There is this gift store downtown.  The past administration saw it sell a lot of anti-Bush crap.  By the time we got to the to the last election, a lot of pro-Obama stuff was pushed in — including a Baby shirt with some ramification of the word “Change” collided with the kid’s diaper.  Place it next to the grown up shirt about “Only Good Bush” with an allusion to a part of a woman’s body.

The merchandise sold makes me espect that something like this shirt my brother spotted when perhaps searching for something to clothe his son in.  They are for the parents’ amusement, not the child’s.  In the past few months, a baby shirt has appeared in the window, “Living Proof that Geeks Procreate.”  All right.   But apparently this shirt comes in adult sizes.  I can’t picture why an adult would want to charge their parents as a Geek, or a teenager would want to advertise their parents as geeks — this market exists?  The thing is, though, they have this shirt over the cardboard cutout of Barack Obama.

Lots of things have been said about Obama.  I can’t recall too may things levelled at either Obama’s parents — perhaps something is implied with his Kenyan father.  But I have never heard any of Obama’s parents rolled into the category “geek”.

Over heard Phone Call number one:

“So I say you need to bring in that resume.  If you can handle [name not caught], you will most certainly be able to handle [other name not caught].”

Next phone call.  “Yeah, I just got around to [someone or other, name not caught].  HAD to call her.
[bunch o stuff or other.]
Yes, I say the ideal person to hire would be a hooker who is about five months behind on her rent, because what we need is someone to bust their ass for long shifts upon long shift.  Everyone’s a little hazy right now, and I’m pulling in a lot right now.”

There is something about these two phone calls.  It may be a sign of the current “Great Recession” on how terms of Labor are sort of being lost.  That’s the macro-level of this thing.  But what caught me on these, why I found it kind of odd…

… The first call, clearly an acquaintance or minor friend.  Did that second call say that she was a Hooker, or just somehow on the level of one?

A discussion I heard on public transit.  I didn’t catch what spurred this comment, but

“Yeah, it’s kind of scary.  The bible talks of a man everyone’s supposed to rally under…”
“… Coming in on The PALE HORSE!”
“Right.  Pale Horse.  And this is the Anti-Christ of the End of Days.”

I had a weird sinking feeling at this point.  I don’t know.

“What we’re hearing from Obama about Health Care sure fits the description!”

Huh.

As this conversation arried on, it appeared that one person was somewhat to the left of things, close to Socialism, and the other somewhat to the right, somewhere close to Libertarian about these politics.  But despite these political differences, there was one item which both sides could agree on: Obama just might be the Anti-Christ as described in the Book of Revelations, bringing about Armegeddon and all that good stuff.

I have come to the tendency to shy away from the “Anti-Christ” reference of the Bible, preferring instead The Who and the line about “Meet the Old Boss, Same as the Old Boss” — which is about the same message without the unfortunate tendency to so many false starts on predicting THE END.

A young woman, I’d guess aged 19 or 20, on the phone.  What I hear: “Yeah.  She’s from Littleton.  Littleton, Colorado.” [Pause]  “Yes, I’m sure she’s sick of that.”

These are the towns nobody had ever heard of, until one day everyone had heard of.  “Yes.  I’m from Waco.“  Great.  An immediate  mental image is conjured up. 

“Anyone here from Ruby Ridge?”

Oh.  You’re from Jena, Louisiana?

Can we get a Wasilla?

Another overheard conversation.  “You look like that Obama spokesperson, can’t think of his name.”
“Yeah I can see that.”

I interject, fumbling through my mind a bad answer.  “Axelrod?”

“No.  Not him.  Hm.”

The answer was, in case you’re curious, looking it up just now, Gibbs.

I think I’ve seen this camper before, stocked to the barricades with bumper-stickers.  The most visible is at the top of all four sides:  “9/11 Was An Inside Job”.

Beyond that, there’s “End Wars for Oil and Or Israel”, “9// Controlled Demolition”, “US Troops out of the Middle East!”, “Arrest Bush Cheney Pearl Ashcroft Rice Rumsfeld Powell 9/11 Wars Crimes Lies” (Time to update to the new administration.)  “Bush Rage Allowed”.  “No War on Iraq” “No War on Iran” “IMPEACH” “I Love My Country But Fear my Government”.  “One Nation Under Guard”.
This is one side of the camper.  I didn’t jot down the other side.

And then we throw in these two:

“Ron Paul for President” and “Dennis Kucinich for President”.

Huh.  I guess we do get this from time to time.  But is the optimum ticket Paul / Kucinich or Kucinich / Paul?

I suppose the owner of this camper takes the vast arraignment of disagreements between Paul and Kucinich over the scope of government welfare and beauracracy as meaningless.  The areas of agreement are almost meaingless too, save a point of departure to 9/11 Truth.

An overheard bit of conversation:

“You know when you see a dad, and he’s kicking ass in Dadville, and you go ‘Wooah.  I want to be like that guy!'”

Actually, I think I’ll modify that nugget.

When you see a Dad
Who’s Kicking Ass in Dadville
I wanna be him.

That’s more poetic.

I’m not a dad.  I know some dads.  I have a dad.  I may be a bit too myopic to put my place in any dads’ shoes, particularly my own dad with relation to me, to understand what “kicking ass in dad-ville” entails or how it manifests itself.

It’s also possible that the particular language employed by the conversants is a case study in why George Will hates blue jeans.

I’m eating lunch, sitting on a bench in the park blocks downtown.  A group of school children — maybe age 10 — a few girls and a couple of boys come running up — pacing past the two adults that are heading with them.

“Teddy!  Teddy!  We Love you, Teddy!”

A very strange comment, I don’t know what it means.  I look around.  And again with “Teddy!  Teddy!  We Love you, Teddy!”  And I see that they are running up to the statue of Theodore Roosevelt riding his horse.

I admit to not having loved Teddy Roosevelt at that age, or any age, and am not sure I would have been as enthralled by a statue of him.  I do not believe that they ran up to old Abe Lincoln a couple blocks down in the same manner.  Anyway, one boy extols to the other boy that the Art Museum has pictures of naked women in it — though he reamins a unimpressed or unmoved — vaguely familiar territory if I had to try to place myself back to that age.

Later in the day, I’m on the Max train, riding past the stops in Old Town.  There is a similar group of kids, age I’d guess 14, goofing off.  One boy mock dry-humps another boy for the amusement of the others in the group, and for reaction from the crowd.  I am staring blankly out the window, and they all wave and grimmace at me and flash wide grins and thumbs up signs, conferring that they know I saw a mock dry-hump.  I keep a faceless expression.  It occurs to me that a few years ago they might have ran after the Teddy Roosevelt statue, and that the kids running after that statue will be in that other situation.  Strange world.

“Marx is BACK”

I saw that plastered onto telephone poles and trees and the type of places these things are plastered.  It was for a conference or speaking engagement or lecture or meeting or some such for a “Young Socialists League” or some such.

I see no evidence that Marx has returned.  I suggest situations similar to an excerpt from Daniel Pinkwater’s The Neddiad — page 28

After breakfast, my father and Colonel Ken Krenwinkle went to the club car to play cards with the four Marsh Brothers, who happened to be on board. I was very excited at first, thinking the colonel had said “Marx Brothers,” but these were the Marshes, not the Marxes. They were sort of substitute, imitation Marx Brothers–they did the same sort of things as the Marx Brothers did in movies, only not as well. Their names were Gaucho, Harpy, Chicklet, and Gumball. I was disappointed, but I went along to watch them play pinochle with my father and the colonel. They were funny, but not all that funny. I got bored after a while, and went off to look out the windows.

Curls Marsh is speaking.

Meatime, I’m dodging the clipboard wielding petition and donation people, as always.  It’s a lousy job, but one that ends up a necessary stop-gap.  A duo threw out a rhyme that I can’t quite recall.  Something which rhymed “Hey, man in plaid” with some other phrases — though, I think they managed to get away from words that rhyme with “plaid”.  It sort of rubbed me the wrong way.  They were Greenpeace, and asked me to save the Polar Bear.  I didn’t say the thought that entered my mind due  to their noxiousness — “You know, maybe it’s time for the Great Polar Bear Phase Out.”  I have nothing against the polar bear, but am sort of annoyed that they are the face of Global Warming and Environmental Depredation at the expense of other creatures big and small.

Seen a few people with those safety masks.  Japanese.  Makes some sense.  Stereotypically germophobic — or, I guess to put a good light on it by demeaning Americans, not slobs.

Actually I’ve seen them before in less auspicious circumstances.  On days where weather conditions create pollution stagnation (a couple days in the summer end up that way) — presumably people with sensitive respiratory problems.

Anyway, I wonder if they could stencil some designs on those buggers.  Wear it like a t-shirt.

“Last night I got high and watched The Muppets.  I LOVE getting high and watching the Muppets.  But we all agree that it’s disturbing when Fozzie removes his green hat.”

In the infinitisimal chance that the participants of this conversation somehow happen upon this, I should clarify that I could care less about anything else said — recognizable as relatively sensitive — and only much care about the effects of Cannibas on observed Muppet behavior.  And people like to downplay the negative effects of the drug… let it be a warning on the Demon Weed.