White people keep falling to their death? and posted August of last year, I wrote (I used “White” as the archetype, the analog, for all modern, First World inhabitants):

Modern, urban, young White people have no sense of danger because they don’t know danger. This is typified by extending the safety harness of ledges and rickety rusted metal cages to their everyday pampered lives. It’s natural selection on a very small scale. If we do not learn danger, we become weak, ignorant, and worst of all, incautious.

White people have become horribly incautious and this is why they’ve lost control of the United States.

Perhaps it’s a stretch to correlate the deaths of falling White people with American decline, but it’s very appropriate if one truly pays attention.

White people lean too far because no one has taught them that it’s time to stop, and everything falls to shit.

Posted in L5

Fast walkers, die!

This video makes my blood boil. Some sorry-ass guy in Japan walks around and rings a bell when people are walking “too slow” for him.

This shit makes me so angry.

I have a strange, visceral, instinctive reaction when I’m rushed. I hate to be rushed and I will lash out. I would happily kill all automobile tailgaters and pedestrian tailgaters.

If this guy came up behind me with his little bell dinging away, I would turn around, rip it from his hands, and shove it right up his ass. Never rush me, bastard. If you are truly in a hurry, go around. Surely you can manage that in your feeble little overclocked mind?

Besides, how do you define “slow” or “fast” anyhow? It’s so relative. The old “anyone walking slower than me is walking too slow” bullshit does fly with me. Go to hell you rushers. Get a life. Here in L.A., it seems White people are the rushers. They are the people who have that delusion of self-importance that proclaims their destination needs them so desperately that they’ll trample all in their path.

Posted in L3

The Needy, Non-Ironic, Ego archetype.

So there is this rather fat chick I have the misfortune of crossing regular paths with. She’s of the Dunhamian landwhale-XX variety. Hence, I have no problem calling her “fat,” as opposed to “obese,” which is much too forgiving a term due to its neutral and clinical description. This chick is fat, she’s loud, but rather than letting this devolve into an anti-fat dirge, I want to mention she is also something else that I detest in people: she is one of those people with needy, non-ironic, egos.

I suppose this ego type is most commonly seen in bloated female specimens, but it has been noted across the span of all humanity.

I detest this ego type.

The needy, non-ironic, ego type is characterized by sly, weakly subtle, expressions of boastfulness.

These people appear to be involved in an incessant, never-ending competition and battle with the world that takes place entirely in their heads. They are constantly immersed in a vigilant stance of appraisal of their environment, a quality which appears as nosiness and intrusiveness. These people live entirely outside their mind for they are always on the look out for the next opportunity by which to engorge their gluttonous egos. These people are typified by a self-directed blindness which is so severe that they do not seem to realize how transparent their neediness is to the outside observer. Their “slyness” is laughable for it is nothing of the sort. It is blatant and embarrassingly obvious, this egotistical yearning. Any battle, however trivial, they believe they have “won” in their heads becomes the stuff of legend as they recount it in subdued allusions of happenstance that really is their way of saying “look how fucking awesome I am” without owning this awesomeness. It may be because there is an implicit guilt they actually feel but, unable to recognize it, a trait further exacerbated by this maddening neediness, is photoshopped out of their putative extravagant personality and is manifested as a privatized grandstanding that others generally do not observe (except for hyper-observant dolts like me). Ultimately, it’s the “non-ironic” aspect of this clingy egotism that is their trademark, for their neediness is born of insecurity and laziness of spirit. Their needy, non-ironic ego is unable to refer to itself, for if allowed to do so, would result in such people having to glare clearly and honestly into their fragmented soul.

Posted in L2

In 1984, Los Lobos wondered how the wolf would survive; that wolf is Man, all alone in a world that’s changed.

Nineteen eighty-four was a wonderful year (musically) for me. Never one to confine myself to any single genre of music, my broad tastes were free to flourish during this time as my world was swelled with musical forms speared at me from all directions. Bruce Springsteen’s and Van Halen’s “pop” offerings gave way to lilting electro-streams of New Wave music that straddled a delicate zone from charming bouncy to despondent maudlin, and of course, the violent upheaval of heavy metal and all its descriptive incarnations that would result in a Motorhead fan like me to loathe Cinderella faggot fans or Dokken-listening religious freaks. Then there were Suicidal Tendencies, early Sonic Youth, The Cure, and other temperamental alternative cutting edge offerings which sealed that musical era for me, an era replete with an overabundance of choices in vinyl, cassette and compact disc offerings, cascading simultaneously as technologies advanced. Little did the technological worshipers of compact discs dream that in just a decade, digitized bits of data would render their prized discs obsolete.

And in the midst of this lyrical madness, a little Mexican-American band from East Los Angeles, Los Lobos, dropped an album in 1984.

los lobos

The album, “How Will The Wolf Survive,” represented the band’s first major label album release, and it was greeted with rousing reviews. The band’s music, which alternated between folksy Mexican rambunctiousness, rockabilly, rock, country, all the while was infused with meandering threads of traditional Latin music styles.

The state of musical technology in that day was such that I listened to the album repeatedly on my car’s cassette deck. There was not a song on the album I did not like, but one stood out more than any other, and remains a favorite to this day.

When “Will The Wolf Survive” was released, it symbolized only its literal existence to me. It was about the wolf. In my 20′s, such symbolism was lost on me. I was concerned only with the wolf and its gradual extermination at the hands of modern humans. I idolized the wolf’s solitary but ruthless nature. I fancied myself a wolf among men, lurking, surviving, self-sufficient to the extreme measure of isolation and utter independence from any man. Over the years, I came to see that the wolf, as articulated by Los Lobos, represented the soul of the Mexican man: torn by his vast, wild cowboy Mexican spirit, something which was quickly becoming archaic in the latter reaches of the 20th Century, and the beacon of modern, civilized, mannerly culture that sublimated his ferocity and machismo. This interpretation, in fact, is probably what the band insinuated in the song’s lyrics.

“Will The Wolf Survive?”
(David Hidalgo/Louie Perez)
Through the chill of winter
Running across the frozen lake
Hunters are out on his trail
All odds are against him
With a family to provide for
The one thing he must keep alive
Will the wolf survive?
Drifting by the roadside
Climbs each storm and aging face
Wants to make some morning’s fate
Losing to the range war
He’s got two strong legs to guide him
Two strong arms keep him alive
Will the wolf survive?
Standing in the pouring rain
All alone in a world that’s changed
Running scared, now forced to hide
In a land where he once stood with pride
But he’ll find his way by the morning light
Sounds across the nation
Coming from your hearts and minds
Battered drums and old guitars
Singing songs of passion
It’s the truth that they all look for
The one thing they must keep alive
Will the wolf survive?
Will the wolf survive?

But now.

I’ve come to see this song symbolizing something Los Lobos never envisioned, but which I can’t help but to paint for my own benefit and philosophy. The wolf that they sang of was not the animal or the Mexican.

It was Man.

The wolf was our extinct primal masculinity, embodied in the nature, the myth, of the lone wolf struggling to survive so that others might enjoy comfortable existences. The wolf was Manliness, it was a legacy, a historical character which once dominated society, a male beast who didn’t fancy complicated thoughts of equality or fairness for those were alien luxuries that did not cross one’s mind when his only purpose was to be a strong man for the sake of those whose survival depended on him. It was a world of complementary existence. The wolf was the beast, the cowboy, who barreled cautiously but stridently through a dangerous world while wearing the shield of courage and nobility. The wolf who was slowly, through modernization and technology, torn down, decimated, castrated, by the niceties and flood of overwhelming weakness which befell a lazy mankind that traded its fierceness in for job titles and benefits packages and mortgages.

Who was the wolf, but Man?

This is what Los Lobos sang about, this is the archetype they praised and lamented. How Will The Wolf Survive? Indeed. How did the wolf die?

Posted in L7

iTOY and the perils of Appleopia.

Today I jokingly called someone’s iPad an iTOY.

All Apple products are that. They are just iTOYs that today’s adult children hoard in excessive spurts of voracious conformity and consumerism.

iTOY…a much more suitable name for these expensive gadgets that cement your entrance into the world of Appleopia.

iTOY! iTOY’s span the entire range of that smart, urban trendy perpetually advertised and lusted after over-priced and under-life-spanned Jobsian product line.

iTOY6…did you get yours yet?

Posted in L1

Gayer than a pack of wild Chihuahuas…or close to it.

wild chihuahua

This blog is a little over 5 years old. Occasionally I read older posts and I’m struck at how my persona, my writing, the very vibe around here, has evolved since my first post in August, 2009. I used to write with more levity. It seems I actually enjoyed this exercise a bit more. I took myself less seriously than I do now, no mean feat.

My misanthropy has grown, my mean-spirited cyber nature is more ferocious. At times, maintaining this has become a labor of what-the-fuck over a labor of love.

Whatever. I mention all this drivel because it came to mind earlier when I read something over at Althouse. A very long time ago, I thought of an analogy that I hoped would take root and become a deep-seated meme (or as far as that concept existed in pre-digital days). I wanted to be the owner of a popular expression that would be repeated millions of times like wildfire over the entirety of society as it fabulously entered the lexicon of modern discourse. And I would be the proud “father.” I uttered it as often as I could possibly fit shamelessly into conversation, but alas, it went nowhere. When I started this blog, I had an opportunity to sneak it into a post. Nothing. Still, I was rather proud of my verbal invention. It concerned the countless numbers of gay men we encounter in our daily lives, especially as concerning the very flamboyant, egregiously gay subjects who leave us no doubt as to their leanings. I used to say of such men: “He is gayer than a pack of wild Chihuahua’s.”

No one seemed to find it as amusing as I, but it was not for lack of trying.

And it was barely with a trace of irony that I managed to fit my Chihuahua observation into a post from January 28, 2010, which detailed my encounter with a very gay Filipino JW on the Red Line during my morning commute. So there it was, my desperate analogy that sought to bury its cultural roots in the earthly foundations of our pop culture. From the post:

Oh, and I also noticed as he attempted to hand me the propaganda that the dude was gay as a pack of a wild Chihuahua’s. You could just tell. He had that curly smile and sweet expression, and the slightly limp wrist as he put the Watchtower away after I rebuffed him. Eeks! That changed the whole dynamic. I never knew the JW’s were so…open.

Well, hilariously, Althouse linked to a news story from the SFGate titled Thousands of stray Chihuahuas roam Bay Area neighborhoods. The story describes the overpopulated glut of the little annoying rat dogs throughout the San Francisco bay area, a symptom of the recent rush by mindless buffoons to join the toy-dog-in-a-purse adoration crowd. Like all good ghetto, overextended blights on society, many owners, having shown a customary lack of long-term consideration when it comes to responsible behavior, have abandoned Chihuahua adults and puppies in droves. The gay bay area is swarming in crazed little Chihuahua rats!

Animal control officials said the pooch is probably one of the thousands of stray Chihuahuas wandering neighborhoods from San Jose to Vallejo, victims of overbreeding and negligent owners. In fact, stray Chihuahuas comprise the majority of dogs in local shelters and are frequent sights at vacant lots, parks and sidewalks.

“There’s such an overabundance of these dogs, what do we do with them all? It’s heartbreaking,” said Deirdre Strickland, head of a Chihuahua rescue group in Oakland called the Power of Chi. “Especially the tan males. They can be great dogs, but no one wants them.”

And finally, my dreams of cementing a gay-Chihuahua analogy have collided with reality.

Posted in L2

“lately, justly or not, i feel you’re avoiding me” – manners of avoidance


See, the thing is, the English language, and human language in general, is bloated with ambiguity. Human expression is ambiguity.

There are signals and tones and cadences and expressions and lacks of congruence to read and interpret, on the spot. We are simple and stupid people. We don’t catch all that shit. Once in a while, something ambles along and slaps us in the face with clarity, but only after the fact. Hindsight is cruelly 20/20. “Why didn’t I see that?”

Conversely, we must realize that what we exude, what we portray, is never what we believe it to be. This is what makes us such crappy communicators. Not that we don’t read signals well; it’s that we don’t transmit them well.

Our inner mind fires neurons and triggers muscular synapses that ultimately pay tribute to little of what we really think, at least in terms of how others read our mannerisms.

This is the embodiment of miscommunication. It lives in the purveyance of information. We don’t know how to act in concordance with how others perceive!

lately, justly or not, i feel you’re avoiding me.

Too many people think that proximity doubles as intimacy and revelation.

Perhaps it’s a function of this crazed urban jungle that spans humanity. Talking and spending time do not equate to anything approaching non-avoidance. People avoid in manners of being. It’s the hypersensitive, hyperaware, who see this shit to the point of conspiracy and paranoia.

Many people who might otherwise be mistaken as paranoid are actually unusually acute to environmental cues, and of course, the problem is that such a skill increases the amount of “false-positives,” hence insanity.

Posted in L6

Apple fanboys using L.A. schools as a playground

This is what happens when a bunch of Apple fanboys with no sense of financial responsibility are allowed out of their Prius’ in order to shape public education.

Oh, and of course, a little payback never hurts in this Third World mini-country known as Los Angeles.

L.A. Unified survey finds little use of iPads’ curriculum

In the first formal evaluation of the troubled iPads-for-all project in Los Angeles schools, only one teacher out of 245 classrooms visited was using the costly online curriculum. The reason, according to the report, was related to the program’s ambition, size and speed.

The analysis found that district staff was so focused on distributing devices that little attention was paid to using iPads effectively in the classroom.

The report, conducted by an outside firm at the request of the school system, was intended to provide an early assessment of the program, which began last year at 47 schools.

Among the issues cited at several schools: high school math curriculum wasn’t provided, efforts to log in and access curriculum were unsuccessful and at least one school said it preferred the district’s own reading program. Four out of five high schools reported that they rarely used the tablets.

“The overarching theme of comments … was that deployment of devices on this scale and pace had never been attempted before in the district, and that [teachers and others] had to learn and adapt as the project unfolded,” the report said.

In particular, Los Angeles schools Supt. John Deasy labeled the project “an astonishing success” and officials faulted media reports for suggesting otherwise.

Last month, Deasy suspended new purchases under the iPad contract and relaunched the bidding. His close ties to Apple, which makes the tablet, and Pearson, which provided the curriculum on the iPad, are under scrutiny by the school system’s inspector general. Deasy has denied any impropriety, emphasizing that he recused himself from the bidding because he owned Apple stock.

Posted in L2