Ezra Tells a Joke by Alex for Apr. 12, 2008
-AF
After her story about taking sniper fire in Bosnia was refuted by Sinbad, Hillary Clinton referred to him as "just a comedian." As if the original lie wasn't egregious enough, she made matters considerably worse with her response. Sure, politicians are all liars. But this kind of blatant disregard for the truth is befitting a Southwest Airlines gate agent, not a presidential candidate. Sinbad is just a comedian? Yeah? And Michael Jordan was just a minor league outfielder.
Sinbad (real name: David Adkins) is, without question, one the finest actors in the history of American cinema. How could the junior senator from New York forget about such memorable roles as Sam Simms in First Kid, Myron Larabee in Jingle All the Way, and "condom" in Time Out: The Truth about HIV, AIDS, and You? Did she even see his cameo in Good Burger? Did she?
How could somebody so disconnected from America possibly think she can represent the American people? Shame on you, Mrs. Clinton. Shame on you.
-AF
A few weeks ago, a woman on the bus asked the driver what "Super Tuesday" meant. The driver didn't know, so the woman looked around the other people on the bus accusingly. She settled on me, "He looks like he knows."
Last week in an improv class, a fellow student asked me if I worked for IBM. "You look like an engineer. One of those IBM engineer types."
In Office Depot this morning, the woman behind the desk asked me if I'd been to a certain local artsy theatre. "You just looked like the kind of person who could go to that kind of thing. You looked alternative, you know?"
Minutes later I stopped to get a cup of coffee from a local vendor. "Are you in the coffee business? You look like you're in the business. Or maybe a bar tender. You're a bar tender, right? You can just kind of tell. There's a vibe from people in the business."
My hair stylist thinks I look like a kid from a Bill Murray movie in the 80s while her assistant thinks I look like her cousin. The lady at the deli could tell I was going to order an onion bagel because I looked like the kind of guy who would order an onion bagel.
Am I such a blank slate that everybody is able to place their hopes and dreams on my rosy cheeks? Look into my eyes. Who... who am I?
-AF
From: The Reno Gazette Journal
Date: 1/27/08
Link: http://news.rgj.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2008801270333
---------------------------------
Anyone doubting the impact of new media need only look at how 60 minutes of raw video shot at the Reno Gazette-Journal sparked one of the more heated exchanges so far between presidential hopefuls Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama.
The video recorded our endorsement interview with Obama, during which the Illinois senator drew a comparison between the timing of his campaign and that of Ronald Reagan in 1980. The hate fest erupted when Clinton, during last week's Democratic debate in South Carolina, used Obama's remarks in an attempt link him with the Reagan-esque ideas of tax breaks for businesses and deficit spending.
Say what you will about what this added to the discussion, but one thing is undisputable. The whole exchange wouldn't have happened if editorial page editor Steve Falcone didn't take to heart a suggestion from his son.
Several weeks ago, we had our cameras rolling when U.S. Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid stopped in for a visit. Falcone's son, a Web producer working out of state, was disappointed that we edited the video down to a few minutes.
Conventional wisdom for Web video is that less is more. Think about your own habits: Are you inclined to watch an hour-long video on your PC? But for the presidential endorsement interviews, Falcone, after running the idea past our digital editor Marcel Levy, suggested we post two versions, one with highlights, and the other unedited -- length be damned. My prediction was that we'd excite a few policy wonks, but that the raw video would not draw many page views, let alone national attention.
OK, so I was wrong.
Within days, the Obama video was all over the Web thanks to YouTube and some popular political blogs. Transcripts of the video -- with varying levels of accuracy -- also were flying around. At last check, a Google search for "Obama" and "Reno" returned more than 200 hits relating to our endorsement interview.
So what can we take away from all of this?
First, the obvious. The Web forever has changed the rules of engagement between news organizations and their audiences. We can set information free, in this case pulling back the curtain from the once mysterious institution of the newspaper editorial board.
Second, and more subtle: There is quite a bit of truth to the notion that blogs have put the power of the press into the hands of individuals. But a close read shows that most bloggers wouldn't have much to opine about without content generated by traditional news outlets. And it doesn't get more traditional than the medium you have in your hands right now.
Getting back to the debate, was Hillary fair in her interpretation of Obama's remarks to the RGJ? In my opinion, no. Not once did Obama say he was a disciple of Reaganomics. Here is the core of what he said:
(Reagan) just tapped into what people were already feeling, which was we want clarity, we want optimism, we want a return to that sense of dynamism and entrepreneurship that had been missing.
But don't take my word for it. Thanks to the Web and a guy listening to his son, you can watch the whole interview and decide for yourself.
Beryl Love is executive editor of the Reno Gazette-Journal. E-mail him at blove@rgj.com or comment on his blog at RGJ.com.
-AF
The time has finally arrived for the Iowa caucuses, and to celebrate, we've decided to break our long-standing political silence and endorse a pair of candidates that we think have what it takes become the next president of the United States.
The democratic side is much easier to figure out, so we'll start there. As much as we'd like the to see the first minority president, we just can't imagine picking John Edwards. People who have had giant, talking moles removed from their faces will have to wait at least four more years for their chance to be represented by one of their own. This election is too important to trust just any attractive person with the most important job in the world. That's why we're endorsing Bill Clinton to be the next first lady of the United States. Aside from doing a lot for sexual inequality by being the first man to hold the position, we think Bill has what it takes: experience. Mr. Clinton has the most experience being supportive on the national stage of any of the first lady candidates. He has also spent the last eight years doddering around, giving speeches, and supporting pet causes without any visible success. This is what American needs.
The republican presidential field is a bit more difficult to analyze. Despite almost a year of campaigning, no clear favorite has emerged. Rudy Giuliani is tough to beat; he's got the best lisp in the field, the best mob ties, and most importantly, he has showed ample courage to the world by being mayor of a large city when part of that city blew up. He was at the helm during the terrorist attacks of ... damn. I always forget the date. I think it was a Tuesday. The terrorist attacks of Tuesday. Anyway, he was there, running the city when that happened. I don't remember exactly how many babies he pulled out of the rubble, or how many terrorists he personally tortured to death, but it must have been a lot. He's indisputably a hero. But his weakness is precisely Hillary Clinton's strength: the job of first lady. I don't want to get into the man's personal life; who a politician sleeps with is between him, his wife, god, and Ken Starr. What I do care about is the question of electability. Is America ready for the presidential pay check to be equally divided among the women of New Jersey? I don't think so.
Mitt Romney seems like a nice enough guy, but he's a little too Mormon for this country and I'm not the only one who thinks so. What if the terrorists attack on a Sunday this time? Will he be too busy playing Boggle with his 15 smiling, blond children to tell us whether or not that day is going to live in infamy? I'm not willing to take that chance.
Mike Huckabee seems like a good option: he likes to tell jokes. Sure, they're not very funny, but once the writers aren't on strike anymore, his jokes will get better. Mike's a tempting choice, but the endorsement has to go to... the best kept secret of this campaign... Dr. Ron Paul.
Is he a man? Is he running for president? Maybe. The media doesn't want us to know anything about him. Even his campaign signs don't know who he is. But one thing's for sure, Ron Paul has two monosyllabic names.
Ron Paul's supporters are happy to tell you that Ron Paul will end the war in Iraq. But did they mention that he'll also end all interactions with other countries? That's right. Ron Paul officially supports removing the United States, placing us on a spaceship, and flying us into space so nobody can get their filthy hands on our liberties. Ron Paul has also promised to get us out of any international acronym including "the International Criminal Court (ICC) , NAFTA, GATT, WTO, and CAFTA" (ronpaul2008.com). That's right he's going to get us out of the ICC, which we aren't a part of and GATT, which doesn't exist. That's dedication. But that's not all Ron Paul believes.
-AF
I'm going to start collecting them, because they're so much more interesting than the thoughts I have on my own.
Two large black men are sitting on opposite sides of the aisle on the Red Line train, heading towards city center. They lean against the windows so as to be as far away from each other as possible while they converse. I don't know what purpose this serves them, but it's certainly useful for me, the journalist and concerned citizen, especially given the urgent nature of the conversation.
----Transcript----
Wearingahat: Did you hear what Bush is doing?
Notwearingahat: What now?
Wearingahat: He's decided to postpone elections. Now he's going to be president until godknowswhen.
Notwearingahat: (Not visibly disturbed at all) Yeah, that asshole. I always knew he'd do something like that.
Wearingahat: You mean you ain't heard about this? The marshal law thing?
Notwearingahat: No. What marshal law thing.
Wearingahat: He's declared marshal law and there's going to be, like, a 7:00 curfew.
Notwearingahat: (Now visibly upset) What?
Wearingahat: You know, marshal law. Where the military is in charge of shit and they make sure you're in your house by 7:00.
Notwearingahat: That's bullshit. They can give me a ticket, you know, send me to jail, whatever man, 'cause I've got to be out, you know what I'm sayin'? I've got to be out, like, 24/7. They can fine me, whatever.
Wearingahat: I hear that.
---/Transcript----
----Commentary----
Two things jump out at me right away.
[1] I wish I had paid more attention in American Government in 9th grade, because I really didn't think the president could do that. I didn't even think the president of Russia could do that.
[2] I wish I had something I could believe in, you know? When I think of new military dictator of the country, marshal law, mandatory curfew and the like, I freak out. But Notwearinghat, he has an agenda. He's got a dance party to go to and nothing is going to get in his way. That's dedication.
---/Commentary----
-AF
This letter appeared in the Willamette Week two weeks ago:
SLANTED COVERAGE
While we here at the Fridge commend the generally fair, accurate and balanced journalism your newspaper routinely disseminates, we feel compelled to issue a correction to your write-up of the Chinatown-dance-rock band, the Slants, in the Sept. 19 edition [“Slanted and Enchanted”].In your article on the assured upward trajectory of the aforementioned rock and roll band you cited, as an example of this assured upward trajectory, the appearance of the Slants at a “mere Reed College houseparty” versus their later appearance, and CD release, at Dante’s. Though we no doubt wish the Slants nothing but the best in their quest for musical stardom, we take issue with your reference to our house, never mind our party, as a “mere Reed College houseparty.”
Issue One: This “houseparty” was not “mere.” Snoop Dogg was there. You weren’t. Deal with it.
Issue Two: This “house” at which the “mere houseparty” took place has nothing whatsoever to do with the aforementioned “Reed College.” Of the six individuals living at this “house,” only one attends “Reed College,” we don’t like him, and he lives in the flower room.
Issue Three: It wasn’t a houseparty, it was a bingo tournament.
Go fuck yourselves.
Sincerely,
The Fridge
Editor’s Note: As of press time, WW has been unable to confirm that Snoop Dogg was, in fact, there.
Southeast 39th Avenue and Woodstock Boulevard
Here's the link: http://www.wweek.com/editorial/3348/9666/
-AF
The shortest dream I've ever had: I walk up to a stand-up comic. I punch him in the eye. Aside from being a comic, he has done nothing to deserve this. The end.
-AF
Perhaps it's just another place where English vocabulary is impoverished, but how to you say "put over and around something?" You can enter it. You can penetrate or infiltrate it. You can even screw it if it's moist. But what can it do to you? The language only allows cavities to be passive. They can't take any initiative whatsoever. Shouldn't a woman be able to fuck too, or must our Victorian language force her to get fucked? Call me boyfriend of the year, but I think she should be able to do anything she wants.
-AF
The only part of having children I have any interest is naming them. If uncles got to name kids, I'd be set. But they don't. So even if my sisters start pumping out little sea monsters, I'm still out of luck. I'm even considering adopting a baby, naming it, and then putting it up for adoption. Sure, they say I can just get a hamster. And they're right. I could get a hamster and name it Retardochilimuffin. If I wanted to. And my friends would come over and ask me what its name is and I'd say Retardochilimuffin and they'd tell me I'm an idiot. But if I got to name a child, people would know it. People at the Social Security office would call me an idiot. That name would be on a birth certificate, an honor roll placard, a couple of diplomas, a job application at Goldman Sach's, and eventually on the checks paying for my summer home on the lake. That's it. I'm having kids.
-AF
For those of you into the facebook, I've built an HTF application. So you should check it out.
-AF
-AF
The tour was great and it was great seeing you guys, but now I'm spoiled rotten and would sure like more humor from you all. Huge props on keeping the HTF going all month, though. There were some true winners in there, but when is new 'actual' content happening?
Representing the desire for 'More!' in all of us,
_Metro.
-AF
Day 2 of TV You Can Heckle versus the road. GPS system blows our mind about technology. Open-mic comedy at Annie's Social Club. Eighteen people on the list. Nineteen people in the room. The lone man not performing is clad in all black, shaved head, circa forty, wearing a ninja-style mask, and glasses from the 20s. With him he carries two medium size cardboard boxes filled with Luna Bars. For those who are not part of the energy bar revolution, Luna bars are the female counterparts to Cliff bars--eaten by protein dudes everywhere. What's curious is that this man quietly sits through the first few comics, then slowly starts to open his boxes. Keeping his gaze fixed on the stage, he begins to dispense the nutrition bars onto and around the surrounding tables. He takes handfuls and places them on the table of women behind him. When the comedians start to comment on his mysterious behavior, he launches into ad copy announcing the fabulous health benefits of his products. Minutes go by and I start to realize that I'm on tour and planning to be hungry tomorrow morning. A handful of snack bars is just what the doctor ordered. I reach into the man's box of neatly organized snack foods and pull out a Blueberry Yogurt thing. Unwrapping the treat, I begin to feast upon my good fortune. Minutes pass. Despite raising my estrogen levels, I find the snack to be quite agreeable. As few of the patrons are taking advantage of this generous offer, it dawns on me to procure the remaining units for later consumption. As I reach for a handful, Tim looks at me and says, "Are you really going to eat that."
I am dumb.
It occurs to me in a much belated revelation that I am breaking the cardinal rule of being a kid: Don't accept candy from strangers. I further examine the gentleman distributing the deserts and I realize that he is most certainly not the type of person I would employ to sell women's nutritional supplement bars. He is more like the guy you'd hire to kill someone in an alleyway. It is this realization that causes a distinct churning in my stomach. It is both anxiety and the fear of being poisoned. I start to feel dizzy. At this point, I'm fairly sure the snacks have been drugged, I am succumbing to the effects of one or more knockout drugs and am about to enter a world of pain. I rush to the bathroom and quickly bulemicize (definition: the verb form of bulimia) myself. My index finger reaches down my throat to beckon the alien food particles to evacuate their current position in favor of a bar toilet. I vomit. I vomit voluntarily and completely. Upon my return to the tiny room where the open-mic is taking place, I find the gentleman still quietly attending. Fearing I will be too incapacitated to accurately describe the man to police sketch artists when news gets out that dozens died in a mass snack-food poisoning, I snap a picture of the man with my phone camera. Perhaps police can track him down when I'm dead. One of the other comics kindly pointed out that I was eating food from a homeless man. Clearly I have been living a rather sheltered life. All I could think about was, "Hey, free tour food. Sweet."
Five hours after poisoning: dizzy, fatigued, headache, nausea, paranoia. Will report on status change.
_Nick
Here's a Hella True Fact with two possible endings. Pick your favorite.
Roughly 500 kids are horribly disfigured each year when ____________.
Option A: their faces "stick that way"
Option B: they hit puberty.
-AF
We got a write-up in the local arts paper. Check it out.
http://www.newsreview.com/reno/Content?oid=348822
-AF
Vanity.
I'm no Dorian Gray, but then again, who's really that good looking. Anyone (who hasn't had a heart attack) that works out does it completely for aesthetic concerns. I've got a back catalogue of reasons I give to people when they ask me why I work out. The exaggerated: I want to live forever. The practical: makes me more alert at work and keeps me from having to buy new jeans. The holy: My body is God's temple and I don't want to disrespect the landlord. But when it comes right down to it, there is one reason and one reason only why I workout--pure, unadulterated vanity. I have no idea what the implications of my health choices are. But this I do know. If soggy bodies were in, I'd never lift anything, walk anywhere, or eat anything that wasn't deep fried with a side of ranch.
So I'm sucking it up and not sucking it in. Every time I eat oatmeal for breakfast, I don't think about living another few years, I think about fucking the prom queen.
_Nick
Due to the shortage of fireworks in the late 1770's, the first couple 4th of July celebrations involved dressing up the least popular guy in town as a Redcoat and then stabbing him in the town square with a bayonet.
Apparently there are some towns in Massachusetts that still celebrate this way.
Every time I think that I can finally give up materialism, shave my head, and get hella zen, Apple comes out with something else that rocks. Good news, though: I have a powerful ally on my side, post-graduate poverty.
What unnecessary item do you want so badly you thought about maybe selling a kidney but have no hope of obtaining for at least four years?
She is five months pregnant. The father says he doesn’t love her anymore. The baby is kicking. I feel her stomach. It reminds me of a muscle spasm. I like muscle spasms.
-TD
-AF
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