Rally to Restore Sanity.

James Poniewozik's column Tuned In in this week's Time Magazine, entitled The 15% Solution.

Do we really need comedians to take politics back from the lunatics? Apparently, yes.

Are Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert joking? For The Daily Show and Colbert Report hosts, the answer has always been an emphatic yes and no. Their programs, they demur, are just fake-news comedy shows, but ones run on the principle that every joke needs to have an idea behind it.
    On Sept. 16, Stewart announced what could be his biggest joke - and biggest idea - yet. Three weeks after Fox News melodramatist Glenn Beck held his Restoring Honor rally in Washington, Stewart announced his own march on the Mall: the Oct. 30 Rally to Restore Sanity.
    The premise: most Americans would be willing to have reasonable discussions about how to solve our problems, but the conversation in the U.S. has been hijacked by the looniest, most intense 15% or so of us - the ranter, the ragers, the people who think Obama is a secret Muslim commie or who thought Bush was Hitler. "Why don't we hear from the other 70% to 80%?" Stewart asked. "Most likely because you have s___ to do." For one day, Stewart and Colbert (who will hold the concurrent tongue-in-cheek March to Keep Fear Alive) aim to give that majority a voice. If it can get a baby-sitter.
    The premise is a joke on its face: a "Million Moderate March," a protest for non-protesters, channeling the rage of the reasonable. But the idea behind it is dead-on. Like so many of Stewart's and Colbert's gags, it spoofs not just political buffoons but the press that enables them.
    After all, the 15 Percenters haven't become influential alone. We live in the "if it screeds, it leads" era. The way to protest the "insensitivity" of an Islamic center near Ground Zero is to drag a decommissioned missile to the site. The way to get a job in cable news is to accuse a Supreme Court justice of bestiality. The way to air your differences is to call the President a Kenyan anti-colonialist (Newt Gingrish) or Sarah Palin a Taliban mullah (Michael Moore). The press lurches from sideshow to sideshow: we've heard more about Tea Party Senate candidate Christine O'Donnell's positions on masturbation and witchcraft than on how (speaking of magic) she'd balance the budget while cutting taxes.
    Media outlets that aren't hiring or promoting 15 Percenters are cowed by them. On Sept. 11, the Portland (Maine) Press Herald ran a photo and article about local Muslim Americans celebrating the end of Ramadan. After complaints that it had not been "balanced" with a reminder of the 2001 terrorist attacks, the paper's publisher apologized - though the human-interest feature was no different from the ones that are run every Easter or Rosh Hashanah.
    Every time this happens, the 15 Percenters get a little more powerful. Every time this happens, the incentive scale for journalists and activists is tilted toward thrown stunts and blown gaskets. Pundits start praising politicians' ability to channel their constituents' anger. The movie Network - in which a raving, ratings-grabbing television anchor eggs on viewers to get "mad as hell" - begins to look less like a cautionary tale and more like an instructional video.
    I would not have expected to use the adjective Nixonian to describe Stewart and Colbert. But in trying to give a voice to people who just want America to chill the hell out, they're redefining Nixon's concept of the Silent Majority - or as the rally's website calls it, "the Busy Majority." Four days after Stewart made his plans for the rally public, more than 100,000 people had signed up on Facebook to attend.
    Christening movements and majorities is a tricky business for funnymen, though: oft the path of righteousness doth lead to Dennis Miller. Stewart went on CNN's Crossfire in 2004 and asked the hosts to "stop hurting America" with shows that celebrated argument; Colbert went in front of the White House Correspondents' Dinner in 2006 with a scathing in-character routine about journalists' passivity. These moments made them heroes to some, but too much earnestness, as they themselves have said, kills comedy.
    One difference here is that Stewart and Colbert are not offering answers; they're saying that their fans are empowered to come up with the answers. Another difference is that the rally is mocking the media, as much as anything else, for its fascination with shiny objects - through the meta-tactic of creating one. The very idea that in the U.S. today you have to hold a protest to promote rational discourse is absurd. It's funny because it's true.
    Stewart's popular image, as National Public Radio once described it, is that of "the last sane man in a world gone mad." He's not - not by a long shot. The point of the Oct. 30 rally is to prove that most of us are sane and therefore ignored. But he and Colbert seem to be the last men in the media who know how to build an institution on sanity instead of by chasing the latest flavor of crazy. Are they joking? The question should be, Is America serious?

 I'll see you guys in DC on the 30th.

HE bought the booze. I did not ask for it.

Today I chose to patronize the local Bread Co for my midday meal. I was joined by Brother Leach, Canuck of the North, and RG (minus his stolen vespa). RG and Leach had not met prior. RG asked how Leach and I knew each other. At first, we joked.

L: We don't.
D: No, we don't. After six and a half years, I don't know you at all.

We are so silly sometimes.

L: She helped me get my Article 15*.
D: Well, you helped me get an LOR**!!
L:...true.
D: And you bought the booze. I did not ask for it.

And that is the very-detailed and thoroughly-explained story of how the dynamic duo of Almight Davi and her Chariot Master met and adopted each other.

Disclaimer: That's not really the whole story. Maybe I'll go into detail...another time.

* Article 15 - An article of the Uniformed Code of Military Justice. It is non-judicial punishment handed down by one's commander, and is the highest form of punishment without being court-martialed or going to jail. It follows you around for the rest of your military career.
*LOR - Short of Letter of Reprimand, it is a written memorandum that is one step down from an Article 15, and remains in your personnel file for a year before being shredded. While it is in your file, it can have an impact on performance reports, awards, and promotions.

Sunday Funday: Not so much.

Welp, done with reserves for the weekend. SoCo just puked on two different spots on the carpet, and we're out of cat litter. Fiance is sleeping the day away before having to go to work tonight. I'm still sitting here in my uniform.

...so, what now??

You won't see this shit on Scrubs.

A real-life conversation between myself and Brother Leach, via text message, on 7 July 2010, during the AM:

Leach: hey, real sorry to do this...i have a conference call at 1130 i really need to be on. can we rain check for tomorrow or friday?

Davi: You always do this! What about my needs?! Sure, that's cool. :P

Leach i'm sorry that i can't fulfill your desires. i guess i'm not the man i thought i was ='(

Davi: BWAHAHAHA.

Leach: so does that make up for my inadequacies?

Davi: You're a doctor. You're in the clear...FOR NOW...

Leach: so would you be willing to say that my trust is on...LIFE SUPPORT?

Davi: I would say it's in critical condition, but stable. We just need to keep it over night for observation.

Leach: ...that's what she said.

Davi: That's what I said.

Leach: you did say that.

Davi: I did. What are you gonna do about?

Leach: i'm gonna fight about it.

Davi: You can't. You're a doctor. If you fight, you lose your non-combatant status, and then the terrorists win.

Leach: i will fight with telekinesis. also, with scalpels. cave-dwelling guerrilla warfare experts have nothing on my scalpel prowess.

Davi: I...can't argue with that. If anyone challenged you about the scalpels, you could claim you were attempting to perform surgery on a patient who didn't want to be operated on by a white devil infidel.

Friday Funnies.

First of all, someone please buy me this. I want to hand the posters up at work, and then point at them in a manic and furious manner whenever we're writing a report.

And after you've bought it for me, sign me up for this class. I don't want to be caught off-guard when the zombie apocalypse begins.

Lastly, the nose of  Lady Liberty would look fabulous hanging up on my wall, right next to Van Gogh's ear. Maybe for Christmas??

I am a Halo widow.

My darling Fiance got off his night shift, and is forgoing sleep today in favor of putting in at least 300 Halo matches.

Sigh.

I feel violated.

I spent the evening with a handsome young man named Aiden. He liked me hair, and we were making each other laugh and smile, and everything was dandy except for one thing.

He would not stop unbuttoning the top of my dress.

Isn't two months a little young to be putting the moves on a lady?? It's probably highly inappropriate to do so towards your baby-sitter. I think I might have to have a talk with him.

Additions to my traveling bucket list.

The Sister gave me a hard time about not listing any African countries that are not currently embroiled in violence. And she was right to; how badass would a safari be?? Shame on me.

My co-worker previously known as RK (the one who was doing cartwheels in the airport, but not really), who shall henceforth be known as Canuck, was offended by the exclusion of his motherland: Canada. I'll take his word for it that there are cool things up there, and add it to my list.

If anyone else has suggestions for the list, feel free to send them my way.

Places I want to visit before I die...

...and preferably while I'm still young enough to enjoy them.

California, so can I put my feet in the Pacific Ocean.
Niagara Falls, as an adult.
Macchu Picchu
Galapagos Islands
Back to Alaska, 'cause I haven't seen the aurora borealis.
Vieques
United Kingdom...all of it.
France
Spain
Pyrenees
Morocco
Egypt
Italy
Greece
Those islands that sit on either side of the international date line...I forget their names.
Turkey
Israel
The Great Wall of China
Japan
Taj Mahal
Australia
Korea, so I can pick up some more North Korean currency at the DMZ.

And I would love to, at some point, live in the UK for a few years. Sigh. I'll keep dreaming...

LOOK WHAT I BOUGHT.

Vibram Five Fingers KSO ftw.

I'm wearing them now. They feel so bizarre on my feet, but I can't wait to get into running shape with them!!

The not-so-true story of RG's Korean escapades.

This is my co-worker, RG. This is RG making off with a Korean McDonald's delivery vespa. Immediately after this photo was taken, he swerved to avoid hitting a local prostitute known as Songtan Sally, lost control of the vespa, and ran into a police car. He was promptly arrested, and thrown into prison. He was never seen by his family, friends, or co-workers again. For the next five years he was routinely beaten and starved by vicious North Korean guards before being brought to the attention of North Korean dictator Kim Jong-Il. Kim took an immediate liking to RG and kept him as a companion, even going so far as to adopt him as his son. Ten years later, RG betrayed his psychotic yet benevolent father figure, stole a jet, and flew back to the US of A, where he settled down with a new identity and opened up a burger delivery joint that proved to be very popular; soon after, it was noted by the SPCA that the local population of stray cats and dogs was dwindling at an alarming rate. RG lived until the ripe old age of 70, when he was run over by some punkass on a vespa.

May Delta Airlines burn in the deepest, darkest parts of the fiery bowels of Hell.

Or at the very least, get their fucking act together.

Local time: Sunday, 1 August, 9:39 AM.

Friends, I write to you from the Republic of Korea. I departed from my local airport Friday morning, American time. It was a mildly uncomfortable trip, with a frustrating beginning and a maddening end.

But before I start, let's play a game. Count how many explanation points "!" (that one doesn't count) I use throughout this post. The winner gets...well, we'll get to that at the end.

Fiance drove me to the airport, and we arrived with plenty of time for me to check in for my international flight. I had a brand new passport, a brand new international driver's license (watch out, world!*), and everything I could possibly need for a whole month in a large suitcase, a small suitcase, and two carry-ons. I was set.

*That one counts as Number One. The next one will be Number Two, and so on...

I bid farewell to the Fiance, and headed through security.

There are seven members in our traveling troupe. I arrived at the gate to find MSgt House (just House from here on out); TSgt Canuck (just Canuck now) was off doing cartwheels in the corner. (No, he wasn't, but I have no idea what he was actually doing, and what I wrote sounds more fun.) I saw the disgruntled look on House's face from a mile away, a look I was already familiar with from our trek out west to Kansas in May. This is a look that says, "I really don't appreciate the universe throwing roadblocks in front of me, and if it doesn't cut the shenanigans, I will not hesitate to slit its throat." As I walked up to him, he informed me that our flight to Detroit was delayed. (Canuck thinks it's 'cause POTUS was in Detroit that day; yesterday for you.) The delay would have made us miss our connecting flight. Unacceptable, I tell you!! (Oh snap, a twofer. These happy couples will be peppered throughout. Enjoy.)

As I stated in the first sentence of the preceding paragraph (that means the group of sentences directly above this one), there are seven members of this merry band. Tiny Dancer was the first to get re-routed, and he alone went through Atlanta; his was the last seat on that plane. Mrs Milhouse, RG, and Mom-pants found out about the delay when they were checking in, so they got taken care of there. House, Canuck, and myself went to the counter at our original gate to see what could be done. The employee, Tim, didn't say much. I initially felt sympathy for him; we weren't the only ones affected by the delay, and it seemed like a lot to deal with that early in the morning. (I came to regret this sympathy later. That sympathy-leeching bastard.) He spent a lot of time (nearly 45 minutes) typing away on his keyboard and holding a phone to his ear while saying almost nothing into it; I assume he was on hold most of the time. (Or was it all a show?? To appear busier than he actually was?? But I'm not the sort to linger over outlandish conspiracy theories of deliberate sabotage, and I digress.)

Finally he told us that we were being re-routed through JFK (oh, the joy) and would be boarding a connecting flight from there. He looked out our baggage check receipts and asked us to describe our respective suitcases. We were assured at this time that our luggage was also being re-routed. We were issued two boarding passes each that stated SEAT REQUEST, meaning we would given our seat assignments at our new gate. Mrs Milhouse, RG, and Mom-pants were also re-routed through JFK, and though all six of us would experience the same troubles in New York, New York, I am now coming to believe that they're being re-routed at the check-in counter before they even checked their luggage is what, at the end of the long journey, left them better off than the trio that I was part of. The two trios became six (no, really, do the math!) at the new gate; we received our seat assignments from that flight, and were told we'd get the next ones at our connection.

We landed in JFK at 1:00 PM USA East Coast time (that is not the real name of that time zone; Google the real one) and learned that we would have to go outside security (damnit; I was carrying two laptops, for pity's sake), out into the sun, and walk to the next terminal over for our connecting flight. I immediately didn't like this; our connecting flight was scheduled to leave at 2:00 PM, and while I haven't been inside JFK since I was kid (or was that La Guardia?? Newark?? Hmmm...), I still remembered it was as bad as BWI, and I worried about having to go through security again. All six of us walked up to the Korean Airlines ticket counter to check in, only to be told that our "boarding passes" were no such thing; Delta had given us pieces of paper that did not have existing reservations. And we couldn't make them on the spot; we were firmly, but kindly, directed to a third terminal, where we would find a Delta ticketing counter. We were told that as long as we were back to check in by 1:30, we would make the flight.

So we went back out into sun and walked to this terminal. The group in general had a pessimistic expectation that we would not make the flight; I was a tad more optimistic. Mrs Milhouse took the opportunity to run outside for a cigarette; it would be her last one for over fourteen hours. We finally got the reservations via Delta Fucking Airlines (I hear they're renaming themselves), and rushed back to the Korean Airlines desk at the second terminal. (JFK needs to come up with a better way for passengers to get between terminals. Tampa has trams!! No leaving security!! Get with the times, JFK!!) I am srsly having a field day with these...

Korean confirmed our honest-to-gawd existing real-life reservations, issued the genuine get-us-the-hell-out-of-here boarding passes, and we were in line for security by 1:25 PM, baby. Everyone was a bit more optimistic by this time about making the flight, everyone except House, who was still muttering about missing it and still had That Look on his face; because the line for security, while not terribly long, didn't seem to be moving at first. As the TSA agents checked our tickets, we explained the situation. The one lady, the Goddess bless her (remember, I'm a Wiccan now),undid one of the ropes, turned her back and said, "I'm not looking." Sweet!! So we got just a little bit ahead in the line, and then the next TSA agent was nice about not making us wait too long to take our turns to go through the scanners. We were in line to board the flight by 1:40. Whew...but this was not the end of our troubles, my friends. Not by a long shot!!!!!!!! (Bonus, baby!!)

I'm gonna Tarantino this shit for a second (real word, look it up in Webster's Dictionary of Dane Cook-isms: The Oxford Edition, publishing date 2000-something), and backtrack a week or so. If you've ever flown overseas (anywhere in the US to Alaska, Hawaii, or Puerto Rico doesn't count, you pansies), you know it's no cake walk. (What the hell does that mean? What is a cake walk? I hear those words, and I literally imagine a tightrope made of cakes. Srsly. Someone explain this to me. But again, I digress.) So Mom-pants, knowing that our company has ca$h moneys to spend as the end of the fiscal year draws nigh, attempted to arrange for us to have business class seating for our flight to the Korean peninsula, so that we might be comfortable. Our company approved it; GSA (Google) approved it. But when it got the lead civilian in our section of the agency we are contracted with, it was poo-pooed. He said the flight had to be at least 14 hours long to get approval.

Our flight was originally scheduled to be thirteen (13) hours and fifty (50) minutes long. At the time, Canuck joked that the plane would circle around Seoul for an extra ten minutes before landing. Remember that. Write it down and hang on the fridge to reference in a few sentences or so.

I didn't really sleep on the flight. I think I got a grand total of 2.5 hrs of napping in. I couldn't get comfortable, and oddly enough I wasn't really tired. So I read a bit, and when I got tired of that I took advantage of the interactive screen on the back of the seat in front of me. I watched three movies in a row (Clash of the Titans [I love you, Sam Worthington]; Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief; Ondine), and played some puzzle games.

Alright, grab that note off the fridge. As stated previously in the first sentence of the paragraph-before-last, our original connecting flight out of Detroit, which coincidentally enough was also heading to Korea (imagine that), was scheduled to be 13 hours and 50 minutes long. Well, with us now flying out of JFK, and Tiny Dancer flying out of Atlanta, our connecting flights were now going to exceed 14 hours. To rub salt in the wounds (which you should never, ever do, because it is very painful and probably not even very sanitary, in all honesty), as we came upon the City of Seoul, the captain came over the intercom to inform us that our landing would be delayed for fifteen minutes due to air traffic congestion. (Can you imagine, bumper-to-bumper traffic in the sky? Can't be safe.) I had to cover my mouth to keep from giggling. Elsewhere on that very same plane (not a plane next to it; not a plane behind it; that EXACT plan that I was sitting on at that moment of time), those who had heard Canuck's joke (the one on the note on your fridge; I told you to remember it) also got a chuckle or two (or ten, it's quite possible, but I didn't count, and neither did they) out of that. I am fairly certain, if I know Mom-pants, that this will be rubbed in That Civilian Guy's face upon our return.

Now, let's Tarantino this again to that moment on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States of America when we found out from Korean Airlines that we were not (allow me to reiterate: NOT) booked with them. I began at this time to worry, and as far as I could tell I was the only one who did, that our luggage wouldn't make it. Think about it: Delta obviously failed to re-route us through the second part of our journey (which was kinda crucial, you know); why would they succeed with luggage where they failed with passengers?? But Mom-pants kept insisting that our luggage had been checked all the way through. I argued that we had thought the same for ourselves, but that this obviously hadn't been the case. She continued to insist our luggage would make it; so I let it go, but didn't forget about it.

So I really shouldn't have been surprised when we got to the luggage carousel in Seoul and waited in vain for my brand-new suitcases. Mrs Milhouse, Mom-pants, RG: they all got their luggage. Myself, House, Canuck, the trio re-routed by Tim from Delta: no luggage. We were the Three Musketeers of Getting Fucked in the Ass...with no lube. The Korean Airlines personnel checked their system, and and while they couldn't guarantee anything, the computers told them that mine and Canuck's things were on a flight scheduled to land after 0400 local today, while SH's suitcase was on a flight scheduled to land after 0500. They took down our information, informed us they had a delivery time in the morning and one in the evening (so if our stuff does arrive, we'll have it by this afternoon, Goddess willing), and told us that they would call us before delivering if it did arrive, and that we just had to meet the delivery person at the gate to the base.

Having nothing to claim, we breezed through immigration and customs (my passport's cherry has officially been popped), and met up with Tiny Dancer, who happily informed us that he had not been plagued with any of the problems we'd encountered. (There was a minute there when I maliciously contemplated gathering all the luggage and setting fire to it. But that would have been spiteful.) The next bus to the base wasn't scheduled to leave until 8:00 PM Asian Time (again, not the real name of this time zone; Google the shit out of it), so we still had a little over an hour. I knew we wouldn't get to the base in time to hit up the Base Exchange for a fresh set of clothing. So it was the craziest luck in the world that, directly across from the ticket counter for a bus, was a store that had not only all the toiletries I needed to get through the night (minus deoderant), but also single packages of underwear. Woot!! (I checked, they were clean.)

I can't wait to fill out my expense report to get reimbursed for those panties. It's gonna be hysterical, I tell you.

We're in billeting, and if I may say so, this is genuinely the nicest base inn that I have been in. It felt amazing to take a hot bath and wash away more than 24 hours of stress and put on a fresh pair of underwear.

Now, friends, please keep your fingers crossed. It would make my month (since, you know, I'm here for a whole floggin' month) if my luggage is delivered today. Then I can really relax, put on clean clothes that do not reek of traveler's sweat, and look forward to meeting new people who are probably gonna piss me off, and then forget about said people and go sight-seeing. After all, it's not every day a girl like the Dread Pirate Davi finds herself in Korea.

Got a number for them there explanation points? Submit them via blog comment, and I will announce the winner and the Mysterious Prize in my next blog post...maybe.

Quickie updates.

Local time: Sunday, 1 August,  8:20 AM.

I have not blogged in an unforgivable amount of time. Forgive me!! I plan on going off on a rant on here, but I figured I'll save that for the next post, and use this one to update you.

The meds they have me on for my narcolepsy are AWESOME. They keep me awake and focused for HOURS. Win.

Fiance got a job!! He's on base working nights, yay!! I like him so much better when he isn't around 24/7, ha ha. (Baby, if you're reading this, I love you!)

My parents got the CUTEST little kitten, a snow leopard kitten. Google them. These cats, coming in different colors (theirs is white with gray spots, and named Bagheera), are the fourth-generation-and-on results of the small, wild Asian Leopard being bred with the domestic house cat, resulting in the gorgeous wild looks and the lovable and playful domestic temperament. They're INSANELY expensive, but my parents got theirs comparably cheap from a show breeder because the white color isn't as popular as the darker colors. I'll post more later and share pictures. I WANT ONE.

The Sister has returned from her semester in Peru. She loved every minute of it and did not want to leave EVER. She got to visit Macchu Picchu (sp? help me out Trish) twice, and also got to fly over the Nazca Lines - - again, hit up the Googles. She was incredibly lucky and very grateful for the experience.

Weight Watchers was a partial success, and I say "partial" because I haven't attained my final weight goal. I did, however, lose the 14 lbs that I had gained over the holidays. I feel healthier than I have in months and months, and I can fit my clothes again. I've decided to take a break from the stricter aspects of the diet, though I'm still making sure to get in plenty of fiber and water and other good stuff.

My best friend, Dee, had her baby boy. He was born July 15th, and he's beautiful. I'm so happy for you, Dee!!

The Sister came to visit me last week upon her return from the Southern Hemisphere. She flew in Thursday and was here till this past Tuesday. We tanned at the pool, and spent our Sunday at Cahokia Mounds (almost killed myself on Monk's Mound) and then finished up the afternoon with a drive down the Meeting of the Great Rivers Scenic Byway.

And now I am in South Korea...but we'll save that for the next post.

Rise and shine, STL. If you're up, head downtown for the Veiled Prophet parade at 10 AM to see me with the 932 AW carrying a 30'x50' flag.

About that sleep study.

Narcolepsy. Read about it here.

Did you read it? No? Do it.

Okay, now that your preconceived Hollywood-influenced assumptions have been shattered, guess who has narcolepsy? Yours truly, duh.

It explains so much. Fortunately, they gave me these really kick-ass pills to keep me awake. I LOVE THEM.

'Bye.