I viewed a pre-screening of the new movie, Contagion, last night in Edina, Minnesota. Despite starring Matt Damon and Kate Winslet, it was pretty good. There aren’t many films released nowadays that are even tolerable, but this one was. I wouldn’t recommend wasting your time seeing it in theatres, but it is worth adding to your Netflix list.
I’ve been writing these last few days a lot about gloomy subjects such as peak oil, economic collapse, the end of everything, etc. I’ll admit that when you start flirting with such dreary topics you’re not likely to get many smiles. Before I move on, I’d just like to say that some of the scenes from that movie last night made me think of how things might look if all of these bleak predictions that people like Chris Martenson have been making come true.
And so much for that.
Since I was in Edina, I missed the Packers beating the Saints silly, 42 – 34. The game was waiting for me on my DVR when I got home, but what would’ve been the point? If you can’t watch a sporting event live, you might as well just read about it in the paper. Instead, it seemed easier to eat pizza and watch Sons of Anarchy, South Park, and a couple of other similar programs before getting to Wednesday’s Republican presidential debate.
I abandoned it after about thirty minutes and went to bed, unable to stomach their nonsense any longer. I probably will finish it eventually, but like football, what’s the point?
Michele Bachmann looked like a sun-bleached scarecrow shipped in from someone’s failing farm; she sounded like a broken record, shrieking shrilly about “job-killing Obamacare” no matter what the moderators asked her. Her campaign manager and his deputy have quit, her own supporters are shaking their heads, and she has decided to just stay in Iowa where there are enough people crazy enough to take her seriously. Chances are, the Wicked Witch of the Midwest will be ending her bid for president sooner rather than later—which is not surprising, but is a bit sad because she is so much fun to kick around.
Rick Santorum has been whining since August that the teacher won’t call on him; when anyone does ask him a question, it’s always on social issues rather than the economy—which makes sense since he is best known for being a closet-case homophobe and has the decidedly unpleasant disadvantage of his very name to grapple with … to wit: Santorum 1. The frothy mix of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex. 2. Senator Rick Santorum.
Every time Newt Gingrich was asked a question at Wednesday’s debate, he swelled up like a puffer fish and turned colors, snarling like an angry drunk and behaving like a bum. It was obvious, even to his campaign staffers, that the washed up old hack was very close to physically attacking the other candidates and kicking over his lectern before lunging at the audience like a goddamned grizzly bear. A pol from the Gingrich camp, speaking anonymously, said this: “We just can’t take him out in public anymore—there’s no telling what he’ll do. We’ve discussed it and feel that if Newt is going to attend any more debates, he’ll have to do so wearing a turtleneck sweater.” When asked why, the staffer said, “Well, to hide the 50,000-volt shock collar, of course.”
And so forth.
President Obama, meanwhile, has learned nothing at all since 2008 and insists on repeatedly sticking his finger in a light socket until he no longer feels the shock; he said this: “I know that folks sometimes think they’ve used up the benefit of the doubt but I’m an eternal optimist, I’m an optimistic person. I believe if you just stay at it long enough, after they’ve exhausted all the other options, folks do the right thing.”
We’ll see, won’t we? Obama hit some high notes in his speech on Thursday and the Republicans didn’t automatically vow to vote against his American Jobs Act, so … we’ll see.
It’s getting late. Welcome to the weekend.
Here’s your wisdom: