I kind of want to cry and vomit at the same time, except that my head just exploded.
Glenn Beck and I are standing on the same side of an issue.
No, wait! Come back! Do you know how hard it was for me to say that?
From thedailywh.at (because I credit where credit is due) to The Huffington Post (this is the link with the video) to Bill O'Reilly to Glenn Beck (no, neither of those... ahem... gentlemen get a link. Screw them.), Beck was on O'Reilly's show, where he said, essentially, gay marriage was a non-issue. Gay marriage is not a threat to this country. (O'Reilly? Seriously? What the hell is with that drama? "Threat"? You're such a little bitch.) (And, yes, I know the drama is because it's what makes his ratings. He's still a little bitch.)
Beck's point? Look around, folks. There are so many other issues, there is so much wrong, this is not worth the focus. He then went on to quote Thomas Jefferson, "If it neither breaks my leg nor picks my pocket, what difference is it to me?" I'm not sure the validity of the quote, but its meaning is one of the primary rules I am raising my children with. I'm fairly sure that Beck does not typically practice what he's preaching there, but fine, whatever.
For the record, I think it should be a non-issue. But when one side makes it an issue, if no one is pulling on the other side of the ol' tug-o-war, guess who wins?
Also, for the record, this is it. I haven't seen any other thing I could possibly agree with Beck on... no, wait. His "respect" for O'Reilly. That's pretty great, too.
Notes on the video itself: At 1:58, Beck says to the camera, of O'Reilly, "He's so hostile!" Then he turns back to O'Reilly, "Need a little Jesus?" And I fell off the sofa, laughing. Then there's a, uhm, "size" discussion. That's decent. I watched the full length of this clip, but you can stop by the 4:00 mark. I promise that you'll want to slit your own throat if you continue past that.
You filthy bastards.
I get that you think you are technologically advanced. I get that you know that your fast-forward in On Demand mode is wonky at best, and I know that you know that I know that it is that way on purpose- makes it harder, in fact impossible, to fast-forward through those commercials that you add in in the midst of a show; oh, forgive me, that the network adds in.
Which, fine. I've not said a word. Commercials make the world go round. And you- at this goddamn point in time- limit those to commercials to 30 seconds spurts. So, fine, okay, a little bit of commercial.
Even though I pay through the nose.
For your shitty service that is so not fucking dependable that I have to watch shows On Demand because you fucking fail at recording things reliably.
And so I start a show up- one that I don't even particularly like- one that I watch because I'm most of the way into the season and I have an extraordinary sense of follow-through when it comes to shitty television series and because Cassie is watching it and I can't abandon her to face this hell alone- I start this show up and the first thing that comes across the screen is "*****". What. the. Mother Hell. What if I just want to catch the last four minutes- that bit that you mysteriously missed recording- instead of watching the whole thing? Ihateyouyousuck.
Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me? You stupid kowtowing jackasses. Do you feel no sense of obligation to your customers? Are you going to allow these networks to simply keep walking all over us? Stand up for us.
You know what? I just watched one of the commercials. The first one was for the network, this one is for your service. You cancel fast-forwarding on this in order to force us to watch a commercial for an On Demand movie. Which means you are both assholes and you are using this as an example to show potential advertisers how they can pay you more money for more ad time.
So, since you're going to be making so much more money through this other source, you'll be lowering my bill, right? Right?
The next thing you'll do is make it so that we have to sit through five minutes of advertising, preemptively, every time we turn on the cable box.
You're welcome for the idea.
I'll be expecting my check in the mail.
You filthy bastards.
Anyone ever notice how often I begin a post or a new paragraph with the word "so"? Not this time. This one is mid-paragraph. So, normally I don't respond at all to those comments that are like, "you write good! i right good to! you should visit and follow my blog!". There is not often a good way to reply; actually going to their blog, whether to check them out or blast them, is just feeding into their psychosis. Blasting them, as follows, just gives them more publicity. The one time I did respond was not even on my blog; it was on Cate's, where one of the comments was from some guy named Steve (hi, Steve! /me waves), saying "you are invited to follow my blog", and my internal reaction was "Fuck you, Steve! You are a world class asshole!", but I don't tend to go around dropping f-bombs on other people's blogs, except maybe Andy's, and I also knew that Cate was not going to respond with the righteous indignation proper to the situation because she is, contrary to popular belief, too polite for that, so I felt the need to speak up on her behalf without the use of the f-word, and I did manage to, but just barely. (Super long but grammatically correct sentence WIN.)
And I get it. There is an aspect of "look how popular I am" involved in blogging for a lot of people. This is either A) not the case for me, or B) (and more likely) I'm really not that good at it or devoted to it. Regardless, it does seem to run rampant. And when a comment is obviously just a ploy to get people to come to the blog of said commenter, I am generally very forgiving, IF- and it's really not a big IF- if the person has taken the time to read my post and then written a comment pertaining to it and then sticks in an advertisement for their own blog, then I am okay with it.
And then there are the times that the comment is just spam. And then there are the times that you get the combination. It looks like just a lame c/p comment and you feel sort of sorry for this loser and then you realize that the link is spam. And then you want to shoot this faker between the eyes.
I am not positive that this user is just a spammy-spammer. I did not follow the "link". No one is to go check! Do not fall into a poorly set trap! But what kind of blogger doesn't have their own blog linked to their profile? Spammers, that's what kind.
Oh, little trashcan icon, you are so tempting.
"But what if, while it is not specific to your current post, it is just an honest reaction to you and not c/p?", you say? (Because I know you speak back to me while you read this.) Oh, contrare, my loves!
What. a. slut. And might I point out that he didn't even become an in-name-only follower of my blog? So, not only is he a slut, but he's like the frat-boy who finishes first and leaves early. He's the not-fun kind of slut. Way to ruin the party, joven.
Please, for the love of holy-jesus-stop-scarring-my-children-and-my-retinas, stop stop stop stop playing that commercial for howstuffworks.com where they show the whale being harpooned. I know they're using your own footage. I get the nifty connection, the cross promotion you are doing, but you are making me sad. Seriously sad. What's worse is that you are making my kids sad. What in the mother hell were you thinking? Harpooning whales? Just stop now.
It's like, "Oh, look, a promo for one of their shows about nature... what are they doing? Oh my god, is that a... harpoon? Oh my god... OH MY GOD! The poor whale! OH MY GOD THE BLOOD! Why?! WHY ARE YOU SHOWING ME THIS?! I just want to watch that show about those people who are pretending to be in the post-nuclear-apocalyptic-virus-ravaged world (which is set in an abandoned warehouse in downtown LA. How fitting. Did you have to do any set moderation, or was it just all how you actually found it?)."
Your people in charge of both OnDemand and Advertising should be fired. Immediately.
Love and killer-whale-eating-your-collective-face,
Sarah
P.S. You people are assholes.
This is not a phrase I ever expected to utter, yet there I was, last Saturday on Bridge Street in Bar Harbor, Maine.
Little did we know, back in November when we started planning this trip, that, the day before we left, Obama'd be like, "Bar Harbor? I hear their lobstas and local brews are kick-ass! Count me in!"
"Uh, no, sorry, Barack. This is a family vacation," I said.
"No problemo!" he replied. "I'll bring the first-fam!"
Obviously this was not going to go well.
So we finally get to Desert Island (that's desert as in "we don't desert our soldiers!", not like, "damn, it's hot in this desert!")(okay, yeah, like "mmmm! brownies and ice cream for dessert!), and damned if Google Navigation didn't go, "Here's your hotel!... What?... What do you mean, this isn't even the right goddamn road?". So, fine, we have to just drive along the right road- there aren't exactly a lot... hmm. Detour. Off the road our hotel is on.
"Listen. Michelle, the kids, and I just need a little privacy."
"Oh, do you, Barack? You need an entire block? A block that spans a quarter mile?"
"It's not me, it's the Secret Service."
"Screw the Secret Service! This is Maine! The only thing that's going to come after you is a moose! And the Secret Service cannot protect you from a moose! Those things are vicious!"
Which, let me just interrupt myself here and say this, this situation right here is exactly why I am a map-kind-of-girl, and not a depend-on-any-stupid-gps-system-kind-of-girl. The island, in essence, has no cell reception. This is bad when you need directions, but the rest of the time? So great. You know that dude who is blocking the sidewalk, gabbing business on his cell? Not in Bar Harbor. Know that annoying middle-aged woman, yelling into her phone about the amazing view at the top of that peaceful mountain? Not in Bar Harbor, baby.
So, being our resourceful selves, we find our way to the hotel. Guess what the front desk clerk is yammering on about? Did you know that normally there are soooo many rooms available? But not now! Lots of Obama roadies! Not to mention the media! Blugh.
The next morning we head down to the Sand Bar. In Caps. This is what Bar Harbor is named for. It is a sandbar which, at low tide, is exposed, giving a path over to an island. The locals just call it Bridge Street because it is, indeed, a continuation of the road. Twice a day. At low tide. Low tide varies, obviously, but you're looking at about twelve and a quarter-ish hours between each. This means, oh, for example, 9:30 am and 10:50 pm on a particular day. This means that if you- for some reason- miss an opportunity to go, you have to wait until the next day, that is unless you want to get lost in the woods by moonlight.
We parked a block away at eight am, and walked down the road. As we got nearer to Bridge Street, I started slowing, looking at the several police cars parked in the road. We got to the corner across the street, where a local was standing with her dog.
"So... did they actually close down the entire sandbar?"
"They sure did."
"Wow."
"Yeah. It's too bad, it's his favorite walk." She indicated the dog.
"That... kinda stinks."
"Well, it's not every day you have the president come to your town!" True excitement in her voice, though I can almost guarantee she never caught a glimpse of him.
"Yeah, well, this isn't my town, lady, and this is some bullshit!" No, this is not what I said. What I actually said was a muttered "guess so", but it's sure as hell what I was thinking.
So then I went to schedule a flying-tour of the entire island, only to find out that the whole island had become a no-fly zone for the entirety of his stay.
*crickets*
Okay, that last paragraph was crap. Yes, the island was a no-fly zone, but the hell if we have the kind of money for a plane tour.
In honesty, we had such a great time at Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, and the president's visit actually impacted us very little, other than what I already mentioned. Lots of "Welcome Mr. Prez and Fam" signs everywhere. The mini-golf offered "free game if your dad is the president"*. Obama/Biden '08 signs. Just some "yay to you for coming" stuff.
*Barack Obama is my baby-daddy.
To- okay, more like "at"- a truck driver who had parked half on the shoulder, half in the lane of a major road, and then also had his driver side door open, thereby taking up the entire (and only, in that direction) lane- on yet another blind curve, which was also on the top of a blind hill*,
Me: Way to be a moron, Ohio Idiot. (Because he had an Ohio plate, of course.)
Ethan: Who, me?
Connor: Yes. That is your new nickname. "Ohio Idiot".
*A lot of blind stuff around here lately, huh?
