JOHN MCCAIN: LIBERAL?

From the Huffington Post courtesy of AlterNet:

Unhinged Coulter Uses Hitler Analogy To Bash McCain

"A serious case could be made to support Hillary Clinton," she declared, offering the analogy of Winston Churchill backing Stalin in the fight against Hitler in WWII. "I'm not equating Hillary Clinton to Stalin, and if I did I apologize to Stalin's decedents... I'm not comparing McCain to Hitler. Hitler had a coherent tax policy." Later, she added, "The only way I can promise that I won't vote for Hillary Clinton is if John McCain appoints her as his vice president."

And

"McCain and [Mitt] Romney are mirror opposites of one another," said Coulter. "Romney is a conservative who had to win votes from liberals in Massachusetts. McCain is a liberal who had to win votes from conservatives in Arizona."

As for former New York City mayor Rudy Giuliani: He "enthusiastically supported torturing terrorists," she said to great applause. "McCain hysterically opposes dripping water down the terrorist's noses."

And what if the unthinkable happens, and President McCain is inaugurated? I've led an impeachment movement before, Coulter said, and "I can lead another one."

Click here for the rest.

Wow. Pretty strong language from America's own Valkyrie. But then, I expect nothing less from such a bigtime cunt. What's surprising, however, to me anyway, is all this conservative animosity toward the guy who's pretty much locked up the Republican nomination.

At work today, some of us were having a brief conversation about the campaigns. One guy was asserting that McCain is a liberal, so I finally asked him, "exactly how is McCain a liberal?" My buddy in so many words essentially repeated his original assertion, which strikes me as being pretty much par for the course in terms of this right-wing "liberal" dog pile the fiery Senator is now facing. That is, I just don't get it.

McCain, who supports small government, laissez faire economics, a strong military, law and order, and is opposed to abortion rights, is not a liberal. I mean, it's just as simple as that. I know I've often referred to Bill and Hillary as being conservative, but really, they're more moderate/right than anything else, Nixonian conservatives if you will. But McCain, he's the real deal, one big right-wing cocksucker.

How can all these conservative radio idiots seriously be calling him a liberal?

Maybe I should tune in to Rush Limbaugh more often, which there's no fucking way I'm going to do, so barring that, I'll just have to speculate. For one thing, I know that McCain, as a knee-jerk supporter of business, opposes kicking out all the illegal immigrants because he wants them to be exploited as super cheap labor--you can call it what you want, but that's clearly a pro-capitalist position, and therefore a conservative position. On the other hand, racism and xenophobia are also conservative positions, and that's one of the things that appear to be pissing off these anti-McCain people. I guess he's just not racist enough for the legions of right-wing radio listeners, despite the fact that his position on the issue is clearly conservative. Go figure.

For another thing, I know that McCain essentially told evangelical leaders to fuck off during the 2000 campaign. It appears that they haven't forgotten about this, no matter how hard he's tried to get them back on his side. Completely lost in the shuffle is that disdain toward religion mixed with politics is very much a libertarian point of view, and therefore firmly entrenched on the conservative side of the spectrum. But no matter: these angry conservatives seem to believe that there's only room on the right for Bible thumpers; being a Christian doesn't count--you've got to thump your damned Bible, too.

Finally, McCain, as a victim of torture when he was a POW in Vietnam, is understandably opposed to torture, which, in my opinion, utterly transcends all political points of view: opposing torture is the only real American position out there--anything short of this is straight up anti-American, and therefore not conservative. But the anti-McCain crowd disagrees; they want their fucking torture.

Really, after thinking all this through, what appears to be going on is that, while it's undeniable that McCain is a conservative, not a liberal, he's not a Conservative. That is, he's not part of the so-called Conservative Movement, which seemingly requires total ideological purity, even though some principles of the Movement contradict other principles of the Movement. Yeah, it's confusing, but these people are fucking crazy anyway, so it's not at all surprising in the end.

If Angry John wants his party's support, he's really going to have to get down on his knees and blow like there's no tomorrow. These fuckers are serious.

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FRIDAY CAT BLOGGING

Frankie



Sammy



Be sure to check out Modulator's Friday Ark for more cat blogging pics!!!

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DICK CHENEY CRONY FORCED OUT OF LSU'S TOP JOB

From the New Orleans Times-Picayune:

LSU checked O'Keefe's absences, spending

BATON ROUGE -- Former Louisiana State University Chancellor Sean O'Keefe's forced resignation followed a wide-ranging probe of his job performance, including his time away from campus for non-school engagements, the way he dealt with other school administrators, his handling of the "Forever LSU" capital campaign and the use of a campus account to rent a suite for the 2007 Sugar Bowl, according to documents released by the LSU System.

Those issues were among 16 questions about O'Keefe's tenure that LSU System attorney Ray Lamonica compiled in response to public records requests for the personnel evaluation that began under LSU System President William Jenkins, who recommended O'Keefe's hiring in December 2004, and continued under current President John Lombardi, who accepted O'Keefe's resignation letter Jan. 16.

The actual evaluation remains sealed under an exemption to Louisiana public records law that shields some personnel records.

More here.

Okay, so while this comes as something of a surprise - everybody in Baton Rouge seemed quite happy with O'Keefe's performance - the odd sense I had when he got the job during my first semester at LSU is now feeling vindicated and self-righteous. That is, O'Keefe is a well known friend of Vice President Dick Cheney: whatever your politics are, it is now fairly undeniable that Dick is one corrupt son of a bitch--if you don't take that statement at face value, just click through the Cheney link; at the very least, the sweetheart deals the White House has made with Dick's "former" company, Halliburton, would make the entire Louisiana political system blush.

Now, I fully understand that simply knowing a criminal doesn't make one himself a criminal. However, birds of a feather and all that. Groups of friends have shared norms and values. When one of Dick's buddies showed up at LSU right after I did to take control of the largest institution in the state, it was hard not to think that he was going to run the university just like Dick runs the government, as a personal bank account to use for friends and power brokers, and with no personal accountability.

So, even though it has not yet been publicly revealed exactly why the very popular Chancellor was so quickly made to resign, you've just got to wonder. O'Keefe really does seem to be a nice guy--he even flashed a genuine smile at me one day when I walked past him on campus last year. It would be a shame to find out that he's as big of an asshole as his buddy and mentor up in D.C.

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MARDI GRAS IN NEW ORLEANS: WOW!

It is now safe for me to say that only now do I have any understanding of what Mardi Gras is about. That is, I've been doing Carnival here in Louisiana for four years, three in Baton Rouge, and a couple of parades here in Metairie very recently. But it was only by driving into the chaos of the French Quarter on Fat Tuesday that I've begun to see what it's all about. And, lemme tell ya, wild drunkenness is only a small part of it all. It's about community, performance, spontaneous performance by virtually everybody, ridiculing the powerful, defying authority, sex, bending gender norms, music, lots of music, food, celebrating life, humor, and even more that I just don't get because I'm an alien in these parts.

But none of that really gets the vibe across. You really do have to be there, right smack dab in the middle of it, as an individual and part of the mass all at the same time. Maybe that's what Mardi gras is ultimately about: embodying the contradictory state of the one which is also the many. Anyway, enough with the intellectualizing: if you think about it too much, you miss the point.

Here are some pictures.

We started out in Bywater, an old neighborhood within walking distance of the Quarter, as part of the parade of Saint Anne. While we waited for critical mass in front of somebody's house, a drum circle played.



Captain America was there.



After grooving to the drum circle for about an hour, the drummers stood up, and took the point position for our march into the Quarter.



Bill and Hillary were there, showing their penises.



This next shot isn't really part of Mardi Gras, but well worth mentioning. On Clouet Street in Bywater, there is some kind of large water system leak. Apparently, it was reported to the city months ago, but nobody has come to fix it, which isn't surprising because New Orleans is still recovering from Katrina. The artsy residents on the block decided to go with it and christened the leak "Clouet Beach." Now, like I said, it's been all dressed up like this for weeks, so it has nothing to do with the festivities directly, but the point here is that whatever's around and interesting on Fat Tuesday becomes part of the massive stage set. That is, all the costumed performance takes place in these old cool neighborhoods, and the neighborhood architecture and sights necessarily become part of the performance.

Besides, this really is kind of neat.



As the parade continued on toward the Marigny neighborhood, between Bywater and the Quarter, reminders of Katrina speckled the landscape.



Did I mention that there were shitloads of live bands parading around everywhere? Well, these guys joined us as we hit Marigny.



Ridiculing the powerful: "Money War Death Jesus Hates You"



Massive puppets, the likes of which have been used in anti-corporate globalism demonstrations for about a decade now.



My ex, Becky, and her new beau, John. Becky's some sort of sea-woman, and I never quite figured out what John was trying to do, but he ended up looking pretty cool with his red curly wig and US flag color face makeup.



I was a demon or devil or Satan. Something along those lines. That's the thing, as Becky has observed to me repeatedly, you've got to wear a costume. Otherwise, you're shorting yourself. In order to really do the one/many thing, you've got to take part in the massive performance. The best way to do that is with a costume.



Yes, people really do throw beads off their balconies. Everywhere.



We hung out in Jackson Square for a really long time; lots of shit to see there, like this blue man playing guitar right next to some psychotic evangelicals.



So we had parted ways with the St. Anne people a couple of hours earlier, but bumped into them again in Jackson Square. The drum circle was even more intense than before.



Performance everywhere. Like this young lady who was inspired by the drummers to do a solo dance in the middle of the mall--that's John again, wigless, to the right.



After a bit, the Jesus-fascists became a bit menacing. John said they might be disturbing at first, but after a few minutes, they're just a part of the performance. I must admit, their five bigass crosses and megaphoned statements of death, destruction, and eternal damnation were downright Orwellian. Eventually, however, one of the good guys showed up with his own megaphone, stood right next to the Evangelical mouth-man, and started yelling "Stop the hate, brother." God, I loved the chaos!



An Evangelical poster. Note how topping the list of those they deem as sinners are Democrats. Not that I disagree with them on that point, for my own reasons, but I do think it's pretty fucking funny. If you take this sign literally, the worst thing a person can do is be a Democrat.



More live music. This small jazz combo wasn't marching, but still a very welcome sight. The sax guy was playing a lot of Coltrane tunes.



Yet another marching band.



Going back home. I shot these cross-dressers while I was heading back to my car in Bywater, around 5:30 or so.



Then I sat in traffic for an hour and a half heading back to Metairie, usually a twenty minute drive. But, man, it was so fucking worth it!

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FAT TUESDAY

From Wikipedia:

Mardi Gras (French for "Fat Tuesday") is the day before Ash Wednesday, and is also called "Shrove Tuesday" or "Pancake Day". Mardi Gras is the final day of Carnival, though the term is often used incorrectly to describe the days and weeks preceding Fat Tuesday.[1] Carnival begins 12 days after Christmas, or Twelfth Night, on January 6 and ends on Mardi Gras, which always falls exactly 47 days before Easter. Perhaps the cities most famous for their Mardi Gras celebrations include New Orleans, Louisiana; Venice, Italy; and Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Many other places have important Mardi Gras celebrations as well. Carnival is an important celebration in most of Europe, except in the United Kingdom where pancakes are the tradition, and also in many parts of Latin America and the Caribbean.

More here.

So I'm getting up early tomorrow and driving into the chaos. My ex, Becky, who's been living near the Quarter in Bywater for many months now, and her entourage, are going to show me what it's all about. I have no idea if I'll end up in any shape for blogging tomorrow night, so I'm making this brief post to explain where I am.

Actually, I expect to have a buzz of some sort by ten a.m.

Welcome to New Orleans, I guess. I'll try to take some good pictures. Anyway, happy Mardi Gras!

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FROM THE REAL ART SPORTS DESK
DENIED!!!

From the AP via ESPN:

Eli, monster defense power Giants to shocking Super Bowl victory

The Giants, 12-point underdogs, ruined the New England Patriots' quest for a perfect season. New York, which lost six of 16 games in the regular season, prevailed 17-14 at University of Phoenix Stadium.

Quarterback Eli Manning, the game's MVP, lofted a regal, floating 13-yard pass to Plaxico Burress -- over Patriots cornerback Ellis Hobbs --- to put the Giants over the top with 35 seconds left.

And

Manning, however, engineered a terrific drive as time ran down. The signature play: Manning, ducking and spinning, somehow avoided a severe rush, and Tyree managed to reel in a 33-yard catch -- he initially pinned the ball on his helmet with one hand -- giving New York the ball at the New England 24-yard line. With 35 seconds left, Manning hit Burress with a gorgeous 25-yard touchdown pass, and the Pats' perfect season had congealed, horribly, into the twisted wreckage of a shocking loss.

Click here for the rest.

Of course, there were fifty eight more minutes to this game than simply those last exciting two. Indeed, the whole damned game was exciting, my favorite kind of NFL matchup, a battle of defenses--yeah, yeah, high-scoring shootouts are fun, too, and they definitely have mass appeal, but I always enjoy defenses shutting down high octane offenses, and we got that last night, on both sides of the ball, in spades. And it was Eli Manning, not pretty-boy jock dick Tom Brady, who was able to find just enough openings in his opponents' armor to prevail.

Hot damn, I love football!

Full disclosure: I hate the Patriots. I didn't used to hate them, but this season my animosity steadily grew; from the video-cheating bust at the beginning of the season, and with each successive win, I found myself feeling more and more about the Patriots the way I felt about the Cowboys back in the 90s. Yeah, I hate unstoppable Goliaths. And I just loooove underdog boys with slingshots.

(Disclaimer: Just to be clear, I love underdog boys, rather than underage boys, and that love is very definitely non-sexual.)

Last Friday night, I was hanging out with a couple of buddies from work. One of them used to be something of a bookie, and he was going on and on about how the Giants had no chance. Really, my friend knows his shit, and went on for like a half hour with some pretty compelling arguments as to why the Patriots were going to win by at least fourteen. All I could say was crap to the effect of "...on any given Sunday..." or "the Giants are really on fire these last six weeks or so." I had nothing, and this guy did a good job of making my pro-Giants remarks seem like wishful thinking.

I watched most of the game thinking the conclusion was preordained. When Manning threw his final touchdown to Burress I whooped out a roaring "Ho, ho, ho!!!" Scared the shit out of my cats.

Anyway, Super Bowl 42 is why I watch football. It's easily the best Super Bowl since the Broncos beat the Packers, and definitely one of the best games I've ever watched, right up there with the Longhorns' thrilling Rose Bowl victory over USC a couple of years ago, or their victory over Nebraska in the inaugural Big 12 Championship game back in '96, both bigtime upset wins.

By the way, big congrats to the 1972 Miami Dolphins.


Eli Manning miraculously scrambles out of a blitz before making the
decisive pass to Tyree on the Giants' final scoring drive. (AP photo)

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27 Reasons Nader Should Run for President

From CounterPunch:

5. 650,000+ dead Iraqi civilians

6. 3000+ dead U.S. military

7. The Black Budget

8. Torture

And

11. Lack of access to health care which causes the deaths of 18,000 US citizens every year.

And

20. He is not a Republican.

21. He is not a Democrat.

And

24. Ralph owes no favors to any corporation.

25. Ralph cannot be bought.

Click here for the other nineteen.

So we haven't heard a peep out of Ralph Nader this campaign season until very recently: last week during an interview on Democracy Now, the veteran consumer advocate essentially said that John Edwards' hasty exit, taking with him his fiery pro-labor and anti-poverty rhetoric, from the Democratic primaries is pushing the former Green Presidential candidate toward another run. I hope he does. I plan to vote for him.

If history repeats itself, which it usually does, I think I'd better take the first shot in what is bound to be a bloody and brutal war of words.

To all Democrats who will soon be pissed off at me for not supporting their nominee:

I am not on your side. I am not a Democrat. I'm a liberal, yes, but your party does not represent me. Indeed, I don't really even think of your party as liberal anymore. I've watched for eight years now, and even more before that, while the Democrats have been seduced by corporate money, and cowed by right-wing rhetoric. I've watched while they've supported illegal and ill-advised wars. I've watched while they've allowed our civil rights to erode; I've watched while they've allowed the GOP to piss away this country's good reputation abroad. I've watched while they've allowed us to become a nation of torturers, a nation of evil. I've watched while they've allowed the rich to get richer, and the poor to get poorer. I've watched while they've allowed the middle class to shrink to a fraction of its former size. I've watched them lie, telling us all that they want to help, but can't, offering various bogus excuses.

They disgust me deeply. No more. I will not bless this sick joke of a "liberal" party with my vote. Ever. That is, not until they really are a liberal party again, which is clearly what Ralph Nader's annoying Presidential runs are about.

For anybody who has a problem with my "helping Republicans win," I have two words: fuck you. Your support for a party as clearly immoral and ineffective as the Democrats sickens me--how can you be on these people's side? They're awful, just awful.

So be as angry as you want with me. I don't care. You're part of the problem. I'm not. I cannot repeat this enough: I am not on your side. I am not one of you. I don't owe you my vote.

Fuck you.

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What "bipartisanship" in Washington means

From Salon courtesy of Crooks and Liars:

But more importantly, "bipartisanship" is already rampant in Washington, not rare.

And

In almost every case, the proposals that are enacted are ones favored by the White House and supported by all GOP lawmakers, and then Democrats split and enough of them join with Republicans to ensure that the GOP gets what it wants. That's "bipartisanhip" in Washington:

To support the new Bush-supported FISA law:

GOP - 48-0

Dems - 12-36

To compel redeployment of troops from Iraq:

GOP - 0-49

Dems - 24-21

To confirm Michael Mukasey as Attorney General:

GOP - 46-0

Dems - 7-40

To confirm Leslie Southwick as Circuit Court Judge:

GOP - 49-0

Dems - 8-38

Kyl-Lieberman Resolution on Iran:

GOP - 46-2

Dems - 30-20

To condemn MoveOn.org:

GOP - 49-0

Dems - 23-25

The Protect America Act:

GOP - 44-0

Dems - 20-28

Declaring English to be the Government's official language:

GOP - 48-1

Dems - 16-33

The Military Commissions Act:

GOP - 53-0

Dems - 12-34

To renew the Patriot Act:

GOP - 54-0

Dems - 34-10

Cloture Vote on Sam Alito's confirmation to the Supreme Court:

GOP - 54-0

Dems - 18-25

Authorization to Use Military Force in Iraq:

GOP - 48-1

Dems - 29-22

Click here for the rest.

This is soooooo true.

I've watched for over a decade now as Republicans have taken the concept of "hissy fit" into the realm of high art. That is, whenever they don't get their way, they just freak out until the Democrats hand them what they want on a silver platter. After only a couple of years of this give-and-take, or more accurately, take-and-take, the space on the political spectrum we call "the middle" was successfully dragged quite a ways toward the right, which is where it resides to this day. Of course, I don't lay all the blame for this at the GOP's feet: it takes two to tango, and if the Donkey Butts had simply said "no" whenever their opponents started frothing at the mouth, we might still have some actual democracy left here in the USA--you know, democracy, created by the ancient Athenians, which requires vigorous debate and citizen participation in order to function, not this voting-charade and endless TV show we have here today.

The bottom line on this is that you have to have some actual opposition in order for the concept of bipartisanship to have any real meaning. The Democratic game plan of "cave in until they shut up" can in no way be considered bipartisan--really, it's just a sick joke that leaves the GOP in actual power even when they have very little official power.

All of this means that calls for bipartisanship from elder statesmen and old-man journalists in Washington, as well as Barack Obama's uplifting "unity" bullshit, are problematic at best. That is, I'm not quite sure what they mean by the word "bipartisan." As long as Republicans can scare the shit out of Democrats by freaking out 24/7 on Capital Hill, in the White House, and on FOX News, "bipartisan" means "do what the Republicans want." When you get right down to it, any actual gridlock in Congress comes from those few occasions when Democrats find a spine, defying Republican psychic dominance. This kind of actual gridlock, however, has been quickly resolving itself in the Bush era: Dem defiance draws even more "hissy fits," bogus calls of "obstructionism" and the like, from the GOP, which usually result in a return to "bipartisanship," with the Dems again backing down, giving the Republicans what they want. Only when this pathetic dynamic ends can our Senators and Representatives get down to the hard work of hammering out some real compromises, which will probably be very messy and unsatisfying to all, but will also get the country moving again.

In short, there is no shortcut here. True bipartisanship means hard work. It means checking egos and fears at the door. It means deep reflection, nuance, and subtlety. And, unfortunately, I don't see any of that on the horizon at the moment. Until the political class is able to abandon all this bullshit, calls for unity and bipartisanship are so much fantasy.

Besides, what the hell is wrong with partisanship? Like I said, democracy requires vigorous debate. That's the idea, opposition. Pretending that we all agree with each other is sheer lunacy.

But then, sheer lunacy is what America seems to be all about these days.

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FRIDAY CAT BLOGGING

Phil



Reine



Be sure to check out Modulator's Friday Ark for more cat blogging pics!

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BUSH'S FEMA, CDC TO KATRINA SURVIVORS:
GO FUCK YOURSELVES. AGAIN.

From the Newshoggers courtesy of the Daily Kos:

Let Them Breathe Poison

Rep. Nick Lampson, D-Texas, said Tuesday that Federal Emergency Management Agency tried to control the outcome of a scientific study on formaldehyde in trailers used to house victims of Hurricane Katrina.

"Someone from one of the agencies, the CDC, came to our committee and reported that he had information that indicated that good science wasn't followed when a decision was made to allow people to live in basically travel trailers that were not designed to be lived in," said Lampson, chairman of the Energy and Environment Subcommittee of the House Committee on Science and Technology.

In addition, the chairman of the House Homeland Security Committee -- Rep. Bennie G. Thompson, D-Mississippi -- cited medical experts who said prolonged exposure to high levels of formaldehyde can cause ailments ranging from respiratory irritation to cancer.

The committee recently obtained internal CDC e-mail which showed that "despite the efforts of CDC professionals to bring these health risks to the public's attention, those concerns were thwarted by CDC leadership for roughly eight months," Thompson said.

Click here for more.

No surprise here. All very much in keeping with an already established method of operations, in more ways than one. That is, for seven years now Federal agencies controlled by President Bush have been ordered to keep a very tight lid on any information that might prove embarrassing to the administration, its policies, or its philosophy. This not only includes info about Federal misbehavior, corruption, and blunders, such as the "accidental" erasing of White House emails concerning the US attorney firing scandal, but also scientific information, such as global warming data researched by NASA scientists. It's political lying on a scale that would have made Nixon blush.

But wait, there's more. The other pattern here is the continued Federal fuckover of Katrina survivors. First, there was the predictable failure of the levees due to known but covered-up design flaws--granted, this goes back to the Clinton administration and earlier, but it happened under Bush's watch, so he bears ultimate responsibility; the Army Corps of Engineers, which oversees Mississippi River flood control through several states, is, after all, under the White House's command. Then there was the infamous Federal inaction for five days after Katrina. I suppose we'll never fully know or understand why this happened - plain old incompetence is my best bet - but happen it did, while Bush played air guitar out west, and his national security adviser, Condoleezza Rice, shopped for shoes in New York. Finally, Federal aid in reconstruction has come at an agonizing pace, with bizarre bureaucratic holdups, and this massive snafu of fucked-up toxic trailers.

The blogger from whom I snatched this report muses over calling this formaldehyde thing a "crime against humanity" because it's about Bush essentially gassing his own citizens. I'll take it a step further and observe that gassing his own citizens is one of the reasons we had Saddam Hussein hanged.

Which is exactly what we would do to Bush if there were any real justice in the world. Fuck impeachment; let's move on to the war crimes trial.

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FLAT EARTH ECONOMICS TAKES A HIT

From the website of Bucknell University, courtesy of Eschaton, CNBC's capitalist guru Jim Cramer attacks a much loved central assumption of the prevailing economic orthodoxy:

Jim Cramer challenges 'laissez faire' government

"Ever since the (President) Reagan era, our nation has been regressing and repealing years and years worth of safety net and equal economic justice in the name of discrediting and dismantling the federal government's missions to help solve our nation's collective domestic woes," he said. "We call it deregulation … a covert attempt to eliminate the federal government's domestic responsibilities."

And

He said that deregulation is the equivalent of saying that "private industry will do it better, that volunteers will do it better, that business if left unfettered will produce so many rich people that they will do it better than the government can."

Even the best of the nation's private enterprises, Cramer said, citing companies like Wells Fargo, Pepsi, United Technologies, Google, and Costco, can't meet those demands.

And

In the end, he said, laissez faire policies are but a "fraud meant to get around the true role of a government in promoting the general welfare and enriching a select few" and called on enlightened caring capitalists to reassess the abilities of an unregulated marketplace and for the country to readdress the role of regulators "who would leave us at the hands predator capitalists."

It is necessary, Cramer said, to get the limitations of capitalism back on the agenda for the next generation in order to fulfill the mission statement made by the Founding Fathers "to promote the general welfare for all."

Click here for the rest.

All of this, back during the Great Depression and well into the 70s, was once well known by most Americans who knew anything at all about business and economics. I myself, as well as countless other left-wing bloggers, have been echoing Cramer's statements for years now. Actually, it's pretty obvious to anyone who thinks about such issues for about five seconds or so, but most people don't think: they simply repeat the laissez faire mantras they hear in the mainstream news media.

That such a well respected and popular capitalist as Cramer has dared to point out the obvious is a significant event.

Man, I don't even know where to begin addressing this; it's been a major theme for my online writing for the five years I've been blogging. Here's a thought. Back when the Berlin Wall fell in 1989 signaling the end of the Soviet world, my old pal Matt told me that a historian who had predicted the fall of communism had also predicted the fall of capitalism. "Impossible," I thought at the time, but over the years this scholar's prognostication is becoming increasingly valid. The USSR fell apart because it couldn't get a fully state-controlled economy to work in the real world; The US is now falling apart because its ever increasing attempts to make a fully unregulated economy work in the real world are an abject failure.

That is, as American capitalism appears to be collapsing on itself, by way of a shrinking middle class, an ongoing health care crisis, increasing oil prices, a mortgage and lending crisis which threatens to dick everyone in the ass, and countless other "imbalances," it now appears that some of our popular economic ideology's biggest cheerleaders are having second thoughts about "greed is good." And when you get right down to it, what's amazing here is not that somebody like Cramer has decided to trash the concept of laissez faire; rather, what's amazing is that anyone ever bought into the bullshit in the first place.

I mean, think about it: "greed is good." That's like saying gluttony or murder is good. You know, fire is good too, but it's also widely understood that fire is pretty fucking dangerous, as well. The notion that countless organizations, all trying to maximize profits, to squeeze lots of blood from lots of stones, without any outside restraint at all, is somehow the greatest thing we can accomplish as a nation...well...that's just psychotic, and obviously so. That so many Americans don't understand or accept that there are inherent dangers associated with capitalism is the opus of the public relations and advertising industries.

And now that the whole shithouse appears to be caving in, guys like Cramer are abandoning the ideological bullshit that have made them media stars. Why couldn't they have come to their senses ten years ago?

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THE STAR TREK CALENDAR PICTURE OF THE MONTH IS...



...Captain Kirk! And he's wearing his kickass dress uniform!!!

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GOOD TASTE, BAD TASTE,
YOU KNOW I'VE HAD MY SHARE

From the AP via the Houston Chronicle:

Posh Spice tops Blackwell's worst-dressed list

LOS ANGELES — A decade after singling out the Spice Girls as fashion atrocities, Mr. Blackwell put just one of them — Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham — at the top of his 48th annual worst-dressed list.

The acid-tongued critic — who was designing dresses for the rich and famous when he originated the list in 1960 — skewered entertainment's biggest stars in the latest compilation of fashion follies.

More here.

Aw man, I just hate this shit.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not trying to defend my least favorite Spice Girl here--besides, I'm sure all her fame and money do a nice job of taking the sting out of Blackwell's "criticism." What I hate is the whole elitist top-down attitude associated with the fashion industry and their faithful dilettantes.

Look, we live in a society that utterly consumerizes the artistic impulse. That is, people are conditioned by advertising, pop culture, peer pressure, and other influences to leave creativity to the "experts," which ordinary citizens must then be "smart" enough to choose while at the mall. The net effect of all this is that human creativity, that spark of divinity which most makes us like God, is atrophied in most Americans.

The ONE realm where people kinda sorta get creative is when they pick out the clothes they're going to wear in the morning. Headbangers decide what metal band they'll celebrate on their chest for the day. Businessmen, like robot-clones in their dark suits, wear a different tie every day. Even the biggest dress-down slob makes a creative clothing statement saying "the hell with it all; I don't give a fuck." In a country where culture is something that you buy at a store, the mixing and matching of garments remains a large exception to the rule.

Not that the capitalists haven't been desperately trying to change that for decades. Really, the entire fashion industry exists only to get people to buy more clothes they don't really need. All a big scam. "Out of fashion"? What a big joke. Who decides what's in fashion? Capitalist scumbags, that's who.

To be fair, Blackwell usually finds some pretty tacky stuff to condemn, and the assholes on TLC's What Not to Wear usually make their victims look better at the end of the episode than they did at the beginning. Still. I hate their attitudes. I hate the fact that what they say looks good this year will look bad next year. I hate the fact that some people really do make good clothing choices which defy the mundane mainstream, but are condemned, anyway, for not being a fashion lemming. It's all a big stupid high-schoolish dick-club existing for the express purpose of separating you from your money.

They humiliate you and rip you off.



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Oregon town abuzz over mayor's MySpace lingerie shots

From the AP via the Houston Chronicle:

Now only the 42-year-old mayor's friends have access to the page, but some people in this eastern Oregon community of about 500 are still upset.

Resident Lorena Woods said the photos reflect poorly on Arlington, especially since she was photographed on the fire truck. "This isn't the way we want our city to be portrayed," she said.

Kontur-Gronquist, who is also the fire department's executive secretary, said the photos were taken before she was elected mayor three years ago, and she saw no reason to remove them from the Internet after taking office.

She told the (Pendleton) East Oregonian that she did nothing wrong and those who are offended need to get over it.

Click here for the rest.

Okay, it's a three week old story, but still worth my commenting on, especially because I've been commenting on this wave of weird "gotcha" Puritanism against teachers and public officials taking place these last two years or so; this one is very much in that vein. And when I say "that vein," I mean "bullshit." That is, it simply doesn't matter if this mayor posts semi-nude, nude, or even pornographic pictures on the internet. She can do that. It's her right, and in no way does it affect the performance of her job. And don't try to tell me that controversy affects her job: maybe it does, but she's not causing the controversy; the neo-Puritans are. Fuck 'em.

I'm very glad to see that she's essentially taking the same attitude.

Just to drive the point home a bit further, compare one of Mayor Carmen Kontur-Gronquist's controversial pictures with one taken of a certain Senator-running-for-President while he was on a public outing:


Mayor Carmen Kontur-Gronquist; hubba-hubba!


Senator Barack Obama sexily sloshes in the surf.

See? Virtually no difference; they're both wearing black, even, and Obama is actually baring his nipples! In public! Bwah! If he can do it, everybody can.

Jesus Christ, people are so fucking stupid.

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MARDI GRAS IN METAIRIE

What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum
And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces,
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements:
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house.

Shylock, from Act II scene v of Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice

Okay, so as I've observed before, the New Orleans suburb Metairie is most decidedly not New Orleans. Nonetheless, it is composed primarily of families who fled the Big Easy back in the fifties to avoid integration: think of Metairie, culturally speaking, as a white, family-friendly, version of New Orleans--totally unlike any suburb I've ever encountered, Metairie has a vibe that you can't buy at the mall.

That's why, even though I'm expecting a much more pure Mardi Gras experience on Fat Tuesday when I drive into the city for some debauch fun, Mardi Gras in Metairie totally kicks the Baton Rouge experience in the ass.

Of course, I brought my camera; pictures will follow. Forgive me, I'm still a bit drunk, from a beer, multiple swigs from a bottle of Rumplemints that a co-worker brought, and a swig of some rum drink from a stranger's bottle. That's why my commentary is sparse.

Anyway, the pictures, from Metairie's Caesar Parade:


Me and my pal Brian, a fellow waiter, and standup comedian.


Me and my best Metairie bud Matt, a wildman who comes out of the Kerouac tradition even though he's never read Kerouac.


Blurry, yes, due to my poor photography skills, bad lighting, and consumer grade camera. But, hey, aren't these weird Mayan warriors cool?


Also blurry, but pretty cool in a psychedelic way, don't you think?


A jazz float.


The head of Caesar.








These last four were all women in marvelous, feathered costumes.


Something Arthurian for some reason.


A jester head.


Drew Brees as a float.


More Mardi Gras psychedelia.


Mr. Bill as a float.


"See ya'll in 2009."

Happy Mardi Gras!

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FRIDAY CAT BLOGGING

Frankie



Sammy



Be sure to check out Modulator's Friday Ark for more cat blogging pics!!!

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GRIEVING NOTES

Day Five: Friday, October 19, 2007

"When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, you have taught me to say
It is well, It is well with my soul."

From the hymn "It Is Well with My Soul" by Horatio G. Spoffard

(It has now been over a month since my last entry in this Grieving Notes series. My memories of the five days following my mother's death, while still vivid, aren't quite as sharp and palpable as they were when I first started these essays a month after I got back from the funeral. It probably would have been best to just sit down and write it all when it was fresh, but, as I've noted, these posts are damned hard to write. That's why I've delayed this final part for so long. But I'm really feeling the itch to move on, to get back to some normal semblance of my previous life, to get back to the regular grind of blogging, expressing my daily outrages, poking fun at politicians and other powerful figures, all that good stuff. So, what I'm saying is that, even though I don't really feel like writing this, I want to get it out of the way. I'm just going to belt the damned thing out and call it done.

Here goes.)

I looked at my eye in the bathroom mirror. Actually, I had been periodically checking my eye for the last couple of days, ever since I had first seen my mother's dead body and then later noticed that a small growth I'd had for years had seemingly disappeared. Still gone. Maybe it was the lighting or something; I couldn't be one hundred percent sure until I got some better light.

Obviously, this was weird. No, I didn't think some minor miracle had occurred, but belief in spontaneous healing upon the sight of, say, a dead saint's corpse is part of the heritage of Western civilization. Little did I realize that in a couple of hours I was going to see my mother celebrated like a saint, or at least as far in that direction as the very Protestant Southern Baptists are willing to go.

I straightened my tie and checked my eye again. Amazing. Still gone. I checked my watch; it was nearing nine a.m. The limo would be there to pick us up very soon. I went downstairs and drank some coffee while my father and older brother fussed around, getting together whatever they needed to have at the funeral and burial. My younger brother Steve, along with his soon to be wife Lesley, and soon to be step kids Caitlyn and Abigail, arrived. Moments later, the limo was there.

I had never been in a limo before, and this one easily met my expectation. Full bar, which was empty--I guess this company did more than funerals. We didn't say much as we rode to the church, just the occasional remark like "what a beautiful day" or "be sure to get that ring before they bury her." My dad warned us that he wanted to keep as much distance as possible between us and Mom's family--there had been a falling out with most of her sisters some years before in the wake of their mother's death; it was all a bunch of bullshit that Mom never deserved and never asked for, but it meant essentially the end of our relationship with them.

Because the casket would be closed during the service, we spent about a half hour with her body once we got there. I had a strange and wonderful moment. An old friend from my Southern Baptist youth days had gone on to work for the funeral home running the show. We were never really pals; he's a couple of years younger than me, and was a bit awkward back in the day, so our social circles simply didn't overlap. But we shared some experiences together while young, and I always liked him. More recently, he had befriended my mother while I was off in Louisiana getting my MFA. Floyd approached me at the front of our old church while I was looking at Mom. We didn't say anything. He just hugged me, something that would have never happened while we were teenagers. It was totally unexpected. In that moment, it was as though a particular era in my life, not just one person, was comforting me, telling me everything would be okay. No words. Floyd retreated as quickly and quietly as he appeared.

When people started arriving, we were hustled into a sort of pastor's lounge to wait for it to start. I went to the bathroom twice during the forty five minutes or so that we waited, again checking my eye each time. My father said his chest hurt, and my cousin, a psychiatrist, managed to find a nurse to take his blood pressure and vitals; it was just stress--he would make it through the day. My dad's weird brother, Uncle Dean, a Catholic priest, the Choctaw who had lived on reservations on and off for years, joined us with his wife. I asked him to explain the relationship between his Catholic church, which allows priests to marry, and the Roman Catholic Church, which is the one with which I am familiar. He then regaled us with some European history and alternative theology, which was quite interesting, but more valuable for helping us pass the time.

Then it was time. I had an idea of what to expect because I had been with my ex-wife Becky's family at her father's funeral back in 1998. Nonetheless, it was all very unsettling. We entered the sanctuary in a rush. There were hundreds and hundreds of people in attendance. A woman I had known for over twenty years was playing hymns on the organ. Familiar faces, faces I hadn't seen in I don't know how long, dotted the crowd. We took our seats on the front row.

Then it began. Everybody who addressed the crowd glowingly praised Mom. She was a great Christian woman, who tirelessly labored for the Lord in her chosen ministry, working with children. Indeed, it was becoming apparent to me that she had been doing this kind of work for so long that the kids she first started working with back in the late 70s had grown up and had children of their own, to whom she had also ministered, many of whom were there in attendance. I mean, I had always known that she was doing this kind of work, that she was the much loved "Miss Birdie" of her church's Sunday school, mother's-day-out, and vacation Bible school programs, but over the years it just never occurred to me how many lives she was affecting, probably counted in the thousands. And it wasn't just children: my mother had spent the last few years since retiring helping to run the church's prayer ministry. She facilitated countless prayers for countless individuals, many of whom she had never even met. None of this even gets into the numerous mission trips she had taken over the years to foreign countries, often bringing shoes and clothing to orphans.

And that's exactly what the former pastor spoke about in his eulogy when it was his turn at the pulpit. I had never thought of my mom as some kind of Mother Theresa, a saint, working ceaselessly for the souls of humanity. She was always simply "Mom," extraordinarily important, yes, but important to me. All these years while I had been so narcissistically involved with myself, I had been missing the plain-as-day fact that my mother had been building a legacy. Turns out she was a big fucking deal. How could I have missed it?

Here's why: she never thought of herself as a big fucking deal; she was always "Mom." And the meek shall inherit the Earth.

The service closed with my favorite hymn, which was also her favorite hymn, "It Is Well with My Soul." I stood and sang with the congregation even though I hadn't counted myself one of them for fifteen years. Tears streamed down my face. I got so choked up I couldn't get the words out.

Then it was over. We were quickly hustled into the limo and hit the freeway for the VA cemetery where my parents had plots because of my father's longtime service in the Texas Air National Guard. The graveside was more of the same, with only a fraction of the attendance of the church service. It was a beautiful day, and as the preacher prayed his final prayer, all of us holding hands, a bird nearby started to chirp conspicuously. If you don't already know, my mother's name was "Birdie." If this had been a movie or play, the writer would have rejected it as being way too unlikely--you just don't get symbolism like that in real life. But this is real life. The moment simply capped a week of amazing events.

Hours later, after I had gone home and gotten a nap, a few church people arrived with our dinner. One of them was a man who had worked in the prayer ministry with my mother, about her age, a former Marine colonel who fought in Vietnam, and a football player for Rice University back when they were good enough to beat Texas in the late fifties and early sixties. He led us in prayer while we stood in a circle in the kitchen. As I stood there with my head bowed and eyes closed I felt myself being moved and comforted by his Charleton Heston voice. I allowed myself to temporarily abandon my anti-Christian attitudes and views and let it all envelop me.

For the moment, I was in the presence of the Lord.


My mother at some point in the last five years of her life. This is how I will always remember her.

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GRIEVING NOTES

Day Four: Thursday, October 18, 2007

I finally got enough sleep. We didn't have to be at the funeral home until three, so I stayed in bed until noon. In spite of the much needed charging of my sleep cells, waking up was becoming something of a drag: from the moment my eyes opened there was a brief period of not remembering; then it would hit me, my first real thought of the day--Mom is dead.

Apparently, people had been coming by the house all morning, well-wishers, flower deliveries, casseroles and muffins. The parade continued into the afternoon. None of this was a surprise. I know the drill out here in the suburbs. What was surprising was the visit from the new pastor of my parents' Southern Baptist church.

I opened the door and there he was. Only a few years older than me, he looked like Bruce Jenner in khakis. He introduced himself, telling me he had come by to go over some last minute details for the service tomorrow. I told him my name and he winked at me. I invited him in.

My older brother came down and the three of us sat in the living room. The preacher asked how my father was holding up. Chris said Dad was managing. By now I can't remember anything else the man had to say. I only remember his manner and how it made me feel. In fact, I kind of tuned out a bit and just observed the proceedings as new pastor guy did his thing.

Until this moment, all the religion, all the Jesus talk, hadn't really bothered me. Even though I'm an agnostic, my family is deeply entrenched within the fundamentalist world view. OF COURSE they were heavily relying on their religion for comfort--after all, to a great extent, this is why religion exists in the first place, to make us feel better about our knowledge that life is chronologically limited, that we die. But all the Baptist rhetoric from my Dad was okay under these circumstances. And he wasn't using it to condemn sinners as Baptists love to do; he was using it to cope with his profound loss, assuring himself that he would see Mom again in Heaven.

And what do I know? Absolutely nothing. I'm an agnostic, not an atheist. Maybe Dad is right. Maybe Mom is in Heaven right now with her dog, and her father, and her niece Debbie who died tragically in a car crash back in the 80s, all happy and content, having all human mysteries explained once and for all. There were many moments during that first week after Mom died when I would allow my intellectual reservations about God to dissolve in order to emotionally relish the prayers and Christian spirituality that were all around me. It felt good if I didn't think too much about it.

But this new young, handsome pastor made me think. I'll cut him some slack because he was new to the community and didn't know any of us, but he was just so into his...I don't know...preacher man mode. I think I now understand how Bill Clinton drives the right wing into hysterics. Preacher-man was slick, verging on fake. I mean, he was clearly trying to be helpful, but I hated him. I didn't want to pray with him. I didn't want him comforting me with his bullshit. I just wanted to get the fuck out of the house, away from this TV-perfect snake oil salesman who so well represented to me the false "love" of fundamentalist Christianity.

I kept my mouth shut and tried to be nice. He would be gone soon enough. We had to go to the funeral home at three in order to be ready for the "viewing" from four to seven.


Mom with Romanian orphans on a Southern Baptist mission trip, late 90s

And soon enough, we were back in the room with my mother's body, me, Dad, my older brother Chris, my younger brother Steve, his fiance Lesley, and her two young daughters, Caitlyn and Abigail. I didn't really know what to expect; I had never gone to a "viewing" before. At first, during the first hour, only a few people came by, people I didn't know, but who knew Mom. Conversation was awkward and superficial.

"I'm the middle one, Ron. I live in New Orleans now, just got my master's in acting from LSU, taught high school for a while, but I ended up hating it."

"Oh yes, I know all about you, your mother always talked about you and your brothers. You know, she was so wonderful."

"Yes, yes."

That's how it went for awhile. After seven or eight encounters like this I noticed that the room had filled with people; it was almost like a party now, except for my mom's dead body stashed in the corner. Then I started talking to old friends, acquaintances and mentors. Mrs. Dearman, my first grade art teacher who I last saw some thirty years ago asked me how I was doing. The daughter of the preacher who baptized me, and who I had taught in vacation Bible school when she was a kid and I was in high school, made a self-deprecating remark about how I had a master's degree but she was only a housewife--"But that's something," I told her; Mom had been a housewife for many years. My tenth grade algebra teacher, Mrs. Smith, was there, too. I noticed a familiar gray haired man across the room who cockily swaggered over and put his arm around my shoulders.

"Do you remember who I am?" he asked.

"No, I'm sorry," I said.

"You'd better remember who I am," he lightly threatened.

"Coach Camps?" I realized.

"That's right!"

Coach Camps was one of my fondest memories from middle school football back in the early 80s. Turns out he was now an assistant principal at the school where my soon-to-be niece Caitlyn was in sixth grade.


Mom, Steve, and Dad after the 1987 homecoming game

Weirdest moment: hearing my Aunt Inez's voice, then turning around and seeing her. Inez, alone among my mother's five siblings, speaks and sounds almost exactly like my mother did. It used to confuse a bit when I was little. Today, it was just plain weird. I mean, I heard her voice and realized almost immediately who it was, but still...for a split second, it was really freaky. Inez also looks a lot like Mom.

Despite it all, it was good to see her. She and Mom had had something of a falling out over extended family politics, but none of that mattered now. She was there to show her respects.


Mom, in the middle, with her mother (on Mom's left) and five siblings, late 70s--Inez is second from left.

All of this was quite remarkable, like important characters who briefly appear at the beginning of a play and reappear only during the denouement for symbolic significance. But nothing was as emotionally moving to me as the unexpected arrival of close friends from more recent years. Bob and Anne, the god and goddess of my beloved theater home in Houston, dos chicas, read the notice in the paper and made the commute up to Kingwood to show their respects. My pal Stephen, who played Ken Lay in Enron the Musical last year, came too, right on the heels of Anne and Bob.

I had kept a brave face throughout the entire event, chatting with all these people, one after another. But the unexpected, unrequested show of support by these three friends finally made me cry.

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