Beer in the Bottoms? Let's Bulldoze the Power & Light District!

Last night, while researching my next homebrew recipe, I came upon a spot of amazingly cool news. In 2009, Kansas City will have another brewery opening up, this time in the West Bottoms. Dead Canary Brewing is a woman-owned and run new brewery, setting up in the West Bottoms down off 12th Street, among the haunted houses and great old brick buildings.

Folks, this could be amazing.

They are setting up Beer Pong and Dodgeball Leagues. They are creating a taproom. They are committed to brewing practices that are green and sustainable. They got started on this journey by brewing naked.

Most importantly, they are creating "high content, high flavor, knock you on yo ass beers." Beers like Cat House Stout - (Dry hopped mint chocolate imperial stout), Local No. 12 - (lemongrass maple strong ale), Speakeasy IPA - (honeysuckle grapefruit IPA), Bathtub Barleywine - (copiously hopped barleywine), and Chickory Rhubarb Imperial Porter.

This could do more for the West Bottoms than any TIF Project ever brewed up in a closed-door meeting between Kay Barnes and Mephistopheles. Really - the West Bottoms could become the new Crossroads X 20, with lots of inexpensive great old buildings around, acres of parking, and reasonable access to the highways.

But, since Wayne Cauthen and the prior City Council have gambled our city's future on the Power & Light District, which is already turning out to be a bit of a flop, I have a radical idea. Let's bulldoze the Power & Light District, and refuse to give any more of our tax dollars to Cordish and their cronies. (Yes, of course they will sue, but it will take years for them to recover anything, and a sensible jury might just rule in our favor if we can introduce evidence of all their broken promises and their racist dress codes.)

Now that we have freed ourselves of the millions upon millions of obligations to out-of-state developers, we can bring in some topsoil and put in the world's most awesome beer garden in all the paved expanse that currently exists down there. Let's be ambitious - let's create something that will make Munich's Oktoberfest seem like an unpopular fraternity's weekend kegger. (We can even, as a nod to our prior mayor, put in a rain garden, just to show we're not angry anymore.)

Then, we take a few million dollars and give them to our local brewers to create the micro-breweries of their dreams on the periphery of our new beer garden. Relocate Boulevard's and its emblematic smokestack downtown. Get 75th Street Brewery to open up a 12th Street Brewery. In a cross-state gesture of goodwill to make up for our outright theft of the 1985 World Series, offer Schlafly a space.

But don't forget the beginners, either! The Kauffman Foundation wants to support entrepreneurship - let them funnel a few million dollars to help ambitious homebrewers make the leap into micro-brewing. And, because cans are so much more recyclable and cheaper to ship than bottles, let the city open up a municipal cannery, offering access to its canning lines for each of the breweries on a cooperative basis - a green infrastructure project that ought to attract funding from every level of government.

As I think we demonstrated at 75th Street Brewery on Monday night, real beer is a big draw. People will come out for something unusual, and they appreciate a good party. Imagine if Kansas City was the undisputed Home of Great Beer. We would have to hire thugs to control the hoards of convention planners! Vacationers would come in year round, just to try the seasonal brews! Hotels chains would pony up their own money to get access to the crowds of tipsy beer-lovers walking around downtown.

Most importantly, it would be awesome.

My point in this flight of fancy is that for the millions of dollars we have blown on a cookie-cutter assemblage of national chain restaurants, we could have had something unique and truly attractive to Kansas Citians and conventions if only we had focused on local businesses and local flavor. This is the sort of impulse that Mayor Funkhouser has pushed with his New Tools initiative. Economic Development does not have to mean sending massive amounts of money to out-of-state developers for massive projects. Let's hope that the Council gets behind the concept and that we see some real Kansas City economic development.

In the meantime, let's raise a toast to Dead Canary Brewing. They might accomplish with beer what politicians have failed to accomplish with hot air and taxpayer dollars.

Whitlock - Winning Mizzou Team Should Feel Awful?

I know that Jason Whitlock doesn't get paid to put reasonable views onto paper - he justifies his massive salary by attaching his name to counter-intuitive perspectives, and every now and then he hits paydirt with a fresh insight.

That said, this morning's column berating the Mizzou Tiger football team after they defeated a similarly-ranked team in the Alamo Bowl Game is a classic example of saying something stupid in a vain attempt to be original. In it, he seeks to rain on the Tigers' parade because their victory was not a stomping of their opponent. He called the victory "an embarrassment", because the #21 team in the nation went into overtime to defeat the #23 team in the nation. He was shocked and horrified that the Missouri team celebrated on the field after the game.

Jason, a bunch of 18-24 year-old kids just won a nationally-televised big time football game, and it was the last time that many of them will get to play together. Do you honestly, truly think that they should feel bad about themselves, because they won the game but didn't complete the grim task of meeting the expectations of a middle-aged guy who can't play anymore? Do you really expect the winners of the Alamo Bowl to sulk off the field in a storm of self-loathing because they "merely" won the game?

Congrats to Mizzou for finishing among the top football teams in the country, and enjoy your ticker-tape parade in Columbia. College sports are for college kids, not for semi-pro joy-sucking parade-rainers.

Thanks for Coming Out

This is one of those times I don't dare mention names, because I can't list them all and I wouldn't want anyone to be overlooked, but thanks to all who came out and tasted the Triple Sugar Tripel last night. That was a heck of a party!

The beer, for those who weren't there, was a lot sweeter than I expected, but it was a warming sipping beer for the winter. When cold, it had a pretty good balance between bitter and sweet, that slipped toward the sweet side as it warmed. I'm pleased with how it came out, though my homemade version was less sweet and full-bodied - the 75th Street version is a rich sipping after-dinner beer. The beer snobs at the party seemed to enjoy it as a complex, style-stretching Belgian Tripel, and people who don't typically drink beer enjoyed a sweet drink. One of my Bud Light-favoring friends summed up her reaction as "if you closed your eyes and didn't know it was beer, you would think you were drinking wine." I think there's some truth to that statement, and it hints at the complexity of the beer.

We raised somewhere over a thousand dollars for the Central City School Fund, enough for a scholarship enabling a child to attend an excellent Catholic school in the old Northeast or the West Side. That's a tremendous accomplishment. Thank you to all who came out and enjoyed the beer, and a special thanks for those who tossed something into the pot.

Don't Forget - Drink MY Beer Tonight!!

The long-awaited tapping of Triple Sugar Tripel will be taking place tonight. Come on by - there'll be a party in the back room! 75th Street Brewery, 5-8 tonight.

(Read about the beer here.)

Republican Compassion

I try to read broadly, to stretch my mind, test my ideas, and gain a few chuckles along the way. In a recent review of the right-wing blogosphere, I happened upon a brilliant example of Compassionate Conservatism at The Source - a rightwing blog that generates more litigation than logic. The particular article was entitled "The Christmas Rifle", and it is an unintentionally hilarious masterpiece.

It centers on the story of a kid whose father spent money on saving a widow and her family instead of buying a rifle for his son for Christmas. Set in 1881, the story is told from the point of view of the son, who comes to realize that the family's faces filled with gratitude for saving them from literal starvation were more important than his hoped-for Christmas rifle.

To really appreciate the story, it's worth noting that it's pure fiction. The author, Rian B. Anderson (the Source has the author's name wrong), wasn't born in 1881, but wisely chose to set his story in an imagined age of pre-New Deal rugged individualism he's never experienced.

The story starts off with a ritual denunciation of the demons of right-wing thought - "Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities." Just making sure you know that Widow Jenkins wasn't a welfare queen, because, if she were judged "lazy" by Pa, it would have been okay to let her little ragamuffins starve to death, right? One wonders what would have happened if Pa had seen Widow Jenkins refuse a lucrative career in prostitution, or why she hadn't been out chopping wood herself . . .

It's also humorous how taciturn Pa is - he undertakes the entire experience without explaining to his son where they're going or why. Strictly a need-to-know basis - Pa shares Dick Cheney's fetish for secrecy, it seems. Authority, to be really impressive, must assert itself without explanation.

But the funniest thing about the story is that, at the end, the kid feels all gooey and wonderful about the wonderful stroke of non-governmental largesse he has brought to a starving family, but all he really did is follow orders and he shares nothing of his own. Like so many of today's conservatives who are born on third base believing that he hit a triple, the boy in the story is blessed to be living in comfort, and perfectly untroubled with the fact that less fortunate children might have starved to death on Christmas Day if his Pa hadn't noticed "little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunnysack rags".

It takes a peculiar mindset to view near-starvation on Christmas as particularly heart-warming, but that is the intent of the post. In the world of "The Source", any act of near-compassion by a welfare-hating authority figure is worthy of celebration, even if it happened a century and a quarter ago. And even if it's fiction.

Eating All Over the Place

One of the many benefits of living in an information age in a moderately cosmopolitan city is the opportunity to eat something other than roast turkey for fancy meals. Over the past several days, we've served 3 meals of note - Christmas Eve, Christmas, and a dinner party on Saturday evening. It struck me how varied our food options are.

Christmas Eve is always tamales at our house, and we wound up purchasing them from the groceria place on Southwest Boulevard a couple doors west of La Fonda. I love those tamales, sold by the dozen, and we accompanied them with Rick Bayless' easy-and-quick-to-make fried beans and rice pudding. It wasn't wildly authentic and it wasn't all homemade, but it was a fantastic meal that tasted a whole lot more Mexican than you ought to expect in a house of pasty white Irish Poles.

The multinational flair continued on Christmas Day, when Sam fired up the stove and roasted ten pounds of Korean pork butt, served with kim chee, some kind of freaky soy paste I got at the Asian Supermarket just north of City Market, and home-made pickled peppers. The recipe has a name, but I've forgotten it, but I won't forget the crispy/tender texture of the pork wrapped in lettuce leaves with accompaniments. I've never been to Korea, but slow-cooked pork is always Seoul food for me (I am filled with remorse for that one). We finished it off with home-made key-lime pie - geographically inappropriate but a gastronomically perfect citrus ending to a meal that was all umami and spice.

Saturday we were hosting guests whose taste I don't know well, so a little restraint was demanded. I went with the Tandoori Chicken recipe adapted for those of us without tandoori ovens, featured in the most recent Cook's Illustrated. (Cook's Illustrated has a subscription-based online recipe database, but this recipe looks very similar.) The recipe was spectacular - spicy/flavorful more than spicy/hot, and just slightly charred but still moist and tender. I accompanied it with Indian Spiced Cauliflower and Potatoes - golden with turmeric and cumin, and just spicy enough to be flavorful. Dessert was chai-spiced almond cookies - I'm glad I held off on a little of the cardamom, and the cookies were crumbly perfection.

Friends, I grew up in a pretty meat-and-potatoes household, and I've never been to Korea, Mexico, India, or even Key West. I count myself fortunate to be alive in an age where ingredients and good recipes make it possible to taste cuisines from all over the world. I love a good pot roast and making pierogies is a foodie connection to my own recently-lost ancestry, but, armed with a few good cookbooks, the internet and a few ethnic markets, I can take my kitchen around the world, and still drink the water.

If You Enjoyed Last Week's Sunday Poetry

Then go read this fine essay on Phyllis McGinley ("almost entirely forgotten today") published this week in the New York Times.

Sunday Poetry: To an Athlete Dying Young, by AE Housman

To an Athlete Dying Young

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields were glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.

- AE Housman
____________________________________

Housman was not a great poet. Housman was a competent compiler of couplets, but his poems are didactic, dry and obvious. While technically adequate, his poetry lacks the ambiguity and depth, and often the emotional honesty, to really sing out as great poetry. "To an Athlete Dying Young" is probably his best poem, and it has a certain resonance for those who have watched Meryl Streep (as Karen Blixen) use it to haltingly eulogize Robert Redford (as Dennis Finch-Hatton) in the movie version of "Out of Africa".

The strength of the poem lies in the tension between its nursery-rhyme structure of iambic tetrameter couplets and the emotive bleakness of a young person's death. Adding to its appeal is the fact that the rhyming couplets stick in the reader's head like a death-praising jingle - this poem is the catchy "Delta Dawn" of morbid, suicidal teens.

Housman was the "gateway drug" to great poetry for me, though. His slim, self-published volume of poems, A Shropshire Lad, may have been the first book of poetry I bought for pleasure instead of as a required text. His poems are understandable, rhythmical, quotable and sometimes even funny. From the poem entitled "Terence, this is stupid stuff", you get such barroom gems as "malt does more than Milton can / To justify God’s ways to man," and "Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink / For fellows whom it hurts to think."

As I've read and enjoyed more poetry, Housman remains a guilty pleasure. What he lacks in subtlety he makes up in refreshing directness. While too many of his poems in one sitting can leave one yearning for something with more emotional depth and lyrical variation than a greeting card, a few of his poems at a time recall the pleasures of well-worked, clear-meaning verse in a world of atonal opacity.

Merry Christmas, Nuke!

Nuclear Buffalo just left a comment in my prior thread offering me a "Merry Christmas", and I thought it only right to put up a post a little more seasonal than the economic catastrophe we're all facing. And Nuclear Buffalo is a perfect example of someone this blog has made me glad to know - a guy who I never would have met without the blog, and with whom I'm still far from close friends, but someone I can look forward to having a friendly beer and conversation with in the coming year.

In a few minutes, we'll wake up the children who, a few short years ago, would have been waking us up before the crack of dawn. I'm a lucky, lucky man.

Peace, friends, commenters, readers, and all.

Mayor's Forum on Financial Preparedness

Yesterday morning, concerned Kansas Citians gathered at the auditorium of the Liberty Memorial Museum for a conversation just as bleak as the weather outside. The structural imbalance of Kansas City's budget and the crazed tax-giveaways of the Barnes years have left us facing a $84.9 million dollar shortfall which will grow to a $111.5 million shortfall if current trends continue. The short answer, brought home by Deb Hermann, Mayor Funkhouser and the consultants who spoke, is that current trends cannot continue. So what are we going to do about it?

In a nutshell, we failed to come up with workable solutions. The ideas that seemed to have the most support all placed the misery squarely on the average city worker or average citizen, and involved little or no sacrifice for the ultra-wealthy Kansas Citians who spoke out at the meeting. "Charge for trash" and "cut back on city workers" were the strongest suggestions offered up by the multi-multi-multi-millionaires who grabbed the microphones before going back to their taxpayer financed enclaves. Funny how nobody even suggested graduating the earnings tax, or even delaying Payments in Lieu of Taxes so we get a year's worth of interest on the money we are paying to finance their castles. Indeed, one of the wealthiest men in the state openly scoffed at any thought that some of the problem could be solved on the revenue side of the equation. The suffering, it was clear, belongs to the peasants.

That said, I'm glad I showed up and participated. Almost all the smart councilmembers attended, and it was wildly impressive to see 60 of Kansas City's heaviest hitters show up on a frigid Monday morning in Christmas week. Notably absent were Wayne Cauthen, Kay Barnes or Steve Glorioso. Also, no Federal, State or County politicians attended - we're in this on our own, Kansas City.

While we didn't solve the massive budgetary problems we're facing, the morning was time well-spent. We all learned a little more about the issues, received a briefing on the consultants' report (available for download here), and we got to think a little and brainstorm on ways out.

Perhaps most valuably, we got a flavor of the political realities faced by our elective representatives. On the one hand, we had the uber-wealthy loudly and jealously guarding their advantages, while we also faced fantasy-land fossils grumbling about free trash promises from generations ago, and calling for repeal of the earnings tax. We heard ill-informed, reckless suggestions tossed out by those without a clue on implementation, and we heard earnest, factual statements about the financial unsupportability of doing nothing.

Walking out after 3 hours of financial bad news, it was hard not to feel a strange sort of optimism. We have some great people in this city, and the City officials who showed up are focused and smart. Deb Hermann did a great job of presenting, and Funkhouser did a great job of getting everyone's attention focused on the problems we're facing.

A New Way With Pasta

Last night, I made a big pan of Manicotti - a simple meal of cheese-stuffed pasta tubes baked in sauce. When making a classic, you don't want to get too creative, but I used some pasta sauce I had made earlier, festooned with olives and capers, and doused with some marsala to add depth. I mixed in some garlic and herb cheese with the ricotta and mozzarella for the filling and the St. Louisan in me made me top it with a blend of provel and parmesan. Good, traditional pasta - a filling meal on a cold night.

The very traditionalism of the meal made me think about how rarely I eat pasta in what for me is the old way - pasta covered with sauce, accented by maybe a meatball or a bit of sausage. Instead, pasta has grown into an ingredient in my cooking - an element to be balanced instead of a delivery mechanism for something else.

For example, one of my favorite quick meals lately is to swing by the grocery store on the way home and pick up a roasted chicken and some mixed olives from a cart. At home, I pull the meat from the chicken, cut it into bite-size pieces chunks, and boil up some pasta (anything from fettucini to radiatore - whatever shape you have and enjoy). I chop up the olives, add some pepperoncini slices and capers, definitely some garlic, and heat that for just a few minutes in a covered skillet, tossing in the olive, caper and pepperoncini juice. When the pasta is almost but not quite done, I drain it and add it to the skillet, with a good dousing of white wine and the chunks of chicken. I let it steam in the flavor rather than swim in boiling water for its last few minutes.

No alfredo or tomato sauce - though, the last time I made it, I added a few dollops of my wife's awesome home-made pesto. As opposed to the way pasta got treated in my earlier ventures, the pasta plays a real role in the flavor of the dish, and not just something to dump sauce on.

But if someone wants to put a plate of good old manicotti or lasagna or spaghetti and meatballs in front of me, I'll show my respect for the old ways . . .

Sunday Poetry: Ballade of Lost Objects, by Phyllis McGinley

Ballade of Lost Objects

Where are the ribbons I tie my hair with?
Where is my lipstick? Where are my hose -
The sheer ones hoarded these weeks to wear with
Frocks the closets do not disclose?
Perfumes, petticoats, sports chapeaus,
The blouse Parisian, the earrings Spanish -
Everything suddenly up and goes.
And where in the world did the children vanish?

This is the house I used to share with
Girls in pinafores, shier than does.
I can recall how they climbed my stairs with
Gales of giggles on their tiptoes.
Last seen wearing both braids and bows
(And looking rather Raggedy-Annish),
When they departed nobody knows -
Where in the world did the children vanish?

Two tall strangers, now I must bear with,
Decked in my personal furbelows,
Raiding the larder, rending the air with
Gossip and terrible radios.
Neither my friends nor quite my foes,
Alien, beautiful, stern and clannish,
Here they dwell, while the wonder grows:
Where in the world did the children vanish?

Prince, I warn you, under the rose,
Time is the thief you cannot banish.
These are my daughters, I suppose.
But where in the world did the children vanish?

- by Phyllis McGinley
_________________________________________

I cannot do justice to Phyllis McGinley by providing one example of her wonderful poetry. Phyllis McGinley is the sort of poet who provides a meal of hors d'oevres - she's best appreciated by sitting with one of her books of poems and enjoying them by the handful. Her wit rings through in creative rhymes, dry takes on large subjects, and friendly, approachable verse.

Sadly, the quoted poem is often cited as "Ballad of Lost Objects", with ignorant fans politely correcting what they think is a typographical error by eliding the "e" in "ballade". In fact, "ballade" is a literary term for the painstaking verse form that Phyllis McGinley tackled in this poem. Four stanza all ending with the same line, and employing the same rhymes, with the final one frequently addressing a Prince "sub rosa" - the ballade dates back to French poetry from the 14th century, and it is, I assure you, a bear to write.

Phyllis McGinley was one of the foremost practitioners of light verse - indeed, her book of poetry titled Times Three was the first book of light verse to win the Pulitzer Prize. It is out of print, but I found a nice copy of it at Spivey's Books last week for only $6.

Here's another sample of Phyllis McGinley that might have some resonance for those pondering how to loudly complain about Obama's choice of invocation:

The Angry Man

The other day I chanced to meet
An angry man upon the street —
A man of wrath, a man of war,
A man who truculently bore
Over his shoulder, like a lance,
A banner labeled “Tolerance.”

And when I asked him why he strode
Thus scowling down the human road,
Scowling, he answered, “I am he
Who champions total liberty —
Intolerance being, ma’am, a state
No tolerant man can tolerate.

“When I meet rogues,” he cried, “who choose
To cherish oppositional views,
Lady, like this, and in this manner,
I lay about me with my banner
Till they cry mercy, ma’am.” His blows
Rained proudly on prospective foes.

Fearful, I turned and left him there
Still muttering, as he thrashed the air,
“Let the Intolerant beware!”

Writing about McGinley is a little like food writing - my only hope of being fully understood is to tempt you to try it for yourself. Short of that, I can compare it to other tasty poets you may have tried, like Ogden Nash or Lewis Carroll, but with a distinctly and proudly feminine twist. She writes with a tremendous amount of intelligence, and she is often touching, but never really sentimental or even "heavy" - she exists to amuse, entertain, and provoke a little thought. One of her other books is entitled "Pocketful of Wry" - a fitting title for her style of poetry that maintains its decorum and humor.

Top 10 Kansas City blogs

Present Magazine has asked for a list of top 10 Local Blogs, and I'll go ahead and join in the game. This list is much different than one I would have compiled last year - a lot of good blogs have folded or simply shriveled to occasional postings. I hope to feature a few that haven't really gathered a ton of attention otherwise, in the hopes that I can get their name in Present Magazine.

It was sneaky of Present Magazine to not specify what they should be "tops" in. In making the picks, I am going to focus on blogs with a distinctive voice that publish regularly. Mostly, it's just who I think is doing great work lately, and it's a personal list. I could expand it to 30 without a whole lot of effort - there is some great writing going on out there - and I'm going to ignore a few that others are listing simply to be a little contrarian. So here goes, in no particular order:

1. Ancillary Adams: Ancillary Adams is the center of his own universe. He has political opinions, and he states them when they're on his mind, but he's not a political blogger. He loves sports (even, for some reason, professional basketball), but he doesn't use his blog as a cheering spot for any team. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of 80s movies, and he shares a weekly quotation. Despite its broad range, the blog is just a perfect guy on a barstool, spouting off on what comes to mind, but not ever really getting personal. Ancillary Adams is a guy's guy - sharing the stuff you can laugh at with a buddy.

2. Erin in the Real World: Erin describes herself as "the hottest pickle in town", and, whatever that means, I think she's probably right. Silly and boundingly enthusiastic, she'll write the funniest and almost-inappropriate pieces you can find. Her multi-chaptered series on her courtship of Mr. Perfect may be a perfect blog example of my favorite joke on the difference between men and women.

3. Tony's Kansas City: A lot of people are carefully constructing their lists to avoid Tony, but no serious list of top Kansas City bloggers can ignore Tony. Even if you don't like him, he creates more posts on all Kansas City topics than the rest of us combined, and it wasn't very long ago that a link from Tony would bump my own numbers up for the day. He's used his humor to hurt people, but he's also created the most-read and most powerful blog in Kansas City.

4. Frighteningly Uncommon Sense: Faith is a character I love to read, and I thank my lucky stars I don't live or work with her. Easily annoyed, quick to condemn and frequently wrong, she's also funny and strong. I might not be able to get through a conversation in a bar without an argument, but I'd happily buy her a beer. Her self-description captures her essence: "SUPER-pissy. Would you people stop pushing my buttons? GAH!"

5. FuKCed City: This blog is too new to have really earned a place on my top ten list, but they have provoked more literal laughs out loud from me in one month than anyone else in a year, so why not?! Their sample depo page is horribly wrong-headed, but funny, funny, funny. When I see that they have a new post, I click over with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

6. Observant Bystander: If blogs were sold like magazines, most of us would be cheaply published and sold on the newsstand, like the Daily News or some other tabloid. Observant Bystander would be sold in warm, quiet bookstores filled with leather comfy chairs, among the fine literature.

7. Noodletown: Noodletown has had an infant to distract her from her blog for a while, but she's still the Monarch of local foodbloggers, and we have a great selection of food bloggers for her to rule. This is an optimistic choice - I really hope she finds more time in the coming year to enthrall us with great recipes and reviews. I feel bad choosing one food blog out of the plethora of great ones . . .

8. Hip Suburban White Guy: HSWG is profane, funny, and always worth a read. He's kind of the Mad Max of the blogosphere's Thunderdome. I think I might be a lot like him if I were single and I suffered a major head injury.

9. My Spyderweb: Nobody has done more for the sense of community in the local blogosphere than Spyder. She gets the word out about the gatherings, can always be counted upon for support, and is simply one of the nicest people I know. Her blog is funny and often features snippets of good fun from around the internet, and no description of local blogs would be complete without acknowledging her role.

10. Absolutely Feisty: Earlier, I described Observant Bystander as being sold in the literary section of a great bookstore, while other blogs would be sold on the newsstand. Absolutely Feisty wouldn't be sold, it would be printed on posters and pasted in bright colors on walls. She's a blast of fresh air in a room - she's the bucket of gatorade getting dumped on a coach. Intense, direct, and personal. Read at your own risk, and you'll be going on a roller-coaster ride through the life of a young woman barely keeping it together through all the challenges of single-motherhood in a weak economy. I cheer for her.

Is Rick Warren Abandoning His Principles?

My fellow progressive bloggers are having a conniption fit (that's four links - I could provide a few dozen more) about Obama's choice of conservative pastor Rick Warren to give the invocation at his inauguration. In a nutshell, they accuse Obama of selling out his core beliefs by daring to invite Rick Warren. The various statements attributed to Rick Warren have been dragged out and rephrased so as to make the man appear to be the world's most vicious homophobe, and then my incredulous leftwing friends indignantly ponder which of those statements Obama is adopting as his core beliefs.

Why isn't the shoe on the other foot?

Why is it disgraceful for Obama to invite Warren to speak, but not disgraceful for Warren to accept? If Warren is such a raging, monstrous homophobe to his very core, then why is he stepping onto the inauguration stage of a progressive, gay-friendly new President? Isn't the day going to be much more about Obama, and people unifying behind him, than it will be about the guy giving the invocation? Why is it that some on the left are soooo fearful that a prayer offered by someone who might disagree with them on a few issues will conquer all their hopes and beliefs, converting the entire day into a celebration of homophobia rather than of Obama and our grand new future?

Hilariously, some of us are complaining that Obama is "legitimizing" Rick Warren by inviting him to speak. Umm, yeah, the right wing conservatives have been waiting with bated breath for Obama to choose their next leader, and progressives are going to put "The Purpose Driven Life" on their nightstand right next to "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot". (Those with a memory may recall that Warren was the object of a mirror image of the current hand-wringing furor when he invited Senator Obama to speak at his Saddleback Church in 2006.)

Personally, I fully expected that anyone chosen by Obama to offer a religious invocation at his inauguration would have a few beliefs that differ from mine, on a theological, political, and policy level. I can listen to that person offer a prayer, and not feel like either one of us is abandoning his or her principles.

Tapping the Keg!

Regular readers will recall that I won the opportunity to have a full batch of my beer brewed at 75th Street Brewery. It now appears to be ready for prime time - they'll be serving "Triple Sugar Tripel" beginning on Monday, December 29th. Yes, I'm working on putting together some kind of party for that evening, and I'll post details here when I work them out.

I haven't sampled the beer, and we made a few significant changes to my 10 gallon recipe in the process of scaling it up to 200+ gallons, so I'm relying a bit on guesswork to predict how it will taste. The last time I saw this beer it was nothing more than sweet, tea colored water being pumped from the boiling kettle through the chiller and into a fermentation vessel where it would meet up with the special Belgian yeast that does all the work.

I expect that this beer will be the color of medium-strong tea, with a subdued but long-lasting head. The aroma will probably be honey mixed with just a suggestion of hops. The flavor will be sweet, with a strong note of honey flavor, followed by all the esters thrown off by the 75th Street Brewery's Belgian strain of yeast. Those esters will add a fruity, spicy taste to the beer, which I hope will combine with the honey to create a sweet, warming beer that will stand up to rich holiday meals and accompany traditional holiday desserts. At 9% alcohol, it will be a strong sipping beer. My hope is that the sweetness will make it appealing to those who think all craft beer is dark, hoppy and bitter, while the Belgian complexity of the beer will appeal to the beer snobs. It's not really a Belgian Tripel, because those ales focus more on the yeast characteristics than on the sugar, and it's a little dark for the style. Go here for a good article on the tripel style.

In light of the monkish lineage of this beer, it seems appropriate to use the occasion of its tapping to support a good religious cause here in Kansas City. While I'm still working out exactly how it's going to work, I'll make certain that samplers of the beer will have some opportunity to voluntarily support the Central City School Fund, which helps four wonderful Catholic elementary schools in the Old Northeast and the Westside give kids a great education.

Stay posted for more info on the party and the beer.

Killing Each Other at 100 Feet Per Second

This holiday season, thousands of us will be taking to the highways, possibly in unpleasant, challenging weather, and driving miles on interstates at 70+ miles per hour. And, even though we all think of ourselves as "safe" drivers with decent skills and adequate reaction speeds, somebody is going to die out there. Some family is going to be waiting for their son and his wife and their children to arrive, only to have their annoyance at his tardiness morph into something awful. They will "bleed out" in some ditch along I-70, with stunned spectators followed by travelers annoyed by the delay.

Whether you are among the annoyed or in the ditch is mostly luck. Even if you manage to keep yourself alert at all times, even if you have checked your tires to prevent blowouts and even if you allow someone else to control the radio - someone else less responsible can make a 70 mile per hour (102 feet per second) mistake with a ton and a half of metal.

A while ago, something like that happened to the brother of a friend of mine. While her my friend's brother died and her sister-in-law and niece bled in a ditch, the niece heard the driver of the other car explain that she was looking for something in her purse. How criminally stupid, right? But who among us hasn't looked down to adjust the radio, or to find a dropped piece of gum? I once worked on a wrongful death case where the driver's last act was to try to fast forward a cassette tape to "Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls". At around a hundred feet per second.

Driving is always dangerous - holiday driving is even more dangerous. Many of us don't often drive the interstates, but we'll be out there changing lanes without checking and failing to accurately judge the time it will take to stop. Even if you're perfect, I'm not, and it only takes one to make an accident. When you mix in the fact that people will be traveling on unfamiliar roads, and locals will be driving to and from parties, maybe in a little rain or snow, somebody is going to die.

Think about 100 feet per second, and think about how much damage that could imply. And please be careful - please use good judgment, and be a little frightened. Fellow drivers are counting on you, and so are the people at the other end of your journey.

Tamara Lowe - Motivating Me to Write Nice Things About Her

A month ago, I wrote a piece lampooning consultants, riffing off of a bunch of local bloggers writing breathlessly about which of Tamara Lowe's Motivitional Type DNA they have. In a nutshell, I'm cynical about consultants and I'm cynical about personality tests, so I had some fun making sport of the concept.

Last night, just before midnight, Tamara Lowe herself came to this blog and posted a reply. If you are one of those who liked her seminar, you'll love her comment. She defends the concept quite well, and pretty much calls me an ignorant jerk in the most positive, motivating fashion humanly possible.

The woman clearly has talent, insight, and a sense of humor. She also has a few books to sell, if you're interested . . .

Chiefs Trail Bourbon Barrel Quad

This would have been unthinkable a few years ago, but yesterday I completely forgot about the Chiefs game. Owen from the Pitch invited a few people to his family's restaurant (Adrian's Cafe, near Corporate Woods) to taste the latest release from Boulevard, and nobody even mentioned the game. Nobody had a radio on, and nobody asked if a TV was available. The Chiefs have achieved complete irrelevance in a town that once bled Chiefs red.

The good news is Boulevard Brewery is giving Kansas Citians something to bolster civic pride. Bourbon Barrel Quad is the latest in the Smokestack series, and it was worth the wait. Rich, chewy, raisiny, bourbon-noted, cherry, complex and overwhelming are the adjectives that came to this writer's mind, but I'd recommend checking out the write-ups by Owen Morris (I assume he'll post something today at Fat City), Wes Port of KC Beer Blog, and Chimpotle (nothing posted yet).

Sunday Poetry, The Second Coming, by W.B. Yeats

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

- William Butler Yeats
____________________________________

William Butler Yeats was a grumpy old man, and this poem shows a grumpy old man at odds with his world. Just like Bill O'Reilly or Michelle Malkin, he's yelling that everything is changing, and the new ways and attitudes suck. I can picture Yeats sitting at home, finishing reading an article in the Sunday paper about new skirt lengths or extending the vote to some undeserving non-white-male group, picking up the nearest pen and paper and giving full voice to his dismay at the prospect of uncontrollable change. The poem was written in 1919, just after the War to End All Wars had ended, just as the events began leading to the war which would make that bloody war merely I of II WWs. The world was in flux, with proper Czars getting toppled and regal Kings getting replaced, and good conservatives like Yeats were grumbling in their oatmeal about "kids these days."

Yet out of that mundane, eye-rollingly typical picture of conservatism, Yeats managed to bring together a collection of symbols in a poem that haunts me almost 90 years later. He doesn't list whatever is bugging him - who knows what particular outrage of the times tripped his trigger for this poem? All we really know is that he had the sense of things being ripped apart from the center ("Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold"), that order was collapsing, and that valuable cultural traditions ("The ceremony of innocence") were being left behind.

And he offers up a line that, to this day and long into the future, comforts those of us who really don't know what to make of the change we see hurtling toward us - one of the classic lines of all literature - "The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity." Roll that line around in your head a while - college students have written volumes of essays struggling with its meaning and application. It could be the rallying cry of those who want to argue that America is really a "center-right" country, but it fails as a real rally cry for anyone who really wants to get going on something, because it accuses you of being the worst if you are full of passionate intensity. So, which should we be? The best who sit around without conviction while the tides of change are swirling about them, or the worst, who are driving the change?

If the poem stopped there, it would be a perfect crystallization of the grumpy old man complaining about change, but not having the drive or clarity to stand up and stop it. It could be a perfect vignette of the effete bourgeois grumbling about the passing of the family estate.

Instead, Yeats pushes things to the next level. He says this is serious - this isn't just about hemlines or suffrage, this is the whole kit and caboodle. This is War of the Worlds stuff - this is the apocalypse. This is a rough, pitiless beast slouching toward the birthplace of the Christ Child. The entire stanza would make a great horror movie scene - the Sphynx coming to life and slowly walking through the desert. These are eternal truths coming about - we're going too far this time.

Was Yeats a simple, grumpy alarmist? Do you ever have the sense that there is something more than the headlines going on about us - that the collapse of the Big Three could be a harbinger of greater changes than a rise in unemployment? Is the gathering of powers in the Middle East and the rise of China the beginning of a bigger upheaval? Is a rough beast, it's hour come at last, slouching toward Bethlehem to be born?

In 1919, it seems things weren't quite so imminently apocalyptic. We had the roaring twenties before we even got to Hitler. But that sense of something big happening, of real, seismic change, fires our imagination as we read the poem today, and keeps us on our watch.

Funkhouser to Electric Chair? - Journalists Make Lousy Bloggers, Too

I wrote a recent piece about the dangers of confusing bloggers with journalists, and several journalists emailed me with compliments on the piece, which I really appreciated. I meant what I said - bloggers rarely present original news that has been well-researched and based on reliable sources. Red letters, exclamation points and claims of "exclusive" are poor substitutes for fact-checking, confirmation and attempted even-handedness.

While my piece on Tuesday was directed at bloggers who act like they are journalists, today I want to consider journalists who think they are bloggers.

If you want to blog, close down the Prime Buzz, open up your own blogger account under your own name, and have at it. Because you, more than Tony, more than any self-deluded "citizen journalist", are to blame for blurring the distinction between news and nonsense. When you hold yourselves out as journalists and then behave as bloggers, you can't blame readers for getting the two confused.

Take, for example, the Star's Yael T. Abouhalkah. When he publishes a column in the Star, we all expect him to have checked the facts, spoken with the players, placed the issue into context, and considered all perspectives. And, while I frequently disagree with his published columns, I respect the fact that they uphold journalistic standards.

When Yael publishes something on Midwest Voices, though, we don't know what to expect. We can see, however, that we're getting a lower standard than we'd expect for something published. Where are we, as consumers, expected to draw the line between Yael the Kansas City Star Journalist, and Yael the Blogger?

On Thursday evening, I heard that Yael had a civic bombshell posted - the Mayor could be dismissed at any moment by a vote of 9 councilmembers. Sure enough, I went to his collection of posts and saw red letters and "Exclusive!" notices highlighting a post entitled "City Charter allows City Council to throw Funkhouser out". And I read a sensationalistic account of a Charter Provision that has been in the Charter for years, and that does not, in fact, allow the City Council to throw Funkhouser out - unless they find significant misconduct in office beyond anything that has been even alleged.

The red letters and "Exclusive!" notices have been deleted now. On sober reconsideration, the story is no more valid or newsworthy than a similar story entitled "Criminal Code allows State to Put Funkhouser to Death" - if he is found guilty of a capital crime which has not been charged. It's funny that Yael isn't even holding himself up to Blogger ethical standards, which frown upon altering a prior post in order to make yourself look better. (See, for example, that Tony has not tampered with his mistaken post about Funkhouser getting fired by his lawyer.) On Thursday, Yael wanted to out-Tony Tony.

The point is broader, though, than one blog post or one ethical lapse by Yael Abouhalkah. The point is that when journalists report gossip on blogs, or publish material without the rigorous fact-checking and placement into context that ought to go into their published work, they devalue themselves as journalists.

Back in the pre-blog world, journalists were privy to a lot more than they published. The line between what was "newsworthy" and what was "between us" was respected and dependable - and often abused. Real journalists kept us in the dark about womanizing and backroom deals - the public's right to know suffered to support the journalist's access to information.

Now, the pendulum has swung. An off-the-cuff elevator remark about a fellow politician's lack of fashion sense could show up on the Prime Buzz, and the line between journalism and blogging gets further blurred. When you add in the sad fact that McClatchy is asking fewer people to do the real work of journalism, you have a dangerous pressure to pass along quick gossip rather than solid analysis. And that pressure shows itself in Yael's page of recent posts, which, as of this moment, includes Yael trying to write intelligently about Blagojevich, the auto bailout, a gossipy piece with a glaring error about Marcason and Funkhouser's relationship, the Golden Globes, sewers, Tyler Thigpen, Mets baseball, cars, Tony DiPardo, and Big 12 Football. Plus much more, all over the course of 5 days! While still supposedly doing his real work of producing press-worthy copy. (I don't mean to pick on Yael, but his Tony imitation on Thursday evening was the "ah hah" moment that sparked this piece.)

If a journalist wants to join the blog world and post about whatever shiny issue attracts his or her attention, that is great. The more bloggers, the merrier. But if they want to publish their blog as an adjunct to the Kansas City Star, and approach public figures as a multi-headed blogger/journalist, then they have no right whatsoever to complain if the public equates bloggers with journalists.

For those journalists who like to blog on the side, I have a few questions.

When you earned the title of "journalist" by going to school and learning from your superiors, did you really want to become a blogger?

Do you think that public figures should treat you with respect, if they know you are looking for material that would never be newsworthy in hard copy?

When you were first hired by the Kansas City Star, one of the great journalistic institutions of the country, did you feel like you were taking on mantle that you would strive to live up to, and maybe even improve? Do you think you're doing that?

A Change in Commenting Policy

The other day, I got a bill for my hosting service in my email. The next email was a notice of a comment accusing me of lying and attacking my family and religion. The comment had nothing to say about the issue raised in the blog post under which it was made, beyond (I suppose) that an lying Catholic like me with a family that ought to be ashamed of me . . . such a worthless person cannot be trusted to have a valid point about city government?

When I started this blog, I was somewhat of an absolutist on freedom of commenting. I realized that dumb comments were going to come, but unless they were absolutely appallingly, beyond all limits racist or something of the sort, or illegal, I was going to allow them. Words are only words, after all, and readers can be trusted to discern the valid from the hateful. Plus, I wanted to avoid the burden of judging in the gray areas.

I've finally changed my mind. Really, really dumb and hateful comments don't advance the discourse at all, and I don't want to pay money to serve as their host anymore. I still want to host the opinions that differ from mine, and I'm more than happy to host someone who feels the need to call me a hypocrite if I'm being hypocritical, or even an idiot if I'm being idiotic, but keep it on point, and tie it to the topic (yes, I'm providing instructions on how to insult me). And the same goes to others - if you want to criticize someone, provide a reason - the pure personal attack is no longer welcome.

Personally, I've developed a thick enough skin that it doesn't really bother me. But the attacks sometimes bother others, and they serve no real purpose. Also, I had a commenter with whom I frequently disagree email on Thursday that s/he loves the debate, but it is getting harder to follow with a few commenters clogging the threads with mean and obnoxious behavior. I had to agree, so I'm going to start clearing the brush when I have a few moments.

So far, in the 5+ years I've had this blog, I haven't had to delete more than 5 or 6 comments, and I hope not to change that pace much. But two of the deletions occurred this week, and I don't want to let this blog get ruined by a few commenters without any sense of decorum.

Claire McCaskill Wants to Listen to Real Missourians - Without a Warrant

I received an email from McCaskill's folks yesterday morning, inviting me to a "Kitchen Table Talk" at room 502 of Penn Valley's Central Campus building on Monday from 2 until 3. She's hoping to hear "common-sense feedback from Missourians".

Remember, this is the woman who abandoned the Democratic caucus to vote for the Bush Administration's campaign of warrantless searches. McCaskill has demonstrated her willingness, even eagerness, to listen to Missourians whether they want to be listened to or not.

Now, if Claire McCaskill were sincerely interested in hearing from "real people, not lobbyists", as she claims, why in the world would she schedule her one single hour of availability for the middle of a workday afternoon? Why wouldn't she follow the lead of our Mayor, who schedules his town hall sessions in the evenings, or our former-Mayor-now-Congressman, who schedules his listening sessions on Saturdays? Perhaps, having wed a multi-multi-millionaire, she's lost touch with those of us who work during the day.

And why is it only an hour that she chooses to mingle with the unwashed masses - is that how long it will take to top off the tanks on her private jet (please, someone ask her the same transportation question that our Congress asked the big 3 auto leaders!)?

Claire McCaskill supports warrantless unconstitutional spying on Americans, so the length. location and timing of her listening session is immaterial. Her pals over at the NSA can provide her with all the information she wants about "real people", thanks to her support of the Buah administration.

My only hope is that, at the forum, some strong true Democrat stands up and asks McCaskill why she gave blank checks to the Bush administration for its optional war, why she attacks progressive organizations for free speech, why she supports warrantless spying on Americans, and, yes, how she traveled to Kansas City. And I hope that person is inspired by the feeble answers she offers - inspired enough to run against her when she is up for reelection in 2012.

This is a woman who lost to Matt Blunt. A good Democrat could crush her, and, if a good Democrat doesn't do the job, a mediocre Republican just might.

Funkhouser 6 Times Smarter With The Money Than Our Council

Remember last week when Funkhouser tried to get the City Council to enter into a global settlement of the Bates case for $135,000? Remember how I criticized the Council for failing to join in the settlement, instead preferring to play nasty political games?

Sure enough, it's come back to bite them in the ass. Bates is now seeking $800,000 because our Council was too smart by half. Maybe that should be "too dumb by 6 times", but it doesn't appear that our foolish-with-the-taxpayer-money is able to do such sophisticated math.

How are those depositions going, Council people? Don't you wish you were working on city priorities rather than wasting time on a suit you should have settled?

Obama "not willing to give me anything except appreciation. F*** them.”

The first moral test of the Obama administration has been administered by someone Obama knew from days before he arrived on the national stage. When presented with the essay question on what he would give for the opportunity to choose a Senator - a reliable ally in the seat he was leaving - Obama wrote a one word answer and left the exam room. "Appreciation".

Circle the first letter and give the man an "A".

It did not have to be that way. Any politician at Obama's level knows how to reward someone without bribing them. Blagojevich himself, the filthy crook (allegedly, IUPG), showed that he knows how to make things happen without exchanging envelopes stuffed with cash - "let's not talk about the Senate appointment just yet . . . don't you think I'd make a great person for a well-paying political appointment? Do you have any close friends with corporations or foundations that might be looking for someone with my skill set? Or my wife's?"

And there, on that phone call, with nobody (apparently) watching, we could have seen a political pragmatist make it happen. They could have verbally separated the transactions enough that it wouldn't have even felt like a bribe. "Look, Rod, we aren't going to do any tit for tat here, but you know we look out for people who help us out, and we were just talking the other day about how you have the right stuff to make a great ambassador to Tahiti. But that's a different issue, and we ought to discuss that over a drink sometime real soon. In the meantime, though, I know we both want to get a good person in that Senate seat, and Obama really thinks that X is the person. If you make that appointment, he'll be really happy, and we look forward to seeing you at the inauguration. We can talk details about how you can fit into the administration's goals then, okay?" And, assuming that Blagojevich trusts Obama to deliver, the deal gets done.

Does anybody doubt that Bush's team did similar things hundreds of times? Does anybody doubt that people who did Bush favors wound up on the board of Halliburton, or had their spouses suddenly chosen for sweet jobs? If you do doubt that, then I'm happy for you, because you've avoided the cynicism that the Bush administration has fostered in me.

I'm so cynical that I'm a little surprised - even inspired - by the boyscout behavior of the Obama administration. You mean, it's really true?! The man we elected really, truly, when offered an opportunity to select a Senator, offered nothing except appreciation?!


Maybe it's just the season, but I'm honestly feeling a little bit like the Grinch looking down on Whoville when everyone was singing - my heart grew a size or two when I saw that Obama didn't play ball with a fellow Illinois politician. I'm glad our law enforcement agencies got a warrant and worked effectively caught Blagojevich (IUPG), and that somebody tipped them off.

I have nothing to offer all the heroes in this little vignette - nothing except my appreciation. My deepest, most sincere appreciation.

What Would/Will We Do Without the Star to Kick Around?

Bloggers have a bit of a love/hate thing with the professional press. Most of us love to criticize the lapses in accuracy, judgment, and ethics we find in the Star, and the Star certainly keeps us well-supplied with targets. Some bloggers even act as though they are competing with the real journalists, claiming "scoop" status when they rush to post a rumor, fabrication, or red herring.

The thing is, bloggers can be decent pundits, but they are terrible reporters.

Real reporters get sources on the record, confirm facts, and publish carefully. A mistake counts as a black mark on a reporter's record, and a series of mistakes results in termination.

Mistakes aren't a big deal in the blog world - in fact, if they drive traffic, they are desirable. Reporting that very well-informed sources say one thing and then reporting something totally different on the same afternoon is all in a day's blogging for so-called "citizen journalists", while a real journalist would call it "termination day". If I publish a headline today claiming that Gloria Squitiro is leaving City Hall to work for Jeff Roe, I'll get a few thousand extra hits, and maybe even force them to spend their time correcting my fabrication. While I might fear that regular reporting of falsehoods would damage my credibility to such an extent that smart readers would begin to avoid my site, we all know that it's okay to be consistently wrong as long as we're sensationalistic, and, if we happen to be correct once in a great while, we can even be viewed as credible sources, garnering more attention still.

Truthfully, bloggers, even more than more news-aware Kansas Citians, depend on the KC Star for the vast majority of raw material. No blogger has the time, money or dedication to consistently attend simultaneous meetings at the County Courthouse, City Hall, and Jefferson City, while working on a multi-page feature story. Instead, we sit back and wait for the Star to publish the facts, and then we jump in to put things into our preferred context.

I recently had a friend tell me he doesn't bother subscribing to the Star anymore, because he gets all the local news he needs online. He meant it as a statement of support for the importance of the blogosphere, but it bothered me to hear his decision to opt out of supporting the real reporting we all need to function as citizens.

As a blogger, I'm frightened to see the cutbacks at the Star. If the Star disappears, we all will be more ignorant. Already, as the Star diminishes with cutbacks, we are missing out on stories that deserve our attention. Have you seen any robust reporting on the Jackson County legislature's tampering with the Ethics Code? There was a time when it would be on the lips of all concerned citizens, but now it's a footnote that hardly raises an eyebrow.

It's true that we can live without the Star. I can publish more stories about beer and local restaurants, and maybe even pass on a bit of political information I pick up over lunch or at a cocktail party. I already publish better political analysis than Helling or Kraske, so that would be no loss.

But if you think you can do without the Star because you get all the local news you need from the blogs, you're horribly mistaken. You're still getting your local news from the Star - it's just getting filtered by bloggers, or you're dependent on the Star's website.

While you might think you're kind of clever because you're not having to paying for it, you're going to wind up paying for it if the Star's fortunes do not turn around. The difference is, your payment will go to support graft and corruption in our government and industries, rather than to a stable of good investigative journalists, who pay attention to credibility and accuracy. And don't count on the blogs to take care of you then.

Blogging Success Comes Easy

Not for me, of course, but to my son, whose blog Hardcasual made the Wordpress Top 100 yesterday, beating Anderson Cooper.

His site focuses on video gaming - who would have thought that there is a constituency of hundreds of thousands for cleverly written, humorous pieces about video games? His friend and co-writer Chris Plante is another local product.

99 Bottles of Beer on the Blog: Amstel Light and Heineken Light

Here's a little twist on my usual format of writing a review of one beer at a time. Tonight, I'm drinking two light beers from Holland and trying to provide a little guidance for those who face the choice between Amstel Light and Heineken Light.

First, a few words about the style. Light lagers are generally scorned by beer snobs like me. They carry little alcohol, less flavor, and they're simply not as interesting as a nice porter or even a good pilsner. The removal of calories necessarily means removing some of the flavors that make beer the satisfying beverage it is. It's kind of like comparing a good burgundy to a wine spritzer.

As a homebrewer, though, I deeply respect the light beers. There's nowhere to hide in a beer as transparent as Amstel Light or Heineken Light. Any off-flavor dominates the palate, while it would be covered up in a more flavorful beer. I'd probably never be able to make a beer with as little flavor as these beers, so it's just as well that I don't really want to try.

For years, Amstel was the light version of Heineken. Like a lot of brewers back when light beers came out, Heineken did not want to risk its good name on a watery imitation beer, so it assigned the name of a river in Holland. If Amstel Light flopped, the main brand wouldn't be damaged.

Now, light beers are not so risky, and Heineken has introduced a light beer with the flagship name on the bottle. Last week, I bought a bottle of each at World Market. Tonight I decided to see if they differ, and, if so, which is the better beer.

Cutting to the chase, they differ, but neither is better. Heineken Light is a little maltier, a little skunkier, and a little more full-bodied. Amstel has a bit more bite, and probably a better choice for nights when you want to have more than one.

Both poured light yellow, with Amstel Light having a slightly more amber shade. Heineken's head was fizzy and dissipated almost immediately. Amstel's head was slightly longer-lived and slightly creamier, but it, too, was gone within a few minutes.

Neither offers a come-hither aroma. Amstel has very little aroma at all, while Heineken comes forward with the skunkiness for which the flagship brand is famous. I've come to expect Heineken to be skunky, so I accept the odor as a characteristic more than a flaw. If you like Heineken, you know what to expect.

Flavor wise, Heineken Light is a passable pale imitation of its big brother. It's not really a bad beer if you can tolerate the skunky sweet flavor of Heineken. In fact, I think I might like it better than the original - the original's flaws are less offensive when they're a little less intense. There's also a touch of DMS in there, giving it a slight cooked-corn flavor, arising from the use of pale pilsner malt.

Amstel tastes more like a proper pilsner than Heineken. It's a bit more bitter, and there is just a touch of hop flavor. To me, the beer has a slight chemical flavor, almost like chlorine off a summer pool. It has a good balance to it - for a light beer, it has a reasonable malt backbone to it, with a hop bitterness to play off it. It's not a completely satisfactory beer by any means, but it has all the basic elements. Just too much water.

There are good reasons to drink light beer. I imagine light beer will be my post-practice beer of choice after I get snapped up by the Wizards. If you're drinking light beer, Amstel and Heineken offer two decent options.

My next review, however, will be something more satisfying.

Abouhalkah - Not Much of a Lawyer

In Yael's world, deponents should volunteer information in their depositions. In the real world, they shouldn't. It's up to the examining attorney to ask the right questions, and leading questions often fail to get the complete picture.

Mr. Abouhalkah, if you're going to accuse someone of inconsistency, you truly ought to find some real inconsistency.

Sunday Poetry: Ulysses, by Lord Alfred Tennyson

Ulysses

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle -
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me -
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads -you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

- by Lord Alfred Tennyson
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What kind of guy is Ulysses, as portrayed by Tennyson?

When I was in high school, I risked the disciplinarian by vulgarly describing him as a "kick-ass guy" (it was a different time and place, where the word "ass" would normally draw a rebuke), and so it seemed to me at the time. For those in their teens, confident of their abilities and bolstered by the flattery of college admissions, what could better express our destiny than a call to be "strong in will to strive, to seek, to find and not to yield"?

Older now, I see the same things, but I hear the arrogance and self-centeredness that probably made that "aged wife" he was matched with view the prospect of his fatal final journey without a whole lot of regret. I wonder at his mentioning that his savage race subjects "know not me", and why it means so much to be known by people he dismisses so summarily. Likewise, his "blameless" son Telemachus will probably offer to carry the baggage of Ulysses down to the shore.

To give him his just props, Ulysses had done the things of which he speaks. He went to Troy, and his adventures on the way home are legendary. Ulysses is the real deal, and, having seen and done the things he'd seen and done, it's not surprising that he would get a little grumpy after three years of sitting around the house.

For those of us who read this poem when we were 16, and reread it now approaching 50, it's both a rebuke and an inspiration. Yes, indeed, it is still entirely possible that "Some work of noble note, may yet be done,", even if we haven't quite lived out the dreams we had when we were 16. Tennyson is quite correct that "all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untravelled world" - even if our arch of experience is a little less grand than Ulysses', there's more work and more to see ahead.

And while I have not quite drunk "life to the lees", I can still "suffer greatly" if I describe the person I look forward to the uncharted future with as "an aged wife". Most of us are more like Telemachus than Ulyssss, and that's probably best for the world.

Ed Ford and Cohorts - "Too Smart by Half"

One of my favorite phrases was taught to me by one of the most truly clever lawyers I ever worked with, Jack Craft. Someone who creatively saw a bright side but failed to anticipate the downside, or who thought they were being smart when they were in fact being dumb, qualified as "too smart by half". One time, in an administrative matter, I drafted a convincing argument that the bureaucrats were not, in fact, authorized to take the action they were proposing, but Jack pointed out that by attacking the authority of the state agency, I might win, but I would be exposing our client to years of regulatory retribution from the agency. I was "too smart by half".

This week's City Hall drama showed that our City Council is too smart by half. When Funkhouser brought to them a settlement opportunity they had been seeking for months - a chance to put the Bates suit behind them relatively cheaply and move on with the city's business, Ed Ford rallied his cohorts to reject the opportunity. In a vain attempt to avoid scrutiny of their unconstitutional Anti-Volunteer Ordinance, they refused the opportunity to put this distraction behind them.

Now they have their distraction and the lawsuit, too.

Meanwhile, Funk and Gloria are finished with the Bates lawsuit, and focusing on the economic crisis facing our city. Marcason and Circo spent their time getting deposed yesterday . . .*

It showed real grace and leadership by Funkhouser to bring his colleagues an opportunity to put the Bates lawsuit behind them and offer them a path to focus on the real issues facing Kansas City. To employ another classic phrase, he led the horse to water. Unfortunately for the Council and for Kansas City, our council chose to behave like the wrong end of the horse.

UPDATE: *(Jan Marcason visited the comments section and reports that her deposition was canceled, and that her "day was spent productively addressing city issues." That's great. After seeing how much she is able to accomplish for our city in a single day, it's doubly discouraging that she and the others chose to keep this lawsuit alive to distract them on future days.)

Wizards Holding Open Tryouts

It's the stuff of dreams.

Last spring, two amateurs showed up at Swope Park for open tryouts with the Kansas City Wizards, and made the team. By the season's end, one of them was a starter.

Tryouts this year are March 7-8. If you want to give it a shot, sign up here. But don't underestimate that middle-aged guy playing midfield. I may be uncoordinated, but I am deceptively slow . . .

Has the City Council Lost its Mind?

The depositions of Funkhouser and Squitiro undercut the Bates case pretty severely, and provided the First Couple with their long-awaited opportunity to get their side of the story on the record. So, when Bates slashed her settlement figure in half, Funkhouser brought the more reasonable settlement demand to the council with a recommendation that they dispose of the suit once and for all.

Incredibly, they chose to play political games instead of behaving responsibly. If you think about it for a second, the move was completely illogical.

IF you really believe that the Bates case has merit, then how in the world can you justify refusing a reasonable settlement demand that eliminates the risk of a bad jury verdict? You can't, so the rejection was a foolish, risky political maneuver.

Even IF, on the other hand, you believe that the Bates case is meritless, then you still ought to follow the rational course and accept a settlement demand that may well prove to be less than the legal expenses to defend the case, and, again, eliminate the risk of a bad jury verdict. (By the way, if you believe the Bates lawsuit is meritless, you owe us all a big apology for that unnecessary Anti-Volunteer Ordinance.)

So, whether you believe the lawsuit is a valid claim or not, the only rational decision today was to settle it.

Of course, the one person I singled out this morning for being squarely in "silly season", Ed Ford, was the leading voice rejecting the settlement. Incredibly, he tried to get Funkhouser to drop his lawsuit against the Anti-Volunteer ordinance before he would behave responsibly.

Really, Ed Ford? Was that really a condition you had to insist on before doing the smart thing? Obviously, you agree with me that the Anti-Volunteer Ordinance is an embarrassment that will get slapped down by the court, and the only way it survives is if nobody challenges it.

It's shameful that Ed Ford and 9 of his cohorts rejected the settlement offer, and it's obvious that my hopes this morning that silly season is nearing its end was premature.

(I should point out that it was great, though not really surprising, to see Russ Johnson vote in favor of the settlement. It's a shame that his colleagues preferred political gamesmanship to doing the right thing.)

Jackson County Non-Ethics On Jay Leno!

On Monday night, the Tonight Show mocked Mike Sanders' version of Jackson County "ethics" code, which has been carefully drafted to avoid covering the Jackson County Legislature. The thing is, it's really not funny. It's scandalous that our legislators are conspiring to exempt themselves from oversight.

Is Silly Season Coming to a Close?

Funkhouser is talking about the economic crisis.

Marcason is talking about sewers.

Jolly is talking about red light cameras.

Hermann is looking at budget shortfalls.

Gottstein remains focused on her priorities.

The whole Council is waking up to the horrible mistake they made in extending Cauthen's contract over Funkhouser's smart-with-the-money objections, and giving Cauthen terrible evaluations that will never appear on his resume of fabrications.

The Finance Committee refused to go along with Cauthen's crazed scheme to take all the risk of the eternally-botched Citadel Project.

Meanwhile, Ed Ford is all by himself ranting and muttering darkly about recalls he is too lazy and ineffective to spearhead. (He brings to mind this nifty bit of analysis - "In fact, people who resort to using the threat of recall in Kansas City are announcing in clear tones that they are ignoranuses. They are stating boldly and clearly that they do not know what they are talking about, but they want attention, nonetheless. They are standing on their soapbox and loudly embarrassing themselves, hoping you will watch.")

Back when the Mayor and Council were elected, I thought we had chosen wisely. At times over the past year and three quarters, I've had moments of despair, but the past week or so has given me hope. The Mayor is focused on helping the city weather an economic crisis that Cauthen foolishly ignored, and the Council is actually working on something other than trying to run the Mayor's office (well, except for Ed Ford).

I'm beginning to hope that by spring, our elected officials will be acting more like a well-run student council than a self-indulgent drama club. (Well, except for Ed Ford.)

Can We Tone Down the Faux Outrage?

The "incredulous comparative" is the faddish new means of political attack, and it's really time to let it go. When any public figure invokes the name of a well-respected historical figure, the eye-rolling decrybabies can be counted upon to chime in with "Did X really compare himself to Y?!", shaking their heads at the gall of X to even refer to Y.

"How DARE he [Barack Obama] compare himself to Lincoln?!?!?!"

"How dare Michelle Obama compare herself to Jacqueline Kennedy???"

"Hillary compares herself to Harriet Tubman."

Last night, I saw an unsuccessful local politician post this as his facebook status - "Just watched Funk's GMA interview. So, now Gloria is comparing herself to Hilary (sic) and Michelle Obama?"

To carry the stupidity to its zenith, can't we claim that Ms. Squitiro just claimed to embody all the positive characteristics of Jackie O and Harriet Tubman, by proxy?

Sorry, people, but this little rhetorical trick needs to be shelved, before public figures are forbidden to take the name of any admirable figures in vain. If you are trying to point out that other political spouses have worked on behalf of their husbands, it's fair and legitimate to mention Michelle Obama and Hillary Clinton, as two of the most recent and visible. To act as though you are agog and aghast at the presumption shows either a low level of logic or an eagerness to pile on with cheap shots. Or both.

20 years ago, Lloyd Bentsen used this technique effectively on Dan Quayle, after Quayle had attempted to place his inexperience into context by explicitly comparing himself to JFK. "Senator," Bentsen said, "I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you are no Jack Kennedy." It worked that time because, while it didn't challenge the factual legitimacy of the comparison, it pointed out that the factual parallel did not create a deeper similarity.

Two decades later, people are still trying to catch Bentsen's lightning in a bottle whenever they see a public figure refer to someone respected.

They are no Lloyd Bentsen.

53 years ago today

An unknown black woman refused to surrender her seat at the front of the bus for a white passenger in Montgomery, Alabama.

If you were on that bus, brought up in a culture where Rosa Parks was expected to surrender her seat, would you have seen her as a civil rights icon in the making, or as a lazy troublemaker?