to the vanquished, the spoils

Combining historical accuracy with cultural sensitivity!
Here is the scenario:

Your side has just been decisively defeated by the opposition. While the rout can be credited in part to the superior leadership, organization, and tactics of the enemy, the unfortunate (but entirely forseeable) consequences of your side's ideological and policy decisions were also a major factor.

Even after launching every weapon in your arsenal and mobilizing your most loyal and reliable ground forces, you had to fight (and lose) on fronts that you hadn't even anticipated from the outset.

So, faced with such a colossal rebuke of your strategy, tactics, and global vision, do you:

1. Humbly reflect on the errors in judgement that caused your loss and recalibrate your focus?

2. Brazenly attempt to dictate terms to the victorious side while refusing to acknowledge the reasons for your defeat?

If you answered "2," you could have a great future ahead of you as a right-wing op-ed columnist.

Manual Scan - American Way (from a 1982 single; collected on This Is Mod v.6: The United States of Mod, 1999) - "Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness." If there's one thing I've learned as an American, it's that sociopathy and arrogance are more socially acceptable behaviors than signs of "weakness" are.

Don't let the compliation title fool you -- this cut may be mod revival by association, but the postpunk influences (Gang of Four and Pylon, specifically) are unmistakable.

the turd in the punchbowl

It was supposed to be a golden moment in American history, and indeed it was. The realization that I was witnessing something very important happening, on so many levels, managed to cut its way past decades of cynicism born of thwarted idealism and swell my heart with pride.

I went to bed last night giddy with hope and schadenfreude, and though I still feel the warm buzz, it has since been harshed by events in California, where it looks like the ban on and possible nullification of same sex marriage has been approved.

While I was, and still am, thrilled about the symbolic and historical significance of Obama's victory, Proposition 8 is something that has a direct and immediate impact on people's lives. That some of these people are good friends of mine made it especially personal is beside the point -- it's more than a matter of seeing my friends have equal rights and protections under the law, it's a matter of basic fairness for all regardless of my personal connections to the parties involved.

I'm a pragmatic idealist. I am more than capable of bending my principles for the sake of incremental or less than perfect gain, and am willing to hold my nose and play the crooked game if it brings progress in the now, rather than staking my hopes on a millennarian sea change in some imagined future. I realize that might make me look a bit...unsound...to some of my more uncompromising comrades even if I share the same grand ideals.

I cannot, however, bring myself to bend on the subject of egalitarian principles. Everyone should be granted equal rights, responsibilities and protections under the law. That's a no brainer. It's the cornerstone of any just society. So how could anyone with any sense of fairness or justice of conscience presume to dictate something as personal as the bond between two consenting adults?

Because it's an easy target, sanctioned by social, cultural, and theological prejudices and given the opportunity to single out a perceived "other." For what? Smug satisfaction? Anticipation of some spiritual award? Simple mean-spiritedness?

That's utter bullshit. As I said back when similar nonsense was going down here in the Bay State, the only people who can "protect" or "devalue" marriage are you and your spouse. I don't conduct my personal relationship with Maura by looking over my shoulder at what other couples are doing, nor would I even deign to dictate terms of matrimony to other grownups. To think that such deeply personal matters ought to be subject to referendum is obnoxious in the extreme, leaving things in the hands of some petty-minded assholes on the other side of the state to legislate.

Look, folks, if you want to parade around in your vestments of smug righteousness, confident about your reserved place in the heavenly host, more power to you (though I suspect you might be disappointed in the end). Just keep your fucking noses out of other people's personal business, right? Don't you have some quasi-incestuous Purity Ball to plan for or something?

The Adverts - New Day Dawning (from a 1978 b-side; collected on The Punk Singles Collection, 1997) - I had been planning to repost my post-Election 2006 miniplaylist today, because it has been two years and there's no topping perfection. Events being what they are, however, I'm not up for unbridled joy, so we'll go with the most ambiguous (and sinister) selection from that day.

For the record, here's what I had on repeat last night when I was in full-on happy mode...

a historic moment

More when I can form a coherent thought, but....

HOLY SHIT, IT REALLY HAPPENED.

night turns to day

Election 2008 -- this time it's personal.

It's not about validating a flawed system of governance or overreaching hopes for meaningful change or some lingering vestiges of patriotic idealism.

It's about spite, an opportunity to flip the bird at the sanctioned looters and their legion of sanctimonious thugs which have run roughshod over everything that is sane and decent for the last eight years.

That's more than enough for me.

A Popular History of Signs - Land of the Free (from Comrades, 1984) - I suppose I could have went with Arcadia again, but why settle for post-Duran leavings when this New Order-y slice of obscure synthpop will suffice?

A final note to my readers in the Golden State: You are voting "no" on Proposition 8, right?

wake up

Orbital - Choice (from the US version of Orbital, a.k.a. the "Green Album", 1991) - The lines have been drawn. The soul of the nation hangs in the balance. Get off the fence and join the election year rave. The party won't stop until the last ballot drops.

tired of being upset

It's been a while since we checked up on Senator Psycho Man. I wonder what he's been up to these past few weeks....

Meanwhile, back at the McCain campaign headquarters.....


November 5th can't come soon enough.

The Buzzcocks - Everybody's Happy Nowadays (from Singles Going Steady, 1979) - It must be true, because I saw it in a poll.

get off my lawn

So, did you manage to catch last night's presidential debate? No? Well, I don't blame you considering it ran opposite Say Yes to the Dress. If I'm going to suffer through a television-induced optical migraine, I'd much rather it be caused by the diva-tastic antics of a megalomaniacal bride-to-be than by the phony bloodsport of 21st century American politics.

The wheels of the media-established consensus machine are still spinning at this point, so I am forbidden by law to assess which of the candidates "won" the face-off. Senator Obama did well enough in discussing foreign policy issues, considering that such subjects are supposedly where he is weakest. His nuanced approach to American militarism remains troubling, as it is impossible to tell how much of it is pandering to the "kick some ass" demographic and how much of it is sincere.

As for Senator McCain?

Wow, he actually looks better there than he did on the podium last night. (I kid. McCain doesn't look like the Reverend Kane from Poltergeist 2, no matter what my wife might say. He looks like an old school Sontaran. I'd add that Sarah Palin looks like the evil auction house woman from the first season of Charmed, but that would mean letting the world know I watch Charmed and....oh, fuck.)

While I do not believe that appearances ought to be the deciding factor in a political contest (though "Empress Tuesday Weld" has a nice ring to it), I'm pretty sure that looking and comporting oneself like Mr. Neighborhood Crankypants isn't the best way to win votes. The only things he was missing last night were an overgrown hedge, a German Shepherd, and a collection of seized Frisbees and wiffle balls.

When he did exhibit a rare flash of lucidity and substance, it was only to elucidate a more belligerent, if such a thing is even possible, foreign policy platform than we presently have. I don't deny that shit sells to a substantial section of the populace, but "extremist reiteration of the status quo" isn't what I'd call synonymous with "maverick."

The debate was McCain's to lose, despite the backfiring of his economic "white knight" stunt. The expert was supposed to school the neophyte, thus proving the latter's unreadiness to lead. Even if one calls the debate a draw, as the media consensus is tentatively claming it was, it means that McCain was evenly matched by Obama in the one area where he supposedly held a decisive advantage.

They can spin it in the media arena as much as they like, but I'm guessing that whatever pragmatic souls exist in the McCain campaign are currently shitting themselves.

Iggy Pop - Winners & Losers (from Blah Blah Blah, 1986) - Pop goes mainstream! This track (along with two others on the album) was co-written by ex-Pistol Steve Jones, coming on the heels of his stint in Chequered Past and prior to his solo career as a former guitar hero-turned-MOR hard rocker.

Fun Boy Three - The More I See (The Less I Believe) (from Waiting, 1983) - I liked Terry Hall better when he wasn't trying to compete with Robert Smith. One Robert Smith is enough for this world (or rather "too much," since Mr. Smith discovered the magical powers of elastic waistbands). That said, when Hall and company weren't moping up songs originally written by Hall for The Go-Go's, they did manage to record the odd bit of nifty, socially aware pop such as today's featured selection.

at weekends will change their behavior

With all the hoopla regarding the circus of pain and stupidity known as the 2008 presidential election, it's easy to forget that there are other electoral contests being held this November 4.

With that in mind, the two candidates for the state representative seat in my little corner of Boston's northwestern suburban sprawl have been packing my mailbox to the brim with reminders of what's really at stake.

The answer is "not that much." It's a symptom of the problems of living in a de facto one-party state. Not that I'd ever vote Republican, but the presence of an active opposition would at least motivate some of these party hacks to try a bit harder, and not settle for the traditional paradox platform of "lower taxes/more and better services" that the average suburbanite can't seem to get enough of. "I want decent roads and a great school system, but that extra fifteen bucks a year in taxes is too rich for my blood. I have Escalade payments to make, after all!"

I take my civic responsibility seriously, and take pains to vote in every election, no matter how inconsequential. Even if it's a futile gesture, I refuse to cede that marginal say in how things are done. Besides, at least I'm balancing out the vote of one other motivated idiot. The state rep decision is a bit of a puzzler, though, because I really don't care for either of the choices.

No matter how intently they look me in the eye during a door-to-door meet'n'greet and promise the sun, moon, and stars that they won't fuck over civil servants ( which both the wife and I are) on contract, benefits, or pension matters, no matter how much they swear they won't roll over for some out of state developer's plans to drop a massive luxury condo complex in our backyard, their records speak for themselves. (C'mon, I can't be the only person to pay attention to how these folks vote in the legislature and city council. What, I am? Oh.)

In the end, I'll probably do what I always do in these situations: cast a write-in ballot for my dog Oscar. Given the steady decline in voter turnout, I fully expect the little guy to win one of these years, too. He is better qualified for the office, that's for frigging sure.

Here's a sample from today's prodigious haul of eco-unfriendly landfill fodder disguised as campaign literature. See, that One Guy has been hammering that Other Fellow over his blue state bona fides. It's an argument that I'd ordinarily be receptive to, if that One Guy tossing stones didn't have a strong record of DINO tendencies himself:


My initial reaction to this was "Wait, the Catholic Church is allowed to donate directly to candidates?"

The Damned - Anti-Pope (from Machine Gun Etiquette, 1979) - Though quantum theology has predicted the existence of anti-popes, it wasn't until the constuction of the Large Liturgical Collider by Saint Hippolytus in the 3rd Century A.D. that one was actually observed in action.

choose wisely or perish

The dreaded return of Senator Psycho Man -- because there is no gag I can't milk 'till the udders squirt dust!

(with apologies this time to Fantastic Four #284, November 1985)
I came of age in the era of home videogame consoles -- first the Pong clones, then the Atari age, the Nintendo generation, and all that followed. Before one was old enough to secure a source of disposable income, the purchase of a system was left in the hands of parents or relatives, either directly or through gifts of cash. It was crucially important to choose wisely and get the "right" system, lest one be stuck with a big pile of digitized suck while one's peers waxed euphoric about the console not taken.

It hurts to feel left out of the loop, especially when you're a kid and can't put things right via a high-interest credit card purchase. Humans being the adaptable creatures that we are, though, it was a simple enough matter to encyst the nagging feelings of envy by adopting an irrationaly defensive attitude...

My system doesn't suck, yours does! If you look at the specs, the Atari 7800 is far superior to the NES, and Solaris beats that stupid Super Mario bullshit any day! I wouldn't get a Nintendo even if they were giving them out for free! Quit laughing!

Repeat it often enough, and you might even come to believe it...even if in your heart of hearts you know the real truth. This midset, I suspect, is why videogame fandom tends to outstrip all others when it comes to twisted loyalty and bizarre outburts.

Substituting brand loyalty for community isn't anything new; it's an inevitable consequence of consumer capitalist society where traditional bonds of community have long been on the wane. Unlike, say, the Marvel versus DC fan rivalry, however, the cost of switch-hitting between factions is a hundred times more expensive, making the face-saving justifications that much more strident and impassioned.

I bring this up because I'm reminded of it each time I stumble across defenses of Sarah Palin's vice-presidential credentials issued by various right-wing pundits and the GOP's official PR flacks. It's rather pathetic watching the loyal unconvinced contort themselves through the most tenuous (even by political standards) chains of logic in order to justify an unjustifiable position. Palin is a foreign policy expert because the Japanese occupied the Aluetian Islands during the Second World War? Seriously? There's wishful thinking, and there's outright delusional psychosis.

Even more entertaining is how the justifications double back upon and contradict the previously prevailing rhetoric:

Experience matters, except when it doesn't. Oh, I mean a different kind of experience. Okay, look, I'm a fucking shill who will claim the moon is made of cheese if the party bosses say it will help their chances.

It's also great that the self-appointed arbiters of "traditional Christian morality" have managed to dig some Christian forebearance and compassion out of their junk drawers when it comes to Palin's unwed teenage daughter. "These things happen." Indeed they do, but will this new-found magnamity be extended to all...or just the certain politically expedient few?

Anyway you slice it, McCain's choice of Palin was a poor one. If it was done to shore up the support from social conservatives, there were plenty of better choices from which to pick. If it was done as an appeal to women voters and disillusioned Hillary supporters, there were several far more convincing and qualified options out there. It appears that there are many in the McCain camp who feel the same way, as the speed and ferocity of its responses to criticism -- such as bring up Doris Kearns Goodwin's political affiliation after she stated the historical fact that Palin's resume is the thinnest in the past hundred years of presidential elections -- rivals the defensive rants of any ten-year old who got a TurboGrafx-16 instead of a SNES for Christmas.

(I suspect that McCain's real motivation for going with Palin was because his ego would not allow for a second power base within the presidency -- see Dick "Richelieu" Cheney -- and that factored first above any other considerations.)

Any Trouble - Second Choice (from Where Are All the Nice Girls? 1980) - The Wikipedia entry for Any Trouble states that the band suffered from "unfair" comparisons to Elvis Costello. Unfair, perhaps, because it failed to mentioned the similarities to Squeeze as well.

Deadbeats - Choose You (from a 1980 single) - Not the L.A. punk rockers of "Kill the Hippies" fame, these Deadbeats were a British mod revival outfit. It's all good to me.

soon you'll all be singing along

(with the deepest of apologies to 1967's Fantastic Four Annual #5)
Pulp - The Fear (This Is Hardcore, 1998) - Of the unknown? Hardly. I know all too well what I'm afraid of happening on the fourth of November. Not even crash infusions of sublime Britpop can ease my anxieties.

Count Five - Psychotic Reaction (from Psychotic Revelation, 2003) - Superlative garage rock doesn't help, either, though not from lack of trying.

this cat is where it's at

People of America, I'm sure you've heard what the other candidates are proposing as the solutions to the challenges facing this great nation of ours. Before you cast your ballot, however, you ought to ask yourself if another four years of politics-as-usual is really what this country needs.

There's another way. A better way.

It's time for a new species of chief executive. It's time for a Tawky Tawny presidency. As a tiger who has managed to pull himself up by his own foreclaws (notwithstanding scurrilous rumors concerning the patronage of a being of godly power), Mr. Tawny is able to rise above the petty distractions of professional politics and offer a true vision of substance for America:

EXPERIENCE!
SOUND JUDGEMENT!
FISCAL RESPONSIBILITY!
COMPASSIONATE CONSERVATISM!
DIGNITY!
TAWNY '08 - PUT A TIGER IN YOUR TANK!
Tiger! Tiger! - So You Won't Deceive Me (from The Kind of Goodnight, 2007) - This Atlanta-based garage punk outfit has jumped to the #3 slot on my Last.fm "top artists" list, right behind The Clash and Lush. Fitting company, indeed.

Paul Anka - Eye of the Tiger (from Rock Swings, 2005) - The diminishing returns of irony, clearly illustrated.

(A big thanks to honorary "Tiger Scout" Dave Lartigue for his invaluable assistance.)

you will never understand

"I know that some people don't have to worry when they go to the supermarket," she said, staring accusingly at the [GAS TAX HOLIDAY IS BLATANT PANDERING] placard bearers, but "there are people who count their pennies as they walk down the aisle," trying to figure out what they can afford. "Don't they deserve a break every once in a while? They haven't done anything wrong ... The oil companies have had it their way for too long," she said. "I'm tired of being a patsy." (Via)

Fuck you, Hillary. Fuck you and your $100 million dollar fortune, your privileged upbringing, your off-the-rack populist posturing, and the toxic sense of entitlement displayed by you and your loathsome little crowd.

How dare you fucking condescend to even pretend you know what life is like for folks in my income bracket? I certainly can't loan myself $6 million dollars to continue a campaign whose sole purpose at this point is to gratify a increasingly pathetic manifestation of megalomania. Nor can my spouse garner six figure lecture fees. (I can't help think what those millions of dollars could have done if used in benefit of local food banks rather than to perpetuate a vanity-fueled lost cause.)

We're hard-pressed as it is trying to deal with the fallout from the economic disaster that your shitheel husband (and you, if your boasts are to be believed) set the stage for in the first place. The Bush Cabal let it turn gangrenous, but the original wounds were caused "New Democrat" economic policies that encouraged the bubble economy to run rampant with no forethought towards its inevitable bursting.

You are not one of us, you have no idea what it's like to be one of us, and anyone who thinks that you actually give a shit about our problems is a bigger fool than you are, Ms. Clinton.

I was raised in a working class household. Though my job could technically be labelled "white collar," my tastes and the reach of my income remain well within typical plebeian parameters. I resent the assumptions made by both your campaign and the media's overpaid talking heads about what "working class" means. Don't paint us all with the same brush. At least have the fucking courage to come out and say "I'm pandering to narrow-minded bigots" instead of euphemizing and generalizing the concerns, hopes and desires of a broad and diverse cross-section of people.

Pulp - Common People (from Different Class, 1995) - Absolutely Goddamn spot-on. "She came from Illinois Arkansas New York and had a thirst for power..."

(And lest anyone feels obligated to ask, yes, I am familiar with the Bill Shatner/Joe Jackson cover of the song, okay?)

pants on fire

I've been following the controversy regarding Hillary Clinton's imaginary exposure to sniper fire in Bosnia with a fair degree of bemusement. It's the latest tempest in a teapot in an election year driven by such ephemeral distractions. While I have no affection for Clinton as a politician, it seems that there are plenty of other substantive reasons to be troubled about her candidacy instead of harping over a standard bit of campaign trail Munchausenismo.

It's odd how the greater "we" have resigned ourselves to the fact that politicians are inveterate liars -- to the extent where this aspect of the vocation is accepted as a brute fact -- yet we still manage to conjure up some half-sincere shock and outrage whenever a petty falsehood is exposed. Big lies, on the other hand, dealing with issues of real importance and perpetrated by those who wield real power, tend to be swallowed with gusto and are seemingly unkillable, despite mountains of contrary evidence presented to dispel it.

Sexing up a story about a state visit in a campaign speech? The audacity of it! Using discredited evidence about WMD programs and links to terrorist organizations to stir up support for a disastrous war? Eh, it happens.

On a related note, I was impressed, even as I winced, with Obama's brief moment of candor that withdrawing troops from Iraq might be a more complicated process than anticipated, as he does not have access to the people and information needed to make a clear assessment of the situation at the present time. His campaign spokespeople have since downplayed that statement, so as not to alienate the bloc of anti-war voters (of which I am a unswerving member). When speaking of realities is unwelcome, it seems disingenuous to harp over distortions of the "truth," the quotation marks signifying the confirmation bias inherent in the term as presently understood.

So Hillary has her tale of high adventure in the Balkans, Obama his "I knew but I didn't hear" excuse about his pastor, and John McCain his story about Cuban torturers in the Hanoi Hilton (which could very well be on the level, but it seems like something lifted from a Chuck Norris film and rather conveniently appeals to an important voting bloc in a large swing state). These calculated pieces of window dressing provide ample opportunities to engage in petty sniping and childish taunts -- amplified and abetted by the mainstream media -- which have rendered the public political discourse at a level on par with a schoolyard dust-up. Substantial debate and well-considered policy positions are fine and all, but it's more entertaining (and sadly, more effective) to make fun of how much a rival candidate spent on a haircut.

One thing that I find interesting is that whenever a politician "misspeaks" about his or her personal accomplishments, the statments trend universally toward the positive, which is statistically unusual given the implied excuse of spontaneous, unconscious error. A candidate might "accidentally" tell a bogus story about the time they saved a litter of puppies and the Baby Jesus from a barn fire, but never one about the time they shanked a hobo for half a bottle of Thunderbird.

Funny, that.

The Castaways - Liar, Liar (from The Best of the Castaways, 1999) - Outstanding garage rock from the Twin Cities, this 1965 classic is a fine example of the stuff I used to look forward to hearing on the local oldies station...before its corporate programmers decided to quit trying and just pander to the blandest common denominator. Goodbye, wild organ riffs and falsetto vocals; hello, "Muskrat Love."

Sex Pistols - Liar (from Never Mind the Bollocks..., 1977) - I don't have to explain why I picked this track, do I? (If you answered "yes," there's a high probability you're reading the wrong music blog.)

each time I feel it slippin' away

From "in gratitude..." by Albert Feldstein & Wallace Wood, printed in Shock SuspenStories #11, Oct-Nov 1953
Well, I thought it was a magnificent speech. Eschewing the usual penny-ante gotcha politicking and expedient dissembling, Barack Obama took the opportunity in speech last Tuesday to not simply address the politically troubling remarks of his pastor, but to offer an insightful look into where we are as a diverse nation, and where we could, and should go from there. "We," as in all of us.

For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle – as we did in the OJ trial – or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright’s sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she’s playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.

I am not so naive to think that a speech, however eloquent, done under the pressure of "dealing" with a campaign controversy automatically equals "what will be." The usual segments of the chattering classes (or is that "nattering nabobs?) have been laboring to spin, dissect, and analyze Obama's lofty sentiments -- He's "dodging the issue," he didn't go far enough to condemn Reverend Wright's remarks, what does it mean for his poll numbers -- as another action in the great and cynical game of politics.

The speech and the sentiments expressed therein stand head and shoulders above the present election narrative. As dictated by the sensationalist, Heisenbergian format of modern journalism, the election process has been reduced to a gaudy sideshow cast in terms more purple than the commentary at a pro-wrestling match (the better to fill the time between pharmaceutical ads). In such an environment, cynical calculated behavior has become the order of the day for aspriring candidates. Principles are dealt out like cards in a game of blackjack, with the goal of hitting electibility without going bust. "I stand for X, except when I was against it." "I stand for X, unless this important voting bloc wants me to stand for Y instead."

Even if Obama's speech was bullshit, it was a better class of bullshit than any I've encountered so far this election, and, to reiterate what Dave Lartigue has already said, it's light-years ahead of what we've seen from the other two candidates, whether the short-sighted divisive tactics employed by the Clinton camp or McCain's obsequious efforts to pander to fundamentalist demagogues whose documented views meet and exceed anything that has ever come from Reverend Wright's pulpit. ("But they aren't McCain's personal ministers," say the pundits. No, they just get an inordinate amount of access and power to shape government policy...which is more acceptible, somehow.)

Brinsley Schwarz - (What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding (from The New Favourites of..., 1974) - I've said it before, I'll say it again: Nick Lowe trumps Elvis Costello.

so many mothers sighing

The Apotheosis of War (1871) by Vasily Vereshchagin
Has it really been five years? Why it seems like only yesterday that the Powers-That-Be were promising to shock and awe their way to victory in Iraq, and that the road to Baghdad would be sprinkled with rose petals and lined with cheering throngs of the newly-liberated grateful.

It was supposed to be an easy and clean war, sanitized and vetted for all-ages consumption. Go in, collect a full suit of psuedo-comically nicknamed war criminals, secure Saddam's stash of death rays and other imaginary superweapons, change the nameplates on the government buildings, and convince the newly installed puppet democratic government to sign over the country's petroleum rights to western interests. After that, it would just be a matter of setting up a few permanent military bases before moving onto to the next chosen recipient of American largess from the barrel of a gun. The costs of rebuilding and occupation were to be paid with the gusher of petroleum revenues anticipated to flow once Iraq had been set on its neoconservatively correct course.

Five years, a half a trillion (a low-ball figure) dollars, and an immeasurable amount of human misery later, American forces are involved in an ugly guerrilla war with no end in sight, with the metrics of progress calibrated to resolve issues that we were assured would not arise. Even the vaunted "surge," with its widely trumpeted "success," is merely a bit of strategic sleight-of-hand to placate dissent on the homefront while failing to accomplish anything of lasting import, and amounts to nothing more than deploying a large bucket brigade to bail out a flooded neighborhood while ignoring the breaches in the levee.

The Iraq War has been such a colossal and unforgivable waste in so many ways, and I can't shake the feeling that future historians will point to the Bush cabal's misadventure in arrogance as the point of America's irreversible decline as a superpower -- a mad fling on borrowed money undertaken without regard for how many lives are wrecked, friendships damaged, and property ruined in the process.

I'd like to hope that the upcoming presidential elections will change things, but unless the Democrats take immediate steps to staunch their self-inflicted internal hemorrhaging, all signs point to a victory in November for John McCain, a man who, despite his (undeserved) reputation as a straight-shootin' maverick, combines the political ethics of Ulysses S. Grant and the geo-political subtlety of Douglas MacArthur.

David Bowie - Five Years (from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, 1972) - I suspect the coming apocalypse will be less literal and more existential in nature -- an endless cycle of degradation, humiliation, and petty cruelties committed simply because there will be nothing else left to do.

and they're counting still

The idealist in me is glad that the Democratic Party's presidential selection process hasn't followed the usual course of beginning with the Iowa caucuses and ending on Super Tuesday, and has instead upgraded the importance of late-voting states from afterthoughts to vital contests.

The realist in me, however, really, truly wishes that this hollow circus of oneupsmanship would just fucking end already. My support is behind Obama, though I'm not of the folks who thinks the man can walk on water and my support of his candidacy has nothing to do with my desire to see this contest laid to rest as soon as possible. If the situation between the two candidates at this stage was reversed, I'd still feel the same way. For me this upcoming election has never been about whether of not I believe pie in the sky promises about NAFTA or universal health care; it's a referendum on Bush's presidency, his legacy, and those who aided and abetted him in defiling this country's supposed core principles.

That's a major reason behind my support for Obama, for the record. Clinton's vote in favor of authorizing the Iraq War makes me severely doubt her powers of judgement -- bad enough if it was an honest "mistake," completely unforgivable if it was a calculated and cynical act of politicking. The presence of former DNC head Terry McAuliffe, the Robert Towne-sean figure who takes credit for Bill Clinton's two terms as president (the real credit going to Ross Perot, actually) while neglecting to mention the party's many humilations under his leadership, as Hillary's campaign chair doesn't thrill me either. I'm sure he and Hillary have already worked out a swing state card-counting scheme for the general election where victory hinges on two precincts in Ohio and one in Florida...and we all know how well that plan has worked in the last two elections. Most importantly, I don't think the Oval Office is a baton to be passed back and forth between two political dynasties of dubious qualifications, especially when the candidate in question projects an aura of utterly unjustified entitlement.

As the November election is such an important referendum, the Democrats need to get their shit together and bring their A-game instead of accentuating internal rifts and evoking the spectre of unaccountable party hacks (popularly known as "superdelegates") usurping the will of the majority at the Denver convention this summer. Meanwhile, Republican Presidential nominee John McCain and the RNC spin-meisters have been given an eight-month window of opportunity to mend internal fences and recast his (many) undesirable qualities into an electorate-acceptable package.

I'm also tired of the mainstream media's endless extemporizing on the Democratic nomination process, full of soundbites and fuzzy logic signifying nothing. "What --- needs to do," "what --- should have done," "it's all over for ---," "---'s rise from the ashes" It's a staggering expenditure of keystrokes and hot air intended to take a pretty easily understood situation, a virtual stalemate with one candidate doing slightly better and no prospects for a quick resolution, and gild it with all manner of spin and ill-considered armchair theorizations. There's also the repeated nonsensical extrapolations of the Democratic Party's internal voting demographics during the primaries with Hillary's or Obama's prospects in a general election. As I said before, I'll vote for whichever Democratic candidate is picked, regardless, and so will most other Democrats, if experience is to be trusted.

We're not the people who need to be convinced to vote for the eventual nominee, and the folks that do need convincing ought to be reached out to sooner rather than later, before the opposition frames the debate in its own terms, and not under the pall of an ugly nomination process predicated on loopholes and machine politics.

The Damned - W (from Grave Disorder, 2001) - The Wikipedia entry on Grave Disorder cites a pronounced Britpop influence in this song. Nevermind the fact that the album is a direct follow-up to the band's sound on 1982's Strawberries LP. Or that Vanian and Sensible have long shown an appreciation for 60's garage rock and pop (including releasing an entire album of period covers under the guise of Naz Nomad and The Nightmares). Or that the band's first single, "New Rose," opened with a reference to the Shangri-Las' "Leader of the Pack" and featured a punked up cover of the Fab Four's "Help" on the b-side.

Nah, it has to be all about imitating Oasis and Blur.

The Go-Go's - How Much More (from Beauty and the Beat, 1981) - Maura used to listen to this album for hours in her pre-teen years. I've been listening to it on "repeat" fairly often in recent weeks. It's breezy pop perfection that never goes out of style.

a horse and contract rider approaches

They call me MISTER Ed!
From BitterAndrew's Comprehensive Guide to Films That Don't Exist, But Should:

Equestrophobic southern sherriff Bill Gillespie (Steiger) is forced to team up with Ed (Harvester), a visiting police horse from the big city, in order to solve a mysterious murder in this unusual blending of low comedy and socially aware drama.

Though the film unwisely goes a tail-lifting joke (of five) too far, both leads turn in exceptional performances. Steiger adds an astonishing degree of depth to his character, which a lesser talent might have simply portrayed as a broad redneck caricature. Gillespie's attempts to come to grips with the fact that Ed will only speak in his presence reflect a greater internal transformation where the scales of anti-equine bigotry fall away to reveal genuine feelings of respect and friendship toward his four-legged partner.

As good as Steiger's performance was, Harvester's was even better, being able to convey a wealth of nuanced emotion though such simple gestures as the stomp of a hoof or the flick of a tail. His comedic timing, too, was absolutely flawless (although I'm still perplexed over what appeared to be a length of nylon fishing line dangling from his mouth during the scenes where he speaks).

Harvester would ultimately win the Academy Award for Best Actor for his role in the film, but chose to boycott the award ceremony, instead sending playwright Peter Shaffer to deliver a speech about the unfair portrayals of Equine-Americans in the mass media.

Three stars.

Jay Livingston - The Theme from Mr. Ed (from Television's Greatest Hits, Vol. 1: From the 50's and 60's, 1990) - There was a time when "domestic fantasy" sitcoms were considered to be the bottom of the televisual barrel, and the most frequently cited example of the mediums will toward banality. This was, of course, before Dance War and Celebrity Rehab hit the small screen and made My Mother, The Car look like high fucking art in comparion. Watching the bitter residue of Jeff Conaway get ointment rubbed on his lower back or watching Jerry Van Dyke get poked in the ass (complete with cartoon sound effect) by a spring directed by a sentient automobile -- I know what I'd choose.

Echo & The Bunnymen - Bring on the Dancing Horses (from the Pretty in Pink OST, 1986) - Albums That Meant Something, Mini-Version: Back in the early months of Maura's and my relationship, we and my ever-present punk rock pal used to head over to Maura's house after classes to hang out in her den and engage in some basic cable channelsurfing -- poking fun at the Club MTV audience, getting a whiff of uncured nostalgia from USA's Cartoon Express, and so forth.

Shortly before the end of the Spring 1992 semester, the three of us sat through a TBS showing of Pretty in Pink, and we had a blast enjoying the retro vibe while bitching about the film's pro-yuppification message.

The next day was one of Maura's work days, which meant that it was up to my friend and me to entertain ourselves, which usually meant walking up Mass Ave from Central to Harvard, checking out the used vinyl stores along the way, and grabbing some Cafe Aventura pizza at the end of the trip. This time, though, my friend had unspecified "plans" to attend to and left me to fly solo.

I did, though in a more purpose-driven fashion than usual, figuring that I'd pick up a used copy of the Pretty in Pink soundtrack (the songs and good memories were still fresh in my head) then try and meet Maura at Alewife Station, as it was where I caught the bus back to Woburn anyway and a stone's throw from the hotel where she was working at the time. Imagine my surprise when I stepped onto the Alewife concorse and discovered my punk rock pal already waiting there.

It was nothing compared to his surprise as his stammered out some excuses about medical appointments and hoping to run into me and so forth. As much as I hate rushing to judge, something about his language and mannerisms stunk worse than Alewife Brook's shopping carriage-filled waters in late August. After a few minutes of stilted conversation, Maura arrived, though circumstances prevented me from directly asking her if she had any knowledge about what the hell was going on.

It turned out that she didn't, and it wouldn't be revealed to her until the following Sunday evening. That was when my so-called pal, high on John Hughes's brand of sentimental melodrama and unrealistic expecations, showed up on Maura's parents' doorstep to profess his love for her (and be shot down in the brutally blunt manner for which my other half is reknowned for).

So, yeah. "Bring on the Dancing Horses" is a lovely bit of alternapop, and perhaps the finest track Mr. Echo and Friends ever recorded. It also induces an almost inperceptable reflexive grimace whenever I listen to it. This is why I've strenuously lobbied to have all teen romantic comedies labeled with a "MCABIDF" warning -- "May Cause Absurd Behavior In Deluded Fools."

(One final note: If you happen to live in a Super Tuesday state and are disgusted as much as I am by the slate of candidates, "Bamboo Harvest" would make a perfect choice for a spite-in -- I mean "write in" -- candidate. The poor palamino has been dead for thirty-eight years, but I still have more confidence in his leadership skills than in any of the current roster of clowns.)

when the truth is found to be lies

I haven't done a political post in a while, choosing instead to slip, stumble, and fall into the role of comics blogger, a direction I honestly wanted to avoid. The truth is that it is far easier and less trying on the psyche to crack wise about Namor's swimtrunks or Steve Lombard than to sit down and try to articulate my current thoughts about the present state of events.

Not that there has been anything really worth writing about in the first place. The present cycle of history is caught in an accelerated loop where we've already gone though the fifth or sixth go round of the same shit -- first as a tragedy, then as a farce, then as a tragic farce, then as slapstick, then as snuff porn. When the road out is beyond most people's willingness to comprehend or stomach, it becomes preferable to keep spinning the wheels and get used to the smell of burning rubber...or books...or bodies.

Meanwhile the Democratic-controlled congress has continued to roll over and vacillate, the fourth estate has been preoccupied with Britney's adventures in moving violations, and Bush and Company's surge plan for Iraq is being labeled a success -- meaning the sawdust in the transmission will mask the grinding noises until the next administration drives it off the used pre-owned war lot.

It doesn't look like things are going to get any better in the near future. The frontloading of the 2008 presidential election season, as welcome an event as "Christmas in July" retail promotions, has only succeded in making me nauseous and convincing me that none of the candidates are qualified to lead the nation out of the wilderness.

The Republican contenders have chosen to define themselves through their ever-escalating attempts to out-fascist one another, with the exception of Ron Paul's mix of anti-interventionism (good) and extreme right-wing libertarianism (not good). I wish that those folks pinning all their hopes on Paul as an outsider white knight antiwar candidate would pay a little more attention to the rest of his political positions. (Even if I could ever bring myself to vote for a Republican, his anti-choice stance and support for this misleading bit of legislation puts him beyond the political pale.)

Then there's the Democratic crop of candidates, whose apparent plan for 2008 is to take a tremendously advantageous historical position and attempt to turn it into a loss. They're long on lofty platitudes, short on honest convictions (except Dennis Kucinich, who had to spoil things with his UFO talk), and have exhibited an overall willingness to piss all over the party's traditional base in order to pander to folks who aren't going to vote Democratic anyhow. The politics of principle have given way to the politics of point-scoring by any means necessary, even if it means crazy talk about nuclear weapons use or cozying up to anti-gay religious demagogues, and being "progressive" means "your vote is a given, so suck it up, baby."

In such circumstances, looking for silly or creepy subtext in old comics stories is a welcome relief.

Agent Orange - Somebody to Love (from the When You Least Expect It... EP, 1984) - I originally considered posting The Great Society's original version of this song (which Grace Slick brought with her to Jefferson Airplane when she jumped bands), but it was a little too mellow given my present mood. So an OC punk cover it is, then.