Please Judge November 28, 2007
Posted by rosolio in Politics, Racism, Terrorism, World.Tags: gibbons, islam, khartoum, muhammad, sudan, teddy bear
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In the words of the great Adam Carolla, “Every culture is beautiful and we cannot judge.”
I can hear the nasally sarcasm from the Prophet of North Hollywood already, and hope that this story makes its way across his desk at KLSX just so I can hear him explode with a rage similar to my own about this story. When you’re mad, you want other people to be mad, I think because angry people by themselves are assholes, but when there are many, angry people are just right.
The finest news source in the world, the BBC, released this morning the story of Gillian Gibbons. She’s a 54 year old teacher from Liverpool who heads a class in the Sudanese capital of Khartoum. She’s obviously not there for the cheesesteaks or the skiing; this is clearly a humanitarian effort. You look at a picture of this woman and know that she’d be really good at reading to kids. And then you see she’s going to jail.
And then you see why.
Naming teddy bears in the class, one of her students wanted to name a bear after himself. His name is Muhammad. Because Gibbons allowed it, she’s being charged with insulting religion, inciting hated, and showing contempt for religious beliefs. Here’s the rationale:
“… chapter 42, verse 11 of the Koran does say: “[Allah is] the originator of the heavens and the earth… [there is] nothing like a likeness of Him.”
This is taken by Muslims to mean that Allah cannot be captured in an image by human hand, such is his beauty and grandeur. To attempt such a thing is seen as an insult to Allah.” [from the BBC]
What I’m about to say is not an indictment of every Muslim on the planet, or every religious person on the planet, because I do know that not everyone who believes in something is crazy.
But I do know that the people who believe Gibbons is a criminal are. They’re completely insane. They’re cavemen. You know how I know? Because of the punishments for the crime: Six months in jail (think less Prison Break and more Ben Hur), a fine, or 40 lashes. They’re going to whip this woman like she gave Ramses the stink eye. Retro.
Situations like this separate the civilized people from the cavemen. Who seems less crazy:
“This is a disgraceful decision and defies common sense. There was clearly no intention on the part of the teacher to deliberately insult the Islamic faith,” said Secretary-General Dr Muhammad Abdul Bari, in a strongly-worded statement.
“We call upon the Sudanese President, Omar al-Bashir, to intervene in this case without delay to ensure that Ms Gibbons is freed from this quite shameful ordeal.”
Or…
“What has happened was not haphazard or carried out of ignorance, but rather a calculated action and another ring in the circles of plotting against Islam,” the Sudanese Assembly of the Ulemas said a statement. [both quotes from the BBC]
Calculated action?!? This woman moved to your third world country to help the next generation possibly shake that moniker, but is really coming in as an act of holy war? Don’t you get the impression that somewhere in the Sudanese assembly, or maybe it’s just the Fundamentalist Islam manual (copyright Penguin 632 c.e.), that you have a conversion chart, where thousands of actions in the left column each correspond with one line on the left: “Conspiring against Islam”? This sort of psychotic religious paranoia is reminiscent of another crazy guy with loyal followers and facial hair (though admittedly, a lot less).
If a court in Alabama did something like this, we’d revoke their statehood and ban the Crimson Tide from the BCS. But because the people signing up a humanitarian to get beaten for giving a teddy bear (not a pile of shit, but a cuddly, wuddly teddy bear) the most common name in that part of the world are a different color than us, we have to tread lightly, because then we might be called racists or jingoists. Isn’t it more racist to have a different set of moral rules for people, like we don’t hold them to the same standards as us? Isn’t part of getting past petty differences to treat people the same, and holding white, black, brown, and yellow (like the Simpsons) people accountable when they’re being crazy?
We like to call ourselves the beacon of morality in the world. We lose that if we don’t judge.
Ace man, back me up.
Stalingrad 90028 November 25, 2007
Posted by rosolio in Los Angeles.add a comment
Psychotic.
Can anyone else think of a better term to describe the Hollywood Santa Parade? Let’s take a look at this perfect storm.
November 25th is the 2nd busiest travel day of the year in America. We know this because every local news outlet is sending their best, brightest, and most sleep deprived to every airport to cover the carnage. When I left BWI to return to Los Angeles this morning, news crews had gathered, ready to watch with a distant journalist’s eye.
At the same time, on the left coast, the government of Los Angeles has decided to shut down Hollywood. The whole city. You can’t enter or exit a gigantic gulag of streets from Sunset to Hollywood and between Argyle and La Brea. No one gets in, no one gets out. It is Soviet Russia.
I can understand having a parade…on any other day of the year.
Anyone got a better word for this?
A 48hr Layover November 24, 2007
Posted by rosolio in Genius.Tags: las vegas trip gambling
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The plan to go home for Thanksgiving took a minor detour. The pacific Baltimore consulates would be returning to the homeland, but not without a quick stop in Las Vegas.
The concept for the Vegas trip is unlike any other as far as anticipation is concerned. We got a bunch of buddies from home together for a trip, and for weeks in advance, the emails sent back and forth made us look like the biggest losers on the planet. “Dude, no one is going to sleep!” “Bro…we’re going cougar hunting man. Whoever bangs the oldest cougar wins, man!” Vegas is billed as a paradise of sin and opportunity, where you roll into palatial casinos like you’re in the rat pack. You’re James Bonded out, you’re rolling in duckets, and you will absolutely, definitely get laid. Repeatedly. That’s Vegas.
Vegas isn’t seven dudes in a single hotel room, with a pact that whoever loses the most gets a bed. Vegas isn’t rolling over to O’Shea’s or Imperial Palace in search of a two dollar blackjack table. Vegas isn’t guys in sweatpants and elderly women without arms carrying around players cards so when they play five hundred hours of video poker they get a shrimp cocktail.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, because if it got out, no one would ever fucking go.
Think about this for a second, the INSANITY of it; you’re in an environment where you know you’re going to fail. The entire city is built on the absolute certainty that if you stay long enough, you are going to lose. Plus, they’re feeding you booze! They’re coming right out and saying that they are going to impair you. It’s like someone saying, “Okay man, go ahead and try to jump over that crevice in your ATV. Oh, I’ll be shooting at your ballsack with an airgun. Good luck, sir.”
The moniker of sin city doesn’t exactly fit either. For one thing, it’s the most religious city in America. That’s right. I’m not talking about religion that tells you it’s wrong to do a rail of blow off a set of gigantic fake tits, because that’s never wrong (cue Leykis). I’m talking about God and magic and shit that’s doesn’t make sense. That’s what religion is after all. People are afraid to question their faiths because they’re terrified of dying. People flock to Vegas because they’re terrified that someone else is going to get their free money. But it’s true. You do ridiculous things under the influence of that place. The concept of a Hot Shooter, for example. When you’re underway at a craps table, you believe that the guy in the Corona Visor and the t-shirt that says “Ass: The Other Pussy” can, in some way, throw the dice in a manner that will get them to land exactly the way he wants to. He has no discernible skills and works at a car wash, but knows enough of vector physics to time four hundred bounces correctly. This is what we’re banking on. He stacks the dice up, switches them really fast, wiggles his hand like it’s a salmon over top of it, pretends to finger-bang the table, wipes the imaginary secretion under his nostril, and screams “Winner Winner Chicken Dinner!” every forty five seconds. And then there’s that moment when you’re rolling the dice, and you’ve had about seven Red Bull and vodkas compounded by the contact buzz off the phermaldehyde holding the cocktail waitress together, when it hits you. I can control the dice! I can throw any number I want! I am magical! I can see into the future! KNEEL BEFORE ZOD!
Seven out.
Two of us walked away in the black. Severely. The rest were in the red. Also severely. It was my worst gambling defeat of all time. I reached a point of absolute sartori, standing outside The Palms watching the sun threaten to come up over the mountains, signaling that the trip was over and that any attempt to get back to even would be in vain. Technically, they were all in vain, but the next one never is. I imagined how a hangover would just start to develop once I got in the security line at McCarran.
Then I started to think about the next trip, and how ridiculous it was going to be.
That’s Vegas.