I suppose most of you–among the American contingent, at least–have by now heard about Elizabeth Lauten’s ill-considered, vile attack on President Obama’s teen-aged daughters, Sasha(16), and Malia(13). I’ve been busy with family for the past three days, so I’m a little late to the game, but I had to take an opportunity to say my piece. First, in case you missed it, here’s the skinny: Every year the President does this corny bit in which he “pardons” a couple of turkeys before going inside the White House to, um, have a nice turkey dinner. It’s silly, but silly in a fun, nice, old-fashioned way. The teenaged Obamas, as teens tend to be, were unimpressed in a very obvious, expertly ambivalent way.
Anyone who has ever known a teenager knows those faces. Annoying? Sure. But also an opportunity: anyone who has never mocked a child who is making that face hasn’t truly lived. I enjoy it on an almost daily basis.
Elizabeth Lauten, the communications director for U.S. Rep. Stephen Fincher (R-Tenn.) obviously has not had the pleasure, addressing the humorous image with a fusillade of angry denigration, publicly ridiculing President Obama’s children with a shockingly aggressive, repugnant, and inexcusable venom while taking a few oblique shots at the President and Mrs. Obama at the same time.
I ought not to be surprised–I like to joke that the only group I detest more than Democrats is Republicans, but the fact is that in the outright nasty department it takes one hell of an aggressive liberal to out-insult a conservative. Just think on Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter, and all those gap-toothed inbreds who insist on writing italicizing the President’s middle name, Barack Hussein Obama like it matters. In the low blows department, these people are whacking at ankles with croquet mallets and laughing all the way to their meetings with Wall Street swindlers and CEO’s of offshore-based corporations. Why wouldn’t they take aim at innocent children, especially given the enthusiastic, muttering hate of a small but vocal minority of the far right for the President?
A lot of folks are calling for Ms. Lauten’s head on a platter, or a least for her swollen cankles to be compelled to take their place in an unemployment line. Not me. I don’t give a shit. Apologies have been demanded, but I don’t care about those, either–I’d rather the bitch stood adamantly behind her words then to cower behind insincere, politically expedient words scripted by a public relations consultant.
What a load of cow pies, right?
“Blah, blah, blah I want to keep my job blah blah blah AFTER MANY HOURS OF PRAYER…blah blah blah.” That’s what I read.
I loathe this shit. When I’ve tried to help people understand poetry, one of the tactics I suggested was to re-read a particular work with an eye towards visualizing each metaphorical element, then think about how they fit into the narrative. That strategy can be instructive in this situation as well: just imagine Ms. Lauten on her knees, hands folded in front of her, communing with His Holy Humungousness–for “many hours,” on Thanksgiving Day no less, over her venal skewering of a couple of innocent teenaged girls. “Whatta ya think, G-Dawg, was that too much?”
I’m hear to tell you: that doesn’t mean a gawd-durned thing. I don’t give a good damn how much she prayed after the fact, playing the God Card now is a small, petty, and wholly transparent response. Thinking that we’ll fall for such a cynical bit of ass-covering nonsense is, at best, gravely insulting. Furthermore, I’m tired of self-professed Christians acting like supreme, sociopathic asshats until they’re called on it, only to step back, shove God in our faces, and ask forgiveness. We’re smarter than that. We see through you.
I mean: I’m an atheist, I don’t go to Church unless someone is dead or getting married, but somehow I know better than to act this way. Why don’t they? The truth is that they do. They know, but they just don’t care. Christian morality is little more than part of the costume they wear, like a prostitute in a corset and push-up bra, to seduce the weak and the idiotic.
Note: It seems Ms. Lauten isn’t alone in her cynical use of Christianity to serve her own wickedness. This is her employer: http://www.forbes.com/sites/rickungar/2013/05/22/gop-congressman-stephen-fincher-on-a-mission-from-god-starve-the-poor-while-personally-pocketing-millions-in-farm-subsidies/
Well, that last post was serious. Time to get back to a more holiday-friendly, sillier tone. So, I ask the question: Where does Turkey come from?
Why, from pretty girls, of course.
We don’t see photos of famous actresses and beautiful models posed poised to slaughter the sacred bird in this age of heightened sensitivity–as we have in the vintage photos I’ve been posting leading up to today. Conversely, I’ve found no vintage photos of lovely daughters, wives, and girlfriends showing off their prized kills. I’m not certain what this means about our society.
Nevertheless: ‘Merika! Hell, yes.
P.S. I especially like the pink arrows in the last few pictures.
Note: All photos were found via google search “girl hunt turkey.” None of these are my property and are being shared solely for humorous intent. I don’t make a single penny from oldroadapples. If one of these is yours, let me know and I’ll take it down.
Alright, alright, alright–good to be back after a nice Thanksgiving with family. We plunged onto the highways after an overnight ice storm, which was pretty much a relief compared to the furious onslaught of snow, wind, and ice the meteorologists predicted. We kept it slow, had a few iffy spots crossing the ridges (Pennsylvania has a series of high ridges along the spine of the Appalachians, oriented north to south, that a traveler must cross to go east or west–they don’t look like much if you’re accustomed to the Rockies, or the higher segments of the Cascades, but one takes them less than seriously at his or her own peril). I have to admit that while I was clutching the steering wheel a little more tightly than usual, I was also enjoying the snow and ice–very seasonal, it got me in the mood. I’m unabashedly in love with the landscape I live in, and a grey day of wind and foul weather is just one of its moods.
Turkey, mashed potatoes, the best stuffing I’ve ever eaten, cranberry sauce, and all that good stuff. Seven pies on the table, quarts of ice cream, and growlers full of some fairly mind-blowing microbrew from my cousin Jarrod, a beer genius who, after several years apprenticing with a prominent Pennsylvania brewer has been hired as a brewmaster for an ambitious mid-western brewpub–good for him, and good for us. We get to drink some sublime liquid bread, and he gets to support his family doing something that he utterly and passionately loves. How awesome is that? How rare? I’ll be writing about him again soon enough–to keep you posted, to tell you where you can sample his work.
I took most of the past week off from this blog while we were away, and also while I finished my 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo–learned a few things along the way, too. First, it is possible to sustain that pace for the better part of four weeks (I was actually done on the 26th)–something like 1800-1900 words/day. Second, while doing so, one can expect to pump out some utterly horrific prose. I got the words down–and will need about 20-30,000 to wrap things up–but the manuscript is a mess. Still: I wrote 52,000 words in 26 days plus all the stuff I did here. I even managed a couple of poems. So I pretty much rocked.
Got the Christmas lights on the house today, too. The girls and I got everything bright and shiny in about 40 minutes–amazing what you can do in a light coat, without wearing gloves, at 23 degrees F. We were motivated. No pix yet, but here’s a stylized shot of our hundred-year old homestead from several years ago. We’ve since gone to LED lights, eliminating that $35 spanking the electric company used to deliver each December, when we were using the giant, old-fashioned C-9’s. Highly recommend the LED’s.
So, that’s where I’ve been. How about you?