An essay by my friend, Alan Skontra

The America That Michelle Obama Isn't Proud Of
-Alan Skontra

While stumping for her husband's surging campaign last week, Michelle Obama admitted that she had never been proud of being an American until now.

Conservatives immediately attacked the comment as part of a pattern of blame-America liberalism. They ask, what has Michelle Obama got against America? Has it not allowed her to attend Harvard, become a lawyer and raise a family? They cite the litany of American benevolence, from the Marshall Plan to the charitable giving of Americans after the Asian tsunami. They charge that if she really is proud of her country, it is only because her husband might actually get to lead it. What they neglect to consider however, is why someone like Michelle Obama might have lacked the degree of pride that they espouse.

The specter of racism might have something to do with it. When polled, the majority of whites consider civil rights legislation and affirmative action and believe that racism isn't so prevalent anymore, while the majority of blacks recall getting stopped by the police or not being able to hail a cab and say that they still feel it.

Both groups can be correct. Racism might best be described as a cancer in remission but with a chronic entrenchment within the body politic. This strand feeds into a greater debate that has always existed within America, about whether it would remain benefiting only a privileged few or expand opportunity equally.

After 9/11 and the launching of the Iraq war, we've seen this debate recast along with-us or against-us nationalist lines. Because there's also a pattern to the way that many on the right have sought to manufacture controversy about patriotism. If they're ready to pounce now on the Obamas, it's because they've already had their knives sharpened in anticipation.

A smear campaign already contaminates the web claiming that Obama is actually a Muslim with fifth-column intentions to hand the country over to Osama Bin Laden. Mitt Romney's gaffe of mixing their names while talking to reporters might have been an accident, but others who believe and spread such a rumor see little distinction between the two men.

A publicized photo of Obama shows him not holding his hand to his heart during the Pledge of Allegiance, and he has been criticized for declining to wear an American flag lapel. Now with his wife's remark added, expect a blitz questioning the Obama family's patriotism and their credibility to inhabit the White House. If the right-wing political script has labeled white veterans like John Kerry and Max Cleland as unpatriotic, expect it to cast as treacherous the liberal son of an African father who, because of his viable chance of becoming President with a new coalition of voters, poses a threat to some tribal sense of nationalism.

Perhaps Michelle Obama hesitates to feel national pride because too many people still believe her husband is a covert terrorist, and that because of his race and political beliefs, such insinuations are predictable and inevitable. You could see these insults coming, and if he wins the Democratic nomination, we all know they will get worse.

Just look at the last few years. Two years ago Virginia Senator George Allen ridiculed a staffer for his opponent who was sent to videotape his speeches. At a campaign stop Allen paused to mention the presence of the young Indian-American man in a white crowd. Rather than ask the young man for his name, he labeled him "Macaca, or whatever his name is," later claiming ignorance that Macaca is a racial slur. Even giving Allen the benefit of doubt, the episode still seems to have been calculated to remind the crowd of someone there who was very unlike the rest.

Before the 2000 GOP primary in South Carolina, an unidentified group noted John McCain's adopted daughter from Bangladesh and called voters asking if they could still support McCain if they knew he fathered a black, out-of-wedlock child. The group wagered that the false charges would work, just like eight years later when Mike Huckabee tried to rally support by urging South Carolinians to continue waving the Confederate flag.

No, not everyone on the right is a racist or doubts that liberals can love their country too. But let's not dismiss the fact that Barack Obama will continue to be undermined by some vocal forces for his race, and disparaged as anti-American for his politics. These scripts were in place well before Michelle Obama opened her mouth.

At least the polls suggest that a critical mass of Americans aren't going to buy into either smear this time. Too many citizens look to Obama's campaign as post-racial and beyond a narrow definition of patriotism, and this coalition might actually give him a November victory. That would be a feat for more Americans to be proud of.

Representing Satan tonight at Chief Ike's...

-The Crucial Element show on Sunday night at DC9 was awesome. Hopefully video will be available soon. Jimes opened the show and was great. Larry Poon headlined and was great as well. Next time we do a show together, I recommend that you attend.

-I just received the following email:
"Hello my name is Silas, I live in the Brazil and I want to congratulate for your birthday I am your fa and I attend your videos, many kisses"

It came from what looked like a legit address, and didn't go to my spam folder. I chalked it up to being the nicest spam email ever sent. Then I was tipped off that it was probably intended for Ryan Conner, Porn-Star Extraordinaire. That makes perfect sense. I replied, "Thank you for your congratulates. And thank you for attending my videos. It's good to know that I have fans (fa) in Brazil.
XOXO,
Ryan"

What makes this extra special is that it came almost two years, to the day, after my first email exchange with someone who thought I'm the porn-star. You can read that entire creepy exchange, and see the pictures here.

And while we're on the subject, how is everyone in porn considered a "star"? It seems that with a field that large, at least a handful of actors would have the humility to admit they're just character-actors, or character-fuckers, depending on how you look at it. Or maybe that's the industry's way of boosting self-esteem. Clearly, the women have no self-esteem, and the men are assholes with inflated senses of self-worth. I guess the industry is telling every woman, "No, you're a star. You're all stars! High-five for yourselves. And you'll feel like a star when your scene partner's self-esteem explodes onto your face."

-Apparently Chuck Knoblauch has been using steroid. WTF, people? WTF? If you don't know who he is, he's a baseball player whose skill level doesn't even merit me looking up the proper spelling of his name. The question is, how bad would he have been without the steroids? He was already the Dick Trickle of baseball. (Dick Trickle was a NASCAR driver who always finished last. On Sportscenter, they would list the top five finishers, then say, "And in 42nd place, Dick Trickle.") Chuck Knoblauch using steroids is like if there was an illegal funny serum, and people found out that Gallagher was using. Not even Gallagher. Gallagher II, his brother who now does his act.

-This video is pretty funny. It's a news report from a local Fox affiliate in Massachusets. The story is about a program that takes mental patients on field trips. Some of these patients are convicted sex-offenders who are being re-integrated into society. The state has deemed them to be safe in public. This video chronicles what is apparent community outrage. The funny part is that Fox covered it in the same way they do their "Terrorists Want To Eat Your Babies" stories. And a woman named Lori Myers came up with the worst analogies I can think of. One was (paraphrasing), "Taking one of these people to a circus, is like taking a drug addict to a pharmacy." Really? Is that in any way similar? Because you can blow a guy for meth at a pharmacy? Or his her imaginary scenario guy addicted to vitamins. You need a prescription to prescription medication at a pharmacy, Lori.

-Now to the meat of this blog entry. Monday night, I did a show at Chief Ike's in DC. Justin Schlegel went up close to the beginning of the show, doing a character named Homeless Chuck. He was dressed as a homeless man, holding a sign which read, "Will suck cock for money. God Bless You." And he did topical jokes that all ended with him saying something along the lines of "... but I don't really care, because I don't have a home." It was really funny, and intentionally, or unintentionally a social statement. As he left the stage, he grumbled into the mic, "If you want a handjob, use olive oil." I laughed because I thought it was funny, as did most. But a handful of people laughed really hard. I didn't ask why they thought it was extra funny.
Two comics before me was Seaton Smith. Toward the end of his set, he said, "I keep getting distracted by the old woman in the back who was talking about jerking off with olive oil." When I turned around to see who he was talking about, she and I locked eyes, and her 70-year-old, red-trench-coat-wearing, capsule of craziness smiled at me. This freaked me out. I had to walk outside.
Outside, I talked to Jay Hastings, Will Hessler, Justin, and Red, a manager of the DC Improv about it. Apparently this woman had a message about olive oil that she had been sharing with people all night. Everyone was equally creeped out, and I think intrigued. Everyone was saying things along the lines of, "What a nasty thing to hear from an old lady, " but I think everyone was also thinking, "What's so special about olive oil?"
I went back inside a couple minutes before it was time to go onstage, and sat next to the stage, where I was talking to Seaton. As the host, Nick Turner, went on stage to introduce me, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the old lady, wearing the red trench coat. If we were to do a literary critique, we would identify her character with Satan. When I turned and she started speaking to me, it was as if time continued to pass, but not for me. Like I was paused, while the rest of the world was fast-forwarding.
She said, "The next time you're having sex with your partner..." -which is already bad. I don't want a 70-year-old anything, referring to me having sex. So... already disturbed. Back to the quote. "The next time you're having sex with your partner..." - and if you get grossed out, stop reading - "... just before you climax..." - once again, a 70-year-old woman in a red trench coat is saying this, not a porn-character-fucker - "...when you're rock-hard..." - yuck- "...pull out and have your partner pour olive oil all over her hands..."- what? - "... and jerk you off..." - since when do 70-year-olds say jerk you off?- "... It's the best." How does she know that? Huh? How would she know that it's the best?
As she was telling me that, the crowd was looking at me, waiting for me to go on stage. I shuffled to the stage. I guess you could say I was taken aback, times about one-thousand. I slowly pushed Nick, the host, off of the stage. Then, in a horrified manner, I started to recount the advice for the crowd. And just as I started to tell the crowd, the woman turned to Seaton and said, "Good, he's telling everyone," as if it was a PSA. She thought I was sharing the gospel of olive oil handjobs, for the betterment of society. She thought that my look of horror was a look of interest, or enlightenment. Picture someone who looks horrified. Now picture someone who looks like they just had an epiphany. Very different looks, right? Not to her.
Justin Schlegel is great at, I don't know, being funny. He called the olive oil thing, "The Tuscan Jerkdown," and "The Italian Handshake." Funny stuff.
After the episode with me, the woman invited Jay and Red back to her place to listen to "40s and 50s rock 'n' roll records," with the assurance that she "knows how to party." Of course they turned her down, but I was picturing them going. She puts on "The Monster Mash," grabs some olive oil (extra-virgin olive oil for extra irony), drops the trench-coat and has the biggest triceps this world has ever seen.

Steve Nash's Birthday

-As stated in the previous blog, I did a show, killed, and was almost killed in Alaska. I forgot to mention two other facts about Alaska.
1. A citizen of Alaska broke the record for quickest post-show Myspace/Facebook friend request. The record had been broken just two days earlier in Indiana when I got a request 15 minutes after my set. That record was shattered in Alaska. I got offstage at 11:42PM local time. I have Myspace and Facebook on my Blackberry because I'm a loser (or gay, according to Rory Scovel). At 11:51PM, it buzzed, and the record was shattered. Nine minutes. That's unheard of. That's the 4-minute mile/100 points in a game/6 TDs in the Superbowl/63 points in a playoff game/hat trick in the World Cup Final of social networking feats. Way to be excellent at things, Alaska.

Sarah Palin
2. Order of business number two is that Alaska's governor, Sarah Palin, is very hot. Some would say MILFy. I would be a member of the aforementioned "some" faction. She really looks like a stripper. In fact, she looks more like a stripper than any stripper I've ever seen. She looks like she'd play a secretary stripper who comes to your house.

Knock-knock.
"Does anyone need their paperwork to be filed?"
"I don't understand the metaphor, but let's get a look at those tittes."
Note: I don't say "titties," but I'm pretty sure it was the best way to end that sentence. "...let's get you out of those clothes," doesn't have the same pizazz.

-I don't like eavesdropping, for the same reason I don't do crowd work. It bores the hell out of me. "Oh, you're a teacher and this is your wife? How interesting. How long have you been married?" But I was at a diner where I overheard a woman say, "That's how much he loves ketchup. " That has to be one of the funniest things I've ever heard. I didn't hear any other parts of the conversation, but I imagine it was dreadful. Why would she be explaining to anyone, someone's affinity for ketchup? Even her own? If someone told me, "That's how much I love ketchup," I would look at them for a couple seconds, then say, "Listen to yourself. What are you doing? Is your life really so shitty that ketchup is a highlight? Not just a highlight, but one that you feel that you should share with others? Kill yourself." That's pretty bad, right? This woman was even worse, because she was talking about someone else's relationship with ketchup. Talk about trivial. I'm going to start telling people about how much my brother Brent loves butter. I mean, he puts it on his toast, his rolls, his corn. It's incredible. I still don't understand the ketchup conversation.
"Marty loves his condiments."
"Not as much as my Greg."
"Oh yeah, he puts it on his green beans."
"Greg has it on his Corn Flakes."
"Marty doesn't like KY. Strictly a ketchup man. That's how much he loves ketchup."

-I went to a Knicks game last night with Danny Rouhier and Erin Conroy, thanks to Danny. I never understood the fuss about Madison Square Garden before going there last night. I figured it was standard New York City propaganda. New Yorkers claim that everything in NYC is the best in the world. "You want to get a new suitcase? Come to New York. Best suitcases in the world." This arena really is. Incredible. Go see a game there if you can.

Danny and I were having to explain basketball to Erin. She didn't know what or where the free-throw line is. During the game, we had the basketball equivalent of Haley's Comet to explain to her. Four American white guys were on the floor at the same time for the Pacers. That's the first time that has happened since the 88 Celtics.

-Yesterday, I played basketball at my gym for the first time since June. I had forgotten why I stopped playing there. It's to prevent myself from using the word 'bama. That isn't a Ryan Conner word (As writing in the third-person isn't a Ryan Conner act). But as I was playing the bums at my gym (who suck so bad, it's frustrating), the only thing I could think was, "Straight 'bamas." And I don't want to be someone who talks like they're in 1995.

- More basketball talk. If you aren't into sports, you may want to navigate away from this page... now.
In the course of about 10 seconds, Danny talked me down from saying that Mike Dunleavy was a really good college player, to "he's a really good one-on-one player... for a white guy."

In one of the most lopsided trades in recent memory, Shaq was traded to Phoenix for Shawn Marion and Marcus Banks. If you aren't a basketball fan, Phoenix is the team who got the short end of the stick.

Over the past 20 years, the worst trades have been:
1. Olden Polynice for Scottie Pippen on draft night.
2. Vlade Divac for Kobe Bryant on draft night.
3. Charles Barkley for Andrew Lang, Tim Perry and Jeff Hornacek.
4. Robert Traylor for Dirk Nowitzki on draft night.
5. Pau Gasol for Kwame Brown and prospects.
6. Although it wasn't a direct trade, 32-year-old Ben Wallace for 24-year-old Tyson Chandler.
7. Mitch Richmond for Billy Owens.
8. Ron Harper (in his prime) for Danny Ferry.

The Shaq-Marion trade should land somewhere between 4 and 6. It makes no sense. You could argue that Marion is the best all-around small forward since Scottie Pippen's prime, and maybe a top 10 SF of all-time. And he still has about 3 prime years left. Of course Shaq, is a top-5 center of all-time, but he's almost old enough for grandkids now. People could argue that he's a legend and he can turn it on like Jordan did when he was older. But he's not aging like Jordan. Shaq is 35, and scoring and rebounding at just above 50% of his career averages, if you don't count this and last year. When Jordan was 35, his stats were all at his career averages, and he was MVP of the regular season, all-star game and Finals. So, there are different kinds of aging stars.

I know what Phoenix was thinking, but don't know why they were thinking it. Steve Kerr, their new GM, is the funniest athlete in the world, the best 3-point shooter of all-time, and has five championships. All of these things make me like him a lot. But this deal makes him seem senile. He's thinking Marion is bad for chemistry, and this year is probably their last shot for a title. So he needs to pull the trigger. Sure, but why for Shaq?

They want to increase the size of their front line to compete with LA, San Antonio and Dallas in the playoffs. The trade will accomplish that, however it will cause them to change their entire playing style. Shaq does not play transition basketball, and hasn't for about 10 years. If they tame their offense for Shaq, they're compromising their entire system. Although this will give them the size that they need on paper to compete in the playoffs, in practice it will not work. Shaq will spend most of the year on the bench with injuries or foul trouble.

Phoenix is right about this possibly being their last chance. But I say dance with the one who brought you. Steve Nash turns 34 today, and somehow is having the best or second best season of his career. It makes no sense. And for that reason, it seems that he'll have to start dropping off next year, or the following year. He has to. Let's be honest. Nash has had the most longevity of any elite white guard since Cousy. Pistol Pete was almost dead by that age. Stockton doesn't count. I'm convinced he was a robot.

Their Achilles' Heel in the past has been their defense. But their defense has been good this year. This trade will disrupt their offense and defense. In the end, Phoenix is going to exit the playoffs early, again.

With Nash aging, look for Stoudemire to become discontented in a couple years, and ask for a trade. To add insult to injury, they will not be able to lure free agents for a few years because of the cap space that Shaq's contract eats up. Phoenix will be in the lottery in three years.

Over the past two years, it has appeared that Shaq's mind hasn't been willing to accept what his body has been telling him. I guess the Suns' organization isn't willing to accept the facts of Shaq's deterioration either.

-Danny and I predicted the Boston Celtics season just as it has played out. Strong out of the gate with an incredibly weak schedule. Then the minutes would wear on the players once they're playing quality teams. In the end, they'll win about 60 games, and get handled by Detroit in 5 or 6 games in the playoffs.
Over the first two months of the season, people were comparing them to the 95-96 Bulls, who went 72-10, and could have easily went 74-8, but got complacent in a couple late-season games. The Celtics are 11-6 since January 1.

New Crucial Element Video from 2001

Hilariously sad video - A series of tubes...

This is an old video of Senator Ted Stevens, of Alaska arguing against the Net Neutrality Bill. His argument is that bandwidth should be restricted. However, he doesn't know what he's talking about. Near the end, it becomes painfully clear that the FedEx lobby pushed him on this. Listen to the whole thing. The end is magical.

I'm alive, but barely.

I'm sitting in my hotel in Fairbanks, Alaska as I write this. Before getting into the events of the past couple days, I would like to set the record straight on Alaska. I've always been told that it's always dark during the winter in Alaska - makes sense because the Northern Hemisphere is tilted away from the sun during the winter months. However, Alaska isn't close enough to the pole for it to be dark all the time. The daylight is only slightly shorter than it is in DC and NYC, maybe 2-3 hours less. We have been bamboozled/hoodwinked. My thought is, why? Why would people say it's always dark here when that isn't true? What is there to gain? I don't get it, unless the lie has been spread by isolationist Alaskans who want to keep others out of the state. I'm joking about the isolationist Alaskans, but I can't think of a logical answer.

Another small matter: CNN has a new correspondent named Reynolds Wolf. That is terrible. Not only is the name awful, but it seems that CNN is trying to monopolize the "Journalists with Wolf in their Name Market." And they're succeeding. On a personal note, I laugh a little every time someone says Wolf Blitzer. Even if I don't hear them say it, I still laugh. How do I know people are saying it? I just do.

-On Wednesday, I did a show at Ball State, in Muncie, Indiana. The school is David Letterman's alma mater. And that excites me. I don't have much to say about Ball State, other than the show was awesome and the students were very cool. The only other things of note are:
I had dinner at a Thai restaurant that had exactly zero Asian employees. That was a first.
There is a burrito place in town by the name of La Bamba. On the window, they have a huge block letter sign, think Blockbuster, that reads, "BURRITOS AS BIG AS YOUR HEAD." That's awesome. I prefer quality over quantity, usually. But when the quantity is head-size, that trumps everything. How big are your burritos? Depends on the size of your head. Awesome.
In traffic, I sat behind a truck with a scrolling LED message on its license plate. The message was "Diggity! Diggity! Diggity! Let's Go Racin'!" Make your own jokes.

-Yesterday, I flew out of Indianapolis to Fairbanks, with two connecting flights, in Minneapolis and Anchorage. The flight from Indianapolis to Minneapolis was uneventful. But the one from Minneapolis to Anchorage was crazy.
The flight was packed. Not an empty seat anywhere. As I looked around, I noticed that most of the passengers were males, who wore camouflage that featured nature scenes within the camouflage. Example: Dogs catching fish and hunting varmints.
I was in a window seat in the last row. For a while, a pilot sat in the aisle seat, while the middle seat was unoccupied. Then, just before the door closed, the seat was taken by a hippie who smelled like a cross between b-o, trees and cleaning products, which should be a new Bath and Body Works shower gel. I tried to ignore him and just read my book. However, my book was about economics, which interests hippies who want to comment, but know nothing about the actual issues. So, he sparked a conversation. I use the word conversation loosely, as it was situation in which he was talking, while I nodded my head and occasionally muttered, "Okay, yeah." He told me all about his book, Human Sigma. It was not interesting at all.
A few minutes later, he started talking to the pilot on his left, as I read. Then I sensed an opportunity to sleep and avoid more conversation with him. The nap lasted about 4.5 hours, with a few interruptions. One time, I awoke and glanced over to see the pilot drawing a diagram explaining Bernoulli's Principle, the principle behind flight, to the hippie. I think the pilot was annoyed that he was having to do that.
When I woke up, I looked out the window, and we were flying over the Rockies. It was beautiful. Glaciers everywhere, all cracked, and showing signs of retreat. But great to look at regardless. Let's hope they don't all disappear. Eventually, we were able to see Mt. McKinley off in the distance - maybe 200 miles away. It is huge.
Just before landing, the hippie turned to the pilot and asked, "What's the cheapest place to get a plane these days?" He asked as if it might be in the cards. Like he might pick up a new plane over the weekend. The pilot looked confused and replied, "I guess from Boeing."
The flight from Anchorage to Fairbanks was short and amazing. We were relatively close to Mt. McKinley for about twenty minutes of the flight. It was great to be able to stare out the window at it.
This is going somewhere. Stay with me.
It's about -10 degrees here. I was told that we're in the middle of a heatwave, as it was 30 degrees colder last week.
After checking into my hotel, I watched the Democratic debate, then went to get food. The hotel restaurant is really expensive, and out of the question. The concierge directed me to walk to a BBQ place a few blocks away. I walked in the cold, without a hat, gloves or a heavy coat - only a light jacket, which I'll go ahead and say is the ballsiest thing I've ever done, which could be a good or bad thing.
On the way back, something big happened. I was crossing a street, as a car was turning left through the intersection I was walking through. The streets were covered in snow and ice. The car was waiting for me to cross enough to allow just enough room for a car to squeeze through - something done all the time in cities when the streets are dry. But just as the car approached, I thought it was going to hit me. I took a quick step to get out of the way, and stepped on a patch of ice. I slipped and fell backwards, my body smashing against the road. I could feel the car pass. My head less than a foot from the cars tires as it passed. As I was falling, my immediate thought was, "I'm going to die because I walked to get BBQ in Fairbanks. Bullshit." If the car had hit me, my head would have gone under the tires, and it would have been over (Which may be better than serious injury, because I don't have health insurance). But I was spared. And somehow I didn't even spill my drink. And now, I feel closer to Jesus. Just kidding.
In the process, my left hip, right knee and neck were injured, and are aching as I write this. But what's worse than that is I was robbed of the moment of clarity that follows experiences like this. Radiohead has a song called Airbag ("In an interstellar burst, I'm back to save the universe"), which is about that moment after barely avoiding a car crash, when you're overcome by the feeling that you've been given another chance at life, and that you should do something with that opportunity. It can be a powerful moment. But I got none of it.
A couple years ago, a group of guys tried to carjack me. I was on the phone with Rory Scovel at the time. The phone call distracted me from the fact that I was being carjacked. I did some James Bond driving and left the carjackers stuck in the parking garage they were attempting to block me into. I stayed on the phone, and never really felt the gravity of the situation.
Last night was similar. About three seconds after my head was almost smashed, my phone rang. It was Larry Poon. "Aw man. What's going on?" Almost got killed a couple seconds ago. "What?" Then we joked about how funny it was that I almost got killed while buying overpriced BBQ, that wasn't even very good. This conversation segued to the shows we've done in the past few days. I'm not even sure if my heart-rate was up for more than 30 seconds.
All I'm saying is that I was almost killed last night, in a pathetic way, and Larry Poon prevented me from having that moment of clarity which probably would have caused me to quit comedy, go to law school and become a civil rights attorney. So, kudos to Larry Poon for keeping people from improving the world.