Oil Crisis in Iraq - A New Low For BushCo Incompetence

The Bush Administration has mismanaged the post-invasion occupation of Iraq so badly that Iraq, sitting on tip of the third-largest oil reserves in the entire freaking world, is now suffering a gas shortage!

Rumor has it they're running low on sand, too.

Stinking Corporate Republican Pigs

Republicans in the Missouri legislature are working to pass laws to protect massive industrial pig farms driving traditional family farmers out of existence and releasing foul odors and toxic waste into our environment.

A metaphor comes to life.

Choking Chickens and Pulling Hoses

Rumor has it that the venerable Stroud's will be relocating to the firehouse near 95th and Holmes.

While I appreciate the fact that Stroud's is a Kansas City tradition, I'd much rather spend an evening at its neighbor for the rest of the week, BB's Lawnside Barbecue. Let's all make sure to visit BB's during the road construction project, so we don't lose a Kansas City gem.

Broadway Cafe

Visited the Broadway Cafe this afternoon for the first time in a couple months. It's simply the best coffee shop in Kansas City. By a mile.

But when you're a middle-aged man in there wearing a tie, you feel just a tiny bit like a narc. But I hope a narc would do a better job of blending in . . .

Maybe I should get my eyebrow pierced . . .

Or maybe I should get a sweet tattoo in the middle of my bald spot . . .

Yeah, that would help me fit in . . .

History Repeats Itself - Let's Just Make Sure We Get to the Part Where He Leaves the Whitehouse in Disgrace

Comfort Food and A Narrative Recipe

Start a pot of boiling, salted water, and preheat the oven to 400.

Comfort food is a personal thing. It is, for each of us, the food that echoes back into early childhood - a food that we looked forward to as a treat when we were children, yet remains an occasional and homey treat. In the eyes of the beholder, it can be neither sophisticated nor common. It should be something Mom made, but not a regular item.

Eating comfort food should return you to the kitchen or dining room of your youth, when one of your favorite meals was being served, and you felt somehow special because of that fact.

Comfort food cannot really be universalized. Restaurants will sometimes label their meat loaf, or their fried chicken, as comfort food, but that is a mistake. Even if a percentage of the population considers such items to be their comfort food, the recipe is essential. Comfort food, to be effective, needs to be "just how mom (or dad) used to make it."

The individuality of comfort food was brought home to me in a hotel cocktail lounge in Los Angeles a decade ago. A business associate and I wanted to stretch our expense accounts with the best Chinese food to be found in the city. We sought the advice of our friendly Chinese-American cocktail waitress, and she gave us an alluring description of a great Chinese restaurant, and closed her description with the universal tag-line of someone who has found a professional purveyor of their comfort food - "It's great home-cooking just like mama used to make." For me, "home-cooking just like mama used to make" did not bring images of dim sum or crab rangoon, but they did for her.

For me, the ultimate comfort food is pierogies, though they were known in our house as "piedogies". I don't know whether this is a family corruption of the name, fashioned by some wool-capped child with a budding language disorder in the distant past, or if it is a linguistic clue to the specific neighborhood of Krakow, Poland, that gave rise to my mother's clan.

Piedogies were the ultimate birthday dinner. I remember my mother and sisters working for hours, flour hanging in the air, boiling water splashing, and cookie sheet after cookie sheet of browned, buttery pillows with crispy edges emerging from the stove.

It turns out that the piedogies I loved are not even mainstream pierogies. I have had pierogies elsewhere, and even frozen, but they different, and certainly not my comfort food. Many have different fillings, with mashed potatoes a common choice, but such variants as sauerkraut, sausage, or even prunes also appearing. More essentially, most are pan-fried in butter - a step my mother's recipe dodges, as you will see below. May no fate willfully misunderstand me, and half grant what I wish and snatch me away not to return to plates of such creations - I have enjoyed them, and look forward to further exploration of the variations of pierogies. They are simply not the pierogies of my youth.

I sincerely doubt that the omission of pan-frying in butter was a nod toward health - I believe it was a practical necessity as she faced the voracious appetites of 6 children, her Polish-for-the-day husband, and her own Eastern European heritage. My mother's cooking was always burdened by the practicalities of feeding eight mouths.

When I asked my mother for her pierogie recipe, she couldn't photocopy an index card or send me a Food Network hyperlink. "It's just something you do," she said. She managed to write the basics down, but she struggled to convey on paper what the proper feel of the dough is, or how much butter to use, or how to know when the balance between moist and dry in the filling is reached. I've since lost the paper, and have learned to feel the Polish force.

You start with eggs - if you're feeling fancy, you can separate a few of them and use only the yolks. Probably around 3 eggs and a couple yolks is about right. Scramble them up with a couple dollops of sour cream, and some soft butter - probably about a third of a stick. Then mix in a couple cups of flour and stir the heck out of it with a wooden spoon (plastic isn't strong enough and metal sounds bad on the bowl - why expose yourself to that noise?). Then keep adding flour until you have a soft, kneadable dough. Knead it on a board for a few minutes, until it feels stretchy and kind of silky. Then cover it with a bowl to rest for a few minutes, while you make the filling.

This is easy. The filling is dry curd cottage cheese, salt, pepper, a couple scrambled eggs, and some flour if it looks too juicy to be a filling. You probably want to use a couple pounds of it. If you can't find dry curd, small curd will work, but you should drain it some, or you'll have to use too much flour. Take your time, since the dough should have at least 10 minutes to rest.

When it's time to work with the dough, roll it out thin. How thin? About as thin as a thin-crust pizza. Keep rolling it thinner, until you start to tear holes, then back off. It doesn't need to be THAT thin.

I have read accounts of people using pasta machines to roll out the dough, and that makes a lot of sense. About the 5 setting is right, if you choose to go this route. But you shouldn't. The thing is, you want this to be personal and imperfect, so go ahead, roll it out. And then cut it into shapes that are roughly rectangular, though you'll wind up with some irregular shapes, and that's fine.

Put a spoonful of filling in the middle of each piece, lightly moisten the edges, and fold it over, sealing it carefully. Last night, I cheated, and used a fork to press the seals closed on a few of the ones that didn't seem to seal correctly, and it worked, but that's not how my mom used to do it, so you probably shouldn't do that. And you most definitely should not do anything like make a cutesy pattern on the edge. Just get it closed up, because the next step will test your sealing skills.

Did you start a pot of boiling salt water a while ago? Now take the sealed piedogies and drop them into the water, about 6 at a time. After about a minute, they'll start to float - let them do that for a couple minutes. Pick them out carefully with a slotted spoon or a pair of tongs - be gentle - and put them on a buttered cookie sheet. Then rub butter all over the top of them, and put them in the oven.

When they turn golden brown, take them out of the oven and serve them. In my family, we served them with sour cream for the traditionalists, but the younger generation would put catsup on them - we'll probably go to Polish hell for that, but, man, that's good eating.

Last night, I made a whole mess of piedogies, and my older brother and younger sister came over with their families. I also made, by request of Sam, roasted beet borscht (I had never had borscht before, but it was pretty good, and beets are wild things to work with . . .). Robin made a salad, and Sam and Robin worked together to make blueberry blintzes, which were fantastic. And watching them work together, making crepes for the first time and doing a great job of it, that was better.

The whole crowd of family in the living room, telling old stories and new ones. That was comfort food.

"Little Red Book" Hoax on Front Page of Kos

A little while ago, a story circulated about a student at UMass Dartmouth who had checked out Mao's "Little Red Book" through inter-library loan and received a visit from Homeland Security agents. It's a hoax.

From the write-up at Kos - "When we're wrong in promoting a story, we need to face up to it and move on." Wow. That's a staggering thought. Do you think Malkin or Drudge or virtually any of the right-winger bloggers would agree? Or right-wing talk radio?

The Taum Sauk Flood & Johnson's Shut-Ins

(Update: When I wrote the following, I left out the fact that a family had been swept up in the billion-gallon flood. I didn't know much about them, and, while I knew they were alive, I didn't know how they were doing. Anything I could write would have distracted from my focus on the natural beauty of Johnson's Shut-Ins, and would been inadequate to convey the humanity of the tragedy.

Today's Star has a truly excellent article that fills in the picture vividly. Imagine being awakened at 4 a.m. by a freezing flood crushing your house and scattering your children.)

Over on the eastern side of Missouri is a geological marvel called Johnson's Shut-Ins, just downstream from Taum Sauk Mountain, the highest point in the state of Missouri. In mid-December, a reservoir broke and unleashed a flood that roared through the area, destroying houses and other structures in its path. Since then, I've been wondering how badly damaged the shut-ins themselves are.

Before December, the shut-ins consisted of a rocky area that the Black River flowed through, full of wild rock formations and a cliff where you could leap into the river, but only if you cleared the rocks close to shore. Only morons attempted it - I was one of them.

Here is an awesome photo of the break in the reservoir:

Here are some photos of the damage to the shut-ins from the Missouri Department of Natural Resources site:

It looks like there's some bad silting in the park, and I don't know how long it will take for the water to clear.

I, like most natives of the east coast of Missouri, have fond memories of Johnson's Shut-ins, and I hope it will be able to be fully restored.

"A Fine Tune" Just Doesn't Understand

One of my favorite Kansas City bloggers, A Fine Tune, recently posted a snarky piece implying that the fan who obtained a restraining order against David Letterman is mentally ill.

A Fine Tune just doesn't get it. I believe the fan.

But then, I've been stalked by stars much of my life. It's an experience you might find unbelievable until it happens to you.

For me, the nightmare began when Olivia Newton John began to express her yearnings for my high school self. It started out with the disturbingly direct "I Honestly Love You". After that, she tried to lighten up and take the cute and sweet approach, with the perky "You're the One that I Want." My high school years were ruined, as most high school girls refused to date me, presumably because they were intimidated by ONJ's constant attention (though they never admitted that was the reason . . .).

Eventually, ONJ relented, but similar instances have arisen over the years. Selma Hayek tried to ruin my marriage, and space and tact won't permit me to explain the painfully confused time that I helped Melissa Etheridge through.

Just because you haven't experienced the unwanted attention of a superstar, A Fine Tune, don't dismiss those of us who do . . .

Can We Talk?

Recent events have made me worry about the polarization in this country and the elevation of party loyalty over thought. Have people stopped thinking? Do we hear and see the same things?

I was honestly shocked by the number of Bush apologists who have leapt up with talking-point responses to the Domestic Spying Scandal. "Clinton did the same thing," they claimed, until it was demonstrated that he didn't. "It was authorized in the war resolution," they shouted, until someone read the war resolution and spoiled the fun. "He needs to be able to spy right away," they pointed out, until it was pointed out that the FISA allows for retroactive warrants. "Privacy rights don't matter if you're killed in a terrorist attack," they cried, and thinking people turned away in embarrassment for them.

My question is why. Why? Is it some kind of hyper-team-identity thing, where you actually care about the fortunes of your team more than you care about our Constitution? I'm talking about people who are not on the Republican payroll - ostensibly people who are free to look at what Bush has done and realize that this is a horrible thing.

Over the weekend, Dave Pelt over at Davenetics posted this troubling observation:

As of earlier this month, 88% of Dems disapproved of the job W was doing while a cool 8% approved.

88-8. Think that’s a little overboard? Michael Brown had better numbers among Katrina victims.

And what about the Republicans? Nearly 80% of them approve of the job the President is currently doing.

Folks, Jenna Jameson couldn’t hit an approval numbers like that at a bachelor party.

Step by step, we are gradually replacing thought with party in this country.

One of the most telling defenses of Bush came in the (false) argument that Clinton had ordered similar illegal surveillance. As if that would matter to me. The presenters of that argument are apparently thinking that those of us who oppose the president are absolutely honor-bound to approve of Clinton's every action. "Oh, well," they assume my interior monologue would run, "I can't criticize anything Clinton did, so I have to give Bush a free pass." Sorry, but, even if Clinton had done something similar, it wouldn't excuse Bush.

I don't mean to imply that this sickness infects only Republicans. I am reminded of my response to a right-wing blogger's insistence that Bush had volunteered to go to Vietnam. I was immediately certain that this is a falsehood, and I set out to find support for my position. Sure enough, I found it, supported by sufficient evidence to affirm my position. But the key is that I reached a conclusion and then sought evidence to support it. How intellectually honest would I be if I failed to recognize that fact?

Despite that admission, I sincerely don't think I wear the blinders demonstrated by the Bush apologists this week. I've voted for a Republican senator. The first piece of political analysis I can remember ever getting into print was a bitter denunciation of Carter's refusal to allow the United States to compete in the 1980 Summer Olympics.

The eagerness of the right-wing bloggers to trot out weak arguments and outright factual lies in defense of their Leader this week has repulsed me. Perhaps, if President Kerry or President Gore had violated the Constitutional rights of Americans, I would be casting about wildly trying to find an excuse that would stick. But I doubt it.

I think I would want him impeached.

I Got My Jim Talent Holiday Card Today

Actually, it was just an email card, but, still . . . I won't take cheap shots about it, because it was a simple message of good will with a nice family photo and a chatty note about family happenings. If I get to the point that I can't accept a pleasant, non-political note, I hope that someone whacks me upside the head. I don't like the guy's politics, but I admire him for rising above Bill O'Reilly and the rest of the "War on Christmas" idiots by sending an ecumenical e-card that would appeal to all.

Bolivia in Peril?

We had just finished our evening meal, and stepped out of the community dining room to be greeted with the sounds of bass drums pounding, the earthy sounds of Andean flutes tonally whistling, and young voices chanting. Intrigued, we followed the sounds to the sparse town square, little more than a few benches and palm trees. There, we saw Bolivian adolescents, accompanied by younger siblings, practicing native dances and songs. They marched and sang and practiced as a group.

What struck me, as a parent and former Brookside Soccer coach, was the utter absence of supervision. Nobody was there to yell at Carlos for a missed step, or to correct Juan's drum line. This was obviously something that had been passed down from generation to generation, and, while the teenagers were perfecting their dance, the 6-year-olds running alongside in the town square were soaking up the rhythm and the dance steps, so that they would be able to carry it on in a few years. We stood on the side of the square, enthralled, watching an activity that stretched back generations.

I was struck by the innocence and the history. These kids weren't learning new ways of making out from MTV or drinking Natty Light in a pick-up truck. They were out, by themselves, perfecting a dance their parents had done, and, God willing, their children will do.

But maybe not. Today, Bolivians went to the polls, and what they did there may have angered a powerful nation that has demonstrated that it is willing to wage wars of aggression.

Evo Morales appears to have won the popular vote, and may be elected by the Congress to be President. Evo believes that socialistic policies could help his people, and he objects to the United States' efforts to eradicate the cultivation of coca leaf.

Coca is the base ingredient of cocaine. It is also a beneficial crop in Bolivia. I myself, a taxpaying, upstanding, tie-wearing member of American society, drank coca tea every morning I was in Bolivia, to help me avoid altitude sickness and work to make schoolrooms. It's true that Americans have developed sophisticated means of misusing this traditional crop, but it's also true that coca leaves have been a part of Bolivian culture for generations - far more generations than the D.A.R. families of Virginia can claim for their cancerous weed. Imagine if Bolivia were demanding the eradication of tobacco in America because Bolivians could not control their use of the weed your tax dollars go to support . . .

But America has a problem with coca, and so we must interfere with someone else's culture.

And, to make it worse, Bolivia sits atop of a massive bounty of natural gas. Enough natural gas to expose ANWAR for the petrochemical chump change it really is. Enough natural gas to expose Bolivia to the unwholesome attention of people who are the property of companies like Halliburton. People like Bush and Cheney.

Will another generation practice its dances in the town square? Will the little brothers and sisters I saw running beside the dancers get their opportunity to participate?

Or will we Americans feel the need to put boots into that town square?

America, 1776 - 2001, R.I.P.

America has died. To borrow the words of a great Republican, government of the people, by the people and for the people has perished from the earth. It has been replaced by tyranny - a government over the people. George Bush killed it.

Writing these words, I know that many readers will think I'm going off the deep end, that I'm being overly dramatic in a silly over-reaction to a news story that came out on Friday and will be forgotten by most of us by Monday.

And I know that the sun will rise, and we will still be wildly wealthy, and I know that Democrats will still argue with Republicans about tax cuts, and America as we know it will not undergo a lot of visible changes. "Normal", non-questioning, compliant, silent majority Americans will be just fine. Just as most Cubans don't find themselves in prisons, and just as most Iraqis would go through their lives unmolested by Hussein. The "silent majority's" suffering comes only late in a tyranny, when the country as a whole is worn down by the mistakes of its leadership.

Bush has taken the tragic events of 9-11 and used them to make himself above the law. He was bred for the moment - a spoiled boy who got into Yale by bloodline, a fortunate son who hid in the TANG, a drunk whose family kept him shielded from consequences, an election-loser whose connections on the Supreme Court made him president.

When he was appointed President, Bush swore to uphold the Constitution. The Constitution forbids unreasonable search and seizure. Spying on Americans without a warrant, as Bush has not only authorized once but dozens of times, sweeping hundreds of Americans (no less Americans than you or Bush himself - was I included? I traveled abroad, I read news from sources other than Fox , , ,) is illegal and unconstitutional. And Bush is unapologetic about it, lashing out instead at the people whose consciences forbade them to blindly support his lawlessness.

This is not funny. This is a man who is using the power of our government against our citizens. This is a man who is ignoring our Constitution because he sincerely believes that circumstances have raised him above the law. He believes he can do whatever he feels is best. He believes he is king.

Perhaps my title is hyperbolic. The American people disapprove of the man, and their disapproval may erupt into action upon this unprecedented assault. The Senate and House are viewing him with suspicion, and this illegality is precisely the sort of big-brother-government that gets under the skin of principled conservatives. If, by chance, this story is not dead by Monday, this may be the act that gets Bush impeached in disgrace. While I don't relish the thought of President Cheney, I would gladly support him as President of the United States rather than tolerate Bush as President of something much less than America.

Ford - Finally Okay Regarding Discrimination

I was disgusted by Ford's gutlessness in caving into the American Family Association by ceasing advertising in gay publications. Well, after an outcry by non-bigots, Ford has shifted into reverse and will be advertising all their brands in such publications. So, if you're in the market for a new car, you may consider buying a Ford. Unfortunately, they've retired the line, so you can't get yourself a new brown Probe . . .

Kathleen Parker - Damn You, You Gave Us What We Sought!

Kathleen Parker's column in today's Star (trust me, it was in the Star, but the link is to Townhall.com, which doesn't require annoying registration) is one of those all-too-common right wing laments about how the news doesn't cover what they want to read. In this case, the specific complaint is that Murtha's criticism of Bush's Optional War has received far more coverage than Joe Lieberman's hypocritical support of Our Leader. Of course, this imbalance of coverage is proof that the media lean left.

She winds up her embrace of victim's mentality with

And why, we might wonder, have the media - always so insistent in denying liberal bias - been so willing to play one story and not another?

I'm just askin'.

Fair enough - I'm just answerin'. Because the Republicans went apeshit when Murtha voiced his opinion, and insisted on shutting down Congress until they could hold a sham vote on a doctored resolution misrepresenting Murtha's position. They chose to play with PR, and they were incompetent. Again.

And quit whining about it, Kathleen.

Those Merciless Right Wingers!!

Squeamish readers should probably read no further. The latest diabolical plot by the clever right wing media is so savage, so cruel, that sensitive people are likely to burst into tears upon reading about it.

The anti-ACLU genius/radio-attention-seeker Michael Gallagher, along with others of similar intellect, have decided to send Christmas cards to the ACLU! To make this horrible abuse even more staggering, they are threatening to enclose checks with some of the cards, so that the ACLU may open each of them! Those evil bastard geniuses!!

Can you imagine the torment those godless ACLU employees will suffer, as they open cards that have the "C" word in them?? Can you imagine the joy the pious Christians will feel, using cards honoring the birth of Jesus to send a dagger of pain into fellow human beings?

I hope that somehow this awful assault fails, or else the right wing might be emboldened further. Just imagine the pain I would suffer if one of those heartless sons of bitches finds my Christmas list, and sends me every gift on it!

The horror, the horror . . .

Answer Me This!

What in the hell is the tin man? I mean, lions and scarecrows are part of the world, but I'm unaware of mechanized woodmen roaming Kansas or anywhere else . . .

Let's Not Talk About Bush's Optional War . . .

Various of the right wingers have hit upon a new tactic in defending Bush's Optional War in Iraq. Instead, they are now discussing it as WWII, the Revolutionary War, or even the Civil War (ours, not theirs . . .).

I can understand the temptation this past week - the anniversary of the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor - to talk about WWII, the last "good" war. And, for some, the temptation was too much to bear, and they displayed their silliness with questions about whether those of us who oppose Bush's post 9-11 invasion of Iraq would have proposed "cutting and running" from Hitler and Tojo after Pearl Harbor. The problem with the analogy, however, was pointed out by John Kerry - the post 9-11 war in Iraq is more analogous to Roosevelt invading Mexico after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

Well, since that one didn't work out so well, how about we go back to the war that got us started? Norman Podhoretz prefers the Revolutionary War, and compares those of us who oppose Bush's Optional War to Tom Paine's "times that try men's souls" such that "the summer soldier and the sunshine patriot" become so disheartened that they "shrink from the service of [their] country." Umm, sorry, Norm, but that one doesn't work, either. This war has never been about the creation or survival of democracy in America. This war is about WMDs in Iraq, right? No? Well, please, tell me why we're there, and please make it an excuse you'll stick with, okay?

The laugh-out-loud funniest analogy, though, is the comparison that William Stuntz, a Harvard Law professor makes. Believe it or not, this war is analogous to the American Civil War, not because it looks like it is going to kick of a long and bloody conflict among the various sects within Iraqi society, but, get this, because, as summarized by my colleague Anti-Media:

Stuntz points out that the Civil War began for very mundane reasons (an American fort was attacked) but ended up being prosecuted for the highest of all reasons "that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom" and that "government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

The result of that war, as horrible as its devastation was, was the establishment of the greatest nation on the face of the earth.

The Iraq war was begun for mundane reasons - to remove a brutal dictator and to destroy his ability to produce WMD and provide them to terrorists.

You can't make this stuff up. The Civil War began because somebody fired a cannon at Fort Sumter? The fact that the some on the right wing are reduced to this intellectual debasement is a sign of just how desperately they want to avoid discussing the national embarrassment Iraq is.

John Lennon - 1980

I was in England on this date in 1980, when John Lennon was gunned down by a crazy man in New York City. I was nearing the end of a semester stay in Bath, and the feeling of being in a foreign land had worn on me. While I was gone, the United States had elected Reagan, an immoral buffoon, to the presidency, and I had failed to secure an absentee ballot. I was where I did not belong, and where I did belong had changed utterly.

The news of Lennon's death shocked everyone in England. Some were angry, most were simply sad. I went into a pub where a friend worked, and an afternoon drunk glared at me and spat, "You fucking Americans and your fucking american guns." I finished my pint and left. I wasn't welcome, and I had no explanation why handguns are so easily available in my country.

From the perspective of today, it seems odd how little news there was. There were only occasional TV and radio reports, repeating the same information. There were no websites to speculate wildly about the story, and no fan sites to visit to deepen the feeling. There was nothing to do.

I walked around the streets of Bath, England, alone, for hours. I can remember what I was wearing, and I remember the feeling of my fists jammed into my coat pockets. I wore my hood over my head that day, and kept my head down. My country had killed John Lennon, and I was in Lennon's country.

A little over a year ago, I visited Strawberry Fields in Central Park. It was a beautiful day, and the memorial felt like a place of healing. Here is a photo we took. Rest in Peace.

KMBZ Can't Get Anything Right

It is not now, never has been, and never will be Verbeck's Kansas City. Get this through your head. It's Tony's Kansas City!

Jerry Agar's cluelessness must be contagious. (Who did his makeover? While he does look a little less like one of the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz, now he looks more like Stuart Smalley, but without the sparkle of intelligence in his eyes.)

Bell's Batch 7000 Ale

It's a snowy night in Kansas City. A perfect night for a deep, dark, sipping-style ale. Tonight, I opened a bottle of Bell's Batch 7000 Ale.

This is a rare beer. Bell's is one of the best breweries in the nation, and in the world. Batch 7000 is a commemorative beer to commemorate their 7000th batch of beer. It is a thick, almost syruppy brew that would be undrinkably sweet if not for a hefty shot of hop bitterness to balance out the malt. Despite its substantial viscosity, it has a pleasant, balanced aftertaste - a burnt caramel flavor with a spicy hop tang. Surprisingly, at 12% alcohol, it doesn'burn going down.

I picked up a 6 pack of this gem for $16 at Gomer's. It's definitely not a beer for quaffing, and it will never replace Natty Light at high school parties. But it was a fine accompaniment to watching the streets fill up with snow.

Weasel-ito - Getting Worse?

I pointed out a while ago that one of the reasons I oppose making the lying, unethical, zealot Alito a Supreme Court judge is the fact that, when applying for a job with the corrupt Reagan administration, he bragged about his membership in CAP - an organization dedicated to keeping Princeton in the hands of rich, white males. It is bad enough that over-privileged punks get life handed to them on silver trays, but it is worse when they develop white-man-entitlement syndrome, and they come to believe that their life of entitlement is an organic part of "the way things ought to be".

How could Alito possibly make this situation worse? The only way possible - he turned into a gutless, lying weasel. "Last week Supreme Court nominee Alito told the Senate Judiciary Committee, in his response to their questionnaire, that he has 'no recollection of being a member, of attending meetings or otherwise participating in the activities' of CAP." I'm sorry, but I refuse to believe that this man (I'm using the word solely as "male person", not as any sort of estimation of his manly integrity) highlighted his membership in CAP in 1985, and now claims that he can't conjure up that recollection. Let me be real clear hear, so there's no misunderstanding whatsoever. Alito is a liar.

How low can this guy sink? He has indicated that lying is an appropriate way to get around inconvenient laws. He has stated clearly that he is willing to say untrue things if it helps him get a job. He has ruled in cases where he has a financial interest, after promising he would not do so.

Who would have thought that the name Alito would allow for such wordplay? First he was ScAlito, because of his allegiance to the far right. Then he became Scandalito, because he valued his portfolio more than his word and the value of an impartial judiciary. Then he became A-Lie-to, because he told a senator that he lied to get a job, and because he wrote in an opinion that laws aren't burdensome if you can lie to get around them.

And now he is Weasel-ito. Because he is trying desperately to get a job he is utterly unqualified for, and he is wiling to lie about who he is to get it. If right-wingers still have a sense of shame, Alito should have them red-faced.

5 Important Songs

I am an ignoramus when it comes to music. I don’t know how time is measured, I don’t understand octaves, and I don’t know what a bridge is. Like one of those willfully unstudied individuals parked in front of the gaudy Remington at the art museum, I don’t know much about this particular art, but I know what I like.

I recently loaded up my iPod with a new playlist of 300 of my favorite songs, and enjoyed the drive across Missouri more than ever. Certain songs mean so much to me – they can change my mood and thoughts within a couple of notes. So, even though I can’t promise scholarly analysis or technical observations, what follows is a list of 5 songs that are important to me, and why.

1. Elvis Costello, “Alison”. Alison is the most searing and mature love song I’ve ever heard. It starts out with Elvis’ snarling vocals, dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. “Well its so funny to be seeing you after so long, girl, but with the way you look I understand that you were not impressed.” The intensity in his voice, though, exposes how much he cares, and the listener knows that Alison has a firm grip on his heart, and he can’t help it. His strained casualness is betrayed no matter how he approaches her.

The song goes on to expose just how raw he is, with clever lyrics and a guitar putting up liquid notes backed by a solid, though unobtrusive bass line. “I don’t know if you were loving somebody, I only know it isn’t mine” jumps from a general concern about emotions to a sharply expressed specific carnal longing. “Sometimes I wish that I could stop you from talking when I hear the silly things that you say. I think somebody better put out the big light, ‘cause I can’t stand to see you this way” turns his attempted insults back around and becomes a statement about how powerfully sad he is to see someone he loves so damned much not showing the perfection he sees in her.

Alison is a tormented love song, in which the world is killing both the lover and the beloved. A love that, for reasons undisclosed, doesn’t work out, exists like a fresh, salted wound, and Costello’s painful vocals leave us gasping at the beauty and the pain of a failed love. The world cannot contain perfection, and Alison is Elvis’ lamentation of that fact.

2. Bob Seger, “Travelin’ Man/Beautiful Loser”. This one is kind of embarrassing, to the extent that I thought about not listing it. Instead, I would choose something cooler and more sophisticated – something that is broadly accepted as a “great song”, and one with would be more likely to show up in a list of critics’ favorites.

But, truth is, I loved this song in high school. I was a skinny, non-athletic, pimply nerd, awkward with girls and outstanding at nothing. Somehow, Seger’s combination of the world-wise “up with the sun, gone with the wind” travelin’ man with the eager-to-please loser spoke to the kid I was. Plus, the bass line backs up a driving guitar, a silken organ and a thumping drum set.

I know, I know, it’s not great art. But it was music that helped me though a time in my life when I didn’t know that the line “he wants to dream like a young man, with the wisdom of an old man” underestimated the dreams of an old man, but overestimated the wisdom.

3. Dave Brubeck,“Take Five”. Words fail me. This music is the soundtrack to my imagined life in 1950s Los Angeles. Cool, sophisticated, and a tantalizing undertow of mystery. The drums, the alto sax, the piano and the bass take you someplace that feels familiar, but exotic nonetheless. The music nods at you and accepts you into its circle – it doesn’t shout or grab at you. It epitomizes cool. You can imagine stepping out of a subterranean jazz joint into the cool Pacific breeze. Dig it.

4. Bruce Springsteen, “Born to Run”. THE anthem of American youth. A screaming homage to youth, death, love and cars. “I wanna know if love is wild, I wanna know if love is real.” And then a sax solo that grounds the song solidly in rock history. “The girls comb their hair in the rearview mirrors and the boys try to look so hard.” Then, pow, pow, pow, pow and the “highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive.”

It’s hard to write about Bruce, because he does such a great job of combining the lyrics with the music. The music is loud and pure and adrenaline. It’s tough but sentimental. It straddles Chuck Berry, the Clash, and Nirvana. It is teenage America.

Some day, I want to see him do it live. But till then tramps like us, baby we were born to run.

5. Bob Dylan, “Stuck Inside of Mobile (with the Memphis Blues Again). Dylan is as challenging as T.S. Eliot, but as comfortable as Thurber. And with his skilled lyricism and well-matched music, he showed a budding college poet that poetry would not survive as an important art form in an age of recorded music. Dylan, and this song in particular, convinced me that poetry is doomed to be the warring province of anemic intellectuals and vapid crap merchants. A pox on both their houses.

“Oh, Mama, is this really the end? To be stuck inside of Mobile, with the Memphis blues again?”