White People: Roughly 60% Boneheads

And yes, I am a white person and have done and said my share of dumb things. But no, I am not stupid enough to think that blacks have as good a shot or better as whites at getting ahead.

Bruce Springsteen, Voice of My Heart

For a man I've never met, Bruce Springsteen has done a lot for me. He's given me two of my very favorite albums (Tunnel of Love and The River), he's given me a great concert experience, and he has given me and all New Jersey natives the certainty that there is at least one person to whom we can always point with pride. (Bon Jovi, why won't you go away???) And now he has gracefully encapsulated my feelings of pride, rage, and everything else that comes with being from a state I love, that treated me well, and for which, for whatever reason, some people actually expect me to apologize.**

From his speech at the New Jersey Hall of Fame back in May:

So let me finish with a Garden State benediction. Rise up my fellow New Jerseyans, for we are all members of a confused but noble race. We, of the state that will never get any respect. We, who bear the coolness of the forever uncool. The chip on our shoulders of those with forever something to prove. And even with this wonderful Hall of Fame, we know that there's another bad Jersey joke coming just around the corner.

But fear not. This is not our curse. It is our blessing. For this is what imbues us with our fighting spirit. That we may salute the world forever with the Jersey state bird, and that the fumes from our great northern industrial area to the ocean breezes of Cape May fill us with the raw hunger, the naked ambition and the desire not just to do our best, but to stick it in your face. Theory of relativity anybody? How about some electric light with your day? Or maybe a spin to the moon and back? And that is why our fellow Americans in the other 49 states know, when the announcer says "and now in this corner, from New Jersey...." they better keep their hands up and their heads down, because when that bell rings, we're coming out swinging.

God Bless the Garden State.

Indeed. Now, pardon me as I cue up "The Ties That Bind".

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** No, fellow student who called New Jersey "a shithole" in the middle of Constitutional Law class, I do not forgive you, and your "I mean, excuse my language" only made it worse. Your word choice wasn't the problem; I had, after all, just replied, "You had to fucking go there, didn't you?" (A fine and refined moment in my law school career thus far.) The problem was your contempt for the place others call home. It was a cheap shot. I hate cheap shots.

The Reason for the Red State-Blue State Divide

. . . is, I am convinced, stories like this one.

If I did not know awesome people from Missouri and instead had to base my opinion solely on stories like this, I would never quite trust the place.

My favorite line:

In addition to having a badge and a car that seemed to scream law enforcement, Mr. Jakob offered federal drug enforcement help, Mr. Schulte said. (Local officials thought the offer must have somehow grown out of their recent application for a federal grant for radio equipment.)

But that's just me. You may prefer the bit about him naming his false federal agency after a bit in Beverly Hills Cop.

Oy. OY.

My Thoughts Exactly

In this "I'm not a feminist, I'm an equalist" era, I know what I'm about to say will make me sound shrewish and vile and--nightmare of nightmares!--not "sex-positive", but I have to say it anyway:

Could we please stop pretending prostitution is glamorous? Or that a woman who becomes a prostitute is "making it"? (Yes, ha ha, I get the pun.)

Even if we were magically transported to a patriarchy- and misogyny-free land where sex work was just like any other kind of work, it would top out at just that: work. Drudgery. As it is, the prostitution industry is linked with a lot of violence, exploitation, addiction, human trafficking, and pretty much every other shittastic idea the human race has ever thought up, including the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Reasonable people can disagree about whether the solution is to "écrasez l'infame!" or to fight for the dignity of sex work--to try to make it so that the high-priced call girl with full agency and excellent medical care is not the Sasquatch-rare exception but the rule. But in neither case should pin-up glamorization play a part.

My hatred, it bubbles over**. And this clinches it: I am never subscribing to Showtime.

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** Except at whichever of my neighbors did this to the poster in my subway station. To that person, shiny unicorn rainbows forever!

Open Letter to a Fellow Duane Reade Customer

Dear Sir,

You may not intend any harm, but repeatedly staggering up and down the same cosmetics aisle with dead eyes and a slack jaw is, well, creepy. Especially with that tube of hemorrhoid cream in your hand. Please go away.

Best,

Adair