Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Of Course We'll Get Fooled Again

Finding Acceptance

 

To the kids out there: you get to be my age, moving house is one of the hardest things you can do. 

Especially when you're closing out 35 years in your owner-built home at 8,000' in the southern Rockies and trading it in for a house in a town 1500 miles away, with a yard and everything. Sure, my old desk is here at the new digs, and now I have one of those laptop thingies so anywhere can be my desk I suppose, but did I mention old?  

Savvy readers have noticed the absence of fresh writings here since mid-July, when in an hardly rare outburst of braggadocio I stated that "(y)ou need a pajama-wearing guitar player pundit sometimes, I've often found, to vigorously clench the scimitar of the obvious, and at that I remain your humble servant." Then I took 5 months off to move and get settled, neglecting those very needs for which inflated self-importance serves me in good stead as muse and confidant. But enough about me. How about you? Did you miss me? 


I have managed to work through the stages of grief in the interim. For those who hadn't yet grieved from MSNBC lovin' the escalator in May 2015 to Trumpism usurping airtime away from reportage and thoughtful analysis to the tune of millions in free advertising, from the fervor of red hatted brownshirts to the stench of Tea Party redux - if somehow, after all the shrugging off of flaw after flaw one was still able to avoid an iota of grief for one's country, Donald Trump's ascendancy allowed no such quarter as denial. 

And November 9 was an angry day, not that Bernie purism and Priebus apologism hadn't already popped steam from the ear canals, but America trading in the 2nd chance it so didn't deserve after Bush, Cheney and the bubble's recession: that was assault. The depths to which they will go to see us liberals dance like ice cubes on the flat top - that really pissed me off. And I don't need a red hat, just the longest finger. 

Now the electoral college has returned to the dimly lit round-tables of academia and with it goes any hope of removing Trump without handing the keys to Mike Pence and it has dragged into oblivion the postulations and alternative realities that can't now be fact, nor part of this new deal. Bargaining has been short lived.

For those of us who were 21 in '69, the last couple of months have been a repudiation of the slack we cut our fellow citizens when we said they couldn't be that stupid. Which in turn means who's stupid now? So yes, I'd say that could bring a person down, harsh a buzz, lead to 13 weeks of all day drinking. Maybe just give up entirely and learn to love video gaming. Take up Facebook and collect "likes" in some sort of twisted quid pro quo. Tweet, while resisting the urge to use exactly 140 characters every time. 

Now that's pure hellscape. 


Which brings us up to this morning. I didn't plan on hiatus; it just kinda happened. I've thrashed privately, exceeded the curbside glass recycling tub to where it never all gets picked up and thought about trading in cozy anonymity for the chance to go viral, like 110 million of my closest "friends." 

I had gone all Rip Van Winkle during the horse race we like to call our "Candidates Showcase Showdown" and watched as everybody "came on down" and now we're stuck with the least qualified human for most jobs anywhere, let alone president, and a cadre of tentacles and Koch suckers. 

Believe me. More than a few people are saying this. 


But I woke up surprisingly calm. 

I know my place in this. Not bomb throwing, though the appropriate spitball here and there seems inevitable. Not willful ignorance, for then I have become my enemy. Not anarchy, for a nation of laws not men is far superior. 

But I do feel a fight coming on and have been given that rare, umpteenth chance. 

This time I will do better at being the loyal opposition. I can accept that.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

In the Afterglow of Unity

The Mandate for Coalition


It should be evident to every Democrat that, for this year anyway, that's how sausage is made. Turns out sky pie doesn't cram into the casing as well as red meat and gut check, but that, as they say, is why they play the game. 

So there's this new Pokemon app. Have you heard about this? No, there's only one Seinfeld, I was just curious. Seems like the same featurette of your "smart" phone that picks up useless information as you walk down the street, is now a fun thing to do while waiting to fall into an open sewer.

There's been this media narrative (jathink?) that there's a dedicated cadre of Sanders folks who will just stay home and it's been touted just like the much ballyhooed "never Trump"ers of yore. The latter proved to be so much hacky-sack Jell-o; a similar fate is not the wildest of predictions for the former. Evidently the nation was not as fevered in pitch about the campaign so far as represented by the possessors (9/10 of the law) of our most reputable journalism logos, or maybe national principles have become like the latest lion-killing dentist not named Kone. 

Methinks a fad app is telling its own story about now.


Now I've heard, as have you, savvy reader, the impassioned support even Jim Webb got a taste of. Folks align - it's what we do. 

In the either/or of Bernie/Hillary a pall of disingenuousness envelopes anyone who now proves to have been an ideological scoundrel by showing utter poor sportsmanship. Of course there's a mandate for coalition.

But to any hold-outs, and I hope the number is less than any poll whose reputation is burgeoning in media narratives tries to okey-doke on your behalf: this is worse than "the rent's too damn high." 

This is so serious, John Adams just had a heart attack. 

No, no no! Don't convert any one of your positions. Please. 

Save your idealism for the next "make your own sausage day." But prove me right, please. In as non-rubbing-your-nose-in-it a way I can muster.  It's important.


You remind me of you at your age. 

The streets were ablaze on several counts. The plutocrats entangled the nation in ways nobody really appreciated except them. The old farts then had been Joe McCarthy lovers. They bought that stopping communism snake oil the moment it came through town.

We were put in a lottery to die. No, really.

Trust that you are surrounded by old farts who merely lack your physical energy.

Above all, that Bernie made Hillary better

Who knew?


Lastly, I have to wonder how much effort is being spent at this critical juncture on posing whilst surreptitiously trolling? They know who they are and we must greet them like the latest distracting app.

Whether for pay or bragging rights, there's going to be a flood of disaffected sounding, supposed Sanders supporters calling into every last show with open phone lines or Twitter feeds to rail against the Democratic nominee. Screeners on the shows we love will be up against it. And when I say "we" I do mean in that 1st person plural way which should be the afterglow of our unification. 

The saddest part of the process which makes commonweal is that it is so readily co-opted. I can't explain the fact that people gave thumbs up and thumbs down to a YouTube video of the president consoling Dallas today. Call Seinfeld. No please, call Seinfeld.


Retweets-per-minute as a statistic has always struck me as theater of the absurd and this is right in there with it. It's instructive. Perhaps the ups are an atta boy for the president we, on our side, have come to really, really appreciate. I venture I know who the downs are but they only use more subterfuge if they think you're on to them. (Walks away, whistling... 

                      ...

                                ...

You're welcome.)



72.4% appreciated the president's speaking for the nation to the grieving. The remainder did not.

You need a pajama-wearing guitar player pundit sometimes, I've often found, to vigorously clench the scimitar of the obvious, and at that I remain your humble servant.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Sarah Palin Willing to Give Opinion

Overheard at Politicon Comma Comma



                             I would tell him to find someone

                                        who understands who the boss will be,
           
                     someone who is not running to,

                               someone who he could serve with who he wouldn’t need a taste test,

      a food taste-tester around him, you know?

                                                                    You know what I mean?

                       Someone who is going to be loyal to what the boss’s agenda is.

                                       That’s going to be real important, too.

                                                      And someone who had experience, too,

                                                                 again,

                                              coming from the private sector,

                             connected to the essential people in this country,

                and not part of the political establishment that has been part of the problem.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Paul is Dead

Abbie Normal Road


The white blocks, making stripes on the new asphalt. Always new asphalt in these goddam socialist countries!

The lads, posing while looking like they're not posing.

There's a Lamarckian blood trace heading towards Why I Nevertown. Let's say it's in Wisconsin. For the continuity. Let's say.

One of the guns of a youthful nature, the one who didn't get "All You Need is Love" must have been Photoshopped in because, you see, Paul is dead.

Deads I tells ya. Ya dabbles in in with Trump, out with Trump back in with Trump goo gooka cho enough times, you are relying on residuelles, mes belles. Sont les mots qui prove you're an incorrigible bitch for hire.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

The Teflon Donald

"Not a Crazy Clown"

 

Perhaps you were watching Real Time with Bill Maher on Friday May 27th when Dilbert creator, Scott Adams, gave what was a most cogent explanation of Donald Trump's rise to prominence in the Republican Party. We who embrace rationality firmly believe that the best ideas prevail and that Hillary Clinton needs only to be herself to win the presidency. Adams calls on his training as a hypnotist and study of persuasion to frame Trump as a master manipulator and not the crazy buffoon whom none in the Republican primary clown car could so tar. And the subtext is that we kid ourselves to believe reason will win this campaign.

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

The Art of the Donald

"I make the best deals," he has said over and over.

And over.

Donald Trump is clearly on the path to his presumptive party's nomination. Cleveland's finest can now breathe easier with or without the event's permission to carry weapons openly. Hillary will feel the troll more than the Bern it feels safe to say.

What will the beltway media's narrative be now that Trump's on track to be coronated, a word which will expire this cycle (one can only hope)?

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Twittiquette, Favorites, and #Holy Crap America

At the risk of sounding like I fully embrace never having socially networked, I actually have done it. So hashtag ipso facto.

I checked Twitter for Dummies and believe I have just made something akin to sense.

My greatest fear has always been that once so embracing I could never make sense again. Hashtag am I right people? I wouldn't know. (Well I have a whiff of the knowledges, as Poirot might have said, struggling in a second language. Let's say he actually did, 'kay?) What strikes me as the absurdity of this modern paradigm cum affliction is that to participate is never being able to go back. Go back to what?

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Barely One Week's Worth of Campaign Meat

The rest is what in pet food terms is "filler"



I hate the media business with the heat of a thousand night lights. It is, after all, the nature of what they do; they are in business. No model for that says to give it away. No, you must cash in. Thus my hatred is significantly tempered.

Roiling more than boiling.

When I once blogged at a site which promoted social networking as well as writing, the most frequent retort to a rant about this or that outlet was that it was my fault for not going to site x, y, or z.

The regular savvy readers here, whom we reckon by less than a dozen, have no doubt entered into mourning over al Jazeera America shutting down. It had given the huddled discarded refuse of the mainstream a home since buying out Al Gore's Current TV. We shall miss their diligence and never cave to calling their reportage "quaint" nor seek solace in the superior gladhanding of the freshly empowered home brew journalists we must surely someday hate with the heat of a thousand 25 watt bulbs.