Today I called the library to see if Sarah could pick up a book I put on hold. My options, as I saw it, were to either transfer the hold to her account, or simply have the Central Library make a note saying “the person with [Sarah's card number] is allowed to pick up the book put on hold by the person with [Jeffrey's card number].” It did not strike me as an outlandish request.

The person at the LA Public Library help desk saw things differently. “Oh!” she said, surprised, when I asked her if my wife could pick up my book. “Well no, no, no, you shouldn’t put a book on hold if you can’t pick it up.”

“Well, okay,” I said, “I recognize the logic there, but I already put the book on hold. Could I have my wife pick it up?”

“Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically. “You put a book on hold, and then you have a woman with a totally different card number come pick it up? How do you think that would look?” I’m pretty sure it took everything in her power to not add, “Uh, DUH!” to the end of her response.

I have coined a new term for this type of person: The Leapfrogger. The Leapfrogger is always leaping one step ahead of you and responding to the thing they assume you mean, instead of what you are actually saying. In this case, a normal person would have said, “well, maybe we can take your wife’s card number, and she can pick it up.” Or, alternatively, “I’m really sorry, but our computer systems aren’t set up to change holds from one person to another. It sucks, I know.”

This person did not hear me asking a simple request, though. In her mind, what I was saying sounded like: “Hi, I’m going to send my wife to the library to pick up a book that I put on hold. I’m not going to inform anyone that I’m doing this, and I’m going to expect you to hand her the book, regardless of the number on her library card. Could you please point out to me any problems you see with this scenario, bearing in mind that I have a difficult time understanding simple logic?”

The woman at the parks department who handled our wedding was a real Leapfrogger. We would call and ask a question like, “Hi, is it okay if we have a bonfire on Friday night?” And she would respond “You can’t expect us to provide marshmallows and roasting sticks for you.”

If you are ever in a conversation and trying to determine whether or not the person you are speaking to is a Leapfrogger, ask yourself one simple question: Would the phrase, “Uh, DUH!” fit in at the end of every sentence? If so, you just may be in luck!

The people who live downstairs from us are a constant mystery to me. They’ll be quiet for weeks on end, and then they’ll be insanely loud for like a week straight. I have only gotten a few glimpses of them, but they look like the sort of people who throw their arms around each other and act sexy at clubs so the Cobrasnake will take their picture. Kinda like these retards:

Note: I’m pretty certain none of these retards are actually my downstairs neighbors, but I would bet even money the neighbors have done blow with at least one of these girls. Note also: I don’t know the first thing about “doing blow,” but I’m pretty certain that’s what people who look like this would call it.

I can never tell how many people live down there. They have a male friend with a screechingly loud and high-pitched voice who doesn’t seem to live there but visits an awful lot. He laughs like a hyena. I can often smell pot smoke wafting up from down below and hear them giggling like jackals at some sort of entertainment. They never sit down long enough to watch an entire movie or TV show, so my guess is that they hang out, get stoned, and watch a lot of YouTube videos.

Today their door was open and I peeked in. To the immediate right of the doorway was a gigantic painting — I’m talking like seven feet by seven feet — of an American Indian in a headdress. A skinny man — or perhaps a boy; he looked pretty young — with curly blond hair was standing in the living room. He was completely naked except for a pair of tiny, spandex wrestling shorts. He looked like he’d just stepped out of an American Apparel ad.

Right now they’re listening to “Everybody Dance Now” by C & C Music Factory. I’m not kidding.

The LA Times did a little roundup of the candidates’ tax plans the other day. I’m always fascinated by peoples’ obsession with taxes. I guess it probably goes back to the days of the Stamp Act and some kind of national instinct that if we’re paying taxes, it means we’re not really free. For some reason, talk of cutting taxes gets people riled up, while talk of cutting spending, particularly in the military, does not. We’ve spent over 100 billion dollars on a missile defense system that will never work (according to the BBC, it is akin to hitting “a bullet with another bullet”) while our only real enemy is doing a pretty good job with $.99 improvised explosive devices and hijacked airplanes. But for either candidate to say they’re going to lower defense spending would be tantamount to proposing Muslim extremism as our national religion.

Anyway, here’s the skinny, in case you’re curious:

The major difference is that John McCain wants to lower taxes on the wealthy, while Obama wants to increase taxes on the wealthy. Now, before you pass judgment, consider this: conservatives and liberals have a different philosophy of what will improve our economy. Conservatives believe the way to improve everyone’s lives is to give the wealthy more money, then let it filter down to the people who need it most. Liberals believe you should solidify the non-wealthy first, and the wealth will trickle up. At least, so my rudimentary knowledge of economics tells me.

And honestly, I don’t have a problem with that difference of ideology. I tend to think that if rich people are given more money they’ll probably just keep more money, but it is somewhat comforting to know, at least, that there is a philosophy of greater public benefit in the conservative view. Many conservatives truly believe that if those at the top benefit, those at the bottom will, too.

Here’s what I don’t understand: if this is truly a difference in ideology, why don’t the Republicans admit it? John McCain’s tax plan is quite clearly diagrammed in the chart above, and it includes lowering taxes for the wealthy and corporations. Yet because he’s found a way to give a 21 freaking dollar handout to the poorest Americans, he’s able to claim he supports lowering taxes, and Barack Obama supports raising taxes. I want to believe there are conservatives who believe in the public good, but smoke-and-mirrors tricks like this sure make it difficult to believe their hearts are in the right place.

Am I wrong to believe in the basic goodness of people? Does John McCain have any interest in making the world a better place, or is he strictly concerned with how much money he can make for himself and his friends? Am I giving him too much credit to think that his intentions might be noble, if misguided? Give me a sign, Lord!

Today I was walking past a yellow “caution” sign on the sidewalk and I knocked it over. It was placed right in the middle of the sidewalk where it was almost impossible to avoid. There didn’t seem to be anything in the immediate area to warn against, so the only thing I can assume is that the caution sign was in place to warn me about itself. Clearly I did not heed the warning, because I knocked it over.

How does a career politician like John McCain get to air an ad that says “Washington is broken?” Um, wasn’t he in the majority party for 6 of the last 8 years? And didn’t he help elect George Bush to a second term? Ergo, if Washington is broken, isn’t it kind of his fault?

I was just listening to the excellent George Harrison album All Things Must Pass, and even though I’ve seen this cover since I was a little kid, I’ve never really taken the time to look at it. I think in my head I conflated this cover with the Concert for Bangladesh cover and assumed it was a picture of Harrision and a bunch of starving kids or something. I was so, so wrong:

He’s not hanging out with starving Bangladeshis, he’s partying with GIANT GARDEN GNOMES! And the brilliant thing about this picture, is that the gnomes have got nothing on him. Harrison didn’t meet up with the gnomes to listen to their stories … they’re lying around listening to his! He’s all, “So, you’re magical creatures, huh? What’s that like?” And they’re all, “Eh, orcs, trolls, pots of gold, blah blah blah. Who cares? You were a fucking Beatle!” And Harrison’s like, “Can’t argue that one, mates.”

That Pig n’ Whistle show I was harping on the other day? Totally moved. Apparently the Pig n’ Whistle got a better offer and they ended up renting the place out for a private party that night.

I hope this doesn’t upset anyone’s plans too drastically. I will rock twice as hard for you if you can make it out next week. This, I promise.

Details:
Jeffrey D. at the Pig N’ Whistle
Saturday, August 30th
9:15-10:15 PM
6714 Hollywood Blvd.
$9

A few updates on stories that have raised my ire in the last few months:

1. The case against Bruce Ivins, celebrity anthrax attacker, remains flimsy, at best. Glenn Greenwald continues to do great work on this story, as does Dr. Meryl Nass. The most glaring oversight is that the FBI has failed to place Ivins at the scene of the crime. I mean, he was obsessed with a sorority that stored some robes somewhere in the general area of the mailbox where the anthrax was sent, but aren’t we all?

My guess: there will be some half-assed congressional investigation that no one will bother to report on because the press is bored with the topic. The investigation will conclude that the FBI screwed everything up and the real perpetrator(s) haven’t been caught. No one will notice except Glenn Greenwald and Dr. Meryl Nass.

2. The FISA amendment passed with flying colors, and the NSA celebrated by tapping your phone. The ACLU is suing. Who knew the ACLU sued people? I thought they spent their days peeing on the Constitution! The plaintiffs on the case are a who’s-who of awesomeness, including The Shock Doctrine author Naomi Klein and former New York Times foreign correspondent (and all-around badass) Chris Hedges.

My guess: No clue. Cross your fingers.

3. The Bigfoot body was determined to be a fake. What’s awesome about this is that it was just a frozen costume. These hoaxers are either incredibly stupid or awesomely hilarious. This does not even deserve to be called a hoax. A goof, maybe. A clown.

My guess: In spite of all evidence to the contrary, I still believe. If we’ve never captured a sasquatch, than how can we determine what they’re made of? Maybe Bigfoot is built of the exact same materials as a rubber Bigfoot suit! Didn’t think about that, did ya’? (Thanks, Harmon!)

In a related note, next week I will be holding a press conference to display the tiny spacecraft I found. Unlike technology known to us, this spacecraft’s wings are built in an X-shaped pattern, presumably to make the craft more aerodynamic in an airless environment. I even found a tiny man in the control seat, and some kind of futuristic controller droid in the gun turret!

Update: Due to my relative unimportance in the world of entertainment, the Pig n’ Whistle has chosen to bump my show for a private event. So the show has been moved from THIS Saturday (August 23rd) to the FOLLOWING Saturday (August 30th). New Details:

Jeffrey D. at the Pig N’ Whistle
Saturday, August 30th
9:15-10:15 PM
6714 Hollywood Blvd.
$9

Old post:

That’s right, friends, I finally snared myself a fancy Hollywood rock n’ roll show! I’ve got some old classics on the lineup as well as a BRAND NEW TRACK that’s going to blow your minds. The people who book this show book a bunch of other clubs in LA, so I would really appreciate your attendance if you’re in the area. Details:

Jeffrey D. at the Pig N’ Whistle
Saturday, August 30th
9:15-10:15 PM
6714 Hollywood Blvd.
$9

Also note: I’m only playing for 1/2 an hour and the show will probably start on time. Parking is pretty lame in that area of town. They’re supposed to have a valet but last time I was there, I didn’t see him. If you’re planning on coming, please be there before 9:30!

In the last couple of weeks, I can’t turn around without reading about how some prison guard scratched a cross in the dirt while John McCain was a P.O.W., and so that’s proof that he loves crosses and would be a great president. It’s a lovely story. When Sarah first read it, she said, “damn, that’s a good story.” Here’s the basic story, as told to NPR:

John McCain is more reluctant to talk about his own faith. And he has had rocky relations with religious conservatives. But McCain is a believer, and he has a powerful story about the time his own faith was tested — when he was being tortured as a prisoner of war.

One Christmas morning, he was allowed out of his cell for a few moments. As he stood alone in the prison courtyard, one of the Vietnamese guards — who had shown some small kindness to McCain in the past — walked up to him.

“Then with his sandal, the guard drew a cross in the dirt,” McCain said. “We stood wordlessly there for a minute or two, venerating the cross, until the guard rubbed it out and walked away. To me, that was faith: a faith that unites and never divides, a faith that bridges unbridgeable gaps in humanity. It is the faith that we are all equal and endowed by our creator with inalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. It is the faith I would die to defend.”

Call me a cynic, but I immediately suspect any story that lovely. Because things like that don’t happen in real life. They happen in Vietnam movies. Why have I never heard this story before now? If a story that amazing ever happened to me, I would tell everyone I met. I’d tell strangers on the street about the incredible time I was a prisoner of war and a kindly prison guard scratched a cross in the dirt in front of me on Christmas morning. What I wouldn’t do is wait 40 years, and then say, “oh, shit, that reminds me …”

Well, according to the conspiracy theorists I choose to listen to, the story is, indeed, totally made up. First of all, the Russian writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn told almost the same story about his time in a Soviet labor camp:

Leaving his shovel on the ground, he slowly walked to a crude bench and sat down. He knew that at any moment a guard would order him to stand up, and when he failed to respond, the guard would beat him to death, probably with his own shovel. He had seen it happen to other prisoners.

As he waited, head down, he felt a presence. Slowly he looked up and saw a skinny old prisoner squat down beside him. The man said nothing. Instead, he used a stick to trace in the dirt the sign of the Cross. The man then got back up and returned to his work.

As Solzhenitsyn stared at the Cross drawn in the dirt his entire perspective changed.

I know what you’re thinking … what the Hell does John McCain know about Alexander Solzhenitsyn? Apparently, enough to write an article in praise of him for the New York Sun:

He was a writer with unusual gifts, utterly devoted to his art, brilliant and exacting, producing work that would stun not just literary worlds but the entire Cold War political world, and he was resigned to being unread until “this secret authorship began to wear me down.”

The first time McCain is known to have told this story is in his 1999 autobiography, Faith of My Fathers. 30 years later, right before he ran for president, McCain suddenly remembered this powerful and life-changing event. An event that just happens to be exactly the same as a story told by his favorite writer. It reminds me of the time I found a golden ticket that invited me on a tour of the most marvelous chocolate factory …

(Thanks Daily Kos, Firedoglake, and Andrew Sullivan!)