Due to lack of interest (and apparent lack of appreciation), I am going to stop making posts. It's been fun and even good for me to sharpen my writing, but the only comments I get are from Skip and Skip and I can just rant to each other on our own.
However, if I have underestimated the size of my modest audience, then I will continue. But you're going to have to beg. Comments from people other than Skip will help me know that this Blog is something more than vanity and insanity (vinsanity?).
-- Laz
Monday, October 31, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
Gate Gate
There needs to be a cooling off period in which elected officials can enact laws following tragic or seminal events. In almost every instance, overreaction by those we elect to run our lives has ruled the day. During times of turmoil, Congress has not been the deliberative body as designed by our Fore Fathers.
Witness the law that created the independent prosecutor that sprang out of Watergate. That’s one ineffective piece of legislation.
If you’re over 30, you’ve been through a number of gates: Pardongate, Billygate, Iran/Contragate (twice), Travelgate, Whitewatergate, Monicagate, Electiongate, and now Leakgate. The Canadian Mounties, who always got their man, would find little to be proud of with the investigations that followed. A lot of investigating and very little getting of anyone. At least for the underlying crimes, that is.
Today Special Prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald handed down a five-count indictment for lying to investigators on I. “Scooter” Libby, the Vice President’s chief of staff. First off, anyone named Scooter should be indicted for bad taste in nicknames. But is that what Fitzgerald was asked to do, catch someone for lying to the Feds? I thought the greater national interest was finding out who supposedly leaked the name of a poorly-covered undercover CIA agent. On that score, we don’t know. The only people who know are the reporters who wrote about it and they’re too busy lecturing on journalistic integrity to take the time to fill us in.
The history on this is bizarre. Robert Novak writes a column in which he unknowingly identifies the name of former NOC (non-official cover), Valerie Plame. Novak, apparently, was told her identity by someone who he says was not high up in the White House – which leaves all of those under fire out of the picture. Now Novak knows who told him about Plame, but as far as we know, he has never told the Grand Jury who outed her. Presumably the same is true for the other reporters who carried the story, including New York Times reporter Judith Miller who spent 85 days in jail for refusing to tell the Grand Jury what she knew and when she stopped knowing it. It's difficult to believe she stayed there to protect Libby.
One thing is certain, Novak and the others didn’t have to go far to learn about Valerie Plame and her secret agent past. Her husband, Joe Wilson, was so proud of her that he wrote in his official State Department biography, years before the outing, that he was married to the former “Valerie Plame who works at the Central Intelligence Agency.” Even French intelligence could have connected the dots on that one.
I don’t know if Scooter Libby or others are guilty of anything, or if this will hurt the president, or even if it will hurt the war effort. I do know a lot of sound and fury was wasted to find out nothing that we wanted to know. While it’s certainly a rough day for the Libby family, it should be a day of shame for the reporters who have eagerly covered a story that only they know the truth about. And they’re not telling.
Witness the law that created the independent prosecutor that sprang out of Watergate. That’s one ineffective piece of legislation.
If you’re over 30, you’ve been through a number of gates: Pardongate, Billygate, Iran/Contragate (twice), Travelgate, Whitewatergate, Monicagate, Electiongate, and now Leakgate. The Canadian Mounties, who always got their man, would find little to be proud of with the investigations that followed. A lot of investigating and very little getting of anyone. At least for the underlying crimes, that is.
Today Special Prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald handed down a five-count indictment for lying to investigators on I. “Scooter” Libby, the Vice President’s chief of staff. First off, anyone named Scooter should be indicted for bad taste in nicknames. But is that what Fitzgerald was asked to do, catch someone for lying to the Feds? I thought the greater national interest was finding out who supposedly leaked the name of a poorly-covered undercover CIA agent. On that score, we don’t know. The only people who know are the reporters who wrote about it and they’re too busy lecturing on journalistic integrity to take the time to fill us in.
The history on this is bizarre. Robert Novak writes a column in which he unknowingly identifies the name of former NOC (non-official cover), Valerie Plame. Novak, apparently, was told her identity by someone who he says was not high up in the White House – which leaves all of those under fire out of the picture. Now Novak knows who told him about Plame, but as far as we know, he has never told the Grand Jury who outed her. Presumably the same is true for the other reporters who carried the story, including New York Times reporter Judith Miller who spent 85 days in jail for refusing to tell the Grand Jury what she knew and when she stopped knowing it. It's difficult to believe she stayed there to protect Libby.
One thing is certain, Novak and the others didn’t have to go far to learn about Valerie Plame and her secret agent past. Her husband, Joe Wilson, was so proud of her that he wrote in his official State Department biography, years before the outing, that he was married to the former “Valerie Plame who works at the Central Intelligence Agency.” Even French intelligence could have connected the dots on that one.
I don’t know if Scooter Libby or others are guilty of anything, or if this will hurt the president, or even if it will hurt the war effort. I do know a lot of sound and fury was wasted to find out nothing that we wanted to know. While it’s certainly a rough day for the Libby family, it should be a day of shame for the reporters who have eagerly covered a story that only they know the truth about. And they’re not telling.
Political Fatigue
Madeline Kahn had a great song and dance routine from Blazing Saddles in which she gives the impression she has had to satisfy the entire army of the Third Reich. At the end of the song she collapses in a chair and says, “Let’s face it, I’m tired.”
For a slightly different reason (and in deference to Mrs. Sladed who has scolded me for risqué Blogging), I also feel tired.
Since about 1991, we have lived in the most polarized political country in the history of polarized political countries. During the Nineties, Bill Clinton and his “War Room” ran every policy objective as if it was an extension of his presidential campaign. Messages were honed with constant polling and, as in all campaigns, villains were created and solutions/heroes were the savior.
During that time the “politics of personal destruction” – a term coined by the Clinton Administration to describe republican counter-tactics, but practiced to perfection by the Clintons – became a part of every day political life. Republicans fired back through a series of independent prosecutors and constant demonizing of Clinton and the left. Talk radio – still largely right wing – carried the ball for the republicans, who have always been less adept at return fire, and stoked the fire of rage in what was described in 1994 as the “Angry White Man.”
It was easy to get sucked in for a while. It was difficult to watch Clinton on TV without throwing loose objects at his smug face as he was opening his mouth and, hence, lying. A few years and TVs later, he just became a sad political caricature. He and his helpers wasted his last term on defending the mostly indefensible rather than attempting to achieve any policy goals. Every night, it seemed, there was somebody new explaining why Linda Tripp was evil and Clinton was a victim of a “vast right-wing conspiracy” rather than the truth about him: that he was a misogynistic spoiled child who cared very little for those who had to pay the heavy price for his transgressions. I don’t think I have seen that much water carried for anyone since Gunga Din.
Fast forward to today, and we’re engaged in the same rough and tumble battle of bare-knuckled politics. It’s dragged on so long it almost makes the 100 Years War seem like a fast game of tennis. The game plan is basically the same; it’s just that the sides have changed. Now my democrat friends (yes, some of my best friends are democrats) are spending their weekends buying new television sets and, for the first time, I understand their anger, because I had the same rage in me during the last presidency.
I guess the reason these political battles are waged is because they work. Clinton was, for the most part, marginalized for the last four years of his presidency and it seems Bush, a lame duck with some lame political moves, is headed for the same trash heap of irrelevant political leaders. And the country is lesser for both sets of lost years of leadership.
So both sides have had their pound of flesh and now let’s endeavor to do what’s right for the country. The next presidential election is a mere three years away so that means we have to decide who we want now. I can’t tell you the person I will support, but he or she will have the qualities of someone who will unite the country rather than divide it. I just don’t believe the republic can survive another eight years of politics as usual. Pray we lose the cynicism and have the sense to stop the division in our government.
For a slightly different reason (and in deference to Mrs. Sladed who has scolded me for risqué Blogging), I also feel tired.
Since about 1991, we have lived in the most polarized political country in the history of polarized political countries. During the Nineties, Bill Clinton and his “War Room” ran every policy objective as if it was an extension of his presidential campaign. Messages were honed with constant polling and, as in all campaigns, villains were created and solutions/heroes were the savior.
During that time the “politics of personal destruction” – a term coined by the Clinton Administration to describe republican counter-tactics, but practiced to perfection by the Clintons – became a part of every day political life. Republicans fired back through a series of independent prosecutors and constant demonizing of Clinton and the left. Talk radio – still largely right wing – carried the ball for the republicans, who have always been less adept at return fire, and stoked the fire of rage in what was described in 1994 as the “Angry White Man.”
It was easy to get sucked in for a while. It was difficult to watch Clinton on TV without throwing loose objects at his smug face as he was opening his mouth and, hence, lying. A few years and TVs later, he just became a sad political caricature. He and his helpers wasted his last term on defending the mostly indefensible rather than attempting to achieve any policy goals. Every night, it seemed, there was somebody new explaining why Linda Tripp was evil and Clinton was a victim of a “vast right-wing conspiracy” rather than the truth about him: that he was a misogynistic spoiled child who cared very little for those who had to pay the heavy price for his transgressions. I don’t think I have seen that much water carried for anyone since Gunga Din.
Fast forward to today, and we’re engaged in the same rough and tumble battle of bare-knuckled politics. It’s dragged on so long it almost makes the 100 Years War seem like a fast game of tennis. The game plan is basically the same; it’s just that the sides have changed. Now my democrat friends (yes, some of my best friends are democrats) are spending their weekends buying new television sets and, for the first time, I understand their anger, because I had the same rage in me during the last presidency.
I guess the reason these political battles are waged is because they work. Clinton was, for the most part, marginalized for the last four years of his presidency and it seems Bush, a lame duck with some lame political moves, is headed for the same trash heap of irrelevant political leaders. And the country is lesser for both sets of lost years of leadership.
So both sides have had their pound of flesh and now let’s endeavor to do what’s right for the country. The next presidential election is a mere three years away so that means we have to decide who we want now. I can’t tell you the person I will support, but he or she will have the qualities of someone who will unite the country rather than divide it. I just don’t believe the republic can survive another eight years of politics as usual. Pray we lose the cynicism and have the sense to stop the division in our government.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
On "Magic" Numbers
My car passed a mileage milestone today; 5,251 miles. Unlike a lot of people, I don’t get excited when my odometer slips pass a “magic” number such as 100,000 (in part because I don’t keep a car that long). I never understood the excitement about these zero-oriented numbers because every mile is a milestone in its own way. My car will only pass 10,000 miles once, but it will also only pass 5,251 miles once too.
And the relevance of mentioning this today is because many were at the ready to announce U.S. military deaths in Iraq has surpassed 2,000. For some reason, the headline in the Sacramento Bee-Minus yells “Iraq Deaths Surpass 2,000.” Someone please tell me the difference between 1,999 and 2,000. Why is it any more important that another person dies to make it a nice, round number? Isn’t 1,888 a nice round number too? I’m sure the family of the 999th person to die in combat in Iraq isn’t cursing the fact that their son or daughter didn’t have the forethought to wait a few more days to be the 1,000th. In war, a death is death and always tragic and always sad.
If we want to get technical, we can argue about the number. We’re the 2,000 killed all in combat or were some from accidents? There have also been some killed from friendly fire and some killed when one GI decided to murder another GI. Are they counted? And who was the 2,000th, since I think we are actually at 2,003 as five were killed in one day? If we’re going to make a big deal about these roll-over numbers, we have to have some rules, don’t we?
Well, here is how some people are celebrating this news, apart from the Bee that is always too ready to kick the Administration in the shins: Cindy Sheehan has decided to chain herself to the White House. MoveOn.org has put out an ad that asks, “How many more have to die in vain?” and then with incongruous Chutzpah that can only come from the left, announces candlelight vigils in numerous cities for our fallen soldiers. Editorials in numerous papers – likely written at or about the time 1,883 soldiers were killed – have all somberly written about this sad milestone as if there was any significant difference between today and yesterday. It makes one feel sorry about the next death as that poor bastard is going to be ignored by everyone.
If you’re playing for the Al Qaeda team or you’ve just sent away for your junior strap-on bomb making kit from your uncle who runs Hezbollah, the attention paid to the Big Round Number must warm the cockles. If Cindy Sheehan wasn’t starting to look more and more like Dorian Gray she could be a poster child for terrorist recruitment. The fact is that our free press and free speech laws – something that doesn’t exist in any Islamic country – have been very helpful to terrorists and their goals. They know that if enough Americans believe what Mama Sheehan and MoveOn.org believes, there will be enough public pressure to pull all of our troops out of all “occupied Arab lands.” Anyone who doesn’t see a pullout as a victory for terrorism and a demonstration of weakness to an enemy that has preyed on our past weaknesses just doesn’t know what we’re dealing with.
But I do have a solution for Ms. Sheehan who has to be somewhat miffed that Katrina took her off the front pages. I say let her stay chained to the White House. People can walk by and tell her what they think of her; both good and bad. Perhaps, if one had the inclination and happened to be carrying face paint around DC, passersby could paint her face with clown features or make their own statement on her forehead. There used to be a day we chained people in the town square as punishment and upstanding members of the community would offer friendly comments on proper decorum for their citizens’ behavior. Mother Sheehan is indeed an inspiration to bring back those days. Wait, we don’t have to bring them back, she just needs to chain herself to a different venue as this is a common form of punishment in Islamic states!
And I guess that’s where all this debate gets a bit confusing for me. Sheehan and her friends feign sorrow over the loss of lives but help create a situation that will prolong our involvement in the region, leaving more to die as Jane Fonda did by offering comfort to the NVA in 1966. To make it more puzzling, by publicly denouncing U.S. military policy, they de facto place themselves in the camp of the people who are not only killing soldiers like Sheehan’s son, but their belief system wouldn’t stand for a second the kind of camera hogging that Sheehan has indulged in.
Those who know me understand that I am all for public debate. I think it is what has made this country special and plays an important role as a check and balance to our elected officials. Just the same, free speech carries responsibilities for the speakers. If you don’t agree, let’s have a loud debate about fires in a crowded theater.
And the relevance of mentioning this today is because many were at the ready to announce U.S. military deaths in Iraq has surpassed 2,000. For some reason, the headline in the Sacramento Bee-Minus yells “Iraq Deaths Surpass 2,000.” Someone please tell me the difference between 1,999 and 2,000. Why is it any more important that another person dies to make it a nice, round number? Isn’t 1,888 a nice round number too? I’m sure the family of the 999th person to die in combat in Iraq isn’t cursing the fact that their son or daughter didn’t have the forethought to wait a few more days to be the 1,000th. In war, a death is death and always tragic and always sad.
If we want to get technical, we can argue about the number. We’re the 2,000 killed all in combat or were some from accidents? There have also been some killed from friendly fire and some killed when one GI decided to murder another GI. Are they counted? And who was the 2,000th, since I think we are actually at 2,003 as five were killed in one day? If we’re going to make a big deal about these roll-over numbers, we have to have some rules, don’t we?
Well, here is how some people are celebrating this news, apart from the Bee that is always too ready to kick the Administration in the shins: Cindy Sheehan has decided to chain herself to the White House. MoveOn.org has put out an ad that asks, “How many more have to die in vain?” and then with incongruous Chutzpah that can only come from the left, announces candlelight vigils in numerous cities for our fallen soldiers. Editorials in numerous papers – likely written at or about the time 1,883 soldiers were killed – have all somberly written about this sad milestone as if there was any significant difference between today and yesterday. It makes one feel sorry about the next death as that poor bastard is going to be ignored by everyone.
If you’re playing for the Al Qaeda team or you’ve just sent away for your junior strap-on bomb making kit from your uncle who runs Hezbollah, the attention paid to the Big Round Number must warm the cockles. If Cindy Sheehan wasn’t starting to look more and more like Dorian Gray she could be a poster child for terrorist recruitment. The fact is that our free press and free speech laws – something that doesn’t exist in any Islamic country – have been very helpful to terrorists and their goals. They know that if enough Americans believe what Mama Sheehan and MoveOn.org believes, there will be enough public pressure to pull all of our troops out of all “occupied Arab lands.” Anyone who doesn’t see a pullout as a victory for terrorism and a demonstration of weakness to an enemy that has preyed on our past weaknesses just doesn’t know what we’re dealing with.
But I do have a solution for Ms. Sheehan who has to be somewhat miffed that Katrina took her off the front pages. I say let her stay chained to the White House. People can walk by and tell her what they think of her; both good and bad. Perhaps, if one had the inclination and happened to be carrying face paint around DC, passersby could paint her face with clown features or make their own statement on her forehead. There used to be a day we chained people in the town square as punishment and upstanding members of the community would offer friendly comments on proper decorum for their citizens’ behavior. Mother Sheehan is indeed an inspiration to bring back those days. Wait, we don’t have to bring them back, she just needs to chain herself to a different venue as this is a common form of punishment in Islamic states!
And I guess that’s where all this debate gets a bit confusing for me. Sheehan and her friends feign sorrow over the loss of lives but help create a situation that will prolong our involvement in the region, leaving more to die as Jane Fonda did by offering comfort to the NVA in 1966. To make it more puzzling, by publicly denouncing U.S. military policy, they de facto place themselves in the camp of the people who are not only killing soldiers like Sheehan’s son, but their belief system wouldn’t stand for a second the kind of camera hogging that Sheehan has indulged in.
Those who know me understand that I am all for public debate. I think it is what has made this country special and plays an important role as a check and balance to our elected officials. Just the same, free speech carries responsibilities for the speakers. If you don’t agree, let’s have a loud debate about fires in a crowded theater.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Crazy Pacers Lead the East
It’s no longer the “Leasts of the East.” The East is back on the rise in the NBA with talent shifting via free agency, trades and draft picks to create a few powerhouse teams. Of course most of the worst teams are in the East too so, while there is a rarely a soft schedule in the West, East teams will be able to toy with a few of the weaker franchises.
The Atlantic Division may not have a team finishing above .500 and Atlanta, bless their hearts, may not win 15 games this year and New Jersey, reeling from the loss of Brian Scalabrine to free agency, just looks awful.
Still, Miami, Detroit, Indiana, and up and coming teams in Chicago, Cleveland and Washington should make for an interesting season. A key injury here and there – or more suspensions in Indiana – will make the difference.
Most people think Miami has all the guns they need this year. While it’s true that any team with Shaq in the middle has a chance, the Heat still seem to be missing a few pieces. They also made a lot of strange off-season moves to a team that took Detroit to seven games in the Conference Championship. I’m not sure I would have tinkered with the team that was really playing its first season together. The Heat added Antoine Walker who needs 25 shots per game at the same time Shaq is demanding the ball more, and they traded steady Eddie Jones for James Posey and Jason Williams. Williams and Dwayne Wade will make a decent backcourt but both will want to push the ball at every opportunity; meaning they will be at one basket while Shaq is at the other. In other words, every move the Heat made gives Shaq the ball less. We’ll see a lot of two on four fast breaks, three-point shots by Walker and Williams before Shaq gets set, and very little half-court offense because, with the exception of Shaq, this isn’t a half-court team. They should win the Southeast quite easily, though, and get a high playoff seed.
The Pistons have essentially the same team that has been in the NBA Championship the past two years. They only have one key missing component and that is coach Larry Brown. They players said quietly they hated Brown and wanted him to leave. Now that they have gotten their way, I suspect they will realize two things: Flip Saunders can’t coach, and Larry Brown can. Still look for good years from Tayshaun Prince and Richard Hamilton, but age may start to get to Chauncey Billups, Rasheed Wallace, and Antonio McDyess. I think we’ll see more of Darko this year as he crawls out of the Brown Doghouse and I like the athleticism of Maurice Evans but not sure he’ll see much playing time.
The only other team that has a chance is Indiana. After the injuries and suspensions last year, the Pacers are back in full and have a simmering anger over the events of last year that may give them purpose behind their talent; something they have never had. Ron Artest has come back with a vengeance during pre-season and the Pacers have a strong starting five to go with him in Jermaine O’Neal (assuming he stays healthy), Stephen Jackson, Jamaal Tinsley, and a couple of stiffs to play center in Jeff Foster or Scot Pollard. Depth will be a bit of problem if injuries strike again as only Fred Jones and Jonathan Bender are any good. Lithuanian Sarunas Jasikevicius may surprise a few people and is someone to watch.
Of the remaining teams, Washington looks pretty strong despite losing Larry Hughes (who will be aptly replaced by Caron Butler giving the Wizards the tallest backcourt in the League). Cleveland could also surprise this year just because it has LeBron James. But the Cavs have also added the aforementioned Hughes and three-point specialist Damon Jones an
d have one of the most underrated players in the League in 7-3 center Zydrunas Ilgauskas. They also have a bit of depth they didn’t have last year.
I also have to mention the 76ers or Emily will hate me. I think they will win a very weak division but AI has to give the ball up more and trust his teammates -- as long as he doesn't give it up to C-Webb who just doesn't flow well in an offense in which he is not the central figure. He also broke up with Tyra Banks and that has to hurt his self-esteem.
A lot of pundits think the Chicago Bulls are back near the top this year. Essentially, they’re three best players are point guards, Tyson Chandler is looking more like Michael Olowokandi than Yao Ming, and they traded away their only power players in Eddie Curry and Antonio Davis for a loaf of day old bread. Figure the Bulls to finish behind Indiana, Detroit and Cleveland in their own division making them a low playoff team at best.
Predictions:
Atlantic
Philadelphia*
Boston*
New York
Toronto
New Jersey
Central
Indiana*
Detroit*
Cleveland*
Chicago*
Milwaukee
Southeast
Miami*
Washington*
Orlando
Charlotte
Atlanta
* Playoff team
Round 1
Indiana vs. Boston
Miami vs. Chicago
Detroit vs. Cleveland
Philadelphia vs. Washington
Round 2
Indiana vs. Detroit
Miami vs. Philly
Championship:
Indiana vs. Miami
Winner
Indiana
The Atlantic Division may not have a team finishing above .500 and Atlanta, bless their hearts, may not win 15 games this year and New Jersey, reeling from the loss of Brian Scalabrine to free agency, just looks awful.
Still, Miami, Detroit, Indiana, and up and coming teams in Chicago, Cleveland and Washington should make for an interesting season. A key injury here and there – or more suspensions in Indiana – will make the difference.
Most people think Miami has all the guns they need this year. While it’s true that any team with Shaq in the middle has a chance, the Heat still seem to be missing a few pieces. They also made a lot of strange off-season moves to a team that took Detroit to seven games in the Conference Championship. I’m not sure I would have tinkered with the team that was really playing its first season together. The Heat added Antoine Walker who needs 25 shots per game at the same time Shaq is demanding the ball more, and they traded steady Eddie Jones for James Posey and Jason Williams. Williams and Dwayne Wade will make a decent backcourt but both will want to push the ball at every opportunity; meaning they will be at one basket while Shaq is at the other. In other words, every move the Heat made gives Shaq the ball less. We’ll see a lot of two on four fast breaks, three-point shots by Walker and Williams before Shaq gets set, and very little half-court offense because, with the exception of Shaq, this isn’t a half-court team. They should win the Southeast quite easily, though, and get a high playoff seed.
The Pistons have essentially the same team that has been in the NBA Championship the past two years. They only have one key missing component and that is coach Larry Brown. They players said quietly they hated Brown and wanted him to leave. Now that they have gotten their way, I suspect they will realize two things: Flip Saunders can’t coach, and Larry Brown can. Still look for good years from Tayshaun Prince and Richard Hamilton, but age may start to get to Chauncey Billups, Rasheed Wallace, and Antonio McDyess. I think we’ll see more of Darko this year as he crawls out of the Brown Doghouse and I like the athleticism of Maurice Evans but not sure he’ll see much playing time.
The only other team that has a chance is Indiana. After the injuries and suspensions last year, the Pacers are back in full and have a simmering anger over the events of last year that may give them purpose behind their talent; something they have never had. Ron Artest has come back with a vengeance during pre-season and the Pacers have a strong starting five to go with him in Jermaine O’Neal (assuming he stays healthy), Stephen Jackson, Jamaal Tinsley, and a couple of stiffs to play center in Jeff Foster or Scot Pollard. Depth will be a bit of problem if injuries strike again as only Fred Jones and Jonathan Bender are any good. Lithuanian Sarunas Jasikevicius may surprise a few people and is someone to watch.
Of the remaining teams, Washington looks pretty strong despite losing Larry Hughes (who will be aptly replaced by Caron Butler giving the Wizards the tallest backcourt in the League). Cleveland could also surprise this year just because it has LeBron James. But the Cavs have also added the aforementioned Hughes and three-point specialist Damon Jones an
d have one of the most underrated players in the League in 7-3 center Zydrunas Ilgauskas. They also have a bit of depth they didn’t have last year.I also have to mention the 76ers or Emily will hate me. I think they will win a very weak division but AI has to give the ball up more and trust his teammates -- as long as he doesn't give it up to C-Webb who just doesn't flow well in an offense in which he is not the central figure. He also broke up with Tyra Banks and that has to hurt his self-esteem.
A lot of pundits think the Chicago Bulls are back near the top this year. Essentially, they’re three best players are point guards, Tyson Chandler is looking more like Michael Olowokandi than Yao Ming, and they traded away their only power players in Eddie Curry and Antonio Davis for a loaf of day old bread. Figure the Bulls to finish behind Indiana, Detroit and Cleveland in their own division making them a low playoff team at best.
Predictions:
Atlantic
Philadelphia*
Boston*
New York
Toronto
New Jersey
Central
Indiana*
Detroit*
Cleveland*
Chicago*
Milwaukee
Southeast
Miami*
Washington*
Orlando
Charlotte
Atlanta
* Playoff team
Round 1
Indiana vs. Boston
Miami vs. Chicago
Detroit vs. Cleveland
Philadelphia vs. Washington
Round 2
Indiana vs. Detroit
Miami vs. Philly
Championship:
Indiana vs. Miami
Winner
Indiana
Sunday, October 16, 2005
The Kings in Seven!
You can skip the following post about disease and pestilence if you’re not into ruining your day. On the eve of beginning of the 2005-2006 NBA season, it’s important that I state my predictions for the upcoming year and add a little expert insight. Of course you may disagree, but you’d be wrong.
The most important question on everyone’s mind is; is this the year for the Sacramento Kings? Yes, of course it is – every year is. It’s just that it may be more probable this year. They have a lot going for them this year with the additions of Bonzi Wells and Shareef Abdur-Rahim. Wells gives them a new head case AND a two-guard who can post up most opponents. Abdur-Rahim, while always being on a losing team (including Cal), is a legitimate 20 and 10 power forward without being the “Born Under a Bad Star” Chris Webber.
Mike Bibby is one of the steadiest point guards in the league, Brad Miller, although you can’t stick a newspaper under his feet when he jumps, adds shooting and passing skills at the center position, and this had better be the best season for Peja Stojakovic as he is entering into a free agent year. Coupled with a stronger bench of Kenny Thomas, Brian Skinner, Corliss Williamson, and Jason Hart and the Kings look to have the depth they didn’t have last year. They also have a full training camp together that won’t be as disruptive as last year when they made two major personnel changes.
I suppose you’ll year a lot about the Spurs in the coming months. Just because they are a better team than last year’s NBA Championship team doesn’t necessarily make them the odds on favorite to repeat this year. Just because they’ve added the steady Michael Finley, King-killer Nick Van Exel and Argentinean stud Fabricio Oberto to their already star-studded lineup means nothing. It’s chemistry that’s important and enough basketballs to go around. Just because they have the best coach in the NBA who also happens to be the best at managing his team’s minutes is less meaningful than Tony Parker ending up on the cover of US Magazine in a publicized spat with Eva Longoria. Why think of basketball when you have her to come home to anyway?
Of the other contenders in the West last year, only Houston has improved while Dallas has fallen a bit, Seattle lost a few key players to free agency, Minnesota only has Wally and Garnett left, and Phoenix has lost its best player for at least two-thirds of the season as well as making a few weird off-season trades. Memphis made some good and bad moves in the off season and I wonder if they have the stuff to make the playoffs. As for the Lakers, who knows? A certain somebody who thinks they know a lot about basketball says Phil Jackson will be the X-factor. I think we’ll find out if he’s a good coach or just a lucky coach who has had the best four or five players in NBA history. Nine championships are meaningless unless you coach a team like the Clippers and take them to the Promised Land.
If you’re looking for rising teams, the Warriors look loaded this year and so do the Clippers, but everyone says it’s the Clippers year every year and they never make the playoffs. This year really could be the year for them, though.
Here’s my prediction for the West:
Southwest
San Antonio*
Houston*
Dallas*
Memphis
New Orleans
Northwest
Denver*
Seattle*
Minnesota
Portland
Utah
Pacific
Sacramento*
Phoenix*
Golden State*
Clippers
Lakers
* Playoff teams
After the first round, the four remaining survivors will be San Antonio, Houston, Sacramento and Dallas. Sacramento will defeat Houston and San Antonio will beat Dallas. In the West final, San Antonio will defeat the Kings in seven games but the West championship will be given to the Kings because it will be determined that Robert Horry’s foot was on the line for a game-winning three in the final game. Well, it’s about time something good happened to the Kings, isn’t it?
Later I will make my predictions on the East.
The most important question on everyone’s mind is; is this the year for the Sacramento Kings? Yes, of course it is – every year is. It’s just that it may be more probable this year. They have a lot going for them this year with the additions of Bonzi Wells and Shareef Abdur-Rahim. Wells gives them a new head case AND a two-guard who can post up most opponents. Abdur-Rahim, while always being on a losing team (including Cal), is a legitimate 20 and 10 power forward without being the “Born Under a Bad Star” Chris Webber.
Mike Bibby is one of the steadiest point guards in the league, Brad Miller, although you can’t stick a newspaper under his feet when he jumps, adds shooting and passing skills at the center position, and this had better be the best season for Peja Stojakovic as he is entering into a free agent year. Coupled with a stronger bench of Kenny Thomas, Brian Skinner, Corliss Williamson, and Jason Hart and the Kings look to have the depth they didn’t have last year. They also have a full training camp together that won’t be as disruptive as last year when they made two major personnel changes.
I suppose you’ll year a lot about the Spurs in the coming months. Just because they are a better team than last year’s NBA Championship team doesn’t necessarily make them the odds on favorite to repeat this year. Just because they’ve added the steady Michael Finley, King-killer Nick Van Exel and Argentinean stud Fabricio Oberto to their already star-studded lineup means nothing. It’s chemistry that’s important and enough basketballs to go around. Just because they have the best coach in the NBA who also happens to be the best at managing his team’s minutes is less meaningful than Tony Parker ending up on the cover of US Magazine in a publicized spat with Eva Longoria. Why think of basketball when you have her to come home to anyway?
Of the other contenders in the West last year, only Houston has improved while Dallas has fallen a bit, Seattle lost a few key players to free agency, Minnesota only has Wally and Garnett left, and Phoenix has lost its best player for at least two-thirds of the season as well as making a few weird off-season trades. Memphis made some good and bad moves in the off season and I wonder if they have the stuff to make the playoffs. As for the Lakers, who knows? A certain somebody who thinks they know a lot about basketball says Phil Jackson will be the X-factor. I think we’ll find out if he’s a good coach or just a lucky coach who has had the best four or five players in NBA history. Nine championships are meaningless unless you coach a team like the Clippers and take them to the Promised Land.
If you’re looking for rising teams, the Warriors look loaded this year and so do the Clippers, but everyone says it’s the Clippers year every year and they never make the playoffs. This year really could be the year for them, though.
Here’s my prediction for the West:
Southwest
San Antonio*
Houston*
Dallas*
Memphis
New Orleans
Northwest
Denver*
Seattle*
Minnesota
Portland
Utah
Pacific
Sacramento*
Phoenix*
Golden State*
Clippers
Lakers
* Playoff teams
After the first round, the four remaining survivors will be San Antonio, Houston, Sacramento and Dallas. Sacramento will defeat Houston and San Antonio will beat Dallas. In the West final, San Antonio will defeat the Kings in seven games but the West championship will be given to the Kings because it will be determined that Robert Horry’s foot was on the line for a game-winning three in the final game. Well, it’s about time something good happened to the Kings, isn’t it?
Later I will make my predictions on the East.
The Sistine Chapel in My Living Room
We’re now in the last quarter of the forgettable year 2005 and, with one eye to the end of the year and the other on the lookout for a sky filled with locust, we make our way onward. Really, outside of the locust, are there any other signs remaining before the Rapture? I’m looking up at my ceiling and with, the right kind of eyes, I swear I see Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment Fresco.
Outside of my personal strife, look at all the other happenings if you want proof that this has been one shitty year. Bombings and murders in Iraq have killed more than 3,000 Iraqis and about 600 U.S. troops so far this year, and one still gets the uneasy feeling that we haven’t seen the bad guys’ best shot yet. Iran is quickly building its way into the nuclear club without a primer on appropriate manners and, apparently with the help of the Russians, they now have a missile to reach Europe which may cause a mass surrender among the mighty Euros at any moment.
Despite what anyone believes, there are still WMD tucked nicely into hidden shelters and valleys in Syria, Iran, Afghanistan, Chechnya, and Lord knows where else, and there may possibly be truth to the urban legend of “suitcase” nukes in the U.S. now. The relatively unknown but power hungry gang MS13 out of El Salvador has a well-paid gig with international terrorists to smuggle them through San Salvador, into Mexico and through its porous border with the U.S. Some estimate as many as 14,000 have been smuggled across.
On the disease front, we’re facing a myriad of new and improved viruses; from the bird flu to a new strain of the Spanish Flu, to old diseases that were once thought manageable like rickets, smallpox, typhus, and measles.
A series of hurricanes hit the Gulf Coast killing more than 1,000 which is said by many Islamists as a payback from God. Shortly after, a massive earthquake in Pakistan kills more than 50,000 mostly followers of Islam as if to prove that God, no matter whose side He’s on, is in a foul mood.
So I feel the general unease that I think most people feel and wonder why this is all piling up this year. Like most I also wonder when positive thoughts of the future will return and we’ll have that confident swagger back and can concentrate on the important things in life like Kings Basketball. It turns out that it isn’t likely to come soon enough for some. In the past few weeks, I have been listening to stories from a friend about her friend. He’s gone through it all – been the caretaker of a father with Parkinson’s since he was 13, got married and a bit more than a year later his wife discovered she had MS. He cared for her for nearly 23 years and in May of this year, one month after his mother died of Alzheimer's, his wife succumbed to an infection. He was just starting to get his sea legs back when his twin sister, who had been a rock for him during his wife’s illness, discovered she had an inoperable brain tumor and the prognosis isn’t good.
Having been through a bit of what he’s going through, the often-asked question becomes, why do bad things happen to good people? I asked a minister about this once and he suggested the answer was in the return of the Prodigal Son. Until recently -- like today -- I didn't know the relevance of this parable. I guess it's supposed to mean we should be happy with the good things in life that are around us; our own health and that of our family, a warm puppy, and a big glass of scotch. I'm not sure it makes up for the pain that living a life brings, but I guess you can always drink to your health and get your face licked by a schnauzer to pass the day.
Yeah, I know this isn’t light reading, but short of the Miracle in South Bend, we need some good news. I also don’t agree with Tina Turner; we could use another hero.
Outside of my personal strife, look at all the other happenings if you want proof that this has been one shitty year. Bombings and murders in Iraq have killed more than 3,000 Iraqis and about 600 U.S. troops so far this year, and one still gets the uneasy feeling that we haven’t seen the bad guys’ best shot yet. Iran is quickly building its way into the nuclear club without a primer on appropriate manners and, apparently with the help of the Russians, they now have a missile to reach Europe which may cause a mass surrender among the mighty Euros at any moment.
Despite what anyone believes, there are still WMD tucked nicely into hidden shelters and valleys in Syria, Iran, Afghanistan, Chechnya, and Lord knows where else, and there may possibly be truth to the urban legend of “suitcase” nukes in the U.S. now. The relatively unknown but power hungry gang MS13 out of El Salvador has a well-paid gig with international terrorists to smuggle them through San Salvador, into Mexico and through its porous border with the U.S. Some estimate as many as 14,000 have been smuggled across.
On the disease front, we’re facing a myriad of new and improved viruses; from the bird flu to a new strain of the Spanish Flu, to old diseases that were once thought manageable like rickets, smallpox, typhus, and measles.
A series of hurricanes hit the Gulf Coast killing more than 1,000 which is said by many Islamists as a payback from God. Shortly after, a massive earthquake in Pakistan kills more than 50,000 mostly followers of Islam as if to prove that God, no matter whose side He’s on, is in a foul mood.
So I feel the general unease that I think most people feel and wonder why this is all piling up this year. Like most I also wonder when positive thoughts of the future will return and we’ll have that confident swagger back and can concentrate on the important things in life like Kings Basketball. It turns out that it isn’t likely to come soon enough for some. In the past few weeks, I have been listening to stories from a friend about her friend. He’s gone through it all – been the caretaker of a father with Parkinson’s since he was 13, got married and a bit more than a year later his wife discovered she had MS. He cared for her for nearly 23 years and in May of this year, one month after his mother died of Alzheimer's, his wife succumbed to an infection. He was just starting to get his sea legs back when his twin sister, who had been a rock for him during his wife’s illness, discovered she had an inoperable brain tumor and the prognosis isn’t good.
Having been through a bit of what he’s going through, the often-asked question becomes, why do bad things happen to good people? I asked a minister about this once and he suggested the answer was in the return of the Prodigal Son. Until recently -- like today -- I didn't know the relevance of this parable. I guess it's supposed to mean we should be happy with the good things in life that are around us; our own health and that of our family, a warm puppy, and a big glass of scotch. I'm not sure it makes up for the pain that living a life brings, but I guess you can always drink to your health and get your face licked by a schnauzer to pass the day.
Yeah, I know this isn’t light reading, but short of the Miracle in South Bend, we need some good news. I also don’t agree with Tina Turner; we could use another hero.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
In Which I Will be Called a Kremlin Apologist
This has been an interesting, educational, and sometimes complicated week being in Moscow.
First, to deal with Russian complexities: The one thing I never quite got when I worked here was to understand the unspoken nature of doing business. You never knew who you were really dealing with; their backgrounds, loyalties, and connections. Quite easily you could be speaking with someone you thought was friendly with this government, or the last government, or the government that almost was, and the truth was always a bit fuzzy. The point is you could never be sure what was going on and you never knew what hidden agenda was in play.
There are always the survivors, the ones who found a home in business or government during Soviet times, the Yeltsin years, and yet remain friendly with the present government. I think only Alan Greenspan has managed such a feat in the U.S. and you can’t help but bump into Russians who have managed to remain friendly with them all.
In Russian business, there is a maze of interconnected companies that act like competitors most days but often make larger deals with each other for the grander good. It’s a bit like a Japanese Keiretsu. Technically they’re called Oligarchs and at one time or another all are either attacking or defending an attack. But most are not any less bottom-line oriented than any other corporate CEO. Yes, some conduct business like Martin Blank, with lead-pipe cruelty, and I wish it wasn’t the system because ultimately it gives Russia a dubious appearance and hurts foreign investment, the one thing that would lessen the roll of the bad guys.
Just the same the Fortune 500 companies doing business here are rarely affected by anything more than monstrous red tape. Mafia shootouts are always Russian on Russian or on foreigners who want to play in their world, their way; which makes it comparable to drug battles in the inner city or among Tony Soprano followers. It may take a generation to breed out this nasty business, but already in the span of a decade it’s become a kinder, gentler brand of Oligarchy.
As for educational, I have come to realize the people here are more optimistic about the future than I think Americans are. Maybe it’s because they have come from so far behind, but most believe there is personal opportunity in Russia. Many work for foreign companies now and are paid enough to have sparked a huge real estate boom all over Russia, with prices for 900 square foot apartments in the center of Moscow going for $500,000 and up. I briefly visited a friend of my partner who had just purchased a flat for $175,000 that was not refurbished and only 600 square feet. She took great satisfaction in showing the ways she was going to bring her apartment up to modern standards, doubling the value. Out of one of her rooms, she had a view of the Kremlin and out of another, a beautiful park where she could walk her loathsome little dog.
This story is not uncommon here. She works for 3M and they are happy to pay her half what they would pay any American who is less educated and probably doesn’t speak English as well. In other words, the level of sophistication in the under-40 worker in Moscow rivals anywhere else in the West. The cause of this isn’t organized crime but organized education that is now teaching their students to compete. We should be studying what they are doing – as should the Europeans – because Russia will leap past us and Khrushchev may end up being correct in his assessment that the Russians will sell the Americans the rope to hang themselves – if the Chinese don’t do it first.
As for politics in Russia, it’s never a dull moment. While I was here, there were a number of policy makers who were supposed to attend our event, but they were asked to go to London to be taken into the woodshed by the Europeans over their human rights abuses. Of course human rights ended up getting trumped by the need for Russia’s cheap oil, so whatever whipping Mr. Putin got in London was done in the basement of 10 Downing because there was no official rebuke. Except by the press, which never fails to miss the chance to miss the point. In a Kafkaesque moment, the European press bitterly complained that Russia was being heavy-handed with the former republics (Belarus, Uzbekistan, Georgia, etc.) while giving high-fives to great bastions of Democracy that paid for and organized popular uprisings in Russia’s sphere of influence. I’m all for Democracy, but Democracy earned, not paid (except in the U.S., because I’m paid to engage in it).
Propping up leaders like Viktor Yuschenko in Ukraine and some dude names Saakashvili in the Republic of Georgia is not the same as promoting Democracy. Since both are failing, I hope we got a receipt so we can get a refund. Near as I can tell, all the two have done for Democracy is exchange black S430s with the old regimes.
I remember in 2000 I went to a World Economic Forum event and Russia was the subject on the agenda. The Russian government sent a number of people to explain themselves and offer excuses. I remember all the bashing that went on in front of these once proud people. At one point, I asked the leader of the Duma at the time (like a Speaker of the House) how he could accept all that was being said. He told me it was okay to hear it, that they (the Russians) deserved it. But he also pointed out that there would come a day in which they wouldn’t deserve it, so all the do-gooders should get their licks in while they could.
Russia is far from perfect, but watching Putin standing with the European brethren, it made me wonder if the time had come to put an end to openly criticizing Russia and start to look within. As much as he’s been nicknamed the “Little Tyrant” here, I’ll take Putin over Chirac, Schroeder, Zapatero and the Euro-Weenies at the EU any day of the week and twice on Sundays.
In the end, the only event that occurred at the European/Russian summit (besides keeping me from meeting an old friend or two) was to ease restrictions on visas. It is now slightly easier for a Russian to travel to Europe. The interesting twist to this is I mentioned this as a positive development to a Russian woman. She slapped me around a bit and told me the Iron Curtain is no longer the property of the Soviet Union, but of the West because Russians are forbidden to travel to most places in the world, while I can waltz in to Moscow and buy a Versace purse in the shadow of Lenin’s Tomb (don’t worry, Gail, I didn’t buy one, I couldn’t afford it, although I considered one that cost $100,000). I have to admit she has a point.
First, to deal with Russian complexities: The one thing I never quite got when I worked here was to understand the unspoken nature of doing business. You never knew who you were really dealing with; their backgrounds, loyalties, and connections. Quite easily you could be speaking with someone you thought was friendly with this government, or the last government, or the government that almost was, and the truth was always a bit fuzzy. The point is you could never be sure what was going on and you never knew what hidden agenda was in play.
There are always the survivors, the ones who found a home in business or government during Soviet times, the Yeltsin years, and yet remain friendly with the present government. I think only Alan Greenspan has managed such a feat in the U.S. and you can’t help but bump into Russians who have managed to remain friendly with them all.
In Russian business, there is a maze of interconnected companies that act like competitors most days but often make larger deals with each other for the grander good. It’s a bit like a Japanese Keiretsu. Technically they’re called Oligarchs and at one time or another all are either attacking or defending an attack. But most are not any less bottom-line oriented than any other corporate CEO. Yes, some conduct business like Martin Blank, with lead-pipe cruelty, and I wish it wasn’t the system because ultimately it gives Russia a dubious appearance and hurts foreign investment, the one thing that would lessen the roll of the bad guys.
Just the same the Fortune 500 companies doing business here are rarely affected by anything more than monstrous red tape. Mafia shootouts are always Russian on Russian or on foreigners who want to play in their world, their way; which makes it comparable to drug battles in the inner city or among Tony Soprano followers. It may take a generation to breed out this nasty business, but already in the span of a decade it’s become a kinder, gentler brand of Oligarchy.
As for educational, I have come to realize the people here are more optimistic about the future than I think Americans are. Maybe it’s because they have come from so far behind, but most believe there is personal opportunity in Russia. Many work for foreign companies now and are paid enough to have sparked a huge real estate boom all over Russia, with prices for 900 square foot apartments in the center of Moscow going for $500,000 and up. I briefly visited a friend of my partner who had just purchased a flat for $175,000 that was not refurbished and only 600 square feet. She took great satisfaction in showing the ways she was going to bring her apartment up to modern standards, doubling the value. Out of one of her rooms, she had a view of the Kremlin and out of another, a beautiful park where she could walk her loathsome little dog.
This story is not uncommon here. She works for 3M and they are happy to pay her half what they would pay any American who is less educated and probably doesn’t speak English as well. In other words, the level of sophistication in the under-40 worker in Moscow rivals anywhere else in the West. The cause of this isn’t organized crime but organized education that is now teaching their students to compete. We should be studying what they are doing – as should the Europeans – because Russia will leap past us and Khrushchev may end up being correct in his assessment that the Russians will sell the Americans the rope to hang themselves – if the Chinese don’t do it first.
As for politics in Russia, it’s never a dull moment. While I was here, there were a number of policy makers who were supposed to attend our event, but they were asked to go to London to be taken into the woodshed by the Europeans over their human rights abuses. Of course human rights ended up getting trumped by the need for Russia’s cheap oil, so whatever whipping Mr. Putin got in London was done in the basement of 10 Downing because there was no official rebuke. Except by the press, which never fails to miss the chance to miss the point. In a Kafkaesque moment, the European press bitterly complained that Russia was being heavy-handed with the former republics (Belarus, Uzbekistan, Georgia, etc.) while giving high-fives to great bastions of Democracy that paid for and organized popular uprisings in Russia’s sphere of influence. I’m all for Democracy, but Democracy earned, not paid (except in the U.S., because I’m paid to engage in it).
Propping up leaders like Viktor Yuschenko in Ukraine and some dude names Saakashvili in the Republic of Georgia is not the same as promoting Democracy. Since both are failing, I hope we got a receipt so we can get a refund. Near as I can tell, all the two have done for Democracy is exchange black S430s with the old regimes.
I remember in 2000 I went to a World Economic Forum event and Russia was the subject on the agenda. The Russian government sent a number of people to explain themselves and offer excuses. I remember all the bashing that went on in front of these once proud people. At one point, I asked the leader of the Duma at the time (like a Speaker of the House) how he could accept all that was being said. He told me it was okay to hear it, that they (the Russians) deserved it. But he also pointed out that there would come a day in which they wouldn’t deserve it, so all the do-gooders should get their licks in while they could.
Russia is far from perfect, but watching Putin standing with the European brethren, it made me wonder if the time had come to put an end to openly criticizing Russia and start to look within. As much as he’s been nicknamed the “Little Tyrant” here, I’ll take Putin over Chirac, Schroeder, Zapatero and the Euro-Weenies at the EU any day of the week and twice on Sundays.
In the end, the only event that occurred at the European/Russian summit (besides keeping me from meeting an old friend or two) was to ease restrictions on visas. It is now slightly easier for a Russian to travel to Europe. The interesting twist to this is I mentioned this as a positive development to a Russian woman. She slapped me around a bit and told me the Iron Curtain is no longer the property of the Soviet Union, but of the West because Russians are forbidden to travel to most places in the world, while I can waltz in to Moscow and buy a Versace purse in the shadow of Lenin’s Tomb (don’t worry, Gail, I didn’t buy one, I couldn’t afford it, although I considered one that cost $100,000). I have to admit she has a point.
Brotherly Bond
I have developed this friendship with a person who shall remain nameless on the Blog, if for no other reason than word getting out of our friendship could endanger his professional future. Suffice to say he is well-connected to the president on both a policy and friendship basis. My initial reaction to meeting people on this level is to trust but verify, even though I tend to idolize them too much at first. Usually I am wrong and they turn out to be a big of a jerk with no redeeming qualities. Like Schwarzenegger turned out to be. Whoops, I mentioned him – how indiscreet I am. Oh well.
On the flip side to my state’s governor is my friend. He shows no sign of being anything other than decent, caring, modest, and accessible. The reason I bring him up is twofold: To disprove the myth peddled by my democrat friends that all those working for the president are evil neo-cons focused on taking over the world and stealing the last nickel from the working poor. And, to make it worse for my dem friends – and you know who you are – is that he tells me there are some other good people working within the inner-circle of the presidency, including those who are considered by many as evil-incarnate. If my friend continues to stand on the pedestal where I have planted him, I’ll take his judgment over others in the Fourth Estate and those with a dubious agenda. My friend was also honest about others he doesn’t feel so charitable about and I suspect it wouldn’t take Kellen long to figure out who he was talking about as you can just follow the trail of bodies. At least he didn’t kill his wife at the convention.
The second reason for bringing this up is to mention the very kind thing my friend does for his brother who has been a paraplegic or quadriplegic for 30 years due to a trampoline accident (yes, Em, it can happen). We were together on the trip to Moscow and he was supposed to keep a tradition going of collecting a piece of the Earth he travels on for the brother who can’t. It turns out my friend is quite forgetful having left his ATM card at a teller machine in Moscow (and failing to cancel it so now some Russian has just bought a car and a year’s supply of vodka), and also left behind his hat and gloves. And he forgot to pick up the dirt. So he wrote me and asked if I would rummage around and liberate a rock or two and send it to him so he could keep his tradition going.
After what happened to Bill, who am to refuse keeping alive a brother-to-brother bond? So I decided I would walk to the Kremlin wall and, once there, figure out how to chisel off a piece without being arrested. I was just about to give the wall a few well-placed kicks when I noticed two chips of the wall resting on the ground. Now I don’t know if this qualifies as a rock, so I picked up some of them too, but I hope his brother will be able to appreciate the feel of something that he will never be able to see.
Perhaps this is a victory for the good guys. I’ll keep you posted.
On the flip side to my state’s governor is my friend. He shows no sign of being anything other than decent, caring, modest, and accessible. The reason I bring him up is twofold: To disprove the myth peddled by my democrat friends that all those working for the president are evil neo-cons focused on taking over the world and stealing the last nickel from the working poor. And, to make it worse for my dem friends – and you know who you are – is that he tells me there are some other good people working within the inner-circle of the presidency, including those who are considered by many as evil-incarnate. If my friend continues to stand on the pedestal where I have planted him, I’ll take his judgment over others in the Fourth Estate and those with a dubious agenda. My friend was also honest about others he doesn’t feel so charitable about and I suspect it wouldn’t take Kellen long to figure out who he was talking about as you can just follow the trail of bodies. At least he didn’t kill his wife at the convention.
The second reason for bringing this up is to mention the very kind thing my friend does for his brother who has been a paraplegic or quadriplegic for 30 years due to a trampoline accident (yes, Em, it can happen). We were together on the trip to Moscow and he was supposed to keep a tradition going of collecting a piece of the Earth he travels on for the brother who can’t. It turns out my friend is quite forgetful having left his ATM card at a teller machine in Moscow (and failing to cancel it so now some Russian has just bought a car and a year’s supply of vodka), and also left behind his hat and gloves. And he forgot to pick up the dirt. So he wrote me and asked if I would rummage around and liberate a rock or two and send it to him so he could keep his tradition going.
After what happened to Bill, who am to refuse keeping alive a brother-to-brother bond? So I decided I would walk to the Kremlin wall and, once there, figure out how to chisel off a piece without being arrested. I was just about to give the wall a few well-placed kicks when I noticed two chips of the wall resting on the ground. Now I don’t know if this qualifies as a rock, so I picked up some of them too, but I hope his brother will be able to appreciate the feel of something that he will never be able to see.
Perhaps this is a victory for the good guys. I’ll keep you posted.
Lord of the Rings
I have some proud news about Emily. No, I’m not going to be a grandfather. At least I don’t think so. For those who are ardent followers of the WNBA, you know that the Sacramento Monarchs won the championship this year, surprising a few and doing it with a tenacity that was Jordan-esque.
When a team wins a championship, the players and personnel vote on who is deserving of the championship ring. Well, Emily was voted a ring and she gets it in May (who knows why it takes so long.)
I always knew Emily was a champion but now she has the ring to prove it and the ability to bruise and batter anyone who has ideas on making me a grandfather. She never ceases to amaze me.
When a team wins a championship, the players and personnel vote on who is deserving of the championship ring. Well, Emily was voted a ring and she gets it in May (who knows why it takes so long.)
I always knew Emily was a champion but now she has the ring to prove it and the ability to bruise and batter anyone who has ideas on making me a grandfather. She never ceases to amaze me.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Back in the USSR
Actually, an entire generation has neither heard of that song nor of the USSR. The name of the country disappeared 15 years ago along with other Cold War relics like practicing hiding under your desk to survive a direct nuclear hit (those desks were pretty strong in those days!), and Commie propaganda which has shifted from Pravda to the pages of the New York Times.When I first slipped in behind the Iron Curtain in 1989, it was called the USSR and a few years later, following too much Perestroika, Glasnost, and cheap vodka, the union splintered into several free floating semi-countries and the place was renamed the Newly Independent States – or, the Empire Formally Known as the USSR. Then some weighty thinkers thought it would be better to call it the Commonwealth of Independent States, but there was too much independence in the states so they, whoever “they” are, agreed to call themselves whatever the hell they wanted. So up popped Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Azerbaijan, and maybe even Trashministan. For the moment, though, I am officially in what is now called Russia. Again.
I haven’t been to Russia since 1999 and Moscow since 1996. To say things haven’t changed would be to say that I haven’t eaten too many pizzas in my life.
When I first landed in Moscow lo those many years ago, I essentially landed in the dark. There were few lights on the runway, even fewer in the bowels of an empty terminal, and fewer still along the streets headed into town. The storefronts were dingy and dark, most of them selling nothing because nothing was available. The only “Western” hotel was an oasis built by Armand Hammer which was there mostly to cater to Japanese businessmen who needed a $400 per night hotel and $15 cup of coffee to feel at home. Now I wish I could find a $400 per night hotel; it would be a bargain.
The airport has a new terminal and lights. So do the streets and shops. Once crumbling apartments with falling chunks of cheap concrete are now dwarfed by new high rise apartments with foreign concrete. They also run about $2,500 per month and up or, i.e. Manhattan prices.
The people have changed too. Twenty years ago people dressed in drab, gray clothing and sulked along without expression on the city streets with what was called a “perhaps bag,” aptly named because as they walked, perhaps there would be bread or shoes in the stores to buy. Now even the middle class dresses like a typical American; full of color, well-coiffed hairdos, and fancy footwear. The rich are a different matter. The men look as if they just walked out of a Guys and Dolls rehearsal, donned in hats and zoot suits, and the women apparently go shopping after bathing in a tub of Elmer’s Glue and then run through various designer shops and wear what ever sticks to them.
Tonight I went on the main ring road which I can’t pronounce and neither can the taxi drivers, who find it more convenient to drive me all over town and watch the meter spin, pretending to be lost. I met up with an old friend named Joe who is running a taxpayer funded boondoggle to ensure Russia wants to run politics like we do; which is a scary thought. Just to cover the cost of food and lodging in this town, he gets a per diem of $256 per day which works out to ummm….something like ….. ummmmm well, a lot per month. I’d eat at McDonalds every day and pocket the balance.
Despite the fact the city is lit up like a Christmas tree and has a casino on every block, there remain some obvious charms about Russia. Fall has fallen and the trees are a mélange of brown, yellow, orange, red and green, punctuated by long wispy birch trees that look like the long-legged blonde who keeps knocking on my door at midnight looking for a match (just kidding Gail). Oh, hey, Michigan just beat Michigan State 34-31! Anyway, the natural beauty of the place is worth the trip alone and always has been. One thing about nature: it cares very little about political systems, it only knows to be. And on this crisp fall day, what it is, is very beautiful.
Internships On Offer
There's a keen observer of modern culture who writes for www.espn.com named Bill Simmons, AKA The Sports Guy. Under the guise of writing about sports, he sprinkles in the impact the NBA, NFL, and MLB, among others, has on modern culture and sometimes the other way around. How else can one explain the tortuous route he took to find the best quotes of the movie Anchorman and squeeze comparisons about NBA teams and players out of it?
One of the best intern jobs in the history of non White House-related internships, is the Sports Guy’s internship. His job is to scan the internet and look for funny or sometimes odd internet sites. Here’s a sample of a few sites:
http://saabbumper.blogspot.com/ (read from the bottom up.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/links/050901
The Sports Guy’s favorite is unintentional humor, which can best be described as someone acting as they normally do (usually a celebrity) and being funny. Unintentionally. Does that make sense? Better still, here’s a good example: A few days ago I read a story about Cindy Sheehan and rather than the story quoting her, it’s quoted her spokesperson. The unintended humor of this is that she started out as a lone voice in the wilderness carrying the “absolute moral authority,” as per Maureen Dowd, of a mother who lost a son in battle, and now she has a PR team to help her convey her simple story in a more complicated way. That’s funny. And unintentionally so.
So I have a job offer for anyone out there other than Skip (who has too much on his plate – Sorry Skip, but you need to give full effort to your family and other projects). Lazlo’s Lament is looking for an intern to supply this site with funny and weird websites that may classify as unintentional humor. Now’s the chance to break into Big Time journalism – or at least have an excuse to search the internet instead of doing your homework. Applicants will be screened on their dedication and family lineage.
One of the best intern jobs in the history of non White House-related internships, is the Sports Guy’s internship. His job is to scan the internet and look for funny or sometimes odd internet sites. Here’s a sample of a few sites:
http://saabbumper.blogspot.com/ (read from the bottom up.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/links/050901
The Sports Guy’s favorite is unintentional humor, which can best be described as someone acting as they normally do (usually a celebrity) and being funny. Unintentionally. Does that make sense? Better still, here’s a good example: A few days ago I read a story about Cindy Sheehan and rather than the story quoting her, it’s quoted her spokesperson. The unintended humor of this is that she started out as a lone voice in the wilderness carrying the “absolute moral authority,” as per Maureen Dowd, of a mother who lost a son in battle, and now she has a PR team to help her convey her simple story in a more complicated way. That’s funny. And unintentionally so.
So I have a job offer for anyone out there other than Skip (who has too much on his plate – Sorry Skip, but you need to give full effort to your family and other projects). Lazlo’s Lament is looking for an intern to supply this site with funny and weird websites that may classify as unintentional humor. Now’s the chance to break into Big Time journalism – or at least have an excuse to search the internet instead of doing your homework. Applicants will be screened on their dedication and family lineage.
Losing Down Under
OK, here’s the best spin I can put on the election in NZ. We lost but we won. How’s that for spinmeistering?
Three years ago, the party I was working with (The National Party of New Zealand) was in shambles, barely getting 20 percent of the overall vote. This election was considered a “throw-away” to help them gain respectability for the 2008 election. The candidate and party infrastructure was considered more of caretaker than a winning combination.
Earlier in the year, nobody thought they had a realistic chance of winning and all hopes rested on looking good while losing. Then the candidate delivered a speech on race relations that had just enough red meat for the true believers but contained enough positive messages about building one nation that he was giving great kudos throughout the country. The speech, along with a stingy budget by the party in power, catapulted National into strong consideration of winning the election.
We climbed in the polls all summer and overtook the other party in several polls early in the summer, dropped down for a while, and rose again once they released their tax policy. We even had leads in a few polls down the stretch.
In the end we came up about 20,000 votes shy out of 2.4 million cast.
There is this funny story about people’s outlook (and maybe this is a bit off subject). An optimist looks at a glass filled halfway and says the glass is half-full; a pessimist looks at the same glass and says it’s half empty; an engineer looks at the glass and says the glass is the wrong size). Well, that’s kind of how I felt. We had the wrong size glass.
It is difficult to feel optimistic because we could taste a win all though the day on Election Day. Even when the results were coming in, we took an early 10-point lead. The graybeards around the party said don’t get too excited because these votes were coming from rural areas that tended to vote National. The commentators on the news were saying the same thing but also saying the lead in the rural areas may be too tough to overcome for the existing government.
The rest of the night I watched as the polls sunk, first to a nine percent lead, then 8.5 then 8, then back up to 8.5 and even back to 9.5 before moving quite rapidly down to 4 then 3 then 2 then 1 and then we’re behind. If I had gone home at midnight and never again checked the newspapers, I would have walked away thinking we’d won.
The upside of it all is that each of us thought the results were better than we could hope for and so, while there was disappointment, there was also a good deal of happiness. We nearly doubled the vote from three years ago, elected 22 more Members of Parliament than three years ago, and generally set the agenda for a strong shift to the center-right.
And the most interesting news, for quite a while National had an outside chance of being able to form a government, albeit small and requiring some fancy footwork. Today all hopes ended as the existing government was able to cobble together a five-party coalition that may hang on for at least 18 months. National will be a strong backbencher, sniping where they can.
Now for the truth: I am so pissed that we lost. I think I am more pissed than just about everyone save the campaign manager and the party chairwoman. We were in a position to win and we should have won. Kellen and I can come up with 100 things we could have done differently that all would have given us more votes. In the end, too many mistakes were made in the field and the party board got timid down the stretch. Dirty politics and vote buying was going on by the other side and we just watched, believing people would see the morality in our party not responding in kind. As they say there; that’s bullocks. Dirty politics is done precisely because it works, meaning we were a couple of brass knuckle kidney punches from winning.
As they also say: almost is good enough in horseshoes and hand grenades. In politics, there are no awards for most congenial political party. Only one prize is given and it’s strictly for the winners. To put it plainly, we just lost. $^&(*&#%*(@$*($#!!!!
Three years ago, the party I was working with (The National Party of New Zealand) was in shambles, barely getting 20 percent of the overall vote. This election was considered a “throw-away” to help them gain respectability for the 2008 election. The candidate and party infrastructure was considered more of caretaker than a winning combination.
Earlier in the year, nobody thought they had a realistic chance of winning and all hopes rested on looking good while losing. Then the candidate delivered a speech on race relations that had just enough red meat for the true believers but contained enough positive messages about building one nation that he was giving great kudos throughout the country. The speech, along with a stingy budget by the party in power, catapulted National into strong consideration of winning the election.
We climbed in the polls all summer and overtook the other party in several polls early in the summer, dropped down for a while, and rose again once they released their tax policy. We even had leads in a few polls down the stretch.
In the end we came up about 20,000 votes shy out of 2.4 million cast.
There is this funny story about people’s outlook (and maybe this is a bit off subject). An optimist looks at a glass filled halfway and says the glass is half-full; a pessimist looks at the same glass and says it’s half empty; an engineer looks at the glass and says the glass is the wrong size). Well, that’s kind of how I felt. We had the wrong size glass.
It is difficult to feel optimistic because we could taste a win all though the day on Election Day. Even when the results were coming in, we took an early 10-point lead. The graybeards around the party said don’t get too excited because these votes were coming from rural areas that tended to vote National. The commentators on the news were saying the same thing but also saying the lead in the rural areas may be too tough to overcome for the existing government.
The rest of the night I watched as the polls sunk, first to a nine percent lead, then 8.5 then 8, then back up to 8.5 and even back to 9.5 before moving quite rapidly down to 4 then 3 then 2 then 1 and then we’re behind. If I had gone home at midnight and never again checked the newspapers, I would have walked away thinking we’d won.
The upside of it all is that each of us thought the results were better than we could hope for and so, while there was disappointment, there was also a good deal of happiness. We nearly doubled the vote from three years ago, elected 22 more Members of Parliament than three years ago, and generally set the agenda for a strong shift to the center-right.
And the most interesting news, for quite a while National had an outside chance of being able to form a government, albeit small and requiring some fancy footwork. Today all hopes ended as the existing government was able to cobble together a five-party coalition that may hang on for at least 18 months. National will be a strong backbencher, sniping where they can.
Now for the truth: I am so pissed that we lost. I think I am more pissed than just about everyone save the campaign manager and the party chairwoman. We were in a position to win and we should have won. Kellen and I can come up with 100 things we could have done differently that all would have given us more votes. In the end, too many mistakes were made in the field and the party board got timid down the stretch. Dirty politics and vote buying was going on by the other side and we just watched, believing people would see the morality in our party not responding in kind. As they say there; that’s bullocks. Dirty politics is done precisely because it works, meaning we were a couple of brass knuckle kidney punches from winning.
As they also say: almost is good enough in horseshoes and hand grenades. In politics, there are no awards for most congenial political party. Only one prize is given and it’s strictly for the winners. To put it plainly, we just lost. $^&(*&#%*(@$*($#!!!!
Monday, September 12, 2005
Lyrics: The Next Generation
Comments (not posts) about my choice of lyrics were aplenty. The criticism centered around the jaded appearance that music stopped for me around 1978. While the dark days of disco created a big line of demarcation in musical growth, followed by the Big Hair Eighties, I have to admit that I left a lot of some really great music and lyrics off my recent post.
With the exception of rap, there has been a pretty good surge in popular music of late. I guess I have to include “hip-hop” in that even though I fail to understand the distinction between rap and hip-hop.
Just so I don’t date myself, I feel the need to update my earlier post of lyrics and add songwriters that are closer to this century. But just to defend my choices of the first post, I did have some method to my madness. As a fellow Blogger was told in harsh terms, I chose music that moved me at the time I first heard it and, at the time, I was very easy to move. Being young and having something called “your music” is very appealing in artistic terms and very difficult to forget.
I think it is obvious when music turned to the street that groups and songs were manufactured for short shelf life (which explains why I can walk through Best Buy and see thousands of groups I never heard of and, at the same time, the bins for the Beatles, Van Morrison, and even the Moody Blues are full).
As further evidence – if the Moody Blues point didn’t put you over the top – many of the early rapper’s most marketable songs were spiced up with “our” music. Best-selling songs like Gangsta Paradise was spiced up from the music of Stevie Wonder, Public Enemy ripped off Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth, and Wyclef Jean borrowed musical inspiration from Roberta Flack. Even Eminem used Aeosmith’s Dream On and Dido to further prove the current generation can’t lay claim to its own music, instead stealing it from earlier generations. If we children of the Sixties had to take music from the previous generation, Frank and Dino would have had our legs broken.
Not to rag on the current generation, but I think the reason people my age are so musically stuck in the Sixties and the Seventies is because we felt like the music was ours. I’m not sure today’s generation can feel that way. Still, there are some better songs being written now and it seems as though the singer-songwriter is having a bit of resurgence.
Like many others, I haven’t leapt to make comparisons between the Beatles and Cold Play. The Beatles were revolutionary; combining full melodies and instrumentation with words of love and of changing the world. Cold Play still sounds like they haven’t hit their stride yet, but I would be remiss if I didn’t include some of what they had to say lyrically:
Under the surface trying to break through
Deciphering the codes in you
I need a compass, draw me a map
I'm on the top, I can't get back
High up above or down below
when you’re too in love to let it go
If you never try you'll never know
Just what your worth
In a haze, a stormy haze, I’ll be round
I’ll be loving you always, always.
Here I am and I’ll take my time
Here I am and I’ll wait in line always
Always.
Give me one, 'cause one is best
In confusion, confidence
Give me peace of mind and trust
Don't forget the rest of us
Give me strength, reserve control
Give me heart and give me soul
Wounds that heal and cracks that fix
Tell me your own politik.
Sometimes songs hit you because of the way you heard them in a movie. The song from the now defunct band Remy Zero used for the movie Garden State is a perfect example. Like a moth drawn to the fire, I can’t help but put it here:
What if you catch me, where would we fall?
Even though U2 is alive and well, they forged their reputation 15 years ago. Because they are still putting out music, if only for aid concerts, they can still qualify as from this century. Here are some good ones from U2:
I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing in her fingertips
It burned like fire
This burning desire
I have spoke with the tongue of angels
I have held the hand of a devilI
t was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
See the stone set in your eyes
See the thorn twist in your side
I wait for you
Slight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nails she makes me wait
And I wait without you
In the locust wind comes a rattle and hum
Jacob wrestled the angel and the angel was overcome
You plant a demon seed, you raise a flower of fire
See them burning crosses, see the flames, higher and higher
She runs through the streets with her eyes painted red
Under a black belly of cloud in the rain
In through a doorway she brings me
White gold and pearls stolen from the seaS
he is raging, she is raging
And the storm blows up in her eyes
She will suffer the needle chill
She is running to stand still
Midnight, our sons and daughters
Were cut down and taken from us
Hear their heartbeats
In the cold mirror of a glass
I see my reflection pass
I see the dark shades of what I used to be
I see the purple of her eyes
The scarlet of my lies
Love rescue me
Early morning, April four
A shot rings out in the Memphis sky
Free at last, they took your life
They could not take your pride
Another example of a movie introducing a good songwriter was Elliott Smith writing Miss Misery which was used to end the fabulous movie, Good Will Hunting. While he has since died from an overdose (tell me you couldn’t see that coming from reading his lyrics), he has left us this bit of lyrical poetry.
next door the tv's flashing
blue frames on the wall
it's a comedy of errors, you see
it's about taking a fall
to vanish into oblivion
is easy to do
and i try to be but you know me
i come back when you want me to
do you miss me miss misery
like you say you do?
Goo and Foo are our next two and Nicholas of Cairo fame turned me on to both groups when he was renting one of our back room and having his “friends” steal my Bose radio.
From the Goo Goo Dolls:
Comin' down the world turned over
And angels fall without you there
And I go on as you get colder
or are you someone's prayer?
And from the Foo Fighters:
Tonight I'm tangled in my blanket of clouds
Dreaming aloud
Things just won't do without you, matter of fact
Back to the Eighties with Modern English and a great lyric:
Moving forward using all my breath
Making love to you was never second best
I saw the world thrashing all around your face
Never really knowing it was always mesh and lace
Jack Johnson has become very popular lately but is probably best known for his light and easy music than his lyrics. Still, this isn’t bad:
It seems to me that maybe
It pretty much always means no
So don't tell me you might just let it go A
nd often times we're lazy
It seems to stand in my way
Cause no one no not no one
Likes to be let down
By the way, nobody said anything to me about this, but I did forget to include the Rolling Stones in my earlier post so I have to correct that slight:
It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Doing things I used to do
They think are new
I sit and watch
As tears go by
There's no time to lose I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind
Ain't life unkind
I watched the glee while your kings and queens fought
for ten decades for the Gods they made
I shouted out "who killed the Kennedy's?" when after all it was you and me
Let me please introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
And I lay traps for troubadors
who get killed before they reach Bombay
I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie,
I have my freedom but I don't have much time
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried
Let's do some living after we die
And I went down to the demonstration
To get my fair share of abuse
Singing, We're gonna vent our frustrationI
f we don't we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes well you just might find
You get what you need
The following Bob Seger song means more if you hear him singing it. You can just tell he’s at a crossroads when he belts out the following lyric:
Stood alone on a mountain top starin' out at the Great Divide
I could go east I could go west it was all up to me to decide
Just then I saw a young hawk flyin' and my soul began to rise
And pretty soon
My heart was singin'
Roll me away ...
Last but not least, I left off Pink Floyd. No, this doesn’t really follow my “new generation” theme of this post, but Floyd’s stuff is so poignant that if I were to leave them off, I would have my Blogging license taken away. Oh yes, they require a license to do this. From Floyd:
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
and if there is no room upon the hill
and if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown
The dream is gone
And I have become
Comfortably numb.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,
year after year,
running over the same old ground. What have we found?
The same old fears,
wish you were here.
That's the truth, wish you were here.
With the exception of rap, there has been a pretty good surge in popular music of late. I guess I have to include “hip-hop” in that even though I fail to understand the distinction between rap and hip-hop.
Just so I don’t date myself, I feel the need to update my earlier post of lyrics and add songwriters that are closer to this century. But just to defend my choices of the first post, I did have some method to my madness. As a fellow Blogger was told in harsh terms, I chose music that moved me at the time I first heard it and, at the time, I was very easy to move. Being young and having something called “your music” is very appealing in artistic terms and very difficult to forget.
I think it is obvious when music turned to the street that groups and songs were manufactured for short shelf life (which explains why I can walk through Best Buy and see thousands of groups I never heard of and, at the same time, the bins for the Beatles, Van Morrison, and even the Moody Blues are full).
As further evidence – if the Moody Blues point didn’t put you over the top – many of the early rapper’s most marketable songs were spiced up with “our” music. Best-selling songs like Gangsta Paradise was spiced up from the music of Stevie Wonder, Public Enemy ripped off Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth, and Wyclef Jean borrowed musical inspiration from Roberta Flack. Even Eminem used Aeosmith’s Dream On and Dido to further prove the current generation can’t lay claim to its own music, instead stealing it from earlier generations. If we children of the Sixties had to take music from the previous generation, Frank and Dino would have had our legs broken.
Not to rag on the current generation, but I think the reason people my age are so musically stuck in the Sixties and the Seventies is because we felt like the music was ours. I’m not sure today’s generation can feel that way. Still, there are some better songs being written now and it seems as though the singer-songwriter is having a bit of resurgence.
Like many others, I haven’t leapt to make comparisons between the Beatles and Cold Play. The Beatles were revolutionary; combining full melodies and instrumentation with words of love and of changing the world. Cold Play still sounds like they haven’t hit their stride yet, but I would be remiss if I didn’t include some of what they had to say lyrically:
Under the surface trying to break through
Deciphering the codes in you
I need a compass, draw me a map
I'm on the top, I can't get back
High up above or down below
when you’re too in love to let it go
If you never try you'll never know
Just what your worth
In a haze, a stormy haze, I’ll be round
I’ll be loving you always, always.
Here I am and I’ll take my time
Here I am and I’ll wait in line always
Always.
Give me one, 'cause one is best
In confusion, confidence
Give me peace of mind and trust
Don't forget the rest of us
Give me strength, reserve control
Give me heart and give me soul
Wounds that heal and cracks that fix
Tell me your own politik.
Sometimes songs hit you because of the way you heard them in a movie. The song from the now defunct band Remy Zero used for the movie Garden State is a perfect example. Like a moth drawn to the fire, I can’t help but put it here:
What if you catch me, where would we fall?
Even though U2 is alive and well, they forged their reputation 15 years ago. Because they are still putting out music, if only for aid concerts, they can still qualify as from this century. Here are some good ones from U2:
I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing in her fingertips
It burned like fire
This burning desire
I have spoke with the tongue of angels
I have held the hand of a devilI
t was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
See the stone set in your eyes
See the thorn twist in your side
I wait for you
Slight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nails she makes me wait
And I wait without you
In the locust wind comes a rattle and hum
Jacob wrestled the angel and the angel was overcome
You plant a demon seed, you raise a flower of fire
See them burning crosses, see the flames, higher and higher
She runs through the streets with her eyes painted red
Under a black belly of cloud in the rain
In through a doorway she brings me
White gold and pearls stolen from the seaS
he is raging, she is raging
And the storm blows up in her eyes
She will suffer the needle chill
She is running to stand still
Midnight, our sons and daughters
Were cut down and taken from us
Hear their heartbeats
In the cold mirror of a glass
I see my reflection pass
I see the dark shades of what I used to be
I see the purple of her eyes
The scarlet of my lies
Love rescue me
Early morning, April four
A shot rings out in the Memphis sky
Free at last, they took your life
They could not take your pride
Another example of a movie introducing a good songwriter was Elliott Smith writing Miss Misery which was used to end the fabulous movie, Good Will Hunting. While he has since died from an overdose (tell me you couldn’t see that coming from reading his lyrics), he has left us this bit of lyrical poetry.
next door the tv's flashing
blue frames on the wall
it's a comedy of errors, you see
it's about taking a fall
to vanish into oblivion
is easy to do
and i try to be but you know me
i come back when you want me to
do you miss me miss misery
like you say you do?
Goo and Foo are our next two and Nicholas of Cairo fame turned me on to both groups when he was renting one of our back room and having his “friends” steal my Bose radio.
From the Goo Goo Dolls:
Comin' down the world turned over
And angels fall without you there
And I go on as you get colder
or are you someone's prayer?
And from the Foo Fighters:
Tonight I'm tangled in my blanket of clouds
Dreaming aloud
Things just won't do without you, matter of fact
Back to the Eighties with Modern English and a great lyric:
Moving forward using all my breath
Making love to you was never second best
I saw the world thrashing all around your face
Never really knowing it was always mesh and lace
Jack Johnson has become very popular lately but is probably best known for his light and easy music than his lyrics. Still, this isn’t bad:
It seems to me that maybe
It pretty much always means no
So don't tell me you might just let it go A
nd often times we're lazy
It seems to stand in my way
Cause no one no not no one
Likes to be let down
By the way, nobody said anything to me about this, but I did forget to include the Rolling Stones in my earlier post so I have to correct that slight:
It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Doing things I used to do
They think are new
I sit and watch
As tears go by
There's no time to lose I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind
Ain't life unkind
I watched the glee while your kings and queens fought
for ten decades for the Gods they made
I shouted out "who killed the Kennedy's?" when after all it was you and me
Let me please introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
And I lay traps for troubadors
who get killed before they reach Bombay
I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie,
I have my freedom but I don't have much time
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried
Let's do some living after we die
And I went down to the demonstration
To get my fair share of abuse
Singing, We're gonna vent our frustrationI
f we don't we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes well you just might find
You get what you need
The following Bob Seger song means more if you hear him singing it. You can just tell he’s at a crossroads when he belts out the following lyric:
Stood alone on a mountain top starin' out at the Great Divide
I could go east I could go west it was all up to me to decide
Just then I saw a young hawk flyin' and my soul began to rise
And pretty soon
My heart was singin'
Roll me away ...
Last but not least, I left off Pink Floyd. No, this doesn’t really follow my “new generation” theme of this post, but Floyd’s stuff is so poignant that if I were to leave them off, I would have my Blogging license taken away. Oh yes, they require a license to do this. From Floyd:
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
and if there is no room upon the hill
and if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown
The dream is gone
And I have become
Comfortably numb.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,
year after year,
running over the same old ground. What have we found?
The same old fears,
wish you were here.
That's the truth, wish you were here.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
There I Go Again
So much for rest for the weary. Once I return from my second winter, I get to visit Moscow 10 days later. When I get back, I will have logged more than 200,000 flight miles in the past 12 months (some, god forbid, in coach).
I don't mind so much going to Moscow, the place where my incessant traveling began two decades ago.
When I first started out being the only American foolish enough to actually start a business in the Soviet Union, I thought of myself as a bit of a pioneer. Of course many of the pioneers that went West, the way of Horatio Alger, lost everything including some who were given a haircut and close shave. After realizing seven years too late that I was one of the contributing factors to Russia's economic turnaround through transfer of wealth -- a riches to rags story that even Alger couldn't turn around -- I often pondered the circular lament of knowing then what I know now. Just as an aside, wasn’t Alger the 19th Century’s version of Michael Jackson?
Well now is, well, now and I know a bit more than I did back then, so I will poke my head behind the iron curtain again and hope I see something real instead of some guy yelling, "never mind that man behind the curtain..."
I don't mind so much going to Moscow, the place where my incessant traveling began two decades ago.
When I first started out being the only American foolish enough to actually start a business in the Soviet Union, I thought of myself as a bit of a pioneer. Of course many of the pioneers that went West, the way of Horatio Alger, lost everything including some who were given a haircut and close shave. After realizing seven years too late that I was one of the contributing factors to Russia's economic turnaround through transfer of wealth -- a riches to rags story that even Alger couldn't turn around -- I often pondered the circular lament of knowing then what I know now. Just as an aside, wasn’t Alger the 19th Century’s version of Michael Jackson?
Well now is, well, now and I know a bit more than I did back then, so I will poke my head behind the iron curtain again and hope I see something real instead of some guy yelling, "never mind that man behind the curtain..."
Saturday, September 10, 2005
On Sadness and Other Bothersome Things
Gail just left after we were together in the Southern Hemisphere for 10 days. And I’ve been trying to figure out why I have this sadness welling up in me, or this feeling like a huge piece is missing from my life. I would like to explain, but in proper corners we don’t really open up that much and talk about our feelings or, when asked how we’re doing, we say, “fine,” or “not too bad.”
I’ve been using those throw-away lines all year and, to be honest, this has been one of the saddest years of my life. It hasn’t been “fine” or “not too bad” for a long time. I doubt anyone really knows that because since I was a kid, I always just trudged on with a “what happened has happened” way of dealing with sad events.
I cried when my father died and I think that was more about crying for my mother and knowing how lost she would be without him. A bit more than a year later, I had no tears left when my mother died, technically from a spreading cancer but more likely from a broken heart. Why didn’t I cry? Why did I demonstrate what she always said I was; a coper (if there is such a word)?
The years 1994-1995 were awful years for Gail and I, losing three of our four parents, moving across country, and enduing other trauma related to just living. I gained 50 pounds in protest, Gail seemed shell-shocked. But we made it, largely thanks to all of our friends and remaining relatives. And I suppose believing in the view that God only give us what we can handle. It sure seemed He had more faith in us than we did, though.
You also come to realize that, sadly, there is nothing unique to your suffering. Suffering is a great leveler of human existence as it crosses over all sub-sections of human existence. It doesn’t matter whether we’re a peasant in Bolivia or Bill Gates, we all eventually take those long, final heaves of breath before we pass under. And it’s no great solace that pain and suffering are democratic, it all still affects us as if we alone are left to feel that way. With any loss, the world just seems to sink into the background and all we can look at is our own broken-hearted feelings of sadness and, inevitably, frustration.
Too often we get told that “everyone goes through this,” or “you’ll make it through this, everyone does.” Somehow, that never seems to make it any better. What difference does it make that being hurt is not a unique experience? It still hurts, and relativism is meaningless as a demonstration of compassion.
This year has had it slices of saddening loss for my entire family and, it’s safe to say, that each of us will be glad to say good-bye to 2005. Kellen had to endure the ending of a 7-year relationship; trying to rationalize it as only he can when break-ups and love lost are never rational events. I know I told him about similar break-ups for me, as others had, but he was right to say that “it’s not the same.” And the reason it’s not the same is because what happened to me and others, didn’t happen to him. His was a unique experience and there’s no getting around that. All loss is that way.
Emily lost her dog and then, shortly after, lost who she thought was her soul mate. The same thing: she was given plenty of advice on how to cope from the experience we all have shared. In the end, it was all just as pointless as what was said to Kellen because the loss of something so intimate as a relationship can only have a vague resemblance to what others may have been through. So vague, in fact, that we should all vow to never feel compelled to compare.
The final blow was my brother Bill passing through sleep’s dark and silent gate, as Jackson would say. I cried when I heard about it from Peter, cried again when Kellen thought he was telling me for the first time, and cried in the shower, more out of frustration of not having a voice in the matter. I also cried at the funeral as did everyone around us.
Yet I still don’t feel I have fully mourned his loss as I don’t think I have accepted that he died. I keep thinking he’s going to be calling me or that he’ll just show up at the door one day. Even when Peter told me, I didn’t believe him, despite the fact he was also telling me they were conducting an autopsy – something that is usually not done on the living. I suppose I am still in a state of shock and denial but I am also aware that, like minor tremors, I am having fits of small cuts of loss nearly every day. I don’t think I will have that one big breakdown where it all comes out at once. I'll just continue to have the nagging everyday reminders that he is gone. I think his wife Sue feels the same and I know we both wish we could get that one big cry out of the way so we wouldn’t have to feel the endless little moments of sadness every day.
So when Gail left today and took half of me with her, I shouldn’t be that surprised. Loss of anything, as simple as just time, is always difficult because the book on it says you just have to deal with it. I know I wanted to be on that plane with her today (well, not her plane, it had as excruciating long layover and I just don’t do that), just as much as I wanted to be with Emily as she was going through a rough patch this afternoon.
These are the moments that fill our lives and sadness doesn’t get enough attention because we fear our feelings. Family and friends too often get pushed aside for the supposed greater triumphs of personal gain. I like what I do and I like what I have accomplished, but the simple fact is: I would rather be a better husband, father, and friend than anything I hope to end up with here. Politics and all the entrapments of power is so transitory that who wins what or who has the upper hand on an issue or whether or not the good guys are in the lead are oh so trivial when it comes to taking care of those around you.
Here’s hoping you are all well and surrounded by your loved ones. And that we never forget what we have and what we have lost.
I’ve been using those throw-away lines all year and, to be honest, this has been one of the saddest years of my life. It hasn’t been “fine” or “not too bad” for a long time. I doubt anyone really knows that because since I was a kid, I always just trudged on with a “what happened has happened” way of dealing with sad events.
I cried when my father died and I think that was more about crying for my mother and knowing how lost she would be without him. A bit more than a year later, I had no tears left when my mother died, technically from a spreading cancer but more likely from a broken heart. Why didn’t I cry? Why did I demonstrate what she always said I was; a coper (if there is such a word)?
The years 1994-1995 were awful years for Gail and I, losing three of our four parents, moving across country, and enduing other trauma related to just living. I gained 50 pounds in protest, Gail seemed shell-shocked. But we made it, largely thanks to all of our friends and remaining relatives. And I suppose believing in the view that God only give us what we can handle. It sure seemed He had more faith in us than we did, though.
You also come to realize that, sadly, there is nothing unique to your suffering. Suffering is a great leveler of human existence as it crosses over all sub-sections of human existence. It doesn’t matter whether we’re a peasant in Bolivia or Bill Gates, we all eventually take those long, final heaves of breath before we pass under. And it’s no great solace that pain and suffering are democratic, it all still affects us as if we alone are left to feel that way. With any loss, the world just seems to sink into the background and all we can look at is our own broken-hearted feelings of sadness and, inevitably, frustration.
Too often we get told that “everyone goes through this,” or “you’ll make it through this, everyone does.” Somehow, that never seems to make it any better. What difference does it make that being hurt is not a unique experience? It still hurts, and relativism is meaningless as a demonstration of compassion.
This year has had it slices of saddening loss for my entire family and, it’s safe to say, that each of us will be glad to say good-bye to 2005. Kellen had to endure the ending of a 7-year relationship; trying to rationalize it as only he can when break-ups and love lost are never rational events. I know I told him about similar break-ups for me, as others had, but he was right to say that “it’s not the same.” And the reason it’s not the same is because what happened to me and others, didn’t happen to him. His was a unique experience and there’s no getting around that. All loss is that way.
Emily lost her dog and then, shortly after, lost who she thought was her soul mate. The same thing: she was given plenty of advice on how to cope from the experience we all have shared. In the end, it was all just as pointless as what was said to Kellen because the loss of something so intimate as a relationship can only have a vague resemblance to what others may have been through. So vague, in fact, that we should all vow to never feel compelled to compare.
The final blow was my brother Bill passing through sleep’s dark and silent gate, as Jackson would say. I cried when I heard about it from Peter, cried again when Kellen thought he was telling me for the first time, and cried in the shower, more out of frustration of not having a voice in the matter. I also cried at the funeral as did everyone around us.
Yet I still don’t feel I have fully mourned his loss as I don’t think I have accepted that he died. I keep thinking he’s going to be calling me or that he’ll just show up at the door one day. Even when Peter told me, I didn’t believe him, despite the fact he was also telling me they were conducting an autopsy – something that is usually not done on the living. I suppose I am still in a state of shock and denial but I am also aware that, like minor tremors, I am having fits of small cuts of loss nearly every day. I don’t think I will have that one big breakdown where it all comes out at once. I'll just continue to have the nagging everyday reminders that he is gone. I think his wife Sue feels the same and I know we both wish we could get that one big cry out of the way so we wouldn’t have to feel the endless little moments of sadness every day.
So when Gail left today and took half of me with her, I shouldn’t be that surprised. Loss of anything, as simple as just time, is always difficult because the book on it says you just have to deal with it. I know I wanted to be on that plane with her today (well, not her plane, it had as excruciating long layover and I just don’t do that), just as much as I wanted to be with Emily as she was going through a rough patch this afternoon.
These are the moments that fill our lives and sadness doesn’t get enough attention because we fear our feelings. Family and friends too often get pushed aside for the supposed greater triumphs of personal gain. I like what I do and I like what I have accomplished, but the simple fact is: I would rather be a better husband, father, and friend than anything I hope to end up with here. Politics and all the entrapments of power is so transitory that who wins what or who has the upper hand on an issue or whether or not the good guys are in the lead are oh so trivial when it comes to taking care of those around you.
Here’s hoping you are all well and surrounded by your loved ones. And that we never forget what we have and what we have lost.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Browne or Whitman: You be the Judge.
Without my new best friend Skip, this site would have no posts at all. My kids tell me it’s because I have only told three people about my Blog. But I thought the word of mouth would have spread this bastion of eclectic art around the globe! Oh bother. Maybe they’re right. Anyway, the only thing that gets a reaction are the Top 5 lists or posts that create controversy. So, here’s some more of the same.
I wrote earlier about using movie lines to speak for us. How about the same for the poetry of music? Certainly some of the best prose modern literature has to offer has come from our generation’s gifted songwriters. Songwriters like Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Lennon & McCartney, Richards & Jagger, Bernie Taupin, Carole King, Bruce Springsteen, and Bob Marley have had as much an impact on furthering the literary movement in our culture as have, say, Fitzgerald, Hemmingway, Steinbeck, Bellow, and Mc Murtry. Even poets like Frost, Sandberg, Whitman or Dickinson, because, after all, aren’t today’s writers of lyrics the poets of our time? Didn’t Paul Simon foretell the future: the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, tenement halls….
And that’s a good place to start, Paul Simon. Here are some of my favorite lyrics of his:
- “Because a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.”
- “And as I watch the drops of rain, weave their weary paths and die, I know that I am like the rain, there but for the grace of you go I."
- “Like a poem poorly written, we are verses out of rhythm, couplets out of rhyme, in syncopated time, and the dangled conversation, and the superficial sighs, are the borders of our lives.”
- “We come on the ship they call the Mayflower, we come on the ship that sailed the moon. We come in the ages most uncertain hour and sing an American tune.”
- “There will never be a father who loves his daughter as much as I love you.” (For some reason I always feel ill after that line. Emily?)
The Beatles had a few:
- "And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make.”
- “Semolina pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel tower. Elementary penguin singing Hari Krishna. Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe.”
Most people think of Elton John when they hear the following lyrics. However, the large-spending, bespectacled, aging pop star only put Bernie Taupin's fine words to music:
- “And tell me grey seal how does it feel to be so wise. To see through eyes that only see what’s real. Tell me grey seal.” (For a Dogg.)
- “I’d just allow a fragment of your life to wander free baby, Cause’ losing everything is like the sun going down on me.”
- “What happened here, as the New York sunset disappeared? I found an empty garden among the flagstones there. Who lived here?”
Gail has the same kind of love and affection for Joni Mitchell that most women of her generation have. I could have put "Clouds" in this, but then I would have to kick my own ass for being a big wuss. But I do happen to like this one:
- “If I could drink a case of you, I would still be on feet.”
Willie Nelson started out as a singer/songwriter, penning "Crazy" that Patsy Cline made famous. Later, after all the pot slowed down his desire and creativity, he was happy to cover songs from others, most notedly Kris Kristofferson. I think his renditions of Kristofferson are some of the best he did:
- “A thousand times I’ve seen you, and a thousand times you take my breath away. Fear and doubts consume me, afraid someone will take it all away.”
- “Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose. Nothing ain't worth nothing but its free.”
- “Come and lay down by my side till the early morning light. All I'm taking is your time, help me make it through the night. Well I don't care who's right or wrong and I won't try to understand. Let the devil take tomorrow cause tonight I need a friend”
- “Just like the sound over the mountain top, you know I always come again. You know I love to spend my morning times, like sunlight dancing on your skin.”
If I don't throw some words from Ian Anderson in here, I will be absolutely flooded with complaints from a certain Pultab site. I was forced to grow up with these, so it's been more of an imprint when I shared a nest and therefore reflexive. For the ill-informed, Ian Anderson is, for all intents and purposes, Jethro Tull:
- “He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.”
- “In the shuffling madness of the locomotive breath.”
- "Really don't mind if you sit this one out. My words but a whisper, your deafness a shout.
I like the following line from Kenny Rankin so much that I wrote it on a piece of butcher paper Skip and I had up on our bathroom wall of our apartment. It was naturally surrounded by Tull-isms. Doesn’t the quote fit the bathroom though?
- “Cause it’s oh so peaceful here. There’s no one sitting over my shoulder, nobody breathing in my ear.”
Eva Cassidy covered a Sting song, and I think she made it better. However, the lyrics were all from Sting and I think are quite romantic:
- “I never made promises lightly. And there have been some that I've broken. But I swear in the days still left, we'll walk in fields of gold.”
I used to listen to Cat Stevens incessantly as a kid, so, this is for a boy I once knew:
- "Now every second on the nose, the humdrum of the city grows. reaching out beyond the throes of our time. We must try to shake it down. Do our best to break the ground. Try to turn the world around one more time.”
- “All the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside, It's hard, but it's harder to ignore it. If they were right, I'd agree, but it's them you know not me. Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away. I know I have to go.”
- “Her eyes like windows, trickle in rain. Upon the pain getting deeper. Though my love wants to relieve her. She walks alone from wall to wall. Lost in her hall, she can't hear me. Though I know she likes to be near me. Lisa, Lisa, sad Lisa, Lisa.”
It took me a long time to come around to Bob Marley as I judged him for his odd religion and his devotion to ganja. But I learned more and, as an aside, it’s still a weird religion but has this interesting bit of trivia: In the Rasta religion, Haile Selassie, the former leader of Ethiopia, is considered a saint. It seems Jamaica was in the midst of a terrible drought. Salasi came for a state visit and the moment his airplane arrived, it began to rain. It rained for his entire visit and the drought was over. He was hailed as the savior. So, the poor guy has a bad vacation, and they found a religion on him.
Anyway, I became more interested in Bob Marley because of his lyrics. I think he has written incredible lyrics, especially taken into the context of where he came from and the feeling he put into his words. Here are some of my favorites:
- The road of life is rocky
And you may stumble too.
So while you point your fingers
Someone else is judgin' you.
Love your brotherman. - I wanna love you and treat you right.
I wanna love you every day and every night. - One love, one heart.
Let's get together and feel all right. - Good friends we have had, oh good friends we've lost along the way.
In this bright future, you can't forget your past,
So dry your tears I say. - Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery,
None but ourselves can free our minds. - Don't worry about a thing
'Cause ev'ry little thing gonna be alright.
I could make this post quite a bit longer with a number of other favorites, and not even scratch the surface of Dylan, which we will just leave for others to post their favorites. But I have to end with, dare I say, one of the best poets of our time, Jackson Browne. While anyone who has head him speak on, like, ah, man, like this big, ah, like problem, of, you, know, man, this nuclear, ah thing, well, man, that’s, ah, a problem, you know?, and believe him to be actually retarded, he is undeniably a bit of a savant when it came to writing lyrics. Here are some oldies but goodies (warning, there are a lot):
- Jamaica, say you will help me find a way to fill these sails
And we will sail until our waters have run dry. - It's such a clever innocence with which you show myself to me
As if you know how it feels to never be who you wanted to be. - Now we're lying here
So safe in the ruins of our pleasures.
Laughter marks the place where we have fallen.
And our lives are near
So it wouldn't occur to us to wonder,
Is this the past or the future that is calling? - Who'll come along and hold out that strong and gentle father's hand?
Long ago I heard someone say something 'bout Everyman. - Now for me some words come easy
But I know that they don't mean that much
Compared with the things that are said when lovers touch.
You never knew what I loved in you,
I don't know what you loved in me.
Maybe the picture of somebody you were hoping I might be. - I'm just one or two years and a couple of changes behind you in my lessons at love's pain and heartache school.
- You go and pack your sorrow,
Trash man comes tomorrow.
Leave it at the curb and we'll just roll away - I don't remember losing track of you.
You were always dancing in and out of view.
I must've always thought you'd be around.
Always keeping things real by playing the clown,
Now you're nowhere to be found. - Baby if you need me like I know I need you
There's just one thing I'll ask you to do.
Take my hand and lead me to the hole in your garden wall,
And pull me through - And when you've found another soul
Who sees into your own,
Take good care of each other. - Make room for my forty-fives
Along beside your seventy-eights
Nothing survives
But the way we live our lives. - I'm going to find myself a girl
Who can show me what laughter means.
And we'll fill in the missing colors
In each other's paint-by-number dreams. - Love won't come near me, she don't even hear me
She walks past my vacancy sign.
Love needs a heart, trusting and blind
I wish that heart was mine. - Give up your heart and you lose your way,
Trusting another to feel that way
Give up your heart and you find yourself,
Living for something in somebody else.
Sometimes you wonder what happens to love
Sometimes the touch of a friend is enough. - Last night I watched the news from Washington, the capitol.
The Russians escaped while we weren't watching them, like Russians will.
Now we've got all this room, we've even got the moon,
And I hear the U.S.S.R. will be open soon.
As vacation land for lawyers in love.
I know I will need to do more of this, but I have been sort of tied up will Gail being in Wellington and taking up my good Blogging time.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
A Fluffy Animal Story for Tough Times
The tragic news of the loss of life and destruction in the wake of Hurricane Katrina has been overwhelming. It’s difficult to imagine writing something serious as it would seem so trite by comparison.
After what has happened, I decided we need more whimsy in the world and on this Blog. We need some sort of feel-good story, or just a simple anecdote or daydream. For reasons I can’t explain, the title of Stephen Sondheim’s play “A Little Night Music” came to mind as something to soothe the heavy heart. Even soothier was the name of the Igmar Bergman film the play was based on, Smiles of a Summer Night.
The last week of the unofficial end to summer seemed like there was nothing to smile about, but I will do my part and oblige with a little light fare. I hope others will post their happy and fun thoughts to help blunt an otherwise depressing news day. By the way, where’s Nicholas when you need him? Cairo? What the hell is he doing there? OK, so here’s my fluffy-animal story:
My favorite daughter Emily, who grew up learning gymnastics with black patent leather shoes apparently too close to the Slade’s entry wall, has an affinity for animals of all sorts. She’s much too pretty and fun to be called that “crazy cat lady” yet, but she’s getting close with her new round of cat fostering. Sitting in “my” bathroom in Sacramento is a bucketful of kittens; five to be exact. A barrel-full of monkeys has nothing on this gaggle of 8-10 week-old kittens.
The reason they have taken over MY bathroom (with the Super Flush 2000, and the air-sucker fan -- ahhhhhh!) is because Emily agreed to take any cats that the animal shelter deems are too sick to be adopted. It turns out there were these five unrelated kittens, all with respiratory illnesses in need of safe harbor while they mend. Naturally five kittens are not too much for my bathroom and Emily to handle (have I told you yet how serene this bathroom is?).
The kittens were all named by Emily to match their namesakes and personalities of characters from Reno 911. Jonesy is always purring but has a habit of scratching; Junior is the shape of a football, small head and tail, huge orange belly. He can’t stop eating, although that isn’t really like Junior from the show. Perhaps she should put a Kevlar vest on him.
While Emily likes Garcia, all the other kittens don’t seem too fond of him and don’t want anything to do with him. He also hit Jonesy once and, like the show, Jonesy had to pull crosswalk duty as a result. Weigel is crazy and won’t take her meds, and Dangle is kind of gay and boring.
They are definitely nocturnal and can be heard banging against the door playing all night long. Anything amuses them. They play with these little balls with bells in them in the bathtub (not that this bathroom hasn’t seen larger balls before, I can tell you). They also play with cat poop, my Super Sucker 2000, Emily’s hair, and virtually anything that moves.
When they sleep, though, they all sleep in a ball that is a mélange of color. One is an orange tabby, Jonesy is orange and white, and the others are sort of gray tabbies.
Emily has found such joy in helping animals. Just about one year ago today, she came to us and said there was a dog on the Animal Shelter’s website that was going to be euthanized the following day. We were skeptical of both the threat to give the dog a fateful shot and of Emily’s long-term willingness to take care of the dog. She took a friend to see this dog and instantly fell in love with a decrepit, broken, scared and battered beagle. She phoned us and told us to come down and give our opinion.
It turns out the dog was indeed marked for death as the Sacramento Animal Shelter euthanizes dogs after a certain period, and nobody was going to take this sad sack of a dog in the next 24 hours except someone with a caring heart. That turned out to be Emily, so we were given a discount to buy the dog (imagine owning a marked-down pet), and put her shaking body in the car. It didn’t seem as though she would survive the trip home, the beagle looked so frightened and old.
We found out that an older couple had dropped the dog off saying they were too old to care for it. When it arrived at the shelter, the workers thought the dog was black because it was covered from head to toe with fleas. Instead she was a white and tan beagle. She also was at least nine years old but looked much older. Her tail was broken, she had such bad arthritis that she walked like a peg-legged pirate, and she had a four-inch glob of tumor dangling from her body. One eye bulged out of her head due to advance stages of glaucoma. A vet told us that the pain from the disease would be impossible to bear if she were human – but I suppose if she were human she would have been better cared for. Oh, and the dog had never been spayed and was nearly bred to death.
Naturally we named her Flash after the “great” speed in which she walked (I think she ran once, though).
We took Flash to the vet and were told she was suffering from many ailments, not the least among them was cancer. We were told that it would cost us $3,000 to have all the operations that were needed. But, as luck would have it, Andrew Whitaker, through some sort of clerical error, was admitted to the UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine and Emily called him to see what he could do. We believe the school had never seen a dog in such bad shape and agreed to do cancer screening, remove her eye, have her spayed, and give her the once-over for $300. Her biopsy report indicated there was no place that cancer did not exist and Emily was told not to expect her to live very long.
Emily cared for Flash and nurtured her and spent nearly every opportunity by her side. Flash often slept on top of Emily with her nose tucked under Em’s arm. Flash became very comfortable in her new surrounding, particularly after the eye was removed and the pressure gone. She took to sleeping on her back, legs spread, acting very un-lady-like.
Emily had Flash in her life for eight months when it became painfully obvious that her health was rapidly deteriorating. The cancer had moved to her liver and quickly all her organs were slowing down. On a Saturday I was traveling back east for about 10 days and wondered if I would see Flash again as she was slipping so fast. Four hours later, stopping over at the Minneapolis airport, I turned on my cell phone and just as I did, Emily called and simply said “Flash is gone.” I will never forget those words and it made me cry, mostly for Emily who loved Flash so much. Flash was at peace, knowing that the last eight months of her life were better than the previous 10 years all thanks to Emily.
She told me that Flash was unable to get out of her favorite bed to eat or go outside. She called Andrew who assured her the time had come. Emily gathered up her animal soul-mate and, along with her human soul-mate, stayed with Flash and held her for twenty minutes before the medication was given to her to put her at peace. Emily said a lot of people told her how great it was for Flash that Emily had given so much love to her. But Emily said it was the other way around; that she was grateful of all the love Flash gave her back.
So now you’re thinking I have gone from a happy kitten story to a sad ending. But there is a happy ending to this story too. About four months later, a beagle-Jack Russell Terrier mix was running around our backyard. She looked like a younger and skinny version of Flash. It turned out that a neighbor had seen her running around the street and put her in his car to keep her out of traffic. He did his best to find her owner and then took her home. The neighbor couldn’t keep the dog and Emily quickly offered to give it a home until the owners could be found or until she could put her up for adoption.
The neighbor named the dog Spooner because it insists on spooning with you as you try to sleep. It became evident to Emily, Gail and I that Spooner was going to be staying and now Em has another dog who loves her and who she can love. Spooner even got the nickname “Spoonie Love From Up Above” because we all believe she was sent by Flash so we wouldn’t be so lonely. See? Nice ending. I told ya.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
On the Subject of Fishwrapping
Watch any television show and count the seconds between each different camera shot. If you’re counting right, it should be about seven seconds. This isn’t happenstance, it’s science. Studies have been conducted to determine the attention span of the average television viewer and seven seconds seems to be the limit.
No study has ever been done, that I know of, on the average attention span of the way Americans view their news. The way news is sold to the average right/left/undecided/other, the seven-second test would seem to hold.
How else can we explain the way the media treats us as viewers and readers? They give us the surface of bits and pieces, little seven-second snapshots of passing news that, for reasons only they can tell us, doesn’t merit more reporting. For example, are you aware of the slaughter of innocents in southern Sudan? Some are, I know. Who among us knows the reason, or the story behind it? Too much depth required for the average news reporter to believe we’re worthy of that information, apparently.
How about Zimbabwe? Zimbabwe was once a thriving island surrounded by countries governed by the rule of mistake. For decades it was a net exporter of food and fed much of southern Africa. Then a reverse-apartheid happened and ownership of all the farms – 90-percent owned by whites – was taken from them. The white farmers left, the land turned to rot and now the country is starving. Just to add confusion to a necessary and more informative story – but far from a full one – Zimbabwe’s brand of dictatorship led by crazy narcissist Robert Mugabe has resorted to bulldozing what he calls the slums. But people have lived in these homes and huts for a generation and now they are forced to live in temporary shelters 100 miles deeper into the bush where they struggle to find food. The reasons behind this must be too much for CNN or Reuters to discover or you think they’d tell us, right?
We hear a lot about the struggles in Iraq to draft a constitution and how it reflects on the success or failure of U.S. foreign policy, never mind what it means to the Iraqi people who only seem to matter to the media when strapped to a bomb. There is a deeper untold truth to reasons a constitution is unneeded and unworkable: Iraq is too fractured along sectarian lines, too socially ruined by 30 years of totalitarianism, too new to the habits of democracy to be able to record in stone the kind of great cosmic compromises that are the essence of constitutions. That story seems to escape the punditry. Even America, which had a century of self-government before independence, needed 13 years before it could draft a workable and durable constitution. And even that one ultimately floundered (albeit, threescore and 11 years later) over the then-insoluble problem of slavery. Yes, I know Bush said this at a press conference, but he had to simply because the media should have, but didn't.
What you may not have heard or read, perhaps because reporters don’t know, is that among several successful Western countries without a constitution is Britain. Not so overly-reported was the failure for 25 countries in the European Union to ratify their multi-nation constitution which had been given five years of negotiation before being put to the voters, who ultimately rejected it. So why is all the ink going to the process in Iraq instead of Europe? Sure, the U.S. and Bush foreign policy have made the constitution a key issue to measure success in Iraq, but a little perspective from the press would be more helpful to those who care enough to pay attention.
Just the opposite is true when the media gets a hold of a story they can milk. Who heard enough of the Scott Peterson\and Michael Jackson trials? And so much on the missing teen in Aruba who, in not exactly a news flash, is not the only missing teen in the world. Then there is Cindy Sheehan and the media onslaught to cover her mid-life meltdown. Thank God a hurricane hit and all the reporters had to put on the hip boots to cover the real-life drama and tragedy of a Level 5 hurricane hitting the coast. Does anyone know that nearly 500 people have died in monsoon flooding in India? Does any news reporter or talking head know the policy specifics of the Government of India that caused such a disaster? Come to mind, perhaps reporters are best off in hip boots. It’s their best hope to step out of the mess they leave for the rest of us.
The main problem facing the press, as I see it, is that they usually only study Journalism in college. Sure, they take the odd history and humanities classes along with the required journalism coursework of Pagination and First Amendment law and how to misunderstand its meaning so you end up doing some white collar time in New York. If a reporter is going to cover a story on a hurricane, is it too much to ask that they know a little about meteorology before telling us it’s windy?
Too often reporters come to the job with the notion of “making a difference” rather than reporting what happens around them. Later, they just become lazy. During both coup attempts in Russia during the Nineties, most reporters sat in the bar at the Odessa Hotel and counted on daily news from the Ministry of Information on what to report back to us. Heaven help us if a story happened outside of Moscow. Then we watchers of news had to rely on press releases filtered by the local cleansers and then washed again by the same Ministry of Information just so we got the news they wanted us to have.
During this past year’s great Orange Revolution in Ukraine, the Western media never once interviewed Victor Yanukovich, the man who had the election stolen from him by populous whim. The story was set and the sheer beauty of a Sixties-style protest was too much for the gray-haired members of the Fourth Estate to keep them from finding out the truth. The press, which loves to equate Bush and Cheney as an evil cabal set on world domination, missed their chance to catch them in the act in Ukraine. They also missed it in the Republic of Georgia, Serbia, Belarus, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan. Imagine if the Russians were helping elect a government they could dominate in Canada and Mexico. I suspect, but can’t be sure, this would be a lead story on Nightline, which not coincidentally, was created for the sole purpose of over-covering the Iranian hostage story.
My apologies to all that this story took longer than seven seconds to read; I did my best to cut it down to size.
No study has ever been done, that I know of, on the average attention span of the way Americans view their news. The way news is sold to the average right/left/undecided/other, the seven-second test would seem to hold.
How else can we explain the way the media treats us as viewers and readers? They give us the surface of bits and pieces, little seven-second snapshots of passing news that, for reasons only they can tell us, doesn’t merit more reporting. For example, are you aware of the slaughter of innocents in southern Sudan? Some are, I know. Who among us knows the reason, or the story behind it? Too much depth required for the average news reporter to believe we’re worthy of that information, apparently.
How about Zimbabwe? Zimbabwe was once a thriving island surrounded by countries governed by the rule of mistake. For decades it was a net exporter of food and fed much of southern Africa. Then a reverse-apartheid happened and ownership of all the farms – 90-percent owned by whites – was taken from them. The white farmers left, the land turned to rot and now the country is starving. Just to add confusion to a necessary and more informative story – but far from a full one – Zimbabwe’s brand of dictatorship led by crazy narcissist Robert Mugabe has resorted to bulldozing what he calls the slums. But people have lived in these homes and huts for a generation and now they are forced to live in temporary shelters 100 miles deeper into the bush where they struggle to find food. The reasons behind this must be too much for CNN or Reuters to discover or you think they’d tell us, right?
We hear a lot about the struggles in Iraq to draft a constitution and how it reflects on the success or failure of U.S. foreign policy, never mind what it means to the Iraqi people who only seem to matter to the media when strapped to a bomb. There is a deeper untold truth to reasons a constitution is unneeded and unworkable: Iraq is too fractured along sectarian lines, too socially ruined by 30 years of totalitarianism, too new to the habits of democracy to be able to record in stone the kind of great cosmic compromises that are the essence of constitutions. That story seems to escape the punditry. Even America, which had a century of self-government before independence, needed 13 years before it could draft a workable and durable constitution. And even that one ultimately floundered (albeit, threescore and 11 years later) over the then-insoluble problem of slavery. Yes, I know Bush said this at a press conference, but he had to simply because the media should have, but didn't.
What you may not have heard or read, perhaps because reporters don’t know, is that among several successful Western countries without a constitution is Britain. Not so overly-reported was the failure for 25 countries in the European Union to ratify their multi-nation constitution which had been given five years of negotiation before being put to the voters, who ultimately rejected it. So why is all the ink going to the process in Iraq instead of Europe? Sure, the U.S. and Bush foreign policy have made the constitution a key issue to measure success in Iraq, but a little perspective from the press would be more helpful to those who care enough to pay attention.
Just the opposite is true when the media gets a hold of a story they can milk. Who heard enough of the Scott Peterson\and Michael Jackson trials? And so much on the missing teen in Aruba who, in not exactly a news flash, is not the only missing teen in the world. Then there is Cindy Sheehan and the media onslaught to cover her mid-life meltdown. Thank God a hurricane hit and all the reporters had to put on the hip boots to cover the real-life drama and tragedy of a Level 5 hurricane hitting the coast. Does anyone know that nearly 500 people have died in monsoon flooding in India? Does any news reporter or talking head know the policy specifics of the Government of India that caused such a disaster? Come to mind, perhaps reporters are best off in hip boots. It’s their best hope to step out of the mess they leave for the rest of us.
The main problem facing the press, as I see it, is that they usually only study Journalism in college. Sure, they take the odd history and humanities classes along with the required journalism coursework of Pagination and First Amendment law and how to misunderstand its meaning so you end up doing some white collar time in New York. If a reporter is going to cover a story on a hurricane, is it too much to ask that they know a little about meteorology before telling us it’s windy?
Too often reporters come to the job with the notion of “making a difference” rather than reporting what happens around them. Later, they just become lazy. During both coup attempts in Russia during the Nineties, most reporters sat in the bar at the Odessa Hotel and counted on daily news from the Ministry of Information on what to report back to us. Heaven help us if a story happened outside of Moscow. Then we watchers of news had to rely on press releases filtered by the local cleansers and then washed again by the same Ministry of Information just so we got the news they wanted us to have.
During this past year’s great Orange Revolution in Ukraine, the Western media never once interviewed Victor Yanukovich, the man who had the election stolen from him by populous whim. The story was set and the sheer beauty of a Sixties-style protest was too much for the gray-haired members of the Fourth Estate to keep them from finding out the truth. The press, which loves to equate Bush and Cheney as an evil cabal set on world domination, missed their chance to catch them in the act in Ukraine. They also missed it in the Republic of Georgia, Serbia, Belarus, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan. Imagine if the Russians were helping elect a government they could dominate in Canada and Mexico. I suspect, but can’t be sure, this would be a lead story on Nightline, which not coincidentally, was created for the sole purpose of over-covering the Iranian hostage story.
My apologies to all that this story took longer than seven seconds to read; I did my best to cut it down to size.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Report From The Eye of the Storm
From an every-growing staff of reporters around the world, I have a first-hand report of facing down Katrina.
Frequent poster, Alice (aka Mayor) lives in Jackson, MS and was fortunate enough to be just slightly to the west of the Katrina's eye wall and did not get hit with the more dangerous east side wall. Just the same, she was pelted with rain and harassed by 90-mph wind, bending old pine trees to the ground. She was fairly lucky, just a small leak down the wall of her newly-remodled office. Other than that, just lots of debris and wind damage.
She has friends on the Mississippi coast who did not fare as well. From what she understands, nothing is left of Biloxi, a city of 200,000. Bridges have been destroyed, an oil rig broke loose and crashed through a highway and the River Boat casinos have been blown on to dry land requiring either new zoning laws or a tug back out to sea.
She said there had been plenty of tornados around her but none too close. Apparently the real danger for tornados and dangerous thunder storms is follwing the hurricane when the weather heats up to 97 degrees and mixes with colder air from the north.
She's been without electricity for much of the day and is concerned about keeping cool if it takes a while to repair.
As a sidenote, my brother-in-law is an insurance adjuster and has headed down there to help the people who have seen the most damage. It's too early to tell what he will see or what the people of Biloxi et al will see when the sun comes up. Just praying the loss of life will be minimal.
Frequent poster, Alice (aka Mayor) lives in Jackson, MS and was fortunate enough to be just slightly to the west of the Katrina's eye wall and did not get hit with the more dangerous east side wall. Just the same, she was pelted with rain and harassed by 90-mph wind, bending old pine trees to the ground. She was fairly lucky, just a small leak down the wall of her newly-remodled office. Other than that, just lots of debris and wind damage.
She has friends on the Mississippi coast who did not fare as well. From what she understands, nothing is left of Biloxi, a city of 200,000. Bridges have been destroyed, an oil rig broke loose and crashed through a highway and the River Boat casinos have been blown on to dry land requiring either new zoning laws or a tug back out to sea.
She said there had been plenty of tornados around her but none too close. Apparently the real danger for tornados and dangerous thunder storms is follwing the hurricane when the weather heats up to 97 degrees and mixes with colder air from the north.
She's been without electricity for much of the day and is concerned about keeping cool if it takes a while to repair.
As a sidenote, my brother-in-law is an insurance adjuster and has headed down there to help the people who have seen the most damage. It's too early to tell what he will see or what the people of Biloxi et al will see when the sun comes up. Just praying the loss of life will be minimal.
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