Archive for January, 2013

The Patron Saint of Pedophilia

Thursday, January 24th, 2013

Retired Archbishop of Los Angeles, Cardinal Roger M. Mahony, represents everything I despise about having been raised Catholic: the lies, the hypocrisy, the rhetorical and dogmatic absurdities, the intimidating ideology of compliance as a measure of success and happiness – all of it.
Granted, these are the characteristics of a church and its minions known to those who experienced so-called “old-school” nuns and priests, but here we are in 2013, and Mahony — a man who protected and made excuses for child molesters for many years — is only now getting that metaphorical boot in the ass, as he’s kicked into oblivion. (more…)

Where there’s a will, there’s a Paraguay

Thursday, January 17th, 2013

If you care to be reminded how cringe-worthy our privileged bitching and moaning can be, watch this trailer for Landfill Harmonic,  a documentary about Paraguay’s Recycled Orchestra, where the young musicians play instruments made from landfill debris.

As it was explained to me, “These kids have trash in their hands and look what they do with it!

This folks, is one of the places where excuses go to die.


Wednesday, January 16th, 2013

Everyone deserves a second chance, Lance, but you don’t get to have yours so soon. Right now, you just need to shut the hell up. You’re a clown. Compared to how much you’ve diminished our expectations of those we look up to, you’ve accomplished little. Thanks. 

And what’s with the sudden need to half-admit your wrongs anyway? Are you gonna compete again? Ha! Anywhere you race in the future, the media will follow, robbing legitimate athletes of acknowledgment they deserve. Your presence will render competition pointless, you selfish, cow-blood injecting weirdo!

We’ve read about your angry denials; we’ve watched you dare others to courtroom challenges. Over ten years, you’ve either bullied or sued your accusers and railed against anyone who fingered you as a cheat. So it’s a safe bet your prime time contrition is as phony as your denials.

Your so-called “intense” confession to Oprah Winfrey is an egotistical joke, you no testicle-having weasel. And why Oprah? Her soft-hearted fans can’t save you. Your sympathy-for-the-asshole schtick smacks of ex-Illinois Governor, Rod Blagojevich, another guy who couldn’t live without media attention. For you, for years, the name “Lance Armstrong” will be synonymous with fraud and cowardice. There’s your legacy, you sport-tarnishing, cancer foundation-destroying drug dealer.


Reusable Irony

Saturday, January 12th, 2013

For just a dollar, Starbucks patrons can now wait in line with newly purchased, reusable coffee cups. Never mind that the plastic lids and cups are identical in appearance to their disposable predecessors: buyers will be able to personalize them, so a related micro-industry of reusable coffee cup ornamentation will no doubt arise before you’re done reading this.

But because this reusable Starbucks tumbler is a visual match to a highly recognizable symbol of the downtrodden  –an over-the-counter coffee cup–  I’m looking forward to watching it make its way from the hands of the homeless and into the hands of the privileged. I’m talkin’ about skinny-pants and cool moms, coming in off the street and waving their empty cups at strangers, just like those they ignore on the sidewalk. The irony is cruel, exquisite, and reusable.

A Twitter Pill to Swallow

Saturday, January 5th, 2013

The social networking functionality of this blog is horrendous, I know, especially on the cusp of a book launch. But that’s about to change. The new will launch at the end of this month, incorporating everything from Feedburner to Facebook connectivity. And the publicist with whom we’re working recently informed me that my head-in-the-sand days are over. “It’s time to open that Twitter account you’ve been avoiding,” she stated.

She’s right, I know. My excuse has been that a person’s journey, abilities, and goals should matter more than following trends. Besides, whether published by a major or self-publishing, the whole experience feels like standing at the bottom of a freeway off ramp rattling a foam cup at cars: Twitter and the like will only exacerbate that.

But the real question is, do I want the public to decide the value of Where Excuses Go to Die (the book), or do I want to wind up bitter ’cause I was too good to play the game – or failed to do everything I could to tell the world what it has to offer?