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Saturday, April 30, 2005
Kakistocracy©
AP reports:
Citing mounting debt and projected budget shortfalls, the U.S. Civil Rights Commission announced Friday it will close two of its six regional offices, lay off four staff members and request free rent on its office space for one month.Now, I personally like the CRC, but there is a conservative, small-government case to be made against it. Having a vibrant, active conservative movement is one of the keys to preventing government waste. In this case, though, no case has been made for the elimination of the CRC. Instead, it is simply being starved to death. I don't often complain about sleazy political maneuvering because it's inevitable in a society with more than ten members. But every now and then, in a case like this, it's so blantant that I feel the need to at least point it out.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
C&C
Let's play a game of compare and contrast today. It's April 2005, a much as I can be trusted on that sort of thing, and there is only one thing on the minds of Howard Dean and Ken Mehlman, our erstwhile party chairmen and much diminished heirs to the power of the legendary bosses of Tammany Hall, and that is the 1/3rd of the U.S. Senate which comes up for re-election in 2006: the men who will, once again, feel the fickle attentions of the electorate upon their undead, incumbent flesh.
There are few open contests. Vermont Senator Jim Jeffords will not be seeking another term, as we all knew would happen when he decided in 2000 that he valued his integrity more than his party loyalty, and so doomed himself to honor and a quiet retirement. But aside from that, the political parties, those twin knights-in-armor who nobly protect the People from democracy unchecked, know that they must defeat a few sitting senators to achieve their dreams, the Democrat's being to regain a majority, the Republican's a filibuster-proof sixty senators, or as my friend Quilly Mammoth™ calls it from his Oklahoma lair, “60 in 06.”
And this is where we play our little game, comparing the senator most targeted by the Democrats, Rick Santorum of Pennsylvania, to the Republican's prey, Robert C. Byrd of West Virginia. Both these Senators come from the area too far west to be the Northeast, too far east to be the Midwest, and too far north to be the South: it is the heartland's no-mans-land, to coin a phrase. But aside from location, there Byrd and Santorum have practically nothing in common.
Santorum, Pennsylvania's junior senator, rides the wave of what one commentator calls the “Fourth Great Awakening,” a latter-day religious revival that is, we are told, sweeping the heartland, as Jesus Saves relentlessly, leaving atheists, sodomites, and liberals cowering in their urban bunkers, while the Lord prepares, as usual, to return triumphant, in George Bush's Jerusalem, or Mitt Romney's Illinois, if the Mormons have it right. (Harry Reid's home in Nevada makes him more of a “California Mormon,” as they are called in Salt Lake City, than a real Mormon.) Santorum is the number three man in the Senate GOP leadership, if Newsweek is to be believed, and top Republican in their 2005 “Who's Next” issue. He is a self-proclaimed leader for the much-debated “moral values” voters and potential 2008 GOP presidential candidate.
Odd that the Democrats should think a standard-bearer for such righteous rightists would be a possible loser in the next race? Not really. Santorum picked up some dedicated—you might say “rabid”—opposition with his comments a while back comparing homosexual marriage with “man-on-dog action.” (An absurd notion because, as many queer couples in Gavin Newsom's Sodom and Ted Kennedy's Gemorrah are no doubt now learning, marriage is usually the end of all action of any kind.) His moves may have been somewhat calculated: in 2004, when Bush needed surrogates to excite the sort of voter who is excited by man-on-dog action, so to speak, Santorum was the first to champion the Word of Dog—er, God. Now, with a second Bush administration secure and his own election on the horizon, Santorum is no longer the one railing against the “massive usurpation of power by the judiciary,” as he once described the 1964 Supreme Court case that delcared Americans have a right to privacy. But his wing-nut image may be hard to ditch. Our nation's leading sex-advice columnist is spear-heading a campaign to make Santorum's name synonymous with a certain substance who's nature is unfit for publication in a free press (which hasn't stopped me from saying it). The senator may simply be unable to get rid of his hard-line image. As he's now more than ten points behind a Democratic opponent who hasn't even won the primary yet, Santorum is no doubt under tremendous pressure to try. I'm not predicting that he'll go back to being the pot-smoking “casual Catholic” he was in the 70s, but there might be less emphasis on just how much he's changed.
Or he may actually believe what he's saying; and we all saw how well that worked out for Jim Jeffords, eh?
We all know that the “moral values” label can be a liability in an election, especially in a state with so many blue-collar voters as Pennsylvania, voters who don't give a shit who's marrying who in Boston as long as the factories in Pittsburgh don't lay anyone else off. What's important here is the Democrats are going right for one of the most young, energetic figures in the Republican party. The Republicans, by contrast (remember when I said this was a compare and contrast post?) are not going after the Democrat's young bucks. In fact, the GOP chairman, Ken Mehlman, is reaching out: he has lunch every week with freshman Senator and D.C. heartthrob Barak Obama.
Instead, the early target of the Republicans in 2006 looks to be West Virginia Senator Robert C. Byrd, the senate's longest-serving member and a democratic institution. I must admit to taking that attack a little bit personally; I know several people on Byrd's staff, some very well; in fact, I know at least one person who works for and/or is married to each West Virginia politician I mention in this post, except for Republican Shelley Moore Capito. In any case, I lived on Robert C. Byrd Drive when I lived in Charleston. Then again, it's difficult to live in West Virginia and not live on a road named after Robert C. Byrd. I sent a letter to the Charleston Gazette complaining that the GOP was targeting Byrd for political reasons, although being shocked that a political party would engage in politics is a bit of a “gambling in Rick's!” moment.
The conventional wisdom, as explained to me by a Democratic legislative aide*, is that sometimes the parties go after a “sacred cow,” simply to make headlines. And there may be some truth to that. But Mehlman would accomplish several things by orchestrating a defeat for Byrd. His likely candidate, Capito, is a fairly popular West Virginia congresswoman who would be difficult to defeat in a state where senators, historically, serve for many, many years: Byrd has been in the senate since 1958, West Virginia's junior senator, Jay Rockefeller, has served since 1984. This is doubly important when you consider that, in the event the 88-year-old Byrd dies or retires partly into a new six-year term, West Virginia's Democratic governor, Joe Manchin, would appoint a replacement, who would then have time to build a reputation before running for re-election. But most importantly of all, by defeating Byrd, Mehlman could demonstrate the Democratic Party is very vulnerable in rural and religious areas, no matter how solidly the party appears.
Everyone claims that the political climate has shifted drastically since Clinton left office and 9/11 rewired our national identity. To learn exactly how and where the tides of history are taking us, we should turn our eyes to the heartland's no-mans-land.
*In my case, “Democratic legislative aide” usually means “some guy I chatted with on the subway or on at a sandwich place near the hill, who claimed to work in the congressional offices, but was was probably lying for effect, the way I often do.”
There are few open contests. Vermont Senator Jim Jeffords will not be seeking another term, as we all knew would happen when he decided in 2000 that he valued his integrity more than his party loyalty, and so doomed himself to honor and a quiet retirement. But aside from that, the political parties, those twin knights-in-armor who nobly protect the People from democracy unchecked, know that they must defeat a few sitting senators to achieve their dreams, the Democrat's being to regain a majority, the Republican's a filibuster-proof sixty senators, or as my friend Quilly Mammoth™ calls it from his Oklahoma lair, “60 in 06.”
And this is where we play our little game, comparing the senator most targeted by the Democrats, Rick Santorum of Pennsylvania, to the Republican's prey, Robert C. Byrd of West Virginia. Both these Senators come from the area too far west to be the Northeast, too far east to be the Midwest, and too far north to be the South: it is the heartland's no-mans-land, to coin a phrase. But aside from location, there Byrd and Santorum have practically nothing in common.
Santorum, Pennsylvania's junior senator, rides the wave of what one commentator calls the “Fourth Great Awakening,” a latter-day religious revival that is, we are told, sweeping the heartland, as Jesus Saves relentlessly, leaving atheists, sodomites, and liberals cowering in their urban bunkers, while the Lord prepares, as usual, to return triumphant, in George Bush's Jerusalem, or Mitt Romney's Illinois, if the Mormons have it right. (Harry Reid's home in Nevada makes him more of a “California Mormon,” as they are called in Salt Lake City, than a real Mormon.) Santorum is the number three man in the Senate GOP leadership, if Newsweek is to be believed, and top Republican in their 2005 “Who's Next” issue. He is a self-proclaimed leader for the much-debated “moral values” voters and potential 2008 GOP presidential candidate.
Odd that the Democrats should think a standard-bearer for such righteous rightists would be a possible loser in the next race? Not really. Santorum picked up some dedicated—you might say “rabid”—opposition with his comments a while back comparing homosexual marriage with “man-on-dog action.” (An absurd notion because, as many queer couples in Gavin Newsom's Sodom and Ted Kennedy's Gemorrah are no doubt now learning, marriage is usually the end of all action of any kind.) His moves may have been somewhat calculated: in 2004, when Bush needed surrogates to excite the sort of voter who is excited by man-on-dog action, so to speak, Santorum was the first to champion the Word of Dog—er, God. Now, with a second Bush administration secure and his own election on the horizon, Santorum is no longer the one railing against the “massive usurpation of power by the judiciary,” as he once described the 1964 Supreme Court case that delcared Americans have a right to privacy. But his wing-nut image may be hard to ditch. Our nation's leading sex-advice columnist is spear-heading a campaign to make Santorum's name synonymous with a certain substance who's nature is unfit for publication in a free press (which hasn't stopped me from saying it). The senator may simply be unable to get rid of his hard-line image. As he's now more than ten points behind a Democratic opponent who hasn't even won the primary yet, Santorum is no doubt under tremendous pressure to try. I'm not predicting that he'll go back to being the pot-smoking “casual Catholic” he was in the 70s, but there might be less emphasis on just how much he's changed.
Or he may actually believe what he's saying; and we all saw how well that worked out for Jim Jeffords, eh?
We all know that the “moral values” label can be a liability in an election, especially in a state with so many blue-collar voters as Pennsylvania, voters who don't give a shit who's marrying who in Boston as long as the factories in Pittsburgh don't lay anyone else off. What's important here is the Democrats are going right for one of the most young, energetic figures in the Republican party. The Republicans, by contrast (remember when I said this was a compare and contrast post?) are not going after the Democrat's young bucks. In fact, the GOP chairman, Ken Mehlman, is reaching out: he has lunch every week with freshman Senator and D.C. heartthrob Barak Obama.
Instead, the early target of the Republicans in 2006 looks to be West Virginia Senator Robert C. Byrd, the senate's longest-serving member and a democratic institution. I must admit to taking that attack a little bit personally; I know several people on Byrd's staff, some very well; in fact, I know at least one person who works for and/or is married to each West Virginia politician I mention in this post, except for Republican Shelley Moore Capito. In any case, I lived on Robert C. Byrd Drive when I lived in Charleston. Then again, it's difficult to live in West Virginia and not live on a road named after Robert C. Byrd. I sent a letter to the Charleston Gazette complaining that the GOP was targeting Byrd for political reasons, although being shocked that a political party would engage in politics is a bit of a “gambling in Rick's!” moment.
The conventional wisdom, as explained to me by a Democratic legislative aide*, is that sometimes the parties go after a “sacred cow,” simply to make headlines. And there may be some truth to that. But Mehlman would accomplish several things by orchestrating a defeat for Byrd. His likely candidate, Capito, is a fairly popular West Virginia congresswoman who would be difficult to defeat in a state where senators, historically, serve for many, many years: Byrd has been in the senate since 1958, West Virginia's junior senator, Jay Rockefeller, has served since 1984. This is doubly important when you consider that, in the event the 88-year-old Byrd dies or retires partly into a new six-year term, West Virginia's Democratic governor, Joe Manchin, would appoint a replacement, who would then have time to build a reputation before running for re-election. But most importantly of all, by defeating Byrd, Mehlman could demonstrate the Democratic Party is very vulnerable in rural and religious areas, no matter how solidly the party appears.
Everyone claims that the political climate has shifted drastically since Clinton left office and 9/11 rewired our national identity. To learn exactly how and where the tides of history are taking us, we should turn our eyes to the heartland's no-mans-land.
*In my case, “Democratic legislative aide” usually means “some guy I chatted with on the subway or on at a sandwich place near the hill, who claimed to work in the congressional offices, but was was probably lying for effect, the way I often do.”
Sunday, April 24, 2005
The Reading Room
No one speaks in the vast, domed reading room in the Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress, but the chamber is not nearly silent. Books clunk a deep bass chord as the conveyor belt to the vast underground stacks disgorges the light of civilization in hardcover and paperback. There is a quiet, ever-present shuffling as people shift in their seats, scribble on notepads, and always—always—flip pages.
I have just finished Gore Vidal's 1960 play The Best Man. When you fill out the little slip that they will send down the conveyor, you have the feeling that you could request The Necronomicon and, after an appropriate wait, it would be delivered to you at the small, wooden desk that is, for a brief moment, yours.
There is a sign that reads “Absolutely NO Photography!” And we all know how I feel about signs that think they can tell me what to do, so
The week before last*, as I was walking into the Madison building, I overheard a guard telling a family of three how to get from the enterance to the Madison building to the Jefferson building via the underground tunnels that link every building on the hill, presumably for the convenience of those senators and congressmen who would burst into flame should the rays of the sun touch their undead, incumbent flesh. I volunteered to guide the three lost tourists underground, because the Midwestern couple had an air of honesty, and more important, an attractive son about my age, perhaps a year or two younger.
They were indeed the nicest of folks, who had been on the hill to visit the office of their congressional representative, House Speaker Dennis Hastert, a man they admired and of course knew nothing about. As we walked, the parents listened, fascinated, to my few morsels of historical trivia. The father told me about their trip and historical curiosity. The mother talked of how much they loved Washington and enjoyed the monuments and museums. The son met my eyes, smiled, looked away, looked back, and spoke softly—and briefly, because the father would cut him off and distract my attention, perhaps unconsciously interposing himself between us in an effort to protect his eighteen-year-old son, who he saw as young, from experiences he feared his son wanted.
Or maybe the father just liked talking to me.
Either way, I saw them on their way, read a play, and took those pictures. It was a good afternoon.
I have just finished Gore Vidal's 1960 play The Best Man. When you fill out the little slip that they will send down the conveyor, you have the feeling that you could request The Necronomicon and, after an appropriate wait, it would be delivered to you at the small, wooden desk that is, for a brief moment, yours.
There is a sign that reads “Absolutely NO Photography!” And we all know how I feel about signs that think they can tell me what to do, so
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The week before last*, as I was walking into the Madison building, I overheard a guard telling a family of three how to get from the enterance to the Madison building to the Jefferson building via the underground tunnels that link every building on the hill, presumably for the convenience of those senators and congressmen who would burst into flame should the rays of the sun touch their undead, incumbent flesh. I volunteered to guide the three lost tourists underground, because the Midwestern couple had an air of honesty, and more important, an attractive son about my age, perhaps a year or two younger.
They were indeed the nicest of folks, who had been on the hill to visit the office of their congressional representative, House Speaker Dennis Hastert, a man they admired and of course knew nothing about. As we walked, the parents listened, fascinated, to my few morsels of historical trivia. The father told me about their trip and historical curiosity. The mother talked of how much they loved Washington and enjoyed the monuments and museums. The son met my eyes, smiled, looked away, looked back, and spoke softly—and briefly, because the father would cut him off and distract my attention, perhaps unconsciously interposing himself between us in an effort to protect his eighteen-year-old son, who he saw as young, from experiences he feared his son wanted.
Or maybe the father just liked talking to me.
Either way, I saw them on their way, read a play, and took those pictures. It was a good afternoon.
Trust No One
Jeffrey Birnbaum has an excellent piece in today's Washington Post, disecting the increasingly dominant role that interest groups play in setting the agenda in the capitol.
Birnbaum has several examples to prove his point. He takes us through the decade and a half of work by the National Federation of Independent Business that helped bring about the end of the estate tax. (It was NFIB that fist used the words “death tax.”) He identifies the pro-life coalition that rocketed the Shciavo case to the front pages, and contrasts is to the Sudan, which involves fewer lobbyists and more people actually starving.
A must read. Check it out.
Like it or not, we increasingly live in a stage-managed democracy where highly orchestrated intersts filter our priorities. This groups don't have absolute power, of course. In the nation's capitol, home to 30,000 registered lobbyists, hundreds of politicians, thousands of journalists, and untold numbers of entrenched buerocrats, no one's in charge.I love that. “No one's in charge” pretty much sums up post-Camelot Washington for me.
Birnbaum has several examples to prove his point. He takes us through the decade and a half of work by the National Federation of Independent Business that helped bring about the end of the estate tax. (It was NFIB that fist used the words “death tax.”) He identifies the pro-life coalition that rocketed the Shciavo case to the front pages, and contrasts is to the Sudan, which involves fewer lobbyists and more people actually starving.
A must read. Check it out.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Technology Advances!
Flickr is one of those new networking sites like MySpace or a few others; it's designed to allow people to put up a profile of themselves and meet new friends. Or, apparently, campaign: this comes from one profile:
Hometown: Indianapolis
Occupation: US Senator
Hat tip: Christiana
W&I©
“The job of a politician, often enough, is simply to tell us things we already know.”
—Gore Vidal
“Unfortunately, in the rich countries like ours, we really don't give a damn [about the poor].”
—Jimmy Carter
“I don't think Wisconsin should become known as a state where we shoot cats.”
—Wisconsin Governor James Doyle
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Snoopy Dance©
It's not all bad news. There's this, from the Pittsburg's ABC affiliate:
Still, it's an encouraging sign; and it would be wonderful to get rid of the Senator so awful, his name is, now, also the definition of “the frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex.”
Democrat Robert P. Casey Jr. holds a 14-percentage-point lead over Republican Sen. Rick Santorum in the 2006 campaign for Santorum's seat, according to an independent poll released today.The poll was done by Quinnipiac University. I take it with a grain of salt, as I've never heard of Quinnipiac University, and “Quinnipiac” sounds like a brand of garden fertilizer, and spokesmen from both campaigns are playing it down. In any case, Casey hasn't even won the Democratic primary yet.
Still, it's an encouraging sign; and it would be wonderful to get rid of the Senator so awful, his name is, now, also the definition of “the frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex.”
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Kakistocracy©
Wow. People are not pleased with the new pope. Andrew Sullivan expects “an imminent ban on all gay seminarians, celibate or otherwise. And I expect the Church's immersion in the culture wars in the West - on every imaginable issue. For American Catholics, I foresee an accelerating exodus.” Meanwhile, Max Sawicky has dubbed him Pope Wingnut the First. And the scary part? The early evidence is in thier favor. Pope Benedict XVI's positions are on record in the New York Times and in the Washington Post. (Twice.)
And Peter David stole my “Pope Skippy” joke!
An unsubstantiated comment on the David post claims Pope Benedict once referred to Buddhism, in print, as “spiritual masturbation.” I agree, but apparently the Pope meant it as an insult.
And Peter David stole my “Pope Skippy” joke!
An unsubstantiated comment on the David post claims Pope Benedict once referred to Buddhism, in print, as “spiritual masturbation.” I agree, but apparently the Pope meant it as an insult.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Kakistocracy©
The New York Times:
Prohibition does not work. You have Prohibition, you get Al Capone. You have the Controlled Substances Act, you get Pablo Escobar. It is a simple matter of putting two and two together to get four.
Those poor fools.
WASHINGTON (AP) -- The Supreme Court agreed Monday to consider whether a church in New Mexico can continue using hallucinogenic tea in its religious services.Curious that suddenly the “Controlled Substances Act” is in capital letters, while religious freedom—the, y'know, First Amendment—is just “freedom of religion laws,” a phrase which sounds a lot like “county health ordinances.” Becaus, yes, we do have religious freedom in this country—but these people are using drugs.
At issue is whether use of the tea, which contains a drug banned under the federal Controlled Substances Act, is protected under freedom of religion laws. The Bush administration contends the tea is illegal and use of it potentially dangerous for church members.
Prohibition does not work. You have Prohibition, you get Al Capone. You have the Controlled Substances Act, you get Pablo Escobar. It is a simple matter of putting two and two together to get four.
Those poor fools.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
W&I©
The poet Robinson Jeffers’ most famous poem is called “Shine, Perishing Republic.”
And that, I think, just about says it all. He published this poem, “Ave Caesar,” in 1935.
And that, I think, just about says it all. He published this poem, “Ave Caesar,” in 1935.
No bitterness: our ancestors did it.
They were only ignorant and hopeful, they wanted freedom but wealth too.
Their children will learn to hope for a Caesar.
Or rather—for we are not aquiline Romans but soft mixed colonists—
Some kindly Sicilian tyrant who'll keep
Poverty and Carthage off until the Romans arrive,
We are easy to manage, a gregarious people,
Full of sentiment, clever at mechanics, and we love our luxuries.
Kakistocracy©
Senator Bill Frist has agreed to take part in a telecast discussing how Democrats are against people of faith. The NYTimes:
Organizers say they hope to reach more than a million people by distributing the telecast to churches around the country, over the Internet and over Christian television and radio networks and stations.Okay, then. This story has really pissed off some of my good liberal friends. After reading Tim Russo's post on the topic, I am inclined to a bit of schadenfreude:
Dr. Frist's spokesman said the senator's speech in the telecast would reflect his previous remarks on judicial appointments. In the past he has consistently balanced a determination "not to yield" on the president's nominees with appeals to the Democrats for compromise. He has distanced himself from the statements of others like the House majority leader, Tom DeLay, who have attacked the courts, saying they are too liberal, "run amok" or are hostile to Christianity.
The telecast, however, will put Dr. Frist in a very different context. Asked about Dr. Frist's participation in an event describing the filibuster "as against people of faith," his spokesman, Bob Stevenson, did not answer the question directly.
"Senator Frist is doing everything he can to ensure judicial nominees are treated fairly and that every senator has the opportunity to give the president their advice and consent through an up or down vote," Mr. Stevenson said, adding, "He has spoken to groups all across the nation to press that point, and as long as a minority of Democrats continue to block a vote, he will continue to do so."
Don't forget to invite the Schiavo protestors to pray at the steps of the Senate like a bunch of fucking druids at Stonehenge. Hand out free rosarys. Make sure that guy with the giant Mary Mother of God banner shows up. Fucking brilliant ... Your colleagues in the Senate will really appreciate being lumped in with DeLay, just at the moment he is forced to resign. Perfect fucking timing. Absolutely perfect.And by the way, whoever designed the flyers for this telecast is channelling Goebbels.
Lincoln
Friday was the 140th anniversary of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth, a crazed lone gunman; while Booth was part of a conspiracy to assassinate the President, and several members of the conspiracy were found with Booth and were tried and executed shortly after Lincoln's death, John Wilkes Booth was still a crazed lone gunman, because people who shoot the President are crazed lone gunman, therefore John Wilkes Booth was a crazed lone gunman.
I love America.
In any case, you can click here to listen to this man, Julius Howell, talk about where he was when he heard President Lincoln had been shot. In 1865, Howell was a 16-year-old Confederate army man and prisoner at the Yankee POW camp in Point Lookout, Maryland. Shortly after his 101st birthday, which was shortly after the end of World War II, Howell made several recordings for the Library of Congress.
Speaking of Abraham Lincoln, one of my classmates was recently spoiling the surprise at the end of the movie Sahara for me. He's a young Italian man of imposing stature (my classmate, not President Lincoln) and he sound a lot like someone you'd meet on The Sopranos. He comes from New Jersey, where he got certified as an auto mechanic; he'd like a decent job until he can get his first mortgage and go into real estate, where he plans to undertake some shady, but not quite illegal, deals. He's a Pentecostal (Petecostalist? did I just make up a word?) who was raised Roman Catholic; he still loves a lot of the ceremonial stuff in the church, but has problems with the doctrine. Not even the really horribly anti-human parts of the doctrine (which Dan Savage complains about here; also zombie fetishes) but the unimportant—even, dare I say it, silly—parts of the doctrine, like worshiping the Virgin. Still, this classmate, he's extremely sharp. If I ever need anyone “taken care of,” this is the guy I'm calling. I loaned him my copy of the Red Dwarf novels, he's going to reciprocate by lending me his copy of Sahara, the novel on which the Matthew McConaughey movie is based.
After he spoiled the surprise ending to the book (which involves a sunken Confederate battleship in the middle of the Sahara desert because why the hell not?), I rubbed the bridge of my nose, sighed, and said, “all of Lincoln's Secretaries of War were drunken incompetents or incompetent drunks. The only really smart member of his cabinet, Salmon Chase, was Chief Justice of the Supreme Court by the end of the war. So just who in hell was going to pull that off?”
I'm still trying to remember the name of Lincoln's Secretary of—I think it was State; in any case, there was one other very intelligent man on Lincoln's cabinet. I just can't remember the name off hand. [William Seward, stabbed in his home by a co-conspirator of Booth's the night Lincoln was shot. Yay, Google!] I'm never quite as smart as I sound like I am. [Unless I have Google!]
So: Sahara—If you loved the superstitious perversion of American History that was National Treasure, you'll love this! Now playing!
I love America.
In any case, you can click here to listen to this man, Julius Howell, talk about where he was when he heard President Lincoln had been shot. In 1865, Howell was a 16-year-old Confederate army man and prisoner at the Yankee POW camp in Point Lookout, Maryland. Shortly after his 101st birthday, which was shortly after the end of World War II, Howell made several recordings for the Library of Congress.Speaking of Abraham Lincoln, one of my classmates was recently spoiling the surprise at the end of the movie Sahara for me. He's a young Italian man of imposing stature (my classmate, not President Lincoln) and he sound a lot like someone you'd meet on The Sopranos. He comes from New Jersey, where he got certified as an auto mechanic; he'd like a decent job until he can get his first mortgage and go into real estate, where he plans to undertake some shady, but not quite illegal, deals. He's a Pentecostal (Petecostalist? did I just make up a word?) who was raised Roman Catholic; he still loves a lot of the ceremonial stuff in the church, but has problems with the doctrine. Not even the really horribly anti-human parts of the doctrine (which Dan Savage complains about here; also zombie fetishes) but the unimportant—even, dare I say it, silly—parts of the doctrine, like worshiping the Virgin. Still, this classmate, he's extremely sharp. If I ever need anyone “taken care of,” this is the guy I'm calling. I loaned him my copy of the Red Dwarf novels, he's going to reciprocate by lending me his copy of Sahara, the novel on which the Matthew McConaughey movie is based.
After he spoiled the surprise ending to the book (which involves a sunken Confederate battleship in the middle of the Sahara desert because why the hell not?), I rubbed the bridge of my nose, sighed, and said, “all of Lincoln's Secretaries of War were drunken incompetents or incompetent drunks. The only really smart member of his cabinet, Salmon Chase, was Chief Justice of the Supreme Court by the end of the war. So just who in hell was going to pull that off?”
I'm still trying to remember the name of Lincoln's Secretary of—I think it was State; in any case, there was one other very intelligent man on Lincoln's cabinet. I just can't remember the name off hand. [William Seward, stabbed in his home by a co-conspirator of Booth's the night Lincoln was shot. Yay, Google!] I'm never quite as smart as I sound like I am. [Unless I have Google!]
So: Sahara—If you loved the superstitious perversion of American History that was National Treasure, you'll love this! Now playing!
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Footnotes
I have recently discovered the footnote feature of Microsoft Word. And when I'm writing a paper on something incredibly boring, such as airline travel regulations (and I write far too many boring papers on airline travel regulations) I often find myself putting in footnotes for my own personal amusement. Here's a few excerpts from my recent reports with the footnotes included:
(*Or, more likely, an underpaid TA who hasn't had his morning Jagërmeister yet.)
Prior to the Airline Deregulation Act of 1976, small operations running short flights from small airfields to nearby major cities were classified as commuter airlines. After deregulation, commuter airlines often formed close partnerships with major carriers*. The recent advent of cheaper, smaller jets have allowed budget carriers such as Jet Blue and Independence Air to compete with these commuter lines.Fortunately for me, the instructors here don't read the papers we write with incredible meticulousness. I wonder how a History 1010 professor* reacts to this sort of snark.
(*By “close partnership,” we mean “ownership, for all intents and purposes—except tax purposes.”)
The Warsaw Convention was a 1929 international agreement governing airline liability*.
(*And was slightly different from the Warsaw Pact.)
A computer automatically calculates the correct fare and reducing the value of the farecard or SmarTrip™ card by the correct amount, which is then used by WAMTA to maintain, operate, and expand the Metro system*.
(*Or possibly embezzled and used for hookers and booze.)
For example, if a customer complains that they stepped in dog crap on the jetway, you would know that they are not eligible for compensation*.
(*Airlines are not liable for acts of dog.)
SABRE is a text based system, which uses a complicated series of commands. For example, entering W/-ALDELTA in SABRE would encode Delta Airlines as the carrier*.
(*Or possibly unleash a massive Cylon attack, wiping out the twelve colonies and leaving nothing left of humanity but a plucky, rag-tag convoy fleeing desperately into uncharted space. A travel agent has to be careful to avoid inadvertently doing something like that.)
(*Or, more likely, an underpaid TA who hasn't had his morning Jagërmeister yet.)
Thursday, April 14, 2005
50 in 05©
Last month was a bad month to die; the only people I know who were aware that Prince Rainer of Monaco had died were people who have actually, at some point, been to Monaco; I've met librarians who didn't know Saul Bellow had kicked it.
Speaking of Saul, I've fallen behind in my “50 in 05©&3148; posting. Not in the reading, fortunately; just in keeping track of it on the blog. I have a bout a half-dozen half-finished reviews of a dozen different books floating around, and if I were a disciplined writer I'd actually finish one of them. But I'm a much more disciplined reader than writer, so while I work my way through one of Saul's lesser known works and Chris Rice's third novel, here's a quick list of everything I've been too lazy to finish writing about:
So far, I have found Saul Bellow's—all his obits called him the “master of wit”—novel Dangling Man to be unerringly gloomy—but it's a good, gloomy. Chris Rice's Light Before Day, meanwhile, is agreeably bitchy; deadpan, too:
Speaking of Saul, I've fallen behind in my “50 in 05©&3148; posting. Not in the reading, fortunately; just in keeping track of it on the blog. I have a bout a half-dozen half-finished reviews of a dozen different books floating around, and if I were a disciplined writer I'd actually finish one of them. But I'm a much more disciplined reader than writer, so while I work my way through one of Saul's lesser known works and Chris Rice's third novel, here's a quick list of everything I've been too lazy to finish writing about:
- #10 1876 by Gore Vidal. Ulysses S. Grant got so attached to sending troops into the south, he decided to do it again near the end of his presidency. Ruther-fraud B. Hayes isn't my president! Mary McDonnell is!
- #11 Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut. In the snobby, intellectual homosexual community, it is impossible to like both Gore Vidal and Truman Capote; they are opposites. Kurt Vonnegut is also the opposite of Gore Vidal—but in a good way. Vonnegut eschews rich people, excess verbiage, obscure detail, and all the other hallmarks of Vidal's style, in order to ask essentially the same question: “America—what's up with that, anyway?”
- #12 Empire by Gore Vidal. By the turn of the century, Washington, D.C. is turning into the gossip-rich imperial capital Vidal spent most of his twenties pretending he hadn't grown up in. People like John Hay, Henry Adams, and Henry James run about, blissfully unaware that in just one short century, people will hear the name John Hay and say, “wasn't he that guy from The Love Boat?” Later William Randolph Hearst and Theodore Roosevelt get into some old-school shit.
- #13 Rights from Wrongs By Alan Dershowitz. At some point in March 2003, I picked up a copy of a macroeconomics textbook to see if I could read a college textbook for my own personal edification. I could not. Or maybe it was just a mistake to choose macroeconomics—Alan Dershowitz's book has two distinct advantages over macroeconomics textbooks. First, Dershowitz's theory on a secular basis for human rights is—to me, at least—completely new, and from the perspective of someone who hasn't read his other books, it makes a lot of sense. Second, it's not three hundred frakin' pages long and filled with phrases like “consumption adjustment,” which sounds like a primitive treatment for T.B.
- #14 Candide By Voltaire. I have read Voltaire's classic before, but this is a different edition, with some new letters and different translations of “Zadig” and “Micromegas.” As usual, I found Voltaire's fiction ten times more enjoyable than his philosophical work; thought there was an essay called “Tolerance” that described the brutal torture of a 62-year-old Protestant man after his son committed suicide and the townsfolk got in a pitchfork-and-torches sort of mood. Heh. “Tolerance.” What a cut-up.
So far, I have found Saul Bellow's—all his obits called him the “master of wit”—novel Dangling Man to be unerringly gloomy—but it's a good, gloomy. Chris Rice's Light Before Day, meanwhile, is agreeably bitchy; deadpan, too:
He grabbed the remote, found an eleven o'clock news broadcast, gave me a look, and raised the volume. The two of us sat there as an eighty-one-year-old woman described what it was like to have her arms ripped off by her nephew's pit bull. When the reporter asked her what the worst part of the experience had been, the woman replied, “Losing my arms.”
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Click Here!©
This morning, as I was reading the Yahoo!News* Op/Ed page (not that I'm endorsing reading Yahoo!News; it's just the only thing I can read on my phone) there were two editorials stacked right next to each other. First was a piece of fiction from The Weekly Standard, headlined The Character Assassination of John Bolton. Right underneath that was The Nation's equally, well, yellow John Bolton vs. Democracy. To summarize, The Nation came very close to accusing John Bolton of being Satan; The Weekly Standard came very close to accusing him of being Jesus. The left and the right have a lot in common when they're both crazy.
Speaking of crazy, William F. Buckley also had an editorial up there. It was under the quite sensible sounding headline Pity Rhode Island.
Speaking of the bond between crazy liberals and crazy conservatives, Maggie Ghallager has a must read essay on her long friendship with Andrea Dworkin.
Speaking of crazy, William F. Buckley also had an editorial up there. It was under the quite sensible sounding headline Pity Rhode Island.
What we are seeing is a tug-of-war involving the re-election, in 2006, of a senator in Rhode Island. Chafee is a Republican. If he feels bound to stay with the GOP, that's because, as he reminded everyone recently, he was named after Abraham Lincoln. So he has not changed party affiliation, but his voting record would fit nicely within the bounds of Democratic orthodoxy. ... Without Chafee, the committee is tied, and Bolton can't therefore get pre-emptive consideration in the Senate, where he would be passed.To his credit, Buckley manages to stay almost entirely away from the craziness of the Bolton feeding frenzy. (Thought not entirely away from craziness: “Daniel Patrick Moynihan reminded us that Socrates still lives.” Okay, then.) So, here's to William F. Buckley: the least crazy one in the room, sadly enough.
Speaking of the bond between crazy liberals and crazy conservatives, Maggie Ghallager has a must read essay on her long friendship with Andrea Dworkin.
A Metaphor
I had a good weekend. Stayed up until eight in the morning watching the Sci-Fi Channel miniseries Battlestar Galactica and the first episode of the regular T.V. show, and also eating ice cream. Spent half hour in the sushi section of a grocery store talking with a British woman who grew up in India and now works for a international NGO, and a geeky historian from Georgetown who also went to an British private school, who were both incredible geeks and horrible intellectuals, much smarter than me—it was awesome. (Even if I spent half the time thinking, “woah, I live in a city where the grocery store has a whole section devoted to sushi now!”)
But the important thing is that sci-fi stuff.
Now I haven't seen the new Galactica before. In fact, I haven't been watching much sci-fi at all recently. It's almost impossible to get the TV's in the dorm switched over from BET to the Sci-Fi channel, and usually just not worth the effort. In any case, Battlestar Galactica is what is sounds like: a remake of the 1970's show. I have never seen the original. I remember reading an article in some obscure magazine that drew on the odd comparisons between the orginial Galactica and Mormon doctrine, which seems a plausible enough idea, as Mormons are, by and large, huge sci-fi buffs. If you have seen the orginial show, don't worry, because absolutely nothing in the remake will remind you of the seventies, except for the fact that Edward James Olmos has shaved his moustach.
But there's more to Battlestar Galactica then getting those kids from the 1957 classic 12 Angry Men to do a TV show. (Not that it's a bad idea—Olmos and Mary McDonnell are the best actors on the show.) There is an underlying current to Galactica that makes Dr. Strangelove look optimistic. In fact, while we're on the nuclear war analogies, you should know that about halfway through the four hour miniseries, they kill a seven-year-old girl in the exact same way as the Barry Goldwater daisy-ad. I'm not kidding. You know this ship with a bunch of people on it is going to be destroyed, and you cut to a small girl on the ship, playing with her dolly, and you slowly zoom in, and you fade to white...
They kill a little girl. They kill a lot of people. Mary McDonnell is keeping track of the number of human beings who exist in the entire univerise on a white board. Mary McDonnell, by the way, is a woman who was 43rd in line to become President of the Colonies when the apocalypse came down the pipe. At left she is being sworn in after those 43 the people are killed, along with, as I may have mentioned, the rest of humanity. Time and time again, they are forced to leave people behind, to leave people to die, to leave...it is not a nice show.
Glen Oliver at IGN was disappointed:
That's a good question, and one the characters on Galactica wind up asking themselves. Unlike virtually every other science fiction show since Roddenberry created the genera, they don't find satisfactory answers. It's a bold choice, and one that has alienated a lot of traditional sci-fi geeks like Glen. Galactica has a lot of viewers who aren't traditionally sci-fi watchers.
Something else Galactica does is create a show about old people. The heart of the show is Olmos and McDonnell; the other wondeful character is Michael Hogan's exec, Tigh.
I just realized that I have spent an hour and a half writing about a T.V. show, and I show no signs of stopping anytime soon. Yipes. That's sad.
But the important thing is that sci-fi stuff.
Now I haven't seen the new Galactica before. In fact, I haven't been watching much sci-fi at all recently. It's almost impossible to get the TV's in the dorm switched over from BET to the Sci-Fi channel, and usually just not worth the effort. In any case, Battlestar Galactica is what is sounds like: a remake of the 1970's show. I have never seen the original. I remember reading an article in some obscure magazine that drew on the odd comparisons between the orginial Galactica and Mormon doctrine, which seems a plausible enough idea, as Mormons are, by and large, huge sci-fi buffs. If you have seen the orginial show, don't worry, because absolutely nothing in the remake will remind you of the seventies, except for the fact that Edward James Olmos has shaved his moustach. But there's more to Battlestar Galactica then getting those kids from the 1957 classic 12 Angry Men to do a TV show. (Not that it's a bad idea—Olmos and Mary McDonnell are the best actors on the show.) There is an underlying current to Galactica that makes Dr. Strangelove look optimistic. In fact, while we're on the nuclear war analogies, you should know that about halfway through the four hour miniseries, they kill a seven-year-old girl in the exact same way as the Barry Goldwater daisy-ad. I'm not kidding. You know this ship with a bunch of people on it is going to be destroyed, and you cut to a small girl on the ship, playing with her dolly, and you slowly zoom in, and you fade to white...They kill a little girl. They kill a lot of people. Mary McDonnell is keeping track of the number of human beings who exist in the entire univerise on a white board. Mary McDonnell, by the way, is a woman who was 43rd in line to become President of the Colonies when the apocalypse came down the pipe. At left she is being sworn in after those 43 the people are killed, along with, as I may have mentioned, the rest of humanity. Time and time again, they are forced to leave people behind, to leave people to die, to leave...it is not a nice show.Glen Oliver at IGN was disappointed:
It shuns the most precious conceit in its own basic story...indeed, the most precious commodity anywhere: Hope. This doesn't make for a show that is evocative, atmospheric, or emotionally challenging. This simply creates for a relentlessly unpleasant viewing experience.
There is hostility, doubt, and anger – but not towards ideas that matter. The humans focus it on each other – where is affection, respect, and cohesion in a time of apocalyptic crisis? There is spoken remorse, but where are the tears? The good ship Galactica rarely embodies heroism, decency, or any quality that makes humanity exceptional – only dysfunction, distrust, and antagonism are evident. And if this is the measure of the human race, why...exactly...are we worth saving?
That's a good question, and one the characters on Galactica wind up asking themselves. Unlike virtually every other science fiction show since Roddenberry created the genera, they don't find satisfactory answers. It's a bold choice, and one that has alienated a lot of traditional sci-fi geeks like Glen. Galactica has a lot of viewers who aren't traditionally sci-fi watchers.Something else Galactica does is create a show about old people. The heart of the show is Olmos and McDonnell; the other wondeful character is Michael Hogan's exec, Tigh.I just realized that I have spent an hour and a half writing about a T.V. show, and I show no signs of stopping anytime soon. Yipes. That's sad.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Click Here!©
I have a letter in today's issue of the Charleston (WV) Gazette. I do a pretty good job of sounding extremely upset about something that is mind-numbingly obvious:
The national Republican Party could not care less about the interests of the Mountain State, or about Sen. Byrd’s decades of service to his constituents. They are interested only in consolidating their own power in the Capitol.I also manage to make it through an entire 150-word letter without saying anything bad about the Democratic party. I know, I know—but I'm looking for work.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Click Here!©
Martin Peretz recently wrote the seminal piece in a new, but growing, argument: liberals were wrong about Bush administration's foreign policy, as the wave of revolutions in the mid-East demonstrates. It is, Peretz has decieded, “the politics of churlishness” to continue to argue against the President's activist policies.
As with everything else in Hollywood—I mean Washington—this is exaggerated. I recently linked to a piece explaining why the Kyrgyz uprising is not quite the work of democracy-philes (even if they do oppose the Soviets). But media dumbing-down is, of course, omnipresent. In the end, there is still the fact that totalitarianism is not doing so well in the middle east, and that is a very good thing, and Bush certainly deseves some credit for it.
Suzanne Nossel at the liberal blog Democracy Arsenal, which Andy recently plugged, writes:
The main point of this post is simply to demonstrate why Democracy Arsenal is blog-roll-worthy. So there you have it.
As with everything else in Hollywood—I mean Washington—this is exaggerated. I recently linked to a piece explaining why the Kyrgyz uprising is not quite the work of democracy-philes (even if they do oppose the Soviets). But media dumbing-down is, of course, omnipresent. In the end, there is still the fact that totalitarianism is not doing so well in the middle east, and that is a very good thing, and Bush certainly deseves some credit for it.
Suzanne Nossel at the liberal blog Democracy Arsenal, which Andy recently plugged, writes:
We might as well give Bush credit because:All undeniably true; but Nossel continues:
a) he deserves it (or at least part of it, sort of);
b) the country will credit him even if we don’t, so there’s not much to lose;
c) what’s happening in the Mideast is genuinely good news;
d) glueckschmerz (the opposite of schadenfreude, i.e. sorrow at someone else’s happiness) is unseemly.
We’re not blind to the positive and important results of Bush’s daring in the Middle East. But we believe that over time, the negative sides of his foreign policy will likely overwhelm the positive, isolating America, making threats more difficult to contain, and undermining our influence and our security...Nossel quotes a Ha’aretz piece:
The sad part of all these examples . . . is that the American administration and Bush in particular are perceived as a scourge. Reform movements in Egypt, Iran, Lebanon or Syria, whose members are ready to be killed for democracy in their country, go berserk the moment they are accused of receiving American funds or contributions. To attain public legitimacy, it appears that each of these movements needs an anti-American slogan in addition to the pro-democracy slogan.And then Nossel concludes:
The paradox of Bush’s foreign policy may be that what is good for democracy turns out not to be so good for the U.S. Democracies built on a foundation of resentment toward us may not turn out to be reliable allies we can count on. Rather, fueled by populations that are skeptical and resentful of America, these countries may be less likely to support American policies than their predecessor regimes. We may be creating a world of democracies, but at the same time losing our footing at the center of it.I agree with Nossel's analysis, even if I don't come from the school of thought that spends much time complaining about what “undermin[es] our influence and our security.” Regardless, the doom-and-gloom of Nossel's analysis shouldn't get you down too much. After all, the twenty-first amendment sort of stamps an expiration date on the damage the Bush Administration can do. And if that expiration date sort of caps a limit on the ammount of damage the Administration can do, while maximizing the positive effects, that's cause for celebration. I'd say that's yet another example of the wisdom of the Founding Fathers, but it isn't, because the twenty-first amendment was passed after the second Roosevelt administration, and also because that would make me one of those people who simply say everything good that happens in this country is because of the wisdom of the Founding Fathers. (Other prominent critics disagree, and think everything good that happens in this country is because of the love of Jesus. Whichever.)
That does not mean democracy is somehow a bad thing, or that it shouldn’t be a centerpiece of U.S. policy. It does suggest that as a matter of U.S. interests, democracy coupled with kinship and support for the U.S. is far preferable than the former without the latter.
That leaves us to applaud Bush’s boldness, his willingness to commit U.S. power and energy in furtherance of important causes, and his sense of possibility about even the most intractable region of the world. We badly need more of all of those things within our own ranks. But at the same time, we must continue hammering at what’s wrong with Bush’s approach, and scheming to define a foreign policy that will be every bit as bold and visionary, but will attract rather than repel the rest of the world.
The main point of this post is simply to demonstrate why Democracy Arsenal is blog-roll-worthy. So there you have it.
Kakistocracy©
On Thursday, Senator Mel Martinez (R-FL) fired a staffer for writing an unsigned memo that referred to the Terri Schiavo debacle as “is a great political issue ... and a tough issue for Democrats. This is an important moral issue and the pro-life base will be excited that the Senate is debating this important issue.”
Everyone has been shocked—shocked—to discover gambling in Rick's—I mean, that the Schiavo thing was regarded as simply a political issue. I mean, good lord! The only thing more aggravating than the incredible hypocrisy of the Democrats who get up and bitch about how the Republicans wrote the Schiavo legislation to score political points is the utter dishonesty with which the entire GOP leadership has claimed that the Schiavo legislation was not written to score political points. I suppose it's possible that a few of the conservative bloggers who've been questioning the authenticity of the memo might be naive enough to actually believe that Tom DeLay was doing this out of the goodness of his heart, but when I read something like this:
The Terri Schiavo legislation was political. I mean, really!
Everyone has been shocked—shocked—to discover gambling in Rick's—I mean, that the Schiavo thing was regarded as simply a political issue. I mean, good lord! The only thing more aggravating than the incredible hypocrisy of the Democrats who get up and bitch about how the Republicans wrote the Schiavo legislation to score political points is the utter dishonesty with which the entire GOP leadership has claimed that the Schiavo legislation was not written to score political points. I suppose it's possible that a few of the conservative bloggers who've been questioning the authenticity of the memo might be naive enough to actually believe that Tom DeLay was doing this out of the goodness of his heart, but when I read something like this:
The memo had been disavowed by Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist, R-Tenn., and House Majority Leader Tom DeLay, R-Texas, both primary forces behind Congress passing the bill and sending it to President Bush on March 21.Well, that's clear evidence that Tom Harkin is the least dis-honest man in the U.S. Senate (talk about damning with faint praise) and that Tom DeLay and Bill Frist are going to hell.
In recent days, conservative Internet bloggers questioned whether the memo was authentic or had really been sent to GOP senators as first reported. The Washington Times reported Wednesday it surveyed the Senate and found only one senator, Democrat Tom Harkin of Iowa, who acknowledged seeing the memo.
The Terri Schiavo legislation was political. I mean, really!
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Click Here!©
Here's a compare and contrast exercise. Ted Rall writes simply about something very important; William Buckly lovingly prepares a feast of verbiage on the most agressively unimportant story of our times.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Sin City
I just saw SIN CITY, and out of a crowd of about a hundred people, there were exactly two of us that got it. Myself, and one other. A man, I think, though I never saw him or heard him speak: I only know his laugh, from every time the film reached new heights in it's brilliant, painful caricature of the brutal, violent, mindless American Code of Masculinity. That happened a lot, and only the two of us laughed, not another soul in the half-packed theater. A third or so were stunned into silence by the pure lust of the film: for women, yes, but bloodlust, too. These, I assume, were the third who don't realize that the American Man is, maybe by nature and maybe by nurture—we've no time for that debate here—he is, in fact, obsessed with sex and violence. The other two-thirds, I fear, prove the truth in that, with their whispered, awed “God-damn!”s at each particularly violent moment, and their appreciative silence at each increasingly sexy woman. It's an improvement, I suppose, that sexy women are now, usually, able to hold their own in a fight, and often heavily armed to boot. But still—still!—the only woman who isn't, in the end, a Damsel in Distress, is the “dyke parole officer,” who lives a life that is her own, and not dependant on any man, and, of course, violently short.
But she was not a victim of homophobia: a lead sandwich is the natural diet in Basin City (with the “B” and “A” scorched off the street signs), and every single male character, save two, finds himself at the business end of a Baretta, or sharp steel, or, for the real baddies, something much, much worse. Even my thoroughly desensitized mind was at one point brought up short by the endless torrents of blood that flow, not, usually, red, but white or even yellow-green. Torrents, you see, are absolutely necessary, for this is a tale not just of violence, but of revenge, and revenge, be it in a Tarantino film, or a Shakespearian tragedy, or even real life (hi there, Sharon) does not easily stop or often show mercy.
Tarantino, incidentally, is credited as a “Special Guest Director,” but I couldn't tell which of the four-and-a-half marginally intersecting storylines (protagonists have life spans as short as everyone else) was the work of Quentin. Both Tarantino and the credited Director, Robert Rodriguez, could create the splendid visual feel in every frame of the film; both are masters of dark, macho Revenge Movies (and much imitated); most importantly, they stay so close to the original SIN CITY comic books that it's possible they don't even know SIN CITY is not a macho Revenge Movie, but a comedy. At least, I hope it is: if not, the orginial author, Frank Miller, who Rodriguez credits as co-director, has serious problems.
As I said, only two of us in the audience knew that we were watching a comedy, but it was good to have someone else to laugh with as things got increasingly hilarious. The film's directors and 98% of the audience might not realize it, but SIN CITY is a comic masterpiece, a true gem, a dissection of all things manly better even than Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. For example, the homophobia. As I also said, the dyke is just as good as the men, but there is one male character who doesn't seem quite hetero. Maybe that's just because Elijah Wood isn't quite as butch as Bruce Willis, Clive Owen, or Benecio Del Toro, and because his character's fighting style is the distinctly feminine “silent-but-deadly” manner shared with one of the definately female “warrior-hookers” from storyline #3. And of course he likes to scratch people's eyes out with his extremely well-manicured nailes.
Of course orientation is never explicitly mentioned. But unlike other films, such as the aggressively suck-tastic Constantine, which was content to simply make it's not-quite-hetero character Satan and leave it at that, SIN CITY gives us a not-quite-hetero character who not only has an ambiguous tie to a man of the cloth; not only was at one time a troubled young Catholic altar boy; not only hates women so much he's compelled to murder hookers; he also eats his victims and mounts their heads like some colonial-England big-game hunter would a lion. I suppose we should be grateful he can kick serious ass, even if he does look, well, gay, when he does it.
By the time the film closed up, with the subtle tie-in of each storyline that reminds us of every cheap Pulp Fiction rip off, me and my friend, whoever he was, could hardly breathe for laughter, and everyone else who didn’t look like they wanted to throw up seemed to have had a good time. So there you have it: SIN CITY—comic masterpiece, or half-baked blood-fest; either way, remember, it's all just questionably tasteful fun.
But she was not a victim of homophobia: a lead sandwich is the natural diet in Basin City (with the “B” and “A” scorched off the street signs), and every single male character, save two, finds himself at the business end of a Baretta, or sharp steel, or, for the real baddies, something much, much worse. Even my thoroughly desensitized mind was at one point brought up short by the endless torrents of blood that flow, not, usually, red, but white or even yellow-green. Torrents, you see, are absolutely necessary, for this is a tale not just of violence, but of revenge, and revenge, be it in a Tarantino film, or a Shakespearian tragedy, or even real life (hi there, Sharon) does not easily stop or often show mercy.
Tarantino, incidentally, is credited as a “Special Guest Director,” but I couldn't tell which of the four-and-a-half marginally intersecting storylines (protagonists have life spans as short as everyone else) was the work of Quentin. Both Tarantino and the credited Director, Robert Rodriguez, could create the splendid visual feel in every frame of the film; both are masters of dark, macho Revenge Movies (and much imitated); most importantly, they stay so close to the original SIN CITY comic books that it's possible they don't even know SIN CITY is not a macho Revenge Movie, but a comedy. At least, I hope it is: if not, the orginial author, Frank Miller, who Rodriguez credits as co-director, has serious problems.
As I said, only two of us in the audience knew that we were watching a comedy, but it was good to have someone else to laugh with as things got increasingly hilarious. The film's directors and 98% of the audience might not realize it, but SIN CITY is a comic masterpiece, a true gem, a dissection of all things manly better even than Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. For example, the homophobia. As I also said, the dyke is just as good as the men, but there is one male character who doesn't seem quite hetero. Maybe that's just because Elijah Wood isn't quite as butch as Bruce Willis, Clive Owen, or Benecio Del Toro, and because his character's fighting style is the distinctly feminine “silent-but-deadly” manner shared with one of the definately female “warrior-hookers” from storyline #3. And of course he likes to scratch people's eyes out with his extremely well-manicured nailes.
Of course orientation is never explicitly mentioned. But unlike other films, such as the aggressively suck-tastic Constantine, which was content to simply make it's not-quite-hetero character Satan and leave it at that, SIN CITY gives us a not-quite-hetero character who not only has an ambiguous tie to a man of the cloth; not only was at one time a troubled young Catholic altar boy; not only hates women so much he's compelled to murder hookers; he also eats his victims and mounts their heads like some colonial-England big-game hunter would a lion. I suppose we should be grateful he can kick serious ass, even if he does look, well, gay, when he does it.
By the time the film closed up, with the subtle tie-in of each storyline that reminds us of every cheap Pulp Fiction rip off, me and my friend, whoever he was, could hardly breathe for laughter, and everyone else who didn’t look like they wanted to throw up seemed to have had a good time. So there you have it: SIN CITY—comic masterpiece, or half-baked blood-fest; either way, remember, it's all just questionably tasteful fun.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Kakistocracy©
So it appears I won't have much longer before I write my obituary for Pope John Paul II. Today on “Today” on NBC on the TV, Matt Lauer was in Rome interviewing a cardinal whose name I couldn't catch, in a long segment that brought three facts into sharp relief:
The Vatican official patiently explained that the Pope believed in the teachings of the Catholic Church. Meanwhile, Rachel, Quilly, and Walt beat the crap out of Matt Lauer. Andrew Sullivan was unable to participate due to a prior commitment, but he did show his support for his fellow bloggers by throwing a pie at Al Roker.
Even worse the Today Show were the segments of local news provided by the D.C.-area NBC affiliate. The blandly attractive, blandly monotone anchorwoman managed to unleash journalism—yellow, of course—on three separate tragic events—Terri Schiavo and two multiple-murders in the Washington area—in just two minutes. At one point she explained, using the “shocking revelation” voice Cronkite saved for assassinations and nuclear confrontations, that the man who walked into a retirement home and shot seven people had previously been diagnosed with psychiatric problems.
That's right. The fact that a man who flew off the handle and emptied a Marine-issue Beretta into an old folks home has psychiatric problems—that's news. You know, the only people on television who manage to report news from a non-batshit-insane perspective are Conan O'Brien and Ellen. Today, Ellen talked about flowers for ten minutes. The most credible woman in television journalism talked about how she can't spell crysanthmums! I mean, cryshanthimum—crosanth—cry—the white ones. She sold out to the makers of Equal™ because they gave $50,000 to the Tsunami Relief Fund, which is, to be fair, a whole lot better than selling out because they buy you a truck or something.
In conclusion, my bosses decision to leave the TV on while we sort and store inventory has proven to be disastrous to my mental health, and Matt Lauer needs to be bitch-slapped.
- Catholics like the Pope.
- There is something wrong with Matt Lauer.
- No, really, what is this guy smoking?
The Vatican official patiently explained that the Pope believed in the teachings of the Catholic Church. Meanwhile, Rachel, Quilly, and Walt beat the crap out of Matt Lauer. Andrew Sullivan was unable to participate due to a prior commitment, but he did show his support for his fellow bloggers by throwing a pie at Al Roker.
Even worse the Today Show were the segments of local news provided by the D.C.-area NBC affiliate. The blandly attractive, blandly monotone anchorwoman managed to unleash journalism—yellow, of course—on three separate tragic events—Terri Schiavo and two multiple-murders in the Washington area—in just two minutes. At one point she explained, using the “shocking revelation” voice Cronkite saved for assassinations and nuclear confrontations, that the man who walked into a retirement home and shot seven people had previously been diagnosed with psychiatric problems.
That's right. The fact that a man who flew off the handle and emptied a Marine-issue Beretta into an old folks home has psychiatric problems—that's news. You know, the only people on television who manage to report news from a non-batshit-insane perspective are Conan O'Brien and Ellen. Today, Ellen talked about flowers for ten minutes. The most credible woman in television journalism talked about how she can't spell crysanthmums! I mean, cryshanthimum—crosanth—cry—the white ones. She sold out to the makers of Equal™ because they gave $50,000 to the Tsunami Relief Fund, which is, to be fair, a whole lot better than selling out because they buy you a truck or something.
In conclusion, my bosses decision to leave the TV on while we sort and store inventory has proven to be disastrous to my mental health, and Matt Lauer needs to be bitch-slapped.