Generate a Barack Obama Quote!
"You know, there's a lot of talk in this country about lameness. Well I think Americans are tired of the same old dillweeds. Ordinary Americans believe in America, they want less bastards, they just aren't sure if their leaders believe in phattyness."
A douche by any other name . . .
Unfortunately the plague of Douche Baggery is not restricted to the States. Here are some equivalents in other languages.
Italian
Stronzo (from Lombard strunz meaning excrement) A piece of crap at the metaphysical and moral level. A complete douche bag.
Spanish
Cretino- stronger than the English 'cretin'. Basically a moron or idiot.
Yiddish
Schmuck - (Lit.- The male member). A stupid or detestable person.
This series will examine the psychology and accessories of the most modern of men: the douche bag.
definition of douche Bag (adapted from www.urbandictionary.com)
A person with an unbelievable size of ego without the substance to back it up and normally deludes himself that he is the "numero uno" in the universe. A douche bag is normally narrow-minded but thinks otherwise, disrespectful but thinks he is cool, thinks he knows everything and has a peculiar habit of treating other people like crap.
Lessons in Douche-Baggery or How to be a Douche Bag without Really Trying.
1. Get a Bluetooth- that annoying ear phone thing-a-majig.
The key accessory of the 21st century douche bag. To paraphrase Wesley Willis "get that damn thing out of your ear and tell people you're tired of looking like an a-hole!" Given the ludicrous design of the devise and its wide-spread use it may be a vast conspiracy to make everyone in America into a complete jackass. "I'm sorry but pushing the answer button on my cell-phone just takes too much effort. I mean, my time is important. The sun rises and sets in my pants, for God's sake!"
Next installment- A douche by any other name. Equivalents for douche bag in other languages.
Here is an extract from a story I wrote about Quevedo followed by a translation of what are thought to be the last verses he revised before his death.
In The Peace of These Deserts45
The ghost went on explaining himself as we continued on our zig-zagging path, “Ever since I put pen to paper I had roused anger in certain people. Some even went so far as forming the Tribunal of Righteous Revenge against my writings.46 So, I was often forced to retire to my tower of St. John of Abad to avoid unpleasantness.47 Which was fine by me because I enjoyed my solitude where I could write in peace.
“As I said, I had enemies in abundance but few real friends. Although sometimes the company of another is desirable. So on occasion I would play cards with the Duke of Medinaceli on his estate and engage in pleasant conversation. One night in particular we where deep into a game of Hombre.48 I believe the year was 1639 or so, I was leading the Duke with my last hand when out of nowhere a swarm of soldiers stormed the palace.
““What is the meaning of this?””
““Francisco de Quevedo y Villegas Gómez?””
““Yes.””
““I hereby place you under arrest by order of His Majesty King Philip IV.””
“Of course I knew it was his minister the Count-Duke of Olivares who was behind it all. We had fallen on bad terms since I began criticizing his politics. I saw them ruining Mother Spain, now reduced to a shell of her former self.49”
““So be it,” I said calmly and with that I was led away to a solitary castle of my order on the cold central plateau near León.50”
“By 1643, four years later, that dolt the Count-Duke of Olivares had fallen in disgrace, having since passed on, when I was finally released from my imprisonment. “Ten months of winter and two months of hell”51 as we say. How the cold of Castile got into my bones during those years! The chains chaffed at my skin, opening sores. I then retired to my Tower of Abad like Charles the Fifth to his monastery at Yuste.52 Defeated by life and fortune.”
“But the cold would still not leave my bones. Every member of my being was now as cold as ice. So I fled the chill to Villa Nueva de Infantes53 where I arrived more dead than alive.”
“One night in September, the year of Our Lord 1645, I sat a my desk preparing a book of my verse when a distant bell struck nine. I heard a horse galloping on the dusty plain. Clip-clop, clip-clop. I turned back to my work again as the pounding hooves seemed to come ever closer cutting through the night. Still unconcerned, I resumed my work hoping for posthumous glory. Closer, closer the hoof-falls came until they suddenly stopped. Relieved I turned my attention back to my work. Then I heard the neighing of a steed and the sound of a rider dismounting. Footfalls that could only come from massive boots sounded out in the night. And the rider like his horse came closer, closer . . .”
“Considering the matter to be more serious than I had suspected, I position myself strategically with my crutches. I was in a sorry state of decay. So I readied my steel as a loud pounding came at the door. Come what may.”
““Who goes there?” I called out. But the only answer that came was the howling wind.”
“Again the pounding came but much harder this time. I feared that the poor wooden door would not withstand much longer. Meanwhile my heart raced inside my chest as I readied my blade. Crack! A massive arm broke threw the door and tore it asunder. There stood a figure with a feathered hat and dressed in a black overcoat. On his feet were massive boots accompanied by punishing spurs. The intruder motioned toward me with an outstretched blade. Then I wondered whether the tortured spirit of the fencing hack Narvaéz had come back to prove himself. After all, I had revealed the stupidity of his method to everyone that night in the President of Castile’s house so long ago.54”
““So, Pacheco de Narvaéz, you’ve come at last. I heard you died forgotten and unsung. Which proves that the shortest distance between fame and oblivion is a straight line, eh?””
“There was no answer. The visitor beckoned once again with his blade at which point I administered a counter attack. The swordsman disengaged and almost threw me across the room but I stood my ground. I wasn’t a renowned swordsman for nothing. Still the battle was hard and at times the cold still clung to my bones. Yet I resisted and persevered.”
“I continued to fend off the intruder harnessing all my skill as a swordsman.
After what seemed like hours I looked to find my study was a mess with papers strewn about. I felt much weaker than before. Indeed, I felt I was fighting for my very life. At this point I wondered maybe it wasn’t Pacheco de Narvaéz after all . . .”
“Just then the stranger made a counter thrust and knocked my sword out of reach. I groped for it sadly as the black rider closed in. If I could only just . . . but I was too weak from sickness and age to do anything and lay helpless on the floor as he directed his blade towards my neck.”
“As a sign of victory he mockingly doffed his hat at me revealing a hideous skull underneath!”
“It wasn’t a stupid fencing master that had come calling that night. It was Death. Death had come for its own!”
You, oh wayfarer, listening to me now,
If you mean to obtain victory
Against the monster against whom you struggle;
You’ll make it so your memory goes on
To receive death,
That comes darkly and silently to unmake you.
Do not pay attention to anyone else,
For life flees step by step
Amidst false pleasures,
And dying you are born and living you die.
Tire, oh mortal,
In acquiring treasure and riches
For in the end, time must inherit thee
And all gold and silver be left behind.
Live for yourself if you can,
For if you die,
You only die to yourself alone.
Sólo la muerte . . .
Tú, pues, oh caminante que me escuchas,
si pretendes salir con la victoria
del monstruo con quien luchas,
harás que se adelante tu memoria
a recibir la muerte,
que oscura y muda viene a deshacerte.
No hagas de otro caso,
pues se huye la vida paso a paso;
y en mentidos placeres
muriendo naces, y viviendo mueres.
Cánsate ya, oh mortal, de fatigarte
en adquirir riquezas y tesoro,
que últimamente el tiempo ha de heredarte,
y al fin te dejarán la plata y oro:
vive para ti solo, si pudieres,
pues sólo para ti, si mueres, mueres.
45 See 33
46 Tribunal de la Justa Venganza contra los escritos de D. Francisco de Quevedo, maestro en errores, doctor en vergüenzas, licenciado en bufonerías, bachiller en suciedades, cátedra de vicios y Proto-diablo entre los hombres (1635) The Tribunal of Righteous Revenge against the writings of D. Francisco de Quevedo, master in errors, doctor in shamefulness, laureate in buffooneries, bachelor in dirtyness, chair of vices and foremost devil among men.
47 La Torre de San Juan de Abad. In Quevedo applied for the lordship over this small Manchegan town complete with imposing tower. He would spend his exiles there removed from the frantic life at court.
48 El Juego del Hombre “Man’s Game”- A popular card game of the time. Also known as Tresillo.
49 Felipe IV- El rey poeta- “The poet king”. Although more strong willed than his father Philip III, he enjoyed the finer things in life over the concerns of government like poetry, painting, plays, and many, many mistresses. As such the Count-Duke Olivares had free reign on government policies.
50 San Marcos, a residence of the Order of St. James where Quevedo was to stay under house arrest.
51 <
52 After years of leading wars in Italy and Northern Europe the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V retired to a monastery at Yuste in Extremadura where he spent his last days as a monk.
53 A city near San Juan de Abad.
54 Luis Pacheco de Narvaéz, fencing master of Philip IV, with whom Quevedo maintained a bitter antagonism. It is said that Quevedo challenged him to show off his fencing skills one in the President of Castile’s mansion. Quevedo humiliated Narvaéz by removing his hat with a quick motion of his blade. Pacheco is also said to have headed up the Tribunal of Righteous Revenge and made his own efforts to have Quevedo’s work reviewed by the Inquisition. He was a proponent of a technique called “The Mysterious Circle” which used complicated math and geometry in order to avoid an adversary’s blade. Quevedo made fun of this method in his satirical writings.
El Elixir
Enséñame Mi Dios, Mi Rey
a verte en toda cosa
Y lo que haga
Obrarlo por Ti
No de forma grosera
Cual bestia
Que la acción embiste
Mas hacerte poseedor
Y dotarle de perfección
El hombre que en telescopio mira
Puede mantenerle en la mirada
O si le place traspasarlo
Para contemplar los cielos
Todos de Ti compartir pueden
No hay cosa tan ruda
Que con tal tinta
No brille y se vea más limpia
Por esta cláusula
El criado hace divinidades de groserías
Quien barrare el suelo
Según Tus leyes
Rinde buena la labor.
Pues, esta es la piedra famosa
Que transforma todo en oro
Pues de lo que a Dios le toca y pertenece
No se podrá decir menos.
TEach me, my God and King, In all things thee to see,And what I do in any thing, To do it as for thee: Not rudely, as a beast, To runne into an action;But still to make thee prepossest, And give it his perfection. A man that looks on glasse, On it may stay his eye;Or if he pleaseth, through it passe, And then the heav’n espie. All may of thee partake: Nothing can be so mean,Which with his tincture (for thy sake) Will not grow bright and clean. A servant with this clause Makes drudgerie divine:Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws, Makes that and th’ action fine. This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold:For that which God doth touch and own Cannot for lesse be told. |
Unamuno to Clarín
Socrates' Rooster gave me a lot to think about. It's my favorite thing of yours I've read. And it seemed to produce in me, upon reading it, the state of mind you would have written it in since I've gone through similar moods. How many times have I thought about second-hand sages and the will of imbeciles!
The story Socrates' Rooster seemed interesting to me, above all, as a product of its time. More specifically, the late 19th century conflict of Faith and Reason that lies behind this story from Ancient Greece, reflects contemporary concerns under the guise of the New Atheists. Unamuno and his El sentido tragico de la vida- The Tragic Sense of Life- are particularly instructive in this regard. This work clearly demonstrates, despite the author's explicit intention, the shallowness of positivistic scientific reason in the late 19th century. This same standard is now elevated as the apex of reason in much pop atheistic exploits of late. A different tack is the classical and Christian concept of reason, which is much more broad and inclusive and not an enemy of life.
Secondly, the concept of charisma is an important element in the story with an influential history. It reminds one of Weber's theory about the founding of world religions. Supposedly all the great world religions were founded by charismatic leaders. It was there charisma, not their message, which made followers. Then the original momentum and truth behind the movement is thought to have been corrupted by later accretions or obscured by mediocre followers as is the case of Crito in the story. Thus small men take the big truths of the founder captive and adapt them to their own limited understanding.
While the truth of the theory of charisma is debatable it reflects what we ourselves look for in our own leaders in contemporary society. Just look at the whole primary fiasco. It's as if we're choosing class president, not the leader of our country. I doubt it was Socrates' personality as such, or Jesus' coolness that gained them their subsequent influence in history.
Their is a fine-line between truth and BS, but people still know the difference. The difference lies in the will to be deceived and to hear what we want to hear.
Es amarga la verdad, quiero echarla de la boca
The truth is bitter, I want to spit it out of my mouth.
