Well I’m feeling a lot better today. Which is a good thing, because I’m one of the three people at work who did what last company memo asked us to do and dressed up. I dressed as a gypsy — in other words, I dressed like I used to dress all the time, back when I had no life and went about looking like a hippy goth. I threw out or gave away a lot of my clothing from that time (most of it because it didn’t fit my new middle-aged fat body) but I still had some things that fit.
Speaking of Halloween, Venezuela’s boor-in-charge, Hugo Chavez, is trying his best to imitate his mentor, Fidel Castro, and is dissing the US every chance he gets to the ear of the international press. (Or perhaps I should say, he is getting the ear of the international press by dissing the US every chance he gets; every up-and-coming dictator knows that a sure-fire way of getting the attention of the pro-news boys is to say something anti-American). This time he’s down on Halloween, the American brand of which has apparently become popular in Venezuela. If the Venezuelans’ attitude towards their children is anything like ours, I see this particular campaign of his going over like a lead balloon. (”Hey, parents, prevent your kids from having fun! They’ll appreciate it!”) Still, I can’t quite work up the requisite right-wing shuddup-you-commie ire, because I agree with him — not with his deranged ideas of what Halloween is (though Halloween on South Beach certainly could put “fear into other nations”), but with the idea that his people shouldn’t imitate Americans. Frankly, I’m sick of foreigners adopting American customs, practices, and playtimes (whether it be Halloween, blue jeans, or Jerry Lewis), and then bitching and moaning because “American culture is destroying our pristine Way of Life!” You know what, foreign peoples? Keep your foreign fingers off our holidays. You don’t see Americans setting bonfires for Guy Fawkes Day, do you?
In other news, Steve H. finally brings up the most important aspect of this Judy Miller/Valerie Plame/Joe Wilson/yadda yadda thing: WTF is up with grown men named Scooter?? Everytime I hear the name “Scooter Libby” it makes me think of the sort of grown man that would wear a propeller beanie and a polka-dotted bow tie to a company party.