AnimaMundi

The Greening of America

The American front lawn : a symbol of prestige, cleanliness, efficiency, pride and...useless consumption. Most Americans don't use their front lawns for anything. It's just there for admiration and advertisement. When a friend of mine built a home in Boerne, TX, he told me that the town discouraged him from cultivating a lawn. Now one would think that with the jump in fuel costs, Americans would try to eliminate some lawn and plant other things that don't require mowing. Like stone and ornamental grasses, flowering perennials. Stone doesn't require a lot of care. You don't have to fertilize them with petrochemically concocted mixes. You don't have to mow them with $4+ a gallon gas. The same with ornamental grasses. The grasses also provide some privacy when they take off and begin to flower.

From "Why Mow?" by Michael Pollan

“Lawns are nature purged of sex and death. No wonder Americans like them so much.”

A lawn may be pleasing to look at, or provide the children with a place to play, or offer the dog room to relieve himself, but it has no productive value. The only work it does is cultural. In Downing’s day, the servant-mowed lawn stood, eloquently, for the power structure that made it possible: who but the very rich could afford such a pointless luxury? As mechanical mowers enabled middle-class suburbanites to cut their own grass, this meaning was lost and a different one took hold. A lawn came to signal its owner’s commitment to a communitarian project: the upkeep of the greensward that linked one yard to the next.

 

Black Bull Sarcophagus

Last Tuesday, on the island of Bali, the head of the royal family of Ubud named Agung Suyasa was laid to rest in a rare, spectacular Royal Funeral - the largest in decades. Suyasa, two other members the royal family, and 68 commoners were cremated in a large Hindu ceremony - their bodies having been previously preserved, awaiting cremation, which is traditionally believed to free their souls for future reincarnation.

I Was Told There Would Be Cake or Money Ain't Getting Any Cheaper

When I mentioned the cost of living to my next door neighbor the other day he replied, "Oh, it's not as bad they make it out to be." There are four people in his family and they own five cars including one brand new Honda truck, a six cylinder that gets about 15 miles a gallon. He just downsized from an 8 cylinder truck that guzzled 15 gallons per mile.

Hummers, bummers, summers, gas fillups,

oil bills, AC bills, groceries, outrageously expensive super-duper cult wines 

and just about everything else. On a brighter note, we have a gift certificate to John Andrews on Saturday night. Santa paid for the gift certificate. K. has been in high intensity knee pain for a while and she needs it, badly. We will drive to New Lebanon first to meet up with friends and admire their gardens. They have expended lots of money and sweat tilling the earth. I'll take pictures. I promise. Their gardens make our yard look like desolation row. In driving there and back, we'll probably spend more money on gasoline than on the meal. From New Lebanon to South Egremont we'll ride in their new Mini Cooper club car.

Things have changed dramatically, but the average American does not want to admit it. They have been accustomed to a certain standard of living that they refuse to concede. This attitude is part of the reason that we are where we are today. It's a persistently arrogant image and I don't particularly like it.

"To knock a thing down, especially if it is cocked at an arrogant angle, is a deep delight of the blood."
  - George Santayna

Paging pathology, please. It's not all gloom and doom. But remember those Sunday afternoon drives in the country?

Up a similar avenue, my friend Alfonso has some car and consumption images for you and his thoughts on the situation as it affects vino Italiano.

How about an Italian wine that doesn’t suck all the spare change out of the glove compartment, something we can drive around our dining rooms and still be able to put pasta and salad on the table as well?

This 5 year old Spanish red, one year in oak, from Don Quixote land is one of those wines that reaffirm my faith in decent wine at a fair price. A great wine, no. A good QPR wine @ ten bux before case discount, yes.

After all, it is a dog's life.

McCain = Bush

I usually avoid blogging about polticians because I like to keep my food down, but this guy might be our next president.

H/T Gastriques

You Don't Need A Weatherman To Know Which Way The Wind Blows on Highway 61

"Now the wintertime is coming,
The windows are filled with frost.
I went to tell everybody,
But I could not get across.
Well, I wanna be your lover, baby,
I don't wanna be your boss.
Don't say I never warned you
When your train gets lost."

Bob Dylan, Highway 61 Revisited 1965

"They say that Highway 61 ends at the Peabody Hotel, and in Lattimore's case, they were right. He got a job as a bellhop, and loves to tell the story of how when he first got into town "B.B. King was playing on the corner of Beale Street for nickels and dimes, and Elvis was driving a furniture delivery truck, wearing these raggedy-ass overalls..."

Guess where Highway 61 starts and winds it's way up the backbone of this country?

It's alright mater dolorosa, I'm only bleeding.

On the hot muggy streets of Texas, The Italian Wine Guy hints at encouraging signs in fly over country. Texas is changing, as is much of North America. Hell-fire-Baptism in the waters is still the norm in many areas of this vast space of North America. Though there is also a charged dynamic transforming this part of the USA in more ways than one.

He Ain't Back In Crawford Yet Folks

That sound that you hear when on the phone is not your cat playing with a fly on the wall.

One Step For Mankind and Free Speech?

Gastriques posts a video showing the primacy of certain vaunted primates. Maybe we should try another species to rule the world, eh?

In another key, she also ganked this video showing how your tax dollars go towards making the world safe for fascism to blossom.

T. Bone Slim Pickens Discovers The Wind

T. Boone Pickens, now there's a name for ya' pardner, has discovered wind power. This is an astounding bit of news to us common folk. How will wind fill my gas tank? I know what you're thinking, you devils out there in the blogosphere.

Can You Buy Your Way Out of Hades?

"Dr. Stone said those two kinds of patients tended to have different problems: “In my experience, there was a high incidence of depression in the people who were born rich. And by contrast, the people today who are making a fortune are so often narcissistic in a way that excludes depression.”

Narcissism is usually thought of as someone, or even a country like America, who is so self-absorbed that nothing else matters or penetrates. Arrogant pride and a strong ego exclude inconveniant unpleasantries like depression. So says mainstream psychology. Jungian non-ego proponents look upon the ego as sinner, literally making a mess of it all. Then add religion's taboo on pride and self-love and your ego is in the moral dumpster. "I can't be selfish" or "I was taught never to be selfish". Is there any nugget in all the negativity surrounding narcissism? Thomas Moore treats this myth with a lot of imagination. According to him, Narcissus was parented by a water god and a nymph. So? When in this mode we are watery, not on terra firma, dreamlike, fantasia, fluid, Fellini-esque. "He will live to a ripe old age provided he never comes to know himself" said Tiresias. As a youth Narcissus is so lovely that many attracted to him, but the shell is hard and no one can get through to him. Enter Echo, not Eco. She can only repeat what others say. "I would die before I would give my power to you" he tells her. "I would give my power to you" she replies. The blues came down on her, she lost her body and became a disembodied voice. Rock hard heart, obsessive, not genuine, powerful, no self love, soul-less, shriveling into a echoing voice. "May he fall in love and not have what he loves". "asa nisi masa, asa nisi masa" Ah, Nemesis. Narcissus comes upon his own image in the mirror of a pool of still water. Shocked by its marble visage, he tries to touch the form, but can't. "What you are looking for is nowhere. Turn your head away and what you love will be lost." In the stillness for the first time, he unintentionally begins to reflect on himself. It's an image that he has never seen before, its otherness fascinates him. He was born of water and discovers his birth-right in the watery isolated pool. Where there's soul, nature is alive. He finally realizes that the relected image in the pool is himself. Self-love to love of soul. Images of death haunt him. It is a ancient transformation mystery intimately connected with death and the fire of love. This what they found in place of his body after he departed to Hades:

   

Independence

"It is an odd holiday, to be sure — one a man or woman could easily grow abstracted about, its practical importance to the task of holding back wild and dark misrule never altogether clear or provable; as though independence were only private and too crucial to celebrate with others; as though we should all just get on with being independent, given that it is after all the normal, commonsensical human condition, to be taken for granted unless opposed or thwarted, in which case unreserved, even absurd measures should be taken to restore or reimagine it. … Best maybe just to pass the day as the original signers did and as I prefer to do, in a country-like setting near to home, alone with your thoughts, your fears, your hopes, your “moments of reason” for what new world lies fearsomely ahead."

— Richard Ford, “Independence Day”

Chicago Summer 1968

Mark at Toulouse Street recalls some of what went down in the 60's and the aftermath. With the ubiquitous Internets, the whole world is watching takes on a different cast. Pun intended. I do like his Dictator of the Stonertariat, though. It might not have been a bad idea afterall.

Foreign Policy

Since Americanos don't have the most desirable image abroad due to a number of factors, like our foreign policy, our brashness, the way we dress...I believe it's time to reconsider what we export, e.g. mediocre violent films. We have one of the most potent ambassadorial tools at our disposal jazz. Maybe we should use it a little more instead of sending mealy mouthed politicians.

"After his Middle East tour Dizzy Gillespie said with pride that it had been “powerfully effective against Red propaganda.” But when the State Department tried to brief him on how to answer questions about American race relations, he said: “I’ve got 300 years of briefing. I know what they’ve done to us, and I’m not going to make any excuses.”

From the slideshow:

In Athens, students who had recently stoned the local United States Information Service office lifted Duke Ellington on their shoulders and cheered. Later, in the Congo, he was paraded through the streets on a throne. As late as 1971, when he came to Moscow, an American diplomat likened his reception to “a Second Coming.”

George Carlin's Last Interview

These are edited highlights of George Carlin's last interview at "Psycholgy Today", not my favorite magazine, but a good interview nonetheless.

"I was always swimming against the tide. I was always out of step. Not only did I quit school, but I got kicked out of three schools along the way. I eventually got asked to leave the air force a year early—it wasn’t dishonorable, but it was a general discharge, which is a step down—because I did not shape up, I didn’t like authority, I had three court-martials. I was kicked off the alter boys, I was kicked off the choirboys, I was kicked out of the boy scouts, I was kicked out of summer camp. I never fit and I didn’t like conforming. And sometimes it just broke through the membrane, and I was out.

By the end of the 60s, all of my friends, the musician friends of mine, had gone through a transition in their dress, and especially in their music, and what I noticed was that all of these great artists—Bob Dylan, Buffalo Springfield, Joan Baez—all of these people were using their art to express themselves politically and socially. And I was not. I was still doing people-pleasing.

I was 30, and I resonated much more truly with the 20-year-olds. I was more in line with them than I was with these people I was entertaining in nightclubs. I began to notice that. I began to be affected by it, and along the way, the judicious use of some mescaline and some LSD managed to accelerate the process. It gave me more of an insight into how false the world was I was settling for, and to see that there was something much richer and better and more authentic. And those changes happened, they just—they happened naturally and organically. It took about 2 years for the total changeover to occur.

My beard got a little longer, the hair got a little longer, the clothing changed, and then I suddenly found myself being as—the best combination of both, this person I really was who was kind of out of step, antiauthoritarian, who also had these skills and talents that he was honing to express himself. And so I started expressing those feelings."

George Carlin

There have been so many great quotes and You Tube clips of George Carlin. I ganked this from Ray Ward in NOLA:

“An update on the comedian health sweepstakes. I currently lead Richard Pryor in heart attacks two to one. But Richard still leads me one to nothing in burning yourself up. See, it happened like this. First Richard had a heart attack. Then I had a heart attack. Then Richard burned himself up. And I said, ‘Fuck that. I'm having another heart attack!’”

— George Carlin, 1937–2008

“An update on the comedian health sweepstakes. I currently lead Richard Pryor in heart attacks two to one. But Richard still leads me one to nothing in burning yourself up. See, it happened like this. First Richard had a heart attack. Then I had a heart attack. Then Richard burned himself up. And I said, ‘Fuck that. I'm having another heart attack!’”

— George Carlin, 1937–2008

Your Native Son

I never knew there was a Gulfport, Illinois until the levees failed there too. We all heard what good ol' Rush Limbaugh had to say about the comparison of the flooding in the midwest with what happened in New Orleans three years ago. The man should be deported to Siberia and denied access to any media input. In a less divisive way, Mark Folse writes that the backbone of America is the Mississippi River basin in more ways than one.

"I want to believe that the people of Iowa and Illinois will make common cause with the people of Louisiana and Mississippi, will insist that things change, will demand that the United States once again be about its people, will be a nation and not just an economy: of the people, by the people, for the people, never to perish from the earth.

People in the Midwest with flooded out lives have no time to think of this right now, but the eyes of the nation are upon them. Those of us who have walked that path must tell this story, must demand on their behalf and for all of us–even as we reach out to help our brothers and sisters in the baptism of the flood–that the levees must not fail again somewhere else, that the slow motion, disaster-without-end lived in New Orleans and the whole hurricane coast from Cameron to Gulfport should not be repeated there or anywhere."

The White House

To my friends and The Kinkster in Texas, I have to lead with a disclaimer. Texas is bigger than big. It is where Shrub will go back to next January. Not all Texans are racists. Not all racists are Texans. Though at the GOP convention in Dallas this Obama pin turned up. As one commenter pointed out, the KKK's national office was in Dallas in the early 1900's.

The Big Picture

The Chaiten Volcano in Chile in high resolution from The Big Picture at Boston.com. The thunderstorm embedded in the volcanic eruption is one of the most fascinating photographs that I have ever seen.

The American Peso

NYC Metropolitan Diary June 2, 2008:

As I was walking down Second Avenue from 57th Street in mid-April, I noticed a young woman, early 20s, standing on the corner and talking on her cellphone while her toy-size dog squatted and took care of its business. As the dog completed its task, and not missing a beat, the young woman — still talking on the cellphone — bent down and scooped up her dog’s poop with a dollar bill and dropped it into a nearby trash can.

No wonder the Europeans are flocking to United States shores!

What Wine With Your Last Can of Pringles?

I would lean toward a medium bodied red, maybe something like a Mistral drenched Cotes-du-Rhone sud, e.g. Vacqueyras. Though a better choice might be something sweet and acidic to offset that salty Pringleness, like a Johannisberger Riesling.

Declare The Pennies On Your Eyes

In NY State, they (the Federales) tax our pension and Social Security. Our gas tax is the second highest in the country behind California. Our school/property taxes rank right up there with the best (i.e. thank you totally unregulated Medicaid). Now comes the inevitable NY Internet Tax. As that stickler tax lawyer Maud points out, the assumption that Amazon can't tax that book or cd that I ordered from my location In NY state is totally false.

Shrub & Co.'s Lying Machine

Harry Shearer is coming out with a new cd in July. The Center For Public Integrity tallied 935 lies by the Bushites in the runup to the Iraq War. Harry has a song on the cd that will help us remember that number.

Chicago, Chicago, My Kind of Town...

Dana used to have a blog called numberonehitsong. Then she said goodbye to that, but she still contributes to youngmanhattanite every now and then. If you need a quick Chicago summary, here it is. Warning: contains lots of meat and/or cheese.

Thanks to Lauren Cerand.

Those 7+7 Deadly Sins Redux

A while back, I attempted to give an accounting of how well I have done to date with the Seven Deadly Sins. This included the original seven big ones and the newly updated 21st century additional seven as issued by The Vatican or, if you prefer, The Holy See.

For those obssessed with sin and vice, here are America's most sinful cities. Show them some love, people. California cities are are faring well, I see.

Can We Afford To Air That?

On March 22, 2003, I was at a sports bar in Saratoga Springs, NY. The place was jammed with NCAA fans watching games on numerous big screens. I was at the bar and had just ordered something to eat. The days and months leading up to this day were not very bright nor drenched with journalistic truth. The games were in full swing and the crowd was beginning to swell. Then without warning, the coverage switched to the bombing of Baghdad. Shock and awe were on the big screen and the acoustics were enough to make one shudder. People moaned and groaned. The bartenders frantically searched with their remotes for something, anything. The guy next to me complained loudly. I said to him "you're paying for it, you might as well watch it." He said nothing. Soon the games were back on again and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. I walked out after I finished my lunch. Tonight I watched some of a game that was a blowout, a number 13 seed blowing out a number four seed by 20 points. I'm surprised that The Vatican let the Siena Saints play and win on Good Friday. Tonight five years later, Bill Moyers Journal was on PBS opposite the NCAA playoffs.

Monday's Child

I keep repeating the mantra of "The Last Spritzer" mention, but Lost New York City posted these handwritten signs at The Old Town Bar in NYC. I could not resist. In the other drink-related news, a few choice quotes from the hilarious Kingsley Amis:

"Offered the choice of red or white wine at a stand-up party the other day, I explained that my stomach objected to the acid produced by wine without food, whereas spirits were all right. “Sorry to hear that,” said the host. “I’m afraid there’s nothing else in the house.” My stomach took five minutes to change its mind."

"When that ineffable compound of depression, sadness (these two are not the same), anxiety, self-hatred, sense of failure and fear for the future begins to steal over you, start telling yourself that what you have is a hangover. You are not sickening for anything, you have not suffered a minor brain lesion, you are not all that bad at your job, your family and friends are not leagued in a conspiracy of barely maintained silence about what a shit you are, you have not come at last to see life as it really is, and there is no use crying over spilt milk."

I like reading Catavino, a site devoted to Spanish and Portuguese wines. The couple up and moved to Spain, realizing a dream. They arrived poor and without work, but have survived and are thriving. Videos of Rafael Vivanco and Marie Jose Lopez Heredia.

"How would you define the difference between a traditional Rioja wine and a modern Rioja wine and what do you think are the pluses and negatives of each style/philosophy?"

The 7 Deadly Sins:The Updated 21st Century Vatican Edition

I have managed to commit every one of the The Seven Capital Vices, Cardinal-Deadly Sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride. It was hard work, but I managed and am still managing. I have been less than successful with the seven contrary holy virtues: chastity, abstinence, temperance, diligence, patience, kindness and humility. I have become somewhat chaste these past few years, although unwillingly. I definitely have not abstained, my weight can testify to that very soundly. I have become somewhat temperate and am not greedy, or so I think and believe. I am slothful and diligent, so this is a toss up. I have periods of productive activity that even amaze me. I do not sit in the front of the television for hours eating Red Hot Blue corn chips. As for patience, I am antipodal. I can been excruciatly patient and as impatient as they come. The same goes for wrath. I do not know how justifiable some of my wrath is, but I do not let injustice pass by without venting. And I won't go into the night without some rage either. How is this different than wrath? Or is it? Kindness is a virtue that I would like to engender more of, since I found long ago that envy is a waste of time and very draining. Kindness is infectious. It's like smiling or yawning, or more beneficial to being. I am proud but not like a peacock and have a good amount of hubris. What man doesn't? There may be monks who don't have any, but most people who walk the earth have built up a plentiful chest of hubris, non? Why is the world in such a sorry pitiful state? Guess.

The Vatican, trying to shake off its anachronistic shroud, has issued its 21st Century version of The Seven New Deadly Sins. Are there seven contary virtues to these new deadly sins? Or are they merely the opposite of the new contemporary sins? Let's see how I am doing on the Modern Update:

Environmetal Pollution: I have polluted the water supply by just pissing. All of the prescription drugs that I have taken over the years have wound up in the water that you and I drink. Given the high anxiety of our times, some of these drugs in our aqua municipale could be of some benefit to many people. Right off the bat, it doesn't look as if I am going to fare any better in modern time sinning. But wait, I recycle as much as possible, although I throw out flimsy plastic. The recyclers are only interested in the heavy gauged prima materia anyway.

Genetic Manipulation: I think that I can safely say that I have not manipulated any genes lately, my own or those of other people or animals.

Accumulating Excessive Wealth: Other than my villa in the interior of Sicily, I have most assuredly not accumulated excessive wealth. What if I hit the lottery? Then, I stand guilty and head toward the cellar for Champagne.

Inflicting Poverty: I don't recall personally doing that to anyone or any third world country. Shrub, another story.

Drug Trafficking and Consumption: Trafficking no, consumption yes. How much consumption? I can not say. I don't remember. Isn't that one of reasons one consumes drugs?

Morally Debatable Experiments: I have to plead guilty to some very minor social experiments that The Vatican might deem morally debatable. They were quite harmless and gave raise to some lively debate.

Violation of Fundamental Rights of Human Nature: This one cuts a large swath. There really is no need for the "human" modifier. We are, the last I checked, part of Nature or has that changed? If so, when? I wonder who thought this one up in pitch black of night buried in the bowels of the Vatican drinking 25 year old Cannubi?

One Last Time or Out With A Bang

The Spritzer caper drew me in more than I expected. The second part of the post title comes from a headline in a NYC newspaper. The man does not interest me at all, since he is an arrogant rich power monger. Maybe, it's the sex. I also learned a little about Albany politics. Nothing surprising, but just some details regarding the inner dynamics of the phoney dirty game. However, the sex trade economics was worth reading about, especially this piece in Slate:

"The moral of the story, I suppose, is that even in the black market, you can find a glass ceiling."

Aftermath

Wall Street cheered, Mike Bloomberg twittered, Joe Bruno smiled quietly, Andrew Cuomo looked out his window in his Albany office, Robert J. Stone wondered if should look for a new apartment, the Albany Project banked... While I type this a helicopter flew overhead. We are in the direct path between the Governor's Mansion in Albany and the heliopad at the NYS Transportation Authority on Route 9W. That could well have been Eliot Spitzer enroute to clean out his executive desk and gather his belongings from the Mansion. It was such a relief to get rid of George Pataki after eight long years. Eliot wasn't around long after garnering the most votes ever, 70%, for a non-incumbent governor. Humility says The New Yorker. Sandy Koufax learned to pitch better by loosening his grip on the ball. The pitching coach said he threw too hard.

Love Client #9

Eliot Spitzer is resigning effective Saint Patrick's March 17, 2008. So, he will fade from the public eye fairly soon. Though more sordid tales are bound to surface. Politics is a very phoney dirty game and gets dirtier the more you pay attention to it. I try to steer clear of it for the most part. However, the media and the blogosphere are having a field day with the Eliot Spitzer caper. You know the tune:

From The Village Voice "Spitzer Goes Down":

"If there was a crime on the books to describe Eliot Spitzer's most serious violation as he cavorted with "Kristen" in Room 871 of the Mayflower Hotel, it would have nothing to do with prostitution, or illegal wire-transfers, or any other law aimed at preventing people from simply having too good a time.

Rather, it would be something like this: Grand Theft: Voter Dignity. Spitzer sold his image as a straight-arrow, anti-corruption crusader so well that he sailed into office in November 2006 with almost 70 percent of the vote, the biggest margin ever for a non-incumbent governor."

Here are some fishy questions, sorry, about the whole Spitzer incident at Firedoglake. Robert J. Stone, Jr. seems to loom large.

Attywood provides a peek at the bizarre history of the Mann Act, as related to Chuck Berry and Eliot Spritzer.

The New York Times originally broke the Eliot Spitzer story, although according to some the sting had been in the oven for quite a while. Now "The Whore of Mensa" is recalled in that same venerable gray publication.

Even Epicurious asks "Client #9: How did He Dine?'

On to the Menu: I know a lot of people in the blogosphere are searching for Kristen's picture. There is a Kristen here, but she is not blonde. However, she does fit the description. "Stranded on the island of Manhattan, enjoys civilized pursuits, like dining in exclusive restaurants and sampling fine wines".

Kristen is aka Ashley Alexandra Dupre.

"I have always found it very curious that one of the following, but not the other, is illegal:

(a) Two people have sex, one of them gets paid for it;

(b) Two (or more) people have sex, all of them get paid for it, and it is videotaped and sold to third parties as a commodity.

I have yet to hear a convincing argument why this difference makes any actual sense."

For personal financial reasons et al, I would like to see Joe Bruno go down next. Mr. Bruno, the honorable Senate Republican majority whip, was the primary sponsor of the Lemon Law in NY state. Around 1987 he appeared on a live call-in TV show on the local PBS affiliate. I had just stupidly purchased a Peugeot, yes a Peugeot. It had a differential gear problem among other things. I took it to arbitration. The dealer somehow muffled the obvious defect by throwing sawdust(?) into the transmission. I called into the show and asked Mr. Bruno if he ever attended an arbitration hearing to see how effectively his Lemon Law was working. It's interesting to call in and watch facial expressions at the same time. After a brief halt, he answered no. I said that if he had introduced a consumer protection law he should at least take the time to see how well the legislative process works or doesn't. He took down my name and phone number. In the meantime I had a mechanic-friend drain the transmission fluid and drove the French disaster around the NY State Campus NASCAR-like track a few times at high speed and then refilled the fluid. The transmission talked back. The next day, the arbitration official, a real estate man, took a ride with my lawyer and I around that same track. He must have been as deaf as Helen Keller. He claimed that he didn't hear a thing. Bruno sent a lackey to the hearing to take notes. I lose the hearing, trade in the car and lose $7,000 or so. Thank you Joe Bruno for the gutless Lemon Law.

See how these tragic-comedic events that The National Observer used to headline grab you and draw you down into the vortex of hilarious in-the-mud debauchery. Post-modern America is a caricature squared of its phoney self, non?

 

It's A Mann's World

Everyone seems a twitter over poor demented Eliot Spritzer's, aka Client #9 aka George Fox, indiscretion. Legal beagle Dangerblond explains the difference between Eliot Spritzer's transgression and that of shitting-diaper-fame Senator Vitty Cent of Louisiana. There is an important distinction that many people haven't picked up on. Harry Shearer, on the other hand, points out that sexual hypocrisy trumps other kinds, like mob affiliation and vetting your police commissioner's connexions.

Again and in another vain vein, Cajun Boy in the City wonders what a man won't risk for a piece of ass.

To Pope VI on birth control: "He no playa the game, he no maka the rules."

Hi, I'm Earl Butz and I'm still dead.

This is his money quote though: "the only thing the coloreds are looking for in life are tight pussy, loose shoes and a warm place to shit."

First Jew On The Grand Ole Opry or "Kill Two Birds and Get Stoned"

Kinky Friedman is hilarious. He also got on the Texas Governor's ballot with his refreshing candor and rousing wit. Pity he didn't win. He did rake in 12.5% of the vote though. When Shrub returns to Crawford, he coulda had Kinky as his Guvna'. That would have been good for Shrub and Kinky, non?

"Indeed, across the US, the band (Texas Jewboys) were often chased off stages by Jews and Gentiles alike that were offended by the “liberties” Kinky took with his freedom of speech."

"The Kinkster never likes to say 'fuck' in front of a c-h-i-l-d."

"The Second Plane"

"The Second Plane" by Martin Amis is reviewed by David Aaronovith who claims that a portion of the left is trying to run him out of town.

Some quotes from Amis:

In March 2003, he gave warning that the “intellectually null” George Bush, “a tax-cutting dry drunk from West Texas” was leading his country into a disastrous trap, ineluctably provoking, inter alia, “an additional generation of terror from militant Islam”.

“If September 11 had to happen, then I am not at all sorry that it happened in my lifetime. That day and what followed from it: this is a narrative of misery and pain, and also of desperate fascination. Geopolitics may not be my natural subject, but masculinity is. And have we ever seen the male idea in such outrageous garb as the robes, combat fatigues, suits and ties, jeans, tracksuits, and medics' smocks of the Islamic radical?”

“Suicide-mass murder is astonishingly alien, so alien, in fact, that Western opinion has been unable to formulate a rational response to it. A rational response would be something like an unvarying factory siren of unanimous disgust. But we haven't managed that. What we have managed, on the whole, is a murmur of dissonant evasion.”

“The champions of militant Islam are misogynists, women-haters; they are also misologists - haters of reason. Their armed doctrine is little more than a chaotic penal code underscored by impotent dreams of genocide. Like all religions, it is a massive agglutination of stock responses, of clichés, of inherited and unexamined formulations.”

Alfonso Cucuzza's List i.e. Saute Or Get Off The Pot

Alfonso is making lists again. You know what that means. Lots of excellent photography interlaced with cryptic warnings about fine legs, fishnet stockings, short skirts, donkeys, cougars, a blue pantheon, working for a living, Park Slope, robes, 30 somethings attitudes, toilets, last calls, last tango, chefs plugging bad donuts, inversion tables, live bait, SUV's and the funkification of Italy. To top it all, he sat down with Mr. Potato head and interviewed him, tongue in pork cheeks.

We Shall See

Charlie Wilson's War was an enjoyable East Texas-politico romp. It purports to tell an important story in the history of our hideous foreign policy. It is Hollywood-Bollywood. Before I get to the gist of the post, there was one eerie statement in the movie that bears mentioning. Someone in the movie states very emphatically twice that President Muhammed Zia-ul-Hac of Pakistan, whose looks reminded me of Musharaff, did not kill Bhutto. Against pleas from the west, he had Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, father of the recently assassinated Benazir Bhutto, hanged after a coup. Here's a NYT's article about Bhutto's legacy.

I don't know much about the names of the players in the whole historical dynamic  between Pakistan and Afghanistan. However, I wanted to find out how faithful Hollywood was to historical fact. Like I was surprised after digging a bit. I had read some blurb about Tom Hanks "not being to handle the 9/11 thing". I came home and read this piece on the Alternet site.

CIA agent Gust Avrakotos' money quote:

"A boy is given a horse on his 14th birthday. Everyone in the village says, 'Oh how wonderful.' But a Zen master who lives in the village says, 'We shall see.' The boy falls off the horse and breaks his foot. Everyone in the village says, 'Oh how awful.' The Zen master says, 'We shall see.' The village is thrown into war and all the young men have to go to war. But, because of the broken foot, the boy stays behind. Everyone says, 'Oh, how wonderful.' The Zen master says, 'We shall see.' "

NYTimes Metropolitan Diary

One my favorite parts of The NY Times is the Metropolitan Diary. When I worked I used to read it on Mondays. Then I lost tract of it for many years. Just recently, I found it on line again. This was in the December 17th edition.

"A group of about a dozen suited gentemen entered a subway car with me a few months ago. All wore ID’s that identified them as city and state transportation authority personnel. I sat down and opened my novel, but the train didn’t move. After seven or eight minutes, I looked up at the tall official straphanging above me. “Are we delayed because of you folks or in spite of you?” I asked. “Oh! You’re here!” he responded, without missing a beat. “I didn’t see you get on.” Then he called over to a co-worker halfway down the car. “John,” he said. “She has arrived. Tell them we can get started now.” John just chuckled, but a few seconds later, we were on our way."

On December 10th:

"The Diary story of St. Martin of Tours (Oct. 15), who gave a beggar half his cloak, reminded me of a New York moment in late October 1956. I was an 18-year-old actress at the Blackfriars Theater, which was run by the Dominican order. Dominican priests take a vow of poverty and own nothing, not even their clothing, which is issued by the order.

Father Robert A. Morris, who worked at the theater, offered to share a cab on a windy night of freezing rain. I lived at the Barbizon Hotel for Women, only a few blocks from the priory.

As we were driving down Lexington Avenue, a scantily clad man staggered into the street and ran into an oncoming car. The impact tossed his body into the air, and it landed beside the curb.

Father Morris ordered the cabby to stop and call the police. I watched from the cab as he ran to the man, removed his black wool coat and covered the man with it -- not half the coat, as St. Martin did, but the whole thing. Then Father Morris knelt in the freezing rain, administering the last rites.

Shivering, he returned to the cab in his soaking clothes. ''He needed the coat more than I do,'' Father Morris said. And then a soft afterthought: 'I hope the Dominicans will give me another coat.'"

"I sort of liken it to a family, when everyone says, 'Why did it take something so tragic to get us all together?'"

Since I recently had the rankling experience of attending a family funeral, I finally found out what the hell the writer's strike is all about. Reality, animation or Internet streaming?

Menu For Hope 4

Menu For Hope 4 is the fourth year that food and wine bloggers have cobbled together a worldwide charity event. Last year they raised over $60k for the UN World Food Program. This year the money is going to a school lunch program in Lesotho, Africa. For every $100 donated, $87 goes directly to the school lunch program. The range of raffle prizes are amazing. It's a win-win. If you win a case of Petite Sirah or have dinner with Eric Asimov, you are also helping to provide school lunches to people who need them.

Go to On The Wine Trail in Italy or Chez Pim, the original creator of the whole goodwill shabang. Rather than buy that extra present that someone doesn't really need, give a few bucks to people who need food to fuel their bodies so that they can learn at school. After all, Americans spend $487 Billion for Christmas each year. Yes, $487 Billion.

Aldo, Food and Customer Service

The Japanese know customer service. American companies are slow in getting the message, much to their detriment. I'm sure that there are many American-Global companies-corporations that provide courteous unstinting customer service. For instance, we have found that Cuisinart backs their products beyond the warranty period without question. A part has broken, a replacement is mailed out pronto.

Aldo, as some of you may know, was born with a diaphragmatic hernia. This has resulted in occasional digestive problems. K watches his diet closely and gives him the best food that we can afford or not afford. She recently went to PetSmart, a dubious retailer that has had various problems, to buy some dog food and redeem a coupon for a free 5 lb bag of Natural Choice from Nutroproducts. The salesperson at PetSmart (or dumb) refused to honor the coupon and voided it by writing in the merchant space and then crossing it out. K. was furious and complained, but to no avail. She then contacted Nutroproducts by e-mail and they telephoned her within a day. Jeff from Nutroproducts noted all the information and is going to contact PetSmart. In addition, he is sending us samples of Natural Choice for Aldo and a voucher to redeem for a bag of food for the little porker. This is good customer service. The product is good and the company backs it up to the hilt. Square biz.

I Would Have Never Guessed This

Wealthy people are very benevolent. They are continually giving away their fortunes to the poor and destitute. In fact, there are laws pending to stop this hideous practice of giving away money. So, when I read this, it came as a total shock.

M$E$R$R$Y X$M$A$S

It's that time of year. The Holidays. Christians are obsessing about the birth of the savior in humble surroundings, wise men, peace, love, goodwill to all mankind, the perfect tree, the solstice, halcyon days... Well, maybe not the last two.

NPR: Consumers Have Iffy View Of Economy":

"Sales for the 2007 holiday shopping season will nudge up just 4 percent to $474.5 billion, according to The National Retail Federation, a trade organization, projects — marking the slowest holiday sales growth since 1992."

Only $475 Billion. It's the "Eve of Destruction".

The Ten Commandments of the Mafia Starring Johnny Stecchino

The Ten Commandments of the Mafia have been unearthed in a cave deep in the heart of the Sicilian badlands. No not Jersey. The movie is in production starring Johnny Stecchino.

Revolution #?

I believe that the only true and lasting changes to consciousness, culture and civilization start with the individual. Yes, there have been revolutions and coups, but look at the outcomes. Even individual transformation is painfully slow. Try changing your eating habits or try changing mine. Very small incremental changes in human behavior versus the St. Paul-on-the-road-to-Damascus radical transformation. So much has been written about the 60's and rock, that it has become a little boring, especially for those who missed it for one reason or another.

The Telegraph UK has this review of "There's A Riot Going On": Revolutionaries, Rock Stars and The Rise and fall of 1960's Counter-Culture" by Peter Doggett.

A couple of quotes from the review:

"Lennon was also a generous patron of Michael de Freitas, the former pimp and drug dealer who reinvented himself as the black-power leader Michael X. In one press conference, Lennon exchanged locks of his and Yoko’s hair with a pair of bloodied boxing shorts that had been donated to de Freitas by Muhammed Ali. De Freitas was later hanged for murder in Trinidad."

"Sly Stone’s disappearance into a haze of cocaine and angel dust was typical. The LSD guru Timothy Leary was exposed as a government informer. Huey Newton was charged with beating a 17-year-old prostitute to death, fled to Cuba and was shot dead in 1989 over a drug deal.

Abbie Hoffman committed suicide. Jerry Rubin became a stockbroker, and was killed while jaywalking in 1994.

At least Mick Jagger managed to sort out his tax problems."

Without a doubt, influences from that time permeate our post-modern-absurdist psyche more than most would like to admit. I don't think you can right off the 60's with a drug hazed aliby and cop- outs. The 1,000 things are still churning and will be for eons. At least, that's what I think IMHO.

Outlier Kulture

Alan Bloom's book, "The Closing of the American Mind" is twenty years old today. The New Criterion offers this article about Bloom's observations about our instant karma culture.

"But Bloom is writing about rock music the way someone from the pre-rock generation experiences it. You’ve no interest in the stuff, you don’t buy the albums, you don’t tune to the radio stations, you would never knowingly seek out a rock and roll experience—and yet it’s all around you. You go to buy some socks, and it’s playing in the store. You get on the red eye to Heathrow, and they pump it into the cabin before you take off. I was filling up at a gas station the other day and I noticed that outside, at the pump, they now pipe pop music at you. This is one of the most constant forms of cultural dislocation anybody of the pre-Bloom generation faces: Most of us have prejudices: we may not like ballet or golf, but we don’t have to worry about going to the deli and ordering a ham on rye while some ninny in tights prances around us or a fellow in plus-fours tries to chip it out of the rough behind the salad bar. Yet, in the course of a day, any number of non-rock-related transactions are accompanied by rock music. I was at the airport last week, sitting at the gate, and over the transom some woman was singing about having two lovers and being very happy about it. And we all sat there as if it’s perfectly routine. To the pre-Bloom generation, it’s very weird—though, as he notes, “It may well be that a society’s greatest madness seems normal to itself.” Whether or not rock music is the soundtrack for the age that its more ambitious proponents tout it as, it’s a literal soundtrack: it’s like being in a movie with a really bad score. So Bloom’s not here to weigh the merit of the Beatles vs. Pink Floyd vs. Madonna vs. Niggaz with Attitude vs. Eminem vs. Green Day. They come and go, and there is no more dated sentence in Bloom’s book than the one where he gets specific and wonders whether Michael Jackson, Prince, or Boy George will take the place of Mick Jagger. But he’s not doing album reviews, he’s pondering the state of an entire society with a rock aesthetic...

Well, they’re the suits in the back room. What of the revolutionaries themselves? The last time I saw Paul McCartney on stage he was urging us all to give our money to Africa. Yet I found myself thinking of Sir Paul’s late wife. Linda McCartney had been a resident of the United Kingdom for three decades, but her Manhattan tax lawyers, Winthrop Stimson Putnam & Roberts, devoted considerable energy in her final months to establishing her right to have her estate probated in New York state. That way she could avoid the 40 percent death duties levied by Her Majesty’s Government."

Some good points, some so so points. But when I'm feeling down and need something to raise me up or when I'm up and want to stay there or go higher, I don't look to Mahler or Puccini or Tupac. I get out some Ella or Sarah, Ellington-Strayhorn, Professor Longhair, Scott Hamilton, Benny Carter, Johnny Hodges, Paulo Flores, Carlos Lamartine, Tito Paris, Teofilo Chantre, Kassav', Malavoi, Sam Cooke, Jimmy Rushing and on and on.

Kosovo Connection

Our last minute weekend in NYC was looking good even though a little soggy in spots thanks to the full moon. Friday afternoon out of the gate, we headed for Tulchingo Del Valle for lunch. We shared a very assertively spiced chicken mole enchilada and a grilled chicken cemita, a Poblano-style sandwich that had fresh avocado and papalo on it. Add Sol beer and you're set. Whoa. The place is small but big on flavor and friendliness. After that we headed to Zibetto for some high octane espresso. Southern Italian-style coffee like it should be, no seating, high volume, crack baristas. Early Saturday brought more rain and heaps of humidity. We made our way to the Chelsea Market and bought capers and hot Calabrian peppers at Buon Italia. Thank you, EU Euro. Before that we stopped at the newly opened branch of Ninth St. Espresso for some of the best coffee in the city. I had a top notch caffe macchiato that was brewed from a blend of Brasilian and Bolivian beans. If you've read this far, then you might as well read on since the Kosovo konnexion is around the corner. We lunched at Hill Country where beef brisket is king. The brisket was excellent and we also gave the bbq beef a try too. The sides were... well... sides. Get the beef and you won't be disappointed or go home hungry. After a little rest and some champagne, we jumped on a subway.(Terry takes cabs, but we didn't know that at the time) Out of Union Square, we hopped on the L train heading east. When we sat across from each other on the train, the first words we heard were: "I'm not fighting for Bush!" A hefty guy all in black opposite the voice in the car yelled out: "You're not an American, where were you born?" The young person next to me said he was from Albania and that he became a US citizen recently. The Vietnam vet in black said that the Albanian-American didn't deserve to live here and that he didn't know anything. He got in his face literally. The blood vessels in his neck were working overtime. I couldn't see the eyes of his friends rolling. I wasn't going to say anything. Maybe something medial to defuse. Never was good at this type of thing. Whatever I said seemed to help some. I leaned over to the Albanian and asked where he was born. "Kosovo", he said. The Vietnam vet vehemently told of his fox hole trauma and the friends he had lost in the rice paddies. He said that the Albanian could never understand what he went through for America and that he wasn't an American born on home soil. The Albanian-American didn't deserve to speak out because he wasn't a native born American. Nationalism is one of the most dangerous isms. Many people have died for it. No doubt many will die in the future for it. Now reflective and reeled in, the admittedly medicated vet hugged us all and apologized repeatedly. He was genuinely sorry and it showed. My heart goes out to him. He will get no peace until his soul grants him tranquillity. I hope it does someday for the sake of all the forsaken souls in the world damaged by war. This is turning into a novella. Try to maintain a modicum of interest. Tears welled up in my eyes and I sensed the contorted rippling wave of pain that war sends around the planet. It was as if the subway car let out a sigh of relief when the doors opened. There's not much more to say. You wouldn't know it by the length of this post. We got off the war-charged train and made our way quietly, decompressed and relieved to the oasis of Barbone. When Alberto, the padrone and Kosovo native (See?), who claims that he doesn't speak Italian, greeted us at the door, I said my reservation name and a tall person next to Alberto called out "Marco!". It was Terry Hughes of Mondosapore fame who had recommended Barbone to us. The vibe was good and so was the pasta with vongole and pancetta, as was the pan roasted cod. The kitchen people know what they're doing. Alberto recommended a wine from the northeast of Italy "Lacrima de Morro d'Alba". It was young with good acidity. We would have liked a wine with a little more depth and stuff in the middle, but it complemented the foods well. Terry was meeting friends in the outdoor dining area heated with state-of-the-art heaters, so we decided to meet up later which we did. We were introduced to Alfonso and his friendly mate Kim and the Roman Gabrio who regaled us with stories of wine and scheming women, all with a great sense of humor. All of these kind people and welcoming people know their vino without pretense. It was a fortunate fascinating comforting experience for us, especially after the subway drama.

On Sunday after lunch at Jane, French bulldogs paraded down 14th St in all their Halloween Frenchieness.   

Some Props

Doris Lessing is 88 and the Nobel committee finally got it right and gave her the 2007 Nobel Prize for Literature.

Harol Blume of the Boston Globe recently interviewed her. From the piece:

IDEAS: Why do you think you haven't won a Nobel Prize?

LESSING: There is something hidden here. At a big evening party in Sweden, back when my Swedish publisher was alive, a little gray chap from the Nobel Committee sat down beside me and said: "You'll never win the Nobel Prize. We don't like you."

It was so graceless. What was I to say? I didn't say anything. I've never found out why they don't like me.

I found the link to this interview at Maud Newton's site who was also recently interviewed by Yahoo Picks.

In an earlier interview Maud was asked where did she summer:

"I can tell you’re not paying off student loans. “Summering” to me means a cold beer, sunglasses, a grill, and a hot breeze blowing over the factory and into my Brooklyn backyard."

Louis Armstrong and Tabou

Thanks to Perfessor Morris and YRHT for pointing me to this article in the NYT describing how vocal Louis Armstrong was whilst some African-Americans were calling him an Uncle Tom.

Hits

Today marks the most hits for my blog, 55 and counting. Ashley watch out.