The Secretary of State is Not Your Nagging Mother

It is amazing. You are alive. Years of blundering through life, from tricycle to BMW, ignorance to awareness, you made it.

Conscientious people think about these things sometimes. They take a mental roll of all the stupid things they have done in their lives and come to the realization “it is a fucking miracle that I am here right now.”

How did it happen?

Best bet? It probably has a lot to do with your mother.

Remember your mother. Remember the times you called just to chat, talk to your mother, ask her advice. What should I do about my girl friend? Am I crazy, or is she? Remember asking your mother how long you could not pay the cable bill until they shut it off. Remember asking her what course you should take and (despite being your “own person”) end up taking that course.

Now remember the Secretary of State. Remember when she advised you to bomb Iraq when the scandals were touching a little too close to home. Remember when she called you from Putin’s office in Russia and got you to take your finger off the button. Remember, just this past year, when she told every one who would listen that you were not qualified for your job.

Wait.

What is that? Remember the Secretary of State? She?

Three out of the last four Secretaries of State have been women. Strong willed, high character women. Women who must have been frightening mothers.

By definition, a Secretary of State serves the President. Just like a mother does a service to her child by raising it and teaching right from wrong.

Bill Clinton had the first, Madeleine Albright, the tough old curmudgeon. She reminds me of a favorite aunt, the one you would not mind seeing on occasion, yet you pitied your cousins for having her as their mother. The one with the hunched back, the longer cigarette with plastic holder, the extra dirty martini and the cane to smack you when you got out of line.
Yet, she was a loving mother and aunt. She was sharp as a cleaver, she kept you in line, pointed you in the right direction, chastised you when you were insolent. You thanked her for it. You respected her as much as you feared her.

Clinton made a cameo on Family Guy not long ago and revealed the wild and crazy side that can only be Bill. . . “Hey, you know where I got that nipple ring? Old straddling Madeleine Albright gave it to me.”

Oxymoron?

Or just moron?

Then came Condi. Like Albright before her, brought into office in the second term of a president, in this case George Junior.

Condoleezza Rice seemed like she could have had a kind streak. Maybe. Yet, she also seems like one of those tough-as-all-hell African-American mothers who would bludgeon you from across the house to get off your lazy ass. Stop playing with your damned Play Station and do something.

Condi was what George Junior needed. Tough minded, smart (smarter than him, at least) and willing to work. She could take you to task as if you were an idiot or insolent and bully you into cooperating when you did not agree. What a perfect weapon to unleash on the world (and long overdue); The American Angry Black Woman. Junior, if you did something right your entire presidency, this may have been it.

Now comes Hillary. Confirmed by a margin of 94-2, she is President Obama’s blood hound. Mrs. Clinton follows the “Feared and Respected Elder” and the “Angry and Astute Black Woman” with her own special blend, power suits and all. We shall call her the “Classic New American Woman Power Broker Who Will Eat Your Soul.”

Admit it. Hillary scares you a little bit, doesn’t she?

Clinton is the last lady I would I would want to see as the Secretary of State if I was a foreign leader. Maybe the last person in general, except for the return of Henry Kissinger (I still might give Clinton the edge though). Smart, tough, crafty, devious even. She would wear a diplomatic smile as she signed your death warrant and present it to you with firm handshake and pat on the back.

It makes sense that the Secretary of State position should be now and forever dominated by woman. What better way to get world leaders to listen than to send over somebody who reminds them of their mothers, someone they cannot help but admire and respect, yet have a general, healthy fear for?

Now, remember recent history. Under which Secretaries of State did the two Iraq wars start?

Hint: They were not women.

Our presidents needed these women. Each president childlike and inexperienced in their own way, these women kept them accountable. They needed these women to keep them in line, needed them to fulfill their agendas, needed them to placate the rest of the world in a way that only a woman can do. Yet, they are not so much nagging mothers and caretakers as they are daggers that the presidents can throw. Sharp tools in the Cabinet.

World leaders, I warn you now. Watch out for our newest Secretary of State. Hillary will cut you, cut you deep if you do not fall into line.

Yet do not expect her to kiss your boo-boo, cotton swab it with hydrogen peroxide and make it all better with a band-aid.

Really, she is not that kind of Mom.

Just a Hook-Up

Charles Blow wrote an Op-Ed column in the NY Times on December 13 entitled “The Demise of Dating,” saying that amongst the younger generation, dating was a thing of the past and the hook-up was now the standard. The thrust of his argument is that the popularity of just hooking up has led to a decrease in our ability to establish and maintain one-on-one relationships; the emphasis on the group relationship has or is destroying the individual relationship.

Hold up a sec Chuck.

While I agree that the phenomenon of hooking up is seemingly replacing the old standard of dating, it doesn't mean that dating is dead. Relationships are not easy, and while the hook-up does simplify certain aspects of it, it also adds complications to others. The idea that hooking up “emphasizes group friendships over the one-pair model of dating" is only the surface of the issue. If people in a group friendship are hooking up, they are creating added layers to their specific relationship which creates one-pair interactions within the group friendship. On the surface, the hook up appears to only strengthen the group dynamic but it pushes the one-pair individual dynamic just as much.

Charlie also talked about how the hook-up is gender-biased toward men because eventually women want individual relationships and we, commitment-phobic, men only want to hook up. That's probably true. Still, I find it a bit silly to think that only women would want a hook-up to turn into a relationship. Hooking up is a two-way street, men get can get just as attached and begin to look for that individual relationship.

I take umbrage with the way Mr. Blow paints a picture of the future of social interaction as one that is solely a group dynamic with everyone hooking up with their friends and no one taking the time to get to know someone on an individual basis. Are we, as a generation, doomed to just move from one hook-up to the next with no real emotional foundation or attachment? I hope not.

A friend of mine told me "Love is important, it's what we live on, the delight we produce in others."

She's clearly smarter than me and I agree with her fully. I find it difficult to believe that through hooking up with someone you'll be able to make a connection that can lead to something deeper. The process of getting to know someone through hanging out with them is so integral to a relationship that skipping or holding off on that until after you hook up strikes me as backwards. If there is a connection, the intimacy will be there. It'd be good to know that the intimacy is just a part of a larger, deeper connection you share with someone.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, and need to get with the times, but I can't think of anything better than hanging out with someone I like and getting to know them... Then hooking up.

- Rick Dashiell

Reefer Madness

This article would have been finished sooner, but I got high. At the very least, thanks to the newly passed Proposition 2 law, Boston has managed to make this a relatively reasonable excuse (although it's always a valid excuse in my world). It gives new meaning to the phrase, as Brian Griffin puts it about the 1960s, "we've lost the values, but we kept the weed."

In my home state of the Bible Belt, conservative politics, pick-up trucks and anti-abortion protests, carrying a pipe could send you to jail for the night. Now I can wholeheartedly thank Massachusetts for becoming the 12th state to decriminalize marijuana: less than one ounce gets you a $100 fine instead of a night avoiding anal rape. Thank you, stoners, for getting off your asses in November long enough to vote. The new law (along with my newfound ability to find weed on Boston's craigslist) gives me faith in you as the nation's rumored #1 stoner city.

Seek out some stoners, break out the papers, attend a celebration event and load up the bong, because after all, and now officially, it's always 4:20 somewhere.

Stoner Ettiquete 101: 10 Rules to get you started on your degree in THC

1. Always share. Even if you have only a small amount of weed. It's the stoner way.

2. Be prepared. Take a couple of minutes to break up your buds by hand or in a grinder before you pack them or roll them up.

3. Pass to the left. It's the Indian way, dude.

4. Offer to a friend first. You don't have to do this every time, but it's a nice gesture and will always make that person feel special.

5. Puff, puff, pass is OK. puff, puff, puff pass? Not cool. Don't Bogart that joint, my friend. Keep it moving.

6. If you don't have weed of your own, ask politely. You're tapped out and find yourself with tokers who don't know you're dry. Ask if you can have a hit and wait patiently until it comes around to you. Don't jump into the stoner circle uninvited.

7. Don't scorch the bowl. When smoking out of a pipe or bong, make sure to light a corner of the bowl and to leave a little green stuff for the next stoner.

8. Watch the spit. Let's all keep our saliva to ourselves. No need to swap spit if you're not dating the guy or girl you're smoking with, right? A common (and much appreciated) technique: Use your fingers (or a fist, chillum-style) as a barrier between your lips and the bowl or joint.

9.Keep it clean. Clean out your paraphernalia often. Replace the bong water after several uses, give your glass a good pipe cleaning occasionally and, if you prefer joints or blunts, wash your hands.

10. Don't pocket someone else's lighter. Stoners love to (inadvertently) steal other people's lighters. No matter how high you are, try to keep track of whose lighter is whose.

- Desi Johnson

Yes We Can ... Can We?

President Elect Barack Obama Addresses Some Loyal Followers after the election. We catch him in the middle of his speech.

Now, tell me, have I ever led you astray? What can I do to make sure that not only will you like me, but follow every word that I ever say for the rest of my life and love me so unconditionally that it hurts just to think about. Like a new puppy, just like the one I am getting for Michelle and the Kids when we get to our new house. I hear it is pretty neat, by the way. Is that something you could do for me?

“Yes We Can.”

I know this might be a lot to ask, but could you give me a little time to figure out this whole economic mess. Those effing (Michelle does not allow me to swear or I have to put a $100 bill from our campaign donations into a jar marked “New Shoes. I don’t get it. Oh well,) bankers on Wall Street have been piddling around too goddamned (wups. . . there is one for the jar) long for me to swoop in and really roll some heads. I mean, I can’t even find the office for the Lehman Brothers anymore. (What? What do you mean the Lehman Brothers. . . oh. Okay.) I promise you that my staff and I will put in our due diligence to make sure you fine folks on Main Street can stay in your homes and be able to afford some nice amenities like this cool iPod Touch I just bought so I can keep up all my favorite downloads on iTunes. Could you find it within yourselves the patience and strength to endure this crisis we face?

“Yes We Can.”

I know we have a war going on. I also must thank you once again for not believing your neighbor on Main Street who told you I was a no-good dirty little terrorist. I mean, my name is Obama, not Osama. Hussein? Just a coincidence, I assure you. Also, Bill Ayers is really a pretty neat guy when you get to know him. Anyway, I respect what you and your kin in our esteemed Armed Forces are doing for our country. Extending American Imperialism into the Middle East would not have been such a rousing success without you. All branches of the American government extend a hand in thanks. That being said, my predecessor may have taken things a bit too far. I would love to say that he had all of our best intentions in his heart, but, well, really. Have you been paying attention the last eight years? That is why I am here now, to provide a message of hope and battle the military industrial complex to make sure that all of your hard earned tax dollars do not end up in the pocket of some weapons manufacturer who has been promising the same jet for the last seven years. (Though, I hear that is also pretty neat too.) Can you follow me, my American brethren, as I lead us into a new world order where people once again respect the values and determination of the American People and of the United States of America? What say you?

“Yes We Can.”

And while you are at it, get a couple people together and get me a ham sandwich. Don’t be afraid, I have a better metabolism than Mama

 Cass. Can you do that for me?

“Yes We Can.”

I know that my opponent John and some of his cohorts said some pretty bad things about me. I do not need to repeat them here, in polite company.  Though, I have to say, it really hurts when he said, time after time after time, that I do not have the experience to be an effective leader in the highest office in the world. I mean, I am a natural born leader. As a community organizer I got things done and helped the people around me. As a member of the United States Senate I have done lots of great things within the realm of the Democratic Party and, well, at least we tried to get things done. Really though, just take a look at my campaign? Is there anybody else in the world that could have subjugated (ahem … recruited) an entire generation of America’s youth to panhandle on the streets of this great country for my great effort? If that is not experience in leadership, I don’t know what is.

John and Sarah really had a great campaign. It is not really John’s fault that he could not mobilize the type of support I did. John is a cool guy but the supporters in his age demographic cannot really get out there and hit the streets like my kids could. It is hard to ask people for money when you are clutching onto your walker, you know what I am saying? Anyway, what I am saying is that John and Sarah were really gracious in the end and that is all that matters. Right? John has got some work to do in the Senate creating bills that I will probably veto, but at least the man still tries. I think we should bond together and support John and his cohorts so we can forge a new, bipartisan Senate that might try to get things done. How about it folks, can we cut John some slack?

“Yes We Can.”

Finally, my friends, I would just like to welcome everybody to my administration. To celebrate, Michelle and I will be holding a pot-luck dinner in the West Wing on Inauguration Night and we hope that everyone can attend. The girls will be there too so don’t forget to bring something sweet. I am partial to Chinese food (I am brushing up on my cultural exchanges, mmmm, moo-shoo pork) so make sure you come prepared. Just know that, even if you find the best pork lo-mein in the world, I cannot reward anybody with government positions for such donations. (*Wink Wink Nudge Nudge*) Really.

So, my friends, my colleagues, my fellow Americans, are we ready to have a great time and return America to the forefront of global politics, economics and morality? Can you join me on this new and exciting journey into an uncertain future? Tell me, can you?

“YES … WE … CAN.”

Dan Rowinski

Yes We Can! (Rock Your Body)

I am a journalist, but I am also an opera singing and generally politically uninformed arts critic hailing from Hollywood-obsessed, traffic-infested Los Angeles. It has taken a whole lot of shazam to spark my interest in political issues of the past, but the 2008 presidential election somehow held my attention. Given the sheer facts—an African American candidate with a Muslim-sounding middle name running for president and some great tunes to boot—I wanted to be a piece of the puzzle known as “change.”

Barack Hussein Obama. It is a name that both sparked the involvement of an otherwise dormant youth vote and simultaneously angered an adamant older generation of conservative voters. While my Floridian grandparents refused to accept Obama as a legitimate candidate, my friend, a UCLA alum, wanted only one thing for her twenty-second birthday—a trendy “Vote Obama” t-shirt, which she now wears with pride. Indeed, Obama became a marketable brand to college students. But more than the overpriced clothing, the Obama campaign infected young minds through free musical entertainment.

The soundtrack of Obama’s entire campaign played worldwide and stemmed from one Internet site—a little open-source community known as YouTube. From a twenty-something female with Obama’s name spelled across her tush confessing her “crush on Obama” in a music video, to a caboodle of alleged A-list actors/singers/musicians singing “Yes We Can,” while an Obama speech plays in the background, music was an essential role in riling up young voters, including myself. Instead of slanderous commercials and obnoxious prime time interviews, Obama’s campaign succeeded in subtly manipulating me enough to get off my ass and vote.

It was like listening to that same song playing repetitively on every station and then overhearing it being hummed by every stranger that passed by. I wanted to ignore it, but somehow, it got into my head. It made me think and become more involved, until suddenly I was humming it myself—“Yes, we can!”

- Danielle Jacoby

Metaphorgasmic

Of the millions who celebrated Barack Obama’s win last Tuesday, perhaps no group was more excited – nay, more rapturously elated – than the English majors. A bookish voting bloc that punctuates this great nation, America’s bibliophiles and grammarians had at long last elected a president who writes, and talks, real good.

To lover’s of Tolstoy and Dickens, Trollope and Twain, the last eight years have grated like the unnecessary posessive at the beginning of this sentence. For President Bush, in defiance of his Yale and Harvard pedigrees, has waged a global war on eloquence and locution since day one of his administration.

His main weapon in this struggle has been the Bushism, the linguistic equivalent to waterboarding. The Bushism is much like the Yogi Berra-ism, but minus the great Yankee’s paradoxical koans of Zen wisdom.

Some of the more memorable Bushisms of the past two terms have included: “Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream;” “I know how hard it is for you to put food on your family;” and, of course, the classic “They misunderestimated me” from way, way back in the year 2000. We would have been lucky to get a “Déjà vu all over again” from Bush.

Other recent presidents haven’t expressed themselves any better. Bill Clinton certainly had charisma, but his eloquence was seated in the libido rather than the intellect. President H.W. Bush was only marginally less tongue-tied than his son; and Ronald Reagan, of course, was an actor. It was his job to sound good and look great doing it. The only question is, who wrote the script?

Obama is different. The man once served as the editor of the Harvard Law Review, by Zeus! Here is a man who can think, write, and speak. When he spoke during his victory address of inspiring people “to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day,” I experienced my very first political metaphor-gasm.

If you want to know why the ‘mainstream media’ is in bed with Obama, look no further than his use of language. Many of us journalists were once English majors, and we’ve chosen to earn our living through the written – and spoken – word. When a politician talks about ‘bending the arc of history,’ some of us get a bit giddy. Remember during the primaries when MSNBC’s Chris Matthews said he felt a shiver run down his leg when he heard Obama speak? Metaphorgasm.

Abraham Lincoln was perhaps the first president to use metaphor to reach rhetorical climax. Just consider his first inaugural address, when he produced what is arguably the most complicated, but perhaps the most satisfying political metaphor ever. He said, “The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.” I barely know what that all means, but it certainly puts me in a tizzy! If Lincoln was as sensuous a lover as he was a writer, Mary Todd must have been a lucky woman indeed.

An Illinoisan like Lincoln, Obama stands ready to inherit the Great Emancipator’s rhetorical potency. And as the first African-American President-elect, there is a poetic deliciousness, a certain sense of craftsmanship to his political destiny. English majors live for this kind of narrative symmetry, and so do most people who like to tell or listen to stories. Just ask Hillary Clinton or John McCain.

Throughout the campaign, Clinton and McCain had derided Obama’s ‘eloquence’ as just so much style masquarading as substance. But after eight years of Bush’s ham-handed “Axis of Evil” rhetoric, the people wanted more. In the end they chose to elect a man who inspired them - a man who tugged at their hear-strings instead of the falconer’s hawkish reins.

When Obama’s opponents tried to paint him as a silver-tongued intellectual elitist, they misunderestimated the American people. Not only did they misunderestimate their intelligence, but they misunderestimated their common desire to be touched - not by fear - but by the better angels of their nature.  

Greg Kwasnik

The Boston Occasionalists

DANIELLE JACOBY
Danielle Shirah Jacoby is currently pursuing her master's in print journalism at Boston University. Before traveling across the country, she received her bachelor's degree in music (vocal performance) from the University of Southern California, performed in operas both locally and abroad, and wrote an arts column for the online Lifestyle magazine, LA2DAY. She collects tea, listens to jazz, resides in a basement studio and is attempting to overcome the New England chill

GREG KWASNIK

A life-long Massachusetts resident, Greg is 'studying' for his Master's degree in Print Journalism at Boston University. Prior to moving to the big city, Greg worked for 5 months in Alaska, was the 'Snow Reporter' for a New Hampshire ski resort, and spent a year at a Vermont high school working with special needs students. He received his B.A. in English from Saint Anselm College in Manchester, New Hampshire in 2006. Perhaps you like his writing. Please feel free to offer him a job.

JORDANA FELDMAN

Born and bred in Toronto, Jordana is thrilled to be able to share her views with a nation hungry for Canadian opinion. When she's not rooting for the Leafs, or trying to break the national record for most "Ehs" in a properly constructed sentence, she attends Boston University where she bewilderingly decided a career in broadcast journalism was a good investment.

DAN ROWINSKI

Dan Rowinski is a professional chef turned sports journalist. He graduated from Virginia Commonwealth University in December 2007 with a degree in English and History magna cum laude. He is perhaps the only person you will ever know who is under 30 and already has a 13-year career and a Bachelors Degree. Dan is an obsessive hand washer though quite lazy when it comes to maintenance of his domicile. He has a thing for brunettes and will never again date a girl whose first name ends in the letter A. If you see Dan walking down the street, say hi and offer to buy him a beer and a sandwich. Sports journalists never turn down a free meal.

DESIREE JOHNSON

Dez is a pop culture fanatic. She would much rather write about sex, drugs and rock and roll over real news any day. She blames her fetish for country music and Mexican food on being a Texas native, where she worked at the Killeen Daily Herald before moving to pursue a Master's in print journalism at Boston University. When she wasn't holding a bong in one hand and vodka in the other, she earned a bachelor's in journalism and studio art at Southwestern University near Austin, Texas. Dez can't seem to get a date (even with the ability to quote entire episodes of Family Guy) and despite popular belief, she really is black.

SARAH THOMAS

Sarah is a writer of such earth-shattering literary genius, she cannot be bothered with such pedestrian exercises as short biographical paragraphs, you peons.

RICK DASHIELL

Rick Dashiell spent his early years training in the Kung Fu style of Xiao Hong Quan at the Shaolin Temple in Dengfeng City, China. At eighteen, he left China for America and undergraduate studies at the University of Chicago. After receiving BAs in English and Ancient Greek and Roman History, Rick traveled 

the world, getting into adventures across Europe, Northern Africa and much of Asia. In 2007 he decided three years of the "wandering warrior" life was enough. Settling on a career in journalism, Rick was accepted to Boston University's Journalism program. He is currently a first year graduate student focusing on sports journalism. Rick enjoys telling stories from his "wandering warrior" days. Ask him about his time in Thailand. On second thought, maybe you shouldn't.