By now, I think it’s safe to say that most Americans are aware of those yellow Lance Armstrong bracelets that help fund cancer research. They’ve grown into something of a trend, and I guess rightly so, because supporting medical science is a good thing. But now the fad has outgrown its original concept, and plenty of imitators have entered the market. Pretty much any bumper sticker sentiment that you can think of has been stamped onto a crappy rubber wristband, from “Tsunami Relief” to “Support Our Troops.” There’s “Hope Faith Love,” “God Bless America,” and the ever-so-trite “United We Stand.”

I guess those are worthy causes, and I can see why people would want to advertise them on their wrists, but couldn’t we have just let Lance have his own thing? Was it really necessary to cheapen the symbolic impact of the Livestrong band? I’m a little turned off by the fact that so many entrepreneurs have seen it fit to cash in on the success of Armstrong’s wristbands.

I have this image in my mind of the first guy that decided to rip off the wristband idea. He was right in the middle of conning an old lady out of her life savings with a bogus sweepstakes scheme when inspiration suddenly struck him, and he compromised his mark when he jumped up excitedly to exclaim, “Hot damn, I’ve got it. I’LL COMPETE WITH CANCER!” Then he clubbed the old lady unconscious and picked her pockets before racing home to work out the details on his wristband operation. And before you know it, we’ve got red, blue, and pastel wristbands coloring the vast landscape of American forearms.

God bless you, Lance. You tried to do a good thing, and look what they did to it.

Posted by KZ on 02/28/05

I’ve always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. I suspect it’s a bit like fucking, which is only fun for amateurs. Old whores don’t do much giggling. Nothing is fun when you have to do it–over & over, again & again–or else you’ll be evicted, and that gets old. So it’s a rare goddamn trip for a locked-in, rent-paying writer to get into a gig that, even in retrospect, was a kingshell, highlife fuckaround from start to finish … and then to actually get paid for writing this kind of manic gibberish seems genuinely weird; like getting paid for kicking Agnew in the balls. So maybe there’s hope. Or maybe I’m going mad. These are not easy things to be sure of, either way…*

–Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005)

*Excerpt from the jacket copy for Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream

Posted by KZ on 02/21/05

The title of my last post is a tongue-in-cheek reference to Matthew 7:1-5, in which Jesus tells his followers not to judge others. “How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me remove that splinter from your eye,’ while the wooden beam is in your eye?” says Jesus. “You hypocrite, remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter from your brother’s eye.” I was being judgmental in that last post, and I knew it.

A reader named Darren found my blog and left a critical comment about my inclination to judge. I wrote him a short and civil letter, explaining that while it’s true that I was being judgmental, I didn’t think my complaints were entirely unwarranted. It’s one thing to be conservative and religious, but it’s quite another thing to force those views onto your adult granddaughter and severely limit her autonomy as a result. In response, Darren had this to say:

While my comment was snarky, you *are* being judgmental. If grandma were insistent of some things that *you* like, but your girlfriend doesn’t, would you be as judgmental? My guess is that it’s grandma’s conservatism you don’t like.

There’s a cost to everything. That’s the cost of living with grandma, who, as you pointed out, is doing a lot of good things for your girlfriend. If the emotional cost of living with grandma becomes too high for your girlfriend, well, there’s always Kevin’s house

As you’ll learn if you drop by my blog, RightOnTheLeftCoast (mostly about education since I’m a teacher), I’m a big fan of *personal* responsibility. We make our choices, and we alone are responsible for the consequences of those choices.

I started to reflect on the tone of the previous post, and I realized that Darren made some valid points. The root of my resentment has more to do with Connie’s conservatism than I’d care to admit. Additionally, Connie is being wonderfully generous with her money and time, so that vindicates her insistence on setting some house rules. There is–and ought to be–a “cost” of living with grandma. In the end, the cost is probably well worth Diana’s while, but I still reserve my right to object when I think grandma is abusing that inherent imbalance of power. But Darren, your point is noted. I shouldn’t forget that, on the whole, Connie has been selflessly kind. Sometimes, though, I just wish she’d realize that the world has changed a bit since 1955.

Posted by KZ on 02/19/05

I’ll keep all the sordid details to myself, but the gist of the story goes something like this. For nearly a year and a half, my girlfriend Diana had been working retail and living with friends that didn’t mind the fact that she couldn’t afford to pay the full amount of her share of the rent. This January, her friends politely asked her to leave. Not having many options, Diana turned to her grandmother, Connie, who graciously took Diana into her home. In many ways, Diana is much better off. Diana has medical and dental insurance for the first time in years, and Connie has promised to help her go back to school next fall. Diana now pays zero rent, and she eats nutritious foods far more often than she bothered to while living on her own. Connie is giving Diana all of the basic necessities that her granddaughter was cheated out of in childhood. There’s no faulting the woman on her generosity.

But I have to admit something. In the short two weeks that Diana has been living with Connie, I’ve grown to resent that woman. To preface my point, it might be helpful to know that Connie is a right wing, religious conservative, “moral majority” kind of lady that locks her television set to the Fox News Channel all day long. That in itself is no reason to dislike anybody, because everybody is entitled to an opinion. But what upsets me about Connie is the fact that she rigidly forces her repressive morality onto Diana and treats her granddaughter as if she were nine years old.

For some inexplicable reason, Connie thinks that computers are the Antichrist. I shit you not. She actually refers to them as the fucking “Antichrist.” Apparently she got that idea from the Book of Revelations. It is because of this questionable religious assertion that Connie has decreed that Diana is limited to using her computer for no more than ten minutes a day. Never mind the fact that Connie keeps a computer of her own in the study, and that she uses it to read her email in increments of hours per day.

Then there’s the curfew thing. Diana is not allowed to stay out any later than 8pm. Her bedtime is 9pm. I suppose 9 is a reasonable time to sleep when you’re forbidden from watching anything else besides the Fox News Channel. I understand that this curfew thing is a product of a generation gap, but I have a hard time believing that Connie never stayed out past 8pm when she was in her early twenties.

As if limiting Diana’s freedom weren’t enough, Connie can’t help but think the worst about people. Yesterday, Diana’s former roommate, Gabe, went over to the house to help set up Diana’s computer. When Diana wasn’t looking, Connie took Gabe aside and asked him about me. Why do I hardly visit Diana? Why does it seem like I never have time for her? I say I’m busy with law school, but I can’t be that busy. I must be cheating on Diana with another girl. Thankfully Gabe had a friend that went through law school, and he told her all about the hell that is the life of a 1L. Upon hearing Gabe’s explanation, Connie just looked at him and calmly said, “I didn’t know it was that hard.”

You’re absolutely right, Connie. This whole academic spin story is just a cover. How busy could I be? It’s only fucking law school. When I say I’m doing homework for my Torts class, I really mean I’m doing a tart in the backseat of my Chevy. I make your granddaughter happy, so I must be scum. And I am scum, Connie. But at least I don’t sodomize Sri Lankan flamingos with my pentagram-encrusted cane the way that you do every Tuesday. See, Connie? I can make unfounded accusations, too.

I recognize that this isn’t an attractive side to me. I don’t like being judgmental and acidic. I originally intended to lay out my feelings with maturity and balance. But this is the way it came out, and I don’t have much of an inclination to change it. I try to live my life with compassion. I don’t hate Connie. And even though I’m the resident agnostic in this sick little arrangement, I’ll have to do my part to be as much like Christ as I can be. Do unto others as you would have done unto you. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. Judge not, lest you be judged. Support the woman you love while she endures the greatest test of her life. This move was about her, after all. I’m just a spectator with a vested interested. I love Diana, and I know she’s in store for plenty of hardship. She’s seen hardship before, and she’s stood tall with the help of friends. This time around, I’ll do my part to keep her standing.

Posted by KZ on 02/16/05

I didn’t plan on writing about the Super Bowl this year, but I heard something during a commercial break that honestly offended me. What clown working for the Fox Broadcasting Company thought it would be a good idea to play U2’s “Sunday Bloody Sunday” over a montage of football players making plays?

Bloody Sunday was a tragic footnote in Irish history, and U2 sang that song as a somber commemoration of the event. “Big deal,” you might say. Well, with all due respect, I think it is a big deal.

If you’re indifferent about this Bloody Sunday spoof, then what would you think if Clorox ran a commercial featuring the vocals of black protestors singing “We Shall Overcome” during the 1960’s civil rights marches, and then juxtaposed that song with images of a domestic-minded woman trying to “overcome” the mildew stains on her shower wall? Or, let’s imagine a Bacardi commercial that touts the company’s rum products. What better rum-based beverage is there than the hurricane? And what better song is there to celebrate that drink than “Hurricane” by Bob Dylan? Or you know, let’s reverse the idea and switch the roles of image and song. Let’s mass market a commemorative collection of footage of the 9/11 terrorist attack and couple the images with Britney Spears’ “(Hit Me) Baby One More Time.” Why the hell not? I bet that would rake in tons of cash.

I hope that gets my point across. Generally, I don’t give a damn about what songs are played during which commercials (besides a few exceptions), but I really wish corporate marketers would exercise a little more care when it comes to song selection. Maybe I’m asking for too much. But at the very least, could we please not play any more historically relevant protest song during NFL promos?

Posted by KZ on 02/06/05