24 February 2010

Fish Are Not Wombats

Fish are not wombats. Many regard this as self-evident, if not outright self-fish. While it is undeniable that at least some fish are wombats, or would like to be, and that many wombats are neither fish nor wombats, still, the reclassification of ALL fish as wombats is a grave injustice. And don't think I'll just stand by idly blogging about it, dear reader. No, here I draw a line, here is where I say, once and for all (word by word, from the diaphragm, voice quaking): This mayonnaise shall not spoil.

Since the Magna Carta was passed at Runnymede way back in the day, fish have maintained the right to be fish without interference from, or being classified as, wombats. The principle has become all but synonymous with western democracy. Until, that is, W declared fish wombats in an obscure decree in his last days as determinator. Wombat enthusiasts who voted in large numbers for 'change' have so far been disappointed, as Obama has shown that, unlike the sea urchin, he has no spines.

But why stop at wombats? Or why stop at fish for that matter? If cheese can be put on a soda cracker, and donkeys can make hay out of the rooster's ambivalence, then why should all fish not be classed as donkeys? Who can draw the line anywhere, when elephants roam the Serengeti, clearly neither wombats nor fish, yet possessing the sleek androgyny of the dolphin, which is not a fish but dammit it oughta be.

Just checkin if yer listenin. My real point was about Tiger Woods. Man that guy can hit (the bejesus out of) a golf ball. And apparently he's quite a ladies' man. So what's all the fuss about? It's not like fish are really wombats, in any case.

OK, we'll pick it up right here, next Tuesday. And don't forget to read chapters 3 and 4 in Jurgensen, especially the example of the guy with no neck.

09 February 2010

Time to Revamp 'Don't look, Don't talk'

It has been 65 years since the establishment of the first official policy on homosexuality in the nation's armed forces, and frankly it has become an antachronism. The original policy -- Don't look, Don't touch -- made a certain degree of sense at the time it was instituted. Its beauty was in its simplicity: don't peek at the other soldiers' you-know-whats, for heaven's sake don't touch anything, and (it was understood) don't never talk about what you didn't see.

When JFK came in he sensed that the times they were a-changin, and he relaxed the policy slightly, to Don't gawk, Don't talk. Less than one year later he was shot, and although we hesitate to assert a causal connection, for members of that generation the two events will forever be linked. As the Vietnam war escalated, LBJ altered the policy to Say it, Don't spray it -- and the backlash ended his political career.

One of Nixon's first acts on taking office was to bury the issue as far down as possible, and thus was born the policy of (hands over ears) No No No No No No No... Jimmy Carter, who famously acknowledged in a Playboy interview that he had felt lust in his heart, threw caution to the wind and demonstrated bold leadership with Don't peek, Don't rub baby oil all over each other. And there the issue sat until Clinton established Don't ask, Don't tell -- and undermined his own credibility as an advocate of open sexual relations both among and between the sexes, furtively whenever possible.

But in today's world there ain't no justification no longer for such a demeaning world view, noway, nohow.

That is why we are so pleased to announce the latest new policy regarding homosexuality in the modern military: on the first day of basic training, the drill sergeant will gently lay an index finger across the lips of every recruit, place the other hand palm forward on the upper breast, and utter the words: Hush, don't speak.

This is Larry Rasmussen, rambling on, in Kingston Jamaica mon.