Well, somebody has to say it

Does America deserve freedom of speech?

I realize it's just my opinion, and I can voice it thanks to a long history of victories against those who would seek to suppress it, but I'm starting to think that this nation is too stupid to wield such an awesome power as the right of its people to enter freely into the war of ideas. I'm not saying the current state of ideas in this country is wrong because I disagree with the various positions. I'm saying it's wrong because the political conversation has been hijacked by bold-faced liars, cheats and opportunists -- and Americans are either unwilling or unable to understand truth from fiction. We are being held hostage by rhetoric that is not only blatantly false but repeated willfully by a network of media outlets and politicians who face no repercussions for their words.

Why is this happening? It's unhinged freedom of speech. Our most fundamental and important liberty is also killing this country. It's infuriating and hilarious, all at the same time (unless you still have even a shred of faith left in the American people -- then it's just infuriating).

I could cite as a broad example just about anything that comes out of Sarah Palin's mouth on any given day, but allow me to address a specific piece of false information that Palin introduced into the war of ideas, one that was both disastrously misleading and arguably damaging to millions of people who are suffering from terminal diseases: the issue of palliative care.

Palliative care is a relatively new medical science, and it focuses on end-of-life decisions. When somebody is diagnosed with a terminal illness, such as pancreatic cancer, the option that most oncologists will support is to throw everything possible at the disease, despite the unlikelihood of being successful, and hope for the best.

Palliative care, on the other hand, takes a different tack. Patients are given the regular options that an oncologist would cover -- chemo, radiation, etc. -- but also are able to consult with doctors about how they wish to spend the rest of their time, how they wish to manage their pain and how they can deal with the various family, religious and legal issues associated with the potential end of their life. It's not throwing in the cards; it's acknowledging that the end might be near, and having an honest conversation about what that means to a terminal patient.

It makes fucking sense. And it's supported by science. A recent study showed that terminal patients who participated in palliative care lived longer and more pain-free. They also were happier, despite their dire circumstances.

Now let me take you back several months, because if you followed the health care debate at all, you've heard of palliative care -- just not in the rational, sane way that it should have been presented. Back then, Democrats inserted language into the bill that would provide funding for palliative care, and although it was such a minor aspect of the bill, it exploded as a key controversy during the debate.

That's because Palin, in a hysterical, rabid and disingenuous attempt to kill the legislation, wildly misinterpreted the wisdom of palliative care. She called it a "death panel." And the label stuck. So much so that Democrats stripped the provision from the bill to avoid all-out war.

War over what, you may ask? Nobody really knows. The logical connection between doctors talking with patients about end-of-life decisions and doctors deciding who is going to die is so disconnected from reality that it's hard to even fathom. What's even more hard to fathom is that Americans would believe such horseshit.

But Palin flapped her treacherous mouth, and Americans ate it up. Because they are idiots. It was our freedom of speech in action.

Am I suggesting we rescind our most honored tradition? Of course not. But in an age of instant replication of speech across a vast network of media, we really need some system of accountability. The fact that one person is able to lie -- and that lie is subsequently able to crush a legitimate movement toward better medical care -- just seems like an affront to what the Founders had in mind.

Or, alternatively, freedom of speech is working as intended, and this country has just gone completely insane. Maybe, just maybe, we should think long and hard about that.

Facing a new year

As the sun sets on what would otherwise be another passing Tuesday afternoon, I take stock of the past year and prepare to usher in my second day of being 29. Though I have yet to greet that unyielding inevitability that is 30, it's funny to note that already my birthdays have become surprisingly insignificant to me. I acknowledge the many gracious pronouncements of cheer from my friends and family, but inside I feel as though it's just another fading sunset. I imagine that, eventually, I will reach an age where I will welcome and cherish each day of my dwindling youth, as a musician may desperately hang on the final notes of a sad song, but until then I am still convinced of my eternal and unburdened 20s.

It was an incredible year, and I changed my life in many fundamental ways. I laughed a little longer. I worked a little harder. I cherished my friends and family, spilled a little blood, shed some tears, and ultimately I gained the confidence to be the man I always hoped to be. I gave a little, and I took a little, and I always remembered to love.

I let go when it seemed impossible, and I faced some demons when they were most irascible. Some remain, tickling at my subconscious with unrelenting ferociousness. I will battle on, with the new weapons of wisdom that derive with age. Most of all, I will never surrender to fear.

So let's see what 29 has to offer. I'll let my willingness to explore light the way to these vast new adventures.

Milestones

It occurred to me today that I have arrived at a particularly meaningful point in my journey to be a medic. As of yesterday, I've pulled as much knowledge as I'm going to pull from books about being an EMT. Classes and labs have ended, and all that stands between me and an Emergency Medical Technician certification is as follows:

* 140-question written examination over two terms
* Practical examination over medical and trauma patient assessment
* National written examination covering an entire 1,200-page textbook (70 to 140 questions)
* State practical examination over every skill in the EMT scope of practice: Patient assessment (medical and trauma), oxygen administration (mouth-to-mask, nonrebreather and nasal cannula), spinal immobilization (seated and supine), splinting (joint and long-bone injuries), control of bleeding and shock, and defibrillation.

I've learned an astounding amount of information about how our bodies work, how our bodies react to injury, and how to keep people alive using basic life support measures, despite the best efforts of our bodies to kill us. These include:

* Conducting effective CPR on adults, children, infants and neonates.
* Administering several medications, including: High-flow oxygen (to treat hypoxia), nitroglycerin (angina and acute myocardial infarction), epinephrine (anaphylaxis), inhalers (asthma and respiratory distress), activated charcoal (overdoses and poisoning) and oral glucose (hypoglycemia associated with diabetic emergencies).
* I can recognize and immediately treat people who are moderately or severely injured -- or near death -- from any of the following scenarios: allergic reactions, diabetic emergencies, respiratory and cardiac emergencies, environmental emergencies (hyperthermia, hypothermia, drowning), head, brain and spinal injuries, soft tissue injuries (lacerations, abrasions, avulsions, burns, amputations, eviscerations, gunshots, stab wounds), musculoskeletal injuries (fractures, dislocations, sprains, strains), poisonings and chemical exposure, behavioral emergencies, acute abdominal distress (appendicitis, peritonitis, internal bleeding), shock, venous and arterial bleeding, pediatric emergencies, and neurological emergencies (stroke, seizures).
* I can, believe it or not, successfully deliver a baby, including post-delivery care, and I can recognize and provide interventions for common obstetric complications, including breech birth, prolapsed cord, eclampsia and pre-eclampsia, placenta previa and placenta abruptio, and premature birth.
* I know how to interact with and properly assess injured kids at all ages, which is generally understood to be the hardest part of this line of work, as well as geriatric patients.
* I can use big, impressive-sounding medical terms, but I know that the key to good patient care is effective communication, respect, quick thinking, and knowing my shit. I know that I can gain somebody's trust -- even somebody who is in severe distress and fearful of dying -- simply by kneeling down to his level, looking him in the eye, asking for his name and saying I'm here to help.

I still have tons of education ahead of me. I will learn the difference between how things are done in textbooks, and how they are done in the real world. And although I will soon be an EMT, I still have a few years of school before I'm a paramedic.

But, as of now, I've accomplished what I initially set out to achieve: I can save lives. And for that I am humbled, excited and terrified.

Sunday blues

Lingering moments of quiet reflection seem to be a limited commodity in this bankrupt world. I think if everybody took a few moments during their day to stop everything and think about life outside the normal stream of consciousness -- be it a fleeting acknowledgment of their lives or a whisper of a contemplation -- the gain in happiness, self-improvement and ease of mind would be immeasurable.

My reflection for the day: I'm sitting here in my cave, reading about the finer points of delivering babies in preparation for my test tomorrow, and wondering why oh why am I not outside enjoying the nice weather with my friends -- far away from this town. I worry that my goals are infringing on my adventurous spirit. I need to find some kind of balance, lest I go batshit crazy, or even worse find myself the lonely soul in a crowded room.

Also: Fuck Canada!

A lesson in subtlety: Newspapers rule and all other media suck my ass

As you can probably guess from hearing me rant about journalism, I'm an old-school newspaper purist. I don't trust any other form of media, nor do I have much faith in the capability of other media to achieve the same level of quality or serve the same vital watchdog role as newspapers.

So you can imagine why I'm so depressed that newspapers are starting to suck.

Without quality newspapers, along with their vibrant staffing of superior reporters and funding for investigative projects, the state of American journalism is dead. The current downfall of print already is painful and debilitating, but you can bet that it will be much worse when we eventually rely solely on press release re-writes, gotcha celebrity drivel, weak oversight of our continually corrupt government and unskilled, agenda-driven Internet bloggers.

How can I know this? Simple concept: Newspapers drive American journalism. No other source of information plays such a crucial role in feeding other forms of media than print. In TV news, assignment editors are expected to read the newspaper to gather story ideas. Radio cites newspapers, and newspaper reporters are featured as expert witnesses to the dealings of the day. Internet journalism -- a phrase I use in the loosest possible sense -- would cease to exist in its current form without the luxury of linking to or quoting from newspaper stories.

Even if newspapers simply move their operations completely online, thus transforming Internet journalism, it's still hopeless until a miraculous new funding model can be introduced. Online revenue models for newspapers don't begin to make up for the advertising dollars that print sales used to provide, which in turn allowed for the kind of staffing and talent necessary to be the superior form of media in terms of quality. Currently, a majority of newspapers are giving away their content for free on the Internet. There surely needs to be something between free and profit that allows newspapers to thrive on the Web, and right now nobody seems to know what the hell that might be.

A story out today found that newspapers still provide a vast majority of the original local content, while the Internet only graced us with 6% of original reporting. The study also found that competing with the Internet -- that is, competing with a medium that provides its content for free -- is leading newspapers down a dangerous road of posting press release re-writes online just to get the information out quicker, and then sometimes not even updating or writing legitimate stories to follow up.

If you're unfamiliar with the concept of press release re-writes, let me give you a brief overview: It's a bullshit, lazy way to be a journalist. An organization sends the reporter a brief statement of "facts" that the journalist then re-writes in his or her own words without fact-checking or even really providing any original thought. The "story" is then regurgitated back to the masses as if actual journalism were done. This is the kind of reporting that has become necessary, according to the study, in order for newspapers to convince the American public that they are still relevant, in the sense that they are able to vomit out questionable material at a fast enough pace.

We can gather from all this that the Internet is not only killing newspapers -- it's actually destroying journalism. The daily newspaper model of researching and carefully crafting stories may not serve us in our give-it-to-me-now culture, but it damn well works out when it comes to providing quality, factual, reliable, credible information. Journalism schools don't really teach you to write; they teach you to think, question and analyze. We can only hope that those skills eventually fit in with the American desire for instant informational gratification.

Don't get me wrong -- I enjoy the luxury or reading my news online. But if a newspaper staff isn't writing it, and a city desk isn't editing it, and a copy desk isn't fact-checking it, then it's simply not credible for me. Working in the American newspaper industry has given me a certain perspective and expectation for quality journalism, and I'll stack it up to any other form of media in the world, hands down.

What I've learned, 2009 edition

Some personal lessons from a very long year:

* The fear of rejection is much more debilitating than being rejected. If living in fear is slavery, then taking a chance is your liberation. I'll learn this lesson a thousand times; one of these days, I'll take my own advice.

* Following your dreams should always be painful and agonizing. That way, if you take your licks and stay on track, you know it's the right path. The reward is true happiness.

* I either don't understand love, or I don't understand women. Either way, money can't buy it.

* Soul mates exist. And no, you never really get over it.

* I realize now that I'm part social conformist and part emotional anarchist. That is, I often act within the boundaries of the group, but I never compromise my feelings. Those I own completely.

* Successful people learn how to solve problems, not seek blame for them. This can be applied to every aspect of life.

* Never talk shit. It's a fact that your target is in some way better or more talented than you, and you're probably just jealous.

* Journalism is dead. Americans killed it. Americans, and greed. I hope somebody revives it in my lifetime.

* Most people want to make a million dollars. I want to save a million lives. It's corny but true.

* The first time I glide a duel-lumen tube into somebody's esophagus, I'll know I've finally made it.

EMT perspectives

I've concluded, based on what I've learned so far about the EMT experience, that one of the greatest road blocks to good patient care is an inability to empathize with the sick and injured. Undoubtedly, this shortcoming can result from any of several circumstances, be it complete burnout from dealing with horrible situations on a daily basis, skewed motivations for being a medic in the first place, or inexperience with the feelings of terror associated with the receiving end of a true emergency.

In short, if you can't empathize as an EMT, you're either sick of your job, too full of yourself to express concern, or simply can't conceptualize what it feels like to think you're about to die.

Inherent in this line of work is a tendency to feel excited about being involved in true emergencies, which carries with it a double-edged sword: In order to take part in a true emergency, somebody needs to be truly hurt. We hear medics -- both career and those in training -- excitedly tell stories about the latest mayhem as if they're comparing gleeful war stories. Does this mean these medics inadvertently enjoy seeing people in pain? Or do they just enjoy the rush of helping people get through that pain? Obviously, this career includes a hero aspect that, combined with the chemical reactions of high-pressure situations, can affect your mind like a drug.

I'll tell you one thing: The patient in crisis would be surprised to learn that his or her traumatic experience is just another exciting story for the medics. Then again, maybe the thrill of a call is what keeps people in this career sane long enough to retire.

I'm approaching this from the view of somebody who has yet to go out on a call or be exposed to an overly traumatic emergency situation. But I find myself getting eager about the prospect of seeing these things, and I wonder whether this is the right perspective to take. When it comes time for me to decide what kind of medic I'm going to be, I think I have to find a balance between my motivation to help people in a professional, skilled and empathic manner, and my urge to experience the adrenaline associated with crazy and gruesome situations. I imagine that if you lean too much one way or the other, you ultimately become an ineffective emergency provider.

My journey begins

I was reflecting the other day to a friend that life can be equated to a series of significant events that, once experienced, can never be relived the same way ever again. I listed off some examples from the top of my head: first sleepover, first kiss, first time driving, first graduation day, first marriage day, first birth, first night living away from home.

Most optimists would say that the challenge is to make all the insignificant events that happen in between -- what you're doing here, now, at this moment -- matter for something. Unfortunately, this root beer I'm drinking will never taste quite like the first time I ever tried root beer. But it's still sweet, and it still bubbles in my mouth, and I can still remember the first time.

If I had a book of significant events in my life, I would include an entry for the first day of my first Emergency Medical Services class. It wasn't as much what I learned as what I didn't learn.

I would love to say that I had some cosmic epiphany during this first class about the deeper meaning of dedicating my life and well-being to people who will meet me in their worst possible circumstances. I would be humbled to report that I was so inspired by the instructor's words that I found the underlying reason for my desire to be slapped by the harsh palm of reality. At the very least, it would be nice if I could deliver a significant explanation for this journey on which I've embarked -- to be a paramedic.

I can do none of those things.

Maybe it's because I don't need an explanation. Maybe my drive for logical reasons for everything that happens in my life has broken down. I feel so overwhelmed by the weight of this journey that I can't breathe. I ache at the notion that I'm making the wrong decision.

Then I remember that day last term in my biology class when I discovered the meaning of my path. I saw a girl collapse out of her chair, and I didn't think; I reacted. Here's another one for that book of significant events: First emergency. I was at her side in a blink, and I watched her open her eyes as I was bending down to check her breathing and pulse. I looked at her, and she looked at me, and we shared a moment of panic. That moment affected me deeply. She's OK, I thought to myself. Or did I say it out loud? Then, the rush of chemicals, the dizzy feeling in my head, and that internal knowledge that I was experiencing a deep, human feeling with her: the fear of the unknown.

I was still kneeling. I looked down at my arm; it was still clutching her shoulder. I'd put it there to gently shake her when she was momentarily unconscious. My mouth was dry. My vision was clear and focused. I asked if she was OK. She looked confused. Finally, she nodded.

The exhilarating panic was replaced with relief. She was breathing, and I didn't have to crack her ribs. When I looked around the room, I was shocked. I was the only one there.

I felt something that day that I'd never experienced before, and it's not something you read in a book. It's not something that an instructor can dictate to you on the first day of your first EMS class. It was facing the unexpected with confidence and accepting the fear. It was exciting. It was frightening. It was beautiful.

Who let the dipshits out?

It must be very disheartening to be a Congressman.

You kiss millions of asses and spend millions of dollars to win a tiny office in the nation's Capitol, where you spend your years vying for power with 434 other lawmakers. You rant, rave, kiss babies, sell your soul and dodge scandals, and at the end of the day when it's time to come home and relax, you're greeted with a bunch of constituents who attend your town hall meetings and spew a bunch of bullshit from the Glenn Beck show. They yell and scream about socialism and Nazis and birth certificates until the whole world seems like it's going to collapse in a wave of paranoid schizophrenia.

And then the realization hits: You've just wasted years of your life representing a bunch of idiots who actually believe the president of the United States is endorsing a diabolical plot to kill babies and grandmas. These constituents are lacking the basic reasoning skills necessary to understand that the system we have now, where insurance companies decide whether or not you are worthy of getting health care, is more akin to "death panels" than a government option, where all people would be accepted regardless of pre-existing conditions. Oh, and don't forget rationing! As if our current system doesn't ration health care to those who can pay exorbitantly high premiums -- and leave everybody else in the cold.

I never imagined Americans could be so capable of stabbing themselves in the back.

Psychic regurgitation

Lately I've been struck with the sickening, panic-stricken feeling that I have a fundamental misunderstanding of human relationships. This is usually followed by a short period of soul-wrenching hopelessness, in which I over-analyze every attempt I've made to connect with a female. Brooding comes next, often as I speed through the city at night, cursing myself for being so obsessively introspective. Anxiety pulses through me. I feel like I'm in a dark comedy, only I'm not completely in on the joke.

What I can't conceptualize during these bouts of hazy loneliness is how anybody can possibly hang on long enough to cut through this shell I've constructed for myself. Long enough to see that I'm actually a pretty happy, outgoing person under these layers of jaded boredom. Because it's becoming increasingly hard for me to give a shit when I'm feeling like this. I desperately search for some kind of meaning, but I only find emptiness and anger boiling inside me over my own failures.

And just like that, the feeling fades away. I force it to fade away. Life is way too fucking short to feel like this.

On being self-absorbed

A short moment for personal crap:

Lately I feel stuck when I try to write, like I have nothing interesting to say, or I have too much to say and my brain can't conceptualize it. Mostly I'm just too stressed out to care about anything past my own problems. It's a selfish self-absorption, a byproduct of following nearly impossible dreams and worrying endlessly about my place in the world. Often, the consequence plays out in my relationships, and thus I'm back to where I was a couple years ago: wondering what comes next. A little bit lonely. A little bit scared. Left with the overbearing feeling that I'm running out of time to get it right. My eyes are open, but I'm stumbling around in the dark.

Maybe the dark is where I'm most comfortable. It hurts when I hit a wall, but it's challenging and morbidly exciting. Boredom is more than a feeling for me; it's a significant detour to living my life. I want to fight boredom on all fronts, and maybe the unconscious way I do that is to force uncertainty on myself. Unfortunately, my hunger for adventure is often too single-minded. It's hard for me to share the hunger with others.

I would call this a momentary feeling of discord, but I'm reminded of something I wrote a few years back during a similar period. It sounds eerily familiar:

My life is always so dull when I'm comfortable. What I really need is a little chaos, agony, repression, emotional warfare. I think it invigorates my soul. I think it reminds me that I'm human and alive and capable of doing something besides this corporate, soul-eating office life.

So here I go again, taking another step into darkness. Also: Can anybody remind me how to, like, date?

@ Grassley: u r an asshole

One thing I've never understood about the American political system is how being elected president seems to automatically exclude you from the right to enjoy yourself ever again. Granted, some presidents have taken the idea of down time to the extreme, such as Bush's penchant for vacationing in Texas every time Cheney had a heart arrhythmia. But this obsession with Obama's extracurricular activities, and the notion that he shouldn't be able to leave the office long enough to show his wife a night on the town, is just getting ridiculous.

I mean, the man can't even have a fucking cheeseburger without Fox News concluding that his taste for mustard is anti-American. We've reached a sorry state of affairs when a major news network in America spends an entire week dissecting the president's choice of condiments.

Today, Chuck Grassley of Iowa bitched about Obama sightseeing in Paris during his trip to Europe. Grassley, who apparently doesn't speak the English language, had these things to say, via Twitter:

"Pres Obama you got nerve while u sightseeing in Paris to tell us 'time to deliver' on health care. We still on skedul/even workinWKEND."

"Pres Obama while u sightseeing in Paris u said 'time to delivr on healthcare' When you are a 'hammer' u think evrything is NAIL I'm no NAIL."

First of all: What the hell is he talking about? I can gather that he's angry about Obama inserting himself into the health care debate as Congress plods along on legislation, but the whole hammer/nail thing is escaping me. And whoever showed a 150-year-old Republican senator from Iowa how to use Twitter must be shot. Immediately.

Drudge also whined today about how Obama's wife and kids stayed in Paris for an extra day so they could shop, while Obama headed back to the White House. Well, holy shit. I can't believe the travesty. I can't believe the first family would want to shop in one of the world's most popular places to, uh, shop. The audacity is beyond words.

Protesters protest....uh....what?

My hope in the next sentence is that I can write a summary of today, Tax Day, without lapsing into a fatal depression.

So, here goes: Waving overtly racist signs and grasping desperately for relevance, a sea of Fox News viewers calling themselves "tea baggers" took to the streets on Tax Day, hoping to catch the spirit of the historic Boston Tea Party in which American colonists rose up against unfair taxation by the British. And somehow -- some fucking how -- that makes sense to every leading conservative commentator in America.

Well, apparently, this country is still rampaged by toothless idiots in Sarah Palin T-shirts who mistake racism for a legitimate airing of grievances. People who clearly skipped their high school history classes to smoke meth in the bathroom and hit each other in the head with hammers from the wood shop. People who wield the greatest power in the world -- freedom of speech -- to wave racially charged signs about Barack Obama's heritage at a fucking anti-tax rally. Huh?

The organizers of these protests probably thought the populist message would usher in some new conservative era, like a generational wave washing over America in some bullshit sea change of Republican politics. Instead, it made one thing clear: Nobody in the conservative movement knows what the fuck they're doing. I mean, what was the message of Tea Bag '09? You surely won't be able to tell from the signs. Was it that corporate bailouts are bad? Was it that Obama is a socialist/facist/Hitler/Kenyan/Jew? Was it that Obama wasn't born in America? Was it that income taxes are unfair? Was it that liberals want to kill your children? Was it that conservatives are just pissed off and aren't capable of collectively deciding what they're pissed off about? Please, somebody tell me; I'm dying to know.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, or enraged, by the fact that so many people are incapable of independent thought. This is the same schtick that's been running on conservative airwaves since Obama declared his candidacy. We aren't hearing anything new, and if this is the future of conservatism, I guess we can rejoice.

Oh, and how could I forget the best part of the day: Texas Gov. Rick Perry. Hopping on the hysterical rhetoric bandwagon, Perry toured the state with his new Texas-must-secede message. As if the possibility of Texas leaving the union is supposed to be some revolutionary act aimed at stoking populist rage and proud Texan independence. SNORE. Hell, it's perfectly OK with me. I hope the whole state breaks off from the continent and floats away into the Gulf of Mexico. The sooner Texas leaves the United States, the sooner we can kick their congressmen and senators to the curb. Not to mention that we can avoid any possibility of one of the Bush twins running for president.

Religion: The abusive drunk uncle that won't go away

I've reached the stage in the pre-paramedic program where the school tries to cram as much science into my head as possible in a 10-week period. The hope is two-fold: One, students will realize that it's way too much work and just quit, thus weeding out the slackers from the dedicated; and two, students will either learn or relearn how to think at the scientific level -- that is, make critical conclusions based on observable information.

Clearly, science-based observing and concluding is helpful with medical emergencies, such as when somebody is grabbing his throat and looking panicked. A critical thinker might draw the conclusion based on these observations that the man is choking. Conversely, a fundamentalist might draw the conclusion based on these observations that that the man has been taken over by an invisible demon living in the ground. And thus you have the difference between science and religion.

The crux of my little observation here is that the so-called "war on science" by religious people and groups is a misnomer. War implies that two sides or factions are fighting each other. This is incorrect. The core mission of science is not to disprove religion, or to disprove anything for that matter. That's the whole point: Science doesn't prove anything, it only theorizes based on observations over a period of time. We're all pretty sure that when we throw a ball in the air on Earth, it will fall. However, it's possible that one day, it'll just keep going up, and then the theories will be revisited. It will most likely never happen, but science concedes that it could. Until then, gravity is the highest truth available based on the facts.

Scientists will never ask the question of whether God created gravity, not because science is fighting religion but because the hypothesis is impossible to test. Why should science suddenly reject its method of observing simply because a massive group of people believe in God? The faithful keep treating scientific theories as a war on God, but really it's science that is being assaulted. The fundamental beauty of science is that it can evolve and change as new information becomes available. You can't say the same about faith.

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.

Trouble in frozen Camelot

Bristol Palin, America's favorite symbol of failed abstinence-only education, granted an interview with Fox News this week. I was so giddy about this story that I nearly crashed into Planned Parenthood as I read it on my way to work. Ah, irony:

Bristol Palin has a difference of opinion with her famous mother, saying teen abstinence is "not realistic at all."

"Everyone should be abstinent, whatever, but it's not realistic at all," the 18-year-old mom said in an interview with Fox News' Greta Van Susteren, who pressed her on why.

"I don't want to get into detail about it," Palin said, before explaining that sex is "more and more accepted now... among kids my age."

She hopes other teens will learn from her story.

"You should just wait 10 years," she said. "It would just be so much easier."

Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin is a strong advocate of abstinence-only education, a position that drew attention and sometimes scorn when the family announced, soon after John McCain named Palin as his running mate, that Bristol was pregnant at 17.

One of the things teens can avoid by waiting to have sex is a very awkward talk with their parents. Palin said she enlisted the baby's father, Levi Johnston, and her best friend to tell Todd and Sarah Palin she was pregnant. But getting the words out, she said, was "harder than labor." Eventually her friend "blurted it out."

The 18-year-old said her son brings her so much joy that she doesn’t regret having him at all. She’s engaged to Johnston, the baby’s father, and said her fiance sees their son every day.

She also said she didn't regret the birth of 8-week-old Tripp, and that the decision was hers, not her mother's.

"I wish it would happen in like 10 years so I could have a job and an education and be like prepared and have my own house and stuff. But ... he brings so much joy. I don't regret it at all."

She added: "I hope that people learn from my story and just like — I don't know, prevent teen pregnancy, I guess." -- From The Seattle PI

Well, so much for Sarah Palin's storied keep-my-family-out-of-it whine fest. Kinda hard to argue that the media are maliciously targeting your brood when your daughter volunteers for it.

Hilariously, Bristol Palin's intent was, like, to totally, like, inform America's troubled youth about the bummer of, like, teen pregnancy. In the process, I'm guessing she was hoping to help the abstinence cause. Then she dropped the bombshell: Abstinence doesn't work! Uh-oh. She must have a fundamental misunderstanding about which part of the interview the media would find more delicious: Her honorable efforts at informing America's youth, or her rejection of abstinence-only education, which as we know is a major part of the failed Sarah Palin platform.

And by the way, when your chief quality as a dad is that you bother to show up on a daily basis to see the baby, it might be time to reconsider the whole fatherhood thing. Any idiot can do that; it takes real skill to assure that the baby doesn't grow up to be a raving hick with a five-word vocabulary.

So pinch me now if I'm dreaming, friends, because this is almost too good to be true. I never thought these two words would ever appear in the same sentence: Bristol Palin, you're my new hero. Not only have you directly contradicted your own batshit crazy governor mom on a hot-button political issue, but you've slapped every last abstinence-only advocate right in the face with some truth. Nice work (no joke!).