The Thrill is gone: How China has tarnished the Olympic games

I've seen the most pure example of athletic accomplishment destroyed by madness and corruption, decomposing from the inside-out due to rampant nationalism and pure dishonesty.

Or, the Chinese are lying, cheating bastards. Either way you put it, something is rotten in the state of Beijing (which, I learned the other day, is pronounced with a "J" as in "juice," not "G" as in "gigli.")

I am referring to the female Gymnastics scandal, a little rumble of a story that is now gaining more exposure by the day. And that is good, as the more pressure mounts, the more incentive the International Olympic Committee (IOC) has to further investigate the affair.

Not that they will discover any newly incriminating evidence, though, as the proof is already in the chocolate pudding of descent that China has lied and cheated to claim Olympic gold in female gymnastics.

He Kexin, a brilliant young gymnast whose performance on the uneven bars was a major contributor to the Chinese team's victory in the team all around, is 14 years old, a full two years younger than the new standard for Olympic gymnasts. How do I know such shocking information? Why, the Chinese government! See for yourself:

In case you can't make it out, the second red-lined box clearly states that Kexin is 14. The source? A China Daily article from May, 2008 on Kexin (remember, the government controls the media in China).

Here is a clearer image.

Now, let us fast-forward to the present day. The China Daily archives all of their articles on the internet, and the aforementioned article, "Uneven queen the new star in town," is available. Except something is different this time around...see for yourself:

Again, consult the second red box. This time, Kexin's age has mysteriously changed from 14 to 16...

But wait, there's more! Here is a 2007 article from the GOVERNMENT-RUN news agency Xinhua that writes of some 13 year old gymnast named He Kexin:

Translation: The thirteen-year-old He Kexin, from Wuhan, met opponent Yang Yilin, who is on the National Team. Amid cheers from her hometown audience, the young girl excellently executed the full set of moves in the finals, and just beat out Yang Yilin, who already had high scores. Lu Shanzhen, the General Coach of the National Gymastic team, also applauded her performance.

But wait, there's MORE! This is an official roster for City Games, a sporting competition in which Kexin competed. This was published January 27, 2006, and again, it was from a government source, this time the Chengdu government. Look at what the roster lists as Kexin's birthday:

A clearer copy.

I could go on, as there are even more examples of the schizophrenic age of the ever-enigmatic He Kexin.* But, I think you get the point. The Chinese government has blatantly, bald-faced lied about Kexin's age, falsifying her passports in the process (which were, conveniently, manufactured in February of this year). While the immediate repercussions of this disaster are obvious--a stripping of the gold medal from China and an awarding to the silver-place United States team--this sad event represents the increasingly dangerous nationalism that seems to be taking place with China and the Olympics games.

Look, I understand that the Olympics are never the kind of event that inspires countries to hold hands and sing "We are the World." The Olympics are fast, frenetic bouts of athleticism, where the most dazzling of athletes compete for the most prestigious of awards: gold, silver, and shiny bronze medals and an added level of international respect for that country.

Even with this obscene level of competition, though, there is still a level of respect among the countries, a mutual disregard for petty political differences and a focus on good, CLEAN sportsmanship. China has proven itself below this standard.

And this is something that worries me, that the extreme nationalism that has come to define China is rearing its ugly head in the supposed purity of the Olympics.

In preparation for the games, Chinese authorities scour the countryside, personally choosing athletes of impeccable talent to star in the future Olympic games. If athletes are "lucky" enough to be chosen, that is effectively the end of their lives as they know it, as the athletes are then taken from their homes and train full-time under government supervision.

And the program has worked. At this moment, China is second only to the United States on total medal count, boasting a whopping 35 gold medals. At this moment, we are seeing the new rivalry of this era mature to sporting events. USA v China for global dominance.

Yet it's a shame at how it's being done, that a country's leaders can be so power-hungry that they would destroy, abduct, and lie to succeed. Enjoy the Olympics while they last, ladies and germs, but beware the gilded tint.



*And Kexin, I should point out, is not the first underage gymnast that China has used. Yang Yun, a Chinese gymnast who won bronze in the uneven bars routine of the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney, later admitted in a television interview that she was only 14 at the time. And guess what? Her passport that was issued for the games said she was 16!

Obama got Rick Roll'd!

Probably the most clever example of the increasingly irritating "Rick Roll" phenomenon.

Enjoy!

Phelps' athelticism is astounding, but his music needs some work!

First, the obvious: Michael Phelps is the greatest Olympian in the modern history of the games. Tonight's victory in the 4 x 100m team medley brought his Beijing-games medal total to an astounding EIGHT gold medals, a feat that eclipses Mark Spitz's justifiably impressible performance of seven gold in the '72 games. This, totaled with Phelps' six gold from the Athens games, gives him an [insert adjective] 14 gold medals with two bronze. Add to this the 32 world records he holds (along with 26 individual) and you have, bar none, the most amazing athlete of our generation. It's been a duty and an honor to watch the man.

Better than Tiger at golf. Even better than Michael at basketball. Now THAT is good.

Beyond his athleticism, though, Phelps is class-act and class-A cool, always confident and collected. Watching him tonight, he seemed not the least bit rattled by the fact that he was attempting an UNPRECEDENTED FEAT of Olympic performance. And after his victories and world-records, his interviews with Bob Costas are polite, proper, and entirely courteous (just now, he's thanking his teammates for their help in winning his last gold--why can't all sports have superstars like this?)

Second, the more mysterious: Phelps' rather suspect taste in music. Now, it's been a very surprising practice of mine to find that many famous people have excellent tastes in the arts. Barack Obama's iPod features, among other artists, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Sam Cooke, and Public Enemy, while his favorite films include Godfather Part II. Bill Clinton is a die hard fan of jazz, as is Woody Allen. Hell, even Scarlett Johansson is Tom Waits fan, and Christina Aguilera listens to Etta James.

So, famous people, no matter how high their suck-o-meter, can still manage some decent taste in places other than their taste buds. So imagine my shock when I discovered the contents of Michael Phelps' iPod, someone who is obviously high on the awesome-scale: Lil' Wayne. Young Jeezy. Jay-Z. Twista. USHER.

Michael, I forgive the Jay-Z if it is early, pre-sell out Jay-Z, but TWISTA? YOUNG JEEZY? Seriously, Michael. Usher?

Michael, I had such fucking hopes for us! Let's start with some fusion-era Miles Davis. That was an instrumental component to the formation of hip hop music, so you should find the transition to that style easy enough. But we'll go slow--we wouldn't want to overwhelm you.

Hey, I can dream, can't I?!? As Phelps' swimming skillz improved to superhuman standards between the Athens and Beijing games, I can hope the same for his tastes in music between the Beijing and London games. So, c'mon Michael, let the good times roll!

Remind me: WHY is it such a big deal that John Edwards had an affair?

The big breaking news today is that John Edwards has admitted to having an affair with Rielle Hunter, launching off a firestorm of criticism and speculation on the former presidential candidate's political future. While pundits and housewives around scream at Edwards and ponder why he would do such a thing, I'll ask a more direct question--why should WE even care?

Here are just a couple of the stories that have developed in the last 24 hours:

1) Georgia (the COUNTRY), after invading the breakaway province of South Ossetia, has inspired reactions of invasion and bombing by neighboring Russia, a country that strongly supported Ossetia's independence from Georgia. Why should WE care about THIS? Georgia is a staunch ally of the US and the modern western world, offering not only troops to the war on "terror" in Iraq but also a country that features, wait for it, a pipeline of oil through its lands (it's always about oil, isn't it?). A continuation of this conflict between Georgia and Russia would unquestionably result in the annihilation of the former country.

Yet what gets all the attention? John Edwards and his increased libido.

2) John McCain continues his downward spiral from independent maverick to GOP neanderthal with what is possibly his most dishonest attack-ad yet against Barack Obama.

See for yourself.

The dishonesty of the ad is shocking. The vote that the ad alludes to was an Obama vote for a recent budget resolution that proposed raising the lowest level tax-rate from 25% to 28%. What the ad does not mention is that it was a fricking BUDGET RESOLUTION! Not only is there considerable baggage to complicated measures like resolutions, but they are the complete opposite of BILLS, which the McCain campaign seem to equate with resolutions. Bills are precise, resolutions are broad, and as the vote stands, taxes may have been raised with the resolution, which, I should point out, revolved around the discontinuing of Bush's tax cuts for the super-rich!!!

And, once again, we have the irritating practicing of McCain not-so-subtly stating that Obama is an elitist who will raise taxes on the poor and drive away in his Ferrari.

Do I really need to address this? McCain grew up in a family of admirals, received a top-notch education at the Naval Academy (which he boasts to have thrown away), and left his first wife for a cozy engagement with the heiress to the multimillion dollar corporation ANHEUSER-BUSCH!!! McCain owns six houses on my last count, including one in Phoenix worth almost $5 MILLION. Oh, and he wears a pair of loafers that cost a whopping $520.

Now let's compare this to Obama--born to a single white mother, raised on food stamps, graduated from Columbia, worked for $20,000 a year as a community organizer, and then graduated magna cum laude from Harvard Law School. Which of these seems opportunist and privileged, and which one seems the product of hard work?

Those are the first stories two that popped into my head, but further excavation yields a wealth of similarly news-worthy material: the first ever conviction of a Guantanamo prisoner for...being Bin Laden's driver; the information that the Justice Department, under Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez, hired lawyers based on political affiliation, a shockingly partisan development from the supposedly un-partisan branch of the government; the revelation that the White House, with specific direction by Vice President Dick Cheney and Undersecretary of Defense Doug Feith, forged a document linking Saddam Hussein to Al-Queda. This final story is so severe that it should unquestionably involve the impeachment of Cheney.

But what gets the attention? John Edwards and his affair.

Now, I am in no way discrediting the severity of the situation. John Edwards had an affair, he has admitted to it, and there will be a long, arduous process of rebuild with his wife and kids; however, this is a private matter, one that we should have the courtesy and honor to leave to the Edwards family to resolve.

The public madhouse over the Clinton sex scandal was ridiculous in its own right, and the firestorm over Edwards' infidelity proves we have not gotten any more sensible. Instead of focusing on the real issues facing our country now, we labor over the personal problems of our celebrities and idols, from Brangelina's twins to the latest fuck-up by Lindsay Lohan. Don't we have better, more valuable things to do with our limited time?

And I'm not alone in this sentiment. Here is a direct quote of an Elizabeth Edwards blog that appeared on The Daily Kos earlier today: "I ask that the public, who expressed concern about the harm John’s conduct has done to us, think also about the real harm that the present voyeurism does and give me and my family the privacy we need at this time."

Can't we honor her wish?

Weezer

I was never much of a Weezer fan. Sure, I bobbed my head and hummed along to 'Hash Pipe' or 'Keep Fishin'' when they would float across the radio streams, but I never felt motivated to investigate the band any further. Well, following some recommendations from a couple of semi-reliable sources and a new-found curiosity for alternative music, I gave the band a shot.

And boy, what a trip.

Weezer's musical odyssey has been kind of like a match--a brilliant explosion of light, followed by small flickers of faintness, followed by insignificant darkness.

BLUE ALBUM: Weezer's self-titled debut is considered a classic of 90s pop, and it deserves every inch of praise. To paraphrase rock music critic Jim DeRogatis, while Howard Hawkes remarked that a great film was composed of three great scenes and no bad ones, "Weezer" provides an album with 7 great songs and no bad ones.

The album kicks into high gear immediately with 'My Name is Jonas,' followed by the wonderful 'No One Else,' then the classic deep-cut 'The World Has Turned and Left Me Here,' and then the hits start coming, with the 90s classic 'Buddy Holly' in all its retro-pop glory and then 'Undone,' which we all know as 'The Sweater Song.'

Basically, from start to finish this is great fun, with rollicking pop melodies played over crunching guitar that sounds like its about to short the amps. Beyond the music, though, is front man Rivers Cuomo, whose self-conscious lyrics of nerdy exclusion and excellent vocals bring a grand humility to the proceedings. Add to it all the closing number, 'Only in Dreams,' which is one of the great epic closing numbers in current Rock n Roll memory, and you have yourself a classic.

PINKERTON: Ah, here's where the bacon really gets cookin'. With "Pinkerton," Cuomo gets serious, shattering his adorable little image of the sensitive nerd into pieces with knee-jerk confessionals that make any emo record seem even MORE false and artificial.

While the Cuomo of "Weezer" was content to laugh at his own loneliness, our little hero of "Pinkerton" is simply tired, tired of being laughed at, tired of feeling no human connection, and tired of...sex.

While the lyrical content of the album is certainly a step into darker territory, the band has only gotten stronger, cranking up the amps to 11 and blasting into the stratosphere. Basically, "Pinkerton" is the work of a live band, with all of the feedback, distortion, and reckless abandon we can expect from a REAL live experience. From the wailing feedback that introduces "No Other One" to the raging guitars that scream into the melody of "Getchoo," the Weezer of "Surf Wax America" and "Say it Ain't So" is a thing of the past. Instead, we have honesty, depression, and legitimate anger, the kind of stuff we college kids can empathize with (Cuomo composed most of the "Pinkerton" material while a student at Harvard--yeah, he's a smart guy).

A classic, and quickly approaching a spot on my desert isle reserves.

EVERYTHING ELSE: This is where your Weezer collection should effectively end, as everything following "Pinkerton" is not worth the plastic it is digitally compressed to. When "Pinkerton" was released, fans and critics alike were outraged over the drastic change in tone from the first album to the second. Sales were terrible, radio play suffered, and major publications wiped the floor with poor Rivers (Rolling Stone famously called the album the "Worst Album of 1996"). Cuomo's reaction to all this was perfectly understandable. After sweating through the slings and arrows of the sophomore slump and emerging with an album as honest and confessional as any album of the 1990s, his beloved fan base wouldn't piss on the record to put out a fire.

So, he disappeared. Completely. And for five years, nobody heard a single note of new material from Weezer. Until 2001, when "Weezer," or, "The Green Album" was released. And trust me--it's a piece of shit. Don't get me wrong, I can understand why Cuomo would record the album. His fan base in shambles, he needed to deliver a fun, commercial album to reclaim his sales and dignity. That's all fine. The problem is that "Weezer" is simply a terrible album.

It all just sounds so lazy, like they weren't even trying. Cuomo's vocals sound bored and disinterested. His writing, musically and especially lyrically, is stilted and uninspired. The rest of the band, from the guitars to the bass and drums, sound muted. Even the guitar solos are a complete step back from the fiery playing displayed on "Pinkerton."

Yet, it still sold, prompting us to a fast-forward to today, where Weezer hasn't missed a step, releasing one album after another of commercial-inspired dreck that lacks any of the shocking originality of the band's first two records.

Aside from the band's descent into irrelevance--which is, really, annoying as all hell--there is the highly irritating Weezer fan base, a two-faced crowd if there ever was one that pisses the living shit out of me. In the present day, with Weezer a full-blown commercial outfit with no inspiration, the same people who panned "Pinkerton" now crave for the band to return to their rock/pop roots and once again produce an album along those lines--fun, catchy, rockin', and honest. Sorry, homeys, those days are long gone, are you are to blame. God damn you, you half Japanese girls!

Raymond Chandler and Philip Marlow

[Notice: This is my first message in 15 days, and while such tardiness can be excused as procrastination, I have a perfectly feasible explanation--honeysuckle.)

Film noir is one of those art forms that everybody--regardless of their background--seems to like. And who could blame them? The striking visuals, the delicious cynicism, and the wonderful, hard-boiled writing bring something for everyone on the platter. So it was always a mystery, really, that I had not invested more effort into film noir and classic crime fiction.

That all changed this summer, though. Upon the recommendation of seemingly every TV-viewer I knew, I began heavily watching the HBO series "The Wire." Two things: yes, it is as good as you have heard, and yes, I'll elaborate on that statement at a later date. Back to the big picture: my immersion in crime fiction, though, kick started my long subdued appetite for more of the genre, and I figured that there was no better place to start than the very king OF the genre itself, Raymond Chandler.

I should make one thing clear, though--Chandler did not create film noir or the detective crime thriller. While it is difficult to credit one single source for the creation of any art, film noir and its most defining characteristics had two major starting points in Dashiell Hammett's 1930 novel The Maltese Falcon and James M. Cain's 1934 novel The Postman Always Rings Twice. It's all there--the hard-boiled, cynical leading man, the smoldering femme-fatale, and the post-modernist ending of gloom, doom, and inevitability.

So, Chandler did not create the very genre in which he laid. He merely offered a superior example.

Chandler fused the noir of Cain with the detective of Hammett, offering his debut novel, The Big Sleep, in 1939, and introducing his lead character and film noir idol Philip Marlowe.

Reading Chandler, the first thing that struck me about his writing was just how literate the guy was. When we think noir, we think of the more modern neo-noir examples of the genre, such as Sin City, the novels of James Ellroy (more on those at a later date) and any imitator of those trend-setters. And, we know of that style--fragmented, choppy and scant on adjectives. Chandler, though, writes with none of these characteristics.

Written from the first-person perspective of Marlowe, Chandler's prose is crisp, sharp and written with laser-like precision. Meticulous details are exuded on surroundings, rooms, articles of clothing, the physical features of pivotal (and not-so pivotal) characters, and nature, the latter of which occurs as a frequent symbolism in Chandler's work. Granted, the prose is still tough and the vocab hard-boiled, but it is damn well constructed.

After Chandler's prose, the next feature that hit me in the face like a glass of cold water was his dialogue, which is among the sharpest I have ever read. Cutting like a knife, the repartee between Marlowe and his various clients/suspects/villains leaps off the page, hitting you with an immediacy that is both shocking in its frankness and startling in its construction. Consider, for example, this passage of dialogue from The Big Sleep:

She took the photo out and stood looking at it, just inside the door. "She has a beautiful little body, hasn't she?"
"Uh-huh."
She leaned a little towards me. "You ought to see mine," she said gravely.
"Can it be arranged?"
She laughed suddenly and sharply and went halfway through the door, then turned her head to say coolly: "You're as cold-blooded a beast as I ever met, Marlowe. Or can I call you Phil?"
"Sure."
"You can call me Vivian."
"Thanks, Mrs. Regan."
"Oh, go to hell, Marlowe." She went on out and didn't look back.

Sharp, precise, and very, very good.

I mentioned symbolism earlier, and that aspect of Chandler's writing has been, for me as least, its most remarkable aspect. Crime fiction is not your typical genre where, for example, the rain plays an overarching role of symbolism, such as it does in The Big Sleep. Or, to cite another one of Chandler's books, the fantastic Lady in the Lake, water once again plays a important role, along with the dark wilderness and mysterious lake of a northern lake house resort.

And while these fantastical elements of Chandler's novels justify their masterpiece standing, the one lasting impression that his works leave is that of true film noir, that of the road not taken. Film noir, true film noir, takes us through a merry-go-round of human nature, exposing the dark underbelly of our race and reducing our actions to nothing more than animals in a cage, owned by a bleak and sadistic creator. Chandler write unblinkingly of these truths, making us sadder, wiser, and more nuanced readers as a final result. And can we really ask any more of literature?

Why offshore drilling is utter bullshit

Offshore drilling has become the latest GOP talking point, with Dubya lifting the executive ban on the process, urging Congress to do the same, and parading in press conferences that the government has responded to the gas crises by "removing the bans on offshore drilling!" These statements are so engulfed in bullshit that it can be difficult to summarize why they are so, but I think I can boil it down to three reasons:

1. Supply and demand. Instead of researching alternate sources of energy--which will be the only realistic way to lower gas prices and prohibit global warming--our leaders beg Saudi Arabia to increase their supply of oil, hoping the increase in supply will quench the unquenchable demand now running rampant in the global market. Offshore drilling, allegedly, will add to this supply, therefore lowering prices. What GOP mouthpieces fail to mention, however, are the GLOBAL numbers that dictate oil prices. There are roughly 86 millions barrels of oil being produced around the world. 86 million! Even with the rosiest projections for offshore drilling--let's say, 3 million barrels are excavated--the supply, in relation to the global markets, will be so minute that American gas prices will hardly budge, if at all.

2. Oil companies. I'm going to let you in on a little secret--when demand is high, you keep supply low, especially if you are selling a product with insurmountable demand that is likely to continue into the unforeseeable future. Nintendo does it with the Wii. Apple does it with the iPhone. Oil companies do it with their oil supplies. Something that Dubya never says about offshore drilling is that oil companies already claim substantive resources in several offshore areas; yet, in those reserves, only 21% of the potential oil has been tapped by oil companies. That's right--79% of that oil is just sitting there, waiting to be processed. Why are the companies waiting? TO KEEP SUPPLY LOW AND DEMAND HIGH! Exxon Mobile, this last quarter, posted the highest profits of any corporation EVER. I'm talking billions. In profits. The last thing we need is more oil in the hands of profit-hungry corporations, but the best thing they need is more leases from the Dubya Fascist Regime.

3. Time. This is probably the most ludicrous reality of the entire offshore drilling phenomenon. Dubya and his GOP cronies crow about how lifting the ban on offshore drilling will effectively answer calls to end the gas crises. There is a little, irritating caveat to this idea--any action by the government to stall gas prices needs to go into effect NOW. Offshore drilling is such a complicated, costly exercise that, I shit you not, oil reserves from those offshore sites could not surface until 2030. 2030! 22 years and millions of dollars to answer a problem that needs drastic action NOW.

And that, really, is the crowning jewel of irony in this whole thing. Global demand, mainly coming out of India and China, will never stop. The population of potential car-buyers in those rapidly industrializing nations is simply too big to assume demand will decrease any time soon, meaning, gas prices will continue to rise.* We will have $5 a gallon gas. Maybe even $6. And the only REAL answer to these problems, ideas that REAL leaders will front, will involve alternate energy and a decrease in dependence on foreign oil.


*Footnote: the only feasible way that prices will lower in the future is by strengthening the dollar. A weak dollar buys less in the global market, so naturally a weak dollar will go far less of a distance with a resource as valuable as oil; still, this is short term, as exchange rates are not the long-term answer to gas prices nor climate change.

FISA and Obama--a disappointing calamity

The FISA "compromise," which passed in the Senate with an overwhelming majority yesterday, is an unabashed assault on the American constitution, a heinous disregard for personal rights, and a shameful free-pass to criminal activity--and it was all supported by our presumptive nominee for the Democratic Party.

The new FISA regulations effectively give the government free reign to scoop up and analyze any "intelligence" they see as beneficial to the War on Terror, meaning, any phone calls, emails, text messages, etc. that you may make. Say that a terrorist suspect arises whose name is coincidentally "Peter Ricci." All of my various methods of communication can be spied on at will with NO REPERCUSSIONS FOR THE WARRANT-LESS SEARCH (even this petty, meaningless ramble). With the Senate ruling yesterday and the president's signing today, the Fourth Amendment took an unprecedented blow, one that basically flushes our civil liberties down the toilet. So enjoy those freedoms while you still can, because the government now has access to each and every one of them.

To better understand how disgraceful this is, consider this historical analogy--Richard Nixon and Watergate. Prior to the current administration, Nixon and his Watergate spy scandal served as the precedent for abuse of presidential power, a shocking and demeaning exercise in paranoia and fascism. Nixon wiretapped the DNC and the homes of Woodward and Bernstein. Bush has wiretapped the entire country.

Except with Watergate, Nixon and his co-conspirators faced serious criminal allegations, with Nixon resigning and his numerous cronies receiving jail time. What the new FISA ruling details is an EXPANSION of surveillance power and a RE-WRITE of the rules governing those powers! So the president can now spy with more gluttony than before, and the rules have been changed to exempt the president, his cronies, and the telecoms corporations who cooperated with the criminal acts from any such allegations. It's beyond belief.

And then there is Barack Obama, who, with his support of the bill, offered his first fully disappointing decision of the primary season. Obama's stances on these issues has been patently obvious. A constitutional expert who lectured on the artifact at the University of Chicago, Obama clearly understands the rights entailed by the Fourth Amendment and the outright abuse the new FISA bill enacts on those rights. A believer in civil rights and justice, Obama has also promised to filibuster any bill that included telecoms immunity, which, um, this bill did.

No filibuster, no grand speech on the abuse of the Fourth Amendment. Just, "I don't like the bill but I must support it because we need to have a FISA legislation intact."

I understand that Senator Obama is under considerable pressure as the presumptive nominee, not only as the undeniable front runner in the race but also as the first viable black candidate in United States history, a glass ceiling of epic proportions. Nobody can put themselves in his shoes.

However, the proof is in the pudding. This new FISA bill is nothing short of fascism, or, corporatism if we're going to honor Mussolini. Look at it this way: the rights of the corporations exceed the rights of the citizens, and our government will go to great lengths to protect those certain inalienable rights of the CORPORATIONS, protecting them from criminal scandal at the sake of the very citizens that put them into power. Founding fathers, I can feel you rolling in your graves.

And these are fairly obvious transgressions of the bill. No hidden language, no tricks. Hell, the GOP has been practically boasting on how unconstitutional this bill is. So where in the bloody hell is Barack Obama?

I'll admit, I fell under the guy's spell. Politics is a dark, dreary game, and it can be especially maddening for anyone who attempts to follow it with any level of zeal. The hypocrisy, the back-scratching, the cronyism, it seems out of control and shameful while homeless Iraq War veterans starve under bridges, Ohio residents lose industrial jobs to China, and lower-class families see their tax rates rise while high income families see their tax rates fall.

He's charming, he's eloquent, and he's one helluva candidate. But, as John Elder correctly pointed out to me last weekend, he's "still a politician," one who will cut corners and sell-out stances to gain points in electability. It's just with this case, with this politician, it seems to hurt that much more.

Wall-E!

The one word review for Zachary:

Superb.

The extended review for everyone else:

Pixar continues its unbelievable winning-streak with "Wall-E," a film that is the studio's most daring, audacious project yet and one of the most flat-out entertaining films I have seen in quite some time.

The plot is simple: Wall-E, or, the last remaining Waste Allocation Load Lifter-Earth-Class on Earth, bides his time by compressing garbage into neat cubes and collecting the more valuable trinkets he comes across in a little museum he maintains outside of the city. This process is thrown out-of-whack by Eve, a sentry-robot sent to Earth to study its filthy environment and see if the planet is fertile to support life. I won't spoil any of the following plot points for those who have yet to see the film (and to those people: shame on you!).

The most remarkable aspect of "Wall-E," among the many remarkable aspects there are, is the almost-complete absence of dialogue from the film. The Wall-E character has no dialogue, as does Eve. All Pixar uses to advance the characters and plot is sound effects, actions, and subtle facial expressions from the robots. In fact, excluding the insertion of human characters 2/3 the way into the film, that's all there is. Beeps, groans, and physical comedy, yet that's the genius of Pixar--we can still feel for these rusty old machines like human characters, even if they haven't spoken a single word of English!

The animation, as expected, is flawless, but not perfect. Like the grimy, fuzzy visuals that "Finding Nemo" utilized for its water environments, "Wall-E" displays a dusty, garbage-infested earth, one piled sky high with trash and prone to violent sand storms. And the Wall-E character itself shows the same kind of detail, and the aged, slightly rusted exterior of his metal is juxtaposed by the shiny, sleek visual of the Eve design (for an example, just gaze at the picture I included at the top of this review, how Wall-E's fingers show such a subtle hint of dust and age, and how the edges of his body-frame show the beginning stages of rust).

One final note on the animation: Pixar continues to have the most sophisticated lighting seen in animated films today. The same gorgeous characteristics that struck me in "Rat." continue in "Wall-E," specifically in the scenes involving the museum of trash Wall-E lives in, where the source of lighting comes from strewn Christmas lights. The shot of the museum as the lights flicker on is among the prettiest images I've seen in a movie this year.

Just as Pixar is a studio of artists, it is also a haven of historians, like a Smithsonian of film history. Each Pixar film draws upon a wide range of films for inspiration, and "Wall-E" is no exception, using as its muse classic silent films from the golden era of Hollywood; as in, Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and even Jacques Tati. Basically, the Wall-E character IS Chaplin's Tramp. Dirty, mangy, yet with a heart like gold and an unquenchable spirit that holds universal appeal. Also, it is no coincidence that Wall-E, like the tramp, never speaks.

Pixar's Chaplin-influence also extends to the film making. Never one to overwhelm his audience with technological gimmickry, Chaplin shot his films in two styles--far away for comedy, and close up for tragedy. Far away angles would perfectly capture the tramp's zany, unpredictable physical comedy, and close up would record every nuance and emotion of the film's conclusion. "Wall-E" follows this like an honors student, watching Wall-E's escapades with careful, far away detachment and letting the chaos develop into sublime comedy, while allowing the intimate scenes between Wall-E and Eve mature in close, compassionate quarters. Brilliance, I tell ya!

(Spoiler Alert! The following segment refers to plot developments discovered later in the film, so if you haven't seen it, close yer bloody browser!)

There is a specific reason that I love Pixar films to such a degree, and for Zach's honor, I have one word that describes it perfectly: complexity. Yes, complexity. Pixar films offer me an astonishingly large assortment of angles to analyze, from the animation, to the references, to the perfectly executed plot, to the perfectly developed characters. Yet below even all these levels is the true rhetoric of the picture, the underlying themes that Pixar subtly states. With "Wall-E," they take on consumerism.

In the film, Wall-E encounters a space-age Royal Caribbean cruise, a getaway for humans that has become permanent due to the overwhelming filth on earth. Yet on these cruises, humans have finally succumbed to machines, allowing them to do EVERYTHING. Mature adults sit on lounge chairs like large babies, with fat bulging out of every part of their body, with their appendages nothing more than inoperable blogs of mass, their fingers fat little sausages, and their necks turducken size platters. In the universe of "Wall-E," we've become our own worst nightmare--fat, lazy, and complacent. We have no ambition, no drive, and we are content with it...as long as the robots keep doing their jobs. And, we left earth because of a preponderance of trash, meaning we didn't care to change our ways and stop the accumulation!

In addition to this uncomfortable bulls-eye, the entire space colony in which these cruises preside is run by autopilots under the control of the "Buy 'n Large" mega corporation, a store whose overwhelming influence has given them control of the government. It does not take a rocket scientist to figure this one out. Buy 'n Large is Walmart, and their takeover of the government is the kind of Corporate Fascism that liberal "loonies" like myself have been rallying against ever since the Reagan administration.

Now, this is painfully relevant satire, and it is important that these points be made; yet, "Wall-E" still works without this kind of examination. If you enter the film simply wanting to experience a flawlessly made animated film with big laughs, big heart, and memorable characters, "Wall-E" will suffice on an unlimited supply of levels. And that is Pixar's genius--films that offer something for everyone of every walk of life.

A clarification on 'This Land,' the PROTEST song

In light of today being the 4th of July, I feel that a special and important clarification should be made about the popular American Folk song "This Land is Your Land."

First, the obvious: "This Land is Your Land" by Woody Guthrie is, without a doubt, one of the greatest songs of 20th century popular music. A chief influence on the musical evolution of Bob Dylan, Guthrie brought a realism and sophistication to folk lyrics that had been all but absent from the art form.

Now the disappointing: "This Land is Your Land" by Woody Guthrie is, without a doubt, one of the most criminally misunderstood songs in the history of 20th century popular music.

It's a depressing, vile example of commercialism that must have Guthrie rolling in his tomb. "This Land." was originally written by Guthrie in 1940 as a protest song. Disillusioned with the Great Depression and the seemingly apathetic response from government and big business alike, Guthrie wrote the song as a protest of the powers that be. The song, therefore, is a declaration, a bold reassurance of the working-class Guthrie grew up in that this land, from California to the New York Island, was made for you and me, not Herbert Hoover and J.P. Morgan.

Additionally, "This Land." is a bitter satire, a savage parody of Irving Berlin's "God Bless America." Guthrie's original title to "This Land." was "God Blessed America for You and Me," as he saw such a hokey, unrealistic declaration as the one provided in Berlin's song as an insult. Why, Guthrie proposes, should we pay homage to a God for help to a Depression he apparently led us into? or, that he refused to help us avoid?

Yet, despite the clear indication of Guthrie's intentions, the song still prospers as an anthem of American Patriotism. CDs abound with disgraceful renditions of the number, all with happy melodies and sing-song, gee-whiz harmonies. What these popular versions cleverly do, however, is remove the more incendiary passages of Guthrie's original song.

Guthrie was a folk musician in the truest sense, and as such, he would frequently improvise his material on stage, resulting in dozens of different versions of his most popular songs. "This Land." is no exception, but based on original studio recordings and Guthrie's own writing, a definitive version of "This Land." has been assembled, one of six verses, two of which are bastard children of the popular, gut-wrenching popular versions.

And I can't blame them. Here are those two verses:

In the squares of the city, In the shadow of a steeple;

By the relief office, I'd seen my people.

As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking,

Is this land made for you and me?

There was a big high wall there that tried to stop me;

Sign was painted, it said private property;

But on the back side it didn't say nothing;

That side was made for you and me.

The context and tone is unmistakable. This is a protest song, one with anger and frustration on its mind and social change as its goal. And it's a disgrace to Guthrie's legacy, really, that it has become what it has.

A few (clean) words on George Carlin

Yesterday, the comedy world lost a titan. Well, the shadow of a titan, at the very least.

George Carlin passed away at 71 from heart failure, enrapturing his poor, pessimistic soul to the "heavenly CNN" he sought to view when he died. What saddens me about Carlin's death, however, is a matter of aesthetics.

Granted, I'm not surprised the guy died, just that it took this long. Forever a child of reckless endangerment, Carlin passed through drug addiction and debt like clothing, effortlessly moving from high-paid Vegas entertainer to $4 million in debt tax payer, and, my personal fave, from cocaine addiction (his daughter asked him on one of their vacations together to stop snorting) to sobriety. See? The guy had a 'truth and dare' session with death, and it's a mystery that guys like Carlin, Keith Richards, and Robert Plant can still get out of bed every morning, Father's ashes 'n all.

But what saddens me about the Carlin today is what a shadow he was of his previous self. The Carlin of today was just angry. Brilliant, but one-dimensional, angry in the old man, grumpy kind of way (for proof, consult his one of his last HBO specials, "Life is Worth Wasting").

Now, I understand the brilliance of old Carlin was all but impossible to sustain. Simultaneously intelligent and daring, Carlin could pull off skits musing on the appropriateness of the word "shit" (famously remarking that he was fired for saying "shit" in a place where the game of choice is "craps"), the many eccentricities and contradictions of the Catholic faith, and, of course, the seven dirt words that would "curve your spine and stop the allies from winning the war."*

The old Carlin observed the society around him and commented on his surroundings, talking with his audience in a perverse form of discussion. You laughed at your own faults that Carlin fearlessly pointed out, but you walked away from the act a sadder, wiser man. Contradict this with the many stand-up "comedians" of today, where shouting and obnoxious screaming creates an act, and you see how far down stand-up comedy has fallen on the pedestal (yes, I'm talking to you Dane Cook).

I guess what Carlin really represented was how hard stand-up comedy is. A famous actor--the name changes based on who you ask--remarked "Dying is easy. Comedy is hard." And from the number of eulogies that are springing up around the web, from Richard Belzer to Jerry Seinfeld, we can see that Carlin--old Carlin--had it down.

*My personal favorite is still his skit on Muhammad Ali, where Carlin remarked that Ali's profession, beating people up, was forbidden because he would not accept the government's new occupation for him: killing people. "(Ali) said, 'Nah, I'll beat them up but I don't wanna kill them. And they said, 'Well, if you won't kill them we won't let you beat them up! HA HA HA!'"

How do you spell "ratatouille?"

Just finished watching "Ratatouille" with the family, one in a long line of presumably excellent film that I have yet to see--and as the pattern goes, the film was wonderful.

What makes the case of "Rat." (you understand the necessity of abbreviations here) so confusing is my general love for Pixar films. Both "Toy Story" films are forever enshrined in my top 20 films, while "Monsters Inc." and "The Incredibles" are both in their own right fantastically produced animated films. And though "Rat." cannot quite capture my imagination by the throat like the original "Toy Story" did, I still must admit that I found myself mesmerized by what I like to call the "Pixar Touch"--a brilliant and seamless combination of laughs, cries, and suspense, all linked by some of the most gorgeous animations that the motion picture will ever produce. And all the while, this seemingly impossible hodgepodge of genres is pulled off with absolute lack of effort.

We all know the plot of "Rat." A rat who can cook, a human who can't, and the unlikely bond that develops between the two couple of misfits. The comedy of the film has an undeniable influence of Lubitsch and the famous "Lubitsch Touch," that light, effortless sophistication that coats every frame. The comedy of "Rat." never tries too hard for our laughs. Instead, the characters interact with each other and the environment, creating humor that is both physical and verbal. And, like Lubitsch, it is just plain sweet. Add to it

But anyway, this is a Pixar film, and the visuals are the key. The rat's fur, human's hair, facial expressions, the simmer of sauces in the kitchen--these are undoubtedly some of the more gorgeous snapshots that has ever been seen in FILM, not strictly the animated genre. And not just the typical beauty, but some very subtle attentions to detail that director Brad Bird is smart enough to exploit, such as the many brilliant uses of pictorial lighting in the film.

Like this shot. While not exactly pictorial, as the lighting is not exaggerated enough to be unrealistic, look at the absolute attention to detail--how the light wraps around the body of Remy, with a heavier concentration on his belly and a lesser amount on his sides. Or how the lighter pigments of Remy's ears create a brighter light than the darker pigments of his fur. This is top notch artistry, people, recognize it for what it is!

And, a note on actors: "Rat." features, among other actors, Ian Holm, Peter O'Toole, Brad Garrett, and Janeane Garofalo. Suffice to say, these are not the first actors which immediately come to mind when thinking of casting for an animated feature. And that is a very, very good thing!

We prosper in an "Aladdin"-inspired universe. Robin Williams' rendition of the Genie was so off-the-wall, so unpredictable, and so ROBIN WILLIAMS that it has inspired an entire generation of films where the biggest stars with the biggest name recognition are chosen for a voice acting part. Not because they necessarily fit into the role in which they are cast, but merely because they are movie stars, and movie stars sell movie tickets.

Pixar seems to be the only animated studio today that sees the problem with this, casting actual ACTORS, not STARS in their animated roles, realizing that the right actor is out there for the right animated role, just like in real-life movies. Just as Francis Ford Coppola knew that Al Pacino was the perfect Michael Corleone, John Lasseter knew that Tim Allen was the perfect Buzz Lightyear. Again, not the first actors that come to mind, yet they were perfect for their roles and the films gained an enormous advantage because of it.

The importance of unity in the 2008 election

George W. Bush is, objectively, one of the worst presidents of all time, and possibly pound for pound the worst president in the history of our great democracy. In terms of sheer volume and magnitude, no president will ever eclipse the failure of James Buchanan to effectively end the threat of Southern recession and prevent the Civil War. But when each individual category is addressed, from the economy, to education, to foreign policy, to environmental issues, no president even approaches the catastrophic collapse of “Dubya.”

And the effect these failures are having on the citizens of the United States is equally calamitous. Ever since Bush’s unspeakable reelection, there has been a growing air of discontent among American voters, manifesting itself in the most perturbing of circumstances. Matt Taibbi, a brilliant journalist for Rolling Stone magazine, surveyed a couple of these disillusionments in his 2008 book 'The Great Derangement,' where he went undercover (among other things) to Pastor John Hagee’s Christian Zionist church in Texas and infiltrated the 9/11 Truth movement.

Hagee’s church preaches, among other things, that the U.S. government is involved in a conspiracy to promote abortions and systematically lower the U.S. population total, extreme exorcisms, and, most horrifying, the apocalyptic vision that upon invading Jerusalem, Russian and Arab forces will be destroyed by God, which will then lead to a battle between China and the West, with leadership of this conflict being the Antichrist as head of the European Union. Jesus will then return, and, of course, win (Hagee also preaches Catholicism as "the great whore" in modern religion, and firmly believes that the Catholic Church united with Nazism to destroy the Jews during WWII*).

Yet, Hagee preaches to a massive congregation of over 17,000, and Taibbi witnessed himself the fanatical following that many members of the church had for Hagee and his "preaching."

The 9/11 Truth movement believes, among other things, that the attacks on the Twin Towers were masterminded by Dick Cheney, Paul Wolfowitz, and others to start a war with Iraq, in which crude oil was the main goal. Planes were not flown into the Twin Towers, however. Controlled explosions destroyed the buildings, and holograms were used to convince the public that it was indeed planes that caused the destruction. Also, a plane did not hit the Pentagon. A missile, fired by Cheney & co., caused that explosion, and airplane parts were then scattered to give the impression that a plane caused that destruction. Also, the plane that was hijacked and caused that explosion? It was re-directed to a remote airstrip, where the passengers were killed and distressing phone calls to family members and spouses were faked.

Again, ridiculous, yet a 2006 poll conducted by Scripps Howard/Ohio University found that over a THIRD of American believe that federal agents participated in and/or lacked action with the atrocities of 9/11.

These seem to be fringe groups, yet the criminal actions of our current administration have driven these small minorities to dangerous levels of population. That is why it is so important to elect Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States and address these disillusionments.

Obama represents “change” in the truest sense of the word, beyond the cliché mantras heard from Mitt Romney or Hillary Clinton. Multi-racial and raised in Indonesia and Hawaii, Obama’s past of rags to Harvard riches is the kind of story that keeps the American Dream alive. His face, dark and handsome as it is, gives a new presentation to the United States, as a country finally able to rid itself of the horrible legacy of slavery. His policies, while moderate-liberal on paper, offer a clear divergence from the horrid movement conservative policies of George W. Bush. And his very own sense of unity, his ability to bridge gaps across races, genders, and party lines, make him the real candidate of our 21st century and a once in generation leader. So elect Barack Obama!

*Ok, he may have a point there.

My first foray into the Mac Universe

I type this entry as a new man. A changed man. A MAC man.

Yes, with all the hype, word-of-mouth praise, and Warren Cheswick commercials, I finally gave-in to the latest minority fad and purchased a Macbook. And a Macbook PRO at that.

My journey to the center of the Mac Universe has been long and storied, from many friends and reliable tech-experts ranting and raving on the evils of PC and the glories of going Mac. With such overwhelming positivity (or negativity...depending on which side of the fence you're on), I fully expected to be underwhelmed, even with the newest revelation fresh on my mind, a glowing endorsement of the pro model from Dr. Bob Stewart, the Associate Director of the journalism program I'll be attending in fall.

Yet, I can't help but be impressed by the stunning power and aesthetics of the unit. First off, it looks great. The 15.4 inch screen is brilliant, as photos, video, and even this basic, droll-white blog shine with glossy brilliance. The silver aluminum casing is wicked cool, and the keyboard--the no. 1 issue I've always had with laptops--is full sized and fluid. Even the touchpad--the no. 2 issue I've always had with laptops--is large and responsive, though I've already ordered a bluetooth mouse.

The performance of this powerhouse, though, is the true jewel of going mac. Sure, other laptops, such as the HP Pavilion, have their own power merits, but as a lifelong PC owner, I already know that the Macbook Pro has awarded me a greater level of multi-tasking than I previously thought possible.

This was patently apparent from the first night I had with it. See, I'm a music junkie, a fact that many people are aware of. At this point in my musical voyage, I have roughly 14,200 songs on my iPod. Naturally, I wanted to transfer every single one of those songs to my new Mac, which would prove NO problem whatsoever. And I'm not even exaggerating. As I transferred a good 14,400 music files from one computer to another (a long, convoluted process that is not worth repeating), the Mac did not slow down one bit. I was free to surf the web, download various programs, and watch as much internet porn as my juices craved.

In short, this silver beaut is a technological powerhouse, and as I type this message with the Al Green masterpiece "I'm Glad Your Mine" droning in the background, my Mac seems to be communicating with me: "I know I'll never let you down!"

The primary season is over...so now what?

There is a strange, inherit disappointment when a long primary battle finally ends. I'll admit, during this most recent case of political jousting and rhetorical gymnastics, I frequently tossed and turned in bed and pulled my hair out, wondering what other fatuous articles of Obama's "dark past" Sean Hannity's interns would uncover, how Hillary would exploit it, and how the Mainstream Media would run around in circles over the story while the more important issues of the campaign were left in the rain.

Now, the fact that Jeremiah Wright and Bill Ayers gained more media attention than global warming and education was maddening, to say the least, but I'd be fooling myself to deny that it was great entertainment. As Eugene Robinson of The Washington Post had mused, the Primary battle of Hillary v Obama was political American Idol, complete with judges, audience voting, underdogs, and knockout performances, and also, we as political junkies consumed the shit like it was crack cocaine...and I may start suffering withdrawals in short time.

When the Primary season really got rolling in mid-January (I refuse to pay the slightest bit of attention prior to the Iowa Caucus), I had a strict regiment: I would arrive home from school and, on Mondays and Wednesdays, listen to NPR's Talk of the Nation for the latest political updates (Tues/Thur saw an immediate jump to the next step of...), then, I'd scour the various internet sources for reliable tidbits and breakout stories, from Andrew Sullivan's Daily Dish to The New Republic website to my personal favorite, The Huffington Post, which offers up-to-the-second news AND some of the most insightful blogging on the World Wide Web. Then, I'd review the entire day's stories at 7 pm watching Countdown with Keith Olbermann, and THEN re-rinsing and drying the entire process with more Internet scrounging.

It was a constant, never ending process, one of information-overload, victorious fact-checking, the glory of understanding a mere portion of the American political system. So don't get me wrong, it was exhausting--at numerous times, I questioned the costs of being a well-informed member of democracy--but now that it is over, I have a strange, undeniable sensation over all the free time I seem to have, which is certainly a good thing. I still have plenty of episodes of Oz and The Wire to watch, and a DAMN good number of books to read.

The irony behind all this, of course, is that when the official Conventions occur in late August/early September, this entire process will start over again and I will be more entrenched then ever in the wonderful world of politics. Check please!

'Once'

I just finished watching Once with my parents and brother and, in short, I absolutely loved it.

As I was being delighted by the film's 85 minutes, however, I asked myself a question--why in the hell did it take me so long to watch this?!?

The film is concerned with a guy, played by Irish musician Glen Hansard, and his week-long friendship with a Czech immigrant (girl), played by fellow musician and current Hansard girlfriend Markéta Inglová. The two meet on the street (Hansard plays a busker), and what follows is a journey into the character's pasts, passions, and futures--all culminating in one of the more happy, satisfying endings I've seen in sometime.

With Once, it's all about the simplicity. The camera-movements, the long-takes, the lovely, natural lighting, this is a film where all the pieces fell into place. As non-actors, the casual gestures and mannerisms of Hansard and Inglová are perfect for the sweet, authentic tone of the film. Had the film's original star--actor Cillian Murphy--stayed in this project, it would not have had half the heart and soul it does, which is do in no small part to the AMAZING music.

Entering this film, I had no idea who Hansard or his band "The Frames" were, and in watching Once, I was completely mesmerized by the emotionally wrenching, incredibly personal songs Hansard plays, alternating between a folk blues shout in his solo numbers and more contained duets with Inglová.

I kid you not, I felt a lump in my throat during their performance of "Falling Slowly," the film that won the 2008 Academy Award for Best Original Song. It is moments like that performance that separate this film from any of the multi-zillion dollar, emotionless musicals of the current day, from Chicago to Dreamgirls. It doesn't matter that Once was shot with a $135,000 budget in 17 days (try seeing Hollywood pull that off)--what matters is its authenticity, its heart, its genuine concern for its characters and its respect for their feelings. Once makes any American film seem hollow by comparison.

I've gotten to the main core of the film, but along with the emotional resonance, see the film simply for the music, as it celebrates the universal communication music gives us all. In one beautiful sequence, Hansard is riding in a bus with Inglová, and the topic develops of Hansard's ex-girlfriend, a source of inspiration for many of Hansard's songs. Though originally skeptical of Inglová's questioning, Hansard does indeed tell her what happened...through song. Notice, now, what a beautiful observation this is by Director John Carney! We all have emotions, we all have interpretations, but sometimes, just certain times, the only way we can express those emotions is through our art, whether it be film, or painting, or, in this case, music.

So...see the fucking film!

Oh Dinah!

Last month, a strange thing happened--I finally became sick of instrumental Jazz. Don't get me wrong, the brilliance and eloquence of a Miles Davis or Kenny Burrell or a Cannonball Adderley still shines as bright as the Sunday mornin' sun, but I couldn't help but feel bogged down by the total lack of VOICE in the music. See, I started consciously listening to and critiquing Jazz my junior year in high school. From the start, instrumental was my sole ax. From Miles to Coltrane to Monk, it was the heavy hitters of INSTRUMENTS that I focused on, and while I still read and respected Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, and Sarah Vaughn, I just didn't invest in Jazz Vocal recordings. I was inspired to do so, however, and from the most unlikely source.

I was watching my favorite television program, Countdown with Keith Olbermann, when this commercial came on.

The infectious voice of that commercial? Dinah Washington, a woman among women. Married eight times, Washington was every bit as forceful in person as her music would suggest, and it did not take long for me to become transfixed with her charismatic personality as a Jazz performer.

And what a voice! While the Double Tree commercial uses the selection "Relax Max" from her "Swinging with Miss 'D,'" an album of catchy swing tunes arranged by Quincy Jones, Washington was at home with the blues, an area where her Gospel roots were allowed to shine. Washington is smooth, but her music never straddles past the jazz/blues genres. Her authenticity and phrasing forever keeps her material listen-able (though she would turn to the dark side with her '63 release What a Diff'rence a Day Makes!), and for examples of both her impeccable Jazz phrasing and smoldering blues, I highly recommend two released: Dinah, an album that finds her supported by a large Jazz ensemble and singing both standards and obscure blues, and After Hours with Miss D, a true Jazz/Blues masterpiece that finds Washington stretching out with such experts as Clark Terry and Junior Mance.

Are American Voters Stoopid?

The American voting bloc has always left me astounded. Along with the embarrassing number of voters--a mere 50% of the population, compared to over 85% in France--American voters show an uncanny ability to vote against their common interests. As long as a candidate is deeply Christian, smooth on television, and appeals to certain emotional issues such as abortion and gay marriage, we'll vote for that candidate in droves. This is the only logical explanation, as far as I can tell, on how an idiot like George W. Bush was elected TWICE.

Growing up, we are encouraged to make mistakes. "Mistakes are good," one of my grade school teachers would always insist. "Because you learn from your mistakes!" Yet, when it comes to voting, Americans seem incapable of learning from their mistaken votes, no matter what kind of destruction ensues.

I'm blabbering about our idiotic electorate because an interesting evolution is occurring in the Hillary Clinton fan base, now that she has definitively dropped out of contention. See, throughout the primary season, I was as perplexed as anyone on why white/blue-collar workers, whose real incomes decreased as an effect of NAFTA, would openly and fanatically support a candidate who considered NAFTA one of her administrations "great achievements." This was continued "stoopid voterdom," but following the Potomac Primaries, everyone and their dog knew that Obama had the nomination sealed. It was only a matter of time until he was the party's nominee and the Democratic coalition mobilized behind his efforts.

Yet, this stoopid behavior has been built upon now that Obama is our nominee. As a CBS poll from yesterday demonstrated, 22% of Clinton's fan base will support John McCain in November. On NPR's Talk of the Nation today, caller after caller praised McCain for his "experience," and his "maverick" tendencies, and proudly proclaimed that they will support McCain OVER Obama, now that Clinton has bowed out.

See, this confuses me for a number of reasons, but first and foremost it is the topic of issues. These voters are, allegedly, people who supported Hillary Clinton during the primary season. Among the issues on Hillary's platform were a reconstruction of NAFTA, universal health care, withdrawal from Iraq, and a revision of No Child Left Behind, among other liberal, left-leaning stances.* These are Democratic issues, and people who support them are, well, DEMOCRATS. Each issue is something Barack Obama also supports. So if voters felt strongly on these issues, and voted for Hill because they thought she could accomplish the goals of each issue, why would they jump ship to a candidate who openly opposes each and every one of them?

And that's the biggest issue of confusion for me, is how contradictory John McCain is to each of these 22%. John McCain now supports Bush's horrible, idiotic tax cuts, something he boldly opposed in 2001. Not only that, but his tax plan seeks to cut Corporate tax rates by 10%, offering a reduction in government spending to compensate for the cuts--of course, he intends on cuttings funds to Medicare, Medicaid, and education, not defense spending. He supports Iraq and the surge, proclaiming that American forces could be in Iraq for 100 years. He openly lobbied for endorsements from Pastor John Hagee and Rod Parsley, men who have called Catholicism "the great whore" and who claim that Christianity has had an everlasting duty to destroy Islam, respectively (remember when McCain called men like this "agents of intolerance" in 2000? yeah, neither do I). His health care legislation does nothing to stop insurance company fraudulence and refuses coverage to cancer victims LIKE HIMSELF.

John McCain is neither a maverick nor a candidate who represents any Democratic ideals. He WAS a maverick, but now he is nothing more than a slut to the most extreme faction of the GOP that just happened to have won Congress and the White House amid a decade and a half of Washington dominance. So why would allegedly Democratic voters support such a guy? I couldn't tell ya. I guess they're stoopid.

*Bear in mind that all of these issues were nothing more than pandering--the bitch would have been more conservative had the electorate demanded it, but bear with me here.

What last night meant...and why I. HATE. HILLARY.

First, what tonight meant, the first time in American history that the Democratic Party has nominated an African American as its candidate for President. While this is a monumental time for America, African-Americans, and the American political system, I like to think that it has an even greater importance beyond American soil and abroad.

Lately, our politics has become a wild joke to the rest of the world. With our bumbling crusader of a President at the forefront, American politics has acquired the reputation of being mean, pity, and devoid of any true substance and accomplishment. And can we really, honestly resist this title? The worst war in American history. Two economic recession in eight years, including one that neared Great Depression levels. Hurricane Katrina and a demolished city. Illegal wiretaps. Treasonous outing of a CIA agent. Religious fundamentalism and an assault on science and reason.

See? The failures of the Bush administration literally go on forever, and we've taken our first step to rectifying these mistakes by nominating Senator Barack Obama for President of the United States. Just imagine the impact of having Obama's face representing our country, and the world seeing an African-American representing the land of slavery? This is historic, and I feel so honored to have lived to see such a moment.


But now onto more spiteful territory--the Grand Old Bitch of the Democratic Party, or, Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton. Last night was her last chance for class. The last chance in a campaign of cheap shots and dirty tricks to emerge, phoenix-like, from the ashes of Karl Rove and embrace the nominee the Democratic PARTY has chosen; in other words, the last chance to act like an adult.

Yet we saw none of it, nothing more than self-indulgence and self-denial, all wrapped in a present of delusion and pretty pink bows of IMAGINATION. Number one Clinton hater Andrew Sullivan summed it up best: "Her narcissism requires that she deprive her opponent of a night, or a second, of gratification or attention." And that is what really, REALLY pisses me off about the bitch's speech. She can parade around with her unremarkable platforms, conspicuous claim of 18 million votes, and still support the idea that she won Michigan and Florida, but at least give Obama some credit--something she's never done, as least not with sincerity. Obama beat her, pure and simple. He out-organized, out-raised, and out-campaigned the most potent political machine of the late 20th century, and, like Sullivan notes, her narcissism was beyond an congratulatory effort. She lost, and her dreadful speech reveals what a baby she truly is.

Scott Free?

It's been a full week now since the Scott McClellan bombshell hit with his part payback/part confessional book What Happened, and I've noticed a few interesting developments that poor Scotty's ploy have exposed:

With us or Against us
The publishing of Scotty's book is yet another entry in the Bush Administration's hopelessly simple "with us or against us," "good vs evil" philosophy that has dominated some of the more disastrous policies in our nation's history. Amidst all the "puzzlement" that seems to be rampant among Bush loyalists who are, well, "puzzled" at McClellan's betrayal is the black and white simplicity behind our, well, simple government (and when I say simple, I mean the simple oaf from Alabama who spends his days stroking a piece of velvet).

Finally!
While Scotty's book could have come a few years earlier--imagine the Valerie Plame revelation before Joe Wilson was obliterated--What Happened still gives reinforcement to many of the claims that those of us on the left have been making for some time now. The White House misled the nation into an endless and unnecessary conflict in Iraq. Bush is a simple-minded, ignorant fool who lacks inquisitiveness and refuses to accept contradictory views. Bush himself authorized the CIA intelligence leak that led to the public disclosure of Valerie Plame's identity. Hurricane Katrina was an act of incompetence, not misjudgment. While these were all facts that any well-read American should have known about already, Scotty gives the best validation a former Bush loyalist possibly could.

Humanity?
I briefly mentioned the "betrayal" that McClellan is being branded with earlier in this post, but the true irony in this whole affair is the lack of humanity in our political scene--the inability of the public, press, and politicians to put a human face on the proceedings.

For example, the number one charge that is being leveled at McClellan is timeliness. If he was so perturbed by what he observed as Press Secretary, why did he not step out and speak his mind at a more appropriate time?

Well, there was a little thing called "midlife crisis" involved.

Again, we refuse to admit humanity in this discussion. McClellan is a Bush loyalist to the extreme--a dear friend of Dubya from the good ol' Texas days, Scotty rode this loyalty all the way to the White House, and he was given the positions of Assistant and then true Press Secretary.

In other words, Scotty owes his entire fucking career to Bush. Beyond the material, however, McClellan was a true believer. While it can be argued that he was sucking on the Washington tit, I solemnly think that McClellan came to the capital believing in Bush and his message of bipartisan, compassionate conservatism. Yeah, like such a thing even exists, but back to the point, Scotty's entire ideology for following Dubya to the White House was turned on it's head by deception, illegal wiretaps, and other treasonous activities.

So can we be surprised, really, that he would feel hesitation at scorching such a friend in such a manner?