I know it doesn’t look too pretty on a map, with the veiny-type appendages coming from the land, but trust me – when you see it in person at eye-level, it is truly a sight to behold. The world has already heard about the love affair we all have with the city of New Orleans and points east, but I don’t think everyone knows just how much we love L’Acadiane.

We’ve got character, and quite a few characters.

We’ve got an amazing sunset that is rivaled by very few.

… and we have trees that grow in water.

We’ve got cute, cuddly animals.

And our food? The best in the world.

We’re a happy bunch. We laugh often. We laugh to deal with our pain. In fact, I am convinced that the first BP jokes came from down here when everyone else was too scared to make them.

We may not be the richest people in the world, but we never really did care for materialistic things. As long as we have happiness, we feel like the richest people in the world. We’ve got deep bonds with our family and take care of each other. In fact, we’d even treat you like family.

We have a language all our own, and some things we say may sound really funny to you, maybe even a little scary. When we want to “axe you” it just means we want to ask you a question, and dat meenoo is probably really sweet. If you’re actin’ coo-yôn, don’t be so haunt when we point it out. And dat zink? You wash da dishes in dere. “What time it is?” and “Where you at?” may seem like horrible usage of English, but it’s quite normal to us. Word placement isn’t really that important, is it?

Patriotism is rampant around here, a trait that has been passed down by one of the greatest generations ever to grace us that volunteered in droves to support the country in World War II, whether in foreign lands or on the home front. They ignored the prior cruelty imposed by the government and heeded the call of duty, with many of them sacrificing their lives for what they believed to be the greater good.

We love our region, from l’côte des Allemands all the way down to the Fourchon. Older generations in my family tell stories about places they would frequent as kids, like Bird Island, that were washed away by hurricanes. The place where my great-grandmother was born, Cheniere Caminada, was completely wiped out by a hurricane in the 1890s. It’s a way of life down here in Acadiana, and we all know that our marshes and fragile coastline aren’t going to be the same for our children and future generations to enjoy, because that’s how nature works down here.

In the back of our minds, we always knew it was possible, but never did we think that one of our greatest economic treasures would harm us in such an unimaginable way. While many of us are dependent on the waters for fishing, many of us are also dependent on our oil in one way or another. We cope better with Mother Nature harming us than with human greed and error destroying the life we know.

Soon there will be another huge news story to take your attention away from us. It happens. Maybe another environmental catastrophe, maybe a massive hurricane. Maybe there will be an earth-shattering political scandal. Or maybe you will just get tired of hearing about the oil spill because of information overload. All reasons understandable. But we aren’t going to quit caring. We are not going to give up fighting this. We refuse to let BP destroy our fragile culture that has been long endangered. We are strong people, and we are not going to let the oil win.

After all, we have a beautiful state with beautiful people and a lot to offer the world. We are not going to let this be a symbolic picture of our state:

We are stronger than that. We’ve had our tests before, and we’ve always passed them with flying colors. Sure, this one is going to take a little while to recover from, but we will recover. We will be back, maybe not as strong as before, but we’ll be just fine. We always are.

Sunday night, and well into the pre-dawn hours of Monday morning, I followed the developing story of the Gaza aid flotilla on various fronts, including Twitter and Al Jazeera. (Why Al Jazeera? Because no other news agency was reporting it, and I get a lot of my news from them.) It’s pointless to sit here and give explanations of what it’s all about since I’m sure you’ve all read or heard about it already.

I’m not going to sit here and claim things to be fact or write as if I know for certain that certain events did or didn’t happen. Some people are going to accept what Israel says as fact, and others are not. As with just about everything regarding anything Israel and Palestine, it’s hard to get hard, factual information because the propaganda from both sides is overwhelming. I’m trying to look at the entire issue from a neutral standpoint and am basing my opinion on historical fact and on a humanitarian basis.

One of my biggest “world view” annoyances is that some people fail to examine the reasons why terrorist organizations exist. To do this is to sit back and take in the wrongdoings that our Western governments have done in the past, something that is hard for many people to accept. Once people finally begin to understand certain events in common era history, then maybe they will understand why they carry so much hatred. Saying this does not make me a sympathizer. This doesn’t mean I condone what they do or want to advocate for their cause. This doesn’t mean that I agree 100% with what makes them angry, but I do understand why they are angry. I think they just go about making their points in vile ways. This goes for any terrorist organization, be it the IRA or Al Queda (or just about any group on this list).

But this isn’t a history lesson, nor is this a blog entry where I will talk about why various terrorist organizations are full of the hate they carry.

I’ve been active on Twitter for a couple of years and, before the Iranian elections last year, I was oblivious to the worldwide impact something so simple could have. (I think everyone underestimated the power of Twitter before then.) I had a renewed confidence in the overall goodness that is out there in the world after having had my faith in humanity so damaged previously. It was truly amazing to witness.

I’ve always wanted to (even sometimes forced myself to) believe in the inherent goodness of the human race, never wanting to believe that hatred was on as large a scale as we’re made to believe. Blame the fact that I read Anne Frank’s diary when I was a kid if you want to. Like she said, “…[I]n spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.” I’ve stated in the past that I have had a problem with being incredibly naive (a problem that I am rapidly growing out of), so I’m not sure if it’s my naivete or the fact that I was raised to always find the good in people that makes me want to believe that love and kindness will always win over hatred.

As quickly as Twitter made me believe that the human race does indeed feel compassion, it took that belief away. It’s amazing how all it takes is a few hours in the middle of the night to turn that car completely around and have it speed down the highway in the opposite direction at warp speed. I couldn’t believe some of the things I was reading last night, and I still have a hard time digesting some of the things I’m reading right now.

“[The people of Gaza] want aid? Get rid of Hamas.”
“They elected Hamas, they deserve everything they get.”
“Gazans are terrorists. There are no exceptions. Anyone sending aid to Gazans are terrorists.”
“End terrorism: NUKE GAZA!”

This is a common sentiment amongst many. It baffles me how (not in just this case) people don’t seem to remember recent events – and by “recent,” I mean events that transpired not even 10 years go. People either don’t know or don’t remember that the Hamas takeover in Gaza three years ago was not pleasant, but on the other hand, life for the people of Gaza wasn’t a big ray of sunshine under Fatah control either. Fatah was seen as corrupt and incompetent, which is why during the Palestinian parliamentary elections, Fatah lost control to Hamas. If you had a government that you felt was oppressing you, wouldn’t you go for the other option?

Condensed version: Hamas was elected by the people in Gaza. Because of this, Israel, along with Egypt, imposes a blockade on Gaza. Not an embargo. Not sanctions. Not the siege of a port. A blockade.

People are dying, they don’t have adequate shelter, their water supply is minimal (not to mention completely unsanitary), they lack clothing, they lost almost 100% of their commerce, and the blockade is only furthering the ongoing crisis that the people in Gaza are facing.

Understandably, weapons and items that can help make weapons should not be let in. Israel has every right, in my opinion, to want to keep these items out of Gaza, for their own protection. However, when they refuse to let in the following:

sage, cardamon, jam, vinegar, chocolate, fruit preserves and dried fruit, seeds and nuts, biscuits and sweets, fresh meat, fabric for clothing, fishing rods, musical instruments, writing implements, notebooks, newspapers, toys, razors, heaters, horses, donkeys, goats, cattle, and chicks

… and when they allow small quantities of the following:

Wheat, animal feed, flour, cooking oil, cooking fat, sugar, salt, pasta, dates, garlic, chickpeas, rice, beans, lentils, kidney beans, margarine, some dairy products, powdered milk, frozen meat and fish, frozen vegetables, animal medicines, gas for medical use, empty bags for flour, certain medicines and medical equipment, diapers, toilet paper, detergent, washing liquid, shampoo, soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes, cleaning products for tiles and glass, toilet cleaner, yeast, fertilized and unfertilized eggs, some fruit, semolina, polyethylene for greenhouses, some agricultural materials, tea, instant and regular coffee, canned tuna, salami, canned meat, bath and washing-up sponges, cloths to mop floors, baby wipes, some canned goods other than fruit, dried herb mix, black pepper, chicken stock powder, blankets, olives, matches, candles, sticks for brooms, rubbish bins, mops, hand cleansing gel, aniseed, cinnamon, camomile, water dispensers, potatoes, mineral water, tahini, combs, hair brushes, shoes, wood for doorposts and window frames, small amounts of aluminum, and some kitchenware

… I have to question the Israeli’s motives.

This does not make me anti-Israel.

When I see videos and hear reports of the Israeli military boarding humanitarian aid ships via helicopters well into international waters and not within the 3 mile range of their blockade, I have to question Israel’s motives.

This does not make me anti-Israel.

I say these things, and I call the humanitarian situation in Gaza a shame, and I get called a “terrorist lover.” I find the blockade and restrictions on Gaza to be entirely too harsh. I say this, and I’m accused of supporting Hamas.

But most of all, when I speak of well-documented and often controversial historical fact, all hell seems to break loose. Which brings me all the way back to something I mentioned earlier:

People fail to examine the reasons why terrorist organizations exist.

Until we, not just Americans but all citizens of the world, understand why these people harbor the hatred that they do, nothing will change. Until we look at the wrongs of our governments, we will continue to make the same mistakes.

And if me saying all of this makes me a pacifist, and being a pacifist is wrong, then so be it.

Read more about the humanitarian crisis in Gaza: [1] [2] [3]

I was always a fan of capitalism, right up until I was a victim of it. I’ve always felt the big corporation bosses had the right to do what they wanted to do. And, really, in a way, I feel they do have the right to do what they want since this is the system that’s in place for them, but it doesn’t make it right. They either don’t see or don’t care how it effects the workers, the ones doing the real work in the company – the ones not collecting fat checks to sit there and dictate how everyone else is supposed to work. I’m not saying company big wigs don’t have hard jobs, but, at the end of the day, who are the ones keeping the company running? That’s right. The little guy.

I never worked for a multi-million dollar business before 5 years ago. I had worked for small businesses, one of them being my family’s bakery, so I was ignorant to the workings of corporations. In my naiveté, I assumed all bosses valued their employees and knew that, as long as the workers were happy, business would run smoothly. This did hold true for my first three years at the company I work for now. While not a “large” corporation, it’s still a decent size. We had wonderful benefits and perks, great pay and a corporate staff that seemed to genuinely care. The only beef I had with the company was the illogical way they allowed us to use our sick time (you have to be out a week before sick pay kicks in) or the piddly amount of vacation time given (no vacation until you’ve been with the company a year, when you get a week… 2 weeks at three years… 3 weeks at 8 years…). Of course, the vacation time was just my inner greed. This is America, after all. We don’t get 6 weeks vacation like they do over in Europe. Besides, this is the country where we live to work, not work to live.

We had an awesome tuition reimbursement program, one of the main reasons why I took the job. Our 401K program was nice. We had nifty incentive programs, little competitions for prizes. The small things mattered too, like a nice birthday card in the mail, congratulatory letters upon the birth of a child and a marriage. Did I mention that the pay was great?

Last year, amidst all of the gloom and doom on the news about the economy, my manager held an office meeting to let us know that our pay was getting cut, the tuition reimbursement program was closed down and that 401K contributions were cut off. A week after our pay was cut, my office alone had three people laid off. The other 79 offices had at least 3 employees laid off. One office had their entire office crew laid off. A week after they lay everyone off, we find out that the company decided to outsource their jobs to some people over in Indonesia.

That, my friends, was the precise moment I finally understood why labor unions exist, and why socialism makes sense.

I was angry. Viciously angry. They tell all of us that they’re cutting pay because the company is having financial difficulties. Understandable. The next week, we find out they’re laying people off. The funny (not “haha” funny) part of the whole thing is that no one in corporate realized that the little people, like myself, had access to the company totals, so we all saw that the company was having, and still does have, an average revenue over $25 million a month. Morale is at an all-time low. Everyone is doing the work of two (sometimes three, as in my case) people and getting paid less for it. It’s a mess. And the outsourcing? That wasn’t something decided on overnight.

Through all of the economic hardships this company supposedly had to endure, they never once stopped getting the nice ink pens to hand out to the customers. (You know those nice pens the pharmaceutical companies give to doctors? That’s what our sales people get to hand out.) Having laid off over 300 employees and cutting everyone’s pay because they were “hurting,” they never stopped sending out the monthly company magazine, complete with thick, glossy paper that is mailed to the homes of every employee. To further enrage me, the first mug you see when you open the cover is that of the CEO. This is the same CEO who’s grandfather started this company from the ground up. This is the same CEO who’s father genuinely loved his employees and would always answer your phone calls, and make the trip to visit the company’s offices at least once a year and, no matter how tough things got, would never resort to pay cuts or massive layoffs. This is the same CEO who’s 17-year-old daughter has her very own private pilot at her beck and call in the event she ever wants to take the company plane somewhere.

The company can sent out their magazines (that people rarely read) complete with the motivational letters from the CEO inside, but they can’t afford to pay their employees.

Corporate greed at it’s finest.

Now I know a lot of you are completely baffled right now. How in the world have I, Miss Libertarian, decided that socialism maybe isn’t all that bad?

First of all, I am not in agreement with the Marx/Lenin/Stalin brand of authoritarian socialism.

Secondly, I’m not saying that I’m completely convinced that socialism, in whatever form, is the answer. I’m still trying to further educate myself on the matter. I have a lot of questions that I need answers to.

The Libertarian in me has always teetered on the edge of that line between minarchism and anarchism. I won’t say that I was brainwashed, but I have always seen government as sort of a “necessary evil,” because I never really considered it be a completely bad thing. I saw it as something that was needed to keep order, and provide the things that it was intended to provide for in the Constitution, and to protect our lives, liberty and property. But when I’d have my moments, kind of like the one I’m having now, there was this nagging thought inside of me that always wanted to know why.

Why do we need government? As Libertarians, we’re always talking about a non-intrusive government, how we want the government to leave us to do what we want to do – you know, personal responsibility. So if we want this personal responsibility, why do we even need a government in the first place? What is the government’s purpose if not to dictate to us, no matter how much or how little, what we are supposed to do? As a Libertarian, I want complete freedom from dictation. So why am I okay with someone controlling me on any level? Why am I okay with authority in the form of upper management? Doesn’t power in the hands of a select few who “own the means of production” essentially cause those who do the producing to have less freedom? Aren’t the companies we work so hard for are the ones who are reaping the benefits of our labor while we’re getting paid minimally?

In the words of Noam Chomsky:

Capitalism is a system in which the central institutions of society are in principle under autocratic control. Thus, a corporation or an industry is, if we were to think of it in political terms, fascist; that is, it has tight control at the top and strict obedience has to be established at every level; there’s a little bargaining, a little give and take, but the line of authority is perfectly straightforward.

But doesn’t saying that there should be no big corporate authority at the helm of companies give us even more governmental mandates? History has proven time and time again that people don’t always just do what’s “right” without having to be forced to by some higher authority. People are inherently greedy.

Am I a Libertarian by the United States’ political definition? Am I a Libertarian by the philosophical definition? This is where my inner battle lies, although I wouldn’t call it so much a battle as I would call it an enlightening moment. Have I been being hypocritical all of these years by declaring myself to be a Libertarian or have I just been shielded (by my own doing) from what I really believe? Have I just never wanted to fully accept the fact that I am, indeed, a blatant anarchist because I didn’t want to be looked at as if I were one of those stereotypical, firebomb-throwing anarchists that choose violence as an answer protest against groups, such as the WTO and IMF? Or is it that, perhaps, like just about everyone else in this country, I have been letting my guard down for the past few years and letting my true political colors shine through?

Maybe it’s just that I finally got a taste of my own medicine and realized that it was extremely bitter and hard to swallow. Maybe everything has just piled up and caused me to finally blow. Seeing kids getting killed by police for no reason at all, people getting arrested for no reason other than annoying a federal official, wars being fought in my name when I didn’t ask for it, and an obscene amount of mandates trickling down from the government hierarchy just about sealed the deal for me.

Welcome to my political identity crisis. Hope you enjoy the ride.

I don’t think Rand Paul is racist.

There. I said it.

And I’m going to say this too: I’m sick and tired of people equating “Libertarian” to “Republican.” Bite. Me. I’ve already gotten that rant out in a previous entry. I’m not writing this to go off on that again.

As I stated in this entry, racism sickens me. I do not agree with any form of it, do not participate in it, and lose respect for anyone who may. However, no matter how vile I think racism is, in this country, the racists are allowed to be racist. The racists are allowed to spout off any racist drivel they feel the desire to spout off. The racists are allowed to wear their little racist shirts, name their dogs little racist names, go to their racist churches and hold their racist rallies on the courthouse steps and hold their private little racist meetings. The racists, should they own their own businesses, should also have the right to refuse to allow certain people into their establishments.

That’s not me being a racist – that’s me saying that if they want to refuse to serve someone a Coke, it’s their right, as a private establishment owner, to refuse to serve someone a Coke. They don’t receive public funds, so, therefore, as a Libertarian, I don’t think the public (government) has the right to tell them how to run their business. If they want to lose money because their racists idiots who don’t want to let everyone buy a Coke, THEN SO BE IT.

How did that George Wallace quote go? “Segregation now, segregation forever”? That is racism.

Saying something along the lines of, “I don’t think the government should be able to tell a private property owner how to utilize their land, or a business owner how to run their business” is NOT racism.

No matter how many examples I try to give to explain my stance on this issue, someone reading this is only going to say, “So you’re equating [insert example here] to a human being?”

It’s a no win situation.

If Hank has a restaurant and doesn’t want to serve turkey on the menu, does the government have the right to pass a law and force Hank to serve turkey on his menu because the turkey farmers in the country aren’t selling much turkey?

Not a good example?

How about I tell you all a personal story of mine? Good? Good.

2002. I was working for a police department. My co-worker, a police officer, was a black woman. We would go out on the road around lunch time every day to go do what we had to do at the courthouse, grab some lunch, then mosey on back to our place of employment. One day she decided that she wanted to go get some lunch from this place she knew, so I obliged. We pull up, she asks me what I want (they had the menu posted outside), so I told her. Go to get out of the car and she tells me, “No, no. You can stay in here. I’ll go get it.” I’m sure she could tell by the look on my face that I was confused as to why suddenly she was going to be nice and let me wait in the car. “They won’t know how to handle a white girl going in there.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Well, just… just stay in the car, ok?” she replied.

Two women walked inside, and as they were walking in, they glared at me with these evil eyes as if to say, “Who the hell does this girl think she is coming in to this place?”

“Like I said, they won’t know how to handle it if you walk in there,” my co-worker said. “Just stay in the car and I’ll be right out.”

Point of me telling you this is twofold….

#1: Don’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like to be made to feel uncomfortable because of my race. I do. I know what it feels like when people automatically judge you because of the color of your skin. Just because I’m white doesn’t mean I’ve never felt racially judged. I felt it that day, I felt it before then, I feel it at times in the present and I will more than likely feel it again in the future. This is the world we live in.

#2: They didn’t want me in that place. They didn’t want me there. They didn’t like me and they didn’t even want me sitting in the damned parking lot. Did I complain? No. Was I upset? Whatever. I knew they didn’t like me because I am white, they didn’t want to serve me, and that was their business.

And guess what? People with the opinion like Rand Paul, his father Ron and myself AGREE that they should be allowed to decide who they do and don’t serve.

They didn’t want to serve this white girl, and I passionately defend their right to refuse to serve me.

The Tea Party supporters were quick to use this victory as proof that they are a force to be reckoned with. I have to politely disagree.

If any of you are on Ron Paul’s mailing lists, be it e-mail or snail mail, his personal list or that of his Campaign for Liberty, you will recall how he rallied his supporters behind his son, Rand, and encouraged them to donate money, and I’m sure many of them did. Rand is not a political clone of his father, but that didn’t matter to many, because, c’mon – he’s Ron Paul’s son. Rand is often called the “less quirky” of the two Pauls, which basically means that he’s more Republican than his libertarian-minded father.

I’m not trying to say that there are an insane amount of Ron Paul supporters in Kentucky, but to diminish his influence in his son’s election wouldn’t be fair. Granted, in the 2008 Republican Presidential primary, Ron Paul placed 3rd in Kentucky, which may not say much to most people given that only he and John McCain were the only two still left in the race for the nomination. However, Ron Paul’s base is very loyal, and, at least from what I’m seeing, it seems that his supporters are growing in numbers and have been growing during the entire 2008 Presidential election, not just after the election of Barack Obama.

Could they be growing because of the Tea Party movement? Of course.

Are Ron Paul’s supporters all a part of the Tea Party movement? Of course not.

In fact, it is my own personal observation that the “older” Ron Paul supporters (those who have been fans of his prior to the aftermath of 2008) shun the Tea Party movement. Some of them are frustrated with the Tea Party, wondering where these “new” liberty-lovers were before Barack Obama became President. Others can’t seem to find any common ground with the Tea Party, especially since a bulk of them are huge supporters of Sarah Palin. And, well, when you have the Tea Party down in Texas challenging Ron Paul, then… well…. you get the picture.

Personally, I can’t understand how a group of people can be as powerful as some claim the Tea Party is, if, at the core of the morality divide, the base is almost split evenly. The two big names that the Tea Party supports are Sarah Palin and Ron Paul, the former a fan of government dictation of moral issues and the latter a fan of a non-intrusive government. If anything, as an outsider, I see the Tea Party as a GOP Redux, giving people too ashamed to admit that they are indeed Republican an easy way out,  making it seemingly easy for them to declare themselves “libertarian,” when all they’ve managed to do is rename their Republican idealogy. I can’t blame them, really. I’d not want to admit that I’m ideologically alinged with George W. Bush either. This is a reason why it’s tempting to Republican candidates to say, “Hey, look at me! I’m just like you! I’m disgusted with Washington too!” Not because the Tea Party is a powerful group, but because that’s where the Republican voter base is now.

What makes the Tea Party appear to be so popular is the fact that the Democrats have yet to have a collective group of angry voters who are embarrassed to call themselves Democrats. Is it because the Democrats are holding the power in Washington? Perhaps. Maybe the Democrats in Washington haven’t done anything to embarrass and enrage their base … yet. It will happen. More and more Democrat voters are becoming disenfranchised with their elected officials because they aren’t being liberal enough. The really interesting thing here is that they have grievances with their party about the same issues the other side has with the Democrats, only for different reasons. To an angry Democrat, the Wall Street bailout shows that Washington is only too willing to cater to big business and not worry about the people. To an angry Democrat, the health care bill catered to the insurance companies, since forcing people to buy insurance is only going to line their pockets. And that’s not to even mention the whole lack of a public option.

This is an anti-establishment year in politics, and no incumbent is safe. Does this have to do anything with the Tea Party? They could possibly have influence on some state races, much like they did to Bob Bennett in Utah. But how do you explain the ouster of Arlen Specter? How do you explain the fact that Blanche Lincoln now has to move on to a runoff after her primary? I can’t give the Tea Party credit for those.

Either way, I’m sure that we’ve hit a turning point in America. For a political nerd like myself, things are going to be quite interesting around here for the next few years.

(Also, please note that this post is sometimes dripping with sarcasm.)

There aren’t many things in this world that render me completely nauseated (in an “I am quite embarrassed that I share the same continent with these people” way) than blatant, unabashed racism. I mean, just look at what we Americans have to be “proud” of when it comes to hate groups: Ku Klux Klan, The Nuwaubians, Aryan Nation, Nation of Islam, Volksfront, New Black Panther Party…

… just to name a few.

We have our individuals who make us proud, like David Duke, Louis Farrakhan and Debbie Schlussel.

Yeah, that woman.

The rage inside of me today that the woman is responsible for is indescribable. I cannot even put into words how utterly vile I think she is.

And I despise her even more because I am about to sit here and write kind words about Amir Khan.

[disclaimer: I think Khan is a fantastic boxer, but I hold him in the same esteem as I do Floyd Mayweather, Jr. They’re just two boxers I love to hate, but I know they’re damn good at what they do.]

Schlussel wrote this blog entry, attempting to chastise the USA Today newspaper for “whining” about the fact that it took Khan a little while to get a work visa in order to be able to box this past Saturday night against Paul Malignaggi at Madison Square Garden. (Fact is, they merely mentioned that it was taking a little while for Khan to get his work visa. Being a UK citizen, Khan is allowed to enter the US for non-work related reasons through the visa waiver program.) Of course, if Debbie would have her way, he would have never been allowed in the country at all, because, in case you couldn’t tell by his name, he’s Muslim. Never mind the fact that he has probably done more for charity than Debbie could ever dream of doing. Forget the 2004 tsunami relief work, or the helping of children in Kasmir after the earthquake in 2005. Forget various charity work around Bolton (Greater Manchester, England) for families of police injured in the line of duty. Not to even mention the community center he built to get kids off the streets. These are just the things I’ve read about the guy over the past few years.

Never mind the fact that he does indeed denounce terrorism, contrary to what Schulssel would like you to believe. He’s Muslim, therefore, in Debbie’s little world, he is evil and does not deserve to step foot on American soil.

(Now who’s going to tell her that he’s making a move to Los Angeles since he’s being promoted by Oscar de la Hoya and training with Manny Pacquiao?)

I only went off on that Amir Khan rant because I saw it while I was perusing Ms. Schulssel’s uplifting blog after I was linked on Twitter to one of her posts about Miss USA, who, in case you haven’t heard, is a beautiful Arab-American girl named Rima Fakih, from Michigan.

*sarcasm alert* Excuse me, she moved to Michigan with her family from Lebanon when she was a child. Therefore, she isn’t an American, or something like that.

You remember what Miss USA is – the completely irrelevant beauty pageant that no one really gives a crap about anymore? That is, unless there’s some kind of controversy. Did anyone even remember there was a Miss USA pageant before that whole Carrie Prejean debacle? Perhaps the controversy shouldn’t be that an Arab-American (emphasis on the “American”) from Dearborn, Michigan won the Miss USA pageant. Perhaps the controversy should be that this is the second year in a row we’ve got controversy emerging from the pageant and that Donald Trump is just trying to boost ratings for next year’s contest. You know everyone’s going to be watching to see what new controversy could possibly top the evil Muslim Miss USA. Ok, maybe not. But I digress.

See, Debbie here knows (for a “fact,” mind you) that Fakih was put in the pageant world not because she enjoys it, but because it’s all a ploy by Hezbollah to get people to think that there are some Muslims just like you and me, members of the non-Muslim world. They used this girl’s beauty, allowed her to dress provacatively, go unveiled (because you know how all Muslim women have to cover up) and show off all in the name of taqiyya,
a Shi’a Muslim concept that allows followers to basically hide the fact that they are Muslim when they are in danger. Being a scholar of Islam, I’d really think that Debbie would know that not all Muslims believe in taqiyya, and that it does not mean “deception of infidels to further the cause of Islam/jihad.”

These are a few selected jewels that I feel the need to address:

Rima Fakih, Miss Michigan USA… is a Dearbornistan Shi’ite Muslim who is a supporter of Hezbollah and used the pageant name at a forum promoting Islamic subjugation of women. [link to post]

Note: Schulssel does not, in anyway, note where she received her information about Fakih being a Hezbollah supporter, or about her family members being high ranking in Hezbollah, other than saying she received her information from her “intelligence sources” (because we all know that those working in intelligence for the U.S. government have nothing better to do than cater to this insane nutjob). Also, this is the forum she mentioned (it was linked in the same entry!) which seems, to me at least, that it was more of a forum held to quell suspicions and rumors about Muslim women (perhaps Deb should have attended).

There’s a reason that even Al-Manar TV–Hezbollah’s official TV network–is high on Fakih in the Miss USA pageant. [link to post]

Where? I’m looking on the Al-Manar TV website and I see nothing. Am I overlooking it?

Dear CIA/FBI/U.S. government web police: I do not support Hezbollah. I was on this site and am linking to this site to merely make a point.

But wait, y’all! Deb has bonafide PROOF that Rima Fakih has ties to Hezbollah – because these guys listed in this entry all … wait for it … have the surname FAKIH! And (yes, it gets even better!) there are five (1,2,3,4,5!) Hezbollah terrorist that were killed by Israel that were … wait! … all from her hometown in Lebanon that she left when she was 7-years-old! Wait. I have the last name of someone who killed a guy in Arizona. THAT MEANS I HAVE A FAMILY FULL OF MURDERERS!

Right?

No?

I need to talk to Debbie for a minute.

Look, Deb (may I call you Deb?), female to female… You’re a vapid twat (not the word I wanted to use here) plain and simple. I quit reading your drivel a while back. Remember when you said you knew Kelly McGillis was a lesbian because of her haircut and shoes? That’s when I decided that I couldn’t continue to let someone so small-minded get me angry.

What baffles me, Deb, is your insane intolerance for a group of people based on their race and religious beliefs. You’re Jewish. Your grandparents survived the Holocaust. Your mother was born in a Nazi concentration camp. Your very own family was persecuted because of RACIAL & RELIGIOUS INTOLERANCE, Deb!

… deep breaths …

I want to help you, Deb. I want you to become something other than that “batshit crazy blonde wingnut.”

I want you to start using citations whenever you’re trying to prove something that links to something other than one of your previous blog entries, which links to another one, which links to another one, etc. Just a simple citation to something other than one of your other blog entries would give you a smidge of credibility. Notice I said a smidge. You’ll have to do a whole lot more than that to obtain an
ounce of credibility.

You’re going to have to educate yourself on Islam. I know you said that
you speak Arabic and are an expert on terrorism, but really, Deb. You and I both know that you’re nothing but a farce.

You’re a racist lunatic with one mission and that is to spew your hatred of Muslims and try to get as many people as you can to jump on your bandwagon, so they will go out into the world and spew forth your ridiculous ideas, thus creating a world without Muslims – and a world full of hate. You want to rid the world of Islam. You hate Muslims. You find them repulsive. You don’t want anyone to patronize their businesses. You spread fear amongst non-Muslims, telling everyone how they want to infiltrate the American way of life so they can finish their jihad and rid the world of the United States. The really scary part is that people actually hang on your every word.

You know, your hate speech and vile, not to mention ignorant, rhetoric sure does remind me of someone…

This isn’t to say that I don’t have my moments. I do get severely annoyed when I hear a male say I can’t do something because I’m female (keep in mind that I will admit when I can’t). I cannot stand when I hear a male say something is “woman’s work,” since the only thing I classify as “woman’s work” is carrying a human being in a uterus since a male really can’t do that (unless they’re going through that sex change stage and still have female reproductive parts inside). I take out my own garbage, can cut my own grass, and, if I really wanted to learn, I’m sure I could learn how to operate heavy machinery. I cook because I actually like to cook. I work in an office because I don’t want an outside job in the summer. I drink beer, watch sports, use foul language and burp. If this causes problems for you, tough. I’m not a feminist, but I’m not a mold of a Stepford wife either.

I just want to clear some things up to the males out there who may be reading this.

I’m not a scary bitch because I may disagree with you or call you out on something. I don’t care who I rant to, who I get in a debate with, or who I give my opinions to. If I think you’re acting stupid, I’m going to tell you. If I know you’re wrong on something you’re spouting off, I’m going to correct you. If I don’t agree with your opinion, I’m going to counter it. If my doing this causes you to feel emasculated, then perhaps you needed to lose your balls. Maybe now you’ll grow some bigger ones in their place.

Just because I’m female doesn’t give you an automatic right to call me one of the following names in a condescending tone: “sweety,” “darling,” “honey,” “sweetheart,” “baby,” or anything else along those lines. If you do, don’t be surprised if I start calling you “jerk,” “pig,” “dog,” “asshole,” or “bastard.” The only difference is that I won’t be condescending about it. I’ll be saying how I really feel.

I don’t like wearing makeup. I don’t care if it makes me look better. I don’t care, either, if it bothers you that I prefer pants over skirts, sneakers over stilettos and ponytails over curls. I rarely get out of my pajamas on Saturdays if I’m not leaving the house. I may even not fix my hair. If you want me to devote more time to my appearance, then perhaps you should lose the beer gut, wash the grime from under your fingernails, and take shower after you get sweaty. Have I “let myself go”? Nah. I just got to the age where I realize that I’d rather be comfortable than “pretty” to make some guy happy.

You are perfectly capable of getting your own beer out of the refrigerator and making your own food. Sure, if I’m up and near the general vicinity of the kitchen and don’t have to walk further than you would have to in order to grab a beer for you, I’ll get it for you. If I’m already making something to eat, I’ll be more than happy to get something for you as well. Maybe it’s the mother intuition in me that has this desire to have children raised to be able to take care of themselves that makes it hard for me to cater to your incompetence. I mean, what ever would you do if you were put in a situation where there was no one around to do everything for you? You’d perish. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.

I’m not going to go along with everything you say just because it’s what some chauvinistic ideology says I’m supposed to be doing. If I don’t want to go to that restaurant, I’m going to say so. If I don’t want to go there on vacation, I’m not going. The word “no” is in my vocabulary, and I’m going to use it. Deal with it.

If I hear you call that girl who slept with 50 men a slut, then start talking about the 75 women you had sex with during your college years, you will be slapped. Yes, I think she’s a tramp. But guess what? So are you, asshole.

I have the right to talk, just like you have the right to ignore me. But don’t sit there and call me a nag when I’m harping on a topic that could have easily been resolved if you’d have just answered to begin with. If you’d just pay attention the first time, I wouldn’t have to keep going on and on about it. Right? Right. Trust me on this: It irritates us when we have to repeat ourselves just as much as it as it irritates you listening to it time and time again. Another thing, if I’m mad at you, I don’t want to have sex. I’m not “withholding” sex from you as some sort of punishment because you got me mad. I’m not even in the mood to look at you, let alone allow you to get off with my help. If you’re horny, and I’m in a bad mood, go whack one out.

I don’t know what it is about the male species, but whenever they get a small sniffle, they act as if they’ve contracted the Bubonic plague and have only mere hours to continue living. However, when I’m having my monthly visitor and am in so much pain I can barely move because my uterus decided it wants to fall out of my body, which causes me to feel like Freddie Kruger is in there having a good time slashing my insides, you just can’t seem to understand why I’m crabby. Just back off. Better yet, why not cater to me for a change? It might even get you sex the next week after I’m finished being mad at you.

I won’t lie – if there’s something good to talk about, I’m going to gossip, especially if it’s about someone I don’t like. Women do that. However, men, don’t act like you don’t gossip. Men are the biggest gossips around, and the only people who don’t agree with that are men. The only difference between women gossip and men gossip is that men call their gossip “conversation with the guys.”

I know men like to complain that women are insecure, and I’ll acknowledge that, yes, there are in fact many, many insecure women out there. I’m not one of them. But from what I’ve seen, it’s those modelesque type of girls that are the most insecure. You know the ones I’m talking about – the bleached hair, the lip injections, the boob jobs. Hello – they’re adjusting their appearance for a reason, guys! And do you know why they’re doing it? For you. Because you like to ogle over the plastic people and you find them so incredibly attractive. This is perfectly normal and I’m not saying you’re wrong for doing it. I just want you all to know that’s why there are so many insecure females out there. So don’t complain about a female’s insecurities when you’re more than likely the cause of them.

And for God’s sake, stop adjusting yourself and spitting in public. That’s just disgusting.

So, I present to you, dear reader, the 5 things that are bothering me at this very moment:

1. My job. I complain enough about this on a daily basis, so if I complain about it here, I’ll just be beating a dead horse. I do, however, just want to say that if the place would burn down tomorrow, I would only be upset because my mini-Union Jack guitar on my desk burned with it. I found that sucker on Ebay and haven’t been able to find another one since.

2. Music. Yes, music is bothering me at this very moment. Why? Have you heard some of the crap they’re throwing out there these days? Lady GaGa? Justin Bieber? The only saving grace to this new music coming out is that I think the emo kids have all grown up, thus saving the razor blades for the people who really need them. What really bothers me about this isn’t the music itself. No one is forcing me to listen to this crap (if my 4-year-old starts listening to music like this when she gets in that tween stage, I will consider myself a failure as a parent). What’s bothering me about all of this is that I have turned into my parents. I find myself saying phrases like, “This isn’t music. This is noise.” and “What is this on the radio?” and, sometimes, “Turn that shit down!” I have become one of those people who insist that the music of their generation is the best. You know how it goes – your parents did that. “Music will never be as good as it was in the 60s and 70s.” “No band will ever be as good as The Beatles.” “Elvis is rolling over in his grave right now.” “I can’t believe they remade that song and butchered it.” I find myself feeling sorry for these kids growing up right now, because they will have never experienced the amazingness of Britpop blaring through the speakers. Grunge? They don’t know what that was really all about. Nirvana is overrated and, while they were good, there were many bands better, like Soundgarden and Sonic Youth. You love The Pumpkins, you say? Let me tell you the story about when I saw them at Lollapalooza in 1994. By the way, Lollapalooza was once cool. That was before I changed from one who loved arena shows to one who now prefers the biggest venue to catch a show be the House of Blues. Maybe I’m getting bothered by all of it because I’m going through one of my nostalgia trips that tend to pop up sporadically, usually triggered by a song I hear on the radio or a conversation with an old friend. These kids will never know what it’s like to walk into a music store – not a chain music store, either – and buy something just because the clerk recommended them to you. I don’t even think they know what a music store is, unless it’s called iTunes. They missed out on the 90s, and now the voice of their generation is Miley Cyrus. Liam Gallagher was so much better.

3. The inability to run away. I’m not joking. I want to pack up my daughter, gather the essentials and just run away from home. Go on a massive, life-long road trip with no destination. The kind where you don’t know where you’re going until you get there. But I don’t want it limited to wherever I can get via land transportation. I want to take airplanes. No boats – I have an irrational fear of the water, especially big ships, that can only be attributed to watching “The Poseidon Adventure” with my mom when I was a kid. Yes, I have that dream of seeing the world. Who doesn’t? I’m not letting having a child stop me from doing it, either. She’s coming along. We’re going to travel, we’re going to be amongst the people, we’re going to act like the locals, we’re going to learn about different cultures… Just not yet. See, I’ve got this problem with being a “responsible parent” who needs to provide stability in the life of the child, or whatever that new bestselling book on parenting says you’re supposed to do. My problem is that I listen to other people too much instead of taking my own sanity into consideration. This causes me to get that icky anxiety-ridden feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me a nervous wreck about every little detail of my life, not because I’m scared of it but because I’m scared of what it’s making me become. I’m a free spirit, for God’s sake. I never wanted to be here. I was always bound and determined to get away from here. I don’t want to be like them and end up waking up on my 50th birthday and wondering why I’m still here. I’m only 30, yet I sit here and wonder when I became that person that is stuck in that mundane daily routine – wake up, shower, get dressed, wake up the kid, tote kid off to school, tote myself to work, work 8 hours, drive home, pick up kid, go home, cook supper, clean the kitchen, bathe the kid, put kid to bed, chill out, put myself in bed. That is not me nor is that who I want to be. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get that “free time” after high school. I think that’s the problem with a lot of people. Take a year off after high school to just be carefree, that way when you’re older you won’t regret not doing it.

4. Parents who let their daughters dress like sluts. I’m all for allowing kids to express themselves via their self-style choices. My hair went through many color cycles and my style of dress wasn’t (isn’t?) what one would consider “normal” (if one had the right to deem anything normal, of course). My parents let me express whatever I wanted to express with my clothing, save for the two or three times they tried to get me in jeans that weren’t so baggy or shoes that weren’t so tattered. No matter how outlandish my style choice may have been, they were always comforted in the fact that I never walked out of the house looking like I was going work the corner somewhere. Yes, I often embarrassed my mother, so much to the point where she didn’t make me go anywhere in public with her (like that was supposed to punish me), but at least I had the sense to not walk out of the house with my boobs popping out of my shirt or my buttcheeks showing at the bottom of my shorts. Every single time I venture out of the house, I see one of these little 14-year-olds wearing clothes that were once refined to strippers. I could understand if they changed into these clothes after leaving their house, sneaking so their parents wouldn’t see them dressed in that garb, but 9 times out of 10, when I see them, they’re standing right next to their mother. And another thing that annoys me is when you hear a mother saying her little 15-year-old has a nice body. Mom should be worrying about her 15-year-old daughter’s grades in school, not whether or not she could pull off the g-string bikini you just bought her so she can go down to the beach. People always want to say that pop culture is to blame for these body image issues kids have. I say that these girls’ mothers have as much to do with it, if not more. They prop up their beautiful little princesses, then complain when they end up knocked up by some punk kid when they’re 16. And if they don’t end up pregnant, they end up socially inept because when they venture out into the adult world they realize that, yes, people do indeed value a brain instead of boobs, then they sink into a deep, dark, alcoholic depression because “ZOMG I AM WORTHLESS!” Of course, this doesn’t happen in every case, but when girls are allowed to be slutty when their young, they have no respect for themselves when they get older, and will more than likely be turning tricks for her next binge instead of being an upstanding citizen in society.

5. Left-handed people discrimination. You know, in today’s world, there are rules and laws made to accommodate everyone, except for us left-handed folk. I’m not 100% left-handed; I’m ambidextrous, actually. Many of us are. But there are some things I just cannot do with my right hand. I can’t use a fork or spoon with my right hand. I can’t bat a ball right-handed. My handwriting is just about non-legible when I use my right hand. And I simply cannot use a computer mouse with my right hand. School was horrible. I had a hard time in certain classes in school where the desks were made for right-handed people. You know, the ones where you only have half a desk top and it’s on the right-hand side. I’d have to turn my body completely around to write, which, in turn, made the teachers think I was more interested in socializing than learning about the Pythagorean theorem (which was true, but I did pay attention in class). Another pain was notebooks – all geared towards the righties of the world, with that evil wire ring on the left side of the notebook that cause us left-handed people to have indentions in our wrists. Sure, there was a moment where you could find these glorious left-handed notebooks where the wire ring was actually at the top of the notebook, but I haven’t seen those since high school (not to even mention that they were twice as much as a standard notebook). The same with those three-ring binders. And have you ever seen a left-handed pencil sharpener? Everything in this world is geared towards right-handed people, and frankly, I’m not going to stand for it anymore. I’m tired of being made out to be some sort of freak because I’m not like everyone else. Yes, I have excellent handwriting for a left-handed person, and no, it’s not so difficult to write like that. We’re not clumsy because that’s our nature. We’re clumsy sometimes because there’s this societal standard somewhere that says we are inferior and, therefore, must conform to a right-handed world. So screw you, light switches on the right side of the walls! Screw you, keyboards with the key pads on the right side. Screw you, notebooks and binders. And screw you, Mrs. Keller for that 0 on that geometry test you swore I was cheating on.

Side note before I actually get into substance: I once had a pair of pajama pants with that banana all over them. They met an unfortunate fate.

Dear, dear concept album of epic proportions, how do I love thee? You were recorded in one day, glorious postmodern masterpiece. You aren’t overdone, you aren’t overly-produced. Your classic raw sound and John Cale-Lou Reed amazingness (I just made it a word) make this an album that is still fresh and should be appreciated by all.

While the rest of the world was busy hoping for that hippie-dreamed world of sunshine, rainbows and unicorns, bands like The Velvet Underground were making music about their real world, that included heroin – lots of heroin – and a grim outlook. Screw peace and love – they wanted to spread their nihilistic attitude.

The Velvet Underground & Nico was their debut effort that didn’t fall flat. Andy Warhol (yes, that one) is credited with producing the album, but it really wasn’t, but we’ll pretend that we don’t know that. We will credit him with making this album possible, however, since they were probably only given a chance because of their direct involvement with Warhol. Of course, they were also written off because of the same reason. After the album was released it did okay, but soon Warhol was uninterested and they were left to go on to 3 more albums, all as brilliant as the other.

The album opener, “Sunday Morning,” is one of the best album openers ever. Simple, dreamy, and it makes you actually feel like it’s a Sunday morning. “Venus in Furs” is probably the most well-known song on here, and while I think it’s a good song, it has the tendency to be overrated. “I’m Waiting for the Man” sounds Dylanesque, and is, in my opinion, one of the best songs on the album, along with the super raw sound of  “Run Run Run.”

The best story told on the album is with the song “Heroin,” which by the title I’m sure you can tell what that story is. It starts out all over the place, but the end result is almost perfection.

“Femme Fatale” and “I’ll Be Your Mirror,” both sung by Nico, are both enchanting songs, perhaps due to Nico’s haunting voice, although in the former, she’s somewhat overshadowed by the background.

Did I mention that I love this album?

01. Sunday Morning
02. I’m Waiting for the Man
03. Femme Fatale
04. Venus in Furs
05. Run Run Run
06. All Tomorrow’s Parties
07. Heroin
08. There She Goes Again
09. I’ll Be Your Mirror
10. The Black Angel’s Death Song
11. European Son

Last week, I had the great pleasure of attending the Roger Daltrey and Eric Clapton show at the New Orleans Arena. The two of them were both worthy of being headliners. Clapton because, well, he was the headliner and this is his tour. Daltrey because he totally owned that stage.

Now, to comply with full disclosure, I have to admit that had Daltrey not been opening, chances are I would have passed this show up like I’ve done the other times Clapton has been to town. I love Roger Daltrey and The Who with a love that can only be overshadowed by my love for The Beatles. I love Eric Clapton too, but it was never a love that could justify (in my mind) spending over $50 for a concert ticket.

As the countdown began, I started checking the daily reviews of the shows that had happened the night before (because I’m one of those people who actually do that kind of thing). They all had the same result: Eric Clapton sounded fantastic but was not a showman and Roger Daltrey was engaging and could still rock. After witnessing it for myself, I can say that I am in 100% agreement with every single one of those reviews.

I never planned on posting a blog post with my own review of the show because I’ve talked endlessly about it to everyone. I figured I had let out all of the excitement that I had pent up inside and there was no reason to keep hounding on it. That was, until this morning, when a friend of mine sent me a link to an article in the LSU student newspaper “The Reveille” about the show.

This kid – and I’m calling him a kid because I’m assuming that he’s got to be about 10 years younger than me – needs to learn a lot more about music if his aspiration is to be a music journalist. Even if it’s not, he needs to learn a lot more if he wants to critique concerts ever again.

The headline is simple enough: “Clapton, Daltrey show ups and downs of old rockers.” Fair, justified and should have followed with a good article. It was going well until I got to the seventh line:

“The arena was full of geriatric rock fans who had undoubtably seen Slowhand in his prime.”

“Geriatric rock fans.” I don’t think we were at the same show. See, the show I was at didn’t have people carrying their portable oxygen tanks, colostomy bags or getting around with the aid of walkers, canes or wheelchairs. I was surrounded by a vibrant group of late 40 – early 60-year-olds who loved the fact that a couple 30-something “girls” (as they so affectionately called us) were there to join them in experiencing the sounds of two men they grew up idolizing. I didn’t hear stories about growing up during World War II or how their latest doctor’s appointment went. I heard stories that sound like the stories my parents tell.

The man sitting in front of me told me about how when he was growing up, he wanted to be the next Eric Clapton, so he saved up all of his money from allowances and odd jobs so he could buy a Fender, only to realize when he got it home that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing with it.

The man sitting behind me, all of about mid-to-late 50s told me about how his girlfriend in the 70s wanted him to grow his hair like Roger Daltrey because she thought he was the “most gorgeous thing in the world.” “So what’d you do?” I asked. He smiled and said, “Well…” as he pointed to the lady sitting next to him, “I never could get my hair quite as curly, so instead of chancing losing her, I married her.”

Hardly the typical “geriatric” stories we all know and love.

But I digress. Continuing on with the article, and the very next line that made my eye twitch:

“Most were well dressed but still braved the Arena’s $9 beers and plastic cups of wine in rock ‘n’ roll spirit.”

Now, maybe I’m out of the loop here, but what does concert-attendee attire have to do with the show? What does the price of beer (which, by the way, a large Stella cost $7 at the WOW Wingery stand) have to do with how well two men performed that night? No one wants to read about beer and clothes unless they’re singing to you. And if they are singing to you, then you need to stop drinking so much of that beer or smoking whatever drugs you’re on.

Moving on to the crux of my rant (forgive me, please, but my music snob side is about to rear its ugly head.):

On Clapton: “The audience was never kept waiting through petty monologue, and simple lighting and a minimalist setup kept the focus on the root of the performance: the talent of one of rock ‘n’ roll’s immortals…”Each classic was peppered with elongated periods of the kind of playing expected after more than 40 years of touring.”

Yes. Clapton is indeed a rock god, but I don’t know. See, when I pay a good bit for a concert, I don’t want the performer that I paid to see stand up on the stage and look bored. I don’t want the performer to just go through the motions of doing the show. That’s what you got with Eric Clapton. Fantastic music performed by a legend on the stage. But I could have stayed home and listened to a CD for what I got out of it.

When I pay a good bit for a concert, I want the performer to engage a little bit, especially if they’re a legend and undoubtedly have many stories to tell. I want that “petty monologue.” I like to hear a little backstory to a song or two, some witty banter (if the performer has a sense of humor). A smile, a wave, a laugh – anything more than a sporadic “thank you” is nice. That’s what you got with Roger Daltrey.

On Daltrey: “Daltrey’s warm-up performance fundamentally lacked the spirit of his unforgivingly youth-advocating band The Who… Backed by a seemingly nameless band meant to replace three of rock ‘n’ roll’s greatest musicians, Daltrey was left alone with the sound of his own voice, too rough with cigarettes.”

I have nothing to complain about when it comes to his review of Clapton, because that is exactly how it was. He was up on stage, he didn’t speak, he played his guitar just as amazing as he always has. His voice wasn’t like it used to be, but it was still Clapton you saw. My problem is the way he reviewed Daltrey, making him seem like he had no passion, no gusto, which was completely false.

He performance did not “[lack] the spirit” of his early days with The Who, and anyone who was there can tell you that. He was happy to be there, he told stories, joked around, and acknowledged the audience for his entire 50-minute set – not with a random “thank you” here and there. That “seemingly nameless” band included Simon Townshend, brother of Pete, who wasn’t there to replace him, but was there touring with Daltrey like he has for a while now. Roger Daltrey was not touring as The Who, but as a solo artist, so he’s not going to have the current lineup of his band. He wasn’t looking to replace Keith Moon and John Entwhistle either.

Daltrey is doing these shows because he still wants to perform as often as he can because he loves doing it. Was Daltrey’s voice rough? Yes. But this happens to all rock singers, be it within a 40-year time frame or, sometimes, within a 10- year time frame. Did Daltrey still sound good? Definitely.

The man can still wail. He can still sing “The Real Me” with the passion you hear on “Quadrophenia.” “Young Man Blues” still gave me the chills like I get when I hear it on the “Live From Leeds” album. He lit the arena on fire with his closer, “Baba O’Reilly,” which I can only venture to guess that the reason this kid didn’t mention it in his article is because he thinks it’s called “Teenage Wasteland.” After he left the stage, the sentiment of everyone around me was the same: Roger Daltrey alone was worth the price of admission.

“The audience was lucky enough to hear such classics as ‘Who Are You,’ ‘I Can See for Miles’ and ‘Behind Blue Eyes’ which, as Daltrey was kind enough to remind everyone, is not a Limp Bizkit cover.”

Humor is also lost on this guy. Before Daltrey sang “Behind Blue Eyes,” he jokingly stated, “And no, this is not a Limp Bizkit song for all of you youngsters,” before he went on to state that the song is his favorite and “very personal.” See? He engaged – he had a dialogue going. Something Clapton just didn’t do. I assume this guy also failed to see the humor when, having to try twice to start playing a song on his guitar, Daltrey joked that it was odd that he was having trouble playing because his hand was the only part of his body that got any kind of exercise – pausing for a second then saying, “From playing the guitar!” (Juvenille, perverted humor, yet funny.)

I can’t really fault the guy for not liking Roger Daltrey’s performance. It’s blatantly obvious that all he knows about The Who is via the various “C.S.I.” shows’ opening credits and from watching the video of their “explosive” TV performance of “My Generation.” You know the one I’m talking about.

“The man floppily spiraling his microphone around his head hardly looked like the Roger from Oz who destroyed his set and instruments on a live broadcast of the ‘Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour’ in 1967 and changed how Americans looked at music forever.”

He’s right. Roger Daltrey didn’t look like “Roger from Oz.” He looked like the 66-year-old version of that guy. He looked like the guy we all want to emulate – the guy that is inspiring everyone to make sure they’re still rockin’ when they’re that age.