Islam, Christianity and Judaism, Together, At Last

You can't make this shit up. I pity the fool who tries to make a living as a satirist in times like these.

Today's slice of mind-boggling stupidity arises out of Jerusalem. Gay people from around the world have scheduled a festival to celebrate diversity and tolerance. Inspired by this celebration of humanity, the faith world is finally united. I swear on a stack of Bibles and Korans, I am not making up this quotation from the New York Times: "Now major leaders of the three faiths - Christianity, Judaism and Islam - are making a rare show of unity to try to stop the festival. They say the event would desecrate the city and convey the erroneous impression that homosexuality is acceptable."

(To be fair, the article also reports that other representatives of the faith community are supporting the festival. But, still . . . )

Creepy

Terri Schiavo's parents are selling email addresses of their supporters to conservatives. I haven't walked in their shoes, so I'll try to withhold judgment. I suppose I might well do the same thing if I were engaged in an all-out media and legal campaign to overrride my daughter's wishes.

Is This Sad or Funny?

PNC Advisors, a company that does its best to make sure that the fantastically wealthy stay that way, did a survey of "high net worth individuals" (link is to a pdf file), and they found, among other things, that enough is never enough.

"When asked how much they needed to feel financially secure in the future, respondents consistently cited a need to approximately double their current level of assets. Those with $10 million or more felt they needed a median of $18.1 million; those with $5 million or more needed $10.4 million, and those with with a half million to $1 million said they needed $2.4 million."

Is it sad or funny that some rich SOB is sitting there with ten million dollars, feeling about eight million dollars in the hole? That must be a sick feeling, to be that broke. I think Mission Hills needs to rewire their storm warning system so the speakers can lay some Bob Marley on them - Three Little Birds could do them all some good ("Don’t worry about a thing, ’cause every little thing gonna be all right.")

I worry about money all the time, but my problems seem much lighter now. I worry about tiny, insignificant stuff like coming up with money to get the kids what they want for Christmas, or paying my friends at Brookside Auto when the noises my car makes start sounding more dangerous than normal. Heck, if I netted another $20,000 a year, I'd feel like Rockefeller, and stop buying store brand groceries. Those poor rich bastards are a whole lot worse off than I am.

Blunt Appoints Corrupt Shake-Down Crook

Matt Blunt announced on Tuesday that he was giving Tom Deuschle the post of Director of the Department of Labor and Industrial Relations. The mainstream press has reported this development without comment - but some of us remember that Tom Deuschle was the bag-man back when John Ashcroft was abusing the office of Missouri Attorney General to solicit investigation targets for campaign contributions. This man has confessed to fundraising for his boss while being paid by Missouri taxpayers! And he is supposed to lead the department responsible for labor and industrial relations??

This appointment is subject to senate confirmation. Let's see if our senators have the integrity to reject this insult to Missouri taxpayers. (Hint - they won't.)

Asteroids Gone From Kansas City?

After class last night, several of us visited Harling's Upstairs, a pre-ADA classic bar. I was saddened to see, however, that their Asteroids game has been replaced by one of the ubiquitous Golden Tee games.

$2.75 pints made the loss easier to bear, though.

Coaching

I coached Brookside Soccer for all the years my son chose to play. It was a great experience - I got to know parents and kids, and it was wonderful to watch them grow for the several years I knew them. Justin, Steven, Sam D., Tyler, Lee, Bobby, Arnaud, Benjamin - most of them are in college now, and those that I hear from or about are doing well. We didn't win a whole lot of games. Instead of discouraging the weaker players from coming out season after season, I held to my pledge to never yell a negative thing to a child on the field. Those times we won were sweet, and the times we lost, well, we always found something good about those games to appreciate, praise, and carry into the next practice. We were a recreational and instructional league, darn it, and we kept our focus on that.

You often hear about how awful sports parents are. I never saw it. The only time I had parents question me about how I coached their son was once when Justin's parents thought I had, perhaps, let him play more shifts than he deserved. I always had superb parents, and I appreciate them to this day.

I saw this well-done, thoughtful article on the St. Louis Post Dispatch's website, and it brought back those memories. It also brought back those long, embarassing hours as a kid sitting on the bench, put into the baseball, soccer, or basketball game only in situations where my awkward presence could make no difference. And feeling awful that my parents saw it all, in stark contrast to the MVP performances my older brother put forth.

For a 6 years or so, a group of kids had a pretty fun time playing soccer on my team, and learning a little about soccer and teamwork, and a whole lot about sportsmanship. We could have won a few more games - we had the talent - but I don't regret the losses at all. I hope those kids, now young men, look back as fondly on those practices and games as I do.

Springsteen on Rock & Roll and U2

Last night I saw a replay of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony, and was blown away by Bruce Springsteen's witty, passionate, articulate and moving ten minute speech for U2. Here's a small taste:

Uno, dos, tres, catorce. That translates as one, two, three, fourteen. That is the correct math for a rock and roll band. For in art and love and rock and roll, the whole had better equal much more than the sum of its parts, or else you're just rubbing two sticks together searching for fire. A great rock band searches for the same kind of combustible force that fueled the expansion of the universe after the big bang. You want the earth to shake and spit fire, you want the sky to split apart and for God to pour out. It’s embarrassing to want so much and to expect so much from music, except sometimes it happens: the Sun Sessions, Highway 61, Sgt. Peppers, the Band, Robert Johnson, Exile on Main Street, Born to Run... whoops, I meant to leave that one out... uh... the Sex Pistols, Aretha Franklin, the Clash, James Brown, the power of Public Enemy's It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. This is music meant to take on not only the powers that be but on a good day, the universe and God himself, if he was listening. It's man's accountability, and U2 belongs on this list.

If you care about rock & roll music, and you like great writing, go read the whole thing. Scroll down to the 3.14.05 entry.

How Anti-Tax Are You? Enough to Let People Die?

In April, Kansas City taxpayers will be asked whether they will support a 22 cent per $100 of assessed value property tax increase, to help Truman Medical Center (68% of the money), Mast Ambulance (16%) and the 5 neighborhood health clinics in Kansas City (16%). This tax really will save lives, and it is a no-brainer to Vote Yes on Question 1.

As the always-alert BlogKC notes, there doesn't appear to be any organized opposition at all.

Terry Schiavo - Republican Talking Point

"ABC News obtained talking points circulated among Senate Republicans explaining why they should vote to intervene in the Schiavo case. Among them, that it is an important moral issue and the 'pro-life base will be excited,' and that it is a 'great political issue — this is a tough issue Democrats.'" Tom DeLay is grandstanding like a champion - it might be his last chance to act morally superior before going to jail for corruption.

It promises to be an ugly, dispiriting week, full of terrible accusations hurled by both sides who don't trust the other's motives (witness my refusal above to allow for the chance that Tom DeLay is acting out of sincere concern for human life - but we all know I'm correct, don't we?).

If anybody wants to get calm, objective information on the case, I highly recommend Abstract Appeal - up-to-date news here, and thorough background information here. Matt Conigliaro, a Florida lawyer, deserves huge kudos for his presentation of Florida law and the Schiavo case in a manner that's understandable, accessible, and interesting to everyone.

Medicaid Forum

Baseball & Steroids - Wrong Place, Wrong Cast

The Congressional Committee on Government Reform spent 11 hours - 11 hours! - discussing steroids in Major League Baseball yesterday. They subpoenaed one of my favorite living legends, Mark McGwire, and tried to force him to name names. They did not explain why they needed Mark McGwire to testify before the Committee on Government Reform. As far as I can tell, Big Mac did not provide any insights on how to reform government, except, perhaps, by serving as an example of just how far afield congressional morons can stray from their legitimate work when they smell ink.

Personally, I'm as opposed to the use of steroids as anybody else. But I'm also opposed to having a twit like Tom Davis, who probably has never hit a curve ball in his life, taking cheap shots at Major League Baseball.

It's horribly sad that Taylor Hooton and Rob Garibaldi committed suicide, but it's also sad that their parents and press-eager congressmen are trying to blame a league none of them ever played in, and players who never met them.

While I'm supportive of a more stringent MLB steroid policy, the steroid policy of MLB did not cause their deaths, and it does not have an effect on the use of steroids by people like Taylor and Rob. They weren't in danger of getting caught by the MLB policy.

The PGA has tremendous enforcement of its rules of play, but that doesn't prevent people at the local country club from improving their lie. If MLB implants anti-steroid monitors into Sammy Sosa's spine, that won't prevent an 18 year-old kid from seeking an edge in the gym.

St. Patrick's Day

I'm happy of my Irish heritage, and St. Patrick's day is a day to appreciate it. Yes, a malt beverage is certainly in my future today, but so is a little poetry. This year, take a moment and enjoy Patrick Kavanagh:

EPIC
by Patrick Kavanagh

I have lived in important places, times
When great events were decided : who owned
That half a rood of rock, a no-man's land
Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims.

I heard the Duffys shouting "Damn your soul"
And old McCabe stripped to the waist, seen
Step the plot defying blue cast-steel -
"Here is the march along these iron stones."

That was the year of the Munich bother. Which
Was most important ? I inclined
To lose my faith in Ballyrush and Gortin
Till Homer's ghost came whispering to my mind.
He said : I made the Iliad from such
A local row. Gods make their own importance.
1938

If you like that, there is more here.

New Music

I might as well face it - my music taste began atrophying in 1982, when I left WRUC and began my march toward Middle Age. Now, I'm approaching 45, and I don't go to shows (except for occasional jazz, but that's different) - there's always work in the morning, and the tickets are expensive, and parking's a hassle, and I hate to be the oldest one there, and I've never heard of that group, and . . .

Fact is, I'm in shocking danger of being one of those old idiots who listens to Bob Seger and whose last new music discovery was Concrete Blonde.

That's why I'm like a kid in a candy store thanks to Thrasher. After his great compilation of Hunter Thompson appreciation, he links to the lineup at the South by Southwest festival in Austin. Tons of amazing new music by artists I've never heard of. Sam gave me a few recommendations, including Kaiser Chiefs, Crooked Fingers and M. Ward. I happened upon a few great finds, like Alex Skolnick Trio and Kansas City's own Doris Henson.

Thanks, Thrasher. Rust never sleeps, but you don't have to be rusty in your mid-forties.

Homebrewing

It's been a long but successful day of brewing. I brewed ten gallons of what I hope will be a close approximation of Paulaner Hefeweizen - a funky, cloudy Bavarian beer made with a special yeast that gives it a distinctive taste - kind of banana-y, clovey, and even bubble-gummy. It's a refreshing beer to drink on one of the warm days that are fast approaching.

I also kegged about 8 gallons of what I call my "regular" beer. It doesn't fit any style and will therefore never win any awards, but it's my attempt at brewing a house beer. It's probably closest to an American Ale, but I dial back a bit on the hops - I just want an easy-drinking beer that adventurous friends might enjoy. While I love beer like Two Hearted Ale, it's a little much for regular imbibing.

For those who don't homebrew, let me give you a quick overview. You take around 22 pounds of malted grains (wheat and barley today, normally just barley), and let it stew in around 7 or 8 gallons of 150 degree water for around 60 minutes (today actually included an additional 30 minutes at 120 degrees, but I don't want to get too technical). Then you drain the water from the grain, and you rinse the grain with more hot water, ending up with around 12 gallons of beer juice, called wort. You then boil that for around an hour (90 minutes today), adding hops along the way (you buy them at the homebrew store, along with the grain). After the boil, you cool it to around 70 degrees, put it into 2 big glass jars called carboys, and add special yeast. After a week or two, you put it into kegs or bottles, and then you can drink it after another week or two.

Now, you're probably wondering why in the heck you would go through all this work, when you can just go down to one of the many great stores around that sell great beer.

For me, it's the challenge and the ability to make something truly outstanding. I've made my fair share of bad beer, but I've also made some that I think are better than anything you could buy in a store. Fresh beer, made with care and good ingredients, is pretty outstanding stuff.

The time and attention it takes to convert a bunch of starch, water and yeast into a great beer is staggering, but it's all worthwhile when a friend asks for another, or when I pour myself a home-made Mocha Porter before sitting down to blog.

Damned Fools and their Money

I have not posted on the Terri Schiavo case, mostly because it is so sad and awful and the odds of me adding anything to the debate or swaying an opinion are approximately zero.

But the latest twist in that case illustrates a broader truth that warrants a comment. "A man fighting to have a feeding tube removed from his brain-damaged wife on Friday rejected a California businessman's offer to pay him $1 million to give up his right to decide her medical treatment."

The fact that a right-wing millionaire would even think of such a scheme is despicable. Do they really think that guardianships are or should be up for sale? Do they really believe that this man's love for his wife can or should be sold?

They just don't get it - they have absolutely no understanding of what Michael Schiavo is going through. In their minds, they would probably do it.

A mildly humorous aspect of this awful case is that it's not really Michael Schiavo's decision anyhow at this stage. The court has determined what her wishes were, and has ordered that they be carried out. Michael Schiavo could take that immoral pig's money and it wouldn't change a thing.

Go Ahead and Ask For Whom the Bell Tolls - It Tolls for Some Black Kid, so Who Cares?

Leave it to Fox 4 news to put the meteoric rise in Kansas City homicides into perspective. According to the compassionate conservatives at Fox,

The homicide statistics show the majority, 76-percent, of the crime victims are black and 44-percent, of the known suspects are also black (44-percent were also unknown.) 57-percent are under 24 years old. Right now the statistics show only one of the crimes is confirmed drug related, but detectives suspect that number is much higher. "Most of them are living at-risk lifestyles," Lockhart said, "involved in narcotics or involved in gang activity. So the average citizen is not going to be impacted by the shootings or most of the violence."

As long as you stay on your side of "the edge", that is.

But what kind of screwed up, insular world is this? I stand a decent chance of not being murdered, so I'm not "not going to be impacted by the shootings or most of the violence"?? My kids have gone to school with some of those victims. My coworkers have given birth to some of those victims. If I pause for just a second before going to a jazz show or a restaurant in a different neighborhood, I have been impacted by the violence. If I have a suburban friend refuse to accompany me, I have been impacted by the violence.

Coincidentally, the poem of the day sent to me from Poemhunter.com today was John Donne's "For Whom the Bell Tolls".

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece
of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by
the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's
death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and
therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for
thee.

"Edgy"

Troost Avenue has served as the understood dividing line between black Kansas City and white Kansas City for quite some time now. (I acknowledge that many suburbanites have mentally redrawn the line variously - at Main, at Ward Parkway, or even at the State Line - but this is my blog, and I'll choose to ignore them today.) I just noticed that a new restaurant has opened on the West side of Troost at Gregory (easy walking distance from my home) - "Grace, A Bistro On the Edge".

What?!?!

Exactly what "edge" are they talking about here? I looked at the menu (pdf) at the invaluable Pitch Menu Guide, and I don't think they're talking about the food, which appears to be standard bistro fare. I read the description of it in The Star's Cityscape column, and the hard-hitting, insightful journalists at the Star once again either dodged the racial aspect of the story or were utterly oblivious that the story even has a racial aspect.

Is "Grace, A Bistro On the Edge" a step toward openness and frank dialogue about the racial divisions in this segregated city? Is "Grace, A Bistro On the Edge" an obnoxious suggestion that the historically blurry boundary between Kansas City is actually a sharp edge, and that white diners can come to the "edge" and look out over the abyss they imagine the east side of Kansas City to be?

Swing Tips Needed

While I freely admit to being a miserable golfer (110+ at Minor Park yesterday - but I have excuses), I think I could beat this guy. It's time to take up bowling if you hit someone in the head with your driver, and they suffer "non-life-threatening injuries".

5 Weeknights in the Bars of Kansas City

It has been a rugged week of bar-hopping. This week was my last full week at my current job, with the result that a lot of friends have been wanting to catch up.

First off was a visit to Boozefish with T (names redacted to shield privacy - since I'm not Phill Kline). Boozefish is a cozy spot on Westport Road but west of the main entertainment area. They have a great winelist, which T enjoyed, and I partook of a fresh-brewed ESB, from McCoy's Public House just up the road. Good beer, good wine, good atmosphere - a great choice for a happy-hour visit. They also deserve support because they joined with others to make the Second Annual Kansas City Wine Opener for Cystic Fibrosis a big success.

Tuesday night, I ventured to a classic dive with L - a former boss and wonderful reference who helped me get the new job. Gilhouly's (no link - what kind of classic dive would have a website? - but they are listed among the hotspots at KCDrinker.com) is a dark slice of life. A crazy guy at the table behind me talked to the wall after the bar maid yelled at him to stop staring at her (she was definitely somebody to stare at, but manners are manners, even at a dive bar) - and his "ghetto cigarette" almost caught the table on fire after he finally left. The beer was great - Guinness and Fat Tire drafts for me, Rolling Rock longnecks for L, the popcorn was free, and the place was as far from pretense as possible. Gilhouly's is as real as it gets.

Wednesday night is too big for just one bar. I take a class on Wednesday evenings from 5:30 to 8:15, so D called and suggested that we meet M for drinks at around 4:00 - Grand Street Cafe's happy hour to celebrate the new job. The jump from Gilhouly's to Grand Street is a shock to the system that could kill a less resilient man, but I made the leap. M had the good house white wine for $3 a glass, D went for her signature vanilla vodka with diet cokes, and I went for the rich, malty Irish Ale from the local Boulevard Brewing Company. Great stuff, and the reduced-price appetizers (Smoked Chicken Flatbread and Red Chile Garlic Shrimp were our choices) were outstanding. Grand Street is a totally different environment than Gilhouly's - the crowd is far tonier, the atmosphere is light and beautiful, and there aren't any pool tables. But if you want glitz instead of grit, Grand Street is a great choice.

But, like I said, Wednesday night is too big for just one bar. After class, a bunch of us took over the big round table at The Peanut on Main. The Peanut is great for so many reasons, it's hard to know where to start. The chicken wings are the best I've ever had. Their BLTs are the best I've ever had. I've heard that their reubens are the best I'll ever have, but why eat a reuben when you've got those wings and those BLTs?? But food was not the point of the evening - though the table went through 18 of those wings without my help. This was an evening of getting to know classmates and a few of their friends with whom I only had nodding acquaintances. What's the point of taking classes if you're not allowed to act like an undergrad once in a while? Pitchers of Boulevard Pale Ale flowed (they were out of vanilla vodka, so D wound up drinking Zima XXX Orange - man, I'm glad I like beer!), as did the conversation. I didn't see the young woman behind me flash the guys at the bar, but the reaction of S was priceless.

The only sour note was Thursday evening, with J and W at "The Fox and Hound English Pub and Grille" in Overland Park. While the company was great, the Fox and Hound is proof that even a great beer list is insufficient to make a good bar. TVs mounted everywhere distract from conversation, the faux english atmosphere can't overcome the fact that you're stuck in a strip mall that was a soybean field a generation ago. The tables are covered with thick lacquer, and that's how the place feels. Even a quite good guitarist performing live music couldn't make this place feel comfortable and welcoming. The Fox and Hound serves as proof that a great bar is much more than a sum of its parts. Live music, good appetizers, and a great beer list should be enough to make a place fantastic. But, at the Fox and Hound, all those elements combine to make a flat, soulless experience - mostly because it tries so hard to be something it is not. Bars have personalities, and the Fox and Hound has the personality of a pathetic poser who wants desperately to make you like him.

Finally, Friday evening was a going-away party at the 75th Street Brewery. Great beer (their Dortmunder is wonderful!), lots of friends, and good food afterward with Robin, R and J. After a weeklong odyssey of Kansas City bars, it was great to come home, where they know my name and have a large mug waiting for me.

Uniformity Indeed

The Principal at Fleming Island High School has pulled Kelli Davis' senior class picture because (gasp!) she dressed in a tuxedo. He even went ahead and fired the yearbook editor because she wouldn't pull the picture herself.

Intriguingly, one of the prinicipal's supporters provided this summation of the issue - "When uniformity is compromised, then authority no longer holds."

You know, that would be a fitting motto for the right wing . . .

Symmetry of Terrorists

The husband and mother of Judge Joan Humphrey Lefkow were murdered on Monday, after she received death threats from white supremacist terrorists in the United States. In Iraq, a judge set to try Saddam Hussein was killed with his son outside their home on Tuesday.

But when we think of terrorists, we think of swarthy men with beards. Why don't we think of pale men with pickup trucks bearing confederate flags?

2 New Links on the Side

Somehow, KC Media Blog had escaped my notice until recently - but what better day to highlight it than a day on which it leads with Russian traitor and shining example of Branson schtick, Yakov Smirnoff?

I'm also adding a link to The Pitch. It was there for me yesterday, waiting for a friend to show up at Boozefish, and Kansas City really is fortunate to have a top-notch alternative newspaper.