Anyone wants to know how I'm looking at Barack Obama these days can get a fair idea from a column in Sunday's Denver Post by Ed Quillen.
Ed writes that while reading the news about the deal cut in Washington to extend the Bush tax cuts for two years (including, notably, a cut for the super-rich), he began grumbling, "Damn it, if I wanted Republicans to run things, I'd have voted for one."
Amen, brother.
And he proceeds to recall a few of the harsh words of Democratic presidents Andrew Jackson, Franklin Roosevelt and Harry Truman toward those in government who, Truman said, "believe in taking care of big business first and letting the little fellow take care of himself."
Quillen also wonders how folks from the far right can possibly consider Obama to be a "Marxian socialist" -- as they say they do -- since "Obama hasn't even been talking like a traditional American Democrat."
Amen to that, too. He needs to work up a real good partisan Democratic sweat sometimes.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
2012
Over time, I've grown increasingly worried that Barack Obama and the Democratic Congress were facing a big defeat in 2012. You know the signs -- the youthful enthusiasm of 2008 is gone, the president's personal charisma has faded, Republican vitality is surging at the grass roots.
It's all true. But as of the first week of December, I'm not as worried as I was.
Why? Well, because Washington itself seems to be changing. Getting more chummy. Too chummy for me.
Because just the other day our genteel president caved in to the GOP on a very important tax issue -- one he was committed to -- with barely a whimper. And because congressional Democrats continued to show how undisciplined and impotent they can be.
So why worry about 2012? Since the Republicans are having their way in Washington anyway, let's give them the whole thing. Let John Boehner, Mitch McConnell, Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck explain why their Washington is such a mess.
They deserve it.
It's all true. But as of the first week of December, I'm not as worried as I was.
Why? Well, because Washington itself seems to be changing. Getting more chummy. Too chummy for me.
Because just the other day our genteel president caved in to the GOP on a very important tax issue -- one he was committed to -- with barely a whimper. And because congressional Democrats continued to show how undisciplined and impotent they can be.
So why worry about 2012? Since the Republicans are having their way in Washington anyway, let's give them the whole thing. Let John Boehner, Mitch McConnell, Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck explain why their Washington is such a mess.
They deserve it.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Teach
For some inexplicable reason, I've long suspected that the volunteer who brings my meal-on-wheels on Tuesdays is a teacher. As I say, I don't know why I've felt that way, but this week I was pretty sure.
Along with the Tuesday meal, this lady gave me a colorful poster, made by someone signed "Love, Enzo," showing a turkey, a tree and the sun and wishing a "Happy Thanksgiving."
She said it was made at school by a boy she knew.
So I finally asked: Are you a teacher?
Well, she's retired, she said, but she keeps in touch.
Like my daughter, I said. And I should have said something else.
I should have told her about a note I got recently from one of my Kansas cousins, a note in which she mentioned her two daughters.
These daughters, she said, are always either teaching or going to school.
I wrote back asking my cousin to tell her girls something for me: That nobody is more important to the future of this country than a teacher.
Believe it.
Along with the Tuesday meal, this lady gave me a colorful poster, made by someone signed "Love, Enzo," showing a turkey, a tree and the sun and wishing a "Happy Thanksgiving."
She said it was made at school by a boy she knew.
So I finally asked: Are you a teacher?
Well, she's retired, she said, but she keeps in touch.
Like my daughter, I said. And I should have said something else.
I should have told her about a note I got recently from one of my Kansas cousins, a note in which she mentioned her two daughters.
These daughters, she said, are always either teaching or going to school.
I wrote back asking my cousin to tell her girls something for me: That nobody is more important to the future of this country than a teacher.
Believe it.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
BLOOD
Well, no, as it turns out, we probably won't be starting to pull out of the misbegotten war in Afghanistan in July of 2011.
That's a date Barack Obama once set.
That was then. Now, it looks as though it will be more like 2014.
The McClatchy Newspapers reported that this week from Washington.
If you want to, of course, you may still believe the presidential pledge, but I'd rather believe McClatchy. I hate to say this -- Obama's been my main man of politics for some years -- but I don't believe him quite as readily as I once did.
He's not dishonest, but he can be miserably mistaken.
I know these sre really tough times. I certainly know that. And that the war isn't going awfully well for the president and our troops.
Afghanistan is like a bottomless pit. But that's been true since we first sent troops there. Ask the Russians.
The best we can hope for is to begin, actively, to disengage, as we're doing in Iraq. To trim costs and casualties, but still maintain a substantial presence the world expects us to maintain, trying our beat to contain terrorists.
Remember? We went into Afghanistan in 2001, after the 9/11 nightmare, for revenge and to capture or kill Osama bin Laden. We failed.
We then went into Iraq in 2003 to destroy weapons of mass destruction. There weren't any.
And what has it cost?
Well, for the two wars, the dollar price so far is well over one trillion dollars, and it is growing by billions (borrowed billions) every month.
I worry about that. Everybody should. But there's another cost that personally gnaws at me.
It's a cost the local newspaper and television don't even try to keep up with. You can read on the internet, though, that the count of our war dead has passed 4,400 in Iraq and another 1,350 in Afghanistan, including more than 400 so far this year.
That figure may not have much of a personal impact in big cities. But just in the past week, as the New York Times reports, gold stars have been put up -- put up at least figuratively -- in the windows of 14 U.S famiies in towns like Middletown, R.I., Rochester. Ill., and, yes, Arvada. CO.
As a nation, whether we want to recognize it or not, these wars are bleeding us of some of our youngest and very best.
It's steady, slow and painful, and it's just about every day, like a wound that won't heal.
How many Americans even notice? Who notices?
That's a date Barack Obama once set.
That was then. Now, it looks as though it will be more like 2014.
The McClatchy Newspapers reported that this week from Washington.
If you want to, of course, you may still believe the presidential pledge, but I'd rather believe McClatchy. I hate to say this -- Obama's been my main man of politics for some years -- but I don't believe him quite as readily as I once did.
He's not dishonest, but he can be miserably mistaken.
I know these sre really tough times. I certainly know that. And that the war isn't going awfully well for the president and our troops.
Afghanistan is like a bottomless pit. But that's been true since we first sent troops there. Ask the Russians.
The best we can hope for is to begin, actively, to disengage, as we're doing in Iraq. To trim costs and casualties, but still maintain a substantial presence the world expects us to maintain, trying our beat to contain terrorists.
Remember? We went into Afghanistan in 2001, after the 9/11 nightmare, for revenge and to capture or kill Osama bin Laden. We failed.
We then went into Iraq in 2003 to destroy weapons of mass destruction. There weren't any.
And what has it cost?
Well, for the two wars, the dollar price so far is well over one trillion dollars, and it is growing by billions (borrowed billions) every month.
I worry about that. Everybody should. But there's another cost that personally gnaws at me.
It's a cost the local newspaper and television don't even try to keep up with. You can read on the internet, though, that the count of our war dead has passed 4,400 in Iraq and another 1,350 in Afghanistan, including more than 400 so far this year.
That figure may not have much of a personal impact in big cities. But just in the past week, as the New York Times reports, gold stars have been put up -- put up at least figuratively -- in the windows of 14 U.S famiies in towns like Middletown, R.I., Rochester. Ill., and, yes, Arvada. CO.
As a nation, whether we want to recognize it or not, these wars are bleeding us of some of our youngest and very best.
It's steady, slow and painful, and it's just about every day, like a wound that won't heal.
How many Americans even notice? Who notices?
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
FRAUD
Republicans never get tired of playing an old election-year game: Trying to keep Democrats from voting.
This time, again, the warning cry has gone out about "voter fraud."
This time, the New York Times reports, members of the GOP's Tea Party wing are bent on challenging a national registration campaign for new voters in America's heartland and other places. To prevent fraud, they say.
They lie. What they worry about is how many new Democrats might be discovered out there.
This year, as is the custom, the Tea Party/GOP campaign is based on fear. It's meant to distract the ordinary voter, of course, but most of all it's meant to intimidate the unregistered, perhaps thus-far uninterested voter.
To put it bluntly, their basic, unspoken, shameful purpose is to keep blacks and Latinos away from voting booths. These fear-mongers think if they yell loud enough about rigid screening of new voters, if they warn often enough about jailing for "fraud," it will particularly discourage minority. Democratic-leaning voting.
What they believe may not be true, and it ought not to be, but they've made it a common GOP tactic.
Years ago, I saw it being tried in Denver.
Local Republicans, warning of potential fraud, dispatched a team of the right sort of people -- "suits" -- out into certain precincts as official "poll watchers" on election day.
Well, if any of these proper persons found any fraud, even a scrap, I didn't see it or hear about it, and I was a reporter watching and listening for that.
The answer, of course, is that there isn't and hasn't been any significant fraud in Denver or Colorado. And probably hasn't been any really significant fraud in America's heartland since the end of boss Tom Pendergast's machine in Kansas City when I was a boy.
Our elections may not please you, but they're clean. Stop worrying.
This time, again, the warning cry has gone out about "voter fraud."
This time, the New York Times reports, members of the GOP's Tea Party wing are bent on challenging a national registration campaign for new voters in America's heartland and other places. To prevent fraud, they say.
They lie. What they worry about is how many new Democrats might be discovered out there.
This year, as is the custom, the Tea Party/GOP campaign is based on fear. It's meant to distract the ordinary voter, of course, but most of all it's meant to intimidate the unregistered, perhaps thus-far uninterested voter.
To put it bluntly, their basic, unspoken, shameful purpose is to keep blacks and Latinos away from voting booths. These fear-mongers think if they yell loud enough about rigid screening of new voters, if they warn often enough about jailing for "fraud," it will particularly discourage minority. Democratic-leaning voting.
What they believe may not be true, and it ought not to be, but they've made it a common GOP tactic.
Years ago, I saw it being tried in Denver.
Local Republicans, warning of potential fraud, dispatched a team of the right sort of people -- "suits" -- out into certain precincts as official "poll watchers" on election day.
Well, if any of these proper persons found any fraud, even a scrap, I didn't see it or hear about it, and I was a reporter watching and listening for that.
The answer, of course, is that there isn't and hasn't been any significant fraud in Denver or Colorado. And probably hasn't been any really significant fraud in America's heartland since the end of boss Tom Pendergast's machine in Kansas City when I was a boy.
Our elections may not please you, but they're clean. Stop worrying.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Cheer Up
Football fans, there's a bit of good news in Sunday's loss to the Raiders. You'll never have to watch the Broncos play a worse game.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
fatigue
The Yankees couldn't really help what happened to them this week, losing the American League playoffs to the upstart Texas Rangers in six games. I think the Yankees were just tired.
At least they looked tired, looked their age.
Maybe the most embarrassing moment came when a Yankee pitcher, seeking to give the Rangers an intentional walk. threw the ball over the catcher's head, allowing a base runner to advance from second to third.
The team from the Bronx has been one of my two or three favorites since the days of Lou Gehrig, Dizzy Dean and Ted Williams. But this year I got tired myself, watching them struggle to try to be what they used to be.
On Friday -- playoff elimination day for New York -- Yankee golden boy Derek Jeter led off the game by bouncing out. Shortstop Jeter batted .231 for the six-game series.
For the Rangers, shortstop Elvis Andrus led off the game with a double to left-center and scored a run. He batted .333 for the series.
Andrus is 22 years old and is making a beginning-level salary of $418,000. Jeter is 36 years old and is making $22.6 million.
Team rosters peg the Yanks' average age at 30.2 and the Rangers' at 28.6, which isn't far apart. But for the basic core of New York's championship contenders, individual age numbers are Jeter 36, Andy Pettitte, 38, Mariano Rivera, 40, Jorge Posada, 39, Lance Berkman, 34, Alex Rodriguez, 35, Mark Teixeira, 30, A.J. Burnett, 33.
At least 10 Yankees are paid more than $10 million. Only one Ranger gets more than $10 million, outfielder Michael Young at $13,1, and he is also one of the oldest, at 33.
Ranger catcher Bengie Molina is 36 and designated hitter Vladimir Guerrerro is 35, but the Texas team is loaded with youngsters between 20 and 30.
Of 11 Ranger pitchers, one is 40, two are thirtyish and eight are in their twenties.
So far as I can see, New York has one future star, second baseman Robinson Cano, and no team spark.
The Yankees' days aren't just numbered. They've run out.
At least they looked tired, looked their age.
Maybe the most embarrassing moment came when a Yankee pitcher, seeking to give the Rangers an intentional walk. threw the ball over the catcher's head, allowing a base runner to advance from second to third.
The team from the Bronx has been one of my two or three favorites since the days of Lou Gehrig, Dizzy Dean and Ted Williams. But this year I got tired myself, watching them struggle to try to be what they used to be.
On Friday -- playoff elimination day for New York -- Yankee golden boy Derek Jeter led off the game by bouncing out. Shortstop Jeter batted .231 for the six-game series.
For the Rangers, shortstop Elvis Andrus led off the game with a double to left-center and scored a run. He batted .333 for the series.
Andrus is 22 years old and is making a beginning-level salary of $418,000. Jeter is 36 years old and is making $22.6 million.
Team rosters peg the Yanks' average age at 30.2 and the Rangers' at 28.6, which isn't far apart. But for the basic core of New York's championship contenders, individual age numbers are Jeter 36, Andy Pettitte, 38, Mariano Rivera, 40, Jorge Posada, 39, Lance Berkman, 34, Alex Rodriguez, 35, Mark Teixeira, 30, A.J. Burnett, 33.
At least 10 Yankees are paid more than $10 million. Only one Ranger gets more than $10 million, outfielder Michael Young at $13,1, and he is also one of the oldest, at 33.
Ranger catcher Bengie Molina is 36 and designated hitter Vladimir Guerrerro is 35, but the Texas team is loaded with youngsters between 20 and 30.
Of 11 Ranger pitchers, one is 40, two are thirtyish and eight are in their twenties.
So far as I can see, New York has one future star, second baseman Robinson Cano, and no team spark.
The Yankees' days aren't just numbered. They've run out.
Monday, October 11, 2010
pests
Do you know how a worthy national charity can fail to get even a lousy dime from a potential donor?
Ring him up on the telephone. Maybe more than once. Stop him, whatever he's doing. Then hang up before he can reach the phone.
Make him so mad he sputters.
Well, that's me, a grumpy octogenarian, and the American Heart Assn.
The scene: Early evening. I'm sitting in my big chair watching television. The phone is maybe five steps away across the room.
The phone rings. Okay. I'm on it.
While I'm hoisting my aching and protesting old hulk upright, it rings a second time. By ring three, I'm shuffling across the room.
But that's it. Dead line. No fourth ring. Somewhere a computer has hung up.
Aha, you say, so how does this smart-alecky old coot know it was the Heart Association calling? Well, from caller-identification, of course.
Some time ago I got a series of these same hang-up calls. Same source, from two different numbers, 1-866-211-1876 and 1-877-213-5046. Always three rings and out.
Caller-ID fingered the American Heart Assn.
That campaign died out, I guess, but recently it revived with a new number, 1-866-431-5121.
AHA again. Just three rings.
This time I called back and after a brief exchange with a recording got a real person on the line, a nice lady.
Well, she said, she could (and presumably would) put my number on a no-call list.
Okay. I don't know who will prevail there -- a computer-generated solicitation vs. a human-generated no-call list. Just now, while typing, I got another AHA call: this time from 1-866-211-1876. Three and out.
I guess. in a way, I may be lucky. If I didn't have caller-ID (for which I pay a fee every month), I wouldn't even know who was provoking me.
And there must be thousands of other victims out there -- aging, aching and slow, by necessity -- many of them having no way of knowing who's interrupting their lives and abruptly hanging up on them.
Sputtering.
Ring him up on the telephone. Maybe more than once. Stop him, whatever he's doing. Then hang up before he can reach the phone.
Make him so mad he sputters.
Well, that's me, a grumpy octogenarian, and the American Heart Assn.
The scene: Early evening. I'm sitting in my big chair watching television. The phone is maybe five steps away across the room.
The phone rings. Okay. I'm on it.
While I'm hoisting my aching and protesting old hulk upright, it rings a second time. By ring three, I'm shuffling across the room.
But that's it. Dead line. No fourth ring. Somewhere a computer has hung up.
Aha, you say, so how does this smart-alecky old coot know it was the Heart Association calling? Well, from caller-identification, of course.
Some time ago I got a series of these same hang-up calls. Same source, from two different numbers, 1-866-211-1876 and 1-877-213-5046. Always three rings and out.
Caller-ID fingered the American Heart Assn.
That campaign died out, I guess, but recently it revived with a new number, 1-866-431-5121.
AHA again. Just three rings.
This time I called back and after a brief exchange with a recording got a real person on the line, a nice lady.
Well, she said, she could (and presumably would) put my number on a no-call list.
Okay. I don't know who will prevail there -- a computer-generated solicitation vs. a human-generated no-call list. Just now, while typing, I got another AHA call: this time from 1-866-211-1876. Three and out.
I guess. in a way, I may be lucky. If I didn't have caller-ID (for which I pay a fee every month), I wouldn't even know who was provoking me.
And there must be thousands of other victims out there -- aging, aching and slow, by necessity -- many of them having no way of knowing who's interrupting their lives and abruptly hanging up on them.
Sputtering.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
dumbo
How can some politicians be so politically dumb? This week's example: Ken Buck.
Buck, who has been in public life in Colorado for some time, is now the Republican candidate for the United States Senate.
Months ago, campaigning for the GOP nomination, he publicly toadied to the party's wacky right wing. He did so by endorsing such causes as a consumption tax -- a "fair" sales tax -- say 23 percent -- on things people buy, such as food. He also looked with favor, back then, on an anti-abortion "personhood" law that would likely outlaw some forms of birth control.
Well, as the months went by, it has finally dawned on Ken Buck that many, many Colorado voters don't like those ideas, And it might affect how they vote in November.
And so, it has turned out, candidate Buck now considers the 23 percent sales tax just an "interesting idea," according to the Denver Post. And he's grown a bit less aggressive on abortion and "personhood."
After all, you know, it is getting damn close to Nov. 2. We can only hope Buck's weaseling came too late.
But beware. After Nov. 2, Buck and the wacko right will still be committed, long-range, to some form of "fair" tax. That's their code name for a system of finance where rich people pay less and -- you guessed it -- middle America pays more.
They'll be back with more friendly-sounding schemes to gut or kill the graduated income tax. We can't afford to be politically dumb about this.
Buck, who has been in public life in Colorado for some time, is now the Republican candidate for the United States Senate.
Months ago, campaigning for the GOP nomination, he publicly toadied to the party's wacky right wing. He did so by endorsing such causes as a consumption tax -- a "fair" sales tax -- say 23 percent -- on things people buy, such as food. He also looked with favor, back then, on an anti-abortion "personhood" law that would likely outlaw some forms of birth control.
Well, as the months went by, it has finally dawned on Ken Buck that many, many Colorado voters don't like those ideas, And it might affect how they vote in November.
And so, it has turned out, candidate Buck now considers the 23 percent sales tax just an "interesting idea," according to the Denver Post. And he's grown a bit less aggressive on abortion and "personhood."
After all, you know, it is getting damn close to Nov. 2. We can only hope Buck's weaseling came too late.
But beware. After Nov. 2, Buck and the wacko right will still be committed, long-range, to some form of "fair" tax. That's their code name for a system of finance where rich people pay less and -- you guessed it -- middle America pays more.
They'll be back with more friendly-sounding schemes to gut or kill the graduated income tax. We can't afford to be politically dumb about this.
Monday, October 4, 2010
the game
Two lines of tiny type in Monday's Denver Post leapt out at me. Under the caption "Transactions" they said:
"LA Dodgers -- Announced the retirement of C Brad Ausmus."
"C" is for catcher. And Brad Ausmus is a 41-year-old native of New England who for the past 18 summers has had the demanding, risky, sometimes painful job of backstopping/coaching/encouraging pitchers of the Padres, Tigers, Astros and Dodgers.
Respect is due.
As my friends know, baseball is my game, and I have a special admiration for catchers. It goes back at least as far as Mickey Cochrane and Bill Dickey, and over the years it extended to Johnny Bench, Yogi Berra, Carlton Fisk and many others.
To all-star catchers and to journeymen.
Not that Brad Ausmus is likely to join idols of the game in the great hall at Cooperstown. He doesn't have MVP statistics. He leaves baseball with a lifetime batting average right at .250.
That's one-for-four. Ho-hum.
Even so, he was a brainy, dependable, highly durable, valuable man for any ball club to have crouching down behind home plate, which can be a dirty and dangerous place to work.
He was there, day after day, for almost 2,000 games. And I was delighted to see that on Sunday in Dodger Stadium, on his last day, he went two-for-four.
Years ago, when he won some award, he was described this way: "A good teammate, a great friend, a fine father and a humble man."
I know all catchers don't measure up to that, but I like them anyway.
"LA Dodgers -- Announced the retirement of C Brad Ausmus."
"C" is for catcher. And Brad Ausmus is a 41-year-old native of New England who for the past 18 summers has had the demanding, risky, sometimes painful job of backstopping/coaching/encouraging pitchers of the Padres, Tigers, Astros and Dodgers.
Respect is due.
As my friends know, baseball is my game, and I have a special admiration for catchers. It goes back at least as far as Mickey Cochrane and Bill Dickey, and over the years it extended to Johnny Bench, Yogi Berra, Carlton Fisk and many others.
To all-star catchers and to journeymen.
Not that Brad Ausmus is likely to join idols of the game in the great hall at Cooperstown. He doesn't have MVP statistics. He leaves baseball with a lifetime batting average right at .250.
That's one-for-four. Ho-hum.
Even so, he was a brainy, dependable, highly durable, valuable man for any ball club to have crouching down behind home plate, which can be a dirty and dangerous place to work.
He was there, day after day, for almost 2,000 games. And I was delighted to see that on Sunday in Dodger Stadium, on his last day, he went two-for-four.
Years ago, when he won some award, he was described this way: "A good teammate, a great friend, a fine father and a humble man."
I know all catchers don't measure up to that, but I like them anyway.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
teddy
When the editor of Saturday Review asked outgoing president Theodore Roosevelt in 1909 to sum up how he had exercised his executive duties, he replied:
"My business was to take hold of the Conservative Party and turn it into what it had been under Lincoln, that is, a party of progressive conservatism, or conservative radicalism; for of course conservative radicalism and wise conservatism go hand in hand."
That's from page 791 of Douglas Brinkley's fine (and fat) biography "The Wilderness Warrior: Theodore Roosevelt and the crusade for America" (2009).
And, lordy, how much that very same conservative (Republican) party -- and the country -- need someone like him today!
"My business was to take hold of the Conservative Party and turn it into what it had been under Lincoln, that is, a party of progressive conservatism, or conservative radicalism; for of course conservative radicalism and wise conservatism go hand in hand."
That's from page 791 of Douglas Brinkley's fine (and fat) biography "The Wilderness Warrior: Theodore Roosevelt and the crusade for America" (2009).
And, lordy, how much that very same conservative (Republican) party -- and the country -- need someone like him today!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
EAT MORE CHIKIN
Cock-a-doodle-doo
Chicken definitely is not one of my favorite foods, and I've made no secret that I dislike finding it so often on the daily menu of Meals on Wheels.
Yet I think maybe I understand the practical reason why there's so much of it there. Realistically, the Meals budget wouldn't stretch to lamb chops and beefsteak.
And I also have to admit that the folks at Meals on Wheels will go to almost any length to try to make chicken, which is basically tasteless, tasty.
During the three summer months of 2010, for instance. daily menus included: honey BBQ chicken, chicken a la king, oriental pepper chicken, white chili with chicken, honey curry chicken, chicken cacciatore, roast chicken, oven fried chicken (twice), chicken chow mein, peachy coconut chicken, mediterranean chicken with olives, BBQ chicken on a bun, smothered chicken, minnesota chicken and wild rice casserole, teriyaki chicken and roast chicken with broth.
You can't say they don't try. And what they do is much appreciated.
Cluck. cluck.
Chicken definitely is not one of my favorite foods, and I've made no secret that I dislike finding it so often on the daily menu of Meals on Wheels.
Yet I think maybe I understand the practical reason why there's so much of it there. Realistically, the Meals budget wouldn't stretch to lamb chops and beefsteak.
And I also have to admit that the folks at Meals on Wheels will go to almost any length to try to make chicken, which is basically tasteless, tasty.
During the three summer months of 2010, for instance. daily menus included: honey BBQ chicken, chicken a la king, oriental pepper chicken, white chili with chicken, honey curry chicken, chicken cacciatore, roast chicken, oven fried chicken (twice), chicken chow mein, peachy coconut chicken, mediterranean chicken with olives, BBQ chicken on a bun, smothered chicken, minnesota chicken and wild rice casserole, teriyaki chicken and roast chicken with broth.
You can't say they don't try. And what they do is much appreciated.
Cluck. cluck.
Friday, August 6, 2010
birth
The so-called "birthers" are at it again, claiming Barack Obama isn't a native-born U.S. citizen, but is an alien -- perhaps illegal -- from Kenya.
It does no good to produce documents showing clearly that he was born in 1961 in Hawaii, which has been a state since 1959 and was a U.S. territory for 60 years before that.
So it's amusing to me, looking back, to wonder where the racist birthers were when Sen. John McCain was Obama's Republican opponent in 2008.
See, John Sidney McCain III wasn't born in any of the 50 states. It's a fact.
John McCain was born Aug. 29, 1936, in a U.S. Navy hospital at the Coco Solo Naval Air Station in a 10-mile-wide, U.S.-occupied strip of the Panama canal zone.
That strip, which no longer exists, was considered a U.S. territory at the time. But McCain wasn't, in fact, born in any of the 50 states, and I didn't hear as much as a peep about that from birther crazies of the political right.
Imagine the fuss they could have made!
So is McCain a citizen? Of course he is, no doubt about it, and he also is a genuine war hero with a distinguished record in public life.
But skin color still makes a difference in politics, doesn't it?
Just thought I'd mention it.
It does no good to produce documents showing clearly that he was born in 1961 in Hawaii, which has been a state since 1959 and was a U.S. territory for 60 years before that.
So it's amusing to me, looking back, to wonder where the racist birthers were when Sen. John McCain was Obama's Republican opponent in 2008.
See, John Sidney McCain III wasn't born in any of the 50 states. It's a fact.
John McCain was born Aug. 29, 1936, in a U.S. Navy hospital at the Coco Solo Naval Air Station in a 10-mile-wide, U.S.-occupied strip of the Panama canal zone.
That strip, which no longer exists, was considered a U.S. territory at the time. But McCain wasn't, in fact, born in any of the 50 states, and I didn't hear as much as a peep about that from birther crazies of the political right.
Imagine the fuss they could have made!
So is McCain a citizen? Of course he is, no doubt about it, and he also is a genuine war hero with a distinguished record in public life.
But skin color still makes a difference in politics, doesn't it?
Just thought I'd mention it.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
THE PRESS
The biggest news story of Colorado's political year so far has been running this past week. All about Scott McInnis, lawyer, ex-congressman and the Republican Party's choice to be our next governor.
All about how McInnis borrowed extensively from another man's scholarly writing on water policy and then sold his "musings," including the lifted material, as his original work. All for a considerable sum of money.
Well, that's called plagiarism, and it's serious, and in this case it's something every voter had a right to know about. Also, I think it's important to recognize just how it all came to light.
It wasn't from a talking head on TV. Not from a press agent's sanitized handout. Not from Google or Wikipedia or someone's blog.
It was from a daily newspaper. That old thing. From the Denver Post.
It was painstakingly dug out -- almost literally, I'd guess -- and laid before us by a reporter named Karen Crummy and a backup staff of people who, fortunately for us, are still doing what a newspaper is supposed to do.
It isn't like picking an apple off a tree. It takes days and days of poking around, scanning documents, asking a multitude of questions, weighing answers, checking everything twice. It takes time, money, brains, dedication.
And what I'm saying to you is that without newspapers, which are a financially endangered lot these days, stories like this would never see the light of day.
Who else would do it? Think about that.
All about how McInnis borrowed extensively from another man's scholarly writing on water policy and then sold his "musings," including the lifted material, as his original work. All for a considerable sum of money.
Well, that's called plagiarism, and it's serious, and in this case it's something every voter had a right to know about. Also, I think it's important to recognize just how it all came to light.
It wasn't from a talking head on TV. Not from a press agent's sanitized handout. Not from Google or Wikipedia or someone's blog.
It was from a daily newspaper. That old thing. From the Denver Post.
It was painstakingly dug out -- almost literally, I'd guess -- and laid before us by a reporter named Karen Crummy and a backup staff of people who, fortunately for us, are still doing what a newspaper is supposed to do.
It isn't like picking an apple off a tree. It takes days and days of poking around, scanning documents, asking a multitude of questions, weighing answers, checking everything twice. It takes time, money, brains, dedication.
And what I'm saying to you is that without newspapers, which are a financially endangered lot these days, stories like this would never see the light of day.
Who else would do it? Think about that.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Eureka!
There's good news today!
According to the Associated Press, the last Chrysler PT Cruiser -- the ugliest car on four wheels -- rolled off an assembly line in Mexico last Friday,
Maybe somewhere there is a car that is uglier, but I don't know where. AP describes it, charitably, as "a cross between an old-time milk truck and luxurious sedans of the 1930s."
Years ago, Ford produced a contender, a sedan with too much fin and a surplus strip of chrome that wandered, crazily, all the way across the middle of the roof. It was a wretched sight, but it didn't make me mutter coarse words every time I saw one. The PT Cruiser does that.
Now I know there will be PT Cruisers on the highways for many, many years, decades after I've had to give up muttering about them. But I can hope my great-grandchildren will have seen the last of them.
According to the Associated Press, the last Chrysler PT Cruiser -- the ugliest car on four wheels -- rolled off an assembly line in Mexico last Friday,
Maybe somewhere there is a car that is uglier, but I don't know where. AP describes it, charitably, as "a cross between an old-time milk truck and luxurious sedans of the 1930s."
Years ago, Ford produced a contender, a sedan with too much fin and a surplus strip of chrome that wandered, crazily, all the way across the middle of the roof. It was a wretched sight, but it didn't make me mutter coarse words every time I saw one. The PT Cruiser does that.
Now I know there will be PT Cruisers on the highways for many, many years, decades after I've had to give up muttering about them. But I can hope my great-grandchildren will have seen the last of them.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
corruption
It is Independence Day, and while I don't have any fireworks to display, I'd like to make a small contribution in the name of patriotism.
In today's Denver Post, my old friend Fred Brown, a former crony at the paper, is quoted as part of a commentary on "Why we still love America."
Fred's first few words were these: "This may come as a surprise, but there are a great number of politicians -- especially in Colorado -- who are in it because they honestly think they can do some good . . ."
I agree wholeheartedly. And I agree that this idea of his would greatly surprise the many Americans who may actually have little direct knowledge of working politics and politicians but repeatedly complain about how venal they are.
For instance, in the stable of MSNBC cable's talking news heads is one Dylan Ratigan, who seems almost casually to sprinkle the words "corrupt" and "corruption" among his references to politics.
Well,in the job I used to have I got acquainted in some degree with hundreds of politicians, mostly state and local but also federal. As did Fred Brown.
We watched them listening to lobbyists. Watched them trip off to some very nice parties with lobbyists -- as reporters also did in those days.
But in the end, were votes bought and sold? Were bank accounts created? I don't think so.
Legislators are, variously, smart, dumb, friendly, haughty, patient, brusque, diverse, attractive, ugly and many other things. They listen to lobbyists just as they listen to constituents and editors and countless others who bombard them every day with advice and suggestions. But they aren't bought.
They mostly work hard for spartan pay. I say they do it honorably.
In today's Denver Post, my old friend Fred Brown, a former crony at the paper, is quoted as part of a commentary on "Why we still love America."
Fred's first few words were these: "This may come as a surprise, but there are a great number of politicians -- especially in Colorado -- who are in it because they honestly think they can do some good . . ."
I agree wholeheartedly. And I agree that this idea of his would greatly surprise the many Americans who may actually have little direct knowledge of working politics and politicians but repeatedly complain about how venal they are.
For instance, in the stable of MSNBC cable's talking news heads is one Dylan Ratigan, who seems almost casually to sprinkle the words "corrupt" and "corruption" among his references to politics.
Well,in the job I used to have I got acquainted in some degree with hundreds of politicians, mostly state and local but also federal. As did Fred Brown.
We watched them listening to lobbyists. Watched them trip off to some very nice parties with lobbyists -- as reporters also did in those days.
But in the end, were votes bought and sold? Were bank accounts created? I don't think so.
Legislators are, variously, smart, dumb, friendly, haughty, patient, brusque, diverse, attractive, ugly and many other things. They listen to lobbyists just as they listen to constituents and editors and countless others who bombard them every day with advice and suggestions. But they aren't bought.
They mostly work hard for spartan pay. I say they do it honorably.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
birthday
I thought I had learned all the Democrats' tricks for extracting money from gullible party members, but a new one has popped up.
This summer, you see, the Democratic National Committee is expecting to cash in -- literally -- on the coming birthday anniversary of the president of the United States.
How about that for a political gimmick?
The DNC has sent me a mailer containing a letter, a blank "birthday card" with a picture of the White House, a return envelope and a form to be filled out by making a contribution of $100, $150. $200 or "other."
This goes back to the DNC on South Capitol Street SE in Washington. That's who gets the money. The "Happy Birthday President Obama" card supposedly goes to the White House.
Well, I checked with Google. Google states that, yes, Barack Obama was born on Aug. 4, 1961. And he was born in Honolulu, Hawaii.
Which, of course, is part of the United States of America, and so on Aug. 4 Barack will be 49 -- a 49-year-old native-born citizen of this country.
He was not born in Kenya or Timbuktu or anywhere else in Africa, no matter what you hear over and over again from a raging, rabid pack of extremist, low-life, narrow-minded, fork-tongued, venomous, sanctimonious, race-baiting sons of something.
As for my position on campaign contributions, I have on occasion been kmown to send a couple of bucks to worthy Democrats. But since right now I'm sort of tapped out, I was about to pass on this "birthday" promotion.
Then I got to thinking how many raging, rabid, extremist, low-life, narrow-minded fork-tongued, venomous, sanctimonious, race-baiting sons of something there are in this country, and how much I dislike them.
So. okay, I'm going to send along a couple of birthday bucks to the Democrats -- just for spite.
This summer, you see, the Democratic National Committee is expecting to cash in -- literally -- on the coming birthday anniversary of the president of the United States.
How about that for a political gimmick?
The DNC has sent me a mailer containing a letter, a blank "birthday card" with a picture of the White House, a return envelope and a form to be filled out by making a contribution of $100, $150. $200 or "other."
This goes back to the DNC on South Capitol Street SE in Washington. That's who gets the money. The "Happy Birthday President Obama" card supposedly goes to the White House.
Well, I checked with Google. Google states that, yes, Barack Obama was born on Aug. 4, 1961. And he was born in Honolulu, Hawaii.
Which, of course, is part of the United States of America, and so on Aug. 4 Barack will be 49 -- a 49-year-old native-born citizen of this country.
He was not born in Kenya or Timbuktu or anywhere else in Africa, no matter what you hear over and over again from a raging, rabid pack of extremist, low-life, narrow-minded, fork-tongued, venomous, sanctimonious, race-baiting sons of something.
As for my position on campaign contributions, I have on occasion been kmown to send a couple of bucks to worthy Democrats. But since right now I'm sort of tapped out, I was about to pass on this "birthday" promotion.
Then I got to thinking how many raging, rabid, extremist, low-life, narrow-minded fork-tongued, venomous, sanctimonious, race-baiting sons of something there are in this country, and how much I dislike them.
So. okay, I'm going to send along a couple of birthday bucks to the Democrats -- just for spite.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
As the World Turns
The press tells us that the misbegotten war in Afghanistan has become the longest war in our nation's history.
It also lists the newly dead there this week as a 31-year old sergeant from San Antonio, a 25-year-old lieutenant from Grass Lake, Michigan, a 25-year-old lance corporal from Cameron Mills, New York, a 26-year-old sergeant from Eight Mile, Alabama, and a 24-year-old airman from Erwin, Tennessee.
The toll thus far: 1,090.
Meanwhile the Congress continues to shovel billions of dollars into that war and that other war (that we are assured we are winding down) in the same neighborhood.
And our nation, as a nation, shrugs.
It also lists the newly dead there this week as a 31-year old sergeant from San Antonio, a 25-year-old lieutenant from Grass Lake, Michigan, a 25-year-old lance corporal from Cameron Mills, New York, a 26-year-old sergeant from Eight Mile, Alabama, and a 24-year-old airman from Erwin, Tennessee.
The toll thus far: 1,090.
Meanwhile the Congress continues to shovel billions of dollars into that war and that other war (that we are assured we are winding down) in the same neighborhood.
And our nation, as a nation, shrugs.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
pelican
Last year author Douglas Brinkley published his intriguing, 800-plus-page account of Theodore Roosevelt's crusade for the environment, "The Wilderness Warrior." I just recently got my copy, on the 41st day of the gulf oil spill.
So why do I mention that?
Well because, starting in the first chapter, Brinkley gets right to the heart of the whole issue of national environmental policy, which has taken on a dreadful new dimension in the Gulf of Mexico since publication of his book.
Brinkley writes of how Teddy Roosevelt, just over a century ago, appalled by the annual slaughter of millions of birds for decorative feathers (mostly for women's hats) took direct action. On behalf of snowy egrets, white ibises, great blue herons and brown pelican, among others.
By decree, on March 14, 1903, the 26th president created the nation's first wildlife refuge -- Pelican Island, along Florida's Atlantic coast. And on Oct. 10, 1904, he created a similar refuge at Breton Island, Louisiana, part of the marshy Mississippi delta south of New Orleans.
And Teddy, ever the dedicated naturalist, went on to create many, many more.
See? It took us a little over 125 years to start building a national refuge system. And now, a little over 100 years later, we've started wrecking it.
Like with the feathers. it isn't vindictive or personal. It's just an accident, a part of doing business. Collateral damage.
Now it's true I don't yet know just how destructive the gulf spill has been, or will be, to the Breton refuge. But Breton is close to the fishing hamlet of Venice, La., and oil began washing ashore at Venice in late April.
There's preliminary optimism this week about efforts to begin stemming the volume of newly gushing oil. So perhaps it's less likely that a poisonous tentacle will eventually wrap around the south tip of Florida and devastate Atlantic coastal areas such as Pelican Island. Worst-case predictions have suggested as much.
Still, nobody yet seems to have an over-all, effective plan to deal with the spill. Quite possibly a modern Teddy wouldn't have one either. But Bay Petroleum at least would know there was a big stick as well as a soft voice in the White House.
In closing, I trust Douglas Brinkley will not be offended if I pass along a couple of pertinent quotations from "Wilderness Warrior":
". . .Roosevelt knew these funny-looking birds were of incalculably greater value alive than dead; if the brown pelican passed into extinction, Florida, he believed, would lose one of its most enchanting charms . . .
"He saw the planet as one single biological organism pulsing with life and championed the interconnectedness of nature as his Sermon on the Mount. As forces of globalization ran amok, Roosevelt's stout resoluteness to protect our environment is a strong reminder of our national wilderness heritage, as well as an increasingly urgent call to arms."
So why do I mention that?
Well because, starting in the first chapter, Brinkley gets right to the heart of the whole issue of national environmental policy, which has taken on a dreadful new dimension in the Gulf of Mexico since publication of his book.
Brinkley writes of how Teddy Roosevelt, just over a century ago, appalled by the annual slaughter of millions of birds for decorative feathers (mostly for women's hats) took direct action. On behalf of snowy egrets, white ibises, great blue herons and brown pelican, among others.
By decree, on March 14, 1903, the 26th president created the nation's first wildlife refuge -- Pelican Island, along Florida's Atlantic coast. And on Oct. 10, 1904, he created a similar refuge at Breton Island, Louisiana, part of the marshy Mississippi delta south of New Orleans.
And Teddy, ever the dedicated naturalist, went on to create many, many more.
See? It took us a little over 125 years to start building a national refuge system. And now, a little over 100 years later, we've started wrecking it.
Like with the feathers. it isn't vindictive or personal. It's just an accident, a part of doing business. Collateral damage.
Now it's true I don't yet know just how destructive the gulf spill has been, or will be, to the Breton refuge. But Breton is close to the fishing hamlet of Venice, La., and oil began washing ashore at Venice in late April.
There's preliminary optimism this week about efforts to begin stemming the volume of newly gushing oil. So perhaps it's less likely that a poisonous tentacle will eventually wrap around the south tip of Florida and devastate Atlantic coastal areas such as Pelican Island. Worst-case predictions have suggested as much.
Still, nobody yet seems to have an over-all, effective plan to deal with the spill. Quite possibly a modern Teddy wouldn't have one either. But Bay Petroleum at least would know there was a big stick as well as a soft voice in the White House.
In closing, I trust Douglas Brinkley will not be offended if I pass along a couple of pertinent quotations from "Wilderness Warrior":
". . .Roosevelt knew these funny-looking birds were of incalculably greater value alive than dead; if the brown pelican passed into extinction, Florida, he believed, would lose one of its most enchanting charms . . .
"He saw the planet as one single biological organism pulsing with life and championed the interconnectedness of nature as his Sermon on the Mount. As forces of globalization ran amok, Roosevelt's stout resoluteness to protect our environment is a strong reminder of our national wilderness heritage, as well as an increasingly urgent call to arms."
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
debt
Ever since I grew old enough to know something about politics -- this was in Harry Truman's time -- I've considered myself to be a liberal Democrat. I still do.
I've voted cheerfully for all the Democrats who've won the presidency, as well as all the losers, including those I knew had little chance, like Adlai Stevenson (twice) and George McGovern.
Over many years I've come to enjoy the ups and downs of politics, national and local. But today, in these rough times, I have to admit I'm not enjoying national politics as much. These days it sometimes scares the hell out of me.
No, it's not just that the Democrats might lose control of Congress and Barack Obama might lose the presidency. I'd hate to see that happen, but we'd survive a moderate dose of Republicanism. We always have.
No, what really scares me are endless deficits, the national debt and the absence of effective efforts to do anything about them.
If I read Google correctly, the U.S. national debt, as of this week, was just under $13 trillion and growing at the rate of $4 billion a day.
How much is $13 trillion? Well, it's $42,000 that I owe and $42,000 that you owe and $42,000 that everyone else owes, whether they're 88 or 8 years of age.
And it's growing every day. This year's budget deficit will set a record of $1.56 trillion, and the Obama administration isn't expecting annual deficits of less than $700 billion any time in the next 10 years.
So how much and how long can we keep on borrowing from people who are not necessarily friendly to us? How long can we afford to shovel out billions of dollars in interest that our people never see?
How much longer can we continue to race headlong, full-throttle into .... who knows, what form of disaster?
How and when do we begin to apply the brakes? To start balancing the budget? To start paying off the debt?
Well, obviously, we would have to curb spending, except that Democrats aren't good at that and Republicans have little to brag about. And we would have to raise taxes, except that Republicans consider that to be a deadly, unthinkable sin, and even liberal Democrats are wary of it.
It wouldn't be easy.
We might start by finally getting out of two wars that we never should have started. Then we might "adjust" income tax rates. Then, maybe, we might finally have the courage to take charge of how things work in the real world and to begin to reform -- set practical limits on -- such giant untouchables as Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid and defense.
Even if this were done carefully, of course, it would mean sacrifice for many, many people, including me, but is there any other way?
Guts, anyone?
I've voted cheerfully for all the Democrats who've won the presidency, as well as all the losers, including those I knew had little chance, like Adlai Stevenson (twice) and George McGovern.
Over many years I've come to enjoy the ups and downs of politics, national and local. But today, in these rough times, I have to admit I'm not enjoying national politics as much. These days it sometimes scares the hell out of me.
No, it's not just that the Democrats might lose control of Congress and Barack Obama might lose the presidency. I'd hate to see that happen, but we'd survive a moderate dose of Republicanism. We always have.
No, what really scares me are endless deficits, the national debt and the absence of effective efforts to do anything about them.
If I read Google correctly, the U.S. national debt, as of this week, was just under $13 trillion and growing at the rate of $4 billion a day.
How much is $13 trillion? Well, it's $42,000 that I owe and $42,000 that you owe and $42,000 that everyone else owes, whether they're 88 or 8 years of age.
And it's growing every day. This year's budget deficit will set a record of $1.56 trillion, and the Obama administration isn't expecting annual deficits of less than $700 billion any time in the next 10 years.
So how much and how long can we keep on borrowing from people who are not necessarily friendly to us? How long can we afford to shovel out billions of dollars in interest that our people never see?
How much longer can we continue to race headlong, full-throttle into .... who knows, what form of disaster?
How and when do we begin to apply the brakes? To start balancing the budget? To start paying off the debt?
Well, obviously, we would have to curb spending, except that Democrats aren't good at that and Republicans have little to brag about. And we would have to raise taxes, except that Republicans consider that to be a deadly, unthinkable sin, and even liberal Democrats are wary of it.
It wouldn't be easy.
We might start by finally getting out of two wars that we never should have started. Then we might "adjust" income tax rates. Then, maybe, we might finally have the courage to take charge of how things work in the real world and to begin to reform -- set practical limits on -- such giant untouchables as Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid and defense.
Even if this were done carefully, of course, it would mean sacrifice for many, many people, including me, but is there any other way?
Guts, anyone?
Monday, May 10, 2010
the bird, revisited
It seems like only yesterday I was ranting and raving here about the culinary fraud of white poultry meat - turkey and chicken breast.
I was glad finally to get that off my chest. But today a couple of things had me muttering all over again.
First there was this article in the Denver Post headlined "Sauce gives chicken boost." Really?
Second, a lunch was brought to me featuring "chicken a la king." No king would want it.
The writer of the Post article noted how often boneless, skinless chicken breasts are served to American families. And how economical and nutritious they are.
They are, indeed. No argument there.
But then to her credit, the writer made a point of observing that sometimes, somewhere, diners may not actually be enjoying this cheap and healthy dish. "The biggest complaint you hear about chicken breast," she wrote, "is that it's sometimes a tad bland."
It is, indeed. More than a tad and more than bland. Much more. It is virtually tasteless. The only real taste it ever had was in its skin, which has been removed.
If you were to chew on a strip of leather cut from a boot, it would have as much flavor as cooked but unadorned chicken breast.
Accompanying this article was a recipe for a sauce that presumably would give breasts a "boost." Among the ingredients were fresh ginger, Italian parsley, mint leaves, olive oil, rice vinegar, sesame oil, honey and a red pepper.
I have my doubts, but bon appetit!
As for me, not having any of these things, I sprinkled a bit of picante sauce on my chicken a la king. At least I could taste the jalapeno.
I was glad finally to get that off my chest. But today a couple of things had me muttering all over again.
First there was this article in the Denver Post headlined "Sauce gives chicken boost." Really?
Second, a lunch was brought to me featuring "chicken a la king." No king would want it.
The writer of the Post article noted how often boneless, skinless chicken breasts are served to American families. And how economical and nutritious they are.
They are, indeed. No argument there.
But then to her credit, the writer made a point of observing that sometimes, somewhere, diners may not actually be enjoying this cheap and healthy dish. "The biggest complaint you hear about chicken breast," she wrote, "is that it's sometimes a tad bland."
It is, indeed. More than a tad and more than bland. Much more. It is virtually tasteless. The only real taste it ever had was in its skin, which has been removed.
If you were to chew on a strip of leather cut from a boot, it would have as much flavor as cooked but unadorned chicken breast.
Accompanying this article was a recipe for a sauce that presumably would give breasts a "boost." Among the ingredients were fresh ginger, Italian parsley, mint leaves, olive oil, rice vinegar, sesame oil, honey and a red pepper.
I have my doubts, but bon appetit!
As for me, not having any of these things, I sprinkled a bit of picante sauce on my chicken a la king. At least I could taste the jalapeno.
Friday, May 7, 2010
terror
When long-time Democrat Joe Lieberman endorsed his Republican pal John McCain for president in 2008, I sent off a hot note to his Washington office. I called him a political traitor.
I knew he wouldn't answer me and most likely would never even see the note, but it made me feel better.
Well, as of this week I have gained a better understanding of what's going on in the head of the quirky, 68-year old senator. Lieberman, a lawyer, has introduced a bill that would let the State Department arbitrarily revoke the U.S. citizenship of people who "support," in some way, groups like Al Qaeda.
Just like that. Never mind the Constitution. our treasured legal system, due process.
This time it isn't just politics. This time it's cuckoo law, and it's serious.
I knew he wouldn't answer me and most likely would never even see the note, but it made me feel better.
Well, as of this week I have gained a better understanding of what's going on in the head of the quirky, 68-year old senator. Lieberman, a lawyer, has introduced a bill that would let the State Department arbitrarily revoke the U.S. citizenship of people who "support," in some way, groups like Al Qaeda.
Just like that. Never mind the Constitution. our treasured legal system, due process.
This time it isn't just politics. This time it's cuckoo law, and it's serious.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Jelly
Among those who love the traditional blues, a century-old New Orleans number has been called the most beautiful ever recorded. Jazz great Ferdinand “Jelly Roll” Morton., who put it on wax in 1939, said at the time, “This is the first blues I no doubt heard in my life.” And he did it up proud, just right, with his own voice and keyboard.
Jelly Roll was a proud man himself, and gifted too, of course, though he was not what most would consider a gentleman.
Precocious Ferd Morton, at age 14, had forsaken a comfortable Creole family life in early 20th century New Orleans to play the piano in a brothel. And afterward, in maturity, he was very much at home in various urban tenderloins.
His very nickname and his signature blues – “I’m the winin’ boy” -- reeked of raunch,
He was vain, vulgar and dissolute. His music grew out of the rowdy school of “shake-that-thing,” yet at the same time it demonstrated a God-given talent for making hot, swinging, foot-tapping, disciplined hits that still live.
He called this particular tune “Mamie’s Blues,” for Mamie Desdumes, a bawdyhouse pianist in New Orleans at the turn of the century. “She hardly could play anything else.” he said, “but she could really play this number.”
It is actually quite simple, spare in notes and in lyrics:
“2:19 done took my baby away. . . .
2:19 took my babe away. . . .
2:17 bring her back some day. . . .
Stood on the corner with her feets just soakin’ wet (her feets was wet}. . . .
Stood on the corner with her feet . . . soakin’ wet. . . ..
Beggin’. . . .each and ev’ry man she met. . . . .
If you can’t give a dollar, give me a lousy dime. . . .
Iif you can’t give a dollar, give me a lousy dime. . . .
I want to feed that hungry man of mine.”
So what’s so great about that? Well, of course you need to hear Jelly Roll Morton’s rich, delicate notes weaving in and out, around and behind the words. You need also to relish his pregnant pauses.
Beyond that I can’t really explain, except to say this: To this day, after 70 years of collecting jazz music, now and then the lyrics and chords of “Mamie’s Blues” will still somehow pop up again, for no particular reason, in my old gray head.
They’re most welcome.
I hope, by the way, that you recognized a special theme in the lyrics. “Mamie’s Blues” is one of many old “railroad songs” of jazz and country music.
Eighty to a hundred years ago, before airlines and before cars-in-every-garage, trips of any distance were by rail And trains came to have a special meaning for certain folks yearning for a more free and prosperous life -- African-Americans generally and jazz musicians specifically in the delta South.
While the South may have given birth to jazz and the blues, it wasn’t celebrated for enriching its musicians. The great Louis Armstrong for a time worked coal carts. Buddy Bolden had a barber shop. Bunk Johnson drove trucks. King Oliver was a butcher, Johnny St. Cyr a plasterer.
A prominent archivist of jazz music, Alan Lomax. a biographer and confidant of Morton, has written of how word went out to people of color in those days of opportunities to be found elsewhere. A prime attraction was Chicago:
“Man, Chicago is the money town,” the word was, “and listen, you can be a man in Chicago.”
So Jelly Roll Morton joined a mass migration to money and freedom – well, relative freedom. “In five years,” Lomax wrote, “a half-million Negroes moved north, one-tenth of them settling in Chicago’s south side.”
And Morton, though he always insisted that he was “Creole” -- never “Negro” or “black” -- nevertheless used a few lines of the blues to make a racial dictinction between Chicago and New Orleans:
“Michigan water taste like sherry wine,” he sang, “Mississippi water taste like turpentine.”
Altogether this flawed, remarkable man had a notable career in New Orleans, Chicago, New York and elsewhere, including Los Angeles, where he died July 10, 1941.
By then he was basically broke and alone. Nobody knew for sure how old he was, for his birth date had never been verified.
Didn’t matter. He’d made his mark.
Among those who love the traditional blues, a century-old New Orleans number has been called the most beautiful ever recorded. Jazz great Ferdinand “Jelly Roll” Morton., who put it on wax in 1939, said at the time, “This is the first blues I no doubt heard in my life.” And he did it up proud, just right, with his own voice and keyboard.
Jelly Roll was a proud man himself, and gifted too, of course, though he was not what most would consider a gentleman.
Precocious Ferd Morton, at age 14, had forsaken a comfortable Creole family life in early 20th century New Orleans to play the piano in a brothel. And afterward, in maturity, he was very much at home in various urban tenderloins.
His very nickname and his signature blues – “I’m the winin’ boy” -- reeked of raunch,
He was vain, vulgar and dissolute. His music grew out of the rowdy school of “shake-that-thing,” yet at the same time it demonstrated a God-given talent for making hot, swinging, foot-tapping, disciplined hits that still live.
He called this particular tune “Mamie’s Blues,” for Mamie Desdumes, a bawdyhouse pianist in New Orleans at the turn of the century. “She hardly could play anything else.” he said, “but she could really play this number.”
It is actually quite simple, spare in notes and in lyrics:
“2:19 done took my baby away. . . .
2:19 took my babe away. . . .
2:17 bring her back some day. . . .
Stood on the corner with her feets just soakin’ wet (her feets was wet}. . . .
Stood on the corner with her feet . . . soakin’ wet. . . ..
Beggin’. . . .each and ev’ry man she met. . . . .
If you can’t give a dollar, give me a lousy dime. . . .
Iif you can’t give a dollar, give me a lousy dime. . . .
I want to feed that hungry man of mine.”
So what’s so great about that? Well, of course you need to hear Jelly Roll Morton’s rich, delicate notes weaving in and out, around and behind the words. You need also to relish his pregnant pauses.
Beyond that I can’t really explain, except to say this: To this day, after 70 years of collecting jazz music, now and then the lyrics and chords of “Mamie’s Blues” will still somehow pop up again, for no particular reason, in my old gray head.
They’re most welcome.
I hope, by the way, that you recognized a special theme in the lyrics. “Mamie’s Blues” is one of many old “railroad songs” of jazz and country music.
Eighty to a hundred years ago, before airlines and before cars-in-every-garage, trips of any distance were by rail And trains came to have a special meaning for certain folks yearning for a more free and prosperous life -- African-Americans generally and jazz musicians specifically in the delta South.
While the South may have given birth to jazz and the blues, it wasn’t celebrated for enriching its musicians. The great Louis Armstrong for a time worked coal carts. Buddy Bolden had a barber shop. Bunk Johnson drove trucks. King Oliver was a butcher, Johnny St. Cyr a plasterer.
A prominent archivist of jazz music, Alan Lomax. a biographer and confidant of Morton, has written of how word went out to people of color in those days of opportunities to be found elsewhere. A prime attraction was Chicago:
“Man, Chicago is the money town,” the word was, “and listen, you can be a man in Chicago.”
So Jelly Roll Morton joined a mass migration to money and freedom – well, relative freedom. “In five years,” Lomax wrote, “a half-million Negroes moved north, one-tenth of them settling in Chicago’s south side.”
And Morton, though he always insisted that he was “Creole” -- never “Negro” or “black” -- nevertheless used a few lines of the blues to make a racial dictinction between Chicago and New Orleans:
“Michigan water taste like sherry wine,” he sang, “Mississippi water taste like turpentine.”
Altogether this flawed, remarkable man had a notable career in New Orleans, Chicago, New York and elsewhere, including Los Angeles, where he died July 10, 1941.
By then he was basically broke and alone. Nobody knew for sure how old he was, for his birth date had never been verified.
Didn’t matter. He’d made his mark.
Friday, March 26, 2010
mea culpa
Seven months ago, in a fit of political frustration, I used this space to berate my party, the Democratic party, and particularly its Washington leadership. Including the president of the United States.
I said that "these people simply do not seem to possess the collective will, the guts or the focus to enact a genuine reform of health care."
Well, let us now consider the labors of the president and the Democratic Congress in the past few days. They may not have scored an A-plus -- who ever does? -- but their work has been nothing short of monumental.
They have opened a door leading toward decades of genuine progress in the health and well-being of all Americans. And they accomplished it all coolly, confidently. With class, under fire.
So now am I ashamed of myself? Sure. But mostly I'm proud to be a Democrat.
I said that "these people simply do not seem to possess the collective will, the guts or the focus to enact a genuine reform of health care."
Well, let us now consider the labors of the president and the Democratic Congress in the past few days. They may not have scored an A-plus -- who ever does? -- but their work has been nothing short of monumental.
They have opened a door leading toward decades of genuine progress in the health and well-being of all Americans. And they accomplished it all coolly, confidently. With class, under fire.
So now am I ashamed of myself? Sure. But mostly I'm proud to be a Democrat.
Monday, March 22, 2010
age
The Volunteers of America, whose Meals on Wheels I very much appreciate, have notified me that March 22 is 'As Young As You Feel Day.'
Okay. Today, March 22, in the year of our Lord 2010, I feel 88, going on 89.
Charley
Okay. Today, March 22, in the year of our Lord 2010, I feel 88, going on 89.
Charley
Friday, March 19, 2010
mutts
I'm mostly fond of all dogs, those that don't jump up on me or that don't live in the same house with me. Dogs are basically my friends, like good ol' Duffy next door. They're just not my up-close, 24-7 buddies.
(Cats? Well, with me, cats are something else. I'd really rather not have a cat anywhere in my block. Or the neighborhood. Or the city.}
But back to dogs. One trouble that dogs have is that they often get blamed for things they haven't done and aren't responsible for.
And they can't defend themselves. Like when someone is called a "dirty dog." Or when "dog" is the word describing some very nice -- but very plain -- lady.
Lately, we've been hearing a lot about certain "blue dogs" in Washington, D.C. These, of course, are members of Congress, the Blue Dog Coalition.
They should not, probably, be called "dirty" dogs. At least not automatically. They are simply a bunch of elected Democrats who sometimes like to wander off the reservation. They like to be able to slip off and go frolic with Republicans in certain tense moments when loyalty to their own party seems, oh, just too hard to bear.
Colorado's John Salazar is one of these Blue Dog Democrats.
There are a few other notable canine colors as well. "Black Dog" is a song by Led Zeppelin. "Red dog" is said to be the color of the jersey worn by a defensive player in a football scrimmage.
And another color has been lifted from an old, everlovin' composition by W. C. Handy, the "Yellow Dog Blues."
Handy's particular "Yellow Dog" -- technically the "Yazoo Delta" -- was once a short-line railroad in the state of Mississippi. The name appears in song as the answer to a love-smitten maiden who is tearfully asking where in the world her easy rider has gone.
It turns out "he's gone where the Southern meets the Yellow Dog," which in real life would have been in the vicinity of Moorhead, Mississippi, where the Southern and Yazoo Delta lines actually crossed.
History also tells us that years ago the term "yellow dog" was applied to the shameful labor contracts that bosses used to be able to enforce on employees: Making them agree never to join a union while working at that place.
My all-time, historical dog-color favorite, though, comes from an old southern political phrase: ". . .yellow dog Democrat."
What was that? Well, you probably guessed it. In the old days, if his only choice on the ballot was a Republican or a yellow dog, he'd vote for the yellow dog.
(Cats? Well, with me, cats are something else. I'd really rather not have a cat anywhere in my block. Or the neighborhood. Or the city.}
But back to dogs. One trouble that dogs have is that they often get blamed for things they haven't done and aren't responsible for.
And they can't defend themselves. Like when someone is called a "dirty dog." Or when "dog" is the word describing some very nice -- but very plain -- lady.
Lately, we've been hearing a lot about certain "blue dogs" in Washington, D.C. These, of course, are members of Congress, the Blue Dog Coalition.
They should not, probably, be called "dirty" dogs. At least not automatically. They are simply a bunch of elected Democrats who sometimes like to wander off the reservation. They like to be able to slip off and go frolic with Republicans in certain tense moments when loyalty to their own party seems, oh, just too hard to bear.
Colorado's John Salazar is one of these Blue Dog Democrats.
There are a few other notable canine colors as well. "Black Dog" is a song by Led Zeppelin. "Red dog" is said to be the color of the jersey worn by a defensive player in a football scrimmage.
And another color has been lifted from an old, everlovin' composition by W. C. Handy, the "Yellow Dog Blues."
Handy's particular "Yellow Dog" -- technically the "Yazoo Delta" -- was once a short-line railroad in the state of Mississippi. The name appears in song as the answer to a love-smitten maiden who is tearfully asking where in the world her easy rider has gone.
It turns out "he's gone where the Southern meets the Yellow Dog," which in real life would have been in the vicinity of Moorhead, Mississippi, where the Southern and Yazoo Delta lines actually crossed.
History also tells us that years ago the term "yellow dog" was applied to the shameful labor contracts that bosses used to be able to enforce on employees: Making them agree never to join a union while working at that place.
My all-time, historical dog-color favorite, though, comes from an old southern political phrase: ". . .yellow dog Democrat."
What was that? Well, you probably guessed it. In the old days, if his only choice on the ballot was a Republican or a yellow dog, he'd vote for the yellow dog.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
politrix
POLITRIX
After I sent a modest contribution to the Democratic National Committee last November. I got word that I could now consider myself to be a "member" of that very same Washington-based group.
Gee whiz! Who would have thought?
Of course I knew enough to be sensible about it. It wasn't personal. It was politics of money. I knew they weren't going to stay in close touch with me. Or pay my expenses for trips to Washington for DNC meetings. Or let me a vote on which city gets the next national convention. Nothing like that.
But still, there it remained, in so many words: A member.
So I was surprised the other day, when I got my first follow-up message from the DNC, to learn that my membership had somehow "expired" as of March 3.
It lasted less than four months.
They didn't say why. Had they heard how impatient I get sometimes for tough, in-your-face leadership from the White House? Or how tired I get of squabbles among congressional Democrats?
I don't know.
Anyway, as of today, here's what the DNC wants of me now: They want me to take the card they enclosed -- "an original copy" -- and initial it to "verify" my membership in 2010. Then send the card back to the DNC, for "return to file."
They didn't say when it would expire this time.
And that isn't all they want. Not at all. To seal the deal, they also expect from me "the most generous contribution (I) can afford" -- specifically, $100 or more.
The 4x5 card they sent looks just like the cards my mama used for her recipes in Hiawatha, Kansas. She kept them in a small box in the kitchen.
I don't know if the DNC has a similar filing system for its "members," but if they do, they surely need lots of boxes. I'm member No.098965071.
(You'd think the DNC would have heard of computers by now. The Republicans have.)
By the way, as part of my Washington mail, I also got what resembles a personal letter from Barack Obama himself. It's addressed "Dear Charles" and starts out by saying that "together, you and I have accomplished so much in the first year of the Administration. . ."
Aw shucks, Mr. President. I can't lie to you. I have to admit I haven't accomplished one damn thing in the past year except get older and more stubborn.
I know he can claim some big accomplishments, and I appreciate them. I still have my 2008 yard sign. But I would be happier if, months ago, he had grabbed health-care reform with both hands, spelled it out to everyone in plain language and fought to make it work.
After I sent a modest contribution to the Democratic National Committee last November. I got word that I could now consider myself to be a "member" of that very same Washington-based group.
Gee whiz! Who would have thought?
Of course I knew enough to be sensible about it. It wasn't personal. It was politics of money. I knew they weren't going to stay in close touch with me. Or pay my expenses for trips to Washington for DNC meetings. Or let me a vote on which city gets the next national convention. Nothing like that.
But still, there it remained, in so many words: A member.
So I was surprised the other day, when I got my first follow-up message from the DNC, to learn that my membership had somehow "expired" as of March 3.
It lasted less than four months.
They didn't say why. Had they heard how impatient I get sometimes for tough, in-your-face leadership from the White House? Or how tired I get of squabbles among congressional Democrats?
I don't know.
Anyway, as of today, here's what the DNC wants of me now: They want me to take the card they enclosed -- "an original copy" -- and initial it to "verify" my membership in 2010. Then send the card back to the DNC, for "return to file."
They didn't say when it would expire this time.
And that isn't all they want. Not at all. To seal the deal, they also expect from me "the most generous contribution (I) can afford" -- specifically, $100 or more.
The 4x5 card they sent looks just like the cards my mama used for her recipes in Hiawatha, Kansas. She kept them in a small box in the kitchen.
I don't know if the DNC has a similar filing system for its "members," but if they do, they surely need lots of boxes. I'm member No.098965071.
(You'd think the DNC would have heard of computers by now. The Republicans have.)
By the way, as part of my Washington mail, I also got what resembles a personal letter from Barack Obama himself. It's addressed "Dear Charles" and starts out by saying that "together, you and I have accomplished so much in the first year of the Administration. . ."
Aw shucks, Mr. President. I can't lie to you. I have to admit I haven't accomplished one damn thing in the past year except get older and more stubborn.
I know he can claim some big accomplishments, and I appreciate them. I still have my 2008 yard sign. But I would be happier if, months ago, he had grabbed health-care reform with both hands, spelled it out to everyone in plain language and fought to make it work.
Friday, February 26, 2010
faux-lympics
The paper says U.S. Olympian Rachel Flatt was surprised and shocked by the score the judges gave her Thursday in the women's figure-skating competition at Vancouver. She had skated a "clean" program, a personal best, and felt good about it.
Too bad. It wasn't to be. The judges said there was something wrong with two of her triple-flip jumps. So Rachel finished seventh in the event, well out of the running.
The paper says another U.S. skater, Johnny Weir, sixth-place finisher in the men's competition, also had troubles in Vancouver. It was partly about his skating -- he was "robbed," some fans say -- but it was also about Weir and the media.
Their coverage of him tended to be derisive. This wasn't about his skating. It had to do with his persona, with things he was saying, his off-rink, eccentric behavior, his "flamboyant" costumes, things like that.
A pink-ribboned corset figured somewhere in this. One critic suggested he submit to a gender test.
Well, that's history now, and it's obviously too late for Vancouver, but I have a suggestion to deal with this sort of thing in the future.
Starting with the next winter Olympics, the people who run the games should simply strike figure-skating from the program. For good. And while they're at it, they should also drop gymnastics from the summer games. For good.
Neither is a sport that can be judged objectively by a time-clock or point score. Judges are human. And they may, individually, be patriotic, temperamental, even whimsical.
Figure-skating is simply high-speed dancing. It can only be judged subjectively as an art form.
Of course Olympic skaters are strong, highly skilled and disciplined. I bet Fred Astaire was in great shape and finely disciplined in his day, too, but he starred in "Roberta," not the Olympics.
As for gymnastics, those performers are acrobats. They also are strong, highly skilled, and disciplined. Plus daring. They just can't be judged objectively, one against another, on a precise point scale as Olympic judges try to do.
If I want to see acrobats I'll go to the circus.
Too bad. It wasn't to be. The judges said there was something wrong with two of her triple-flip jumps. So Rachel finished seventh in the event, well out of the running.
The paper says another U.S. skater, Johnny Weir, sixth-place finisher in the men's competition, also had troubles in Vancouver. It was partly about his skating -- he was "robbed," some fans say -- but it was also about Weir and the media.
Their coverage of him tended to be derisive. This wasn't about his skating. It had to do with his persona, with things he was saying, his off-rink, eccentric behavior, his "flamboyant" costumes, things like that.
A pink-ribboned corset figured somewhere in this. One critic suggested he submit to a gender test.
Well, that's history now, and it's obviously too late for Vancouver, but I have a suggestion to deal with this sort of thing in the future.
Starting with the next winter Olympics, the people who run the games should simply strike figure-skating from the program. For good. And while they're at it, they should also drop gymnastics from the summer games. For good.
Neither is a sport that can be judged objectively by a time-clock or point score. Judges are human. And they may, individually, be patriotic, temperamental, even whimsical.
Figure-skating is simply high-speed dancing. It can only be judged subjectively as an art form.
Of course Olympic skaters are strong, highly skilled and disciplined. I bet Fred Astaire was in great shape and finely disciplined in his day, too, but he starred in "Roberta," not the Olympics.
As for gymnastics, those performers are acrobats. They also are strong, highly skilled, and disciplined. Plus daring. They just can't be judged objectively, one against another, on a precise point scale as Olympic judges try to do.
If I want to see acrobats I'll go to the circus.
Friday, February 19, 2010
birch
Dwight David Eisenhower, born in Texas and reared in Kansas, grew up to become supreme commander of allied forces in Europe in World War II, He won two landslide elections as president of the United States. He served as president of Columbia University, and he has been enshrined as an enduring icon of Republican politics.
But to Robert Welch, founder and president of the ultra-right John Birch Society, the moderate and genial Ike was very likely something else: . . . "a conscious dedicated agent of the Communist conspiracy" . . . for whom "there is only one possible word to describe his purpose and his actions. The word is treason."
Barack Obama, born in Hawaii, reared in Asia and elected to the U.S. Senate, decisively won a historic election to the presidency. In that office, Americans have to agree, he is laboring manfully if imperfectly to get the nation out of the worst financial mess since the great depression.
But if you had happened to attend a recent political forum of the right-wing Tea Party in the Colorado Springs area, you could have bought bumper stickers with messages like this:
"Roses are red, violets are blue, Obama's a Commie and Pelosi is too."
Or: "Honk if you voted for Barack Obama, you Socialist bastard"
From what I've been hearing and reading lately about the ideas rumbling around inside the growing Tea Party movement, they remind me more and more of some of the notions of Robert Welch's old Birchers in their heyday 40 or so years ago. Notions like: guarding against the formation of a New World Order being pushed by secret U.S. "elites"; abolishing the Federal Reserve, heart of the national banking system; resigning from the United Nations; "nullifying" inconvenient federal laws, and standing up for the "sovereignty" of the individual states in any dispute with Washington.
And, by the way, what's wrong with giving at least some thought to the idea of secession?
Now of course the core ideas of Tea Partiers aren't identical to those of the Birchers, but they have a disturbingly similar tone. Both have goofy ideas about the tax system they so abominate. Both, for instance, would abolish the Internal Revenue Service and the graduated income tax.
Come on, they say, let's be reasonable. Let's have a really "fair" tax.
And what would that be? Well, it would be an excise tax, like a national sales tax, which everyone would pay at the same rate.
See? The millionaire would be charged the same tax as the welfare mother for a bottle of milk. Or a bottle of champagne. What could be fairer than that?
There are, of course, some big differences between these two political movements. Unlike the Birchers. the Tea-ers have no national leader, organization or discipline. And, unlike the Tea Party, the Birch Society -- even when it was being widely publicized and discussed -- was always considered to be politically out of bounds to the mainstream.
Kooky.
While there were lots of highly conservative Republicans in politics in the '60s and '70s, they wouldn't have been caught dead at a Birch event, and they would have spurned a Birch endorsement.
Nowadays Sarah Palin, reigning queen of the party, is happily playing footsie with the Tea-ers, and top GOP leaders have offered them everything but the keys to the safe if they'll only come aboard.
Pointy-headed liberals like me hope they do. What fun! What mischief!
But to Robert Welch, founder and president of the ultra-right John Birch Society, the moderate and genial Ike was very likely something else: . . . "a conscious dedicated agent of the Communist conspiracy" . . . for whom "there is only one possible word to describe his purpose and his actions. The word is treason."
Barack Obama, born in Hawaii, reared in Asia and elected to the U.S. Senate, decisively won a historic election to the presidency. In that office, Americans have to agree, he is laboring manfully if imperfectly to get the nation out of the worst financial mess since the great depression.
But if you had happened to attend a recent political forum of the right-wing Tea Party in the Colorado Springs area, you could have bought bumper stickers with messages like this:
"Roses are red, violets are blue, Obama's a Commie and Pelosi is too."
Or: "Honk if you voted for Barack Obama, you Socialist bastard"
From what I've been hearing and reading lately about the ideas rumbling around inside the growing Tea Party movement, they remind me more and more of some of the notions of Robert Welch's old Birchers in their heyday 40 or so years ago. Notions like: guarding against the formation of a New World Order being pushed by secret U.S. "elites"; abolishing the Federal Reserve, heart of the national banking system; resigning from the United Nations; "nullifying" inconvenient federal laws, and standing up for the "sovereignty" of the individual states in any dispute with Washington.
And, by the way, what's wrong with giving at least some thought to the idea of secession?
Now of course the core ideas of Tea Partiers aren't identical to those of the Birchers, but they have a disturbingly similar tone. Both have goofy ideas about the tax system they so abominate. Both, for instance, would abolish the Internal Revenue Service and the graduated income tax.
Come on, they say, let's be reasonable. Let's have a really "fair" tax.
And what would that be? Well, it would be an excise tax, like a national sales tax, which everyone would pay at the same rate.
See? The millionaire would be charged the same tax as the welfare mother for a bottle of milk. Or a bottle of champagne. What could be fairer than that?
There are, of course, some big differences between these two political movements. Unlike the Birchers. the Tea-ers have no national leader, organization or discipline. And, unlike the Tea Party, the Birch Society -- even when it was being widely publicized and discussed -- was always considered to be politically out of bounds to the mainstream.
Kooky.
While there were lots of highly conservative Republicans in politics in the '60s and '70s, they wouldn't have been caught dead at a Birch event, and they would have spurned a Birch endorsement.
Nowadays Sarah Palin, reigning queen of the party, is happily playing footsie with the Tea-ers, and top GOP leaders have offered them everything but the keys to the safe if they'll only come aboard.
Pointy-headed liberals like me hope they do. What fun! What mischief!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
ballparks
Though baseball's opening day is still more than a month off, it isn't too early for a nut like me to dig out one of the classic books of the game: Josh Leventhal's "Take Me Out to the Ballpark," an illustrated tour of playing fields past and present.
Note: To be precise, in this case "present" means only up to 2000, which was the year of publication.
But what's a decade or so when you can learn that Sunny Jim Bottomley knocked in 12 runs on Sept. 16, 1924, as the Cardinals beat the Dodgers 17 to 3. And when you can read what Babe Ruth thought of the now-fabled, almost sacred "friendly confines" of Chicago's Wrigley Field.
Ruth was quoted in the fall of 1932 when the New York Yankees were in the process of sweeping the Cubs 4-zip in the World Series. Ruth went five for 15 in those four games, hitting two homers and batting in a total of six runs.
The Babe, who in his day was the highest-paid player in baseball, had this to say of Wrigley, "I'd pay half my salary," he said, "if I could bat in this dump all the time."
There are a lot of such tidbits from the greatest sport of them all.
Item: In a game at Ebbets Field in 1926, three Brooklyn Dodgers were caught standing on third base at the same time. Two were tagged out to end the inning.
Item: At least until 2000, no one had ever hit a ball over the right-field grandstand of Boston's Fenway Park. However the Red Sox installed a special red seat in the right-field bleachers where a ball hit by Ted Williams, estimated to have carried 502 feet, hit a fan on the head, crushing his straw hat.
Item: On April 17, 1945, at Sportsman's Park, a one-armed outfielder named Pete Gray made his debut with the American League St. Louis Browns, going one for four against Detroit. He went on to play 77 games that season, when war service had decimated major-league rosters.
Item: At Yale Field in New Haven, Connecticut, home to the university's baseball team and, for a time, the New Haven Ravens Class AA franchise, authorities in the 1920s installed a double-wide seat for William Howard Taft.
See, the former president, Supreme Court justice, Yale alum and law professor was a truly big man, his usual weight being around 320 pounds.
Item: On Sept. 15, 1963, the San Francisco Giants fielded an outfield of three brothers, Felipe, Jesus and Matty Alou.
Those are just a few samples. You gotta love this game.
Note: To be precise, in this case "present" means only up to 2000, which was the year of publication.
But what's a decade or so when you can learn that Sunny Jim Bottomley knocked in 12 runs on Sept. 16, 1924, as the Cardinals beat the Dodgers 17 to 3. And when you can read what Babe Ruth thought of the now-fabled, almost sacred "friendly confines" of Chicago's Wrigley Field.
Ruth was quoted in the fall of 1932 when the New York Yankees were in the process of sweeping the Cubs 4-zip in the World Series. Ruth went five for 15 in those four games, hitting two homers and batting in a total of six runs.
The Babe, who in his day was the highest-paid player in baseball, had this to say of Wrigley, "I'd pay half my salary," he said, "if I could bat in this dump all the time."
There are a lot of such tidbits from the greatest sport of them all.
Item: In a game at Ebbets Field in 1926, three Brooklyn Dodgers were caught standing on third base at the same time. Two were tagged out to end the inning.
Item: At least until 2000, no one had ever hit a ball over the right-field grandstand of Boston's Fenway Park. However the Red Sox installed a special red seat in the right-field bleachers where a ball hit by Ted Williams, estimated to have carried 502 feet, hit a fan on the head, crushing his straw hat.
Item: On April 17, 1945, at Sportsman's Park, a one-armed outfielder named Pete Gray made his debut with the American League St. Louis Browns, going one for four against Detroit. He went on to play 77 games that season, when war service had decimated major-league rosters.
Item: At Yale Field in New Haven, Connecticut, home to the university's baseball team and, for a time, the New Haven Ravens Class AA franchise, authorities in the 1920s installed a double-wide seat for William Howard Taft.
See, the former president, Supreme Court justice, Yale alum and law professor was a truly big man, his usual weight being around 320 pounds.
Item: On Sept. 15, 1963, the San Francisco Giants fielded an outfield of three brothers, Felipe, Jesus and Matty Alou.
Those are just a few samples. You gotta love this game.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
TELE-DANGER
The Denver Post this week reprinted an article from the Los Angeles Times with a headline that said "too much time in front of TV can kill you."
It seems that Australian researchers have discovered that each hour spent watching TV is linked with an 18 percent greater risk of dying from cardiovascular disease. Plus a 9 percent increased risk of dying from cancer.
Well! That grabbed the attention of a guy who regularly watches hours of baseball, football, movies, Brit dramas and other assorted bits of TV fare.
Now why do you suppose the Post, in a prominently display, reprinted another paper’s warning about the perils of TV? Well, the Post, like the entire print business, is hoping desperately to lure people back to reading and advertising in print instead of on TV and the net. It’s a very hard sell.
“Be safe,” says the Post. “Get your news from Colorado’s media leader…..Life’s risky enough. Read the Post.”
Well, they don’t need to persuade me. I read the Post every morning, and I wish I still had a Rocky Mountain News to read every morning, too.
While I don’t watch the clock as I read, I’d guess I spend about an hour a day with the Post. That's on weekdays, counting word games and chess problems. And on Sundays, it’s at least three or four hours, depending on the challenge of the two big crossword puzzles.
If you haven't already guessed where I'm heading, go back to the beginning, to the line about spending “too much time in front of TV.”
Think about that. It isn’t the TV itself that kills us. It doesn't spew out poisonous waves. It merely pins us down in a cozy chair and keeps us there, stationary, for hours and hours. It keeps us “sedentary,” meaning lots of sitting and little moving. Or, as my dictionary says, “fixed to one spot, as a barnacle.”
So, consider the idea of mobility. Isn't it just as sedentary to sit for an hour reading the Denver Post as it is to sit for an hour watching “The Closer” on TV. The Post doesn’t say.
Of course most people don’t spend nearly as many hours with newspapers as they do with TV, but what about books and magazines and computer screens?
If watching TV for four hours is bad, is reading a mystery novel good? How about the Bible?
Is the delightful Tattered Cover – my favorite store – striving to make barnacles of all us, starting with kids barely old enough to read? Ask the Post.
The Denver Post this week reprinted an article from the Los Angeles Times with a headline that said "too much time in front of TV can kill you."
It seems that Australian researchers have discovered that each hour spent watching TV is linked with an 18 percent greater risk of dying from cardiovascular disease. Plus a 9 percent increased risk of dying from cancer.
Well! That grabbed the attention of a guy who regularly watches hours of baseball, football, movies, Brit dramas and other assorted bits of TV fare.
Now why do you suppose the Post, in a prominently display, reprinted another paper’s warning about the perils of TV? Well, the Post, like the entire print business, is hoping desperately to lure people back to reading and advertising in print instead of on TV and the net. It’s a very hard sell.
“Be safe,” says the Post. “Get your news from Colorado’s media leader…..Life’s risky enough. Read the Post.”
Well, they don’t need to persuade me. I read the Post every morning, and I wish I still had a Rocky Mountain News to read every morning, too.
While I don’t watch the clock as I read, I’d guess I spend about an hour a day with the Post. That's on weekdays, counting word games and chess problems. And on Sundays, it’s at least three or four hours, depending on the challenge of the two big crossword puzzles.
If you haven't already guessed where I'm heading, go back to the beginning, to the line about spending “too much time in front of TV.”
Think about that. It isn’t the TV itself that kills us. It doesn't spew out poisonous waves. It merely pins us down in a cozy chair and keeps us there, stationary, for hours and hours. It keeps us “sedentary,” meaning lots of sitting and little moving. Or, as my dictionary says, “fixed to one spot, as a barnacle.”
So, consider the idea of mobility. Isn't it just as sedentary to sit for an hour reading the Denver Post as it is to sit for an hour watching “The Closer” on TV. The Post doesn’t say.
Of course most people don’t spend nearly as many hours with newspapers as they do with TV, but what about books and magazines and computer screens?
If watching TV for four hours is bad, is reading a mystery novel good? How about the Bible?
Is the delightful Tattered Cover – my favorite store – striving to make barnacles of all us, starting with kids barely old enough to read? Ask the Post.
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