Al Franken, �Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them�
I know, I�m a bit behind on the times. This was released in what, 2003?
Don�t answer that. It was released in 2003. I checked.
Anyhow, I had this in my stack to purchase several times, but we always had plenty of copies and there were hundreds of other things that weren�t so likely to come through, so I put it off and put it off and put it off. Then I moved. Then I came very close to running out of books and the used bookstores here are shit, so I e-mailed my old store and they sent it to me. In fact, Mrs. Happy bought it for me as a present, so I suppose it pays off to be patient.
I just have to wait three years for said payoff.
I�ve now read all of Franken�s books (with the exception of his Stuart Smally tie-in... oh, and I guess he has a new one out now, so disregard that statement), and he�s one erratic political commentator/comedian. When he�s good, he�s knocking gems out of the park but he�s simply not consistent. His Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot kept going back and forth between brilliant and boring, with a whole lot of ballast in between. His Why Not Me?, a political satire novel, went from funny to amusing to tiresome, usually best when he played it subtle. Subtle works for Franken. Outrageous does not.
And then there was his advice book, Oh, the Things I Know!. The less said about this stinker, the better.
But with this book, he does pretty damn well. How can you not, when you�re making fun of Bush, O�Reilly, Fox News, and Ann Coulter? It�s almost too easy. And some of the shots he takes are too easy. But how can you not like a book with chapter titles like �Ann Coulter: Nut Case� and �You Know Who I Really Don�t Like? Ann Coulter.�
I could go on a huge political rant right now. Lord knows I have enough material to work with. Fortunately, it seems that the masses are slowly beginning to realize what a corrupt idiot George W. Bush is. It doesn�t seem long before simply stating his name should bring about a countrywide forehead slap of the �what the hell were we thinking?� variety. You should be able to hear the sudden skin-on-skin noise for miles around, a sonic boom of realization.
Of course, I�m also a hopeless optimist. I didn�t think there was a chance in hell he�d be reelected (or elected, if you prefer, since he didn�t really win the first time around). Then again, I didn�t think there was any possible way the citizens of California would vote for a bad steroid abusing so-called actor to run their state. If you�re hungering for some political commentary, you can read my reaction to that travesty here.
But I can�t really write about current affairs or politics right now. For one, my contacts are so fogged up that I can barely see the screen. In addition, as I mentioned previously, I�m about to embark on a trip to the East Coast. In sixteen hours, as a matter of fact. And I�m going to meet Kelly�s parents.
That scares me a hell of a lot more than George W. Bush.
Most child psychologists probably agree that we learn our phobias early in childhood and the formative pubescent years. The first girlfriend I had in seventh grade had a father who, when I came over to visit, would stand in the back of the room and stare at us. He wasn�t exactly scowling, but he certainly wasn�t smiling. Noticing her father was making me uncomfortable, she would take me into the garage where we could talk or study or play darts. And the father would follow us, standing in the doorway, still staring directly at us, not saying anything.
I thought he was just keeping an eye on us, although in a totally intimidating and uncomfortable way. He really didn�t have to worry. At that age and awkwardness, I was simply too shocked that a girl liked me, and this was the girl with the biggest breasts in middle school. Her frame scared me almost as much as her father and I remained a perfect gentleman, even when we found a place where her dad couldn�t stand five feet away from us.
She, however, had some experience. She was eager to show me what to do, and I was an enthusiastic learner. We continued to try and find new and creative ways to fool around away from the watchful eye of her father. I suppose he was just trying to keep her virtue intact, but the truth of the matter was he was far too late for any of that. Then we got to her house one afternoon to find it empty and proceeded to make out on the living room sofa, my hands moving everywhere. In the middle of our session, she leapt up quickly, shouting, �I think my dad�s home!� We both bolted up.
And there he was standing over us. I have no idea how long he had been there. If that doesn�t instill a fear of parents, I don�t know what would. It�s also insanely creepy.
It wasn�t just him, however. I continued to date girls with the most intimidating parents around. Most just seemed disappointed that their brethren were interested in an obvious loser scumbag such as myself and did little to hide their disapproval. One girl, a girl I dated for nearly six years, had parents that would force her to sit at the table with her head down to pray whenever she got home from an outing with me. Despite showing up for family functions and attempting to socialize, I couldn�t change their opinion. Eventually, I would do something that validated their opinions. In this case it was calling her on the phone. Her father answered, and I said something along the lines of �Hello, is Kristen home?�
�Yes,� he answered.
Then there was total silence. I thought he had put the phone down to get her without further comment. Already exasperated with the efforts I had put forth to make nice with the family to no avail, I found it rude that he was so curt.
�Well, fuck. Think I can talk with her, fuckbag?� I muttered, glad to finally have the chance to say what had been on my mind, even if it was through a telephone with nobody on the other line.
�Just a second, I�ll go get her,� he answered.
Whoops.
There have been other incidents with other women. Standard things like getting caught in a room when the family was supposed to be gone. Parents who would make snide comments, thinking I wasn�t smart enough to realize I was being made fun of. Hell, even the last girlfriend, who had very nice, kind parents, had a father who was as big as a bear. I heard stories about his way of dealing with problem children, which was to smother them in his arms and forcibly hold them down until they were too tired to resist his massive hug/sleeper hold. I figured it would be just as easy for him to have my head make a horrible squishing sound.
When arrangements were made to have dinner together, she explained to them that I was very nervous around parents. They promised to be good. I suppose her father simply couldn�t help himself as we chatted, stabbing bread into a fondue pot around the kitchen counter, when he cut off a story being told by his wife to suggest they go back to making me uncomfortable.
So yeah. Here I am, older than most people I know who are parents themselves, and I�m still scared of meeting �the folks.�
And it probably didn�t help to find out Kelly�s dad has a sword mounted in the living room.
I�ll be gone until the 22nd of May. If you don�t hear back from me within a week following, you�ll know the meeting didn�t go well.
