So, I'm immersed in my favorite activity, lying on my futon and complaining, when the phone rings.
"What? What is it?"
"Whassup, pacfan?"
"Supe! Is that you? Where the hell are you?"
"Dude, I'm in my fortress. I hadda get away. Things were gettini kinda testy for the S-guy, know what I'm sayin'? Plus, Lois took my wig! Won't give it back, neither. 'Powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men' apparently don't apply to male pattern baldness."
"Yeah, I heard about the wig. What'd you do to make her wanna do that?"
"She wanted me to go to the doctor and I wouldn't go. She saw this ad on TV about how if you have an erection over four hours after taking Viagra, you need to see a doctor. I told her, 'Look, bitch, in the first place, I don't take Viagra, and in the second place, four hours for me is minimal. Man of steel--get the concept!'"
"So, what are you gonna do?"
"Well, first I thought I'd just punch the old moose in the mouth and take it. Remember Ralph Kramden telling Alice, 'Pow! To the moon!'? I could really do it. What would they do, put me in jail? Good luck with that! And besides, it's her own fault. If she looked like Noel Neill, or Phyllis Coates, or Margo Kidder, or Teri Hatcher, or any other mousy-lookin' 'ho' we wouldn't be having this argument. I'd get it done in four minutes, tops. But, no, she's gotta look like Kate Bosworth!"
"Times are tough."
"Then she's all upset because I can fly and she can't. 'It ain't fair, it ain't fair!' So I told her it's all in the cape, and she could borrow it if she wanted. I even put it on her and took her up to the roof to see if she'd give it a try. Thought she'd jump off, but she got suspicious, somehow. Damn!"
"I know, man. Can't live with 'em; can't shoot 'em."
"Tell me about it. Then to make my life really suck, the feds are after me now about income taxes. They said, 'You gotta have an income. For instance, how do you pay your dry cleaning to keep that costume all bright and wrinkle-free?' 'I walk through a car wash and then fly through the sun a couple of times.' "Well, there you are. Where do you get the money for the car wash?' Can't tell them I'm really that limp wad Clark Kent and make my money being a reporter. Folks find that out, they'd be callin' me all the time, wantin' me to show up at their brat's birthday party, take care of some loser hittin' on their daughter, wantin' me to sponsor some product or another. My calendar is full now, what with me fighting a never-ending battle for truth, justice and the American way, and all. 'Sides, how'd that look, me selling, say, beer? 'Most interesting man in the world' my ass! Let them get a look at me! I do pick up some under-the-table bucks doing stunts for the movies, though, but I can't let that get out."
"Oh, yeah? What movies?"
"The Superman movies, dummy! Wasn't for me, they'd still be drawin' me flyin' like they did when Kirk Alyn was me. You think that was Brandon Routh settin' that plane down on that ball field? Or Christopher Reeve pushin' that missile into space? Ha! Bet he wished I was ridin' that horse for him the day he was thrown off and broke his neck."
"Aw, that's cold, Supe."
"What? Too soon?"
I don't know. I guess some folks wouldn't be happy even if they worked in a brewery.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Ayn Rand Redux
My reason for living and I recently returned from a visit up near the Arctic Circle, at a place called Manitowish Waters in Wisconsin. Manitowish Waters consists of a chain of ten lakes, all connected so that one may boat among them unencumbered except by no-wake zones in the connecting channels.
Whenever I went out on a boat, and we passed other boaters, I would call out, "Have ye seen the white whale?" The responses, save one, were liken unto deer caught in the headlights--staring eyes, gaping mouths, clueless countenances. The one who responded verbally asked, "Who are you? Moby Dick?"
After several such shout-outs, one of the people with me on the boat asked, "What is that Moby Dick crap?" At first I suspected he thought I was referring to the male appendage of the little, skinny, bald-headed techno-pop artist who composed the credits-roll music at the end of all four Bourne movies, but after further consideration I doubt if he even made that connection.
His son knew what Moby Dick was. He had read Melville's ponderous tome in high school, from which he was not far removed.
Moby-Dick or the Whale is not an easy read. The plot narrative is interrupted here and there by entire chapters of woefully dated lectures on whaling. Melville thought, for example, that the sperm whale is the largest animal on the planet. He had heard rumors of the blue whale, but he was not convinced it exists.
Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged is equally ponderous but for different reasons. Rand belabors her points until her reader screams, "Enough! I get it!" Her attempt to draw readers into her hero, John Galt, becomes tedious. "Who is John Galt?" her characters reply when asked any question to which there is no known answer. You know, like, "Barbra Streisand? What was James Brolin thinking?" "Who is John Galt?"
After she killed her horse and then continued to beat it for much of the book, she has Galt make a chapter-long speech that more or less expounds on her philosophy of objectivism. I skipped almost all of it. You don't need to keep beating me over the head with anything.
Anyway, Atlas Shrugged envisions a time when society's creators and producers finally become fed up with a government that regulates them to the point they can no longer operate their businesses efficiently and profitably, and redistributes their inventions, innovations and wealth to society's moochers. One by one they drop out and disappear, leaving the masses to learn the hard way the dangers and consequences of socialism. Collapse therefore becomes inevitable and necessary to the rebirth of a purely capitalistic economy, nurtured by individuals and bereft of government interference.
Why the sudden resurgence of interest in Ayn Rand? Because Mitt Romney chose as his running mate Paul Ryan, a--for want of a better word--disciple of Rand. In an effort to understand Ryan and convey that understanding to their audiences, the talking heads and newspaper columnists are contrasting (Rand was a vehement atheist and pro-abortion; Ryan is neither) and comparing (Rand staunchly believed in minimal, unobtrusive government and individualism as opposed to collectivism; Ryan does also) the two.
While Moby-Dick may have been a staple on the reading list of most high school English teachers, it's almost a certainty Atlas Shrugged was not. I didn't even come across it until years after I graduated college. If you haven't read it I strongly recommend that you do so. Its engaging storyline and intriguing premise will give you much to think about.
As for its effect on me, well, it pretty much preached to the choir.
Whenever I went out on a boat, and we passed other boaters, I would call out, "Have ye seen the white whale?" The responses, save one, were liken unto deer caught in the headlights--staring eyes, gaping mouths, clueless countenances. The one who responded verbally asked, "Who are you? Moby Dick?"
After several such shout-outs, one of the people with me on the boat asked, "What is that Moby Dick crap?" At first I suspected he thought I was referring to the male appendage of the little, skinny, bald-headed techno-pop artist who composed the credits-roll music at the end of all four Bourne movies, but after further consideration I doubt if he even made that connection.
His son knew what Moby Dick was. He had read Melville's ponderous tome in high school, from which he was not far removed.
Moby-Dick or the Whale is not an easy read. The plot narrative is interrupted here and there by entire chapters of woefully dated lectures on whaling. Melville thought, for example, that the sperm whale is the largest animal on the planet. He had heard rumors of the blue whale, but he was not convinced it exists.
Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged is equally ponderous but for different reasons. Rand belabors her points until her reader screams, "Enough! I get it!" Her attempt to draw readers into her hero, John Galt, becomes tedious. "Who is John Galt?" her characters reply when asked any question to which there is no known answer. You know, like, "Barbra Streisand? What was James Brolin thinking?" "Who is John Galt?"
After she killed her horse and then continued to beat it for much of the book, she has Galt make a chapter-long speech that more or less expounds on her philosophy of objectivism. I skipped almost all of it. You don't need to keep beating me over the head with anything.
Anyway, Atlas Shrugged envisions a time when society's creators and producers finally become fed up with a government that regulates them to the point they can no longer operate their businesses efficiently and profitably, and redistributes their inventions, innovations and wealth to society's moochers. One by one they drop out and disappear, leaving the masses to learn the hard way the dangers and consequences of socialism. Collapse therefore becomes inevitable and necessary to the rebirth of a purely capitalistic economy, nurtured by individuals and bereft of government interference.
Why the sudden resurgence of interest in Ayn Rand? Because Mitt Romney chose as his running mate Paul Ryan, a--for want of a better word--disciple of Rand. In an effort to understand Ryan and convey that understanding to their audiences, the talking heads and newspaper columnists are contrasting (Rand was a vehement atheist and pro-abortion; Ryan is neither) and comparing (Rand staunchly believed in minimal, unobtrusive government and individualism as opposed to collectivism; Ryan does also) the two.
While Moby-Dick may have been a staple on the reading list of most high school English teachers, it's almost a certainty Atlas Shrugged was not. I didn't even come across it until years after I graduated college. If you haven't read it I strongly recommend that you do so. Its engaging storyline and intriguing premise will give you much to think about.
As for its effect on me, well, it pretty much preached to the choir.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Alternate Reality
Ever have that feeling that there's a parallel universe, where fantasy is reality, and once in a while something happens to convince you that you've crossed into it? Where fanciful ideas emerge that are so bizarre, so contradictory to historical fact, that you are at a complete loss as to what you can contribute to dispel them?
For instance, one person I know is convinced that the moon landings were faked on Hollywood-like sets. When someone is that delusional in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, there is just no way to argue the point.
Some will swear JFK wasn't really assassinated but sits in a wheelchair in a vegetative state at some clandestine 24/7 care facility.
Others deny the reality of Elvis' death and claim he is simply in seclusion somewhere away from fame's constant spotlight. Their sole "evidence" of this deception is that his middle name is misspelled on his grave marker.
Even entire organizations will conspire to deny truth. The VFW fostered the pretense that Muhammad Ali was not really boxing's heavyweight champion, was not really the best fighter in the world, when he refused to be inducted and led the charge to have him stripped of both title and livelihood.
And now the NCAA is claiming that Joe Paterno, Penn State's late former football coach, does not have the most wins in college football history, and that from 1998 through 2011 the Nittany Lions had no victories on the gridiron, only defeats.
Before you get your pantyhose in a knot, before your FOTLs wedge up your cheek cleavage, I assure you I'm not trying to defend either JoePa or Penn State in their handling of the Jerry Sandusky scandal. I'm simply trying to make the case that one cannot replace well-documented fact with fiction in knee-jerk reaction to lynch mob torch-bearers. Okay, Inspector Kemp?
In case you were napping during a Kardashian marathon and missed the story, the NCAA fined Penn State $60 mil (one year's gross football revenue), withdrew 10 scholarships, banned it from post-season play for four years, and placed it on probation for five. No argument, here.
But the NCAA also stripped the football teams of 111 victories, a move so ludicrous on its face that I had to call NCAA for an explanation.
"Hi. The pacfan, here. I wish to query you on behalf of my tens of readers about a matter of great import. Got a sec?"
"Pacfan, huh? What is that, Pac-12? Pacific Air Command? Pacman?"
"Perhaps I'm speaking to the wrong person. Is there anyone available with an IQ above your athletic cup size?"
"Oh, go ahead. I need to talk to the hoi polloi on occasion. It keeps me grounded."
"When you stripped Penn State of 111 wins, did you find evidence of the illegal use of performance-enhancing drugs? Violations of recruiting rules? Use of players who hadn't met academic requirements?"
"No."
"So those games were won fairly and squarely on the field of play."
"No, of course not. They weren't won at all."
"But they were won. We saw them on TV. We read about them in the print media."
"But you couldn't have, because if you had, Penn State's record would have 111 more victories than it does. It doesn't; ergo, it didn't win them."
"Perhaps I have the wrong number. Is this the NCAA or the WWE?"
"The what?
Remember that season of Dallas that led up to Pam, or someone, killing Bobby, or someone (hell, I can't remember), and then the next season revealed that the whole previous season was all Pam's dream and Bobby was alive and well and taking a shower?
Is this deja vu, or what?
For instance, one person I know is convinced that the moon landings were faked on Hollywood-like sets. When someone is that delusional in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, there is just no way to argue the point.
Some will swear JFK wasn't really assassinated but sits in a wheelchair in a vegetative state at some clandestine 24/7 care facility.
Others deny the reality of Elvis' death and claim he is simply in seclusion somewhere away from fame's constant spotlight. Their sole "evidence" of this deception is that his middle name is misspelled on his grave marker.
Even entire organizations will conspire to deny truth. The VFW fostered the pretense that Muhammad Ali was not really boxing's heavyweight champion, was not really the best fighter in the world, when he refused to be inducted and led the charge to have him stripped of both title and livelihood.
And now the NCAA is claiming that Joe Paterno, Penn State's late former football coach, does not have the most wins in college football history, and that from 1998 through 2011 the Nittany Lions had no victories on the gridiron, only defeats.
Before you get your pantyhose in a knot, before your FOTLs wedge up your cheek cleavage, I assure you I'm not trying to defend either JoePa or Penn State in their handling of the Jerry Sandusky scandal. I'm simply trying to make the case that one cannot replace well-documented fact with fiction in knee-jerk reaction to lynch mob torch-bearers. Okay, Inspector Kemp?
In case you were napping during a Kardashian marathon and missed the story, the NCAA fined Penn State $60 mil (one year's gross football revenue), withdrew 10 scholarships, banned it from post-season play for four years, and placed it on probation for five. No argument, here.
But the NCAA also stripped the football teams of 111 victories, a move so ludicrous on its face that I had to call NCAA for an explanation.
"Hi. The pacfan, here. I wish to query you on behalf of my tens of readers about a matter of great import. Got a sec?"
"Pacfan, huh? What is that, Pac-12? Pacific Air Command? Pacman?"
"Perhaps I'm speaking to the wrong person. Is there anyone available with an IQ above your athletic cup size?"
"Oh, go ahead. I need to talk to the hoi polloi on occasion. It keeps me grounded."
"When you stripped Penn State of 111 wins, did you find evidence of the illegal use of performance-enhancing drugs? Violations of recruiting rules? Use of players who hadn't met academic requirements?"
"No."
"So those games were won fairly and squarely on the field of play."
"No, of course not. They weren't won at all."
"But they were won. We saw them on TV. We read about them in the print media."
"But you couldn't have, because if you had, Penn State's record would have 111 more victories than it does. It doesn't; ergo, it didn't win them."
"Perhaps I have the wrong number. Is this the NCAA or the WWE?"
"The what?
Remember that season of Dallas that led up to Pam, or someone, killing Bobby, or someone (hell, I can't remember), and then the next season revealed that the whole previous season was all Pam's dream and Bobby was alive and well and taking a shower?
Is this deja vu, or what?
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