*sigh*
I feel so let down this year. Le scandale of doping has me so bummed out. With entire TEAMS being bounced because of doping, it feels like 1998 all over again. (Though Miss Midwesterly's friend had the best "lemons out of lemonade" take on it that I've heard so far...)
The upside is that it bounces Levi Leipheimer right into the top 3, with a yellow jersey kinda reachable.
Wouldn't that just chap the asses of the French if another American won by default?
Friday, July 27, 2007
CAUTION: HARRY POTTER SPOILERS!
Just kidding.
To my friends: if you want to talk about it, there are lots of other people besides me to do it with. Somewhere around the Goblet of Fire, I lost interest.
And for all you perverts out there (and I know you're out there) Emma Watson turns 18 on April 15, 2008. You can start your creepy countdown now. But just so you know, the Karmic retribution for having "I could legally fuck her" countdowns is that somewhere in your town, someone inappropriate is thinking about YOUR daughter and wanking in the shower. Could be her band director, her soccer coach, her SAT prep coach.
Probably, though, it's that 50 year old divorced guy who lives next door to you.
To my friends: if you want to talk about it, there are lots of other people besides me to do it with. Somewhere around the Goblet of Fire, I lost interest.
And for all you perverts out there (and I know you're out there) Emma Watson turns 18 on April 15, 2008. You can start your creepy countdown now. But just so you know, the Karmic retribution for having "I could legally fuck her" countdowns is that somewhere in your town, someone inappropriate is thinking about YOUR daughter and wanking in the shower. Could be her band director, her soccer coach, her SAT prep coach.
Probably, though, it's that 50 year old divorced guy who lives next door to you.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Addiction is a Choice
As a firm believer that addiction as a "spiritual sickness" or "disease" is just a big pile of steaming horseapples, and that 12-Step programs are downright dangerous, I am waiting, waiting, waiting for someone in the scientific community to grow enough balls to say so.
That being said, I read the Time cover story, then followed the blog here and here, then this Slate article, I have a few questions that I want to explore further, but in short, they are:
1) Are there any other "diseases" in the medical canon besides addiction that can be self-diagnosed? The conventional wisdom is that you're an alcoholic if you say you are. Can I walk into my doctor's office and say, hey, doc, I've decided that I have cancer, hand over the Oxycontin! Or go to a shrink and say, I have anxiety, hand over the Xanax. Oh wait, I can do that last one.
2) I had a discussion with a pal who is a member of the cult -- er, I mean, a devoted AA (and I have never met an angrier group of people) -- and when I told him I did 90 days but decided it wasn't for me, his response was, "Then you're not really an alcoholic." But the logic doesn't follow. If I stayed, and became a devotee of the AA Way, would that mean that I was just an alcoholic with a high bottom?
See what I mean about a load of crap? Why is no one in the medical community willing to step out and really test and study the efficacy of 12-step programs, when the evidence is right there in front of them that THEY DON'T WORK. I've heard 5% success rate. Most diseases have a spontaneous remission rate of about... oh... 5%.
Sadder still, I've sat and listened to people who have been in and out of AA something like 20 or 30 times say "It Works." Oh, really? I'd say, looking at you, that it doesn't. And everyone who "fails" out of AA takes all the blame on themselves. They say they failed the program. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE EVER SAY, THE PROGRAM FAILED ME.
That being said, I read the Time cover story, then followed the blog here and here, then this Slate article, I have a few questions that I want to explore further, but in short, they are:
1) Are there any other "diseases" in the medical canon besides addiction that can be self-diagnosed? The conventional wisdom is that you're an alcoholic if you say you are. Can I walk into my doctor's office and say, hey, doc, I've decided that I have cancer, hand over the Oxycontin! Or go to a shrink and say, I have anxiety, hand over the Xanax. Oh wait, I can do that last one.
2) I had a discussion with a pal who is a member of the cult -- er, I mean, a devoted AA (and I have never met an angrier group of people) -- and when I told him I did 90 days but decided it wasn't for me, his response was, "Then you're not really an alcoholic." But the logic doesn't follow. If I stayed, and became a devotee of the AA Way, would that mean that I was just an alcoholic with a high bottom?
See what I mean about a load of crap? Why is no one in the medical community willing to step out and really test and study the efficacy of 12-step programs, when the evidence is right there in front of them that THEY DON'T WORK. I've heard 5% success rate. Most diseases have a spontaneous remission rate of about... oh... 5%.
Sadder still, I've sat and listened to people who have been in and out of AA something like 20 or 30 times say "It Works." Oh, really? I'd say, looking at you, that it doesn't. And everyone who "fails" out of AA takes all the blame on themselves. They say they failed the program. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE EVER SAY, THE PROGRAM FAILED ME.
Wanted: Grim Reaper. Must be Cute and Furry, Have Loud Purr
I don't think he's a harbinger of death, I think he's a spirit guide, or a Reaper in the spirit of Dead Like Me.
Monday, July 23, 2007
And Now, Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Crankiness
So I went onto Barnes & Noble, looking to see who was going to be reading at Union Square or Astor Place this week, and goddamme if there isn't ANOTHER fucking book that some guy wrote about his dog.
You know what? I love my pets. I love them dearly, and I will be very very sad when Mambo finally kicks it. Unless he's got a painting growing old in some secret spot in the apartment, that won't be very long from now... he is nearly 17, after all. That's like, 125 in people years. A Portrait of Dorian Cat.
But jeez louise, do we have to be subjected to five books a year that are people eulogizing their damn dogs?
After getting 250 pages of fatuous crap published about how loyal, devoted, funny, friendly, and playful your dog is, will you actually have the energy to say 250 words at the funeral of a parent?
Last note on this: is it my imagination, or do the title characters of these sappy-crappy memoirs all have names that start with "M"? What is it about "M"? Marley, Merle, Morrie -- oh wait, Morrie was an actual human being. The book was no less fatuous crap than any of the dog books, but at least MORRIE WAS HUMAN.
You know what? I love my pets. I love them dearly, and I will be very very sad when Mambo finally kicks it. Unless he's got a painting growing old in some secret spot in the apartment, that won't be very long from now... he is nearly 17, after all. That's like, 125 in people years. A Portrait of Dorian Cat.
But jeez louise, do we have to be subjected to five books a year that are people eulogizing their damn dogs?
After getting 250 pages of fatuous crap published about how loyal, devoted, funny, friendly, and playful your dog is, will you actually have the energy to say 250 words at the funeral of a parent?
Last note on this: is it my imagination, or do the title characters of these sappy-crappy memoirs all have names that start with "M"? What is it about "M"? Marley, Merle, Morrie -- oh wait, Morrie was an actual human being. The book was no less fatuous crap than any of the dog books, but at least MORRIE WAS HUMAN.