snjoseph's Journal: The Year What Wuz

Ah, 2004. Here's a year I wouldn't mind saying goodbye to, if I had any confidence in the alternative. Dubya is the Time Man of the Year and Karl Rove--a Colorado native who neither lives nor works in Texas--is the Dallas Morning News Texan of the Year. That pretty much tells you where things are at in the fourth year of the third millenium anno domini, doesn't it? If a butterfly had flapped its wings in Brazil maybe Big Ketchup would be the Man and James Carville the Texan (he's from Louisiana!). Instead we've got the Bushies and a pan-Asian weather catastrophe. That butterfly's got a lot to answer for.

Actually, the election would have been a wash either way. Kerry is, in his own way, as much a product of the sickness and delusion of America as Bush. It was absurd to expect him to do anything about it, like declaring cold sores our best defense in the war against herpes. The rot in our society runs deep.

Culture, as usual, is the weathervane. The rule of cranks and hacks goes practically unchallenged. The singers can't sing; the writers can't write; the actors can't act--if they're even actors. The most uniformly competent entertainers in our society are professional athletes, and they're constantly harangued for being talentless prima-donnas, more victims in America's relentless War on Actually Knowing How To Do Shit.

Looking back on 2004, I am convinced both that things could hardly be worse and that things will get worse before they get better. Don't ask me how that works out.

Happy New Year!