American Idiots

Yesterday, The Common Man reported back on the idiocy he heard on his various travels to and from the great state of Minnesota. Though prolific in their ridiculousness, none of the comments have been in the same league as some of the responses that The Common Man has heard regarding the Michael Vick case.

As, undoubtedly, you all know by now, Michael Vick is pleading guilty to criminal conspiracy charges in connection to an illegal dog fighting program that he helped run and in which he allegedly murdered several dogs who were not "cutting it" in the ring.

Condemnation of Vick and his actions have, of course, been plentiful. Virtually every media outlet, both sports and otherwise, have graphically documented how Vick would (allegedly) execute the dogs and the obscene amount of money he spent on the fights, and has justifiably excoriated the Atlanta Falcons' quarterback. Indeed, you don't need The Common Man to tell you how reprehensible Vick and his cronies are. On his nicest days, Vick did things to his dogs that The Common Man wouldn't even consider doing to Ralph the Evil Dog, who lives downstairs so that he doesn't eat the cat.

What has surprised The Common Man, however, is the amount of almost-defenses for Vick that have surfaced since the Federal inquiry began. NBC Announcer and Superstar cornerback Deion Sanders, for instance, wrote

"What a dog means to Vick might be a lot different than what he means to you or I. Hold on, don't start shaking your head just yet. Listen to me. Some people kiss their dogs on the mouth. Some people let their dogs eat from their plate. Some people dress their dogs in suits more expensive than mine, if you can believe that.
And some people enjoy proving they have the biggest, toughest dog on the street. You're probably not going to believe this, but I bet Vick loves the dogs that were the biggest and the baddest."

All-Pro running back and resident scholar Clinton Portis argued, "I don't know if he was fighting dogs or not, but it's his property, it's his dog. If that's what he wants to do, do it. I think people should mind their business." and revealed that "I know a lot of back roads that have the dog fighting if you want to go see it."

Yesterday, Stephon Marbury of the New York Knicks, contended that dogfighting is no different from hunting, saying "I think, you know, we don't say anything about people who shoot deer or shoot other animals. You know, from what I hear, dogfighting is a sport. It's just behind closed doors." Amazingly, Marbury's line of argument has been supported by the Atlanta chapter of the NAACP, whose president said, according to CNN.com, "he didn't understand the uproar over dogfighting, when hunting deer and other animals is perfectly acceptable." Such statements are ludicrous at their core, considering that most hunting is performed as cleanly and painlessly as realistically possible. No hunter that The Common Man knows (save perhaps for Dick Cheney and Karl Rove) think that dousing a deer with water and electricuting it is appropriate behavior.

These people who trivialize Vick's behavior, frankly, are stupid and should be lampooned. That said, what is most interesting to The Common Man in all the response to the Vick saga is how shocked that the mainstream, white media seems to be that a) anyone would consider defending dog fighting and b) that it is a seemingly popular activity in certain parts of the country, perhaps even close to socially acceptable. The Common Man believes that this shock is evidence that, quite frankly, mainstream America chooses not to know nearly as much about those who live outside of its purview than it should. Instead of looking into and confronting allegations of rampant dog abuse and fighting, until a prominent figure is involved, America turns away. Instead of delving into and solving the reasons behind poverty and high crime in America's urban centers, America turns away. This country and its media focus on soap operas (celebrity girls out of control!) rather than real problems that plague it, and that ought to make it ashamed.

According to the Michigan State Legal and Historical Animal Center,

"The Humane Society of the United States estimates that there are at least 40,000 dogfighters in America, though that number seems to underestimate the epidemic of street fighting in urban areas. In 2003, the city of Chicago alone recorded and responded to 1093 animal fighting complaints. Virtually all children in high crime urban areas are exposed to dogfighting in their own neighborhoods while American hip/hop culture glorifies the blood sport."

The mainstream media and the legal system has turned the other way, not caring that,

"The systematic desensitization of each new generation in high crime inner cities starts early on; there, most children are routinely exposed to dogfighting and are forced to accept the inherent violence as normal. The routine exposure of the children to unfettered animal abuse and neglect is a major contributing factor in their later manifestation of social deviance."

By paying attention, gentle readers readers, the people of this country could solve a lot of problems before they get started.

Travel Stories

The Common Man has had to hear a lot of ridiculous things in the past week while journeying to and from his home state of Minnesota (for the 3rd time this summer). He is thankful, however, that relatively little of the inanity has come from anyone in any way connected with the Motherland.

The first leg of the journey, during which The Common Man was accompanied by The Uncommon Wife and The Boy, was marked by the whimsical musings of an 89-year old native of Yorkshire, England. She informed The Common Man, in between her interesting musings about being a radar operator in WWII and a G.I. bride afterward and her kernels of advice for raising up The Boy to be a right proper gentleman, that all the Arab states hated the U.S. because of the freedoms that Americans enjoy and that the Chinese were trying to poison us all (meanwhile, seated behind and in front of her were two people of Asian descent). She also fretted constantly that "all the fat people" will steal all the wheelchairs before she could claim one that she had reserved upon disembarking. To this end, she made The Common Man and several flight attendants promise to bring her bag to her after she made a mad dash from the back of the plane to the door in order to secure rolling passage from this plane to her next (a plan that, sadly, failed in its execution because, it turns out, two hundred able-bodied passengers are much more spry at leaping from their seats than an 89-year old with a bad hip).

That said, The Common Man acknowledges that certain 89-year olds have earned the right to be pains in the ass, because of their many years of continued existence, in spite of all this society does to try to kill them (booze, drugs, cigarettes, fatty food, crazy drivers, etc.). And The Common Man can even sympathize with the average 89-year old who is bitter and confused that the America that they grew up with seems to be gone, and who rants a little at those who they deem to be the culprits of the change. They aren't right, but they are harmless. By the way, she is supporting John Edwards for President.

Our first attempt to return to State College being rebuffed (bad weather and a late plane would have caused us to miss our connection in Detroit), The Common Man and family returned via Atlanta yesterday. Though disappointed at the delay, the trip was made entirely worthwhile by the Atlanta-bound passenger who asked the woman behind him in line, "Where's your funny accent?" when she revealed that she was from British Columbia. The Canadian woman had to tell her new geographically-challenged friend that British Columbia is not actually part of Great Britain, nor even on the same continent and that the most they do is "elongate their vowels" and say "aboot". This, naturally, led to many "Do you live anywhere near that Stonehenge thing?" and "Let me ask you a question, do you guys really drink warm beer?" jokes between The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife for the rest of the flight.

On the next leg of the journey, the flight attendant (Brenda) and the entire front row of the plane got to have a chuckle at the expense of the living, breathing stereotype of a fat, drunk, obnoxious, and lewd convention-goer (complete with arm-pit stains and small black mustache) who a) tried to order a Martini, b) apologized in advance to an Asian woman in case his bag fell out of the overhead compartment and hit her on the head, c) argued passionately that he would want a pilot who "had had a few drinks the night before" so that "they would be nice and relaxed" the next morning for their flight out, d) loudly announced to the Brenda that no one was "joining the Mile High Club" in the plane's single lavatory in the back, and e) tried to finagle a meeting in that same bathroom with her to join said Mile High Club or, barring that, figure out what hotel she would be staying at in State College and invite her to dinner.

Good times. Good times. It's amazing what interesting people The Common Man gets to meet when he travels. God bless the Brendas in the world and all the ridiculousness that they have to put up with. The Boy, by the way, slept, ate, and smiled most of the time on all four legs of our trip, and was a hit with travelers, airport personel, and flight attendants wherever he went.

Abrupt Change of Plans

Here The Common Man was getting so excited to give you his review of the final Harry Potter book (completed last night at 10:45) and the Bush Administration had to go and ruin everything. The Common Man apologizes to all of his readers out there (all three of you), and promises that just such a review will be forthcoming, complete with spoilers, because that's how much of a hypocrite The Common Man is.

But today, we must bask in the glow that is today's news' loving, warming, loving glow. Ladies and gentlemen, Karl Rove is dead...in the strictest political sense of the word. It comes seven years too late, mind you, but it came. The Common Man is going to take credit for Rove's departure, since it coincided with The Common Man's return to blogging last week. Aware that The Common Man was back, was going to be around for a while, and would be watching his every move like a hawk, Rove decided to get out while the getting was good. One of The Common Man's Big 10 Goals for 2007 has been accomplished. He will now cross "Force Karl Rove to resign" off of his list and move on either to "Paint the living room" or "Negotiate reunification of North and South Koreas," whichever he happens to get to first.

Of course, Rove's resignation makes any difference in the strictest sense for this White House. The President's term is just 17 short months from completion and he does not have the political capital to even control his own party. He is the lamest of lame ducks. Barring an unforseen resurrgence in the President's numbers, Rove's brilliant politicking would have made no difference. And even if that were not the case, surely the President has several Rove deciples still on the White House payroll and the Evil Chessmaster himself on speed dial.

Not surprisingly, Rove is putting a positive spin on his departure, saying that he had been contemplating leaving for more than a year. Asked if he was being "run out of town," Rove said that anyone claiming that would be "like the rooster claiming to have called up the sun;" which, of course, doesn't happen, because the rooster's calls are being monitored and he and the sun haven't spoken for more than a year. In the immediate future, he plans to "go dove hunting in West Texas with family and friends, then drive my wife and the dogs to the beach." Dick Cheney is said to be all packed for the farewell hunting trip. Afterward, he will be writing a book and teaching at the university level, he said.

Rove's legacy will be an interesting one. He never had a clearly defined position within this White House, maintaining the title of Senior Advisor. It's possible that no single non-President has had as much influence over a President and his administration than Rove has. He is a remarkable fund-raiser and election strategist who is widely suspected of playing a part in some of the more underhanded campaign attacks in recent history, including a notorious push-poll in South Carolina that suggested to voters that McCain had an illegitimate mixed-race daughter. His seeming embrace post-structuralist philosophy has given rise to Rovism, described by Los Angeles Times columnist Neal Gabler, where "All politicians operate within an Orwellian nimbus where words don't mean what they normally mean, but Rovism posits that there is no objective, verifiable reality at all. Reality is what you say it is."

Is Rove the downfall of modern democratic politics? Have his methods and strategies and antics so poisoned and polarized the American political spectrum that there can never be consent, never be nonpartisanship? The Common Man does not know, but sees no foreseeable end to politics as we know it today. And much of that is because of Karl Rove's influence over national politics. He was and is an enigma, a lightning rod, and a(n evil?) genius. Anyway, wherever Rove goes from here, The Common Man is sure that his class will be popular. His first two students stand ready to enroll:

Damnation

Ah, a new feature! As the week wraps up, this is a short list of things that The Common Man, over the past seven days, has either damned or condemned:

1) Time Magazine
Not two hours after The Common Man had sat with The Boy, reading and watching Baby Einstein, Time.com has the gall to come out with this article on how bad Baby Einstein is. Damn you, Time! Stop checking your facts (The Common Man is getting tired of fact checking; c'mon, chickens, take a risk!) and report news quicker. That's 20 minutes of development time that The Boy doesn't get back. Who's going to let The Boy live in their basement when he's 20 minutes of development behind everyone else trying to get a job out of college, Time Magazine? You? Not The Common Man, The Common Man tells you that. C'mon Time, get your head in the game. Give me news when I need it, not when you want to report it. Lazy bastards.

2) Spoilers
The Common Man has long had a policy regarding the Harry Potter books. He waits until just before the movie is released, then he reads the book so that, when he inevitably sees the movie, he remembers more of the plot and has more to complain about (The Common Man does like to complain). Sadly, soon after the release of the sixth book, The Common Man stumbled upon the big plot twist at the end on, of all sites, ESPN.com. Thus, was the surprise ruined. The Common Man held out for as long as he could, readers, sticking to his policy, but he's had to forgo it in the past week and has zoomed through book 6 and is engaged in fierce battle with book 7. Damn you, irresponsible internet writers, for spoiling plots and ruining surprises. Damn you all to Hell.

3) Primaries
With so many presidential primary seasons in full swing, there is a great deal of political activity with few actual political resolutions. There are debates going on right now across the country and it's hard to keep track of who is saying what and when and where, because the primary leapfrogging being done by South Carolina, California, Florida, New Hampshire, Iowa, and other states requires candidates to get their messages out and convince voters earlier and earlier. As it stands, the Iowa Caucuses may have to be held in December of this year to meet its legal obligation to be the first in the country. This is ridiculous. The Common Man is tired of all these debates and wants some time to make up his damn mind. He is becoming convinced that there needs to be a national primary held over the course of one day in June in order to reduce influence over the process by small, crazy states like Iowa, New Hampshire, and South Carolina and to give the country enough time to get to know the candidates. The Common Man condemns political primaries and all they have come to stand for, the 10-word answer, the 7-second soundbite, and Gotcha! style debate.

4) White people
The New York Times reported this week that many areas in the country are in the process of having ethnic minority populations as their majority population. This has led to hand-wringing and fear-mongering by certain right-wing personalities that this country is becoming "less white." Yesterday, on Glen Beck's radio program, The Common Man even heard one idiot guest host wonder whether a country has a right to determine what color its population is going to be, and advocating some kind of "Master Plan" to make sure that whites remain a majority for a long as possible. Their concern, supposedly, is that "American culture," whatever the hell that is, is going to be supplanted by, primarily, a Mexican or African-American one (as though the finger prints of African-Americans are not all over White America's favorite foods, music, clothing, and art already). So, in response, The Common Man condemns white people for not having a culture that is worth emulating. Seriously, white people, you have bad food and bad music (Michael Bolton). Your contributions to popular fashion (disco, shoulder pads, piano-key neckties, and grunge) have been egregious. And even your precious language, with all of its exceptions, and special rules, and internal contradictions is less sophisticated than Spanish's simplicity. Hell, you want a language worth salvaging, try Russian, which has evolved past the point of needing articles. If you want to salvage your culture, Whitey, have a culture worth salvaging.

The End of the Chase

This is a long one.

On the night that Barry Bonds hit the 756th home run of his major league career, breaking Henry Aaron's all-time record, The Common Man was asleep. This was not some planned protest of Bonds' alleged doping, nor misguided anger over the fall of baseball's most hallowed mark. Rather, it was a function of the game starting at 10:00 and of The Common Man getting three hours of sleep the night before. The Common Man's absence should not be confused with that of Bud Selig, baseball's commissioner, who refused to celebrate Bonds' record tying home run, and then cravenly left California two nights ago to attend "meetings" regarding former Senator George Mitchell's investigation into steroid use in baseball. Clever, Bud. And subtle.

The sports media (which, at this point, consists almost exclusively of ESPN) has made a great deal over whether Selig and/or Aaron (who are apparently close friends) would be in attendence when Bonds hit his homer, ascribing motives to their decisions ranging from "they believe that the record is tainted and would not want to have to stand and applaud a man that they feel cheated and marred the record books" to "they hate Barry Bonds and all that he stands for, that miserable, lying, cheating, cheater who cheated." This oversimplification obscures the fact that the two men apparently can have very different reasons for not wanting to be there. Hank Aaron, by all accounts, at 73 years old, did not want to spend a couple weeks traipsing up and down the opposite coast from where he lives, following Bonds like a glorified sheep dog.

Of course, the reason so many members of the media wanted Aaron in attendence was so that they could contrast him with Bonds, something that Aaron has seemed to want no part in. As Joe Morgan said yesterday (and The Common Man can't believe that he agrees with anything Morgan says),

"The thing that bothers me is that Hank is getting this adulation because people don't like Barry Bonds. He should have gotten the praise long before this. Hank Aaron was always a great player and it's unfortunate it takes him losing the record to get what he deserves."

Instead, Aaron filmed his reaction to Bonds' historic homer, which was played on the scoreboard during the post-homer celebration. He congratulated Bonds, calling his achievement, "it is a great accomplishment that required skill, longevity, and determination." Classy dude, that Hank Aaron.

Selig, on the other hand (as described by Baseball Prospectus' Joe Sheehan), after Bonds' 755th,

"As the crowd around him cheered, Selig rose slowly from his seat and made a grand show of putting his hands in his pockets, refusing to acknowledge the player, the achievement or even the excitement around him. With that one gesture, Selig made it clear what he is: an old man determined to protect the interests of other old men, even if it means degrading the game of baseball."

Selig has made an art out of bah-humbugging his way through his lengthy "interm" commissionership, largely decrying small market teams' ability to compete as the league (leading to increased revenue sharing, but implanting a feeling of grouchiness in the average fan of Pittsburg, Kansas City, and Minnesota), complaining about watching games in aging stadiums (leading to an explosion of new, taxpayer financed stadiums that do not provide the regional economic boom promised), attempted to contract two franchises (almost forever poisoning the wells of Minneapolis and Montreal as baseball cities) and focusing on players who have "betrayed the national pasttime" through their use of performance enhancing drugs while ignoring his office's decision to turn a blind eye to steroid use and the open, rampant, and possibly ownership-approved use of amphetimines (or greenies) by players. Fearing the outcome of drug testing would reflect poorly on the game, Selig chose not to implement testing policies, nor to address the issue in any way, prior to Jose Canseco's infamous book, Juiced. He fiddled while Rome burned, until the fire that players started could not be put out quickly, quietly, and with minimal damage to the game. And he blames the players, most specifically Barry Bonds for the problem of steroids in the game. For shame. His comment, from Milwaukee, was short. After congratuating Bonds, he reminded everyone that "the issues which have swirled around this record will continue to work themselves toward resolution," implying that the record was dishonestly attained.

It is widely assumed that Bonds cheated to get this record. Indeed, The Common Man thinks that he probably did as well. There is grand jury evidence (illegally leaked) that Bonds took amphetimenes. But there is no evidence, save for circumstantial evidence presented by people with axes to grind and much to gain by a continuing scandal, that Bonds took steroids. So everyone has jumped on the anti-Bonds bandwagon, buying into the media's portrayal of him as a steroid-inflated Hulk, arguing that "everyone knows" he took them. After all, look at who he hung out with! Look at the size of his head! Look, he's gotten bigger as he's gotten older (as though everyone (The Common Man included) hasn't gotten a little thicker as they've gotten older). There's so much smoke there must be fire.

But prior to invading Iraq, everyone in this country (and, indeed, around the globe) just knew that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction hidden in bunkers around Iraq. Colin Powell went to the U.N. He brought pictures. There was circumstantial and second-hand evidence that Iraq was trying to buy uranium. Hussein was a bad guy who hung out with bad guys. Of course he had WMDs stashed away somewhere. Anyway, the coalition of the willing has had a hard time finding those things that everyone (The Common Man included, even though he didn't like the war from the first shock to the last awe) knew just had to be there.

Fortunately, like Aaron, The Common Man believes that the majority of sports fans (and Americans) have better things to do than to excoriate a man whose greatest known crime is that he's sometimes a jerk to reporters. Hell, Ruth ran around on his wife, screwed anything that moved, was alternately generous and lousy to teammates, and ate himself out of effectiveness. Mantle drank himself to an early grave. So did Jimmie Foxx. Ty Cobb was a rabid dog who hated anything black, Jewish, or, frankly, alive. Steve Garvey has, like, a billion kids with half a billion women. Roger Maris was from North Dakota. Surely, these are worse crimes by far, and this country has fallen all over itself to romanticize those men and their accomplishments. And, true to form, a majority of fans in San Diego that night acquitted themselves well. Again, Joe Sheehan:

They respect Bonds’ talent and accomplishments, while feeling little warmth towards the man. They vote him onto the All-Star team. They acknowledge the questions that surround his involvement with BALCO, the suspicions that he used steroids, while also acknowledging the points in his favor–that he’s never failed a drug test; that the testing program MLB claimed to need so desperately has turned up mostly dry; that the investigation into Bonds’ behavior has dragged on for years with no resolution, taking on a tinge of “witch hunt;” that the book that so famously chronicled his activities was sourced by illegally-obtained testimony and by those with axes to grind; that Bonds’ image has been shaped by the media, and it is impossible to separate this story from that process.

The great middle ground of baseball fans doesn’t hate Barry Bonds. It doesn’t know him, and it hasn’t made up his mind about what he did and did not do. In the absence of that decision, the crowd at Petco Park last night did the right thing: it cheered the accomplishment, while holding back judgment on the man. It was a good moment for the game, and San Diego’s baseball fans can be proud of themselves today."

Would that baseball's commissioner could say the same thing. Screw you, Bud.

As for you, Barry. Congratulations. Enjoy your record until ARod gets around to breaking it in seven years.

Running Behind

The biggest surprise for The Common Man, over the past month, is just how many interesting things there are in this house for The Boy to get into. Picture frames, drapes, pets, pet toys, pet food, surge protectors (or cords of any kind), books, papers. Virtually anything and everything is remarkably interesting to the average eight-month old once he gets crawling. And since The Boy is not the average eight-month old, he’s interested in even more than that.

Anyway, The Common Man has resumed his “training,” getting back on the elliptical machine in hopes that he will be able to keep up with his motoring little son. So far, so good, but The Common Man suspects that his success will only last as long as The Boy confines his movement to dragging himself, like a Navy SEAL in training worming his way under barbed wire, across the floor. Once he walks, The Common Man is afraid that The Boy will need to be strapped to a gurney at all times for his own safety. For who can keep up with anything that moves so fast?

Well, perhaps Al Gore III could. Now, The Common Man does not wish to appear to endorse AG3’s apparent excess of prescription drugs, partying, and speeding; far from it. But he does think that everyone needs to take five minutes and appreciate the fact that this kid got his Prius up to 100 MPH. The Uncommon Wife, until last winter,
drove a ’99 Chevy Metro until she put it out of its misery and upgraded to a Hyundai Sonata. The Metro seemed to fight against The Common Man every time he tried to get it above 65, as though going 66 would somehow align it cosmically (at least 2/3 of the way) with Satan (Cheney) and all that he stood for. Being a good car, a nice car, a safe car, it would stick to 65, thank you. Or, better yet, 60. Anyway, The Common Man imagines that getting a Prius above 65 would be a little like that. The car would reluctantly edge toward the precipice, rattle and buck a little, ask you if you were sure that you knew what you were doing, say a Hail Mary, and then shake in fear as its speed continued to climb. For breaking that magic 65 barrier, everyone should thank AG3, for he has taught them not just something about the Prius, but about themselves. To reach for the impossible, the unreachable. To go beyond themselves and to dream new dreams, no matter how unlikely. Hallelujah, the Prius went 100 MPH! It can keep up with The Boy! Now, The Common Man needs to convince Gore to do a little babysitting.

Or, perhaps, The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife can simply deny that walking exists when The Boy begins expressing curiosity (which he’s already doing, with his big boy standing). They can say, “With respect, The Boy, despite what you think you may see, there is no such thing as a domestic walking program going on in this house. And there is no internal disagreement between your parents about whether such a program should be instituted. Your parents feel confident that crawling is just fine for you and denies any existence of this so-called “walking”. Later, when The Boy points at The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife as they go about their daily business in and around the family home, as if to say, “HEY! You’re walking! How come you get to walk and I don’t?” they will testify that they do not recall testifying about walking and that, indeed, they never said that walking does not exist, just that it was ill-advised, given the time and place. Later, when The Boy becomes cognizant of the things that he can play with and those he can’t, The Common Man will apologize for any confusion that his previous testimony has caused and that, indeed, he always meant to say that there was walking and encourages The Boy to investigate it fully, now that he can be responsible about the whole thing.

Anyway, The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife haven’t decided just how to handle this yet, but they will figure it out soon. Now, if you’ll excuse The Common Man, The Boy has a handful of cat food.