Home of the jester in the court of the ragtag soldiers.
Archive for June, 2009
Final Score: Governor Palin 1, Gutless Pukes 0
Jun 30th
The left’s pathological hatred of all things Sarah Palin continued this week with yet another hit piece masquerading as journalistic investigation, this time through from Vanity Fair which given the mindset of its aficionados is as appropriate a name as can be applied. The article endlessly recycles long discredited lies and slander, apparently hoping no one will notice, as it wallows in its own insufferable stew of saying it is so, thus it must be so. Jim Geraghty from Nation Review Online deserves a huge thanks and combat pay for dissecting its rotten corpse.
Vanity Fair and variations thereof are the refuge of the pseudointelligentsia, the self-centered snivelers who cluster at morning coffee klatches and evening cocktail parties to churn out an endless stream of inside jokes as they stare down their proboscises at the mere mortals clinging to their quaint, misguides mores and naïve notions of what is correct. They know no absolutes save one: they are absolutely correct in their private little theorems and insular tales. They are the ones who shout into the wind, railing against its temerity in not asking their permission to blow, while the ones they mock for their pedestrian ways and childish faith shrug, build a kite and go with the airflow.
Back to the story, a pathetic pastiche of assumption, innuendo and writer’s projection based on the proverbial unnamed sources. You have to love those. For the writer, a hint: unnamed sources when you’re uncovering a hot contemporary story? Good. Unnamed sources when you’re examining something from last year – in this case, since so much of the article focuses on Palin’s run as Vice President literally last year? Worthless. What, these people are afraid if they name their own names they’ll ruin their chance of working on a presidential campaign in 2012? I bring news: that’s pretty much gone anyway.
There’s a theme, often unspoken yet nonetheless woven throughout the left’s narrative about Palin, namely good old fashioned sexism in all its raging, uh, glory. This takes the form of a question and a complaint. The question is how can she possibly run a lemonade stand, let alone the country, with all those kids. Judging by the efficiency of Alaska’s executive ranch under her leadership, the inconvenient truth is quite well, thank you.
And the complaint?
“How dare she be pretty!”
Apparently the little boys and girls on the left are incapable of handling someone who’s physically attractive. I’m not altogether sure what the deal is there. Too insecure in your own looks? Don’t want to admit jealousy and/or inability to tame your raging hormones? Incapable of confessing you’re so firmly rooted in your misogynistic mindset you’re unable to take a good looking woman seriously unless it’s some bimbo parroting the party line who you publicly prop up and privately ridicule? Whatever. I am not responsible for another’s head trip.
The left will never – never – understand why Palin is so loved by so many. Which is okay. If you have political or philosophical differences with her, that’s fine. Spell out your arguments, lay out your case. We’ll talk. Instead, it drags out character attacks and blatant lies as somehow representing the truth. Actually, all it represents is their own failure.
One more thing for the Palin haters:
Burn your eyes, children.
Bloodless On The Dance Floor
Jun 29th
Now that everyone and their grandmother has chimed in on Michael Jackson’s passing, my turn.
First, I’ll make it clear from the start I was and am not a fan of the man’s music.
Granted, it was often brilliantly executed, each note and beat polished to pop perfection.
Which to me was the problem.
Jackson released an album a few years back consisting of some new songs and some dance remixes entitled “Blood On The Dance Floor.” An ironic name, given the bloodless nature of his music.
Every element of Jackson’s music and moves was a calculated affair. There was never any spontaneity, any surprise or improvisation. It was cash register product. As noted, often presented at the highest level possible. But product nonetheless, designed to sell the maximum amount of units and concert tickets. It didn’t move me. I wonder if it ever moved him.
As to Jackson’s offstage persona, suffice it to say he didn’t handle fame very well.
Jackson is the latest entry in the pantheon of rockers (I use the term rather loosely in his case) who left prematurely, usually by being a victim of their own vices masquerading as devices. He is the first major artist thought of as a child of the ’80s, although his career started in the ’70s with the Jackson 5, to so excuse himself from the proceedings. This, and having the biggest selling record of all time, goes a long way toward explaining the present level of grief not seen since Elvis Presley died. The children of the ’80s have never had to deal with this before. Not to this degree.
All I can say is welcome to the club.
Given how my musical memories started in the mid ’60s (I was five when the Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan show, and before anyone asks I have no memory of whether I saw it), rock stars checking out ahead of schedule seemed almost routine as the next decade began: Jimi Hendrix, Janice Joplin and Jim Morrison died within ten months of each other starting in September of 1970.
They were the biggest names, but hardly alone. Alan “Blind Owl” Wilson from Canned Heat also passed away in 1970.
Brian Jones from the Rolling Stones and Otis Redding died during the ’60s, preceded by Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper in 1959.
Back to the ’70s, a decade that was most unkind to musicians. Jim Croce’s death in a plane crash during 1973 hit me hard; he was and is a favorite. Gram Parsons, who pretty much invented the country rock genre, also died that year from drugs.
Cass Elliott from the Mamas and the Papas suffered a fatal heart attack away in 1974.
Pete Ham from Badfinger committed suicide in 1975, followed by bandmate Tom Evans in 1983.
Lead singer Ronnie van Zant, guitarist Steve Gaines and his sister Cassie who sang background vocals were killed when Lynyrd Skynyrd’s plane crashed in 1977.
Sandy Denny, Fairport Convention’s lead singer during its glory years, died in 1978 when she fell down a flight of stairs. Keith Moon, the Who’s manic drummer, overdosed in the same year.
Sid Vicious, bass player for the Sex Pistols, closed out the decade along with punk rock as a sign of genuine rebellion with a heroin overdose in 1979.
The ’80s started in the most jarring fashion possible with John Lennon’s murder in 1980. Earlier that year, AC/DC’s lead singer Bon Scott choked to death on his own vomit when drunk. John Bonham, Led Zeppelin’s drummer, died in a similar fashion later that same year.
Harry Chapin, who gave us “Taxi” and “Cats In The Cradle” among other modern folk classics, died in 1981 from a heart attack.
Randy Rhoades, the flash-fingered wonder guitarist for Ozzy Osbourne, was killed in a 1982 plane crash. James Honeyman Scott, guitarist for the Pretenders, overdosed later that year.
Karen Carpenter, the silky voiced pop singer who was half of the Carpenters, died as a result of anorexia in 1983. Pete Farndon, bass player for the Pretenders, emulated his bandmate Scott’s cause of death. Felix Pappalardi, bass player for Mountain, was shot to death by his wife. Dennis Wilson, drummer for the Beach Boys, drowned.
1985 saw Ricky Wilson, guitarist for the B-52’s, become one of the many rock’n'rollers during the decade to die from AIDS.
Jane Dornacker, beloved San Francisco Bay area comedienne and occasional rock singer, was killed in a 1986 helicopter crash.
The ’90s started in a morose fashion. Blues giant Stevie Ray Vaughn died in a helicopter crash in August of that year.
1991 saw Steve Clark, guitarist for Def Leppard, die from an overdose. Later that year Freddie Mercury, the flamboyant showman and lead singer for Queen, died as a result of AIDS.
In 1992 Christian rock lost one of its brightest lights when Mark Heard died from a heart attack following a stroke.
In April of 1994 Kurt Cobain, leader of Nirvana, killed grunge by committing suicide.
Kevin Gilbert, half of Toy Matinee which recorded one of the greatest rock records of all time, accidentally strangled himself in May of 1996 during an auto-erotic asphyxiation session.
John Denver died in a plane crash in 1997. Michael Hutchence, lead singer of INXS, hung himself later that year.
The next year saw Falco of “Rock Me Amadeus” fame die in a car crash. Cozy Powell, who played drums with an assortment of bands including Rainbow and Emerson Lake & Powell, also died in a car crash. Unrelated, Wendy O. Williams, lead singer of the Plasmatics, committed suicide the following day.
In 2000, Gene Eugene, leader of Adam Again and founding member of the Lost Dogs, lost his life to a brain aneurysm.
There are dozens more names that could be included. But you get the idea.
These artists all had one thing in common: they didn’t die of old age. Many, far too many, died in one fashion or another at their own hand, killing themselves directly or indirectly with drugs and/or alcohol. Bono, the lead singer of U2 who fortunately has avoided all of the self-destructive traits seemingly inherent in musicians, once wrote the lyric “every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief; all kill their inspiration and sing about the grief.”
Far too often, the inspiration they kill is themselves.
Literally.
Looking back at the list, I purposely left out a couple of names. Names you may or may not know.
Names I know.
Names to this day I say with melancholy.
1976 was a difficult time musically for a confirmed disco hater such as myself. Although the world was still a year away from the abomination of desolation that was Saturday Night Fever, disco as a genre was riding high and wide if not handsome, squeezing most everything else off the pop charts. Rock’n'roll was decidedly on the defensive, with a few exceptions. One of them was “The Boys Are Back In Town” by Thin Lizzy, a rockin’ single if ever there was one with exquisite twin lead guitars taking it far above the standard sludgy chunked out chords. And controlling it all was songwriter, lead singer and bass player – bass player! – Phil Lynott.
Lynott was manna from heaven to this occasional guitarist but most of the time bass player, frustrated beyond words at being superglued next to the drum set, seldom hearing anything other than turn it down and don’t mess with the guitar players hogging the stage.
Lynott was coolness personified. He had a unique vocal style I quickly adopted as my own on those rare occasions I could get anywhere near a microphone. Live And Dangerous, a double LP Thin Lizzy released in 1978, seldom left my record player. I played along, sang along. I knew every note by heart, yet could never listen to them enough.
There was the minor detail of his being raised Irish by his white mother after his Afro-Brazilian father left her almost immediately after his son’s birth that was rather impossible to replicate. But in terms of music? Everyone else at the time wanted to be Jimmy Page, guitarist for Led Zeppelin. Me? I wanted to be Phil Lynott.
Phil Lynott died in early January of 1986, a victim of liver and heart failure brought on by years of drug abuse.
He was thirty-six years old.
One Friday night during the ’70s, I stayed up late, sitting by myself in my parent’s living room next to the console television, lights out and the sound turned down low so they wouldn’t know I was up as they were less than enthralled by my nocturnal habits. I was watching Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert, a weekly pastiche of live appearances by assorted artists. Some good, some… not.
On that particular night, in his trademark monotone Kirshner introduced a young Irish guitarist whose name I had seen before on inner sleeves back when same were often used by record labels to list other artists under their wing in hope doing so would spur the record buyer into checking them out. I had no idea what this one sounded like, but as best I could with the television turned down to a whisper, my ear pressed as close as possible to the grill cloth covering the speaker while still being able to see the picture tube – and fighting sleepiness to boot – I watched and listened so I could find out.
Have you ever had an encounter with an artist in any given realm – music, literature, acting on stage or screen, painting, sculpture, dance – that transfixed you, yet you never followed up on? Someone for whom you always carry the intense memory of that first encounter, but failed to go to for a second?
That’s what happened to me that night.
I was in jaw-dropping awe. This was the best blues and blues-based guitar I had ever heard. Ever. It was utterly amazing. The skill. The intense emotion pouring out of every note. You knew this man lived through and for his music. I couldn’t get enough. Absolutely couldn’t get enough.
And I never bought a single record of his. Ever.
Weird in the extreme, yet that was the case. I often thought about what I had heard that night. Yet not once did I pursue the matter. Not once.
Until a few years back, when my main man mentioned the guitarist’s name as his favorite.
Rory Gallagher.
“Oh, yeah! Him!” I went through the entire story. “What’s he doing these days?”
Rory Gallagher died in June of 1995 from complications following a liver transplant necessitated by years of alcohol abuse.
I’ve slowly built up a catalog of Gallagher’s music. His Irish Tour album recorded in 1974 is a masterpiece that cannot be described, only experienced. I’ve dusted off my guitar, which had been sitting next to my bass doing nothing for years, and occasionally run through blues riffs as best I can, inspired by Gallagher’s pure music albeit at my absolute best I’m 1/1000th of one percent the player Gallagher was when he was simply tuning his battered Fender Stratocaster and had yet to play an intentional note. I’m fond of the saying that music is God’s language. Gallagher was the cry of God’s heart.
It’s one of the great paradoxes of music how so many who’ve created it over the centuries have been absolute trainwrecks as human beings, yet were the voice of God’s creation. It testifies to the awesome power of an almighty God. It also testifies to the great and terrible consequences of opening your heart and soul to His creative gift.
Very few walk in His presence by being His voice in such a direct manner and emerge unscathed. Yet the musician embraces this willingly for the taste of life available in no other fashion. It is the salt with the sweet.
Ofttimes the salt comes not from sweat and tears alone.
It is in the blood coursing through the music.
Sometimes it is spilled, leaving nothing behind but the memories and if we’re lucky the moments of sound hopefully forever captured, moments reminding us of the ones who brought us God’s language and then left.
May the God who gave them the ability to speak His language have mercy on their souls.
Back here on earth, to those mourning Michael Jackson all I can say is this.
Yeah.
I know.
More than you will probably ever know.
If you’re lucky.
P.S. A sample of Rory Gallagher’s gift:
[video http://www.diecast-dude.com/gac/rory_gallagher_a_million_miles_away.flv nolink]
Today’s Lesson In The Dual Nature Of Men
Jun 29th
First, this most excellent and thoughtful post from the Anchoress (make sure you read the entire post):
I have for too-long tossed my Holy Thing to the Dogs of appetite, marketing, impulse, expediency, poorly-healed woulds, excuses and recent sloth.
I am determined to stop doing that, to stop throwing my Holy Thing, this Temple of the Holy Spirit, to these inner dogs. The food program is developing, the exercise regimen is challenging but surprisingly satisfying.
An old battle is being engaged with a weapon of new understanding. And each day I pray that Christ assist me, that he be pleased to carry out within me the restoration he has planned to carry out, in the fullness of time, in all Creation.
The first side of the dual nature of men:
It is inspiring and challenging in this era of permissiveness to see someone stand up for the truth — we are the temple of God if His Spirit resides in us, we are formed in His image, and these things we must honor if we are to truly serve Him.
The other side of the dual nature of men:
So when you’re where you want to be, do we get some swimsuit photos?
This concludes today’s lesson in the dual nature of men.
No, Seriously, This Is A News Article
Jun 27th
The phrase “media bias” is flung about so freely we’ve become almost inured to its usage. It’s easy, far too easy, to slap it on every story we don’t like as a convenient means of dismissing its contents, be they pro or con. Sometimes, though, you run across something so egregious, so blatant in its willful ignorance of the truth, one has to speak out. Such is the case with today’s headline article from the San Francisco Chronicle, written by Carolyn Lochhead from the paper’s Washington bureau, about the triumph of that plucky local girl made good… er, Nancy Pelosi ramrodding through her cap and trade bill. Contemplate her deathless, sweeping prose as she begins:
House Speaker Nancy Pelosi spoke time and again of preserving “God’s beautiful creation”
There! See? If you oppose soaring energy prices with corresponding price increases on everything else, jobs being shipped overseas en masse, “reliance” on alternative energy sources that don’t work, and Pelosi making a killing on her natural gas investments you’re against God! Take that, you bigoted Christianists!
as she mustered all the skills she learned at her father’s knee in Baltimore
Don’t forget to bring in dear old Dad!
and in San Francisco’s liberal salons,
The beauty salons where she recuperates after each facelift?
to muscle sweeping climate change legislation to narrow passage Friday.
Thanks to some brainless Republicans… oh, wait, they’re the root of all evil. Best leave them out of it. Hail the hometown girl!
Pushing for the vote while uncertain she would win it was the highest-stakes decision of the San Francisco Democrat’s career.
High stakes? Like what, given the whipped status of Democrats if the bill hadn’t passed something more than maybe her next Botox injection being delayed might happen?
President Obama, joined by former vice president and greenhouse guru Al Gore, worked the phones to woo the backing of reluctant Democrats from coal states, farm states, manufacturing states and poor states.
Too cowardly to be there in person should their precious have gone down to defeat, eh?
Even
“Even?” What is this, a news article or a melodrama?
German chancellor Angela Merkel weighed in from the hallway off the Speaker’s balcony,
Where she clutched the money to pay the mortgage on the orphanage to her heaving bosom.
thanking “dear Nancy”
For fending off Sinister Snidley (who looks suspiciously like Dick Cheney) from foreclosing the orphanage’s mortgage. Or mortgaging America’s future. Or for turning her on to a good plastic surgeon. Or something.
for overseeing what Merkel called a sea change in U.S. policy on climate change.
“Sea change?” Sure. See your household budget destroyed, see the economy demolished, see your job sail across the bonny sea…
For all its muddy compromises,
“What – you mean you actually want to know what’s in the bill? And you want a complete copy of it? You want a complete bill period? God’s creation-hater!” But seriously… WHAT compromises?
and those to come in the more conservative Senate,
For as we all know, conservatives are the root of all evil. And drown puppies in their spare time.
the climate legislation would begin to tilt the equation of energy policy in the United States,
In favor of… so how much moolah you figure to get out of this, dear Nancy?
capping for the first time greenhouse gas emissions,
Shall we all call BS on this together? Laws regarding same have been on the books in California since 2006.
boosting production of renewable electricity,
Also BS.
investing in clean-energy technology
Yeah, never done that before either.
and attempting to loosen the vise grip that foreign oil producers hold on the nation’s economic and foreign policy.
Um… sure. Placing massive restrictions on the development and usage of domestic energy sources will cut oil imports. Explain how that one works, please.
The 219-212 vote was so close that Walnut Creek Democrat Ellen Tauscher, confirmed by the Senate the night before as the nation’s top arms control official,
As an aside, Tauscher’s job is with the State Department as Undersecretary for Arms Control and International Security, a position for which she is eminently qualified… so we’re told. Her job entails negotiating arms reduction agreements. Let me know when North Korea returns your calls, okay Ellen?
delayed her resignation until after passage. Tauscher spent much of the day presiding over the historic vote, fending off GOP delay tactics
Such as asking to actually see the bill.
and taking an emotional moment to bid farewell to her colleagues and announce her wedding today.
Aww…
Tauscher was late to her pre-nuptial dinner after Republican leader John Boehner of Ohio staged what looked like an old-fashioned Senate filibuster, using his privileges as a leader to spend more than an hour ridiculing page after page of the bill and delaying the final vote until well into the evening.
The brute! How dare he actually READ THE BILL! Which in Ms. Lochhead’s world constitutes ridicule. So she’s saying the bill is ridiculous? As to Ms. Tauscher’s delayed dinner, considering the wedding was held at her house in Washington I somehow doubt it was much of an inconvenience. Anyway, congratulations to the bride. Hope this marriage goes better than your first two, both ending in divorce.
When he relinquished the floor, Pelosi gave a fist pump.
Hope it didn’t over-stretch her last facelift.
“No matter how long Congress wants to talk about it,” she said, “we cannot put off the future.”
Starting with your unemployment should this bill become law and the economy collapse. And it’ll all be on you.
Still, her decision to seize a brief window before the July 4 recess to push through the contentious legislation could leave Democrats at risk in next year’s midterm elections.
One can only hope so.
The legislation arrives as gasoline prices and unemployment are rising along with sea levels.
Well, two out of three aren’t bad. The sea level isn’t rising.
With the economy stuck in deep recession, the promise of fresh taxes on energy, the economy’s most basic input, is a big risk for Democrats and a potential opportunity for Republicans.
What, your girl Nancy can’t sell the “sure, you’re broke, but it’s good for you” meme?
Nor is there any guarantee the legislation will clear the Senate, where failure would leave vulnerable House Democrats hanging with nothing to show for a risky vote.
Please, pass me the violin.
Such a course would parallel the infamous BTU energy tax proposed by President Bill Clinton nearly two decades ago. That tax cleared the House by a single vote cast by a hapless Pennsylvania first-term Democrat who promptly lost her seat after the Senate buried the bill.
This time through it’ll be eight “Republicans.”
Senate passage will be in the hands of California Democratic Sen. Barbara Boxer, an ardent proponent of cap-and-trade limits on greenhouse gases who often clashes with conservatives.
They’re already planning their strategy. Every time they address her they’ll call her ma’am. She’ll lose it on the spot.
Boxer plans action in her Environment and Public Works Committee by the end of July and believes she laid a path through the minefield of regional interests in a trial run on a similar bill last year that secured 54 votes, before Democrats added to their Senate majority in November’s election.
Apples and oranges. The stakes are far higher this time, and the damage to the economy would be far greater if this bill passed.
Pelosi framed the legislation as a national security issue, a health issue and above all “a moral issue for us to pass on God’s beautiful creation to the next generation in a responsible way.”
Funny how someone who sees no problem with murdering unborn children, defying her church in the process, keeps bleating about God’s creation. Guess human beings don’t qualify for that definition.
Her opponents, including nearly every Republican and 44 Democrats, warned that the legislation is economic suicide, and the “most colossal mistake ever in the history of the United States Congress.” They warned that imposing caps on carbon dioxide will raise energy prices and force more manufacturing to China and other nations that do not limit greenhouse gases while doing little to limit global warming.
But who cares about that? Or that even Greenpeace says this bill is worthless? Nancy says it’s so, therefore it is so. Right?
The bill would raise energy costs for consumers a postage-stamp’s worth a day, according to Democrats relying on estimates from the Congressional Budget Office, or by $1,500 a year according to opponents who contend the costs are woefully underestimated.
Let’s see… a first class postage stamp currently costs forty-four cents. That would be $160.60 a year. By the way, the CBO’s estimate is a vile lie. The bill’s cost shoots up horrifically over time.
For all the politics at play on both sides, the debate was often emotional, pitting Democrats who believe they are opening a new, clean-energy frontier for economic growth against Republicans who pleaded with waverers to “save our country” from economic ruin.
The nerve of those people, trying to keep the economy from collapsing!
“Dozens of burgeoning companies at the cutting edge of green technologies are poised for an explosion in innovation,” said Rep. Anna Eshoo, D-Palo Alto.
They have been working at this for thirty plus years and have yet to make a dent in this country’s energy needs. You expect this to change overnight?
Rep. George Radanovich, R-Fresno, in a reference to oil-rich Venezuela’s president, retorted: “If you like getting your oil from Hugo Chávez, you’ll love getting your breakfast, lunch and dinner from him too.”
Well, Obama might, seeing as how they’re such buds.
Democrats, some of them from the industrial Midwest,
From the land of the UAW. Now there’s some economic genius.
said jobs have already gone to China under GOP energy policies and reminded Republicans that former President George W. Bush bemoaned the U.S. “addiction to oil” in the same chamber.
He didn’t recommend destroying the economy to “rectify” this, now did he. He did recommend measures, including investing in alternate energy research, to alleviate this. The Democrats laughed.
The legislation split coastal Democrats from their newer colleagues in the more conservative interior from labor union and farm-heavy states such as Michigan and Missouri.
Um… let me check a map here… yes, Michigan and Missouri are in the interior of the country. Guess Ms. Lochhead wasn’t a geography major.
Working with Los Angeles Democrat Henry Waxman, the bill’s chief author, Pelosi was forced to accept key compromises with farm-state Democrats led by Collin Peterson of Minnesota, the Agriculture Committee chairman Pelosi bowed to last year to enact a costly and anachronistic farm bill.
But wait… I thought dear Nancy bowed to no one. And could someone kindly explain to Ms. Lochhead the difference between reporting and editorializing? You label a bill “costly” and “anachronistic” – as an aside, do you even know what that means? – without producing evidence of same. Pathetic.
Farm groups fear that higher energy prices could feed into their fuel and fertilizer costs.
Go figure.
Peterson won major concessions that could open a lucrative new agricultural market for carbon offsets gained through no-till farming and reforestation, as well as protection for corn-based ethanol.
You’d think the eco wackos would love that sort of thing.
In April, when Pelosi began cobbling together the fragile Democratic coalition behind carbon dioxide limits, she showed reporters a black desk statue of a coal miner, carved out of anthracite. She said it was a gift to her father, the late Rep. Thomas D’Alesandro Jr., D-Md., from a colleague in the coal-producing part of the state. Pelosi’s father passed it on to her when she was elected to Congress in 1987.
Oh, good. Human interest schlock.
She also displayed the statue to members from coal states, she said, to show them that their interests would not be ignored.
No word on how many hurt themselves laughing.
In fact, Pelosi gave what many Democrats felt were overly generous emissions allowances to coal-fired electricity plants.
She’s such a gal.
“We’re all going down that path together, or else we can’t go down that path,” she said. “And we must go down that path.”
So destroying your country’s economy is the path we must walk? Whatever, dear Nancy. Whatever.
Look, Ward Bushee, editor of the Chronicle. We know times are tough and your paper is teetering on the brink of going out of business. You probably can’t afford a lot of qualified writers. But if a collection of fangirl gushing is your definition of sufficient quality to be a lead story – or run period – you deserve to go out of business.
Quickly.
A Playlist For When I’m In One Of “Those” Moods
Jun 27th
Every once in a while I throw together a bunch of songs and make a playlist for Mr. iPhone (yes, I do use it to make phone calls every now and then). The latest is one I’ve nicknamed For When You’re In One Of “Those” Moods. Some you’ll know and some will be mysteries, while still others will be mysterious as in “it’s a mystery how anyone can listen to that.” But to each their own. Peruse if you please, and if you’re so inclined throw in a comment or two as to what songs you listen to when you’re in one of “those” moods.
| Think Of Me With Kindness | Gentle Giant | |
| Fell On Black Days | Soundgarden | |
| Creole | Prayer Chain | |
| A Million Miles Away | Rory Gallagher (from Irish Tour ‘74) | |
| Behind The Walls Of Sleep | The Smithereens | |
| Relapse | Adam Again | |
| You Oughta Know | Alanis Morissette | |
| Swallowed | Bush | |
| When I Get To The Border | Arlo Guthrie | |
| Read About It | Midnight Oil | |
| Meanwhile | Moody Blues | |
| Pleasant Valley Sunday | The Monkees | |
| When You Come Back Down | Nickel Creek | |
| Go Walking Down There | Chris Isaak | |
| Blaze Of Glory | The Alarm | |
| Whom The Gods Would Destroy | Barry McGuire | |
| New Jack Theme | Living Colour | |
| No Reply | The Beatles | |
| One Less Victory | Robin Trower | |
| Never Again | Nickelback | |
| Round Here | Counting Crows | |
| Lies (Through The ’80s) | Manfred Mann’s Earth Band | |
| Just The Way It Is, Baby | The Rembrandts | |
| Viva La Vida | Coldplay | |
| Beautiful | Marillion | |
| Bullet With Butterfly Wings | Smashing Pumpkins | |
| Honeymoon In Beirut | Rick Springfield | |
| Epic | Faith No More | |
| Cry For Help | Rick Astley | |
| Synchronicity II | The Police | |
| A Change Is Gonna Come | Mike Farris | |
| Lakini’s Juice | Live | |
| This Woman’s Work | Kate Bush | |
| Good Morning After All | Collective Soul | |
| Fiction | Kids In The Way | |
| Come To Jesus | Mindy Smith | |
| Eleanor, It’s Raining Now | Lost Dogs | |
| Better Be Home Soon | Crowded House | |
| Objects In The Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are |
Meat Loaf |
Assorted Thoughts, Late At Night (Updated First Thing This Morning)
Jun 26th
- When we mourn the death of a celebrity, is it their death or how it notes our own aging we are mourning?
- The Iranian ambassador to Mexico has insinuated the CIA was behind Neda Agha=Soltan’s death. Yeah, let’s reach out to these people. Starting with a left hook, followed by a right cross and maybe an uppercut or two. Seriously, when if ever will the present administration get over its inflated sense of self and realize that not only is the world not inclined to believe the MSM’s propaganda about Obama being a lightworker, you can’t have rational relationships with madmen?
- President Obama is pushing hard for his cap and trade plan, calling it a “jobs bill.” Which is true. You’ll need two jobs to pay for everything as everything manufactured using any form of energy skyrocket, and Steve Jobs will be one of the handful of people who’ll be able to afford the cost of living.
That said, it’ll be solely through the passage of legislation such as this that the American populace at large will realize the ruinous nature of the Obama administration’s plans and goals. We live in a society addicted to bread and circuses. Obama promises us bread, and the media broadcasts circuses. Only through direct, dramatic impact on everyone’s wallet as well as bungled health care availability should the nationalized plan under government control come to pass will the majority see the truth.
A recent example of this was how California elected a career bureaucrat governor in the person of Gray Davis, realizing his ineptitude only when he botched the state’s energy policy so badly it suffered a series of rolling blackouts. That got attention. It will take something that brutal or worse to make people understand they’ve been duped by Obama and his PR firm, a/k/a the news media. In the case of foreign relations, it’ll tragically take another attack on U.S. soil to force realization that Obama’s stance as a weakling apologist will never placate our foes. Never.
- I’m thinking about starting up a line of action figures based on renowned bloggers. This is something of an oxymoron, since one hundred and ten out of one hundred people on the street don’t know these people exist, but I digress. My first one will be the Ace of Spades model. Shaped suspiciously like a parrot, wind it up and it repeats everything Allahpundit has to say. Granted, that’s not much. But not my problem.
It’s Not That I Don’t Care, It’s That I Care About Something Else
Jun 25th
It’s a sign of the times that I am not so much thoroughly indifferent to yet another politician’s inability to control his libido as the reaction to same. The affair is what it is, and no amount of public tsk-tsking or handwringing will change this. Public visibility of those involved does not effect the fundamental truth of this being a private matter between those involved. Prayers for those involved; beyond that, I’d like to know what anyone wants me to do. Not like any of these people have me on speed dial, y’know.
That said, as said I’m even less interested in the reactions of others to this latest affair of state. Oh, the moral outrage! We must condemn! We must tonguelash! We must be seen as The Flagbearer For All That Is Righteous And Pure! Or something like that. Because, you know, there’s an image to maintain. All the better for growing our congregation.
Since that’s what it’s all about, really.
We all suffer to a degree with lumpy theology. In some areas of life we’ve got the sucker aced. Others? Not so much. It’s part of this being human deal. You deal.
Christ’s admonition to get the plank out of our eye before we say anything to our brother about the speck in theirs comes to mind. It’s a tad difficult to put much stock in high and haughty harrumphing by some currently spittin’ cotton over Mark Sanford when they preach virtuous virtue… even as they employ militant atheists (*coughmichellemalkincough*). Nothing against atheists; everyone has the right to be 100% wrong. That said, striking a pose about right being right and we’re on the good Lord’s good side when the main blogger boy for your site actively despises Christians and Christ… but to each their own.
Instead of freaking out over the latest episode of “Have You Heard,” shouldn’t we focus on strengthening that which we can actually effect – ourselves? Shouldn’t we take the time and make the effort to present a consistent witness? For example, it’s more than a tad disingenuous to oppose gay marriage using the institution’s sanctity as a basis when we hand out divorces like Halloween candy. Not that there’s never justification for divorce. But it’s the last resort. Treat it like nothing more than a high school breakup with paperwork, and you’ve got a credibility issue.
A life lesson I’ve taken to heart is I am not responsible for someone elses head trip. Nor am I responsible for someone elses shortcomings. Mine? That’s a whole nutter matter. It’s that way for everyone. We need to clean our own lives first. Actually, period.
Pooh, Piglet and Eeyore vs. the Politics Monster
Jun 24th
(This was originally going to be a Gord the polar bear post, but the more I got into it the less it worked. So I went with more familiar characters. Hope you enjoy it.)
One fine day in the Hundred Acre Wood, Pooh and Piglet were walking along when they came across their friend Eeyore.
“Good morning, Eeyore,” said Pooh.
“Good morning, Eeyore,” said Piglet.
“Well, it is morning,” said Eeyore. “I would not call it good, but if it’s good to you then it’s a good morning after all.”
Pooh replied, “Why shouldn’t this be a good morning for you as well? It’s a lovely morning.”
“For now it’s lovely. But it’ll probably be raining before long.”
Pooh looked up at the cloudless sky. “I rather doubt that.”
“It might anyway. Better go get my umbrella now. Or at least I would go get my umbrella if I had one. Even if I did have one, it’d blow away in the wind or tear on a tree branch. Oh well.”
Pooh and Piglet was very puzzled. After a moment Piglet said, “Eeyore. Why are you so gloomy on such a lovely and good morning?”
“I take it you haven’t spoken to Christopher Robin this morning,” Eeyore said in response.
“No,” a suddenly worried Pooh replied. “Is everything all right with our friend?”
“Nothing is wrong with him. He was telling me about what his parents were talking about the other night.”
“Are they all right?” an anxious Piglet worried aloud.
“I believe so. He said they were quite agitated, though. Which isn’t quite as good as being all right, but better than not being all right.”
Pooh thought about it as best he could for a minute. “I believe I agree. Now, why were they so upset? It wasn’t at Christopher Robin, was it?”
Eeyore shook his head no, his tacked-on tail moving along with it. “No. He said it was something called ‘politics.’“
“What’s a ‘politics?’“ Pooh asked.
Piglet said in a shaky voice, “Is it big and scary?”
“Is it like a heffalump or woozle, trying to steal every smackeral of honey?” added Pooh.
“Christopher Robin wasn’t sure,” said Eeyore. “He thinks it’s something parents do when they’re not being parents.”
“If it upsets them so, they should do something not so upsetting,” replied Pooh.
“One would think so,” said Eeyore.
Pooh thought as best he could. “So what about this ‘poliitics’ was so upsetting?”
“He said it was many things.”
“So there are many different politics?” asked Piglet. “That sounds even scarier.”
“No, there’s just the one,” replied Eeyore. “Although it must be a very strange looking thing.”
Pooh leaned forward and whispered, “In what way?”
Eeyore whispered in reply, “Christopher Robin said his parents were talking about how this ‘politics’ has many faces.”
“Oh d-d-d-dear!” exclaimed Piglet. “Do they all have sharp teeth?”
“I’m not sure.” Eeyore paused to think about it for a moment. “Christopher Robin didn’t say anything about teeth. I imagine at least one of the faces does, since Christopher Robin said his parents were very unhappy with the bite a face called ‘taxes’ took out of something of theirs called a ‘wallet.’“
Piglet let out a yelp and ran behind the nearest tree, to which Pooh responded with a chuckle. “I’m sure a ‘wallet’ is nothing like a Piglet, Piglet.”
“If you say so, Pooh,” Piglet replied warily as he returned to where he had been before.
Pooh chuckled again as he turned back to Eeyore. “What other faces might this ‘politics’ have, Eeyore?”
“Well, one is called ‘big government.’ Another is ‘corporate bailout.’ There’s one named ‘deficit.’ Christopher Robin said his parents were very unhappy about all of them.”
“Then there is only one thing to do,” said Pooh in a firm voice.
“What’s that, Pooh?” Eeyore and Piglet simultaneously replied.
“We must capture this monster so it will no longer upset our friend’s parents.” With that, Pooh disappeared into his home.
“What do you think he’s going in there to get?” Piglet nervously whispered to Eeyore.
“I’m not sure,” replied Eeyore. “But whatever it is, I hope he brings enough of them for all of us. I don’t want to be walking along and suddenly face the politics monster alone.”
After a long while Pooh returned.
“I have what we need to face the politics monster,” he said in a happy voice.
“A sword?” asked Eeyore.
“A shield?” asked Piglet.
“Neither,” replied Pooh.
“Then what?” Eeyore and Piglet exclaimed.
“This,” said Pooh. He produced a book, which he carefully laid on a log.
“Now, come sit with me.” Pooh picked up the book and sat on the log, a very puzzled Eeyore and Piglet joining him on either side.
Pooh opened the book. It was large, with a worn leather cover embellished with ornate designs. In the middle, stamped in gold, was the book’s title:
HOW TO DEFEAT THE POLITICS MONSTER
“Where did this book come from?” asked Piglet.
“I’m not sure,” Pooh replied. “It’s always been around my home, but I’ve never read it before. I don’t like reading about monsters, after all. I’d much rather read about something more pleasant. Like honey.”
“Well,” Eeyore said with a sigh, “might as well see what it says.”
Pooh carefully opened the book. On its first page was but one word:
KNOWLEDGE
The three sat and thought about this. After a long time Piglet said, “Knowledge?”
Pooh suddenly smiled. “Why, I know. You see, the politics monster is too big and scary to fight the usual way. So we have to outsmart it.”
Both Eeyore and Piglet thought this was a somewhat odd statement coming from a bear of little brain, but said nothing.
Pooh continued, “There is only one way to do this. Knowledge. Now Owl is very wise, but as he is not here at the moment we should read this book together.” And Pooh turned the page.
On the second page was another single word:
LOVE
“That’s strange,” said Eeyore.
“That’s peculiar,” said Piglet.
“That’s it!” exclaimed Pooh. He excitedly put down the book and hugged his friends, who, not quite knowing how to react, uncertainly hugged back.
While still hugging, Piglet cautiously said, “So why are we hugging each other?”
“Probably to see if it will make my tail fall off,” said Eeyore.
Pooh chuckled his roly-poly bear chuckle. “No, Eeyore. That’s not why we’re hugging.”
“Then why are we hugging?” Eeyore replied.
“It’s because love will defeat the politics monster,” Pooh said.
“How?” asked Piglet.
“I don’t know,” said Pooh. “But the book says it will. And if that is what it says, then that is the knowledge.” So the three friends sat together.
Finally Eeyore said, “Perhaps it is a good morning.”
“Perhaps,” Pooh smiled. “Perhaps.”
The Blogging May Be At Full Volume…
Jun 23rd
… but the blogger is barely able to register a whisper tonight. Try it again tomorrow.
Now The Struggle Has A Name
Jun 22nd
There’s a couple of pictures of a young woman currently circulating around the Internet. Her name is Neda Agha-Soltan.
Neda.
One picture reflects a serious yet serene demeanor, a look of calm resolution. The other shows a relaxed, winsome mood. They both show a beautiful young woman, one blessed with the kind of looks that turns heads. A true heartbreaker.
Until some thug hired by her government fired a bullet through her heart, leaving her to die on a street where a minute before she had been watching a demonstration. Not even participating. Just watching.
Her government killed her, then forbid her family to have a memorial service. The government of a country she loved. The government that claims to be the protector of a religion she followed. Her government.
The Iranian government.
Dear Lord, forgive her of whatever sins she committed in her life and bring her into your eternal presence.
Do with her murderers what you will.
