Thursday, August 10th, 2006
Jeff Goldstein: Power Ranger
In an August 7 post, Jeff Goldstein lamely attempts a humorous vignette:
So I’m walking past the food court at an upscale mall in Cherry Creek this afternoon when I spot a a teenage boy—dark hair, olive skin—wearing Hizbollah colors and chatting up a pair of high school girls. Which, of course, left me little choice but to tackle him from behind—lowering my shoulder into the small of his skinny manboy back and driving him headlong into the counterfront of the Great Steak and Potato Company. Then, once I had him stunned and curled into a quivering fetal ball, I began administering a series of kidney punches that I was sure the little wannabe jihadist wouldn’t soon forget.
Because here’s the thing: in my world, it’s fine if you want to agitate for terrorist thugs at pre-planned rallies, even if doing so marks you as a moral cipher. But when you begin parading your aggressive moral equivalence in front of Panda freakin’ Express, well—then you’ve crossed a line, brother.
Sorry. But that’s just how Jeff rolls.
That being said, it turns out the kid I tackled wasn’t so much a supporter of Hizballah as he was a fan of the 1970 Oakland Athletics, whose road jerseys had the same color scheme as the Hizballah flag—an unfortunate coincidence that, in retrospect, explains both the “Hunter” and the “27” embroidered on the back of his shirt, things I initially took to be a combination of youthful braggadocio and a ghoulish body count tally.
—Which just goes to show that even a committed intentionalist can be fooled by situational semiotics, particularly when he brings with him to the interpretative moment a host of extraneous personal and cultural baggage that serves no other purpose but to pollute the specific authorial context—a lesson that would have proven useful had I reminded myself of these truisms before I landed that last series of flying atomic elbow drops to the poor kid’s thighs.
On his THIGHS?! Jesus Saint Mary Mother of Joseph! Assuming this account is true (and, knowing Goldstein, that’s a pretty generous assumption), wha’d he do next, slap the guy’s face with his monster schlong? Touch his sister in her secret places - lots?
Luckily, what did prove useful, given the circumstances, were my New Balance cross trainers and a parking spot close to the mall exit—both of which allowed me to lose the two paunchy security guards who chased me down the escalator and huffed after me into the parking garage.
At least, I think I lost them. To be honest, it’s difficult to know for certain with all the shades drawn and a stoned armadillo crunching sour cream and onion Pringles on your couch.
Developing…
Yeah…so glad…because we all know that the rent-a-cops will bust him for the crime of being conservative - oh wait, that’s only supposed to happen to libruls - I forgot. 
But if he’s this "brave" in "standing up to homegrown Mexislahomolibrulfascism," why is he utterly petrified of a third-rate academic who uses Ann Coulter’s level of rhetoric? I’m sure his +5 Vorpal Cock could keep her at bay…
