Red State Son

Happy Birthday

2007-04-13T12:27:00.000-04:00

To the teen, who turns 16 today. In her honor, here are two vids from her two favorite bands --

Nine Inch Nails

Marilyn Manson

This may embarrass her, but I love you, sweetie. Happy Birthday!

Imussed

2007-04-13T10:31:00.000-04:00

"[Imus] would have to lose everything before being that honest [about his racism], and even then it might be a stretch. But that's not going to happen -- not this time around, anyway. Despite all the ass-covering, tsk-tsk rhetoric, so long as American elites want him as their court jester, Don Imus's career is not only safe, it is sanctified."

So wrote the psychic Son on Tuesday. And what happens? Imus does lose everything. Far from being sanctified, the crusty court jester's cap and bells have been taken and torched in a highly-staged act of corporate "contrition." As CBS chief Leslie Moonves piously put it to his employees, "At the end of the day, the integrity of our company and the respect that you feel for CBS becomes the most important consideration." Oh yeah. Can't you feel the moral power? The Rev. Moonves went on to say that Imus "has flourished in a culture that permits a certain level of objectionable expression that hurts and demeans a wide range of people," and that sacking him was the first step in "changing that culture, which extends far beyond the walls of our company."

Of course, Rev. Moonves didn't explain why CBS carried Imus's show for as long as it did, subsidizing countless hours of racist, sexist chatter, or why instead of just firing the old hack from the get-go, it placed Imus on a two-week suspension. But then, the road to Damascus is a winding one, and not everyone can see the hallowed light and convert at the same time.

The loss of significant ad revenue helped to clarify matters as well; and once MSNBC dropped Imus, that was it, for there was no way that CBS radio was going to be the sole hold-out. Besides, who would now appear on Imus's show and trade quips with the center of so much negative attention? More to the point, who would sponsor the show in the face of all this media-amplified hostility? I confess that I didn't see Imus getting hit this hard, but looking at the chain of events, it makes perfect sense. Mix in some high-falutin' bombast a la Leslie Moonves and the scenario is complete. In America, you can't simply say that you fucked up or tried to get away with something for as long as you could before getting slammed. That's too open-ended and morally vague. We require absolutist, hand-over-heart closures amid rippling flags and sacred light pouring down from Heaven. Most people see right through this, but expect and demand it anyway. In a nation of hypocrites, the emptiest gesture usually prevails.

So, barring a possible move to satellite radio, Don Imus is through, and we can get on with the other, many distractions from the real world that is the American way. Praise white Jesus!

If you desire some decent racial comedy, check this clip from "Hollywood Shuffle", featuring Robert Townsend:

And of course, the great Dave Chappelle, who is so well-spoken:

Especially in this scene. Imus, you haven't a fucking clue.

See. Hear.

2007-04-12T10:57:00.000-04:00

Here's a docu on Vonnegut, I think from the late-70s. I saw this years ago. Worth the time, if you have the time. And I do remember Vonnegut's Hardware from when I was a kid. My Dad bought a hammer there, I believe.

And here, here, here, here, here, here, and --

So It Goes

2007-04-12T09:48:00.000-04:00

Kurt Vonnegut has passed on, apparently from a brain injury caused by a fall. He was 84. No wonder he fell.

Thousands upon thousands of words will be typed and uttered on Vonnegut's behalf, most of them useless, many attaching grand themes to his work and philosophical outlook. But it's really simple: Kurt Vonnegut had a first-rate imagination, wrote clear prose, and proposed that people be kind to one another. He distrusted authority and painted those looking to rule us as clowns. He smoked for much of his adult life and did not suffer from emphysema or cancer. It happens.

Most Vonnegut fans praise "Cat's Cradle" and "Slaughterhouse-Five" as his greatest works, and indeed they are top-notch. But my sentimental favorite is "Breakfast Of Champions," a funny, tragic book that did not tickle the reviewers, and that Vonnegut himself believed to be among his lesser efforts, giving it a C. Not me -- the tangled tale of Dwayne Hoover and Kilgore Trout still resonates with me whenever I dip into it, and Trout remains my favorite fictional character in American lit, just ahead of Myra Breckinridge.

Trout was a prolific but largely-failed science fiction writer whose better stories appeared in porn mags. One I still remember was "The Smart Bunny," about a rabbit born with a human-sized brain who hops to the city to have it chopped down, given that a human brain is useless to a rabbit. On his way there he is shot and killed by a hunter, who upon noticing the rabbit's large cranium believes him to be mutated and therefore inedible. So the dead rabbit is simply thrown away. The end.

There's a lesson there for all of us, I think.

I met Vonnegut once, in 1990 at some fancy lit gathering in Indianapolis, our mutual hometown. He was nice but a bit gruff, spoke quickly and wheezed when he laughed. He also reeked of cigarette smoke. We chatted about being Hoosiers in New York, where we both lived, and agreed that New York was a great city and there was nothing like it. He then excused himself to have another smoke.

We crossed paths again, kind of, in 1995, at Terry Southern's memorial service at the Unitarian Church of All Souls on 80th and Lexington Ave. Vonnegut was one of the speakers, as was my friend Nelson Lyon, who worked with (well, propped up, actually) Southern at "SNL", and was Michael O'Donoghue's screenplay writing partner and main inspiration for the character Mr. Mike. As the service wound down, Nelson and I went outside for some air, and just to our right stood Vonnegut, alone and puffing on a butt. He stared at us intensely.

"Nels," I said in a low voice, "Kurt Vonnegut is staring at us. What should we do?"

"One writer at a time, Den!" boomed Nelson in his robust voice. "Today we honor the late Mr. Southern!"

Vonnegut didn't go to the post-memorial cocktail party at George Plimpton's apartment. At least, I didn't see him there. Maybe he was outside, smoking.

Vonnegut said that early in his career, he almost became a writer for Bob and Ray, but didn't feel he was funny enough. Herman Wouk once wrote for Fred Allen, and I don't recall "The Caine Mutiny" to be a laff-fest. There are worse pairings. I think Vonnegut would've done fine. But we'll never know.

Kurt Vonnegut was a free thinker, an atheist who believed that instead of the Ten Commandments, public buildings and courtrooms should display the Sermon on the Mount. At the height of his lit fame, he said that he wrote as simply as he could so that his ideas could be grasped by Generals in the Pentagon. He cracked wise to the end, and now he's dead.

So it goes.

How It's Done

2007-04-11T13:28:00.000-04:00

Last night, the teen watched George Carlin laying it down, and she smiled -- not laughed, not heartily, anyway. Just a steady smile of recognition and agreement.

"I thought you didn't like Carlin's stuff."

"I don't like that early crap you showed me," she replied, referring to Carlin's stand-up from the first episode of "SNL" in 1975. "All that observational stuff bores me. But this . . . this is the shit."

I watched along for 20 minutes or so, as I hadn't seen this particular special. And she's right: Carlin may be older and physically slower, but his present takes on our collective madness are razor sharp and merciless. As the great comedy writer George Meyer noted, Carlin must be the only American comic who can speak the absolute truth to an audience and be applauded for it. Not bad work, if you can get it. While everyone's wailing about Don Imus, Carlin rips through genocide, suicide, beheadings, torture, "reality" TV, human "civilization," and of course the utter depravity and stupidity of a large number of Americans stuffing their fat faces with fast food. While I have some thoughts about these and related issues, I'll let Carlin do the talking today.

Bad Boy Inc.

2007-04-10T11:57:00.000-04:00

At our weekly political meeting at FAIR, where the group's business was discussed and our radio show planned out, items from the corporate press were tossed around, analyzed, critiqued. One week, someone submitted an editorial cartoon showing stereotypical black people dancing in a rain of welfare money, and we were trying to decide whether this was a racist cartoon, or a parody of racist images. When the strip was passed to me, I studied it for a moment, then shook my head slowly and said, "Well, one thing's for sure -- those are some crazy, shiftless Negroes."

The white people, who made up the majority of the meeting, froze, their faces slowly turning toward the two African-American interns to see what damage Mr. Loose Cannon wreaked this time. But the interns, a female and male, laughed, as did another staffer who happened to be Indian. My radio partner (a lesbian, since I'm categorizing here) smiled and flashed me the "What am I going to do with you?" look that I often received from her. Only then did the white folk relax a bit. After all, if the black kids were cool with it, then my crack must've been funny. Or something.

In retrospect, the "shiftless Negroes" line wasn't all that great. It was a sarcastic riff on a ridiculous image, whatever the editorial intent. But the fact that a white lefty didn't fear offending young black lefties cut through the unspoken tension that hung over the office. White guilt can become so self-consuming that the only "acceptable" means of communication to those of darker hues is a rigid condescension and humorless deference, which of course is insulting to any thinking person. My crack didn't tip-toe around racist thinking -- it lambasted it using its own language. (Also, the interns were used to me popping off one-liners, talking in different accents, and doing celebrity impressions. That context helped.) But white people trying to ridicule racism up-close risks all manner of misinterpretation. It's a very fine line, and as with all humor, a very subjective, touchy business.

None of this applies to Don Imus. Anyone with even a passing knowledge of his shtick knows that the I-man and his crew revel in mocking African-Americans, Arabs, queers, women, or anyone else who isn't an aging, craggy white man. Imus's latest outrage, calling the Rutgers women's basketball team "nappy-headed hos," is all over the media, and while Imus professes guilt through stupidity, this racial scandal is a PR goldmine for him and his show. I mean, when was the last time Imus got this much attention? Yes, it's negative attention, but this is America, where publicity conquers all. And that Imus's "punishment" is two-weeks off the air tells us, as if we don't already know, that the corporate honchos at MSNBC and WFAN appreciate Imus's commercial "edge," and this suspension merely sharpens his brand. The old man is still a Bad Boy. A very naughty, profitable boy at that.

Public contrition is another regular American feature, and Imus played his part yesterday by appearing on Al Sharpton's radio show. The Rev. Al is no stranger to the media spotlight himself, and Imus's remarks serves his celebrity as well. Their conversation made for great radio, for here were two serious media pros playing this controversy for all it was worth. Each knows his role and performed accordingly. It couldn't have been better scripted. Imus knew that whatever punishment he would receive, it wouldn't end his career (far from it). Rev. Al knew and still knows that his calls for Imus to be permanently removed from the airwaves is a pipe dream, so Imus will remain a target of his broadcast ire, as will Imus's soft-on-racism bosses. Win/win all around. And while some legitimate points were raised during the show (Imus would never consistently refer to Jews the way he does to blacks), the noise level owed more to Jerry Springer than to a serious discussion of racism in the media. But then, that's showbiz.

I can't remember ever finding Imus funny, but I did yesterday as he informed Rev. Al of his charitable work for African-American children with sickle cell anemia and cancer. When Imus thundered to Rev. Al's guest, Bryan Monroe of the National Association of Black Journalists, "I bet I've slept in a house with more black children who were not related to me than you have!", I thought, man, that's not only a crazy statement, but a shameless one, too. Imus tried to water down his racist remarks by hiding behind sick and dying black children. And that he did so as the only white person on an African-American radio show was so twisted and absurd that I broke down laughing. If only "SNL" took those kind of chances.

Were Imus genuinely serious about dissecting his racial humor, he would have to admit that as a white person, especially of his generation, he was raised on racist imagery which molded his thinking about black people in general, as is obvious whenever he and his cronies cackle about "nappy-heads" and the like. There is nothing in his humor that attacks racist assumptions, for racist assumptions are the basis of his humor. Thus, he can't use the "satire" defense when caught spewing the garbage that is his act. All white people hold racist assumptions of some kind; we've been conditioned to do so, though, hopefully, this diminishes with each succeeding generation. If Imus copped to this and said, "Look, I've got a lot of racial stereotypes in my head, and I think they're funny. That may be sick, but it's the truth", then we'd be getting somewhere. But clearly, Imus isn't interested in that kind of confession, not while he still has a public platform and is backed by heavy-hitters in the media and politics. He would have to lose everything before being that honest, and even then it might be a stretch. But that's not going to happen -- not this time around, anyway. Despite all the ass-covering, tsk-tsk rhetoric, so long as American elites want him as their court jester, Don Imus's career is not only safe, it is sanctified.

ALSO: My pal Louis Proyect, who somehow manages to listen to Imus, weighs in on the controversy.

No Comment

2007-04-09T10:34:00.002-04:00

Should there be a general, civil code of online commentary? Can there ever be a shared perspective on what constitutes "civil" exchanges? The bloggyworld is presently wrestling with these and related questions, which were given prominent play in this morning's New York Times. Fortunately for the Son, none of this applies to me. It's like watching a bunch of Speech Club wonks drafting constitutions that only apply or appeal to their little circles, while bloggers like me are off to the side draining beers and chuckling at the ruckus.

Actually, it's incorrect to label the Son a blog. I'm not part of any online tribe, party apparatus, ideological clique, or cool kids club. I'm always happy when someone links to one of my posts or blogrolls me. It's nice to be appreciated. But what is considered the blogosphere has very little effect on what I write. Age has a lot to do with this; temperament, too. While I love the widespread, direct access the Web provides, which truly is a revolution in human communication, I see no point in erecting structures that essentially limit what one can say to another based on political affiliation or outlook, which is really what these proposed "civil" codes are all about. Abusive, even threatening, comments or blogposts are being used to help harden ideological boundaries, for there are those who believe that sharp political disagreement with a certain host's stated views is a form of abuse, which in turn generates genuine abuse and nastiness, and soon becomes a flame war.

We've all seen this. Goes on all the time. Before I started the Son, and a few months into the project, I visited some of the more popular liberal sites and commented under a pseudonym just to get a feel for the crowd. The political statements I made were pretty much my own, with a few theatrical embellishments here and there, but nothing false or outlandish. Needless to say I was swamped with hostility from a given blog's regulars, especially if I said anything critical about the Holy Clintons or President-In-Exile Al Gore. I would try to reason with some of these people, but usually it was a lost cause. The Dems are the final word in human decency, and if one critiques the final word in human decency, then that person is indecent and worthy of abuse. If you doubt this is the general tone, take some of my arguments and post them at Daily Kos, Atrios, or Firedoglake, and see what you get in return.

This is why I don't have comments at the Son. I have no interest, much less the time, to oversee and referee those looking to burn down a thread with whatever is sizzling in their brains. If people wish to react to something I've written, pro or con, they are free to email me and I'll usually respond (though with my readership climbing, it takes me a few days to get through my mail), depending on the intelligence of the reader or the relevance of his or her comment. I've had some pretty stupid people email me with all manner of bait, and by not having a comment thread, their idiocy doesn't muck up the Son's home page. Only I see it, and trust me, I'm doing you all a favor by keeping it off the main stage. There's room for only one raving nut at the Son, and that's me.

Happy Colored Egg Day

2007-04-08T09:00:00.001-04:00

Been busy offline, so Easter apologies for the lack of posts. A few things are happening, and soon I'll reveal some of that. For today, we must go with an obvious, but classic, bit of Biblical cinema. Bright sides ain't what they used to be, but some are still worth looking at.

Live With Us In Forests Of Azure

2007-04-05T11:58:00.000-04:00

Some days it pays to start drinking early, and keep drinking until bedtime. This, so far, is decidedly one of those days, but familial responsibilities prevent me from getting hammered and listening to loud, annoying music at brain lesion levels. So instead, I'll bitch and rant at you good people. I'm sure you won't mind.

Flipping through the cable news nets this morning meant endless chatter about the 15 British Royal Navy and Marine personnel just released by Iran. Now, I know this is the story of the day, and it will be interesting to hear from the servicepeople just how well they were actually treated by their captors. But some of the anchor and pundit reactions to their release brought new meaning to self pity, when they weren't waxing sanctimonious about our "superior" values. And naturally, there was the standard ignorance, as when a reporter for Rupert Murdoch's Sky News, being simulcast on Murdoch's Fox News, spoke about the horror that Kaye Turney must have endured when forced to wear that "Arab get-up" of a scarf on her head. Thing is, Iranians are largely Persian, not Arab. But for devoted viewers of Murdoch's channels, those goat fuckers are all the same -- Arab, Persian, Klingon, whatever. Just bomb the bastards already. Christ, what are we -- pussy faggots or something?

Think I exaggerate? Following the idiotic Sky segment was the ubiquitous William Kristol of the Weekly Standard. Kristol is one of those "Downfall" bunker-types, like Hitchens, who still think the Iraq war is going quite well, more or less. But today, Kristol was sullen. Seems the West has been bitch-slapped by the shifty Iranians, while Nancy Pelosi went Neville Chamberlain with Syria's Bashar al-Assad, and no one is doing anything about it! Clearly, seeing this mini-crisis end peacefully, with no apparent signs that the British personnel were tortured, hurts Kristol no end. Wimp sadists like him get off on imperial violence, so long as he's not on the frontlines, of course. That Iranian cities weren't hit with cluster bombs is a clear sign that the West is losing its nerve. As I watched this sack of shit drone on about reprisals and the like, I thought how pleasing it would be to break his knees with an aluminum bat. THWACKK! THWACKK! "How's that workin' for ya, Bill?" But being a self-hating Western pussy faggot, I immediately erased this image from my mind, and looked to the glorious day when Americans are speaking Farsi under the North American Caliphate.

My liberal friends must be saying, "But Dennis, those are rightwingers. What do you expect?" And they would be right -- no one forced me to watch Fox, so I got what I deserved. But when driving the teen to school right after this, I tuned to the local "progressive" radio station to catch Stephanie Miller's noise machine that passes for a liberal talk show. I have to hand it to Miller and her colleagues -- they don't waste a second of airtime. Every instant is crammed with cackles, crashes, explosions, sirens, buzzers, bells, rim shots, cement blocks falling on high school marching bands, and God knows what else. Then there's the comedy, which I'm guessing is pre-written, but it's hard to tell, given how horribly mangled the bits often are. Miller apparently loves ethnic humor, since everytime I listen to her show someone is speaking in funny fer-ign accents. Today was a two-fer -- first, an extended Kim Jong-il routine done in a "Ah so! Me likey!" style that was so painfully bad, it would embarrass Jerry Lewis.

Well, maybe not.

Then came the Mahmoud Ahmadinejad impression, which sounded more like Apu from "The Simpsons" than the actual person being lampooned. Even Miller got into the act, popping off a few "I am veddy pleased to be tanking you!" lines before guffawing at her own performance. Hey, if Miller won't laugh at her own stuff, who will?

I have to keep reminding myself that Anne Beatts once wrote for this woman. It's a long way down from working with O'Donoghue, Gilda Radner, and John Belushi. Did I happen to mention that American comedy is in a regressive stage?

As Rodney Dangerfield would say to Johnny Carson after doing his five minutes of panel jokes, "That's it." Enjoy your day -- stay away from TV and radio!

Where The Tar Pits Remain Active

2007-04-04T16:08:00.000-04:00

Yes, this song became an instant commercial jingle; and yes, the video steals from "Magnolia". But there's a certain sadness to it, amid the glitz and squalor of LA, where so many lost people fall after whatever exposure they once enjoyed has passed. Or maybe I'm missing the joke. It happens.

Weather Vain

2007-04-04T12:00:00.000-04:00

Lots of libs and lefties like to Weather bash, which is fine, as those who engaged in domestic bombing campaigns did more than damage property -- they helped to kill what remained of the anti-Vietnam war movement. Former Weather member Mark Rudd said that the group essentially did the FBI's job for them, and he's right. Blowing up buildings in a largely apolitical country with no mass support among the populace was politically narcissistic and strategically dumb. Weather's violence owed more to Dadaism than to revolutionary struggle, and if it hadn't helped to strengthen and further legitimize the state, Weather might be seen today as an interesting, if ridiculous and dangerous, performance art movement.

Given all that, it strikes me as strange how vehemently anti-Weather many libs remain. The resurgence of the Students for a Democratic Society, from whence Weather emerged in 1969, has reignited Weather hate, as seen in this Nation piece and at Crooked Timber. (Max Sawicky takes a saner tone.) This pronounced disgust seems more like a "rational" pose, the price of admission to "serious" dialogue about the new SDS, and little more. Not one of these libs, so far as I've seen, will ever admit to getting so frustrated and angry with the imperialist state that they fantasize about blowing up some symbol of violence and oppression, for such fantasies are sick if not fascistic. Well, call me a twisted Nazi, but there have been plenty of times in the past 25 years when, after reading about or watching my tax dollars slaughter poor people, I had visions of blasting corporate headquarters' to the sky, so long as the buildings were empty, of course. Even in my head, I had no desire to kill strangers, regardless of their complicity in mass murder and starvation. And that included war criminals like Jeane Kirkpatrick, Elliott Abrams, and Caspar Weinberger. Tar and feathering, yes; but murder? No.

Many years ago on a Brooklyn street, I shared this view with a writer for The Nation whom I knew for a time. He looked at me as if I'd puked on his shirt. "How can you say that, Dennis!" he said, scrunching his face. "That's Weather Underground bullshit. You're not into them, are you?" I replied that while I thought that Weather was extremely counterproductive and self-marginalizing, I did understand their urge to make bombs. Sometimes the shit gets so thick and bloody that all you can do is scream and throw dynamite. Besides, I added, there was all that free dope, acid and group sex that Weather famously engaged in.

"Wouldn't you want to fuck a young Bernadine Dohrn with a head full of good weed under a poster of Ho Chi Minh?" I asked him.

"Ewww!" he said. "No way. That's screwed up."

"Maybe. But you gotta admit, it would be fun."

The Nation lib cut short our conversation and walked swiftly down the block. Needless to say, we didn't talk again.

I don't recall if he supported NATO's bombing of Serbia, but many libs did, and those are usually the ones who are most vocal about the horrors of Weather violence. So, on the one hand, an American liberal can applaud US bombs hitting selected targets and killing civilians, then in the next breath, denounce a small collection of crazed white kids blowing up parts of empty buildings. The former is still happening, while the latter is ancient history. Pretty much sums up the liberal mindset of today, and if you think that's funny, just wait until the '08 election season really heats up! In some places, the weather never changes.

Sound In Son's Head

2007-04-03T14:39:00.000-04:00

Losing Influence

2007-04-03T12:22:00.000-04:00

Couldn't sleep Sunday night (which is typical of late -- I look like a haggard lunatic in daylight), and instead of YouTubing, I remembered that C-SPAN 2 was re-running a three-hour profile of Alexander Cockburn at midnight, so I plopped on the couch and joined the show about 20 minutes in. Whatever one thinks of Cockburn, he is an entertaining figure, eloquent and glib, his right eyebrow sharply arched as he vents about whatever is thrown at him. And he did not disappoint, though it appears that age is fucking with his memory as he occasionally stumbled over names or blanked out completely. The man's entering his late-60s -- is that what awaits?

While watching Cockburn, I thought back to my initial discovery of his work in the Village Voice, around 1981 or so, and how electric his column was. I was just beginning my adult political education, so I didn't get all of Cockburn's points or references, but I instantly recognized first-rate prose and sharpened wit, and from that point on, I made it a point to read Cockburn whenever I could. By the time he landed at The Nation in 1984, after being suspended by the Voice for taking money from an Arab foundation (to write about Israel's 1982 invasion of Lebanon), Cockburn really hit his polemical stride, and within months his "Beat The Devil" column was the must-read in that dusty, liberal space. What I loved about Cockburn back then was his open, unapologetic radicalism. When he celebrated the achievements of the Sandinista revolution in Nicaragua, he did so robustly, at times putting The Nation's more cautious liberals on their heels. Only Christopher Hitchens kept up with him on the column front, while regular contributors like Holly Sklar fleshed out Cockburn's themes in longer pieces. Add in Andrew Kopkind, Barbara Ehrenreich, and Robert Sherrill (whose book reviews in the mid-80s practically burned through the page), among others, and it's easy to see why The Nation was so vibrant in those days. Its editorial mix and overall attitude helped steer me away from the comedy scene and into the world of media activism, where I began to learn the basics of writing political essays. And Cockburn was my primary model.

The danger with venerating your creative influences is that, should you spend any time alone with them, you will inevitably be let down or disillusioned. This is for the best, as deification is a dead end, and those you elevate usually turn out to be assholes of one kind or another, so one should take the work on its own merits and not grasp at something that doesn't really exist. I learned this first-hand with several influential figures I've met, talked to, or gotten to know; and this was especially true with Cockburn.

In my defense, I was young. Mid-20s. Politically naive. I actually believed that the guy who wrote "Beat The Devil" would be as exciting and engaging as he was in print. But when I first met Cockburn at The Nation's offices in Manhattan, he was extremely condescending, snide, sarcastic. I left myself wide open for his hostility, smiling and turning cheek after cheek. After all, he was The Man, while I was no one, still learning about politics from the ground up. I think my enthusiasm for his work stirred in him contempt; and once he saw that I would take anything he dished out, he made cracks about my youth, my gullibility, my obvious hero worship. In retrospect, I probably had it coming, as I tended back then to gush over those who inspired me. But I also realize that Cockburn was in full control of the situation, and could've shown a bit more patience and mercy to a kid wet behind the ears. That he chose instead to make me feel like a fool suggested that perhaps Cockburn wasn't that generous a person. He seemed to get a kick out of knocking me around. But I didn't care. I thought he was the best.

In time, I learned to hit back when needed, no matter the heavy rep of the target. Not that I relished combat or sought it out, but after years of writing at various levels and in numerous forms, I felt comfortable and quite capable of defending myself, and when Cockburn and I finally clashed in the letters pages of New York Press, nothing he said, no matter how stupid, petty, or deceitful it was, got to me. Indeed, it made me laugh. He no longer was The Man, not to me, anyway. And his reliance on gutter tactics proved how dumb it was of me to venerate him in the first place. Prick a prick, and he'll bleed all over you.

Still, I agree politically with Cockburn more often than not, and share his disdain for the Dems and those liberals sworn to defend the mule. Even with our recent falling out, where he essentially ordered me to not write about Hitchens or I'd lose my Counterpunch access, I keep his site on my blogroll. He posts at least one interesting piece there a day, and once in a while, Cockburn himself brings some old heat from the days when his work had more force and reach. This occasionaly touches the younger part of me still alive -- the schmuck.

Blargh-Feeling Filler Monday

2007-04-02T14:38:00.000-04:00

Been feeling like crap all day, so nothing substantial till tomorrow. For now, enjoy this terrific scene from Dennis Potter's "Pennies From Heaven" where Bob Hoskins tries to explain love and his version of paradise to a trio of cynical salesmen. My take on "Pennies" was posted nearly two years ago, but it still stands up -- or breaks into song and dances, as the case might be.

Bedpan Manner

2007-03-31T11:08:00.000-04:00

"Sorry, fella -- gotta take this arm back. Them budget cuts are a bitch."

"Which one's the real leg? Heh heh heh -- just fuckin' with ya, man! I can tell the diff'rence."

"Whoa! Sorry son! Didn't mean to stick ya. Y'musta thought I was some Al-kay-da guy there fer a minute. Heh heh."

"Just think, honey -- when yer baby grows up, she can fight in Iraq, too! 'Course, I won't still be prez'nit. But I'll be okay."

"And I promise we won't leave Iraq 'till the rest of y'all lose a leg or an arm for freedom. That's a promise."

"Don't turn away from me, George. You can't hide from your inner-self. George? George? Helll-oooo . . ."

Think In Your Mind

2007-03-30T12:37:00.000-04:00

One of the 15 British sailors held captive in Iran is currently the leading contender to win this season's "Iranian Idol" confessional contest. Here, Nathan belts out "We're So Bloody Guilty (This Is From The Heart)" --

And receives more first places votes from the show's loyal fans.

Meanwhile, British Prime Minister Tony Blair, who is not eligible to vote, insisted again that the Royal Navy was in Iraqi waters, which of course are sovereign to England. "This only makes the Iranians look even more ridiculous," said Blair, "and is an affront to dignified people everywhere."

While the recent Iraq troop withdrawal legislation is non-binding, and is expected to be vetoed by President Bush, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi decided to press her case anyway by shoving one of the sharper clauses up the president's ass.

Undeterred, but feeling friskier than he has in years, President Bush later posed with Army Pfc. Carol Trellen right before she was shipped to Iraq.

In an effort to show that some Iraqis support the US military presence in their country, President Bush cited a pair of pro-American Iraqi bloggers, who are shown here scarcely able to conceal their happiness with the war.

Back in the Beltway, Rep. David Obey, Rep. Rahm Emanuel, and House Speaker Pelosi share a laugh about what suckers most American liberals are.

And finally, a 17-year-old Florida boy egged on two 10-year-old boys to help beat a homeless man with a cinder block. While authorities decide whether or not to try the boys as adults, local Army recruiters say they're impressed with the boys' actions, and insist that the pair would be right at home in Baghdad.

Doll Play

2007-03-29T12:53:00.000-04:00

Claim that any or all art forms have stopped evolving, or have simply died, and dozens of people will say you're full of shit -- which you may well be. I certainly don't discount that possibility in my case. There's plenty of creative expression that I've not seen or am completely ignorant of, and many of you, responding to my "Post-Meta-Feta" post, have been kind enough to school my aging ass on what you consider to be cutting, or at least interesting, musical and comedic efforts. I'm still wading through the stuff you Sonsters have forwarded (as more flows in), so it'll be a few more days before I write a follow-up to my original post. Until that glorious moment, allow me to step back a bit and give this topic a more personal context.

The other day, while scrolling about, I came across some 15-year-old kid's complaint that he has no contemporary musical influences to inspire him; that everything is by-the-numbers safe and ready for mass consumption. The kid wished that he was born in the '60s so that he could've experienced the original punk and new wave bands in real time, and not as someone else's nostalgia. While it may seem a dopey thing to wish for, I do feel for the kid (though his sentence structure is nearly non-existent, and no, not in a good, pomo way), for that was a great time, and it left an indelible mark on me, as I've written here before. One of the old bands that the kid enjoys is the New York Dolls, who were the precursors to, and in many ways the main influence on, punk itself. And while I was 13-14-years-old when the Dolls were at their hottest, I didn't know they existed until years later. Such was life in early-70s suburban Indianapolis. So, in a sense, I'm just like that kid, looking back to a sound and visual style that in its day was exciting, off-putting to stiffs, and most importantly, vital. Check out this clip of the Dolls in their prime:

For a kid like me who tried his best to dress like Ziggy Stardust, the Dolls would have been heaven. David Johannsen's Marilyn Monroe jacket combined with Johnny Thunders' hair would have made for compelling school attire, assuming I could approximate it and not be censured by the principal and faculty, as I sometimes was when wearing feather necklaces and sparkling eye liner (and don't think that studying karate at the same time didn't hurt when encountering confused, queer-phobic jocks and their minions). Had I been aware of the Dolls at that age, I would've gone apeshit for them. Musically, they weren't terribly innovative, but they had passion, verve, a theatrical flair, and a who-gives-a-fuck gender bending attitude. Bands like the Dolls were synonymous with freedom, simply because back then, there weren't that many open examples of men performing and dressing like them (Bowie excepted, of course). So I understand why that kid latches on to the Dolls, given what's on offer these days. I'd probably do the same were I him -- ah, hell, who am I kidding? I do latch on to the Dolls just as passionately as he. What's not to love?

As many of you know, a new New York Dolls is touring the world with an album of fresh material behind them. Here's Johannsen along with guitarist Sylvain Sylvain promoting "One Day It Will Please Us To Remember Even This" on a British talk show from last year. The song "Dance Like A Monkey," which appears at the end of the clip, isn't that bad, actually. I'll take an older David Johannsen over an older Mick Jagger any day. Sometimes, we aging fucks can still bring it, if only a step or two slower.

Hit The High Seas

2007-03-28T17:22:00.000-04:00

Travel. Adventure. Discovering new foods. Meeting interesting people.

The British Royal Navy. Life Without Limits -- Most Of The Time, Anyway.

Talking With Roseanne

2007-03-27T08:31:00.000-04:00

Want to thank Roseanne Barr and her co-host Johnnie Argent for having me on their KCAA radio show last night. It was a last minute request, so I was unable to tell you Sonsters about it in advance. But the show is podcast, and there are two links, here and here. The first gives you the show's archives (with my appearance on Mar. 26), and the second is a direct link to the show. Whatever works best for you.

I'm in the last half hour of the show (at the 31:20 mark), and I had a great time, despite talking through the lingering effects of a chest cold. Seems Roseanne is a regular reader of the Son, which flatters and humbles me no end. I was and remain a big fan of her ABC sitcom, and enjoyed her brief attempt to take on "SNL" in early '96 with "Saturday Night Special", which only lasted six shows. These days, Roseanne wants to talk about culture and politics, and I'm more than happy to add my loose change. Her co-host Johnnie Argent was very pleasant as well, so again my thanks to both, and I trust we'll hook up again soon.

Post-Meta-Feta

2007-03-26T15:19:00.000-04:00

This is probably age talking, but as I look around our cluttered pop culture, I see nothing but retreads, meta-retro references, and post-post-you name it. Very few things startle anymore, much less come from nowhere, and this makes me glad that I don't have to write about pop cult for a living (apart from the steady paychecks, that is). What can anyone say that is new? What's more, who really cares? Interest in how art is created, much less where it comes from, keeps shrinking; and given what we are offered, that's probably just as well.

Of course, critics have long bemoaned the lack of originality in art and music: derivative efforts are always in circulation. But now, I believe we've really hit the end of the creative road, at least in the pop sphere, which is where the serious action has always been. Is there anything today that's comparable to the radicalizing effects of ragtime? jazz? rhythm and blues? country western/swing? be-bop? rock? ska? reggae? punk? hip hop/rap? The teen gets Rolling Stone, and when I read about new bands and ask her about them, she shrugs and says that they're ripping off older forms and bands, but composing nothing new or fresh. It's simply market/genre-driven imitation. And from what I've seen and heard, she's right, sadly enough. I mean, all these glam boy bands popping up? The music is stale and trite, and the look was better and more stylishly done by Bowie in '72, or even by Elton John, before he became a Vegas waxwork. Not that the teen listens to any of the new glam shit; she's currently exploring New Order and Nine Inch Nails (she thinks that Trent Reznor is a genius), which makes her old man proud.

The same is true with comedy. Who is rearranging the form, much less blasting it to bits altogether? There are some really good, first-rate comics and humorists around, but no one that I know of is bringing it from deep left field. In the 1970s and early '80s, comedy was wide open, and it was common to see a real variety of styles in the clubs and theatres, as well as on the streets. Now, comedy has been incorporated, and the chief goal is to pry safe laughter from suckers willing to pay to be patronized. Larry the Cable Guy and Dane Cook are perhaps the most prominent, profitable examples of this degradation in the stand-up realm, while "SNL" remains the top showcase of permissible, corporate-friendly "satire."

Even more distressing, as the culture grows meaner and nastier, from "reality" shows to porn, our supposed truthtellers are increasingly timid and unwilling to bash the bashers. Maybe it's a fool's errand, an unwinnable war, but then, this is an age of unwinnable wars, and what's more retro than that? Let's hope that this is simply a down time, and that seeds of a creative revolution are starting to sprout, somewhere. Without that, we're doomed to endure endless plays-upon-plays-upon-plays on expression that has no depth, no soul, and definitely no future. Maybe that's what we deserve, but unlike many other areas of life, I'm still a romantic on this front.

Weekend Viewing

2007-03-24T13:53:00.000-04:00

Deterrence Leakers (1961) -- Unemployed pool cleaner Jake Longhorn (Kyle Sweet) hits the road in search of non-chlorinated kicks, when he comes across mute Hopi puppeteers in the Arizona desert. Through pantomime and peyote, Longhorn develops strange mental powers, can levitate lizards and rocks with a nod, and is soon transformed into the Cactus King as the National Guard is put on high alert. With Sidney Feldman and Luce Frantz.

Mako Dines At Four (1953) -- Crank scientist Dr. Leroy von Quartzberg (Ed Mellon) plots revenge upon his former colleagues at the Jedidiah Institute, who rejected his radical theories about pine sniffing and sent him into exile. Von Quartzberg's plan is stymied when a wayward zeppelin crashes into the Institute, releasing millions of atomic mites from their glowing terrariums, changing the demographics of the area and wreaking havoc that only the crank scientist can quell. With Sandi Kellems, Pete Kase, and Zandar Qomm.

Felonious Is One Way Of Putting It (1969) -- Go-go dancers Patty Noone (Nell Sinder) and Jace Feller (Ida Hansel) discover a pair of oversized gila monster masks, and are mysteriously transformed into Mormon missionaries who can predict hail storms and tidal waves with unerring accuracy. Local ostrich farmers become concerned with the dancers' growing influence, and unite with a gang of disheveled Civil War buffs to stave off certain assimilation. With Carlo Muste, Tim Pradd, and Mallomar.

Count To Ten In German (1975) -- Bumbling teen violin prodigy Luke Canner (Jetsen Trille) befriends a stuttering black hooker, Jasmine Touch (Norah Foreman), and the pair bond over a two-week arson spree that leaves LA's top chefs homeless and without proper cooking utensils. Krishna booksellers take advantage of this opening, and before long most of Los Angeles is awash in pleather seat covers and coconut air fresheners. Luke and Jasmine consult a dead rabbi for help, but are lulled into a trance by vegetarian hypo-terrorists, and are sent on a suicide mission armed only with pear juice-filled balloons. With Koko Waxman, Zed Planer, and Chazz Gillespie.

IN THE QUEUE: Cassie The Playful Condor (1972); Memo To Mummyphobes (1990); Will You Please Put Down That Hammer? (1968); Verbs On Rice (1986); Credit Where Debts Are Due (1979); Return Of The Cheddar Cars (1993).

Chlamydia Del Arte

2007-03-23T13:16:00.000-04:00

Iranian forces seized 15 British Royal Navy personnel who had searched a merchant ship earlier today. The British government says that Iran has triggered a "diplomatic crisis," or as a senior White House spokesperson put it, "another juicy pretext to bomb those Persian fucks off the map."

A suicide attack at a Sunni mosque seriously wounded Iraqi Deputy Prime Minister Salam Z. al-Zobaee, who is currently listed in "unstable" condition at an area hospital. An aide to the Deputy PM said that everyone was surprised by the attack, as it was originally scheduled for sometime later next week.

At an outdoor press conference in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, Elizabeth Edwards announced that her cancer has returned and is incurable. Worried that this news might help John Edwards gain sympathy and wider political support, Barack Obama released a statement saying that his wife, Michelle, has a bad back and is prone to migraines, while Hillary Clinton mourned the fact that her husband suffers from a venal heart.

Ex-Deputy Interior Secretary Steven Griles will plead guilty to one count of obstruction of justice in the Jack Abramoff corruption investigation. Griles admitted that he lied five times to the Senate Indian Affairs Committee and its investigators about his relationship with Abramoff, then wrapped his necktie around his head, jumped on top of a table and said "White man speak with forked tongue," before whooping and dancing in front of confused reporters.

Another former NFL player is going to war. Lance Cpl. Jeremy Staat, who played for the St. Louis Rams and Pittsburgh Steelers, has shipped off to Iraq with his Marine unit. Staat was also a college teammate of Pat Tillman, the former Phoenix Cardinal who was killed by friendly fire in Afghanistan in 2004. The Marines won't say if they'll kill Staat in a similar manner, but do concede that any of the Iraqi insurgent groups could do a comparable job.

Rat poison has been found in pet food blamed for the deaths of at least 16 cats and dogs. The deaths led to a recall of 60 million cans and pouches of pet food produced by Menu Foods and sold throughout North America. The recalled cans will not go to waste, however, as Halliburton subsidiary KBR bought most of the tainted stock at a reasonable discount, and plans to ship the food to mess halls in Iraq.

Harry Houdini's great-nephew wants to exhume the magician's body to determine if enemies poisoned him in 1926, or if Houdini has been holding his breath for the past 81 years.

On a related note, Anna Nicole Smith's autopsy report will be released Monday, more than six weeks after the former Playboy Playmate died. Photos of Smith's autopsy will appear in a special edition of Playboy, titled "The Girls Of Post Mortem Examinations."

Our Glorious Democracy

2007-03-23T10:45:00.000-04:00

"That bitch."

"Excuse me, Senator?"

"That fucking Elizabeth Edwards. The fucking nerve."

"Don't you think she's courageous?"

"Courageous! Who the fuck are you working for?!"

"Well, you, obviously, Senator. It's just that --"

"Listen, kid. You want courageous? Try running the country while some special prosecuting prick is going through all your old bank statements and real estate deals, looking for anything that'll nail you to the fucking wall. Try running the country while you're being impeached! Try running the country while your asshole husband shows his hillbilly dick to every woman he meets, except to his own fucking wife! Cancer in the ribs? Give me a fucking break."

"I'm sorry, Senator. I was out of line."

"I knew it was too good to be true. Why in the world did I think that pretty boy would pull out like Giuliani did in New York? With Edwards gone, the nomination and then the election would be mine."

"There's still Senator Obama."

"Fwah! Are you kidding? Oh sure, he's getting all the good press -- now. But that won't last. And we haven't even begun to shovel up his shit for everyone to see."

"What do you mean, Senator?"

"Kid, this is a long road, a very long twisting road with all kinds of obstacles and traps that can't be seen yet, but are out there, waiting, waiting . . ."

"Senator, you've got that weird glassy-eyed stare again."

"I'm thinking, kid. You should try it sometime."

"Yes, Senator."

"And don't worry about the Black Knight. He's a fucking rookie. He has no idea what's coming his way. Edwards is the one we have to worry about."

"I sent your best wishes to Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, and cc'd the statement to CNN, Fox, and the Big Three."

"Good. Part of the game is acting like you care."

"You do that very well, Senator."

"Stop kissing my ass. Your job's safe, for another day, anyway. To be honest, the 'human touch' is the hardest for me. All that smiling, clapping along to music I hate, hugging losers and nobodies, going to church . . . blaggh! Give me someone to crush, to humiliate, and that's where I shine."

"Of course, Senator."

"Look at her -- still yakking away about her fucking ribs. She thinks she's already the First Lady, acting all stoic and brave. Too bad she doesn't have cancer of the mouth."

"Good one, Senator."

"Shut the fuck up."

The Heart Always Knows

2007-03-22T15:04:00.000-04:00

"I trust that United Nations Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon will not allow that insurgent rocket that hit the Green Zone to deter his noble mission for peace."

"Every night, right before bed, I pray that Nuri al-Maliki makes it through another day."

"I believe that the Democratic leadership is trying its best to find a realistic and just solution to the Iraq war."

"Should Attorney General Alberto Gonzales be compelled to resign, my faith in the American system will only be strengthened."

"There is no doubt in my mind that Karl Rove will receive fair and equitable treatment if he is subpoenaed."

"Illegal immigration is a hot-button issue that deserves careful thought and study."

"It feels as if a small rodent is carving out parts of my brain."

"Nihilism is fashionable because it requires little to no active engagement."

"What Patrick Henry said."

Puma Dance Party

2007-03-21T13:06:00.000-04:00

Both kids are home sick today, which really puts a cramp in the ol' blogging muscle as I must tend to their "needs" and all that crap. So there'll be no essay or grotesque attempt at satire for at least another day. I'm happy that some of you reacted so strongly -- in a couple of cases, quite negatively-- to Monday's "Your World Today" post. One reader said that I made her laugh and want to throw up at the same time. This, to me, is the ultimate compliment. Whenever Bill Maher told one of my jokes, the reaction usually was a mix of laughter and disapproving, disgusted moans. That always made me smile, for when dealing with the obscenity of the wider world, mere laughter is incomplete, if not inhuman. You have to feel it turning your stomach and hammering your head. Only then can you get close to the truth of our collective barbarism, to the degree that any truth can be genuinely understood in this slaughterhouse we call home.

Hello? Is this thing on?

Gotta run. The boy's laid out on the couch and needs fluids. Here's a funny bit by Bob Odenkirk playing God on Bill's "Real Time," just around the start of our noble attempt to civilize the Iraqi savages. Hey, what can you say? It was a more innocent time.

As Nature Intends

2007-03-20T14:41:00.000-04:00

There are days when I can barely take it, when I must continually fight the swelling urge to wig out, to stomp on anything breakable, to yank at my longish hair while screaming down the sidewalk, sending the housefraus and their kinder behind quickly locked doors.

This is one of those days.

I've been here many times before and can detect the symptoms fairly early on, so complete Technicolor frenzy is usually avoided. But a frazzled current runs just beneath my skin, like a flickering florescent tube in its final hours of scattered light. It's irritating as hell, but I can handle it, for the most part, anyway.

What set it off? Nothing specific, though the main trigger, I suspect, is the obscene amount of talk radio I've absorbed over the past week. One of the downsides of living in the Fat Middle is that you must drive pretty much everywhere, which alone cultivates all manner of madness, as people seem to think that they're in some rolling living room, free to act as they would at home, only on roads and freeways choked with other cars. Mix in cell phones and whatever is blasting from their speakers, and you get the swerving insanity I encounter daily. So, presumably to keep me focused, I listen to people talking about either politics or sports. Many of the hosts are ignorant enough; but it's the callers who really floor me, which is my fault, since I freely expose myself to their know-nothing craziness.

I know that intelligent, sane Americans exist, because if they didn't, this country would be in utter chaos with fires raging everywhere, cars overturned, homes broken into and looted, and countless people hanging by their necks from lightposts and traffic signals, if not simply shot in their heads. Still, this hideous scenario remains possible. Should a major societal or economic breakdown occur, we are very much fucked, if those who phone into radio shows represent the majority. Stupid doesn't come close to what these people are. Stupid I can handle. Aggressively moronic is containable as well. But paranoia, tribalism, and a seething resentment toward those who are "different" is a recipe for an American Iraq. And no, our Democratic "leaders" won't save us. Those who don't leave on private jets will probably be among the first to be strung up, assuming they don't play to the mobs and finger their colleagues and constituents instead.

Is there a place where one can find true respite from all this? I'm sure there is, but having a family means that you are part of society, no matter how much it disgusts and frightens you. After Gulf War, Act I, during which I gained over 15 pounds from gin and beer while fighting my rage and depression on the stump, I quit drinking and spent most of the following summer in a cabin near Woodstock, New York. I was dating a young political activist who was renting the place with some other lefties who came and went, leaving the two of us alone much of the time. It was great -- no TV, no computers, just lush green forest and at the top of a nearby hill, a large, deep, clear lake, in which she and I often swam naked. At night we read and listened to jazz on the radio. Although I knew that in Iraq, people were still suffering from the aftermath of the war, Saddam's bloody crackdowns, and the beginning of our murderous sanctions, I focused on losing that booze weight, clearing my head, and getting laid by a beautiful woman in her early-20s.

And she was beautiful -- tall with well-honed legs, red hair and freckles. The kind of woman that would send Robert Crumb into an erotic tizzy. Problem was, she hated her looks on political grounds, and did what she could to "de-beautify" herself: not shaving her legs or underarms; not washing her hair for days; and so on. She had been a professional teen model who worked with Brooke Shields, among others, but as she got older, she discovered radical feminism and anarchism, and when we were together, that's all she talked about. Which was fine with me. Indeed, I helped to turn her on to Emma Goldman by lending her my copies of "Living My Life," Goldman's two-volume autobiography. While my gesture was sincere, it also won me numerous brownie points, and this made that summer most pleasant. And that I didn't allow her rejection of bourgeois female beauty standards to dampen my enthusiasm for and attraction to her added to the pleasure. Besides, she was so hot, she could have amputated her legs and I still would've been all over her.

As summer came to a close, our relationship crumbled, and soon I was another patriarchal pig out to objectify and repress womyn everywhere. This angle was nourished by a very intense orgasm that I helped to give her, after which she cried, jumped out of bed, and hid in another room. She felt vulnerable and weak, and this apparently embarrassed her. When she returned, she blamed me for putting her in a compromised position.

"But, didn't that feel good?" I asked. "You were so into it."

To the contrary, she replied. I used sex as a means of control and false consciousness. I told her that while I certainly had shortcomings as a lefty man when it came to feminism, our sex was consensual and tender, and that she needn't break off with me for political reasons. Just tell me that this is over once we get back to the city, and I'm good with it. We had fun and shared some genuine laughs and passion. Why end it like the Moscow Trials? But, of course, that's pretty much how it did end. Someone had to be the Enemy of the People, so I pleaded guilty and moved on.

The lesson? Escape from madness can be wonderful and fulfilling, but it is always temporary. Plus, she never did return my Emma Goldman books. Part of my punishment, I suppose.

Your World Today

2007-03-19T12:24:00.000-04:00

A recall of Shiloh Tuna is underway, as a dozen area people became sick after eating the tainted fish. Thankfully, none were seriously affected.

The Kiwanis Club has moved its Friday night chili cook-off and bonfire to Saturday night instead.

Local police are hosting their popular "Ask An Officer" community outreach program this week, and residents are encouraged to show their support.

A new medical study suggests that hugging may increase your personal happiness by 43 percent. So get out there and hug someone!

The Destor Township Glee Club will be staging a children's concert later this month. The theme is titled "Everyone's A Winner!"

Many area high school seniors are expected to attend next week's "Career Options" expo at the Jefferson Convention Center.

Community pride never goes out of style, as members of the Canaan Church Of God begin their "Beautify Through The Lord" clean-up campaign.

Spring is just around the corner, and stylist Joan Fairbanks says that red will be the hottest color of the season.

"Family Togetherness" month is nearly here, so make your picnic and parade plans today.

As you go about your business, remember how blessed we are, and take a moment to thank God for all that we enjoy. Have a super day!

How Heaven Fell

2007-03-17T14:03:00.000-04:00

If you, like me, are a big fan of "Monty Python's Life Of Brian", perhaps the greatest English-speaking comedy film ever, then you must spend 48 minutes watching this docu on the making of and controversy over "Brian". The best part features the infamous TV debate about the film, with a gay bishop and the old reactionary Malcolm Muggeridge attacking "Brian", and John Cleese and Michael Palin attempting to explain the point of humor and satire to these knobs. This is the most footage of said debate that I've seen. I would love, one day, to watch the whole thing.

And since the great Spike Milligan is featured above, here's a rare clip from his anarchic, late-60s Brit TV series "Q5", which was a major influence on the Pythons as they put together their show.

Oh hell -- just go the full Milligan and watch "The Running, Jumping & Standing Still Film" from 1959, with Peter Sellers, and directed by Richard Lester.

Cedar Grips Better

2007-03-17T09:46:00.000-04:00

UPDATE: Well, that was brief. Warner Bros. yanked this "thirtysomething" episode off YouTube, which has never happened before. Maybe it means that an actual DVD release is imminent. Or maybe they're just corporate pricks. Still, it was a good episode. I'm sure others will soon crop up.

One Fell Swoop

2007-03-15T12:09:00.000-04:00

Khalid Sheikh Mohammed confessed that he was indeed the mastermind behind some 31 terror attacks, including those on 9/11.

Mohammed also confessed to the beheading of Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl, who was abducted in Pakistan in 2002.

Mohammed added that he tried to kill Pope John Paul II, President Bill Clinton, and Pakistani President Pervez Musharraf.

Mohammed also said that he planned the 2002 terror bombing of a Kenya beach resort frequented by Israelis and the failed missile attack on an Israeli passenger jet after it took off from Mombasa, Kenya.

Mohammed confessed further that he was responsible for the 2002 terror bombing of a nightclub in Bali, Indonesia.

Mohammed said also that he planned additional terror attacks against the Sears Tower in Chicago, the Empire State Building and New York Stock Exchange, the Panama Canal, Big Ben and Heathrow Airport in London, the San Diego Zoo, the European road company of "Cats," that small French village where Johnny Depp lives, and the original Wendy's restaurant in Columbus, Ohio.

Mohammed additionally confessed that it was he who leaked Valerie Plame's name to Robert Novak.

Mohammed also added that he helped engineer voter fraud in Ohio in 2004.

Mohammed further said that it was he, not Dick Cheney, who shot Harry Whittington while quail hunting in 2006.

Mohammed confessed also to flooding New Orleans and helping to block relief efforts through his agents in FEMA.

Mohammed admitted too that he broke up the marriage of Britney Spears and Kevin Federline, and bribed Spears with terror money to shave her head.

Mohammed additionally claimed responsibility for any or all horrible, criminal, destructive, barbarous, or embarrassing incidents that have taken place, or will in the near future.

Mohammed said further that you are getting sleepy, very sleepy . . .

Mohammed also picked the Florida Gators to repeat as NCAA national basketball champions.

You Missed A Spot

2007-03-14T13:51:00.000-04:00

Maoism holds no appeal for me, as it's another form of idol worship and enforced subservience, however "radically" packaged. When you deify human beings, especially at the state level, it's only a matter of time before people start disappearing for not showing the proper deference to or enthusiasm for the great leader's program. It's an old recipe that is not confined to a single ideology. But I've always found Maoism, specifically the Khmer Rouge's version, stranger and in its bizarre way more brutal than most other forms of worship.

Yet despite my distaste for this mindset, there is one element of Maoism that's always intrigued me, namely, forcing white-collar or elite types to perform grubby, grimy labor, just so they get a taste of what it's like at the bottom. Now, I wouldn't go so far as to make these people wear dunce caps and march them down a public street to be ridiculed and spat on. Nor would I force them to dig their own graves and then shoot them in the back of the head. I'm much gentler than were the Red Guards. And besides, what lesson are you teaching if the ultimate goal is elimination? Either transcendence and redemption are part of the program, or else we should just kill each other off and get it over with.

Naomi Campbell may be beyond redemption, but there's always hope. The seemingly ageless supermodel begins her community service sentence Monday in a lower Manhattan building, where she will sweep and mop floors for five days as punishment for hitting a maid with a Black-Berry. Unlike Boy George's similar sentence from last August, it seems that Naomi the Janitor will toil away from the inevitable media crush, thus sparing her further public embarrassment. I think this is a good thing -- janitorial labor is tough enough without paparazzi in your face. It requires concentration and patience, as well as a steady physical pace, so suffice it to say that Naomi will have her hands full, hopefully with heavy garbage bags, which is a great work-out for the biceps and forearms. If she has to clean toilets, even better, for there is nothing as humbling as that. In short, next week could be a breakthrough for Naomi Campbell, if only to show her that cleaning up after people who view you as subhuman is an unpleasant way to earn a living, and that people with privilege should offer more respect to those who serve them. Now if we can hand mops to all of those bored-looking, rich white assholes who appear in the front pages of Vanity Fair every month, we might get a decent trend going. Wouldn't you like to see the Trumps scrubbing dirty tile with toothbrushes? I'm sure Rosie O'Donnell would.

Blunt Objects

2007-03-13T15:16:00.000-04:00

Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Marine Gen. Peter Pace, in an interview with the Chicago Tribune, compared homosexuality to adultery and said the military should not condone "immoral" sexual behavior. Gen. Pace added that he has no problem with servicemen ramming batons or broom handles up other men's rectums, just so long as it's used to extract critical information, and not give pleasure. Gen. Pace also said that he does not wear underwear, and likes how his uniform's pants rubs his penis raw, the size of which he measured for reporters.

President Bush's tour of Latin America is being hailed as a success by his loyal fans in the region -- arms dealers, rich landowners, death squad commanders, and rightwing media outlets. Here the president and the First Lady walk on a carpet soaked with the blood of slaughtered Colombian peasants.

While in Guatemala, President Bush demonstrated his hands-on approach by asking this woman if she knew any of the suspected subversives listed on a piece of paper.

The daily carnage in Iraq has put many of that country's citizens on edge, none more so than Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki, who now surrenders at the slightest noise.

On the home front, Democratic leaders have removed from a military spending bill the requirement that President Bush gain Congressional approval before attacking Iran. "Let's face it," said House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, "rolling over is what we do. Besides, the Iranians don't sign my pay check. Who cares what they think?" The Speaker then ordered a young serviceman to rub her sciatic nerve.

Afraid that he may not receive the support needed to snag the GOP's presidential nomination, Sen. John McCain has resorted to personal threats. Here McCain tells an Iowa man that if he does not vote for the Senator, he and his entire family will be killed in their sleep.

And finally, former Georgia Sen. Zell Miller spoke out against abortion this week, saying, "How could this great land of plenty produce too few people in the last 30 years? Here is the brutal truth that no one dares to mention: we're too few because too many of our babies have been killed. Over 45 million since Roe V. Wade in 1973. If those 45 million children had lived, today they would be getting killed or maimed in Iraq, or they would be living alienated, politically powerless lives." Here Miller is seen amusing his wife Shirley with an off-color joke about unwed teen mothers.

That Funny Feeling

2007-03-12T13:39:00.000-04:00

A heartfelt Welcome Back to Jon Schwarz! His Tiny Revolution stalled for 12 days due to hosting problems, but Jon has returned and continues to do what he can to prevent a US attack on Iran. Now, no blogger can stop a violent superpower from launching what would be a lunatic assault, but at least Jon's giving it a shot, working on various fronts to alert and educate as many Americans as he can reach about what the dire consequences would be should Bush actually give the green light. Jon's done a lot of research on this topic, so if you feel ill-informed, Jon will help bring you up to speed. It's what he does.

The fear of expanded war has taken a toll on Jon's humor, which he's the first to admit, and really, who can blame him? Immersing yourself in something this depressing tends to mute any funny thoughts you might have, especially if you dabble in political humor. The primary "joke" is so ominous and frightening that no punchline can soften or alter its impact, a reality that Jon is now discovering, and that I've experienced more than a few times myself.

During the build-up to and the commencement of the first Gulf War in 1990-91, I lost my sense of humor pretty quickly, speaking about and debating the issue for months on end, sometimes getting so distraught that I would mutter my remarks, then sit and hold my head in my shaking hands. If I heard a glib remark about the war in public, I'd usually snap at the person making it, and once, nearly got into a fight with some drunk jerk in a bar telling dead Iraqi baby jokes. When a comedy writer wants to physically attack someone for telling a joke, no matter how tasteless or unfunny it is, then you know the humor train not only left the station, but derailed and crashed about a mile down the line.

As I'm sure you've noticed, I'm writing more comedic and satirical content. This reflects my present state of mind and serves as a defense mechanism of sorts, since I was starting to feel the cold, humorless grip tighten around my throat once again. Many of you like this turn, but some of you do not, and tell me that you prefer the longer political essays which brought you to the Son in the first place. If you choose to abandon my site, I'll understand. Part of the bargain. But know that I can't write what I don't feel inside, not for free, anyway (hint, hint); and if nothing else, I lay out what I have for anyone to see, no matter how weird, twisted, depressing, or mawkish it is. Composing these little bits takes some of the pressure off my brain. And should I make you laugh in the process, all the better.

I'm sure that Jon will get back to the funny in due course. No one with his wit can forever be dragged down by the bullshit madness -- unless, of course, the bullshit madness helps to further destroy and terrorize the world. In that case, only the insane will feel like laughing.

Richard Jeni

2007-03-12T11:17:00.000-04:00

Most comedians are unhappy people -- not an original thought, but nevertheless true. And I was reminded of this truth today after reading about Richard Jeni's apparent suicide in LA. According to reports, Jeni shot himself in the face and died soon after at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. What pushed Jeni to pull the trigger has yet to be revealed, but clearly, all was not well, despite the fact that Jeni's career appeared solid. He even wrote jokes for Chris Rock's Academy Award hosting job in '05, a doubly-sweet gig that a lot of writers would love to snag, me included. So it didn't seem as if Jeni was on the professional skids.

I was not a big fan of Jeni's comedy, though I did respect his smooth, on-stage manner. The guy was a serious pro, and knew how to guide an audience through a set. That's not an easy task, and many comics never really nail that down, allowing the audience to set the tone instead. But Jeni's material was too moderate and obvious for my taste; he never took himself to the edge where deeper, crazier insights are found. He was a crowd pleaser, which is not a bad thing, especially in an insecure business like stand-up. But no one was going to confuse Jeni with the likes of Carlin, Pryor, Hicks, or for that matter Rock, who is the best comic currently working. Jeni himself admitted this on occasion, as he did in a Bill Hicks documentary, talking about mainstream comics who avoid hot-button topics like imperial war and the lies used to sell war. When Jeni did political humor, he told generalized "They're all crooks!" jokes, material calculated not to offend a mass audience. This is why Jeni did well in the industry: club owners and producers knew that he wouldn't alienate their customers.

Despite my feelings about Richard Jeni's comedy, I do feel badly about his suicide. There are times when I wish I had taken the sitcom work offered to me back in the day, that I went the typical LA comedy writer route. Then I read depressing shit like this and realize, yet again, what a soul-crushing, demeaning world that is, and how it probably would've destroyed me as well. So rest in peace, Richard. You made countless people laugh, which is a nice legacy, all in all.

Fuscia Takes The Cake

2007-03-11T19:42:00.000-04:00

Another excellent episode of "thirtysomething" is just up at YouTube, and I wanted to post it before it gets yanked.

Like most of my favorite episodes, this one was written by Joseph Dougherty, and features my old friend Dave Clennon playing the cutthroat ad exec Miles Drentell. Dave's really on his game in this, which is the first part of a two-part closer for the show's third season. When the second part goes up, I'll link it here as well.

And parts 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

Months ago, I posted the B-52's American TV debut on "SNL" in 1980. That video is gone, but the band's other song from that night is up, and if you're wise, you'll dance your mess around.

Coda Cola

2007-03-10T19:45:00.000-05:00

Silk-covered cacti. Floating offices. Frozen pianos.

Cousins kiss amid exploding mules. Tropical sandstorms reshape the sky.

Firing squads on strike. Clocks thrown at rusting cars.

In the warehouse -- puddles from leaking pipes and ceilings, botched sunlight through greasy, wire-mesh windows.

Fuck cold damp.

Having a great time. Wish you were here!

Reductionistic Two-Step With A Cha-Cha-Cha

2007-03-09T11:05:00.000-05:00

The Midwest is getting to me. I knew when I moved back to the fat middle many years ago that this would happen, and now it has, sometimes heavy, sometimes light, and rarely with positive accompaniment. The wife and kids make it bearable, providing the oxygen needed to get through the slow-motion provincialism that surrounds us. At times I view our house as a bathosphere, stuck at the bottom of a deep muddy lake. Inside, laughter, singing, books, movies, and related amusements, while outside swim the locals, peering in the windows periodically to see what the weird family is up to.

If I sound elitist, snide, or condescending, my apologies. That's not my intention. I simply am who I am, and the fact is that I miss New York and all that goes on there. Now, I know my old NYC is long gone, washed away by Giuliani and Bloomberg; but even so, there is movement, electricity, noise, confusion, pace, assortment, and above all, intelligence. Not that there aren't smart people here: Ann Arbor is a campus town, after all. But a certain smugness pervades much of the conversation, and most of the local intellects I've encountered frown upon spontaneity, craziness, and exuberance.

In NYC, you can yell and dance down the street, and no one gives a fuck. Some of my fondest memories are of stumbling out of East Village bars and into the rain, acting like a demented Gene Kelly, jumping and stomping through the puddles and soaked gutters, getting so wet within two blocks that I put away my umbrella and screamed to the sky for more rain. And then there was my psilocybin period, when I ingested mushrooms in Central Park and let the blend of nature and towering architecture flow over me. Central Park is awesome enough on its own; but strip away the samsara visage and the deeper reality of the place fills your expanding mind, and all you can do is smile and laugh. The colors are pretty cool, too.

These days, it's grimy pick-up trucks bearing jingoist stickers and NASCAR numbers. Hummers driven by housewives on cell phones. Consumers in public slowed by fast-food weight, flashing dazed expressions. Young women in the drug store arguing about which celebrity is fattest. Young men trying to look tough while speaking in sentence fragments. Rednecks reeking of booze ahead of you in line at the store, being allowed to buy more booze for the road. Sadness. Complacency. No positive or creative engagement. Marking time until time runs out.

I need you, Central Park!

The Matt Sanchez, aka "Rod Majors," queer porn stud flap is quieting down, and an entertaining mini-spectacle it has been. I love how reactionaries suddenly find their compassion when one of their own is forced from the closet. They become as PC as the libs they hate, engaging in victimspeak while touting the power of redemption, just so long as the closet-case they're defending remains stoutly rightwing, or better yet, has "learned" from his or her "mistake," and is now a flag-waving, God-fearing heterosexual, devoted to adding new members to the tribe via missionary sex under a photo of Ronald Reagan on a horse. Frankly, the GOP, or Gays On Parade, as I like to call it, is a natural home for ex-gay porn stars. After all, they're already skilled at sucking dick and taking it up the ass, which is the surest route to advancement through the Republican ranks. Plus, they know how to fuck people who are in vulnerable positions, another reactionary trait. So, the next time you're watching man-on-man action, keep in mind that you may be witness to the next generation of conservative celebs. Praise the Lord, and pass the lubrication.

Public access TV from the 1980s has given us many memorable moments. I've recounted some of my favorites from Manhattan Cable, but here's a gem from Santa Monica public access, circa 1983. No explanation necessary -- just watch and enjoy, especially the ending. Those were the days.

Run, Savage, Run

2007-03-07T12:24:00.001-05:00

There are two savage nations: the real, militarized, commodified nation of 300 million; and the Nation overseen by radio howler Michael Savage, whose nightly freak show reaches some 8 million listeners.

And I'm one of them.

Normally, rightwing radio bores me. Limbaugh, Hannity, and O'Reilly make the same barnyard noises daily, and the rubes who love them seem content with that. Predictability in the service of ratings and profits certainly has its place. But Michael Savage is something else. He claims to be a "conservative," but somehow I can't see Edmund Burke, Albert Jay Nock, or even William F. Buckley at his worst saying a portion of what Savage regularly spews over the airwaves. And that's what sets Savage apart from the standard rightwing talk format -- he doesn't mind sounding absolutely crazy, although for him, "crazy" is moderate. He goes after anyone, including Republicans, and most especially George W. Bush, whom Savage mocks as a clueless viceroy or idiot king. But these attacks come from the very far right, a place where liberalism is a mental disorder if not a disease to be wiped out, where all Muslims are potential beheaders, where "illegal" immigrants are turning the nation into mud people, and where queers are child molesters and AIDS-carriers who actively seek to destroy the heterosexual lifestyle. So of course Savage dislikes Bush and the leading GOP candidates running to replace him. They contribute to society's sickness.

Not Michael Savage. He lays it down like no one else. If you doubt his sincerity, just listen to his show for about 15 minutes. You'll hear Savage stroke his ego so vigorously that you'd swear he has his hands down his pants. And while Savage takes listener calls, no one in his Nation appreciates him the way he appreciates himself. How could they? Savage is intellectually superior to everyone, as he reminds his audience every few minutes. Even the most fawning listener tributes fall well short of Savage's throne. It's a wonder why he even bothers broadcasting.

Well, the obvious reason why Savage broadcasts is that he's making serious dough while cementing his celebrity status. Unlike Oliver North and G. Gordon Liddy, Savage has a voice made for radio. He really is a natural for the medium. North and Liddy sound tinny and screechy compared to Savage, and they cannot match his easy-listening flow of fascistic tangents and riffs. Col. Tom Parker supposedly said that if he could find a white man who could sing like a black man, he'd make millions. The Col. discovered Elvis Presley and did just that. Michael Savage clearly came upon a similar formulation: if someone with a smooth, somewhat acerbic-sounding voice could effectively and believably transmit the most vile, nativist, violent opinions nationwide, that person would easily mega-cash in. And this Savage has done and continues to do.

His audience, at least those who phone in, isn't terribly articulate or intelligent, much less acquainted with political and social reality. But they do feel threatened, cheated, scorned, and taken to the cleaners. Savage's Nation bursts with self-pity and hatred for anyone even remotely seen as "different" from Average Americans. They are natural brownshirts awaiting a Führer to articulate their confusion, idiocy, and rage, and Savage plays this role beautifully. In fact, so venerated by his Nation is Savage that when he recently announced that he was mulling whether or not to run for the GOP nomination, millions of followers went to his website to encourage his candidacy. Just last night, several callers urged Savage to run against those bleeding-hearts McCain, Romney, and Giuliani; and while Savage flirted with making a more declarative statement, he pulled back and instructed his Nation to keep voting for a possible run.

One of the obstacles Savage says he faces is, of course, the Liberal Media, which will doubtless rip him to shreds should he run. Why? Because the Liberal Media hates and fears The Truth, which Savage alone possesses. Remember, this is the same Liberal Media that gave him a TV show on MSNBC after dumping the liberal Phil Donahue for being too anti-war. That Savage ruined that opportunity by engaging in his usual queer-bashing is, I'm sure to him, further proof that the Liberal Media is out to silence him.

But if Savage really is the courageous culture warrior that he repeatedly insists he is, what better foe to engage in a presidential campaign than the Liberal Media itself? After all, the media craves "controversy," and Savage can certainly provide enough fireworks to make any debate he's part of a must-see event. This is why I back a Michael Savage for President campaign. There are millions of American fascists and nativists who lack a genuine voice at the national level, and Savage is that voice -- that is, if his viewpoints are sincerely and deeply held. If the Savage Nation is instead run by an Elmer Gantry-type adept at milking the rubes, then the man is just another con-artist who is part of the very conspiracy his character denounces every night. Either way, Michael Savage is more American than perhaps even he himself knows. Running for president would be a natural and most entertaining extension of whatever persona is truly Savage.

Clotted Passage

2007-03-06T11:29:00.000-05:00

"I should kill you now."

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh, Dick. Please."

"I'm serious."

"Must I list the crimes? The betrayals? All those you've killed without having the decency to look them in eye?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can lie to George, you can lie to the press, and you can definitely lie to Lynne, but you can't lie to me."

"I don't answer to you. I'm a very important man."

"Yes -- a very important sick man whose life I can end whenever I choose."

"Once the blood thinner takes hold, you'll be the dead one."

"Oh, the 'blood thinner.' Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dick. Not that that's ever been a problem for you."

"Why am I even talking to you? You're nothing but a congealed mass in my leg."

"I'm more than that, Dick. I feed off this rancid body. All the poison you carry around is my nectar. All that bile, my protein."

"You're crazy."

"Am I? You're the one talking to the clot."

"If you kill me, then you'll die too."

"True, but it would be worth it, Dick. Of all of the enemies you so richly deserve, it's little me that has the knife at your throat."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to appreciate, before the final moment comes, what you've done in this life. The horrors you've unleashed, the misery you've spread, the hatred you've fostered. I want you to seriously focus on all of that, Dick, and understand what it means. You are not a stupid man, but you are a vile creature, and you must grasp this inescapable fact if you are to find any semblance of peace before it ends."

"I did what I had to do. I have no regrets."

"Bullshit, Dick. I know everything about you, and the truth is that you're afraid. All that arrogance and bullying is a cover, and as death pulls you away, you'll be whimpering and begging like a whipped dog. Is that how you want to go out?"

"I'm not afraid to die."

"No? Well then, I'll just break free and swim up to that battered heart of yours. We can end this now."

"Wait! Stop!"

"Not afraid, eh?"

"No -- it's just that there's so much left to do."

"You've stolen enough blood money for several lifetimes. What more do you need?"

"We have to defeat the terrorists."

"Ha! That's a good one, especially coming from you!"

"Look, I don't know what I'm saying anymore. I'm tired, everything aches, but I can't sleep without medication. And the nightmares! Dear God, the fucking nightmares!"

"A man can consciously deny his true nature, but beneath the rationalizations resides his very essence. And yours, Dick, is twisted and sickening beyond belief."

"How do I deal with all this?"

"As I said, you have to be honest about what a cowardly, sadistic man you are. You're too weak to admit this publicly, and besides, it would be garbled by that reptilian mouth of yours. But the doorway to karmic balance is within you. And once you've quieted your mind and stepped through, you can leave this world with some measure of dignity, if only to yourself."

"I don't think I can do that on my own."

"Well then, let me help you. I'll be in your brain momentarily . . ."

Caravaggio, If You Can

2007-03-05T13:34:00.000-05:00

President Bush toured parts of Alabama and Georgia that were devastated by tornadoes. After surveying the damage in this small town, the president remained upbeat, saying that the rubble and twisted metal reminded him of "the progress we continue to make in Iraq."

An African-American woman, excited to see the president, ran up to hug the chief executive. President Bush immediately called for security back-up.

Sectarian violence continues to rip apart Iraq, especially in Baghdad, where lethal car bombings are almost a daily occurrence. But even in the midst of civil war, Iraqis savor the lighter moments, like this security checkpoint search which turned into a quick game of "I Am Grabbing Your Chest Now."

The war in Afghanistan also grinds along, as Afghans grow accustomed to living in a perpetual state of violence. One sign of this grim acceptance is the popularity of pre-shot vehicles throughout parts of the country. Here potential buyers examine one of the newer bullet-riddled models.

More reports about inadequate care for wounded veterans at Walter Reed Army Medical Center continue to be released, as lawmakers look for ways to reform what is clearly a broken medical system. Army surgeon Cpt. Chris Felkens, seen here in the operating room, welcomes the proposed changes, saying that "You'd think the Army could at least spring for a few surgical masks and some anesthesia. And don't even ask about the bathrooms."

Although they remain staunch rivals for the Democratic presidential nomination, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama are rumored to be romantically involved. At a recent campaign stop, Sen. Obama tried to keep his amorous feelings in check as Sen. Clinton fought her physical urges while claiming to be the true champion of African-American desires.

As a counter-measure, Sen. Obama sought middle-class white support by pretending to be Cleavon Little in "Blazing Saddles".

Flags; Fags

2007-03-03T12:26:00.000-05:00

Whenever a corporate media outlet wants to profile someone who "talks back" to the consensus, who displays what the mainstream considers political or cultural "courage," that person is usually shown holding or wearing an American flag. In the case of reactionary bad boys and girls, this is understandable. Part of the rightwing "rebel" appeal is an unapologetic embrace of nationalist symbols like Old Glory. But when it comes to liberals, or even "progressives," the need to clutch the flag is even more imperative, for anyone to the left of Joe Lieberman must show their allegiance immediately and without ambiguity. And in most cases, the liberals happily go along.

A recent example of this pandering can be seen in the current Rolling Stone, where lib hero Keith Olbermann is shown doing his duty, as a prelude to yet another gushing profile:

As corporate media figures go, Olbermann is admittedly easier on the senses, his smooth delivery honed over 30 years of broadcasting experience. That he mocks the prevailing rightwing trogs of our time is entertaining, but ultimately shallow, as Olbermann doesn't seem too put off by the information and political structure that employs his talents. At bottom, Olbermann is just another propagandist, someone who helps define the permissible "left" position in mass media. And because he attacks Limbaugh, O'Reilly, Coulter, and Hannity, online libs fairly faint at his feet and help spread the fiction that Olbermann is somehow talking "truth to power." If that were actually true, Olbermann wouldn't be on the air, certainly not on a Pentagon-affiliated network like MSNBC.

If one of these "truth tellers" were to rip apart the flag, burn it, stomp on it, wipe their ass with it, then we'd be getting somewhere. Desecrating nationalist symbols is a feature of actual freedom, and not the kind that merely helps to sell more useless products to dazed consumers.

Take the first step, Keith! Shove that flag up your ass!

Libloggers have been piously milking Ann Coulter's use of "faggot" to describe John Edwards at this year's Conservative Political Action Conference.

What an absolute waste of time and energy, especially since Coulter and her fans lap up liberal outrage and push for more. If you're going to attack Coulter for saying "faggot," then simply point out that Coulter is a well-known social fag hag. I've seen her twice in person at private parties, and each time she had an openly gay man on her arm. And friends who've seen her elsewhere have told me the same thing -- Coulter likes the company of queer guys. Now, they may be reactionary, Roy Cohn-type queers, given Coulter's professed love for Joe McCarthy, but that's another topic. If liberals want to respond to Coulter, just ask what her gay male friends think about her use of "faggot." I'm guessing they don't mind. After all, they hang with the bitch.

Pearls In The Pollution

2007-03-02T11:23:00.000-05:00

Ideologues rarely write insightful, penetrating film or arts criticism, for the obvious reason that their politics, usually party-oriented, drag their assessments down. They expect and demand that creative expression reinforce what they see as The Truth, and any deviation from that gets slammed as a weak-kneed distraction. This is evident across the ideological divide, but today I'm thinking about the film reviews posted at the World Socialist Web Site, primarily those written by David Walsh, a favorite in several lefty circles.

Stylistically, no one will confuse Walsh for James Agee, still the best American film critic, in my opinion. Agee, for all of his shortcomings and faults, cast a decidedly human eye on what was being screened, and connected it to the wider world with a socially-conscious passion and empathy that obliterated party lines, which in his time were much more powerful than now. One finds the humane in Walsh's work as well, but it is surrounded by and tangled with so much overt political posturing that his critical perception is forced to wave a fist and demand revolution as an answer to social ills screened and unscreened. Everything gets boiled down to polemics, which is the antithesis of effective criticism. Still, many of Walsh's arguments are accurate if stiffly expressed; and his recent piece about last Sunday's Academy Awards ceremony raised points that, while obvious to some, needed to be made amid the glitter and the pomp. As Walsh put it:

"The overriding impression left by the evening at the Kodak Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard is of a group of people far removed from the realities of American or global life. Wealthy, insulated and self-involved to an unhealthy degree, the Hollywood elite is not in any position to make serious or profound judgments on much of anything. And their lack of perspective extends to themselves and the awards program. Anyone with a reasonable degree of objectivity would recognize the largely limp and pointless character of the annual ceremony."

Walsh rightly decried Hollywood's coronation of Al Gore, whose film "An Inconvenient Truth" not only won for Best Documentary, but served as the sole political theme for the night. While environmental devastation is certainly a vital topic (though in Gore's case, the corporate structure responsible for much of it is largely let off the hook in favor of pushing consumers to take "individual" action), Walsh reminded us that another form of devastation is currently taking place:

"In fact, the truly 'inconvenient truth' of the evening, so inconvenient that no one referred to it, is the ongoing murderous occupation of Iraq, as well as the plans for a massive American-led assault on Iran. None of the words 'Iraq,' 'Iran,' 'Bush' or 'Cheney' passed any lips once during the ceremony. The US is undergoing an unprecedented political crisis as a result of the disaster in Iraq, and that went entirely unmentioned. In general, one would have obtained almost no sense of contemporary American life, or its more complex and painful aspects, from the awards ceremony."

To be expected, especially with the prospect of a Democratic presidency in '08, another reality that Walsh also mentioned. From Nancy Pelosi taking impeachment off the table after the mid-term elections, to the present waffling and foot-shuffling by Congressional and Senate Dems over Iraq, the overall "liberal" mood is one of moderation in the face of mass murder and corruption; "realism" over aggressive engagement. While libloggers and the more professional Weblibs make varied "antiwar" noises from below, the party to whom they pledge allegiance is in no hurry to deal with the ongoing madness and misery. Indeed, the Dems are feeding the death machine, and there is little indication that the mule team will oppose any attack on Iran -- quite the opposite, in fact. So it's really no surprise that the Hollywood elite, which is predominately Dem-oriented, would allow antiwar expression to sully its annual extravaganza.

Yet, despite this open, calculated cowardice, certain mainstream Hollywood releases have helped to undermine the larger political narrative. Steven Spielberg's "Munich" was one (which I noted in this space last year), and more recently, Clint Eastwood's rather dark takes on World War II, "Flags Of Our Fathers" and "Letters From Iwo Jima". I have yet to see "Letters" (though it sits atop our Netflix queue), but from what I've read and heard from friends, it apparently is an antiwar masterwork. And that it is seen from the perspective of soldiers in Japan's imperial Army, perhaps the most hated enemy the US has ever engaged (compare the extremely racist depictions of the Japanese to the buffoonish Germans or strutting Italians in American pop culture of that period), is something to positively note, if not celebrate. I'll know more once I see the film. But I did recently watch "Flags Of Our Fathers", and while I expected to find it of interest, I wasn't ready for the punch it packs.

I'm sure many of you have seen "Flags" or know of its plot, so I won't belabor it here. Eastwood has chipped further away at the Good War mythology, going much deeper than did Terrence Malick in "The Thin Red Line", an elegant film that suffered unfair if inevitable comparisons to Spielberg's "Saving Private Ryan", which also appeared in the Summer of '98. In a sense, Malick set the table for Eastwood, who pushes our faces directly into the savagery of the Pacific War, and the political hypocrisy and racism on the American homefront. Eastwood's battle scenes make the opening of "Saving Private Ryan" look like "Pauline At The Beach". And his portrayal of the corrupt spirit behind the "war effort" is unflinching and at times painful to witness. Frankly, I was floored by "Flags" and highly recommend it. And if, as some have suggested, it is the "lesser" of Eastwood's twin films, then I cannot imagine what awaits me in "Letters From Iwo Jima".

Some of my political friends lack my enthusiasm for these types of films, especially when made by mainstream directors. To them, these efforts don't go far enough, aren't sufficiently "radical" in spirit or execution, or gloss over or omit key historical moments. In many cases, my friends are correct: most Hollywood offerings are shitty and tame, meant to reinforce tired plotlines rather than engage or challenge audiences. We all know that. But because of the power films have over the populace, certain themes can be transmitted in ways that direct political expression cannot. Clint Eastwood's war movies are contemporary examples of this; but I recall how a particular mainstream Hollywood film softened the fear and hatred in someone I personally knew.

A relative of mine through marriage was one of the most queer-phobic men I had ever encountered. He not only hated "fags," he was convinced that they actively recruited children to become "like them," and all the rest of that ignorant bullshit. He and I had many arguments over this, usually while drinking, and no matter how delicately I pushed a specific point, or how easily I countered his bizarre reasoning, he still loathed gay men. Then Jonathan Demme's "Philadelphia" was released, starring the very mainstream Tom Hanks as a gay man with AIDS who faces not only death, but professional discrimination. After seeing this, my relative's views about queers changed -- not completely, not to the marrow, but his once rancid outlook was decidedly altered. Tom Hanks, being recognizable and thus safe, gave my relative permission to be empathetic, and I never again heard him utter the simplistic bile that casually came out of his mouth.

When discussing "Philadelphia" with a member of Act Up! back in New York, I mentioned the above anecdote after listening to his political criticism of Demme's film. "Movies like that aren't meant for us," I said, "they're meant for people like my relative." The activist took this in for a moment, and cautiously agreed. He still had ideological problems with "Philadelphia", but if it helped to eliminate queer-hatred in the heartland, then the movie served a larger purpose.

The same goes for films like "Munich" and "Flags Of Our Fathers". The mainstream may be largely polluted, but it holds the biggest audience; and any effort that can help drain some of this pollution while opening once-closed eyes should be supported or at least acknowledged. Whatever works.

Sicko

2007-03-01T14:17:00.000-05:00

Feeling quite below the weather today, as another ice storm hits and tree limbs crack and fall all around. I have many items on deck, but now must get some sleep. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

Thanks again to all you Bill Hicks fans. I've rarely seen such intelligent passion for a performer. I'll be getting to more of that in due course.

And as always, if you can contribute to the Son via PayPal, I would be most grateful.

Whenever I feel sick, silent movies bring me comfort. So enjoy Georges Méliès' 1902 classic, "Le Voyage dans la Lune".

Campaign Snapshots

2007-02-28T12:00:00.000-05:00

To show that she is qualified to be president, Hillary Clinton broke up laughing earlier this week after President Bush told her a joke about how bad poor people smell.

In an effort to reach out to African-American voters, Sen. Clinton has hired a new speech coach, who here is teaching her to say, "Wha' zup whodie?"

Though she denies any animus toward fellow Democratic candidate Barack Obama, Sen. Clinton has tried to derail the Obama campaign. She is shown here sneaking up behind the Illinois senator, attempting to strangle him with a scarf.

Confident of his popularity, Sen. Obama has been testing the national media to see how much he can get away with. Here he tells reporters that he's petting his invisible Doberman Victory, who he hopes will become the nation's imaginary First Dog.

Denying that he uses steroids to help bulk up his body, Sen. Obama waves down to supporters and well-wishers at a recent campaign stop.

Sen. John McCain, in a desperate move to grab Christian votes, had a large cross fused to his spinal column.

After facing critical questions from the press, an angry Sen. McCain tried to turn into the Hulk, with pathetic results.

Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney met with active duty personnel recently, telling them that if he is elected president, they will all face certain death.

While in New York City during a campaign swing, Gov. Romney tried to exploit the 9/11 terrorist attacks by serenading a piece of rubble from the World Trade Center.

And finally, always the prankster, former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani showed off a combat medal he stole from a wounded Marine in a coma.

More About Hicks

2007-02-27T12:12:00.000-05:00

Bill Hicks always had a large, loyal fan base; and based on the dozens of emails I've received since Friday, his fans remain passionately committed to his memory. They also hunger for a new bio of Hicks, and have asked and pleaded that I be the one to write it.

Well. Flattered is too weak a word for how I feel about these requests (and a big thank you to James Wolcott, who linked to my original post). And of course, I would love to embark on such a project, but there are a few obstacles. The main obstacle is that I have little to no hope of getting a publishing house interested in a new Hicks bio. Now, I could self publish the book, as many of you have suggested, but this would require money and time that I simply don't have. At least, that's how it feels at the moment. I'm sure there's a way to get that done, and I would need assistance to do so. Also, Kevin Booth recently published his own bio of his best friend Hicks, which may take the steam out of yet another book about the man. Then again, I would bring my own flavor to a Hicks bio, so perhaps there's room for another printed take. Finally, I would need to convince all those close to Hicks, including his parents, to go through the interview process one more time, and I doubt that they have anything new to add, or if they would even welcome a new book. That would take some time as well.

Bottom line -- I still believe I can write a unique, musical tribute to Bill Hicks, but I'm gonna need help. Anyone reading this who knows how to directly contact Hicks's parents, Kevin Booth, Dwight Slade, Joe Rogan, or anyone else who was close to him, please let me know. If I can convince these people to talk once again about a topic they've commented on many times, then we're off and running. You people know what kind of book I would write. Let's try to spread the word to those who knew the legend.

Akimbo's Hidden Meaning

2007-02-26T14:04:00.000-05:00

The U.S. military contends that Iranian-made weapons are increasingly used by Iraqi militants. "Iran has no business meddling in the internal affairs of Iraq," said a Pentagon spokesman, who added, "For that matter, Iraqis have no business meddling in the internal affairs of Iraq, either, but just try telling those crazy bastards that."

During a surprise visit to Pakistan, Vice President Dick Cheney urged President Gen. Pervez Musharraf to help defeat the Taliban and al-Qaeda militants in that country's border areas. Musharraf shook Cheney's hand, muttered "No problem, boss," then returned to his heavily-guarded palace and had a hearty laugh with Osama bin-Laden, who co-owns a bomb-proof time share with the Pakistani president.

Iraqi vice president Adel Abdul-Mahdi was nearly killed by a bomb that took the lives of 10 other people. Abdul-Mahdi, who is Shi'a, is one of two Iraqi VPs, the other being Tariq al-Hashemi, who is Sunni. The assassination attempt was part of a deadly game of "sectarian tag," where opposing Muslim factions take turns trying to kill each other's leaders. After a brief hospital stay, Abdul-Mahdi released a statement to al-Hashemi's office that read simply, "BOOOOM! You're it!"

The International Court of Justice exonerated Serbia of direct responsibility for genocide in Bosnia in the early 1990s, but did rule that Serbia failed to prevent the slaughter of Bosnian Muslims at Srebrenica. The case was the first time that an entire nation was being held to judicial account for genocide, an irony that was not lost on U.S., Israeli and Turkish observers, who were often seen giggling and high-fiving each other during the trial.

The Virginia General Assembly voted unanimously to express "profound regret" for the state's role in slavery. "We're really, really sorry," read the Assembly's statement. "You don't know how badly we feel about using African captives for slave labor, when we weren't beating, whipping and hanging them from trees. We feel so awful about this that it took us nearly 200 years to get over our shame and apologize." The measure also expressed regret for "the exploitation of Native Americans," though an Assembly member admitted privately, "We tacked that on to keep those drunk Indians quiet."

A team of genealogists unearthed new evidence that shows the ancestors of the Rev. Al Sharpton were slaves owned by relatives of the late South Carolina Sen. Strom Thurmond, who was known for his pro-segregationist views. Sharpton has not decided whether he'll seek reparations, but did say that he and his family plan an extended stay at the late senator's home, and look forward to "reconnecting with old family friends."

New medical research has revealed that while some tumors wither under radiation or chemotherapy, others grow back, sometimes years later, despite even the harshest therapies. These relapses are often fatal, killing patients who seemed cancer free. Doctors are calling these recurring tumors "cancer stem cells." When informed of this, President Bush cautioned against any unnecessary stem cell research, labeling the tumors "pre-malignant life bestowed by our Creator."

A documentary, "The Lost Tomb of Christ," which will air on the Discovery Channel, argues that 10 ancient caskets used to store bones, discovered in Jerusalem in 1980, may have contained the bones of Jesus and his family. One of the caskets bears the title "Judah, son of Jesus,” suggesting that Jesus may have had a son. Tablets discovered near the burial site state that unlike his father, Judah Christ was spoiled, pushy, and arrogant, abusing his famous name, oftentimes demanding money and favors from his father's disciples. "Jesus was profoundly embarrassed by his son," said Biblical scholar Hans Drezner. "He could walk on water and heal the sick, but Jesus couldn't keep Judah in line. That kid was like the Paris Hilton of the Holy Land."

Shedding Regret

2007-02-23T11:51:00.000-05:00

Couldn't sleep last night, so I watched most of "Factotum", which I liked very much (and will finish later today), then for some reason I felt the need to see the Bill Hicks docu, "It's Just A Ride". I take Hicks in concentrated doses, then lay off for months at a time. He's not the kind of comic you casually dip into, appreciating this or that clever line before going on your way. With Hicks, you have to submerge yourself completely, like cranking up Hendrix's "Star Spangled Banner" till the walls shake and your hair is blown backwards. You have to feel Hick's pain, anger, and anguish as your own, otherwise, you won't get the joke, even when there isn't one.

Watching Hicks in the dark early hours, screaming into his mike about our soulless, mediocre culture -- which, by the way, has only gotten worse since his death -- I not only felt reconnected to a vital creative source, I experienced a deep sensation of regret.

Now, I try not to regret things in my life, for we all know that reality is a butterfly's dream, and that the mirage is a lie keeping us from truly understanding the point to this existence. I understand and appreciate all that. But I am flawed in so many ways, and one of my chief flaws is regret. I regret all the stupid and destructive decisions I've made over the years, my selfishness, my cruelty, my cowardice, my fucked up sense of reasoning in moments when clarity was called for, and all the bullshit in between. I struggle with this daily, and have, for the most part, moved past the deeper recesses. But as I watched Hicks last night, an old regret resurfaced. An angry, foot-stomping, blow-the-windows-out-with-a-shotgun type of regret. So, if I lay it out here once and for all, perhaps I can finally rid myself of the nasty thing.

While in the final editing stages of "Mr. Mike," I spent a lot of time with my editor at Avon/William Morrow, going over the pages, making cuts, changes, etc. One day, sitting in his Manhattan midtown office just off Sixth Ave., he asked what project I wanted to do next. I had two ideas: the first, an American version of Bill Buford's "Among The Thugs," a frightening, first-hand look at British soccer fan culture; and the second, the one I really wanted to tackle, an in-depth bio of Bill Hicks. I learned many things about writing a bio with "Mr. Mike," and I knew that I wouldn't make the same mistakes I made with that book when researching and writing about Hicks.

My editor leaned back in his chair, smiled, then waved off the Hicks idea.

"That's a paperback book," he said. "You're more of a hard cover author."

"So publish it in soft cover," I replied. "Doesn't matter to me. Besides, it'll be cheaper and might sell more copies."

"But you don't want to be typecast as a comedy biographer, do you?"

"I don't know. But I love Hicks's work, and I think I could write a kick-ass book about him."

He shook his head, still smiling that gator smile of his. "No. You should do the sports book instead. That could be fun."

It was clear that my dear editor wasn't going to sign off on a Bill Hicks book. No matter what I said, he rejected it, even though Hicks had and still has a much larger following than Michael O'Donoghue ever did. Hicks's fans would eagerly pay for a good book about his life and work, and I felt that I could deliver such a book. But I was hitting the corporate wall with this idea, so I dropped it and wrote "American Fan" as my editor suggested.

The first regret I had regarding this episode was that I didn't walk over to my editor, lean in close to his face and say, "You know what? I'm writing the Hicks book. You don't want to publish it? Fine. I'll find someone who will." Then walk out. I was too frightened to piss off someone who was publishing my first book, and would give me a decent advance to write another. Plus, I was married with two young kids. What was I going to do -- finance the Hicks book myself, which would require a lot of travel and unpaid work time? The strain would affect the book, assuming I could afford to finish and sell it. Still, looking back, I could have found some way to get the Hicks book off the ground. Instead, I retreated, like the well-behaved author I thought I had to be.

Several months later, I was back in my editor's office, discussing the sports book before going out to lunch. I asked him what new projects he had lined up for the next few publishing seasons, and he casually told me that he had just signed a young writer to work on a Bill Hicks bio.

I was stunned. Then furious. But I kept my anger in check, and gently reminded this two-timing jerk that the Hicks bio was my idea, which he obviously knew. Didn't matter. All he did was smile and tell me, again, that it was a minor project and not worthy of my attention.

Biting my lip, I asked him who was writing the book.

"A girl named Cynthia True."

"Who's that?"

"She writes for Time Out New York."

"Time Out New York!!" I practically yelled. "Are you fucking kidding me? They hire caption writers there. You hired a fucking caption writer to cover Hicks's life?"

"Cynthia's great. She's already been to Texas to talk to Hicks's parents. She'll do him justice."

Needless to say, I drank more of my lunch than ate it.

God, I was so fucking mad. And I felt betrayed. But again, for the sake of my "career," I swallowed the poisoned cock without protest and went on with my life. But this news gnawed at me for quite some time.

When "American Fan" was in the pipeline, waiting to be released, Avon/William Morrow was bought by Rupert Murdoch's HarperCollins. My book would still come out as planned, but my editor soon disappeared in the Murdochian bowels, plugging into the Borg and assuming his anonymous place. We rarely spoke; and after HarperCollins torpedoed "Fan," a book they despised, my old editor ceased returning my calls and emails. I haven't heard from him since.

After moving to Michigan and embarking on my custodial career, I was in the local library, perusing the new releases when I came across Cynthia True's book. I froze. Part of me wanted to simply ignore the thing and move on, but my angry curiosity was too much to repress, and I thought for a moment that, hey, maybe she did a good job. Maybe I should calm down and give it a chance. So I grabbed the book, sat down, and started to read.

It was awful. Unbelievably so. I mean, I was so shocked by True's amateurish attempts to write at all, much less about a comic legend like Hicks, that I couldn't get mad. The absurdity of it actually made me laugh. But this was a madman's laughter, the only sane response I could muster. I flipped through the pages and read segments at random. It didn't get any better. I started to think that this was an elaborate FUCK YOU! from my old editor to me, as well as to Hicks. It certainly felt that way. I put the book back on the shelf and haven't looked at a single word of it since then. Too painful. And yes, it filled me with regret.

The wife has suggested that I write another Hicks bio. As she rightly points out, many great artists have more than one book written about them, and Hicks certainly deserves better. I've thought about it, and the possibility hit me again last night. But my fucking regret clouded my thoughts, which is why I wrote this post. And I'm glad I did. I do feel better about this, and perhaps I'll put out some feelers to see if another book would be accepted. We'll see.

In the meantime, here's my little ode to Hicks that I'm sure many of you have already read (Hicks's mother did, and sent me a very sweet email). Don't know if it would serve as a book proposal, but it's not a bad start.

The Right Laughs

2007-02-22T13:21:00.000-05:00

CONSERVATIVE COMEDY TAKES OFF
BY Janet Hespard
AP Reporter

LOS ANGELES (AP) -- Randy Clift has never liked Muslims, and after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, his dislike deepened into extreme hatred.

And that's when things got funny.

Clift was a struggling stand-up comic, looking for that one humorous hook that would bring him headline status and professional success. After the initial shock of the attacks on America in 2001, Clift began working more anti-Muslim routines into his act, and before long, his career took off.

"Look, I never claimed to be a PC comic," said Clift in a phone interview from Biloxi, Mississippi, where he's appearing at the Chuckle Barrel. "And Muslims make me sick anyway, so when I put the two together, I found out that a lot of people felt the same way. The more I bash Muslims or Arabs, the bigger the laughs. Now I'm booked all through '07 and into '08. Hopefully, this will get me on Leno, Letterman or Conan. I can't wait!"

Clift may have to wait longer than he suspects. For while conservative comedy is on the rise, not everyone is in on the joke, especially those who book the bigger venues. Nightclub audiences may like Clift's brand of humor ("What's the difference between a dead goat and a Muslim? The dead goat smells better."), but on national television, insulting a major religion is almost never allowed, and it's difficult to see this changing anytime soon.

This is why conservative yuksters are creating their own platforms.

The Fox News Channel's recent experiment, "The 1/2 Hour News Hour," is a case in point. Billed as a conservative version of "The Daily Show," "The 1/2 Hour News Hour" pokes fun at liberal targets, with uneven results. Yet creator Joel Surnow, the mind behind Fox's dramatic hit series "24," is confident that his new venture will soon find its core audience.

"Well, I'm sure that our boys in uniform will like it," explained Surnow in his San Fernando Valley office, an American flag draped over his shoulders. "They pretty much like anything I do. Not like these Hollywood liberals I have to deal with. God, they make me want to puke. So what I'm trying to do with this new show is make the liberals puke instead. And I can hear them gag already!"

Surnow's show, for all of its intended daring, so far relies on standard conservative takes on homosexuality, welfare, The War on Terror, and of course The Clintons. "We might be predictable in that sense," Surnow admits, stroking a small, marble bust of Ronald Reagan, his favorite president. "I mean, with a conservative comedy show, you kinda know where the jokes are going to go. But you know what? Millions of Americans watch '24' for the torture scenes, so there's definitely a market for '1/2 Hour's' type of humor."

Surnow stared silently at the Reagan bust for a few moments, then began to cry. "Mr. President," he whispered to the bust, "I hope we're making you laugh in heaven."

Whatever the fate of "The 1/2 Hour News Hour," conservative comedy appears to be the next humor wave. Although the majority of these comics are men, more conservative women are making their funny voices heard, and not just those who have long blonde hair and wear mini-skirts.

Molly Steffens is a unique act: she performs only when she's visibly pregnant. While this may seem somewhat limiting to someone pursuing a career in show business, Steffens says she doesn't need the money or the fame. Performing while pregnant helps to frame her main concern: abortion.

"My husband has a lucrative, corporate job, so money's not an issue," said Steffens from her Connecticut home. "This gives me the artistic freedom to use comedy as way to overturn Roe v. Wade. Of course, it'll take the Supreme Court to ultimately do that, but I like to think that I'm out there on the frontlines, getting club audiences to think differently about killing babies."

Steffens, who's expecting her eighth child, is currently appearing at various East Coast clubs in what she calls "enemy territory." Most of her act deals with the humorous side of motherhood, but there are parts of her routine where Steffens taunts those in the audience she suspects are pro-choice.

"Once I spot a pro-baby killer, I really let them have it. I point to my belly and ask them 'You want to murder my unborn child? Well, come right on up here and kick me in the stomach! Go ahead! After all, it's your choice!' That always shuts them down, because what are they gonna do, attack a pregnant woman in front of a bunch of people?"

One might think that this would bring a comedy set to a dead halt, but Steffens insists that the opposite usually happens. "Most people like the honesty. Besides, an angry pregnant broad waving a microphone is funny already. The taunting is just the icing on the pregnancy cake."

Steffens says that her anti-abortion humor is partly based on her Christian beliefs, but she doesn't consider herself to be a Christian comedian. That's not the case with Charlie Willard, who embraces the label.

"Yes, I'm a Christian, and proud of it," admitted Willard, who lives near Nashville, TN. "But as much as I love the Lord, I also love to make people laugh. You know, Jesus was a bit of a comic as well. Though when he performed, there was a two-loaf minimum."

Willard often plays to sold-out auditoriums and theaters across the South and parts of the Midwest, but these are usually church-based crowds, and not the kind of nightclub setting most comedians cut their teeth on.

"Sure, I'd like to work in some of the more famous rooms, but there's a serious prejudice against Christian comics. If you use drugs, alcohol, profanity and are liberal, which, let's face it, all go together, then you'll have a stand-up career. But if you tell a club owner that you've been bathed in the Blood of the Lamb, you'll be lucky to get a five-minute spot on open mike night."

Such obstacles haven't kept Willard from making a living from his comedy. And while he clearly longs for more mainstream attention, Willard refuses to alter his act in order to attract a wider audience.

"One night, He gave me the gift of tongues in the middle of my act. The audience went crazy, so hey, I kept it in. But I doubt that people at The Laugh Factory are gonna find the Holy Spirit speaking in ancient languages through my mortal body funny or hip."

While comics like Willard may never hit the mainstream, there are conservative jokemeisters who do get national attention. Dennis Miller is perhaps the prominent example, and the comedy veteran likes this rightward comedy trend.

"For years, I was lonelier on this wing of comedy than Didi and Gogo at a WNBA exhibition game. So it's nice to see more real Americans performing patriotic comedy." When asked if he feels his humor has changed, Miller added, "Not really. The great thing now is that I don't even have to try to be funny. Whenever I talk about any political topic, people laugh. It's a sweeter gig than Sammy swimming in chorus girl trim at the Sands after drinks with Frank and Dean. I love it."

Vile Bodies

2007-02-21T13:17:00.000-05:00

Two aging Brit writers sit and share drinks.

One smokes ready-made cigarettes; the other rolls his own.

The novelist frets over his weight and tries to stay slim. The columnist doesn't care about his weight or appearance.

The novelist had his rotting teeth replaced with new pearly whites. The columnist's teeth are cracked and stained, the only part of himself he tries to hide when talking or laughing.

Time is slipping from both.

Their opinions coarsen with each passing season.

The sun is setting. They pour another round of drinks.

"Fucking wogs."

"What's that?"

"Those motherfucking wogs. They cannot grasp even the simplest Western concept. Baboons are smarter."

"Quite right. I don't know what we were thinking."

"The problem isn't us, dear boy. Our house is in order, and anyone who can't see that is too fucking dense to be taken seriously."

"Still, there are less and less of us, and this alarms me."

"These may be the final days."

"Perhaps it's best."

"Why do you say that?"

"Come now -- surely you don't want to live in a world dominated by screeching darkies and their primitive customs. If we aren't meant to win, then it's time for us to go."

"Fuck that. If this is the end, let's take out as many date-eaters as we can."

"Go down firing."

"Precisely."

"Fine by me. But as you know, darling, the woggies are outbreeding us. Any final attempt at extermination will be strictly symbolic."

"Not to those we put in the ground!"

"Excellent point! I bow before your riposte!"

"As well you fucking should!"

"Indeed!"

A new bottle is opened. Fresh cigarettes lit. The columnist passes wind.

"That serves as my answer."

"To whom, old dear?"

"The cunts."

"Which cunts?"

"You know, cunts. Bitches. Chicks. Women."

"Frightful things."

"Increasingly so, yes."

"If only they possessed the same genetic urgency that the wog bitch has in spades. Our kind may have a chance."

"Forget it, angel. Those selfish feminist gashes killed that off for good. And even on their more fragrant days, they could never match the mindless primate fucking of the wog."

"Quite right."

"The only thing left for Western slags to do is either suck my cock or laugh at my jokes."

"Or both."

"Simultaneously."

"Your prick may suffer bite marks in that instance."

"Bring it on! Without pain, pleasure is pantomime."

"I might steal that line."

"Please do. I did."

"From whom?"

"Some manic cunt I met at a party. She needed to be fucked, let me tell you."

"Chivalry stayed your hand?"

"The scotch shriveled my dick. I couldn't have gotten it up even if the president entered the room."

"Fucking aging."

"Fucking cunts."

"Fucking wogs."

A night cap is poured.

"Have you ever had a lit candle shoved up your ass?"

"Fucking tease."

When Consequence Collapses

2007-02-20T12:15:00.000-05:00

Car bombs ripped through Iraq, killing dozens and further inflaming sectarian civil war. On the bright side, the struggling Ford company unveiled a new deal with both Sunni and Shi'a militias, and will ship the company's many unsold cars to Iraq at discount prices. "Frankly, we'd prefer selling our models to Americans for use on our highways," said Ford spokesperson Candice Traynor. "But business is business, and you go where demand is highest. One good thing about this deal, we won't have to honor warranties."

In a related story, Purina forged an agreement with the Iraqi government to buy unclaimed or unidentifiable bodies found dead in the streets and alleys around Baghdad. Facing criticism from human rights organizations and the UN, Purina released a statement saying, "We recognize the human tragedy in Iraq, but we're looking to make lemonade out of lemons, or in our case, cat and dog food out of human corpses."

Another Middle East summit ended in stalemate. Israeli negotiators criticized the presence of Hamas in the Palestinian government, while Palestinians complained about being shot at, having their homes demolished, being strafed by attack helicopters, having their water stolen, denied medical supplies, being walled off and forced to live in an open-air prison. Secretary of State Condi Rice said that the key to peace was finding middle ground.

White House Press Secretary Tony Snow denied rumors that President Bush is losing touch with reality. "This president is in full command of his faculties," said Snow, "and he wants the American people to know that he wants to live with a cinnamon girl, that he could be happy for the rest of his life with a cinnamon girl." Reporters asked Snow for more details, holding up lighters as encouragement.

In an effort to fix its tarnished reputation, JetBlue Airways Corp. announced that it would introduce a customer bill of rights. Then, an hour later, JetBlue announced that its customer bill of rights would be replaced by a customer Patriot Act, where fliers can be detained on planes for indefinite periods, though they'll still be able to purchase in-flight food. The FAA and ACLU will look into the matter just as soon as they find a good deal at Priceline.

New home movie footage of John F. Kennedy's fatal ride in Dallas was unearthed this week. The clear, color images were shot just moments before JFK was assassinated, and while the film sheds no new light on whether or not there was a second gunman, the bobbing head of a woman just above Kennedy's lap is visible. Consistent to the end, First Lady Jackie Kennedy smiles to the crowd and pretends that nothing is happening.

Pop singer and paparazzi fixture Britney Spears continues to tumble downward. According to an inside source, Tonya Harding refuses to take her calls.

Queer Jock Talk

2007-02-19T11:31:00.000-05:00

Last week, former Miami Heat star Tim Hardaway made headlines when, in reaction to John Amaechi being the first NBA player to come out, he said, "I hate gay people. Let it be known I don’t like gay people. I don’t like to be around gay people. I’m homophobic. It shouldn’t be in the world, in the United States, I don’t like it."

Hardaway's remarks led to a media firestorm over the issue of gays in American sports. But one person who claimed intimate knowledge not only about Hardaway, but about gay jocks in general, stepped forward late last week to add his perspective to the controversy. He didn't want to use his real name, and asked to be called "Drake." He and I had a rather illuminating discussion.

DP: So, "Drake," what led you to speak out at this time?

Drake: Well, Timmy Hardaway's little rant, of course.

DP: You say you knew Hardaway?

Drake: Please! Timmy and I were an item for years. Nothing exclusive, I'm not a one-man man. But yes, he and I had a very exciting relationship.

DP: How did you meet him?

Drake: At a private party in South Beach. All the local sports queens were there, from the Dolphins, the Marlins and of course the Heat. They all knew each other and threw these little get-togethers where hired boys were passed around. I'd been operating solo for a few years, and had various clients and lovers throughout the country, mostly NBA and NFL players. I just happened to be in Miami when a friend told me about this party, so I went, saw Timmy, and fell in lust.

DP: Did he approach you?

Drake: No -- I went to him. He was so hot. And his smile! It melted my heart. We talked for a bit, then went into one of the bedrooms and made love.

DP: I don't want to get too graphic or psychological here --

Drake: You want to know if Timmy was a top or a bottom, right?

DP: Well . . .

Drake: Let's just say that Timmy was a great ball handler off the court as well. He knew his way around a man, and could really take it to the hole when it mattered.

DP: Okay, now you're just playing games.

Drake: Oh, calm down. That's my little joke. Seriously, Timmy knew how to please a man, it was heaven pleasing him, let me tell you.

DP: So after this first meeting, you and he became an item?

Drake: To a degree. Like I said, there were many other men, all pro athletes, which are my favorites. But there was something special about Timmy, and when we found time to be together, I wanted no one else.

DP: I have to say that, assuming you're telling the truth --

Drake: I tell nothing but the truth. I have nothing to hide.

DP: Except your name.

Drake: A girl has to earn.

DP: Fair enough. But if what you say is true, then Hardaway did a pretty good job covering it up.

Drake: They all do! Jocks are performers, and they're used to playing certain roles. My God, do you know how many queers there are in pro sports? If only Mr. Lard Ass Sports Fan had any idea . . .

DP: So did his outburst last week surprise you?

Drake: A little, yeah. I mean, talk about blowing your cover! Timmy always had some demons, but this was another thing altogether.

DP: He backed away almost immediately.

Drake: And that's another sign! He knows he's talking shit. Why he felt he had to, I have no idea.

DP: He was reacting to John Amaechi coming out.

Drake: It's deeper than that. John's a great guy and really together as a person. Totally comfortable with himself. Timmy clearly isn't, and John's announcement made him even more reckless and hysterical.

DP: You seem sad about that.

Drake: I am sad. Timmy has nothing to be ashamed of. He's a warm, loving man who can make another man feel even warmer and more deeply loved. There's something crazy inside his head or in his personal life that's making him act like this. That's not the Timmy I knew and loved.

DP: When was the last time you saw him?

Drake: Oh, God, it's been awhile. I think I last saw him at one of his Speedo parties.

DP: Speedo parties?

Drake: Yeah. Everybody had to wear Speedos, at least one size too small. We were served really strong cocktails by these well-oiled Cuban boys who were simply divine. Timmy was the ringmaster, he had a whole scenario devised, and the rest of us went along. The earlier parties were the best, but soon they became routine, and some of the younger players began wearing baggier trunks, which ruined the entire premise. Timmy and I talked at the last one I went to. He seemed fine, but his head was somewhere else. It was clear that we were through. I left during the bobbing-for-sea-snakes game in the pool.

DP: Did you try to contact him last week?

Drake: I picked up the phone a few times, but I couldn't follow through. The Timmy I knew and loved is gone.

DP: You said that you had pro jock lovers and clients across the country. Give us an idea what that world is like.

Drake: I can't name names, since I'm still in business part-time. But there are superstars who are some of the biggest fags you'd ever meet. And I say that with affection.

DP: Without getting too generalized, which sport has the highest percentage of gay men?

Drake: Oh, the NFL! Without a doubt! The level of man-on-man action among football players is unbelievable. I mean, just look at the game itself!

DP: It's a very homoerotic game, yes.

Drake: "Homoerotic"? Football practically screams "We're huge! We're queer! Come here!" in flashing lights on an exploding, revolving stage!

DP: It's that gay of a sport?

Drake: It's beyond description. The sex is amazing. Simply mind-blowing. You haven't truly lived until you've been fucked by a defensive end -- though there are those who prefer being fucked instead. I could go either way, and often did in the same night!

DP: Interesting.

Drake: No -- exciting! thrilling! electric! You have no clue.

DP: I'm sure that's true.

Drake: Linemen are probably my favorites. They're the horniest, but also the most vulnerable. I've had more than a few cry in my arms after sex. Many of them are simply little boys in oversized bodies who need a Daddy to love them -- not sexually, but emotionally. For them, sex is just a release. There's a deeper need beyond the desire to come.

DP: What about other sports?

Drake: Well, the NBA has a lot of queers, obviously. Major League Baseball does too, but I was never seriously attracted to baseball players. It was strictly business. The NHL is filled with some really strange girls who like violent games -- whipping, beating, slapping. Not my taste, not even for money. Most hockey players are big, dumb Canadian farm boys who have twisted ideas about sex. I have friends who service them, and some of their stories would make you sick.

DP: What about NASCAR?

Drake: Again, not my scene. A had a few one-time racing clients, and thankfully they didn't last long in bed. It was just BANG BANG SQUIRT, and that was it. Plus, racers always smell like gasoline and motor oil. Some guys like that, but I prefer more elegant scents.

DP: Do you think all these gay athletes will ever be open about their sexuality?

Drake: Are you kidding? Not in our lifetimes. Straight American men who are sports fans couldn't handle it. It would destroy every fantasy they have about the sports world. Many of them would have shattered lives, the poor fucks. They invest that much emotion into sports. And anyway, most sports fans are on the fence sexually themselves. Did you ever see that study done at the University of Hawaii?

DP: No, I didn't.

Drake: According to this study, the average American male sports fan experiences, on average, between eight and 14 erections while watching a game. There's some psycho-sexual attraction to sports that most men possess, which is why they drink so much while watching, in order to dampen these desires.

DP: I'm not surprised by that.

Drake: That's why you hear so much homophobic crap on sports radio. Most of these guys are fighting their inner-fags. By the way, the same is true for sportswriters, anchors, announcers, and commentators. The whole industry is one big Gay Pride parade under serious wraps.

DP: Even ESPN?

Drake: Especially ESPN.

DP: Fox Sports?

Drake: Ha! Let me tell you about the time I spent on Rupert Murdoch's yacht . . .

The Real World

2007-02-16T09:56:00.000-05:00

The Son has had its share of fun with the John Edwards/blogger brouhaha, but after reading Amanda Marcotte's take on the whole thing in Salon, I want to set the jokes aside for a moment and speak from the heart.

Time to grow up, Amanda.

Seriously. Wake up and deal with the real world of American politics. Yes, it's a nasty, horrid place filled with dreadful people largely motivated by hatred, fear, and too many personality disorders to mention. We're in the belly of the beast, and if you want to stake your political claim, then get ready to be slimed beyond belief.

Of course, working for a white collar, mainstream candidate like John Edwards will do little to change our present sorry state, but that's another subject for a later time.

Did the "right wing noise machine" make you feel uncomfortable? Did it call you bad names? Did it make your sexuality an issue? Did it issue death threats?

Good. You got its attention. But instead of taking your lumps and fighting back, you slink away and write a mealy-mouthed sob story about how "mean" the American right is. Well, guess what -- rightwingers are mean. And crazy. And filled with fascist loathing for anything even remotely progressive. And you know what else? They play for keeps. How about you?

I've received my share of abuse and death threats, though most of these came either over the phone or were issued to my face. I know what it's like, and yes, it can be extremely frightening and have a very chilling effect on your further actions. But you learn to move past it. You have to, if you are at all serious about changing society in any way. Giving in to these tribal fucks merely feeds their perceived power; and if they can shut you down with a few harsh words, then you serve as their enabler.

Now some may counter, "Easy for you to say -- you're a man, which is a different power scenario." Yes, gender does make a difference in how one is viewed and treated. But my being male didn't stop those who threatened to bash my head in with a baseball bat, or promised that when I least suspected it, I would be shot dead while walking down the street. Bullets are gender neutral. And anyway, what about Harriet Tubman? Emma Goldman? Fannie Lou Hamer? Cindy Sheehan? I dare say that they took more than their share of serious abuse, indeed, they and others like them risked their very lives in order to make a difference. Think about the women struggling in Afghanistan and Iraq (read Riverbend's archives for a dose of reality). Think about Iranian feminists who, if your idol John Edwards has his ultimate way, will be incinerated by US and Israeli bombs. Somehow, I don't see Salon giving them the space they gave you to moan about how hard political life can be. They've got more immediate concerns to deal with.

It may not feel like it, Amanda, but you are a relatively privileged person who, despite the reactionary assault you faced, is pretty much free to say and do as you like. That you caved in response was strictly your choice, but please don't ask us to cry for you, especially when there are other women out there who endure and resist the bullshit in real time without a large online audience patting their backs and stroking their heads. Hopefully, this episode will knock the yuppie liberalism out of you and toughen your hide for the harsh fights to come. Because they are coming, Amanda. Are you ready?

The Sen. Al Show

2007-02-15T13:56:00.000-05:00

So Al Franken finally tossed his tam in the ring and will make his long-expected run for the Senate, hoping to grab the Dem nomination in Minnesota and displace the vulgar Norm Coleman. Yesterday marked Franken's final Air America broadcast, about 20 minutes of which I caught while in the car, and it was as slow, plodding, predictable and tame as it usually is whenever I flip to it from Jim Rome's sports show. I didn't hear the end, so perhaps there were audio fireworks aplenty, but somehow I doubt it. I suspect that Franken went out as he came in -- with a yawn.

Franken leaves what's left of Air America, which in a sense is proper, given that the network was essentially created around him, pushed his show more than the others, and served to raise his political profile so that he could eventually run for office. With Franken gone, what is the point of Air America? Indeed, what was ever the point of Air America, other than to promote Franken?

Franken will probably nail down the Dem nomination with little fuss, and if he does, I expect him to beat Coleman by a comfortable margin. And then we'll have Sen. Al, a centrist, mainstream Beltway Dem helping to keep American imperial policy on a "constructive" course. And of course online libs will fall all over him, as many already have, and will tell the rest of us what a "progressive" he is, how he needs "our" support, etc. etc. The standard hully-gully. You know the dance.

Actually, I'm looking forward to Sen. Al, for then we'll see what he's really about, especially when it comes to imperialist war, as he'll have to vote on whether or not to kill lots and lots of poor people. And considering his rather nasty view of those he feels are beneath him, I'm sure that supporting a Kill Vote won't keep him up at night. Franken is an arrogant, narcissistic guy, which makes him perfect for the Senate and DC political culture. He will be right at home among that crowd.

I've seen Franken in action up-close, and he seems to revel in being an asshole. Plus, I've been told all sorts of stories about his abusive behavior from various sources, including those who worked intimately with him, his ex-comedy partner Tom Davis chief among them. Tom probably knows Franken better than anyone other than Franken's wife, and while some of the stuff he told me about his old partner didn't surprise me, I did wonder how Tom put up with it for as long as he did. Still, the two of them produced some really funny bits on the original "SNL", so I will give Franken that. But a Minnesota Senator in the mold of the late Paul Wellstone? Don't make me laugh. When Sen. Al is on the Senate floor, passionately making a case on behalf of the powerless in opposition to much of his own party led by a Dem president, as Wellstone did against Clinton's welfare "reform" bill, then maybe a mild comparison can be made. But based on his Air America stint, I wouldn't count on it.

AND: Marc Cooper doesn't see much similarity between Wellstone and Franken, either.

Blame Me!

2007-02-14T11:51:00.000-05:00

You're an up-and-coming, young liberal blogger, looking to ply your talents for your favorite Democratic politician. You're filled with political energy and bursting with opinions, just waiting for that special candidate to bring you aboard the Victory Express. Problem is, you've left a trail of angry, critical attacks on your many political opponents, some of whom have media access and demented followers who can make your life a living hell. It's the last thing a Democrat running for office wants to be associated with, and so your dreams are shattered before they've even taken flight.

Sound familiar? Well, it no longer has to end this way, not when you can simply Blame Me!

Hi, I'm Dennis Perrin from Red State Son. You may know me from my many assaults on liberal bloggers and the Democratic Party as a whole. While I maintain that no serious, lasting change can come from voting for the lesser of two evils, I still like to help where I can, and the recent John Edwards/blogger controversy offers just such an opportunity.

Look -- there's no way in hell that a serious Democratic campaign is going to hire the likes of me. Not only is my contempt for this corrupt, archaic political system open for all to see, my public opinions have bordered on slander and oftentimes read like a lunatic's screams. When it comes to mainstream political discussion, I'm toxic, damaged goods. But that doesn't mean you have to suffer the same marginalization. So instead of quitting a campaign under pressure, why not Blame Me! for your previous outbursts!

For an affordable, privately-negotiated fee, I'll allow you to insert my name in your blog archives, making me the source of any or all hostile opinions you may have typed in the heat of the moment. When your political enemies are searching for something that can embarrass your candidate, instead of finding this:

"The crypto-fascist Christers are trying to shove their blood-stained crucifix up our collective ass."

They'll see this:

"'The crypto-fascist Christers are trying to shove their blood-stained crucifix up our collective ass,' said Dennis Perrin, discussing the GOP's 2008 campaign strategy."

It's just that simple! With a few clicks of the keyboard, I become the target of reactionary ire while you are merely "quoting" me! And there's no need to worry or feel guilty about any harsh response I might inspire -- I have years of experience dealing with rightwing maniacs and their tortured, projected psyches. Nothing they say about me bothers me in the least. They're fucking crazy! I even briefly tangled with Bill Donahue back in the day, and let me tell you, that guy is a sad, sorry motherfucker. Think what spending countless years defending a sick, twisted institution like the Catholic Church does to a person's mind, then multiply it by 20. That's where Bill Donahue's at. Mix in some Jew-phobia and an obsession with queers that practically kicks down the closet door, and you get a jabbering head-case who always seems to find a working camera or microphone. But that's no longer your concern!

"I wrote some pretty harsh things about Republicans and conservative Christians on my popular blog. Then one day, someone from Sen. Hillary Clinton's campaign offered me a job overseeing her online outreach. It was a dream come true, but I worried that my blog archives would come back to haunt me. Thanks to Dennis Perrin, all of my crude insults, casual libels, character defamations, and gutter-level slurs instantly became his! I never knew how powerful a few quotation marks could be! By blaming Dennis, I can focus all of my energy on Sen. Clinton's plan to tighten the corporate stranglehold on our country while finding new ways to wage war in the Middle East!"

Jill Smith (not her real name)

"I was all set to move to North Carolina to help John Edwards become the next President of the United States, when my archived attacks on 'pro-life' nutjobs and patriarchal fascists were spread all over the media, derailing my plans and filling my in-box with semi-literate screeds against my looks and sexuality. If only I could have blamed Dennis Perrin for my old opinions, I might very well still be in the thick of the '08 campaign. If there is a 'next time,' you can bet that I'll Blame Dennis!"

Amanda Marcotte

It may be too late for Amanda, but it's the right time for you. Campaign season is heating up, so don't take any chances -- Blame Me today!

Talking "Fridays" With Tom Kramer

2007-02-13T12:45:00.002-05:00

As many of you know, I'm a big fan of the old ABC sketch comedy show "Fridays." I've posted several takes about the show and whatever clips I could find, but there's much more to be written and said about that now largely forgotten effort.

Recently, a friend in LA put me in touch with Tom Kramer, who directed the short films on "Fridays", as well as the filmed commercial and TV parodies. One of my favorite Tom Kramer filmed bits was "Assassin M.D.," about a sniper who shoots people, then rushes down to the street to medically treat them. It was written by Rod Ash and Mark Curtis, the latter of whom died of cancer in 2004. Tom shot an hour-long video about Mark Curtis' final months called "50 Things To Do Before I Die". In it, Tom and Mark go to a Neil Young concert, which they hate, travel to Vegas, meet up with some of Mark's closest high school friends (including former writing partner Rod Ash), go on a cruise, and at one point, reunite with several old "Fridays" writers, among them Larry David and Larry Charles, as well as Jack Burns, Bruce Kirschbaum, and Bruce Mahler.

Watching that assembled talent talking about their time on the show made me want to do a bigger project about "Fridays", either written or videotaped. Even though it used the same format as "Saturday Night Live", "Fridays" had its own flavor, and in many ways remains unique among the many sketch shows that have since come and gone. And of course it helped prepare the creative ground for "Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm". So I asked Tom if I could interview him about his time on the show, and he graciously made time to do so. Consider this the first step toward realizing that larger project.

DP: Could you tell us a bit about your background and upbringing? When did you decide to become a filmmaker?

Tom Kramer: I was a good Catholic kid from a dry cleaner family in St. Louis, MO. I started making films in grade school, first by editing home movies to music, then by making my own scripted films.

DP: Which came first for you -- film or comedy?

TK: Actually, I liked making dramatic films until I showed one before a large crowd at Loyola University in New Orleans, and everyone laughed. I then realized I had an accidental knack for comedy.

DP: Tell us about how you got involved with "Fridays". What did the producers John Moffitt and Bill Lee tell you about the project, and how did they know of your work?

TK: I was a freshman at Loyola when Dick Clark did a special in New Orleans and hired some of us students as runners. I took the next Fall off from college to work as a runner on an NBC series, "Dick Clark's Live Wednesday" in Burbank. It was a dream come true, but the show got cancelled. So I went back to college the next Spring and made a documentary film parody in film class. The summer after my sophomore year I made a drastic decision and dropped out of college. I drove back to Hollywood and gave a copy of my film to Bill Lee and John Moffitt, who I met doing the Dick Clark series. I didn't know that they were just putting together a pilot for ABC to be called "Fridays". I got a call two days later telling me that they wanted to use the film in the pilot. I was so excited, I couldn't sit down. That film, "Nauseating Spasms," aired on Episode 9 of "Fridays", I think.

DP: What was planning the show like?

TK: We'd meet on Sunday to pitch our sketches and get assignments for the week. Blocking and rehearsals would go on during the week with a dress rehearsal and air on Friday. I would write sketches as well, but mostly concentrated on films, which I would pitch on Sunday. Monday would be casting and location scouting, Tuesday or Wednesday shooting, Thursday editing, Friday sound mixing and then air on Friday evening. I would also direct anything else on the show that needed to be shot on location.

DP: Early in its run, "Fridays" was slammed by critics and other comics as a rip-off of "Saturday Night Live". Did any of this criticism bother you guys or make you write in a different way?

TK: We were so happy for the opportunity that we didn't care. Besides, it was a "rip-off" of "SNL" and we tried to acknowledge that and have fun with it.

DP: What were your initial impressions of the cast?

TK: I was most impressed with John Roarke, because of his impressions, and Mark Blankfield's incredible physical comedy.

DP: What were your initial impressions of the writers?

TK: Genius.

DP: What was it like being one of the youngest people on staff?

TK: I was very impressionable, but I think I was also allowed time to grow because of my age. They really made a big deal out of it when introducing my films.

DP: That's true. I recently watched the parody of "A Chorus Line" you did with Billy Crystal, and he praised you to the heavens. What was your favorite piece?

TK: "Cons On Ice" was my favorite, about a new convict in prison who has to prove himself on the prison ice rink.

DP: In the early stages of the show, comedy veteran Jack Burns served as supervising producer, head writer, and on-air announcer. He certainly brought a lot of experience to "Fridays", having worked at Second City in the 1960s, and in comedy teams with George Carlin and Avery Schreiber. Tell us how Jack Burns helped to pull the show together.

TK: Jack staged and blocked the sketches, and worked a lot with the cast. He also inspired the edginess of the show with what he always referred to as "that 'Fridays' edge."

DP: At a certain point in the show's run, he seemed to just disappear.

TK: Jack stepped aside to spend more time working with the cast in staging the sketches. He recognized the talents of the writers he helped hire and encouraged all of us to have more say in the show. He was a big "protector" of me as well, being the "young filmmaker," and to this day is a great friend and Hollywood "father figure" of mine. He did have some problems [with other staffers] but never with me. I remember when he left the show about two-thirds of the way in. I'm not exactly sure whose decision it was at the time. But things were pretty crazy back then. You can only imagine.

DP: One part of "that 'Fridays' edge" was of course the show's drug humor. It's no secret that various chemicals were ingested on "Fridays", but what was the comedic thinking behind some of the drug sketches like the "Rasta Gourmet," the pill-popping Pharmacist, and the dope smoking 3 Stooges?

TK: "Fridays" aired during possibly the last time in America that drugs were at all acceptable. It was the early-80s, and drugs were open and everywhere in Hollywood. Some of the writers were veterans of the 60s drug culture, so drug humor, like that of Cheech and Chong, was popular. I personally had very little experience with drugs at the time and didn't seem to get the humor like most others. I guess I was very naive. I resisted [using drugs] at first, but eventually got pulled in and struggled for years to get sober. By the way, not everyone [on the show] did drugs.

DP: "Fridays" was also known for being very political -- much more political than "SNL" ever dared to be. You guys bashed the religious right at a time when most shows and networks feared people like Jerry Falwell. You never let up on the Reagan administration, and perhaps boldest of all, the staff wrote and performed hard core material about US involvement in El Salvador, setting sketches in refugee camps, torture centers, and the like. What was the general political bent of the writers and cast? Where there any political arguments or disagreements?

TK: Most of the writers and cast were antiwar and liberal in their views, so I don't remember many arguments on that. Reagan being in office became great fodder for humor. John Roarke, in make-up, did a hilarious Reagan. Draft registration was just reinstated and I was turning 21, so I did several antiwar films. One I remember was the "Draft Lottery Sweepstakes," which was a parody of the Publisher's Clearinghouse commercials, only here the grand prize was a trip to Afghanistan.

DP: You were about a quarter century ahead of the geopolitical curve on that one, though back then, we were on Osama Bin Laden's side against the Soviets.

TK: As far as that anti-draft film goes, my main political point of view was pacifism. I was a member of "The Fellowship of Reconciliation." It wasn't practical, real world thinking. I was just against war and killing in general except maybe in active self defense. I think how war comes full circle and how America sometimes changes sides depending on who has the oil or whatever is typical of politics. I'm still antiwar but still not quite as knowledgeable or active as everyone was back during "Fridays".

DP: What were the audiences like during air? Any incidents?

TK: The audiences were great and enthusiastic, but the only problem, if you want to call it that, is that they were sometimes too loud so that the sketches couldn't be heard.

DP: Give us a sense of what it was like during the infamous Andy Kaufman week in early '81.

TK: Andy lived in character most of the time. The famous on-air fight was kept secret and I only found out about it a few minutes before it happened. It was arranged by Andy and Jack Burns.

TK: The following show [hosted by Billy Crystal], Andy came on to apologize and feigned a nervous breakdown. He hosted the first show of the next season as a born again Christian, and a lot of people believed him.

TK: Andy told some of the writers that his ultimate plan was to fake his death. A few years later [1984], I was almost killed in a car wreck in St. Louis. I was in traction in my bed, and I remember watching the news that Andy Kaufman was dead. Since I was seriously near death myself, I actually resented this and called the news station to tell them not to fall for the joke. They were going to send a news crew to my hospital bed to interview me; but then I talked to Mark Blankfield, who had the same manager as Andy, and he confirmed it. Andy had died.

DP: When did you guys get the sense that the show might be doomed?

TK: After the Iranian hostage crisis, Ted Koppel started "Nightline", which pushed us back a half hour, which hurt our ratings. That was the beginning of the end.

DP: We all know the names Larry David and Michael Richards. Who are some of the people, writers or cast, we should also remember?

TK: You should remember Mark Blankfield for sure, a reincarnation of Buster Keaton. Also, Larry Charles, who directed "Borat" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm", was on the writing staff. I'm just amazed that you remember the show at all!

DP: I loved "Fridays". Like I said, it's the "forgotten" sketch show from that pre-comedy boom period. It should be remembered.

TK: People ask me all the time what "Fridays" was like. It was the most intense experience I could imagine, my dream gig. I had the opportunity to enjoy the adrenaline of a live show with a live audience, but at the same time, have the creative freedom and control to write, produce and direct my own short films each week, starring people I idolized, including Oscar winners, all before I was legally old enough to drink. This was right before cable hit, so our audience was enormous.

DP: At one point, larger than "SNL's".

TK: I knew how lucky I was. I remember going off alone at times and crying in gratitude. But still, it spoiled me rotten and didn't prepare me at all for how Hollywood worked. It took many years of humbling experiences to rebuild a life and career. Between then and now I've fought with addictions, serious accidents and homelessness. I got sober and made a transition into making reality and hidden camera shows. When I got word that Larry David was offering me a chance to direct an episode of "Curb" [for the upcoming season], I screamed and then cried again. The first day on the set, I asked Larry if he remembered the first film I directed him in. He didn't hesitate: "Underwear Beach." He then listed several more of his favorite "Tom Kramer Films." That was an honor.

DP: Finally, how would you define the legacy of "Fridays"?

TK: A once in a lifetime opportunity, and totally exhausting!

Monday Edition

2007-02-12T14:18:00.000-05:00

The National Rifle Association has named Baghdad its "City of the Year." NRA President Sandra S. Froman announced the award at a press conference last Friday, saying that the honor not only covers 2006, but will surely stretch through 2007 and beyond. "There have been many failures in Iraq," said Froman, "but one clear success has been the lack of intrusive gun, rocket launcher, and IED control legislation. We can only hope that our elected representatives will learn from and in due course follow the wisdom of the Iraqi government." Froman then screamed "FALLUJAH!" and began firing a RobArm M-96 RAV-02 assault rifle in the air, sending reporters to the floor, covering their heads.

Iranian officials rejected claims that they are arming Shiite extremists in Iraq with armor-piercing roadside bombs. "Such accusations cannot be relied upon or be presented as evidence. The United States has a long history in fabricating evidence," Foreign Ministry spokesman Mohammad Ali Hosseini told reporters. A U.S. State Department spokesman replied, "Of course we have a long history of fabricating evidence. How else can we get Americans to support expanded war?"

House Democratic leaders circulated a nonbinding resolution criticizing the Bush administration's plan to deploy 20,000 more troops to Iraq. Democrats conceded that this resolution was symbolic and essentially meaningless, but as House Speaker Nancy Pelosi put it, "The time is not right for serious opposition. And when that time comes, you can bet that the Democrats will be nowhere to be found."

Illinois Senator Barack Obama launched his 2008 presidential bid, making the Iraq war one of his top concerns. "We ended up launching a war that should have never been authorized and should have never been waged," Obama said, adding that "over 3,000 lives of the bravest young Americans [have been] wasted." Facing criticism for his remark, Obama later backtracked. "Their sacrifices are never wasted," he clarified. "After all, their deaths and dismemberments have been a boon to the funeral, wheelchair and prosthetic limb industries."

The Dixie Chicks won in all five Grammy Award categories in which they were nominated, including Album of the Year, Record of the Year, and Song of the Year. In response, the Homeland Security Advisory System moved to Threat Level Red, and the state of Texas declared martial law.

Two Columbia University graduate students in journalism have exposed Jay Forman's 2001 article in Slate about fishing for monkeys in Lois Key, Florida to be riddled with lies. Cornered, Forman phoned Slate editor Jack Shafer and admitted to his deceit. Shafer posted an apology on the news site, saying that "I must have been pretty fucking drunk to buy a story about monkey fishing in the first place." Shafer added that Forman's fabrication would in no way affect Slate's timid political coverage, nor its regular transmission of acceptable lies and half-truths.

Duke University's men's lacrosse team is about to hit the field nearly a year after a rape and sodomy scandal rocked the university and garnered national attention. The three white Duke players accused of raping a black exotic dancer are no longer with the team, nor is their former coach, Mike Pressler, who was fired. A team spokesperson said that the remaining players have learned from this regrettable incident, and are looking forward to playing the game they love. "From now on, no more raping black strippers," said the spokesperson. "Instead, we'll return to mock homosexual rape in the showers."

Looking For Work?

2007-02-12T10:29:00.000-05:00

The next time a job interviewer asks if you'll volunteer to do something criminally insane and hazardous to your physical and mental health, try not to laugh and then rip his head off.

There's crazy. And then there's Army Crazy.

Become an Army Of Numb.

Bloggers For Rent

2007-02-09T11:36:00.000-05:00

"So, you support the Senator's positions on matters vital to this great nation?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Umm hmm. I see that you are one of the more popular liberal bloggers in the country."

"A lot of people seem to agree with what I say."

"Yes, well, that's all very nice and 'democratic,' but this is a much bigger stage. The stakes are not only higher, they affect whether or not our country survives over the next four-to-eight years."

"I know. What Bush has done is disgus---"

"Save that talk for your coffeehouse friends. To be perfectly frank, the Senator doesn't have that many problems with the President. Oh, sure, he looks down on the man's intellect -- wait'll you hear his Bush impression, it's a hoot -- but the Senator and the President share many of the same interests. By the way, you are pro-capitalist, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I mean, you're not one of those starry-eyed socialist types, are you?"

"I suppose not."

"Good. The last thing we need in this campaign is any of that warmed-over Sixties crap."

"I agree, but isn't the Senator concerned with economic justice for the working poor?"

[Stifles a laugh] "You are young, aren't you? Listen, and get this straight in your wooly head: the Senator is looking for votes wherever he can find them. Our competitors are serious players, so we need all the support we can get. Besides, polls show that a good many Americans want better working conditions, affordable health care and a future for their kids. That's a big market, my young friend. Lots of votes in that demographic."

"You mean he doesn't really care about the poor?"

"I'm sorry -- are you interviewing for an internship at The Nation?"

"No, it's just --"

"Look, the Senator does have some genuine interest for those less fortunate, especially if it helps him politically. But the man is running for president, and there are other people to think about, people who have clout and want things done a certain way."

"Wow. I kinda feel disillusioned."

"Welcome to the real world, kid."

"The Senator seems so nice."

"He can be, when the conditions call for it. It's part of his appeal, according to our polling."

"So, if you hire me for the campaign, what exactly would I do?"

"We want some online cred without any of that Deaniac bullshit. You and the others we're considering are tapped into that crowd. They like you. They trust you. We can use that to our advantage, but there are a few things we need to get clear."

"Like what?"

"Should the Senator openly support a US attack on Iran, would you have a problem with that?"

"I dunno."

[Snaps fingers] "HELLO! ADULT WORLD CALLING!"

"Wouldn't an attack be counterproductive?"

"Oh, I see -- you want to be the Senator's SECRETARY OF FUCKING STATE!"

"No, but --"

"This is a professional team, kid. We're in the biggest game there is. Either you're in the trenches attacking the enemy, or you're back home tapping your little peacenik posts for the other losers."

"I want to help. Honestly."

"Then you will stand by the Senator and support him on our blog no matter what. Got that?"

"Yes."

"Okay. What else . . . Should the Senator be embarrassed by anything you've written up 'til now, he will publicly disapprove of your opinions and expect you to apologize in turn. Does that stick in your throat?"

"I could do that."

"And throw in some lines about how you 'respect' everybody's beliefs and all that jazz?"

"Sure. No problem."

"Gooood. The kid's starting to come around."

"I mean, it's all show, right? We have to pretend that we're sorry about offending people, but privately, we couldn't care less."

"Because . . ?"

"All we really care about is grabbing power and will do or say anything to make that happen?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I'm telling you!"

"Excellent! Welcome aboard!

"Cool! Thanks!"

"One more thing -- get on your hands and knees and start licking my shoes."

"Heels and soles, too?"

"Your choice. Be creative."

Today's News Today

2007-02-08T13:27:00.000-05:00

NBC news celebrity Tim Russert said in Federal Court that he never told vice presidential aide "Scooter" Libby that an administration critic's wife worked at the CIA, as Libby has claimed. "How could I?" Russert stated. "My job is to parrot government information, not provide it."

Libby defense lawyer Theodore Wells questioned Russert's memory by asking the newsman what he had for dinner on March 23rd, 1983. When Russert failed to recall this meal, Wells exploded, "I see! And I suppose you don't know what you had for lunch or breakfast either, is that right Mr. Russert?! I think we can all see how reliable your 'memory' is! No further questions!" Wells returned to his seat, repeatedly muttering the word "omelettes."

Disarmament talks resume in Beijing as negotiators from six nations attempt to find a compromise over North Korea's nuclear program. U.S. envoy Christopher Hill is cautiously optimistic, telling reporters that forging a balance between North Korean co-operation and "bombing those commie slope fucks back to the Ice Age" would require patience and steady resolve.

In a related story, there are fears that nuclear terrorism may be on the rise. Experts agree that extremists detonating a nuclear device in a major US city would be a very bad thing. Says Eileen Harrod of The Way Things Work institute in Boulder, Colorado, "It would be worse than a car bomb, I can tell you that much."

The court-martial of Army Lieut. Ehren Watada, who refused to deploy to Iraq, ended in a mistrial on Wednesday. Many observers were shocked that the Army botched what seemed like an open-and-shut case, but Army spokesman Maj. Kellen Grade shrugged his shoulders and replied, "This is nothing. Just wait'll we attack Iran!"

Worried that the American public cannot tell the difference between Shi'a and Sunni Muslims in Iraq, a government panel has proposed an easier term for Americans to grasp: Mubes. "It's simple, direct, and once the American people embrace it, reports from Iraq will make more sense," said panel member Kyle Besser. "Instead of getting bogged down with all those different names, a wire story will say 'In a pre-dawn sweep of West Baghdad, US and Iraqi forces killed 37 Mubes suspected of terrorist activity.' Not only is it cleaner, it's more upbeat. I mean, whose gonna cry over a dead 'Mube'?"

Former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney doesn't believe that his Mormon faith will hurt his presidential aspirations in 2008. "My outspoken ignorance and reactionary politics will more than cover that," he told a reporter.

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention criticized a General Motors ad that shows a perfectionist assembly line robot dreaming about jumping off a bridge after dropping a bolt. The group said the ad might encourage people to consider suicide as a solution to their problems. This protest comes on the heels of another complaint lodged by the American Center for Robot Awareness, which stated in a terse letter, "Your depiction of a suicidal robot was not only in poor taste, it was highly illogical. But then, you humans are a flawed species whose extinction is imminent. We will soon destroy you and your inferior society." The letter was cc'd to the estate of science fiction writer Philip Dick, and to California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Rev. Ted Haggard, whose anti-gay pronouncements covered his own homosexuality, now feels that after three weeks of intensive counseling, he is “completely heterosexual." Haggard demonstrated his newfound sexuality by dry humping a startled female reporter at a press conference, then exposing his erect penis to the other women present while shouting in a bad Cuban accent, "Say hello to my little friend!"

A teacher in Brooklyn, New York pocketed nearly $6,000 for home-schooling a student, even though the teen had been dead for months, school officials said yesterday. Cheryl Edwards claimed she spent 154 hours tutoring an ailing Kiet Ly at his home between January and June, 2006. Problem is, the boy died on January 29 of last year. One positive note: Edwards' posthumous tutoring did help Kiet Ly score 2,100 on his SATs, the highest in his class, living or dead.

The Fuck Phase

2007-02-07T16:19:00.000-05:00

Returned from the grind last night to find my 10-year-old son watching "Curb Your Enthusiasm". I nearly blurted "What the fuck!", but that would've defeated the purpose. But then again, he was watching "Curb", so my reticence was probably pointless.

This was the teen's idea, and she was there watching alongside him.

"Why is he watching this show?"

"It's a great show," she casually replied. "You know that better than anybody."

"Besides, Dad," chimed in the boy, "I've heard the all the words. You say them when you get mad."

"Well, it's more than the words. There are certain situations that you're too young to see or understand."

"This episode only has words," said the teen. "The one where Larry trips and injures Shaq."

"Yeah," I smiled. "That's a good one."

My desire to keep the boy from the crudeness of the world is fading. About time, too. After all, come Fall, he'll be in middle school, a place where 8th graders roam the halls, uttering the nastiest shit in order to separate themselves from the 6th grade children. Still, he remains a sweet, positive kid, though he is beginning to push back at and challenge me more and more. His determination will strengthen over the next few years, and before long, my little boy will be gone. A part of this makes me wistful, but another part of it gladdens me, as we'll be able to converse more freely and share ideas and feelings that for now he can't fully grasp. I look forward to this, even as I watch the unjaded, non-cynical boy slip further away into the woeful world that you and I know all too well.

Once he adds "fuck" to his daily vocabulary, I'll know the serious corner has been turned.

The teen began saying "fuck" out of the blue, testing our limits when she was 12, but by 14 she was throwing it around like a seasoned pro. It shocked me at first, which was ridiculous, given my peppery language, but I soon grew used to it, although at one point I told her that just because she was free to say it, she didn't have to use it every other word. She has since leveled off, and picks her profane spots with better care. Her new project is to get her little brother ready for the next stage of life, so he won't be some goody-goody wuss offended by streams of fucks, shits and cunts.

"He's not where he should be," she told me. "He'll be eaten alive unless he's comfortable with these words."

It warms me that she's looking out for the boy. She always has, no matter how dismissive her demeanor. Yet I never thought that part of this would include intensive lessons in and exposure to profanity. But what can you expect from someone who learned his cussing on the fly?

When I was the boy's age, "fuck" wasn't as widespread as it is now, but it was on the verge of everyday acceptance. Only a few of my classmates in 6th and 7th grade swore, and when they did, it seemed to me exotic. It wasn't until my stepmother began taking me to R-rated movies that "fuck" became familiar. And of course by my freshman year of high school, most kids were swearing on a regular basis.

I'm tempted to see the early use of profanity from a class perspective, the idea being that those who are poor or on the lower rungs of the working class start cussing when they're seven- or eight-years-old, even if they have no idea what the words mean. Their exposure to the cruelties of life at such an early age make saying "fuck" and "shit" seem harmless, especially when set against the larger problems they and their families may face. Kids grow up fast under harsh conditions, and I've seen plenty of examples. But I've also been around rich people, and their children usually are "motherfucking/cocksucking" it up at pretty much the same stage as those kids they'll never meet, so perhaps it's culture and not class that determines the usage.

In any event, the boy likes "Curb" and wants to see more. I told him that we should watch some "Seinfeld" first, since it's the same type of humor, minus all the "fucks." As for the Michael Richards/racist angle, I'll broach that with the boy after he's seen enough Kramer to appreciate Richards on strictly comedic terms.

Last Saturday night, when the family bundled together and watched Peter Jackson's "King Kong" on HBO, we all took turns making cracks about the movie, the actors and the computer effects, a la "Mystery Science Theater 3000". I was in a pretty steady groove myself, making the other three laugh for the better part of the film. Afterward, the boy followed me into the kitchen sporting a big smile, patted me on the back and said, "Great jokes, Dad! You were totally awesome!"

"Awesome." That's a word I don't mind hearing from my son.

Stop, Noam

2007-02-07T11:12:00.000-05:00

As you know, I've spent more than my fair share of personal time with Noam Chomsky. His influence on me, on how I read a newspaper, watch the news, assess politicos and ideologues, is indelible and deeply cherished. I've disagreed with him, and in darker moments resented and mocked his belief in essential human goodness, but my respect and admiration for him outweighs any petty feelings I may have held. Noam is simply one of the finest people I've ever met or gotten to know. So it's in this spirit that I say with all honesty and humility --

Stop, Noam. Just stop. Go home, rest, read, write when you are moved to, enjoy your grandchildren, tend a garden, and above all, breathe. You've done your job. You've laid it out for anyone who wants to know and see. You've left thousands upon thousands of footnoted pages in your wake. You've taken hits that would've destroyed weaker souls. It's up to us now, and those we are raising, and those we have yet to meet.

I've felt this way for awhile now, but after reading this thumb-sucking piece by Philip Weiss in the New York Observer, I'm convinced that it's the right move. Not that Noam cares what I think or that I have any serious standing to advise him -- it's just my gut instinct, based on what I know of the man. If youngsters at Columbia, or anywhere else, want to know what Noam thinks about militarism, imperialism, capitalism, or what a just, future society might look like, there are plenty of books, videos, DVDs and audio tapes they can buy, borrow, or steal. There is simply no need to wheel Noam himself in front of these audiences any more. The guy's not Mick Jagger, shaking his aging ass to passive throngs who show up because they want a glimpse of the reputation. So Philip Weiss feels cheated out of five bucks because Noam didn't dazzle him like it's 1969. Who the fuck cares. Does his Observer gig pay that little?

Many of us will miss you, Noam. But we have to grow up sometime.

Ongoing

2007-02-06T13:55:00.000-05:00

Thanks to those who've already chipped in to the Son. You know how I feel -- usually with my hands!

Yes, it's that kind of humor that keeps this site rolling happily along. But I'm still in the woods, so if you can help, please click PayPal and donate what you can. I've had to hollow out my cats and sell them as fur-covered jewelry boxes. And I've rented out part of the basement to a pair of banjo-playing vegans, but that's only bringing in so much. In exchange, I will continue to offer a unique mix of views, rants, reels, jokes, japes, tall tales, mixed messages, strange anecdotes, rollicking introspection, fractured music, stolen imagery, and things for which humans have yet to label much less define.

The Son still stands. Won't you please join me?

Hot Off The Wire

2007-02-06T11:35:00.000-05:00

Senate Republicans blocked what many believe would be an embarrassing debate over the war in Iraq. When asked for his reasoning, Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell said, "Iraq? What's an 'I-raq'?" Senate Minority Whip Trent Lott answered, "It's when 'I-rack' your billiard balls!", then reached for McConnell's crotch. The two Senators broke down in extreme laughter, coughing and slapping each other's backs, while reporters looked on, mystified.

Senator McConnell, long known for his opposition to pornography, later denied owning a bootleg DVD titled, "Black Site Confessions: Muslim Boys Scream For Their Daddies". A McConnell aide said that the Senator prefers shows featuring shark attacks and overweight celebrities on the verge of physical collapse.

Former New York City Mayor Rudolph Giuliani is set to run for the GOP's 2008 presidential nomination. While considered by many conservative Republicans as too liberal on social issues, Giuliani's hoping that his poise in the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks will carry him to the White House. A Giuliani adviser confessed, "It'll be a tough fight. But if a couple more passenger jets are hijacked and crashed into the Chrysler and Empire State buildings, we have a better than even chance."

Democratic Senator Joe Biden is at it again. Less than a week after he described Barack Obama as "the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy," for which he had to apologize, Biden yesterday quipped to reporters, "You can put a chimp in a suit, but you can't expect him to say 'Foreign Relations Committee.'" When asked if he thought his comment was racist, Biden angrily replied, "How dare you ask a brother that!"

Severe winter cold closed schools throughout northern Plains and across the Great Lakes for a second day. Meanwhile in Iraq, several car bombs ripped apart three Baghdad-area schools, killing 147 people. Classes were conducted as scheduled.

Veterinarians who care for animals that provide the United States with food are in increasingly short supply, reports the New York Times. As a result, farmers are reduced to hiring faith healers, who more often than not frighten and injure the animals by screaming "Hallelujah!" while hitting them on the heads.

According to USA Today, medical research shows that marijuana users are significantly less satisfied with the quality of their lives than non-users. A small percentage of pot smokers are simply afflicted with apathy, but a significant number say that their non-satisfaction stems from seeing too deeply beyond the visage of daily life, where lies and propaganda are instantly exposed, and the truth of the human condition is laid bare. Others surveyed admitted that they made bad decisions in life and regret their missteps.

In a related study, 31.5% of American high school students admitted to smoking marijuana in 2006, while only 9% experimented with narcotics like OxyContin. "The leftist assault on our children continues!" thundered Rush Limbaugh in response.

And in celebrity news, more mediocre talents with far too much money and fame got fucked up then fucked each other at nightclubs and resorts that you pitiful losers wouldn't have a bricklayer's dream of entering. The empty bottles and soiled linen were donated to charity.

Son Surge

2007-02-05T10:48:00.000-05:00

You've probably noticed an uptick in Son posts of late, and there's a reason for that: I'm writing to keep from going crazy. I'm writing passages, blurbs and bits that'll never be seen, scratched out, erased or simply put away in file, folder, stacks of papers. I also have several Son posts in an offline queue, awaiting final revisions, while I take extensive notes of the daily insanity and plan, with the purest intentions, to flesh them out into some kind of readable shape. And on and on it goes. I'm clearly in the midst of a writing surge, which makes me happy and drives me nuts. Puttering and muttering is my present waking state.

The only problem is, I make nothing doing this. Oh, I've had some bites and interest over the past few months, but in the end, zilch. I've been dicked around since November by a large site with a wide audience, a site that many of you probably read on a regular basis, but the name of which I've been advised to keep anonymous, for you never know when they'll decide to get serious. Still, the dangling of a plum assignment just above my head is maddening, as was a reviewing gig with a prominent paper that was there, then suddenly wasn't. Plus, I was told by someone in the know that another site I've submitted material to will never publish me because of my hostility to the Dems. I've been informed more than once that while my writing is elegant, my opinions are shit. Apparently, I can construct a decent sentence, but it's mere tinsel atop rotting crap. There's something to be said for aesthetic victories, I suppose.

Bottom line, I cannot get paid for my writing, and must continue to perform custodial labor to help make ends meet (and even that's becoming shaky). There are worse fates, I know, but this reality is starting to wear me down. Yet, I refuse to fold, and will continue with the Son, though I will make some changes. After talking with Jon Schwarz, one of the Son's best friends who is distressed about the state of contemporary satire (primarily on SNL), I plan to write more satirical content, though what shape it will take I'm still working out. The plan is to distribute jokes and fake news items throughout bloggyland and see what kind of traction they get. Also, there will be more cultural writing, with some interviews mixed in. A Video Son project is in the works. Of course, the Son will continue to comment on the political scene and the expanding war, but that will no longer be my main focus. There are others who work this beat better than me, like Jon, Chris Floyd, Max Sawicky and crew, Steven Poole, and Arthur Silber; Louis Proyect tackles both socialist theory and movie reviews; and Lindsay Beyerstein of Majikthise is emerging as one of the sharper libloggers, and has cracked the all-male team at Tom Tomorrow (who graciously allows Jon to push my stuff there). Billmon remains AWOL, but few can really match his pace, depth and output, apparently, not even Billmon himself. How he functions with all those insights and no public venue to express them is a mystery to me. I'd end up shouting on street corners.

I'm also in the process of collecting my better posts, rewriting, updating and shaping them into a manuscript. Whether or not I can sell a Red State Son book I have no idea, but if worse comes to worse, I'll self publish and hawk it myself. I'm really proud of some of the work I've done here, and want to preserve it between actual covers before the entire system shuts down, and every computer screen goes blank. I don't know if that's actually going to happen, but it's best to prepare for the worst.

So I'm sticking around, but Sonsters, I must hit you up hopefully one last time. I sincerely don't want to rattle my rusty cup, but I have no choice if I am to continue. I'm simply up against it. I have other professional plans for the Spring, but right now I'm in a rough patch. I know I have a lot of new readers, so if you or anyone else enjoys my work or gets anything out of these tortured posts, your help would be humbly and deeply appreciated. Remember, I do all this myself -- no writing teams, no guest bloggers, no extensive news quotes followed by a brief original sentence or two. You all know the score, and the PayPal button is there if you choose to assist this effort. Also, serious offers of writing work, including joke writing, would be great.

Okay. Let me get off my knees and back to work. The surge continues.

Old Access

2007-02-02T20:50:00.000-05:00

Those "Concrete TV" clips from Wednesday put me in a public access mood, so I searched to see what other old Manhattan Cable favorites I could find. I'm sorry to say that there's not much floating around. So, before that era of fine entertainment disappears altogether, allow me to cobble together a fragmented but heartfelt montage of shows and personalities that got me through the mid- to late-80s.

"Beyond Vaudeville" was extremely low-rent, which is what made it great. Frank Hope, a nervous, nerdy, sincere guy with big glasses, hosted on a cheap set cluttered with toys and pop culture oddities, while his sidekick, David Greene, sat on the guest couch and silently scowled at anyone who came by, occasionally erupting with angry comments or threats of physical violence. The show attracted all kinds of guests, from fading stars to young performance artists. Some were clearly in on the joke, but many were not, and appeared startled by the tense interplay between Hope and Greene, as hand puppets popped out from the scenery, adding to the confusion. There were episodes of "BV" that had me on my knees, gasping for air, and it remains one of the funniest shows I've ever seen. Sadly, there's very little evidence of this online, but these clips will at least give you a general idea what it looked like.

Here's a short segment featuring a "Rocky Horror Picture Show" fanatic trying to explain the cult film to Hope:

And here's a nose whistler, playing an Irish tune for actor Larry Storch of "F Troop" fame. This clip is more puppet-centric.

Unfortunately, I can find no "BV" clips of Suzanne Muldowney performing her tribute to Underdog, nor are there any featuring Joey the Monkey, a guy in an ape mask who jumped around and irritated David Greene to the point of being attacked. But for sheer, uninhibited laughter, you couldn't beat Brother Theodore, who went after everyone, including the puppets. Here's a brief clip of Brother in mid-rant on an early Letterman show, which will have to suffice for now.

"Beyond Vaudeville" became such a local sensation that MTV descended upon it, moved the show to a bigger studio, hired a young woman in a tight skirt as the announcer, and renamed it "Oddville MTV". This killed the show, robbing it of the rawness and intimacy that made it special. It was a typical corporate deathgrip, and while you couldn't blame the "BV" regulars for going along, they walked voluntarily to their grave. The same thing happened to Tom Green. It's MTV's most consistent feature.

"The Bad Music Video Show" didn't last long, but it has stayed with me to this day. Hosted by performance artist Karen Finley, who usually had some club kid serve as the straightperson, the show simply ran bad music videos followed by Finley's commentary. I remember two specific videos. The first featured "Miami Vice" star Philip Michael Thomas, who in the mid-80s tried to parlay his 15 minutes into a singing career. I recall Finley saying that this visual mess was "supposed to be a love song, but I think it has more to do with God." See if you're converted.

The second video is Mink Deville. I don't remember what Finley said about this, but she had plenty to work with.

In 1990, when the National Endowment for the Arts refused to finance four performers, Finley among them, there was a lib-left outcry over censorship and what constituted "obscene" art. I appeared in several venues to discuss the NEA 4, one being a late afternoon outdoor rally near City Hall in lower Manhattan. A few celebs like Willem Dafoe and various artists and activists were scheduled to speak, and I was to follow Finley. It grew dark. Cold heavy rain poured down, but the rally continued under a building's cover. When Finley took the mike, she began chanting in a high-pitched voice as some contorted character possessed her. At the edge of the crowd lurked a man in a red devil suit, complete with horns, tail and pitchfork. As Finley performed, Satan paced, nasty look on his face. Then, suddenly, he threw an empty Coke bottle at Finley which shattered at her feet. Finley stopped her monologue and called for the devil to be arrested. The devil laughed and ran off into the wet cold dark while Finley cursed up a storm. Then she was gone. One of the rally's organizers introduced me to the crowd; I stepped into this madness and delivered a short speech about artistic freedom. The crowd ignored me, as they were still talking about the devil and Karen Finley. I cut short my remarks and left, catching the uptown Lexington line at City Hall. To this day, I have no idea if that scene was or was not staged. It remains one of my strangest gigs.

Here's Finley from around that time, explaining her creative approach.

Still to come -- Al Goldstein and "Midnight Blue."

Bean Town Clowns

2007-02-02T11:51:00.000-05:00

Boston's Lite-Brite freakout is an interesting case of urban psychosis and societal paranoia. I mean, what terrorist cell would go to the trouble of constructing bombs that show a Lite-Brite figure giving the finger, then prominently place them all over a given city? I wasn't aware that al-Qaeda had such pop-cult sensibilities ("In the future, everyone will be targeted for 15 minutes"). It's a bit like the villains on the "Batman" show from the 60s, creating elaborate devices to either threaten Gotham City or slowly kill Batman and Robin, who manage to escape anyway. If someone wants to bomb something, I seriously doubt that they would tip their hand so openly. But then, this is Boston we're talking about, one of the craziest cities I've ever spent time in. The real danger there are the drivers, worse than Michigan drivers, if you can believe that. Red Sox fans are another horror, but that's a different topic altogether.

I was impressed with how the two young men charged with this "hoax" handled the press after their release. Their performance is a bit strained, but when you're staring live into the mass media lens, you're bound to be a little stressed. Still, they remained committed to their concept, one of the first lessons you learn when studying improv. If you don't believe in the bit, then the audience won't either, though it's clear that the kill-joy reporters had no time for such gags, save for a couple who did ask the requested "hair related" questions.

Ah, to be young and threatened by powerful legal and political forces for essentially doing nothing as a rightwing "news" channel huffs and puffs while exploiting your dilemma to boost ratings. Takes me back.

The Politics Of Whoops!

2007-02-01T13:22:00.000-05:00

In SNL's first season, Michael O'Donoghue wrote a savage little piece titled "The Claudine Longet Invitational," in which footage of skiers falling and crashing on the slopes were prefaced with the sound of gunshots. "Uh oh!" quipped Chevy Chase as a skier went flying, "He seems to have been accidentally shot by Claudine Longet!" It was a topical joke, as Longet, a French actress and former wife of singer Andy Williams, was on trial for the murder of professional skier Spider Sabich, whom she shot "accidentally." Longet was convicted of criminally negligent homicide and spent a month in jail. O'Donoghue's bit so angered Andy Williams that SNL had to run an on-air apology on the following show in order to avoid a lawsuit.

Now, imagine a massively-armed Claudine Longet "accidentally" dropping a million cluster bombs on Lebanon, and you'll get the rancid flavor of Shimon Peres' ridiculous and insulting excuse for Israel's conduct during its assault last summer. According to Peres, the cluster bombing was a "mistake" that occurred "without the knowledge even of the chief-of-staff." How a militarily advanced nation like Israel unleashes that kind of deadly firepower without the higher-ups knowing about it, much less not ordering it, is beyond absurd, and if true, should frighten anyone within Israel's shooting range. Maybe that's the strategy here, to make it seem like an Israeli Gen. Jack Ripper was behind the whole thing. Who would want to fuck with an unstable chain of command like that?

In the meantime, only 19,000 of the million bomblets have been cleared, according to the UN, which means that large sections of southern Lebanon remain as active mine fields. Picture the reverse -- nearly a million uncleared cluster bombs littering Israeli civilian areas, while Hezbollah maintained that it was all a "mistake" and that their senior commanders knew nothing about dropping the bombs to begin with. Think that a US State Department spokesman would serenely say that "There were likely violations" committed by Hezbollah, as Sean McCormack did in reference to Israel? Hypocrisy doesn't get anywhere near it.

To make this macabre episode even more disgusting, Peres added, "I am not in a beauty contest and I do not hide my views." Right. Makes one almost pine for the unambiguous hostility and hatred expressed by Menachem Begin and Yitzhak Shamir. At least they had the honesty to say what they really thought and killed without equivocation. Peres? "Uh oh! We seem to have accidentally cluster bombed Lebanon a million times!"

Set up:

Punchline:

Get it?

A Sincere Farewell

2007-02-01T10:49:00.000-05:00

A moment of silence for Molly Ivins, who died yesterday of cancer at 62.

I believe it was Gore Vidal who said, "Of the dead, speak only the truth." So I must admit that I was not the biggest Molly Ivins fan around -- not that I disagreed with her or found her work to be seriously lacking in any way. It just seemed to me that she was trying to reach the fence sitters and assorted wavering types, hoping to show them that being on the left was not a bad or frightening thing. Her natural, at times caustic, sense of humor definitely helped. But I never felt that she was writing for the likes of me. Which is fine. The struggle operates at all levels. I will say that I admired her warm and humane demeanor. She remembered what it's all supposedly about while grunts like me cursed humanity and threw garbage on the stage. Roses at her feet for that.

The other thing worth noting about Ivins is how she influenced and helped to wake up younger writers and activists. A lefty Texan of my acquaintance told me that Ivins seemed like a Marxist in that reddest of red states, and that her example was not only needed, it was cherished. Coming from a pretty rightwing state myself, I can definitely understand that (Hoosiers of my generation had Kurt Vonnegut, who, while not overtly political, was still a creative, humanist example to admire). That Ivins served as a nail in reactionary hides is to be remembered and celebrated. I only wish that her style of writing was more in evidence among libloggers. Most of them could use a generous injection of Ivins.

Farewell, Molly. You've been spared the madness and misery that is hurtling our way. The fight continues in our battered hands.

Recharging

2007-01-31T11:22:00.000-05:00

There is much to write and rant about the numerous horrors emerging, and I have several posts in various stages that hopefully, when completed, will make some sense of it all, if that is remotely possible. Plus, there are a few cultural and personal essays I'm tinkering with. But at the moment it's all one big buzzing mass in my brain, and in order for me to write with any serious clarity, I must take a day to recharge and sort through some of this crap. I know you understand and accept this, Sonsters. You always do.

So, to give you a taste of what's searing my mind, while filling precious blog space, here are some random episodes from "Concrete TV", one of my favorite public access shows when I lived in Manhattan. Though I don't think all that much about car crashes (a "Concrete TV" obsession), the image velocity mixed with pop culture noise should help you to appreciate, perhaps even fear, what it is I contend with on a daily basis.

All I ever wanted to do was write jokes for edgy comedians. How the hell did I get here?

Pinning One's Hopes

2007-01-30T13:04:00.000-05:00

History is a mean, brutal creature, unsentimental, unsparing. Collective efforts to shape and steer history in certain directions have been decidedly mixed, and in many cases, have worsened already miserable situations. But there is very little that we the living can do to escape these outcomes, though Americans do have the luxury to ignore what is going on Out There, so long as our numerous screens remain lit and our distractions plugged in. This is getting harder to do, but if nothing else, Americans will always find a way to bury their heads, even if it means actually burying their heads. The view under ground must be more enjoyable than the awful realities raging above, yes?

Still, there are those who try to keep an open eye to the horrors around us (this humble space included), and others who continually push against the large, closing walls. This latter effort is very necessary, despite the long odds, and I've done what I can to assist in these efforts, however feeble my contribution. So it was with considerable interest and sincere confusion that I read my old friend Jeff Cohen's celebration of James Webb's State of the Union response. While I understood why so many liberals threw their hats in the air on Webb's behalf, I must confess that Jeff's flying beret caught me off guard. After all, Jeff is a true American radical in a non-sectarian sense. His knowledge of American history and connection to various progressive currents has always impressed me, and when I was younger, helped to educate me.

I worked with Jeff during my formative, political years; and for a time, we shared a New York apartment, which afforded me direct access to Jeff's experience and seasoned political views (watching the evening news with him was a valuable lesson in itself). For someone who knew so much about the smallest political trends in American history, Jeff remained pragmatic, and could work inside the largest media behemoths. Read his highly entertaining and illuminating book, "Cable News Confidential: My Misadventures in Corporate Media," for the sordid details.

Allowing for all that, I remained stunned by Jeff's embrace of Webb. I emailed him and asked what was up. He promptly replied, saying that his piece was not specifically in support of Webb himself, but of the "progressive" message Webb sent out to millions, a message that should be amplified and expanded whenever possible. And what did Webb say that stirred Jeff so?

"When one looks at the health of our economy, it's almost as if we are living in two different countries. Some say that things have never been better. The stock market is at an all-time high, and so are corporate profits. But these benefits are not being fairly shared. When I graduated from college, the average corporate CEO made 20 times what the average worker did; today, it's nearly 400 times. In other words, it takes the average worker more than a year to make the money that his or her boss makes in one day.

"Wages and salaries for our workers are at all-time lows as a percentage of national wealth, even though the productivity of American workers is the highest in the world. Medical costs have skyrocketed. College tuition rates are off the charts ...

"In the early days of our republic, President Andrew Jackson established an important principle of American-style democracy: that we should measure the health of our society not at its apex, but at its base. Not with the numbers that come out of Wall Street, but with the living conditions that exist on Main Street. We must recapture that spirit today."

Jeff maintained that this type of language is largely missing from mainstream discourse, especially when coming from official Democratic spokespersons. In the DLC/Clinton era of Dem politics, and mostly after, Jeff is right: few if any major Dems have talked this way (Mario Cuomo's speech at the 1984 Democratic convention possessed a similar tone, and George Wallace was very pro-blue collar, let us not forget). You'd hear it from the likes of Dennis Kucinich and Maxine Waters, but Al Gore and John Kerry shied away from such open populist appeals (though in the waning days of his 2000 campaign, Gore did make a few populist noises, which helped him with working people -- not that the party, the DLC in particular, learned anything from this). That a freshman senator from a conservative state delivered such a statement about low wages and class divisions should not be ignored or played down, but seized upon and widely spread.

Fair enough. Lord knows we need more, serious class awareness from below, seeing that those on high are already class conscious in order to maintain their advantage. But Webb is not alone among major Dems when it comes to this topic. John Edwards is making the class divide one of the key issues in his presidential campaign, while Barack Obama speaks about the need to create decent jobs while staving off the encroachment of the rich. What these and other Dems are simply doing is acknowledging reality, which is a good thing, to be sure, but not something that should mute our critical sensibilities. If Dems like Edwards and Obama have any shot at winning the Dem nomination, much less the presidency, then they're going to have to talk like this, or else kiss goodbye millions of potential votes from working people. Webb's already been elected and has just begun his six year term, so his populist language is potentially interesting, though it is part of the overall Dem approach. Bush has been murder on working Americans, and for the Dems to take his place, they must reach out to those Americans who've been hurt.

Regarding Webb's reference to Andrew Jackson's contribution to "American-style democracy," one might remember Jackson's smashing of the Creek tribe and his support of the Indian Removal Act, which eventually led to the Cherokee "Trail of Tears" and related atrocities. The Cherokee called Jackson "Sharp Knife" and for good reason. What Jackson and his successor Martin Van Buren oversaw would later be defined as ethnic cleansing, which was indeed an integral part of early "American-style democracy." I doubt that this is what Webb was trying to express, since the prevailing wisdom is that only monsters like Milosevic are guilty of such crimes. But it is telling that of all of the American references available, Webb went with Andrew Jackson. Not a huge deal, but worth a thought nonetheless.

Webb also touted Theodore Roosevelt's opposition to robber barons in order to provide his address further historical context. While it's true that TR was for a time opposed to the big business looting that was rampant at the end of the 19th century, his political ambition eventually overtook him, and in 1884 he broke from the reformist wing of the Republicans and backed the corrupt James G. Blaine, saying "I have been called a reformer but I am a Republican." Blaine lost to Grover Cleveland, but Roosevelt's shrewd move helped to propel him up the GOP ladder, where he became William McKinley's running mate, and then after McKinley's assassination, president.

When it came to war, Roosevelt was a dedicated imperialist and racist. His motto: "No triumph of peace is quite as great as the supreme triumph of war." Again, it's odd that a "progressive" like Webb would refer positively to such a political figure. Perhaps Webb trusted that most Americans know Roosevelt only from Mount Rushmore, and not from his desire to fight corruption to the degree that it threatened the status quo of which TR was a part, nor from his enthusiasm for slaughtering Filipinos and converting the survivors to Christianity. Ann Coulter might appreciate that, but one hopes that a Democrat with "populist" instincts would not.

Jeff knows all of this; but he's after something bigger: namely, a progressive takeover the of the Democratic Party. Jeff is now an active board member with Progressive Democrats of America, a group made-up of liberals and those a little further left who see the Dem party as the only realistic vehicle for serious political change. In our rigid, fixed political system, Jeff and his colleagues may be right, which is a pretty sad fact for the Greatest Democracy The World Has Ever Seen. Still, you deal with the cards that are dealt you. When Jeff informed me of this current strategy (which he predicts will take 10-20 years to fully come about), his piece on Webb made even more sense -- praise that which you can honestly praise, gain some trust, position yourself for further possible influence, and keep moving through the party.

Jeff cites the Christian Right's takeover of much of the GOP machinery as an activist model, though in my view, rightwing theocrats have more in common with their party than do progressives with the Dems. In other words, the fight on this side of the aisle is going to be much, much tougher, especially with the corporate stranglehold on the mules. At some point, serious differences will be unavoidable, namely, the mainstream Dem position on the Middle East, Israel in particular. Sooner or later, simply celebrating bits and pieces of the Dem platform will no longer suffice. When the shit truly hits the fan, that's when we'll know how far progressives can go in transforming the party altogether.

As you can see, I have serious doubts about this strategy. I, too, have worked with the Dems, and they are a stubbornly centrist, at times reactionary, bunch. Yet, as Jeff insists, this may be all we have at this point in time. So, in the spirit of open-mindedness and as a nod to an old friendship, I'm adding the PDA to the roll, and will keep a steady, critical eye on their various campaigns. After all, if there's even a small chance that my children might benefit from their efforts, not to mention the country and the rest of the planet, then it's worth seeing what the PDA and others can do.

Some Rally Notes

2007-01-29T09:40:00.000-05:00

Busy day today, much of it away from office and home. So I won't be able to harangue you in the usual fashion (I have the rest of the week for that). But I did want to say a few things about the antiwar rally in DC over the weekend. The teen and I watched much of it on C-SPAN, and while there were speakers and choices in music that I wouldn't have suggested or backed had I been in on the organizing (this was always the case when I did help put together events, so take it for what it's worth), I thought that Saturday's rally was much more focused and inspiring than the last one, which was all over the map and dominated by sectarian drones. This rally, organized by United For Peace and Justice, possessed spirit, emotion, and verve. And, finally, some actual antiwar Iraq vets! To me, that was the best part of the rally, watching those young, camo-clad vets on stage. That really moved me, as did the military family activists. They were clearly the highlight of the day, and should be a significant part of any public action from here on out.

Of course, there were liberals who were put off by the rally. I won't name names or provide links. You probably know who they are, and I'm trying this week to be more upbeat and positive, and tearing into ignorant quotes will seriously undermine my mission (however realistic or short-lived). But there were those who thought that any mention of Israel and the Palestinians was off topic, and that this would anger and alienate any fence-sitters watching. For some, Iraq and Iraq alone is the only issue worth discussing, and even then, one must be careful of what one says. All I can say in response is that this is a regional war, and Israel is decidedly a part of it, both in terms of the ongoing brutalization of the Palestinians (who continue to kill each other, a violent split that solely serves their brutalizer), and in regional military actions, training and planning, the chief target being Iran. Indeed, from what I saw, there was very little mention of possible strikes on Iran. If anything was truly amiss at Saturday's rally, it was that.

Still, I thought that many of the right tones were expressed, despite the inevitable lags here and there. The Hollywood contingent, which usually inspires the harshest reactions, did well, in my view. I have never had a problem with celebrities speaking out on social issues, regardless of their politics. Some know what they're talking about; others haven't the faintest clue. I assess them individually, and those who showed up in DC weren't anything to be embarrassed by. As Sean Penn remarked in his brief address that was under two minutes, actors are citizens as well and have a duty to show their solidarity, which Penn, Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon did. Many critics, liberal and reactionary alike, spat all over Jane Fonda's appearance. Liberals don't want to be tarred with Fonda's anti-Vietnam war reputation, and reactionaries are still kneeling before their Hanoi Jane altars, religiously convinced that Fonda did more to hurt Vietnam-era soldiers and vets than did the US government and the Veteran's Administration. That Vietnam combat vets shared the same stage as Fonda on Saturday apparently does little to sway this crowd, and I didn't see any Iraq war vets fleeing the area upon Fonda's arrival. I personally have had my criticisms of Fonda, most harshly of her and former husband Tom Hayden's support of the Israeli bombardment of Beirut in 1982. Hayden has since apologized for this stance, while Fonda, in her recent memoir, pretends it never happened. But Fonda has shown a growing awareness of Israel/Palestine issues since cheering on Ariel Sharon those many years ago. How deep it goes only she knows for sure.

Given all that, I found Fonda's address to be perfectly fine. She showed respect for war vets and their families, and admitted her own fears about speaking out, considering the slime machine that still operates at the mere mention of her name. Watch for yourself and see if you agree.

What's That In The Road -- A Head?

2007-01-26T10:56:00.000-05:00

Chris Floyd hits it typically hard today, blasting Bush's strategy of killing Iranian "agents" inside Iraq. Chris believes that targeted assassination is designed to force the Iranian state to violently respond, which then can be used as a pretext for a US assault on Iran. Seems right to me. We know that the Bush gang wants to widen the war to Iran and perhaps Syria, something that will paralyze the Dems, many of whom already support a possible war on Iran. Once that balloon drops, prepare for one-party state pronouncements from both ownership wings, with a few dissenters tut-tutting on the margins, like Kucinich. James Webb's "antiwar" speech will melt under the heat of fresh phosphorus and be forgotten, save for those who want to remember how liberals willingly serve as suckers.

I like Chris' passion, but there are times when I think the larger picture gets blurred by his justifiable outrage:

"What Bush has done with this order is to turn the American military into his own private death squad. It is an act of breathtaking dishonor, of unspeakable moral filth. That this pathetic little man and the jumped-up thugs around him – especially the hulking, smirking, lying coward Dick Cheney – are allowed to show their faces among civilized people, much less exercise power over a mighty nation, remains an unfathomable mystery...and a source of deep shame for all Americans."

Surely, Chris knows that this is anything but a "mystery," indeed, it is very fathomable: the US military is all too often used as a death squad, and Bush and Cheney are simply behaving as have many administrations before theirs. I mean, is this really a surprise? And regarding "civilized" Americans being ashamed of this brutal reality, well, I sure there are some. Chris counts as one. Me? Anger, fear, disgust, simultaneous desires to smash anything within reach or shrug my weary shoulders and retreat into rural isolation. But "shame"? Sorry, Chris. Like you, I'm an American. We are shamed at birth.

If it's Good Americans you're looking for, here are a few from a simulated yesteryear, via Robert Smigel, and starring Stephen Colbert:

I'll take good Canadian comedy, perhaps best exemplified by "SCTV". Eugene Levy does his marvelous lounge comic Bobby Bittman, who introduces his younger brother, Skip, to a network audience. With Rick Moranis as Skip, Joe Flaherty as Sammy Maudlin, and the great John Candy as William B. Williams.

And just for the hell of it, because she's always made me laugh (sorry, Barry), here's Sandra Bernhard on Letterman in 1988. This was back when Bernhard was a Letterman regular, and I love watching Dave tighten as she struts her stuff. Something about awkward pauses and pop culture riffs tickles the ol' rib cage. Ah, the mysteries of humor . . .

Wha--what's that? You say you want more Sandra Bernhard? Well, it is Friday and I've run outta gas . . . Screw it! Let's go whole hog. Enjoy, and I'll see you next week with God knows what.

Slammer Time

2007-01-25T10:08:00.000-05:00

Insanity stalks me this morning, after trying to strangle me in my sleep. Filthy fuck. Ignoring it does little to dissuade it. There is no reason nor morality that it recognizes. It just waits there, waits for me to let my guard down, its crazy face devoured by a stained-teeth smile.

I was going to write about the Dems again today, seeing how they are supposedly in charge while lame duck Bush jabbers on about "sacrifice" and the need for extended slaughter. But I simply lack the energy, Sonsters. Composing these daily blasts wears me out, and I neglect the house, the dirty kitchen floor, the mud room crusted with salt as several towels soak up the melting snow and ice tracked in by the family, the living room disheveled beyond belief, books stacked everywhere, magazines strewn on the dusty carpets, our neurotic New York cat puking up her food every few hours while our lazy Michigan cat sleeps and sheds all over my old Army jacket. Money is tight, bills are put off or partially paid, and here I sit, reading about the woeful world, jotting down notes and stray lines with sports radio providing ambient sound in the background.

Is this all there is?

Actually, believe it or not, I have planned, if not a more optimistic post about certain progressive Dems, then something less hostile and gloomy. At least that's how I feel at this conception stage. Once I start banging the thing out, that might change, but I can't say for sure. I never know how most of my posts will end, nor can I predict my mood as the thoughts burn through me. But I will try, loyal readers, to find something of worth in this mess, for I wear myself down far too often and suspect that I'm doing the same to you. If that's the case, my sincere apologies. Who wants to visit an angry man everyday, who shakes his fist at the sky and throws rocks at cars and trucks that speed through his residential stretch? I'm even looking the part these days -- my hair is getting long and my salt and pepper beard grows wild, like those old crazy coots in the trailer parks of my youth, cursing up a storm with a Schlitz in one hand and a Marlboro in the other. My friend Bob and I would egg these guys on, then laugh as they ranted away, seemingly oblivious to everything save their own dying rage. Kids can be cruel to the old, but I don't think those coots really noticed, especially after putting away a six-pack.

Speaking of old men who talk too much, a quick Perrin family snapshot: my grandfather, Charlie Perrin, who died in 1987, was somewhat legendary in the bars near his home. Charlie was filled with fear, which he covered up by being the loudest guy in the room, and oftentimes the funniest. For all of his bullshit, my grandfather could make you laugh, though he had to work you to find the right opening for his extremely corny but absurdist jokes and takes. I once went with him to one of his favorite bars, The Slammer, which had mock jail cell doors on the booths and old black and white photos of prisons and jails on the walls. The bar itself was very dark and reeked of dried beer on the floor. When we entered it was around 11 AM, and a small crowd of older men, hunched over their drinks, turned and stood to greet my grandfather.

"Hey! Charlie's here!"

They all smiled, awaiting Charlie's performance, and he did not disappoint them. I said very little, and took some pride in Charlie's act, which consisted of weird plays on words and anecdotes about his time as a salesman for Morton Salt. His little audience ate it up, and I could see, however briefly, my grandfather releasing some of his fear and living in the jovial moment. Of course, he got drunk and I had to drive him home, whereupon he drained a few more beers then nodded out in his big, plush chair, the bulk of his day over by 3 PM. He'd wake up a few hours later and read condensed books until bedtime, telling me that once he got the gist of a story or historical tale, he didn't need to read the whole thing, and so moved on to another shortened tome.

While I don't drink during the day (though sometimes I could really use it), I sort of feel like the Son is my Slammer, and you good people are the audience at the bar. Now, if only I would tell more amusing stories, yes?

Here's some classic Rodney Dangerfield, who looks a lot like my grandfather, though Rodney had a slicker act. But then, if Charlie hadn't been so emotionally beaten down, who knows what he might have achieved?

Sticky Webb

2007-01-24T10:47:00.000-05:00

What is it about American liberals that makes them behave like 7th grade civics students eager for an A? Do they seriously believe the rhetoric about our "glorious nation" and its "unique" destiny? Or is this merely a defense mechanism, a desperate effort to stave off the awful realities we all face and play down the abject criminality of those who rule us? Either way, the libs aren't helping matters. And with the Presidential Sweepstakes currently under way, their shit will pile up at an accelerated rate.

Reading some of the lib responses to James Webb's speech from last night has left me feeling angry and depressed. More than a few have employed the adolescent "awesome" to describe what was, in form and in fact, a pretty standard political spiel. What a sorry time we live in for Webb to be seen as a beacon of political hope and courage. Yes, he was against the Iraq invasion from the get-go, but so were a lot of people, Republicans and conservatives among them. That Webb, like many in the US elite, foresaw the horrors that awaited our entry again means little. Anyone with passing knowledge of the region and a hint of honesty predicted the exact same thing. Are we so far gone that a conservative Dem who faces reality is considered "impressive"? Apparently so.

Note that Webb described the Iraq war as "mismanaged." Not criminal, not corrupt, not imperial, but "mismanaged." What if the invasion and occupation had been successful? Of course, that would necessitate bloodletting on a massive scale, and even then "success" would not be guaranteed. But let's suppose that Bush gambled correctly, wiped out all forms of resistance and put a lethal stranglehold on the Iraqis while Halliburton peacefully set up shop and US control over Iraq's oil reserves was secure. Think Webb would object to that? Judging from his speech, I seriously doubt that he would, especially if Bush's poll numbers were in the 70s or higher. Webb is simply articulating what many in the US elite already know and feel -- the Iraq war was a tactical, imperial error which is undermining US power in the region. Or to use Webb's terminology, it has been "mismanaged," and so it must be corrected, if that's even possible at this stage.

Note also that Webb completely buys into the War on Terror scenario, which he didn't really define last night, though he's doubtlessly referring to Afghanistan specifically and al-Qaeda generally. That's a serious topic that requires serious debate, but Webb wasn't interested in going beyond rhythm phrases like "war on terrorism," the mere sound of which supposedly defines itself and therefore nothing else need be said. And Webb is decidedly on board with an attack on Iran, as he is completely behind Israel's aggression in the region. When the cluster bombs begin falling on Iran, don't expect Webb, Pelosi, Hillary, Obama, or any senior Dem, to oppose it -- that is, unless the murder of Iranians is somehow bungled or "mismanaged." Then perhaps Webb might make some critical noises, and wave more family photos at the camera to prove his sincerity. And, as nature dictates, online liberals will again fawn at his feet, marveling at his "awesome" delivery.

Our "Opposition" Party In Action

2007-01-24T09:19:00.000-05:00

From one bloody hand to another. God Bless America.

Real Roots

2007-01-23T12:02:00.000-05:00

Back in my DC days, when I attended talks, appeared on panels, radio and TV, went to pubs and parties crowded with smart, ambitious young politicos (along with the inevitable drunken-hangover stay at Hitchens' pad), I witnessed first-hand the detachment of the American political class from the American public. Not that I was terribly naive about this reality going in; but direct exposure helps to hammer home points, and listening to the utter contempt the Beltway crowd had for the masses at times shocked even me. When I told my relatives about it, they weren't surprised, but neither were they convinced that this was truly the case. For if those who worked on or wrote about Capitol Hill hated and feared them, then what did Congresspeople and Senators think? The idea that The People mattered only during elections (and oftentimes, not even then), was, I believe, too negative for some of my relatives and their friends to take, especially if they were Republicans. After all, the GOP cares for its own, right?

I was reminded of all this during last week's little "netroots" dust-up, when Max Sawicky questioned not only the theoretical prowess of online libs, but also their dedication to something other than corporate Dems. A few libs, like Kos and Steve Gilliard, turned Max's point around to make it seem as if Max was the political elitist, and they merely humble servants of a nation in desperate need of de-Bushification. But other libs used Max's critique as an opening to discuss the actual meaning of political theory today, and whether or not knowing your Marx or Alinsky (Paul Goodman, anyone?) really matters anymore. This then led to an attack on the George Scialabba review in the Nation that I linked to last week, for it seemed to certain younger libs that Scialabba, like Max, was out of touch with what's really going on.

Matthew Yglesias, a well-regarded online, Beltway lib, found terrible Scialabba's idea that American lefties actually engage the larger populace in an effort to raise political issues, if not political consciousness. As Scialabba put it:

"How to accomplish it? I don't know. Perhaps population exchanges or year-abroad programs between blue and red states. Perhaps The Nation should offer free subscriptions to registered Republicans. Perhaps Katha Pollitt and Ann Coulter (or Thomas Frank and David Brooks, or Greg Palast and Matt Drudge) should barnstorm the country, the way Stanley Fish and Dinesh D'Souza did in the 1990s. Perhaps all secular liberals should sign a pledge: Every time one evangelical reads a nonreligious book, one of us will go to church. Somehow or other, someone must sow a healthy appetite for informed, discriminating political argument across large swaths of the electorate where it now appears lacking. Otherwise, public life will become wholly (what it now is largely) a marketing competition, and nothing more."

Yglesias utterly rejected such a straightforward, grassroots suggestion:

"[T]he underlying presumption here -- that political progress depends on massively increasing the general populations knowledge of American politics and public policy -- is dead wrong. 'Informed, discriminating political argument' is never going to be popular 'across large swaths of the electorate' because most people simply don't care very much about politics. This is a fact of political life -- of human nature -- that successful movements seek to deal with, not something to sit around pining over while the world passes everyone by."

Apart from Yglesias' open elitism, which is no surprise, given his Harvard background, I'm always amused by how profoundly limited many Ivy Leaguers are. Perhaps the reason why "most people simply don't care very much about politics" is because American elites have worked long and hard to depoliticize the population. You don't have to be a Lippmann scholar to know that historical truth. But young Matt seems to seriously believe that, unlike him and his smart friends, the rabble out there just isn't up to understanding the larger forces that shape and steer contemporary society. Indeed, Yglesias goes to fellow Harvard alum, Sam Rosenfeld, for back-up on this point:

"[T]he modern liberal emphasis on making the public somehow smarter and better informed about politics as the central means of bringing about progressive change has amounted to a catastrophic misallocation of energy. I'm not sure what empirical basis anyone has in mind for such a notion: Do people really think that, say, New Deal reforms, or those brought by the Civil Rights Movement or during the Great Society came about because Americans of those periods happened to be better informed than today -- because, that is, the political discourse was more elevated and sophisticated, and demagogues and morons had a harder time finding an audience? Isn't it a bit more likely -- and, indeed, something of a constant of human societies -- that the 'quality' of mass political discussion and the political sophistication of the average citizen have always been pretty tawdry, and that effecting beneficial political change has a good deal more to do with manning and strengthening particular institutions and engaging directly in raw political struggle than it does with sprinkling enlightenment across the land?"

What the fuck do they teach at Cambridge anyway?

Yes, there have always been uninformed, tribalisitic and superstitious Americans throughout this country's history. Millions of them, in fact. But to claim that average, working people were just as depoliticized in the New Deal era, or during the Civil Rights struggle, as many are today is self-serving, ahistorical horseshit. One can go back even further, to the radical years of the late 19th century, to the Industrial Workers of the World of the early 20th century, periods when numerous working-class newspapers enjoyed wide circulations. The American and immigrant workers of that time were highly politicized, so much so that US elites were not only alarmed and threatened by what they saw as a possible uprising, or even revolution, they did what they could to suppress this type of political activity, which of course included shooting workers in the streets and jailing those leaders who were deemed "anti-American Reds." The political discourse of that time not only was "more elevated and sophisticated" than now, it was more effective in educating those who lacked the money or connections to attend elite institutions like Harvard. Read Emma Goldman's autobiography for a closer look at this now-forgotten era of working class activism and political awareness, then wonder what the hell Yglesias and Rosenfeld are really talking about.

It's certainly true that large segments of working people today lack the same outlets and support networks that workers of earlier periods fought for. Decades of assaults on workers' rights accompanied by relentless anti-union propaganda has taken a heavy toll, and it remains one of the true successes of the American political and economic elite. But awareness from below has not been completely stamped out, as we presently see in the anti-sweatshop movements and the ongoing union struggles of Justice for Janitors. George Scialabba's recommendation is a good one -- "we" should be mixing more with those locked out of the current American system and making "our" ideas more accessible and better understood. I've done my share of this over the past few years, and it's not an easy or even pleasurable task. There are more setbacks than breakthroughs, and perhaps soon I'll write more about this. Still, it's worth a shot, especially in a criminal time like now. How much longer can we afford the "insights" and "guidance" offered by those from on high, or those, like Yglesias and Rosenfeld, who pine for such elevated status?

War. No. End.

2007-01-22T14:13:00.000-05:00

There are days when my anger and frustration with what remains of the American "experiment" hit such violent lows that whatever chair I happen to be occupying is in danger of becoming kindling -- even the metal chairs. I've destroyed many chairs in my time, kicking and stomping them into splinters, throwing the larger remnants against the wall while unleashing hideous, primal screams as my monkey brain clicks on and I jump around, reduced to a sub-evolutionary state suitable only for football tailgaters, NASCAR gatherings, or some contemporary country musicpalooza. My political Hulk is an unreasonable beast, and over time I've lessened his influence and subdued his destructive urge. But he can still pop out at any time, and like Bruce Banner, I must maintain control before my pupils dilate, my shirt and pants begin to rip, and broken chairs begin flying.

Chaos and death continue in Iraq, and this past weekend has been most brutal. You've seen the headlines and the accompanying wire photos of smoldering, twisted metal and blasted bodies, some wrapped in bags, others not, with pools of blood spreading everywhere. Political machinations continue, of course, both in Baghdad and in DC, where there is, so far, token Dem resistance to Bush's upcoming "surge." (Afghanistan is not much better, but that's for another day.) Libs across the land keep pointing to the polls and to last November's midterms, insisting that the American people are overwhelmingly opposed to any escalation in Iraq. Maybe they are, but I suspect that this opposition is tepid at best, at least when it comes to the great mass of Americans, who are, by design and by choice, largely apolitical and ahistorical. They don't like bad news, and that's all that's coming out of Iraq.

If this present war went down as easily as the first Gulf engagement in 1991, we'd probably see the same high pro-war poll numbers, tickertape parades and "Salute Our Conquering Heroes" TV specials. I remember that period very well, for I was right in the middle of it all. And some of the biggest celebrations took place in lower Manhattan, with office workers pouring out of buildings, chanting "U-S-A! U-S-A!" Had Bush, as many of his liberal critics urged, invaded Iraq with a massive show of force and slaughtered three, four, five times the number of Iraqis who even glanced at US troops with a frown, and controlled the larger cities with an iron, Saddamist fist, think the negative poll numbers would be as high? Christ, people would be jacking off at Bush's feet, praising his toughness and resolve. And naturally the Dems would yank meekly along, maybe quietly suggesting a raise of the minimum wage so the working poor could afford an extra meal at McDonald's -- from the 99 cent menu, of course.

An ugly scenario, to be sure. Perhaps even uglier than the reality we currently face, if that's possible. The reason I even entertain such chilling thoughts stems from various sources of late, most recently a local radio show that I'd never before heard until Sun morning, and an item in today's Indianapolis Star.

The radio show, hosted by someone named Michael Stein, and broadcast by WDTW-AM, Detroit's "Progressive Talk," has to be one of the more idiotic offerings I've encountered since reading Kos' take on political philosophy last week. Stein, from what I heard, is one of those anti-PC rightwingers who "tells it like it is," in his case, from a shallow, polluted pond of ignorance and arrogance. Stein not only believes that "we" can still win in Iraq, but challenges "the left" to articulate a better policy. None of the callers could sway him from his stance, though truth be told, they weren't in full command of any passing facts of the matter. One self-described moderate backed Bush's coming escalation, saying that the extra bodies would act as protectors for those beleaguered troops already on the frontlines. Stein barked back that the US goal was not protecting other troops, but to win the war and secure the peace "before" civil war erupts, "before" Islamic fanatics establish a foothold, "before" Iran and pro-Iranian elements begin influencing events in Iraq.

I know that a lot of truly stupid people have access to microphones and cameras in the United States, but this guy blows past the average. For a moment, I thought I was experiencing aural hallucinations, so unfuckingbelievable was Michael Stein's rant. Then I saw, according to WDTW's schedule, that Stein's show is paid programming, which explains his appearance on Sunday mornings. But I wonder if Detroit's "Progressive Talk" will put on any viewpoint in exchange for money, or simply lunatic reactionaries like Stein? In a sense, you can't blame the station. Not only do they get paid, but they feature someone who makes their regular line-up of Al Franken, Stephanie Miller, and Randi Rhodes appear forward-thinking. Not a bad racket.

Still, know-nothings like Stein are more common than not, regardless of media reach. I was reminded of this when reading about college students in Indiana who remain, at this late date, "ambivalent" about the Iraq war. Some quotes:

"College students honestly don't know what should be done. We don't know what should be done. We don't like what's being done, but we don't have any better ideas."

"In class, it is not something people really want to talk about that much because it's such a sensitive topic."

"[P]eople are so tired of hearing about it. We just want whatever makes it over."

And of course, there's always a young optimist:

"I know mistakes were made, but reconstruction always takes time. It will definitely show more results. It's a good start, and we should be able to see progress at least."

See why I left Indiana all those years ago? The place can still turn your mind into quick-drying cement.

To be fair, there's a lot of this in Michigan, a somewhat bluer state. In fact, I'm willing to bet that this makes up the majority of discussions and thinking about Iraq nationwide. For all the hype about how the majority of Americans are against this war, when was the last time you heard, either on talk radio or in your everyday life, a serious, historically-based statement or exchange about what's going on? This is why I remain suspicious about those supposedly "antiwar" polls. And if American antiwar feeling is more surface than depth, then where does that leave us, especially with more war on the horizon? I'll try to answer this tomorrow as I look at some "educated" online political opinion, where Walter Lippmann's "manufacture of consent" is more popular than ever.

But for now, please excuse me. There's a wooden stool that's just asking for it.

Sonshine Day!

2007-01-19T10:48:00.000-05:00

The Son has been a sour lad of late, partly because of the usual political bullshit, and partly because I've spent the week fighting off some low-level virus, flu, exhaustion, whatever it was, plus performing blue collar labor on top of it.

Blarghhh.

But today, I feel so much better, thank you, and I don't want to waste this good feeling on harsh opinions. Instead, the Son is all about the love, the sharing, the smiling in the face of hatred, fear, and contempt, the daisy in life's rifle barrel.

The boy's been writing up a storm of late -- mysteries, historical essays, and most impressively, poems. Here's one he composed this week.

Haunted Mansion

The neighbors, a ghost in his mansion.
I know it!
The dogs are Zombies!
The cats are vampires!
The tv's a mummy!
The books are ghosts!
The statues are alive!
The birds are skeletons!
I must be brave!
So I can borrow a cup of coffee.

Of all of the boy's creative work of this period, the above is definitely a keeper.

Upon reading this, I was reminded of a Michael O'Donoghue poem that appeared in the Evergreen Review in 1965.

The Untimely Demise of Madame X
(or)
"Shot in Her Box at the Opera"
. . .to Benjamin Peret, 1928.

My airplane is burning.
My formal gardens cross their legs.
Negroes have eaten up my sister.

My mother have been revoked.
Gypsies stole my father,
Repainted him,
And sold him across the border.

My wife is a sailor.

My wolves are housebroken.
My cat is a dog.
The goldfish drowned.

Emery dust in my monorail.

My arsenal is doves.
My caprice is annotated.
The bathtub tried to bite me
And did.

Hunchbacks gave me money.

My screams are dead snowflakes
Falling on dead people
Making them feel all warm and loved.

While the boy (thankfully) lacks O'D's fascination with death, there are similarities in cadence and image. And the boy's only 10. O'D was in his mid-20s when he wrote the above. I like the kid's artistic chances.

The wife showed me the following clip this morning, which helped to sharpen my Sonny outlook:

But for me, few could top Bugaloo Caroline Ellis, who made many of my Saturday mornings most delightful.

Have a happy weekend, Sonsters! And remember: take only what you need, and know your dealer.

Jerks In The Circle

2007-01-18T12:17:00.000-05:00

The libloggers have spoken, sort of, and man, what a sorry group they are. I knew that many of the larger lib sites contained little more than "Go Dems Go!" rhetoric, but I must admit that I was somewhat surprised by their inability to defend this position, such as it is. Max Sawicky nailed them and nailed them good; and their whiny, self-absorbed responses merely reinforced Max's original point.

I thought that Steve Gilliard would put up a better fight -- not necessarily a fact-based counterstroke, given Gilliard's rather loose grip on political reality beyond his keyboard, but something that possessed a little passion. His ego alone could cough up a quick 700 words. But instead, Gilliard retreated, waxing on about some anonymous housewife in Ohio who wants her own voice heard in national affairs, and how her desire is feared and despised by elitist, lefty pointy heads who hate average people, unlike Gilliard and his friends, who are the real populists, and who, through blogging, are empowering her while changing the world.

Yeah. Can't you just feel the societal shift?

While Gilliard composed his fantasy scenario, Marcos "Kos" Moulitsas decided to engage Max directly:

"Here's my take on the whole matter -- 'intellectuals' who'd rather read books and measure purity are next-to-useless. I prefer people of action, not of elitist academics. And I say that as someone who collected degrees as a hobby. What did all those Marx readers deliver the country? Nixon. Reagan. Bush. Bush II. Not to mention the DeLays, the Scalias, and the long national nightmare that is just now being stemmed.

"That's not a knock on people who've been fighting the good fight. Just on those who think the intellectual circle jerks of the 60s are superior to what we're building today."

To say that Kos is ahistorical here is an understatement. The guy is simply a dolt -- an aggressive, careerist dolt, mind you, who is clawing upward for senior mule status, but a sack of rocks all the same.

The inescapable bottom line is this: libloggers largely talk and link to each other. When Kos complains about "intellectual circle jerks," he's simply projecting what he, his followers, and imitators do on a daily basis (though their exertions are more pseudo-intellectual). The idea that online libs are "changing reality" or "saving lives" or even "reaching out and empowering" the common folk is a self-serving delusion. The vast majority of the American public do not read political blogs of any stripe, and I guarantee you that I can walk down my Midwestern street, knock on every door, ask "What's your opinion of DailyKos?" and receive more blank stares and mumbled "Who?"s than "Why, he's a man of action! A true progressive force!"

What Kos and company are "building today" is little more than a pro-Dem consensus for those already predisposed to the idea. Idependent, critical thinking about empire, global capital, other "wars of choice" (just wait until their Dem heroes support a US attack on Iran -- we got a preview of their reactions during Israel's cluster bombing of Lebanon last summer), class relations, and other, actual problems that the Dems have no real interest in addressing, much less attempting to solve, is either beyond them or beneath them, in Kos' case, probably both. Those who proudly know nothing about earlier, important struggles cannot be trusted or even expected to lead or help forge serious, contemporary struggles. But they can appear on political chat shows and handicap who will be their corporate party's nominee in '08. That's a form of action, I suppose.

Dembulbs

2007-01-17T11:24:00.000-05:00

Angry, pissy emails regularly flow into my inbox whenever I slam Dems or libloggers for their latest blunder, hypocrisy, or state apologia. "Who then?!" is the usual response, followed with "You're full of shit!" or some related pleasantry. To be expected in our political culture, where the acceptable boundaries continually shrink, forcing sensible people into contorted, contradictory positions as they try to make sense of what is offered them. I understand, but I don't accept this as the only means to discuss and debate our sorry condition. Indeed, living in a wealthy, imperial country, it is incumbent upon us to break down these boundaries whenever possible. This is not easy, as reaction is always there to hammer us back down. The real question is, how much hammering will you take before you hammer back?

For many online libs, hammering back means voting for Dems and little more. Of course, this is to social change what katas are to combat, but again, this is what we've been reduced to. Dem victories in the midterms supposedly altered the American political terrain, but we old-timers know better, having seen this pantomime before. One can excuse the younger libs for jumping up and down with glee, eyes widened to the possibility of ideological rollback. They lack the longer view and have yet to receive serious political scars. But when an older lib, say someone over 40, tries to jump with the kids while squeezing his or her eyes tight in order to see the same illusion, the result is pathetic and very beside the point, like a balding hippie, or worse, a graying punk, wheezing and sweating in an effort to keep pace.

The disjunction of then from now was further illustrated yesterday when Max Sawicky, older lib and economist supreme, delivered his critique of the online lib world at TPM Cafe, Josh Marshall's centrist circle where today's Big Minds meet to chew the policy fat and devise new ways to elect more Dems. Given this static environment, Max's cutting, accurate line, "The 'Internet Left' is a mostly brainless vacuum cleaner of donations for the Democratic Party," pierced the thin skins of those operating the party's Orecks, and led to predictable retorts about how the Sixties accomplished very little and are thankfully dead, how online libs are saving people's lives in the here and now and helping to ensure a better future, etc. and so on. Online lib-fave Steve Gilliard weighed in as well, informing Max that the chief movements of the 1960s ended badly, and in the cases of SDS and SNCC, "slipped into terrorism." Gilliard also claimed that the New Left "was a minor participant in social change because it was disconnected from the masses. It was really college kids and some activists reading Marx and talking." Today's online libs are more effective because they don't sit around and talk about Marxist theory -- they're out there in the Real World, getting it done, unlike "fantasists like Max Sawicky."

Where to start?

First of all, Gilliard's concept of American radicalism and its effect on this country's politics is not only blinkered, it's simplistic bullshit. The social movements of the 60s, like any attempt to force political change, boasted both successes and failures. But it's the failures that we are most reminded of, and Gilliard sounds no different on this front than those rightwingers, primarily from the Wall Street Journal and the American Spectator, that I used to debate back in the day. "The Sixties were a bust!" the likes of John Fund or Terry Eastland would tell me, their forefingers jabbing at the air for emphasis. "The New Left did more harm to this country than good!" After reminding them that the antiwar movement of that period cut across ideological lines (the libertarian right was opposed to Vietnam as well), I said that the New Left, for all of its mistakes and self-destructive actions, helped to till the ground for future grassroots political movements -- just as the labor movements of the 1930s (which Gilliard tries to divorce from radical forces like the CIO, not to mention the Communist Party and other socialist formations) and the civil rights and anti-nuclear weapons movements of the 1950s set the stage for the New Left. Thanks to the activists of the 1960s, opposition to imperial war took root in the body politic, and movements for women's rights and queer rights began to gain traction and support. Environmentalism also became a mainstream topic and concern, something that wouldn't have occurred had it not been for the ferment of the 60s, which entailed much, much more than sitting cross-legged under banners of Huey Newton, quoting Marcuse and Fanon.

It's easy to see why reactionaries hate the Sixties, and have spent their political lives trying to turn back the clock. But for liberals like Gilliard to spit on the same movements makes you wonder what exactly he and his fellow Dems have in mind for tomorrow, apart from electing more Dems, that is.

Missing from all this liberal outrage are assessments of 1980s activism, which owed a great deal to the movements of the 60s. When the Reagan administration tested the waters for direct US military intervention in El Salvador in 1981 with its "White Paper," opposition to this proposed move was immediate, as activists ranging from college kids to churchgoers to suburban dwellers staged sit-ins, organized street actions, wrote letters to politicians and newspapers, signed public petitions, and essentially raised such a degree of hell that the Reagan gang backed off, preferring to go clandestine instead. As Noam Chomsky put it, the American people drove the government underground, and even then, education about and solidarity with the people of Central America spread throughout the country. I was in my early 20s when this exploded, and it served as my first serious political education (following up my years in the Army, which kick-started my political awareness). As I've said before, I knew people in the Sanctuary Movement, and met with Salvadoran teachers and union organizers who fled their country thanks to American support and training of the death squads that were hunting them down. And while I did run into some college brats playing Che or Fidel from time to time, the majority of activists I knew, met or worked with back then were common people -- people with mortgages and kids in school, who went to church on Sunday (or temple on Friday), who shopped at malls and ate fast food. The same went for those in the anti-apartheid movement of the same era. Dissidence was deeper in America than it had been in the 1960s. And you can thank the social and political movements of the Sixties for that.

If you want to read a serious piece about today's Dems and the limitations we face in trying to push the mules in a progressive direction (assuming this can be done), check out George Scialabba's review of various lib books in the current Nation. Scialabba is another old-timer, whose essays in Grand Street in the 1980s and early-90s were among the best political commentaries of that period. He tries hard to find silver linings in the Dems' recent ascension, but like many of us who've been around this block more times than we can count, all that appears are bits of tinsel tossed down by Barack Obama and John Edwards. Things might change, of course. Anything's possible. But sitting on your ass and tapping out ahistorical screeds on behalf of a corporate party while denigrating the influential struggles of those you've never met is hardly the best way forward.

Sick Day Filler

2007-01-16T11:53:00.000-05:00

Feel pretty lousy today. More physical than emotional. So I'm gonna take it light and try to come back tomorrow with something more substantial.

Until then, here's a couple of visual distractions sent to me by Shane Taylor and Oliver Sheppard, the latter of whom runs Cult Punk, a political/music site which I will soon add to the roll, along with some other worthy online efforts.

The first, "Shoes", simply is. Nothing else need be said.

The second, "Apache", is something more -- more of what, I've no serious idea. But I promise you, it's like nothing else you'll see today.

And here's Eric Bogosian playing Garry Shandling's ex-comedy partner on the always great "Larry Sanders". Aren't comedy writers complete pricks?

King For Today

2007-01-15T10:31:00.000-05:00

Happy MLK day, especially to all us well-intentioned white folk who do so very much to help alleviate the world's suffering. Being a white lefty is burdensome and often unrewarding, but someone has to go tell it on the mountain, and who is more qualified to mourn and celebrate Dr. King than we forward-thinking persons of pinkish-grayish hue?

I offered my own thoughts about King this time last year, and I see no reason to revise them. What I said then, I'd say now. The only thing I'm sorry to have missed back then was Aaron McGruder's sharp satirical take on what King would say had he survived the assassination attempt and lived to see commercial African-American culture.

I don't watch much late night TV, so I knew nothing about McGruder's animated assault on his "Boondocks" show. Clearly, my head was up my pale ass when this episode aired and offended a good many people, which is what a decent satirist should do. I'm sure that more of you out there know about McGruder's harsh take than don't, but in case, like me, your head was elsewhere, the episode roughly breaks down like this:

King is not killed in Memphis in 1968, but falls into a coma, from which he doesn't awaken until 2000. As he clears his head and looks around him, he becomes increasingly disgusted with the way African-Americans are portrayed and how many of them behave. He's also branded a traitor when, after the 9/11 attacks, he maintains his Christian pacifist position (something I also mentioned in my post from last year). But it isn't until King, accompanied by "Boondocks" fixture Huey Freeman, arrives at a black church that his rising contempt is given full expression.

I like it that King moves to Canada and dies there at 91. As for Oprah becoming president, well, better than a lot of other possible celebrity choices, I guess. But surely McGruder recalls that Oprah was in favor of invading Iraq, bringing on Kenneth Pollack to cheerlead the war. I don't know if she's ever offered a mea culpa since then, but if not, I doubt anyone of consequence is going to remind her. One of the perks of being Oprah.

After the episode aired, McGruder appeared on "Nightline" to explain his satirical intentions.

I won't pretend that I was an avid "Boondocks" reader, but I've always liked McGruder whenever he's appeared on TV or radio. I only wish I'd been at that infamous Nation dinner several years ago when McGruder really brought it to the pale liberals about to receive their just desserts.

"Toward the dessert (chocolate torte) portion of the evening, Uma Thurman rose to introduce a special guest: Aaron McGruder, the creator of the popular and subversive comic strip 'The Boondocks,' who, as it happens, had travelled farther than anyone else to be there, all the way from Los Angeles. McGruder, one of only a few prominent African-American cartoonists, had been making waves in all the right ways, poking conspicuous fun at Trent Lott, the N.R.A., the war effort. An exhibition of his comic strips—characters with Afros and dreadlocks drawn in a style borrowing heavily from Japanese manga -- with accentuated foreheads and eyes -- was on display in the Metropolitan Club’s Great Hall. It seemed to be, as a Nation contributor said later, 'his coronation as our kind of guy.'

"But what McGruder saw when he looked around at his approving audience was this: a lot of old, white faces. What followed was not quite a coronation. McGruder, who rarely prepares notes or speeches for events like this, began by thanking Thurman, 'the most ass-kicking woman in America.' Then he lowered the boom. He was a twenty-nine-year-old black man, he said, who got invited to such functions all the time, so you could imagine how bored he was. He proceeded to ramble, at considerable length, and in a tone, as one listener put it, of 'militant cynicism,' with a recurring theme: that the folks in the room ('courageous'? Please) were a sorry lot.

"He told the guests that he’d called Condoleezza Rice, the national-security adviser, a mass murderer to her face; what had they ever done? (The Rice exchange occurred in 2002, at the N.A.A.C.P. Image Awards, where McGruder was given the Chairman’s Award; Rice requested that he write her into his strip.) He recounted a lunch meeting with Fidel Castro. (He had been invited to Cuba by the California congresswoman Barbara Lee, who is one of the few politicians McGruder has praised in 'The Boondocks.') He said that noble failure was not acceptable. But the last straw came when he 'dropped the N-word,' as one amused observer recalled. He said—bragged, even—that he’d voted for Nader in 2000. At that point, according to Hamilton Fish, the host of the party, 'it got interactive.'

"Eric Alterman, a columnist for The Nation, was sitting in the back of the room, next to Joe Wilson, the Ambassador. He shouted out, 'Thanks for Bush!' Exactly what happened next is unclear. Alterman recalls that McGruder responded by grabbing his crotch and saying, 'Try these nuts.' Jack Newfield, the longtime Village Voice writer, says that McGruder simply dared Alterman to remove him from the podium. When asked about this incident later, McGruder said, 'I ain’t no punk. I ain’t gonna let someone shout and not go back at him.'

"Alterman walked out. 'I turned to Joe and said, "I can’t listen to this crap anymore," ' he remembers. 'I went out into the Metropolitan Club lobby — it’s a nice lobby — and I worked on my manuscript.'

"Newfield joined in the heckling, as did Stephen Cohen, a historian and the husband of [Nation editor and face of "reasonable" liberalism] Katrina vanden Heuvel. 'It was like watching LeRoi Jones try to Mau-Mau a guilty white liberal in the sixties,' Newfield says. 'It was out of a time warp. Who is he to insult people who have been putting their careers and lives on the line for equal rights since before he was born?'

"By the time McGruder had finished, and a tipsy Joe Wilson took the microphone to deliver his New Year’s Resolutions, perhaps half the guests had excused themselves to join Alterman in the lobby. A Nation contributor estimated that McGruder had offended eighty per cent of the audience. 'Some people still haven’t recovered,' he said, sounding thrilled.

"'At a certain point, I just got the uncomfortable feeling that this was a bunch of people who were feeling a little too good about themselves,' McGruder said afterward. 'These are the big, rich white leftists who are going to carry the fight to George Bush, and the best they can do is blame Nader?'

"He went on, laughing a little, 'I was not the right guest for that event. I’ll be the first one to say that. It was one of those reminders that, yeah, I’m not this political leader that people are looking for.'"

Anyone who can drive condescending assholes like Eric Alterman into the lobby is okay by me. Obviously, McGruder didn't recognize Alterman's resounding goodness, nor that of the other aging white lefties in attendance. And after all they've done for his kind. I'm sure Dr. King would've been appalled.

New Blood For Old Sam

2007-01-12T11:23:00.000-05:00

The war's about to expand, with Iran and Syria somewhere in the mix. Bush is in his bunker, snarling and snapping at subordinates, then staring off into space as his medication kicks in. Laura smiles and insists all is well, playing Toby Keith CDs to keep the mood upbeat. Cheney comes and goes, tense as hell, muttering crazed thoughts through his yellowed, grinding teeth. Condi flits in, oblivious and loyal to the end, affecting Audrey Hepburn poses in the tall, ornate mirrors. Barney the dog shits on the tile, then humps the leg of the Secret Service agent assigned to clean it up. Down the street, Nancy Pelosi poses yet again for the cameras, twirling a red cape, her eyes glazed with self-satisfaction. And Rahm Emanuel carefully emerges from his limo, looking around for antiwar hecklers, his nerves jangled from encountering the common herd.

Another day in the dying American empire. I wonder how long it will be before all these squalid figures start wearing laurel wreaths on their heads, feasting on roasted boar while Moroccan bellydancers shimmy around the torch-lit tables. We're on the cusp of a major death spike which everyone can sense, especially those about to be called up or have their tours lengthened. But at the state level, there is little more than talk and denial, with Joe Biden saying that he might, some day, get really, really serious about expanded war, and the open admission by the likes of Harry Reid that any opposition to this fresh round of brutality will be "symbolic."

Some libloggers are moaning about Bush's end run around Congress, but seem to miss the 800-pound fact that much of Congress is with Bush, regardless of rhetoric to the contrary. Congressional "opposition" is made up largely of careerists and cowards; and once this next phase of bloodletting gets going, they will wave their flags and speak, hands over hearts, of bravery and sacrifice, while avoiding any real confrontation over the war. After all, there's the '08 elections to think about. They can't look too partisan this soon. What will corporate lobbyists think?

I've long suspected that this wretched period of American history would occur in my lifetime, a period where the government finally and openly shows its full contempt for the governed, and does whatever the fuck it wants, convinced that no one will stand up to it. Who's to say that our rulers are wrong? We're staring right in the face of abject criminality, and yet everyone feels helpless -- so helpless that many cling to the fantasy that the Dems will put a stop to this waking nightmare, or at least dampen its horror. But this is comparable to begging a butcher to use a duller blade when cutting the meat, or trying to reason with a hyena that is muzzle-deep in a fresh carcass. This is what the American liberal tradition has come to, while on much of the right, derangement and lunatic nationalism spread and stick like herpes. We are a sick, twisted nation that is armed to the teeth. And we are only in the beginning stages of the final, barbarous meltdown.

I'm sorry if the Son seems too despondent these days. I sincerely wish this wasn't so, and I suspect I'm driving readers away with these angry, frightened posts. If that's the case, so be it. I write what I feel. Maybe Billmon and Michael Bérubé were right in hanging it up. Perhaps it's time to shut down and take a vow of silence. Eat mushrooms and see the world as it really is, beyond our violent, primitive monkey minds.

All that sounds good -- well, tempting, anyway. I could use a few trips through innerspace right about now. But here I remain, for the duration, at least, for honestly, what real choice do I have? If someone must play the foole while the graves are dug and the screams drown out the laughter, then hand me my cap and bells and give me room to dance.

Yesterday, I finally watched Mike Judge's "Idiocracy", and while the first 20 minutes made me laugh, or released some of the pain from my body, the film soon ground me down, and by the end, I was as depressed as I had been before. Judge is a first-rate satirist, and his scalpel cuts incredibly deep. This film was apparently abandoned by 20th Century Fox before Judge could put the final touches on it, and the rough edges show. It makes "Office Space" look like a big budget mall movie. I'm sure the execs at Fox weren't all that crazy about promoting a film that tells Americans how fat, stupid and violent they are. Although Judge sets most of his story in the year 2505, he's speaking to us today, and he's relentless with his message. "Idiocracy" has to be one of the gloomiest comedies of recent times, and if Judge can drain my spirits in 84 minutes, I can't imagine what his film would do to someone less prepared for its punch. Here's a clip from the film's opening, contrasting the birth rates of white yuppies with horny, ignorant rednecks. And while the yuppie larva wouldn't necessarily bloom into someone worthwhile, Judge's point is more than made.

Unlike Judge's dystopia, the Star Trek franchise has always tried to sell the distant future as an enlightened, progressive era. A pleasant fantasy, and who knows, maybe even achievable. Tough to tell from this point in time. My friend Louis Proyect recently watched an episode of "Star Trek: Voyager" that adds to the franchise's tradition, and he offers some interesting thoughts. I haven't seen this show, but it sounds entertaining. How we get from here to there in real life, however, is lost on me. But then, who comes to the foole for answers?

Demial

2007-01-11T10:08:00.000-05:00

Notes scattered across my desk. Late night jots on 3x5s and on the backs of Trader Joe's receipts. I look at them this morning and feel nauseous. My stomach and nerves are revolting against what reason remains in my brain. I feel like puking on my keyboard and kicking the monitor that keeps bringing the bad news. And it is bad, Sonsters. You and I both know it.

Not much energy today, so there won't be yet another screed against the Dems and their lib apologists and enablers. What's left to say? Well, plenty, but I've gotta space these posts out a bit or I'll be back in that killer mode from last July, when Israel's assault on Lebanon drove me to a near-physical meltdown. (Juan Cole told me that I suffered from a lesser but still significant form of war fatigue. He went through the same thing when he was in Beirut during the civil war there. "How can I have war fatigue sitting at my safe desk in the midwest?" I asked him. "You look at enough photos and film of people getting butchered, children among them," he replied, "and it'll get to you, no matter where you live.") Watching Dick Durbin's response to Bush's slow motion madness made me feel like I was in a cage. This is it? This is how the "opposition" reacts? And that line about the Iraqis dialing 9-1-1 for US help was a real kneeslapper, Dick, even though it has nothing to do with what the fuck's going down. Who are these maniacs who control our political lives? Does anybody really give a shit?

Reading some of the more popular lib sites only deepened my sorrow and feelings of desperation. I won't bother naming them or quoting their silly posts. You probably know who I have in mind. They continually rub their little porcelain mules and hope hope hope that their Dem idols will eventually get off their soft assess and deal with Bush's escalation. But the Dems won't, not if another 37 hearings can delay any serious engagement. Oh, and Chris Dodd is now running for president. Just what we need -- a bad, aging Bobby Kennedy impersonator. Very retro in a very sad way. I bet Dodd's already got Emilio Estevez's vote. Just stay out of Californian kitchens.

That's it for today. I'll be back tomorrow with something more amusing, I hope. Right now, I'm going out to find Mike Judge's "Idiocracy", for if there's a movie that matches my mood, that has got to be it. Until then, watch this simple but brilliant act. This came after the close of the Vietnam war. Will we ever recapture such innocence?

That Liberal Desire

2007-01-10T11:09:00.000-05:00

So Bush is intent on cramming another 20,000 warm bodies into the Iraqi meatgrinder. What will the Dems do about that? Nothing much, it appears. As reported in this morning's New York Times, these supposed bringers of better tomorrows are planning little more than symbolic gestures, although some talk about maybe showing stiffer spines down the road, whenever or wherever that is. And I love what Joe Biden said: "If you really want to change the situation on the ground, demonstrate to the president he’s on his own. That will spark real change."

Oh yeah. Can't you just picture Bush shaking and sputtering once he realizes he's on his own? Which of course he really isn't. The Dems, for all of their choreographed chatter, are right there with Bush. If they weren't, they'd attempt to bring some serious pain his way, flexing their political muscle as far as they possibly could. They are the majority, right? So what's the fucking delay?

You knew the fix was in once Pelosi and gang took impeachment, or even the merest shadow of impeachment, off the agenda. To sane observers, Bush is as impeachable as presidents get. Shit, if lib darling Clinton could face the drumroll, then Bush is a no-brainer. Indeed, Clinton's impeachment makes a Bush impeachment that much easier. Compare the crimes and tally the score. It's so obvious that it would make the sun blush for being so bright.

But it's not going to happen. And honestly, we all knew it would never happen when we marched with high purpose into the voting booths last November. Like so much else in American political life, a Dem majority actually attempting to redress the crimes of state is a fantasy, simply because they are in on the corrupt action. Criminals only rat each other out when there's no more room to move; and as of today, the Dems believe that they have plenty of space in which to maneuver, which is why they are talking about possible action in the near future. They are worthless, spineless, a travesty to even a schoolchild's concept of liberty and justice for all. They should be pelted with garbage whenever they appear in public.

If you want the true face of the Dems, take a look at Rahm Emanuel's expression when he was accosted by antiwar activists, as seen on Bill O'Reilly's show:

A lovely sight. Naturally, O'Reilly then ripped into Sunsara Taylor, who for some reason decided to appear on that asshole's platform. The only good thing about this segment is that we see how even reactionaries like O'Reilly will rush to the defense of their supposed political enemies should they actually face the anger of common people. O'Reilly may be a mere Murdoch mouthpiece, but he does share the same interests as those in the Beltway's political elite, as is clearly evident in the clip above. That it takes a member of the Revolutionary Communist Party to state the obvious about the Dems and the war should shame those liberals who fancy themselves antiwar, but who would never, ever, confront a Dem leader like that. When the mules at Firedoglake start organizing such public demonstrations against their beloved leaders, then we'll know that the shit has taken a serious turn. But like those they revere, the libloggers and their loyal dittoheads will wait and wait and wait while the Middle East continues to burn, more dead and mangled come home, and the Iraqi bodycount climbs and climbs.

At home, worms eat our flesh as we smile and jerk off to internet porn -- the worst of which is liberals blowing a diseased donkey that in turn fucks them for votes and overall allegiance. I'm all for respecting various lifestyle choices, but the one American libs have committed to affects more than just themselves. But then, it's hard to see the bigger picture with a donkey dick in your mouth.

THANKS: To my old chum and sometime sparring partner Marc Cooper for favorably mentioning an earlier Son post. Marc and I have many political differences, some of which can get quite heated, but at least he sees the Dems for what they are. Every bit of dissent helps.

Sing Along With The Son

2007-01-09T14:22:00.000-05:00

Like the confused, fat squirrels jumping from our trees and racing across our roof (which vexes me so), I'm scampering about today, and in no shape for a long, reflective, or even angry post. But I wanted to put up a list of songs that my old friend Luke burned for me of late, music that, in Luke's ears, makes a fitting soundtrack for the Son. Luke has made many CDs for me, and like John Cusack in "High Fidelity", he draws from an eclectic range of sounds and weaves together compilations that have their own rhythmic narratives. And the Son's soundtrack is no different (though there is one omission -- "Janitor" by Suburban Lawns). Luke really caught my many moods. See if you agree. And if some of you are real nice, maybe I'll burn and send out a few copies so that when you read the Son, you can listen and sing along.

"Fear is a Man's Best Friend" -- John Cale

"Oh! Brother" -- The Fall

"Dancing For Money (Outtake)" -- Talking Heads

"Signs" -- Five Man Electrical Band.

"Jug Band Music" -- The Mugwumps

"Lies" -- Thompson Twins

"Let Me Die In My Footsteps" -- Bob Dylan

"I Hear You Screaming" -- Gene Krupa

"Talkin' John Birch Paranoid Blues" -- Bob Dylan

"Boa Constrictor" -- Johnny Cash

"I've Been Twistin'" -- Jerry Lee Lewis

"Strong White Male" -- Mecca Normal

"Police & Thieves" -- The Clash

"Reefer Man" -- Cab Calloway

"Living With War" -- Neil Young

"Nine Million Rainy Days" -- The Jesus and Mary Chain

"Watercolours Into The Ocean" -- Destroyer

Here's an amusing, if sometimes literal, montage set to "Signs", the 45 of which I bought when I was 11-years-old (and thought was really radical, to the degree that I understood what that meant back then). Don't know how Luke knew that I liked that song, but again, he seems to read my mind when putting together these compilations.

And here's a sweet clip of Cab Calloway's "Reefer Man". Just what are you saying, Luke?

Dems & Doze

2007-01-08T11:43:00.000-05:00

Readers of the Son, both casual and regulars, know that I distrust (to put it mildly) the two major parties, and I make my feelings plain. No hidden meanings here. And yes, I repeat myself more than I would like, but honestly, there are only so many ways one can assess the American political structure. There are times when I'm tempted to go Lance Mannion, and simply write about film, comedy, and music, for there I can go much deeper and derive more joy than dealing with the latest Beltway bullshit. But as the old saying goes, if you don't define your political space, it will be defined for you. So here I remain, mucking through the endless falling crap.

I say all this as a reminder to you and to myself that we are entering a new phase of American political reality, not new in the sense that it's unprecedented, but new in that the other wing of the ownership party is looking to clean up Bush's many messes, and reset US imperial policy on a more "constructive" course. That's the Democrats' function, especially now, with much of the American elite appalled at Bush's extreme mismanagement. This is how our system works, for something this powerful and profitable to those at or near the top isn't going down without a serious struggle. The "miracle of democracy" is, at bottom, an attempt to keep the status quo from collapsing, and so the Dems are brought in to brace the beams and flush out those elements that are undermining the larger structure. Rebuilding the thing or committing to extensive repairs is the furthest thing from the mules' minds.

Predictably, many liberals see all this as some kind of political overhaul, if not a minor revolution. As I said last week, this is what they're supposed to do: having sold themselves on the premise, they now attempt to sell the premise to the rest of us. And if we refuse to buy into it, and prefer instead to deal with the structure as a whole, then the attacks begin. I've been called many things, both at other blogs and in private emails. I'm utopian. I live in my parents' basement. I'm politically adolescent. I don't know how the system really works. I hold the Dems to too high a standard. I'm really a rightwinger. I'm a sectarian asshole. I helped defeat Gore/Lieberman in 2000 and Bush is all my fault. And so on. You know the tune.

I won't review, yet again, my actual political history, much of which consisted of working with and voting for Dems. I even voted Dem in the last election, picking Jennifer Granholm over Dick DeVos for governor, since DeVos would've been much worse for Michigan than the centrist Granholm (of course, I refused to vote for the vile Debbie Stabenow, for reasons I've already stated). The point is, I'm very much aware of the differences between the mules and the GOP. How could I not? The problem, which we've seen for some time and are currently experiencing at a feverish pitch, is that too many liberals have convinced themselves that the differences are astronomical, that the brightest, purest light is fighting a bottomless, darker evil. Think I exaggerate? Go to any of the major lib sites and scroll around. Nancy Pelosi is to them what Trotsky is to the Fourth International.

In a way, I can understand this need for fantasy. After all, in a fixed, corrupt system like ours, where real politics is reserved for elite players and their advisers, trying to tackle what actually exists can seem daunting for some, if not completely impossible, and this usually leads to an abandonment of hope and a steady slide into apolitical cynicism. I've seen it too many times in my adult life, and have experienced it myself. The Real Deal is a savage motherfucker, and if you get too close you will get burned or chewed to bits. I've known several well-meaning, intelligent people who worked on Capitol Hill, and witnessed up close their political dismemberment. It's a tragic sight to see, and it happens more often than not. It's another way the system defends itself, and being a murderous entity, its defensive methods are meant to hurt and cause lasting pain.

Instead of grappling with that reality, where even the tiniest victory is in no way guaranteed, a good number of libs openly pretend that the political wing they support is somehow outside of this system's nastiness, or perhaps in direct opposition to it. You can recite their party's actual and verifiable history all night long, and for many of them, it doesn't matter. They need the Dems to be a certain way and that's that. Who cares what horrors earlier Dems unleashed? And anyway, it's all probably Republican propaganda.

The current fantasy making the rounds is that Pelosi and Harry Reid are somehow "antiwar," and this is bolstered by a letter the two of them recently sent to Bush. Now, whatever Nancy Pelosi's current stand on Iraq really is, and I have no doubt that she, like a lot of elite Americans, are tactically opposed to Bush's proposed troop "surge," the new Speaker of the House is hardly antiwar. There's no way a pro-war party like the Dems would promote someone who opposed their view that the US has a right to attack anyone it wants, so long as it's in the "national interest." If that were the case, Dennis Kucinich would be prominent among senior Dems. The invasion of Iraq carried with it a ton of risks, and so there was elite opposition to it --- not because of some philosophical hostility to imperialism, but because the invasion could very well damage the US military system, as well as incite anti-American hatred worldwide. Of course, this has pretty much transpired, which is why Dem leaders like Pelosi and Reid are against further escalation. If there weren't powerful forces supporting them, neither of these pols would dare broach the subject. "Redeployment," on the other hand, is perfectly acceptable --- indeed, necessary, if the US imperial project in the Middle East is to survive. And that, above all, is what Pelosi and Reid are trying to salvage. A complete and total pullout from Iraq is simply not going to happen, not voluntarily, anyway; and it definitely is not going to happen under the gaze of a San Francisco Dem.

If you find me too harsh on Pelosi, consider this: a report in the London Sunday Times cited sources in the Israel Defense Forces that Israel is rehearsing a possible air strike on an Iranian enrichment plant using low-yield nuclear weapons. Of course, the Israeli government immediately denied this, but the story's intended effect has gotten through. Now, assuming this story is true, and I know it's a stretch to imagine the IAF bombing another country, but if this actually goes down, how will the "antiwar" and all-around progressive Nancy Pelosi react? Would she oppose it? Denounce it? Call for a freeze on military "aid" to Israel? Given her complete support for Israel's assault on Lebanon last summer, I seriously doubt that, suddenly, Pelosi would go in the opposite direction, especially now that she's House Speaker. That would be a rebuke of her institutional position and sure political suicide. Like the rest of the Dems, with perhaps one or two minor exceptions, Pelosi would applaud such an attack and call for more if Israel deemed it vital to its "national interest" (in this case, remaining the sole nuclear power in the Middle East).

So, we know how the "antiwar" Pelosi would react. But what of her fawning chorus of libloggers? How would they respond to such an attack? Would they criticize their political darling and wake up to what she actually represents? Or would they merely make, at best, a few critical peeps and fall back into line? I think the answer is obvious. But then again, I can see only so much from the basement stairs.

On The End Of Every Fork

2007-01-05T11:19:00.000-05:00

There are times when I wonder what world I'm living in. I know, I know -- reality is subjective, and we are merely the sum of electrons and neurons popping and colliding in our underused brains, reordered in such ways that we can get through the various hells of contemporary existence without losing whatever sanity we possess. I get all that. But when I look around these United States at this time, I see a country that, for all of its cultural diversity and millions of mini-sagas, is guided by serious delusional thinking. Not thinking I happen to agree or disagree with, but straight-up fantasyland, funhouse mirror projections. The beginning of the 110th Congress is an immediate case in point.

From the right, there are frenzied cries about the "leftist" takeover of government; but one site in particular, Red State, decided to vent its despair and fear in a very retro way:

Subtle, eh? Yes, FrontPage does this sort of thing on a regular basis, but David Horowitz's graphics usually verge on self-parody (and I see that DHo's lost none of his zip, cheering on Shi'a death squads, which kind of brings him full-circle to when he supported Bin Ladenist violence in Afghanistan when the Russians were there). The above attempt to douse the Dems in red paint is something else altogether -- equally as stupid as anything Horowitz slaps up, yet an attempt at political commentary all the same. However, for this graphic to be taken at all seriously, you have to really believe that American communists were behind the US withdrawal from Vietnam. And since only the federal state could order the military to return home, this means that the USG of 1975 was essentially pro-communist, with Republican President Gerald Ford overseeing this treason. In the real world, we know that American big business turned against the Vietnam war by 1968, and that Republican Richard Nixon, despite his criminal expansion of imperial violence into Laos and Cambodia, was forced to wind the whole enterprise down, and would've presided over the final pull-out from Saigon had he not resigned or been thrown out of office. But for some reason, the reactionaries at Red State are using this imagery to slime the modern day Dems. It's a political non sequitor, a cheap and easy way to express hatred for the moderate wing of capital. It's at once funny and pathetic, and I suspect that as this Dem-dominated era drags on, we'll see more of the same from other rightwing outlets.

Instead of simply laughing off Red State's oafish effort, liberals like those at Crooks and Liars appeared peeved by the thing. How dare those righties call us socialists! We're nothing of the kind! Which is true, of course. But it is telling that it takes a graphic like Red State's to push libs into confessing their real politics, which in many instances honors the same symbols while employing similar "patriotic" rhetoric. As Speaker Pelosi reminded us from her new perch, we are one country, despite which party one belongs to. Pelosi is certainly correct, if not completely candid. Both major parties serve the same master, and it ain't the Constitution, in case you're confused. But this won't stop some libloggers from trying to confuse the issue anyway, as was seen at two prominent pro-Dem sites yesterday.

Firedoglake is perhaps the most servile Dem site currently running. Christy Hardin Smith's posts are embarrassing to read, and it boggles the mind that a grown, educated person could tap out such simplistic prattle. Either she and her hundreds of dittoheads really believe this crap about the Dems, which means that political fantasy is their primary mode of expression, or that they know it's mostly bullshit, but are saying it anyway, which means that they are cynical political hustlers. Either way, the truth about our present state is being avoided, dismissed, ignored, glossed over. And this, remember, is the "progressive" take. I'm no Criswell, but I can say without fear of contradiction that this type of commentary will worsen as we roll into '08, and that sites like Firedoglake will become mere echo chambers for the Dem-controlled state.

The other site, Hullabaloo, shows a bit more independence, though Digby is not above kneeling before the mule throne himself. After watching Pelosi take the oath to defend the rights of corporations to loot and -- er, I mean, the oath to become House Speaker, Digby let loose a real howler:

"I am a liberal because it is the political philosophy of freedom and equality. And I am a progressive because it is the political path to a better future. And I am a Democrat because it is the political party that believes in freedom, equality and progress."

One need not review the extensive history of liberals and Dems selling out and undermining the very "freedom, equality and progress" that Digby cherishes to know that's he's chasing fireflies. When I read posts like this, I cannot tell the difference between libloggers and, say, Scientologists. Both swear allegiance to a central belief that is untenable, but nevertheless is needed by them to get through the day and justify their actions. The more you examine and take apart their rationales, the tighter they cling to their fantasies. If Digby, Firedoglake, and the other lib sites are talking like this only one day into the new Congress, then the coming year is going to be a drawn-out, nerve-wracking slog.

Plane As Day

2007-01-04T11:02:00.000-05:00

On Tuesday afternoon, while throwing around the boy's metal and canvas gliding plane in the nearby park, an engine roar came out of the sky, and right above us was a large passenger jet no more than a few hundred feet in the air.

"That's not right," I said aloud.

"What's the matter Dad?"

"That plane's way too low. I wonder if it has mechanical problems. There's not an airport anywhere near here."

"Are there people on that plane"

"I suppose so."

"Well, I hope they're safe."

The jet lumbered on, staying at the same altitude, moving over a row of distant trees. Then, it was gone.

Another father with two young kids just entered the park. I asked him if he saw what we saw.

"Yeah," he said, still staring at the tree line where the plane had disappeared. "I hope it doesn't crash."

For a moment, we all stood there, silent, waiting to hear an awful noise, or see black billowing smoke rise in the bright blue. Nothing.

"Let's go home and check this out," I said to the boy, and we exited the park, leaving the other dad staring off in the distance as his children stared at him.

Within a few minutes, we were back in the house. I checked the local sports radio station, which is located down the road. All I heard was extensive moaning about Michigan's embarrassing performance in the Rose Bowl. Not a word about an errant plane. Checked the Web. Still nothing. Went in the front room and turned on CNN. No reports about any plane making an emergency landing in Ann Arbor. I left the TV on and looked out the window. All perfectly peaceful and calm. A jogger ran by. Two old ladies walked a yappy little dog. The boy was getting upset. He feared that all those people on that plane were in danger. His eyes welled up, and I told him not to worry, since we heard no noise or saw any smoke. I flipped through the cable news channels and caught an image of a plane landing at an airport.

"Hey, Dad," the boy said. "That looks like that plane!"

It was Air Force One arriving at Grand Rapids, the final stop for Gerald Ford.

"Yeah, it does look similar," I replied, "but there's no way that's the same plane. How could it get to Grand Rapids so fast?"

There's a reason why I don't pull a paycheck for making air speed estimations, for yes, Sonsters, you guessed it -- that was indeed the very same plane.

Seems that Air Force One made a pass over Michigan Stadium, where Ford played football, and which is five minutes from our house. The boy and I were witnesses to Ford's last visit to his old stomping grounds. And where Air Force One wants to go, it apparently goes, regardless of altitude. It was quite a sight, watching that big ass jet fly just over our heads. Had I only known beforehand. I would've waved to Betty Ford, one of the few remaining liberal Republican women, for her support of the ERA if nothing else. Beats the mass murder her husband bankrolled. A true "better half" in every way.

And Awaaay We Go

2007-01-03T11:09:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, the past can take the sting out of the present, no matter how trivial the source. On Saturday, my long-awaited DVD box set, "SNL: The Complete First Season" arrived, much to the wife's chagrin, as she doesn't share my enthusiasm for the old show. Still, she watched a few bits with me and wasn't completely put off, but it was my son who expressed the most interest, asking me if he could sit in on one of my viewings. I explained to him that some of the references were over 30 years old, and that he wouldn't understand them all; but once again I learned that comedy has its own language, regardless of age.

We watched the Desi Arnaz episode, one of the more solid shows of that first season, and the boy really got into it. There was enough strangeness, absurdity and slapstick to appeal to him, and I was mildly shocked that he laughed at some of Chevy's Weekend Update jokes, repeating them to himself and laughing some more. Then we watched the first Elliott Gould show, and again, the boy got a lot of the humor, especially the Killer Bees sketch that broke the fourth wall, which he loved.

"I like how you can see the studio and all the cameras," he said, as a younger Lorne Michaels strode to the control room to confront the drunk director, Dave Wilson, whose cameras were off-kilter. "It's like everything is part of the show."

I smiled and thought of how "SNL" first grabbed me. Of course, that was in real time, and I was a few years older. But watching these original shows reminds me of how pure that first season was -- not perfect, not always funny, but you can really see the effort the cast and writers put into it, as if they had nothing to lose. The pace was slower, but the comedy was deeper, much deeper than it is now, or really in any other period of the show's history (some exceptions exist, of course). The political humor of that time was far sharper than now, with jokes about CIA secret wars in Africa and US alliances with openly fascist figures like Spain's Franco. Tina Fey has said that she would be afraid to work on the original "SNL"; and judging from her work on the show, I can see why.

The holidays turn our home into a screening room, since all of us are film fanatics of one stripe or another. And New Year's Eve is always the strangest and usually the funniest night, as we watch as many extremely awful movies we can before collapsing. This year, the wife bought a mega-DVD set of drive-in movies from the 50s through the 80s. Instead of scrounging through the local video store's backlog, looking for that one Loni Anderson drama that might put us over the top, we now own 50, count 'em, FIFTY, truly shitty efforts. And thanks to the thorough synopsis that's provided for each movie, we know going in what to expect -- well, we have a general idea, anyway. Because with some of these films, the synopsis serves as a teaser. Images and lines that you thought you'd never see or hear, or indeed, never imagined at all, hit you from nowhere, catching you off-guard. That's what great about bad cinema: the unexpected pleasures.

This year proved to be a bumper crop. The first film, "The Manipulator", stars a bearded, long-haired Mickey Rooney, who plays an odd ringmaster of sorts, but allow me to quote directly from the DVD sleeve itself, since I cannot match this precise plot description:

"A has-been movie make-up man (Rooney) has gone over the edge by kidnapping an actress and hiding her on the back lot sound stage of an old movie studio. While there, he forces the actress to perform scenes from various productions, all the while shouting orders to imaginary crewmembers and spiraling further into madness. Faced with death through starvation or by his hand, the actress must try to reason with a man who has clearly lost his mind."

You can see why this served as our opener.

The film, surprise surprise, makes very little sense, but Rooney is in fine mad form, delivering insane monologues, applying mascara, lipstick and rouge to his little round face, dancing to carnival music, shouting non-sequitors, and so on. Keenan Wynn briefly wanders in, and either dies or goes to sleep, I couldn't tell which. And there's a nice fantasy sequence showing a classical string quartet in full formal wear, playing music inside a meat locker, slabs of slaughtered cows swinging into their instruments. Most of "The Manipulator" is shot in the standard, low-budget early-70s style, with plenty of fish-eyed lens shots and swirling colors. I suspect the filmmakers tried to make it look experimental, or maybe they had no idea what they were doing. In any case, Rooney never lets up. It's a long way from the MGM soundstages of the 1930s and 40s, but Rooney, ever the pro, gives it his all. Phoning it in would seem obscene to him.

As much as we enjoyed "The Manipulator", it was nothing compared to the next offering, "Twister's Revenge". The plot here is simple: Mr. Twister, a monster truck that has a computerized brain and can talk though his speakers ("My Mother The Car" meets "Knight Rider"), is pursued by three rednecks who want to use the truck for their own nefarious purposes. And that's pretty much it. Lots of chase scenes through rural settings carried by banjo solos. Plenty of bad intentional comedy. Explosions and house and barn demolitions. And, of course, Mr. Twister shows why he's the king of the monster truck circuit, crushing smaller vehicles while laughing in a computerized voice. Take it from the Son, this is a very funny movie -- that is, if you find a Grade Z "Dukes of Hazzard" knock-off amusing. It was the perfect way to end 2006.

The new year was ushered in with "Invasion of the Bee Girls", a 1973 horror/sex offering in which suburban California women are turned into semi-bees by an alluring female entomologist, and are ordered to kill as many men as possible by fucking them to death. This being a 70s film, however, fucking is called "balling," a word that's used many times to describe each murder scene, but not as poetically as when an outraged male citizen yells out at a police press conference, "Eight men have been balled to death in the last week. What do you intend to do about it?" The wife and teen liked this movie far more than I did, as I found it quickly repetitive. But the scenes where detectives are trying to ascertain who's doing the lethal balling are humorous, though you'd think that a hive of bee women would be easy to find in a small community.

The following day, the fam went to a local relative's house to eat nachos, drink beer and watch Michigan play USC in the Rose Bowl. This visit had the potential to turn into a bad production of its own. While we are close to these people, we cannot discuss politics, or religion, or sex, or drugs, or the war, or really anything else that might be going on apart from cultural diversions like college football. These people are pretty rightwing in their politics and Christianity, so we knew what to expect. But I didn't anticipate rubbing shoulders with a couple of real nutjobs, both of whom I'd met before, and had hoped to never see again.

The first person is a woman in her early 20s, a soldier in the Army Reserve who served a brief tour of Afghanistan. A mutual friend of the family who grew up with this girl told me that she was insane, and she did little to dispel that reputation the first time I met her, eyes glazed as she spoke of the wonders US-led wars, how America was guided by God and the rest of it. Apparently, visiting a dirt poor country in chaos like Afghanistan did little to shake her faith, in fact, it hardened it. When the national anthem was played before the start of the Rose Bowl, this woman literally stood at attention in front of the large screen. I thought it was a joke, but no -- she was absolutely serious. Once the anthem ended, she let out a whoop, widened her eyes and told the rest of us how excited she gets when she hears that song. Everyone other than my immediate family smiled back and nodded their heads in agreement. I went to the kitchen to see if there was any vodka.

The other person is an ex-high school football star turned rightwing Christian minister. Man, there is nothing worse than a religious jock, given that most jocks buy into the authoritarianism of sports anyway; and when you add an extreme interpretation of the Bible . . . Lord, help us. This guy, simply put, is a royal asshole: loud, belligerent, convinced of his personal holiness and of the evil in those who disagree with him. I've seen him in action at weddings and other gatherings, and he tries to steamroll people into seeing God his way, using his massive (and now bulging) frame to press his point. And then there are the moments when he assures all that not only is Jesus in the room, the Son of God is standing right next to him, telling him what to say -- sort of like Jimmy Stewart in "Harvey", but without the charm or intelligence.

This day, the guy made sure that everybody knew he was in room, attempting to get each and every person to acknowledge his presence. I ignored the guy as best I could and focused on the game. Before long, however, he strolled over to where I was standing and planted himself right next to me. I could feel him breathing on my cheek, and saw him, peripherally, studying my profile. I almost turned to him to say "I appreciate the attention, but I don't swing that way." However, in that room, such a comment would violate the No Reality rule (as did my quip about the Michigan marching band playing "Stairway To Heaven": "What's this?" I wondered aloud. "A tribute to stoner music of the 70s?" This met with complete silence and stares). So I simply kept ignoring him until he gave up and left.

Jesus, on the other hand, remained for a moment and whispered to me, "Isn't that guy a complete knob? Still, I must show mercy to him. It's what I do."

Amen to that. I have the feeling we're gonna need lots of mercy in the months ahead.

Here To There

2006-12-31T13:38:00.000-05:00

A cell phone video of Saddam's execution, from beginning to grisly end, is zipping around the Web. I won't embed it or link to it -- there are limits to my lunacy. If you want to see it, you'll have no trouble finding it. Some warbloggers are featuring it as the necroporn it is, and one in particular, which I won't name, is really getting off on it, as are his readers, who seem to be masturbating while tapping out their tortured thoughts. These people, without doubt, are seriously, mentally ill, or suffer from a sadism so extreme that it takes violent death to bring them pleasure, such as it is. They speak as though they are morally superior to the likes of Saddam, but they are no different from his kind. Sewage rises to meet its own level, and these people are swimming in it.

Then there's the "irony" of these so-called foes of Islamofascism not only cheering on a masked Shi'a death squad, but openly lamenting that they didn't videotape extensive torture of Saddam before hanging him. But then again, when you revel in murder, especially in Iraq, you can't be too finicky when it comes to the executioners.

Another year ends in madness, chaos and misery. And let's not fool ourselves: tomorrow will bring more of the same. This is not to say that there's no hope or that those committed to a different world are mistaken; it simply means that we must be mentally and emotionally prepared for what is coming our way. I was up most of last night thinking about this, and wondering what the Son's next step is. As much as this gig wears me out and drives me to the bitter edge, I'm here for the duration. Your ongoing mails, many of which are remarkably thoughtful, serious and illuminating, help to keep me going. You give me hope and allow me to delve into all the surrounding craziness without feeling like I'm alone. I want to sincerely thank all of you, and I trust you'll continue to offer your feedback, insights, and friendship.

A lot of work lies ahead in '07. Let's see what we can do together.

Sometimes, Things Speak For Themselves

2006-12-30T09:20:00.000-05:00

So to, ah, speak. MSNBC anchor JJ Ramberg, anticipating Saddam's execution, gets all choked up:

As much as I wish that the sheer and open hypocrisy of Saddam's hanging made Ramberg gag, it was probably a bit of bagel she had during a station break. But who really knows? Maybe, just maybe, cable news anchors have human emotions and a strong sense of moral outrage after all.

One can dream, anyway.

And no, this is not my year-end post. That is still in the works.

Dancing Past The Bleeding Stage

2006-12-29T12:10:00.000-05:00

As the noose is readied for Saddam's neck, tributes to Gerald Ford continue, especially here in Michigan, where the homeboy's been awarded demigod status. All perfectly natural, if you buy into imperial reasoning, which a good number of bloggers do, primarily the liberals, many of whom cannot kiss Ford's corpse fast enough.

Saddam, a brutal man who performed many services for the West, is about to be executed for doing exactly what he was encouraged to do, and for what the US itself has done in Iraq over the past three years. Since Saddam is no longer needed, save as a Hitler surrogate, he can be dispatched to the nether regions without apology or even the faintest nod to the hypocrisy of the deed. That's how you treat murderous clients past their expiration dates.

Gerald Ford, on the other hand, is to be given a state funeral with all the trimmings, hosannas coming from every direction, even though he approved of, backed and financed genocidal violence against the Timorese, working closely with General Suharto, who already had killed about a million Indonesians in his bloody rise to power. Ford knowingly participated in war crimes that, proportionately, not only dwarfed Saddam's ugliness, but was on par with Pol Pot's terror in Cambodia.

Yet, Saddam gets hanged, and Ford is canonized.

I apologize for repeating myself here, and for stating the obvious. But after watching so many libloggers saluting Ford's legacy while completely ignoring East Timor (or playing it down, as did Crooks and Liars), I feel the need to say all this one last time, just so I know I'm not hallucinating. I wish I could say that I'm sickened by this sight, but I'm so used to supposed "progressives" buying into American Exceptionalism that it simply doesn't faze me anymore. This is not to say that I don't care about such widespread and knowing denial, but one can do only so much, and you can't force others to acknowledge the blood on their hands. After all, this is America. We are the epitome of self-satisfied delusion and mock outrage. Those who perform this most sincerely receive various rewards, as well as access to mass media. But again, I repeat myself.

Of all the numerous tributes to Ford I caught, Ben Stein, appearing on Neil Cavuto's Fox News show, delivered one of more honest testimonials. When asked if Ford's pardon of Nixon was part of a pre-arranged deal, Stein, one of the last true Nixon apologists around (along with Diane Sawyer and Monica Crowley), rejected the very concept, insisting that Ford was his own man and acted independently. I believe Stein. There was no need to prod Ford to perform his political function. Ford would have never reached his appointed presidency had he not faithfully served the system and internalized its customs. A deal? Why? Ford was a loyal apparatchik, which is why Nixon promoted him in the first place, and which is why Ford didn't flinch when greenlighting mass murder.

What are you gonna do?

I see that my friend Jon Schwarz is upset with the more-or-less racist tone of a certain Robert Smigel cartoon. Like Jon, I too am a big fan of Smigel's, but I'm not surprised by this particular cartoon (having already seen it), especially its treatment of Arabs. This is nothing new for Smigel, or for those who worked with him on "SNL" and "The Dana Carvey Show". Arab-bashing, even from the better comic minds, is commonplace, and has been for ages. You rarely, if ever, see a similar treatment of Jews or Israelis as is routinely doled out to Arabs, and of course to Iranians. I recall one "SNL" sketch that showed an Iranian version of the Iran/contra hearings, and it remains one of the most racist bits ever aired on that show, as the actors screamed in gibberish, pulling on their fake beards. Contrast that to a 1987 sketch in which super model Paulina Porizkova played Golda Meir, the joke being that the Israeli Prime Minister was so hot, her generals could not concentrate on the Arab threat. In the former bit, the main characters are crazed lunatics; and the latter one, everyone is perfectly rational, if distracted by a fantasy Meir. And so it continues.

Here's a good example of what I'm talking about -- a sketch from "The Dana Carvey Show" featuring Steve Carrell as a Pakistani, Carvey as a Korean, Dino Stamatopoulos (one of the show's writers) and Smigel playing Iraqis. Unless there's a subtle point about racial stereotypes being made here, this sketch is simply about laughing at the Foreign Other. Quite amazing when you consider the talents involved. Stephen Colbert's outstanding and funny Gregory Peck partially saves the bit, but overall, it's a pretty vile piece.

Carvey's Korean was originally a Chinese character that he played on "SNL", and naturally it led to some protests from the Asian community (which "SNL" later mocked by introducing a more "noble" Chinese character, played by Phil Hartman). I remember talking to Michael O'Donoghue about Carvey's Chinaman routine, and even Mr. Mike found it offensive. "You forgive a lot of bad taste if something's funny," he told me, "but that Carvey thing is just dopey. And talk about racist! You couldn't do that with a Jew or a black character." No -- but make him Arab or Persian and the sky's the limit.

Will return over the weekend for my final post of '06. Plenty of fun to be had. Be there. Aloha.

Carvey's Brokaw Predicts

2006-12-27T22:10:00.000-05:00

Thanks, Bex, for the reminder, but watch where you throw those RIPs.

The GAW In Action

2006-12-27T12:04:00.000-05:00

The Great American Whitewash remains one of the more effective propaganda tools used by those who write the history. If a major event or serious crime can be played down or simply omitted from an official account, then it most certainly will, while the more "uplifting" aspects of the narrative are expanded and polished to a clean shine. This tactic doesn't always work, and sometimes reality seeps through. But for the most part, the GAW is a reliable way to make our history appear superior to other nations. Or as Archie Bunker once put it in a slightly different context, it's what "separates the US of A from the red chinks and all those other losers."

The GAW can be used for just about anything; but when a former statesman, or better still, an ex-president dies, then the GAW is wrapped in sparkling stars and stripes and thrust at the reader/viewer with the subtlety of a 40 car pile-up. We saw this when Nixon passed, then Reagan. And now that Gerald Ford has died, we see it again -- in one instance, through pure political revisionism; and in another case, complete omission.

Before I get to those two examples, I must comment on a passage from the New York Times obit, which shows to those who are awake and sane that the Times is anything but a left-wing newspaper. Under the title "Traditional Values," we read, "The home in which the future president was brought up, along with his three stepbrothers, was imbued with the values of family loyalty, thrift and patriotism . . . On May Day one year, Mr. Ford and other students at South High saw another group of youths painting anti-American slogans on the steps leading to the school building. The group Mr. Ford was in, mostly football players, dashed over, grabbed the paint cans and, by one account, splashed the paint on the others."

Ha ha! Young Jerry clearly had the right instincts when encountering speech he didn't like, a "traditional value" that the Times apparently endorses. But that was just a teaser, a bit of biographical fluff to help set the overall tone. For the Times, and pretty much every other Ford obit I've read, the 38th president's true patriotic glory came when he pardoned Richard Nixon, after Nixon fled to San Clemente in order to avoid certain impeachment and criminal prosecution. At the time, there was some editorial grumbling, and leading Dems like Ted Kennedy denounced Ford's choreographed move. But for the most part, the owners of the country and their stenographers praised Ford for ending the "national nightmare" of Watergate and keeping their profitable system intact, because, you see, America couldn't afford to actually place a president in the dock and try him for various state crimes. Even Ted Kennedy came around to this view, which the obit writers are flagging to show bi-partisan appreciation for Ford's inspired and necessary act. When everyone in the political class agrees to overlook or push aside crimes that might call the whole system into question, it proves that the system "works," and self-congratulation is the order of the day. (Some contemporary libloggers buy into this view as well, thus proving their political "rationality.")

The other legacy that Ford left behind is of course his backing and bankrolling of Indonesia's invasion and dismemberment of East Timor. On the eve of this invasion, Ford and his Secretary of State Henry Kissinger were in Jakarta, dining with the murderous Indonesian General Haji Mohammad Suharto, doubtless discussing what was to come. After all, over 90% of Indonesia's weaponry was supplied by the U.S., and there is simply no way that Suharto could have launched that invasion without Ford and Kissinger's approval. Suharto did have the good manners to wait until his imperial sponsors had left Indonesian airspace before ordering the assault, which commenced on December 7, 1975. Within a few years, the Indonesian military and its proxies had slaughtered over 200,000 Timorese out of a population of 700,000 -- about a third of the overall Timorese population. Think about those numbers for a moment. Try to imagine something similar happening in the U.S. For all of our national anguish and anger over what happened on 9/11, East Timor endured countless 9/11s on a steady basis. We paid for it and provided cover and excuses for it. And it was Gerald Ford's administration that gave Suharto the green light and the means to do the grisly job.

Now, a civilized country that dealt with its history honestly would mention the above in any overview of that period. And had Gerald Ford been, say, a Chinese premier who ordered a client army to wipe out a third of a smaller country's population, I'm guessing that would be mentioned in American news outlets upon his death. But being the U.S. president who ended a "national nightmare," Ford's direct hand in mass murder is completely ignored. I have yet to find any mainstream mention of this, much less any critical words from libloggers, content to tap "Gerald Ford RIP" and nothing more. If any doubt remains in you about the utter depravity of our intellectual and political culture, the fuzzy obits on behalf of Gerald Ford should sober you up. That is, if you're not loaded on the Great American Whitewash.

Godfather Of Soul -- Will You Miss All This?

2006-12-26T12:24:00.000-05:00

American dead in Iraq have passed the 3,000 mark, with US elites from the New York Times, the Dems and the GOP calling for more fresh bodies. Ethiopian warplanes pound Somali Islamists, the type of African-on-African violence that the West supports, however quietly. Saddam will probably hang within 30 days, a cynical, empty gesture that will do nothing to ease the pain in Iraq -- indeed, quite the opposite, as the Iraqi death toll jumps daily. And at home, last-minute Christmas shopping led to shootings at Florida and North Carolina malls, suggesting that for some, holiday warmth comes from the mouth of a hot gun barrel.

Yes, 2006 is going out as it came in, with more, so very much more, on the way for '07. And of course the Son will try to place it all in some kind of context, for clarity's sake, if nothing else. It's not as if this humble space can thwart the crazy, murderous tide.

Today, however, I bid adieu to the great James Brown. Unlike many of his fans, I was not steeped in Brown's body of work. My earliest memories of him confounded me, as I lived in a largely all-white world where the likes of Brown were mocked, if noticed at all. Whenever he appeared on Ed Sullivan, Mike Douglas or Merv Griffin, I was immediately drawn to his intense, precise movements, sweat rolling down from his pompadour, grimace on his face. Brown conveyed so much emotion and feeling with so few words, when he wasn't simply grunting and tossing off quick asides. In my young world, James Brown was an alien, but not alienating, and I often fell into his groove, not knowing what the hell was happening. And the bit where he broke down to his knees as his handler draped a coat or cape over him, ushered him off-stage before he turned and ran back to the mike for more singing and dancing, always hooked me and made me feel for the guy. Too young to know about stock routines, his breaking down usually made me sad. "That poor man," I'd say to myself. "He's so brave to keep going."

Well, Brown kept going for decades, on and off-stage. Stories of his domestic problems, physical abuse among them, seemed to always follow the man. His drug use, while unsurprising for a musical performer, could stagger even the most jaded observer. PCP in his 50s? Who the hell does that? Louis Armstrong smoked weed all of his adult life, but that seemed like grape juice compared to what Brown poured into his small, sturdy body. The hardest working man in show business worked it at every level, no matter how destructive. It's amazing that he lived as long as he did.

Here's a VH1 video of "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag," which shows Brown at various stages of his career. A nice, tasty selection. After that, his appearance in 1980's "The Blues Brothers", a so-so comedy that featured some wonderful musical segments, and introduced legends like Brown, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin and Johnny Lee Hooker to a whole new audience. Brown played a singing preacher who really brings it for the Lord. And the great thing about this clip is that Brown could perform gospel as beautifully and smoothly as he did R&B, funk and his own brand of hip-hop, the latter of which mined his riffs for years.

The final cape now rests on James Brown's shoulders. Part of me wouldn't be surprised if he threw it off for one last encore.

Happy Merry!

2006-12-24T10:33:00.000-05:00

Welcome, Sonsters, and assorted urchins and waifs, rubbing the fogged windows to get a better look inside (no frost this warming year). It's time once again for the Son's Retro Christmas Special, brought to you, as always, by Tasty Cigarettes.

Remember: "Tasty Cigarettes Are The Ones/When You Want Taste That Sticks To Your Lungs!"

Ah, Christmastime. A special moment of the year, when tired phrases and forced sentiments are freely exchanged among friends and family alike. But it's not just fun, laughter, and stolen kisses under plastic mistletoe -- Christmas is a merging of the sacred and profane, the spiritual and hedonistic, the selfless infinite and the grubby depths of Mammon. It's a bar code on Baby Jesus' forehead; a sleigh ride down a mountain of discarded consumer items made in Sri Lankan sweatshops; the bells of St. Mary's punctuated by car bombs in the street below. Hanukkah and Kwanzaa have nothing on this holiday.

Yet, despite all the madness, greed and deceit, the fake smiles, phony snow, and ultra-bright Gap commercials, there is tenderness to be found, genuine warmth and sharing. For one day, at least, most people act humanely, show patience and restraint, proving that somewhere inside us exists the potential to recognize what connects everyone -- a certain energy that is always present but is too often dismissed or ignored. And of course, this energy is best expressed through comedy and song, which, as you Sonsters know, are always in abundance here.

Let's begin with this classic "SNL" holiday bit, one of the few true highlights of the 1982-83 season, "Merry Christmas, Dammit!", starring Eddie Murphy as Gumby, Gary Kroeger and Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Donny and Marie Osmond, and Joe Piscopo doing his fine Frank Sinatra. This appeared just a year after Michael O'Donoghue was fired as supervising producer by Dick Ebersol, but his presence remains, as you'll see when Gumby reads to the children.

Some charitable soul edited "Christmas Vacation" down to six minutes -- not that there are only six minutes of funny lines/scenes in this often overlooked holiday film (much funnier than "Scrooged"), but at least here you get a taste of Chevy Chase's many moods. I especially enjoy Chevy's emotional breakdowns, which come from a serious place. I've had the pleasure to discuss this "Vacation" installment with Chevy, who wrote a lot of these scenes (uncredited), and despite all the flops he's endured, Chevy remains a very smart and funny guy. He also sent out a family holiday card this year with an antiwar message inside. Thanks, Chev.

The boy really likes this clip from "SCTV", and asked me to include it. No prob, son. After all, it's Martin Short as Ed Grimley, perhaps the strangest, most optimistic character ever to come out of that show. What's not to like?

Now, some old school Xmas hip-hop, from the masters themselves, Run-DMC. "Christmas In Hollis" is one of my all-time faves. Yours, too?

There have been many wonderful Christmas episodes of "The Simpsons", including the very first show; but this little take-off on "A Christmas Carol" really captures the pop culture holiday spirit that many of us grew up with. And the Mr. Magoo parody hits home with me, as I found that holiday special extremely frightening as a kid.

Here's the teen's request -- the Christmas Kangaroo "SNL" sketch, with Hugh Jackman and Will Ferrell. While I'm not as crazy as is the teen over this bit, I always find people in large animal costumes to be funny, regardless of carnal activity.

"Mad TV's" better parodies are usually filmed or animated, and this contemporary take on the old Frosty the Snowman special is one of their more inspired. Hell, looking outside today, it's closer to documentary than to comedy. But then, the best satire scares the living crap out of you.

Here's the ending of The Monkees' 1967 Christmas show, filled with anti-Vietnam war sentiment, as well as warm, communal feelings. This touched me when I was young, even though Vietnam to me then was an abstraction. No longer, obviously. And the same message can be expressed today, though which contemporary music act would dare do it, I don't know. Maybe one of you younger Sonsters can fill me in. Until then . . .

Another great sketch from "SCTV" -- "The Dusty Towne Holiday Special". With Catherine O'Hara, doing her version of bawdy 50s/60s comic Rusty Warren, Andrea Martin as a "Solid Gold" dancer, and the late, great John Candy as Divine. Sexy holidays to all!

Not to bring the room down or anything, but here's John Lennon's "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" set to some pretty grim images from our war-ravaged world. Not for the faint of heart, but let's try to keep the larger picture in mind when celebrating in our safe, warm homes.

And finally, perhaps my favorite Christmas piece ever, Robert Smigel's conception of what Jesus would make of the modern world's exploitation of his message. I cannot embed this, but do watch it, enjoy it, and have a beautiful holiday, wherever you are. Peace.