Opposition to the horrifying, Kafka-style catastrophe that is Guantanamo Bay is finally getting some ink. So why is everybody so fixated on the accommodations?
A few months ago outrage surged when it was reported that interrogators flushed a Koran down a toilet. The Pentagon later clarified that no such flushing had occurred, some guy just pissed on one a little. Then about a week ago, Rep. Duncan Hunter tried to refute all allegations of torture by revealing to the world that lemon chicken is on the detainee menu.
If you are taken from your family in secret and held without being charged, does it really matter what you're eating or who's pissing on what? I would have thought this point was obvious, but most news reports on the issue seem to shift quickly into a lifestyle piece on a day in the life of a detainee.
I've heard at least two dozen pundits debate what constitutes torture (usually it's agreed to be somewhere between an uncomfortable chair and a kick in the nuts). That's an interesting conversation to toss around the old water cooler, but it's not even relevant here. Taking a prisoner without any charge and denying them access to the outside world is a human rights violation on an even higher order than torture.
Why this obsession with how the other half (detainees) live? Is there really some guy eating Chef Boyardee out of the can who hears these prisoners are eating lemon chicken and thinks "the bastards, lock 'em up forever"? Unfortunately, I'm sure that there is. People make the same gripes about our home grown felons. How many times have you heard some yahoo complain that those guys down at the prison have cable TV? When I toured the new jail in Glendale, they told me the TVs helped keep the inmates calm and less likely to stab the guards. That seemed like a pretty good reason to me.
If you're locked up, it doesn't really matter which channels you get or what's on the dinner menu.
Save Public Broadcasting (a rational approach)
We've all seen that damn "Save Public Broadcasting and Sesame Street" e-mail that's been floating around for years - usually sent by the same jackass who thinks Bill Gates will give them a hundred bucks for nothing. But last week, a proposal surfaced in the House of Representatives seeking to cut federal funding for public broadcasting by 45%.
Now is the time for right-minded citizens to take action. I strongly recommend checking the website of your local NPR affiliate and doing whatever they suggest. KPCC, my own local station, suggests the old write your Congressman routine. They provide a sample letter and a link to find your Representative, so even if you're outside of SoCal you might want to check it out.
There are several petitions floating around, but given the history of fraudulent "Save Sesame Street" spam, I recommend against signing these. If you are devoted to the petition approach, the most legitimate option I'm aware of comes from MoveOn.org.
While I realize it's not in the spirit of a rally, I think it's important to bring some clarity to this issue of federal funding for public broadcasting. Proponents of cuts to federal funding point out that Washington provides only 15% of the total budget for public radio and television. So despite what certain e-mails might say, the proposed cuts would be unlikely to send Big Bird and Ira Glass directly to the unemployment line. But that doesn't mean the cuts are justified or that nobody would be adversely effected.
Broadcasters in small markets could be eliminated altogether, because they are unable to raise as much revenue through fund drives as their big city peers. Just within the last year, the PBS affiliate in not-exactly-small market Orange County was nearly sold to a big money Christian broadcaster because of financial difficulty. It was saved at the eleventh hour by a band of business folks who recognized the value of public broadcasting.
The dedication of public broadcasting listeners/viewers should not be used to justify reducing federal funds. The fact that NPR in particular can raise such a large percentage of its operating budget is a testament to the fact that it is the single best source for non-commercial news. In an era when most people would rather just reaffirm their views with Fox News or Air America, it's important to reaffirm the value of federally supported broadcasting with a singular focus on serving the public interest.
The reputation of NPR and PBS have taken unfair shots lately from Kenneth Tomlinson, the right-wing President of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. He accused both of a liberal bias, despite recent (and historical) research which suggests the reporting is incredibly balanced. Network news is nothing more than another arm in the worldwide branding strategy of large media companies. The core value of publicly funded broadcasting is that it will never skew its reporting to prop up the parent company's summer blockbuster.
The proposed cuts were debated in sub-committee today and could be considered by the full House next week, so now's the time to get involved.
Now is the time for right-minded citizens to take action. I strongly recommend checking the website of your local NPR affiliate and doing whatever they suggest. KPCC, my own local station, suggests the old write your Congressman routine. They provide a sample letter and a link to find your Representative, so even if you're outside of SoCal you might want to check it out.
There are several petitions floating around, but given the history of fraudulent "Save Sesame Street" spam, I recommend against signing these. If you are devoted to the petition approach, the most legitimate option I'm aware of comes from MoveOn.org.
While I realize it's not in the spirit of a rally, I think it's important to bring some clarity to this issue of federal funding for public broadcasting. Proponents of cuts to federal funding point out that Washington provides only 15% of the total budget for public radio and television. So despite what certain e-mails might say, the proposed cuts would be unlikely to send Big Bird and Ira Glass directly to the unemployment line. But that doesn't mean the cuts are justified or that nobody would be adversely effected.
Broadcasters in small markets could be eliminated altogether, because they are unable to raise as much revenue through fund drives as their big city peers. Just within the last year, the PBS affiliate in not-exactly-small market Orange County was nearly sold to a big money Christian broadcaster because of financial difficulty. It was saved at the eleventh hour by a band of business folks who recognized the value of public broadcasting.
The dedication of public broadcasting listeners/viewers should not be used to justify reducing federal funds. The fact that NPR in particular can raise such a large percentage of its operating budget is a testament to the fact that it is the single best source for non-commercial news. In an era when most people would rather just reaffirm their views with Fox News or Air America, it's important to reaffirm the value of federally supported broadcasting with a singular focus on serving the public interest.
The reputation of NPR and PBS have taken unfair shots lately from Kenneth Tomlinson, the right-wing President of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. He accused both of a liberal bias, despite recent (and historical) research which suggests the reporting is incredibly balanced. Network news is nothing more than another arm in the worldwide branding strategy of large media companies. The core value of publicly funded broadcasting is that it will never skew its reporting to prop up the parent company's summer blockbuster.
The proposed cuts were debated in sub-committee today and could be considered by the full House next week, so now's the time to get involved.
Shoot Me Baby One More Time
I consider myself somewhat of a connoisseur of trash, camp and schlock. But like anything else worth enjoying, the realm of camp has been invaded by the rumbling hordes of mass culture. The result? Between "The Surreal Life" and a Def Lepard comeback tour, it takes a Ph.D. in cultural studies to sort out what’s deliciously trashy and what’s just plain shit.
But last week I found something that got all my guilty pleasure sensors tingling. I’m talking about Hit Me Baby One More Time.
The show digs up a handful of washed up bands to compete against each other each week. In the first half-hour, they each play their one hit song. In the last half-hour, each group returns to perform a cover version of some of the worst Top 40 garbage you can imagine.
Now, I realize this sounds like nothing more than a variation on the American Idol theme. I understand that concern. I don’t think it’s possible to revel in the type of trashiness that is American Idol. With it’s corporate sheen, raging popularity and unironic self-importance, watching American Idol is like eating a Big Mac at a Wal-Mart food court. Trust me – Hit Me Baby One More Time is an entirely different animal.
The real beauty of the show is how it tiptoes the line between loving tribute and the macabre freak show it really is. It’s a long tradition of the game/reality show that ordinary people play for money, celebrities play for charity. To avoid insulting their one-time celebrity, the winnings are donated to charity – but it looked to me like Flock of Seagulls could use a few bucks themselves. And isn’t that what makes a show like this great? There’s something transcendent about watching a group of fat, bald 40-somethings slog through the same chords they’ve played 10,000 times before. I’m not kidding – I actually caught myself looking around the stage for a gong.
In the Seagulls brief video diary, their lead singer/keyboardist (don’t see that one anymore) said his new wife "just thinks it’s cool to be married to someone in a band." She had that stringy haired, queen of the trailer court look that one finds well down the groupie food chain. It was enough to scare any 16-year-old with a new guitar off rock n’ roll for good.
Even more enjoyable are the brief interviews with the show’s host, whose British accent even sounds like a ruse. The best moment from week one was when he asked Tiffany her advice for up-and-coming young singers. How could this show be watched with anything but a sense of ironic detachment?
And in yet another horrifying/hilarious comment on our attention span, the bands don’t even perform all of their three-minute hit singles. How’s that for a tribute to the hit makers of yore? "Yeah, uh, Loverboy, we can’t let you play all of the one song you do well so we have time for you to play half of some turd by Faith Hill."
I’m sure some will read this and think it’s not a very classy way to spend an evening. It’s not. Let me reiterate – I like trash. If I was advocating classy entertainment, I would have started this with "I was re-reading Finnegan’s Wake last week..." But if a group of "musicians" want to put on spandex pants and ride the wave of one Top 40 hit, I think being trotted back into the limelight for my amusement is a small price to pay.
And God bless Hit Me Baby One More Time for giving us that amusement.
But last week I found something that got all my guilty pleasure sensors tingling. I’m talking about Hit Me Baby One More Time.
The show digs up a handful of washed up bands to compete against each other each week. In the first half-hour, they each play their one hit song. In the last half-hour, each group returns to perform a cover version of some of the worst Top 40 garbage you can imagine.
Now, I realize this sounds like nothing more than a variation on the American Idol theme. I understand that concern. I don’t think it’s possible to revel in the type of trashiness that is American Idol. With it’s corporate sheen, raging popularity and unironic self-importance, watching American Idol is like eating a Big Mac at a Wal-Mart food court. Trust me – Hit Me Baby One More Time is an entirely different animal.
The real beauty of the show is how it tiptoes the line between loving tribute and the macabre freak show it really is. It’s a long tradition of the game/reality show that ordinary people play for money, celebrities play for charity. To avoid insulting their one-time celebrity, the winnings are donated to charity – but it looked to me like Flock of Seagulls could use a few bucks themselves. And isn’t that what makes a show like this great? There’s something transcendent about watching a group of fat, bald 40-somethings slog through the same chords they’ve played 10,000 times before. I’m not kidding – I actually caught myself looking around the stage for a gong.
In the Seagulls brief video diary, their lead singer/keyboardist (don’t see that one anymore) said his new wife "just thinks it’s cool to be married to someone in a band." She had that stringy haired, queen of the trailer court look that one finds well down the groupie food chain. It was enough to scare any 16-year-old with a new guitar off rock n’ roll for good.
Even more enjoyable are the brief interviews with the show’s host, whose British accent even sounds like a ruse. The best moment from week one was when he asked Tiffany her advice for up-and-coming young singers. How could this show be watched with anything but a sense of ironic detachment?
And in yet another horrifying/hilarious comment on our attention span, the bands don’t even perform all of their three-minute hit singles. How’s that for a tribute to the hit makers of yore? "Yeah, uh, Loverboy, we can’t let you play all of the one song you do well so we have time for you to play half of some turd by Faith Hill."
I’m sure some will read this and think it’s not a very classy way to spend an evening. It’s not. Let me reiterate – I like trash. If I was advocating classy entertainment, I would have started this with "I was re-reading Finnegan’s Wake last week..." But if a group of "musicians" want to put on spandex pants and ride the wave of one Top 40 hit, I think being trotted back into the limelight for my amusement is a small price to pay.
And God bless Hit Me Baby One More Time for giving us that amusement.
Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence
Last night, it was my honor to win the Best Feature Screenplay award at Chapman University's annual film awards. The "Cecil Award" went to my script Cooking Live, but I was lucky enough that my script Ponzi was also nominated in the same category.
Thanks to all who were supportive during the writing process and/or who said nice things about the scripts. My apologies for the quality of the photo above.
Find Death at eBay
The above image is one of the more disturbing products of automated Web advertising that I've run into. My simple search for the band "Death Cab for Cutie" turned into an existential experience. Essence may precede existence, but eBay supersedes all.
(click on the photo to get a better look at it)
A Deficit in Reason
It was an interesting week for those of us who like to see these people who moan that the world has gone morally bankrupt proven to be the fools that they are. If you blinked, you may have missed it.
Zell Miller, the barking Georgia (Democrat) last seen challenging Chris Matthews to a duel after the Republican National Convention, showed up on The Daily Show to promote his new book, A Deficit in Decency. Miller makes the usual complaints that we're a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah, why can't things be like they were in the '50s, blah, blah, blah. Miller pointed to these damn, steroid-taking baseball players as yet another example that all that was good is now gone. It was also interesting that his examples of respectable old timers were all white (Mickey Mantle) and the modern players were all black.
An interesting thing happened the very next day. Former Major League pitcher Tom House told the SF Chronicle that he used steroids, growth hormone and anything else he can get his hands on in the '60s and '70s. He also said that his behavior was what you might call the norm.
So what do you know? It would appear that athletes today are exactly as indecent as they were 40 years ago. It may not seem so significant what ballplayers put into their bodies, but this is exactly the kind of thing that makes me want to slap the crazy out of Zell Miller. This manufactured outrage over how far our morals have slipped is never, never based on fact. Do you think there's just too darn much sex on TV these days? Well, about a hundred years ago that wasn't a problem, but there were 230 people lynched in America in a single year. I'll take a deficit in decency over a surpluss of lynchings any day.
Zell Miller, the barking Georgia (Democrat) last seen challenging Chris Matthews to a duel after the Republican National Convention, showed up on The Daily Show to promote his new book, A Deficit in Decency. Miller makes the usual complaints that we're a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah, why can't things be like they were in the '50s, blah, blah, blah. Miller pointed to these damn, steroid-taking baseball players as yet another example that all that was good is now gone. It was also interesting that his examples of respectable old timers were all white (Mickey Mantle) and the modern players were all black.
An interesting thing happened the very next day. Former Major League pitcher Tom House told the SF Chronicle that he used steroids, growth hormone and anything else he can get his hands on in the '60s and '70s. He also said that his behavior was what you might call the norm.
So what do you know? It would appear that athletes today are exactly as indecent as they were 40 years ago. It may not seem so significant what ballplayers put into their bodies, but this is exactly the kind of thing that makes me want to slap the crazy out of Zell Miller. This manufactured outrage over how far our morals have slipped is never, never based on fact. Do you think there's just too darn much sex on TV these days? Well, about a hundred years ago that wasn't a problem, but there were 230 people lynched in America in a single year. I'll take a deficit in decency over a surpluss of lynchings any day.
Out with the Old and in with the ... Old
The fascinating journey of Family Guy came to a conclusion, or rather a beginning, last night when the show re-premiered on Fox. Fan non-fans or those who haven't been following along at home, the show was cancelled three years ago after struggling for viewers for most of its run. Cartoon Network picked it up, growing a new batch of fans, and the show's DVDs flew off the shelves.
So Fox brought the show back from the dead after three years, based almost solely on its ability to sell DVDs. In interviews, Fox execs have more or less admitted it doesn't matter what kind of ratings the show gets on the air. They expect to make their money back and more in what they call "ancillary markets."
This is probably the greatest victory for a group of TV fans, who now tend to mobilize after any show is cancelled. At least Out Here, where such things make the news, every week or so we see a group of a dozen people standing outside a studio gate, pleading for the life of some show that nobody is watching. I respect these folks commitment - I wish more people cared so strongly about art or entertainment or whatever TV is. But there is often a depressing futility to it, and I'm sure the Family Guy saga will only add fuel to the fire.
Watching the first new episode in three years, I was struck by how old fashioned Family Guy really is. The show is known for its shock value, which sometimes has a strained juvenile quality, and sometimes has an ingenious juvenile quality. But the structure of the show harkens back to early TV comedies and variety programs. Is there a story to a Family Guy episode? Yes, but it is only a loose structure that allows for maximum jokes and pop culture references. We watch Family Guy wondering "what is Peter going to say?" the same way we might wonder "what is Jackie Gleason going to say?" We don't expect to be drawn into a hilarious, insightful story (the way we might with The Simpsons). Instead, we're just watching for some good schtick.
Congrats to devoted fans on bringing back their favorite schtick.
So Fox brought the show back from the dead after three years, based almost solely on its ability to sell DVDs. In interviews, Fox execs have more or less admitted it doesn't matter what kind of ratings the show gets on the air. They expect to make their money back and more in what they call "ancillary markets."
This is probably the greatest victory for a group of TV fans, who now tend to mobilize after any show is cancelled. At least Out Here, where such things make the news, every week or so we see a group of a dozen people standing outside a studio gate, pleading for the life of some show that nobody is watching. I respect these folks commitment - I wish more people cared so strongly about art or entertainment or whatever TV is. But there is often a depressing futility to it, and I'm sure the Family Guy saga will only add fuel to the fire.
Watching the first new episode in three years, I was struck by how old fashioned Family Guy really is. The show is known for its shock value, which sometimes has a strained juvenile quality, and sometimes has an ingenious juvenile quality. But the structure of the show harkens back to early TV comedies and variety programs. Is there a story to a Family Guy episode? Yes, but it is only a loose structure that allows for maximum jokes and pop culture references. We watch Family Guy wondering "what is Peter going to say?" the same way we might wonder "what is Jackie Gleason going to say?" We don't expect to be drawn into a hilarious, insightful story (the way we might with The Simpsons). Instead, we're just watching for some good schtick.
Congrats to devoted fans on bringing back their favorite schtick.
Family Friendly Fascism
There’s a major battle going on right now between the filmmaking community and groups of arrogant, right-wing fascists who are editing so-called "clean" versions of Hollywood films. It’s more than just a horrible precedent, it’s frightening move toward a nation of group think.
A handful of companies, with names like Clean Flicks, CleanFilms and Family Flix, purchase commercial copies of popular DVDs, edit out content they find "objectionable" and resell their versions. By purchasing a copy for every copy they sell, they claim their butchering of the artists’ work falls under the doctrine of "fair use." It’s hard to know the size of their market, but one company’s edited versions are available in more than 100 stores.
You won’t be surprised to learn most of these companies are headquartered in Utah, and all purport to adhere to some generalized Christian code of how much boob is family friendly. The fact is that what they cut varies. All remove whatever they deem "sexually explicit," but Family Flix also cuts any trace of homosexual behavior. If you ask nicely, I’m sure they would also remove Blacks and Jews. Bigots have a right to watch whatever they want, but to recut a film so it fits your narrow world view – and then present it as the work of the director – that’s just plain offensive.
What tremendous entitlement these people feel. It’s hard to fathom the hubris it takes to assert that all films should be tailored to your particular tastes. These film cutters say they’re only offering choice, but the choice is already there: Don’t watch the f***ing movie.
On one hand, these hacks complain that Hollywood films are too violent and profane. On the other, they insist on watching these films. There’s plenty of films that are created for young children and prudes. Just because your whacko views put you outside the cultural mainstream, what gives you the right to disfigure mainstream art so you can feel like you’re part of the party?
If there is any dedication to art in this country, and evidence seems to the contrary, we need to revive the legal concept of "moral rights." Even though directors and screenwriters don’t own the copyright on their films, moral rights give them legal recourse should their work be altered negatively. Moral rights in Europe are strong enough that Monty Python won a multi-million dollar settlement when ABC recut Flying Circus.
There are legal challenges that should shut down the firms that sell recut films, but Congress recently paved the way for ClearPlay, makers of specialty DVD players which skip over offensive material without physically altering the actual DVD. ClearPlay is a much less offensive application, but it still presents a version of a film that was not made by the filmmakers. And it still puts the power to pick which words, boobs and shootings are offensive into the hands of some third party.
So what about the edited versions that have aired on TV and airlines for years? Those are cut by the filmmakers as part of their contract. And several directors have said they would approve of those versions being made available for sale. But even that’s not enough for some of these faux Christian Crusaders, who claim Hollywood doesn’t have the moral authority to cut its own films. But what gives them that authority? The fact is there is no one version of a film that would fit every fundamentalists particular biases.
For more on this debate, I recommend a one-hour special airing on AMC this month entitled "Bleep." I also recommend telling anyone who supports these groups to go f*** themselves.
A handful of companies, with names like Clean Flicks, CleanFilms and Family Flix, purchase commercial copies of popular DVDs, edit out content they find "objectionable" and resell their versions. By purchasing a copy for every copy they sell, they claim their butchering of the artists’ work falls under the doctrine of "fair use." It’s hard to know the size of their market, but one company’s edited versions are available in more than 100 stores.
You won’t be surprised to learn most of these companies are headquartered in Utah, and all purport to adhere to some generalized Christian code of how much boob is family friendly. The fact is that what they cut varies. All remove whatever they deem "sexually explicit," but Family Flix also cuts any trace of homosexual behavior. If you ask nicely, I’m sure they would also remove Blacks and Jews. Bigots have a right to watch whatever they want, but to recut a film so it fits your narrow world view – and then present it as the work of the director – that’s just plain offensive.
What tremendous entitlement these people feel. It’s hard to fathom the hubris it takes to assert that all films should be tailored to your particular tastes. These film cutters say they’re only offering choice, but the choice is already there: Don’t watch the f***ing movie.
On one hand, these hacks complain that Hollywood films are too violent and profane. On the other, they insist on watching these films. There’s plenty of films that are created for young children and prudes. Just because your whacko views put you outside the cultural mainstream, what gives you the right to disfigure mainstream art so you can feel like you’re part of the party?
If there is any dedication to art in this country, and evidence seems to the contrary, we need to revive the legal concept of "moral rights." Even though directors and screenwriters don’t own the copyright on their films, moral rights give them legal recourse should their work be altered negatively. Moral rights in Europe are strong enough that Monty Python won a multi-million dollar settlement when ABC recut Flying Circus.
There are legal challenges that should shut down the firms that sell recut films, but Congress recently paved the way for ClearPlay, makers of specialty DVD players which skip over offensive material without physically altering the actual DVD. ClearPlay is a much less offensive application, but it still presents a version of a film that was not made by the filmmakers. And it still puts the power to pick which words, boobs and shootings are offensive into the hands of some third party.
So what about the edited versions that have aired on TV and airlines for years? Those are cut by the filmmakers as part of their contract. And several directors have said they would approve of those versions being made available for sale. But even that’s not enough for some of these faux Christian Crusaders, who claim Hollywood doesn’t have the moral authority to cut its own films. But what gives them that authority? The fact is there is no one version of a film that would fit every fundamentalists particular biases.
For more on this debate, I recommend a one-hour special airing on AMC this month entitled "Bleep." I also recommend telling anyone who supports these groups to go f*** themselves.
Ballpark Etiquette
Now that baseball season is underway, and thank God that it is, I think it's time to lay down some clear rules for ballpark etiquette. Baseball is a very different kind of game, and as such requires certain behavior from the spectator. What follows is a summary of some of the most frequent, egregious fan behavior. Please forward this list to anyone you know who may be "that asshole."
1. Leave your f***ing beach ball at home. I will never understand the reason for paying good money to watch professional athletes, and then spending the entire game bopping a beach ball around until it drops to the lower deck. If you want to play with a beach ball, why not go to the beach? Or perhaps a Mommy and Me class. As if the bopping ball weren't enough distraction, for some reason it always creates a Lord of the Flies mentality in the stands where anyone who loses the ball is to be mocked, shunned and possibly fed to the lions.
2. Let "The Wave" die. Perhaps the only thing more asinine than shifting your attention to a beach ball is standing up and down in unison. I mean, seriously. If kids in middle school exhibited this behavior they would be sent to that classroom where all the kids wear leather jackets and the teacher is a former bouncer. If this is what you do when you're at a baseball game, YOU ARE NOT A BASEBALL FAN. Stay home so I can get a better seat.
3. Don't "boo" a bunt. Strategy is very important, and often this involves some sort of sacrifice to move a runner into scoring position. Don't be one of the morons who "boos" a player for laying down a bunt or a sac fly. This is a sure way to out yourself as not a true fan, just some guy who wanted to wear a polo shirt and have a drink outside.
4. A ballglove is for the kiddies. We're all eager for the chance to catch a ball in the stands. But if you're old enough to drive a car, you're old enough to catch it with your bare hands. There's few things as pathetic as a 39-year-old guy lunging to catch a foul ball with his K-mart mitt. Sure, a hard foul ball might break a bone or dislocate a finger. But bringing a glove to the park is the baseball equivalent of sleeping with a blanky.
5. Give the ball to a kid. The other important piece of foul ball etiquette is to always give any ball you catch to a nearby small child. Sure, we all want to catch the ball. But now you've caught it, so make some kid's day. To find a kid, I suggest looking to the ground, where most of them will be after being bowled over by adult jackasses with baseball gloves. It's a classy gesture and really, what would you do with the ball? Are you really going to put it on your mantle so you can always remember the day that you caught a foul ball from Russell Branyon?
6. Heckling is an art form. This is a touchy issue. There's a fine line between the drunken heckler who's amusing the crowd and rattling the opposing team and the drunken slob who's making everyone look around for the nearest security guard. Whether or not you're working blue, the key is that a good heckle should be original. One good tactic is to feign sympathy for a player, or offer them career advise. The point is, simply shouting F-bombs is just plain lazy. Even more pathetic is to start a chant of "(The other team) sucks." Particularly when the other team is ahead by 15 runs.
And finally, one for the ballpark operators...
Stop playing God Bless America. I know that in 2001 all that patriotic shit gave people goose bumps, but this really has to end. There's no better way piss all over a perfectly fine day at the park than to throw religion and politics in our faces. It's an uncomfortable exercise that comes bundled with all kinds of hooray for war baggage, and who needs it? It's also pretty contradictory for baseball to boast it's growing international appeal and then make all the Latin and Asian American players hear how great America is. Bring back Take Me Out to the Ballgame or even just play Centerfield for the 500th time.
Enjoy the games.
1. Leave your f***ing beach ball at home. I will never understand the reason for paying good money to watch professional athletes, and then spending the entire game bopping a beach ball around until it drops to the lower deck. If you want to play with a beach ball, why not go to the beach? Or perhaps a Mommy and Me class. As if the bopping ball weren't enough distraction, for some reason it always creates a Lord of the Flies mentality in the stands where anyone who loses the ball is to be mocked, shunned and possibly fed to the lions.
2. Let "The Wave" die. Perhaps the only thing more asinine than shifting your attention to a beach ball is standing up and down in unison. I mean, seriously. If kids in middle school exhibited this behavior they would be sent to that classroom where all the kids wear leather jackets and the teacher is a former bouncer. If this is what you do when you're at a baseball game, YOU ARE NOT A BASEBALL FAN. Stay home so I can get a better seat.
3. Don't "boo" a bunt. Strategy is very important, and often this involves some sort of sacrifice to move a runner into scoring position. Don't be one of the morons who "boos" a player for laying down a bunt or a sac fly. This is a sure way to out yourself as not a true fan, just some guy who wanted to wear a polo shirt and have a drink outside.
4. A ballglove is for the kiddies. We're all eager for the chance to catch a ball in the stands. But if you're old enough to drive a car, you're old enough to catch it with your bare hands. There's few things as pathetic as a 39-year-old guy lunging to catch a foul ball with his K-mart mitt. Sure, a hard foul ball might break a bone or dislocate a finger. But bringing a glove to the park is the baseball equivalent of sleeping with a blanky.
5. Give the ball to a kid. The other important piece of foul ball etiquette is to always give any ball you catch to a nearby small child. Sure, we all want to catch the ball. But now you've caught it, so make some kid's day. To find a kid, I suggest looking to the ground, where most of them will be after being bowled over by adult jackasses with baseball gloves. It's a classy gesture and really, what would you do with the ball? Are you really going to put it on your mantle so you can always remember the day that you caught a foul ball from Russell Branyon?
6. Heckling is an art form. This is a touchy issue. There's a fine line between the drunken heckler who's amusing the crowd and rattling the opposing team and the drunken slob who's making everyone look around for the nearest security guard. Whether or not you're working blue, the key is that a good heckle should be original. One good tactic is to feign sympathy for a player, or offer them career advise. The point is, simply shouting F-bombs is just plain lazy. Even more pathetic is to start a chant of "(The other team) sucks." Particularly when the other team is ahead by 15 runs.
And finally, one for the ballpark operators...
Stop playing God Bless America. I know that in 2001 all that patriotic shit gave people goose bumps, but this really has to end. There's no better way piss all over a perfectly fine day at the park than to throw religion and politics in our faces. It's an uncomfortable exercise that comes bundled with all kinds of hooray for war baggage, and who needs it? It's also pretty contradictory for baseball to boast it's growing international appeal and then make all the Latin and Asian American players hear how great America is. Bring back Take Me Out to the Ballgame or even just play Centerfield for the 500th time.
Enjoy the games.
Iowa State Daily Article
Today's Iowa State Daily featured an article on my short film, The Persecution of Al Kida, and Andy Brodie's short doc 'Round Midnight. Both will screen this weekend at the Cedar Rapids Independent Film Festival.
Melinda & Woody & Will
Will as Woody
I happen to be a big fan of Woody Allen, but only a real fanatic would deny that some of his recent efforts have been less-than-stellar. He's a polarizing force, and it seems that ever since that whole shagging his teenage stepchild thing came out, the critical community has been strongly against him. Even the Village Voice has dropped its advocacy of THE New York director.
But there's enough good about Melinda & Melinda that it doesn't deserve to be tossed on the slush pile with Curse of the Jade Scorpion and Hollywood Ending. The premise is simple and unconventional. Two playwrights, one who favors comedy and the other who favors tragedy, argue over dinner whether a particular story would make a better tragedy or comedy. The film then alternates between a tragic and comic version of (basically) the same story.
Both stories have some strong moments, though the comic version is more consistently entertaining. I think it was a mistake to vary a few key details, because it makes them versions of two very similar stories as opposed to versions of the same story. But I'm a firm believer that even lesser Woody Allen is better than most, and worth checking out. My wife and I have an ongoing debate about this. For me, his films aren't so much whole works but pieces in an ongoing conversation. Even in a so-so film like Deconstructing Harry, there are great bursts of ideas. On the other hand, my wife thinks all his films are about a 60-something lech getting it on with another beautiful young starlet. I must concede there is substance to her argument.
But Allen also sidesteps any ill will for his onscreen persona by casting Will Ferrell in what is clearly "the Woody Allen role." I'm a fan of Will Ferrell, but I admit I always feared he was limited to a broad, clowning type of comedy. Not so. Ferrell is the best thing in Melinda & Melinda. Instead of performing some Woody Allen impersonation, Ferrell simply plays the role the way Allen would. It's a fine distinction, but a vital one.
Melinda & Melinda is not a great movie, but it's a pretty good one built around a solid premise. If you're a fan of Woody or Will, I think you'll be entertained.
Indie Film - Cedar Rapids Style
To my devoted readers (Mom, Dad), I apologize for the long lapse since my last post. It's been a hectic few weeks here on the Left Coast. So what do I have to show for it?
I'm proud to announce that my short film The Persecution of Al Kida will be screened April 2 at the 5th annual Cedar Rapids Independent Film Festival. Unfortunately, I won't be able to attend myself. But I'm grateful to anyone in the area who takes the time to check it out. Also be sure to check out 'Round Midnight, a documentary short by my pal Andy Brodie.
I'm proud to announce that my short film The Persecution of Al Kida will be screened April 2 at the 5th annual Cedar Rapids Independent Film Festival. Unfortunately, I won't be able to attend myself. But I'm grateful to anyone in the area who takes the time to check it out. Also be sure to check out 'Round Midnight, a documentary short by my pal Andy Brodie.
Shadow Government Hides UFO Phenomena
So I watched Peter Jennings special report "U.F.O.'s: Seeing is Believing" the other night. Among the things I learned were that people who study UFOs but have no other scientific standing refer to themselves as "Ufologists," which sounds about as professional as some frat dude calling himself a "boobologist." I was also convinced that, while some sightings are unexplained and fairly incredible, the Roswell thing was pretty much a crock of shit. Just as surprising, apparently that "alien autopsy" show aired on FOX a few years back was a fabrication. I guess the fact that the most amazing revelation in human history needed a strong lead-in from World's Scariest Police Chases should have been a sign that something was awry.
There's an interesting range in the community of believers, from the straight-up scientists at SETI to those who swear they've been obducted and sodomized by aliens. There have clearly been a lot of unexplained objects in the sky. The logical jump that I don't quite follow is assuming that because the object can't be explained, it must be an alien spaceship. But if you think that's a jump, the blog Jennings read on The Daily Show was out of this world. The blogger suggested that the "shadow government" pressured Jennings into doing a recent report claiming Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone gunman, and in exchange the newsman was being allowed to finally break the truth about our contact with aliens. Now that's some first class crazy.
Whatever you think of ufologists, you can't deny they make for some interesting stories. If you don't believe me, check out Coast to Coast with Art Bell, the most entertaining AM call-in show in America.
Taking a cue from the blog community, I've made sure to include in this post phrases like "shadow government" and "conspiracy theory" in shameless hopes of increasing site traffic.
There's an interesting range in the community of believers, from the straight-up scientists at SETI to those who swear they've been obducted and sodomized by aliens. There have clearly been a lot of unexplained objects in the sky. The logical jump that I don't quite follow is assuming that because the object can't be explained, it must be an alien spaceship. But if you think that's a jump, the blog Jennings read on The Daily Show was out of this world. The blogger suggested that the "shadow government" pressured Jennings into doing a recent report claiming Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone gunman, and in exchange the newsman was being allowed to finally break the truth about our contact with aliens. Now that's some first class crazy.
Whatever you think of ufologists, you can't deny they make for some interesting stories. If you don't believe me, check out Coast to Coast with Art Bell, the most entertaining AM call-in show in America.
Taking a cue from the blog community, I've made sure to include in this post phrases like "shadow government" and "conspiracy theory" in shameless hopes of increasing site traffic.
Other People's Kids
The problem with other people’s children is you have no legal recourse.
Naura and I faced this problem over the weekend, while visiting The Devil’s home on earth – Hearst Castle. We were unlucky enough to land in a tour group full of kids running around like a pre-pubescent Lord of the Flies, not to mention their parents, who clearly decided to leave the responsibility for raising their young to tour guides and other passers by.
Now some people like to say they’ve never met a bad kid, only bad parents. That is complete horseshit. I have met quite a few bad kids. Maybe it was the parents who didn’t set appropriate limits or whatever, but the wanton destruction – that’s all Junior.
The problem with these parents who just let other people deal with their jackass kids is we don’t complete the deal. Most of us are uncomfortable parenting other people’s kids, so we usually react to their bad behavior with nothing but scornful looks to Mom and Dad, who obviously don’t give a shit. The solution is simple: We need to beat these people’s children for them.
I know “spanking” is a contentious issue, so perhaps parameters should be set by the legislature. But once those standards are in place, we the general public should have no remorse about smacking other people’s kids. I think it should be a Federal statute, but Republicans might push to make it a State thing. Fine. Maybe in Oregon you can only issue a stern verbal reprimand, while in Texas you can backhand the child with a leather strap. The point is we will finally have some acceptable recourse against the punks in the movie theater kicking the back of our chairs.
Of course, I’m not suggesting the negligent parents get off free. I think we need to throw these people in prison. Let’s finally bring some sense to our penal system – release the harmless marijuana dealers and make room for parents who let their kids throw garbage out the windows of a moving bus. Imagine this: A kid does something obnoxious in a public place. The person nearest the kid delivers a government approved beating, and any cops in the area track down the parents and handcuff them. Now that’s a police state I could live with.
And if people are really against the whole corporal punishment thing, we could always just arrest the kids too. It would probably serve as a deterrent to any other brats in the area to see a fellow 6-year-old being held face down against a squad car and maced. The LAPD already uses similar tactics with children, I’m just suggesting they be applied regardless of race.
I know even the best children can be a problem sometimes. As an adult without children, I am even mildly sympathetic to the issue. But it’s important that we acknowledge that many parents take their role no more seriously than the night of recreational sex that created the kid in the first place. When it comes to these people, for the sake of society, I think it’s a moral imperative that we beat and or jail the parents and children. After all, it takes a village.
Naura and I faced this problem over the weekend, while visiting The Devil’s home on earth – Hearst Castle. We were unlucky enough to land in a tour group full of kids running around like a pre-pubescent Lord of the Flies, not to mention their parents, who clearly decided to leave the responsibility for raising their young to tour guides and other passers by.
Now some people like to say they’ve never met a bad kid, only bad parents. That is complete horseshit. I have met quite a few bad kids. Maybe it was the parents who didn’t set appropriate limits or whatever, but the wanton destruction – that’s all Junior.
The problem with these parents who just let other people deal with their jackass kids is we don’t complete the deal. Most of us are uncomfortable parenting other people’s kids, so we usually react to their bad behavior with nothing but scornful looks to Mom and Dad, who obviously don’t give a shit. The solution is simple: We need to beat these people’s children for them.
I know “spanking” is a contentious issue, so perhaps parameters should be set by the legislature. But once those standards are in place, we the general public should have no remorse about smacking other people’s kids. I think it should be a Federal statute, but Republicans might push to make it a State thing. Fine. Maybe in Oregon you can only issue a stern verbal reprimand, while in Texas you can backhand the child with a leather strap. The point is we will finally have some acceptable recourse against the punks in the movie theater kicking the back of our chairs.
Of course, I’m not suggesting the negligent parents get off free. I think we need to throw these people in prison. Let’s finally bring some sense to our penal system – release the harmless marijuana dealers and make room for parents who let their kids throw garbage out the windows of a moving bus. Imagine this: A kid does something obnoxious in a public place. The person nearest the kid delivers a government approved beating, and any cops in the area track down the parents and handcuff them. Now that’s a police state I could live with.
And if people are really against the whole corporal punishment thing, we could always just arrest the kids too. It would probably serve as a deterrent to any other brats in the area to see a fellow 6-year-old being held face down against a squad car and maced. The LAPD already uses similar tactics with children, I’m just suggesting they be applied regardless of race.
I know even the best children can be a problem sometimes. As an adult without children, I am even mildly sympathetic to the issue. But it’s important that we acknowledge that many parents take their role no more seriously than the night of recreational sex that created the kid in the first place. When it comes to these people, for the sake of society, I think it’s a moral imperative that we beat and or jail the parents and children. After all, it takes a village.
Fear and Mourning
The Good Doctor was always a tough pill to swallow, but the news of his passing is still caught in my throat.
I won't presume to euologize Hunter Thompson, leaving that to those who know him and his work far better than I. But I do reach out to everyone else who is feeling shocked, confused, lost or hurt, and say, I hear you, brother.
What saddens me most is that he has left us at a time we really need him. Just in the last month, I've gone back and read some of Hunter's writing during the Nixon era to remind myself that politics have been a whirlwind shitstorm before and may yet get better. To me at least, that's the beauty of his words. He documented what it feels like to live under a liar like Nixon. Now that we're enduring a liar on the scale of George W. Bush, though it sometimes feels like we're blindfolded and inching ever closer to the edge, Hunter is there to remind us that we've walked here before. It's a sincere comfort.
I heard the news while driving with my wife through a rainstorm along the California Central Coast. Flipping channels, searching for a weather report, the news came to us from the lips of Matt Drudge. Drudge - the Godfather of Get It Now News that pummels us with information but gives us no kind of understanding. I hope there are far fewer Matt Drudges and more Hunter Thompsons.
And I really wish the Doctor were around to lead us on another shark hunt.
I won't presume to euologize Hunter Thompson, leaving that to those who know him and his work far better than I. But I do reach out to everyone else who is feeling shocked, confused, lost or hurt, and say, I hear you, brother.
What saddens me most is that he has left us at a time we really need him. Just in the last month, I've gone back and read some of Hunter's writing during the Nixon era to remind myself that politics have been a whirlwind shitstorm before and may yet get better. To me at least, that's the beauty of his words. He documented what it feels like to live under a liar like Nixon. Now that we're enduring a liar on the scale of George W. Bush, though it sometimes feels like we're blindfolded and inching ever closer to the edge, Hunter is there to remind us that we've walked here before. It's a sincere comfort.
I heard the news while driving with my wife through a rainstorm along the California Central Coast. Flipping channels, searching for a weather report, the news came to us from the lips of Matt Drudge. Drudge - the Godfather of Get It Now News that pummels us with information but gives us no kind of understanding. I hope there are far fewer Matt Drudges and more Hunter Thompsons.
And I really wish the Doctor were around to lead us on another shark hunt.
'Roid Rage
Anyone who's been following baseball this week has been inundated with Jose Canseco's allegations of personally injecting steroids into nearly every ass in the American League. It's been correctly acknowledged that Canseco is a world class dirt bag, and I sure as hell wouldn't buy a used car from him. But it's still pretty far-fetched to think that he simply made up all of these allegations. So what are we supposed to think?
Every sportswriter has weighed in on what this rampant doping means for baseball, and most have opted for hand-wringing and shame. But suggesting the doping tarnishes the achievements of those players makes some pretty bold assumptions about the effects of steroids and ignores the context in which the doping occurred.
It's obvious how steroids effect a power lifter or a sprinter - sports that turn on raw physical performance. It's less clear how bilking up helps a player with the precision skills required in baseball. I'm sure more muscle makes a great hitter even better. But I've seen muscle-bound guys who can't buy a homer and skinny guys with the hand/eye coordination, bat speed, etc. to get the job done. Steroids also entered the equation at exactly the time when players began rigorous physical conditioning, so it's next to impossible to divine where these . Because steroids have some effect on performance, alarmists assume they determine performance. It just ain't true.
What everyone seems to be ignoring is the fact that steroid use was NOT BANNED by Major League Baseball in the 1990s. The first official policy was drafted after the 2001 season. It is true that 'roids were illegal, and this may sound like a slippery philosophical argument, but that doesn't mean using them in baseball was cheating. It may have been illegal, unethical or dirty, but it wasn't breaking the rules. If you don't want to like these players because they were juiced, you have every right. But there's no grounds to suggest their records be wiped from the books.
But the record books are what this anger is really about. Comparing players from different generations is a second job for many, and stats are the tools of the trade. But from now until the end of time, anyone who argues Barry Bonds is the greatest hitter of all time will have BALCO thrown in their face. And that's fair. And it's nothing new. From the dead ball to the height of the mound to expansion, the dynamics of the game are in constant change. Steroids are a chapter in the history of baseball, and maybe not a noble chapter, but still a part of the book.
Every sportswriter has weighed in on what this rampant doping means for baseball, and most have opted for hand-wringing and shame. But suggesting the doping tarnishes the achievements of those players makes some pretty bold assumptions about the effects of steroids and ignores the context in which the doping occurred.
It's obvious how steroids effect a power lifter or a sprinter - sports that turn on raw physical performance. It's less clear how bilking up helps a player with the precision skills required in baseball. I'm sure more muscle makes a great hitter even better. But I've seen muscle-bound guys who can't buy a homer and skinny guys with the hand/eye coordination, bat speed, etc. to get the job done. Steroids also entered the equation at exactly the time when players began rigorous physical conditioning, so it's next to impossible to divine where these . Because steroids have some effect on performance, alarmists assume they determine performance. It just ain't true.
What everyone seems to be ignoring is the fact that steroid use was NOT BANNED by Major League Baseball in the 1990s. The first official policy was drafted after the 2001 season. It is true that 'roids were illegal, and this may sound like a slippery philosophical argument, but that doesn't mean using them in baseball was cheating. It may have been illegal, unethical or dirty, but it wasn't breaking the rules. If you don't want to like these players because they were juiced, you have every right. But there's no grounds to suggest their records be wiped from the books.
But the record books are what this anger is really about. Comparing players from different generations is a second job for many, and stats are the tools of the trade. But from now until the end of time, anyone who argues Barry Bonds is the greatest hitter of all time will have BALCO thrown in their face. And that's fair. And it's nothing new. From the dead ball to the height of the mound to expansion, the dynamics of the game are in constant change. Steroids are a chapter in the history of baseball, and maybe not a noble chapter, but still a part of the book.
The Death of the Author
The death of Arthur Miller made me think about a lot of things, like his noble use of the theater to reflect social outrage and the awkward status of artists who outlive their prime. But mostly it made me think about how much cooler it used to be to be a writer.
Exhibit A and the tagline to every story about Miller's death is the fact that he was briefly married to Marilyn Monroe. I heard a few literati on my local NPR station lamenting this fact because it might overshadow the importance of Miller's work. I see their point, but it seems to me that this fact actually elevates our appreciation of what it meant to be a writer in Arthur Miller's heyday.
Can you imagine a playwright today being married to the hottest Hollywood starlet? Let me answer that for you: No. I can virtually guarantee you that you won't pickup tomorrow's newspaper to read that Patrick Marber and Cameron Diaz have eloped in Vegas. You also won't tune in on Oscar night and see Salman Rushdie escorting Halle Berry down the red carpet. And this writer/starlet thing wasn't a phenomena isolated to Arthur Miller. In All About Eve, which I regard as accurate as a historical document, the playwright is also pursued by the hottest ingenue of the day.
The glory days of the writer were also recalled indirectly in the aftermath of Johnny Carson's death. As was recounted in several remembrances, The Tonight Show used to run 90 minutes and generally featured the interview of an author at the end. Watching footage of Carson conversing with Gore Vidal or Norman Mailer, I couldn't help but feel that popular culture has regressed.
Now, cynics might charge that I only feel this way because, as a writer, I want to be pursued by beautiful women and spout my ideas on national television. But that's only half the story.
The full truth is that in an era of George W. Bush and reality television, ideas are becoming passe, and those who write their ideas down even more marginalized. It's a crude barometer of the social climate, but if you tune in to the tail end of tonight's late night talk show, you're probably going to see the latest jackass to get kicked off Survivor. Call me old fashioned, but I'd rather see a talented writer with something interesting to say. And if they've got some pretty young thing on their arm, I figure that's par for the course.
Exhibit A and the tagline to every story about Miller's death is the fact that he was briefly married to Marilyn Monroe. I heard a few literati on my local NPR station lamenting this fact because it might overshadow the importance of Miller's work. I see their point, but it seems to me that this fact actually elevates our appreciation of what it meant to be a writer in Arthur Miller's heyday.
Can you imagine a playwright today being married to the hottest Hollywood starlet? Let me answer that for you: No. I can virtually guarantee you that you won't pickup tomorrow's newspaper to read that Patrick Marber and Cameron Diaz have eloped in Vegas. You also won't tune in on Oscar night and see Salman Rushdie escorting Halle Berry down the red carpet. And this writer/starlet thing wasn't a phenomena isolated to Arthur Miller. In All About Eve, which I regard as accurate as a historical document, the playwright is also pursued by the hottest ingenue of the day.
The glory days of the writer were also recalled indirectly in the aftermath of Johnny Carson's death. As was recounted in several remembrances, The Tonight Show used to run 90 minutes and generally featured the interview of an author at the end. Watching footage of Carson conversing with Gore Vidal or Norman Mailer, I couldn't help but feel that popular culture has regressed.
Now, cynics might charge that I only feel this way because, as a writer, I want to be pursued by beautiful women and spout my ideas on national television. But that's only half the story.
The full truth is that in an era of George W. Bush and reality television, ideas are becoming passe, and those who write their ideas down even more marginalized. It's a crude barometer of the social climate, but if you tune in to the tail end of tonight's late night talk show, you're probably going to see the latest jackass to get kicked off Survivor. Call me old fashioned, but I'd rather see a talented writer with something interesting to say. And if they've got some pretty young thing on their arm, I figure that's par for the course.
The Saddest Music in the World
One of my favorite uses for rock music is wallowing in self-pity. Back in the day, I hosted a Valentine's Day Sucks radio show which consisted of the most depressing, gun-in-the-mouth type love songs I could find. Now that I lack such an outlet, I wanted to at least share a list of my favorite tracks for contemplating the horrible futility of love/life.
I'm not saying this list is comprehensive by any means, but I guarantee if you put these songs on you will feel splendidly miserable:
One Step Up - Bruce Springsteen
Transatlantacism - Death Cab For Cutie
Birds - Neil Young
Mr. Blue - The Fleetwoods
Crying Time - Ray Charles
Misguided Angel - Cowboy Junkies
Radio Cure - Wilco
Ghost - Indigo Girls
I'll Come Running Back to You - Sam Cooke
Those Three Days - Lucinda Williams
Black Star - Radiohead
Martha - Tom Waits
Another Lonely Day - Ben Harper
Famous Blue Raincoat - Leonard Cohen
Hallelujah - John Cale (or Jeff Buckley)
Nothing Takes the Place of You - Toussaint McCall
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright - Bob Dylan
Have a Happy Valentines Day! :)
I'm not saying this list is comprehensive by any means, but I guarantee if you put these songs on you will feel splendidly miserable:
One Step Up - Bruce Springsteen
Transatlantacism - Death Cab For Cutie
Birds - Neil Young
Mr. Blue - The Fleetwoods
Crying Time - Ray Charles
Misguided Angel - Cowboy Junkies
Radio Cure - Wilco
Ghost - Indigo Girls
I'll Come Running Back to You - Sam Cooke
Those Three Days - Lucinda Williams
Black Star - Radiohead
Martha - Tom Waits
Another Lonely Day - Ben Harper
Famous Blue Raincoat - Leonard Cohen
Hallelujah - John Cale (or Jeff Buckley)
Nothing Takes the Place of You - Toussaint McCall
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright - Bob Dylan
Have a Happy Valentines Day! :)
A Story that Sucks from All Angles
I've recently become aware of the controversy swirling around this University of Colorado prof who made some insensitive remarks about the victims of the Sept. 11 attacks. Like most controversies involving the world of higher education, the situation is a hornet's nest of ego, academic freedom and all-out bullshit.
In an essay written shortly after the event, Ward Churchill proclaimed many of the victims were not innocents, but rather "a technocratic corps at the very heart of America's global financial empire." As you might imagine, that touched a raw nerve and has led to calls for Churchill's resignation, which has in turn mobilized an equally strident band of supporters.
I don't know enough about this situation to make any over-arching pronouncements. But I do know a few things about this whole "story" that piss me off.
In none of the stories I've seen has it been made clear why this marginal critic's marginal comments have exploded to the forefront 3 years after the fact. But I would bet my left nut that it began with some small group of right-wingers. These roving clans of outrage are all over the place of late, with one group alone accounting for 99% of the supposed rise in indecency complaints to the FCC in the last few years. I understand there's no statute of limitations on this type of debate, and Ward isn't in any hurry to recant his statements, but I still think the question of "why now?" is an important one.
So the scent of right-wing collusion pushes me toward sympathizing with Mr. Churchill, but then I read his actual essay, pretentiously titled "On the Justice of Roosting Chickens." It's your run of the mill U.S. foreign policy spawned middle eastern terrorism sort of thing. It's a premise I find merit in on a broad level, but he looses me when he seems to suggest that the Iraqi deaths caused by American sanctions are more morally reprehensible than those caused by flying a commercial airplane into a large building.
But my biggest gripe with Ward Churchill came when I saw footage of him at some kind of rally at CU, because the guy is a complete tool. He stands at a podium and barks his martyr's rhetoric while his minions practically salute and goose-step. He's fighting to hold back this shit-eating grin, and it's clear he's getting off on the personal glory and not the power of ideas or whatever.
I'm an absolute supporter of academic freedom, but this story doesn't really seem to have much to do with that. In a struggle between an ego maniac and right wing alarmists, how does one pick a winner?
In an essay written shortly after the event, Ward Churchill proclaimed many of the victims were not innocents, but rather "a technocratic corps at the very heart of America's global financial empire." As you might imagine, that touched a raw nerve and has led to calls for Churchill's resignation, which has in turn mobilized an equally strident band of supporters.
I don't know enough about this situation to make any over-arching pronouncements. But I do know a few things about this whole "story" that piss me off.
In none of the stories I've seen has it been made clear why this marginal critic's marginal comments have exploded to the forefront 3 years after the fact. But I would bet my left nut that it began with some small group of right-wingers. These roving clans of outrage are all over the place of late, with one group alone accounting for 99% of the supposed rise in indecency complaints to the FCC in the last few years. I understand there's no statute of limitations on this type of debate, and Ward isn't in any hurry to recant his statements, but I still think the question of "why now?" is an important one.
So the scent of right-wing collusion pushes me toward sympathizing with Mr. Churchill, but then I read his actual essay, pretentiously titled "On the Justice of Roosting Chickens." It's your run of the mill U.S. foreign policy spawned middle eastern terrorism sort of thing. It's a premise I find merit in on a broad level, but he looses me when he seems to suggest that the Iraqi deaths caused by American sanctions are more morally reprehensible than those caused by flying a commercial airplane into a large building.
But my biggest gripe with Ward Churchill came when I saw footage of him at some kind of rally at CU, because the guy is a complete tool. He stands at a podium and barks his martyr's rhetoric while his minions practically salute and goose-step. He's fighting to hold back this shit-eating grin, and it's clear he's getting off on the personal glory and not the power of ideas or whatever.
I'm an absolute supporter of academic freedom, but this story doesn't really seem to have much to do with that. In a struggle between an ego maniac and right wing alarmists, how does one pick a winner?
Bob Dylan and the Crossroads
I just finished Bob Dylan’s Chronicles Vol. 1, which was nominated for the National Book Critics Circle Award, in case you don’t believe me that it’s really damn good. With autobiography becoming nearly synonymous with self-serving crap, it’s especially exciting to read something that doesn’t make its author/subject out to be some kind of saint.
Let’s face it – he’s Bob Dylan. He could have gotten away with 300 pages of “kiss my ass, I’m Bob Dylan” because, well, he is. But Bob refuses to credit his talents or anyone else’s to something magical that you or I will never touch. I especially like what he has to say about bluesman Robert Johnson:
“There’d been a fast moving story going around that he had sold his soul to the devil at a four-way crossroads at midnight and that’s how he got to be so good. Well, I don’t know about that. The ones who knew him told a different tale and that was that he had hung around some older blues players in rural parts of Mississippi, played harmonica, was rejected as a bothersome kid, that he went off and learned how to play guitar from a farmhand named Ike Zinnerman, a mysterious character not in any of the history books.”
The myth of Dylan isn’t as clearly defined as Johnson’s, but he’s no less mythical of a figure. In speaking about Johnson, Dylan is reiterating what he has been insisting about himself – that he’s not any kind of supernatural talent, just a guy who listened to a lot of music and learned from it.
It’s exhilarating to read an artist of Dylan’s unquestioned talent debunking this idea that the creative juice is passed out at birth and you either got it or you don’t. That idea has given us a lot of lazy writing, lazy music, lazy art. I suppose it’s romantic to think that the great ones just sit down and let it flow with no consciousness of craft, but it’s also pretty naïve.
Let’s face it – he’s Bob Dylan. He could have gotten away with 300 pages of “kiss my ass, I’m Bob Dylan” because, well, he is. But Bob refuses to credit his talents or anyone else’s to something magical that you or I will never touch. I especially like what he has to say about bluesman Robert Johnson:
“There’d been a fast moving story going around that he had sold his soul to the devil at a four-way crossroads at midnight and that’s how he got to be so good. Well, I don’t know about that. The ones who knew him told a different tale and that was that he had hung around some older blues players in rural parts of Mississippi, played harmonica, was rejected as a bothersome kid, that he went off and learned how to play guitar from a farmhand named Ike Zinnerman, a mysterious character not in any of the history books.”
The myth of Dylan isn’t as clearly defined as Johnson’s, but he’s no less mythical of a figure. In speaking about Johnson, Dylan is reiterating what he has been insisting about himself – that he’s not any kind of supernatural talent, just a guy who listened to a lot of music and learned from it.
It’s exhilarating to read an artist of Dylan’s unquestioned talent debunking this idea that the creative juice is passed out at birth and you either got it or you don’t. That idea has given us a lot of lazy writing, lazy music, lazy art. I suppose it’s romantic to think that the great ones just sit down and let it flow with no consciousness of craft, but it’s also pretty naïve.
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