The Nine Pound Hammer

STILL ROCKING

2012-02-01T09:11:00.000-08:00

If you want to see a bunch of old white guys up on stage who know what they're doing, don't watch the Republican debates. Instead, check out these filthy geezers still rocking after fifty years. I know, I know, we just posted the Stones, but the official release of the Brussels show (see post below) has gotten us listening to the old records again, and frankly, they're not bad. Proves you can get older and not completely mellow out...Thank God. This show was filmed at Zilker Park in Austin, Texas, October 22, 2006.

You Got Me Rocking
Lets Spend The Night Together
Shes So Cold
Oh No. Not You Again
Sway
Bob Wills Is Still The King
Streets Of Love
Aint Too Proud To Beg
Tumbling Dice
Learning The Game
Little T&A
Under My Thumb
Get Off My Cloud
Honky Tonk Women
Sympathy For The Devil
Jumpin' Jack Flash
(I Cant Get No) Satisfaction
Brown Sugar

WHO'S ON FIRST?

2012-01-28T15:02:00.001-08:00

BEDSPRING SYMPHONY

2012-01-27T07:37:00.000-08:00

Speaking of bootlegs (were we?) it looks like this brilliant, often-circulated, unofficial recording will finally see the light of day. I remember listening to this killer show--in which Mick Taylor shines--on vinyl back in the mid-seventies, on a bootleg called "Bedspring Symphony." Later, it circulated on CD as "The Brussels Affair," and was highly prized by Stones' fans. Listen to the intertwining guitars of Taylor and Richards, the tight r section of Wyman and Watts, and Jagger's bluesy growl not yet overly campy but seriously in charge. I hope the official release is as clean as the soundboard boots I've heard.

Give it a listen here: BRUSSELS

RULES FOR STORY TELLING

2012-01-24T16:20:00.000-08:00

by Mark Twain

The rules governing literary art in the domain of romantic fiction shall require:

1. That a tale shall accomplish something and arrive somewhere.

2. They require that the episodes of a tale shall be necessary parts of the tale and shall help to develop it.

3. They require that the personages of a tale shall be alive, except in the case of corpses, and that always the reader shall be able to tell the corpses from the others.

4. They require that the personages in a tale, both dead and alive, shall exhibit sufficient excuse for being there.

5. They require that when personages of a tale deal in conversation, the talk shall sound like human talk, and be talk such as human beings would be likely to talk in the given circumstances, and have a discoverable meaning, also a discoverable purpose, and a show of relevancy, and remain in the neighborhood of the subject in hand, and be interesting to the reader, and help out the tale, and stop when people cannot think of anything more to say.

6. They require that when the author describes the character of a personage in his tale, the conduct and conversation of that personage shall justify said description.

7. They require that when a personage talks like an illustrated, gilt-edged, tree-calf, hand tooled, seven dollar Friendship's Offering in the beginning of a paragraph, he shall not talk like a negro minstrel in the end of it.

8. They require that crass stupidities shall not be played upon the reader as "the craft of the woodsman, the delicate art of the forest" by either the author or the people in the tale.

9. They require that the personages of a tale shall confine themselves to possibilities and let miracles alone; or, if they venture a miracle, the author must so plausibly set it forth as to make it look possible and reasonable.

10. They require that the author shall make the reader feel a deep interest in the personages in his tale and in their fate; and that he shall make the reader love the good people in the tale and hate the bad ones.

11. They require that the characters in a tale shall be so clearly defined that the reader can tell beforehand what each will do in a given emergency.

In addition to the large rules there are some little ones. These require that the author shall:

12. Say what he is proposing to say, not merely come near it.

13. Use the right word, not its second cousin.

14. Eschew surplusage.

15. Not omit necessary details.

16. Avoid slovenliness of form.

17. Use good grammar.

18. Employ a simple and straightforward style.

Thanks to The Writing Life Too

CORIOLANUS

2012-01-23T18:06:00.000-08:00

Mike Dooly as Tullus Aufidius and David Drummond as Caius Martius Coriolanus in Seattle Shakespeare Co.'s production of Coriolanus

We just watched some greedy politicians lying their asses off, a mob of protesters mic-checking the rich and powerful, and some battle-traumatized soldiers turning their guns against civilians. No, we weren't watching the 6 o'clock news, but watching a four hundred year old play, Coriolanus. Few understood human nature like Will Shakespeare.

Actors from the Seattle Shakespeare Company took the stage and brought us back to the earliest days of Rome--some five hundred years before Julius Caesar. The cast was strong and agile, bringing humor to shifty Patricians and Plebeians vying for power. David Drummond, in the title role, brought the hulking soldier to life. A large man, he paced the stage like a lion trapped in a pit. He swung his sword at enemies but was never quite sure who his enemies were until he finally fled his "supporters" and joined the rebels in the hills bent on attacking Rome. Drummond joins a long line of actors playing the conflicted warrior, including Laurence Olivier, Richard Burton, Anthony Hopkins, Ian McKellen, Toby Stephens, Robert Ryan, Christopher Walken, Morgan Freeman and Ralph Fiennes, who is releasing a film based on the play. (Watch the movie trailer below)

SO LONG, ETTA AND JOHNNY

2012-01-20T09:12:00.002-08:00

You heard "At Last" at the last twenty-nine weddings you attended, and that song will undoubtedly accompany every tribute you'll hear today for Etta James, but she did plenty of other songs you didn't hear on that marriage mix-tape. In fact, better songs. So we're going to remember Etta our own way, performing a soulful classic she wrote, "I'd Rather Go Blind," accompanied by Dr. John and BB King. Despite what Newt Gingrich says about black people, Etta worked her ass off all her life. Born Jamesetta Hawkins, she lived a life no multimillionaire presidential candidate with a Tiffany account would trade her for, no way, and she struggled hard against poverty, racism, heroin addiction and leukemia, which finally killed her a few days shy of her 74th birthday. We will miss Etta James.

We lost another great musician this week, the inimitable Johnny Otis. Ioannis Alexandres Veliotes was his real name, and this Greek American musician, bandleader, songwriter, impresario and disc jockey was often called “the godfather of rhythm and blues." He was a masterful entertainer, and he led a wild, mixed race band (unusual at the time) that could swing, play R&B, and both rock AND roll. Oh, and he could do that crazy hand jive. Go, Johnny, Go!

Rest in peace.

SNOWPOCALYPSE NOW!

2012-01-17T17:53:00.000-08:00

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Seattle is heading for the Snowpocalypse, if you believe the hype. The Washington Post says we're in for a "megastorm" and the Huffington Post says it may be the worst snow storm here in decades.

"Residents of the Pacific Northwest are bracing as Seattle weather will take a turn for the worse tonight," says the Huffington Post. "Forecasters are calling for what could be the harshest winter snowstorm in several decades. Weather.com reports a 'potential major winter storm' will hit both lower elevations and mountainous areas near the coast beginning Tuesday night, and will move east as far as Montana and the Northern Rockies. Most of the snow will fall on Wednesday, reports The Seattle Times. Accumulation between six and 14 inches is expected. This means that snowfall could break Seattle's single-day record of 14.9 inches set in 1969."

Oh, brother. We've got plenty of cocoa and miniature marshmallows and Wendy made some killer chicken pot pie so we'll probably have some hot chocolate (spike it for me!) and pie, and settle in at Downton Abbey for the night. In the meantime, here is Seattle's own Stan Boreson with a song for you intrepid winter souls eyeballing the snowy sky and shaking on your boots. This should calm you down.

MLK DAY: or WHY YOU'RE OFF MONDAY

2012-01-16T19:34:00.000-08:00

History gets rewritten when rebels die, and MLK suffered a doozy of a celebrity makeover. Now everybody acts like his good buddy, as if he's some non-threatening teddy bear perfect for dragging out during campaigns and photo ops. It's good to remember King was a savvy community organizer, a protester who believed in non-violence as well as civil disobedience, an activist who had the guts to take on a corrupt, unjust system. Then, as now, the comfortable mainstream wagged their fingers at protest and civil disobedience, and the middle class, law-abiding Silent Majority supported those cops with their riot batons and dogs and firehoses...just like they do now. Now people think King was involved in a righteous struggle for dignity and human rights because it's safe in the past, and history has judged it so, but at the time folks got jittery when these agitators blocked their route, carried their signs, sang their songs, and occupied their Comfort Zone. They still do.

"A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand, we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life's roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring." -- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

MITT ROMNEY IS A SERIAL KILLER

2012-01-15T12:40:00.000-08:00

The Colbert Report
Get More: Colbert Report Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,Video Archive

That's the ad, and quite possibly an election-swaying production, from the Colbert Super PAC. For the dull, it should be explained that this is a parody. A parody is "a humorous or satirical imitation," and this mimics the mud-slinging ads of Super PACS intent on swaying campaigns with the sheer force of money.

But it's more than a parody. It's an audio-visual aid, an educational tool to alert the public ti the profound changes in campaign finance that may allow the richest to simply buy their way in to office. No big change there, you might say, but now they act as if it's nothing to be ashamed of, and the law gives it all a big green light. About two years back, the highest court in the land "un-evened" the playing field by allowing unlimited anonymous donations to campaigns. A couple fellows from Huffington Post explain what this means.

To further confuse you, here is Jon Stewart from a press release talking about his role as head of the Colbert Super PAC:

Hi again, it’s me, Jon. When I took over this Super PAC, I had no idea there’d be so much email-writing. Also, there are a lot of plants around Super PAC office with extremely specific watering schedules. Seriously, does a Northwood Spotted Fern really need to be watered "thrice fortnightly at dusk"?

Anyway, The Definitely Not Coordinated With Stephen Colbert Super PAC made an ad, and I figured you’d want to know. I’ve attached the press release below, so hopefully your mouse’s scroll-wheel isn’t broken.

OTIS

2012-01-11T13:15:00.000-08:00

Otis Redding was the greatest soul singer of all time. He was a force of nature, and his performances were filled with such power and passion that he often left audiences wrung-out like washrags. Otis was a dynamo. There was no stopping him. Strangely enough, he got into show business by accident (see the great documentary, Respect Yourself: The Stax Records Story) and after carrying in bags and equipment this roadie wowed a handful of musicians in a little Memphis studio--and then he went on to wow the whole world.

Otis was brilliant and a joy to hear. His voice was sweet and grainy and full of emotion. His biggest triumph may have been performing at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967, where he won over the "love generation" with a killer set, but sadly his life was cut short that very same year in an airplane crash. Fans mourned the loss worldwide. His biggest hit, "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" (which he co-wrote with Steve Cropper), was released posthumously and shot to the top of the charts after his death. In the clip below, he performs "I've Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now)" at the Monterey Pop Festival, in 1967. Can you feel that?

VONNEGUT: HOW TO WRITE

2012-01-08T15:57:00.000-08:00

One fellow famously said, Being a writer is like having homework every day of your life. He was right, of course. If you're not sucking the academic tit--or even if you are, some of the time--you work your day job and come home not to eat and collapse in front of the TV, but to write. Strange as it seems, you write. You puzzle friends and family with this need to "get it down," and their well-meaning encouragement is little help because they--like all logical people--wish you would simply get this out of your system and stop this fool's errand. I'm kidding, but only a little. The writer is blessed and cursed, and in the act of writing he is actively defining himself and his world because he knows boundless, mad life hasn't been captured yet--it's still running loose though perhaps trailing a couple quill pens and maybe a harpoon from its rough hide--and the writer can't be satisfied living in the vague and cliched constructs of the unreflective and the conventional because he knows better. He simply can't fake it. He knows where the TV show is going--has to go--well before the commercial break, and he's seen the movie before, and he's already familiar with the twice-told joke, and he's read the book--and while he may sound only jaded or world weary he is really just waiting for something new that is not a reproduction of something else, not an echo, not some familiar, formulaic trope, and that discomfort, that cognitive dissonance, that impatience with the conventional, may--if the need is strong enough--be a sufficient catalyst to make him create that new thing. Vonnegut was one such soul. He told his story and he made it new and he twisted the old, reformed it, mangled it, undermined it. You couldn't just read his work comfortably and without reflection. With humor--sometimes very dark humor--he made us look at ourselves. That's risky business. It's like making caricatures of people at the carnival. Is my nose that big? Sure it is, even bigger, but I need the money.

AMY WALKER'S ACCENTS

2012-01-05T18:07:00.000-08:00

Amy Walker's accents are amazing. A natural mimic, the aspiring actress performs a wide range of regional dialects--twenty-one in this video--and she has even fooled "locals." In a recent film, her New Zealand accent was so convincing that the director had no idea she wasn't a kiwi until after the shoot when he learned she was from Seattle. She has quite the ear. Nowadays, regional dialects are not as extreme as they used to be because people move more frequently than they used to, diluting the differences--and due to the homogenizing effect of national television and radio. Most people speak a geographically neutral accent. Still, there are pockets in both big cities and rural areas where people still speak with thick accents. In the deep south, for example, folks write with a "pin." In New York, they still drink "Cwa-fee." In Boston, they still "pawk the caw." Do you have any regional giveaways in your speech?

THE LAST HUNDRED YEARS

2012-01-02T19:13:00.001-08:00

The new year is a good time to roll back the clock and take stock of the past. Usually, we limit that backward glance to the past year, but someone has cobbled together the past century, so in case you missed it I suggest you watch this eleven minute film. That way you won't feel stupid when someone brings up the Yalta Conference, say, at the water cooler. What a century.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

2011-12-31T12:09:00.000-08:00

"Yesterday, everybody smoked his last cigar, took his last drink and swore his last oath. Today, we are a pious and exemplary community. Thirty days from now, we shall have cast our reformation to the winds and gone to cutting our ancient shortcomings considerably shorter than ever."

~Mark Twain

“I want to give a really BAD party. I mean it. I want to give a party where there’s a brawl and seductions and people going home with their feelings hurt and women passed out in the cabinet de toilette. You wait and see.”

-F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night

"Beer is the cause and solution to all of life's problems."

~Homer Simpson

'The object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul and a new nose; new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes. Unless a particular man made New Year resolutions, he would make no resolutions. Unless a man starts afresh about things, he will certainly do nothing effective.'

~G.K. Chesterton

LIT

2011-12-30T07:23:00.000-08:00

Just finished Marry Karr's memoir, "Lit," a scrappy, hilarious, excruciating journey through literature, hard drinking, madness and the meaning of life. Boy howdy, that's a big portion, you might say. That's a chicken fried steak smothered with gravy. And it is. You may remember Karr from the piss-poor West Texas childhood she chronicled with wicked wit in "Liar's Club," the bestselling book in the nineties that started off this memoir craze (forgive her for that maudlin trend). A bright, wounded kid, she survived poverty, rape, alcoholism and a crazy mother who set fire to her toys and tried to kill her. In "Lit," she strips and kneels and begs for mercy. She stares into the darkness. At the same time, she offers no sepia-toned homilies, no easy answers, no simple 12-step program for redemption. Just life in all its infuriating complexity. Boy, howdy. A great book.

SUPERHEROES & PRINCESSES

2011-12-28T13:43:00.000-08:00

I love this little girl. Smarter than plenty of adults, she rails against gender stereotypes. Revolution is brewing in a million pink bedrooms. Right on, lil sister!

Some people just don't get it. Adults, I mean. I just read an entire string of conversation on FB between a couple people who keep doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results. Like goldfish, they grow to the size of their fishbowl and never even imagine they're shaped by the bowl, or that there is a bowl to begin with.

This kid is wise beyond her years. Some people never develop such an awareness.

WRITING

2011-12-28T08:19:00.001-08:00

Now you tell me! After writing 105,000 words the hard way, this chump comes along and suggests the money is in short paragraphs. Okay.

There is plenty of advice out there for writers, from the man on the street with a great story idea to the professional novelist running a workshop. Some of the best advice can be found in John Gardner's books on writing (Gardner, a novelist, taught for many years) and Oakley Hall's book is also quite good. Nothing, however, beats writing itself. Like playing the piano or driving a car, reading about it just isn't enough. One must practice it, on a daily basis if possible, until it becomes second nature. Imagine thinking you can drive a car simply because you've read the driver's manual!

All agree that clarity is vital, as well as a love of language (without going overboard into flowery, distracting purple prose), and that, essentially, something must happen to someone who wants something. That's simplifying it, but that's the nut. Oh, and read a lot. Don't waste your time reinventing the wheel when familiarity with good writing will place you further along your creative path.

Advice comes from a variety of places. Playwright and TV writer David Mamet had some advice for his writers in an infamous, leaked memo. Mamet shouts in caps, EVERY SCENE MUST BE DRAMATIC. THAT MEANS: THE MAIN CHARACTER MUST HAVE A SIMPLE, STRAIGHTFORWARD, PRESSING NEED WHICH IMPELS HIM OR HER TO SHOW UP IN THE SCENE. Of course, he's right.

Interviews with writers can be helpful, and the Paris Review collections are the very best. They date back to the 1950s and are all conveniently online. From Mailer to Franzen, these chats are indispensable.

Now write.

STILL ROLLING

2011-12-23T07:31:00.000-08:00

A rare holiday treat: Bob Dylan's "Renaldo & Clara" in its entirety. You may not like it. It's pretty strange, after all, being somewhat chaotic and hard to define. It's an avant-garde art film, a mythical hero's journey, part poetic puzzle, part Commedia del-Arte, interwoven with excellent concert performances, all filmed during the Rolling Thunder Revue of 1975. Maybe you had to be there.

Bob Dylan dreamed up the Rolling Thunder Revue after "Blood on the Tracks." He'd just finished a king hell tour backed by The Band in 1974, but this would be different. He was working on a new album, what would become "Desire," and all summer long he'd been showing up in the old folk clubs in the Village, unannounced, to play a few songs just like in the old days. He wanted to bring back some of that spirit. Why not bring this on the road? Just gather up some old friends and play a string of small venues? If the '74 tour was a supersonic jetliner, Rolling Thunder would be a ramshackle gypsy wagon, part Commedia del'Arte and part sixties last hurrah, a raggedy collection of troubadours in masks and facepaint who magically appeared, played, and then disappeared like thieves in the night. Why not? Expect the impossible! So they painted an old-fashioned circus banner and made some phone calls. Dylan asked Joan Baez to come along, and Ramblin' Jack Elliott, Roger McGuinn of the Byrds, poet Allen Ginsberg, playwright Sam Shepard and Mick Ronson from Bowie's band. At one point or another Joni Mitchell and Bruce Springsteen tagged along.

It was different from the big stadium rock tours of the day, and Dylan's enthusiasm was contagious. For the first time in years, lucky crowds heard songs that hadn't been released, strange new songs. So far, the only song that had been heard from the upcoming album was "Hurricane," which was rush-released to help raise awareness of Ruben "Hurricane" Carter, a black boxer unjustly imprisoned. Live, the song was red hot and featured the wild gypsy violin playing of Scarlet Rivera. There was passion and poetry and wild new music. Spirits were high.

As luck would have it, I caught the Rolling Thunder Revue in Providence. During a cross-country road trip in a van, we picked up a longhaired hitcher outside Boston who was wild-eyed with excitement. "You going to see Dylan?" He frantically explained Dylan was playing in a few hours in Providence--it had just been announced on the radio--and since we were outside Boston we had to skedaddle. At that point, we only had two playable eight-tracks (yes, eight tracks), one of Clapton live, and the other Dylan's latest record, "Blood on the Tracks." We made it somehow. The place was jammed. Met David Blue, who was milling around inside chatting up some girls. Allen Ginsberg was there, too, old graybeard in a brown suit and sneakers looking like Whitman in the supermarket, a lonely old grubber eying the grocery boys. Which way did his beard point tonight? I shook his hand and muttered something about "Howl," and he wanted to explain, but I got out of there and found my seat, high in the bleachers, a last minute perch. We didn't stay there long, but drifted down to the floor, where someone saw me snapping pictures and let me sit in his third row seat for a few songs. The old circus curtain came up on Dylan and Baez singing a duet. Dylan was wearing that old hat that would later show up on his next album, "Desire," and its hatband was stuck with flowers and autumn leaves.

In this free, chaotic spirit, "Renaldo & Clara" was filmed. It came out a couple years later and puzzled theater-goers but delighted Dylan fans. By 1978, when the film was released, the world had already moved on, but it's all captured here, a ramshackle dream, an unlikely mosquito set in prehistoric amber. Tell the grandkids about this bygone era. Happy holidays!

SEVEN FISHES CHRISTMAS EVE

2011-12-22T07:46:00.000-08:00

Mario Batali explains the Italian tradition of having seven fish on Christmas Eve. Like Batali, I grew up in an Italian-American home on the west coast--no, not all Italians live in New York City--and interwoven with typical American Christmas festivities were ancient traditions going back to the Old Country, such as the Feast of Seven Fishes. The night before Christmas, we lit the tree and sang carols and gathered at the dining room table for la festa dei sette pesci, which generally took the form of a hearty cioppino, a stew of fish, crab, shrimp, clams, squid and more--a total of seven varieties of seafood in a delicious tomato-based broth. We'd dip crusty garlic bread into the stew and count the fish. Seven, always seven. The number is ancient and derived from some Southern Italian numerology that is biblical and symbolic and--for me, that kid waiting for Santa Claus--shrouded in Old Country mystery. Don't ask questions. Although my parents are learned, progressive people (Dad has a PhD and Mom is extremely well-read) we held on to this tradition. We were raised to appreciate our history and ethnicity and wanted to keep the old traditions alive. As far as we were concerned, there was no need to lose these colorful customs and assimilate completely into the homogenized mainstream culture. Of course, we were full-fledged Americans and saw no disconnect between the two (even if some people believed "American" meant WASP, White Anglo-Saxon Protestant), and even if in some quarters retaining any ethnicity whatsoever made one a lesser, hyphenated American. Not us. Food was a wonderful way to enjoy our background, and why should we give up this delicious seafood for green bean casserole out of a Campbell's soup can? No thanks.

Nowadays the average American is more sophisticated about food. Farmers' markets and specialty stores provide easy access to fresh vegetables and fruit and good bread, but back in those days of bland Betty Crocker preparations, canned peas and fish sticks and Wonder Bread, keeping ethnic traditions alive was more than mere affection for the past, it was a matter of survival. And taste. Maybe the mainstream is finally catching up. Nowadays people consider themselves foodies, and everyone knows Italian food is more than just spaghetti and meatballs. Some even make brave attempts to pronounce the names of dishes correctly, including these commonly mispronounced ones: gnocchi (nyoh-kee), bruschetta (broo-sket-ah), ricotta (ree-koh-tah) , scampi (skahm-pee, not scamp-ee). (Eventually, after a few glasses of chianti (kyawn-tee) classico, they might attempt schiacciatina and cicerchia decorticata or the word for chickpeas, which was once used to ferret out foreign spies who simply could not pronounce it correctly).

For some people, bruschetta is tough enough. A reader wrote in to Steve Barnes in the Times Union:

I thought bruschetta was pronounced with a hard “ch,” yet servers persist in pronouncing it “sh.” Maybe I should just accept it like the local propensity for saying “fazool” instead of fagiole.

To which Barnes replied, "It seems fairly well settled that the word is pronounced 'broo-SKET-ah,' because in Italian, with the exception of perhaps a few regional/local dialects, “ch” is pronounced like 'k.' Anyone who lives in the Capital Region shouldn’t have difficulty with this even if their ignorance of Italian is absolute — just look at the word Schenectady."

In the meantime, start collecting your seven varieties of seafood for your cioppino (cho-pee-no) and get the rest of your Christmas shopping done! Bon natale!

THANK YOU FROM OCCUPY WALL STREET

2011-12-21T16:42:00.000-08:00

"This it the official OWS video to thank our supporters. This video was passed by consensus through the New York City GA on Tuesday, December 20." It was directed by David Sauvage.

Spirit, heart, idealism, courage.

SPIKE THE EGG NOG

2011-12-21T13:25:00.000-08:00

The data* is in, and the scientists at Science Friday have given us another good reason to spike the egg nog. We've always known that nothing livens up a frothy nog like a splash of spirits (we've conducted our own independent experiments), but now the scientific community backs us up. And who are we to argue? If you're one of those people concerned about the raw eggs in homemade egg nog, you want to watch this video.

Egg nog is a traditional Christmas drink. People have been spiking it with their favorite alcohol for ages. How long exactly?

"By the mid-1760s patrons were drinking eggnog, juleps, sling and sanger in addition to the punch and toddy already available."
---"Taverns and Tavern Culture in the Southern Colonial Frontier: Rowan County, North Carolina, 1753-1776"

Egg nog is first mentioned in the Oxford English Dictionary in 1825 as "A drink in which the white and yolk of eggs are stirred up with hot beer, wine, or spirits."

That's the one. Some like to add bourbon, some prefer run or brandy. Some will drink a virgin nog, and that's fine, too. Some like it goopy yellow and storebought, and some prefer it homemade. A little grated nutmeg adds to the flavor, and, some claim, also acts as a mild hallucinogen but you would probably have to ingest a kilo or two to get the sugarplums really dancing. Here, as in all things, moderation is key.

*By the way, according to Grammarist, "data" was originally the plural form of datum, a Latin noun meaning a thing given. "Both words were relatively rare in English until modern times, and it wasn’t until the late 19th century that English-speakers, especially scientists, began using data in the sense in which it’s used today.For as long as data/datum has been used in this sense, there have been some writers who use data as a plural count noun, and some who use it as a mass noun. In general, fighting to preserve proper Latin grammar in modern English is a lost cause. There will always be exceptions, but data is one of those words that is clearly changing to conform to modern English conventions."

So which is proper?

The Grammarist says: "It comes down to preference, and you can’t be faulted for using the one that sounds better to you. In general, data is still treated as plural in scientific and academic contexts, while it’s usually treated as singular in nonscientific contexts. In fact, using data as a plural (or using the word datum at all) can come across as pretentious in informal writing."

AMERICAN SLANG

2011-12-20T18:17:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago, Bruce Springsteen rocked Asbury Park with some Jersey upstarts, the Gaslight Anthem. December 9, 2011

THE BEST WHITE CHRISTMAS

2011-12-19T08:07:00.000-08:00

To hell with Bing Crosby--this is the best version of "White Christmas." Performed by the Drifters, it features Bill Pinkney on lead bass and Clyde McPhatter on tenor. The Drifters were a doo-wop and R&B vocal group in the 1950s that had many hits. They were "the least stable vocal group" of the era, according to Rolling Stone, due to being low-paid, hired musicians. In other words, some people got very rich off the Drifters, but not the Drifters. Typical capitalist crap, you might say. Those money men are now long forgotten, yet we still have this wonderful version of "White Christmas," and many other vocal classics. This cartoon by Joshua Held is pretty cool, too. Added trivia: this song was included in the Special Features section of "A Christmas Carol," a short film I directed many years ago starring the Hoyt Street Players.

The Drifters

SURVIVING CHRISTMAS PARTIES

2011-12-18T10:28:00.000-08:00

The lavish spreads of some Christmas parties can be overwhelming, with food and drink and sufficient holiday cheer to win over the most misanthropic Scrooge, yet in spite of such abundance and apparent bonhomie there are troubles to be avoided the way mariners might navigate treacherous waters, those dark patches on the map that once warned sailors "there will be monsters."

The most treacherous passage runs between Scylla and Charybdis, otherwise known as "booze and food," a particularly narrow squeeze between two points that sinks many a sailor. There are dire straits of mulled port--a wine-dark sea in which clove-studded oranges float like mines--and here one might become awash in drink or dashed upon the rocks. Even experienced mariners have capsized here and the shore is strewn with shipwrecks. One might become misty-eyed after a few good glasses, feel a warm glow and love for all mankind, but it will pass. To the untrained eye, after this port the sea seems calm, but things will take a turn. More cups, this time bourbon, beer, red wine, or some nog of egg, and storms brew on the horizon. Sirens sing carols on the rocks, and colored lights--blinking, blinking, always blinking--lure the unwary deeper into the drink. The wheel spins freely, the rudder has broken free, ballast sloshes dangerously in the belly, and masts snap like pipestems.

Some make it through this passage only to be driven mad by the experience, and one finds them dancing a jig or succumbing to nonsense and glossolalia, speaking in tongues, gibbering like mad hatters as gulls wheel overhead like whirlybirds. Emboldened by drink, they flirt or flatter, sing loudly and off-key, or cleverly extoll their own virtues--cleverly, they think--and the poor, trapped party-goer is assailed with tales of their abundant fortune, their exceedingly good taste, their commendable charity work, their morally superior exercise routine, their finely-tuned knowledge of wine, say, or coffee, or the political sphere, or the state of the union. With a dull head and the excuse of drink, they never show the least bit of curiosity about anyone else, unless, of course, they have pegged that person as somehow important, well-set in the hierarchy, and then they will flatter to beat the band, batting eyelashes like silent movie actresses. Don't blame them; they're lost. They have become simple. They will extend their hand as they squeeze past you to buttonhole their intended social conquest. You may feel sad to block their route, but it's nothing personal, for they carry a detailed system of stratification as elaborate as their mum's Social Register.

Recently I watched a minor celebrity at a party peppered with pointed questions, softball questions, much in the same way, at the same party, some clueless millennials competed for the attention of a young lady in a velour tracksuit with the subtlety of ranch dogs. Despite a lot of enlightenment talk, the pecking order is alive and well. Snob are snobs, and we will always have them, but drunk they are more insufferable, so expect to encounter this breed during the holidays when drinks are flowing.

Karaoke. If singing is involved, watch out. The most inhibited people in the world--who have every reason in the world to be inhibited--lose all decency after a couple hot toddies and start thinking they're Michael Buble. God forbid. Suddenly freed by John Barleycorn, they start warbling. It never fails. As we all know, the only thing worse than an extrovert is an introvert playing an extrovert after a couple drinks. We may sympathize with these unfortunates living quiet lives of desperation, folks who quake in their boots on a daily basis, but can't they just shut up?

Some simply drink up all the liquor and move on to more booze somewhere else, leaving your house in shambles as they bar-hop across town like egrets hopping from island to island in an alcoholic archipelago. They imagine themselves soaring like eagles but they are flightless birds at heart and they barely get off the ground, and what glitters at the next stop is mostly likely guano.

There are common sense rules to partying, but--to paraphrase Voltaire--common sense ain't too common. Here are a couple: Bring something to the party. I don't mean just food and drink--though the millennials who seem to know everything, don't seem to know this. Bring something of yourself. Bring a willingness to talk and listen, or a general curiosity about others. Shut up about yourself. Nobody wants to hear you prattle on endlessly about anything and everything, so be generous with airspace. Don't drink up all the liquor and leave without thanking the host. Don't just talk to those you think are important, the celebrity you made a beeline for, the chick you want to seduce, the bartender. This looks skeezy. Be filled with holiday cheer but not so filled you blow chips on the front lawn on the way to your car. Leave with who "brung" you. If someone should give you a gift, reciprocate at some point. Don't scoop up the cookies you brought. If that's all you brought--and the host provided plentiful food and booze--it looks cheap. No, it is cheap. Leave your meager contribution, for Godsakes. Don't be an asshole. This may be your default position, the stance you fall into easily like a snowman statue weighted on the bottom. Try to be a better person than you are. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" is actually good tactical advice, since you wouldn't want to stuck at a party next to a carbon copy of your worst self. Shut up and listen. Watch your weight, but don't talk about it incessantly--especially not while making excuses for all the Christmas cookies you're wolfing down. Be kind. And have a Merry Goddamn Christmas.

FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH

2011-12-14T08:52:00.001-08:00

Time Magazine's Person of the Year: The Protester. This has been quite a busy year for the Protester, with uprisings all over the world. The cover mentions the game-changing movements of Arab spring, the demonstrations in Greece and the Occupy Wall Street movement, which has nurtured opposition offspring across the USA and even the world. Not that it takes Time Magazine to legitimize such a revolution, but it sure beats the hell out of last year's Person of the Year, Facebook CEO and billionaire Marc Zuckerberg. Still, it's undeniable that these movements for social and economic justice have spread like a prairie fire. Even Time gets it:

It's remarkable how much the protest vanguards share. Everywhere they are disproportionately young, middle class and educated. Almost all the protests this year began as independent affairs, without much encouragement from or endorsement by existing political parties or opposition bigwigs. All over the world, the protesters of 2011 share a belief that their countries' political systems and economies have grown dysfunctional and corrupt — sham democracies rigged to favor the rich and powerful and prevent significant change. They are fervent small-d democrats.

-from Time's cover story, by Kurt Andersen

THE OWS (UNOFFICIAL) ANTHEM

2011-12-13T22:21:00.000-08:00

Lupe Fiasco has written and recorded the unofficial anthem of the Occupy Wall Street movement, "The End of the World." Fiasco is an outspoken American rapper, and one of the pioneers of the conscious hip hop movement focusing on social issues. He made his first splash in 2006 with the award-winning Food & Liquor.

SO THIS IS CHRISTMAS

2011-12-08T06:59:00.000-08:00

Where were you? I was painting a big blue canvas when a cousin called to say they'd interrupted the football game to announce that John Lennon had been shot and killed. I immediately called a radio station to confirm the news and spoke with the equally distraught deejay. It was true. We spoke for a while and I suggested he play some happier Beatles, and maybe a Christmas message from the old fan club flexi-discs--which he didn't have. I ended up coming down to the station with some rare vinyl and recording tape carts to use on the air. The phones were ringing. My sister Bekki was with me, and we sat listening to their happy voices in the dim studio. We grew up with those boys, and this would take a while to sink in. This wasn't like some old musician dying of old age in a retirement home. We'd had music heroes die before, but this was different from losing Jim Morrison, Jim Hendrix and Janis Joplin. This was murder. John was gunned down in the streets of New York. And this was John Lennon. Nobody had shown us as much, from rock and roll to peace activism, from catchy radio tunes to avant garde art projects. He'd spoken out against the war, he'd fought with Nixon, he'd taken heat for being too far-out for even some Beatles fans. And now he was dead. On the way home from the radio station, the park blocks were already filled with people holding candles, listening to Beatles and singing along, some in tears. We stopped and sang along. It was thirty one years ago today.

From the fan club flexi-disc

SONGS FOR CLANDESTINOS

2011-12-07T16:21:00.000-08:00

Manu Chao sings in French, Spanish, English, Italian, Galician, and Portuguese. He is one of the most influential and politically active musicians in the world today, the Woody Guthrie of his time, and you probably never heard of him. Too bad. Here he sings "Clandestino" at a protest in Arizona. The song tells of the plight of immigrants crossing the border searching for work. Manu Chao was drawn to participate in this protest by the human rights and migrant issues raised by the backward laws of Arizona (specifically Senate Bill 1070) and the tent cities created to house all the prisoners those laws have created.

You've heard of Bruce Springsteen. He sings in English. He, too, can be a political songwriter. Here he sings about the plight of migrants in "The Ghost of Tom Joad," a character you may remember from The Grapes of Wrath. In the book, and in the movie (where he is played by Henry Fonda), Tom Joad and his family are uprooted Okies hounded by poverty, injustice, rigged laws, crooked employers, company goons and violent cops. Some things never change.

These songs are more timely than ever. Unless you're Native American, your people came from somewhere else. Don't let all that Mayflower pilgrim jazz fool you, people have been escaping hunger and oppression to find America since the first "Indian" said "There goes the old neighborhood." Think about that next time you hear the word immigrant--or next time some Republican asshole tries to drum up votes by stirring up hate against the poor, the hungry, the stranger, the illegal, the clandestino.

FACT OR FICTION

2011-12-07T06:56:00.000-08:00

Writers Michael Chabon and Zadie Smith discuss fact and fiction The New Yorker Festival in 2010.

From the press release:
Michael Chabon won a Pulitzer Prize for fiction for his novel "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay" and a Hugo Award for his novel "The Yiddish Policemen's Union." His other books include the novel "Wonder Boys," the story collections "A Model World" and "Werewolves in Their Youth," and the essay collection "Manhood for Amateurs." His stories have appeared in The New Yorker since 1987.

Zadie Smith is the author of the novels "White Teeth," which won the 2000 Whitbread First Novel Award; "The Autograph Man," which won the Jewish Quarterly-Wingate Literary Prize; and "On Beauty," which won the 2006 Orange Prize for Fiction. Last year, she published "Changing My Mind: Occasional Essays," parts of which first appeared in The New Yorker. She has been contributing to the magazine since 1999.

AWAY FROM THE BOX

2011-12-05T08:11:00.001-08:00

The average American watches six hours of television a day. Of course, the average American fosters the illusion that he or she is somehow immune to its senseless churn, that he or she is somehow above it, too intelligent to fall for its gambits, well aware of its insidious ability to promote passivity and turn the viewer into a receptive ogler, an empty vessel for advertisers and the lowest common denominator. The viewers know better, and snicker to themselves as they surrender, and--according to David Foster Wallace, novelist, media observer, TV watcher, suicide--television has learned to absorb this ironic distance, to co-opt it, and present it to the viewer with a wink and a nudge. The couch potato is now a rebel, through some circuitous logic kindly provided by the medium to which we've surrendered, and "we get it." With this license, the viewer is free to partake in an embarrassing amount of TV while remaining satisfied in the conceit that he or she is in on the joke, while a hundred clones of David Letterman mock the viewer and the medium and anything earnest with a sly irony that somehow includes the couch potato. This is TV about TV, a "meta-television" whose solipsism is hermetically sealed, an airtight Moebius strip McLuhan understood instinctively many years ago that has moved beyond his classroom musings. This is an addictive drug that contains its own antidote, but just enough to keep you sufficiently healthy to take more of the drug.

The thing is, we know this. Of course we do. Television is dumb as a bag of chips, and just as enticing and "bad" for us, and you can't just eat one chip without struggling with the entire bag. We can only blame ourselves, and TV will wag it's finger at us about monitoring our intake and making good choices, all the while offering us another chip.

This is old news. What is new is how completely our reality has been distorted by television, how this piece of furniture affects our social world, our wind-down from work, our passive expectation to be entertained, our simplified view of people, ethics, politics, life itself. TV presents life as simple stories, with attractive people playing simple archetypes: the angry chef, the angry judge, the angry detective, and so on. It offers a clarity and simplicity real life is lacking, and while one feels "plugged in" to the culture at large, it prepares us for nothing--nothing, that is, but watching more TV. You know that. So does TV. Like any good narcotic, television runs the show while the addict believes he can quit any time he wants to. Don't get me wrong. I don 't recommend people quit TV any more than I recommend people quit eating potato chips. As the advertisers say, you have a choice.

I do recommend people supplement their "televisual reality" with real life, and challenge its hegemony with a walk outside, a good book, an actual conversation free from the hysterical emphasis of the sit-com rhythm w/laugh track. Wow--real people in real situations are unpredictable, illogical, needy, and not nearly as attractive as TV actors and news anchors--and if that doesn't have you running for the comfort of your remote, try adding real human problems, the kind that can't always be neatly solved by the last commercial break. Now you want your bottle and your blanket, now you want your TV world, that comfy place where you know exactly what is happening at all times, and you know good will prevail, and you know the killer will be caught, and you know the comedian will get a laugh, and you know the sometimes funny, sometimes scary real world will be kept at bay at least until the drug wears off.

What's the cure? Well, we left the comfy entertainment center and saw a play yesterday. An actual play. There were strangers to contend with. People rustling in their jackets, an old lady yawning, an uncomfortable chair. With the umbilical cord stretched this far, there is a mild unease, a tremulous feeling in the muscles that might preclude full-on panic, but one learns to adjust. The house lights dim. The actors begin their trickery, but the exit light is still lit, the chair is still...then something magical happens, an emotion, light as a mote of dust whirling in a beam of light is coaxed to the stage. The actor has studied hard, and he might forget his lines (an embarrassing moment that never occurs on television), and he may miss his cue. He holds a candle and it flickers, but what if the candle goes out? How will he continue his many, many memorized lines and relight the candle? The other actor is good, too, but he's not nearly as handsome as Pierce Brosnan...and the actress is pretty, certainly, but the actors do their job and one is willing to suspend disbelief and ignore the loud-breathing woman sitting directly behind ones chair, then this experience of drama in a dark, half-empty theater becomes absolutely magical as a shaman's spell and something that has gone on since the ancient Greeks at the very least comes alive in this small, dark room. The character is crying, ringing his hands, and the actor is crying, ringing his hands, so exposed to the gods and demons and embarrassments of a public experience, and we glimpse something the slick, polished, over-produced, dumbed down mini-dramas and comedies and dramedies of television can't even come close to presenting, but you would miss it if you didn't avail yourself to it. Of course, it's a great inconvenience. One can't control its elements as one can in the living room--changing the channel, raising the volume, controlling this tiny approximation of reality like an armchair god, even turning it off to go make a sandwich. There are strangers here. There is a risk. This hasn't been tested on some target demographic. This hasn't been concocted in a lab, filmed on some studio lot, approved by some advertiser selling his products. This is real, too real for most of us, and I recommend it highly.

UNCLE FRANK AND UNCLE BING, DRUNK AGAIN

2011-12-02T16:32:00.000-08:00

If you've been paying any attention at all, you know we have a not-so-secret love/hate relationship going with the cheesy and ironic televisual reality that sparkles before our eyes and holds us passive and docile before our screens. At the same time, nothing tickles our ganglia like a trip down memory lane to revisit the broadcasts we were weaned upon. Christmastime on TV evokes both the treacly nostalgia of Christmas candy and the singular nausea of having eaten too much of it. These holiday specials are cloying and commercial, manipulative and sickeningly sweet, yet they can often pluck a string deep in our hearts though we'd be loathe to admit it. Surrender to the feeling, you old grinch. This first clip is from a Christmas special before my time, and it features Frank and Bing bumbling through a few carols like a couple drunken uncles home for the holidays. Hope you can enjoy this earnestly, and if not, well, here's a winking toast of vintage nog to make you chuckle in a post-ironic way, you cold-hearted bastard.

TV Christmastime was a very special time of year. And of course, the television Christmas season didn't officially begin until Santa Claus came floating over the hill on his triple-header Norelco electric shaver. This was a wonderful advertisement, a classic that played for decades, and with the smooth, clean shave Santa provided nobody would ever call him St. "Nick" again.

MACY'S THANKSGIVING DAY PARADE

2011-11-22T12:51:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving Day is when Macy's has their parade, and this vintage photograph gives a rare glimpse of the Jimmy Durante balloon floating over midtown Manhattan. Everybody wants to get into the act.

SOMETHING'S HAPPENING HERE

2011-11-20T08:20:00.000-08:00

Whatever you may think of the Occupy protests--that they're an inconvenience with no clear goals, an unnecessary traffic jam, or a new social movement expressing justifiable anger over an inequitable economic system--you've got to be amazed by this video from UC Davis. It starts with riot police viciously pepper-spraying peaceful, seated protesters who posed no threat to anyone. That's not the part of the video that will amaze you. In fact, that's fairly commonplace in these days of quelling insurrections. The amazing thing is that these peaceful protesters shame the cops away.

After the usual chaos, in which students were handcuffed and arrested, a few tried something new. The remaining students encircled the police and shouted "Shame on you!" They didn't strike back (which the police understand, and would deal with swiftly and severely) and they didn't exactly turn the other cheek. They "mic-checked" the cops. "Mic-checking" is when one lone voice leads a chant and the crowd repeats, a simple method of communication practiced in these Occupy protests. The lone voice of reason starts it out:

Voice: "Mic check."
Crowd: "Mic check!"

Voice: "We are willing..."
Crowd: "We are willing..."

Voice: "To give you a brief moment..."
Crowd: "To give you a brief moment..."

Voice: "Of peace..."
Crowd: "Of peace..."

Voice: "In order to take your weapons..."
Crowd: "In order to take your weapons..."

Voice: "And your friends..."
Crowd: "And your friends..."

Voice: "And go."
Crowd: "And go."

Please watch the video till the end. Something's happening here. What it is ain't exactly clear. There's a man with a gun over there. Telling me I've got to beware. I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound? Everybody looks what's going 'round.

SEATTLE OCCUPY CRACKDOWN

2011-11-17T06:19:00.000-08:00

Tuesday night, Seattle police pepper-sprayed 84-year-old Dorli Rainey in the face in an obvious act of unnecessary police brutality. This striking image has gone viral. It has become the face of the national Occupy Wall Street movement at the time of a nationwide police crackdown. The photograph has been picked up by everyone from the Wall Street Journal to the New York Times. More important, this image may give pause to centrists applauding the crackdown.

Some pictures seem beyond spin. Sadly, they are not. While most reasonable people will see what is really there, some observers (newspeople, included) will shrug this incident off as mere collateral damage, a fluke in an otherwise spotless police crackdown. Some particularly agile pundits might even justify spraying the defenseless old woman, blaming the victim for being in the wrong place at the wrong time--then cite the bravery and courage of police confronted with difficult situations. Anyone who has ever been involved in a protest, who has stood with a flimsy sign facing a phalanx of riot police, knows that intimidation is a tactic, and this sort of "overreaction" is part and parcel of clearing an area. No, it shouldn't be. Will you find this tactic in a law enforcement manual? Probably not.

Sure, cops have a tough job, but don't mention their bravery and courage, not this time. The real bravery and courage in this case is embodied by a woman in her eighties who stood up for what she believed, despite the obvious risks. It may sound counter intuitive, but this little old lady might be braver than all those tough guys on the riot squad decked out like Darth Vader with machine guns and nightsticks and teargas and pepper spray. Today, we applaud the courage of Dorli Rainey.

(click to play)

In this clip, eighty-four-year-old activist Dorli Rainey tells Keith Olbermann about her experience getting pepper-sprayed by the police during an Occupy Seattle demonstration and the need to take action and spread the word of the Occupy movement. She cites the advice of the late Catholic nun and activist Jackie Hudson to “take one more step out of your comfort zone” as an inspiration, saying, “It would be so easy to say, ‘Well I’m going to retire, I’m going to sit around, watch television or eat bonbons,’ but somebody’s got to keep ’em awake and let ’em know what is really going on in this world.”

JIMMY FALLON DOES JIM MORRISON

2011-11-15T09:59:00.000-08:00

Jimmy Fallon does an uncanny Jim Morrison impersonation. The clothes and camera angles are spot on copies of the Doors on The Sullivan Show when they performed "Light My Fire" in 1967.

Butterfly in the sky...I can get twice as high...

Just so you know (I didn't) they are performing the theme song from Reading Rainbow, an American children's TV show that aired on PBS from 1983 to 2006. I must have missed that, but I remember the Doors.

The real Jim Morrison on the Ed Sullivan Show, 1967

OCCUPY LIVE FEED

2011-11-15T08:25:00.000-08:00

Teargas and bulldozers. The news cycle moves on, the camp is destroyed. Coverage of Occupy Wall Street passes from initial ignoring of the protests, to reluctant coverage and disapproval based on the protesters' methods, to disapproval based on their mess and potential security problems. Police can now erase the protest with minimum guilt. You've been played, America.

JUMPIN' JIVE IN DOA

2011-11-13T08:59:00.000-08:00

DOA (1950) is a classic film noir that covers the last hours of doomed Frank Bigelow (Edmund O'Brien) as he fights for his life and scrambles to find his "murderer." Dark, yes, and essential if you like crime movies. The mood is saturated with darkness, a claustrophobic nightmare portrayed with expressionistic vigor. It all starts in a "jive" San Francisco nightclub called "The Fisherman," when a stranger swaps drinks with Bigelow. The house band goes wild in this scene, mirroring Bigelow's chaos and confusion in one of the earliest depictions of the Beat subculture on film. The next morning, Bigelow is sick with more than just a hangover and he visits a doctor. Tests reveal he has unknowingly swallowed a "luminous toxin," whatever that is. There is no antidote. In situations like this, it's good to get a second opinion. A second doctor agrees (Yep, luminous toxin, all right) and implies that the poisoning must have been deliberate. Bigelow remembers his drink tasted strange. He retraces his steps...

This time of year, with wet streets and brooding, overcast skies, film noir is a natural. So is music--especially lively music to pull you out of your doldrums. Enjoy this crazy jumpin' jive, and rent this classic (avoid the remake). Oh, and keep an eye on your drink.

Thanks to Billy Hagen for this clip.

GOODNIGHT, IRENE

2011-11-08T17:29:00.000-08:00

My Aunt Irene passed away October 22 at the age of 93. She was a spirited, warmhearted woman who treated people with kindness and generosity, something I recognized even as a child when many adults believed that "children should be seen and not heard." She always took time to talk with us, and treated us fairly. She told funny stories and always had some little yipper dog tagging along with her, and the last time we saw her she was with Taffy--as well as my cousins Diane, Tony and his wife Donna. We sat in their beautiful backyard, where a statue of the Virgin Mary squared off with the Buddha, and Aunt Irene told us stories about the time they attended a Flamenco dance and someone accidentally spilled wine so they secretly sopped it up with what appeared to be a napkin. Only when the dance began, and a Flamenco dancer stooped to pick up the cloth, did they realize the cloth--now soiled with wine--was part of the act. She told stories about Uncle Joe, who passed away in 1998, and how he asked for bread in a Chinese restaurant. "It's the staff of life!" he said.

Irene was born December 26, 1917 in San Francisco, to George and Lilian Brown Gibson. She graduated from St. Mary's Academy in Winslow, Washington, and Gray's Harbor Junior College in Aberdeen. She married my Uncle Joe in 1938, and had four children, my cousins Johnny, Diane, Cecelia and Tony. Irene was a dancer and she opened her own studio in 1949 where she taught tap and ballet for 35 years. When she retired, she formed a dance group, the Happy Hoofers, and performed throughout the region. We will miss you, Aunt Irene.

MIC CHECK!

2011-11-04T17:10:00.000-07:00

Attendees at an expensive breakfast were served some food for thought, thanks to Stand Up! Chicago. Union-busting Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker was the keynote speaker at Chicago's Union League Club the morning of Nov 3rd, but some unexpected guests did a "mic check" and reminded him the rich and powerful are outnumbered 99 to 1.

MICHELE BACHMANN: THE REMIX

2011-11-02T09:22:00.000-07:00

Michele Bachmann speaking gibberish? So what's new about that? Nothing. This is a riot.

DAY OF THE DEAD

2011-11-01T10:24:00.000-07:00

Today and tomorrow, Mexico celebrates "Dia de los Muertos," the Day of the Dead. Coming fast on the heels of Halloween, North Americans (yes, Mexicans are Americans, too) should appreciate the infinitude of colorful skulls and skeletons on these festival days, also known as All Saint's Day and All Souls' Day. The skull, or calavera, is a symbol of the festival and sugar or chocolate skulls will be seen during the celebrations, which date back to Aztec times. The holiday centers around the remembrance of the dearly departed and may include the building of shrines, parties with food and drink, and even graveside visits to share snacks or a bottle of tequila with the deceased.

Locarno play to a packed CBC house to celebrate Mexico's 'Day of the Dead'. "Locarno," according to their promotional materials, "is the Latin project of Juno award winning musician and Paperboys frontman, Tom Landa. The music, like him, is part Mexican but with strong doses of Cuban Son, Folk Music, Pop and Funk. There are threads of Son Jarocho and Salsa but the songs are more edgy and contemporary than that. The music could be compared to Manu Chao, Ozomatli or Rodrigo and Gabriela but although there are similarities it is truly original and a new flavour in the Latin music genre."

Muy sabrosa!

CINQUE TERRE, NO MORE?

2011-10-28T23:15:00.000-07:00

I took this picture of Vernazza while hiking in the Cinque Terre, and it must be one of the most beautiful views in the world. We were climbing on the celebrated trail that connects the "five lands," and we had just cleared the mountain from Monterosso and were heading down the narrow path to Vernazza. This magical town has lasted centuries clinging to the cliffs, surviving attacks from pirates and Saracens, wind storms and earthquakes. You would think it could last forever.

I was shocked to read that the Cinque Terre, especially Monterosso and Vernazza (pictured above), were nearly destroyed by flooding and mudslides. According to news reports, at least two of the five World Heritage-listed coastal villages have been all but wiped out. If you have never seen this magical spot it may be too late.

From today's Washington Post:

Flash floods and mudslides triggered by heavy rains earlier this week barreled through picturesque towns along the northwest coast, burying streets under mud, damaging homes, stores, churches and overturning vehicles.

At least nine people died. Among hard-hit towns are Monterosso and Vernazza, along the Cinque Terre hiking trail popular for its breathtaking views.

From The Telegraph (UK):

The worst affected region was Liguria, with at least two of the five World Heritage-listed 'Cinque Terre' coastal villages cut off as a result of roads being washed away.

The walking trails and picturesque fishing villages of the Cinque Terre attract hundreds of thousands of international tourists, but two of them – Vernazza and Monterosso – were severely affected as rivers of mud poured down from the hills behind them.

The mayor of Monterosso said the fishing village had all but been wiped out.

"Monterosso no longer exists," Angelo Betta told an Italian news agency.

Huge amounts of mud had swept through the tiny settlement, causing an "unimaginable disaster." The neighbouring village of Vernazza had to be evacuated by sea, with the Coast Guard rescuing stranded foreign tourists and locals.

A tourist filmed the devastation

TOO SCARED TO BE SCARED?

2011-10-28T06:34:00.000-07:00

Getting scared is good for you. A good horror movie offers catharsis, an experience of fear without risk, a way to confront ones innermost demons. Some people have nightmares, others quake in fear every waking moment, always imagining the worst, continually bracing for impact. Every creak of the old house is a monster coming to get them, every wrong number is a serial killer planning his moves, every black cat the embodiment of evil. You can't avoid fear, so why not face it head on and have some fun watching an old scary movie this Halloween?

Dr. Martin Grotjahn, associate clinical professor of psychiatry at the University of Southern California School of Medicine, suggests that a good horror flick--I Was a Teenage Werewolf, Blood of Dracula, etc.--can provide a means of "self-administered psychiatric therapy for America's adolescents." And not only adolescents. Dr. Grotjahn says horror films can provide a healthy catharsis for adults as well.

This Halloween, pick something scary from the video shelves or the Netflix queue. Go for an old classic or something cheesy like Kiss of the Vampire (the 1962 original, which scared the bejesus out of me one Saturday afternoon, eons ago) or watch a high quality, well made film like The Exorcist, Jaws, Alien, or The Shining. Make some popcorn and have a thrill. It's just what the doctor ordered.

OLBERMANN & LETTERMAN

2011-10-26T06:17:00.000-07:00

During Olbermann’s Monday appearance on the Late Show With David Letterman, the two discussed the “Occupy Wall Street" movement.

“I love this,” Letterman said. “I love people causing trouble. I love it when stuff doesn’t go the way it’s supposed to go. And largely, this is the only way we get change anymore in this country. As I’ve said a billion times now… some of the great cultural social issues in this country in the last 60, 70 years have begun via protest.”

All true, of course. Have we reached a crossroads? When a smarmy, sarcastic, millionaire talk show host famous for his ironic asides comes out in favor of street protest? Maybe so. Meanwhile, the Oakland police busted the OWS protest with tear gas, rubber bullets and nightsticks, cutting through the legal, peaceful protest like a chainsaw. Police harassment is a nationwide tactic, and we've seen official force visited upon citizens exercising their right to assemble peaceably, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances--rights guaranteed by the apparently out of fashion US Constitution. But people keep showing up. Here is a report on the Oakland hassle:

Letterman can be seen from the comfort of your cozy home, and so can Keith Olbermann, who is now on Current TV. (You can also watch him via the Nowhere Man channel on your Roku player.)

BEST THING I EVER ATE?

2011-10-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

The Food Network's Rahm Fama heads to Pok Pok in Portland for the sticky, sweet, spicy Vietnamese chicken wings on The Best Thing I Ever Ate. I agree. I live in Seattle, but every time I drop down to Portland I'll head to Pok Pok for some spicy wings. Last weekend, for example, I was on a whirlwind tour of PDX to visit my parents, and we went directly from the train station. I agree with Rahm. The wings are sublime. I've rhapsodized about this popular little place before, and will continue to extoll its virtues. You can't talk about politics and art all the time, after all, so when I'm not making art or fomenting class war I'm eating delicious food and enjoying life. Won't you join me?

WHY OCCUPY?

2011-10-19T09:15:00.000-07:00

Pulitzer prize-winning journalist Chris Hedges shares his feelings on the Occupy movement.

HALLOWEEN IS COMING

2011-10-18T07:18:00.000-07:00

Halloween is coming! I love Halloween. It's a magical scary night where ghouls and goblins rise from the mist and you eat way too much candy. The worst is candy corn, which is basically corn syrup mixed with wax. That will start backing up in your system until you need to call Roto Rooter. I knew a kid that happened to. Anyway, avoid the candy corn. Back when I was a kid Halloween was even more fun then it is today. Back then, before the Great Lockdown, kids were actually allowed to leave the house and go trick-or-treating without adult supervision. If you were born after 1990, let me explain: kids had dinner, dressed in flammable costumes with zero visibility, and hiked for miles in the darkness and rain to fill sacks with candy. Yes, you rang a total stranger's doorbell, and he would bring you some candy. I swear it's true! You could really rake it in. It might be one or two in the morning before you finally gave up and sat on some deserted street corner to swap bad candy (Smarties, Neccos, Lemonheads) for good candy (Snickers, Baby Ruths, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups) and then you proceeded to eat it until you got sick. The next day at school we were wired like crackheads (here I should mention the need to pay teachers a decent wage) and our lunchboxes were overflowing with candy booty. People got into Halloween back then, the whole society, not just the kids, and windows were full of glowing Jack-o-lanterns and black cats. People put some effort into it. Sometimes adults dressed up and met you at the door, which was kind of weird but okay if they had good candy (see above) and didn't try to touch you. There were just as many weirdos back then, I'm sure, and we were all warned with the apocryphal story of apples stuffed with razor blades, but we never saw that. Okay, one time we had trouble. My cousin Laura got a black crayon she thought was a piece of licorice, but she was always confusing one thing with another so that could have been just a simple misunderstanding. At any rate, we hobos and pirates prowled the mean streets on All Hallow's Eve, risking life and limb for the good candy and a good tale to tell. I hope I've succeeded. At any rate, stretch your feeble imaginations and have a great and scary Halloween this year. If you feel like scaring yourself a little, you can start the week by watching something scary like "The Thing" (the remake), "The Exorcist," "Alien," "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers" (the remake), or one of the Republican debates. You'll feel your skin scrawl and the hair rise on the back of your neck--especially when you think one of these monsters could be running the country! (reposted from last year, with minor revisions)

WHY WE SUPPORT #OCCUPYWALLSTREET

2011-10-11T17:47:00.000-07:00

OCCUPY WALL STREET

2011-10-11T07:57:00.000-07:00

"Right Here All Over," a short film by Alex Mallis and Lily Henderson, documents the day-to-day reality of the Occupy Wall Street protests. Far from the superficial snap judgments of disinterested anchor men and armchair critics, this inside view of the occupation reveals the organizing behind this massive, ongoing demonstration--the General Assemblies, the Working Groups, the Comfort Station, and the logistics of running the Zucotti Park community. The film also shows the protesters as individuals, something rarely seen in the oversimplified mainstream news bytes which tend to focus on "newsworthy" conflict.

The official coverage has been disappointing--starting late and refusing to dig deeply. Corporate news could take a cue from these ground-level filmmakers and give the public more than the poorly researched stories that take the standard dismissive tone they use for anything outside their orderly world view. They should stop harping on the "lack of unity" among protesters, the weirdness of it all, and stop complimenting the police on exhibiting such remarkable restraint dealing with such a difficult situation. This last shopworn sentiment is supposed to show the even-handedness of the media, but it's a knee-jerk end to a story and another example of lazy news coverage. What about the remarkable restraint of the demonstrators, some of whom have been teargassed and pepper-sprayed? Paired with the restraint of the police, that would really be even-handed, but trained within the parameters of corporate news we can't even imagine such an unlikely perspective.

Don't get me wrong. Corporate news media might get it right, eventually, but only after they have exhausted the lazy, conventional coverage that springs from the default position of pandering to the public. News is a business, after all, and the newslingers want you to watch since that's how they sell ads and make their money; they take the cozy middle of the road position because they don't want to disturb you with unconventional views or opinions you might disagree with, lest you switch the channel. They want to be your pal, and you can hardly blame them, but sometimes--when something important is at stake, say, the future of the Republic--taking the default position is tantamount to cowardice. Remember the flaccid news coverage during the build-up to George W. Bush's invasion of the Middle East? The media later admitted they should have provided better coverage of the anti-war position, and later on they lamented loudly in print but of course their mea culpa was too little and too late. The damage had been done, and by the time their weak retractions were in circulation we were already entrenched in a bloody war that had begun under false pretenses, ineptitude, and quite possibly outright lies. Of course, they were sorry, and the alligator tears flowed, but attentive newshounds know they will make that mistake again and again, siding with this imagined Middle America and making retractions later, if necessary. The great newsmen and muckrakers and investigative journalists of the past are gone, it seems, and the watchdogs have become lapdogs.

KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK!

2011-10-08T22:10:00.000-07:00

This rotten old ward heeler obviously used his history books to crack walnuts--he sure didn't read them. Social movements change things, all right; they brought us the forty hour work week and the right to vote for women and blacks, they ensured environmental safeguards, civil liberties, workers' rights, and yes, they "shaped policy" and hastened the end of the war in Vietnam, a morally reprehensible quagmire that cost money and lives while good old boys like you played politics in smoke-filled rooms. The will of the people has it's place, Congressman--in fact, it's the cornerstone of democracy. At least pretend you understand that, since you're working for The People. And another thing. The right to peaceably assemble and redress grievances is guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution, an extremely important document you should probably familiarize yourself with. I'm sure one of your aides could run out and find you a copy.

THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT BE TELEVISED

2011-10-06T19:26:00.000-07:00

The mainstream media can ignore the Wall Street occupation, just as they ignored the anti-war demonstrations that filled the streets on the eve of the George W. Bush invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, but fortunately the blackout is easily bypassed by the social media and the internet. Let the mainstream ignore the uprising, let them downplay the numbers, or question the sincerity and unity of the protesters. What would you expect? Totalitarian states simply pull the plug on the internet in such times of crisis (witness the recent uprisings in the middle east) but in a "democracy" there is too much paperwork. Besides, we have the ACLU.

For a political overview of the Wall Street occupation, check out "The Adventures of Robin Hood" (1938). In this class warfare classic, Errol Flynn stars as the rebel leader who robs from the rich and gives to the poor. It's all there, in lurid Technicolor--the insensitive aristocracy, the exploited poor, a rigged system that favors the greedy rich and ravages the rest. This is political science, pure and simple, and a veritable how-to book for the would-be occupier. We can learn a lot from Robin!

If the modern mainstream media had been there, Robin and his Merry Men would have been roundly ignored until it became impossible to do so--then their numbers would be minimized, their motives questioned, their eagerness to abandon the system in favor of civil disobedience would be criticized, and the gist of lazy journos throughout Nottingham would be faux sympathy on the surface while the subtext would lament a lack of unity among the naive rebels. "They don't seem to know why they're out there," might be the lead in the Loxley Times, bolstered with a few random pull quotes. "Unruly Mobs," might read the Sherwood Forest Evening Star, "Domestic Lawbreaking Continues." The newspapers and public criers, which survive on advertising from the feudal corporations and guilds, would continually manage to mangle the rebel message criticizing the greed and rapacity of feudal corporations and guilds.

EVERYBODY LOVES SAUNDERS

2011-10-04T06:34:00.000-07:00

George Saunders writes short stories, essays, novellas and children's books. He is the author of an essay collection The Braindead Megaphone, and the short collections CivilWarLand in Bad Decline, Pastoralia and In Persusasion Nation. He teaches Creative Writing at Syracuse University.

He may be off the cultural main path, but serious readers and writers pass his books back and forth and talk about his work the way some people talk about "Everybody Loves Raymond." And I mean the people that like the show. His weirdly surreal "Pastoralia" was the first Saunders I read, and would serve as a good introduction to any new reader curious about his magical abilities. In a world of blowhards and gladhanders and loudmouths vying for our attention, George is a quiet, thoughtful man who uses his head. He doesn't write potboilers or pop fiction or books with embossed covers, doorstop novels sold at airports, historical sagas or romances or mysteries. Yet his work is truly mysterious--more mysterious than any formulaic whodunit--and he keeps the reader on her toes. You could do worse than read George Saunders.

"Home" by George Saunders.

OCTOBER MORNING

2011-10-01T09:48:00.000-07:00

Today is October 1st. This illustration by Arthur Rackham (19 September 1867 – 6 September 1939) captures the autumnal magic outside my window. No, even after all that Rye last night I don't see actual faeries chasing falling leaves but this is the general feeling this Saturday morning. This is October, no doubt about it, and there will be no more Indian Summer. The sky is the color of rice pudding. The weatherman predicts rain. Just over the fence, the pumpkins are bright orange. We haven't kicked on the furnace yet this season, but last night's chill has lingered and will require hot coffee immediately and perhaps more Rye by evening. Cheers!

WEEKEND JUKEBOX

2011-09-29T17:11:00.000-07:00

Some folks don't dig music. They hear it, as background noise if nothing else, but they don't feel it, and they sure don't lose themselves in the musical experience. You won't catch them tapping their feet to the beat. They're too busy. Music is frivolous, and they have more important business to attend to. Too bad. Even Einstein--who had plenty of important business--took time out to play the violin. Think you're smarter than Einstein? Maybe some people are just afraid of their emotions, because musicians play emotions as much as they play instruments. Maybe these squares are afraid of losing control, because you have to be loose to swing.

Here are some tunes selected for maximum joy, guaranteed to loosen up even the stuffiest shirts. It's Friday, and the weekend is here, so get loose.

Let's start with some cool jazz, "Take Five" by the Dave Brubeck Quartet. That's Paul Desmond, his long-time musical partner, playing sax, who also wrote the tune. It's like an abstract painting put to music.

Dion DiMucci joined The Belmonts - Carlo Mastrangelo, Freddie Milano, and Angelo D'Aleo - in late 1957 - and brought the streetcorner to the party in a string of rocking hits. These guys probably played their share of Italian weddings, but for some reason this chilly scene takes a while to warm up.

When you're talking soul, maybe Ed Sullivan doesn't come to mind, but here old Mr. Rigor Mortis introduces the Godfather of Soul, James Brown and his amazing band the Flames. Here James manages to get Ed feeling good. "Papa's in the swing," JB says, but "he ain't too hip about that new breed thing." Even so, he ain't no drag. Papa's got a brand new bag.

BLACK & WHITE AND RED ALL OVER

2011-09-24T08:57:00.000-07:00

You know how much we love local commercials. These low-budget, self-produced gems are sweet relief from the glossy, Hollywood-slick national ad campaigns orchestrated by Madison Avenue to break up our TV shows and seep into our brains with multi-million dollar production values and catchy jingles. These local commercials have none of that. They're far from stylish. They won't make you feel smarter, sexier, or more confident. They won't make your mouth minty fresh. They don't come out of think tanks or test groups or research committees or massive sound stages. They don't use sophisticated subliminal messages or demographics or affable actors or clever ironies to stick in your mind. Nope, they just show you the damn product. They don't allow you to forget you're getting hustled, first and foremost, for your consumer dollars, and there is a certain integrity to that. It's honest. Take the Red House Furniture Store. They don't sell lifestyles, they sell furniture. It's simple. They sell it to black people or white people. They sell it to anyone. End of story.

AUTUMNAL EQUINOX

2011-09-23T17:03:00.000-07:00

Today is the autumnal equinox, signaling the beginning of fall. Today the night is of equal length to the day, but as you know the days are getting shorter. The full moon that occurs closest to the autumnal equinox is called a Harvest Moon, and this one came September 12th.

"The warm color of the Moon shortly after it rises is caused by light from the Moon passing through a greater amount of atmospheric particles than when the moon is overhead. The atmosphere scatters the bluish component of moonlight which is really reflected white light from the sun, but allows the reddish component of the light to travel a straighter path to one's eyes." So sayeth the Wiki.

"Shine On Harvest Moon," is a Tin Pan Alley standard from 1908 credited to the married vaudeville team of Nora Bayes and Jack Norworth. Another comedy team, Laurel and Hardy, performs it in the following clip. Their sweet rendition puts me in the fall spirit, a time of golden leaves and whiskey and football, autumn sweaters and candy corn. For some reason this rendition also reminds me of my years with the French Foreign Legion.

CLASS WARFARE OR JUST PLAIN FAIR?

2011-09-22T07:29:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth Warren counters the Republican charge of "class warfare" with some basic economics in a clip currently in heavy rotation on the Internet. The 62-year-old Harvard law professor, and former White House financial reform adviser, is running for Senate in Massachusetts and, if she survives the primaries, will challenge Scott Brown, the Tea Party-supported Senator who won the vacated seat of Ted Kennedy. Republicans will portray Warren as an elitist (Harvard, etc.) promoting class warfare (anyone who would dare suggest the rich get fairly taxed is slapped with this charge) but she seems to be an articulate populist defending the Middle Class, hardly a radical position, and perhaps not all that different from Obama's liberal/centrist point of view. Maybe she can connect to the necessary blue collar voters needed to win Massachusetts, maybe not. Currently, she's running behind Brown in the polls.

And speaking of class war: in a related story, forwarded by my dad, amused Wall Streeters watch protests from their balconies while sipping champagne. Just so you know, demonstrations began September 17 protesting the bias of a financial system that favors the rich over other Americans. "Chanting, 'We are 99 percent,' thousands of protesters gathered near Zucotti Park, close to Wall Street and began their march. Around 5 pm, while attempting to enter the financial district at 55 Wall Street, they were met by curious onlookers from the balconies who were leisurely watching the protesters and drinking champagne." (Information Clearinghouse)

Well, I guess you need something to wash down all that cake.

TONY BENNETT

2011-09-21T13:23:00.000-07:00

Tony Bennett tells it like he sees it. That makes a lot of people mad. Recently, the celebrated singer told a story on the Howard Stern Show (to be clear: Howard Stern is a knucklehead) about meeting George W. Bush at an awards ceremony. Bennett says Bush admitted to him that the Iraq War was a mistake. “He told me personally that night, he says, ‘I think I made a mistake."

Now, understandably, Bennett is under fire. Conservatives are in an uproar. Not surprisingly, a spokesman for Bush denies the claim. Many are accusing Bennett of being unpatriotic.

Bennett, who fought in Germany during World War II but considers himself a pacifist, believes America’s foreign policy led directly to the attacks on 9/11.

“But who are the terrorists?" Bennett asks. "Are we the terrorists or are they the terrorists? Two wrongs don’t make a right." After Stern questions him, Bennett says, “They flew the plane in, but we caused it. Because we were bombing them and they told us to stop.”

In response to the uproar following his remarks, Bennett issued this statement on Facebook:

“I am so grateful to be an American and as a World War II veteran. I was proud to fight to protect our values, which have made America the greatest country on the planet. There is simply no excuse for terrorism and the murder of the nearly 3,000 innocent victims of the 9/11 attacks on our country. My life experiences — ranging from the Battle of the Bulge to marching with Martin Luther King — made me a life-long humanist and pacifist, and reinforced my belief that violence begets violence and that war is the lowest form of human behavior. I am sorry if my statements suggested anything other than an expression of my love for my country, my hope for humanity and my desire for peace throughout the world.”

Tony Bennett's new album, Duets II, features a song with the late Amy Winehouse. Bennett spoke to The Daily Mail about his drug use early in his career. "Back then everybody was rampant with drugs, everyone was doing it … I was the Amy Winehouse of my day," Bennett said.

Whatever you may think of his views, you've got to admire his honesty.

ALL WE ARE SAYING

2011-09-19T17:16:00.000-07:00

A behind the scenes look at the making of "All We Are Saying," a tribute to John Lennon by guitar virtuoso Bill Frisell. From Beatles to his solo work, John's music is rendered instrumentally by two guitars, violin, bass and drums. I was lucky enough to hear a sneak preview of the album and was amazed by these interpretations.

The album will be released September 27th on Savoy Jazz.

1970S IN NEW YORK CITY

2011-09-16T11:55:00.000-07:00

Maybe these guys are trying a little TOO hard, but you have to admit the prices are good. Next time you're visiting New York City--in a Time Machine--be sure to check out the Hotel Seville in the 1970s.

Remember the Seventies in New York? In case you don't, the city was flat broke and gritty and dirty, and Times Square was still a seedy playground of porn and drugs and prostitution. Truth be told, some would prefer that dark, dangerous world to the bright, plastic, Disneyland left after the Giuliani clean-up. To get the feel of the gritty old days, watch a good seventies New York film like Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon or Across 110th Street. Or watch this commercial, where the hotel staff is begging for money.

The Seventies were tough. These days we're used to federal bail-outs, but back then when New York asked the federal government for relief it got a big goose egg. Nada, niente, bupkis. Remember this headline?

Just for old time's sake, here's the opening sequence of Across 110th Street from 1972.

DFW, FRANZEN & LEYNER

2011-09-14T14:22:00.000-07:00

A roundtable discussion with three (post-(post-))modern novelists, Jonathan Franzen, David Foster Wallace and Mark Leyner, begins around the thirty-six minute mark.

In a stunning example of "blame the dead guy," the New York Times Magazine ran a riff ("Another Sort of Thing to Pin on David Foster Wallace," Aug. 19, 2011) that admitted that "[DFW] was inarguably one of the most interesting thinkers and distinctive stylists of the generation raised on Jacques Derrida, Strunk and White and Scooby-Doo, and his nonfiction writings, on subjects as diverse as cruises, porn, tennis and eating lobster, are a compelling, often dizzying mix of arguments and asides, of reportage and personal anecdotes, of high diction ('pleonasm'), childlike speech ('plus, worse'), slacker lingo ('totally hosed') and legalese ('what this article hereby terms a ‘Democratic Spirit’ '), often within the course of a single paragraph."

The essay goes on to blame DFW for all that is slack in the world of post-post-modern writers of novels and blogs (imagine! that!). "Wallace isn’t responsible for his imitators, much less for the stylized mess that is Gen-X-and-Y Internet syntax." His followers (Eggers, et al) "borrowed not only Wallace’s tics but also his championing of post-ironic sincerity and his attempts to ward off criticism by embedding all possible criticisms within the writing itself."

That's a post-modern trick, a device, a rhetorical tactic: anticipating the opposing argument and deflating it ahead of time.

"The ur-text of this movement, though, is Wallace’s essay 'E Unibis Pluram: Television and U.S. Fiction,' written in 1993. It’s a call for writing that transcends irony and detachment but, itself, comes drenched in both. The essay bemoans what Wallace saw as the near-impossibility of writing inventive, self-aware fiction in a television culture. He concludes by imagining some future group of 'literary ‘rebels’ ' who would be 'willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs . . . [and] accusations of sentimentality, melodrama.'"

But hey. That's kind of, er, interesting, um, and I mean that.

Perhaps the most interesting post-suicide DFW essay appeared the the New Yorker ("The Unfinished," March 9, 2009). In the piece, D. T. Max commented on that meta-style most evident in "Infinite Jest," remarking that "such techniques originally had been his way of reclaiming language from banality, while at the same time representing all the caveats, micro-thoughts, meta-moments, and other flickers of his hyperactive mind. Wallace’s approach reminded the reader that what he was reading was invented."

The style may have spawned a million imitators, but after Jest, DFW wanted to move on. Jonathan Franzen, fellow writer and friend, is quoted in the New Yorker piece. “There was a certain kind of effulgent writing that he just wasn’t interested in doing anymore.” In the next novel, the unfinished work published as "The Pale King," a character comments, “Maybe dullness is associated with psychic pain, because something that’s dull or opaque fails to provide enough stimulation to distract people from some other, deeper type of pain that is always there, if only in an ambient low-level way, and which most of us spend nearly all our time and energy trying to distract ourselves from.”

Wallace was trying to write differently, to change his style and, in effect, abandon his imitators, while wrestling with mental illness and a reliance on Nardil, an antidepressant he'd been taking for two decades. He left his life, as well as his next big work, unfinished.

Wallace may have become famous for his freewheeling, self-referential, footnote-laden, post-ironic, slacker-infused extravaganzas, but toward the end he was after a more straightforward, less experimental prose. He wanted to write passionately moral fiction that showed readers how to live a fulfilled, meaningful life. That was a tall order, and he may have fallen short of the mark in his eyes. Couldn't he just write cool stories, that wild, finger-popping, clever work his fans and imitators gobbled like Mint Milanos? Couldn't he play more textual games, meta-fictions, post-ironic ironies with a wink and a nudge and a built-in critique? No, he wasn't playing those games anymore. As he said, “Fiction’s about what it is to be a fucking human being."

SHAKESPEARE IMPRESSIONS

2011-09-10T13:38:00.000-07:00

Jim Meskimen performs Clarence's speech from William Shakespeare's Richard III as a number of different celebrities. In case you're not up on your Shakespeare, this is a history play from the First Folio, written about 1591. It depicts the Machiavellian rise and brief reign of Richard III of England.

In this scene, Richard has just ordered two murderers to kill his brother Clarence in the tower. Clarence, unaware, relates a strange dream to his keeper. He describes falling from an imaginary ship and seeing skeletons of thousands of men "that fishes gnawed upon," and "wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, inestimable stones, unvalued jewels" all "scatterd in the bottom of the sea."

As we all know, listening to someone describing a dream can be dead dull, but Clarence has the good fortune of speaking the rich, colorful words of the greatest writer in the English language and the world's preeminent dramatist, William Shakespeare. Along with his other accomplishments, Shakespeare provided Jim Meskimen with a showcase for his spot-on impressions, and Meskimen, in turn, perhaps unintentionally, shows us how many different ways Clarence's speech could be interpreted by a player, albeit always trippingly on the tongue.

IN CASE YOU MISSED THE REPUBLICAN DEBATE

2011-09-08T16:26:00.000-07:00

I think what Matt Taibbi said about the last Republican debate still applies:

"Every single candidate last night was saying one version or another of the same thing: that the private sector rocks, the government sucks, we need to drill everywhere, reduce taxes and end regulation. The only area where they differed was in their choice of antigovernment metaphors. In that regard Cain’s 'Obama’s putting all the money in the caboose' and Bachmann’s 'three legged stool of Republicanism' made me pretty excited for the later stages of the campaign, when the imagery inevitably will get more and more tortured as the desperation to find new ways to say the same old thing gets more pronounced."

And this is good:

"The last time I saw Mitt Romney up close, four years ago, he looked like one of the Nexus Six replicants from Blade Runner, and he always seemed quick, interested, and alert in debates. But he seemed mentally and physically fatigued last night. He and Ron Paul have both aged visibly since the last campaign (a reader emailed me during the debate: 'Separated at Birth: Ron Paul… and Grandpa from Texas Chainsaw Massacre?') and the former Massachusetts governor’s trademark eager-beaver act was missing. I wonder if this is intentional – maybe his strategy is to play the four-corners offense right from the start, let the wing-nuts run each other ragged in the early part of the campaign, and then trump the field in the end with a McCain-style above-the-fray, at-least-I’m-not-completely-crazy, wizened veteran pose. Romney to me is the biggest threat to Obama. People right now are focusing on all the negatives he brings to a Republican primary race, on his non-Christianism and his history of unpopular (to Tea Partiers) positions on choice and health care, but if he gets to the general election those same qualities will be positives to independent voters, and it’s not like there aren’t fiscally conservative independents looking for an excuse to dump the president."

WRITERS AND THEIR DAY JOBS

2011-09-06T06:19:00.000-07:00

Writing just doesn't make sense. Economically, anyway. The work is exceedingly difficult, and there is no guaranteed success. In fact, there is not even a guaranteed job at the end of a writer's training--unlike medical school, say, where one can generally find a practice somewhere, even if one has to move to a less desirable zip code; or dental school, where most graduates will eventually find an open mouth; or law school, where the bar must be passed, of course, but after that highly billable hours will be available to pay back exorbitant school loans. The average person is willing to pay for these services, or, more accurately, must pay for these services in our litigious and increasingly sickly society. On the other hand, the average person doesn't read. Not much, anyway. Road signs and cereal boxes. The occasional sports page. Along with financial security, these other professions are rewarded with a certain prestige bordering on awe, and society is more than satisfied to meet them with great respect, even pushing their daughters forward (or sons, for that matter) hoping to kindle romance, whereas writers are looked upon as creative oddballs at best, or, at worst, the giant insect Gregor Samsa metamorphosed into, and certainly not the type of individual to whom respectable citizens would entrust their daughters (writers will find their daughters, anyway, truth be told). Invoking Kafka isn't inappropriate; who best to tell the tale than a harried day clerk who wrote by night? A writer works day jobs, and there is no guarantee a book will ever be published, and even less chance for a work of literary fiction (as opposed to a diet book, a cat book, or a cheesy romance). No wonder logical people look askance, parents fret, bankers grumble, and armchair psychiatrists question their sanity. But the writers will have their day. As the burghers gather on the golf course, thumbs hooked in their vestpockets, they have no idea the man pouring their drinks in the Golf Club will one day eviscerate them in print, traducing their unimaginative lives with wit, drawing laughs with their Babbitry (Babbit: noun; A narrow-minded, self-satisfied person with an unthinking attachment to middle-class values and materialism). For now, the writer pours their weak beers and submits to their puerile humor and too loud laughter, but he is listening --listening with a keen, sensitive ear--to their offhand remarks, their self-satisfied mutterings, their puffed-up opinions on sports and cigars and women and automobiles--because he is also a trained professional, and this is his practice, and while he may be working on a long shot he's right on schedule. He is the writer.

TO FIGHT AGAINST ALL ODDS

2011-08-31T10:04:00.000-07:00

Enter the KING

WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

William Shakespeare, HENRY V, C. 1599

LENNY'S CLAM BAR

2011-08-23T17:52:00.001-07:00

We love cheesy local commercials where the owner of the store gets involved. This hilarious ad for Lenny's Clam Bar stars the owner with his pal, Frank Sinatra Jr, hawking the scungilli. (This was filmed in 1978, so Frank Sr was still alive, but he must have passed on the project.) So if you like seafood--spicy, seafood Italian style, and who doesn't?--go to Lenny's and tell him Frankie sent you and get a free glass of wine.

WEST MEMPHIS 3 FREE

2011-08-20T13:46:00.000-07:00

The West Memphis 3 were just released after a bizarre plea arrangement that surprised and pleased many supporters. Once teenagers, the three left prison in their thirties, still maintaining their innocence, though pleading guilty.

The West Memphis 3 are three teenagers (Damien Echols, Jason Misskelley, and Jason Baldwin) convicted in 1994 of the brutal 1993 murders of three young boys in West Memphis, Arkansas. Despite having no physical evidence linking the boys (in fact, in 1997, the DNA found at the crime didn't match any of those convicted, but did match on of the boys' stepfather and his friend) these boys were found guilty--and one was given the death penalty. They may not have been guilty of murder, but they were guilty of being oddballs in a small town, boys who dressed like "Goths" and dabbled in witchcraft, which was enough to set the town roaring about a satanic cult.

"Under the seemingly contradictory deal," says the New York Times, "Judge David Laser vacated the previous convictions, including the capital murder convictions for Mr. Echols and Mr. Baldwin. After doing so, he ordered a new trial, something the prosecutors agreed to if the men would enter so-called Alford guilty pleas. These pleas allow people to maintain their innocence and admit frankly that they are pleading guilty because they consider it in their best interest."

And that's what they did.

To learn more about the case and the trial, watch the riveting documentary, Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills (1995) and the follow-up, Paradise Lost 2" The Revelations (2000).

WAR IS OVER, IF YOU WANT IT

2011-08-15T21:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,

In 1969, John and I were so naive to think that doing the Bed-In would help change the world. Well, it might have. But at the time, we didn't know.
It was good that we filmed it, though. The film is powerful now. What we said then could have been said now.
In fact, there are things that we said then in the film, which may give some encouragement and inspiration to the activists of today. Good luck to us all.
Let's remember WAR IS OVER if we want it. It's up to us, and nobody else. John would have wanted to say that."

Love, yoko

According to the Guardian, "Yoko Ono has posted online a 70-minute documentary she made with John Lennon in 1969. Titled Bed Peace, the film – previously available on VHS – documents the couple's second attempt to promote world peace through lying in bed for a week at the height of the Vietnam war. The former Beatle and his wife spent their honeymoon in bed at the Amsterdam Hilton, talking to members of the press, before flying to Montreal, Canada to repeat their act of non-violent protest. Those visiting them there, as shown in the film, include the activist Dick Gregory, LSD-advocate Timothy Leary, DJ Murray The K and the Beatles' publicist Derek Taylor."

The Guardian failed to mention Al Capp's visit and his heated exchange with John and Yoko. Capp, creator of "Lil Abner," comes across as a crackpot, a racist blowhard and a reactionary hawk who ridicules their hair, their sincerity, and Yoko's Japanese ancestry. See, not all cartoonists are cool.

BACHMANN CRAZY, BUT NOT CRAZY ABOUT THE RENAISSANCE

2011-08-10T13:21:00.000-07:00

crazy eyes

It should come as no surprise that Michele Bachmann, the beady-eyed Tea Party pin-up, hates the art, science, literature, politics and humanist philosophy that burgeoned in Florence during the Renaissance since it destroyed the religious stranglehold of fundamentalism and ignorance we call the Dark Ages, something she's desperately trying to revive. While the modern world may have resulted from the brilliance and enlightened inquiry of da Vinci, Michelangelo and their gifted peers, Bachmann seems to have descended from their devoted enemy, fundamentalist Savonarola, a nasty monk who became quite popular among conservative, reactionary elements by urging the destruction of all art, poetry and free thought that wasn't sufficiently "religiously correct." Savonarola burned books, artistic masterpieces and heretics in the Piazza della Signoria. Armed with Fox News, he might have won the battle against modernity, but alas he could only preach to a relatively small mob, those within earshot. He was eventually burned on the same spot.

calm eyes

The details: An article in the New Yorker and a piece in the Los Angeles Times blog, Culture Monster, explain that Michele Bachmann has serious concerns that the Renaissance took us away from God. She's also not crazy about The Enlightenment. Basically, she misses the Dark Ages.

According to Ryan Lizza, who interviewed Bachmann over the course of several days for the New Yorker, she "belongs to a generation of Christian conservatives whose views have been shaped by institutions, tracts, and leaders not commonly known to secular Americans, or even to most Christians." According to Lizza, she's a big fan of the late Presbyterian Pastor Francis Schaeffer, who is credited with being a key catalyst of the Christian Right revival of the 1970s. She's also a fan of Schaeffer follower Nancy Pearcey, who wrote,"Saving Leonardo: A Call to Resist the Secular Assault on Mind, Morals, and Meaning."

According to the LA Times blog, Culture Monster, in Pearcey's 2004 book book, "Total Truth: Liberating Christianity From Its Cultural Captivity," she "lauds Schaeffer's empathy for artists who are 'caught in the trap of false and harmful worldviews' -- specifically, those that have trickled down from wicked Renaissance humanism. 'As the medieval period merged into the Renaissance (beginning roughly in the 1300s),' she wrote, 'a drumbeat began to sound for the complete emancipation of reason from revelation -- a crescendo that burst into full force in the Enlightenment (beginning in the 1700s).'"

Savonarola

EVEN FURTHER

2011-08-08T12:21:00.000-07:00

In 1964, Ken Kesey, the author of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," and his pals, "The Merry Band of Pranksters," embarked on a drug-fueled odyssey in a psychedelic bus (the first, dubbed "Further") to cross the country a la Jack Kerouac (with Kerouac's pal, Dean Moriarty, at the wheel) to see America and visit the New York World's Fair. These Day-glo pirates planned to make a film about their odyssey and shot hours of footage, but the film was never finished. Perhaps the drugs of choice provided too many fascinating tangents, tendrils, and tributaries, or maybe Kesey and crew got lost in a rabbit hole like Alice. Maybe they simply got stoned and forgot. In any case, Academy Award-winner Alex Gibney and his co-director, Alison Ellwood, came to the rescue. They poured over more than 100 hours of raw footage and whittled it down to a bite-size documentary, "Magic Trip."

Set the Waytback Machine. Against all odds these acid Argonauts will appear at an air-conditioned Megaplex near you, sandwiched somewhere between The Smurfs and Cowboys & Aliens, right where they belong.

Maybe. This tiny indie film (as well as the blissful naivety of these proto-hippies) may seem hopelessly out of fashion these days, and since it won't have money-making appeal of a blockbuster it won't be widely released. "Magic Trip" will appear only briefly, visible to none but a discerning few. Sorry. Maybe it's the subject matter. Maybe we've been warned too many in these drug-scorched times to fancy even the remote possibility that one might gain anything of value through the ingestion of a drug. Not to mention peace & love, and all that jazz. Where have all the flowers gone, indeed.

Anyway, we can always pretend.

Though slated for release August 5th, "Magic Trip" probably hasn't hit your burg yet. Chec your listings. We did. The movie opens 8/12 in Portland at the Hollywood, and 8/26 in Seattle at the Varsity. For other towns, check the listing here. To visit the official website of the documentary, visit MAGIC TRIP.

BARRY HANNAH, HE WANT A SONG

2011-08-07T12:01:00.000-07:00

Barry Hannah is dead, but he wrote some great books and inspired countless writers with his honest art and his no bullshit attitude. He was not "literary" in the phoney sense, but a literary master nonetheless, and, to hear him tell it, a "small-town boy, a gawker" and "a rubbernecking perckerwood." Words were his weapon as well as his poison. Not his only poison. He drank himself nearly to death, fought alcoholism as well as cancer, and somehow kept his humanity while hassling with his creativity. It might have been easier doing something else, pissing it away at cocktails parties, say, or maybe working as a small town mayor, thumbs hooked in his vestpockets, cigar clenched in his teeth, telling everybody else what to do, but no, he left the comfort zone to wrestle--sometimes even slowdance-- with the Muse. He taught, too, in spite of himself. Sometime accidentally. In the following essay, he teaches plenty.

"Ah well, the brain wants a song," he says. "And the message is always the same--we are alive and dying. Hot wind in the skull. No possum, no sop, no taters until we sing the song. You have to act or not eat. Sing your song, than fall on your victuals, and become a man. Otherwise you are a half-man, a zombie, an uninvited guest, if you feel like me when you can't sing. This might go on for months. Food is bitter and friends are flat."

Hannah was from the Deep South, Mississippi in fact, and he wrote in a wicked vernacular so comparisons to Faulkner are inevitable (as well as Flannery O'Conner and Mark Twain), and people who love neat little boxes in their world might consider him "a regional writer," a master of Southern Gothic, but he was clearly more than that, and his influence ran as far and wide as the Big Muddy.

He died last year, and many writers came forward with their remembrances of the man in an article in Vanity Fair (March 3, 2010), among them Richard Ford.

“One great thing about Barry," said Ford, "was how, in his person, he managed to preserve the deep mystery of literary art. In that way he was like Faulkner, himself. Frontally, he presented you with what seemed to be a recognizable southern type—the swaggering, impudent, small-town, pool-hall residing, wise-cracking, occasionally bibulous little smart-ass. Who then incongruously but absolutely legitimately wowed and amazed you with his celestial-quality literary sentences and constructions that could've come from no other brain but his, and that you never forgot. Many people have had the experience of Barry's stories and novels changing their lives forever. I think that's precisely what he aimed for. He always said, ‘Shoot for the stars.’ And he surely did that. He was the real deal."

Amy Hempel, an old friend of Hannah and an excellent short story writer, said, “Barry was, and will always be, essential—as a writer and as a man with an exquisite, deep soul. His death is a world-changing loss for so many of us.”

His writing comes across at times both grim and humorous, gothic and gonzo, as informal as a backyard conversation with a drunken neighbor yet as incantatory as a voodoo spell. Pedantic professors may label him one thing or another, emboldened by their collective cowardice, but they're just following breadcrumbs through the woods. Hannah owns the woods. As he might say, enough phoney literary bullshit, let the man speak for himself. Here's the essay quoted above. Just click to enlarge it and read it.

Now if you're a writer get writing. I'd better get back to work myself. Coffee break's over. If you're a reader, a serious reader who likes good stories you've never heard before (as opposed to all those overly familiar, predictable stories, in print and on screen, that follow a cozy little formula and comfort rather than challenge) you could do worse than pick up a copy of "Ray" or "Airships." Now that's writing.

WORKING CLASS HERO

2011-08-02T09:06:00.000-07:00

Gary Russo is a hardhat, a New York City MTA construction worker building the 2nd Avenue Subway in the booming summer heat. He could use a summer wind. Maybe you saw him online. His video has gone viral. Anyway, Russo does a spot on impression of Frank Sinatra. Here he sings "Summer Wind" during his lunchbreak, and then he goes right back to work.

These days it's getting to be subversive to stick up for working people. Maybe it's no different from the old red-baiting days when saying anything about "the working class" got you branded a dirty commie out to start a class war. You'd think we'd be past that by now, but siding with the "commoners" still looks suspicious to a lot of people, and some folks even think it's patriotic to be AGAINST the working class. Look around. We've got union-busting Republicans stealing workers' rights nationwide, and "pro-business" tycoons hopping into bed with lobbyists and politicians to deregulate corporations and screw the common man (and woman), hoodwink the gullible, and rip off the consumer. Multinational corporations have the power to run roughshod over the workers and consumers worldwide, all in the name of "it's-good-for-business." The working people don't have the billions--or the batteries of lawyers, legal loopholes and tax breaks--of the ultra rich, for a fair fight. Besides, they have to get up every morning and go to work. But once in a while they sing.

the young Sinatra; a working class hero?

ART SHOW

2011-07-31T11:54:00.001-07:00

Click to enlarge

Come see my artwork this week at the Gage Academy of Art. I'm in a show with Jim Woodring, David Chelsea and several other excellent artists whose work "displays exceptional technical skill and creative narrative story lines." Sounds good to me. (Check out more of my artwork at Bob Rini Makes Art).

The Gage Academy is an independent art school in the tradition of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris and the Art Students League in New York. It offers the technical foundations of an artist's training, as well as programs that nature's vision and creative potential. "Our goal is simple," they say in their literature, "to engage you." It's an honor to show at such a well-respected institution, so come and see our artwork. Click in the poster above to enlarge.

Steele Gallery at Gage
Hours: Daily 10:00am to 6:00pm

Gage Academy of Art
1501 10th Ave. East, #101
Seattle, WA 98102
Tel: 206 323-GAGE

SUMMER OF 1969

2011-07-27T08:43:00.000-07:00

Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there--with silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair. Janis Joplin was a blues singer in the tradition of Bessie Smith and Billie Holiday but transplanted to another time. Like Smith and Holiday, she didn't have a "perfect voice" in the traditional sense. Her voice was rough and weathered but she used it as an expressive instrument that carried her soul. She was steel-edged but somehow soft inside, as Nat Hentoff once described Billie Holiday. Summertime was a natural for her. Of course the song had been done many times before, from stage productions of Porgy and Bess to jazz clubs, but it was blues at heart, and Janis sang the hell out of it. She sang it for our time. This clip was recorded in Stockholm in 1969, a year of turbulent change around the world, the year that Nixon was elected by a landslide, the year of Woodstock and the first moon landing, the year of the Manson killings and the Stonewall riots and the first massive demonstrations against the war in Vietnam. Janis captured the heart and soul of the time, just as much as Hendrix playing The Star Spangled Banner at Woodstock with snarling feedback and bombs bursting in air that same summer.

AMY WINEHOUSE, REST IN PEACE

2011-07-23T10:24:00.000-07:00

So sorry to hear that Amy Winehouse passed away today. The talented, troubled singer had obvious problems with alcohol and drugs, and it's tragic she didn't get the help she needed. We will miss her soulful music. No easy sermons, no snap judgments, no smug attitudes, just sadness today. Here are some softer moments of Amy singing offstage.

USELESS ADVICE ON FLIRTING

2011-07-22T08:56:00.000-07:00

"The Classic Lean"

Summer is here, and you're probably enjoying the sunshine, drinking gin and tonics and making out. Sure you are. This is prime make-out season. If you're not, this instructional video might come in handy. For laughs, anyway. This self-described flirting expert is preying upon your insecurities--a time-tested means of making money--and offering her advice. For a fee, she'll tell you that eye-contact is important, and give you a plethora of irresistible flirting moves such as batting your eyelashes, casually touching your hair, making suggestive smiles, giggling, stretching, cooing, teasing, flattering, playing footsie and using "The Lean" (pictured above).

Follow this advice and you will look like an complete idiot. You need a little sugar but you'll probably get slapped with a restraining order. Don't giggle, stretch, lean, bat your eyelashes or zero in for the kill. Talk. Smile. Learn to relax and be yourself. Then--if that proves hopeless--fork over some hard-earned cash for this video and a classy Polyester pantsuit. Stand up straight and take a deep breath. See that chick over there by the salad bar? She is so into you.

PEOPLE WE LIKE

2011-07-19T16:17:00.000-07:00

Agustina Woodgate sews poetry into clothing tags. She calls it Poetry Bombing.

"For the past month," according to the Miami New Times, "the artist has been sewing verse by Sylvia Plath and Li Po into jackets, pants, and dresses on thrift store shelves all over the county. We caught up with her at Flamingo Plaza in Hialeah to document her work."

"The intrusive nature of guerrilla art can be problematic sometimes," says stodgy uncle Time magazine, "especially in the case of poetry storming because clothes are for sale. Luckily for the artist, the stores, don't seem to care much, even though she had fair amount of coverage in the local media."

From the Situationists to Banksy, guerrilla artists have challenged our expectations with subversive messages, stencils, street theater, graffiti, billboard remixing, flash mobs, wheatpasting, stickers and poetry bombing. They have taken art off the gallery walls and poetry off the shelves and put it out in the streets. They have stormed the reality studios and left no place safe for the mundane and humdrum. They've reduced our Comfort Zone to the circumference of an easy chair in our living room and then stolen our favorite slippers.

Or they would like to think so.

Vandalism? Guerrilla art? Maybe it's best that poetry remains safe on the shelf, out of sight and unread. Maybe art should be locked in a vault and only interpreted by experts in bite-size wall-text. Maybe the marketplace--where serious business is conducted--should be completely off limits to the artist, a roped-off area where art isn't permitted and the only permissible flash comes from advertising, unalloyed with the ambiguous, the challenging, the unsettling. Then again, since the marketplace has expanded to include most of our world, and the art world has painted itself into a corner, maybe some unexpected creativity would come as a welcome surprise. We think so. And we think Agustina Woodgate's high energy artistic antics add a splash of color to a field of grey.

POK POK, WHO'S THERE?

2011-07-19T11:26:00.000-07:00

For years now one of my favorite eateries in PDX has been Pok Pok. The food is great every time, and every time the place is jammed with a long line out the door. Now I'm worried it will be even more crowded since annoying food hound Guy Fieri spilled the beans on national TV. Sure, the sticky sweet Southeast Asian street food will always be sublime, and the wings...ah, the wings...will always be worth waiting for, but now I'm afraid Pok Pok will be overrun by arrogant blowhards from LA with bad hairdos. Let's hope not. Then again, maybe it's time to let go. The cognoscenti have already moved on to trendier digs, and the wealthy foodies who once slummed for street food have grazed their way to more toney holes-in-the-wall, but my heart will always pang for Pok Pok's skewers of whole baby octopus and coconut-milk marinated pork loin, for their Tamarind Whiskey Soda cocktails, for Ike's brilliant hot and sweet Vietnamese wings marinated in caramelized Phu Quou fish sauce. The stuff of dreams. Sadly, we may have lost the place forever to raspy-voiced Californians in ironic bowling shirts, but we'll always have the memories.

TRIUMPH OF THE WILL

2011-07-19T06:52:00.000-07:00

Grizzly Mom is back. Once again, Sarah Palin, the defeated vice-presidential candidate, has rewritten history--this time her own--in a self-glorifying hagiography, "Undefeated," now playing in a theater near you. What are the critics saying about the film?

"A troop-rallying campaign infomercial as imagined by Michael Bay: hero-worshipping, crescendo-edited at a dizzying pace, thunderously repetitive and its own worst enemy as a two-hour, talking-points briefing."
- Robert Abele, Los Angeles Times

"Less a documentary than a glowing two-hour infomercial for Sarah Palin, Presidential Candidate To-Be."
- Anna Merlan, Village Voice

"Slickly produced and blatantly manipulative, Bannon's hagiographic tribute is a celebratory cavalcade of career highlights and glowing testimonials that doubtless will please Palin's devoted followers, appall her fiercest critics -- and, perhaps, occasionally surprise the undecided."
- Joe Leydon, Variety

"Once you realize the film is just going to be a string of encomiums against a backdrop of frantically edited archival material in which few shots are allowed to stay onscreen longer than three seconds, it's clear that no meaningful analysis of the woman's career or political agenda will be forthcoming."
- Todd McCarthy, The Hollywood Reporter

"The film adopts one of Palin’s favorite points of view: that throughout her political career she has been the victim of vicious attacks from political enemies and the media. Among other melodramatic imagery, the movie shows frothing attack dogs and a lion killing a beautiful zebra to symbolize the way Palin has been treated at the hands of the press."
- Gardner and Rucker, The Washington Post

Rotten Tomatoes gave the film a zero percent rating.

No matter. In Sarah Palin's hermetically-sealed world view, critics are probably a liberal plot anyway. For fans who can't get enough of the "mavericky" maybe-candidate, the reviews won't affect them, either, and they can be expected to buy tickets and fill the megaplexes with their hoots and hollers. Well, maybe. This was opening weekend and turnout was dismal even among the True Believers. Are you going?

We're unrepentant liberals so we're going to skip this idiotic mess, but don't let us influence your decision. Watch the trailer and decide for yourself. From the looks of it, this movie would make Leni Riefenstahl blush. But, hey, it's your money.

SKINHEAD KNOCKED OUT COLD

2011-07-18T17:08:00.000-07:00

He asked for it.

Marlon Baker, a black man in his mid-forties, was just trying to get a drink at JD's Resort in Bayview, Idaho, when he was approached by this self-described "skinhead," Darren Christopher Abbey, 28, who told him blacks weren't welcome in the bar. Baker left the bar to avoid a fight.

Abbey followed him outside, hurling racial slurs at Baker, who continued walking. Abbey, according to the Spokesman-Review, "has several neo-Nazi tattoos and told Coeur d'Alene police in 2004 that he was an 'independent skinhead' who didn't like minorities."

Abbey yelled that blacks didn't belong in Bayview. He followed Baker to a marina 300 yards away, where he threatened to stab him. That's when Baker knocked him unconscious with one punch.

Evidently, Abbey didn't read the writing on Baker's T-shirt, “Spokane Boxing Club champion.”

“If he had been able to read that maybe he wouldn't have done that,” Lt. Stu Miller said.

According to the Kootenai County Sheriff's Department, Abbey was booked on malicious harassment charges after being treated at a hospital for facial fractures.

MEAN STREETS 3D

2011-07-15T12:35:00.000-07:00

I love movies. Since time began (well, nearly) summer has been a time of movies, and I have many sepia-toned memories of childhood that begin with parting heavy, velvet drapes and making my way to my seat in the darkness clutching a box of Raisinets. Or memories of drive-in movies---that's a summer experience we will have to explain to subsequent generations ("Yes, you watched the movie in your car!") but that's another summer movie memory. Cast your memory back. Adjust the speaker on your car window. Twilight descends and suddenly Woody Woodpecker pops up on a giant screen towering over your Ford. Remember? How about double bills with a corny advert sandwiched in between features extolling the virtues of the snack bar, watered-down soft drinks and warm wienies rotating under a heat lamp?

That's all gone now. Nowadays summer releases are screened in cinderblock bunkers, multi-screen megaplexes at the mall, and the movies tend to be silly teen comedies, blockbuster adventures, animated kid stuff and lightweight rom-coms. Popcorn movies. (They save the serious Oscar contenders for the holiday season). Summertime is when all those comic books they've turned into movies, and all those sequels flood the multiplexes and squeeze out those hard-earned allowances across the land.

There are only a couple of these summer movies we want to see this year. One is "Cowboys and Aliens" (The title says it all). Another movie that would have been released in the summer if not for the big name attached to it is "Hugo," with Martin Scorsese directing. "Hugo" sounds like a real departure for Marty. The film is being shot in 3D, for one thing. We're really not sure what it's about, but this synopsis is from the press packet:

Hugo tells the story of an orphan boy living a secret life in the walls of a Paris train station. With the help of an eccentric girl, he searches for the answer to a mystery linking the father he recently lost, the ill-tempered toy shop owner living below him and a heart shaped lock, seemingly without a key. Based on Brian Selznick’s award winning and imaginative New York Times bestseller, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, this magical tale is Academy Award(R)-winner Martin Scorsese’s first film shot in 3D.

Okay, so now we know. It doesn't matter. They had us with "Scorsese."

"Hugo" opens November 23, and stars Asa Butterfield, Chloe Grace Moretz, Sacha Baron Cohen, Ben Kingsley, Jude Law, Ray Winstone and Christopher Lee.

I and LOVE and YOU

2011-07-13T17:45:00.000-07:00

The Avett Brothers have an old timey feel and they kind of look like The Band circa Music from Big Pink, who in turn looked like scroungy deserters from the Civil War. At any rate, these grizzled purveyors of Americana can write a good song. This one is pure as branchwater. It tells a little story, and you know how we like stories. Take off your shoes and sit a spell and give this a listen. Here they are live at Bonnaroo, singing a song dedicated to Wendy Lu from Kalamazoo.

Distant cousins, once removed: The Band in all their ragged glory in this clip from a hard to find documentary (ignore the foreign subtitles) on the making of the second Band album, the classic "Brown Album."

MICHELE BACHMANN SIGNS RACIST ANTI-PORN PLEDGE

2011-07-10T11:15:00.000-07:00

Michelle Bachmann was the first Republican candidate to sign a very special loyalty pledge to the Tea Party. As you can imagine, the pledge is loaded with bullets of the conservative agenda, the boilerplate message that is staunchly pro-marriage, anti-choice, anti-porn, and anti-gay--but here's a new twist--overtly racist. We know racism has incited some fearful Tea Partiers to fight against President Obama--their picket signs alone prove that--but this document makes it official. And downright creepy. Decipher this passage:

...sadly a child born into slavery in 1860 was more likely to be raised by his mother and father in a two-parent household than was an African-American baby born after the election of the USA's first African-American President.

In other words, slavery helped keep families TOGETHER. So much for "family values." Even if you're ignorant of history, even if you've never read a history book on the era (or watched the television mini-series,"Roots," for godsakes) you know that slavery ripped families apart regulalry and that rape by slavemasters was common. Not exactly the "good old days."

What is Bachmann saying by signing this pledge? I'm not sure, really, other than that "the dark races" are incapable of taking care of themselves, that too much freedom for these troublesome folk does them no good, and therefore that white American has nothing to be ashamed of for owning other human beings as property--just more revisionist conservative history making from the lunatic fringe. How it applies? If their lot in life is their own damn fault, then we should be less concerned about the poor, and that the system is fair and meritocratic after all and people get what they deserve, they rise to the station they have earned, and this view justifies all the pro-wealthy tax cuts and loyalty to the rich since the "good people" have naturally risen to the top (and are probably are favored by God, as well). Bachmann is one of these middle Americans who probably see black people (and other minorities, and liberals, and gays, and immigrants) as always bellyaching about the American Way of Life, so she is defending it (including slavery, apparently) against these not-real-Americans who want a piece of the pie they don't deserve.

That Bachmann is historically ignorant comes hardly as a surprise, but the fact that she eagerly supports this kind of myth in an official pledge shows how extreme and divisive she is--exactly what we don't need, here and now, when the country is more divided than ever. Don't be hoodwinked. Her deep-dish, all-American pie is made with horse apples.

Watch this video clip and you'll know more about slavery than Michele Bachmann.

FOR FOX SAKE

2011-07-07T12:21:00.000-07:00

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Oh, for Fox Sake

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show Full Episodes

Political Humor & Satire Blog

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Jon Stewart was interviewed at Fox News recently (we posted the interview a few days ago, scroll down to view) and here are his post-interview comments. As usual, the ideologues at "fair & balanced" Fox thought they had Stewart against the ropes, but they weren't as clever as they thought. If only they were smart enough to appreciate how Stewart runs rings around them.

SOMEONE LIKE YOU

2011-07-06T17:42:00.000-07:00

We're taking a break from politics and murder trials to listen to Adele. She's 22 years old and has a killer voice and an old school soul and R&B feel. She was born in London to a single teenage mother and she first loved the Spice Girls, but later found out about R&B singers Destiny's Child and Mary J. Blige. Wherever she came from, she can sing the hell out of a ballad. Her latest album ("21") has remained at number one on the UK charts longer than any other female solo artist in history. Back in 2008, her first album ("16") won her Grammys for Best New Artist and Best Female Pop Vocal Performance. She was barely twenty at the time. Overachievers take note: she wrote the following song, her first smash hit, "Hometown Glory," when she was just sixteen.

RETHINKING THE GRAPES OF WRATH

2011-07-04T07:21:00.000-07:00

Rethinking "The Grapes of Wrath," the 1940 John Ford film made from John Steinbeck's classic novel. This story embodies the American spirit more than a million fireworks displays so it's fitting to post it today, on the 4th of July.

4TH OF JULY WEEKEND: WE SALUTE ABBIE

2011-07-02T08:43:00.000-07:00

It's the 4th of July weekend, so we're saluting an American hero, Abbie Hoffman, a former civil rights worker who organized voters in Mississippi and went on to organize protests against the Vietnam War and the Nixon war machine. In another country, we might call him a dissident. Here in America, we confuse patriotism with jingoism, conservatism and militarism, but Abbie believed in the essence of America, and not just on paper--he actually practiced our guaranteed constitutional right to protest, our right to freedom of assembly, our right to freedom of association, and our right to freedom of speech. Sure, he was a wiseacre and a smart aleck, and didn't always behave himself. Yes, he spit in Nixon's eye at the height of the president's popularity, but Tricky Dick had it coming. Sure, he was a troublemaker, but he represented American values more than all the phony flagwavers who carry teabags, more than the stuffed shirts exchanging business cards at the Chamber of Commerce luncheons, more than the gladhanders making empty promises and pocketing contributions, more than the bible-thumping hatemongers who praise Jesus but only worship power. Abbie wrapped himself in the flag, too, and was promptly arrested for it, and in the process educated us about the way power plays favorites. This weekend, as we sidle up to picnics to fill our Old Glory paper plates, let's not confuse liberty with hot dogs and sparklers and the flatulence of brass bands playing marching music on Main Street. Let's not be snookered by the accouterments. It ain't about that, bub. Maybe, just maybe the American spirit is less about bombs bursting in air and the GNP, and more about the kid--the ornery one who doesn't always mind his manners--who shouts from the back of the adoring crowd that the emperor has no clothes.

JON STEWART ON FOX

2011-07-01T10:17:00.000-07:00

No comment on the latest gaffes from Palin and Bachmann (they seem endless), no comment on the endless churn of Tea Party revisionism, and no comment on the idiot who just wrote a book claiming John Lennon was a closet Republican (Hoover and Nixon didn't think so, and hounded him endlessly; I direct you to the film "U.S. vs. John Lennon") because the weekend is here. Independence Day means something, and not the version embraced by the mouth-breathing morons of the right wing lunatic fringe who have tirelessly attempted to shred everything the country stands for, and who would sell out our hard-won liberties to military/corporate cronies at the drop of a hat. Better to show Jon Stewart on Fox News this week. Watch the whole thing. Beautiful.

ONE MORE THING

2011-06-27T08:30:00.000-07:00

Peter Falk passed away last week. He was a wonderful actor, most famous for playing Lieutenant Columbo, a homicide detective in a rumpled trenchcoat who was constantly underestimated by rich and powerful criminals. Of course Columbo would outsmart them, and this undercurrent of class war was part of the pleasure. "Just one more thing," he'd say, as these patricians fumed, ready to dismiss this disheveled cop standing in their beautiful mansion fumbling with his stogie, scratching his forehead, smiling his obsequious smile. They were clever and well-connected and entitled, silver spoon murderers used to getting their own way, and they were growing increasingly impatient with this shambling clown standing in the doorway.

It was a great role, but Peter Falk was more than Columbo. He started as a stage actor (he lied his way in, as he put it) who went on to films. He was absolutely brilliant in several of the John Cassavetes' films (see "Husbands," and "Woman Under the Influence"), in "The Princess Bride," and Wim Wenders' art house hit "Wings of Desire."

Peter Falk in "Wings of Desire."

THRILL HILL

2011-06-25T14:13:00.000-07:00

Oh, man! We'd never heard about this terrifying bike race until a friend sent it our way and blew our minds. This downhill challenge makes other extreme sports look like strolls in the park. This course--if you can call this obstacle-strewn nightmare a "course"--is absolutely deadly, and the head-cam offers a glimpse of the adrenaline-addled rider's viewpoint as he races toward nearly certain oblivion. In case your brain has been replaced by a candied apple, we should warn you to avoid attempting this in your own backyard. In other words, don't be a suicidal jackass.

The original posting offered this by way of explanation:

"I have seen insanity and it happens on the streets of Valparaiso, Chile. The Valparaiso Cerro Abajo Race is a legendary urban bike race and is more extreme than skydiving. The rider must brave jumps, stray dogs, and flights of stairs along the steep downhill path. The first person perspective provided by the excellent helmet cam lets us take in every glorious and frightening detail."

RIP, BIG MAN

2011-06-20T09:09:00.000-07:00

Clarence Anicholas Clemons, Jr., otherwise known as "The Big Man," saxophone player with Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, passed away June 18th. An old friend of Springsteen from the earliest days, Clarence was Springsteen's foil on stage and rocked those soulful sax solos that filled out the E Street sound. He suffered a stroke June 12 and died of complications on the 18th at the age of 69.

"Clarence lived a wonderful life," Springsteen said in a public statement. "He carried within him a love of people that made them love him. He created a wondrous and extended family. He loved the saxophone, loved our fans and gave everything he had every night he stepped on stage. His loss is immeasurable and we are honored and thankful to have known him and had the opportunity to stand beside him for nearly forty years. He was my great friend, my partner and with Clarence at my side, my band and I were able to tell a story far deeper than those simply contained in our music. His life, his memory, and his love will live on in that story and in our band."

This clip is Bruce introducing Clarence to the crowd:

HAPPY BOOMSDAY!

2011-06-16T07:44:00.000-07:00

Today, June 16th, James Joyce fans rejoyce because today is Bloomsday, the day celebrated in Joyce's masterpiece Ulysses, a landmark novel that chronicles an ordinary Dublin day and follows meandering Leopold Bloom, his wife Molly, and a clever, soul-searching antihero, Stephen Dedalus. To the casual eye, the eye trained for easy entertaining rewards, the book might seem chaotic or formless, a sprawling experiment in stream-of-consciousness, but Joyce modeled the novel on Homer's Odyssey and every event and character in the Greek classic is represented with wit and gravity in the modern day telling. The book ends with one of the highwater marks of English literature, Molly Bloom's beautifully breathless soliloquy--read here by Marcella Riordian.

TARGET THE UNION

2011-06-14T09:43:00.000-07:00

This is the infamous anti-union propaganda film Target employees are required to watch. The 13-minute video, entitled "Think Hard Before You Sign," is hosted by a couple "Target employees," Doug and Maria, played by two actors.

"We're a target because we're a threat to unions," Doug says. "The unions that represent grocery store workers."

"When we take business away from unionized grocery stores that means they need fewer employees," Maria says (or rather reads from her script).

"And fewer grocery store employees means fewer union members," Doug says. "And fewer members? Well that's a problem for the union business. That's right, I said business. Union business."

It's bullshit, of course, and as phony as Hollywood actors playing Target employees. Target couldn't give a rat's ass for employee's rights, unless it impacts their money-making abilities and their right to fire people indiscriminately. Workers' rights are under attack from "pro-business" forces around the country, and this "educational film" targeting unions is just more union-busting. Doug and Maria are neither your friends nor your co-workers, they're just puppets reading a script written by people with a vested interest in keeping the workplace union-free.

SUMMER SOUNDS

2011-06-11T15:22:00.000-07:00

Summer had its own sound, and if you grew up in the sixties the Beach Boys were a large part of it. Coming over tinny Japanese transistor radios, their early pop hits celebrated cars and girls and surfing and provided the perfect backdrop to a summer wearing cut-offs and thongs, eating root beer Popsicles, racing Stingrays down Thrill Hill, and talking to girls at the mall or at the movies (this was years before dating, so talking was just about all we could handle). In the background, whether you were going to the Dairy Queen or the swimming pool, "Help Me, Rhonda" would be playing, or "California Girls," or "I Get Around." The Beatles were hipper, and the Motown bands were cooler, but the Beach Boys were all about summer. In Oregon, where we had evergreens and overcast all year around, they painted a picture of our own imaginary California. Hots rods and surfboards, ocean surf and bikinis--this was as far as you could get from our rainy world. At a certain point, the Beach Boys stopped making simple songs about cars and girls, and led by Brian Wilson they entered the studio to create some brilliant teenage symphonies. Wilson stopped touring and started working in the studio/sandbox, playing a creative cat-and-mouse, call-and-response game with Lennon & McCartney, shooting for that long sweet ride. The closest he came was "Pet Sounds," a sublime pop masterpiece. The above video shows the creative process behind one of the hits from the album, "Wouldn't it be Nice." The clip below shows some of the connections between "Pet Sounds" (1966) and the Beatles' "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" (1967), two masterworks of the era.

ANN COULTER IS BATSHIT CRAZY

2011-06-07T15:55:00.000-07:00

Ann Coulter is a vicious political monster right out of Grendel, a crypto-fascist Republican wet dream with fake hair and a fake tan stretched tightly over a death's head skull, a shrill attention-whore who spews odious political views into New York Times bestsellers, a reptile who reeks of brimstone and howls directly into the dark hearts of the violently enraged shock troops of the Tea Party lunatic fringe. She speaks gibberish, of course, lies and half-truths and quarter-truths, but that's okay if it incites the mob. Her mob, that is. Ironically, she speaks out against mobs here in a strange rewrite of history, but it's her version of made-up history that she uses to slop her hogs, all for political advantage and book sales. Here, she says the students killed at Kent State deserved what they got.

You think I'm kidding? Here are some of my "favorite" Ann Coulter quotes.

"Liberals hate America, they hate flag-wavers, they hate abortion opponents, they hate all religions except Islam, post 9/11. Even Islamic terrorists don't hate America like liberals do. They don't have the energy. If they had that much energy, they'd have indoor plumbing by now."

"These broads are millionaires, lionized on TV and in articles about them, reveling in their status as celebrities and stalked by griefparrazies. I have never seen people enjoying their husband's deaths so much." -on the 9/11 widows who were critical of the Bush administration

"I don't really like to think of it as a murder. It was terminating Tiller in the 203rd trimester. ... I am personally opposed to shooting abortionists, but I don't want to impose my moral values on others." --on the murder of Kansas abortion doctor George Tiller, FOX News interview, June 22, 2009

"You will find liberals always rooting for savages against civilization." –Ann Coulter
"They didn't root for the Nazis against civilization." –Bill O'Reilly
"Oh yes they did. ... It was only when Hitler invaded their precious Soviet Union that at the last minute they came in and suddenly started saying oh no, now you have to fight Hitler." –Ann Coulter, "The O'Reilly Factor," May 7, 2010

I wouldn't kill an abortionist myself, but I wouldn't want to impose my moral values on others. No one is for shooting abortionists. But how will criminalizing men making difficult, often tragic, decisions be an effective means of achieving the goal of reducing the shootings of abortionists? (3 June 2009)

Coulter: Every presidential assassination or attempted presidential assassination was committed by some sort of left-wing loon, communist, anarchist, communitarians, yes they were or they had no politics at all.
Joy Behar: The homegrown terrorists are also another group we have to worry about here.
Coulter: Okay but they're all liberals. (Joy Behar Show, 22 October 2009)

Listen to what Ann Coulter said about mobs and the Kent State killings:

--Quotes from WikiQuotes, GoodReads, and "Outrageous and Provocative Ann Coulter Quotes," collected by Daniel Kurtzman

PALIN WARNS BRITISH: PAUL REVERE IS COMING!

2011-06-07T14:45:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin explains that Paul Revere's purpose was to warn the British about "our well-armed persons individual private militias that we have." She's correcting an earlier statement, and still manages to get it wrong. Palin has a knack for holding our attention, and she parlays her mistake into even more "news." At the same time she's offended we're paying attention. For Palin, every question is a "gotcha!" question, and every accurate quote makes her look foolish. No, it's not a conspiracy against you, Sarah, it's just what happens when you blab at every passing camera and you happen to be as dumb as a mud fence.

Palin is the perfect TV creature, a telegenic airhead who must have evolved in a symbiotic relationship with the idiot box, always playing to the camera with a wink and a smirk. While most people's sound bites are merely the tip of the iceberg of a much larger thought, her "thoughts" are a perfect fit, tiny bite-size nuggets aimed for maximum impact. McLuhan would have immediately recognized Palin as the vapid clone of the cool medium: as deep as a flat-screen, as trashy as trash TV, and as dumb as a commercial whose idiot jingles stick in our collective consciousness time and again.

You'd think that if she were so worried about seeming stupid she might actually crack a book once in a while and prepare for her little speeches. She's entertaining, but imagine her running the most powerful country on earth with that little "the dog ate my homework" smirk on her face and her ability to blame everyone else for making her look so stupid.

In case you missed it, here is the original gaffe:

Just for the record, Paul Revere didn't ring bells or fire shots. He was riding to warn the rebels that the British were coming -- not to warn the British "that they weren't going to be taking away our arms." But you knew that.

UPDATE: We can't leave well enough alone, so here's Stephen Colbert on Sarah Palin's history lesson about Paul Revere:

The Colbert Report
Tags: Colbert Report Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,Video Archive

VANCOUVER!

2011-06-02T15:21:00.000-07:00

You have to see this video about Vancouver. It's unbelievably terrible. Vancouver is a beautiful city nestled between the Coast Range and the Pacific Ocean, a jewel on the lower mainland of British Columbia, but you wouldn't know it from this dorky mess. It's a great place to spend the weekend exploring Chinatown, Granville Island, Gastown and Stanley Park. You can enjoy the Vancouver Folk Festival at Jericho Beach (July 15, 16, 17), drink micro-beer in Yaletown, have a wholesome hippie breakfast in Kitsilano, lose your head at the Cannabis Cafe, and join the stylish throngs shopping on Robson Street. It's a great place to celebrate your birthday with a glass of absinthe, a Cuban cigar and someone you love. Vancouver is a lot of fun. Visit the city, skip the video. Some things are so bad they're good, but this is worse. There is little ironic joy to be found here. It's embarrassing. See what you think. And what's that float plane going to crash into?

THE ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT HOUR

2011-05-31T16:26:00.000-07:00

It's hard to beat the Beatles in concert. The sound systems were primitive, the girls were screaming, the lads could barely hear themselves play, but the thrill of their live show couldn't be matched. This was definitely not a Vic Damone concert. Sound systems would improve over the years and the lads would soon retreat to the studios to create artistic masterpieces, but this catches them at a transitional period in 1966, Revolver-era Beatles, a time of rocking riffs and soaring harmonies.

This show was recorded July 1st, 1966, in Tokyo, on their last tour before they dove into the studio for good. Nobody had heard such a joyous sound.

Here's the setlist:
Rock & Roll Music 1:13
She's a Woman 2:45
If I Needed Someone 5:59
Day Tripper 8:55
Baby's in Black 11:58
I Feel Fine 14:33
Yesterday 17:05
I Wanna Be Your Man 19:30
Nowhere Man 21:59
Paperback Writer 24:23
I'm Down 27:04
End of concert 29:10
Credits 29:45

ROAD TRIP!

2011-05-28T07:43:00.000-07:00

Hitchhiking is neither an art nor a science, but something that requires stamina and maybe a good luck charm. I wouldn't recommend it to any but the stouthearted. To hitch, you need to throw comfort out the window, overcome your fear of strangers, and get used to standing in the rain and singing every song you ever heard. I've hitched all up and down the west coast, down California into Mexico, across Oregon, Idaho, Utah and Arizona. I've even hitched in upstate New York. Still, I'm far from an expert, and when I've thumbed I've relied on luck as much as anything. I don't hitch anymore, and not because it's more dangerous nowadays, but because I've gone soft. I'm spoiled by comfort and would rather get somewhere quickly and sleep in a bed, then get somewhere slowly, if at all, and sleep on the roadside or under a bridge en route. Ha ha. But the ghost of Jack Kerouac, er, Sal Paradise, is still out there hitching with Dean Moriarty and they're are still plenty of kicks to go around. Plenty of folks without the dough still have adventures on the road. Suit yourself. Gas is expensive. We may all be hitching soon!

DARK GIRLS

2011-05-27T07:50:00.000-07:00

Dark Girls: Preview from Bradinn French on Vimeo.

It's a shame that society defines beauty so narrowly, and that children absorb what society considers to be beautiful. A certain look--skin, hair, body-type--is foisted upon us in commercials, billboards, magazines, advertisements, television shows, films, and videos--and it's not easy to shake it off and be proud of yourself when you "know" what beauty is supposed to look like.

The film clip is from an upcoming documentary exploring the deep-seated biases and attitudes about skin color---particularly dark skinned women, outside of and within the Black American culture. This film was directed by Bill Duke and D. Channsin Berry.