Hot Air

A new poll says that, while a majority of the public still believes global warming is a serious issue, an increasing number believe that it's exaggerated. I love public opinion on matters of a scientific nature. We live in a culture where the general population hardly reveres intelligence to any noticeable degree, taking pride in being referred to as "average" Americans. People say they want leaders who are "just like them" (which entirely negates the definition of "leader"), where nonsense like intelligent design gets intermittent footholds in public school systems, and one-third of Americans say they believe in the existence of angels. But when it comes to a consensus from the majority of the world's environmental experts that global warming is a very real and impending threat, the jury's suddenly out for lack of "evidence". I guess we'll just have to hope that our guardian angels are fireproof. And can swim.

Skiv Row

So much for the argument that poverty (and not religion) induces Islamic fanaticism. Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, the man (with self-proclaimed ties to Yemeni Al-Qaida) accused of attempting to detonate an explosive device on a flight to Detroit, is the son of the former head of Nigeria's largest bank- just another rich kid with too much time on his hands and plenty of manufactured ennui. However, the attack is a splash of cold water; a reminder of just how hollow our post-9/11 cries of "everything has changed" have become. In fact, a cursory glance at the story is enough to make you remove large portions of your hair: A Nigerian Muslim whose name is on a U.S. list of suspects with terrorist connections was was allowed to board in Amsterdam- with no passport. I guess authorities there are too busy subjecting college students to body-cavity searches for fear that a nug of Black Lady kush might be hiding in their nether regions. I suspect no one with more than 4 oz of shampoo was allowed on the flight, either. Good thing the rest of the world is still keeping air travelers safe from the horrors of Prell and bugging the flight attendant for more Funyuns. In their race to the 70 virgins finish line, the disenfranchised Al-Qaida wannabes are usually too long on fanaticism and too short on brains, resulting in blowing themselves up in a Hamburg hotel room or lighting their lap on fire on a plane bound for Detroit. (Sorry, Umar. I doubt even virgins would go near your charred junk.) But Flight 253 might also be a warning. Not to get all Glenn Beck on you, but can we be so sure that things like this are merely rogue fuck-ups? Vigilance (you know, that thing we pretend to have?) requires that we entertain the notion that bigger and badder things are being planned for us. Then again, this guy was an engineering student who couldn't even make an underwear bomb work. Had he consulted with any of the passengers who subdued him, he would have learned that Motown already looks like the victim of a terrorist attack and his would have merely been the tinsel on their post-apocalyptic Christmas tree. Go ahead and flip a coin on the future of our security.

Hate The Game

My return to the airwaves is somewhat bittersweet, now that my former boss and mentor, Jonathon Brandmeier is off the air. The still-undisputed king of the Chicago airwaves recently walked from his very lucrative contract at WLUP because he was rightfully fed up with the current "dash to slash" mentality pervasive in media outlets these days, along with the near-complete abandonment of high-value talent. JB is worth every penny and, as he does on the air, he speaks for a lot of people in his situation.

high

Idiocracy

Getting prepped to go back on the air after being off for 17 months requires a great deal of digital ramp-up. I've been happy blogging and doing the Facebook thing, but now my online reach is increasing exponentially. I've avoided Twitter until now- being off the air, I didn't see the point. Media people are best served when they use it as a promotional tool or as a device to break the fourth wall. Otherwise, no one cares what an awesome chicken tetrazzini you just made. Now that I'm on Twitter, iTunes, and my own website that the station is setting up for me, I'm concerned that all of the time spent keeping up with those forms of interaction will make me further removed from actual communication- you know, the thing to which I'll be devoting four hours a day? A new study shows that technology is making us stupid. Probably true. Though, my stupidity isn't limited to ones and zeroes.

Mile High

I have friends in Denver and I think I may have a new incentive to visit. The Ganja Gourmet is a pot-laced boon to victims of various afflictions. You would think that getting a natural high from living that far above normal oxygen levels would suffice. But not in Colorado. Denverites (Denverians? Denverlings?) are so lucky that they actually have a "medical marijuana district"! Most cities of that size jump for joy if they get a Hard Rock.

Let's Get Nuts

Man, isn't this the truth? Life keeps changing. It's the simple pleasures you'll miss the most.

Ham & Eggs

This is pretty rad. Dude even looks just like the guy from Jethro Tull. The only thing that would make this better is if he were actually sitting on a park bench. With snot running down his nose.

Piece Keeping Mission

I'm a proud liberal, yet one of my biggest regrets is that I never spent any time in the military. I guess it was slightly in the blood- my dad went through ROTC and served in the Army Corps of Engineers at Ft. Lee, Virginia (where I was born). In fact, it was my birth that kept him from going to Vietnam. He had gotten his papers to ship out, but because I had to be delivered by emergency C-section (major surgery in 1971), his orders were rescinded. As a teenager, I lamely tried to use that fact to my advantage: "Can I borrow the car, Dad? If it wasn't for me, you'd probably be down at least one limb." It never worked, for the record. When I was of age to serve, there was no pressing need to enlist; no call to arms for sacrifice overseas. I was in college when the Gulf War happened, and I had friends who were sent overseas. I recall there was widespread pants-crapping on campus, due to the rumor that Secretary of Defense (and multiple service-deferment beneficiary) Dick Cheney would reinstate the draft. Otherwise, as a student, I would only have served of my own volition. Nevertheless, there is a structure in the military from which I suspect I would have greatly benefitted. Left to my own devices, I'm a trainwreck. All of this leads me to a less convoluted point: irrespective of our political leanings, when it comes to men and women who choose to serve and possibly sacrifice their lives for us, let them have frigging tattoos wherever they want.

Don't Front (Hug)

Love it or hate it, rap music in its truest form is the poetry of the underclass; a primal expression borne from the brutalities of life rarely seen in mainstream culture. That's why I've never understood the notion of Christian rap. Granted, middle-class white kids are like the locusts of pop culture- they'll grab anything that isn't nailed down and suck the life out of it- but when you can't even grab your crotch for fear of inciting "lustful feelings", your cred is going to be fundamentally lacking. (Furthermore, someone should have told this promise ring posse what "rough riders" actually means before they cribbed it from a DMX lyric sheet.) While most of your classic rap artistes extol the virtues of "bitches", "niggas", and "fuckin' tha po-lice", this crew is speaking out against the scourge of hugging (which evidently puts the pee-pees and hoo-hahs in dangerously close proximity). Which begs the question: what good are all of these "purity pledges" if they're never put to the test?

Fug Shot

Ah, kids. They grow up so fast these days. Sadly, a large portion of them aren't getting any wiser as they get older. The latest contestants in the low-self-esteem pageant are two girls in Wisconsin who got busted for soliciting horny dudes on Craigslist, then robbing them. When caught, one of the teens rejected the "pimp" slap, instead referring to herself as a "skank agent" (a distinction you'll recall was first argued in the landmark State Of California v. Huggy Bear case). Leave it to the bored farm girls to get caught up in semantics while selling their coochies to unsuspecting cheeseheads.

Doll-ar Menu

Every company is taking measures to increase their bottom line in a downturn. Even the porn industry (long thought to be recession-proof) has taken a hit, so much so that men are now forced to save money by actually fucking their wives and girlfriends. The Real Doll company (which has out-creeped the Japanese in lifelike sex simulacrums for over a decade) is the gold standard of detailed, custom, life-sized, latex companions. Granted, probably not a crowded field. But when it comes to recognizing economic woes, their marketing is genius. The "industry leader since 1996!" has the following banner on their website: "In these tough economic times, we now offer FREE SHIPPING on all orders". (Since the dolls start at $6,000, it's unclear how much of a financial enticement that really amounts to.) In a nod to their core audience of loveless nerds, the ordering process includes options such as elf ears, blue skin, and cyborg faceplate. And prospective lonely horndogs are offered a choice to further sweeten the deal: "Up to $500 off all your doll upgrades" (as the company fixes any parts of the doll that your vigorous, untested-in-the-real-world lovemaking grinds down to a nub. Ew.) or "a free additional face." (I'm on board with that one). It's not exactly the "3 MILF DVDs for $5" bin, but it's nice to know that the skin trade feels our financial pain, so that we can get back to feeling ourselves.