Patriotic Fiction

There it is, readers. You have your lumpen rightists, who have acquired more power than seemed possible a few years ago but still face the knotty problem of stupidity. You have your mainstream rightists, polished and clever, intent on staying the expansionist course and persuading us it is best for all. On the foreign policy side, these people remain the right’s true center of gravity.

And you have your neoliberals, ever dressing up the rightists’ agenda as the progressive thing to pursue. This, the Williams-Sonoma crowd, is possessed of an egregious righteousness. They are the heirs of the Cold War liberals, those gutless many who assumed whatever shape necessary to avoid confronting American paranoia, reaction and aggression, usually out of sheer self-interest.

The rest of the story from Salon.


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1 of 3

Oregon plays the first of its final three in league tonight in Berkeley, and it's pretty much a must-win game for the basketball Ducks to keep their hopes alive for the big dance.

I think Oregon needs to win two of the three to get off the March Madness "bubble" and into the thick of things.

Cal tonight, Stanford on Sunday (a game Oregon won't win in my opinion), and the closer with Oregon State in Corn Valley, which will also be very tough because the Beavs play so damn well at home.

Starts tonight at 8.  Hope the stream works; if not, there is radio.

My evening is thus planned.

Later:  Yes!  Oregon by 11.


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Dance

That's what happened when we went to America's "music schools" starting in the '50s. It was a crushing blow that has only recently begun to change. However, in my opinion, that was nothing compared to what we got at "dinnertime." When white restaurateurs finally decided to bring jazz out of Harlem, in a misguided, albeit successful, attempt to get the big tourist money downtown, things really changed. See, jazz was not meant for the dinner table, or in many ways, not even the concert stage. It was meant for dance. Black folk danced to jazz -- all kinds of jazz. As a result we were all over the radio, and all over the movies. But that came to a halt with the advent of television. Television is all presentation. I don't think anyone realized it at the time, but closing the dance floors was the kiss of death for jazz in terms of its big-time entertainment value.--T.S. Monk

The rest of Monk's essay.


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Borowitz

Easy marks.


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Crime

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Cowboys and Indians

The story.


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It's Official

This is the latest non-news debate.

We are officially condemned to hell, and we deserve to be.


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Feelin' Old/Poem of the Day

You poisoned my sweet water.
You cut down my green trees.
The food you fed my children
Was the cause of their disease.

My world is slowly fallin' down
And the airs not good to breathe.
And those of us who care enough,
We have to do something.......

[Chorus]
Oh... oh What you gonna do about me?
Oh... oh What you gonna do about me?

Your newspapers,
They just put you on.
They never tell you
The whole story.

They just put your
Young ideas down.
I was wonderin' could this be the end
Of your pride and glory?

[Chorus]

I work in your factory.
I study in your schools.
I fill your penitentiaries.
And your military too!

And I feel the future trembling,
As the word is passed around.
"If you stand up for what you do believe,
Be prepared to be shot down."

[Chorus]

And I feel like a stranger
In the land where I was born
And I live like an outlaw.
An' I'm always on the run...

An I'm always getting busted
And I got to take a stand....
I believe the revolution
Must be mighty close at hand...

[Chorus]

I smoke marijuana
But I can't get behind your wars.
And most of what I do believe
Is against most of your laws

I'm a fugitive from injustice
But I'm goin' to be free.
Cause your rules and regulations
They don't do the thing for me

[Chorus]

And I feel like a stranger
In the land where I was born
And I live just like an outlaw.
An' I'm always on the run.


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Faked Out

Came across what I thought at first glance was a crime scene this afternoon. Turned out to be Grimm filming a scene in O'Bryant Square, a noted Portland trouble spot in real life.

Didn't see the crew trucks on the other side of the park until I walked past. I should have also noticed that a lot of people were standing around in costume, which happens more in filmmaking than it does in real life.

Ostensibly.


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New Gov

And so Oregon has a new governor.  I don't expect much to change.

The futures of Kitz and his girlfriend will be interesting to watch unfold, if nothing else. Could get jail time, but likely won't.

High school graduations will remain at the bottom of the scale, poverty will grow worse, corporate giveaways will be unfazed--hello tax abatements!

The wingnuts are saying we should have voted the Republican into office, even though Dennis Richardson is a bible-thumping hack--Oregon's equivalent of Huckabee, with a similar worldview.

I don't like any of them of course, Dems or Repubs.  The Dems for their neoliberal bullshit, the Repubs for their insane social agenda and peddling of religious dogma.

It is a real mess over here, however I'm glad Kate Brown is in office now rather than Richardson. It's a matter of degrees of ineptitude. I'm happy Kitz quit, and wish he'd had more sense about the company he keeps.

That's love and politics in the Upper Left Coast of the good ol' USA.


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No Milk

An unexplained power outage in the neighborhood this morning. It is ongoing. Seems to be centered just a couple of blocks up the street, including Safeway, which is in panic mode and fortifying with a truckload of ice, and the convenience store across the street which has thrown in the towel and closed for the day evidently, for it is dark and abandoned.

Thus I have no milk for my oatmeal and coffee.

I walked into Safeway at nine to ask about the timeline of this event and a  bemused clerk said it happened at 7 a.m.

Then she said, with a faint smile, that the damages would total $10 million.  I laughed and said would it not be wiser to just start giving perishables away so that they're not wasted.

If you walk out with something I won't stop you, she said.

We had quite the fantasy working there for a moment.


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Snowed In

"I wasn't sure what was going on, if it was some kind of spiritual event or what. The whole sky lit up like somebody lit up a lightbulb," said McGehee, the owner of the Mary's by the Sea summer rental business in Rockport. "My God, this is pretty interesting."

I too had numerous "spiritual events" in the snow when I lived in Maine, but none of them were exactly related to the snow or God--except tangentially.

But in my two winters there I didn't see this much snow, either.  Sorry I'm missing it.  I'll tell you one thing, if you're prepared and comfortable with it the snow creates such incredible beauty that you're left in complete awe.


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Sunday/Two Talent Poems

Talent Sunday

The pious were in church Sunday morning
while the rest of Talent slept.  In the Church of
God, a cleric gave warning: “Brothers and sisters,
our deep suffering and goodwill would be blessed,
our lives less stressed, if on the way out you left
a ten dollar bill.”  Amen, the righteous rang out and
dug deep into their pockets.

The wag Ted, recently trying to dry out, said, “Rex,
ya think Tex is out of bed yet?  About God I have
my doubt.  A double about now and a few while
tithing may improve the faith I am lacking.”
Rex, bereft of humor but full of good sense, said,
“but how?” Ah man, the wag sang out distressed,
and dug deep into empty pockets.


Talk of Talent

Sunday morning at
Talent's Universal Church
of God, Pastor Fred Herring
called Ted a “cautious man
given to reason
despite the demons
that afflict human beings.
Though Ted be sodden
and occasionally unhappy,
all of God’s children
are part of His Divine plan.”

The philologist Carl Hicks
knew the ambles of rhetoric.
This love of Ted was sudden.
Fiction. On the sidewalk
gossip filled the emotional air.
About the wag’s failings the flock
heard from his barber Dale Stock:
“His account is overdrawn,
we know he’s an expert con,
and what he says is cheap talk.”

“I like him,” Lizzie DeLay replied,
not caring if anyone noticed her fib.
“If something happened, he died
or whatever, I’d be heartbroken.”
Rex Dern turned red. “Don't be glib,
Dizzy. You hate him. Don’t lie.”

As Carl Hicks turned toward Noble
Coffee, Dooley said, “C'mon, I’ll buy.”

from Nightscape in Empire & The Talent Poems


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RIP David Carr

The author of The Night of the Gun passed away yesterday.

Hours before his death, David Carr led this forum at the New School.

Carr was lively and perceptive in his scrutiny of the media's role in our lives, sort of a tamer version of Chomsky, coming as he was from the inside out.

John Nichols discusses Carr here.


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Their Plight

The poor in Cambodia's capital are merely pawns in the game.


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