Rock The Poot

The Queen and I talk politics:

Me: Uhn, I can’t believe we hafta go through six more months of this presidential comapign.

The Queen: I know. The TV ads are terrible.

M: Are they? I haven’t seen them.

Q: Yeah, they’re awful. Every one ends with “I’m blah-blah-blah, and I approved this ad.” It’s so stupid.

M: I think they have to say that. It’s the law.

Q: It is?

M: Yeah, it’s part of that campaign finance thingie.

Q: Oh. I thought it was just, you know, one-upmanship. Like, “I approved this ad!” “Oh yeah?! Well I approved this ad!!”

M: Hah! Well anyway, I guess Kerry has some new ads out today. Apparently they are pretty good.

Q: I hope so. Because so far all the commercials have been [ridiculously dramatic voice] “John Kerry … voted … to take body armor … from soldiers!” and [ridiculously pompous voice] “I fought in a war while George Bush was fartin’ around.”

Leave it to The Queen to distill things to their essence.

For the record, I will enthusiastically endorse any candidate that uses the phrase “fartin’ around” in a political ad.

The Works & Leah Peah

I will be on the NPR program The Works this evening as John Moe’s Blog Correspondent. (Actually, I just made that title up for myself. Feel free to put “NPR Senior Blog Correspondent” on my business cards, John.) The show airs at 8:00 pm on 94.9, KUOW. Update: RealAudio feed now available on this page.

If you heard the show and have come here looking for links to the topics we discussed, here you go:

Tron Guy

Comment Spam

Viral Marketing

Also, I was interviewed by Leah Peah

Bugle Boys

Junkies … On The Bus! (Another in a series …)

JotB: The woman at the clinic said she wasn’t gonna give me any more methadone. I told her I was totally fine now, that I didn’t have the impulsive behavior or violent thoughts anymore, but she still said no. If she was a man I would’a hit her.


JotB1: … so I told her, “hey, stop trumpeting my intentions.”

JotB2: Trum-peting?

JotB1: You know, like a trumpet. Like, blowing your horn.

JotB2: Blowing your horn?

JotB1: You know, like talkin’ shit.

JotB2: Oh sure. I mean, yeah.


This was my dream.

I arrived at the start of a 10K race clad in shorts and running shoes, and was surprised to discover that I was the only apparent participant. Even so, the race officials were very eager to get me started. They urged me to get behind the start line and fired the starter’s pistol the moment I had done so.

I trotted off all by myself while the spectators cheered me on. I wasn’t familiar with the race’s route, but occasionally saw crude arrows chalked onto the pavement and followed those. These seemed to be keeping me on course, as there were still throngs spectators around. But as I reached the third mile or so, the people stopped cheering and began to get impatient. “Come on!” they started to yell. “Hurry up!”

Finally I found myself running inside a shopping mall, unable to find any more arrows to guide my way. Just as I became frustrated, I saw a race official and jogged over to him.

“First of all,” I asked, “How come no one else showed up for the race.”

“Actually, thousands of people are running it,” He told me. “But instead of running the race all at the same time, everyone is running it sequentially, in alphabetical order. As a ‘Baldwin,’ you were the first.” (Apparently Pamela Anderson was not participating.) “They are waiting for you to finish so the next guy can start.”

“Oh, great!” I cried. “And I don’t even know where I’m going. I can’t find any more arrows.”

The official gestured toward an Old Navy bag that was lying on the ground nearby. I went over, picked it up, and looked inside. It contained hundreds of jigsaw pieces.”

“When assembled,” the official told me, “the puzzle will show your next destination.”

Psychoanalysis we will leave as an exercise for the reader.