Is Bush-hating passe?

Is it necessarily bad for one to openly announce hatred when making an argument?
Peter Berkowitz thinks so.
In his article, Berkowitz points out that a powerful passion such as hatred blurs one’s perspective, which means logic can sometimes be lost in when we assign a particular figure to an element of evil. Bush is widely and wildly hated throughout the entire world, arguably more so than any United States president ever before.
He represents the quintessential elitist, who consistently favors business over the environment, war over communication, creating his vision of the world regardless of those who see it differently. While there are many among the population who loudly and proudly declare him evil, very few give him their vocal support. As Republican candidates make their cases for the 2008 presidency, they work to keep the President within arm’s length.
In my own opinion, it’s become somewhat cliché to hate the President because, really, everyone else is doing it.
Bush (alongside his administration) is the worst president this country has ever seen, in terms of the damage he has done to everything we hold this country to be. Frankly, I hate him, and won’t hesitate in answering otherwise.
So though I can’t relate, I tend to think Berkowitz tends to make quite a valid argument.
When a government is overthrown by its own people, who takes up the position of power? Just from a quick glance at history, its obvious that more often than not, effectively cruel and “evil” (so to say) leaders take the reigns from a wildly hated leader, backed by millions supporting the downfall of their prior oppressor. Not to say that the present-day American society will desperately support someone who could ultimately be worst than Bush, but my example just acts as a case-in-point.
Anyway, Berkowitz makes his argument much more clearly than I can, but I think that one other point that I’d make is that as humans, it’s some kind of difficult not to get passionate about issues that affect the world we live in, especially when they affect us directly.
Like Pat Robertson! Fuck him.

Video of the day
BAND: Los Mono
SONG: Promesas
RATING: C

Wikipedia tells me these guys are the shit in Chile, and I don't doubt it. The song is catchy. The wacky shifting head is simple and obviously cheap, but it looks cool. The concept just gets old. He spends the entire video walking down the hallway with his cool head, a head that holds so much potential but is never ever utilized for whatever reason. I'd like to see this thing stroll off into the street, people don't even have to pay attention to it, I just want some goddamn change.

Snowshine

After months of warm November weather that would be considered pleasant if it were not for the terrifying connection to global warming, all of our fears have finally been covered up, if you will, by that magnificent white blanket. Truly, there’s nothing like the first snow of the season, especially when you wake up to a wild white world. This is what foreigners think of when they hear of Colorado.

Video of the Day:
BAND: Folk Implosion
SONG: Natural One
RATING: B-

You’ve got to give props to the band for putting out a super-chill lo-fi song that’s pretty much forces images of dark hookah parlors and long skinny airheads slowly making out with their skinny stoned girlfriends. The plastic animals, bobbing their head in tune with the song, make for a cool touch. And the apathetic singing might usually make a viewer feel cheated, but every now and then it is incredibly appropriate, and this song is one example. The trippy images are heavy and, for the most part, unexpected. The one problem I have with this video is has that feel of sunshiny grit it has to it…this is a consistent theme you’ll see in alternative rock music videos in the 1990s: Beck, Soul Coughing, Tool…hell, even in a few Nirvana videos.
But, this video somewhat strays from that norm, at least I think it does. The astronauts on the dirt and the spinning rustic toys are the only aspects that remind me of that sunshine grit (that is my copyrighted term by the way; I just can’t find the stupid fucking tiny circle-c symbol). When we cut to the growing grass or the mopey lead singer with a bad haircut, we deviate from the norm, and I like it. Still, not original or groundbreaking enough to get anything above my ranking.

That Plunging Feeling

The cost was enormous, but I couldn’t help myself.
I gave in to my desires and gave up about $200 for a video game. I suppose it’s not that bad, compared to others who have surrendered hundreds more to those dreadful massive multiplayer online role-playing games, which have not only sucked up their funds, but their lives as well, damning most of them to a long sexless young adult tenure. I’m glad I haven’t fallen to that level of disrepair, but sometimes I worry I might be sliding ever so closely to it with each purchase of a video game or other object reeking of that indescribable geek scent.
But as of now, the descent has been worth it. The game is unbelievably fun, every single step of the way has just been enjoyable, and I haven’t even used the microphone or drums yet (the drums were a bitch to put together). Out of all of the games ever created, Rock Band easily has the best set list ever assembled. Seriously, all it’s missing is some Led Zeppelin and maybe a Rage Against The Machine song or perhaps an indie rock song or two…I’d go with Arcade Fire or Minus the Bear or maybe The Go, but they are a generation of rock that ought to have been acknowledged, even if they aren’t as awesome as Queens of the Stone Age or The Hives or the Red Hot Chili Peppers (Dani California was a good pick, as Stadium Arcadium really was one of the biggest let downs of my life).
So, here’s to five-starring songs and struggling to balance all the other shit floating in the air above me right now, especially that huge fucking cloud I acknowledge as my “election series” articles. So, lets all hope that I get all that done and still manage to have fun and still manage to get laid after all of it.

Video of the Day
BAND: Gym Class Heroes
SONG: The Queen And I
RATING: C+

See, when I hear this song, I’m not sure what to expect. The girl talked about in the song sounds like a bitch, but then so does the asshole whose “perspective” is being laid out in the song. I like the song, nice catchy line with great mainstream appeal, but I’m just not feeling this whole video so much.
Eh, it’s kind of different in the way the story is told. I mean, its not like we’ve never seen the whole story book take, but I will say that it has been a while. Production values are alright, the characterization is pretty good (who doesn’t hate that make-up caked crown-wearing woman?) But if you watch this video and feel like something’s missing, then you’d be right. Something is missing, and I say its special effects.
Sorry for offering up such a crappy complaint, but that’s my take. This music video serves smoother cinematography than what people usually expect though, and the ending is pretty good, so I decided to add the plus to that unforgettable mark of mediocrity.

The beginning of new blog era for me

I suppose I'm just not meant for this online writing surface.
There's much to talk about. The life of Erik Myers is one filled with constant thrills and amazement and good feelings and masturbatory awards. So why is it so hard to blog about?
And why is it so hard to find something to blog about? I've been reflecting on my past few blogs, and they've just been geniunely horrible: sloppily written and no real attempt at depth. And what's worse, it'll still be floating around the web once I try to make my leap from college to the real world, and my employers will decide to make a routine web run to try and find some dirt on me, some reasoning as to why I should not be hired at their esteemed newspaper/magazine/supermarket, and they'll come across my little corner of shame built out of cyberspace and that's all they'll ever need.
Okay, so let's talk about my video of the day. Maybe that's what I can blog about: a new music video for every day that I can bother logging on! I love music, and I love music videos, and now with the advent of YouTube, I can go and link them on my blog and then talk about the video and the song, and how much I love them and why.

BAND: Datarock
SONG: The New Song
RATING: D

Wow, footage from the fifties! And unironically shitty backgrounds and fuzz effect and costuming! The sarcasm couldn't get any better, but I'm gonna go for it with as many apostrophies (SPELLING) as possible!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You know, for a badass song, this is quite the shitty video. What's worse; everytime I hear The New Song, I'll think of this shitty horrible video. I can understand why artists might not bother to put much effort into their music videos anymore, now that MTV doesn't bother playing music videos anymore and the only stations that do are on supreme cable or whatever it is called. Yeah, I can understand that, but man, this video is just really terrible, like, bad band from 1989 bad. Like, this is the kind of music video Devo would put out after they stopped coming out with good music, and if memory serves me correctly it was right around 1989 so the circle evens itself out. I'm expecting better from you Datarock next time we meet.

Fuck Fantasy Football

This has been a wildly horrible season of make believe for me. My fantasy football team, the creatively-titled Calgary Cretins, has been a sack of shit throughout the season. As of yesterday, the team's record is 1-8. That's just not right; I've done my fair share of wrestling with surfing the free agent market and making sure I didn't have any players on the bye in my lineup, and I carefully weighed my bench and lineup in accordance to the skills and types of players and even taking into consideration of the teams they're up against, and making sure I had the best possible combination of players, but it never seems to fucking matter.
I suppose it'd be fair to push off some of the blame on the players, man so many of them suck shit. Shaun Alexander is an asshole who played well for one season but has sucked on for years at a time. Same goes for Larry Fitzgerald; man, why can't just carry the kind of momentum he had with him back in the days of Pittsburg. And Calvin Johnson...to hell with Calvin and the entire fucking Detriot Lions. Seriously, they've got Jon Kitna as quarterback, and for some reason he's lead them to a 6-2 record. What the hell; Jon Kitna ought to be dead by now, I don't think he ever was considered even a decent player until recently. It's unfortunate that he just doesn't pass to Calvin Johnson, but then again, I'd be suprised if any member of the Lions organization could manage to break away from cornerbacks.
To hell with fantasy football, it's time to focus on things that matter. Perhaps Tom Morello will help lift the heavy lashes of my eyes and save me from my apathetic existence. Or maybe he'll just play a bunch of crappy folk songs, talk about Bush and what a shitty president he is, and give a shoutout against NAFTA too. Please save me Mr. Morello.

A Short Story

I’m pleased with the state of my party, even if I’m a little concerned about the potential destruction of the few nice things that me and my housemates didn’t hide away prior to tonight. That doesn’t matter though, because the party is going strong. No resuscitation necessary.
“Do you know them?” Kate asks, her hand gesturing towards this small group of guys wearing football jerseys and helmets, chatting away with the well-endowed Anna, her witch’s hat askew, ready to fall from her head at any moment, not that she’d care.
I shake my head, but am without concern. The group has brought a box of 40s, which they’ve left open and accessible on the dinner table; these are classy party-crashers, people who know how to stay within the good graces of the people they don’t even know.
Kate stares on at the group, her arms crossed, her chin puffing in and out like she’s chewing on something. She’s jealous of Anna, as far as I can tell. The only guy that’s paying Kate attention, myself, is pretty gay.
There comes a succession of thumps from the staircase followed by a mixture of laughter and cheers.
“Yes. Yes. God, Yes.”
My heart quickens. My mind burns with the image of the fifty-dollar Jimmy Buffet glass parrot that hangs above the stairway.
I come to the base, where Andy stands. A massive bed sheet, fitted into a toga, hangs off his massive blubbery frame like an overstretched skin layer. Andy is pumping both fists in the air. His round face is flushed from his continuous laughter, mixed in with a few excited screams. Andy does not get invited to parties much, as one can tell by the rather inappropriate toga costume. Despite this, I can tell that he’s not just desperately trying to fulfill his idealized frat-boy college lifestyle. His upward gaze, fixated on two figures at the top of the carpeted stairway, tells that he’s excited about what’s about to take place.
At the top of the stairway, Joey and Derek are taking positions. Joey, a five foot nothing dressed as a hillbilly, presses his bare feet into Derek, one after the other. Derek is lying belly down, body rigid, his eyes too wide for his own good. Joey, now positioned upon Derek’s spine, grips the banisters of the stairway. His expression is flat, giving the impression of total concentration. He begins to sway back and forth, like he’s about to push off into a bobsled race. I watch with fixated horror, unable to bring myself to stop what might just turn out to be awesome if nothing remains destroyed.
What follows is exactly as I suspected. Joey sways backwards one more time, digs his heels into Derek’s back, and pulls forward. It’s something of an incredible sight as the two of them surge forward: Joey actually manages to keep balanced halfway down. Derek finally breaks, groaning loudly as he doubles up beneath Joey. The two of them spill forward, miraculously missing the glass parrot that I have forgotten about.
Joey collides with me, and we fall into Andy’s massive frame, slamming him into the wall. We bounce off of him and stumble forward, missing the banister pole by mere inches. My knee manages to connect with the bottom step, stings, and remains sore for the rest of the night.
Derek is lodged on the lower half of the stairway. One arm dangles from the right banister, keeping him aloft as rubs his back. His laughter is interlaced with coughing. I’m surprised to see him pull himself up, his legs still functioning.
Joey has escaped paralysis as well, pushing himself to his feet. As I rise, Joey runs towards the crowd staring towards us.
“We did it, yuh-yeah.”
He jumps up and down as he pushes his way through people, a maniac laugh pouring from his throat. The disgusted faces of the crowd pull away from Joey as spins around amongst them. Kate suddenly appears from the kitchen, pushing her way towards him, her arm stretched upward and above the crowd, clutching a massive paper towel roll. I factor in the clues and look down to see a small pool of blood a few feet in front of me. Joey, I conclude, did not miss the banister after all.
All the while, Andy remains slouched against the wall, his face wringed and his hands frantically rubbing his neck. Yet he continues his cheer, albeit a whisper.
“Yes. Never ever can that be topped. So awesome.”
The groan emerges from him without warning, loud and guttural. Joey may not feel his pain, but I’m satisfied to see Andy is fully aware of his. The mental picture of mashed Funyuns pressing upwards from his stomach and stinging his esophagus is a pleasing picture.
Derek has descended from the staircase, joining me as we watch Andy rub his face and groan.
I notice him, and he looks back at me, smiling, saying nothing.
He’s come to the party dressed, quite literally, as himself. He’s gone out and purchased some blank white shirt, upon which “Derek #1 Alfonso” is scribbled in black marker. The lettering has already become slightly smeared.
His mask, however, is what truly achieves the comedic effect I’m sure Derek was working for. A cardboard mask has been carefully cut out to achieve the shape of his head, which it’s strapped onto with cheap elastic bands. There are holes for his eyes and his mouth in accordance to the blown-up paper image of his face, pasted on. The mask doesn’t line up with his face, and I assume he continues to wear it off the side of his head so it can be quickly thrown on for photo opportunities. It’s not as funny as it is frightening. Seeing it stirs up the emotions that’d occur when wandering through some abandoned basement, and coming across a leathery mask of a friend’s facial skin.
His grin withstanding, Derek hangs his arm off my shoulder, while his other hand snatches my limp hand, which he proceeds to shake as if we were greeting each other for the last time.
His breath is cheap vodka and cranberries.
“Sorry about that,” Derek says, and with a clap on the back, he steps away, avoids the smatter of blood, and walks towards the crowd.
I watch him go, then look back at Andy, who has stopped groaning, but is merely breathing loudly as he continues to rub his neck. I make a mental note to find a trashcan and place it between his open legs. He won’t be able to move from that spot for the rest of the night, making him a prime target for bullying from whomever. I leave him there.

Troublesome Turkey

While I could easily write about how shitty the new Saw movie was or my new radio show, or even bitch about how work sucks, I’d much rather write about something that matters. There’s always a million different things going on in the world, but does anyone care about anything that doesn’t concern the 2008 presidential election, Darfur, or global warming? Yes, but then again, no.
Oh, of course, no one likes a child solider, and as I’m told, racism is as prevalent at CSU as ever. But then again, we should pay attention to the issues of countries on the other side of the earth. Human life is just as important in Turkmenistan as it is in China or Myanmar (Did you know that the new Rambo movie is SET in Burma? Talk about being time relevant! My guess is that they filmed it knowing that there was some massive violence going on in Southeast Asia; the jungle-setting could’ve been anything from Indonesia to Cambodia to India/Pakistan border and so on.)
So, time to delve into what’s happening. Hmm, child soldiers in Myanmar, Obama pisses off gay community with anti-gay gospel singer, kids found to have tiny percentage of industrial chemicals in their bodies…
Ah, here we go.
So Turkey is cracking down violently on some insurgents, and want to make an incursion into Iraq to stop one particular group, the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (better known as the PKK) and their violent ways. Ok, here is something I can half-assedly relate to: If such a crossing of borders were to occur by Turkey, it’d throw the northern half of Iraq into chaos, as the self-governing Kurds of the region don’t want to deal with that kind of shit right now, as they’ve got their own IEDs and stuff to deal with, or so I assume. I suppose assuming is bad, but for now we’ll allow it.
When your general smart person population thinks of Turkey these days, they think of that proposed bill that would allow the US government to recognize the murder/deportation of 1.5 million Armenians from Turkey back in the early 1900s as the Armenian Genocide, the scholarly title. From a glance at the timeline of the massive deportation, such a title seems fitting, but Turkey refuses to call it a genocide, and many of our former leaders have said that we would lose a powerful Middle Eastern ally by recognizing it as such: Daddy Bush, Bill Clinton, etc. It’s an interesting situation, calling into question how much do we as America care about a title if it means losing a lot? You have to acknowledge that a title means a lot, really: what would happen if the country had never recognized the Holocaust as a genocide? But frankly, I’m a little torn on the issue, though I lean towards the idea that we should recognize genocide when we see it. Maybe it’ll happen after we get out of Iraq, but then again, I doubt it.
But I digress: This will shake things up, so I only hope Turkey takes precautions before crossing any borders.