The common and continual mischiefs of the spirit of party are sufficient to make it the interest and duty of a wise people to discourage and restrain it.
-George Washington-
Thursday, October 11, 2007
American Asshole : September
That's pretty much what I thought with each and every one of these:
Bill O'Reilly: If someone had shouted "Motherfucker", they'd have been looking at you, not the waitress.
O.J. Simpson: I know you know how to hire a lawyer. (1)
Sgt. James Kuehnlein: I have to wonder if there really is as much crime in America as we think. (watch the video to see what I mean) (2) Gen. David Petraeus: Gosh, Wally, you wouldn't give me the business, would you?
Sgt. Tom Lovejoy: Why is it so easy to find cops for this thing each month?
Scott D. Clark: I don't even know what to say about this asshole. (1)
As always, one vote per in the comments. Anonymous votes are NOT counted!
Winner goes on to the American Asshole Yearly Pageant.
If you see someone in the news you think is just a plain, simple asshole, feel free to send me a link! I'll entertain all nominations, but retain the right of final say.
You get a hysterectomy and I'll get a poll, honey.
Well, the last poll has died off, most definitively. All respondents were underwhelmed with sympathy for people who jumped right on the iPhone bandwagon so that they could have the bragging rights, only to be dismayed when the price was drastically cut a few months later, making them appear to be the schlubs that they are.
Now, normally the comments go bye-bye when I change polls, but starting this time around I will post them in a follow-up post so that they are preserved for posterity. Why wasn't I doing this before, you ask? Because I didn't think of it and you didn't suggest it, that's why. Here they are.
I tend to agree. Why did people jump on it right away? Because they couldn't live without it's functions? Doubtful. People jump on these things to be the first on their block to have it, and part of being first is saying to the world "I can afford to ge this right away and not wait for the discounted price."
I don't think they should get a refund because they're idiots, but I think it's a good PR idea to give them one in order to keep them as future (idiot) customers. And I shouldn't call them idiots -- if they have the money to throw away, good for them!
It is a good business move to cave a little, so I don't blame them. But if they have the money to throw away as you say, they shouldn't be whining now, and if they DON'T have the money to throw away, shame on them for having to be the first on the block to have the damn thing.
Anyway, it's time to reset the poll. This week's is a little more serious. The news item it refers to is here, and the poll is in the sidebar.
See how efficient it still is, how it keeps itself in shape— our century's hatred. How easily it vaults the tallest obstacles. How rapidly it pounces, tracks us down.
It's not like other feelings. At once both older and younger. It gives birth itself to the reasons that give it life. When it sleeps, it's never eternal rest. And sleeplessness won't sap its strength; it feeds it.
One religion or another - whatever gets it ready, in position. One fatherland or another - whatever helps it get a running start. Justice also works well at the outset until hate gets its own momentum going. Hatred. Hatred. Its face twisted in a grimace of erotic ecstasy.
Oh these other feelings, listless weaklings. Since when does brotherhood draw crowds? Has compassion ever finished first? Does doubt ever really rouse the rabble? Only hatred has just what it takes.
Gifted, diligent, hard-working. Need we mention all the songs it has composed? All the pages it has added to our history books? All the human carpets it has spread over countless city squares and football fields?
Let's face it: it knows how to make beauty. The splendid fire-glow in midnight skies. Magnificent bursting bombs in rosy dawns. You can't deny the inspiring pathos of ruins and a certain bawdy humor to be found in the sturdy column jutting from their midst.
Hatred is a master of contrast- between explosions and dead quiet, red blood and white snow. Above all, it never tires of its leitmotif - the impeccable executioner towering over its soiled victim.
It's always ready for new challenges. If it has to wait awhile, it will. They say it's blind. Blind? It has a sniper's keen sight and gazes unflinchingly at the future as only it can.
Artists have discussed the relative power of all mankind’s emotions for centuries. In poetry and song love is usually ascribed the most power, the ability to conquer all. Those emotions we consider negative always lose to hope, compassion, and faith. In her poem “Hatred” (1993), however, Wislawa Szymborska claims that the title emotion is ultimately strongest, and she makes her point with a series of metaphors.
Szymborska’s first characterization of hatred comes in the form of a hunter chasing its prey. Hatred easily “vaults the tallest obstacles” (4) and rapidly “pounces, tracks us down” (5). This comparison, like all that follow, is incomplete, however. Does a wolf hate the rabbit it hunts? Not at all; it merely pursues the rabbit for its own survival. Hatred, likewise, needs us to survive. It cannot exist without people to feel it, and thus feed it.
The next aspect is subtly different. Hatred is still running, but is now racing against the other emotions, as if at a track meet. Szymborska sees hatred as the favorite that fills the stands and always wins. This is easy to see – many people have never felt love, compassion, or pity. How many people on Earth, aside from very young children, have never hated?
The succeeding metaphors stack up like a staircase, all bound by a common idea and leading to another. Hatred is now seen as various types of artists. As a composer, hatred writes songs, most likely stirring national anthems and battle hymns. History books are filled with hateful, patriotic prose. Hatred paints, sculpts, and even tells the occasional dark, twisted joke. Szymborska doesn’t see randomness, however, but repeatedly points up hatred’s motif. Besides “fire-glow” (36) in dark skies and “bursting bombs in rosy dawns," Szymborska paints this picture of hatred’s style:
Hatred is a master of contrast- between explosions and dead quiet, red blood and white snow. (41)
As most artists develop a signature style, so hatred works in contrasts. Brightness against darkness, blasts breaking silence, the violence of spilled blood framed by the white purity of clean, fresh snow are all examples of hatred’s creation. With this illustration, Szymborska leads us to see how hatred prefers to use its canvas – to set opposites against each other.
True hatred, that is, hatred not rooted in greed, lust, revenge, or ambition, always involves opposites. People of different races will hate each other for no other reason than white skin against black. Having a different religion than someone else is a tried and true way to inspire hatred. A different culture is often enough to inspire hatred, or the difference between rich verses poor. This is the simplest, purest, most terrifying type of hatred, as it is immune to both opposing emotions and any form of logic. It simply exists for its own sake, and as Szymborska points out, “gives birth itself to the reasons that give it life.” (8) After all, does a racist admit that it is the skin color he hates, or are there a litany of things wrong with “those people” that he’ll claim is the real issue?
Taking all of these symbols together – hunter, racer, composer, writer, painter – Szymborska creates an image of hatred as the greatest overachiever in the emotional realm. Hatred is the fastest, the most effective, the most motivated, and, ironically, the most destructively creative of all the emotions. While it may, on occasion, take a back seat to gentler emotions temporarily, Szymborska sees it looking to the future sharply, assured of ultimate victory.
I've just returned from a great weekend outing in what is probably one of the most beautiful locations in America, if not the world - Sedona, Az.
I'd heard of Sedona before, but not paid much attention to it. I was actually looking for a nearby Mose Allison concert, with full knowledge that I would probably have to take a road trip. I was just hoping to find something within a state or two. His website showed that my only chance to see Mose would be at the 2007 Sedona Jazz Fesival. Once I looked that up I saw that Stanley Jordan would be playing on the same stage that afternoon, and I was sold.
The drive to Flagstaff from Albuquerque is, in a word, dull. It's scenic enough, I suppose, the first time you make the trip, and the Petrified Forest is pretty cool the first time you see it, but the novelty of it wears off pretty quickly. Once I headed south and got off of route 17 and onto 89A, it was instant wooded wonderland. About 15 miles further, you start getting scenery that's more like this.
I took a lot of pictures, but I'm still using that old fashioned film stuff and they aren't ready yet. Actually, they aren't out of the camera yet. These are places I recognize, however.
Anyway, the town itself is a gorgeous little place nesteled in a nook of a canyon amongst this splendor. I didn't get to spend a lot of time checking out the town or the surrounding area because my traveling companion's financial and family situations required a shorter stay than initially planned. I saw enough to be impressed, however. Anyone who is into hiking or biking would love this place. There's a lot of new age stuff here, as well - if you want your chi realigned or a good psychic reading, this is the place. We kept seeing signs for "Vortex Tours" all over the place, which made us wonder. We didn't ask anyone about it because we were afraid they might tell us, but I looked it up when I got back. It seems there are four locations around Sedona that are credited with having some type of energy phenomena. One is at a site called Bell Rock, which was very close to our hotel.
That's Bell Rock, which looks just like a bell if you look at it for two days wanting it to look just like a bell.
I will definitely return for some camping and hiking, and perhaps the next jazz festival if it's as good as this one. That will be tough, however.
It was held on the golf course at the Radisson. We were running late, mainly because of Amber's nocturnal tendencies, but also because we went shopping for the day and because of the shuttle program. All of the literature and the website for the fest said quite plainly that there was NO onsite parking. Everyone must park at one of many remote sites and take a free shuttle. Going to the site across the street, we saw nothing but a few kids who said that the next shuttle would be 45 minutes to two hours. We chose to go to the next shuttle site and see what happened. When we got to the church parking lot, the shuttle was there, so Amber hopped out and established that they has space. They told her they would wait. We went to look for a parking spot and while we searched in vain for parking, the shuttle took off! Bastards.
We ended up driving to the Radisson, driving right past the parking lot guards without so much as a by-your-leave, and parked onsite anyway. We actually walked past the shuttle as it prepared to disembark, and beat the lousy church bastards at their own game.
The event was small - no more than a few thousand people, and the lawn seat folks were scattered all over . We sat fairly far back, by a water hazard with a willow tree for shade, and a straight shot at the stage a couple of hundred feet away, which was just fine. Until Stanley Jordan came on, of course.
There had been an open grass area in front of the stage, leaving about 40 feet between the stage and the people who payed too much money to sit in a plastic chair. When Stanley came on, that area, which security had been keeping clear, began to fill up with photographers, myself included. We just stayed there, and I ended up watching Stanley from about five feet back, with absolutely no one between us. I got what I hope will be some great shots, and saw - for the first and only time - someone play a guitar and a piano simultaneously.
As you might remember from this recent post, Stanley plays guitar by the tapping method which allows incredible versatility with the instrument. He plays it, in fact, very much like a piano. I learned on Saturday that he plays his solos with his right hand and supports the rhythm with his left. He sat at the piano wearing his guitar over his shoulder and soloed on the piano with his right hand while playing backgrounds with his left (oh, and he did have the band I was hoping for!). Then, after a good solo, he switched hands and played a solo on the guitar while supporting it on the piano with his left hand. All within the framework of the song.
Since I don't have my photos yet, I will post this video of Stanley to illustrate. He doesn't have a piano in this clip, but he is playing two guitars throughout this clip, and that is basically the same thing, the way he does it. Isn't this the most amazing thing you've ever seen?
After awhile I went back to our site and gave Amber a chance to go see him up close. She said that she almost cried just from watching him.
Next came Mose, and we were ready. We'd grabbed all of our stuff and sat on the edge of the front area, since security had removed everyone. At first, there was some confusion, with people being told that we had to stay behind the white line at the back of that area. I figured it would become a free-for-all once Mose started, anyway. Then security came back with a new order - everyone had to be IN FRONT of the line, so as not to bother the plastic-seat people. Well, okay, we said, and we ended up right in front again! The sun had gotten into a tricky position for photos, but I was sitting about 15 feet from Mose Allison while he performed! That is pretty damn close to Heaven, as far as I am concerned. After a smoking set during which he played a lot of my favorites (including both of the songs that I posted last year right here) I was able to skate around the back of the stage for an autograph. Once they announced that he'd be signing items at the CD booth, I made a beeline to get a poster for the event. I got that signed, too.
Now, I'm still a little beat (not enough sleep, the cats really wanted my attention last night!) but walking on clouds. Bo Diddley is no longer the only legend I've met and shaken hands with - now I can brag on Mose, too. If you ever get a chance to see either of these guys, you'd be a plain damn fool not to do it, and I can heartily recommend Sedona, Az. to anyone who appreciates a quiet setting and the best in natural beauty.
Thirteen (out of dozens) Songs by Mose Allison Covered by Other Artists.
A lot of people haven't heard Mose, despite the fact that he's been in the business for 50+ years! I'll bet each and every one of you knows at least one of these versions, though.
1- I'm Not Talkin' - The Bangles
2- Look Here - The Clash
3- Your Mind is On Vacation - Elvis Costello
4- Young Man Blues - The Who
5- Stop This World - Diana Krall
6- No Trouble Livin' - Van Morrison (He's done a BUNCH of Mose's tunes.)
7- Top Forty - Robert Palmer
8- Your Molecular Structure- Maria Muldaur
9- Everybody's Cryin' Mercy - Bonnie Raitt (among several others)
10- Parchman Farm - Hot Tuna (Mose's site lists 14 covers of this tune. Johnny Winter, Rick Derringer and the Kingston Trio also did it)
11- I'm Smashed - Leon Russell
12- Middle Class White Boy - Roy Rogers
13- Foolkiller - Johnny Rivers (He's the guy who sang "Secret Agent Man")
Meanwhile, I'm psyched because I'll soon hear many of these tunes sung by the original artist. Can't wait!
And as I have made abundantly clear, modern rock stopped commanding my attention at least a decade ago. There's only so long people can feed you shit about Nirvana being meaningful and Pearl Jam being original before you seek originality and meaning in other forms. (And no, this is not an opportunity to convince me how great that stuff is. This is an entirely subjective matter, after all, and I have listened too recently - thanks to friends- for fresh ears to make a difference, which they sometimes do.) Therefore, there could be plenty of young artists singing angry, indignant songs for a target audience who are at an age where studies show they won't bother to vote anyway. She seems to have found an example or two to post since then.
She reminded me of a couple of things, though, so I figured I'd share.
First, she reminded me of a video clip I downloaded a couple of years ago. It was from the Tonight show, and featured a fellow named Bright Eyes (not to be confused with Charlton Heston) and attracted my attention with the song title - When the President Talks to God. I'll reverse my usual "the music is more important than the lyrics" attitude for this song for two reasons. One, the lyrics are truly spot-on in their criticisms, and two, the music isn't much at all. It's basically there to keep this thing from being a poem.
Although I have it in storage, I'm posting the YouTube clip because it's the same clip and it's way easier to post this way.
The second thing I remembered is the fact that Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young toured last year with a couple of new protest songs. Man, it's nice to know that some of the old-timers can still be counted on, eh? The songs were Shock and Awe and the more subtly titled Let's Impeach the President. As I didn't actually have anything from that tour (my CSNY pro-shot DVD from the early 70s was quite satisfying overall) I went in search of it. It didn't take that long to find an audience recording that the people in the comments were raving about, so I climbed on board the torrent, which turned out to be without a doubt the slowest download of my collecting career. If not, I'd have posted this last weekend. I finally got it, though, and ended up with a listenable audience recording to share. It is nowhere near deserving the raves it got (if this is truly what these folks call a stellar aud. recording, my collection could enlighten them quite a bit) but I have a lot of recordings in my collection that are a lot worse. When listening to these songs, just close your eyes and pretend that you're listening from a naked heap of hippies in one of the rearmost mud puddles at Woodstock. I've had some happy moments imagining that.
For accuracy's sake, however, these cuts come from the Tweeter Center in Camden, NJ on July 6, 2006.
