Rhymes with dope

So the pope -- you know, the God-chosen leader of the Catholics -- traveled to Africa -- you know, where 22 million people are dying of AIDS -- and told its people that condoms are bad. Why? Because an invisible man in the sky who created the vast universe and life itself apparently gives a shit if somebody straps on a piece of latex before having sex. That's why. Yet more evidence that the pope is a soulless, hysterical idiot:

(From The Advocate, via Google News) Pope Benedict XVI has declared that condom use not only doesn't slow down the spread of HIV/AIDS, but actually makes the pandemic worse.

"You can't resolve [AIDS] with the distribution of condoms," the pope told reporters on Tuesday aboard a plane headed to Africa, a continent ravaged by AIDS. "On the contrary, it increases the problem."

According to the New York Times, Benedict has never addressed condom use. Predecessor Pope John Paul II often proclaimed abstinence, not condoms, would prevent the deadly spread of AIDS.

The Roman Catholic Church rejects the use of condoms based on its teachings against artificial contraception.

Hey, Cardinal Ratfucker, here's a tip: What the people of Africa need is some fucking help, not a sanctimonious speech from a man who lives in a golden palace in Rome and tells other people how to live. If you really want to make a difference, put down your diamond-studded scepter and feed an African child dying of starvation.

Cheney the irrelevant

I was beginning to enjoy my life as an American again, when suddenly I was reminded that this country twice elected a criminal mastermind. And then my day really started to suck.

This troubling nugget of history roared back into my consciousness when the madman himself managed to con his way onto Sunday's TV circuit and try to scare the pants off us, just like he did when he was our fearless leader. But for all of Dick Cheney's masterful efforts at controlling his emotions while whining hysterically about our intrusive Constitution, I couldn't help but sense an overt fear in his own rhetoric. A sort of thinly veiled desperation.

And I know why.

It's simple: The only way history will justify the actions of the Bush administration is if Obama fails to prevent another attack on America. Just picture how awful Bush/Cheney will look if Obama succeeds in ending the wars AND preventing an attack AND repealing all of the sinister, Constitution-violating "reforms" of the Bush administration. I think we'll all reach the same conclusion: All those "reforms" -- the torture, rendition, spying, violations of civil liberties -- were a bullshit power grab that didn't necessarily protect us from anything. In this sense, Cheney is secretly praying for an attack while feigning all this concern for America. What a dick.

So, yeah, Cheney is kind of freaking out. Imagine an America where people can enjoy safety from terrorism while retaining their civil liberties (and that even goes for alleged terrorists, who deserve due process just like any other accused criminal). An America like that is a threat to Cheney and his fascist, big-government ideals.

After watching the Cheney spectacle and reaching these conclusions, I felt a lot better. Cheney isn't doing anything more than trying to sell his legacy to an increasingly skeptical public. After all, who wants to die knowing he or she was arguably the worst thing that ever happened to America?

The power of spelling

Not doing much for your cause there, buddy.

EDIT: As mentioned on the ensuing comment section, an increase in inter cranial pressure is generally, you know, a bad thing.

Housekeeping

Observations for the day:

#1: I need to stop prefacing my sentences. Free tip: Overused subordinating and dependent clauses make writing weak, especially if you use them to pad the effect of a sentence. An example in a recent blog post:

I don't know if anybody else has noticed this, but our culture has officially cratered into an abyss of mindless superficiality, petty judgments and worthless bottom-feeding celebrity gossip drivel.

The subordinating clause of that sentence is useless and lazy. Who cares if anybody else has noticed it? This is opinion writing, after all. I'm making the statement; if anybody else noticed my observation, they'd either agree, disagree or move on with their lives. It's a fallacy that longer sentences make the writer sound more intelligent. Instead, use direct language for argument -- too many words clutter the effectiveness of the language. Removing the subordinate sentence makes the whole clause much stronger:

Our culture has officially cratered into an abyss of mindless superficiality, petty judgments and worthless bottom-feeding celebrity gossip drivel

#2: I talked of losing my idealism in the last post. I was working at that time in a state of deep discomfort and rage. It simply isn't true that I've lost my idealism, although I have lost my faith in media. The thing is, journalism is not a product, as much as publishers and money managers would like to make it so. Journalism is an idea that can never die, no matter the medium. The principle that people must be informed and allowed to participate in public discourse is the foundation of our democracy.

No, my idealism will never die, no matter how much bullshit gets thrown at me by corrupt bureaucratic trolls. Idealism transcends career. Idealism is the willingness to say that what you're doing is good and helpful and even heroic at some level. Without that, working is reduced to the thing you do between 9 and 5 for a paycheck.

#3: Getting up early rocks. I used to hate it, but it's really the only way to start the day.

Folks, I promise a politically related update soon, and not so much of this personal crap. After all, this is for the most part a political blog. And I haven't ranted about Rush "Oops I Destroyed The Party" Limbaugh's disturbingly jilted head-to-body ratio yet. For shame.

Catharsis

Come one, come all. See the acrobats and monkeys. Witness the death of journalism. This, friends, is the media circus.

Oh, the man behind the curtain? Don't mind him. He's only here to help. Keep drinking that bitter concoction. It's for your own good, son. Soon, you'll see, everything will be numb.

I have savage news, friends. Savage indeed. I'm afraid I've lost my way. My flashlight has flickered out. I've been plunged into the darkness of uncertainty. The guiding light, my principles, has been sapped. I carry with me only enough precious bread to make it through the night. Tomorrow, the unknown will peak above the horizon. Tomorrow, I face the day with heavy doubt.

It's been a bad day. I take that back. It's been one of those days where you're so jilted by an impenetrable force that you spend most of it questioning yourself. The scope of it is confusing: Am I really seeing clearly? Or am I simple jaded by cynicism and hopelessness? Is this really happening?

If this is cryptic, I apologize. Wise people have told me it's not smart to poop where you eat. But writing is catharsis. This is catharsis. Suffice it to say that, for me, this is my eulogy for idealism. I'm not even sure what the word means anymore. Maybe it's a product; maybe it's that grand idea that can't die. I hope it's the latter. I hope, for the future of journalism.