Gone on Vacation

For the next couple of weeks, I will be in the Land of Irie watching doctor birds and twinkling stars to a soundtrack of gentle, lapping waves and some righteous reggae. I leave it to you all to keep the earth rotating in my absence.

Eye Candy & Raw Meat For Tortured Souls

Now, ladies and germs, get ready for a wonderfully unique entry into the Lefty Blogosphere entitled "Meanwhile, back at the ranch" which ever so artfully combines a punky, uber-cool visual aesthetic with a compelling mixture of thoughtful and caustic narratives. Carnival of Horror patrons - being the disturbed individuals you are - will dig it mightily. Bring your own bottle.

the NeoCon Looting of Iraq (and you & me)

What follows is a Suburban Guerilla post Susie copped from Washington Monthly

When Jay Garner tried to hire well-regarded experts who had real experience with reconstruction plans, he was turned down because they were too "liberal." When Garner was abruptly replaced by Paul Bremer, Bremer staffed the CPA with inexperienced ideologues recruited from the Heritage Foundation. Foreign contractors were banned from Iraq out of pique, regardless of whether they were the best qualified. Unions were trampled and ignored because they didn't fit the privatization agenda. Naomi Klein, who traveled to Iraq last year to report on the reconstruction for Harper's, found Bremer pursuing plans for Iraq that were so outlandish they tested even her well-known skills for hyperbole.

Posted at 8:38 AM |Click Here for Link| by Susan


Now read this reply from quixote to see up close & personal how it's done:

Yesterday, I read how it was going to take up to $90 billion to rebuild Iraq. Bremer was shooting out numbers about how much it was going to cost to replace buildings and bridges and electricity, etc.

Listen to this little anecdote. One of my cousins works in a prominent engineering company in Baghdad- we’ll call the company H. This company is well-known for designing and building bridges all over Iraq. My cousin, a structural engineer, is a bridge freak. He spends hours talking about pillars and trusses and steel structures to anyone who’ll listen.

As May was drawing to a close, his manager told him that someone from the CPA wanted the company to estimate the building costs of replacing the New Diyala Bridge on the South East end of Baghdad. He got his team together, they went out and assessed the damage, decided it wasn’t too extensive, but it would be costly. They did the necessary tests and analyses (mumblings about soil composition and water depth, expansion joints and girders) and came up with a number they tentatively put forward- $300,000. This included new plans and designs, raw materials (quite cheap in Iraq), labor, contractors, travel expenses, etc.

Let’s pretend my cousin is a dolt. Let’s pretend he hasn’t been working with bridges for over 17 years. Let’s pretend he didn’t work on replacing at least 20 of the 133 bridges damaged during the first Gulf War. Let’s pretend he’s wrong and the cost of rebuilding this bridge is four times the number they estimated- let’s pretend it will actually cost $1,200,000. Let’s just use our imagination.

A week later, the New Diyala Bridge contract was given to an American company. This particular company estimated the cost of rebuilding the bridge would be around- brace yourselves- $50,000,000 !!
quixote | Homepage | 04.11.05 - 10:18 am | #

War certainly pays well for some, doesn't it?

the "it" in "getting it"

I've traded a few correspondences with a fascinating fellow who goes by the name of Spartacus, and can say without a doubt This guy gets it. "And what 'it' is that?" you ask. Well, the it refers not only to the severity of what has befallen our country - the post-Constitutional mayhem which exclusively serves a Fascist Oligarchy - but the reality of the epic struggle we face in attempting to reclaim that which we have allowed to slip through our fingers. He's given me a great deal of food for thought during our brief acquaintance.

We have fallen down a very, very deep well. Pardon me for sounding pedantic, but nowhere near enough of us have yet come to terms with the fact that this struggle is generational in nature. Although I recognize effective resistance is not a numbers game, nonetheless, numbers are not insignificant to the battle. Perhaps, more people are starting to realize, as my colleague LarryE said recently, "It's a lifetime gig." I hope so. Even for a firebrand like me, this realization is both frightening and liberating.

As I mentioned my previous post, we would do well to stop thinking of every upcoming election as an end unto itself. Although traditional institutions are only part of the equation in our struggle, a disproportionate emphasis on short-term objectives makes institutional reform virtually impossible - and we need all the help we can get.

Damn, I'm reeling & rattling with a nasty chest cold, so, quick, before this Nyquil kicks in (yeah, I know... I'm too late), where was I???

Oh, yeah. Recommending you bookmark Spartacus' oddly named blog, Skookum... because, well, as I think you'll see, he gets it.

Street Fighters vs. Pointyheads

Thanks to my friend, Hugo Zoom, for the following heads up:

Here's a spot-on analysis of what might be called establishment Dems vs. populist Dems as posted by John Emerson of Seeing The Forest, who states, among other things...

I think that the collegiality of academia, combined with excessive doses of Orwell and Gandhi, tend to incapacitate academics for the kind of gutter fighting you need when you're facing Rush Limbaugh, Karl Rove, and Grover Norquist. I think that the habits and ways characteristic of academic institutions are the problem, and I think that many of these habits and ways are also characteristic of the various other kinds of large institutions where Democrats tend to make their careers. The Republicans hire semi-criminal entrepreneurs, and it works for them.

Me being me, I added my two cents in the comments, preserved here as follows:

There hasn't been a functional, formidable Left since the seventies. The Democratic Party has been run by the same accommodationist chumps for the last twenty-five years or longer, and that doesn't hold up well in a climate of Fascism.

The populist Left ceded power to the collegial go-along-to-get-along types for a few reasons, among them: (1.) we're lazy; (2.) we were waaaay late in appreciating our opponent's trends toward extremism; (3.) we responded to the radicalization of our opponents by appeasement; (4.) we lost hope in populism as a political force; (5.) we're fucking lazy.

There is a reactive, defensive animus by establishment Dems toward its own rank & file, yet the Republican establishment is literally comprised of its rank & file members. Tom Delay and his pals are crazy as a headful o'bats, but no one can say they fail to fairly represent the crazy constituents. By contrast, Congressional Dems say "Screw the constituency. We're here as a mitigating force to Republican dogma." Of course, they've failed miserably in that capacity, but we keep sending back the same bleeding roosters for more abuse. Institutional ideology takes a great deal of time and effort to change, and we're only now begining to recognize the task at hand.

I don't buy the pendulum theory, and I think too many of us either still do or did until recently. That pendulum will swing when we push it hard, and not a moment before.

We're also guilty of DLC-style, short-term thinking in which we confine strategies to the next one or two elections. This has to stop. Until we recognize long-term change very often comes at the expense of short-term objectives and adapt a "no pain, no gain" approach to politics, we might as well resign ourselves to having essentially zero representation.

Our weenie Dems can barely defeat Republicans, and they certainly can't withstand coordinated assaults from their own rank & file. What is the mantra by Republicans about Republicans: "He/She is not conservative enough."

Of all our challenges, the greatest one is not the Republican Party nor its corporate media arm, but our very own Beltway insiders. When enough of us realize this, we'll make a compelling case for change. Only then do we stand a fighting chance.
Arvin Hill | Email | Homepage | 04.12.05 - 8:20 pm | #

Whether I'm right or wrong, anyone with a set of firing synapses knows the status quo is untenable unless we're happy to live the rest of our days with the knobby boot of Fascism pressed against our throats. I'll take my chances on a radically different strategy.

Pot to Kettle: Rummy's Laughable Warning

Nevermind the bloodshed (Militants Kill One, Injure Three) during Rummy's latest trip to Iraq.

From the Department of Unmitigated Gall:

Rumsfeld warns Iraqis against cronyism

BAGHDAD U.S. Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, on a surprise visit to Iraq, warned the country’s leaders on Tuesday against political purges and cronyism that could spark ‘‘lack of confidence or corruption in government".

He said the United States also opposed any move to delay the political schedule in Iraq, which includes drafting a new constitution by mid-August and elections in December.

After meeting Rumsfeld, Iraq’s recently named prime minister, moderate Islamist Ibrahim Jaafari, said he would fight corruption in the transitional government.

‘‘I don’t deny that there are challenges,’’ Jaafari told reporters after the brief meeting.

‘‘I am sure we are going to form very good ministries. All of them (workers) they are good technocrats. They are very effective from different backgrounds. So I think we can cooperate, all of us, and face these challenges successfully.’’

Rumsfeld’s ninth visit to Iraq since the 2003 invasion came as the U.S. military hopes to cut troop numbers there next year, as long as Iraqi security forces continue to improve.

‘‘The presence of (U.S.) security forces is not going to be something that is going to go on forever,’’ he told reporters on his military transport plane that flew direct from Washington.

Look no further than the Rummy's supposed boss for evidence cronyism works just swell in the United States. It seems cruel to deprive the Iraqis of such a useful tool.

"Now watch this purge."

Onward, Christian Soldiers

Isn't it just adorable the terms Christian, Christian extremist or Christian terrorist don't appear anywhere in this story? After witnessing the spectacle of necro-dominionists mugging for the TV cameras during the recent Terri Schiavo soap opera, no one should doubt for a second there are many, many more Eric Rudolphs where this one came from.

MONTGOMERY, Ala. - Eric Rudolph has agreed to plead guilty to carrying out the deadly bombing at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics and setting off three other blasts in a deal that allows the anti-government extremist to escape the death penalty, the Justice Department said Friday.

“The many victims of Eric Rudolph’s terrorist attacks ... can rest assured that Rudolph will spend the rest of his life behind bars,” Attorney General Alberto Gonzales said in a statement from Washington.

...Rudolph, thought to be a follower of a white supremacist religion that is anti-abortion, anti-gay and anti-Semitic, was charged with carrying out a series of blasts in Georgia and Alabama in the late 1990s that killed two people and injured more than 120.

I oppose the death penalty, but that doesn't keep me from wondering if Rudolph was spared because his fellow extremists are running the Great American Freak Show.


Come to think of it, there is no reason to wonder. If Eric Rudolph's politics were closer to mine, I don't doubt for a second the ghouls in charge would make damn sure he was executed.

Empire Burlesque

From Jonathan Schwarz, whose blog always delights, I learn my favorite journalist Chris Floyd - a real diamond in the rough - has entered the wonderful world o'blogs by way of "Empire Burlesque". This guy must be read to be believed, and will be much appreciated by anyone who reveres the spirit of true journalism.

Welcome to the 'sphere, Chris.

Blogger: Will They Save It In Time?

I've worked in the IT industry and know what it means when server city goes south. For some reason, though, this has been of little comfort in recent weeks. Google is up to its goddamn eyeballs in cash, yet God only knows how many thousands (or more) of us are left paralyzed or worse still, enraged, at losing work or being unable to indulge in our favorite obsessions.

For what it's worth, it seems to be working today, but I know some have tried posting comments recently only to find they wasted time and energy in the process. Apologies to those of you for whom this description fits.

As much as I hate the prospect of moving to more technically reliable gig, I have every intention of doing so should the mythical Google-ites find themselves incapable of resolving the server issues. I'm a lone wolf, and a small one, at that, but I'm also a vengeful one when crossed. As such, I'll dedicate my waking hours to making sure the G-Myth does not go unrefuted. (Petty? Sure it is, but what can I say? In a repressive regime at the helm of a failed economy, I have the time to make a nuisance of myself.) Conversely, should the techies prevail in a heroic way, I will hail them as the saviors of All Things Good and Wise. Then again, mine is not exactly a departure from the way IT operates in every other enterprise. I'm hoping for the latter. Godspeed, you black emperors!

In the meantime, pending confirmed resolution, should any of you care to check if the comments are working before posting on anything appearing before or after this post, feel free to leave a comment here.

The Sound of Dictatorship

Okay, here's the deal. I can't play guitar worth a damn, but digital audio is a whole 'nother story. We probably need to invent a new category - Electronica Politica or something equally exotic. All vocals are George W. Bush - the man, the legend, the fascist pig.

It's a 5 megabyte MP3 which runs about two minutes and ten seconds. Guaranteed to be a smash at your next party with or without your drug(s) of choice.


Originally, I planned to do a full length MP3, but it would've run at least ten minutes, so I decided instead to do a suite. This would be the second installment of several, but it's the only one I have completed and don't know if I'll ever get around to turning the remaining songs into a finished product, assuming I get around to it all.

Now, what the hell should I do with the damn thing? I can't sell it and probably wouldn't anyway, though I might not object to a purely voluntary donation. Considering all the soliciting that goes on in Blog Land (which I'll admit - and please don't clobber me for saying so - is kind of a touchy subject with me), I seriously doubt anyone would see fit to volunteer their hard-earned dough for my effort, even if it did take me countless hours to create a mere two minutes and ten seconds of danceable counter-revolutionary audio. It would be nice to make a few paltry bucks on it if only to spring for a bona fide website, but even that is a half-assed aspiration. After all, it's a gem and I already have it. Sharing it would just be icing on the cake.

Still, Dictator-Rag.MP3 is the sound of contemporary American dissidence. People who dig the visceral graphics and caustic commentary at The Carnival of Horror would undoubtedly appreciate it. I sure as hell don't want to sign it over to some audio hosting corporation, and being on an antique baud rate via dial-up, I can't distribute it by e-mail. With CD's being cheap, I reckon I could get a short-leased private postal box and just do the whole thing by snail mail... but under that scenario, I would have to charge a fee and would definitely feel compelled to provide more than one song, even if it is a damn good one. (I'm thinking out loud here. It's probably evident by now what a sorry excuse for a capitalist I am, but should I become one in the course of this exercise, you can always say you knew me when I had some scruples.)

I will say this, though, if I make a thematic series of songs (and, incidentally, I do have enough material to do so) and go the snail mail route, I'll be shooting for a trip to Jamaica instead of simply expanding this site. Jamaica's a lot more fun than HTML, graphics and culture jamming... okay, well, maybe not culture jamming, but you know where I'm going with this.

In light of what I've revealed here and assuming it's all dead-on correct, what would YOU do? Thanks in advance for your suggestions, but it's a safe bet I won't be writing any checks to you in the future no matter how it turns out. You know I love you, but come on...

Denton Cool: Andaman Restaurant

Having bragged a time or two about not having advertising at The Carnival of Horror, it was inevitable an ad would appear and I would feel compelled to provide an explanation.

Cool is word I love and use as much or more than anybody else, but, damn, is it ever a corrupt one thanks to the evil genius of Madison Avenue's heirs. No one-syllable word worth a damn can survive the vultures of advertising, but cool was probably the first really great one to be co-opted and rendered virtually - but not completely - meaningless.

There are so few genuinely cool places in Denton, Texas, that I shout it from the rooftop when I encounter one. Such is the case with Andaman Thai Restaurant located downtown.

People living in Denton County (and Aubrey, Texas, in particular) occasionally encounter The Carnival of Horror - and there can be no doubt they're mostly mortified, offended and apoplectic with rage after a cursory look around. Nevertheless, I suspect a few of the more worldly ones (not a good choice of words, but "slightly more sophisticated" sounds really condescending) either like Thai cuisine or might be adventurous enough to give it a try. So I thought, what the hell, I'll throw 'em a bone and hope to Buddha I don't have to listen to 'em yammering at an adjacent table the next time I get a craving for Thai.

Mrs. Hill and I have eaten at two other Thai joints in Denton, but neither holds a candle to Andaman, an unassuming little place - at least from the outside - which opened a couple of months ago.

We often find ourselves dining out during the weekend between the lunch and dinner hours, and, for the most part, it's deserted no mattter where we go. Typically, we're either ignored by the staff and left to die by asphyxiation and dehydration, or we're unnecessarily rushed. Not so at Andaman, where the servers are attentive yet wonderfully laid back and friendly. I actually remember their names, and I can barely remember my own, so suffice to say the service is noteworthy.

I'm not the most extravagant carnie in the world, but I do appreciate a nice atmosphere when dining out; nothing too stuffy and nothing too sterile. I'll overlook ambience for good food, but it's always a relief not to have to make the sacrifice. Cool colors abound in this perfectly cool climate. Part of that ambience comes from the incredible music, which, as Carnival readers will surmise, is no small thing for a fading hipster like me.

Rather than playing the same damn warbly Thai pop tunes over and over again, the staff provides a playlist that is the envy of cool music afficionados. At the risk of spoiling the surprise, let me just say I have never eaten Thai - nor did I ever expect to eat Thai - while listening to Lou Reed serenade me with Taste the whip, and bleeeeeeed for me. I looked at Mrs. Hill, who is also cool, though not as cool as me, and said "Can you fucking believe this? Velvet Underground!" It's not all mad crazy - Tori Amos, Belle & Sebastian and The Smiths were as refreshing as the mango tea - but taken as a whole, the music adds much to an already great experience.

The food? Hands down the best Thai I've had anywhere. Spicey hot to perfection (there are entrees for those who can't take the heat, and the chef will happily turn the fire down on request). The vegetables taste as though they were harvested within seconds of being sliced and diced and folded into a vortex of classic Thai flavors which all simultaneously compete for the attention of your taste buds. Despite the generous portions, there won't be anything left by the time you're finished because it's nearly impossible to stop eating when the food is this good.

I'm embarassed to admit I've ordered the same damn thing all three times I've been there and have taken an oath to Zeus to try something different next time. Don't miss the crab cakes, which are indisputably the best I've tasted anywhere (easily deserving of a paragraph to themselves). Pity the fool with a peanut allergy, as the tangy dressing which comes with the crab cakes and house salad is off the charts. Thai Sweet Basil Chicken, or Kra Pow (also available with pork or beef) - the entree of my addiction - is the perfect blend of sweet basil, green bean, Thai chile pepper, ground chicken and garlic sautéed in a blissfully spicy sauce, with a cone of jasmine rice on the side. Mrs. Hill had the Pad Kee Mau with chicken and confirmed it was nothing less than sublime. Unlike me, she ordered a different entree each time and always proclaimed them the best ever. We each drank a gallon of tea, but I'm thrilled to report beer and wine is served - and, damn, does beer ever taste good with Thai (unfortunately, I can only rarely drink beer because of my problem with chronic headaches - woe is me). Considering the soundtrack and cool vibe, I would love to park my ass at a table for a whole evening and drink myself silly. Maybe I'd even get around to ordering dessert.

I always lack room for dessert by the end of the meal but tremble at the prospect of satisfying my sweet tooth at Andaman. On the second visit, our server, Sheryl, intimated the goodies are to die for. Our server on the last visit, Brista, could barely speak the words "poached banana in coconut cream" with her eyes open. (The staff is visibly infatuated with the entire menu, and you know I can spot a fake from a mile away). The next time I'm in Denton on a semi-full stomach, I have every intention of dropping in just for dessert.

Prices, as you can see from the link, are a bargain anywhere, but for a restaurant this good, they're pretty much unheard of. Considering the more than reasonable cost in light of everything else at Andaman, the patron who doesn't leave these cool servers a hot tip of twenty percent minimum is paving his or her own path to Hell. Being a den of Republicanism, there is no shortage of cheapshits Denton County, so I take some perverse pleasure in contemplating their fate.

Words cannot convey how cool it is we don't have to drive to Dallas or God forbid, Frisco or Plano, to subdue our cravings for fine Thai cuisine. It's almost enough to make me feel sorry for the Red State pods in those wretched places. Well, to be fair, Dallas has a cool neighborhood or two - but, despite many fine Thai restaurants, nothing on the level of Andaman.

So now you can see why I decided to break the rule about advertising on my horrific blog, and even went as far as designing a custom graphic incorporating Andaman's logo and adding a worthy tagline. Granted, it's not paid advertising - a restaurateur would have to be insane to advertise on this iconoclastic hellhole - but when real Cool makes itself known, it is not something one cares to part with - ever.

Ragged Glory

True to my word, I've been a bad, bad blogger in recent days. So I set out this morning to throw a log on the fire, scanning Google News in search of something worthy of barking in The Carnival.


As you marks are already well aware, I couldn't care less about The Pope or The Vatican or the millions of weirdos, Catholic and otherwise, putting on their choreographed show of wretched Jerry Bruckheimer-ish piety.

Next.

Third Infantry Division soldier awarded posthumous Medal of Honor. Well, what can ya say about that? Another American sacrificed on Bush's pyre of hate and conquest. Medal of Honor, wow. Those are pretty rare but we'll be seeing more in the years to come. How revealing of Bush's character that despite the circumstances of this man's death, our messianic monarch didn't feel compelled to attend Sgt. Paul Ray Smith's funeral. Pretending to cry is a difficult feat for even accomplished actors, so I suppose it is unfair to expect Bush to appear in such a somber setting.

"I get mad at him, because it's really not fair for him to be up there and I'm down here," laments the soldier's eleven-year old son. "It's like my best friend is gone now. I would rather have him back than have the Medal of Honor."

"Usually," said his eighteen-year old daughter, Jessica, "the father walks the bride down the aisle. And I'm not gonna have that. You know, I won't have him be there when I have grandchildren. He won't be there for my graduation."

"These people have turned cynicism into political art, routinely claiming in public to be supportive of children, education, veterans, and other popular constituencies, while maneuvering in the back rooms to gut budgets and programs that support these very constituencies. An especially disgusting example is Bush's recent gut job on the program that provides essential school aid for the children of our troops."

"Yes -- the very troops that he has put at ultimate risk to fulfill his war and oil fantasies in Iraq. In February, as gung-ho George was rallying the troops to go face death, his budget leaders were quietly pushing a plan to slash funding for a vital education program called Impact Aid. Created during the Truman years, this is a tried-and-true program that provides extra funding to local school districts that serve areas with large military bases."

Jim Hightower wrote these words for an article that appeared in The Austin Chronicle on April 4, 2003, the same day Sgt. Smith was killed by a bullet to the neck. This is how King George supports those on whom he calls to make "the ultimate sacrifice."

Next.

Peter Jennings and lung cancer. At long last, something he does as well as Edward R. Murrow.

What I will most remember about Jennings is listening to him first ignore and subsequently dismiss the many thousands of protestors who turned out for George W. Bush's first installation. As if the Bush v. Gore decision wasn't proof enough my country had just turned a dangerous corner, Peter Jennings' forced and fake portrayal of the inauguration provided the perfect soundtrack signaling a new role for the Fourth Estate: Propaganda for the Fascist Pig-archy. Chomsky would tell me the role was anything but new, and, of course, he's right; but the Golden Microphone took on a new character - more brazen and contemptuous of The Great Unwashed.

Jennings and the rest watched the United States Supreme Court install a president with no regard for votes cast or the rule of law we heard so much about during the Clinton years. It was a nakedly political decision made by shameless party hacks in black robes. News media icons briefly stood on the knife's edge before running back to the handle so they could thrust the blade into the soft, white belly of democracy.


"It's his day" he said of Boy King's inauguration. Of course, it was supposed to be our day - the people's day - but not in the haughty mind of Peter Jennings, whose gilded narrative was utterly disconnected from the tense, hostile scene being played out on my television. To the extent he acknowledged them at all, Jennings' voice dripped with disdain for the protestors. After that, I never once saw his mug or heard his voice that I didn't remember that sorry performance and all it portended.

Alas, poor Peter. He served the Fascist Pig-archy well, and he will continue to do just that until he's oh so poignantly dispatched from this mortal coil. See ya later, alligator.

Next.

"Neil Young" and "aneurysm" in the same sentence.

NEW YORK - Rock icon Neil Young left the hospital Monday and is recovering in New York after undergoing an operation last week for a brain aneurysm.

"The doctors said he is making excellent progress and expect a complete recovery," said Bob Merlis, publicist for the 59-year-old singer-songwriter.

The Toronto-born Young was scheduled to be the feature performer at Sunday night's Juno Awards gala in Winnipeg, the city where he met fellow rockers Randy Bachman and Burton Cummings and spent five formative years during the 1960s.

However, shortly after attending the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony in New York in mid-March, Young complained of blurred vision. An MRI scan revealed a dangerous brain aneurysm.

When I was a kid still listening to Motown, pop jingles of the time and the occasional hippie anthem, my brother Mike - the only brother I still have left - had a pale yellow Ford Ranger with an 8-track tape player. At eight years my senior, he was sulky and quiet, drug-addled and troubled, and he had little in common with his do-gooder kid brother. What bound us together, though was music. It was 1972 and I rode with him somewhere I've long since forgotten, but I'll never forget hearing "Don't Let It Bring You Down" for the first time. I was hopelessly hooked at ten years old. It was the lyrics which grabbed me and never let go. "White cane lying in the gutter in the rain, and you're walkin' home alone..."

People either get him or they don't. I never gave much thought to his voice, which, of course, is the first thing people who don't get him mention. It matched the lyrics and the varied sounds of his guitars, from folksy acoustic to the rusty ice pick which stabbed through my speakers' distorted signals.

I've long held him in high esteem because, as we used to put in days of old, I relate to him. The desire to immerse himself in everything. The periodic withdrawal into seclusion. The perfectionism. The reverence for Native American culture. An unabashed love of herb. The contradictions.


Neil Young is one of the few people I forgave for having an infatuation with Reagan, even though it pained me to learn my favorite rock legend could be just as short-sighted and vulnerable as everyone else. Still, it was a valuable lesson. He made up for it last year when he became an American citizen and campaigned against Bush. I've seen him a number of times and have often been surprised, even perplexed, by his performances. I never felt cheated no matter how much I paid for a ticket, even when I couldn't afford the luxury.

1983. Dallas, Texas. Fair Park Colliseum. He was kicking off the Trans tour there and it was my first time to see him in what was billed as an acoustic performance. It was to be my last rock and roll experience before going active in the Air Force and I was in a celebratory mood, though a little disappointed Crazy Horse wasn't there.

Trans marked his first foray into the world of digital music, and it was strange and exciting watching him program the instruments which would later accompany him on a revamped Mr. Soul. Neil didn't explain a thing to the audience. He just did it. We didn't know what the fuck he was doing. No one had seen a musician program anything onstage, and we were all genuinely confused, later to be stunned, by what we saw that night. Remarkably, I met his dad in the crush of the exiting crowd and he asked me what I thought of "Neil's new stuff." Shaking his hand, I answered "Beats the hell outta me but it was a great show." Critics hated the album. I loved it. Trans was on my Sony Walkman at every opportunity during basic training, and it was just the thing to alleviate my swollen feet, shin splints and aching heart.

I would see him several more times over the years, and I'm glad he'll be around to Roll Another Number For The Road.

Take an hour

Assuming you can tear yourself from the incessant coverage of Pope!!!, do not miss the following virtual conversation between Phil Rockstroh, John Steppling and Joe Bageant:

The Ghost In The Hologram courtesy of Swans

This is not the stuff of casual surfing. Bookmark it or print it out for later after the buzzer signals the start of your quality time.

Related Carnival of Horror post(s): Great Writing: Joe Bageant

Later, Dude

Pope prepares for final departure
Not to be rude, but I'm Death Watch!'d out, if you know what I mean.

Next media spectacle, please...

Hits: What they mean - and don't

I'm doing pretty good to get thirty or forty hits a day on this blog. Anyone with a stat counter who says they don't care about numbers is lying, although I use mine more for information about referring URL's than anything else. And as much as I enjoy the rush from a mention here or there - and I did when I got 218 hits the day before yesterday - it's a short-lived cheap thrill.

When the numbers plummet back into the low double-digits, rather than feeling disappointed, I feel relief. "Good, they're gone. Now I can get back to being reckless, feckless and free from the constraints of prying eyes." The regular marks are the ones that count, for they - you - occasionally glean something of value from my irreverant musings, even if it's just something to scoff at.

I don't really aspire to much with this blog. Considering where I live, it would make a lousy resume for all but the rowdiest places, and I can't ever see me deciding to have banner ads or sponsorship. It's just this strange little creation which contributes more to my sanity than detracting from it, and as long as this is so, I'll be here. I've started a novel, and if my posting seems less frequent, it's because I need to take the project seriously and finish it just to prove to myself I can. I won't measure success in terms of publishing, but completion.

Blogging about blogging is mostly a bore, so I promise not to do much of that, but I probably will be deviating *somewhat* from the usual & customary targets and the general routine. Maybe not, though. I could be too obsessed to lower the bow and set my sights on anything other than the criminals tearing America apart like wild dogs savaging livestock. They're awfully hard to ignore, even for a little while.

To the regulars - old and new, and even you out there who never leave a comment but stop by with some frequency - thanks for adding to the fun of the experience, and giving me some food for thought from time to time. I continue to make friends and new acquaintances - people I can learn from and commiserate with - and that's really the icing on the cake.