The Revolution Will Not Be Criticized

Nobody better criticize El Presidente Hugo Chavez. Especially not on his own turf. He issued a declaration today regarding this after international visitors to Venezuela accused him of being a dictator.

"How long are we going to allow a person — from any country in the world — to come to our own house to say there's a dictatorship here, that the president is a tyrant, and nobody does anything about it?"

So, in order to make an example of those that would dare to criticize him, he'll just deport them. In order to prove to the world that he's not a dictator, he's going to expel from the country anybody who calls him a dictator. That'll show 'em.

Chavez despises imperialism, which is obviously why he's been accused of meddling in every major Latin American election over the last year. He only hates imperialism when he's not at the helm.

This is from the man who came to America's shore and called President Bush "the devil" and was condemned by Charlie Rangel (of all people).

The Screaming Craptop of Doom

I just bought a new HP laptop. I did this for two main reasons. 1) My desktop just died and the laptop isn't far behind. I've had both of them for six years now, which makes them about 257 years old in computer years. 2) I'm about to deploy and I'll be damned if I'm going to wait in line for 45 minutes to check my e-mail on the communal computers while some airman tools around on his MySpace account. I don't want to share and I don't want to feel guilty about surfing the net for something frivolous and stupid while a line of people wait to use the computer.

So I went to Best Buy the other day to look for a laptop. I took my old laptop to SOS and it sounded like it was going into orbit every time I turned it on. It even looks archaic. People would look at it and ask, "What is that?"

I was ashamed of the laptop. Everyone else was working on sleek, silent hyperspace laptops. Laptops that didn't threaten to explode when a Word document was opened. Meanwhile, I was using the bulky, Screaming Craptop of Doom. I may as well have been using a Commodore. I may as well have walked in with feathered bangs and leg warmers. That's when it dawned on me--I'm turning into my parents.

My parents don't jump on every new technological development the nanosecond it hits the shelf. My parents still have dial-up internet. They finally bought a push button phone while I was in college--in the mid '90s. Then my mom got nostalgic and bought another rotary phone last year. It's not that they're cheap (actually I should say it's not just that they're cheap). But if an item still works, why buy something new? Every car my family ever owned was on its last leg when we traded it in. We had a 1960-something mustard-coloured Toyota Corolla station wagon that we kept around until 1986. It had a lovely black vinyl interior that was suffocatingly hot in the summer and necessitated the use of towels if you wanted to wear shorts. It got really sporty if we took the dog anywhere with us. She would pant like an obscene phone caller while producing copious amounts of drool. In addition to the doggy smell that ensued, it made things very slippery.

I'm wondering if this is hereditary. It may explain why most of my cameras are no less than 40 years old. My house is 55 years old. I secretly wish I had a VW bus.

I guess I'm a bit of a Luddite, although I won't go so far as to live with dial-up. So, maybe I'm just a retro ho.

Hellcat

My parents have been cat-sitting for me while I was away over the last month. Oskar's usually a well-behaved host when I have people over--gracious, charming, and conversational. I think he gets sick of seeing just me and wants to see a new face.

At Mom and Dad's house, he usually doesn't have much to do with company. He already has two people to give him undivided attention, not to mention the two extremely irritating and impossibly stupid dogs he has to share his abode with. When company comes to call, he has no need of them. He just slinks off to his room.

And it started out that way the other day. A nice, older gentleman came over and had a seat on the sofa. Oskar stood in front of him and stared at him briefly. Then he turned around and started to walk off. That's when the guest said, "Good thing I took my pill--I'm allergic."

Well, apparently the word "allergic" was the magic word that spurred Oskar into action. He inexplicably turned around, ran back, and leaped onto the guest's lap.

If he could talk, I'm sure it would have gone something like this...
"Oh my goodness gracious, where are my manners? I'm Oskar. What did you say your name was? You know Bob, you're my kind of person. I don't know what it is, but it's like I've known you all my life. Is that sweater cashmere? Oh god, I love cashmere. Can I just feel it? Oh pretty please. Let me just rub my face on it. I can warm your lap while I'm at it. I feel so close to you right now. I could really use a hug. How about a kiss on the lips? Hey, where are you going? That's okay, I'll be waiting when you get back."