FIRST, I'm a bad blog administrator, and deserve to be spanked, and my goddam neighbor with OCD is using her leaf blower or shop vac again, which is how she spends every Friday, hours of every Friday, including yesterday, and the incessant high-pitched whine is probably going to come through in the next few paragraphs, probably in the shape of a few additional "fucks", although you'd hardly notice. Fuck. It's really interesting being surrounded by three lawn-care fanatics and one guy five times slobbier than myself, especially during late fall, because the fanatics can't be bothered to rake leaves before they blow all over the neighborhood, but they've spent the last seven-and-a-half months mowing every time the grass grows 1/8 inch. Even Lady MacBeth next door will watch the leaves befoul the pacific verdure of her front yard without picking up a rake. I'm guessing that the introduction of a popularly-priced gasoline-powered rake would change these matters entirely.
Fuck that whine. Anyway, I don't generally reap blog comments until I sit down late in the PM and check the day's email. So I don't frequently appear in my own comments section. Besides which, out of some odd quirk of the cosmos, every single one of you is smarter than I am, which makes no sense to me, but there you are. And so, for example, kentropic says, "David Brock, not David Brooks, generously leaving out "you moron", to which we reply 1) never mind, then; 2) now you have some sense of what it must be like to be married to me; and 3) you still don't get the t-shirt, because we consider the development of an allergic reaction to right-wing slime over the course of a decade to be less a matter of ideology than public health.
Now, as to Davis X. (who, in case we've never said it on this blog, though we know we've said it elsewhere, was our favorite commentator in the old Table Talk days), and Scott: we do actually try not to go too far on most occasions, right up to the point where we'd have to re-read our own stuff an', y'know, edit it an' shit. We meant no insult to Harvey Weir Cook, American flying ace. We meant to insult the people who appropriated him in the continuing battle to militarize everything. We knew it was hydrogen; we were just riffing on the Tethered Child's Toy bit. We know that flying in the Great War was more dangerous even than being in the infantry, which is saying something, and we suspect, though can't prove, that just flying the things was more dangerous in WWI than combat flying was in WWII. British pilots were denied parachutes, on the grounds that this might cause them to actually bail out (which, by the way, reminds us that while P.J. O'Rourke thinks no one this side of sanity could be a Leftist after the 20th century, we think anyone with the potential of learning from WWI, which pretty much kicked the century off, and particularly, but not limited to, the actions of the British High Command, and yet remains a crypto-monarchist and 9/11 martinet has no room to talk). Millions died between 1914-1918 for antiquated notions of glory; the worst possible way to memorialize them is to append them to latter-day attempts to revive it.
What I really wanted to do this morning was simply thank Sarah Palin for taking the weekend off, while encouraging her to take right back up where she left off next Monday. It's truly heartening to see the Mass Media following up on a story it allowed her to refuse to tell back when it might have informed the electorate. Special thanks to my local teleprompterites keeping me informed of the goings-on at the Republican Governors' Association; we've had a fucking Republican governor for the last four years and I can't remember them ever saying anything about it. Please, keep this up. I think most of us expected the Republican party to behave classlessly post-election; and what better spokespirana could they ask for?
Saturday, November 15
Friday, November 14
Last Kiss
Potted maple shows off (for forty-eight hours).
Hostas are not usually part of the fall show, so we're grading on a curve.
Vines and the baby-shoe windchimes somebody thought was funny.
Autum-blooming clematis gone to seed.
Thursday, November 13
Why We Fight
• This isn't a news blog, and the only reason it's anything even slightly close to timely is that I find something every day to piss me off, not to mention that I then go on about it interminably, so even if there were news items they'd wind up five page scrolls down in short order. So I didn't mention the Frontline piece on Lee Atwater ahead of time, but I did set the DVR, and it's well worth your time to check local listings or hunt it down somewheres (Here's the PBS page link). It's remarkable what the addition of Joe Conason and/or Eric Alterman can do for teevee coverage of political issues. Maybe they should be on more, and veteran confidence men like Howard Fineman less not at all. Mary Matalin will be the very definition of a useful idiot once somebody discovers a use for her. Tucker Eskew sounds out words as he reads. Seriously. I mean, maybe he's dyslexic. But the thing about it is, every time you hear that, "All y'all Northerners thinks we's scuggins, but that's just when we gitcha," it either comes from, or is said about, someone who by every objective standard available sounds like a fifth-grade remedial reader. I agree, people are quick to judge, but that is just as natural as, and generally more understandable than, the speech patterns of people born below the Ohio (or, in Indiana, south of US 40). But in the aftermath (protects self from Evil Eye) of George W. Bush it's time at least some of the onus travelled back to the other side. I treasure Southern English. But the glories of regionalism are not an excuse for someone in the communications business to act as if there are no rules about speaking clearly which prohibit the actual taking of naps between syllables. My Poor Wife watches that Paula Deen--if by "watches" one means "occasionally lights on for more than her customary 0.6 seconds"--quite possibly just to annoy me. "Naoh-uh whee-ur a'go-an-uh t'aad-duh sum-uh gahhhlic." It's a fucking half-hour show, lady! Maybe it's just me, but I have a hard time understanding someone when, by the middle of every sentence, I've begun to keep count of how many extra syllables they've added minus the ones they threw away out of spite, caprice, or pernicious whimsey.
Anyway, a remarkable document, and even if you lived through it the first time an inducer of nausea (Reagan says of Michael Dukakis, "I won't make fun of an invalid"; Press Corps chuckles). Anyone prattling about bi-partisanship in 2008 ought to be required to view it in its entirety, and write an essay, before he opens his mouth again. O'Rourke thinks Americans love liars because April 15 comes around every year; I suggest that the casual immoralities of daily American life, while instructive of our national and international behavior, in fact fall so far short of the utter amorality of these people--the Bush Crime Family particularly--that the latter is a different, and unexpected, species, and they'd all be tarred and feathered if the public really knew, and could afford tar and feathers anymore. Atwater shived Ed Rollins in the prison shower to get his job; the Finemans of the world then allowed him to pretend he didn't know anything about the Willie Horton ads, even though everyone knew. This is not padding your deductions; this is padding your deductions while indulging in posterior intimacies with the examiner's wife, in his office, with the door open. Some people are gratified by Atwater's supposed Death Bed apologies; I'm just grateful he fittingly remained a Drama Queen to the end. Ed Rollins' story about Atwater's Bible, which the producers were too sensitive to let end the piece as it should've (compounding the error by letting Howard Fucking Fineman spew platitudes), is absolutely worth the price of admission, and the time spent looking it up.
• Kentropic, in comments yesterday, proposes--jokingly--David Brooks as the second American to switch ends of the American political spectrum, which reminds me of a couple of things. An earlier draft of that thing yesterday mentioned Brooks by name, and asked exactly what Liberal credentials he might dig up for us. He was old enough to vote in 1980--how'd that go? And I realize that's not confirmable, but is anything in his past? Maybe he tells the tale in one of those books I'm always intending to read just as soon as one washes up on an island I've been deserted on. He spouts that "parody" of William Fuhbuckley like a Freak Flag, though it seems (okay, reluctantly, it's here, complete with "Hilarious" in the head so you'll be prepared. Do not click.) mostly to demonstrate that Brooks somehow remained a sophomore until 1983, and I mean high school sophomore. Those of us who tenant the slums of political blog comments are, of course, quite familiar with the Youstabee Liberal who cannot seem to come up with a single believable sample of his former belief system, as though your later embarrassment at having been an REO Speedwagon groupie would cause you to forget what a guitar sounds like. But Brooks never gets called on this, though I can't imagine who it's supposed to impress. And this gave me the thought that there might be some sort of Lord Raglan Hero Pattern for Former Liberals, though it would have to account for the milquetoast Brookeses and the retired radical dope smokers.
• The new phone books are here, and they only cost a billion dollars! Hoosiers had barely had enough time to stop gawking at the retractable ceiling of our billion-dollar Football Barn before we opened our new billion-dollar Airport Terminal Barn, and the teleprompter readers couldn't be more excited, let me tell you. They kept reminding The Folks At Home that this was the first new terminal since 2001, which tells you something, namely, that if no real city needed a new terminal in that period, Indianapolis sure didn't. The goddam thing's been in the planning stages for thirty-five years, which tells you a couple more things: it's probably 8.2 times even worse than the new Football Barn, and the graft trail would require a team of archaeologists and a baying of bloodhounds to begin uncovering.
We mentioned some time ago--you don't expect us to keep track of this stuff, right?--that an organization had turned up trying to change the name of the Indianapolis Airquotes International Airquotes Airport back to the original Weir Cook Airport, which yours truly enthusiastically supported for as long as it took him to learn (not long) that what these people were up to was not the elimination of the bloated, risible, Bureaucratic Megalomaniacese of its current moniker, nor the simple nostalgia that might help glue Place to Time, but Yet Another Glorification of All Things War. Col. Harvey Weir Cook was a WWI flyboy with the Hat-in-the-Ring squadron who is credited with seven kills, four of them balloons. (I am, by the way, trying to get the Airport Authority to give my Poor Wife's students some wall space to paint a mural depicting one of those heroic triumphs over Helium. Or was it Hydrogen? I'll let you know how it goes.) There was no more chance that the Board was going to take "Indianapolis" out of the name of the place than they were going to ban price-gouging in the food court, but this gang realized that playing up the Honor our Veterans routine got 'em plenty of airtime, and in the end--after several loudly thumped stories from local "news" organizations which had ignored the name change the previous thirty years--the Board agreed to name the new terminal after the hero of the Battle of Tethered Child's Toy Alley.
This, of course, proved to Not Be Enough Wargasm; it never is. The next step was to delay the fucking opening of our badly-needed luggage-claims upgrade until Veteran's Day. And then they tried to fix it so the first arrival would be a planeload of Indiana Guardsmen returning from Afghanistan, but the timing broke down. Are we not, really, the last nation on earth which needs nearly unrestricted access to firearms?
It's Thursday. This thing has been the lead story on every local "news" program since last Friday. ("In a little over 48 hours the first plane will arrive at the New H. Weir Cook Terminal!" Could you, reader, even spit those words out, let alone while pretending they were important?) I swear to god I actually turned on the nets at 8PM Tuesday to see if they'd cut to a live shot of the first plane landing. And I was amazed to find they didn't.
And the culmination, make that nadir, came when one (or at least one) actually sent a reporter to Philadelphia so she could turn around and fly back and tell us what it was like. Just keep that in mind should you feel the need to use "Indiana is now a Blue State!" in conversation.
Anyway, a remarkable document, and even if you lived through it the first time an inducer of nausea (Reagan says of Michael Dukakis, "I won't make fun of an invalid"; Press Corps chuckles). Anyone prattling about bi-partisanship in 2008 ought to be required to view it in its entirety, and write an essay, before he opens his mouth again. O'Rourke thinks Americans love liars because April 15 comes around every year; I suggest that the casual immoralities of daily American life, while instructive of our national and international behavior, in fact fall so far short of the utter amorality of these people--the Bush Crime Family particularly--that the latter is a different, and unexpected, species, and they'd all be tarred and feathered if the public really knew, and could afford tar and feathers anymore. Atwater shived Ed Rollins in the prison shower to get his job; the Finemans of the world then allowed him to pretend he didn't know anything about the Willie Horton ads, even though everyone knew. This is not padding your deductions; this is padding your deductions while indulging in posterior intimacies with the examiner's wife, in his office, with the door open. Some people are gratified by Atwater's supposed Death Bed apologies; I'm just grateful he fittingly remained a Drama Queen to the end. Ed Rollins' story about Atwater's Bible, which the producers were too sensitive to let end the piece as it should've (compounding the error by letting Howard Fucking Fineman spew platitudes), is absolutely worth the price of admission, and the time spent looking it up.
• Kentropic, in comments yesterday, proposes--jokingly--David Brooks as the second American to switch ends of the American political spectrum, which reminds me of a couple of things. An earlier draft of that thing yesterday mentioned Brooks by name, and asked exactly what Liberal credentials he might dig up for us. He was old enough to vote in 1980--how'd that go? And I realize that's not confirmable, but is anything in his past? Maybe he tells the tale in one of those books I'm always intending to read just as soon as one washes up on an island I've been deserted on. He spouts that "parody" of William Fuhbuckley like a Freak Flag, though it seems (okay, reluctantly, it's here, complete with "Hilarious" in the head so you'll be prepared. Do not click.) mostly to demonstrate that Brooks somehow remained a sophomore until 1983, and I mean high school sophomore. Those of us who tenant the slums of political blog comments are, of course, quite familiar with the Youstabee Liberal who cannot seem to come up with a single believable sample of his former belief system, as though your later embarrassment at having been an REO Speedwagon groupie would cause you to forget what a guitar sounds like. But Brooks never gets called on this, though I can't imagine who it's supposed to impress. And this gave me the thought that there might be some sort of Lord Raglan Hero Pattern for Former Liberals, though it would have to account for the milquetoast Brookeses and the retired radical dope smokers.
• The new phone books are here, and they only cost a billion dollars! Hoosiers had barely had enough time to stop gawking at the retractable ceiling of our billion-dollar Football Barn before we opened our new billion-dollar Airport Terminal Barn, and the teleprompter readers couldn't be more excited, let me tell you. They kept reminding The Folks At Home that this was the first new terminal since 2001, which tells you something, namely, that if no real city needed a new terminal in that period, Indianapolis sure didn't. The goddam thing's been in the planning stages for thirty-five years, which tells you a couple more things: it's probably 8.2 times even worse than the new Football Barn, and the graft trail would require a team of archaeologists and a baying of bloodhounds to begin uncovering.
We mentioned some time ago--you don't expect us to keep track of this stuff, right?--that an organization had turned up trying to change the name of the Indianapolis Airquotes International Airquotes Airport back to the original Weir Cook Airport, which yours truly enthusiastically supported for as long as it took him to learn (not long) that what these people were up to was not the elimination of the bloated, risible, Bureaucratic Megalomaniacese of its current moniker, nor the simple nostalgia that might help glue Place to Time, but Yet Another Glorification of All Things War. Col. Harvey Weir Cook was a WWI flyboy with the Hat-in-the-Ring squadron who is credited with seven kills, four of them balloons. (I am, by the way, trying to get the Airport Authority to give my Poor Wife's students some wall space to paint a mural depicting one of those heroic triumphs over Helium. Or was it Hydrogen? I'll let you know how it goes.) There was no more chance that the Board was going to take "Indianapolis" out of the name of the place than they were going to ban price-gouging in the food court, but this gang realized that playing up the Honor our Veterans routine got 'em plenty of airtime, and in the end--after several loudly thumped stories from local "news" organizations which had ignored the name change the previous thirty years--the Board agreed to name the new terminal after the hero of the Battle of Tethered Child's Toy Alley.
This, of course, proved to Not Be Enough Wargasm; it never is. The next step was to delay the fucking opening of our badly-needed luggage-claims upgrade until Veteran's Day. And then they tried to fix it so the first arrival would be a planeload of Indiana Guardsmen returning from Afghanistan, but the timing broke down. Are we not, really, the last nation on earth which needs nearly unrestricted access to firearms?
It's Thursday. This thing has been the lead story on every local "news" program since last Friday. ("In a little over 48 hours the first plane will arrive at the New H. Weir Cook Terminal!" Could you, reader, even spit those words out, let alone while pretending they were important?) I swear to god I actually turned on the nets at 8PM Tuesday to see if they'd cut to a live shot of the first plane landing. And I was amazed to find they didn't.
And the culmination, make that nadir, came when one (or at least one) actually sent a reporter to Philadelphia so she could turn around and fly back and tell us what it was like. Just keep that in mind should you feel the need to use "Indiana is now a Blue State!" in conversation.
Wednesday, November 12
I Am Really, Truly, Sorry That Despite My Obviously Superior Shotmaking That Last Stroke Was Poor Enough To Force Me To Take This Mulligan.
P.J. O'Rourke, "We Blew It: A look back in remorse on the conservative opportunity that was squandered". November 17
HERE'S the thing: I never trusted P.J. O'Rourke's schtick, that is, his I'm-a-Republican-because-I-grew-up-from-being-a-hippie routine. To begin with, I've never trusted anyone who claims to've have some political epiphany after the age of majority. Religion, sure, because religious conversion after adulthood is generally a measure of personal despondency or the severity of one's legal fuck-ups. Politics aren't, at least generally. A polar transposition of political beliefs in adulthood, absent any evidence of massive head trauma, suggests either that one is being disingenuous, or that one was formerly so devoid of sense that measuring one's current level of ingenuousness isn't worth the effort. Sure, this may be well within the range of human possibilities, but it's notable that we don't exactly see it happening all that often when there's no money on the line, and rarely do we find anyone moving from the popular camp to the loser's hangout, which we'd expect to find in close to equal numbers if it were a real, meaning honest, phenomenon. I challenge you to name two, and I'll spot you Kevin Phillips.
For another, y'know, I hope this doesn't fuck with his income or anything, but long-haired casual Leftist dope smokers were not exactly a rare breed in 1968, and I'm pretty sure they grew up to be all sorts of things, Yuppies included, but the vast majority never had the opportunity, or the need, to justify it in print. There's Mitch Daniels, fer instance, though I doubt he was ever much of a leftist, especially once his draft commitment was up. Nobody says "Wow, Mitch overcame Liberalism. That makes him especially knowledgeable." and you don't hear nearly enough people say, "Gee, Mitch used to be a drug dealer, now he's an ill-tempered autocrat." Mitch has a taste for power as well as money, but he, too, found delivering encomiums to private enterprise to be a lucrative career path. Of course, dealing a little weed as a youthful indiscretion is not just forgivable in the eyes of your modern Captain of Industry or Baron of Real Estate; it shows a healthy, nascent respect for The System, especially if it was mostly shake. Cracking wise about the Tuskegee Experiment when you're in your mid-twenties, on the other hand, may require some 'splainin'.
And as we see on an ever-widening basis these days, the problem with these guys is not their acceptance of, nor their proselytizing for, free-market economies and private enterprise. It's that through cupidity, stupidity, or in certain cases frankly unnatural shortness they, and many others, came to imagine that the people most in need of economic defense and protective legislation were, in fact, the the largest of the breed, who, it turns out, were also the most likely to part with considerable wads of cash in return for services rendered. O'Rourke speaks at The Cato Institute, not the North Platte Jaycees. Daniels junkets to Asia, having funded the semi-annual exercises by raising enough "private" "donations" to give a leg up to every aspiring entrepreneur minority student at Ivy Tech. I mean, I'm sure they're both nice to their barbers, too, but it doesn't seem like either party gets much out of that.
The short answer, if it's not already too late for that, is that having been a dope-smoking pseudo-leftist up until you needed a job does not particularly qualify one as an expert on Nancy Pelosi. It just qualifies you to impress a roomful of well-born idiots and associated toadies who only wish they could have spent 1967 thru 1974 smoking hash with braless nubile bareback riders. It's like a gig selling backwoods Jesus aficionados on the utter depravity of your smack addict/boy prostitute days before you were Saved. It doesn't make you a liar, but a little evidence to the contrary would be nice. And there's the fact that O'Rourke has wrung the neck of this particular chicken longer now than Erma Bombeck made a living off the length of teenagers' phone calls.
But nothing lasts for ever, as Ozzy Mandus said to Wavy Gravy, and now O'Rourke finds himself telling the Weekly Standard audience, "We blew it, man." His is, actually, my favorite Wha' Happen? piece of the whole glorious sennight [Warning: contains excessive scenes of passive-voice pooch sex]:
Bummer, dude. Maybe you should have thought about implementing it before last Tuesday.
Okay, I think we'll be getting back to that inner-city school remark, but meanwhile, what sort of "education" about "freedom" mitigates the fact that the second consecutive two-term laissez-faire Republican administration closes with the nation's financial institutions having been plundered, and the Little Guy footing the bill? And considering you had an eight-year Revolution with an effective control of Congress, followed by four years of Get Saddam, Get Noriega, Get Willie Horton! stewardship, followed by eight years of hunting a President because he was more moderate than you (his dick will yet appear today! If the whole Clenis™ thing was disgusting before, there's the added hint of necrophilia to reverse our gorges now), a practice which was shepherded by a group of Republican officials so personally and professionally repugnant that any normal person, male or female, straight, gay, or none of the above, would have gladly blown Bill Clinton just for the promise that he'd help you cross to the other side of the street to avoid them. This was accompanied by Republican Revolution II. Then, thanks for making us remember, came 2001-2008. Th' fuck, really, was stopping you? Assuming the entire electorate to be made up of programmable Randian zombies over the last three decades, what more would you have gotten out of it?
"An admirable stance on States' Rights which was unfortunately wrong?" P.J., man, stop bogartin'.
We pause here to remind you that this is a guy who keeps insisting he's smarter than you, or at least knows better, in part through the moral superiority of his positions, and who has just suggested that killin' a person is a minor quibble compared to coalition-building.
Pooches were screwed! Look, goddamit, by the time you impeached Bill Clinton everybody in the country, including even the pathetic gang of House "managers" who would soon, to a man, be enjoying the freedom to earn their livings off the private enterprise system, knew that Clinton wasn't going to be convicted. And everybody in the country knew you'd been on a seven-year witch hunt, or, more accurately, a ten-year series of witch hunts. You fucking couldn't stop yourselves then; you want absolution now? And by the way, I don't recall you spending the decade lecturing on Hayek rather than sniffing Clinton's crotch with the rest of the hounds.
Again, 1) what sort of theoretical climate must we enjoy for this not to be the case, and 2) why should the rest of the nation be consigned to looking for it for you?
Frankly, some of us expected you to. And to bring along your own WMDs for good measure.
See, it's funny because Bill Clinton has a dick!
Then why were you just griping about taxes?
Look, let's try this again: it's been twenty fucking years since the Reagan presidency ended. It's been twenty fucking years since a man who'd spent sixteen years running for President on the single issue of the evils of the National Debt left office having nearly quadrupled it. And not just that; "conservatives" cheered while he was doing it, and then they tried to excuse it by claiming he'd single-handedly spent the Soviets into bankruptcy when we knew in the 70s they were about to crash. Then, like, two days later these same fucking "conservatives" hit the roof because the Clinton administration dared to take a pair of manicure scissors to the edges of the Defense budget! Twenty fucking years. That was certainly long enough for you to go from first taste of sweet sweet hemp to Professional Grown-up. Maybe it's long enough to drop the pretense of Republican fiscal conservatism. By the way, did you know Bill Clinton got a blow job?
Where were You on Kosovo? Easy--sniffing Clinton's crotch, right where You were the rest of the decade, and trying to make political hay out of the situation once he acted.
As for the rest, y'know, we can indict the US government's humanitarianism and amoral foreign policy beginning with the 18th century, but the idea that the American Right is somehow ethically exempt? What th' fuck are you smokin' now?
Ri-iight. What is founding a major international criminal cartel or two compared to expecting to eat a few crumbs off the table?
See, that's funny, since at the time you were busy blaming Liberals for creating an underclass that was insufficiently buoyant. And blaming the Carter administration for creating FEMA. No, I'm not making that up.
Here's the thing about that: I'm happy to learn, now that its collapse has taken the rest of the country down with it, that we all lost our savings to faulty bathroom scales and not a cult. That would have been devastating. And I'm assuming this means y'all have managed to hide all the evidence that you've been selling the Free Market as a Miracle Solution To Everything, Guaranteed! ever since you started wearing ties.
Damn! And y'all were so vigilant about it, too.
HERE'S the thing: I never trusted P.J. O'Rourke's schtick, that is, his I'm-a-Republican-because-I-grew-up-from-being-a-hippie routine. To begin with, I've never trusted anyone who claims to've have some political epiphany after the age of majority. Religion, sure, because religious conversion after adulthood is generally a measure of personal despondency or the severity of one's legal fuck-ups. Politics aren't, at least generally. A polar transposition of political beliefs in adulthood, absent any evidence of massive head trauma, suggests either that one is being disingenuous, or that one was formerly so devoid of sense that measuring one's current level of ingenuousness isn't worth the effort. Sure, this may be well within the range of human possibilities, but it's notable that we don't exactly see it happening all that often when there's no money on the line, and rarely do we find anyone moving from the popular camp to the loser's hangout, which we'd expect to find in close to equal numbers if it were a real, meaning honest, phenomenon. I challenge you to name two, and I'll spot you Kevin Phillips.
For another, y'know, I hope this doesn't fuck with his income or anything, but long-haired casual Leftist dope smokers were not exactly a rare breed in 1968, and I'm pretty sure they grew up to be all sorts of things, Yuppies included, but the vast majority never had the opportunity, or the need, to justify it in print. There's Mitch Daniels, fer instance, though I doubt he was ever much of a leftist, especially once his draft commitment was up. Nobody says "Wow, Mitch overcame Liberalism. That makes him especially knowledgeable." and you don't hear nearly enough people say, "Gee, Mitch used to be a drug dealer, now he's an ill-tempered autocrat." Mitch has a taste for power as well as money, but he, too, found delivering encomiums to private enterprise to be a lucrative career path. Of course, dealing a little weed as a youthful indiscretion is not just forgivable in the eyes of your modern Captain of Industry or Baron of Real Estate; it shows a healthy, nascent respect for The System, especially if it was mostly shake. Cracking wise about the Tuskegee Experiment when you're in your mid-twenties, on the other hand, may require some 'splainin'.
And as we see on an ever-widening basis these days, the problem with these guys is not their acceptance of, nor their proselytizing for, free-market economies and private enterprise. It's that through cupidity, stupidity, or in certain cases frankly unnatural shortness they, and many others, came to imagine that the people most in need of economic defense and protective legislation were, in fact, the the largest of the breed, who, it turns out, were also the most likely to part with considerable wads of cash in return for services rendered. O'Rourke speaks at The Cato Institute, not the North Platte Jaycees. Daniels junkets to Asia, having funded the semi-annual exercises by raising enough "private" "donations" to give a leg up to every aspiring entrepreneur minority student at Ivy Tech. I mean, I'm sure they're both nice to their barbers, too, but it doesn't seem like either party gets much out of that.
The short answer, if it's not already too late for that, is that having been a dope-smoking pseudo-leftist up until you needed a job does not particularly qualify one as an expert on Nancy Pelosi. It just qualifies you to impress a roomful of well-born idiots and associated toadies who only wish they could have spent 1967 thru 1974 smoking hash with braless nubile bareback riders. It's like a gig selling backwoods Jesus aficionados on the utter depravity of your smack addict/boy prostitute days before you were Saved. It doesn't make you a liar, but a little evidence to the contrary would be nice. And there's the fact that O'Rourke has wrung the neck of this particular chicken longer now than Erma Bombeck made a living off the length of teenagers' phone calls.
But nothing lasts for ever, as Ozzy Mandus said to Wavy Gravy, and now O'Rourke finds himself telling the Weekly Standard audience, "We blew it, man." His is, actually, my favorite Wha' Happen? piece of the whole glorious sennight [Warning: contains excessive scenes of passive-voice pooch sex]:
Our 28-year conservative opportunity to fix the moral and practical boundaries of government is gone--gone with the bear market and the Bear Stearns and the bear that's headed off to do you-know-what in the woods on our philosophy.
Bummer, dude. Maybe you should have thought about implementing it before last Tuesday.
No, we on the right did it. The financial crisis that is hoisting us on our own petard is only the latest (if the last) of the petard hoistings that have issued from the hindquarters of our movement. We've had nearly three decades to educate the electorate about freedom, responsibility, and the evils of collectivism, and we responded by creating a big-city-public-school-system of a learning environment.
Okay, I think we'll be getting back to that inner-city school remark, but meanwhile, what sort of "education" about "freedom" mitigates the fact that the second consecutive two-term laissez-faire Republican administration closes with the nation's financial institutions having been plundered, and the Little Guy footing the bill? And considering you had an eight-year Revolution with an effective control of Congress, followed by four years of Get Saddam, Get Noriega, Get Willie Horton! stewardship, followed by eight years of hunting a President because he was more moderate than you (his dick will yet appear today! If the whole Clenis™ thing was disgusting before, there's the added hint of necrophilia to reverse our gorges now), a practice which was shepherded by a group of Republican officials so personally and professionally repugnant that any normal person, male or female, straight, gay, or none of the above, would have gladly blown Bill Clinton just for the promise that he'd help you cross to the other side of the street to avoid them. This was accompanied by Republican Revolution II. Then, thanks for making us remember, came 2001-2008. Th' fuck, really, was stopping you? Assuming the entire electorate to be made up of programmable Randian zombies over the last three decades, what more would you have gotten out of it?
In our preaching and our practice we neglected to convey the organic and universal nature of freedom. Thus we ensured our loss before we even began our winning streak. Barry Goldwater was an admirable and principled man. He took an admirably principled stand on states' rights. But he was dead wrong. Separate isn't equal. Ask a kid whose parents are divorced.
"An admirable stance on States' Rights which was unfortunately wrong?" P.J., man, stop bogartin'.
In how many ways did we fail conservatism? And who can count that high? Take just one example of our unconserved tendency to poke our noses into other people's business: abortion. Democracy--be it howsoever conservative--is a manifestation of the will of the people....
If the citizenry insists that abortion remain legal--and, in a passive and conflicted way, the citizenry seems to be doing so--then give the issue a rest. Meanwhile we can, with the public's blessing, refuse to spend taxpayers' money on killing, circumscribe the timing and method of taking a human life, make sure parental consent is obtained when underage girls are involved, and tar and feather teenage boys and run them out of town on a rail.
We pause here to remind you that this is a guy who keeps insisting he's smarter than you, or at least knows better, in part through the moral superiority of his positions, and who has just suggested that killin' a person is a minor quibble compared to coalition-building.
Our impeachment of President Clinton was another example of placing the wrong political emphasis on personal matters. We impeached Clinton for lying to the government. To our surprise the electorate gave us cold comfort. Lying to the government: It's called April 15th.
Pooches were screwed! Look, goddamit, by the time you impeached Bill Clinton everybody in the country, including even the pathetic gang of House "managers" who would soon, to a man, be enjoying the freedom to earn their livings off the private enterprise system, knew that Clinton wasn't going to be convicted. And everybody in the country knew you'd been on a seven-year witch hunt, or, more accurately, a ten-year series of witch hunts. You fucking couldn't stop yourselves then; you want absolution now? And by the way, I don't recall you spending the decade lecturing on Hayek rather than sniffing Clinton's crotch with the rest of the hounds.
The sludge and dreck of political muck-funds flowing to prosperous businesses and individuals have gotten deeper and more slippery and stink worse than ever with conservatives minding the sewage works of legislation.
Again, 1) what sort of theoretical climate must we enjoy for this not to be the case, and 2) why should the rest of the nation be consigned to looking for it for you?
For what we will spend on the Farm, Nutrition and Bioenergy Act of 2008 we could have avoided the war in Iraq and simply bought a controlling interest in Saddam Hussein's country.
Frankly, some of us expected you to. And to bring along your own WMDs for good measure.
Yes, we got a few tax breaks during the regimes of Reagan and W. But the government is still taking a third of our salary. Is the government doing a third of our job? Is the government doing a third of our dishes? Our laundry? Our vacuuming? When we go to Hooters is the government tending bar making sure that one out of three margaritas is on the house? If our spouse is feeling romantic and we're tired, does the government come over to our house and take care of foreplay? (Actually, during the Clinton administration . . . )
See, it's funny because Bill Clinton has a dick!
Anyway, a low tax rate is not--never mind the rhetoric of every conservative politician--a bedrock principle of conservatism. The principle is fiscal responsibility.
Then why were you just griping about taxes?
Look, let's try this again: it's been twenty fucking years since the Reagan presidency ended. It's been twenty fucking years since a man who'd spent sixteen years running for President on the single issue of the evils of the National Debt left office having nearly quadrupled it. And not just that; "conservatives" cheered while he was doing it, and then they tried to excuse it by claiming he'd single-handedly spent the Soviets into bankruptcy when we knew in the 70s they were about to crash. Then, like, two days later these same fucking "conservatives" hit the roof because the Clinton administration dared to take a pair of manicure scissors to the edges of the Defense budget! Twenty fucking years. That was certainly long enough for you to go from first taste of sweet sweet hemp to Professional Grown-up. Maybe it's long enough to drop the pretense of Republican fiscal conservatism. By the way, did you know Bill Clinton got a blow job?
Is there a moral dimension to foreign policy in our political philosophy? Or do we just exist to help the world's rich people make and keep their money? (And a fine job we've been doing of that lately.)
If we do have morals, where were they while Bosnians were slaughtered? And where were we while Clinton dithered over the massacres in Kosovo and decided, at last, to send the Serbs a message: Mess with the United States and we'll wait six months, then bomb the country next to you. Of Rwanda, I cannot bear to think, let alone jest.
Where were You on Kosovo? Easy--sniffing Clinton's crotch, right where You were the rest of the decade, and trying to make political hay out of the situation once he acted.
As for the rest, y'know, we can indict the US government's humanitarianism and amoral foreign policy beginning with the 18th century, but the idea that the American Right is somehow ethically exempt? What th' fuck are you smokin' now?
And now, to glue and screw the lid on our coffin, comes this financial crisis. For almost three decades we've been trying to teach average Americans to act like "stakeholders" in their economy. They learned. They're crying and whining for government bailouts just like the billionaire stakeholders in banks and investment houses. Aid, I can assure you, will be forthcoming from President Obama.
Ri-iight. What is founding a major international criminal cartel or two compared to expecting to eat a few crumbs off the table?
Then average Americans will learn the wisdom of Ronald Reagan's statement: "The ten most dangerous words in the English language are, 'I'm from the federal government, and I'm here to help.' " Ask a Katrina survivor.
See, that's funny, since at the time you were busy blaming Liberals for creating an underclass that was insufficiently buoyant. And blaming the Carter administration for creating FEMA. No, I'm not making that up.
What will destroy our country and us is not the financial crisis but the fact that liberals think the free market is some kind of sect or cult, which conservatives have asked Americans to take on faith. That's not what the free market is. The free market is just a measurement, a device to tell us what people are willing to pay for any given thing at any given moment. The free market is a bathroom scale. You may hate what you see when you step on the scale. "Jeeze, 230 pounds!" But you can't pass a law making yourself weigh 185. Liberals think you can. And voters--all the voters, right up to the tippy-top corner office of Goldman Sachs--think so too.
Here's the thing about that: I'm happy to learn, now that its collapse has taken the rest of the country down with it, that we all lost our savings to faulty bathroom scales and not a cult. That would have been devastating. And I'm assuming this means y'all have managed to hide all the evidence that you've been selling the Free Market as a Miracle Solution To Everything, Guaranteed! ever since you started wearing ties.
We've had the rule of law largely in our hands since 1980. Where is the transparency? It's one more job we botched.
Damn! And y'all were so vigilant about it, too.
Tuesday, November 11
Return The Armistice
Third Ypres, 1917
"It's all over, an armistice has been signed," a company sergeant in the British 8th Division announced to his men (their commanding officer had been wounded in the head the night before). "What's an armistice, mate?" asked one of the men. "Time to bury the dead," replied another.
IN the last days, before the end, the fittingly contrived, artificial, autocratically-choreographed end of a war which kept men killing each other right up to the pealing of church bells, just as they'd been killing each other with unspeakable barbarity for more than four years over an incident which was resolved before the shooting began, the German monarchy had been reduced to pleading with the French to cease fire--without surrender, without treaty, as gentlemen--so that the Kaiser could turn his troops onto his own people and prevent a second Bolshevik revolution. Foch turned it down.
In early October Prince Max of Baden, the new Chancellor and a well-known proponent of negotiated peace, forced Hindenberg to admit--in writing--that there was no hope of the German army forcing a peace on its enemies. Two weeks later Ludendorff would simply decide to ignore the Chancellor, and the Army High Command would attempt to supress the Proclamation of acceptance of Wilson's Fourteen Points (which it was hoped would make peace acceptable enough to the Allies that Germany could keep the Alsace and Poland, by the way). Men continued to die.
It took considerable doing to convince Kaiser WIllhem II that his Army and Navy were no longer loyal, and he would not be leading them back to teach a lesson to his ingrate subjects who were refusing to starve to death quietly any longer. He then rejected the idea that he go seek death in the trenches as unseemly for the Head of the Lutheran Church. Sic semper! He had to travel to his exile in Holland down back roads. He lived long enough for Hitler to send an honor guard to his funeral.
It's fitting that the former Decoration Day, now Memorial Day, has expanded to honor the ever-growing number of dead of our ever-growing number of wars since The Late Unpleasantness. It's a continuing stain that we have overwritten the file on Armistice Day, and rebranded as a general celebration of all things unquestioningly militaristic the day which, of all days, should remind us of the enormity of war, of its stupid brutality and ultimate futility, the hollow rituals of its fictive glories, the honor and sense of duty of the men and women who go off to fight and bleed and kill and die time and again, for the gratification, and the profit, of leaders who have no honor. Let the dead bury their own dead. Let the banks and post offices close to honor our military veterans during some warmer, more enjoyable, verdant picnic of a month. Take the Federal holiday with it, if necessary, and return the Armistice to solemnity, and silence, and the hope that some future generation will prove capable of learning from it, unlike the ones before.
Monday, November 10
Dear Heather,
Heather Havrilesky, "An open apology to Boomers everywhere". November 7
I WAS pacing the house Saturday morning, trying to get my knees and back to achieve the same semi-alert status as the rest of me, and my Poor Wife had one of those morning "news" shows on, and Sarah Palin Fights Back stopped me dead in my tracks. I was sorta kinda vaguely aware of the supposed explosion over the supposedly shocking revelations that Palin was even dumber than she sounded; I was also aware those had turned up after the election, on FAUX, so 1) how'm I supposed to hear it, and 2) who gives a fuck, anyway? But the story, and the title graphic--with Palin it really should be "Former Beauty Queen Uncorks Pop Gun" shouldn't it? She doesn't really "fight back" so much as whine about the unfairness of being found out--led me to the internets for more of the story.
Which wound up reminding me of that Zen saying from somewhere: Before I was enlightened trees were just trees and mountains were just mountains. Now that I am enlightened trees are just trees and mountains are just mountains. And Sarah Palin is still who gives a fuck, only more so. She, or the Malkinseses, are free to combat the infamies the Councilwoman has suffered at the hands of disgruntled McCain staffers, but they might want to consider what Sun Tzu said on offensive strategy: "Before engaging the enemy, it is of vital importance to make sure you have a fucking weapon first."
The one thing I thought was interesting were the reports that the Palin's raid on Neiman-Marcus had included somewhere between $20-40K spent spiffing up Todd Palin. Again, I don't mean "interesting" in the sense of "revealing something new or unexpected about that group of traveling swindlers John McCain tried to put a heartbeat away from The Button", but, rather, "interesting" because I'd spent part of the run-up to Election Day reading The XX Factor, where Palin's shopping spree was partly ameliorated, to certain ways of thinking, by blegging a possible cost of Joe Biden's suits [Caution: Meghan O'Rourke link]. The average estimate ("most of you.." sez Meghan) came in at $1000, with a caution that it "could easily" have risen to five times that. (One could, of course, have simply gone to the Brooks Brothers site, say, or picked up a phone, but it's so much more accurate when you collect multiple data points.)
I suppose we will not be hearing anyone point out at The XX Factor that for that amount of jack Mr. Councilwoman Palin could have hauled in twelve Brooks Brothers suits and had enough left over for seven pairs of alligator shoes, sufficient silk shirts, ties, socks, and undies, Gore-Tex™ bags to stuff the loot in, and perhaps a silver shovel to bury it all with before the auditors show up, unless they figure out a way to compare that with what Joe Biden is now likely to cost in Secret Service protection. The point isn't that these phony Tundra Populist dumbasses behaved as if they'd just hit the Lotto; the point is that people leapt to the first dumbass defense of the completely indefensible that came into their heads.
(At any rate, if there's someone out there who really believes that Palin & Brood didn't have every intention of cashing in on this stuff, before they noticed they were on videotape, I've got an Abner Doubleday autographed baseball for sale.)
Bonus Meghanism (as always, if you experience dizziness, light-headedness, vertigo, or an overwhelming urge to kill the next person you see, do not contact your doctor; it's only natural) from her election night in Grant Park:
That was only partly sadistic on our part; we think it's also necessary to get a grasp on just how poorly people understand their own history (in no small measure as the result of how watery the watercolor version painted for them in high school truly is; that's not a fucking excuse! by the way, unless your line is plumbing or dance remixes). In this we found an unexpected ally over the weekend in Ms Havrilesky, who is generally seen telling Salon readers what teevee shows they Just Can't Miss this week (which may, in fact, be the reason she's so refreshingly honest about the whole thing):
Mind you, I didn't say I was relieved to finally locate some historical accuracy; I'm just glad we could finally get down to the Wavy Gravy business. I have no idea what Mr. Gravy, or his bus, smells like. Skunk weed? B.O.? Patchouli? My guess would be "Herbal Shampoo", but I really don't know. I have a dear friend who's a sort of surviving hippie, but if she ever wore tie-dye she gave it up long before I met her. She runs a sort of salon herself, and her habitués mostly smell like perfumed soaps or moderately-priced fragrances conservatively applied. Occasionally somebody smells like grocery-store incense. (Mr. Gravy, by the way, born Hugh Romney, is a decade older than the oldest of Boomers.)
You know what would make this a little more compelling? An element of truth.
Okay, so I don't doubt that "Gen X" is basically liberally-minded. This entire blog was dedicated to the proposition that even Indiana is basically liberal-minded.
So no real points for that. And where's the rest of this shit come from? You'd think that in 1700 words dedicated to explaining that You didn't really know what You were talking about (before the scale fell from Your eyes last Tuesday night) it might have occurred to you to wonder about that. Unself-conscious? Optimistic? Lacking in self-deprecation? Fuck, lady, let me introduce you to the Firesign Theatre, the National Lampoon (back when that was a brand name for humor), and the Punk movement. Have a listen to "W.C. Fields Forever" and "Le Trente-Huit Cunegonde" from Firesign's first (1968) album, and then point me to something contemporary which is half so self-effacing. There was less cultural Balkanization in them days, perhaps--though this, too, did not begin when you started looking around--but there was certainly a more robust public argument about consequences. By the time I got to college, in the early 70s, "counterculture" was pretty much reduced to a sick joke. Just like it is with you, but told by people who knew what they were talking about.
The difference, perhaps, is that some of us stopped getting our moral lessons from teevee once we reached adulthood. And some of us joined our elders (the oldest Boomers were twenty-three when the Sixties ended, Heather) in opposing institutionalized racism and immoral international adventurism. I am, truly, sorry that this had the effect of reducing social activism to an of out of fashion brand of pants and the aroma of an old man on a bus, but, y'know, I consider that your fucking problem. I'm sorry you had to grow up with Reagan; I'm sorry the opposition party has done nothing to counteract that. But I grew up with the Johnson and Nixon administrations lying to me on a daily basis, and I got over it even before they were done.
And here's the thing: I don't apologize for taking the Civil Rights Movement seriously (and I certainly don't apologize for recognizing its correct time frame). I don't apologize for believing that a proper understanding of US involvement in Indochina is as important today as it was at the time, especially since there's been a concerted effort on the part of the people responsible, and their political descendants, to obfuscate that history and their own guilt. It's not a "generational" thing. It's just as important that people understand the First World War, the Quasi War, and the Whiskey Rebellion. Proper historical perspective on Vietnam would have prevented Iraq, in the same way that military conscription would have turned all of you into a bunch of dirty hippies.
Hey, "my" generation is "responsible" for Yuppie-ism, Disco, and the career of George Lucas. But to suggest, in damn-near the same breath, that "we" are responsible for Ronald Reagan and taking all the fun out of war protesting for you is just silly. What you know, what you don't know, what you imagine you learned by staring into Barack Obama's eyes on your plasma teevee, means fuck-all as far as I'm concerned. We're all in this together, for good or ill; like all men, we've been given bad times in which to live (though the 1850s were almost as divisive, but with better poetry). It's not productive to keep taking offense at this sort of shit, so I won't; I just wish you--low-key feminist, low-key environmentalist, high-profile teevee pundit--would stop for a second and ask just what path you'd have taken back a brief generation ago, when such matters were pure anathema to the ruling classes, when you risked ostracism, and jail time, instead of a reduction to niche marketing. Enjoy the next two months. After that decisions get made. After that you can't blame the bogey-man, or the boogie-rocker, any more.
I WAS pacing the house Saturday morning, trying to get my knees and back to achieve the same semi-alert status as the rest of me, and my Poor Wife had one of those morning "news" shows on, and Sarah Palin Fights Back stopped me dead in my tracks. I was sorta kinda vaguely aware of the supposed explosion over the supposedly shocking revelations that Palin was even dumber than she sounded; I was also aware those had turned up after the election, on FAUX, so 1) how'm I supposed to hear it, and 2) who gives a fuck, anyway? But the story, and the title graphic--with Palin it really should be "Former Beauty Queen Uncorks Pop Gun" shouldn't it? She doesn't really "fight back" so much as whine about the unfairness of being found out--led me to the internets for more of the story.
Which wound up reminding me of that Zen saying from somewhere: Before I was enlightened trees were just trees and mountains were just mountains. Now that I am enlightened trees are just trees and mountains are just mountains. And Sarah Palin is still who gives a fuck, only more so. She, or the Malkinseses, are free to combat the infamies the Councilwoman has suffered at the hands of disgruntled McCain staffers, but they might want to consider what Sun Tzu said on offensive strategy: "Before engaging the enemy, it is of vital importance to make sure you have a fucking weapon first."
The one thing I thought was interesting were the reports that the Palin's raid on Neiman-Marcus had included somewhere between $20-40K spent spiffing up Todd Palin. Again, I don't mean "interesting" in the sense of "revealing something new or unexpected about that group of traveling swindlers John McCain tried to put a heartbeat away from The Button", but, rather, "interesting" because I'd spent part of the run-up to Election Day reading The XX Factor, where Palin's shopping spree was partly ameliorated, to certain ways of thinking, by blegging a possible cost of Joe Biden's suits [Caution: Meghan O'Rourke link]. The average estimate ("most of you.." sez Meghan) came in at $1000, with a caution that it "could easily" have risen to five times that. (One could, of course, have simply gone to the Brooks Brothers site, say, or picked up a phone, but it's so much more accurate when you collect multiple data points.)
I suppose we will not be hearing anyone point out at The XX Factor that for that amount of jack Mr. Councilwoman Palin could have hauled in twelve Brooks Brothers suits and had enough left over for seven pairs of alligator shoes, sufficient silk shirts, ties, socks, and undies, Gore-Tex™ bags to stuff the loot in, and perhaps a silver shovel to bury it all with before the auditors show up, unless they figure out a way to compare that with what Joe Biden is now likely to cost in Secret Service protection. The point isn't that these phony Tundra Populist dumbasses behaved as if they'd just hit the Lotto; the point is that people leapt to the first dumbass defense of the completely indefensible that came into their heads.
(At any rate, if there's someone out there who really believes that Palin & Brood didn't have every intention of cashing in on this stuff, before they noticed they were on videotape, I've got an Abner Doubleday autographed baseball for sale.)
Bonus Meghanism (as always, if you experience dizziness, light-headedness, vertigo, or an overwhelming urge to kill the next person you see, do not contact your doctor; it's only natural) from her election night in Grant Park:
Spontaneous cheers broke out ever few minutes, whenever an El train went by, with the energetic unity Whitman described in his healing paean to democracy, Song of Myself, a poem written at a moment of cultural divisiveness rivaling the one we just lived through.
That was only partly sadistic on our part; we think it's also necessary to get a grasp on just how poorly people understand their own history (in no small measure as the result of how watery the watercolor version painted for them in high school truly is; that's not a fucking excuse! by the way, unless your line is plumbing or dance remixes). In this we found an unexpected ally over the weekend in Ms Havrilesky, who is generally seen telling Salon readers what teevee shows they Just Can't Miss this week (which may, in fact, be the reason she's so refreshingly honest about the whole thing):
Dear boomers: We're sorry for rolling our eyes at you all these years. We apologize for scoffing at your earnestness, your lack of self-deprecation, your tendency to take yourselves a little too seriously. We can go ahead and admit now that we grew tired of hearing about the '60s and the peace movement, as if you had to live through those times to understand anything at all. It's true, we didn't completely partake of your idealism and your notions about community. Frankly, it looked gray and saggy in your hands, these many decades later. Chanting "What do we want? Peace! When do we want it? Now!" at that rally against the Iraq war made us feel self-conscious in spite of ourselves. We felt like clichés. We wondered why someone couldn't come up with a newer, catchier, pro-peace slogan over the course of 40 years of protests. We knew we shouldn't care that some of you were wearing socks with sandals and smelled like you'd been on the bus with Wavy Gravy for the last three decades, but we cared anyway. We couldn't help it. It's just who we are.
Mind you, I didn't say I was relieved to finally locate some historical accuracy; I'm just glad we could finally get down to the Wavy Gravy business. I have no idea what Mr. Gravy, or his bus, smells like. Skunk weed? B.O.? Patchouli? My guess would be "Herbal Shampoo", but I really don't know. I have a dear friend who's a sort of surviving hippie, but if she ever wore tie-dye she gave it up long before I met her. She runs a sort of salon herself, and her habitués mostly smell like perfumed soaps or moderately-priced fragrances conservatively applied. Occasionally somebody smells like grocery-store incense. (Mr. Gravy, by the way, born Hugh Romney, is a decade older than the oldest of Boomers.)
And look, we really did stand for something, underneath all the eye-rolling. We're feminists, we care about the environment, we want to improve race relations, we volunteer. We're just low-key about it. We never wanted to do it the way you did it: So unselfconscious, so optimistic, guilelessly throwing yourself behind Team Liberal. We didn't get that. We aren't joiners. We don't like carrying signs. We tend to disagree, if only on principle.
You know what would make this a little more compelling? An element of truth.
Okay, so I don't doubt that "Gen X" is basically liberally-minded. This entire blog was dedicated to the proposition that even Indiana is basically liberal-minded.
So no real points for that. And where's the rest of this shit come from? You'd think that in 1700 words dedicated to explaining that You didn't really know what You were talking about (before the scale fell from Your eyes last Tuesday night) it might have occurred to you to wonder about that. Unself-conscious? Optimistic? Lacking in self-deprecation? Fuck, lady, let me introduce you to the Firesign Theatre, the National Lampoon (back when that was a brand name for humor), and the Punk movement. Have a listen to "W.C. Fields Forever" and "Le Trente-Huit Cunegonde" from Firesign's first (1968) album, and then point me to something contemporary which is half so self-effacing. There was less cultural Balkanization in them days, perhaps--though this, too, did not begin when you started looking around--but there was certainly a more robust public argument about consequences. By the time I got to college, in the early 70s, "counterculture" was pretty much reduced to a sick joke. Just like it is with you, but told by people who knew what they were talking about.
But how could we have known? We were raised under Ronald Reagan, smiling emptily under a shellacked cap of shiny brown hair like a demon clown, warning us (With a knowing nod! With a wink!) about those evil Russians stockpiling nuclear arms thousands of miles away. We were raised by "The Love Boat" and "Eight Is Enough" and "Charlie's Angels," a steady flow of saccharine tales with clunky morals. There were smiling families, hugging and learning important lessons on every channel, while at home, our parents threw dishes at each other's heads. We went to church and learned about God's divine plan every Sunday, but all it took was one Dr. Seuss cartoon about an entire world that existed on a speck of dust, and our belief in God was deconstructed in an instant. Our childhoods were one long existential crisis. We ate Happy Meals while watching the space shuttle blow into tiny bits.What? That's the goddam bio, mutatis mutandis, of every fucking Boomer in the country.
The difference, perhaps, is that some of us stopped getting our moral lessons from teevee once we reached adulthood. And some of us joined our elders (the oldest Boomers were twenty-three when the Sixties ended, Heather) in opposing institutionalized racism and immoral international adventurism. I am, truly, sorry that this had the effect of reducing social activism to an of out of fashion brand of pants and the aroma of an old man on a bus, but, y'know, I consider that your fucking problem. I'm sorry you had to grow up with Reagan; I'm sorry the opposition party has done nothing to counteract that. But I grew up with the Johnson and Nixon administrations lying to me on a daily basis, and I got over it even before they were done.
And here's the thing: I don't apologize for taking the Civil Rights Movement seriously (and I certainly don't apologize for recognizing its correct time frame). I don't apologize for believing that a proper understanding of US involvement in Indochina is as important today as it was at the time, especially since there's been a concerted effort on the part of the people responsible, and their political descendants, to obfuscate that history and their own guilt. It's not a "generational" thing. It's just as important that people understand the First World War, the Quasi War, and the Whiskey Rebellion. Proper historical perspective on Vietnam would have prevented Iraq, in the same way that military conscription would have turned all of you into a bunch of dirty hippies.
Hey, "my" generation is "responsible" for Yuppie-ism, Disco, and the career of George Lucas. But to suggest, in damn-near the same breath, that "we" are responsible for Ronald Reagan and taking all the fun out of war protesting for you is just silly. What you know, what you don't know, what you imagine you learned by staring into Barack Obama's eyes on your plasma teevee, means fuck-all as far as I'm concerned. We're all in this together, for good or ill; like all men, we've been given bad times in which to live (though the 1850s were almost as divisive, but with better poetry). It's not productive to keep taking offense at this sort of shit, so I won't; I just wish you--low-key feminist, low-key environmentalist, high-profile teevee pundit--would stop for a second and ask just what path you'd have taken back a brief generation ago, when such matters were pure anathema to the ruling classes, when you risked ostracism, and jail time, instead of a reduction to niche marketing. Enjoy the next two months. After that decisions get made. After that you can't blame the bogey-man, or the boogie-rocker, any more.
Friday, November 7
Another Mulligan
"This nation has such elasticity, flexibility...you know, people you talk to abroad can't believe that the country that elected George Bush eight years ago has...shifted and is now electing Barack Obama, and they ask wh...what..how can...wh...how can you do that? And it's because we have an amazing ability in this country to learn, to change, and to give opportunity...and...um, and I think that that's what's going on here. We've already changed a lot and I think this is realy gonna make change come a lot faster in this country now. It's gonna speed it up."--Gloria Borger, part of CNN's "best political team on television", election night
I'M not a world traveler, but I suspect that this is perhaps the one thing which most distinguishes Americans, apart from daily caloric intake: that we're the only people on earth whose political pundits could take a comment which obviously, and quite sensibly, questions the mass sanity of a country which could elect an inexcusable dipshit like George W. Bush, twice, and turn it into--all at the same time: 1) a compliment on our political perspicacity and capacity for "growth"; 2) a suggestion that our belated recognition of a total fucking disaster which was clear enough to the rest of the world four years ago, when it could have been eradicated by direct action, is a sign of some sort of unique political self-awareness; and 3) that the rest of the world is somehow astonished by the breadth of political expression in the Western democracy which is, or was, the most politically homogenous, excepting for the way the right end of its spectrum keeps falling off the table. Because, y'know, no one could possibly conceive of the French, or the Canadians, or the French-Canadians, electing a conservative or anything.
You may have heard that Slate, recent recipient of a layout rhinoplasty and, quite possibly, a bit o' the old lipo to that unsightly double-reverse-inside-out-contrarian-non-contrarianism--there's some unsightly bruising which we'd call tell-tale except that there's always some unsightly bruising at Slate, just like that wire basket on the kitchen counter where my Poor Wife puts fruit she then forgets about--has hosted this week a sort of Wither 'Conservatism'? seminar featuring the sort of back-bench you might be surprised to learn a decimated party would have left. Included are two--Christie Todd Whitman and Ross Douthat--who're already seasoned veterans at the How My Party Can Become More Like Me and Earn Fabulous Constituencies game, and one--Pepperdine Law Professor Douglas Kmiec--who was an announced Obama man. Slate also managed to land--talk about your journalistic coup!--Tucker Carlson, who apparently managed to find some free time somewhere, perhaps by reading The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People Who Used To Have Careers or something. Tucker, the boilerplate at the bottom informs us, is now a commentator for Tina Brown's The Daily Beast, which all the kids are talking about. Talk about someone who's got to be brimming with advice on reanimating your flagging fortunes! And there's Jim Manzi, a member of that most favored of Republican clans, the Entrepreneurs, or, to put it another way, a guy who became CEO of a thriving company and managed to maneuver it into being taken over by a more successful company. Although in this case (Lotus) it also includes Previously Allowing Microsoft To Take Over The Market With A Tenth-Rate Copy of Your Product. I'm really not sure how Manzi has avoided being tapped to run Indiana's BMW at this point. He's identified as being a contributing editor of the National Review, meaning we still don't know just how many teats a sow can have.
Hopeful free-speech martyr Kathleen Parker is supposed to be joining the happy throng, but hasn't been spotted as of 7AM Friday.
Leave us remember, now, that these people represent, not just a party, and an ideology, which just this week was repudiated at the polls for a second consecutive election cycle, but one which has watched its entire stable of stalking horses (Defense, Economy, Competence, Morality, and Philosophical Purity) get chopped up, ground twice, canned and sold as dog food, and then learned it even makes dogs sick. Because you're not gonna be reminded of this by that panel as they swap recipes for horse chitterlings.
Maybe we should just run it down in order:
• Manzi: Create competition in education! Reconsider immigration!
• Kmiec: Vouchers! Tricky Rewording of Roe! Get Out of Iraq! Civil Rights!
[Yes, Get Out of Iraq! an idea so brilliant you have to wonder why no one thought of it before. By the way, for daring to suggest that the Party legislate that Life begins at conception but requires a "supermajority" to "defend" from "murder"--thereby graciously offering a face-saving compromise to the majority of Americans, who don't believe it, and have just return responsibility for creating legislation to people who don't, either--Kmiec is immediately taken out back and strung up with one of Todd Palin's returned neckties.]
• Douthat: Disentangle my own sensible desire to enact Federal Ovary Control legislation from the crackpot extremist stuff most Americans don't want.
• Whitman: We must find a way to promote principles of sound government which recognize that government can be a positive force for good in people's lives, while at the same time ensuring it never acts on any such ideas. Oh, and keep our winning coalition together!
• Carlson: There has to be something out there that can inspire irrational panic again. Think!
That's it. Really, that's it. After that they commence to fightin' over who's willing to compromise on abortion the least. Oh, an' how massive spending on defense contractors isn't a form of redistributing wealth, 'cause we get so much return there for other people's money. Like the ability to claim Ronald Reagan wiped out Communism.
[UPDATE: Parker appears, says that the high-minded ideals which put Reagan in office have been betrayed by promoting a high-profile, low-IQ, intellectually-incurious, telegenic ideological mouthpiece like Sarah Palin. And can't we find a way to keep that guy with the Obama Monkey Puppet out of camera range?]
Along the way, Whitman comforts the group--she's later seconded by Parker--with the notion that while Obama won big, a lot of his supporters don't really like him. "This is still a centrist country" sez Kathleen, before recommending a good healthy dose of the Olde Time Centrism of Reagan and Bill Fuhbuckley. It serves to remind us that at least one Obama voter--the one in their midst--appears to have been hallucinating some quid pro quo from the Democrats, abandoning base and principles to assuage the hurt feelings of educated 21st century elites trapped by 12th century theology who've seen their devotion to a single "moral" issue damn near crumble everything good about the country. And he's the sensible one.
Thursday, November 6
Mulligan
THE Narrative is a palimpsest; as of Tuesday night the Obama campaign is a roaring success, and McCain's is a failure, or, more frequently, he never had a chance, being saddled with Bush'n'all. Of course this is called into question somewhat by the fact that the Acting President was barely mentioned from January on, so much so that when Bob Schieffer brought his "remarkable absence" up last week my Poor Wife and I looked at each other, amazed to find someone at CBS News still remembered the man's name when they weren't covering one of the sorry little Autumnal photo ops he's been reduced to. Compare Al Gore's rejection of Clinton's aid in 2000, a major story the whole campaign long. (Here, for example, is Time in Springtime, congratulating the Vice President on finding ten feet of usable pole with which to distance himself from a President who was leaving office more popular than Ronald Reagan. And yes, the "John F. Dickerson" is the same John Dickerson who, as Slate's chief political correspondent, was last seen offering Barack Obama tips on how to have a successful Presidency. I haven't gotten around to numbering my own list yet, but it is looking as if "Don't take advice from journalists Ari Fleischer considered good bets to stovepipe the Joe Wilson story" will make the cut.)
On the other hand, yesterday's overwritten file is tomorrow's brilliant flash of originality, and I'm not ready to trash anything I said about the Obama campaign just because it all proved completely erroneous. "Find charismatic candidate/ run against most unpopular office holder since the invention of Zero/ hope opponent nominates backwoods religious nut who spends at least six months of every year in total darkness as running mate" is certainly a winning formula; it's just mighty tough to duplicate. Progressive Blogtopia still seems to think it's won an election on the merit of its positions, without asking how many of 'em the President-elect actually shares.
(It's the same with the Creeping Towards Cloture Watch on the Senate, as though sixty Democrats meant a Liberal Supermajority, as though these weren't the very same people and the very same party that coughed up 17 votes--1/3 of its number--to immunize telecoms for spying for the Bush administration. And not, we remind you, at the height of the Terra craze, but four friggin' months ago.)
But I digress. It's interesting that "Bush's historically unimaginable approval numbers" hamstrung the McCain campaign, but the much-ballyhooed historically low approval of Congress did not much affect, well, Congress, the actual people whose numbers those were. Bush's numbers tended to camouflage the serious disarray of the Republican Brand generally, and McCain had no problem running to that, early and often.
And why shouldn't he've? Bush won in 2004 because Republicans turned out in record numbers to salvage his, and their, legacy, or "legacy" (which was, at the time, attributed against all evidence to "Values" Voters, you'll recall). It looked for all the world as if all a Republican candidate ever had to do was Just Add Ohio to the ready-made near electoral lock. If the one truly dishonest, out-of-character thing John McCain did in order to get elected was to publicly embrace George Bush in 2004, well, it seemed like the smart move in Republican politics at the time.
Don't we get a whole lot closer to the bone if we consider that McCain's real problem in 2008 was that he came pretty close to revealing the real John McCain, as well as the real Republican electoral majority, 1980-2004? The McCain campaign, v. 2.0, was practically a carbon copy of the Lee Atwater campaign of '88, with Jeremiah Wright and Bill Ayers as The Incredible Two-Headed Willie Horton, the same charges of anti-capitalism and insufficient patriotism, and Sarah Palin in the place of Dan Quayle. I don't recall anyone at the time cautioning that the party was running too far from St. Ronnie. If we're personally too jaded to imagine sea change is accomplished by an election (in large part because we remember how furious the scripting required to make 1980 appear that way), let us also recognize that McCain's loss was, really, truly, a Republican loss, a long-overdue correction to the Southern Strategy, and that the Senator from Arizona needed to run so far from Bush as to be outside the stadium, the party, and maybe the country before that would have begun to have an effect.
The "reinvention" of Republicanism will now struggle under the twin weights of decades of the denial of reality, and the constant eye on its every move, unlike the backroom deal that brought us George W. Bush in 1999. The glorious confluence of Robber Baronage, Ozzie and Harriet Provincialism, and Permanent Warfare has passed its sell-by date; leave us not imagine that's all George Bush's fault.
On the other hand, yesterday's overwritten file is tomorrow's brilliant flash of originality, and I'm not ready to trash anything I said about the Obama campaign just because it all proved completely erroneous. "Find charismatic candidate/ run against most unpopular office holder since the invention of Zero/ hope opponent nominates backwoods religious nut who spends at least six months of every year in total darkness as running mate" is certainly a winning formula; it's just mighty tough to duplicate. Progressive Blogtopia still seems to think it's won an election on the merit of its positions, without asking how many of 'em the President-elect actually shares.
(It's the same with the Creeping Towards Cloture Watch on the Senate, as though sixty Democrats meant a Liberal Supermajority, as though these weren't the very same people and the very same party that coughed up 17 votes--1/3 of its number--to immunize telecoms for spying for the Bush administration. And not, we remind you, at the height of the Terra craze, but four friggin' months ago.)
But I digress. It's interesting that "Bush's historically unimaginable approval numbers" hamstrung the McCain campaign, but the much-ballyhooed historically low approval of Congress did not much affect, well, Congress, the actual people whose numbers those were. Bush's numbers tended to camouflage the serious disarray of the Republican Brand generally, and McCain had no problem running to that, early and often.
And why shouldn't he've? Bush won in 2004 because Republicans turned out in record numbers to salvage his, and their, legacy, or "legacy" (which was, at the time, attributed against all evidence to "Values" Voters, you'll recall). It looked for all the world as if all a Republican candidate ever had to do was Just Add Ohio to the ready-made near electoral lock. If the one truly dishonest, out-of-character thing John McCain did in order to get elected was to publicly embrace George Bush in 2004, well, it seemed like the smart move in Republican politics at the time.
Don't we get a whole lot closer to the bone if we consider that McCain's real problem in 2008 was that he came pretty close to revealing the real John McCain, as well as the real Republican electoral majority, 1980-2004? The McCain campaign, v. 2.0, was practically a carbon copy of the Lee Atwater campaign of '88, with Jeremiah Wright and Bill Ayers as The Incredible Two-Headed Willie Horton, the same charges of anti-capitalism and insufficient patriotism, and Sarah Palin in the place of Dan Quayle. I don't recall anyone at the time cautioning that the party was running too far from St. Ronnie. If we're personally too jaded to imagine sea change is accomplished by an election (in large part because we remember how furious the scripting required to make 1980 appear that way), let us also recognize that McCain's loss was, really, truly, a Republican loss, a long-overdue correction to the Southern Strategy, and that the Senator from Arizona needed to run so far from Bush as to be outside the stadium, the party, and maybe the country before that would have begun to have an effect.
The "reinvention" of Republicanism will now struggle under the twin weights of decades of the denial of reality, and the constant eye on its every move, unlike the backroom deal that brought us George W. Bush in 1999. The glorious confluence of Robber Baronage, Ozzie and Harriet Provincialism, and Permanent Warfare has passed its sell-by date; leave us not imagine that's all George Bush's fault.
Wednesday, November 5
Dewy Defeats Grumpy
OKAY. I have no call to gloat, m'self, but it's nice to see people I admire being able to do so, or just bust out bawling. It beats the alternative. And even though the teevee blatherfesters didn't mention it one single time, the historic import of one Jimbo Riley finally casting a vote for President which counted, in only his tenth fucking attempt, has not been lost on everyone, mostly me.
Can we have direct election of the President now? After a decade of screwed-up elections, can we acknowledge we're no longer thirteen coastal communities trying to hoodwink each other into agreeing to the amount of federal control we imagine is best for us personally? Even if that is what we still are, minus the coastal bit? Interest in voting is at a post-war high, even if that's not exactly an impossibly high standard or anything; time to use that to overhaul the system.
This would, of course, have the attendant benefit of eliminating all the fucking Red State/Blue State crap, and none of us would have to look at the Great Red Wall of the Trans-Mississippi ever again. For one thing, if you take out all the major cities of the Republic of Texas, how many people live between there and Canada? Several hundred? I would also like to suggest that if your state is responsible for both the political career of the Worst President Ever Imaginable and his phony fucking hick accent, you should recuse yourself from national elections for a decent interval, say, until he dies.
Now then--and I think regular readers may have expected a now then--I resisted turning on the teevee or checking results until the polls closed here (truth to tell, I was busy not splashing muriatic acid on myself), and the first thing I hear is "Well, for once we can't call Indiana the minute the polls closed," which may in fact have been news to that .0001% of the audience which was just waking up from a coma, but simply announced to the rest of us that we could go ahead and buckle in for a night of empty platitudes and witless observations, which was not exactly an historical first. And the second thing I heard was one of the local "political" "reporters" asking the designated Democratic spokesman why Jill Long Thompson had tanked.
Jill Long Thompson was the semi-lifelike Democratic candidate for Governor. Meaning by 6PM she'd already lost to Mitch "Courage" Daniels. And the son of a bitch wound up with almost 60% of the vote.
Okay, so say what you will about Hoosiers; we're not exactly bright. And you can throw in the effects of money on politics: Daniels' war chest, curiously, was almost exactly the Clinton surplus plus the first two years of Bush deficits (when Mitch ran the OMB) combined. He's been running campaign ads continuously since April, 2005. He's an arrogant, snotty little career bureaucrat who little over a year ago was struggling to reach 45% approval, and he gets sixty fucking percent of the vote. (Trust me, the intersection of Arrogant and Snotty is not exactly a popular spot in Indiana.)
And he gets 60% of the vote and at his victory celebration announces a "sale" on the Ditch Mitch bumperstickers the clear-eyed and public-minded among our denizens have been sporting since the middle of 2004. Charming. Always nice to see an elected official demonstrating that it's all about the self-aggrandizement. (This was an interesting step back into character for Mitch, who, having always been a supernumerary before becoming governor, has had to learn politics--and the art of keeping his nasty little overcompensatory thoughts to himself--on the fly. In 2004 it was "my opponents are idiots"; by 2008 it was "oh, we've made a few mistakes along the way, sure", a statement I imagine they had to have dubbed into the ads after he choked every time he tried to read it. Daniels is such a Little Napoleon, marrow-deep, that they've taken to having him say nothing whatsoever during legislative sessions, since every time he opens his mouth he loses another two or three votes by offense.)
Can we have direct election of the President now? After a decade of screwed-up elections, can we acknowledge we're no longer thirteen coastal communities trying to hoodwink each other into agreeing to the amount of federal control we imagine is best for us personally? Even if that is what we still are, minus the coastal bit? Interest in voting is at a post-war high, even if that's not exactly an impossibly high standard or anything; time to use that to overhaul the system.
This would, of course, have the attendant benefit of eliminating all the fucking Red State/Blue State crap, and none of us would have to look at the Great Red Wall of the Trans-Mississippi ever again. For one thing, if you take out all the major cities of the Republic of Texas, how many people live between there and Canada? Several hundred? I would also like to suggest that if your state is responsible for both the political career of the Worst President Ever Imaginable and his phony fucking hick accent, you should recuse yourself from national elections for a decent interval, say, until he dies.
Now then--and I think regular readers may have expected a now then--I resisted turning on the teevee or checking results until the polls closed here (truth to tell, I was busy not splashing muriatic acid on myself), and the first thing I hear is "Well, for once we can't call Indiana the minute the polls closed," which may in fact have been news to that .0001% of the audience which was just waking up from a coma, but simply announced to the rest of us that we could go ahead and buckle in for a night of empty platitudes and witless observations, which was not exactly an historical first. And the second thing I heard was one of the local "political" "reporters" asking the designated Democratic spokesman why Jill Long Thompson had tanked.
Jill Long Thompson was the semi-lifelike Democratic candidate for Governor. Meaning by 6PM she'd already lost to Mitch "Courage" Daniels. And the son of a bitch wound up with almost 60% of the vote.
Okay, so say what you will about Hoosiers; we're not exactly bright. And you can throw in the effects of money on politics: Daniels' war chest, curiously, was almost exactly the Clinton surplus plus the first two years of Bush deficits (when Mitch ran the OMB) combined. He's been running campaign ads continuously since April, 2005. He's an arrogant, snotty little career bureaucrat who little over a year ago was struggling to reach 45% approval, and he gets sixty fucking percent of the vote. (Trust me, the intersection of Arrogant and Snotty is not exactly a popular spot in Indiana.)
And he gets 60% of the vote and at his victory celebration announces a "sale" on the Ditch Mitch bumperstickers the clear-eyed and public-minded among our denizens have been sporting since the middle of 2004. Charming. Always nice to see an elected official demonstrating that it's all about the self-aggrandizement. (This was an interesting step back into character for Mitch, who, having always been a supernumerary before becoming governor, has had to learn politics--and the art of keeping his nasty little overcompensatory thoughts to himself--on the fly. In 2004 it was "my opponents are idiots"; by 2008 it was "oh, we've made a few mistakes along the way, sure", a statement I imagine they had to have dubbed into the ads after he choked every time he tried to read it. Daniels is such a Little Napoleon, marrow-deep, that they've taken to having him say nothing whatsoever during legislative sessions, since every time he opens his mouth he loses another two or three votes by offense.)
(And by the way, if you think this is just me mouthin' off, consider that the man is almost the singular example of Red State success in this Blue Year. Coming soon to a Presidential primary near you.)
Every Indiana representative was re-elected by a wide margin, meaning we still send 5 Democrats to 4 Republicans to the House, but two of those Dems are Bluedogs, and all of the Republicans are Dan Burton. I'm still represented by an African-American and practicing Muslim. Stop trying to cheer me up.
None of this can be blamed on the Obama campaign, which--whatever else was wrong with it--fought for Indiana after thirty years of Democrats treating it as if the state line were marked in cobalt. They played electoral politics all the way, and in the end they were justified, once the economy collapsed on John McCain's head. Still, I remind you, nearly 56 million of your fellow citizens voted for McCain, and a sizable number of them were actually more excited about the prospect of Sarah Palin becoming Vice-President.
Not to harsh anyone's buzz, or worsen any hangovers; what else happens in the next four years, last night every American had the opportunity, just after the polls closed in the West, to see Bill Bennett look seasick on teevee. It's a memory I'll cherish forever.
Every Indiana representative was re-elected by a wide margin, meaning we still send 5 Democrats to 4 Republicans to the House, but two of those Dems are Bluedogs, and all of the Republicans are Dan Burton. I'm still represented by an African-American and practicing Muslim. Stop trying to cheer me up.
None of this can be blamed on the Obama campaign, which--whatever else was wrong with it--fought for Indiana after thirty years of Democrats treating it as if the state line were marked in cobalt. They played electoral politics all the way, and in the end they were justified, once the economy collapsed on John McCain's head. Still, I remind you, nearly 56 million of your fellow citizens voted for McCain, and a sizable number of them were actually more excited about the prospect of Sarah Palin becoming Vice-President.
Not to harsh anyone's buzz, or worsen any hangovers; what else happens in the next four years, last night every American had the opportunity, just after the polls closed in the West, to see Bill Bennett look seasick on teevee. It's a memory I'll cherish forever.
Tuesday, November 4
Fear Death By Blather
David Brooks, "A Date With Scarcity". November 3
I WAS pretty much minding my own business this AM. I'm a seasoned charlatan. I have no need to get all excited about an election twelve hours before the returns start coming in. Truth be told, you can wake me when the election, not the balloting, shows some results, but that's just me. If most people didn't enjoy spectacles we'd be subjected to thirty minutes of news every night, and no one wants that.
I clicked on the Times, and--it's one of the dangers of the middle-aged brain, to which we will be returning--the autopilot took over, and the next thing I knew I was reading David Brooks. And Brooks has decided--the word may give false credit for what was actually an acute spasm or a dancing tic--that our poise at the edge of momentous electoral change was a fine excuse for him to reveal damn near everything pathetic and regrettable about the inside of his own skull.
This is The New York Times, fer chrissakes. Do you know anybody who thinks like this? Have a relative, a neighbor, a co-worker who believes Microfuckingsoft has "enlivened" his life (in that very special way that only Mass Marketers Of Other People's Better Ideas can do) ? Do you know anyone who would actually talk like this, unless he'd scored a luncheon speaking gig with the Greater Ottumwa Jaycees and really, I mean really, enjoys chicken à la king?
I'm pretty sure I've never made this explicit, but aside from the fact that The Newspaper of Record decided one day to recruit an "entrepreneur" for the Right-wing kiosk it set up as a replacement for the brick, mortar, and sacks of shit edifice that was Bill Safir(e), and somehow came up with David Brooks, there are essentially two interesting things about the man. The first is that adolescent Reaganaut vibe he shares with, among others, Jonah Goldberg and Professor Reynolds, the result of their having been convinced that Privilege, Self-Absorption, and a Fondness for Mass-Produced Mayonnaise is what made America great, and what would, eventually, see to it that those pot-smoking hippies who laughed at their cool robot sketches would Get What Was Coming To 'Em. The combination of this attitude with their passing into the vortex of Middle Age has not been at all pretty. They're trapped. It's as if Sonny Bono had been forced to wear that vest the rest of his performing life. The second is Brook's ability to craft an I'm George Will, Too, Only Updated persona, which trades on a certain, oh, lack of physicality, that Mater Wouldn't Allow Me To Hurly-Burly With The Other Lads, But I'm The Superior Intellect For It routine which has been conveniently, but wrongly, construed as Gentlemanliness. Like Will, this has allowed Brooks to fling feces for decades while being presented on national teevee and in the nation's premier despoilers of timberland as respected. It's interesting that both became Affirmative Action Nerd hires in the mass-market media (Will to ABC via Newsweek, Brooks to NPR and the Gray Lady); it's interesting that with each progressively fuzzier Xerox of William FuhBuckley the clothing gets better. Marginally.
Jesus Christ, could the Times at least require its sparkling little band of hallucinatory columnists to show their work, or at least just point at the Cloud Pony that gave them the idea? First, for the record, the "Long Boom" of 1983 was interrupted, some of us are not allergic to recalling, by The Worst Recession in Post-War History, and has been booming along since Bush took office only if you think charts and pie graphs are more important than what happens to actual Americans. Second, in contemporary usage "Baby Boomer" is generally considered to refer to those born between 1946 and 1964. Meaning it would include Barack Obama, and, for that matter, David Brooks. I don't care if you want to tinker with the numbers; just fucking spit it out, or quit using that insulting Boomer stereotype shit whenever you imagine it benefits you in some way. I was born at the tail end of 1953, roughly 35% of the way into the Boom. I'm closer in age to Barack Obama than to George W. Bush. I'm closer to Bill Clinton by two months.
Yeah, Hillary Clinton totally could have given birth to Barack Obama, if she'd gotten pregnant two months after her thirteenth birthday. That's an age bracket where "only five years" makes a huge different, Mr. Brooks. As in "jail time".
Lemme say this, Dave. This number fixation is a sign of old age; learn to fight it. It's a fine divertimento, but a horrible ring opera. Barack Obama was six years old when Martin Luther King was shot. I was six when John Kennedy was driven down 16th Street in Speedway, Indiana, (in an open-top convertible) and I remember it pretty well. Obama was in his early teens when the United States exited Vietnam and Nixon exited the Presidency. He may or may not have been interested then, but it's not as if those are events he should be unable to place in historical context now. Just because your own early adulthood coincided with the political ascendency of Ronald Reagan, and just because you decided, or were hoodwinked into believing, that this Saved the Republic from the Great Disruption does not make it everyone's political biography. I have certainly got my differences with the way Obama has presented the history of this era during his campaign (i.e. as something of the politically-motivated hornswoggle your party presented in an effort to erase reality), but the idea that he grew up in some sort of safety-helmeted, mulatto-toleratin', GameBoy-playin' Consumer Paradise while the "real" Boomers were "consumed by culture war" or trying to figure out the clocks on their VCRs is just your Republican fantasy, Dave. Whatever else he's gotten wrong about the era of his childhood, I'm betting it doesn't include imagining that racial politics in this country is just something the Children of the Sixties dreamed up in order to have something to argue about.
Okay. It's beyond me, purely and simply, to understand how or why this sort of thing continues unexamined among Brooks and his ilk. Now they decry the Culture War? It's what brought them to power, kept them in power, and what--when a quarter-century of lip service would no longer suffice to keep the religious wing placated--eventually fractured the party. Without a doubt there are culture war matters where I enjoy seeing the Right take jab after jab on the chin, but they're not generally matters of my own choosing; if the whackjobs the GOP aligned itself with with Nixon's Silent Majority Speech and Reagan's Kick-off Salute To Racial Terrorism had simply accepted the fact that the 20th century had arrived and left them in the dirt it could all have been avoided. I don't think many biologists relish spending time defending the principles of 19th century science to small-town school boards. If you'd just acknowledge that the Constitutional right to reproductive freedom was decided in 1973, and leave all further decisions in the hands of those directly involved, we could move on. Leave me alone while I'm watching porn, and I'll leave you alone while you're watching Rod Paisley. Then we can see who gets better ratings, if you like, just in case some daily lives need more enlivening than $6 cappuccino and $12 dish towels can provide. This culture war shit is your baggage, and you couldn't even eliminate it from your own party. And I notice a lot of it still going on forty years after the Great Disruptive Boomer Takeover. Must be a few youngsters opposed to gay marriage, huh?
Why does this continue? Money can't explain it; at this point Brooks could pretty much crank out scholarly monographs sliced into 800-word chunks and keep his paying gigs. Politics no longer explains it; his side's about to lose that one, too, and though it might effect a reversal at some point it'll have to be justified in some entirely different fashion. This leaves us, among the known human motivators for non-waterboarded proclamations of blatantly self-contradictory nonsense stubbornly clung to for decades with: a) Religion; b) Embarrassment; and c) Sex.
Own up, Mr. Brooks. We don't think you're all that religious.
I WAS pretty much minding my own business this AM. I'm a seasoned charlatan. I have no need to get all excited about an election twelve hours before the returns start coming in. Truth be told, you can wake me when the election, not the balloting, shows some results, but that's just me. If most people didn't enjoy spectacles we'd be subjected to thirty minutes of news every night, and no one wants that.
I clicked on the Times, and--it's one of the dangers of the middle-aged brain, to which we will be returning--the autopilot took over, and the next thing I knew I was reading David Brooks. And Brooks has decided--the word may give false credit for what was actually an acute spasm or a dancing tic--that our poise at the edge of momentous electoral change was a fine excuse for him to reveal damn near everything pathetic and regrettable about the inside of his own skull.
In the past two decades, the United States has become a much more interesting place. Companies like Starbucks, Apple, Crate & Barrel, Microsoft and many others enlivened daily life. Private citizens, especially young people, repaired the social fabric, dedicated themselves to community service and lowered drug addiction and teenage pregnancy.
This is The New York Times, fer chrissakes. Do you know anybody who thinks like this? Have a relative, a neighbor, a co-worker who believes Microfuckingsoft has "enlivened" his life (in that very special way that only Mass Marketers Of Other People's Better Ideas can do) ? Do you know anyone who would actually talk like this, unless he'd scored a luncheon speaking gig with the Greater Ottumwa Jaycees and really, I mean really, enjoys chicken à la king?
I'm pretty sure I've never made this explicit, but aside from the fact that The Newspaper of Record decided one day to recruit an "entrepreneur" for the Right-wing kiosk it set up as a replacement for the brick, mortar, and sacks of shit edifice that was Bill Safir(e), and somehow came up with David Brooks, there are essentially two interesting things about the man. The first is that adolescent Reaganaut vibe he shares with, among others, Jonah Goldberg and Professor Reynolds, the result of their having been convinced that Privilege, Self-Absorption, and a Fondness for Mass-Produced Mayonnaise is what made America great, and what would, eventually, see to it that those pot-smoking hippies who laughed at their cool robot sketches would Get What Was Coming To 'Em. The combination of this attitude with their passing into the vortex of Middle Age has not been at all pretty. They're trapped. It's as if Sonny Bono had been forced to wear that vest the rest of his performing life. The second is Brook's ability to craft an I'm George Will, Too, Only Updated persona, which trades on a certain, oh, lack of physicality, that Mater Wouldn't Allow Me To Hurly-Burly With The Other Lads, But I'm The Superior Intellect For It routine which has been conveniently, but wrongly, construed as Gentlemanliness. Like Will, this has allowed Brooks to fling feces for decades while being presented on national teevee and in the nation's premier despoilers of timberland as respected. It's interesting that both became Affirmative Action Nerd hires in the mass-market media (Will to ABC via Newsweek, Brooks to NPR and the Gray Lady); it's interesting that with each progressively fuzzier Xerox of William FuhBuckley the clothing gets better. Marginally.
Nov. 4, 2008, is a historic day because it marks the end of an economic era, a political era and a generational era all at once.
Economically, it marks the end of the Long Boom, which began in 1983. Politically, it probably marks the end of conservative dominance, which began in 1980. Generationally, it marks the end of baby boomer supremacy, which began in 1968. For the past 16 years, baby boomers, who were formed by the tumult of the 1960s, occupied the White House. By Tuesday night, if the polls are to be believed, a member of a new generation will become president-elect.
Jesus Christ, could the Times at least require its sparkling little band of hallucinatory columnists to show their work, or at least just point at the Cloud Pony that gave them the idea? First, for the record, the "Long Boom" of 1983 was interrupted, some of us are not allergic to recalling, by The Worst Recession in Post-War History, and has been booming along since Bush took office only if you think charts and pie graphs are more important than what happens to actual Americans. Second, in contemporary usage "Baby Boomer" is generally considered to refer to those born between 1946 and 1964. Meaning it would include Barack Obama, and, for that matter, David Brooks. I don't care if you want to tinker with the numbers; just fucking spit it out, or quit using that insulting Boomer stereotype shit whenever you imagine it benefits you in some way. I was born at the tail end of 1953, roughly 35% of the way into the Boom. I'm closer in age to Barack Obama than to George W. Bush. I'm closer to Bill Clinton by two months.
Barack Obama is a child of the 1960s. His mother was born only five years earlier than Hillary Clinton. For people in Obama’s generation, the great disruption had already occurred by the time they hit adulthood. Theirs is a generation of consolidation and neo-traditionalism — a generation of sunscreen and bicycle helmets, more anxious about parenthood than anything else.
Yeah, Hillary Clinton totally could have given birth to Barack Obama, if she'd gotten pregnant two months after her thirteenth birthday. That's an age bracket where "only five years" makes a huge different, Mr. Brooks. As in "jail time".
Lemme say this, Dave. This number fixation is a sign of old age; learn to fight it. It's a fine divertimento, but a horrible ring opera. Barack Obama was six years old when Martin Luther King was shot. I was six when John Kennedy was driven down 16th Street in Speedway, Indiana, (in an open-top convertible) and I remember it pretty well. Obama was in his early teens when the United States exited Vietnam and Nixon exited the Presidency. He may or may not have been interested then, but it's not as if those are events he should be unable to place in historical context now. Just because your own early adulthood coincided with the political ascendency of Ronald Reagan, and just because you decided, or were hoodwinked into believing, that this Saved the Republic from the Great Disruption does not make it everyone's political biography. I have certainly got my differences with the way Obama has presented the history of this era during his campaign (i.e. as something of the politically-motivated hornswoggle your party presented in an effort to erase reality), but the idea that he grew up in some sort of safety-helmeted, mulatto-toleratin', GameBoy-playin' Consumer Paradise while the "real" Boomers were "consumed by culture war" or trying to figure out the clocks on their VCRs is just your Republican fantasy, Dave. Whatever else he's gotten wrong about the era of his childhood, I'm betting it doesn't include imagining that racial politics in this country is just something the Children of the Sixties dreamed up in order to have something to argue about.
Yet, at the same time, the public sphere has not flourished. Despite decades of affluence, longstanding issues like health care, education, energy and entitlement debt have not been adequately addressed. The baby boomers, who entered adulthood promising a lifetime of activism, have been a politically undistinguished generation. They produced two presidents, neither of whom lived up to his potential. They remained consumed by the culture war that divided their generation. They pass their political supremacy today having squandered the fat years and the golden opportunities.
Okay. It's beyond me, purely and simply, to understand how or why this sort of thing continues unexamined among Brooks and his ilk. Now they decry the Culture War? It's what brought them to power, kept them in power, and what--when a quarter-century of lip service would no longer suffice to keep the religious wing placated--eventually fractured the party. Without a doubt there are culture war matters where I enjoy seeing the Right take jab after jab on the chin, but they're not generally matters of my own choosing; if the whackjobs the GOP aligned itself with with Nixon's Silent Majority Speech and Reagan's Kick-off Salute To Racial Terrorism had simply accepted the fact that the 20th century had arrived and left them in the dirt it could all have been avoided. I don't think many biologists relish spending time defending the principles of 19th century science to small-town school boards. If you'd just acknowledge that the Constitutional right to reproductive freedom was decided in 1973, and leave all further decisions in the hands of those directly involved, we could move on. Leave me alone while I'm watching porn, and I'll leave you alone while you're watching Rod Paisley. Then we can see who gets better ratings, if you like, just in case some daily lives need more enlivening than $6 cappuccino and $12 dish towels can provide. This culture war shit is your baggage, and you couldn't even eliminate it from your own party. And I notice a lot of it still going on forty years after the Great Disruptive Boomer Takeover. Must be a few youngsters opposed to gay marriage, huh?
Why does this continue? Money can't explain it; at this point Brooks could pretty much crank out scholarly monographs sliced into 800-word chunks and keep his paying gigs. Politics no longer explains it; his side's about to lose that one, too, and though it might effect a reversal at some point it'll have to be justified in some entirely different fashion. This leaves us, among the known human motivators for non-waterboarded proclamations of blatantly self-contradictory nonsense stubbornly clung to for decades with: a) Religion; b) Embarrassment; and c) Sex.
Own up, Mr. Brooks. We don't think you're all that religious.
Monday, November 3
Pass
"SoHo is now a shopping centre. And so is Paris. You wouldn't go to Paris to learn anything about music or movies in the way I did. You'd go there to shop."
Bill Kristol, "I Am Marie of Roumania, Tra-la, Tra-lay". November 3
George Eff Will, "Manifold Historical Minutia Which Would Extenuate Obama's Ostensive Victory, Just As My Insouciant Bow-tie Has Mocked The Evanescent Gauds of Masculine Fashion Lo These Many Years". November 2
Glenn Greenwald, "God these people are dicks. Stupid dicks." November 2
TODAY'S quest began with a weekend comment (at Roy's ) from Susan of Texas, seconded by Michael Harrington, concerning mentioning the word "mandate" as frequently as physically possible over the next four years. Adds Mr. Herrington, "I remember 1984-86 and I'm ready for some motherfuckin' payback" [emphasis in original]. This, then, would be the second bit of proof that Mr. Herrington is not the same Michael Harrington whose appearances on Firing Line almost made up for William FuhBuckley: because the latter is dead, and because he'd remember the Same Mandate Shit, Different Election from 1980.
Along the way we found this from Kevin Drum, just in time to set a new personal standard for links in a single post, which suggested that the waxworks at ABC This Week predicted an Obama landslide, large-scale Democratic gains in both the House and the Senate, and a subsequent move to the right by both parties (Republicans, because that'll be all that's left, and Democrats, because the new seat gains will come from moderate and Republican areas).
So before we ask whether that's accurate, let's ask ourselves Who th' fuck are these people, and why do they define American politics for the teevee networks? Ever the optimist, I first tried to find the video while simultaneously avoiding ABC's web site. My quixotism was rewarded with a view of Last Week's panel: Will, Cokie, Sam, and Peggy Noonan. Aren't at least two of those people technically deceased? Can someone point me to the ABC news exec who thinks that panel offers something? Or who imagines that, with a bridge club like Will, Roberts, Donaldson, and Stephy on hand, there's anything which might possibly come out of Peggy's mouth, other than last night's Jack and Cokes, which isn't already covered?
This at least got me to run screaming to yesterday's video, and the comparative early peas of Will, Donna Brazile, Matthew Dowd, and Mark Halperin. Now first, before I forget it, Halperin, it wasn't Yogi Berra who said, "It's very difficult to predict. Especially the future." It was noted banjo-hitter and utility infielder Enrico Fermi. Yogi said, "You can observe a lot just by looking," which you might take into consideration, since, for one thing, he might not have to keep reminding people he didn't really say all the things he said.
Donna Brazile. Listen, fine, she's as entitled to moisten a seat at these snoozefests as anyone else, but that's the point. Have you ever heard a word come out of her mouth that would make a difference about anything? Another battle of the Fucking Former Strategists. Seismic. And balanced by Mark Halperin.
I know we've been over this before, but is there no way your panel could be made to resemble, even slightly, the electorate you're analyzing? Nobody's young, nobody's living paycheck-to-paycheck, nobody can even remember having done so, or ever spoken for people who do. Hell, in two weeks, with an ideological range running from mild and moderate Democrat (one) to High Church Royalist, you can't even find a Palin supporter. Two weeks, ten people, three females, one African-American, who is also one of the females--as the historic election of America's first black muslim syndicalist draws nigh!--while all the rest qualify as the natural constituency (but not the unpleasant backwoods snake-handling wing, oh no!) of the Wealthy White People's party. There's no room at the table for Joe Conason? None for Glenn Greenwald, who might dangerously remember "Dean" Broder opining, just a year ago, that Bush could be on his way back (and who might then recall the Dean was echoing...Mark Halperin)?
Anyway, anyone who's surprised to hear a flight of teevee pundits predict that the collapse of the most ideological right-wing administration in modern history, (taking much of the country along for the ride) would lead to both major parties moving rightward has simply not been paying attention.
As for the mandate stuff, well, I'm not only old enough to remember how it was tossed around in 1980--in precisely the way the GOP's Federalist forebears had used the Alien and Sedition Acts--I'm still just functional enough to recall the Bush camp using the term in December, '00, after losing the election. Under the circumstances (that is, since words presently mean nothing whatsoever in politics), we shall see whether it's worth it to revive the argument to prop up the Democratic party (A Mandate for Moderation!). But then it's been clear for two years now that there's a mandate to replace the most incompetent and reviled administration in history, and that means eradicating anything remotely resembling its legacy. I know actual socialism as defined by actual people with actual undamaged thinking is out of the question, but how 'bout expanding the Court again? (If you made it thirteen that'd be one for each Circuit.) I suppose, also, that time will tell whether an overwhelming voter turnout, and participation via contributions and voluteerism, can be flushed down the toilet with impunity in 2009 the way the Democrats ignored the mandate to stop the war in 2007. It's not like I expect 'em to be asking that question on This Week or anything.
And the Trail of the Mandate took me to the Republican Mouthpiece response, where, with utter repudiation looming, the tactic of last resort is to dress the whole thing up in clown nose and rainbow wig. Kristol demonstrates, once again, that the competition for Most Hallucinatory Times Columnist is not quite the MoDo runaway it might appear:
Barack Obama will probably win the 2008 presidential election. If he does, we conservatives will greet the news with our usual resolute stoicism or cheerful fatalism.
And Will reassures us that the more Change changes, the more closely it resembles the doubletalk of the Golden Age of Reagan:
Coloradans and Nebraskans will vote Tuesday on measures to ban government-administered racial preferences in public employment, public education and public contracting. Voters have emphatically passed such measures in California (1996), Washington (1998) and Michigan (2006). If Colorado and Nebraska pass those measures, that will be evidence -- not counter to, but in addition to, the Obama candidacy -- that Americans are eager to put racial politics behind them.
Which reminds us: George Eff Will was an Affirmative Action hire for ABC in 1980. Aren't we overdue for a new one?
Saturday, November 1
Punk Bonzai #16
UPDATE: So, I knew that earlier Punk Bonzai posts didn't have labels, since they pre-dated labeling in Blogger and I've been too lazy to go back and catch everything up, so I went to do that and discovered that earlier pics had been posted to my old host and weren't there anymore. And then I discovered they weren't on my present array of hard drives, either, which is somewhat surprising since I've kept every scrap of paper that's ever crossed my hands. They were on an old machine, so I dug 'em out, but by that time it seemed to make more sense to just repost 'em.
Punk Bonzai #1: Meadow Sage (Dharma for Cows):
Notable as the first Punk Bonzai, for the absence of anything resembling a tree, and for the fact that my Poor Wife, thrilled at finding a bag of plastic cows, but somewhat disconcerted by the color combination of White and An Orange Not Found In Nature, Possibly Originating as One of Bill Gates' Shirt-Sock Combinations in High School, sanded and re-painted them all as Holsteins.
Notable as the first Punk Bonzai, for the absence of anything resembling a tree, and for the fact that my Poor Wife, thrilled at finding a bag of plastic cows, but somewhat disconcerted by the color combination of White and An Orange Not Found In Nature, Possibly Originating as One of Bill Gates' Shirt-Sock Combinations in High School, sanded and re-painted them all as Holsteins.
Punk Bonzai #4: Last Prom (This Accident Could Have Been Prevented):
I never got the shot right; you can barely make out the driver on the hood, or his nearby date's skirt and matching shoes pointing upwards, and I think the paramedic is actually a milkman. My wife refuses to prune that oddball root thing. Pics of PB7: Funeral (Ode to Stephen Dowling Botts), which took advantage of a juniper that drowned and some HO scale earthmoving equipment, are missing and can't be recreated until I kill something else, and Indianapolis Power and Light remains a virtual work, since I can't bring myself to hack a V into an innocent tree just for a joke.
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